The glowing portal opened, a ripple within the middle of the room that seemed to suck all of the heat out of it. Silence fell across Parliament, guards reaching for their weapons, knuckles tightening as the leaders of the oldest parliamentry democracy in the world realized the truth: they were under attack, and may very well not live to see the end of the day. The armed guards pointed their rifles into the portal, hands shaking nervously, their mouths screaming into communicators for backup that would never arrive, an artificial radio silence initiated mere seconds before. A foot stepped through the portal, a black boot that seemed more apt to be seen in a modern arts show than in the midst of battle. It carried the dark-clad Mechanical Mamba forward, first to step through their wrinkle in time into Iceland. With an almost imperceptible, lazy flick of his wrist, he sent two miniscule darts across the room, embedding them in the faces of the two dutiful guards, their lives prematurely cut short simply because they had the audacity to raise a weapon in defiance of their quest. His allies, Valken and Orpheus, simultaneously made short work of the remaining guards, allowing the Hypermechanical Hedonist essential seconds to prepare his irresistible hostage-taking technology.
He practically sauntered into the middle of the floor, his allies already busy with their own intricate parts of the plan. Their meticulous plotting was quite apparent; with machine-like efficiency, they went about their tasks, preparing for the resistance to arrive. The Artificial Angel had calculated a 99.95% chance that at least someone would object to their seizing of Iceland. They were accurate odds, of course, albeit having been calculated sarcastically. He expected they'd have at least twenty minutes before the radio silence became noticeable. Guards would be sent to investigate, only to find the doors locked, then report to their superiors. And finally, they would reveal themselves to the world at large.
It was the Silicon Serpent's task to take the hostages, one he was both experienced in, as well as satisfied with. As he stood in the middle of the room, his micrometer-thin computerized lenses tracking every terrified target, he moved his wrists slightly. There were 63 members of Iceland's Parliament at any given time, and with a rapid flourish of his wrists, 62 of them found a small, almost imperceptible dart-like structure upon their forehead. Some screamed, others recoiling and pulling the tiny metal pin from their faces. It had done them no outward harm, the needle itself so small that it could pierce individual cellular tissue, rather than the skin layer itself. Their purpose was to inject a single batch of the very nanomachines naturally produced by the Mechanized Marvel's spinal fluid, each one a microscopic marvel in their own right. They multiplied, swimming their way through arteries and veins, carried across the vast expanse of the human body until they reached the spinal column. There, they would sit, directly upon the cervical cord, ready to instantly sever the synapses holding these beings together. It would take less time to happen than it took an ordinary man to process a thought, Percival's artificially-enhanced brain able to relay the kill command ten times faster than one of his victims would realize they were dead. In seventeen minutes, a message would be sent out, explaining that any attempt to free a hostage or to engage their group would result in the immediate deaths of 63 beings.
He still had to administer a dosage to the last member of parliament, a woman whose terrified eyes did not match her serene beauty. He walked slowly over to her, towering over her terrified frame. Slowly, he reached out his wrist, caressing her horrified, repulsed face, running black-gloved talons across her skin. Where they touched, a single nanobot leapt from his fingers to her cheek, slipping in between her skin cells, already on its way to her brain. He withdrew his hand, winking deviously at the woman, who it seemed was about to pass out.
"Morning," he began casually, once he'd reached the middle of the room once more. His slender, machine-like frame was akin to a statue within the middle of a crowded city, still within the vast, silent parliament. "Here's how it's going to work, ladies and gentlemen. You are all our hostages. Make the slightest wrong move, and you shall die," he paused, looking around the room. "Like him," he added, almost as an afterthought, gesturing lazily with his hand to one of the members in the front row, now slumped over his desk. Blood dripped from his nose into his papers, eyes lifeless. Screams filled the atrium, halted quickly as Percival held up his hand.
"Just don't do anything stupid, and you'll be alright."
"Actually, I'm not sure if you can handle that last bit. Just...don't do anything. At all."
It was then that he began to lower the group's adrenaline levels. He knitted his brow for a moment, sending a signal to the nanomachines to stimulate their brains to produce more dihydroxyphenethylamine, or dopamine. This would serve to calm them down, as well as make them more compliant. Don't want any unnecessary casualties, after all.
He then activated the projector in the middle of the room, displaying the rogue group's objective for all to see. It detailed the terms of an immediate surrender, promising relative freedom for all of the citizens. They just wanted the land. It also detailed that any attempt to dethrone the group would be considered regicide, and would be illegal in the eyes of the UN, once they became involved. It wasn't his plan, and he didn't much care about the outcome, either; he was here because he wanted to be, a wild animal with the intellect of one of the smartest men alive. He'd accepted his basic instinct, shedding his inhibitions. He acted upon whatever impulse he had, and he was having the time of his life.
Slowly disappearing from sight, he walked over to a pillar, one of the tall structures holding up the ceiling of the vast atrium. His Nanotech Epidermis had entered stealth mode, disguising him from all means of detection. He leapt silently upon the pillar, grips spontaneously created on the bottoms of his feet. They dug into the white marble, anchoring him to the side, undetectable. Like a hawk perched over his prey, he remained there, silently hacking into the surrounding news and security feeds, monitoring activity outside the atrium and informing the group of new developments.
A small, twisted smile crept once more across his nanoskin-covered face, as melodic beats filled his ears.
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