“With the team, yes their goals were much more bigger and ambitious. That was because they had structure, they had a leader who could focus it’s core members with precision and discipline. The leader directed their attention more on the mission objective than their personal vendettas and inclinations.
“But now that he’s on his own, he’s more likely to fall into similar patterns. He can’t help himself. He already had poor impulse control before he was powered, he’s not going to be any better at controlling them when he’s got super speed.” Hunter’s sifting through pages at this point, going over each of the files. Not entirely focusing on Darcy at this point, which wasn’t necessarily a personal strike towards her but the work always did consume him. He was similar to Speed Demon in that regard, when in doubt– fall back into old habits.
“During his time with Squadron Sinister he’s had some formal training in combat, but seeing as how they were a relatively new metahuman outfit, I don’t imagine they were cohesive enough of a unit for any of those lessons to stick. Especially if you get him to the point of feeling cornered and potentially beaten, he’ll crack under the pressure.
"At that point he’s bound to make a mistake.
“Gather a team, some of your finest sharp shooters in your department, lure Speed Demon into a narrow space. An alleyway or a corridor in a warehouse, honestly any of the two will do, and keep the pressure on him with sniper fire from above. He’ll be so focused and frustrated on trying to avoid getting hit from atop, he won’t notice one of your men with a shotgun around the corner or somewhere nearby ready to blow one of his kneecaps to bits. At that momentum and with that amount of force, the speedster healing should take some time to reconcile with the trauma he’s experienced. I read the case file where a Jericho-possessed Deathstroke had did the same thing to Impulse, he was down for a week. When he’s then momentarily neutralized, have one of your men collar him with a meta-dampener.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat again– closing the file, “I believe that should be it.”
She’s furiously scribbling notes down as he speaks, the old notebook battered and covered with doodles. Indeed, she has to swerve the instructions to avoid a cartoon Thor cracking open one of the weird M&M commercial characters with Mjolnir, the dark purple (and unprofessional) purple ink she uses smearing across the side of her hand.
When Hunter clears his throat and her hand finally slows to a stop, Darcy chances glancing up at him through her eyelashes. Carefully, she tucks her notebook away, reaches across the table for the file, and has half a mind to look bashful.
“Thanks.
I’m sure they’ll be super thrilled with this.”
Less thrilled with the fact it came from him, and even less overjoyed that she’d had contact with him again and hadn’t immediately cut it short.
Her things gather around her like she is the center star of a solar system, ready to implode, messenger bag swung over her shoulder like a violent meteor.
“Listen, if you ever need anything…”
It’s awkward to be offering him anything, but less than it would be to just accept his help and then melt away into the crowd, like, thanks for your expertise, have a nice life, peace.
“My number’s the same it’s always been.”
