Snippet #2819872

Albrecht, or Albert as most people called him, was caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, his new nomer was supposed to inspire hope and courage in the people of Atlas City. On the other, he was being vehemently ridiculed for it.

"Crimson Shield? Really? Crimson Shield? I'm sorry, but what about your powers even inspires that sort of imagery? You don't defend, you don't deflect, you don't guard. Sure, you tank hits better than anyone I know but that's not a shield. More like some sort of punching bag. Maybe that can be your next name!"

Albert winced. Speaking of punches, his sister wasn't pulling hers. It was the first time he'd spoken to her since the attack on Atlas City. He'd been hesitant to reach out, as Mila tended to be very opinionated about her younger brother. Although Albert considered himself to be ambitious in the traditional sense of the word, Mila was on another level. As she did not have superpowers herself, naturally Albert would have to take her place as savior of the world.

"No one remembers Backlash, Mila," Albert weakly protested in the brief silence that followed Mila's latest proclamations. "It was spur of the moment, I know it's not..."

"Good? At all? Because it's not," Mila fumed on the other end of the phone line. "Crimson Shield... If you were wanting to rebrand, you should have consulted me. I have a lot of other names we could have gone with. You chose Backlash in the first place, remember?"

"Er, yes, but the alternative was Punchback, which was really bad," Albert reminded Mila. "But you're right, Crimson Shield has not had the greatest feedback."

It really hadn't. The media coverage of the memorial service had mostly been on the attempted assassination that had taken place, even if the details were scarce on that. The remainder seemed split between covering the mayor's speech and mocking Albert. No actual coverage of Albert's speech had been made.

"You are a laughingstock now," Mila agreed, and Albert could picture her tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears, her brow furrowing as it always did when she was solving a problem. "On the bright side, you are famous for the moment. Are you planning on cashing in on that attention?"

"That, my dear Mila," Albert nodded, smiling broadly. "That is something I would love your help with. What can you tell me about a group called the Witchfinders?"

***

"Relax, Dirge," Joseph Wright said, squinting his eyes at the large warrior who seemed to be trying to pace a hole in the apartment floor. "Why so anxious?"

Dirge only grunted, the sound muffled by his helmet, but did not slacken his pace. The other resident of the room uncrossed, then re-crossed, their legs and sighed.

"You're taking a risk Joseph," Stag said, her fingers tapping on the helmet at her side. "We're both concerned."

"Risks are meant to be taken," Joseph said lightly, although he had to admit that he too felt the pressure of the moment. His powers did not make him omnipotent. He had tried, but sadly, he could only imagine things within the scope of his own knowledge. Guessing and assumptions would only get him so far.

The situation that Joseph and his companions found themselves in was indeed somewhat stressful. Until now, Joseph had contented himself keeping his nose out of anyone's business. The beast attack had changed that. That decaying monstrosity... The way that it had appeared out of nowhere in a moment, its powers and movements, its behavior - all of it had kindled something of a fire within Joseph.

His phone rang, and Dirge finally stopped his pacing to stare as Joseph checked the number, then answered.

"Hello? ...Yes." Joseph listened in silence, wondering if Stag and Dirge had forgotten to breathe. Another few moments, and then, "Very well, thank you."

Joseph hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, before looking up to meet the gaze of his expectant friends.

"We're in," Joseph smiled, standing to his feet as Dirge and Stag shared relieved expressions. He crossed to the wall and drew a finger down the corner of the painting hanging there, his eyes tracing the lighthouse depicted there before resting on the characters in the corner: MC, the initial of the painter.

"I imagine this will be a lot of fun," Joseph said, his smile widening.

***

Sasha stepped back for a moment, and admired the painting he'd just hung in his room. He wasn't a huge fan of artwork, but this one was nice. Running a quick hand through his hair, Sasha hummed to himself as he stepped out into the hallway. His feet quickly took him to the bridge, where he raised a hand in greeting to George.

"Do you have time for that meeting I asked for this morning, sir?" Sasha asked cordially. Indeed, Sasha had requested a meeting with his new boss just the evening prior, after having turned up as mysteriously as he had vanished. How he had gotten on the submarine was anyone's guess, and not everyone had even realized he'd returned. George, for his part, had taken it in stride, although there were a few within the Brave's base of operations who retained their suspicions to the enigmatic Russian's intentions.