Snippet #2819908

Victor stood with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, hip popped to one side and the strap of his sword case hanging loosely on his shoulder. His face was impassive toward the masked figure's assertions. He was under no presumptions that this was actually the leader of Union in the flesh; no, more than likely the mask shared a visual and audio link to the actual leader, who fed lines to their face on the field.

Assuming they cared enough to oversee this meeting themself.

"Looking to review the old investments, huh?" He spoke casually, with a light air of humor in his voice. "I'd be happy to give you a little tour of our operation, though there isn't much to show at the moment."

He turned and started walking down the dock, gesturing as he spoke. A petite, dark haired woman fell into step beside him, her silver-tipped cane clicking softly against the pavement. "I'm something of a new arrival myself. Last week's disaster left something of a mess, and Francis… well, he wasn't exactly a mastermind."

"The city's in a delicate position right now, so we're taking care with our movements. Put pressure in the wrong place and it could all…." his voice trailed off, his hand dropping in a slow arc to demonstrate his point.

He stopped in front of a warehouse, looking up at its blank facade for a moment with his back to the masked figure. "Luckily, an unknown interloper has seen fit to remove the bulk of what was left from the… previous administration. Always easier to build something new on a clean foundation," Victor grinned at the Union face over his shoulder. "Don't you agree?"

---

---

Strike. Jab. Strike. Strike. Low kick. Strafe. Step in. Strike.

Red haired twins circled around each other in the gym off the third floor of the atrium, locked in a sparring match that had lasted since long before the sun had risen over the surface of the atlantic. Sheri's shirt clung to her unpleasantly, nearly transparent with sweat, her chest rising and falling with each exhausted breath. It still wasn't enough.

Jab. Jab. Low kick. Strike. Block the-

"Shit!" Sheri lost her balance and fell backward as a palm struck her chest, spared the impact of the floor only by that same hand grabbing her shirt. She sighed in exasperation, and her twin disappeared in a burst of static.

Sheri lay on the ground in the otherwise empty gym, lifting one hand up in front of her face for a moment before letting it fall again. Her whole body ached, threatening to pass into sleep if she would let it. She didn't. She would eat something, though.

She got shakily to her feet, her legs crying out for mercy before falling back into line as Sheri left the gym and made her way down to the cafeteria near the bottom of the atrium. A number of support staff milled about the atrium in the early morning, and she spotted a number of her team… the other hero… the rest of the contracted agents hanging around together off to one side. She ignored them as she stalked through, pretending she didn't look like a drowned rat with how soaked and matted her hair was.

The cafeteria's breakfast selection was… abhorrent. Sheri had never liked breakfast foods, and the discovery that starvation apparently wasn't enough to kill her had done nothing to help that. There was a selection of sliced fruit available, however, and she filled a bowl with melon cubes while trying not to consider the logistics of how this submarine would maintain its stock of fresh produce. She ate a piece of cantaloupe with her fingers as she stepped back out into the atrium, eyes scanning for a moment before settling on a spot under the staircase where she should be able to eat in peace.