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Hadean: The Brave

Atlas City


a part of Hadean: The Brave, by Lord Saethos.

Our City will rebuild! No matter what happens to us, we will continue to be on the front line of innovation, science, industry, and heroism! Remember March 12th, and remember that in Atlas City, we're helping build a better future for everyone!

Lord Saethos holds sovereignty over Atlas City, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

298 readers have been here.


Atlas City, home to approximately 800'000 civilians, of which an estimated 1000-5000 are supers. Some have minor powers, not able to do much more than parlor tricks, others have abilities uniquely suited to the many careers and burgeoning industries in Atlas City, and some are destined for the greatness of heroism, or the infamy of Villainy.
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Atlas City

Our City will rebuild! No matter what happens to us, we will continue to be on the front line of innovation, science, industry, and heroism! Remember March 12th, and remember that in Atlas City, we're helping build a better future for everyone!


Atlas City is a part of Hadean: The Brave.

15 Characters Here

Henry Stewart (Macroman) [6] Can't just be strong for your own sake. Not always.
Akiko Bong [5] "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Richard Mackenzie (The White Death) [2] "True heroes do what is necessary."
Klaus Zeit [0] Trapped in the past to find his future
Gideon Gauss [0] I have the will that will pave the way!
Liz Baker [0] The Alchemist
Devon Metzger [0] "I guess you could say that I'm living on borrowed time. Then let's not waste it."
Lilian Anderbilt [0] "The bottleneck effect is easily handled by off-loading secondary processes."
Maeve Butler [0] force and rage
Sasha Belov [0] The undying demon of Russia, Sasha's dark past remains a mystery to all but a select few.

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Graveford, New Mexico Area: 1878
"The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin (Cover by Ramin Djawadi)

Gentle piano music lilts throughout the quiet town of Graveford, population 278. It’s a tiny place, but the inhabitants like it well enough. Recently established at only 20 years old, the folks have tried to make an honest living.

Inside the Muerte Roja saloon, the piano continued to play gingerly, as the first few customers approached the barkeep for drinks. It was a bit early in the day, but then again it was hot outside, summer heat was bad enough to kill them.

One man, the deputy, was of particular note as a customer. “Hey Archie, you got any proper scotch in here yet? Or you still selling that watered down whiskey they brew in the stables?” He chuckled.

The barkeep chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry Deputy Mercer, not yet. Shipments have been slow as of late, keep hearing weird rumors about the ‘Phantom’. Buncha hogwash, but it’s scaring the traders away more’n more.”

The Deputy nodded appreciatively. “Well you be sure an tell me first when it does come back, y’hear?” He chuckled. “Anyways, how bout a beer for now instead? You’ve gotta have plenty of that.”

With a pleased grin, the Barkeep gave an affirmative nod. “One of the few things we do have Deputy. Let me grab that-” Before he could finish, gunshots began to erupt outside. Before the Deputy or Bartender could react, a woman could be heard screaming; “The Sherriff! He’s killed the Sherriff! Everyone, help!”

The Deputy’s gun was already out of its holster as he made his way to the doors of the saloon. Everyone? What did she mean ‘everyone’? The gunfire went from a few shots, to what sounded like a full-blown gunfight. Bandits? What could they possibly want to steal from the town, there was practically nothing of value here?

Taking cover close to the swinging doors, the Deputy managed to peak around the corner to see who all was attacking them, and as he saw, his eyes went wide in terror.

There was only one attacker. “The Phantom…”


Atlas City, North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 7:12am

A hand slammed onto a computer screen, causing one of Club Shapeless’s guards to nearly jump out of his seat. “Hey, what’s your problem! I was watching that!” He shouted at his screen-slapping coworker.

“I don’t care, you can watch your cowboy movies on your time. We’ve got work to be doing. Boss doesn’t want any slacking, and I’m not gonna get caught in the crossfire of him murdering you.” He smirked as he started to walk away.

The guard who’d been watching the movie let out a heavy sigh, turning back to face the screen, just as the Phantom was gunning down the Deputy. “Great, so now that’s spoiled for me…” he muttered as he put it on pause and went back to work.


Atlas City, Manfred Paper Services, Michelin Office Building

Peter Radovan sat quite comfortably in the leather chair of the office he’d previously been commanding his teams out of, paying no mind to the rubble that still clung to various spots of nearly the entire building. Luckily the damage was reparable, so SINS had been able to return a few days ago to get back to working. As the spy puffed away on a cigarette, another SINS agent made their way towards his office. Rather aggressively.

Hudson and Nina sat outside of his office, having been told to wait there till he was done with some business. As they watched Agent Moore storm into Peter’s office, it became clear he had been anticipating that.

“Peter,” He began, coldly. “Care to tell me why you decided to level an entire building containing Witchfinder Generals in it? The very people we hoped to interrogate for some of their connections and higher ups?”

Peter grinned. “Hey Anton, good to see you again! Well, actually not so good, you’re kind of a spoilsport if I’m being honest, real killjoy. Doesn’t really make you very popular y’know.”

Moore narrowed his eyes, before dropping a small plastic bag onto Peter’s desk. It held several .50 caliber handcannon bullet casings. “And I only got the briefest looks at the bodies, but based on the condition they seemed to be in, looks like screwdriver rounds were used. It looked like some kind of a psychopath tore them apart.” He cast a heavy glare at Peter, who continued to nonchalantly puff at his cigarette.

“They shot first, what was I supposed to do?” Peter chuckled.

“Your job.” Moore said coldly. “And speaking of which, I’m not really even sure that was your job. Hence why I’m here; because I think it’s time we start to really consider your value to SINS. Based on whatever we discuss here, that’ll predict whether or not I need to go to the Director for an internal investigation.”

Peter playfully waved his hand, as if to shoo away the words Moore was saying. “The Director of SINS? Oh that won’t be necessary Anton. If you want to know all about this that badly, I’ll send you right to the source. Go ask Doug, he can fill you in.”

Moore felt his chest clench slightly. “Doug?”

“Las MacNamara. The other Director. Of all National Intelligence for these United States of America.” Peter smirked gleefully. “Since it was him who assigned me the task, I’m sure he can answer any questions you have quite sufficiently.”

There was a moment of silence from Moore, he let out a heavy sigh, but his gaze remained steely. “Peter, you’re not invincible. Whatever you think you’ve got protecting you, I can promise you it won’t be enough. The laws, systems, and men and women we have in place in this country, exist to hold people accountable. Sometimes even the CIA. So if you’re gonna keep this stuff up, it will come back to haunt you, and not even the DNI will be able to keep you out of prison, or even Gitmo.”

That gleeful smile only intensified on Peter’s face, almost relishing in the challenge. “You don’t need to worry about that, everything we do here is for Uncle Sam. Anyways, is that all you wanted to talk about? I’ve got other business to take care of.”

Moore straightened himself up, taking the plastic bag off the desk once more. “As a matter of fact yes. There’s gonna be some changes around here. Actually, throughout all of SINS. Not sure what the new chain of command is looking like, but things are about to get a lot busier around here. I’m heading over to the West Coast today to help some new offices get set up, SINS acquired some new real estate.”

“Real estate?” Peter inquired curiously.

“We bought the U.S. Bank Tower in LA. Turns out a monster that attacks from the ocean is bad for ocean side real estate value. We got it pretty cheap. We’re also setting up ops in Palisadia, Anthem, Cascadia, and Seattle.”

Peter swept his thumb across his chin, intently considering this news. “That’s a lot of new locations to be setting up, lot more ground we’re covering. I suppose that’s to do with the whole monster attacking from the ocean.”

Moore nodded. “Probably gonna have more places going up soon too. We’re working on a few more properties here in Atlas City, and other parts of the Carolinas, as well as Florida and New York probably. Texas is another spot we’re focusing on too, as well as Alaska, but the Continuous USA is what our focus currently is.” The agent gave a slight shrug, scrunching up his face for a moment as the bitter cloud of cigarette smoke reached his nose.

“So why are you being sent to LA then? You being put in charge of the West Coast or something?” Peter spoke in a more neutral tone now.

“No, there’s others to take on that task. I’m just helping to get things organized, get everyone set up, and I have a meeting I’m being asked to attend. ‘Uncle Sam’ has decided we can’t work alone on this issue, so we’re going to have some talks with the Aussies and Japanese, or their equivalents for SINS.”

“I guess that closes some of the gaps in the Pacific, assuming we’re attacked in the Pacific, or an ocean at all.” Peter stamped out his cigarette in a vintage, black marble ashtray. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a good idea, and evidently it’s going to help strengthen our bonds of cooperation and friendship with our Pacific allies. If nothing else, it’ll make nuking the PRC or the Ruskies a lot easier.” He chuckled, a cold, unempathetic laugh.

Agent Moore’s face remained neutral, an unimpressed, unaffected demeanor. “Be all that as it may, we’re going to have a lot more work cut out for us. I’m sure you’ll be receiving your assignments from higher up soon, at least until I’m back on the East Coast.” Anton turned around and made his way to the office door. “Till then, maybe learn to act with a little more critical thinking, before you try ripping a building down.”

“One second Anton, I had one last question for you. The West Coast stuff, I’m assuming some of that is confidential. If you think I need to be investigated, why be so needlessly open?”

Moore spared a brief glance back, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Because for all your flaws Peter, you’re not stupid. I have no reason to believe you’re going to abuse this knowledge. And as far as I can tell at this point, you’re not exactly a traitor either. Dangerously patriotic perhaps. Psychotic for certain. But frankly, for all the hype, you don’t really scare me.” The agent smirked and gave a single wave of his hand as he left the office. “Till next time Agent Radovan.”

As Moore left, Peter felt himself grow giddy from the conversation. He loved a challenge, and while Moore hardly felt like much of one, the thought still excited him. Peter would have to be mindful of things moving forward, of Moore and others.

Speaking of others, there was information that made its way back to him that suggested a super team had been at the warehouse after he and his team brought it down, plus a group of villains. He still needed to be debriefed about it all, but he was starting to already come to some conclusions….

A moment later, Peter got up from his desk and went to the waiting area in front of his office, ushering to both Hudson and Nina. “Agents, if you’d be so kind as to join me again, I’d like to discuss a few things with you.”

Peter, as always, was still grinning.


The Mid-North Atlantic, off the coast of North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 8:03am

The Atlantic waters were quiet this morning, having forgotten the events of five days ago. The Ocean, unlike the land, and those on it, seemed unperturbed by anything the universe could throw at it, refusing to be beholden to man or monster, an admirable quality that Byron or Coleridge might write about.

Beneath the seas however, things weren’t quite as calm. There was an energy, and excitement, a thrill that could only be felt by humans brought together for a single cause. The Oceans, as unaware as they were of the affairs of humankind, were going to be saved. The world was going to be saved.

Bedivere was a massive submarine, with comparable size to an aircraft carrier. By no means an easy ship to hide in shallow water, but it made up for that in many state of the art advancements. An aircraft hanger that hosted several Hypersonic VTOL carriers, allowing easy transport of staff at a moment’s notice; advanced laboratories and engineering stations, comparable to something that might even be found on land; quantum computers that allow for easy communication and encryption; and even quantum radar and sonar systems.

The ship was also equipped with plenty of recreational stations and activities, allowing staff to take time away from work and to decompress. A gym, pool, food court, and much more helped to ensure morale was never in danger.

George sat down in a plush, white leather chair that overlooked the central atrium of the lower portion of the submarine. Down the middle, from the ceiling of the atrium down to the floor, and then continuing along the bottom floor of the hull, was a long strip of specially reinforced glass. This allowed for what was effectively a long window at the front, and bottom of the sub, giving everyone a good view of the ocean before and below them. Of course, a necessary safety feature was retractable metal hull that could cover the windows, ensuring hull integrity and blast protection.

The atrium was split into five levels, and George was on the fifth, giving him a view of everything in front of, and below him. He sipped at a cup of coffee he had with him, before placing it back down on a drink stand situated next to his seat. The old man was taking a moment to relax and decompress, as he had more work that would need to be dealt with today. There were already some members of the ship (new and old) that wanted to speak with him, so he’d take the brief moment he had alone to process anything important he needed to think about beforehand.

Looking around at some of the walls, he noted how clean they were now, particularly now that they were bare of any logos or insignias. Probably for the best for now, there had been debates over it, but given the security risks of late, George felt it would justify itself in short time.

He took another sip of his coffee and let out a soft sigh of relief. They were going to save the world, it was what they were made for.


Graveford, New Mexico Area: 1878

Movies are always a good bit of fun, a way to escape reality and go into a world of fantasy, or sometimes fantasized reality. It’s so common and easy to say that a story is ‘based on true events’, but it’s much harder to make that portrayal actually truthful. Especially when those telling the story are only getting half of it, the more romanticized, sometimes even sanitized, version. Sometimes the real story is much more boring or simple than Hollywood hypes it up to be.

Sometimes the story is much, much worse.

A group of Comanche horsemen sat at a distance from the small town of Graveford, watching with intensity as the sound of screams rang out, and continued to be silenced one after the other. Whether they had ever seen something like this before was something perhaps only they know, but nonetheless, what they saw in that town demanded that they decide on a strategy to keep these lands safe.

Sounds soon became sight, as they watched a lone figure stalk the town. The man, or monster, whatever he was, bent down by each of his human victims. He then tore them apart, and began to devour them, as though he were a mountain lion starved for prey. But this… This was utterly abnormal, in total defiance of everything natural in this world.

The horsemen spoke among themselves for a brief moment before coming to a conclusion. They’d stay at as far of a distance as they could from whatever that thing was, they’d warn everyone else throughout these lands to keep their distance as well, and avoid this thing at all costs. It seemed he was moving Westward, but this could change for all they knew. If he continued that way, at least that meant he’d be heading out of these lands in a few days.

The sight of that man shaped monster was horrifying, and something about his attire inspired a strange feeling. It felt like….



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The Mid-North Atlantic, off the coast of North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 7:15am

Richard stirred bleary eyed from his sleep, his alarm having gone off and gently filled his ears with the sounds of “Beyond The Sea”, by Bobby Darin. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and gave a little smirk. “That George’s idea of a joke?” Richard muttered as he swung his legs out from under the sheets. He still felt incredibly tired, as if he had to use every muscle in his body to keep his eyes open, but otherwise he felt pretty good.

Taking a moment to change into clothes more fit for sight by the rest of the crew and ‘coworkers’, Richard settled on a plain pair of black track pants and a grey t-shirt, casual athletic, or whatever they called it. He went over to the bathroom and rinsed his face off, continuing to listen to Bobby Darin’s voice as he went about his routine.

When he took a look in the mirror, something seemed a bit off. It was a little steamy for one thing, but something seemed a little off with… Him? He felt a sense of displeasure, as if he felt like he looked particularly ugly today or something. Maybe he needed to restyle his hair or something?

“Happy we’ll be beyond the sea, and never again, I’ll go sailing.” The song picked up into its instrumental portion, where the band really comes through.

Richard was abruptly tossed to the side as an explosion of steel and fire erupted from his right hand side and sent him flying towards the door of his room. He braced himself for impact, but felt nothing hit, and nothing continued to hit for a strange period of time before he finally opened his eyes.

Now, Richard was looking downwards, limbs flailing helplessly as he plummeted into a pit of fire and rock. His eyes widened, chest tensed, and breathing quickened as he watched the bottom of the pit rush up to meet him.

“No no no no no no no no no…”


"I met a traveler from an antique land, who said - 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert…'"


The Mid-North Atlantic, off the coast of North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 8:00am

With a violent lurch, Richard’s body heaved upwards in his bed so that his back was at a 90 degree angle with his legs. Eyes were still wide, breathing panicked, heavy, and deep as the fire and rock began to disappear from his vision, and quickly be replaced by the familiar sights of his room on the submarine.

At about the same time that “All The Small Things” reached Richard’s ears, the pain reached his entire torso, from back to chest. He clenched his teeth and grimaced, letting out his breaths a little more steadily and pained. After a moment of trying to let the pain pass, he managed to pull himself out of bed and over to the bathroom sink. The mirror was fine, and so was he, notwithstanding the damage from his battle with the robo-assassin.

He took a second to glance over his back again, which was a tapestry of greens, purples, blues, and other ugly colors, from his shoulders to the small of his back. There HAD been worse damage, such as some fractures within ribs and such, but between some handy supers in Atlas City, and some of George’s own specialists, they’d managed to get that much in Richard fixed up.

Of course, there was nothing even the best of them could have done if it hadn’t been flung into that building. It still sent a sense of utter dread washing over him whenever he thought about that.


"Good morning Atlas City! Ron Clark, back at it again to start you off right for the day! We’re all still reeling from the events of March 12th, but it’s important to remember, as they say, ‘All The Small Things’. We’re pulling it together Atlas City! Mayor Gauss, President Ford, and everyone else in our government and military, have got a plan! But while we wait to learn more, lets focus on some of the new and exciting stories we’re hearing about! But first, we have a return guest from the other day, Doctor Paul Carter, a Comanche author and Historian who has dedicated his life’s work to preserving the knowledge, language, and past of his peoples. Good to have you back Doctor! The interruption from the other day-"

"Was a great tragedy, yes. The people of Atlas City have been in my thoughts and prayers. Perhaps now seems a bad time to be discussing my life’s work, but I feel, as I’m sure many do, that these are particularly strange times we live in. History is an important tool of learning, but looking back on what has happened, we can try to anticipate what may yet happen, and, if crises arise, perhaps come to some kinds of solutions."

"Interesting, very interesting Doctor. And do you think that the events here in Atlas City connect with the Phantom Bandit? Perhaps even to the Wendigo sightings in the Great Lakes area?"

"I believe the proper name is more like ‘Windigo’ Ron, and also I need to clarify that some of these questions are gone over in my book. But no, after having met with Anishinaabe historians in both America and Canada, we both feel that neither the Phantom Bandit was a Windigo, nor are the killers in the Great Lakes area."

"If I may ask then Doctor, why is it that this was the conclusion you and your colleagues came to?"

"Firstly, our descriptions to our Anishinaabe friends and colleagues, as well as the descriptions given by several other historians from tribes in the affected area, did not match with the historical descriptions they have of Windigos. Furthermore, the behavior of what was witnessed, both by the Comanche peoples, and the peoples of the other affected areas, defied anything we had ever witnessed before, either by man or ‘monster’, as you might call it."

"So what kind of ‘affected areas’ are we talking about? And what was this ‘behavior’ like?"

"Well, we have historical accounts from the Great Plains, The Eastern California area, and even as far as Louisiana and Georgia. We’re still establishing a potential timeline of events, but we suspect he moved from the East, through the West, and then back again, as we don’t have any further leads beyond the late 1800’s. And as for his behavior, well let’s get some misconceptions out of the way. Firstly, he never traveled with a ‘posse’. This rumor comes from lawmen and the US Army at the time who couldn’t explain what he did as being the work of one man, despite many eyewitnesses, including settlers, who said otherwise. Secondly, there’s his brutality. Some depictions of the Phantom show him simply shooting up a town, and then burning it to the ground, and it’s only been in recent times that what was really going on has been discussed: He was eating his victims, the townsfolk, and then burning their bodies in horrifying pyres to reduce the evidence, and obscure the facts further. But the lawmen knew, those bodies still had the marks on them, charred as they were. ‘Animals’ and ‘buzzards’ is a common explanation, but the lawmen finished up the cremation process, burying ashes, trying to eliminate the remaining evidence it would seem. And even though they had an idea of what they were looking for, the Phantom kept up with the burnings. I think eventually, it just became… A fun habit of his."

"This is horrifying stuff Doctor Carter… I suppose what I’m curious about is why didn’t the lawmen and army take this more seriously? Why did they disregard the eyewitness accounts so much? Were there any allegations that the Comanche Peoples, or other Indigenous Peoples, were responsible for these acts? And I guess my final question, do you think this ‘Phantom’ was real, and something supernatural?"

"To your first question Ron, I suspect the answer lies in several things. Firstly, you recall Jack the Ripper? It was once said that he ‘couldn’t be an Englishman’, because no Englishman would do such a thing. I think that was part of the mentality of the law men. But, furthermore, I think they wanted a more scientific explanation, something sound and logical, that they could send a lot of men with guns after to kill. Plenty of stories were told of lawmen ‘killing him’, but it was likely random bandits and cowboys. The Phantom moved back Eastward in the late 1800’s, and simply never was seen again, for one reason or another. In terms of speculation on the Indigenous Peoples of this land, no, there were no serious allegations or investigations into that. The lawmen and army at least had an idea of our ways of life, and knew that the actions of The Phantom were not the actions of any of us. Plus, he had attacked our Peoples before as well, which is part of why we knew to keep our distance, and part of what tipped off the US Authorities that something else was responsible for the killings. And lastly Ron, no, I don’t think The Phantom was real. I know he was. This story was passed down as an eyewitness account, from one generation to the next. No embellishments were made, no facts altered. And as for being supernatural… All I can really say with certainty is that he was not natural. Neither spirit, nor monster, nor man seem to properly define what he was."


Richard clicked off his radio and decided to throw on his leather jacket as well as he left the room. Now was as good a time as any to go grab something to eat. As he walked down the pristine halls of the ship, he noted how sci-fi things seemed to look. It was a mixture of a clean, matte stainless steel, and crisp white paint with light blue highlights and décor. He felt somewhat at ease in it, it didn’t feel as sterile and dull as a typical science lab or office. Something with the lighting felt a little softer, more natural.

He entered the main atrium in the lower section of the ship, looking for where the mess hall would be, but ended up finding a nearby stall that was making selling breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Looked like they were using croissants for the bun? Sounded tasty enough. Richard grabbed a sandwich and coffee, and went to find a place to relax for a few minutes. He settled for just sitting on a bench on the ground level, getting a full view of the water beneath, and ahead of, the sub.

Richard’s mind drifted to the events of the other day, and how badly everything had gone. The assassin got away. There was apparently an explosion at the mansion in Sairyn’s lab, supposedly it was so bad they couldn’t even find a body. And several of their teammates had gone missing under very suspicious circumstances. It all felt just so harrowing. That was likely why George brought everyone here. To regroup and figure out a unified plan of attack.

Richard felt out of his element. He had guns and ice powers, not gravity control, or cosmic lasers, or anything like that. Sipping away at his coffee, he silently decided that even though he was clearly out of his league against things like the Beast of Decay, he still had a duty to try to protect humanity. Whatever the cost.


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Character Portrait: Henry Stewart (Macroman)
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#, as written by PirateofPie
Henry hadn't traversed the Ocean. Not in a long time, anyway. It reminded him and many others of space in a way. There were the obvious parallels of course. Dark, cold. A seemingly endless, all encompassing and intimidating vastness. But then again, the ocean was finite. Space was too in some sense, but they weren't ready for that one yet. Perhaps, in turn, the ocean was truly endless.

Through the Atrium's windows, Henry observed the ocean's depths from the safety of the reinforced glass. Perhaps unnerving to some, it brought him a large sense of comfort. A familiarity of sorts. With occasional bouts of childlike wonderment whenever something interesting swam by the ship. A trio of sharks or the occasional species of octopus he had no idea existed.

The sea was truly as impressive as he remembered. And likewise with this vessel. Henry was almost shocked at just how far from primitive it was. This was, of course, the best vessel money could buy. State of the art....for Earth, anyway. But they'll get their sooner than expected. Henry hadn't had a chance just yet to explore everything the ship had to offer, but he enjoyed what he had happened upon so far.

A waffle iron at the ready in the cafeteria. A lounge and a rec room all primed for comfort. A gymnasium and a pool. Staff was friendly, which was good. Officially he was only a "field officer" and "vehicle operator", so it'd do him well to get along with the other workers. A maintenance officer with a cute smile said she'd show him around the hangar, once either of them got the chance. The Bedivere truly had all the amenities one could offer for the world's newest independent super team.

Henry sighed and walked away from the window, rubbing his chin in contemplation. One could only hope it would be enough.


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Character Portrait: Henry Stewart (Macroman) Character Portrait: Akiko Bong
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With her back against the door, Akiko pulled her knees in, hugging them tightly to her chest. She rested her chin on them as she stared ahead of her into the darkness. She could make out the faint outlines of her bed, the covers nearly slipping off. There were no sounds other than that of her own breathing. She could feel her heart beating.

Memories of the recent incident played again in her head as a chorus of voices sung with every mistake. She was never truly alone but being alone as she could be saved her grief. It saved her from these moments where she felt drawn into the inevitability of despair.

Lifting her head up, the sound of tinkling brought her gaze down. A glass orb hung at the end of a gold chain with a tiny piece of rolled up paper within. She carefully took the orb into her hand. The glass felt cool to the touch and Akiko let out a small chuckle.

With one swift motion, she got back up on her feet and turned the lights on. She gathered the covers and threw them onto the bed before turning to look at a mirror on the wall. Looking herself over, Akiko noticed the bags under her eyes. She touched them briefly before moving on and tucking the necklace back beneath her shirt. Akiko also made sure to adjust her tie as the suit she wore needed to look presentable. She was technically a hero now after all.

Before leaving the room, her eyes glowing slightly, she noticed the umbrella leaning against the corner of the room. A smirk appeared on her face as she grabbed it. She strolled out of the room, the door swinging shut behind her.


The quiet atmosphere of the Atrium was broken by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Akiko appeared a few moments later, sliding to Henry's side with a serious look on her face. There was sweat on her brow and she was breathing heavily from running so fast. Clapping a hand on his shoulder, the other occupied by an umbrella, she stared intently at Henry with the most serious look he had seen so far from her.

"Henry," she began as she pointed at him with an umbrella. "I need your help. Now, repeat after me."

Then, with a flourish, she opened the umbrella with a flick of her wrist. She held it above their heads before chanting loudly, "Rain, rain, go away! Come again another day!"


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Character Portrait: Henry Stewart (Macroman) Character Portrait: Akiko Bong
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#, as written by PirateofPie
"Wh-what rain?!" Henry asked with a look of pain and astonishment.


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Character Portrait: Henry Stewart (Macroman) Character Portrait: Akiko Bong
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"The rain!" Akiko insisted as she waved the umbrella around to indicate the area around them. She kept a straight face, insistent in her tone. "There's water everywhere, haven't you seen? There hasn't been a dry moment since we got to this place!"


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Character Portrait: Henry Stewart (Macroman) Character Portrait: Akiko Bong
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#, as written by PirateofPie
Henry flashed her a warm smile, though his eyes looked as if they were glancing into the abyss. "Akiko..." He pointed outside. "That's the ocean."


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Character Portrait: Richard Mackenzie (The White Death) Character Portrait: Henry Stewart (Macroman) Character Portrait: Akiko Bong
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Henry was soon surprised to feel something gently tap against his skin, before the sensation of that thing slowly rolling down towards the floor of the atrium. Then there was another gentle tap. And another. Just a few, gentle sprinkles, but it was unmistakably water.

Richard walked up next to Henry and Akiko as a few more droplets of water fell on the two, and after a moment of observing the area around them, as well as the grin on the Iceman's face, it soon became apparent that the mini-rainstorm was confined to just the three of them. "Don't worry, ship's not falling apart, just a little condensation, and a bit of a prank." He chuckled to himself, but only a moment before he had to bring his arm up to grab at his shoulder, still sore from the other day, like the rest of his back.

"Anyways, sorry about that, hope I didn't freak you both out too much. How're you doing today anyways? Hanging in there?" He gave a soft, sympathetic smile to the two of them.