Atlas City

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….

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.

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.

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!"

"Wh-what rain?!" Henry asked with a look of pain and astonishment.

"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!"

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."

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.

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.

George glanced up to see Sasha, giving a friendly smile as he directed his hand at a seat next to him. "I certainly do Sasha. Please, take a seat." Once the hero was next to him, George's view returned to the atrium before the two of them, having now noticed three of the others, Richard, Henry, and Akiko, down below. The smile remained on his face, soft, but masking the many secrets he held onto.

"If there's anything you'd like Sasha, food or drink, we can have something brought up for you. Now, as for the business at hand, what is it you'd like to discuss?"

Henry, casually grabbed the umbrella and pulled it slightly towards him as the "rain" droplets fell. His fears that Akiko could warp reality had thankfully dissipated quickly once the culprit behind the sudden bout of indoor precipitation revealed himself. "I think we're hanging in there alright. I'm just anxious a bit. First time being a part of a super-team like this. It's exciting though. Same with you two, right?" he asked of Richard and Akiko.

Akiko's snickering died down as she nodded enthusiastically.

"First time with an official team," she clarified as she closed the umbrella. She turned to shake the few droplets of water off as her hair obscured her expression. "I've worked with other supers before."

She turned back to the two of them and with a broad grin, pointed at Henry again.

"In fact, speaking of working together, you still have a fee to pay for my services!" she said in a sing-song voice before laughing. "Just kidding. Though, it does feel nice to have a laugh so thanks for that, Richard. Are you doing okay?"

With a creak a heavy wooden door opened, and before the figure had any chance to walk through the door a voice called out to them from the beyond "Come on in and play a round or two." Devon stepped through the door into what looked like a rustic little gambling den chairs and the bar styled in a rich lacquered darkwood with a single poker table at the center made from a similar darkwood but it's top covered in a nice pristine looking layer of velvet. At the table sat a familiar figure, though as always nothing more than a shade of it's appearance, if it hadn't been for that figure and the all too familiar smell and crackle of wood burning in the background he might have been able to pass things off as a normal.

"I suppose you didn't bring me here just to play a couple hands of poker. But after all the chaos as of recently... I guess something like this might be nice." He said as he walked to the bar, grabbing a bottle of dom pérignon and poured himself a drink. If it was a dream anyways, might as well have something a little special. "Sounds like a plan. That being said, I actually don't have that much to tell this time..." The shade said as it dealt a first set of hands, the rest of the tables seats filling with similar shadowy figures as the cards were dealt to them, leaving only one seat open for Devon.

Devon sat down at his assigned seat and took a peak at his hand, a pair of 4's, a queen of hearts, a 7 of clover and a king of clover, not exactly what you'd call a winning hand, but stranger things have happened. "Let's get the main meat out of the way so we can focus of the game now shall we, since it appears we'll be here for a little while. So as you may have noticed with your escapade to the outer fringes of time, there are a lot of players in the game, lot's of different forces trying to push and pull the path forward and in the end the fate of the world as you know it."

"And your patron saint lady fate is one of them right, but I can't help but feel she doesn't have as much pull as the ones behind that chunk of jello the other day. Or am I mistaken in that?" Devon asked. " I wouldn't call them patron saints necessarily, but yes you are right. They aren't nearly as influential as many of the other contenders at play, in fact you are carrying the most powerful artifact they use to influence the world, that medallion of yours... Call." The shade said as he checked his cards and laid down a few chips.

"And that's where the problem comes in, your power has granted that medallion the ability to resist influences from beyond the 'Veil' so to speak. Honestly it's quite the pain for my mistress and a bit of a double edged sword, with you being unable to get any benefits at all, but still leaving you somewhat open to more powerful influences. At least your power has a lot of potential. Anyways what's most important for you is that currently my mistress is trying to find a more direct way to contact you, and in the meantime you might want to try and find other benevolent entities for assistance... So with that out of the way, let's see how long this dreamscape holds now shall we?" The shade finished his monologue after which a short poker game continued with some idle chatter between the participants before the scene faded away.

---

As if the scene before had just happened a few seconds ago Devon found himself awake in his bed mulling the words the shade had spoken to him, not that at the current moment he would even be able to do anything wit them seeing as he was somewhat stuck on a submarine, but still how would one seek out what could be considered something of a deity... Praying? And who'd he pray to?

Finding himself getting frustrated at the prospect of what basically amounted to a wild goose chase, he got up and went for the one thing he knew could help him clear his mind... Or at least brighten his mood, a good cup of coffee.

After grabbing himself a hot steaming coffee he walked into the atrium where he couldn't help but notice the three that had gathered there. Catching what seemed to be a bit of a tail end of the conversations topic he added; "Gives you the feeling you're part of something greater than you could have achieved yourself, doesn't it? I suppose that's at least partially thanks to George's management skills, then again I think it also helps that we've been running into each other for the last week or so, seemingly whenever there were things to go sideways." He said with the last bit filled with a decent amount of jest.

Atlas City, North Carolina: March 16th, 2045, 7:12pm
“Mooooom.” Ava had gotten halfway through her drawing before running out of carrots, and she was still hungry. “Moooom?” She looked around the kitchen, but her mother didn’t seem to be close enough to hear her. The instantpot was still on. “Mom, the roast is going to get soggy again!” Rolling her eyes, Ava got up and turned the pot off, “Dinner is ready!”

She looked at the clock on the wall, it was going to be her bedtime soon. “Meow.” Picking up her notebook and coloured pencils, Ava cleared the dinner table and set two spots at the table while singing quietly to herself, “Soft little kitty cat. Table settin’ kitty cat ~” Dragging a chair over to the counter, she climbed up to the cabinet that held their drinking glasses and grabbed two. She climbed back down, moved the chair back, and filled both cups with water before placing them both on the table. Taking a moment to admire her hard work, Ava put both hands on her hips and beamed a proud smile.

With a skip in her step, Ava flounced to the garage, opening the door and peering in. French Rap started up the moment she opened the door. Her mother had recently started listening to French Rap, and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Only her mom’s feet were poking out from under the car. “Mom, dinner is ready. You almost ruined the roast again."

Rolling herself out from under the car, Lilian smiled up at her daughter, “Pause the music.” The speakers in the garage went quiet. “I’m sorry sweetie I was just working on the car again.” Her voice was as soft and gentle as it always was when Ava seemed upset.

“You’re always working on the car lately.”

Lilian frowned at her daughter, “I know honey, but I’m almost done. To make it up to you, we can do whatever you want this weekend, okay?”

Ava’s eyes lit up, “Okay!”

“Go wash up, and I’ll be right in so we can eat!”

Without answering Ava bounded back inside, headed to the washroom while singing a new song, “Scrub a dub… Dub!”

After finishing one last adjustment, Lilian took off her safety goggles and took a quick look at the car. “Feel better?” If one was able to hear very high frequencies and knew what they meant, one may have heard the car reply. With a smirk, she went inside to clean up and have dinner with her daughter.

---

Atlas City, North Carolina: March 16th, 2045, 7:31pm
By the time she had managed to get all the grease off, it was getting dangerously close to Ava’s bedtime, and there wouldn’t be time for any stories soon. Knowing that she hurriedly grabbed their plates and opened the instantpot, picking out the pieces of the roast and vegetables that looked salvageable. Furrowing her eyebrows, Lilian started to complain, “You were supposed to turn off an hour ago. What do you mean you got distracted? I will go back to using a crockpot.” She prepared their plates and set them on the table before sitting down.

Ava smiled, thinking it was incredibly silly that her genius mom suddenly couldn’t work the timer, even though the instantpot was her favorite way to cook. “I can just do it next time Mom.”

“Oh no. Instant knows what it’s done. He will behave or get out from under my roof.” Lilian cast the machine in question a dubious glance. She speared one of the potatoes with her fork and popped it into her mouth, “So how was school today?”

“It was good, but Maria was being really annoying.” Ava’s face looked extremely matter-of-fact as she started eating.

“You shouldn’t call your classmates annoying.”

The warm smile on her mother’s face assured her that the chiding wasn’t genuine. “I was going to tell her she wasn’t allowed to be a princess, because princesses can’t be annoying. But that would have been mean and princesses can’t be mean either.”

Lilian rolled her eyes, “Iveta Vejone is an annoying princess.” She held back the need to say some choice things about the Soviet nobles and grabbed the glass of water closest to her.

Ava thought about the new information her mom had presented. She stared at her mother, who had started to drink from her cup. “So she’s a bitch?” Ava squealed with excitement as Lilian snorted, laughed, coughed, choked, and spat out her water.

---

Moscow, USSR: March 17th, 2045, 1:01am
The cartoon about a squirrel who couldn’t remember where he had hidden his vodka suddenly cut out and the television flared to life with the image of a man in a crisp grey suit. He sat at a large mahogany desk with a somber look on his face. The look made Ivan frown, he could tell the man wasn’t about to tell him anything good. The man on the screen let out a long sigh and started to speak.

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news. Four hours ago seven unarmed drones were stolen from the Estonian NATO base. These drones are equipped with two air-to-surface missiles and should be assumed as active. We are unaware of exactly how each aircraft was stolen, but the modus operandi is consistent with the work of the Bodhisattva. Three of the drones have used their payload, on two separate targets, before flying directly into a third target. So far all of the targets have been within a 740 kilometer radius of the base.

We are asking all citizens to take cover until the last of the drones is accounted for. These are dark times, but we must stay strong comrades. Do not let this fearmongering control you! We can and must get through this fo-”

The man suddenly stopped talking, Ivan’s heart climbed into his throat while he waited for the man to finish his thought. Ivan’s television was pretty old, but even with its crappy resolution, he could tell the man’s face was slowly turning white.

The newscaster cleared his throat, “Bozhe moi. The fourth drone has just been sighted. It is at the end of its target range. Its flight path indicates it is headed for our transmitting station. We are evacuating the building now, but we will stay with you on the air for as long-” Ivan’s television cut out.

Sasha smiled back calmly. "I seem to have missed some drama while I was gone," he said. "My apologies. I was chasing down a lead of my own. It seems that this drug the Witchfinders were using has its origins elsewhere, somewhere out of country. I haven't been able to track down the leads just yet, but I know that a variation of the drug was in use in Russia. My contacts in Atlas City suggest that traffic into the United States is centered mainly on the west coast. Atlas City's distribution was a new foothold. I've... shut that down among my contacts, but it's a temporary fix."

Sasha shrugged. "It's your call but this might be a good place for our group to start. If we're going to be fighting otherworldly entities, we're going to need some practice working together." Sasha let his words trail off, the unspoken question as to what George thought of this news hanging in the air.

The song Happy Together begins to play as two young adults come into view. At first it appears that they are dancing in the halls of a great, modern penthouse. Yet as they stumble closer it becomes clear that the man has his hands around the woman's throat, and the woman is punching his chest hard, her face red and straining from not being able to breathe. She is beautiful when her skin isn’t bloodied and bruised. Blonde hairs that usually fall in a straight line to her shoulders are sticking up in all directions as she struggles against the grasp of the man. The man is beautiful too, his eyes a deep golden brown, his topless body shaped like a Michelangelo sculpture, but it is ruined by jagged pieces of glass jutting out of it. He wears an ugly, angry look of disgust. Spittle flights from his lips as he throws the woman against a wall and attempts to disengage. But she is there almost immediately, jumping onto his back and scratching at him violently. They both make terrible screeching noises over the music. This is how they dance.

The two lovely figures stumble toward the balcony of their apartment. In the distance Atlas City shines brightly, unmarred by any horrible infestation. The man manages to rip the woman's arms from his shoulders and throw her off his back. She stands and stares at him, golden eyes wild in the afternoon sun, her breath heavy as they both poise in a defensive position, waiting for the other to lunge first. Blood pours from wounds on their bodies. Bruises bloom in ugly colours of yellow, green and purple on their perfect skin. Both of them let the wind cool the sweat against their half naked bodies. Then, with one swift movement the man leaps forward and grabs her by the neck once more, pushing them both off the balcony of their apartment. As they fall midair, the woman finally breaks her resolve and lets out a shriek of despair. Her eyes are bloodshot with fear. He simply looks down at her and grins, and they fall all the way down to the bottom of the city.

The wind seems to slow when they reach the pavement. Several people walking past stare at the two in disbelief as they touch down gently. Of course, he has the power of flight, yet for a moment the woman almost believed that he was going to let her fall to her death. Her knees are shaking and she pushes herself off him and vomits. Vaguely she can hear him speaking to the crowd that has gathered. “Nothing to see here,” he laughs in that stupid, charming way, “She just got a little drunk is all.” She spots a weed in the crack of the pavement and is tempted to rip it out and turn it into a baseball bat. Yet, bashing her husband’s head in front of the public seems like a bad idea. It is game over for today. He has won.

Her eyes suddenly look up and she notices a person trapped beneath acidic goop, staring at her with their mouth agape. Skin melts off an unrecognizable face. The person reaches out, letting out a horrible cry.

“Beyond the sea...”

***

Liz Baker lets out a gasp as she wakes. Her skin has broken out into a cold sweat. The music playing contrasts with her dream in a dramatic, almost comedic way. With a hurried motion the woman throws her covers off and swings her legs off the side of the bed. Briefly she massages the bridge of her nose as reality sets in.

***

Mr. Schmidt, the janitor employed on George’s submarine, glares up from mopping the floor as he is almost pushed over by the Alchemist who is stalking toward the main atrium, wearing only a light blue bathrobe and, strangely, sunglasses. She barely acknowledges the other supers who have gathered as her presence sweeps toward the only thing that matters in this early hour of the morning; coffee.

Once Liz has the steaming hot mug of comfort she sits and sips, quietly eavesdropping on them but never once speaking. Only silently judging.

Richard smiled a little awkwardly and gave a slight shrug to Henry. "I think that depends on how you define a 'team' and 'official'. I did some work in Africa and the Middle East, some was official, some was 'official'." He used air quotes several times as he described his past work. "Anyways, I guess this is actually my first time with an official hero team. If ah... We're official?"

Akiko's laid back, cheerful dialogue was disarming, made her seem like she was either the least threatening, or most trustworthy, of all the heroes on the sub. Of course, at this point, he really had few to no reasons to distrust any of the others. They were all in the same boat after all. Err... Sub.

He chuckled a little forcefully at Akiko's question, anticipating some half-truths he'd end up using. "Uhh, yeah I'm doing alright, all things considered. Back's still a bit sore, but the doctors managed to deal with any serious damage, and y'know, still alive and kicking, so that's pretty good." Before he could say anything else awkwardly, Devon's voice entered into the conversation, causing Richard to turn to him and give him a slight nod in greeting.

"I mean, maybe some of the others could do alright on their own, but I'm definitely much more confident with this being a team." Richard grinned in a similarly jesting way. "And speaking of all that 'running into each other', sounds familiar to what Sasha was talking about. Destiny and fate and all that. I'm partial to agreeing with him honestly, cause I sure didn't come to Atlas City to fight horror movie monsters."

Out of the corner of his eye, Richard noticed Liz Baker enter the atrium, dressed rather scandalously, or at least as scandalously as walking into your workplace in your sleepwear would be. She didn't interact with them, but he caught that look in her eyes. Reminded him of some of the words they'd exchanged after the attack on the beach. A part of him felt a little badly, another part felt like she had a few too many opinions for someone who hadn't gotten down in the muck and grime of the world like Richard had had to.



George took what Sasha said into consideration for a moment, quietly contemplating the hero's words while he quietly sipped at his coffee, a wry, knowing smile on his face. "Yes, the incident at Atomic Anne's, as well as the collapsed warehouse... It seems we're being drawn into becoming more involved in this issue, doesn't it?" He turned to face Sasha face to face, that same knowing smile on his face. "As it so happens, there's something of a... Developing situation I have been made aware of in the USSR. I'm waiting to learn more, so there currently isn't a reason for us to become more involved, but I expect that will change. There are several other leads we're looking into as well, but perhaps you're right about following these Witchfinder leads."

He looked down to the Atrium floor, observing the several heroes that milled around down there now, catching up on the events of the last week no doubt.

"I've been trying to decide how best to proceed with our investigations, now that you're all gathered here. What's your assessment Sasha? Should we leave it to a vote, or start tracking down this drug first and foremost?" His tone was level, neutral. George was sincerely looking for input from one of the heroes, as he would seek it from the others. For them to work together in the best ways possible, they'd need to trust each other, and him.



Atlas City, North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 1:20am

Victor Elizabeth Galloway stood in the cool night air of Atlas City, made even cooler by the soft breeze that came off the ocean. He stood with several of his most trusted Witchfinder lieutenants at the warehouse-docks area along the coast, and across from them stood several other individuals in black suits, and black balaclavas, helmets, or other forms of head gear. Some of the individuals across from Victor stood out in particular, due to their incredible height, and deformed features. Others like Balthazar.

After a few uncomfortable moments of waiting, the sound of a car pulling up could be heard, and a black car with red neon under glow, and strangely red glowing windows, approached. It stopped about ten or fifteen feet across from Victor, and sat there quietly for a few moments, no one moving.

The door opened, and a figure from within stepped out. His suit and long coat were all black, contrasted by the bone white mask he wore. And on that mask was painted an eerie, uncomfortable grinning face of a comedy mask from theatrical performances. The eyes and mouth were filled in with a jet black color, and it was impossible to make out any natural human features beyond the mask.

The figure took a few steps towards the Witchfinder Generals, stopping about halfway between the car and Victor himself. "Victor..." The voice came out distorted from some kind of voice masking tool, making it tough to tell if the speaker was male or female, though the body shape implied the former. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you in person."

He looked to the men and black who stood behind him, all standing at attention and ready to respond to the slightest twitch the masked man might give. "As you may have been aware, The Union has been under new management for a little while now." He paused for a brief moment.

"I am that new management."

"A vote?" Sasha's lips twitched into another smile. "A very American concept. By all means, put it to a vote. Although in the end, I suspect it will matter little." Although Sasha said this cordially enough, he apparently couldn't help a trace of bitterness from entering his voice. He cleared his throat. "By the way sir, I have to thank you for allowing me this meeting in the first place. Not many would trust a former USSR asset such as myself so readily, if that's the right way to put it."

Sasha rose from his chair, half-bowing to the Brave's founder. "I look forward to repaying that trust." He paused. "Ah, and one more thing..."

***

Sasha exited George's office a few moments later, transforming into a Henry lookalike as he descended the stairs and headed for the atrium. Time for some fun.

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.

"I can't say I did either," Henry agreed with Richard after nodding to Devon in greeting. He looked contemplative for a moment, before continuing. "...or maybe I did. Either way, it does feel good to be part of something bigger," he stated, glancing up as the Alchemist passed by wordlessly to get herself some breakfast, he assumed. Among the rest of them, she was probably the hero with the most professional experience. While that would prove an invaluable asset, it seemed that she wasn't always the most sociable. It made Henry wonder what led Liz to retire in the first place. "Here's hoping we got the whole team unity thing down. Won't matter how powerful we all are together if we can't all get on the same page." He scratched his chin.

"You know...if we all end up gathering in here for breakfast, it might be as good a chance as any for us to have talk," he suggested. An amused look flashed across his face. "I know the sub's big enough for us to avoid each other before the mission starts...but that doesn't mean we should!" he shouted loud enough to echo across the atrium.

"I could not have said it better myself, which it seems, I did!" came the bombastic reply from the other side of the Atrium as the deepfake Henry stepped into full view, his clothes matching the true Henry's outfit detail for detail. In fact, as the fake Henry (hereafter referred to as Fenry for narration's sake) crossed the room, it became clear that it was impossible to tell the difference between the twins, other than their mannerisms.

"Those who feast together, usually end up fighting for the toilet later!" Fenry claimed, striking a heroic pose. "But also conversations can be struck up! Camaraderie can be built! Bonds can be forged!" Fenry pointed a finger up to the sky. "Only the bravest can face the battlefield that is the breakfast table!"

"..."

Henry was silent for a moment at the sudden lookalike's intrusion. He calmly walked over towards the beverages placed onto the sub and poured himself a glass of orange juice before sitting back down and taking a sip. "...so, anyway, like I said. Team building's pretty important for a whole buncha reasons. Knowing when to detect any imposters for starters..." he said, lifting his juice-free hand to reveal something else he stealthily swiped from the breakfast table.

A platter of chocolate muffins. With precision not dissimilar to that of an expert marksman, he began to pelt the muffins at 'Fenry's' head.

"O-ho!" Fenry exclaimed, spinning in place and in a swirl of clothing, transforming himself into Richard 2.0. "You would lure the White Death into battle?" Richard 2.0's hands snatched a chocolate muffin from the air, and shoved it into his mouth.

"Fen fie musft fue fis baffle shfusish!" Richard 2.0 said, chocolate crumbs spraying out of his mouth as he tried to chew and fend off the remaining muffins simultaneously. "On fard!"

Racing to another end of the table, Richard 2.0 grabbed some pancakes and began hurling them like frisbees back at Henry.

Pancakes instead of waffles. That's blasphemy. Henry grabbed Akiko's umbrella and used it as a shield against the inferior pastries. "This reminds me...we got a training room in this thing, right? We should use that to our advantage too at some point," he mentioned casually against the volley of pancake projectiles.

Akiko's eyes sparkled at the scene. Running off to the breakfast buffet, she grabbed a tray and a plate full of scrambled eggs. As she turned around to judge the best vantage point, disappearing as she did, she snuck a glance over at The Alchemist. There was a giddiness inside of her at being so close to an infamous hero, even if the said hero seemed to want nothing to do with them.

Invisible, she made her way off the ground towards a nearby wall. Pushing herself off the wall and lowering herself at a rapid speed at an incline, tray held underneath her feet with one hand, she became visible as she threw the scrambled eggs at Henry and Richard 2.0's faces with the other, all the while shouting:

"EEEEEGGGGGGGGGSTRRRRREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM."