Ezekiel "Zeke" Walker's Story

He had been dragged back away from the boardwalk, Jericho doing their best to move Alex's quarter ton body as more of the supers attempted to fall back. Alex's own armor flickered again but the defenses he had erected held. There still needed to be cover for everyone and his fields showed no sign of deteriorating from being in contact with the beasts offspring or death mist. While the protection was helpful, it didn't do much to make Alex feel like he was helping deal with the threat. The fact that the beast was somehow still alive was infuriating. If all of that damage barely slowed the thing down then what would? The beast took enough power to level a mountain and refused to die. Could he contain something like that now that it was diminished? Wouldn't be a good idea to find out if it was a capable brute by breaking through barriers.

Alex snapped into action when the veins began erupting around the boardwalk. the walls at the edge of the boardwalk and ceiling all dissipated at once. With a frustrated grunt followed by a hiss of pain caused by another headache spike, Alex quickly formed new fortifications. Practically making bunkers at this point that were protected even from bellow. the image of Jericho being scared in enclosed spaces kept Alex from boxing all the supers in on reflex, opting to instead leave openings heading away from the beach if others chose to flee. Many continued to try attacking the beast after regaining their barrings, their attacks phasing through the barriers as they had before, others that could went to try and deal with the veins. He had to stay focused and watch, be ready to change his defenses at a moments notice.

Moments later the artillery finally dropped. Alex really wished he had his helmet as he turned away on reflex as the shells went off. Taking a grenade to the face in the past had been worse then the sound that reached his ears from the bombardment, heck there wasn't even any ringing. But that wasn't enough it seems cause when he turned to look back towards the beast there was now the biggest cannon Alex had ever seen with its guns all pointed at the nasty thing.

Everyone seemed to cover their ears on instinct just before it had the chance to fire, Jericho had the luxury oh just shifting to have no ears. Lucky.

His eyes snapped open and blinked rapidly. huh, when had he shut them? Alex could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears right now. He didn't know when he had dropped to his knees either. A glance around showed that most of the other hero's and villain's present were in their won various stages of being disoriented. God that thing was way too loud. Had that done it? Was the beast dead?

No. Of course not. It just decided to take the cannon that had been used to blast away two thirds of its visible mass and fuse it to the top of what remand of its body. The thing had a gun now, because of course it did! Alex balled his fists and shook a little from the anger he was feeling now. If there was a sense of hopelessness hanging in the air, he wasn't feeling it. all of these supers and nearly given everything they had, some even their lives, and it wasn't enough. The anger finally got to him and he couldn't help but bellow out with all the hate and venom he had. "WHAT THE HELL IS IT GOING TO TAKE TO KILL THIS GOD DAMN PILE OF ROT AND MOLD!?!" Even now, His barriers remand up as some of the lesser known supers began to loose hope against this seemingly worsening impossible situation. Others though continued to fight.

Alex glared up at the beast, wishing nothing more but to destroy the abomination himself at this point. The question was how?

The Beast was down, finally, despite the American military’s… flaccid endeavor. Maeve had no doubt this wouldn’t be the end of it; it had managed to stitch itself back together plenty of times already, and she had the sinking sensation that this wasn’t even its true body, just another puppet like the little ones. A man in black combat armor was attempting to freeze the corrosive tide before it could flood the docks, and as much as she wanted to see how far this fight could really go, she knew when to call it quits; she was still drained from her transformation, and the firearms the Shape’s men were using wouldn’t do shite against that thing if it got back up. Better to make a tactical retreat for now and reassess.

”Begging your pardon,” Maeve grunted, hauling Maxwell up onto her back before grabbing two of his men, holding one under each arm. She tilted her chin at the other goons to scatter, stopping mid-gesture when she spotted someone familiar down the boardwalk. Another of the Shape’s hired guns, this one with actual powers. Pyre, his name was, maybe? She clicked her tongue and tossed one of the men under her arms to his companions, who nearly stumbled back into the sludge under the impact of his weight.

Maeve crossed half the length of the boardwalk in a single stride, moving quickly to her new companion and getting his attention with a hand on his shoulder. ”Time to get a move on.”

She lifted him over her shoulder next to the Shape before instructing the three of her passengers to clench their teeth, then launched herself into the air like a rocket, soaring over the crumbling shops of the boardwalk before coming down some two or three blocks away. Maeve set Pyre and the Shape down gently enough, and dropped the henchman like a sack before leaping back over to the beach to continue ferrying the rest of the Shapeless gang away from the area.

It all happened so fast, one after another. The military’s interference. The beast’s appropriation of their weapon. And that red comet, pulverising the creature in one fell swoop. Pyromancer watched this all from the boardwalk, his ears ringing in a world overloaded with sound. He looked up, seeing a vague, humanoid form amidst the walls of rising water.

Pyromancer was frozen in place. Water, all over the horizon, rising to blot out the skies. He had seen so many wild sights since he’d arrived in this bizarre city. But amidst the citadels of steel, the supers who lived and fought in it, and even the horrifying abominations of today… nothing had stirred something so visceral within him as the waters which flowed so abundantly by the borders.

Water. Such a sacred thing. Taken for granted by the inhabitants of these first world countries. Easily acquired, wasted without care. He never forgot the days when he went for those long marches. He hadn’t had his powers then. How his throat burned, how his head screamed at him, begged him, for the slightest drop. He remembered begging, out loud. To the man walking ahead of the children. And he remembered the rifle butt, swung across his head. White filled his vision. Pain seared across his face. Hot pain and cold, fresh blood.

Fresh.

Cold.

Like water…

There was so much of it. It scared him.

”Time to get a move on.”

A woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts. European. Scottish? No. Irish.

Her shadow fell over him, darker than even the tidal wave.

In the blink of an eye, he was high in the sky - higher than humanly possible. Or safe. He clung tight to Maeve with both hands, his fabric suit shaking against the wind.

Thud.

And before he finished thinking, they were back on the ground. Back and safe. He turned towards the towering woman and nodded his thanks. ”Serpent. Owe you one.” Pyromancer relaxed his hands, and his embers faded immediately. ”Treat you to lunch later.” He turned towards the Shape, whose emotions were masked by the cosmos swirling upon his mask. ”Total shitshow. Heroes got here too fast. Barely anyone left to save.” He clenched his fists, and his emotionless tone lowered into a growl. ”Still so many dead. Excessive. Unnecessary…”

Pyromancer glanced over his shoulder, towards Maeve’s departing form,and beyond that, the decay and ruin pasted over the horizon. ”Anyway. Dregs everywhere. Plenty for the Doc’s research.”

"Ah, I saw some cool heroes too!" Shinigami chimed in as she followed behind them. "There was this girl with white hair who I saw carrying two people away from the battle. Speed and strength is also essential in times of crisis after all. That fire user too, who helped with our glass, and that hero who also made the glass! I think they'd be great to work with like we did earlier."

March 12th, 2045, 10:03am: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

Day 2

The sound of ringing began to slowly fade, finding itself replaced by the soft, lapping sound of water caressing the shores. Richard opened his eyes slowly, taking note of the fact he was face down on sand. He slowly picked himself up, taking a look around him to see what had happened. The Beast was gone, or at least nearly so. Only a few scraps of its rotten flesh, the dark colored, fleshy veins, and patches of mold remained. Out at sea, blue walls of light began to fade, as water receded back, settling down from a great disruption. His whole body vibrated, his shoulders felt tingly, his stomach emptied and hollowed. Richard was alive, but felt as though he'd just been passed over by the specter of Hell.


He heard coughing from next to him, and turned in time to see the man in tweed sitting on the sands, knees tucked in to his chest, arms wrapped around them. His legs were both bleached white bones, all the flesh gone, and the decay even starting to eat away at his skeleton. Richard felt sick to his stomach seeing this, had to hold back the begging instinct to cry. "You're... Alive. What... What happens next?" Richard asked shakily.


The man's breaths were heavy, pained, and becoming much fewer. “For you? Well I hope you'll take my advice. Tell everyone what I told you, whoever can help you face this crisis. I tell you know, whatever it is we faced here today, all things in existence... They're all in danger. To fight this menace, what lurks in the dark... It will take every ounce of effort the universe has to fight back.” The man in tweed coughed more, hacking up yet more blood as he slowly released his arms, starting to lay back in the sand, face towards the sky.


"And you?" Richard asked anxiously.


The man sighed and nodded. “I already told you. I'm going to die. Right here. Please don't close my eyes, I don't want to see any more darkness. I want some kind of sky to be the last thing my sight tastes before the next life takes me.”


Richard stood motionless a moment, simply watching the man in Tweed lay there. A few minutes passed, some pained, forced breaths. Finally, the last breath was exhaled, the chest stopped moving, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. Richard was about to leave, but a noise and motion behind him alerted him. He turned around and looked on as terror filled him once more.


The Beast's remains were moving once again. A small pile of rotten, fetid flesh with a few veins and tentacles writhing about it. That strange, dark, unnatural mass that tried to pass for its eyes, stared at Richard with intensity. He could feel something wrong with it, so wrong that nothing on Earth could compare to it. It sat there, watching.


"I think we're alone now......" The sound was faint and crackly as it emanated from the Beast.


"This is Doctor Heather Wright again. I don't know what this thing is but... The horrors... The horrors are unimaginable... I don't know what we're going to do..." These words of the strange woman also emanated, softly, faintly, before all sound from the Beast dissipated.


Blink. Blink. Blink. The eyes of the Beast, that strange dark aura, had vanished. Richard couldn't tell if it had been steadily disappearing over time, or if it was an instant thing, but it was gone now, without a single trace. The body of the Beast fell limp, all life, movement, energy completely gone from it, even the Offspring were all either dead, or fell to the ground lifelessly. Whatever had been left of the Beast was gone.





As The Shape touched down gently on solid ground again, he turned to Maeve, giving a firm nod of approval. "Thank you Maeve. You're proving to be more effective by the second. I approve of that." She had left to continue ferrying his men and women to safety, Pyro's words drew Maxwell's attention to the fire wielder, who had proven to be quite useful as well, if a bit unconventional.


"I expect the monster had a different opinion from you. Many died who didn't have to, true, but many more have been saved. Of course, we're trying to speculate on the motives of a 300 foot tall swamp thing, so it's hard to totally empathize." He chuckled slightly, crossing his arms as he gazed out to the waters of the Atlantic, beginning to steady themselves once more, but still polluted with the mess of viscera that had entered them.


"But yes, Kiran will have lots of materials to work with it seems, we'll need to act fast though before the military-" Maxwell's words were cut off. He heard something in the distance approaching. Fast. It was coming from behind them, from somewhere further inland. As The Shape turned to look at what was going on, he finally caught a glimpse.


Seven jet black, VTOL helicopters, though it appeared where the rotor blades would have been, they had opted instead for jets. The military had sent in back up. No... No that didn't make sense. In the distance one could see small plumes of smoke and the faint orange glow of fire. The helicopters passed overhead, coming down to hover over the beach.


Over the Corpse of the Beast.





As the helicopters hovered over the beach, a group of twenty soldiers clad entirely in black descended by rappelling. Before anyone on or near the beach could react, a flurry of rockets were sent sailing from the helicopters, directly at the canon base where the military had been scrambling about. Explosions erupted and tore through the unprepared men and women. Dozens were killed, others (the lucky ones) sent flying back.


While that onslaught ensued, the soldiers on the ground quickly went about securing a small area around the remains of the beast. The majority of them took up places in a semi-circle, guarding from any attacks on foot from the city, while the others quickly filled jars, test tubes, and syringes with whatever they could find and take from the Beast. It even appeared they managed to find a few samples of the black ichor that had rained down from the dragon earlier.





Richard dropped to the ground when the new arrivals showed up. He was afraid the military might get more involved, start arresting illegal supers perhaps, but clearly these people weren't here on the behalf of Uncle Sam. In fact, he doubted they were here on the behalf of any nation. There gear was completely clear of any distinct features, save for one.


On their shoulders, where typically a flag patch would be located, was a simple black rectangle. Stitched onto it was a simple, distinct, white outline of a square.


The fear of Hell and Death flooded through Richard again, but he dared not move. He wanted so desperately to do something, but what could he do? They had more ability to kill than he did, or potentially anyone else on the beach. A few supers bravely tried to approach the gun men, to put a stop to them, but they were responded to with gunfire and strange electrical beams. The heroes who weren't stopped by the bullets were stopped by those beams, their powers seeming to 'flicker' and stop working properly. The bullets worked much better after that.


What was the Square all about? Was this some kind of terrorist group? Some evil super organization? What was going on, and how did they manage to scramble here so fast? All questsions Richard wasn't getting an answer to. The soldiers finished up, tying their samples up to ropes that quickly disappeared into the helicopters above, followed by the soldiers, going only a few at a time. As each of them disappeared into their respective VTOL's, the remaining ones ensured that the area remained secure and that no other threats tried to take them out.


Of course no one else did. The whole affair had started and ended in the span of ten minutes or less. And when the last soldier disappeared into the door's of their VTOL, all seven dispersed and sped away from the scene on the beach, heading back inland, from where they came from, disappearing into the distance somewhere over American soil.





March 12th, 2045, 10:13am: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA


A mug was heard shattering in the evacuation tent the Colonel had taken to using, pieces scattered across the tabletop he'd smashed it against. He was practically screaming into a radio mic. "Why did the airforce not shoot those things down! Where were our jets! How did this not get detected!"


The voice from the other end of the line came through more meekly than the Colonel's. "Sir, we DID scramble the jets. We just barely got them up in time after eye witnesses reported it to the base. They didn't show up on radar! But even still, we sent five jets after them, and every single one was shot down! Five pilots gave their lives and died to who knows who! We're completely in the dark here!"


The Colonel snarled in absolute, vile contempt. "Apparently every other American alive today is too!" He shouted slamming the mic back into place on a radio. He collapsed into a chair, pressing his fingers to his temples and forehead, pressing hard as he attempted to rub some kind of sense into his own mind. Finally, he turned to look at Sairyn, whom had taken to busying himself with Sairyn things.


"Pendrake," the colonel said with a calmness utterly opposite to his behavior moments before. "Since this has been such a fabulous mess, we may as well head out now. Other brass are going to be coming in to handle this very quickly. You ready to come with me for that talk?" He finished in an entirely neutral tone.





With the VTOL's now gone, Richard unsteadily, for the second time in such a short amount of it, stood back up from the sand. His body was filled with even more vibration as he attempted to cope with everything. The Beast. The man in tweed. The VTOL assault. All the explosions, death, and carnage. He'd compare it to a war, but this seemed like something entirely different, entirely alien to him.


With a slight sway of unbalance, Richard slowly walked his way back up the beach, taking a moment to cast a long gaze at the man in tweed, resting peacefully on the sands, eyes still cast up at the sky. Richard felt the sprinkling of rain pattering down on him, finally taking notice of it. It had a somewhat calming effect, as much as was possible given the circumstances. He continued his walk back towards the boardwalk.


It wasn't long before he noticed the familiar figures he'd come to know since yesterday, and a new one it seemed as well? "Crazy day, huh?" He muttered to them as he kept walking just past and behind the group, to where his SUV sat, tailgate still down. Richard sat down on the gate, pulled his mask off, and sank his head into his hands.


At this rate, he'd lost the sensation to be worried about people seeing his face.

If Maeve were capable of producing a genuine smile in that moment, she would. It was... nice, seeing someone experience that kind of joy and relief. Maeve eyed Cannonade over Vicki's shoulder for a moment, and for the briefest of instants their eyes may have met across the field camp, medics and soldiers and displaced civilians passing between them. And then Maeve turned, and she left, her errand done.

She regrouped with the Shape and his gang a few minutes later. She did a quick mental tally of those gathered - seven, eight, nine - all twelve other than herself, present and accounted for. "Sorry for the wait," she said to the leader in the mirrored helmet. "Ran into your bonny pal, who was with ye at the fight? I see why ye like her. Bhean's got fire in her blood. Said something about an afterparty for this... wee festival. I'd say she's earned it, acquited herself admirably enough in the scrap... I assume. She survived, at any rate."

Meanwhile, at the Shapeless gang, Pyromancer had sat atop a crate, one leg crossed atop the other. He held out his hand and turned it over one way, then the other, checking the kevlar-like material over it. The dark grey fabric was singed by flame and faintly smelled of smoke. Blackened, but not ruined. Even after so much fire and heat. Kiran’s engineering never ceased to impress.

The sound of footsteps drew Pyromancer’s attention. Maeve had returned, a towering shadow clad in black. Simultaneously captivating and terrifying. He stood to his feet and approached the serpent. His goggles caught the light as she recounted her encounter with Maxwell's 'bonny pal'. “A fighter. Down there. Not hostile or dead?” He turned towards the Shape, his voice a raspy, muffled growl. “Could be a useful asset. Could be recruited.”

Pyromancer looked back towards Maeve, whose tattered form was barely maintained by a few towels and a coat tied over her chest. He averted his gaze, wishing not to stare. “What about you, Serpent? You alright?” He turned his eyes to the horizon, recalling the flood of dark mud that came from her fallen dragon form. His shoulders shook a little at the memory. Neither of them were strangers to pain, but that sight was… something else. Something otherworldly. Not unlike that Beast of Decay.

Pyromancer bowed his head. "Pardon my late arrival." he folded both arms and huffed. "Heroes saved civillians too quickly. Had to reoutfit the truck." He looked back towards Maeve, focused on her face. "Good that we saved enough explosives for a rainy day."

"A bit wet," Maeve replied, gesturing at her damp hair and the seawater dripping off the towels. "But well enough." She couldn't see his face, but from the tremble in Pyre's shoulders and his apparent aversion to holding eye contact with her, Maeve got the distinct impression he was a bit less that at ease in her presence - a sentiment mirrored in the body language of several of the Shapeless gang members. Small wonder why.

"I doubt the good doctor will waste much time getting the stores back to capacity," she remarked at his comment on explosives.

Richard turned to look at Sasha, a soft and slight smile hidden under the mask. He was glad not to be alone in wanting to take action in all this. While the hesitation of the others was understandable, especially with all the death that surrounded them, Richard wanted to feel like they were doing something. The Beast was dead, true, but this did not feel at all like a victory.

If felt like the beginning.

"Of course Sasha, happy to make time. What's up?" He asked in a soft, but pleasant tone.



Maxwell gave a nod to Maeve as she returned to both him and Ezekiel, feeling satisfied to know they, and his other employees, were all safe. The safety of the super powered rockstar was also good news, and still surprising that she had attended this fight.

"Yes, Miss Vortex is quite spirited, and has that demean our of refusing to play by the rules others set out. I rather enjoy that. Thank you for making sure she made it out safely Maeve, and for rescuing all of my people as well. I'd say you've certainly earned quite a bit too, on top of my gratitude."

He turned then to Ezekiel, taking into consideration some of what he had added. "Hard to say if she'd want to be an asset, but she most certainly would be. And don't worry yourself about your conduct today. You proved yourself to be... Resourceful. Shame that monster took so much to take down, but I suppose that couldn't be helped. Good work out there Pyromancer, you worked well both alone, and with the other supers, and you've certainly lived up to your name." The Shape chuckled slightly as he looked back out to the beach.

There was a slight, audible sigh under the mask. "I don't like what happened after the battle. Those soldiers in the helicopters, they knew about all this far too quickly. I've heard rumors about some such things as this, but always passed it off as conspiracy theories. Hopefully Wallflower was able to get enough samples..."

With some more nodding of his head in consideration, he looked back to Zeke and Maeve once again. "Interesting idea that after party, by the way, but we ought to be... Careful with that. Now's the time for mourning, whatever business we do today needs to be in consideration of that. There's a lot of trauma and scars that have been created today."



As Sheri proceeded through the inner workings of the Fusion Plant, things became stranger and stranger. The pathways led further down, deeper into the underground, possibly making their way underneath the reactor itself. As doorways opened to new areas, new signs began to appear. Radiation, explosive, and hazardous materials warning signs.

The strangest signs of all, however, were the bio-hazard signs. New structures began to appear across the walls, tubes and pipes filled with steam, liquids (some of strange colors and consistencies), and moved both to and from somewhere. Was there something else going on under the power plant? Some kind of virus perhaps, or chemical weapon development? It was almost impossible to tell, but something seemed very wrong.

Sheri may not have understood Fusion Energy, or the developments Atlas had made to make it work, but it wasn't hard to tell that this did not seem to fit in with it.

Though the drizzle had stopped the grey skies remained over Atlas City. Maxwell and the duo of stupid sluts under his employment Maeve, Zeke found themselves atop an old brownstone, a good vantage for the ruined beachfront. The streets were empty, save for a few abandoned cars and civilians checking to see if it was safe to emerge.

A car-horn began to echo. The horn was blaring the notes of a song: the chorus to Daylight by Matt and Kim, on loop endlessly. The trio of evildoers looked down to see a BMW van with tinted windows make it's way through the streets and stopping beside their building. The horn went dead as the door swung open, Ulysses stepping out of the driver's seat and waved to them. Out the passenger seat a freckled, black haired being emerged- their head wrapped up in a brown beanie. Their ride had arrived.

Kiran let out a satisfied sigh. They sat lounging in the fifth level of their lab, the coliseum. The floor was slick with blood and viscera from a dozen corpses scattered around the arenas floor. Mangled monstrosities and seemingly normal humans of all shapes and sizes ripped apart and brutalized as if mauled by something equally monstrous. He smiled blissfully as his scorpion tail flicked from side to side, imitating the wagging of a dog as blood and meat slid off its metallic shell.

Finally calmed down from a potential episode, Kiran got up from their spot on the floor, which evidentially had been the torn open torso of a particularly large creation of theirs. The poor beast was still gurgling through grit teeth, a look of hatred and fear in its eyes as Kiran gave the thing a sideways glance before their tails stinger plunged itself into the dying creatures temple. A grin spread across their face as the mutant finally went quiet. He really needed that.

---

Minutes later, Kiran was just getting dressed after a much needed shower in the first floor. He glanced at a black phone resting on their dresser and decided it was as good a time as any to check in. He snatched it up and contacted Maxwell.
Wondering if you are alive or not Boss. If you are I hope you were able to get samples of that beast.
Also hope the others are well too, I have a new friend in mind for Maeve!
Miss you all :(
Getting a little bored over here and had to resort to some self care >:D
Tempted to go for a walk if I get any more bored -_-
With that out of the way, it was time to go down to level eight again. An idea for a new adaptation was swimming inside their mind and Kiran would hate to loose the chance to gain a new edge.

Pyromancer - or Zeke, as Maxwell knew him - stared silently at his boss' words, whatever expression he held obscured behind his mask. He looked out to the beach. Even after three years, such… gratitude... felt alien to him. But not unwelcome.

It was then that Zeke saw a car roll up. Curvilinear. Sleek. Civilian-grade, at least from the exterior. And expensive-looking. From within came the familiar face of a bodyguard, and the less familiar face of… a youthful-looking person. Pale. Freckled. With blue eyes so bright and icy, they seemed almost aglow. Something about that unnerved Zeke.

The Pyromancer wandered towards the edge of the building, then kicked down the fire escape ladder. He vaulted over, grabbed the sides of the ladder, slid all the way to the end of the ladder, then jumped to land between Ulysses and the newcomer.

"Ulysses," he nodded to greet the bodyguard. He then turned to the pale one. He had clocked them as a man from above, but up close… he wasn't so sure. Narrow shoulders. Feminine torso. He had been here in Atlas City long enough to not presume. The Pyromancer tilted his head and asked, "New blood?"

Pyromancer tilted his head. A short ‘hmph’ was muffled by his mask. “Picked a bad time. Should’ve not come at all.” He turned and gestured to the distance, where the carnage wrought by the Beast of Decay had left its marks upon the city’s outskirts. “City’s gone to shit. Capes and suits gonna crack down on this place harder than ever before.” He shook his head in disgust. Embers flickered alight and hovered around him as he hissed, “Do-gooders and lunatics. Bureaucrats and bootlickers. All maggots in a pile. Bad for business.”

George smiled softly to Henry, but his look said that Henry wasn’t exactly correct…


"I think it’s more complicated than ‘alien’. It’s not the word I would use. The situation is more… Complicated than that. As for who knows about this…" He trailed off slightly looking over to the NAHLA agents for a moment, then back to Henry.


"NAHLA and SINS likely know nothing more about this situation than what happened on the beach today. In fact, about the only people who know more about this situation in the world are associated with me, or those men in black."


"So why exactly do so few people know about this? Why do you seem to have such exclusive access to this knowledge?" Richard finally interjected. He’d stood up and walked to the small bar near the back of the plane, pouring himself a simple glass of water, letting it glaze over with a thin layer of frost before taking a sip.


The others had been in a bad state so far. He pitied them, and everyone who lost their lives today, or loved ones. The whole thing was… Tragic. To put it entirely too lightly. But still, people needed to move forward, now more than ever with this much chaos.


George looked to Richard sympathetically, before continuing. "Because measures have been taken to ensure that. This planet needs to be protected, at all costs, and so subterfuge must be employed quite often. The men in black are proof as to why. Imagine if a power hungry government tried getting its hands on power like this."


Words were exchanged between a few of the other supers on board in regards to incidents in ‘Asia’, specifically Russia. George raised an eyebrow and accompanied it with a slight, sly smirk at Sasha. "Well now, I am surprised to hear that information passed around, especially since it came from behind the curtain! But the rumors you heard may have validity to them. Now may not be the time to talk about it, but I intend to look into those matters. Perhaps some of you could assist in that even."


The comment about ‘Giant Monsters’ also caught his attention, though rather than addressing them in Russian, he kept to English. "If I may say, ‘Kaiju’ are very much a threat in their own category, one that’s fairly static. What we’re dealing with is far, far more dynamic. I dare say, size is the least of our worries."


The sharp, biting words of Vicki Vortex cut through again, as she demanded more explanations. It seemed things were tense between her and Aegis, or rather it seemed she was becoming more and more tense, while many of the others seemed to fall into a state of burnout. George already was fairly certain plans would need to change. Before he could respond to Vortex, she had left for the bathroom, the shapeshifter following.


Sairyn too had left for a bathroom as well, and despite his attempts to perhaps be more inconspicuous than Miss Vortex, George could see the strain on him as well. He hadn’t been on the frontlines, but the events of today still weighed on Sairyn, and perhaps something else? George cast a brief glance at ‘Silver Fang’, asleep for now, recovering physically, and perhaps mentally and emotionally. Though those are scars that take much longer to heal, even for most heroes.


"What is it we’re dealing with then? You said you know more about Heather Wright, so tell us what happened to her, how that monster got a hold of that recording, and how she died." Richard asked plainly, now pacing across the floor near the bar as he sipped the ice water in hand. There were plenty of seats available, so the choice to pace wasn’t due to any lack of place to rest. An anxious response perhaps?


Before George could say anything more, Miss Vortex had returned to the cabin, approached him directly, and finally made her demands about as clear as they could be.


Now was definitely the time to change plans. George reached into his jacket, pulling out a small, rectangular, silver metal box. Popping it open, he pulled a card out from inside, sliding it across to Miss Vortex. He then pressed a button on the surface of the desk, leaning closer to a call box situated on the surface. "Pilot, radio to the sub. Let them know we’ll be a few more days, we need to take care of matters back in North Carolina first. Then turn the plane around, take us back over to Asheville. I think some rest has been earned."


He released the button, brought his hands together and wove the fingers between each other, gently resting them on the desk. "You can leave through the cargo doors under the cabin, there’s a set of stairs in the back by the kitchen that will take you down. It’ll lower a ramp that takes you out the back of the plane, so make sure to aim yourself downwards so you’re not hit by the jet exhausts. Just don’t jump out yet. Wait till we’re back over Atlas City, you’ll have much less of a journey then, I expect. There’s also a bit of circuitry in that card. Just give it a gentle press and we can come find you, if you change your mind about joining us."


George cleared his throat and looked to the other supers in the room with him, taking a brief pause before addressing the primary concerns he’d been confronted with. "I’ll be frank with you, Miss Vortex, since it seems to me like you might appreciate not mincing words. You’re all here because you’re not dead. You went to fight the Beast, managed to all inflict some damage, and avoid being utterly destroyed. When I look at you, all of you, I see what could potentially be a collection of the most powerful heroes on Earth."


He leaned back in his chair slightly, and looked from Vicki to the rest of the heroes gathered. "Give me some time and cooperation, and I can ensure you’re the most powerful heroes on Earth. That is, of course, if you’re all willing to help me save it."


George looked to Richard briefly before he continued. "There have been a lot of suggestions made about what this creature from the beach is, or what its capabilities were. We can discuss this more later. For now, let’s discuss the matter of Heather Wright. She died in a hospital bed in 2027. The creature we encountered on the Beach never met her in its life, because she never met it in hers. The ‘recordings’ it was playing? The only people on Earth with access to them are myself and my associates, and we still have all copies accounted for. Which leads me to a working theory."


His brow furrowed as he allowed the reality to finally sink in for them all. "I believe we’re dealing with beings capable of traveling through dimensions. Not just time. Not just space. Whole planes of reality. To put it in more pleasant terms for right now, we’re dealing with something, or some things, that are incredibly dangerous to humanity."


There was a long exhale as he flattened his palms against the surface of the desk. "Today was not a victory. It was a tremendous, tremendous failure. And not even because of the lives lost. This wasn’t an attack. It wasn’t an invasion. It was a STRESS TEST. Whatever sent that monster here was prodding our planet’s defenses for weaknesses, and we failed spectacularly. Of course, this isn’t any of your faults, I’d even find it hard to blame the American government. At the end of the day, humanity’s best chances of survival are when we all pull together. United we stand, divided we fall, and all that. And that’s why you’re here."


He looked Vicki in the eyes once more. "You may leave if you like. But understand that humanity needs a bulwark against to save it. Sometimes from outside threats, sometimes from itself. None of us can escape the dangers that fate will throw at us. But we can unite and weather those threats together."


As George finished what he had to say, he looked to all the other heroes gathered before him once more, making sure to look each and everyone one of them in the eyes (or thereabouts on the masked ones). "And if that’s still not reason enough to work with me, I’ll be compensating each of you. Whatever you want, within the limits of what is physically realistic and morally acceptable, I will make sure you have it. Take some time to think about it, we’re a very short flight away from some property of mine, you can all relax there and process everything."


Shortly after this, the plane made its way over Atlas City, and continued on West towards Asheville…





Maxwell tutted at Zeke, giving a slight wag of his finger as the fire wielder described the bad situation in the city. "Now now Pyromancer, there’s also a chance for business to thrive in a crisis. We’ll just need to be much more careful. Besides, the city is in mourning, they need a shoulder to cry on right now, something to bring them comfort. I do believe it is our job to do just that. Of course, I’m not sure if rumor has made it to you yet, but we aren’t the only ones in town now trying to do that. Bit of competition I think we’ll need to take care of."


The Shape gave a slight wave to their getaway drivers, particularly to the new employee. "Pleasure to finally meet you Spiderblood. Pay no mind to the doom and gloom, you’ve come at as good a time as any. We’ve a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it. We need to go to Shapeless to start, then I need to reach out to some of our… Stakeholders. It seems a lot is going to change around Atlas City very soon, so I want to make sure we’re all part of it." He nodded to Zeke and Maeve to join the others at the vehicle.


Maxwell was still bothered by all that had happened today, despite his calm speak and demeanor. He needed to be the strong face of the organization now more than ever though. This truly was one of the best times to start looking into ways to become even more powerful, to start clawing back what he had lost. There was no set end goal yet, but perhaps The Shape would not need one. Perhaps he would just keep moving forward until he reached whatever the last rung on the ladder was meant to be.


He checked his phone quickly, noticing service had returned, and a few new messages were there. Maxwell smiled as he read what Kiran had to say, and quickly sent a reply. Meet us at Shapeless when you have time later. We need to discuss hosting a meeting very soon. Some very important people we may need to work with. - Shape


His attention, once he had arrived at the vehicle, was immediately drawn back to Maeve, wondering if she would actually be able to fit inside or not. "Maeve you’ve… Gotten taller?" He asked quizzically.


Once everyone was inside, the car pulled out and headed downtown to Club Shapeless…





Agent Moore had just set the box he was carrying down on a table in a new tent SINS had set up, when in swaggered Peter Radovan. An audible sigh escaped from Moore’s nostrils as he took in the sight of the reprobate agent.


"Back already I see Agent Radovan." He spoke monotonously, trying to recompose himself from the outside in.


Peter shrugged and grinned. "Yeah, they just called me in for a bit of ‘specialized surveillance duty’, something along those lines." He chuckled as he made his way over to the table, glancing down at the box on it. "So, what happened to all my suspects then? They’re all in Gitmo or something?" He asked with a cruel sense of pleasure to the tone.


Moore rapped his fingers across the table. "No… Apparently the Attorney General asked for them all to be released. Sent them off with some guy named George Carlisle Hughes. We’re looking into him already, but as you can tell… Doesn’t really put the suspects back in our hands."


Peter bobbed his head from side to side as he started opening the box. "Eh, if it was me, I probably would have had them all shot."


The other agent narrowed his eyes at Peter. "Which is why I’m here, so those kinds of decisions don’t get left up to you. At any rate, we’ve got more investigating to do. You should probably get your team together. You’re supposed to be getting Hudson Li it sounds like, so allow me to say quite explicitly not to do anything stupid. She’s a great Drive Frame Pilot, a great soldier honestly. Treat her with the respect she’s due."


Agent Radovan continued to bob his head side to side, more or less ignoring what Moore had to say, though perfectly intent on working well with Li. She sounded like a good asset, one he hoped would become quite useful. Once the box was opened, he took a moment to read the note inside, before a smirking and letting out a little laugh. Had Sairyn made Peter’s job easier, or harder? The agent wasn’t sure just yet, but he enjoyed the moment nonetheless.


"Funny… He reminds me so much of someone I knew once upon a time." Peter muttered wistfully as he closed the container again.


"Sairyn? You knew someone else who kept trying to screw with your investigations huh. You ever wonder why that might be Agent Radovan?" Moore asked with a smirk.


Peter chuckled again. "I wasn’t talking about Mr. Pendrake. I was talking about George."





March 12th, 2045, 12:40pm: The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia, USA


Colonel Van Graft opened a notification on his laptop, pulled up a file he had received a short while ago, and took a moment to scratch his chin.


"What is it Colonel?" The question came from a far higher ranked officer of the US Army, a general for that matter. The group consisted of seven military officials, and at least one other person, all gathered in a quite, secluded conference room of the Pentagon, essentially forgotten by all other employees and military officials there, save for the ones present in it.


The Colonel let out a soft sigh before turning his gaze back to the others gathered. "Mr. Pendrake sends his love and warm regards." Van Graft said in a voice teetering between tiredness, and irritation. He played what was sent to him and allowed the others to listen.


"Cocky fella hey?" Another officer responded. "And why send it to you anyways? It’s not like the canon was your idea. He should take it up with the SECDEF!"


Another officer chimed in. "Look, Victor’s canon may not have saved the day, but it was never meant for this sort of thing anyways. It does what it’s meant to do; destroy fortified enemy bases. Let’s at least give the man a little credit, even if not everyone here views him favorably."


Victor Covistic, the current Secretary of Defense, was a young man in political terms at only 35. His rise to power has been swift, but not altogether unexpected. The owner of his own military weapons development company, he used his technical expertise to help arm the US military with some of the best weapons in the world, a springboard that helped him launch a campaign for senate, and eventually congress. He won both.


Rumors had been abound that he may make a play for Governor of New York (where he had been both a senator and congressman), but surprised everyone when the last Presidential Election finished and he was selected, by both Senate and President, to be Secretary of Defense. This, while surprising to many, was not all unwelcome as he had proven capable of devising technology and strategies that had proven very effective on the battlefield. And since he had never served in the army himself, his ‘civilian status’ only helped prop him up further as a reliable, trustworthy person to take on the job.


However, some members of government and military have not been entirely supportive of this move, based partly on his age and lack of military experience. But Victor has made many friends in government, and has been an effective member of DOHA, working with the Attorney General and others to make sure America’s supers have all the support they need.


When it comes to the Director of National Intelligence though, it’s been rumored quite often that their relations are more ‘frosty’, tense, not very friendly. They will work together, for the good of the American people, but their difficulty being able to agree has been noticed by other members of the cabinet, and government.


Van Graft cleared his throat to get the attention of the others gathered once more. "All feelings aside, Mr. Pendrake is addressing something we’ve all already talked about. Clearly America does not have the level of firepower it will need to continue keeping itself safe well into the future. We need new weapons, new defenses, to ensure we not only remain safe, but dominant, unchallenged, and unrivalled. That is the best way we protect this country, its people, and all our freedoms."


The other officers nodded along before one spoke up again. "Agreed. I believe that means the matter is settled then on Project Obsidian; the project is accepted, and can begin work immediately. We don’t have time to wait." The others made their points of agreement, before another voice cut through.


"Excuse me gentlemen, but you still have yet to explain to me what Project Obsidian is. If I’m going to be getting the money and equipment you need to do this project in the clandestine way we’re working under, I need to know a bit more." The speaker was Senator Stewart, a man in his 50’s, with a body that was transitioning into unhealth, and a hairline to match.


"Mr. Senator, we appreciate your help, but I hope you can appreciate our need for keeping you uninformed at this time. We still need to vet you, ensure you’re actually on our side. You’ve done a lot to help, but what we’re doing is, by legal definition, treason." One officer said.


Another scoffed. "Bah! This is the furthest thing from it! What we’re doing is REAL patriotism. The bureaucrats and money hungry lawyers can thank us when they can sleep soundly at night without commie gunmen marching down their streets!"


The Shadow Pentagon, as these men had taken to calling themselves, is a rogue division of the Pentagon, composed of officers, scientists, and even a few wealthy civilians, all dedicated to trying to keep America safe, even if it comes at the cost of morality and ethics. ‘America First, Only, Now and Forever’; the words that summed up their philosophy.


Van Graft raised a hand to calm the other officers. "Mr. Stewart, we will bring you further into the fold as time goes on. But for now, please understand the need for secrecy. Spies, traitors, and those hungry for power are abound right now. And with everything that happened in Atlas City today, we need to be even more careful."


"And what is being done about the armed men that attacked the beach, hmm? What exactly was that all about? WHO is going to look into that and take responsibility?" The senator inquired with narrowed eyes.


"SINS is currently looking into all of that, but we only have a few of our people integrated in the agency. We can’t guarantee if or when we’ll get any information, but we’re trying our best Senator. We all want to figure out what happened today."


The Senator sighed and gave a nod of concession. He’d go along with all of this. For now.





March 15th, 2045, 9:12am: Omni Grove Park Inn, Asheville, North Carolina, USA


It was three days ago that Atlas City had been attacked by the Beast of Decay. In that time, the city had managed to clean up most of the destruction that had been caused, and was now on its way to hosting the necessary memorial services to allow everyone to mourn their losses.


At this time, the heroes who had been there at the front line, and later ‘rescued’ by a benefactor named George Carlisle Hughes, were now situated at the luxurious Omni Grove Park Inn. The resort was located in Asheville, North Carolina, tucked away in the state’s mountains. George had bought it back in the 2010’s when some financial woes had swept through the state, leaving the resort in a desperate financial situation.


For the moment, the resort was empty, save for the heroes who had joined him from Atlas City. They would reopen later, once the heroes were situated elsewhere, but for the moment they needed privacy, and a chance to decompress from all that had occurred. A memorial service was scheduled for noon today, and George had invited the group to attend with him, should they desire too.


George was in his study at this time, checking on some information before getting ready later for the memorial. He would join the heroes later, but felt that for now they would be best left to taking care of their own needs.

Clink.

A sharp, metallic sound pricked Vic's ears. It came from her left, in the shadows of an alleyway. The silhouette of a man, faintly illuminated by a flickering flame. His thumb tugged the cap of a lighter open, then closed.

Clink.

The man stepped out of the dark, dressed in a midnight-coloured, single-breasted suit. He glared at her, with golden-ringed hazels as bright as his fire. Lines were etched into his angular, frowning features. A crown of dark curls adorned his head, cut close yet stylish.

Clink.

"You lost, boy?" He asked, his voice a raspy, guarded hiss.

Vic watched the stranger approach with a wary side-eye. She kept her missing hand hidden in her pocket, and shuffled out a cigarette packet with the other.

“No, I’m lollygagging,” she stated, and flicked a cigarette out of the pack with her thumb before holding it out to him.

The stranger's brows shot up. That voice. A woman, he realised. He eyed her carefully, then scoffed.

"You look like shit," He remarked. "What are you… homeless? Junkie?" He snapped the lighter shut. "Smoking will kill you."

Vic gave him a flat stare before tucking her cigarettes back into her pocket. “So you just carry that lighter around for the intimidation factor.”

"Use it for my cooking," He replied, matching her deadpan. The stranger held the lighter high, and its chrome surface caught the sunlight. "Reliable. Unlike those kitchen lighters."

Clink.

The stranger flicked the lighter alight once more. Vic narrowed her eyes, and immediately all the oxygen around the little flame was snuffed out and the light along with it. He did a double take, and flicked the lighter on and off a couple more times, to no avail. His lips curled with disapproval and Vic snorted.

“Yeah, looks it,” she laughed, hand instinctively going up to hide her grin despite the mask.

The stranger shot her a dirty look. For a second, Vic swore she saw the golden rings on his eyes flash. He pocketed his lighter. "Club's closed. Go home, come back in ten hours."

The amusement in Vic’s eyes dropped and she raised a brow, pushed herself up off the wall and slunk towards him. “So you work here,” she remarked. "Mmh. That's how I got the suit," he replied. “Cute. Look, I’m not here to party at this dive. Where’s Lab Rat?”

The stranger's entire body language shifted. Lower, more guarded. The glow in his eyes returned, prominent against the dark shadows of the alley. "Who the fuck are you?" He asked, as much a question as it was a threat. Vic’s eyes flicked to the side in exasperation.

“You said it, junkie. Just here to get my fix - why the fuck does it matter?” her tune changed mid-lie, “The freak’ll probably end up killing me for kicks anyway. Where do I find Lab Rat?”

The stranger considered her words. He looked at her from top to bottom, skepticism coloured his eyes… but he relented. With a sigh, he turned around and beckoned her to follow. "Lab Rat is a freak," He stopped and glared over his shoulder. "And you're a fool for dealing with him."

The stranger marched on anyways, towards Shapeless. "What's your name?" He put his hands inside his pockets. "Need to know what to write in your obituary."

Whomph. The sound of baggy clothes hitting the ground turned his head. Stepping out of the mound on the ground was a concerningly thin and beaten up body in a pair of skinny jeans and a crop top, with a loose yellow and black mesh singlet. She threw the beanie down in the pile. Her hair was cut short, still an eye-burning red, but now just ticking her earlobes in a messy bowl cut.

“Vicki Vortex,” she answered as she tugged down her mask. The stranger's eyes widened at this revelation. His jaw dropped, and he stared, unblinking and slack-jawed, for far too long. Vic’s brow twitched. “What? I know, I’ve got all the sex appeal of Ellen Page. But -” She followed his eyes, to the wispy stump her left hand was supposed to be. “... Right. Don’t worry about that. I’m working on it.”

The stranger slowly turned away, visibly growing less comfortable by every second. "...You look like a crackhead."

“Fuck you.”

For a place called "Shapeless", the club was not wanting for style. Through the narrow beams of the stranger's flashlight, Vicki still made out the elegant curves that dominated the scene through the bar, tables, and the arches built into the ceiling. The black-suited stranger kept close to his guest, never letting her out of the corner of his eye. After a while, he stopped before an elevator door. He felt around the seemingly-empty area above the buttons, until a faint outline formed around his palm, and a false panel slid away to show another, hidden set of buttons. He pressed the one to descend, and waited.

"..."

...And waited.

And waited.

"Nine floors. Takes a while," the stranger explained. Briefly. He stood there, stiff and still, with his hands behind his back. He kept his eyes forward… and his guest in his peripherals. Repetitive elevator jazz accompanied them on the descent.

They continued waiting.

"So you're a pop star?" He blurted out.

There was something about seeing a nightclub during daylight that felt so wrong. The way the sun swept over the dancefloor when the door opened made Vic feel like she was stepping into purgatory. All of the mystery and intrigue about entering a place like this was washed out in the daylight. It was like a deep sea fish, dragged kicking and screaming to the surface, where all of its majesty was leached out and what was left was a bug-eyed blobfish. Shapeless was both a blobfish and a ghost town. It made her wonder if her perception of the club’s owner would feel much the same after pulling off the mask.

Walking through the quiet, dead club didn’t help the impending dread regarding who she was here to see. She loitered close behind the suit until the elevator. As he went in, she hesitated, but sucked in her chest and curled into one of its corners anyway. She slid her eyes towards the suit at his question, the back of her head hitting the elevator wall. Her teeth nipped at the tip of her tongue, which threatened to lash out at him for that gross miscategorization.

“You know, I can do quiet. We don’t have to -”

THUD.

Vic jerked alongside the elevator and looked up, eyes wide like a rabbit that just heard a hawk. The lights flickered, and despite the seconds that passed, the elevator’s screen remained on

LEVEL 4

THE NEST OF HORRORS

The stranger rolled his eyes. With a sigh, he tapped his left breast pocket, and a short beep followed. "Lab Rat, this is Pyromancer. Your elevator's stuck. Again."

There was a moment of silence. Followed by the buzz and crackle of static.

The suited stranger - Pyromancer, as Vic knew him now, shifted his attention to the door. "Busy. Only the Shape can get to him in these moments." He pressed the elevator open, and beckoned her over."Stairs."

An eldritch cacophony greeted them. Bellowing screams and Blood-curdling shrieks. Fleshy pods and metal vats, filled with aberrations that pulsated and gurgled, that looked upon the two with many eyes and pressed against their confinements with many arms. Pyromancer walked past them, with eyes straight forward and an expressionless face. But Vic saw a trickle of sweat making its way down his temple.

"Don't look. Don't trip." he glowered over his shoulder. "Don't touch anything," he warned her, quite seriously.

The metal grates went tap, tap, tap under their feet. Pyromancer led her across the outer edges of the chamber, towards the emergency stairs. He exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, then pulled the door open.

Down the stairs, and deeper into Lab Rat's den.

Soft snares accompanied the soothing, robotic female voice that announced "Level 4. The nest of horrors." Vic flattened herself against the wall, staring at the back of Pyromancer's head as her hand twitched by her side. Air spun around her fingertips. A painful jolt traveled up though her chest to her throat as her body's fight mode was activated. Not until the superpowered gang-member had opened the door to the ungodly wails and screams of the nest that she relaxed.

Vic covered her an ear as she stepped onto the floor, but unlike Pyromancer, she couldn't look away from the carnage. It was too much flesh and viscera to make her sick. Her shoes squelched across the floor. Amidst the animalistic howls, was the sound of a much more human wailing. Her eyes caught one particular abomination - the splitting image of the Venus of Willendorf. She looked like she was melting. Breasts engorged and drooping over the ground by her stubbed legs. Maybe her face had some loveliness to it, but it was lopsided and falling off her head. The sight made Vic clutch at her own lacking chest that felt heavy just looking at her. And the closer she looked, she could see the writhing, little fists and legs that were hammering against her skin.

Stomach acid bit at Vic's throat, and she jogged up to Pyromancer to meet him at the stairs. She followed him down the stairs, two steps behind. No elevator music. Just the echo of their shoes on the metal stairwell and the whistle of wind. Just one flight down - and a metal door slammed in front of them, blocking any further descent. The door beside them they were intent on slipping past sprang open, and a pre-recorded voice boomed from the speaker looming over them:

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to take a detour! If you do not comply, the following terrible fates could await you -"

LEVEL 5

THE COLISEUM

"-invasive brain parasites, being fed to the Nest of Horrors, an acid vat, flesh eating ants -"

Kiran's threats continued to echo over the speaker as the pair crept into the next level. Vic's instincts flared up as she looked upon the large, round empty space surrounded by seats.

The door locked behind them.

Deep beneath Shapeless, where the walls and shadows seemed as one, where the sun dared not spread its light. A sickly green glow permeated through the darkness, spread by the myriad distilleries which lined the floor like the pillars of a profane temple. This was level 8, the Alchemist's Nightmare, the penultimate level of Kiran Kingsley's laboratory. 

Upon one corner of the chamber, surrounded by thick roots of cables, hoses, and wires, was a carcass. A pale green thing, lying upon a slab of concrete, seven foot tall and four foot across. Its flesh was etched with a myriad veins and sutures, bulging with muscles that stretched and distended its skin. It was almost entirely naked, save for a harness of black leather and spikes which provided the barest concealment for its dignity, as well as a heavy collar around its neck, fitted into a mask that obscured the creature's features from the eyes down.

Its eyes…

Pale, yellow, and bulging open, without the barest glimpse of life. For that was what it was, a corpse. Cold, bloated, and rigid… but not for long. Upon its right shoulder, seared underneath the skin with jet-black ink, was its name: "04 CARNIFEX."

A tall, slender woman with pale skin and stark white hair gazed at her creation and smiled. It was a common thing for Kiran to change the shape of their physical body, and their current shape could land them a career as an actress or model easily. With their reputation changing their appearance now and again was a necessity. They gazed at the creation before them with a look of pride. "All ready to wake up, just need a good chance to test you out."

The intercom crackled to life, interrupting their musings. Pyro was coming down here? Curious. Moving to the control center in the center of the floor and a few button clicks and What Kiran saw in their elevator made them blink. Vicki Vortex??? What would possess her to come back here? A smile slowly started to creep onto their face. That was a juicy thought indeed. But what would they force the rock star to do as payment for whatever the woman was here fo…oh.

OH~

Their gaze had drifted back to Scourge, still on their slab. This was perfect. With a giggle, Kiran flipped a few switches for the facilities security measures to force Vicki and the Pyromancer into the fifth layer. If the two were so bold to come down here then they were going to make a lovely stress test for Kiran's new "son". Stepping back over to the slab, Kiran's hands becoming a blur of movement across a panel covered in switches and buttons. Wires began to hum with power while a cocktail of chemicals began to rapidly be pumped into Scourges still body. A restraining bolt that had been keeping the brain from being connected to the rest of the monstrous humanoids body was ejected violently out of the back of its head. the space it once took up in the soft flesh soon healing over in seconds. The body began to convulse and strain against itself as its tailored biology began to rapidly acclimate to itself and reach some sort of equilibrium. Months of painstakingly work and three failed creations lead up to this moment.

Kiran couldn't help but laugh as the hulking form before them drew in breath with a growl. "In the theatrical words of Victor Frankenstein . . . It's Alive~" And like that, a new terror was brought into the world.