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J-3 briefly considered giving the woman some ākindā words but decided against it as the aircraft appeared to come to life with Vortexās exclamations. Her eyes slid towards the one that she had decided to call āGunManā, not knowing or having paid enough attention to catch his actual name. She felt her skin prickle as he spoke, and had begun to move as if to respond to him before another man spoke up. God fuck, so many people on thisā
George began to speak next, and Jemma huffed a sigh of irritation.
She stood, rather abruptly reasserting her presence to the relatively forcibly gathered group. Her gaze locked on Vortex, and with a single-mindedness she usually reserved for combatā¦ approached the panicking woman. Her voice was low, calm and absolutely tainted by exhaustion. Exhaustion that was being ignored by a force of will J-3 wasnāt aware she had.
Hm. Thatās odd. When did I start thinking of it that way? āSheā... huh. Yeah okay. She. The Polymorph thought to herself as she moved.
She came over to Aegis, reaching out and letting a hand fall on his bicep. āLet's sit back down, okay? I think sheās stressing a little too much,ā A pause, long enough for the eyes to slide over to Vicki Vortex with an expression that wasā¦ confusing to say the least. āPlus. You need to take it easy yourself, Aegis. Miss Vortex. I know you loathe my existence, but I have a pressing matter that I feel you may wish to attend to at your earliest convenience. I would ask our gracious host for a personal space, for just a moment so that you and I may speak. ā¦ please.ā She ended, almost as if abruptly remembering some social cue.
J-3ās gaze then slid towards George, before returning to the rest of the group with a queer expression. Faint pangs of Hunger echoed in the core of Jemma, but were also ignored.
Food could wait.
There was yet another job to do.
Useless again.
When Jemma came up to him, all he could do was nod. Alex gave Vic one last look before practically dragging himself back to his seat. Picking his jacket up from where Vic had tossed it and draped it over him head. A long, drown out sigh escaped his lips as his whole body went slack.
Fuck. This. Day.
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"What. That's it?" She called over to him, backing away, her body hunched over. "Has ANYONE asked him where we're going?" She tossed her head to Alex, bewildered. "Or what he's taking us for?" Nothing from under cloth he had buried himself under. She gave him a hard, demanding look she hoped he could feel under there, then tossed her head away, bitterly resigning. "Rad. I'm going to the bathroom."
She slumped back in the direction Sairyn had shooed her in, pausing to gesture Jemma over with her head. Time to get whatever she was on about over and done with. It couldn't possibly make her hero-sanctioned kidnapping any worse. Out of the clutches of one suit and into the plane of another, Christ.
The moment Vic entered the tiny plane bathroom she became twice as aware of her breathing and that she'd invited an aunt-eater to share the space with her. She kept her back to Jemma, took a step and a half to reach the sink and splashed her face with water to wash away the nerves.
"I wouldn't say loathe," she said as if continuing a conversation while she peeled off her juice-stained singlet and threw it aside. "But it's not indifference." She glanced at Jemma's reflection in the mirror as she pulled down her denim, shrunken shorts, the insides of her thighs bright red from all the chaffing. "You look like someone I used to know. Don't take it personally." She tried shuffling into the pants Sairyn gave her, only for them to immediately drop back down in a heap at her ankles. "Oh. Yeah, right." She gave somewhat of a smile and a grimace, along with kind of a hissing breath and a laugh. "Atomic Anne's... don't take that personally either. You just looked like a good time."
Her vibrant mop of hair popped out of the black shirt. The garment dropped to just above her knees. She looked like someone who'd just spent the night at their boyfriend's. She turned around and sat herself on the counter, staring Jemma down.
"What did you want from me?"
A deep breath, a sigh, focusing on the words and ignoring everything else. Ignoring the gnawing Hunger. Ignoring the creeping need for rest. Ignoring the uneasy sense of danger.
Ignoring it all, Jemma forged onward.
"I kindly ask you, beg of you, not to strike or assault me as I give you this information, please."
Vortex gave Jemma a raised eyebrow, and when Jemma merely stayed silent and kept staring, the red-head responded with a "Yeah, ok, ok."
"Thank you. I arrived, I assume first, to the beach. Other than the woman who moved like pink lightning. She now wears the Silver Fang armor. She is... Trustworthy, to me. Anyhow. I arrived first. And I located these," Jemma paused for a moment, shuddering and pulsing with ink before she plunged her hands into her chest. The ink swirled with a renewed vigor and violence around her elbows, and only subsided after Jemma pulled out the arms from the beach.
The appendages were clean, surprisingly so, and as they came out into the world once again, the shapeshifter seemed to droop ever so much more. Her voice was weaker, quieter and somewhat 'solemn' as she once again spoke.
"I found these. They stank of you, and another. I figured... I thought, perhaps, that you would like them. To... Um. To honor your lost one. I know that you and yours, humans- true humans, at least- believe in burials and honoring your," A cough, an expression that looked oddly like confusion and sudden understanding, "Your loved ones, the ones you worry for and stay close to. I... I do not have one like that, quite yet, I believe. But I do believe that everyone should have this chance. I... I believe that I should also, regardless of whether you are indifferent or hateful or dismissive of my existence, offer assistance in burial. Or whatever you would like to do. But."
Jemma ended the words there, taking another breath in before simply standing still, holding the arms out to Vicki Vortex. Internally, ink pulsed as the encapsulating layers of iron, bronze, and copper were once again added back to the mass of the Shapeshifter. She heaved a silent sigh, finally breaking eye contact with Vortex and instead choosing to stare at the ground.
A brief moment passed before Jemma remembered something else, and with a pulse of ink, formed a leather belt that dangled from her outstretched arms. It seperated from her form with a withheld scream of pain, which escaped in the form of a brief hiss and whine, and clattered to the floor of the bathroom. "For your pants. If you care."
"Hey, Devon!" Akiko yelled across the plane at him. "I couldn't uh, help but notice your accent! Is it French?"
Hey, Devon!" Akiko yelled across the plane at him. "I couldn't uh, help but notice your accent! Is it French?
Henry stared at Akiko in abject horror.
The thing that caused the silence to return for a moment was a rather abrupt one with Akiko implying his accent to be French. To the average German that might be the most offensive thing you could say without using curse words, he however could only find the whole thing funny, especially with the addition of Henry's expression that just finished the entire situation. He bursted out in laughter as he tried to speak up. "Hah, you know wars have been fought over less. But no, I'll have to disappoint you as it's a German accent. Oh, Henry I won't take offense to something like that. Es braucht mehr, um mich auf die Palme zu bringen. Besonders wenn sie es nicht besser wissen." The last bit acting more to challenge at his address than to add to the conversation.
She then turned to Henry and asked, "Hey, hey, what was that last part he said in German? Did I say something bad?"
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"Wilm-" She blurted in a tiny voice that cracked. She drew her hand back, looking at Jemma with a new kind of horror. The horror of having watched Wilma's remains being pulled out of a shapeshifter's body. The already uncomfortably tight bathroom felt like it was shrinking and growing darker. "You..." She drew in a breath that shuddered on the exhale, "We weren't... that close, actually..."
She eased the arms out of Jemma's grasp and slowly folded over. Her shoulders shook. When she sprang back, her hands were clamped over her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut. When they squinted open, and she took in the sight of the arms once more, the finality of it all hit her -
Vic began to cry.
She didn't think she could still cry like this. Especially in front of another. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of lonely, miserable sobs forcing their way through teeth. It stayed like that for a while.
"... Aha... haha..." she forced, "S-So that... the bag you gave me was - was from your body... that's... so rank... ahah..." She trailed off in a whimper, and began to hit her head against the mirror behind her.
These arms held her last night.
Fuck.
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"Ugh," he muttered, jostling Yue's unconscious body until she was propped up against the plane's window and headed towards the front of the plane so he could duck into the other bathroom and splash water on his face. Sadly he couldn't just scream something through the wormhole to make it all stop... he was distracted momentarily by the quality of the paper towels he was using to blot the water from his face. He guessed if you could afford your own personal super-plane, then high quality paper towels were an afterthought.
He pulled a handful out of the dispenser and chucked them haphazardly into a flash of green light... maybe they'll appreciate the quality too.
In Vic's bathroom the air hissed momentarily as it was displaced, and *pop* a handful of paper towels scattered about suddenly, like someone had picked them up and thrown them.
J-3 was too tired. Far, far too tired. Too tired of tears and the mercurial, murky, rampant, radiant, utterly alien emotions of those around her. Today had been too long, and even for one who struggled to really keep a firm grasp on the idea of time passing, or of events happening a specific way, time felt as if it was dragging on and on.
She was aware of her limbs moving before they really knew what was going on, aware of their hands abruptly coming to rest behind Vic's head. Their face was a blank, scrunched up expression. A look of concentration, of sadness perhaps? It wasn't up to Jemma to tell anyone. Not at the time. For she did not know, nor understand the pulse of 'feeling' that ran through her.
She spoke again, words coming out in a rush as another pair of arms sprouted from her hips. They reached back, scooping up the belt from the floor, before coming forth again and rather bluntly- clinically- slipping the thing through the loops of the too large pants. Jemma buckled the length of leather, and spoke as she remained somewhat in Vic's space. The arms receded along with her words coming forth.
"I am sorry. I am sorry, I would like to hug you, terribly so. I do not want you to feel, uh, alone. Humans do not do well when feeling isolated... I can leave, of course, if you'd like. But I would rather not." A brief pause, before continuing. "I, erm, I think you are... Doing good. I believe you are doing good. You will, erm, you are... Hurting. But I would like to, uh... Al- Aegis!- says that to be alone while grieving is never good. I do not want you to not be good. Even... Though I just met you the other day... Hm."
Jemma quieted then, turning about and picking up one of the many scattered paper towels. She offered it out to Vicki Vortex, and stepped back with an expression that could be construed as someone who had a hornet stinging them in the nethers.
"Stay and watch if you have to," Vic croaked as she took the paper towel from Jemma. "But don't hug me. We're... not there yet." She blew her leaking nose on the paper and threw it over her shoulder onto the counter. Back to crying. She was trying to wrap it up now, blinking up at the fluorescent light above her and breathing heavy. Wilma's arms glinting in her peripherals was not helping. Wilma's arms, Wilma's robotic arms, Wilma, robot, Wilma...
Vic stopped heaving. The wet glisten in her eyes was replaced with another kind of glimmer. She looked back at Jemma, her face hardening.
"Where did you find these?" She asked. She slipped off the counter, walking up to Jemma and pushing her back with every step. "Where? On the beach? Any landmarks? Specifics? Where EXACTLY did you find these?!"
Vic strode out of the bathroom, eyes and nose bright red, shirt tucked into the pants that needed to be rolled up several times to not be stepped on and a pair of metal arms on her person. She ignored every single hero on her way out until she was standing right before George. She folded her arms decisively.
"I'm going to jump out of this plane. You're about to tell me where I go to do it." She declared coldly. "But before that, you're telling me what I was really brought onto this plane for in the first place."
"I think itās more complicated than āalienā. Itās not the word I would use. The situation is moreā¦ Complicated than that. As for who knows about thisā¦" 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. Heād 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 wasā¦ 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 āAsiaā, 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 āGiant Monstersā also caught his attention, though rather than addressing them in Russian, he kept to English. "If I may say, āKaijuā are very much a threat in their own category, one thatās fairly static. What weāre 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 hadnāt been on the frontlines, but the events of today still weighed on Sairyn, and perhaps something else? George cast a brief glance at āSilver Fangā, 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 weāre 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 wasnāt 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 weāll 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, thereās a set of stairs in the back by the kitchen that will take you down. Itāll lower a ramp that takes you out the back of the plane, so make sure to aim yourself downwards so youāre not hit by the jet exhausts. Just donāt jump out yet. Wait till weāre back over Atlas City, youāll have much less of a journey then, I expect. Thereās 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 heād been confronted with. "Iāll be frank with you, Miss Vortex, since it seems to me like you might appreciate not mincing words. Youāre all here because youāre 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 youāre the most powerful heroes on Earth. That is, of course, if youāre 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, letās 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 ārecordingsā 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 weāre 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, weāre 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 wasnāt an attack. It wasnāt an invasion. It was a STRESS TEST. Whatever sent that monster here was prodding our planetās defenses for weaknesses, and we failed spectacularly. Of course, this isnāt any of your faults, Iād even find it hard to blame the American government. At the end of the day, humanityās best chances of survival are when we all pull together. United we stand, divided we fall, and all that. And thatās why youāre 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 thatās still not reason enough to work with me, Iāll 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, weāre 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 Ashevilleā¦
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, thereās also a chance for business to thrive in a crisis. Weāll 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, Iām not sure if rumor has made it to you yet, but we arenāt the only ones in town now trying to do that. Bit of competition I think weāll 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, youāve come at as good a time as any. Weāve 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 ourā¦ Stakeholders. It seems a lot is going to change around Atlas City very soon, so I want to make sure weāre 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 youāveā¦ Gotten taller?" He asked quizzically.
Once everyone was inside, the car pulled out and headed downtown to Club Shapelessā¦
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 Mooreās 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 āspecialized surveillance dutyā, 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? Theyāre all in Gitmo or something?" He asked with a cruel sense of pleasure to the tone.
Moore rapped his fingers across the table. "Noā¦ Apparently the Attorney General asked for them all to be released. Sent them off with some guy named George Carlisle Hughes. Weāre looking into him already, but as you can tellā¦ Doesnāt 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 Iām here, so those kinds of decisions donāt get left up to you. At any rate, weāve got more investigating to do. You should probably get your team together. Youāre supposed to be getting Hudson Li it sounds like, so allow me to say quite explicitly not to do anything stupid. Sheās a great Drive Frame Pilot, a great soldier honestly. Treat her with the respect sheās 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 Peterās job easier, or harder? The agent wasnāt sure just yet, but he enjoyed the moment nonetheless.
"Funnyā¦ 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 wasnāt 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? Itās not like the canon was your idea. He should take it up with the SECDEF!"
Another officer chimed in. "Look, Victorās canon may not have saved the day, but it was never meant for this sort of thing anyways. It does what itās meant to do; destroy fortified enemy bases. Letās 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 ācivilian statusā 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 Americaās supers have all the support they need.
When it comes to the Director of National Intelligence though, itās been rumored quite often that their relations are more āfrostyā, 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 weāve 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 donāt 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 Iām going to be getting the money and equipment you need to do this project in the clandestine way weāre working under, I need to know a bit more." The speaker was Senator Stewart, a man in his 50ās, 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 youāre actually on our side. Youāve done a lot to help, but what weāre doing is, by legal definition, treason." One officer said.
Another scoffed. "Bah! This is the furthest thing from it! What weāre 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. āAmerica First, Only, Now and Foreverā; 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 canāt guarantee if or when weāll get any information, but weāre trying our best Senator. We all want to figure out what happened today."
The Senator sighed and gave a nod of concession. Heād 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 ārescuedā 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 stateās mountains. George had bought it back in the 2010ās 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.
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Atlas City, North Carolina, United States
1:43 PM
A man in a black leather coat stood at the top of an empty building, observing rescue and cleanup crews flit to and fro amidst the rubble below. A hood was pulled up over his head, casting his face partially in shadow, though the edge was pulled back slightly by a thin, jagged horn curving up from his forehead.
"Father Victor," started another, shorter man, approaching from door to roof access. The man he refered to inclined his head only slightly at the sound of his voice, not bothering to respond. The last of us just arrived with the most recent bus of volunteers. What are your orders?"
"Hmmmmmm?" Father Victor almost seemed to purr in response. "You're volunteers aren't you? Go volunteer. Do good works, and all that."
"....Father?"
"And if you happen to hear anything interesting, let me know, would you?"
Understanding dawned in the man's eyes. "Yes sir." He took a step back, but hesitated before turning to leave. "There is one other thing."
"Hm?"
"We found a survivor from Deacon Francis's parish," the man said tentatively. "Collapsed in an alley, behind the destroyed paper company SINS uses."
Victor chuckled quietly. "Shot them and left them for dead, huh? Or caught in the rubble?"
"...No."
"No?"
"No," the man repeated. "He's comatose, but uninjured. From what we can tell, it looks- it looks like he just... fell asleep."
Victor turned toward the man for the first time, his eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment as his eyes searched the man's face for answers, thoughts racing through his mind... and then realization came, and his eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. A chuckle slipped past his lips, then a laugh. He slapped the man on the shoulder, walking past him toward the stairwell.
"That is interesting," he said, pulling back his hood to run his fingers through short, dark hair. "What a small world."
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"Hey there, itās your boy, Ion here on the Ion-Stream with another Night Patrol: where you get to experience fighting crime from my perspective! Weāre all still reeling from yesterdayās events so weāll most likely help with any ongoing cleanup or S&R operations. Recorded footage of the event along with my Manhawk memorial are available on my subscribers only channel, so donāt forget to show your support! You can also use the code #NEVERFORGETMANHAWK in the store to get a 20% discount on all merch,ā said Ion, from behind the screen. The camera embedded in his mask panned lazily over the city from the rooftop he was standing on. He spun around swiftly in response to a noise behind him, and the camera centered on a feminine figure a few steps away from him.
"Oh!ā The camera flinched as he jumped. "You startled me,ā he chuckled nervously. The moonlight glinted off the smooth surface of the black and white stylized Tragedy mask beneath the hood of her luxurious black cloak. She stepped towards him and slowly extended a slender gloved hand to him.
"You want to shake my hand? I donāt usually interact with fans on the job butā¦ā he didnāt get a chance to finish. The instant her fingers touched his, like a record skipping over a scratch the camera was flipped upside down. For an instant he was looking at her knees, and he only had time to flail clumsily before landing roughly on his head with a confused grunt. The wind was knocked from his lungs as she buried her foot into his gut, and with another skip he was tumbling over the street. Moments later he crashed violently into the roof of a car, setting the alarm off.
"W-what kind of fuckery is this??ā He grunted as he pressed a hand to his face, clearly disoriented. The camera caught just a glimpse of a billowing cloak before a whomp of displaced air turned his head and he was looking at the underside of a falling car. The moment it took to process that information nearly got him crushed, but he threw himself roughly onto the street as the two vehicles smashed together.
"Ionic Burst!ā He shouted, sending a shockwave of air down the street. It wasnāt clear if it hit her, as he was scrambling to his feet, trying to put some space between them and gain his bearings. All the street lamps on the block dimmed and flickered as he drew electricity out of them, tendrils arcing out of the poles and into his hands. The camera flinched as the woman flickered into view in the corner of his vision, striding confidently down the middle of the street towards him. "Ionic-,ā she was already in motion, anticipating the attack. Her cloak billowed as she grabbed a corner of it and threw it in front of her like a shield. "Lance!!ā
A bolt of lightning leapt from his fingers, striking some kind of distortion on the cloak and arcing back to slam straight into his chest. The feedback scrambled the camera for a solid second and when it recovered he was sliding down the street on his back. He stopped at the boots of the woman, staring up at the scowling face of the Tragedy mask, and the barrel of a pistol calmly leveled directly at the camera. Ion discharged an uncontrolled blast of electricity all around him, and the woman flickered out of view.
"Impossible!ā Ion spat. "Nobody can just deflect the Ionic Lance!ā The camera whipped back and forth as he clambered to his feet. "Spaceā¦ I need space,ā he grunted, and leapt off the ground, flying over the street to try and get a birds-eye of his opponent. A noticeable distortion flickered on the camera and wiped across the screen like a fancily edited video. On the other side of the wipe he was staring straight into the two-toned scowl of the womanās Tragedy mask, a mere armās length away. His strangled gasp was cut short as a spray of viscera splashed across the mask.
The camera tumbled sickeningly as it fell only to be stopped just before hitting the street, staring up at the masked woman as she caught it gingerly. She was statuesque for a long moment before her gaze slowly turned upwards into the gentle drizzle that had begun. A splash of red on the camera revealed that it wasnāt drizzling water, and a blue and white clad torso splattered gorily into a car window behind her. The rest of Ionās dismembered body scattered across the street like it had been sliced to ribbons by some impossibly sharp blade.
There was a flicker of movement, like the record skipped over another scratch, followed by the deep thump of displaced air. She was standing on a rooftop as she twisted the camera around and rested it on the ledge overlooking the beach and the massive ongoing cleanup operation below. One of her thighs came into view as she lowered herself onto the ledge and sat, dangling her feet out over the void playfully. Her head was out of view as she smoothly reached up and removed the mask, writing something on the white toned side with one of her slender gloved fingers and placing it in front of the camera.
āPRAHLERISCH,ā it read, smeared in Ionās blood.
āDonāt forget to like and subscribe,ā she intoned in a low sultry voice through a vox and then flickered out of the frame, and the comments started to roll in.
- ā¦What just happened?
- Is Ion dead??
- Fake, clearly.
- How? Heās LIVE!
- Anyone recognize that super?
- Tragedy Mask killer?? I remember something like this happening a while back...
- Someone call SINS!
Being alive was exhilaratingly fun when she wasnāt on the verge of burnout in the most unimaginable way. As it was now, with the roar of wind rushing in her ears, muffled by a layer of bone, Jemma felt more alive than she originally thought possible. The pumping and thumping of her heart under her flesh pushed adrenaline through her in a riotous pulse of exhilaration and terror alike. Five pairs of eyes were locked on the ground, oh so far away and yet so close at the same time. The glare of the sun, spinning around in her periphery, made sure it was known to her.
Her form spun, oh so high above the rooftop of her temporary home. She had no arms, no legs, hardly even a body. Instead she was simply a human sized shard of bone and chitin plummeting towards the ground at terminal velocity. Ink burst to life along the surface of her plummeting form, giving life to a relatively wyvern-like form, though it lacked legs in favor for four massive wings that were tucked in close to the body. Her skull was smooth, lacking any true horns or bumps. Instead she had two ridges of bone that rose and angled backwards, just behind the joints of her jaws. There were no scales, feathers instead having taken form on the body.
And all the while, still, did Jemma spin.
She fell. And fell. And fell.
Her wings flared open not a single half-second too soon, and instead of smashing flat into the rooftop of the Omni Grove Park Inn, she just barely, by the skin of her teeth as Alex would say, skimmed by. As it was, she was moving with a speed that would have shamed any natural creature. The wind whistled by as she flew onward, her lungs were filling with air as ink boiled to life around her throat. A sac forming as she prepared to really announce to the morning.
She sheared through the air, flashing away from the building for a fair distance before tilting her body. She banked, looping back around with a shrieking call that was just loud enough to serve as a wake up call for those who were still sleeping, if they so chose to wake up.
It was the sound of some hellbeast from folklore, a train whistle mixed with the guttural bellow of a lionās roar. Impossible to miss in the otherwise quiet, still, morning air.
The wings flapped, a burst of speed sending Jemma rocketing past the āfrontā of the inn, rattling the windows as she went. Another call, before she went silent and instead enjoyed her morning flight.
Her blood thrummed, and as she once again took to rising up into the sky, Jemma let herself release another call. One of a human shrieking with joy and elation. Pure emotion. She spun yet again, rising up into the sky with a grin that she absolutely could NOT suppress in any meaningful manner.
āFUCK YES!ā She shouted, as her body again, fell back to earth.
Henry's head emerged from beneath the cool water of the pool. He had woken up early so he could have some time to himself to swim alone. Three days in George's manor, an old resort he'd bought in the Asheville Mountains. 72 hours and it still wasn't enough time to ruminate on what little George had told them. It hadn't been spoken about much since they all had arrive, their time spent more on rest in recreation, and perhaps they were the better before it.
I think itās more complicated than āalienā. Itās not the word I would use. The situation is moreā¦ Complicated than that.
That was putting it simply. Henry sighed, deciding he'd had enough of treading water. Making his way out of the pool, he dried himself off and got ready to eat some breakfast. George's staff had done a good job of preparing a breakfast that was beyond believable every morning they'd been there. This time, he preferred to simply work the waffle iron. The good thing about getting there early....it meant more for him.
Once breakfast was over, Henry decided to take a seat outside and think about one to do next. Maybe he would head to the Memorial later to pay his respects. The manor, as cool as it was, was beginning to feel a little cramped.
"I believe weāre 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, weāre dealing with something, or some things, that are incredibly dangerous to humanity."
Dread like this wasn't common, welling up in his chest like a bad case of vertigo, making him want to vomit. What happened was unreal. George knew more than he let on, but he was still hard to trust. He needed to talk with someone who'd understand. They were out here here scrappin' the dark, still thinking in four dimensions when the world had proven there were five+. But he couldn't reach those he needed to when he needed to. And...
Something was wrong. Some...
...someone was screeching. Hearing loud noises soar through the air didn't exactly alarm Henry at this point, though he was sure anyone trying to sleep didn't exactly appreciate the clamor.
āFUCK YES!ā She shouted, as her body again, fell back to earth.
"Ah, Jemma, right?" Henry nodded, greeting the shapeshifter and she touched down upon the ground. The answer was obvious in hindsight. "How long have you been, uh, divebombing the inn?" he asked with a chuckle.