The Create-A-Hero RPG Season III IC Thread!

[Hound55]

Epilogue

[BLACKOUT]“This is insane, I thought we discussed this!”[/BLACKOUT] Isaac’s yell echoes through the halls of Guardians Headquarters.

“No. I said I wouldn’t destroy everything and start from scratch, this is something different.”

[BLACKOUT]“You’re only…”[/BLACKOUT]

“Don’t even try it…” Megan smiled, “…I have more experience in my time on this world than you do.”

[BLACKOUT]“Yeah, by taking mine.”[/BLACKOUT] Isaac thought to himself.

“What you did… you showed me that it wasn’t right to wipe out life here. I’ve no right over this life to destroy, or even to risk my creations causing their destruction. But I still have to do this. I still have to try and do this. Create more perfect life. Life without the impurities and negativity. There’s only one place I’m going to be able to do this...”

Isaac looked at her with a father’s deep concern.

“Out there.” She said, pointing to the space beyond, a flighty expression that made him more than a little uncomfortable.

“You don’t need to worry about me...” she continued

“…I’m more worried about you.”

[BLACKOUT]“Me???”[/BLACKOUT]

“Yes, you. You’ve been doing this all by yourself for too long.”

[BLACKOUT]“I’m not by myself, there’s Icon, the Ang…”[/BLACKOUT]

“No. You know how I mean ‘by yourself’, you don’t trust anyone. You have teammates but you choose to go alone.”

[BLACKOUT]“But I can’t trust anyone, how could I ever trust anyone with this life when anyone could be using their position…”[/BLACKOUT]

“You could start with your old friend Gunny there.”

[BLACKOUT]“But how? That’s what I’m saying, how could I trust that he’s not just looking to infiltrate, use his position to get information or worse.”[/BLACKOUT]

“You could trust the Colonel…”

[BLACKOUT]“But how? How could I know? It’s not like I can read mi-…”[/BLACKOUT]

The Vigilante stopped mid-sentence and gave a cock-eyed look, raising one eyebrow and almost looking through the little girl. He silently mouthed the word “you?”. She responded with a nod and a warm smile.

[BLACKOUT]“How? When?”[/BLACKOUT]

“When I brought us both here from Tartarus. I didn’t know how to re-create you alive and in motion. Back then I could physically create the body, but it was inert. I didn’t have your organs moving and I panicked because I didn’t want to have killed you. I had to save you… I had to, but I didn’t know where the medical supplies would be or how to use them. So when I found him, I gave myself his knowledge… I used what he knew to tell him to get the defibrillator. The charge stimulated movement in you, got your body working as it should. He’s a good man, has his own secrets as well, but nothing so big that you shouldn’t trust him.”

“Maybe in time, he’ll be able to trust you enough. Just like hopefully you’ll find it in you to trust him.”

Isaac smiled, here was a girl who was about to go out into the infinite solitude of space and she was concerned about his own ability to handle the isolation of his lifestyle – a man who would fight society’s battles when citizens couldn’t fight their own. They were not so different. Self-exiled for the sake of the multitude; Isaac for a people he lived amongst on a daily basis, Omega for a people who did not yet even exist.

“Of course, he’s only a starting point. You’re in a special position, you know that?”

 

[Hound55]

[BLACKOUT]“How so?”[/BLACKOUT]

“So far you’re one of only two people who know what you know. We share a secret, you and I… and I won’t be around to tell anyone here. You have to think about what to do with that knowledge, think long and hard about who to trust with that. With how up here *she tapped her head* is connected with the rest *tapping her chest*, there’s a lot that can be done with that knowledge if it finds its way into the right hands…”

[BLACKOUT]“Hmm…”[/BLACKOUT] Not the deepest response, but all he could voice with his mind so deep in thought. She was right.

“I love you. Thank you for everything. I hate this part.” The little girl imparted with a cringe.

[BLACKOUT]“Parting is such sweet sorrow?”[/BLACKOUT] Isaac quipped, waxing poetic with Shakespeare’s words.

“That too… You know how I described the mind?”

[BLACKOUT]“Yes, you… I… it was described like a radio signal.”[/BLACKOUT]

“Yes. Exactly, in order for me to ‘teleport’ I have to create a second version of myself. A second version which operates on the same frequency. So when I do it, it kind of feels… well it’s not a hurt, but it feels wrong, it feels… It’s hard to describe, but it’s not good. Like a spiritual feedback, maybe? It doesn’t feel pleasant that’s for sure. But I have to, I can’t create myself somewhere else without my existing in the first place…”

Isaac gave a sympathetic frown.

[BLACKOUT]“Will I see you again?”[/BLACKOUT]

“I don’t know… I have a lot of work to do.” With a grimace it was clear that she was fading away, her molecular structure dissipating and wisping away on the light breezes artificially created by the headquarters air conditioning system.

[BLACKOUT]“Wait a minute! So if you don’t have any right to destroy the life here then does that mean those two S.T.R.I.K.E guys…”[/BLACKOUT]

But she was already gone.

Isaac stood alone in the hallway. Running all that this version of him could remember about the last few hours through his head. It was a lot to absorb, but there was a lot of value to it. Approaching footsteps drew his head back on his neck like a waking marionette.

“When did you get back? What happened? Where’s the kid?”

[BLACKOUT]“Five minutes ago. I saved the world. In space… with the candle stick… anything Professor Plum says different is a bald faced lie.”[/BLACKOUT]

“What?”

[BLACKOUT]“It’s a long story, but the hall to the tech-nerds fortress of solitude is a long one. Come with and I’ll tell you what happened.”[/BLACKOUT]

“The tech guys?”

[BLACKOUT]“Yeah, I’ve got something to tell them too. I think they’ll like the information I have for them even more than you’ll appreciate the story of how I know it…”[/BLACKOUT]

 

[Hound55]

Sometime later - A S.T.R.I.K.E Facility – Whereabouts Disclosed

A man leans over a table, his appearance could only be described as derelict. A beard hides the face of a man who is looking to hide from something himself. The lights brighten, more questions will come. ‘Why is this so drawn out?’ he finds himself asking, ‘what could be so complicated’. His scraggy, neglected face raises up and looks through the reflection of himself in the one-way glass. His eyes squint to cut down on the glare of the bright interrogation lights. The speakers crackle and the booming synthetic sounding voice cuts through the silence.

“So, again we’re here!”

The booming sound of the speakers emphasises the pauses, the resounding echo never quite allowing complete silence to reign.

“Are we to take it that you’re still having the dreams!”

The raggedy man nodded, his head cowed.

“Speak! …Are you still having the dreams as normal!”

“YES!” The raggedy man bellowed. “But there’s nothing normal about them!”

“Can the attitude, or we’ll cut you loose!”

The raggedy man submissively dripped over to the far corner and sat against the wall. He pounded his own head twice and then repeated his answer in a far more reserved tone.

“Yes.”

“So they’re always the same dream?!”

“No… no… But they all end the same. I… I can’t take them anymore. Please…”

“We need an example! What was last night’s!”

“I’ve… I’ve already told you people this…”

The raggedy man started to rock back and forth in his corner.

“Then you should have your story down by now! You know how things work here!”

“Last night’s would have been a good one… It had that Nicola Parks, you know… the actress. We were in this big hall, like out of one of her period pieces. I was in a suit, looking much better than I do now. And we were dancing. About half way through I realised that I was dreaming and got scared. I’ve started to anticipate it now, see? It took me a while to figure out I was dreaming and what that would mean. So I grabbed Nicola by the hand and told her we had to run. Then I could feel it starting to happen again… the same with the other dreams. This high pitched sound, like a ringing started to fill everything; it sounded distant at first, but then as always started to get more intense. Nicola tripped, I stepped on her hand and just kept running. I knew what was coming and I … I just couldn’t take it one more time...”

Behind glass, a room full of men look on. Observing the raggedy man’s every movement, the inflection of his voice. No detail goes unnoticed before their trained eyes and ears.

“… and I ran, and ran. I knew it was useless. I’ve run in the dreams before, it makes no difference. But I have to try, I can’t let it happen again.”

“Let’s talk through the endings now! You say they always end the same, but is there ever any slight difference that you can recall!”

The raggedy man started panting, perspiration beading on his brow and running down his face where their tributaries would join the raging torrents that his tearful eyes were now creating.

“First the sound starts to get more intense, and then… then I could start to feel a sort of heat, like there was a fire blazing behind my own eyes. Then light, I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, the pain is blinding, then a light brightens I can see it as red first, because even my eyelids can’t dim it. My eyes fall open and it’s all I can see. My own flesh…”

The raggedy man is hyperventilating now, his beard filled with a combination of tears and snot.

“And it always happens the same… I can feel everything… I can see my own nose coming from my face. I can see things that no-one could ever see. No-one SHOULD ever see… Oh God…”

The speakers crackle again and a sound that seems like people shuffling behind the microphone is overheard.

“And you know that we still haven’t perfected the procedure! We’d like to believe we’ve made inroads, but there’s no guarantee that..! Survival rate is by no means guaranteed!”

“Yes. I know.” The raggedy man sniffled and tried to pull himself back together.

“I can’t keep living like this… Whatever happens from here I’m fine with.”

“And are we reading your request for preferred genetic manipulation correctly?! You want..!?”

“Yes. I saw him at work. He cut through a legion of metahumans… made every one of them miss. I want… No… I NEED to be someone who doesn’t miss.”

Behind the glass a man in a black suit gave a smile. He hands a clipboard to a man in a white lab-coat. The clipboard contains the raggedy man’s details in full - the request of “Enhanced hand-eye co-ordination, enhanced sight and enhanced dexterity” circled in red pen with a question mark next to it, but ultimately agreed to with a destiny controlling “APPROVED” rubber stamp.

“Henry Patton! We believe that qualifies as informed medical consent! We’ll be starting the procedure immediately!”

 

[NiteMare Shape]

I sit in my booth at the back of The Hub with Eric and our friends Brenda and Mark, who came up from New York to see Keira and her band perform tonight.

Keira and her bandmate Clara have been having a hard time landing any gigs, not for their lack of trying or talent for that matter. They've just had a hard time finding a club that's interested in any new acts.

But dating the owner of a club has it's perks. Well, at least I think we're dating. We had been spending alot of time together. Then there was the other night when we....

But I'm still not entirely sure where we stand. My life as Icon has made it difficult to spend any time with her as of late...or anyone else for that matter.

But this is the least of my worries right now. As the sultry voices of Keira and Clara come together in a duet of "Home Sweet Home," my mind drifts to other things...troubling things.

The recent attacks by meta humans on civilian targets. The more aggressive stance that S.T.R.I.K.E. has taken in recent months. The incident with The Hybrid...and how they all connect to one another.

Keira and Clara finish the song to a loud round of applause, but the applause is cut short when the band instantly goes into another song. I think a may have found a new headlining act for the club...I just wish that I wasn't so preoccupied that I couldn't enjoy the show.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

Politicians.

Normally I have no time for them. However, occasionally they prove useful. And this is one of those rare occasions.

Senator Hillis has assured me that his legislation for metahuman defense will pass, sight unseen if necessary. And that is exactly what I want to hear. In his legislation S-5373, there are provisions that will provide S.T.R.I.K.E. with more leeway to ensure the country's safety against the metahuman threat.

And as director of S.T.R.I.K.E., it gives me the authority to do whatever I feel is necessary in order to ensure that safety.

As I reach over to grab my brandy sifter, I hear a commotion out in the hallway. Suddenly, my large oak double doors crash open and Ryder marches into my office in a rage. As he approaches my desk, I see an anger in his eyes that I haven't seen in years.

"Marcus?" I say, surprised by the sudden intrusion.

"32."

"Excuse me?"

"32. That's how many agents you had slaughtered when you let that...that thing out of the Tomb."

Marcus' reaction isn't exactly surprising. He's always considered himself one of the troops, even though he hasn't been one of them in quite some time. Neither of us have been.

"I understand your concern. The incident with The Hybrid was unfortunate, but I will make sure that the families of the men and women who died...."

"Don't feed me that crap Alex. You don't give a **** about those agents or their families."

"You know that's not true Marcus..."

"Save it Alex. Those men..."

"Were expendable. We're fighting a war here Marcus, don't you ever for get that. It's unfortunate that so many died, but it is an acceptable loss. It's the price of what we do."

Marcus seems to be taken aback by my response.

"And what about me, Alex? Am I expendable?"

"Yes, Marcus. Everyone is expendable."

 

[NiteMare Shape]

I look over the briefing from the latest session of Congress, my eyes stop at one specific point of interest.

"Bill S-5373 Passed."

Senator Hillis managed to make good on his promise. He was able to get the bill passed. He used his colleagues' fears of further attacks on the populace by meta humans against them, and was able to get the bill approved in the middle of the night, citing the need to ensure that the American people be kept safe.

And in their haste to secure our borders from yet another threat, they have basically given me the keys to the castle, so to speak. Fortunately, it still rings true that people are reactionary creatures, and the fear of more attacks is a great motivator to get things done.

And speaking of getting things done....I have an awful lot of work to do.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

After Keira's band finishes their set, I find myself aimlessly wandering through my club as I wait for her to join me from backstage. Yet, again I find my mind drifting to recent events.

I still can't shake the feeling that S.T.R.I.K.E. knows more about what has been going on. I just wish I had more to go on than a hunch. Maybe I can talk to Isaac and get him to see what he can find, but if I know him at all, he's already working on it.

Just as I am making my way back to the booth where Eric and I had been sitting with Brenda and Mark when an explosion from somewhere on the street rocks the club, knocking several of the club goers around me from their feet.

I look around the club, and much to my relief find that while there are some bumps and bruises, there are no serious injuries.

After making sure that nobody in the club needs my help, I make my way to the store room that I use as my private office. Quickly shedding my civilian clothes, revealing my costume, I make my way out of the back door of my office into the small private alleyway behind the club. Even behind the club, I can see that the night sky has taken on an orange hue from the massive blaze caused by the explosion only a couple of blocks away.

I take to the skies, and head straight for the towering inferno.

 

[wiegeabo]

"It is the finding of the panel that the man in charge of The Agency is at fault in the unfortunate death of General Evers. It is our recommendation that you be removed from your post, effective immediately. A successor to be determined at a later date. Our findings will be turned over to the Justice Department for determination if further steps are necessary. This meeting is adjourned."

The Director doesn't even flinch when the gavel strikes home.

Outside the meeting room, the chairman of the committee notices a familiar face and starts walking with him.

"Well?"

"We've removed him from his position. It's a shame, someone with that level of service."

"I understand."

"The JD may press still press charges..."

"I'm not here for that. I think I have a name for consideration to be his successor."

"I'm all ears, Marcus..."

***

The Director picks the lamp off his desk and walks over to the table in his office, placing it inside the box sitting on it.

"I just want you to know that I'm very unhappy about this, sir."

"Thank you, Bobby."

"I mean...what about all that stuff you promised me? Validated parking, overtime, longer vacations. I mean, you promised me all that stuff."

The Director smirks. "I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with my replacement."

"Any idea who that'll be?" I say as I stand by the windows

"They didn't consult with me about that."

Bobby hands the Director the last item on his desk. "Do you think you could, you know...leave a memo about all those things we talked about-"

"Bobby...could you give Cole and I a minute?" I roll my eyes and turn around, the window blinds suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the world.

Hawkes glances at me. "Um..well...uh...sure. Yeah. Memo," Hawkes whispers as he closes the door behind him.

The Director chuckles once, then drops the small case into the box. "I just wanted you to know kid. You're probably the best thing to ever happen to this organization. You would have made a great agent."

My jaw sets in a bit of defiance. Just what I wanted to hear.

"I know you're pissed about what happened on the beach, but-"

"You don't get it , do you?"

The Director steels himself. "Educate me."

"It's not just what happen at the beach. It's everything you do. The way...the way you just use people."

"Hey...guess what? That's the job description."

I sigh as I put my hands on the back of a chair and lean over it, looking at the now very interesting floor.

"Anyway, I'm glad we got the chance to work together."

"Well, it's not like I really had the choice. Is it now?"

And suddenly, for the first time, I see the Director soften. "Doesn't matter. You have a real gift. Even without the invisibility. I just hope you learn to use it."

"Well, take care of yourself kid." And with that, Director walks out of what used to be his office.

...And I instantly feel lower than dirt.

The folder is labeled Top Secret. With a classification so high, that Broiles hadn't even heard of it before. Not before he was given his new position.

As he scans through the criminal record in the first few pages, he can't understand why the classification was so high. There was nothing particularly dangerous, or even interesting for that matter. And skimming the next few pages give him nothing more to chew on.

Until he reaches the page marked Project: QS-2000.

A slow smile follow his initial reaction of disbelief...

***

"So, the Director is gone," The Doctor says to me.

I sit in the exam chair in her basement lab/office, resting my eyes, while she rolls up my sleeve after my injection. The Fatman's last words to me rolling around in my head.

"Yeah, he split. Flew the coop. History."

"Well...I'm going to miss him."

I open one eye at her. "Seriously?"

"Oh, come on. He wasn't that bad."

"...Seriously?"

"Of all the over-bearing, penny-pinching, chauvinistic bureaucrats I worked for, he was definitely the best."

"Geez...and here I thought my life sucked. Of course, your point of view isn't quite what mine is. I happen to be the only indentured servant around here."

"Maybe I can change all that."

Both The Doc and I look over at the door where Agent Broiles stands with a file in his hands.

"Hi. I'm Luke Broiles." He walks over and extends his hand to The Doctor. "You're in charge of this lab, right?"

"Yes," she says, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you. I've just been made acting head of The Agency. Pending approval, of course."

...so...Director Broiles...

Broiles walks over to one of the tables against a wall, looking over everything. I stand up, trying to take all this in. "Hey, um...so what did you mean about changing things?"

Broiles has his back to us as he looks over some beakers linked together with tubes. The liquids inside bubbling from the heat of the Bunsen burner's flame. "Well, that depends. Is it true what they say about you?"

I glance at the Doc. "What they-? I don't know what you mean."

"You don't really go invisible do you?"

Our jaws drop and we give each other another glance before regaining our composure. "Hey, look. I...I don't know what they've got written about me in there. But I-I wouldn't-"

Broiles turns around with the burner in his hand and turns the flame all the way up, pointing at me.

"HeyAAAAAAGGHH!!!" I leap back, adrenaline kicking in, and everything becomes silver as I go see-through.

...oh crap...

 

[Hound55]

The green brings light in more ways than one…

For starters, the green lens-tinting in these night vision goggles I’m wearing right now allows me to see all of the action on the streets 70-odd metres below my rooftop perch.

The Government’s green allowed me to have said night vision goggles in the first place.

And prior to that, my own green – thanks, Pops - allows me to live a life where I can drag two cities out of the darkness.

3 blocks over from where I stand and watch, lies a park full of the green. A park which represents the best of humanity and shines its own bright beacon of life in a city made up of steel, glass and cement.

But then at the moment that’s just a distraction…

Time to admire the lighter aspects of life later. At the moment my attention needs to stay right where it is; on the less than exemplary examples of human behaviour taking place some 70 metres below.

That one on the left in work overalls - he’s my source. He doesn’t know it of course. He wouldn’t talk to these types if he had any idea I was watching him… and they sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead talking to him. But that’s how I work in a new city when I’m not given a specific case file to look into. I stay up out of sight for a while, watching ants. Pick a “sure bet” based on a number of things - His activities, his mannerisms… the fact he somehow seemed to have access to a large amount of illegal narcotics... - and follow him. Sooner or later, you start to meet some of his friends.

Like his new friend in the leather jacket down there, with the car boot open, and the rather suspicious looking bags and automatic firearm that the car boot holds. And the other friends pulling into the alley in their own cars… and a van.

A nagging voice I usually ignore chimes in again: “Move in. Take ‘em down now.”

This is not my conscience. In fact, I seldom hear from my conscience anymore… I’d like to say it’s because he doesn’t normally need to speak up, but not even I believe that...

It’s my built in desire for the action. The yearning need to treat the vile violently.

And as usual it speaks out of turn, making me suppress it with the usual list.
[BLACKOUT]“Not now.”[/BLACKOUT]
[BLACKOUT]“They’re still middle-fish.”[/BLACKOUT]
“With automatic weapons.”
[BLACKOUT]“Too much risk for too little reward.”[/BLACKOUT]

But then the van doors opened.

Some of “his friends” have just led out a series of girls, not yet women, bound and silenced with tape into a back-door entrance in this alley.

Young girls, some possibly not even high school age, many bruised and battered (in places I can see - and beyond that I’d rather not even think about it…) who can barely walk, let alone resist the hulking brute of a man who herds them away.

I suppose this is as far down the rabbit hole as I’m going to see… Their bosses will go free, but I can’t allow this to stand.

My attention drifts slighting from what the men below are doing and towards the lay of the land - Where light falls and what remains in the shadows. Where each man is, what he could potentially use as a weapon and the directions each are facing. Possible exit points for escape if necessary and of course planning a point of attack that will best assure the safety of the girls.

Not liking the location and potential glare of one of the street lights, I remove the night vision goggles and secure them away. My hand falls to my equipment, flash-bang grenades once again come into play, smoke pellets. My nightsticks are strapped to my back where they belong and I pat my grapple gun, which I’ll need fast fingers to operate for this quick sting.

The girls are herded into the building across, I can’t see any extra men in the building and I’m going to need to trust that if there are any, that they’re too deep in the belly of the building to give effective support. I hate taking chances, but sometimes you have to run the numbers, play the odds and hope for the best. I’ll give some more time, to up their safety further, but too much time isn’t good for their safety either.

I have my target, I’m counting hippopotamuses (although in this country it should probably be Mississippis…) and that’s when I felt it. On the fourth hippopotamus, I felt someone poking my leg trying to get my attention. I brush them away with a second thought before turning to look at who it was and …

No one.

There’s no one with me that I can see. That’s when I decide to see who or what was poking me.

I saw the dart.

On the ground and I can see its contents were still two thirds full through its transparent casing. My heart starts racing at a rate so fast that only my mind would have a hope at keeping pace with it, and right now they’re going neck-and-neck.

No one was next to me, but it’s become perfectly apparent that someone wants my attention… and given the fact that it was a tranquiliser dart rather than a bullet I’m guessing they have some pretty big questions for me and don't want to ask them here. There’s no doubt as to who is behind this, but in case I had any douts they would be dissuaded very quickly as two dozen S.T.R.I.K.E agents form a staggered perimeter on roof-tops surrounding mine. But they still haven’t shown the full force they brought yet…

A raucous rhythmic beating comes from somewhere just beyond my view around a surrounding building. An unmistakable sound of doom as a Blackhawk helicopter rises towards my rooftop level from somewhere below, its blades beating a cacophonous resonance that inspires thoughts of a demon’s wings. I take the opportunity to look back at my own quarry which I was watching no more than a minute ago and see the silver lining to it all. S.T.R.I.K.E agents have moved in and arrested the men some 70 metres beneath me. Some are taking witness statements from some of the girls, now wrapped in towels or blankets in their care.

I have little time to take relief in this however as the Blackhawk has risen into view, swung around the far end of the building I’m crouched on and caught me in spotlight. Despite the damage it’s doing to my sight I fight to look through the light. The light is so bright that even when I blink, it turns the thin flesh of my eye-lid semi-translucent and I can see only pink where there would usually be darkness. I fight the urge to blink and manage to gaze beyond the light in an attempt to see who might be in the chopper. I almost manage to see through to the inhabitants of the choppers cabin, when my vision blurs into swirls of colour, forcing me to look away. I see pinks and blues and yellow hues.

But above all else, I’ve gotten a glimpse of S.T.R.I.K.E’s green… and it’s more than a little troubling.

 

[trustyside-kick]

"You're supposed to be a hero, and yet when someone calls on you to be heroic...you run."

"You don't know the entire story!!"

"SHUT UP!"

I'm getting really tired of dodging his attacks. But his powers are just so much more massive than before. I fly towards him, spiral around the beam he fires at me which was risky as heck but it made it unclear as to what side I was going to strike coming that close like that. I manage to lay down a right hook to the jaw followed by a knee to the stomach and I grab him by the shoulders.

"S.T.R.I.K.E. acts like taking a sample of my blood would have helped them find a cure for you and your team...but what they tell you is that they KNEW IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN! They KNOWINGLY gave you guys unstable powers. And here you are, doing EXACTLY what they want you to do by trying to take me out for not cooperating."

He manages to get a hand free and I can already feel the heat emanating as he is about to point blank blast me in the face but then I manage to grab hold of his free arm and twist it.

"You quit, right? Well...you're STILL a pawn for them!!"

North Pacific Ocean
Kahului, Hawaii
50 Miles off the Coast

I'm too busy trying to contain Hazard's anger by talking him down that I do not notice the three S.T.R.I.K.E. fighter helicopters that approach from behind us, letting out all the arsenal they've got on us. Only option is to let go of my hold of him, and try to dodge this unfriendly fire the best I can.

"WOAH!"

While I'm being as acrobatic in the air as possible, Cody doesn't take as quite an elegant approach to the situation. He immediately dodges and then concocts a surge of his insane radioactive type of heat energy and blasts one of the S.T.R.I.K.E. choppers into oblivion.

"He's...insane."
​

That's all I can muster before two more S.T.R.I.K.E. choppers emerge from the other side of the small island we have been fighting on and an on the move. They must have had some sort of way to track Cody even though he defected. My guess is something his suit since it was infact designed by S.T.R.I.K.E. obviously. And by the way they are unleashing their fury upon the area it looks like they do not care who or what they hit.

I'm not the only target this time. Looks like Hazard has joined the ranks of S.T.R.I.K.E's Most Wanted List as well.

Summoning huge water sprouts from the water below the choppers I'm able to throw some off balance, giving me more time to evade and work towards getting away from this small war zone. But my trying to minimize casualties on their end is helping but not nearly as effective as I need it to be. I need to--

"ARRGGHH!!"

A sniper from one of the choppers manages to hit me in the shoulder at the precise hit that my angel-fire wings were in such a motion that they did not give me protection. Normally they would have just melted the bullets but I wasn't prepared and trying to block the attack. Hazard is still obliterating choppers left and right, all the while they are chasing the both of us eastward as I lead towards the West Coast of the United States.

I can't shake them all off and I'm wounded. I'm heading back to the only place that I can safely try to recuperate since there clearly isn't any time for me to try to do a prayer of healing and tend to this wound. Not when I'm being chased by chopper after chopper of S.T.R.I.K.E. forces.

My only way to make out of this alive is to somehow kick it into high gear speed wise through flying all the way back to Lost Haven at the Guardians HQ.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

It only takes me a few seconds to get to the site of the explosion, and as I arrive I see that it is far worse than I fear. I can see bodies strewn all across the boulevard, along burnt out vehicles. As I get closer, I see the full extent of the damage.

Several buildings seem to have been devestated by the explosion, with exposed girders and twisted beams, the buildings threaten to collapse at any moment.

Then I see something that leaves a cold knot in my stomach. A group of survivors huddled at the back corner of the lobby of what had been a well known law firm. The large support beam at the front of the building bowing under the added weight caused by the failure of so much of the support structure.

I dart to the beam and take a hold of it, pushing up against it.

"Get out, now!" I hollar at the small group of survivors.

However, before they can get passed me, I'm hit with great force by a burst of intense heat, which knocks me from my feet and sends me hurtling toward the spot that the survivors had occupied just moments before.

I look up and see nothing but flames surrounding me.

"If it isn't the Great Butcher himself." I hear a familiar female voice say.

Then I see her, coming at me like a nightmarish vision from this hellish inferno is the one woman who hates me more than anybody in the galaxy, and she has good reason for that hatred.

"Singe."

And she brought some friends.

 

[Hound55]

Standing atop a roof surrounded by two dozen men (and a helicopter…) decked out in similar coloured outfits to mine my mind races. It has to. At this point, all I have going for me is what rests between my ears.

I’m outgunned, out-numbered and I was stupid enough to isolate myself away from any and all other Guardian help. I feel crosshairs trained on me from 20-odd S.T.R.I.K.E field agents armed with assault rifles - albeit likely loaded with tranquilisers – while all I have is a homemade pop-gun loaded, at this point, with a grappling hook and cable filament. Which is pretty much irrelevant anyway, because if I draw and aim the damn thing I might get one shot off before I’m hit with enough darts to take down an elephant. Maybe.

Already I can feel the one they hit me with starting to take hold, gripping the edges of my mind, giving a numbing sensation… despite the fact that I managed to brush it off before most of it could go into my bloodstream.

So what hope have I got here..? I might get off one shot from the hip, maybe… and I’m a poor shot at best. So what else can I do..?

[BLACKOUT]“Hey! Who’s in charge here?!?”[/BLACKOUT] My digitally modified voice pierces the nights air, slightly crackling with distortion due to my having to yell.

No response is returned.

[BLACKOUT]“So what is this? Am I under arrest?!? I’m pretty sure you’re legally obligated to read me my rights!”[/BLACKOUT]

The eerie silence continues to resonate through moonlit scene.

So… talking my way out of this mess is out. And apparently I’m not under arrest. Hmm… Well, of course I’m not... If they arrest me, there’s public inquiry. People will want to know what my side is, the press will try and ask me questions and how will they respond? “Vigilante is under arrest for breaching our security and freeing the illegally created (surely..?) little metahuman girl who has pretty much all the powers of a God, which S.T.R.I.K.E created and caged with tax-payer money…”

Of course I can’t produce and evidence that they did that, she’s not even on the planet anymore… but they don’t know that… Hell, that’s probably the only reason I had a dart in my leg rather than a bullet in my brain.

The perimeter of S.T.R.I.K.E agents is steadily closing as they move in, a few are already on my building. Talking’s out, and I have one shot with a grapple gun at best. Agents all around and a Blackhawk helicopter some 50 metres away… maybe 60 tops…

Well… I hope it’s not 70…

Drawing fast from the hip I fire my one round at the under-carriage of the chopper and dip my shoulder, allowing myself to fall from the building. Cable whistles from the spool and I catch a glimpse as the hook just misses digging into the belly of the helicopter. Now I’m plummeting, I see faces of S.T.R.I.K.E agents below with faces aghast. The cable whistles underneath through one of the choppers “legs” and loops through, catching hold and saving me from turning into street-pizza. The gun jerks to free itself from my grasp as the cable takes hold, with a survivor’s instinct and will I manage to hold on. My shoulder makes an audible ‘pop’ and I curse in frustration at how much harder this will make things.

The chopper pilot reacts, pulling the Blackhawk up and away from where the shot came from, making me swing faster than I wanted and higher as well. Looks like I won’t be getting off just yet, and the popped shoulder could be the least of my worries…

The black helicopter drifts over a main road with me in tow, darts whistle past me as the sniper fires a few more shots at me while hanging out of the door. I’m thankful for the fact that he’s a sharpshooter in name only, the rifle clearly not being held in the best hands. At this point I’m in fate’s hands, not a position which makes me particularly comfortable, but a place I’ve grown a lot more familiar with since coming to this crazy city. Retracting the cable and getting involved in a fistfight in a helicopter does not sound particularly desirable, but neither does cutting myself loose and free-falling a few hundred metres at 100 kilometres an hour… So, whilst dangling from a helicopter while it flies around the cityscape may not be the best long-term plan, it’ll have to do for the time being until something better comes along… Chances are it’ll circle around and take me back to the building with those agents, or maybe just fly me back to where they want to take me…

If they don’t accidentally kill me first… Assuming it’d be accidental…

I make a small involuntary squeak as I see a large truck in my path, retracting the cable just enough to prevent myself from becoming a rather large bug on its windshield. Number of trucks have increased since we approached the industrial area by the docklands.

It’s hard to do anything in this situation, everything’s going so fast. Survival depends on equal part luck and instinct at this point. The helicopter makes another turn while I’m still swinging low. The water while black in the darkness of night, glimmers in the moon as we fly rapidly past, and we can still see the white of where it breaks. The helicopter takes a sharp turn inland and I see a glimmer of hope. Swinging out over the water I flick a panel up on the grapple gun and press hard on a button, in an instant the cable is severed and I soar out to the relative safe arms of the water, desperately hoping I wouldn’t hit a boat or jetty. A not-unreasonable fear as well, as I plunge into the sea only a few metres from a pier.

Far from a perfect ten for style points but I’m alive and free. Now how do I stay that way..?

 

[trustyside-kick]

"Have to...heal up, but...not enough time to--ARGGH!!"

I've been flying over the Pacific Ocean trying to make it back to Lost Haven with fleet after fleet of S.T.R.I.K.E. units chasing after me through the sky on their frickin' choppers and hovercrafts galore. Since the ambush nearby Hawaii Hazard has been taken down on account that whether it be out of some sense of nobility or his hatred for S.T.R.I.K.E.--which I am most definitely putting my money on it being the hatred factor--he stopped at one point and tried to take on nearly the entire fleet on his own. He put up one heck of a fight, which was a moment I used to further advance over the Pacific Ocean, but eventually was detained from what I could tell when I last looked back.

I've since then taken multiple gunshot wounds, and while I can fly faster than their hovercrafts can...I still have yet to find time to lay low and try to tend to my wounds. Ain't it always the way? You have the powers to heal yourself and yet the person hunting you down just won't give up.

Wait...that isn't always the way? Guess I'm just screwed is all then. Either the hot sun or the loss of blood is really...messing with my train of thought here.

But I have to press on.

It only takes me a few seconds to get to the site of the explosion, and as I arrive I see that it is far worse than I fear. I can see bodies strewn all across the boulevard, along burnt out vehicles. As I get closer, I see the full extent of the damage.

Several buildings seem to have been devestated by the explosion, with exposed girders and twisted beams, the buildings threaten to collapse at any moment.

Then I see something that leaves a cold knot in my stomach. A group of survivors huddled at the back corner of the lobby of what had been a well known law firm. The large support beam at the front of the building bowing under the added weight caused by the failure of so much of the support structure.

I dart to the beam and take a hold of it, pushing up against it.

"Get out, now!" I hollar at the small group of survivors.

OOC: The remainder of this post is going to be in third person.

There is a certain shine glimmering off in the distance upward night sky as Michael's angel-fire wings are illuminating his vicinity. The organization known as S.T.R.I.K.E. actually lost track of Michael Angelo after he passed through the Gulf of Mexico air ways, but the determined and desperate act of survival has kept the angelic hero flying at full speed as though he was still being chased.

Completely neglecting the idea that he should have stopped and finally healed himself, the loss of blood has truly affected his mind and judgment. He finally spots an image that is familiar to him as he sees the sign welcoming him to Lost Haven City as he flies through the skies.

"F--Finally...here...can almost...stop."
​

However, before they can get passed me, I'm hit with great force by a burst of intense heat, which knocks me from my feet and sends me hurtling toward the spot that the survivors had occupied just moments before.

I look up and see nothing but flames surrounding me.

"If it isn't the Great Butcher himself." I hear a familiar female voice say.

Then I see her, coming at me like a nightmarish vision from this hellish inferno is the one woman who hates me more than anybody in the galaxy, and she has good reason for that hatred.

"Singe."

And she brought some friends.

Archangel sees a familiar face finally as he heads towards where the Guardian HQ is. He wasn't planning on stopping here, however just seeing a fellow hero makes him feel safe. And like he can finally stop running. Can finally stop flying.

Can finally--

He suddenly starts to plummet to the ground. The loss of blood has finally taken its toll and he passes out. Like a flare falling down after being shot, all eyes garner their attention and focus towards the angelic hero suddenly dropping from the sky with his angel-fire wings suddenly starting to flicker and almost burn out.

After a loud thud, crashing into the ground, there is two last flickers of angel-fire light before the wings burn out and Michael reverts out of the Archangel State. In excruciating pain he looks up, the hero Icon being not too far away and he whispers just before he passes out with a small smirk on his face.

"Icon, buddy, how you--"

And everything goes black for Michael Angelo as he passes out.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

It only takes me a few seconds to get to the site of the explosion, and as I arrive I see that it is far worse than I fear. I can see bodies strewn all across the boulevard, along burnt out vehicles. As I get closer, I see the full extent of the damage.

Several buildings seem to have been devestated by the explosion, with exposed girders and twisted beams, the buildings threaten to collapse at any moment.

Then I see something that leaves a cold knot in my stomach. A group of survivors huddled at the back corner of the lobby of what had been a well known law firm. The large support beam at the front of the building bowing under the added weight caused by the failure of so much of the support structure.

I dart to the beam and take a hold of it, pushing up against it.

"Get out, now!" I hollar at the small group of survivors.

However, before they can get passed me, I'm hit with great force by a burst of intense heat, which knocks me from my feet and sends me hurtling toward the spot that the survivors had occupied just moments before.

I look up and see nothing but flames surrounding me.

"If it isn't the Great Butcher himself." I hear a familiar female voice say.

Then I see her, coming at me like a nightmarish vision from this hellish inferno is the one woman who hates me more than anybody in the galaxy, and she has good reason for that hatred.

"Singe."


And she brought some friends.

Four against one.

Normally, I wouldn't like their odds...but I'm alittle limited in what I can do in this situation. If I just take it to Singe and her friends, I put the people trapped inside in even more danger.

Unfortunately, they don't give me much choice. Singe unleashes a torrent of flame toward the huddled survivors. However, I am able to get there in time and absorb the brunt of the attack.

"Singe, stop it! I won't let you do this!"

"You won't let me do what, Icon? You won't let me avenge the thousands of my people you slaughtered? You won't let me set things right? You are such a hypocrite Icon. You claim to fight for what is right, in preserving life. Yet, only when it is convenient. When the chance presented itself, you did not hesitate to nearly exterminate my people."

"I didn't have a choice. Your people were going to destroy the Earth."

"So you destroyed us instead. Now, I return the favor." She says as she renews her attack, this the flames she spews is so hot that the steel support beams begin to melt.

I look over to the survivors, who are huddled in the corner trying to stay out of the line of fire, and I feel a new resolve. I begin forcing my way forward, pushing against the intensifying heat until I get within several paces of her.

Then suddenly,

He suddenly starts to plummet to the ground. The loss of blood has finally taken its toll and he passes out. Like a flare falling down after being shot, all eyes garner their attention and focus towards the angelic hero suddenly dropping from the sky with his angel-fire wings suddenly starting to flicker and almost burn out.

After a loud thud, crashing into the ground, there is two last flickers of angel-fire light before the wings burn out and Michael reverts out of the Archangel State. In excruciating pain he looks up, the hero Icon being not too far away and he whispers just before he passes out with a small smirk on his face.

"Icon, buddy, how you--"

And everything goes black for Michael Angelo as he passes out.

We all look over at Michael, laying motionless just several feet away, none of us sure exactly what to make of what just happened. I take advantage of the momentary distraction. I leave my feet and rocket toward Singe and her 3 friends, hitting them all at once, sending them flying out into the street. Singe and two of her partners stay down, but the fourth tries to get to his feet, but I meet him with a left hook which puts him down for good.

After making sure that Singe and her cronies aren't going to cause anymore trouble, I go over to check on Michael, who I can see is bleeding badly.

"Oh Michael...who did this to you?" I ask, knowing that I'm not going to get a response. But almost on cue, I hear the rumble of several large vehicles as they come to a stop at the scene of the attack.

I look up and find that this isn't the run of the mill S.T.R.I.K.E. convoy, these are big vehicles, which look like...

Troop carriers.

My first impression is proven correct as I see a virtual army of S.T.R.I.K.E. agents pour from the vehicles, weapons drawn on Singe and her cohorts, as well as on Michael and myself.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

After making sure that Singe and her cronies aren't going to cause anymore trouble, I go over to check on Michael, who I can see is bleeding badly.

"Oh Michael...who did this to you?" I ask, knowing that I'm not going to get a response. But almost on cue, I hear the rumble of several large vehicles as they come to a stop at the scene of the attack.

I look up and find that this isn't the run of the mill S.T.R.I.K.E. convoy, these are big vehicles, which look like...

Troop carriers.

My first impression is proven correct as I see a virtual army of S.T.R.I.K.E. agents pour from the vehicles, weapons drawn on Singe and her cohorts, as well as on Michael and myself.

Within moments, a group of S.T.R.I.K.E. agents are surrounding myself and Michael, their weapons drawn. I have to admit, although I've seen the writing on the wall for some time now, S.T.R.I.K.E.'s open hostility towards us surprises me.

There is a sudden commotion as someone pushes his way to the front of the group. Seconds later, a familiar face emerges from the crowd and steps towards us, followed by several other agents, all wearing some form of black and gold body armor.


"Evening Icon."

"Agent Ryder." I say, acknowledging Director Anderson's right hand man.

"Thanks for your help in taking down this threat. We'll take the alien and her co-conspirators now." He says as he directs several of his men toward Singe and her henchmen, as well as Michael. I step in front of Michael's prone body as the agents approach.

"That isn't going to happen. He's with me."

"Your friend is wanted in connection with suspected terrorist activity...we're taking him with us until we can sort the whole thing out."

I know that what Ryder is saying isn't true. Michael is as much of a terrorist as I am.

"You're not taking him anywhere."

"You know something Icon? I'm starting to get real tired of you interferring in S.T.R.I.K.E. business."

"Then maybe S.T.R.I.K.E. should stop trying to kidnap my friends."

I grab Michael and get ready to take off.

"Don't do it Icon."

I don't listen. Holding Michael in my arms, I take to the skies and leave Ryder and the rest of his men behind as I make my way back to Guardian Headquarters.

"That's right hero, run while you can. Just know, that your time is running out."

 

[wiegeabo]

The folder is labeled Top Secret. With a classification so high, that Broiles hadn't even heard of it before. Not before he was given his new position.

As he scans through the criminal record in the first few pages, he can't understand why the classification was so high. There was nothing particularly dangerous, or even interesting for that matter. And skimming the next few pages give him nothing more to chew on.

Until he reaches the page marked Project: QS-2000.

A slow smile follow his initial reaction of disbelief...

***

"So, the Director is gone," The Doctor says to me.

I sit in the exam chair in her basement lab/office, resting my eyes, while she rolls up my sleeve after my injection. The Fatman's last words to me rolling around in my head.

"Yeah, he split. Flew the coop. History."

"Well...I'm going to miss him."

I open one eye at her. "Seriously?"

"Oh, come on. He wasn't that bad."

"...Seriously?"

"Of all the over-bearing, penny-pinching, chauvinistic bureaucrats I worked for, he was definitely the best."

"Geez...and here I thought my life sucked. Of course, your point of view isn't quite what mine is. I happen to be the only indentured servant around here."

"Maybe I can change all that."

Both The Doc and I look over at the door where Agent Broiles stands with a file in his hands.

"Hi. I'm Luke Broiles." He walks over and extends his hand to The Doctor. "You're in charge of this lab, right?"

"Yes," she says, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you. I've just been made acting head of The Agency. Pending approval, of course."

...so...Director Broiles...

Broiles walks over to one of the tables against a wall, looking over everything. I stand up, trying to take all this in. "Hey, um...so what did you mean about changing things?"

Broiles has his back to us as he looks over some beakers linked together with tubes. The liquids inside bubbling from the heat of the Bunsen burner's flame. "Well, that depends. Is it true what they say about you?"

I glance at the Doc. "What they-? I don't know what you mean."

"You don't really go invisible do you?"

Our jaws drop and we give each other another glance before regaining our composure. "Hey, look. I...I don't know what they've got written about me in there. But I-I wouldn't-"

Broiles turns around with the burner in his hand and turns the flame all the way up, pointing at me.

"HeyAAAAAAGGHH!!!" I leap back, adrenaline kicking in, and everything becomes silver as I go see-through.

...oh crap...

Broiles stands there, utterly dumbfounded.

"I'll be a sunova*****."

"Yeah, well, you won't get an argument out of me."

The Doctor take the burner out of Broiles' hand. "It's not nice to play with other people's toys," she says with managed anger.

Broiles ignores her and keeps scanning the room with his eyes in astonishment. I decide to show off and not waste my invisibility on the guy. The quicksilver flakes away, leaving me visible as I relax on the doc's chair.

It takes Broiles another second to recover. "Doctor, would you excuse us?"

"...Beg your pardon?" The indignation of being asked to leave her own lab after the biggest secret she's been keeping has been exposed is obvious.

"Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her."

"You don't want her to hear what I have to say."

I stare down Broiles for a moment as the mood in the room gets even more serious. I look at the Doc. "Why don't you let me hear what he has to say," I say softly.

She looks at me in utter disbelief. I nod towards the door. "It's fine," I say. She gives Broiles another stare and reluctantly leaves. I feel a pang of guilt. As much as I see her as my keeper, she's still been on my side as often as not.

"Ok, so you know. Now what?"

Broiles clears throat and starts pacing slightly. "I want to ask you a question. Have you ever had that nightmare where you're trapped in an elevator, or down a mineshaft, or something?"

I shake my head in confusion, trying to keep my voice low and calm. "Um...I'm...what the hell kind of question is that?"

"It's just a scary thing to be trapped in a situation you have no control over." I don't want to admit it, but his comment strikes home. "Trapped in jail, trapped by a gland in your head. Trapped in a life you hate."

He stops pacing and stares me down. "What if I told you there was a way you'd never have to be trapped agin?"

"I'd say your full of crap."

"Here's the play. I'm going to increase your workload."

"Oh, really?" I say with sarcasm.

"Increase activity means increased funding. When the money starts rolling in, part of it gets earmarked for research into taking the gland out of your head."

"Oh, ah...yeah. Sounds great." I wink and click my tongue with a thumbs up. "Check's in the mail, huh?"

"You're brother wasn't far away from it, but your old boss made him implant it before he could figure it our."

I glare. "I don't believe that."

"Fine...ask him."

 

[Hound55]

The water is cold. My heart skipped a beat as I plunged in. The deafening sound of the chopper is extinguished as the sea swallows me whole. I struggle to the surface as my mutinous right shoulder ignores my demands. Eventually I punch through with a gasp; my lungs gulping air like it were available for a limited time only. The sound of the chopper gets louder as it manoeuvres itself to make a return pass. I swim under the pier with a hobbled stroke, using it for temporary cover.

Far above and unbeknownst to me the sharpshooter looks through a pair of infra-red goggles.
"He’s hiding under the pier! Swing over the water and get me the shot!"

I drag myself through the water, pulling and pushing myself along on the wooden supports, finding it easier and quicker than swimming with only one good arm. I allow myself another curse over how cold it is, and keep on scrambling towards the shore.

The Blackhawk swoops again, fearlessly passing only a few metres over the dock and swings over the sea to get the sniper hanging out of the door a decent shot.

I stumble ashore, chilled and soaked to the bone, a dart whistles past my ear and spurs me into action. I sprint across the road and flag down a passing Beamer.

The BMW skids to a stop, while I push down on the bonnet as if I could slow it myself.

[BLACKOUT]“Get out of the God damn car! I’m commandeering this vehicle in the name of the Guardians!”[/BLACKOUT]

The driver protests with a stunned look on his face, I open his door and help him on his way.

“You can’t do this!”

Another dart whistles through the air and clatters off the rear driver’s side door.

[BLACKOUT]“I can’t?!? Fine, then consider it stolen!”[/BLACKOUT]

I rev the engine to a start and use the power windows to wind down the window as I see the chopper has started to move in, taking the shooter out of position.

[BLACKOUT]“Hey! This is a nice new car you got here? Got Lo-jack?”[/BLACKOUT]

“F*** you!”

[BLACKOUT]“I’ll take that as a yes. Call the cops, tell ‘em the Vigilante stole your car and give ‘em your details…”[/BLACKOUT]

At this point, I'd take the LHPD over S.T.R.I.K.E any day... Police means media. Might just keep the hounds at bay long enough to get out of this one...

“You’ve got my phone, you a**hole!”

I slip my hand in my pocket and pull out a bill.

[BLACKOUT]“Yeah, I’m gonna need that… Here, take this. Call them…”[/BLACKOUT]

I give him one final attempt at reassurance before I speed away into the distance.

[BLACKOUT]“I’ll try to keep it in one piece…”[/BLACKOUT]

“Hey! This is a hundred! How the f*** am I supposed to …!” I hear no more as his voice fades into nothingness after I speed away. I don’t generally read lips but I’m pretty sure I see the owner swear again and kick at a pebble in the street before regaining his situational awareness and scurrying out of the way of oncoming traffic.

[BLACKOUT]“…no promises though.”[/BLACKOUT] I mutter to myself, while I take his phone and try to remember the direct line for the Armoury in Guardians Headquarters.

Whatever was in the dart tries to take a tighter grip, but I shake my head trying to clear it, shrugging it back to the edges of my mind, where it weighs on me. Making the haze a little thicker. I need to get somewhere in a hurry, but there’s no way they’re just going to let me drive this thing right into Guardians HQ. And I’m on borrowed time since that dart hit.

Looks like I’ll have to get myself some more time. It’ll burn one of my sites… but I guess that can’t be helped.

The phone rings. Rings again. Keeps on ringing.

I realise that operating at night has its shortcomings. The phone diverts and continues ringing.

[BLACKOUT]“Uhh… Come on!”[/BLACKOUT]

Keeps ringing.

[BLACKOUT]“C’MON!”[/BLACKOUT]

And then…

“Mhn… Y-all*yawns*-llo?”

[BLACKOUT]“Gunny, I’m gonna need some help.”[/BLACKOUT]

“Yeah? I’m gonna need some sleep…”

[BLACKOUT]“I’m serious. I’ve got a f***ing Blackhawk helicopter and 2 dozen pissed off S.T.R.I.K.E agents up my arse. Now get out of bed and put the kettle on or something, because I need you.”[/BLACKOUT]

“You never ask for help...”

[BLACKOUT]“Well I’m asking now! Get up!”[/BLACKOUT]

I hear an audible groan, as I assume he gets up to a sitting position, “Awright, what can I do to help?”

[BLACKOUT]“You got a pen there? You gonna write this down?”[/BLACKOUT]

“Just a sec…”

I hear some slight shuffling in the background as drawers open and close. Meanwhile my mind races… what exactly do I want him to do? How can he help?

“’kay, we’re good. Shoot.”

[BLACKOUT]“I need you to get back to HQ… and wait.”[/BLACKOUT]

“That’s it?”

[BLACKOUT]“Not quite. If I’m not back in two hours, I need you to call in everyone. Icon, the Angel, Blur, the kid, Survivor, Flux, the samurai… everyone. Call in the press too.”[/BLACKOUT]

I sigh in contemplation. Never bothered to make a will before, suppose that’s been somewhat irresponsible of me, but I imagine that it feels something like this. Dealing with an inevitable impossibility. Unthinkable certainty.

[BLACKOUT]“If I’m not there in two hours… Tell them it’s S.T.R.I.K.E. …I don’t intend to sit down and talk with them about it, but at this point I think they’re declaring war…”[/BLACKOUT]

 

[NiteMare Shape]

Inside the medical wing of Guardians HQ, I stand over Michael who is laying in a bed, hooked up to numerous machines. As I look down at him, I hear the beeping of the heart monitor I am deeply concerned for my friend. Michael had been hurt badly when he was attacked by S.T.R.I.K.E., so badly that he wasn't able to tap into his healing ability...so badly, that he nearly killed himself trying to get away from them.

But the question is why?

Up until now, S.T.R.I.K.E. has been focusing their efforts on apprehending dangerous metas, but why would they suddenly go after Michael the way they did?

"Don't worry Michael, I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

I think that it's about time that I had a chat with Director Anderson himself, and find out exactly why S.T.R.I.K.E. is attacking us.

I turn to leave Michael's bedside when I'm surprised to see an older man staring at me from beyond the door. It takes me a second before I recognize him. Then I silently curse myself for getting so caught up in my own thoughts that I allowed him to sneak up on me.

"Gunny, what is it?"


“Icon, I'm glad you're here...I think we may have a problem."

 

[wiegeabo]

Broiles stands there, utterly dumbfounded.

"I'll be a sunova*****."

"Yeah, well, you won't get an argument out of me."

The Doctor take the burner out of Broiles' hand. "It's not nice to play with other people's toys," she says with managed anger.

Broiles ignores her and keeps scanning the room with his eyes in astonishment. I decide to show off and not waste my invisibility on the guy. The quicksilver flakes away, leaving me visible as I relax on the doc's chair.

It takes Broiles another second to recover. "Doctor, would you excuse us?"

"...Beg your pardon?" The indignation of being asked to leave her own lab after the biggest secret she's been keeping has been exposed is obvious.

"Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her."

"You don't want her to hear what I have to say."

I stare down Broiles for a moment as the mood in the room gets even more serious. I look at the Doc. "Why don't you let me hear what he has to say," I say softly.

She looks at me in utter disbelief. I nod towards the door. "It's fine," I say. She gives Broiles another stare and reluctantly leaves. I feel a pang of guilt. As much as I see her as my keeper, she's still been on my side as often as not.

"Ok, so you know. Now what?"

Broiles clears throat and starts pacing slightly. "I want to ask you a question. Have you ever had that nightmare where you're trapped in an elevator, or down a mineshaft, or something?"

I shake my head in confusion, trying to keep my voice low and calm. "Um...I'm...what the hell kind of question is that?"

"It's just a scary thing to be trapped in a situation you have no control over." I don't want to admit it, but his comment strikes home. "Trapped in jail, trapped by a gland in your head. Trapped in a life you hate."

He stops pacing and stares me down. "What if I told you there was a way you'd never have to be trapped agin?"

"I'd say your full of crap."

"Here's the play. I'm going to increase your workload."

"Oh, really?" I say with sarcasm.

"Increase activity means increased funding. When the money starts rolling in, part of it gets earmarked for research into taking the gland out of your head."

"Oh, ah...yeah. Sounds great." I wink and click my tongue with a thumbs up. "Check's in the mail, huh?"

"You're brother wasn't far away from it, but your old boss made him implant it before he could figure it our."

I glare. "I don't believe that."

"Fine...ask him."

I pull up to a rather nondescript, yet well maintained house. And if it wasn't for the anger boiling inside me, my jaw would have dropped at the sight before me.

The Fatman, working on his tall rose garden in the front yard. The juxtaposition of what he's doing and what I know he's done makes my brain hurt. Luckily, the anger is there to drive me on.

I turn off the car and stomp my way up his lawn until I'm literally standing in his rosebed, staring him down. He doesn't even notice me until I'm standing there, and his face is filled with confusion and anger as he looks up to see just who the hell dares to do this to his garden.

Then his face changes to one of bemusement. "You're the last person I expected to drop by."

"How close?"

"Eh?," he asks, going back to attending to his flowers.

"How close was Kevin to figuring out how to get this thing out of my head?"

"A year. Eighteen months tops." He says it so matter of factly, that I want to hit him even more.

"Why wouldn't you give him the time, you bastard?!"

"It was his call."

"Bull."

"He wanted you out of prison as soon as possible. If it had been up to me, I would have waited."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Makes no difference to me. Not anymore." He stops working on his flower, but keeps looking at it. "It's funny. I never wanted to be defined by what I did. My whole life, I wanted to be known for what I did in the community, outside the job."

I can only stand there and listen as he goes on. "You know what?" He looks right at me. "That office is my definition. When I'm in there, I know just who I am, and what I do." I'm so intent on listening, I don't even hear the cop car pull up on the street. "And now that's all gone."

"Dwight Charles?" Seriously?!

"Yeah," he says without a lick of the surprise I feel when I finally realize there's a pair of police officers standing there with us.

"You are charged with the second degree murder of General Janet Butler. You have the right to remain silent..."

***

Broiles reads and signs paperwork. That's when Ryder opens the door to his new office "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"It's a nickle and dime operation, though. But everybody's got to start somewhere."

"Heh. Well, your boss certainly seems interested."

Ryder shrugs. "True enough."

Broiles sets down the folder he was reading. "Those 'terrorists' we spoke of. I need specifics. One. In country."

Ryder smiles, already prepared. He pulls a folder out of his briefcase and hands it over. Broiles takes it and starts scanning through it.

"...Interesting. Are you sure about this?"

"Intel is solid. Will it be a problem."

"Not for me." He snaps the folder shut. "I may have to get a little creative, though..."

 

[trustyside-kick]

Inside the medical wing of Guardians HQ, I stand over Michael who is laying in a bed, hooked up to numerous machines. As I look down at him, I hear the beeping of the heart monitor I am deeply concerned for my friend. Michael had been hurt badly when he was attacked by S.T.R.I.K.E., so badly that he wasn't able to tap into his healing ability...so badly, that he nearly killed himself trying to get away from them.

But the question is why?

Up until now, S.T.R.I.K.E. has been focusing their efforts on apprehending dangerous metas, but why would they suddenly go after Michael the way they did?

"Don't worry Michael, I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

I think that it's about time that I had a chat with Director Anderson himself, and find out exactly why S.T.R.I.K.E. is attacking us.

I turn to leave Michael's bedside when I'm surprised to see an older man staring at me from beyond the door. It takes me a second before I recognize him. Then I silently curse myself for getting so caught up in my own thoughts that I allowed him to sneak up on me.

"Gunny, what is it?"

“Icon, I'm glad you're here...I think we may have a problem."

I suddenly find myself waking up, and I'm in an excruciating amount of pain. Turning my head after realizing that I'm in some sort of machine of sorts, I take a look at my surroundings as well as I can.

Back in the Guardian HQ. Thank goodness. I made it back alive.

Barely.

Some old dude I've never seen before comes into the doorway as it looks like Icon was about to head out. Gunny...which doesn't tell me much still. I let out a grunt as I start to lean up and start to unhook myself from several of these machines. I'm conscious and I'm safe now. I can heal faster than these machines can for me, they did their part already.

Icon turns his head as he hears that I'm up, with a huge look of relief on his face as he sighs. I must've looked like I was nearly dead or something before I passed out.

I take a deep breath, and pray a silent prayer to myself and within seconds my hands glow with white angel-fire heat.

"Who's this Gunny, dude?"

 

[NiteMare Shape]

I suddenly find myself waking up, and I'm in an excruciating amount of pain. Turning my head after realizing that I'm in some sort of machine of sorts, I take a look at my surroundings as well as I can.

Back in the Guardian HQ. Thank goodness. I made it back alive.

Barely.

Some old dude I've never seen before comes into the doorway as it looks like Icon was about to head out. Gunny...which doesn't tell me much still. I let out a grunt as I start to lean up and start to unhook myself from several of these machines. I'm conscious and I'm safe now. I can heal faster than these machines can for me, they did their part already.

Icon turns his head as he hears that I'm up, with a huge look of relief on his face as he sighs. I must've looked like I was nearly dead or something before I passed out.

I take a deep breath, and pray a silent prayer to myself and within seconds my hands glow with white angel-fire heat.

"Who's this Gunny, dude?"

I hear Michael start to stir and I feel the relief wash over me. It didn't look good for awhile, but it looks like he's going to be fine.

When I look over, he's staring at Gunny and myself, a look of confusion on his face. It may be some of the meds that the medical staff pumped into him, or the fact that Gunny wasn't around the main headquarters too much before Michael left the team.

"Michael, I'm glad you're alright. This is Gunny, he's probably the only person on the planet that Vigilante trusts. And he says that there's something he needs to tell us."

“I got a phone call alittle while ago from Vigilante...and he's got trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" I ask, not entirely sure I really needed to.

“S.T.R.I.K.E."

 

[trustyside-kick]

I hear Michael start to stir and I feel the relief wash over me. It didn't look good for awhile, but it looks like he's going to be fine.

When I look over, he's staring at Gunny and myself, a look of confusion on his face. It may be some of the meds that the medical staff pumped into him, or the fact that Gunny wasn't around the main headquarters too much before Michael left the team.

"Michael, I'm glad you're alright. This is Gunny, he's probably the only person on the planet that Vigilante trusts. And he says that there's something he needs to tell us."

“I got a phone call alittle while ago from Vigilante...and he's got trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" I ask, not entirely sure I really needed to.

“S.T.R.I.K.E."

"S.T.R.I.K.E.?"

I finish applying my healing abilities to my wounded body and manage to get off the bed limping slightly.

"Did he say where? We have to help him. I know that before I said that I couldn't help, Icon...that I had this thing to deal with, and I still do but...S.T.R.I.K.E. ambushed me while I was fighting this villain. Chased me across the entire freakin' ocean just to prove that they could and gunned me down in the process. Whatever the heck Anderson is getting at, I can't really tell you. One second he wants to dissect me and figure out how my powers work and the next they want to make a carcass outta me. The guy seems to have no real game plan unless that's what he wants us to think. I've gotta make this my priority now. For all I know S.T.R.I.K.E. could ambush me again."

Straightening my back up and cracking my neck as the pain is still there while the effects of the healing still kicks in I take a deep breath for what comes next. The brand of Faith on my back re-opens as it burns bright as I begin my transformation just before the heavenly light strikes me from the window of the medical wing. A second later and I'm back in the Archangel State, my body and spirit feeling renewed.

"I barely made it alive from a S.T.R.I.K.E. ambush and I've got powers. Time and time again Vigilante has proven himself but the odds are heavily against him. Who knows who else they are targeting. Though it wouldn't surprise me if the paranoid dude got him in this mess himself. We gotta stick together as a team."

 

[NiteMare Shape]

"S.T.R.I.K.E.?"

I finish applying my healing abilities to my wounded body and manage to get off the bed limping slightly.

"Did he say where? We have to help him. I know that before I said that I couldn't help, Icon...that I had this thing to deal with, and I still do but...S.T.R.I.K.E. ambushed me while I was fighting this villain. Chased me across the entire freakin' ocean just to prove that they could and gunned me down in the process. Whatever the heck Anderson is getting at, I can't really tell you. One second he wants to dissect me and figure out how my powers work and the next they want to make a carcass outta me. The guy seems to have no real game plan unless that's what he wants us to think. I've gotta make this my priority now. For all I know S.T.R.I.K.E. could ambush me again."

Straightening my back up and cracking my neck as the pain is still there while the effects of the healing still kicks in I take a deep breath for what comes next. The brand of Faith on my back re-opens as it burns bright as I begin my transformation just before the heavenly light strikes me from the window of the medical wing. A second later and I'm back in the Archangel State, my body and spirit feeling renewed.

"I barely made it alive from a S.T.R.I.K.E. ambush and I've got powers. Time and time again Vigilante has proven himself but the odds are heavily against him. Who knows who else they are targeting. Though it wouldn't surprise me if the paranoid dude got him in this mess himself. We gotta stick together as a team."

“No. We have to wait here. He wouldn't tell me where he was, just that he was on his way here. He told me to come here and wait, and if he wasn't here soon to call in the team....the whole team. And the media."

My first instinct is to follow Michael into the night to find Isaac and get him out of whatever mess he's gotten himself into, but something is just eating at me about the situation.

"Gunny's right. We stay here."

Michael just looks at me in wide eyed disbelief.

"You said it yourself, we don't know what Anderson's game is. But whatever it is, we know it isn't good." I say, and I can see that Michael isn't quite following me.

"He's sent his dogs after most of us at one point in time. S.T.R.I.K.E went after Flux during the invasion. They've gone after you twice, and now they're going after Vigilante. It almost seems like they're goading us, trying to force us into an open confrontation. And we just can't do that. At least not until we know what their game is."

"So for now, we wait."

 

[Hound55]

What is terror?

Is it driving at 110 miles per hour in a stolen BMW whilst a helicopter full of armed jerks from some clandestine government agency chases you around the streets of a sprawling city that you’re still not really completely familiar with?

…or is it doing all of that while feeling the effects of a deleterious drug which has been shot into your body, dragging your mind and body down to the depths of unconsciousness like some chemical anchor… with only one arm?

Ain’t life grand?

I’ve just called Gunny, sent him back to HQ with a message. So The Not-an-Angel’s Boss-willing I should have 2 hours to get back there. Better be enough, because the last thing we need at the moment is unnecessary all-out, balls-to-the-wall blind panic. A straight run to Guardians HQ is out of the question. They’d never let that happen, we all know that. But I doubt they realise that I still have a number of options.

Sure, I’m not thrilled with any of them, but I have options...

Problem is, they all require me burning a personal camp. I lease a number of properties all around my newly adopted second home through a number of pseudonyms and the odd faked business. I pay my rent on time, and that’s about the extent that the landlords seem to care. Mutually beneficial in the end because they’re all kept neatly (well, I’m hardly ever in each one, and I don’t keep much in any of them for just the situation I’m in now), they get their money, and I get what I need out of them as well.

I shift down and take a corner far too fast for the law’s liking (but they aren’t here right now, more’s the pity), with the helicopter still in pursuit. I have a place in mind; Osmond Avenue. But first I’ve got to lose the chopper. I turn the radio up, in an attempt to clear the fog which the tranquiliser dart is bringing down around me and pull into a familiar parking garage. It’s a big multiplex, where car’s get double parked and valets work there and keep the keys.

Old trick, but sometimes they’re the best. I pull in and open the door. I jump out and rush to the front office, swinging my grapple gun.

[BLACKOUT]“Guardians! I need a car, NOW!”[/BLACKOUT]

Five minutes later I'm driving a new car, a far more inconspicuous boxey generic sedan, and the tail is gone. If tonight has taught us anything it's Gun + Yelling = New Car. That, and the prolems with driving a stick-shift with onl one arm.

I can't imagine the tail's gone for good, but as I pull into the driveway of my Osmond Avenue place, I've bought myself some time. And with the clock ticking down since calling Gunny, I'm going to need every second.

I storm through the door and head for the laundry. I open a mini-bar fridge and take out 5 bags, and put them back on the kitchen bench before heading back for the rest... Might as well grab it all, I'll have to burn whatever I don't use anyway. And with that in mind I head out the back door and grab a barrel which I drag into the garage to try and contain the smoke's plume.

I head back into the house and grab at the kitchen bench... dizzy spell kicks in. I hold myslf upright and curse a little more. I'll have to tap in now, yes I have to work fast, but there's no point if I lose consciousness and S.T.R.I.K.E find me passed out on the floor. I go back into the laundry and grab a med-kit, an I.V. drip pole from the closet as well as two lengths of tubing and a bottle of grain alcohol for sterilization. I rack the bag, waste some booze ensuring the tubing is still sterile and use some around the vein for good measure. I open the med-kit and remove device, I have a lot of devices, this one not gained through lega means.

Yes, I pinched it, yes, it's wrong, but you can't just walk into a hospital supply shop and say "Hey, buddy, I'll grab two bottles of aspirins, a pack of jelly beans, some saline... oh and a box o' them big bore peripheral cannulas you got there. Yep, the 14 gauge ought do it. Oh, and a dozen or so rapid infusers while you're there." They got due payment for it... But yes, I took them. I'd rather whoever pays our bills over at Guardians HQ not know when I'm losing blood... and I sure as hell don't want them taking any themselves.

With the contents of the blood pack flowing through the cannula, I sweep around the house grabbing all evidence of my existence. It's the bathroom first, I pull the shower curtain down, put all toiletries in it and head for the bedroom. I pocket a few things, but everything else goes in my shower-curtain bundle which I haul out to the barrel in the garage. I go back to the bedroom and clean out the wardrobe there, making a fresh bundle from the bedsheets. I work fairly quickly, but am careful not to bump the drip, carrying bundles over my right shoulder and brandishing the drip pole in my left hand, with my left arm still not at full strength. I change the blood packs as they drain and throw the empties in the barrel for good measure. I am meticulous, paranoia will do that to you, I suppose. My head feels much clearer as I work and the fresh blood does the same. And when I've finished hauling my life I go back to the laundry once more for the bleach.

It took a long time. Too long, really. But it had to be done. I was never here. I unhook my bloodworks and drop them in the barrel, there's no prints on the IV pole, because I kept my gloves throughout.

I feel like a whole new person, with the tranq liquid now diluted due to the fresh blood corsing through my veins... I put the extra bags in the barrel, don't skimp on the lighter fluid and let my life burn.

Checking the time on the phone left in the passenger seat, I'm down to twenty minutes before Gunny blows the lid off and I'm at least forty minutes from HQ.

[BLACKOUT]"Hn... should have told him three hours."[/BLACKOUT]

Tires squeal, gears change and the house actively forgets my existence as the smoke escapes the garage door which closes automatically behind me.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

Lost Haven, The Gulag

The section of the city known as The Gulag has long been known to be one of the seediest parts of the city. In The Gulag, pimps and pushers ply their trade at will, and the murder rate is disproportionately high.

Over the last few months, The Gulag has seen a substantial rise in its metahuman population. And with the new arrivals, the number of violent crimes rises still.

Sitting in the back of his armored SUV; Alexander Anderson sits across from the Barsanti Middle School, a feeling of anxiety and excitement filling him. He has been monitoring The Gulag for sometime, since before the rumors began circulating that a group of metahuman terrorists were using a condemned apartment building as its base of operations.

He touches his index finger to his ear, activating a small communications device.

"Agent Woo, you may begin." He says.

Without a confirmation, The Gulag is illuminated by blinding white spotlights. Several large transport vehicles roll into the area and come to a stop in front of the empty apartment building less than a block from Anderson's curent location. When the doors to the vehicles open, several dozen troops dressed in black and gold body armor emerge from the vehicles and rush into the buildings along-side the supposed base of operations of the terrorists.

Moments later, the troopers reemerge with frightened men, women, and children locked in wrist restraints, and begin loading them onto the transports.

As the chaos unfolds, Anderson lights a cigar and savors the flavor of the smoke as it passes over his tongue and into his throat. As he exhales, he sees several bright lights in the sky overhead. He smiles as he sees the unpiloted drones enter the airspace above The Gulag. Nicknamed "Exterminators" by some of the military testers who perfected them, these drones are able to locate a target from over a mile away and lead agents to their location, or terminate the target themselves.

Without warning, the drones open fire on the abandoned apartment building, raining down a virtual storm of bullets. Then, the lead drone then lets loose a single rocket into the building, followed instantly by rockets fired by its companion drones. The apartment building explodes in a massive fireball, which errupts high into the night sky.

As Anderson sits safely in the back of the SUV less than a block away, he does his best to supress a satisfied chuckle.

"Agent Woo, you can begin pulling the transports out. The clean up team is on its way to go through the mess." He says as he motions for his driver to get him out of the area. As the SUV begins to pull away from the middle school, Anderson is estatic over the successful operation.