I stand there as watching as the hands on the clock continue inch forward. With each movement of the clock hand, I find myself more and more frustrated. I'm not used to this. I'm used to being out there on the front lines doing what I need to do.
But this situation is different. The enemy isn't some crazed superhuman bent on destruction. It isn't an extraterrestrial force looking to wipe out humanity so that it can take the Earth for itself.
With S.T.R.I.K.E on the warpath we have to be a little more delicate. We have to figure out what their game is, and deal with it.
But we still don't know what their game is, and the man who is our best shot at finding out is out there somewhere with a virtual army of agents breathing down his neck...and I'm stuck here, waiting.
I look at the clock again, 10:02PM.
The 2 hour window Isaac gave us closes, I give the clock another glance and sigh.
It's a phrase I mutter more than I'd like to, but sometimes it's just instinctual.
The stress. The repetition. The loneliness. The overall mediocrity of it all. I feel as if it's all enough to justify my hatred of this enigma that continues to plague me and others like me. An enigma simply known as 'life'.
Simply put? My life sucks...
Sometimes it's overall suck-titude is downright unbearable. I wake up EVERY DAY with absolutely nothing to look forward to. Nothing exciting to take me away from the misery I trudge through. No motivations outside of sleep, the only time of the day where my crap life doesn't drain me of every ounce of strength I can muster.
However, it's not as if I believe it'll always be like this. No. Even at this very moment, I'm holding out for something... Holding out for something extraordinary to happen to me in hopes that I can finally free myself from the prison known as my life.
But for now... This is it. Just a seemingly endless loop of pain and suffering.
'So what caused you to go on this tangent about how much your life sucks, Mr. Narrator,' you ask?
Take a look for yourself...
* * *
1 moment ago...
It's lunch http://forums.superherohype.com/showthread.php?t=335084&page=34# period, and here I am sitting at my table, playing with my food as I think to myself. Thinking of how maybe a life such as mine might not be as bad as I make it sound. That was, until something happened in the matter of a few seconds to make think otherwise.
"Hey, Small!"
Instantly I look up, which I knew would be a bad move on my part in a split-second as I feel the splash of poorly salted, mashed tomatoes, over-cooked pasta and gigantic clumps of beef mushed together into a spherical shape against my face.
Spaghetti and meatballs... How original.
"Suck on those balls! HAHAHAHA!!"
As I wiped the gross pasta from my face, I sighed.
Anyways, this is a story about me. Your average, everyday, nothing special nerd with a heart of gold and the worst luck going through the MANY obstacles life throws my way.
My name is Jon Small, and...
"I hate my life..."
But as I was about to find out... Things were all about to change.
So here I sit, face full of pasta, cursing under my breath at whatever deity happens to be watching all of this unfold as I wipe the sauce from my eyelids to see exactly where this edible projectile originated.
And no sooner do I open my eyes does it become clear who's responsible. And it's none other than him.
Damian King.
A villain in every sense of the word. He's been tormenting me for years now. Endlessly. As if to say that he's the Goliath to my David, save for the fact that I've yet to discover the proverbial slingshot to end his reign of terror. A monster pure and simple, who's only goal in life is to make me feel more insignificant than he is himself. Truly, he lives up to his first name as a son of the devil.
As I watch him cackle madly, it takes all I have in me not to retaliate. But before I get the chance to consider it, I feel a friendly hand on my shoulder.
"Don't bother. He's not worth risking your diploma." a voice assures me.
"You're right, Ryan. He's not." I respond with a smirk.
Ryan Reitz is my best friend. And in the relatively short time we've known each other, we've been through a lot. So much so that we even consider ourselves brothers because of the bond we've developed through it all. I can always count on him to be there when I need him.
"Spaghetti and meatballs, huh? How original..." he quips.
"I know, right? I though the same exact thing. But then again... Damian King's never been one to go for style points." I replied as I started pulling spaghetti strands from my hair.
"True. By the way there's still some left in your hair..."
"I'm aware. I can feel it dripping."
"You know there is a bathroom down the hall. You should get yourself cleaned up for next period."
"Best idea I've heard all day."
* * *
"So what's this I hear about a field trip Friday?" he asks me as I place my head under the sink to rinse out the rest of the 'red shampoo'.
"Yeah. The Science Department finally saved up enough money to take us all to the East City Labs to study their new Spectrum of Light exhibit." I respond as I then move on to cleaning off my face.
"You excited?"
"Hell yeah. Dude, I've been waiting for an opportunity like this to come around!"
"You are aware that there's not going to be any radioactive spiders, right?"
"Not that kind of opportunity. But that would be nice..."
"I bet." he laughs.
"I mean the opportunity to break the endless cycle of mediocrity that is my life, Ryan. I wake up day after day, repeating the same routine! Go to school, take abuse, go home, be alone in my room and then go to sleep. That's it. Occasionally I get to hang out with you and Josh, but outside of that? Nothing... This field trip sets up to be the perfect escape from that. At least for a day..." I pause, picturing it now. The beam of light streaming through a glass prism and seeing the rainbow of colors seamlessly glide out the other end as I watch in amazement. "...I'll get to do something different for a change, and maybe I'll get lucky and something amazing will happen. Assuming nothing goes wrong of course..."
"And here I was thinking you were going hoping to get bitten by a radioactive spider."
"Ryan, come on. Even I know that this isn't a comic book. This is real life. Stuff like that doesn't happen. Least of all to an average guy like me." I finish as I dry myself off from all the rinsing with some paper towels from the dispenser.
"You never know, Jon..."
"How right you are, my friend. I don't know," I begin as I smirk at him. "Because unlike my life, Ryan, I can't possibly predict what's going to happen. Which is exactly what makes this trip the opportunity I've been looking for."
East City, Connecticut. Since it's birth in the 1980's in hope for Connecticut to have it's own modern marvel, it has since exceeded expectations and developed into one of the most beautiful and advanced cities in the world. Some have even gone so far as to claim it as being a "Real life Metropolis" and a "True City of Tomorrow"... and it is my home.
I love this city. The towers and the skyscrapers all glisten in the sunlight and light up the darkness at night. No matter what time of day, this city shines. Well most of it anyways.
As opposed to the brighter parts, the suburbs of which I myself reside are rather dull, and then there's the more... grim parts of it. But overall, East City is a gem. A diamond.
...but even the most beautiful of diamonds have their rough spots.
What's any major city without crime? Or corruption?
A fantasy is what it is. Because as pretty as it is, this city, just like any other, has both. And it has it bad. Worse yet? Crime rates have only skyrocketed since the economy's faltered. It's not so bad at the moment, but I still live in fear. We all do. A fear that if it gets any worse then this city's going to hell in a hand basket.
Just thinking about it makes me wish I could do something about it. But there's nothing I can do...
Not. One. Thing.
I sigh as I get off the bus and start my short walk home, hoping that the worse never comes to pass.
"[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I don't care what you say, Daddy, I AM going to be a Vaudeville star! You don't have to believe in me! I'll run away and never speak to you again, and when I'm grown and rich and famous, then! Then you'll be sorry![/FONT]" 12-year-old Emily Pritchert threw her head back, batting her eyelashes as she fanned her face with one hand and clutched at her heart with the other. She had seen a local actress strike just such a pose in a moment of great distress, and found it terribly moving.
Hank Pritchert pushed his cap back on his head and scratched his sweaty hairline. His daughter certainly did have a flair for the dramatic, there was no denying it.
"All I said was you and your friends can't use the barn to put on some play." He said as he opened the gate to the hog pen and entered. He knew he should be firmer with the child, but in all honesty, he had a hard enough time not laughing when she went into her prima donna acts.
"And don't let your mother catch you talking like that." He warned. There. There was some solid parenting. He felt better, at least.
"[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I will be a star, Daddy,[/FONT]" Emily insisted, now quite recovered from her episode. She followed Hank to the edge of the pen, pulling herself up onto the bottom rung and balancing as she leaned over the side and watched her father pour slop into the hogs' trough. "[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]And I'll be young and beautiful forever[/FONT]."
Hank smiled as he straightened. Now there's one thing I definitely wouldn't count on, my little Starlet. Through the creases of his weather-beaten, worry-lined face, his green eyes twinkled at his daughter, exactly the same shade as her own.
"Let's get cleaned up and head inside. Your mother will have dinner waiting." He extended a work-worn hand to the girl and they exited the barn.
MODERN DAY. MAINE FREEWAY
"[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Blast![/FONT]" Mira curses to herself as she realizes she missed her exit. She has been daydreaming again. She needs to be careful and not let her mind wander. Not because she may get into a car accident, but because of far more dangerous consequences of letting her mind do as it pleases. She has come to enjoy living in Maine, and would hate to beat a hasty retreat because she accidentally caused a giant squid to attack some poor civilian's car.
The next exit boasts a designer coffee shop and Mira flicks her turning signal as her cell phone rings in the seat beside her.
"[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Walter?[/FONT] She answers the phone. It's a silly question; it's always Walter. As far as she knows, Walter is the only person who even knows she has a cell phone, let alone the number.
"Where are you?" Walter's voice is beginning to get as thin as his hair in his progressing age.
"[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I'm on my way.[/FONT]" Mira assures as she turns into the coffee shop parking lot. "[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I'm getting some joe.[/FONT]"
"Coffee? Emily, are you crazy? You don't need that stuff. You barely need to eat, just a cup of - the caffeine alone will keep you wired for a week."
Mira rolls her eyes as Walter Kennedy lectures her. Not just because he uses her original name instead of her most recent alias, but because he insists on reminding her of things of which she is already keenly aware.
"[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Walter, there are very few perks left in the world once you reach my age. Let me have this one[/FONT]." She snaps the clamshell closed and tosses the phone back into the passenger seat. She flips down the visor and adjusts her vixen red lipstick in the mirror, shooting herself a flirty wink. The other perk, she admits to herself, is getting the first perk for free.
Vaguely, she wonders why Walter needs to see her so badly. They usually see each other often throughout the week, so a discreet meeting in the secret lab seems a little over-the-top. Mira muses that must have something to do with the government initiative to eliminate the meta threat. The whole thing sounds ridiculous to her, she thinks as she waits her turn in line. She's lived through this before. Nations around the world and throughout history have all singled out groups to hang in hopes of assuaging the sense of pervasive fear that comes with the uncertainty of simply living. This is not the first time, and it certainly will not be the last, and Mira is sickened by the whole idea not just in part because it puts her on the sharp end of the pitchfork wielding mob. Even more sickening, is the feeling somewhere in the pit of her stomach that she might actually deserve to be there. She has certainly caused enough suffering to innocent people because of her lack of control. But that had been decades ago. She has practiced since then; she had learned to control her power. Surely context means something... but then...maybe not...
The car in front of her wheels away and Mira pulls up to the drivethru window to be greeted by a clean cut, attractive young man with friendly brown eyes and a self-assured smile. He seems comfortable at his post, and just the right age to flirt a free cup of coffee from old enough to feel current in a coffee house, and too young to realize there is nothing especially current about drinking a cup of mud. Mira smiles a warm, sweet smile at him that radiates I'm young and fun to be with and I'm crying out for a nice guy like you to protect me She can see the wheels in his head turning as she plays her part in the little game, and a few minutes later drives away with a free latte after making a vague promise to maybe see him around sometime, now that she knows where he works.
Sipping her latte inside the car as she once again enters onto the freeway, the glory of her tall nonfat no-whip victory fades. Flirting with unsuspecting young men who think she's a fun, attractive 20-something young woman is only so satisfying for so long. In honesty, she made her escape just in time, as she was starting to get bored with the exchange. In the back of her mind she wonders if real intimacy is as tedious as feigned interest, and if so, why the human body would be programmed to want it so badly.
Mira drives into the parking lot of the Lost Haven Storage Facility, quietly thanking the powers that be that the facility is monitored by a single camera that rarely works. She has a strong suspicion that her locker would be investigated for a meth lab, were anyone to realize how frequently she comes and goes, never delivering or retrieving items. Her stomach clenches with an uneasy feeling as she considers that what authorities would find if they ever did search her locker would nowadays be considered far worse than a meth lab.
She parks her beat up vintage car outside locker 16 and, juggling keys, coffee and cell phone, manages to open the locker, sliding the door up and ducking underneath it before letting it fall back to the cement floor. The inside of the locker is dark, with a pinprick of blue light seeming to hover in the middle of the square space. Mira crosses the concrete floor confidently and places her hand over the blue light, which is in fact the light from a minute scanner affixed to a narrow podium. The pinprick widens to a long, thin strip of blue and pulses up and down her hand.
Identity confirmed. Welcome back, Pinup. A familiar, thin voice assures calmly. Mira smiles. Not trusting anyone else with the security of her secret hideaway, Walter Kennedy had built the podium and recorded the greetings himself.
Small white lights burst to life, ringing around the podium at a radius of 3 feet. Mira steadies herself as the area within the circle gives way and begins to lower her and the podium to the secret laboratory beneath the locker.
The lab is lit, however dimly, by old fluorescent lights which glint off the various metal mechanisms and glass beakers that clutter row upon row of laboratory work benches. Toward the back of the narrow room, a small black and white television blares the news to an aging man, sitting on a stool and hunched over a giant metal contraption that looks vaguely like -
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]You're building an iron maiden[/FONT]? Mira asks skeptically.
Ah, you're finally here. Walter straightens and looks at her through thick rimmed glasses. He is a gentle looking man with warm blue eyes set into an etched and wrinkled face. Several decades ago, he was a good-looking young professor at Lost Haven University. Mira had known him then, too, when she worked there for a brief time as a teacher's assistant. The undergraduate girls had fawned over him, and never had biochemistry been such a popular field of study. Undergraduates rarely fawn over him now, and if they do, it is only because he reminds them of a kindly uncle or grandfather. I see you managed you cup of joe.
Walter turns and continues soldering something together on the iron maiden. He usually smiled, and the clenched feeling Mira felt as she drove in returns as she realizes his smile is oddly missing this evening. She turns her attention to the television, where a replay of the latest meta human attacks on civilians are being shown, along with the battle between Icon and a new meta over the ruins of what used to be a mall. The news caster offered her opinion on the events freely, stating she thinks S.T.R.I.K.E. Has the right idea, and the passing of the bill controlling meta human could only be a good thing. Sickened, Mira turns the television off.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Garbage[/FONT]. She mutters under her breath.
It may be, Walter agreed tenuously, but you've got to be careful. It was just luck you weren't picked up in the Bradley district raid.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]You mean S.T.R.I.K.E.'s Vel' d'Hiv?[/FONT] Mira snorts, taking a drag of her latte and sifting through the week's newspapers. She had been away from her apartment when the mass arrest began and had not been back since. With S.T.R.I.K.E's grasp tightening on the city, she wonders again about beating a hasty retreat. Walter seems to be able to read her thoughts.
Maybe you should lay low for a while. Get out of town.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I can't do that, Walter.[/FONT] Mira sighs and tosses the newspaper across the workbench. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]We're at war. You remember what war is.[/FONT]
I don't know that I'd call this a -
It is, Walter. Mira stares with a stony expression at the blank television screen. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]That's exactly what this is. The world is still scared, and sooner or later it's all going to boil over. It already is.[/FONT] She looks at her old friend with a desperate determination in her green eyes. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I'm not going to hide away this time[/FONT]. She pauses a moment before smiling a half-hearted smile. B[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]esides, it's getting harder and harder to change your identity these days.[/FONT] She jokes feebly, trying to lighten the mood.
Walter shakes his head, a resigned smirk flitting across his lips.
No, I thought you'd say that. That's why I made you this. He nods his head toward the giant metal coffin. It's finished, by the way.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]What is it[/FONT]? She puts her hands on her hips and looks at the brassy machine.
This is a vitaray chamber. Walter adjusts his glasses and stands next to Mira as he explains. Basically, it's like a hyperbaric chamber, only instead of high pressured oxygen, it will saturate your cells in vitarays -
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Thereby speeding healing and recovery of injures sustained in battle.[/FONT] Mira finishes his sentence, subtly reminding him that she, too, has a medical degree, even if it is over seventy years old now. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]But you're forgetting something. If it speeds healing and recovery, it will also speed any toxins or pathogens in my system as well.[/FONT]
I haven't forgotten. Walter objects. While you're in the chamber, you will be intravenouslyadministered a battery of antibiotics, immune enhancers, antifungals and the like. You'll be protected and, barring critical damage, this should enable you to heal at a reasonable rate for a super hero.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]What exactly is a reasonable rate?[/FONT] Mira arches an eyebrow and Walter shifts uncomfortably.
No more than...a week, maybe two, for a broken limb. And that's assuming regular daily doses of vitarays.
Mira nods. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I suppose it will have to do. Good work, Walter.[/FONT] Mira glances sideways at Walter to see him stifling a smile.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]What?[/FONT] Her suspicion rises as Walter looks at her, making sure he can see her expression as he gives her his other news.
I've made a breakthrough on the serum. He announces. Mira's jaw drops.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]You've...you've what?[/FONT] She can barely get the words out. Her mouth goes dry as hope swells in her.
I've made a breakthrough. Walter crosses to one of the crowded benches and sifts through stacks of paper. I discovered it while analyzing your last blood sample. Here. He hands her a printed readout and Mira skims the sheet. This is where her seventy-year-old medical degree fails her.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]What..what does this mean, Walter?[/FONT] She hands the paper back and Walter takes it, gloriously triumphant in his success.
I've pinpointed the stabilizing factor to the serum that makes your condition permanent. He holds the paper gingerly in front of him, as though it is his Mona Lisa. It's quite brilliant, actually. It's a combination of a rare genetic deformity and a synthetic enzyme. If you hadn't had this genetic anomaly, the serum wouldn't have worked. It would have been temporary or, worse, it would have been toxic.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Toxic would have been a blessing.[/FONT] Mira mutters, almost inaudibly.
What was that?
Mira shakes her head as Walter continues excitedly. The most interesting part is that when the two are combined, they in effect disguise each other. It's a miracle I noticed it at all! Do you realize what this means? With the work that's being done in genetic science and the enzyme now recognized, your results could be duplicated.
His eyes glimmer as Mira's expression darkens once again.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]And reversed[/FONT]. She finishes hopefully.
Of course not, Walter adds quickly, Not yet. That's why I built the vitaray chamber. No, I've only just discovered how you became what you are in the first place.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]What does this mean for metas who were born with powers?[/FONT] The discovery had Mira's mind whirling. She studies Walter's enthusiasm carefully. Something about it makes her edgy.
I ...I don't know... Walter stammers, tripping over his own words in his school-boy-like excitement. I...Well, I guess they have different genetic anomalies and...I don't know. Maybe for some reason their bodies produce an enzyme similar to the synthetic one here. Whose to say? But don't you get it, Mira? Just imagine what we could do with this serum -
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I don't need to, because you're not going to recreate it.[/FONT] Mira's voice shoots daggers through Walter's joy, deflating him like an old birthday balloon. The old man does not back down, however. His expression is serious as he pleads what he feels is the logical argument.
This breakthrough changes everything. It changes what we know about you potentially what we know about all meta humans. You talk about this being a war. Maybe it doesn't have to be. His voice lowers, taking on a softer, more empathetic tone. If we shared this information with the right people -
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]The right people ![/FONT] Mira begins as she whirls away from him in rage. Walter follows, clutching the paper in his wrinkled hand.
-we might be able to end this war before it even begins.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]There are no right people Walter. If this gets out, you'll have damned us all.[/FONT] Mira whirls back to face her old friend. Her eyes glint dangerously, though she takes a breath and steadies her voice back to a calm pitch.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Listen to me, Walter. No good can come of that serum. Believe me. And unless that cocktail recipe you've got gives you any idea how to [/FONT][FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]reverse[/FONT][FONT=Book Antiqua, serif] the effects, I suggest you lose it in the fireplace and never speak of it again.[/FONT] Her voice is calm, but something about her intensity sends shivers up Walter's spine. He nods subtly and swallows.
I won't mention it again.
Mira nods. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Thank you[/FONT].
Picking up her half-drunk latte, she heads back toward the elevator.
Where are you going? Walter calls after her.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I need to think[/FONT]. Mira replies vaguely, not looking back as she steps back onto the platform and passes her hand over the pedestal.
Ten minutes later, Mira speeds down the streets of Lost Haven, trying to clear her mind and focus on her next move. She can't go home, and after what happened in the laboratory she isn't sure she can trust her dear friend Walter Kennedy any longer. She needs help, and isn't sure where she can turn. The Guardians, perhaps. The Guardians might help her. But how, exactly, does one go about getting in contact with a person whose goal outside of fighting crime is to live under the radar? She glances in her rearview mirror to see headlights. Suddenly nervous about being followed, especially in the wake of the Bradley district raid, Mira takes a sudden Left turn, looking for any place to stop that would be completely out of character for her somewhere nobody would look if they were looking for her. The neon lights of a nightclub sign glowed above the sidewalk.
The Hub She reads allowed to herself and pulls over. A nightclub. How very not-her. Perhaps, she thinks, this will throw off anyone waiting for her at her usual haunts, and perhaps she'll be able to blend in with the faces and sort a few things out.
What is it they say? A watched clock clock never ticks? Never turns? Something like that. All I know is that it changes when you’re driving. I feel as if I could keep traffic lights red for the rest of time by looking at that clock. I can smell time’s burn, and it stinks of perspiration. So instead, I hunch over the wheel, watching the needle on the dash bounce as the engine bursts forth in roars demanding the light change to green.
In due course it obeys, and with a cumbersome gear shift (apparently my left arm is still in a bad way) the engine hauls us forward ahead of all other traffic on the road at a speed fast enough to have a traffic cop cover his windshield with coffee and/or donut crumbs.
I quickly catch up with other traffic further up because of my obscene speed, and navigate the traffic weaving left and right like a rally-car driver. The clean blood has cleared my head better than 5 gallons of coffee could and behind my mask my teeth are gritted in an expression of intense concentration. I’m making up time, but not as much as I’d hoped. I’m cutting it close. Only five minutes (legal) drive away and I have only 2 by my count to go… I’m cutting it damn close. But then I saw exactly what I was suspecting, but hoped I wouldn’t.
A blockade. A barrier of those damn S.T.R.I.K.E agents in their copycat black gear. Stopping each car like a checkpoint between International borders.
Great. Just great…
I cast an eye over the clock on the dash and see that I’m late. I hope that they’ll give me a little leniency on this deadline, is five minutes in case I’m stuck in traffic too much to ask for?
Apparently not… I get new hope as I see a winged figure take off and fly, soaring high above Guardians Headquarters. I wind down the window and holler to him, only to have my voice drowned out in a deluge of car horns, as other commuters express their discuss at the hold-up the S.T.R.I.K.E agents are causing. I see him circle the building casting an eye over the cityscape beneath him and I utter a curse that it wasn’t Icon and his highly attuned senses instead, before realising that ultimately my own situation is due to my own stupidity anyway.
I knew I pushed S.T.R.I.K.E; first online and then by infiltrating one of their facilities and taking their property. I then was arrogant enough to believe I’d get away with it and continued to patrol alone.
And then to top it all off I forgot the stupid f***ing dog whistle.
I sigh and cup my head in my right gloved hand as I see Michael float back down out of view, obviously never managing to catch sight of me.
No time to waste on angst though as I see the agents knocking on the driver’s window two cars up.
90 seconds later and reports of an empty car are being called into Director Anderson’s office. The car itself almost completely clean, with the only item of interest being a phone left in the passenger seat. Its serial number a match to one reported as the secondary property item in a stolen vehicle report made just two hours earlier.
The club is dark and noisy, and Mira is instantly reminded of why she never goes to them. People jostle each other while bartenders swap money for goods at a rate that would make the New York Stock Exchange blush. Mira fights through the crowd to the bar, knowing that an empty-handed bar patron would stick out, even in a crowd like this.
What'll it be? The bartender asks as he mixes another customer's drink.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Just water.[/FONT] Mira replies. The bartender ***** his head at the request. Mira shrugs sheepishly and flashes a charming smile. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Sober cab[/FONT]. She answers his unasked question. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]What can I say[/FONT]?
What a waste. The bartender jokes and hands her a glass of water.
[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I'm a lightweight anyway[/FONT]. Mira smiles and takes the glass of water. She hadn't lied. Just like a cup of coffee would keep her wired for a week, alcohol stayed in her system far longer than a normal human being. Inconvenient as it is, it also means she needs less food to keep her sustained, and less sleep to feel rested. Mira tucks the glass close to her chest and works her way through the crowd. A band plays on stage, which is surrounded by cheering fans, many of which are either drunk or well on their way. She weaves her way through the outskirts of the audience and finds a table in the half-light reflected by the colored fresnels illuminating the stage.
Sitting down, Mira places the glass on the table and cradles her head in her hands. Everything seems to race through her mind at breakneck speed, and she tries her best to keep up and make sense of it all. She hadn't been to her apartment since the mass arrests. She had left the bed unmade and dishes in the sink. Her rat Methuselah would be waiting for her in his cage if S.T.R.I.K.E was maintaining sentries in the district, someone would be getting suspicious by now. She can't go back and risk arrest. She needs somewhere else to go, but where? It's not like she can just find an apartment somewhere else. If S.T.R.I.K.E has labeled her a danger or a menace or whatever their pet name for meta humans is, it would very soon be dangerous to be Mira Henry anymore, but she hadn't been lying to Walter it was getting harder and harder these days to change your identity. She can remember when she needed to do little more than hope a few states and pick a new name.
She could hide out in the laboratory, she supposes, but Walter has access to it, and that's another matter of concern. He was excited about his discovery, but for all the wrong reasons. She had trusted the man for over thirty years, but had always feared there was an unseen rift lurking somewhere deep below the surface of their friendship. Had all the uncertainty of recent news uncovered it at last? She watched the dim lights reflect in her glass. Why couldn't he understand?
Gunny and I find ourselves standing alone inside Guardians' Headquarters after Michael decided to take to the skies over Lost Haven in an attempt to find Isaac, or at least see if he can get a better handle on the situation.
I look to Gunny, and I can't help but to notice the worry lines etched in his weathered face. This is a man who has seen alot in his lifetime, and whatever it is that Isaac had told him has him shaken to the core. I get the feeling that he wants to tell me, but doesn't know exactly what to say, so I decide to broach the subject for him.
"What's this all about, Gunny? We both know Vigilante wouldn't go to all this trouble if it weren't serious...so what is going on?"
Well, to tell you the truth I didn't get all of it, see, he sounded like he was in a bad way. But the bits that I did get, didn't sound too good. Icon...Vigilante stumbled onto some seriously screwed up stuff."
I had assumed as much, I asked him to dig a bit into S.T.R.I.K.E and see what he could find...and when Isaac starts to dig, he digs deep.
"What did he find?"
He was right Icon...he was right about all of it. S.T.R.I.K.E is up to something, and whatever it is it isn't good. Icon, I think they're getting ready for a war. And if I'm right...you guys had better be ready."
"I know. I've had a feeling about it for awhile, I just hoped I was wrong."
It was clear from the start who the victor for the most recent East City District Attorney Election was going to be. People were sick of watching this city be devoured by the recent rise in crime. So, naturally, when one man, a single being, stood in front of our city promising change and that he would make sure our city stays safe, he won the citizens' votes the very moment he uttered these words and a microphone carried his message straight into the people's ears.
That man's name was Barry Jordan. And he soon became a symbol of hope.
Today was the day he was going to make his inaugural speech. And it was a day that would go down in East City History. Everyone was watching him, either in person or through the live broadcast being televised.
I myself watched it with my own eyes. Like I said before, I don't want to see this city fall apart, and I wanted to see if this guy delivers.
"People of East City," he began after he took his place at the podium in front of City Hall, "Let me start off by saying Thank you. Thank you for your vote and electing me to be the new DA of East City. Thank you for believing in me and giving me your collective support. But most of all, I'd like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to purge this city of the organized crime and corruption that plague it!" he exclaimed. The crowd roared.
"Now I know what you all must be asking yourselves. Something along the lines of 'What can this guy do to clean up our streets that hasn't already been done?' and 'What makes him so special?' ... Well the answer is this," he began as he clutched the sides of the podium with his hands, leaning more towards the mic as his expression changed from that of a cheerful mood to a more serious one.
"I've done some research. Gathered evidence. Gotten confessions and statements that all point to one person. The one man behind this uprising of crime. And I plan on taking him down!"
The crowd cheered as he raised his fist into the air. It was a cheer worthy of the Olympic Games' opening ceremony, in fact.
"'Who is this man', you ask? I'll tell you! It's none other than--"
Then the crowd suddenly fell silent. In the blink of an eye, a huge, gaping hole appeared in the new District Attorney's head as his eyes rolled upward. His skin went pale. Blood gushed from where the sniper bullet passed through his forehead... and finally his corpse collapsed to the ground with a thud.
It soon became clear what happened before the crowd's eyes, and no sooner did the silence break from the sounds of thousands of screams.
Yes. Today was a day that would go down in East City history. The day that the newly elected District Attorney, Barry Jordan, was assassinated.
And somewhere in the distance, the sniper that took the shot whispered into his headpiece.
"It's done."
Then, a response came.
"Good. That will teach the people in this city never to hope again..." the man on the other line began, swiveling in his chair, giving the most sinister of grins.
"This city is MINE now. And it's going to stay that way..."
How is it that when I start to let people in, I'm more alone than ever? I ask for help and yet I create more problems.
I'm striding down back alleys, trying to put as much ground between myself and the car I abandoned as possible. I barely recognise anything here. Still haven't gotten completely used to the big city and sticking to back streets rather than the main roads doesn't help for spotting familiar landmarks.
I'm stuck in my Vigilante gear, there's no safe place to get changed and I don't have any other clothes anyway.
Alright. Priorities. Have to get a phone. Stupid leaving the last one in the car. Have to call off the dogs, push the deadline back, assuming there's still time. Then figure out a way to get back to...
That building!
I know where I am. In fact... I'm not far from where Icon runs his club, well, not Icon. The other name he uses. Scott Morse. It's called 'The Hub' he runs it with some other guy. Guy called Eric Dean. Checked him out too. Guy's clean. Tends to do quite a bit of the operational work there, runs the turntable too. S'pose the workload can be pretty heavy when your partner's off saving lives every other minute.
I know what you're thinking. "Meh-meh-meh-meh-meh- why are you checking out the trusted friends of your teammates? -meh-meh-meh-meh-meh." Well, the way I see it, these people are close enough to bring down reputations, and they're too close to these people for them to investigate themselves without bias.
Hell, look at me. I don't need any help destroying my own reputation, I'm damned if I'm going to let their associates do it to my guys. Especially one with a wholesome, untarnished public image.
But it's gotta be too much heat. Walking in there and grabbing a beer decked out like this. I can't do that to him. But still... he might be there.
A walk-by.
I'll stroll past, maybe whisper something under my breath to get his attention if he's there. Worked with Samson. I could speak at less than an audible whisper and he'd hear me. Heck, Icon picked up the dog whistle... so long as I'm subtle and there's no attention drawn to the place it coudn't hurt. Sorted. I'll stroll by, mutter his name under my breath and let him find me if he's in there.
I change tack and walk towards te direction of The Hub. I need to get in touch with someone NOW. If I'm lucky and he's there, crisis averted.
Not really a spoiler. Just a flashback. Only important for character backstory.
- - A California Research Center, 1943 ---
It's amazing, Doctor Reese. I've been monitoring the rats in group A. I've never seen anything like it! 24-year-old Emily Pritchert scans her paperwork again, dumbfounded by the results. Had she not performed the tests herself, she never would have believed what she was reading could be real.
Doctor Edward Reese looked up with interest from the notes he was scribbling.
What have you found? He removed his circular-framed glasses and laid them down over the notes, his brow furrowing as he gave Emily's findings his full attention.
It really is amazing, Doctor. I've been comparing the activity levels of the control group versus group A. Despite the removal of 98% of their rationed food and water, they're not only surviving, they're...well sir they're thriving. Her eyes were wide as she continued. They haven't shown any of the signs of, of pseudotuberculosis, streptococcus pneumoniae, pneumonia, rickets all common diseases in laboratory rats and all of which have cropped up with various rats in the control group. Emily handed Doctor Reese the chart, letting him look it over for himself as she prepared to deliver the biggest news. Reese took the charts and scanned them eagerly, reading the notes that confirmed his theories all along. Had it happened? Had he finally found the equation?
Moreover, sir, Her voice quivered with excitement. we selected a number of rats of various ages..to chart the result of the serum across different stages of development.
Yes, I remember. What about it? Doctor Reese held the notes in his hand, watching Emily with interest.
Well Doctor, and this is really strange, the juveniles we selected for the control group have all grown in size and weight at a normal rate, but the juveniles in group A...well...haven't.
Haven't what? Reese cocked his head as he took in the information.
Haven't grown. At all. Or at most so little that it's impossible to chart. Her eyes shown. There are six -month-olds who still appear newborn. Two-year-olds the size of fuzzies whose adult coats haven't come in. Three of the adults in the control group have died of old age, but the adults in group A appear healthier than ever.
The doctor settled his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and frowned, scanning the notes again, this time more carefully. He read each word in Emily's careful, clear handwriting. Though she was young, he appreciated her dedication and hard work on the project. A doubt began to form in the back of his mind. Perhaps...perhaps he hadn't gotten the equation right after all...perhaps it had gone too far this time.
What about problem solving? He looked over the charts at her. How have they performed on the cognitive tests?
Emily frowned. As far as I can tell, there has been no change at all in their cognitive skills over the past eight months.
Doctor Reese looked deflated as he glanced over her notes again.
What do you make of it, Doctor? She asked him after a moment.
What do you mean, what do I make of it? He asked in a tone as sterile as his laboratory. It would appear as though we're on the right track. He looked down at his notes and began to scribble again. Perhaps rats aren't the best test subjects. He muttered, more to himself than to Emily, as he tried to quell the growing discomfort about the most recent reports. What we really need, he glanced up toward Emily with a faint wistful look in his eye is an ape.
With that, he bent his head again and returned to his note-taking. A moment of silence passed and he nodded his head toward Emily's clipboard on the desk.
Take these. File the notes and at your earliest convenience dispose of the test subjects. We'll chalk this one up as a useful failure. I'll make some modifications to the serum and we'll try again in a month or two. He didn't bother to look up.
Emily knew the conversation was over and that Doctor Reese's return to his notes was a cue for her to leave the room, but she remained in front of his desk. She was stunned. In her three years of working as Doctor Reese's assistant, they had experienced dozens of failures. But nothing as unexplainable as this had ever happened. How could he call this a failure? Didn't he realize what it could mean? She clasped her hands in front of her as she worked up the courage to ask him the biggest question plaguing her mind. After a few tense moments, Doctor Reese looked up again.
What is it? He asked, more curious than annoyed.
It's just...Well, it's just that it hardly seems a failure. Emily bit her bottom lip as she found her determination. Sir, I've been thinking. With the changes I've documented... Well...Doctor, is it possible that you've made these rats...immortal?
The idea sounded absurd to her even as it escaped her lips, but something about the way Doctor Reese's expression clouded told her she had wandered into dangerous territory.
No, Emily. He said calmly, using her first name for emphasis. It is impossible to make anything immortal. Speaking of immortality is, essentially, speaking of a perpetual motion machine, which simply cannot exist. No, these rats can die. He dropped his pencil onto his pile of notes and stroked his chin again in thought. Though she didn't realize it, Emily had stumbled very near to the fear that had been gnawing at the doctor since he had begun his project, and had reawakened in light of her test results.
What's the matter, Doctor? Emily's brow furrowed in concern.
My fear, Miss Pritchert, Reese began slowly, in all honesty, is that we may have stumbled upon the proverbial fountain of youth.
The words filled Emily's ears and crowded her head, draining everything else from her brain as they echoed in her thoughts. She said nothing as Doctor Reese continued.
It was not my intention, I assure you. He explained. I only wanted to find a way to create a smarter, more efficient soldier to end this blasted war before it continues. But you can understand why we can't continue with this particular formula. His voice lowered gently as he registered the shock on her face and misinterpreted it as disappointment in the failure. She had invested so much in helping him with his research, and now their tremendous breakthrough had to be denied. You can appreciate how sensitive this information is, Miss Pritchert. The human being is not meant to live forever, or even close to forever, but I'm afraid there are too many people in the world who would not understand that. I trust you to keep it the most guarded of secrets.
Yes, doctor. Emily nods and takes her clipboard before turning and walking toward the door. Her tongue was dry in her mouth as she continued down the hallway, the words fountain of youth still dancing in her head.
--- Modern day, The Hub, Lost Haven Maine ---
Mira jolts in her seat as someone pushes by the table, jostling it and spilling her water.
Sorry, baby. The fraternity boy apologizes sloppily a his friends try to escort him away. Hey, it's my birthday! He shouts through their arms over the noise of the club. At the bar, several attractive coeds have momentarily forgotten what their mothers had told them about always behaving like young ladies, and are now using their low-cut tops and too-short skirts to catch and maintain the attention of a man. He laughs with them and orders drinks from the bartender, with whom he seems to be on a first name basis. Mira supposes he must be the owner. Bemused by the whole display of what apparently has become the epitome of modern social culture, she returns to her thoughts.
As the water spreads and pools out on the table, Mira lets the memories of so long ago wash over her. How could she have been so foolish? She hadn't understood it then any better than Walter understands it now. The water drips off the table, the noise seeming to grow louder and form a steady rhythm. The mass of people slowly blurs together and presses in around her, becoming a pulsing, faceless mass. She begins to feel light headed as her thoughts wander. The club feels warmer to her as the air slowly becomes stifling and hard to breath. The noises blend together in one low, deafening roar as her thoughts wander further from her control. She doesn't notice the shadows growing in the corners of her vision until it is too late.
Suddenly she snaps to, turning her head to see a giant black cloud grow and tower over the nightclub patrons, stretching from floor to ceiling and bending to fit.
Oh no... She breaths quietly, snapping her head in the other direction. To her right, another cloud grows. The customers move through and around it, as if they see nothing. Mira closes her eyes, trying to focus as the giant clouds begin to rumble and take shape. In her failure to control her mind, she has inadvertently tapped into the nightmares of one of the patrons in the club. Unfortunately, without knowing who she had targeted, she couldn't stop the shadow from growing. Her eyes scanned the crowd, playing a life-sized and significantly more dangerous game of Where's Waldo.
No, no, no, no, no, no - She mutters as she feels herself losing the race against time. The shadows begin to form shapes as she continues searching for their target. The crowd buzzes and moves freely through the clouds, neither seeing them nor feeling their presence. But somewhere, somewhere in the mass of people is the person whose deep seeded fear is feeding the visions.
The black clouds continue to grow and churn, manifesting themselves in to shapes. Failing to find the target, Mira bolts from her seat, knocking the table over in the process. The glass shatters and water soaks the floor. Bystanders back away, watching Mira with looks of confusion mingled with disgust and entertainment as many assume she is just another coed who has had too much to drink.
Mira doesn't bother with their looks as she watches the churning clouds helplessly. She needs to get out of there. If she can't control the clouds, then at least she can break the accidental connection by leaving the club.
Move, her voice is low but shaking as she tries to push through a group of men. Confused and amused by her outbreak, they are resistant to letting her pass. Feeling the worst on the horizon, Mira sees little point in being civil.
Move! She shouts to one of the men, shoving him with enough force to send him flying backwards and crashing into a table. There is commotion as a circle of curious onlookers crowd around her and concerned friends pick the poor man off the floor. Mira spins around to watch the clouds again.
Please...please don't... she whispers desperately. The exit is blocked and it is only a matter of time before some poor clubber's nightmares become all too real. She had to get out of there before -
A shrill scream erupts from one of the coeds at the bar. Distracted by the free shots and the loud music, she hadn't noticed the swirling clouds. Her scream seems to give them life as all at once they begin to writhe. Firey red eyes gleam out of the centers of the clouds as fangs begin to sprout. The cloud nearest her begins to form a shining black exoskeleton and long, razor sharp pincers. It is her turn to be the momentary center of attention as other watch her outburst in amazement. From across the bar, Mira's eyes snap to her. Her fears mount as she realizes that in such an enclosed space with so many people, fear can spread faster than wildfire. She tries to focus on the girl, who grips her roommate, tears streaming down her eyes. The giant beast lashes out at her with its pincers the girl shrieks louder, falling to her knees and covering her head, too petrified to move. Mira needs to stop this before -
another scream pierces the crowd and Mira loses her growing connection with the coed as her concentration is broken. A man near the stage is clawing through the swarming onlookers, trying to get away from something. It is then that Mira sees the second cloud has formed a giant, snake-like creature. The beast is reared, and poised as if to strike. It fills the room from floor to ceiling, bending to fit. The man reaches the stage and climbs onto it, pushing the stunned band girls away, despite their protests. He wrenches the mic stand from the lead singer's grasp and throws it into the crowd toward the creature. Mira can only watch in horror as the man's desperate attempts to fight begins to send panic throughout the rest of the patrons. One by one, screams fill the room as fear takes over the clubbers and feeds the nightmare creatures. The black, smokey demons grow, twisting and churning as they form every more terrifying mutations. They screech and lash out, appearing to crush tables and tear lights out of the ceiling. The damage they seem to inflict upon the club and upon patrons worsens as the illusions begin to become Collective. Soon, the panic in the room would reach a pitch high enough to render the visions corporeal, and their attacks and damage would become more than simply envisioned. With so much dread to feed on, they would no longer depend on Mira's powers to exist, truly making them living nightmares.
Mira's stomach twisted into knots as she watched in horror. Locked in by the hysterical crowd and unable to harness the beasts who now had free reign over the people's psyches, one thought burned in her mind. She needed to escape. If she could just make it to the exit before the nightmares went completely Collective, she would sever whatever psychic links she had, and the monsters would disappear.
Mira claws through the melee with extraordinary strength, pushing past huddled masses of men, hiding under tables and weeping like children in fear. Chairs topple and glass breaks. Once, shots ring out from a weapon concealed somewhere in the depths of the hysteria. The screams of terror blend with the hissing and screeching of the monsters she had created. Behind the black creature with the glowing red eyes, Mira spots the Exit light hanging above the door. She is the only one who really understands the nightmares are only visions and, seeing a clear path through the legs of the jet black bug-like vision, Mira runs full force toward it. She is unopposed as the rest of crowd is beating each other down to get away from the creatures. She lowers her head and slips between the legs of the beast, under its giant shining abdomen and out through the front door. She bolts through the door and runs down the street. Ducking into an alley, she collapses against a wall, resting her back against it, Mira grasps her head in her hands, her eyes screwed shut. Her breathing is shallow and fast and the back of her neck is dripping with a cold sweat. Her body shakes all over as she focuses on forcing the images of the nightmares out of her mind. Tears of rage, frustration and guilt squeeze through her closed lids, streaking her face and falling to the ground.
Slowly, her heart rate decreases and her breathing begins to return to normal. A knot in her stomach churns and she heaves as she turning against the wall, steadying herself with her right arm, afraid she is about to vomit. She gags and coughs, but nothing comes.
Damn it. She shouts raggedly and pounds the brick, knocking a chunk loose which crumbles to the pavement. She rolls her back against the wall, leaning over and holding herself up by resting her hands on her knees. Damn it. She whispers as she feels herself regain full control. She has worked so hard to control her powers, but in crowds...when a nightmare goes Collective... fear gives power to itself. She knows the visions are gone from the club now. No damage is done except what the patrons have inflicted in their panic, yet little more is needed for destruction than the desperation of a terrified mass. Mira chokes back the lump rising in the back of her throat as she begs whatever power might be listening for nobody to be hurt.
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the movement of something dark. She lifts her head, looking through strands of her now messy brown hair to see a the shadowy outline of a man, silhouetted against the street lamps. By his stance, she knows he is there because of the incident at the club.
That wasn't at all what it looked like. She assures him calmly, though inside she is frozen with fear. She watches him steadily with her green eyes, knowing that he doesn't believe her, and not blaming him in the least. Her muscles tense with uncomfortable anticipation.
The conversation with Gunny at the Guardians' Headquarters left me certain of one thing...none of us are safe. S.T.R.I.K.E. has stepped up their hostilities against meta humans with yet another raid, this time a number of metas were killed in the attack. And Isaac is out there somewhere, hurt and with a S.T.R.I.K.E. task force on his tail.
I soar above the city of Lost Haven, determined to find my friend before he gets himself into any more trouble...but then I hear something.
Screaming.
A mass panic.
I head alter my flight, turning towards the direction of the screaming, and after a few moments my heart sinks as I pinpoint the source of the chaos...
The Hub.
I accellerate towards my club, my mind racing...not sure what to expect once I get there, but expecting the worst. However, when I arrive I see that it looks as if most of the patrons are out in the street, some shaken but relatively unharmed. I circle above the club, about to make my landing when something else catches my attention, not at the club itself, but coming from an alley near by.
I hear someone cursing herself just down the street from the club, then I hear the sound of flesh upon stone. I make my way towards the new commotion, touching down behind her.
She seems genuinely upset by whatever had happened inside the club, and the way that she seems to be chastising herself leaves me positive that she is the one responsible for what had happened. I stand there in the shadows for a moment, watching her...not entirely sure how to approach the situation.
The rediculousness of the situation. Here I am, someone who has faced down some of the greatest threats that have ever faced the Earth...yet I'm standing in the shadows, not sure how to approach this woman. There is just something about her, I can see the guilt in her eyes...and I know that I have the person responsible for whatever happened inside the club standing before me...but I'm not entirely convinced she meant to do whatever she did.
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the movement of something dark. She lifts her head, looking through strands of her now messy brown hair to see a the shadowy outline of a man, silhouetted against the street lamps. By his stance, she knows he is there because of the incident at the club.
That wasn't at all what it looked like. She assures him calmly, though inside she is frozen with fear. She watches him steadily with her green eyes, knowing that he doesn't believe her, and not blaming him in the least. Her muscles tense with uncomfortable anticipation.
Mira's eyes widen as Icon approaches from the shadows. Her jaw hangs slack, dumbfounded and scarcely able to believe what she is seeing with her own eyes. Her mouth moves, but no words come out as she tries to process the miracle that has arisen from the ashes of her inadvertent attack.
"I - " She is interrupted by the growing noise as the victims of The Hub's attack filter into the streets. Sirens cut through the night somewhere nearby and fear laces itself into Mira's expression of bewilderment. Police coming to investigate what would have certainly been reported as a meta human attack meant only one thing - they wouldn't come alone. S.T.R.I.K.E. would release their hounds.
"Okay." She turns her attention back to Icon as she desperately tries to remain calm while her fear mounts. "Okay, I'll tell you everything. I promise, but not here. I've got to get out of here. Someplace safe."
The only problem, a voice in the back of her mind reminds her wryly, is that she doesn't know where exactly that would be anymore.
"My car's around the corner," she adds lamely, momentarily forgetting Icon has no need for wheels. "I'll explain on the way, I promise, only...please."
Out of words, she can only wait for the hero's response as the sirens grow closer.
Mira's eyes widen as Icon approaches from the shadows. Her jaw hangs slack, dumbfounded and scarcely able to believe what she is seeing with her own eyes. Her mouth moves, but no words come out as she tries to process the miracle that has arisen from the ashes of her inadvertent attack.
"I - " She is interrupted by the growing noise as the victims of The Hub's attack filter into the streets. Sirens cut through the night somewhere nearby and fear laces itself into Mira's expression of bewilderment. Police coming to investigate what would have certainly been reported as a meta human attack meant only one thing - they wouldn't come alone. S.T.R.I.K.E. would release their hounds.
"Okay." She turns her attention back to Icon as she desperately tries to remain calm while her fear mounts. "Okay, I'll tell you everything. I promise, but not here. I've got to get out of here. Someplace safe."
The only problem, a voice in the back of her mind reminds her wryly, is that she doesn't know where exactly that would be anymore.
"My car's around the corner," she adds lamely, momentarily forgetting Icon has no need for wheels. "I'll explain on the way, I promise, only...please."
Out of words, she can only wait for the hero's response as the sirens grow closer.
There is something about this woman. I don't know what it is, but I just don't believe that she's a monster. The look of fear and regret in her eyes tells me that whatever she did, she didn't intend to do it.
"I know just the place." I say as I take a step closer.
"Why don't you grab on?" I say, offering her my neck, before adding "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"
There is something about this woman. I don't know what it is, but I just don't believe that she's a monster. The look of fear and regret in her eyes tells me that whatever she did, she didn't intend to do it.
"I know just the place." I say as I take a step closer.
"Why don't you grab on?" I say, offering her my neck, before adding "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"
Mira blushes slightly at the thought of being so close to a complete stranger, being, after all, an old-fashioned kind of girl. But there is no time to feel awkward as the blare of sirens reaches the end of the block, turning onto the street of the nightclub. Mira takes the few quick steps to him and wraps her arms around Icon's neck. He locks his arm securely around her waist before leaving the pavement. The jolt of the takeoff steals Mira's breath and for a moment she hides her eyes against his chest. The sirens grow faint, eventually giving way to a silence broken only by the steady hum of the wind.
Having never flown outside an airplane, the rushing of the wind through her hair and biting of the cool air on her face take her by surprise. Mira opens her eyes and is again struck dumb in awe. The lights of Lost Haven twinkle innocently, stretching out for miles beneath them. Below, she can see cars sailing dreamily through the streets. In the back of her mind she is aware of the fact she left her own car parked outside The Hub, and knows S.T.R.I.K.E will almost certainly find it and link it to her abandoned flat, yet at the moment her thoughts are almost wholly consumed by the beauty of the scene and the freedom offered by the open night air. Taken over by a thrilling feeling she has not felt in decades, Mira can't help but smile. Though she is unsure of her belief in such things as heaven, she feels certain that, if it exists, it must be something like this.
Her smile fades as she turns her eyes to Icon, who glances at her expectantly. She knows there must be some doubt about her in his mind and for her part she isn't entirely sure she can trust him, but she is out of options. He was willing to put faith in her by taking her out of the alley. It was time she made a leap of faith, too. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I told you I'd explain everything.[/FONT] She says over wind. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I suppose I owe you that much. Only...it's kind of a long story, so how about the abridged version?[/FONT]
As concisely as she can manage, she explains to Icon about Dr. Reese and his experiments in the 1940s. She explains about the serum and how it gave her the unforeseen ability to create manifestations of nightmares. She tells him that when a manifestation is created in a crowd, panic can spread and cause the vision to become a Collective nightmare; fed by the fear of the group instead of her power. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]It's only happened once before.[/FONT] She watches his face, trying to read his expressions and failing. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]In 1943, there was a three day attack in Hollywood. Officially it's in the books as an attempt at psychological warfare by Axis spies. But the Axis had nothing to do with it. That was the first time I'd ever seen a nightmare go Collective. And the last...until tonight.[/FONT]
She is quiet as she once again hopes for the safety of everyone in the club.
Mira begins to feel them descend and, looking down, realizes how difficult it is to maintain her bearings when looking at the city from above. She glances back at Icon, seeing a closing window of opportunity. As soon as they touch down, she thinks, it's very likely he might leave, without her ever getting to tell him about Walter and the breakthrough. It's equally possible, she knows, that he may have judged her guilty of maliciously attacking the club, and find himself in the role of doling out justice. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]There's something else.[/FONT] She adds as they glide closer to the earth. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]Something you need to know.[/FONT]
Quickly, she tells him what she can about Walter and the secret laboratory beneath the storage facility. She tells him of the work they have been doing to understand the affects of the serum. Finally, she delivers the final blow. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]There's been a breakthrough. Walter's isolated the components necessary for the change. He says it's possible to recreate the results of the experiment.[/FONT] She watches his expression change, trying to read his thoughts. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]The thing is...With S.T.R.I.K.E declaring war on meta humans and everything... I just don't know that I can trust him with the information.[/FONT]
That was the first thought rattling around my masked head when I turned the corner and The Hub came into full view. I don't know if Icon's here, but he bloody well should be.
People are flooding out of there. Either Eric Dean's put on that Friday song by that Rebecca Black kid or we have something even worse on our hands...
I fight to push through the crowd against the heavy torrent, but it's almost impossible due to the sheer weight of the crowd. I try to tell people to get clear, but my call is stifled by a scream of terror. I've had enough. I pull heat, by that I mean of course my clunky bolt-gun with it's non lethal "ammunition", and start barking orders.
[BLACKOUT]"GET DOWN! GUN! MAKE A PATH! GUARDIANS!"[/BLACKOUT]
A few obey immediately, doubtless needing the clear direction of an authority figure, and the sentiment spreads over the crowd as more move clear to let me pass whilst still scurrying away. The stampede thins as most of the clubbers have already left. I start to see stragglers and trampled people, looking like human debris in and amongst the broken furnishings and it occurs to me that most of these people were likely so eager to let me past because "better me than them". While it's chewing on my arse they can put some more distance between them and this place. I try to push my inner cynic aside, but its hard to fight off paranoia when a Government agency really is out to get you.
I'm at the front of the club now, there's broken glass everywhere but with the street lights out here and the darkness of the club floor I can't see a thing.
The obvious connection comes to mind. S.T.R.I.K.E. They're after me, then this. Here. In this place. I can see damage, and I heard terrified nightclubbers talking about a monster, but I can't see a thing. It's quiet in there now. Whatever did it has gone now, or maybe lying dormant. Tell you the truth, I'd rather not know which. But that's what I do. I walk through th door and see...
Nothing.
Bupkus. Zilch. Sweet stuff all.
Other than some broken tables and people, there's nothing at all. I move to check on a girl who is lying on the floor sobbing hysterically. I ask her what happened and her story matches with what I'd heard outside, albeit vague details. Once I realise there's no spinal damage I try to help her to her feet, but it becomes apparent that she's not going to be able to walk out on her own. I feel slightly awkward about picking her up; she's wearing a cocktail dress so short that a belt could add modesty. But the situation calls for it. I start to carry her out whilst I let everything I've seen and heard flow through my head.
Apparently a big damn monster with "the eyes... it's hideous eyes" and serpentine fangs came out of nowhere and started terrorising the nightclub. Well... that's what the witnesses are claiming. And I won't completely rule it out... even though there's no clear escape point for a monster as big as they're claiming to have gone through. It's not impossible - God knows I've seen weirder stuff in this city - but it's not the most likely outcome to me. I'm thinking on simpler terms.
S.T.R.I.K.E's gunning for us. They know Icon's other identity now and they released some kind of hallucenogenic into his bar and stood back and let the people tear the place apart to send some kind of a message.
I let the woman down outside of the club for when paramedics decide to show up and go back in to see who else I can help. With the screams of people still ringing in my ears I don't hear the faint sound of sirens at first, and once I do I'm carrying some big drunken oaf out to the curb and an undetected escape has become impossible. Black Humvees are turning onto the street with headlights blazing. I turn away and pull the bolt gun out and aim for the rooftops. It attachs and I set it to retract. Without the pain I'd forgotten all about my arm. I wrecked my left arm escaping S.T.R.I.K.E earlier this night. I've been a busy boy. But despite the lack of pain it doesn't chnge the fact that it still isn't strong enough to support my weight and I fall.
The grapple-gun swings towards the building as gravity demands, before scrraping along the cement some twenty metres away. I turn back and face my attackers.
4 Humvees of these S.T.R.I.K.E idiots.
My math may be a little rusty but I'm guessing they're about 3 cars and a chopper short. I pull my twin nightsticks and realise it's a beautiful night.
Life is grand. As a dark grin crosses my face and under the watchful eyes of a crowd of nightclub go-ers who are all too pleased to see drama where they're not the focal point, I start to think "maybe I'm not so unlucky after all".
Mira blushes slightly at the thought of being so close to a complete stranger, being, after all, an old-fashioned kind of girl. But there is no time to feel awkward as the blare of sirens reaches the end of the block, turning onto the street of the nightclub. Mira takes the few quick steps to him and wraps her arms around Icon's neck. He locks his arm securely around her waist before leaving the pavement. The jolt of the takeoff steals Mira's breath and for a moment she hides her eyes against his chest. The sirens grow faint, eventually giving way to a silence broken only by the steady hum of the wind.
Having never flown outside an airplane, the rushing of the wind through her hair and biting of the cool air on her face take her by surprise. Mira opens her eyes and is again struck dumb in awe. The lights of Lost Haven twinkle innocently, stretching out for miles beneath them. Below, she can see cars sailing dreamily through the streets. In the back of her mind she is aware of the fact she left her own car parked outside The Hub, and knows S.T.R.I.K.E will almost certainly find it and link it to her abandoned flat, yet at the moment her thoughts are almost wholly consumed by the beauty of the scene and the freedom offered by the open night air. Taken over by a thrilling feeling she has not felt in decades, Mira can't help but smile. Though she is unsure of her belief in such things as heaven, she feels certain that, if it exists, it must be something like this.
Her smile fades as she turns her eyes to Icon, who glances at her expectantly. She knows there must be some doubt about her in his mind and for her part she isn't entirely sure she can trust him, but she is out of options. He was willing to put faith in her by taking her out of the alley. It was time she made a leap of faith, too. “[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]I told you I'd explain everything.”[/FONT] She says over wind. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]“I suppose I owe you that much. Only...it's kind of a long story, so how about the abridged version?”[/FONT]
As concisely as she can manage, she explains to Icon about Dr. Reese and his experiments in the 1940s. She explains about the serum and how it gave her the unforeseen ability to create manifestations of nightmares. She tells him that when a manifestation is created in a crowd, panic can spread and cause the vision to become a Collective nightmare; fed by the fear of the group instead of her power. “[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]It's only happened once before.”[/FONT] She watches his face, trying to read his expressions and failing. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]“In 1943, there was a three day attack in Hollywood. Officially it's in the books as an attempt at psychological warfare by Axis spies. But the Axis had nothing to do with it. That was the first time I'd ever seen a nightmare go Collective. And the last...until tonight.[/FONT]”
She is quiet as she once again hopes for the safety of everyone in the club.
Mira begins to feel them descend and, looking down, realizes how difficult it is to maintain her bearings when looking at the city from above. She glances back at Icon, seeing a closing window of opportunity. As soon as they touch down, she thinks, it's very likely he might leave, without her ever getting to tell him about Walter and the breakthrough. It's equally possible, she knows, that he may have judged her guilty of maliciously attacking the club, and find himself in the role of doling out justice. “[FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]There's something else.”[/FONT] She adds as they glide closer to the earth. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]“Something you need to know.”[/FONT]
Quickly, she tells him what she can about Walter and the secret laboratory beneath the storage facility. She tells him of the work they have been doing to understand the affects of the serum. Finally, she delivers the final blow. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]“There's been a breakthrough. Walter's isolated the components necessary for the change. He says it's possible to recreate the results of the experiment.”[/FONT] She watches his expression change, trying to read his thoughts. [FONT=Book Antiqua, serif]“The thing is...With S.T.R.I.K.E declaring war on meta humans and everything... I just don't know that I can trust him with the information.”[/FONT]
As she talks, I listen. I don't say a word as she tells me her tale. I just listen, and absorb it all. I try to detect any hint that she is lying, I listen for fluctuations in her voice...I even hone in on her heart rate to see if I can find any indication that she isn't telling me the truth.
And there isn't. What she is telling me is the truth, and the ramifications of that send a cold tingle down my spine.
Someone may have isolated the basic components that can give meta humans their powers...and that person may be willing to hand them over to S.T.R.I.K.E. And what Anderson and his goons would do with that information...I shutter to even think.
As we descend to the ground, I look to her...and I see that she is looking right at me, almost as if half expecting me to drop her from 30 stories...and I slow our descent, and then stop...leaving us hovering high above the streets below.
"I believe you, and we need to get you someplace safe, both of you. If S.T.R.I.K.E has any inkling that your friend has stumbled onto this, the both of you are in real danger."
It's what all the kids at East City High were talking about... No. Not Barry Jordan's assassination. Not the field trip to East City Labs tomorrow either. No. What they were talking about amongst themselves was much, much more important...
...at least to their warped, teenaged brains it was.
It was announced over the school PA system this morning that in four months would be the annual Winter Solstice Formal. Or at least it would've been, until it was decided that due to necessary budget cuts, it would have to be cancelled this year. The only chances it has of still happening depends on how much money is made in the fundraiser that'll be taking place prior. Many were disheartened, but me?
Meh... I didn't really care. I was too busy thinking about the aforementioned assassination and field trip. You know? Like a normal person?
"I'm so excited, Ryan. You have no idea, dude..."
"I can tell."
"But anyways, you saw the assassination on TV, too?"
"Yeah. Kinda sucks."
"Tell me about it... He really was going to make a difference, Ryan. But I guess we've reached a point where people looking to make a difference get fitted for a wooden kimono, huh?"
"It's really a shame."
"I know... It really makes me sad to see this city fall apart like this. Especially when everyone else in this godforsaken school is worried about a freakin' dance of all things! Idiots, these things we are to assume are really 'students'."
I pounded my fist on the table. It really frustrates me to see how other kids my age are only capable of caring about trivial bulls**t like dances, power couples and sports games when all I think about is trying to help make the city a better place.
"Calm down, Jon. Don't worry about it. East City Labs tomorrow, remember?"
"Right. It's gonna be so awesome, man! I'm telling yo--"
All of a sudden I found myself unable to finish my sentence as time seemed to slow down... As a bright light seemingly appeared and my imagination went wild.
What made this happen, exactly? A girl...
She was beautiful. Dark, shoulder length hair. Fair, slightly tanned skin. A toned, hourglass shaped body. And those b-- uh... teeth. That's right. Her teeth.
Speaking of teeth, as she slowly walked by, she smiled at me and I thought I was going to go blind. He smile was perfect. My god... Watching her walk by, it was like looking at the sun personified.
*SNAP. SNAP.*
"Hello? Earth to Jon! WTF, man?"
"She's so-- Huh? Oh right... What were we talking about?"
"Uhh... Who were you just ogling?"
I smiled as I watched her fade away from sight.
"I have no idea. But she's awesome..."
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you: the love interest. Something McWhatshername...
...Note to self: Find out her name. Hard to narrate without it.
Remember that blockbuster sequel Spider-Man 2? Between it and the first one, minus the quite bothersome inaccuracies from the source material, I found them to be quite entertaining superhero movies. I mean, sure... The Dark Knight or even Iron Man they are not, but they're certainly better than their successor in 3. Dont get me wrong though. I liked Spider-Man 3, but I, like many other comic book fans, didnt like Venom's lack of screen time, to the point where you could get away with calling it a glorified cameo.
That said, I agree with what Aunt May Parker stated to her nephew Peter, which was and I quote I believe theres a hero in all of us... One that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride. I believe that too. Even me: Jon Small. Average, nothing special East City High School student, has a hero within that one day, will finally be able to be seen. One that's a courageous, sacrificing person that will be setting examples for the people he protects. A hero everyone loves, that people line up for, cheer for, scream my name at the sight. One that everyone for years to come will tell about how they stood in the rain for hours, just to get a glimpse of the one that taught them to Hold on just a second longer... Until that day though, I guess Ill just stick to the routine. The very same, utterly tiring, depressing and overall grueling routine I've followed for all this time.
Ugh. Somebody kill me...
But today? Today is a special day. Want to know why? Because today is different. Today I get to break the mold... Today I get to go on a field trip to the East City Science Center, where my class and I will get to see an exhibit on the spectrum of light. It's the first field trip Ive had in a while, being that in this high school, you only get to go on field trips if youre in robotics or French class. Luckily the science department managed to save up to take the Junior class on this trip. It felt good to finally go on a trip after going without one for so long...
So here I am, sitting on the bus, alone in my seat, paying barely any attention to the teacher giving roll call. Matter of fact I was on the verge of falling asleep waiting for us to leave the school and get going. Although waiting became much easier when the last person Id expect to sit with me sat down to my left.
That hot girl from the Cafeteria yesterday.
Hey. You're Jon Small, right? Mind if I sit here? There isnt really any other spots...
Would I! Er... I mean sure. Yeah. Thats cool... I quickly corrected myself. I didnt want to look too eager. Thatd scare her away for sure. Not the ideal outcome Im hoping for... Which is why I kept my cool and resumed hiding behind my 'unenthusiastic slacker' facade.
So Im on my way to one of the most advanced science facilities on the east coast AND Im sitting next to the girl of my dreams... That right there has the makings of a good day. I honestly dont have many of those, so you can see why Im rather excited.
Oh yeah! Her name! I reminded myself.
"So you know me, but I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"
"Oh yeah. I'm--"
*THWIP*
Of course. What's a good day without it's fair share of setbacks?
"OW! What the"
There was an intense sting on the back of my neck, and as I clutched the pained area with my hand, I turned to find a rubber band wrapped around the index finger and thumb of my arch-nemesis Damian King as he snickered with his friends, and that on my lap was the paper wasp that he launched at the back of my head.
Damn it... I muttered, gritting my teeth as I tried my hardest not to retaliate.
I honestly dont know what made Damian decide to bully me of all people, but I could only guess that it was my being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and he never really found any other victims to terrorize. Or maybe its just him trying to establish himself as the tough alpha-male amongst his group of friends. Honestly, I don't think Ill ever know.
Why? Why me?
You dont deserve that. Forget them. Theyre just idiots that are jealous that youre a better person than they are...
My attention shifted from Damian to the girl. I gazed into her beautiful eyes, and the magically all the anger and frustration melted away. My god this girl's freakin' amazing.
Really? You think so? I asked with a slight grin.
Of course. Youre a nice person, Jon. I mean, I barely know you, but I know you well enough to know youre going to make the world a better place someday. I can feel it...
Wow. That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, uh--" I tried to thank her, still not knowing her name, hoping she would fill in the blank.
"Well I'm tired, I'm just gonna nap real quick. Wake me when we pull in, will you?" she finished as she closed her eyes and laid back in the seat. Looks like her name will have to wait. Oh well. It's cool.
Like I was saying earlier. Despite its faults, today has the makings of a good day. I just hope it stays that way...
As she talks, I listen. I don't say a word as she tells me her tale. I just listen, and absorb it all. I try to detect any hint that she is lying, I listen for fluctuations in her voice...I even hone in on her heart rate to see if I can find any indication that she isn't telling me the truth.
And there isn't. What she is telling me is the truth, and the ramifications of that send a cold tingle down my spine.
Someone may have isolated the basic components that can give meta humans their powers...and that person may be willing to hand them over to S.T.R.I.K.E. And what Anderson and his goons would do with that information...I shutter to even think.
As we decend to the ground, I look to her...and I see that she is looking right at me, almost as if half expecting me to drop her from 30 stories...and I slow our decent, and then stop...leaving us hovering high above the streets below.
"I believe you, and we need to get you someplace safe, both of you. If S.T.R.I.K.E has any inkling that your friend has stumbled onto this, the both of you are in real danger."
Stranded in the arms of a stranger thirty feet above the concrete streets of the bustling city is the last place Mira thought she would end up when she woke up this morning. Yet there she is, and though she feels confident that he won't suddenly decide to test the power of gravity on a fellow meta human, she can't help but hazard a quick side-glance toward the lights below, her arms tightening slightly around his neck, just in case. Thank you. She replies vaguely. Shes not certain what exactly she is thanking him for. Getting her out of the alley? Believing her story? Not letting her plummet from bone-crushing heights? Perhaps all of the above. I left Walter at the laboratory. She informs Icon. Though he may have gone home by now. He lives in East Haven, just out of town, near the university. He has a brick house on the corner of Rose and Lexx. As she talks, a feeling of safety begins to wash over her. Mira begins to realize she feels comfortable with him; as comfortable as she used to feel with Walter, before the doubt and distrust began creeping into their steady friendship. She feels herself blushing again as she once more becomes aware at how close they are. Silently scolding herself for being so silly, Mira turns her attention back to the expansive view. Its beautiful up here. She mutters, almost to herself. She glances back at Icon, So where are we going? She smirks good-naturedly, trying to alleviate some of the expression of doom her tale has left on Icons face. Or is this the safest place you could think of? Once again she looks down, confident now he wont drop her as they continue to hover in the air.
A boardwalk just outside Lost Haven, 30 years ago:
"Don't you get lonely?" 32-year-old Walter Kennedy reached for her hand and, to his surprise, she let him take it.
"Walter," Marlena bowed her head and shifted her gaze to the edge of the boardwalk, examining the fine grains of sand stuck in the curves and cracks in the wood, barely visible under the lantern's glow. "Please don't." She nearly whispered. "I'm only asking, Emily." She looked up at him with a quizzical look. "Why do you do that?" Walter smiled gently down at her and brushed a stray brunette hair away from her forehead. "It's who you are. I don't want you to forget that." She returned his warm smile, and it gave him courage to try again. "Don't you think...I mean...Can't you see...If there were a chance -" He stumbled over his words, trying to think of the best way to phrase his question. Marlena reached up and gently touched his cheek, watching him with a quiet, almost regretful look. "Walter," she sighed, knowing what he wanted regardless of his inability to say it. "You know it could never work out." She knew very well how Walter felt about her, and it pained her too much to admit she didnt reciprocate her feelings. "But if it could." Walter didn't understand how she could be so insistent. Didn't she know how madly in love he was? Surely two people enough in love could find some way to make things work out for them. "It wouldn't be fair." Her expression saddened as she lowered her hand, straightening a button on his sweater. "I can't grow old with you." It wasnt a lie. Of course, it wasnt the whole truth, either. But she couldnt hurt him like that. Better he thought it was because of what she was, instead of what her feelings were.
Walter's face grew hot and he looked at the ground. Can't grow old with you. CAN'T grow old with you. That said it all, didn't it? He nodded, then looked up.
"I know." He wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders and the pair continued walking. As much as he loved her, he was willing to forget if it meant keeping her in his life. He could admit that having her in any capacity was better than losing her forever. Still, as they walked, an uncomfortable silence wedged itself between them, so small it was barely detectable. But there it was, finding a place in both their hearts, rooting itself and readying to sprout a rift neither of them would acknowledge for years.
The lights of the boardwalk glimmered dreamily. Beneath the pier, they glinted off the water. Up ahead, voices were heard at the carnival, and the ferris wheel rose up out of the festival of lanterns like a giant lighted candle. "Look, a photo booth." Marlena pointed to a tall rectangular booth at the edge of the boardwalk. "Shall we?" Without waiting for a reply, Walter steered Marlena toward the booth, both of them laughing and joking together.
-------------- Present Day, Lost Haven University campus, Dr. Kennedy's office----------
Walter Kennedy gazes at the faded, folded photographs in his hand. The series of small photos arranged in a thin vertical line seem to tell a story all their own. Two very happy, young faces gaze at each other, make faces at the camera, and smile back at him innocently. He gazes intently at the woman's face. He had seen that same face, unchanged, earlier that day. Mira had seemed less than thrilled with his discovery, and had left him alone in the laboratory they had built together underneath the Lost Haven storage facility. He lifted his head and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored back of his specimen cabinet. His own face had changed. He seemed to wear age for them both, and he looked back down at the picture. He stroked it thoughtfully before finally, at some great length, picking up the phone. He dialed a number he had received from a colleague, who had been in contact with S.T.R.I.K.E. agents and waited nervously, not at all sure if he was doing the right thing, but hoping desperately he was. A female operator answered. "Yes, hello." Walter laid down the photographs and licked his lips. "Yes, I'd like to speak to someone in charge...This is Doctor Kennedy, I'm a professor of biochemistry at Lost Haven University in Maine. Yes, I have some information I think would be very helpful...about meta humans... You see, I believe I know what causes their powers...Yes, I'll hold."
As he waits, a thought struck him. He reaches for the printouts of the blood tests that confirmed his theories and, after passing them through the shredder, deposits the shreds into the garbage can. Taking a match from his desk drawer, he sets fire to the notes, knowing that now S.T.R.I.K.E. will have to deal with him directly. He glances back up into the mirrored back of his cabinet. Phone to his ear while Miras warning runs through his head, he fears he must now be looking at a traitor. But maybe, just maybe, if S.T.R.I.K.E. could find the answers they were looking for, some good would come of all of this after all.
As Alexander Anderson makes his way down the long hallway toward his office, there is an extra bounce in his step. Tonight's operation went down without a hitch. His new squad, known simply as The Vanguard executed their duties perfectly, as did his newly designated Hunter Drones.
He is looking forward to tomorrow's scheduled press conference in which he will unveil S.T.R.I.K.E.'s new weapons in the war against the meta human threat.
As he rounds the corner to his office, he is stopped by Robbins, a man who is very efficient when it comes to sending other people out to risk their lives, but has never spent a minute in harm's way himself. And for that, Anderson felt a deep distain for the man.
"Director, a call just came in a few minutes ago that you're going to want to hear." Robbins tells him.
"Give the information to Ms Powers, she'll brief me in the morning."
"No sir, you really need to hear this now."
"Very well." Anderson sighs as he takes the recording from the pencil pusher, and goes into his office with Robbins close behind him.
As they listen to the phone call from Dr. Walter Kennedy, Anderson cannot believe what he is hearing. As the doctor drones on about his findings, the Director begins to feel a tinge of excitement. Finally, the recording stops, and Anderson sits at his desk, his hands clasped together, not saying a word as he process the ramifications of what he has just heard.
I re-enter the building after circling the skies briefly. Icon told me to stay put and to wait and see what happens but I didn't exactly break that order by scanning the area for Vigilante close by. When I got out of the base I saw a plethora of S.T.R.I.K.E. vehicles practically creating a perimeter on street corners near the Guardian Headquarters. Either they were trying to keep any of our other members from getting back into our base or they are readying themselves for a massive attack.
Either thing is not good, and that guy Gunny just gave a call out to the rest of our members. If S.T.R.I.K.E. tries anything as they try to make way to our base...I'll unleash all kinds of mayhem on them of the biblical type. I'm talking Old Testament. I'm a bit bitter right now...but I'd say it's justified.
As I make my landing and revert out of the Archangel State, I limp a bit. Odd that my healing is still working it's toll even at its quickened rate...then again I've never been as badly wounded as I was earlier today.
So until they try to pull something...I'll do my best to play it cool and abide by our fearless leader and all. And it lets me chill as my wounds still heal up.
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