Are We Heroes? Ch2: The Dawn of War[IC, Superhuman]

[Talchyon]

Vanguard camp, near Chadron, Nebraska
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Nebraska felt just as hot - if not more so - then Phoenix. While Phoenix had the dry heat and the sun, Nebraska's heat was like boiling in a swimming pool with all the humidity in the air. Richard wiped off his brow, and thought it good to find some shade. He felt a momentary sense of loss, not only for leaving central air, but for the fact that he had to live on the run at all. Yeah, the people here were like him. They could all do things. But the problem was, it was a little hard to bear. Richard began playing the "what if" game, even though he knew it was not a good idea to get to trapped in looking behind at things that could no more be.

He had been waiting for Nate to reappear. Granted, Nate would have had to track down his car, and assuming the man didn't know Phoenix well, it might take him some time to track down the art museum. Still, it had been quite a while, and so much that Richard was starting to get worried. Maybe he should talk to someone else, maybe Arsenal or Paladin or one of the others in that original extraction team, someone who knew Nate better than he did. At the least, they would probably know if this was normal for him.

On the way, he thought about trying to make more of a connection to Theo, and to his young adult friends. This had to be hard on them, too. It's one thing to leave your home on the run if you're an old man and have relied on yourself for a long time. It's another thing to be forced to leave, when you've been living at home with your parents, or just now at college for the first time. Had to be hard. Richard thought he could hopefully be a stabilizing influence. Give some kind of balance. Having a former teacher around could help. He made a mental note to see Theo and his friends after he was done calming his worries about Nate.

He saw one of the women that he had come to learn was a higher up in the camp, he thought her name was Angela. She was one that various people seemed to seek out to consult. They wanted her permission, her blessing, her knowledge. So, it wouldn't hurt to ask her. Walking up to her and wiping his brow again, Richard said, "Excuse me. I don't know if we've met or not. I'm Richard. Richard Weinkauf. Former art teacher. I had something I wanted to say. I've been kind of worried today. See, some time ago, I asked Nate, the man who teleports? I had gotten to know him, and anyway, I asked Nate if he could do a few odds and ends for me back in Phoenix where the extraction team picked me up last week. But, it's been a long time, several hours now, and still, Nate isn't back. If this is normal, just tell me and I'll stop worrying. Hopefully this is normal for him..."

[The Cyberiad Council]

Vanguard Camp

Angela smiled as Richard approached, but it suddenly vanished as he said Nate hadn't been back in a few hours. She and Cypher looked at each other with concerned expressions (Or at least Angela did, Cypher's face was still hidden behind his mask). "No, it's not like Nate to be late, ever. Cypher, you want to look into it?"

"I'll get right on it." The masked man turned and hurried to the main tent with a near jog.

Angela turned and gave a grateful look to Richard. "Thank you for letting us know Richard. If Nate's been captured we're in trouble. He's one of the only ones that regularly goes out." She noticed Richard looked rather flushed in the heat and gave a half grin. "Let's go see if Tempest can do something about this heat." Angela started walking towards one of the tents reserved for the founders and motioned for Richard to follow. "So you were one of the ones we picked up last week?"

---

CADMUS Headquarters, Ithica NY

Deputy Administrator General Timothy LeClerc sat in his office, looking rather tensely at the sharply dressed man with bright red hair. "Are you sure, Agent?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure, Mr. LeClerc." Shard leaned forward on the wooden desk. "Give me two minutes with Prophet, and I can get you the location of the Vanguard."

---

CADMUS field office, Phoenix Branch
(CoWrite between IOTA and Cyberiad)

Nate woke up in one of the small, white cells with a searing pain in his head. After his vision stopped swimming, Nate took in his surroundings. The walls had a hexagonal pattern made out of some white smart material. A cot and a toilet were the only furnishings in the small space. "Great. I'm in One flew over the Cookoo's Nest." Nate tried to summon void energy, but all he got was blue sparks. "Even better."

Nate heard a door slam open, and he moved to the small bulletproof window in the cell's door.

"I was the one that tracked him down, I should be the one to interrogate him!"

"Oh please, you just waited and hoped he showed up again. A tied up monkey could do that."

The second voice sounded familiar to Nate, and then he found out why. Shard and agent Agnew stepped into view, flanked by a squadron of armor-clad agents. The red-haired Shard stood next to the shorter, black-haired Agnew who looked rather pissed.

"Oh look, they rolled out the welcome party." Nate taunted from the cell.

"You won't be laughing for too much longer, Prophet. Open the door." Agnew glared at Shard, but stepped forward and punched in the code to open the cell door. The Armed guards all raised their guns. "I wouldn't try anything. These agents can pump you full of ceramic tipped shells faster than you can open a breach."

"What are you going to do? Torture me?"

"Oh don't be so dramatic..." Shard raised his hand and Nate's arms pinned themselves at his sides. He rotated his hand palm-up, and Nate levitated off the ground. Moving his fingers in a beckoning motion, Nate slowly moved out of the cell and into the ring of the armed guards. "... We have much more civilized ways of gaining information." Shard clamped his palm on Nate's forehead and started to rage through his mind.

---

Two Hours later

Nate's unconscious form collapsed on the ground, and Shard stumbled slightly. "Well?" Agnew's impatient voice snarled. Shard raised his hand, and Nate flew violently back into the cell. "I got it. Gather the rest of the agents; we're headed for Nebraska."

---

Grimm
New York

The Reaper effortlessly parried the blow from the minion. In a flurry of scythemanship, Grimm pushed Karathos back, and rotated, placing his hand on Stellasir before he could get close enough to use his sword. His death touch couldn't destroy the soul in the automaton, but it sent it back to its pocket dimension. He winced slightly at the spell but shook it off. His scythe's blade glowed red as he sliced through the staggered Karathos. When the blade finished passing through, a strange ghostly essence floated around the blade. Karathos' soul flew off the bade, and when it hit the automaton, it returned it to the pocket dimension.

"I hear the voiced of the Damned continually, you think your little spell can hurt me? I have billions of years of experience inside me; you're just a kid!" Grimm started to walk towards The Dark Angel, but in a flash of light, he suddenly vanished only to be replaced by a man in a strange looking suit. "I'm sorry, Il-Kaithe, for my associate's hot-headedness. He is needed elsewhere, so you get a pass on that soul. You still have a path to walk, and we may meet again. But until then, remember that the Watchers see everything." The mystery figure suddenly vanished in a flash of light, leaving the dark angel alone.

[Higher Japan]

LA

Once at the building, she got out as she turned to the driver, who was now dying as he helped to haul the knocked out body on her behalf. Walking through the doors and entering into the air conditioned building, she reached the front desk as she saw that the clerk there clearly was quite experienced, while the man on her right looked as if he had just seen her murder a group of mutants. "Hey Caroline, can you just get my boss real quick. And maybe call the department to take this shit over." The clerk nodded as she pulled a phone out, muttering something into it. Soon, two men came out from the nearby lifts just as the mutant was pulled somewhere, to god knows where.

When her boss came out, they looked at the body before nodding the two men off. "Good work Joanne, but i need you to pack your bags. I've gotten word that you need to be over at Nebraska soon, so get to it. And consider the mutant added to your monthly paycheck." He said before walking off as she flagged down another cab back to her apartment base. Walking into it, she looked around the small single room apartment. Immediately, she took the massive map she had pinned on a cork board on the wall down as she removed everything before pouring it all into a shredder and just for good measure, setting it on fire in a metal container. Once done, she took the bazooka down as she mounted it on her back before she left as she called for a transport. Once the car arrived, she threw the bazooka in the backseat before getting in herself. "Hit it, to Nebraska." She said, before it left a trail of dust as it left.

[Flammaland]

Subject 091 - 'The Bloodhound'
en route to CADMUS Nebraska Field Office

Though not strictly an android, Subject 091 could go someway to answering the old question. It wasn't dreaming of anything. While it was being transferred to Nebraska, Subject 091 had been powered down. The cybernetics that made up most of the subject's body were self powered, but were still being charged during the flight. The last thing it had perceived was being folded into a box. Someone with opinions would probably have minded. But Subject 091 was not a someone, it was a something. The next thing Subject 091 knew it was standing in CADMUS' Nebraska Field Office, with one of Omega Horizon's engineers stepping away, head turning towards a CADMUS officer.

"Well, we've run all the necessary diagnostics. Should be good to go. Remember, clear and concise orders. Be as specific as you possibly can, you aren't dealing with a proper human." Then they left, leaving Subject 091 standing alone surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Orders were relayed, and Subject 091 began to arm itself. Taking an assault rifle, two handguns, and extra ammunition for both, the Bloodhound stood, awaiting further instructions.

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Nebraska

The ordeal of the field was now over and Charles had nearly reached the Vanguard safehouse; he could see it in his youth. A more youthful man than him might have ran to it in a manner reminiscent of an old film yet all Charles did was ever so slightly accelerate his pace. It had been a profoundly difficult trip but now he was reaping the seed he had sown and feeling the reward of the hours of walking. From this distance, it was around five miles, the Vanguard safe house looked like nothing more than an ordanairy building, indeed it was possible to walk around the whole place without ever realising its true purpose. Such security measures made it tiresome to gain entry, but the extra protection from CADMUS was worth it

An hour later, and Charles could see the safehouse in plain sight. The weather had cooled to a gentle breeze and rocked some grass in the distance. It was an unusually tranquil sight for a building that existed solely to combat the ongoing death and imprisonemnt by whatever reasonable means necessary. The chosen ones would leave out the word, reasonable. He placed down his walking stick in the ground with a declarative thud, it was a token gesture that had no real meaning but served as a mental note to replace it with something more sturdy and less stick-like than his current model. It would, however, hold until Charles managed to get something more permanent. He was fairly certain he knew a mutant he could refine wood into any shape imaginable, or maybe he didn't. There was bound to be at least one super whose powers fitted his purpose. That sentence sounded a lot like so,thing the chosen ones would say. With that comparison, Charles shivered in the hot sun.

[Cruxa]

Gamble
XYZ Headquarters

The doors slid closed again, and Gamble walked in. The HQ was always pretty cold, but that was done on purpose to keep the two mentally powered individuals awake. Using his power was exhausting, and the cool air helped him stay up while training or working. Now, though, he collapsed into one of the plush armchairs that served as seats for anyone at the computer benches and closed his eyes. The teen was tired, and he didn't know where Chance or Whirlwind was.

Whirlwind... Oh boy. He had a thing for Whirlwind. She was... beautiful. Perfect. He couldn't wait until she got back from... wherever she was.

Whirlwind
XYZ HQ- Training Room

Something gives me a feeling that Chance is hot.

Crosshair
New York
The mutie bastard was in his sights. Piece of shit power- he could heat his hands up to 215°F. Crosshair took aim, leveling the rifle against the cool brick of the building's edge. The shot rang out, and the mutie fell wordlessly.

Another one bites the dust.

[The Cyberiad Council]

Shard
CADMUS Nebraska field Office

In an instant, Shard disappeared from the holding cell area of the Phoenix office and appeared at the Nebraska office in Lincoln with a swirl of red and black energy. He had only been there once before when CADMUS made him travel to all the field offices so he would be able to teleport to any of them if the need arose. He adjusted his tie and walked to the office of the lead officer. The older man looked up from his desk when Shard walked through the door. "Agent Shard. It's nice to see you. I hear you are the one who discovered the Vanguard's location?"

Shard smiled, "Of course, Mr. Sampson. I aim to impress."

Mr. Sampson chuckled. "The other special agents are gathering in the briefing room. We move in one hour. HQ has sent us a metric fuck-ton of firepower, enough to wipe them off the face of the planet."

"Sounds like a plan." Shard gave a sinister smile and teleported to the briefing room, causing some of the agents to jump. "Chill guys." He said with a humored expression. He looked around and spotted the cyborg and The armed servant. "I'm not usually one to complain, but we look a bit light on the heavy artillery if we're raiding a camp full of heavy artillery."

"We are still waiting on the Demon, and a few others, Agent." One of the scientists working on the cyborg chimed in. Shard nodded and walked over to Joanne, "Nice to finally meet you. I hear your record is almost as good as mine." Shard grinned again and teleported across the room to The Bloodhound. "And look at you! Subject 091 I presume." Shard raised his eyebrows and cocked his head when he didn't receive a response. "Ah, the silent type. I can respect that." Shard moved a chair out from the briefing table with his mind and teleported into it. He put his feet up on the table and laughed. "I think this could work."

[Asturial]

Scott Decker aka Locus
Los Angeles

Scott sprinted through the mall's food court. People shouted and screamed as he pushed past them with security hot on his heels. Rolling over a table Scott had just righted himself when he slammed into the doors to the maintenance hallway. Taking a final look back as he sped away Scott caught sight of the two guards tangled up with one another on the floor trying to get out from under the table they simply tried to run through.

Coming up on the exit Scott shoved through it and ended up outside. Taking a short moment to glance around he could see a few options for escape. Without hesitation Scott connected a tether of light to the back of a trash truck and in a flash of light he was hanging from the back as it rounded a corner.

Minutes later the truck slowed enough for Scott to hop off and have a seat at a bench finally able to relax and eat his lunch. Scott watched the bustling street as he dug into the sub sandwich. Things like it always tasted better when he had to put in effort to get them. That meant stealing them as without any type of identification papers to prove who he was the only readily available jobs had been temporary labor intensive poorly paying jobs.

That was the cost of staying free. It meant being homeless and scraping by on what little someone could pull together without an identity. Scott hated his lot in life but what else could he do? Using his real name and information to get a decent job, even bagging groceries in a grocery store required a social security number, that was as good as turning himself in to the people hunting mutants down.

After finishing his sandwich Scott kicked back and tried to take a nap. Yet some people aren't happy when a homeless twenty year old is sleeping on a public bench. No less than ten minutes after his eyes had closed some old bag was practically pulling a bike cop over to wake him up.

"Hey! Get up trash, no sleeping here!" The cop barked. Behind him the withered old lady glared through inch thick glasses nodding along with what the cop said.

"Man why not?" That was all Scott spit back as he turned his head and squinted in the evening sun to see who he was dealing with.

"Cause people need to sit here son." Said the officer. To which Scott pointed at the half dozen empty benches.

"He's a drunk hobo officer arrest him!" The old woman finally screeched. Her shrill voice had the cop rolling his eyes.

"Are you even old enough to drink kid?" The cop had a hand up to the woman to keep her quiet. And with Scott shaking his head no the officer sighed.

"Get up and come with me, I know a place you can stay tonight, they'll give you a hot meal and a bed." The officer beckoned with his head and rather than keep fighting it Scott followed him, with the woman now finished, she grumbled and walked off, not even sitting at the benches.

After walking a ways in silence the officer finally introduced himself as officer Parker. He seemed to be waiting for Scott to do the same but again the pair walked in silence with Parker pushing his bike along.

After a few more long minutes they began to near the homeless shelter, but officer Parker was now on his phone. Following behind him, Scott got only snippets of what Parker was talking about. However he was starting to feel uneasy.

They stopped for a moment, half a block from the shelter. Parker slid his phone into his pocket and turned. Almost in unison a pair of police cruisers pulled into the street from alleys on both sides.

"What the hell is this?" Scott demanded taking steps back away from Parker.

"Hey, listen to me, alright? You stole something today and you ran from the law, you have to go in, but look when you get out we will help set you up with a place to stay and work. It will be for the best." Parker had his hands up toward Scott in a non threatening way, and the other officers were getting out of their cars but not drawing weapons.

"I'm not going to jail." Scott said. His voice was flat and he took a few more steps back.

Everything seemed frozen for a second as Parker pulled out cuffs.

"I know you don't see it but I am really just trying to help you out." With that Parker grabbed Scott by the wrist and twisted his arm. Trying to force it behind him.

Scott didn't even think, he just reacted. A small burst of electricity arced across Parker's body as he collapsed screaming. Freeing himself Scott pulled away and watched as the other officers pulled guns from holsters and leveled them on him.

They were confused unable to see Scott use his abilities they just watched as their comrade had fallen. However Parker began screaming.

"He's a fucking mutant! Shoot him!" Parker shouted and the other cops put two and two together one grabbed at his radio and the others immediately pulled the trigger.

Scott however was already in motion. With the snap of a finger he had tethered himself to a building and zipped up to the roof. The police peppered the wall behind him in shots and began piling back into their cars to give chase. Trying to widen the gap Scott repeatedly pulled himself along with bolts of lightning.

Heat began to build up in his body and pain coursed through his arms and hands, but now they knew he was a mutant and might just kill him, or worse yet hand him over to CADMUS. So Scott pushed on. Turning he crossed the gap of a roadway launching himself over the street and landing roughly on the other side. Now more sirens screamed below.

"How the Hell are there so many cops here?" Scott growled under his breath regaining his feet and sprinting across the rooftop.

He pushed on, trying to limit his power usage to only when he needed it, but he also knew the roof tops would be as good a s trap once a police helicopter was in the area. So when in the area of a subway entrance Scott bolted back down into an alley and made his way to the tunnel entrance on foot. Cops nearby watched the rooftops expecting him at any moment, as he slipped down past them into the subway station alongside several other people.

Finally taking a second to control his breathing and trying to cool off Scott tried to act nonchalant as the train lurched into motion and sped away into the tunnels. His mind was rushing, were they following him, would CADMUS be looking for him more closely, but the biggest one was, how was he going to find some kind of normal life when people would as soon as shoot him as arrest him just because of his abilities?

The train continued through the tunnels. Crowded full with people heading to and fro it was a perfect place to hide for the moment. At least from the uniformed police scouring the neighborhood above.

[IOTA Corp]

Lance Turner, aka. Corpus
Los Angeles

"Are you sure he's one of us?"

The gangster was sweating profusely as he rapidly nodded his head. "Yes, sir, my cousin works for the police, he said they were chasing him, but they gave him the slip to the subway. They're getting ready to bust him at the next stop."

"Tell your cousin not to go on that call. Klyntok, Judge, Viking. With me!"

The four men quickly left the warehouse and loaded into a car the gang had kindly provided. Judge stepped on the gas, and they sped towards the next subway station Locus was destined to stop at.

---

If Locus had been paying close attention, he would have noticed everyone around him checking his cellphones, which in of itself is normal to everyone except people over 90, but what was slightly strange was that they all produced slightly panicked faces as they received the notification from CADMUS to exit the train car at the next stop.

It was too late before Locus realized he was the only passenger left on the train. Agents from the LA CADMUS field office slowly advanced on the car with local law enforcement backing them up. Before the agents holding shields could reach the door to the train car, their metal shields wrapped around their bodies like deadly cocoons. The startled remaining agents didn't have time enough to react before The Viking charged in with a large broad sword and started cleaving limbs. A manhole cover flew through the crowd and cleaved into a police officer's ribcage.

Klyntok leaped into the fray, landing on an agents chest, impaling him with his sharpened left arm before leaping to another man, encasing his head with his black goo and slamming him into a wall.

Then Corpus made his grand entrance. An officer trained his gun on the calmly advancing man, but with a lazy flick of Corpus' arm, the officers forearm bent backwards at an unnatural angle. Another agent managed to get off several shots into Corpus, but the mutant stepped close the man, and one of the various bones wrapped on his coat sleeve straightened out and punctured the firing agents throat. Corpus continued on his way, the multiple bodies around him starting to evaporate as his bullet wounds started to close.

Judge fired a round into the remaining agent's skull, and the entire CADMUS force had fallen.

"Nice work, Gentlemen." Corpus walked up to the closed door of the train car and paused in front of it. "Judge, if you would." The metal bender stretched out his hand, and the metal doors flew open. "Thank you."

Corpus walked into the train car and held an outstretched hand to Locus, "Come with me if you want to live."

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Nebraska
Safe house

A knock filled the silence of the summer air. The door was of an unusually strong material and it caused a resonance that Charles could feel travel up his hand. It was of course nowhere near the quality of CADMUS, Vanguard did have a budget after all, but it gave comfort to know that there were at least some measures being taken to protect him and his fellow mutants. In actual fact, the door was composed of a low-tech compound and was only around double the strength of its non-armoured counterparts but that did not really matter; if the safe house was found then everyone inside would almost certainly be doomed. Only prophet could transport them out and Charles wasn't certain he would have the strength to do all of them. If he was captured, there wasn't a chance of survival. Though he would have had an even greater chance of survival if the door actually opened. He knocked again.

A minute passed and finally a tired looking man in a suit opened a peephole and looked at Charles with the same suspicion one might a view a possibly venomous snake. After an uncomfortable silence the person behind the door concluded that there was indeed not a CADMUS agent hiding somewhere and opened the door, gesturing him in. Wasting no time, Charles placed his attempt of a walking stick in front, conveniently forcing the man into what could have been a cupboard, and walked forwards. There were papers to file, files to record, records to sort and a whole host of other administrative tasks to be completed. Such was the burden of being the chief, and in fact the only, administrator in the facility. On his way to his worktop, several people stood in his way and Charles found that his stick served just as well as a very blunt sword and advanced regardless. He knew by memory the twisting doors and eventually managed to find his workspace. He arrived at his beige computer and began typing furiously.

"Dear Cypher," Charles wrote in a new e-mail. 'Dear Vanguard," he wrote in a memento, "Dear reader," he wrote in a draft to a newspaper in the hope it would get published, "Sorry for the long waits I have been caught up in personal affairs. It took a while to compose an apology for breaking protocol, a new weekly calendar and an essay on the situation with CADMUS but Charles managed it. After completing all the pleasantries and changing his password to prevent his computer being hacked as well as his phone he began to get on with tackling the pile of work and unread e-mails that had been steadily growing for the last few weeks he was away.

There was plenty to do. With the new situation the circumstances had evidently advanced far further than Charles had been expecting. There were several supers who had died in the last few weeks, most unaligned, some Vanguard and one CADMUS who had been hiding. A quick eulogy was written to each and a message letting their family know of the distaste. Not all of course, some Charles had no way of knowing if they would tell the authorities so he didn't want to take a chance, but others were almost completely safe. The new rules were far more stringent but with a bit of executive meddling the tasks were done. Charles could relax and do what he liked doing best, writing. There was irony in that.

[Korhal IVV]

Vanguard Camp

Angela smiled as Richard approached, but it suddenly vanished as he said Nate hadn't been back in a few hours. She and Cypher looked at each other with concerned expressions (Or at least Angela did, Cypher's face was still hidden behind his mask). "No, it's not like Nate to be late, ever. Cypher, you want to look into it?"

"I'll get right on it." The masked man turned and hurried to the main tent with a near jog.

Angela turned and gave a grateful look to Richard. "Thank you for letting us know Richard. If Nate's been captured we're in trouble. He's one of the only ones that regularly goes out." She noticed Richard looked rather flushed in the heat and gave a half grin. "Let's go see if Tempest can do something about this heat." Angela started walking towards one of the tents reserved for the founders and motioned for Richard to follow. "So you were one of the ones we picked up last week?"

---

CADMUS Headquarters, Ithica NY

Deputy Administrator General Timothy LeClerc sat in his office, looking rather tensely at the sharply dressed man with bright red hair. "Are you sure, Agent?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure, Mr. LeClerc." Shard leaned forward on the wooden desk. "Give me two minutes with Prophet, and I can get you the location of the Vanguard."

---

CADMUS field office, Phoenix Branch
(CoWrite between IOTA and Cyberiad)

Nate woke up in one of the small, white cells with a searing pain in his head. After his vision stopped swimming, Nate took in his surroundings. The walls had a hexagonal pattern made out of some white smart material. A cot and a toilet were the only furnishings in the small space. "Great. I'm in One flew over the Cookoo's Nest." Nate tried to summon void energy, but all he got was blue sparks. "Even better."

Nate heard a door slam open, and he moved to the small bulletproof window in the cell's door.

"I was the one that tracked him down, I should be the one to interrogate him!"

"Oh please, you just waited and hoped he showed up again. A tied up monkey could do that."

The second voice sounded familiar to Nate, and then he found out why. Shard and agent Agnew stepped into view, flanked by a squadron of armor-clad agents. The red-haired Shard stood next to the shorter, black-haired Agnew who looked rather pissed.

"Oh look, they rolled out the welcome party." Nate taunted from the cell.

"You won't be laughing for too much longer, Prophet. Open the door." Agnew glared at Shard, but stepped forward and punched in the code to open the cell door. The Armed guards all raised their guns. "I wouldn't try anything. These agents can pump you full of ceramic tipped shells faster than you can open a breach."

"What are you going to do? Torture me?"

"Oh don't be so dramatic..." Shard raised his hand and Nate's arms pinned themselves at his sides. He rotated his hand palm-up, and Nate levitated off the ground. Moving his fingers in a beckoning motion, Nate slowly moved out of the cell and into the ring of the armed guards. "... We have much more civilized ways of gaining information." Shard clamped his palm on Nate's forehead and started to rage through his mind.

---

Two Hours later

Nate's unconscious form collapsed on the ground, and Shard stumbled slightly. "Well?" Agnew's impatient voice snarled. Shard raised his hand, and Nate flew violently back into the cell. "I got it. Gather the rest of the agents; we're headed for Nebraska."

---

Grimm
New York

The Reaper effortlessly parried the blow from the minion. In a flurry of scythemanship, Grimm pushed Karathos back, and rotated, placing his hand on Stellasir before he could get close enough to use his sword. His death touch couldn't destroy the soul in the automaton, but it sent it back to its pocket dimension. He winced slightly at the spell but shook it off. His scythe's blade glowed red as he sliced through the staggered Karathos. When the blade finished passing through, a strange ghostly essence floated around the blade. Karathos' soul flew off the bade, and when it hit the automaton, it returned it to the pocket dimension.

"I hear the voiced of the Damned continually, you think your little spell can hurt me? I have billions of years of experience inside me; you're just a kid!" Grimm started to walk towards The Dark Angel, but in a flash of light, he suddenly vanished only to be replaced by a man in a strange looking suit. "I'm sorry, Il-Kaithe, for my associate's hot-headedness. He is needed elsewhere, so you get a pass on that soul. You still have a path to walk, and we may meet again. But until then, remember that the Watchers see everything." The mystery figure suddenly vanished in a flash of light, leaving the dark angel alone.

"Strange. But anyways..." Il-Kaithe put his Witchblade back to his scabbard, and beckoned for Stellasir to follow. Their steps rang through the night in an erie silence, as if no one is walking at all. They continued their hunt in the streets. Two more souls would be claimed before the sun rose once again.

(cant think of anymore, sorwy)

[Asturial]

Scott Decker aka Locus
Los Angeles

Scott had realized he had bitten off more than he could chew, the moment the train left station at Pershing Square he realized something had happened. Now no-one was in the train car with him. It rolled right through multiple stations before coming to a halt in Chinatown. Unlike most stations it was raised off the grown and surrounded by open space. Well usually. At this moment however it had been packed with CADMUS units and police.

"No, No, No!" Scott shouted as he ran back and forth from side to side hoping to spot a possible path to freedom, with every avenue cut off however it seemed unlikely he would escape.

Watching in fear as CADMUS troopers slowly began encroaching up the stairs to the platform, things suddenly shifted. As their shields wrapped around them, Scott froze in disbelief. As more events unfolded his rescuers butchered the CADMUS and police forces en mass. The group of fellow inhumans slaughtered the advancing government forces to the man, in gory fashion. As if an after thought the final CADMUS agent was executed and the apparent leader of the group neared the train.

As the door panels tore away from the train and one of the mutants approached Scott instinctively stepped back, faint traces of electricity arcing between his fingers, unsure if these new players were friends or foe. Then as the man offered his hand and advised him to come with if he wanted to live, Scott, hesitated only a moment before clasping arms with him and stepping out of the damaged train car.

"Who are...You know what, first of all Thanks. Second of all why are you helping me?" Scott was still suspicious but it would be a lie to say he wasn't optimistic that he had finally encountered members of the Chosen or Vanguard. Either way perhaps he had finally found people of a like mind to him, who could offer him a place in their group.

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Nebraska, Chadron
Safe House

"You know," Charles said to himself in a measured tone, "I really should adopt some form of codename," it was a thought he had been considering for quite a while now. For a start, having two words as a name caused all sorts of admninistrative difficulties in Vanguard and Charles often ended up having half his name chopped off or both words being superimposed onto each other, creating a jumbled mess. His translation abilities dealt with that, but it annoyed every other person in the facility. Whereas most code names were a simple word. Such mundane things had taken ove his life recently, there was a certain joy in dealing with everyday matters.

Concluding that obtaining a codename could be reserved for a time when the world was not at threat from the Chosen Ones and CADMUS and instead people could merely learn to adapt to two word titles. He should write a memo about that, "Building bywords - a guide to secret identities" was the title. It took a while to write but after a good three hours of working it was finished. A very good piece of work Charles thought. He was just reflecting on the follow-up when a notification came through. After a few moments deliberation where he thought about whether or not to leave it for a caretaker to find, he opened it. Nope, nothing. It was just a memento about the latest CADMUS aggressions, "Find something else to waste my time with." Charles complained to nobody in particular, "I have death reports to write." There were some more.

[IOTA Corp]

Lance Turner, aka. Corpus
Los Angeles

Corpus gave the man a once-over. "We..." Corpus gestured to the three other men, "...Are The Chosen." Corpus gave a smile, trying his hardest to not look creepy. "I'm Corpus, this is Viking, Judge, and Klyntok. Now we can't wait around forever, CADMUS will be back, and no guarantees we can keep you safe if that happens."

The Four men started walking out of the station and back to their vehicle. "You're free to come with us, and be with those of your own kind, not these... barbaric Apes."

[Asturial]

Scott Decker aka Locus
Los Angeles

The Chosen. Scott couldn't believe it but the Chosen had come to his rescue. The one calling himself Corpus seemed to be the leader and he was inviting Scott to join them.

"Join the Chosen?" Scott said quietly, as if weighing the option, however he was already in motion following the group.

Scott had even tried looking for them before, but finding the Chosen is easier said than done. However it seemed they had found him. Scott could hardly believe he was going to finally be among his own kind, just like Corpus had put it.

[Higher Japan]

Nebraska

Walking out of the car, Joanne knocked on the car as it slowly went off into the distance. Immediately stretching after she picked up her bazooka and mounted it onto her back, she went into the field office at Nebraska. She rarely went out of LA and usually spent most of her time in her apartment planning, in fact being considered more of her office to the point where her old boss actually vacated her office space since she would just walk into the building only to deliver bodies or get her paycheck. Entering the building, she looked around her. It was a naturally unfamiliar place, with the fact that she was a shut in and never left her apartment.

"Yes, how may i help you?" The receptionist immediately asked the moment Joanne came five meters within the desk.

"Ah, where are the special agents supposed to gather."

She was then directed to another briefing room. Walking in, she saw that some people immediately had a face of fear. Be it with her mask or bazooka carried, she didn't know. Removing her blood stained wig and throwing it into a box, she walked off and sat down as she laid her bazooka next to her. After a while, she saw that someone had come in and had spoken to her, saying that it was nice to finally meet her. "Well, I look forward to working with you. If you want my record, look at the amount of blood strokes on the bazooka." When she heard that they were probably lacking heavy weapons, she had to wait for her introduction to be over before speaking up. "I believe that we have enough fire power." She said, gesturing to the bazooka next to her.

[Talchyon]

Vanguard Camp, near Chadron, Nebraska
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Vanguard Camp

Angela smiled as Richard approached, but it suddenly vanished as he said Nate hadn't been back in a few hours. She and Cypher looked at each other with concerned expressions (Or at least Angela did, Cypher's face was still hidden behind his mask). "No, it's not like Nate to be late, ever. Cypher, you want to look into it?"

"I'll get right on it." The masked man turned and hurried to the main tent with a near jog.

Angela turned and gave a grateful look to Richard. "Thank you for letting us know Richard. If Nate's been captured we're in trouble. He's one of the only ones that regularly goes out." She noticed Richard looked rather flushed in the heat and gave a half grin. "Let's go see if Tempest can do something about this heat." Angela started walking towards one of the tents reserved for the founders and motioned for Richard to follow. "So you were one of the ones we picked up last week?"

So the higher ups were also worried. Good. It wasn't just him. Richard was thinking it was a stupid thing to send Nate out when it was for things that probably could have been done another time.

Answering Angela, Richard smiled and nodded. "That's correct. I came last week. Richard Weinkauf, formerly of Phoenix. And willing to be of help where I can." He wondered how much of his art ability she had been told. And actually, when it came down to it, he had only demonstrated one of his art abilities. There were a few others they hadn't seen yet...

"So, since Nathan has been gone for a considerable amount of time, what comes next? Is this something we need to worry about? And if so, to what extent?"

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Nebraska, Chadron
Vanguard safe house

Charles was bored, for perhaps the first time in the last six months. There was little to no action by CADMUS other than the usual propaganda and the Chosen Ones appeared to be too busy recruiting to bother Vanguard. He checked his email folder again, still empty. The daily publication to the newspaper supporting mutant rights had been sent early this morning meaning Charles had nothing to do other than wait. But wait for what? Nobody in the administrative team, himself included, had heard any rumours of future plans by CADMUS.

There was of course the small instance of Nate's disappearance but given that was not under his domain, Charles had decided to wait until someone gave him authorisation to worry about it. This may not have been the most empathetic attitude, he had been captured himself and got extremely annoyed that nobody came for him. When he had returned to the Vanguard camp he had been told a rescue team was one the way but, a little bird told him they had been in the wrong state for the duration of his capture. That was no exaggeration, Charles had literally asked a raven where they were. Though human languages were his speciality, he had used around 600 according to Cypher's estimate, animal ones were also under his domain.

Though all this speculation did little to quell his growing lack of productivity, it at least meant Charles was distracted from the ever-growing dullness of life without CADMUS intervention or even existance. Recently, most of his life had become dominated by Vanguard, who now were spending most of their time writing death logs and hiding. Occasionally Charles wondered whether life with the Chosen Ones would be more satisfying, then again, what use was happiness if it came at the price of guilt? None at all. Charles would just have to wait until CADMUS made their move.

[Talchyon]

Vanguard Camp, near Chadron, Nebraska
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

The news of Nate's disappearance had kicked the apparent leaders of the Vanguard contingent into a higher gear. Though nothing had happened yet, Richard easily noticed worry lines deepening around their eyes. Their words of confidence didn't seem genuine. While Nate had been known to literally disappear for awhile, yet not in this way. And that made plenty of the leaders of this rag-tag ensemble very nervous. Which didn't sit well with Richard, either. If Nate had been captured, how soon before he was interrogated and their secret hide-out camp revealed? Richard wished for more than once that he hadn't sent Nate off to do errands and get his trench coat.

Angela had not had time to talk. She had been pulled from the conversation by other more pressing discussions. She had to sigh an apology and a promise to talk again when things were less hectic. That said, Richard ambled away. Maybe he would try to stop in and see how Theo was doing.

And that's when he saw a man looking down at his laptop. The camp had been able to provide hidden electricity for such things. Richard still marveled at how they made do being away from civilization. You'd never know that an electrical-based mutant woman was able to act as a generator, and that things such as computers could run efficiently off her charge. Grinning at the thought, Richard wandered over and asked what the news reports were saying these days. As he did, Richard thought he recognized him as a newcomer, but one who had a history by the way Angela, Arsenal and Paladin had talked to him. And by the way they had approached him and spoke to him, Richard could tell by how they were treating him so gingerly that something bad had happened to him. Pretty recently, too, it looked like.

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Charles had been busy working at his desk for the last hour or two, sorting files and re-organising reports. It was a monotonous task, but one that filled him with simple joy. It was in the manner of a child stacking pebbles on the beach, they would become re-ordered many times, some being removed, new ones being added, but the size of the task always remained the same. Of course, in the child`s case it was small fragments of rock eroded to an ellipsoid shape by the sands of time as opposed to Charles' case where it was death certificates. The metaphor still stood firm though.

These thoughts were the ones that filled Charles' head and were the ulterior motives for his continued practition of his task. The irritating side effect was that it took around eight minutes before he noticed the man, in a trenchcoat, looking over him. A relatively quick sear throuth the files he was sorting revealed him to be Richard, an operative who went by the fairly ordinary codenme, "The Artisan". Further thinking about his origins, Charles remembered that he had been at the camp a while. Nowhere near as long as Angela, or that poor woman acting as the generator, but longer than he had after his escape from CADMUS.

All of this thinking and subsequent pondering had greatly slowed down his efficieny, thus Charles resolved that instead of half-heartedly trying to work, he may as well engage in conversation and let someone else deal with the weather - why did Vanguard need the weather anyway? It wasn't as though the rain summoned CADMUS. Releasing a barely audible sigh, Charles spoke, "Hello."

[Talchyon]

Vanguard Camp near Chadron, NE
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Charles had been busy working at his desk for the last hour or two, sorting files and re-organising reports. It was a monotonous task, but one that filled him with simple joy. It was in the manner of a child stacking pebbles on the beach, they would become re-ordered many times, some being removed, new ones being added, but the size of the task always remained the same. Of course, in the child`s case it was small fragments of rock eroded to an ellipsoid shape by the sands of time as opposed to Charles' case where it was death certificates. The metaphor still stood firm though.

These thoughts were the ones that filled Charles' head and were the ulterior motives for his continued practition of his task. The irritating side effect was that it took around eight minutes before he noticed the man, in a trenchcoat, looking over him. A relatively quick sear throuth the files he was sorting revealed him to be Richard, an operative who went by the fairly ordinary codenme, "The Artisan". Further thinking about his origins, Charles remembered that he had been at the camp a while. Nowhere near as long as Angela, or that poor woman acting as the generator, but longer than he had after his escape from CADMUS.

All of this thinking and subsequent pondering had greatly slowed down his efficieny, thus Charles resolved that instead of half-heartedly trying to work, he may as well engage in conversation and let someone else deal with the weather - why did Vanguard need the weather anyway? It wasn't as though the rain summoned CADMUS. Releasing a barely audible sigh, Charles spoke, "Hello."

The poor man was trying hard to function, but it seemed like even the simplest of tasks was a strain for him. Richard felt bad for the man. What had happened to him to turn him into a walking emotional wreck?

"Pardon me. I wasn't meaning to interrupt you. I just wondered if you had seen what the news was saying lately. I'm Richard Weinkauf. Former art teacher. Only been here a week. So I'm still trying to figure things out." (Like, how to read the news of the day, or how not to send Nate back to Phoenix on personal errands.)

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Vanguard Camp near Chadron, NE
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Charles had been busy working at his desk for the last hour or two, sorting files and re-organising reports. It was a monotonous task, but one that filled him with simple joy. It was in the manner of a child stacking pebbles on the beach, they would become re-ordered many times, some being removed, new ones being added, but the size of the task always remained the same. Of course, in the child`s case it was small fragments of rock eroded to an ellipsoid shape by the sands of time as opposed to Charles' case where it was death certificates. The metaphor still stood firm though.

These thoughts were the ones that filled Charles' head and were the ulterior motives for his continued practition of his task. The irritating side effect was that it took around eight minutes before he noticed the man, in a trenchcoat, looking over him. A relatively quick sear throuth the files he was sorting revealed him to be Richard, an operative who went by the fairly ordinary codenme, "The Artisan". Further thinking about his origins, Charles remembered that he had been at the camp a while. Nowhere near as long as Angela, or that poor woman acting as the generator, but longer than he had after his escape from CADMUS.

All of this thinking and subsequent pondering had greatly slowed down his efficieny, thus Charles resolved that instead of half-heartedly trying to work, he may as well engage in conversation and let someone else deal with the weather - why did Vanguard need the weather anyway? It wasn't as though the rain summoned CADMUS. Releasing a barely audible sigh, Charles spoke, "Hello."

The poor man was trying hard to function, but it seemed like even the simplest of tasks was a strain for him. Richard felt bad for the man. What had happened to him to turn him into a walking emotional wreck?

"Pardon me. I wasn't meaning to interrupt you. I just wondered if you had seen what the news was saying lately. I'm Richard Weinkauf. Former art teacher. Only been here a week. So I'm still trying to figure things out." (Like, how to read the news of the day, or how not to send Nate back to Phoenix on personal errands.)

Words are some of the most powerful tools available to society, yet also the most uncontrollable, it was with this fashion the Artisan caused a series of events most disturbing. The following seconds stretched to eternity: a flashback of colours and shapes haunting bare blackness and the taunts and malevolent jeers of things with no corporeal form swarming Charles in a sphere with jagged edges. Chaos roaming deep into his mind, being rammed through by an outsider before the blindingg light pushing away the constricted dark. It was a nightmare compressed into a moment despite Charles being awake. The man was staring at him expectantly and a response was quickly formulated.

"Ah, yes I remember you, you turned up only a few days before my arrival. The names Richard - isn't it? I'm Charles, former author and newspaper editor, now the chief translator and a lowly administrator for Vanguard. Don't worry about bothering me, though my work is engaging, the monotony can occasionally become slightly tiresome. To be honest, company is one of the few things preventing my complete fall into insanity." A humourless laugh, "So, tell me about yourself."

[Talchyon]

Vanguard camp near Chadron, NE
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Words are some of the most powerful tools available to society, yet also the most uncontrollable, it was with this fashion the Artisan caused a series of events most disturbing. The following seconds stretched to eternity: a flashback of colours and shapes haunting bare blackness and the taunts and malevolent jeers of things with no corporeal form swarming Charles in a sphere with jagged edges. Chaos roaming deep into his mind, being rammed through by an outsider before the blindingg light pushing away the constricted dark. It was a nightmare compressed into a moment despite Charles being awake. The man was staring at him expectantly and a response was quickly formulated.

"Ah, yes I remember you, you turned up only a few days before my arrival. The names Richard - isn't it? I'm Charles, former author and newspaper editor, now the chief translator and a lowly administrator for Vanguard. Don't worry about bothering me, though my work is engaging, the monotony can occasionally become slightly tiresome. To be honest, company is one of the few things preventing my complete fall into insanity." A humourless laugh, "So, tell me about yourself."

To be unable to help someone happens all too often. Even with his abilities, Richard could tell that this fragile man in front of him needed a kind of help he didn't think he could give. What image was playing out behind his dull eyes? Would Richard even feel safe if he did know?

Still, to be a teacher for so long gave Richard a desire to help people in any need or situation. Much more went into teaching than just what happened in the classroom. And it was this instinct that kicked in for Richard now.

"Good to meet you, Charles. And yes, feel free to call me Richard or Rich. I usually haven't gone by Rich but it's not a bad name in my opinion. Thank you for telling me about your background. As I said, I've just been here a week. Came from Phoenix. Taught art there and a few other places around the country, but was forced into early retirement. Retirement is not all that it's cracked up to be, if you want my opinion. And then one day, I was about to be kidnapped by a few men who were pretending to be FBI agents. And then, some of the Vanguard crew here came to my rescue."

And then, wondered again why so many people feared him. Not to mention his estranged son, Paul. But he wasn't going to bring up Paul now.

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Vanguard camp near Chadron, NE
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")
To be unable to help someone happens all too often. Even with his abilities, Richard could tell that this fragile man in front of him needed a kind of help he didn't think he could give. What image was playing out behind his dull eyes? Would Richard even feel safe if he did know?

Still, to be a teacher for so long gave Richard a desire to help people in any need or situation. Much more went into teaching than just what happened in the classroom. And it was this instinct that kicked in for Richard now.

"Good to meet you, Charles. And yes, feel free to call me Richard or Rich. I usually haven't gone by Rich but it's not a bad name in my opinion. Thank you for telling me about your background. As I said, I've just been here a week. Came from Phoenix. Taught art there and a few other places around the country, but was forced into early retirement. Retirement is not all that it's cracked up to be, if you want my opinion. And then one day, I was about to be kidnapped by a few men who were pretending to be FBI agents. And then, some of the Vanguard crew here came to my rescue."

And then, wondered again why so many people feared him. Not to mention his estranged son, Paul. But he wasn't going to bring up Paul now.

Backstory discovered and some good conversation starters invoked, all the available tools for a positive social interaction were present; one of the good things about being an author with a degree in English was that Charles considered himself to have social skills above par. Recently this acquisition had faded but the analytical part of his mind still retained the process of determining the best routes to success in an encounter. Success, an odd word to use during a casual meeting of two people but in the (paraphrased) words of the Art Of War, "Everything in life is a battle, from a single word to a mighty war." After his imprisonemnt at the hands of people who probably slept with that book, he finally understood their true meaning.

"Ah yes, early retirement is one of the worst evils in this world. I myself was coerced into it by the threat that loomed upon the horizon - CADMUS. They are the cause of more than a few bad experiences within my life and others. I've no wish to be all doom and gloom, makes for a rather depressing atmosphere, but sometimes I wonder if we have any hope at all against them. I look at our facility, I see a fairly run down building with at least five bricks missi and technology from the 1980s. All it requires is one glance at theirs to be blinded by the sun reflecting off their stainless steel columns and nano-glass." Charles paused for a moment, catching his breath and realising he had made good on the 'doom and gloom' atmosphere he had promised. An attempt to lighten the moment was certainly necessary, "I wonder if anyone stands any hope against this sun though, 26 degrees for four days in a row! It's a wonder the fields outdoors haven't burst into flame yet."

[Talchyon]

Vanguard camp near Chadron, Nebraska
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Charles Smithson
Vanguard camp

Backstory discovered and some good conversation starters invoked, all the available tools for a positive social interaction were present; one of the good things about being an author with a degree in English was that Charles considered himself to have social skills above par. Recently this acquisition had faded but the analytical part of his mind still retained the process of determining the best routes to success in an encounter. Success, an odd word to use during a casual meeting of two people but in the (paraphrased) words of the Art Of War, "Everything in life is a battle, from a single word to a mighty war." After his imprisonemnt at the hands of people who probably slept with that book, he finally understood their true meaning.

"Ah yes, early retirement is one of the worst evils in this world. I myself was coerced into it by the threat that loomed upon the horizon - CADMUS. They are the cause of more than a few bad experiences within my life and others. I've no wish to be all doom and gloom, makes for a rather depressing atmosphere, but sometimes I wonder if we have any hope at all against them. I look at our facility, I see a fairly run down building with at least five bricks missing and technology from the 1980s. All it requires is one glance at theirs to be blinded by the sun reflecting off their stainless steel columns and nano-glass." Charles paused for a moment, catching his breath and realising he had made good on the 'doom and gloom' atmosphere he had promised. An attempt to lighten the moment was certainly necessary, "I wonder if anyone stands any hope against this sun though, 26 degrees for four days in a row! It's a wonder the fields outdoors haven't burst into flame yet."

This fellow had to be European. Or Canadian, possibly. Americans don't think of the temperature in Celsius. If an American said that it was 26 degrees outside, they would be freezing. Americans think in Fahrenheit. Richard knew that Europeans were on Celsius, and he thought Canadians might be too, but he had forgotten. 26 was roughly 80 Fahrenheit. Funny how Richard couldn't detect an accent. This fellow had probably been in the States a long time to sound more American.

"You're right about the temperature. But it's the humidity that's even worse. I feel like I'm going through a sauna here. At least in Phoenix, when it was hot, it was a dry heat. This is like having gills and breathing hot water. You know? I had a transfer student from Nebraska once. From what he said, it gets a lot worse than this.

"As for what we can do against this group of soldiers and CADMUS agents. Surely, we can do something, right? Wasn't there something awhile back about a new bill in Congress?" Richard hated politics, and most of the times could care less what the political hacks harangued about. But when it dealt with mutants, the news tended to catch his ears. And that was one issue that he had heard about.

"Or news? If firepower isn't working, maybe we go the old way of capturing the minds of the public. With the pen. Write articles, essays, pamphlets, sob stories, letters to the editor. Charles, there's always a way. That's a lesson I've been teaching my students for a good long time. At least, that's a lesson I had taught them..."

Looking around, and getting more of a feel for this poor soul, Richard ventured again. "I say. Would you like to relax a little more? Get away for a little while in a comfortable place? Maybe get some coffee or something? Because I know just the place..."