Transcendent: Season One [IC]

[Seinlo]

TRANSCENDENT
A Modern Roleplay with Many Opportunities

”There are beings in this world capable not just of infiltrating their enemies while being identified as another individuals, but of razing entire cities, and absorbing the power of a nation’s entire power grid in mere moments. Many of them are innocent, yes, but there are also a few with great power who are less than innocent, and a few with equally great power that will do anything to defend the innocent. These beings are called Transcendents - evolved humans with unnatural abilities that have been believed to be a variety of supernatural creatures and deities over the many millennia, though most are pretty ‘normal’ compared to those that could be mistaken for flying orbs of light.

They pose a danger to modern society, but have just as much to offer to us, as well. Advances in medicine that decimate diseases, the eradication of famine, the elimination of natural disasters - all of these are possible. However, so too is it possible for diseases to be used to create an army of great power, so too is it possible for the eradication of famine to turn into the extinction of all major food crops, and so too is it possible for one to turn nature against mankind and its many cultures.

It is my official request to this summit of all 195 internationally recognized nationstates, and the country of Taiwan, that we postpone any multinational action against this new race until we know want to do. We have our task forces, our rating systems, and have equipped our police with the methods to handle many of these so-called Transcendents, which is more than enough at the moment, and the United States, as such, will not pass any legislature on them to show our dedication to patience, while providing the methods to defend against most of these threats to any nation that seeks them out, even our enemies. For now, patience is a virtue - it would be foolish to declare war on an entire species that, by their very definition, one we’ve all agreed upon, are superior to humans.” United States President Tyler Maxwell.

What is Season One?:

Season One of Transcendent will hopefully be successful, introducing Transcendent to NationStates’ P2TM, and concluding with whatever conclusion we arrive at when we get there, but it is a plot that has many options for development. Now, I don’t always make plots that are influenced heavily by a specific character, and, when I do, I can assure you that there is more to it than that specific character, but I wanted to have a world-shocking series of events that catapult Transcendent into success. Future plots might have a focus on organizations (I promise I will try to avoid superhuman academy plots, xD), or even events themselves, or may be continuations of a previous season, but for Season One I wanted something special.

The year may be 2016, and the month may be the last, but Season One has its start far before this year, and actually before the concept of currency, and, aye, probably before any recognizable form of culture, but we’ll get into that in the in-character. The series of events that lead up to Season One start in the year of 1968, when Jeremie le D’Aboville (play-by: see Mitch Hewer) was thrust into the international spotlight after a highly successful expansion of his company outside of France, primarily into America. Oddly, his facial structure was extremely similar to images of Charlemagne, Dionysus and Bacchus, and several other historical figures, most of which contributed to shaping entire cultures and future world events, which the public was kindly notified of by a Yale University student majoring in anthropology, and minoring in European history.

The events are a bit clouded, and many sources are vague despite the huge importance of the event, mostly due to manipulation of everything around Jeremie by the powerful immortal, but by 1970, Jeremie le D’Aboville had managed to reveal Transcendents to the globe as other nations watched with curiosity, manipulating or eliminating those who posed a threat of escalating things to the point of a war of extermination. There would always be bigots who hated the Transcendents, but they became an officially recognized as a species by 1973, being given the name Homo Sapiens Dei, or man wise divine, a reference to the beliefs of many in the past that they were Gods, much to the disappointment of anti-metahumans. Throughout these events, Epique, the company founded by Jeremie, slowly acquired more power, covertly building up bases of power in nearly every major city that it became functional in, with Jeremie indulging in everything from legitimate business avenues like fashion, or typewriter production, to darker lanes such as human trafficking.

With Epique’s diversification, it quickly became the largest and most valuable company in the world, now being on par in size with Apple and Google only because Epique created a corporate group made up of four companies with values exceeding $250 billion by separating major components, thus lowering Epique's direct value to the level of Apple and Google. Epique possesses unparalleled political influence, and has managed to build up a secret task force of Transcendents that serve it, as well as publicly sponsored ‘superheroes’ that wear Epique’s logo. Behind the scenes of a company currently making technology that seems to be out of a science fiction novel are the vile things it does, including the practice of breeding Transcendents, making use of eugenics, and violating ethics in regards to genetic modification during the process.

Major rivals of Epique in numerous fields have suddenly gone under, or the people who opposed the purchase of these rivals have mysteriously died or disappeared. There is a pattern, but what the pattern says is so unbelievable that you only hear about it in conspiracy theory circles, and the media not under control of or being influenced by Epique refuses to report on it. This isn’t limited to corporate opponents, however, as political opponents and any anti-metahuman voices strong enough to implement actual change have been eliminated, with major players in world politics often being coerced by Epique or even Jeremie himself.

Still, Epique could not stop the seeds of hatred or fear, or even stop the conspiracy theory circles from spreading what they ‘knew’. That would have consequences down the road.

The world knows that Jeremie is old, but they don’t know everything, certainly far from everything. In fact, barely anyone knows about what Epique or Jeremie have done, or who they really are outside of legitimate business. That, and his abilities, are part of why he’s so dangerous. Jeremie has existed for approximately 160,000 years, and is almost certainly the oldest being currently alive. Additionally, he helped to create the rating system for metahumans named after him, including the theoretical Magnitude 11 Transcendent, but he refused to make people aware that he himself was a Magnitude 11, a being of immense power, posing a threat to the world.

Technology exists that can imprison and even kill Jeremie - though bullets will do the job if you manage to shoot him without the man using a certain something to enhance himself - and 7 years ago a group of “radicals” who knew of Jeremie’s true, dark nature attempted to use it against him. This group of Transcendents started a war against Jeremie that they lost as soon as they laid siege to Epique’s Manhattan headquarters in an attempt to capture and then most likely execute Jeremie. Left either maimed or killed by Jeremie, his security forces, and his ‘corporate corps’ of sponsored metahumans, these radicals were left unable to fight Jeremie, but the world very quickly discovered that Jeremie had more than just the ability to live for a long time, especially because of the damage that devastated Manhattan, and brought the city to a crawl for over two years as they rebuilt.

Classified almost immediately as a Magnitude 10+ Transcendent, and later having the formerly theoretical Magnitude 11 applied to him due to the nature of Ergokinesis by a metahuman research called the Eden Think Tank that, behind the scenes, was a powerful, multi-national force acting to protect metahumans and humans alike, analyzing, imprisoning, manipulating, and, though considered extreme, exterminating any variables as was needed, including the metahumans themselves. Everything was called into question, and some felt they had been lied to. Because of those events, tension eventually peaked around the globe, with hate crimes against Transcendents escalating to a frequency and level that has never before been so high.

It is now, in the Big Apple, that people like you that will shape the future of the world, whether you be a bigot, a metahuman that just wants to live a normal life, or a metahuman with extremist tendencies. Will you stand against Jeremie with what little you know, will you wait before acting, will you mourn the loss of your mother who died in the battle, or will you stand with Jeremie as a researcher, as a member of his criminal secret society, the Cabal, as a member of his corporate sponsored superheroes, as a member of his secretive Spartan Initiative, a metahuman group acting on Jeremie’s orders, or even as a criminal reporting directly to the man? Maybe you just want to go about your life, but have been dragged in by someone else’s character. Fear and apprehension has gripped many in the world for the past 7 years, and events show no sign of de-escalating, especially now that they’ve reached their most tumultuous. Be careful, though, or Jeremie may pluck your life from you in ways that you can’t even imagine.

P.S. Jeremie’s powers have limits. I have them written up, and there are lots of limits, many being very specific. I may not ever write up a character for this roleplay, but I certainly am not going to have an invincible character. If you kill him in the middle of the plot, however, the show will continue.

What Are the Rules and Guidelines?:

• 1. Don’t godmod, powergame, or anything else like this
• 2. Post at least a 5 sentence paragraph for each in-character post of at least 6 lines, with the use of correct grammar and spelling. All posts must have as much as needed to make events clear, and for other typists to have enough to reply to. No net speak. This is a quality roleplay for intermediate to advanced roleplayers, and anything less would significantly lower the quality.
• 3. Please label your post with the location.
• 4. You’re allowed up to 3 characters, as long as I think that you can handle them.
• 5. Don’t be an arse, okay? Yes, that is a rhetorical question, because I already know that your answer is “okay” if you join this RP.
• 6. Player factions are most likely only going to come into existence through time, and work in-character.
• 7. Your characters can die. If you die, then don’t whine because you ended up getting cornered by the police after robbing a store, and got shot a lot. Play smart, and think before you do things. This is a game without resets (unless you happen to know a Transcendent powerful enough to resurrect you, and is willing to), a world of danger.
• 8. Be a good sport. Seriously. Don’t ruin the fun for other people.
• 9. Ask before you do something extreme, or if you’re unsure if you can do something. Because of the nature of a dynamic world and of Transcendent itself, it is important to maintain a sense of realism, even though our roleplay has metahumans. Want another reason? Someone’s actions can permanently change this world, and we don’t want it to be ruined.
• 10. Metahumans as powerful as those I mentioned are rare, extremely so, and those that are immortal are even rarer, so please be reasonable when you type up your powers. I will allow some powerful metahumans, but only with people that seem experienced. Metahumans are usually specialized, with the broader powers being more limited in each area. Treat this like it’s a Heroes roleplay. No powers that can’t be connected, and it’s definitely not a comic book, and no truly supernatural creatures exist (as far as you know ). I will roleplay these characters whenever necessary.
• 11. If you have any suggestions or ideas, concerns, questions, or anything else, please send me a TG. Additionally, if you wish to help me flesh out the roleplay in any way, such as with a timeline or a typed up rating system for metahumans that someone can actually look at, I would greatly appreciate it. P.S. If you want to make a spin-off, I’ll try to work with you on it, but be aware that you can’t just go and make your own world; every spin-off and every successive season will be a part of Transcendent’s world, crafting its mythos, the culture, and the events behind it.
• 12. I, as OP, have the equivalent of administrative rights over this singular thread. It is important for you to follow site rules, and to follow the rules as laid out by myself. I reserve the right to change or add any rules I wish, but it is not my right to break the rules, or to treat you badly. I also reserve the right to elect a Co-OP, any other staff members, and even a replacement if I see fit, limiting their power as I see fit. If you feel I or another staff member am treating you badly, wait for things to calm down (if they aren’t calm), and send me a TG thoroughly explaining things.

[Seinlo]

Important Threads

Character Archive

Transcendent OOC

[Seinlo]

New York City, New York
The United States of America


In a city of 8.5 million, anything can happen, especially in this city where the New York minute reigns supreme. Here, Epique has placed its North American headquarters, and New York City has proven to be one of the most important parts of Epique’s actions; and then there’s the Eden Think Tank, which was founded and has its main operations base within, not as a series of rooms or anything, but via an interdimensional access route to a pocket dimension. Were things extreme here? Definitely, but they were also amazing. Flying cars may not yet be the norm, but there were highly sophisticated technologies at work here.


This city was also the starting point of events that had been influencing the world since the 1970s, but things were only now coming to their flash point, and there were forces preparing, gathering information, skirmishing, or even simply watching and waiting. But there is one place that holds both wonder for the world to gawk at and the - it’s the home of this chaos in waiting...


Underneath the glistening steel and glass Towers of Epique - which is the name for a complex of several towers and other interconnected buildings - there were secret levels that Jeremie quite enjoyed. While the city and the skyscrapers above the underground levels were bustling, there was a single room on Level 6A that was all but silent except for the whimpers of a man in his 30s who was gagged and bound to a chair, and, when Jeremie entered the room, his voice and breathing. The blue-eyed blonde wasn’t wearing a suit, but instead wore a nice shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, appearing to be your usual man aside from the computer wrapped around his right wrist, and of course the uncaring, but still gently amused expression he wore.


”Quiet.” Jeremie’s voice rang out clearly, his accent gentle and almost non-existent. His voice manipulated the energy in the man’s brain, forcing him into submission. Raising both his brows for a moment, the Transcendent moved in closer in predatory confidence.


Jeremie’s left hand rose, his veins turning a luminescent cerulean as it inched closer to his meal. This morning, Jeremie noticed a pallor of skin, and it looked splotchy, like he was wearing make-up and it was degrading. Unable to scream, the man was caught inside his mind while sharp pain coursed through him, he could only tense up, the forces created by Jeremie’s hand cutting into every cell and ripping from them their energy.


”Normally my food is left alive, and I only leave them without these memories, but I was just so… hungry, I suppose.” Soon, Jeremie’s golden skin tone returned, the splotchiness disappearing, but the man was left a husk. With a resounding thud, Jeremie pushed over the chair, and gave a short chuckle. His footsteps retreated from the room, his gaze turning to look at one of the guards near the entrance.


”Clean that up”. Jeremie ordered, the guard obeying because of loyalty and his job, not because of that neurokinesis his enemies would find irritating if they knew about it. Then, he left, his assistant following behind while poking away on a Surface Pro tablet.

[Uzizho]

Alexander Christian

Breath in. Breath out.

Alex continued this mantra as he sunk deeper into his meditation. A black nothingness replaced the rather spartan room that he had come to know while living in Eden. Suddenly small strings came from the black nothingness, attaching themselves to Alex. The strings would go out and connect themselves with all of the people within range of his powers. Typically this would follow with all of the feelings and thoughts of the people around him flooding into him like an uncontrollable river breaking through the restrictions of a dam, but that didn't happen. It didn't happen because of a break in the strings about a meter away from him. With but a single thought, however, he could choose to reconnect any number of them. This was the point of his training and meditation, to control the feelings that used to control him. Not only did he learn how to break connections but he learned to control the thickness of the strings. The thickness represents the severity of the connection. When he couldn't control his powers all strings were as thick as a rope, but now he could get them as small as spider silk.

Alex reattached a specific string, as he had some instinctual knowledge on whose Mind Thread, as he had taken to calling them, was whose. He began a telepathic conversation with the recipient.

"I'm ready to start the day, Dr. Lee." He said in her mind. Dr. Lee had been the main doctor presiding over him ever since he volunteered himself for study at Eden. He heard her give something of a shout and then she replied back with her thoughts, "I thought I told you to stop doing that all willy nilly! Scares me so much my heart stops for a second." If smiling was something Alex did then he might have done so now, but his face remained impassive. His emotions would often reach out and influence others, so he had to be careful. Especially when he was already attached to a mind like he currently was, never mind if it was just mild amusement.

His thoughts on the matter must have reached Dr. Lee despite his best efforts, as he could feel her giving a frown. "You don't need to be afraid to feel, Alex." Alex severed the connection after that. Of course he had to be afraid. He of all people knew what it was like to be influenced things outside of your understanding. It was not a pleasant feeling, and it was not one he wanted to force others to feel.

He heard steps outside and then his door opened, showing Dr. Lee with a now visible frown on her face. She sighed and said, "Just come on, Alex, we have tests to do today." He only gave a nod.

.....

Alex found himself staring down from an observation deck at a large maze. He was sitting crossed legged on the floor, waiting for a new test to start. Soon a white mouse was pushed into the room, it began to nervously walk around, surveying its surroundings. Alex began reaching out to animal with his mind, and soon enough the mouse sprinted behind a red line in a corner of the room. Alex already knew that was the starting point. He began commanding the mouse with his mind, and in a few minutes it was out the other side of the maze. A few scientist wrote things down on their clipboards, most noting that this run was faster than usual. They also noted that it wasn't because the maze was easier, but because the mouse seemed to respond to Alex's orders quicker and with less resistance.

As far as Alex knew the current goal of their research was to prove that Transcendents were not born with their maximum potential already unlocked, that their powers could be improved. And according to a few theories, evolved. Alex zoned out of the scientist mutters of implications, however, and continued to focus on the mouse in front of him. It wasn't the same one they usually used, it wasn't Allen. The mouse didn't have an official name, obviously, but he had taken to calling it Allen. A small frown made its way to his face, one Dr. Lee noticed.

"Is something wrong, Alex?" She asked. She waited a few moments for him to open up a mental connection, and when he didn't it became obvious he wasn't going to tell her. Of course he could have told her with his actual voice, but she knew that wasn't probable. It could be counted on one hand the amount of times she heard him speak. She decided to just leave it, for now. If anyone was connected to him, however they would have been able to hear his thoughts....

"I miss Allen."

[Esternial]

"Good morning, Joanna."

The robotic voice of Joanna's personal assistant woke her right on time. Slowly the lights in her bedroom began to light up, softly, to avoid making her awakening a bit too unpleasant. Over the course of half an hour the light would intensify to normal levels. With a groan, Joanna opened her eyes. She glanced at her bedside table. An modern appliance took up almost the entire tabletop, revealing itself as a coffee-maker when the contraption began to grind coffee beans. A few minutes later, a cup of coffee was presented, which Joanna eagerly reached for with both hands.

Jojo was not a morning person. Often she'd spend many hours into the night either working or just idly stares at a computer screen, watching the newest episode of New Girl or whatever was on. As long as it was remotely interesting she'd probably watch it. Despite that, though, she always got up on time, 6 AM sharp. She needed a lot of time to wake up and get ready.

With the first cup down the gullet, Joanna slithered out of bead and stumbled towards the bathroom. As soon as she opened the door, the shower turned on. Once she got in, the water's temperature was just right. Having domotics installed was probably the best investment she made. Wrapped in one of the softest towels you could imagine, Joanna moved her activities to the kitchen. Toast was almost done. Fresh orange juice was standing ready. A cup of coffee was beckoning towards her. In minutes she devoured her breakfast and ingested her second dose of caffeine for the day.

Almost time to go. Feeling a little more active, she slipped into her clothes and gathered everything she needed.

"Have a nice day, Joanna."

And a nice day it would be.

"Double homicide. Seems like a transcendent's work." Rick surmised. Rick was one of the agents of the FBI's Transcendent Crimes branch. A man in his line of business had gotten used to seeing the worst, though his opinion on transcendents was remarkably neutral. One would expect some cynicism, but given he worked with several of them he was reminded on a daily basis that they were just like humans - there were always rotten apples in the bunch.

"Probably why we got called." Jojo quipped dryly. Rick smirked.

"Well, do your magic." He said, walking away a short distance to take a look at the rest of the crime scene.

Either someone had been playing with a flamethrower, or there was a transcendent with flame-based powers that got pushed just a bit too far. Two guys had been grilled way beyond well done. They seemed like the criminal types, but Jojo knew that she shouldn't make assumption. Rick looked like a washed down mattress salesman sometimes, and he was actually a very decent agent - sometimes. Joanna took pictures, gathered samples and gave instructions to other ERT personnel when needed. At work, she was a confident and well-adjusted woman.

"Right. We'll take all of this to the lab and get it analysed. I'll leave the agent work to you, agent." Joanna told Rick, who nodded calmly and smiled.

"Sounds good, kiddo. Let me know if you find anything."

So far, this day was pretty standard.

[Saint Ryvern]

Chenor Henley
New York City, New York, United States of America

Instead of the violent buzzing and ungodly beeping of his alarm clock, Chenor is gently yanked out of his dream at 5:13 AM by Louis Armstrong's "Saint Louis Blues." Letting his eyes adjust to the pale light cast over his one-room apartment by the illuminated screen of his phone, Chenor tries to recall who the jazz song is correlated with inside of his phone. Chenor liked to personalize every person's contribution to his contact list, so while he punches in their phone number he always asks them what their favorite song is. Afterwards he goes and downloads that song as a ringtone and designates it as that person's tone. There are a few repeats, but most of the several dozen people in Chenor's phone list have a unique jingle associated with their urge to talk to him. Associating his memory lapse with his lack of breakfast Chenor climbs out of bed and snatches his phone off the bed stand, clicking answer seconds before the call goes to voicemail, "hello?" Chenor's voice is somewhat raspy due to the fact he just woke up.

"Wow, Chenor, no personalized greeting? You couldn't remember 'Saint Louis Blues' was my ringtone, could you? I am very offended, I'm tempted to hang up," the voice on the other end of the line says with more than a slight hint of mockery.

"Theo, I'm sorry about that," Chenor says, even though he knows an apology is unnecessary, "you woke me up, what do you need? Is Marie ok?" His head delivery boy, Theo Artwood, is an industrious young man of just sixteen years old that Chenor admires greatly. The boy wakes up at 4:30 am every Monday morning to deliver his own 75 copies of Veritas, while also coordinating the delivery of 852 other copies of the paper. His mother, the Marie Chenor has mentioned, has been in and out of the hospital recently with some sort of blood disorder her doctors are having a hard time identifying.

"Yes, yes, she's fine, but Danny is not. He bailed on us. I saw him last night riding around with Big H and his crew, drinking like a monster, and he's not here this morning. I was hoping he would show up but I waited too long and all the other delivery boys have left. His route's on the other side of town than mine, I can't deliver all his papers and mine before school starts. I didn't know who else to call," the distress the boy feels is palpable through the phone line, gradually building over the course of his message and replacing his initial jocularity. Already Chenor is rushing around his apartment eating an apple and trying to jump into a pair of sweatpants. He has thrown a nicer pair of clothes and shoes into a backpack to change into afterwards. Finishing chewing a bite of his apple Chenor says, "don't worry, Theo. I'm almost out of my apartment. I used to deliver during my early days at the paper and I'll cover Danny's route for him. Just leave his papers by my desk, start your route, and have a good day."

"Thank you, Mr. Henley. Thank you so-" delighted that Theo is so thankful, but needing to hit the gas, Chenor hangs up on him. 'I'll apologize tomorrow..." he mutters to himself as he rushes around his apartment. He is dressed poorly and barely nourished, scoffing down the last bits of his red delicious, as he puts his backpack on and exits his place. Eight minutes later, after biking faster than he ever has before, Chenor chains his mint green bicycle to the rack outside of the office of Veritas, the small paper he works at as an editor and writer. Running inside Chenor almost kills himself as he trips over a sack of newspaper that Theo has left right in front of the door, not by Chenor's desk like was asked. Shrugging this off Chenor locates Danny's red wagon and deposits the papers in them. Leaving the office at 5:34 am Chenor delivers all 84 of Danny's copies of the cut rate paper in what must be a record 42 minutes. After running all over town, covered in sweat, Chenor pushes his way through the glass door of the office that has the name of the paper and their slogan "We'll bring the wine, you bring the rest" printed on it on the verge of collapse.

"Dear god, Chenor. Did you run a marathon before work today?" One of his writers, Camilla, asks.

"Danny flaked out on his route. I took care of it," Chenor says making his way to his backpack, which has proper work attire stuffed into it. "Do you guys know your assignments yet?" He says looking around the room at his three writers.

"Yeah, we divided them up already. You've got a double homicide a few blocks away, and by a few I mean fourteen, that's rather gruesome. Could be a transcendent, could be a crazy person. You should check it out either way," the speaker here is Frank, the only writer besides Chenor who has been at the paper for more than eight months, and he's only been on the payroll for ten.

"Alright, sounds like a wonderful, gratifying story," Chenor quips as he heads into the bathroom. Moments later he emerges and moves over to his desk, but only to grab the post-it note with the address the double homicide took place at before he exits the office and hops onto his bicycle. Pedalling off, Chenor arrives at the crime scene Joanna and Rick have just finished their initial examination at. Parking and chaining up his bike nearby Chenor approaches the scene, sneaking closer behind a cop car, until he is practically inside of the alley the horrific crime took place in. Starting a recording on the predownloaded app on his phone Chenor stands up straight and strides towards the two...FBI agents, man this must be legit. Staying strong, Chenor stops several paces away from the agents and speaks, "hello madam and sir, my name is Chenor Henley. I'm a reporter with Veritas and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about what's transpired here. Do you suspect this to be the work of a Transcendent? Do you know who the two men are? Do you have any ideas as to why they were killed in such a brutal fashion?"

[Esternial]

"Alright, sounds like a wonderful, gratifying story," Chenor quips as he heads into the bathroom. Moments later he emerges and moves over to his desk, but only to grab the post-it note with the address the double homicide took place at before he exits the office and hops onto his bicycle. Pedalling off, Chenor arrives at the crime scene Joanna and Rick have just finished their initial examination at. Parking and chaining up his bike nearby Chenor approaches the scene, sneaking closer behind a cop car, until he is practically inside of the alley the horrific crime took place in. Starting a recording on the predownloaded app on his phone Chenor stands up straight and strides towards the two...FBI agents, man this must be legit. Staying strong, Chenor stops several paces away from the agents and speaks, "hello madam and sir, my name is Chenor Henley. I'm a reporter with Veritas and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about what's transpired here. Do you suspect this to be the work of a Transcendent? Do you know who the two men are? Do you have any ideas as to why they were killed in such a brutal fashion?"

With a weak grunt, Joanna dropped her kit in the back of their van when she noticed someone approaching the crime scene. Several other people were already standing on the other side of the police tape, among them a few local reporters. Plenty of them had their connections with the local PD. Sometimes they got to the scene before Rick and she did.

"Hello madam and sir," the man began. They were in luck, so it seemed. There were a few other cops around, but the reporter couldn't get to them without passing the yellow tape. Only Rick and Joanna were close enough to actually be approachable, which was because they were leaving, not hanging around for a chat. Rick made that very clear and walked away to his car. Joanna cast a nasty glare in his direction which almost dug itself in Rick's back like a dagger. He knew he'd make it up to her later with a coffee. Joanna's forgiveness was easily bought in cases like these.

"Yeah, shoot." Joanna replied, gesturing to her fellow ERT colleagues to load everything they had into the truck and prepare to head back.

"Do you suspect this to be the work of a Transcendent? Do you know who the two men are? Do you have any ideas as to why they were killed in such a brutal fashion?"

"Uhh...Henley, was it?" She replied, having only barely heard what he said to them while Rick and she were having their nonverbal squabble. "This is an ongoing investigation...eh...as you probably knew."

Did I mention she had a smidgen of social anxiety?

"So...I can't really tell you that much. You know how these things are. Red tape, etcetera." She continued, barely making eye contact with the man and constantly glancing back towards the crime scene.

"Identifying them will be hard given the state the remains are in. We can't say anything for certain, but given that we were called in the local police is leaning in the direction of transcendent involvement."

"But I'm sure you could deduce that much yourself." She added with an awkward smile.

[Talchyon]

Empire Terrace Apartments
Richard Weinkauf

Balance -(bal-Əns) n. In a picture, the arrangement of parts aimed at achieving a state of equilibrium between opposing forces or influences. Balance may be achieved by various conventional methods including symmetry and asymmetry.

New York City was nothing like Phoenix. There was a reason it was called "The City that Never Sleeps." One of his apartment neighbors (who wasn't terribly neighborly) took that motto to heart as his own personal code, apparently, if noises at odd times in the night were any indication. Then there was the cost of living. Everything was about twice as much. Pay twice as much, but get the same thing. There was a reason a good number of the people who lived here had given the Empire State their own nickname, that of "The Vampire State." The prices alone will suck you dry.

Still, Richard Weinkauf had saved enough over his teaching career to make it here in New York City. He hadn't traveled much over the years. Maybe a trip here or there. His supplies cost some, but that was to be expected. The rest, he had saved, and invested, enough to make a comfortable retirement here in New York. It was a city of culture, having world-renowned art museums (some of which were in walking distance, even). There were lesser known galleries around, too, with local artists making up the majority of the showcases. Many of these artists were good, talented craftsmen and women, waiting to be discovered. There was that.

And now that he was officially retired, he had time of his own to create his own pieces. He had been trying some different techniques lately. Different from his norm. Scumbling, grounding, intentional craqueluring - it was a good experience to try techniques he had learned about long ago but had rarely used since. His paintings these days were mostly landscapes or buildings. There was a reason he wasn't putting the image of a person on the canvas.

But with all the artistic opportunities that awaited him in New York, Richard's heart was heavy. The thoughts kept coming back to him, applying salt to the wounds in his soul. He should be working. Retirement wasn't something he had sought. There were still a few good years left in him to teach. But the administration at his former school had been trying to gut the art department for years, and by forcing Richard into early retirement, they finally had a reason to scrap the whole art program. A program Richard had served faithfully for 16 years! But each year, the cuts were more, the budget kept squeezing tighter, no money for art supplies, no money for raises, no money for the arts. The basketball program, that could get new uniforms, extra away games and tournaments, extra money for more assistant coaches. The school had gotten a brand spanking new football field, with a jumbotron big screen tv. Just no funds for the arts. Richard breathed out a frustrated sigh. The administration, of course, had been made up of former jocks who thought high school sports were the most important events in life. Who cares if the school had few athletes who actually made the field for collegiate ball, and none had made the pros, even as benchwarmers? But former students of his were teachers, graphic artists, and a few had even made it as professional studio artists. It was completely unfair, and Richard was bitter.

So, the new surroundings, the extra time, the opportunities were great... but Richard's heart could not recover from the sharp wounds his previous administration had given him. The good thing was, he had time. Time to figure things out. Time to recharge. Time to find some balance. Balance had been lacking for a long time.

Richard briefly thought of his son, Paul. He hadn't seen Paul in about 18 years, and had no contact information for him. The last phone number Richard had of Paul's had long expired. Paul had moved somewhere, or changed his number, or something. He still wouldn't talk to his father. Richard felt a twinge of regret and wondered, not for the first time, what Paul was doing with his life.

He had already done his morning workout, shortly after he had gotten up at about 5. That was followed up by a shower, and a light breakfast of a toasted bagel with butter and decaf coffee that he brewed. For whatever reason, he had found that caffeine had affected his head as he had gotten older. So, decaf was it. "What to do today?" Richard thought idly. He could go to a museum, maybe. His current landscape was almost done, just a few touches here and there, and that wouldn't take long. He had read somewhere about people who retired and then within six months, died, because they couldn't adjust and were still wanting to work. He half-thought about looking for a job, but the only places that might interest him were galleries.

Finished with his coffee, Richard grabbed his jacket and headed out. It was 7 am. Who knew what the day would bring?

[Saint Ryvern]

"Uhh...Henley, was it?" She replied, having only barely heard what he said to them while Rick and she were having their nonverbal squabble. "This is an ongoing investigation...eh...as you probably knew."

Did I mention she had a smidgen of social anxiety?

"So...I can't really tell you that much. You know how these things are. Red tape, etcetera." She continued, barely making eye contact with the man and constantly glancing back towards the crime scene.

"Identifying them will be hard given the state the remains are in. We can't say anything for certain, but given that we were called in the local police is leaning in the direction of transcendent involvement."

"But I'm sure you could deduce that much yourself." She added with an awkward smile.

Chenor couldn't help but smile at the agent's openness. Sure, she was being secretive and not telling him everything she knew, but her willingness to even partially answer questions was a step up from the way a lot of local law enforcement officials treated him when he approached them for questioning. Countless times when he would walk up towards city cops and ask a few questions they would yell at him and tell him to scram. It wasn't like he was from the Times or the Post, his paper was just an annoying blip on the radar to a 95% of the cops in New York City. The other 5% were those that were still pissed about an editorial the reporter Camilla replaced had published almost ten months ago about how city cops were doing such a terrible job responding to calls about Transcendent-related crimes in East Harlem.

"Thank you, Agent...can I get a name for my report? I won't publish that if you don't want me too, though," Chenor said, hoping this would comfort the anxious agent. He was mis-attributing the anxiety she was clearly displaying as nervousness surrounding the details of the case.

"Can I ask one more real question, though? Why this case? Yes, I understand this is a double homicide, which signifies some need for federal involvement, but the NYPD handle average, well if you can say that about such a crime, double homicides on a regular basis. You're right that some transcendent has clearly been at work here," the journalist glances past Joanna as he says this, grimacing at the malformed bodies of the victims, "but there have been several crimes, of a somewhat severe nature, that have happened recently where transcendent involvement has been directly proved by eye witnesses where no federal involvement has been evident. A transcendent who could teleport was kidnapping people's dogs from the park and holding them for ransom a month ago, she was never caught by local police; about three and a half weeks ago there was an incident where a transcendent who could phase through objects was caught peeping at a local gym, he was never caught; hell, two weeks ago I was in an electronics store and everything started smoking, which ultimately resulted in the transcendent responsible for the destruction of all the store's merchandise getting away with an $800 computer, he was never caught either. I'm just wondering why now, of all times, the federal government has been called in. What I'm trying to ask is has the FBI lost faith in the NYPD's ability to handle transcendent-related cases? Is that why you're here at this crime scene?"

[Uthary]

Taylor Jeong

Taylor rolled out of bed, disentangling himself from the warm body sharing his bed. "Gaaaaaah." He groaned, as he was hit with the megatons of force his hangover felt obliged to deal him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands as he waited for the inaudible screaming to stop. "Why do you let me do this to myself?" He mumbled as his fellow bartender and, ahem, "snuggle buddy", a blonde haired fellow named Matthew, sat up next to him. Stretching and letting out a small chuckle, Matthew patted Taylor on his head as he slipped out of bed. "Because you're strangely endearing when you're drunk." He said as he slipped into yesterday's clothes.

"Aren't you gonna stay for breakfast? I can make... pancakes. Or something." Taylor said, watching his colleague get dressed. Matthew chuckled. "Nah, I got places to be." The blonde said, grabbing his keys.

"Boyfriend?" Taylor said in a moment of internal bitterness, and immediately regretted it. The boyfriend thing was off limits during their liaisons. Matthew gave him a look, before sighing and walking to the door. "Don't be a dick, Taylor." "Sorry, sorry." Taylor said, holding up his hands and sighing. "You working tonight?"

Matthew nodded, and moved to the door. "Yep. And you're not. We had this discussion before you slipped off into unconsciousness last night. I'll see you later, Taylor." With that, Matthew left, his feelings clearly hurt. Taylor watched the door slam closed, and sighed, leaning back. "Gaaaaaah." he said, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, he fumbled at the nightstand for his phone, and opened the news app and turning it on. Listening to the audio, he closed his eyes. "...And despite no confirmation from NYPD or Federal law enforcement, it is believed that two corpses, currently unidentifiable, were found. The cause of death is believed to be fire-based, as if a flame thrower had been used. Transcendent involvement has not been confirmed." At this, Taylor's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking at his phone for more details.

"Aw, no." He mumbled as he read more.

[Esternial]

"Uhh...Henley, was it?" She replied, having only barely heard what he said to them while Rick and she were having their nonverbal squabble. "This is an ongoing investigation...eh...as you probably knew."

Did I mention she had a smidgen of social anxiety?

"So...I can't really tell you that much. You know how these things are. Red tape, etcetera." She continued, barely making eye contact with the man and constantly glancing back towards the crime scene.

"Identifying them will be hard given the state the remains are in. We can't say anything for certain, but given that we were called in the local police is leaning in the direction of transcendent involvement."

"But I'm sure you could deduce that much yourself." She added with an awkward smile.

Chenor couldn't help but smile at the agent's openness. Sure, she was being secretive and not telling him everything she knew, but her willingness to even partially answer questions was a step up from the way a lot of local law enforcement officials treated him when he approached them for questioning. Countless times when he would walk up towards city cops and ask a few questions they would yell at him and tell him to scram. It wasn't like he was from the Times or the Post, his paper was just an annoying blip on the radar to a 95% of the cops in New York City. The other 5% were those that were still pissed about an editorial the reporter Camilla replaced had published almost ten months ago about how city cops were doing such a terrible job responding to calls about Transcendent-related crimes in East Harlem.

"Thank you, Agent...can I get a name for my report? I won't publish that if you don't want me too, though," Chenor said, hoping this would comfort the anxious agent. He was mis-attributing the anxiety she was clearly displaying as nervousness surrounding the details of the case.

"Can I ask one more real question, though? Why this case? Yes, I understand this is a double homicide, which signifies some need for federal involvement, but the NYPD handle average, well if you can say that about such a crime, double homicides on a regular basis. You're right that some transcendent has clearly been at work here," the journalist glances past Joanna as he says this, grimacing at the malformed bodies of the victims, "but there have been several crimes, of a somewhat severe nature, that have happened recently where transcendent involvement has been directly proved by eye witnesses where no federal involvement has been evident. A transcendent who could teleport was kidnapping people's dogs from the park and holding them for ransom a month ago, she was never caught by local police; about three and a half weeks ago there was an incident where a transcendent who could phase through objects was caught peeping at a local gym, he was never caught; hell, two weeks ago I was in an electronics store and everything started smoking, which ultimately resulted in the transcendent responsible for the destruction of all the store's merchandise getting away with an $800 computer, he was never caught either. I'm just wondering why now, of all times, the federal government has been called in. What I'm trying to ask is has the FBI lost faith in the NYPD's ability to handle transcendent-related cases? Is that why you're here at this crime scene?"

"Uhh..." Joanna actually needed some time to recollect her name. She wasn't used to being interviewed on a case, which very clearly showed.

"Fisher...but I'm just a forensic agent."

One more questions. She hoped that the reporter was actually being genuine. The longer she stood there, the more she felt like she could sink through the concrete at any moment. But, boy, what a question that was. Joanna listened to the man's entire exposition, feeling her long more and more for the comfort of her desk chair.

"Well...Local PD doesn't always have a dedicated task force for transcendent-related crimes, so sometimes we pick up the slack. These kind of cases are usually more complicated and getting firm evidence is tricky, so they often take longer to actually close."

Joanna could hear a car door slam shut behind her. Her colleague had finished up with his work and was waiting for her to leave. She could practically feel his eyes peering at her back.

"Right, eh...Henley. Here's my card if you got any more questions." She added curtly before turned around and getting inside the van. As they drove off, Joanna tried to understand why she gave that reporter her contact details. Why.

She'd give Rick an earful later today.

[Rupudska]

Ruby Hyeon woke up with a hangover-induced headache that could be measured on the Richter scale for the third time that week. She had been informed that all American beer was worthless piss. She had been informed incorrectly, and in her lack of wisdom had overdone her enjoyment of her wrongness.

"Mghghhhhggnnnahh," she mumbled in something vaguely resembling words as she sat up, her hair a mess.

"Godfuggin... hgghh."

Before she could agree with her own sentiment, the alarm clock screamed at her. It received a thousand-joule smack to the screen for its troubles. The seventh one that week. She went through them faster than she went through beer, which as a native Londoner was a feat.

A quick shower and dressing later, and she was out in the world. A green cabbie hat, leather bomber jacket (one of many she owned), a black shirt featuring a white Avro Lancaster, blue jeans, and black combat boots, and she was ready to face the day.

Right after a cup of Earl Grey, which she drank as she left the hotel, as she listened to the radio on her phone.

<<...and despite no confirmation from NYPD or Federal law enforcement, it's believed that two corpses have been found so far. The cause of death is believed to be fire-based, such as the type caused by a flamethrower. Transcendent involvement has not been confirmed.>>

Bet you wankers wish it were so you could rail on us some more.

[Saint Ryvern]

"Uhh..." Joanna actually needed some time to recollect her name. She wasn't used to being interviewed on a case, which very clearly showed.

"Fisher...but I'm just a forensic agent."

One more questions. She hoped that the reporter was actually being genuine. The longer she stood there, the more she felt like she could sink through the concrete at any moment. But, boy, what a question that was. Joanna listened to the man's entire exposition, feeling her long more and more for the comfort of her desk chair.

"Well...Local PD doesn't always have a dedicated task force for transcendent-related crimes, so sometimes we pick up the slack. These kind of cases are usually more complicated and getting firm evidence is tricky, so they often take longer to actually close."

Joanna could hear a car door slam shut behind her. Her colleague had finished up with his work and was waiting for her to leave. She could practically feel his eyes peering at her back.

"Right, eh...Henley. Here's my card if you got any more questions." She added curtly before turned around and getting inside the van. As they drove off, Joanna tried to understand why she gave that reporter her contact details. Why.

She'd give Rick an earful later today.

"Have a good one, Agent Fisher," Chenor calls out as she climbs into the van and drives off. Glancing down at the card she gave to him Chenor cannot help but smile. This was a useful contact to have, something that could really come in handy for later investigations into transcendent activity. Stopping the recording on his phone Chenor saves the brief interview as "Agent Fisher," checking the contact card to make sure he has the spelling correct. He then adds Joanna's office number into his contact list, he'd have to ask her what her favorite song is when he contacts her next.

Glancing around the scene Chenor looks for anyone else who may have some useful information. He makes eye contact with a cop, one who doesn't hate Veritas reporters, and strides over to him. After several minutes of a recorded discussion Chenor has managed to convince the officer to tell him where the first 911 call came from. There were two calls initially, one from a woman who lived in the third floor apartment that faces the alley the crime was committed in, and another call that came in eight minutes before the woman's from some homeless guy who found the bodies and then called the police from a booth. The police reached the woman's apartment first because the homeless man gave them the wrong location. "Thanks, Terrence. Say hi to Emilie and the kids for me," Chenor says shaking the officer's hand, slipping him $40, information came cheap in NYC following Jeremie's rampage. There was less money in the city so you could get more bang for your buck.

Slipping past Terrence, Chenor makes his way for the woman's apartment complex, waiting for a tenant to exit the building before slipping in through the door. "3D, Harriet Woods..." Chenor mutters to himself as he hikes up the stairs, he never trusted elevators. Moments later he is knocking on Woods' door, hoping she'll be as open to taking his questions as Agent Fisher was.

[Seinlo]

New York City, New York
Just Outside the Firebomb Double Homicide Crime Scene


In the morning, as the sun was still circling the Earth to come up, many stars were still in the sky, and the moon was lingering to be in the sky at the same time as the Sun until it went down itself, Jeremie woke up, and was expecting to have a better day than the last one that he had gone through. Everything was going well: the meal Jeremie devoured that morning underneath the Towers of Epique was savory, the fear that jolted through them as he fed on their cellular energy providing him with an extra jump in his step; the stocks of his company were up 11% after another announcement from yesterday about the new product he was going to release today; his staff was in a good mood; and the development of a sophisticated ‘divining rod’ based off of a certain spear in his New York manor that could be worn as a visor, could detect species, give an estimation to power level, identify abilities, and analyze thousands of gigabytes of data was in development. Much to Jeremie’s dismay, this world nowadays wasn’t just teetering on the edge, but seemed to have something against him, especially when you consider who was involved in this crime in a neighborhood that generally didn’t have such incidents.


Transporting Jeremie across the city was an Epique-designed vehicle branded the the Persona because it was a revolutionary concept that seemed to have a personality of its own, and was capable of both being driven and driving itself at the same time; that wasn’t what made it the Persona however. Jeremie’s Persona was a large automobile of red and polished steel tones with your standard front doors, and larger than average oval-shaped doors in the back that opened up to reveal two seating arrangements, and a table in the center that, if you purchased it as a module, could use a number of gadgets, including a retractable computer screen able to be used by both sides, allowing the car to hold 9 people altogether - 2 in the front, 3 in the second row of seats, and 4 in the third row of seats, with plenty of room for everyone. However more modified this vehicle was than your usual Persona for security, defense, and the testing of new technologies, it was as modular and advanced as ever every other Persona, and supported a direct link via satellite, LTE Advanced, and some proprietary connections to a powerful server farm that gave owners of Persona and other consumer products access to a powerful artificial intelligence.


In the moments that he was walking down the halls before getting into his car, his skilled lead assistant right next to him, the World Wide Web-connected smart glasses being worn gave him some news as he was listening to someone rather close to him in a call where they sounded panicked and fearful, he felt an emotion that hadn’t hit him in a long time, at least in the way it did then. His brows furrowed, the muscles around his mouth tightened, his throat dried a little, and his mind became heavy as lead. It was worry. Not worry for stocks, how a product was going to received, or that anxiety and stress one felt when one was living the life Jeremie had, and not even worry for someone he cared in some way for, but worry for someone he loved. Jeremie was human in the long run, and still often felt human emotions - every day, actually - but he had learned to keep people at arm's length even if he trusted them or cared for them, so that he wasn’t hurt, and didn’t go insane because of that hurt, but there were times and circumstances when his humanity fought hard against centuries of regret and building walls. Worry was a normal emotion, but not this kind of worry.


Jeremie wasn’t alone in the CNRP*-constructed, environmentally-friendly Persona because he frequently brought along his assistants or advisors, or was accompanied by someone else who would fit within the Persona. The incredibly physically fit man rarely had children anymore - possibly because of his descendents in the Clan le D’Aboville, and no longer feeling the need to - but, on a very rare occasion during certain time periods a child was born. In the vehicle weren’t just the driver, the Transcendent ‘protector’ he hired so he could continue being as moderate and self-restraining in the use of his power as possible, two personal assistants, and a few other people, but his teenage grandson, Jackson le D’Aboville, accompanied him.


Earlier that day, every word that he read as he listened to his grandson cry and explain how there wasn’t a choice forced Jeremie’s heart to sadden. It was unfortunate that he knew that if his enemies were aware of this, they would try to spin it off as something much darker than a teenage Transcendent losing control of his still-developing abilities as he was attacked. Jeremie would not, however, let any harm


He had ordered that the car be brought about to the crime scene so he could take a look at it. No one would think it out of sorts since this was a neighborhood that Jeremie had associates in, and it was less than a mile from a road that he often took on his route.


”Ever since those fools laid siege to my Towers with a small army, and I protected myself and the Towers alongside a team of other metahumans and my security corps, this city has been forced over the edge, and there are those that would blame me for the destruction when they’re perfectly aware that such an incident naturally brings along that kind of harm, and that I’m not the one who initiated such incident. Jackson, my assets and the lack of evidence should protect you, but we will be getting you more training… and some therapy” Jeremie seemed calm while Jackson gazed out with guilt, tears in his eyes. On the inside, that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t panicking, but he understood how Jackson felt.


”Jackson…” Jeremie sighed, placing a hand on Jackson’s thigh, and then brushing a tear off of his cheek. ”It will be fine. I promise.”


”Driver! Take us to the press release, then you will take Jackson home, before returning and waiting for the press release to be over.” Jeremie ordered, the Persona pulling away in near-absolute silence.


-* Carbon nano-tube reinforced polymer


New York City, New York
The Towers of Epique


The press release for a new product was today. It was supposed to change the world, but Jeremie wasn’t sure how well it would be received by people who had something against him, or Epique. In fact, there were protesters and counter-protesters that were outside of the area where the press conference was being given, most of them outside of where they could bother Jeremie and the attendants.


”Hello, New York!” Jeremie gave a charismatic grin, waving out at those that had arrived. ”A month ago, I told you all that today there would be a revolutionary product that would change the world. Yesterday, I reminded you all that would be happening now. Here at the Towers of Epique, the world is changing. Others have been working on the technology for over 20 years, and DARPA recently has taken it up, but no one has come as far as Epique in this due to very significant amounts of funding, and the brightest minds that the world’s nations have to offer.” Jeremie watched as the audience waited in what could be argued to be too much suspension.


”The brain-to-computer interface is here.” He said simply, and those that were aware of what that kind of technology was immediately started cheering. ”With a simple implant into the spinal column, a process that is both simple and cheap due to existing medical technology and our ‘Stay With the Times’ program, you will be able to directly interface and communicate with computers. By doing this, you can insert yourself into virtual worlds directly, experience an entertainment program as if you are there. Aside from completely reshaping entertainment, however, there is more. You can download information to your brain, making learning new skills or facts you want very easy, synchronize wirelessly with your phone, upload and download memories themselves. Information from computers will be processed in mere seconds, enabling things never before seen. You can carry your wallet in your person. Education, entertainment, work, and just about everything else can be done with the brain-to-computer interface. Those who wish to be musicians can either download the skill to play the piano, or create wondrous music with certain programs that will be released by third-parties in the coming days.” More cheers, of course, especially from those who weren’t from the media. The media had tons of questions, but those would be answered later by one of the spokespoeple.


”We have contracts and partnerships with over 75,000 companies, corporations, and organizations that will create content, technology, and more meant to make the brain-to-computer interface easy to use in every area of your life. The product is ready for commercial sale. Those who do not have contracts or partnerships with us can easily purchase development kits, and/or go through training seminars to better comprehend this technology.” He said.


”The best part, however, is that today marks the opening of this complex to the public… for the next year.” Some very confused looks were given. ”Today is the first World Technologies Exposition by Epique. Hundreds of products, technologies, galleries, exhibits, and booths from around the globe in every field of science, product design and entertainment will be open to the public, with changes in speakers and new entries made every day. I would like to welcome you all to a world beyond this pedestal. Welcome, my friends, to the Towers of Epique. Inside, wonder awaits.” Jeremie pushed a button on his glass pedestal, the stage he was on separating in half, and transforming into an unique gate of a kind welcoming the public to the Towers of Epique, and, of course, the protesters weren’t going to be let in because their current state, simply because they had a tendency to be riled up.


Stepping off of the stage, he left to go and wonder about the WTEE, wanting to experience some of the technology for himself. He didn’t know everything that would be in the WTEE, and actually knew very little about the technology that would be there which is why he felt more than the usual amount of excitement.


”Now, let’s see what the world has to offer.”

[Esternial]

NYC, The Towers of Epique

"I still don't understand why I am here." Joanna muttered angrily.
"The task squad is undermanned and you have field agent training, which means you're more useful here than in your lab."

Rick was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. All these people made her nervous, and the fact that there were plenty of people that publicly opposed Mr. D’Aboville gave her a good reason to be on edge. The firearm on her hip felt as if it weighed like a tonne of bricks.

"Just keep an eye out for troublemakers."
"How did we even end up being his guard dogs?"
"Orders from up high. Just...okay?"

Joanna sighed and nodded reluctantly. Her eyes scanned the room for anybody suspicious. Several other agents were at the press release as well, along with Jeremie's own security team. If she had to be completely honest, though, her attention was more drawn to the man on the stage.

”The brain-to-computer interface is here.”

As someone who was relatively tech-savvy, Joanna couldn't help but feel a little excited when she heard those words. Rick, who still preferred using a notepad like some noir detective, didn't even budge except for his eyes, which carefully surveyed the room. However, when the stage split open even Rick was distracted. Joanna seemed awfully cool and composed, but on the inside she was restraining herself with all her willpower. Rick noticed.

"Suppose you'll want to take a few days off soon." He quipped with a smirk. Joanna looked at him with a scornful look.
"Ha, don't worry. You've worked enough overtime to deserve it. Give me the paperwork and I'll see what I can do." He added.

[Saint Ryvern]

Slipping past Terrence, Chenor makes his way for the woman's apartment complex, waiting for a tenant to exit the building before slipping in through the door. "3D, Harriet Woods..." Chenor mutters to himself as he hikes up the stairs, he never trusted elevators. Moments later he is knocking on Woods' door, hoping she'll be as open to taking his questions as Agent Fisher was.

Chenor waits patiently outside of the apartment for Harriet to answer the door. While he waits he hear several bumping noises, one crash, and the shuffling of shoes. After what feels like several days, the disheveled woman flings the door open, looking inquisitively at Chenor, baby in one hand, rolled up newspaper in the other. "What do you want?! I swear if you're here to call me crazy I'll throw one of these things at you!" She roars at a surprising volume, considering there is a sleeping infant in such close proximity to her vocal cords.

"No, ma'am, I'm not here to call you crazy. You are Harriet Wo-" Chenor stops this statement as Harriet shakes her head violently to confirm her identity, the curly brown hair on her oval shaped head flapping around like a wet dog, with some sticking straight up in the air even after the head it is attached to comes to a stop. "Uhm...well, I'm Chenor Henley, a reporter with the small, local paper Veritas, and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about the disturbance that occurred in the alley last night. You witnessed most of the violence, right?"

"A 'disturbance'? You better use stronger wording than that in your bullshit paper if you want an interview with me, boy. Now c'mon in, you look like an idiot standing out there in the hall..." with that Harriet waves Chenor into the apartment with the newspaper. Without waiting she spins around and heads into her dwelling place. Stepping through the door frame, Chenor shuts and locks the door behind himself. Following the sound of Harriet's footsteps he moves from a cluttered entry room, overflowing with shoes and soda cans, through a hallway with peeling yellow paint, into a tidy living room. Harriet is sitting in one corner of the room in a black leather recliner, she motions towards a beige couch, where Chenor takes a seat. "Can I get you anything?" She asks after a few moments, her child seems to have woken up due to the movement.

"Water would be great," Chenor says with a smile. Harriet stands up, hands the baby to Chenor, who has no experience handling such things, and heads for the kitchen. "Hello there," the befuddled journalist says to the blinking babe. "I don't suppose you have any information to give me about what happened last night," he whispers as he allows the child to play with one of his fingers, which are larger than both of its hands combined.

"Oh no, Marley wouldn't tell you anything even if she co-" Harriet is cut short as she trips over a lump in the carpet. The plastic water cup she was bringing to Chenor goes flying across the room straight towards the reporter, water sloshing around inside the container and falling out, responding faster than seems humanly possible Chenor catches the cup in such a way that only a small percentage of the water inside flies out. Harriet looks at him stunned, surprised he could react that quickly. "I played basketball in college," Chenor says, setting the cup down, "you need quick reflexes to do that. So, tell me about last night." Chenor pulls out his phone and begins a recording, just like he did with Joanna.

"Well," Harriet starts, taking Marley back from Chenor and sitting back down in her recliner, "I didn't see the attack, yes I'm using that words, on the Transcendent begin. I just saw it end. I was woken by the sound of someone screaming. It was horrific. That boy, that poor, poor boy was being murdered by those men. Then...then something changed. He snapped. He started fighting back but they were larger, and he couldn't punch anyways. I was so terrified, I didn't know what to do. I decided that whatever was happening was beyond me, so I went to lay down again. That's when the Transcendent did it, that's when he murdered the men. As soon as I laid down there was a flash, like daylight, just for a few seconds, then I heard a shriek, that must've been the third man or the boy. I rushed to the window and looked out, and there they were, just burned to a crisp leaned up onto the brick wall of the alley. The smell-oh god the smell it got to me. I couldn't control my stomach so I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. I was crying too, oh Lord I was such a mess. It might've been my fault, Mr. Henley. If I had called out to stop, or called the police earlier, those men might be alive. That boy wouldn't have been pushed to the point that he was." Harriet is shaking at this point, the guilt conveyed in her latter statement weighing heavily on her conscious.

"There's no need to feel guilty, Mrs?" Harriet shakes he head at this, "alright, there's no need to feel guilty, Ms. Woods. Situations like this, even when there's no Transcendent involved, which you had no way of knowing there was, are tricky to handle. This city, it's such a beast because the right thing to do is apparent only after the fact. If you're alright with answering them, I do have some follow up questions." The woman takes a deep breath at this, and nods. "Alright, so did you get a good glance at the Transcendent? Any clue what he looked like?"

"He was shorter than all the men. That's all I can say there. His hair was very light too, I could tell even in the dim alley that it was very blonde."

"Why did you wait so long to call the police? Your call was the second one placed, eight minutes after a homeless man made the first call."

"Well, like I said, I was throwing up in the bathroom after I smelled what had happened. That must've been for at least five or six minutes. Then I went into the kitchen to recover, I had a drink or two there to replenish my electrolytes," she says this with a chuckle. "I don't know why I waited so long. I felt like some of the guilt might be on me. Some of the blame might fall on my shoulders because I didn't say nothing. I struggled with that for a while, but I think I made the right choice calling the cops."

"You did, Ms. Woods, you did. One last question, and I need you to answer this with as much detail possible. You mentioned a third man. One that the shriek may have come from. Did you see where he went?"

"I-I think he went north through the alley and then west onto Parker St. He at least went north, or at least I would have, because the boy was running south and I wouldn't go in the same direction as someone who killed two of my buddies."

"No, you're definitely right there. North..." trailing off as he stares out the window Chenor absentmindedly asks, "do you happen to know what he looked like?"

"Well all three of the guys were big. I don't know which one survived, but two of them had darker hair and one had lighter hair. Not blonde like the Transcendent's hair, but dirty blonde. I don't know which one survived though."

"That's alright, Ms. Woods. I think I've got everything I need," ending the recording on his phone and standing up Chenor begins the process of leaving. He exchanges the necessary pleasantries with Harriet before exiting her apartment and heading back out onto the street. That was a promising interview, and there were a lot of ways to go from it, but finding the homeless man who placed the first call was next on Chenor's list. Whenever a homeless person made an actual call the police usually took them to the closest shelter after interviewing them. That would place this man...Garrett Delives, about six blocks away. Pulling his coat closer Chenor sets off for that location on foot.

[Talchyon]

New York City, New York
The Towers of Epique


The press release for a new product was today. It was supposed to change the world, but Jeremie wasn’t sure how well it would be received by people who had something against him, or Epique. In fact, there were protesters and counter-protesters that were outside of the area where the press conference was being given, most of them outside of where they could bother Jeremie and the attendants.


”Hello, New York!” Jeremie gave a charismatic grin, waving out at those that had arrived. ”A month ago, I told you all that today there would be a revolutionary product that would change the world. Yesterday, I reminded you all that would be happening now. Here at the Towers of Epique, the world is changing. Others have been working on the technology for over 20 years, and DARPA recently has taken it up, but no one has come as far as Epique in this due to very significant amounts of funding, and the brightest minds that the world’s nations have to offer.” Jeremie watched as the audience waited in what could be argued to be too much suspension.


”The brain-to-computer interface is here.” He said simply, and those that were aware of what that kind of technology was immediately started cheering. ”With a simple implant into the spinal column, a process that is both simple and cheap due to existing medical technology and our ‘Stay With the Times’ program, you will be able to directly interface and communicate with computers. By doing this, you can insert yourself into virtual worlds directly, experience an entertainment program as if you are there. Aside from completely reshaping entertainment, however, there is more. You can download information to your brain, making learning new skills or facts you want very easy, synchronize wirelessly with your phone, upload and download memories themselves. Information from computers will be processed in mere seconds, enabling things never before seen. You can carry your wallet in your person. Education, entertainment, work, and just about everything else can be done with the brain-to-computer interface. Those who wish to be musicians can either download the skill to play the piano, or create wondrous music with certain programs that will be released by third-parties in the coming days.” More cheers, of course, especially from those who weren’t from the media. The media had tons of questions, but those would be answered later by one of the spokespoeple.


”We have contracts and partnerships with over 75,000 companies, corporations, and organizations that will create content, technology, and more meant to make the brain-to-computer interface easy to use in every area of your life. The product is ready for commercial sale. Those who do not have contracts or partnerships with us can easily purchase development kits, and/or go through training seminars to better comprehend this technology.” He said.


”The best part, however, is that today marks the opening of this complex to the public… for the next year.” Some very confused looks were given. ”Today is the first World Technologies Exposition by Epique. Hundreds of products, technologies, galleries, exhibits, and booths from around the globe in every field of science, product design and entertainment will be open to the public, with changes in speakers and new entries made every day. I would like to welcome you all to a world beyond this pedestal. Welcome, my friends, to the Towers of Epique. Inside, wonder awaits.” Jeremie pushed a button on his glass pedestal, the stage he was on separating in half, and transforming into an unique gate of a kind welcoming the public to the Towers of Epique, and, of course, the protesters weren’t going to be let in because their current state, simply because they had a tendency to be riled up.


Stepping off of the stage, he left to go and wonder about the WTEE, wanting to experience some of the technology for himself. He didn’t know everything that would be in the WTEE, and actually knew very little about the technology that would be there which is why he felt more than the usual amount of excitement.


”Now, let’s see what the world has to offer.”

Driving by outside Epique Towers
Richard Weinkauf

One of the reasons that Richard had chosen New York City was due to the culture the city offered. Alright, so it was a major reason. But he was still figuring out the city's geography and where to find what he was all looking for. A doctor for checkups, the DMV, the grocery stores, the art supply stores, and the galleries had to be searched out. Richard was getting more familiar each day. But it was still six months in, not even a whole year yet. It would come with time. But for now, when he drove from one place to the next required effort. Effort and map reading.

Call him an old fuddy-duddy, but he preferred a paper map. It used a lot of space when he had it unfolded, but he could see a bigger picture of what he was looking for. It's not that he couldn't use technology. Every year as a teacher, there were in-service presentations about using different computer and electronic devices for the classroom. He hadn't greatly opposed learning about the new devices, but it wasn't as if Richard was flocking out to buy gizmos. There had been some unique software that he had gotten. It was made for graphic artists, design and layout, and it did make a difference in projects of that sort. Plus, the software could also double as designing architectural blueprints. That had been a few years ago, and already the field was advancing. There were always new upgrades and versions. Figuring out the program had taken effort (not that Richard couldn't hack it), but sometimes it was just easier and less of a hassle to stick with what artists had done from generations before, and use the old methods.

He had decided to go to an art shop and pick up a few more supplies to finish his landscape with. Driving his Subaru down a road that was becoming more or less familiar, Richard noticed a crowd gathering ahead in front of a tall skyscraper. He had to slow down some because of it. There was a businessman giving a speech or a presentation of some kind. He was distinguished and obviously a leader in that industry, judging by the salt and pepper colors in his hair (more pepper than salt, but still noticeable). Around him flocked a group of younger to middle-aged people. Some were journalists, capturing it on tape, relaying the speaker's words to their record from their mikes. Still, others were protesting something. Picket signs were held in the air by some on the fringe of that group, but Richard couldn't see what the signs read as he inched by. Traffic had slowed some, but he was hoping to change lanes, and that was keeping him occupied. The name on the skyscraper building read, "Epique Towers".

Just then, a younger man in the crowd turned to speak to a friend, and his face was turned towards Richard for a few seconds. Richard caught his breath. Was that...? No, it couldn't be. Could it? Was that his son Paul after all these years, standing there in that group? Richard began to breathe again, but unevenly. He hadn't seen his son in many years, because of that awful, unhealed rift that still existed between them. Was that Paul? The young man was dressed nicely, in a dark gray suit and a tie. Richard couldn't see if this young man who might be his son was just a bystander or working with some news crew or something. Then, Richard lost him in the crowd. Traffic behind him started to pass and merge into the other lane that Richard had just moments before planned on taking. But now?

After some quick thought, Richard tried to find a place where to park his car. He spotted a few a block away, and managed to pull into an empty spot. Thankfully, he had started carrying a good amount of change with him to feed the parking meters the city was overrun with. He put a few quarters in, pushed the button on his key fob to lock the car, and began back towards the skyscraper when he heard the chirping sound of the car announcing it was locked. As Richard got to the block where the speech in front of the Epique Towers building had just been finished, the group, led by the speaker, entered the doors of the skyscraper together, a few pushing to get in first. There was no sign of the young man he had seen, so presumably he had been towards the front of the line. Richard got to the building, got in line behind the last few stragglers, and entered.

The skyscraper was designed by someone with a keen eye with regard to lines and colors. No expense had been spared, apparently. A re-occurring theme of a dark ochre blue with some metallic colors resonated throughout the spacious room. The lines that the designer chose directed the eyes towards a large fountain in the center, with the ceiling taller by about ten feet in that area. Light from the hollowed out space shown down on the fountain. Inside, not even one penny had been thrown in as a wish. Children and fools probably didn't come here often, Richard thought.

The speaker from before was going on with regard to some of the new technology his company was making, but Richard was not especially paying attention. That young man in the dark gray suit was his chief interest, but he had eluded him. At least so far. Richard spent time weaving in between the crowd, seeing where this man ended up. Richard caught a glimpse of him, some twenty feet away, and inched his way through the crowd to him.

As he drew near, Richard could see the dark hair and facial features of the man more clearly, the shape of the nose, the distance of the eyes from each other, and so on. Richard clung to the possibility that after so long, he was going to be reacquainted with his son, Paul... Except that, when he got right behind the young man and his friend, Richard was beginning to second guess himself. It could be. But it might not be. As Richard was contemplating if he should strike up a conversation and figure out if this was his son, the companion of the young man said, "Yeah, Daniel, it's like I said. This computer to brain interface technology that Jeremie's company has made is the new wave. It's only scratching the surface of what it can do."

Richard felt downcast. His son was not named Daniel. Still, to make things sure, Richard spoke up, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Hi, my name is Richard Weinkauf and I came late, I didn't hear what this all about. And you are...?" he said, speaking to the young man. To Daniel.

The young man glanced over at the older man behind him. He didn't stretch out his hand in any kind of greeting, but he said, "Daniel Price. This is Jeremie le D’Aboville's company, and he has invited the public beginning today to a technology exposition. There's going to be lots of speakers here, lots of cutting edge technology, and it's apparently going on the rest of this month."

"Oh. Thank you very much." And Price turned around and headed off with his companion down the hall, with others in the group.

So it wasn't Paul after all. Now that Richard had come closer to the man, he could see that he didn't look like Paul up close. From far away, there was a striking resemblance. But up close, it was clear that they were completely different people and completely unrelated.

Richard kind of slumped down, and breathed out a big sigh. So now, what to do? It's not like he had anything better to do that day. While he didn't go crazy after the latest techno-gadget like so many others, sticking around and looking at the stuff would at least be something different. He had probably a good half hour left in time on his parking meter, so he could see what was going on here.

As he began to move to the rest of the group, he thought to himself, "So this is the home base of Jeremie le D’Aboville. Richard, take everything you see here with a grain of salt. Or several grains, for what it's worth."