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

[House of Judah]

Alright, thanks to you at home joining us this hour, I’m Rachel Maddow. There is so much going on tonight. I hope your seat belts are duly buckled. Biggest story tonight, the ACLU, the American Civil Liberties Union, has officially filed their anticipated suits to block the ‘Mutant Act’, the bill passed through Congress that matches the anti-mutant resolution passed by the UN following the Saint Petersburg Incident. And they have been filed all over the place, with family members of mutants detained under the Mutant Act trying desperately to get their loved ones home. Southern and Eastern Districts of New York, Northern District of Illinois, District of Hawaii, Northern and Central Districts of California, District of Oregon and District of Western Washington all have cases filed by the ACLU on behalf of mutants detained by the Central Administration for Mutant Understanding and Security, better known as CADMUS. Now there is almost no portion of the Mutant Act that is not currently subject to a legal challenge… somewhere in the country. The detentions authorized by the Mutant Act alone are being challenged in multiple ways: being described as a bill of attainder, a denial of due process, as removing protection from American citizens in violation of the Equal Protection Clause, and on and on. CADMUS has checkpoints setup in different areas around the country where they are taking blood tests to check for the presence of DNA. This is currently being challenged as a violation of the Suspension Clause and the Search and Seizure Clause. All that is from just the first few pages of one of the many suits currently in federal courts. So far, all of the courts have agreed to hear the cases but have not actually gone the further step ACLU leadership hoped and ordered a halt to the detentions, something that some legal scholars are saying doesn’t bode well for the ACLU’s challenges but others say that a lot of these judges are unwilling to change the current status quo in an area that may not be well defined legally yet. After the break, ACLU Executive Director Anthony Romero will be here to discuss just what they are hoping to accomplish with these suits.

Garrick Alban

With all the security problems that folks have in this day and age, one would think that a hospital would make it harder to get a set of their scrubs. The ID badges were also easy enough to fake. He couldn’t get into any of the secure areas, but then again the ICU wasn’t a secure area anyways. It was easy to track down his nephew’s room once inside the hospital and, with the low visitor traffic in that ward, he could easily move about as he needed to. He slowly cracked open the door and peeked inside. He could hear the sound of the electronic monitors giving their tell-tale of the kid’s stable condition. He leaned in slightly and found his sister-in-law asleep in the chair. Slowly, he opened the door just enough to slide into the room, then shut it behind him. Without a sound, he made his way to the foot of his nephew’s bed and lifted the clipboard with his patient information. He quickly read over it and satisfied himself that his nephew’s injuries were healing normally. It was the neural activity though that caught his eye.

Watching a documentary on neural patterns was not the most interesting thing CADMUS had him do after receiving the APEX enhancement, but he couldn’t deny that it had helped in identifying mutants. The brainwaves the hospital was tracking on Greg was more indicative of a conscious mind than a comatose one. That was curious. He heard a slight groan behind him and turned to see his sister-in-law shift slightly in the chair she was sleeping in. He put down the clipboard and quietly left the room again. He looked down the hall and, for a moment, thought he saw something. He reviewed the memory but could find nothing and turned to head down the hall.

---

Greg Alban

It was impossible. There was no way. His uncle had died eight years ago. And yet there he was, stepping out of Greg’s hospital room dressed like a doctor. Greg didn’t know what to think. How could Uncle Garrick be here, now?

Then his uncle looked directly at him.

Or rather through him. Maybe he sensed something, maybe he didn’t, but Uncle Garrick seemed to not realize Greg was there. He turned and went the other direction. Not knowing what else to do, Greg followed his resurrected uncle.

[The V O I D]

Chicago Central Hospital
Chicago

Tobias Goodwin, better known as Aesculapius; otherwise known as the healer, able to use his powers to heal just about anyone (should sufficient biomass be present, at least). He entered the hospital, but not in costume. He only usually wore his costume when meeting with other mutants or 'heroes' or 'villains' who needed healing or wanted to pay him for usage of his powers. Otherwise, he went as himself. After all, his identity was sort of an open secret. Tobias entered the ICU; there was little protest as people would probably recognize him. He knew they'd likely summon the police or CADMUS here eventually, but he intended to be gone by then.


Tobias entered one of the rooms for a patient; one of the patients whose families were visiting. Based on what he'd seen so far, the man looked to be in a coma and barely holding onto life. One of the elder family members - older sibling? father? uncle? grandfather, even? - stood up, glaring in Tobias' direction. Tobias held up his hands up in a placating manner; looking between the older family member and the patient on the bed, he offered a weak smile.

“I am Tobias Goodwin. Or... Aesculapius, if you prefer. Do I have permission to heal the patient?”, he asked. The adults looked nervous, and the other visiting family members shared that look of nervousness. Eventually, the mother of the patient gave assent. Tobias walked over to the patient, placing his hand upon the exposed forehead. Instantly, his power gave him a diagnosis as well as he felt his power envelope the patient. He could do anything he wanted to with the cells, the body, the organs... anything he could imagine. Even create something new. But he wasn't here for that.


Cracked ribs, severe brain damage, borderline brain hemorrhaging, not-completely-healed formerly collapsed lung, broken legs, various bruises and cuts, infection in the heart, infection in the eye, damaged eye, severed hand. The list went off in Tobias' head, and with a will of his power, slowly, the patient's body began mending itself. He had to take from some of the patient's muscle and fat stores for it, but eventually, the patient was healed. It only took a minute or two. The patient's hand was also beginning to grow back, which took a couple extra moments for Tobias to ensure the connections and such were proper and correct. After he was finished, he looked over at the patient's family.

“I don't know when he'll wake up. But all of his injuries are healed, and I regrew his hand. I had to deplete some of his muscle and fat to do this, so I'd advise when he awakes he eats. A lot. He might also take a while to retrain his new hand, but other than that, he's now the healthiest person in the ICU.”, Tobias said, simply. He removed his hand from the patient, going to leave; giving a brief wave to the parents and family - some of whom thanked him, but he didn't believe it. Tobias learned a long time ago that it was rare for people to be genuine. Tobias began to look around the ICU, seeing if there was any other patients he could help. Security was already alerted, however, and the police weren't yet called, but Tobias knew that could change. He'd leave soon; just heal a couple more patients to satisfy his quota for the day.

Tobias snorted; his work was never done, was it?

[Futrellia]

Richard Block
Owl's Nest
Seattle's Industrial District
10:45pm
2043

---

"Good Lord, Rich. This is the worst shape I've seen this suit in." Said Pryce, examining every tear and scratch to the Iron Owl suit. Richard, who was standing behind Pryce looking over the scuffed helmet, simply frowned at the words of his friend and colleague.

"This is the first time I've actually come back with a loss. Beat to hell and didn't terminate Sal. It really fuckin' sucks. I know myself well enough to know that I can't face him a second time, not with that suit on, and if I know Sal and the Syndicate, they're improving the suit to make it much better than our last encounter." Richard said, placing the helmet next to the suit Pryce was scanning.

"I'm guessing you haven't read the news? That Salazar killed the two cops sent in after you left. They went upstairs and there he was, just sitting there, waiting." Pryce said, turning to face Richard, who had a disgusted look on his face.

"That bastard, Maybe this will make the Police turn their gaze from me to the Syndicate." He said, Pryce coming over to put his hand on his shoulder.

"Richard....they're saying it was you." Richard wasn't at all surprised. He simply put his hand on his chin and rubbed.

"This won't change my mission. Once the suit is fixed, I'm heading to San Diego. Got another target I want gone." Said Richard, looking over a hologram of his face nearby next to the computer stations.

"Rich, you gotta think about CADMUS. They're public now and if you keep pushing this, they'll eventually find you here. Dayne Enterprises has a contract with them and if they find out I'm helping the Iron Owl, they'll capture me, torture me, kill me, then find you and either put you down or imprison you." Pleaded Pryce.

"I don't care about CADMUS, Pryce. I can't let them stop me from doing what's right. They obviously don't give two shits about the Syndicate and the people they hurt in this city and around the world."

"Okay, so you don't care about me or yourself. But what of your mom and dad? What about your aunt and uncle? What do you think they'll do with them if they can't find you?" Pryce let out a sigh after he said it, looking down and pinching the area above his nose.

"I'll...I'll get to work on this tomorrow. It's late, and I've got a family I need to get home to. I'll see you then, Rick." Pryce said, walking towards the staircase.

"Pryce. Alot of things in my life have pushed me to not care about anything. I'm not close with any of my family, I don't have relationships or girlfriends or anything. I either sit in here until I get a tip-off, or I dig my head into Salus. You're the closest thing I have to a friend. I do care about you." Richard said.

Pryce gave a little smirk.

"Goodnight, Rick." Pryce simply said back.

"Keep that keyfob close, if you're that scared of CADMUS!" He said jokingly as Pryce walked up and out. The Keyfob Richard was talking of was a small grey and black device that at a press of a button, Iron Owl would be there for him. He gave it to him a few years back after Pryce invented the suit he had just worn to fight Salazar.

Richard walked to a chair that sat in the middle of the computer stations and plopped down, the seat's air cushions collapsing down.

"Dim the lights for me, Ollie. Let me know if you get any chatter about Sal or anything." Richard said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Sir, I don't see why you don't just go home. You have a nice apartment, an earpiece and a wristwatch connected to my main servers. You'd hear about it as soon as I would." Ollie replied.

"I know, but. It's comfortable here." Richard replied.

"Yes, sir." Ollie replied shortly as the lights overhead dimmed to the minimum, barely able to cast a shadow from his body.

[The Arks]

Garret Wolman/Wolfenstein
On the roof of a hotel
Ogden, Utah
6:44 pm
2043

---

Garret knelt behind the building's railing, the solid board extending across the roof's edges shielding him from view. Opening his shoulder bag, he pulled out his iPad, which had pictures of the building's floor plans and a remote login program for the police station across the street. The poor bloke he had tortured for the information lay downstairs unconscious, a small suitcase of money beside the bed he was in and almost three pounds of heroine to boot.

Starting the program, Garret logged into the stations remote network and navigated to their security camera displays. He opened one of them up, which showed a large, sweaty man talking with two tall US Marshals in suits. The camera didn't have audio, but Garret didn't require it-- his job was to eliminate the informant, not to find out what he was saying. That was the Gambino crime family's problem. Noting the camera number, Garret referred to the floor plans he had gotten, and found the room. Reaching again into his bag, he retrieved a folded Kel-Tec SUB-2000. He unfolded the stock and loaded a magazine into the grip, then peered over the railing. It took him a few moments, but he found the air duct he was looking for-- the one that was closest to the room the three men were speaking in. He watched the iPad and waited a few minutes, until the two men in suits left. Taking aim, without a scope, he fired, the familiar rifle handling like an extension of his own body.

He looked down at his iPad and watched the .40 S&W round ricochet out of the air duct and into the man's skull, blowing back bits of bone and skin as it hit. The sweaty man fell out of his chair, hitting his head on the table, and lay dead on the floor. By this time, the rifle was already folded back up and placed into the shoulder bag, and the iPad followed as he quickly walked to the stairwell. He knew he wasn't being watched-- he had disabled the hotel's security system before doing anything else-- and confidently walked down the stairs to the third floor of the hotel. Entering the hallway, he walked to the elevators and pressed the button, calmly waiting for the elevator to arrive, and took it to the lobby. While he was alone in the elevator, he sent the video of the assassinated man to his contact in the crime family, and awaited payment. He didn't expect any problems-- he had been the family's assassin in the west for years, and had done this kind of work many times before. Best of all, they paid very well.

Garret nodded to the bellhop that entered the elevator as he exited, and walked out to the bus stop outside. He got on the bus, rode it to a park and ride, and got in his car. The little sedan pulled out onto the streets as he began driving south, toward Las Vegas. He didn't particularly like Vegas, but it was a city you could get lost in, which suited his needs. Besides, he lived there.

[Vanquaria]

Far Eastern NYC Dockyards, 11pm

Everything great starts out as an idea. A belief. It is the power within you that brings about the change that you want to see in this world. The change that this world desires. We are the Chosen Ones, become apart of our revolution…

The brief message was embedded within a video that would circulate around the world to those who knew what they sought. There were many others like it, all containing similar messages effectively supplemented by images and clips of the oppression of mutants in the world. Mostly of children depicted as freaks by their emergent powers and consequently targeted it was designed to specifically an emotionally strong response from its viewers.

The Chosen Ones was an underground organization based within the land of freedom, the United States of America. Information about it was scarce, mainly found only on the dark net. Yet their actions would concern the national security of the nation itself. Its propaganda and recruitment were conducted virtually, its videos and messages open on the public net though if traced would hail to unrecognisable sources worldwide. Their planned operations though were composed of what was termed by the organization as, ‘controlled retaliation against the establishment’. Currently there was an entire web of plots that lay waiting for the right time and the right mutant. Their brothers and sisters shall be freed.

At its head was the one under the alias of ‘Sonic Blade’ or either 2 of the terms. At the current moment the man himself, clothed in dark, formal attire fitting his large 6 foot frame, was within the secure confines of a warehouse on one of the myriad of docks in New York City. Below him were similar dressed men though wielding small-arms. The place was to host a gathering of quite simply put, the newest oppressed peoples of the Earth.

The Chosen Ones had relayed another message to those connected to them, notifying of mass gatherings across the country. The boss, Blade, had deemed it appropriate time to begin practical blossoming after the seeds had been sown. With current events looking dire against mutantkind in America now was the time for action. The organization was very much aware of the crimes of CADMUS and their atrocities against mutantkind in the nation. America was no longer the land of the free, the emergence of the next stage of evolution had brought about a wave of fear from the regressing Homo Sapien breed. Homo Melior or Homo Superior was the next stage in evolution for Humanity. As the maxim of the Chosen Ones went;

We Will Not Be Held Back

As the thick blanket of night fell the clock struck 11. Individuals began pouring into the shoddy warehouse. Yarsiv Yushkov prepared himself to personally address his people, his kind, this night. They had gathered with the full knowledge that they were to become revolutionists, be taken by the vehicles provided by Sonic Blade’s alliance with the Russian Mafia present tonight down to numerous pockets of safehouses and strongholds that had been consolidated by the Chosen Ones. ‘This shall be remembered in history as the first steps Homo Melior took to claim their place as apex beings of the world,’ Blade muttered as he overlooked the mutants from the 2nd platform above.

[New Cobastheia]

Theodore Ashbrooks-Benn
Silicon Valley, CA
The light shined thru the windows of his room, “I don't want to get up yet.” He mumbled under his breath. Moving the curtains with his telekinesis as to make his room dark again. He continued to lay in bed for the next couple of minutes, until of course his alarm went off. Instead of pressing the snooze button or something a normal human would do, he transmuted into air as to shut the damn thing up without having to move around and actually get up. Theo continued to do this for the rest of the morning. Levitating himself around the house, doing his morning routine, well he wasn't really doing it, at least physically, he was using his telekinesis to do all that. Only stopping when he got downstairs.

Theo didn't check to see if his mom already woke up and left for work or of she was still asleep in her bed, all he cared about right now was that there wasn't any coffee in the coffee pot. He looked at the clock, “I don't have enough time to make a pot of this shit.” Looking out the windows to make sure no one was watching, he turned some of the air around him into some coffee inside of a mug.

Catching the mug, he walked into the garage, got in his car and drove off to school.

George Ashbrooks
Washington, DC
Mr. Ashbrooks looked at the clock on his car’s radio. For this time of day the traffic out of DC was rather horrific, but then again every since the Mutant Bill became the Mutant Law getting in and out of any major city, nevermind the capital, was a horrific traffic mess.

He smiled as he remembered the look on the President's face when he put his resignation letter down on the president's desk. Soon he'll be with his family, declaring his candidacy for the 2044 race. The only problem was that he didn’t realize that the President issued out to CADMUS that him, his wife, and their son should be arrested and be made to be put in a prison at the very least.

If any of them resided, they were to be killed, if any of them were found to be mutant’s besides Theo of course, as he was already on a database, they should be put in one of those concentration camps. What a shame it was that George didn’t know any of this.

After a while George got to the checkpoint, “ID and arm please.” Said the attendant at the window. George have her his California License and Government ID, hoping to get out of here easily if she knew he is, well was but the public doesn't know just yet about that, the Secretary of State.

While she was checking the databases for ID's, George was rolling up his sleeve so his blood could be checked for mutanthood. But, before he could even put his arm out, the attendant asked, “Um, Mr. Ashbrooks, could you come inside please?”

A bit confused and a bit fearful, George parked his car in the lot next to the checkpoint and walked into the checkpoint.

Ashley Benn
Sacramento, CA
Mojave Desert
She was supposed to be in Sacramento, and she was for a while, that was until some CADMUS vehicle started following her car. She didn't think anything about it at first, until it git on the highway when she did, got off when she got off, used all of the backroads and alleyways she would use to see if it really was following her. But, the biggest sign was when the car turned on its police lights and pulled her over.

Between when they pulled her over and when a CADMUS officer tapped on her window was the most emotionally intense few seconds in recent memory. For those few seconds the only thing she could think about was that this was it if she complied with what the cops wanted her to do. This was it for it, she'd lose everything, her business, her life, her family, "Oh God, my family! This could be it for all of us." That's when the officer tapped on her window. She looked at him, in the eyes for what in reality was less than a second, but what felt like an unholy eternity.

She made a split second choice, an impulsive decision, maybe it was a mistake, and if it was a mistake, it's the only one in her life that she's ever wanted to take. She slammed down on the gas pedal and drove off at top speeds.

That was a few hours ago, now she was driving off road, almost on empty, somewhere in the Mojave Desert. The only reason her car has been destroyed yet was due to the extra tech applied onto it. Looking into the mirror she saw that the CADMUS truck that had been chasing her this whole time, was gonna start using more explosive weapon’s such as an RPG that was aimed right at her.

Then, when she wasn’t looking at the road, one of her tires ran over a big rock. A rock big enough to launch her car into the air and flip it over. While in midair, the RPG hit the car, causing it to explode.

When the car in the ground, it skid to a stop. The CADMUS officers came up to the car with their guns ready to fire. Opening up the door, they found the dead, charred body of Ashley Benn.

Theodore Ashbrooks-Benn
Silicon Valley
Theodore drove back home from school, it was a good day, but boring as most first days are. Once in his house he went to the living room, laid down on the couch and turned on the tv, looking for among other things, news about his father’s run for President.

Meanwhile outside a CADMUS vehicle was stocking the mansion the family lived in, it followed Theo home, it’s been following the whole family for a long time, and in a few hours, it would strike.

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Chicago

The television news flicked by endlessly. Video after video of people dying. This by itself was nothing new, for even before supers were discovered there was always depressing imagery on the CNN network. But there was one thing that was new, the dying of mutants everywhere. Every day a mutant death was hailed as stopping terrorism and being for the good of society, yet every CADMUS death was seen as a great tragedy that had to be mourned. This was the result of the relentless and ruthlessly efficient PR campaign. It was at times like this that Charles wished he had not given up his well-paid job as a writer to work for Vanguard. Still, it was too late to stop now.

Interrupting his thoughts, the CADMUS van screeched round the corner. Suddenly on edge, Charles grabbed his cane and switched to a different channel. Fortunately the vehicle drove on past and appeared to be going somewhere completely different. He leant for the remote but it slid off the armchair and fell on the floor. Assessing the situation, Charles decided to watch the channel at hand. It was in Swedish but he could translate it easily. This was of course due to his mutation, which allowed him to understand any language. The programme was also news and detailed an attack by a gifted individual. This was intriguing. It told how a skeleton had managed to defeat a squad of CADMUS operatives. Charles knew that description well, it matched a super who went by two names: Jason and Skullduggery.

"Bother," Charles muttered, keeping quiet to avoid angering his neighbours, "Does he not know of the progress being made with challenging the bill? He may have just slashed our chances of defeating CADMUS the legal way with this stupid fight. Granted its a small chance but now the public will hate us even more! That guy is such a fool." Feeling exhausted, Charles sat down and began playing Candy Crush on his phone. It was a non-productive and silly activity but, in this world of despair, sometimes that was just what Charles needed. He had nearly beaten level 625 when the phone rang. The sound startled him, causing him to drop his device and cracking the screen. Angry, Charles grabbed the phone and held it too his ear. "Hello Vanguard," he said waiting his impolite response. Not a sound was heard.

Annoyance replaced by confusion he checked the wires. Charles' phone was wired to not recieve any calls apart from Vanguard to prevent CADMUS from phoning him and tracking his location. "Hello... anyone..." still there was no response. He waited for a few more minutes before coming to the conclusion CADMUS had hacked the wires. Hurridly Charles packed his few belongings and called for a taxi. After a few anxious minutes of waiting, one arrived. It was yellow and had the words, "Chicago cabs" inscribed into its side. Turning to the driver he asked to be driven as far away as he could go. Another call came but Charles ignored it and turned his phone to silent.

[Talchyon]

Phoenix, Arizona
Las Tribulantes Diamantes Apartments
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

Richard still didn't remember what time he had gotten home. He remembered looking at his art prints there on the curb, and thinking of Mary and what might have happened differently with his son Paul. The lights behind him in suburbia were turned off, and the world slept in stillness except for the occasional noises of outdoor pets. But he was deeply immersed in these thoughts, as well as the thoughts of what he was going to do with his life now that he had been forcibly removed from being a teacher. What should be a gift was like a curse. He had all the time in the world now to finish projects, like various paintings he had tried his hand at since being removed. But he didn't feel like creating anything cheerful when he was not, and what was more, he was lacking in sleep and when he did try painting, he thought his hand was shaking too much at times. "Probably should get that looked at sometime." Last thing Richard wanted was to come down with Parkinson's at his young age of 62. Someone had showed him an article once about PTSD and how teachers also suffered this sometimes who had been forced through extreme stressful situations, such as a forced retirement. Maybe that's what he had. PTSD. Might explain some things.

He had driven home, that much he was aware of. Climbed into bed and fell asleep. Didn't set an alarm, but he was habitually an early riser anyway. Despite feeling groggy, he started making a half-pot of breakfast blend coffee and began his morning exercises. Ran for about half an hour on his treadmill, thinking. Then using the restroom, a shower, getting changed, and then a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast with his coffee. The bottle of Jack Daniels was still sitting on his table, and impossible to notice. It toyed with his mind, enticing, but Richard put the thought aside. "Better not get started with alcohol at this hour" he thought. But he didn't want to work on a project, either. Maybe it was another aimless day of wandering around the city and trying to see other art exhibits he hadn't seen. He sighed, finished his coffee and bagel, and cleaned up. Then, he grabbed his leather satchel that hung around his shoulders that carried his art prints in their sentimental journal. And with no other plan in mind, Richard turned off the lights and stepped out.

Two men in a gray Buick heard a pinging sound on their equipment, and then noticed their target, an elderly, silvery-haired man, two blocks away, leaving his apartment and getting into his car. As the target drove off, the driver in the other car started it, and then drove off after him at a nice leisurely pace. Sometime today, when the target was in a near vicinity to the other CADMUS agents, they would spearhead the extraction.

[Asterdan]

Far Eastern NYC Dockyards, 11pm

Everything great starts out as an idea. A belief. It is the power within you that brings about the change that you want to see in this world. The change that this world desires. We are the Chosen Ones, become apart of our revolution…

The brief message was embedded within a video that would circulate around the world to those who knew what they sought. There were many others like it, all containing similar messages effectively supplemented by images and clips of the oppression of mutants in the world. Mostly of children depicted as freaks by their emergent powers and consequently targeted it was designed to specifically an emotionally strong response from its viewers.

The Chosen Ones was an underground organization based within the land of freedom, the United States of America. Information about it was scarce, mainly found only on the dark net. Yet their actions would concern the national security of the nation itself. Its propaganda and recruitment were conducted virtually, its videos and messages open on the public net though if traced would hail to unrecognisable sources worldwide. Their planned operations though were composed of what was termed by the organization as, ‘controlled retaliation against the establishment’. Currently there was an entire web of plots that lay waiting for the right time and the right mutant. Their brothers and sisters shall be freed.

At its head was the one under the alias of ‘Sonic Blade’ or either 2 of the terms. At the current moment the man himself, clothed in dark, formal attire fitting his large 6 foot frame, was within the secure confines of a warehouse on one of the myriad of docks in New York City. Below him were similar dressed men though wielding small-arms. The place was to host a gathering of quite simply put, the newest oppressed peoples of the Earth.

The Chosen Ones had relayed another message to those connected to them, notifying of mass gatherings across the country. The boss, Blade, had deemed it appropriate time to begin practical blossoming after the seeds had been sown. With current events looking dire against mutantkind in America now was the time for action. The organization was very much aware of the crimes of CADMUS and their atrocities against mutantkind in the nation. America was no longer the land of the free, the emergence of the next stage of evolution had brought about a wave of fear from the regressing Homo Sapien breed. Homo Melior or Homo Superior was the next stage in evolution for Humanity. As the maxim of the Chosen Ones went;

We Will Not Be Held Back

As the thick blanket of night fell the clock struck 11. Individuals began pouring into the shoddy warehouse. Yarsiv Yushkov prepared himself to personally address his people, his kind, this night. They had gathered with the full knowledge that they were to become revolutionists, be taken by the vehicles provided by Sonic Blade’s alliance with the Russian Mafia present tonight down to numerous pockets of safehouses and strongholds that had been consolidated by the Chosen Ones. ‘This shall be remembered in history as the first steps Homo Melior took to claim their place as apex beings of the world,’ Blade muttered as he overlooked the mutants from the 2nd platform above.

Only an hour earlier had Malachi Shepherd been walking the streets of New York. That's when the vehicle pulled up to the Ice Phoenix and he was given the message. Malachi was unsure at first, but decided he may as well go and see what was happening. As he entered the vehicle, his right hand ignited in a blue-white flame, ready to fight if he had too. He began to calm as the car drove, and after a few minutes he could smell the water.

"The docks?" he asked, to which he got no answer.

He stepped out of the car as it stopped and was led to where other mutants were standing. That's when he saw the Sonic Blade. This was going to be an interesting night.

[House of Judah]

Garric Alban

Garrick was making his way to the exit when a man stepped out of a patient room. Garrick wasn’t able to see the face, but the profile was a potential match to a mutant on record. He quickly ducked behind a nurse’s station and quietly reached behind him and grabbed his pistol out from the holster in the small of his back. He looked up at conxev mirror overhead. He reached up and grabbed a pent off the desk then threw it with precision into a nearby vent. The sound attracted the man’s attention and allowed Garrick to catch sight of the other man’s face. He reached into his pocket and hit the speed dial on his phone.

---

Greg Alban

Greg watched his uncle without understanding. Why was he making those weird moves and who was that other guy? Greg slowly drew closer as he saw his uncle do something with his phone.

“Codename: Zaroff. Authorization: Seven Alpha Echo Six Echo Three One One Delta One Alpha Charlie Foxtrot Four Three Three. Positive identification on Subject Aesculapius at Chicago Central Hospital, ICU. Require immediate backup and a wagon. Attempting to detain the subject.”

Both Greg and Garrick watched the man enter another room. Garrick moved out from the nurse’s station and took position across the hall from the room the other man had entered. Greg walked over and looked at his uncle. There was a cold, steely determination about him, gun held in a position to be quickly and quietly concealed if needed. Unsure of what he was watching, Greg stepped through the wall and watched as the man, whoever he was, lay hands on an injured man and healed him.

Greg was amazed. He stepped over to the hospital bed and examined the man lying there. Not just his injuries were gone. Liver spots had vanished. It was astounding. The man turned to leave the room and on opening the door came face-to-face with Uncle Garrick’s gun.

“Mister Goodwin. Given how many people you’ve helped, I’d rather not hurt you, but I will taking you in you in now. If you would be so kind as to surrender, I won’t have to shoot you. Hell, I can even guarantee that you can go to a relatively nice relocation center. If we do it the hard way, well, I guarantee nothing for that path.”

This was wrong. Greg wasn’t sure about much that was going on in the world, especially when it came to mutants, but he knew that this Goodwin had been helping people. He didn’t deserve to be arrested for it. Whatever was going on, he could let his Uncle Garrick take him away.

Greg went back out into the hallway and looked around. There was a set of shelves next to his uncle. He went onto the opposite side and tried to push. His hands went straight into the shelf without contacting.

“Come on, Greg. You can do this.” He pulled back his arms as Garrick held up a set of cuffs.

“What’s it going to be, Goodwin?” Garrick asked as Greg steeled himself and tried again. He pushed out with his hands and this time they caught on the shelf. He tried to push but it didn’t move. He centered himself and pulled back slightly, then lunged forward, throwing everything he had into the push.

---

Garrick Alban

Garrick held his gun on the mutant and watched him consider his options. Before he could choose, the lights in the hallway suddenly flickered. Garrick quickly looked around and saw the shelf next to him start to fall over onto him. He dodge out of the way and looked over where it had fallen but so indication of why it had. He turned back just in time to see Goodwin take off running.

“Shit.” Garrick began pursuing as Goodwin darted around a corner. He triggered his phone again. “Subject Aesculapius is attempting to flee towards the south exit. Zaroff giving pursuit.” He rushed around the corner, following the escaping mutant.

---

Greg Alban

Greg watched his uncle pursue the mutant down the corridor. His uncle was moving impossibly fast. Whatever was happening, this healer needed more help. Greg chased his uncle and gained ground by bypassing the corridors and running through the walls. Catching up with his uncle, Greg tried to jump in front of him and block him.

Garrick ran straight through him. Or almost did. As he was passing through Greg, the teen suddenly felt himself being pulled along with his uncle. He felt his… whatever this was begin to merge into his uncle and then, suddenly, he was viewing the world through Uncle Garrick’s eye. He stopped running and lifted his hand in amazement, then just as quickly it was over and he was outside his uncle’s body again.

---

Garrick Alban

Garrick looked around confused for a moment. He wasn’t sure what had happened, why he had stopped running. He ran on and keyed in with his phone again.

“Lost visual contact with the subject.” he kept running, straight out the exit and into the night air. Nothing. Goodwin had escaped. Problematic, though not the worst thing. Garrick turned to look back at the hospital. Something happened in there and he wasn’t sure what. He breathed in and out a couple moments. He needed to do more investigating and, for the moment, he decided, he was going to keep it off book.

[The Arks]

Garret Wolman/Wolfenstein
Las Vegas, Nevada
10:13 A.M.
2043

Garret walked down his yard in shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers, pushing the mower over the long grass before him. It had occurred to him that he was gone often enough to justify paying for a yard company to mow it for him, but it was nice to have responsibilities while he was home to keep him grounded. Well, as grounded as a mutant assassin could be, anyway.

The neighborhood was a nice one, on the outskirts of the city, far away from the Strip and other downtown areas. Not very many people ever thought, or even knew, about the massive suburbs surrounding the city. They were clean neighborhoods with good folk to boot, which is why he lived here. He needed a place to lay his head where people wouldn't look for him-- and the old travelling salesman down the street is hardly the prime suspect in any crime.

He felt a buzzing in his left pocket, and pulled out his phone, looking at it briefly. Realizing that it was not his civilian phone but rather his other phone that was ringing, he finished up the row he was on, turned off the mower, picked up the bag of grass, and answered his work phone as he walked to the nearby garbage can.

"Hello?" Garret said.

"Mr. Wolfenstein, I'm afraid my organization requires your assistance." A woman replied in a heavy Spanish accent. Despite her accent, she sounded familiar, although Garret couldn't remember how.

"Sorry hun, but this is my week off. Get one of the other salesman to drive out there." he said.

"That's not an option. We require someone with your particular talents-- the ones you highlighted in Los Angeles on October 18, 2039?" She said. The mention of LA on that particular day stopped Garret dead in his tracks. He had done a job for a client-- the Solas? Soldiers? Syndicate? Something like that-- that he considered to be one of his finest works. He had been charged with eliminating five policeman, a fireman, a judge, and destroying evidence secured by the police, all within a twenty-four hour window. That's where he remembered her voice from-- she had contacted him then as well, and paid very well.

"Well, I guess I'll have to go out there myself then. What're the details on the client?" Garret asked as he waived to his neighbor, who had just pulled into his driveway.

"He's one of you-- or at least seems to be. He calls himself Iron Owl, and operates out of Seattle. He's recently been targeting our assets, and we can no longer allow him to interfere." She replied.

"Wow, haven't had a client that big in a while. The commission will be amazing." He said, chuckling. Despite his outward demeanor, he hoped the message was clear to the caller-- mutants were dangerous to hunt and, therefore, very expensive. Not that he hadn't killed them before. After all, a job was a job. That being said, some jobs were worse than others, and mutants tended to take a lot of careful planning to eliminate.

"Of course it will be. 10 million, to be used at your discretion, and the remainder delivered to you as payment when the job is done." She said as Garret covered his mouth to hide his surprise. They must be pretty desperate to pay him so much-- he was expecting 1 or 2-- but he wasn't about to argue.

"Yeah, alright, let me do some research on the client, and I'll get back to you when I'm ready to approach them with a pitch." he replied.

"We'll contact you in 24 hours." The lady said as she hung up. Garret took a deep breath and walked back to his lawn mower to finish up his yard, already devising plans for how to draw out the Iron Owl.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Washington DC
Dirksen Senate Office Building
Senate Commission for Mutant Affairs
Hearing of administrator Adam C. Narodny

“Mr. Narodny… Mr Narodny, would you answer the question please?”

Adam Narodny awoke from his dreamy state. The room was getting hotter and hotter as the day progressed. The lighting, the abundance of people, the cameras all trained on the administrator… A bead of sweat crawled down his cheek, intercepted by his handkerchief. He looked around the room for a moment; all eyes were now trained on him. The chair too had his look focussed on him, his face contorted into a stern frown.

“I’m sorry, chairman, could you repeat the question?” he asked, much to the chagrin of the senator.

“Mr. Narodny, did you or did you not know that Blackwood was an unhinged individual with powerful abilities that could endanger the lives of your operatives and others?”

A loaded question, Adam recognised. He could either say that he knew, which would mean that he sent his men needlessly into danger, or that he didn’t know, which would mean that he sent his men in blindly. Both were negative, there was no way to answer the question with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Narodny was going to have to give it a spin.

“Senator, Officer West was given all the information he required to hunt down and capture Blackwood. He was in charge of his file, and he knew everything we knew. Officer West knew the danger Blackwood posed, and he went ahead anyway”

A good response: Narodny could now shift the blame for the mission’s failure to West, who was in a coma. He could not defend himself for at least another week, which gave Narodny time to survive this hearing. The national media had picked up on the Hell’s Kitchen story as soon as it had gone out. It had everything they desired: an obvious bad guy, a lot of destruction, a failure of the bureaucracy and a lot of dead civil servants. The public secretly loved that kind of story, almost as much as they loved showing public indignation for it. And that wave of indignation is something every politician in DC and New York was now trying to ride. Including Narodny, although he still had a lot of spinning to do before he was in line to be carried by the wave, instead of being crushed by it. If it were up to the senators, he would be placed in a stockade in front of Capital Hill for America to throw tomatoes at. That had to change.

“So…” the senator continued, looking at the other members of his commission. They really were out to get him. “So, you say one of your operatives made the call to take three platoons and three armoured vehicles with him, and had complete discretion to do that? Without permission from higher-up? I find that hard to believe” he said with a smile around his face. He was gloating, that much was clear. That was his mistake, too, and Narodny quickly made use of it.

“That is indeed how it went down, senator” Narodny stated, now with a firm tone of voice. “And since I am under oath, are you implying I committed a crime just now?”

Immediately, the bench with senators fell silent. The chairman gave him an angry look, but he knew he had been outplayed in that moment. Another angry frown formed on his face.

“Of course not, administrator. No-one here would doubt your honesty under oath”

“Thank you, senator” Narodny said, smiling as he did so. “As I said, operative West had all the intelligence the Oversight Office could provide. Yet, it appeared not to be enough”

“The Oversight Office falls under your jurisdiction, does it not?” asked one of the senators who had not spoken before. Narodny recognised her as Amanda Kelly, senator for New York. She in particular had been riding the indignation train, being very active on social media on the subject. She had agitated against the president, against Homeland Security, and against CADMUS in particular. She was not there to get the truth, which is why Narodny planned on giving her every last bit of truth he could muster.

“That is correct, senator. Oversight is one of the CADMUS offices, and one of our most important ones. They search for dangerous suspects every day” Narodny answered in a matter-of-fact way.

“Then a failure of Oversight is your failure as well, is it not?” She said, leaning over the table. Narodny looked straight back at her, knowing there was a camera trained directly at him. This was a bit of theatre as much as it was a legal hearing.

“I would say that is a gross oversimplification of the truth” Narodny said, now looking back at his papers. He was luring her out, appearing to be in disarray to trigger an aggressive response from the senator, which he could turn around to bite her in the ass. She walked straight into the trap, much to the apparent dismay of the chairman.

“How would you then characterise the truth?” she asked, a smile now appearing on her face. It was the smile of a predator catching its prey. Narodny didn’t smile at all as he gave his response.

“I would characterise it as a failure of our resources. CADMUS has been developing Mutant technologies, arming, training and using a military-grade police force to keep society safe, rehabilitating mutants and looking out for those that would do us harm. We are the only line of defence between dangerous mutants and society. We are NASA, Defence, the NSA and the Federal Prison system all in one. With the rise of terrorist organisations such as Vanguard and the Chosen Ones, we have asked Congress time and time again to give us more funding. Yet, you ask us to do more and more, keep you safer and safer, with the same level of funding. This is untenable. Time and time again, CADMUS has asked, via the president and his budget proposals, for more funding. The senate has denied such request time and time again. Half of the commission has voted against all budget increases. And now, you turn around claiming it is our fault. That is how I would characterise the truth”

Senator Kelly’s face seemed to melt as she watched the dramatic speech made by Narodny. It was a bit of dramatic theatre, sounding like it had been written by screenwriters beforehand. It had been, of course. Narodny employed the best spin doctors around in a semi-professional campaign team, which helped both him in person and his office when in need. This speech had been made some time ago, and was ready to be delivered with some minor changes. It was brought at the right time; journalist in the spectators’ bench were busy typing away with their phones, getting this latest news out to all their networks. The CNN banner that evening would read ‘CADMUS administrator blames New York massacre on budget cuts’. This was the zinger of the evening, and everything would be placed in its context. He had set the stage for the rest of the evening, as well as framing the public debate. Narodny smiled as he saw the senate commission realise this, with the chairman trying to get the public back into line.

“Right, I think it’s better if we move on to another subject. Now, the dead and wounded firemen have raised a lot of eyebrows…”

New York
Greater New York Hospital Association
Fire department captain John Williams

The doctor pushed a button on the remote, switching the television from C-SPAN to Animal Planet, which was showing a documentary on the sex life of butterflies. Captain Williams sighed as he looked irritably at the physician.

“Come on, Doc. That’s my senate hearing” he said, trying to point towards the screen. He could not, however. His right hand was covered in bandages and suspended in a casket. His left arm had been severed just under the elbow. Williams let his head drop back into his pillow, which produced a ringing feeling of nausea throughout his being. He swallowed, which only hurt even more. The physician didn’t seem to hear him, perhaps because William’s voice was as soft as it could be. The three other people in the room, who were quite bit nearer, had a hard time understanding him. His wife and a CADMUS spook couldn’t quite understand him because of his volume; the man in another hospital bed was still in a coma. Outside the door two CADMUS Field Operatives guarded the door, which made Williams feel both safe and threatened.

“Mr. Williams… Is that really all you can remember?” the CADMUS spook asked, holding his pen to a notebook. He methodically went down the list of things Williams had told him.

“So, a skeletal being, able to control ice and fire. He killed about… what, a dozen people? Then, your fire engine blew up”

He stopped, looking at Williams. “And then you lost consciousness?”

“Consciousness… and my arm” Williams said. He looked at where his left arm would be. He would never be able to join the force again.

“Alright. Don’t worry about the medical bill, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. CADMUS has a special fund for this kind of injury. You will be taken care of. Now, as for officer West…”

The CADMUS spook looked over his shoulder at the comatose CADMUS Oversight officer. He was kept in an artificial coma, just so he could strengthen up. There was undoubtedly a lot he could tell, but as long as he was under he was useless. Still, time was of the essence, and with or without West, his team had to continue the search. His deputy, Victor Buccami, was taking over for the time being. West was at least stable and at no great risk; the same could not be said about Williams.

“Yes, officer West…” Williams remembered, trying to think back to the night before.

“He rolled up to the warehouse with three tanks of sorts. Said we had to get out of there. We… I didn’t believe him, so we stayed. We stayed…” His eyes grew larger.

“Oh my god… Turner! Betty! Konrad! Are they…” his voice broke, turning into a light sob. His wife placed a hand on his shoulder, which only caused him to wince in pain.

“Honey, they are safe. They are fine” she lied, unconvincingly. From the way Buccami averted his eyes, Williams could tell they had not made it. Indeed, they had gone up in flames with the fire engine, Turner using his body to shield his captain. Williams was now in a state of half-shock, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Mr. Williams… Mr. Williams…” Buccami tried, but it was no use. Mrs. Williams gave him an angry glare.

“You can piss right off, spook. My husband needs rest. He can tell you nothing more. Just get busy finding that loon that did this to him” she said angrily, before turning her attention back lovingly to her husband.

“It’s okay, dear. Calm down, calm down. It’s not your fault. Really” she said, softly strong what parts of his body were not burned. “You’re going to be alright. Believe me, dear. Please…”

Operative Buccami looked at the man for a last time, sighing. He shook his head, looked towards West, and then set out into the cold morning again.

Chicago Hospital

It was hard not to notice the sleek black car driving onto the hospital parking lot. Everything about it, from the black exterior to the tainted windows, screamed that there was something secretive about the vehicle. In front of the main entrance, the vehicle came to a stop. A big man in a Field Office uniform got out the right side, walking over towards the right side to open the other door. Out stepped a man in a well-made dark-blue suit, armed with a Rolex and a leather briefcase. His Field Office buffoon closed the door behind him, signalling the driver to find a parking spot for the car. The two then walked up to the hospital with a gait that looked more like fast-walking than anything else. Before the lobby personnel could ask them anything they’d already gone up the stairs. They knew exactly what they were looking for.

Without even knocking first the two entered the room where Ahmed Hamoudi had been laying just half an hour before. Now, like the report had said, the man was sitting upright on the bed, healthy as anything. His wounds were gone, his hand had grown back, and he showed no signs of any kind of brain damage. He just looked undernourished, which was why he was feasting away at a chicken at that very moment. His family looked all too happy to see him, and provided him with all the food they could assemble. The bin next to the bed was already filled to the brim with plastic plates and wrappings. They were celebrating a miracle.

“Good evening” the man in the blue suit said. This startled the family, who were now all looking in the same direction. Even Ahmed, who was just chewing on another piece of chicken, looked up from his plate. Their eyes went from the greying suited man to the man with the Field Office uniform, not really sure where to focus first. They were all scared, of course. They knew a Mutant had helped them out. They knew what CADMUS did to collaborators. The suited man just smiled.

“Sergeant Rhodes, would you be so kind to stand outside, please? Let’s give this family some privacy”

The buffoon nodded, went out the door and took up position next to it, closing it behind him. After the door had slammed shut, the suited man turned back to the family. His smile looked heart-felt, but everyone could see that there was something wrong. His eyes, cold and blue behind his spectacles, did not inspire confidence. They did not smile along. The slight Russian accent didn’t help either, bearing resemblance with some old-school bond villains.

“I am Dr. Ivanov, and I work for the CADMUS medical department. I am very curious indeed, mr. Hamoudi, what happened to you this night”

Dr. Ivanov walked over to a table at the side of the room, where he placed his briefcase. He popped open the two metal clamps keeping it shut, thus opening the briefcase for him. From it he took a retro-looking recording device, pushing a few buttons to let it record. He then looked over to the family, giving another one of his wry smiles

“So, how did it feel? How did it look?”

The family was looking at one another. They still had little clue who this person was, or what he wanted from them. No-one was willing to give the opening statement, so they just kept staring at him in silence. Dr. Ivanov nodded as an irritable frown drew across his face.

“That first question was not too hard, was it?”

Still no response.

“Fine. What did the mutant look like? What did he call himself?”

No response. The family now looked more defiant. They had no wish to give up their hero so easily. While there was a public backlash against mutants, everyone knew there had to be some good ones. The Hamoudi family was of the silent opinion that they had met one in Tobias. They would not hand him over so easily. Even the younger members of the family, who had been raised with the idea that Mutants were more often bad than good, kept silent. Even the children felt that this was not a man they wanted to speak the truth with. This seemed to irritate the good doctor even more.

“Alright. This is not the moment to play games. Have it your way” he said, as he took a handful of papers from his briefcase. With it came a few pens, enough for the family to use between themselves. He handed the papers over to the closest family member, the mother of Ahmed.

“What are these?” she asked, looking through them. While skimming, she got the gist of it.

“There are declarations of confidence, mrs. Hamoudi” Doctor Ivanov said, trying to conjure up another of his smiles. This one had lost all its gusto, though, and the family wasn’t fooled.

“By signing them, you promise to keep a secret what you saw today, and to keep by the official story. Which is that I, personally, healed Ahmed with CADMUS technology”

“Why would we sign these?” Mrs. Hamoudi asked, looking through the papers. “What do we have to gain?”

“Think not of what you have to gain, madam” the doctor said, handing her a few pens. “Think of what you have to lose. The mutant that was here while I healed Ahmed was reported to CADMUS by one of our Oversight Operatives. You kept silent. You are partially responsible for his escape. I don’t have to tell you what happens to collaborators with terrorist organisations”

“So our choice is between arrest…” Mrs Hamoudi began.

“And silence, yes” Dr. Ivanov said, turning off the recording device. “Of course, breaking silence means treason. And the punishment for treason…”

“We know” said one of the older family members. “I didn’t fight in Korea to be treated like a traitor to the nation I helped defend” he said. Dr. Ivanov was unmoved by his plea to being a veteran.

“And I did not crawl myself out of the Saint Petersburg ruins to let mutants and their collaborators run amuck unchecked” There was an anger in his voice that, while very much beneath the skin, silenced the whole room immediately. They looked at one another again, but only for a moment. One by one, the papers were signed. One by one, the members of the Hamoudi family began handing in their papers.

“Parents, sign for your children, please” the doctor said, turning on his recording device.

“Now, for the Mutant…”

Half an hour later, Dr. Ivanov left the room. It had gone completely silent. The air of celebration was gone in its entirety, making way for a solemn silence of understanding. Some members had tears welling up in their eyes, while the veteran of the Second Korean war looked staunchly out of the window into the darkness. With a handy flick of his wrist, the doctor in the blue suit closed the briefcase.

“We’re done here” he said to sergeant Rhodes. All the kindness he had tried to show in the beginning was gone, having made way for his cold, calculative interior. From behind his glasses, his pale blue eyes looked coldly into the world.

“Rhodes, you go find Alban. He’ll be working directly for R&D now, under my supervision. Tell him I want the Mutant found alive. Scathed is fine”

The sergeant nodded, moving off to find the field agent that had pursued Tobias some time before.

Medicine Bow Rehabilitation Facility
Outside one of the barracks
The break of dawn

Shirley had the sack removed from her head with a sudden jerk. As she accustomed herself to her new situation, she was blinded by a sudden flood light jumping into action, beaming at her with full intensity. The brightness blinded her almost totally, allowing her only to see a few faint figures in front of her. Besides, all she could see was the stars wheeling overhead. She felt her hands; they were tie-wrapped to a metal pole behind her. Tugging did nothing but fasten the straps, so she stopped struggling quite quickly. He noticed she was standing with her back to a concrete wall, which felt cold to the touch.

“Shirley Stevens” a loud voice from behind the floodlight proclaimed. There was a moment of silence as the voice boomed through the now-empty town. It had been transformed into a rehabilitation facility, holding whatever few stragglers had been taken in after the failure of the two divisions. Those humans who had cooperated with them were held there, too, and they outnumbered the mutants 2:1.

“Present” Shirley responded with a sarcastic growl.

“You have been charged with sedition, terrorist conspiracy, and levying war against the United States of America. What say you in your defence?”

The voice was staunch, that of a military man. Shirley felt like she was in the most lousy court room imaginable.

“I demand a lawyer” she said calmly, remembering what she had been learned by Vanguard lawyers. At least, lawyers who were now on the run with Vanguard. She knew exactly what her rights were.

“I demand a phone call, too” she added.

“Your rights to a lawyer and a phone call have been forfeited by your levying of war against the US” the voice said, still sounding like it was a gym class in school or some army drill sergeant.

“I thought I was innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around” she yelled. She was getting the picture now. Behind the hills she could see the orange light of the rising sun, almost ready to peek over the horizon. The smell of the area surrounding her began to smell of morning as well.

“Have you nothing to say in your defence?” the voice asked for a second time. Shirley tried to spot where the sound was coming from, but the blinding floodlight kept her from seeing anything at all. She spat in front of her, tasting some blood from the beating she had received earlier.

“Fuck. You.” She yelled. “Those soldiers had it coming. You don’t shoot at children!”

“That is not for you to decide. Do you want to play judge, jury and executioner?” the voice now asked with a sarcastic tone. Shirley tried to pull up her shoulders, but noticed one of them had some massive bruising on it. Instead, she spat again.

“Do you?”

There was a moment of silence. She could hear hushed voices coming from somewhere behind the floodlight, but there was no use in trying to locate them. She tried to use her super speed, but the tie-wraps were too strong. Regardless, the guards had broken one of her knees, and there was only so much she could do with one knee. In the distance, she could see the sky getting ever-brighter. The dawn was nearly upon them. The hushed voices became louder, until they came to a stop. A man coughed. Another lit a cigarette.

“Shirley Stevens, you have been found guilty of the crimes of sedition, terrorist conspiracy and levying war against the United States of America. The sentence to be carried out is…”

“YOU WILL NEVER KILL US ALL!” Shirley shouted. At that moment, a .50 calibre machine gun on top of one of the IFV’s opened up. Its flashed lit up the town, its shots ringing through the hills for miles on end. Shirley’s body was pierced by round after round, smashing her body to bits and digging into the concrete behind her. After a good three second burst, the machine gun stopped. Shirley seemed to be standing upright, but that was an illusion. Only her unnatural position and the tie wraps kept her standing. The floodlight was switched off, directly as the first sunlight lit up the Wyoming town. An army doctor went up to the mutant, confirming she had died with a simple nod. Then, two soldiers came over, cutting loose the beaten body. They bagged her, tagged her, and labelled her to be sent to the closest R&D office. Mutant bodies were a rarity, and they could provide enormous insights. Lieutenant-general Roberts sucked his cigarette, blowing out the smoke in moving swirls. He did his best to hide it, but his trembling hand could be seen by those standing close to him.

“We need to finish off this camp as soon as possible” he said, taking a hint from his cigarette. “The mutants can be terminated, the civilians can be moved to facilities throughout the state. Burn the buildings”

[Futrellia]

Richard Block
Owl's Nest
12:36pm

---

Richard walked down the stairs to the secret hideout for his vigilante persona: Iron Owl. He looked up from the steps to see Pryce bent down, fiddling with the Owl suit.

"Hey, I brought some breakfast. How long have you been here?" Richard said, setting the box of donuts and hot coffee down on a nearby roller table and rolled it the rest of the way. Pryce turned to see the food and grabbed a donut, taking a large bite out of it.

"Since eight o'clock a few nights ago." Pryce said, rubbing his eyes.

"Jesus, Pryce. You didn't have to-"

"I told the family I had to go to Hong Kong for a few days. Business for Dayne Enterprises. I have no idea how that bastard managed to tear your suit so badly, but I've done some pretty nice upgrades on it. You realize your suit was still running the 4.2 programs? You should have had the Mark 6 upgrades. I've taken the liberty of updating your combat suites, Ollie's operational capacity and enhanced his frame-by-frame combat analysis. I removed parts of the damaged nickel-titanium alloy from the arms and legs and replaced it with four layers of Kevlar thread and carbon nanotube fibers. Your muscles adapted to the heavier alloy so now, you should be able to move alot faster in those areas. The core area still has the alloy but now it has two layers of the Kevlar threading for added protection. Now the suit is heavily resistant to tearing and is more heat-resistant. I installed an electric shock system that can be deployed in any area of the suit. Group of enemies get the jump on you? Activate the system and they'll be down in seconds. I replaced the cape. Not much else I can do with that. Moving on. Your gloves. Your gloves have been upgraded to feature fingertip blades and armor reinforcement in the gloves. That's all I've managed to do. Time's almost up. They're expecting me home around 2 so there's not much else for me to do." Pryce said, cleaning up his messy workstation.

"That's more than I thought I was going to get. I'm lucky to have you." Richard said.

"You are. If it wasn't for me, you'd still have that god awful First Version. Remember the black combat boots, kevlar vest, black mask. You know, the menacing looking Owl still spray painted on your chest?" Pryce said, barely able to contain his laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. I still have that getup! It's somewhere down here, in a box." Richard's phone buzzed in his pocket. Instinctively, he pulled out the phone, receiving a text message from some unsaved number.

Code: Select all

Hey, It's Jessica :). Last night was so good. I tried what you taught me last night on my boyfriend and he couldn't twist his body like that lol. Maybe again tonight ;)

Richard smirked a little bit. He actually went out to a local bar, the Flatstick Pub. Met some young and dumb college girl there. Probably the last time he does something like that again. It wasn't as exhilarating as she thought it was. Plus, he got more intoxicated than he planned to.

Code: Select all

No.

He pressed send and blocked the number. Problem solved.

"I'm gonna stop by the Bubba Burger. Your little donuts are not as filling as I thought they would be." He said, walking up the steps.

"Yeah, well It's sugar and dough. I'm trying to keep up that Frugal Rick persona. Plus it saves Salus a few bucks. Did you know we opened up a office in Nevada? Should bring in alot more money." Richard said, sipping on his black coffee.

"Yeah, well. Did you know we opened up an office at. No wait, I forgot. We've got offices everywhere!"

"Yeah, yeah. We'll get there. Maybe." He said as the entrance sealed up behind Pryce.

[The V O I D]

Chicago

After his brief encounter with CADMUS in the hospital, Tobias sighed in relief at having escaped. It was unfortunate he couldn't heal more people, but honestly, at this point... it almost wasn't worth it. He considered, briefly, what it would take for CADMUS to let him operate in peace. Tobias snorted. It'd probably take some new plague that the CDC couldn't make heads or tails of to get CADMUS to hire Aesculapius rather than try to arrest him; and even then, CADMUS had enough captive mutants where they could probably try to find a cure on their own. Besides, Tobias suspected some people in CADMUS were smarter than they appeared and obviously knew his true power; they'd likely blame any such plague on him, regardless of the truth.


Tobias began to think of his powers. How powerful he was, if one thought about it. Hell, CADMUS would likely consider acquiring him a boon; especially if they could get him to cooperate. After all, if mutant powers came mostly from genetics or mutations, one touch and a few seconds was all Tobias would likely need to erase those genes from throughout the mutant's body and they'd become powerless. Normals. Done. Gone. Anyone he couldn't "cure", CADMUS would probably be charged with keeping imprisoned or something. At least, this is what Tobias believed would happen if they understood the true implications of his power.


Tobias idly wondered how many mutants or those with powers were like him; with such a huge amount of power, and huge expectations from both pro-mutant and anti-mutant public; as well as CADMUS. Tobias began to look through his power; feeling the microorganisms on his skin, the bacterium and such. He could easily coalesce them; twist and churn them out into a new, small animal that never existed before. He could make a bird with bat wings; or a bat with feathers. He could do literally anything with biology, given the time and biomass necessary. As long as it was physiologically possible to some degree, he could do it; even make it work, in some cases. Tobias sighed; it was for the best that no one knew his true power. Even if CADMUS did, they didn't broadcast it; perhaps to prevent mass panic at Tobias' power, and less for Tobias' privacy, in all likelihood.


Tobias' thoughts were interrupted when a stranger pulled him into an alleyway.

[Arstotzmerika]

Joseph Lero, a.k.a Stardust Man
San Francisco Bay Area, CA
San Mateo Apartment Block
2043

---

Joseph looked at his whiteboard on the wall, containing all the information he knew about other Supers. The TV in the living room was playing, set on the local news channel that was reporting about the rainy weather happening in SF. Joseph knew that the news channel wouldn't be a good idea to look for other Supers, as most would very likely lay low like himself. A bunch of the information on his whiteboard were from rumors, which weren't very reliable either. Despite how unreliable they might be, he analyzed every part of what he knew. In a nutshell, he had practically nowhere to start, only real thing being a message from another Super calling himself "Cypher" and a possible location of a Pro-Superhuman group in Nebraska. It wasn't much, but he needed to start somewhere.

Joseph knew how important a Super like himself would be to CADMUS, as the the ability to alter matter is powerful in both combat and utility. So far, CADMUS hadn't come for him yet. To Joseph, it meant he was quite hidden from them. He didn't know for how much longer it would last, as one mistake could take away his cover. His best option was currently to look for other Supers across the US. However going to other places and asking questions to strangers wasn't the best idea, and could possibly help CADMUS find him. To Joseph it seemed like the only thing he could do is wait. The more waiting, the more time CADMUS could have to find him.

Considering all of his options, it came down to two. Either head to out to find other Supers or wait in SF. Even if he looking for other Supers, he'd still have not much to start with. Joseph thought thoroughly about his options. Walking back and forth through his apartment, drawing diagrams, considering the consequences, he'd never thought this much in a while. After thinking for about fifty minutes, his final decision was to head out, reasoning that it would be worth a try.

All that thinking gave Joseph a minor headache, he knew the best thing to do at the moment was to rest up for his adventure.

[Cerrania]

Stephanie Edgemoor, a.k.a "Valkyrie"
Willis Tower, Chicago
2043

Stephanie's lighthearted giggle echoed around the dining room as she looked at the man directly across from her. He was completely infatuated with her, and she knew it. The way he had looked her up and down when she first arrived, the way he lightly touched the small of her back when he guided her to the dinner table, and now the way he hardly looked away from her across the table. She was lucky enough that he happened to be the host of this party.

The poor man.

Gathered around Stephanie were some of the most high-class criminals that the world had to offer. Gunrunners, warlords, oil barons, and other assorted flavors. They had all put on their best suits and their winningest smiles for this annual meeting that they held to talk business, the economy, and anything else that the upper echelon of the criminal underground happened to talk about. Stephanie was invited as the date of one Roger Kerring, a prolific arms dealer who played both sides of the coin. He made a hefty fortune selling weapons to the multitude of factions during the Syrian Civil War, and has since transferred to running a practical monopoly on the black market for weapons in Eastern Europe. However, he was of little importance compared to the man who had been staring at Stephanie practically the entire night: Kaylan Umber. Umber was the owner of a very small, but very powerful security organization, called Novus Security Solutions. In essence, it was an elite paramilitary group that happened to do the dirty jobs that most governments didn't want their names all over.

"So, Stephanie, what do you think?"

Stephanie snapped back into the conversation, as she had apparently let her mind wander. Finishing the sip of wine she had taken, she smiled and looked at the man who had addressed her, Umber himself.

"Sorry, Kaylan, what was the question?" She asked, offering a smile. Umber chuckled in response.

"I had asked what you think Ms. DeCuomo should do about one of her warehouses being burnt down last night." Umber said, motioning to a middle-aged woman sitting at the table: Angelina DeCuomo, the infamous leader of a massive narcotics empire on the East Coast.

"Well, I hardly think I'm qualified to make decisions of such importance!" Stephanie replied, making most of the table laugh.

"Nonsense! You're here at the dinner table, you're allowed to comment about the matters we discuss." Umber said.

"Well, in my humble opinion, I think she should reroute her efforts elsewhere. New York is a hotbed of activity right now, what with CADMUS and their ever-growing campaign against the mutants. Collateral damage is inevitable. And CADMUS follows around mutants, do-gooder or otherwise, which means that since CADMUS is in New York, there are a ton of mutants there too. Narcotics warehouses are pretty big targets for the heroes of today. She should move her main effort south, towards Miami and Atlanta." She said, looking around the table before taking a bite out of her food. The table nodded in agreement, seemingly surprised that she offered such sound advice. Even DeCuomo seemed as if she was taking the idea into consideration. Then, the conversation continued. Stephanie, in all honesty, was bored. She had very little interest in the matters of these criminals. She was here for one thing, and it was almost time to obtain it.

It wasn't long before the dinner party broke out into a regular mingling. The guests left the table and broke off into their own tiny groups around Umber's luxurious penthouse apartment. Stephanie stuck by her date's side, smiling and making conversation as the night went on. It wasn't long before she found herself in a small group with Kaylan Umber. While the rest of the group were enthralled in somebody's long-winded account of a run-in with the CIA, Stephanie caught Umber's eye. Offering him a coy smile, she whispered to her date that she had to excuse herself briefly and moseyed off towards what she assumed was Umber's bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she stood in front of the floor-to-roof windows. Reaching down, she slid a knife out from a concealed sheath on her upper thigh and held it in front of her. When she heard the door open, she knew somebody had followed her in. If she wasn't stupid, which she wasn't, she also knew who it was.

"Have you ever noticed how fast the planet is changing, Kaylan?" Stephanie said without turning around, "Slowly, but surely, the old is being replaced with the new. The outdated is being upgraded. Made better, more adapted to the world around us."

"Did you really come in here to talk about this?" Came the reply, followed by muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor.

"There's something big coming, and-" Stephanie was cut off by an arm wrapping around her waist and the feeling of lips against her neck. She gripped Umber's forearm, smiling. Suddenly, she shot out her leg behind her, connecting solidly with his family jewels. Whirling, she slapped her hand over his mouth as he yelped in pain, bringing the knife around with her other hand. The blade cut cleanly through Umber's throat, almost immediately loosing a steady flow of blood. She watched as his eyes widened, and she shoved him back onto his bed. Crawling on top of him, she ran her tongue across his flowing wound, lapping up his blood and swallowing it. She felt the change second later. She grew several inches, and her body form changed to mirror Umber's almost exactly, minus the now spurting throat wound.

"Yes, the world is changing, Mr. Umber, and a new age of humanity is upon us. You just happened to be an obstacle." Stephanie said, the gravelly voice of Umber coming from her mouth. The real Kaylan Umber's last sight was his own mirror image staring down at him, smiling maliciously. As the man let his dying breath out, Stephanie adjusted the buttons on her new suit, and slipped back through the door. Seamlessly stepping back into the conversation that both her and Umber had left only minutes before, she looked at the man who, up until recently, was her date.

"Stephanie just received a very important phone call. She had to take her leave. She told me to thank you for a wonderful night." She said, smiling at Kerring before clapping her hands lightly and rubbing them together.

"Now, where were we?"

[The Arks]

Garret Wolman/Wolfenstein
Seattle, WA
1:12 P.M.
2043

Garret opened up his luggage in the hotel room and pulled out a black plastic device. Inserting an earpiece into his ear, he used the device to scan the entire room once, and then again, just to be sure. It was a pain to move the furniture and whatnot, but it was worth it. Satisfied that there were no bugs or other surveillance devices in his room, he set off to work. He didn't expect any-- this Iron Owl fellow shouldn't be expecting him, and he took careful steps to ensure he couldn't be followed at any time. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Garret looked out the window as he picked up a disposable cell phone and called the henchmen the Syndicate had given him for the time being. He had been sure to mention that the men should be expendable, and thus didn't expect much. Still, he would need them to perform well for at least a day or two.

"Hello? Who is this?" A man with a deep voice and Vietnamese accent asked.

"Wolfenstein. Did you receive the packages?" Garret asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh! Um, ah, yes sir, all three of them." the man replied.

"Good. They should already be addressed; have your men deliver the ones on 23rd Street and 16th Avenue by hand, and use the drone I sent you to deliver the smaller package to the courthouse. What's the status on Salazar? Have you heard from him?"

"Um, actually, he, uh--"

"Speak clearly and quickly or put somebody else on the line." Garret said impatiently.

"He's, uh, dead, sir. He was in a fight with Iron Owl, and his exoskeleton was damaged. He managed to get past the cops that responded and escape, but the exoskeleton was badly damaged, and shot their remaining electrical charge into him."

Garret was silent a moment. Things would be much tougher without Salazar, but on the other hand, it provided an opportunity. Salazar had kept the criminal factions in check-- he had been a stabilizing force for the city. Now, with Daza and Salazar gone, Garret could set the rabid dogs loose in the town. "That's fine. Send some of your men out to the local fronts and crime lords, and attack them. Don't get yourselves killed, but ignite the turf war that the Owl has so kindly primed for us."

"I can have them do that in disguise, so they don't know it's us. But... this can't be the whole plan, can it?"

"No. I'm driving from the great plains, so I'll be there in two days. Just get your men started and I'll handle the rest of the plan when I get there." Garret hung up as he finished, taking in a big sigh. The Vietnamese had no idea what they were in for; he just hoped his contact was still as good as he used to be at setting traps. As for Garret, he planned to stay in this rundown pay-by-the-hour hotel for now, and leave at dusk. He wasn't too far from the warehouse he had selected to be used by the Vietnamese, and his tools of choice were already in place, waiting for him.

Vietnamese Gang Activity
Seattle, WA
2043

On 23rd Street, an old ten story apartment building stood tall, overlooking the street. An Asian man in a Fed-Ex uniform walked through the courtyard and entered the building, looking around for an apartment number. An old lady kindly directed him to the second floor where he found the apartment. Knocking on the door, a strong black man answered, speaking through only a small crack opening in the door. The delivery man insisted that the package was his, but the black man kept refusing, eventually slamming the door shut. The delivery man, not knowing what else to do, left it on the doorstep and began to walk away. He was halfway down the stairs when a massive explosion went through the building, the explosive shattering the support beams holding this entire half of the structure together. From the outside, it looked like fire leaped out of the entire left half of the building, followed by that side of the building imploding on itself. The other half of the structure fell as well, dragged down by the weight of the imploded section, the debris falling into the street and nearby park. The structure leaned left as it collapsed and smashed into the building next to it, causing the second smaller building to collapse under the sudden weight of the first. Throughout the debris, face cards with pictures of owls flew about. The targeted enforcer in the Black Mob was dead.

At about the same time on 16th Avenue, another Asian man disguised as a Fed-Ex employee walked up a few steps to the door of an orphanage. He knocked on the door and a bruised young girl in a tattered dress answered, refusing to look the delivery man in the eye. He asked for the owner of the orphanage, and an older lady in her mid 50's came to the door, forcefully brushing the young girl away. She accepted the package, somewhat confused, and then dismissed the delivery man. Walking inside, the owner of the orphanage put the package on a nearby table as she returned to the back room, where she was helping a man select which child he would sleep with that night. In moments, the package exploded, leveling the orphanage, collapsing the building as the force of the explosive sent the cars in front of the orphanage flying across the street and shattered the walls of the nearby houses. Throughout the debris, face cards with pictures of owls flew about. The sex trafficker was eliminated.

Further across town, the city's courthouse stood strong, an ornament to the order and safety present in the town. A hacked Amazon drone flew quickly over the heads of a press conference outside the courthouse with the DA and the Mayor, which to be fair was not an uncommon sight. Drones were used frequently throughout the US to deliver packages by a variety of companies. This one, however, bypassed the normal checkpoint a programmed drone would have taken and flew up to an open window on the third floor. It flew through the window and hovered in the air, despite the surprised protests of several lawyers and a judge in the room it had just entered. Before the people could react, and explosive-- much smaller than the previous two-- went off, shattering the bulletproof windows, blasting out the walls of the room, collapsing the ceiling and floor, and killing the room's occupants. The press outside immediately panned away from the DA to capture the collapse of the wing of the courthouse live on camera as sirens began to blare through the structure and people began to evacuate. From the destroyed wing of the courthouse, face cards with pictures of owls flew about. The corrupt judge was terminated.

All of the bombings happened within minutes of each other, and as they were occurring and later into the night, the Vietnamese gang was in full force, attacking criminal fronts, firebombing crime lord's mansions, and even attacking one of the police stations. Within hours, there were half a dozen gun fights in the streets between police, the Vietnamese, and various gangs in the town. From the Black Mob to the Yakuza to random drug gangs, a massive turf war erupted in the city. To the trained eye, it wouldn't be difficult to figure out that the Vietnamese started the war, set off the bombs, and that they had recently opened up a new front in a warehouse.

[Futrellia]

Richard Block
Owl's Nest
1:32pm

---

"Give me a status report, Ollie!" Said Richard, placing the Iron Owl's helmet on, completing the suit he got into.

"Multiple explosions recorded at an apartment complex on 23rd Street, an orphanage on 16th Avenue, and a courthouse on 5th Avenue. The Police and the Black Mob are fighting in the streets from 4th Avenue to 6th Street. Yakuza gunmen are holding civilians hostage on 10th Street and the Vietnamese are gunning down anyone they see. The multiple screens showed news coverage, hacked officer bodycams, and security cameras around the entire city.

"Something else, sir. At every explosion, there are cards with pictures of owls on them. Whoever is doing this, they are trying to pin it on you. This won't make your job easier and the Police will most likely begin a witchhunt." Said Ollie's English mechanical voice.

"Time to get to work then, Ollie. Rearm the IronJet, Riot Loadout. Stundarts, electric posts, Sleeper drones. Once I quell this chaos, I'll find who has done this." Said the Owl, activating his visor, a bright blue light filling up the visor. The IronJet lowered down and multiple machine arms began taking it apart, taking away the Assault Loadout, removing the turrets, missiles, and combat drones. They were replaced with Stundarts in the turrets, that would knock out it's victim for a solid 3 hours, Electric posts, that when deployed, would emit an electric current rendering anybody it touches unconscious for at least 45 minutes. And last, Sleeper drones. The Drones would release sleeper gas that once it gets inside the body, would render them unconscious for 6 hours. He would do what he could to rein in the chaos of Seattle. He had planned for something like this, he prepared for every scenario. The arms retracted back to their stations and the IronJet turned around towards a tunnel that would lead out under the warehouse and deploy up through an old gas tower. He climbed inside and the titanium cocooned his body, multiple screens panning down to show live feeds from the news, system updates on the IronJet and ammunition count. The IronJet began to shake as the cradle system propelled it forward through the tunnel, speed increasing, the Jet jumped as it climbed up into the tower and flew out of the hole in the tower, it's wings deploying to the side and the engines activating. The scene towards the megacity was quite the wakeup call. Flames rose up high into the nightsky as most streets were aflame with riots and burning cars.

22nd Street

The Police were fighting viciously with a group of Vietnamese gunmen, hiding behind their patrol cars that were riddled with bullets. The Officers had shotguns and pistols, the gunmen had AK-47s and grenade launchers.

"Targeting gunmen. 24 targets registered. Launching Post 1 and 2." Ollie said. From underneath, two of the poles launched out, temporary boosters attached to the bottoms. As they closed in on the street, the boosters detached and the pillars dug deep into the concrete, using a nickel-titanium spearhead. The poles drew the attention of both the Police and the Gunmen, though the poles were targeting the gunmen. At the top of the posts, a part jutted out and the blue light flickered up, releasing 6 million volts of electricity out into the air, each bolt striking the 24 gunmen, dropping them to the floor. Once all targets were neutralized, the posts deactivated and the posts were fried on the inside to avoid anyone finding out where they came from. The Police moved in immediately and put cuffs on the gunmen, picking up their weaponry to use against the other fighters.

"22nd Street is clear. Moving to worst neighborhoods. Deploying all drones." the compartments in the wings of the IronJet opened up releasing 36 drones, each carrying enough gas to knock out 60+ people, though it wouldn't deploy the full capacity, just enough to incapacitate the nearby enemies. Each drone flew to any neighborhood or street that was ripe with targets. The drones would be very capable of handling the turf war and allow the Police to get an upper hand on the situation.

17th Avenue

"Picking up 36 targets. 8 Police officers, 5 Firefighters and 3 Medics are present, looks to be an execution-style setting. The first responders were down on their knees, hands behind their heads, with Black Mob gangsters standing over them, getting ready to end them.

"Readying Stundarts. Targeting." Said Ollie. Each enemy had a red dot over their head, marking where each dart would go to. The IronJet got into a strafing run and fired off darts like a minigun. Each dart had a path marked down for them and had tiny fins for adjusting their trajectory. Each dart smacked into the necks of the Black Mobmen, at first rendering them a little loopy, stumbling, then finally hitting the ground, allowing the Police to get their weapons, the Firefighters and Medics to retreat back to their vehicles. The IronJet didn't have enough ammunition to hit every location, but it would give the Police the upper hand they needed to get a hold on the chaos.

The IronJet turned veered off into another street that was host to Vietnamese and Black Mob forces were fighting it out.

"Marking targets. 56 Combatants, firing Posts 3 through 6." The IronJet fired off the last of it's electric posts, striking down in an even pattern across the street, lighting the whole street up into blue electric light. All 56 of the gunmen were down.

"Electric Post ammunition depleted."

"The North Precinct has been cleared of enemies, thanks to the drones. Drone 1 through 13 are out of knockout gas, returning to the Owl's Nest. Drone 18 has sustained heavy damage from Black Mob gunfire. Drone lost, self destruct sequence activated. Drone 26 unable to escape Vietnamese capture, self destruct sequence activated. All other drones operational." Ollie said.

"Call the Police Chief." Said Iron Owl.

The Onboard Phone began to ring for a few times before Chief.

"Yes, this is Chief Donnell!" The female chief said loudly, the Headquarters obviously chaos as well as dispatchers and other officers were scrambling to get ahead of this nightmare.

"This is the Iron Owl. I know you've been hunting me. I know you don't like the way I do things, but I don't target orphanages or use heavy bombs. Someone is trying to set me up, Chief Donnell. Those posts, drones and stundarts your men have seen? Those are from me. I'm trying to help get this under control just as you are. I am trying to protect this city and I can't have the Police targeting me as well." He said, using his deepened electronic voice to deter anyone finding out what he really sounds like.

"Okay, yes! I understand. Will you come down to the Station so we can get this worked out? Just me and you, Owl. I know you are on our side, and we appreciate the help...just...please. Come down here and stop hiding in the shadows." Said the Chief. He knew it was a trick. Something more powerful than Seattle was controlling the Police Department. The Chief was indoctrinated by whatever it was and so were the officers. This was the first time he openly talked to the Chief, and would most likely be the last.

"No, thanks, Chief. I have a city to save, and a lead to follow." He cut off the line as soon as he finished his sentence.

"I have to get a lead on how this happened. Where is the Syndicate? Why aren't they out here as well?" Iron Owl asked, expecting Ollie to give him some info.

"Owl, it appears that all Syndicate-owned property has been vacated. I have no information on Salazar, but it appears he's nowhere to be found. Expanding search. The entire state of Washington has been cleared of Syndicate targets."

"Can't be a coincidence. Either the Syndicate found something that scared them away or this is a highly coordinated assault to draw me out, and whoever is initiating this didn't want the Syndicate to get in their way. Let's see if we can find out." Iron Owl said.

"I'm detecting heavy Vietnamese activity at Warehouse 16 at Colman Dock. Recommend investigating there first." Said Ollie, showing live security camera footage of the gang moving around from a camera at Warehouse 15.

"On my way." The IronJet turned and bee lined to the Dock, leaving behind the burning Seattle skyline.

"Heavy fighting taking place at Seattle City Hall. The Ravager and 10th Street Reds gangs are assaulting the city hall. Police and security are falling back inside the complex." Said Ollie. If they lose the City Hall, there's a chance the Mayor goes with them, who had been working late at the Hall.

"When I arrive, get the Jet on Autopilot and see what you can do about it, Ollie." Said Iron Owl.

The IronJet descended down towards Warehouse 16, firing Stundarts down at the outside guards, disabling them. The titanium canopy opened up to Iron Owl jumping out and descending down on one of the other guards that was about to fall out, sending him flying through a large window. Iron Owl followed closely behind, ready for a fight. The IronJet turned and hit the boosters towards City Hall, controlled by Ollie.

[Kenmoria]

Charles Smithson
Chicago

The choking smell of diesel and engine fumes filled the air. The sound of honking horns and irritated shouting bordered on deafening. Far behind him, Charles could see a small, square-shaped dot that seemed to radiate impatience and annoyance. In some small way, that brought him happiness to see that his enemies were suffering based in their own devices. Though that feeling was not altogether unfamiliar to him, given that he also was stuck behind countless rows of traffic. To call it slow would have been a gross understatement. The many cars, vans and trucks had been at a standstill for around 10 minutes and showed no indication of future movement.

Charles was initially surprised that no armour-clad CADMUS personnel were running towards him. Then a sudden snap to reality occurred when he realised that he was probably the least threatening super on their database. What was he going to do - translate his way out of capture? That was one thing that brought Charles a great degree of resentment. He had one of the least powerful abilities out of all of Vanguard. It was as though there was a superpower lottery and everyone got a jackpot but he had only won $20. Whenever he hit this particular feeling of bitterness Charles reminded himself that whenever he used his abilities nobody in the vicinity noticed but when almost anyone else did they would invoke a police investigation. That was the reason why he was often chosen for tasks that were far above his power level; until around 3 days ago CADMUS didn’t even know he existed due to his lack of strength. This was despite being one of Vanguard’s top administrators for three years and before that using his money from writing novels to give the organisation slightly better equipment.

His thoughts had by now progressed him around 13 metres of uneven road, this was despite the many conversations in his head, in three different languages, occupying one hour of his time. But this was enough. Charles turned to the bored taxi driver and instructed him to turn right. With a quizzical expression the taxi driver turned to him, “What? You do realise we could have just taken a side road and skipped the hours we spent waiting here.” He said, “You’ve just wasted hours of time.”
“Sorry,” Charles replied, trying his best to look somewhat guilty, “I am not familiar with this part of Chicago.” That was of course a lie, as Charles had made this route multiple times to recruit supers to Vanguard’s cause. Each time he had used something he had written in a newspaper as cover, but he feared that would no longer work since CADMUS had discovered his secret and told all newspapers to stop publishing him; Charles’ good name was destroyed and he had only managed to withdraw $1000 before his bank accounts were frozen.

Upon turning off the main road, the traffic suddenly cleared and the taxi could speed forwards, only slightly breaking the 40mph speed limit. Charles could see a nest of pigeons lurking in a dilapidated alleyway. Ordering the taxi driver to stop, he went forth towards the cluster of birds. He cleared his throat in order to scare away some of the more weak-hearted birds and stepped further into the alleyway. Only a few of them remained. This was good, it meant they would be more likely to follow his instructions. Charles stared hard at the bird and spoke in a strange tongue. Any rational observer would have assumed he was mad and speaking gibberish but in reality he was communicating in the language of pigeons. His pronunciation wasn’t too good but the birds evidently understood him. Charles had ordered the birds to go and look for a black truck and then return. Sadly the birds had far too little intelligence to tell him where it was, but he could estimate where it was based on the angle the creatures flew at. It should not be too difficult, Charles did have a degree in language after all.

Upon their eventual return Charles could estimate that it should be at least 3 hours before the CADMUS vehicle caught up to him. He also knew it was highly unlikely that they would know he had turned down the side road and so would waste hours getting out of the state. This was oddly satisfying. Sighing with the knowledge that it would only be about two days before they made another attempt at his capture, Charles rented an apartment and decided to read the daily newspaper. This was a rare pleasure and one that he did not have the time to indulge in often. This marginally improved his mood but that emotional gain swiftly evaporated upon reading the headlines. ”CADMUS blames recent failures on lack of funding.” they screamed. Then on the next page, ”Vanguard terrorists strike again in Chicago and New York.” Charles scoffed, imagining the headlines if someone were to uncover the many human rights failures of CADMUS. The next page was far less interesting and the one after that positively boring.

Flicking through, Charles found nothing of interest so decided to work on his phone. He brought up the command line, turned on the speech to text converter, and spoke to it in binary. This was a skill he had learnt only recently and sadly could not be used to hack into CADMUS systems but was useful for fixing his phone. Unfortunately his efforts proved fruitless as after hours of trying, the software was only about 25% uninstalled. Considering his options, Charles borrowed a phone from his neighbour and phoned Vanguard from there, though he knew this meant he would have to move again as the call could be easily traced to him. “Hello, this is Charles Smithson,” he said, “I am calling from a different phone from usual as I fear mine has been hacked by CADMUS.” There was a brief pause as Vanguard’s systems worked to authenticate this before the agent on the other end responded, “Finally, you were meant to receive your brief days ago.” Charles grew irritated, replying, “Well I am very sorry for the actions of CADMUS I shall write them a letter of complaint. But we must not waste any further time, what is it I was forced to go from Ohio to Chicago for?” The agent answered, “A few days ago Cypher broke into one of their server maintenance rooms and the security has not been fully repaired. You must go into their and extract valuable data from their servers. We don’t actually know what we looking for, so just send us everything via e-mail.” Before Charles could question why they chose him and not a more powerful member of the organisation, they hung up.

[Talchyon]

Phoenix, Arizona
Phoenix Art Museum
Richard Weinkauf (aka "The Artisan")

No matter that the world had advanced so much technologically, and that various computer programs had created works of art without human touch. The fact that the masters had done so much without having to rely on machines was a testament to their greatness. Richard had parked his car several blocks away, at a parking lot downtown. His plan that afternoon was as it had been that morning. Analyze the works of the masters. The museum was the largest in the southwest U.S., and for that, Richard was very pleased. If anything could take his mind off recent personal events, like the fact that he should be teaching and in the classroom now instead of retired, it would be spending time here.

There were a few others in the museum, but mostly Richard had it to himself. No surprise, since school was in session, and it was too early in the year for field trips. There were a few obviously retired couples looking at the pieces, and at least three middle-aged women. Either they had a longer lunch break, or maybe they were on vacation. They were hanging around each other. There were also a few men he had observed in the corner of his eye, both in nondescript business suits. Also, some employees walked around cleaning, and another with a clipboard figuring something. "Who cares," Richard thought, as he moved into a wing devoted to sculpture. The museum was featuring the works of Rodin this month. Rodin was not his favorite - but the man did have skill. A hinge between ancient and modern artistic styles in sculpting.

The two men in suits, however, had their eye not on the artwork but on Richard. They had followed this suspect for weeks now, and were moving to the next step. Extraction. First the plan was to play it cool and official, ask to speak to him in private. And if that didn't work, as they didn't think it would, then other measures would be taken.

Richard was lost in thought as he gazed upon Rodin's works. While his trained eye appreciated the contours of muscle, hair and expression, his mind was giving up. What could he have done to save both his job and his students? Was it that he just went at it alone in his quest to save the art department? Would it have succeeded if he had more people backing him, or perhaps members of the school board? Would things have been different if he had had a wunderkind prodigy? Sighing, Richard couldn't shake his thoughts. Not until he was stirred out of his melancholy by the two suited men, one on either side of him.

"Nice work, huh. Who was this sculptor again?"

Richard's train of thought was broken as he examined the man. Professional, clean shaven, either contacts or good vision, brown hair, middle aged, trim and fit, friendly smile but hard eyes. Shouldn't he be working?

"Rodin was the sculptor. He was a French master, and many think his work served as a gateway into modern sculpting."

The man smiled, but his eyes remained hard and more fixed on Richard than Rodin. "Ah yes. Rodin. Thanks for the explanation."

At this time, the other man spoke. Glancing at him, Richard saw that he was just as trim and fit as the first. A little taller. African-American. Black hair, high cheekbones, dark serious eyes, not smiling. Professional looking. "Sir, I'm Agent White and this is Agent Creighton of the F.B.I. I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you some questions."

Richard's mind went spinning. What did the FBI want with him?

"Wait. About what?"

The other agent, the more friendly one, said, "Sir, we think you are a witness in a crime. Not that you saw a crime committed, but that you saw the man who did it after he had gotten away."

Richard was bewildered. What in the world were they talking about? He hadn't seen anything.

"What? When was this crime? What kind of crime?"

The African-American agent spoke, "Sir, we will explain more once we leave and go to headquarters. Your testimony is vital to this case."

Reeling, Richard looked at the one agent, then at the other. Then at the floor. But wait. He wondered. "And I suppose you have some kind of I.D. to show me? Some badge or something?"

Glancing at each other, the agents removed badges from their pockets in cases, and opened them. They gave what looked like standard information. The banner of the Federal Bureau of Investigation stood out at the top of the I.D. Richard made it a point to memorize the badge numbers and as much pertinent information as he could.

"I don't remember seeing anyone though. Maybe you have the wrong witness?"

The friendly agent smiled again, and said, "No, sir. You're the one we need. We'll talk downtown at our branch. Just come with us."

Looking from the one to the other, Richard sighed. "Ok. Let's get this over with then."

They walked out of the Rodin section, to the front doors of the museum, and out the doors. They led Richard to a gray car, and the first agent opened the back door. "This will really help our case, sir. Thank you for coming with us." And his smile was large and friendly. But his eyes remained hard and fixed on Richard.

Richard responded, "Of course. Whatever would help."

[Arkeyana]

Anchorage, Alaska

John looked at his ticket before proceeding to the terminal. He went through the security and got his baggage. In a few minutes he was aboard the plane and in his seat. He hoped that in New York he would be able to blend in with the populace ,heck, maybe even become a Hero.

[Arstotzmerika]

Joseph Lero, a.k.a Stardust Man
San Francisco
San Mateo Apartment Block
2043

---

The explosions in Seattle didn't go unnoticed for Joseph. While he had no clues like many other people why it happened, he thought it might be worth a shot to find other Supers there. The news reported that the gang members who it is believed to cause the attack were knocked out via tranquilizer darts from out of nowhere, along with owl cards at the areas where explosions occurred. Joseph thought it could possibly mean another Super. Then again, it might not, "There is always a possibility until the truth is found," he thought to himself.

Joseph looked out his window onto the street below, looking for anything suspicious. Only thing he saw was a man looking at a newspaper while walking up the street, with a car driving by. Nothing seemed out of place, but Joseph felt that won't last much longer. He dressed himself in his signature white outfit, grabbed his notebook and phone, put on his shoes, and stepped outside. As he closed the door behind himself, looked up, the Sun was nowhere to be seen, as the overcast hanged above in the sky. Joseph walked up to his car, opened the door, and stepped in. The car started up, rumbling the car for a moment.

As he pulled out of the driveway, someone watched him carefully. The person was dressed in dark clothing, wearing polarized sunglasses, and appeared to have a communications device in his right ear.

[Arengin Union]

Boston, Massachusetts.

A lone man walked through the empty streets of downtown Boston, slowly walking across the street as gentle rain drops poured on his jacket. Helicopters flying up top in the skylines as sounds of police sirens were heard, the man was not worried or anxiously walking to get away from the sounds of the law, no. The lone man simply kept walking step after step with an indifferent disposition, he didn't care about whether those sounds were for him or someone else, he knew they would not catch him, they couldn't. Jonathan Miller was his name, he prefer to go by John, more generic and less attention seeking.

John fled from everyone and everything, posing as a lowly homeless nobody and keeping his head down. He had made his way from Texas to Boston, hitching rides, working odd jobs, and constantly avoiding cops and anything related. Now he was on his way to the South Station, planning to catch a train to NYC, he was not sure why he wanted to go to New York specifically, he just felt an urge to go. At this point John didn't question anything, he was too tired, to in pain, it had been years since he had seen his family, he barely could remember them. But he couldn't go back, he knew they would be there too, the people that made him into what he was now, a freak, a fugitive, he was no one. A man without a name, a man without a family, a man without any hope.

After a long stroll which he himself did not notice until his arrival, John was at South Station. The whole buildings filled with people of ranging lives and occupations, he cared not of them, he simply walked to the first service booth and waited in line. The place was well lit and everyone had places to go, his ragged clothes and beard didn't help him not stand out as a precarious character. He made it to the booth, a women in her later 20's was attending.

"Good eveni...." She paused as she looked at John. The man was rugged, his eyes visibly tired and his overall composition was one that frightened her, she wouldn't expect him to buy a ticket, rather to rob her.

For a second the women flinched as John took out something from his pocket, instead of what she expected, it was the exact amount for a train to NYC. He set it on the counter and with a deep voice said.

"One way ticket to New York City please..." John's words made the girl feel uneasy, yet she complied and took the money then handed him the ticket.

"Thank you..." John said as he grabbed the ticket and went on his way to the train, which was already preparing for departure.

The women ignored the next person in line as she grabbed a phone and dialed 911.

[Arengin Union]

Chicago, IL
2043

The rainy streets of Chicago in the middle of the night offered little comfort to Stephanie. Spending the last couple months in the Caribbean had undoubtedly ruined her tolerance for the cold. Nevertheless, she never let the half-amused look drop from her face. There was no reason to complain. The large man next to her coughed, spitting into the street before looking at her. Taking over leadership of a paramilitary organization came with certain benefits, a personal bodyguard being one of them.

“We’re being followed,” the man said, a thick Australian accent twisting his speech.

Up above the two mutants was the lense of a drone, following them with infrared sights, marking both in a red light as several men a few meters away were marked in white light. The man operating the drone spoke through the radio at the team following close behind.

“Eagle Eye to Echo team. The two objectives are moving and seem to be unaware of your presence so far. Keeping eye on them. Proceed with caution.” The voice was received by the team leader, a man with full military gear and a night visor, with several other men of similar outfit following close behind.

“Move up Echo.” The man said as he raised his ACR rifle on the corner of the street and several men armed with both projectile and kinetic weaponry moved up to the corner of the street, their weapons raised and ready. Several of them were carrying specialized cuffs on their backs while others carried secondary weaponry which looked much heavier and advanced.

Drawing his pistol from a holster on his hip, Stephanie’s bodyguard gripped her arm before picking up the pace considerably. She wrenched her arm from his grip, giving him a foul look, before looking behind her. She could barely make out the silhouettes of men following them in the darkness. They moved tactically, and outnumbered Stephanie and her companion significantly.

“We need to leave, now.” Stephanie said, and her bodyguard nodded in agreement. In one sudden movement, the man whirled and pointed his pistol downrange. Squeezing the trigger, he fired off three shots before joining Stephanie as she made a sharp turn into an alleyway and broke into a run.

The group of men in tactical gear took cover as the objective had turned hostile and both were now running of. The drone in the sky then was accompanied by a AH-6 Little Bird helicopter in a manner of seconds, with more armed men on its passenger seats and searchlights flashing on the streets and following the two mutants.

“Move, move, move!” The commander of the team said as the other men still with their guns drawn picked up the pace, sprinting through the streets and following the two mutants into the alleyway as the helicopter flashed its light on them. Several black SUV’s appeared through the streets as more armed men in black gear got out and began to encircle the area.

The light flashed on top of the two fleeing mutants, the soldiers on the seats aimed their MK12 rifles on them.

“You’re surrounded, lower your weapons and give up!” A voice yelled on a loudspeaker.

Both Stephanie and her guard skidded to a stop as the SUVs appeared in the street in front of them. They turned, only to see the team on foot at the other end. Stephanie cursed under her breath, flicking her eyes around her to find an escape route. Her bodyguard had yet to put his pistol down, and swept his eyes back and forth to either end of the alleyway.

“They’re here for you, ma’am, not me.” He said, now placing his pistol on the ground and raising his hands on the air, nodding to Stephanie as he did. That was all the confirmation that she needed, and she waited patiently for their pursuers to move in and attempt to apprehend them.

The helicopter kept its light on both of them, the men aiming their rifles on them both as the ground team moved in. The armed men took positions around them, aiming their weapons at them, all had different kinds of firearms. M4’s, M16’s, SCAR’s, UMP’s, and some other odd looking weaponry that seemed to be designed specially to give a mutant a good kick.

“Keep calm men… apprehend them both. Carefully.” One of the armed men said with a voice that really stood out from the rest. His gear was also different, with a patch on his arm and heavier looking body armor. Most specially, he stood straight and with confidence, not fear in his mannerism, his face not visible from the night visor on his face.

A team of about 6 began to get close, four of them keeping their weapons aimed as the other two prepared cuffs for the mutants.

As the team of men closed in, Stephanie’s bodyguard closed his eyes. Focusing intently, he twitched and grunted as sharp, bony claws punctured his gloves. His teeth sharpened and grew to frightening length, cutting his lips and drawing blood. When he opened his eyes, his pupils had dilated entirely. With a feral roar, he lunged at the men, throwing himself into a whirlwind of biting, slashing, and cutting. Leaping onto one of the pursuers, he brought down both his claws and raked across the man’s throat, cutting through it like butter.

Almost simultaneously, Stephanie sprung into action. Leaping up onto a nearby fire escape, she quickly scaled it, moving faster than any human should be able to. It wasn’t long before she was on the rooftop, sprinting across a steep slant. As she came to the edge of one roof, she jumped to another, continuing her escape. Whipping her head around to look behind her, she saw that the Little Bird had begun to pursue.

The Little Bird took pursue as the team on the ground was busy with what they would call a feral type mut. Man after man was being slashed and clawed violently by the mutant, which had turned into somewhat of a ferocious beast. The men that had kept their distance began to fire their weapons, hitting the mutant in several parts of the body to no avail.

“Fall back, fall back!” One of them said as the soldiers grew increasingly alarmed. As the mutant finished ripping one of the soldiers apart he turned his attention to the group falling behind, as he began to move towards them he was suddenly caught by surprise as the soldier with the red patch appeared from the group with a large rifle and calmly aimed it at the mutant. Right as the mutant was about to pounce on him, the soldier fired, letting go of a massive ray of energy and pushing the mutant back to the alleyway onto a wall. The shot had penetrated him on the lower abdomen and he was bloodied and coughing blood as he began to turn somewhat human like, smoke surrounded him as the soldiers advanced and finally aimed their rifles at him.

The man that had fired the rifle on him set the weapon aside as he waved the soldiers to back off. He began to take off his helmet and then the night vision visor, revealing his face, a very cold and indifferent expression as he unholstered his pistol. And took a knee to the level of the mutant. He set the gun on his jaw.

“Anything to say before I put you out freak?” The man said with a cold, harsh tone.

The mutant merely spat on the man. Those were words enough. The gunshot sent the bullet straight through the man’s jaw, and he fell, about as dead as he could be.

The little bird’s sharpshooters tried to fire at the women running away. She was going to fast and they were instructed to be selective in their fire. She seemed to be getting away as she took a sharp turn between a narrow space between buildings.

“SIR SHE’S GETTING AWAY!” A sharpshooter said through the comms.

“No she ain't.” A voice said through the comms.


Stephanie thought she was good and free, jumping side to side down back to the streets and turning to a corner when out of nowhere she felt the tight grasp of a metal hand on her neck. She looked at whatever was holding her, the flashing green eyes looked at her for a second and then the figure harshly and brutally slammed her on the floor. The thing, whatever it was readied its two arms to slam Stephanie’s stomach. Stephanie’s attacker brought it down. Rolling just out of the way, Stephanie vaulted up. She looked the thing up and down. To her surprise, a being of metal stood in front of her. A robot, perhaps? She couldn’t guess. Whatever it was, it was incredibly advanced.

“I wonder who had enough money to pay for you,” She said, now drawing a long dagger from a sheath on her thigh, smiling.

The machine promptly looked at Stephanie, scanning her as she revealed her dagger and made a cocky remark.

“Please, lower your weapon and willingly surrender. You have 5 seconds to comply.” The machine kept a straightened posture, not reacting to Stephanie's gesture.

“Why don’t you come and have a go,” She replied, standing at the ready, “If you think you’re hard enough.”

“Hostile tactical assessment. Subject will not comply. Use of deadly force to apprehend is authorized.” The robot said as it moved in to apprehend Stephanie, readying its arms to attack. Stephanie grinned ear to ear, breaking into a run as she rushed the robot. Just before she was in its range, she dropped, skidding right underneath its legs. Bringing her dagger around in a wide sweep, she felt it slice through several exposed tubes and rotors on the machine’s leg. The thing dropped to a knee and whirled, bringing its arm around to swipe at Stephanie. Bending backwards at an impossible, she felt the rush of wind as the arm passed over her head. She stabbed at the elbow as it passed, watching it go limp at the robot’s side. Leaping up and wrapping her legs around the robot’s neck, she raised her dagger to plunge it through the thing’s head before it stood suddenly. She felt something tighten around her thigh, and looked down to see the machine’s functional arm gripping her leg. It wrenched her off, slamming her hard into the ground. Stephanie felt the air rush out of her lungs and stars danced in her eyes as the robot steadied itself on one leg.

The last thing she saw was the robot’s fist descending.

---

It was a bumpy ride as several armed men inside a van kept their weapons ready in case the mut tried anything. She had her head covered with a sack and was cuffed, both her arms and legs immobile as the cuffs also mader her head immobile. The soldier at the passenger seat moved back, he was the same man with the patch, having killed Stephanie’s bodyguard his face had a few stains of blood. He could her Stephanie’s muffled voice as he moved to the back. He then gestured one of his men to take off the bag, the man did so and revealed Stephanie’s face, which had a big bruise from her fight with the robot.

The man simply took off the wrap around her mouth, immediately she spat right on his face. A soldier pressed his gun on her head even harder when she did this.

“Your friend already did that to me and that didn’t get him anywhere good.” The man said as he showed a photo of Stephanie's bodyguard, she looked at him with eyes of hatred.

“Yeah, yeah… Now listen. I need a location, my bosses lost an asset a few months ago. A very valuable asset, not a mut like you, but he’s still a freak of nature. Human nature of course, but nature nonetheless. I need his location, you are the only ones he’d be dumb enough to contact so my bosses are sure you’d know of him.” The man took out his phone and showed Stephanie the photo of a rugged man, with a beard and a number 13 tattooed on the left side of his neck.

“Now unless you h-” The man was interrupted by Stephanie spitting on him again. She was then hit in the heat with the barrel of the soldier’s pistol behind her head, she panned with pain.

“Quit doing that…” The main continued. “I need a location. Do it, and perhaps we won’t hand you to CADMUS. I’m sure those guys would be happy to see you.”

---

The mercs in the follow vehicle were jovial. Another freak being put out of commission and soon they would gain another look at the workings of Vanguard, perhaps even information on their employer’s most desired mutant targets. Sure, one of them bit it, but hey, just another asshole. He knew the risks. All in all, a good night’s work.

SLAM

The SUV jolted as something struck it from behind. The two mercs in back looked to the rear and could only see a large shell.

“The hell is that?”

“Who cares? Kill it!” They lit off their weapons and watched as the bullets bounced off harmlessly. “What the hell?!” the heard from the back seat and turned to see the distance to the van carrying the prisoner closing quickly.

SLAM

They collided with the van and the two mercs in back were thrown forward in the vehicle.

“Fuck, fuck.” The driver struggled with the wheel, trying to get untrapped. He pulled hard to the right and, for a moment, he was free. Then whatever was attacking them pushed harder and overturned the SUV.

One of the mercs looked up just in time to see a gigantic foot coming down on the door as what looked like a shark with legs crossed the SUV. The door crushed inward on top of him.

---

“Jeeze, Bulette. Over do it much?” enquired the small mutant riding on his back.

“Hold on, Imma hit ‘em again,” came the low rumbling voice below him.

“Oh man,” complained the mutant again, then grabbed hold of the chitin. The large mutant charged again, pursuing the now fleeing van.

“What the fuck is going on!?” the man with the patch said as he got back to the passenger seat and began to look for his rifle.

The driver attempted to turn onto a street to avoid the raging mutant “I don’t know sir! Some giant thi-” in the moment the van received a big hit on the side and began to spin uncontrollably, but it turned again and received another hit on the side, slamming it into the side of a building.

Most of the mercs inside the van were knocked out, Stephanie couldn’t move. The man with the patch was in pain, he looked at his left leg. It was severely bloody and it pained him to move it. He looked at his left, the driver was dead. The man got hold of his Glock and while sweating uncontrollably began to unbuckle his seatbelt, he opened the door and fell right onto the ground, the rifle he had used to kill the animal mut clattering beside him.

The large mutant opened his mighty jaws and brought them down on the rear doors of the van. The metal screeched as it was rended, then with a whip of head, torn completely off the van. The small mutant bounded into the van and tried to rouse Stephanie.

“Come...on...we...need....to...move!” he punctuated each pull.

“Look out, Syne!” called the large mutant, seeing the mercenary trying to get up.

The man tried to get up but instead he began to crawl and fired a few rounds of his Glock towards the small mutant. He then noticed the gigantic mutant in front of him. The man took no time to get a hold of the rifle besides him and contrary to his previous encounter he was quite in a panic to ready the next shot. He opened the bolt and inserted a large bullet inside and rack the weapon. He then aimed it at the giant, the rifle felt heavier for him as he grew increasingly sweaty and nervous. He then pulled the trigger and the rifle fired its round right at the creature’s shoulder, pushing it off a few meters. The man then took advantage and began to crawl inside the building for safety.

Bullete looked at his wounded limb as the mercenary crawled away. He nudged it a couple times with his head and winced in discomfort. He turned and slowly began stalking towards the man.

“Hunter 1? Hunter 1 do you copy!?” squawked the radio inside the van as the mercenary crawled away from the following mutant. Finally, he was through the door of the building and pushed it shut. With the mercenary commander inside the building, Bullete charged quickly and rammed the wall, denting the door and frame, pinning them shut.

“Come on, Syne,” rumbled the large mutant. “Grab Valkyrie and let’s get out of here.” The smaller mutant nodded and pulled the struggling Stephanie out to Bullete and helped her onto the large mutant’s back.

“Hold on here,” the small mutant instructed, then grabbed his own hand hold. With that, Bullete made his way off into the night, leaving the wreckage of the mercenary convoy behind them.

The mercenary, whose codename was Hunter 1, was inside the building. He struggled to push himself to safety but he was safe now, his leg bloody and in pain.

“Fuck these mutants…” he said in a low tone as he began to cover the wound with a bandage from his medkit and began treating his wound. “I'm gonna kill those fucking freaks… I’m gonna kill them all…” Hunter 1 said with an angry tone.

[Futrellia]

Iron Owl
Warehouse 16
Colman Docks

---

The dozen or so Vietnamese seemed as if they were ready to jump out of their skins at the sight of Iron Owl. They believed him to keep occupied with the massive turf war that was raging on through half of the Seattle megacity.

"Giết tên khốn đó!"

Yelled out one man, who seemed as if he may be the leader. The men let loose with a flurry of rounds from their assortment of pistols, shotguns and assault rifles. Owl spun to cover himself with his cape, the bullets crumbling and bouncing off of the cape. Iron Owl activated two of his gas grenades, throwing them up over his head. In mid-air, they exploded, sending green gas down unto the men and expanding out. The men were overcome with lung-tearing coughs and a near inability to breathe through the thick gas. Without having to do any further to these men, he leaped and propelled himself over the men, his masks filters keeping the oxygen he was breathing clean. He pursued the man deeper into the warehouse, twisting and turning through the maze of tall crates and boxes, all seemingly marked with some kind of skull and crossbones. He didn't find that very reassuring, but he needed to get answers. If he allowed this man to escape, more bombings could be coming, and next time they could be high value targets. Seattle would be a lawless wasteland if he allowed this to continue. Owl sprinted and jumped on top of a column of crates that the man had run behind. As he overcame them, he was met with 6 more gunmen, their AKs spraying up at Owl. Contorting his body in mid-air, he spun, causing his cape to wrap around his body, protecting him from the bullets.

Once he landed, he deployed the staff from behind his utility belt. He quickly turned around, using his cape to soak up a few more rounds, utilizing the shotgun on his staff to blow a few of them away. Iron Owl had a code of limiting killing, but it was high time the games stopped. If they wanted to take on Iron Owl, they'd have their chance. He ended up in the middle of the 4 remaining men, using their bravery to try and ambush him. Owl spun, keeping his staff stiff in his hand and making the rounds, the end of the staff bashing into the heads of the men, leaving them with a severe headache and dazed. Owl used his hands to end this conflict. Grabbing one of the disoriented men by the throat and throwing him into two others, and finally using his leg to sweep the last off of his feet and bashing his elbow into his face. He turned to face his target, who was holding a pistol at him. Firing every round in the gun, he unleashed on Owl, hoping that it would do anything.

Iron Owl spun to use his cape once more, re-extending the staff, loading a shell into it. Without looking, Owl stuck his arm out and allowed the shotgun to fire, hitting the man right in his kneecap, destroying it and splattering blood across the nearby crates. The man screamed in pain, dropping his weapon and holding his torn leg. Iron owl put away his staff, kneeling down next to the man.

"Who ordered all of this. It couldn't have been your little clan or the Black Mob. None of you are ambitious enough to pull something like this. The Syndicate evacuates and you guys just swoop in? I don't buy it." He said, listening to the man grunt and moan in pain. With his patience wearing thin, he pulled the man up by his neck and slammed him against the wooden crate behind him.

"Who, dammit! Answer me! Or so help me, that shattered knee will feel like a ant bite compared to what I'll do next!" He shouted out, his deepened voice sending the man's body into a state of fear and panic.

"I-i-i I don't know his real name! We-we-we called him Wolfenstein. The Syndicate hired him! That's all I know, please! Please stop!" The man cried out.

"Wolfenstein?"