Heroes LIVE [IC | Superhero | OPEN]

[Futuristik]

Phase

LA, California
January 30th, 2020
Iris Cox
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A show's quality could be determined by a few factors. Not that Iris could recall what those were, her masterclass in film had been delivered in lackluster prose by an eccentric old man who'd passed away just the week before from an overdose. But one didn't need to be told what to feel when presented with the scenes on the screen. The sheer surrealism of it all from the carnage to the heroic efforts of certain individuals, some of whom she'd be coming face-to-face with in a matter of hours, had provoked a mash of emotion in Iris.

Champagne pink hair still slick from the shower, towel wrapped snugly around her body, breasts heaving, she unconsciously caressed her toned calves as her eyes remained glued to the screen. A pair of full lips beneath an aquiline nose, cheekbones high and proud, even without the usual repertoire of makeup she adorned in public the 18-year old model was every bit the sensuous damsel she'd played in that blockbuster spy action movie.

And most men would have given up a year's worth of salary just to have a glimpse of Iris in the state she was in. Many gave chase regardless of whether she was interested or not. They tried.

Something buzzed beside her bare butt. She spared a glance at the phone. Kiara Cox. Mother Too worn out to roll her eyes again, she ignored it and continued watching. The popularity poll was up. Quite prompt as well. Right as the soft orange glow of 'HERONET' appeared, the screen blinked black.

She sighed, tossed the remote away and laid back on the mattress, towel falling off her porcelain curves. Another buzz. This time a text. She had to turn up for this one. But the bed was so warm...A slight burning sensation caught her attention. And it would keep it for a while.

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Frost

LA, California
January 30th, 2020
Tano Daou
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He wasn't enraptured that much but he was definitely enraptured. It'd been more epic than epic, if that was a thing. To be specific, someone had been more epic than epic. Others had come close but he wasn't feeling fanboyish over them. Petite hands softer than clouds patted the rugged surface of his torso. The oil had been tough to get off and Tano was glad it'd be a while until he'd rub the dense liquid over himself again.

It would also be a while until he was free of the immediate cleansing process. When he finally was, a set of fresh formal clothes awaited him. Putting on a tux over his white, rose-flowered patterned shirt, he strode free of the complex after mandatory gestures of goodbye to a dozen or so colleagues. Some wanted to give him a pat or a hug but they hadn't got rid of the oil on themselves yet so it was a easy 'No' from Tano.

The raw nature of it all...The scenes of the debut carnage replaying in his mind as he drove his violet-streaked Lamborghini through the packed freeway of LA made him break out in a light sweat. A lull in traffic allowed him to give his hands a light freeze. An unfreeze later and the salty moisture was gone. There was just so much to take in. He pursed his lips. He'd made the wrong choice not attending but it was a lesson learned.

Notorious Biggie blaring from the stereo, he hyped himself for the inevitable encounter. He didn't know much about Matthew but combat revealed the essentials. The guy had been cooler than ice. He'd looked as if he'd been there and done that. That performance was something training couldn't replicate, no, only raw experience under duress could provide that. Experienced recognized experienced.

It'd been a hell of a firefight. Tano wasn't going to kid himself with visions of illusory grandeur. That kind of shit? In that kind of environment? He might not break but he may not perform as well. He was going into this as a rookie, his signing of the contract having been so recent he doubted he'd even appear on any of the original public lists. This wasn't sport, no, this was life and death.

But he wouldn't be diving headfirst without at least some degree of confidence...and some knowledge of the danger he was putting himself in. Tano smirked amidst the glare of the sun against his shades. It'd been an impulse signing. He'd always been an instincts first boxer.

[Lazarian]

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Antonio "Toro" Torres
Ritz Carlton LA, Los Angeles, California
January 30th, 2020

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"I apologize. Pain and blood loss makes a beast of me." Luan said, giving a weak smile and stumbling away from Antonio. He nodded towards the wounded civilians and dead. "See to them. I will remember your words and kindness."

Antonio nodded, inwardly a little pleased with how the situation had defused. There were enough enemies and villains in the world already - no need to add to their ranks. The scene in the lobby was a mess. Tons of damage, gunfire, as well as injured civilians. It was extremely chaotic, the police doing their best to clean up the situation. This part was always uncomfortable for him. He didn’t know any medical knowledge, or how to properly triage. Most of the time, the medical personnel didn’t even want him to carry stretchers. All he could do was stand there, offering some vague sense of security. He felt like he was a tool that had already been used for its intended purpose, and was left on the workbench of his father’s shop.

Not a big deal. At least he’d done something. Reporters started to converge on the scene, taking pictures and video of the destruction and suffering. He did his best to hide a scowl. Profiting off of the loss of civilian life was disgusting, and the extensive footage would just draw more attention to the two villains who had attacked. That was what they wanted - to bring attention to some perverted agenda. Of course, he was complicit in this media profiteering by signing up to Project NEXT...but it didn’t mean that he had to like it.

When a personal support team of medical operators arrived for the movie star, he wiped sweat from his brow. The wealthy man certainly would have been a terrible enemy to have. Twelve minutes for a medical evac? These guys were professional. Probably expensive, too. If Luan wanted, he could leverage his resources immensely. Damn, Cami was right. There were some future A-listers here.

Of course, Antonio wasn’t too jealous. Envy was the thief of joy, after all. What was the point of being jealous of a medical extraction if you never even needed to have a medical extraction? All he needed to do was slam down some hydrocodine and let his body do the rest. Still, it must be nice to have people on hand to take care of all life’s problems.

His family wasn’t quite poor, but they couldn’t provide hardly anything to support his endeavours. The truth was that he funneled a good quarter of what he earned back to them, and another part on top of that to the community. Cami’s salary took another piece, his constant stream of calories took another piece, collateral damage claims took another piece…

Yeah, it would be nice to have more money sometimes. As the press converged on the hotel, Antonio silently stood near the front doors, watching Luan deliver a summary of the situation.

“An unknown faction attacked the hotel this evening. I, along with the aid of many of my fellow heroes including Antonio Torres especially, have fought them back. But not without considerable loss of life. Despite not being able to stop the loss of civilian life, we have neutralized the threat and will be seeking justice for those lost here today. I promise you that." the actor dramatically proclaimed, before being escorted off the scene.

Although what Luan said was true...it seemed a little like a performance. The actor certainly was using his skills to bring more emphasis into the speech, but maybe that was a good thing. It’d make the normal folks care more. A couple cameras flashed in Antonio’s direction as his name was mentioned, and he stared back at them with a grim and determined scowl. Well, despite Luan’s initial overaggression, at least he was generous enough to share the credit. Perhaps there were some coattails to ride there. Cami’s warning seemed a little overkill.

---

Laying back in the hotel bed, Antonio’s cracked Android rang, vibrating against the end table. He was in the middle of watching footage of the attack. It could have been much worse than what it was. The other horned girl and the other cyborg had done a good job at dispatching the gunmen to the front, and the other villain (Bombardier, presumably an explosive-based power) had been caught by Satania and Backblast.

Flipping it over, he looked at the caller ID. Cami, as expected. Probably wanting to have a rundown of the whole situation. He knew she wouldn’t be worried about his safety - the footage had panned over to him upon Luan’s mentioning.

“Hey, mijo!” chimed Cami, as expected. “Good job today. You holding up alright?”

“I’m fine.” he said, not really feeling that talkative. The day had taken a lot out of him. “Went out there, broke some stuff and took down some assholes. Wish we could have done a little better, but it could have been worse. Hotel’s still standing, anyways.”

“I think you did fine. Hey, I’ve got a board meeting in five minutes, and I’m not gonna watch over you like an overbearing mother. I just called to say, hey, check this shit out!” she said enthusiastically, sending a link to some website. She had been almost completely desensitized to these things. In the world they lived in, people died in the great conflicts between metas. It was just a fact of life, like cigarettes giving cancer or homeless people out on the street. A damn shame, but not much you could do about it. Antonio looked down at the text, recognizing the URL. Heronet - he was familiar with these guys. They were a huge player in the emerging meta industry. As she hung up, he clicked the link and scrolled down past the coverage of the battle until he saw what she was referencing.

“Heronet releases first popularity polls following LA hero battle”

His was right at the top, beneath some hero he hadn’t met yet. ANTONIO TORRES - 57. Fifty-seven. Not bad. Not incredible either, but it was a good start. Clicking on his name, it opened up to a profile with a picture of himself in and out of costume, with a few paragraphs of commentary beneath.

“Toro is presumably another strength based hero, so nothing that hasn’t been seen before. Has a powerful regenerative factor and extreme speed, which lends well to his style of getting up-close and personal. Has a reputation of showy takedowns back in San Antonio, so we’re looking forward to hopefully seeing some of that flair emerge on NEXT. Popular among Hispanic communities within California and Texas. Not the most interesting of the bunch, and comes off as a little dull in interviews, but there’s potential there.”

He shrugged. It sucked to be labeled as “not the most interesting” and “a little dull”, but at least he didn’t have some of these scores. For example, Severina’s ZERO and Olympia’s 27. Ouch. Those were some pretty dismal scores. As far as he could tell, he was about in the middle of the pack, which is where Cami wanted him to be. Prime B-lister material.

Well, being a B-lister was still a good living. They certainly weren’t hurting for money. If he kept this up, he could reasonably expect to keep breaking shit and kicking ass for at least a decade or two. Hopefully he’d make enough to set his family up nicely and then spend the rest of his life taking it easy and living the good life. Although it was way too early to be setting these sorts of expectations. Rankings changed quickly from week to week. Severina could switch her fate by finding the right sponsor, or making a few correct decisions out in the field. Matt, who was the highest ranked right now (due to his quick takedown of the gunmen in the front, Antonio presumed), could easily grow stale and boring within a few weeks. He had to play the long game.

He browsed through the list, grabbing a few more bits of information. The other horned hero, Fae, was about ten points beneath him. That was good. He didn’t know her powers, but the horns were a rare mutation, and she was stealing from his niche in that regard. It was a little unfair to hope for someone to fail without knowing them, but...that was the world they lived in. They couldn’t all be winners. Antonio may have been a little too naive and idealistic at times, but that didn’t mean he was some state-sponsored paragon of righteousness like Captain Patriot.

It amused him a little to see LUAN KRUGER - 52. The fact that the movie star had given that unnecessary threat to secure that time in the spotlight...and then he’d rated lower than Antonio. Man, that’d probably eat the guy up inside. Antonio was willing to let that mistake slide, though. The guy was injured, and pain and stress could do a lot to people. Besides, rich people had so much pressure to get out of the shadow of their parents. He didn’t harbor any real malice towards Luan, but that score did bring a faint smile to his face.

Some of these names, he didn’t recognize. Kong? Eli? Iris? Cami hadn’t given him anything on them. Well, her network wasn’t perfect, and sometimes names and people slipped through the cracks. The smart thing to do would be to read about them and analyze them, to make plans as to who to team up with and all that...yeah, he was tired of reading. That wasn’t gonna happen. More tacos, and then maybe some WWE seemed like it’d hit the spot.

Then, after his last meal in LA, he’d pack his shit up again and hit the road. He’d received another text shortly after the day’s events that they were headed to San Francisco. A plane was out of the picture - he always needed two or three seats, and buying two tickets on such short notice would be way too expensive. Either he’d hit up Ford for another ride, or he’d look to carpool with another hero. It’d be good to get to know someone else, and his followers loved when he did normal everyday working man stuff.

It was a bit humiliating, sometimes. Even with all his might, he still had to live like his father and grandfather before him. Working-class through and through. He wasn’t ashamed of his ancestors or family by any means. Still, it was frustrating to have the fruit of his labors dangling at his fingertips...and then being told that it’d “hurt his brand”.

[Lunas Legion]

Olympia Galatas
San Francisco, CA
February 7th, 2020

If it had been a strange experience for Olympia flying from San Francisco to Los Angeles, it was downright surreal to be flying straight back there barely a week after she'd left in the first place. Just like on the flight over she'd spent the flight back surrounding herself with an arsenal of gradually filling sick-bags, but this time she hadn't eaten for a few hours before the flight to try and save herself the trouble. Even heroes could get motion sickness.

She hadn't paid much attention in the wake of the fight, well, fight was generous. It had been little more than a massacre for the other side. One dead, one captured, a handful of dead henchmen. Honestly, she wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed like... Such a small force to make an attack like they had with. Maybe they'd just gotten seriously unlucky. Wrong people in the wrong places at the wrong times for whatever they'd hoped to accomplish, maybe. She'd never know, because she'd been too busy hiding and patching her wounds to actually do anything. Her polling numbers were, well, shit, but she didn't care about that. She didn't care if she was unpopular because of how she'd been with the reporters, or because she'd spoken her mind rather than trying to pussyfoot around the truth.

She was a vigilante. Violence was part of who she was, and she wasn't going to sugarcoat it if it made people uncomfortable.

She wasn't exactly happy to be back in San Francisco either, or free to do as she wished and fuck around her and Amalia's old stomping grounds in the open for once. They were part of a team, after all, and their team had a pre-set itinerary for them while they were in San Francisco. No, they'd been herded and shuttled from one interview to another, between photo ops with the city's landmarks. It wore down on her very soul, the endless movement with the occasional patrol sprinkled in to show their faces.

But they weren't a San Francisco team, they weren't going to be called on to deal with villains when they appeared, and as any vigilante could attest, you did not just 'run into a villain on patrol'. Patrols were boring, hour-long affairs to show your face, let people know you were there and existed. Which was why despite wanting to do literally anything else, Olympia was where she was, at the current event on their list of many; another gala, in this case hosted by Chronze.

She was an Oakland native, and she'd never even heard of Chronze, but apparently from what she'd overheard while doing her damnedest not to talk to literally anyone here they were some rising-star up in Silicon Valley, and this was just another part of their PR machine. Really, right now, she was absolutely bored out of her mind. At least she got to wear her costume rather than being crammed into some posh dress that itched; black shorts, a matching sleeveless top that was more of a sports bra, and an angular golden mask that basically just covered her eyes and a small bit of her upper face, more to highlight the style than to really hide much, the sides of it flaring out into golden spikes. She didn't mind it; it looked a lot better than her old costume and made it clear she was a legit hero now, not some vigilante thug. She did miss the lack of padding and armour, but apparently padding and armour didn't fit her aesthetic, and what marketing and PR said she had quickly learned was the voice of God in these parts.

The mask also let her glare at people without it being obvious. Still, she was bored out of her mind just standing there, an island volcano of slowly smoldering anger in an ocean of posh, high-society types. Maybe one of them would get drunk and start a fight or something. That would brighten up her day infinitely.

[Skaldia]

SNIP

[Forest State]

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Generation NEXT
“MONARCH CASINO”

Within the wider world of metahumans, governments, and heroes exist some groups between the margins, hidden away from the public eye, that live completely differently from the average person and have far different interests - even compared to their peers as metahumans. These such groups have varying goals, reaches of influence, and alignments - one, however, known only as the Monarch Casino, has a relatively simple way of going about things… On the surface, at least. The group meets across the world, to sit down and play a game; a game with potentially global consequences.

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Superyacht Fortis
The Bund, Shanghai, People’s Republic of China
February 5th, 2020

There were some things in this world which were accessible only to those who had made it - the rich and powerful, or people with connections, or people who happened to be born into it. They could get there through various ways… They said the number one determining factor was where someone was born and in what position, but there were many who could say they were self made and that their success had come from their own work. For others, their strength didn’t come from riches but from position, typically earned through some combination of risk taking and butting heads with others and coming out victorious - the CEOs and the politicians of the world, who fought in high stakes games and came out with the most rewards as a result.

All of those types of people could be found right now on the Superyacht Fortis, which very much was an example of the kind of thing that was accessible only to the upper echelons of the world… The kind of boat that even upper class people would dream of owning. For most people, it was something they saw on TV and imagined having for themselves, but for the group that was assembled here, riding along the Huangpu river in Shanghai amid the bright lights of the Bund in the background, this was a part of everyday life. Some just had it better than others.

That wasn’t to say that they were only here to look at the pretty sights off in the distance. There was a specific purpose to this meeting on board the yacht, of course, which was currently happening below deck underneath the area that was within the sight of the public. Within these below deck rooms and hallways was one in specific where most of the activity was concentrated - a room lit with a golden glow as if to symbolize the wealth of the ones within it, or at least, their status… This fit perfectly with the luxurious carpets, the furnishings made from expensive foreign woods, and the fine alcohol that was being served at the primary table by local girls who were dressed perfectly for the occasion, for the most part wearing the smallest of skirts along with sleeveless tops and white bunny ears atop their heads.

Along the Huangpu River in Shanghai...

What kind of occasion warranted this special treatment?

This wasn’t some big time business deal, though there were figures from the world of business represented here, nor was it a meeting between politicians deciding some details for a shady deal outside of the eye of the public. This was, instead, a meeting for a game. The game had high stakes in it, but it was still… A game at the end of the day, one that was played with chips and a scoreboard, and an unconventional set of rules. The fact that they were meeting for a game, though, didn’t discourage anyone around the table from getting into it - there were real consequences, it was quick moving, and the decisions here weren’t easy. They required fast thinking, a good sense of the flow of the game and which way the momentum was leaning, and the ability to calculate risk. This wasn’t the kind of game that took physical skills to excel at but it did require one to be the mental version of a decathlete, able to do a number of things within a short span of time.

So it only made sense that the surroundings were fitting of the stakes - for such a high level competition, there had to be high level surroundings, and in this case that meant sitting in the lap of luxury while cruising through one of the richest cities in China.

SCOREBOARD - SEASON FIVE, ROUND SIX

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VASYA ANDREEV - RUSSIAN OLIGARCH: 104,000

YANG HUA - CHINESE EXECUTIVE: 144,000

RUSSELL FEAR - BRITISH EXECUTIVE: 75,000

JORIS LANGENBERG - SOUTH AFRICAN POWERBROKER: 129,000

BROOKE PETIT - TEAM INFINITY SUPERHERO: 117,000

LAMICHAEL COLLINS - AUTECH SUPERHERO: 112,000

AKRAM RAHAL - EGYPTIAN TOP GENERAL: 89,000

XANDE PEREYRA - BRAZILIAN SENATOR: 61,000

LIAN YARON - ISRAELI EXECUTIVE: 134,000

OSTEN NYLUND - EUROPEAN SHIELD SUPERHERO: 108,000

“The scoring for round five is complete. Bets for the sixth round will begin shortly…” said a figure in a black tuxedo, standing at the head of a table, face covered by a white mask. That masked man pressed a button on a remote, and a holographic projection appeared and hovered above the middle of the table, displaying a scoreboard. There were a number of names on this scoreboard and each one had numbers besides it, presumably their score in whatever kind of game this was. Apparently, it was a game of betting.

“Round six… Begin. There is no minimum bet for this round.” said a female electronic voice which played throughout the room, and soon enough, the group at the table was all business and was no longer talking with each other and enjoying drinks as they had been before. Now that the announcement happened… All of them focused quite intently on what was in front of them. Or rather, hovering above them.

“I’ll place thirty thousand on Substance M entering China through Kyrgyzstan and the Bishkek Syndicate. I expect to see at least fifty internally reported instances of this Substance being used by Chinese citizens between now and the next meeting,” said Joris Langenberg, leaning back in his seat with a rather calm demeanor for the situation. Of course, he was almost in the lead right now. There wasn’t exactly a reason for him to panic too much at this stage. As for his background… The others knew that the soft power he exercised as a private military leader and arms contractor in South Africa meant there was a very good chance he’d make good on the bet even if he had to inject the Chinese with the Substance using his own assets.

The onboard casino on the Fortis.

“Seconded,” Brooke Petit remarked, showing confidence in Langenberg’s bet and putting down thirty thousand of her own chips towards the exact same bet. Her eyes shifted as she looked around the table, settling on the next person to speak.

“Fifty thousand on the People’s Liberation Army deploying to Bishkek between now and the next meeting to investigate this uptick in Substance M use,” Yang Hua said, a hand on his chin as he contemplated the bet. Fifty thousand was a large bet, of course… Showed that he was confident in the outcome. Which in itself was fairly safe, but the amount on the line could make or break his chances.

“Seconded,” Xande Pereyra said, taking a larger risk thanks to the fact that he hardly had chips of his own in comparison to the more successful Langenberg or Hua.

The next bet, however, wasn’t on world events so much as it was about the hero business. “Team Infinity will suffer from a boycott which will force them to make a response or a change in some way. I put twenty thousand on it,” said Osten Nylund. “Because, of course, of the Soviet member of their reality show rubbing the American crowd the wrong way.”

“Forty thousand that the Egyptian military occupies Sana’a, in Yemen,” Rahal said tensely, glancing around at the other members at the table. It was, of course, a somewhat controversial bet.

“Details,” said Yang, as if saying that the bet from the Egyptian General wasn’t specific enough to count.

“Ahem, the Egyptians will deploy a naval group and an airborne assault to occupy Sana’a before beginning an operation to push southwards towards Aden,” Rahal said more specifically, words tense - slipping up here, after all, could be the difference between success and failure.

One of the best superyachts around.

“Objection. Considering General Rahal’s position, I believe this should be counted as a bet on himself,” Lian said in her typical hard nosed fashion, not conceding an inch to a rival where there wasn’t a need to. “Which last time I checked, wasn’t part of the game.”

The man with the tuxedo and the white mask walked back over, looking across the table and at the different members before settling on the two in question - the Israeli that was making the complaint and the Egyptian that was being accused. “The plan in question that General Rahal has mentioned is outside of the scope of his own authority. I hardly believe this is a bet on his own command.”

“Soft power has never been counted as a bet on one’s self,” Rahal stated as if countering Lian early before she could say anything further. She was annoyed for sure, as shown by the look on her face, but she didn’t say much else… For now.

“Very well,” she settled through gritted teeth, sitting back.

“Seconded,” Yang said, withdrawing his original concerns and deciding that if this bet was going to happen, it was a good idea to profit off of it himself.

“Third,” said LaMichael Collins.

“Fourth,” Russell Fear said, speaking up for the first time during the game itself. It was now incredibly clear that there was a high amount of pressure on Rahal to deliver - for a number of people were now depending on him, and they wouldn’t be the least bit happy if the Egyptian military didn’t follow closely enough to what was supposed to happen and ended up costing them money.

After a brief sigh, Lian rose her own hand and threw her lot in with Rahal, deciding to not allow him to make a runaway profit from this bet. “Fifth,” she stated flatly, practically seething but going along with it- it seemed like almost a sure thing and she could use another twenty thousand herself.

“Twenty thousand that my new star will have a higher polling rating than anyone within Team Infinity at her age or younger in the same time span,” Andreev said, finally making a bet. He was referring to Yana Vedneyeva… The Russian hero who had recently come under his banner at the age of 20 and he was using to the fullest. She had seen TV shoots, modeled for magazine covers, and she was doing well in the field. It was a somewhat safe bet but depended on how Team Infinity’s heroes of the same age did.

On the subject of Infinity, they were the main subject of a bid from Pererya. “This new Substance M that’s going around on the streets will result in Generation NEXT getting knocked off their perch at the gala that they’re attending soon. They’ll have a spike in ratings but they’ll be humiliated by the surprising result that gets everyone to tune in. I’m willing to put thirty thousand on it.”

The bets finished with that as Lian and Russell held back from making their own, and the scoreboard changed to show the current amounts being wagered. There was a lot that could change although it had been a fairly safe round, perhaps influenced by the fact that this wasn’t one of the rounds with a minimum bet. “May the best gamblers win,” the man in the mask said with a chuckle before looking across the table and bowing slightly, turning on his heel eventually and walking off to somewhere else within the room.

“Hopefully, that’s not you again…” Langenberg said, looking up at the two time winner, Yang. Andreev had won the first season, Yang had won the second and fifth, and Nylund had won the third with the fourth going to Fear. The game was unpredictable butt that wouldn't stop Langenberg from looking for a victory of his own after watching others win it while still finishing high within the past five years. This time, he happened to be in a decent position to knock Yang off his perch and take his two time winner of a rival down a peg.

“Could say the same thing about you,” said Yang, standing straight. “Good luck subjugating Namibia. You’re going to need the diamonds if you want to keep up with the big dogs in the late game…” he added before winking. “Honest advice, by the way. Not so much a dig, just the facts.”

“Oh, I’m working on more than Namibia alright,” Langenberg replied as he stood up himself. “You better make sure you’re focusing on handling the Communist Party before you end up locked up in some anti-corruption investigation. You know how they get over here. Get a little too much power and all of a sudden you’re corrupt… Or you’re doing some kinda corruption for real and the CPC catches on. Either way… You don’t want to miss the end of the game behind bars, do you?”

“I can assure you the CPC can be dealt with from within if the need is necessary. I could elaborate, but I’ll let you wait and see what happens for yourself,” Yang replied with a slight competitive smile. “I think I’ll have progress there faster than you will in South Africa…”

“Bold claim that we’ll just have to wait and see the truth behind, ain’t it?” said Langenbeg, before turning to head elsewhere in the yacht, stretching and moving to grab a couple of the fancy server girls by the waist while starting on the move, probably heading off to find somewhere more private. This place was a place of competition, after all, but it was also one of rest… And relaxation in multiple ways. It just so happened that all of the top people on this yacht were highly competitive and locked in a battle with each other that stretched across the world, all for one large jackpot…

The Monarch Casino was quite the interesting place.

But this game, that was just the surface level. Because the real story here was the lengths which would be taken to win…

[Skaldia]

SNIP

[Durmatagno]

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UNIT 851
“FRESH FACES”

Due to an increase in expectations and an increase in danger, Unit 851 has once again begun looking for outside help to handle the load… One such outsider is set to arrive today, for a very special project which is scheduled to go underway within the week.

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Rosalie Morrigan
Unit 851 Firebase, Chelyabinsk, Russia
February 10th, 2020
Collaborative post between Forest State and Durmatagno

Far removed from the large cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, away from the Russia that most people saw, was the FSB firebase near Chelyabinsk - no, not the FSB’s firebase right now. The one that was owned by the FSB but used and operated by Unit 851… If Chelyabinsk was removed from most of the major cities by a fair amount of distance, this base was removed even from the urban center and was further away, located on the outskirts and accessed more often by helicopter than by road. Over here with the snow that this place got, it was sometimes just easier to come in via air.

Which was what was happening right now as one of the Mi-17 helicopters that were often seen around these parts came in for a landing in the show, the expert pilot steadying the vehicle in a crosswind and bringing it down perfectly on the ‘X’ in the middle of the circle on the landing pad, the rotors beginning to wind down not much longer afterwards.

“Thank you for flyin’ 851 Air, proceed to the gate at your leisure…” the captain of the helicopter said. Obvious sarcasm. There wasn’t, in fact, a gate. Rather, there was a long walkaway ahead which would lead someone from the helipad to the actual compound itself. Sliding out of her seat, the pilot opened up the door closest to the cockpit and climbed out, jumping the distance with no ramp or anything of the sort… It wasn’t that far from the ground, truthfully. She started off into the distance, not bothering to wait for the sole passenger in the back of the helicopter.

Rosalie climbed out quickly, bag over her shoulder. She scratched her face and looked up at the sky for a moment. She was back in Russia, Russia had such clear skies compared to the urban messes of China and Japan. Pushing those thoughts away, she stepped in behind the pilot to follow them. She’d never exactly been to this base before, or any actual bases for that matter. Her hires were usually civilian, though not always private. She didn’t like the cold much, but she’d gotten used to it with her time spent out in these parts. She kept quiet for now, anything important would have time to ask about, she only had minimal details on what she was doing here.

The walk, fortunately, wasn’t one that lasted too long. Mostly straight down a path and then through a heavy door which the other girl, the pilot, pulled open with no problem after unlocking with a pair of keys. She didn’t turn around, still continuing on after she had let Rosalie inside, keeping up a good pace. “So, since I’m the one showing you around here, what’cha trying to do first? Get moved in? Talk to the boss n’em? Something else?” she asked, not breaking her quick pace.

“Talk with the boss I suppose, can move in after that. Not that I have much, used to traveling light.”

Rosalie responded simply, keeping pace behind the girl in front of her. She wasn’t entirely sure why she moved so quickly, maybe she didn’t want Rosalie her, or maybe she was always like this. Didn’t matter in the end, Rosalie had a job to do and she’d do it. It was harder to stop her working than it was to get her working the vast majority of the time. Was a bit of a problem, but it’d served her so far so she saw no reason to work on it yet. She her head just a little as she walked, quietly getting a feel for the layout of what she was seeing and walking, she despised getting lost.

The unofficial leader of Unit 851

“Aye,” said the girl, leading Rosalie through a couple more metal corridors, which were somewhat unfinished looking, before showing up at some kind of central room which had a number of computers within it, some of them stacked against the wall and others underneath a desk, many of them running to a central array of screens which was messily set up on top of that desk which also had another young woman sitting behind it, one who had reddish-brown hair that went pretty far past her shoulders, a pair of shades over her eyes even indoors - perhaps she cared that much about fashion, judging from the general looks of her. She had an electronic cigarette in her mouth at the point when Rosalie and the other girl walked in, but took it out and blew out a mouthful of smoke once she heard their approach - and spun around in the office chair to get a look at who had just entered.

“Ah, you’re the new hire, correct?” she asked, a French accent showing a bit slightly when she spoke, but not too overtly. It was hard to see where she was looking due to the shades, but she seemed to be observing and examining for now.

“Yes, Rosalie Morrigan.”

Rosalie answered simply, taking in the room. She was curious about the large numbers of computers, but chose not to pry. Just as she would like most people not to pry when they found tools and broken machines scattered in her room. Not that she had any side projects here just yet, nothing besides a few small toys she would take apart and meld together one way or another. Rosalie didn’t much care about fashion, she tended to just wear whatever was comfortable and convenient.

“Melanie. Melanie Blanchet,” the woman in the office chair said, taking off her shades to reveal a pair of blue eyes behind, which would meet Rosalie’s own eyes soon enough. “Guess you could say I’m the closest thing to a leader around here, I’m also the one that you talked to online before coming here. The ‘hiring director’ or whatever. Never been one for official titles and all that. The one standing next to you is Sparrow… Who whether you can tell it or not, is one of our androids. As well as the one that can drive anything with wheels and fly anything with wings or a rotor. Probably without ‘em too. Fuckin’ computers and all that.”

“Mmm, alright then.”

Rosalie looked at Sparrow when her android status was mentioned, but turned her attention back to Melanie fairly quickly. Rosalie had done some repair work on androids in the past, and the right arm she wore was one of her own designs. While not entirely the same, there was a lot of overlap between cybernetics and androids on a technological level. It made sense, being able to accurately and smoothly recreate organic parts with technological ones made it easier to build an android, though the programming and internal systems were fairly different.

“You were sparse on details for me coming here, so what is it you want me to do?”

“You see that metal skeleton on the table on the other side of the room? I need to turn that into something real and I don’t have the largest time scale to work with here. Guess you could say I’m asking for help. If this was a regular job it would be one thing, but it’s not. I’m looking to do something… A bit different this time. Adding some things that would overload a regular system and changing the systems somewhat to make it possible,” Melanie continued, taking another drag from the e-cigarette in her hand. “It’s… Enough of a challenge that I don’t think I would get it done in time on my own without help.”

“Are we talking power overload, stress overload, structural overload, or what? I can help with all of them, but power is a particular specialty of mine because of extenuating circumstances. What’s the time frame are we looking at and how many parts we already have at hand? I can get started pretty much right away.”

Rosalie’s eyes practically lit up at the sound of a challenge. It would be literal if she didn’t have good control of the currents that constantly flowed through her body. She couldn’t ever stop it, but she could control if it flowed out of her, or emitted off herself, assuming her body's tolerance wasn’t overloaded. Rosalie’s eyes tracked over to the skeleton as she started preparing a timetable in her head, and began breaking down such a task into parts for how long and how hard each individual task could estimated to be at. Putting things together was particularly easy for her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t relish the challenge in front of her.

“The basis for this project is the DZ-7 electronic warfare module which you can see over there on the shelf… Obviously, heavy. The problem isn’t fitting it into the frame itself, however, but distributing the processing power to handle the heavy tolls that this module takes on the user. I’ve done a similar build in the past but… That was with a weaker module. DZ-3, in fact. Technology has moved forward. As for when this project has to be completed, though, the answer is as soon as possible. Our work is stepping up and one of our inspectors, that’s to say, one of our human commanders… Is awaiting a partner in the field still,” Melanie continued, furrowing her brow. Thinking of things like their schedule wasn’t pretty at the moment. “We have most of the basic parts here already, the central processing however… Is currently being sourced still. As I said, not using regular components for this.”

“Well, is power supply the problem, or actual clock speed? Details to break down later, without the central processor it’s all theory. Then there’s cooling and power load...mmm. This is going to be an interesting challenge. If I can get moved in, I can get to work as soon as you’re ready, already have most tools I’ll need, and if I don’t, I’m sure you have them.”

Rosalie started off almost talking to herself as she sorted the focus and problems into categories, and how quickly she could address them. She’d need to write this all down or she’d forget it, but she was getting a rough idea of the schedule in front of them. If all the parts were acquired quickly, she might be able to get this done fairly fast with Melanie’s help. They’d have to see where it went. If power supply was one of the problems, Rosalie already had a few ideas for that, but she’d need expected loads and projected tolerances before she could start refining them.

“Think of it like this… It’s not purely a power thing. The internal generator should produce enough power. Think of it like… You have this processor and then you have the DZ-7 module. And you have these paths between them. And they work for a short while and then… The power spikes on the latter one and it fries the former one which is pretty much a way to make an android fry itself completely. Hard to bring it back after that. I need away around this… You can look through the file cabinet for my plans on a previous project with the same problem, ‘Enigma,’ but that… That was with older tech,” Melanie said, spinning slightly in the chair and scratching her head. “So I don’t know how much bearing that has on this now.”

“Now that is a problem I am very familiar with.”

Rosalie reached up and after a second of fiddling, detached ehr right arm, which had a current of electricity still arcing between the contact points on her body and it. After a second, the current sputtered out and she gestured to where it had been.

“My body generates immense amounts of electricity, which can spike up and down due to adrenaline, diet, exhaustion, or emotional states. The spikes and varying levels of current kept frying my other prosthetics, so I had to build one from the ground up that can not only withstand high power loads, but sudden spikes or crashes in the current. To be quite honest with you, one of the pieces of the solution is changing out the copper wiring for pure silver wiring, which is expensive but reduces stress on the whole system, and gives higher tolerances before other pieces have to kick in, or are required for those that are always active.”

Rosalie raised the arm back up, and for a moment before it was even in contact with her, the current sprang back to life, which helped secure the arm to the interface she used to translate thought into control.

“While the systems aren’t entirely the same, I can likely use some of the same solutions to reduce strain on the overall system, and in the event of a power spike not within tolerances, it shunts some of the excess energy to built in systems designed to take the overload, and burn out before the rest of the connected pieces do. This alone isn’t foolproof, but it reduces the likelihood of total system failure, and just requires repair instead. It’ll take some tinkering to adapt my personal solution, but you aren’t dealing with the same level of current as my own body, so I likely won’t have to go to the same extremes.”

“Impressive…” Melanie said, considering this as she tapped her fingers against the table, eventually stopping when she came to a conclusion. “Draw up your plans and send it to me when you first get a chance and I’ll have a look at whether it seems possible for what we’re doing… Additionally, you’ll see that there’s a lot of parts that aren’t going towards anything right now. A couple skeletons, processors, life support systems… If you want to mess with them when not working on this project and create something of your own, go ahead. Practically need more bodies to work with at this point…”

“I’ll see what I can do, I’ll include cost estimate in my plans as well, and send you a few different variants. I can get started pretty much as soon as I unpack, though I might see about a full tour of where I’m allowed on base first.”

Rosalie said with a nod. Her experience from working on her arm wouldn’t cover every problem, but it did give them a partial solution upfront, which would help save on time. She would wait to be dismissed, incase anything else important needed to be brought up. She also doubted she’d need her snubnose on base, but she decided it was probably for the best that she kept it in her arm just to be safe. Crazier things had happened to her after all.

“Not a lot of rules around here, this has never once been and never will be your usual professional operation… For better or worse,” said Melanie, sitting up slightly and taking another drag from the e-cigarette. “So I suppose Sparrow can show you to your room now, I think I’ve gone over what the tasks are for the next couple of weeks.”

[Lunas Legion]

Olympia Galatas
San Francisco, CA
February 7th, 2020

"Don't... Don't say shit like that." Olympia grumbled from behind her mask. Champagne wasn't her style or type of alcohol, hell, alcohol was expensive and she simply couldn't afford both it and the hangover that she'd almost certainly get soon afterwards, so she'd stayed away from the drinks table, and she genuinely wasn't exactly sure what most of the food on the food tables actually was. It looked nice enough, but that didn't mean it would actually taste any good.

She wouldn't mind something more entertaining happening, but an attack... One,, it was jinxing it. Her eyes darted from side to side, looking over the room, the crowd, the music, as if expecting something to happen, but even when nothing did at that instant, she didn't relax at all, still visibility tensed up and ready to punch something at a moment's notice.

"Not after last week, and not in what's basically my home turf." Olympia continued, not sounding happy at all about the prospect. She wasn't prepared to fight, hadn't been back at the hotel either; she was someone who needed weapons to fight with in the first place, and she wasn't supposed to have those at a fancy gig like this apparently. She'd still brought her handgun regardless, strapped to the side of her hip, but it made her feel naked, not being properly armed and only having a single magazine , even if she could improvise very effectively. She could kill someone with a thrown plate if she had to, but that didn't mean she wouldn't prefer an infinitely more efficient and reliable means like just shooting them.

[Forest State]

San Francisco Gala
February 7th, 2020

---

From LA to San Francisco… That was the path that the Generation NEXT show had taken so far. The debut in LA had received some of the highest ratings on TV when the first episode came out in the middle of the week, but that was somewhat expected. Not only was the entire nature of the show unprecedented compared to similar things that had happened in the past, but the news of the attack that had happened on the first episode ensured that practically everyone, ranging from ordinary officer workers to celebrity Twitter influencers to other superheroes tuned in to see what happened from all angles. Sure, some would say that it was too brutal to show - but people had a tendency to look towards violence and that was exactly what had happened.

It had been talked about, the clips had been seen on commercials and a lot of people had tuned in because they didn’t want to miss on knowing what happened in the same way that their friends and coworkers did, and the social media followings of most of the heroes involved seemed to shoot right up - although interestingly enough the trends appeared to favor, at least so far, the ones that had participated in the outside part of the battle rather than the group that had taken down ‘Black Lily’... Who was still being identified. The authorities had been able to piece some things together but they didn’t have a definite ID on either of the villains who had attacked. The gunmen seemed to not be anyone of importance, but rather street thugs who had accepted a decent amount of payment in exchange for the risky job. Unfortunately for them, the risk hadn’t paid off.

When the identification did come out, the ratings would surely shoot up again and a lot of people within the business wing of Team Infinity as well as the executives of the Hero News Network would have a reason to pop champagne and laugh their way to the banks. For now, the members of the team could enjoy getting thrown into the stratosphere in a couple of weeks in terms of fame. After this, a lot more people would know their faces compared to before the debut, and both good and bad things came with that…

It was a lot for someone like David ‘Mentalist’ Capone to manage. The events had taken a mild toll on the chairman for reasons that were both related to the nature of the job, and the busyness that came with it, as well as other things that weren’t as clear. It had seemed, after all, like Capone somehow knew of Black Lily already. Extra attention had been paid by Capone to that death in specific, which was odd. Sure, it was sad in a way that a possibly misguided young villain hadn’t had a chance to grow up or to redeem themselves or anything of that sort, but it was also the kind of thing that happened plenty. Someone like Capone who had been in the hero game for this long didn’t treat that as anything other than a sad but ordinary occurrence unless there was a specific reason for it.

That reason hadn’t yet been determined by even the ones that were the closest around Capone. Yet, it almost seemed like Capone had been slightly off his game ever since that fight had went down.

Another thing was about to be added to the Infinity chairman's plate, unfortunately, the announcement coming this time while Capone was back in his office in New York City. Traveling with the team indefinitely wouldn’t happen, after all - there were a lot of other Infinity things to think about even outside of the show, and NYC was the epicenter of it all, the place where Capone had risen as a hero in the first place and accumulated the wealth of experience that had eventually led to him somehow recognizing Black Lily during the previous fight - despite the villainess coming from a completely different generation, a younger one.

“Mentalist speaking,” Capone said, looking out the glass window behind his desk, the Long Island scenery showing outside. Despite everything that made this job hard, one of the perks was the good view. He’d just answered the call, and judging it was from one of his top heroes, Javi “Backblast” Valencia, it was likely something important.

“You didn’t answer the phone the other times the show people have been calling?” Javi asked right away, some concern in his voice - well, maybe concern wasn’t the right word. Rather, it seemed he was surprised at the fact that Capone wasn’t as on top of things as normal.

“I didn’t answer because I was focusing on some things,” Capone admitted honestly, before spinning around in the chair to wake his laptop up from sleeping. “Is there something I should be aware of?”

“Someone’s dead and the media is going to find out soon. You have everything ready to go as far as what the line on this is or what we’re going to say?” Javi asked, causing Capone to raise an eyebrow.

His reply was calm… There was no other option but to reply calmly, considering his position. Panicking subordinates by showing too much emotion himself wasn’t going to help anyone, even if it did make him come off as somewhat cold or uncaring - which wasn’t the case. It was just that appearances were important. “Cause of death?” Capone asked, after a brief moment of contemplation.

“Desert Eagle gunshot to the side of the head,” Javi stated plainly. “Happened in hotel so right now the only news is about a gun being discharged and not about the suicide… But that’s not going to last that long considering the paramedics are already on the scene. Of course, there’s not anything there to revive, but you know how these things are. They showed up anyway…”

“Well, shit… Do you know who shot themselves and anything about the motive? Do you suspect that there was anything odd involved like, you know, a murder and staging or anything along those lines?”

“I think this is about as authentic as it could be - and it was Breakline. Seveirna Moraitis. Didn’t leave anything like a note or something to explain, but I can piece together a couple theories knowing the extra info that we know… Not like the public can know anything about that, though, so it’s probably going to end up on the conspiracy boards soon enough,” Javi said honestly. “Paramedics are bagging up the body right now, actually.”

“And this gala that the team is attending, this happened before that, or…?”

“Not everyone has left, a lot of the team has left already though, so the ones that did weren’t here to notice this… But some of them I imagine are still here. Hallway’s roped off by police tape for now but I don’t think that’s going to last, some journos are going to show up eventually.”

Capone let out a brief sigh, switching tabs to his email to begin typing out something to send to the media department. “I’m telling media about the situation and getting them ready to put something out about this, have the team try to keep going as normal if possible… Don’t let them find out about what happened until later when they’re already at the gala preferably, but it can’t be helped if someone finds out ahead of time.”

“Affirmative. I’ll tell that to the people on the ground,” said Javi, nodding. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, rest assured. I guess the famous life really isn’t for everyone…”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s it,” Capone said with a brief sigh before saying his goodbye to Javi and ending the call, switching attention to composing the email quickly. There was probably only a window of minutes before someone reported on this, after all. And the last thing Capone wanted was for Team Infinity to be caught as the last one getting to the news, after others had already constructed their own narratives and ran wild pushing supposed reasons why certain things had happened.

Sometimes, the chairman really did hate the twenty four hour news cycle that had at one point helped to catapult him and his own team into the stardom that had eventually put him into this position.

---

Not everyone on the team even knew what happened - in the case of Amalia, she was already on the way to the Regency Ballroom after leaving the hotel, and she wasn’t checking her phone at the moment… No, she was taking full advantage of the fact that she was finally known, and that meant living her life to the fullest and doing some things that the management might yell at her for later. But to her, it was worth saying ‘whatever’ and doing it regardless of what they said. She didn’t have her own agent after all, choosing to be self made and self managed, using only the knowledge that she had from her family background for that. There was a specific reason she had no agent… She could make her own decisions, without someone breathing down her neck.

In this case, her decision was to hold a bottle of champagne in her hand while her other hand helped balanced her while she stood through the sunroof of the car, taking in the sights around her and letting the wind whip her hair back as they traveled along - she was usually the driver but that obviously wasn’t the case this time and it was good to have someone taking her where she needed to go… One of the perks of finally having made it, so to speak.

Sure, her family was rich, but she avoided taking money from them whenever possible and had struggled to make ends meet in Oakland to avoid having to do so, after she’d moved from Palo Alto. The reason? She knew that whatever she took would have a cost. She could have had her own BMW, she could have had her own driver, but she would have had to deal with remarks about how she should go to Stanford and that she was wasting her grades and that she was ungrateful for what she was getting. She still had to deal with some of it, but at the least, they didn’t have much ground to stand on now.

And Amalia had finally hit the point where she could get things like this on her own without even needing to ask, and it felt good - she didn’t actually own the car in this place, it was rented, but she was paying the driver herself. So the point sort of stood.

As they approached the ballroom, they went by fans and press and cameras clicked, capturing her in this pose clearly as she moved by… It also only took a glimpse of her to get the crowd outside excited, considering her status. She was the one along with Olympia that represented the Bay Area. Now that she was back home and more famous than she’d dreamed of being before, they gave her quite the reception.

“San Francisco, I love you!” she shouted, pushing herself up and out the sunroof a bit more, drinking from her champagne in the process before swinging the bottle outwards, allowing it to splash on the crowd gather at the side of the road as they went by. She tossed the entire bottle once they had come to a stop, watching as the crowd moved to catch it - someone would like having it and they would probably complain if she walked into the ballroom holding it.

“We’re at the destination,” her driver said, and she lowered herself from the sunroof opening and grabbed her phone, nodding and offering her thanks before sliding out of the car and ending up on her feet, and then starting off towards the building entrance. Of course, the crowd and the press presence were larger as they got closer to the building itself.

She stopped instead of going straight into the ballroom, letting them admire her and her looks… For once, she could show off her somewhat expensive tastes, after she’d went shopping within the past week. Although, even though she paid more than the average person, she wasn’t exactly a proponent of high fashion either. Her outfit today consisted of dark blue True Religion jeans and a tee shirt that had an expensive Adidas jacket above it - she didn’t actually represent Adidas but she would fight whoever claimed she shouldn’t wear their brand in public because she didn’t have the sponsorship. Even though she had moved to the big leagues, that just wasn’t her at the end of the day. Her purple hair mostly hung free, she hadn’t combed it or anything in a while, as she preferred to let it have a more… Natural and untouched look, even if it was more messy. Perhaps she just despised doing the work around making it look more presentable, but the crowd didn’t mind.

They accepted her as she was, knowing that she was a child of the streets - even if she had come from a high place before stepping foot in Oakland and deciding that being a hero was a better career path than going into some Silicon Valley tech startup or slaving away for hours behind a screen coding for Google or Facebook… She shuddered at the thought. She was glad she had made it here.

“Amalia, are you happy to be back in the Bay Area?” one of the reporters asked.

“‘Course I am, this is where it all started for me, you know. Across from the City, over in Oakland,” she said honestly, glancing towards the camera that was being aimed in her face. “I haven’t even been gone for long but man, LA is a hell of a lot different, it makes me realize I should appreciate what I come from and all that.”

“Can you tell us anything about your relationship with Olympia Galatas?”

Amalia blushed slightly at the question, but she simply offered a nonchalant shrug. “We’re closer than ever. Kind of the expectation, you know. There’s this team full of strangers and we actually know each other so of course we’re going to seem really close,” she said in explanation, taking a slight step away as if she wanted to get off the question.

But she was stopped by one more question which came from a different reporter, and sounded more urgent in tone - urgent enough that as soon as she heard it, Amalia curiously turned to listen to what was actually being said. “Have you heard the news about your teammate Severina Moraitis?”

“Eh?”

[The Cross and Davids Star]

Eli Chase
San Francisco Gala
February 7th, 2020

Late again, Eli had departed his travel bus while his stuff was being loaded at the hotel that the team would be staying at and would continue the trip to the Gala, along with a friend of his who he hired on as a bodyguard and a fitness instructor, Hank. Hank wasn't a metahuman like Eli was, but he was a good shot and a better friend. Eli would be dressed in a suit along with a miniaturized NOISE Rig, although not as powerful as powerful as his normal one, it was at least concealable, and he couldn't be too sure about the possibility of another attack. Hank was in a more practical dress, however, presenting in a flexible jacket and pants, under which was a plate carrier, and in special pouches lining the jacket was a disassembled MP7 and two magazines.

"You really love that gun, Hank." Eli said nonchalantly, simply trying to make some small talk on the boring ride there.

"It's easy to use in places like this. Anything longer gets hard to use and conceal." Hank reciprocated.

"Why not get a NOISE Rig for yourself?"

"I tried using one, it doesn't work as well as you can with it. It was built for your powers in mind, after all."

"Oh, um, yeah, it is... I guess I should have thought about that."

"Leave the thinking to me kiddo, you just need to enjoy yourself." Hank gave a slight smile to Eli as their AMC Spirit pulled into the Gala's parking lot. Suddenly, Eli's pocket buzzed, a call was coming in, and Eli answered.

"Chase here, what's up? What do you mean you can't get through? Police, paramedics? Did something happen? Shit, hold tight and wait for them to finish up." Eli hung up with a sigh, and Hank was already piecing together what occured based on what he could hear. Other than that, they made their way into the gala and to any awaiting reporters.

[Forest State]

Strange Happenings
San Francisco Gala
February 7th, 2020

---

“This is it. Let’s see if we can make it through parking hell without being held up…”

The driver of the rented Toyota spoke while navigating the streets of San Francisco and coming out at the opening of the street where the ballroom was located, and where the Team Infinity heroes would soon enough be making their appearance at the gala that was set for this night… The car was rented under a fake name, a burner number, and a false license of course. Paid for with an account that wasn’t tied to anything else and was just for purchases like these. To anyone who wasn’t paying much attention and was simply focused on doing their job, renting to this person wouldn’t have seemed like a problem.

Anyone who had put in a bit more work would see something fishy was going on in one way or another - the degree of which remained to be seen.

Now Playing
Ta Tranquilo Ta Favorável

“Turn the radio down…” said the woman in the passenger seat, raising her shades slightly as she looked around the surrounding area. Because at the moment, the radio was currently blasting with some kind of foreign tune, that would be unfamiliar to most people around here… And yet the driver seemed to like it, the woman on the other hand having a more high class nature to herself and simply finding it obnoxious and hard to think through.

“Have to keep things interesting somehow,” the man said, ignoring her statement until she reached for the knob and turned it down herself as they cruised along the boulevard and looked for parking.

“I can’t think through that,” she stated with a furrowed brow. “It’s just noise…”

“You aren’t exactly cultured enough for it,” the driver chuckled, continuing to look for a spot to take the car before stopping at a parking garage. They’d have to pay to get in and they wouldn’t be able to get in and out quickly but… This wasn’t far from the building, just down the street actually, and the regular parking had all been taken up by people headed to the event. Which meant it wasn’t the worst option. “Ah, fuck it.”

Cash was soon fed into the machine at the gate, and they were soon on their way within the parking garage, stopping after finding a suitable spot on the second level. “You know, we’re not going to be able to get back to the car soon this way, if something comes up,” the woman said as she stepped out.

“Like that’s going to be a problem,” the man dismissed her words casually. The music stopped as the man grabbed his phone from the inside of the car, disconnecting the cable abruptly and shoving the phone itself into his pocket before turning around and moving for the trunk, popping it open to find the couple of bags that had been packed away in the back.

“Getting in with these might be a problem, too…”

The man threw one of them over his shoulder before picking up the other one and tossing it through the air, the woman catching it. “You worry too much,” he stated before going inside his leather jacket and pulling out a couple of items - seemingly keycards of some kind that were attached to lanyards. One of them went around his neck, while he handed the other one to the woman who quickly put it around her own neck. “Because this… Is the best copy of the pass that we could have gotten.”

“Just remember. You work for Infinity,” the man continued, slapping her on the shoulder. “So look the part and walk the walk and they won’t question it. It’s a big company. International workers? Nothing new.”

“Right,” the woman settled as she started following him, both of them headed for the ballroom and doing their best to do just what he’d said - walk the walk and talk the talk. Confidence was the name of the game as the two of them approached the ballroom but didn’t go near the crowd of people waiting to go in through the front, rather heading around to the back - the man led them there because of the Infinity staff members that could be seen traversing the walkway to the back. Once there, it wasn’t hard to identify the sign that said ‘STAFF & INFINITY PERSONNEL ONLY.’

In their case, they looked like the latter group - the guard at the back could have been more strict with checking, but they didn’t really look too different from any of the employees who had already entered, and they had the right kind of badge with the Infinity symbol in white against a black background, a blue strip running across the bottom… Supposedly, there were a couple of other features that were hard to fake.

They, however, had access to more resources than most. The two of them strode right in.

“Easier than you thought,” the man stated, continuing to roam. “Now, let’s get things set in motion… Clock’s ticking, buddy.”

[Confederation of the Equator]

[minecraft villager sound]

[Skaldia]

SNIP

[Forest State]

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MONARCH CASINO - DESERT DOGS
“DEAD ENDS, NEW STARTS”

Around the world, metahumans are involved in various proxy and shadow conflicts for a number of reasons… One of those is tied to the ambitions of powerbroker and Monarch Casino member Joris Langenberg, who has hired the mysterious mercenary known as Tali ‘Magic’ Couture to aid in ambitious moves on the country of Namibia - all in the name of a strengthened South Africa and Casino riches for Langenberg, and a check and a landing spot for Couture.

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Tali Couture
North of the Namibian-South African border
February 8th, 2020

Some would say this was a dead end job.

The location wasn’t great - not many people were trying to move to the rural parts of the southern end of Africa, the kind of places where one might look at them and feel like they had been transported back in time to before urbanization was widespread and to when the environment dominated rather than man. The pay was alright - but the job would take someone far from the big cities that many were used to and had some risks of it that were inherent. That wasn’t to say it was the riskiest job out there, but going up against other metahumans potentially out here, and getting involved in a conflict like this… It wasn’t the usual security contract. Furthermore, the end destination wasn’t exactly an aspirational one for many people. At best, it was possible to finish this job with more marks and get further ones… In South Africa and the surrounding region, a less than ideal destination for the more ambitious.

For others, this was a fresh start.

Tali Couture stood out here in the desert, besides the highway, rifle on her shoulder - she didn’t think she needed it with her powers more than capable of hitting more targets at one time than the rifle could - and hood pulled up over her head, all of her clothes colored in tan with slight highlights of brown to fit in with the environment around her. Most didn’t know her by the full name that she carried. They knew her as various things - as just her first name, or as callsigns… Number Two, and Magic. Not that many knew the person underneath, however. Only a select amount did, and they were long gone by now. Not dead, but out of her life, partially because of her own decision.

The small Canadian and Texan flag patches, styled as a pair of rectangular ribbons that rested on top of one of her uniform pockets, on the right arm of her uniform were some of the only things that linked her back with one place and with some kind of home. And even then, she could hardly say she was connected to the place that she came from, and could hardly say that reminding everyone that she was from there was little more than grasping for some kind of anchor in a world where she was tied to nothing except for the current contract, which itself changed often enough.

This may have been a dead end to most people, but she had her reasons to believe it was a fresh start for herself.

The sound of engines approached in the distance and Tali’s muscles tensed up, making a fist as she could hear the target coming off in the distance - didn’t take enhanced senses to see that, or rather, to heart it. The sound was the sound of trucks headed down this highway, probably carrying the soldiers of the Army that she was waiting in ambush for. The fact of the matter was, she wasn’t here as an ally but as a mercenary hired to fight, working as an agent of one of the biggest powerbrokers in the larger nation to the south.

Joris Langenberg was of course the ambitious head of Osiris Enterprise, a company involved in both heavy industry and arms and involved in bringing back the South African military to what it had been in the past - the country had at one point been a nuclear state after all, only to voluntarily end their program just before the end of Apartheid. South Africa hadn’t been the same regional military power since then, a nation strong enough to potentially fight a coalition of its neighbors while suffering from economic warfare from other parts of the world, but Osiris… Was working to change that. South African produced tanks could be seen exported across the third world thanks to the work of Langenberg, the skies above the country were now inhabited by domestically produced jets rather than foreign designs, and it was said that South Africa was now the best place on the continent to import guns and ammunition from when setting up an army.

Those ambitions had translated in the billionaire wishing to take some of the nation's matters into his own hands - the status of Namibia was one of those things.

Langenberg had experience with the military - not with the actual military but with working with private forces. That had been one of the original cornerstones of Osiris before the other things such as heavy industry took larger shares of the company and left the paramilitary wing behind in terms of how well known they were and how much funding they brought in. Still, that wing was alive and well. Langenberg wasn’t just the country’s largest powerbroker through engenuity, but rather the right combination of engenuity and force.

Now, that force was being turned towards Namibia in a shadow war that the world wouldn’t notice until it was too late, and Tali was on the frontlines of it as a foreigner who was here with no nation, just looking for a check instead. The journey had taken her here to the deserts, and she was only moments away from her first engagement.

The trucks came over the horizon, probably troops being sent to check out the disturbances relating to mercenaries near the smaller villages closer to the border - she didn’t know exactly what their purpose was but she did know that she had been assigned to deal with them, and so she would. She moved, ducking away from the edge of the road and leaning down behind a large rock, giving some time to let them get closer. No reason to rush into this. She could afford to wait, to put herself in a better position and ensure they wouldn’t be able to get out of this.

Soon, they were almost in front of her. She finally moved, bursting forward out of the cover and extending a hand, a telekinetic attack pushing all three of the trucks onto their side… Which wasn’t enough to take anyone out on its own, but immobilizing them would help. They wouldn’t have the ability to just keep driving now once they realized there was trouble and that the opponent here was an actual threat to them.

The sound of panicked shouting was one she’d heard many times before. It didn’t faze her in the slightest.

Tuning it out and focusing on the task at hand as some of the soldiers quickly made it up to their feet and started running around and looking for the threats, Kalashnikov and Type 56 rifles in their hands as they did so, and only light body armor or none at all. They probably assumed that one unarmed young woman like herself wouldn’t be much of a problem… After all, she wasn’t large, she clearly wasn’t from around here, and she didn’t even look as old as she was - not that they could see much of her face with the outfit she was wearing right now.

Oh, how they were wrong.

Focusing her mind on them, the group froze for a moment as they felt a mental whip so to speak, a strike which was like a boxer probing their opponent, not a knockout blow but rather one to keep them at range and keep them from attacking while she set up her actual intended moves. While the group was frozen, Tali set her eyes on the nearest bunch of soldiers - there were three of them that had trained their rifles on her, but she swung her hand upwards and flung them off into the distance telekinetically, throwing them high enough that she was sure they wouldn’t be a problem when they came back down. When they weren’t resisting, it wasn’t hard to propel them a height like this…

The others were on the move again, however. Someone fired a grenade at her with an underbarrel launcher, but the slower moving projectile wasn’t as good as a bullet in this kind of scenario - she extended her other hand and sent it flying back, smirking just slightly when the grenade exploded and took out the second group of three, the other soldiers running in the process as they realized they had a real problem on their hands right now. She could hear curses in some other language, the local one around here… Afrikaans, she believed it was.

The soldiers from the first truck had been eliminated - but by now the ones from the second were out and firing, six more gunmen sending shots around her as she danced through the scene, jumping up on top of the first turned over truck and taking cover as she went for one of her most dangerous abilities… Projection. Two clear knives appeared in her hands, products of mental energy rather than anything more ‘real’, and she burst around the other side of the truck and crossed behind the second overturned vehicle to avoid the bullets… She was outmaneuvering them, crossing the back side of the second truck and coming out behind the second group of soldiers, firing off two of the knives with rapid throws which both hit with the speed of a bullet.

Both attackers hostiles dropped - and Tali had a solution for the others. She reached down, grabbing her pistol and not her rifle, and let loose with a quick draw as the remaining four turned around, catching two of them with bullets immediately before she pulled back behind the turned over wreck and let the return gunshots from the other soldiers fly right over her head… She only had a limited time span after all. Soon, the ones from the third turned over truck would be up and moving, and she would have much more of a challenge on her hands. Still, she knew she had this…

Tucking her pistol away, she replaced it with her rifle, an Osiris R37 gun that had been provided by her employers - it was alright, it had enough punch to it at 6.8mm caliber even though it wasn’t her favorite gun that she had used… Sometimes familiarity was worth just as much as flashy statistics, although this wasn’t the time to debate which rifle was the best. It just needed to do the job and in this instance right here, it did, as she fired a shot into the chest of the first Namibian soldier that attempted to step around the corner and fire on her. The man didn’t even get a shot off, and she correctly predicted that his ally would fire at her if she turned the corner, which caused her to duck low instead of coming straight on. The low dive did indeed make the bullet miss when it was inevitably fired, and she let loose with a three round burst that ripped through the enemy’s uniform - the lack of proper body armor here made things much easier on her.

Six. That was how many targets were left after the body dropped, but she knew she wasn’t going to need her rifle to get the last six opponents out and she threw it over her shoulder, spinning around to face the third truck - the soldiers there had been a bit more hurt by the sudden tipping over, but they were still alive and had their guns and as long as that was the case, they were an active threat. She lashed them mentally first - freezing them up thanks to the reaction to the sudden pain that they’d experience - before she swung a hand to the side and rolled the truck further, this time rolling it in the opposite direction than she originally had and letting it land on top of all six of the hostile combatants she was looking at… And taking six more lives in the process.

Finally, she reached for her pistol and fired a sole shot through the windshield.

The driver of the truck was dead and she had eliminated the convoy successfully, probably before word could be given back to base about what had happened. Holstering her pistol again, she started further down the road… This wasn’t the end of her assignment but she had some ways to go before the next part of it. And getting out of this area was important, for she would soon enough end up with a helicopter in the area if they had indeed reported her location. As aware as she was, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure about if someone had sent a radio call for help.

Stopping in her tracks, however, she remembered one thing. She turned around and took her phone out of an inner jacket pocket, snapping a picture of the carnage that she had left behind before sending it over and calling the ‘manager,’ the one that operated between herself and Langenberg and was the one that she actually received the money from once it was time to cash in on a job being completed. Her tone was completely even and calm as she spoke, and she turned away from the site of the fight and continued walking down the road - she could acquire a car when she needed one and one came past.

“Targets eliminated… I’ve sent the confirmation,” she stated. “I hope to find the payment being sent before I arrive back in South Africa.”

With that, she hung up. There was no need for a reply, no need to talk… This was a solitary job and she was fine with it that way. At least for now, as she took up the mantle of lone traveler on a fresh start, heading further and further away of a life that was somewhere behind her and stepped into a more lonely world by necessity - she had her reasons, even if few knew them.

[Skaldia]

SNIP

[Communist Xomaniax]

Kong "Martial Law" Paing
Chronze Gala
San Francisco, California
February 7, 2020

Kong had to hand it to whoever built the place, the hotel had one hell of a bathroom. Heated toilet seats to keep your ass and legs warm while you did your business, perfumed air pumped in through a vent in the ceiling to keep the room smelling like jasmine and citrus instead of rancid shit. Even the lighting was good; a soft yellow made dim so as to not take away from the room's relaxing atmosphere, the light glinting off the polished marble tiling on the floors and walls. The perfect room's only blemish was an "out of order" sign, clearly hand drawn on scrap paper and hung on the handicap stall door. The sign did its job at keeping people out, much to their chagrin, though not with the establishment's blessing.

The hero from Myanmar rested in the stall corner, his back against the wall and his legs stretched out languidly. His clothes sat in a crumpled heap on the other end of the stall, allowing Kong's full, bare frame to soak in the coolness of the bathroom floor. Despite the chill he still seemed to pour sweat, his powerful chest heaving up and down in near hyperventilation. His waist was turned, arms wrapped around the toilet in an embrace, his long hair draped over the rim as he heaved into the cavernous pot.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been in there. An hour, maybe? Two? There didn't seem to be an end to Kong's sickness, his body finding some foul thing to expel into the toilet every time the strength returned to his knees. What did I eat? He asked himself before flashbacks of the past week flooded his mind. The whole team had bounced from event to event, taking photos here, answering questions there, meeting people and so on. Kong felt even more like a sore thumb there. Or a sore dick. He chuckled weakly to himself before retching once more.

The publicity of it all had gotten to him, though he worked hard to avoid showing it. The people around here didn't know him and didn't care, it was pointless for him to bother talking to them. Not that he'd had much luck with his team mates either, always trying and coming up just short of conversation. Kong had never been good at the day-to-day work that went into heroing. But he'd put on the right mask, the one that made him a respectable human and not. . . whatever it was he had turned into. The snow and painkillers made for a hearty breakfast in the mornings, enough to keep him off the sauce until noon. In the evenings he was shoveling enough smack into his arms to put down an angry tiger, though he still struggled to sleep. He hadn't eaten anything solid the whole time, and by the color and reek of the piss he'd only halfway gotten in the toilet, probably hadn't drank much more water either.

What a predicament he'd found himself in! Again, and so soon after the last time, back in Cambodia when he'd been so wigged out he could barely move, let alone talk. The promoters had had to comb through the capital to find him, doing so in the basement of some dingy den, whores on either side funneling all manner of junk right into him. They'd loved him there, or at least had the good sense to pretend to, and he'd melted like honey in their hands. He supposed that had probably made them laugh all the way to bank, pockets fat from the money he'd hemorrhaged in his short stay. He was just happy he'd managed to avoid having to tap into his savings, too much of that and Kong would have his balls in a sling.

"Rise and shine Mr. Paing, though I don't mean to imply you've been sleeping on the job."

Khan's voice, higher pitched but hoarse from a lifetime of chain smoking, wafted in from beyond the stall door. The stall door's hinges creaked ever so slightly as the door opened, revealing Kong's agent. Khan seemed taller than the last time he'd seen him, the deep crags and sagging wrinkles in his face lessened somewhat. The edges of his agent's mouth curled slightly into a smile, warm and paternal, his eyes two pools of honey that poured familial pity onto the prone hero.

Khan was a serious man, not cold but just business focused. He and Kong had maintained an amiable relationship of the years, though not quite to the point of friendship. They had never done so much as gotten a coffee together, almost all of their interactions having been in the man's office or at an event. But he'd always made an effort to ask how his client was doing and that alone made him the closest thing Kong had to a true friend. Maybe that was why, at some point while he daydreamed, the elderly man rested Kong's head in his lap, somehow having managed to perch himself on the floor when he'd been standing not two moments before.

"Look at you, kid. You look like shit." Khan cooed, his bony fingers combing through the younger man's hair.

"Thanks Khan, I feel like shit too." Kong responded weakly.

"You know you can't sit in here like this all night, right?" His agent asked.

"Yeah, I know-"

"If you knew, you wouldn't be laying in your own filth like a fucking pig." Khan's gruff words with his honeysuckle tone almost made Kong laugh. Khan was right, he was making a fucking fool out of himself. Laying naked in a public bathroom, surrounded by piss and paraphernalia, and why? Because he'd had to take a few photographs and smile? His cheeks burned at the thought of his own childishness. He'd read up on some of his team mates, he wasn't the only one with a sob story and the baggage to tell. But he was the only one curled up a ball in a public pisser. The thought seemed to elicit only more sympathy from Khan, who cooed in his ear and stroked his hair more intensely.

"No, no, don't think like that, kid. But you do need to pull yourself together, you know that right?" Khan asked. Kong scarcely nodded before his agent gripped him harder, harder than Kong thought possible. He threw his hand in the air to shove the man off of him but to no avail. His fist sang slowly through the air, like punching through mud, impacting the man with all the force of a weak pillow swipe. Khan caught his wild arm and brought it tight against Kong's prone form, before reaching into the hero's clothes and pulling out a small syringe.

"You're sick kid, too sick to do your job. It's time you took your medicine." Khan said, grinning wickedly as the needle hovered ever closer to Kong's skin. He tried to struggle against the senior's titanium grip, but it was no use. Each second seemed to take an eternity, Kong's nearly popping out of his skull as he watched the needle sink into his flesh. All at once he began convulsing, rocketing up into a sitting position and hugging the toilet for dear life. Wave after wave of bile erupted from his gullet, sweat pouring down in sheets off his back. What was that Khan stuck him with? Smack? No, he'd be feeling it by then, totally melted into a puddle sinking into the ground. Was Khan finally trying to poison him? No, that didn't make sense either.

One minute bled into the other and so on, Kong completely losing track of the time. Slowly but surely the feeling began to return his extremities, his stomach undoing the knots it had tied itself into. He collapsed back from the toilet, once again lying on his back and staring up into the lights on the ceiling. The lights seemed to shine so brightly in Kong's eyes, the man scarcely looking away until black spots had been burned into his vision. Zofran. He thought to himself. The old man hit with Zofran. He was trying to help. Kong turned to thank the old man but was stopped in his tracks. Khan was nowhere to be seen, the stall bearing no sign that he'd ever been there. Looking down at his hand and seeing the now empty syringe, Kong began to piece together why.

I gotta eat something, must be seeing shit.

Kong sprang to his feet, the sudden movement filling his vision with bursts of light and making his whole body feel woozy. He slapped at his face to jolt himself back to normalcy, quickly gathering up his things and getting dressed. He'd been politely asked to wear his costume to the gala, maybe by his sponsors or maybe by the studio itself, he wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. He slipped on his undergarments first, then his suit. It was a custom racing suit, made of dully shiny material done up in the same Speed Racer colors as his Modulo. Originally his sponsors worried that might elicit a cease and desist from the IP owners for plagiarism, but luckily it had not. He didn't bother putting on the helmet. It was damn hot and more than a little itchy, and besides, what was actually gonna happen that would warrant it? Whoever had attacked the last shindig, nobody was gonna hit two of them back to back.

His machine pistols slipped into shoulder holsters with ease, Kong catching a glimpse of himself in their mirror like surfaces. He looked good, his face clean shaven and his frame complemented nicely by the costume's smug fit. The pants hugged his groin a little more firmly than was necessary but its designer swore up and down it was supposed to. All the better to emphasize your goods. He thought to himself, snorting at the memory of when his designer first showed him it. Quickly he laced up his boots, each one of them made up of white leather reinforced with a titanium shell. The boots were real kingsnake, though they'd been polished so thoroughly you'd have to pay attention to see the scales. Completing the outfit were his gloves, themselves a pleasing cream color that almost made the spring loaded claws they contained a real surprise when he popped them out. With one last glance in the mirror, Kong's grin stretched from ear to ear. He did look good.

But he didn't feel good, which Kong knew only too well was vital to the success of the look. He grinned a second time, this time overcome with mischief. Patting at the many hidden pockets on his suit, he quickly found his special snow pouch. He pinched off a small amount in the space between his thumb and pointer finger, bringing the flesh pocket to his nose and inhaling deeply. All at once colors seemed to get a little brighter, the world seeming a little rosier. Kong's shakes were gone too. He felt lighter too, ,light enough to jig from one foot to the other. Exiting the bathroom, he felt like he was on cloud nine.

The gala ballroom was bigger than Kong had expected, big enough to fit hundreds of people if it needed to. Light danced off the crystal chandelier above him, making it twinkle like the starry sky. He snatched a glass of champagne and a fistful of hors d'oeuvres, the food helping settle his stomach. No more moping about, he thought to himself. Tonight's my time to shine. He strutted though the gala much like how a peacock would, eyes scanning for a familiar face, anyone he could latch onto. Soon enough he found his someone, though he blanked at their name. It was a man dressed up in full tactical gear, the SWAT outfit looking out of place on his twinkish frame. Who was he, again? The dream eater? The gap in his knowledge played hell on Kong's anxiety and for a moment he felt compelled to flee, though he steeled himself.

"You want a drink man?" He asked his counterpart, offering him a glass of champagne. Kong had agonized over how to break the ice before settling on his offer. But it didn't matter, it was as good an icebreaker as any.

[Lazarian]

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Antonio "Toro" Torres
Ritz Carlton LA, Los Angeles, California
January 30th, 2020

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"Man, this sucks." Antonio thought, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. They could be out there doing something meaningful, but no. As soon as he'd gotten to San Francisco, they'd been rushed from set piece to set piece. The city was beautiful, for sure. The Golden Gate Bridge was a marvel of engineering, the wharfs were fun (had some great seafood there), and they had even been nice enough to give him the opportunity to lift one the end of one of the cable cars. He'd almost broken his fucking back doing it, barely lifting it a foot off the ground.

But he'd thought that once they were done sight-seeing, he'd have the opportunity to do something purposeful. To be out there on the streets, building relationships and mending communities. Even cleaning junked out cars off an abandoned property was something useful he could do. Back in his home, it was the little stuff that mattered. Watching over a public park, or even just standing outside gas stations in areas with high crime rates. Being a hero was about deterring threats and providing both security and hope. Of course, it wasn't exactly exciting, but it was the legwork that needed to be done.

Instead of any real work, though, they were high-profile security for some rich corporate assholes. Chronze. He'd never heard of them. Probably some Silicon Valley tech upstart. The banquet wasn't bad, by any means. Excellent food, great champagne (although it was a little fancy for his tastes), a tasteful music selection, everyone dressed up to the nines. But it was just so...meaningless. Speakers talking about quarterly profits, about their new plans, all sorts of stuff that he just couldn't bring himself to care about.

Besides, how was being something like this going to help him at all? Rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous just wasn't who he was. Some particularly flattering reporters called him a "working class hero", and here he was with executives. He'd been almost pinholed into being "strong and friendly" into the media...and that was about it. He could feel his appeal losing effectiveness every day. People got bored of athletic feats, especially with dozens of other heroes that could do the same (and better, at that). Of course, he'd made efforts to increase his following - he'd instagrammed pretty much every tourist destination they went to, made shoutouts to his coworkers back home at the Luchadore...with little to no success. There had been a large initial surge of followers when he'd first joined Project NEXT, and a little more after he was acknowledged for helping take down the infiltrator...and then almost nothing.

Worse still, he felt out of place at this damn thing. Wearing a custom-tailored charro suit and some cheap dress shoes, he felt uninspired and forgettable. For example, Luan looked like he belonged right in the middle of this place with all that tech he was wearing. And the other strength-based hero looked pretty sharp, with the racer suit and the leather boots. Even Olympia was rather striking, just by the virtue of being attractive and the style of her outfit. But Antonio? If you threw him into a normal suit, he'd look just like the non-meta security around here. His few conversations had been pretty dull, sticking to relatively safe and boring topics about how grateful he was to be here, and what people did for a living. He didn't really know or care what a CFO was on any real level, but it must have been important.

Well, there was no point in sitting around and moping. Maybe he'd get lucky and click with the right person, land another sponsorship. Wouldn't hurt to branch out a little bit. Another woman was standing nearby, browsing through her phone. Looked a little too young to be an executive, but no costume, so it wasn't like she was a member of the team. More people had been invited onto Project NEXT, and Antonio thought it was getting rather crowded. Were they bringing on extras to add variety, or perhaps in case someone would die? As if anyone ever died from PR events. Ugh. Casually strolling over to the young woman, he extended his meaty hand for a handshake.

"Not exactly your kind of party either, huh?" he joked, trying desperately to avoid yet another trite conversation about financial forecasting or product marketing. "Gotta say, what are you up to here? No offense, but you don't quite strike me as the exec type."

[Durmatagno]

Fae "Daoine" Drachoit
Chronze Gala
San Francisco, California
February 7, 2020

Fae had found herself a quiet, by the standards of this Gala, corner to sit in. She had a glass of scotch, though she was drinking it slowly and carefully to make sure she stayed in control. Her eyes wandered the crowds, watching the clumps of people talking, and so forth. If anyone wanted to talk to her, she stood out fairly easily. Not many people looked like her after all. Her mind was instead focused on what she had done to herself. Both getting herself wrapped up inside of this NEXT stuff, and in general. With how her hair was tied up, the scars around her horns were hidden and wouldn't cause trouble for her with new people.

Her clothes were newer, and nice, but they were still very much her. She preferred practical clothes of course, she'd kill for jeans, or tennis shoes right now, but for the time being, this is what would help her here. Still, it was stylish and form fitting enough to draw attention, without being so revealing and risque to cause extreme attention or a wardrobe malfunction that would haunt Fae for awhile. Fae stood to get herself something small to eat, sticking to the edge of the crowds where things were thinner.

As she moved, her heels clacked in a way that annoyed her, she disliked heels for this very reason, but again this was how these things worked. What Fae did or didn't like didn't matter much under these circumstances. She had to look good, and this wasn't her first time wearing heels. Rubbing her neck, she grabbed a few bites of some finger food, and spotted an even quieter spot to move to. So long as she kept away from reporters, she'd stay out of trouble. That was her philosophy here, also meant she couldn't let slip anything she wasn't supposed to. Not that she was likely to, she was extremely careful with that.

[Lunas Legion]

Olympia Galatas
San Francisco, CA
February 7th, 2020


"One, if you call me Miss Galatas one more time, I'm going to have to punch you." Olympia said, but there was no anger in the words as she said them, a smile on her face even if the tension didn't leave her body, still taut and tensed up like a predator waiting to pounce. "'Miss Galatas'," She made air quote as she said it, focusing for a few seconds as she looked over the room before she shut her eyes, seemingly deep in contemplation as she raised a hand before pointing in a seemingly random direction.

"'Miss Galatas', or to be more accurate Gespoinída Galatas, is about ten miles that way-" She waved her outstretched hand in the vague direction she'd been pointing, off towards one of the walls of the hall. "And has most likely been doing her damnedest with her poor English to frighten every reporter who thinks they can get an exclusive interview from the vigilante's mother on her childhood or something." God, that was a funny thought, she could see it in her mind now. She'd never been particularly close to her mother, but she could match her temper and the image of some smug camera crew knocking on her flat's door only to be faced with an angry woman swearing at them in Greek armed with whatever she could have to hand.

"Two, I don't drink." Olympia shook her head slightly, waving dismissively as she moved her pointing hand back to her side. "Not sure how the power jives with alcohol, not sure if I want to know what happens if it doesn't jive with it. Or someone pisses me off so I decide it's a good idea to start a fight so I accidentally murder them in a drunken rage. Offer's appreciated though." Drinking was a luxury she never could have afforded before this, and even now not drinking when she could was just part of her mindset. She'd relax when she wasn't 'out here', and was somewhere without strangers, where there was no chance anything could go wrong.

[Skaldia]

SNIP

[Durmatagno]

Fae "Daoine" Drachoit
Chronze Gala
San Francisco, California
February 7, 2020

Fae was glad that her outfit at this appearance wasn't her actual costume, that would be way to tight to comfortably 'strut' around in. Not that she was really strutting, but she had certain expectations she had to meet as a member of the team. One of those was looking good for the public, be they rich benefactors, journalists, or the average layperson. It was somewhat torturous, she didn't enjoy large groups of people, or most people at all for that matter. Of course, she'd put on a smile, and hide her discomfort, she was pretty good at that. She swirled the drink in her hands, and kept watching the crowds. Then she found herself being approached by another member of the team. One Issac Kiln, a power nullifier, he had other abilities, but this was the one Fae considered the most important. Be it if she was to fight him, or fight alongside him. Of course, she had researched the other members of the team to the best of her ability, using any resources available to her.

What she had gathered of his personality was one that would grate on her, possibly not as bad as Alexander though, who seemed to go out of his way to antagonize people. This one was also a womanizer, but he was smoother, less obtuse about the whole ordeal. Fae flashed a smile as he approached, but it was neutral, nothing behind it, not friendliness or hostility. Her crimson eyes scanned over him as he approached. Didn't seem like he could fight, but his step had a grace to it that she could probably only match if she was transformed. She was pretty sure she was tougher and stronger than him, but powers were an unpredictable equa...she shoved this thoughts aside, she wasn't in the field anymore. She didn't have to think of the best way to take down everyone she met, or studied anymore. Still would need to from time to time, but not nearly everyone.

"It's Fae Drachoit, and I'm not particularly doing anything. Just hanging back and watching the crowds, keeping an eye on things.

[Forest State]

Nouveau Riche
San Francisco Gala
February 7th, 2020

---

It was hard to make the case that there wasn’t a certain awkward tension within the gala. The fact of the matter was that someone from Generation NEXT had shot themselves about five or so minutes before the building had even opened, with some figures from the show and from Infinity finding out as they arrived, but the official line from Infinity was that nothing was being said yet… They were doing a statement soon. The same night, actually. But this event had cost a lot of money to host and they weren’t exactly going to abandon it minutes after it had started, either.

The solution?

Everyone acting like they didn’t know anything.

Amalia ‘Psycho’ Huerta hadn’t been in the building for long before she had been pulled aside by some staff person in a blue Infinity tee shirt who told her not to say anything about the news she had learned outside - the disturbing news. She still had no idea herself what had been done to push Severina over the edge but it didn’t seem she was going to find out soon as she ended up on the ballroom floor walking around and saying her greetings to different people that talked to her.

Turned out that when people paid a lot to have the heroes of a new and famous show at their event, they wanted to actually talk to them - and she had more support around Silicon Valley than she would have imagined. Of course, that made sense… She had blood in Silicon Valley. Was the place where her family on both sides had made it big, with both of her parents going from usual immigrants to new money types who rode around in expensive cars, toted the finest clothes, and sent their children to institutions such as Stanford and Harvard.

That life could have been hers… But she decided to look for the end result in a different way. Through this hero work which had finally started to work out for her.

Her eyes drifting across the crowd for a bit, Amalia stopped and turned when she realized that someone she recognized was calling her name. “Amalia! Over here!” she heard, spinning around and looking towards one of the tables to spot Haruya Demizu, one of her cousins. Also one of the ones that she was on… Better terms with. Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t on good terms with the others, but it was hard to claim there wasn’t a bit of tension from the way she shied away from things her family considered responsibilities.

“Didn’t expect to see you make it over here,” she said, approaching the table where Haruya was sitting.

“Silicon Valley connections, y’know? How’ve you been doing ever since you got this hero thing off the ground? I have to admit, I was surprised when you said you were going to do… This. All happened suddenly,” her cousin replied, before flashing the watch on his wrist towards her. “Guess you’ll be able to get stuff like this now, too, without asking your parents for cash.”

“Pfft. You think I would have been able to get this Adidas jacket on the budget I had as a vigilante?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Not everything’s easy but I’m happy to have moved up, yeah. Been doing pretty well ever since joining, the ratings apparently think I’m decent. Damn big relief, since unlike some of the others this kind of official job isn’t the type of thing I’m used to.”

“Didn’t even know you were a vigilante, you didn’t say anything to any of us, did you?”

“It’s illegal, so… Couldn’t say anything about that until I went official and even after that, there’s still some people that are mad about it. But whatever, I get it, kinda. Only thing worse than a villain is a shitty vigilante,” Amalia said with a shrug. “I’m happy to not have to hide it even if I know mom and dad still aren’t going to be happy with how I hid it and how I’m not at Stanford.”

“They’ll come around,” said Haruya, returning her shrug. “Guess you aren’t going to spend much time ‘round us anymore with this hero stuff taking up your time?”

“Depends on where I am. We’re in the Bay right now but they told us we’re going to travel all over the place. So I don’t have much of a clue where I’m going to be in a week or two. We’re headed to New York at some point… Probably overseas, too. Pretty sure we’re going to be at the Spring Crucible next month which is in Japan this year. ‘Least I get to connect with my Japanese side if I’m going there, though,” Amalia explained, a hand on her chin as she considered her words and the event that she was mentioning - one of the biggest training events for Infinity, it was televised and she’d likely get a large amount of publicity from it too. She couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t attend it considering their status at the forefront of Infinity’s new age marketing.

“I’ll have to tell the boys I got to see you again… I’m sure they would’ve liked to be here if they knew you were coming, since you’re not going to be around for a while. Little Amalia has moved up in the world,” Haruya said, making her furrow her brow.

“Hey, don’t make it sound like I’m never going to do anything with ya’ll. I just gotta find the time,” she reassured, as her eyes traveled and she looked towards the ballroom floor, spotting something interesting. Seemed there were some cameras that were set up and they weren’t from Infinity or the Hero News Network - basically, not affiliated with Generation NEXT at all, but it seemed like they were professional enough in their own right - whoever they were working for. “Hey, you see those cameras over there? I wonder who those guys are…”

“Huh? That girl they’re taping, that’s Yana Vedneyeva. AKA Ladya, or Rook. Big time Russian up and comer. Manipulates earth, pretty strong in combat from what I know,” said Haruya, looking over the young blonde woman who was wearing the Russian colors of blue, white, and red - and flexing her muscles for the camera, while also sporting some jewelry which looked like it cost a fair amount. Perhaps a flex on some of the American heroes here, showing off that the Russians could come with their own swagger too… And showing that she was making just as much as any of the Generation NEXT members despite not being a member of Infinity.

“What team is she on again?” asked Amalia, taking interest in the scene because of just how strange it was to see it around here.

“Krasnaya Zvezda… In Moscow, I think. Or rather, western Russia in general - they cover a wide area.”

“Mmmm…” Amalia muttered, watching more pictures being snapped and video taken of the foreign star that had somehow ended up in the same ballroom as them - she also watched as a second woman approached, a redhead who seemed to be an agent or manager of sorts of the first, leaning close to her and getting into the camera shot herself before she started to promote her silent client, who didn’t have words of her own. “She doesn’t speak English, I guess.”

“Eh? How’d you know?”

“She hasn’t said anything so far and she’s got her promoter talking for her. Either that or she doesn’t have camera skills.”

Amalia kept her eyes on the scene as the redheaded promoter started talking. “I’m right here with Ladya on the first leg of the world tour and we’re right here in the middle of Infinity territory…In fact, we’re in the good old USA, but does my hero look scared? Does she look like someone that needs to be on Generation NEXT or whatever? We’re right here with our own cameras, we bring our own hype all the way from the west of Russia to the west coast of the States,” she said into the camera, her arm around the shoulder of the still silent and somewhat cold looking Russian hero.

“And to the rest of the gen fours, Ladya here is bringing in more than anybody, Gen NEXT or not… How many Gen NEXT heroes do you see around here with VVS on both wrists and ice like this around their necks?” the redhead continued, as Yana held up both of her hands to the cameras to show the diamond bands that were around both of them, and gesturing to the large diamond chain around her neck once the redhead had mentioned it.

“Richest fourth gen and most battle experienced too… Ladya’s fought terrorists back home and didn’t need to go running to another city. Make sure you follow RT to catch her in action, once we’re back home. But before that, we’re hitting San Francisco, we’re hitting Chicago, Toronto, London, Damascus, and Dubai. Don’t miss the rest of our tour…” the redhead continued as Amalia watched.

“Interesting,” Amalia muttered, as she continued to watch the redheaded agent promote her client. “Wonder what it’d be like to have someone hype me up that much… Not that I ever intend to sign an actual agent.”

“Shit, cousin, that’s what family is for,” Haruya said, also watching the strange scene playing out with the Russian hero and the mob of foreign press that seemed to be following her. “Dunno if I’d get as hyped as her, though.”

[Castelia]

Gregory "Zero" Cragisman
Chronze Gala, San Francisco, California
February 7th, 2020

This beats doing fuck all, I guess.

Standing near the side of the room, a glass of expensive champagne in his hand, Gregory surveyed his surroundings carefully, taking note of whichever seemed more interesting at the moment. The days gone by had weighed heavily on his teammates, it would seem. Interviews, patrols, sightseeing, it was probably more than even a superhero could bear. As a result, most of them were feeling disinterested in the party and seemingly preferring to just be elsewhere. It was possible that they were wary of another Los Angeles situation, something he could hardly fault them for. He himself had prepared for the situation, donning the Mark 17 combat suit underneath his usual uniform, a black suit. He was more armed than usual, carrying an FN P90 with three magazines in addition to his dual Walthers and knives.

Or maybe they were just bored at this gala. Gregory was used to events like this. He had attended so many of them back then, together with his teammates as they celebrated their successes together with their bosses, their sponsors, some more important people, and who else the fuck knows who. CyberX loved to throw galas like this every time they had cause to do so, and perhaps it was because of this that Gregory had developed a tolerance for this sort of thing. He always thought of it as tolerance, not interest, because he always would have rather been elsewhere every time parties like these were thrown. This was far from the electronic dance floors and cheap alcohol and easy pick-ups that he preferred in the clubs that defined the nightlife of the superhero known as Zero.

In any case, at least it was better than having nothing to do. It was always unbearable to have nothing to do, so at least here Gregory was busy entertaining himself by watching anything that seemed more interesting than drying paint. If he had been here with his former team, things might have been different. He might have been slow-dancing on the floor with the beautiful Agent Barbara Frost, or enjoying glasses of scotch with Agents Thomas Williams and Isaac Lawson, perhaps even sharing a bed together with the twins Agents Gabriella and Maya Ramirez in one of the rooms upstairs. Given time, maybe one day with these people, he might do the same.

---

"Okay, so the bosses up top told me to tell you to continue your good work. Alright, you made it to the Top 3 ranking of HeroNet! That's something to be proud of, okay? The media department head, in particular, was gushing about your work in helping to evacuate the civilians! Assisting Luan Kruger in taking down the villain probably helped too!"

Gregory had to suppress a slight chuckle at that. Even though everything went his way, Kruger's numbers were far below his own, even lower than that of his other "assistant", Antonio Torres. It seemed that fate had a way of screwing with people, and this was the arrogant man's comeuppance in attempting to take more credit for his own rather than sharing it equally. Then again, to Kruger's credit, he did do most of the work, so Gregory felt a little more credit might have been deserved.

"Okay, so, I know you've already read those reports you've asked for, so I took the liberty of coming up with a plan to help you out further. Okay, you need to get some friends on your side! Friends, allies, anyone who's going to have your back when you need it. I already thought of some fitting personalities, but I'd like you to make the decision yourself. So, if you'll just look here at this interactive relationship chart I've made..."

---

Friends, huh...

Thinking back on their conversations a few nights ago, Gregory was uncertain about the so-called plan. One of the things that made the CyberAgents so successful was the fact that they had trained together since Day 1, their arrival at the facility. The bonds they had formed together back then was strong, and it made their teamwork perfect in the field. These bonds were almost non-existent with Team NEXT, however. Aide from a few personal friendships that were already existing, they had no bonds to speak of except their contract to the company. But Preston was right; If he wanted to survive in this industry, these people were his best chances, whether he liked it or not.

Deciding to make friends with the possible worst of the bunch first, and someone he had already met, Gregory decided to head for the bar, where two certain people had already gathered. Walking up to the two of them, he raised his hand in a greeting. "Mind if I join you both for a drink? Because this.." Gregory then emptied the champagne glass into the floor. "...is not strong enough."

[Lunas Legion]

Olympia Galatas
San Francisco, CA
February 7th, 2020

"Not much of a story, really, there." Olympia shrugged. She wasn't really a people person, as how she handled the media had clearly demonstrated, but even when she'd been a vigilante or prior to that she'd always been guarded around herself to some degree or another, her power automatically putting her always on edge, always ready to fight over literally anything. She knew she could keep herself under control, but it didn't stop her worrying. "Amalia's the one who did most of the legwork on the actual process of joining given she has far, far more knowledge of the mysterious languages that are legalease and corporate than me. I'd say it's all Greek to me, but I can actually speak that unlike those."

"Other than that," Olympia continued. "The basics are we had a pretty sweet deal running with the pair of us doing vigilante shit, sometimes we grouped up with others if we had some really big shit to handle or there was a helluva lot of money to be made, y'know the type of shit I mean. But trying to keep that up is hard. You still gotta live, enjoy yourself, still gotta get money from somewhere so you can explain where your money comes from so you gotta work... Trying to play the whole double-life secret-identity thing wears on you. You gotta figure out why you're off work since you got shot in a streetfight and you can't pay for hospital, hell, hospital would be an announcement that you're a vigilante if you can't explain why you got shot."

"So Amalia had the idea to go legit, figured we'd made enough of a name between ourselves to throw our cents in the pot and were different enough to make us stand out a bit from everyone going to join Gen NEXT, and here we are now." Olympia gestured to the room. "What's your story then, hm?" She asked, starting to make her way over towards one of the drinks tables. "I spilled the interesting parts of mine, now you have to do the same. Only fair. And I'll take soda, don't mind the kind and I doubt they'll have much to pick from anyways." She turned her nose up slightly. "Never saw the point of fancy shit like this."

[Skaldia]

SNIP