Gods Among Us (IC|Superhero|Open)

[Europa Undivided]

Erik Fregel | The Angel of Vengeance

Last Night

"Cling clang go the chains,
Someone's out to find you.
Cling clang oh the chains,
The Angel's right behind you.

Quick now, the seeking chains,
Approach with their shrill scrape.
Don't stop, flee the chains,
Your last chance to escape.

Drag the chains, drag the chains,
With all the strength you may!
Drag the chains, drag the chains,
'ere they drag you away!

Cling clang go the chains,
There's no more time for fear!
Cling clang know the chains,
The last sound that you'll hear..."

"Oh good, he's asleep. Maybe he has extra cash for me to run away with..."

Melinda was just another girl that went to the nightclub, drank, and went home with some stranger that she would mess with. Or more accurately, a scammer. She would invite unwitting victims and then drug them to sleep. However, this one seemed to be a very deep sleeper; this guy called... Erickson was apparently someone that gets tired pretty quickly, and was already dead asleep. He was a strange person, to say the least. He had these shades that only covered one eye and seemed to be drowsy in almost every turn. Or so she thought...

She began rummaging through her latest client's bag, which he had left on the living room. There wasn't much, it seemed. There was some books, a wad of cash, and weirdly enough, a Guy Fawkes mask. Huh.

She shook her head in frustration; this man didn't seem to bring much money around on his person, and he didn't even have a credit card. It would look like this night was going to be very much less productive. Ah, what's this? A... black cape? Black overalls...?

She kept looking. Nothing of value.

It was at this moment that Erickson... or Erik Fregel, spoke from behind with a voice that betrayed an utter lack of drowsiness. "What are you doing?"

Oh, no. "I was, uhm, looking for something."

"You look for something... in my things? You're a scammer, eh?"

"NO! I swear. No."

Erik smirked, and then licked his lips. "I know a liar when I see one. Especially one so blatant..." He began to walk forward, his tall and sinewy frame looming over her. "Do you really presume that you can steal from me and lie to me?"

"No, really, I wasn't..."

Erik brought a Chain of Wrath into existence, pointing the glaive mounted on its end at the one who had thought that she had successfully seduced him."Oh, look, there she goes! A liar and a thief, you truly are. Death would be too merciful a fate for your ilk, you bitch..."

Melinda was, at this moment, regretting all of the choices that she made in her whole life up to this point. "You... you are that terrorist... the one with the chains."

Erik shook his head. His eyes burned with a mix of disappointment and annoyance. He was disappointed at himself at slipping at his power again, and was annoyed that the voice in his head was coaxing him to end her here and now. But...

"Oh, right. Damn it.", Erik sighed. "Alright. Looks like I will have to... wipe the collateral."

"... what?"

His hands both glowed with a ghostly green smoke. They smelt of death and despair, and the woman that they were soon set upon would feel the greatest set of pains that she had ever known. The feeling of every single cell being slowly destroyed and the pain of one's soul being methodically torn to shreds were placed into one, but no voice came out of her throat. Only a silent scream was drawn out as her mouth was transfixed in an undying agony.

Simikiel's mouth creased into an insane grin of apparent sadism. "Hush, hush, it's only going to hurt for the first one hour, and then there's no more pain after that... You will be a butterfly, my dear."

An hour would pass, and all that would be left in that house would be a skeleton whose jawbone was still affixed in a silent scream.

---

Today

A van stopped several blocks away from the edge of the blast radius. It was a white Nissan with a rather spacious compartment in the back as most of the seats were all removed. On the wheel was Erik Fregel, who practically nobody. However, it was him under the Guy Fawkes mask that the infamous Simikiel wears. Simikiel in particular was one of the most elusive villains that the country had ever seen. Many times a squad of TIAMA agents would corner him in one place, only for him to disappear out of sight. Some say that he was a teleporter, others say that he could cloak. Wielders of magic say that he was capable of some kind of shifting between forms. The latter is the most likely.

Either way, Erik put on a face mask, shades, and a cap. There was a potential ally in trouble in there, and perhaps he could help with getting that animal-human hybrid out.

[Segral]

Miguel Castro
The Bronx

This wasn't supposed to happen.

His body was fine, almost perfectly intact. The sounds in his right ear had become muffled and distant, as if the right-hand side had begun drowning in Biblical flood. The only ark was a tinny ring, the sound of dead air boring into the side of his skull. The only smell to cling onto was the scent of fire burning through his nostrils. Smoke, ash, soot, and flame, all of it blending together into a deadly poison that attempted to leech its way into his throat, his lungs, forcing him to cough and sputter in weakness like a broken locomotive's pitiful engine. What had even happened? In one moment, he had been turning away with a crooked grin etched upon his face, his ears hungry for the sound of the explosion that would send the young, juvenile TIAMA lambs bleating and scampering off to their shepherds. The next moment, he was being flung through the air, forcing himself into his shelled fetal position to avoid a cruel, untimely crucifixion at the hands of the store wall's Roman soldiers. The explosion wasn't a vicious rock of his planetary axis so much as it was a gentle shake, a slight tilt that did not even come close to Ouranos'. The impact was sharp, sending him rocketing into the wall with the viciousness of a meteor striking the Earth's surface, but it laid no scars on his body, or at least not ones he could feel. There were abrasions across his scales, a slight splatter of blood caking his forehead, a ragged piece of his shell missing. The latter gave him discomfort and pain, and the middle only made his head spin and blur even further, but none of it explained the sense of dread that was beginning to swell in his chest, building and building until he was certain it would burst right from his chest. How had he gotten here? How had a simple, moderately-sized blast been enough to throw his Herculean bulk into the wall with such ease, pluck him up with such muscular invisible fingers? It must've been his companion, that fucking puta. How many damn booby traps had he left inside that wretched hole? Didn't he say...two dozen?

"Why did you put two dozen bombs in that fucking shaft, puta?" he hoarsely groaned, rolling onto his side in order to catch the scent of his ally. At first, all he caught was more smoke, endless walls of it pushing inwards, but soon, he caught another scent on the wind, one that had clung so closely to his own face, his arms, every inch of his own skin. Blood, he smelt blood. And flesh, burning flesh, putrid enough to make his face scrunch inwards as he painstakingly began to crawl towards the source of the carnage on his weighty hands and knees. Had his companion fallen through death's trap-door, or was he simply knocking on its oaken surface? No...that wasn't possible. His companion had a distinct scent to him, one of petrol, and unwashed clothing, and cologne. Miguel knew what the man's scent was, and he detected no trace of it among the blood. Furthermore, the other man was a master of the flame, the anti-moth, and would never allow his flesh to be burned like so. Which meant that he was most likely alive and well, and these bodies...these bodies were...

No.

He wanted to shake the bodies away, shake them from Yama's grasp, but he couldn't. Touching the remains left a trace, was a crime, and was completely undignified for any being. But what dignity did he still cling to? All his life, he had stuck by a simple creed, a beautiful mantra: "Thief, but never a murderer". He had sunk to the lowest of depths, sunk to the level of brutal humans who robbed others of the ultimate treasure, who abused their minuscule strengths and powers to inflict cruelty and death upon others. The blood and the flesh was growing stronger in his nose, and as he slowly got to his feet and began to stumble this way and that way in a mind-drunken stupor, hoping to find some respite to the endless carnage. Eventually, his companion's scent wafted towards him, but he couldn't find the heart or mind to care, not among such vast bloodshed. Bloodshed he was responsible for, that he had created. Sure, he had not formed the explosives, nor he had detonated them, but was the General not at fault for the orders he gave to his soldiers? Was the King not at fault for the orders he gave to his pawns? He had become a tyrant, an impaler, a king on a throne of skulls, and the mere thought of it all made him even sicker, his stomach folding and churning inwards, his head spinning ever faster.

He was barely aware of his own body as he fell back down to his knees, the only movement in his body being his chest puffing back and forth, and his own vague, slight trembles of the limbs. He knew what was to occur next, and he dreaded it, oh, how he dreaded it. But he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop ruminating over his shame, his disgust, his failures, the blood he had spilt, both of others and his own. If he somehow managed to wildly evade TIAMA's grasp, his employers would not spare him for this act of brutality. They were people of solid moral and sound ethic, true pastors and monks. He had been one too, but anger had stolen his virginity from him, destroyed his vow of chastity to violence, and now, he was scum. He was filth. He couldn't feel his own head anymore, it was going to float away like a nimbus cloud. His blood was sloshing in his temples, his knees were quaking, his whole world was quaking. He could hardly keep track of his own thoughts as they slipped into a deeper, blacker void within his own mind, rushing and rushing before he could even stop to grasp them. He was slipping away, he could already tell. The hearing was beginning to grow sharp in his drowned side, and the pain from his back was beginning to ebb away. He closed his eyes to focus, but that only seemed to let the thoughts flow faster, too fast, too fast. He had to warn...him. Arsonist, he had to warn the arsonist. Danger, danger...all he brought was danger.

Too much.

"Leave this place!" Armadillo barked to his companion between heavy pants, tipping over onto all four limbs as he began to retch and gag face-first towards the floor. "Leave it, leave this godforsaken place, do what I say! There will be consequences to pay if you don't...if you don't..." he spluttered, beginning to cough and choke on his own words as they became more and more unintelligible and slurred. He was shouting into nothing but a smoky void, but with the last remaining strings of thought, he prayed and prayed to whatever God or Gods that he had prayed to before would answer his call again, and force the idiotic pyromaniac to heed his commands.

"Y-you must...must...l-l, I-" he gurgled, only to suddenly stop on his own words, as if the spit was draining back down into his throat, and was being replaced by a light, ragged growl, one that grew deeper and bassier in his chest as the seconds passed. His head slowly rose to point his nose towards the ruined walls instead of the dusted floor, and soon, every piece of the body followed, beginning with the arms and the neck, followed by the legs, the hips, and eventually, the entire torso. He was standing upright again, but was stiffer and stockier, with martial discipline. His eyes were always glassy, but if it was possible, they had grown even further in that direction. His chipped, cracked claws wrapped around balled fists and scaly knuckles, and they were only accompanied by the thin ribbons of fresh saliva dripping down from the corners of his mouth, missing his hands by just hairs. He was Armadillo to many, Miguel Castro to a select few, and now, he was Monster to himself, a ferocious, wild, untamed beast that loved nothing but the bloodshed that Miguel so desperately hated. He was everything he despised of himself now, all twisted and bent and melted within the intricate steelworks of his failing mind.

This game had become war. A war for freedom.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

(Collab with Lessoni and Anowa)

As Ophiuchia watched Gauss' give orders, she found herself having a different reaction to it than she would have had before the mission began. Generally she disliked the idea of seeing others, particularly those in entire other teams, taking orders from Gauss. Regardless how sound they were, it was a reminder Ophiuchia was far off from calling any shots.

But she learned a few things about Gauss today. For one, when she picked her rifle and scanned it, Ophiuchia recognized it had much in the way of ammunition and nothing in the way of an apparent power source. This went a long way to confirming that Gauss very likely did have some powers of electricity manipulation. Secondly, for the first time ophiuchia had an opportunity to see Gauss' face, though her undersuit concealed her hair. As Ophiuchia watched the young woman's freckled face and determined green eyes, Ophiuchia confirmed with Aethelind what she had thought she had seen moments before, Gauss' irises glowed.

This wasn't a trick of the light, she had the eyes of someone with vampiric heritage. This would explain the quickness and metal snapping strength she displayed at the lucky strike, in a suit of armor only designed to support its own weight.

Ophiuchia felt she now knew more of Gauss than Gauss knew that Ophiuchia knew, which provided a measure of comfort. She found the verbal battering she gave shadowshock rather amusing, beating someone until they shat their spine sounded was a gun thing to imagine doing.

Additionally, Ophiuchia found herself having very little negative to think about what Gauss ordered her and blink to do, in fact it would likely give her the opportunity to do precisely what she'd wanted to do, perhaps with the exception of getting a chance to go head to head with the armadillo terrorist.

Rather than turning over debris and engaging in the tedious work of rescuing individual lives, she'd be heading over to the cordon to inform emergency services, and hopefully the curious news media, about the circumstances of the emergency. Why if Ophiuchia was the type to assume benevolence, she might have thought Gauss specifically even meant her well. Regardless of an attitude shift, none of this meant Ophiuchia wouldn't still be trying to find,ways to and opportunities to supplant her leadership, but it did mean Ophiuchia would put more emphasis in remaining friendly and constructive with her. After all, Ophiuchia's goal here wasn't dragging Gauss down, it was pulling herself up.

Ophiuchia nodded in response to Gauss's requests.

"Understood, Gauss" she said, before turning to Blink.

"I think I'd be best if I flew you to the cordon, if you don't mind." Ophiuchia said to Blink.

As Gauss gave her orders, Blink tested his leg. It seemed fine, but he vaguely remembered that one dislocation led to the next. Needless to say, he was grateful when Ophi made her offer.

“Y-yeah, that does seem like it’d be a good idea. So, h-how do you wanna...? Like, how we did it last time?”
Given Blink's injury, carrying him wouldn't only save time, it'd also help protect his leg from further injury until he could get medical aid.

"Yes, just like we did last time." Said Ophiuchia, walking over to Blink, turning her back to him and crouching so that he could more easily climb on.

Limping slightly, Blink climbed onto her back, not thrilled at the prospect of flying twice in one day. Still, it beat walking, at least in his state. His whole body felt vaguely sore, enough that the perhaps tighter than necessary grip he kept on Ophi’s shoulders sent aches up his arms.

Ophiuchia put her arms underneath Blink's legs, gently, securing them in place. She thrn carefully took off in the direction of the cordon, not flying as quickly as she did when they first headed Bronx. Ophiuchia located a building near to and overlooking the boston bridge. After making sure the building was safe with her sensors Ophiuchia landed on it's roof, on a side out of the view of the crowd massing at the cordon. As she crouched down for Blink to get off, she began speaking.

"We'll have to be sure to make a proper entrance." Ophiuchia began.

Proper entrance...? He would’ve preferred getting to where they need to be as soon as possible, but he assumed Ophi had her reasons.

“Yeah, proper entrance, that... that makes sense. Out of curiosity, how uh, how does one make a proper entrance?”, he asked.

Ophiuchia could sense the ethical concerns from Blink as she listened and turned to him. Thankfully, she had a plausible excuse for her public relations concerns ready.

"We need to make sure we make a proper entrance to avoid spooking the civillians, even the emergency services, if we just rush in it'll only increase people's concern. We have to be a stabalizing force that people can like to for assurance, while at the same time showing that we're not above their concerns." Ophiuchia stepped closer to Blink.

"Which is also why you should clean up a bit, not too much, again, we're not above this tragedy, but enough to show that we're in control. You mind if my shield projectors help you with that?"
She did have her reasons, not that he’d had any doubt. Mostly. It was sound reasoning, at least sound enough for Blink, and truth be told he was a mess. Clothes torn in a couple different spots, covered in debris and dirt, bleeding from a couple spots, he did not look great.

“Shield projectors? How will- you know what, you know better than I do, just go ahead.”

Ophiuchia's shield, while manipulated by Aethelind was capable of a lot, while it couldn't truly hold objects, it could vibrate them, lossen dirt, remove surface liquids, etc. all of which served to help Blink look better, p It couldn't very easily exactly mend wounds or fix torn clothing, but it simply didnt need to, precisely because Ophiuchia had no intent of them showing up looking untouched by the damage of the explosion. All that was required was removing the least photogenic of splotches of dirt and blood that appeared on Blink's face, clothing and skin. After having Blink turn around once, so Aethelind could more efficiently prepare Blink, Ophiuchia was finished.

Blink stood dutifully as Ophi did her work, shuddering slightly at the feeling. It wasn’t that it hurt or that it was uncomfortable, it just tickled.

“Man, that was... that was definitely a new sensation.”

For a moment Blink stood, seeming deep in thought.

“H-Hey Ophi? You’ve been doing this a while, right? Does seeing all... all that... does it ever get easier?”

Ophiuchia stopped. Now was the time to show some humanity. She sighed.

"Look Blink, I am not going to mince words here, I've never had to experience anything this bad. Honestly, none of us engrained in this division of TIAMA, except those were around for 9/11 and before, have experienced anything this bad. I'd say only those who've been in TIAMA Middle East have experienced anything like this in the last 10 years." Ophiuchia said, solemnly.

"All I can say, is that it doesn't really get easier, you just get more determined to stop the next one and do your best to the pick of the peices when you can't." Ophiuchia continued.

"You just have to find your role to play and play to your strengths, as always, without timidity, as when you're gifted with powers, in a sea of those who have to go without and often end up victimized like this because of it, you owe the world nothing less."

Blink sighed. Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear. What he wanted to hear was that next time he’d be used to it, it wouldn’t effect him. That it wouldn’t make him feel like he did. Her words discouraged him, but hardened him, at least for the moment. Put on a strong face and cry in the bathroom at night, easy enough. He took some comfort in knowing that he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t seen something like this.

“Th-Thanks, Ophi. That makes me feel... not quite better. I’m not sure how it makes me feel. But thanks. Let’s... let’s get going,” he said, slightly downcast.

"Look, don't feel too bad about what you can't control. You do that and it will feel easier." Said Ophiuchia, upon seeing that she might have partially demoralized him.

"Now, here's what I was thinking. We've radioed ahead that we're coming, so the cops will know to expect us. So here's what we'll do. I'll land behind the cordon, soon after that, you teleport behind me, just in case you need to catch your balance or something after teleporting, I'll make sure that eyes are focused on me. After that, you walk behind and to my left, but if you ever feel that your limp is becoming noticeable, tap my shoulder and walk to my left, I'll help keep you upright. I'll handle the talking, unless you are directly addressed. At which point, try to keep it short and if possible defer to me. Got it?"

Blink ran over the short plan in his head. Easy enough, just stay on her left, and shut up as much as he could.

“That seems simple enough. Leg shouldn’t be too much of a problem, I think. Probably.”

"Excellent, you'll do fine. Just watch the bridge."

Ophiuchia took off far faster than either of the times she carried Blink, before flying over the bridge and descending behind the cordon. Ash she did, she had a neural conversation with Aethelind.

"You've been dreaming of a moment like this for years."

"You've taught me to dream about this."

"Both statements are true. Remember, to get this right. You get to the officer in charge of the cordon, inform him of the need for masks to be supplied to the area, you inform the officer of the circumstances, keep things succinct and say you don't want to hold him for too long so that he can do his job. Then you walk through the other side of the cordon and start addressing the media.”

“I’ll get it right, I just hope that Blink does his part."

Ophiuchia landed by descending quickly until the last 10 feet or so, before slowly lowering herself to the ground.

“I am Ophiuchia of TIAMA NA-East, Blink will be arriving shortly, may I speak to the officer in charge of this cordon?” Ophiuchia began, having caught the attention of the nearby police officers with her arrival.

As Ophi set him down, Blink ran over the plan in his head. Stand back, shut up, stay left. Easy enough. He started up his side of the plan, teleporting a short distance behind Ophi and moving up to her left. He put on his best put together voice.

“Hello, officer. Name’s Blink.”

He decided to leave it at that.
A large, round officer stepped forward and introduced himself as the officer in charge of the cordon. Ophiuchia quickly informed him of the need for masks to be delivered to the area on account of the dust in the air. She also summarized the explosion, the extent of the damage she had witnessed in her flight from the epicenter to the cordon and the significant likelihood the bomber was still at large. She then told him that she'd leave him to do his job, before Ophiuchia began heading toward the other side of the cordon.

Following close behind, Blink looked around wearily. He’d never liked cameras, and he knew for sure they’d be here. Disaster this big, it wouldn’t make sense for them not to be. He was glad Ophi was there to do the talking, for sure.

Ophi was almost immediately ambushed by a short balding man with a microphone and a following cameraman. "Thomas Brown, Fox News, It's rather obvious some kind of explosion has happened here. With TIAMA's recent penchant for collateral damage it's clear that members of the public could find that your organisation could be responsible for such devastation. What would your response be to those people?"

Ophi was almost immediately ambushed by a short balding man with a microphone and a following cameraman. "Thomas Brown, Fox News, It's rather obvious some kind of explosion has happened here. With TIAMA's recent penchant for collateral damage it's clear that members of the public could find that your organisation could be responsible for such devastation. What would your response be to those people?"

Speaking to television cameras was not quite like social media engagement. Here she couldn't depend on Aethelind to guide discussion in the comments, replies or chats. She couldn't rely on her knowledge of Zoomer's curious memetic quirks and references. Here she spoke to a very different audience, through a very different media.

This was also significantly worsened by the line up of crews she could see. Curiously, they were overwhelmingly rubbish far-right outlets. It was the type of group in which Fox News represented relative moderation. Now it wasn't exactly as if she expected to be facing any media that'd be particular friendly to her politics, those sorts tended to not have a crews ready to head out breaking news like this and tended to depend on others' footage, but she was hoping for the likes of a liberal/centrist outlet like CNN or an MSNBC.

That isn't what she had to work without, however and to start out with, she needed to answer a particularly accusatory question from Fox News.

"This tragedy was a violent consequence of the type of neglect and deindustrialization communities like these have faced for decades all across our nation. Good jobs left and were not replaced. With them left the type of community interest and administrative attention that'd prevent a terrorist from going undetected packing in underground explosives next to gas infrastructure. As for TIAMA, if we were delivered information of the whereabouts of the bomber sooner, we'd have been able to capture them before bombs were set off, but even that is only addressing a symptom, it should never have gotten that far. Even something as simple as greater investment in infrastructure would have allowed these vulnerabilities to be caught before terrorists could exploit them, better yet, we could avoid copycat terror attacks entirely by replacing gas lines with cleaner and safer heating methods."

That answer was much more comprehensive than Blink could’ve thought up. He would’ve said something along the lines of “no one could’ve predicted this” and left it at that.

Privately, he thought Ophi said a bit too much, bordering on preachy. Wrong time to be pushing an agenda, even if it was a good agenda to push. He was still glad he wasn’t the one doing the talking. He doubted he’d keep the stutter under control.

The News anchor nodded and continued, "So you're saying that the public is to expect a slower response time to poorer communities then? That certainly paints an unsavory image for TIAMA."

Blink looked at the man in confusion. That hadn’t been anywhere near what Ophi had said!

“I believe you’re un-unfairly twisting my... colleague’s, words. What she meant was that this disaster is at least partially a symptom of problem’s that are beyond the reach of TIAMA to fix. But when this community needed us, we were here. We came as fast as humanly... superhumanly possible, and we gladly risked our lives in doing so, cause TIAMA will always do its dam-darndest to save lives. This time, the situation was... was...”

Blink had not at all planned this out. He wasn’t a PR guy, for certain, but he’d spoken up, nonetheless, and now his ass was in the fire. He shifted his eyes to the camera near imperceptibly, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, though it was barely noticeable considering he’d already been sweating.

Come on Ophi, bail me out here..., he thought.

Ophiuchia explicitly told Blink to shut up. Yet there he was, stumbling all over his words trying to give a response to question that needed to be expertly diffused.

"The public can expect a response time as fast local surveillance infrastructure allows. That is something that is something that must rectified by our governments and like I said, these communities have been, for decades, shamefully neglected and it has to change. When I arrived on the scene, I was forced to conclude, with little to work with, where the terrorists escaped to and the risk they intended to set off bombs. Once there, I obstructed the explosion as much as I possibly could."

"So you're saying that TIAMA's success depends on whether or not America becomes a surveillance state?"

Before Ophiuchia gave her answer, Aethelind felt the need to converse with her neurally.

"This all seems suspicious launching the worst attack on new york since 9/11 on the same day of a TIAMA NA-east meeting in which nearly all of our heroes will be concentrated here and are deep in trying to address this crisis. Then the presence of all these right wing news outlets should not sit well with you, it seems too coincidental, as if they were alll here to build up a crowd and bog you down in minutiae, as if they were specifically given a tip from beforehand. I worry that this here might be a distraction and/or trap inside of a larger one."

"What do you suggest, I can't just run away from questions like these, it'd be worse than never speaking to these reporters in the first place."

"Don't worry, I'll just be on high alert, just be ready to have a calm means to withdraw should I report anything interesting to you."

After holding that quick neural conversation with Aethelind, Ophiuchia responded to the reporter's stupid questions.

"A more effective neighborhood watch counts as surveillance infrastructure, I'd hardly call an organized group of concerned citizens committed to their communities an element of a surveillance state. However, that sort of thing most healthily emerges within the context of the sort of community pride and social solidarity that's been made difficult by the hollowing out and neglect communities like these have faced."

"Neighbourhood watch groups in the past have been notably iffy in certain aspects in regards to dealing with suspicious persons, like what happened with Trayvon Martin. With the advent of meta-human activities over the past few years, there would be a arguably higher chance of an overly concerned or paranoid citizen repeating the actions of George Zimmerman, wouldn't there?"

Insinuating that the aryan superwoman is racially insensitive. Nice trick. But Ophiuchia wasn't like any of this man's countless stupid racist and blonde colleagues. Ophiuchia anticipated the question from beforehand, in fact she baited it forward. She was therefore ready to call back to what she'd previously said to smother this dirty tactic.

"As I said, effective neighborhood watches most healthily emerge within the context of community pride and social solidarity. You get unhealthy neighborhood watches from communities guarding what they have from those that have been neglected, to the point they empower bigotry. That is the exact opposite of social solidarity. Ultimately, as I've said, these are issues that must be rectified by governments. Our communities need to see opportunities that leave people closely interested in their well being and feeling a strong sense of social solidarity. Then, governments, responsible to their voters, must decide how best to build out their surveillance infrastructure, be it through leaning on neighborhood watches or otherwise. However, regardless, TIAMA can only react as quickly as we are alerted and as effectively as we are accurately informed."

There was a smug smile on the man's face as he turned away with a "Thank you for your time."

However, the reprieve from the media was short lived, as another anchor walked up, the mic labeled with the green and black of RT, hopefully RT America. "Good morning, Ophiuchia. Anne Thompson with RT America, I was hoping you could enlighten us on what has happened here, obviously some kind of explosion, but perhaps you could shed some light on the specifics."


Ophiuchia was glad to be over with the FOX News reporter, each of his questions had hostile framing and all Ophiuchia could do was calmly answer each and work to anticipate what the next question would be with each answer. All things considered, despite Blink's unwelcome interruption, things went well enough and It'd likely require quite a bit of editing to frame her in a poor light.

Now it was time to answer an open ended question from Russia Today, the Kremlin funded and directed 'news' network. Poor Russia, and really, the former soviet union in general, still under the thumb of authoritarianism, with a fraction of social aid to show for it. At least the Baltics were better off than they were 30 years ago.

Now this question was one that seemed innocent enough, being open ended, but it's danger came from that. She had to be careful not to give or imply too much in her description of what happened, to avoid uncomfortable questions. Paint a general picture, then offer detail as she asks for it. Plus subtle hosility was advisable, for the american woman eagerly working as a kremlin mouthpiece.

"Not a good morning at all, but I appreciate your attempt at good courtesy. We tracked down a terrorist who fled into a tunnel below a warehouse, I suspected that the tunnel could be packed with explosives and took action to obstruct the explosion as much as I could. The explosives were packed next to a gas line, dramatically worsening the blast. Such are the risks of that sort of heating infrastructure." Ophiuchia couldn't help but take a jab at natural gas given how key it was to Russia's energy foreign policy. Besides, she'd already done so with the FOX reporter.

"It is unfortunately the best that a forgotten neighbourhood like this can afford. Moving on, what do you believe the best course of action for TIAMA to take in efforts to prevent a reoccurrence of what happened here?"

Overhead, multiple rotors washed over the scene as a duo of Epoch Condors ventured further in to the wrecked area, dust and debris being kicked up as they wandered overhead, one was filled with a number of TIAMA personnel picked up from the training center. The reporter looked up for a moment, but the cameraman remained fixed on Ophiuchia, awaiting an answer.

Observing the Condors overhead, Ophiuchia assumed that her flightless comrades were likely in them, arriving on the scene. Aethelind, high on alert, tracked their flight and surrounding airspace.

Ophiuchia realized that it'd likely be time to head back across the cordon, at least their arrival provided an excuse to bail in the face of an annoying question.

"TIAMA can track down and bring to justice the terror networks that are responsible for tragedies such as these. The roots of these problems, however, must be tackled by the people and their elected officials."
As Blink saw the helicopters overhead, he shifted uncomfortably. They’d been here too long, answering questions. They could be saving lives with the time they spent debating idiots. He turned to Ophi, speaking quietly.

“Hey, I don’t meant to, to rush, but shouldn’t we be getting back in action, instead of like... standing here talking?”

He struggled to remember why they were here in the first place, thinking hard for a moment. The answer didn’t come to him, so he dropped it. He’d get a reminder eventually. Hopefully.

Ophiuchia was going to use the condors as reason to leave soon enough, but as far as she was concerned, there was no need Blink to speak up, out of turn again. Ophiuchia wasn't visibly upset, she was usually excellent at concealing that, but she was. She had told Blink to not speak unless spoken to and both times he spoke the wisdom of those instructions only became more obvious to her. The damage was done, however, and she wasn't about to be seen ignoring her teammate for the sake of continuing an interview, that'd be a bad look. Nore was she going to stay for just one more question and risk it being one that needed an indepth explaination, requiring her being seen as disregarding her teamate or seen as fleeing a hard question. She had to head off, now.

"My colleague is correct, I value speaking with the media, but I'd say between this interview and my previous one, I've said what needed to be said. Any further questions should be forwarded directly to TIAMA." Ophiuchia said, before turning to Blink.

"Alright Blink, let's follow those Condors." Ophiuchia headed back beyond the police line.

Blink didn’t much like the idea of being left alone with combative media like this, so he didn’t stay. Instead, he followed close on Ophi’s heels, relieved to be out from in front of cameras. And questions, in general. He hated those.

As Ophiuchia led Blink to the spot where they had first arrivied from, she quickly informed that officer in charge of the cordon that'd be off to catch up to the Condors that had flown overhead. When they reached the spot, Ophiuchia turned to Blink.

"You know the building we were on top of? Teleport beside it and head around the back. I'll land next to you and pick you up from there."

Blink nodded, following her instructions. It was simple enough, if seemingly... pointless. He showed no sign of his puzzlement; Ophi knew better than he did, in a vast majority of situations.

Ophiuchia gave a short wave to the police officers at the cordon before taking off to land next to Blink. At least he followed instructions this time. Perhaps he understood that it'd be preferable that the cameras didn't catch her giving Blink a piggyback ride, they didn't need to, for both his sake and hers. Whenever possible, it was best not to show any sign of weakness in front of the media. Perhaps he understood that, or he simply knew, for the most part, to listen to her.

Upon landing next to him, however, she'd quickly address the part where he didn't listen to her.

"Blink, I think we did pretty well back there, just kind of wish you didn't speak up the two times you did, I had it under control and you sort of made things more difficult than they needed to be. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you should always be quiet and you should have some basic media skills, but I don't think the aftermath of the worst terror attack on our soil since 9/11 is the best time to practice."

Blink wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He thought he’d done pretty well, besides a little slip at the end, but he also wasn’t used to talking to a camera. In any case, it wasn’t time to argue.

“I’m s-sorry, Ophi, I was just... trying to help.”

He didn’t try to explain himself further, instead mentally preparing for the flight that awaited him.

"It's fine, I know you were." Said Ophiuchia, trying to sound reassuring.

Ophiuchia turned around and crouched so that Blink could climb on her back, before she flew off to carry Blink to where the TIAMA Condors would be landing.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Imogen Vaughan

William Brookes

The hypothesis she considered was interesting... However, why go to such extremes and with meticulous planning to do so? It is way easier - specially in times like the ones they were living in - to create a myriad of superficial hoaxes and spread it than to emulate a terrorist attack with bombs and enter into a conflict that could very well end his existence before he could even deliver the message.

"To quote the general communist rhetoric of the last century, the bourgeoisie will never allow the proletariat the tools they need to create deep change in the status quo, rendering the process of elections a mere change of pawns to emulate democratic acts while the capital determines who gets to make the decisions. Blame me for being bored between classes, eh?

But saving you the odyssey and the semantic discussion, we need to focus on which one TIAMA wants us to hunt down. I am pretty sure that his other associates might not be that considerate about their objectives and people's lives. I try my best to not come with advanced conclusions seasoned with my charming bitterness, but a few not so nicely intended individuals might be allied with him, and I hope it isn't the Black Hole Lady...

So, now we wait for the team that was dispatched to return or for people to eventually call us there so we can enjoy a demonstration of how to cause the maximum amount of property damage to this fine city while catching the bad guy."

The last comment drew a laugh from Imogen, "Maybe we need to up our game? I can probably do something like open a portal up to somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Lets see how our next location likes dealing with salt water damage!"

"Out of interest, aren't we supposed to have another team member?" she asked, glancing about as if expecting them to wander in and join their conversation, "Any idea who they are?"

"Also, I'd like to do a bit of maths on what kind of enemy we can take on before we should all run screaming like the cowards we naturally are. Just how powerful are you Brookes?" she asked, "This time."

William Brookes

"Well, that's a tricky question...

And one it will take a whole lot more of time and trust for me to tell you, Imogen. No offense, but I like to keep my arsenal of skills to myself. What I can share with you is that I can do a whole lot of damage with time, proper preparation and understanding of my foe... without those, well, I can make some fireworks and trick people here and there, nothing fancy."

Soon as he finished his sentence, the radio call came in. The situation, initially designated for one team, became an all-teams situation pretty quickly. With a tired sigh, William slowly rose from the chair readying himself for the assignment, knowing that at the pace TIAMA liked to work, transport would be already set up for them.

"Well... wanna bet on how destroyed the Bronx is? I am divided between 'need for building New Bronx' and 'two blocks down, four affected'. And don't let them catch you saying that, it would be a hell for this admirable institution's PR."

[Europa Undivided]

Hydra Imperator | On the Edge

Amidst the tumultous roar of the whirring engines of the Condors, Jacques stepped down from the flying machine's belly, wearing not the Hydra suit that the people of New York City had commonly associated with the one often known as the Brooklyn Leviathan; rather, he was using a formal suit that he was wearing under the armor with which he had formed an eternal contract with. He looked upon the devastation wrought upon the area by the explosion from earlier, and shook his head. Jacques was guessing that no less than a hundred people have been killed and many more injured, judging from the amount of destruction present in the area of effect. Apparently, Synapse had gone off into the tunnels to search for the perpetrator, who seemed to be for all intents and purposes to be the armadillo man that had been rampaging here earlier. She... they would probably be more than enough to deal with the human-animal hybrid. Who would have thought that such a low level wannabe would cause such devastation in an act of terrorism whose level of intensity hasn't been seen since 9/11.

Either way, they need to get to work. Jacques was not feeling very well, though. When he had deactivated Hydra for the time being, he found himself rather disoriented; there were gaps in his memory that he could no longer recall in any shape or form. He remember absolutely and utterly nothing about the last few hours, the time before deactivating the suit... ah, right. It was the contract. Hydra had said that fateful day that its services do not come free, or cheap. It also said that it wasn't money that Jacques would be paying; it would be something else, and something very important. Apparently, it was his memories, the times of when he is using Hydra. He could also feel his control slipping when wearing the Hydra; his usual polite self was subverted each time he was in that suit; he had become this... arrogant fool.

Either way, there was nothing he could do about it, but maintain control. Jacques could feel the blood lust encroaching the edge of his every thought. He was having these... visions. Visions of memories that were not his. Witches were being burned. There was a war amongst the stars, and alien warriors being ripped apart by the arms of the Hydra. Worse of all were all those voices. Dozens of them. A chorus of the dead who still live on...

[Mandicoria]

"Afterlife here from the Boston Road checkpoint, peeled off my patrol to the south, I'm solo for now. Who's where and where do we need more hands, I've got plenty to spare. If we don't need anything too specialized I'll look at pulling out survivors and clearing the way for first responders."

Their radio flared up not even a few seconds after, the voice of Patriot coming through. "This is Patriot, highly recommend you help with evacuations. Tesla and I have the roadways clearing right now. Over." Patriot sighed as he looked over to Tesla, noting Tesla's... Odd demeanor right now. Sure Patriot himself was being uncharacteristically, erm, soft. Yet he couldn't shake the weird awkward feeling he had of seeing Tesla not be composed. He stared for a moment before shaking his head and reaching back to his radio. "This is Team Charlie, any updates on backup coming? Over."

Tesla on the other hand was quite out of it at this point. He was a Doctor dammit, and here he was having to cleanup after a Terrorist attack. He couldn't stop fumbling over himself as he stumbled with some minor car pushing. Things he was more than capable of doing. Yet he was stumbling, almost tripping over himself at times. Like his will to keep on with the day was sapped. He tried pushing a truck out of the way, but he couldn't. That was until he felt the load get lighter. Patriot was there, helping him move the truck off the side.

"Hey Tesla..." Patriot patted Tesla's armor after the duo pushed the truck off the road. "Now ain't the time for a heart to heart, but you're looking out of it right now... I want you to know if you need to pull out to the cordon it's fine. I can handle clearing this out myself."

"I... Kurt, I don't think I'm cut out for this thing anymore." Tesla sighed, nodding over to Patriot. "I just-"

"Look, do you want to head to the Cordon or not."

Tesla just looked around at the destruction around them, sighing as he looked down to Patriot once more. "I'll stay and help. There's more lives that need saving."

Patriot nodded before clicking his radio "This is Team Charlie, we got the Northern end of the street cleared, and covered with flares. Shadowshock should be directing EMTs in now. We're moving on to clearing the southern side of the street right now. Over." He sighed, looking out to the wreckage to their South. "I'm getting too old for this dogshit."

[Gudmund]

Fulldive, New York

Ethan Park, or Fulldive now, twiddled his thumbs awkwardly in his seat. In the muffled, soundproofed interior of a V-26 Condor - an aircraft he had initially yearned to fly in - one could barely hear the roaring quad-rotors just outside. The Condors seemed to slowed, indicating their arrival, deftly landing themselves onto New York soil where their doors shortly hissed open. The previously muffled world made itself heard, sirens wailing in the distance along with the distinct sound of shifting rubble and crackling flames. Fulldive unbuckled himself, swiping through his phone to find a specific file he'd poured countless hours into.

Several other TIAMA heroes were also aboard, with Hydra Imperator being the first one to exit. Fulldive hadn't really partaken in any small talk mid-flight, and honestly, he wasn't sure how he felt about these people or his soon-to-be assigned team. This was possibly the biggest undertaking of his lifetime, a momentous occasion to be sure, but was he really worthy of being among these people? The briefing detailed fire and explosions, powered criminals, and numerous injured civilians. His knees jittered in excitement, fear, and some other primal desire to prove himself. Some heroes were already at work outside, apparently waiting to reconvene with the Condors.

Tapping his phone, Fulldive smirked as pixelated smoke poured from his device, swallowing his small frame whole. Roughly fifteen seconds later he stood, more than a mere man in a body of his own design. Strolling out of the Condor, Fulldive's feathered wings unfurled, revealing his freshly armoured form underneath. Were he not standing beside other heroes he'd look extremely out-of-place. Months of training had led to this moment, and he wasn't about to stuff it up. Working on TIAMA's little tech projects was fun while it lasted, sometimes posing a genuine bit of challenge. But this was his moment to shine, to fully stress test his true power while helping people.

[Union Princes]

Holiday

It was Maria's first time traveling in the Condor. The gargantuan machine was an impressive feat of engineering to the blondie as she traveled with her allies into the belly of the beast. It was amazing that the sound of four large helicopter engines didn't raise a din that would tear out her eardrums. As Maria cuddled near Hans in order to get him to wrap his arm around her shoulder, she reviewed the tools on her person. The cooler still laid at her feet nearby and the syringes and vials remain inside her bag. Maria grabbed an empty syringe to draw more healing blood from her wrist. The German treated this task as something as mundane as checking the weather app during a road trip despite performing an action of a heroin addict.

Upon landing, the huge doors opened up letting in fresh daylight fill the interior. Unlike most TIAMA agents, Maria looked like a school girl cosplaying as a nurse that was cosplaying as a schoolgirl given her green skirt, black leggings, a white buttoned shirt and her handbag with tattooed in bloody fingerprints. The only medical insignia on her was the white face mask bearing the Red Cross covering her mouth. With a free hand, she tugged Hans on the shoulder to get him to come along. "Come on, Hans." the blondie smirked, "Let's go practice medicine."

[Lessoni]

Jack Dredd

Jack was always glad to be out from in front of cameras, even if it meant flying. The flight was easier this time around, and he didn't feel the need to hold on to Ophi as tight as he did. It'd also occurred to him that a fall probably couldn't kill him, if he was smart teleporting. Still, landing was as much of a relief as it was the first time.

"H-hey Ophi? I'm gonna go track down Maria and maybe get fixed up a little. A lot, actually, cause I don't really think it's healthy to walk around with all these little... yeah I'm just gonna go find her."

Never had Jack been quite so relieved to see helicopters. He hated riding in them, for certain, though perhaps not as much as flying along with Ophi. More heroes, more innocents saved, and if he was lucky... Maria. The girl who terrified him more than a little, but if he remembered correctly, she was a healer. Who injected blood into people. He didn't relish the thought of having blood in him that wasn't his own, or talking to the unbalanced girl, but he also didn't relish the thought of his various cuts, bruises, and scrapes stinging throughout the rescue operation. It wasn't an ideal situation either way, but it was the dull throb in his knee that made his final decision. He approached Maria, attempting to downplay his injured leg.

"Hey uh, you're Maria, right? With the... blood? I kinda got my leg jacked up in the blast and I'm not gonna lie it's still aching pretty bad, and also my entire body hurts and I've got like a bunch of scrapes all over and- I've said enough, could you help me out with all this?"

[Sudbrazil]

First Response
The Bronx ~ 22nd of March

---

A shiver ran up his spine as he remembered the view from up above. A comfortably cold feeling seized his heart despite the sickening sights, not unlike what Charles had felt during certain stages of the war. This was historic. Smoke, dust and ash clouds tainted the blue sky. He could even imagine the faint smell of burnt flesh lingering in the distance, despite the filter mask he had scrounged from the VTOL’s cargo.

The casualties would be substantial. Doubtlessly, the true rulers of this land were already flocking to the tragedy, preparing their speeches and laws to push for more power under the guise of public safety. Only God knew what wickedness this would result in. He would write his predictions, he could rile up opinions through the papers, but it was essentially trying to redirect the great river of History by digging with his pen. For now, he had to stem the tide of death with his bare hands, and maybe a shovel from some paramedic vehicle. As he felt the landscape’s heat, Highcastle turned to Chris and Hans – his teammates – then made himself heard over the engines.

“Right,” barked the officer’s throat , “We’re going to escort the first responders into the disaster area. I understand we are more accustomed to putting holes in people than patching them, and we aren't gifted with the great speed of some, but we are still able to dig. I suggest you watch your footing and find a mask of sorts. We don't know how these buildings have held up, nor what they are made of.”

If Architecture had decayed swiftly over the century, at least safety standards were a consolation

[Dyelli Beybi]

Imogen Vaughan

William Brookes

"Well, that's a tricky question...

And one it will take a whole lot more of time and trust for me to tell you, Imogen. No offense, but I like to keep my arsenal of skills to myself. What I can share with you is that I can do a whole lot of damage with time, proper preparation and understanding of my foe... without those, well, I can make some fireworks and trick people here and there, nothing fancy."

Soon as he finished his sentence, the radio call came in. The situation, initially designated for one team, became an all-teams situation pretty quickly. With a tired sigh, William slowly rose from the chair readying himself for the assignment, knowing that at the pace TIAMA liked to work, transport would be already set up for them.

"Well... wanna bet on how destroyed the Bronx is? I am divided between 'need for building New Bronx' and 'two blocks down, four affected'. And don't let them catch you saying that, it would be a hell for this admirable institution's PR."

"Well that's about as helpful as a chocolate teapot," Imogen remarked caustically, "So I'm supposed to team up with you without the faintest idea of what you are capable of?... oh well, guess that's the TIAMA way. Fine.
Not even sure why I'm surprised anymore."

She was evidently annoyed. More so than she looked. She strode out towards the Condors, piled into the nearest one, "Anyone got any semtex?" she asked conversationally, "Figured that might come in handy if I'm going to make a real attempt to get in on the TIAMA spirit. I figured I've pretty much lost the battle to be a professional so I might as well join the chaos."

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Imogen Vaughan

William Brookes

"Well, that's a tricky question...

And one it will take a whole lot more of time and trust for me to tell you, Imogen. No offense, but I like to keep my arsenal of skills to myself. What I can share with you is that I can do a whole lot of damage with time, proper preparation and understanding of my foe... without those, well, I can make some fireworks and trick people here and there, nothing fancy."

Soon as he finished his sentence, the radio call came in. The situation, initially designated for one team, became an all-teams situation pretty quickly. With a tired sigh, William slowly rose from the chair readying himself for the assignment, knowing that at the pace TIAMA liked to work, transport would be already set up for them.

"Well... wanna bet on how destroyed the Bronx is? I am divided between 'need for building New Bronx' and 'two blocks down, four affected'. And don't let them catch you saying that, it would be a hell for this admirable institution's PR."

"Well that's about as helpful as a chocolate teapot," Imogen remarked caustically, "So I'm supposed to team up with you without the faintest idea of what you are capable of?... oh well, guess that's the TIAMA way. Fine.
Not even sure why I'm surprised anymore."

She was evidently annoyed. More so than she looked. She strode out towards the Condors, piled into the nearest one, "Anyone got any semtex?" she asked conversationally, "Figured that might come in handy if I'm going to make a real attempt to get in on the TIAMA spirit. I figured I've pretty much lost the battle to be a professional so I might as well join the chaos."

WIlliam Brookes

Accompanying her to the Condor, Brookes couldn't help but laugh. Obviously his cryptic answer left her unsatisfied, much to the bittersweet amazement of the British mage. He wasn't fond of playing his cards openly like that, a trait he picked up along the years. Somewhere down the line their sense of comedy seemed to play along finely when she commented about semtex.

"Other than the obvious part that I can do magic, it is far better to you if you know my list of weaknesses. Which is: I am just a boring human, I am not possessed by any being that give me magic and resistance, wings or that kind of thing that makes TIAMA looks good in the news. Let's just work together and we'll get acquainted with how well we work, but I'll have your back.

Even when you join the demolition squad. Though I don't think we'll be a match, y'know..."

[Remnants of Exilvania]

New York City
Bronx
Hans

Hans did not expect to be hugged. He also didn't expect Maria to switch languages so rapidly that he had trouble keeping up with what she was trying to say, his injured state likely playing into it as well. Not that he was given particularly much time to try and think about it, Maria leaving him again as quickly as she had come, for some reason blushing before she returned with her clothes actually on and...

...a syringe.

His eyes went very, very wide at the sight of that while his pupils shrank to a size barely below that of a pinhead. His lips trembled ever so slightly and his breathing hastened at the sight but he couldn't utter a single word as his eyes remained transfixed on the syringe that Maria nonchalantly rammed into her arm, drawing her blood into it before grabbing his arm, the pain from it being pressed and moved making him hiss for a moment yet not breaking the almost trance-like state with which he fixated himself on the syringe as it was stuck into his own arm. He didn't even notice his arm healing or Maria asking him anything, only focusing on that syringe, following it with his eyes as she took it back again

---

Normally Hans loved flying. He loved looking out of the windows and watching the world pass him beneat. He loved the wind blowing against him. He loved the air which he felt was fresher the higher up he was. He loved the hum of engines and the comfort the aircraft he got to use usually gave. He also loved sharing this sensation and his enthusiasm for it with others, not minding Maria trying to snuggle up to him, wondering instead if she was perhaps cold. He decided to maybe put his arm around her and give her some of his warmth if she needed it, looking down to see if she was perhaps shacking or wether there was any other indication of discomfort due to low temperatures or something like that on her side.

Instead he found her casually sticking a syringe into her wrist and drawing more blood.

He had barely even stomached the last time she had pulled out a syringe. This time, his mental defenses battered and broken already, he did not show as much restraint. It started simple enough with his eyes once more widening and his pupils narrowing, his lips trembled once more and tears started to form in his eyes. The horrors of the past were parading again before his eyes. Decades of scientists trying to see if they could do something new with his body. Decades of younger scientists learning the ropes on his body. Rivers of blood and mountains of organs. Goosestepping black-clad figures and motionless, shapeless beings floating in great tanks not unlike his own. Broken crosses on white sand, surrounded by a blood red sea. Silver twin lightning breaking through the darkness that surrounded him there, only to torment him further.

With a yelp he collapsed onto the ground before his seat, curling up and trying to hide his head inbetween his knees as he kept whimpering a constant stream of apologies, averments and self pity in german, not responding to Maria's words or her tugging at him. He probably didn't even hear her anymore, having withdrawn into some nightmarish fever dream of the past.

[Mandicoria]

New York City, The Bronx
Immortal
A rough ride...

Immortal knew what the whole group on the Condor was going to see the moment they landed. Yet knowing wouldn't give any relief, considering all it could build was dread for the troubled vampire. Peering out every now and then to see the smoke choked skies, and god... It brought them back. Not in a good way, because all it could remind them of was just bloodshed and death back in the Middle East. The whole scene wasn't helped by the fact there was some young lad more or less stuck in a fetal position. That was it, Immortal could feel the jitters coming back. The dreaded shakes.

They could feel the Condor lowering in altitude, that all too familiar feeling of weightlessness in your gut. They could only close their eyes and lay their head back in their seat, feeling their mind being pulled back...

The Helicopter's speakers blasted The Clash as it hummed above the endless sands of the Arabian deserts. The flight seemingly took forever, yet was only 2 hours long. Immortal's squad was on their way to rendezvous with some other peacekeepers at some backwater town. The heat was something Immortal was acclimated to, but their suit felt like the fiery pits of Hell due to the wind just brushing off of it. God if only this trip could end...

Then it happened, a split second where the world stopped. Immortal saw it. Actual lasers beaming from the sands below, and they were moving up to the Helicopter's tail. A sickening WREeEEeeEEEEEEEeeeeee coming from the metal as the intense beam struck.

The deafening sounds of the Condor's bay door opening snapped Immortal out of it. Their face visibly sweating underneath the mask, and their eyes darting around to see the others moving out to the flames outside. It was a hellish sight for them to be greeted with, especially after remembering such a sickening sound. Then it hit them, the sound of their radio began blaring with the news from outside. At least 200 casualties, and the shouting of Patriot. Yet the thing that set their mind into full panic mode was when they looked at that same young lad still having a mental breakdown of his own.

Immortal's breathing became erratic as they struggled to stand up, and head over to Hans. Their hands grasping his shoulders and lifting him up quickly, yet not in a violent manner. A gasp of breath coming out of Immortal's mouth indicating they really wanted to talk, maybe snap them both out of it. Yet they couldn't speak, like they were choking on their own words. While struggling with their words, they lifted the boy up and began carrying them. Finally a word getting out of their mouth. "C-c'mon, you're panicking. I'll, uh, get you to the side or something. Y-you're not fit enough for this..." They told him, a bit of awkward gentleness in their mouth as they lifted the crying Kraut up.

The inferno outside revealed itself to them as they stepped outside behind the other members. The little sissy in their hands, and Immortal themselves trying their best to not end up the same crying mess.

[Lessoni]

An averted stabbing
Starring: Maria and Blink
Written by: Union Princes and Lessoni

As quickly as she left the Conder with Hans at her side, Maria was immediately approached by her ally, Jack. The Asian has got himself injured during the chaos as evident from the scrapes, bruises, and cuts all over his body. Anyone else would panic and worry over his wounded state but Maria couldn't help but grin in jest. Almost condescendingly, the German momentarily let go of Han's arm to hug Jack. However, the hug bore none of the comforts it represents.

"Oh, don't be such a baby!" the Blondie jeered as she wrapped an arm around his head to give him a noogie. " Your body is a blessing! It's always better to be bruised than be brunch to back-alley dogs. Embrace the pain."

A fierce debate waged in Jack’s head. On one hand, this was terrible. In a lot of different ways. Slightly humiliating, too, in front of all these heroes. Even her smile plucked at his pride, as innocent as it might have been. He felt like he should do something to assert what little masculinity he had, maybe push her away or give a firm no.

On the other hand, his leg hurt. And his other leg. And a lot of torso. Some arm, too. And while there may have been another healer, one he hadn’t yet met, he didn’t want to risk alienating the one he did know. So Jack made the difficult but logical decision of just letting it happen.

“Yeah I suppose... suppose you’re right. Least I’m not d-dead, for the moment. But all this does kinda hurt a little so could you maybe... do whatever you have to do to make it not do that? Please?”

Pulling out a syringe she recently filled during the short flight to the disaster site, the crimson liquid shining brightly under the sun. As she kept his head under her arm and tucked near her chest, Maria waved the needle close to Jack's face while she sneaked a glance behind her for anyone staring in their direction. When no one can be seeing glancing in her direction, she focused her attention towards her patient. "Don't worry Jack, I will heal you." the blondie sighed with cathartic wickedness in her voice as she let her fingers slip into his mouth. "The things I do to make sure you stay alive..."

And that’s where panic started to set in. As a child, this is the point where he was taught to find an adult, and he now heavily regretted the fact that he was one. He was at a loss as to what he should do, more than partially because of the oddness of the situation, though in the end he stayed the course, not fighting back. He made a mental note to never allow himself to be put in this situation again, but at this point he didn’t feel it a good idea to challenge the mentally unbalanced girl who was holding a large needle.

“A-alright... could you... just... do the needle thing?”, he said, words slightly slurred around the fingers in his mouth.

"Don't worry." Maria smiled, "Was planning on it."
The arm around his neck transitioned into a chokehold in order for Maria to ensure that her patient stays still. A quick as blinking, the hand that held the syringe found a target at the side of Jack's neck as the 6-inch needle found its way underneath his skin to reach the artery. Once inside the bloodstream, the German injected the healing blood to begin the process of recovery. Maria won't even flinch if he bit down on her fingers like crocodile as he would inevitably wince from the absolute avalanche of pain that would engulf his brain. The sick nurse won't let go until the healing blood in the syringe has been drained.

This was where Jack drew the line. He could handle some light emasculation, perhaps a light noogie, but a needle to the neck, one that sent spikes of pain through him, was a step too far. His buzz had gone off as she had prepared to inject him; he'd ignored it, expecting his arm or perhaps his leg to take the injection, but a stab to the neck triggered his instincts. He teleported away from her, falling on his back as he reappeared a scant few feet away. Blood squirted from the syringe, uselessly spattering on the floor, though a bare little had entered him.

"H-hold on, aren't you supposed to do like... an arm? Not the fu-fricking neck?"

The blood lay wasted on the ground, seeping into the concrete and returning to the earth. But Maria felt no sadness or surprise at Jack's teleportation. Her smile twisted into a grim frown. An expression so furious it could have salted the soil and dried up the rivers. The bright sapphire eyes that used to shine so bright darkened into a hundred hurricanes. So deathly was her grip did the syringe shatter from the pressure, causing minor cuts all over her fingers and palm. The 6 inch needle fell to the ground like an angel cast out of heaven, useless and filthy from the dust and dirt. Maria was used to patients grinding their teeth to swallow their misery not teleporting a distance away from her. And that certainly was something she wasn't willing to tolerate anytime soon.

Instinctively, Maria's hand slowly wandered its way into the bag decorated in red fingerprints to draw out the most basic tool in her kit: the scalpel. So small, so thin, and so sharp. Slowly twirling it around her fingers, the German let silence dominate the conversation as she studied Jack long and hard. With on step forward, Maria brought herself ever closer to the injured Jack.

"You shouldn't have done that..."

This was a situation that moved downward at near every opportunity. That his original assumption that she was insane proved correct provided no comfort as he looked down the business end of a scalpel. But he still thought it could be salvaged, if he played this right. He raised both hands to around his waist, trying to deescalate. He walked slowly towards her, keeping his hands in their positions.

"N-now, hold on, we don't need- we don't need bloodshed here. You can inject anywhere you want if you just... put the scalpel down. Please? I'm sorry..."

"*Sorry*" The word echoed in her mind as Maria found herself about to make an incision on his forehead. Was he cowardly for avoiding conflict or was he brave for owning up to his mistake? He's more honest than most, as far as Maria could tell. Perhaps that's why she smiled softly towards his gesture for peace. With an exhausted sigh, the anger that inhabited her mind evaporated as Maria decided to pierce the palm of her other hand with her scalpel knife. With several forceful stabs, the blade appeared on the other side of her hand drenched her healing blood. After several twists and twirls to enlarge the hole a little bit bigger, the blondie allowed the knife to fall through her hand. Not a single grunt or wince escaped Maria's mouth as if this task was nothing more that a simple drawing with a marker.

As the scalpel covered in her blood descended to the ground, Maria raised her ruined hand towards Blink in a motion of a handshake. Healing blood was pouring furiously to repair the grievous self-made injury but Maria only had her eyes on Jack.
"Extend your arm, Jack." she advised, "Since you prefer the alternative."

She was insane, that much was obvious, and he visibly flinched each time she stabbed herself, but she was willing to see reason. And also not kill him. Probably. He extended his arm, palm up, and contemplated how close he’d been to a scalpel to the forehead. He didn’t say anything, not wishing to upset the so called “doctor” further.

A moment of sadness, or was it disappointment, appeared on Maria's face as she immediately grabbed Jack's arm where he had the most amount of cuts in one area. Just as the wound on her hand began to close, the healing blood that made contact with his torn flesh seeped into his exposed blood vessels to begin the restoration process. Maria never let go until she saw that the injuries, bruises, and the pain on his body faded away like a forgotten memory. Only did the hole in her hand close when the blondie pulled away.

Laughing bitterly, Maria looked at her patient for another time. "Your powers make you a superior form of humanity, Jack. Yet someday, you'll die like any other mortal man. Perhaps you can teleport to a place where the light won't find you."

He nervously smiled and nodded at her words, wanting distinctly to be somewhere that wasn’t there. Preferably hiding behind Ophi or Gauss. Still, he didn’t have more holes in him than strictly necessary, and he was in a much better state than he’d started in. An overall win. Noticing her dropped scalpel, he picked it back up, making to hand it to her.

“H-here, you dropped this. And... thanks. For the healing and the not stabbing thing. Hope I didn’t like, offend you, or anything.”

Maria can only giggle at his attempt of hospitality. It was if he was proposing a date. She only shook her head when Jack handed over the dropped scalpel.

"Keep it. You're a teleporter and a knife that small can do you a lot of good one day." Maria replied as lightly brushed away his hand. "Besides, I already have a cache." She opened her bag to reveal an absolute nightmare of needles, knives residing next to a surplus of bandages, rubbing alcohol, thermometers, and an old family picture.

[Segral]

Emma Davis
The Bronx

With every passing moment, her concern for Maria's mental health was beginning to run deeper and deeper, making her question why she had been so eager to chase after her back at Staten Island. Between the bizarre get-up, which had now traded out obscene amounts of gore for what looked like a misguided attempt at kitschy lolita fashion, the murder scene that had been made out of the poor shower tile, the near-incoherent ramblings about machines that had been audible through the locker room door, the whole nude-hug fiasco, and the needles, all of the goddamn needles...well, it was enough to raise certain questions about her mental fitness to serve as a member of TIAMA, and what nepotist, idiot, or nepotistic idiot had let her application through. Emma still hadn't forgotten what she had said before the whole briefing had kicked off and this whole mess had supposedly spiraled out of control. "Don't worry about injuries. That's why I'm here; to make sure you keep fighting." she had said, with a thoroughly blood-stained grin and giggle that suggested that she would make sure Emma kept fighting, no matter how gruesome it looked, painful it felt or potentially damaging it was to her body and mind. Something wasn't right in her head, and while Emma and a majority of TIAMA's heroes would have the good sense and backbone to stand up to Doc Holiday's psychotic treatment methods, she couldn't say the same for Hans.

She hadn't noticed it before, but she didn't exactly have to. Just watching Maria try to snuggle up to Hans in the massive TIAMA-owned Condor was all of the proof that she needed to confirm that the girl clearly fancied him to some degree. Taking into account the aforementioned nude hug, it was clear that the degree in question was quite strong. Crushes were normal, flirting was normal, but all of this, on someone who she had likely met a whole four days ago, and who was too naive and dense to even have the slightest clue of her intentions? It was creepy at best, and downright obsessive at worst, especially considering one party's dubious level of mental health. Emma didn't hate her, she didn't even dislike her, but she did feel bad for her. She clearly needed help and proper care, and nobody seemed intent on giving it to her. Not TIAMA's big shots, not anybody else in the Condor, and certainly not whatever guardian or parent she had, or once had.

She wasn't the only one.

The Condor began to touch down, the straining propellers creating a dull, pounding hum that practically bored through Emma's eardrums. The world had turned into a silent movie, a high-budget horror blockbuster, starring two distinguished actors. Maria, drawing yet another syringe full of blood right out of her wrist. Hans, looking down to the gory teddybear cuddled up beside him, only to get an eyeful of the withdrawal. Before she knew it, he was on the floor, trembling and practically dripping tears onto the ground as he scrunched into a tiny, pitiful ball, trying to apologize in two different languages in between his sobs. It took a second for the sight to register in her mind, but as soon as it did, she practically jumped awake out of surprise, rising to her feet along with every other "hero" inside, including Maria, who seemed intent to fall into step with the others and make her exit stage right as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't just triggered what looked like the world's wildest panic attack.

Something was up with Hans, she knew that enough. He had almost strangled her back in the auditorium, and when he had come out of the bathroom after "rescuing" his damsel in distress from her prison of shower-heads, he looked like he had seen a ghost. But he had never acted like this before, and she didn't know what to do about it. Thanks to her position at the back of the Condor, as far away from the opening as possible, she had a little bit of time to ruminate on it, and every second of it went to waste. Hans needed help, they couldn't very well just leave him to chew the aircraft floor. Judging by the thick cloud of dust, smoke, and god-knows-what-else she could see through the open bay door, most of which had likely been triggered by the supposed explosion, there were also dozens, maybe hundreds of people that needed help, and she couldn't very well just leave them to rot, pinned down under the rubble of what might have been their apartment or their family business. Hundreds were a lot more than one. Besides, if she didn't clear her ass out of the machine quick enough, some superior would be panting down her neck about it, and the last thing that she wanted was to get caught in a bureaucratic nightmare because she was a couple of seconds too late in getting out of the damn VTOL. All she could do was give one last sympathetic look towards Hans' curled-up form, now being scooped up by a figure in power armor, and follow her fellow colleagues out of the Condor and into the outside world, making two mental notes as she did so. One, check on Hans once this whole ordeal was over. Two, give Maria a piece of her mind for the crazy blonde's endless amount of utter bullshit.

Although, as her feet touched down on the ground and her eyes met the thick, smog-like layer of ash and soot that filled the sky, those mental notes soon disappeared from her mind entirely. In fact, her eyes weren't meeting the layer so much as they were blinking shut from it, a sharp sting running behind her quickly-watering eyelids. Thank heavens she had snagged that filter mask from the cargo. Without it, she'd probably be in the process of coughing up an entire lung, and maybe a pancreas if there was anything left over. Instead, her breath simply caught in her throat, in no small part thanks to the absolute disaster scene surrounding her. The cordon's location? Relatively intact. The buildings beyond it and on the horizon? Not so much. Some buildings had been relatively spared, with nothing but a few scorch marks and some shattered windows. Some buildings had come close to being completely leveled, little more than just heaps of rubble. Small fires were being quashed by a few loose crews all over the place, but the smoke still rose, practically blotting out the sun in the process. Yet, despite all the carnage, few seemed to be in much hurry, milling about near what was supposed to be their check-in point. Highcastle was barking orders despite having a man down in the armored figure from earlier's arms, Maria was somewhere off to the right, busy dripping blood all over Jack's arm for some reason, Avian Hero #2 had just strolled out, and for the most part, both everyone and everything seemed to be in a state of "what-the-hell-do-we-do-now?".

The illustrious Ms. Howard was still MIA, leaving Venom as her only teammate. If they were being honest with themselves, neither of them had much of a clue as to what exactly to do beyond pose for the cameras and look pretty, so it seemed like the best plan of attack would be to follow the damn orders: check in at the cordon, and receive instructions on where to go and what to do. Sure, there was a solid chance that she would end up looking like an incompetent, flaky idiot, but better to be a flake than to jeopardize the relief effort because she couldn't be bothered to ask for directions. Venom could follow, or she could stay back. As long as she didn't run off into the thick of things, Emma couldn't care less about what she did.

Emma set off towards the cordon at the quickest pace she could muster, sliding her TIAMA I.D out of her breast pocket as she approached the line of officers. "Jester, TIAMA NA-East." she said as she got there, introducing herself by holding out her card for the nearest officer to spot. "I've been assigned to, er...Foxtrot, and all of our present members have arrived. I believe Dispatch provided orders to check-in for tasking here?"

---

Dwayne Okafor
Status: Hovering

Holy shit.

When they had said "explosion", Dwayne had been thinking more along the lines of a business having a leaky gas valve, or maybe a nasty T-bone car accident. In a way, this was sort of like a T-bone car accident...seven million of them!!! What in the fuck had happened here, and why hadn't the so-called "Team A" stopped it? Didn't "A" imply that the force was actually effective? Whatever all of this was, it clearly hadn't been "effective". Really, it hadn't been much of anything positive. He wasn't a cynic, far from it, but it was probably no coincidence that this "explosion" had only occurred after TIAMA personnel had been dispatched to the scene. These idiots couldn't stop themselves from smashing everything in sight, could they? Oh sure, it had probably been some evil villain's bomb or reckless behavior, but the very point of heroic presence was to prevent those bombs from going off and that reckless behavior from taking place. Oh sure, it wasn't like he could do any better, but it wasn't his job to do better. He was an A-list celebrity, but he was a Z-list hero. His entire job was to pose for the cameras, flash a golden smile, and go stop a robber or two. He wasn't built for this shit, never was, never will be.

Still, given the fact that Team A was busy either being thoroughly useless, injured, or dead, he should probably try to help. This community had already seen hard times as it was. The recession, the service industry boom, and the fade of the drug shipping trade hadn't been kind to this community. They were still getting their drugs from elsewhere, but the money wasn't coming anywhere else, and many of these people were struggling to make rent without taking two mortgages out on their brownstones or getting mugged on their way home from work. Working-class people already had enough on their plate without the sky falling on top of their heads. He would know. He had grown up in the working class. It was why he fought so hard to keep his money now, and it was why he would try to get his teammates together so that they could coordinate some damn relief effort.

Unfortunately, both of them were...quite far apart. To the left, his French soldier was staring off into space, looking shell-shocked by the whole sight. To his right, there was Immortal, still shaking and clutching a writhing mass of skin and hair that resembled the kid that had had a breakdown in the Condor. He couldn't exactly blame him, that Nightmare-on-Elm-Street looking chick and all of her blood and needles would've made pre-2008 Dwayne piss his Adidas sweatpants, and then maybe shit in them for good measure. Not just because it reminded him of his...unfortunate habits, but because, simply put, he had been freaked out by them. It had taken every ounce of his strength and moral fiber not to pass out every time he needed a shot. After the operation though, he had gotten so used to seeing his own blood in syringes that he had become numb to the sight of it all. Still, he could understand the kid's pain, even if his reaction was ever so slightly extreme, and as a result, he chose to follow Immortal, leaving Hydra behind to take in the view. Good riddance too, his back was still sore from where that dick had tried to pluck him off the ground with those stupid mech arms.

Grimacing, he jogged up to where Immortal was walking, and fell into step beside them. Their suit covered them up pretty well, but Dwayne could see through the face mask, and it wasn't a pretty sight. They looked terrified, an inch away from joining the kid in curling up into a ball and crying their ducts dry. It looked like he wasn't just going to be playing hero today. Dr. Okafor the psychiatrist would have to come first.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked gently, turning slightly to face his new teammate. "You don't look too good. If you want, I can take the kid, give you a chance to sit down." he said, hand moving to pat them on the shoulder, but dropping back at the last second. He didn't to make them flip out, or worse, accidentally siphon off his high. It would go right into the suit, so there was no chance of anyone getting high off of it, but he'd rather cling onto the buzz from that joint, use it to build up some good mojo for a punch. Maybe some of that mojo would be good for the two of them, placate them, make 'em a little calm. Well, maybe not Immortal, he still kind of wanted to see what they could do with that name and costume, but the kid looked like he could use it. All he had to do was grab a syringe of the liquid THC and-

Oh, right. Syringes. That was a no-no.

[Anowa]

Gauss had spent a few minutes mulling about the blast site, getting a base understanding of how things had exactly blown over, literally. There were bodies, a lot of them, those she checked in the initial blast zone were almost wholly in pieces, unconscious and close enough to dying that nothing could be done, or already dead. There really was no point in wondering about what ifs, if they'd been a few seconds faster, they'd be buried under tons of stone and dirt, Blink would probably be dead, and Ophi would likely have suffocated. Cops wouldn't have gotten here in time, not to a place like this, and the TIAMA dispatch was close to the fourth call in the line for things like this. There was no feasible way anyone could have stopped this, not without being precognitive at least. Until they started delving into thought crime, not even CCTVs could garner much from the minds of a psychopath, or what happened out of the fields of view that the most economical cameras would have.

Placing another body in the small row she'd set up, she started jogging to the cordon, well, her jog, to a lot of people her jog was closer to a sprint, moving at 20 km/h would do that. Following the flares that patriot and Tesla set out, the woman slowed herself as she approached the landing site, she walked past the throng of newly arrived people and towards the cordon itself as the Condor started to lift off. The dust at least was settled here.

The blinking lights of at least 3 seperate emergency vehicles were clear. But most importantly, two of said sets were blocked by the third. Namely EMTs and the NYFD were being stalled by the NYPD. Gauss didn't pause, walking through, damn close to ignoring, the throng of her coworkers. The risk of secondaries wasn't ruled out, but chances are that Three Band blew his load of explosives in one spot like most braindead terrorists did, and natural gas only exploded once, the remainder of it would burn and burn and burn until the ozone layer decided to fuck off back into space. That, and the EMTs were rather important for the continued living of the people in this impoverished neighbourhood. So Gauss' gaze was focused solely on the Lieutenant arguing with the NYFD Captain about whether or not to let them through, or rather, the Chevy Tahoe acting as a physical barrier.

The sound of wrenching metal and buckling plastic crackled and popped across the scene at the cordon, as the Lieutenant whipped around, and stared slack jawed at the two and a half tonne SUV being hefted above the amazon's head. Who promptly and rather efficiently chucked it onto the sidwalk, it's roof crumpling and leaving nothing more than a mangled unibody and an oil drowned engine. Gauss turned to the stunned officers, "If I see a single one of you dumbasses blocking any other emergency vehicles today, I will break the fucking sound barrier just to shove my boot up your ass. Now start handing out triage tags." Looking at the firefighters ad she waved down the street, "Go do your job lads. Follow the flares, they'll end at our triage... or it's start." There was the honk of a fire engine in response as the respectable public servants rolled on through.

Turning back, Gauss started walking towards her coworkers. Grimacing as she was very much reminded that heavy lifting with three holes in her was a bad idea, as the hole in her abdomen was bleeding again. Ignoring it, she simply took in faces, costumes... uniforms rather, and thought back to her rather limited time in recovery on the application reviewal board. She recognized the important faces, or the ones that stood out due to circumstance. Her face plate slid up and open once again, the hints of semi-coagulated blood under her nose and at the corners of her mouth broke any facade she was trying to put up about not being injured. Her rather hazy memory immediately brought up the roster of the first few teams, and compared them to those of the teams hailed to come here.

Her gaze went to the British Officer, "Bravo, find and help put out whatever fires you can, Nimrod, if you're able, tank the ambient temperature, at best make sure it doesn't start flash combusting nearby buildings. Once the Fire fighters have it under control, move to the next burn until it's done, Team Delta, you do the same but make sure you aren't doubled up on the same building fires unless it's real fucking bad, Aqua, use your water. Holiday, you stay here, I need to talk to you. Euphoria you as well. The rest of you are gonna be digging through rubble. if any bystranders want to help, let them know it could be dangerous, but if they're adamant, let them. We need hands today." a pause, "You will be finding corpses today, that's just how things are gonna be. It's gonna suck and you're gonna go through an absolute roller coaster of emotions, when you find your first one, but you need to buckle down and do your job."

She gave a rather pointed gesture at the cloud of smoke and ash less than two blocks away, "People are buried, burning and blown apart, but the spectre of death doesn't care how shattered your mental barriers are, it's gonna keep reaping." her hand lowered, as a few police officers started handing out triage tags "In a few hours, those wounded will become dead. For those of you who know basic triage, you'll be hearing a refresher, for those who don't open your fucking ears! We do not have enough medical supplies for everyone!" Gauss held up the card in question, "This is a triage tag, The only thing you're gopnna be looking at for the rest of the day is the Black, Red, Yellow and Green bars! Black is for dead! If they aren't breathing after clearing their airway, they are 100% non-responsive to stimuli, or they're very obviously deceased, rip off everything below the black and tie it to whatever limbs are left! Red is for arterial lesions, major amputations, cardioresperatory failure, significant hemorrhages, sucking chest wounds, and partial or full thickness burns of the face or neck! if they're gushing blood, missing upper limbs, they aren't breathing or their heart's stopped, if they're drowning in their own blood, or you can blackened bone above their collar bone or where their genitals should be, you rip off below the red and fucking scream for a paramedic! And by god you better scream to be fucking heard!"

An ambulance blew by followed by a few fire engines, "Yellow is for fore limb amputations, flesh wounds, fractures, dislocations, open gut wounds, eye injuries, a limb that isn't getting blood, or black bone showing anywhere but the face, neck or taint! If a paramedic stops telling you to include fractures and dislocations in Green, you do so! Green, is for scrapes, cuts, and bruises; sprains, abrasions, and superficial burns!"

She lowered the card and shoved a full stack into a pouch on her belt, "Triage is at the end of this road in a parking lot, you will find the remains of six bodies, that is where you will pile the dead in rows, try to cover them with sheets! you will put the living on the opposite side of the lot! There will be fuck ups today, none of you are EMTs, Paramedics, or Fire Rescue, you cannot dwell on what might be or what was to be today! Right now, you focus on saving people!"

"Euphoria, Holiday, we need that talk! The rest of you get it done!"

[Remnants of Exilvania]

New York City
Bronx
Hans

He didn't listen. He couldn't listen. He couldn't hear them. He was already far too absorbed in his own, personal hell to hear them.

Being lifted up just made it all the more real.

His whimpering in Immortal's arms increased in volume and frequency, broken up by occasional yelps of phantom pain or shock, Hans' body occasionally spasming in her arms yet not resisting. He had never resisted them before...he couldn't resist them...not now...not in this nightmare. He was once again in the arms of some henchman, being brought back to his tube to sleep again untill they would find a reason to torment him again. To break and reassemble him again in body and mind.

Had Hans' handlers from Creedmoor been around, they likely could've told Immortal that practically nothing they did could possible help the young lad, who had been thrown back into the darkest corners of his mind. Time had been one of the most reliable methods to get out of this state, time for him to come out of his nightmare by his own force of will. The other had usually been to straight-up knock him out, mostly done by drugging him with chloroform which would usually end up with him waking up later with no memory of the incident. Granted, one didn't need Hans' handlers for that as they had been so wise to hand over his files to TIAMA when he joined, thickening the otherwise rather sparse TIAMA file of his.

[Europa Undivided]

Hydra Imperator | Ground Zero

The Hydra wasted no time as soon as Gauss gave out her orders to quite literally everyone else. Using his mechanical limbs, he began picking through the ruins, removing the stones that kept men, women, and children buried in terrible agony under their weight. Gauss had been quite abrasive with the officers that looked like they were less than enthusiastic to save the living and bury the death.

Jacques refused to count the amount of debris he was taking out from the destroyed sections of buildings that would have no doubt housed many a merry crowd of visitors and residents. There were quite a lot of the injured, and many of the dead or dying as well; the natural gas explosion had been quite unforgiving, exacerbated by parts of the winding tunnels collapsing on themselves when whoever the hell the Armadillo was in cahoots with detonated a set of bombs.

And yet, despite all the death and horror that he had been seeing right now, he felt nothing. The Hydra Imperator could say that he wasn't himself. One could say that he was someone else, in fact. Those who knows Jacques Lenard as an acquaintance or a friend would know that despite being an accomplished martial artist, he was not one to see a lot of bloodshed or death, as he was used to simply neutralizing his foes rather than tearing them to pieces... unlike some others.

Ah, yes. The Hydra suit had a mind of its own. A mind formed by the dozens of masters that had donned it over the centuries that it has existed. They simply added to one another over time to the point that they were a living entity, bonded together by the suit's mainframe. Those who wore would eventually lose themselves to the sea of souls that quietly swirled within its depths whenever they wielded it in battle. They will remember nothing once they were done, but the Hydra Imperators that have existed throughout history were all doomed to have this fate...

Simikiel | Cling clang, the chains drag you away...

Erik was disappointed at the sight that greeted him as he got out of the van and began to walk steadily into the blast radius before anyone could spot him entering in the midst of the chaos. He shook his head, and sighed as the smell of smoke and burnt stone and flesh entered his nostrils. There was quite a lot of death in there, and there were enough of those that have been deceased nearby that he could have sworn that Azrael's Gift had been powered up three times over.

Either way, this would be terrible for whoever set the bombs off. Ah, right. Armadillo. He was the one that was in the news in this exact area, and it seemed that this animal-human hybrid had just enacted the worst attack within US soil in the last two decades other than the dreaded 9/11 attacks themselves. Their employer would be most displeased by this display of utter arrogance and excessive force; sure, Simikiel enjoyed maiming those neo-Nazis, but he still isn't the type to blow up a whole portion of the city.

Erik mused to himself as he slid in between some ruins. There was no denying that this was too much, but at the same time, Erik thought that all of these deaths were for nought. After all, they were just the weak. The strong will inherit the world, and mankind as a whole is mostly of faint strength and spirit. But not the metas. Not the brotherhood that Simikiel was a part of.

It was about time that this Armadillo needed saving, anyhow. Given the magnitude of the destruction he caused, there will be quite a chase down there...

[Lessoni]

Jack Dredd

Jack was incredibly glad to get away from Maria, feeling more than slightly violated. He pocketed the scalpel, not sure what to do with it. He wouldn’t feel right, throwing a knife on the ground, but he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t get skewered in the thigh.

He took the triage and looked at it hesitantly. Seemed simple enough, but he’d made a lot of mistakes today. He considered just shadowing Ophi and Gauss, but decided against it. He’d done enough of that; he could handle being on his own, even in a situation like this.

His first few rescues and body grabs went without a hitch. He found a relatively uninjured couple wandering through the streets and brought them to safety, nice and simple. He broke his way into a house where screams could be heard, but by the time he’d found the body, the man was dead. He gingerly tied the black triage and carried the body back to the lot. It was at his next where things went a little screwy.

Breaking his way into a burning house, he heard a baby screaming upstairs. The only problem? Fallen debris had blocked them. He looked through the debris, trying to teleport through, but... he couldn’t. It wouldn’t come to him, even with clear eyes. He didn’t take time to wonder what was wrong. He started pulling at the debris, making a hole big enough for him to squeeze through. He found the baby easy enough, left in its crib, still crying. He picked it up and started running, finding he couldn’t get back through the small hole with the child in hand. The fire blazed hot all around him, smoke obscuring his vision. Dropping low, he made his way to a window upstairs, contemplating his options. Jumping seemed like the only one, though he really didn’t want to do it. Still, it wasn’t like he had much time to reconsider; he was pretty sure his shirt was on fire; looking down, he saw it was true, and it was quickly spreading. He yelped, beating out the fire with his hands, and decided he’d get out of there the old fashioned way.

He picked up the screaming child and stood up, taking a few steps back. Bracing himself, he dashed forward, throwing himself through the window. He twisted around, landing hard on his back, though the child seemed relatively okay, if shaken. He couldn’t figure out why he’d been unable to teleport. Passing off the child to a paramedic, he sat down on the curb, lamenting his power’s sudden failure.

[Endem]

Elias Sayid, Flayed

After disembarking from the condor he took the triages and begun searching for survivors, the scene reminded him of a lot of places in Syria, rubble, smoke, fire, and death, the only thing missing was gunfire, thankfully missing, they really didn't need some band of terrorists trying to score a few more for today, they already did enough damage.

He found little survivors, very little, some of those survivors were dying anyway, he tried t comfort those that still had a shred of consciousness even though their chests could have been flattened, before sticking a black triage onto them, others it seemed had more luck, and rescued the still living.

Then he heard a cry for help, that cry and the person it was coming from was cut off, by fire and smoke, he remembered his little cousin being stuck in a similar situation, slowly crushed by rubble, while fire raged around him.

Elias without a second thought jumped into the flames, he could wait for the firemen, but they had more important matters now, it burned and stung, he felt as his flesh lit up, he would, of course, heal before it could do too much damage, and he would be tougher, harder to damage, but that was of little consequence now.

He dashed through the smoke, and through the fire, and eventually, he located her, a teen, maybe a 15-year-old girl trapped under a somewhat hexagonal piece of concrete, he lifted it up, with great pain and sweat, but he managed to drop it next to the girl.

An image of his cousin flashed before Elias, he didn't want anybody to meet his or her end like that, he lifted the teenager and begun dashing, not minding that the girl was smearing her blood on his shoulders trying to grab on with what was once her arm, now ripped nearly off.

Through the last pillar of fire, through the last pillar of smoke, he did it, he saved someone, he screamed for a paramedic, letting the girl down to rest on the broken up concrete, quickly sticking a red triage, he made it, he saved someone.

[Lancearc]

Spencer Inwood / Afterlife

---

Death was much different from the other side. When one reached the end of their time -- at least, when Spencer reached his -- it was almost hard to register; the dissolution of one's grasp on the conscious world was so sudden that one could almost assume the fuzzy blackness, the hazy feeling, the absolute quiet was just the way things had always been. Despite the horrific circumstances of his own death, the minutes that came after were serene. The terror only began when he finally realized what had happened.

As he knelt near one of the many mountains of twisted metal and charred flooring, with dust, ash, and insulation floating about what had once been the interior of a brick building, Spencer hoped none of these people would come to realize what had happened to them.

Five large, spectral hands appeared floating around him. He used the translucent purple helpers to roughly sift through the rubble without fear of being cut by shattered glass or warped metal, tossing aside debris much more cautiously with his own hands.

From the outside looking in, even, Spencer had never seen anything like aftermath of the bombing. If not even dying could prepare him for this, then the funerals of family members certainly never did. The chaos around him was death at its most primal, a millenia-old truth bolstered by technologies that were bolstered by unnatural abilities.

A pair of the phantom hands to his left teamed up to topple a large pile of brick, and after another second or two of digging came upon a forearm jutting out from the rubble. Spencer stood and strode across shattered glass to investigate, helping the disembodied appendages continue to uncover the victim. Spencer braced himself against the rubble and pulled backwards to flip a cool piece of twisted iron which may have once been a fire escape.

The sunlight filtering into the bombed-out building from over his right shoulder was eerily beautiful as it captured the intermingling of ash still falling from the sky since the initial explosion, and the newly disturbed dust shooting upwards as the sheet of iron clattered to Spencer's feet. The golden rays slicing through the airborne particles alighted on the face of a nameless corpse, its face caked with grey ash which was thickening across its features, after being left so long to mix with blood, staining the body's grey mask with sanguine streaks.

Spencer finally realized this was once a man, though it was difficult to be certain. Another casualty of a super powered world, an addition to statistics that climbed to ungodly heights with each passing day.

Spencer began to work with spectral hands and his own to uncover the rest of the body, most of which was mangled and crushed beyond recognition. Absentmindedly tossing aside more bricks and stone with the help of his phantoms, Spencer struggled to tear his eyes away from the bloody, soot-covered corpse's countenance.

The reckless use of powers by a few heroes sometimes made Spencer doubt the effectiveness of his own mission, a conviction which could admittedly handicap some of Earth's most powerful protectors in many situations. The deliberately terroristic acts of the worst of the villains those defenders and Spencer himself sought to defeat made him doubt whether it was even realistic, every now and then. In over a decade of hero work, little had changed.

By the time Spencer shook himself from his lackadaisical trance, the body was ready to be recovered properly. Commanding his spectral hands to heft what was left of the body to his side, Spencer began making his way back to the collection point for the dead, through the strained shouting of heroes desperate to be heard over sirens and engines making their way to the scene.

When he arrived a first responder directed him to rows on rows of figures draped on tattered cloth, a silent rank which was growing by the minute. The phantom hands lowered their morbid cargo to the ground, covering the disfigured body in a stark white sheet. Spencer tore his triage tag, leaving the black strip.

As he turned to jog back into the thick of the disaster site, far under the cacophonous cries of heroes, police officers, paramedics, sirens, and helicopters overhead, he swore perhaps he'd heard a faint "Thanks." The nonchalant, contented nature of the comment caused Spencer to hesitate slightly, nearly bumping into a pair of firefighters returning to the row of corpses.

His hand rested briefly on the swirling purple stone hung around his neck. "Sure thing." he muttered uncertainly to no one in particular, before resuming his rescue efforts.

[Gudmund]

Fulldive, New York - The Bronx

He was speechless, truly taking in the chaos around him for the first time. Fire, smoke, rubble, the whole shebang. Emergency workers were sprawling all over the place, helping the injured as best they could. Other heroes were regrouping around the landing site, where the condors were already taking off again. It was surreal, a scene Fulldive had only ever seen behind a screen. This would no doubt go down in history as a scar remembered for generations.

Another hero, Gauss, appeared to swiftly reorganize those present. There were many familiar names flung about, but Fulldive hadn't completely memorized all of them and only knew some of the big shots. Moving on, he quickly got to work, joining a group of emergency workers where he began digging through ruins. While not as strong as the other heroes, he was still unnaturally strong compared to the average man. Pulling survivors from the wreckage, knowing that he was making a different.That was where all the glory ended. He didn't know how to feel, zoning out at the sight of crushed bodies and other such gore.

Fulldive had thought he'd seen it all, horrific imagery from the deepest parts of the web one could never forget. He didn't know how he'd react to it in person. Even through his energy construct, yet another device he hid behind, there was no stopping the mental toll from this. It was indescribable, unearthing dozens of corpses, each with entire lives of their own. Young or old, none were spared in the disaster. In times like this Fulldive wished he had healing powers.

[Segral]

Dwayne Okafor
Status: Hovering

Well, that was an entrance.

He wasn't exactly a virgin to constant verbal fucking from his superiors, which was usually warranted whenever he got stabbed in the ass, or someone else got stabbed in the ass, or the criminal got stabbed in the ass, or the pedestrian got stabbed in the ass. Generally, when someone fucked up, they screamed, usually something about a "foot so far up the ass that you'll shit out your mouth", or "slapping you hard enough to need ten chiropractors", or some other wild-ass threat. Today, he was half right; the crazy lady in power armor was threatening to shove her foot up someone's ass, but not far enough to make them shit out the mouth, only fast enough to make a sonic boom. She was a little bit scary, but hey, all the power in the world to her. Any blue-suited dick who blocked an ambulance deserved to get their car thrown across Yankee Stadium. Besides, if she didn't take the power, who else would? They were all running around like headless chickens, someone who had enough authority to throw a police cruiser, triage tags, and any one of them if they stabbed a pedestrian in the ass was more than welcome in Dwayne's book.

Granted, he wasn't sure how he felt about actually following the crazy lady's aggressively screamed orders and putting those triage tags to actual use. Who the hell trusted a bunch of twenty and thirty-something novices to deal with triage without mixing their own puke with corpse blood? Who the hell trusted him to deal with triage without mixing his own puke with corpse blood? Green? No problem. Yellow? He wasn't exactly sure how excited he was to stare at open gut wounds all day, but he could stomach it. Sucking chest wounds? Cardiorespiratory failure? Nope, not his thing. By the time he figured out what tag to rip off, they'd probably already be into the black region. Sure, he could scream for a paramedic until his smoked-out vocal cords puckered right out, but few people survived a wound to the chest for too long. Chuck had only made it a minute or two. Flav hung on a bit longer, but only lasted a good three. Griff had died right on the spot. There was probably more just like them. This was The Bronx after all; people showed up dead here every day, usually leaving behind a new single mom and a baby with no future. Sometimes he wondered why he had moved to this goddamn city. Sure, it was far away from the Bay, but so was Utah, or Colorado, or Montana...or North Dakota...or the Carolinas. Salt Lake City was probably calm, full of hipsters and independent cinemas, not explosions and black triage tags that he had no desire of sticking to any Tom, Harry, or Dick that was lying underneath a flaming pile of rubble. He hadn't left Compton for this shit!

Fortunately, the crazy lady had requested him by name for a little "talk" before he tied a single tag, which was a little helpful in untying a few of the growing knots in his stomach. Sure, it was only a temporary distraction, but any extra time he could take to steel his nerves was pretty handy, even if he had to spend that time getting berated by some ticked-off big-shot sergeant-officer-"yes ma'am" woman. How did she know his name anyways? Fuck if he knew anything about her in return, or what her actual position beyond "Maybe-the-Leader" was. Maybe she was one of those former military people that got shunted out of TIAMA ME or South NA or Central Africa because their lobster meat was boiling over in the cooking pot. Hell, he had been half-expecting her to end her orders with a little "Over" or at least a "How copy?", to the point where it was kind of disappointing when she didn't. Ugh, even if he knew nothing about here, it was almost certain that if he hesitated for even a goddamn second, she'd probably chew his ass right then and there. The sheer letdown of it all combined with his quickly re-knotting insides prevented him from offering anything but a tight grimace to Immortal as he started off on a jog towards the crazy lady at a rapidly growing pace, forcing his face into a neutral, calm expression as he moved along.

"What's up, Boss?" he asked with his best attempt at a pleasant air, fidgeting with his hands as he slowed down into a quick stride towards the power-suited woman. They slid in and out of his suit's deep pockets a few times, before experimenting with a weird position with his thumbs hooked onto his waistband, before finally deciding to hang loosely at his sides as he surveyed the crazy lady's face. She looked pretty damn crazy at the moment, thanks to all of the grime and debris on her suit, plus all of the dried blood and the weird, constipated-looking expression on her mug, but she wasn't really a lady so much as she was a kid, probably still in her 20's. A tall kid too, just tall enough to put them eye-to-eye while standing up. Was it a little annoying getting bossed around by someone young enough to be his daughter? Sure, but he could swallow his pride. In this situation, the last thing he wanted was to be the one doing the bossing.

---

---

Emma Davis
The Bronx

Meanwhile, Emma was wasting no time talking to anyone at the cordon, instead electing to haul ass to the nearest unoccupied patch of flaming ruin with triage tags in one hand and grappling hook in the other. It probably wouldn't do much, but being able to tug 200 lbs of rubble was definitely handy, and besides, it was nice just having something to hold onto. If she was too careless with it, she could also risk activating the grenade feature and end up with her own black triage tag tied to whatever was left of her arm or leg, but she was willing to take that risk if it meant taking her mind off of the carnage around her, even just a little bit. It had looked bad, looked creepy from the cordon, but now that she was walking through the streets, searching for any sign of life in the dust and wreckage, it wasn't just creepy, it was terrifying. Everywhere she looked, she couldn't help but imagine corpses and pools of blood, mummified zombies breaking out of the rubble and slowly shuffling around with their hands outstretched and gore leaking from their eyes, a disembodied hand creeping along a bloodied windowsill. Yet, as soon as she rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times, the visions disappeared, popping out of existence one after another.

Except for the hand.

No matter how many times she blinked, rubbed her eyes, even pinched herself, the image of the severed refused to disappear. It was still there, a pale-skinned, blood-soaked hand, hanging off the side of a windowsill belonging to a long, low building across the street, the fingers of which were pointed towards the ground. The building was thankfully untouched by the concrete jungle's growing forest fire, but the force of the explosion had practically torn the building apart, caving in the roof and reducing the walls down to nothing but small, thin ridges, just about as sturdy as a house of cards. It was a miracle that they were still standing, and divine intervention that the windows were still intact, even if the glass had been completely blown out. Nobody else seemed to notice the hand, not even when, whether due to more divine intervention, the wind, or (hopefully) a small stir of life, the hand twitched slightly, gently scrabbling at whatever wallspace was left over.

Still, she couldn't exactly wait around for one of her fellow heroes to help her confirm that her own sanity was still intact. If someone was in that rubble, they needed to be pulled out now, before the heat, the dust, their wounds, or all three got to them, a realization poignant enough to send Emma sprinting towards the building, barely pausing for breath as she made her way across the street and towards the ruined building. She didn't even break her pace as she approached the ruined structure's walls, practically vaulting through the gap directly adjacent to the one the hand was poking through. The entire ground had become a rapidly shifting pile of rubble that she nearly slipped on as she landed, quickly grabbing the windowsill and digging the heels of her boots into the ground in an attempt to stop herself from falling straight down on her ass. All she could see around her was red brick, a few chunks of dry wall and twisted bits of gray metal, more red brick, what looked like the twisted remains of a wooden table, even more red brick...and a yellow flannel shirt, fluttering up and down slightly.

A man, gray-bearded, with no more than four hairs on his scalp and a far more abundant set of wrinkles lining his face was sitting up against the wall, one thick, muscular arm draped over the windowsill, and another arm hanging uselessly by his side. Broken, probably. He had escaped being completely crushed by the ceiling and walls, the rubble pinning his legs down quite handily, but sparing his torso and head. Not that he seemed to care much. If it wasn't for the slight, subtle, almost whisper-quiet sound of his breath hissing in and out, she would've probably assumed he was dead. If she didn't act now, he would probably end up there in the end.

"Alright buddy, let's get you out of here..." she muttered, dropping down to her knees so that she could face the man on eye-level. He didn't look back in response, only shifted with a slight moan escaping his lips. Two fingers to the side of his neck revealed a pulse, albeit a thin, weak one, the man's skin twitching underneath Emma's fingers and leaving a thick, sticky layer of sweat behind. The odor was horrendous, a sharp mixture of sweat and blood and what she could've sworn was dry piss, all of it enough to make her recoil slightly in disgust. Still, she didn't take her eyes off the man, scanning his face and flannel-coated chest for any signs of injury. There was a fair amount of blood, dried and congealed all over his his face and beard, a few splashes on his shoulder, some on his good arm's hand. Probably a few broken ribs too. A solid yellow probably, but he would likely be fine.

Her feet were still sliding in the rubble, but she was able to steady herself enough to begin pulling the rubble away from the man's legs, which turned out to be fairly easy. It was rough on the hands, but the assorted chunks of plaster and brick were no sweat to push to the side. The grappling hook laid forgotten on a small pile of stone as she steadily tore away at the debris with her hands and the occasional shoulder push, revealing more and more of the equally broken and crooked pair of legs by the second. He was probably in unimaginable pain right now, it would explain why he had practically passed out. The blood was even stickier down below, starting at several bold, dark splotches around his knees and extending all the way up to his thighs, waist...even a round, wet spot on his belly. Why was he bleeding from the gut? Had a fragment of something gotten in, or had the shockwaves from the blast had been enough to rip him open? She needed to see what was going on under there.

The flannel shirt was blocking her way, sticking to the skin around the wound and keeping tightly drawn thanks to some ridiculously small buttons. She tried her best to begin unbuttoning the shirt, and when that didn't work, ripping it open, but her hands were trembling too much to do either. The only thing she succeeded in was eliciting another groan of pain from the man, even weaker and hoarser than the first. For a second, it almost seemed as if he was trying to lift his head, but if he was, he only succeeded in letting his neck droop and loll, his ear coming to rest somewhere on his right shoulder, his good shoulder. Emma needed to tear away that shirt now, but she had nothing to do it with. If only she had some...tool, or something to cut the fabri-

The jackknives.

How could she be such an idiot? She had kept the knives on her, specifically just in case an emergency like the one at Lucky Strike came up. This wasn't exactly an ambush attack made by a crazed regenerator with enough scars to put Al Pacino to shame, but it was certainly a big fucking emergency, and that was all the incentive Emma needed to practically tear one out from its sleeve on the inside of her jacket, flipping it open fast enough to nick her own thumb in the process. The blade was now covered in brownish-red splotches, but it did little to stop her as she grabbed a handful of cloth near the collarbone and began to slice down, rapidly sawing through the material until the shirt had been torn in half along a rough, slightly jagged line. She hadn't had the guts or the neural activity in her fingers to unbutton the shirt, but she had more than enough to strength to pull it open, grasping the cloth by both frayed edges and yanking them apart like a thin, ragged bedroom curtain. The sight behind the shirt wasn't as pretty as the morning sun. In fact, it nearly made her retch out of shock. It was a small, deep wound set right in the man's abdomen, practically gushing blood all over Emma's white gloves as she exposed the laceration. His legs hadn't bled at all besides a few leaks here and there, it had been the blood from his gut running down into his legs. The smell was awful, a smell of gore and metal and what was probably going to be rotting flesh soon enough. How had he even survived this long, pouring his own innards out like that?

That's when she noticed the metal strut, lying haphazardly on top of a broken, debris-coated neon sign displaying the words "M GGIE'S COF EE." She couldn't tell where it had come from, but she could tell a few things about it. It was twisted and quite jagged at one end, the tip coated in an all-too familiar reddish-brown substance. The other other end was smoother, and contained none of the substance, aside from a few small dots. And a larger splash. Fingerprints, the small dots were fingerprints. The large splash was probably the rest of the hand. The bloody hand, the one belonging to the good arm. The idiot had pulled something out of his stomach. No wonder he had survived this long; the metal had been a stopper for his internal bloodbath, and now, probably just a few seconds before she had gotten there, he had pulled the plug.

Suddenly, the man let out another rattling, shaky moan, practically a whimper as his shoulders shifted and his neck flopped backwards, eyes rolling into the inside of his head until all Emma could see were whites. It was enough to make her hiss a short "Shit!" of surprise, lunging forward in an attempt to grab and shake his shoulder back into movement. It's what she would have done had her back foot not slid back yet again, forcing her down onto hands and one knee, all of which felt...wet? Cold? Her palms were red now, so was her pant leg. She could feel a lump in her throat forming, her mouth filling up with a dry, bitter taste, but she still dared to look down at the ground, and the thin layer of moisture forming across it. No, not moisture, pool, it was a pool. No, it was a lake, an ocean of blood, all of it fed by streams of fluid streaking down the man's exposed stomach.

It wasn't the rubble she had been slipping in. It had been blood. His blood. And she was drowning in it.

---

Everything was a bit of a blur after that. She vaguely remembered tearing off the triage tag down to the red and tying it on somewhere, although she didn't quite know how. Paramedics had arrived not long after and begun performing First Aid, she must've screamed for them or something. Had she checked the ruins for more survivors? Yeah...yeah, she had. None had been there, all she had found was the toppled, torn-apart remains of what looked like a cleaning cart, complete with a broken mop handle. Must've been the janitor, or the closer or something. There hadn't been much else to find out after that, so she had just slipped out of the wreckage unnoticed, like a ghost that had seen way too much. She had been on the move for the past little while, tying a few yellow and green tags for some hysterical families and couples, dragging a few girls out of a car wreck. Nothing extraordinary, nothing severe. She probably couldn't even handle it, not after how she had frozen up back in that coffee-shop. She knew that thee was nothing she could've done about it. After all, he was the one who had chosen to pull the debris out of him, and she had followed the protocol and the orders to a perfect tee.

But what if she had gotten there a minute, maybe even thirty seconds later? Maybe she could've stopped him, could've helped him instead of leaving him to the mercy of an overcrowded triage full of paramedics who weren't getting paid enough for their 24-hour shifts. After all, that's why she had enlisted in TIAMA, right? You have a gift, might as well use it to help people. Over the past few years, she had finally started to feel like she was achieving that goal, really making that impact. Now, she wasn't so sure. Swap the time and place of any one of these people with herself, and she would also be lying in triage, probably in a row with a sheet on her face. The forces and games of TIAMA and the world at large were so much greater, so much more powerful than herself, and were things that she'd likely never even come close to fully learning the big picture of. Her status gave her a few keys to those doors, let her in the loop of a few things and gave her the cash to buy a couple more keys, but there were still hundreds, maybe thousands of doors that she would never even come close to unlocking, even coming within ten feet of. All she could do was sit tight and follow orders. Maybe that was what she was destined for.

Those orders told her to help clear the rubble and triage the survivors, but it seemed as if Emergency Response already had that covered. As Emma turned the corner onto a smaller side street, she was practically blinded and deafened by the sirens of a group of fire-trucks and paramedics that had set up camp midway down the road. They were already hard at work, the former attempting to quash any fires that had sprung up on the street, and the latter attempting to treat the survivors of those fires, and figure out a way to deal with the victims. Yet, as she got closer and closer to the group, she noticed one odd face. A younger guy, sitting on the curb and staring off into space with a frown crossing his features. A familiar-looking younger guy. Jack. What the hell had gotten into him? He had been on the Alpha squad that had been sent over the Bronx for some property damage incident, so it made sense that they would've called him first to deal with all of this. Still, it did beg the question: were the two incidents linked? Had a fight gotten out of hand? Had their been some kind of larger plot?

Maybe it was better for her to keep the questions to herself. He didn't look too eager to respond, or do anything for that matter, and really, neither did she. It felt stupid to complain about "wanting a break" when hundreds were likely dead or maimed, but she couldn't help but yearn for it. The thought was certainly enough to make her gradually slow down as she got closer and closer to her colleague, breaking the silence with an awkward clearing of her throat.

"Ja...Blink." Emma called out, correcting herself before a grave faux-pas was committed. "I'm uh...I'm guessing rescue efforts haven't gone so well for you either, huh?" she said awkwardly, giving a wide, sweeping gesture over her entire body. Her uniform probably looked like a mess, with bloodstains, dust, pebbles, and god-knows-what-else clinging to the surface. Slap a German accent and a wig on her, and she was basically their favorite German slasher-movie surgeon.

[Lessoni]

"Ja...Blink." Emma called out, correcting herself before a grave faux-pas was committed. "I'm uh...I'm guessing rescue efforts haven't gone so well for you either, huh?" she said awkwardly, giving a wide, sweeping gesture over her entire body. Her uniform probably looked like a mess, with bloodstains, dust, pebbles, and god-knows-what-else clinging to the surface. Slap a German accent and a wig on her, and she was basically their favorite German slasher-movie surgeon.

Jack Dredd

He looked up, hastily wiping the frown from his face. Wasn’t a good look, he knew. He tried his best at a smile, thinking he’d done reasonably well at it. Then again, it wasn’t the best time to be smiling... putting aside his overthinking, Jack spoke up.

“Oh, it’s uh... It’s just Jack, right now. Powers got turned off, I guess. Yeah, rescue’s been terrible. No, that’s not right, I’ve gotten a couple people who weren’t corpses. Saved a baby from a burning building, nearly died doing that. Figured out I can’t teleport when I was on the second floor with the stairs blocked. My shirt got ruined, which sucks cause this is my favorite shirt. Oh yeah, Maria tried to kill me, I think. Before that I nearly got blown up. Knee got janked up, Gauss fixed it up though. Think I might have permanent trauma, but hey, part of the job I guess. Kinda just sitting here cause like... I’m pretty much a civvie right now.”