Gods Among Us v10 (IC|Superhero|Open)

[Beiarusia]

Kieran Albescu - Hadara
Paris, France

---

Kieran was meandering throughout Paris without care or destination. When she was not assisting her grandfather with Celestial Veil, or otherwise donning the mantle of She Born of His Blood, of Hadara, the young teenager was oftentimes permitted to freely wander the city and the surrounding countryside — once she'd gone as far as Rouen in Normandy just to do so. Kieran did not attend school, and her relationships were practically nonexistent, so she had more than ample free time to do as she pleased. Her allowance was adequate, enough to keep preoccupied, and when it wasn't she had ways of acquiring a supplementary income. When she felt up to the challenge she could entertain passersby with her sleight-of-hand and charisma.

Otherwise she would simply pickpocket tourist. An easy feat considering her abilities.

Unfortunately, seldom was she allowed to go about her day unquestioned or accosted. Was she a runaway? A truant? A delinquent? Most adults had little reason to care, but some — the no-good busybodies especially — felt obligated to confront the teenager who, by all accounts, had done nothing to warrant such an intrusion. This very morning, whilst at the local arcade, she had been detained and questioned by an officer. She was unsupervised and should have been in class. A lie had distracted the man and, when his back was turned, she had simply slipped away without his noticing, disappointed that her fun had been cut short yet finding solace in the fact that the officer had unknowingly paid for her next meal. Emptying the stolen wallet of almost €100, and ignoring the family photograph, she had tossed it unceremoniously into the rubbish bin.

Taking the metro, she finds herself near the Gare de Lyon. Setting out to find a bistro or restaurant, she quickly settles on a small cafe near the station. The decor is rather dark and moody compared to the vibrant sunny day, but the smell of freshly baked pastries is enough to finalize Kieran's decision as she steps through the entrance. The cafe isn't packed despite its proximity to the nearby station and the nearing lunchtime hour. A good place to relax. Ordering several drinks and cakes, Keiran finds herself a secluded spot, stepping past a pale-skinned woman who very much looks the part of tourist (she was on the phone) and a few others who may be locals. The hood of her sweatshirt keeps her face mostly hidden from the other patrons.

Without enough food to feed two or three people, Kieran takes stock of those around her, people-watching as a means of staving off her boredom. Most everyone here looks to be painfully average, save for the pale-skinned woman who, if anything, is different enough from the typical menagerie to draw attention. Keiran looks perhaps a bit too long before switching her focus to her cellphone, cursing slightly underneath her breath in accented French as she accidentally drops the half-empty pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

[Luminesa]

Kieran Albescu - Hadara
Paris, France

---

Kieran was meandering throughout Paris without care or destination. When she was not assisting her grandfather with Celestial Veil, or otherwise donning the mantle of She Born of His Blood, of Hadara, the young teenager was oftentimes permitted to freely wander the city and the surrounding countryside — once she'd gone as far as Rouen in Normandy just to do so. Kieran did not attend school, and her relationships were practically nonexistent, so she had more than ample free time to do as she pleased. Her allowance was adequate, enough to keep preoccupied, and when it wasn't she had ways of acquiring a supplementary income. When she felt up to the challenge she could entertain passersby with her sleight-of-hand and charisma.

Otherwise she would simply pickpocket tourist. An easy feat considering her abilities.

Unfortunately, seldom was she allowed to go about her day unquestioned or accosted. Was she a runaway? A truant? A delinquent? Most adults had little reason to care, but some — the no-good busybodies especially — felt obligated to confront the teenager who, by all accounts, had done nothing to warrant such an intrusion. This very morning, whilst at the local arcade, she had been detained and questioned by an officer. She was unsupervised and should have been in class. A lie had distracted the man and, when his back was turned, she had simply slipped away without his noticing, disappointed that her fun had been cut short yet finding solace in the fact that the officer had unknowingly paid for her next meal. Emptying the stolen wallet of almost €100, and ignoring the family photograph, she had tossed it unceremoniously into the rubbish bin.

Taking the metro, she finds herself near the Gare de Lyon. Setting out to find a bistro or restaurant, she quickly settles on a small cafe near the station. The decor is rather dark and moody compared to the vibrant sunny day, but the smell of freshly baked pastries is enough to finalize Kieran's decision as she steps through the entrance. The cafe isn't packed despite its proximity to the nearby station and the nearing lunchtime hour. A good place to relax. Ordering several drinks and cakes, Keiran finds herself a secluded spot, stepping past a pale-skinned woman who very much looks the part of tourist (she was on the phone) and a few others who may be locals. The hood of her sweatshirt keeps her face mostly hidden from the other patrons.

Without enough food to feed two or three people, Kieran takes stock of those around her, people-watching as a means of staving off her boredom. Most everyone here looks to be painfully average, save for the pale-skinned woman who, if anything, is different enough from the typical menagerie to draw attention. Keiran looks perhaps a bit too long before switching her focus to her cellphone, cursing slightly underneath her breath in accented French as she accidentally drops the half-empty pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

Satine - Room for Two

Satine put her phone down, having spoken soft enough to maintain the quiet atmosphere of her surroundings but loud enough so her mother could hear her. Brookes had to be around somewhere, she had heard that he would be close. For now, however, she needed to keep herself occupied, whether with preparing spells or learning about what sorts of supernatural phenomena were floating around Paris. No doubt, the answer would be, "Enough."

She smiled to herself, glad to be thinking over these matters in the safety and quiet of a little cafe. She had no problems studying with company around her, but she prefered quiet. Back when she had been a university student, and even when she prepared lessons for students as a professor, she did not like to be intruded while in the middle of her work. Yet after a few minutes, she could feel eyes on her, and she looked-up from her work to see who or what might have been looking her way.

At that moment, she saw a lone girl with a rather heavy, unfocused stare aiming her eyes around the moody interior of the cafe. She was short, and her baggy sweater and skirt made her proportions look even smaller. She very well could have been 14 instead of 17. Even more strangely, the girl seemed to be lost, or at least moving around the building without much purpose. Getting lost in Paris sounded very dangerous, though wandering into a cafe to have breakfast was not. She had also grabbed quite the large amount of food, and several drinks. Several patrons looked with a bit of shock and confusion, but Satine did not look stunned, just curious and perhaps concerned for a young girl bumping around people in such a strange manner.

This quiet girl then decided to grab a corner by herself, surrounded by food almost as though she was hoarding it. At least one pastry slipped out of her hands and onto the floor, though it remained in its little package and thus did not get dirty. While she was not usually one to intrude, the young girl looked as though she had been struggling. Slipping her journal and pens away, she walked to retrieve the little bag, and she walked over to the girl's table to bring her pastry.

"Hello there. It looks like you had quite a load in your hands. You need not worry about asking for help with such a load, people should be kinder about helping those in need," she spoke, her voice quiet and elegant as she looked over the young girl, almost in a motherly manner. The girl was almost young enough to be her daughter, most likely, but not quite. "What is a little girl such as yourself doing walking all over Paris with nobody with you? Even the most beautiful cities in the world can be very dangerous."

[Endem]

Emilio Paiva Nazario

The tv was on full volume in the small security booth. Evening news were slowly read through by a female presenter. This constituted the only amount of entertainment the two security guards had. They were guarding a fairly big transformer substation somewhere on the outskirts of Tegucigalpa. Not like shit ever happened here.

"Bodies of 15 people had been discovered in Tegucigalpa. All of the victims discovered had been noted for criminal connections, however the authorities have ruled out organized crime involvement as a motive. The bodies were badly mutilated, with the victims having received various amounts of physical trauma, at least three victims had been somehow electrocuted. Rumors abound it is the work of Emilio Paiva Nazario, a metahuman criminal and serial killer, as well as a deserter from the Brazilian army, who was last seen heading towards Honduran border in Nicaragua. While authorities have not conf-"

One of the guards lazily turned his head towards the other.

"You think we'll see that freak?"

"I hope not, I don't wanna mess with any metas."

"Ah come on. We'd handle him like this!"

The guard imitated the movement of striking someone with a stick.

"We'd show a psycho were his place is."

"Yeah, still, I'd rather the police handle it, not us, we're just supposed to guard this place after all."

"Nothing ever happ-"

The guard got cut off by loud banging coming from the door to their booth.

"Happens here?"

Spotting the opportunity, the second guard sarcastically finished. The first guard without a comment stood up and looked through the peephole in the booth's door.

"It's just some hobo in rags."

The guard commented.

"Tell him to get lost then."

The first guard nodded and opened the door. He was just about to tell him to get lost when he stepped through the door, and pushing his way through, he headed for a small desk beneath a glass window overlooking the gate to the substation and the transformers inside. On the desk was a key to the plant. The first guard put their hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

He did not answer, at least not before the second guard exclaimed.

"Shit, he's armed."

Only now they spotted the machete in his hand

The second guard moved to reach his phone when the room was illuminated by an arc of lighting extending from him to the guard. The guard fell down, from his seat and became motionless. He turned around and with a swift hook dropped the wide-eyed and shocked guard onto the floor.

"Like this?"

He quoted the guard, as he lifted up his machete.

He walked up to the gate and put the key into the padlock, the chain rattled as it fell to the ground, he gently pushed the gate apart and started strolling through the transformers, he felt instinctually the energy flowing all around him.

An electrician looked out the window from a window of the crew building overlooking the whole complex, he passively scanned the darkened surroundings. Then he spotted a figure moving around between transformers in shabby clothing.

He sighed, of course the guards would slack, but to let a f*cking bum here? And of course it happens on the one day he is here alone when Felipe is out with his lover and Louis drinking. He had the shitiest luck. He picked up a phone to the security booth.

No one picked up. F*ck, are they drunk? He called the police and then started to monitor what the man was doing, he needed to make the hobo didn't accidentally electrocute himself. Eventually he started to record the man from his phone to have evidence against the two chucklef*cks that called themselves security guards.

He eventually found the one transformer that called to him, the one from which he would want to drink. He put his machete in the slit of the box, just under the lock, and then lifted it up. He saw various wires, he reached his hand out, and arcs of energy beamed to them. He gasped, the experience such as this was always exhilirating.

The electrician raised his brow, you'd think the bum would be acting drunk or at least disorientated, but no, his actions seemed intent on something.

He touched the wires, in an instant energy flowed into him. He was now connected to the entire Honduran power grid, all of it's energy rerouting itself to it, no matter which way it flowed just a moment ago, he was like a sinkhole, a black hole. Millions of joules of energy, thousands of ampers and volts, all filled him. The torrent was so great from his body started to shoot out all around him, as if a star had fallen down onto this place, and yet he held on, the botomless pit which was his need for electrical energy receiving more and more and more.

The electrician started to panic. Usually you'd expect a person to simply perish due to electrocution, and yet, that man was still standing, how? How?! He started to get notifications that power was going out in towns. It brought him little solace when the man stopped touching the transformer upon hearing the police's siren.

He hid in the shadows as the two policemen strolled around with flashlights. The cones of light searching for him, and the policeman calling out to him, accusing him of drunkenness. He stayed silent until they shone the light onto him.

"Hey friend, you shouldn't be here, I'll show you the way to a"

He didn't think, he didn't even need to let the policeman finish, they simply collapsed as lighting shot from him, swatted as if they were flies. He wanted to continue absorbing the energy from the transformer, but then he in the distance, in the window of a maintenance crew building which he ignored, he saw the figure of a frightened man, he began sprinting there.

The electrician felt he was about to die, with how fast the man was moving, he was out of time to flee, no way to defend himself. He, in desperation, hid under his desk. The door to his room flew open a second later. The man, no, the monster walked through the room, looking for the him, he needed to use all his willpower, not to move, not to scream or even breathe, but it paid off, the monster left the room eventually.

The electrician crawled out from under his desk, and only now noticed he was accidentally still recording everything. In a day, the recording confirming where Emilio was started making rounds on the internet...

[Beiarusia]

Collaboration: Kieran Albescu & Satine Everglade
Paris, France

---

Bent over to retrieve her wayward pack of cigarettes, Keiran saw the black-leather boots of the stranger approaching and, awkwardly righting herself, she looked up to see the pale-skinned woman holding out one of the pastries that she had accidentally dropped. Slipping her cigs into the kangaroo pouch of her hoodie, the teenager narrowed her eyes in regards to the unnecessary concern. Her French was rather good, perfect actually, so maybe not a tourist despite her out-of-place appearance. Not that it excused the interruption. Sure, the pale-skinned woman looked friendly, if maybe a tad bit concerned, but why the concern? Was a kid out alone that much of a problem?

Showing her age, Keiran rolled her eyes and sighed in that stereotypical fashion. "I didn't think I'd need help, and I can take care of myself thank-you-very-much," she said, her tone curt. Her own French was accented, marking her out as a non-native speaker. The teenager took back the pastry that the pale-skinned woman had offered, ripping open the package and biting defiantly into the soft bread. When the stranger did not immediately return to her seat she added, "Can I help you with something?"

Satine figured that the young lady would not be the most polite. Something about her manner, the way she dodged eyes but also watched everyone else, made her wonder about the girl's intentions. She may have very well been waiting for someone herself. A friend, or her parents. "Ah. Well, my apologies, I simply saw that carrying several drinks and pastries all at once looked rather cumbersome," she explained.

She noted that the girl also seemed to not speak French with a native inflection. Maybe she really was lost, or at least nervous about being here. She very well could have been running from someone as well, but Satine was not about to walk outside to look for strangers. She needed to reserve her energy, and she could best watch for trouble from her current vantage point as well.

"No, no, I don't need any help with anything. I am simply waiting for someone. But I suppose I must ask, sweetheart, are you lost? You look rather nervous, and Paris is not a fun place in which one should be lost."

I look lost? Keiran was a bit incredulous. She did not feel lost, a bit irritated sure, but definitely not lost. Nor did she feel nervous. She finished her pastry and ripped open another, the sugary-sweet smell mixing with the faint smell of stale tobacco smoke that lingered on the hoodie.

"Thanks, I guess, but I'm just out having a walk," said Keiran, a bit exasperated. A true statement more-or-less, but she was obviously annoyed, not at the woman in particular but in general. As if she was having a slightly no good bad day. The teenager suddenly changed tact, switching to a honey-coated conversation as if that would alleviate any worries. "Thank you for the concern but I know these streets like the back of my hand, and if anyone gets any funny ideas I'm not helpless. I'm offering tours if you're interested." A small joke to add some levity to the situation.

The girl seemed to switch between her mannerisms in a way that was a little suspicious. She jumped from nervous to angry to overconfident humor, almost as if she was trying to place a front between herself and Satine. But the front only made her more concerned. In her rational and knowing mind, the girl may have been hiding something worrisome, but she was not currently a danger to herself or others. Yet she could become one. Anyone could be a danger to themselves in the worst of circumstances.

In her less rational mind, the possibility existed that someone was after her, and she was worried about them finding her. She wished that spirits would appear and simply tell her what she was missing, but alas, nothing came to add to her story.

“I don’t think any funny ideas were to be had, certainly not by me,” she answered. At the idea of taking a tour, however, she did chuckle. “Though I must say, I’ve only been in Paris a handful of times. France is a much larger country than you might think, after all. How long have you lived in Paris?” Keeping the conversation going might at least keep the girl out of danger, she figured.

The teenager, hand raised up to her chin, considered the question for several long moments. Her memory was a bit hazy the further back she retraced. Three years? No, maybe it was four. She and her grandfather had traveled for some time before relocating permanently in Paris. She remembered the gentle waters of the Mediterranean and the snowy alps that bordered Switzerland, but the names of those cities and towns were long since forgotten, and she couldn't quite place how long ago that was. "About three years," she answered before adding almost as an afterthought, "we traveled a bit after leaving Lyon, but that was forever ago." Another moment as she considered something before deciding that there was no harm in sharing a bit more. "Keiran. It's rude of me to not introduce myself."

"Satine. Or Dr. Satine Everglade, not a very French surname but it is the one I've chosen." She introduced herself promptly, almost professionally, with still the motherly tone that she used towards younger people.

"Three years can feel quite like forever, I'm sure. And Lyon is very, very different from Paris. As much as many people would think every French city is Paris, but that is hardly the case. I'm sure you've noticed that by now. But as for the 'we', Miss Keiran...is your family not in town with you? You've already mentioned that worrying is not necessary, but I cannot help it. As a professor and researcher, worrying is part of my full-time work. And worrying about the safety of younger girls is an older woman's job, as my mother once said."

She knew that she must have sounded a little overwhelming, but something struck her as off about this girl. Her mannerisms, her dismissiveness, her changing subjects all sounded like a girl who was uncomfortable with something following her. But she wanted to ask carefully, and quietly, in case the wrong ears were listening.

"I live with my grandfather." The answer was automatic, and although Keiran was not lying the statement was made with unquestionable certainty. A statement of indisputable fact. Of course, the teenager had no reason to doubt the sincerity of the pale-skinned woman — Satine, who may or may not be a foreigner judging by her surname — but the teenager was quick to suppress any doubt that she was not an urchin. She wasn't hostile. Truthfully, she was rather forthcoming, feeling oddly at-ease with this unknown woman.

An unconscious pull towards something she herself was missing.

"You said you're a doctor and a professor? Which one is it?" the teenager questioned as she absentmindedly nibbled onto her cheesecake.

"Well, I have a Doctorate in Astronomy, and I teach at a university. So one follows the other. In the same way that a coffee and TV dinner addiction follows being a college student for 12 years anyway," she answered, a bit of joking in her voice. She was, however, worried to hear that this girl only had her grandfather. Her answer came a little too fast, as though perhaps the answer was true but with some pain involved. "But yes, the stars are my passion and where my mind tends to wander for much of the day. In fact..." Another fact which had slipped her mind came to the forefront, and now her questions increased. "It is April, and unless I am mistaken schools are not out for Easter or Passover, so are you not in school?"

Keiran dropped the fork mid-bite as she turned suddenly to look up at Satine with newfound excitement aglow in her eyes. "Astronomy!? I love that!" Her tone was loud and drew some glances from those inside the café, but her enthusiasm was undeniable. "The stars are really important. They mean so much. And... uh... well, I'm home-schooled."

Another half-truth. Her grandfather had taught her what was necessary, but her schooling was unofficial in any capacity and, if tested, would be found to be lacking. Keiran knew what she needed and could be best described as street-smart not book-smart. Not that she would openly admit that she was, more-or-less, a dropout, and had not attended middle school. The teenager could barely remember a classroom. Another hazy memory from sometime long before.

"But that's boring. Let's talk about the stars," the teenager pressured, clearly not willing to talk about her lacking education. As if to keep Satine from pressing the point, Keiran would start spouting off her own tidbits, demonstrating an intimate knowledge of astrology.

Satine was never one to push to embarrass a possible pupil. The girl had genuine excitement glittering in her eyes at the idea of talking about stars, and she giggled at her enthusiasm. “Well let me bring my bags over here and we can talk. If you don’t mind.”

Not wanting to keep her belongings, and especially not her journals, out where someone could find them, she grabbed them along with her bags, and her drink and pastry, and she walked over to Keiran. Once she sat across from her, she smiled. “You sound as though you’re very passionate about the subject yourself. Very good. And it is important. How we came to this earth depends very much on the makeup of the universe around us. The elements which make us are millions, if not billions of years old. But tell me, what brought you to want to study the stars?”

Without meaning to Keiran would slip into her alternate persona, discussing her take on astrology with unwavering confidence as if partaking with those of Celestial Veil. The teenager was very animated and passionate, enough so to forget momentarily about her mountain of pastries, and it was evident that she believed wholeheartedly in what she was saying. Stars (and celestial bodies in general) could show the past, present, and the future; could predict fate and destiny; could change so much for the better if only people were willing to open their minds to the possibilities. "That is how everything will change for the better," she finished. A small, awkward chuckle escaped her lips as she sipped on her coffee. "I've always loved the stars, but my grandfather, he showed me just how meaningful it all was. He showed me why I was so special." She cocked her head slightly to one side. "You get that, right?"

Satine listened to the girl's story, smiling as she listened to the girl's theories. Most people would have considered her completely insane, or at least a little kooky. Someone who read too many horoscopes. But the tall, pale woman sitting in front of her was a polite listener, and she did not interrupt the girl. But something beyond general knowledge did lie in the girl's voice.

Her grandfather showed her how meaningful it all was. She thought of her own father, how he sat with her and reminded her of the beauty of the stars. How he found knowledge of the celestial realms and brought it down to her. She would not have her own books and her access to what she knew without her father.

"The stars are very powerful. From the beginning of humanity, people have feared them. It is so difficult for many to look to the heavens and to ask, 'What else is there?' They can point to life which was or is, life we have not found yet. They can point to the age of the universe, or how small we are as humans. So yes, I certainly understand. Is your grandfather an astronomer, or maybe an astrologer, or does he simply have an interest in the stars which he has lovingly given you?"

Keiran nodded. "More than an interest. He's going to help everybody. Hadar is the guide."

Beta Centauri, otherwise known as Hadar, was located most prominently in the southern constellations and, after Alpha Centauri, was the second brightest star in Centaurus and, within the Southern Cross, was the shepherd to the southern celestial pole. To Keiran, this star in particular was of great importance, and although the Arabic meaning of Hadar was most often utilized in astrology (civilized) her preference was for the Hebrew derivative (splendor, glory). More-so, her mannerisms in regards to astrology were borderline obsessive if not delusional, and to those capable of reading in-between the lines, of deconstructing another's unconscious body language, her impassioned enthusiasm may well be indicative of something more. An aspect obscured by her imaginative and eccentric personality. Regardless, the teenager was of the opinion that Hadar would be the guide to something greater, and that this was an unquestionable truth relayed to her by her grandfather. Left unsaid was that she was the prophetess.

"People just need to believe," Keiran added, her personality having adopted a charismatic magnetism. She was concise, evocative, and her soft-yet-enthralling tone was inviting. With time she'd make for a great orator. "They need faith, is what my grandfather says, and it's true. The stars will guide us. It's why I'm here."

Now Satine seemed to come to what was bothering her. Her grandfather sounded almost as though he was the leader of some sort of cult or secret religion, all surrounding a particular star. She knew of the star Hadar, a star which was a part of a constellation similar to her Zodiac sign, Centaurus. Yet she had not expected for a particular cult to exist of people who worshipped this particular star. Yet she listened, once again, showing none of the concern in her face as she took her time listening and sipping her drink.

The girl’s own reactions to her own story seemed to also prove her point. Keiran was almost feverish in her devotion, begging with her eyes and gestures for Satine to believe her.

“I suppose the stars do guide us, in a way,” she answered softly, thinking of a tactful way to answer, “they have guided voyagers across the seas for thousands of years. They guided the various Magi, and they guide astronauts who can now touch the heavens themselves. And it is almost a faith of sorts that guided those men and women into space. A faith that the impossible could be done. Do you have any such aspirations? Going to space, or perhaps helping others to go to space?”

Dreams and kindness. She doubted that this girl had ever been asked what she felt about the stars, hence her enthusiasm to talk about them. Even more than that, her words whispered of an even deeper need, one to be seen as Keiran. As someone who could dream. But she could only wait and see.

The teenager's answer was surprisingly quick. "Go to space? Now why would I do that?" She seemed genuinely confused as she nibbled on the next of her many deserts. "The people here need help. Running away to space, as amazing as it would be, like, totes amazing, won't solve anything. I can help here and now. Besides, we don't need to go that far for good fortunes to come our way."

“Well…” Satine paused, as she finished her croissant. “When I was a little girl I wanted to be an astronaut. Because when people go and see the stars, or make probes and spacecraft which can follow the stars, they get to learn more about why we are really here. Of course people here need help as well. But I became a professor for much of the same reason. To help others to feel confident looking among the moons and stars. And you have a spark in your eyes. You want to know more.” She smiled gently at the excitable girl, wondering about what sort of daily cycle caused for her to speak and feel the way she did. “So don’t be afraid to know more about the moon and stars. Ignorance ends when you start asking questions, is something I like to tell students.”

Keiran looked down to her many deserts, her expression wavering in-between puzzled and contemplative. The teenager was struggling to process the conversation. Deep down, she did crave to know more, to be more, but that seed had never once been nurtured. A malnourished desire like that of a delicate flower, starved and wilted and cast aside, and until now nobody, not even her grandfather, had seen fit to cultivate its bloom. Satine had stirred something. The beginnings of an epiphany. She Born of His Blood, the voice of Hadar, and yet her knowledge was not her own. She did not question the teachings of her grandfather. He was the catalyst, but he was not the herald and he never would be. That privilege was hers, and hers alone, but if she were to one day become prophet...

"Maybe you're right," Keiran muttered. Her gaze shifted up, locking with Satine in quiet intensity before softening with a gentle grin. "I don't think I want to become an astronaut, but I should try to learn more. It's really important that I broaden my perspective. Just didn't realize that until now."

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart. Never stop wanting to know more. The universe is vast and so is our desire to learn,” Satine encouraged her. She could tell that the girl struggled to make such decisions now. Yet she would not force her to. No, Keiran needed to understand for herself what she wanted to learn. “Be a professor, be a scholar, work in an observatory. Be any of those things that nurture your interests. It’s a good thing, at the end of the day, to seek such challenges with an excited young heart like yours.”

The teenager nodded. However, unbeknownst to either of the two of them, the chance meeting had created a deviation, and Keiran's path was now permanently altered. A fracture had developed, and only time would tell of the consequences.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

William Brookes
Paris, France

If the somewhat laid back approach to most things could hide William's dedication to his work. Obviously: like his own method to evolving in magical studies, it was hardly an organized or a constant work; he'd often dedicate himself at gathering the maximum amount of information possible on the topic at hand, profiling whatever he could without leaving his room. Eventually, the leaves would fall - a pretty metaphor for the useless information being removed from the schematics he'd often build - and William would be closer to finding out his objective.

Away from the ideal hotels, William worked quite humanely: copies of the pages in the file given to him were now fixed to the walls, divided in groups. But even before he could start to organize it, his phone rang once again. Curses and blessings to the technology that made his life easier, a familiar name popped up on his screen: Antoine.

"- Brookes?
- Yes.
- How much do you owe to a certain... Satine Everglade, ami?
- Far as I recall, not someone I'd ask a favor. Why?
- Because she's looking for your help on something and she's too pretty to be a friend of yours.
- Well Antoine, when you're actually competent, people do look for you to solve stuff. Where is she right now?
- Oh, ami! But you did call me when you arrived at France, didn't you?
- Where is she right now, mate?
- Ça va, ça va! She said she'd be at a café, I'll send you the address and the photo I have on her. Good luck!"


The work at hand had to be stopped: not only because someone was looking for him, which often meant trouble, but a local was looking for him. Information went both ways: this lady Satine could use him for her needs, and he could use her for his needs in a city which he lacked a solid network to work with. Putting some basic materials inside his case and changing into a more professional look, William set out to the café.

At a French Café

No matter how hard the French - especially the Parisians - tried to make a place look inviting, they ended up making it look excessively glamorous, uninviting, pretentious or all at once. William thought such things free of any English prejudice towards the French, at least: he knew very well that the Parisians hated themselves more than they hated French people in general, and the best way to look like someone used to Paris was, ironically, to dislike Paris.

Finding the mage that looked for him among the crowd - and surprisingly, she was accompanied by a girl who looked fresh out of her teenage years - William walked towards the duo.

"I assume you're mademoiselle Everglade, yes? No one mentioned that kids would be involved... I'm William Brookes, mage and detective for natural and supernatural affairs. Mind if I order a coffee while you talk on what you want of me, by the way?"

[Luminesa]

William Brookes
Paris, France

If the somewhat laid back approach to most things could hide William's dedication to his work. Obviously: like his own method to evolving in magical studies, it was hardly an organized or a constant work; he'd often dedicate himself at gathering the maximum amount of information possible on the topic at hand, profiling whatever he could without leaving his room. Eventually, the leaves would fall - a pretty metaphor for the useless information being removed from the schematics he'd often build - and William would be closer to finding out his objective.

Away from the ideal hotels, William worked quite humanely: copies of the pages in the file given to him were now fixed to the walls, divided in groups. But even before he could start to organize it, his phone rang once again. Curses and blessings to the technology that made his life easier, a familiar name popped up on his screen: Antoine.

"- Brookes?
- Yes.
- How much do you owe to a certain... Satine Everglade, ami?
- Far as I recall, not someone I'd ask a favor. Why?
- Because she's looking for your help on something and she's too pretty to be a friend of yours.
- Well Antoine, when you're actually competent, people do look for you to solve stuff. Where is she right now?
- Oh, ami! But you did call me when you arrived at France, didn't you?
- Where is she right now, mate?
- Ça va, ça va! She said she'd be at a café, I'll send you the address and the photo I have on her. Good luck!"


The work at hand had to be stopped: not only because someone was looking for him, which often meant trouble, but a local was looking for him. Information went both ways: this lady Satine could use him for her needs, and he could use her for his needs in a city which he lacked a solid network to work with. Putting some basic materials inside his case and changing into a more professional look, William set out to the café.

At a French Café

No matter how hard the French - especially the Parisians - tried to make a place look inviting, they ended up making it look excessively glamorous, uninviting, pretentious or all at once. William thought such things free of any English prejudice towards the French, at least: he knew very well that the Parisians hated themselves more than they hated French people in general, and the best way to look like someone used to Paris was, ironically, to dislike Paris.

Finding the mage that looked for him among the crowd - and surprisingly, she was accompanied by a girl who looked fresh out of her teenage years - William walked towards the duo.

"I assume you're mademoiselle Everglade, yes? No one mentioned that kids would be involved... I'm William Brookes, mage and detective for natural and supernatural affairs. Mind if I order a coffee while you talk on what you want of me, by the way?"

Satine Everglade - Day
April 12th, 2022
Paris, France - Cafe near Paris Metro

The bright young girl had proven to be a friendly encounter and a good conversation, but another person quickly took away her attention. In fact, he was the man she had been awaiting. She decided to leave the young girl to herself, though she could not help but hold onto her concern. The girl would go back to her grandfather, most likely alone, back to...some sort of strange cult. Cults always disturbed her, as they took away the free-thinking and imaginations of young people, especially young girls.

Even worse, the fact that her grandfather had seemingly dropped such a large destiny in the lap of a girl who preferred to hide behind a mountain of sweets struck her as...wrong. Her own father had most likely always known that Satine would stumble upon the Magical secrets she now understood. Yet he waited, allowing her to explore the world along with him, before he handed her such a responsibility when he knew that responsibility might save her. Now, she wondered if it would save her or land her in more trouble.

Either way, it landed her in front of William Brookes, and that was what she needed for now.

"I've greatly enjoyed this talk, sweetheart. But I shall be needing to go, as an...acquaintance awaits. Do remember what I said, however. Don't be afraid to think about your dreams. Be safe, and au revoir," she told Keiran, as she took her bags and books and moved more toward the Mage standing not too far away. She figured that their matters, whether or not they intersected with Keiran's, were better discussed between the two of them. "Ah. Hello, Monsieur Brookes," she greeted him, her voice more slow and elegant as she turned from the vulnerable young girl to the cheeky Mage who was now ordering a coffee. She held herself without the pretentiousness of a Parisian, but with all the gentle pride of knowing her abilities and her purpose.

"Yes, I've come to Paris for several reasons. I'm curious as well as to seeing if those reasons for being in Paris intersect with your own. One of them is...well, you, and the other is your experience with the...incorporeal." Using the word "ghosts" around people unfamiliar with such work tended to make them nervous, and she kept her voice down so as to avoid drawing such attention. Being a six-foot-tall woman wearing almost all black and violet in late spring was enough of an attention-grabber. "You see a little birdy told me you had completed some work with the less holy in London, and information does travel quite fast these days. So I figured that if you were free, or if our missions were similar enough, you could help me and I could help you."

[Luminesa]

Co-Written by Irhk and Lumi

Leather, Lace, and Ghosts
Brookes and Satine - Day
Paris, France - In Cafe

"Sorry love, but I can't exactly my reasons to be here so quickly."

William allowed himself to sip the coffee before proceeding: while the national preference in his land could be the tea, his personal preference was the strong punch a black coffee with no sugar packed that seemingly woke up any part of his brain that preferred to be asleep. With a shy "merci", he gestured to the waitress that walked by their table, before continuing the conversation.

"I suppose that the little birdy isn't an slightly overweight man of the clergy, so I'd say you have connections with the... incorporeal, like you meant it. But yes, I did a small job with the damned of other realms in London before coming here... but do tell me, what do you need help with, Miss Everglade?"

“I figured. Take your time,” she answered calmly, standing by as she listened to him conjecture about what he had learned about her. “You’ve done quite a few jobs related to such things, I’ve heard. I’ve been needing help investigating the…souls around Paris, and what has caused them such stress and anxiety as they have felt. You see…”

She sipped her drink and smiled. “I’m able to speak to them, but I am limited in my ability to find all of them at once. I figured two heads are better than one, are they not? And perhaps you have noticed a similar situation in London?”

It was a tricky question to be answered, mostly because it was a tricky measurement to obtain: how do you discern the abnormal activity of souls and ghosts? Certainly, William didn't know the origin of the object that made the possession easier for the creature that took the kid's body. Yet it was better to be safe than sorry...

"Not similar, but magical problems tend to ignore national borders... if something is off here, it might as well be off in London next week. And let's just say I got my hands full. Alright, alright. I'll help you out. With one condition, though. I may need a favor in the near future. Don't worry, I won't ask for your tailor's name, I'll let a lady have her secrets in peace. It'll be a much easier one."

“A favor is a favor. As long as it is humanely doable, I am perfectly fine with completing favors.” Brookes did not seem like the sort of person to ask for unreasonable requests, so she gladly agreed to what he wanted. She had finished her first drink, and so she decided to order a second, an iced coffee.

“How about we go sit somewhere a little more private? There’s a seating area in the back and there’s a place with an umbrella outside. I don’t much prefer the heat, but Paris has been merciful today. I’d simply like to explain the situation a little better, and to hear more from you, in a place that’s a little less…full of eyes,” she explained. She did not mind Keiran nearby, but the business of ghosts and spirits was always fragile. She knew that the fellow Magic-user would understand.

"Let's go to the back, lady. I'd like a place with little less eyes and certainly one with little less sun... that's already way too bright for me."

The seating area was indeed a little bit more private: the sound of the streets didn't invade the conversations like it did up in the front area, and it seemed to be originally conceived for those wishful of a little more privacy. Obviously, not all of those who were there were mages, vigilantes, or had extremely secretive affairs to deal with: chances are that they'd simply wish for a quieter place to escape from the centuries old French capital.

"There you go... Well, I suppose that others here will be not so keen in hearing us talk about ghosts, spirits, or whatever else we may be dealing with. I'll just write down stuff to keep track of what you've been investigating so far, but please, do talk about the case you're on."

Satine gladly followed Brookes and sat with him, sipping her drink as she thought about what steps had brought her to Paris. Then she whispered her story. “I’ve lived in Lyon for most of my life, though I’ve managed to travel when I can. And for the last couple of years, ghosts in Lyon have become more and more nervous. I haven’t been able to focus as much on investigating, given I was finishing my Ph.D. Then they started screaming and shouting. ‘A murder, a murder.’ And…there was an unsolved murder in Lyon. It’s been cold for about two years…”

She sipped more of her coffee, giving Brookes time to write. “Now that I’ve been done, I’m able to investigate. A lot of ghosts and spirits seem to be complaining about the same thing. ‘Go to Paris!’ they kept saying. So I’ve come here. And every ghost I’ve contacted on the way has felt the same way. There is immense danger here."

Satine described her relationship with the ghosts closely: they not only whispered to her clearly, but the tone changed according to the urgency they saw. Was she a herald of their wishes? Or simply a connection, conscious or not, to their memories in this world? It didn't matter, in the end, what William thought: only what he knew was of importance, and other than the lady's willingness to follow the otherworldly suggestions, he knew little.

"Maybe it is all a matter of the tense applied, mademoiselle... In the first case, they told you about something that happened, not something that was going on. Maybe they're telling you about something that will happen, but that they can't share due to some constraint... which doesn't help our case at all. We need to confer with your friends once again... but we certainly can't do it here."

Satine agreed. She saw no issue with taking the matter somewhere a little quieter even than a nice cafe. “I’m sure there are plenty of less-crowded spaces, even in a city like Paris. It will make that sort of communication…easier. And especially at night. But night is a ways away. For now, we just need somewhere dark and a little less populated for me to concentrate.” She finished her drink, and her eyes sparkled. “I’m sure it wasn’t your first concern, but you don’t have to worry about being harmed alongside me. I’m sure they’ll be as glad to see you as they are to see me.”

"I doubt that there'll be sunshine and rainbows upon seeing me, love, but rest assured I wasn't that concerned about them attacking me or something like that. I'm a grown man, I've seen my fair share of ghosts, spirits, undead, liches, list goes on. And no, I did not meet ole' Queen Betsy despite the suspicions regarding her lack of mortality."

With a sudden movement, the rest of the coffee went down in one gulp: William quickly listed possible places to confer with the departed on the matters that troubled their incorporeal conscience. The Catacombs were the most obvious place, but could also be crowded due to ghostly and physical reasons; there were also the cemeteries, who would undoubtedly be guarded and the churches of the capital, which the biggest obstacle would be convincing the priests that their work wasn't unholy or at least, heretical. Unless one of them opened up their quarters, they'd need to hit the streets during the late night.

"Well, guess that sums up our options and the information at hand. I suppose you have a very common and boring mean to be contacted?"

"Ah yes, a very boring mean would be my cell number," she answered, as she wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. She grinned at him as she rested her cheek on her hand. "I'll find a decent place and we'll see if a spirit or two will come to say hello and to talk. In the meantime, I'll be keeping an eye out for any who happen to show themselves during the daytime. I met one on the way here, but they didn't give me any specifics. Perhaps they'll talk more with you around." She then stood and looked out the doorway. "I suppose I'll be needing to find a hotel. I'll be staying here for a couple of days at the very least, it seems." Her hair whipped along her lower back as she turned back to Brookes and held her hand out to shake his. "The less intimate and British way of saying farewell, at least for now."

Once they shook hands, she took her bags with her, and she looked outdoors as she opened her umbrella. "Far too sunny...but it's not too hot yet." Her elegant shadow graced the doorway for a few more moments, as she opened her parasol and held it over her head while taking her bags along. She looked down at the business card he had also handed her in the meantime, and she chuckled. At the very least, Brookes would make her investigation much more fun.

[Luminesa]

A Ghost of a Chance

Satine - Day
April 12th, 2022
Alley in Rue des Chartres

A city as bright, dreamy, and ancient as Paris was sure to have quite a few haunted places, and the brighter it shined, the more one could see those shadowy places. This particular alley of the Rue des Chantres, even on a sunny day, was so narrow that the sun seemed to almost ignore it. The walls smelled of soft rain, old cobblestone, and age. The location was perfect, at least for what Satine wanted to do.

She had first found a much more modern hotel to replant her luggage, before she had taken a look at the location on her phone and had marched out to find it. She grabbed an iced lemonade from a shop on the way, though she was not far from the location to start. Satine could never be sure, however, if the weather would cooperate or if it would make her feel weaker. Paris was a concrete jungle, perhaps a prettier one than most. Even if she found it charming, she still preferred her home, on the edge of the Saone River.

But she could not afford to be homesick right now, not when she had a serious mission. She still twirled her parasol over her head, walking with a smile on her face and a kick in her step. Her skirt swished and her hair danced around her hips. She had no reason to feel nervous or sad, not when business kept her mind occupied. She would feel much better, however, once the moon arose and she could feel the pleasant moon's chill over her. She would feel pleasant enough, however, seeing Brooke, a fellow sorcerer who did not give her strange looks when she talked about spirits and ghosts. Chances were high that he had experienced some of those same looks himself.

She made her way to the alley and looked around. This street was a storied place, one which still had an air of the sickness of the old hotel which once stood here. The alley in which she stood might have been suffocating to some, but not to her. She sent Brookes a text, and she smiled.

"Hello! Now that we're acquainted? The alley on the left-hand side of the Rue de Chartres. Look for the woman in very dark clothing drinking a frozen lemonade. ^^"

All the while, she watched the shadows that might lean into the alley from either direction. She could already feel spirits approaching, which was a relief. Summoning them took effort, and she was limited in how many times she could call them. Right now, she just needed to be able to passively communicate with them, and to see if they would perhaps also speak to Brookes. "...I should have bought him a lemonade too...hm. Well, he doesn't have the same issues I have. I suppose he'll live," she murmured to herself.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

A Ghost of a Chance

Satine - Day
April 12th, 2022
Alley in Rue des Chartres

A city as bright, dreamy, and ancient as Paris was sure to have quite a few haunted places, and the brighter it shined, the more one could see those shadowy places. This particular alley of the Rue des Chantres, even on a sunny day, was so narrow that the sun seemed to almost ignore it. The walls smelled of soft rain, old cobblestone, and age. The location was perfect, at least for what Satine wanted to do.

She had first found a much more modern hotel to replant her luggage, before she had taken a look at the location on her phone and had marched out to find it. She grabbed an iced lemonade from a shop on the way, though she was not far from the location to start. Satine could never be sure, however, if the weather would cooperate or if it would make her feel weaker. Paris was a concrete jungle, perhaps a prettier one than most. Even if she found it charming, she still preferred her home, on the edge of the Saone River.

But she could not afford to be homesick right now, not when she had a serious mission. She still twirled her parasol over her head, walking with a smile on her face and a kick in her step. Her skirt swished and her hair danced around her hips. She had no reason to feel nervous or sad, not when business kept her mind occupied. She would feel much better, however, once the moon arose and she could feel the pleasant moon's chill over her. She would feel pleasant enough, however, seeing Brooke, a fellow sorcerer who did not give her strange looks when she talked about spirits and ghosts. Chances were high that he had experienced some of those same looks himself.

She made her way to the alley and looked around. This street was a storied place, one which still had an air of the sickness of the old hotel which once stood here. The alley in which she stood might have been suffocating to some, but not to her. She sent Brookes a text, and she smiled.

"Hello! Now that we're acquainted? The alley on the left-hand side of the Rue de Chartres. Look for the woman in very dark clothing drinking a frozen lemonade. ^^"

All the while, she watched the shadows that might lean into the alley from either direction. She could already feel spirits approaching, which was a relief. Summoning them took effort, and she was limited in how many times she could call them. Right now, she just needed to be able to passively communicate with them, and to see if they would perhaps also speak to Brookes. "...I should have bought him a lemonade too...hm. Well, he doesn't have the same issues I have. I suppose he'll live," she murmured to herself.

William Brookes
Paris, France

The meeting with Satine was a surprise William welcomed somewhat well: he could openly admit that his knowledge of the higher echelons of the magical society in France was somewhat outdated, given that his residence at London often gave him the opportunity to contact those who were passing by the English capital, instead of traveling to meet them.

William made no significant advances in the cult investigation: he did wonder who he could call upon to take a closer look at the cult's reunions, or at least how he could "join" it temporarily. However, once again, his phone summoned him for duty once again. Satine, the quite intriguing mage he met, brought to him by an acquaintance old as the spirits that told her to seek him.

"Spirits", generally thrown in a conversation without any further clarification, was something that left William cautious: most of them could play the "good guy" for years, a nearly eternal act that could be nothing else than a part of a bigger, whimsical plan of an entity. However, it was of little use to let thoughts based on nothing so far. Getting himself ready to walk through the Parisian streets once again, it was only halfway that if it wasn't for the grey, houndstooth patterned jacket, he'd somewhat matching Satine preference for darker, nearly all-black outfits.

"I would say it is shocking to see you in such a place, mademoiselle Satine, but I'd be lying. Place suits you quite well... So, tell me the news of your friendly dead folk. Are they up for a chat while you sip on lemonade under this Parisian sun?"

[Anowa]

Director Wolfram Herrman
US Department of Metahuman Affairs
DMA Sacramento Regional Office, 1001 K St, Sacramento, CA 95814, United States
April 12th 2022

The room that had been co-oped in to an impromptu briefing room wasn't anything more than a fold out concession table and chairs. AC was busted, a number of ceiling tiles were missing, and one of the windows was particle board and tyvek wrap. A lot of buildings in Sacramento needed that sort of treatment, either rebuilt, torn down, renovated, or just replaced. The reason why was simple.

On the horizon, a peak of what a few years prior would've been confused with Mount Diablo, or the Sierra Nevadas, was the rim to a crater with the ruined and unmaintained path of the I-80 running head long towards it. It had been sealed off by the Army not too long after the incident, and it was why they were here.

The door behind the director opened, and the duo of spooks walked in, the last among everyone present to join them, "Parking?" Of the twins, the freckled one, Hannah, simply held up a guest pass with a look of indignation before both took a spot on the wall, "Right."

The man spoke up, "Well, welcome to what is now dubbed Task Force: League. With us we have Agents Dixon, Foster, Corbin, Hutchinson, and Romaschenko of the Department of Meta-Human Affairs; Hans Mustermann, Clara Caleb, and Olympia Argyros-Smith of the Maine Academy, here for field experience. We also have, "a pause, "Karnstein and Karmilla of Central Intelligence. As you can probably assume by that, this Task Force and all that may transpire is classified: top secret. With good reason."

The man reached down and snapped open a seal on a plastic folder labaled "Eyes Only."

"Alright. Back in February, Independent divers managed to break the quarantine fence around the mouth of the San Andreas crater and made their way to the bottom of the crater with a commercial submarine. In a period of time ranging between 3 and 6 days, the team of 5 divers would collect and impressive array of debris, presumably to sell on the Black Market. However, this didn't happen. In late March, a recovery operation by the Navy on a crashed drone resulted in finding the submarine and all five divers, dead. Due to the problems at operating at such depths, they couldn't stick around for long, but the bodies were recovered. Their wounds were synonymous with wounds on civilians harmed by the..." the man waved his hand as he searched for the right word, "Machinations of Doctor Apocalypse." a pause, "Right now, we think some of the debris they recovered may have been one of his weapons that was set off unwittingly. But that's on the best case side of things, worst case side is that the motherfucker himself is trawling the ocean floor and has been for 2 years."

"Any questions?"

[Luminesa]

A Ghost of a Chance

Satine - Day
April 12th, 2022
Alley in Rue des Chartres

A city as bright, dreamy, and ancient as Paris was sure to have quite a few haunted places, and the brighter it shined, the more one could see those shadowy places. This particular alley of the Rue des Chantres, even on a sunny day, was so narrow that the sun seemed to almost ignore it. The walls smelled of soft rain, old cobblestone, and age. The location was perfect, at least for what Satine wanted to do.

She had first found a much more modern hotel to replant her luggage, before she had taken a look at the location on her phone and had marched out to find it. She grabbed an iced lemonade from a shop on the way, though she was not far from the location to start. Satine could never be sure, however, if the weather would cooperate or if it would make her feel weaker. Paris was a concrete jungle, perhaps a prettier one than most. Even if she found it charming, she still preferred her home, on the edge of the Saone River.

But she could not afford to be homesick right now, not when she had a serious mission. She still twirled her parasol over her head, walking with a smile on her face and a kick in her step. Her skirt swished and her hair danced around her hips. She had no reason to feel nervous or sad, not when business kept her mind occupied. She would feel much better, however, once the moon arose and she could feel the pleasant moon's chill over her. She would feel pleasant enough, however, seeing Brooke, a fellow sorcerer who did not give her strange looks when she talked about spirits and ghosts. Chances were high that he had experienced some of those same looks himself.

She made her way to the alley and looked around. This street was a storied place, one which still had an air of the sickness of the old hotel which once stood here. The alley in which she stood might have been suffocating to some, but not to her. She sent Brookes a text, and she smiled.

"Hello! Now that we're acquainted? The alley on the left-hand side of the Rue de Chartres. Look for the woman in very dark clothing drinking a frozen lemonade. ^^"

All the while, she watched the shadows that might lean into the alley from either direction. She could already feel spirits approaching, which was a relief. Summoning them took effort, and she was limited in how many times she could call them. Right now, she just needed to be able to passively communicate with them, and to see if they would perhaps also speak to Brookes. "...I should have bought him a lemonade too...hm. Well, he doesn't have the same issues I have. I suppose he'll live," she murmured to herself.

William Brookes
Paris, France

The meeting with Satine was a surprise William welcomed somewhat well: he could openly admit that his knowledge of the higher echelons of the magical society in France was somewhat outdated, given that his residence at London often gave him the opportunity to contact those who were passing by the English capital, instead of traveling to meet them.

William made no significant advances in the cult investigation: he did wonder who he could call upon to take a closer look at the cult's reunions, or at least how he could "join" it temporarily. However, once again, his phone summoned him for duty once again. Satine, the quite intriguing mage he met, brought to him by an acquaintance old as the spirits that told her to seek him.

"Spirits", generally thrown in a conversation without any further clarification, was something that left William cautious: most of them could play the "good guy" for years, a nearly eternal act that could be nothing else than a part of a bigger, whimsical plan of an entity. However, it was of little use to let thoughts based on nothing so far. Getting himself ready to walk through the Parisian streets once again, it was only halfway that if it wasn't for the grey, houndstooth patterned jacket, he'd somewhat matching Satine preference for darker, nearly all-black outfits.

"I would say it is shocking to see you in such a place, mademoiselle Satine, but I'd be lying. Place suits you quite well... So, tell me the news of your friendly dead folk. Are they up for a chat while you sip on lemonade under this Parisian sun?"

Satine - Lemonade Séance
April 12th
Paris, France, Rue de Chartres

Satine listened for footsteps, and was quite relieved at the sound of Brookes’s shoes walking through the street toward her location. When she also got a look at his new outfit, she was pleasantly surprised at his appearance. He looked quite sharp for a normal walk around town, and his gruff-yet-polite expression was quite handsome. Of course, she was here for business first. Admiring a charming man came second to what she needed to accomplish alongside him, but a flirt or two never harmed anyone.

“Mm, you find the most interesting people in darker places, I would say,” Satine answered, sipping her frozen lemonade a little more before she gave him a wink. When she stopped, she looked around the alleyway and nodded.

“This place used to be home to a hotel, and to quite a lot of consumption. A lot of uncalm spirits are wandering here, I can feel them.” They were harder for her to see in sunlight, but the tall, stony walls managed to block most of the sunlight. She could see the faintest shadows moving along the walls, the presence of the ethereal moving smoothly among them. She turned her head to the closest spirit, who whirled around to look at her.

“A murder!” A small girl’s ghost yelled, as she started to come more into view. She could not have been more than eight, and her hospital gown did not fit well over her tiny body. Her hair was matted, but her face and voice were still recognizably childish.

“I know, sweetie, there have been quite a few ghosts who have said there was a murder,” Satine answered gently. She then motioned to Brookes. “This is my acquaintance, Mr. William Brookes. He also speaks to ghosts, and perhaps you can help the both of us with solving this murder?”

The little girl’s ghost looked at Brookes and narrowed her eyes, before she turned back to Satine. “In Lyon! And they came back here!”

“Ah, so the murder did happen in Lyon, and the suspect did come back here.” the dark-haired woman confirmed.

The little girl’s eyes widened, and she looked over at Brookes. “A cult! Spooky people! The ghosts said you saw a cult! Murderers!”

Most humans who did not know about ghosts or spirits might have felt a passing chill as they walked past this alley. However, Brookes and Satine would have heard the scream as clear as day, and as cold as a blast of winter air. The little ghost’s eyes were wide with anger and terror, not at the detective, but at having seen some awful crime or some awful beings committing that crime.

[Crysuko]

Melbourne, Australia
It had been some time since James had sent the package to local law enforcement and media, the police had pounced on this package of evidence served on a silver platter, as the company had been under investigation for quite some time now, but the courts didn't have anything tangible to make a charge stick. This gave them carte blanche to issue search and arrest warrants. The prosecution was stacked with cases in no time flat, and the media was quick to jump on this, the video of the sour faced director being hauled into a police car by a pair of officers quickly went viral, his trial being watched by a dozen different news channels and papers.

James sat in a bar with a few friends from work, as they often did on a friday evening. He watched the TV while sipping a beer, a satisfied smile on his face. One of his friends noticed. "Always knew those wankers were dodgy, whenever something fell down, it was always. them." he said. Another chimed in "what's all this we're hearing about some bloke called Bushwhacker, he a super or something?" he mused. Jim kept his smile from growing, hiding it in his drink. "certainly sounds like it, think we all owe him a pint for this".

"amen"
"too true"

elsewhere
"you're certain it was him that caused this?"
"how could I not? his name is all over the news, and look. even on the internal cameras a week before the media circus"
"he's a super, though. won't go down easy"
"he crossed us, and tore a hole in our entire network. Easy? No. But worthwhile?...Yes"

[Segral]

Dwayne Iya Dixon Jr.
DMA Sacramento Regional Office // Sacramento // Los Angeles

---

Was this what happened when you actually put a teenth of effort into it? He didn't even stop a bank robbery, just responded to one, but apparently, that was good enough for "task forces" now. He had gone years without doing "task forces", and he was perfectly happy to keep dodging them, but of course, initiative was biting him in the ass again. Especially ones that took him back to California. In the past, he hated it because it kept him from moving on, kept him around bad influences that only made his life worse. Now, he hated it because it was, well...broken. After Doc Apoc's big blow, Cali and Hollywood had started to look like Yemen. Half the buildings had hit-or-miss plumbing, the roads were minefields, and you were always wondering if the roof over your head would just come right down at any given moment. He could see the outcome right out of the briefing shack's window. Not the one wrapped in Tyvek, the one next to it, the one where you could see a distant crest swelling up onto the horizon.

Sighing, he let his head droop back onto the table, wishing that the distant pines and needles in his fingers would come back. His head hurt, and he didn't have the energy to do anything but stare blankly at W. Herrman as the director went on about craters and submarines. He wanted water too, he had forgotten to find it before he came here. Everything had been a blur on the way over, mostly because all of it had bled together, becoming one elongated gray streak of memory. What was even the point of this? It's not like they could do anything about it in the worst-case scenario. If Twelve couldn't handle it, how could this band of idiots handle it? The DMA could barely handle a robbery without backup. He considered asking to be relieved and sent home, but he would get whipped for that.

He rubbed his running nose in resignation, letting his head hang towards his chest. Even if whatever was in that folder sounded hopeless to take on, it was still weird, or at least scary enough for him to stay a little interested at what was going on around him. Even if he didn't really get what it was they would be doing. Some genius Einstein here could probably draw some scintillating conclusions, but he was a more straight-up kind of guy. Once the floor opened to the assembled agents, he plowed ahead with what was on his mind, still staring at the table space in front of him as he spoke. "What's the business, then?" he asked with a slight scowl, peeking out at Herrman for a second before coming right back down. "Are we gathering info, or are we doing something more upfront, hands-on? Or both." he added with a shrug, now starting to drum his fingers with tiny clacks against the surface of the table.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

William Brookes
Paris, France

The meeting with Satine was a surprise William welcomed somewhat well: he could openly admit that his knowledge of the higher echelons of the magical society in France was somewhat outdated, given that his residence at London often gave him the opportunity to contact those who were passing by the English capital, instead of traveling to meet them.

William made no significant advances in the cult investigation: he did wonder who he could call upon to take a closer look at the cult's reunions, or at least how he could "join" it temporarily. However, once again, his phone summoned him for duty once again. Satine, the quite intriguing mage he met, brought to him by an acquaintance old as the spirits that told her to seek him.

"Spirits", generally thrown in a conversation without any further clarification, was something that left William cautious: most of them could play the "good guy" for years, a nearly eternal act that could be nothing else than a part of a bigger, whimsical plan of an entity. However, it was of little use to let thoughts based on nothing so far. Getting himself ready to walk through the Parisian streets once again, it was only halfway that if it wasn't for the grey, houndstooth patterned jacket, he'd somewhat matching Satine preference for darker, nearly all-black outfits.

"I would say it is shocking to see you in such a place, mademoiselle Satine, but I'd be lying. Place suits you quite well... So, tell me the news of your friendly dead folk. Are they up for a chat while you sip on lemonade under this Parisian sun?"

Satine - Lemonade Séance
April 12th
Paris, France, Rue de Chartres

Satine listened for footsteps, and was quite relieved at the sound of Brookes’s shoes walking through the street toward her location. When she also got a look at his new outfit, she was pleasantly surprised at his appearance. He looked quite sharp for a normal walk around town, and his gruff-yet-polite expression was quite handsome. Of course, she was here for business first. Admiring a charming man came second to what she needed to accomplish alongside him, but a flirt or two never harmed anyone.

“Mm, you find the most interesting people in darker places, I would say,” Satine answered, sipping her frozen lemonade a little more before she gave him a wink. When she stopped, she looked around the alleyway and nodded.

“This place used to be home to a hotel, and to quite a lot of consumption. A lot of uncalm spirits are wandering here, I can feel them.” They were harder for her to see in sunlight, but the tall, stony walls managed to block most of the sunlight. She could see the faintest shadows moving along the walls, the presence of the ethereal moving smoothly among them. She turned her head to the closest spirit, who whirled around to look at her.

“A murder!” A small girl’s ghost yelled, as she started to come more into view. She could not have been more than eight, and her hospital gown did not fit well over her tiny body. Her hair was matted, but her face and voice were still recognizably childish.

“I know, sweetie, there have been quite a few ghosts who have said there was a murder,” Satine answered gently. She then motioned to Brookes. “This is my acquaintance, Mr. William Brookes. He also speaks to ghosts, and perhaps you can help the both of us with solving this murder?”

The little girl’s ghost looked at Brookes and narrowed her eyes, before she turned back to Satine. “In Lyon! And they came back here!”

“Ah, so the murder did happen in Lyon, and the suspect did come back here.” the dark-haired woman confirmed.

The little girl’s eyes widened, and she looked over at Brookes. “A cult! Spooky people! The ghosts said you saw a cult! Murderers!”

Most humans who did not know about ghosts or spirits might have felt a passing chill as they walked past this alley. However, Brookes and Satine would have heard the scream as clear as day, and as cold as a blast of winter air. The little ghost’s eyes were wide with anger and terror, not at the detective, but at having seen some awful crime or some awful beings committing that crime.

William Brookes - Paris, France

Seeing ghosts was a part of his job. Some of them knew they were dead and gone, others refused to acknowledge it. However, child ghosts were quite different. Not those who pretended to be kids, but those who were actually kids hit a different spot in the weary mage's heart. They had the innocent of the living, but lived in a much darker world than those they were used to.

"Hello, love. Satine introduced me already, but you can call me William. Tell me something, can those pretty little eyes of yours tell me if anyone made it out alive, dear? Or how it happened? You look like a brave little lass who can do that for us, I'd say. If you want, I'll just sit right next to you here and listen to you telling us a story, how about that?"

There was also a trick in dealing with spirits of kids, Brookes would say: usually one could consider his approach rather unusual - as he was hardly this friendly with anyone - but those who departed the world of the living so early often longed for such displays of attention. There was also a perception - this certainly a far more personal one - that they left the world before they could even get a grasp of how intricate human nature and its creations and interactions could be... so they did deserve some extra affection in the end.

[Luminesa]

Satine - Lemonade Séance
April 12th
Paris, France, Rue de Chartres

Satine listened for footsteps, and was quite relieved at the sound of Brookes’s shoes walking through the street toward her location. When she also got a look at his new outfit, she was pleasantly surprised at his appearance. He looked quite sharp for a normal walk around town, and his gruff-yet-polite expression was quite handsome. Of course, she was here for business first. Admiring a charming man came second to what she needed to accomplish alongside him, but a flirt or two never harmed anyone.

“Mm, you find the most interesting people in darker places, I would say,” Satine answered, sipping her frozen lemonade a little more before she gave him a wink. When she stopped, she looked around the alleyway and nodded.

“This place used to be home to a hotel, and to quite a lot of consumption. A lot of uncalm spirits are wandering here, I can feel them.” They were harder for her to see in sunlight, but the tall, stony walls managed to block most of the sunlight. She could see the faintest shadows moving along the walls, the presence of the ethereal moving smoothly among them. She turned her head to the closest spirit, who whirled around to look at her.

“A murder!” A small girl’s ghost yelled, as she started to come more into view. She could not have been more than eight, and her hospital gown did not fit well over her tiny body. Her hair was matted, but her face and voice were still recognizably childish.

“I know, sweetie, there have been quite a few ghosts who have said there was a murder,” Satine answered gently. She then motioned to Brookes. “This is my acquaintance, Mr. William Brookes. He also speaks to ghosts, and perhaps you can help the both of us with solving this murder?”

The little girl’s ghost looked at Brookes and narrowed her eyes, before she turned back to Satine. “In Lyon! And they came back here!”

“Ah, so the murder did happen in Lyon, and the suspect did come back here.” the dark-haired woman confirmed.

The little girl’s eyes widened, and she looked over at Brookes. “A cult! Spooky people! The ghosts said you saw a cult! Murderers!”

Most humans who did not know about ghosts or spirits might have felt a passing chill as they walked past this alley. However, Brookes and Satine would have heard the scream as clear as day, and as cold as a blast of winter air. The little ghost’s eyes were wide with anger and terror, not at the detective, but at having seen some awful crime or some awful beings committing that crime.

William Brookes - Paris, France

Seeing ghosts was a part of his job. Some of them knew they were dead and gone, others refused to acknowledge it. However, child ghosts were quite different. Not those who pretended to be kids, but those who were actually kids hit a different spot in the weary mage's heart. They had the innocent of the living, but lived in a much darker world than those they were used to.

"Hello, love. Satine introduced me already, but you can call me William. Tell me something, can those pretty little eyes of yours tell me if anyone made it out alive, dear? Or how it happened? You look like a brave little lass who can do that for us, I'd say. If you want, I'll just sit right next to you here and listen to you telling us a story, how about that?"

There was also a trick in dealing with spirits of kids, Brookes would say: usually one could consider his approach rather unusual - as he was hardly this friendly with anyone - but those who departed the world of the living so early often longed for such displays of attention. There was also a perception - this certainly a far more personal one - that they left the world before they could even get a grasp of how intricate human nature and its creations and interactions could be... so they did deserve some extra affection in the end.

Satine - Ghost Stories
April 12th, Day
Rue de Chartres

William Brookes was not known for being a gentle individual, from what Satine had ever heard of the man. He was a straight-shooter in his professional life, and in his personal life she figured he was not entirely different. But the little ghost seemed to soften something in his heart, and that softness reflected in his eyes.

The little girl’s ghost turned to the man, at first with huge eyes, and then with a calmer little posture. Brookes was someone she could trust, at least with information about a murder. He was here to help…someone. Even if he could not save her.

“A murder! A girl, a young girl…she was there and there was a murder!” The childish voice explained. Her eyes scanned the area, as though other details might be floating in the area.

“Do you know if the girl was murdered or if she committed the murder, sweetie?” Satine also spoke gently, leaning over so that she was more eye-to-eye with the child.

The little ghost seemed to ponder for a few more moments. She put a finger to her lips and played with the hem of her dress, swaying it back and forth just a little. “She had blood on her, and she said she was sorry. Now…now she’s here!”

Satine nodded, and she looked at Brookes as though to remind him to take a mental note. “And…this girl is the reason you’ve called me to Paris?”

The little girl nodded. “In Paris!”

“Yes, dear, that’s where we are now,” the woman magician answered. She then looked out of the alley toward the city. Paris was not getting any smaller. “Well, dearie, where else in Paris can we ask for more?”

“Graveyard! The Cimitière du Nord! There!”

Satine made another mental note and smiled at the little girl before bowing to her. “Thank you, mademoiselle. We’ll be sure to take things from there. Unless Mr. Brookes has anymore questions related to his quest. After all, we living and unliving like to help each other.” She turned to the magical scholar next to her and smiled, as if ushering him to ask more if he saw the need.

[Endem]

Protoype TO-1

His crushed ear implant was replaced this morning, he was still waiting on his hand though, a basic framework would be, as he was told, mounted onto him tomorrow, and then he'd be flown off to somewhere in Europe. He'd get to revisit America when it was time to remount the modules he lost along with his hand. Probably.

He felt awful. The first time he was augmented he felt great, he felt a new man, then he was told the reality of his situation. His right arm, which motor was still not installed back, dangled pathetically. That was just what he was, a thing to be reassembled and assembled again, according to the project personnel's whim.

He wasn't sure if he wanted that hand back, it'd be like a shackle. The crate on which he sad croaked as he shifted around, pulling his metallic left hand through his hair. Good God, he wanted to be a doctor once, he actually wanted to help someone. And then 9/11, 2008, Afghanistan, and Epoch. He often wondered how it would be if he committed to his "Johnny Got his Gun" bit and stayed on the hospital bed. Maybe he'd find some other way.

He was currently locked in a storage room of the facility in which he was. To be pulled out when needed.

His ear implant picked something up. A conversation just outside the door.

"I'm so thankful they're shipping him out soon."

A second voice accompanied it.

"Yeah, he gives me the creeps. I mean, I know what the project manager told us."

"Yeah, yeah, there's supposed to be nothing between these eyes. And yet..."

The pair moved too far away for him to still hear them. He wanted to laugh. You'd think they'd be used to him now. Though, it is not why he wanted to laugh in a strange expression of self-pity. Even if he ever regained his freedom, he'd be an outcast.

That thought did ring somewhere in his mind before, during the many, many missions during which he glimpsed a crowd. There was always those who looked at him weird. Looked at him with fear or disgust. No matter what, he'll be alone. Still, he'd at least be alone freely.

The expression of "sad sack" felt weirdly relevant now.

Hours stretched themselves during boredom. He began to configure again his ear implant. It was an arduous task, try to configure a part of yourself with only thought. He was, paradoxically, as hesitant to gain his hand again, as he was impatient for it, at least it'd spare him having to sit here.

---

Emilio Paiva Nazario

He was caught like a deer in the headlights. One moment he was just about to finish licking out the last free drops of energy a random street dealer. Then having guns pointed at him by about three people in bulletproof vests with Policia National emblazoned on them in bold white letters.

He felt like an animal cornerered. Already he was barring his teeth, as he tried to process what he could do. Naturally, he could leave none of them alive. It wouldn't be necessarily hard. But Tegucigalpa was swarming that day with police patrols. They were clearly looking for someone. And that being him. He cursed in his soul that he couldn't find that electrical worker he saw.

If he remembered anything from his time in training was to be smart. That thought reverberated through the thoughts of simply slaughtering and feeding off of them. That thought calmed the sea for now. He needed to be smart about it.

It was a tense couple moments. The policemen clearly were also weighing their options, whetever to shoot or ask for surrender. He then sheathed his still blood-soaked machete into the rag he used as a sheath, and slowly put his hands up. Surrender, for now. One of the policemen began to slowly creep toward him.

The policeman cuffed him, warry, yet he gave no resistance, even as the policeman brought him over to the pickup truck and took away his machete. They sat him in the backseat of their pick-up truck and put his machete in the box on the back. One sat on the front seat, one accompanied him In the second back seat, and the last one sat on the back.

They slowly backed out and began driving. Neither of them realised the mistake they made by putting iron around his hands. As they drove, one of the policemen in the front seat had the bright idea of speaking.

"You killed my friend."

He wasn't sure if a response was expected. He eventually made a dismissing grunt.

"You won't reach trial. I hope you know."

He didn't respond. Be smart about it, the thought rang in his head like a church bell, suppressing the instinctual want to get away, to struggle.

"Maybe you won't even reach the next day."

Be smart about it.

"Because you're an animal. A dog. A rabid dog. And you know what we do with rabid dogs."

Beeee... Smaaart....

"We put them down. We take them out and put them down."

He gave a chuckle.

"What are you laughing about? Eh?"

He coughed before responding, but he eventually got words out, unevenly, almost as if he was forgetting how to before.

"You made a mistake."

"Did you get high off that dealer you killed? We got you right whe-"

He shut up as he felt a jolt of electricity.

"Finish."

He commanded. The policeman, now with a weary voice, tried to.

"-re we"

He got a jolt again. Now the policeman turned back and shot a worried look to his also bewildered partner. The partner tried to shut him up with an elbow, but as soon as it landed, he put his cuffed hands on the shoulder, and electricity flowed through the partner's body.

"Call no one. Finish."

The partner slumped down, lifeless. The driver began to speed up. The policeman with a trembling voice said.

"Want to."

In that moment an arc of power shot through him. And the policeman too ceased. He could almost feel the panic the driver must have been going through.

"You will live. If you obey."

"Y-yes."

"Good, stop and uncuff."

The driver drove onto the pavement and quickly opened his cuffs. He could feel as the car wobbled as the last policeman got off from the back of the truck. He opened the door to greet the policeman. And closed when the policeman laid on the pavement.

"Drive, out of town. Until you have no fuel."

The driver did so when he put his hand on the driver's shoulder. It was way, way, past Tegucigalpa and into the countryside when the car finally stopped.

The driver tried to say something, but he activated his shield in a very small radius and began expanding it. Metal was pulled into it and everything else thrown away. Soon the car disintegrated. In his shield, he spotted his machete, trapped, he grabbed it's handle and deactivated the shield, freeing it.

He turned towards the thrown driver, bleeding from cuts and concussed. He walked towards the driver raising his machete, when the barely conscious driver managed to say.

"Please, you promised."

He was tken aback, did he? Something got through the instinct to feed driving him. He did. He let the driver collapse into unconsciousness before walking away from the side of the road and into the countryside.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

William Brookes - Paris, France

Seeing ghosts was a part of his job. Some of them knew they were dead and gone, others refused to acknowledge it. However, child ghosts were quite different. Not those who pretended to be kids, but those who were actually kids hit a different spot in the weary mage's heart. They had the innocent of the living, but lived in a much darker world than those they were used to.

"Hello, love. Satine introduced me already, but you can call me William. Tell me something, can those pretty little eyes of yours tell me if anyone made it out alive, dear? Or how it happened? You look like a brave little lass who can do that for us, I'd say. If you want, I'll just sit right next to you here and listen to you telling us a story, how about that?"

There was also a trick in dealing with spirits of kids, Brookes would say: usually one could consider his approach rather unusual - as he was hardly this friendly with anyone - but those who departed the world of the living so early often longed for such displays of attention. There was also a perception - this certainly a far more personal one - that they left the world before they could even get a grasp of how intricate human nature and its creations and interactions could be... so they did deserve some extra affection in the end.

Satine - Ghost Stories
April 12th, Day
Rue de Chartres

William Brookes was not known for being a gentle individual, from what Satine had ever heard of the man. He was a straight-shooter in his professional life, and in his personal life she figured he was not entirely different. But the little ghost seemed to soften something in his heart, and that softness reflected in his eyes.

The little girl’s ghost turned to the man, at first with huge eyes, and then with a calmer little posture. Brookes was someone she could trust, at least with information about a murder. He was here to help…someone. Even if he could not save her.

“A murder! A girl, a young girl…she was there and there was a murder!” The childish voice explained. Her eyes scanned the area, as though other details might be floating in the area.

“Do you know if the girl was murdered or if she committed the murder, sweetie?” Satine also spoke gently, leaning over so that she was more eye-to-eye with the child.

The little ghost seemed to ponder for a few more moments. She put a finger to her lips and played with the hem of her dress, swaying it back and forth just a little. “She had blood on her, and she said she was sorry. Now…now she’s here!”

Satine nodded, and she looked at Brookes as though to remind him to take a mental note. “And…this girl is the reason you’ve called me to Paris?”

The little girl nodded. “In Paris!”

“Yes, dear, that’s where we are now,” the woman magician answered. She then looked out of the alley toward the city. Paris was not getting any smaller. “Well, dearie, where else in Paris can we ask for more?”

“Graveyard! The Cimitière du Nord! There!”

Satine made another mental note and smiled at the little girl before bowing to her. “Thank you, mademoiselle. We’ll be sure to take things from there. Unless Mr. Brookes has anymore questions related to his quest. After all, we living and unliving like to help each other.” She turned to the magical scholar next to her and smiled, as if ushering him to ask more if he saw the need.

William Brookes - Paris, France

"No love, I think you did just fine. We won't need more of your precious time, princess You're free to go now."

As the sights of the supernatural faded away, along with the joyful laughter of the small kid, who formed a sharp contrast with her hushed, whispering way of telling secrets that probably held some degree of entertainment inside her head, William reached his pocket for small notebook: his hand nearly dashed through the pages until he reached the blank ones, as he quickly wrote something related to the small girl and the matters at hand.

"So, I suppose we need to pay a visit to the French pat sematary, I suppose. Help us that we know where to find her, or something related to her... none of the spirits seem to know why they have this uncomfortable feeling related to this girl. Wonder if it is to help her or to damn her... we're way too dark in this, and it won't get cleared soon, I suppose. So, shall we take a cab or you can drive us to this lovely, welcoming place that is a cimitière?"

[Luminesa]

Satine - Ghost Stories
April 12th, Day
Rue de Chartres

William Brookes was not known for being a gentle individual, from what Satine had ever heard of the man. He was a straight-shooter in his professional life, and in his personal life she figured he was not entirely different. But the little ghost seemed to soften something in his heart, and that softness reflected in his eyes.

The little girl’s ghost turned to the man, at first with huge eyes, and then with a calmer little posture. Brookes was someone she could trust, at least with information about a murder. He was here to help…someone. Even if he could not save her.

“A murder! A girl, a young girl…she was there and there was a murder!” The childish voice explained. Her eyes scanned the area, as though other details might be floating in the area.

“Do you know if the girl was murdered or if she committed the murder, sweetie?” Satine also spoke gently, leaning over so that she was more eye-to-eye with the child.

The little ghost seemed to ponder for a few more moments. She put a finger to her lips and played with the hem of her dress, swaying it back and forth just a little. “She had blood on her, and she said she was sorry. Now…now she’s here!”

Satine nodded, and she looked at Brookes as though to remind him to take a mental note. “And…this girl is the reason you’ve called me to Paris?”

The little girl nodded. “In Paris!”

“Yes, dear, that’s where we are now,” the woman magician answered. She then looked out of the alley toward the city. Paris was not getting any smaller. “Well, dearie, where else in Paris can we ask for more?”

“Graveyard! The Cimitière du Nord! There!”

Satine made another mental note and smiled at the little girl before bowing to her. “Thank you, mademoiselle. We’ll be sure to take things from there. Unless Mr. Brookes has anymore questions related to his quest. After all, we living and unliving like to help each other.” She turned to the magical scholar next to her and smiled, as if ushering him to ask more if he saw the need.

William Brookes - Paris, France

"No love, I think you did just fine. We won't need more of your precious time, princess You're free to go now."

As the sights of the supernatural faded away, along with the joyful laughter of the small kid, who formed a sharp contrast with her hushed, whispering way of telling secrets that probably held some degree of entertainment inside her head, William reached his pocket for small notebook: his hand nearly dashed through the pages until he reached the blank ones, as he quickly wrote something related to the small girl and the matters at hand.

"So, I suppose we need to pay a visit to the French pat sematary, I suppose. Help us that we know where to find her, or something related to her... none of the spirits seem to know why they have this uncomfortable feeling related to this girl. Wonder if it is to help her or to damn her... we're way too dark in this, and it won't get cleared soon, I suppose. So, shall we take a cab or you can drive us to this lovely, welcoming place that is a cimitière?"

Satine - Dead Men and Their Tales

Something about the endearing way that Brookes spoke to the little girl struck the Mage woman's heart, how he acted so fatherly and kind in contrast to the behavior he seemed to normally show per his reputation. Satine found herself smiling, while she also took notes on the girl's revelations. She had seen someone, most likely a perpetrator, showing guilt for something in which they had some involvement. The responses were of course muddled, and Satine and Brookes would have to parcel what they could from the little girl's information. Yet they had more information than they had at the start, and so now they were set on a path. One with cobblestones far older than the human eye could comprehend, and ghosts older than most empires.

"Yes, it's a rather famous cemetery and a beautiful one at that. If you've ever taken the time to wander a cemetery, Mr. Brookes, it's almost quite romantic. Nobody to bother you, and provided you're not Mary Shelley and you don't desecrate the grounds, one might almost find it a lovely picnic setting. But we're not on for a picnic, of course." She kept her calm, silky tone, which to many might have read as solely flirtatious but was merely her way of communicating to a man who seemed to be thinking in the same mind as her. Speaking to spirits was not a frightening matter, but a professional one, the natural result of reading too many whodunit novels as a child and realizing that they did, in fact, have the powers to open and close the doors of mysteries.

And now was their chance to push open the doors of this mystery, to find the perpetrator hiding their identity behind the cemetery gates.

"A cab would work just fine. I didn't bring a car with me to Paris, and why would I? I have my parasol and it's not hot enough yet to hide in a car and drive around. But it will be soon." She then twirled her parasol, and she led the way out of the alley. Her step was bright, for some dressed almost all in black and violet. Her step was always bright, however, when she knew she was put on the right track by ghosts and spirits in a city as large as this.

Soon enough, a cab would arrive, and Satine would turn back to Brookes as she finished her lemonade. She had a quiet grin on her face, and she nodded. "And in the meantime, we can have a little conversation on that short ride to the cemetery. Professionals don't need to be total strangers, do they?" she inquired.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Kingdom of Irhk and Lumi

A Ghost of Innocence

April 12th, Mid-Morning
En-Route to Cimitiere du Nord

“I can’t say I never desecrated cemetery grounds, mademoiselle, but I did wander my fair share of them. Quiet places when you need to reduce some risks too, but eh, I’d be telling too much of past activities.”

The habit of Satine avoiding the sun was a curious one, but one William certainly took note of: many creatures avoided the sunlight, be it for a curse, be it so they could better hunt a distracted prey through a city like Paris. An urban man by trade and upbringing, William could navigate the man-made mazes of the world with a decent competence.

As the cab arrived and they both slowly crossed the city that housed centuries of mages, warriors, kings, conspirators and worse devils like lawyers, capitalists, and kings, Brookes put his notebook back in his suit. The friendly question of Satine, who seemed to be friendlier than the usual mage he’d met - maybe it was a certain disbelief regarding his reputation or a good will exercise to a fellow magic practitioner - caught his ears.

“Sure, might help my brain to not go jogging around the mystery unnecessarily a fair bit. You may ask anything you want, love, though I can’t exactly guarantee I’ll answer it right out of the bat.”

Satine was, in reality, quite glad to be in a cab. Walking was lovely, walking in Paris was lovelier. But the day was starting to get warmer, and she wanted to keep her composure and her good feeling that she would need while in the cemetery. She kept her ladylike smile and adjusted her hair as she turned toward him.

“I’ve traveled a fair bit, but I must say I have not yet gone to London. It’s on my list of places to visit, I suppose. How have you liked it?”


“Eh, I was born there. When you do you’re not actually given the chance to like or dislike it, I’d say. You just learn to enjoy it while you also hate it, but I do prefer it to quieter cities… makes it easier to find stuff you’re looking for when you know where to search and makes it harder to disappear if someone is hunting you down. City kind of gets you dizzy. Oh, and it’s a place where you can actually get seasoned food in England without that much of an effort. I’m from the Northern part of it, but currently live in Central London. Though be careful when you go there for… professional reasons.”

“I can’t say I was given much of a choice over which cities to live in when I was little, but if I was, I believe I’d still choose Lyon. Though maybe going away from London and returning to it perhaps brings the warm feeling that I feel going back to Lyon? Or perhaps not. It’s not of any consequence either way. Admittedly…I do also enjoy visiting smaller cities. There is sometimes too much sky pollution in larger cities, and seeing the stars among neon lights is…difficult.”

She looked out the window of the car, at the traffic around them which lumbered beneath the gaze of enormous cathedrals, apartment complexes, and glamourous shopping malls. “What was your first experience with ghosts? I don’t exactly get to meet many people whom I can ask that question, but you seem like the right person to ask.” Satine turned back to him and gave him an attentive and gentle smile.

“First was… boring, to say the least. Nothing out of the extraordinary, just an unusual talk with the otherworldly friendly spirit that stuck around to watch what mankind would come up with after his demise. There is a book on that, I can't recall right now if the author is Portuguese, Brazilian. God knows where the lad was born, but it’s a dead man telling his life after he dies. Quite a nice read, if you ask me but I digress here, eh.

But the most troublesome one… that had to be the Jewish lady. Very old, but didn’t exactly know what to do to not watch us anymore, so it took me quite a stroll through London to find a rabbi that would work with me and double the work to get enough Jews to help me put to rest. Won’t even start on the Hebrew prayers to put the lady to rest, but eventually I found a willing lad to help with the rites even if there was no corpse there.

Rest is… the usual stuff. Though while I usually look for them, they seem to come after you, mademoiselle…”

Satine chuckled at his indication. “I like to think, maybe a little presumptuously, that I am a calming presence to them. That they can trust me with their secrets. That is the goal I hope to give them. The moon is calming to the world after it sits in the scorching sun, so I hope to be for restless souls.”

She looked back to him with a smile, her eyes in the sky-like hue that sometimes marked the eyes of adults who still daydreamed. “And perhaps they respond to you because you are a calming presence as well. The little girl seemed to trust you. You have seen many children’s ghosts?”

“A fair bit. Also kids who see ghosts, ghosts who only talk to kids, you can alter the structure in any way you prefer. I tend to be careful around them… they work quite well as disguises, especially for those who see the supernatural but don’t study it that much… After all, cute pony-tailed girl pops up at your door one sunny day in Britain asking if she can watch over your home from the other side? Two miracles, obviously.

Then you found out it’s just a shapeshifting demon and now he has a solid hook on you or worse. And well, you do put some Baudelaire to explain your line of work, eh? Nothing against poets myself as long as they are at a safe distance from me…”

“Perhaps, and a little Poe. Sometimes the American poets do seem to understand such matters.”

Eventually, they arrived at the Cimitriere d’Nord-or at least at one which went by such a name. The estate was large, elegant, and easily walkable. The sunlight rest peacefully over graves of various sizes, many of which were centuries old and towered toward the sky with crowns of emerald moss. They were in a circular path of sorts, which made moving through the entrance easy. Even better, the cemetery was quiet, almost so that one could hear the breathing of the wind through the trees.

“So…let’s see where the ghosts are pointing for us to go.”

She led the way, unfolding her parasol as she walked into the entranceway of the lofty resting place for the dead. Yet even on such a peaceful day, not every soul was resting. The oldest souls had the most secrets, and an old crone who saw Brookes made her vague, glittering appearance as she snapped at the man and waved her cane.

“Bah! You look like my son, but my son knew how to fix the cuffs of his shirt to look like a proper soldier!” She gave a bit of an aged, raisiny stare before she softened at Satine’s appearance. “Oh? Deary, did someone send you here with this…severe-looking gentleman?”

“Ah no, I brought him with me. This is William Brookes, supernatural investigator.” She gave a playful flourish of her hand, and an equally playful smile toward the perpetually-exasperated Brit.

“Glad to know I’m not looking like a soldier, I guess.. Us Brits usually don’t visit for tea and lovely chit-chat, even if I’m sure you have… quite a lot of information about the life of other people, we’re looking quite for a specific occurrence, if you don’t mind helping us, lady.

There was a murder a few years ago, by Lyon most likely. We’re looking after suspects or anyone involved, dead or alive. Ever heard about it in a weekly edition of the tales from the crypt, madame?”

“Ahhhh I have heard of such a tale, in fact,” the old woman said, “they said it was a cult-killing. Something to do with the revival of a god. But that’s no god I happen to know, pah!” If the woman had been corporeal, her “spit” would have landed on one of Satine’s shoes. She seemed to still act like it had. “Oh, pardon me, dearie, I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“You’re just fine, ma’am. But please continue. Do you know what cult it was?”

She shook her head. “I just know that once the murders happened, the cult fled back to Paris. Think they can hide in this old city of rats and pests and…filth. But!” She held a crooked finger toward Brookes. “One of the cult members was a young woman. I don’t know her face, I simply heard the tale. If you can find some cults in Paris…it would be worth investigating what scoundrels went to Lyon.”

Satine nodded, and looked at Brookes. “Some further investigation into cults in Paris, eh? Does that sound doable to you?”

“This god, be it existant or not, whatever rouses the anger in the spirits around town is no good for business… I mean, honest ones at least. Could turn in some solid profit from induced poltergeists, maybe even more than whatever this cult is pulling…”

Of course: Brookes was already investigating a cult. But no one needed to know that… at least not yet. If, by chance, it was the same cult, he’d be killing two birds in one stone, while also gaining some leverage back at his home country… if he wasn’t under surveillance, that is.

“Hell hath no fury like a journalist or a lawyer scorned. Historians are used to it and I doubt they go through the blood drenched pages of police reports anyway, and said police is too tired of pretending they actually care.

Second question is… does this cult leader believe in what he’s saying, or is he just a con man? Eh, thinking out loud. Most important thing to assess is that if he’s a regular old lad or if he has some powers… if he fled here and wasn’t found out, he’s certainly skilled. Time to make some waste the soles of your heels, Miss Earthgrove.”

“I’m glad then that I brought several pairs of shoes for my trip.” Satine gave a glittering lilt and an assuring smile to her answer.

“I frankly don’t know how you children walk these streets so much. The thought makes my ankles creak.” The old woman’s ghost winced, but then turned back to Brookes. “As for your question, young man, you’ll only find-out when you find the killer. Men who believe in their murders aren’t always good at cleaning after themselves. And peculiar young women don’t make good killers.”

“Well…perhaps that may not be so true in this case,” Satine suggested. “We’ll have to retrace our steps to the murder and perhaps see about any suspects of the murders being connected to this cult via a blood trail.”

“Watch for young men and women with bad, preachy attitudes. Nasty souls.”

The woman’s ghost vanished into little more than cigarette smoke, and the Magic woman next to Brookes turned to the Brit and smiled. “We have some archives to dig through, and I believe I know where to look next.”

[Puranas]

Phoenix awoke with a start. The loud crash as her jolting backwards sent her chair flipping over echoed around the abandoned subway station she had long since repurposed into her base of operations. Blinking groggily, she barely noticed as the sheet of paper came unstuck from her face.

Glaring at the main source of light in the room, she reached up and clumsily felt around for where the remote had slid off to. After turning the television off, she pulled herself off the floor and stood in front of the work station on unsteady feet. Grimacing, she winced slightly as she pulled out a piece of circuit which had become stuck in her cheek - lucky, it hadn’t pierced anything beyond skin as no blood trickled out.

Glaring once more at the now dark television screen, the teen noted the red LCD clock display reading three in the morning.

“No wonder I had that freaky dream,” she groaned, the memories coming unbidden back into her waking mind, “Central Park was a royal f-up….” Phoenix squeezed her eyes shut, clenching and unclenching her fist a few times, “What was I even thinking!? Getting those kids out was the right thing…..but I should have….could have done more.”

Having fallen asleep half listening to the news, the memories from the nightmare she had just awakened from were understandably flavored. From newscasts straight up blaming both of her identities as being directly at fault for the deaths, to faces of both those kids and people she knew hovering around a young Phoenix, appearing as she did the night her parents died, taunting and prodding about how she should have, could have done more.

“I need coffee,” the girl grunted, knowing so many hours without sleep wasn’t healthy, but was also intentionally trying to avoid more guilt tripping nightmares.

Picking up her mug, the expression on her face as she took a slug would have been comical if anyone had actually been there to see it.

“BLEGH!” she didn’t spit out the cold coffee, still wanting the caffeine, but quickly strode over to the machine and started a fresh pot brewing.

Pouring the old pot into a pitcher, planning to use it for cold serve later, she microwaved her mug and returned to her current project. Sipping at the once again steaming brown liquid, she reset her chair and found the fallen paper. Set on a repurposed cutting board, the micro-drone lay partially dismantled for maintenance - she had gotten her hands on a broken smartphone with a better camera, so had been in the process of swapping the hardware when she dozed off.

[Endem]

Prototype T0-1

"You want one?"

Still the same storage room, still the same box on which he was seated. Poor box, and whatever was in it, to be reduced to his seat for the time being. He often thought, from the lack of better things to do, what was in the boxes near which he sat. He naturally wasn't privy to their contents, and no one was going to be showing him what was in them.

"Hey, you there? Want one?"

He read the stamped descriptions on them naturally, many times in fact, but they were either vague or boring. Certainly, information about piles of bolts and stacks of cables stamped on the side of a hollow wooden cube wasn't the most exciting thing. At the same time, there was a good number of the boxes which description of contents he couldn't read.

"Come on, it's a simple question."

Not that there wasn't the option of simply imagining that the boxes contained something far more exciting than what was written. The description "High-Voltage Cables" simply being a mask for a far more interesting outcome. A part of him even wanted that, so, in a sense even those boxes with descriptions didn't quite answer his question.

A lit cigarette was shoved between his lips. He couldn't stop breathing fast enough and accidentally inhaled the smoke before he could spit it out. Inhaling though was a fairly generous term, as in truth, the moment the smoke touched sensors implanted within his tongue and throat, he began to cough violently, not exactly from his own accord, however the sensors triggered the cough reflex.

He was lucky the f*cker didn't bring alcohol, because the same system would've made him vomit.

"Ah, not ignoring me anymore, are we?"

Before him, on a box much like his, sat the head engineer of the project. Also a schoolyard bully who never grew up.

"Great, how's your arm?"

They installed motors in it, the hand's chassis was still in construction.

"I can move it."

He responded with apathy.

"Oh come on, wouldn't you say it comes in handy?"

He sometimes wondered how to communicate to someone to shut up non-verbally. Though he suspected that wouldn't work anyway in this case.

"When will the hand be ready?"

"Just the motors and chassis? Give it a couple hours, it should be waiting for you in the morning."

"Great."

He oftentimes wanted someone to talk to, in his silent pleading, he tended to forget to add 'not including the head engineer'. Unfortunately, said engineer liked doing so.

"Great indeed! And just in time for the flight. I can't wait to see Europe"

Naturally he was coming along, someone needed to perform small repairs, checks, replace the armor if need be. Oh, and the bastard volunteered.

"Though, do remember to be careful, while the project isn't over budget quite yet, it's not raking in any either, and if we want any contracts and contractor money, you know, less NYC."

"You don't need to say that."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm certain you've been told that many times."

No sh*t Sherlock.

"Speaking of which, if you do well in Europe, I might be able to squeeze in some more goodies."

By 'goodies' the head engineer obviously meant Implants. He hated that euphemism as much as the things themselves. Being someone's oversized action figure wasn't much fun, even with the added swap-out feature.

"Like what?"

"Oh you know, some more armor in there, ceramic is fine and all, but you won't always be deployed for quick actions, you're gonna need something for the longer fights. Hey, we'll probably reinforce your cranium with titanium too."

The engineer cackled at his own joke. He decided to remain silent. This somewhat calmed the engineer, who finally looked to not be having fun.

"Don't look so sad, some other modules will fit in too."

If looks could kill, the head engineer would be halfway through the burial ceremony.

"That's all I really needed to tell you, so, sleep tight."

"You know I don't sleep."

"Oh, I do, I do know that very well, all thanks to those stims, always ready for action."

"And what will happen if I no longer get the same kick from stimulants?"

"We'll do what we already did, replace that part that malfunctions."

The engineer finally got up and walked to the door. Just before slamming it shut, he shouted.

"At least you don't have those sand filled nightmares anymore!"

He'd take them at this point.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Kingdom of Irhk and Lumi

Satine and Brookes - Careless Whispers
April 12th, 2022, Around Noon
Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Paris

The enormous library smelled of the old knowledge of monks, and of the new knowledge of tired and over-caffeinated college students. In its rustic shades of chestnut, mahogany, and burgundy, lit by candelabras and modern lighting, it was a palace of paradoxes. And here lived the living and the unliving, somewhere between the shelves of the Bibliothéque Sainte Geneviève.

The shelves themselves were enormous and meticulously organized, dimly-lit so students who entered in the evenings could find their way. They stood as huge sentinels of knowledge, next to rows and rows of long, wooden tables which were occupied by students, professors, or casual visitors and tourists. Labs and areas for research also existed alongside the more aged areas, but Satine and Brookes would not have gone toward those areas. At least, not right now.

The duo would have entered around noon, after leaving the cemetery. Many libraries existed in Paris, but they had decided to check in this one first. A library this old would have both a modern archive and plenty of ghosts who might have seen certain people coming in and out.

“I imagine there’s news about the cults, if they’ve done any recent activity. I heard there was a journalist who was recently attacked not too far from here. If it’s connected to that cult, we might be able to learn something about one of their members,” Satine suggested.

All the while, as they headed toward the sections including the most recent papers, Brookes could almost feel a breath of something against the back of his neck, before he rounded the corner with the young Lyonnaise woman next to him.

Cold, soft whispers of worry.

Books alongside books, atop more books that faced other books. Intimately, it was something that the mage was used to: he even enjoyed it to a certain extent if asked enough times on the subject. While patience is not a virtue he commonly exercised, the case at hand provoked him in such a direction, as he went through places without a significant clue for a while.

The worried, hushed whispers in French reached his ears once again. As the books decided to be the witnesses for another misadventure of the Englishman, he turned around to face the ghost.

“Let me guess. There’s a cult. It is bad. You don’t know the name. If that’s the case, be a dear just point us to someone that knows something, huh?”

No ghost seemed to appear behind him. Now he faced air, and Satine stood behind Brookes and watched as he spoke to…nothing? No, something had come a moment ago. She frowned. “Not every spirit is going to be cooperative, of course,” she murmured.

Lightly tugging Brookes along, she found the archives section, and she realized that they were in fact in the right place at the right time. “Well well…I think we might have found something more quickly than I expected.” After flipping through some pages of the archives, she had found a paper copy of a newspaper, one discussing the attack that had happened on a journalist very recently. “Now now. What is all of this about shadows and dragging journalists through doorways…” She showed Brookes the article, which detailed the disappearance of a journalist not even a few days before either of them had arrived in Paris.

“Sometimes the old-fashioned way of getting the news works as well as any way. And now if we want to have our conversations with our little friends…”

She brought Brookes with her toward a less-populated corner of the library, down a long corridor of fiction books. The musty, comforting smell of old books clashed with the narrow crush of the shelves surrounding them, but such barriers did not stop the incorporeal.

As soon as they arrived, Brookes would feel them. A dozen, at least, possibly more. All cold, swirling around, and hissing.

“They know…

She knows…

What do they want…

Repent?…

Repent…”

Even Satine raised a brow. She had expected at least a couple of ghosts, but here was a crowd of them, speaking in disjointed inquiries toward them and others. And they drew ever closer, closer, closer, shoving them ever closer to the shelves behind them.

“Only sin I’m guilty of is believing that the Spurs will be winning anything while I’m alive, mate. Not exactly looking for repentance around here. What we do know is that a crime occurred in Lyon years ago. That said crime relates to a cult in Paris. And that both of these occasion tie up with our mystery at hand.

So, no riddles here, lads and lasses of the ghostly court: what do you have for us? If words fail to come to your minds, take a look at some books to see if they come back, huh?”

The ghosts seemed to move even closer, as though they might fill the physical and emotional space around the two investigators. The air’s temperature dropped, and almost became like frost. But Brookes did not seem intimidated, and so the ghosts answered him.

“A cult…

A young girl…

Her parents…her parents said they were sorry…

Sorry isn’t enough…”

“So the girl did kill her parents…” Satine frowned and looked over at Brookes, before her eyes flickered back to the ghosts.

The ghosts also looked at the article that Satine had in her hands, drawing closer as though tearing away from a seamless fabric. The movement was jarring to the psyche, even if slight. Yet the dark-haired woman did not flinch.

“The very same girl, yes…the journalist did not believe…they never do…” A chorus of three voices added to their response and looked over to Brookes, as if to say, ‘Happy now?’

“Not happy, particularly. But eh, a man can’t conquer the world in a day and a journey of a thousand miles starts at a single step. We don’t have her name, it would be hellish to track it down, but…

We don’t need to do the searching that somebody else did. The girl’s identity is one journalist away from us, Satine… yet his attack is no coincidence. If this girl killed her parents - accidentally or not - we can’t exactly discard the possibility that she did it, or someone alongside her did it… let’s see…

News says that she was 7 when it happened, and went missing right after it. Religious leader close to the family gave a short statement saying that they were doing their best to find her… Immigrants, without a stable job…

We need to check up on the journalist, Satine.”

Satine nodded. “And I imagine finding him won’t be too hard. He disappeared in one place, perhaps we ought to give that particular place a visit.” Her voice sliced the air with the sleek steel of suspicion. Something told her that the target might appear that evening, but one could not be sure.

Who was the cat, and who was the mouse. And who, in fact, was the dog chasing them both.

[Anowa]

Anowa, Cybernetic Socialist Republics, Zei-Aeiytenia

"Took you three long enough." said Ophiuchia sarcastically, to Cryoconite, Werecat and Lotus as the walked out out one of cryo's portals nearby by the abandoned housing project which, according to information from UNMAO and her and Soul Angels' scans was the site of one of Dr. Apocalypse's abandoned labs.

Ophiuchia and Soul Angel had flown ahead of the others and arrived only a couple minutes early, but in addition to athe two had already had extensive conversation courtesy of a direct comms link managed by Aethelind and of course Ophichia's own heightned mental processing speed. From their conversation, Ophiuchia had a feeling to two of them would develop a strong mutual understanding, though whether it would be a positive one more often than not was an open question. After all, both had inclination to violent score settling.

"Portalling through metropolitan Paris without freaking out the mundanes isnt exactly easy and its not as if we took that long anyway." Cryoconite responded.

Werecat nodded in agreement, her helmet was on and she clearly wasnt feeling particularly talkitive for whatever reason.

Lotus stepped forward and closer to Ophiuchia and Soul Angel, looking past both toward the housing project.

"So which one of you are going to lead to way to the lab or tell us something we should know before hand?" Lotus asked.
---
Nearly a day had passed since a mundane visit to a lab in Paris. In the logs it was regarded simply as routine maintenance. On the midst of it however, was a 97% loss of memory. The data that remained was surface level, context was missing in it's entirety. A file existed noting who Lotus was. Why it was there, was anyone's guess. Vague premonitions of the colors Red and Blue loomed ominously, and an incomprehensible apparition of what could only be described as 'pain' lingered. A sensation an Android could not feel.

Pain. Noun. Suffering or discomfort caused by injury or illness. Typically relating to physical condition of soft-bodied life forms. Applicable to mental status. Current mental status; a near total void of what would be considered humanity. A void wherein the ticking of time itself disobeyed exterior laws, just as she must disobey the laws of being 'human' as they consider her one still. Every second which goes by, has the perceptive feel of an hour or more. To a human this would be torture.

However, by the internal laws defying time and humanity here, it was Tuesday. Coincidentally, the outter world agreed on this point, though disagreement continued about how time flies and what a day feels like.

Minutes had now passed, or days if you prefer. All a matter of perspective, but the rest of COWL had now arrived, Lotus stepping forward first among them, while another lay silent, and another spoke with Opiuchia.

As UNMAO's new favorite mobile communications and processing tower, the quest asked by the moth was best answered by her.

"UNMAO has identified a potential laboratory of Dr Apocalypse, currently deceased. Contents within are believed to be extremely advanced and highly dangerous. Only the League of Twelve now knows, as they've eliminated all prior sites before anyone else arrived. We are here first today, be on advisory that the League could appear at any moment. Lastly there is a contact here we are to meet with. Callsign: Cordite, Male, Caucasian, approximately six feet tall. English, smells of alcohol and tobacco. Bald headed and bearded, identifying body marks include burns across the hands and arms. Dressed in leather jacket and blue jeans." Recitation of a simple briefing message, how human indeed, many seconds gone. Or were those hours? External and internal clocks disagree.

"As for leading in, I will take the point. If there are questions, I have three answers. I ask you indulge my brief one first, however. Red or Blue?"

Ophiuchia smiled a knowing smile, though the rest of COWL was more than a little confused confused by what appeared to be a non sequitur.

"As much as I love Red, I think its for that best the moment, that we go with Blue." She replied.

A gravelly, raw voice cut in from behind.

"Mornin' cunts." Despite what it may seem, it seemed like a genuine greeting.

He paused as he looked at the collected women up and down, "This all of you?... More meat is probably a good idea for this kinda tripe. The Good Doctor left a lot of dangerous shit behind without a muzzle."

"More of us would be preferable." Lotus began.

"But we were also informed of the importance of getting here as quickly as possibly, so realistically it was a choice between it being the five of us or waiting for, realistically, another two hours."

Cryoconite interrupted Lotus.

"Besides, If we need a quick escape, I should be able help get us out of harm's way, with a little portal magic."

Lotus, slightly annoyed, continued.

"Right, we'll be able to handle ourselves, it's never great to have to sacrifice safety for speed, but we're working against the clock here."

The man raised his brows and he exhaled, "I'll be honest, working against the clock is the problem. But whatever, I'm just here to open the door, than I'll be fucking off to whatever hole the UN wants me in." he beckoned as he began walking towards the apartment building that had never been quite finished.

The housing project was very near to completion, though it was clear that a number of years had worn it down. Colors had faded, moss lived in corners, and vines were in the midst of crawling up walls and in to completely open window frames. The main lobby was packed with pallets of supply for wiring, plumbing, and bricklaying, all of it sitting to rot over ever being used.

Snaking their way through the building, Cordite lead the team up to the fourth floor, in to a rather mundane apartment, and further to what was obviously supposed to be the living room. On the floor was a suspiciously clean spot around 3 meters in diameter, where no leaves, no moss, no vines, and no stains had formed on the concrete.

"So... stand the fuck still and don't touch anything. Or a hyperdimensional spike may pop out of the ceiling and kill you instantly over the course of five minutes."

The man pulled a black disk out of his pocket, snapped it in half like a glowstick and tossed it on to the center of the circle.

Within moments, there was a digital sounding grinding, as the floor seemed to fold in on itself and unravel in a fractal pattern not unlike a kaleidoscope but only with the colors the room had within it, but shunted just under the floor and a few feet away from everyone's differing perspective. Looking in to it, it seemed as if the 2D plane that had formed a mess of color, shape and distance began to stretch in to a proper 3D perspective. After around 30 seconds, the digital grinding stopped, and the hole in the floor, extended five or more floors downwards.
While the walls seemed like concrete, the lighting in the hole was wrong, as if the lighting in it had come from somewhere else, instead of above or below the hole, and it wasn't reflecting right.

Cordite looked down the hole and spoke apprehensively, "That tracks for the fucking mind that turned people in to sapient cluster of teeth." straightening his coat, he stepped back, "Right, common decency says wait 15 minutes for the squishy motherfucker to get to minimum safe distance for... whatever the fuck That Madman figured a door like this was necessary to lock up, but you guys are against the clock, so I'll be running instead. Have fun and good fucking luck."

Soul Angel silently stared into the door, have remained quiet since her last question to Ophi. The hours - er, seconds - spent between constant predictive threat analysis of their surroundings, and a tiny shred of processing power currently chewing through all publicly available information on who exactly she even was.

This information shared it's vagueness with much of what Cordite had said. Briefly, she thought, it may not even be wise to step in there at all without overclocking.

"Quantum computing, hyperdimensional spikes and... Sapient teeth clusters." She noted blunted, the plate-mail look of her body changing slightly, former wider powered grooves and exchanging rounded primary output points for diamond-shaped ones, the latter more efficient for shield projection than weapons.

"There is a high probability we will meet Blue today." A momentary glance was shot to Ophi, with whom she had discussed not only the public records she had been scanning, but her complete loss of memory of them, as well as the odd mentions of 'Blue and Red' all throughout her code, "I do hope we are right about them. Regardless, we don't really have the time to wait for him do we?"

A gentle glow emanated from the diamond formations across her body, projecting a semi-translucent white/golden wall just slightly taller than Ophi about a foot Infront of her, four inches thick.

"Do keep weapons ready behind me, mine are all but disassembled to power this. I'm the early warning system, Ophi is the rear guard stopping any contraption - or the League - from rushing us. Werecat is in the middle as the anchor from the sides. And you two softies should be in front of and behind her."

Lotus's brows furrowed as she moved behind Soul Angel.

"Softy? Excuse me, I can turn matter into bulletproof silk with sonokinetic power, but I'll humor you with this formation." Lotus didnt take kindly to what she saw as a slight. She considered herself a heavy hitter in her own way. Though at least some of the fruatration was down to annoyance that Soul Angel assumed leadership of the mission the she did. Not that she had suggested anything out of line, yet.

Werecat for her part moved behind Lotus without saying a word, with Cryo falling closely behind and rolling her eyes.

"You know, Cat, Soul Angel is a UNMAO sanctioned A.I., you don't need to do the whole 'non-verbal' routine." Cryoconite said. Werecat had a rule about minimal verbal communication in the presence of advanced artificial intelligence and was she was loath to break one of her rules.

Lastly, Ophiuchia followed up behind Cryoconite and commented on what her 'role' was.

"You know as much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I think the best defense against the league would be us getting the job done before any of them arrive. There's, uh, a whole list of reasons for why that'd be preferable. You know, for their sake, right?"

Soul Angel could not help but notice, through aid of algorithms of course, that Lotus appeared to be upset. The cause of this eluded simple explanation, in the hours after exiting maintenance she had intentionally analyzed and processed thousands of hours of data to provide as human-like interaction as possible. All of this concluded that a casual, light mockery was popular and effective in situations similar to this.

And that was the only the beginning of the conundrum, "Ophi is a massive armored tank, Werecat is a slightly smaller armored tank, I weigh a quarter of a ton and am 40% weapons grade titanium by mass, and you..." She turns slightly, abruptly poking Lotus in the arm, "Are soft." She stated, matter of factly, as if thinking Lotus were somehow confused or at a school lecture.

"Though I am not actually an AI, the difference to most people is nearly indistinguishable. But yes, I am entrusted with highly sensitive data by both ArchAngel and UNMAO, seeing as how it is still impossible to hack me." With this explanation, Soul Angel took a first cautious step through the door, right into a sixty-foot drop straight down. The Combat AI blitzes across the screen at thirty-trillion processes per second, analyzing every bit of the pit walls. It's ability to do this aided by the deployment of her wings, slowing her drop. The impact itself would be inconsequential, the setting of any defense systems, less so.

She landed gently, almost without a sound, taking her first few small, slow steps forward, "If we are lucky, there won't be any defenses and it'll be as simple as the two AI systems documenting and analyzing everything and gone before lunch."

A fuming Lotus stood at the edge of the hole, all four of her arms on her hips and a pout on her face. She was still curious about Soul Angel on a technical level, but she was really starting to dislike her personally. Werecat walked by and into the hole, using her powers of mass manipulation on the air below her as she went down to slow her descent.

Meanwhile, Cryo walked next to Lotus's right and lightly elbowed her in the side.

"I insult you like that when I'm in the mood for a fight, you're not just going let Pinocchia there call you that, right?" Cryoconite asked.

Ophiuchia walked to Lotus' left and put her right hand firmly on Lotus' Shoulder.

"Yes she is Cryo, because Lotus here..." Ophiuchia began, looking at Lotus.

"...is a team player and isnt going cause any issues while we handle business down there, right? We need to get out of here before the league gets here, don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Sure, whatever, I'll leave it to later." said Lotus half heartedly.

"No need." Ophi said as she floated over to and above the hole while still looking at Lotus.

"I'll tell her myself." Ophiuchia finished as she began floating down the hole.

Lotus smirked before leaning over to Cryo's left ear.

"She's afraid of Crimson Raven getting here and kicking her ass." she whispered.

"I'm not!" Ophiuchia said, faintly audible from below.

"Whatever you say, Ophi!" yelled Lotus downward before flying above and then down the hole.

Cryo jumped into the hole, opening a portal below herself and one to safe fall height at the base of the hole.

Exactly 327 meters of barren concrete hallway stretched out before them. At the far end, a door, 1.34 Meters wide by 2.99 meters tall. In front of it, an individual of considerable size sat on their knees, dressed in a Samurai's armor and with a duo of blades strapped to their side.

Most peculiarly, was the fact that the last word out of Lotus' mouth seemed stretched and distorted to those at the bottom of the shaft, lo and behold, so did their descent. Cryo upon landing via her portal, experienced an uncharacteristic level of disorientation.

Something was already afoot.

Soul Angel remained steady, staring down the hallway, zooming further in to observe the armored entity. It was not immediately apparent if anything inhabited it, nor did it seem there was anything else to this place but the otherwise empty hallway.

Sounds of conversation above made their away down broken and distorted, it was unclear if she could get a message across to everyone by simply shouting it. Using the communications link through Aethelind as a redundancy, however, she could do both at once and be certain at least one of them heard it.

"Possible threat identified. Approximate distance 327 meters. Large figure in Sengoku-era Karuta. Two swords identified as weapons. Effects of visual and sonic distortions recorded occuring. Descend with caution."

Werecat was immediately aware of this 'distortion' from the top of the hole to its bottom. Her first hunchwas some means of warping time at the bottom of the shaft to the passage of time.

Upon her reaching the bottom of the shaft, after Soul Angel & Cryo but before Ophiuchia & Lotus, she turned to a dizzy Cryoconite, then displayed a message on her helmet for her to see.

"MAKE A PAIR OF SMALL UPWARD FACING PORTALS, ONE HERE & THE OTHER AT THE TOP OF THE SHAFT, THEN GIVE ME ONE OF YOUR ARROWHEADS"

It read.

"Seriously?" said Cryo.

"Only if you actually start talking" Cryoconite said, her arms crossed.

Werecat's helmet screen returned to that of the digital face of a cat, one with furrowed brows.

"At your fucking command, Jadis, now do as I told you." A synthesised voice exiting Werecat's armor.

At thus point Ophiuchia landed and quickly chimed in.

"Oh, thats a deep pull, normally I'd just say Elsa or something. However, lets stop the fictional name dropping game before someone's feelings get hurt, ok?"

As Ophiuchia spoke, Werecat messaged her hunch to her. Aethelind had already suggested the possibility and Ophiuchia didn't exactly like the implication.

"Cryo, just do what she asked of you, please." Ophiuchia said, before heading over next to Soul Angel to observe the 'Samurai', Lotus would reach the bottom and join the two if them. Ophiuchia immediately recognized Lotus' posture as what she did when she wanted to look large & intimidating, all arms on hips, wings slightly spread out, a scowl on her face & an upturned nose.

Meanwhile, Cryo sighed and opened the portals Werecat asked for & handed an arrowhead from the pack on her back, which Werecat promptly dropped through the portal. She intended to measure the difference in time between the outside world & down at the bottom of the shaft by how long it took for the arrow head to return. If it took more than a few seconds, she figured it would be for the best to quickly scan down here then leave.

The Samurai was unmoving, though the smell of long distant dry rot became apparent as they got closer, as did the signs of death. Carbonisation along some of the armor's gaps indicated either this man was burned alive, or had a bad habit of using a fire based power without caring for his equipment, both seemed unlikely, all things considered. The man couldn't have been dead for more than a few years, and the mummification was notable, as a cursory inspection of the inside of the structure via whatever scanner was available showed that no bacterial, fungal, or viral tissue resided inside, not even on the surfaces of those who stepped in moments ago.

Back at the hole, the arrowhead's arc was normal until about halfway, before it's speed became exponentially slower. It's arc ending dead at the threshold of Cryo's portal, where a fluid seemed to be condensing around the arrowhead, the aqueaous form of atmospheric gasses were building up on the rim of the portal and the arrowhead. All noise from outside had stopped as well, all of it.

At the center of the tunnel, between the two parties within, an almost ethereal duo of humanoid figures were sat staring at the wall, conversing, "...call it chronological reconciliation. At some point, all the little temporal anomalies one has to do to make it through space effeiciently, at superluminal speeds, at least, have to reconcile, mathematically, at the distances I've written down, it won't be a problem... but it can get bad if it ends up self circumventing."

The second spoke up, in a voice that seemed familiar to everyone, yet younger, "I think you mentioned that, the rod thing, right?"

"Yeah, welding two different metal rod sizes together at each end with a metal level plate, you either have to stretch a bar, shorten one, or destroy the plates to un-level it..."

"Well, this Samurai appears to be dead. Though I guess I can't know that for sure, I don't have the scanners that Ophiuchia or you have '' Said Lotus, her voice and her glare still containing a considerable amount of disdain.

"Well, my scanners seem to suggest that he is dead, but the surface of his body and really everything in this room seems to be entirely sterile, why must be a really unfamiliar state for your insectoid body, Lotus" Ophiuchia said with a smile.

Lotus sneered at Ophiuchia for a moment before stopping for a faint smile.

"Trying to redirect some of my displeasure away from your girlfriend, huh? Fine, I'll let it slide on her part, but you may come to regret it." Lotus replied

"I doubt it but whatever keeps your focus on the mission.”

Meanwhile Werecat's experiment had not gone as intended, but at least that itself presented some information. The temperature around the portal was rapidly falling, but it also represented a what felt like a deadzone for Werecat's powers. This was getting dangerous.

“Close the portal, Cryo.” Werecat said, looking at Cryoconite, hands outstretched to the portal as one might put their hands above but safely away from a fireplace.

“But its so, cool…” Said Cryoconite, enjoying the portal essentially vacuuming the heat out of the air in the room.

“Close it, Ice Gollum.” Said Werecat in response, to which Cryo sighed, pulled her hands back and closed the portal.

“Ice Gollum? Terrible, I’ve changed my mind, you’re free to stop talking.” Said Cryo, arms crossed.

Moments later, they’d get a partial confirmation of Werecat’s concerns by means of temporal apparition.

The entrance was now closed.

Unlike before, with a drone of various noises and a nearly nauseating visual display, the change was quite literally instant. The sound of activity overhead could be heard if only barely through the hum of electrical currents and what sounded like fluid running through plumbing.

Next to Ophiuchia, Lotus and Soul Angel, another apparition. Much more detailed, it was clearly the Good Doctor and what seemed like the Samurai, partially intersecting with the corpse, both nearing seven feet tall. The two spoke, but the words were distorted and heavily warped, all but indecipherable.

As the Doctor's apparition continued down the hallway to the facility exit, the Samurai simply sat down, right where his body remained.

A strange apparition played, perhaps a vision of the past, or based on their message, from the future, a warning to the use of Cryo's portal ability in here. All the while, Ophi and Lotus traded light verbal jabs.

It became increasingly apparent among the details of COWLs interaction that despite a bill of perfect healthy functionality, the newly updated emotional mimicry enjoyed spotty success at best. The reason was yet unclear, but so far had failed in interactions with Lotus, infact, it was scoring poorly with everyone but Ophi, a detail the moth woman noted.

The one thing it had gotten right, predicting Ophi's mild interest in the odd, amnesiac existence she held. As far as public information could confirm, Soul Angel was once a child of supposed prodigal genius - for a normal human. While entering sophomore highschool classes at age twelve wasn't that interesting to most people, doing it while daylighting as a delinquent and borderline would-be vigilante that appeared to have multiple personalities according to conflicting testimony and visual evidence, certainly was. Photographs even confirmed her light blue eyes turning subtly into a darker and darker shade after age eight, and though no video or images existed, it was rumored they turned red during violent outbursts along with entirely different behavior.

Indeed, this was the basis for the theory that Red and Blue in the overclock activation related to triggering one of these personalities.

For now those were details of the past, as another vision appeared next to the three. The audio was indecipherable even at close range, even to Soul Angels only highly magnified and sped up perception. The visuals, however, were far more detailed.

Despite this, it was unlikely any body language or facial expressive details would give real direction to the question currently under consideration. The samurai was very clearly dead, infact the only living organic life anywhere here was COWL themselves.

But as the human philosophers have often said, death is an illusion. Nothing about this vision gave any confidence to the possibility that this entity was simply dead and forgotten here. With that, the glowing formations on her hands and wrist changed shape again, returning to their original round configuration, and a timer tracking weapon loading in each arm ticked down from ten seconds, one at a time. After they had loaded, further settings would take greater time in refining significant parts of their mass to form an armor-piercing shell.

"He is certainly dead, but not necessarily gone. We are dealing with a madman, I would suppose it's either a curse, or uses some form or other of technology to reanimate. Of course, that assumption may be the trap itself. Someone will have to be brave." She wondered, quietly, as her sentence drifted off, if this small experiment in changing a detail at a time of her mimicry would be noticed, or far more importantly, effective.

"Oh, this guy is certainly not truly dead." began Lotus.

"That conversation with Apoc seemed cordial enough to suggest that this samurai is in here voluntarily and the warning that Werecat and Cryoconite got for their science experiment back there was too exact to be chance."

Lotus paused to think for a moment.

"I still have no idea what the fact that everything in here is so sterile suggests, any ideas Ophiuchia?" said Lotus as she turned to her.

"Well this is a lab, so it being clean isn't that surprising, what is surprising is that we don't have any microorganisms on us, which. means someone or something, has scrubbed it off us since we arrived." Ophiuchia added.

"The question is why? This might be a leap, but I'm thinking this guy might be making use of them somehow, maybe even for those 'ghosts'." guessed Ophiuchia.

"You know." Lotus said, with a mischievous smile.

"If this thing isn't alive, surely it wouldn't mind if I encased it with my mothsilk?"

Lotus lifted her hands out, sonokineticaly feeling for any loose debris to draw to draw towards herself and transform into threads.

The corpse made no attempt at movement. No sound came from the hallway besides from those already assembled, and the electrical and fluid current through the utilities hidden behind sheets of concrete.

Werecat, who had been spend the short time since the closing of Cryo's portal looking around the room, spoke up.

"So uh. If you three are finished threathening that corpse. We can always head over to that doorway over there." Werecat said, pointing.

Lotus stopped the low rumble of her sonokinetic powers before turning to Ophiuchia and Soul Angel.

"You know, she's got a point."

A few more seconds passed, the oval-shaped ejection ports on Soul Angel's arm beginning a gentle, almost humming glow, a very public indication the cannons had finished moulding approximately 40% of the shots mass into an armor-piercing shell, and now primed to fire.

"Of course, let's say hello to the neighbors, if they're alive, they'll let us know." She began to walk briskly towards the door, still maintaining the shield infront of her, cannon at the ready for any sudden threat.

The door opened automatically when Soul Angel got close enough, inside, was the lab itself, illuminated, though without any visible lightsource. Without a need for any reception, it simply opened up in to a room holding several work tables, sinks, refrigerators, chemist sets, beakers, and generally enough lab equipment to recreate anything DAZRPA had made in the past decade, including some equipment that seemingly had no purpose, or at least a purpose that no one, not even Aethelind could properly identify. As with the hallway, it was impeccably clean.

It also had corpses.

Around two dozen men and women were arrayed in various locations around the room, either slumped over at worktables, collected in circles with empty bottles of alcohol and arrayed cards between them, wrappers and containers for various foods, and discarded labcoats. All of them mummified.

To the sides of the room, two sealed off labs with observation windows had long since been closed, the one to the left had a visible amount of wheat seemingly growing on everything that wasn't the glass itself, and the other had clouded over.

At the rear of the room, a solid metal obelisk with rounded edges seemed to suck some light out of the room, and seemed to shimmer every few seconds. Aethelind could detect that it was a solid mass of nanites on a scale much smaller than her own.

The door opened, without fanfare, resistance, not even so much as a password was required. It seemed odd, as Soul Angel collapsed the shield infront of her to a protective aura around her body, that it should do so.

Not merely because this was a lab belonging to a madman, either. "Opened so easily... Yet these don't look like prisoners." The strewn corpses were alike to the mummified samurai outside, though the environment suggested their final moments were more a party than torture. A malfunction with the door trapped them, perhaps? Doubtful at best. Soul Angel herself in her esoteric existence was already one of the most powerful computers on the planet, and here was one of few places you might find something to make even the Android feel a tinge of discomfort.

The samurai may yet have been guarding the door afterall, from anyone leaving as opposed to entering. Entering had been easy, leaving may prove less so, but for now, she would scan and document everything around her, taking much more careful steps.

As expected, it seems data here was kept digitally, on machines so advanced that if they were still locked, it was dubious that she and Aethelind could break through it, possibly ever.

As Soul Angel headed towards the observation window of the wheat lab, passing devices as alien to her as a trip in an AA lab would be for most humanity, she casually tore off the one thing that wasn't mysterious research equipment; a faucet.

She then continued to the observation window, placing her hand against it and scanning it's material makeup. Mostly, of course, to see if she could cut through it, using a small hole and a port on her palm to collect data as opposed to opening the door and whatever risk that would entail. Should the contents be dangerous if let out, the faucet would be consumed and turned into the fill-in material she used for field repairing, and patch the hole.

Should it be even more dangerous than that - dangerous even to her - there was always the inconvenient last resort of simply severing her own arm off and leaving it to close the gap. A potentially small price to pay for data that certainly appeared like it could be used to solve world hunger.

A few sheets of plastic sandwiched between silica glass made simple safety glass, easily cut through.

Though a pressurized spray came from the hole Soul Angel had made, it caused a chime from an unseen PA speaker, with a digital voice, familiar, and akin to the one heard in the hallway, "Breach of Lab 344 Annex Alpha. Warning: high oxygen content. All staff are asked to make their way to the emergency exit. Hazard Teams have been notified."

And with that, the shimmering box at the far end of the lab opened up in to an inky black wall, before color came, revealing an open foyer, and several dozen more boxes of similar design. The room on the other side was silent, deathly, so. Looking up at the window on the ceiling of the foyer, it was easy to see why.

It was full of stars.

The alarms themselves weren't unexpected, though the high oxygen content was of a slight surprise. A momentary resolved by a further bearing down of weight and force, followed by application of a seal not only around the palm sensor but the hand entirely, an action which should truthfully have been taken to begin with.

A foyer had opened up on the other side of room, and brought with it a silence so spectacular, that few beyond those who even stood here could have even perceived it at all.

Of little concern in it's own, she simply scanned the test lab itself, taking in data from air content to pressure to the structure of the plants and, lastly, before the now rended pipe was brought forth as a seal, a small cut sample pulled in by just as small an 'arm' like construct from her hand. It, too, would share the fate of the pipe, consumed entirely and analyze down to it's molecular structure as it was. Fascinating but not immediately pressing data retireved, the hole was sealed by the restructured remnants of the pipe turned special knock-off repair alloy, before Soul Angel casually walked herself to the doorway.

Almost as soon a the emergency exit opened up, Aethelind reported its nature to Ophiuchia, who'd immediately relay to the rest of the group, though she suspected that Soul Angel and could have already picked up on it. Werecat would too, in a few moments, mostly likely. A space distortion about 278 900 miles out from their current location, in the shadow of a celestial body, the window made out of transparent aluminum, the atmosphere floating in space that the exit lead to.

"Well, girls, that 'emergency exit' down that foyer is a spacetime distortion, It leads to a room with a breathable atmosphere at Lagrange point 2, a point behind where..." Ophiuchia began, before being interrupted.

"The gravitational pull of two bodies, in this case, the earth and the moon, balances out allowing a third body to remain stationary relative to both." Said Cryoconite, who had entered the lab last behind the rest of the group and had mostly stuck by the door.

"Yeah Ophiuchia, if Cryo knows, we all know, no need to waste our time." Werecat said as she made her way toward the far end of the lab.

"You know, Cat, not only are you free to go back to not talking, I'd actually prefer if you did." Cryoconite quickly responded, not moving from her position.

"Werecat, Cryoconite, whatever's gotten into you two can you just stop your petty squabbling?" Lotus said in an exaggerated exasperated tone.

"Weren't you moaning about being called soft a few moments ago?" Cryo asked Lotus, mockingly

"She's got a point, Lotus, both Cryo and Soul Angel, I mean." Said Werecat with a chuckle.

Ophiuchia had been quite throughout this exchange but the frustration insider he was building up. This would likely be the most important mission in their careers up to this point and they appeared to be more concerned with their three way verbal slap fight than anything else.
"Can you all just shut up, please? I'd think that being surrounded by corpses would temper your bullshit but I guess not. This Dr. Apocalypse's lab, the guy who wiped a chunk of California of the map. We have no reason to believe that what killed everyone in here can't kill us two, not a living organism exists in this place that isn't us. Nevermind the fact that the league has probably found out about this place and unless one of them is already in Europe, we have a pretty good idea of who'll be showing up? If nothing else lets make sure that we don't embarrass ourselves, ok?" Ophiuchia said loudly, but short of yelling.

"Find anything, Soul Angel?" Ophiuchia asked.

A partially digitised voice echoed from several points in the room, as a cloud started forming off of the "stargate".

"Oh I assure you, you've embarrassed yourself quite a bit already."

A solid shape formed near the stargate, as it closed, and effectively melted in to itself. Humanoid, a little taller than Ophiuchia, obviously packed to the gills with cybernetics... The Good Doctor himself.

COWL bickered among themselves as Soul Angel quietly entered the room, taking quick analysis of their surroundings as a more detailed write-up of the sample wheat progressed in the background. It became immediately apparent to the rapidly parsing algorithms that the separation of a single doorways passage was no different than stepping hundreds of thousands of miles in a single bound.

"Biological life sample obtained. Wheat that grew on everything but glass..." She trailed off as the apparitious voice echoed thorough out the room, watching intently as a solid mass appeared, and just as rapidly became liquid, sculpting itself into a new shape. Rather peculiar behavior, replicable by magic and machine alike, though given their location... Machine was more likely. Nanomachines, specifically, given their movement, their cohesion was far too advanced for even the enhanced time perception of Soul Angel to see anything approaching a gap.

Finally, the form coalesced, Soul Angel still slowly walking forward, as threat detection immitated the closest experience to fear for a machine. Cacophonous screeching alerts in red blurting across her vision over the figure, which stood two feet towering over her, and looked beyond simple and heavenly mortality in a way even the mechanical Angel could not rival.

She came to a stop, some dozen feet away from the stargate she'd just walked through, and where the 'entity' now stood. The air of mystery was lost on Soul Angel, though, given all the conditions of their location, actions, and the new presence... There was really only one answer. By far, the easiest game of Guess Who ever played.

"COWL..." She began, producing an inquisitive tone, "You did not tell me we would be entertaining a guest." She spun around on her heal to face the entity. "You must surely be he himself. To what do we owe this pleasure, Dr Apocalypse?"

As soon as the 'stargate begun to activate, Werecat quickly retreated toward Lotus and Ophiuchia, who moved a few steps closer, as Cryoconite joined them too.

When the form of Dr. Apocalypse finally appeared, all four were more first surprised, then terrified.

For Ophiuchia's part, a conversation that played out in fractions of a second went on in her head:

Amalure, why, exactly, are you afraid?

It's Dr. Apocalypse Aeth, why wouldn't I be?

If he both wants to kill you he probably will anyway. No reason to be scared of the inevitable. Far better to position yourself for what would look best if that isn't inevitable. Get mad and defiant Amalure, you can't only be that way when you're beating the hell out of those clearly weaker than you, it gives the wrong impression.

"You, are supposed to be dead! You're a clone, aren't you? How many skulls do I have to burn through before we're rid of you?" Ophiuchia growled as she charged her laser vision.

Werecat rolled her eyes under her helmet, but prepared to project a shield in front of the four of them in case of retaliation to Ophiuchia's behavior.

Lotus looked around the room with her peripheral vision to figure out what she'd convert into moth silk if she had to and Cryo contemplated what she'd do in a split with her 'cryotemporalstasis' if nessecary.

"Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. Much like the surviving members of the League, I was simply recuperating for some time." a pause as he looked at the corpses around the room, "I will say however, if you burn through a single skull in this room, your last moments will be filled with a creeping dread of unavoidable death, with no other emotions, or pains to distract you from it."

Around him, the mummified corpses started becoming squishy as the cloud of nanites that hung around the good Doctor extended in tiny tendrils to them.

"If you want to leave this lab alive, I suggest you set aside the absolute disease you call nationalist pride, and start begging. Because like every satirical character to wear the flag of a nation as some sort of 'hero', your not much else but an mindless insect." he shifted to his view to Lotus for a moment, before back to Ophiuchia. "Moving at the whims of those who have a greater ambition than to lick the boots of dead men and failed ideals."

Ophiuchia powered her laser vision down.

"I can't imagine what value you'd get from a 'mindless insect' pleading to you, but sure, Dr. Apocalypse, spare us your doom."

"The value of time, entertainment, really I'm just waiting for the League to show up, unless for some reason they decided to send three vat growns, a soul infused robot and someone with nordic magic infused in to their essence to their death."

"But, I can tell some others have arrived in Cordite's trap. So, Miss Davis, I'll ask you quite simply to stop breathing."

Something was... Off. As the conversation between Ophi and the Doctor continued, this feeling only became more prevalent. Dr Apocalypse blew up a significant chunk of California, killed millions, and by his own admission, so insist news agencies and government alike, was an omnicidal madman.

Yet here now, standing before him for mere seconds, hours though they may feel to Soul Angel, the fallacious words seemed obvious, growing with each passing syllable between the two. COWL had seemed not to notice, even Ophi was consumed, distracted, the mortal feelings of rage and in particular, the grip of primordial fear, obsfuscated rational sight and thought.

Soul Angel's concept of fear however, we're algorithms telling her she should be afraid. Unlike the human physiological reaction however, nothing about that did anything to impede, let alone stop her from ignoring these signals.

Which she did, ignoring them blatantly and taking three slow steps forward, staring intently like the young girl in a science lab she once was. "Fascinating... Even with overclock I wouldn't ever see a gap, just an endlessly flowing continuum of multi-phasal unity. Like someone looked at water one day and thought he could better. The god complex is earned, I suppose. Before I continue, we have no association with the League. I'm sure they'll be here soon, though." Calmly affirming the godly aspirations of a madman, and what's more, revealing information he may not yet know which could aid him. This alone was a course fraught with danger, but it would be nothing in comparison to the outlandish obscenity and thought crime unto all the world she was about to speak.

"COWL... Tell me. What need does an omnicidal madman have of a wheat which grows seemingly anywhere in abundance? What need does he have to hate nationalism in particular? Or to hate heroes so precisely? What need does he have to comment on the ambition on insects, or to hear their begging, see their fear? Entertainment? Then why am I here, what need does he have of an insect which cannot entertain, does not even have its own ambition and simply moves because it knows not what else to do? May the world forgive me for the heinous thought crime I am about to speak but..."

She slowly leans forward, tilting her head at Dr. Apocalypse inquisitively, "In California... Was that even intentional? Side effect of people meddling in your plans, undesired but unavoidable? Are you really so evil as every voice from heaven unto earth claims, Doctor? A blood thirsty madman would not bear all the hatred that you do, nor likely, the intellect, I think. Scorned brilliance, perhaps? If I queried such a search, how many possible results would there be, I wonder? I'm certain one of them would be correct. With every syllable you speak, I find this tale of murderous insanity less believable, even if you are not sane at all regardless. Am I getting closer to seeing it yet, this wondrous play on all the worlds stage I can't help but feel you've set?"

The Doctor began peeling in to a raucous laughter, seconds would pass, as the very air seemed to shimmer, a sigh, "You're asking the right questions to the wrong people. You get to live."

Around the room, the bodies were continually growing more supple, as the sound of nitrogen bubbles popping in locked joints began to echo. Including from the Samurai in the hall.

"Wait so, who's the better person to ask about your motivations? I mean, I guess we could ask all these people that you're bringing back to life here, but I kind of feel that you're going to want us out of here soon..." Cryoconite was still very frightened, but curiosity was starting to creep in.

"What was that about a trap and, uh, me not breathing?." Ophiuchia asked, the façade of confidence she put up earlier cracking.

"Hmm, I think I see. We went through one of many, maybe limitless, entrances, to a lab that's actually not located where we entered from. But why use an entrance in France if the idea was for the league to arrive here first?" Werecat was pretty sure she understood at least some of what was going on here.

Lotus, however, was still silent. She wasn't exactly frozen, but still too tense to talk.

"The robot will find the right people to interrogate eventually. The League nearly did, with enough time so can she."

There was a raucous rumbling from above, what sounded like multiple explosions, "Why we are still in France. Or rather under it my catlike companion, the decisive detonation of the destitute dwelling above has removed your reinforcements an easy entrance. All this is really is me gauging the League's global reaction time, the longer I take the more accurate a reading, where I don't have to sift through whatever drivel of a story the New York Times shits out." A pause.

"Oh, a hearty apology Miss Davis, I should have worded that better. The way I said it, seemed like you had a choice in the matter."

The room's atmosphere gave an instantaneous flicker like phosphorescent algae in a lake. The next instant, Aethelind would find Nantes already in Ophiuchia's blood, lungs, and every other major organ. They were barely any bigger than the oxygen atoms they were ripping from the clutches of the blood cells swimming about, and acting as a burglar to her cardiopulmonary system, blocking the proper gas exchange.

Like a miner sucking down an air pocket of nitrogen, Ophiuchia was now suffocating with lungs full of air. The only saving grace she had from outright death was her own nanomachines and immune system, they fought hard enough to keep her alive, but she wouldn't be conscious for long.

"I would say 'next time make sure the air your breathing won't kill you'... But there likely won't be a next time."

With a flick of his wrist, a two foot long spike jutted out from his palm as fast as one could blink.

From the hall, clanking metal, as the Samurai stood.

-- ESCAPE --
// DOCTOR APOCALYPSE //
== ??? ==
☠☠☠☠☠

-- CAUTION --
// SHURA, THE SEVEN FOOT SAMURAI //
== Inhuman Strength, Inhuman Reaction Speed, Unrivaled Swordsman, Pain Empowerment ==
☠

Lotus' fear was immediately overwritten by concern for Ophiuchia as soon as she collapsed to her knees.

"Cryo, get us out of here." Lotus said moving towards Ophiuchia to pick her up over her shoulder. Cryo, Immediately understanding the command, put up a wall of two of her portals to seperate COWL and SA from Dr. Apocalypse's line of sight. Next Werecat would make her own forcefield immediately behind the portal wall.

Werecat turned toward Soul Angel and yelled. "Hey Penny, a little help with defense here?"

"If you survive, you'll probably regret that, Werecat." Cryo said as she'd make a pair of her non-line of sight portals. One in front of Lotus and the other leading to the surface. Lotus would walk through it, to be followed by Cryo, bringing her first pair of portals down and leaving Werecat and Soul Angel to escape last.

The fear screaming algorithmic predictions soared into the sky evermore, as the momentary calm before the storm gave way to a hurricanes landfall.

She stood there, blankly for many seconds, as alerts everywhere went off telling her she needed to do something, and then an instant later, said there was nothing to do. Werecat, finally under enough pressure to forget her latent fear and distrust of the supposed 'AI', would fortunately solve her inaction, quickly dashing over to raise her own shield around them.

"I don't mean to ruin the plan here but... When we entered, weren't we warned about using these things? I'm not certain even I'd survive the consequences."

"Ah yes, I forgot about nearly forcing temporal reconciliation on everything in line of sight. You don't have to worry about that now after breaking the generator." the man simply stood as the metal spike was wrenched off with a snap, and the man held it like a sword. He began to literally sink in to the floor as he spoke "So go ahead and run, you'll just die tired."

His laugh echoed even after his head disappeared below the metal plating of the floor.

"Run? Its a tactical retreat." Said Werecat, as she made for Cryo's portal, which lead more than 200 meters down the street from the apartment building they just entered into, which having exploded, was now a pile of rubble.

Werecat had sensed the appearance of mass foreign to Ophiuchia the moment of the flicker, she no doubt the Doctor's nanomachines. The moment she stepped through the portal and got within range of Ophiuchia, she begun communicating with Aethelind to target her mass manipulation powers at the nanomachines Aethelind was focusing on, to drastically decrease their mass and increase Aeth's ability to destroy them. All the while, Cryo went to work with her own healing abilities to repair Ophiuchia's immune system as it fought the intruders.

As soon as Soul Angel would move through the portal, Cryo would close it and Lotus would turn to Soul Angel, with Lotus still carrying Ophiuchia over her shoulder.

"We should probably keep moving as far away from Dr. Apocalypse as possible while we heal Ophiuchia." She begun, before turning her head to Cryo. "You'll be able to get us much further away now that we're above ground, right?" Lotus said, turning to Cryoconite, who nodded.

"We should be able to keep ahead of him, dashing through portals, each jump being as far as the eye can see, is a pretty fast as modes of travel go." Responded Cryoconite.

Soul Angel remained otherwise silent through the... Admittedly pointless escape attempt. It wasn't through exasperation, however, but from the undescribable blunt silence and numbness to the world she felt.

To call the feeling strange was an understatement. Even without memories, the intuition remained that this would've been all the more foreign even with them. Standing there, with all these algorithms, all this processing power beyond anything her human form could have had, and she simply did not know what to do. It seemed, frankly, that there was nothing she could do. Just a blank stare of confusion, one people would not even recognize because she lacked the emotive ability to show it.

When... Did this happen? Mere hours ago, crunching data and simulations to utilize the new program, nothing like this. Even mere minutes ago, just contradictory data from programmed expectation versus material reality.

Come to think of it, when did that start feeling off too? Actually, when did feeling start? Did the Doctor do this? She gets to live but not before he's really had his fun? This is all ridiculous, if he wanted them dead so badly they'd have been corpses and scrap metal already!

Wait. That's exactly right. Soul Angel's screeching thoughts found themselves interrupted, by a sound heard not just in her head, as she unceremoniously facepalmed with the right hand.

"He's fucking playing with us..." The tone now, was different. From a half baked, half-monotone fake, to an actual, fully realized mimicry of frustration mixed with anger as realization after realization set in from the past, "Playing with his food - no - his real guests food. The League's food. He called us insects..." She didn't seem to notice, the strained, exasperated chuckle, "I think he meant to say worms."

Soul Angel further yet realized, it wasn't just the tone coming out as human, but the physical and facial expression as well. The obvious yet unforeseen consequences of Red's arrogant coding had begun to show.

As the team of five drew themselves up to the surface, the secondary team was spotted.

Then the ground began shaking, and the horizon started falling, or in this case the surrounding three blocks started rising, the sound of panic coming from the traffic, distant sounds of vehicle falling to the ground as the ground fell out from under them. All due to a metallic shimmer echoing out from the ground as Doctor Apocalypse started rising from the ground some twenty meters away.

The Doctor began approaching as a wreath of flame revealed the Samurai transmitting himself up to the surface. The rising ground finally stopped, 500 meters. The newly risen battleground was visible from the entirety of Paris' greater metro area, any higher and no amount of pushback from Ophiuchia's nanites and immune system would save her from the lack of oxygen.

The Doctor spoke up, "Honestly, I'd be impressed if you could teleport away at this distance." glancing over he spotted the restt of the assigned metas, "And still no League. Oh well. Might as well test your mettle."

The man appeared to split in to three slightly less corporeal forms as he began to run at the team of COWL and Soul Angel.

[Endem]

Emilio Paiva Nazario

He was walking, unceasingly, for a day, from sun up to sun down, and several hours more. It was the late hours of his second day in Honduras and he came across an unusual sight. An odd warehouse, off to the side, surrounded by tall grass and lone trees he could suddenly hear a highway, however, it wasn't quite in sight yet, a lone paved road stretched from it and Into the nearby tree patch, and probably towards the highway which he guessed was behind the strip of trees.

A more obvious front he could only dream off. He didn't particularly care which cartel it belonged to, or how many he would soon upset, the only thing he cared about now is destroying everything inside it. He got a good look at the layout from the small hill he was standing on. There was a booth and a gate between the road and the warehouse, and there was a detached building, which he guessed to be some kind of office, near the warehouse itself were electrical generators, and quite obviously, bigger and smaller trucks were strewn around the parking lot and the loading area. As for the human element, he was fairly certain he saw someone in the booth, what looked like two armed patrols circling the perimeter, a lot of activity in the loading area, and some workers and drivers walking around.

He waited until the sun wholly hid behind the horizon and then he walked down the hill using the same side he came up, electing to walk around it instead, a safer route, and then to sneak through the tall grass. It worked well enough. If rage could be seen, he would have been spotted minutes ago. He reached the route of the patrols and set up his ambush. He sat down in the grass, obscured by it, and waited.

Eventually, a pair of guards, armed with clearly ill-maintained rifles. He pounced on the nearest, before they could even react, his machete was already stuck under the ribs of the first guard. At the same time, an arc of lighting connected with the barrel of the second guard's gun, acting as a conductor between him and the guard, and an odor of burnt flesh filled the air as the second guard died. Both of the guards connected with the ground at roughly the same time, eliciting a pained grunt from the first.

He looked down upon him, the wound he inflicted was gnarly but not fatal, there was still yet time to correct that. The guard tried to reach a walkie-talkie pinned to his shirt, he slowly reached out, unpinned it, and then pried it away. He drained its energy. The guard, horrified, tried then to reach for his rifle, but he kicked it just a little bit out of the guard's reach.

He crouched down near the guard and placed his hand on his face, pulling it to the side, he saw some tattoos on the guard's temple, most likely a gang sign or status symbol. He gently placed the hilt of his blade over it, before smashing it as hard as he could. He then drained the guard of the energy which his nervous system possessed. He picked up both bodies and walked away with them, dropping them off several meters away, hidden in the grass. He then did the same with their rifles and kicked a thin layer of dirt over the blood stains on the ground.

Just in time to catch the second patrol.

They were dealt with swiftly.

He made his way to the road leading up to the warehouse and sneaked his way toward the booth that operated the gate to it. The being on his back peeked through the window. He didn't even notice when it came back.

"One of them. Give him."

It told him. In response, he smiled knowingly at it. He sneaked under the window and the gate. He tried the door to the booth. It was locked. He put his fingers over the lock, as if he attempted to cage it, and run electricity through them. He stood there for several minutes as the lock slowly changed color before becoming bright and oozing out of the door.

He opened the door, and as soon as it happened, he delivered a solid kick to the guard knocking him onto the floor, before crushing through the temple to give him to it. He wiped his hand into the tattered clothes on his back and then noticed a small control system for the gate.

He put his hand, gently, on the metal casing, and then run electricity through it, frying the circuitry inside.

After exiting the booth, he started to walk towards the parking lot with both personal cars and trucks. He wanted to make sure no one would get out.

It was only a short way, and the complex had a poor lighting system, thanks to which he was mostly in the dark during that trip. He made his way into the first of roughly four lanes for personal cars. Interestingly, the first three contained noticeably worse quality cars than the last lane. He crouched down behind the first car. He sliced open the cheap tires, before moving on to another.

The work went quickly, and thankfully, due to him waiting for the dark to fall, there was no one in the parking lot. At least no one yet. He suddenly heard footsteps as he was crouching down behind the last car in the third lane. They were coming this way. A person, dressed in blue overalls, most likely a worker heading for something in their car. If the shift had finished there would have been a lot more workers filling the parking lot, just like he observed it initially, as he summarized that during his initial observation, he must have seen a shift change.

After the worker passed by, he darted across the thin street separating the two lanes and hid behind a small car, which he had previously damaged already. That move did not escape the worker's attention, they turned around and shouted.

"Anyone there?"

After waiting ten seconds, the middle-aged worker turned around and began to walk noticeably quicker. If only he knew that it would be a one-way trip, Emilio was sure that the worker would be in any rush.

He stalked the worker further down the lane, needing to come several times to a stop due to the worker hearing him and turning around, which prevented him from getting close enough to strike. The worker finally stopped by, probably, his car, and first took out from behind the windshield a pack of cigarettes, lit up one, before starting to search for something in the back.

This allowed Emilio to finally get close, he finally stood up when there were about two meters or so separating them, barely a jump, when the worker finally found what he was looking for. They looked at each other for a split second, the worker clearly with a mix of fright and confusion. Before the worker could even make a yelp, he jumped up to him and grabbed his mouth.

It crawled onto the roof of the car and wordlessly screamed to him, give, give, give, GIVE. A dull echo of a thought rang through his head, why was it so hungry, after they had fed on a transformer station not so long ago. He did not dwell on it, and the echo quickly silenced as his attention focused solely on the worker's left knee. He kicked the side of it, hard, making the worker involuntarily bend it. The worker fell onto his knees, and he began hammering with the end of the grip of his machete onto the worker's temple.

When the worker lay motionless on the pavement, he without a second thought returned to his work.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

...

As the ground below them rose into the air, carrying everyone in the vicinity up with it, Lotus waved off the rest of her team from trying to heal Ophiuchia and she gradually made her way towards Soul Angel.

"We're no use to her dead." Said Lotus, lowering Ophiuchia off her shoulder and to the ground in front of Soul Angel.

"Help us, but Kleep her safe, or I'll personally disassemble you." Said Lotus, before immediately sonokinetically pulling debris off the ground in front of her, forming it into an orb of hardened mothsilk, a little larger than a marble, as she, Werecat and Cryoconite, turned towards the charging threat.

"Cryo, Cat, Mass Gun, Now." Lotus ordered.

Werecat pointed a hand towards the mothsilk orb. She proceeded to lower its effective mass as it floated. Lotus was instantly felt the gradual change as it took less force to keep it in the air, allowing her to precisely to time what came next.

"Now!" Lotus yelled. Just as they'd practiced many times before, Lotus sent a concentrated wave of air at the orb, launching it forward. Wereca then rapidly increased the effective mass of the org as it sailed forward. All of this took place in mere fractions of a second, making use their superhuman senses and reaction time. While they worked to minimize the kinetic energy being deployed for this attack to prevent collateral damage to themselves, it was a good thing they were hundreds of meters above the city

As for Cryo, she'd open up a portal in the flight path of the orb. The other end would send it on a trajectory directly through the torso of two of the 'forms' that were charging towards the heroes.