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OpMegs · 08-17-2011, 07:49 AM

The room was unusually silent. A holographic presentation floated in front of the collected board of directors: a multi-tiered schematic, rotating in place. A single voice spoke, easily drowning out the subsonic hum of the holoprojector.

“It was said that in ancient times, Prometheus brought the fire of the gods to humanity below, gifting them with the knowledge to progress out of the dark ages. It is my belief that Crey Industries will do this again.” A sharply dressed man in a business suit stepped into the glow projected by the schematic. “The current energy crisis is abated, but only through a desperate reliance on unproven materials. Current fusion power relies on black-box technology developed by super-scientists and other unreliable persons, who are generally the only people who understand the technology they develop. Yet, to avoid inconvenience and high prices, the modern world is forced to use that which these talented few control. As such, I believe that there is no reason why we at Crey should not be the next to profit from such a mindset.”

The presenter clicked a button, and the schematic changed, parts slotting into place in the shape of a large satellite, nearly twice the size of the Hubble Space Telescope which appeared beside it for scale. “Project Olympus is the first orbital energy transfer technology to pass testing into mass production. Once in orbit, the satellite is capable of transferring large quantities of energy to specially-equipped receivers with pinpoint accuracy via a quantum particle wave effect based off the Minovsky principle. This allows it to penetrate most solid structures without interruption or harm to the residents within. Within larger metropolises like New York, Seattle, and Paragon City, the Olympus system would be able to power every motor vehicle in the city limits 24 hours a day. Outside of major cities, the storage medium holds charge far longer than conventional batteries, with less bulk than gasoline or hybrid turbine engines. And capable of lasting three days at full output before requiring a recharge. And that’s merely for transportation. This system can be adapted to power just about anything -- wirelessly and continuously -- and the transmission vector is harmless and unaffected by atmospheric conditions, making the system immune to inclement weather. Furthermore, Olympus requires no Rikti technology like the mediport system, nor supertech developed by reclusive geniuses, thus allowing anyone with sufficient technical background to service it. Someone like us.”

The presenter clasped his hands together as the projection disappeared and the lights raised, revealing his satisfied, confident smile. “And most importantly, the primary functions of the system are already patented by Crey Industries. So, ladies and gentlemen, how would you like to become the sole owners of the new fire of the gods?”

The applause that followed was barely noticed by the man that called himself Brian J. Mason, as he took in the utterly predictable reactions of the little beings that claimed to have power here. The slow nod of Hopkins, sitting off to the side across the room, was all that really mattered. It meant that the Countess herself approved of the idea, and that was all that counted in Crey. And even she had no idea what Olympus’s purpose really was.

“Brian J. Mason” felt his smile grow slightly wider at the thought.

World economic domination through energy control? That was small thinking. No, this was just the beginning.

***

Riot Force Reports: Fire From Heaven

***

“I’m just saying, I think you’re overthinking it,” Nene said as she took another bite of her pasta. “We all saw this back in Megatokyo. Sylia’s just got a new ‘protoge’ she wants to get up to snuff.” The redhead grinned devilishly at Priss from across the table. “You act like you’re worried Noel will steal her away from you just because Sylia has to put in some extra hours getting the girl acquainted.”

“How hard can it be?” Priss grumped, swallowing a piece of burger. “She’s here, there’s government programs to deal with this sort of thing. We saw that with the other Rhea.”“Scowly Rhea or Praetorian Rhea?” Linna asked from her seat, spearing another chunk of noodles with her chopsticks.

“Does it matter? Both,” Priss shrugged. “Anyway, that’s all handled. They do it all the time. I mean, I’m not high maintenance-” she stopped and scowled at both of her friends as they gave looks that suggested they were restraining laughter. “I’m not. But really, she goes to work doing all that...business stuff, or she’s working on her suit again, which is weird because I thought she’d finished rebuilding it from the last time. But now she’s talking about field projectors and phase variances and other junk. And when she’s not doing any of that, she’s fast asleep or working with that kid. I still catch lunch with her every now and then, but it’s kind of annoying,” the brunette finished, practically growling the last word.

“Someone hasn’t been getting any since Sylia got back from Praetoria, has she?” Nene pondered, looking over at Linna.
“Oh, yeah. That’s the dryspell talking,” Linna agreed without a hint of humor.

“Oh, fuck you,” Priss growled.
“Sorry, Priss, but there’s really no room in my love life for you at this point,” Nene replied, completely straight faced.

Priss was about to say something when Linna spoke up, equally deadpan. “And I’ve already got a date. Besides, certain people’s jokes aside, I don’t do pity sex.”

Priss glared at both of them for several seconds before both Linna and Nene cracked up laughing. “You’re both assholes,” she grumbled, working on her burger again.

***

Deep beneath the Steel Canyon Silky Doll building, Sylia continued tinkering as she watched the recording of Noel’s training session. The blonde girl mowed through targets with a single minded will, her shots unerringly accurate, like the movements had been drilled into her from the moment she was born.

Which wasn’t all that inaccurate.

At the time, Sylia had taken Noel in as her student because the girl seemed a genuinely well-intentioned inductee into the brutal Darwinian system of Powers Division. That and the fact that her armor was remarkably similar to Crey designs in some ways. In many ways, she shared the Scimitar line’s tendency to use their armor as amplifiers of powers built into the bioroid inside, but Noel’s own powers weren’t entirely definable within a scientific framework.

In Praetoria, Sylia simply hadn’t had the network of contacts necessary to get Noel properly analyzed. Not without blowing her own cover identity as a Praetorian native. And the only ones she knew that could’ve checked her hunch were the Carnival of Light, under Vanessa DeVore of all people. Sylia simply hadn’t had enough people she could trust to risk Noel’s safety. However, the final confrontation with Maelstrom beneath the Magisterium had essentially left the young girl a renegade from Praetorian justice when Maelstrom revealed he knew she’d been the one to kill Chief Investigator Washington. Sylia hadn’t planned it at the time, but getting Noel out of Praetoria had given her the chance to evaluate things she hadn’t been able to before.

The results of testing in Paragon had been astounding. Noel’s abilities were essentially a combination of both magical and technological expertise, most notably evidenced by her ability to materialize her primary weapons from thin air if need be. The sheer scope of what Noel was capable of developing into confirmed Sylia’s belief that someone in Praetors had been deliberately undermining or sidelining her to keep the girl out of the limelight until they were sure they could control her. That theory had gained weight when Irene had been able to dig up some small hints of the decommissioned “Project Swordbreaker” within Crey, which had had one prototype go rogue and another stolen by a Praetorian incursion.

The chaos of the Praetorian War’s opening shots had left further analysis at a low priority, so Sylia had simply settled for training the girl to defend herself. And by all evidence, the girl was going to surpass her early estimates by a huge amount.

“Sylia, you there?” a voice piped up from another window, Sylia pulling it up as she continued work on the shield emitter she was working on for the third incarnation of her hardsuit since she’d arrived in Paragon.

“I’m here, Utena. What is it?”

“Weird case we ran across in the field,” the pink haired Sabre said over the line. “Ran into an entire group of Council robots that were rampaging on their own without any Council controlling them. We took them out before they got too far.”

“Any hint of a target?” Sylia wondered.

“Not that we saw, though we’re getting some parts together for Nene to analyze,” Utena responded. Sylia nodded in turn.

“Keep me posted of any further developments.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sylia turned in her chair as the door behind her opened, Noel walking in with AJ. The two girls had hit it off rather well, another small victory. The blonde glanced at Sylia, fidgeting slightly. “Ah, ma’a-er, Sylia?”

“Yes, Noel?” Sylia said, the temptation to smile tugging at the corners of her mouth at the girl’s attempt to actually follow her request to be less formal.

“Well, AJ had a thing that she was going to after she got off work, and I was wondering if it’d be okay if I went along too,” she said, her voice staying remarkably steady through the whole sentence. Being raised essentially as a ward of the Praetorian state after they’d reactivated her from sleep mode hadn’t done Noel’s self-confidence any good. Her first reaction for the longest time had been to simply consider anything that didn’t pertain to her duties as extraneous. The fact that Noel was asking to go out to do something (and given it was AJ, Sylia doubted it was anything that Noel’s military background would consider constructive) and not flinching in anticipation of rejection was progress.

“Of course. As long as you’ve got your training regimen done for the day, you don’t have to ask me for permission about what to do with the rest of your time, you know,” Sylia said with a smile she did let slip through to reassure the girl.

Noel nodded slightly, before smiling back, a bit shyly. “Ah...yes. Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem. Go on and enjoy your day,” Sylia smiled, before glancing at her companion. “AJ, standard rules apply,” she noted. The brunette laughed a bit awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head.

“Right, boss. Don’t spend more than fifty bucks on materials, and no using the company credit cards.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Sylia said, turning back to her work. She felt the smile again at the commentary that sprung up once the girls thought they were out of earshot.

“...what materials would you even be able to get for under fifty dollars?”

“Well...”

***

Operative Katar was fairly pleased with himself.

The guerillas he was supervising stood aside as he strode to the front of the current skirmish lines. Once he got there, Katar focused his eyes on the current objective as his Bane Spider armor magnified the image the exterior video pickups were recording.

The facility was fairly nondescript, but the heavy APCs parked in areas to provide fire support if needed were fairly obvious. The shimmering air around them suggested force fields that his recon loadout identified as producing a similar energy signature to known Sky Raider bands. It seemed that El Presidente had cut some deals with his former enemies. Normally, Katar would’ve considered that a bad call on the local dictator’s part, but the Sky Raiders weren’t quite able to turn down paying work like they had been a few months ago.

In the aftermath of Duray’s turning against his home dimension to side with the Praetorians, the Sky Raiders had fragmented significantly. For the most part, the US forces that weren’t fanatically devoted to Duray had fallen under the command of Captain Castillo, but worldwide, any number of ambitious up-and-comers had taken to carving bits of Duray’s operation off for themselves under the excuse of “not working for a Praet-loving traitor.” Naturally, that meant El Presidente had probably managed to work out a deal with the local Raider captain, especially once Katar’s presence had evidenced Arachnos' support for the rebels.

Katar cracked a wry smile behind his face-concealing helmet. One almost could feel bad for the man, but really, he couldn’t complain too loudly. The people here were just exchanging one tiny tinpot dictator for association with one of the few superpowers on the planet willing to intervene militarily to topple their oppressor. That the country would essentially be indebted to the Rogue Isles after was something they weren’t thinking about right now, but really, that wasn’t that bad a deal. Lord Recluse didn’t give a damn about your social standing at birth, and Arachnos was rich with opportunities for advancement if you were good enough. It was win-win for everyone but the sweating old man sitting in his palace, fearing the sounds of gunfire getting closer. Really, if he’d been anywhere near as open-minded as Lord Recluse was to his population, Katar’s job would’ve been much harder. He’d have had to actually manufacture atrocities of the government instead of using existing ones to stir up the native rebellion that Daos had ordered.

Striding back to the command post, Katar looked over the maps before turning back to Pintsize, his local subcommander and lead for this seizure operation. The burly man was nearly as tall as Katar’s power-armor assisted height, and wider in the span of his shoulders. He cocked his head inquisitively at the Arachnos operative, waiting for comment from the faceless soldier.

“They’ve deployed shields on their local armor,” Katar said, pointing at five markers on the map indicating APC patrol points. “They’ll be tougher than the usual buggies that the army’s been using against us so far, but they’re old Sky Pirate equipment. If you can get a grenade through the outer field, there’s nothing shielding it from the inside.”

“Why not fire RPGs underneath?” Pintsize wondered. “It’d be a tricky shot, but...”

Katar shook his head. “The field is based off momentum. High speed projectiles will be intercepted before they reach the armor. But if it was too restrictive, the APC couldn’t move, and swapping crews would require bringing down the shield, making it vulnerable. Slow moving objects, though...”

“Get through because they’re not moving faster than some random soldier,” Pintsize nodded, before frowning. “Still, getting in close to those APCs to throw the explosives would be tricky, while under their guns.”

“Only if they see you coming,” Katar assured him. “And while our men here may be a bit obvious, I can guarantee you they won’t see me coming. Once I take out the first APC-”“Our men head in from the opposite side in the confusion, getting close enough to take out more. The bomber teams fall back as the shields go down and we can get support fire in.”

“Very good. Once we’re done bringing down the fat man, I’m really going to have to write a letter to recruitment about you, Pintsize,” Katar said, honestly. “You’d be a great benefit to the Wolf Spiders with your grasp on tactics.”

“Get me one of those mechanical arm suits your amigo had the other day, and you have a deal, my friend,” Pintsize said with a smirk.

Katar laughed. “Survive Mako’s training regimen, and you’ll earn it easi-”

Their discussion was cut off abruptly as a loud explosion rocked their immediate area, echoing from somewhere due west. Katar grabbed his mace from its clip on his back as Pintsize grabbed his machine gun, the two heading with their respective bodyguards in the direction of the disturbance.

A tattered rebel nearly ran into Katar as he fled in the opposite direction from the inky black cloud that was rising from their primary munitions depot. The Bane Spider held him still, until the man focused his eyes on the glowing red eyes of his helmet. “Soldier! What happened?”

“M-m-monsters!” the man stammered. “An army of metal monsters attacked us! They weren’t anything like the army men! They tore us apart!”

Katar growled in frustration at the obvious hysteria in the man’s voice and pushed him aside. Looking over his shoulder at his second, he waved him in close. “Prep us to pull out. It’s possible that El Presidente got his hands on some new tech or magic or something. This op is compromised. I’ll scout the depot.”Pintsize nodded, as Katar activated his cloak and vanished, power assisted leaps carrying him closer to the site of the attack. Once he got there, Katar’s irritation turned into a cold feeling of apprehension as he took in the site of the attacks.

The weapons site had been blown apart like it had been hit by a rocket. Nearby, their front security gate had been cut open like someone had taken some sort of absurdly large Exactoknife to it. The edges were still visibly hot from whatever energy weapon had taken it apart. Bodies were sprawled about, blood leaking into the ground and the groans of the dying still vaguely audible through his enhanced sensor suite.

But what scared Katar was what had caused it.

Walking about the camp, huge humanoid machines stalked the camp. Blue armor in smooth plates covered them from head to toe, while the faces of the machines were some bizarre fusion of a skull and an ape. As Katar watched, the machines walked around the camp with brutal efficiency, one terminating a surviving guerilla with a brutal stomp of its armored foot, crushing the man’s skull in. Another barely flinched as a survivor who’d somehow managed to escape the original chaotic slaughter burst out of hiding, unloading his AK rifle into the thing with about as much effect as if he’d been using an airgun. The machine gave what sounded disturbingly like a very low basso chuckle before absently leaping at the man. One hand snapped the rifle in half as the other grabbed the rebel and lifted him bodily off the ground like he weighed nothing at all. The man’s gibbering terror was cut short when the thing opened its mouth and a blue white energy beam rendered his head into a fine mist.

Katar had seen enough, turning and very carefully sliding away, trying not to make any noise the machines might notice. Until two minutes ago, he’d been the single most advanced combatant in this entire rainforest-infested piece of dirt, but these things were something else entirely. They definitely weren’t Raider manufacture, and Lord Recluse would want this intel quickly. The entire resistance movement he’d built up over the last few months was currently second string to informing his superiors that someone was deploying extremely advanced, possibly Praetorian level war machines here.

Another of those disturbingly aware chuckles abruptly interrupted his train of thought, as Katar flung himself forward on instinct. His optics auto-deactivated to prevent him from being blinded as the particle beam he’d more sensed than seen ripped through his shoulder armor, scant inches from the lowest layer of protection the Bane suit provided.

Katar hit the ground, rolled to his feet and ran, getting two steps of momentum before he jumped as far as his suit let him, damage warnings about the blast he’d just barely missed scrolling across his HUD. He shut them down, glancing back and immediately regretting it. Two more of the machines were pursuing, full thrusterpacks extended from their backs propelling them into the air. And they obviously weren’t fooled by his cloak, even if the blast had made its function intermittently erratic due to the damage to the emitter system. He whirled and fired a mace blast at the lead one, forcing it to veer and bolstering his own morale. Whatever these things were, they obviously were worried about taking a hit from his weapons, which meant they weren’t invincible. The soldiers on the ground might be doomed, but he had a chance to escape.

His HUD projected the distance to where he’d stashed his recon flier, loading a waypoint as the second machine took another shot, the blue white spear slashing across the jungle and slicing through anything in its way as Katar veered to the left and arrested his momentum as he hit the ground, letting the jungle cover his position. Several shots, obviously blind but calculated on his last known position, began to probe the canopy as the Arachnos operative continued to run, his spine still feeling that subconscious tingle that was waiting for one of those blue white spears to find its target...just like it had to the soldiers he’d left behind.

***

“I trust you are sufficiently impressed by the showing of my wares, President Panay?” Maximillian Largo said, as the screens showed the utter destruction of the rebel force by the villain’s combat units. Dots on the map representing the soldier units and various thermal blooms that could be surviving combatants moved about a larger screen as smaller displays showed first person views from the optics of the units in the field.

“Indeed, Señor Largo. Your weapons are most effective,” the president said. “Still, you have not yet named your price for such assistance. If I could have afforded such weapons, I would’ve driven off these rabble and their spider masters before you approached me,” he said, his glance suspicious. “Then you appear, willing to end all my troubles with your weapons, and speak nothing of price before demonstrating just that. Why? You are no angel of mercy.”

Largo chuckled at the president’s obvious paranoia. “No, no, you are right. There is something else to this. Most notably, this is a field test. And the units are proving remarkably good at hunting down your rebels, which were doubtless more familiar with this land than I am. But beyond that, my primary reason is a demonstration.”“A demonstration of what, Señor Largo?” the president wondered, frowning.

Largo simply smiled and turned back to the map as a large thermal bloom was registered several miles from the camp site.

***

Katar ignored the vague burning sensation on his shoulder where his armor was still working to shunt as much heat towards the beam hit as possible to prevent further damage while it tried to recreate the suit’s basic ABC seal functions by sealing the armor shut around the breach. Instead, he focused on the startup of his recon flier. Both turbines read green as he engaged the antigrav, bursting out from underneath the camo net he’d pulled across it when he’d initially arrived here however many months ago.

The machines that had been pursuing him turned and made bee-lines as soon as he breached the hillside keeping his startup thermal from the viewpoint of their sensors, but Katar was ready for them, bringing the flier’s chin mounted turret around and switching to full auto fire. Bolts of violent red energy stitched across the sky, intercepting one machine in a brief but impressive explosion as a bolt found its apparently volatile power core and then slicing through another with ease, detaching limbs and head as the thing spun out of control, crashing into the jungle canopy.

Katar laughed in satisfaction as he began prepping to bug out entirely, trying to make sure no more machines were waiting beneath the canopy to ambush him once his guns weren’t actively tracking for them. As the recon net detected the closest units at nearly twenty kilometers from him, the Bane Spider reached for the lever to turn his engines into cruise configuration for the long flight back to the closest Arachnos staging area in Columbia.

Unlike the previous weapons, the blast that destroyed Operative Katar’s recon flier made no noise before it was too late to avoid it. The nighttime jungle was briefly illuminated bright as day as a single thread of pure white brilliance connected the sky above, Katar’s flier, and the ground beneath, blasting a one hundred meter circular swath flat even before Katar’s flier exploded, the burning hulk falling into the crater the beam that’d destroyed it had dug like a prescient grave.

***

The president abruptly broke out sweating again as he watched the video projected from a nearby combat unit that had witnessed the Arachnos aircraft’s destruction. Unlike the combat units, that had not been anything that this Largo had mentioned when he’d suggested his field test. The aircraft that would’ve likely been impossible for his entire army to overtake without tremendous casualties had been swatted like a gnat in the face of an angry god. He turned back to the arms dealer waiting for his reaction with a confident smirk.

“My demonstration, President Panay,” Largo said, his mismatched eyes locking on those of the dictator across from him, their intense gaze preventing him from looking away. “My demonstration is of the weapon that will usher in a new world order. And of the consequences of defying me.”

***
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Dragonflight · 08-18-2011, 12:30 AM

I like the idea of the BGC characters finding Paragon Earth and Largo switching focus to try and exploit a world of metas, super-robots, and random assorted gods. I don't understand enough of the backstory though to comment on Utena and how the BGC characters wind up on secrets-name basis with Rhea and Terrence's band of girlfriends. Smile

But it looks promising, with a suitably epic level of challenge with the introduction of the USSD particle beam sats.
---
Those who fear the darkness have never seen what the light can do.

Sofaspud · 08-18-2011, 03:58 AM

I'm kind of amused by the "Terrence's band of girlfriends" bit, because, so far as I know, he only has two -- one of which is the aforementioned Rhea. Big Grin

Anyway, I can field a little of this. Simply put, the backstory for most of the characters (the BGC ones) mentioned in here has been posted here on the forums in one story or another (or several) over the past... egads, three years. Some of them are only mentioned in passing. Anything under the Riot Force Reports label would be the safest bet, if you're looking. Utena is Sabre, whom I *think* was introduced already but she's not my character and I have the magic all-access backstage pass (since I write some of these folks and offer snarky commentary), so I may be remembering something I've seen which has yet to be finalized and posted.

As for them knowing secret identities... Rhea doesn't have one and one of her doubles is *in* Riot Force; Terrence doesn't have one because, well, Terrence. You'll note they don't mention Gamma (Lisa), because she does kind of maintain a secret ID. Sort of.

So the chain basically goes BGC Expats -> Riot Force -> Scowly Rhea (Onyx Blast) -> Rhea Prime -> Hero Sandwich.

Edit: Fixed Utena's secret identity, sort of. Because even though I've mapped the Sabre's out before, I still forget from time to time.

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Ankhani · 08-18-2011, 04:25 AM

There's a whole sub-SG of Sabres within Riot. Then there's a clique of Sabres within the sug-SG within Riot that see more than passing reference in this "cannon" as it were.

Suffice it to say, Crey find BGC-verse, grabs the mind-copys of the Sabres and makes 33S bodies for them as "new" protectors. Varying degrees of success from LOLWUT to Rouge group pretending to go along.
---

The Master said: "It is all in vain! I have never yet seen a man who can perceive his own faults and bring the charge home against himself."

>Analects: Book V, Chaper XXVI

OpMegs · 08-18-2011, 05:34 AM

DRAG0NFLIGHT Wrote:I like the idea of the BGC characters finding Paragon Earth and Largo switching focus to try and exploit a world of metas, super-robots, and random assorted gods. I don't understand enough of the backstory though to comment on Utena and how the BGC characters wind up on secrets-name basis with Rhea and Terrence's band of girlfriends. But it looks promising, with a suitably epic level of challenge with the introduction of the USSD particle beam sats.

As Spud noted, a lot of this has been written up elsewhere. I recommend glancing at the "Fic" tag, which I basically added to all my stories so that *I* could easily find them back when the search function was broke on Yuku.

A breakdown of the timeline thus far, though, goes as follows:

- Largo develops custom 33-X model buma to impersonate the Knight Sabers before Red Eyes
- Crey, using access to Portal Corp, enters the BGC reality and steals the prototypes, as well as significant data storage that includes schematics for the suits, looking for a super-powered replacement for the Protectors given the Revenant Hero Project's recent public outing.
- Crey returns to the BGCverse post-Red Eyes to scavenge more tech, getting a few data storage banks that include Largo's personal backup, as well as that of Madigan (who was transferred after Red Eyes to save her from her injuries of basically being *at* ground zero when a particle beam strike hit GENOM tower.) The former soon overrides the equipment attached to his mainframe and builds a new body, escaping into the Rogue Isles. The latter is rebuilt in another Crey "Scimitar" body and put in charge of Crey's anti-Sabre operations.
- Crey continues, in classic evil corporation style, to attempt to produce more Scimitars with the creative spark that makes them more useful than robots, but without the free will and morality that makes a lot of them go rogue, taking their advanced hardsuits with them when they escape.
- Sylia co-founds Riot Force with Ifrit, mostly as a blanket cover to search for the other three of her group, but eventually to begin taking in the new generation of Sabres that are resulting from Crey's methods. Riot Force eventually coalitions with the Legendary, operating with them on a regular basis.
- Shortly after the Praetorian War begins, Madigan and her Scimitar team fake their deaths in a War Walker attack in order to cut ties with Crey, as Madigan believes the organization is going to get them killed in its desparate attempts to stop the rogue Sabres. She takes an offer of detente from Sylia to essentially a ceasefire between their groups, rather than risk hanging separately with the Praetorians breathing down everyone's neck.
- Largo, meanwhile, continues rising up the ranks of Crey under the pseudonym (and different face) of "Brian J. Mason", leading to the events that open the story.
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Terrenceknight · 08-18-2011, 06:43 AM

Unless someone has been latching onto Hero sandwich while I've not been looking..Terr is indeed property of Lisa and Rhea only lol. He doesn't do the secret identity thing because well..its just not worth it to him as iin his mind if someone wants to know the 'secret' identity of a hero/villan bad enough and they have the resources available? They'll find out and depending on the individual use that knowledge against ya. He certainly won't reveal what he knows about other heroes identities and whatnot, he just won't bother trying to hide his own.

08-18-2011, 07:03 AM

*looks at the line of Terr groopies* mainly those that wish _reeealy_ hard Terr Tongue

Also, Largo has friken orbital laser strikes.... this scares the crap out of me... and I think we saw a trailer for this a while back.

Star Ranger4 · 08-18-2011, 05:04 PM

dunno about the trailer part, but clearly this is the same tech as war walkers orbital lances to me
Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky?
That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry-
NO QUARTER!!!
-- "No Quarter", by Echo's Children

OpMegs · 08-22-2011, 07:14 AM

*** Chapter 2 ***

“...and after they managed to get Reichsman on his way back to the Zig again, Echo confirmed with me that she’d been contacted after the fight by...something... as well. None of the others mentioned noticing anything like that,” Ifrit said as she sliced carrots for dinner.

Nene leaned back in her chair as she considered the story about how her wife’s day had gone. “Keep an eye out for someone calling himself Ramiel-”

“Will he be a giant shapeshifting D8?” Ifrit asked.

“No, he looks human enough,” Nene said, not favoring that joke with a response. “He showed up a while back to talk with me. He’s a Mender. And he did it shortly after I noticed my powers were getting stronger somehow,” Nene said, before adding a qualifier. “Without my armor.”

“You mean the Incarnate craze that everyone’s running into but nobody’s talking about that much,” Ifrit said, getting a nod from Nene. Enough of their own family had run into parts of it of late for it to not be much of a surprise.

“We’ve all noticed the power levels going up lately. It was small at first, but....” Nene shrugged. “And of the group you mentioned, you and Lisa are the only ones I can think of that haven’t run into that power spike yet. It’s possible this Well thing thought that non-Incarnates managing to take down a supercharged one that fast was worth its notice.”

Ifrit glanced at Nene, before chuckling as she chopped up another carrot. “Thank you, dear, for making random small talk about how my day had been much more serious and concerning than I had intended it to be.”

Nene laughed herself, a little nervously. “Well, sorry. Thinking’s what I do. At least my day was fairly normal? Reinstalling operating systems and teasing Priss at lunch. I’m afraid that’s the highlight.”

The front door opened, and Alice came in, pulling off her boots and placing them in the rack. “I smell food,” the catgirl commented.

“That you do, but there’s a wait,” Ifrit warned her, then looked over at Nene again. “What was that about teasing Priss?”

Seizing on a more mundane topic with vigor, Nene turned back towards her laptop as Alice headed for her bedroom, already stripping out of her body armor. “Just the usual stuff. I went out for lunch with her and Linna today, and Priss spent most of the time bitching and moaning, mostly about Sylia and that new kid she’s teaching. Linna and I responded in the traditional manner of course. It was almost too easy.”

The fae sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Nene.”

“What? It’s what we do. She moans, we tease. If the roles are reversed, she’d do the exact same thing.” Pausing, Nene gained a far away look in her eyes as she remembered many moments in her past. “Actually, she has done the exact same thing. Quite often. Especially on this very subject back in Mega-Tokyo.” She got another sigh for her effort, but Ifrit was smiling again, so she counted that as a success. “Anyway, arguing aside, she was a lot more cheerful by the time we were done.”

Finishing with the carrots, Ifrit placed them in a pot and turned to consider Nene. “So, she was really irritated?”

“Well, yeah? When isn’t she when she’s being teased?” Nene responded, quite reasonably. “It’s Priss.”

“This is a point,” Ifrit conceded, before continuing. “But still, she was irritated, genuinely so, before you started teasing her. Priss isn’t that high maintenance...and Sylia’s as bad as you can be when she gets working on a project. It’s why they’re good for each other...just like me, Priss is capable of doing other things when Sylia’s busy. But if she’s so busy that even Priss is complaining... well, what would I do in the same situation?” Ifrit asked, stoking the heat of the stove a little with her powers.

“You’d drag me away whether I wanted to or not, and then make sure I wanted to afterwards,” Nene chuckled.

“Exactly. Except Priss still feels awkward about that sort of thing. She’s not as... direct.”

“Priss... isn’t direct,” Nene said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Not around Sylia. You’ve noticed it yourself,” Ifrit pointed out. “She’ll tell a Troll on her front lawn to fuck off while not wearing her armor, but she gets adorably shy whenever it comes to Sylia or their relationship, like she’s afraid she’ll offend the woman. As if Sylia isn’t fully aware of Priss’s general attitude.”

Nene blinked, before frowning slightly. “Y’know, I’d have thought even Priss had limits to that sort of thing.”“With anyone else, she would’ve reached them by now, I think,” Ifrit said. “But she really does love Sylia, so naturally she’d try to make allowances... it’s just in this case, Sylia really is just too busy to see it. If you and I are a bit busier than usual due to the Praetorians, what do you think someone with Sylia’s workaholic streak would be like?” she wondered, glancing over at her wife.

“... and now it’s my turn to thank you for turning an entertaining diversion into something I feel bad about. Thanks, hon,” Nene noted with a rueful smirk.

“I try,” Ifrit said innocently.

“Anyway, message received. I’ll look into it,” Nene said, typing another few keystrokes before setting her code to compile. “Incidentally, have you been hanging around Sachie a bit more lately? That sounds like the kind of thing she’d say... with more words, admittedly.”

“We all have our own specialties,” Ifrit said as she checked on the roast. “Ours just happen to run along similar lines in the social realms.”

“That was incredibly vague and unhelpful as an informative answer.”

“I know.”

***

“How reliable is this intel?” Kuro’s ‘customer’ asked. The dark-skinned Sabre managed a considerable feat of willpower by not tracing a blade into existence with her powers just to stab the blonde woman across the table from her. It wasn’t entirely the Gauche’s fault that she was a mentally screwed up nutcase behind the good looks.

The two Sabres’ mutual interaction had started as part of Utena’s operation to attempt to track down what had caused a group of Council robots to go rogue a week ago. The “operation” was rather loose on organization, and so Kuro had wound up on the same patrol as the other woman mostly by coincidence.

Gauche Sabre, real name Nanami according to her, had proven to be a receptive audience to Kuro’s gripes about how the operation had been run, admitting that she’d rather be doing her own hunting than chasing down a supposed cause for a few broken robots. When Kuro’d pressed further over the next week or so, she’d slowly teased out a few more details.

Gauche had been part of a testing cadre in the Scimitar program, and decided to break out along with her friends much like many of them did. The oversight for their particular facility had apparently been rather pragmatic and sent a Power Tank after them. The escape had resulted in the brutal deaths of Nanami’s entire team, the last of whom sealed a door to keep the Tank from pursuing Gauche while leaving herself behind as a sacrifice to slow it down. Nanami had escaped with the armor on her back, no names to assign blame to besides Crey, and (in Kuro’s opinion) a veritable motherload of psychological issues. Including but not limited to survivor’s guilt, PTSD, and suicidal inclinations, if Kuro’s psych eval training held up.

Naturally, the blonde had eventually joined up with Chang’s group of “special cases” who were more interested in seeing Crey burn than seeing any kind of justice for the greater populace, and while Kuro could sympathize, something kept her from considering that level of violent disregard for the consequences worth any gains made by taking Crey out of the picture permanently. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, but the math on who was the many and who was the few when it involved a global corporation like Crey was fuzzy in Kuro’s opinion. It might be that the many needed Crey intact and providing services more than the Sabres needed vengeance and safety from them.

After all, that’s why you took the deal that got you out, isn’t it, Kuro? she noted to herself. She’d accepted a supposed “deep cover assignment” by Crey’s Scimitar branch specifically to counter any such revenge-minded monsters that Crey’s abuse created, hence the ‘inside joke’ of her own nom de guerre. That someone assigned to hunt down rogues would essentially also counter Crey’s own smear campaign against the Sabres by taking out the ones that were genuinely unstable and dangerous (and thus more useful to Crey’s PR alive) was an irony Kuro cherished. She still wasn’t sure why the Crey scientist that’d detected her budding sentience had offered her the deal rather than just wipe her brain outright. Guilt? Regret? Any way you sliced it, it didn’t matter now.

“Reliable enough,” she said, not reacting to the implied slight on her skills. Gauche didn’t know about her inside contacts at Crey and didn’t need to. “Director Giacamo Rizonno, formerly a minor member of one of the families associated with the Family, before he showed promise in other fields. Joined up with Crey and never looked back, though he definitely brought some of his relations’ ruthlessness to his own style of oversight in the projects he was assigned to. Promoted to head of the Nerva branch for his competence in ensuring you were the only escapee of your own attempt,” Kuro said, noting the fire that licked to life in Gauche’s eyes at that addendum. “He’s recently been assigned to something codenamed Memento, which is more innocuous sounding than what the project’s probably about. Crey’s egotistical, but at least intelligent enough not to name an important development something blatant like “Operation Götterdämmerung” or whatever. You’d need an ego that could blot out the sun to basically hang a “Hey! Shoot here first! Big evil plot here!” sign on your pet project. And he’s not part of the development staff as much as he was tapped for running security. Probably due to the aforementioned ruthlessness in ensuring deniability is maintained,” she said.
“So where is he at?” Gauche asked, practically chomping at the bit in impatience as Kuro watched. The woman suppressed a mental sigh. The blonde could at least be less bloodthirsty in her approach. As it was, Rizonno was likely to get away when Gauche did something stupid like going after him directly. It meant Kuro wouldn’t have to dirty her hands directly in putting down the little mad dog, but at least Gauche could have the courtesy of taking out her target before she was killed in the attempt. As it was, Kuro was probably going to have to hold her hand all the way to ensure that both birds were flying in the way of her stone when she threw it.

That said, Kuro’s aim was just a bit better than average.

“Don’t thank me, this is just business, alright?” she said aloud. “You can count on me calling in this favor later.” If she botched the job and Gauche survived, anyway.

“As long as Giacomo’s dead, I don’t care,” Gauche said with a disturbing equanimity. Kuro would’ve liked to know what she was going to pay in exchange for something like that were she in the yellow Sabre’s place. “Any price is worth putting him in the ground.”“Good, because I’m not cheap,” Kuro responded evenly, crossing her arms.

Gauche nodded, before glancing at her again and...smiling, just slightly. The expression transformed her from “good looking” to genuinely beautiful and made Kuro almost regret the fact that whatever woman would’ve worn that expression more often was long dead, killed as surely as Gauche’s partners at that facility over a year ago. ”Thank you, Counter,” she said. “This means a lot to me. Even if it’s just a job to you, I appreciate you being willing to help me. Most people would see it as just a grudge. Even Oni.”

Kuro shrugged uneasily. She found the concept of Reika Chang objecting to someone’s personal grudge as not worthy rather hilariously hypocritical, given the entire reason Chang Heavy Industries had been founded in Paragon, but she wasn’t about to say so when Gauche was probably bugged. “You’re welcome. Just remember it’s not charity. Once we pin him down, he gets put down, then we escape. No rescues. No crazy rampages to take it out on the facility. No abrupt decisions to commit suicide now that your sole purpose in life is done with. You commit seppuku after you pay me back.”

Gauche nodded again, the smile fading into a determined expression. “Deal.”

The quiet gratitude in that statement almost made Kuro feel guilty about the fact she was going to leave the broken woman to die at Crey’s hands after they took out the worryingly competent man responsible for breaking her in the first place.

Almost.

***

“Sylia, we need to talk. I know you’re taking the situation with Praetoria seriously, and you should, and I’m glad you’re working so hard - no, that’s no good. Sylia, I’m not trying to demean your work, you’re definitely the right sort of person to be helping Praetoria, and I’ll be behind you all the way - dammit!”

Frowning, Priss started pacing back and forth across the bedroom again, mumbling under her breath. She’d been at it for nearly an hour, trying to work up the courage to head down to the workshop and try to talk to Sylia. Instead, the usually fearless woman was doing nothing but working herself into a panic. Her frustration at Sylia’s obsession was almost completely forgotten now, replaced by a simple, terrifying thought.

Sylia Stingray had found herself a cause to fight for and a true evil to oppose, and Priss was unsure of where she fit into that cause.

Biting her lip, Priss dropped onto their bed. Closing her eyes, her hand brushed across the mattress, passing from her side into Sylia’s, the part of the bed that had been painfully empty since the day nearly eight months ago, when a train carriage had fallen through a hole in reality, taking Sylia with it, and leaving her wondering at the fate of the woman she loved.

She’d been confident at first. Sylia was a survivor. She’d survived being dropped into another reality before, thrived in fact. It was only a matter of time before the Sabres’ leader found her way home.

But then days turned into weeks, which turned into months. Months in which Priss woke up on one side of an empty bed, trying to suppress the fear that perhaps she’d found something she couldn’t overcome. Months of keeping up the brave face for everyone to see, even her family, because Priss Asagiri didn’t show weakness to anybody. Anybody except the woman she was terrified she’d never see again, that is.

And then, at long last, Sylia came back, from Praetoria of all places. That first night, she’d simply passed out in their bed, exhausted from six months of survival in an Orwellian city of telepathic police. Priss hadn’t manged to sleep at all that night, simply holding her, terrified that the dream would end and the woman would vanish again. The following day neither of them had left the house, both of them working to recover from their ordeals, simply talking, remaining close, indulging themselves...

… and the next day, Sylia continued her crusade, heading down into the workshop to prepare, and Priss found herself dealing with the sort of obsession her lover hadn’t had since before they met. She hadn’t been exaggerating to Nene and Linna. She’d only spoken to the woman at meals for the past two months, and even then, Sylia had been distracted, working on a laptop or PDA, usually responding to comments from Priss with one or two word answers at best.

It was beyond frustrating. It was actually terrifying. Even if she’d returned to Paragon City, Sylia Stingray was drifting away from her, and there was nothing Priss could do about it. A sob almost managed to escape the tight grip on her throat, and Priss curled up on the bed, utterly miserable.

***

“So, what do we have so far?” Utena said, looking over the map Juri had spread out across the dining room table of their apartment.

“Three separate examples at the moment. Council Zeniths here at a storage bunker at 32nd and Calico in Steel. A cargo ship had a hidden crate of Raider Jumpbots sitting in port at Talos, and a minor riot in Founder’s Falls that turned out to consist entirely of Nemesis automatons,” Juri said, tossing an amused look over her shoulder at where Anthy was working on her roses across the room. The dark skinned woman simply smiled back, not responding.

“So why are three separate packs of robots going crazy and attacking everything in sight?” Utena said. “None of them went far from where they activated and PPD managed to stop the second and third attacks without any hero assistance. If you were going to use it as a distraction, you’d do it all at once.”

Juri nodded. “We have several groups on patrol to see if any more turn up, but at present, there’s nothing streetside to suggest where to look next. We just have to wait until there’s another bit of chaos, it seems.”

“That sounds familiar,” Nene said as she stepped into the place. “Reminds me of back home... what I remember of it anyway,” she said. “We were like firefighters more than anything. Get a report off the ADP that some buma’d gone rogue, run off to stop it, get some sleep in parts between.”

“All that and holding down a real life job and a real secret identity. Sounds exhausting,” Utena said, tossing a can of pop to the redhead as she sat down.

Nene grabbed it out of the air and opened it, taking a long drink. “God, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Long day?” Juri asked from her spot beside the table, nursing a wineglass.

“Something like that. Work’s doubled since the Praets hit. Villains hitting areas that’re vulnerable due to lack of PPD presence, gang presence increasing. Got blackmailed into attending this “Citizens for a Greener Galaxy” rally instead of the Captain. Gordon’s a sneak. And isn’t it a little early in the day for wine?” Nene said, glancing at the other redhead.

“For one thing, it is never too early for wine,” Juri said archly with a quirk of a smile “And for the the other, it’s nearly six.”

Nene groaned, draping her head over the back of the chair as Utena laughed. “This day is going too fast. I’m going to join the Menders so I actually have sufficient time in a day to get everything done.”“Yes, because that wouldn’t be abuse of the position,” Utena laughed.

“It’d be a merciful bit of philanthropy for my schedule,” Nene sighed. “Anyway, you said you got one of the heads intact?”

“Yeah, it’s right in the closet,” Utena said. “Hey, Chu-chu! Bring out your roomie, could you?”

The necktie-wearing Rikti monkey made a chittering noise that somehow sounded like a rude gesture to Nene’s ears as Utena stuck her tongue out at him. Nonetheless, Chu-Chu hopped back into the hall, before returning shortly with a dented Jumpbot head, its neck cleanly severed.

“Mmm, smooth cut. Your work?” she asked, glancing at Utena.
“I figured you’d want at least one of them intact,” the pinkette said with a shrug.

Nene nodded, inspecting the neatly sliced neck stump, the cables inside visible as if someone’d shown her a cross section. Impressive, for someone going for a beheading in a heated battle. “Yeah, that’ll help. With luck, this thing doesn’t have a data dump built in to protect the sensitive bits. Or whatever activated it scrambled the ordinary functions. Either way, I’ll find out soon.”

“Will you be staying for dinner?” Anthy asked as she stepped into the room. “Utena’s preparing some stir fry and tomatoes.”“Nah, got one more stop for the day, I think,” Nene said with a sigh. “Though it sounds lovely. Bring some to the next staff meeting. I’ll put on weight at the rate we keep eating takeout when trying to plan the new patrol routes.”

“You don’t gain weight, but the point is taken,” Utena laughed.

“And besides, it’s nice to see your taste for the finer things in life extending,” Juri added.

“Geeze, ganging up on me, all of you,” Nene said with a laugh as she picked up the head and slid it into her bag.

“We do it because we care,” Anthy smiled.

***

Nene didn’t bother knocking or announcing her arrival as she entered Sylia and Priss’s home. It was habit more then anything else really. She’d visited often enough over the years that it didn’t strike her as unusual in any way.

What was unusual was the mess inside. Sylia had always put in a rather impressive effort of maintaining a tidy home, no matter how hard she was working. Priss never used to, but during Sylia's time in Praetoria, the woman had at least tried, out of a determination to have the home looking suitable for when Sylia returned. Now there was clothing on the couch, some music sheets and coffee mugs scattered over the coffee table, and the carpet was in dire need of a vacuum. Frowning, the redhead checked the kitchen, and caught sight of dishes stacked up in the sink.

Off the top of her head, Nene couldn’t remember a time when the Stingray household had been this messy, and her conversation with Ifrit came back to her. The fae was right. Something was seriously wrong here. A scowl began to form on her face as she kept looking around ahead of breaking into the workshop levels and giving Sylia a piece of her mind.

She was moving down the hallway when an odd noise caught her attention. Pausing, she glanced in the direction of the bedroom door. The noise repeated, and Nene blinked. That sounded like a....

Before she had any time to consider it further, she stepped forward and opened the door.

Inside, Priss looked up in horror, curled up on the bed. Nene took in the wide, red-rimmed eyes, the utterly miserable look on her face, the slumped shoulders, and then she was moving. Before Priss could manage anymore more then a small, shocked squeak (another sign of how off-balance the singer was), Nene was on the bed next to her, putting an arm over her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten.”

Stiffening, Priss looked at her, the embarrassment on her face warring with anger over the criticism Nene’s comment implied. Even with as messy as things had gotten, the woman would jump to defend Sylia almost instinctively. A moment later, however, her shoulders slumped again, her eyes closed, and she leaned against Nene as the sobs finally escaped.

“You know,” Nene said, once the other woman had finished. “This is not doing my reputation as the young, irresponsible one of our little quartet any favors.”

Priss managed a half-laugh at the joke, before looking up at her. “Why’re you here anyway?”

“In part because Ifrit would start giving me The Look if I didn’t check up on you,” Nene said reasonably. “And partially because she had a point. Though I have to say, you look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks,” Priss said, wiping at her eyes.

“Personally, I’d recommend dragging Sylia out of her lab kicking and screaming if you need to. Especially screaming, under the right circumstances...” Nene started, looking thoughtful.

“Nene...” Priss growled, as Nene shook her head at her.

“Really, Priss, what’s the deal? You’re not nearly pugnacious enough lately.”

“I thought you had all the answers already, Miss Nene 'Has Everything Under Control' Romanova,” Priss said irritably.

“I have guesses, but most of those are about cause and effect. What I don’t know is why you’re taking this shit,” Nene said, turning slightly so she could look at the other woman. When Priss gaped at her, Nene started counting points off on her hands. “You’re not seeing Sylia much lately. She’s working most of the day, not with you at night, and then she’s out on the front lines the rest of the time. She’s obviously either oblivious to your presence or ignoring you. You wouldn’t take this from a boyfriend, so what makes Sylia different?”

“You know what makes her different!” Priss practically snarled. “She’s... you know why,” she said, the fire dimming a little. “And I know why she’s busy. I know what she’s doing. It’s a good thing. She’s helping people. I’m just one person. I... I can wait.”

“Ennnnnnnnh! Wrong!” Nene said, poking Priss in the chest, bringing a small sound of protest from the singer. “It doesn’t matter that much to her. I got to see photos from the time you were attacked last year when that failsafe Nano had installed on her hijacked her. Sylia nearly killed the girl with her bare hands. No precision slashes and stabs. She just kept punching her until she stopped moving. Because what she felt for you overrode what she would’ve done normally. It made her angry. Whatever you think this cause of hers is, do you think she cares about it more than you?”

“Maybe,” Priss wavered. “You haven’t been here, Nene. You haven’t seen what she’s been like since she got back. It’s... it’s like back in Megatokyo. She’s on a Mission again, and it took essentially being dumped here in Paragon and finding out she wasn’t even the real Sylia Stingray to break her out of the last one. I don’t think I’m that persuasive.”

“So you’ve tried persuading her to stop?” Nene wondered. Priss looked back at her, slightly confused.

“Well, I’ve tried talking to her. She just sort of responds without actually talking to me. It’s like talking to Sachie.”
“If that’s your best comparison, you really need to look at this closer,” Nene said. “Have you outright tried to break the daze she’s in working all the time? Interrupt her? Distract her?”“Well... no...”“Kissed her while she’s not expecting it? Sat down on her workbench wearing nothing but a ribbon? Tied her down to the bed while she’s asleep? Physically taken the tools out her hands and thrown her over your shoulder? C’mon, Priss. I can’t believe you think you need written permission to be affectionate with your lover,” Nene said, as Priss colored again, this time a bit more in anger.

“It’s more complicated than that!”

“No, it isn’t,” Nene shot back. “You love her. You want to be with her. You haven’t been in weeks. This isn’t a one way street. Your needs are important too. Has she actually told you that she’s too busy for you?”“Well...no...”

“Then you don’t even know if she’s blowing you off or just that deep in the mission objective place that she doesn’t realize the time and hasn’t figured out how long she’s been at it. If it’s the former, you’ve got issues you need to work out. If it’s the latter, then the only way you get her to notice the situation is by making her notice,” Nene said firmly. “You don’t sit off here, winding yourself up over ‘might be’s or ‘could be’s. You go down, talk to her, and find out what IS.”

Priss stared at her, before Nene sighed. “Right, and to make sure that you do it, I’m going with you. But first, take a shower and get dressed. We’re not trying to scare Sylia out of her work rut.”

Nene was expecting the pillow that hit her in the face, but didn’t bother dodging it. It hid her smile as Priss stalked off for the bathroom, muttering under her breath about ‘busybody redheaded brats’.

***

“Right, this is your stop,” Janus said as the mini-sub breached the surface. “Welcome to the scenic Nerva Archipelago. Now get off my boat before the Spiders get ideas.”

“You’re all heart, Janus,” Counter chuckled as she finished sealing her helmet. Checking over her armor’s containment, she nodded mentally to herself. The external oxygen canisters would provide her with enough air to get to the edge of Primeva, and from there down to the underwater dock that serviced Crey’s main facility. Once inside, her cloak would keep her undetected. Her partner for this op, on the other hand...

Gauche, however, had demonstrated somewhat surprising stealth for someone whose armor was bright yellow. And she was fast. Assuming that Counter’s usual AV loop generator kept the main security cameras occupied, the two of them should have no trouble infiltrating the facility. Especially since the first thing Counter had done had been to paint one of Gauche’s suits in black and gray camouflage.

A small engine drone, almost like a torpedo but without the warhead, propelled them towards the underwater cavern, before drifting into the depths silently, to await Counter’s signal to return when she escaped later. The red and black Sabre went up first, slowly glancing about the underwater dock for security and then submerging again when her helmet recorded the positions of the various riot guards. Apparently the facility hadn’t been upgraded to fully armored security yet. Lucky for her.

Eventually, one of the guards made a mistake. Stepping past one of the Crey microsubs, he stepped out of view of his fellows, as well as in range of the water. There was a squeak and a yelled curse as he slipped on a leaked patch of oil from a small hole shot into the minisub, followed by a tremendous splash. A few of the other guards laughed as they looked at where the first was crawling out of the water. None of them noticed as Counter and Gauche slipped out of the water on the opposite side. Counter flickered into invisibility while Gauche simply blurred towards the nearest concealable position.

While the guards poked fun at their most unfortunate member, the two Sabres slipped past, moving deeper into the facility. A quick stop in one of the restrooms was an easy enough fix to render the two women dry so as to not leave wet splotches on the floor, before they made their way carefully towards one of the data centers. Sliding a contact probe out of her gauntlet, Counter attached it to a rear mounted USB port and then stepped back. Data began streaming over her and Gauche’s HUDs as Counter began surfing the internal network.

“It looks like he’s still here. No record of him leaving...and it’s not a huge facility, so finding him shouldn’t be too hard,” she murmured into her throat mike. Gauche grunted in reply, which Counter took as a reassuring sign, at least. No rabid frothing yet. Still, something bugged her. This entire operation was too easy. Even if this was a low priority project, why the lack of security guards?

This continued to bug Counter until a beep announced that her facial recognition program had found a match for Rizonno. She pulled up the feed, which showed the scientist talking with a man in a suit that didn’t seem to be Crey agent standard. Counter frowned as she tried to place the man. Silver hair wasn’t exactly a common attribute...

“..-ou understand the need for privacy of course. As much as these new weapons will do well with you in charge of testing them, I do not think that Crey would appreciate finding out that we plan to topple their rule of the financial world. Let alone what the heroes would do if they were to find out,” the suited man was saying.

“Indeed. Your weapon designs are incredible, Mr. Largo. But the upgrades you plan, these... apex weapons. They will take time to mass produce. Much less the H-class models. We will have to maintain strictest secrecy if your planned operation is to have any hope of success,” Rizonno replied, sounding pensive.

“The timetable is flexible. Every day, week, and month we remain undetected, the more deeply my prelude will worm its way into Paragon, paving the way for our army. The code already has an 88.54% infection rate. By the time we launch the strike, it will have achieved complete saturation of every potential point for reinforcements.”

Counter disabled the video feed as she began scanning files, brushing off the impatient protests from Gauche nearby. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a Crey op. Her database pulled up the name while she continued to shuffle through the facility’s files.

Maximilian Largo.

The man was wanted for countless crimes up to and including mass homicide and terrorism. If he was involved, this could potentially blow up much larger than she’d anticipated. And from the sounds of their conversation, he’d only gotten Rizonno here to offer him a job developing more weapons. Scanning the files, Counter found herself marvelling at the level of egotism. Nearly every system in the base was interconnected, allowing her access to almost anything now that she’d breached their security. They should at least have sealed off the mainframes, but even they seemed to have connections she could access.

Finally, she found it.

Under the file-head marked Memento (full name Project Memento Mori), there were plans for some new type of satellite....with a massive energy weapon mounted onto it. At present, one had been launched already, with another two to be added within the week.

Next to it were schematics for some new type of combat machine, though the term “machine” was too simplistic. The “biomechanical uniform machine androids” were far more effective than any pure machine would ever be, and almost immune to any kind of hacking attempt or virus due to their independent intelligence. The only thing that controlled them was something called the Overmind Control System. Wherever this O.M.S. was, however, wasn’t included in the files. Half the schematics were even missing, merely detailing how to build receivers to access its transmissions.

Orders were inside for construction of a massive tanker that would be filled with these new machines, and then moved to Paragon. Once there, a beachhead would be established around the central control repeater in Steel Canyon. Counter’s memory immediately called up the image of the massive tuning fork-shaped sky scraper that had been under construction for the last few months. From the look of the plans, the entire building wasn’t necessary, but had been used to conceal the central broadcast tower. However, the repeater seemed designed to broadcast separately from the OMS, which didn’t make sense unless there was a second set of receivers...

Counter almost jumped out of her skin as a Crey agent walked into the data center with her, but signalled for Gauche to remain still in her concealed place in a nearby closet. The man began accessing the terminal, but seemed unaware of her presence. However, Counter blinked when the man pulled up the video of Largo and Rizonno again.

“Of course, premature revelation of our plans could jeopardize everything,” Largo was saying. “We’ll have to be certain not to allow any spies to infiltrate this facility before the attack is launched.”

What was this agent doing? Was there another spy here already?

“Thankfully, if none of them are any better than the current little fly on the wall observing us, then we have nothing to fear,” Largo said, turning to look directly at the camera. “Dispose of her.”

“Yes, Master Largo,” the agent said, before turning around towards Counter. Counter traced her bow into one hand as she fired a bolt directly at the man’s face... only to blink behind her helmet as the shot hit dead on... and simply smashed through the man’s glasses. He grinned at her, before his eyes glowed blood red and he practically exploded out of his suit, revealing a massive body of blue artificial steel and muscle.

Counter bolted out of the way of the first lunge, managing to scramble out of the door as the bioroid followed her, keeping pace easily with her power assisted stride. Counter ducked around another corner, before sliding down to her knees as she passed a certain closet....and a red energy blade sliced through the door at neck level, taking the combat machine charging behind her’s head off before it even realized the danger. The bioroid crumpled into a heap that Counter hopped backwards over as it slid past her.

“We need to get out of here, now,” Counter said.

“What about-” Gauche started to protest.“He doesn’t matter. Not anymore,” Counter said. “This thing is bigger than any of us, and we have to get the intel out.”

Gauche growled under her breath, before Counter pointed an arrow at her. “You want to get yourself killed trying to take out your own personal demon, that’s your business. But you won’t have me backing you up. I have bigger priorities than just petty revenge. Truthfully, in all the chaos, you might do me a bit of good, leading them away. But then again, I might need you if more of these monsters come after us. So pick really quickly.”

Gauche stared at her for a long moment before twirling a blade in hand and driving it point first into the machine’s chest just as it began to force itself upwards again. Orange fluid geysered out of the wound as the bioroid went still once more.

“Fine. But you owe me. When this is over, we come back and finish the job,” Gauche hissed.

Counter shrugged. “Fine by me. Let’s go.”

That decided, the two ran towards the hangar, as Counter hoped that the supposed promise there wouldn’t get her killed in the end.

***

“I really can’t do this. I mean, maybe we should just leave a note or something,” Priss said as she came out of the bedroom, clean and dressed, but more together than she had been earlier.

“We’re not leaving a note, sending her a text, or hoping she checks her email,” Nene said. “And I don’t trust myself to be able to outhack Sylia’s own personal hardware, assuming she was even dumb enough to leave it connected to anything outside of her workshop, which strikes me as incredibly unlikely.” The redhead glanced at her friend and then sighed, before taking Priss’s hand. “So, are you going to walk, or am I dragging you?”Priss favored her with a glance that was equal parts incredulous and insulted, which was a better reaction than indecisive panic, at least. Still, the singer’s confidence wasn’t anywhere near what Nene considered normal for her (which would be ‘suicidally overconfident’ in most other people), and Nene wasn’t going to lose momentum. “Right. Henderson?”“Yes, Miss Romanova?” the voice of the apartment’s AI caretaker spoke up.

“Where’s Sylia hiding?”
“Miss Stingray is in the workshop, where she has been mostly undisturbed for most of the evening.”

“Did she put up the ‘do not disturb’ sign?”“Not to my knowledge, Miss. For one thing, Miss Asagiri is with you, and--”

“Thank you, Henderson!” Priss interrupted, as Nene broke out giggling at the singer’s bright red face.

“Seriously, Priss, you’re as bad as Sammy lately,” Nene said. “Now c’mon. Or I’ll tase you and drag you down there. Which would make waking you up to talk to Sylia very inconvenient for me.”

Priss peered at the hacker suspiciously as they walked down the hallway from the living room and Nene hit a button at the elevator at the end. “You wouldn’t do that.”“Maybe not. I might just use some ancient ninja nerve pinch,” she said serenely as the elevator descended.

While Sylia and Priss only really occupied the top three stories of the penthouse Sylia had bought and renovated, she’d also had a second elevator installed that led down to her home workshop... the only problem being that in order to prevent people from teleporting in by hijacking the grid, Sylia’d been forced to rely on a purely physical elevator. Going down twenty stories to get to the workshop generally meant that Sylia was more likely to do her work at the Silky Doll or her other, other workshop in Riot Base’s latest expansion. Besides the training grounds and the suit hangar, the “Sabre Sector” as some of the other Riot Force members had dubbed it had a set of small living quarters mostly intended to host new Sabres that had just escaped and had nowhere to live just yet. And Nene suspected that Sylia’d been crashing there a few times in the last couple of weeks as well. Similarly, the “Sabre Cave” would have similar provisions, if only because Sylia wouldn’t want to take a ten minute elevator ride up and down every time she wanted food or to use the restroom.

As they exited the elevator, Nene did a quick scan of the bunkroom and bathroom, finding Sylia in neither. Those areas dismissed, she grabbed a hesitant Priss by the arm again, dragging her forward into the main lab.

“Sylia, you in here?” Nene called as she walked forward.

“In here,” Sylia replied, stepping out of the workshop, wiping off her hands. Despite the mess upstairs, she seemed to not have changed all that much. Nene had hung around gearheads. Mackie was one, her sister-in-law was one, and more than a few heroes she knew were as well. Even when working with small components like their suits used, there was still grit and grime that could get on you. How Sylia managed to do the same thing while only managing a few artful smudges that just accented how much neater the rest of her looked, Nene would never understand.

“We’ve got a bit of a crisis, Sylia,” Nene began.

“Crisis? What sort of crisis?” Sylia said, glancing between the two of them.

“A personal one. Namely, I’m suspending your leadership for an indefinite time period,” Nene said calmly.

“What?” Sylia replied, equally calmly.

“WHAT?!” Priss blurted, much less calmly.

“It’s come to my attention that your work schedule is starting to resemble certain pre-Paragon standards, and as such, I’m revoking your command responsibilities and authority in order to get you to take a break.”

Sylia frowned at her. “Nene, this isn’t a very good joke. I’m not anywhere near like I was back in Megatokyo. I’ve been sleeping and taking meals in between work and time at home --”
“When’s the last time you and Priss had some time to yourselves?” Nene interjected.

“Just today. We discussed her music, over lunch,” Sylia said simply.

“Sylia... that was Tuesday,” Priss managed.

Sylia blinked. “Ah...”

“Last Tuesday.”

“More importantly,” Nene said, not one to lose momentum once she had it, “when was the last time the two of you had sex?”

Sylia turned to her. “I’m not sure how that’s any business of yours, Nene,” the Sabre leader said, a hint of censure in her tone.

“Humor me,” Nene said. “Then I’ll leave it alone.”“Well, it was...” Sylia said, trailing off as Nene and Priss watched their leader expertly and efficiently sift through her memory for the proper response. After a few moments, she frowned a little. “Well... the night after I got back from Praetoria.”

“Sylia, that was two months ago,” Nene pointed out. “And yeah, we’ve had Praetorian problems since then, but I don’t think that the Hero Sandwich crew are going celibate because of them. And before you start with the ‘they weren’t in Praetoria and so they don’t know how much of a problem the place is’ excuse, I have it on good authority that Valles and Lynna barely made it out of the shower the night after they got back before the two of them were all over each other, and I don’t think they have any signs of slowing down... well, new redheaded roommate aside, that is. Frankly, given how much that version of Rhea’s acting like she’s sleep deprived on the weekends, either she’s being kept up by their bedroom antics or joined in by now. Not sure which,” Nene said, before waving a hand in dismissal of the line of thought.

“Anyway, tangents aside, you have a problem. Specifically, you have a problem with problems. You like to solve them. You become extremely hyper-focused on solving them. And worse, you multitask well, so even when you’re forgetting something, you’re managing so many other things simultaneously that you tend to forget that you have limits to how much you multitask. And yes, normally, I’d expect Priss to complain louder too if she was feeling neglected, but she’s being strangely timid, and you’re being far too predictably focused, and so I get to be the blunt one,” the redhead finished, taking a breath after the extended rant.

Sylia looked from her to Priss, before she frowned slightly. “Priss... I... is Nene..”“Yes,” Priss said shortly, before the rest just came pouring out from behind the dam she’d been keeping in place for weeks now. “I know you’re concerned about everything, Sylia, and I know it’s important, and hell, Noel’s a good kid and she deserves someone to help her get out of the whole Big Brother is watching paranoia, but dammit, I think I’m worth a little time too!”

“You are, Priss, just...” Sylia said, trying to get a word in edgewise as the level to which she’d managed to be oblivious became clear.

“Just what?” Priss said. “Just what, Sylia? Just Noel is more important? Praetoria is more important? Should I just... just get out of the w--”

Priss's train of thought was obviously and abruptly interrupted by Sylia, who appeared to Nene to teleport from where she had been standing to pull Priss into a kiss that left no possibility of misinterpretation. The singer's eyes fluttered and closed. "(All lines are busy,)" Nene muttered under her breath, trying not to laugh and spoil the moment. "(Please try your call again later.)"

“Never,” Sylia said as Priss’s slow blinks indicated she was finally beginning to realize the kiss had ended a couple seconds ago. Though the dark haired woman was still holding her tightly. “Never think that any of that is more important to me than you. Or anything else.”

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Nene said, getting a startled jump out of both women. “As second in command, I’m temporarily relieving you of your duties. Since that puts me in charge, I’m assigning both of you to a mission someplace...tropical.” Truthfully, Nene was a little reluctant to interrupt the situation she’d just incited, but she did have something else to accomplish here.

Sylia raised an eyebrow while Priss just looked at her, puzzled. “Wait, what? Where?”
Nene declined to tease her on not keeping up. It’d be cruel to the poor girl when her brain was just collecting itself from the surrounding walls and crawling back into her skull after that kiss. “Just what I said. Indigo was calling us, something about some sort of weapons testing they’ve picked up rumors about from her agents in the South Pacific. Between Praetorians and other junk, she doesn’t have any eyes in the region. So the two of you are going to scenic Panau Island as a pair of tourists. The plane set to deliver you was scheduled for a couple weeks from now, but I moved your reservations up. It’ll help improve your cover and give you lots of time to not spy on the government,” Nene said with a meaningful smirk.

Sylia looked at her for a moment, before sighing and shrugging her shoulders. “Well, as the coup de tat has already happened, I guess I’ve no other recourse but to accept your terms,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m sorry you have to get dragged down in this with me, Priss.”Priss was still blinking every so often as she looked between the two, before shaking her head and chuckling. “Nene, you’re a busybody little redheaded brat.”

Nene gave her a look, which got another short laugh.“But thank you.”“Better,” she said. “And you’re welcome. Now pack your bags.”Sylia nodded, before glancing back at her. “Also, about Noel...”“It’s handled.”“And the S--”“Handled.”

“You didn’t even let me f--”“Handled! Sylia, you keep your day planner notes in three separate backed up locations. Just toss me your passcode and I’ll make sure it’s handled,” Nene laughed. “Go.”
Sylia laughed softly. “All right. We’re going.”“And make sure not to look like spies while you’re there!” Nene said as they stepped into the elevator.

***

What had seemed like a short job was rapidly becoming a lengthy nightmare as Counter and Gauche ran through the hallways, the sound of pounding footsteps always behind them. Counter dove as she reached another door, hitting the ground in a roll that allowed her to send an explosively overcharged bolt of plasma back at one of the pursuing bioroids. Its head snapped back, but Counter knew the shot had only stunned it. A second shot hit a door control, sending it slamming down... before it stopped.

Counter hissed in irritation, but the lowered door bought them time as the bioroids had to cut through them or wrench them open again. The things’ sheer size was working against them in most cases. But for some reason, it seemed almost all her well-honed tricks for manipulating pursuit weren’t working. And were being turned back against them in some cases. Doors would slam shut in front of them, herding them into paths of fire, forcing Counter and Gauche into fights they weren’t prepared to handle, or simply preventing them from using straightaways to gain distance on the bioroids behind them. Similarly, they seemed to open up paths of clear terrain for their enemies. Someone was in the system, controlling the facility like a chessboard.

Behind her, Gauche slid to a stop a moment before a bioroid tore out of a corner, taking its hand off with one blade as she spun around to remove the other. However, the creature opened its maw wide, revealing the barrel of the nasty particle cannon Counter had had too many close calls with. The black and red Sabre fired just as the machine did, blue white fire scouring Gauche’s shoulder as Counter’s own bolt took the creature in the mouth, detonating the weapon and blowing its artificial brain all over the back of the wall behind it in a spray of tangerine gore.

A brief shake of her head informed her Gauche wasn’t seriously injured, at least not in a way that’d slow them down, and Counter felt herself almost feeling optimistic about their chances as they finally spotted the dock ahead of them. Then her hopes sank as she saw several of the bioroids waiting for them... including one in bright red coloration that seemed to be built slightly differently. Counter doubted that’d be a good thing for them.

“I count six... even odds,” Gauche spoke up, as Counter blinked and glanced over at her. The yellow Sabre’s armor was showing through in several places, close calls with weapons fire having melted the waterproof paint that had been camouflaging her. But more notable was her stance. No weariness. Just determined.

Counter figured she’d had worse inspirations for action. “Looks like. Just a little further then.”“Once they’re all dead.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

< Fate/Stay Night: Realta Nua OST - Mighty Wind >

Counter’s vision telescoped outward to catch the image of one of the bioroids’ eyes, firing a shot that sent a bolt of condensed energy, briefly given shape by her powers into a single arrow of searing white light, straight at it. The mechanical monster wasn’t going to be taken out so simply, but Counter grunted in satisfaction as its left eye burst. She pulled back for another shot. Three this time, the most she could get off before they reacted and started shooting and she’d have to get closer.

Gauche surged forward, and Counter took her presence into account, sending two bolts directly over her shoulders into the eyes of the bioroid ahead of her. The beast roared, blind, a second before Gauche flicked a switch on the hilt she was carrying, shifting its blade shape from a straight longsword into a downward edged dagger. Her other sword shifted as well, gaining the long curve of a katana as she ran in close, slicing the blinded bioroid from its nonexistent groin to its armored pectorals. Orange fluid sprayed.

Counter closed in, flickering in and out of view as her cloak switched frequencies to evade their detection, throwing off their aim. Magplates engaging on her boots, she shifted left, running up the wall beside her as her bow shifted into a curved blade of energy she’d only need for a split second...long enough to slash out the other eye of the half-blinded bioroid she’d targeted initially. Landing, she pumped more of her energy reserves into the blade, extending it and enhancing the heat of the edge. Her limited materialization powers couldn’t hold that shape for long, but it was long enough as she whirled in a circle, the blade taking the ankles out from under three of the bioroids just as Gauche leapt over her initial target, the red leader’s heavier plasma beam boiling through it to chase her and punching through a wall past that, going deeper into the facility.

Five left.

Gauche whirled in place, the bioroid lurching back to avoid her and losing its bottom jaw in the process. Counter didn’t even bother forming the bow she used to focus her aim, instinct taking over as she snapped off a shot, taking it in the roof of its mouth, punching through deep into its skull.

Four.

Gauche used the suddenly poleaxed bioroid as a platform, jumping over its collapsing body to slice at another which darted out of the way rather than give her a clear target. It lost several fingers and a chunk of its palm in the process as Gauche tried to adjust her aim. An explosive bolt from Counter threw another’s aim off, the blue particle beam punching through the ceiling above.

Another snapped out a pair of bayonets over its wrist as it slashed at her, Counter’s cloak taking a pair of vertical rents and ruining its stealth capability as the finely tuned garment’s projectors were damaged. Counter turned around, peppering the thing’s face with shots as Gauche forced another to backpedal lest it lose a leg. Counter jumped to the side as the air around her heated a few seconds ahead of the lead bioroid’s heat cannon incinerating where she’d just been standing. Gauche took a quick slice at it’s arm, only for the beast to absently raise an armored forearm, blocking the blow. Counter ran behind another of the smaller machines, ducking under a floor shattering punch while Gauche backflipped, a Crey mini-submarine rapidly gaining a gaping hole in its center as the water behind it flash-evaporated.

However, the thickness of the red bioroid’s armor gave Counter an idea. Slowing, she let one of the blue ones draw a bead on her, opening fire a second later... as she ducked behind the red commander. The particle beam scoured a hole in the monster’s armor, though not deep enough to significantly impair it. The machines backed up as they detected the likely plan of action of the two women. Counter ducked around another punch as she snapped a shot off, pinging one of the blue machines in eye. Gauche was there this time, and as Counter ran as fast as she could to avoid the red machine’s follow up shot at her, the yellow Sabre bounded forward, putting her longer blade through the bioroid’s chest. A shot from another bioroid forced her into a vertical leap, slicing the blade up and out , bisecting the upper half of the machine’s torso.

Three

Counter unloaded as many shots at one as she could, distracting it as bolts hit it repeatedly, leaving dings and gouges in its armor. Gauche ran in close, leaving deep rents in the armor before she leapt over another particle beam strike and jammed her long blade through the bioroid’s throat. Twisting, she pushed off, taking the bioroid’s head off as she did.

Two

The red commander began to charge up its weapon before it flinched back from a blast from Counter, it’s aim thrown off. The final blue bioroid had about five seconds to react before a large burning hole carved through the left side of its torso. Groaning metal echoed through the hangar as the machine collapsed to one side around the former location of a majority of its mass.

One

< Henry Jackman - X:Men: First Class Soundtrack - Sub Lift >

The red beast roared in frustration as it charged after Gauche, slamming a piece of mooring machinery aside while the yellow Sabre darted out of range. Counter leaped on top of another minisub to bounce an explosive bolt of the commander’s back before jumping again as it opened its arm, a trio of particle beam cannons riddling the sub with holes.

Gauche jumped up to slash at it, the machine pulling its exposed arm out of the way as she did, while Counter ricocheted a shot off the nearby wall into its face. The monster, blinded, lashed out savagely, but Counter was already moving. Jumping up and over the wreckage thrown its way, she ripped her own optical cloak off her shoulders, wrapping it around the red bioroid’s face. It turned, the cloak already sizzling as the cannon burned through it, but the temporary loss of vision was all that Counter needed, as she was out of its path of fire and the commander had no idea which way to pivot the blast. A single bolt shot through the cloak, hitting the heat cannon and scrapping it as the last of the cloak burned away, the bioroid resorting to tearing it off with its bare hands...and looking up as it felt a shadow descending on it from above.

Gauche came down on it, blades back in longsword configuration as she jammped both of them down the bioroid’s throat through the wreckage of the heat cannon. Orange liquid spouted out of the machine’s mouth before Gauche let her momentum pull her down its front, cutting the machine’s entire front armor plate open from the inside out and coating her in its artificial nutrient fluids. With a sickening gurgle, the machine staggered a step forward as Gauche ripped her blades out and turned, stabbing expertly into the cut she’d just made to drive both blades, point first, out its back. Wires sparked and sizzled as smoke emerged from where she’d hit its main power core. Withdrawing them, she jumped back as the shuddering heap that had seconds ago been a powerful combat machine fell face forward in a puddle of its own artificial blood.

“Well done.”

Counter whirled at the unexpected voice at the same time as Gauche, but it was already too slow to get out of the way. Air rippled between her and the silver-haired man that had just entered the hangar. She felt her ribs compress and snap as an invisible truck slammed into her chest, propelling her across the room into a nearby wall.

Gauche was about to leap at him when Largo glanced in the direction of several of the bioroid corpses she was standing about. There were a series of shrill beeps as the intact power cores remotely set themselves to overload and exploded around her, giving her no way to dodge.

***

When the dust settled, Largo looked over the wrecked hangar. Both of the Sabres seemed to still be alive, despite the damage he’d just inflicted, which was just as well. The suits could be useful replacement parts. He glanced behind to the pair of bioroid guards just walking in. “Remove the armor and throw them into the holding cells. We can’t afford to fall behind schedule.”

“Yes, Master Largo.”

***
Last edited by OpMegs on 22 Aug 2011 04:28, edited 1 time in total.
---

"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

Terrenceknight · 08-22-2011, 04:04 PM

This seems to be another epic fic in the making OM, keep it up Smile

OpMegs · 10-20-2011, 08:02 PM

*** Chapter 3 ***

The seemingly endless ocean shimmered far below, stretching out of sight beyond the horizon and reflecting the blazing sun in glittering sparkles. There were no clouds in the sky. If it wasn't for the air conditioning thoughtfully provided by the jetliner, Sylia reflected, they'd be roasting like sausages in an oven.
Instead, she was cool and comfortable, cradled in the decadent upholstery of the First Class section. Priss sat to her right, carefully avoiding looking out the window; while her lover was unquestionably brave, Sylia knew, she also was uncomfortable with heights. It was one of her quirks, something that Sylia loved her for, rather than in spite of.
The hostess came by, offering fresh drinks with quiet courtesy; Priss accepted a refill while Sylia demurred. Their section was nearly silent, as it had been most of the trip. The sole other passenger in First Class, a cheerfully hung-over businessman from Germany, if Sylia placed the accent correctly, was two rows ahead and against the window on the other side, and had achieved unconsciousness shortly after the flight took off.
"Long flight," Priss commented, toying with her drink. Ice clinked in her glass.
Sylia regarded her, smiling, and nodded. "Almost over, though."
Priss inhaled deeply, as if to say something, then scowled and drummed the fingers of her free hand on her armrest.
Sylia bit back her laugh and covered Priss's hand with her own. "Relax," she said. "The wings won't fall off, and even if they did, my carryon has an emergency suit in it."
Priss narrowed her eyes and glared. "Not funny," she groused.
Sylia patted her hand.
"Besides," Priss continued, now that the ice had been broken, "that wasn't what I was thinking about."
"I know," Sylia replied softly. "I know, Priss. And... I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say, what else I can say." As if to punctuate her words, the plane lurched slightly as it passed through a pocket of minor turbulence. "I should have seen it. I should have known."
"Don't," Priss said, her hand gripping Sylia's. "Don't you ever fucking apologize to me for who you are, dammit." Sylia blinked as Priss's eyes bored into her own from mere inches away. "I'm not mad at you, Sylia. I don't think I ever was." Priss bit her lip and looked away. Sylia opened her mouth to respond, but Priss wasn't finished.
"I was scared, okay?" Priss grimaced. "You went away without me and then when you came back, it was like you weren't really there. Like you didn't really come back after all, and I was just dreaming. And I realized something. You don't need me. Not... not the way I need you."
"Oh, Priss--" Sylia began, but the singer put a finger to her lips.
"Shut up a minute and let me say this, before this damn buma liver thing processes all that alcohol and I clam up again." Priss shook her head irritably, and Sylia realized for the first time that Priss's refills counted easily in the double digits.
"You don't need me," Priss repeated. "And when you get right down to it, I don't need you. I'll survive. But it won't be living, not the way I want it to be. You've shown me what I was missing, and if I didn't love you for it I'd be really pissed off." She shrugged. "But I do, and I'm not, and that's all there is to it."
Priss paused long enough to slam down the last of the drink she was holding, shuddered, and locked her gaze on Sylia again. "The bitch of it is, Nene was right," she said. "I was not being me. I was so scared I'd lost you that I was pretending nothing was wrong. As if doing that would suddenly make it all better. Like a stupid teenager." Priss snorted. "Oh, now that I've had time to think about it, I'm not pissed at you. Well, not much. I'm pissed at me."
Priss let go of Sylia's hand long enough to run her fingers through her hair. "I hate feeling stupid. You make me feel dumb all the time, you know that?"
"I what?" Sylia stared, stricken.
Priss sighed. "You're the brains, I'm the brawn. We both know that. And I'm not saying I'm actually stupid. It's just... look, if we were discussing food, or motorcycles, or how Hendrix wasn't really all that good, but had enough skill and stage presence to make everyone think he was that good, I'd run rings around you. Fact." Priss shrugged again. "But when we talk about tactics, or suit maintenance, or what the level three diagnostics (whatever the hell those are) have to say, at best I can grunt in the right spots and wipe the drool off my chin." Priss cracked a crooked grin. "'S'okay, I'm used to it. Doesn't bother me anymore. But this... this bugged me, because both of us shoulda been smarter about it."
She rotated her head on her shoulders. Sylia recognized it for what it was -- the same habit Priss had before she charged into a fight.
"Water under the bridge, though," Priss continued. "Over with, right? Right. All we can do is make sure it doesn't happen again." She smiled, a dark, ferocious grin that suddenly had Sylia wondering what the singer had in mind. "So here it is. I'm not going to let you go off by yourself again. That's it. Simple. Direct. Just the way I like it."
Sylia blinked. "You're right. That IS simple." Smiling, she leaned forward, putting her lips closer to Priss's. "Now why didn't I think of that?"
"Hm. Too much high-powered thinking going on, I bet," Priss replied. "That's why you need me, to pull your genius back down to earth."
"My hero," Sylia whispered. Priss closed the distance between them; their lips met. Sylia found herself suddenly wondering about the feasibility of joining the mile-high club. And then--
"This is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts and return all tray tables to their upright positions. We're on final approach to Panau International Airport. Local time is three thirty-seven P.M., and it's a balmy twenty-eight degrees outside. Please have your passports ready for customs."
***

In Paragon City, the sound of gunfire was depressingly common, especially in places like Kings Row. Most of the time, people didn’t even bother calling the police any more. But when particle weapons blew the side off an abandoned warehouse to reveal dozens of cutting edge war machines, even Paragon citizens paid attention.
Last time the Praetorian Clockwork had appeared in Kings Row, they had mostly avoided any civilians that didn’t attempt to fight back, focusing mostly on costumed heroes, police and military, and general property damage. These ones were much more aggressive, firing on anything that they saw. They were also much less coordinated, swarming up along King Garment Works like a mob, but never even bothering to turn towards Freedom Plaza.
The lead elements of this mob were climbing over a pile of burning shipping crates when a salvo of gunfire tore at them. Where the bullets hit, ice began to form, freezing up joints and shorting out circuitry. Their charge briefly halted, the Clockwork at the front of the mob began searching for a target, soon locking onto a figure in blue power armor as it darted overhead with a boost of jump jets. Several of the machines, voices distorted even more then normal by whatever had made them abandon their hiding place, managed to match the figure to one in their database of Powers Division personnel. “A-AGGRESSOR IDENTIFIED: BOLVERK SABRE.”
For her part, Noel didn’t reply verbally, instead raising a pair of massive hand cannons and opening fire again. A fine mist formed around her weapons, following a trail to her target, a Heavy Clockwork in the center of the group. The temperature plummeted and the wind picked up around it, a miniature snow storm appearing around the androids. “CAUTION REEEECOMENNN - AGRESSSSS-” The voices vanished into static as the Clockwork fired wildly on Bolverk, particle beams chewing apart nothing but rooftop tiles as she booster-jumped away. She was landing behind a parked car as the drones vocal systems managed actual words again, just in time to finish their statement with a single word; “TREASON.”
Flinching slightly as their unknowing accusation hit her, the young heroine readied her pistols. “Just Clockwork. Easily done,” she reassured herself, just before another Knight Sabre joined the fight, sprinting past the car and leaping towards her first target, tearing into a Dismantler with two brutal looking curved blades. The Clockwork screeched, stumbling back as the pink-haired teenager spun, hamstringing two more.
“Just like they teach you,” she smirked, then staggered as a particle beam clipped her.
“Justice!” Bolverk called out as the girl rolled with the blow, sliding across the gravel, and came up swinging, carving into another Clockwork foolish enough to get too close.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine!” she replied, a faint burn vanishing from her cheek even as she cut her current targets arm off at the elbow. The machine transformed its right arm to plasma cannon mode and tried to take aim, but Bolverk was faster, firing a precise shot that shattered the machines head. “Like I said before,” the girl added as Bolverk stepped out from behind cover, firing both her hand cannons into the mob, “I’m not that durable, but I can put myself back together fast.”
Over the next few minutes, the two young women tore apart the front of the mob, Noel using her cryokinesis to freeze and blind her targets, Ayaka diving into brawls with faith in her sword skills and regenerative abilities. The resulting noise and violence drew the attention of most of the Clockwork, doing a remarkable job of confining the Praetorian machines to an area that had already been evacuated. Any androids that failed to go to the bright, loud target didn’t last long, with several other heroes watching the perimeter and picking off anything wandering off.
“You know, there’s something about mindless killer robots,” Justice commented, before booster-dashing across the street, ending in a crouch on the other side of a trio of now bisected Clockwork. “No holding back, no lives but your own to worry about, just good, clean fun.”
“You have a rather interesting definition of fun, Miss Sayjou,” Bolverk replied as she emptied a clip into another set of drones that had gotten too close. Although she had to admit, she was enjoying the sensation of a good workout.
Justice sighed, shaking her head. “You don’t need to be so formal. I told you before, call me-” the sudden shriek of rending metal caught her attention. The top of a shipping container arced through the air like a giant, demented boomerang. Justice leaped to the side, but not quite fast enough, feeling a painful crunch in her abdomen as her breath rushed out of her from the edge of the lid clipping her at just about stomach height.
Noel’s HUD lit up with an alarm as she boost jumped over the next piece of flying rubble: the shipping container that the lid had come from. Tracing the trajectory back, she felt a cold sweat break out on her back as her HUD quickly identified the source: three War Walkers, which had apparently activated in one of the many piles of massive scrap that had once been portal generators during the initial attack on King’s Row during the opening shots of the Praetorian War.
The three units engaged their own boosters, sending all three towards the two Sabres in a single jet-assisted bound. Pavement shattered and the entire neighborhood shook as all three landed simultaneously, bringing up arm-cannons that Noel’s mind dispassionately identified as having nearly twice the yield of anything else in the Warworks arsenal.
Underneath the training and social awkwardness, Noel was really an observant girl, and so it was that she had the precise words that applied in this particular situation, having heard them from a variety of sources over her short life.
“...oh shit.”
***

“You know, I must admit to some slight irritation,” the silver haired man said as he crossed his hands behind him, looking over the two women currently shackled to the wall. “I had hoped that my shock troopers would have been more effective. That said, at least one of you is at the far end of the skill spectrum, so I suppose that miscalculations do happen,” Largo admitted.
Kuro resisted the urge to grimace at the slight. Her own skills were only marginally developed by the necessity of relying on herself for repairs: high risk missions that would give her a proper workout were by extension dangerous in terms of damage to her equipment... damage she was ill-equipped to rectify without help she couldn’t ask for. It would’ve raised too many questions about why her powers and her registered abilities had so many... differences.
“Still, I hadn’t planned on relying on brute force alone,” Largo said. “Numbers also play a factor into my plans. As you know, I imagine, given the data you accessed. Really, did you think you’d go unnoticed, rummaging about in my network like that?”
While Gauche just glared impotently at their captor, Kuro abruptly paled as the meaning of the words sank in. Largo laughed. “Yes, you do understand, don’t you?” He tapped the side of his head meaningfully. “There was nothing in that network you could have done without my knowing. That said, your futile attempts have given me someone who can appreciate the scope of what I’m about to do,” he chuckled. “So, what’ll it be? I’m insane? I’ll never get away with it? The heroes will stop me?”
A wet splat interrupted him as Kuro managed to hack up a bloody blob of saliva, which almost landed on the villain’s shoes. Privately, she blamed the tearing pain from somewhere lower in her chest for throwing off her aim at the last second.
Largo gave her a mildly irritated look. “Defiance, as expected. But at least you could be a little more sanitary about it.”
“Sorry to disappoint. I’m a little distracted,” Kuro said, as beside her, Gauche began to giggle, before breaking out into uncontrollable laughter.
Largo’s attentions quickly focused on the blonde as she continued to laugh. “I must express considerable curiosity at what’s so funny in your current state.”
Gauche reined in her laughter, giving the villain a smirking glance that was somewhat pitying and predatory at the same time. “Why should we worry? You’re already dead. You captured us alive because you felt the need to gloat to someone about your “unbeatable” plan. If you’re that wrapped up in your own superiority and need for acknowledgement, we don’t need to do a thing. You’ll screw yourself over long before anything we could do. You’re pathetic.”
Kuro blinked through pained confusion as she looked over at her cellmate, before cringing as she looked back at Largo and noticed actual anger on the man’s face for the first time. He began to raise his hand...but stopped rather than continue through. His face smoothed itself, regaining its composure as mismatched eyes centered on the two women. “Clever...but if you’re hoping to set off some failsafe in case your vitals deactivate, I’m going to have to disappoint you,” he said, stepping back. “Besides, if I did that, you’d miss the pleasure of watching your partner here die slowly from the internal damage she sustained during capture.”
Kuro saw Gauche’s head whip towards her at that line, even as she found herself go slightly cold at Largo’s confirmation of what she’d suspected already. Largo’s smirk returned as the villain took in their reactions. “It’s quite certain, really. I’ve probably the most extensive knowledge of your construction of anyone on this planet. After all, I’m the only one who still retains the knowledge of what Crey was working with when they blindly stumbled about trying to replicate my work.”
Kuro stared at him openly at that comment. As much information as she’d been able to find had always portrayed the initial four Sabres as being something recovered from offworld. For Largo to be claiming credit for their construction...
“Indeed, I’ve something of a personal knowledge of what it takes to cause one of you to... cease function,” he chuckled. “I almost wish my timetable could accommodate watching you expire. It’d be interesting to see how you’d react. Peacefully passing away is hardly the style of any of you, but there’s nothing in this cell for you to use to repair yourself... aside from your friend,” he said, glancing at Gauche.
Kuro’s mind began racing at that comment, but she shut it down. Largo wouldn’t have suggested it if it wasn’t already anticipated... which meant that it’d be useless. She just glared at him instead.
Largo shook his head. “It’s always interesting to see what few points you self-styled vigilantes seem to hold desperately to in order to tell yourself you’re better than the things you fight. Still, we’ll see how long that holds up as death comes calling. In the meantime, I have an appointment,” he said, turning away. “Good day, ladies.”
With a dull thud, the cell’s security door settled back into place and sealed, leaving the two alone in the dark again.
***

Priss slid the glass aside and exited onto the balcony, where Sylia stood framed by the setting sun, her hair gently swaying in the breeze. She came up behind the other woman and wrapped her arms around her, resting her chin on Sylia's shoulder. The two of them looked out over the beach of white sand and black rocks, to the deep blue of the ocean, dotted here and there with fishing ships and speedboats.
"Hey," Priss said quietly.
Sylia smiled and turned her head slightly. "Hello."
"So when are we going out?"
Sylia blinked. "I -- what?"
Priss squeezed her lover a bit more tightly and grinned. "I know you. You're standing out here enjoying the sun and the breeze and watching the boats and patiently waiting for the right time to get to work."
Sylia chuckled. "You're too perceptive sometimes, you know that?"
"I know."
Sylia turned halfway, getting her arm around Priss's waist, and sighed. "In about an hour," she admitted. "Our contact is supposed to meet us outside a local club."
"What's the deal with this place, anyway?" Priss asked, looking over the railing and down the side of the hotel. They'd obtained a room on the twentieth floor, just four floors shy of the top and called a suite on the brochures. As rooms went, Priss supposed it wasn't bad; but then, she'd lived in a trailer in the Hollows before getting together with Sylia, so what did she know?
"You didn't read Nene's file."
Priss snorted by way of response.
"Panau is an independent and rapidly developing nation," Sylia said in the precise tones she always acquired when delivering a briefing. "As these go, it was fairly typical. The government used to be peaceful and friendly to outside interests, until the current leader -- Pandak Panay -- showed up. He's the son of the former president and the rumor is that he killed his father to gain power. He's declared himself dictator and cut diplomatic relations with most foreign powers. Panau's sole legal export of note is oil, from massive deposits discovered here during the war, so there are a lot of foreign interests." Sylia shrugged. "In addition, there's a thriving drug trade, and at least three different factions who all claim to be the rightful rulers, but Panay controls the military. They're all trying to keep it from outright war because they depend on tourism." She turned to Priss. "What name did Nene put on your passport?"
Priss blinked at the sudden topic change. "Testarossa. Her idea of a joke, I guess."
"Hm. Yes, that does sound like her." Sylia nodded. "In any event, it's a good thing she did. Japan invaded Panau at one point, and there's a lot of hostility still. Your usual name might have made things difficult."
Priss grunted. "Yeah, maybe a little." She frowned. "Okay, I get it's a big explosion waiting to happen. So what are we doing here?"
"Besides taking a vacation?"
"Oh, we'll be taking a vacation," Priss said firmly. "I plan on seeing you in a bikini on that sand down there tomorrow morning."
"Panay's forces have suddenly become much more effective," Sylia replied, flushing lightly at Priss's jab. "And intelligence operatives have vanished -- from all sides. The entire island, practically overnight, seems to have been purged."
"Arachnos? Or Crey?" Priss wondered. Sylia shook her head.
"No." She smiled crookedly. "My contacts were, ah, just as surprised as we were."
"That still doesn't explain why we're here," Priss pressed on doggedly. "You. Me. The Sabres. What's our connection?"
Sylia was silent for a long while. Sensing her mood, Priss waited patiently.
"A burst of telemetry from an Arachnos power armor suit was intercepted by a Tsoo listening post," Sylia finally said. "They didn't know what they had, so they passed it up the chain. A strike team from Ms. Chang's group stumbled across it while conducting operations in Independence Port." Sylia's distaste was evident.
"Our liaison," Sylia continued, making Priss chuckle -- the Sabre leader was almost painfully uptight about maintaining Irene's cover -- "our liaison with said group spotted something familiar in the visual data feed and forwarded me a copy." Sylia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then reached into the pocket of her tailored slacks and produced a printout. Priss glanced at it and sucked in a sharp breath.
It was a still-frame captured from the viewpoint of a helmet camera, grainy and blurred by motion, but easily recognizable and intimately familiar to both women for all of that. Blue armor on a humanoid frame, with glowing red eyes; two of them were in the shot, though one was in the process of exploding as the distinctive red of Arachnos energy bolts tore through it.
"Are those...?"
"Yes," Sylia replied.
Priss forced her hand to unclench and noted with what she thought was admirable calm the crushed section of balcony railing left behind. "This is bad, Sylia."
"It might not be," Sylia cautioned. "Nene ran some analysis on it and there are many differences between these and... buma. And we know that parallels exist between here and MegaTokyo anyway."
"I guess so..." Priss replied doubtfully.
"We'll just have to make contact and see."
***

In many ways, Noel was more familiar with the War Walkers than most Paragonians. She was native to the dimension from which they came, and had assisted Silicon and Interrogator Kang in acquiring substantial data on the entire Warworks project to broadcast about Praetoria in an attempt to weaken support for the war on Primal Earth. However, her experience was intellectual at best. The War Walkers she’d seen had been silent statues sitting in construction lines. Their armaments and capabilities had been words on a dataslate rather than reality.
But as the three Walkers pivoted towards Justice, arm-mounted cannons beginning to hum ominously, something in the back of Noel’s brain clicked. The binary fight-or-flight decision that she’d seized up on shifted in one direction as her body remembered the training she’d undergone and both her pistols came up...only to aim at where Justice was staggering to her feet. A pair of bolts shot out, hitting Justice in the back before the cold around them spread and swelled, freezing around the pink haired girl in a rapidly expanding layer of ice that shifted with the smaller Sabre’s movements. A few seconds later, the armor was abruptly tested as all three War Walkers fired.
With a pained yell, Justice was thrown down the street, ice and armor fragments trailing along behind her, coming to a stop nearly thirty feet from where she started, but the Praetorian girl’s quick thinking had saved her from almost certain death. Landing next to her, Noel knelt down, wincing behind her helmet at the unnatural angle that Justice’s left arm was bent, but the injured girl just seemed rather irritated. “What the heck just shot me?” she demanded. “That really... oh. Ah... Oh dear,” she finished as the War Walkers moved in closer.
“Come on,” Noel said insistently, pulling the smaller girl up by her good arm. “We need to move!”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Justice agreed. “Wow. They’re bigger then the Vanguard trainers said they are,” she added, looking up at the War Walkers as they took aim again.
Just before Noel could fire her boosters and hope Ayaka wouldn’t throw her off course too much, a tall figure seemed to just appear between them and the giant mechs. Then the world exploded into a storm of light and noise, the particle cannon fire splashing off the woman in front of them, tearing apart their surroundings but leaving them unharmed.
When the smoke cleared, Noel stared in surprise as the woman who she’d been assigned to train under lowered her left arm from the defensive pose she’d assumed, the emitters on the Vanguard shield she carried humming ever so slightly from the strain. As the sword hilt in her in her right hand powered up, generating a gleaming blue blade of light, Neko Romanova walked slowly towards the three mechs.
“Here we go,” Purrfect Shield said calmly, and then she seemed to teleport again, slamming her shield into the face of the lead War Walker so hard the machine actually staggered back. Balancing herself on the Walker’s shoulder, she stabbed her blade down into the joint, seeking out the hydraulics. Something inside groaned and let out a small cloud of smoke as the arm went limp, and then one of the other machines swung a clumsy metal fist at her. The woman took the blow on her shield, but was still knocked into the air and away from the trio.
“Girls, put some distance between you and them,” she ordered, landing in a crouch. “I’ll deal with this.”
Not being the sort of girl that disobeyed orders anyway, Noel finished pulling Ayaka to her feet and helped her limp away. “I think I’m bleeding internally,” the pink-haired girl commented, leaning against the other Sabre. “I hate when that happens. Leaves me stiff for days.”
Noel’s eyes widened behind her helmet, staring at Justice in disbelief. “You’re very casual about that,” she managed after a moment.
“I’m a regenerator,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “It’s what I do. It can be annoying. So,” she continued much more cheerfully. “Those are War Walkers. Big things. Mean guns too.”
“They’re made to match the most powerful superhumans known,” the other girl said. “Can... do you think your teacher will be alright?”
Justice waved her hand again. “Don’t worry. She’s a veteran.Taken on things a lot meaner then those war mechs too. She’ll be fine!” Both girls were so focused on putting some distance between them and a fight that had suddenly moved well out of their weight class, they didn’t really notice the explosions behind them. They also didn’t notice Neko, now smoking slightly, skid back down the street as two of the War Walkers opened fire on them again.
Regaining her balance, the catwoman glared at the three mechs. The one she’d been targeting was now missing a cannon, and had a limp to go with its damaged shoulder, but it was still more then capable of fighting back, and that still left the other two. She’d never been too fond of admitting when she was outmatched, but right now, she had to admit the reports were accurate. The IDF had designed even the standard War Walkers with enough weapons, armor and strength to allow them to go one-on-one with even Incarnates. She could take one of them and win, although she’d be hurting a bit. Three of them at once? She’d do some damage, but very soon she’d be reduced to a red smear on the sidewalk.
The lead War Walker seemed to pause, before it reached down, ripping a chunk of asphalt broken loose and turning. Neko glanced to one side just in time to see a small group of people who’d somehow gotten caught up in the chaos of the battle when she hadn’t been looking. Neko broke into a sprint a second later, instinct telling her a second before it happened exactly what the War Walker’s target was. Spinning in place, Neko barely managed to brace herself in time to catch the piece of rubble, concrete cracking beneath her feet for the split second of impact as she pushed, deflecting the impromptu projectile up and over the trio of people behind her. She let out a breath as the rubble bounced along the street behind her, before coming to a stop safely... then promptly stiffened as a massive shape abruptly cast her in shadow.
In a handful of seconds, several things happened.
Neko realized that the reports had understated the level of tactical acumen the War Walkers possessed if one of them had successfully baited her this badly out of position, while the War Walker’s fist began its ponderous yet impossibly fast descent. Neko began to raise her shield to try to ward off the blow even as she tensed for the bone-shattering impact about to happen, only for a man from the group behind her to step around her. Neko began to yell for him to stand back, before he simply put a hand forward... and caught the War Walker’s fist as simply as someone reaching out to deflect a beach ball lobbed at their face. Concrete shattered under his feet, but the man failed to notice, even as Neko finally had a moment to identify the facial features she’d been too hurried to notice before. The War Walker actually stopped for half a second as core-deep programming stuttered over the person now preventing it from attacking.
Marcus Cole glanced over his shoulder at Neko. “Do you mind?”
Neko gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Be my guest.”
That short exchange over with, Marcus shoved the armored fist aside and out of his way, and shot forward to deliver an echoing uppercut to the chin of the multi-story war machine, sending it briefly into the air before it toppled backwards onto the already abused street, the sound of armor plate hitting asphalt echoing outwards as the ground shook for the second time with the impact of several tons of War Walker.
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” one of the two people still behind Neko, a black haired woman with waist length straight hair, a turtleneck sweater, and baggy black jeans asked her companion, a slim blonde in a t-shirt and shorts who was already pulling a belt and scabbard out of her backpack and buckling it on.
“More often than you’d think, unfortunately,” Megan Duncan said, even as she slipped a mask around her eyes. The dark haired girl chuckled, even as green fire flickered about her hands, a series of runes tracing themselves before the pavement ripped open again, a series of hissing inhuman shapes crawling out of the rent in the earth.
Neko shook her head slightly. “You don’t have to ruin your day off, you know. I had it handled,” she said with chuckle.
“Sure you did, Neko,” Ms. Liberty said with a grin, before darting in as a crack of thunder announced Statesman’s second punch connecting with the downed Walker as the other two began opening fire, their brief lockup at targeting Marcus Cole solved for them by his changing into costume. Statesman was most definitely a threat they recognized.
“Desdemona, am I right?” Neko said, glancing at the dark haired woman next to her. Desdemona nodded, a hint of hesitance in her eyes. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard good things,” Neko continued. “If you don’t mind, a couple of my students were dealing with some less dangerous Clockwork until these things woke up. Could you check on them for me? Assuming your demons don’t need you here to assist,” she said, even as one of the larger hellspawn crawled onto the Walker now slowly pushing itself to its feet, brimstone laden fire spraying into the machine’s optics from its skeletal maw.
“No, I can do that,” Desdemona said, seeming relieved about something, before heading in the direction that Neko pointed out to her.
The catwoman looked back to the chaos erupting as Statesman, Liberty, and the demons continued to batter at the first War Walker, which was beginning to show signs of strain. She smiled, even as the other two moved in to support their battered companion. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much after all.
***

Ah, Panau at night, reflected Priss. I've never been here before but it still feels like home.
The international melting pot that was Panau City pressed in around them. They stood on a street corner, backlit by garish neon and bare incandescent bulbs dangling like Christmas lights from awnings. The air was balmy, with an occasional cool breeze, and only served as a backdrop for the incessant hum of motor traffic drifting by. Priss gnawed absently on the fried-something-on-a-stick she'd acquired from one of the innumerable street vendors and watched Sylia watch traffic go by.
"Is he late?" she said finally, removing the well-worn stick and regarding it critically for any remaining tasty bits.
"Marginally," Sylia replied. A passing car slowed, the driver waving currency through the open window; Sylia ignored him until he sped up again and drove away.
"At least we've got fireworks," Priss said philosophically, jerking her chin at the flashes of light and sound over the city's business district. She blinked and looked again. Those were certainly impressive fireworks, especially since she wasn't aware of any particular holiday Panau was celebrating today...
The top three floors of a downtown skyscraper vanished in an incandescent fireball, and Priss revised her estimate of the situation very rapidly.
"Remember, Priss, without our suits we're not nearly as tough," Sylia said from her side, and Priss realized she'd instinctively dropped into a half-crouch, preparing to leap into the fight. She rose and straightened her miniskirt and halter-top combo, grimacing.
At the end of the street, a military jeep skidded sideways around the corner, blue light whirling, and gunned its engine for all it was worth. Behind it a motorcycle rounded the same corner, then suddenly flipped end for end as its unfortunate rider was ejected. The soldier screamed as he flew out of sight.
The jeep screeched and shuddered to a halt next to them, and a swarthy, stocky, well-built Latino man stood, one foot on the running board. "You the Sabres?" he called out in a friendly fashion.
Priss and Sylia exchanged a look. "Scorpion?" Sylia responded, a little dubiously.
"That's me," the newcomer replied. "Get in, chicas. Gonna be noisy here real soon."
"I'll drive," Sylia said as Priss climbed into the passenger seat. Scorpion shrugged and vaulted into the back, crouching against the roll bar.
"Punch it already!" he exclaimed. "We got choppers incoming!"
"Choppers?" Priss inquired, craning her head to look at their passenger as they peeled out away from the curb..
Scorpion shrugged. "They don' like me much right now."
***

"This ain't about oil," Scorpion said dismissively, waving his bottle of beer by way of emphasis.
It was some time later. Priss sat on a folding lawn chair, her feet resting on a fifty-gallon oil drum lying on its side. Beside her, Sylia perched comfortably on an ancient Army camp cot, leaning back against the wall of the shipping container Scorpion called home at the moment.
The escape from Panau's military had been … interesting. Between Sylia's driving skills, Priss's willingness to engage in fisticuffs, and the truly bizarre antics of their host, they'd managed to cross half the island and destroyed more property than Priss had believed possible. Now, they were holed up in dense jungle.
In a shipping container. With cheap beer resting on ice in a styrofoam cooler.
Priss had to admit, it was somewhat... nostalgic.
"There's a new player on the scene," Scorpion continued. "Dunno who he is, dunno what he's got in mind. But he's cozy with Baby and the Panau military has been vanishing all the other players all over the place." He gulped down the last and chucked the bottle into a bin in the corner.
"What does that have to do with this?" Sylia asked, skimming the photo she'd shown Priss earlier across to Scorpion, who caught it and scanned it quickly.
"Ah, yeah. Those." He grimaced. "I was around for this. Arachnos cadre, tryin' to train up the natives. Usual routine. Then it all went to hell." He nodded at the picture. "This poor sap got nailed by Zeus."
"Say what?" Priss blinked.
"Lightning. Least, looked like lightning. Crackling blue and white death from above, pow!" Scorpion smashed a fist into his palm. "Just came outta nowhere and smashed his getaway flyer. Burnt out my satphone from three klicks out, too. Never seen anything like it."
Priss and Sylia exchanged a look. Scorpion glanced back and forth between them.
"You chicas know something."
"Can you tell us where he is?" Sylia leaned forward.
Scorpion nodded slowly. "Yeah. He's with Baby Panay. He's always with Baby."
"Show us."
***

As far as things went, Kuro honestly didn’t think she’d ever had a situation quite this bad. Imprisoned by a villain? She’d been born in Crey confinement. Stuck in a prison cell without access to her armor? Anyone who made the mistake of assuming she was a helpless norm was in for a nasty surprise if they got close.
Unfortunately, most of those situations hadn’t also happened while she was bleeding to death internally. Kuro supposed this might be making her a little testy. Which was probably why she snapped when Gauche asked how she was.
“How do you think I’m doing?! I’m bleeding to death in a prison cell while a megalomaniac heads to Paragon with a strike team of thousands of killer robots, with enough preparation in place to let him topple an entire section of the city. Plus he’s got orbital support and who knows what else I didn’t get to see before he found us. But I can’t get word out because I didn’t do the smart thing and jump into the ocean when I had the chance. Sticking around to save you when it’s clear you’ve got a death wish is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, especially since you would’ve wrapped up all my problems if you’d died anyway,” she spat.
Gauche glared at her from her position, her face angering in an instant. “Oh, would that be so convenient for you? I asked for your help with this. I didn’t put a gun to your head to force you to do this! You didn’t have to if you didn’t want any 'problems' to deal with!”
“No, I did, because no one else would,” Kuro growled back. “You’re everyone’s problem. I’ve seen the records. More fatalities during arrests than anyone else in the Sabres. Probability estimation suggests you’re going looking for Crey to kill off. And I saw your file before you told me your story. You got out, but none of your friends did. And so now you’re one of two things. A mad dog cutting up Crey until they put you down, or someone wanting anyone to put her out of her misery so she can join the dead, because she doesn’t think there’s any point in staying living. The only reason I took this mission is because the one you say killed your friends sounded like a dangerously competent member of Crey, and so eliminating him weakened them. And because maybe you’d get your wish in the process, and save us all a lot of hassle!”
“So what if I want revenge?” Gauche asked, glaring at the other woman. “Like that’s such a big deal? There’s plenty of so-called 'heroes' that do the same thing!”
Kuro was far too injured to restrain her snort of disgust at the shallow self-justification. “But they don’t go looking for trouble. They don’t go leaving triple digit bodycounts. They don’t make themselves out to be some crazy, homicidal extremist who causes everyone else to have to bend over backwards covering for them so that people not so insane don’t have people expecting them to snap the same way! Your example is splashing shit all over everyone else in the Sabres, which is exactly what Crey wants.” She glared daggers at the blonde as she hung from the manacles holding her against the wall, the words coming out like an unstoppable flood now that she’d uncorked the dam.
“We don’t all have open identities. Most of us don’t, in fact. It’s a survival measure given what Crey could potentially do. But the only reason people accept that is because most of us help people. But you aren’t interested in helping. All you do is kill people on your way to your supposed revenge. You’re not someone people want to make exceptions for, and you’re damaging the Sabres’ reputation across Paragon with everything you do. Silicon and her command group think you may be salvageable. Oni and hers think you’re at least a usable weapon in her little crusade. But none of them have found what I did. They don’t know that you’re a time bomb ticking down. Unless someone cuts the wi-”
Kuro’s cold evaluation was cut off as a racking cough nearly doubled her over, black flecks of blood decorating the floor in front of her. “You’re a cancer who’s only concerned with your goals and your revenge, not anyone else. And I’m the only one who was willing to do what was necessary and cut you out. Except now I’ve failed. Either Largo’s beaten and you’re rescued when they find this base, or Largo wins and it doesn’t matter if he kills you or not because he’s even worse.”
Kuro barely felt the stare of her fellow prisoner as she slumped forward. “I could get out of this cell myself, but it doesn’t matter. He’s right. I’m dying already. The amount of feeding it’d take to repair this level of damage... I don’t have the strength left to take out someone well enough to get that kind of drain going. So I get a slow, lingering, painful death with you for company while the villain goes to enact a plan I could stop if I could get out of here.”
Kuro stared at the floor and the flecks of her own blood on it for a long while as the cell descended into silence. Carefully controlling her breathing, she focused on keeping the spasms of pain in her chest as much under control as she could. Maybe this mission wasn’t done yet. If she just assumed the others would survive without the intel on what was coming, maybe she could prevent the worst of the damage. Kuro hadn’t been boasting when she said she could get out of this cell alone. A small materialization could cut the shackles, and she could finish off Gauche before she died. Certainly, her own reputation would be smeared when the bodies were found, but Kuro would be dead by then and thus beyond caring.
“You could kill me, couldn’t you?”
The voice was soft yet audible in the stillness of the cell, but Kuro’s head jerked up to stare at the source of it like she’d heard a gunshot. Gauche’s eyes were downcast, but something about her face....

Kuro had been trained in reading facial cues since before she was breathing under her own power. If anything, the blonde woman looked... relieved. As if she’d finally figured out something that had been puzzling her for a long time.
“What do you mean?” Kuro asked, eyes narrowing as she examined the statement for a trap.
“You could escape those manacles, and use me to repair yourself, like he said,” Gauche said softly. “He said it because he must’ve known what you were really here to do. He expected you to react like you did... and that I’d do anything but help you after that. Even if you broke free, I’d resist, and we’d both end up dead, accomplishing nothing but fighting each other.”
“Well, he was obviously rather intelligent if he figured that out. It doesn’t make it any better,” Kuro said. Maybe if she could keep Gauche talking, the other woman wouldn’t see the strike coming. One clean shot at her head...
“Unless I let you.”
And then Kuro’s carefully arranged scenario froze mid-stride. “What?”
“You were right, really. I haven’t been doing anything with my life. The others would be disappointed in me,” Gauche said. “A day ago, I would’ve been angry at them for daring to be. I was going to avenge them, after all. I was fighting so hard just to take down the man that had been responsible for their deaths. I never considered that they hadn’t stayed behind because they wanted him dead. They probably never knew his name, or that he existed. They just wanted me to live. They died so that I could go on...and I wasted that. I could’ve thrown away the suit, lived my life, found someone and be happy...but I was too angry and hurt. I pushed away people that could’ve been friends. I broke off what could have been more than friends, because I felt it was just too hard. Hiding the pain and focusing on killing him was easier. Because then it wouldn’t matter. I’d have accomplished what I needed to, and I could just let go...”
She looked up at Kuro, and Kuro blinked at the certainty in the blonde’s eyes. “But now I understand why my friends did what they did. They did it because they knew that if they were going to die, it was going to be for a reason. To accomplish something. Just like it will be for me.”
“...what does that mean?” Kuro said, even as she felt a slight glimmer of suspicion and hope in equal measure. It didn’t make sense. This girl’s psych report was completely at odds with this. There was no way she was going to...
“Use my blood to repair yourself. You can get out of the cell and get ahold of my suit to escape here with it. If they have teleporters, you may even get to Paragon before he does,” Gauche said softly. “I won’t fight you. I just have one request for you to carry out, since you’ll owe me.”
“...what’s that?” Kuro asked, even as she felt something heavy in her chest.
“Finish what I couldn’t. And after that... don’t kill yourself by not living. There’s no life in being a machine, however well equipped for your job,” she said softly.
Kuro considered the offer, even as her mind raced over the cues, verbal, visual, and otherwise that could indicate a trap. Everything in her said that the offer was sincere. It was the perfect solution...
Why did she suddenly feel reluctance to do it? Hadn’t she been ready to do just this to deal with Gauche a moment ago? Why did she hesitate now?
Was it just because now Gauche was asking her to, instead of Kuro dealing with a violent dog that needed to be put down?
“Please. It’s okay, I’ve got people waiting for me,” Gauche said gently. “I think.”
Kuro felt something slide into place in her mind, like the cocking of a pistol as a round loaded into the chamber. “...deal.”
Light flickered into being around her hands as two small blades of short-lived energy slipped into her palms, slicing the manacles open. Kuro deftly slid her hands free as the materialization released. She couldn't afford to maintain them; she had to preserve as much of her limited energy as possible, for self-repair systems fighting a losing battle. Resisting the rising gorge in her throat that would bring about another coughing fit, Kuro grunted as she realized how weak she felt. Slowly, she crawled across the floor until she was able to lift herself up by using Gauche’s shoulders as hand holds. The blonde looked at her, before moving her head to the side and closing her eyes.
In that moment, Kuro felt what must have driven several of the rogues she’d put down to insanity. The pain in her chest burned, even as she looked at the easy solution to make the hurting stop. Gauche was sacrificing herself willingly, but would Kuro have been able to resist, had she found a passing Crey guard instead? Or if the pain was worse, anyone at all?
Artificial connections bridged as her canines extended, and Kuro bit down, programming she’d never known she’d had taking over to guide her through the process. She shut down her sense of taste as it did, not wanting to taste the hot iron of the inevitable spillover as her damaged systems cried for her to drink deep of what they needed to repair themselves. The pain in her chest eased as nanomachines received a new influx of raw material and energy to work with, rebuilding with renewed speed and energy. Her limbs felt stronger as the flow coursed through her body, renewing exhausted muscle clusters and damaged tissue. Kuro’s estimates of her own capabilities rapidly increased as the life giving liquid she drank down rejuvenated her body with every second of exposure.
But more importantly to the dark skinned woman, she kept her eyes and ears open. She saw Gauche’s face tighten slightly in initial pain, and heard the gasp that accompanied the bite. She felt the body her arms were wrapped around for support begin to sag deeper and deeper as Kuro’s systems drew out the very fluids required to sustain itself. Saw Gauche’s skin take on an unnatural pallor. Kuro knew that this was killing her as surely as the blonde had known it would when she suggested it.
After a moment’s longer, Kuro broke off, taking a deep breath as Gauche sagged against her. A quick flicker of thought brought a blade to one hand that sliced away the manacles holding the blonde, who fell even more heavily against Kuro as the darker woman supported her.
“Y-you should go...” she wheezed, no longer sounding quite so healthy. Kuro almost thought she could hear the death rattle waiting to sound behind that sickly voice. “They’ll be coming s-soon.”
“Maybe,” the dark-skinned woman said, lowering Gauche to the floor gently. “But they won’t be here for a few minutes at best.”
“S-still a risk. Why aren’t y-you going?” Gauche croaked, now exhausted beyond the ability to do much more than speak.
“So you won’t be alone, when it happens. I’ve always thought dying alone would be rather awful,” Kuro said, using her free hand to brush a fleck of blonde hair from the other woman’s face. Her earlier estimate had been accurate. Nanami truly was beautiful when her face wasn’t screwed up in a scowl of anger.
“Oh,” she said. “Y-you’d do that?”
“Yes. But hush now. I’ll take care of everything. You can rest,” Kuro said, watching as the other Sabre nodded feebly, her body relaxing.
Twelve minutes and forty seven seconds later, the grip on Kuro’s hand finally lapsed, the dark Sabre’s regular breathing the only sound intruding on her ears in the prison cell that somehow seemed colder than it had been. Carefully, Kuro rose to her feet as her mind once more wrapped itself in the steel and quicksilver of her evolving plan of action, sealing away what might have happened in those twelve minutes for a later date. She had a mission to complete.
Time to go.
***
---

"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."

10-21-2011, 08:44 AM

*reaches the end* holllly crap. that was interesting.

***Bob Schroeck*** · 10-21-2011, 03:37 PM

Whoa.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

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