Prologue
In a plane beyond the world, in a moment between seconds everything was falling apart. The war for Azeroth/Hell was ending and the stasis was collapsing. Once it failed, this world would be rewritten along with all of the multiverse. Rewritten both forward and backward in time. There was no place in the new multiverse for someone who didn't truly exist in the old one.
Only person understood this ritual. She was a master of magic and she had spent decades perfecting one spell, and even she did not know if it would work. It could only be cast as two universes were merging and only if whoever she would become had as much magic as she did. It sealed off a part of this in-between place in a bubble and slid it through as the new universe congealed. Her daughter and husband had parts in the ritual, simplified parts that novices could perform. The husband would anchor the ritual, be the unmoving point from which to reference. The daughter would need to use her talent, to be the one moving, to be between dimensions as the stasis ended.
As the ritual progressed, strange thing happened. Father became green and his body shifted. Mother became blonde with silvery armor and a sword. Kitty felt them go farther away as the ritual walled her away in a universe of one. The universe contracted and she needed to curl up to fit as the thousands of dimensions collapsed upon themselves. She was alone as her universe became four dimensions, three, two, one, zero and she shifted away into...
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Haunt
The young man peered across the alleyway. Garbage crammed against the narrow gap between walls. The Emperor of Crime in Gotham had allowed the once proud neighborhood fall to squalor. His minions served as the slumlords and union bosses, twisting this portion of the city into a filth-filled mockery of a shadow of its true promise. One day, Grayson Pryde would make Oswald Fisk pay for what he had done to Gotham.
But tonight, Haunt's eyes were on a different sort of criminal. The harbor of Gotham had seen better days. Now, shutters, broken boards, and graffiti covered many of the warehouses. One of these warehouses, long abandoned by its owners, had lights moving around where darkness should have reigned.
Grayson had discovered rumors of movement in and out of this warehouse, late-night unloading and reloading of trucks. It was time to find out what was going on....
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Quicky
It's not always easy to find an honest days work. Some days, you just have to find a job that is honest enough. Roger Stone knew that this kind of work was usually done in the daytime, but the night shift was paying him twice as much. Just load the merchandise, don't worry about what's inside, the suit told him.
The suit smelled oily, and always seemed to be sweating. Luckily, Stone didn't have to deal with him too much. And the rest of the crew seemed like decent fellows, if bit quirky. They spoke with some kind of southern european accent, maybe Italian, but not quite. They moved pretty quickly and efficiently for normals, with a precision Stone didn't usually see in union loaders.
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Fusion and Blademaster
Waller wasn't the type of woman who tolerated being kept waiting. The new base of operations was ready, and so was she. As the heroes arrived, she clucked her tongue softly before speaking. Welcome to your new home. I don't have time for the full tour. We wanted the two of you here first because you have an understanding of the way things work.
She brings you over to a monitoring station, a screen showing you and each of your teammates in action during the HIVE incursion. Turning to Blademaster, Study their moves if you haven't already. I'm sure you can find ways to encourage improvement.
To Fusion, she says Hanger's that way. Familiarize yourself with the operations of the S23 Blackjet. I have the feeing you'll be needing it soon.
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Blue Spider
Late again! Blue Spider could make his way across downtown Manhattan in less than two minutes. So why was it, then, that Peter Parker always seemed to be late for everything? The alarm hadn't gone off... well, it had been web-snoozed, so no sense blaming it. Maybe, if somehow all the stars in the sky changed, the bus would be running as late as he was...
Nope. The next one wasn't coming for another half an hour. And that's if it didn't get a flat tire, run out of gas, or become highjacked by a terrorist gang. Less than three minutes to make it to the Planet before Perry Jameson's deadline.
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Wingblade
The darkness hardly mattered. Shayera's other senses were sharp enough to pick up the scent of gun oil and gun powder, to hear the sound of the safety being released. Three men, heartbeats steady, but strangely thick-sounding. The ladies' heartbeats were much faster, their choked-back tears a salty-wet smell matching the stink of their fear.
They were in the alley two blocks over. Shame. Shayera had planned on keeping her dinner with Kristina.
You know Roger, you probably should be at least somewhat curious about jobs that pay this well. Oh well, it's not like moving boxes around is a crime.
In the interest of getting the job over with quickly, he will do it at an accelerated rate. If it is a bit fishy, the sooner it is over, the sooner I can get paid and out of here.
Though he still remembered enough physics to know he can push the job only so much. Crates are nearly indestructible like he is. Nonetheless he is able to do the work much faster than any of the rest.
In his haste, however, he's not really looking for any potential trouble, but rather is just focusing on finishing.
Cara Conroy--now the cosmic energy infused entity known as Fusion--gives Waller a curt, serious nod. The firm, ready-to-work expression remains on her face for several minutes until after Waller leaves, and then she tilts her head toward Blademaster with just a hint of a smirk clearly etched across her faintly blue, glowing features. "She's a real charmer, isn't she?"
She turns more fully toward him. "Handle's Fusion, but you already knew that, probably. And we are to call you Blademaster, yes? Look forward to working with you, sir. I'm sure you can 'assess my moves' later, but if you'll excuse me, there's a lady I've got to go get myself acquainted with."
She leaves upon his agreed dismissal, and walks toward the hangar. Every so often, the ground under one foot or another briefly ripples into a pool of tar before re-solidifying again. Entering, she looks around for any maintenance crew, but also approaches the large jet parked there.
"Hello there, miss," she addresses the plane, floating upward to look into the empty cockpit. "We're going to be working together, so let's get to know each other."
"Just call me Slade. Everybody else around here does. Codename is protocol but nothing says I have to use it."
Once Fusion has departed, Slade turns back to the monitor.
He sets each video on fast forward, and spends a minute or two watching the footage.
"Yeah. I think I can give them some pointers. There's a real skilled bunch here, but there's always room for improvement. Just at a glance most of them are very specialized. They're good at what they do, but I can teach them to branch out."
"When can I meet them?"
Shayera walks over to the alley, hooking her thumbs in the straps of her backpack. It's a rather straightforward disguise, but by compressing her wings tightly against her back she is able to hide them with nothing more than a bulky pack. It doesn't survive close inspection, but it allows her to move about in public without people reacting to her twelve-foot wingspan of glittering metal.
She steps in front of the alley's entrance, leaning a bit forward as if her pack were heavy. It hadn't taken long for her to realize that most people wouldn't expect her to be a threat. It had seemed strange at first, but for whatever reason most people when they first met her would assume she was weak, helpless, or in need of protection. Shayera quickly adapted to that attitude, which was advantageous in allowing her to get close to her targets.
Therefore, as she crosses before the alley, she glances into the darkness. "Hello?" she calls into the gloom. Then she waits for the men to take her.
The smell of sludge and refuse wafted through the air. All the garbage of New York City had a way of finding it's way to Gotham. The harbor brought back memories. Violent ones at that. He cleared his head and focused on locating the warehouse he had been tipped off to.
Grayson wasn't a native to Gotham by any means, but it had become home to him. After a childhood of constantly moving from town to town, Gotham was the first place he was able to soak in. It had it's flaws, but most things worth fighting for typicially did, he told himself.
He made his way from dilapidated rooftop to dilapidated rooftop until he found the warehouse. Broken windows boarded up, the ones left unbroken instead covered with black tarp, yet bits of light bled through. Something was up.
The bonds between his atoms began to slip as he broke into a sprint, his footsteps now barely off the ground. Grayson made his way closer to the warehouse but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the memories. Grappling guns shot off in the distance, capes whooshed through the air. Every twist and turn he made was another ghastly image of yesterday. High above the warehouse, he loosens his grip on the air molecules and let's himself free fall. As he falls, his atoms begin to slide through reality itself, it seemed, as Grayson was no longer perceivable to any of the senses. Before "hitting the ground", he comes to a sharp stop in the air where he observes the warehouse activity.
Director Waller strode into the S.H.I.P. command center. The bright spots on the holographic globe showing each location of the alien Hive's incursion kept drawing her eyes, but she pulled them away to focus on her senior staff.
All right. We've deployed every contingency, every protocol and every resource we have. We're holding on by our fingernails here, so we need options. Let's hear them, but the first one who suggests a computer virus gets thrown out the airlock.
The ensuing discussion was a mixed bag of despair and desperation. The only bright spot was the fact that Earth's most significant successes involved powered individuals. But unfortunately, those beings were in short supply.
One of senior aides cleared his throat. I came across something, ma'am. The Valkyrie Initiative? You worked on it before you became director.
Waller shook her head. That was an idea to weaponize Project H. It's not tenable.
The aide wet his suddenly dry lips. It... might be worth it to reexamine the initiative. Reports seem to indicate that those with regenerative powers can resist the transformative powers of the Hive. It says here that Project H has recovered from multiple autopsies, biopsies and organ removal.
Waller sighed. But she wouldn't be able to resist the mental control.
The aide brought up another program. I believe there may be a solution to that. Our research shows that the Hive mind control affects the higher brain functions. If we can override that with pure instinct, the Hive will never be able to take control.
Waller's eyes widened when she looked at the document -- so secretive that it didn't have a name. It was outrageous, implanting triggers to send people on savage rampages. It was understandably buried, only brought out for this, their most desperate hour.
You realize Project H has only been able to create the one specimen. She's what, 14 now? You're talking about turning a teenaged girl into a living weapon. She looked at the eyes around the table. No one spoke. Then in the space of the silence, another bright spot bloomed on the globe. Do it.
. . .
. . .
The Nth Metal wings were a thing of beauty, Waller thought. They moved and twitched like living things, like they were a part of her. They are, she reminded herself, grafted to the vestigial limbs that had appeared after the radiation treatments designed to augment her Shi'ar genetics.
The girl had just finished the accelerated combat training program and it had been rough on her. Waller had ordered the entire package, even though it had been known to lobotomize its subjects if not parsed out slowly. Her head lolled about while she was on the gurney. The doctors wheeled her down the hallway to the hangar. She was about to be deployed, and Waller wanted to take a moment to meet her.
Hello. I'm Maria Waller, she said tenderly, keeping pace with the moving gurney. The girl looked up at her. Waller pulled out a stick of gum and gave it to her. You don't know me, but I've been keeping an eye on you. I think you have been very brave.
The girl's face remained impassive, but she accepted the gum. She chewed for a moment, then spoke. Brave?
Waller smiled. Yes. It means--
I know what it means. Showing courage in the face of fear. Doing what needs to be done despite instincts to run away. But I'm not brave.
Why do you say that, dear? Waller asked, her smile dropping off her face.
It implies I had a choice.
Waller stopped abruptly and watched the doctors enter the hangar with the subject. The jet was prepped and ready for takeoff. Soon it would be flying Weapon H into the combat zone, her head strapped with a mask that would deploy the special pheromone which would turn her into a -- hopefully -- unstoppable killing machine. She stared after the departing jet until it was out of sight.
Then she let out a breath she'd been holding and turned to go. She had a war to run.
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Quicky
The men notice Roger's accelerated pace, picking up their pace as well, though not nearly matching the speed of Quicky. Soon three trucks are filled with crates marked with a symbol.
The man seems very pleased with the speed-up granted by your involvement. He smiles, and it looks almost as oily as he smells. I knew you would be a great asset, Mister Stone. From your reputation. he holds out a paper bag full of money. You know what reputation is, yes? Is people talking. Is gossip. You have done this job well. Now, for me, your reputation is solid, is fact. We will meet again. and then he hands you the money, whistling almost impossibly high-pitched, and circling one finger in the air. The men scramble onto the trucks, departing. The man enters a dark vehicle, travelling in a different direction from the tucks.
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Fusion
The Blackjet's cockpit seems to be modeled after the bird you've logged the most hours in, with the exception some extra switches and an unobtrusive video screen/tablet. Just as you're getting settled in, a voice calls from behind you She's something else, isn't she? A tall, lean man with dark hair and bright eyes, wearing a flightsuit smiles broadly. Captain Jack Summers. I had the privilege of bringing her in for your crew. Almost like the Q18 if you ignore all the extra gadgets.
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Slade Masterson
As soon as you and the Fusion are ready, Blademaster. Everyone's been issued commlinks and badges. And if they need to be picked up, Fusion can fly the Blackjet to that purpose. We've got a mission for you. Nothing urgent, just some chatter we've picked up. Details are under Operation: Greymonday in the system.
Waller turns abruptly heading towards the exit. Stopping just short. She looks over her shoulder If anything more urgent comes up, do keep in touch, Blademaster.
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Wingblade
One man holds a strange weapon towards the girls while the other two move towards Shayera, smiling menacingly. The bigger of the two, almost seven feet tall, built like a living wall of muscle, says Someone is here, little guppy. Come, join the fun. as both men reach forward.....
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Blue Spider
Blue Spider swung across the city, experiencing the freedom he rarely enjoyed as the blocks between him and his goal seem to flash by. Forty Two Seconds and seventeen of those blocks later, Peter allowed himself a sigh of relief. There, just two more blocks away, the silvery glow of the Planet's rooftop globe shining in the setting sun. He was going to make i.... Spider Sense!
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The Haunt
Grayson floats gently above the dusty floorboards of the warehouse. He sees three trucks being unloaded by men. Marked Crates are being stacked near a long worktable where three humanoids with tentacles where their mouths should be work to fashion the metal in previously-unloaded crates into weapons... each has two larger, muscular tentacles working hammers and green-flamed blowtorches, while smaller, quicker, and more agile tentacles move to insert electronic components from other crates. Each squid-man has six tentacles working on the task.
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Ok, that's not good. How the hell does that man know my real name? I signed up for this jog as Quicky. Crap. I think I need to screen clients and not just look at the money. Best if I lay low for a while. and he will job home (which means subsonic, since people really don't like sonic booms at street level).
Once home at his farmhouse on 50 acres of land outside Leesburg, he will get online tostart looking into his latest client. I better find out what I just did. I don't need a bunch of Feds coming after me for just carrying some boxes.
Still, cash in a brown paper bag? Has this guy never heard of wire transfers? He locks up the money in his safe. Oh well, not bad to have cash on hand.
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Quicky
You remember the sides of the trucks said Hammerdown Transportation on them. Doing a quick search online yields little information. Hammerdown is a privately-owned transportation facility mainly operating in the DC, JerseyVirginia, and NYC areas.
You were able to find a picture of "the man" on their website. Apparently he is Richmond Destine, their vice president of operations. Bio blurb says he has been with the company for seven years, since its founding.
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Corvus
Pain was the first sensation. A sizzling vibration on the edge of each nerve cluster. Existing in the very heart of non-existence. Then the cacophony of sensation as light and sound and smells and flavors flood into a brain that had experienced none for a seemingly unending lack of time. This flood was too much, the mind could not deal with everything at once, and so it held onto the first of its sensations, the pain.
Then it was gone and another eternity of dimensionlessness came.
Guppy? Shayera asks, staring up at the towering figure. She makes a deliberately slow move to escape so the meaty hands easily grasp her. She lets them roughly drag her deeper into the alley while she takes in details -- light sources, puddles of liquid, any piles of garbage or waste that might be an obstacle. She gets the background of the alley passively while she focuses her senses on the weapon, trying to tell if it has any other features other than being sharp. Sharp alone doesn't worry her.
Hey! Leggo! she protests. My Dad's a cop, you know! Just let us go and walk away, or you'll be in so much trouble! Yasmine had taught her to lie. She and the other runaways always lied about stuff. Which was strange, since they always knew the truth about stuff. The more they learned, the more they had to lie. The gangs, the dealers, the rich folks who smelled like the Metro who come down to the dirty city to make more money, they all had secrets.
Shayera lied, but she didn't care if she was believed. Lying wasn't something she was good at. Fortunately, there was something she was very good at. But she wanted to learn first, which meant she kept her talons in and listened.
Fusion smiles at the newcomer. "Nice to meet you, Captain Summers. Thanks for taking care of her. Anything I should know about these gadgets?" She grins, with a hopeful look. "No automated coffee dispenser by any chance?"
She didn't really need coffee anymore, technically, but then, everyone needs coffee.
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Wingblade
Shayera takes note of the alley's features. There's a dumpster that might provide cover, a fire escape that might lead to higher ground, a bag of trash dumped lazily by the dumpster, and a rainspout leaking water into a sewer grate. She notes that the big guy and his partner close to her have bulges under their arms, explaining the gun smells she detected earlier. The other guy's weapon looks to have some technological features, indicating more than just sharpness. Two of the prongs seem as much barrels as blades.
Grabbed by the goon and dragged slightly forward, Shayera gets a strong whiff of his scent, masqueraded previously by the stronger smells of his cologne and the gun he wears.
Tek Ulmet dragged the princess by her hair towards the throne. Her father stood, looking down upon the scene with obvious displeasure. Shai-Nefer, you will be wed today, as I have commanded. The palace shook as the earth rumbled around them.
Unfortunately as she is lost in the vision of the past, the second thug notices her wings under the false pack. Wait! he exclaims.
Shayera and Thug #2 get to act in first round, other two thugs are surprised.
Shayera Initiative
Thug Initiative
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Fusion
Captain Summers smiles back. The way this baby moves, you won't need coffee. he clears his throat But if you do, there's a dispensery in the passenger cabin. She has a top speed clocked about mach 9. Livewired into every terminal in SHIP-authorized countries, she knows where everything else in the sky is, and relates that data here. he points to a screen within your field of vision. VTOL, ceiling of 100K, and the agility of a jungle cat.
He pauses, pointing at a series of switches. These are your stealth controls. She can hide from any terminal she is livewired into, is radar-proof, and has a camouflage mode that works at speeds under mach 1.
Oh, these he points at several shiny crystaline strips surrounding the cockpit at various points I was told were installed just for you. Something called quantum phase regulators. he shrugs apologetically Not sure what they're supposed to do.
Shayera shakes her head in confusion muttering, My wedding? Who am I to--? Then she registers the spike in adrenaline in the thug behind her that shakes the fog from her head. Oh, you saw those, she says as a quick flick of her wings tears the backpack to ribbons. Then she twists, plants one foot and pivots. She leans into the big thug while stretching one wing out to strike at the man holding the strange device.
Shayera hopes they focus on her and let the other women go. Their fear fills her nose, and she feels a bubbling rage building. She holds it at bay initially, not really wanting to lose herself. She's already lost her backpack, but if she wants to have any hope of joining Kristina later tonight she'll have to avoid a bloodbath.
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Wingblade
Taken off-guard, the man takes the full brunt of your attack despite your confusion and the pack having to be torn away. The blades of your wing slice the man's chest wide open, but it feels like they're cutting stone rather than flesh. This was no ordinary person. But he folded just as an ordinary person would.
The startled man who saw your wings responds to your attack against his friend by letting loose with a brilliant beam of light from his left palm towards your eyes but you are able to turn away and avoid being blinded.
Shayera stops thinking and lets instinct take over. Otherwise, she might waste nanoseconds wondering who these men were, what they were, and why they were lurking in some seedy alley. She put all her questions in the deep recesses of her mind while the fight was upon her.
She hooks her arm around the meaty limb of the big one and lashes out with a kick at the one that had tried to flash her. In the same motion she extends her talon, slicing through her foot and her steel-toed boot alike to make contact with the thug.
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Wingblade
While it looked like a solid hit, the man shrugs it off, his thickened hide deflecting enough of the blades to insure his survival for a few seconds. Hold her still! he says to the mountainous man Shayera allowed to grapple her.
He pulls his gun from its holster and fires a shot at Shayera. , managing to hit her as she struggles against her oppressors. Damage DC 22.
Meanwhile, the big man attempts to consolidate his hold on her. , but her wild moves have freed her from his grasp.
"Yeah. I'll keep in touch, Maria."
He sits for a moment, looking over the Greymonday file.
When he's done with that, Slade runs his fingers through his hair and grabs his helmet. He straps his sword to his back, and begins walking toward the hangar.
Back in the field again. Been a while.
Slade taps the rectangular screen he's slid into a slot on his left arm brace, and it glows to life. He holds it near his face, and taps a small orange button.
"Fusion, was it? This is Slade. It's about time we got moving. If you have any last preparations to make, now's the time."
Hmm, Destine. I really have to get someone to get me the dirt on this guy. Anyone who has my civilian ID is not someone I want to leave unexplored.
and then he will check emails for any consulting jobs on his normal side. Seeing nothing worth the time, he'll just head for the sack and a bit of reading before he gets some sleep.
Fusion
Captain Summers smiles back. The way this baby moves, you won't need coffee.
"I don't really need it anyway, but I find its presence comforting."
he clears his throat But if you do, there's a dispensery in the passenger cabin. She has a top speed clocked about mach 9. Livewired into every terminal in SHIP-authorized countries, she knows where everything else in the sky is, and relates that data here. he points to a screen within your field of vision. VTOL, ceiling of 100K, and the agility of a jungle cat.
He pauses, pointing at a series of switches. These are your stealth controls. She can hide from any terminal she is livewired into, is radar-proof, and has a camouflage mode that works at speeds under mach 1.
Oh, these he points at several shiny crystaline strips surrounding the cockpit at various points I was told were installed just for you. Something called quantum phase regulators. he shrugs apologetically Not sure what they're supposed to do.
Fusion nods and tracks what goes where as he explains the controls.
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Slade Masterson
Operation: Greymonday is a series of reports about a "grey skinned monster" that has been spotted in several rural areas in upstate New York. While details a sketchy and there are no reliable witnesses, the evidence of pure destruction is undeniable. Moreover, the path seems like it is pointing towards New York City. The attacks always occur on a Monday, but the distance between each attack seems variable, and the time between attacks has been somewhat random except for occuring on a Monday.
SHIP has placed units in the most likely of next targets, but due to the unknown nature of the "monster" would like Titan Team X to be on alert on Mondays, ready to jet to any given location in upstate New York at a moment's notice.
Given that today is Tuesday, the Wall must have meant "you have less than a week" when she said "nothing urgent."
Slade Masterson
Operation: Greymonday is a series of reports about a "grey skinned monster" that has been spotted in several rural areas in upstate New York. While details a sketchy and there are no reliable witnesses, the evidence of pure destruction is undeniable. Moreover, the path seems like it is pointing towards New York City. The attacks always occur on a Monday, but the distance between each attack seems variable, and the time between attacks has been somewhat random except for occuring on a Monday.
SHIP has placed units in the most likely of next targets, but due to the unknown nature of the "monster" would like Titan Team X to be on alert on Mondays, ready to jet to any given location in upstate New York at a moment's notice.
Given that today is Tuesday, the Wall must have meant "you have less than a week" when she said "nothing urgent."
Haunt moves closer towards the squid-men. He leans in close, to get a good look at what their assembling. Once he's picked up on the electronic components, he gently brushes his hand past them.
..Electronic Disruption: Nullify 13
...Counters Electronics, DC23, Affects Corporeal, Reduced Range: Close Range, Effortless, Simultaneous
Shayera feels the bullet rip into her stomach and she doubles over.
Owww, she winces through gritted teeth. Then she looks up, eyes flashing with murderous intent. Her wings flare out, forming a glinting aurora around her of alien metal and she brings her fists up. Two blades extend through her knuckles on each hand, then she launches herself at the gunman with abandon.
Shayera twists and plants her taloned foot into the ground, bringing up her arm. She takes the ful brunt of the heavy blow and feels the shockwave pass through her bones all the way into the concrete, which cracks from the force.
She glares fiercely at him as she turns to face him directly. Her talons glisten red in the alley's dim light. She feints left, swipes once with her wings, then spins to get close, driving her talons at the big guy's midsection.
What the...? They're assembling weapons... but for who? Why?
Haunt's stomach churns with unease as he looks back up at the tentacled-creatures. He steps away from the hideous things and their weapons and focuses on the men unloading the trucks.
Let's see who you guys work for
He examines the men and their trucks for any sort of signifier of who they may be, going so far as to enter the truck and riffle through the glove compartment looking for any important documents.
Whoever these guys are, Gotham doesn't need more weapons floating around. I need to see if anyone knows who these people are.
He then proceeds to walk through the assembled tridents, shorting out as many as he can.
Fusion manages a chuckle. "Good, she's been me-proofed." She pats the side of the plane and addresses it. "We should get along just fine."
"So, Summers, you stationed here or just delivering the bird?"
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The Haunt
A manifest labeled as belonging to Hammerdown Transportation, which matches the logos on the truck, indicate that thirty crates were transported for Brinedart, Inc. from Bethesda, Maryland to New York. A Mr. Richmond Destine signed their release, while someone who's signature is completely illegible signed for their acceptance at the warehouse. The legible initials for the signature are A.B.
Haunt shorts out what he can before moving to reach out to his contacts.
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Blue Spider
Black Goblin flies his glider around the city, taking you to a highrise building, crashing through a window on the twenty third floor.
Swinging in behind him, you hear part of a conversation.
..it is you're planning, The Black Goblin is no one's fool, Fisk!
Of course not, Harvey. I have nothing but respect for your work. Which is why I'm not going to charge you for the window.
Don't play games with me, Oswald!
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Fusion
Summers smiles ruefully 'Fraid I'm just dropping off the lady. Don't get to stick around for her prom. They got me training for the Daedalus.
The Daedalus is a planned attempt at hyperflight to Mars. Highly classified and years in the planning, it utilizes alien ftl tech barely understood by those dealing with it.
Shayera spins at the screams, but unless her senses register further danger, she relaxes and retracts her talons. She stretches a bit and inspects the bloody spot on her abdomen where the bullet struck her.
She folds her wings up behind her so they are less obtrusive, then studies the women. She waits to see if they calm down and stop screaming. So, those weren't your usual scumbag thugs. What were they doing with you?
While they answer, or if they keep screaming, Shayera busies herself by tossing the bodies in the dumpster and then picking up the strange device.
Fusion
Summers smiles ruefully 'Fraid I'm just dropping off the lady. Don't get to stick around for her prom. They got me training for the Daedalus.
The Daedalus is a planned attempt at hyperflight to Mars. Highly classified and years in the planning, it utilizes alien ftl tech barely understood by those dealing with it.
She raises her eyebrows. "Wow. Be careful, though--I hear they're using some rather... interesting stuff to make that thing go. I... know a little about messing around with unusual power supplies." She lets the light flare a little around her body. "Doesn't always go well."
Slade sighs.
Off to a great start.
Seeing as he can't get a hold of his pilot for some reason, he decides to spend some time wracking his brain.
1.) What do we know about the Hive?
2.) Who are the major players in New York and DC?
3.) How well funded are PILOT and SHIP?
3a.) How much of those resources are available to the team?
4.) Are there any other active superheroes/teams currently?
4a.) Who are they?
4b.) Where are they based?
Gotham had become a much more dangerous place since Grayson's childhood, so much so that the villains of his past seemed to have changed their stance on the fight against crime.
Take Gordon, for example.
During their childhood, Grayson and Gordon Hammer fought nearly once a week. The all out brawls had become sport to them, often fighting to see who could draw first blood, who could last the longest, who could cause the most property damage, who could be the roughest, toughest of the sidekicks. They'd quip back and forth like true rivals, always holding out on the kill for a better opportunity.
Mystery Man wasn't a fan. He'd beat Gray, calling him weak-willed, a failure for not having the guts to kill his "boyfriend". Truth be told, Grayson never really did have any friends, or people around his age to connect with, so Gordon was a welcome change.
During a botched bank heist, Gordon, then known as Gadget Kid, had found himself deserted. Grayson, as Strange Lad, initiated combat and the two fought to a stand still. Unhappy with his performance, Mystery Man emerged from the shadows, grabbed Gordon and began to berate Gray.
"We are PREDATORS," he yelled at the top of his lungs as he beat the Gadget Kid, "we don't play with our prey!"He then lifted the 16 year old boy up and slammed him to the ground, leaving him prone. "WE CRUSH THEM". His foot came down on the boy's back in a vicious stomp that had left him paralyzed. As police sirens screamed in the distance, Mystery Man fled, leaving young Pryde alone to face his consequences.
This final act was the catalyst. Pryde didn't want to be the whipping boy, nor did he want others to suffer at the hands of the mad man. Soon after, he incapacitated Mystery Man for good when he managed to cause physical harm by phasing, something that he wasn't able to do up until then. Mystery Man was comatose for a while before being declared dead. Using the man's money, Grayson had it privately donated to Gordon's recovery, and then some.
Now, Gordon went by Weasel. Confined to a wheelchair, he no longer took to hand-to-hand combat. Hell, he barely took to leaving the house at night. Why would he want to leave the house, though? He had drones for that. Scattered through out Gotham, and New York City, for that matter, he used tiny robotic flying machines to be his eyes and ears. When they weren't enough he'd turn to the deepweb, or hacking government computers and satellites, or he'd employ low level thugs or green super heroes (the kind looking to make a name for themselves), and have them report back to him. Information had become his business, and it was a lucrative one.
If there was anyone who'd have an inkling about what's going, it would be Gordon.
Getting to Gordon's wasn't hard. Getting him to talk was a different story. Information was money to him, and though he wouldn't charge Grayson a dollar, it didn't mean he gave it up for free.
Gray appeared in Weasel's loft apartment in civilian clothes, his dark brown hair pulled back, the bits of white hair loose in the front and in serious need of a shave. He often didn't go out at night with a disguise in mind, at least not lately. He kept to his "existential crisis", "non-existing" form out of simplicity.
" KNOCK, make a noise, call ahead, ANYTHING to let me know you're here! Jesus F#%*@in CHRIST, Grayson. Don't know what's going to kill me sooner: you popping up on me like that, or all this greasy, fried food you bring me."
Though not fat fat, Weasel always made quips about his weight. He'd been a bigger boned kid, the kind who would've been great at heavy lifting and knocking kids down on the football field. In his wheelchair, he managed to maintain his weight, but he would've preferred to be a bit more defined.
"If you don't want it, don't eat it. You keep complaining, but it somehow disappears every time."
He dangles the brown grease-stained paper sack over the massive Weasel.
"Wings from Chan's, along with some pork fried rice..."
After what they've been through together, they had become more than just best friends. Gordon grabs the sack and says in unison with Grayson
They had become brothers. The brothers neither were allowed to have growing up. The kind that completed one another's sentences, that ribbed each other on, hell, they spent all their holidays together. They'd both been casualties of the "super ego", and they survived. Together.
"I need some info."
Halfway through a chicken wing, Gord clears his throat enough to talk. He points what's left of the wing at Grayson, emphasizing his sentences with jabs.
"Damn Gray, you really know how to butter a boy up. Whatever happened to you just dropping by with some food to pay your ol' boy a visit? Everything's always business wit cha. You're lucky these wings are good. What do you need?"
"Richmond Destine, Hammerdown Transportation, Brinedart Inc., the initials A.B., and a trident-like weapon capable of blasting bolts of water."
A brief pause as he thinks back on the tentacled squid men. Better leave that out
"What and why, maybe how, where and when."
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Fusion and Blademaster
Fusion's conversation with Cpt. Summers is interrupted by her comm chirping, from Blademaster (see above).
1.) What do we know about the Hive?
The HIVE was an invasive alien species which attacked the Earth. They possessed a bite that would leave their victims mind-controlled. Their queen could implant eggs that would incubate in days and transform her victims into more HIVE, or, in the case of Supers, hybrid creatures. Some Supers with regenerative properties were able to resist the incubation.
Additionally, a separate report indicates that the scientific lab AEGIS was commissioned to study/autopsy the HIVE and their slain victims. The results of those studies are above your security clearance.
2.) Who are the major players in New York and DC?
NYC: Blue Spider, The Fantastic Family, The Haunt, Wingblade(?);The Executioner; Black Goblin, Dark Panther. The Demon's Hand, The Demolition Crew, The Emperor (Penguin) of Crime, Redmasque, Mudman
DC: Blademaster, Captain Freedom, Fusion, Quicky, Wingblade(?); AEGIS; .Baron Doom, Mars, Dr. Magnus, Mentallus, VENOM
3.) How well funded are PILOT and SHIP? 3a.) How much of those resources are available to the team?
Very well funded. Beyond their actual budgets, several covert funds have been allocated for their use. Hundreds of Billions, would not surprise you if it reached into the Trillions of Dollars per year. Aside from the base, jet, etc. some members of your team (notably you & Fusion) have high enough clearances to access their intelligence databases through secured channels. Your understanding was that the base would also have some personnel, although you haven't been briefed on scope, composition, or timing of the staffing. The basic understanding was that it would be focused on administrative, housekeeping, and legal issues that may arise.
4.) Are there any other active superheroes/teams currently? 4a.) Who are they? 4b.) Where are they based?
The Fantastic Family is based out of downtown NYC. Apparently given their powers by an ancient Egyptian "deity", these four youths focus most of their time exploring adjacent dimensions accessible through a rift in the uppermost story of Reed Richmond's building there.
Legion-X is a group of mutants that operate out of an undisclosed location, mainly concerning themselves with mutant affairs arising from a martyr complex their leader suffers from.
Wingblade
One of the women stops the others from screaming, urging them to calm down and stay quiet. The big one said they were 'getting what they had coming'. That one. she points at the one that was holding the device said that we would be 'fine war brides'. Thank god you came along. Who knows what they would have done to us. The other women sob, quietly nodding their thanks.
The device is pretty sharp, but also has two "barrels"- one on each side. You don't, however, see a trigger mechanism.
Blue Spider
As you begin recording and take a peek, the TTX device starts beeping. Fisk looks up, seeing you, frowning heavily. It seems, Goblin, that you have brought along another unwelcome guest.
The Haunt
Gord chokes. You've got to be kidding me. That's sick, even for you, man. he begins picking up the food, waving you towards the door. I don't want notin tado with stinkin Atlanteans. Call yer other friends.
Shayera nods halfheartedly, not really comfortable in the situation she now finds herself. Okay, I guess. You can go now, if you want. She looks toward the alley's entrance, then remembers. Oh! I should call this in. You can stay and answer questions, too if you'd like. Or I'll just tell them what you said.
She picks up her tattered backpack and finds a small phone in one of the pouches. She thumbs it on and holds it to her ear. She listens for the connection, then turns her back to the women. Yeah, it's me. I had a... incident, you could call it. Three men, but augmented somehow. Big and strong. One had a strange weapon. No, it didn't do them any good.
She walks to the entrance to the alley and looks in either direction. 2300-Block of West Pauling, in an alley across from Slim's Pool Hall. You'll find them in the dumpster. She listens to the other side silently for a bit. Fine. I'll come in. I need a new backpack, anyway.
She cuts off the phone and looks at the ruin of her disguise. Sighing, she rinses her hands off in the trickle of water in the downspout and wraps up the strange device in the backpack's material. She tucks the device under one arm and uses the fire escape to climb up to the roof.
She knew that in very short order, unmarked vehicles will approach this small alley and it will be teeming with the sort of people that she did not like to be around. They'll inspect the carnage and will start making looks her way and start stinking of fear and will whisper if she shouldn't go back to the types of facilities that made her.
So she fans her wings out and takes to the air, effortlessly rising above the buildings and power lines and satellite towers. She glides along to where she was going to meet Kristina. She could smell the outside food vendors blocks away, and feels her stomach growl.
Even though she was still probably blood-splattered because of the fight in the alley, she couldn't resist. She banks and swoops underneath one of the nearby overpasses, dipping into the deep shadow. Her eyesight is able to pick out the details in the hazy, distant streetlights and she finds a ragged, dirty blanket from one of the piles of refuse. She folds her wings up tight and throws the blanket over her shoulders. Again she becomes "that girl with the backpack."
One of the lesser talked-about impacts of the Hive invasion aftermath is the orphans. The country's social service departments were overburdened with the sheer numbers of placements after the invasion, and even though magnanimous benefactors such as Wayne and Fisk quickly instituted homes for the displaced and dispossessed youth, even more found their way into the streets.
Shayera found herself drawn to these streets and the ragged gangs of youth that had lost everything in the invasion. She covered her wings and lived among them. She almost never spoke, since she didn't want them finding out that she was a weapon. So she stayed out of the way, only making a few friends-but-more-likely-just-acquaintances, but also kept an ear out for those who would seek to exploit them or do them harm -- and there were a lot of those. She wasn't able to save Yasmine, but she had managed to avenge her.
She had no illusion that she, too, was being monitored, by those who had chosen to let her go after her "service" in the fight against the Hive. Ms. Waller had spoken to her about joining a group of others who had fought against the Hive. Shayera had nodded, and accepted the communicator that she kept with her, but had never used until this evening. Something about those men made her think that she should tell somebody. It was the first time she had faced anything that wasn't human since...
Shayera blinks out of her thoughts as she realizes she's reached the area where she was going to meet Kristina. Feeling the strange device still underneath one arm and ignoring the stench wafting from the discarded blanket, she looks around for her friend.