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Futuristic H A D E A N - Project: Theia

Characters
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Lord Saethos

Lord Saethos

Dark Lord of the Saeth
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
HadeanTheiaedit_V2.png​

The Universe, like every story, has a beginning.
And like every story, there was a time before that beginning.

As Observers of the Universe
As Readers of Stories
We may know as little about what came before the beginning...
As we do about what comes after the ending.
​

T H E I A​

  • The year is 1991, and the future is looking bright.

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    For America at least.

    The Soviet Union is in turmoil, on the brink of civil war as Democratic, Communist, and Ultra-Nationalist forces vie for power, all while various states battle for their independence.
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    In Africa, tyrants and freedom fighters alike continue to struggle for sovereignty from corporate and imperialist powers, all while battling each other to determine the course of their nations futures. All the while, mercenaries play all sides, sowing chaos wherever they go, all for a quick buck, and a perverse sense of 'adventure'.

    Tensions in Yugoslavia are reaching a fever pitch.

    Iraq has prepared the Middle East to be a new battleground for years to come.

    And there is so much more.

    It's enough to make anyone feel scared, worried for what the future has in store.

    Times like these demand people willing to make the hard choices, willing to do things no one else would.

    Because of this, America has no need to fret.

    Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. And the people willing to carry them out.

    And America has them.
 
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Prologue​


  • November, 1969 - Location: Eastern Maine, USA, Near Moosehead Lake

    Iain Nairn still wasn't used to this bitter cold, no matter how many cigarettes who sucked down, the chill wasn't coming off. Given that he was born and raised in Rhodesia, he didn't exactly expect he'd ever acclimatize to these conditions. Though the money he was paid to guard some rich mining tycoon did at least help pay for thicker coats.

    And more packs of cigs.

    He couldn't understand for the life of him why someone so wealthy would choose such a bad place to set up an estate.

    It was up North, near a lake, in a state by the Atlantic Ocean, in an area with little to no infrastructure or roads to speak of. Maybe it was a tactical choice, figured he'd be less likely to ever be robbed if he lived somewhere so miserable.

    Iain took one last drag of his cigarette, before his body suddenly went numb, and a warm sensation trickled down his torso. He was unable to move his head, on account of the knife that was plunged into his neck. A hand went over his mouth, and as he fell to his knees, then onto his side, he looked up to face the man who was killing him.

    "Huh... I guess Rhodies do die." The figure spoke sardonically, lips curling in a sadistic smirk.

    As the last bit of life left Iain, the figure tossed the knife under a hedge behind him. Currently, he was standing in a garden 'maze' of sorts, surrounding the perimeter of a stately little mansion, owned by one Randolph Galton. Randolph was from old money. Old old money. So old it probably has more mold and dust on it than it has actual paper. The Galton's made their money, as far as most could tell, before America was even its own country, and since then they've continued to find various, often ethically questionable, ways to make more money.

    For Randolph, it was mining.

    The intruder looked around the maze, seeing more guards patrolling. Looked like some mercs, one whom he was pretty sure he recognized as a Belgian, with an Uzi slung under his arm. No need to waste time with them though. The manor was in clear view, and there was light glowing from the room that was Randolph's study.

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    Randolph quietly poured over some paperwork while sat at his desk. The large window behind him had the curtains drawn, allowing him to peer outside at the snowy, nighttime landscape that laid beyond. The radio on his desk quietly played some classical music, and he slowly made his way through a glass of Brandy.

    He was feeling irritated tonight. All the mines he was working on getting set up in Southern Africa, the access to new sources of Uranium, a massive source of new found wealth with all the nuclear weapons and energy being developed. And it was all basically at a stand still. All the independence movements, the freedom fighters, the commies, the supers, etc. Didn't matter how many mercs he threw at the problem, there was always some new obstacle coming up.

    It was starting to become a pain in his ne-

    Randolph's eyes widened as he suddenly felt a sharp, slicing pain around his entire neck. He froze, breaths becoming shallow and rapid, gaze darting around the room. What was going on?

    "Good evening Randolph." A voice whispered in his ear. A figure stepped around from behind his chair, sitting down on Randolph's desk. The mining tycoon looked up at the man before him.

    "Wh-who are you?" He stammered quietly.

    "The Ghost of Christmas Past!" The intruder spoke sardonically. "Or... Maybe I should say, the Phantom of the Congo?"

    "I... What are you talking about?"

    "I think you know very well what I'm talking about Randolph. Middle drawer, right hand side of the desk. That little Umbra file you shouldn't have gotten your hands on."

    Randolph looked up in abject horror. "You're... You can't be him! But... How... Did you know?"

    "I know because that's where you put it every single time Randolph, and yes... I am 'him'."

    The tycoon narrowed his gaze, struggling to find the words he needed to get out of this.

    "So... What are you then? Some kind of Communist? Or are you just looking for a quick buck? Or maybe some bleeding heart civil rights 'ally' who thinks he's the good guy?"

    The intruder smirked and shook his head. "Y'know Randy, I'm gonna say none of the above. On a personal note, I kinda liked Patrice Lumumba, but this is more about my own... Personal ethics you might say." The intruder smirked as he tightened the garrote around Randolph's neck.

    "Thing is, I'm not really a good guy. Quite the opposite. I just don't really like the way you 'play the game', you know? Or how you treat some of the players."

    "What are you talking about?"     Randolph asked with venom in the tone of his voice.

    "As I said Randolph, you know exactly what I'm talking about. After all, you had to ask your good friend Allen Dulles about all those CIA operatives and associates who died in pretty troubling ways. Though you sounded more worried about your bottom line than their lives..."

    The garrotte tightened again on Randolph's neck. "Listen to me, I will pay you to leave. Whatever you want. If you kill me, I've got about two dozen mercs here who'll mow you down. Ex-SAS, paratroopers, some of the best men in special forces! You do this, and you don't leave here alive!"

    The intruder chuckled as he reached over to the radio, changing station and turning the music up on a new song.

    "Randolph, you have to understand... I don't care about your money."

    The office door, which was locked, began being knocked on, as voices from the other side called out. The music was turned up to full volume.

    "I'm not that kind of villain."

    The intruder grinned from ear to ear, his eyes shimmering with delight. "And every last one of you is going to die." He stood from the table, and hoisted Randolph up in the air, and onto his back.

    Randolph shrieked in agony for a few moments, before the intruder felt the garrotte go slack, as Randolph's body toppled to the floor.

    The door burst open with a kick from a guard, and before he could even cross the threshold, the wind was knocked out of him, and he fell backwards, as he clutched something that had been thrown into his arms.

    He looked down to see the head of his recently deceased employer, and screamed in a moment of horror. The moment ended abruptly with the muffled clinking of a silenced pistol putting a bullet through his left eye.

    The Intruder crept out of the office, a suppressed Sig P210 in each hand, forearms crossed over each other in an X-shape. As a guard rushed from down the hallway on the Intruder's left, and another came bolting up the stairs ahead and to the right, he let several rounds off, clipping the mercs both in the head.

    Shots began ringing out from both ends of the hallway, the intruder lifted his arms in a t-shape and began firing off more rounds down both ends of the hallway, taking a few more guards, but not causing the damage he wanted.

    He dropped the pistols, and grabbed a pair of FN Fal's the guards had been wielding, unleashing a hail of bullets in the directions of the colonialist mercs.

    There was a rush, a thrill filling him, as the whole manor appeared to be splintering apart in the chaos of the firefight. It's the little things in life.

    The Intruder made his way down the stairs, and towards the foyer of the manor. Before he reached it, another guard, one of the last ones still standing, tackled him to the ground, sending the assault rifles skittering across the smooth, marble floors.

    Both grappled with each other for a few moments, the guard nearly pinning the intruder's arms down. The intruder slammed his forehead against the guard's mouth, then shoved the guard off of himself, and onto the ground. With a swift movement, he had the garrotte in his hand again, and began to let it gnaw through the neck of his final victim. He grinned like a wild animal possessed, intoxicated on the thrill of a hunt, of a fresh kill about to be had.

    The guard shouted something momentarily in a Belgian dialect of French, before all sound ceased.

    After a moment of deep breaths, the Intruder stood unsteadily, getting his bearings again as he put the garrotte away. He looked around the room for a moment, taking in the gore and violence, a little surprised at what he saw, despite being the cause of it.

    All in all, a good little cleanup.

    The intruder stumbled over to the manor doors, opening them, and wandering out into the cold, midnight snow of Maine.
 
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Introduction​


March 20th, 1991 - Location: [REDACTED]

There is darkness everywhere. A strange, suffocating, muffling darkness. You can make out tiny little specks of light around you, almost like stars, but far too close. Your ears are filled with the sound of a heavy, reverberating, thudding sound. As you start to stir from your sleep, your mind begins to return to you, more clearly.

The darkness disappears as the black-out bag is removed from your head, and after a few moments of your eyes adjusting to the light, the inside of a Blackhawk helicopter came into view for you.
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"Ephemera Morn," a pile of papers came spilling out onto a metallic table's surface, in a dimly lit room. "Age unknown, real name so far unknown, and several other things unknown. Asset has the ability to manifest weaponry. Comes with high recommendations. Not much to say here, but tread with caution."

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The first thing you noticed was a logo emblazoned on the inside, just across from you. It was some kind of bird with it's wings outstretched, and a shield over it's torso. The shield had a skull with an angular style to it, and an eerie grin, strongly resembling what one might recognize as the 'MAC V SOG' style of skull, but with no beret, and hollow black eyes. As for the bird, you may or may not recognize it. It certainly isn't an Eagle. Or a Hawk. It was a rather strange, unintimidating looking bird to choose as a symbol.

This bird is typically referred to as the 'Northern Shrike'.
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"Nayenezgani," another pile of papers crashes upon the table. "Also known as Yee Naaldlooshii, Wendigo, Brujo, and John Doe. Unknown name, unknown age beyond speculation of a birth prior to 1889, etc. etc." The man carrying the files moved to another side of the table, revealing a few pages from within Nayenezgani's folder. Two men sitting at the table, both wearing black shades, peered over the details. One of them, the more serious and stoic of the two, sat with hands clasped together, taking in the information before him. He was big, tall at about 6'7", with short, tidy blonde hair.

The man with the folders continued. "You'll like this one I'm sure. Abilities seem to include animalistic transformations, possibly related to cannibalism."

He dropped another file onto the table. "Moving on from Cannibalism, let's get into blood. Ichor, also known as Daiyu Chen. From what we can gather, her blood has been altered through some kinds of experimentation. It's thicker than regular blood, and can be formed into weapons, used as a poison in some instances, healing, and possibly much more. Apparently, from our records, it takes a physical toll if used too much, but... I think it's possible our quartermaster's can find some way to make it work a little more efficiently for her." He smirked as he pushed up his glasses, contemplating the possibilities that could be unlocked.
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The next thing you notice is the figure sitting across from you, heavily armed, decked out in grey fatigues, and wearing a gasmask and helmet as well.

Before you do anything, he wags a finger at you, then points out the window.

"Don't try anything stupid. We're your ride today, and you're gonna have a long way to swim if you try throwing yourself out of this thing... If you survive."

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"The Rampaging Rose," another pile of folder. "Also known as La Jabalí, her real name is Rosarita Zuniga. Approximately age 33. Abilities include being able to transform into a 'wereboar', whatever that means. Worth noting that in wereboar form, she can reach a size of over 7 feet tall, and a weight in excess of 500 pounds. So pretty big, and a pretty heavy hitter. Long history of causing chaos."

He thumbed through his folders and was surprised by what he pulled out next. "Huh, weird. Another blood one... Anyways, The Bloodletter, also known as Jinhua Liu. Her... Blood is combustible? Seriously??? I feel like this might be a hazard boss, but uh... You know best! Anyways, seems it combusts on contact with oxygen, and we have a list of substances it is nonreactive with. Perhaps we can find a way to help her weaponize this better, we'll get the Q's to work on it."
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As you look outside of the helicopter, you see ocean stretching into infinite all around you, with the only other signs of life being several dozen other Blackhawk helicopters flying around you, each seemingly carrying very few, selective passengers inside. Besides that, you could see the tandem rotor blades of CH-47 Chinook helicopters, each with wires dangling below them, each carrying a payload of about 2 Humvee military vehicles, all painted black.
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"Shinobiman," yet another, heftier pile of files. "No idea where the name comes from to be honest with you, so sorry I can't answer that. Seems to have superhuman physical traits, including speed and strength, as well as 'ninja-like' abilities, and some kinds of advanced tech we don't understand. He was uh... Recovered from the Gobi desert seven months ago. And we are keeping this under tight wraps from the Chinese and Soviets."
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"We're flying over the South Atlantic." The guard said. "Not the most remote ocean on Earth, but we're in one of the most remote parts of it. The base we're heading to has... Well, let's just say looks are deceiving. The island has only existed for probably 15 years or less. But it's a solid location for what we need."

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"Sandman," the files are forming a mountain at this point. "Real name is Morgan Dreyfus. You already know about him, guy with the weird eye abilities, courtesy of our 'friends'. He's the one we'd suggested get sent out to assist in the Oka Crisis, helped provide intel and visuals for the Mohawk warriors."

The man with the files tossed two more on the pile. "Void, real name Ianthe Saengmai. Pocket dimension abilities, which can be used defensive, offensively, and as a uh... Form of storage. As you've said before, we figured you'd be... Less ecstatic about that." Quickly moving along and avoiding dredging up the matter any more, he moved onto the next set of the two files. "Also, her close 'associate', Kitsune, real name Mellina Larosa-Seol. Abilities include sonic wave manipulation. Can be used to create soundwaves, cause auditory damage, even decrease her own sound."
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The guard turned back to face you. "Alright, we're nearly there. When we land, we'll most likely be greeted by your new boss, Agent Gladden. Word to the wise; watch your mouth if you wanna live past the next 15 minutes. If you can do that, you're golden."

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"Nocturne," the file that hit the table this time cast out some pictures, with red circles drawn around faces, and what appeared to be needle holes from thumbtacks. "Also known as Alexander Pentaghast Blackthorne VI. Some rich kid, but a rich kid with powers. Able to create shadow like figures that viciously, and I do mean viciously, defend him. It appears he mostly has control over them. Mostly. Probably tough to kill, and so long as we're the only ones who know how to do that, shouldn't be a problem. Also, interesting factoid, may have some connections with one George Carlisle?"

At this, the taller, blonde man quirked up his eyebrow.

"Unconfirmed, but we're looking into it sir. Could be of value to us." He set the rest of the file down.

"And here we have Blackwater." One final folder hit the table. Behind the man with the folders, were several stacks of cardboard boxes, all seemingly labelled with 'ASSET PROFILES', and the like. "Arata Kin is his real name. Age 26. Abilities include the anomalous liquid he can create, has properties similar to some metals, but non-conductive. Can go between solid and liquid forms it seems, and has demonstrated the ability to exert near total control over it."

The man with the files looked up to the two men at the table. "We've still got plenty more candidates we can look at later sir, but so far, this is who'll be here today."

The more stoic figure nodded affirmatively, while the other man, more lackadaisical, bobbed his head along.

"Looks like we're in for some fun."
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"Alright, here we are, your new home-away-from-home. Strap in for landing, won't be more than 2 minutes. Oh, and rookie, if you're trying to figure out what you should be calling us, we've taken a liking to the name Task Force Gray." The guard flashed you a thumbs up.
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As the helicopters descended, the tall blonde SINS agent stood out on the tarmac, watching as the new agents arrived, while the other agent, seemingly a bit more carefree, sat on a crate, one leg dangling over the side, while smoking a cigarette. There was a sense of some uncertainty, but there always was with new agents.

"It's gonna be fine, it always is." The carefree one said, between drags of his cigarette.

The taller one couldn't help but feel that great changes were fast approaching, and not just because of the events in Iraq.

So much more was on the horizon.
 
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  • "Finally!" Agent Doe rolled his head slowly as he stepped out of the helicopter, despite the carefully tailored suit, there was something feral about the man as he stepped onto the tarmac. The large pelt that he was rarely seen without could almost pass for a worn leather coat on days it was properly bundled and held together; today was no such day. The head of the pelt sat conspicuously atop his own, the eyes of the beast it came from looked one way, while his own could be seen stealing glances over his shades in the other. The pelt was long enough that it would have trailed behind him, despite his height being in excess of six feet, were it not for several lengths of paracord keeping it securely fastened to his back.

    "I think my leg fell asleep," He kicked the toe of his shoe against the ground in emphasis, the new leather was still stiff and whined slightly in protest. Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to savor the smells and tastes of the ocean. That is, until it was interrupted by the poignant haze of smoke coming from the lackadaisical agent seated on a nearby crate. Commercial tobacco always irked him, as if the sacrosanct plant wasn't disrespected enough by the foreigners using it; they had to also add a cocktail of synthetic crap. A acrid scent of burning glue and perfumes was more notable than the tobacco itself.

    Taking several long steps forward, Agent Doe approached his fellow agent, reaching forward slowly as if to grab the cigarette out of his hands, "These things are killer, you know?" At the last second, the nail on his index finger elongated slightly, curving to a point as he swiped the burning cherry off the cigarette. It fluttered to the ground, still burning, until he put the ember out with the heel of his shoe. "Sons of Adam," He shook his head ruefully, "Always tampering with what the Creator gave you."

    Despite his words, a wolfish grin was plastered across his face as he looked down his nose at the man. Seemingly satisfied with putting out the offending odor, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. "So, who's the handsome bastard I have to thank for getting me put back on active duty? I promise no Uyghurs go missing this time. Scouts honor." To emphasize his point, he flashed a dazzlingly white smile, with only slightly too-pointed canines.
 
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Arata Kin.jpgArata Kin
Prologue.

The distant gunfire had died down. The only sound remaining in the dark backroom was that of Chirin's labored breathing. Blood seeped through her shirt from holes in her skin that struggled to stitch themselves up. The figure crouched before her radiated fury, but even that emotion was outweighed by his concern. She turned her head to cough, and as she did bullet shrapnel escaped her airways and clattered against the sheet metal flooring.

"I'm sorry."

No reaction.

"I said I'm fucking sorry, Kin."

His dark eyes wandered up from her injuries to meet her eyes. Not once in the half-decade they'd spent overseas had she acquiesced to her problems being ones of her own making, and he'd be impressed if it wasn't so disastrous this time around. Half of their network had been destroyed. Tens if not hundreds were dead, arrested, or worse. Still, he could not bring himself to direct all that animosity against her. She was family. Stupid, irrational family, but family nonetheless.

She coughed again, covering her already-caked apparel in another layer of blood. It was bad, but she wasn't quite dying yet.

"If you're not gonna talk to me, get the fuck out of here and let me die in peace-"

"Go back to Kyoto."

She paused, confounded, and raised her eyebrow in a defiant look.

"What?"

"Go back to Kyoto. I'll take responsibility, as your elder brother."

"There's I-don't-fucking-know-how-many cops armed to the teeth less than a couple minutes away, and you're talking responsibility and vacation plans? I'm fucking dead. Tell Niko I said hi."

"No, you're not."

Kin reached out and grabbed his sister by the collar, hoisting her up to her feet. She whimpered in pain, but her shaking legs slowly started stabilising and with a hand against the wall she managed to stand.

"It shouldn't be too much to ask that you get out of here alive. Do me that favor, at the very least."

Her hazel eyes burned like fire. Her brother wasn't one to bark orders or appear so cold, and she wasn't one to stay her tongue. This time was different. Kin gave her a push out onto the center of the floor, callous to her groans and complaints. As much her body protested, it continued to mend the tears in her flesh and spit out debris from her wounds.

"I'll go greet the guests, so you... Head out the back, or whatever."

"You're actually trying to kill yourself."

Kin sighed, and reached out to hold the door open for her. "Just leave."

She stumbled past him, but not without giving him a murderous glare.

"And don't you ever come back to the US. None of you."

She turned to object, but froze when she met his eyes. The ones that'd always been filled with nothing but love and compassion now looked at her somberly.

"I can't protect you again."

Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. Instead she shook her head and turned to disappear down the hall. With a sigh, Kin began walking down towards the front of the warehouse, producing a radio from his pocket mid-stride. It sparked to life, and immediately filled his ears with police chatter, calling out rooms cleared and confirmed casualties. As he came to stop just outside the main room, a single voice broke through the otherwise routine voices.

"Sergeant? What the hell is that dripping from the ceiling?"



Kin had insisted it wasn't necessary, but SINS insisted harder. An annoyed exhale escaped his lungs when the bag was finally pulled from his head, but the guard didn't seem to care as he addressed him. Kin blinked slowly as his consciousness reasserted itself, and only responded in nods when appropriate. The blue sea stretched out towards the horizon beyond the Chinook's windows. He wondered briefly if this was how all of his missions were going to start. Hopefully not.

Military and political matters had never been his forte, but it appeared he would have to learn.

- - -

As he stepped out into the sun, he'd already removed one of his black leather gloves and was drawing a small black comb through his hair, ruffled from the bag. As soon as he was done, it broke up into what could be best described as tiny flower petals, before being blown away by the spinning blades overhead and disappearing completely. His hand went back inside his glove, then back in his pockets. The sound of helicopters filled the area as all the agents were arriving, and Kin's blazer flowed in the wind as he made his way over toward the two he assumed to be his superiors. A tall man, blonde and serious. The other, a smaller, less imposing man relaxing on a crate and smoking a cigarette.

He didn't manage to get very close before another large man, clad in a suit and an animal pelt, had made his way across the tarmac and slashed the embers from the other agent's cigarette. Kin didn't break his stride, but he gave the man a once over. There was something animalistic about him, and it wasn't only the pelt across his back or the way his nail had turned into a talon. He seemed to radiate some form of inherent mystery, like that of the abandoned roadside shinto shrines he used to help clean. The kind of guy who'd unnerve him the better part of a decade ago, before his fears of pain, monsters, and cruelty had subsided.

But when he heard his voice, he had to suppress a vague smile. His intonation and words reminded Kin of... a lot of people. Siblings, friends, enemies. It was a welcome source of familiarity. He came to a stop a couple paces away from the gathering, and opted not to say anything. He'd much rather hear how the agent would respond to being so suddenly disrespected, and there were still plenty of other new agents to observe.



 
Nocturne

  • Location: Paphos, Cyprus
    Three days off. That’s what he had promised himself. Three days of holiday, without obsessing over work. It lasted all of ten hours, of course, but it was ten hours more than he was used to. He inhaled, taking in the scent of the sea. From this balcony, all he could see was the water, rippling and calm, slowly growing dark with the sunset. He sighed and his fingers instinctively went to the pendant dangling from his neck.

    The Cyprus lead was a bust. The necropolis in Paphos, Tombs of The Kings, was never a solid lead to begin with. But Alexander had held out hope that perhaps it wouldn’t be as fruitless as the last archaeological site. He was wrong, of course. But Jonathan, his latest assistant, was so taken by Cyprus that he wanted to stay for a few more days. So, Alexander obliged, renting a quaint villa by the sea for the weekend. Jonathan was one of the good ones: fresh out of Cambridge, bright-eyed and excited for the adventures ahead of him. His thesis had touched on some topics that Alexander thought might yield the artefacts he was searching for, or at least shed some more light on them, so it only made sense for him to take Jonathan on as an assistant. It helped that he was far more fluent in modern Greek than Alexander was.

    What didn’t help were the looks Jonathan would give him. He’d always catch him staring, out of the corner of his eye. Envy, maybe? Admiration? He hoped it wasn’t something more. Jonathan was a good-looking lad; tall, with that odd handsomeness about him, but he wasn’t—

    “Lost in thought?”

    Alexander turned to see Jonathan standing in the doorway to the balcony, wearing a freshly ironed shirt, carefully unbuttoned, and chino trousers. Was he intending on going out? He gave a half smile to the assistant and rested his elbows against the railing.

    “Just… Yeah. Thinking.”

    Jonathan came to his side, then leaned over the rail to watch the sunset.

    “Paphos is beautiful, you know,” he said. “The Tombs of The Kings was fascinating. There’s a couple more sites I’d like to visit while we’re here—I think they’d make a great addition to the article. But there’s just something about this city that just makes you want to relax—you know?—with a beer. Have you tried the beer here?”

    Alexander grunted. “No. The Tombs were… Adequate. I’ve been looking into our next venture. Paris. I’ve booked a plane for the two of us to fly there on Tuesday.” He ignored the disappointment in Jonathan’s eyes. “I’ve heard tell of an old legend: a French chevalier who went by Laurent Gauthier, The Black Knight. It’s said that wherever he went, a woman in a black veil would follow closely behind. And he never once lost a duel. His crypt is somewhere in Nice and I intend to find it.”

    What Alexander failed to mention was that he was positive Laurent was an ancestor of his, and this veiled woman was in fact a Shadow. Perhaps she was similar to Syfa, Alexander’s second Shadow, or perhaps she was Syfa. He’d found evidence in Berlin last year strongly suggesting that Shadows might be passed down through the generations.

    “That definitely sounds interesting.” Jonathan tilted his head. “But you don’t have to think about all that right this moment, you know?” He placed his hand on Alexander’s forearm, and locked eyes with him for a moment too long. Oh, that certainly wasn’t envy or admiration. “Let’s just go out tonight… Enjoy Paphos.”

    Alexander broke eye contact and moved out of reach, then nodded. “You enjoy Paphos. Go, have fun, but don’t drink yourself to death. If you need me, I have my cell phone.”

    Jonathan shook his head slightly, sighing from his nose, then went to leave.

    Alexander called out to him, “Oh, and if you bring someone back, please try and keep the noise down. I’ll be working.”

    Jonathan barked a laugh on his way out. A moment later, he heard the front door open and close.

    This was the first time someone had paid Alexander that kind of attention in a while. Jonathan was completely smitten with him, and Alexander had no idea what to do in response. It had been several years since… Since the accident. But he still wasn’t ready. He wouldn’t be ready, not until he had completed the pendant. If the manuscripts were correct, it would give him full control over his powers. Until then, it was best to stop people like Jonathan from getting too close to him. After Paris, he’d bring their partnership to an end.

    Alexander waited until he heard Jonathan’s taxi leave, then waited a few minutes longer for the sun to be completely swallowed by the ocean, before heading back inside. As he entered the hallway, he noticed something curious. His bedroom door was open, ever so slightly. Jonathan wouldn’t have entered without permission.

    He grimaced. Might as well get this over with.

    He flicked on the light switch as he entered his room, only to see a man leaning against his desk, arms folded. He looked in his forties, wearing a pinstripe navy suit, expensive from the look of it, and black teashade sunglasses. His lip curled down on one end, pulled by a deep scar that extended down below his collar.

    “Enjoying the scenery?” the stranger asked. It suddenly became very quiet, as if the wind itself was pausing to hold its breath.

    “Who are you?”

    The man pursed his lips in disapproval. “Me? I’m nobody important. But the people I work for are. SINS. You’ve heard of us, I’m sure, and we have most certainly heard of you, Mr. Blackthorne… You and your, ah, companions, shall we say?”

    Alexander couldn’t quite place his accent, somewhere between Dutch and Polish. Definitely not a local.

    “What do you want?”

    “Now you’re asking the right questions.” He clapped his hands together. “Simply put, we want to bring you into our employ. Your skills will prove invaluable to us and, of course, you will be handsomely rewarded in return.”

    Alexander rolled his eyes. “No.”

    The man paused. “No?”

    “No, thank you,” he scoffed. “The last time I was in London, the Queen herself sent me a letter, inviting me to her private team of… ‘Super-abled bodyguards’,” he said, with a flourish of his hand, “and I politely declined. I turned down the Welsh Dragons. Rags United, The Dodgers. The Jacks are the only team of supers who haven’t asked me to join them, yet, and I’ll turn them down too. So, what makes you think I’ll work with you?”

    Alexander couldn’t see the stranger’s eyes behind the sunglasses, but he had a feeling he wasn’t even looking at him.

    “Mutual benefit, Mr. Blackthorne. The kind you can’t turn down.”

    “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

    The man shook his head, as if Alexander wasn’t understanding something crucial. “It was September of last year when you went to Berlin, in search of a soothsayer. Except when you arrived at her house, she was nowhere to be found and all of her possessions were missing. Ringing a bell?” He pointed a thumb at his chest. “That was us. We beat you to her, and acquired the weapon you were searching for. It’s being kept safe somewhere where we hopefully will never have to use it.

    “And we beat you here too.” He motioned out the window. “The Tombs of The Kings, where a piece of that pendant” — he pointed at Alexander’s chest — “was hidden. That, too, is being kept safe. Somewhere. Need I go on?”

    Alexander didn’t respond.

    “Yes? Okay. We’re also aware of that gorgeous spot of land in Portugal, five minutes away from the nearest beach. It has its own little vineyard, doesn’t it? I’ve heard the owners are an old married couple who volunteer at the local dog shelter on weekends. It would be a shame if anything happened to them, don’t you think? There’s also that rather fetching-looking property in Edinburgh. You wouldn’t happen to know who lives there, do you…? 18… Sylvan… Drive?”

    Alexander grit his teeth. “Blackmail, then?”

    “Oh, no, no,” he tutted. “Like I said, mutual benefit. With a side of, ah, strong incentive. Extra motivation. Now, if all goes well, like I said, you will be rewarded. We’ll give you the artefacts we’ve found and we’ll even assign you an entire research team, to help bring this little quest of yours to a happy end. That’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve wanted all these years? I’m sure, by now, I’ve proven our effectiveness in these kinds of matters.”

    He stayed quiet for a moment. He could feel a cold shudder fall across his entire body. “All that you’ve proven is that SINS can’t be trusted.”

    “Well, it seems to me like you have no other choice.” With that, he gave a little, two-fingered wave and pushed himself off the desk.

    When the stranger tried to walk past him and leave, Alexander’s hand shot out to grab him by the shoulder.

    He hissed, “Syfa!”

    A plume of black smoke shot out of Alexander’s back, then coalesced to form a floating figure wreathed in shadows. It hovered there for a second, its head almost touching the ceiling, before reaching past Alexander and holding vicious clawed fingers over the stranger’s neck, ready to strike.

    “What makes you think I’m going to let you walk out of here alive?” asked Alexander.

    Again, the man shook his head, skin barely an inch from Syfa’s claws. “You won’t hurt me, Mr. Blackthorne.”

    “Oh, I will,” he snarled. Syfa rattled, her claws edging closer. “If you value your life, you’ll tell me who I need to find. And who I need to kill.”

    “That’s the problem, Mr. Blackthorne. I don’t value my life. So, please, kill me. And SINS will kill everyone you love, and make sure you never break your curse…” He grinned at Alexander’s Shadow. “Remarkable, isn't she? Simply, remarkable.”

    Alexander could feel his upper lip twitching. It took all of his willpower to stop Syfa from slashing this man’s throat open. This could all just be a bluff, but… That wasn’t likely. From what he knew of SINS, this was child’s play to them.

    “Return.”

    Syfa growled, bringing her featureless face closer to the stranger’s, then she faded back into Alexander.

    “We’ll be in touch,” the stranger said. He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. “Oh, and don’t bother with the Black Knight’s crypt in France. We found that a few months back… Another dead end.”

 
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It was said that when the Zunigas came into this world, they were blessed by the gods to understand the animals of the land. As they honored the gods, worshiped them, did all things in their name, the gods went further. Our family was given the ability to become animals. On the eve of our seventh birthday, we were told to choose one animal, take its heart, and devour it in the name of our gods.

So instead of a fifteen, I got a heart eating ceremony instead.

Instead of an event hall or the privacy of our own home, I was presented in the middle of a wrestling ring, live, for all the world to see me devour the heart of a boar. I remember raising my bloody hands in praise of the gods who had blessed my lineage and who would continue to do so until we proved unworthy of their love.

And that love only came so long as the blood ran in their name.

The world had modernized but so had we. Instead of conquering villages, we turned to conquering the ring instead. Instead of making sacrifices, we sacrificed the future of our opponents in order to achieve our titles, our honor, our glory. Instead of filling chalices with blood, we left blood splatters on the floor of the ring. Our devotion had adapted to the world and the gods adapted with us.

It seemed ridiculous to most. A lot of people believed it was just a storyline we ran and that the “heart” I ate was actually just… No, they believed that part was real. It was the seventies after all. But I was just one freak of many and no one judged me for it. At least, no one on my dad’s side. My mom’s side in the states didn’t understand our way of life and so they despised it, feared it, made fun of it and me. All of them except my grandparents.

They were the glue that held both sides together and they were the ones I stayed with when I visited. It was by their grace that I was allowed in the homes of my aunts and uncles. Sometimes they would even put on the matches of my father’s company and the family would gather to watch but not begrudgingly.

I could see the family’s curious glances, the almost envy in their gazes when they would watch the other family’s matches. I was only really on when the storyline needed me which was rare these days ever since my transformation ceremony. Occasionally they needed me to provide a reason for my dad to fight. My mom wasn’t around anymore to do it.

When it was over, reality settled back in and their eyes would still hold that growing, poisonous tinge of resentment. My cousins called me a freak and would corner me, provoking the boar inside of me. Oh, it came out but the blame would fall on me so my dad worked to keep it under control. My grandparents would be gentler about it but still, my cousins poked and prodded and called me a freak over and over.

So I called myself the queen of the freaks and went on a rampage. A controlled rampage but that was what the adults needed to tell my dad I was no longer welcomed. I wasn’t even allowed at the funeral when my grandparents died within a day of each other.

When I was old enough, the ring became my permanent home. The crowd was thrilled to have another Zuniga make their entrance but it was not Rosarita they saw walking down. Like my dad, they just saw us as the were animals we were. We weren’t allowed to be human. The moment we transformed, our next episode was sealed as our retirement.

So what landed me in SINS you might ask? Was it the anger issues or just being a freak?

Well... why not both?

~*~

"Stomping onto the ring and rampaging through your hearts, La Jabali is here!"

Flashing a broad grin, Rosarita hopped out of her helicopter and strolled on over to the gathering group. She wasn't sure if they heard her over the whirling blades but she was certain they saw her. She wore a studded, crimson vest with tight, black leather pants. Her make up was still on with a heavy amount of maroon eyeshadow and metallic green eyeliner. Her lips matched the eyeliner and were twisted into a smirk as she sized up the ones who had already arrived. There was already an imposing feeling in the air but the boar inside of her wasn't afraid to charge on in.

Back straight, chest out, chin up, Rosarita stopped alongside the others and caught the last question asked.

"Well, definitely not me," she said, lowering the star shaped sunglasses she wore to get a better look at the pelt one of them wore. She put them back up with an appreciative nod. "Rampaging Rose here, reporting for duty or whatever it is we're doing here. I wasn't told much. Were any of you?"
 

  • Smoke rolled into the air at the back of the group, dispersed on the slowly spinning blades of the nearest helicopter. Ephie’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, cigarette hanging off her lip. She tapped the red package against her wrist once before stuffing it in her coat, the lighter finding its way into the opposite pocket.

    “Well, wouldn’t be much of a secret rendezvous if they spilled everything to us before we got here, now would it, Miss Elizabeth?” she teased, pushing her round glasses back up her nose.
 
Rosarita gauged the newcomer, looking her up and down with a hint of confusion in her searching gaze. She seemed to be thinking the remark over for a few seconds before putting her hands on her hips, letting out an amused cackle.

"If I had even a quarter of that woman's grace, I wouldn't be at this little secret cita," she said before extending a hand out, grinning. "Rosarita Zuniga. Though you might have heard of me if you know of Miss Elizabeth."
 
Awaiting his time

To rise after a long rest

He welcomes the dawn
​

A figure was seen atop the spinning blades of the helicopter, bounding from one to the other, upside down, with a single hand!

"A-HA! O-HO! A-HA-HO-HA!" he punctuated as the helicopter blades finally came to a halt and he flipped over and landed on the ground below in a sitting position before he suddenly leaped to his feet balancing on a single foot, extending both his hands wide, open-palmed, and far apart from each other!

"SHINOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBIMAN...has arrived!" he announced, in a booming voice! Coughing briefly, the armored warrior drew out a mat and promptly plopped down upon it, his cheek resting on his fist as he took a glance around the surroundings! "A poor first impression! We are esteemed guests, are we not?! No fanfare, no welcoming party?! A poor first impression. A MOST POOR first impression. WELL, NO MATTER!"

Stroking his chin, he pointed out, "I'm sure the welcoming feast will serve to compensate us properly for such an intolerable peregrination! Yes, YES! A feast should do fine! Duck! Pork! Squid! Cabbage! It shall be a grand feast, indeed!" He turned to look at those before him described as "agents". "HUMBLE SERVANTS, I beseech thee! ...Make it so!" he stated, moving up to sit upon the mat again as he awaited the compliance of the castle's servants.
 



















Jinhua



Bloodletter













" --- " = dialogue
-----------------------------------------

The air pushed and pulled the flora with rhythmic grace throughout the mountain. Wind chimes jangling with no specific melody echoed off of the walls of a distant temple further up the mountain and flowed into the ears of Jinhua Liu.

Jinhua’s eyes fluttered open as the sun began to rise up over the valley down below. Birds began to chitter and flap around the trees above. A pair of them played with each other and flew a few circles around Jinhua before returning to the tree tops.

A deep inhale……..and exhale.

The black haired girl rose to her feet from her previously cross legged position and gently raised her arms from her sides up to her head then brought her hands together to make a point with her fingers. She bent to the left side, and then to the right. Her arms then gently fluttered back to her sides.

Ringing was heard coming from her pocket. Jinhua looked at the pocket and brought out the source of the sound, a golden pocket watch.

“Ah, Time to go then.”

Jinhua turned to the monk who was coming down the lengthy staircase up the mountain.

She walked to the stairway and placed her palms together and bowed to the monk and said in mandarin: “保重 (bǎo zhòng.) I must be on my way now.”

She turned around and started jogging down the stairs, about halfway down they narrowed and winded around next to a stream. Jinhua stopped at the stream and bent down to place her hand into the water. She splashed some onto her face, then arose and continued down the mountain with a weightless quality to her footsteps.

.
.
.

“Welcome… We are glad to see you’ve agreed to meet with us.”

“Well, your offer was pretty convincing. You even said you’d let me help make weapons to better make use of my abilities, so of course. Anyway, let’s get this over with. Do I get to know where we are going?.” Jinhua glanced at the suited individual in front of her.

“Afraid not, it’s classified.”

.
.
.

Jinhua has never been involved in any sort of government affairs before, so this whole being dragged into a helicopter with a black sack upon her face ordeal, felt quite unnecessary to her. Why a bag specifically? Why not just a blindfold? What if the bag has something sharp or paperlike and cuts her??? Did they even think about that? They should know how to handle her abilities right? ……. Right??

She felt a tugging upon the bag and instinctively brought her hands up to take the bag off herself, swatting at the hands who were trying to do it for her.

Jinhua tossed the bag into the person’s hands. She was much too parched to speak, but she would have said something along the lines of: Bitchass, don’t touch me. I can handle this myself thank you.

She rolled her eyes and began examining the aircraft, she gazed at the metal roofing while stretching out her arms upwards. Then her eyes wandered to look out the windows and could barely make out the shape of some other person likely in the same situation as herself in the helicopter across from her, along with many others in a carefully articulated formation. Her arms floated back down to her sides. She raked her fingers through her hair to freshen up the mess the bag had made.

Jinhua’s arms were then placed into a criss cross across her chest. She leaned back into her seat while the agents rambled on.

.
.

- The guard turned back to face you. "Alright, we're nearly there. When we land, we'll most likely be greeted by your new boss, Agent Gladden. Word to the wise; watch your mouth if you wanna live past the next 15 minutes. If you can do that, you're golden."

.
.

Jinhua eyed the guard as the aircraft prepared for landing. All she wanted to do was get to the weapons lab to start updating her tech. She was already thinking of specific ideas on how to utilize her blood’s properties better. Hollow bullets for example: her blood can be encased in them which crack upon impact. It would work better than what she’s been doing.

She had similar ideas before but didn’t have the financial backing in order to get specific materials to make it happen.

.
.

- "Alright, here we are, your new home-away-from-home. Strap in for landing, won't be more than 2 minutes. Oh, and rookie, if you're trying to figure out what you should be calling us, we've taken a liking to the name Task Force Gray." The guard flashed you a thumbs up.

Really? That’s the name? Thought it would be a little less…. Bland.

Jinhua looked at the man’s raggedy thumb with a slight tinge of disgust showing on her face.

Her face muscles relaxed as her eyes looked through the windows to the landscape below while the aircraft landed. The air flowing through the aircraft was nice, it was hitting her face in just the right spot so that she didn’t feel stifled.

.
.

Jinhua stood up and dusted off the silk of her qipao inspired outfit. It was a looser design, tight around the waist but more flowy around the legs for optimal movement, a small slit on the left side, with long flowy sleeves. The length of the dress cut off around her knees. She is also sporting a long pair of fake leather boots, black in color. All with a harmonious black and gold design.

Jinhua hopped out of the aircraft, landing like a gymnast who ‘stuck’ the landing, then her eyes followed black petals dissolving into the blades of another helicopter a few feet in front of her. She traced the origin back to the source of the petals who was walking up towards a man reclined on a crate and another tall blond one standing next to it. They appeared to look important, Jinhua assumed those two were in charge of this whole shebang here, or at least one of them should be.

.
.


She watched the burly fur wearing individual saunter up and snatch out a cigarette from the agent on the crate.

“Pft, Ballsy…” she whispered just under her breath. Jinhua doesn’t enjoy the smell of cigarette smoke just as much as the next guy but she wouldn’t be that brash. Especially to someone who’s employing her.

.
.

- “Now, which one of you is Gladden?”

“Well that was rather direct for a first meeting…” Jinhua muttered while she walked past the brooding brit then came to a stop some distance between him, the man who is the source of the black petals, and the guy in the fur with the two at the crate.

How does he know his name already? And why do I get the feeling it’s the one being nonchalant on the crate… I wouldn’t be too happy about that display from the fur wearer if I were him...

.
.

At the same time as Jinhua, A very… Flamboyant woman strolled up, or at least that’s what Jinhua could gather based upon the outfit choice. Quite flashy. Not anything Jinhua would be into that’s for sure, but interesting nonetheless.

- “Well, definitely not me”

- “Rampaging Rose here, reporting for duty or whatever it is we're doing here. I wasn't told much. Were any of you?”


As well as another woman, this one with glasses, brown hair, arguably the most ‘average’ looking person in this whole group.

- “Well, wouldn’t be much of a secret rendezvous if they spilled everything to us before we got here, now would it, Miss Elizabeth?”


“It definitely wouldn’t.” She nodded slightly. Jinhua’s english was understandable, but an accent was definitely there. It’s a nice soft but deep voice for a female.


And then….

- "SHINOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBIMAN...has arrived!"


That was… well. Definitely more upbeat than the rest of them. Is he that excited to be here? And wait… why is this guy talking about food? Did he not eat before coming here? Bad idea on his part….

Jinhua shook her head lightly. There’s a lot of interesting people here today. She thought it would be boring, but it turns out she was wrong.

.
.

Jinhua closed her eyes and rolled the kinks out of her neck and took a deep breath, much like how she did the previous morning when she was meditating at her old home. Her head was now turned up to the sky. Her golden eyes fluttered open and looked towards the sun. She let the deep breath go. Her eyes began to look like miniature suns themselves as the sun’s position inched further up into the sky.

“At least the breeze is nice.”

Since they were out in the middle of the ocean, it was indeed quite breezy. Which was good, she didn't enjoy sweaty weather. Jinhua’s silky black hair swayed around with no discernable direction. She followed the wind with her eyes. It bounced off of many things: trees, crates, the helicopters with still spinning blades. It all made a combined noise that Jinhua enjoyed taking into her ears. It’s not the same as the wind chimes at the temple, but it’s a fresh wind for a new start.













































♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Nocturne
Location: UNKNOWN
[Interacting with Arata Kin Prizzy Kriyze Prizzy Kriyze ]

Alexander kept his fists clenched behind his back. A bead of sweat was beginning to grow on his brow. It was the man in fur—Daven didn't like him one bit. It didn't take a genius to figure out the man was dangerous, and it took almost all of Alexander's concentration to just keep Daven at bay. The last thing he needed now was one of his Shadows starting a fight. The other man was an enigma. He seemed far too comfortable in this environment than one would expect. Perhaps he'd worked with Supers before?

Thankfully, new arrivals came quickly. A woman dressed in Chinese garb, not entirely traditional clothes, but something that approximated it. Two more women, one who was a bit shorter than Alexander, but looked as if she could lift him up and break his back over her knee with relative ease. The other was smoking a cigarette—she, too, seemed unfazed by the people surrounding her. The two women exchanged words, that he couldn't help but overhear. Miss Elizabeth? He'd heard that before. The Zuniga's were almost synonymous with the underground crime in Mexico, especially the illegal wrestling rings.

Before he had a chance to acknowledge the newcomers, the... Robot... Arrived.

Alexander was quite gobsmacked, to be completely honest. There certainly wasn't a person inside that robot, right? But who would programmed such a thing to have a personality so... Eccentric? What the hell was SINS thinking?

He turned to the only other man wearing black. "Do you have any idea what on Earth is going on?"
 

Arata Kin 2.jpgArata Kin

The group rapidly increased in numbers, and Kin's gaze broke from the pelt-clad man to gauge each of the newcomers in turn. There was a man around his own age, just barely below his own height. He wore a black suit as well, almost making Kin wonder if he should've dressed up more, before the other agents began pouring out. He seemed ill-fitting in the company. Murderers and soldiers had a certain air about them, and whatever aura this gentleman was spreading wasn't that.

Soon after, some eccentric followed. A shorter, musclebound woman, announcing her presence like a tv personality. She became immediately engaged with the group's next smoker, another woman, this one clad in a trench coat. Kin stopped listening pretty quickly. It was important to stay aware of one's surroundings at all times, but he couldn't muster the energy to care at all about whatever it is they had in common. Whatever social structure would sprout here, he'd rather stick to the sidelines, so he committed the names to memory and moved on. A younger woman dressed in a mandarin gown was approaching the group and offering her thoughts, too, but he kept his mind off of the idle chatter.

That is, of course, until the, uh... The Shinobiman appeared. Kin crossed his arms and sent an incredulous sidelong look at the shiny plate-man. SINS sure was a different beast. Perhaps if he just ignored it it would go away?

It seemed he wasn't the only one to raise an eyebrow at the group dynamic, as the black-suited man from before turned to speak to him. Kin turned his head slightly and gave him an inquisitive look through the locks of hair that partially obscured his face. He'd been picking up on the man's clenched fists since the moment he arrived, and the shock that now ran amok on his features solidifed Kin's original notion. This man wasn't a warrior. He felt some sympathy for that, and substituted his standoffish expression for aloofness.

"A gathering of unreliable SINS assets, I surmise." He let his eyes meet the other man's for a moment longer, before looking up and noting the beads of sweat on his brow. He turned his head back towards their assumed superiors. "You should try to relax. It's not going to get less stressful when the bullets start flying."

Simon Strut Simon Strut
 
Ianthe and Mellina vvvvv​




















Ianthe



Void













" --- " = dialogue (Ianthe)
" --- " = dialogue (Mellina)
-----------------------------------------

A short redhead with double buns, a large guitar case on her back, wearing an iridescent vinyl and red jacket, jean shorts, a pacman shirt, and long black socks with neon red stripes with her taller black-pink haired acquaintance in a black trenchcoat with equally black bell bottom dress pants and a cropped velvet shirt underneath, came into view from the helicopters towards the back of the formation.

.
.

“Ianthe??? Did that guy just say what I thought he said? Bullets? There’s going to be bullets? You know I don’t like those!” Mellina looked at the cross-armed black suited man and back to Ianthe frantically, while hiding herself behind Ianthe.

Ianthe sighed… She glanced at the violet eyed teenager.

“I’ll make sure you don’t see any if that happens….”

“But, kiddo… With what you’ve gotten yourself into, you might have to just get over it.” Ianthe rustled her right hand through Mellina’s hair.

“You better hide me away in one of your void things if it happens.” Mellina pouted.

Ianthe simply flashed the girl a peace sign that turned into a thumbs up instead of responding.

.
.

They continued walking in before coming to a stop next to eachother, Mellina was gripping onto a loose strap on Ianthe's trenchcoat.

The two of them didn’t pay any regard to anyone else aside from a few quick glances.

The metal guy was odd though. Why was he in such a getup? And why was he so boisterous? Did he just pull that mat out of his ass???

Lovely, is this what we have to put up with? I already put up with this kid, but now some obtrusively dressed tin man? Ianthe rolled her eyes, sighed, and rubbed her left hand through her choppy haircut.

Sentai ass looking mofo, Mellina looked the guy up and down and cringed.












































♡coded by uxie♡
 

  • "FREEZE!" The order rang out over the street amidst the tremor of boot stomps and the clatter of assault rifles being aimed (from a respectable distance) at a rail thin man in a cream colored button-down, bent over and squinting at a parking meter. A chestnut colored eyebrow stretched for his hairline as he complied, and wide green eyes flicked as far as he could muster towards the sound without moving his head. "HANDS UP!" The agent shouted. Green eyes flicked back and forth rapidly between the black uniform in the very edge of his vision, and the parking meter.

    "HANDS UP! I SAID HANDS UP!"

    "You told me to 'freeze' before, so which one is it? 'Freeze?' Or 'hands up?'"

    "PUT. YOUR. HANDS. UP!"

    "Fine, fine, don't shoot, I'm complying," Xandyr muttered sardonically. His back cracked as he straightened up, raising his hands slowly and revealing a quarter held gingerly between his middle and index fingers. Finally getting a good look, Xandyr identified the agent giving the orders: a black uniformed soldier in full tactical, with a SWAT style helmet and full mask. No exposed skin, smart. Six others that he could see, and more behind him no doubt. The soldier giving the orders had one of those fancy new M4 carbines that weren't supposed to be in service yet trained on Xandyr, and the tension was palpable since he revealed he was holding something.

    "Can you please place what you're holding on the ground? Very. Slowly." The soldier politely asked, causing Xandyr to raise his other eyebrow. He couldn't help but shuck his tongue across the roof of his mouth and gums against the dryness.

    "What... this?" Asked Xandyr, forgetting himself for a moment, and bringing his hands down to examine the quarter he was holding. The agents took a collective step back. "It's a quarter. To pay the parking meter."

    "On the ground please."

    "That sounds like a waste of a perfectly good quarter," muttered Xandyr, scratching the back of his neck. He took a breath straight into his next statement. "Oh, I see what this is. One time. One time, we thought it might be fun to blow something up with a roll of quarters, and it's completely ruined carrying pocket change! The discrimination! I can't believe this shit."

    "Doctor, we are not negotiating," retorted the agent with a note of exasperation.

    "Listen this isn't the FUN WAGON, this is Xandyr Pendrake's personal vehicle! ... I'm here to pay a parking ticket I got on the Fun Wagon for parking at an expired meter," Xandyr admitted, rolling his eyes.

    "Drop it!" Ordered the agent, a little more aggressively.

    "The meter-maid is just down the street- You guys act like I made a thousand of these things and they're everywhere, you're wrong! ... I made ten-thousand: I was drunk and fat-fingered the settings on the replication-popper~ but they're ALL. CLEARLY. LABELED- it's not like I can carry them all around at once, do you know how much that would weigh?? It's fifty-six point seven kilos- do I look like I'm carrying kilograms of pocket change on my person? I swear if I get one more parking ticket I might just snap!" Xandyr took a breath, finally noticing grips collectively tightening. "Fiiiiine," he sighed, bending down slowly and snapping the coin against the concrete.

    Xandyr stood up slowly, raising his hands again. The agents seemed to breathe a collective sigh and began closing in on him. He rolled his eyes and offered out his hands, allowing the recovery team to restrain him and begin escorting him away. They clamped enormous manacles on his hands, covering his arms up to the elbow, pulling a weighted black bag over his head.

    The meter maid rolled up to Xandyr's '85 Chevy Caprice wagon in beige with a nonplussed expression. She barely gave a glance to the cluster of armed soldiers leading the skinny, wild-haired man with a bag over his head towards an armored van. Just another day. Another expired meter. Another ticket. She flipped open her book and began to write. The quarter on the ground began to glow, first orange, and then white hot as a rising-pitch tone carried on the air and caught the maid's attention. As she came around the front of the vehicle to identify the source of the noise, a white flash and a deafening explosion engulfed her and spun Xandyr's car out into the street.

    "Honest mistake! It was an honest mistake- I'm right handed, so they're supposed to go in my left pocket I have a system... or was it my right pocket?"

 
Agent Doe's pupils narrowed to slits behind the shades of his Armani sunglasses, though his body language revealed nothing, his attention was suddenly trained squarely and intensely on the second arrival after himself. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the man smelled off. 'That's not it...' The first guy had stunk as well; the second... Something about him reminded John of Xibalba, or at least of its inhabitants.

He would have investigated further, but another Task Force member arrived, this one clad in leather, calling herself the Rampaging Rose. Suddenly, nothing else mattered, impressions of the first two becoming infinitesimally unimportant in comparison as the rest of the tarmac faded into the background. She nodded in his direction. It was moments like this that prompted him to join SINS, to leave Xibalba, to truly live again.

The Tonalli resounded deep within his skull, a pressure not indifferent to a migraine building with every heartbeat. There was the sudden realization that he had become incredibly still; movement of his chest crawling to a stop as he stopped breathing, his pulse following suit. Almost silently, in a voice that wasn't his own, he exhaled, "Zuniga." The corner of his mouth crept upwards into a lopsided grin; it was a beautiful day to be alive.

Another woman spoke to the Zuniga, the tobacco hanging from her lips breaking John out of his trance as he suddenly remembered how to breathe again.
 

March 20th, 1991 - 09:00am

The taller man appeared unperturbed by most of the new arrivals, but the first, Agent Doe, snatching up the other Agent's cigarette caused the two men to look at each other.

The relaxed man smirked and chuckled a bit. "'Son' of Adam, huh... Little Ironic." He muttered to himself, as he shrugged and nodded at the Tall Blonde agent, affirming he was unharmed.

As more of them arrived, the noise levels slowly increased with the chattering and speculating between each other about what exactly was going on, and who was in charge.

"So, who's the handsome bastard I have to thank for getting me put back on active duty?"

“Now, which one of you is Gladden?”

"Rampaging Rose here, reporting for duty or whatever it is we're doing here. I wasn't told much. Were any of you?"

"SHINOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBIMAN...has arrived!"

“Well, wouldn’t be much of a secret rendezvous if they spilled everything to us before we got here, now would it, Miss Elizabeth?”

“It definitely wouldn’t.”

"Do you have any idea what on Earth is going on?"

"A gathering of unreliable SINS assets, I surmise."​

"What an incredible level of restraint among this bunch. I can't see us ever having any issues with them." The Agent from the earlier debriefing had arrived, another folder tucked under his left arm.

"Oh I hope we do, we need things to be interesting again." The relaxed man chuckled as he leaned back, watching as the Taller Blonde Agent cast a glance at him.

The Taller Blonde silently stepped towards the group, saying nothing to them, merely looking between each of them. His eyes lingered carefully over each, inspecting them as a warlord would inspect his army.

"Good morning people. I trust you had a pleasant flight. Welcome to our Island, and if you're new to SINS, then welcome to a brand new world."

His eyes went specifically now to Agent Doe and Alexander. "As for 'who's in charge', that would be-"
______________________________________________________________________________________________​

One final helicopter began descending towards the tarmac, around the same time as the one carrying Xandyr Pendrake. The agents with Xandyr ran over towards a Tall Blonde Man, who grabbed some paperwork they had and began filling it out.

Morgan stared out the window silently as he watched the occupants of the other Blackhawks disembark. His elbows rested on his knees, and the balls of his feet anxiously bounced as he chewed at bits of dry skin around the tips of his fingers. Thoughts drifted through his mind, back to Columbia, to the Red Death. Despite how effective they were, for some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that if he turned away for just one moment, they'd all be wiped out in an instant. Maybe it was some kind of 'object permanence' thing. Or just assuming that the worst outcomes were always on the horizon.

"Keep that up, and you're gonna put a hole in the floor." The guard chided Morgan jokingly.

Morgan smirked nervously and nodded. "Yeah, sorry, got a lot on my mind."

"You'd think you missed your train or something." The guard sighed as the Blackhawk's tires touched the tarmac.

As the door opens, and Morgan stepped out, he reached into a jacket pocket and withdrew a pack of Dentyne mint gum, popping a strip into his mouth. He moved past the others who'd been gathered, pretty much just avoiding all interaction as he worked his way towards the SINS agents there to meet them. Morgan looked between the two men, pushing his glasses back as his gaze finally landed on the man who was seated more casually.

"As for 'who's in charge', that would be-"

"Him?" Morgan pointed his thumb in the direction of the seated, relaxed agent.

The relaxed man quirked an eyebrow up, as he and the Tall Blonde cast glances towards each other. The moment was interrupted when another voice cut through, a cuffed man shambling towards the group as he spoke in the direction of the relaxed looking man.

"Ooh, that's gotta be Gladden, I'd recognize the smell of that Pomade anywhere. Time to go burn down some muppet's village then, innit? Can... can I get a hand with the blindfold?"

The relaxed man let out a long, slow sigh as he looked back at the Tall Blonde Agent. "Agent Grimdark, I'm considering redesignating you as Agent Emergency Flare, because I don't think there's a bigger Glowie on this island than you right now."

The Tall Blonde Agent, Grimdark, flushed slightly and shrugged.

"I set up this whole thing and not a single person bought it. The frigging Werewolf came straight up to me, and Eyeballs McGee wasn't fooled for a second." He shook his head with a smirk as he opened some shotgun shell pouches on his tactical vest, and removed not a shell, but a small bottle of hotel bar fridge vodka.

He cracked the top of it off, and raised the bottle at the group. "Prost!" The liquid quickly disappeared down his throat before he tossed the glass bottle off to the side on the tarmac.

Morgan looked to the shattered bottle, then back to the casual agent. This dude wasn't like anyone he'd met at SINS before. Anyone he'd met in general for that matter...

"Doc! Great to see ya again, you look fabulous! Grimdark, help him out with the blindfold, we're all friends here!"

He turned to face the rest of the group now, regarding Agent Doe for a few seconds longer than the others, mostly in a slightly amused, impressed way.

"Welcome... To Fantasy Island! If you watched that show... I am Agent Gladden. Or, if you prefer, you can also call me A-"

He stopped abruptly, freezing in place, as if a stage actor who'd just forgotten his next line. Gladden looked to Grimdark, and then to the file carrier. Both looked at him confused and just kind of shrugged.

Gladden looked back to the group again, snapping his fingers as he seemed to realize or remember something.

"Ah, yes, right! You can also call me Peter. Peter Radovan."​

​
 
Nocturne
Wonderful. 'Unreliable SINS assets'. It was only just now sinking in that Alexander also counted amongst them. A SINS asset. Hopefully, this wouldn't impact his professional life, though he supposed that would just be one more thing the agency could threaten him with. He wondered, were the others here for the same reasons as him, having essentially been blackmailed by SINS, or were they here willingly? The man in fur certainly seemed like the latter.

Thankfully, Daven had calmed down somewhat. At least enough for Alexander to stop holding his breath and actually take note of those around him. The latecomers were certainly... A mixed bag. Two young women, one seemingly still a teenager while the other was closer to Alexander's age. Neither of them seemed like 'SINS assets', per se... Or at least he would have thought that if he hadn't already witnessed a robotic samurai-thing.

Then came Subject 0294. To see a man restrained in such a way, or rather, to see a man so used to it, was rather startling. He must be dangerous, Alexander thought. That was, until he began to speak. Alexander raised an eyebrow upon hearing his accent. English, definitely Northern. Hull, perhaps? No, he sounded more like an Old Yorker. He remembered loving the times he visited York as a child. The Christmas markets and the cosy cafés. The wonky alleyways and hot chocolate stands. Despite the current situation, it was almost comforting to hear the man speak. Although, to be frank, he'd never heard a Yorkie say 'innit'. Or anyone else over the age of fifteen, for that matter.

When one final newcomer arrived, the SINS agents began to address the group. That must mean everyone was present. So, Gladden—or Radovan—was the smaller one, while 'Grimdark' was the man attempting to pass as Gladden. Was that some sort of safety precaution? Certainly a strange attempt at one. When Radovan had finished, Alexander turned to the man he spoke to earlier.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed," he muttered, "but some of these people are utterly and entirely insane." He took a deep breath to steel himself. His Shadows stirred—they were on edge but, for the most part, he could suppress them.

He'd rarely been around other Supers before. He remembered Melon-Head, one of the newer members of the Dodgers, had confronted Alexander when he refused to join their little band of heroes. A quick appearance from Daven had scared the kid off, probably had him soiling his pants too. The only other time he'd been face-to-face with Supers was when a group of five of them, all clad in nondescript military gear, had tried to kill him. It was safe to say, other Supers hadn't made a good impression on him. But if Alexander wanted to ultimately gain the upper hand, an ally or two certainly couldn't hurt.

"I'm Alexander, by the way. Or Nocturne, if you prefer," he continued. Now, what was considered etiquette when talking to a fellow superpowered individual? "So... What can you do?"


 
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"Feelin' fabulous, Pete. Fantasy Island... You know, that there's a show I'd like to watch again," Xandyr said, taking a few unsteady steps towards Peter's voice and leaning vaguely in his direction. "They only let me have the Disney channel in my cell," he whispered, much too loudly. "Listen, love, I'm not trying to be cheeky, but DuckTales ended abruptly after I thought it would bang on for at least another season and I heard they're coming for Tale Spin next. Mate, if I lose another show I will absolutely go bloody bonkers- Tale Spin is too young to get canceled it's provocative and has proper substance! Can you do me a favor and keep that on the air... or... you know, sponsor my petition to add a second channel to my cell?" Xandyr gave a convincingly sincere smile and backed away a step. It was hard to tell with the blindfold, but he was winking. He didn't stand still for long: Grimdark had only just caught up to him to remove the blindfold when he was shuffling off towards another interesting sound that he heard.

"Wait a tick, is that the Queen's English I hear?" Xandyr shuffled awkwardly towards Nocturne until he was nearly on top of him while a cadre of assault rifles and the Blackhawk's minigun followed his path. Xandyr stood next to them for an uncomfortably long moment before he took a breath to speak.

"My name is Xandyr but everyone calls me 'Doc for reasons that will become clear in the not too distant future- did I mention I had a petition? It's to add an additional channel of programming to my cell but if we work together I'm sure your accommodations could be made more comfortable too- I really want the USA network they have the Cartoon Express it's mainly programming from the Hanna-Barbera library but that's SO many shows and this year they're airing Voltron for the first time~," Xandyr paused to take a breath. "That's where five robots come together to make one big robot and fight giant monsters-"

"Doctor Outrageous," The Blackhawk's loudspeakers squealed uncomfortably with momentary feedback. "Please step away from the recruit and reestablish line of sight with your weapons operators: we do not want to damage new SINS assets in a crossfire." Xandyr sighed and began to shuffle awkwardly in place before rolling his head back and shouting over their heads.

"I can't bloody see anything! Which way am I stepping?"

"Back... back... back... left... left... you're good," the handlers instructed. Xandyr mouthed "Five Robots" while nodding conspiratorially as he complied and finally stood still long enough for Grimdark to catch up and rip the blindfold off. Xandyr grunted uncomfortably as the sunlight stabbed his retinas, and for a while just tried to keep his feet while his eyes adjusted.
 
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Lord Saethos said:
Morgan looked to the shattered bottle, then back to the casual agent. This dude wasn't like anyone he'd met at SINS before. Anyone he'd met in general for that matter...

"Doc! Great to see ya again, you look fabulous! Grimdark, help him out with the blindfold, we're all friends here!"

He turned to face the rest of the group now, regarding Agent Doe for a few seconds longer than the others, mostly in a slightly amused, impressed way.

"Welcome... To Fantasy Island! If you watched that show... I am Agent Gladden. Or, if you prefer, you can also call me A-"

He stopped abruptly, freezing in place, as if a stage actor who'd just forgotten his next line. Gladden looked to Grimdark, and then to the file carrier. Both looked at him confused and just kind of shrugged.

Gladden looked back to the group again, snapping his fingers as he seemed to realize or remember something.

"Ah, yes, right! You can also call me Peter. Peter Radovan."​
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Click to expand...

OHO! What's this? A new arrival, but one most important it seemed. Perhaps one that would instill a sense of order in a thus far chaotic and unruly meeting! Pointing at the agent greeting them, Shinobiman pointed at Gladden. Or Radovan as it were.

"Ah, you must be the Lord of this Castle!" Shinobiman noted, before bowing his head. "LORD RADOVAN! It is with great honor that I take it upon myself to announce that we, your NOBLE VASSALS have arrived! I will also speak on behalf of us all to say, what a GREAT PRIVILEDGE it is for all of us to be the heroes chosen on this great endeavor to purge the land of whatever plague of evil that infests it!"

"However..." Shinobiman muttered as he spun into a sudden mid-air backflip toward Radovan. Shonibiman held a fan to his face as he leaned in and (audibly) whispered. "Your servants' decorum leaves much to be desired. Where was the celebration?! Bombastic drummers lining the aisles with a brilliant cacophony! Beautiful women in elaborate garb tossing flower petals that scatter to the winds! Personally, I'd recommend remedial lessons. Nothing too harsh, mind you! Simply something to remind them of proper etiquette!"

With that stated, Shinobiman flipped back to his place upon the mat, folding his arms in an overexaggerated fashion. "Now, with all that said...Lord Radovan. I assume we are to be taken to our feast?"
 
Ephie rocked back on her heels away from Rosarita, eyeing Radovan and Dr. Pendrake through the small crowd of recruits. There were two assets standing out as more unusual than the rest; the louder of the two was continuing to go on about their welcome banquet, and the more aggressive seemed to have drawn an interest in the wrestler. No harm in letting the two mingle.

She stepped away, chewing the butt of her cigarette. She slipped past the others, circling around the good Doctor's security detail and coming up beside the chatty yoroi. "Yeah, I could it," she chimed in, giving Radovan a shit-eating grin. "We haven't had a chance to eat breakfast yet, y'know. It's only proper, right?"
 
John smiled cheerily down at Peter, "Apologies, didn't mean to ruin the moment. You know how I feel about cigarettes." It had been a few years since he had last seen the man, but the Agent was looking the same as ever. If John didn't know any better, he might have even said Peter hadn't aged a day in the time they'd been apart. Thankfully John knew lots of things, some of which were, in fact, better.

His nostrils flared as the loudest of the assembled agents (a nonbiological) mentioned a feast; the word made his eyes steal a hungry glance at Rosarita. Licking his lips, he spoke after Effie in a slow drawl, eyes still keenly watching the wereboar, "I reckon I am feeling a powerful hunger."
 


Morgan chewed his gum as he listened to the 'Doc' ramble on about cartoons, and then the big, robotic looking Ninja chime in frequently about food and feasts. He chewed a few more times, before the realization of the minty flavor occurred to him. "Bugger..."

Agent Gladden cleared his throat. "Firstly, Doc-O, I'll see what strings I can pull. No promises on Duck Tales, even Disney may be too big for me to take on. Might be able to swing getting you Fox Ki- I mean 'Fox Children's Network' though. Secondly, Ephie, right? And Shinobiman? Not a Lord, but I'll get to that. And dear old John, fret not, I've more than an ample supply of stimulants at my disposal. Now then all, we'll do a lil tour, and uh..." He turned to face the man holding the files. "Apellicon, scratch the tour actually, could you tell the Kitchen to get some stuff whipped up quick?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know! Like a frigging... Buffet or something! Donuts and coffee or whatever!"

Agent Apellicon nodded slightly, getting ready to walk off.

"Not now! After I'm done here! Gimme those files." Apellicon sighed as Gladden grabbed the files from him. Gladden turned to the group, holding the files and papers up to them.

"This is the chain of command folks, whom everyone reports to, all the way to the tippy top. We do things around here a... Little differently. Shinobiman, as I said, I am not a Lord." Gladden pulled a Zippo from one of his pockets, and lit a corner of the file, as it quickly became engulfed in flame.

He let it fall to the tarmac as it became ash. Apellicon seemed utterly unphased, as if this were part of the job.

Morgan for his part decided to move a little closer to the group, suddenly finding the proximity to Gladden to be rather uncomfortable.

"I am the only thing on this planet that you report to. As far as you're concerned, I'm the Director of SINS. I'm Congress. The Senate. The DOJ. The DOD. You might as well consider me the President of the United States of America, because you won't be reporting H.W. either. No one else, in SINS or any other organization, is your superior."

There was a long moment of silence clinging in the air, before Gladden clapped his hands together and, after giving the group a small dose of tonal whiplash, waved for them to follow. "With that out of the way, come along with me."

The group was led towards a large hanger sitting next to the tarmac, with several other hangers next to it, and in other corners of the large landing field.

Inside was fairly nondescript. The sort of concrete and corrugated steel you'd expect from a building like this. However, it was also fairly empty, save for a large, square steel platform in the center of the room. Gladden stepped on first, ushering the group to follow suit. The island had seemed rather sparse of buildings around the airfield, and it was now becoming apparent why.

The steel platform shuddered and reverberated as it slowly descended through the floor.

Morgan remained relatively silent through the ordeal, but he couldn't help but feel his body flood with anxiety, as memories came back to life, eerily similar to the moment they were in now.

................................................................................................................................................................​

When the elevator finally reached its destination, deep under the surface of the island, the group was met by several corridors, with location names painted on the walls. To the left seemed to be the Hanger, which, while walking briskly past, the group could see was a rather vast room, with far off walls, and a ceiling at least several stories high. Besides a few Blackhawks inside, there were also several jets that looked less familiar, and more stealth like.

"We'll circle round again later for more of a proper tour, when I feel like it." They continued down the central hallway, passing a mixture of side hallways, offices, labs, and armories.

"If you uh, see anything you recognize in one of the armories we're passing... May or may not be some of your gear. I mean you're gonna be working here for a while, so might as well let you use YOUR stuff, am I right?"

As the neared the end of the hallway, a large set of glass doors began to part open, folding together with the crease forming towards the inside of the room that laid beyond. About one to two feet in front of the door way, across the floor, and the ceiling, were what appeared to be movable metal grates, designed for an emergency ballast door to be lowered from the ceiling, and locked tightly into place below the floor.

The room they entered was, judging on the contents inside, something of a war room. The large screen at the wall opposite of them almost felt like it could be a movie theater screen, only it displayed a map of the world, with all the continents and landmasses composed of green lines on top of a black background. Some areas were faintly colored in, either in yellow, orange, or red. Based on the coloration of Russia, and its surrounding territories, it appeared to indicate conflict zones. There were also large monitors in the corners of the room, smaller than the main World Map, with text scrolling through with dates, times, and locations, indicating a live feed of ongoing events all over the world.

As the team followed a carpeted path to the center of the room, they passed by rows of computer terminals, occupied by agents either hurriedly typing away, or speaking into a headset as they barked out orders to someone on the other end. Further into the corners, next to the rows of terminals, there were breakaway tables where agents would gather around and discuss whatever the going-ons were.

The walls of the room were predominantly concrete, with some natural rock formations interspersed through out, and on the cieling. The overall aesthetic was very brutalist in style, and although the room was somewhat dim, there was bright, natural light filtering in through some ceiling lights. How this light filtered down this far underground was unknown, but the softness of the light was unmistakably from somewhere above ground.

Finally, they reached the center of the room, with a long, rectangular, black marble table, surrounded by black leather office chairs with chrome metal tubes forming the support structure and casters. The table had one rectangular screen in the middle, below a flat, glass surface, that mirrored the World Map seen behind them. There were several other smaller screens beneath glass as well.

As the team approached, they could now see the smaller screens were flashing images periodically. Images each of them recognized. Photos of themselves, followed by short briefings of their abilities, histories, and more. Those same images and briefings also appeared on the sides of the wall mounted World Map.

Soon, they were joined by images that the group mostly did not recognize, or were only passingly familiar with.

Ultrox.

Alpheum.

The Union.

G.O.A.

A.I.C.A.S.

N.A.H.L.A.

Rubra Morte

DAGGER.

Soldiers in Black.

Soviet Armed Forces.

Democratic Russian Forces.

Ultranationalist Russian Forces.

The list continued on, while a small team of kitchen staff, laden with trolleys, began setting up coffee urns (along with hot water urns, and carafes of cream and milk), along with a fold out table with boxes of donuts on it.

"Still working on the breakfast stuff sir, we'll be back soon with the chafers." The staff member scrambled off back towards some side corridor, off to an unseen part of the facility.

"The coffee and donuts was... It was a joke. We do provide actual sustenance here, I assure you all."

Gladden cleared his throat as he turned to the group.

"Take a seat why don't you. And welcome to the War Room."

He pointed between the screens. "To answer the question of 'what are we doing here', it's really quite simple. We're going to be saving the world. Based on the way this decade is starting off so far, we're going to be doing it a LOT too. From various terror cells, mercenary groups, even Nuclear Weapons going missing from the Ruskies, and a few other places. Quite the mess we've got to clean up."

Gladden leaned back against the table as he looked at his new subordinates. "Actually, if you've been with a hero team before, this might feel like that. We've even got a Rogues Gallery! Little place to learn about your foes, put up some trophies, all that jazz. And with that said..."

He took a sip of coffee, and bit into a chocolate donut, before a smirk formed on his lips. "Let's play show and tell. Tell the class about yourselves, what you do, what you've done... Maybe even about your own personal Rogues Gallery, your nemesis and enemies. Sounds like fun? Rhetorical question, and if you don't volunteer yourself, I'll choose volunteers."
 
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The flames hungrily licked the pages of the folder that Peter had dropped onto the tarmac. The smell of burning ink mixed with the intrepid scent of tobacco, strangers, and tarmac. The sensation was strong enough that he almost didn't notice Morgan inching away from Agent Radovan; almost but not quite. As the group followed their new President, Director, and Lord (all rolled into one) John went out of his way to step onto the ashy remains of the folder, kicking up charred bits of dossier as he did.

There was something warmly nostalgic about the way he felt when the ground lurched into motion and the team descended into the belly of the beast.
With his hands in his pockets, he prowled after Peter with the bored nonchalance of someone who either didn't fully understand the implication of what they had been brought here to do or didn't particularly care. His slow gait quickly lent itself to him falling to the rear of the group as they followed Radovan, 'Gladden?' Whatever he was calling himself this year. From his position at the back of the pack, he kept an Eagle's eye on the Zuniga.

They passed a Hangar room first, the smell of petroleum cloyingly following them as they passed. Vehicles always made gave John such a terrible sense of claustrophobic impatience. Something about shoving oneself into a metal box powered by explosions didn't sit right with him, old-fashioned as he was, didn't help that they tended to be slower than him. Not that he'd ever complain about it to Peter's face.

The next few rooms were mostly a blur, one of them held a particularly scrumptious looking specimen strapped to a table, but such a creature was not worth the energy digestion would take, not yet at least. As the rest of the group moved through a set of glass folding doors, John noticed a familiar sight in one of the last armories they passed; the shock of which caused him to temporarily forget about his newest quarry. The door stood held open by a rubber doorstopper, the sound of conversation coming from within. Taking a few steps forward, John entered the room. A couple other agents were in the corner, arguing over the specifications of some godforsaken firearm, not that he cared about anything they had to say.

On the opposite side of the room sat the object that had caught his attention. Sitting in a display case, behind a layer of glass over an inch thick, sat a large block of Ironwood almost seven feet tall. Prismatic blades stuck out of the sides in irregular intervals, the handle of the weapon wrapped in a leather no longer found in this world; flensed from the last of the Si-Te-Cah. The Tonali inside him was incensed, dumbfounded, and outraged all at once. He didn't just know it was the one he had lost; he could feel it. Standing before him was the world's last authentic Macuahuitl, a gift from Cizin himself, a weapon that was in the hands of the River People. At least... It was supposed to be.

If he were younger and more impulsive, he would've cocked his fist back and shattered the glass right then and there, reuniting the relic with its proper owner. Instead, he looked around, noticing the rest of the group had gotten away from him. Making a mental note of the armory, John hurried out of the room and followed the scent of the Zuniga to a war room. Gladden was just finishing up orientation with the fresh chaff when he rejoined the group.

"Let's play show and tell. Tell the class about yourselves, what you do, what you've done... Maybe even about your own personal Rogues Gallery, your nemesis and enemies. Sounds like fun?"

John looked around the room at the assembled agents, they were all so young. Though, he supposed, they would have to be. He raised his hand, "If no one wants to go first, I s'pose I could tell ya'll about the River People." He flashed an impeccably white smile, "Fair warning though, it's a tough act to follow."
 
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The elevator had been held up while the group waited for Harkless to dismount the Blackhawk's minigun and transfer it to his own personal harness. The mountain of a man stomped heavily after them with purpose while Xandyr and his eleven heavily armed escorts squeezed tightly into nearly every spare inch of the elevator.

"Hey watch your elbows in here... the safety is engaged on that thing, right? My shoulder still hurts from the last 'accidental discharge,'" muttered Xandyr.

"The only safety that matters is this one, Doc," Harkless replied with dry smugness, waggling an armored finger at him.

Xandyr lagged behind the rest of the group a small distance, having to wait as his escort piled out of the elevator and filled the hallway in a staggered wedge formation with Harkless and his minigun taking point. The fact that they could very easily fill the entire corridor with bullets didn't escape Xandyr's notice, and he took a deep breath. Just a little while longer.

"Spent all this money making a secret underground villain-lair and you couldn't spare the twenty-grand it would take to smooth out the ceilings?" Xandyr muttered as his gaze swept the facility. "The acoustic resonance of this facility is atrocious. It's gonna make Baloo's voice sound all wrong," he complained.

Xandyr absorbed all the details of the rooms they passed with a glance, noting the triple-layered secure container that undoubtedly held his... or the Good Doctor's mobile toolkit. He resisted the urge to run in there and cause a scene with this entourage even as a gag, mainly because they probably would shoot him if he got within twenty feet of that container. Staying alive at the moment was the preferable outcome.

They filed into the conference room, and Xandyr let his escort direct him to a seat at one of the far corners of the table where they could set up an effective three way crossfire. He took a deep breath, struggling to get comfortable with his arms immobilized. He ended up leaning his chair back as far as it would go and kicking his fuzzy slippers up onto the table noisily while he listened to Peter and the... River person while raising an eyebrow.

"Someone else can go, I'm not that interesting," he stated plainly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat while he tried to balance the weight of the contraption immobilizing his arms. He paused, feeling a cadre of rolled eyes on the back of his head. "What? I'm not!" He exclaimed, as the transfer officer entered the room and dropped a file folder as thick as a California phone book onto the table with a resounding *clap* as she sat a few seats away from him. He flinched at the sound, and wobbled unsteadily in his chair.

"Subject was moved from low-security to medium-security confinement due to an incident where a fellow inmate was wish-boned and eviscerated by a modification done to his bed following an altercation over a stolen cup of pudding."

"You can't prove I was responsible for that."

"Subject was moved from medium-security to high-security confinement after a rec-room television melted six inmates and set fire to the facility following a hazing altercation," she continued, rolling her eyes and flipping through a handful of incident reports.

"I told the corrections staff that outlet needed maintenance."

"Subject was confined in UltraMax-security isolation following a break out incident during Sephirah Registry evaluation where an unknown device flattened three acres of the correctional facility, resulting in over six-hundred casualties," the transfer officer described coldly. Xandyr's cheek twitched.

"They're just compressed into an infinitely small space, and not actually dead. Although from a certain perspective, the difference is negligible," he replied. He straightened in his chair, taking his feet down smoothly. His steely gaze glinted with barely restrained violence. Leather and Kevlar creaked as grips tightened on weapons, and relaxed trigger discipline quickly changed to ready-fire as his expression, posture, tonality, and accent shifted.

"Welcome to the conversation, Doctor."

"Is that all you're going to tell them, Aster?"

"If you don't participate it's not 'show' and tell, is it Doctor," Aster replied coldly, closing the brief. A thin smile spread across Xandyr's hawk-like features.

"Fine. My name is Doctor Outrageous- I make things. It's a Hokhmah class ability that transforms my understanding of the physical, mechanical, chemical, and electrical interactions of this world. Super-human creativity. A divine inspiration. My actions destabilized Southern Russia's infrastracture and I have many enemies across the globe, including NAHLA's own director Richter, Titan, and people in this very room," he explained dryly as his gaze swept past Aster, Morgan, and Peter.

"Unfortunately a demonstration will be impossible, as at this time my hands, fingers, and arms are chemically immobilized within these restraints. I am interested in what our 'river-person' has to say though."
 
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