posted
Yes, I HAVE actually got back to this Anyone else going to too?
Richard McCauley stood outside his family's ancestral home and looked up at the facade, appreciating yet again the craftsmanship his father's father had obtained to build the residence. The moment was, he reviewed, likely to be one of the last things he would enjoy today. For he no longer resided in the house he looked upon, having retired to the Florida coast some years prior.
That honour belonged, at present, to Leonard, his eldest son, who had inherited both house and chairmanship of McCauley Industries, the company his father and he had built into a multi-million dollar conglomerate. Which, with more than eighty percent of the shares still in the hands of the McCauley family, including his own sizeable stake, was the subject of today's visit - one of his six-monthly dinners with Leonard to review the ostensible "family business." They were a matter to be tolerated, rather than enjoyed, for both of them, yet he continued to make the half-yearly trip, feeling constrained to the cycle.
At least, he reflected, whatever the company, the standards of the kitchen would need to have fallen abominably for the food to be less than excellent.
--------------------
As he walked into the porch, he noted the lack of any apparent security enhancements with distain. One could never be too careful in these uncertain times. This, in apparent karma, was immediately followed by a momentary migraine so severe that his life apparently flashed before his eyes. Before he reached the door, the butler opened it, and ushered him into the drawing room, where his son was waiting for him.
"Mr McCauley Senior, sir"
He had always disliked the "Senior," and in his still slightly disorientated state, was unable to hide his distaste. As far as he was concerned, only the "Junior" term was required (where applicable), he thought as he settled into one of the sumptuous leather armchairs.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"For the moment," his son replied, "but have the kitchen ensure that the meal is ready for seven o'clock."
"Very good, sir," said the butler, exiting backwards and shutting the door. At least one person knew his place.
Several seconds elapsed before McCauley Junior broke the silence. "Hello father."
Richard grunted in acknowledgement, as he closed his eyes, trying to banish the after-effects of the inexplicable headache.
"I see you encountered Heather. It can be quite uncomfortable I suppose, the first few times."
He shot his son a sharp glare and gruffly barked "What?!" through his neatly trimmed white beard.
"My latest addition to the security staff - a telepath who has been trained to verify the identity and intentions of everyone entering the estate.
"WHAT?! You would subject me to this indignity?! Could you not, at the very least, have trained your 'telepath' to recognise me on sight? Or provide me with some token to prove my identity?"
"It's not the world you inhabited, father. Trinkets can be stolen, shapes can be mimicked. Scanning every single person - yes, including myself! - is the only viable option."
Richard didn't like it, but he could see Leonard's point. After all, had he himself not silently berated the apparent lack of security improvements as he was about to enter? What device could prove more secure? Still... "If I understand you correctly, however, this 'Heather' is a person. How can you prove her loyalty? People can be bribed, blackmailed or simply become tired of service. And the power and knowledge she could wield, were she to turn against you... against us!"
Leonard McCauley smiled thinly. "The loyalty of her - and of all my staff - is absolute and demonstrable. Steps have been taken to ensure that betrayal is impossible."
This statement, and the absoluteness of it, gave Richard McCauley pause for thought. He was almost certain he wouldn't like the details behind that statement, and it was not something he wanted to debate on an empty stomach. He moved the subject onto McCauley Industries finances, resolving to return to that statement later...
--------------------
As far as Tikhik was concerned, he'd been stuck in Australia far, far too long. The hospitality of the Kallors had been shocking, when you considered that he looked like some sort of giant cockroach or beetle. But he couldn't impose much longer. Still, while he was recovering, he couldn't quite open a gate wide enough for him to get through - and besides, given what teleporting to Australia had done to him, teleporting back was out of the question.
"What're you thinking about?" Tom, the boy who had found him when he landed & taken him home was walking over to him. "You know what I'm thinking about..." Tikhik said, looking out onto the harbour in the morning sun. "Yeah. I suppose I can kinda understand it, after what he did to you. But, if that's all you ever think about, it'll destroy you quicker than he'd ever be able to." "I'm already destroyed though Tom. I already am..."
--------------------
The bell rang for dinner, and Richard McCauley followed his son through to one of the more moderately-sized dining rooms. Even McCauley extravagance didn't extend to using the Great Hall for a two-person meal. They sat, but at the table, but the elder McCauley was genuinely shocked when he saw that the servant girl attending them had two huge, angel-like, wings extending from her shoulder blades, and even more so when she turned and he quite clearly saw from her exposed back that they were quite clearly not strapped in place, but indeed grown from the waif herself, a girl of age - he judged, if indeed such a specimen aged normally - between 16 and 18 years.
Leonard quite clearly delighted in his father's utter shock. "Yes, father?"
Richard had not quite regained his powers of speech yet, and instead dumbly pointed at the girl.
The son's grin broadened. "Yes, quite a delightful specimen, is she not?"
"Bu-But, wings!?"
"Yes, but they're not so much to look at like this. She looks exceptionally beautiful on the wing. And she can fly, although no-one seems to be able to decide quite how."
"Bu-but..."
"You can accept the idea of a telepath sorting through your thoughts to ensure you're you, and not the idea of a girl with wings?"
Richard finally pulled himself together at that. "Yes, but for God's sake, a telepath doesn't have to be seen. A girl with angel wings? The tabloids would be all over it, then the churches would be proclaiming her the second coming or something! Are you trying to tell me that she grew those overnight and you're the first person to notice those? Notice her?"
Leonard looked the girl over, raising her head slightly with his hand from the bowed position it had been in to look her straight in the face. "Of course not to your first question, but essentially yes to the second. Apparently she's a member of some backwater tribe that's all got them, and somehow stay out of sight. Apparently, one day she decided to fly off, saw a recruitment advertisement for the Workforce and decided to try out. Putting her on the team would have been pointless, since all she can do is fly and those wings are huge targets, and arguably outright dangerous to us, given that we'd have the bible bashers all over us like maggots." He dropped her head and turned to face his father, "Still, there was no value in losing a beautiful specimen like her completely. I... convinced her that a place in my personal household was a good idea, and now she serves me loyally."
"Loyally..." there was that word again, Richard thought. Of course, the McCauleys had always demanded complete loyalty from their servants as a condition of employment, but certain aspects of Leonard's story only made sense if you read a deeper meaning into the way he delivered that word. The girl was still just standing there, head bowed, in her rather revealing blood red female servant's outfit. Not the sort who just ran away. He'd mentioned the Workforce in his story, a subject they hadn't touched on yet but Richard had fully intended to bring up anyway.
"And the active Workforce... they are just as loyal?"
"Of course."
Richard McCauley intended to say more, but the doors opened and the butler and two other servants carried the soup in at that moment. And the custom of these things was never to talk business during a meal.
--------------------
At that moment, several of the Workforce members were appearing on a late-night chat show, as part of the directive to keep the Workforce - and by extension, McCauley Industries, for whom the Workforce had become something of a talisman - in the public eye.
Most of it had consisted of regurgitations of already public backstory [like how Reflecto had discovered his power after falling off a cliff... and bouncing. And that of course he hadn't been unhinged by the experience. And no, (in response to an audience question) he hadn't heard of a character called Deadpool. Why did he ask?] The rest of it was accounts of recent and near-future work, none of which had any particular consequence [Reflecto moaned they hadn't actually had anyone stupid enough to fight them yet, and forced attempts at matching up the members romantically.
Still, it was considered good publicity. So it had to be done.
--------------------
The meal was finished - and had been excellent, as usual - and the two McCauleys had retreated to the Smoking Room. The younger McCauley had port with his cigar, while the elder maintained his preference for brandy after a repast. The winged servant girl had been compelled to follow them in, since she had already proven a curiosity.
The elder McCauley was the first to break the relaxed silence.
"Leonard," he began, "this Workforce thing, and the winged girl, and the telepath... why such a focus on these bloody super-powered people suddenly? And don't give me that cock and bull story from earlier about the girl running away from home. What you said doesn't fit what I've seen of her type. I've tried a few runaways as servants in my time, and the one thing they all had in common is that they wouldn't stand quietly like this girl has done for two and a half hours. Loyalty is one thing, unquestioning obedience is another, pleasant as it is. What is going on?"
Leonard McCauley was surprised by his father's bluntness. And, less forgivably, by his intelligence. One thing his father had never been was stupid. How could he be? He was a McCauley. It might be worth telling him everything, he thought, just to see how he would take it...
"You want the truth, father? It's simple." He paused for a moment, intending to keep it as concise as possible. "First of all, the interest is not 'sudden'. The Metahuman program has been underway, under my own, private, purview for almost three years. At first it was mostly coachloads of foreigners who 'disappeared' being experimented on, people who wouldn't be missed in this country. But the success rate there was pitiful, under one percent. So, while that has been primarily mothballed in the past seven months, the collection of pre-existing metahumans has become the cornerstone of the program. It has been mostly runaways - or metahumans testing their powers in the middle of nowhere, until the Workforce program begun. This girl (gesturing at the winged girl), was caught wondering too far afield."
Richard McCauley had been listening intently, marvelling at his son's audacity, but there were some obvious, blatant risks involved that couldn't be ignored, and he interjected at this point. "Two points - firstly, no-one's noticed all these metahumans vanishing off the face of the planet? Without even including the 'Coachloads' you mentioned earlier. Secondly, how have you been storing them? Is there a gaol out there we're housing them in? Without anyone noticing? Thirdly, just catching them doesn't explain this girl's obedience."
"Points two and three I was about to explain in a moment, if you'll permit me to continue. As to point 1... the numbers involved are low, and isolated. Vans able to assume a number of different registration plates, colour schemes and logos (if any) at the flick of a switch chriscross the country, capture the metahumans, place them in stasis and remove them to one of two detention centres where they remain in stasis until they are required. Only one capture has occurred within a thousand miles of a detention centre, and that involved a metahuman who witnessed a capture and followed the van. The incompetents who permitted this were summarily dealt with, and there is no evidence the subject alerted anyone, nor is there any evidence of any other witnessing of captures.
As to the girl's 'obedience', as you put it, all the metahumans who are used in our service undergo a degree of mental programming, dependent on their personality and what they are intended to do. This girl was judged particularly simpatico to the treatment, and given that there is no need for spontaneity in such a role, and with her proximity to me, she received one of the highest adjustments."
Leonard paused for a moment, and Richard took a few moments to absorb it all. It was brilliant, but risky beyond belief.
"What is the risk of rejecting the 'adjustment?'"
"There is no subject programmed to an extent with a risk greater than one percent."
"And the numbers involved?"
"Currently, one hundred and twenty metahumans are in our possession. Of those, only twenty, including this girl and Heather, have been released to fulfil any purpose."
"Including the Workforce?"
"Yes."
"And how "private" is the subsidiary in question? What is the likelihood of it being traced back to you? Or the Industries?"
"There are two distinct subsidiaries involved. One is the one doing the capturing and, holding and reprogramming. While that is wholly owned by me, it is done so via the usual chain to hide these things. The other is the Workforce recruiting structure, which are wholly owned by the Industries, but again, indirectly and is engaged as if it is an outside contractor."
Richard paused at this point. He had all the answers he needed on this matter... for the moment. What he needed now was time to digest it all. A related matter had entered his head...
"So, with this... obsession.. you seem to have developed over these 'metahumans,' have you ever considered attempting to become a metahuman yourself? Given adequate safety testing and guarantees of course." The tone of voice would have left a deaf man in no doubt that he disapproved of the possibility. But Leonard either chose to pretend he had not caught that, or else simply disregarded that.
"Not as things stand, no. However, pleasant as it is to have such... servants," his eyes involuntarily twitched in the direction of the winged girl here, "the possibilities which may be afforded by personally wielding such power are not to be discounted. Indeed, I have actively examined the possibility in the past of inducing certain, specific, abilities in myself and continue to do so. Does that trouble you?"
In response, Richard merely snorted and swirled the brandy in his glass before taking a deep draught.
--------------------
The Legion's battle raged on the surface. Trinity, as a scout party all by herself, had elected to try and sneak through the sewers to reach their base and shut down the power supply. Suddenly, there was a silent flash of light around the corner. Carefully, Neutral looked around the corner, and straight into a face of solid night.
Shocked, she was easily grabbed by another man, as the helmeted figure spoke; "I am sorry child, truly sorry. Had I but a choice, I would have nothing to do with the corrupt force that drives me to do this." With that, he removed his glove (fortunately for her, his left hand of disruption, not his right hand of destruction), and, as her other selves rushed towards him, touched her lightly. The other two of her suddenly merged with the spasming Neutral, who slid into quiet unconsciousness after a few seconds. "But my will is not my own."
Replacing his glove, Mano hoisted the comatose Trinity over his shoulder, muttered "Damn you McCauley" under his breath, and they slid out quietly the way they'd come in.
--------------------
As Richard McCauley left, he felt an unease at the path his son had taken for the company. While he had no particular moral objections to the brainwashing - he'd done enough in his life that he'd forfeited any claim to a moral high ground - it was deucedly tricky. And dangerous. Whatever assurances he had, it only took one to crack at an unfortuitous time, or one subject to resist ever so slightly and it got out, the company could well be ruined, especially given how high profile this "Workforce" was. The press loved underdogs. He'd have to make enquiries, see what was to be done...
"Aaggghh." That blasted headache again, only ten times worse, probably because of the alcohol. Did they scan everyone on the way out as well? Whatever the headache, at least the meeting had gone better than planned, and, he thought as he entered his chauffeur-driven limousine, he could safely return to his comfortable retirement for six months as long as the figures in the interim report the following week matched what his son had claimed. It was good to know there was nothing to be concerned about...
[ August 11, 2004, 07:40 PM: Message edited by: Sanity or Madness? ]
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
posted
Andromeda lay on her bed, lost in thought. Slowly, she removed her earrings, two white stars, and held them in her hands for a few seconds before opening them to look at her only pictures of her parents. Glancing around, through the walls and door, and seeing no-one, she let the tears come.
Two hours before, she'd heard the news that the White Triangle had robbed a US Army storehouse in Texas, but she couldn't pretend, to herself or to anyone else, that the river on her face was for the people who had died there. They were for her, for the loss of her childhood in the orphanage - the "child heroine", who'd stopped the Triangle "after the tragic death of her parents" and had shown "terrific bravery in the face of terrorism." Before being forgotten about. And today's deaths had brought that pain straight back. She felt selfish - so many deaths, so much pain, and only her own mattered to her - but while the shame of the thought made her cheeks glow redder as the salt water ran down them, her mind still cried "WHY?!" Why her parents? Why couldn't it have been someone else who suffered? Why had the man, just out of mind, dumped her in the orphanage? She was a little girl again, the emotional walls she'd built in the orphanage tumbling down in the moment as she cried louder. She didn't want her powers. She didn't want this lifestyle. All she wanted was her mummy and daddy...
She cried for fifteen minutes more, her first cry in over five years, before she stood as her tears tapered off, though her breath still came in gasps. Looking at the clock, she was due to be at one of McCauley's plants somewhere or other in an hour... with Reflecto. She finished pulling herself together and floated to the shower quickly - never mind the PR aspect, if Reflecto of all people saw her like this she'd never hear the end of it. Ever. _____________________
Trinity sat alone in the pitch-black room. Her three selves had scoured the room by touch for any sign of an exit, but had found only a toilet and a slot which had lit up once, delivering a single plate of food which she'd had to integrate to eat. Now, the girl who could never be alone felt very alone indeed. _____________________
"Ooooohhhhh...."
She arched her back slightly more still at his ministrations, which caused him to redouble his effort. While he was gaining little direct pleasure from this, she was broadcasting a degree of hers as inducement to continue, Perhaps, were he to please her sufficiently, she would allow him full pleasure of his own.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...
---------------
After making sure he would sleep for several hours, Meta headed for his showerroom, planning to clean up before returning to her own quarters. At last, she thought as she stepped under the running water, her life was running smoothly for the first time since her telepathy emerged. The adulation she deserved, someone to enjoy herself with... yes, she thought as she dried, dressed, and exited Ultraboy's quarters, ready to preen herself in her own, finally, she could indulge herself as she deserved.
posted
Simon Richards was working at his desk in a classified section of the Australian government when a bright green hole opened in the air beside him and a tall, husky bloke in a blue costume & badly-made mask and a giant insect tumbled through.
Now, Mr. Richards was not a particuarly brave man, and had ended up where he was more or less by accident; and the sight of a giant insect and someone rather taller and stronger than you appearing out of thin air would disturb anyone. It will, therefore, not surprise you to learn that his reaction was less "ice in his veins" and more "brown trousers."
Don't worry. we're not going to hurt you," said the insect, with a discernable accent. You might have thought that the words had been said by a salivating vampire with a fixation on Mr. Richards' neck to judge from his reaction.
"T... Gates, I thought we agreed *I* would say that this time," muttered the tall guy before continuing aloud to Mr Richards, "We just need your help to contact the Legion of Super-Heroes."
Mr. Richards fainted.
-----
"Do you realise how ridiculous you look?"
It was several hours earlier, after Tom had fastened his makeshift mask about his face. Tikhik continued, "The 'secret identity' is a piece of fiction. No-one could mistake your face no matter how much you cover it."
"I need to do something to stop my mum finding out. D'you want my help or not? Now, codenames. I was thinking of "Starboy" to go with my T-shirt..."
"Oh, for..." _______________
Trinity saw a flash of pink light in the corner and jumped. Suddenly, the outline of a elven young woman appeared, illuminated by the pink glow from a short spear she held in her hand.
Trinity immediately split into three, but the woman said "I'm sorry," in a small, soft voice and threw the spear at the floor beneath their feet, whereupon they felt themselves falling...
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
posted
The three Trinities landed in a heap on the floor of a corridor. Immediately, all three felt their limbs penetrated by the jab of needles, and suddenly they felt so very tired, unable to offer resistance as they were lifted onto medical trolleys.
A nervous voice was speaking in the background "You got the dosage right, didn't you? They won't pass out before the tests are done? Remember, we need them groggy, not out cold..." "Relax 'Doc,'" the second voice was another male, but deeper, stronger, "I know my anaesthesia."
The nervous voice kept chattering, but Trinity-Neutral stopped listening after that. Trying hard to fight the chemical cosh that bound her, she needed to focus on getting out of this, not listen to the chatter. She felt mentally for Orange and Purple's minds, but both felt weak, more like trickling streams than the rivers that usually ran through her head. If it hadn't been for Irma passing on her experience in dealing with similar problems day-to-day, she didn't know how... FOCUS, she thought. Orange and Purple felt distant, was that her, them or both? Probably both. She tested her limbs, internally screaming as best she could for her sisters to do the same and hoping they followed. It was like waking up in the morning, she could move, but too slowly and with too much effort to do anything. She reached out her hands to either side, and felt her sisters' hands clasp hers. Besides the reassurance of the touch itself, she felt their minds more strongly with the physical contact, and squeezed Orange's hand tightly to reassure her. Neither of them were in any better condition than her for a fight, so there was only one thing to do.
The nurse and the doctor, still talking, hadn't been paying much attention to Trinity, against orders, and almost jumped out their skins when the three bodies flowed and merged into one red, orange and purple-garbed young woman, who proceeded to jump up and knock both of them out in one flowing move. Quickly, she grabbed the lab coat of the smaller man, and, donning it, swiftly rummaged through their other pockets, grabbing keys, paper, badges and other miscellany without looking and stuffing them into her pockets before straightening up and heading for the first ladies' room she could find at a swift trot.
As she walked, she felt uneasy at how quiet her mind was - when integrated, she could usually feel her three sides gently pulling at her mind, moreso when she felt really conflicted. Obviously, the drugs were still affecting her, even if only indirectly, so splitting wasn't an option and wouldn't be for a while, maybe hours. As she walked, looking around for a bathroom or, in a pinch, another unoccupied and unlocked room, she prioritised. Obviously, her first priority was not to be recaptured. Next, find out where she was and contact the Legion. Then, kick ass.
She smiled at the last as she finally found a toilet which, thankfully, was empty, before entering a cubicle and locking the door. Obviously her "Purple" side was more a part of her than she sometimes realised...
She searched through the clutter she'd picked from the pockets of her captors. Most, she discarded immediately as irrelevant. The keys she returned to her pockets after a glance, as they were all standard types and told her eyes nothing, but obviously might prove useful. She looked at her watch. Five minutes since she'd escaped - the guys she'd knocked out might come round or be discovered at any moment, and she couldn't fight off a whole group of people, especially while confined to one body. She looked through the material again, including the stuff she'd initially discarded, and noticed a common pattern. Most referenced Leonard McCauley, McCauley Industries, the Workforce, or all three. Worth taking on as a hypothesis at any rate she thought, although maddeningly there was no map of the place or information on exactly where "here" was.
She looked at her watch again and decided she had to move. This wasn't a defensible position, nor particularly hard to find. She stuffed the more promising things back in her pockets, dropped the rest in the system, rather than the bowl, of the lavatory and returned to the corridor. Most of the rooms had lights off, and fortunately the first key worked on the first door she tried. Locking it behind her, she took the nurse's pencil flashlight from her pocket and played it around the room. Bare office, an air vent far too small for her to fit through and no windows. Underground or just at the centre of the building? Either way, she realised as she rummaged through the drawers and found nothing useful, no escape and not a better hiding place than the toilet. Dare she risk the telephone? No. It might not give an outside line, even if it could it might need to go through a switchboard, and either way it would give her position away immediately. And they had a teleporter in the elf girl if they caught her again, so even if she got through straight away and the Legion traced the call and came straight away to rescue her, she wouldn't be here for them to rescue if they got her before her friends reached her. Catch-22.
She needed a cellphone. Her own had been taken before she woke up in the Black Room - the thought of the place she'd spent a day and a night giving her an involuntary shudder - and it was the only way she could contact her friends and have a hope of staying free long enough for them to reach her. And her selves were still silent in her mind, which worried her more. Would she have to split again and let the drugs pass out their systems normally? She'd never been drugged while split before, and had taken a risk by integrating. For all she knew, she'd have ended up with triple the dose in one body. It had been worth the risk though. Now at least she had a chance.
Then again, taking it was another matter, she thought as she ran down the corridor. She looked left and right as she ran down the seemingly infinite corridor for signs of an elevator or a set of stairs. Nada. Breathless, she pulled up at a random door and tried the keys on it. This time, none worked. She pounded the door in sheer frustration. Looking through the window on the door, she still saw no window in that room either. Or in any of the others she glanced in. Given the length of the corridor, surely she had to be underground. How did everyone reach their offices in an incredibly long corridor with no means of access? She was missing something... En suite elevators? Costly, impractical and you'd be as well building the rooms on the floor(s) above. Teleporters? Not for this number of offices, and the Legion would have heard of it surely. The elven girl teleporting everyone from a lobby to here? Again, if she was doing something like that, this would have to be a sealed community for no-one to have called the Legion about it. They got tons of calls, even unbidden, and Brainy and Lyle would occasionally spend a couple of hours going over the stats for fun and trying to discern the dispersion of powers and the percentage of fake calls. She'd joined in a couple of times, and whatever way you cut it, teleporters were almost as rare as hen's teeth, and if one had been reported Cos would have been off like a shot to have a chat with him or her, flash his earnest smile at them and probably talk them into joining without them realising it. Everyone always underestimated him...
Actually, she realised, that was a thought. What if it was a sealed community? By this point, most people in the Western world had heard of the Legion, and kidnapping her was a cross between kidnapping a cop and a... minor, she had to admit... celebrity. Or perhaps that was why - she checked her watch; it was two in the morning right now, which meant it had been after midnight when she was teleported out of the Black Room - she'd been taken for whatever-the-hell-it-was in the middle of the night, while the place was deserted. Were they scared someone not in on the ins and outs of what went on here might recognise her? What did happen here anyway? Were they... coll..ec...ting metahumans - she pulled the material she'd kept out of her pockets. McCauley. Workforce. Metahumans. She'd been drugged and taken for god-knows-what.... and images of Spark that day she'd visited with Cos, Garth and Brainy played across her head.
«Cos...Garth..., oh God...» she thought. Hang her safety, this was bigger than her. If metahumans, including Cos' brother and Garth's sister, were being captured and brainwashed all over the country, this needed to get out. If she wasn't here when the Legion arrived, at least they could save somebody.
With no regard for niceties, she kicked the door of the nearest office just beside the lock. On the second go it gave way, and she was in. She turned the light on, went straight for the telephone, heard the dial tone and called Cos' private number. Everyone worth calling would be in bed anyway, and proving her identity to the switchboard would take far too long.
She didn't get Cos. Instead, an unfamiliar voice answered and she realised she hadn't had an outside line.
"Hello. We've been waiting for you to call."
A black hole appeared in front of her, and five figures appeared from it. One was the elven woman, whose skin, she could now see, was lilac. She looked deeply unhappy at the situation. Another was the man, all jet-black bar his gloves, who had caught her and she trembled slightly at the sight of him. There was also what looked like a horribly misshapen dog, a man who vanished almost before he registered to her eyes, and a half-man, half-something-furry-and-toothy-and-clawy. Immediately, she felt something try to worm into her mind, and resisted. Her unique mind structure helped her resist, and on top of that she'd trained with Irma until her mind was strong enough to repel the most determined gatecrash Irma could throw at it. In comparison to that level of punishment, this was nothing, she thought as she launched herself at the werewolf-thing, catching it square on the jaw with her foot and knocking it down but not out as she sprung back and onto the yellow and purple, leathery "dog", vaulting over it and smashing the glass helmet of the jet-black man, not injuring him that she could see but causing him to collapse nonetheless. Taking advantage of the momentary "break", she ran over to the elf-girl, who'd taken no part in the fight and seemed to be willing Trinity on, and screamed at her to get her out of there.
"I can't," the elf's blue-white, pupil-less eyes showed signs of tears. "I'm sorry, but I can't." "If you're scared, we - the Legion - we'll protect you from whoever this is. Just, please..." "No," the soft voice seemed to grow smaller still, "you don't understand, I want to, but I really can't." "Why?" Trinity was on the verge of panic, she couldn't have more than seconds before her opponents recovered, but she tried to control her voice, "Why not?" "They won't let me, and unless I'm told to...,"
Her head drooped forward in defeat, but as Trinity realised in horror how right she'd been, she felt herself flattened. The guy who had vanished before had suddenly appeared on her shoulder and grown to human size in a second. Straining, she couldn't lift him off of her."
"Now, come on," she couldn't see his face, but just knew the arrogant bastard was smirking at her, "this really could only end one way."
Something hit her on the head, and her world went black again.
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
posted
The woman opened her story once more, but the young children never tired of hearing of it. Of her true friends she'd met, who she'd lost and was destined to meet time and time again, in different places, different times, different forms. Always seeing the true path back to her original friends, forever kept from it. Her grey skin and pale eyes glistened as she told them of the battles she'd shared, the love she'd lost, the people they'd saved. She wasn't an old woman - indeed, she didn't look like she'd seen twenty yet - but there was something about her that suggested she'd seen more than others saw in a lifetime. But only the children seemed to see the fire and determination in her eyes to, one day, be reunited with her friends...
Registered: Jul 2003
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posted
I can talk about it now that they're over, those dark days under McCauley's control, now that... but, of course, you haven't reached that part of the story yet.
Can you imagine what it's like to realise that you don't have control over your own actions? That was the moment I realised. Everything up to that point I'd managed to rationalise one way or another. But after seeing her in that dark, dark room, knowing that I'd put her there, when she begged me to get her away before they recaptured her every fibre of my being screamed to respond, to teleport her - us - out of there. Instead, I let my head fall and murmered something apologetic. Because I couldn't do it. Not from fear, not from a desire not to, I physcially couldn't defy them.
All the psychatrists, all the councellors, they've all been telling me I shouldn't blame myself for what happened. Some of them might even mean it. Either way, how can I not blame myself? Even after Micro had knocked her unconscious, a flick of my wrist and a blink of my eyes would have freed her. Instead, I was ordered to take the whole group to a medical room - and I obeyed.
There, while Wolf recovered and Mano got a new helmet, I had to stand and watch "at the ready" in case I was needed; while they "played it safe" by putting a collar of some sort on Trinity. Then, mercifully, I didn't have to watch what they did next after they wheeled her into the next room, which looked like the chamber Frankenstein's monster woke up in, complete with huge switch. But, an hour later after I'd been allowed to sit down, I did hear her screaming and turned away, trying and failing to block her out while I cried and cursed my weakness.
I only saw her twice more before the big endgame. The first was the following day, when she stood like a zombie while I took her to the office of McCauley himself, and waited outside before returning her to the room I'd taken her from, a bedroom, not the black room. The second was a week later, when I took her and a man I've never seen before or since to a back alley near Legion HQ. He whispered a few words to her, and I saw her wake up from the zombie-state as he directed us to blink us away.
Even though she knows now that it's not my fault, I was controlled the way most of us were controlled, I still haven't been able to face her to say sorry. It seems so... tiny in comparison to what she must have gone through, especially when she first had to face it. It's why I asked to write this bit of this book. Not to justify what I did, since I should have been able to break the conditioning, the way [CENSORED] later did, and I still hate myself for not doing it, especially when I heard those screams. Just to apologise as best I can.
Annoyed because, although - after she finally snapped and threatened to make the next person who called her "Satin Girl" spend a week believing themself to be a hamster - people had stopped calling her it to her face, she still had to hear it running through their minds. She was prepared to swear some of them were doing it on purpose...
Worried because of Trinity. Since she'd appeared back at HQ out of the blue one evening, she'd refused to let her do a proper mindscan to find out what had happened to her. That wasn't like Trinity at all, who she'd spent several sessions with, helping her adjust to becoming three minds in one and training her to resist psi-attacks. And even a cursory scan not only showed that Trinity wasn't lying when she said she couldn't remember a thing, but told her that something was badly out of place in Lorna's mind - what, she couldn't tell without going deeper, and she couldn't and wouldn't go deeper without Trinity's permission. She communicated her concerns to Cos, who she could tell shared her concern... maybe moreso.
"She's been badly traumatised somehow Cos. I know the physical didn't show anything, but the amnesia's proof enough without whatever else I can feel wrong about her."
"So what do you want me to do? Send her away to go rot? Give her time Irma, she's had a bad shock."
Irma got impatient; "I know she's had a bad shock Cos, that's what I'm SAYING! And it's not going to get better... SHE'S not going to get better, without making her face her missing fortnight."
Rex bit his lip. He knew Irma was right, but he couldn't order Lorna to let Irma into her head. Firstly, it seemed wrong to even think about giving such an order. Secondly, it went against the grain to order anyone to do anything - the trick to good leadership was manoeuvring events and people in such a way that you never had to give orders; if you had to order people about rather than just ask, things were already bad. Thirdly, he should really tell Leviathan, who was after all still the official leader even if he'd unofficially demurred to Cos, and Gene was edgy about Lorna being on the team already between her "limited" powers and her disappearing off the face of the Earth for nearly three weeks. If he suspected anything was seriously off with her, Cos could hardly disagree that Lorna should be off the team right now. And he just knew that, whatever was wrong with her, sticking her on gardening leave wasn't going to make her better.
Irma, seeing - and, obliquely, feeling - Cos' thought process, interjected with a softer tone; "It doesn't need to be me Cos, it doesn't even need to be a telepath. But she's got over two weeks of missing memory plus god-knows-what repressed trauma. She needs help. Urgently. You're close to her, you don't need to order her, just try and talk her into seeing someone. For her own sake."
"I'll... have a word Irma. But if she doesn't want to, I won't force her. I can't force her."
-------
At that moment, Trinity was lying silently, split into three, on her king-size bed in her room. To all appearances, the three of her were silent, but they were talking to each other inside their heads. All trying to figure out what it was just behind the veil. There was a glowing stick, a man with horn-rimmed glasses, a syringe... but all so faint, so vague. Why couldn't she... they... remember?
The exclaimation had been building in Spark's throat for at least fifteen minutes now, and the sentiment behind it had been rattling around in her for at least a week. There was no two ways of saying it - life with the Workforce had become very, very dull. They trained, they smiled for a lot of cameras, they had to suffer that stupid canned music whenever they entered the building... and not much else happened. Oh, for an actual supervillain to fight or something...
Lying on her bed, she played idly with her electricity, joining her fingers with it like someone playing with an elastic band. No-one else was around. Unless someone was paying for the whole team to turn up or McCauley had some big launch, they generally went about in twos, and she was the odd girl out today.
She looked at the phone. 212-555-7452. Garth's private number. She knew it by heart, but she wasn't going to be the one to call him. He left her behind.
She suddenly found she had the phone in her hand and her fingers hovered over the buttons. Slamming it down angrily, she walked over to the bathroom. She wasn't going to be the one to give in on this. He wanted to patronise her, care more about their stupid degenerate brother than her, let him! He chose to split them up, it was HIS FAULT. The last two words were shouted as she generated enough voltage to split the water on her hands into hydrogen and oxygen, and narrowly avoided destroying the sink.
Now, she cried, fighting it all the way but unable to stop herself. She splashed water in her face, bit her tongue and gulped down water until the sobbing stopped. She was not going to let Garth get her worked up like this. Stupid bullheaded jerk that he was.
She went back into her room, stripped off and changed into her nightshirt, and semi-randomly grabbed a DVD from her "comedy" pile. It was only two in the afternoon, but suddenly she felt like vegetating, and it was her day off after all. As the big red ship filled the screen, she knocked a chunk off the chocolate bar she kept by her bedside. No, she didn't need Garth. Really.
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
posted
"Thank you for continuing to hold, please wait."
The muzak resumed.
Livewire struggled not to fry the phone.
His frustration had been building for fifteen minutes now, ever since he'd called to find himself put on hold. He'd called the Workforce switchboard at least ten times in the past week, trying to get through to his sister, and every time he'd been put on permanent hold. He needed to talk to Ella, didn't this stupid machine realise that? It was his fault, he knew that, and he wanted to sort it out, but he had to talk to her on the phone before arranging a face-to-face meeting after what happened last time.
Finally, his frustration got the better of him and he slammed the phone down and stormed out of the building with the "intention" of wandering aimlessly. He needed his twin sister. Really.
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
posted
«Okay, first real fight, don't blow it,» Polarity thought moments before a giant green boxing glove hit him in the face
--------------------
Andromeda was nervous as she stepped out of the black limosine. That feeling came more and more often to her nowadays, even if she was still good at not showing it, since she seemed to be expected to take a higher and higher profile. Still, this was verging on outright scary, and she stepped off the ground in case her walk was affected by the threat of her knees trembling.
The actual photo shoot had been arranged over a month before, but she had only found out about it a few days ago. The prospect, to her, wasn't thrilling.
--------------------
"Hey, Drag, some help here would be nice!"
Dragonmage looked, seemingly impassively, on as Ultraboy ran, superfast, in a circle around their attacker, trying desperately to avoid the blasts being spat at him while Dragonmage floated high. Out of sight, out of mind.
--------------------
"Here I come to save the day!" Reflecto sang as he leapt backwards into the air, swords flashing brightly in the sunlight, straight over a cutting laser now aimed about half an inch beneath his spine.
Enrapture scowled at him.
--------------------
"Paul...arity!" Spark shouted and blasted their assailent as she saw Polarity wasn't getting up. He retreated, temporarily blinded but otherwise unhurt from her full-strength blast.
"C'mon Paul..." she muttered, shaking him, then giving him a slight shock to wake him up.
"Ummm.. did we win...?"
"Not yet - MOVE!" she yelled, as another boxing glove scarcely missed them. "Well, at least he's predictable," she quipped nervously.
--------------------
Andromeda sat in her dressing room and looked at the excuses-for-clothing she was meant to be pictured in. It wasn't that she was ashamed of how she looked - far from it - it just felt... wrong to pose like this.
--------------------
Jose was tiring. Even an ultra guy could only run for so long. And to top it off the ****in mage was still hovering there. What the **** was he ****ing waiting for exactly?
Indeed, to all appearances, Dragonmage was just hovering atop a glowing green dragon. But...
--------------------
Reflecto was enjoying himself. Nothing the blaster could do would hurt him after all. It was just an excuse for a good workout.
Enrapture was less thrilled. As for as she could tell, there was no mind behind the form attacking them. It was as shallow as a cardboard cut-out, and left her with nothing to work with. She thus wished Reflecto would stop clowning around & just shoot the thing, and communicated this to him telepathically in the most forceful terms.
Bad enough they were stuck out in the middle of a desert filming a car ad. Actual danger meant she'd better get something out of this, as she eyed up one of the young male technicians fleeing the fight.
--------------------
Polarity looked at Spark and tried to remember that this wasn't a good time to ask her to be his date for the Halloween party. "Any ideas?"
"Not many."
They'd been hitting-and-running for the past five minutes, trying desperately to stay ahead of the mute, black-and-green-clad figure chasing them. Oddly enough, it didn't seem interested in the retail park they'd been showily defending, but in them specifically. And it had missed several clear-cut chances to knock them both out for the count, preferring instead to prolong the fight.
"Double-tag then?"
"Okaay," Spark replied, not confident. Yeah, greater than the sum of the parts and all, but it was going to leave them wide open.
Both of them were wishing Dragonmage or Andromeda were there.
--------------------
Andromeda lay back, clad only in a small bikini, and tried to look relaxed as the she heard the clicks of the camera.
"And great - and over."
As she turned over to float on her front above the white box of a set, head supported by arms which were supported by thin air, and gave the camera an odd sort of grin she'd been told to give, she wasn't feeling any more comfortable. No matter how tight her costume was, it still covered her whole body and she wasn't comfortable with this at all. She felt like she'd give anything to be allowed to really cut loose and hit something right now.
--------------------
Dragonmage finally swooped down at the figure in green and black, lifting it up by its brown hair and blinked twice.
Where the figure had been that had troubled Ultraboy so much, a cardboard cut-out of that figure floated down to the ground.
"Did you... what... was..." Ultraboy spluttered, trying to force the words out.
"Magically animated drawing. Fairly simple spell, really." Dragonmage checked his nails casually, showily, as if they were more of a problem than the thing which had Ultraboy running in circles.
"Then WHY DIDN'T..."
"Ultraboy..." Dragonmage gestured to the cameras which had caught every second of the fight for Workforce TV, "if you're going to save the day, you need perfect timing."
With that, he flew up casually into the air, followed a moment later by badly annoyed Ultraboy.
--------------------
"Reflecto, I swear..."
Moments before, Reflecto had rescued Enrapture when the ground she had been standing on was blasted into a trench metres-deep. True to form, she was more annoyed at being slung over his shoulder and seen as the damsel in distress than at being saved from a pair of broken legs or worse.
"You know, you probably want to see about losing some weight. I'm thinking of seeing McCauley about starting my own fitness line - Reflecto's Fitness Spectacular... no Reflecto's Get-in-Shape, wait..."
He didn't seem to notice the fact that they were running from an ever-widening hole in the Earth behind them.
"Reflecto," Enrapture muttered telepathically from her indignant position, "if you don't shoot this bastard right this second I use your body to do it for you..."
"Hey - that's the fun bit! Okay, it's not quite as fun as..."
"REFLECTO!"
"Okay, okay, sheesh, you'd think we were in trouble or something." With that, he dumped Enrapture on the desert ground, ran around to pull the beam after him, reached into his shoulder holsters and put two bullets between their assailant's eyes before it even registered with it that Reflecto had touched the guns.
"Thank you, thank you very much!" Reflecto's Elvis impression was dire, Enrapture thought as she picked herself up. He would pay for this - all of this. Slowly...
She wandered over to the figure and found only what looked like a cross between a shooting-range target and one of those cardboard cut-outs of celebrities. It was flat and had two clean holes in it's head where Reflecto's bullets had passed through. In details, it resembled the figure they'd been fighting, but the figure they'd been fighting had been solid.
She brushed her hair back, massaged her tender rump from where Reflecto had thrown her on the ground, and walked towards the oddly-undamaged portakabins they were staying in. She'd have to be the one to write a report, since Reflecto could barely focus long enough to brush his teeth, but after that she was having that technician, by hook or by crook. She had a lot of stress to work off.
--------------------
Polarity placed his arms round Spark's body.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Isn't it my job to ask that?"
"Stop stalling."
"I don't stall, I proctrastinate."
"Been reading the dictionary?"
"Now who's stalling?"
They paused.
"GO!" They shouted together and leapt out as one, Polarity generating power which Spark absorbed, converting it to pure electricity, which she let out as a continuous bolt in the direction of their assailant, blasting and hoping until she saw him finally fall. Then her legs gave way.
"Ella!" Polarity held her up.
"S'okay Paul, just tired. Don't think I'm meant to use double power," she forced a weak smile. "Better check on that guy before he gets up again."
"Don't think that's a problem," as Polarity looked across and saw the charred remains of a cardboard figure where their assailant had been. «What the hell...?»
--------------------
Andromeda finally got back into her own clothes at the end of a long, long day. Refusing the chaffeured lift back, she flew high and fast before anyone could object.
«Haven't been up here in a while,» she thought as she soared into the clear night sky. Ever since she'd joined McCauley, in fact. And after a day like that, the little voice at the back of her head that sometimes niggled "Why" got louder. It was something she hadn't wanted to do, and yet she'd done. And the flight over a desert road, only a van travelling the empty road in any direction within five miles of her, rang a faint bell somewhere in her head.
«Why?» she wondered as she touched down at the Workforce compound.
--------------------
"I saw the news reports. Superlatively done, even I must confess. No injuries or deaths, no significant damage, and all thanks to the Workforce." McCauley's snake-like smile broadened.
"Of course sir. Will you be wanting any more any time soon?"
"No, no, not yet. Overdo it, and they begin to wonder, and we can't have that Dragonmage, can we? Incidentally, that other thing I asked you about, after the scientists didn't find a metagene..."
"Certainly magic at play, sir, but I can't duplicate the spell yet. It's... complicated"
McCauley's smile faded, but it had been too good a day, and he needed Jin onside. "Very well, you may go. And remember, speak of neither of these things to anyone."
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
posted
Spark entered the rec room, and, seeing that Andromeda was the only other one there, using a computer, walked over to her. "What're'you up to?"
"Trying to pick a costume for the Hallowe'en party."
"Wait... we're getting to go to that?"
Andromeda looked round at her. "No-one told you?"
"I heard the Legion had invited us, but no-one told me You-Know-Who had said we could go."
Andromeda bit back an automatic remark about calling McCauley that, wondered why she'd had to, and replied "It came through a few days ago, and it's even registered with Reflecto. You're sure you haven't just forgotten?"
Suddenly, Spark realised why no-one had told her. Garth. No-one on the team (except Reflecto, but that was a given) had mentioned the big argument she'd had in the room with her twin brother since the event itself. And attending the Legion Hallowe'en party meant she'd be face-to-face with him for the first time since. Obviously no-one had wanted to be the one to see her reaction.
"Ella?"
Spark shook her head to clear it at Laurel's slightly worried tone. "I'm fine. What've'you got so far?"
Laurel thought that Spark had taken it better than she'd expected, but didn't say anything about it. "Not much. I think whoever thought 'comic book superheroes' was a good theme for us was being far too cute. Besides, just look at some of these costumes."
"Says the girl who spent Thursday having her picture taken in a hundred bikinis or less," smirked Spark as she moved in to look at the screen. Admittedly, a few of the costumes WERE a bit... extreme, but most weren't anywhere near as bad as the now beet-red Laurel had suggested, especially when they went around in practically painted-on blue and black suits as a matter of course. "Why'd you do it anyway?" she asked in a more serious tone after seeing Andromeda's discomfort.
"I... don't know," Laurel muttered in a small voice.
Spark looked back round at the tall, powerful blonde, who suddenly looked more unsure of herself than Ella had ever seen her; "You can't ignore it Laurel. In a couple of months, tops, those pictures are going to be all over America and the internet."
Andromeda suddenly wished Spark had kept to slagging her. That, she could deal with. As it was, she tried to say something, but no words came out and she looked to the side and down, away from Spark.
Spark saw this and thought about saying more, but realised it wasn't going to help matters. She had to do something to make Laurel confront it though...
Her eyes flicked back to the screen, and she had an idea. She scrolled through the huge list of superheroine costumes, looking for one for a tall, strong-looking, fairly "well endowed" blonde woman, that covered a fair amount of skin but was still far more "daring" than Laurel would pick for herself. She looked back at her - Laurel was now sitting back in the chair with her eyes closed, looking like she was trying to compose herself. Granted, considering her X-ray vision that was no guarantee she wasn't looking, but Ella doubted she was.
"Dare you to wear this to the party."
Laurel opened her eyes, sat up, and her eyes went wide. The drawing on screen showed a woman with short blonde hair, *huge* breasts, even bigger muscles than Laurel herself and was somewhat shorter to judge. The costume itself was a white leotard, covering arms but not legs, with blue gloves and boots and a short red cape... and a huge hole in the middle of the chest, suggesting that the character in question was not anatomically correct (even over and above some of the... grosser abnormalities).
"You are not serious."
"Why not?"
"Because... because... LOOK at it."
Spark let out an artificially-huge sigh. "I'm not suggesting you get implants or cut your hair off or anything. Just wear it with what you've got - which is more than me, face it. You'll be stunning."
Andromeda opened her mouth to object, but Spark cut in again before she could speak, "It's not as if you'll be showing off anywhere near as much as the other day," before adding on a whim, "Tell you what - you wear that, and I wear a costume you pick for me, no questions asked. I back off, you can back off. How about it?"
Laurel didn't answer. She could tell Ella wasn't going to let this go in a hurry. Instead of answering, she opened a new window and started looking through costumes for Spark. She wasn't going to be a hypocrite and find something like the "costume" for... Vamparella, wasn't it?... she'd seen earlier just to get out of it. Spark was a lot more comfortable showing skin in general than she was anyway - she'd often worn bikinis in her off-hours over the summer and gone sunbathing, and hadn't cared who'd seen her. It had to be something else, some form of detailing or something...
Bingo. The character even had red hair.
"That one."
Spark looked at the screen, agog. After she'd said that she more-than-half-expected to be turning up at the party in a bikini or something, which she'd have been fine with. But what was on-screen covered the character's whole body save the head, which was surprising in itself. What it did have, however, was...metal?... spikes jutting out of the very tight one-piece red leather suit, down the middle of the front and spine to the waist and along the tops of each arm to the wrist, all four lines of spikes reaching right up to the poloneck.
It looked like it would be hell to sit down in.
"Deal's a deal Ella," Laurel said, confident she wouldn't have to wear the white costume, "you wear that, I'll wear the white costume."
Spark swallowed, and set her face. She wasn't letting Laurel off that easily.
"Deal," she said, and held out her hand. Andromeda was surprised, but couldn't back off after she'd said that. "Deal," and shook Spark's hand.
Both then left the room at a slightly-too-quick walking pace, Laurel to her room and Ella to the gardens, both hoping the other would blink before Halloween.
-------------------- My views are my own and do not reflect those of everyone else... and I wouldn't have it any other way.
quote:Originally posted by Juan: The Eye's awakening had forced him to leave the Zone of Phantoms in Iran, but he had not been cured, and although the long years of dormancy had allowed him to function for a little while, the effects of the lead poisoning had soon reappeared. He had been easily defeated by the Eye, and soon laid heavily injured on the floor, merely a spectator to the events unfolding. That the group had managed to fight to a draw was a statement to their power. After hours of incessant fighting (Monius Ellysius and Blok had lost consciousness by then), the Emerald Empress just stopped, saying that she had better things to do, and simply left. The other three, unable to stop her, could only stare in disbelief, amazed that they had actually managed to survive.
Events unfolded quickly afterwards. Proiectra buried her father and turned her back on her throne. Moldavians were ready for a republican government, she said, and since the only purpose of the Moldavian monarchy had been to contain the Romanescu clan, now that that mission had failed there was no purpose for the monarchy itself. And then they left for England. The choice was obvious, Tatiana Mallor was the fourth member of Irma Ardeen's circle of telepathic friends, and bot Maizah and Proiectra had known her for years. Maizah had been concerned about having to transport Blok, but he said that he didn't need to fly, and then simply merged with the ground and reappeared in England.
quote:Originally posted by Cobalt Kid: Tatiana watched as the mysterious man from the past lay in his bed, growing sicker by the minute. He could barely speak anymore, and although his body looked chiseled and impressive, he was too weak to use the limbs he once labored so hard to strengthen. "Monius...Elysius..." he had whispered to her earlier, and she understood that it was his name. She and Maziah had taken to calling him "Mon-El" for short, since neither was sure if they were pronouncing it right.
The Emerald Empress, as she now called herself, would have to be dealt with, although they had enough trouble of their own now. Tatiana watched the young man and found herself strangely attracted to him. "Mon-El...it will be alright, we are trying to reach help..." she whispered, as she looked at his garb and wondered if it was truly Roman as they had guessed earlier. She was unsure what anything truly was right now...
quote:Originally posted by Juan: "You do know who he is, don't you?"
"You talk?" The rocky creature was standing beside her.
"Yes. I have been listening to the words of humans for a long time."
"You mean Mon-El? You know who he is?"
"Yes. I thought you did, too. You are the heir of the shadow wielders, aren't you?"
Tatiana Mallor looked at him, now completely perplexed. How did he know?
Monius Elysius continued to deteriorate, the lead poisoning becoming too harsh for his body to resists any longer. Sweat continued to drip off his face, and he wondered why he would wake up finally, only to die a slow, agonizing death.
“You know him?” asked Tatiana to the creature they had come to refer as Blok.
“Indeed. Monius Elysius, one of the heroes of legend. As impressive on the battlefield as Achilles, as cunning as Odysseus, and as noble as Cincinnatus. The Roman’s always included one of their own when reciting heroes of legend.”
“Romans? But—nevermind. How old are you, Blok?”
“Old enough,” replied the large creature made of Earth, as he suddenly moved forward, closer to the dying Roman. He was massive, and dwarfed the young Tatiana Mallor, who stepped back suddenly. “You appear very interested in this young man, heir of the shadow wielders.”
“I…I can tell he has a bravery rarely seen these days. And that is the second time you’ve referred to my heritage. Apparently, you know a great deal.”
“Indeed,” replied Blok, as he now leaned forward to Monius Elysius. “Monius,” he whispered, in flawless ancient Latin. “It is not your time yet. You have been awakened because it is your destiny. This era will need you.” The Roman looked up at him, and for the first time, stopped moaning in pain. He nodded at Blok.
“You speak Latin?” asked Tatiana.
“There is hardly a language born on this planet that I do not speak,” replied Blok.
“That may help us more than you realize…” she though to her self, as she turned to the dying Roman. He was now looking at her, the pain as strong as ever. She picked up his hand and held it. Blok stood up, and began to walk out of the room.
“Where are you going?” asked Tatiana suddenly. Blok said nothing.
------------------------------
“AAAAAARGH!”
The screams were getting louder, and to the point where they were almost unbearable. Monius Elysius was dying in the next room, after he’d saved her life. Dying after somehow surviving for two millennium, if the Blok was to be believed. Dying like her father had done days earlier.
“Jacquie…I know this is difficult,” said Maziah, “but don’t shut the pain out. We can get through this. Together”. Maziah was her oldest and best friend, even though they’d only just met face to face for the first time. In just a short span of a few days, things had changed so drastically. This strange band of teenagers, half of who she had never heard of, hiding away in England. Sara had claimed the Emerald Eye as her own, ensuring that centuries of her families work was for nothing. The Emerald Empress was a living, breathing enemy, and her heritage of an ages old promise to stop such an event was crumbling around her.
The Emerald Empress. Sara Romanescue. Jacquie had watched her for years, and she still could not stop her from killing her father. The Emerald Empress. It was her duty to stop her.
-------------------------------
The Emerald Empress flew through the clouds, allowing the Eye to guide her. Information was flooding her brain, as the Eye opened her memory up to centuries of history that had been denied to her. Her heirs, the clan of Romanescue, were of an Ancient Bloodline that once thrived throughout the Middle Ages. Feared throughout West and East, because of their ferocity and because of their ultimate power: the Emerald Eye of Ekron.
Why had history forgotten her family? What had been done to keep the Clan of Romanescue under the miserable heel of Projectra’s family?
Now was the time to rebuild what should rightfully have been hers.
Venegar.
--------------------------------
Dirk Morgna watched as the creature known as Blok appeared to be meditating. Turning, he saw Jacquie and Maziah whispering to each other, and once more did not want to butt in. What was he doing here?
The girls, he admitted, were stunningly beautiful, and partially the reason he came on this adventure. The Princess was incredible, and unlike anyone he had ever met. Maziah, Arabic but with red hair, was equally as stunning, with a quiet beauty that he had never quite seen before. Tatiana was beautiful too, with her long flowing raven-colored hair.
Right Dirk, he thought to himself. Keep telling yourself its because of the girls that you’re here. Maybe you might actually convince yourself for a second.
The creature known as Blok rose, and without a word, walked past Dirk into the room housing the super-powered Roman Legionnaire. As he passed, Dirk noticed what looked like a large turnip on his chest.
Who the hell are these people?
-----------------------------------
Blok reentered the room, to see Tatiana still holding Monius’ hand. She looked almost as exhausted as he was. Blok stepped forward, and ripped the vegetation off of his chest, handing it to Tatiana.
“Blok? Is this…do you want me to feed this to Mon-El?
“Yes,” he replied, as he leaned forward to the Roman. “Eat what she gives to you brave one. You’ve wandered far enough.”
Hours later, Tatiana emerged to see Blok overlooking the caves that they could see from her manor.
“I don’t know what you gave to me, but it’s worked,” she said enthusiastically, despite her exhaustion. “He’s stopped dying.”
Blok nodded to her slightly.
“What you did Blok…I swear, it gives me hope.”
“What you did Tatiana, and the compassion you showed…that gives me hope. Because in the coming days, we will need it.
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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The Emerald Empress landed loudly in the dessert, blasting away sand for the sheer thrill of using the power the Eye had bestowed upon her. It was amazing at what she could do, and all of the energy she can feel crackling through her veins. And the knowledge! Each few hours she could feel more knowledge being downloaded into her memories, and more pieces of a much larger puzzle coming into play. She wished it was so scattered, and the Eye could just give it all to her, but she didn’t believe it was independent enough to pick and choose what she was allowed to see.
The recreation of Venegar was the ultimate goal; that she knew. But she had much unfinished business to attend to. The Royal Family of Moldavia was destroyed by her hand, except for one: Princess Jacqueline Projectra who had infiltrated their circle of friends with the intentions of holding her back, as her family had done to the Clan of Romanescue for centuries. This was unacceptable. Indeed—they were most likely all in on it! Those awful girls…let them have their own group…she didn’t care if she was an outsider any longer.
Most importantly, however, she needed to learn why the Eye was reawakened to begin with? She knew something must have happened, and she needed to know why—although for some reason, whenever she planned on pursuing this, the Eye continued to give her more information on other things that needed to be done.
No matter, she had a name. Mordru. She would find the man known as Mordru.
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“Feeling better, Moinus Elysius?” asked Blok, standing in front of the recovering Roman.
“Yes, much better. Whatever you gave to me creature, it did its job. I feel as good as I felt before the lead poisoning…all those years ago…”
“It must be hard to comprehend, I’m sure. And the others have taken to calling me Blok, which you may call me too.”
“Alright then, Blok. It seems they have taken to calling me Mon-El, which will suffice. The life I knew as Monius Elysius apparently is long past. Two thousand years…that seems to be such a great period of time. The cave that the Persians placed me in truly did have the powers that they spoke of.”
“Indeed it did. And you are here now, Mon-El, and I believe that is for a purpose.”
“You know much Blok. Much more than you are speaking of. Who are these women that we are traveling with? What do they have to do with the Eye, of all things? Surely in two thousand years, the Emerald Eye of Ekron would be long destroyed?”
“I assure you, it has not. And the girls are the brightest there is to offer of this era. One of them will be of interest to you, since you know her father—the third of three, besides you and I, to remember a bygone era.”
“Another?”
“Yes. Mordru.”
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Maziah sat in quiet contemplation, trying to focus on the recent turn of events. However, it was far too difficult for her. Her thoughts were on Nura, her sister. She left so suddenly, almost abandoning her. Hopefully Nura was alright and she really did find the Legion they were searching for. She hoped the Legion treated her well enough and were not mean to her. She stole a quick smile—Nura, she knew, could take care of herself. She was always the more fragile one.
“Maziah?” said Tatiana suddenly, who appeared in the doorway. Maziah’s face lit up.
“Tatiana,” she smiled. “All of this confusion and craziness, it’s still such a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. Thank you for allowing us to stay here,”
“My pleasure,” she replied with her crisp posh English accent. “I cannot tell you how surprised I was to see you and Jacquie arrive at my door, and with the passengers you brought. Surprised, and absolutely delighted,” she added, seeing Maziah’s face grow concerned for a moment. “To believe, others with abilities like ours? This ‘Legion’ is all over the news, but here in Britain! And Mon-El and Blok…”
“Yes, it is amazing that we all found each other….”
“I simply figured that you and Jacquie could not pass up picking up a stud like Dirk,” Tatiana grinned.
Maziah flushed. “It was all so fast…”
“I know. I think you can help me though. Up until now, none of us have been able to understand Mon-El at all, save Blok, who apparently speaks all languages. Not to mention that Jacquie, you, myself and Dirk all have our own accents.”
“You want me to cast a spell?”
“Exactly.”
“Ah, I see! A spell of similarity on Blok’s ability to communicate with everyone. This way we can all understand each other better. Very brilliant, Tatiana. Even if your motives are slightly suspect.”
It was Tatiana’s turn to blush.
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“Look at this,” said Dirk, pointing to the television. “It’s a report on the Legion, and the reaction of the international community. Interesting…you know, I bet we could be—Jacquie?”
The Princess turned suddenly. “Oh, I’m sorry Dirk, my mind was just wandering again.”
“I know it must be hard, Jacquie. But we’ve been sitting around for a few days now, idly doing nothing. Maybe its time we, you know, tracked the green woman, or did something.”
“Dirk…why are you bringing this up to me?” replied Jacquie, slightly taken aback by his being so forward.
“Because, you’re a Princess, aren’t you? Haven’t you been brought up with the intentions of being able to lead? Because, to be honest, right now we kinda need some sort of leader around here.”
The Princess looked, at him, and then away, not really looking at anything at all.
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Maziah sat cross-legged, face to face with Blok, who also sat cross-legged. Around them was a circle of candles, and a rare eastern incense burned in the air.
“Thank you Blok, for agreeing to this,” she said.
“It is no trouble. I was curious to watch you work a spell myself anyway. Will you be able to converse while you do this spell?”
“For this one, yes. I am very adept at using magic, although I still have some ways to go.”
“To one day use magic on par with your father?”
“Y-You know of my father?”
“Yes, I do Maziah Al-Nayal. But I also know you’ve run from him, and that you do not wish to follow in his footsteps.”
“I have become a mage like his is,” she replied.
“I think you know that is not what I meant. Your father has plans for this world, and I believe you wish to stand against him. You do not need to answer.”
Silence came over the room, and Maziah continued to enact her spell, magic emanating from her and flowing into the other rooms around the others.
“How do you know so much about my father, Blok? And Mon-El?”
“I have lived a long life. I will help you Maziah. I will help you do what you need to do against your father.”
She stared at him hard and long, a surge of aggression coming through her—very unlike her more reserved nature. Slowly, he smiled at her; the first time she had seen him make a facial expression. And the warmth he was showing her began to spread.
“You’re an enigma, Blok. But you make me feel safe.”
And with that, the spell was complete.
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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quote:Originally posted by LoneWolfLondo: Circling his opponent, Hasim finally locked on the other man's fighting style. His "Nemesis" power kicked in, and he felt himself grow that much stronger, that much faster, that much better at anticipating moves. The other man was bigger, but that was no longer an asset. Easily ducking a punch that would have connected moments ago, he moved in and hit the man square in the stomach. Doubled over, the man grunted in suprise; the kid hadn't seemed so tough before. A sharp blow to the nose brought the man's hands up again. Another hit to the stomach finished him.
The crowd roared their approval.
Maybe it was only a street fight in a back alley of Rome, but every fight gave Hasim more experience at using his nemesis power. He had fought his way across eastern Europe without losing a match. The crowd quickly dispersed as they always did, but the arranger stayed to pay Hasim his cut of the bets. He didn't need the money; father's insurance settlement had paid off well. And if he closed his eyes, he could still see the look on father's face as he... But never mind, back to the task at hand. Each fight helped him master his talents, and brought him that much closer to his goal. They were a Legion, he an army of one. He would perfect the powers granted him by Tisiphone and Nemesis, prove to the Legion what a valuable asset he could be, and join them. United, he had no power against them, but one by one, eliminated from within...Hasim just smiled his dark, cruel smile and savored the thought.
The Mallor Manor
Jacquie searched the news stations, hoping for some type of glimpse of Sara, which was to no avail. She looked over to see Tatiana and Dirk online, going through various websites, message boards and chats on the off-chance that any type of news could be found. She smiled and thought about their earlier ‘meeting’.
The six of them had all stood in a circle, Mon-El fully able to walk around. It was the first time all six of them would be speaking together at the same time, oddly enough. Princess Jacquie smiled wryly, saying “Well, we thank you Blok, for allowing us to understand one another so easily. And you Mysa.” And then without hesitation, she told them that something needed to be done about the Emerald Empress, Sara of Romanescue, and that she planned on taking action and being the one to do it. Before she could finish, it was evident that each one of the other five had every intention of helping her in her mission.
Now the three of them searched the various means available to them (if only they had some type of super-computer like in movies or books), while Maziah did her own search. She looked over to see her friend, whose physically presence she had already grown accustomed to, and saw her deep in meditation, attempting whatever spells she could to locate Sara.
She suddenly wondered how Irma and Nura were doing, and why the telepathic contact with them had stopped so suddenly. Was it because Irma was preoccupied with other things, or was their other forces at work here? She smiled at her own paranoia…the way Blok talked, it seemed that the very future of the world was at stake in the quiet battle they waged.
She did wonder how Blok and Mon-El were doing…
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Rome
Mon-El walked down the streets of Rome, entirely all too uncomfortable with the clothing that he had on. Tatiana had an extra pair of ‘blue jeans’ (an odd name) and a tight-fitting ‘t-shirt’ (equally as odd), with a more ingenious pair of footwear, boots (ah, so they did make progress in two thousand years). He preferred to wear his leather breastplate armor, but was told he would not fit in with everyone else, in this armor-less age. He kept it anyway, at Tatiana’s manor. It was the notion of having to wear these pants that he would have to get used to. Tatiana even told him that even if he could wear the armor, he’d still have to wear pants under it.
Tatiana. She made him smile. He couldn’t help but feel grateful to her for staying with him while he was sick. And she was stunningly beautiful.
“She is too young for you, my friend,” said Blok suddenly, appearing out of the Earth in an alleyway.
“Who is?” replied Mon-El.
“Tatiana. I know what you’re thinking.”
“So now you read minds too, Blok? I wonder how much more cryptic you will be tomorrow,” Mon-El smiled. To be honest, having Blok around was the best thing he could have ever hoped for in dealing with all he had to accept.
Hours earlier, after their brief little ‘meeting’, Mon-El informed the that he needed to see Rome, to see if the Golden City still stood. They all seemed taken aback, but he was firm in doing this…it had been far too long since he had seen the center of the world. Blok prepared him for what he was to see, and it truly was the shock that they had told him it would be.
So much beauty lost. So much of its personality different and washed away. From up high, though, he could still see some of former beauty of Rome, much of it now ruins. After thinking about it for awhile, two thousand years was an incredible amount of time for there to still be remnants of the greatest empire that ever was…so perhaps this was a tribute to all that Rome was. Blok told him it went much deeper than that—society still owed much of its progress to Rome, even this very day. And much of its ills, he added, but Mon-El didn’t feel like pursuing that comment.
“I can fly here at top-speed, even if I have to get used to learning where everything in the Empire is once again. But your ability to travel through the Earth is incredibly impressive. Can you travel anywhere you wish?”
“Almost,” replied the large being.
“I am glad to have you with me then,” replied Mon-El.
They began to explore the city, Blok doing his best to keep to the shadows.
Mon-El walked by another side-road, avoiding the horrendous traffic. He noticed there were no lights and it was almost purposely dark. Immediately, his super-hearing picked up footsteps on either side of him. Without a moments hesitation, he turned and saw three attackers approaching him, two in front, one in back, obviously trying to rob him of his valuables.
He was on the two faster than anything they’d ever seen. One punch, and one attacker was sent through the wall on their side, and another punch sent the other attacker well over 20 feet into the air, Mon-El not caring where he landed. He was on the third before the attacker could even process what was happening. The man fell to his knees, and Mon raised his hand as if to crush the attacker’s skull—
“Stop! Mon-El, you must stop this at once!” yelled Blok loudly.
“Wha--?!” replied Mon-El, shocked. “Blok, these men attacked me—surely for that, their lives are forfeit. This cannot be allowed, attacks in the street. It must be dealt with severely…”
“No, Mon-El, it cannot. Much has changed since the days of Ancient Rome. Death is not dealt so easily in some places anymore, and given your distinct advantage over them, this would be quite similar to murder. I ask you, please, reconsider your wrath.”
Mon-El hesitated. “This era…will take some time to get used to…” he said to himself absently, letting the man go, as he ran away with tears streaming down his face and his courage running down his legs. “But I believe in justice and honor, which may now be understood differently. I have much to think about.”
Quietly, Mon-El walked away, as Blok watched on.
In the shadows, another figure watched the entire exchange. Hasim Diyarbakir looked on, both shocked and in awe of what he just witnessed. For months he had beaten every challenger that stepped up to fight him from across Eastern Europe to Rome. If one beng could possibly hope to beat his Nemesis powers, it must be this individual, whose raw power is like nothing he’d ever seen of before. Yes, this ‘Mon-El’ will be his greatest test.
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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“Almost there,” thought the Emerald Empress to herself. “To where Mordru is, according to the Eye.” A sudden burst of energy knocked her to her feet, taking the wind out of her. “The Eye is somehow telling me not to go…I know it…how can that be? I am its master! Take me to this ‘Mordru’!
Once more, the Emerald Empress rose in the air, on the way to Yemen, the home of the arch-mage known as Mordru.
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Rome
Mon-El sat and drank an expresso, marveling at the potent effects it was having on him. “I can actually feel my heartbeat speeding up…” he thought, “even on my advanced physiology. Obviously, lack of contact with these modern items have made me more vulnerable to them. Which should prove interesting in balance with my ‘abilities’.” He sipped again, enjoying it.
“I already do not like this era. Those men should have been mine to do with what I see fit after assaulting me for no reason. If I had my gladius, I would have ended it for all three—as it was, their lucky I left my weapons in that cave. But Blok has not led me wrong yet, and I feel he may be my best hope for starting a new life here. I will heed his call for stopping the casual dealing of death, no matter if they deserve it or not. But I will adhere to the old Roman customs that I have always believed in.”
“You. Your name is Mon-El,” he suddenly heard, seeing a young man standing in front of him. There was something strange about him…he was obviously excited and tense. Mon had seen it enough on the battlefield: this boy was ready for a battle.
“It is.”
“My name is Hasim Diyarbakir. I watched you man-handle those men back there. It was magnificent. You may be the greatest fighter I’ve ever seen. However, I believe I can best you.”
“You’d wish to duel, then?” said Mon-El. “I advise against it, ah, Hasim, you said?”
“You can call me Nemesis. And I believe I can beat any opponent.”
Mon-El stood up, ready for a battle. But he suddenly stopped. “No, I have no use for pointless fighting. This will serve nothing, and I don’t care who would win.”
“Then you have no choice,” said Nemesis, as he leaped forward, punching Mon-El across the face.
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Mallor Manor
“Nothing,” said Jacquie, flipping the television off.
“Nothing here either,” said Dirk. “Its no use Jacq, I don’t know what we can do.”
“If only we could find some way to use the mental link that Irma has with us to track down where Sara is,” said Tatiana.
“That’s what Maziah is trying to do now,” said Jacquie quietly. “I apologize for how frustrating this is.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Jacquie,” said Dirk, putting his arm around her shoulders. The sudden closeness of him seemed to surprise her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about this. He noticed the awkwardness.
“I”VE FOUND HER!” yelled Maziah all of a sudden, completely exhausted! “No, no, no…” she looked terrified, her eyes wide with tears forming. “Not there…” she whispered.
“What is it, Maziah?!” said Jacquie grabbing her, “where is she?”
“She’s going to Yemen…to find my father I think…”
“Oh no,” said Jacquie.
“Her father? Whose her father? Why’s that bad?” said Dirk, rifling questions. “What the hell is going on now?!”
“Maziah, listen to me,” said Jacquie, “I need you to teleport us to where Sara is right now. Can you do that spell? I know you have it in you.”
“I…I…it will take so much out of me, but…”
“Maziah, if we stop her before she gets there, she won’t find your father,” said Jacquie firmly.
“I’ll do it,” she replied.
Behind them, Tatiana had picked up her cell phone and was dialing. “Who are you calling?” asked Dirk, trying to figure out what was going on.
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Rome
Nemesis landed another viscous punch across Mon’s face, to the Roman’s utter shock. How in the world did he keep landing such impossible punches, when Mon’s quickness and invulnerability should have made this fight a non-issue? Mon took the full brunt, but managed to get a punch of his own into Nemesis’ chest, knocking him backwards.
Impossible. The boy should have fallen to the ground from that blow. Nemesis stood up, and the two squared off again. Mon noticed Blok had arisen out of the Earth and was watching intently, as Nemesis landed a sweeping kick and knocked him to the ground, leaping on top of him. Mon used the force to send Nemesis over his shoulders, further away.
Suddenly, the cell phone in his pocket began to ring and vibrate. Tatiana had put it there, and had had explained to him what to do if this should happen. Still, this new technology was like nothing he’d ever seen, and he was in the middle of a fight. An image of Tatiana in need of him, hurt or worse, flashed through his eyes. She would not be calling for no reason. He rose ten feet into the air and turned it on.
Nemesis and Blok looked on from the ground, as Mon fumbled with the phone, finally turning it on. Her voice was extra loud over the phone: “Mon, we need you, and we need you quickly! You have to get to the Empress! She’s approaching Yemen…oh God, do you even know where that is? On the tip of the Arabian Pennisula, south of Saudia Arabia, its…Mon, do you think you’ll make it?”
“I’ll find you, and I’ll find the Empress. I’ll see you there Tatiana,” he said closing the phone. “Blok…,” but Blok was already going back into the Earth, no doubt leaving them to go to the Empress.
Mon flew down and grabbed Nemesis with one arm under his shoulder blade, flying off with him. “Where are you taking me?!” asked Nemesis, shocked and suddenly scared.
“You owe me an explanation. And an apology. And I’m going to get it. Whether I have to beat it out of you, or take it in the form of an ally to help us. We’re going to Yemen…wherever the hell that is.”
“I’ll take you there,” said Nemesis, suddenly curious to where this journey was taking him.
[ September 21, 2005, 10:37 AM: Message edited by: Cobalt Kid ]
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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![[Smile]](smile.gif)
Anyone else going to too?
