NationStates Jolt Archive

The crowd, close to two hundred thousand strong in Thunderdome West alone – all four of the massive venues were filled to capacity – roared and the massed sound shook the building to its foundations. Yes they had amplification, hearing loss was common in Arc due to that but the mob loved it. Please note that it is small mob not big Mob. The Mob controlled all the refreshments in the domes, indeed all in the city and close environs, but they could only manipulate the mob. Arcers - particularly the grounders, rounder’s and mall rats- tended to get out of control very easily, and more so of late. But enough of that.

The vast retractable dome that capped the Thunderdome was open, for once the normally pollution stagnant air mass that socked in the mega – apolis in under a haze thick enough to knit , was gone and the sky was reasonably bluish as the sun began to touch the western horizon. The opening act had been a blast, literally, the drummer dying in a billow of fire and cloud of pink hued smoke as a fireworks display misfired and almost brought the show down. The crowd had loved every minute of it.

Thunderdome West had the true music junkies. East’s opening acts were as a destruction derby, South had full contact pit fighting. It’s rumored that North, provenance of the Utopian Elite had Circ de Solis. To each their own enjoyment. Though it would be no guess to say that by far the North had the finest munchies passed around by attentive waitstaff. They could afford it. Elsewhere an over cooked soydog with the trimmings and a brew could easily cost most of a twenty. And no bringing it from home was not an option. They were hard nosed about that. Though it didn’t keep idiots from trying – and then mostly but not always ending up as impromptu guests of an unpleasant setting. Security made sure that they got out of the games alive, but not necessarily whole. Just enough got away with such stupidity to encourage others to try it themselves. Kept fresh blood running for the arenas.

But after twenty minutes of advertising by the Thunderdome consortium, and other time wasters the primary act was announced.

Hannah ˆO! Hannah ˆO! Hannah ˆO! Hannah ˆO! Hannah ˆO!

The roar was even louder now and continuous, as they chanted her name. Hannah ˆO! was all of 14 and the absolute, uncontested golden haired, silver tongued darling of the city. The Cloud Landers got to see her live. The other three domes just got large screen display. They didn’t care, it was Hanna ˆO!, and that was all they needed to know. This was her third performance this week and there were two more to go, but even then not every one who so desperately wanted to would be able to get in, not with the lowest priced tickets at close to a hundred each. Nope just wasn’t going to happen.

Any bar, club, brothel, school or union halls that had large screen displays- nothing like the super monster displays of the domes - but even a spot to catch a glimpse on a regular sized set of their darling had people paying cover charges of twenty and even thirty, no food or drinks included. Home sets had been blacked out, that meant every where else ws jam packed.

In Utopia those that didn’t care so much had utterly lifelike holo-displays- such as no grounder could even imagine. Tech went up with the level, just like status and price range.

The stands fell reverentially silent, as the object of their desire strutted on stage and waved, blowing kisses to the crowds. She looked just utterly adorable in her micro mini of pink and black check with a thin strapped camisole of black under a poufy pink satin jacket. Thigh high, artfully tattered stockings of black lace and platform ankle boots of metallic gold – it matched the gold band holding back her flowing equally golden locks.

“Oh I just Loooove to see all my adoring fans…Hi Fans!” She cooed and her voice was picked up and amplified, and the crowd went wild. She waited a long moment, reveling in the adoration, then patted the air with both palms down in a gentle shushing gesture.

“Y’all gotta be able ta hear me now” She chided in her lilting soprano voice, and slowly they quieted, already under her spell.

Unseen her band began the opening chords of one of her most popular, but not her latest hit. Her feet dancing and her body swaying to the music she plunged into the number…

The first song was rapturous, however there was not going to be a second, as before the horrified gaze of millions – but only for a few seconds, until the feed was killed – flying, costumed figures appeared and snatched Hanna ˆO! up and carried her away.

Hotel Baltimore …north west section of the South Third, about the nicest area in the South Third…

Oh Please not another long sob story! I get those every other drink I serve. I looked at the three days worth of beard slob perched on the barstool. The only customer at the moment, he looked like he was about to sob in the bitter brown brew that passed for beer down here on Ground Zero. I could hope he wouldn’t but my hopes were usually dashed. He was a regular and I'd heard his tales of woe for years now, but he seemed to forget that every time he had more than four beers. Maybe I ought to ‘fix’ the 'vee, Hanna beboping can’t be as bad as…

I was saved by the bell. The one at the lobby check-in counter that is. Hotel Baltimore couldn’t afford a desk clerk during the weekdays – hell we couldn’t even afford the one that came in on the weekends but the bar was too busy for me to handle both.

“Coming” I yelled as I swiped my hands on the folded over apron I wore to try to keep my faded nearly white jeans some what dry and trotted around the bar and out to the normally empty lobby. Dust motes floated golden and ghostly in the wan beams of sunlight filtering in through the grimy, vast skylight above – not much made it this made it this far down. Most of what lighting there was in the lobby was provided by buzzing fluorescents. The cheapest sort available, the kind that washed everything with a ghastly green light.

The man standing there was nothing remarkable, at least from the side and rear. Though I could tell without even looking hard that he wasn’t a local, but he wasn’t your usual run of tourist either. That made me give him a second look over – much more thorough if just as discrete. I didn’t want trouble. It could cost me my job and I needed this job. I wasn’t Registered, and thus didn’t get the BLS most every one else did. The dole wasn’t much, barely enough to keep body and soul together, but it did keep one from starving. There were an ever growing number like me though. And a few were faces I thought I recognized, even if it had been over twenty years.

I stepped behind the check in desk, tugging down the long sleeves of the royal purple tee down, just in case. “Hi” It wasn’t too friendly, but not too unfriendly either, nicely balanced, and professional “How can I help you?” I was more curious that I acted, we were far from the port, and far from the harbor where the cruise lines docked., and neither the airport or the dirigible drome were close either. Most of those who came here were locals needing to get away from home for a few nights. Pricy but when one just had to have power and water till High Five, and home was shut down… I had run the ‘ho’s off long ago -nothing by the hour here.

And got a really good look at his face at last, the old school fedora he wore had shaded it considerably. My stomach clenched and I can only hope I didn’t go pale. If he even guessed I had recognized him, my life, and certainly my 'as comfortable as could be expected' life here would be over. At one time he had been very local, and very known. But then again so had I, though I didn’t much look like I used to. Rough years…

“I need a room, for a few days…business”

I made myself busy myself with bringing out the old fashioned hand register, a real pen and paper affair. We got hassles for that, those that collected the Vig liked their ability to check on things electronically. We got by, by paying extra. “Well sir” I didn’t meet his eyes, and worked hard to keep my voice remote and mostly uninterested. "We have a few available, on the third floor.”

We actually had more but I didn’t want him on the fifth floor, near my suite, no not at all. Even if more than half the rooms were empty and it was the second already. I’d find some way of making the monthly.

The button men came around on the fifth of every – High Five - collecting the required, and doling out the coupons for calories and such. That’s when the juice, and water if over consumed and shut off early came back on too.

The Triad controlled the Looting and Plunder, the Chimee being good with electronics and all, as well as water. The Syndics had the Net and all broadcasting, be it radio or tv. The Mob handled booze and food. So between them they’d carved Arc up good, but I could think on that later. Much later.

The past was looking me in the face, with the look of ‘maybe I know you’ and all I could do was hope Not!. But the look faded and he paid me what I asked, in cash, crisp almost new bills- which was scary in and of itself. I handed over the key, a heavy ornate bulk, which was almost amusing.

His lips twisted into something resembling a smile and I got defensive. “Each room has an air quality unit, alarms on door and windows, net connection, and it’s own full bathroom suite.” Our prices weren’t out of line for smaller, less clean places. While Hotel Baltimore is old and genteelly shabby, it is clean and never has a sewage or trash problem. Though at high noon on the rare sunny day it could get rather sweltering, nearly overloading the ancient HVAC system what with the entire roof of the interior courtyard lobby being glss. It was almost a relic, the glass was, brought in decades ago from a specialty company that advertsied it as unbreakabke. In the years I'd been here not a single pane had cracked much less broken, though we were mostly portected from storm borne debris. It had proved worth the immense expense the builder had put into it.

Then he was picking up his valise and walking away, tucking the key into the inner pocket of the distressed leather jacket he wore. Bought predistressed that is, it was too new to have any real wear on it. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and tucked the money in the front pocket of my jeans. I’d wait till later to take it up to Aunt May, the hotels ostensible owner. I didn’t want him to have any suspicion that this was no ordinary hotel, or that I was anything but the hired help. I’d have to let Maggie, she ran the herb shop that took up the of the ground floor corner know too.

The drunk in the bar called loudly for another round, and I was glad of the excuse to be out of the lobby.

But it wasn’t a drink he was calling for. Apparently after I’d left, he’d fiddled with the V, and fixed what I’d jiggered. Now he was weeping and snuffling that the "beautiful, precious angel" – his words not mine – had been seized by dasdardly space aliens…

I looked at the black screen with it’s EBS symbol burning bright and I shivered. I remembered what today was…

Cast of Characters (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14560734&postcount=46)

“Welcome to Sound Mind and Body.” Yeah, the name’s corny, but it works out. I mean, who’d look for me in a corny, corner place like this? I had great quips for a B-lister. “How may I help you?” The last part is sincere. I take my business seriously, and since my business is to help people. I do care about my customers…generally.

I don’t think this one’s ideal, a bit young, strung out, and hard lived. His thread-bare clothing hung off him. Perhaps he’s just here for a laugh at the dull, mousy brunette behind the counter surrounded by a stacks and shelves and cubbies of herbal odds and ends. Perhaps he’s figuring that the sign that says “Massages” means more like the sort of “ deep, anatomical Massages” they advertise down the street at Miss Kytti’s Place. Perhaps he’s scoping me out, thinking I’ve got something other dirt and roots, that this stuff goes for a price, or that I’ve got some wacky stuff he can partake of.

I lean forward on the counter as I watch him stagger into the room. Poor kid, he’s probably one of those orphans runnin’ around in packs further down. He’s probably not Registered, like I am. But I think he just never knew how to or never occurred to him. I’ve run from Registering. “Son?” I ask softly. I’m not imposing, not anymore. I was never big, but I had presence, beauty, vitality. People noticed. I had to give that all up to keep living.
The kid, hardly more than his teens, swept a lock of black, greasy hair behind his ear. “Uh yeh…dey sez youse gots sumpin’ fer mah teefs. Dey hoitz.”

If I didn’t live with this every damn day, I’d burst into tears at his grammar. Because he didn’t have a family and wasn’t Registered, he’d missed out on one of the few good things the Cloudlanders do for down here, education. Fortunately for him and my cash box, I’ve figured out Gutterspeak. “Your teeth?” He nodded and held a hand beside his jaw.

I knew I’d regret it, but I got up and stood in front of him. “Open your mouth and let me see.” He opened with an excepted “Ah”…and I about fainted. The smell of rot was strong. He hadn’t learned of a toothbrush as well as grammar. I grimaced and turned away. Dental problems were all too common down here. With limited, pay for spray water, basic hygiene took a backseat even to the most responsible groundpounders. Dentists/Barbers were fare in most cases down here…positively Old Western.

I went to one of the walls, careful to keep myself in profile to the kid. He sure needed help with those teeth, but I couldn’t be sure if his teeth were his first priority. I got down a small jar and a toothbrush. In all reality, the brush was as rare as the tree oils in the jar. I stood before him, holding the means to his dontic relief. “What do you have, son?”

He looked at the brush and jar skeptically for a moment and then up at me. He was quiet, but I almost felt the thoughts fluttering in his head. I willed this kid not to try anything. I’d been pretty lucky about never having to mummify someone in my shop, and I’d like to keep it that way. It attracted less notice. The kid’s decision came when he reached into a back pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Frankly, I didn’t want to know and didn’t care where he got it or why he wasn’t using it to better his health…but I was a little sad to see it still.

I selected a few chits, enough to cover my expenses and just a little profit, but I left him with a lot. The kid didn’t know jack from Adam about alternative medicine. I could be giving him a poultice mixed from water from the Fountain of Youth for all he knew. But it wasn’t a kind thing to do, or good business. I handed the brush and jar over and explained how to brush the tree oil into his teeth carefully twice every day. I think I got through what I needed before his eyes glazed over. He nodded and thanked me…I think he did, “Beb, youse the criznivle o’da nagick, ‘eetlips” sounded positive and gratious…from voice tone, lilt, and my own imagining.

I sighed. The kid…standing so close to him, I could feel his life weak and thready. He couldn’t have been eating right, and even at his age probably had a VD or three. I used to be able to do so much more. Pushing the past aside, I looked up at the clock. It was lunch time. There wasn’t a chance in hell, I was going to get much business for the next few hours…well, except for wanderers like the kid. But I’m hungry enough to chance it. I flipped my “OPEN” sign to show the little shown “CLOSED” and locked the door to the street. I grabbed my purse on my way back through the shop to the lobby entrance. I pulled that door closed.

I locked that door too. You couldn’t be too careful down here, and since I wasn’t Registered, I couldn’t afford to lose income to carelessness…I could barely afford kindness. I avoided the restaurant. It wasn’t an especially expensive place, nothing around here was, but I could get a bite in the bar quicker and cheaper. Plus Jane was one of the few around abouts worth talkin’ to.

I stood in the entrance, blinking my blue eyes in the semi-darkness of the bar. Oh, Joy…Chip was deep in his cups, whimpering about somethin’ on ‘Vee. I sidled up to the bar, far down the way from Chip. I nodded to the otherwise blank screen except for the EBS logo. “What’s going on, Jane? Chip's on his way through to depressed drunk three mugs earlier than usual.”

McDulny had moved to the side of the bar as soon as the pretentious 'musician' came on over the network. He hated Hannah ^O! as much as the next decent man worth his blood, but damn if the crowds could appreciate that. He was happy that his bar of choice was only on the high end of Main. It meant a few things. First, the sound quality was good throughout most of the bar, unless you knew where to sit. If you did, then the sound coming from the speaker system was distorted to something approaching auditory tolerance levels. Second, the display was a rather large flat-screen. That meant that if you couldn't see the screen, you didn't have to see the starlet. Third, there was only one spot in the bar where both previous conditions co-existed. McDulny took it, and ordered another shot of something heavy. Inebriation tended to increase the tolerance levels of the 'entertainment.' Give him guitars, drums, and bagpipes any day of the week.

He downed it, and asked for another, forking over the cash for the over-priced drinks. The celebration was what got to him. But if you didn't spend your time doing something useless on the holidays of Arc, then somebody would eventually notice. And getting noticed could result in one of two things. If you were James McDulny, it really was limited to one thing. So that meant that if you were McDulny, and you had the day off, you did something to celebrate. Even if it only meant getting piss-drunk at a local bar, it was still something that kept one off the radar, and that was just fine.

Note to self: if things ever get turned around here, be sure that her agents are the bunch of mindless jerks who'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes. McDulny was starting to lean on the bar counter, elbows propping himself up as he held his face in his left hand and his glass in his right hand. The man sitting next to him grunted as one song ended, and the next began.

"Tell me," said McDulny's neighbor, staring down a beer the cost twice over its worth, "What's so great about today?"

"It's a time to drink. To celebrate, but for me, that mostly means drinking. Though to be fair, I ain't a native. The holidays are just holidays for me. Time off from work, which means time to drink. Cheers," said McDulny. He clinked glasses with his new, and probably very temporary, friend, taking a sip and returning to his ethanol-induced ponderings. Dad, what would you have said if you saw this now?

"So, if you ain't from here, why did you come?"

McDulny was too aware of the possible trap. "Mon-ey!" he said. "The pay here was good. That was before I learned the costs were the same. But," he said, pointing generally toward the screen, "You can't get this type of stuff outside of Arc. Too many things to do here. I don't know if they could ever get me to leave."

The other man grunted his assent. McDulny finished his drink, and decided to turn down any more. He was too plastered to leave at this point. He was best off waiting for his head to clear enough to get home, rather than try the trip this drunk. He intended to live to see the morning, and the barman would want his business next week. What was a few hours of sitting around against a loyal patron?

Jane mentally switched gears when Maggie showed up. She was very careful to never let on that she knew anymore of Maggie than what the shop owner had presented when they first met.

It was a disconnect of knowledge that was meant to keep both of us safe. The past had to remain dead and buried, but with what John was blubbering loudly about... Jane’s stomach knotted again, and she had to blink her eyes against the mental horror show thinking about the past brought. She hated tears....

“What’s up, Jane? Chip’s on his way through to depressed drunk three mugs earlier than usual.”

I flashed a glance at Chip, who passed out even as we watched, then turned back to Maggie, and dropped my voice so that even she could barely hear it.

"I'm not sure exactly" I was careful not to meet her eyes at first, then I had to as my words came out in a rush - and I know my eyes held all the fear that hers would in a moment "Unknowns in drag flew in did a snatch and grab on Hanna ˆO! right in the north dome!"

I let that sink in for a minute then hit her with the worse "Big Kick is here. He checked in. 303. He didn't recognize me." The words bolted out as I shivered, and looked away for a second. I was glad he hadn't - or maybe I was just fooling myself that he hadn't. But we'd never tangled, he had been long term established, just about The Major Villain and I had been just established when every thing...collapsed. And I don't think I look much the same. I'm twenty five years older.

I let the sickness in my heart show for just a second in my eyes, then the shutters of being some one else drop again.

Jane could only hope Maggie would realize that if there had been any way of turning him away she would have. But claiming to be full wouldn't have worked. The vacancy sign was on. And the Hot l Baltimore needed the money; the price of commercial L&P had doubled last month. As Maggie well knew.

Ziyo had had a bad week. For once in a blue moon, the gangs hadn't approached him with a hit, and that was his primary source of income. He wasn't registered, like most of those with abilities, and had to live off of every penny that came his way.

Now wasn't a time for him to be picking up pennies. Now was a time to run. Apparently that bar owner had noticed, despite strong mental suggestions sent to him, that Ziyo hadn't paid for his most recent booze session. Ziyo really hadn't been in a mood to pay, one reason included he didn't have the money, but that was a technicality.

Now he had to run, his black trenchcoat billowing behind him. His short legs weren't the best things to be running with.
Goddamn. Next time, I should probably have the money to buy what I want to buy.
Dodging into a back alley, one of the endless number down below, he could hear shouts of the bar owner and a couple of his buddies running after him.
"Geddim! Shircle 'round and cuddim off!" one of them yelled
"Damn." Ziyo muttered, looking for anywhere to dodge into. He was capable of defending himself, but he didn't feel like ripping their memories from their minds today, essentially creating a few more of what he liked to call 'zombies'.

The alley was dark, and Ziyo tripped over something furry, and landed on the hard ground. Careful not to make as little noise as possible, he craned his head around, and stared into the rotting corpse of what looked like a dog. It wasn't the worst thing he had seen in his life, this month for that matter.
Scrambling to his feet, he ducked into the door of a nearby bar, the walls covered in neon lights.

In the years of living in this hellhole, he had gotten pretty good at blending into a crowd. The first thing he did was sit himself down in a corner next to a man with an accent clearly not from the area, and ordered himself a drink, hoping that this place had a lower pricing than the other.

Too many things to do here. I don't know if they could ever get me to leave."

The man McDulny had been chatting with grunted something not really recognizable and turned away, craning his neck to try and get a better look at the darling of Arc...

Then he almost in concert with every one else in the upscale and upriced bar gave incoherent gasps of utter horror, and all sound from the spectacular sound system died in mid word

"Honey, I'm ho..."

The screen flashing to black as the Syndic's technicians ran up the ERB screen in place of the seconds ago live feed.

http://www.atddm.com/c1.gif

Before Ziyo's drink order could be filled by the overworked bartender, the crowd erupted into screams of horror, splattered with the vilest of cursing - that was all to familiar to his ears. The cries of outrage, that 'They' had nabbed Hanna ˆo!, that 'They' needed to be found and dealt with...

He was too young to remember the Raging Time personally, though it had become a cultural meme in Arc...

The bar began emptying out quickly as a vociferous, ever proliferating mob began to form in the streets. Moments later the sound of breaking glass could be heard echoing in from the street, even over the rumble of the unwashed angry mass of half to completely wasted humanity.

The bartenders hustled to roll down the metal mesh protective screen, blanking out the soot grimed windows.

McDulny didn't see the kidnapping happen. He heard the sound cut out, and when he managed to next see the screen, his colleagues that hadn't gotten the day off had already gotten the ERB logo up. In his half drunken stupor, all he could think was Is there a God? I think there just might be...

As McDulny stumbled out, he took note of the kid that had just come in, and had unfortunately not gotten a drink. It was a shame. But still, his mind's gears were slowly kicking back into gear. He was a computer technician in a city that didn't employ too many people in his field. Likely as not, he would not finish the day on vacation.

Almost on cue, he could feel the vibrations in his pocket as his boss decided to contact him. "Yeah boss. No, I was actually buried in some distilled drink when it happened. Do you need me in? No? Alright, I'll be elsewhere if you need me. Otherwise, see you tomorrow."

Dropping the phone back into his pocket, he followed the crowd out. Mob mentality was not something to go against. He knew that, he had a copied visual of his own father's death. Instead, he ducked down an alley, jogging out to a side street. It was a shame that people were reacting this way. The singing abductee wasn't even worth the trouble. Still, he paused to check to see if anybody was following him, and to see if there were angry looters nearby.

"Goddamn." muttered Ziyo as the mob flared up. 'They' undeniably refered to the Empowered, a group of people his father had told him about that could do the most amazing, and most horrifying things. Sometimes he had wondered if his father had been one of them, as he talked of them so reverently. Too bad he had died before Ziyo's ability had manifested.

As the mob swelled, he took a glance inside their minds. Most of the ones he peeked at were too drunk to actually understand the mob's purpose, but he gathered enough information to learn that some celebrity had been abducted by 'Birdmen' as his father had called them.

Glancing around at the raging crowd, Ziyo tried to push through them, and received a black eye in the process. He managed to regain his footing and again moved through the human inferno.
Damn. Why can't the Empowered just keep their abilities secret? Kidnapping a celebrity, a teen at that, is liable to get them killed. The show of their abilities guarantees it will be slowly.

Suddenly a firm hand gripped his shoulder, and whipped Ziyo around.
A smile with rotten teeth, a horrible stench, and poor enunciation greeted him, as droplets of saliva splattered over his face.
"Soes, you steel owes me sum cash. Howjuu plan on payin' that? Chits or bwuises?" sneered the bar owner.
"I'm not the man you're looking for. The man you're looking for is 6'2" and has a moustache." Ziyo said, adding a mental push.
The bar owner gave him a look bearing no recognition.
"Waids a minit. Ur tew shoat to be the gai."
Ziyo breathed a sigh of relief. People were so easy to manipulate. Backing up, he began to run. He suddenly realized how much running he'd been doing recently. At a brisk jog, he moved off to access to the higher levels. Recently he'd been staying at the Hotel Baltimore. Kinda pricy for him, but then so was just about everywhere else.

North-west Section of the South Third

Despite being welcome on levels far above his current position, Anton found himself roaming the streets of the lower levels. Not too low of course, but low enough for him to get a taste of what life was like for many of those that called Arc home. For the majority of his life he'd lived up in the clouds, ignorant of the starving masses below and not particularly empathetic. Despite such, his father had brought him up to be a kind man and Anton took no pleasure in seeing others struggle, especially if it was simply to survive.

Ever since he'd been forced to sell his company, Anton had been getting acquainted with the levels he had never even been to in the past. Many people were out and about today and whilst Anton liked to observe the residents of Arc he was also wary of them. Since his downward adventures had begun there had been at least fifteen attempts to mug him, two of them successful. Since then Anton never took any valuables down to the lower levels and only enough cash to get by. He'd also taken to wearing the clothes of those around him in attempt to blend in. A hand crafted, freshly pressed coat usually made one stand out in certain areas and that was the last thing Anton wanted.

Anton had only recently begun descending as low as ground zero and it was truly humbling for him to think that he could have lived up in the clouds under the belief that Arc was a utopia whilst there were people on the ground that were almost rotting away. Despite his empathy, Anton knew he couldn't really make a difference. He wasn't going to get his company back from the mob and he didn't have that much money. Sure he'd sold for a decent price but with a moderate income coming in from some other holdings now, it wouldn't last forever and so he couldn't afford to simply hand out wads of cash to everyone he met.

As Anton continued his casual stroll through the streets of ground zero he noticed an increased tension amongst the crowds. From what he had gathered nothing seemed to have provoked it but people were now speaking quickly and somewhat angrily. Others were going other places in a hurry and Anton had heard more than a few glasses being smashed. Before Anton could reason out what was going on the crowds had suddenly become a gathering of angry mobs. Not wanting to be a part of whatever was about to happen, Anton ducked into a building illuminated by green neon lights. The small lobby around him indicated he was in a hotel of some description. Not wanting to look out of place, Anton made his way towards the sounds of other people and took a seat at the bar, catching the eye of the bar tender.

"Any idea what the bloody hell is going on outside?"

Despite being brought up in a privileged lifestyle and being taught to speak a certain way, Anton had easily adapted the crass and often fragmented speech of those on the lower levels. Whilst he didn't possess the accent of someone that had grown up barely knowing their own language he could get by well enough not to stand out too much.

Thunderdome South

The advertisement blares out between pit fights, echoing among the seated multitudes.

We talked to Cage Fighter Winter Champion Dirk “The Hammer” Chain about how he keeps the ring ringing for with your applause!

A massive holograph appears of the winner of the Winter Championship, holding up a pill.

“Everyone gets scared before they go into the Thunderdome to duke it out, but to get me fighting I take Dash, from the Exesleigh Institute. It gets me going, keeps me rockin’, and doesn’t stop until YOUR standing ovations! It really does put the sky in your HIGH, and for me, it puts the laughter BACK into slaughter!”

The image freezes on Dirk Chain’s beaming, broken-nosed face in mid-wink and the voiceover booms out:

Dash is available from all Institute clinics, reputable dealers and your local medical centre or pharmacy. Buy Exesleigh for the highest quality highs. Proud sponsors of the Spring Schedule, putting the lightening back into the Thunderdome.

Always read the label, personal experiences may vary.


The Marble Room, function room, Thunderdome North

“...the increasing presence of drug-related crimes amongst the lowlifers suggests that they are beyond any form of reasonable control...”

I sip at my port while the speech runs on, and on. The speaker, a social anthropologist who had just returned from a research trip to the sub-levels, appears to enjoy waffling and there is no sign of his lecture stopping after an hour of tangents, repetitions and poorly expressed arguments. I glance over the room, trying to restrain a yawn and wishing that the Society of Benefactors of the Arc Museum had realised that their lauded speaker is a horrendous bore and a bit of an idiot before inviting him to speak at their annual dinner. It is also making me reconsider the cheque the Institute sends the museum every quarter in the name of philanthropy.

There are perhaps a dozen circular tables arranged in a U-shape around the podium with eight men and women seated at each in dinner suits and ball-gowns with gold gleaming and diamonds flashing in the light of elaborate chandeliers hanging from a painted ceiling. Most of the people here have no real sense of taste, but what can you expect from the idle rich who still envy the popularity of the super-powered from a quarter of a century ago? Those of us on the high table and one to either side lack excessive ornamentation, simple but expensive jewellery for the ladies, pocket watches and cufflinks for the men. But then, we twenty-four don’t have anything to prove – we, and a few others like us, practically run this city. At least from Ground Zero and up.

Discreetly standing behind and beside the marble pillars at the edges of the ballroom are our private protection agents, keeping a watchful eye on their charges and feeling insecure without their firearms. Standing at the doors are the museum’s security forces and the only protection teams carrying guns. My compact sidearm is tucked safely into my cummerbund and most of my fellow guests are doubtless carrying as well.

I sip my drink again, letting the aged port linger in my mouth for a few moments. At least the society has a decent wine supplier.

Three tables to my left an individual who makes his bespoke dinner suit look cheap and nasty is trying to catch my eye. His diamond-studded collar is doing a better job...luckily for him there are no magpies in the room. I let him look meaningfully in my direct for a little longer and tune back into the speaker’s lecture. Why is it that some people are incapable of changing tone or speed and just drone in the same monotone?

“...so we can see that a properly supervised and administered security force of Empowered under the control of a proper authority composed of representatives of Utopia...”

Hm. Finally he’s moving onto something interesting, and something that I had arranged to have thrown into his face time and time again during his research once I learned he was going to be speaking at an event that society almost makes compulsory. Just a pity that he is making it in such a waffling manner that half of us have fallen asleep before this point came up.

“...could provide a powerful force in support of the current status-quo and extend some form of governance in the sub-levels and, more importantly, enforce Cloud Land’s authority in those places...”

I tune out again, Cheap-and-Nasty looks like he is about to fall off his chair if I keep him waiting any longer. I catch his eye and he mouths something about meeting me once the speaker is done. I nod slightly and almost cry in relief as Waffling-His-Life-Away finally ceases his lecture to the sound of half-hearted applause. Little Harry Whitfeather, the spitting image of the Monopoly Man and the Chairman of the Arc Museum’s governing body, climbed up to the podium and clapped his hands a few times to show willing before speaking into the microphone.

“Thank you, Professor Kedgeree that was very...informative. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a few minutes for you to mingle before the rest of tonight’s entertainment. We have two sessions from one of our favourite donors, the opera singer Elisabetta “Bee” Ronchitis. Between her sessions we will be opening the shutters behind me for the very different musical talents of Hannah ˆO, performing live in the Thunderdome proper.”

We rise and move amongst one another, with those from ‘lesser’ tables making beelines for members of the high three at the curve of the ‘U’ shape. I am almost immediately collared by Cheap-and-Nasty, who takes this opportunity to seize my hand in his sweaty paw and shake it vigorously before giving me the “I’m-A-Serious-Man-So-Don’t-Mess Look” and speaking in a deep voice no doubt intended to intimidate while I am busy drying my hand on a handkerchief and wishing I had some antiseptic on my person.

“Look, Alex, my friend, your clinic in our distric’ is gettin’ to be a li’l bad for bizness if you understand me?”

“My dear fellow, surely you are not suggesting that the Institute should stop providing vital health care where it is most needed?”

“I don’ care what I’m suggstin’. Just stop peddlin’ your drugs in Bedlam. That’s our distric’ and it’s where we sell. Keep it up an’ accidents might ‘appen, all sorts of bad folks near that nice clinic of yours.”

“I’m fairly certain I’m paying you to operate my clinic and for sales rights in ‘your district’. Reneging on a deal is not very” I lean in close, trying not to breathe the stench of stale sweat from this gangster-made-good, “respectable. Respectable people do not like disreputability, Mister Lyes, and they” I glance around meaningfully at those others in the room, “remove it.”

He sneers at me, secure in his armour of contempt for the soft Highlifers whom he now lives among.

“You migh’ wanna think very carefully abou’ how your people conduc’ themselves. You might be big in drugs and chems, but I have muscle, and lots of it.”

He turns and walks away to smile unctuously at an old friend of mine who produces weaponry of various kinds. I catch his eye and nod slightly in the direction of mister Lyes, who has now reached that point where he thinks he has become one of the ‘big boys’ and can throw his weight around. I shake my head very slightly and draw one finger across my throat before making the action seem as if I was scratching an itch. James nods back very slightly and politely rebuffs Lyes, knowing that the next time the ganger descends to his territory he will not be returning. None of us have maintained our positions without learning how to look after our investments and property.

I speak briefly to a few of my fellow Utopians, idle chit-chat of little consequence, and leave the room to make a short call, coming back inside just as Whitfeather returns to the podium to announce that, in keeping with the lowlifer theme of this evening (the museum opening an exhibition on the sub-levels tomorrow), Miss Ronchitis will be singing a fantasia on Faust.

We take our seats and I close my eyes as her voice opens with the first of her selections from the Divine Comedy.

Sometime later she finishes her first performance. I open my eyes and look around at the guests. Some of them, including Cheap-and-Nasty, look incredibly bored and are obviously itching to leave and find themselves some other entertainment. Others, myself included, are obviously moved by the performance and impressed with her ability. The young woman will doubtless be getting numerous commissions for parties and other events. I wonder whose strings she pulled to be invited to this event.

The short chairman climbs onto the podium again, dabbing at his eyes with a bright purple handkerchief.

“Thank you to Miss Ronchitis, a beautiful performance. Now, for those who prefer a different type of music, we have Miss Hannah ˆO!”

The wall behind the podium, the only one without pillars before it, slid away to reveal the Thunderdome proper and exposing the function room to the fading daylight for the first time this evening. In the centre of the stadium stood the young singer. Whitfeather had timed it perfectly, skipping the advertising and her little pre-song comments and just catching the opening chords of her first song.

When she was kidnapped there was a universal expression of shock amongst the guests, I was on my feet with several others. Bloody Empowered who couldn’t see past their own fame, probably. Idiots who may well undo the work done in the background by the Institute over the last twenty-five years. It was on the phone within moments to the head of my personal security detail, my men would be trawling Ground Zero and the sublevels within minutes to find out something, anything, about the abduction while I spoke to my contacts in Utopia and tried to hunt down these idiots.

I couldn’t breathe for a moment. My eyes flicked about the bar. I was looking for my past, for the horrors of the first night of the RT to pop out, pitchforks, torches, and capekillers and all. I let out my breath and sucked in another as I realized I couldn't feel the tense life and adrenaline, except for mine and Jane’s, which might signal someone coming for us.

I looked at Jane again and stepped over towards Chip. I watched her carefully as I extended a hand towards Chip. I felt him; his life was subdued. He was really passed out, not faking it. I turned and looked about the Baltimore’s bar, empty. I stepped back close to Jane at the bar. “You’re sure it was Big Kick?”

I glanced towards the lobby. “Big, dark man with hair the color of midnight with a widow’s peak, a monocle, a pointy goatee, and a sinister mustache?” It couldn’t be him. He should be dead. Jane…she couldn’t have been much more than a kid when the Heroes fell. I look like a strung out forty year old, but I was that age back during the Raging Times. Back then…I saw Big Kick from afar, and that’s where you wanted him to be.

Like I said, I was B-list, who got to hang with the A-listers because I was good at patching them together and cleaning up after them…all that collateral damage. I never fought Big Kick. That’s why I survived to see it all come crumbling down twenty-five years ago. But…Big Kick was supposed to be dead. They had a corpse…paraded it through the streets…mutilating and beating at every intersection until they needed DNA to verify the body at the morgue.

Ziyo, approaching the door of the Hotel Baltimore, his most recent place of refuge, he mentally scanned ahead, checking for anyone who could possibly have ill intentions. He passed over a drunkard, who seemed to have had a few dozen too many. The only other people in the lobby seemed to be the bartender and someone he had never met before. He couldn't be sure of the identities though without having access to their memories.

Unaware of anything they were talking about, Ziyo opened the door. He didn't think he would cause any more trouble today. He had already messed with one man's memories, and might have caused permanent damage to his hippocampus, the part of the brain dedicated to converting short-term memory to long-term.

As soon as he walked in, he didn't even need his telepathy to realize the atmosphere of seriousness, and minding his own business had never been one of his stronger traits.
"No. You need to get some rest. Calm down, do a memory search or something. Maybe some crosswords." he muttered to himself as an urge to eavesdrop began to grow.

With a small shake of his head, his silver hair glinting in the green light, he hurried off to the elevator to go to his room on the second floor. He didn't have much money to spare, and what he did he usually spent on small luxuries, like his trench coat.

Patting down the pockets on the knee-length coat, he found the almost-comically over-sized key, and put it in the keyhole. Opening up the door, he was relieved to see that nothing seemed to have been ransacked.

Hot l Baltimore

Arc's primary streets still formed a grid, even if the side streets and alleys had rebuilt as chaotic jumble within the square mile that stretched between each of the main thoroughfares. From north to south the primary streets were numbered going from 1st to 30th, and from west to east Avenue A thru Avenue T.

That put Hot l Baltimore squarely in the north east corner of B and 21st, or B21 N.E. as the mail, mainly bills and sheaf’s of advertizing was addressed. Only buildings facing the main streets had free mail service. Those living in the helter-skelter areas in between had to pay for delivery.

Jane found herself sorting through yesterday's bills rather than look at Maggie as the shop keep described the man who'd just checked in. She nodded mutely, then froze as the discrete bell that alerted her to some one coming into the Hot l.

Jane's eyes flashed to the archway leading to the lobby area, but it was only the spike haired ‘round and about’ called Ziyo, whose occupation seemed to be, like so many others south third, questionable but unquestioned about. He paid his due on time and that was what primarily concerned Jane. Her mental defenses were too formidable for any one she wouldn’t see coming so to speak to get through. And they were never down, especially not now.

Only when he had passed by and the clinkling of the antique wrought iron bird cage style elevator could be heard did she look back at Maggie.

I closed my eyes for a long second then met hers squarely as something started to come back to life deep in the backs of mine. Despite that fact that she could probably see the tremors racing up and down me, my voice was firm, and steady. “He wouldn’t be back for no reason. I did my dissertation on him.”

He had been ranked second on the black hat side by little more than a hair – when you get to talking those levels it’s debatable in endless circles. Criminal Mastermind, and Power Absorption. Singly either made for problems of the nastiest sort, but put them together? It would take both hands and feet to tick off the Powers he had stolen. Not to mention the apparent ability to return from the not only dead, but the seriously dead and cremated. Though it had taken a mob that started out in the hundreds of thousands and in the end totaled merely thousands to wear his batteries down to where he was vulnerable.

“We can’t just do nothing.”

http://www.atddm.com/c1.gif

Anton

The bartender was heading out from behind the bar, and paused only a second to give Anton a disbelieving look. “Where da hell youse been? Hiding down neg?” He asked over his shoulder as he began rolling down the metal mesh anti riot shutters. “The damned Powers are back, they ‘napped Hanna ˆO! . Go on get! All a use! I’m closed. I don’t want to be caught open wid the riots rollin!” His voice had become nearly hysterical.

The handfull of others that had been in the bar were already leaving of their own choice, though from their mutterings they were not pleased. The desk clerks were looking anxious as well.

"We are going into locxk down. If you have not registered and paid for a room you are now required to leave!" A tall pale skinned man of indeterminate age - but backed up by a troll like individual in a security rig was waving every one out of the bar and lobby.

Cast of Characters (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14560734&postcount=46)

James ducked around a corner, hoping to avoid too much of the mob before getting somewhere safe. However, as he moved down the alley, somebody from behind him shouted out “Jimmy McDulny?” McDulny turned to see who had called his name, seeing a man partly obscured by shadows in the distance. Before he had a chance to look more carefully, he saw starbursts, and then darkness took him.
______________________________________________________________________

James came to when a bucket full of cold water was being splashed on his face. “There,” said a voice that he didn’t recognize. “He’s awake. Let’s get going.”

James found himself strapped to a bolted metal chair, the head restraint temporarily unused. A powerful light was shining in his face from in front of him and slightly elevated, allowing him to see a display screen just between him and the light and little else. A second voice began speaking, the same as the man on the street that had called out his name.

“James McDulny. So nice to meet you. I’m afraid I’ll have to forego proper introductions, but suffice it to say that your father and I knew each other very well.”

“Huh,” grunted James. “You used to live in the Greater Arthurian coastlands?”

A few voices started laughing. James put the number at three or four, leaning on the four side. “No,” said the man that was clearly going to do the speaking to Jimmy. “We knew your father. Quite the maniac, your father was. Never stopped laughing. Or would you prefer we call you Shane?”

James looked at where the voice was coming from. The expression on his face was enough, but it didn’t change anything. These men knew his father. And that meant that they knew who he was as well. “Call me James. My father gave me that name. If you were his friends, you should at least respect his wishes.”

“Very well. We have at least that much respect for what your father did. Though to be fair, we weren’t your father’s friends. We were rivals, enemies, the villains that your father put away for the crimes we committed using the gifts that made us superior to the ants that inhabit this city, that you serve with your labor.”

“If you’re villains, than what is it you want with the son of a hero?”

More laughter met James. “Just the son of a hero? Your father passed on his gift to you. It took almost a million heavily armed people to kill him. And even then, he probably didn’t have to die, but he had chosen his death, whether out of some misjudged reliance upon that vision he thought he had or his misguided Messiah-complex, and look what happened. How many do you think died trying to kill him? He was the last to fall, for a reason. He could have been the greatest. All he had to do was reach out, and grab a hold of what he wanted. Instead, he let it all slip through his fingers. We’re offering you a chance to do better. Join, and do all of the things that your father never could. Bring your wrath upon those that deserve it most.”

James started chuckling at this. “Tell me,” he said, “What makes you any better than the ones currently living in the clouds?”

“The difference is simple, and elementary. Twenty-five odd years ago, they won, and we lost. This time around, we’re going to win. It all comes down to one basic thing. We both want power and influence, and there simply isn’t enough for them, and for us. Thus, we have to get rid of them. It’s the only way. Now, as for you, well, we need take care of that untapped potential you have yet to use. Your father had a reactive evolutionary process. For you, it’s a bit more proactive.”

Strong hands grabbed James’ head from behind, holding it against the headrest while the restraint was strapped around his forehead. He struggled, but already restrained as he was, there was little he could do fight back. They stretched his skin, just enough to allow them to place the metal spreaders that would prevent him from closing his eyes. “Sorry, but this first part will require visual input. Later, you won’t need the screen.”

The monitor was raised up, placed so that James could only see the monitor, and unable to close his eyelids. “Here we go,” said the man behind the light. The monitor kicked in, streaming images of mathematical code and what James could clearly recognize as computer programming, as well as documents on bio-electronic interfacing. The images cycled through, and after having gone through the massive cycle twice, it began speeding up. James could do nothing, and as he continued to watch he felt a dull ringing start to build up inside his head. Finally, after so many cycles that James had lost count, and the buzz in his head was nearly overwhelming him, the monitor shut down. The man behind the light began speaking again. “We’ll see in a little while. Do yourself a favor: do some research, and when we next ask to meet, you’d be much better off if you say yes.”

Somebody stuck a needle in James’ arm, and things started fading out. Before he fully lost consciousness, he heard voices conversing.

“Are you sure about this, Roderick?”

“Yes. He has more potential than his father. He can be of use. Though if he shows any signs of dissent, we take him to Big Kick. Deal with himmmm…” and that was the last that James heard.
______________________________________________________________________

James woke up in the bar. Nearby was a woman, likely the bartender. He sat up, still groggy from the sedative. He looked around, taking note of the place, and when looking through the doorway, noticed that he was probably on Ground Level. Great. First they kidnap me, do whatever the f*#@ that was, and then drop me off here. At least the people here haven't chopped me up for organ donation.

James took closer note of the white haired woman, who happened to be packing major heat. She probably wasn't supposed to be so armed, but 'supposed' and should were very different things. Right now, he was thankful for the difference. She turned, saw he was awake, and gestured to the side, at a shotgun and ammo, and then a side entrance. "If you can use that, and your buddies didn't let you get too messed up, I could use another hand to watch the entrance."

James nodded, checked the action, noted it was empty, and loaded it, adding a round to the chamber in addition to loading the bottom with as many shells as would fit. "Thanks. I take it the people are responding worse than usual to the abduction of that overrated musical monstrosity." James went to the side, but he noted the lingering look the woman had given him. The others knew who his father was, and had recognized him. If she had known his father, she might have noticed the resemblance, or she might just be concerned that he not trip and blow his own face off. He didn't think he was in danger of the latter, and waited at the side for any trouble to come, standing next to a pillar that would provide handy cover if necessary.

Hot l Baltimore

B21 was as bout as far away as one could get from Thunderdome South, and still be in the southern Third. But we could already hear the dull growl of the mob, and the EBS logo had vanished to bring us live aerial views of the growing disturbance. Blood and violence sells, and the Cloud Landers always made money. The Aerial drones were up and providing crystal clear views of the spreading destruction.

Jane had looked at Maggie, not waiting for her reply. And told her “Go get the riot shutters down on your shop better plate glass than your stock. – after handing her a fully automatic and fully loaded combat shotgun. And the older woman had left without answering.

The question had been rather rhetorical. Most of the Heros had been Heroes, because in the end, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, one could no more Not be a Hero than one could not breathe. For generations that had been true –now, Jane wasn’t so sure. She’d discovered that she herself would lie, cheat, steal, and run rather than let herself be slaughtered by the mob. Though there had been times that she had hated herself for not dying along side her fellow Hero’s -she’d managed to get out before the mob led by her fiancée had cornered her.

Once Maggie had left on flying feet Jane set about doing the same for the bar. Once the heavy metal mesh shutters were down, she sent an automated riot warning call to all the rooms on the occupied list. The Hot l Baltimore had more comp links than the registration desk’s antique hand writing ledger suggested. But she didn’t want to lock down the main doors, some of the hotels longest and best residents were still out, at jobs they couldn’t leave whenever they wanted, even if there were riots going on. She chewed her lip for a moment then dialed up to Ziyo’s room. She’d ask him to come down. He was no stranger to violence she was certain, and had a vested interest in keeping the place he was currently calling ‘home’ safe.

The ‘ve showed Security setting up barricades to contain the masses, but Jane knew they wouldn’t hold long, and there were – if the feeds were correct - groups already north of the line.

When Ziyo got down she'd give him another of the full auto shot guns and ask him to take Chip the drunk up to a spare room then come back down. She just hoped none of the roving masses of destruction came the hotels way.

http://www.atddm.com/c1.gif

Theme music (http://video.dainutekstai.lt/w.php?a=BtuxppOpBkE)

North of the Wall, that not so imaginary barrier between the haves and the have nots- it was just as real as the break at Level 69 - things were quieter. The people living and working there - even those thaat weren't Cloud Landers - considered themselves far more civilized than the great unwashed south of them in the Center Third, and lightyears above the not just unwashed but postiively profane dregs of South Third... But they were just as dismayed and frightened by the sudden appearance of caped and cowled Villians as any southerner...

Security was too prevallent for the small groups of pontificators, prognosticators, and twitterers to do more than circulate aimlessly babbeling to one another about what would this do to their stock portfolios.

However they were scared indoors when the darkening sky, for by now it was well past sunset and into the depths of twilight - was lit by an unearthy warning.

http://www.atddm.com/tis.jpg

I'm not sure which made me flinch more. The Baron...Big Kick showing up in the tall, dark, sinister flesh or Jane's double negative. I'd leave it at Big Kick's feet. Most everything could be. If he just waltzed into town, into the Hot l Baltimore, on the same day that "Hannah to the exponential power of O" was snatched by rogue masks, he was at its head.

Coincidence takes a vacation when Big Kick's in town.

And just to cap that idea off, an unholy and unsettled growl rumbled through the wall and the ‘Vee started showing the massing mob at the Thunderdrome. Jane all but had to look away and she was in charge. God, she would have made a great hero. I swung by the Academy every so often, even more when there was a healer cadet, like the one in Jane’s class. She was the talk of the place that last year.

Jane handed me one of the auto-shotguns that the Syndics ‘allowed’ them to keep for just such occasions. The Syndics really weren’t going to put themselves on the line for their marks, but it wasn’t good business to lose someone who was paying them off. I hefted up the shotgun and racked back the bolt. Twenty rounds of double ought buck, two hundred and forty shell per minute…What? I know a few things about guns. As a female B-list healer, there is nothing more those A-list John Woo fans liked doing than ‘teaching me to shoot’. Wrapping their arms around me, pushing up against me…I didn’t stop them, but come on. It’s not original.
I grabbed my purse and went to my shop. I unlocked the lobby door and set the shotgun down on the counter as I went to the windows. It was eerily calm to the eye, though the growl was louder in the distance. I went from window to window and finally the door, cranking the knob for the shutters. They dropped down reassuringly. I went across the front of my store, and then went back and clocked them down all in place. I surveyed my shop. I walked back to through the storage area and my office to the door to the alley. I made sure it was locked as well.

With my store secure, I went back to the counter and grabbed the shotgun and my purse. I stepped into the lobby and made sure everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

Across the sky was written, “Man, man, your time is sand.” Those were words I hadn’t heard in a long time. Eyes of Nostradamus had repeated those words over and over as a catchphrase while he stared at you with blind seeing eyes. He was supposed to be dead.

But so was the Big Kick.

I shivered and looked upwards towards the third floor and Big Kick’s room. Why did he come back? Did that mean that Kick’s rival would be back? I didn’t think so. His words on that freeway were so final… ‘This isn’t my story anymore, Maggie.’ I pushed the cobwebs of past away and turned towards the bar. “Jane! I’m going to take the east lift up to the fifth and lock it down.”

I learned a lot from Mr. Stupendous and Battle Brain…I’d had to heal them a few times. They were geniuses, but they didn’t hold up to rough housing too well. They had a strategic minds…Stupe…he was just a genius. BB, he’d been a military officer before that dissolved. They’d planned moves and moves in advance and that often went to building internal defenses. They’d put a lot together about limiting the access to each defensive level.

My eyes always glazed over, but I got the gist. That was enough really because we didn’t have a lot to work with. But by taking the lifts above the ground floor and locking them down. They didn’t have to worry about rioters getting above them if worse came to worse. I opened the bird cage and closed it again, selecting the fifth floor and riding the vibrating, shaky old lift up. I stopped it and turned the key, cutting the elevator off. I opened the cage again and got off.

I went inside my apartment and went about preparing things. There was a lot to do: filling the tub with water in case plumbing went out, gathering my first aid kit, and putting it out in the open. I got a bite to eat real quick, just a snack really, and went back down by the stairs to my shop. Things were still quiet, though I was sure they wouldn’t be for all too long. To occupy my time, I gathered some more of my stock, the stuff that might be useful for treating wounds and moved it up to my apartment.

I’d learned a lot about myself during the Raging Times. I learned I was a naïve sap, who thought she could get by with a smile and good intentions. It took a capekiller round to convince me otherwise. I learned that I could leave the sick and dying to save myself…that’d never been a real possibility before, and I found I had no real compunction against killing anyone who impeded my ability to survive. I’d survived, survived well. I’d drained the life from a dozen people to keep going, clear my way…sate my anger.

I wasn’t sure if the sweet, harmless, selfless Triage still lived. Every Hero died that day…today…twenty-five years ago. Maggie Sound lived.
I set my stock down around my medical supplies. I’d shoot my twenty shells, and then I’d retreat up here. By that time, I’d be needed doing something else. I looked around my room. The plants, multitudes of green, vibrant plants lined the walls, crowded in the corners. Should I take that vibrancy for myself? Would I need it? Could I risk it?

I stared at the plants…my batteries…my youth.

I forced myself away from the temptation and back down stairs. I’d deal with the other lift and then stand watch lobby entrance to my shop.

Laying on the bed, his trench coat bunched up as a pillow beneath his head, Ziyo had been dozing off, trying to forget running for the past week or so, when the hotel's phone rang.
"The gangs better not expect me to go to work now with the hell in the streets." he mumbled, rolling over. His hand hit the phone stand, and he started to fell around it, looking for the speaker button.
"Ziyoshiyua Ashida, how may I help you?" he said with the most annoyed voice he could manage, which wasn't hard. That was generally his default mood.

Jane quickly asked him downstairs for help in riot control.
A phone call, that means she wants me specifically. Does she work for the gangs? Most people wouldn't want someone my age.
Wiping his sweaty palm over his forehead, pushing a few strands of hair back up into conformity, he said
"Be down momentarily."

Sitting up, face in his hands, he rubbed his eyes.
So much violence for one city.
Dragging on his trench coat, he checked the pockets. His magnum was there. It generally didn't have any ammo, it was more of a tool he used to aid his mental suggestion that the target had been shot.

Walking out of his room and locking it, he made his way over to the cage elevator, and sent it on its rickety way to the lobby.

Jane was standing alone, a shotgun in her hands. She seemed nervous. No wonder with the raging mobs that could charge inside at any moment.
Again at Jane's request, he picked up the drunk, Chip, and piggy-backed him up to an empty room on the fourth floor. After taking the elevator down again, he pulled his magnum out of his pocket holster and strolled over to the door. Not the safest thing in the world, but it wasn't likely that someone would shoot him then and there.

Taking a look up, he cocked an eyebrow. In this city, it was hard to surprise him. The plastering of the words "Man, Man, Your time is sand" barely fazed him. It wouldn't, he wasn't around during the times when the Empowered were running the show. To him, it just seemed like another advertisement. It made no sense, but he wasn't one to judge.

Stepping back, he put his revolver back in its place. Whatever was going on, odds are he wouldn't care. He'd seen his share of violence and death, with very little on the other side of the spectrum. Without turning around, he called over his shoulder,
"So I guess I'm crowd control eh?"

“Where da hell youse been? Hiding down neg? The damned Powers are back, they ‘napped Hanna ˆO! . Go on get! All a use! I’m closed. I don’t want to be caught open wid the riots rollin!”

Anton feigned the expected expression of shock, anger and confusion that was expected. He was well aware the a large proportion of the population were infatuated with the young starlet but he honestly couldn't care for her antics or her so called music. Regardless of his opinions he played the role of an outraged citizen though.

"Those bastards..."

Hannah ^O wasn't the issue here, the fact that the Powers were back was problematic. Despite being quite young during the Raging Times, Anton remembered it clear enough, especially because his father had gone to extra lengths to protect him. Anton had never shared the knowledge of his power with anyone but his father and that is what had likely saved him. Since Anton's dad had not been a Hero, Villain or anything similar, no one had suspected his son was gifted. Even though he was safe, Anton remembered it as a time of great sadness. People that he looked up to were murdered and even though he didn't personally know them he had thought of them as his own kind.

Not wanting to cause any trouble in the bar, Anton spun around and made his way outside again. Most of the various establishments were closing up in case the riot came their way. So far the street was relatively calm in comparison to others, although the tension was obvious. As Anton moved out into the street people began pointing and shouting at the sky. A quick glance revealed the words 'Man man, your time is sand.'. Whilst it didn't mean anything in particular to Anton he got the feeling it wasn't a message of friendship and peace.

Looking around the street, Anton noticed a doorway that wasn't barred shut. The sign above it read Hotel Baltimore and it appeared to be a somewhat respectable place, at least as far as establishments on Ground Zero went. Avoiding those in the street, Anton made his way inside, treading slowly. He figured he'd be safer inside than out on the street and it would take him too long to get back to his own apartment. Not wanting to surprise anyone and get shot, he called out to announce his presence.

"Hello! Anyone here?"

He'd done away with the accented speech for now, it didn't really matter when there were riots going on whether he spoke like everyone else or not. He doubted very much people would take much notice of a man in a worn coat and jeans.

All had been quiet, until the screams reached his ears. Chaos reigned again. Bullet loved it. Chaos, unlike most everything else in life, was fair. It visited misfortune and ruin on the rich, the poor, the good, and the bad. Chaos didn't care if you were a Cloud-Dweller or a Zero like himself. If it chose you, it was at random.

Today had been like any other, starting off with a quick Net purchase to log into his email 'Inbox' and look for some work. Information was power, and Bullet's profession was the delivery of such power. Encryption programs and other such high-tech security assets were expensive, and money was tight. It was cheaper to upload it to a disk and have Bullet deliver it by hand, and it was almost just as fast. In today's world of complete information moderation, the ability to bypass every single chance that someone else might snatch your valuable data from the Net was better than good. It was guaranteed. That put him in high demand. Not him personally, mind you, but those like him. Bullet just happened to be faster, and more likely to succeed. Even the best runners had taken a tumble at some point, and most didn't return from it. Bullet still awaited that fateful day, but somehow knew it wouldn't likely ever come.

Like most feats of skill and agility in his life, when he'd seen videos of 'Freerunning' on some old share-ware program called 'YouTube', he'd given it a shot and excelled almost immediately. There was something about his body, that he could simply will it to do something, and it would do it to the letter. It had earned him his nickname as well. Running messages was a risky game. Once you took the electronic facet of information transfer out of the equation, you removed the easy way of stealing stuff as well. Adding humans to the mix added a whole other set of issues. Guys would almost always be waiting for you, wanting to take what you have and deliver it for themselves. That was another area Bullet had distinguished himself in: Nobody, and he meant nobody, took his packages from him unless it was the client himself. That same athletic ability that made him the excellent freerunner he was had also lent itself well to fighting, and he'd noticed everyone else seemed to punch so slow compared to his flawlessly executed strikes. Information and his unique abilities at controlling his body's movements made watching instructional videos as effective as years of practice, effectively allowing him to stay sharp with a minimum effort.

Rock-steady hands and precision manipulations are the hallmarks of the surgeon, the artist, and the marksman. The name had come from the last two. Posessed of a keen mechanical mind, Bullet had started working in a machine shop after Mom had died, and with her any desire to live off the dole like the rest of the population. Long hours in front of precision tools made a lasting impression on him. Billet steel became a medium from which beautiful engines of ballistic carnage and mayhem sprang to life, and now sat in the holsters or private collections of numerous Cloud-Land inhabitants. On demonstrating his wares, one customer had noted that he must have been 'Part Bullet' to get his shots to cluster that tightly, and the title had stuck. The bald head hadn't done much to dismiss the image either, since it was rounded on the top and flat on the sides like an old .45 ACP round.

His delivery had been made, and quickly at that, during the concert he'd really felt no need to attend. He kept his own hours, and damn the Arc's holidays. He'd been sitting on a lower rooftop in what little sun he could find down on Ground Zero, debating on having a beer or going for another job. The beer won out, however. He was thirsty, and he had the money. So why not?

The screams in the distance said otherwise. From his perch he'd watched store after store button themselves up with anti-riot screens and riot guns. That didn't bode well for his desired beverage. He had enough time to execute a press-check on the old stainless Walther PPK almost hidden under his left arm. The shine of brass in the chamber greeted him, and Bullet smiled before tucking it away again and taking off at a sprint to launch himself between two adjacent buildings, catch a clothesline to slow himself, and land with a roll on a much lower rooftop, that sat maybe two floors above street level. The mob was now further away, and he was much closer to the street. Throwing himself over the edge of the lower roof between his current building and one much larger, he caught a window sil half-way down to slow himself before dropping completely to the street below, landing in a low crouch.

Dammit. All the stores and bars were shut down in riot mode, except one. The Baltimore Hotel. Hotels had bars. Bars had beer. Bullet wanted a beer, and for once he had the money. Moving in his usual calm and cool manner he slipping past the wary man who wasn't nearly as dead-set on getting a beer as Bullet and continued over to the bar without breaking his stride until he had seated himself on one of the worn bar stools. Clad in a black t-shirt powdered with white dust in places, dirty cargo khakis, and a pair of soft-soled shoes, he didn't look like a typical Arc resident. Then again, he wasn't. There was a bloodthirsty mob closing in on the hotel, and it seemed he could really care less. Bullet rested his forearms against the stained wood, tattooed sleeves showcasing various high-end firearms and associated ammunition visible in the dim light, muscle and sinew visible beneath the skin. Rough fingerless gloves covered most of his hands, but the skin that was did show looked calloused and hard from years of gripping concrete, metal, and brick at high speeds.

He said nothing, just simply sat on the stool and waited, producing some of the currency he'd been paid that day and set it down in front of him. Bullet knew good and well that everyone inside was more concerned with the impending riot than his beer, but he really didn't care. It was chaos at its finest, and he wasn't going to enjoy it properly without a cold beer in hand. That part of the equation wasn't up for negotiation...

Hot l Baltimore

Ziyo

Jane nodded a swift thanks when Ziyo showed up and obligingly hauled Chip off to greater safety than the drunk was ever used to having.

So I guess I'm crowd control eh?" Ziyo asked when he returned.

"Fee free for a week if you go help Old Man close up shop and watch the side door" Jane offered at the same time she held out the second of her five automatic shot guns. Most never knew she had a not so small arsenal, but in the years since she'd come back, she had stocked up. “Knock on his office door” Jane nodded to the interior door that was just to the right of the west elevator – it was directly under where Ziyo’s own door was two stories above.

Old Man, he had no other name - he was even more ancient than Aunt May- ran the Olde Curiosity Shoppe, which was situated between Javaneese and Maggie's shop (http://www.atddm.com/hotelx1.JPG). He was spry for his age, but he also didn't weight more than a hundred pounds. He'd give Ziyo a handful of cash for helping him roll down the riot mesh and put the bars on the front door. And then all Ziyo would have to do is wait inside by the side door, make sure no one broke in there.

That door faced Avenue B, and wasn't noticeable, mostly and it was locked -only long term residents had a key, but once the mobs got going anything that looked like a way in anywhere was fair game. This was going to be an expensive day. Most of the plate glass was sure to be shattered, but it'd take more than just mob muscle to get in past the riot mesh, and Jane could only hope that any one with a vehicle had the sense to head off of the streets.

Anton & Bullet

"Hello! Anyone here?"

Jane had been over helping Javan, the owner of Javaneese, get her shutters down when the door chime rang twice and someone, male given the timbre of his voice had called out.

She came from the restaurant with the shot gun level, ready if she didn’t like the looks of whoever had just arrived. Her tight shoulders eased a little, the accent and language were nicer than local, and he was better dressed than most of South Third. His worn coat and jeans that were still better than most had. But mostly he didn’t feel like trouble. Her Empathy had never been better than ‘average’ but for her it was a Power not the mere, nebulous human empathic sensitivity.

“The Bars officially closed, but if you want to wait out the storm, feel free to draw yourself one and have a seat.

She waved towards the empty bar, turning her attention to the other man who’d entered. He looked like far rougher trade, but she knew him. Well it really was knew ‘of’ him – the hot runners got known. Jane had never used his services, he had a good rep despite his looks. That bald head made him stand out, as did that hard muscle edge – despite most of South Thirds male population being employed in hard labor trades they didn’t seem to have an edge on their muscle and movements the way he did.

The fact that he had money out if front of him pretty much negated him causing trouble and for some reason she just found herself chuckling “Bullet, right?” She called out to him. He felt more eager for the coming storm than the other man did, but being a shock junkie was not something to make her senses twitch too badly. Too many of those she used to knew were much the same. And she had to admit she probably loved a scrap more than was properly civilized. But these damn riots aren’t a scrap! she snarled deep inside as she looked op at the big screened ‘vee, and watched the barricades fall.

“Shit” Her snarl this time was aloud. The only good thing was that the barricades had been five miles south and they might, just might, not make it as far as the Hot l. But then again…

“Bullet, put your money away, pour one for yourself.” Jane met his gaze “Take a spare” nodding to one of the row of automatic shotguns on the bar. “And go watch the back door. Dinner will be on me for a few nights if you have to fire on any one.”

The back of the hotel faced on to an east west running alley way that the mob might miss, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. The rear door opened on the loading dock and small private parking lot (http://www.atddm.com/gfhlb.JPG) – all of which was within a security fence (http://www.budeselfstorage.co.uk/Images/Content/Security1.jpg) but was still breachable.

That left just me to cover the front and the east side. But the hotel parking lot too had a security fence and Hook’s back door opened on to it. I knew I could count on him, but I still felt uneasy. Javan’s place had a delivery door on Avenue B and she’d be covering that. But her restaurant had the most windows of any space on the ground floor. With their lively murals – Javan was a real artist with more than just food – they’d be targets for the mob. And even riot mesh can give way under the press of enough bodies.

But she didn’t want to ask anything of the Up Towner who’d come in. He’d most likely never seen a gun before now, much less fired one. The oatmeal were carefully kept away from guns, mostly.

Taking hold of of the shotgun, he held it by the stock and took a look down the sights. Nice heater. Quite a bit more than he could afford.

Still not bothering to hold it in a firing position, the barrel angled down, only one hand holding it, finger not even on the trigger, he walked out, not terribly worried about the mobs. He would hear them long before he could see them.

Once outside, everything was deathly quiet, beyond the occasional shattering of glass quite a ways away. Knocking on Old Man's door, the owner opened it and stuck a pistol in Ziyo's face.
"I'm here to help. Jane sent me."
He said, voice calm.

Old Man looked him up and down.
"Come on in. Help me lock this place up."

Walking around, Ziyo yanked down the riot mesh on all of the windows. Old Man had posted himself behind the counter. He was a small man, and only his head and shoulders showed above the counter. It would have been almost comical if he didn't have a pistol trained on the door, and a look of determination on his face.

"Where do you want me to set up shop?" Ziyo asked, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder.
"There's a door over there. Make sure no one comes in. I'll pay you by the body."
"Sure thing."

Wandering over, he pulled up a chair from behind the counter, setting it off to the side of the door. Most bullets would be fired straight through the door. Sitting back, he waited for the storm to come.

Daybourne shivered and pulled his jacket tighter about himself as he walked along the street. He always felt cold, no matter how he attempted to keep himself warm. He supposed it was some grand ironic gesture at his abilities over fire. He never considered them anything more than a natural talent, just as others were born more intelligent or stronger than others, or born into families that possessed wealth and influence. It was something he used to even the odds stacked against himself in life, life in the lower levels of Utopia.

And he had done so. He’d managed to claw his way up into a mid-level position in one of the larger gangs on his level, partly through a willingness to get his hands dirty and the job done, but also partly through unexplained fires and spontaneous combustion of those who were holding him back. He knew that the higher-ups in the gang considered him a freak, but Daybourne knew that as long as he was a useful freak, then he was really in no danger, at least at the moment. Other men in his position slept with a pistol under their pillows; he had a book of matches.

As he trudged through the streets, not really caring where he went, Daybourne began to notice a change in the crowds along the streets. Some of the people were standing stock still and gawping at the sky. Daybourne followed their slack-jawed gaze upwards, before his own mouth lolled open in amazement. There were words stencilled in the sky itself.

“Man, man, your time is sand.”

Although he couldn’t work out what the cryptic message meant, it struck the gangster that that probably wasn’t a good sign. His hand instinctively dipped into his pocket to find the cardboard box nestled within it. His thumb rubbed up and down the rough, sanded side of the box, a habit Daybourne often indulged in when he was nervous. A probing finger also slid the box open, allowing free access to the little wooden fire-starters within. After touching the wood and sulphurous match-heads, he felt a little safer.

Having been one of the few of the lower classes to attend school fairly diligently, Daybourne knew about the Raging Time, although he’d forgotten most of the facts over the years. He did remember that it was a bad time, and that a repeat of it would be a Bad Thing – one that fully deserved capitalised letters. Although his walk was fairly aimless, he found more and more of the streets were either full of people or becoming deserted. He didn’t know which put him off the most.

A storm was coming to Utopia, and it was time to find a refuge to weather it for a while.

The Arc Ritz-Carlton, Imperial Suite North
There were likely several thousand people in Arc who would did not give a flip about Hannah ^O. The deaf of course (though it sounded like she had added to their ranks), the dead were dead, and the Klatchians in one of the four Imperial Suites of the Ritz-Carlton had regarded the local artist as ‘quaint’. Mr. Montague of Port Olympus was decidedly not interested in Miss Hannah ^O unless she was prepared to give a personal performance in the nude. But other, more interesting arrangements had been made for the former investment banker.

The woman who made those arrangements was Miss Dart. To the hotel staff she was a nobody. She wore glasses with rims so thick you would think they were bullet proof. Her brown hair was always pulled back into a severe bun at the top of her head which made her look to be 49 rather than 29, and her skin was always unattractive and blotchy even when wearing make-up so thick it looked like she put it on with a trowel. She never wore high heels but the same annoying brown practical penny loafers that seemed not to go with the plain jackets and long skirts that made her look even older and more unappealing then the makeup or glasses.

Miss Dart had arranged for three cases of Brut champagne to be delivered, four dozen ripe strawberries flown in, four cans of whipped cream procured, five personal invitations to be sent, and a single bottle of New Zeeland Cabernet from Mr. Montague’s yacht delivered for the evenings activities. The hotel staff worked like a well oiled machine fulfilling her orders before they vanished to an unoccupied Grand Suite a floor below to watch Hannah ^O! on a holoscreen.

Above them a rather tall, attractive woman lay relaxing in the hot tub off of her room. Her brown hair lay tangled about her shoulders, the bun was gone as were the glasses with the thick, fat panes. The theatrical make-up job had vanished from her face revealing her natural warm skin tone. The change made her go from ‘horse faced’ ugly duckling to quite attractive. Kathleen lay back and brought her leg up to the surface before letting it drop down again into the roiling hot water. They were a dancer’s legs and in a mini-skirt would have brought unwanted attention so they were paler than her arms and face. She sipped at her red wine and let Chopin relax the day away with the assistance of hot, bubbling water. She closed her eyes against the view of Arc through the wall of glass and let her mind wander off.

Distantly, if she tried hard, she could make out the sound of girls giggling as an announcer from the holoscreen announced something with a distant crowd roar. Kathleen just turned her mind again to the sounds of Chopin and her personal world…the music played…the body unknotted…Kathleen relished in the warmth surrounding her body…the sound of a French door opening and someone in heels walking on the tile floor….of the beeping of a cell phone being dialed.

Her green eyes opened to reveal a young woman standing nude except for a pair of stiletto high heels. The perfection of male strip club fantasy was attempting to dial a cell phone while she looked out the window wall to the city below.

“Mister Montague requires that you remain outside of my quarters so please leave.” Kathleen’s voice was quick, curt and direct. The woman turned and looked down at her.

“Who the f*** died and made you queen…”

“I am Montague’s personal assistant….and this is my space so please leave…”

“Hey around here if you do that kind of thing you need to belong to the Union though with a face like that no wonder you’re an independent…or do you work for the Mob?”

“I work for D Industries…”

“Never heard of them, but in this business you want to be part of the Union, you don’t want to be friendless when the Mob decides to get into your action”

“I deal in cups…”

“Huh…listen you don’t look like you have much in cup size…” She pointed to the water line near Kathleen’s chest.

“disposable Styrofoam cups….” Kathleen moaned.

Screams of anguish came from the living quarters of the suite and ended the awkward conversation. The girl turned and vanished back through the door. Kathleen stood out of the water. She was wearing a simple bathing suit, but even so her body, trim athletic could have sold a few hundred thousand copies off of newsstands. She grabbed her white robe and flung it on following the sounds of anguish. One of the guards on duty had walked in to see what was the matter. He had stopped just inside the door and was now guarding the door from the inside.

The O^Hannah party was obviously over, and quite prematurely. Nude women with various parts covered in whipped cream stood and sat about the large central sofa. Glasses of champagne lay on the fake oriental rug with discarded strawberries around them. The central holograph was gone, replaced by a network identification symbol rotating in the space that the singer’s image should have been. Sitting on the sofa, his white robe wide open, his legs spread apart with a blonde’s mane laying across his pelvis was an aging, bald man with a white mustache and goatee. He looked down at the blond who’s head was between his knees, but she was conversing in urgent tones with a redhead who’s crotch sported strawberry and cream panties.

Montague rolled his bald head over to look up at Kathleen. “Miss Dart there seems to be a matter we need to discuss?”

Kathleen nodded, and Montague flipped closed the robe over his thin body and began to speak. “Ladies, obviously there has been some unforeseen event that has sullied the mood for us all. I think it best that we end this evening.”

The girls all as one turned to him and eyed him narrowly.

“Of course you will still be paid for your time this evening, as is in the cancellation clause of my agreement with your service.”

The women smiled at this.

“Now then perhaps you’ll all retreat to my room where you can freshen up and get dressed. Miss Dart and I need to discuss business…”

“Hey, how come she gets to say?” Someone asked.

“Because she’s the help, not the entertainment. Though if she were smart she’d join up with us…trust me the pay is better.” The woman in the stiletto heels answered.

Kathleen looked at them blankly.

“Ladies, Miss Dart is compensated quite adequately I assure you…now please go wash… your dripping cream all over the carpet…”

As the girls vanished through the double doors into the main bedroom, Kathleen and her employer walked into another room. This had been converted into a temporary office. Three desks sat in the room, a large ornate writing desk with the back turned to the glass wall that overlooked Arc, a second smaller desk at right angles to it, and a fourth forming a L with the second desk. This contained a set of three screens connected to a rather large box. Kathleen passed behind the smaller desk and sat down in the chair while Montague sat down in a chair opposite the large desk and turned to face her.

“I am finding your personnel activities rather distracting…” Kathleen began her green eyes narrowed at his. Montague wiped some cream from his white moustache and leaned back.

“Your not paying for it Kat…”

“I’m subsidizing it with this suite, and your food and the gambling, and do you know how much extra I have to pay for a completely gay male protection detail? Quincy is going to have a bumper year because of you…”

“And your making more money every moment than I could spend with seventy call girls on personal retainer, each with a personal driver and renting out the entire forbidden city as our playground…and Quincy is giving me the protection detail at ultra-low rates so I don’t see the problem…”

“We’ve been here a month and besides keeping your d*ck entertained and spreading money about in the casinos like your dying what have we accomplished?”

“Well we learned someone wants to finish the job they started twenty-five years ago…”

“What?”

“That’s what all the hub-bub and wailing was about…some masked avenger types just rolled in and kidnapped Hannah…the singer…Arc’s personal Joan…of Arc”

“Bloody Hell”

“Yeah…so likely there is going to be riots soon…”

“But was it?…could it be?”

“I don’t know, others could have survived. I think Exesleigh’s boy is the best source of who, what, why, when, how. That family and I have a history, not all good mind you…but not all bad either. We were both neutrals, he tried to 'balance' things...sometimes I helped him...sometimes I just f*** things up for my own gain...and sometimes he smacked my deals down before I had a chance. But if someone knows something it should be Junior. Unless junior found himself a rather nice deep ocean trench to dump his families former institutions I suppose. Filled Junction with concrete and forgot the past ever happened…” Montague shrugged.

There was a knock on the door and the redhead entered the office. She smiled a predatory smile at Kathleen and then a much more longing look at the thin man in the chair. “I just wanted you to know all the other girls have left…” she stated in an innocent, helpful tone that the cream and strawberries put lie to.

“Thank You…” Montague answered struggling for the girl’s name.

“Bunny…” she filled in.

“Well thank you Bunny…I see you haven’t showered yet…or dressed…” his eyes rolling appreciatively over her body.

“Well you see my apartment building is in lock down so I was wondering if I could stay here…” She turned in the doorway to present her full profile to him.

“Ah well, Miss Dart will be dealing with the business at hand, but I am sure we can find someplace for you to stay this evening…”

Montague stood and walked quietly over to 'Bunny' wrapping his arm around her before turning back to Kathleen and pointing. “Call Exesleigh about the matter. I know we made up a file about him.” He smiled wickedly and left the room steering Bunny off to his bedroom. “Now my dear, have you ever boxed the compass?”

Kathleen scowled at his back, and turned to open the computer up and pull the file on Alexander Excelisor and his father. She pulled up the phone number for his private secretary’s personal PDA. It was surprising what ‘unlisted’ numbers quickly wound up for sale on the internet. She turned on a phone system and dialed the number, letting the router program send the call across a few continents, off three satellites, and finally through the ultimate phone ‘Looking Glass’ the Port Olympus Central Exchange before hitting another sat.

The Port Olympus Central Exchange was a tracing nightmare. Between the Vrakians building it, the Dyellians trying to bug it, the Klatchian Marshals anti-bugging it, and then Vrakians trying to stop anyone from interfering further with it, they had created a system that existed nowhere else. The software control did not just flip a few transistors on a solid state board like every other touch tone routing system, but actually sent a code to an electrically controlled motor that rotated twelve tumbler rings to form a connection, effectively rotary dialing the number you just touch toned in. When you pinged the software to tell you the line, it didn’t give you the exchange, just a phone number (Tending to be, in Klatchian fashion, either a Pizza Parlor or a Korean takeout place) If you knew what you were doing, (AKA were a Klatchian Intel service) you had to call a completely different number and enter an automated phone system hell that randomly assigned the menu option numbers and had a tendency to switch permanently into Varkian. The key was to get to the 'system extension menu' and use the last four digits of the phone number first supplied to you to get the appropriate switch. But just using the number was insufficent. First one had to subtract the ‘area’ code and add in the birthday of the Vrakian King, but not on Tuesdays, subtracting the age of Cyro (if the resulting for digits can be found in pie) then take the square root of answer, the last digit is the exponent for the original last four digits to find the switch number. Calling the switch on its appropriate extension should then reveal where the call was originating from. Unless the switch motor controller was one of the three thousand DIG978 which drop the call you were tracing and give the number of a Vrakian Hat Shop called Vrakian Intelligence as the place of origin. This little Dyellian joke (or design flaw) caused more hang ups, awkward silence, and completely off the wall conversations than any other known source. The shop owner recorded his phone calls and posted the funniest on his blog. (Sorry had to add the Klatchian spin here somewhere)

The computer routed the call and someone picked up on the other end.

“Yes, I am attempting to reach Mr. Exesleigh. I represent the estate of Mister James Katha, it is in regards to recent events and how it relates to one of his father’s projects…Junction.”

Now then lets see if that shakes some memories loose...

Thunderdome North

I lift one hand to shade my eyes from the last glimmers of the setting sun to look through the plate glass windows of the other function rooms and down onto the tiered balconies of Thunderdome North. People were coalescing into groups, differing from the expected cries about how the Empowered needed to be eliminated and rather demanding a regulated Empowered force under Utopia’s control. Those behind me in the Marble Room appear to be in agreement with those farther down and I find it hard to suppress a faint smile as I hear James, of Starfall Aerospace, loudly insisting that if we had a proper super-powered defence force we would not have the problem of rogue Empowered, that the villains had obviously survived and were waiting for our guard to fall, that we needed superheroes to stop supervillains. Apparently my work, begun by father after the Raging Times, behind the scenes of Utopia was paying off, several years ahead of schedule.

My portable phone rings and I clip the earpiece into place. The initial reports came through quickly from the bland realms of the Mainers, from Ground Zero and the Undercity. Riots were taking place everywhere from armed mobs in the lower levels to protestors in Main and apparently a large number of letter writers signing themselves “Disgusted of Level X”. Not terribly dramatic, but there are always some people who believe that they will make a difference.

Most disturbing of all was a report of a number of respectable individuals from North-9 who had decided that it was the fault of the Lower Levels and was currently heading down that way as fast as they could with several dozen heavily armed members of their personal security details all baying for blood.

I paused for a moment as I thought it through, the gangs of lowlifers mobilising, Ground Zero a riot zone, Mainers marching in protest and now Cloud-Landers on the move with the formidable arsenals available to us. Mob rule.

“Thank you, Institute Control. I want broadcasts to all of our facilities on the importance of loyalty to the Institute; reassure the employees that we will take care of them if they take care of us. I want a dozen additional security personnel to each of our clinics below Level Sixty-Nine, half a dozen to those above. All major facilities are to go into lock-down, make it abundantly clear to anyone trying to break in that the Institute will kill any trespassers, distribute military chemical compounds Y-91, Y-92 and Icarus-9 with their delivery systems stored in the East-37 facility to our other buildings. I will be on my way home.”

I disconnect the feed and check that no one is within hearing range or even on the balcony before I change phones. I press the voice modulator and dial a number.

“Arbiter-Director. This is Union. I know it’s been a while, better not to attract attention. Who did you think had been paying the hired guns? Call in all of the Junction’s security forces and keep order. Allow in women and children only, no one appearing to be an Empowered is to set foot inside the facility unless I am present. Understood? Good. I will let you know when I am due to arrive. Godspeed.”

I snap the phone shut and look around as I hear screams from the balconies below, with people pointing up at the sky. I follow the line of their hands and see the words written in the sky. They were tantalisingly familiar from my childhood, before the Raging Times. I turn and walk back into the Marble Room, then out through the double-doors at the other end. My security detail followed me without comment, no doubt wondering what the bloody hell was going on. I walked through the oak-panelled corridors of the executive rooms of Thunderdome North and out onto the flyer landing. My personal flyer was prepped and waiting with the door open and I and my protection climbed in.

“Home, Mister Wyng.”

“Verr g’d sorr.”

I open my personal computer system to look at the latest reports from my agents in the field to discover that in just a few minutes the riots had spread throughout the underlevels and Ground Zero, and that the Oatmealers of Main had armed themselves and were marching ever upwards.


Penthouse Floor 1, Level 401, North-17

Claire Webb was not the most beautiful of women when you looked at her head-on. There was something not quite right with her bone structure that made her strangely attractive without actually being all that pretty. Her profile however was quite stunning. Her father was one of the Empowered but somehow the supernatural abilities failed to pass through to her. Miss Webb’s greatest two virtues were her discretion and her organisational ability, making her the ideal personal private secretary to a man running a business empire and sometimes donning the mantle of an Empowered.

She was also exceptionally good at knowing what her employer wanted to get done, and how he wanted it done. Despite this, she was a little nonplussed when her telephone rang and she heard:

"Yes, I am attempting to reach Mr. Exesleigh. I represent the estate of Mister James Katha, it is in regards to recent events and how it relates to one of his father’s projects…Junction.”

“Please hold.”

She poked at one of her holograph screens, the one that did not have any connection to the outside world, for a couple of seconds, pulling the file on Katha, James.

“Mister Exesleigh’s business and personal interests have nothing whatsoever to do with Junction, nor I am certain did his father. If, however, you wish to meet with Mister Exesleigh to discuss current events no doubt he will listen attentively to a representative of Mister Katha. He will be available for a meeting in approximately fifteen minutes if you would care to present yourself to security at North-17, or a flyer can be arranged from your present location. You may be required to undergo certain security checks, I am certain you understand the necessity.”

Ritz-Carlton Imperial Suite 4

“Please hold.”

Kathleen watched the news speed on a screen going by and the report about the phrase being written in the sky. Damn it...everyone says this is important but I'm out of the loop.

“Mister Exesleigh’s business and personal interests have nothing whatsoever to do with Junction, nor I am certain did his father. If, however, you wish to meet with Mister Exesleigh to discuss current events no doubt he will listen attentively to a representative of Mister Katha. He will be available for a meeting in approximately fifteen minutes if you would care to present yourself to security at North-17, or a flyer can be arranged from your present location. You may be required to undergo certain security checks, I am certain you understand the necessity.”

Kathleen looked back at the screen displaying her current phone call and the apparent lack of a trace. Obviously well trained, she's trying to lure me in...
"I am afraid that will not be possible since my current location would not allow for such speedy transport. Further, if Mr. Exesleigh has ended the Junction project then we have nothing to discuss. But if he does wish to have an encrypted teleconfrence with me in fifteen minutes please call 02-700-8000 ext. 785 for Rebirth Enterprises and inform them of who is calling they will forward it on to me. Oh and have an encryption system capable of interfacing with a Radio Universe 789 encryption chip. Good Day Miss Webb."

The line ended and Kathleen leaned back in her chair. She pondered if she really wanted to interrupt Montague and Bunny...

Why did I call?

To find out who...because who might lead to those souls who betrayed my family...

Kathleen looked into the night twenty-five years ago. The bodies...the smell...

God I want some grilled chicken...

They hadn't shot him yet, which was good. He'd nodded at the mention of his name or title or whatever you wanted to call the noun he went by. The money went back into the wad in his pocket...

'Dinner will be on me for a few nights if you have to fire on anyone...'

The woman had known him for all of five minutes, and was already offering him a free beer and a shotgun, with the possibility of food if he had to use the latter. This was obviously his sort of place, and he'd definitely be staying for a few after this whole riot situation panned out...

"Hey, anything for a free beer..."

With a foaming glass of dark ale in his left hand, Bullet snatched a shotty out of the rack and tossed it upwards before catching it again. Resting the barrel on his shoulder he looked back at his most generous hostess...

"And I've had worse reasons to shoot people. You've got yourself a deal, lady..."

The runner resumed his cool stride out the back door, seating himself on the loading dock and taking a long pull from the pint glass in his left hand. There were few things better in a crisis situation than a cold beer. The bitter taste stayed on his tongue long after he'd set the glass back down again. There were two entrances as far as he could see, on either end of the alley. The fence would make getting to him difficult, too. From here he could easily pepper the fence-line with shot and discourage anyone from getting much closer. If it came down to it he could always go back inside and strong-point the doorway, but that was if Hell froze over and the zombies invaded and therefore unlikely to happen in his lifetime.

It was nice to have a quality weapon in his hands again. Granted, it had that 'tactical' appeal to it, an ergonomic creation born of matte black polymer and phosphate-coated steel with enough rail space to affix any number of performance-enhancing gadgets and gizmos, but it wasn't art. Any gunsmith worth his title could create something that threw lead, but none he knew of besides himself could hit that next level of blending form and fucntion together into a seamless embodiment of ballistic perfection. While a formidable close-range fire-breather, his borrowed riot gun had no soul, or whatever mystic aura seeped from such iconic works of genius like the 'Mona Lisa' or 'Scream'. Little more than coagulated oils of different hues on rough cloth on the literal level, to the human mind and eye they were something more than the sum of their humble parts. Bullet's creations were more than complex mechanical fusions of barrels, breaches, locking lugs and sears; they too had that metaphysical 'stuff' that made them stand out from the crowd.

Bullet threw back another swig of beer before flipping off the safety and checking the chamber for the red plastic of a large-gage shell. There wasn't one, and he quickly took care of that issue with a pull of the charging handle, watching closely to see how the bolt stripped a round out of the magazine and guided it into the gaping smoothbore chamber until there was nothing left but the brass disc surrounding the primer. The extractor was large and sturdy-looking, so he doubted he'd have feeding issues, and other than the fact that the weapon hadn't been oiled as often as he would have, it was in excellent condition.

Now all that was left was to sit and wait, and of course, drink a damn beer...

Thunderdome North

When Hannah ^O was grabbed, the Empowereds that had taken her hadn't bothered with any knock out cocktail. Instead, the ones that had made the grab had simply torn off her head set, and flew her up straight into the open bay of a passing transport. As soon as they had her, the doors closed and the craft veered off straight into a bank of clouds and smoke. It was then that Arc's observation network lost track of it.

Inside, Hannah ^O was unceremoniously dropped on the floor of the hold, as another Empowered shoved a burlap sack over head and then bound her hands behind her back. As soon as she was dropped onto the floor again, she immediately began screaming.

"Oh, shut UP!" said a voice. "Your singing is more painful than anything my brother ever tried." This was met by a chorus of laughter from the others. “Raj, is your cloaking field up?”

“Sure is,” said another voice. “God Himself couldn’t find us now.”

“P-please,” sobbed Hannah ^O, “I can get you payment for whatever you want. I have money and contracts and people willing to pay”

“Do you think this is about money? To be honest, your acne-begotten face is valued at far more than any economically responsible estimate. Strictly speaking, it’d be better for all if we knocked that value down.”

Hannah ^O began sobbing uncontrollably. “Oh, don’t worry, lassie,” said another voice. “For now, we’ll keep your skinny hide intact.”

“Hey,” shouted a higher voice. “I was told I’d get first choice for payment, and I named her.”

“Control yourself,” said the economically minded individual. “The Boss wants her in decent condition for now. You’ll get to choose from far better when all is said and done. Though if you want, feel free to let your opinions be known. I’m sure that some appropriate measure can be offered.” This seemed to quiet everybody down, except for Hannah ^O.

“Um, listen, whoever your Boss is, would you tell him that I can get whatever amount that he wants?”

“Sound?” asked the man, “Would you do the world a favor and wrap a silence field around her?” And just as soon as it was heard, Hannah ^O’s world went completely silent.

Outside of Hannah’s dark and silent world, the one that had silenced her turned to the man that had been speaking. “You sure about this? The girl did have a point. We could get a major payday just for the ransom. Besides, what did the Boss say we would get for our trouble?”

“More than we could imagine. And leave it at that. We aren’t here to second-guess the plan. We follow our part, and we get our due. Now, somebody turn on a monitor. We need to see what’s happening.” A monitor flickered on, and after a while the broadcasting logo disappeared and live footage from the riots began showing up. As the craft slightly changed its heading a few times on its course, the group inside watched as the spark they set began to catch and spread.
____________________________________________________

South Third, Fiteen Miles from the Hotel Baltimore

The crowd had grown up near an unofficial gathering place for the locals. On a platform, a man stood speaking, riling emotions. “They sit up in the clouds and forget us! And now we see they can’t even protect us! If the villains are back, and they can take Hannah ^O, what will stop them from coming to your home or coming after you?!” The crowd cheered. “You won’t let this happen to your families so quietly! Let Them Hear YOU!!”

The crowd, already unsettled and upset, began raising fists, and those at the edges of the crowd began pushing outwards. “Hear our voices,” said the speaker, “Or feel our fists!” Some had brought bottles of liquor and rags, and within the crowd several began making Molotov cocktails. “Let your voices carry to the Cloud Landers!” said the man, jumping off the platform and motioning in a general direction. Slowly, the crowd shifted, and began moving. The mob of people started moving down the streets, and at the first of the buttoned up health clinics rocks and two of the alcohol based grenades were thrown. The screens held, but more projectiles were thrown as much of the mob moved to the next available target.

Slowly, as they continued towards one of the grid roads that was still relatively unobstructed, the numbers grew, and the mob began their chanting. “Hear our voices, feel our fists!” they cried, over and over again. Other groups joined in, and more and more unprotected or abandoned store fronts or display areas were subjected to the violence. The riot had truly begun. With each torched and ruined display, the rioters grew more violent. Some started running through the crowded spaces, trying to see what was up ahead for their myriad friends that were coming behind. It was as they were doing this that other rioting groups were all brought together. Soon a truly large mob had been assembled, and a few out of breath scouters brought word that the security firms were setting up barricades not far ahead.

When the rioters came to the barricade, they found a few dozen armed men holding a position fortified with the rapid deployment barbed wire and cement-filled barriers. An armed and tactically armored man stood atop with a speaker phone. “Attention Citizens! We are instituting a lockdown of several sectors! Return to your homes. Your security and safety is our primary concern. Remove yourselves from this area, or we will be forced to take appropriate action!”

The rioters began massing up, the more daring ones forming the front wall. Somebody in the middle threw a single rock, and that was enough. Molotov cocktails and rocks pelted the barricade, sending the whole barricade up in flames, and a few of the guards as well. More rocks came, knocking the wire down and jarring the pieces of the barricade. Even as this let up, rioters grabbed whatever was handy and began pushing against the barricade as others started beating down the security guards. One of the guards on top the barricade managed to send in the distress call before five men using a pole as a battering ram pushed the top of the barricade down. More rioters joined in, and within half an hour the barricade was down and more of the Southern Third was open to the rioters. They surged down the main streets, a small handful breaking off at every small junction to the side streets for more personalized pillaging and looting. The farther from a main street, the less ‘visitors’ a place would receive, but it corresponded to a more personalized touch.

Monitors behind protected glass were still on, and displayed images of the carnage occurring to those creating it. However, after a few hours the monitors all switched their views to display the sky writing over the Northern Third. There were a few that took note, but most ignored it. Meanwhile, a hours after the first of the barricades had fallen, a band of rioters in a side street caught sight of a large building that, despite the protective screens having been drawn, was still nicely decorated, and bore the sign of “Hot l Baltimore.”

Jane watched Bullet pull himself one, then grab a shotgun and stride confidently off towards the back loading dock. She took a moment to try to call Maggie’s shop, and let her know that the runner would be back in that area. She might want to stick her head out and introduce herself.

But before the phone could be picked up the door chimes sounded again, and dropping the phone, Jane whirled about bringing the shotgun up. Three men in ill-fitting but obviously expensive suits were dragging another man in. He was mumbling under his breath. She couldn't make it out, but he was obviously the worse for wear.

They dropped him splat on his face as they threw their hands up, turned and ran even before she could say a word, much pull the trigger.

"Damnit, What is it with me and strays!" I exclaimed softly exasperation evident. Stomping over to where all-but-brain-burned is lying I haul him up. And freeze. Nearly dropping him I curse mentally going through every language I know. That’s twenty five and counting after my far flung travels. I know that face, or knew that face twenty five years ago. Or close enough for government work, never mind genetics…Not Overman, no he’d done his ‘final strike’ on himself, though the end toll on taking him down had exceeded even those killed by Big Kick. Close to a million, and every one of them had deserved it. my mind snarled as I through his son over my shoulder and carried him to the bar. It was easier to sit his half conscious butt on a stool than dump him in a booth.

I took a deep breath and reached inside his mind, wiping away the drugs in one brutal swipe. I hadn’t drug stripped any one in awhile and it had never been something I practiced anyway. But with the drugs gone he was conscious. I didn’t have time for more as the first ravings of the mob could be heard around the hotel. Then there was the shivery tinkle of breaking glass No damn time! My thoughts snarled as I shoved the last riot gun at him and a box of shells.

"If you can use that, and your buddies didn't let you get too messed up, I could use another hand to watch the entrance."

And yeah I watched him as he went. I had had the biggest crush on his father…

Reposting for Arte…

James nodded, checked the action, noted it was empty, and loaded it, adding a round to the chamber in addition to loading the bottom with as many shells as would fit. "Thanks. I take it the people are responding worse than usual to the abduction of that overrated musical monstrosity." James went to the side, but he noted the lingering look the woman had given him. The others knew who his father was, and had recognized him. If she had known his father, she might have noticed the resemblance, or she might just be concerned that he not trip and blow his own face off. He didn't think he was in danger of the latter, and waited at the side for any trouble to come, standing next to a pillar that would provide handy cover if necessary.

Well the decorative half pillars on either side of the door would provide some cover, but fortunately most of this group didn’t have guns. Though that’s not to say they weren’t armed. Rocks, chucks of concrete actually, metal poles as impromptu spears, Molotov cocktails and the boundless belief that they were invincible had allowed mobs to knock the stuffing out of many who’d thought that guns made Them invincible…

I was in my shop when the phone rang. I was uselessly and stupidly saying hello into the damned thing and then I heard the heavy roll up door to the loading dock clatter and chunk upwards.

Shit.

I didn’t think anyone else would come back here. The small mini-lobby outside my shop was normally very empty. My shop and May’s private apartment were the only rooms off it from the lobby. The loading dock was usually only used by Jane or Javan early in the morning. There shouldn’t be anyone out there.

I shouldered the shotgun and crept up on my door to the mini-lobby. I took a deep breath and stepped around the doorjamb, slowly, degree by degree. ‘Slicing the pie’ Chance called it.

God, Chance…I wish he was here. He was supposedly ‘UnEmpowered’ (God, I hate that term, 'Empowered,' so politcally correct and 'empowering'...in the crackpot, warm fuzzies pyschology sense). He wasn't even UnEmpowered in that bare, weak “world greatest detective/trained in ninjitsu/billionaire” idea of the term. I didn’t believe him and I know him…well, more than knew, but Chance was rightly named. He might have fooled himself about not having powers but he was the luckiest Mask around. “Better lucky than good,” he even said on more than one occasion. Whatever he thought, he was good enough to hassle Big Kick back before the Raging Times. But he was gone. He’d saved me and then left me on that freeway offramp. This wasn’t his story any more. Chance said that and left.

I’d swung all the way out of my doorway by the time I’d swept the entire mini-lobby. No mob was rushing in; there was no one. May’s door was still closed. I edged out into the lobby, shotgun trained on the loading bay. There on the lip of the loading dock sat a bald man, drinking a beer with one of May’s riot guns across his lap. I didn’t really move. My finger stayed over the trigger, like Chance had taught me. My aim wasn’t precisely on his back, but that was the beauty of shotguns. As Chance as said, it’s a user-friendly tool like a simple camera: point and shoot. I stopped in the middle of the doorway.


I’m sure Chance would have railed about that, silhouetting myself like that, but damn him he left. I was confused. There wasn’t a mob. There was just a guy I didn’t know, sitting there with one of our guns, drinking a beer. I felt it necessary to say hello. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Today wasn’t bringing out the best in me.

Ziyo's gentle snoring as he sat in the chair, riot-gun lying across his lap, was rudely interrupted by a noise that hadn't been there before. 5 minutes ago the surrounding area had been deathly quiet, as all the shops had boarded up to weather the storm. Now a racket could be heard outside. It didn't sound like much, but it kept getting louder. And louder.

Ziyo's face hardened. Why did everybody get in such a ruckus over a singer who was no better, or prettier than average get kidnapped?
"If it had been anybody other than Empowered, it wouldn't be nearly as bad." he muttered to himself, a bead of sweat popping up on his forehead. He figured he was safer than most. Most people who joined in a riot had weak and easily manipulated minds. But he was still far from any position of true safety. Though he was an expert in the art of Suggestion, whereas his mind-reading was lacking, he doubted that he could get away with merely telling the entire crowd they had been shot.

The racket he had heard before started to become understandable. It wasn't just crashing, yelling, and screaming. It had order, or as much could be expected from a rioting horde. That was much more terrifying than what he had expected.
"HEAR OUR VOICES! FEEL OUR FISTS!"

A quick look at Old Man confirmed he was still aiming at the door, but with a weapon like that, he was sure to be overrun if the mob decided to ransack the shop.
Furrowing his brow in concentration, Ziyo tried to do something he actually had no idea if he could do, but he had heard from his father that some of the most powerful telepaths could, projecting an aura of suggestion near the outside of the curiosity shop, an aura of menace about the place, of danger, of death.

Beads of sweat began to trickle down his forehead and into his eyes. He couldn't think about that, or he risked losing his concentration. Suddenly something gave way. He could feel an energy, more spiritual than physical, manifesting around the shop.

Rubbing his eyes, Ziyo fell backwards into the chair. The backrest felt good for support. His vision was slightly swimming, and he had a splitting headache, and the chanting wasn't helping. Goddamn.
"HEAR OUR VOICES! FEEL OUR FISTS!"

James heard the mob approaching as he took his spot. Based on the shouts, he figured between one hundred and two hundred were headed for the hotel. He closed his eyes, took two deep breaths to calm himself for what was to come, then opened them to watch for the approaching mob. He moved to the doorway, staying below the window line so that he could look out through the doorway. The alley stretched down both sides, but the rioters would likely come at him from the closest street.

When the first rioters started trickling into the alley, James stood in the doorway, shotgun safetied but held ready to bring it up. It was an automatic, and he preferred pumps, but it looked to be more than what a lot of them had. "Listen to me. This place is worth more than your time and effort. I get it, you're angry. Nobody here wants trouble, but we will protect ourselves. Go home."

"Nah, we'll do what we want, boy," came the response.

So be it, thought McDulny. He raised the shotgun, pressed the safety, brought his head down, and shifted his shoulder to set his eyesight down the ramp at the first man in the alley. James' view of the alley was somewhat restricted by the doorway, but it was enough to see who was coming. Dad, if you're watching, forgive me.

When the first rock came flying at him, he ducked into a kneeling position, reacquired his target, and took up the slack on the trigger. As he felt the final resistance overcome, he distantly heard the sound of gunfire. He felt the recoil of the automatic cycling mechanism engaging. The action came back, the empty casing of the fired shot ejecting to the side, floating to the floor. Even as that happened, the action moved forward again, the next shell moving up into the chamber and then forced into the barrel. The Rubicon has been crossed, and the die is cast. God save us all.

“The Bars officially closed, but if you want to wait out the storm, feel free to draw yourself one and have a seat."

"Cheers."

Anton got out of the way but spared a moment to take a glance at the guns being passed around. Automatic shotguns, all appearing to be in workable condition. They could have even been produced by his company, although he wasn't close enough to examine and product serial numbers. Taking a seat at the bar, Anton poured himself a pint of dark looking beer and pulled out a few notes, depositing them on the bar. He knew prices weren't cheap down here and had given an appropriate amount, perhaps even a little more than what he would have been charged.

After getting halfway through his pint, the unsettling rumble of the riots was clearly nearby and almost deafening. Knowing full well that he couldn't accept this hospitality and not do something to help defend the establishment, Anton jumped off the stool and found the woman that had allowed him entrance.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I can use a shotgun or almost any other kind of firearm. Just point me in the right direction and I'll do what I can to keep them out."

Anton doubted this woman would recognise him as the former face of a massive arms manufacturing company but that wasn't important. During his time with the company Anton had learned to operate every weapon they produced, ranging from pistols to assault rifles. Whilst he certainly wasn't an expert marksman or gunsmith, he could shoot and operate almost anything that fired a bullet.

Bullet had been halfway through a long chug of his rapidly-vanishing beverage when someone decided that it was a good time to ask him a question. Cutting his drink short, he set the glass down again with a slight clink as it made contact with the concrete...

"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing? Can a man not drink in peace?"

His second sentence was delivered as he turned his bald head to look at the speaker, and was pleased when he discovered it was a woman. Knowing full well his comments could easily be misinterpreted as hostile, he cracked a rare smile to showcase as many white teeth. as he could without coming off as cheesy. He didn't have time to listen to her retort. A crowd began flooding around the western edge of the alley...

"Now I'm getting ready to kill a few of our neighbors in cold blood. You're welcome to join me..."

His demenor didn't change in the least, it was still the cool and almost cocky mannerisum of a man who didn't have a care in the world, much less the fact that he had a good chance of burning to death if he didn't dodge or otherwise deal with the molotov flying his way. It was a simple matter of bringing the shotgun up from his lap and squeezing the trigger. The improvised grenade detonated about ten feet above the guy who threw it, showering the rest of his friends with liquid flame and discouraging anymore attempts to burn Bullet alive like an overdone steak...

"Any more of you stupid angry fucks want to try their luck? Odds favor the house and you're gonna lose a lot more than you're gonna gain!"

That seemed to placate the crowd a bit, since no rocks came in response to his warning...

"And fuck Hannah ^0 in her slut ass! I hate that tone-deaf bitch!"

He threw that last one out there with another wicked smile as he strode forward with the shotgun at hip level, squeezing off a three-shot arc that drove the mob back from the gate, ducking the odd stone and popping off with a retort to whatever harsh phrase followed the projectile...

"That's not what your momma said, muthafucker! Throw shit at me again!"

The particular individual he was locked in a mortal battle of one-liners with was only too happy to comply with Bullet's wishes, and lobbed a fist-sized rock at his head. The runner angled his bald dome to the left, grinning as the rock missed his head by an inch or so before bringing the shotgun to his shoulder, leaning into the stock with bent knees, and shot the man squarely in the chest as he advanced. He'd forgotten, however, to count his rounds, and the shotty was empty. Now would have been a great time for the woman in the doorway to lay down a little cover fire for him while he beat feet back to the safety of the hotel's back door.

Like a dervish he spun on his front foot, kicking off with it as soon as his back was to the crowd and full-speed sprinting back to the loading dock where the rest of his beer and a box of shells awaited him. With a spry leap he cleared the waist-high loading platform in a single bound, snatching the ammo box on his way and slid into the doorway. He was on his feet in a flash, back pressed against the relative safety of the doorframe as he began to shove shells into his weapon as fast as his hands would allow. Despite the speed involved, not one shell slipped from his grasp...

"One, two, three, four, five, six..."

With each definitive click of a round entering the tubular magazine Bullet noted its presence with a numeral, so he'd avoid this sort of embarassing situation ever again...

The folk in Thunderdome North - the ivory tower, oh ever so cloistered, the intellects, who thought they were being smart, progressive and civilized by offering the past a chance to redeem itself. They got a wake up knock, and no few knocks to their heads and egos as the more practical side of the rest of the Cloud Landers - the ones who had made Utopia theirs twenty five years ago took one listen to their suggestions and with out a single line of debate turned their security on the progressives.

"Just get them safely home, don't hurt them... too much"

And up among the clouds the matter was settled. Those that had won twenty five years ago weren't about to let loose of Anything they had gained. Besides, they were sure that between the mob's down below, their own formidable security armies and That Mastermind's manipulations, Status would be ever so quo.

http://www.atddm.com/c1.gif

The riot had consumed the whole of South Third by now, and a goodly portion of Central, fully six hours after the most public abduction of the lustrous and beloved Hanna. With close to half of the entire population of Arc living in the South Third, that meant that nearly 50 million people were out and expressing their feelings over ...well...everything. And if they weren't rioting for those reasons, well a little loot and plunder never hurt, and a taste of the old ultraviolence was just the think to get their juices flowing. The residents of Arc had never been ones just to stay home and watch it on the ‘vee.

Bullet's taunts of the mob around the back were pure entertainment, and the deaths of a scant handful, didn't disconcert the rest much. The other, less prepared, buildings north and east of the Hot l were already being invaded, their windows busted out and the security chain links bashed down.

One of the saving graces for the Hot l Baltimore was that it really only had two businesses with exterior access - that and the narrow alleys to the north and east could hold only so many people. But Avenue B and 21st Street were very wide - as befitting two primary thoroughfares.

Those near the Old Curiosity Shoppe and Ziyo's untrained but effective zone of discomfort found themselves concentrating on the mural painted windows of Javan's restaurant, or those of Sound Mind and Body instead.

Fortunately only the 'outer edged' of the mass were interested in the Hot l, some two to three hundred who began throwing chunks of concrete, and other orts and mathms of debris at the building. The unmistakable sound of shot gun fire from behind, and the equally unmistakable sound of breaking glass coming from Javanese’s front windows - the westside widows, those facing Avenue B were smaller, and thus harder targets.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I can use a shotgun or almost any other kind of firearm. Just point me in the right direction and I'll do what I can to keep them out."

I looked at the man in surprise, one eyebrow going up but I didn't hesitate, this was the worst riot I had seen since, well...

I tossed him the last shotgun left. "Go help Javan," Nodding across the lobby to the restaurant to the open doors that lead with in "she's never been though this shit before. I'm taking the main doors."

It would give me the most likely entry point to cover, but also allow me to see into the bar. Though I wasn't too worried about the bar - what widows it did have were small and high set. And since the front doors -wide double doors -were mostly glass, I'd have a good view out to the street, not the best - the windows in the flat of the corner in Javanese had that.

I wasn't worried about the building as a whole the exterior walls were brick, and a full thirty inches thick - the interior walls were also almost completely brick as well and were twenty inches thick. And brick just got stronger as it got older. It was the mortar that gave out, not the brick.

The security fence (http://www.budeselfstorage.co.uk/Images/Content/Security1.jpg) provided protection for the east side hotel parking lot (http://www.atddm.com/gfhlb.JPG). Its construction precluded trying to climb it, though it would not stop some one from being boosted over - the tops of the individual uprights were sharpened however, and an clumsy or unwary one could be injured by them, or even impaled. The mass of the crowd in the alley surged against the fence. It was stoutly buried in the concrete and didn't give.

But the same could not be said for the gates, opening off of 21st Street, by necessity they were it's weak points and those that were menacing James had pushed in through them.

"Nah, we'll do what we want, boy,"

That one fell to James's first round, as did the ones on either side of the heavy set bearded man. But there were still more within the parking lot at this time.

James would notice that from the other door that faced on to the hotel parking lot came the thunder of some one else firing a shotgun at the mob as well. The crowds didn't back off though as people fell and screams rose. There were too many of them, they were too mindless and determined to destroy anyone or thing that opposed them.

These were mindless; they were not going to broken by a few rounds of gunfire.

And eventually, possibly sooner rather than later, Ziyo’s minor aura was going to no longer keep that small area distanced.

Even above the din of the mob, which was already hurting Ziyo's rather sensitive ears, breaking glass, and more dangerous, shotgun blasts, could be heard. Ziyo hadn't been part of a mob before, looking down at the mindless sense of one many bodied entity, and much less on the receiving end, preferring to stay as far away from the idiocy as possible.

Suddenly a new presence had entered the area he had set up his defense. If they got through that, he didn't have much in the way of protection beyond the shotgun and Old Man's pistol, and he highly doubted Old Man's prowess with firearms.

Another mind came through, and Ziyo could feel the defense starting to fail. People were illogically emboldened when others went first, but then, the feeling of darkness was illogical in and of itself, but regardless, the forerunners had to be snuffed out. It didn't matter if it was physically or mentally, though mentally was generally a lot cleaner. A grisly thought of piles of bodies stacking up outside the store didn't help his determination.

Propping the chair up against the door, the backrest jammed beneath the doorknob, Ziyo took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He had seen death before, his father being killed due to suspicions of harboring the Empowered, gang members who he had killed himself, and just bodies littering the ground of Arc, but he had never killed without a good reason, as far as he was concerned.

A thud brought him back to the here and now. It was just a rock smacking against the wall. Luckily it hadn't hit a window, or the glass might have made it that much more dangerous for those on the inside, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before all of the windows were shattered.

For once in his life, he was glad he had any ammo in his magnum at all. Generally it was kept unloaded, but now and then when the money was good, a few shots were loaded for the stronger minded.
Drawing the revolver now, he poked his head above the window sill. He suddenly thought of one of the few movies he had ever seen, I Am Legend. The hordes seemed to have no mentality, just an urge to kill, destroy, and take. Taking aim at one of the dozen or so people walking closer, he pulled back the hammer, and let loose a shot.

The bullet whizzed off to the side, grazing the man's arm before embedding itself full in the chest of one of the horde a short distance behind. Blood started flowing out of the wounds. For a gracious second, a flicker of fear whipped through the crowd, before they got angry. The chanting of this group started up again, louder than before. There was no stopping them now. Not even bothering to aim, Ziyo fired off the other 5 shots into the crowd before replacing it with the shotgun.
"Well Old Man, if we're going down, we're going down swinging."
"Aye sonny."

Rocks began flying towards the store, and shards of glass scattered over the street and floor, a few minor cuts showing up on Ziyo's face. Crouched down, he briskly moved back behind the counter with Old Man, and was quite surprised by what he saw.

An entire drawer filled with boxes of munitions and more than a few pistols.
"I jus' knew I'd hafta ride out anutha storm soon." Old Man said for explanation.
Good. Now I can afford to expend ammo. Ziyo said, training on the door

With his afternoon constitutional had been interrupted by Hannah ^O’s kidnapping several hours before, Daybourne had been more or less content to hang back at the edge of the mob and survey what they were doing. It looked to him like more or less random looting, although the original excuse had been the starlet’s kidnapping and fury at those considered different by the rest of the mob. Now the mob, the large gestalt entity with the IQ of its stupidest member divided by the number making it up, was rampaging along, venting the hatred, rage and impotence built up over the years. Daybourne was a man who considered himself unflappable; even with his rapport with fire, no-one ever accused him with having an equally fiery temper. Currently, he felt afraid.

He knew he was going to have to find cover at some point. Daybourne didn’t feel like joining any rampaging mob, especially one that was so blatantly baying for blood. He wasn’t a squeamish man, far from it. But it was a case of these people doing him no personal wrong; just tearing someone apart because they were defending their homes nagged slightly at his own personal sense of right and wrong, insofar as a gangland thug who didn’t mind setting people on fire could have one. His mind ran to the protection rackets he knew his gang ran in and around this area. Daybourne wondered whether any of his lot was giving their “clients” their money’s worth, or whether they were joining in with the mob. Knowing the low-grade hoodlum shits that made up the gang, they were probably joining in and settling scores of their own, either real or imaged.

Edging closer to the mob, but still keeping his distance, Daybourne moved up along Avenue B, towards the odd little hotel usually known as Hot l Baltimore was located. The dull roar of the riot was becoming louder and, above it, came the sound of gunshots. He sighed to himself and slid his hand into his pocket to touch the good-luck charm of the matchbox again. Shooting at the crowd was only going to incite them further, especially with the perceived invincibility the individuals in the crowd got from being in such large numbers. He could see some members of the horde were preparing crude petrol bombs, glass bottles filled with whatever flammable liquid was to hand and lit with whatever fire-source was available.

Daybourne sighed to himself again. In the close urban confines, and with the rioters filling every thoroughfare and street, fire would spread like, well, wildfire. That just wouldn’t do. He liked this part of Arc. As he watched, one Molotov was thrown by the crowd and expertly shot out of the air by whoever was defending the structure, showering the crowd with burning fuel. That piqued Daybourne’s interest, as well as upping the ante with the mob. Another man, towards the rear of the crowd filling the alleyway behind the self-proclaimed “Hot l”, readied another make-shift incendiary device, lighting it and pulling back his arm.

With a slight twice of his arm and fairly noticeable spasm of his hand, Daybourne made the fire leap from the rag stuffed in the neck of the bottle onto the man’s nearest neighbour. The first man dropped his Molotov and tried to beat out the fire spreading across the other’s shoulders. Daybourne then saw to it that a piece of burning material fell onto the spreading pool of petrol, causing more confusion amongst those at the rear of the mob.

The aura Ziyo had set up had surprised me, - and yes I knew it had to be him as the Old Man was not only Mundane, he was totally Mind Deaf. I had never 'sorted' Ziyo too deeply, though I had knew since he had first shown up that he had at least a little something. I had given him the same privacy I gave Maggie.

But now what he had done, a mental illusion of sorts, was faltering. And if I didn't have the time to teach him how to strengthen it ... and I was too busy at the moment to take it on myself.

He and Old Man would just have to hope that the riot mesh (http://www.unishut.com/images/grill%20shutter11.jpg) and extra bars on the door would hold. They should, but none of the riots had been this bad. I put those thoughts aside.

I pulled the trigger yet again as I stood in the wide doorway of the hotel and used the streetsweeper on any of those who got too close. Bodies fell and blood spilled, and those around the fallen ignored those at their feet.

My stomach began to knot, this was too close to memories I never wanted to see come again.

But the focus of the crowd seemed to shift slightly, something was catching their attention - maybe too slowly but...something was coming, something that reeked of pain and blood, and suffering and fear, and the crowd was feasting on that.

The front few fell as the shell that had been unloaded into them hit the ground. And then perception for James normalized. Behind him, another shotgun was going off, meaning that James had somebody watching his back, and in turn meant he was watching that person's back. So to speak.

McDulny stepped out of the doorway to fire off another quick two shots, before ducking back down into the cover of the hotel. Four more dropped from their injuries, and McDulny took the time to load in another three shells. This is going to be a fun night. James stood and stepped out again, blasting off another few shots before ducking behind cover. That was when James noticed the junction box.

When he put his hand over it, he sensed the corresponding lights that surrounded the hotel. With a mental push, he bypassed the monitoring system that limited the electric usage, and sent the outside lights on high for a minute to flash-blind the mob. Let's see what this does. McDulny stepped out again, unloading a few more rounds before the mob would regain their aim. He was trying to shoot out legs, letting the spread take down as many as possible with each shot.

Hot l Baltimore

Back by the Loading Docks & the northwest corner of Hot l Baltimore...

"One, two, three, four, five, six..."

Chunks of concrete, and things less savory, including the decomposing body of a small dog fell about Bullet as he reloaded, though none hit him with enough force or accuracy to hinder his reloading. Still, the side splatter or reeking corpse fluids was nothing pleasant to contemplate.

Then the screams of the mob changed dramatically, as fire, an apparently mislobbed Molotov setting any number ablaze. Fire leapt from head to head, lazing bright as first hair then clothes caught.

Now the crowd in the immediate vicinity was less than previously interested in the area behind the security fence, and far more interested in getting away from the dancing flames. Those afire were pushed and shoved away, some trying to drop and roll, others staggering about, utterly disoriented by the massive pain they were experiencing, as they burned.

But the press of people filling Avenue B was as good as a wall and those trying to back away were foiled, and the flames spread to those not in the alley but in the Avenue proper.

The fires growing blaze could be seen by Old Man and Ziyo, as it reflected into the shop.

Around on the eastern side

When James looked over to see who else was firing on the crowd he was given a quick nod by a fellow who seemed very comfortable with a shotgun. At least it looked as if it had started out life as one. It seemed to be, like his firing 12 gauge but was being fed by a weird belt like contraption, chunking through shells in a methodical fashion with each trigger pull.

It also looked hard to handle - save that the man who was handling looked like not too well shaved bear, of the large and grey haired variety. A wrist thick, grey streaked pony tail hung down almost to his belt, which was around a trim waist. His equally grey stranded beard was braided and if he hadn't stood close to six and a half foot might have made him mistaken for a mythological dwarf.

It was even more incredible when he raised a hand to James, that the fact that his right hand had been lost at some point and a hook served in it's place.

Those light blinded did cringe and cry out, and one or two sought to force their way back through the crowd inside the parking lot. But most remained, even with the growing number of wounded and dead. The closest ones were less than ten feet way from James and further north along the building to Hook, though he was piling up dead faster.

And from the front and other sides of the building he and his impromptu partner could hear more shotguns firing.

"Go help Javan."

Anton gazed across the lobby towards the restaurant and nodded, understanding his instructions. Leaving Jane to her own problems, Anton inspected the shotgun closely. It was in good condition and appeared to be fully functional. It wasn't one of the models his company had made but he wouldn't hold that against the shotgun that was hopefully going to help keep him alive. Noting that the weapon was empty, Anton gazed around the lobby until he noticed a number of boxes on the reception desk, obviously filled with shells. Grabbing a box for himself, Anton began loading the weapon as he crossed the lobby and entered the restaurant.

As Anton arrived in the restaurant he immediately noticed Javan due to her firing a shotgun of her own through the security mesh that covered what remained of her windows. Most of the glass was shattered and there was no short supply of rabid rioters outside, pushing on the mesh and throwing whatever was handy at the restaurant front. Anton purposely made some nice as he approached so as not to surprise Javan, the last thing he wanted to do was surprise someone armed with a shotgun. In between unleashing shells she stole a glance at Anton, worry plastered across her face. He took the opportunity to introduce himself at that point.

"I'm Anton. I was sent to help you out."

Javan flashed Anton a weak smile, obviously too worried about the masses outside to be concerned over a proper introduction.

"Take the corner window... these bastards are not getting in here!"

Anton moved over to the remains of the corner window just in time to see a rock fly though the mesh and collide with a table. Whilst it didn't do any damage he didn't fancy being hit in the face by such projectiles. Of course, the real threat was those with improvised explosives and so Anton slid the shotgun barrel through the mesh and promptly took a shot at the nearest man holding a Molotov, the blast catching him in the gut and causing him to drop the bottle onto the ground around him, setting his feet on fire. Whilst this wasn't the first man Anton had killed, he only did so in self defence situations but he wouldn't lose any sleep over those that lost their lives in this mob.

[ Utopia Northside ]

My name is Adrian Meridian and despite my parents best efforts and the man made beauty of the city all around me. I feel empty inside, I feel as though I am an alien among some of the wealthy inhabitants of Arc.

Even though I know my father and mother gave up their original way of life to provide everything I would need to live a very comfortable life as a wealthy cloud lander here in Arc City. I feel sorry that they did this because of the false sense of guilt that they must have felt because of the powers that I inherited from my grandfather, and the fact that I am the only child they were able to have.

You see, during the Raging Times my grandfather was one of the many poor souls accused of being an unfairly gifted individual that meant to use that power to enslave us all. Of course this wasn't true, because my grandfather was one of the most loving individuals I have ever known. He was a caring man, a man who's concern for his fellow man was surpassed by few others.

Though I am not old enough to really remember, I am told that during that time we lived outside the City and that grandfather used his special abilities to fight crime and the evil men of the world. According to my father, my grandfathers so called misguided compassion was evenually responsible for his undoing.

Because of this belief that my father developed after my grandfathers sudden disappearance. He decided to sell his fathers businesses that he had inherited so that he could protect the rest of us from the same fate. He then bought us all new untracable identities and moved us to Arc Cities highest level. Because of this new life I of course do not have to work for a living which is fortunate because of the blackouts I sometimes suffer.

On the flip side of that coin I am also either blessed or cursed with a lot of time on my hands according to how you might look at it I suppose. I have always been very athletic my entire life and so very early on I took up the Martial Arts as well as Acrobatics in order hone my combat skills. In addition, I practiced at perfecting the use of the special abilities that I inherited from my grandfather, but only in places where I knew for sure I could not be observed doing so.

It is amazing what lots of money can do to help you conceal things from your fellow man when you have a need to do so. Not that I agree with my father about my grandfathers convictions. But I do recognize the good sense of playing your cards close to your chest so to speak.

However as I grow older I find it harder and harder to not follow in the footsteps of my grandfathers legacy. For to long I have turned a seemingly blind eye to the Cities daily corruption of its citizens. For many years I have wondered if any others like myself still exist. I reasoned that logically there has to be at least a few others. Even though there has not been even the slightest trace of such folk for the last twenty years that I am aware of.

Still I secretly hope that one day someone more gutsy then myself will finally show themselves and in doing so validate my secret longing to do likewise. Yes I too feel the compassion that my grandfather must have felt, I too long to right wrongs predicated against the have nots.

Montague was laying on the bed My god she really enjoys this…I mean really really enjoys it…and doesn’t really have any guilt…
The spike of deep, dark red rage that spilled into his mind almost blinded Montague. His mind swam through the emotion like a swimmer caught on the beach by a rouge wave. His ears heard the sound of a boom distantly. But Montague ignored this, he knew what had just happened. He tossed aside Bunny and leaned over the side of the bed to grab his bathrobe.
“What the…”
“Not now…something’s happened…”
“Huh? What?...”
“I don’t know but stay here…”
“Gah…fine” The frustration was obvious even without his ability to sense her emotions, but the pool of dark, deep rage was far more worrying.

Montague exited his bedroom and walked over to the office. Hilard was standing their wide eyed. Montague stepped around him. One of the smaller desks had been thrown into the middle of the room. Based on the damage to the wall it had bounced off the far wall before landing.

Montague faced Kathleen, her eyes dark…almost blood shot as she stared at the flat screen that was now hanging crookedly on the wall.

God…what…oh…f*ck…those low life bastards… nausea actually over took him and he dropped against the wall and slid down, trying not to throw up strawberries on the carpet.

Kathleen turned to him and pointed. “They did that to my sister….They would have done that to me…”

“Kathleen…” the older man began to plead.

“No…they die tonight...”

“You have to look at the bigger picture…”

“I am…listen whoever is behind is leaving cryptic messages…but if I start derailing their activities…or start intervening then their plan has to adjust.”

“Huh? It might work right into their plans…and with you gallivanting off….”

“I’m not going…”

“Who then?”

“One of my toys…I’m going to the Thunder Dome…”

Kathleen turned and picked up a head set stating out…’Call Archy’ as she strode off to her room and some of her more private equipment.

Montague turned his eyes back to the screen. I’m glad I’m not an empath down there…

"What's going on?"

Montague winced, Poor Bunny, your desire for wealth has led you to stay too long in this den of vipers.

He looked up wearily at Bunny. "I'm afraid there has been a bit of an accident."

"Oh...so what now?"
Fear, intrest, too much intrest and not enough intelligence...
"Hilgard, please take Miss Harth and tie her into that chair in my bedroom..."

The tall man pulled out of his revelry and grabbed her from behind.

"What...what's going on...how do you know my name?"
Confusion for a moment...yes dear now you start to see
Bunny's eyes went wide..."Your one of them...your one of the bastards who kidnapped Hannah ^O!"

Obviously jumping to conclusions is still a national sport in this hell hole.

"No, but you saying that is why I just had you held...."

*****
Freighter Mongol, Port of Arc
The Mongol was supposedly just a refrigerated goods steamer that was temporarily laid up in the Arc harbor waiting to pick up cargo for her refrigerated hold before setting out again. She actually was serving as the big box of surprise 'gifts' a very rich young expat had for her home city.

Aboard was a young man of questionable parentage who was sitting in a rather cold hold half filled with crates. Placed on one crate before him was a computer gaming system with an 90 inch screen. He was engrossed in attempting to kill rather pathetic looking zombies all colored red for some reason with little blue figures that looked like orcs.
There was a beep and the young man shifted one hand to touch a button. “Yeah loser…I’m wasting your horde of undead...prepare to...”

Archy, get the frick off that toy and get to work…I want a betty aboard the lorry with four B-8 canisters in the pouch and you in the air asap. Go to launch location four

“Okay…”

NOW!

A few minutes later an old rundown air lorry lifted off the deck of the Mongol and headed for an abandoned construction site a few miles into the city.

Meanwhile a new persona was being created in Imperial Suite 4.

The mob of Arc was going to meet a new enemy…one who didn’t have super powers, or take prisoners…only lives...

Shotgun blasts had been firing for the last several minutes, no doubt thinning the crowd, by however little of an amount. The crowd seemed to be getting even more unruly than before, however impossible that seemed. Something new was driving them to ever greater insanity. Besides that, a new presence, actually multiple entities were inside the barrier he had hastily set up. Ziyo couldn't decided which of the two problems were worse.

"Watch the door." he whispered to Old Man, a useless statement as that was what he had been doing for the last 15 minutes or so.
Crouching low to the ground Ziyo inched forward to eliminate whoever it was who dared to cross the invisible wall he had set up. A handful of the mob were creeping closer, chunks of concrete in their hands held ready to throw at a moment's notice. A few of the bravest of this handful broke out at a run and slammed up against the riot mesh, trying to rip it off around the edges. Luckily for Ziyo and Old Man, it didn't break. Unluckily for the rioters, it didn't break, and left them with absolutely no cover.

Standing up and taking large strides toward the mesh, Ziyo stuck the barrel in the nearest offender's face, and pulled the trigger. Later, in unfortunate memory trawls, Ziyo would see this all in slow motion, details normally impossible to see clearly visible. Fire and lead roared forth from the shotgun, tearing the man's countenance to the point where whether it was human was questionable. What little was left of his head, a red pulp, was jerked back, and the body followed. A trail of blood and what was most likely the man's brain, created a little trail that ended about 7 feet away from the where the man had stood.

Having intended to frighten the rest of the crowd, the doctrine of Kill One, Save a Thousand fresh in his mind, Ziyo was terrified as the crowd began to surge forward towards the mesh. Something snapped in Ziyo's mind as the barrier fell all at once, and sweat started trickling down his face. He couldn't give in now. His sense of honor was quite possibly one of the most outdated he had ever come across. He had never been a very good marksman, as he could generally just tell people they were dead and they would believe it, but the shotgun blasts couldn't miss. As pellets ripped into flesh, bodies dropped, and would no doubt suffocate under the pressure of the mob above them. Small pools of blood started to emanate from the dead and dying as a proverb ran through his head.
Arasoi wa naku ma masuru. The louder one will win the argument.
And the shotgun blasts deafened Ziyo like the riot had not.

Then a flickering of light across the street drew his attention away from the mob as they pushed and shoved at the riot mesh in vain. Some of the less intelligent were trying to gnaw through the bars, and would most likely need to get a set of replacement teeth soon if they survived.
Simply staring at the buildings on the other side of the street, a shell halfway pushed into the firearm, both intrigued and horrified Ziyo at the same time. The pattern of shadows appearing and disappearing was unmistakable. Fire, and lots of it.

Eyes wide, he was brought back to reality as more shots started going off as Old Man held a pair of pistols and was really heating up the barrels at the crowd. Snapping to attention, he finished loading the gun, a process much longer than it should have taken if not for his fumbling fingers, and stepped back as far away from the mesh as possible to give each shot the greatest spread, and emptied another clip.
Another horrible image flashed through his mind. Piles of bodies stacked up against the entrance, those with better balance on top of the piles to continue the attack.
He shivered, and began loading again.

James began unloading round after round at the ones coming at him, finally running out and forcing him back into the building to reload. He had bought a precious few seconds, and as his hands loaded shells into the gun he felt heard the growing screams of the crowd in their lust for blood and violence. I need eyes in the sky for this shit. These people are mindless. James stepped out and began firing again, slowing the advance with a mounting wall of dead and wounded. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't clean, it wasn't the way the old Heroes would have handled it, but it was necessary.

When James heard the cheers increasing, and some of the aggressors turn and head back to the street, he slowed enough to listening for a faint buzz that he could always hear when working with electronics. He didn't realize how he was doing it, but he somehow knew that a previously quirky sense now allowed him to find the closest wireless transfer station. As he continued to fire, the sounds from around the building echoing the same situation on the other fronts, he found what he was searching for. It wasn't quite like hearing it, but that was the closest that he could figure. He began...accessing it. It was a weird sensation, but it made sense, the same way as when he was accessing the electrical box to momentarily strobe the lights.

Before he knew it, he was sifting through information like a menu on a computer screen. He quickly found the access to the local observation systems, and as he scanned close to the hotel he saw a sight that nearly made him vomit.

The mob had jacked a flat bed, and by the looks had used some of the barricading wire and thick pieces of wood to construct two hasty pens. They had 'captured,' if that was fair to say, five people and bound them in ropes and then thrown them into the cages. On a closer zoom, James groaned. The flat bed was slowly moving towards the intersection near the hotel, just a little beyond what looked to be the inferno that was the building across the avenue. The 'captives' were luckless 'jokers,' the true bottom-of-the-bottom of Arc.

Jokers were the deformed and misshapen citizenry of Arc. They only lived in the South Third, in their own shanty town community that necessitated a deep sense of loyalty and trust amongst themselves, and a deep-seated caution of everybody else. It wasn't pretty, but they could eke out a life away from the rest of Arc, and they looked after each other more fiercely than a she-wolf protecting a litter of cubs. Jokers didn’t get anything from anybody, and they had to find their own ways of providing power and water to their residents.

That five jokers had been grabbed and held hostage meant that they had been near the outskirts of the joker neighborhood when the riot had truly started. There looked to be two cages, one of which held three jokers tied to the flat bed, and the other which held two more jokers and what looked to be rioters in with them. James realized quickly that the two were young women, and the rioters were probably in the initial stages of a mob-style gang-rape.

The world was descending into chaos. Across the street, the mob was cheering as a newer building had now thoroughly caught fire, and was likely to soon come down in what was sure to be a fantastic spectacle of flames and explosions. Further down, the flat bed was slowly inching its way through the mass of rioters, as people slowly moved to allow the vehicle progress measurable in feet.

James unloaded another few rounds, piling bodies higher, before ducking back into the doorway to the hotel. Damn, I don’t even know that lady’s name. I’ll have to learn it before this is all over. Turning for a moment to face the building’s interior, he shouted, “Ma’am, we’ve got a problem. A flat bed is heading up one of the main streets with captive jokers, and it looks like they’re going to try to gang rape two of them. Not to mention that the building across the street will likely go down in flames before the night is over.”

I never heard Overman's son's shout, though the distance wasn't too far and I had very acute hearing -but the senses numbing sounds of the mass of inhumanity, and the near continuous din of shotgun blasts had washed over me like a physical wave that drowned him out..

However I could see that the building, Paranon Office Tower (http://www.lpl.com.hk/image/officeTower.jpg), some twenty two storey’s of quickly and poorly constructed modernistic edifice was on fire. It’s exterior was mostly glass, but the interior was obviously very flammable. And no fire fighting equipment was going to get through the press of people – even if the firemen had been willing to. You paid for fireservice down here, and I don’t know if the Paranon’s owners had kept up their insurance.

And yes with the fire so close, even if Avenue B’s width put them close to two hundred feet apart., there was danger to the Hot l Baltimore. But I knew there was worse ahead, even with my limited sight line. Terror, fear, mindless animal anger, pleasure of a nature that can’t be described with words…

I am an Empath. Just about the weakest of my Abilities, but none the less...

It is Not some mundane's over developed sense of sympathy. As the book puts it : “The hero can detect the surface emotions of others. The hero can detect the target's emotional state and further refine that knowledge to discover the target's physical state, surroundings, and location, in so far as these have an influence on the emotions. He can transmit his own emotional state but he cannot impose this on others, unless he also possesses the Ability of Emotion Control.” Thus speaketh the Book.

You think that’s a bonus? It’s not - it can be the cruelest of tortures. In someone with the mental gifts Empathy is usually the first one that develops, usually in childhood, almost certainly activating by puberty. I was a foundling, one of Arc’s hundred of thousands of cast off children, raised by the government in a city run crèche. The only reason I didn’t disappear like so many female children did was that I tested for the Factor. And those they kept tight control of. I was raided under strict control, psychological programming and careful oversight. Since uncontrolled Empathy is generally a sure way to the psych ward, I wore a blocking collar from the first instance it manifested in me until I proved that I wasn’t going to be driven round the bend by it. I quickly mastered that Ability but the training methods, to say nothing of the testing, were nothing pleasant,

Years of hard training or not, prior experience or not I was being overwhelmed by the sheer emotions so many were generating and what was rolling slowly north, it’s diesel engines rumble lost in the larger rumble of the mob…. I could feel, practically taste the mobs fury, their lust for destruction a sickness in the pit of my stomach. Their delight at a new focus for their avaricious addiction to blood and pain and death. My vision swam, memories of the first nights of the Raging Time swamping me, erasing all coherent thought. Blood and fire and death, blood and fire and death, blood and fire and death.

Those that had been willing to face the shotgun I was willing to use, now were turning a way, drawn by the chanting of the crowds which announced the newest players in this nightmare of a game.

Those back by the loading docks, in the back alley were turning away from Bullet’s and Maggie’s spirited defense, those around the Old Curiosity Shoppe driven away by the leaping ravenous fire spirits. James and Hook too would find their willingness to kill also discouraging the crowd as new toys for their delight were bayed for

I sagged, nearly unable to move, overwhelmed at the horror that was beating against my well trained defenses. I held up the heavy front doors of the hotel and tried to force my vision to clear from the mists of blood splattered memories, and the current miasma of lethal primitive emotions.

I couldn’t even find it in me to curse. I’d lost my believe in any sort of Deity twenty five years ago, and this…the greater part of humanity was nothing more than pond scum, and that was terribly unfair to pond scum every were. Pond scum didn’t kill for the pleasure of it. And what mobs like this did, didn’t bear thinking about.

Jokers were the most abused and marginalized of Arcs residents. The most deformed of them never saw sunlight, hiding deep in the underlevels. Those that were “only” grotesqueries lived a short, sad subsistence at the far southern edge of the city. Malformed, deformed, pitiful to look upon, but they weren’t monsters. But they were the monsters the mob could find, could dare cage, could dare… torment, rape and shortly, watch burn to death.

I tried to retreat from the grasp of what lay outside, fought against the dark river…

South Third, Somewhere near the west side of the city
The air lorry moved above the twisted streets of south third. The lorry slowed and turned between two tall chimneys and towards the open frame work of an unfinished building. Obviously the project had been abandoned years ago. The lower levels had become a mini-shanty town for awhile, but someone had pushed the ‘tenants’ back out.

But for whatever reason the building was a dark spot in the monitors which is why Kathleen had chosen it as a possible launch site.
The lorry moved into what would have been the eighth level and under several beams before slowing and landing on a patch of floor left at that level. The floor sagged under the weight.

The back door opened and a small rack pushed out the door. On it was what looked like a large scale model aircraft. It had a two boom tail and a pusher type central engine. Slung under the wings was a tight cargo net containing six black orbs.

A few hesitant moments passed and then the sound of a loud degassing as the craft was pushed into the air by compressed air. As the small craft dropped through the air the engine started and it took off -flying into the air. A few moments later the lorry, rack retracted and doors closed entered back into air space heading on a distant course to a small building in the the middle west block of the city before returning to the dock.

Ritz Carlton, North Third, Floor 140
Kathleen sat back at the chair looking into the mirror finishing some of the touches on her make-up. She eyed the picture sitting next to the mirror, a dark skin woman with blond hair, blue eyes, dark attractive lashes looked back. A matching photo was attached to the passport and indentification badge laying on the table. Both listed the woman as Ann Hawthrone, Recovery Specialist for Kellogg International Securities Security. It was a well known branch of the QMC empire, a mercenary investigation team known for 'recovering' stolen property. Insurance companies loved to use them to recover property, especially when they though the owner was also the thief.

Betty One Launched…. a feminine electronic voice announced.

Dart smiled a predatory grin, “You know four years of St. Donat actually is going to start to pay off…”
She picked up a small electronic unit on the table and touched the screen. Betty One Under Remote Control “Well Betty…time for you to bring Chaos and Death”

Spirited defense? Jane thought my defense was spirited? She can believe whatever she wants...I'd like her too. My defense was anything but spirited...anything but a defense. I didn't do a damn thing. I'd thought I’d never have to hurt someone again. I’d found my place to hide. I could just avoid it all.

Why can’t I avoid it all?

The bald man…the violence that rolls off him…I turned away, I didn’t cover him. God, that was weak. I went into my shop to see them beating against the riot mesh, glass broken, shards bloody in places. I leaned back against wall, watching it all, taking it all in. I know what sort of…fun…Jane was having with her empathy. I had it after a fashion. Empathy’s telepathic. I have biopathy, I sense life and emotional energy is so entwined with life energy that I pick it up second hand.

Today, I was getting it full on, emotional and biological through my biopathy. I could feel them burning, the humans outside. I could feel some whimpering at the fence, gutshot, gutshredded, coughing up blood, bile, whatever poured into their torn lungs. Biopathy had its uses, its boons. I never had to ask “does this hurt?” when I healed someone. I knew if it did…I felt it as if was my own, muffled…weakened but I felt it. The crowd ebbed away from fire, the guns at the loading dock fence. I almost sighed a relief.

I heard what the men at the riot mesh where yelling at me. I tried to pay attention to pull myself away from the biopathy raging and roiling. What they had to say was…awful…what they wanted with me…to do with me….to me. But it was better than feeling the death.

I lie, to myself, to others. I try to be nonchalant about being a B-lister…envious as I should be of the A-list, but it’s show. I’m second string and clean up because I can’t bring myself to do the dirty deed myself. I’ve lied to people, told them I have to touch to drain, so I’m a combat liability. All those hulking strongmen…the Captain Hammers and the Wonder Guys…they loved it, protecting me, saving me. I stayed with them…showed them my…appreciation with my…company. It was a fair trade.

I could kill pretty easily. I can yank the life from you at ten feet. Give you a brain tumor with thought. Regress you back to a fetus and then back to primordial goo. But imagine feeling it all.

I fled from that as sure as I fled the Raging Times. But with Chance gone, Captain Hammer whimpering in a corner because he felt pain, and Wonder Guy…well, hung, drawn and quartered, not necessarily in that order, I did kill. It was easy to hide. Come upon a bunch of guys lookin’ like they came down with ebola. You’d look to for Vira, the Pathogen Princess, and firebomb her before you’d think it was sweet little Triage.

But I couldn’t escape life. It was everywhere with the riot, excited, wild, scared, snuffed out. I jumped up from the wall as a crashing rumble from the street. The mob ceased their beating on my store front and turned away, cheering. I edged to the far wall. I could see the tall glass and steel building down Avenue B wreathed in jumping flames. Part of the third floor and fallen down on the second and first.

The crowd actually cheered. The building would fall and probable kill most of them, but they cheered. They just wanted blood, destruction…you know, a little fun. I backed away from the window. Pain, death, rage, arsonist’s awe whirled around my mind. It bubbled my stomach up into my throat. I could stand it. It was bad, but I could that. I couldn’t stand what came next.

Torture, humiliation, hopelessness, tearing pain, helpless pain fell over me like a tsunami. I screamed. My knee balked replying likewise as I collapsed down onto them. Perverse pleasure like that from pulling wings off a fly or burning a puppy flowed in the wake of the avalanche. I dropped the shotgun gently, unused and uncared for. I stumbled out of my shop and into the lobby. I held onto the wall as I moved myself towards the lobby and fought to physically to stay standing and mentally to push my biopathy to the back of my mind.

Anton stepped back from the security mesh for a moment so he could reload the shotgun, his previous rounds spent on those wielding various fire starting implements. His instinct of targeting those particular rioters was definitely on the mark as the office building across the street was now seriously ablaze and Anton didn't fancy being inside any building that was being promptly devoured by the equally chaotic nature of fire.

With his weapon fully loaded again, Anton made his way back up to the mesh and levelled his barrel at the closest mob member. This one was armed with any particular weapon but he was raging against the mesh violently and Anton knew that if enough of the others did so the barrier would not last long and neither would he. Pulling the trigger, a single shell launched forth and split open, showering the single assailant in the hot pellets of a shotgun shell. The man spared an accusing gaze for Anton before he stumbled backwards and collapsed, internal bleeding likely to finish him off. Anton continued to remind himself that if he didn't kill these people, they would kill him and likely those inside. It was a sad thought but this was the world he lived in and ultimately it was kill or be killed.

Picking off a few more threats to the restaurant, Anton noticed that many of the mob were peeling off, something else had grabbed their attention and by the sound of it they were happy about it. A lump formed in Anton's throat as he considered what could make these people happy. Then he saw it. The mob had taken a flat bed and various other bits and pieces to form a cage of sorts. Inside were multiple Jokers, the unfortunate freaks of Arc that no one liked to consider. Evidently the mob hadn't been able to locate the culprits for Hannah^O's disappearance so they had nabbed the nearest target weaker and different from themselves. As the cage was dragged closer to the intersection, Anton gained a better view of what was occurring and promptly emptied his stomach over the mesh. Two female Jokers were being abused in the worst kind of way by male rioters.

Revolted at what he was seeing, Anton stepped back from the mesh. Most of the rioters were now converging on the sick procession and leaving him alone as they apparently didn't find anything wrong with the scene before them. Anton couldn't help but curse himself. If he had been born with super strength or could launch lightning then he could save them. Whilst his power was unique and certainly formidable, Anton knew he couldn't stop what was about to occur. One man couldn't stop a mob, even if he was one of the Empowered. Wiping the vomit away from his mouth, Anton told Javan he would be right back as he departed the restaurant and found Jane in the lobby once again.

"They're distracted for the moment... they have caught some Jokers and... and they're not going to last much longer."

Anton didn't know if Jane was in any position to do anything about it but he felt since this was her establishment she was somewhat in charge. He hoped against all odds that there was something they could do to save those people but a practical view of reality was promptly crushing that hope.

Daybourne had been helping the defenders inside the hotel for a while now, doing what he liked best. Setting things on fire. He never could remember at what point he realised it was the thing he liked doing most in life, but Daybourne knew it was at least as long as he could remember. Lighting people on fire came in at a close second to just general burning and he’d been doing quite a bit of that today, too, now. Mainly to help the mysterious defenders inside the Hot l Baltimore. The mob as a whole entity hadn’t noticed the large number of freak accidents amongst those within it armed with Molotovs, but then they appeared to have their attention entirely focused on battering down the barricades and venting their rage upon the occupants. If pressed, they probably wouldn’t know why they were so engrossed with attacking these people, but it appeared to Daybourne that it was just because they were defiant and standing up to the mob rule that had taken over Arc and apparently made most people take leave of their senses.

A change in the pitch of the rioters’ cries drew Daybourne’s attention away from setting up his latest “accident”. Those towards the rear of the mob, on the opposite side to Daybourne, were beginning to turn around and look up the Avenue. At first, Daybourne suspected that time had been called in on the riot that was devastating Central and those who stood in for the authorities in Arc were coming to clamp down on the mobs and try to bring what passed for normality back to the area. Daybourne turned away from his latest victim, who was trying to roll on the floor to put out the small blaze that was spreading across his back, and followed the gaze of the rest of the mob.

Forcing its way through the mob was a flatbed lorry, laden down with crude cages. The cages held Jokers. Daybourne had never felt much for the Jokers, other than distaste for the more physically deformed amongst them. He went out of his way to avoid where they tended to congregate, and as a result he had little contact with them, and they with he. They never had enough money or owned businesses in the right areas to warrant his gang trying to extort them or set up protection rackets, and that suited both groups fine.

Now here was a group of them, locked in crude cages on top of a flatbed, surrounded by a baying mob, just out for the blood of those who were different to them. The Jokers weren’t Empowered, but were outsiders enough to make suitable scapegoats for the kidnapping of the idolised starlet, Hannah ^O. Daybourne felt an unfamiliar twinge of shame and pity for those on the flatbed, which rapidly turned to disgust and an even more unfamiliar pang of loathing when he realised what was happening to the female Jokers. The situation was going from bad to worse, especially since what was happening on the flatbed might as well have been designed to incite the Joker population of Arc.

Daybourne pulled out the packet of matches from his pocket. Those in his gang would have recognised that as a warning sign, but none of them were around him now, nor would they have probably noticed over the orgy of violence that was going on around them.

I hated to look like a drama llama. I sure was one, stumbling around like I was having the worst migraine ever given to man or beast. Narrative distance, people., narrative distance. I can be snarky now as Chance used to be, but I wasn't feeling it back then. I stumbled into the lobby, and I forced myself against the wall just inside.

The thick, old masonry wall held me up as I chased after myself, trying to catch a hold of my biopathy and shove it back into the hole I usually kept it. I looked around after I was able to fight, push, kick, and claw my mind back into its place. There was one of the pitiful plants that managed to survive in the lobby's skylit domain. I feel sorry for plants. The Arc isn't a place for them; they and I have that in common

As much as I felt sorry for that poor hibiscus tree, warring with one's mind is a lot like taking the exit exams up at Hero High...the Academy, I mean. You're strung out physically, and you haven't even done physical work. I needed something to keep me going, and Life is a drug, ask those extreme sports nutbirds. I laid my hand on tree. I glanced around the lobby. No one was paying attention to the back wall. Everyone was busy looking out.

I looked back at the tree and pulled, not physically, but biologically. First the leaves wilted, shrivled, crumbled and then fell. The limbs drooped, dried and cracked. A hibsicus doesn't have a lot of life, so it doesn't take long to kill. Not twenty seconds and the lobby is one plant shabbier. Kharmarically, there was something wrong with killing a living thing off hand. Biopathically, a little twinge. But it doesn't feel pain, no matter what the treeweepers say. I can deal with that death.

I internalized the energy I took from the hibsicus. I pushed into my core and then my limbs, energizing and replenishing them. The dragging exhaustion left quickly. I straightened on the wall. Things were much better...well, until a guy came out of the restuarant, which interjected nausea into my biopathy, and yelled to Jane,

"They're distracted for the moment... they have caught some Jokers and... and they're not going to last much longer."

Annnnd things were much worse...

Is there no end to their madness?
Awhile back, I had decided not to attempt to probe the minds of any of these people. I was horrified of what I might find there.
I was starting to run low on shotgun shells from the box Jane had provided. As my fingers were searching in the case to find ammunition, my eyes darted to the door. Was it just my imagination, or were the crowds thinning? No that wasn't it, they were still as populous as ever, but now the general din wasn't one of rage. It was pleasure.

Just this once. I promised myself, sending a command via thought to one of the people still pounding on the door.
Go find out what's distracting the crowds.
Continuing to load the weapon, I waited for the young man to return. The mob had almost completely left the area surrounding the store, but that didn't mean they wouldn't come back.

The young man came back. He didn't say anything, and simply stood there while I took a look at what he had just seen, and a wave of sweat broke out. The mob was punishing the Jokers. I had never carried a great love for the Jokers, but despite their appearance, they were people, and shouldn't be subject to the scorn that Arc loves to direct at them. Taking a closer look at the man's memory, things just got worse. The flatbed truck, with the cages made of whatever the rioters had been able to get their hands on, was the stage on which some of the most disgusting practices known to man were being performed. The two female jokers, stripped completely nude, were being violated in ways I didn't care to think about, tears streaming down their faces. The others in the back were bloodied to where it was impossible to tell what gender they were.

This last image sent a shock through my body, and my legs decided to go on vacation. Falling to my knees, I dropped the shotgun I was holding as my hands held my head up. And then the worst night of my life replayed itself in my head.


17 Years Ago

I was hiding in a vent that supplied a reasonable and livable temperature in an apartment in the Center Third, where my father had eked out a living working as a private investigator. My abilities hadn't manifested yet, and I continue to curse whatever force determined that.

There he stood in the main room. He was quite short, even for a Kagetorian, standing at 5 foot 5 inches. His jet black hair was cut short. The trenchcoat I wear today hung on a rack by the door, the only thing I have besides my memories. He was wearing a decent white shirt, his hands in the pockets of a pair of black slacks.

A pair of men, both dressed better than I had ever seen had come in, black fedoras, black sunglasses, pitch black jackets, ties, and slacks giving off an aura of supreme danger.
"Mr. Ashida, your actions have displeased the Syndicate. Where are you hiding them?" said the one on the left, with a voice fit for an interrogator.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." replied my father.
"Hiroki, where are the Empowered?" said the left one again, his voice laced with anger.
Oh no, how did that find out?
My father had harbored the Empowered for years, starting during the Raging Times, before I was born, running an Underground Railroad for those trying to flee Arc. I often wondered if he did so because he wished he was one of them.
But he just shrugged, and the pair of them rushed forward, shoving his shoulders up against the wall.

-----

Several hours later I creeped out of the vent quiet as I could, my tears red with tears that had been streaming down my 7 year old face for hours. My throat still in a knot, I pulled the knives out of my father's hands and feet as he lay there on the ground. His left ear was missing, along with both of his eyes, and blood covered the floor and wall. Terrified of the same happening to myself, I ran for the door, slipping his long trenchcoat over my small frame, and didn't bother locking the door.

I have since moved the interim from my subconscious to somewhere deeper. Somewhere deep enough that only through sheer force of will, or a skilled telepath, can bring back up.

[ Utopia Northside ]

An older, but stilll beautiful woman stepped though the doorway of her bedroom onto
the circular landing looking down on their indoor heated swimming pool. Below her husband swam laps in an effort to revitalize the strength and stamina of his body.

She was thankful that he did all he could to stay fit. But she knew that he had been pushing himself for the last few weeks, so while decending the stairs to the pool area she said,

" Honey I love your dedication, but don't work yourself until you drop. The pool will still be here tomorrow, why don't you come sit with me in the jacuzzi for awhile.

" In response to his wife he replied,

" You are right dear, besides I would be a fool to turn down an invitaion like that. "

Immediately she responded by flashing him one of her beautiful smiles that she knew drove him crazy and said,

" Oh I bet you say that to all your women. " as she lowered herself into the warm bubbly water of the pools jacuzzi.

In reply he said, " Now Felica my love, you know that you are my one and only. " raising his eye brows in mock shock as he to lowered himself into the jacuzzi beside her, took her into his arms and kissed her gently.

Somewhere above South Third

There was a new object in the sky, and likely looked like some toy of a Cloud Lander had wandered too far south. It buzzed in zig zag direction, avoiding being easy to time for any rioter up on a roof top. It would be another ten minutes with all the radom course changes for the UAV to meet up with its target.

Those of Cloud Land had their own plans for of how to deal with the raging mob at Ground Zero Specially equipped hovertanks (http://img462.imageshack.us/img462/8619/screenshot0613fm.jpg) rumbled in single file out of their subterranean lairs, while lighter and more agile maglev APC's (http://fc76.deviantart.com/fs41/f/2009/022/3/b/AIA_Hover_APC_by_ikarus_tm.jpg) carrying security infantry wove among them.

Their commander rode in stylish armored luxury (http://cache.gizmodo.com/assets/images/gizmodo/2008/08/jonradbrink-nuaero1compress.jpg) that also boasted concealed weapons.

They would let the mob coalesce, and satiate themselves before disciplining the rabble with fire and chaingun fire. The loss of several thousand, or more, Zeroers meant little, and the lesson would be hard hitting, not easily or quickly forgotten. Those they didn’t kill would be efficiently rounded up and taken to the slave pens immediately.

Up in Main, they were being a touch more discrete, those causing too much of a ruckus simply would be noted, marked and disappear quietly into the night the next time the need for slaves in the mine grew acute.


But the arrival of Security was a good quarter of an hour at least away. Maybe longer as their orders were to not interupt the festivities. The events playing out around B21 were being transmitted to those up in Utopia by the many eyes in the sky drones already up and numerous additional drones were being sped that way to catch the spectacle from all angles. Many Utopians were already placing bets on how long it would take before the crowd torched the Jokers, others on how many the two girls could be abused by before they died.

Confidential & Private, Advertisement, The Exesleigh Institute

Teardrop, riot control for the future.

A stunning young woman in a vaguely military uniform that was a little too skimpy and far too tight speaks to the camera.

Are you tired of your citizens rioting? Are you tired of lawsuits about police brutality? Are you tired of international condemnation for protecting your homes from the scum of your city?

Cut to scenes of rioting, Molotov cocktails, and rebels wasting rounds by firing into the air.

The Exesleigh Institute, as always, has a solution perfectly tailored to you. Teardrop is fully air-deployable by gas canister and spreads rapidly. Not only is its expansion rapid but so is its dispersal, allowing you to save money on gas masks for your riot control units.

Cut to smiling riot officers.

Teardrop is a non-lethal psychosomatic airborne chemical compound that bears many similarities to depressive medication, but at a higher dose. It ‘encourages’ rioters to go to sleep, or to go and slink into a corner, or listen to Bullet For My Valentine. At higher doses your rioters may even feel the need to stick their guns into their mouths and do your work for you!

Cue cheerful music and the smiling model again, this time carrying a riot shield and standing over several individuals who are apparently unconscious. One in the corner appears to have shot himself in the head.

The vast majority of those affected will find themselves passed-out, sleeping or crying for their mummy and blanky. The Exesleigh Institute, a remedy for every ill.

Here follows a large quantity of technical information including concentrations available, ratios of effectiveness by severity (from no effect (minimal) to suicide (minimal)), and price.


Penthouse Floor 1, Level 401, North-17

My screens showed images of the violence at Ground Zero, a mob of over a hundred thousand strong mobilised against the Masks and probably soon to turn their attention upon Utopia. Why is it that people in this city always look upward to vent their anger? Perhaps I should take a moment to describe my control room.

It is located on the bottom floor of my apartment, which itself covers about point-seven-five square miles and is the top “main” floor of my building – North-17. North-17’s floor plan covers the full square mile on the ground right up to Level 350 when it begins to taper very gently. My property technically begins at Level 390, but 390 through 400 are all on leasehold to the owners of various companies doing well at the moment and the rent is an income supplement in case anything should ever happen to the Institute.

My apartment begins on level 401, a level that covers about three-quarters of a square mile as I have mentioned. Directly above this is my roof garden, each corner of which is taken up by a flyer-pad and on the northern edges of which is a spire rising a further four levels overlooking the gardens far below and the reservoir. This spire is where I actually live and is not really relevant to my little control room. Level 401 includes my reception rooms, offices, living facilities and quarters for my staff and personal security, my vaults, and a conventional, chemical and biological arsenal capable of wiping out rather more than I care to think about. Fortunately no one bar me, Claire and Rupert know that I keep anything but some conventional weapons and a couple of crates of bio/chem there or the housing association would want to have a few words.

Anyway, my control room is located in the north-eastern area of 401, is soundproofed if I want it to be, and contains the only door into my private vault. The one with the Institute’s less pleasant inventions, and the monochrome garments of Union. The interior walls, containing the main entrance, two hidden doors (excluding the vault) and a number of secret compartments, form a single screen and hololithic display systems are set into the floor. My omega-shaped desk sits in the centre, covered in the control panels to, well, all sorts of things. Claire is standing in front of me and to my right and Rupert Pitcher, my head of private security and one of the five people I actually trust, in front and to my left.

“Rupert. The vault’s open. I’d like you to take some Teardrop-8 out to two of the flyers and have your men distribute them amongst the rioters. Choke them in the stuff.”

Rupert, ex-military and the nephew of a dead Hero, salutes smartly and vanishes into my vault. He knows well enough not to touch anything he is not supposed to, and comes out a moment later with two of the matt-black containers floating a few inches off the floor behind him. He vanishes into the main interior and the door closes behind him. I reactivate the soundproofing mechanism and hand a datasheet to Claire.

“The numbers on there belong to a number of Masks our agents have tracked down over the years. Telephone them on one of the secure lines and tell them to gas-mask up, or at least soak a rag in something twelve to twenty-five percent alcohol and use it to cover their mouths and noses. Teardrop disperses in about fifteen minutes.”

“Who should I say is calling?”

“A neutral friend who believes in unity and the meeting of different paths. If they don’t get that hint then they don’t deserve the bloody advice.”

She nods and turns to go as I dial the apparent representative of James Katha. Someone who clearly did not understand that no one who wanted to remain respectable could be linked to anything established by an Empowered.

I dialled her number, then her extension, and finally gave my name as I watched the atrocities taking place down by the Hot l Baltimore. I saw a number of messages from acquaintances concerning the issue and placed my own bets as a small blip in the corner of my screen indicated that two of my flyers had taken off.

“Alexander Exesleigh”

Ritz-Carlton, Imperial Suite 4, Office

The small red light blinked on Montague's desk and he walked over to it. His eyes on the screen as he punched the button.

"Sir, there is a call from Alexander Exesleigh" The distant, Gallian accent noted.

Montague looked over toward the door. Kathleen was nowhere in sight. "I'll take it..."

Montague moved behind the desk and sat down picking up the receiver.

Alexander Exesleigh

"Ah, hello Alexander the dead seem to be rising tonight..." Montague answered in a completely conversational tone.

His mind thought back to the few times he had met the youngest Exesleigh trying to picture the boy now grown into a man. Katha had been one of those individuals from the upper levels too low to be considered of note, but still an acceptable invite to parties and such. It was surprising how Cloud Lander society had tolerated someone who was witty, charming, and quite well read. Being a ficition writer helped of course. Also being able to facilitate the quiet, over dinner drinks business deal was more than enough reason in Utopia.

"Which of course I find annoying...I thought all the Empowered in Arc had long been exterminated...But now someone has pulled my mentor from the grave and done some kidnapping in his name...I find that most distressing as I am sure you do...Alexander."

Montague wondered if the man would remember his voice. After all he was fairly sure the boy had once asked for an autographed copy of a book at one of his readings.

You knew I had to use this (www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ-zWc1sS3M) - though this is my favorite version (http://media.the009.net/?the009=VGhlMDA5IC0gRXF1aWxpYnJpdW0gLSBEaXN0dXJiZWQgLSBMYW5kIE9mIENvbmZ1c2lvbg==)

The outrage happening at B21 was echoed through out the vast mega-opolis that was Arc, From the luxuries of the North Third, where even those of Ground Zero lived better than many of Main in the Central Third. There orderly, peaceful marches, lead by local civic leaders, wound through the streets and parks. The polite marchers bearing almost professionally designed signs pleading for the return of Hanna ^O...

To the Main of the Central Third where so many lived in quiet desperation - where even the possibility of having to move lower drove many to suicide, by of course, jumping off the tallest building they could. And now the Oatmeal as they were often derisively called, flooded the catwalks, crosswalks and pedestrian bridges, cheering loudly as hundreds of aircars painted with the pop stars face, or towing hastily made banners filed by in seemingly never ending lines. The malls, shops and kiosks - all that had had any items decorated with her image or logo had been sold out, bought up before the shop keeps and clerks had clocked out to join the throngs.

While down below those of Ground Zero of the Central Third filled the streets with such rage as turning over trash cans, filling the pubs and bars to over flowing and chanting fairly unintelligible slogans. Deciphered though they proved to simply to be the lyrics to her more popular songs.

The South Third, the poor sister, a land of confusion in more ways than one, buildings burned, windows by the thousands had been broken, close to 95% of the buildings that weren't providing their own enthusiastic defense were being trashed and looted. Many buildings had their own security, either expensive hired forces or impromptu groups recruited by an enterprising shop owner - and they were laying waste to those assaulting them. Most of the low end Syndics, Triads and Mob families that ruled down there had turned blind eyes to the 'official' prohibition against fire arms. They knew better than any what the southerners were capable of. They tended to despite the ivory tower intellectuals of the North Third.

Bread and Circuses can do only so much, and the south had always simmered with violence, and only part of it could be attributed to over crowding. What had been loosed in the Raging Time was yet potent today.

The events at B21 were modest in comparison to some of the atrocities being found at other intersections, and those too were to be the targets of Cloud Lander retribution.

Over twenty million, spread across the city of Arc but still roughly twenty percent of the population were out and about, and given some sporadic reports coming in from down among the Morlocks, the percentage was much higher, and the atrocities even greater.

The entire hive had been kicked, and each group was reacting as had been intended, predicted.

James watched to make sure that the rioters were turning before dashing into the hotel and seeing the lady with the silvery white hair and faded white jeans, apparently struggling with something. "Hey, I don't mean to worry you even more, Ms..." and James suddenly stopped, realizing he didn't even know the woman's name.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't know your name. I'm James. Wish we could have met under better circumstances. Listen, outside it's getting worse, and it's only a pause for us. I need elevation. Would you mind pointing me towards the roof access? I've got something that might help end all of this faster." James wasn't willing to say that it was about a one-in-one-million shot, but that was still a heck of a lot better than not trying anything. This whole thing brought an old saying his mother had said to mind, one about being stuck between a rock, a hard place, and the open portal to Hell.

South Third

Pat sat on the roof of the old toy factory and stared down at his new 'toy' It was an odd weapon, it looked like an UZI. The difference was the size of the barrel. It used a 30.08 round rather than a 9 mm.

This thing is going to have too much buck to be usable...

Pat considered the weapon.

Pastgelli has gotten over his head on this one. I know he thinks that we should start hitting the Triads hard...but these things are freek'n worthless.

A group of rioters appeared around a corner. Well I guess I should see if this thing actually works...

Pat stood up and pointed the weapon down at the people on the street. His right hand formed around the grip while his right held onto the barrel surround. He couldn't aim it all that well with the bannana clip of ammo out to the side. He pulled the trigger.

The weapon burrped several successive rounds...the kickback was minimal, being reduced by the internal shock absorbers.

The four figures on the street dropped, one screamed in pain. Pat turned and looked at the weapon appreciatively. Hell, I've got what twenty cases of these guns...the Triad is going to wish they hadn't been born.

He leaned over and looked down into the courtyard. Joe was leaning against the fence where it met the gate. "Keep an eye out...someone might want to break in here and borrow these weapons..." Joe nodded and held up his gun to show he understood.

What neither Pat nor Joe knew was that Pastagelli had bought the weapons from the wrong front man.

What Pat didn't know was that by firing the gun without removing a small pin from the bolt, the bolt had now warped and would sooner or later jam. It was one of the failing of the M-5 which is why it had been replaced by the M-7 in service.

It was a great day to be alive; the smell of gunpowder, blood, buring ozone, and death did wonders for his plummeting mood. Bullet was fully embroiled in the joy of the slaughter. He was by no means a good man, at least in most senses of the word. Well-placed shotgun fire had communicated to the crowd that the back gate wasn't worth their time or effort. That had come with a price, however. The shotgun's muzzle was red-hot, and the box of shells had run dry.

Violence had already gripped his mind like a vice, entrenching itself deeply for the time being. A small voice in his head that had just been whispering 'Kill' earlier was now screaming it at the top of its no-exsistant lungs. The commotion out front drew the runner from his position at the back door, swapping his empty shotgun for the dropped one from the apparently emotionally-tuned woman who had been standing behind him earlier before he'd gotten cocky and gone to the gate to do what he did best. She didn't act like she wanted the damn thing anymore.

Satisfied he'd done his good deed for the day and earned enough hot meals to keep him fed for a good while, Bullet kicked the rotting dog carcass off into the parking lot and seated himself on the back loading gate once more, the new shotgun across his lap. The beer was still there, luke-warm and flat, but unspilt and unspoilt by flying debris.

After a quick inspection and not finding anything floating in his drink, the runner proceeded to down the remaining portion, ignoring that little niggling thing in the back of his head that told him to do bad things. For good measure, he flung the empty glass the length of the parking-lot to catch an overly confident rioter full in the face, effectively breaking his nose and planting him on his ass with a surprised and painful look on his face.

There was a shaking of a finger in his direction, before that same hand patted the small-framed automatic under his shoulder. Something told the bloodied man that he'd rather take a shell from the shotgun than a bullet from the small handgun ...

[ Utopia Eastside ]

A middle aged woman stood in her kitchen watching her husband stare into space towards the westside of Utopia. She knew he was thinking about their son Adrian. The
problem was that they were to much alike in many ways.

Both were overly assertive, not to mention down right stubborn. Both only wanted to see their side of any arguement. This of course has caused a rift to open between them and has done nothing but get wider since the families move to Arc City.

In the beginning Adrian had lived in the same building, however after a few years of disagreements between him and his father concerning the use of his special abilities he decided to move to the westside of town.

Of course Ryan still loved and missed him, but believeing hinself right he wouldn't give an inch because he was afraid he would lose his son as he had lost his father.

Samantha knew that Ryan would move heaven and earth for Adrain, but pretended that
Nicolle didn't exist even though she had come home to her appartment across the hall a few times. She loved both and couldn't understand why he did that even though he knows that they are one and the same.

"They're distracted for the moment... they have caught some Jokers and... and they're not going to last much longer."

I had witnessed worse. I had witnessed worse done to friends, colleagues, people who were the closest to family I had ever known. I had survived that, I had managed to run, hide and escape...

And then spend twenty five years dodging the assassins sent out to hunt down any of us that had had the temerity to escape. I had survived and even flourished, once I had bitchslapped myself out of the alcoholic haze I had tried to drown myself in. I had been back five years, hiding in plain sight, my powers locked down as tightly as Mother-May-I could barrier them up. I’d had a good look at how ugly things had become. And I had rolled with the flow, laid low.
But now…

I pulled myself free of the Black River, though it left me shaking. 'Cause in all honesty very few who are Empaths make it as far as adulthood. They teach us all the control they can by methods most would call monstrous - though one has to admit the incredible effectiveness of those methods - and still the riptide of any strong emotion can swirl though our control -ending it and us in a blink of an eye.

It nearly caused my death back in the Raging Time - but I had managed to survive it then, and I wasn't going to let it rule me now. So I forced the Black River into the background of everything and straightened, shaking myself like a dog coming out of the water. My eyes flashed with light, sparkling flares that most would shy away from.

Mother-May hadn’t been one to explain the ‘why’ she of why she had risked it all by sending out people to find me and tell me to return. She had simply said I had been needed. And it was a need that I could no more deny than I could, in the end deny what I can do. Arc was my home, and it’s people mine.

“No More" I snarled under my breath as I pulled myself up straight and with my left hand tore at the skin on the back of my right wrist and forearm. I dug in hard, but while strips of completely realistic appearing flesh came off no blood was drawn. The pseudo skin that hid the Talisman embedded in my hand and forearm tore away and the quasi living gems blazed with the fury filling me.

“I didn’t think I’d have to give you the slap” came a crisp mental voice I know well as Aunt May’s floating chair swept into the south section of the lobby, moving past Maggie, ignoring her for the moment. Or perhaps giving her the chance to not need the slap. Mother-May had never been gentle with any save the innocent. She lost her identity, her vision, her voice, most of her face to acid and fire, her mobility to a spinal cord injury that would have killed any lesser Hero. But she counted it a small price for the number of lives she’d saved in the Raging Times.

I looked past her to where I could feel Ziyo, and reached out - touching his pain and gentled it, eased it. “Ziyo, join us please” I asked him mind to mind - though I made it sound as if it were but a voice in his ear, a hard learned technique, but gentler than pure telepathy. I knew that I wasn’t giving him, couldn’t give him, much time to recover. I needed his Abilities.

No single one of us was going to get this done.

I've got something that might help end all of this faster”

My voice wasn't unkind, though I know I must have sounded a bit distant. “You may be Overman’s son, but you aren’t him and you don’t have his training or experience.” My crooked smile was meant as an apology. “Sorry you look too much like him to be any one else. What can you DO?”

Giving him a chance to recover from that –

Which I did by turning to the well dressed man, I’d never gotten his name any more than James had gotten mine and bluntly putting it
“So I don’t have to be any ruder than necessary - I can feel your Powers. What are they?”

In the seconds that followed I sent the same message to Bullet as I had to Ziyo, and by the same method. We would need his skill with weapons.

I looked at Aunt May and simply said “Get every one out of here, I’ll prep everything to blow, just in case.”

Kathleen Dart sat in a chair, the small epad in her hands…her eyes locked onto what looked like a stuffed blue parrot. Bluebird…how fitting…

Target Alpha

Who knows why people do horrors to each other. And why the world watches. Who the men were that were standing around and laughing as another man attempted to wrestle a girl to the ground would be lost to history. Everyone knew what was going to happen, but it was fun to see the girl try to avoid her fate. It was fun for the gang standing there with bottles, rocks, and pipes, it was fun for the millions of souls watching on the holo.

It wasn’t fun for the poor girl who was quickly growing tired. She again tried to break free from the iron grip, this time slamming her hand into a thick neck. There was a growl and a rock smashed into her head, she went sprawling onto the ground. Too weak to fight any further…some part of her screamed…screamed to a world that didn’t care…and prayed for some unknown God to kill her rather than face her fate…

The man stood and began to unbuckle his pants…he had caught the girl and he got her fresh. As he smiled a light thumping sound broke out in the distance. The group looked up…a vehicle of some type was twisting back and fourth over the street to the east.

Apparently it was blaring out music as it did so…

In come the bluebirds
For murders and rouge
To cover you in shadow
As they clean you to the bone

A rock and bottle appeared to almost hit the erratic craft then it seemed to fly up vertically into the air. Up into the dirty sky. A few of the men returned their gaze to the girl who was attempting to drag herself up.

This palace has become so ugly.
This place has become so evil….

Attention went back up to the sky. The betsy was flying down at them the sound of engine and music roaring in their ears. The crowds around them all turned and began to throw things at the annoyance. It pulled up suddenly, and a large metal ball smacked into the pavement.

Gas exploded out of ports on the round body. The dark gray gas began to fill the intersection. Eyes watered…mouth felt as though they were full of ash… it was thick as fog and crawled across the ground not lifting or dispersing much above eight feet…it smelled chemical…but death stalked within the fumes. For forty percent of the air was now carbon monoxide.

Those that didn’t run right away would begin to feel sluggish and it would be hard for them to breathe…those that didn’t escape the low lying cloud would fall down unconscious…those that were not pulled from the tendrils of the cloud would be dead in a few minutes.

Be careful what you pray for…God may answer it…

A few moments later…

Jack and Jill went up the stairs…to fetch some baubles…

Jill chased a girl to the roof…and Jack followed after…

Jill held the girl down as Jack beat her….

Jack stood up when he heard…

In come the bluebirds
through dusty air…

*smack* Jack’s head hit one of the orbs as the drone buzzed right over his head. The gas bomb began to vent out...

Jack went over the parapet down to the street below.

And Jill looked over after him and snorted.

Then Jack met a blue parrot...

"Ziyo, please join us."

Though it was disguised, and quite well disguised to the untrained mind, it was still unmistakable, and mental bricks were thrown up faster than I could think. Even though they were supposed to be eradicated, I still occasionally ran into the odd telepath, most of whom were either dead or forgot their ability.

Shaking my head, trying to not think about the flashback, an impossible task, but I was still reeling from the voice. Whose was it? Of course, the bartender, for some reason that didn't surprise me, but not much did, and so I responded.

"Don't ever do that. Life on the streets has taught me to kill other telepaths as soon as I sense them. It would be very unfortunate if that happened to someone else."

Of course, it was a lie, but if she didn't know that, then there was no problem. Old Man seemed to be as relaxed as one could be with such a riot outside.
"Hey, things seem to have quieted down here. If you don't mind, I'm gonna head back to the lobby."
Old Man just gave a nod, and so I thought it safe to ask another question.
"Mind if I borrow a few shells?" I said as one would to a friend, pulling out the revolver I kept inside my trench coat.
Another nod, and I searched the drawer for the right box, and thumbed 6 shots into the chamber of the pistol.
Walking out, I threw up a pair of fingers in the standard sign of "Peace out."

Walking into the lobby, already a crowd was gathering. That guy I had seen at the bar earlier, the bartender, and whoever else.

You may be Overman’s son, but you aren’t him and you don’t have his training or experience. Sorry you look too much like him to be any one else. What can you DO?

James paused, and nearly dropped the shotgun in his hands when the woman said that. She had obviously known his father's face beneath the mask, and knew James for who he was.

James shook his head. It would take too much time to worry about his safety. He had disappeared before. He had safeties set up to leave again when all of this was over. For now, she had yet to kill him, so that meant he could at least trust her, and the others gathering.

"My dad didn't leave me much as far as replicating his power level. All I know is that Overman's powers were based on a lucky haphazard DNA sequence that showed up in his Y-chromosome, something about it being the only place where it could fit. Anyways, I picked that up too, so the fundamental source of my father's abilities works with me. For now, I've picked up technopathy. Give me twenty hours with an electronic storage system on bio-medical research, then maybe yeah, I could match my father for sheer power. But you're right, for now I can't match Overman's experience, I don't have the time to try to match his power levels, and one more thing."

James took a deep breath, calming himself for the next part. He didn't want to bother the woman with more stuff, but if she knew his father she should know about what else had happened to him. "Those guys that dragged me in either worked for, or actually were, a group of old villains that want a new Ace-in-the-Hole. They're working for Big Kick, who is apparently alive, kicking, and now wants me for whatever they have planned."

James grabbed another box of shells and reloaded the gun. "They used theoretical research into technopaths, exposed me to it while I was under drugs, and now I've gone from Arc's best hacker to somebody that can manipulate electronics at will, and in the back of my head I can hear the buzz of nearby electronics. Get me to the roof, I can overload and pirate Arc's computer systems, and they won't know what happened. After this is done, I'm hitting the road again. You're right, I'm not my father, and I can't match what they've got planned for me. So, what's our next move?"

It would be very unfortunate if that happened to someone else."

That brought a quick mental snort from me. He could try, but I let the matter lie. He was heading upfront and that was what counted.

After this is done, I'm hitting the road again. You're right, I'm not my father, and I can't match what they've got planned for me. So, what's our next move?"

"Your father may have been a Ponce but he was an excellent teacher." I held my right wrist up for him to get a good look at the ever shifting bioluminescence of the Talisman that I now bore openly. I could only have earned that through the Academy, and that answered all his questions as to how I knew his father.

I raised my eyebrows at his revelations, "Get ready to hold on to your shoes. BK is here, in person" I jerked my chin toward the third floor. "But what makes you say he’s behind your kidnapping, usually he only takes on one target at a time. Going after you and Hanna ^O together…” I let my voice trail off. “And why would they dump you here, where he is?” my voice was low, more to myself than any ones else. It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t have time to sort though it.

“Electrokenesis and technopathy both from the sound of it” I nodded appreciatively. Those were useful…if he could not only blow the local grid but get into the core of the system he could frisky through all sorts of mayhem to be foisted off on the deserving…and he seemed willing enough.

Now that Bullet lacked a beer to entertain himself, and no-one was crossing his 'Gun Line' of the perimeter fence, he had little to occupy himself with. For a man who was almost constantly on the move, that was akin to torture. He leaned back slowly, angling his head towards the doorway that led into the lobby proper, and shouted at the top of his lungs in a rough baritone...

"Hey!!"

The shout brought a few stares from the mob looking in from the fence, and a brave soul tried to get a running start towards the lone defender. Whatever he thought he'd gain by doing so, Bullet hoped it was worth it. Without shifting position, Bullet angled the shotgun once again towards the sound of pounding pavement and sent a cloud of buckshot through the man's knee, severing the leg from the target area on down before the man pitched forward in a screaming heap of blood and exposed muscle tissue, pawing madly at the mess of raw hamburger that used to be his left leg...

Hmm...

A hamburger did sound really fucking tasty right now. Lettuce, cheese, tomatoes...

Bullet again called out for some sort of response. For all he knew the front lobby had fallen an hour ago and the rioters were having a dance-off in the ballroom for the spoils of war. Now not only was he beer-less, but he'd made himself hungry as well. He left the wounded man to writhe and scream in the middle of the parking lot. Maybe by showing them he was shooting to horribly maim rather than kill, he'd make those assholes rethink any little schemes they'd try to come up with...

Back alley/ Loading Docks

"Hey"

The voice that seemed to sound in Bullet's ears was clear and cold "If you would bother to listen, I asked you to please come to the lobby a minute ago."

I continued, watching with my minds eye what he had been indulging in- it was less than wise and angered me considerably "Keeping the rioters attention on us and this location is not an optimum idea. Please quit rileing them up just so you have something more to maim."

Fumbling with the box, Daybourne drew one out and sparked it against the strip of sandpaper along one of the sides. The smell of burning sulphur filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply, enjoying the acrid scent as it cut across the other odours of the riot that would otherwise be filling his nostrils. It cut across the smell of burning fuel, of gunpowder, of fear and rage that emanated from the mobs that surrounded the Hot l. This is what he lived for. The chill that Daybourne usually felt despite his surroundings ebbed away as he watched the match burn down to its base. He flicked it away as it began to singe his fingers, not even watching as it arced towards a casualty already sprawled on the road surface. The person’s garments caught as the glowing ember hit them, causing yet another small fire to start in this day of fire.

Another brown-headed match was pulled from the box. Daybourne considered his actions. The buggers were still trying to beat down the doors to the Hot l and still doing their thing to the poor sods of Jokers on the flatbed. The mob would take offence to any fire sent their way, but it would take the heat off those in the Hot l. He realised that he didn’t want the mob getting their hands on whatever had offended them in the Hot l and he knew he was relishing in the feeling of being an unknown helper, an ally in the otherwise-friendless place Arc had become, even more so than usual. More than anything, what the rioters were doing to the Jokers had inflamed him.

“Fuck it. It’s a good a time as any to show my hand,” he muttered to himself.

His attempts at hindering the mob’s actions weren’t going to go unnoticed forever, Daybourne knew. And when they did, they would undoubtedly think that his abilities were the same as those Empowered weirdoes. The fact that he’d set more than a few of them alight would probably also count against him, even if the mob was to attempt to find out who did what to whom. Anyone who stood against them in their frenzy of destruction was likely to be torn limb from limb, even if they had just passively resisted the mob’s onslaught.

Once again, a match was struck. This time, rather than letting it burn out, Daybourne moved it a quick gesture, which would usually extinguish an ordinary friction match. It did no such thing, however. Instead, a small fireball engulfed the match and was sent towards the rear of the rioters nearer the flatbed. It was an action that Daybourne had done many times before, but usually in much less open surroundings. Daybourne quickly pulled out a third match and began moving towards the Hot l, sparking it and sending another small fireball towards the mob licking around the rear of the building.

Adrian had been watching the vid reports of the riot for a couple of hours now as he wrestled with his inner tug of war. Finally he decided that he couldn't just stand around anymore and watch evil continue to prosper in Arc he had to make his move.

Opening a window he thought of a Falcon and as he felt the change begin he dived out his window. Seconds later a large Falcon that was Adrian soared through the Arc City skies towards the riot location.
This was not the firsty time he had used his powers to float above the city, to watch the evil that some men do. In fact he had come to enjoy the flying, but now he would announce his presence to the world.

“So I don’t have to be any ruder than necessary - I can feel your Powers. What are they?”

Anton was dragged out of his sombre contemplation of the Jokers outside by Jane's rather abrupt question, causing him to blink in confusion as his brain confirmed what he had just heard. She knew, somehow she knew. At first he wasn't sure how, only his father knew about Anton's abilities and that man had died many years ago. It took a few moments but Anton eventually reasoned out that Jane must be an Empowered too, one with some kind of mental abilities, perhaps she had read his mind or something. Regardless of such, there was something about her that endeared Anton towards trusting her intentions and thus willing to confirm the knowledge of his greatest secret to a complete stranger.

"I can shift between solid, liquid and gas. I can also alter my density and consistency, to the point where I could walk right through that wall.... by either passing through without leaving a mark or breaking it down. No idea what you call that but there you go."

It felt somewhat liberating for Anton to speak of his ability to another person. For so long it had been that one thing he could never tell anyone unless he wanted to be treated like the Jokers outside and that was a fate he most certainly wished to avoid. Despite that, there didn't seem much chance of helping the Jokers unless they decided to do something and a few shotguns were not going to be enough.

"So what do you have in mind? If he wait much longer those Jokers will be dead and they'll likely remember about everyone in here."

"So what do you have in mind? If he wait much longer those Jokers will be dead and they'll likely remember about everyone in here."

I turned my wrist so that Anton could see the talisman embedded in the back of my hand and up my forearm. There was no place on earth, that I knew of that one could obtain them, not any longer. The Academy had been the first building the Raging Times had seen destroyed. That destruction had made many secrets forever lost, and the creation and embedding of the quasi living gems had been but one of them.

"And what we are going to do, is stop that mob, and get those Jokers free. And yes I know better than all of you the risks. Any one here not up to that, step back into the shadows now and forever hold your peace, or get ready to be Hero's."

Okay so it sucked as an inspirational speech. I had trailed to be a Solo, not a Team Lead...

And this was going to be beyond rough. They weren’t trained, and like I said, I hadn’t trained as part of a team.

"And what we are going to do, is stop that mob, and get those Jokers free. And yes I know better than all of you the risks. Any one here not up to that, step back into the shadows now and forever hold your peace, or get ready to be Hero's."

Holy crap. This place is like a magnet for the Empowered.
I thought, considering taking that offer to back out. The others here would no doubt prove useful allies, or powerful enemies, later on down the road, and the bartender knew I was a telepath. If that got out to the gangs, what career I had was finished. Besides, it never hurt to have powerful friends.

The talisman was familiar as well. I had seen more than a few of them back in my early childhood while my father harbored and helped the Empowered. Most of those who had them were, or seemed to be, pleasant people. I wondered how many of these people I had actually met before.

"I'll do what I can. I don't know how useful I'll be, working as a hitman usually involves eliminating individuals or small groups, not hordes."

A scowl crossed the runner's rugged features, but he remained silent as he got to his feet. The wounded man wouldn't last another few minutes, not at the rate he was bleeding. The shotgun came up again, and sent another lethal cluster of shot into the man's face. Walking in, he shut the back door behind him. He knew the others wouldn't approve of his methods, but then again he didn't approve of theirs either. If someone tried to kill him, he'd always made sure to kill them right back.

The bar still had a few shells scattered across it, and Bullet went about stuffing them into his weapon as the hotel's owner hatched her plan. He waited for her to finish before he spoke...

"My talents don't extend to hearing shit said to me through fifteen yards of distance over a screaming mob and shotgun fire. Be glad I'm in here with you and not out there with them..."

His tone, too, was cold. A similar temperature to the grasp of a drowned corpse found at the bottom of an Alaskan lake in the middle of winter...

'I'd have picked every one of you fuckers off by now...'

The life of a runner was a lonely one, where you relied on yourself for everything but a reason to run. Such a lifestyle wasn't conducive to social skills, and he didn't have any friends to speak of. He broke the subsequent silence with the chilling click-clack of the shotgun's action...

"You know I can shoot. Tell me how you plan to get to this truck and save those unfortunate sons-of-bitches without getting the rest of us killed..."

It wasn't about the glory, the carnage, or the money for that matter. To Bullet, it was about denying someone something they didn't deserve. He'd never paid Jokers much mind, but then again he'd never looked at them with any sort of fondness or hatred either. They were who they were, and it sucked to be them. Most of his reasoning wasn't exactly complicated, just hard logic. Those girls didn't deserve to get raped, and the guys raping them didn't deserve the satisfaction, or their very lives for that matter...

"I can get higher and try to get their attention long enough for the rest of you to slip out into their midst and get close to the truck..."

He paused...

"Or I can try to cut you a path to them, if that was what you had in mind..."

The smile crossing his features was a wicked one...

Adrain spread his wings wide as he flew through the skies of the City, he always felt free with the wind blowing through his hair and under his wings. Starting his trip to the lower level where the riot was taking place he power dived into one of the many valleys between skyscrapers.

To either side of him, using his peripheral vision he could see the many buildings that made up Arc City rush past. Looking down he could see the massive mob of people that was the rioting mob. As he neared the ground he envisioned mist and immediately his form changed from that of a falcon to mist traveling low along the ground.

Turning towards the building where the Jokers were trapped Adrain moved unfettered between the feet of the crowd to the closed and locked door of the building. There he preceeded to enter as he passed through the crack below the door itself.

A pair of gloved hands clapped from the landing of the stairs on the second floor. Curiosity is its own power, more compelling than any mental nudge, and the right sort...well...dramatic sort...can use it to his advantage...okay, I looked up first. The gentleman on the landing was one of those dramatic sorts and perhaps a tad overly so. His clapping slowed as he came to the edge of the balcony and he finally laid his white gloved hands on the railing.

He was decked in a tuxedo complete with red satin lined cape better suited to an operatic premier rather than the riot outside. However, it fit all the legends, the whispered stories best told with the uplighting of a flashlight under bedsheets. This was him, Big Kick...no...it was Baron Darklaugh von Puppykick, a man much more terrifying than his name suggests...I should know I cleaned up after him many a time.

Now, I'd described him as 'Big, dark man with hair the color of midnight with a widow’s peak, a monocle, a pointy goatee, and a sinister mustache'...well, I was wrong. He didn't have the monocole anymore...or his right eye all together. What should have been a disfiguring and horrific injury acutally made him more...indescribably handsome with his mysterious and grave eyepatch. The rest was true to form, not even a wrinkle's difference. Time, it seemed, was even afraid to put hands on him.

He passed over me...not surprising, and I was glad to be ignored for once. He paid a nod to May, a respectful nod seeing as they'd faced off over and over before the Raging Times. He cast his gaze briefly over all in the lobby before speaking, I suppose making sure he had everyone's attention. "A novice's performance all around, but that is to be expected, I suppose."

He looked straight at Jane and bowed his head. "Good attempt, my dear, but I suggest looking to the classics when you are adrift of your own original inspiration. Henry the Fifth's St. Crispin Day sililoque is an excellent choice."

He cleared his throat, deepening it and projecting it, overcoming the poor harmonics of the lobby.

"This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

He punctuated each line with gestures and emotion, under the false intensity of the performance was a smile. This was a man who liked to hear himself talk. He finished the quotation with a wistful sigh. "Try something like that, dear, and it will keep the Westmorelands from whimpering and growling after you."

His eyes flitted over Ziyo but stayed on Bullet for a moment. "Please, Mister 'Bullet', is it? Be something more than the cheap, small expendable mass of metal you take for your name." He looked over the group again. "I used to declare that Arc needed a better class of villian, arguing senselessly with my opponents and 'partners' alike. We don't need to be better Heros or Villians. We need to stop try to be them all together."

He pushed himself off the railing and walked down the stairs, again projecting his voice and overcoming the chamber itself. "Frankly, I'm flattered that you believe I'm behind this all...that this all fits into my plan. Kidnapping both that precocious and tone deaf strumpet and then you, James O'Overman..." He laughed. "...that would be an accomplishment I'd like to claim...if I hadn't just arrived in the city a few hours ago. To be honest, I'm still in a reconnassiance and planning stage which, I must say..." He trailed off as he came down the ground floor. "...puts us all comfortably in the same situation."

"You see, once we could argue who was more heroic or villianous than next the stuffed spandex suit...then someone outguessed...outplotted us all. He...perhaps I'd like to assume it was a he...even outplotted me. He wrought the Raging Times out from under my notice. He, the Mastermind, seems to have done it again." He strode from the stairs, past Jane and towards door. He stopped in the long forary. He cross his hands over his chest, turning his back calmly, cooly to the 'heroes' in the lobby.

"Your plan...I hope was something more substantial than "carve a path through the revolting rapists running o'er the rue?""

Bullet again treated his shotgun like a baseball bat and rested it across his right shoulder in his best 'Casey Jones' impression with an evil-looking smirk on his face...

"I'll try, but let's hope you're more not just good for abusing small dogs, dressing like a total homo, or 'holding your manhood cheap' while the rest of us speak about doing some good with our 'talents'. If you have a better idea then let's hear it, otherwise go find your tailor and kill him in as slow and painful a fashion as you can come up with..."

While he knew the man's reputation, as well as his ridiculous name, he wasn't intimidated or amused by 'Big Kick' in the least. Any idiot with basic reading skills could quote Shakespear or any such noted author, and he had trouble seeing how a man who dressed like the stereotypical villian from any children's storybook could instill such fear and terror in a populace like this man had. He had, however, used one of his favorite words:

Strumpet. Ha!

Then again, an extra set of hands, no matter how clad, were always handy in a crisis, and Bullet wasn't looking forward to trying to scythe his way through an angry mob with a shotgun and a .380 automatic. Despite his marksmanship talents, he couldn't call ammunition forth from thin air, but then again with this whole talk of being a 'hero' if he had a sidekick then that's what he'd want her to be able to do, and it had to be a 'her' since Bullet didn't think it'd be very heroic to have other people wondering why you spent all your time palling around with a dude. His theme-song would also have to be 'Love Gun' by KISS, since that would conjure the most apt description of his intentions with such a woman, and the fact that he loved to shoot people reguardless of what musical ditty was playing in the background...

Maybe I do have a death wish...

I had stepped back half a step, keeping my eyes on him as he descended the stairs. BK was a Powers Theif. Let him touch you for even a second and he'd add your Power to his. Plus I just didn't want him that close.

"Shut the fuck up" That was said to BK's face a split second before Bullet replied in what had to be totally characteristic fashion for him.

I almost lost it, laughed aloud, at the thought of killing the tailor. I had a feeling he was already dead, leaving no one behind to tell tales was one of DarkLaughs trademarks. And the fact that no bodies were ever found was another.

I choked with laughter internally for a second, swallowed hard hoping my face was as unreadable as the Great Stones had ever been.

Some days are good for dieing, some things are good for dieing for ...or maybe I just wasn't going to take it any more.

I looked over at Bullet. "He's right though -'carving a path through' will just put you in the middle of the enraged remainder when your ammo runs out. Bullet time may be fun, dieing over fun isn't."

A quick complicated move with the fingers of my off hand, the gesture not fully seen by any one, and the vault built into the unusually thick wall that sectioned off the Javaneese from the rest of the building slid open. The normal interior walls were 20 inches, this wall, put in later was over a yard thick -it wasn't the only vault built into the building but it was the one where some toys that Bullet would appreciate more than most were stored.

I'd let him come lug them out. "I think a ring of explosive fire dropped on the mass from a roof top might be a better option."

I'll have to admit to keeping a wary eye on James, his fathers and Big Kicks hatred and brutal fights were legendary.

OOC: I had to rewrite my post over in the OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14607838&postcount=152)

James had shown worry when told that Big Kick was at the Hot l. BK actually showing up and calling him out had, strangely enough, put his mind through such a race of fear-processing scenarios that he was oddly collected when the man his father had fought time and again finished his rehearsed speech. He nodded an "I'll be fine for now," to Jane, then walked up besides the man that had ordered him kidnapped and made his powers manifest.

"Marcus Shane Tempeston," said the son of Overman. There was little use for James to hide it now. "That is the name on both my real birth certificate, and my forged death certificate. James McDulny is who I grew up as, but you're the first to call me 'James O'Overman.' Ironically enough, you know my bio-dad better than I do. For that alone, all you had to do was ask politely to see me. Despite my better reservations on the issue, you're not the last man I want to share a meal with. If for no other reason than for efficiency, I'd ask that next time you just ask if I'd like to have lunch."

James turned back and went to Jane. "Alright, what do you want us to do?"

Maybe I was too young to understand what was going on. I definitely wasn't around during the Raging Times, where I would most likely have been killed off for what I could do. Maybe it was simply naivety.

But regardless, as the older man came down the stairs, I immediately had gently tried to probe his mind, preparing my own mental defenses as I did so. I barely touched his consciousness, I hadn't even seen anything, before retaliation came, stronger than all of the other telepaths I had come across before, but they were nothing special. Even as his mental retaliation lashed against the defenses I had set up, he was still moving, where I was all but embedded into the ground.

I told my hand to go for the revolver I had inside my trench coat, but it chose not to listen. Panic began to set in. I couldn't move, I couldn't contact anyone. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. I had never come across this kind of power before. It was probably a good thing he wasn't attacking us, or we'd probably be dead.

And then, it was over. A quirky smile flashed across his face before disappearing, his features setting back into their usual positions. A nod on my part showed him I understood, no trespassing.

I had to bite my lips, and hard. First Bullet slam dunking, now Overman's son doing the nice. I wanted to chuckle, I really did.

To the best of my knowledge - and I'll have to admit that the Academy did not Ever suggest any interaction with Villains other than foiling their intentions as quickly and efficiently as possible - Aunt May should have attempted to fry BK as he put in an appearance. But she hadn’t even considered it, or she would have warned me.

Yes she was busy teleporting the other Hot l Baltimore residents to safety. I could feel, like a splash of cold water against my skin, each ‘port but she had not even frowned at the Baron when he entered. And his look at her had been one of deep respect. I know that in most ways even though I had been out of the Academy for nearly two years when the Raging Times started, I had still been a naive innocent. May be he had changed.

I had changed a lot myself. Back in the day I never would have used foul language to any one much less to an elder or spoken sharply - even to a Villain. Politeness had been ground into me from my earliest memories. But one think has not changed a bit. I had been taught to distrust the good Baron - I'd even done my final dissertation on him. Though now I have to look back on that piece of uninformed puffery with a blush of embarrassment.

But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of suggesting any plan of action. We didn’t need him. And I knew that was a lie the minute I thought it. We did need him. He had more experience than all of us put together. But I damn well didn’t like needing him. He was too handsome and too sure of himself by half.

Am I so starved for companionship of my own kind that I’d even consider wanting to get to know some one I trust no further than I could throw I had to pause there and consider the limitation on my telekinesis. And there weren’t that many. Still I refused to think further on that vein.

Alright, what do you want us to do?"

“James, you say you can do most anything with electicty. Can you douse the power to the area, and maybe get some lightning bolts jumping from the light poles?” I was thinking that while there weren’t many out there but anything to throw the mob off. And it wouldn’t be discernable who was doing it, so the mob wouldn’t be able to direct their reactions at him. Thus keeping him safer.

I looked over at Anton. “If you went mist, you could get to the flatbed and get inside those cages. If all you materialized were hands and arms you could pull those rapists off of the girls and toss them out. That way you couldn’t be identified either. Then you could just fully go mist again and hightail it out of there.”

Ziyo, if you can influence as many as possible to just up and leave, is one less we have to deal with and one less we may have to kill.” I paused and flinched as the sickness of the mob washed over me again.

My face was stolid and I said the inevitable “We’re going to have to kill, make no bones about it. But we don’t have to enjoy it, we just have to do it. Though we should try to kill as few as possible, no more than we need to get in and out safely.” And that was said with a hard look at Bullet. I’d give him the means of rather spectacular destruction, but I’d far prefer it if he were judicious with it.

[ Hot I Baltimore ]

As Adrian entered beneath the doorway in the form of mist he silently moved to the right side of the hallway inside around the left side of both BK and James. He then moved along the floor as invisibly as possible until he came to the stairs behind James.
Here he moved up the stairs a few feet before he mentally envisioned himself as a misty
cloud with a face. He listened as BK finished his suggestions for the hero's actions to
free the Jokers held captive on the flatbed truck. Then hoping he wouldn't cause anyone a heart attack he said, " I believe I could help Anton with freeing the girls from the rapists if you would allow me too."

Ziyo, if you can influence as many as possible to just up and leave, is one less we have to deal with and one less we may have to kill.”

"I can, but you could make it a lot easier if you have something for me to project my voice over the crowd."
Wow, that sounds super random. I thought, grinning to myself. It would probably be best if everyone thought I wasn't crazy, so I should probably explain it.
"Suggestion is essentially the hypnosis you see in cheesy movies. It works easiest with a weak mind, but you can also force it upon them. That would be extremely difficult to go one by one, as I'd have to overpower whatever murderous thoughts they're thinking before telling them what to do.

An aura wouldn't work very well either. While setting them, they don't effect anything that is inside the aura, they have to move into the aura for it to take effect, otherwise the mob would be much smaller than it is right now.

However if they hear me, then one, I'll get some of their attention, bringing their unprotected minds closer to mine, so it would be easy to Suggest to that group to just leave. I'd also lace my voice with a saboteur, a small fragment of my mind, that would get inside their heads through their area dedicated to hearing, where I could tear down their defenses and get the rest to head off."

" I believe I could help Anton with freeing the girls from the rapists if you would allow me too."
Before Adrian even began talking, I could feel another presence as it entered the room. Changing your appearance does not alter your mind's position.
Apparently I still hadn't learned my lesson, and a small tendril of my mind lashed out towards the face that had appeared, looking for control, or at least an identity.

"I'll try, but let's hope you're more not just good for abusing small dogs, dressing like a total homo, or 'holding your manhood cheap' while the rest of us speak about doing some good with our 'talents'. If you have a better idea then let's hear it, otherwise go find your tailor and kill him in as slow and painful a fashion as you can come up with..."

The Baron gave a tired sigh and glance to the recalcitrant runner. "Come now, Mister Bullet. I have been insulted by a true professional who could do it without stooping to mere vulgarities. And I suppose you expect me to react violently to your slight against my manhood. Dear boy, that would require that I have something to prove. I have full confidence in myself, my abilities, and my sexuality. Overall, you are merely putting the wit in twit."

Von Puppykick glowered disapprovingly at Jane's vulgar outburst, but let it pass as everyone answered and postulated about their plan at once. The Baron merely stood and observed the discussion like it was a tennis match. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when the disembodied voice offer its assistance. More over he'd turned his attention to an empty column of air and followed it around the room.

After a few moments, BK turned around to look over the Masks in the lobby. "Marcus Shane Tempston...we can speak of your abduction later, but we haven't the time at the moment. If you have the ability, disabling that truck would be expedient as well. Removing the rapists does nothing if they can still drive off with our kind."

"As for you, Mister Ziyo. You might talk to your landlady, Mistress May. Personally, I would invest in a bullhorn or atleast a speaking trumpet."

"However..." He stopped for emphasis. "...I have heard nothing for the direction of your attacks, also nothing for the positions you would wish to start from."

Two Miles East

Don’t breathe too hard she reminded herself. Her small frame was rolled up into the dark spot in the large air vent.

In her eyes were reflected the bonfires of the intersection below. People cheered again, not the happy cheer of a festival. The cheer of people not being people, being horrid monsters to each other filled her ears and made her cringe.

A group of five bonfires burned brightly in the intersection below. A square of people stood and waited, they hooted and they hollered. Finally a figure was pushed into the open space around the fires.

She could hear the people scream…”Die f***, Die…” She could hear the bats as they cracked on the pavement. She could hear the scrape of the chains as they lashed out onto bare roadway. She could hear the sickening thuds as the bats connected. She could hear the screams of pain as the chains whipped their bodies.
The latest ‘player’ had attempted to make a direct sprint for the far side and jump the line. A chain caught him or her mid stride and went spinning. The figure staggered back up but was hit by a thrown rock. Another chain threw them around and finally the figure caught a bat to the head. The figure staggered back and fell over into a bonfire. There was screams of joy…evil joy as one group apparently celebrated their ‘goal’.

She closed her eyes and prayed…prayed to any God that would keep her safe in her nook. The roar brought her head up slowly.

The small aircar, no…too small to be an aircar…too dark…it was nothing more than a black shape against the few stars in the sky. The craft engine seemed to keep roaring as it turned in the air.

The players ignored the car….intent on their next victim. As another scream went up to heven, a reply was given this time.
It rattled her bones, the heavy distinct bark of the heavy machine gun. People turned and looked up in amazement, one whole group turned to look at the muzzle flash…then felt the fifty caliber bullets smack into their body.

The gunfire could be heard for a few miles in each direction. The bang..bang..bang…in rhythm as it broke up the game in a fuselage of bullets.

The Betsy turned again into the air to return to its course, the ‘game’ having broken up enough to allow the ‘players’ a chance of escape. The Betsy leveled back off and began to fly again above the rooftops…shadowed like some bird of prey by the huge fire a few blocks to the west. The roar of the engine was obvious to the people populating the roofs of the buildings nearby.

The heavy fire of the fifty cal was distinct to those who knew it's bark.

James merely nodded his assent to the Baron's offer of a later discussion. There would be no point in running, so he might as well avail himself of a future opportunity to learn about his father's most hated rival. Meanwhile, the suggestion of knocking out the truck was the optimal guarantee of reducing the rioters' mobility. James ignored the fog-person, closing his eyes and reaching out to the truck. Any type of automotive transport in Arc had basic computing equipment to deal with the otherwise impoosible tasks of driving. Of course, there were those purists that maintained expensive old vehicles that relied on mechanics and basic electronics alone. Such vehicles, however, were rare and definitely not made easily accessible to rioters.

James found the signal that the flat bed was tuned to, and working in from that access point managed to connect himself to the central electronics core. First, he engaged and locked the breaks, pausing the truck right where it was, though its slow rate of crawl had caused barely any perceptible change. The next part was tricky. Central cores were, by necessity, insulated from over-charge by removable circuit components. This allowed for fast, inexpensive and easy replacement of a shield to the core instead of working through the much more difficult process of replacing an entrie core system. James's eyes opened, somewhat fogged over, as he stared blankly at the floor.

Within the truck, the core was sending the start up signal to the ignition pack, which was odd since the pack was acutally a capacitator cell and didn't ignite anything. Still, that was the name that had carried through to the current day, and so James ordered the truck to attempt a full-power start up. Since it was already running, the cell drained, creating a cooled vacuum of energy back-pacing to the core unit. Instead of tripping the insulators by pushing too much power through, James instead pulled from the opposite side of the main circuit array, making the insulators conductive enough to allow a sufficiently large charge through, frying the central systems and allowing the build up created in the first place to fry the peripherals in a random enough pattern. The truck stalled, died, and if anybody had been sitting in the driver's seat, he or she would experience a rather unpleasant shock.

"Alright," said James, blinking several times to clear his eyes. "The flat bed is dead in the water, so to speak, breaks locked and clamped and the system just managed to fry itself. I piggy-backed a radio signal to it, and from the intensity I'd say there is a main juncture box no more than 150 meters away from us. If somebody can get me to the roof, I can try to hack that, and I should be able to override and control the utilities of everything in a three mile radius from Ground Level to the sixth. I suppose it's too much to ask for a parabolic signal dish, though any ferric metal should help me amp the signal up enough to reach the target. If Ido that, though, I won't be able to help out with the physical aspect. Jane, Baron, I'd prefer to hear from at least the two of you."

“If you went mist, you could get to the flatbed and get inside those cages. If all you materialized were hands and arms you could pull those rapists off of the girls and toss them out. That way you couldn’t be identified either. Then you could just fully go mist again and hightail it out of there.”

Anton eyed Jane for a moment, somewhat taken aback as she had just suggested something very similar to what he had in mind. It made him wary of his own thoughts and somewhat apprehensive of the others in the hotel. Some of them were evidently relics from before the Raging Times but Anton had just been a kid then and he was no hero, even if he had dreamed about it in his youth.

"Yes, I can do that."

Going mist involved a combination of Anton partially changing his state of matter into a gas whilst also dropping the density of his body to a point where he could pass through most solid matter. The end result was he he could take the shape of a cloud that roughly appeared to be human but could move through anything. And of course he had learned to alter certain parts of his body long ago. Contrary to what the comics and movies of other cultures said, those with the ability to move through matter could not walk through a walk through a wall whilst avoiding falling through the floor. It required keeping one's feet solid, then jumping through the wall, de-materialising the lower extremities at the right moment before solidifying once again upon landing.

Anton tried not to pay much attention to the one known as Big Kick. He was somewhat of an imposing character and Anton knew the stories so he was well aware that the man was not one to cross. That wasn't his business though, he was only interested in helping the Jokers and keeping himself alive.

" I believe I could help Anton with freeing the girls from the rapists if you would allow me too."

Anton flinched slightly at the appearance of yet another Empowered, a man in a mist form somewhat similar to what he could do. Quickly regaining his composure, Anton's curiosity grew as he observed what appeared to be a man. He'd never heard of anyone having an ability similar to his and it intrigued him.

Bullet loosed another wicked grin. The man might have been a super-villian, but he sucked at word-duels. Vulgarities, bah! It was the loser's way of saying that he didn't like being insulted in that manner...

"Prove that you're not totally useless and give us a hand with this rescue thing. That'd make you good for more than standing around trading insults with me..."

He looked back at Jane, who'd apparently enjoyed his use of the English language...

"Do you have anything bigger? Around the size of his ego?"

There was a gesticulation towards the shotgun he was holding, then another at 'Big Kick'. If the electro-wizard couldn't knock out the truck then a sizeable round to the engine block would most certainly jam a piston or two, if the thing was as old as it looked. The distant hammering of heavy machine-gun fire would be a fine example of what he was after...

"I believe I could help Anton with freeing the girls from the rapists if you would allow me too."

I swiveled around to take in the mist form of the new comer that had manifested on the stairway "You know slinking around places is not conducive to warm welcomes" And indeed in any other situation I would have lashed out with a near lethal mental attack.

But right now I needed every ounce of energy I had. And the faint sound of heavy weapons fire let me know that time had run out, though one means or another.

"Do you have anything bigger? Around the size of his ego?"

I waved to the two guns stashed within the now exposed vault. "Best I've got in the way of weapons. From the rooftop can you make a kill zone around the truck?” I looked at Bullet with one eyebrow raised.

A AA12 (http://www.defensereview.com/article623.html) with three extra loaded mags – 80 rounds of FRAG-12 (http://www.defensereview.com/1_31_2004/FRAG%2012.pdf) High Explosive Fragmenting Antipersonnel rounds

A.I. in 700 win mag (http://www.snipercentral.com/pm_sm.htm) with ten extra mags – 55 rounds preloaded total.

May looked up at Ziyo, waiting to see the end results of his surprised reaction to the newcomers manifesting. She could augment his voice, sending his suggestions directly into his targets minds as if it were his voice. He had a lot of potential if he’d just put his mind to it.

I looked at Maggie, catching her eye and doing my best to hold it. “Those Jokers are going to need you. I’m going to need you.”

There were more than just the two being raped; the other five were in just as bad a state…

I looked over at Big Kick and issued a flat voiced, direct order to the man “ Put up or leave. Get Bullet, James and yourself up to the roof. Do what you need to do to keep that crowd off of us. Make anyone close to the truck too busy staying alive to bother with us.,

“May, Ziyo …influence as many as you two can. But don’t put yourselves out in the thick of things. Use that window in Javanese, it will give you a perfect line of sight.”

“Anton, new guy, mist your way out to the truck, take care of the rapists, get the other five freed. Triage, I’ll teleport you in to the larger of the two cages. Once they are all free you guys mist away fast. Triage I’ll be close enough at that point to ‘port you and the Jokers to safety.”

I caught BK’s look “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be giving those bastards the Hero they deserve. They’ll be too busy wanting my hide to notice y’alls actions.”

The Hot l Biltmore Intersection

The crowds likely didn’t even notice the music…as the craft banked over the street and began to follow it.

In come the bluebirds
with bitter melodies
to sever all your heartstrings
As they light in the trees

No, the scene being played out on the flatbed was too fun to notice the music above. The crowd too noisy to even hear it.

But someone did hear it, a drunk laying with a pile of bottles on a building not far from the intersection. He just screamed “Shut the f*** up” and tossed a bottle into the air behind him towards the Betsy.

There the laws of narrative justice decided to take a hand. By law, no one who threw a bottle at the aircraft of the Hero could hit said aircraft under HFC 71.190 (b) A Hero’s conveyance or sidekick can not be stopped by goons, assistants, or other secondary bad-guy characters excluding those of narrative depth such as assisntant 1 (see HFC 70,120) or evil ally (see HFC 70.140) But the bottle didn’t fall under HFC 71.190 but under HFC 120.60 (j) A bystander will cause harm unintentionally if said bystanders action involves a projectile and will enhance the overall narrative style.

All of this means that the whole thing can be done in slow motion for a moment. There is a charge of light in the second nacelle on the Betsy as the air to ground missile activates and begins to push out of the nacelle it had been residing in. It moves out and begins to move when it is hit on the side by a rather full container of bourbon.

No damage ensues, the slight change in momentum is minimal, it just pushes the nose off course a bit. The system could have compensated if launched from say an altitude of 2,000 feet. At 600 feet from the target it achieves an accuracy of almost four feet, a mere six inches off in both directions to hit the target.

Only two people standing above the rest noticed the flash as the missile launched. One was a man who couldn’t watch what was going on in the cage next to him and so had his eyes looking upwards at the stars. Trying to sound out the cries of anguish from the neighboring cage.

The second was one of the bastards causing that anguish. He had been watching the crowd for a moment and when he saw the flash and realized…well he released his bowels all over the place as he dropped down into his own filth.

The engine motor roared like a lion strait down and then right between and above the cages…

Damn it... the voice screamed from the craft as it flew up out of the way of the impending blast.

The missile went high over the top of vehicle and it slammed into the wall of the building across the street. It smashed only fourteen feet above the ground into an addon metal signage system built onto the concrete panel styled building.

The blast wave of the penetration explosive went out in a pattern pushing the missile motor away from the warhead and actually crushing open the remaining propellant.

The first blast was designed to push the primary warhead into a thick bunker. It was quite effective in pushing the second, more powerful explosive into a load bearing beam of the structure where it exploded, not against a reinforced concrete bunker, but against a civilian high-rise. All of the energy ment to tear and rend asunder reinforced concrete turned the thin walls of the structure, and the metal covering, into a bloom of debris.

The first wave caused some people to lose their hearing, others to have serious shock trauma, the metal signage to break free of the concrete, and smashed the rather weak cages and their occupants off the bed of the truck.

The cages just fell apart as the pressure wave hit and debris and contents began to fall off the side into the crowd below.

The second blast wave was the one that caused the serious damage.

Sixty feet from the center of the blast everyone was dead, their brain having been the ball in a game of skull ping pong. The glass windows of the building on the first and second floor would be launched outwards as deadly shards if it wasn’t safety glass (not likely in Arc) to scythe into the crowd. Those standing in the intersection discovered how deadly bits of sharp metal sign could be when propelled by a blast wave. Some would also discover what it felt like to be flash fried as the motor engine became a ball of fire in the air to be distributed by the blast wave itself to those below on the ground.

At ninety feet the mob would be pelted by small, fast moving bits of metal and concrete at supersonic speeds, enough to go through multiple torsos. It would penetrate most clothing and flesh quite easily. Only those behind something rather solid would likely not have bits of metal penetrating their bodies, like say the body of a flat bed semi-truck. Of course they had just had a pile of metal and wood dropped on them. But they did survive the rather deadly debris cloud with their victims.

At one hundred and eighty feet the remaining debris would have slowed to subsonic speed, only breaking bones and slicing unprotected arteries. At this distance, the blast wave would make you deaf for awhile, make your eyes bleed, but still shatter glass. The glass in the cab of the truck turned into a pile of small square bits that were showed on the driver.

Beyond that the debris began to return to earth, some were no longer dangerous, but those propelled into the air began to descend, here it was simply mass that would cause trauma. A big piece of concrete falling on you from above could still break a bone, knock you unconscious, or even kill you if it spiked you in the wrong place.

And now everywhere there was dust. A fine particulate cloud hung over the area the blast had just vented upon, a choking dust that would make those who survived interested in breathing again rather than a pile of other considerations.

The Besty continued to pull up into the sky and then began to bank back north as if it were circling back.

The Ritz-Carlton

Kathleen scowled...Damn it I had a f*cking lock on that truck...second rate equipment...

[ Island In The Minds Eye ]

Suddenly Adrian pressure where his temples would have been if he had been in human form. As the pressure continued to increase he began to feel a duesy of a headache coming on. The problem was he realized was the fact that he had no physical body at the moment, so therefore the feeling had to be mentally induced in some way. It had to be caused by an attack from outside his body he reasoned. One of the people near him in the hallway must be trying to use their own psionic powers to invade his mind was a logical progression.

This revelation brought memories to the surface that he hadn't thought about for many years. They reminded him of something his Martail Arts Instructor taught him about mental discipline. The Art of Drawing an enemy dream warrior into a earth-like region created within ones mind in order to do battle.

Immediately he created such a world within his mind, a world that he alone controlled. A world where this overconfident enemy would learn the mistake he had made when he had decided him an easy mark. Adrian then willed his inner man into his created world as he started to open only that part of his mind to the attacker.

Adrian stood at the base of a tall mountain on which a shining city stood on the top. All around many differant types of terrain stretched out many miles in the distance, beyond where the land ended open sky appeared to stretch on forever. Mustering all his strength as he went into a stance Adrian faced the spot he had assigned as the attackers arrival point and waited.

"What was that! All angles! Get me an image of that ...that interloper and I.D. it now!" Howled the Director of Interior Intelligence - what you didn't think that Arc would spend more on intell in its own people than any so called outside threat? - Well they did, and has been noted before any number of Cloud Lander drones had been hovering over and broadcasting the 'entertainment'.

"Get that damned monster on tracking down the control station. That was a missile damn it, an unauthorized one and I want that operator in custody in an hour. Or heads will roll."

And people scattered like droplets of mercury. They didn't want it to be their heads rolling.

Elsewhere the order went for the security forces to roll out and move in. Some one had ever so thoughtlessly, ruined the night's fun. With the mutter of orders over the commo the massive tanks and lighter troop carriers rose on maglev or cushions of air and began to move south.

[Adrian's Head]

A near-perfect copy of Ziyo popped into the arena Adrian had set up, where Adrian had wanted it to appear.
"Interesting. I haven't run into this kind of defense in quite awhile. Unfortunately for you, it's pretty easily bypassed."

The kind of defense Adrian set up posed no threat to Ziyo's own mind. It was a simple defense, it could be used as a point of attack, but it wasn't very effective. Whoever hosted the arena was at a severe disadvantage, as they had to focus not only on their counterpart, but also on maintaining the field of combat.

"You leave me the impossible to defend against."

[Hotel Baltimore]
“May, Ziyo …influence as many as you two can. But don’t put yourselves out in the thick of things. Use that window in Javanese, it will give you a perfect line of sight.”
"Will do, give me a few moments."

Cocking his head in the direction of the misty apparition, Ziyo started to walk over towards it, moving past the others and taking a few steps up the stairs. The disembodied face could undoubtedly hear them, there would be no point in voicing something if you couldn't hear the response.

Crouching next to what he imagined would be the ear of the mist, he began to whisper, lacing his voice with tendrils of his mind. Regardless of how good your defense was, audible communication had unrestricted access to one's mind. Visible was useless, you had no control over the way light reflected off of you, at least most telepaths didn't.
"You will take down your defenses. You will not put up any more defenses."

Before waiting for the effects, he reached into a pocket of his trenchcoat, and pulled out a pair of earplugs. If he could use it against someone else, people could use it against him, as long as he could hear them.

The shockwave from the missile strike propagated outward in devastating fashion. The thick walls of the Hot l protected those inside, but every undamaged pane of glass on the west and southern sides shattered into a million knife edge pieces. The pressure wave drove them into the buildings interior. The upper rooms had been emptied of residents by May.

The first floor windows had mostly been already broken by the rioters, and the riot curtains protected the interior even further, but Javan, still watching out through the gaps cried out in panic as the blast wave sent razor shards into her and threw her violently off of her feet.

Every one within the hotel was caught off guard, completely surprised. The powerful blast blew them about with hurricane force wind and the sound of the explosion left them deafened.

The Jokers in the read cage were totally helpless, bound and injured as they were and the forceful removal of the makeshift cage from the back of the flatbed end the life signs of three of them. The other pair were fatally injured, they might live an hour or two more, but even full Trauma Level 1 intervention would not be able to save them.

In the fore cage the two women being raped died . One was impaled by a sharp stake of lumber torn loose from the wretched improvised cage. The other, her already faltering body simply could not stand the system shock of the massive overpressure. Of course those in there ‘enjoying ‘ themselves died as well.

But that meant nothing when the shoddily made building, some twenty stories in height - already years past any sensible civil engineers stamp of safety – groaned with a hideous sound – the mass of humanity in and around the intersection - the dead, the dying, the fortunately merely stunned and deafened, the unconscious, the wounded, the hysterical did not recognize it for what it was, and never knew their doom was sealed.…

The building began to collapse. Not with the tidyness of a well done Implosion by trained engineers, but with the unpredictablility of explosive structural fauilure. The bunker buster had been meant for hardened targets. Not this, and so it began to tilt, like a tree being felled, in the direction the failures came from.

To the north east and into the intersection proper and the building on the diagonal corner.

Anton didn't even manage to squeeze a curse between his lips as he was violently thrown against a nearby wall, his shoulder taking the worst impact. His ears ringing and an incredible amount of dust hazing his vision, Anton managed to stagger to his feet. The others were in a somewhat similar situation as they'd all been caught off guard by what was no doubt a very large explosion.

Still reeling from the shock wave, Anton began brush dirt out of his hair and clearing his eyes as he staggered towards the hotel door that was now clearly unhinged after suffering significant abuse from the riot and explosion. Poking his head outside, Anton took in the sight of bodies strewn everywhere amongst the debris. If he could hear properly no doubt the sound of continuing debris falling to the ground and the groans of the injured would fill his ears. Anton's attention was soon drawn to the evidently unstable building diagonally across the intersection. It appeared the explosion has originated there and the building had not taken to kindly to such and in an act of protest had decided to proceed with collapsing.

Cursing his choice of bar, Anton spun around towards the others and as he did so he began to chance. Despite still being mildly disorientated, Anton could concentrate enough to raise his body temperature and begin the transition from solid mass to that of gas. It began with his feet, slowly losing density and taking on the consistency of thick white steam and it slowly began to spread up his legs, engulfing his body until reaching his shoulders, where Anton willed it to stop. He knew quite well that if he converted his head he would lose the ability to speak and hear, although his ears were not of much use to him at the moment.

"The building across the intersection is coming down and it looks like it might be heading this way. I'd say it's time to make a move..."

No doubt it was an odd sight to see a talking head with a loosely formed humanoid shaped body of steam but Anton wasn't really worried about that at the moment. If the building came down on them right there Anton would have enough time to convert his head and the building would simply push him out of the way, along with most of the other air in the hotel.

I was caught completely unawares – no more knowing than any one else. Picked up in the grasp of uncaring physics I was thrown brutally a dozen feet. Or I would have sailed that far if not for the interposition of the unyielding iron balustrade that decorated the corner of the last bit of stairs.

I know I lost consciousness for a moment or two, and knew I was lucky to be alive. I could feel that my costume had manifested for a time and protected me. Given my ambivalent inner doubts it was amazing that it had roused itself at all. But it kept me from any serious injuries. I’d be sporting interesting bruises later. And seeing stars now.

I staggered to my feet, using the very piece that had blocked my impromptu flight, and held on while the building revolved about me but my head cleared fast – though not as fast as it once had. Training in a gym just doesn’t take the place of real combat.

May's chair was on the floor for the moment and she was dazed. She'd be bruised later and her hearing was ringing for the moment. Slowly her chair righted itself, and the larger chunks of debris telekensied off of her. She had always been extraordinary with large scale Tk, the fine efforts had been what had eluded her.

"The building across the intersection is coming down and it looks like it might be heading this way. I'd say it's time to make a move..."

His mind all but shouted it. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply for a second, trying to damp down on the rage building inside me. I would find and I would destroy the person responsible for all of this.

I didn’t hesitate, but took the location of Anton’s home from him. He’d proven himself to be a decent man and didn’t deserve the massive amount of shit about to come down on any one involved. And I wasn't talking about the Hot l B...And if you didn’t thing the Cloud Landers wouldn’t sort this out you were a fool.

“Thanks for being willing, your'e a good man” I said in his thoughts as I teleported him to the one room of his home that he was certain wasn’t dialed in.

A coccoon of unreality, shock had wrapped itself about me.

Ritz-Carlton

Kathleen studied the damage with dispassion. Odd, that blast radius effect was far larger than it should have been... She watched the events unfolding on both the television and her view screen.

Montague stormed into the room. "What the f**k, I didn't save your...." He stopped and looked down at her. The blue eyes, the deep uncaring blue eyes. "My god...what have I done...what has this city done..."

"I don't see what you have to complain about...although that blast was far too much for a mere G-5 anti-tank round...God, I must have used one of the bunker slams rather...I didn't want to waste those..."

Montague pointed at the television screen. "You see that building there...its a damn residential hotel. There are likely people hiding in that thing."

You have a trace...alien A.I. attempting to access router station beta...

"Save them...you have to save the innocent if you can..."

Kathleen looked up at him her eyes wide..."How..." Station Beta first firewall has failed...made several nominal 'control' connections per security requirement...

"I had a rather lengthy discussion once with a professor of yours..."

Kathleen pondered the screen and sat it down. She pulled out a pen and a peice of paper writting a quick note and then pulling out another device and placed it on top.

"Is that what I think it is"

"Yes and it's time for us to go...I'm afraid the locals are actually interested in my little display."



Intersection of Hot l Biltmore

The craft had completed one and a half circles around the intersection before the engine suddenly came to life again and dove.

It dove strait into the massive hole it had left in the structure and their was an explosion inside the structure. The blast effect inside was horrific, destroying the central core and weaking the outer wall supports such that the building might actually pankace.

Ritz-Carlton

"Do you even care about the people you've just slaughtered..." Montague began as he dropped into a chair.

"People....these are the same people that slaughtered my family...raped my mother and my sister before my eyes....the same bastards who had your Angie murdered in cold blood...No...those were not people standing in the streets...those were animals...no better than their slave owning bastard monsters that surround us now..." Her eyes were even colder now, almost alive with pure hate brewed over twenty-five years. She yelled back as she grabbed the computers off the table and laughed. She turned and looked down at him with a wry smile.

"What about the Jokers..." She raised an eyebrow at Montague's reference. "...The victims, the girls being raped...the people in the cages..."

"They were dead, the mob had signed their death warrant already...I just sped up the process and ended their suffering." She threw some items into a bag and made her way to the bedroom door.


"You could have tried to save them...I sent you to that blasted school and look what you've become...a cold hearted killer...""

"What would you have me do? Save this city? Why?...Show me one decent soul willing to save another life in it not because it will profit them, but because they feel morally obligated to...then I'll not give it a swan song." She walked out the door of the bedroom and to the door of the suite. He followed

"I thought you came for revenge for the acts against your parents..."

"The only innocents where the ones who stood by and let it happen...everyone else either participated, would have...or organized it for their own means....but standing and doing nothing makes you guilty by omission rather than commission. The only innocent are those dying in the mines...that this whole rat nest feeds upon like a succubus." She opened the door and looked at him. "I'm afraid I screwed up...they'll be looking for both of us...don't resist them...and tell them that your assistant was a Checka agent who missed their mark."

"Huh?"

"I'm not of course, but then who knows...oh, and I did leave them a present...one which should give them quite a bit of a panic attack."

"That remote detonator..."

"Doesn't work..."

Control Unit locate....

"I'm afraid the locals know where we are...Goodbye Montague...with me gone hopefully the will go easy on you."

Kathleen vanished through the door, a small remote in her hands waiting to at least get to the door before the security forces began to access the video cameras. Of course they would be blind in a moment.

James felt the blast, as it sent him flying into the wall of the stairway, before he collapsed at the bottom steps properly. He dragged himself up, trying to clear his head. However, in doing so, his thoughts of connecting to Arc's main network overrided, bringing a portion of his awareness onto the electronic systems. He immediately traced the path, and surveyed the damage from the blast. His physical self heard something about the blast bringing down the nearby building, but the surveillance devices showed just how bad it had become.

And then another presence was there. "Identify yourself," the voice said.

"Surveillance operator," replied James, mentally. "What are you, for your assumption of form is not human."

"I am the Harion Algorithmic System. For short, my creators dubbed me H-Al, or just HAL. I am told that this is a humorous remark amongst computer programmers. And I have no file on you. You are an unvalidated intruder. Prepare for deletion."

James felt the constriction, the attempt to cut off what HAL thought was a cleverly programmed virus putting mental pressure on James' mind. Before it became too pronounced, he vocalized what HAL would read as a programming function. "Initiate Zero-Division sequence." And James blinked out of the electronic world, returning fully to the Hot l Baltimore.

"There's more than just the building coming down on us," said James, as he oriented himself and got his bearings. "Arc's own A.I. sequence is already aware of the situation. Riots are one thing, but that level of tech is something else entirely, and the Cloud-Landers aren't thrilled. We need to move, now."

Deaf to the world, I failed to hear the explosion, and Anton's warning. The earplugs were the result of a deal of sorts, more of a do this if you want to continue living, with a scientist in the higher levels.

As the shockwave rushed through the Baltimore, the mental counterpart of me in Adrian's fantasy-world dissappeared from there in a puff of smoke, as reality jerked me from mentality, and only the most primitive of thinking predominated my mind. A sheer and utter terror gripped me as time slowed down, my body suspended in the air.
Oh god. I'm going to die.

The first thing I felt as I slammed into the brick wall next to the stairs was an intense pain in my right shoulder as it dislocated itself. The next thing was near universal pain throughout my back, which luckily didn't break.

Standing up and dusting myself off with my left arm, I rammed my right shoulder against the wall, resetting it to where it was supposed to be, crying out in pain as the bone moved back from where nature never designed for it to be. It was quite easy to set up a mental defense at that point.

Again with my left hand, I yanked the ear plugs out of my ears as James said
"There's more than just the building coming down on us. Arc's own A.I. sequence is already aware of the situation. Riots are one thing, but that level of tech is something else entirely, and the Cloud-Landers aren't thrilled. We need to move, now."

"I got a place of reasonable safety, long as you don't mind staying with the Combine. I've got a line of credit that they've owed me over the last few years."

The intensive thunderclap of explosive decompression within the hotel sent the runner sprawling, no easy feat as the man made a living through careful balance and zero mistakes. The shotgun, too, went spinning out of reach across the floor as its temporary owner rolled after it, slamming into enough rubble and broken glass to open some nice lacerations across his exposed arms and face.

As suddenly as he'd started his ill-fated tumble, he'd come to rest. Stunned, all he could do for about five minutes was lie there, ears ringing like a sex-chat hotline. He couldn't see much through the haze of the kicked-up dust, but after grouping around in the cloud he located his misplaced shotgun and made sure to check and see that his wallet and antique pocket-pistol were still where they were supposed to be. They were, and one thing seemed to have gone right today. Now he could expect to actually get blown to pieces next time since fate had already done her one good deed for him today.

Bullet heaved himself to his feet, bringing the shotgun up with him. He'd become rather attatched to it. The background whine of his abused ear-drums hadn't subsided, and he heard fuck-all of whatever the electronics asshole was talking about. Mouth was moving, just that same constant ear-splitting tone. He'd need another beer, but by the look of things the glasses hadn't survived either.

Speaking of glass... Something sharp was irritating the hell out of him in numerous places, and after a little investigation Bullet found he had what had to have been a crystal decantur set, now pulverized into razor-edged shrapnel, lodged in his face, shoulder, and lower back. The left side of his mug was bloodied and half-shredded, what would be a nice scar crossing from the mid-line of his cheek back into what would have been a sideburn if he'd had hair and across his ear. The smaller lacerations would heal in time, but that one would be there for a while. The runner busied himself digging the crystal shards out of his flesh while the rest of them jabbered on about whatever it was they were jabbering about. He couldn't hear them, at least not for a few more minutes...

Daybourne pulled himself to his knees and shook himself like a dog, trying to dislodge some of the debris and dust free from his jacket and trousers. The pounding headache he had was making thinking difficult, as was the ringing in his ears from the concussive force of the explosion. He slowly stood up, an arm shooting out to help his balance as he straightened up. Daybourne stretched, attempting to remove a crick from his back that had been put there by being knocked from his feet by the explosion.

“Shit. Fucking... shit.”

He couldn’t hear his own curse above the ringing in his ears as he looked around at the scene of devastation, information filtering back in to his brain at the sight. The truck the jokers had been on was completely wiped out, as were the masses of people who had been gathered around it. Daybourne felt little for them. He’d been trying to set some of them on fire, so that fact that they were now dead or injured meant little to him. It was probably a good thing, too; some of the mob had begun to make connections between the matches he’d been lighting and dropping and the Molotovs in their midst going off prematurely. Admittedly, they’d probably thought that he was sabotaging them rather than using his… skill to set them on fire from a distance, but at least it was some heat off his back. That reminded Daybourne, and he slid a hand into his pocket to make sure his matches were still there. They weren’t.

“Shit.”

Too late now, he supposed. The amount of crap scattered across the street meant that finding a small, battered cardboard box would be next to impossible. A noise made him look around. The noise was that of some more rubble cascaded down from the building opposite the Hot l, which drew Daybourne’s eyes towards it. It was listing dangerously because of the large gouge taken out of it, presumably by whatever the rioters had done to it. Someone putting a petrol bomb where they shouldn’t have been, surmised Daybourne.

Either way, it was time to get away from the area near the Hot l, maybe wait for whoever was inside to get out. Not that he would be going in to help them; that damned building opposite them looked like it could come down any minute, and Daybourne wasn’t feeling generous enough to go and physically help them more than he felt he already had done.

Being a wallflower had saved, again. When the explosion's shockwave tore through the lobby, I'd backed myself against the wall, trying to hide from responsibility. I'd also hidden myself from injury. I saw the others get swept hard into the wall near the stairwell. Jane and James seemed to have weathered the storm okay. Jane...she'd teleported that Anton guy with a thank you and barely more than that.

Teleportation? I hadn't remembered that as one of her powers from the Academy.

People changed...some people changed...apparently. Ziyo was up aannnnnnd applying old country osteopedic medicine with that oh-so caring dislocated shoulder into the wall procedure. I whinced. I'd have to see to him probably did as much damage as good. Men, trying to appear tough...geez.

I continued looking around and saw May. She'd looked as if she'd been buffeted around across the room from me. Whether she'd anchored herself with her mind or something just gotten lucky, she looked fine. I continued my scan and saw the runner, Bullet, standing shakily. She saw the multiple rivulets of blood running from the dozen or so cuts and lacerations on his face and shoulder. He was reaching behind him to get at something so she assumed he'd gotten it across his back too. I moved across to him. I called his name and got no answer. He was still looking at James and Jane, blankly really.

As I got closer I saw red on the ground behind him. Blood dulled the sparkle of the field of broken glass behind him. I stepped into his view and waved my hand to attract his attention. I slowly mouthed, "Can I help you? I'm a doctor," to him. That was true to a degree.


I was so focused on helping Bullet that I didn't hear the moan at the front of the lobby, near the entrance. I didn't hear what happened until a little later but the Baron, he told me about it another time. The Baron was just trying to stir. He'd been facing the blast when it'd happened. He'd seen it coming and he hadn't jumped to his right towards the wall. He'd jumped left into the door way and towards the stairs. He'd ended up half covered by debris a few feet from the foot of the stairs.

“Thanks for being willing, your'e a good man”

Anton had been about to reply to Jane when his world suddenly disappeared into a blur of colours, completely disorientating him. Feeling weightless, Anton had no idea what was happening and whilst his first teleportation seemed to take quite some time from his perspective, in reality it was only a few moments before his feet were planted on the floor of his 110th level apartment once again.

Stumbling to his hands and knees, Anton took a moment to process what just happened. He had seen the academy symbol on Jane so he knew she was one of the few Empowered that had made it through the Raging Times and evidently she was quite powerful. Regardless of such, she was the only person besides his father that Anton had ever shared his secret. Now perfectly solidified once again, Anton made it to his feet and stumbled into his bedroom, promptly dropping onto the bed.

Despite having been one of the first to rise after the explosion he was not fully recovered from such. His shoulder continued to throb although from what Anton could tell it wasn't badly damaged, just likely to be sore and tender for a while. Additionally, Anton's head was still swimming, although he could hear a little better than previously.

Switching on the TV, Anton promptly found footage of the explosion the resulting chaos. The cause of the explosion didn't appear to be obvious yet but no doubt there would be those working on finding the source and who was responsible. Riots were one thing but those living high up in the clouds would not appreciate that kind of destruction, especially since it could easily be turned towards them.

Whilst it was clearly dangerous for anyone to be in the area, Anton felt compelled to help Jane and the others. He'd taken the step of revealing his abilities to them and so it was a little late to step out now. Groaning as he sat up, Anton decided he would do what he could to make himself feel better before heading off once again. Aspirin would likely be the first step.

I blinked again and some of the transparent insulation of shock fell away. My mind flashed out, taking in all the life signs about me - and noting those that were no longer there – sharp rents in my heart …Javan breathing her last as I ‘watched’. The blank spot that had been the Little Old Man, no longer there. I could sense Hook though, and my heart eased the tiniest of bits. May depended on him for so much.

"There's more than just the building coming down on us. Arc's own A.I. sequence is already aware of the situation. Riots are one thing, but that level of tech is something else entirely, and the Cloud-Landers aren't thrilled. We need to move, now."

"I got a place of reasonable safety, long as you don't mind staying with the Combine. I've got a line of credit that they've owed me over the last few years."

My mind heard – and blundered past what James and Ziyo advised for the moment -. I had been hearing all the while with my mind’s ears, not the other s– they weren’t ringing but filled with a pain filled susshing torrent. I shook my head trying to clear them only to gasp inwardly at the shock of pain that tore away more of the insulation.

The Baron's groan of pain pulled me around from staring at where Anton had been. I had sent him off without conscious planning. I went to one knee beside the fallen Villain, drawing a sharp breath that was triggered as much by the pain the movement caused as the sight of the hand sized splinter of raw wood that pierced his back. Don’t move It was an order. Though I couldn’t tell if he was coherent enough to understand.

Maggie! Here, NOW! came the sharp mental demand, pulling Maggie away from Bullet almost forcibly. When she came to kneel next to BK I stood, still unsteady.

My voice was the flat tone of the deaf as I looked between James and Ziyo. “Yes we’ll need to leave immediately. But not we can’t, don’t dare trust the Combine. This is their territory, they’ll be the lead in the investigation of all of this.”

I staggered a little as I used my Telekensis to pull the two weapons out of the now shattered vault, though my Telekensis was working perfectly despite the remainders of the shock still hovering about me. The cases that held the two powerful firearms and their reloads floated gently over to Bullet. "Here, I can't feed ya. Take these in payment and do a vanishing act." I spoke in his mind. I was sure the runner had his own secure places to hustle off to. None of his wounds looked to be that severe.

Noticing for the first time that the number of minds present in the area had diminished by a surprisngly high amount for such a small group. 3 fewer minds were present in the near vicinity, and most of the others weren't thinking clearly enough to be considered a threat for now.

“Yes we’ll need to leave immediately. But not we can’t, don’t dare trust the Combine. This is their territory, they’ll be the lead in the investigation of all of this.”
"So? I've got a special, reputation, among the gangs throughout the lower levels of Arc. As far as I can tell, you guys have been hiding, hoping your powers aren't discovered. That's not how I live. I work as a hitman, and gangmembers who piss me off have a very strong habit of dissappearing, then showing up a few weeks later with no apparent cause of death, and they owe me some money." I said to the world, but then I shot a mental message to Jane.
Besides, between you and me, we can, persuade, them to treat us and leave us alone.

As I talked, something wasn't feeling right. The distribution of weight where my revolver called home was off. Reaching inside my converted pocket-holster, I couldn't feel the handle. Bad sign. Reaching deeper down, I felt the handle, or rather a splinter of wood of what was once the handle. Pulling it out, I continued to pull bits of wood and crushed metal out. Yep, that explained the chest pain.

Oh yeaIf I'd wanted to let the Baron die, which I didn't, I couldn't have. Mental Suggestion...that wasn't in Jane's Academy record either. I left Bullet to his bleeding and made my way quickly to the Baron's side. I knelt next to him and gritted my teeth. He was dying. I could feel it. He was still half covered in debris, but I could feel cuts, lacerations and shrapnel on and in his legs. His cape was shredded by smaller holes, and I could feel and see the blood leaking from him. However piece of wood...a stake as long as my hand was protruding from his back just about the area of his kidney.

Unconsciously old habits blocked out everything. My fears, my concerns...all that was left was my training. I helped people. That was I was meant to do...well, what I thought I was meant to do. I put my hands around the base of the stake. I focused my life energy into my hands and pushed it into the Baron. I had to heal the wound as I pulled it out or I'd just make it worse.

I was focused on my work. I wasn't aware of much of what happened. Again, the Baron told me later.

I felt him twitch, shudder awake as I began pulling out the stake. He reached back and grabbed my wrist. At the same moment, he reached out to James and connected with young man's mind telepathically. What he said to James also reverberated in my head, "Family must stick together." I didn't notice anything, but I know the Baron and James would have. I was feeling the wavy, disconnected separation that always comes with teleportation. The Baron was teleporting me and James and himself away...or atleast he'd intended to. At the very last, aggravating moment, a more powerful telepath forced the Baron out of James's mind.

James teleported too...but he didn't come with us. The last thing the folks at the Hot l Baltimore heard of me and the Baron was hisanguished, maddened howl.

[ Hot I Baltimore ]

As the explosion hit the bottom floor of the hotel Adrian's mental world disappeared in an instant as the force of the explosion blew him away from Ziyo. Realizing that it had freed him from Ziyo's mental attack Adrian decided that he had to get outside to see if he could help anyone. So as soon as the force of the explosion disapated he moved though cracks and open areas between what was left of the destroyed lobby until he emerged outside. Once outside he floated up about fifty feet in order to look around for folks in need of help.

James felt the mental connection from the Baron engage.

Family must stick together. But then the words were accompanied by images, none of which the Baron provided.

Big Kick fighting Overman in the skies of Arc City. The two engaged in a street brawl, having expended so much effort that the fight had devolved into a slug match. A heated argument as a fourteen year old boy left home to enroll in the Academy. A near explosive face-off between a grandfather, father, and young son only ten years old, the boy already showing some of the power inherited from his father and grandfather, the older two on opposite sides of the law. And finally, all three, adults now of varying ages, Overman holding a newborn in his arms. An unspoken threat should any harm befall the infant.

And James knew. He felt the tug of the space folding that was teleportation, and then another presence overcame the Baron's tether. Only James and the Baron heard the message "Aye, son, Family should stick together."

James felt the new tug of a different teleportation gate, and suddenly he found himself in a small room with an old man that still looked imposing enough to dispel any notion of weakness. James collapsed, his bruised sides starting to throb as the endorphins ceased to block the pain of his injuries.

The old man spoke, helping James to a long couch. "Lie down, my boy."

"What the Baron said, what I saw..."

"The words were his. The images were your father's, some that I learned before his death. Rest, and let me tell you the story of the Tempestons, Marcus."

Bullet stared at the floating guns for a moment in confusion, then slung the shotgun he'd been given across the destroyed lobby. He definitely didn't need it anymore, the one hanging in the air was a lot better, and magazine fed to boot. The bolt-action next to it was also top-quality. The runner took both from their mid-air hangings and set them down on the floor, followed by the reloads. He stuffed what he could into his cargo pockets, then cast about for some twine or something to lash the two long-guns together to make them easier to transport.

It was about this time that his hearing came back, and he became aware of the woman next to him telling him she was a doctor, but he simply waved her off, slipping a business card into one of her pockets. They might need his services again, and Bullet loved a good fight. That and this Jane woman apparently had connections to some high-grade firepower. The glass could wait til he was safe above the city again, and there was more than a little satisfaction that the Baron had been wounded. Arrogant prick...

Now armed, dizzy, and motivated, Bullet ascended the collapsing hotel with the ease of a hunting feline, bounding between crumbling structures gracefully before kicking off violently in order to get enough distance to avoid falling to his death once he got past the double-digit heights.

What could have been called home for Bullet was a hollowed-out air processing unit on top of a middle-class apartment complex, a file cabinet of wealthy servants and poor-ish businessmen in the middle of Arc's many upper levels. Within were the bare essentials: a mattress, a work-bench, a power outlet, and a few shelves. The one thing that gave it away as something other than what it looked like was the intricate lock hidden behind one of the massive bolts that held the thing together. Bullet had made the thing himself, a complex combination of springs and wires bound within a soild steel billet. To open it, one needed to apply correct tension on five of the ten exposed springs, which in turn released five tumblers within. Granted, one could bypass the puzzle-lock through trial and error, but one couldn't dodge the booby-trap Bullet had rigged up just beyond it at knee-level, a simple shotgun shell attatched to a mouse-trap and a nail. If one didn't know the combo and one tried anyway, Bullet would have known because they'd still be lying in front of his sometimes-home missing a leg from the knee down.

The runner deftly executed the correct sequence, entering his hideout quickly and dropping his new hardware onto the work bench. He'd already thought of a few mods. For now, however, he needed to sleep. After digging what glass he could find out of his flesh, he flopped down on the dirty mattress and promptly passed out into a dream-filled sleep...

Time was ticking down - more than just the continuing collapse of the interior structure of the cattycorner building, but within the Hot l Baltimore as well. May had set the destructs. No traces would be left. Time for mouring later...

Besides, between you and me, we can, persuade, them to treat us and leave us alone.

I shook my head Not my style. You go, get out of here. The Combine is not going to care what your gang affilations are. They have Cape Killers and you don't have the training to handle them. The last was an understatement of vast porportions. And if they caught him... at the very least, they had drugs designed to lay waste to any psionic.

Once again I reached out and plucked out information from another mind. I was a fully trained 'path and while he might have threatened me earlier, he couldn't have killed me. I was stronger.

Ziyo found himself teleported to a safe place he knew. I'd apologise later.

So did the intrusive stranger.

May and Hook were next. I took a moment to look around the only place I'd ever had a chance to call home, and my shouldners slumped.

The thought crossed my mind to just stay and let it end...

I walked into the bar taking one last look and noticed a single unbroken bottle. Taking it from the backstop I unscrewed the top and took a slug of the whiskey. I shrugged and Ported - the world disappeared in a rioling blast, as the first of the charges blew.

1080. For those interested it had been one thousand and eighty hours since I hit the ground running once again. Well not exactly running more like pause and double check to see if the redoubt was still as empty as it had been the last time. Indeed, not even the whisper of a mouse. But that was the way it was meant to be.

The vast majority of the various lairs, batcaves, fortresses of solitudes, etc and etal, had been found during the Raging Time and destroyed- even a Hero or a Villain can be broken and mind raped - and destroyed. The others who's 'owners' had managed to flee rather than dying at the hands of the mobs, those were taken care of when the Academy's computers were finally breached. A Hero was required to register their private retreat with the Academy. I had never had a chance to report mine.

And I had discovered upon my return to Arc that, to my utter amazement, that it had not bee found. Though after twenty years of no maintence it had been barely standing much less habitable. It was barely that now. I had had to do all the reconstruction myself, and I'm barely a adequate carpenter much less an electrician or plumber - it had barely running water and sewage but the electrical connections were beyond me - which was a laugh considering what I could do.

I turned on the camp light I had stocked the hideaway with upon my return and set down the bottle after taking another healthy swig. I needed to do this now, while I still had the will to do it. Then I was going to climb in that bottle and hope I could sleep for a million years.

Stripping down to my undies I shivered. The set of rooms was close and airless, not only were there no windows, but there would have been nothing to see any way. Not without the vast holoprojector and wall covering monitors in the next room spooling up.

See way back when - before they had done away with the military- if you were raised by the state you owed the government six years of military service. I had been in for three years when they closed the military down. I hadn’t been slated to go to the Academy at all, but I managed to win a scholarship. But during those three years I was assigned to the courier pool, running messages, paperwork and driving high ranking officers about. Inadvertently, during the Apollothemis scare, I learned of the existence of some of the more secure facilities. I, as a simple enlisted peon, was sent to be routinely mindwiped afterwards. However while I only had the most basic of training at that time, I was already stronger than the Evaluator they sent me to. He failed and I never mentioned it to any one. I guess I wasn’t a perfecta little Hero even back then. I sneered at that memory.

One more swig form the bottle I stood before the full length mirror, sighing at the darkening bruises. This would just make them hurt more and last longer. Fortunately none of them were on my face.

I’m primarily a Telekinetic, not just a good one but a fantastic one. As I stared at my features they began to shift, slowly and subtly but hours later I looked like a very different person. Jane Smith was no more.

I had ‘worn’ Jane for a long time, now I was myself again.

Rio (http://www.atddm.com/DL1.JPG) – Younger, more muscled but athletically lithe. We ‘Powered’ always looked younger than we were unless circumstance or choice altered that. I was two inches taller, and more feminine than hers had been. My eyes were violet again and my hair the rich platinum blonde it had been before. The alterations to my skeletal structure and body mass distribution would make my carriage and walk different. And my pheromones, fingerprints, retina prints – every identifier that wasn’t on a cellular level had been altered.

I sighed and took up the bottle, I wanted to be well into it before the need to rest dragged me under – and doing that amount of work on that delicate a level was exhausting.

I finished the bottle, sobbing bitterly, before unconsciousness claimed me.

Six weeks later I was drinking myself to sleep regularly, as well as making it breakfast, and lunch and dinner. It also made a wonderful snack. In the few times that I had ventured out - circumspectly and with justified paranoia, as Security was every where, even in the depth of the worst of the ‘brambles’ – well founded rumor said they were also conducting extermination sweeps of the Minus. Like an wary alley cat I had slunk through the slums of South Third to get to where May and Hook were holed up. May hadn’t been happy to see me. Oh she’d been happy to see me but not the state I was in. I wasn’t able to shower off all that often – no where near as often as I would have liked had I been in other than an alcoholics haze. And my clothes looked pretty raggedy, but drunks tend not to care what they look like. Thought I was a very functional alcoholic - I never blacked out or had time go missing. I know that if she could have she would have tried tying me up some place and drying me out. She also knew she couldn’t do it. I was strong than her. So she just said her piece and told me not to come back. I nodded and left.

I had funds stashed away at the redoubt, and while the booze I could get wasn’t the best, it was more than adequate to keep me drunk. And being drunk was preferable to being …

What?...I wasn’t even sure…but I knew it was preferable to being alone again.

6 weeks had passed since I had last seen anyone at the Hot I Baltimore. 6 long, violent weeks. After the Hanna ^O Incident, the mobs had been lying low, which incidentally put me out of work. I had resorted to a life more nomadic than the one I had lived before, never staying in a certain place for more than 24 hours.

Since then, with no more money to keep up the dye I used for the silver color I liked to style my hair in, it had returned to the jet black that I was born with. I had pawned off nearly everything I owned simply for sustenance in the form of food and drink. The revolver I used to carry smashed to bits during the defense of the Baltimore was never replaced.

I was almost ready to just quit. Just hole up somewhere and travel down memory lane until I finally just starved to death. It wouldn't take that long, my light build didn't have much fat reserves to resort to before digesting the internal organs.

I don't know what kept me going. Maybe some god somewhere had some higher purpose for my life. Maybe it was the innate desire of every living thing to just continue to live. Whatever it was, I hated it.


Currently I was sitting in a bar, a few levels below Main. It was a cold evening, my trenchcoat, with a new rip in it I had been unable to fix, wrapped close around my diminished frame. Holding my head up with one hand, elbow resting on the bar, I stared blankly at a television set, eyes glazed over. The bartender walked up and snapped his fingers in my face.
"Yo buddy. Wake up dickhead. You gonna order something or what?"
I chose to ignore him, which seemed to have riled him up more than not ordering anything.
"Didn't your retarded parents ever teach you anything? LOOKIT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!"
Now I could live with him insulting me. Everything he said I would probably agree with. But taking a shot at Otousan was something I couldn't forgive. My eyebrows furrowed, and my head swiveled to look directly at him.
"That's better, NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BAR!"

I had a better idea. I stuck out my hand and held it up like little kids do when playing army, or cowboys, the thumb cocked back like the hammer of a pistol, the pointer finger aimed between his eyes.
He just laughed, so I let the metaphorical hammer fall and said
"Bang."

His reaction would seem almost comical to the passerby. His head jerked backwards and he lost his balance, and fell backwards, straight into the back counter, definitely dead. The kid wouldn't be missed, I made sure of that by setting up an aura around his body that prevented anyone from seeing him unless they actually touched him.

And then I realized how close I was to home, or what had been home nearly two decades ago. I was in the territory of the syndicate, the Advent of Lead, who had robbed me of as normal of a childhood one could get in the lower levels of Arc.

Then I knew what it was that kept me going through the pain, through the violence, through everything between here and hell. A promise I had been unable to fulfill to myself as a child. The Advent's days were numbered.

But I would need help.

The first week had been the most difficult. He had decided to abandon James Robert McDulny. It was an alias he would no longer need. He was named Marcus, and would be called as such. For five days he had been in bed, the blast’s effects having left him with two broken ribs and a sprained wrist. It wasn’t until he had downloaded enough information on medicine that he started feeling well enough to get up and walk. During that time, Marcus had learned much about his family from Nathan. Or rather, Marcus learned from Great-grandfather Tempeston, or Grandpa Nate, as he preferred to be called.

Nathaniel James Tempeston. Grandpa Nate was the son of James Robert Tempeston, and it was from these two that the false name of “James Robert” had been fashioned by Shane Tempeston when Marcus had needed a new identity. Robert had been the first to migrate to Arc, so many years ago, and had possessed only minor abilities in sensing others with more than human powers. The subsequent four generations had been an entirely different matter, the fourth being Marcus. The story itself, though, that was what took up Marcus’s mind, the answers that it brought accompanied by more questions.

Marcus knew that his great-grandfather had been a Hero of Arc. The fact that Nathaniel’s son Byron had turned to the selfish path was what bewildered him. But Nate had refused to destroy his own son, just as Byron had, at the time, refused to kill Nathaniel. But Byron had fathered a son himself, named Shane, and that was when the true conflict had commenced. The private relationship between Byron and Shane was never known beyond the family; they had been that dedicated to keeping their professional and personal lives separated. Shane had tried running away on three separate occasions, until he was just old enough to gain entrance to the Academy in lieu of the service and get official training as a Hero. At fourteen, he was probably one of the youngest to be formally accepted as a boarding student without previous enrollment, but Shane’s background had necessitated this. Ten years later, Overman was the rising star of Arc City, a hero that would eventually win the hearts of its people, including that of a woman named Tracy.

“You were born a year before the Raging Times. I remember coming to see your father and you shortly after. Byron came as well, under a truce that I had asked for,” Grandpa Nate had said. “Shane was clear; if anything ever happened to you because of their feud, Shane would find a way to kill Byron. The fact that we are related by generational paternity means that so long as one is not a physical threat to another, our abilities will not function against each other. This is why, despite their fights, Byron and Shane would never be able to kill each other. The biological imperative to preserve blood-kin will limit you as well, just as it does to me.

“Your mother died in a terrible accident three months after you were born. That was what motivated your father to hide you, so as to protect you until you manifested, or grew to adulthood. Your foster mother is your mother’s younger sister.”

“You mean the McDulny’s are my kin?” asked Marcus.

“Aye. I was unaware of their existence until I chanced to visit the Arthurian plains myself, and that was when I became aware of your survival. Yet Shane’s wishes were known to me, and so I left you in their competent care. We Heroes are not yet finished in Arc, Marcus. When we do win, you should go to them again. I think they would be pleased to know about your importance in what is to come.”

Marcus nodded. “Tell me,” he asked of Nathan, “Did my grandfather know about me when I was a child?”

Nathan shrugged. “We will get the chance for you to ask him yourself. He probably knows that I am here now, however, and I was able to sense at least another mind that he made contact with before I rescued you. Do you know her?”

Marcus returned the shrug. “Her name is Maggie. I do not know how much she was exposed to her, nor how much she may have calculated or been told. I had no telepathic abilities of my own till you started showing me what was known about the ability, and even now I barely do anything other than communicate with you. Though I like spoken speech better.”

“Aye, I must agree,” said Nathaniel. “The spoken word has a sense of beauty all its own. The matter is not too important. What will be, will be, for we shall make it so.”

“So, Mags, how do ya like the Bad Horse?” The husky female in her helmet was obviously smiling.

“I’m working, Lady.”

“Oh, excuse me. Valkyrie, how do you like the ride I got Your Worshipfulness?” Sarcasm dripped from her helmet’s speakers like tapped syrup from a winter maple.

Valkyrie (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/Valkyrie_by_staino.jpg) rolled her eyes as she leaned down over the horse head figurehead that made up the front end of the antigrav bike. “It’s just fine, Lady Luck.”

“Oh come on, don’t call me by my codename, Valk…Valk?” Valkyrie ignored the voice jabbering in her head. “Jeez, you are a lot more fun before my snuggywookims got a hold of ya.” She snorted at that. Before Lady Luck’s snuggywookim’s had taken her under his wing she’d been a weak, timid, old recluse. She’d been Margaret Sinclair once. Sinclair was broken down and forced to the back. She’d become Triage, B-lister and super powered maid. The Raging Times had forced her under, compromised her principles. She’d been left with old, decrepit Maggie Sound, barely living, mostly hiding. Lady’s man had forced her to face herself.

He’d said that a lot had been done to her. No physical harm, but a great many of the ‘powerful’ had conspired to keeper up against the wall. They’d forced her to the back, to do their dirty work, mend their wounds, and to warm their beds at times. That was how she’d been made to feel worthy. Back at the Academy, rich girl Margaret Sinclair had been named Triage…a poor name, a French name…meant ‘the sorting of and allocation of treatment to patients and especially battle and disaster victims according to a system of priorities designed to maximize the number of survivors.’ It didn’t mean healing them. It didn’t mean protecting them. It meant working to save as many people but still failing.

Lady’s man had helped her. He’d named her Valkyrie, chooser of the slain. She’d named herself Margaret Eiradottir, (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/Valkyrie_by_deftlyheartless.jpg) daughter of the valkyrie physician. She could heal and slay from that beginning he’d trained her. She could wield Life and Death. She knew the basics, but she was taught her limits, her capabilities. Powers were one thing, but he taught her to use her body. Combatives, weapons, he drove her day and night.

Lady was help here more than her man. Lady, for all of her ‘wit,’ was a fighter. She’d been taught spears, swords, and guns. She couldn’t claim expertise anyone, though spears were her favored weapon. That would be a skill she would have to develop over time, but it was not what she would have to rely on.

She was Valkyrie.

She was ignoring her comm too well.

“Valk? Valk! Valkyrie! You’re brooding! Aren’t ya?” Lady was yelling in her ears.

“I copy, yes, what is it?” Valkyrie responded exasperatedly.

“Snuggywookims want you to focus. He can’t get a clear connection through you. I’m going to head you south southwest. One of the security sweeps ought to be down there. Might be some Jokers out ahead of’em and he wants to check there before they get over that area, so hang on.” With little more than that split second warning, Lady’s Bad Horse banked hard to the right for a half turn before straightening out. Valkyrie was the rider, literally. Lady flew this crazy thing full time until the heroine had a better grip for antigrav flight.
Valkyrie was merely the face of this whole thing. The brains and money and logistics were back in their little hide out. Valkyrie lifted her head up and scanned the area around her. She looked down below and saw the APCs of the Cloudlander’s Sec. Forces. They were safely hundreds of feet below her.

Well, they were a moment ago.

The bike pitched over…not just pitched, rolled over on its back and pulled downwards. Maggie gritted her teeth, feeling less heroic as she held on for dear life. The bike rolled right ways up. The horse head on the front of the bike had a wide open, wild mouth. It’d been designed to be an air siren, like an ancient Stuka, in a dive the Bad Horse whinnied and bugled fearsomely as it fell upon the patrol. The poor troopers were only now beginning to look up, weapons not even raised.

“Alright, Valkyrie, get ready to doo that voodoo that you doo so weeellll!” Lady cackled over the comm and then activated the sonic weapon concealed in the bike horse’s chest. The high powered speaker broadcast a focused, amplified sound somewhere between a horse shriek and a whinny. It was bowel-loosening, ear-rending, and sanity-breaking. It was the titular Bad Horse’s Death Whinny. The Equine Evil’s signature strike was resurrected from the grave by the mostly mad and handy Lady Luck.

Under the stress the troopers were under, it wasn’t more than a flick of her hands open from the handle bars and a furious exertion of her mind. She weakened already besieged blood vessels in their brains. A squad of men was a lot to concentrate on, but it was a quick movement because of the Death Whinny, nothing more than a poke, a pin-prick. The men collapsed, clutching their heads as the Bad Horse and Valkyrie roared onwards.

She didn’t feel dirty for killing the men. They’d have done the same to her, had done the same to her kind for the last twenty years. The last six weeks had been the worst. Lady Luck and her man had convinced her to fight back. She was a symbol. The Chooser of the Slain. The Gatekeeper to Valhalla, the refuge of worthy warriors. It was a lot more than Margaret Sinclair or Margaret Sound had ever thought she would ever do.

But it was merely a start for Valkyrie.

Six weeks and one day following the kidnapping of Hannah ^O and the ensuing riot, Marcus was once again in the midst of Arc City. This time, though, he was up in the Cloud Level, and instead of the clothes of a hired programmer, he was garbed in modified tactical gear. It was evening, and Marcus had work to do. Grandpa Nate had been specific on what was needed: Information on undisclosed facilities.

The more delicate research amongst Arc's leading R&D firms was carried out in facilities that weren't even on the books. Forget shell divisions, the owners simply kept a separate set of books for their confidential assets that were known to exist, but never mentioned unless the discussion took place inside a Doomsday Vault. However, the security teams were still making their regular sweeps of Arc's entire architecture, and the better paid teams would be making specialized trips to keep tabs on whatever new toys had been cooked up in response to the riots. It was the information on those trips that Marcus needed, since Arc was too big for a building-by-building search. "We have time on our side, but not that much time," Nathan had told Marcus during his preparations.

Now Marcus found himself running down a dark hallway, still a bit uncomfortable with flying indoors. Flight itself was becoming less of an issue, but the feeling of doing it was still giving Marcus navigational problems. He turned a corner to find two armed guards, dressed in less subtle gear than Marcus, who raised their weapons as soon as they saw Marcus approach. Marcus didn’t bother wasting time. His hands came out in a pushing gesture, and the two guards found themselves thrown backwards. The first to try to stand was hauled up and then dealt a blow to the stomach, before Marcus brought his arms to the guard’s head and snapped his neck.

The other fared little better, as he was shoved against a wall with Marcus’s palm on the man’s chest, before a short double-jolt of electricity arced through the guard’s thoracic cavity and induced a most definitively lethal coronary. No mercy was shown. That had been what Nathan had told Marcus, for these men took money and whatever they could lay hands on in exchange for their services to the oppressors of Arc. Still, for some reason Marcus paused after sending the two to whatever afterlife they deserved. Something about it was…not quite right. He would have to talk to Nathaniel when this was over.

However, the current situation demanded more caution. Had he not been so careless, Marcus would not have simply stumbled upon the men that he had killed. Besides, there were likely going to be cameras closer to his objective. He paused, concentrated, and felt the odd tingling that he acquired whenever he bent light around himself. Electromagnetic manipulation had come easily enough to Marcus that he eventually figured out a method of total EM cloaking. Movement on his part caused a slight waver in the air for those looking for him, but cameras were still sensitive to thermal imaging, and the IR spectrum was as easy to bend as visible light. However, in order to see, he had to make a slight alteration to his method of perception. Bending light meant that nothing could hit his eyes without two small dark spots showing up if one looked at him head on, so while still extremely useful, it was not perfect. On the other hand, the EM spectrum did cover the wavelengths for Radar, and when needing to check the thickness of walls and look for approaching guards around the corner, it definitely did the trick.

Marcus continued, managing to avoid any more guards before coming to a well sealed door. Here even the guards weren’t paid enough to see what was happened, so Marcus needed only to concentrate on the door. It was heavy, lead-lined and hooked up to a magnetic field scrambler. Unfortunately for the owner, while breaking through the door was not an option, getting it to open was a simple override. Who needed an overly complex passkey when one could just artificially induce a circuit bypass?

In no time Marcus was alone and inside. The terminal was on, and so all Marcus had to do was place his hands on either side, quickly accessing the included data. It was encrypted, but that didn’t bother him. He found the files, and brought out a receiving unit, copying the necessary information to the palm-sized storage device and decrypting it as the information flowed through him. Unfortunately, a secondary encryption had been placed on it, as most nearly all of the content was written in an obscure dialect that Marcus didn’t recognize. He would have to let Nathan translate it. Once the transfer was complete, he pocketed his device, but exiting the room brought him face to face with a large group of guards looking for their comrades’ killer.

Marcus didn’t have time to fight them all, and any excessive energy discharge was at risk of wiping his storage drive. Instead, he simply re-used the kinetic knock back to throw the group to the ground, and then took off running down another hallway. It T-split at the outer wall, a large wall made entirely of a transparent, impact resistant glass-like substance reinforced with metal beams, beyond which was an observation deck. Marcus didn’t even slow down, simply reinforcing the plating on his gloves as he ran, leapt, and dove through the windows, the air current sucking him out beyond the balcony and into the air almost a mile high in Arc City. Marcus fell about fifty feet before he pushed back against the magnetic field of the planet, as the familiar rush of flying took hold and he soared into the darkening night, leaving his pursuers behind.

Before he got too far, and having ducked a few unruly drivers, he set down on a lower building’s rooftop. Grandfather he called mentally, knowing Nathan would hear him.

I hear you, my boy. Did you get the locations?

Yes. I killed two men in the process, replied Marcus.

They would have died sooner or later, by your hand, or mine, or by the will of the people that we seek to liberate. Come, I will transport you home, and we may talk later on this. You know I would not ask anything of you that I did not feel necessary, my boy.

Yes, said Marcus, I know. And then Marcus felt the pull, and he vanished from the rooftop and Arc’s nightly skyline.

It had been a good few months for Bullet, business was booming and the competition wasn't as plentiful. Apparently the riots had claimed a few of his peers and the security teams were taking care of about one per week. At this rate, he'd be the only one left eventually, and that was good.

He'd been living out of his lair more than he liked these days, since it was more or less secure and well-camoflodged from the rest of the world, and that's how he liked to spend most of his time: Alone.

Tonight was much the same, a risky job that required he move under cover of darkness to avoid attracting too much attention. The lights had a habit of casting shadows, however, and that made landing a little more tricky. Well, landing alive at least. He'd land no matter if he landed on the rooftop he was aiming for ten feet below or the street ten stories below. His relative condition afterwards would be a good determination of success. As such, he stuck to running during the day as much as possible.

The SecForce grunts would be using night-vision systems at this hour, and that made the lights helpful so he'd stick to them as much as possible. Patting the cargo pocket where he'd stashed the data-tape in a crush-proof hard-shell case, Bullet threw himself upwards from his seated position out into open air. He hit the rooftop below hard, rolling to bleed momentum before coming back up again moving a lot faster than before. He'd need the speed to cross the gap ahead.

It was wide, and it was dark, but Bullet knew he could make it. One last burst of speed, then he coiled and lept, stretching his hands out for the edge of the building in the distance. Barely, like usual, his fingers caught hold and the agile runner pulled himself upwards, breaking into a sprint as soon as his feet touched concrete. Ahead was a wall-run across a bare brick surface before he turned and kicked off to catch hold of an insulated power line, sliding down it until he'd found somewhere safe to land.

Letting go, he dropped several feet before landing in a low crouch. Something told him he wasn't alone anymore...

"Stop! You're violating curfew, maggot. Get down here!"

Bullet was only too happy to oblige. Rocketing himself into the air, he came down again feet-first on the SecForce trooper's shielded face, driving his head into the bare concrete. Of course, his head wasn't quite as hard and Bullet felt the skull give way under his shoes. The next trooper was directly in front, Bullet threw himself into a forward flip to crack the man with a heel-axe as he was coming down across the top of the head, flooring the armored trooper before Bullet ended him with a stomp to the neck. Number three was a few feet away, weapon up and the runner dove behind an A/C unit as the pissed cop began spraying lead his way as he advanced. The guy was good, he'd give him that.

But he got a little too close. Bullet snatched the SMG by the hot barrel, his gloved hand sizzling as the heated metal nearly melted the suede palm before Bullet rotated his shoulder into the man in an impromptu hip-toss to the pavement. The trooper rolled with the throw, giving up his SMG in the process. As the man got to his feet, the runner threw the weapon over the edge of the roof. SecForce looked at him oddly behind his night-vision, then attacked with a low kick that Bullet nudged out of the way with his own leg, stepping in to deliver a bodily uppercut to the chin-strap, followed with a hefty left cross to the throat that left the copper gasping for air. He'd be dead in a few, Bullet had broken his larynx and there wasn't any way he was going to call for an evac.

Without a word, the runner was gone again, like a ghost in the night. He had things to do and stuff to deliver, and he hoped this little encounter hadn't made him late...

In the weeks since the fall of the Hot l Baltimore and the whole business with Hannah ^O, Daybourne had felt that a lot about his life had changed. Before the riots and the inevitable, heavy-handed crackdown by the authorities, he’d been a middling member of a middling gang in the lower reaches of the Arc, not really big enough to bother any of the major players, but big enough to carve itself out a niche in one of the many criminal activities that happen in a city the size of Arc.

The gang had been virtually knocked out in the riots and the clear-up afterwards, as well as all of the rackets and businesses they’d built up over the years, washed away in a couple of days of blood, fire and fear. The curfews and lockdowns which were now in force had prevented the few of the gang that remained from attempting to repair the damage done, and those who had attempted to do so had been shot down by the security forces or dragged off into the night, never to be seen again.

Daybourne had found that he just had stopped caring about the gang he’d spent the majority of his adult life. He had been intrigued by those who had been holed up in the Hot l and surrounded by the baying mobs, those who he had tried to lend a hand in their defence from the outside. He’d avoided the guards as much as possible and had a good poke around the ruins of the Hot l, in order to find out who they were and why they had been targeted by the mob. The wreckage of the building had not given up anything, and he had virtually no clue as to who the people had been. The activities that had kept him busy for years just seemed mundane now, especially when compared to the feeling of power he’d had over those in the mob, those he’d consigned to a fiery end.

He had, however, become convinced that they had been Empowered, whether truthfully or not. Those who knew Daybourne had come to regard him over the past six weeks as a man obsessed, obsessed with those behind the kidnapping of Hannah ^O and the Empowered in general. To this end, his flat, usually barely furnished and lit by candles rather than electric lights as much as possible, had come to have its walls covered in newspaper clippings, all documenting the events of those fateful days and the theories that had sprung up afterwards as to who, what or why had caused the events that kick-started the riots and the explosions that had demolished the buildings around Hot l Baltimore.

As such, Daybourne was to be found browsing newspaper stands, picking up anything which caught his eye in relation to the Empowered and any fanciful theory to do with them, or stalking around areas that had acted as hideouts to Empowered before the Raging Time. These places had been picked clean years ago, or had never been anything other than rumoured hideouts, areas of urban folklore.

just click (http://www.atddm.com/tab.mp3)

The training room was immense, covering well over a dozen foot ball fields and could not have been created, by normal methods. Just as normal methods would never find it, or allow one to enter - or leave.

Her voice swelled, filling the immense space easily, and at the far edges objects vibrated into their molecular components and people died as the Siren sang.

"Corrupt, you corrupt,and Bring corruption to all that you touch.

Hold, you’ll behold,And be holden for all that you’ve done.

And Spell, cast a spell, Cast a spell on the country you run.

And risk, you will risk, You will risk all their lives and their souls."

Hannah ignored the destruction she had caused, as if it didn't exist, looking up eagerly at the one who stood beside her. Her eyes begging for any sign of approval


<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>


Elsewhere a hundred and one jokers died as the air they breathed was replaced by Halon gas. When they sweeper squad guessed that enough time had passed they cracked the door they'd sealed and entered. Their combat suits protected them from the residual as they radioed for the technicians to turn the air systems back on and purge the makeshift residence the damned muties had thought would never be found.

Prisoners- slaves really - shaven bald and androgynous blaze orange boiler suits were herded in to clean up.

Another subsection of a section cleaned out - that level at least. Though the security pukes grumbled that the jokers bred like rats.


<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>


The newsies tried to place the blame on some losers from some country no one had ever heard of. Supposedly rogue government agents come to test out some new devices. Supposedly the agents had been killed in the round up, but all their goodies had been gathered up and neutralized.

Every one knew that was a bunch of baloney, and they said as much to those they knew and trusted. To strangers? No, no one trusted any stranger enough to risk being disappeared.

No it was all the fault of the Jokers that was the word on the street, and the anger was growing again. People were tired of the curfew, tired of having neighbors disappear, of having their Dole cut. Electricity was out in South Third two to even three days per week. Water was available only for ten or so hours a day. Fresh food was becoming harder and harder to find - and what there was priced Cloud Lander high.

Jokers were hijacking the food transports, and burning out businesses, destroying the water supply and the electrical grid - though that everyone had heard from a friend, of a friend, of a friend.

The Jokers in the shanty town south of the South Third, outside the protection of the South Wall were afraid to venture into the city, and those down under were skulking even further into the shadows like monsters under the bed, bad dreams made manifest.



<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>


"You sure that that device will control it?" The voice from the blank holocom was male and not too concerned, there was an arrogance in it, an assumption that anything spoken by it would be taken as orders from on High...

"Absolutely, sir, absolutely" This voice also as arrogant, dried and stringent, with a touch of underlying impatience at being questioned by some one who merely had power and not a string of academic titles and publications.

"Then release it tonight. I want to see how it performs."

"Yes sir."

And the conversation ended. The rooms silence was broken only by the shish of a crisp white lab coat as it's wearer departed to order the test to be initiated at zero hundred hours. "And make sure the Controller doesn't lose contact with it."


<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>


Midnight Come Again.

Silence broken by the rumble of heavy industrial equipment, chains creaking as weight, tons of it, refused to budge at first then reluctantly rose upwards. The tunnel was dankish, but the floor was only slightly damp and slippery, but that made no never mind to what paced out from behind the protective weight of heavy armored doors. It was eager to be loose, curious and questing, eager to be hunting its prey. If it hunted properly it would be unpunished, and that was very strong motivation. The fact that hatred for its prey was wired into its genetics was only meant to be a backstop to its programming.

It moved on soundless feet despite its density, astonishingly agile and eye blindingly fast despite it’s bulk. It had to be, for its prey was in no way normal.

Only the Controller would be able to turn it aside once it had targeted its quarry. Or so those that loosed the Hunter had intended. The extensive and brutal training and mental programming it had undergone should have made certain of that. All the tests had shown that the Controller would dominate the Hunter completely. The testing had been exhaustive. They had exhausted over fifty of the Hunters to prove it time and again. And it had taken years to grow and train those earlier itinerations.

Letting this Hunter loose had every tech in the facility staying, eager to see the proof of all their hard work. The original Hunter had been killed by it’s prey, but samples had remained, and those samples had been tweaked, and altered, and reinforced and bettered…now it was unstoppable.

Marcus returned, materializing on the personal teleportation pad and quickly moving off. One of the others nearby told Marcus to head to the larger practice cells. When Marcus arrived there, he found a sixteen year old looking at Nathan, destruction evident at the far edges of the entire room. "You're progressing, my dear. You've made excellent progress with your voice." Nathan looked up to see Marcus walking towards them. "Ah, my boy, I'm glad you're back. Let me introduce you to Siren. I'm sure you may recognize her."

Marcus paused. Before him stood the catalyst behind the riots that had started six weeks ago. "You're Hannah ^O."

"Was," said the girl. "Now I'm Siren. Since my rescue, I've been here learning to unleash my voice to its fullest. And who are you?"

"He is my protege. Have you decided on your name yet, my boy? We will need something for you to be known as." Nathan had a look of grandfatherly approval, but Marcus still looked somewhat apprehensive.

"Paramount. I figured, call me Paramount." But Marcus was looking at Hannah...no, he was looking at Siren. "How exactly did you get here?"

"I was teleported in. After those horrible people kidnapped me, I was teleported here, where I learned why my voice is so special." She was smiling at Marcus and Nathan as she said this. But it didn't last. Nathan and Marcus both felt the contact as another presence called to their minds.

Gentlemen, we have a problem. You need to come to the observing stations to see this. The group was led by Nathan, to the station where one of the others in the facility was watching feeds from across Arc. "Here," he said, highlighting a feed that was being blanketed by fog and smoke. "As far as I can tell, something big is in the area."

Nathan nodded and turned to the other two. "Paramount, how good is your teleportation?"

"I can move myself with ease. A second person is a bit more difficult. Besides, should I bring along Siren?" Marcus looked sideways at the girl. He wasn't too reserved about bringing anybody else with him, but dragging a child along to a dangerous situation was still uncomfortable for him. She looked at Marcus and Nathan with that eager-to-please, ready to prove oneself worthy expression.

"Take her with you," Nathan said. "But keep her back, she needs to see somebody with experience handle field work. If anything happens, I'll have her teleported out of the area. Will this work for you, my boy?" Marcus nodded. "Oh, and before you leave, you have the data we need?" Marcus gave Nathan the storage-drive, then took Hannah's hand, and the two vanished from the facility, reappearing in the darkness of night in Arc.

Siren immediately vomited, Marcus busy scanning for the large thing. He had not gotten close, preferring to make his approach by more mundane means. "Ugh," said the girl. "That felt weird."

"My apologies," came Paramount's reply. "I teleport by folding space, an exercise requiring a massive gravity field. You're feeling the effects of what is high-end g-forces."

"So, what are we looking for?" she asked.

"We'll know it when we get close to it."

Six weeks had passed since the riots and Anton found himself in a position that he would not have ever imagined himself six months ago. Despite his best efforts, Anton had not been able to locate anyone from the Hotel Baltimore and the woman that owned it appeared to have given up on the rubble that was once her business. Anton certainly didn't blame her but he had become somewhat disheartened knowing that others like him existed but he simply couldn't get in contact with them.

His failed search aside, Anton had effectively taken on a double life. He still maintained his apartment and a number of minor business ventures on the upper levels of Arc in order to maintain a steady income but otherwise Anton had increasingly found himself spending time down on the ground, especially in the South Third. Down here, Anton was known as Roger, a bouncer at one of the most disgusting, dangerous and downright unpleasant bars in Arc. The establishment had connections to some minor mob figure but it was a beacon for every low life in the city and was frequently the location of murders, assaults, drug deals and other various illicit activity. Regardless of such, the owners only wanted their specific illicit activity to continue unhindered and thus they required muscle to deal with any undesirable characters.

Anton had thought about what he could do for a week or so, considering how to get involved. He was only one man but after getting himself a small apartment/hideout down on ground zero, Anton felt a connection with the innocent people suffering due to the malicious acts of others. And so Anton had found the Rum Jungle. The RJ was a shit hole that reeked of suffering and fed on misfortune. Anton had initially spent some time 'casing' the joint, learning who the staff were and their habits. The head bouncer had been a man known as Giant. Not because of his size of course but because the man had been rumoured to grind the bones of people he had killed and sprinkle them on his meals. After following giant for a few days Anton had realised this was not far from the truth.

Knowing this, Anton had applied for a job and as he expected the owners had laughed in his face, called him a number of vulgar names and ordered Giant to deal with him. They stopped laughing when Anton's fist caused the cartilage in Giant's nose to relocate into his brain, resulting in a prompt death. The owners of the JR had taken one look at Giant's imploded face and hired Anton on the spot, completely unaware that they were now financing an Empowered man.

Due to the curfew, Anton/Roger spent most of his days working at the RJ, removing those that chose to drink their meagre wage away and purposefully murdering the men responsible for some of the more reprehensible acts in Arc. No one ever noticed that pattern, that all the men dying under the rock hard fists of Roger were all well established criminals and some of the most sadistic out there.
_________________________

Leaning next to the entrance of the RJ, Anton watched as the last of the drunks stumbled out, towards whatever excuse for a home they had, if any at all. Today had been quiet and there was little argument when the last call was made, no one really wanted to get caught out after curfew and end up on the wrong end of a security squad. The rusty window shutters were being lowered and the blood soaked floor barely rinsed, as if that would somehow remove the stains. Anton had quickly gained a reputation as a man not to be trifled with but that didn't stop plenty from trying. Many men tended to throw wisdom out the window if their own ego was threatened, especially when intoxicated.

Pulled away from his thoughts, Anton watched as three men approached. The two on the right stood slightly above him, heads shaved and covered in a range of scars. They certainly looked like seasoned brawlers, men that resorted to violence primarily. The third man was somewhat of a monster, standing head and shoulders over Anton and sporting a frame that looked like it could stop a bus by merely standing in the way. Sensing trouble, Anton called upon his ability and immediately hardened himself. The slight tingle ran all over his body, spreading a warmth that signified Anton literally was ready to stop a bus by standing in front of it.

The three men were now making a bee line for the doorway into the RJ but were promptly blocked by Anton.

"She's closed tanight fellas, betta find somewhar else ta drink yaselves senselass."

Several weeks of practice had allowed Anton to perfect an accent that blended right in with the locals and no one even questioned where Roger was from anymore, they just accepted he was one tough son of a bitch but would not do any harm to those that did not come looking for it. One of the bald men sneered at Anton, looking him up and down.

"Piss off ya dead shit, we be wanting drinks and ya aint gonna stop us."

Anton didn't move or say anything and simply assumed an expression that said all that was necessary. The man that spoke lunged forward in an attempt head butt Anton but the bouncer was certainly ready for it and stepped backwards into the doorway, giving him room enough to bring a knee forward and collect the offending man in the face. The destruction of muscle, bone and tissue was quite audible as the man gargled his displeasure on his way to the ground. If he wasn't already dead, his broken nose, cheeks, and jaw would cause him to pass out soon enough, where he could bleed to death in peace.

The monster man was the next to react, slamming a meaty fist into the side of Anton's head, adding further breaking bones to the orchestra of pain that was now filling the air. Anton certainly felt the blow and it even hurt a little but his body was far too dense to be damaged by the fist and so the force simply doubled back into the offending limb, causing considerable pain for the monster man. With him momentarily distracted, Anton decided to strike the last man first, delivering a solid blow to the man's gut that likely ruptured a spleen. Pain and shock painted across the man's face, he stumbled backwards but was not able to avoid Anton's fist connecting with his temple, promptly fracturing his skull. Now dead, the second bald man dropped to the ground to join his other companion.

Turning back to the monster man that was still in quite a lot of pain over his mangled fist, Anton approached quickly and delivered a downward kick to the man's kneecap, retrieving another howl of agony as he dropped to the ground. Moving behind the monster, Anton kicked him to the ground and stomped on the thick neck of the wailing thug, silencing his cries as his spinal cord shattered just below his skull. Panting slightly from the use of his ability and physical exertion, Anton resumed leaning against the wall as he surveyed his work. A low whistle from behind him signalled the bar manager's presence as he walked out of the RJ, his face showing no real reaction to the mini-massacre that had just occurred outside his door. Anton merely looked back to his boss.

"They wanted in and wouldn't take no for an answer."

The manger simply nodded and began heading inside again.

"I'll get Jack an Bill ta sort this mess out... ya can knock off now."

Released for the day, Anton sighed as he released command of his ability and his body returned to normal density. The tingle remained for a few moments before finally dissipating into nothingness. The sun was on the horizon and Anton knew he probably wouldn't make it back to his high level apartment by curfew, he'd be pushing it to reach his ground zero dwelling before dark as well. Knowing that he didn't really need to fear anyone but not wanting any trouble, Anton departed at a brisk pace, exiting the alley that housed the RJ and a few shady shops. Most locals in the area wouldn't mess with him but Anton wasn't worried about that, the security patrols were the real threat and could even prove troublesome for an Empowered.

Bullet's latest money-making venture ended well, minus the encounter with the over-zealous security crew, and he now had quite a nice wad of currency in his pocket. The night, like usual, was his to enjoy. That changed, however, once he caught a glimpse of what looked like, well, something big.

He really lacked a point of comparison, other than that this thing looked to be alive and yet it was the size of the mutated offspring of a truck and a bus after a night of fornicating in a puddle of radioactive waste. In short, it was the biggest living thing he'd seen. He felt safe for the moment, seated as he was atop a six-story building looking down into the streets below. His hideout wasn't too far, and he'd felt like taking a break and enjoying the night breeze. That feeling had faded quickly, however. Things like that we're natural, and that meant someone had to have created it for some nefarious purpose. He'd upgraded from the pea-shooter PPK to a larger Browning Hi-Power, an elegant 9mm he'd done some considerable tweaking to and was now a tack-driver, laser-precise and stylish at the same time.

Bullet didn't entertain any illusions about his personal piece having any effect on something that big. He'd need a tank-killer item, and he had no idea where he'd find one, or even ammo for that matter if he ever had the urge to build something of the sort...

"What in the name of Arc is that thing? It's fuckin' huge..."

There he sat, perched what he felt was out of reach staring at it, whatever 'it' was. He had a bad feeling about this...

Paramount decided to approach from the sky, wanting to get the literal drop on whatever this thing was. He touched down on a rooftop about ten stories up, crawling on his belly to peer over the low edge. He didn't intend to give out his position, wanting to let the black coloring of his suit to minimize his visibility. Ahead, at about a quarter of a mile and approaching, was the large, obscured shape. Paramount tried to enhance his view, but the smog about the thing was pretty thick. Other views in the EM-spectrum didn't offer much assistance. The thing appeared only as a slightly discernable, semi-solid mass, of approximately two stories at the shoulder and slightly taller if it had stood upright.

"Paramount?" It was Siren, over the radio in his helmet. "What's happening?"

"I'm not sure." It was somewhat odd, thinking and speaking in these names. "I'm pretty sure it's organic, but all I can tell is that it's a well obscured, and probably very dangerous, foe. Organic skin can be pretty good at absorbing light frequencies not visible to the human eye, and the smoke is obscuring the rest. I can't see much." The beast lifted its head, and made sniffing motions, before turning its head straight at Paramount. That made him notice that the wind had changed, and Paramount was now upwind from this...thing. "Uh, I think it just found me. Move back, get ready, and when I tell you, you do exactly as I say."

Paramount took out a small, thick piece of black cloth. He spread it over his face, charging it slightly through the day's growth of beard. It became rigid, aligning with the rest of his helmet and covering everything below the eyes. Goggles took care of that, leaving Paramount a figure of very dark gray with green tinted goggles. Now he had to deal with this thing. This is going to be pleasant.

The Hunter, had it been able to formulate such a concept would have been well pleased with itself. It had hunted well, finding and devouring a young woman. She had had no chance against the talons that has reached forth from a more obscured than normal alley way. Though in another time and plance that might have been minorly different. For in another time and place her minor abilities might have been trained, honed and soemthing to be proud of. Not ignored, hidden in self defense. Oh that concept would have made some chuckle. For her very acts of self defense med her a perfect quarry for the Hunter.

She had screamed once before death took her, but in this part of Arc such screams went totally unanswered, even most times unnoticed, unremarked upon. Though her minimal Powers had made her a not very satisfying meal, and the Hunter hungered for more.

It had not yet tested the bound of the Controler and thus it wsa allowed to range further, seeking out the unique scents of the Powered. Testing the winds it found more, faint yes, but still ...

It's massive head swung about and it began to move, clinging to walls with all the ease and movement of a chameleon or a spider, and fast, tirelessly fast.

Hunting

Paramount pushed off the roof to float in the middle of the street as soon as the thing started climbing on the wall with the agility unnatural for a thing that size. Crap, Crap, CRAP!! His training had not covered the situation involving a large, agile thing almost completely shrouded in smog running on the walls of buildings. When it was still beyond easy reach, Paramount shot the facing of the wall that it was on with a spreading lightning current to try to dislodge the thing. Instead, the beast came leaping outwards, straight towards Paramount, claws extended just a small bit out of the dark cloud to grab him.

Time seemed to slow down, as the dark-clad man flew upwards, missing the massive hands and the fangs by just over a foot, and using the proximity to stream lightning straight at the glowing red eyes that just pierced the haze blanketing the thing. It passed under him, landing at the entrance to another alley, and moved in. Paramount floated down to near the alley's entrance, but he was unable to get a location on the massive beast. It had, for all that Marcus could tell, vanished. "Where are you?" he mumbled.

"Right where you left me," came Siren. "Paramount, what was that?"

Of course, the line is still open. "Sorry, I was muttering to myself. Hold on, I might need you on this." He flew back to the high spot where he had been watching. "Tell me, can you use your voice to act like sonar? Whatever it is we're after, it's pretty resilient to anything visual, but I want to try getting a bead on it by sound."

[ West Utopia ]

Every since the incident at Hot I Baltimore Adrian had been laying low working with
Pennington to beef up his penthouse with layer upon layer of cutting edge security. The day before yesterday they had finished the security upgrades so he had decided to install some better weapons on his tank air bike. All day yesterday he had worked to upgrade the weapons and power of his bike because he figured he might very well need it soon.

The reason he thought so was because his clairaudience and clairvoyance powers had been showing him numerous security squads busy hunting the empowereds lairs they thought might be in Arc. With the new upgrades he had made to his penthouse lair in West Utopia he wasn't to concerned about the security squads.

But today while checking for dangers, he discovered someone helmeted and dressed in black peering over the edge of the roof he was on looking downward for some reason. It was then that he noticed something massive but almost completely shrouded in smog running on the wall of the building like a crazy spider on speed.

Adrian watched the battle unfold while being many miles away, he knew couldn't get there in time to help even if he wished too. So he watched carefully hoping to learn something helpful about this gastly new foe.

Since being in the Advent's domain a few days ago, I had hooked up with a cousin that had recently moved to Arc after hearing the legends of riches, endless job opportunities, and how the city was a mountain of gold. He had quickly learned how little of it was true for those who lived below the cloudlands. He owned a small restaurant a few levels below Main, and had an apartment not too far from there.

"Hey Giniro, what are you doing in there?" Koichi, my cousin asked, knocking on the door to the room he allowed me to stay in. Giniro was a nickname most of my family had for me. It meant silver, and was mocking my choice of hair color.
"Nothing."

That was far from the truth. I was hard at work trying to hijack the minds of animals. It was much more difficult than humans, because while most people speak the same language in a given area, animals don't speak the same language, and Suggestions aren't worth anything if the receiver doesn't understand what you're Suggesting.
But I had recently discovered something while trying to communicate with a bush. No I'm not crazy, if I could actually communicate with it, plants could prove a very effective surveillance system, attracting very little attention. And yes, plants have minds, but their minds work at a much slower rate than that of a human, and you have to be very patient in order to communicate with them.
But all life has a universal language of sorts that has been ingrained in their being for millenia. I've found that even humans understand it. It's inherent in every organism the universe has ever seen. I tried to vocalize it, but the best I could compare it to was the gentle rustling of leaves. Right now I had mindjacked a rat that had worked its way inside the apartment. It really wasn't very interesting, everything seemed based around food.

Another interesting thing I had found, was that everything, literally everything, including the air, rock, the buildings that surround us, was living. Though most things moved at a much slower rate than we did.

"Alright then, I'm heading off to bed." Koichi called
"G'night." I called back.

As his footsteps retreated, a new sound could be heard. A light pattering of feet could be heard outside. Walking over to the window, a giant, thing, for lack of a better word, was running along the walls of the nearby highrises. It had just jumped at a figure suspended in the air, before huge doses of electricity shot at it. Another Empowered.

But then it disappeared, and I sent a message to the flying electrokinetic.
Good evening, lovely weather we're having isn't it? Would you care for any assistance?

Despite the sun having plunged beneath the horizon and the curfew being rather diligently policed, Anton had not been harassed by anyone since his encounter back at the RJ. Despite working and living in the rougher part of Arc Anton encountered less trouble than he had initially expected. Most people simply kept to themselves as opposed to being openly friendly whilst those that went out of their way to interact with others usually had an agenda, such as robbery, kidnapping or murder. Nevertheless, Anton remained vigilant when he walked the streets of ground zero.

Strolling around a corner, Anton's attention was immediately yanked upwards in order to take in an entirely uncommon and unique scene. A lone man hovered in mid air, facing a creature that had recently leapt off a nearby building and was surging towards the airborne man. Before the pair collided, the evidently Empowered man unleashed a barrage of lightning into the creature as he deftly dodged the beast. Anton squinted in an attempt to discern what exactly this man was fighting but it appeared to be shrouded in fog, only the feint glow of what he presumed to be eyes evident.

Noting the creature landing in an alley barely twenty metres from his position, Anton decided it was best not to be on the ground. The opportunity to speak with the Empowered man also proved to be enticing, especially if he had been part of the group at Hotel Baltimore. Focusing on the form of his body, Anton felt his temperature rise as he began to shift, his flesh and tissue seeming to puff into a thick mist that retained the vague shape of a human. Floating upwards into the air, Anton reversed the transformation of his head and neck slightly, to the point where the structure of his body was intact enough to perform some functions, such as sight, hearing and speech but not solid enough to allow gravity force him back onto the ground. Still keeping his distance from the unknown Empowered, Anton called out to him now that he appeared to be idly standing on a rooftop.

"What the hell was that thing?"

His voice certainly wasn't very loud, he wasn't capable of it in this state, but it should have been enough to draw the attention of the other Empowered. It had taken a significant amount of practice to accomplish the limbo state where Anton could maintain his form just on the brink of becoming a gas without actually doing so. The end result was near weightlessness but still possessing the use of his senses, although somewhat limited. The comics and movies always glorified such abilities but the truth was that doing anything of any real use as a cloud of steam was nigh impossible. Sure it prevented you from being ripped apart but you lost your ability to speak, see and hear. Sure there was some form of awareness and a will to move but it was certainly not as fun as one would assume.

The crackling of electricity into the atmosphere and the arcid smell of burned ozone roused Bullet from his stunned state. Looking left, the creature he thought he'd seen earlier was chasing after some crazy flying fucker who was shooting lightning right back at it...

'Dude, flying is such a cliche superpower...'

He had a good line on the critter from here, well within the range of his handgun. Drawing the weapon, Bullet flipped off the safety and brought it up into his line of sight. Exhaling slowly, he sighted squarely into the middle of the mist and squeezed the trigger. The small 9x19mm hollow-point sailed off into the sky, sailing what seemed an unrealistic distance for such a round before disappering into the mist. Bullet didn't entertain any notions that he'd hurt the thing, but he hoped he'd at least gotten its attention. Before the empty casing hit the ground he was off and running again, bounding between buildings with agility that matched or exceeded anything the shrouded monster was capable of. He hoped so, because he was heading straight for it...

The leap the Hunter made between the building and the alley way, as it attempted to snag it's newest prey - prey that had treated it to the delicious electrical tingles - was an easy one, it could have made a rather much longer one with the same ease.

The 9mm round tinging off of it's armor had no effect on it what so ever, it barely felt them. The arrival of more prey had both the Hunter and the Controler excited. This would be a fine test.

The dark of the alley, combined with its own camfoflauge hid it from all eyes as it waited. Though it's patience was not infinite, for now it hunkered quietly, waiting in ambush, all senses alert.

[ West Utopia ]

Adrain watched as the man in black flew upwards dodging the smog shrouded monsters massive hands and fangs. The mans lightning bolts didn't seem to hurt it either!
This creature was much more dangerous then anything he had ever seen before. If only
he could somehow get some idea of what would hurt it. Hoping the monster would reveil something important he eagerly continued to watch the exchange.

Before Paramount could get a response from Siren, he felt another communication, although this one was telepathic.

Good evening, lovely weather we're having isn't it? Would you care for any assistance?

Hello, and yes on both counts, came his telepathic reply, laced with the same alterations that his physical voice had experienced in the six weeks of training and conditioning.

Paramount started scanning the streets for the man, but even as he saw the telepath another Empowered, this one floating nearby as a cloud of semi-smoke, brought himself to Paramount's attention.

What the hell was that thing?

Paramount turned to face the smoke-man. "Something wanting to kill me. A moment please, I must bring up another." So saying, Paramount stepped off the building and swooped down to grab the telepath from the window, communicating with the man during the approach. Please forgive this next intrusion, but we have company. Paramount slowed enough to prevent pain or injury, and grabbed the telepath from underneath, sweeping his arms underneath the shoulder joint and gripping his own wrists around the man's back, before shooting back up out the window and depositing the man on the roof where the gas-cloud man was hovering.

"Gentlemen," he said, trying to sound polite despite the fact that his voice was given a rather ominous inflection from the interference of the mask. "I am called Paramount. I am sorry to be so direct, but I believe you've both seen the creature, so I must ask that further introductions be made on the fly, so to speak. I'd prefer not to remain stationary." He looked to the telepath. "Can you enhance your speed, or would you prefer that I assist you as well?"

The abrupt intrusion through the open window of Koichi's apartment left Ziyo completely disoriented. But even so, what he had said, Please forgive this next intrusion, but we have company, allowed Ziyo the chance to recognize something. Whether people realize it or not, communicating telepathically doesn't alter your voice unless you choose to do that. This was the man from the Baltimore, Jimmy or something like that. Ziyo chose not to comment. If the man recognized him, despite the fact that his hair was no longer silver and his trench coat remained in the apartment, that shouldn't be any problem.

"Gentlemen," he said, trying to sound polite despite the fact that his voice was given a rather ominous inflection from the interference of the mask. "I am called Paramount. I am sorry to be so direct, but I believe you've both seen the creature, so I must ask that further introductions be made on the fly, so to speak. I'd prefer not to remain stationary." He looked to the telepath. "Can you enhance your speed, or would you prefer that I assist you as well?"

"No. Assistance would be nice until I can find a suitable host."

Anton waited patiently as the flying Empowered quickly swooped downwards and removed another man from the building via an open window. Evidently he must have had something to do with what was going on. With everyone back on the roof, Anton landed and promptly retook a completely solid form, his features becoming distinguishable once again.

"Gentlemen, I am called Paramount. I am sorry to be so direct, but I believe you've both seen the creature, so I must ask that further introductions be made on the fly, so to speak. I'd prefer not to remain stationary. Can you enhance your speed, or would you prefer that I assist you as well?"

Now a lot closer, Anton was able to see the flying man was masked and in costume, quite the rare sight considering Arc's aversion to heroes and the Empowered. His voice certainly wasn't familiar and the name Paramount didn't ring any bells. Anton was somewhat disappointed but it had been a long shot to expect he would simply stumble into an Empowered he had met before.

The other man was a completely different matter. Whilst Anton couldn't quite remember the name he had certainly seen that face before. Vague memories suggested the man had some form of mental abilities but Anton couldn't really say anything for sure save that this other man had been in the hotel along with himself and the others.

"Makes sense, I prefer not to get blind sided by that thing. You guys can call me Roger..."

Anton wasn't sure whether the second man remembered his name but these days it had become a habit for Anton to introduce himself as Roger when he met anyone in the South Third.

Bullet ended his roof-hopping antics with a deft roll across the roof-top where the others had settled. The Super-Man doppleganger had done the air-lift routine and brought two more guys to assist him with this miasmic demon. The runner came out of the roll into a slow run, stopping just short of the little group that had formed...

"Tell me you gents saw that motherfucker..."

He didn't think he'd imagined the thing, but then again he had taken quite the knock on the head a few days ago in a bar brawl. One of the men looked familiar, but the asshole in the mask wouldn't remind him of anyone simply because he'd gone through some trouble to conceal his identity. Not that he cared, but if some of these guys were the same Powered individuals from the Hot l then all the better. He wished for a moment he'd lugged that shotgun Jane had gifted him along for the ride this time, but the world wasn't built on wishes. He had his handgun, and that was about it. Granted, he didn't miss, but gunshots and fisticuffs weren't going to cut it on this critter...

No. Assistance would be nice until I can find a suitable host.

Makes sense, I prefer not to get blind sided by that thing. You guys can call me Roger...

"Very well. I can carry you on my back, somewhat more comfortable than the airlift. Roger, I..." But even as he was bout to continue, another man dropped onto the roof in a rather concise display of acrobatics.

Tell me you gents saw that motherfucker...

"Yes, we did. You'll pardon us, but I am Paramount, and we are leaving, and you are welcome to join us. My associate is some ways back and downwind, and may have a unique aptitude in this situation." Paramount offered his arm to the telepath to allow the mind-reader a position riding piggy-back. He needed his hands free, since his efficiency with aiming was highest using his digits and eyes.

He focused the comm-link to active, and sent a message to Siren as he moved into the air. "Siren, I have found others, and we are approaching. Start watching for a large, smog covered-thing moving very fast."

"Should I try to replicate sonar?" came a reply.

"If you can. I've got another resource on my back right now." Paramount turned his head a little to face the telepath on his back. "Can you start scanning the area for abnormal signals?"

Daybourne had often acted as a hit man for his gang, taking out those who either took issue with their actions and policies, refused to pay up when asked or were just plain not treating the gang’s members like they ought have done. It had been a simple life, one which allowed him to play with fire as much as he had wanted. Now, life was complicated. Had Daybourne not got himself mixed up with the events surrounding Hot l Baltimore, the fact that his gang had been crushed and the sheer amount of security on the streets after dark would have put a halt to most criminal activities he’d cared to indulge in. However, the Hot l had become a driving obsession, leading him to flout the curfew and proceed with his own investigations into the Hot l and the events surrounding it, which had so far taken him nowhere.

He spent his time stalking through shadows, trying to keep out the way of the security patrols in the area. A lot of patrols were uneventful, and they’d become slightly complacent in their patrols; at least complacent enough to become predictable in the paths that they took around this area of Arc, which made avoiding them easier. Plus, due to the curfew and the lack of others on the street, they could be heard coming from a fairly long way away. Were he driven by entirely criminal reasons on this foray, Daybourne knew he’d be having a bit of a field day, at least with shops and houses he knew to be abandoned. The curfew would mean that most ordinary people were in doors, so attempting a break-in at a house hadn’t been abandoned would almost certainly mean the trespasser would run into the angry occupants, a situation that definitely wouldn’t be win-win.

A noise caught Daybourne’s attention. He couldn’t place the noise, so he cautiously made his way along the street to get a better look at what was making the racket, sliding his hand into a pocket to grasp the box of matches that lay within. A gun was always much harder to explain away than just a small cardboard box. Daybourne edged around the street corner, moving his head around to look towards the source of the noise.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself. Some of the group of people were dressed pretty funnily, and Daybourne immediately equated this with the gathering being a group of Empowered. Paranoia was running high in Arc since the kidnapping of Hannah ^O and anyone dressed funnily were liable to get screeched at for being a masked “hero”. But, since one of them appeared to be levitating; Daybourne felt that he was probably right in making this guess. He paused for a moment, thinking over his options. Reporting this bunch to security would probably give him some serious kudos from the authorities. But then the evidence he’d been gathering over the last few weeks pointed to some sort of Empowered involvement, at least in Daybourne’s own mind. This could be a perfect opportunity to get to the bottom of all the shit that had been going on.

Clutching his box of matches tightly, Daybourne stepped out of the cover afforded by the wall and walked out into the middle of the street.

OOC: Tag, just a minor correction the group is on a roof top, not down on street/ at street level. But a lot of people of y'alls sort use the rooftops as an informal 'highway' and meeting places.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On nearly silent feet the Hunter dropped lightly down to land behind the free running Bullet. It had been tacking the scents, so delicious to it's nose, and now the whirling miasma surrounding it cleared for just a moment.

The small group on the rooftop would be able to see all of it's form as it sprang with no warning for the nearest of those exchanging bonafides. Only when it was in mid leap did it loose a reverberating roar, designed to if not paralyse its prey at least to stun that which it attacked.

Terrible, adamantine claws reached out for its next victim...

He knew it was behind him, he didn't know how he knew but he knew. It was an unknown unknown, something he didn't know that he didn't know but wasn't going to worry about wondering how he knew until he had time to think.

Instinct was all he was running on now, as his feet left the rooptop he dove forward, twisting in mid-air and firing behind him now that he was facing his enemy for a moment. It was indeed massive, reaching out for him with a clawed fist easily the size of his entire body. He kept up the gunfire until he felt his back hit bare concrete, there he transitioned into a backwards roll and sprung upwards again as he came out of it, catching a glimpse of a cooling tower behind him during the roll itself.

He felt himself leave the roof again, this time his feet coming into contact with the cold metal of the cooling unit, and he sprang off again into a forward flip over the creature's head as it lunged towards him, literally ripping the industrial air conditioner out of the concrete it was anchored into and sending it sailing off into space to plummet to the streets below. The runner turned in mid-air, landing with his front towards the creature as it turned to locate him again. It clearly had some crazy sensory organs, as it turned to look straight into his eyes...

Anton flinched in surprise as the creature appeared once again, this time without the shroud of a mist obscuring it's appearance. Even with a clear vision, Anton could not say what the hell he was looking at, save that it appeared hostile and quite dangerous. As the creature made an attempt to capture the newcomer, Anton moved off to the side in order to avoid getting pulled into the contest before him.

With a moment to himself, Anton focused and within seconds felt the usual buzz of his entire body's density increasing to levels far beyond most substances found in the world. Now ready for combat if absolutely necessary, Anton called out to the other two Empowered on the rooftop.

"I don't suppose you guys know anything about this... thing. Ideally I'd like to know how to hurt it before I consider charging in."

Whilst Anton was certainly ready to see what sort of physical damage could be done to the monster before him he wasn't quite sure if it would be much. A brawl against a few drunks was one thing that he could handle but Anton wasn't quite accustomed to fighting large beasts and he really wasn't quite sure where to start.

Adrian watched with awe as the shroud of obscuring mist that normally surrounded the monster cleared for a moment.

At that moment he thought, ' Man you are one ugly whatsit! '

But he was thankful for this momentary glimpse of the enemy.

Soon it would be time to confront this Abomination from Hell. So he knew he must pull out all the stops. He must ready himself!

The Hunter was pleased, or whould have been had such an emotion had not been totally alien to it. With a clacking of fearfully sharp talons it met the eyes of it's newest target and launched itself forward with another of it's paralysing screams.

Below however the massive HVAC unit never reached the street, instead crashing though the roof in a smaller wood frame constructed building, one that stood only four storeys tall compared to the sixteen floors of the building the attack was occuring on.

Mē futue!: A basic translation into Latin that essentially communicated the statement "F*#& Me!" without being too overused.

That simple statement was the thought that ran through Marcus's head and came out in a rather angry hiss as the beast came out from the shadows to attack the group. He was far enough away not to be primary target for whatever this was, but then complications arose. Namely, some other dude was down on the street staring up while the acrobat on the roof allowed the beast to smash on a lower building. This was going to get notice soon enough.

Marcus landed near the other man on the street, lightly enough to not jar his passenger before letting him off. "Hi," he said to the man with the book of matches. "Sir, if I were you, I'd get out of here right now. Shit's about to hit the fan." As he said this, Paramount started arcing lightning up at the creature's feet. Appendages with fine motor control on jointed limbs had, as a basic rule of functionality, more nerve endings and greater sensory input at the points of primary physical action. Which meant that blasting the roofing just beneath the creature's hands and feet had the best chance of causing it to lose its sense of touch.

Adrian had seen enough, it was time for " PsiWarrior " to make a move. After taking note of the battles location he deactivated his Clairaudience and Clairvoyage viewing, then quickly put on his new cevlar armor and Cowl like bullet proof Helmet.

Going to his armory he got out his gun belt and strapped it around his waist. In it two 45 caliber hand guns were stored. Going to his aerial tank cycle he once again checked the vehicles missile systems and its mounted 50 caliber machine guns.

Then as he climbed aboard the seat he fired up the cycles engines. Then using the controls he lifted off and quickly excelerated down his launch tube to the hidden exit. As he flew into the sky he remotely resealed the exit tube. Then turned the cycles flight path towards the coming Battle.

Almost instantly a trio of armed Mob security cars (http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Arts/Arts_/Pictures/2007/08/30/bladerunner460.jpg) were on Psiwarrior as his airbike took to the skies. The bike wasn't squaking transponder codes as a registered vehicle would and it was after curfew. This being the more 'civilized' North Third, the organizations that ran the various sectors were greatly concerned about keeping things peaceful for the inhabitants.

However since this was the North Third they'd be polite and give the unknown a chance to surrender before blowing him out of the sky...

"Unregistered vehicle, unregistered vehicle, drop down to ground level and prepare to show I.D." The metalic voice of the enforcer in the lead vehicle came over it's loudspeaker, and would be clearly audible to the person on the air bike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anton's solidification had not gone unnoticed, the Hunter would have been a poor specimen if he could only target one danger at a time. One arm stretched impossibly far out- elongating in a most bizzare fashion -the preternaturally sharp talons reaching to to swipe at him. They might not piecre his skin, but they would certainly leave his clothes hanging off of him in tatters.

And no, the event of twenty ton HVAC unit crashing through the roof, and mostly demolishing the building protected by said roof...was certainly not going unnoticed as flames licked up and began to spread through the crushed building - as did the screams of those trapped with in the now burning building.

The lightning that danced briefly around the Hunters feet, did not have the effect hoped, and besides, it's feet were soon no longer visible from those below as it had sprung back towards Bullet.

The thing was fast, he'd give it that. The whole object was lunging towards him now, and Bullet reacted accordingly. He charged forwards, going into an impossibly low slide as he neared the creature, passing directly under it to come up in a crouch firing a pair of rounds at the creature's back while it was exposed. The armored bulk deflected both rounds fairly easily...

'Maybe if I...'

Bullet whipped the handgun around in an arc, pulling the trigger about 7/8 of the way towards completion, sending the bullet in a tight arc of its own towards the side of the creature's head. If the body was too well armored, maybe the eyes would be good targets. He'd have to let it turn around, however...

Marcus saw the flames start spreading throughout the building that the large HVAC unit had hit. He looked to the rooftop where the monstrosity was fighting the acrobatic gunman and the apparent shape shifter (he was uncertain of the exact nature of the gas-cloud-man), but decided to deal with the burning building. It was occupied, a residence unit, which meant people were inside.

He turned to the telepath and the other man on the street, who happened to be playing with some matches. "I'm going in," he said simply. "Help with the fire and rescue, in whatever form, would be appreciated." So saying, Paramount flew to the roof of the short building, drawing at the thermal energy being released by the fire. Heated air, as well as most every other medium, impeded the flow of electricity by causing molecules to move more rapidly. So, instead of simply trying to amp up the force, or rather, instead of trying to increase the voltage, he simply switched focus. Thermal energy could be quantified and radiated as infrared radiation, just like any other part of the EM spectrum. Which meant that drawing in IR energy would cool the surrounding space.

Descending through the hole in the roof, Marcus began draining the ambient heat, focusing it into a single beam and aiming it straight up and out into the night sky of Arc City. Meanwhile, he started scanning, floor by floor, noting the various groups of trapped people. At the ground floor, he blew out a blocked entrance, allowing for a quick exit to the street once close.

Anton had not been expected the creature to launch an attack whilst simultaneously dealing with Bullet and was therefore completely caught of guard as the arm expanded itself to the point necessary to deliver a swift blow. Despite not being mentally ready for the attack, Anton's hardened body took the hit in stride, the talons leaving faint scratches upon his skin but otherwise not doing anything. Anton's t-shirt was shredded to pieces as he had not extended his hardening to the clothes he wore.

Whilst it technically was possible for Anton to influence some matter that he came into physical contact with, it was much more difficult to do so than it was to simply apply the changes to his own body. Due to such he rarely hardened his clothes as it was simply an unnecessary effort. Not particularly worried about his shirt, Anton decided it was time for some action and as the taloned arm took another swipe at him, Anton stepped to the side and gripped the arm in both hands. Holding it in place, Anton began to pound on the arm with his right fist as hard as he could. He had no idea whether it would be effective or not but in his experience most materials did not stand up well against being pounded on by sledge hammers and Anton was pretty sure his fists were harder.

Despite his efforts, Anton was only able to land a few blows before he lost his grip on the arm that had attacked him. Whatever his foe was it was certainly strong and was evidently more than willing to put up a fight. Now separated from the creature, Anton stood at the ready in case it decided to attempt another attack.

Almost instantly a trio of armed Mob security cars (http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Arts/Arts_/Pictures/2007/08/30/bladerunner460.jpg) were on Psiwarrior as his airbike took to the skies. The bike wasn't squaking transponder codes as a registered vehicle would and it was after curfew. This being the more 'civilized' North Third, the organizations that ran the various sectors were greatly concerned about keeping things peaceful for the inhabitants.

However since this was the North Third they'd be polite and give the unknown a chance to surrender before blowing him out of the sky...

"Unregistered vehicle, unregistered vehicle, drop down to ground level and prepare to show I.D." The metalic voice of the enforcer in the lead vehicle came over it's loudspeaker, and would be clearly audible to the person on the air bike.


PsiWarrior couldn't believe the bad luck! How in the world had Arc Security found him so quickly? Well I better stop and see what they want.he thought. Then I will decide what else to do. Immediately he slowed to a stop hoovering in mid air.

On the roof top…

Anton & Bullet

The Hunter snarled at the pounding going against his arm, but it did little more than cause blunt trauma and some not much noticed pain. But for the next strike time it swung an elongating elastic claw hand at the hard man, intending to enwrap his opponent and draw him near for more direct attacks.

As it did so, it turned a bit to follow the bouncing Bullet, and one of the heavy duty rounds the runner had fired, struck it directly on the eye. The Hunter screamed – this time its sonic attack would affect every one in the vicinity – Bullet and Anton alike.

In the North Third.

Psiwarrior

The patrol squad had simply gotten lucky- right place at the right time. North Third was actually punishment detail – it was boring as all get out and you had to be polite to the nose-in-the-air arses who thought they were the be all and end all.

“Please, land at that pad, there and have your I.D. available.” a spot light lit a empty roof top pad the next building over, it’s red and green guide lights a-twinkle. The voice was more than mildly irritated but tried hard to hide it. They weren’t going to get a chance to play ‘hunt the idiot’, and that made the occupants of all three cars sigh in disappointment. It would have been something to break the monotony.

Paramount and the house afire…

Marcus never noticed it, as he turned to deal with the burning building, but the man on the ground simply shook his head and darted away. Soon he was lost from sight in the twists and turns of the jumble.

There were people screaming, many trying to flee, other searching for family members – and almost none of them paid any attention to the appearance of Paramount. Thought one man stopped , went pale and screamed at the tops of his not inconsiderable lungs “They’ve come to burn us alive, Run! Run for your lives A Powered is here!”

But most of those present in the not so towering inferno were simply glad that the fire was disappearing and that a second opening had been created. There were plenty of people still trapped in the four story tinderbox, and most of them seemed to be children.

Anton swore furiously as he noted his attempts at doing any damage were not particularly successful. Whatever this creature was it sure as hell wasn't natural and it was going to take a hell of a lot of force to knock it down for the count. Sipping to the side, Anton prepared for the next attack but was caught off guard by the speed of his foe and found himself firmly wrapped up in one of the elastic claws. Despite repeated efforts, Anton was unable to break the fierce grip holding him prisoner and found himself being drawn closer to the beast proper.

As Anton was pulled in closer, one of Bullet's bullets struck the creature in the eye, causing it to release an ear drum shattering scream. Anton grunted in pain and was so bewildered by the noise he lost all concentration and resumed his ordinary state. Now feeling the full force of the grip on his tender body, Anton couldn't help but grunt as his muscles, bones and organs were being compressed.

Unwilling to wait around and fight out what was about to happen to him, Anton quickly willed himself into another form of matter, gas to be specific. His body simply exploded into a cloud of gas that easily slipped through the grasp of the Hunter and lazily floated upwards, quite out of reach. Not content with his mere escape, the gaseous Anton converged in the air about fifteen metres above the Hunter and solidified once again, taking a solid human form that promptly hardened itself once again.

Anton had no idea whether the height would be enough to gain the right speed for some serious damage but it was worth a shot and so Anton began the quick plunge back towards the rooftop, positioning himself right above the Hunter with the intent of delivering an impromptu body slam.

Not wanting to promote unwanted notoriety PsiWarrior decended to the roof the security personal endicated, pulled his ID out of his wallet. Flashing his best smile he handed it to the officer in question then said, " Now if there isn't anything else I have a meeting I need to attend too. "

Paramount was forced to ignore the man that had started screaming and then run off. There were people trapped. “Move to the front entrance! It is clear!” he shouted out, layering his voice with empathetic calm as he began the evacuation. People were already starting to move out, but those trapped would need his help. He held his hands out as he moved, the people moving past making light contact and allowing him glimpses into their minds, targeted to their spatial memories of the place. Telepathy wasn’t like reading a book, it was akin to being present inside one’s consciousness, and the memories were experienced in a fashion similar to a three dimensional cinema that involved all five senses. The visual layout was accompanied by the sounds of footsteps on the flooring, the smells coming from the neighbors that didn’t wash enough, the feel of the air in the vents as one walked down the hall. Paramount layered them on top of each other, compressing them based on general consensus and familiarity to start building the working map of the building.

When the monster above screamed, Paramount turned for a moment and willed more thermal energy upwards and out of the hole in the building, spreading it to create more chaotic movement of all particles, thereby decreasing the effects of the sound. It didn’t negate the sound fully, but it did manage to remove the nastier aspects of whatever that scream was. He moved to the units, unable to see much beyond what was in front of him. The heat from the fire and wood construction, combined with what may have been lead-based paint, made much of his ability to see along the EM spectrum useless. In one unit, a piece of a dresser had trapped a child, her parents unable to move it. Paramount shoved it to the side, freeing the girl and letting the family make their escape. At another instance, a parent was on the floor, unconscious, his two children nearby and terribly frightened. Paramount set the man over his shoulder, and held the children to his chest using a mixture of his arm and targeted static cling on their clothing.

Upon getting them to the growing crowd in the street, Paramount realized that they were all too close to the battle on the nearby rooftop. “Please, everybody, I need you to move back. This area isn’t safe,” again intoning his speech with an empathetic desire to move away from the rooftop battle. However, he could do no more than plant the suggestion, as there were more trapped inside the building that needed rescue. The family he had hauled out was taken by well intentioned neighbors as he headed back in, flying in through a second story window.

Despite the fact that the Hunter's ear-shattering screech dropped him to a knee, Bullet felt compelled to roar back, throwing his arms backwards in a victorious rage. His round had done something, that was for sure. Things just didn't scream like that for no apparent reason.

His head ringing from the unexpected sonic assault, Bullet whipped another round through the air, figuring he'd need to distract it so the other guy could make good his escape. It wasn't needed, however. The guy just vaporized, then somehow reformed a good distance above the monstrosity. Bullet was impressed. He was a slippery bastard himself, but that sort of crazy shit was beyond his abilities all together. While the first round was still in flight, he sent another after it along the same trajectory, perhaps the two impacting nearly as one would penetrate a bit further, and hopefully reach the brain...

Snapshot, Rooftop…

Hard means almost always means dense, and dense… weights a lot. As Anton slammed down into the Hunter the roof top below them groaned.

Bullet’s bullets sped along their perfect trajectory only to be met with a ruby red line slicing forth from the Hunters uninjured eye. It had become time to unleash the more offensive capabilities of the being, so had the Controller decided…

Snapshot, different Rooftop…

“Now if there isn't anything else I have a meeting I need to attend too. "

The Triad Security Officer took the card with a minimal head nod, and tapped card to the reader on his wrist bracer. The other in the squaddie had not exited the vehicle – weapons control officers were trained not to – and never took his hands off of the arming triggers. The other two craft had never landed, it was standard procedure – and said nothing good about the state of things even up in Cloud Land, if you thought about it thoroughly

The read out brought up nothing out of the ordinary.

Just another uptown asshole that thinks he owns the joint he thought as he said “Just one moment sir, and I’ll get a temporary transponder, you can turn it in when yours is repaired. It will only be good for twenty four, just to remind you” He said as he turned back to the air car to get the required device.

Down in the Jumble…

“He’s cooking people alive in there!”

“Yah shure I juss thou…” Frown the neighbor does and the gun hangs limp in his off hand, as he tried to decide what is happening, but his drugg addled brains just aren’t up for the action…

The man Paramount saved is wozzy, not much into consciousness, but he is certain that the monster is going to come back and have his children as snacks. With frightening strength he grabs the gun from his neighbors slack hands and empties the clip at Paramount as he flies back in through the shattered glass of the second story window.

As Paramount felt the small caliber bullets impact, he remarked to himself on the odd things about tactical armor. The moment of impact is felt more, since the effect of body armor is to spread the force of impact out, giving one the feeling of receiving a rather powerful punch from a championship boxer. That said, it still wasn't the most pleasant of experiences to be shot at.

Targeting the gun, Marcus magnetized it, causing it to fly out of the shooter's hands and then disassemble itself. One second later, he was back into the now less infernal building, but he realized two things. First, searching the building room by room was going to take too much time. Second, the other two on the rooftop were still dealing with that monster.

Paramount made it to the hole that was conveniently located at about the center of the structure. Floating about midway between the second and third stories, Paramount began drawing in the heat from around him, drawing in thermal energy and this time, storing it within his body. The idea was simple: draw in enough ambient heat to starve the flames of the necessary energy to continue to burn. One second, if the entire building were affected, of keeping the ambient temperature of the surface below the flash point, would snuff the flames. The problem was that if it was extended for too long, then anybody remaining might suffer from frostbite. Paramount erred on the side of caution, keeping it at a single second of water's freezing point. Any remaining flames would have to wait.

The thermal energy stored, Paramount ascended out of the building and back to the rooftop above, targeting the monster and forcing the stored heat at the the Hunter's center of mass. A beam of pure thermal energy shot directly from Paramount's hands, slamming into the monster's torso at 1,500 Kelvins.

Elsewhere...

The group, five of them total, all sitting in a circle, opened their eyes. Their mental link now disconnected, they returned to voicing their opinions on the matter.

"Now you have all seen what I speak about. This matter must now be factored in to our time table." The speaker was a small man, blue eyes now faded with age, but still alert. "Personally, I would see the man eliminated now, before he causes trouble. Already we face the difficulty of the Baron. I have searched, but his years in hiding have shielded him from my sight. Should he contact the younger, I fear their combined force."

Another, a woman this time, spoke, looking directly to the man that sat to the previous speaker's right. "Dominus, you assembled the Conclave, and twenty-five years ago we followed your lead. The issue of the young Tempeston...what do you predict?"

The one addressed, bent forward with his fingers steepled over his lips, his elbows on the table, raised his head slightly, and brought his hands down to rest upon each other. "I have an agent in the field that may be able to eliminate him. Should that fail, I have taken the appropriate measures to deal with him, on a permanent basis. I shall wait, but should my visions show signs of shifting due to his influence, then I will deal with him in the appropriate manner."

"May I ask how?" said the woman that had addressed him.

Dominus took out a small black sphere, green light glowing from within and showing shifting patterns on the surface. The others took in a collective breath. "He will go the way of his father. I have had time to make two others, one for the Baron, and the last for the boy's new mentor. Nathan will not be involved again. Now, if that is all, I believe that this meeting is concluded." The five of them stood, Dominus moving to the exit first. "I would like to say, before I go, that you have all performed remarkably well." Dominus turned, facing the other four behind him. "I deeply regret what I must now do." And so saying, he pressed on the black orb in his hand, threw it into their midst, and teleported out as darkness and light erupted from the orb, filling the room, and vanishing just as suddenly, leaving only the circular table and chairs.

Despite his ears still ringing, Anton heard the roof groan as he slammed into the hunter. In hindsight it probably wasn't the best move considering there could still be people beneath them but there was little Anton could do about it now. Somewhat irritated that his impromptu body slam had appeared to do more damage to the rooftop than the Hunter, Anton backed up from his foe in order to consider different approaches.

Anton knew his capabilities and limits and whilst they were certainly formidable in their own right, nothing so far had been particularly effective against the Hunter. Whatever it was made of seemed to deal with physical punishment quite well, which was Anton's main means of attack and so he felt somewhat useless here.

Before he could consider any other options, one of the other Empowered levitated through the hole in the rooftop and promptly unleashed a beam of heat into the Hunter. Anton had never seen anything like it before and was forced to take several steps backwards to avoid having his eyebrows spontaneously combust.

At this point Anton figured it was best to wait and see what this heat beam did to the hunter before he considered moving in for another attack. It was becoming increasingly clear that the Hunter would need to be weakened before Anton could do any serious damage.

Well I just lost the whole damned reply. I loathe jolt! okay here goes again.

I thought I had posted this earlier, but apparently not! (http://www.atddm.com/jumble1.jpg)

Under a board walk, just having some fun...

I sat in the niche created by rusting scaffolding, my legs hanging over the edge of the roof top. Good spot for me, thanks to the slipshod habits what ever fly by night construction company that had thrown this building up. I had a nice clear view of the nights entertainment, less than a foot ball fields distance away or so, and a nice bit of height on it to so I could see almost down to the ground without other buildings in line of sight.

Anton ? I think I remember his name as being that...Nice high density kinetic slam. I just hoped he'd remember how shoddily most of these buildings were constructed. That roof might not take too much more abuse. But that might be a useful weakness. It was an office tower - but I couldn't for the life of me remember if it had workers in it 24 'round. But then again the leasers in the jumble's towers changed practically monthly so who knew...

I took another sip of bourbon as I contemplated Bullet's interesting abilities - there hadn't ever been many about with that combination. Those that could kinetically affect items moving at those speeds and able to do the rubber ball bounce in one package? yeah, relatively rare.

And James...James M…something or other - Yeah I knew it was James under that armoring. His brain was a lot different - trying to pry into it might have gotten me noticed so I hadn't done anything more than cursory swipe - but powers don't lie. Though some one had given him a quantum kick in the pants so to speak.

Up On the Roof

Thought the Hunter did not give much outward evidence, the massive body slam by Anton had dazed it, and the activation of the heat ray vision - which had melted the incoming rounds that Bullet had sent its way - had been directed by the Controller from its safe vantage point. Then the massive heat lance spiked down by Paramount slammed into it…

It screamed but the sound was less damaging now, and it seemed to be collapsing into itself, shrinking. But it was not out of the fight yet. Though it’s movements now were sluggish as it sought to recover from the damage the three had inflicted on it.

Sirens could be heard approaching, apparently some had been smart enough to pay extra for premium responses – there were any number of people injured though the fire was all but out in the five level residential building to the north of the building that was the combat arena.

Without warning the Hunter made another of it’s seemingly impossible stretched, and it’s claws struck the remains of the concrete and steel that had held the massive H/VAC equipment, pulling it free of the roof and hurling it at Paramount. It was too close for the young hero to dodge it, though that very closeness kept the mass from having optimum momentum behind it.

The moment the stretched arms released that mass one swept to grapple with Bullet, the other with Anton.

No it was far from out of the fight.

Bullet kicked himself upwards, inverting as the limb flew under him, landing still inverted on a single open hand, legs apart for balance but otherwise just as steady as if he'd landed on his own two feet. It hurt his shoulder like a bastard, but he ate the pain for now. Time for a new tactic...

The first round went off in a slow arc, the second in an exact duplicate in the opposite direction. Even if the thing could change its body mass to allow the rounds to pass through it, the two impacting together would fragment them both within the confines of the critter's head.

Both shots fired, Bullet let his legs lull to the left and came up in a standing position once again. Maybe between the dense motherfucker dropping himself on it and Captain Fantastic's heat-ray they might actually drop this thing...

As the hurtling H/VAC unit came at him, Marcus had the opportunity to reflect on the situation, and the course of the fight. This enemy was fast, strong, tough, big, and apparently had some measure of intelligence. That last part bothered him, since its ability to plan and counter alone made it a threat. Earthquakes were powerful and devastating, but they didn't target a person unless some higher power was particularly pissed off. This thing had direction, and despite feeling pain it didn't try to retreat. It was either extremely aggressive, or designed.

As this line of reasoning was coursing through Marcus's mind, he accelerated backwards so that the contact would result in a relatively minimal amount of inertia. Still, when the massive unit hit him, Marcus caught hold as it plowed him straight off the roof and down towards the street. As he fell, he focused himself on orienting a magnetic field around the thing to keep it up. As he pushed against the inertia, he began redirecting its inertia by orienting a gravitational field opposite its current motion. Eight stories down, he stopped it, and started to slowly raise it back, coming up above the roof line where the monster had made grabs for the other two fighting the beast.

Hovering there, the unit held above his head, he mustered his deepest, angriest voice. "Why Don't You Just DIE?!?" he yelled, charging the the H/VAC unit with a massive amount of electricity and then using his hold to throw it straight back towards the Hunter, aiming both to damage it in some way and shove it into the open air and down to the street.

Anton was ready for the elongated arm this time and promptly 'phased out' as it approached, allowing the limb to pass directly through him. Whilst knowing that his attack likely wouldn't accomplish much, Anton phased himself back in and increased his density once again before delivering a thundering backwards kick into what would be the wrist of the Hunter. A solid thunk let Anton know he had connected but that was about all.

Watching the H/VAC hurtle towards the Hunter, Anton made sure to be well out of the way by promptly diving to his right and skidding across the rooftop, resuming his standard density in mid air so as not to plunge through the building upon his landing. Quickly returning to his feet, Anton awaited the Hunter's reaction to having a giant piece of electrified metal launched at it. Normally he would assume that would be enough to knock almost anything down for the count but he'd given up assuming anything with this thing, it was bloody tough and wasn't really showing any sign of going down yet, at least not without one hell of a fight.

The rounds fired by Bullet did impact within the Hunters skull, but luckily for it if not the prey, the Hunter’s brains were located elsewhere than in it's cranium. Thos now it’s roar of pain resembled the first one.

"Why Don't You Just DIE?!?"

That caused the Controller to break into massive giggles. The Hunter had been bred to not die. But it’s giggles stifled as the massive jolt of electricity hit it’s Hunter and sent it’s body into spasms. The force of Paramount’s charge also took it backwards off of the far edge of the building.

The Hunter, scarcely writhing - it’s muscles locked under the effects of the massive electrical assault, fell to land on the street below, it’s body rent open, but still moving feebly. Then, with a crackle and a corona of explosive energy that ravened through the already weakened building, it vanished, the Controller having himself and the injured Hunter recalled.

The building swayed under the tremendous explosion and began to disintegrate just as the first responders rolled up to battle the fire of the residential building on the north side.

Bullet was pissed. He'd shot it in the head and it simply would not die...

"Why won't you? Well?"

The building quaked under his feet, just as he realized he was yelling at the empty air. That massive walking tank had simply vanished into thin air, gone from this plane of reality or something...

"Aw crap... Damn building's coming down..."

The runner holstered his smoking pistol and was off and running between the buildings again, his part of the fight completed. Besides, he was almost out of ammunition, and he was just about useless without it. It would be time to spend some time at the work bench and devise something to drop a big beastie like that quick, fast, and in a fucking hurry. While it was clever, it wasn't the kind of brilliant that human beings were, and that made Bullet wonder. Something else had to be controlling it to a degree, nothing could keep track of that many moving parts all at once and still be in the fight without some sort of outside help...

The Triad Security Officer took the card with a minimal head nod, and tapped card to the reader on his wrist bracer. The other in the squaddie had not exited the vehicle – weapons control officers were trained not to – and never took his hands off of the arming triggers. The other two craft had never landed, it was standard procedure – and said nothing good about the state of things even up in Cloud Land, if you thought about it thoroughly

The read out brought up nothing out of the ordinary.

Just another uptown asshole that thinks he owns the joint he thought as he said “Just one moment sir, and I’ll get a temporary transponder, you can turn it in when yours is repaired. It will only be good for twenty four, just to remind you” He said as he turned back to the air car to get the required device.


PsiWarrior waited as patiently as possible wishing all the while that this want to be cop would hurry up.' After all his business might become life or death for someone at any moment. Of course they didn't know that but still they didn't need to act like the south end of a north bound mule. ' he thought to himself.

Marcus watched the thing fall, twitch, and then disappear in a flash of light, force, and the tell-tale pull that he sensed indicating a teleportation. He felt the supports in the building give way, and turned to the other two on the roof with him.

Aw crap... Damn building's coming down...

The sharpshooter jumped off, free-running across the rooftops. Marcus turned to the density-shifter. "I'd suggest you go, more trouble's on the way." It was a curt response, sure, but that was all that he had time for. Monsters disappearing in detonating teleportations generally didn't relieve one's stress.

Grabbing a piece of metal from his improvised bomb, stepped off the roof and flew into the sky, Marcus contacted his partner. She had moved closer during the fight, and had actually been able to see some of it based on her vantage point. Collecting the sonic user, he initiated his own teleportation sequence, warping back to Nathan's hideout. The older hero was there when Marcus showed up, waiting for the two.

"Well, how did it go?" asked the old man.

"It was a mother ClusterF*&k!l" said Marcus, ripping off his various pieces of headgear. "Damn thing was teleported out right after I started hitting him. There were others at the location, more Empowereds. The thing itself was actively targeting us. An Empowered-killer. A F#@k-ing Empowered-Killer!" he seethed, punching the wall next to him.

"Marcus, I know," said Nathan, grabbing Marcus' wrist as it came back. "Listen, hit the sack, rest, get yourself together. I don't need you destroying the lab when you can save that for those responsible. These people are the same enemies that you've had your entire life." Marcus looked at Nathan. "Empowered-killer. Think on it." Nathan released the younger man's arm, and Marcus stalked off to try to find some way to relax.

"I'd suggest you go, more trouble's on the way."

Whilst Anton wished he had more time to discuss a few things with Paramount he knew the man was right. The building rumbled and the air was filled with the wailing of sirens, indicating at least the fire fighting authorities would soon be present and likely some form of armed response. Nodding to himself and Paramount, Anton didn't get a chance to say anything before Paramount floated away on a piece of metal and eventually disappeared.

Still somewhat unnerved by the disappearance of the Hunter, Anton took one last look on the ground where it had landed before he performed a little disappearing act of his own. Feeling himself heat up, Anton willed his matter to shift forms and within seconds he was a cloud of gas. Slowly dissipating, Anton soon became invisible as he spread outwards and began floating through the air, away from the burning building and battle scene. At this point he was now invisible to the naked eye. Anton couldn't really describe what it was like to be a cloud of gas. He certainly did not possess his ordinary human senses but regardless he had some sort of awareness of his surroundings. It was enough to discern direction, objects and people and so Anton found himself purposefully floating towards his Ground Zero apartment.

After fifteen minutes or so of riding the currents, Anton funnelled himself through a ventilation shaft and seeped out of the vent attached to his less than modest apartment. Drawing himself together once more, Anton quickly returned to a solid human form, allowing his eyes to gaze upon the cramped three room apartment. Standing beside his bed, Anton collapsed backwards, lost in his thoughts. Despite being bone weary, he doubted sleep would come quickly tonight as he replayed recent events over and over within his head.

As the Heroes left one by one and the building began to collapse, unheard beneath the din was a slow, well measured clapping "Though I'd only rate it a four, boys. Still, in what passes for such these days that it doing not too bad, not too shabby indeed."

I took the last swig of the bottle, looked owlishly at the dead soldier and sighed. "Time to go home Rio" I told myself.

There was only a sigh of displaced air where I had been. ANd an empty bottle.

Less than an hour later the newsies on the scene were interviewing the survivors on live air broadcasts- the office building had indeed come tumbling down, with a number of lives had been lost, and many more wounded. The residential apartment that had backed up to it was a total loss due to the fire and the buildings on either side that had shared walls were heavily damaged.

"Yeah there was this flying guy, he tried to kidnap my children, just like they did Hanna!! Sure, sure my little girl can sing! I shot at him and it drove him off"

"Naw he's spouting shit. 'Man his kid can't sing to save her life. And it was my gun, he yanked it outta my hand 'man, just wasted bullets, bulltes expensive. I'm gonna sue him!"

"He carried us out, saved us, the fire had us trapped" the woman wailed as the reporter turned away with a smirk.

"There you go proof that these miserable people were keeping large quanities of drugs in their raggedy assed squats. Listen to those hallunications! More gang activity. I call for step ups in the security sweeps!"