LibriumArcana.Games

"Mirage team generates alot of paperwork, Bob." Complained Robert Smith, Special Agent. "Look! Twenty-seven VS-9067 Revised! In the past month!" An example of the sinful creation of more paperwork was waved around.

Smith Roberts, Special Agent, and Robert's partner, nodded with a sigh. "And three XJ-4's in a year. Most teams go years between them. Honestly, Bob, you'd think they would call us sooner. The paperwork is undeniable."

Both men shared a solemn nod. The mountain of paperwork detailing Mirage Team's many sins and vices was incontrovertible. They hadn't even gotten to putting them all in the appropriate trays yet, but both knew... Knew in their bones.. Anyone producing this much must be counterproductive to Ultima's goals.

For one thing, if only people stopped making these piles, Agents Smith and Roberts might get to go out on an actual mission, as opposed to sorting, collating, filing, indexing, tabulating, and generally fiddling with paper all the time. Both men had grown up full of ideals of service. Now they sat behind desks and occasional were pointed at unruly Front Line Teams.

"What do we know about this... 'Argent'?" One of the interchangable Bobs asked after a few silent moments of regarding the pile and it's implications.

"Metahuman, inherited. Shadow manipulation, empathy, teleportation. We'll need the Hats." There was a noticable improvement in tone. The Hats were one of the true boons of being the Bobs. They were always being issued special, top of the line, experimental equipment, with lots of comforting forms to fill out on how they, inevitably, went horribly wrong.

Special Agent Smith and Special Agent Roberts donned the experimental, and, to judge from the labels, incredibly explosive anti-telepath helmets. No one had ever explained why anti-telepath helmets might spontaneously explode to the Bobs. But they had never asked. They had, however, filled out the requisite form to request permission to fill out a AA-1233 Revision 10, Memo Requesting Explanation. And they trusted that any day now, someone would be getting back to them.

The Bobs went to the Armoury, with the forms for what they needed.

Blackheart sat up on the metal slab. He looked back over his shoulder at the imager. "So what's the news?"

"It's grown, just like you said," said Doctor Chen. He tapped a computer screen. "We can clearly see tendrils have extended to your brain stem, but no further penetration."

"Well that's not going to last."

"We have no precedents for how it will behave towards your brain."

"But we do with the rest of my body. Replace and takeover." Blackheart touched another image, showing his torso.

"Except that it seems to acknowledge that it needs your brain to run things. We simply don't know what it will do."

"Thanks doc." Blackheart stood up.

"As to the rest, you seem fine. Your hand is regenerating and your otherwise only bruised. You are fit for duty."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic doc."

"You should take some time off or go to Cavanaugh for full time treatment. As I said, there is no way to tell what's going to happen yet."

"You know the Norse believed that the only sure way into heaven was to die bravely? That the Greeks used to shout "Die now!" at Olympic champions, so that their lives would end at the height of their glory? I don't know what's coming, but as long as I can do some good out there I am going to try."

Thump.

The metal floors shook with the heavy metal shod step, much like a miniture earthquake.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The sudden silence was eerie and strange, no less as the ground still shook as the metal armored man continued to move forward.

In fact, there was no longer any sound to be heard, each footstep, each thumb of heel to metal, the buzz of machinery and electricity, and power flowing through lines, all completely gone, as if the sounds of life simply ceased to exsist.

Within the heavy metal warmachine, Dr Jeffery Stone was merely delighted at the performance of his acoustic sound masquing system.

"How's it sound out there Dick?" he asked over the armor's radio system.

When he heard no reply, he had one of two guesses, his comm systems where down, or the sound masquing was working. a quick diagnostic scan of the radio systems by the armor's computer system confirmed the radio was working at 99% efficiency.

Pleased, Stone shut off the wave dampening hardware, and walked back to the testing bay.

The helmet slide up, and back, revealing the aged face of the late 30 something scientist and inventor.

"it worked perfectly Doctor Stone, I swear, we could hear nothing."

"Excellent Dick, I beleive that completed the final test run for the new armor, better tell Ultima I can be placed back on the active reserves roster. After....I put this baby to recharge and grab a nap...."

---- o ----

Location: Little Italy, Garth Boon's Apartment

the forensics teams were entering the apartment owned by the currently incapacitated Saibot, only to find the living room full of furniture, and heavy a hover cargo sled.

Voices coming from the bedroom were followed by a simple spoken word, and the Ultima Forensics team was greeted by a mirror shade wearing man in a dark suit, flashing a I.D.

"You've seen nothing here, go back to your handlers." the man spoke simply, in a hard tone, "What you've seen here is classified Priority Seirra-Gamma-Six-Four-Niner."

With that, the room was bathed in a brillant light, and when it died, the black suits and the hover sled were gone.

Flesh pulsed along the walls, eyes watching his pass as he made his way down the seemingly endless hallway. "Hello? Is anyone there?" A sickening groan eminated from the walls, from mouths that no longer seemed to resemble human organs. He saw movement at the end of the hallway, a shadow briefly dousing the light. He ran, not at the speeds he could, but as a normal human. "Hey! Wait! I'm here to help!"

A new form appeared in the doorway, apparently painting. As he came into sight, he laughed with a lipless grin. His brush was a bone, and the canvas was flesh and blood. "Help? HELP? HELP! HELP!" The tone changed. The mocking face melted into one of agony, as the painter dropped to his knees and reached out plaintively to Hotfoot. He was burning, the skin melting away and the smell charred human flesh was finding its way into the young man's nose. He tried to run faster, but he couldn't. The exhaustion from before was still nagging at him. The door slammed shut and the screams of agony mounted.

Hotfoot slammed against the door, first with his fists, then with his entire body. "Stop it! This isn't right!" With a final push, he broke through and saw Saibot. The sword was buried deep into Blast's chest. Saibot put a foot on Blast's chest and pushed the body from around the blade to land on the ground. The shadows grew all around, and before long, it was dark. There was a rush of sound, and the blade sliced Hotfoot's arm, then his side, then his leg. Laughter erupted from the shadows, a disturbing mixture of sounds that couldn't possibly come from one person.

"Maybe you should have stayed home, kid. It's time to end this." Saibot laughed again, and Hotfoot could feel the rush of air, the fear, the pain. The rush of activity came racing back, his brain felt like it was on fire. He needed to live, to help, but most importantly, he needed to run. He howled in anger, rage, frustration, and helplessness.

The plasma shield blazed into existance around him, turning away the shadows and the darkness. Things slowly came into focus, the exhaustion faded away as he came to his feet. The room was on fire, people were screaming, guns were being drawn. Hotfoot caught his breath and looked around at the carnage as the sprinkler system kicked in.

The shield slipped away and Hotfoot sighed, letting the sprinklers wash over him. "Fuck me..."

Hotfoot left behind a small trail of moisture despite the towel he had wrapped around himself. The security team had been very understanding, all things considered. A few incinerated blankets and some grumbling agents was the extent of the damage. Still, he couldn't go back to sleep, not yet. He walked in to medical and nodded to the doctor from before. The doctor waved and looked at him quizically. "Hey kid, what happened? When I said you needed something to drink, this isn't what I meant."

"No, I'm fine, I just...is anyone from Blackheart's team here?"

"I think so. C'mon, let's go see if any of them are ready for visitors." Hotfoot followed the doctor, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he walked by. They came to the room where Gravitas was being kept, and the doctor looked at the chart. "Hmm..."

"It's... Hotfoot, isn't it?" It's quite something when the member of the team that's been on the cover of Time and People is motionless due to so much medical recovery needed. But there Gravitas was.

"Sorry, don't think we ever got properly introduced before things went seriously wonky. Pull up a chair if you want, and pardon me if I don't get up."

The doctor shrugged. Metas always did like to push the envelope, he had learned to accept this and move on. "I'll let you two alone, but if you need anything, just call. Things are usually pretty...sedate around now." The doctor walked off, leaving Hotfoot alone with the crippled god.

The young man grabbed a chair and sat down next to Gravitas' bed. "It's okay, I'd imagine I'd jump at a chance to go to the moon myself." He smiled a little, then looked at the man's body. "So, how bad is it, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Pretty bad, actually." Gravitas admitted openly. "Even with Ultima, I've no idea when I'll be on my feet. I had a street fall on me, you see. Tends to slow one down. Well, if you're not like Legacies."

The Nova's head tilted back onto the pillow. "Moon's nice. Awfully quiet and serene, if you ignore all the old technology knocking around it. But yea, this is bad. My own fault, I suppose, but I admit I have trouble trusting Blackheart with an operation that isn't bust-in-door, kill-the-badguys."

"Well, it kinda seemed like tonight was just a huge fucking mess no matter how you look at it." He sighed, leaning back in the chair and looking at the ceiling. "I froze and nearly got two people killed, I think...I think I may have killed someone, and then there's Ultima." He shook his head and looked back at Gravitas. "What's the deal with Blackheart anyway? It seems like he has a switch with two settings, 'Dick' and 'Dude', and some jackass was flicking that thing like a strobe, you know?"

"'Blackheart' isn't just some witty play on words that sound alike, like my codename. 'Gravitas'. Sounds like 'Gravity', but means seriousness, of which I used to have very little. He's called that because his powers stem from a chunk of cancer the size of.. Oh, I don't know. It's big. It's merging with him and hotwires his adrenal glands. The result is the slightest provocation turns him into a guy with a serious anger management problem."

The Nova sighed. "Of course, that's just the chemical side of it. On the entirely reasonable side, he's been saddled with a mix of amatuers, hotheads, criminals, and walking egos as a team. Things go chaotic often."

A shake of his head, and a wince. "But don't worry about freezing up. The instant you're really comfortable in combat is the moment you know you've stopped being who you were. I accepted that; had to. My fate lay down a nasty, tooth-filled path. But not everyone should have to give up their innocence just to do good."

"Shit...and here I just got my powers from a radioactive roman candle." He rubbed his eyes and sighed again. "But what's this about criminals? I mean, I knew there were personality conflicts and all that stuff, but criminals? What happened, did they get a 'get out of jail free if you fight crime' card?"

"But...yeah, I dunno. I mean, I only really feel comfortable when I'm moving. Most of the time, it feels like I'm in a haze, like nothing is right. To feel like that when I'm running..." He shrugs, helplessly. "Sometimes I wonder how my Dad did this, you know?"

"Yea, criminals. Not gonna say who, you understand. But it was petty stuff. Bankrobbing and shit. They were deemed 'valuable'... I don't know if they'll be kept around, though. They want tractable folks here. Controllable."

A soft chuckle at the comment. "I wouldn't know, actually. Back in my world, we were supposedly the first... And we were supposedly all born sterile. Complete nonsense, as it turned out. A group like Ultima was just pumping us full of sterility drugs to try and contain the situation. But... Yea, I get you. It's a wierd thing, these powers."

"So Ultima does superpowered parolees. Good to know I guess. I don't really see how it could work well though." He moved his towel to try and soak up some more moisture. "So you're from another world? I guess that ranks up with some of the stranger things I've seen and heard in the last couple of days. You don't think Ultima is trying to destroy people like us like on your world, do you?"

"No. Then again, neither was Project Utopia." Gravitas shrugged. "Things still went that way. As time passes by, those emerging become more powerful.. And the more powerful, the more warped the body and mind can become. You see that in the Freaks... Well, the more warped the mind and body part, at least."

Gravitas' eyes close. "It starts with protests, registrations. The odd riot. Each time, more resentment builds up. The first Meta killed by a human mob. The first mob killed by a Meta who couldn't keep his cool. Matters escalate. Governments employ folks like Blackheart to try and find ways to put down Metas hard if need be. You can see it unfold, in the mind's eye, towards the final act of the play. Nuclear weapons employed against Metahumans in a last-ditch attempt to annihilate the Other. Worldwide war that pits the emergent godlings against mankind's numbers and technology. And I'll let you in a secret."

"We always lose. Humanity always wins. The play is performed many times, always with the same ending."

Hotfoot raised an eyebrow. It wasn't easy hearing someone say that it was the end of the world. "No offense, but that seems a little defeatist. I mean, what's to stop us from living in harmony with other people? Or turning everyone into a meta? I mean, there's all sorts of tech out there people can use to keep up, after a while, anyone could have it, right? Heck, Dad was just a normal guy until he got the implants. You must have seen one happy ending if you've been hopping dimensions. I mean, anything's possible, right?"

"There are a few of what might be called happy endings." Gravitas admitted. "We lose Earth, but move on. In my home timeline, we scattered. Some vanished to distant stars. Some built themselves a whole new world from scratch and interstellar debris. Hell, some built their own timeline to be safe from humans forever."

"Sometimes we surrender, we get used to our lives as second class. Sometimes we just hide in their society, never seen again for what we are." A shrug, and a wince. Shrugging hurt.

"There's always hope, though. Free will means none of it's written in stone. It can be different this time. It's why I keep manifesting myself into new timelines. To try and change things. Who knows? Maybe now is when the tide changes."

Blackheart flew home, descending from the sky to his balcony and letting himself in. It had been a hell of a day and that was before he had heard about Casscade buying it. Fuck.

He was as hungry as hell and didn't feel like cooking. He ordered a large pizza with everything on it and a bucket of wings. He channel flipped and munch on a carrot while waiting for his food to arrive.

Ghost stepped out onto the roof of his building. It had been a long day and he needed to think. He opened his pack and brought out a coffin nail and lit it up. Five minutes later, he finished his cigarette. His phone went off. Ghost answered it.

"Go for Ryan."

"Mr. Ryan, this is Fox Inc., we got your order and just wanted to let you know that it would be in tomorrow."

"Ok, thank you."

Hotfoot smiled. While he wasn't as energetic as before the mission, a determination seemed set in his eyes. "Free will and hope. Sounds good to me. Don't get me wrong, I can kind of see what you're talking about with the bad endings, but I think that with the right ideas, we might be able to do something, and at the end of the day, I'll do whatever I can to make life better for everyone. I doubt I'll be the guy that changes the world and makes everything okay, but I'll do what I can." The thoughts bouncing around in his brain came together once more, and a light sparkled in his eye as he gazed at Gravitas. "Manifesting yourself though...weird way to say you bounce from one world to the next..."

"Complicated to explain." Gravitas said quietly, with a small, secret smile. "Needless to say, my path led me to a threshold of power I cannot surpass. I can go no higher. I am content, though, with mere Metahuman capabilities. They are transient... Brief. It is pleasant to wander the stars as I can, to do things that no one else can.. But they are nothing compared to what can be done with free will and hope. I just try to emphasize both to people."

Garth was laid out on a bio-bed somewhere in Ultima medical, his body secured with heavy straps, just in case he woke up from the current state of non-activity his brain had entered - and he was still violent. Without his ring and sword, it was doubtful he'd be able to do much, but Medical was told to be careful.

Mind probes of the man revealed little, his mind was blank, there was an occassional flash, of a figure in black struggling with a figure in white, but they seemed deadlocked in the struggle.

Spelltossers and Psychics all said the same thing, for all intents and purposes, his mind was locked down to the world, his spirit was in stasis. They didn't know how it was possible with him still being technically alive - but it seemed as if a void had opened up within him, and wouldn't close.

The reports were filed for the day, the initial evaluations, and he was placed under watch, just incase.

His room door closed, the only sounds was the man's breathing, and the steady humm and pulsing of the machines which observed and monitored his body and mind...

Blackheart cracked a bottle of vodka and started eating. Super tumor metabolized alcohol like no one's business, he wouldn't even be drunk if he finished thewhole bottle. And he needed a drink.

The earbud had been left behind at Ultima, her paranoia over being traced to her safehouse hyped over Garth's apartment's condition.

She still wasn't sure if Blackheart was right, that it hadn't been Ultima who'd stripped the furniture and all from the apartment. Yet he'd been so sure of himself....

Either way, she was relieved to find her own loft apartment untouched. She changed out of the ripped and bloodstained remains of her costume, frowning at how Zufu's gift had been damaged so quickly. Of course, it had held against Garth's sabre, keeping her alive. She stepped into the shower and let the water try to wash away the stains of tonight, along with the more physical muck of the Freaks' tunnels.

After the shower, she tuned the stereo to something relaxing, needing the solace. It was music she played often when exercising ... which seemed a good idea. Clad in a sports bra and leggings, she began the slow, graceful TaiChi katas that would focus her breathing, calm and center her nerves, and gods willing, give her peace.

Blackheart was perhaps slightly drunk when he hit the shower. The scalding spray washed over him. Gods above and below, the day had been hell. He was going to crawl into bed and try to forget about it, at least for awhile. Right after he washed as much of today's detrius off is skin as possible.