In the darkness her comm
vibrated slightly and her adrenalin started to pump as she activated the muted
message.
He is alone.
A mischievous smirk slowly crawled across her face. Let’s do this,
the Scarlet Scorpion thought to herself.
She peered around the crate and looked left then right. As she looked left
again the ink stamp on the crate caught her attention: The Council. Again she
grinned at the satisfaction from the task at hand. It had been a long time
since she “hunted” like this and she reminisced over a long-ago memories of her
days in Las Vegas.
Scarlet gently stepped over some burned metal wreckage of a Council hoverbot
but had to go around the hulk of a Zenith Mek. The flickering lights above told
her the generator was failing and she mused over why the Council hadn’t
reclaimed lost territory. It didn’t really matter to her, Council underground
bases were creepy enough with the lights on anyway.
Slowly she walked into a bunker whose door was torn from its hinges. The
remains of the door itself rested against the inside wall with a huge dent in
the center in the shape of a very large fist.
Scarlet’s comm vibrated again: Hurry.
Keep yer shirt on, she whispered into the gloam from the front of
the bunker into a short hallway. There was a slight shift of dirt ahead and
Scarlet paused her own motions. She loved her uniform boots but now was not a
time for stiletto heels. More rustling and eventually a creak as if a door was
opening and shut. A slide lock clicked.
No way. she thought. Now Scarlet became anxious just imagining what
was about to happen. This will be worth a camera shot! She
activated the digital camera in her wrist comm and tip-toed to the door.
The stalls were in various degrees of disrepair except one whose door was
closed. She looked into the room slowly and didn’t see anyone else. Scarlet
checked the hallway to make sure no one else was behind her but she knew the
answer. Then she stood at the doorway of the room and waited with arms crossed.
Her wait was almost too long to bear much longer from the sounds and smells
alone. When the Warrior open the bathroom door, he looked up from buckling his
belt and stood stunned at the Scarlet Scorpion.
“Surprise.” Scarlet was cool yet menacing. Just before the Warrior could
recover she took a step forward and reached for the Warrior with both hands.
Easily coming short Scarlet clapped both hands as was her plan. She focused the
sound into a bowling ball-sized sonic bolt that charged forward and crashed
into the Warrior’s chest. Bone snapped and he was thrown back into the bathroom
stall. His limp form crashing into the unflushed toilet bowl, its contents
splashing over him and onto the floor.
Disgusted, Scarlet willed herself to hover above the ground before the sewage
floor reached her boots. After taking a picture, she spun and picked up the
item she was after resting on the sinks, then glided toward the door. She
turned to face the Warrior in the stall.
“No one steals from Manticore. Hopefully you've learned your lesson.”
She blew a kiss and hovered away into the darkness.
---
Leehouse looked at the item in the case. “I don’t know how you did it, but it’s
impressive.”
Scarlet was picking at some unseen dirt under a fingernail with another finger
from the same hand. Nonchalantly she replied, “Well, he has a new one anyway.
But after I brought this one back he decided to let me have it after the story
I told him where I found it.”
Leehouse giggled as only he could then scratched the back of his head. “How did
you know where to look?”
She glanced at him sideways with her good eye. “Why Lee, a girl has her
secrets.”
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Trophy - Council Sonic Rifle
The Scarlet Scorpion was stalking prey. Her heart was racing and
beads of sweat were slowly crawling down her cheek. She took an annoyed look at
the alarm lights ahead and to the right. The intruder alarms had been silenced
at her command earlier but the lighting would have to be reset.
Someone had infiltrated Dawn Patrol headquarters and Scarlet was the only one on the hunt. Once the alarm went off she instinctively accessed Dogma to lockdown the base. No one was getting in or out unless Scarlet allowed it. Eventually Shan would get to the base and override the lockdown codes, but until then some fool would have to deal with Scarlet’s anger.
No one breaks into Dawn Patrol on my shift, she thought to herself.
Scarlet was creeping toward the generator room because that is where she would go if she were going to do infiltrate a base. Knock out the power internally, steal material or wreck it, then make a break for it and hope no one was around. She mused that at least the intruder had the peace of mind to obtrude when most Patrollers were away from the base. Lucky for him he will get to meet the Scarlet Scorpion face to face.
She grinned at the thought as she looked around a corner into the general meeting room. She saw an armored boot disappear behind the opposite wall across the room. Unless he was heading for a telepad … Dogma!
Scarlet found the intruder was heading for the mainframe computer. She broke into a sprint and cursed that her boots were making more noise on the metallic floors than she wanted. Leaping onto a chair and vaulting close to the ceiling she was hoping her flight would land her into the hallway bisecting the telepads and behind the invasor.
The dark armored figure appeared as she was halfway to the floor and Scarlet recognized the uniform immediately: Council. He was holding a rifle at least as large as he stood tall and scanned the room before he caught Scarlet heading straight for him. She could see his determined eyes gauging if he was going to win this round. Time seemed to slow as he raised the large-barreled rifle faster than seemed possible for it’s size. Scarlet could see him brace for impact.
Somehow she was too slow. The blast from the rifle hit her like a truck ramming a wall. She screamed in pain as the sound waves seemed to pass through her and she crashed to the floor sliding to a stop at the Council’s feet.
As Scarlet started to lift herself from the floor he muttered, “Mea culpa baby.” He kicked her in the ribs hard enough to lift her off the floor. She coughed out blood and the flash of pain seemed to ignite her anger to a new level. Scarlet swept her foot and connected at the Council’s knees. He yelped and tumbled down, dropping the rifle. She jumped up and moved toward the mainframe room to defend it. When she turned he was gone.
“Chwen joo,” she cursed. Only a few steps and he escaped?! She quickly scanned the hallway. A shadow moved! She ducked and rolled toward it. Another blast passed overhead and obliterated a section of wall plate sending shards of metals dancing across the floor. When Scarlet lifted herself she was face-to-face with the soldier. An uppercut sent him flying into the next hallway where he landed on a potted plant, destroying the pot and spilling the earth. She was impressed he still held on to the rifle.
As he was recovering she charged him. Her hands grabbed the chest straps and he was pushed back to the ground. Scarlet vaulted over him still holding on to the straps and when her feet touched the ground the force of her momentum lifted him. She overhand threw the soldier down the hall into the next room. He uncontrollably landed among the metal storage boxes in the lab and Scarlet knew that landing was going to hurt.
To her surprise he shoved a metal crate to the side and lined up another shot. This time the sound blast was aimed low and Scarlet jumped over the visible sound waves as they impacted and bored into the monitor of the telepad behind her. The machine crumpled with each wave and finally exploded sending sparks, plastic and metal everywhere. The heat wave washed over Scarlet and smoke immediately crawled along the ceiling. Fans started sucking the smoke out the room and localized automatic extinguishers doused the flames.
Scarlet ran toward the lab and dodged another shot as she closed the distance. The soldier kicked a small container toward her and she parried the cylinder with her left arm as she rose her right aiming for his face. “Rrrrrrraaar!”, she yelled as her fist landed on his cheek. The soldier stumbled back and, and as Scarlet inhaled a deep breath and focused her power, he quickly recovered and fired point blank.
He bones seemed to rattle as the shock wave hit her and she was thrown against the bulkhead. She collapsed from the indention in the armored wall and looked up in time to see the soldier bring the rifle stock toward her head in a golf swing. Scarlet threw herself against the bulkhead as the swing whistled past where her head was a second before.
Using the wall behind her she propelled herself against the soldier. Left fist landed across his nose. He stumbled back again. Scarlet pressed the attack. Right fist found his chest. Another step. Left fist under the chin. Another step. Right fist against his cheek. Another step. Left fist slammed against the jaw. Another step. Right fist on the chest again. As the soldier stood stunned, she jumped up and gave a spinning kick landing a boot flat against his helmet. The chin-strap tore and the helmet went flying in one direction, the rifle spun away in the other. The soldier crumpled to his knees, blood flowing from his nose and mouth. Scarlet stepped aside as he fell forward. She placed a teleport beacon to his collar and activated it. Within a few seconds he disappeared, transported to the Zig for medical attention and processing. She would have to file this event by lunchtime tomorrow or the PPD will be breathing down her neck.
The thought of breathing forced a cough and she felt blood trickle down the side of her chin. Wiping the blood with the palm of her glove she strolled to the computer room. Her chest felt like a weight was being pressed onto it and she was wheezing. Scarlet didn’t notice any damage to the machines. Slowly she turned and achingly surveyed the base. She knew she was alone but she had to double-check.
Her hour-long circuit brought her back to the lab with the Council rifle still on the floor. Slowly Scarlet picked up the rifle and winced as she lifted it. To her surprise it was very light for it’s size. She found a chair nearby and slumped hard into it wincing again as the pan flashed across her body. Scarlet chided herself for not finding a cot to lay in. She put the rifle in her lap and closed her eye as the pain in her chest forced her to sleep.
Someone had infiltrated Dawn Patrol headquarters and Scarlet was the only one on the hunt. Once the alarm went off she instinctively accessed Dogma to lockdown the base. No one was getting in or out unless Scarlet allowed it. Eventually Shan would get to the base and override the lockdown codes, but until then some fool would have to deal with Scarlet’s anger.
No one breaks into Dawn Patrol on my shift, she thought to herself.
Scarlet was creeping toward the generator room because that is where she would go if she were going to do infiltrate a base. Knock out the power internally, steal material or wreck it, then make a break for it and hope no one was around. She mused that at least the intruder had the peace of mind to obtrude when most Patrollers were away from the base. Lucky for him he will get to meet the Scarlet Scorpion face to face.
She grinned at the thought as she looked around a corner into the general meeting room. She saw an armored boot disappear behind the opposite wall across the room. Unless he was heading for a telepad … Dogma!
Scarlet found the intruder was heading for the mainframe computer. She broke into a sprint and cursed that her boots were making more noise on the metallic floors than she wanted. Leaping onto a chair and vaulting close to the ceiling she was hoping her flight would land her into the hallway bisecting the telepads and behind the invasor.
The dark armored figure appeared as she was halfway to the floor and Scarlet recognized the uniform immediately: Council. He was holding a rifle at least as large as he stood tall and scanned the room before he caught Scarlet heading straight for him. She could see his determined eyes gauging if he was going to win this round. Time seemed to slow as he raised the large-barreled rifle faster than seemed possible for it’s size. Scarlet could see him brace for impact.
Somehow she was too slow. The blast from the rifle hit her like a truck ramming a wall. She screamed in pain as the sound waves seemed to pass through her and she crashed to the floor sliding to a stop at the Council’s feet.
As Scarlet started to lift herself from the floor he muttered, “Mea culpa baby.” He kicked her in the ribs hard enough to lift her off the floor. She coughed out blood and the flash of pain seemed to ignite her anger to a new level. Scarlet swept her foot and connected at the Council’s knees. He yelped and tumbled down, dropping the rifle. She jumped up and moved toward the mainframe room to defend it. When she turned he was gone.
“Chwen joo,” she cursed. Only a few steps and he escaped?! She quickly scanned the hallway. A shadow moved! She ducked and rolled toward it. Another blast passed overhead and obliterated a section of wall plate sending shards of metals dancing across the floor. When Scarlet lifted herself she was face-to-face with the soldier. An uppercut sent him flying into the next hallway where he landed on a potted plant, destroying the pot and spilling the earth. She was impressed he still held on to the rifle.
As he was recovering she charged him. Her hands grabbed the chest straps and he was pushed back to the ground. Scarlet vaulted over him still holding on to the straps and when her feet touched the ground the force of her momentum lifted him. She overhand threw the soldier down the hall into the next room. He uncontrollably landed among the metal storage boxes in the lab and Scarlet knew that landing was going to hurt.
To her surprise he shoved a metal crate to the side and lined up another shot. This time the sound blast was aimed low and Scarlet jumped over the visible sound waves as they impacted and bored into the monitor of the telepad behind her. The machine crumpled with each wave and finally exploded sending sparks, plastic and metal everywhere. The heat wave washed over Scarlet and smoke immediately crawled along the ceiling. Fans started sucking the smoke out the room and localized automatic extinguishers doused the flames.
Scarlet ran toward the lab and dodged another shot as she closed the distance. The soldier kicked a small container toward her and she parried the cylinder with her left arm as she rose her right aiming for his face. “Rrrrrrraaar!”, she yelled as her fist landed on his cheek. The soldier stumbled back and, and as Scarlet inhaled a deep breath and focused her power, he quickly recovered and fired point blank.
He bones seemed to rattle as the shock wave hit her and she was thrown against the bulkhead. She collapsed from the indention in the armored wall and looked up in time to see the soldier bring the rifle stock toward her head in a golf swing. Scarlet threw herself against the bulkhead as the swing whistled past where her head was a second before.
Using the wall behind her she propelled herself against the soldier. Left fist landed across his nose. He stumbled back again. Scarlet pressed the attack. Right fist found his chest. Another step. Left fist under the chin. Another step. Right fist against his cheek. Another step. Left fist slammed against the jaw. Another step. Right fist on the chest again. As the soldier stood stunned, she jumped up and gave a spinning kick landing a boot flat against his helmet. The chin-strap tore and the helmet went flying in one direction, the rifle spun away in the other. The soldier crumpled to his knees, blood flowing from his nose and mouth. Scarlet stepped aside as he fell forward. She placed a teleport beacon to his collar and activated it. Within a few seconds he disappeared, transported to the Zig for medical attention and processing. She would have to file this event by lunchtime tomorrow or the PPD will be breathing down her neck.
The thought of breathing forced a cough and she felt blood trickle down the side of her chin. Wiping the blood with the palm of her glove she strolled to the computer room. Her chest felt like a weight was being pressed onto it and she was wheezing. Scarlet didn’t notice any damage to the machines. Slowly she turned and achingly surveyed the base. She knew she was alone but she had to double-check.
Her hour-long circuit brought her back to the lab with the Council rifle still on the floor. Slowly Scarlet picked up the rifle and winced as she lifted it. To her surprise it was very light for it’s size. She found a chair nearby and slumped hard into it wincing again as the pan flashed across her body. Scarlet chided herself for not finding a cot to lay in. She put the rifle in her lap and closed her eye as the pain in her chest forced her to sleep.
Trophy - Nemesis Sniper Rifle
Scarlet
walked out of the office building and the sun’s heat washed over her. It was soothing and warm which, compared to
the air conditioned entranceway of Exact Molds, was a relief. She was greeted by two PPD squad cars and
officers pointing their guns toward her.
She
brushed her red hair out of her face as the wind cross-cut the road, her cape
billowing to the side.
“Is
there a problem officers?”
The
PPD blues relaxed and lowered their pistols with a smile. “Not anymore.
We were wondering what was happening in there. Is everything under control?” Scarlet recognized Sergeant Rizbowski’s voice
and turned to see the jovial smile greet her.
He was a frequent visitor to Dawn Patrol HQ and always brought donuts
along with tales of felonies committed by the craziest or stupidest crooks of
Paragon City. Chip always looked forward
to Rizbowski’s visits.
“But
of course!” She flashed her now famous
smirk to the Sergeant, and a few of the officers laughed.
Sergeant
Rizbowski pointed at her with a wide smile and said, “Hey, watch it. I still have to maintain order and look like
I’m in command.”
Before
Scarlet could respond she heard a familiar thud from above her and quickly
looked up in time to see the black ball shot slowly fall toward her. Instinctively her hands covered her head and
willed her defense field active. As the
round shot impacted against the barrier it exploded like a crack of thunder. Rizbowski was knocked off his feet and the
windows of the police cars shattered.
Scarlet was pushed into the sidewalk and the concrete shattered under
her feet. From the explosion a green
mist started to descend around the area.
Scarlet
recovered and knew instantly what happened: a Nemesis sniper tried to kill her
and the poison mist was a bonus for the shooter to kill some PPD on the side.
Not today pal.
She
had a few more seconds to consider her next move. Those Nemesis sniper rifles pack a serious
punch but had a notoriously (and thankfully) slow rate of fire. Scarlet started to cough from the gas and
moved toward Rizbowski to get him out of the area. His chest was blistered with shrapnel but he
was moving.
“Get
out of here! I’ll get Sarg!” Scarlet’s command boomed toward the officers
and they reacted instantly, all of them coughing as they ran. Pedestrians also headed her words and looked
for shelter or huddled next to building sides.
She grabbed Rizbowski by the arm and hauled him up.
Poomf
Rizbowski’s
body violently shook in her grasp as a ball shot burst through his chest and
cratered the concrete at his feet. Blood
splashed everywhere and he went limp.
Reflexively she willed herself to fly away while carrying her friend. The shot exploded in another growing mist of
green.
Not
seeing where she was going, Scarlet crashed into the building and almost
dropped Rizbowski. As the world came
into focus, she floated down using the building slope as cover and gently
dropped Rizbowski on the sidewalk. A PPD
officer with a rag over her mouth was moving toward Scarlet. Both were red-eyed but for different reasons.
Poomf
A
PPD car nearby seemed to implode upon itself before exploding in a shower of
debris. Scarlet intensified her sonic
field to protect the female officer and the shredded engine of the car bounced
off the barrier with a horrible crunch.
Scarlet
looked up and saw the sniper load another round. The anger boiled within and fueled a new
fire: revenge. She could hear Endless
One reminding her about duty and responsibility. She could also hear her own voice retort
about justice and fairness. What was
good for the goose was good for the gander, right?
Scarlet
shook her head – “Don’t think, act.”
Using
the building she launched herself up and flew directly away from the officer
dragging Rizbowski. Her flight was so
fast she created a small sonic boom above the street before abruptly stopping
in mid-air facing the sniper. He tracked
Scarlet as fast as he could but the rifle was restrictively heavy.
She
was on the move before he re-aligned.
Flying at a slight arc to keep him tracking, she fired herself at the
sniper, fists forward. She focused her
defense field around her but concentrated to allow her fists to be the first to
hit the sniper. A second before impact
she angled her arm bracer to parry the long barrel away from her as the bayonet
gleamed in the sunlight.
Impact.
From
the street all one could see was a blue streak slam into the building
perch. A cloud of stone erupted and
slowly showered the street below.
Inside
the building, Scarlet recovered first and coughed through the dust-filled
air. Sparks erupted from an electrical
cord and something metallic fell from the ceiling. She stood and surveyed the area. Carpet was pulled up and torn, cubicles were
shattered and some office personnel were either whimpering or scrambling away
from the two combatants. No one seemed
injured to Scarlet’s relief. Then she
found the sniper.
He
was slowly lifting himself up with one hand while taking off his helmet with the
other. Blood ran down his face and his
jaw didn’t seem to fit in place. He spat
blood but seemed determined to continue.
Scarlet jumped up and charged the sniper. Feet first she kicked the soldier up and back
down across the room.
Something
caught her attention below her and she noticed the rifle at her feet. Scarlet looked at the grunting Nemesis
soldier as he slowly tried to lift himself, then down at the rifle.
“What’s
good for the goose …” and she slowly knelt down to pick up the golden instrument. Her gloved hands touched the barrel and she
paused.
---
Leehouse
fixed the case on the wall and took a few steps back. He scratched his head and turned to Sergeant
Darling. “That’s a strange item to put
on our walls don’t you think?”
“This
is an item to help us remember our duties, Leehouse. Sometimes, the greatest challenge in life is
to do what is right, not what is just.”
Darling was stoic and checking something off on a datapad as he spoke.
“I
know that, but …”, Leehouse shook his head and cut himself off. As he turned away he saw the Scarlet Scorpion
looking past him to the new decoration.
He stopped and nodded toward her.
Scarlet looked to Lee and smirked.
She turned on her heels and headed toward her office.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Red Blade
The soft female voice seemed to sing the question:
Are you sure?
A smile crawled along Scarlet’s lips. She pressed the button that would process her request. Deep inside Dawn Patrol Headquarters in Paragon City, machines started making the weapon.
3 days later
“Well, what do you think?” Scarlet was beaming with pride. She felt like she was in front of a classroom during ‘show and tell’. But it was a class of one and he was not looking impressed.
Grand Battler Daikar looked down the length of the blade and kept his frown. He then turned it to it’s side, then the other side. Taking a step back, he lifted the sword and swung two-handed in a wide arc in front of him. Finally, he lifted the sword on both palms and bowed his head as he presented it to Scarlet. “This was manufactured by a machine, correct?”
“What?!” Scarlet blushed. ”Well …yes.”
Daikar smirked.”Good luck then. If you are looking for the perfect sword then I know someone who can help you.”
After a small pause Scarlet said, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch. What’s the price.?”
“Time.”
She slid the gleaming sword into its sheath. “What do you mean?”
“Kathryn, you don’t need this. The Zenith Fangs were bestowed to you as weapons to augment your anima.”
“But I want this. I want something I own. Not just what was given to me by genetics or celestial lineage.”
Daikar nodded. “Then you understand the cost.” It was not a question.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“We’ll see about that. You may as well start using that thing to get a feel for what’s wrong.”
She felt her pride finally washed away from the insult, “how am I supposed to know the difference?!”
“Once you learn the improper way, then the real lessons will be more rewarding. You will be contacted by a friend of mine in two days. Do what he says without question and trust him like you trust me.”
---
---
The day after meeting the Grand Battler
The man looked like a stereotypical Secret Service agent: crisp suit lines, opaque sunglasses, muscular and clean shaven yet somehow rugged looking. The person fit the mold so well his next words were almost comedic.
“You have two days.”
He placed an envelope on the table and calmly walked away.
Nathan Maddox relaxed then lifted a cup of coffee to his lips. “You make some interesting friends.”
Scarlet smirked then snatched the envelope and stood. “I’m sorry, but duty calls. Rain-check for tonight?”
“You know, your tab is starting to get high.”
She leaned down to whisper something but gently licked the rim of his ear instead. After kissing Nathan on the cheek, she finally whispered, “I’ll pay in full with interest when I return.” Scarlet stood straight and quickly walked away without looking back.
3 days later - Osaka, Japan
Scarlet was stunned by the request. “Forgive me Master Snow, my hearing must be fading.”
The little old Japanese man was calm, his voice harsh from age yet gentle with wisdom. “That’s hard to believe considering your reputation. But I will gladly repeat for your American ears … I need a lock of your hair and three drops of your blood from a cut made with this sword.”
Scarlet was staring at the invidious wakizashi and noticed the blade did not reflect anything on its surface. It looked as if it absorbed light. She forced herself to look away as if looking at it further would steal her soul.
“Do not be afraid little warrior … but it will hurt.” Master Snow raised the short sword above his head. “A lot.”
Her face betrayed her surprise and fear.
“If you want my help then this must be done. From what Daikar tells me, you will heal perfectly … which makes you fortunate.” He immediately swung the sword one –handed with such speed Scarlet barely registered the attack. Several strands of her crimson hair floated to the ground.
“Now for the blood,” Master Snow whispered darkly.
Scarlet’s pride reeled in shame as she realized she was losing consciousness and rolling to the ground.
---
---
3 Months after meeting Master Snow
Exalted.
That’s how she felt. The hilt seemed to grip her hands and massage her fingers when she flexed them around the shaft. Although not weightless, the sword floated from one position to another as she moved in slow moving arcs. Scarlet couldn’t help but smile at her enjoyment of the moment.
Master Snow was indeed an artist and Daikar was absolutely right, again. How would she repay the boon they had given her? That will have to be explored another time. For now, her concentration returned to the finely crafted sword. Against her expectations, Master Snow did not place a hand guard where the handle met the blade, common to almost every sword used by sword-smiths. He said a guard-less sword would allow for better fluidity and range of motion, once she learned to use the sword of course.
Thinking of the blade stopped her joy. Aside from the volcanic rock the core was made from, she had to surrender a few things of herself, the least of which was a lock of her hair. She clearly remembered when Master Snow took that from her. She released one hand to touch the healing laceration across her stomach; the source of the blood needed apparently. The wound was healing but it was unsettling to think Master Snow did what he did while she was unconscious. It was her blood that gave the blade its red color.
The final product Master Snow requested was her Zenith Fangs: ancient weapons bequeathed to her from another life she lived. According to Master Snow, the Fangs were forged in the fires of a funeral pyre fueled with undead corpses and it was from the same fires they could be re-forged …
She looked at the blade. Its beauty and perfection marred by the knowledge of its creation. Scarlet didn’t fully believe the tale told to her, but after everything she’d seen in Paragon City … anything was possible.
“Are you sure?” The small and demure female spoke from behind a mask. The Japanese accent made the question seem rhetorical. Her hair curled into tight rolls behind her ears. Every muscle in her body trained to make her one of the world’s foremost assassins. Her presence was ironically intimidating yet Scarlet showed no fear.
“Yes”, the tall red-head replied with confidence.
“Then let’s see what you can do.” The little woman quietly drew her own sword from the scabbard on her hip. She bowed to Scarlet and slowly slid into a starting stance that was both an attack posture and defensive position. Kitai nodded once.
Scarlet exhaled and attacked.
---
---
Yesterday
She pulled down the sheet of paper. It was marked with the Japanese kanji that appeared with growing frequency around the city. This page was fresh compared to the dirty and neglected warehouse she stood in. The trail seemed cold but this was just the entrance to the massive building. The Scarlet Scorpion was confident to find more around the corner.
Three shuriken whistled from the darkness in a long blur. One struck the wall; a second ricocheted from her armor, but the third imbedded deep in the flesh of her shoulder. Scarlet barked in pain and surprise and finished turning in place to face the source of the attack. Her sonic abilities alerted her to the missile attack but that doesn’t mean she’s was fast enough to do something about it. Biting down to prevent revealing any agony, she reached for the shuriken and pulled it out. She dove for cover behind a desk and looked at the sinister weapon. Half covered in her blood elevated her pain to anger.
Three more shuriken attacked various objects around her. Scarlet tightened the grip on her sword and removed the cowl over her head. She debated the addition to her costume and this event was enough to prove she didn’t want it anymore, but the mask had to stay. The pain in her shoulder started to fade as she concentrated on healing and realized she was breathing heavy. Looking around the corner caused another assault but with crossbow bolts. Scarlet shifted the other side and the attacker shot another round. She was blocked from escape.
“Surrender, Miyagi,” the female voice said from the darkness. Scarlet closed her eyes trying to think of a comeback. She heard the whisper of movement.
There is more than one. These are not Tsoo. She rolled her eye at the revelation. The best defense is a better offense.
Scarlet quickly stood with red blade in front. Arrow bolts flew toward her. Their silent flight betrayed their path to her. She raised her sword and deflected the three from her front, then raised an armored gauntlet above her right. Three missiles clanged off the gauntlet to crash around her. She dodged the last three from the left, one skipping off her hip.
Enough. Absorbing the resulting noise of combat, Scarlet refocused the sound into a defensive shield around her. The debris of the ruined warehouse vibrated and danced in the faint glow of the sonic barrier. She heard gasps as if she surprised her assailants and that made her grin. She was not your average sword-fighter … she was more than a martial artist.
Today, 30 minutes ago, Scarlet’s home in Founder’s Falls
Scarlet massaged her shoulder as she looked at the piece of paper with the Japanese kanji printed on it.
There is a coincidence I’m not seeing.
The Knives were not known to attack heroes without cause, and mayhem is not their business. Someone has been laying these leaflets with enough frequency to mean something... was it from the Knives? Scarlet made enough enemies during her tenure with the Dawn Patrol and to think she were important enough for their plans felt obnoxious. It was as if she could see the other side of a chasm and all she needed was the bridge.
Then the bridge appeared … they called HER “Miyagi”!
She dropped the paper and ran toward her phone. Quickly dialing a phone number she started pacing for a connection. When it was answered, Scarlet paused suddenly not knowing what to say.
“We need to talk. Something has happened and you need to know about it.”
The phone was placed on the receiver and Scarlet paced to wait for a reply of some kind. With Kitai, one never knew how she would respond to a message like that.
Friday, July 6, 2012
(All) To be found?
“There! Did you see that?!” Paladin was pointing into the city while holding the binoculars to his face. His black-gloved hand was steady and almost accusing the skyline of cheating.
Standing next to Paladin, one foot on the raised guard of the rooftop, Proust squinted toward the battlefield. He scanned the conflict for the target of Paladin’s attention. In the distance, a building seemed to expand before fire belched from the windows. It imploded into a growing cloud of dust. From the gray cough of destruction appeared humanoid forms, heroes and villains continuing the eternal struggle between good and evil in Siren’s Call.
“No.”
“Just wait. Rumors I’ve heard describe someone here who seems to appear out of nowhere, heal the injured, and vanish just as quick. She shows no loyalty either, much to Longbow’s frustration and joy. If some eyewitness reports are accurate, then we may have found – “
“Isabella.”
A pause. “Right. Know her name?” Paladin was still looking for someone in the distance.
“Diana. Maybe Miran.”
“Can you tell from this distance?”
“Maybe.”
Paladin grunted acknowledgement. He perked as the battle increased in pitch and rolled into better view, less obscured by the maze of buildings in between. Longbow and Arachnos, hero and villain seemed to alternate advance and retreat.
A flash of light appeared where the battle was at its nadir, among wounded from both sides. From the light appeared a tall and slender woman, bald head and purple skin obvious against the grey of the city and battle. She spread her hands and a circular wave a green energy washed over the fallen. As quickly, and brightly, as she arrived, she was gone. Almost instantly another dark figure appeared and slashed through the air the healer occupied with a sinister blade. Then he too vanished.
“What the …” Paladin lowered the binoculars in shock.
Lowering his leg, Proust breathed in. “Hrm. Famous.”
“Or infamous. Colonel, she being hunted.”
“False.” Proust took a few steps away from the ledge and opened a large metal case. Emblazoned across the face of the lid was a large red cross outlined in yellow. He pulled out an armored helmet and assorted body armor parts.
Paladin raised an eyebrow. “Your group sanctioning you being here?” He smirked mockingly.
Clicking an armored boot tight, Proust looked at Paladin, “Autonomous.”
“Hmph. Plan?”
“Retrieve.”
“Who is it anyway?”
“Miran.”
Standing next to Paladin, one foot on the raised guard of the rooftop, Proust squinted toward the battlefield. He scanned the conflict for the target of Paladin’s attention. In the distance, a building seemed to expand before fire belched from the windows. It imploded into a growing cloud of dust. From the gray cough of destruction appeared humanoid forms, heroes and villains continuing the eternal struggle between good and evil in Siren’s Call.
“No.”
“Just wait. Rumors I’ve heard describe someone here who seems to appear out of nowhere, heal the injured, and vanish just as quick. She shows no loyalty either, much to Longbow’s frustration and joy. If some eyewitness reports are accurate, then we may have found – “
“Isabella.”
A pause. “Right. Know her name?” Paladin was still looking for someone in the distance.
“Diana. Maybe Miran.”
“Can you tell from this distance?”
“Maybe.”
Paladin grunted acknowledgement. He perked as the battle increased in pitch and rolled into better view, less obscured by the maze of buildings in between. Longbow and Arachnos, hero and villain seemed to alternate advance and retreat.
A flash of light appeared where the battle was at its nadir, among wounded from both sides. From the light appeared a tall and slender woman, bald head and purple skin obvious against the grey of the city and battle. She spread her hands and a circular wave a green energy washed over the fallen. As quickly, and brightly, as she arrived, she was gone. Almost instantly another dark figure appeared and slashed through the air the healer occupied with a sinister blade. Then he too vanished.
“What the …” Paladin lowered the binoculars in shock.
Lowering his leg, Proust breathed in. “Hrm. Famous.”
“Or infamous. Colonel, she being hunted.”
“False.” Proust took a few steps away from the ledge and opened a large metal case. Emblazoned across the face of the lid was a large red cross outlined in yellow. He pulled out an armored helmet and assorted body armor parts.
Paladin raised an eyebrow. “Your group sanctioning you being here?” He smirked mockingly.
Clicking an armored boot tight, Proust looked at Paladin, “Autonomous.”
“Hmph. Plan?”
“Retrieve.”
“Who is it anyway?”
“Miran.”
(All) To be found?
Three weeks after Shandra’s rescue
VZZZZZM
Two humanoid figures appeared in the dimly lit hallway. Looking in every direction to get their bearings, the taller one looked to the other for verification: all clear.
The shorter one stepped past her compatriot and looked into the jail cell. A few seconds later she looked back, nodded and stepped to the side.
Her large friend stepped forward, placed both hands on the jail door lock and pulled to the side. His hands started to glow bright red, causing the metal to soften. A dull snap occurred within the mechanism and the door was unlocked. The intruders moved with quick precision: one to the side, his back to the bars and scanned from left to right. The other quickly invaded the cell and grabbed the sleeping occupant, forcing him to stand.
“Ugh … wha … mmphm”
The sleeper’s only words were cut off as he realized his situation when his mouth was covered by a black-gloved hand. The antagonist gagged the man with a bundle of cloth and punched him in the stomach. The effect stifled his muffled scream and dropped him into her arms. She lifted him by the neck with one arm and drew him closer to her head, his feet scraping against the floor in futility. She removed her black hood and whispered into his ear.
“Take your last breath, Anton.”
His eyes widened and he shook his head as he looked into Shandra’s vengeance-filled eyes.
He started to scream but her other hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed toward the bars of his jail cell wall. His facial bones were crushed by the force of impact and the thug echoed down the hallway. Shandra planted one foot and stiffened her arm. Her hand imploded the back of the man’s skull, smashed through his brain and continued past the bars in a spray of blood, bone and tissue. The body jerked then went limp.
Shandra was out of the cell by the time the body slumped to the floor and the lights turned on.
Before the guards arrived, the assassins were gone.
VZZZZZM
Two humanoid figures appeared in the dimly lit hallway. Looking in every direction to get their bearings, the taller one looked to the other for verification: all clear.
The shorter one stepped past her compatriot and looked into the jail cell. A few seconds later she looked back, nodded and stepped to the side.
Her large friend stepped forward, placed both hands on the jail door lock and pulled to the side. His hands started to glow bright red, causing the metal to soften. A dull snap occurred within the mechanism and the door was unlocked. The intruders moved with quick precision: one to the side, his back to the bars and scanned from left to right. The other quickly invaded the cell and grabbed the sleeping occupant, forcing him to stand.
“Ugh … wha … mmphm”
The sleeper’s only words were cut off as he realized his situation when his mouth was covered by a black-gloved hand. The antagonist gagged the man with a bundle of cloth and punched him in the stomach. The effect stifled his muffled scream and dropped him into her arms. She lifted him by the neck with one arm and drew him closer to her head, his feet scraping against the floor in futility. She removed her black hood and whispered into his ear.
“Take your last breath, Anton.”
His eyes widened and he shook his head as he looked into Shandra’s vengeance-filled eyes.
He started to scream but her other hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed toward the bars of his jail cell wall. His facial bones were crushed by the force of impact and the thug echoed down the hallway. Shandra planted one foot and stiffened her arm. Her hand imploded the back of the man’s skull, smashed through his brain and continued past the bars in a spray of blood, bone and tissue. The body jerked then went limp.
Shandra was out of the cell by the time the body slumped to the floor and the lights turned on.
Before the guards arrived, the assassins were gone.
(All) To be found?
10 years ago
The doors burst open and a stereotyped scientist exploded into the hallway running full speed. His disheveled pepper-colored hair bounced with each step. The wire-rimmed glasses slid down his nose from the motions and their weight. Unconsciously, he pushed them back as he dodged a woman at a water cooler. The printout paper flowed from his clutched fingers and trailed behind him, billowing in his wake. He skidded around a corner and caught himself from falling, his destination at the end of the new hallway. The scientist halted abruptly at the door and adjusted only his tie then knocked on the door. “Enter” was commanded calmly beyond the mahogany-looking portal.
Still trailing paperwork, the scientist was breathing heavy and perspiring as he entered the office. “We did it Colonel! The sequencing finally worked!” By the end of his short speech, his voice rose in excitement and he started to dance like a child trying not to urinate on himself.
Colonel Charles Arthur III rose in his chair. “Did you check again?!” His excitement was less jovial and more serious and determined.
Nodding furiously, the scientist pointed at multiple red circles on the printout while leaning forward. “See here, and here, here and here … here … this printout is the sixth verification! Shall we proceed with –“
“YES,” interrupting the scientist and raising a hand. “No need to get into details at this time. But your team has worked diligently enough. I’ll take that report. You will have answer by lunchtime. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to look over this.”
“But, sir –“
“IF … you will … excuse me.” By the last words, Colonel Arthur was resting both fists on his desk and almost growling like a bulldog. His eyes were darting to the left toward some bookshelves. The scientist followed the eye glances and fell more silent against his protest and nodded.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Sir.” The scientist’s excitement was replaced with nervousness and worry.
Colonel Arthur sat and waved the scientist away as if a king commanding his court to leave the throne room. As the door closed shut, he sat back into his chair, swiveled to face the window and steepled his fingers. After several minutes he stood, grabbed his coat, the report, then left the office.
---
“Well, Crey did it again.” Colonel Arthur dragged off his cigarette, dropped and crushed it underfoot.
Looking over the report, the man only known to Arthur as “Paladin” seemed impressed. “What was the cost?”
“30 pieces of silver.” Arthur looked disgusted as he remembered the price of success.
“The look on your face worries me Colonel.”
“It should. I still haven’t figured out if I should laugh or cry.”
Putting the report into a steel briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, Paladin exhaled as a signal the meeting was coming to a close. “Alright, what’s my part now?”
“Besides guarding that report with your life? Watch Crey. And don’t give that bitch a chance to know you exist. I’ll be damned if she even thinks to use my project as a replacement for her coveted Revenant Program.”
“Last I heard it wasn’t going well. How she was able to wash millions of dollars is still torturing my counters.”
“I hope it never sees the light of day, regardless of what it actually is. My project is not hers to glorify or bastardize.”
“Yet she contributed something to it? No offense Colonel, but our relationship is not a one-way street. I know your government white-coats have not done well either, and suddenly they make a break-through? Not likely. The Manhattan Project took centuries to happen.
The Colonel stood and looked away casually, not wanting to be outside anymore, the commons in front of the Smithsonian stopped being cheerful. “30 Pieces of silver.”
“Fair enough Colonel. Same protocols then?” Paladin stood and straightened his coat.
“Same.” The Colonel turned and took a few steps before stopping for Paladin’s cough.
“If I may ask, what’s the coat-rack and sheath for really?”
Colonel Arthur smirked and pulled out another cigarette as if from thin air. Lighting it with the Zippo he held in his hand through the whole meeting, he took a very long drag making the end burn yellow. His eyebrows furrowed deep as if deep in thought. Exhaling through his nose, his smirk disappeared back to the seriousness of his next words.
“To save the Earth.”
The doors burst open and a stereotyped scientist exploded into the hallway running full speed. His disheveled pepper-colored hair bounced with each step. The wire-rimmed glasses slid down his nose from the motions and their weight. Unconsciously, he pushed them back as he dodged a woman at a water cooler. The printout paper flowed from his clutched fingers and trailed behind him, billowing in his wake. He skidded around a corner and caught himself from falling, his destination at the end of the new hallway. The scientist halted abruptly at the door and adjusted only his tie then knocked on the door. “Enter” was commanded calmly beyond the mahogany-looking portal.
Still trailing paperwork, the scientist was breathing heavy and perspiring as he entered the office. “We did it Colonel! The sequencing finally worked!” By the end of his short speech, his voice rose in excitement and he started to dance like a child trying not to urinate on himself.
Colonel Charles Arthur III rose in his chair. “Did you check again?!” His excitement was less jovial and more serious and determined.
Nodding furiously, the scientist pointed at multiple red circles on the printout while leaning forward. “See here, and here, here and here … here … this printout is the sixth verification! Shall we proceed with –“
“YES,” interrupting the scientist and raising a hand. “No need to get into details at this time. But your team has worked diligently enough. I’ll take that report. You will have answer by lunchtime. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to look over this.”
“But, sir –“
“IF … you will … excuse me.” By the last words, Colonel Arthur was resting both fists on his desk and almost growling like a bulldog. His eyes were darting to the left toward some bookshelves. The scientist followed the eye glances and fell more silent against his protest and nodded.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Sir.” The scientist’s excitement was replaced with nervousness and worry.
Colonel Arthur sat and waved the scientist away as if a king commanding his court to leave the throne room. As the door closed shut, he sat back into his chair, swiveled to face the window and steepled his fingers. After several minutes he stood, grabbed his coat, the report, then left the office.
---
“Well, Crey did it again.” Colonel Arthur dragged off his cigarette, dropped and crushed it underfoot.
Looking over the report, the man only known to Arthur as “Paladin” seemed impressed. “What was the cost?”
“30 pieces of silver.” Arthur looked disgusted as he remembered the price of success.
“The look on your face worries me Colonel.”
“It should. I still haven’t figured out if I should laugh or cry.”
Putting the report into a steel briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, Paladin exhaled as a signal the meeting was coming to a close. “Alright, what’s my part now?”
“Besides guarding that report with your life? Watch Crey. And don’t give that bitch a chance to know you exist. I’ll be damned if she even thinks to use my project as a replacement for her coveted Revenant Program.”
“Last I heard it wasn’t going well. How she was able to wash millions of dollars is still torturing my counters.”
“I hope it never sees the light of day, regardless of what it actually is. My project is not hers to glorify or bastardize.”
“Yet she contributed something to it? No offense Colonel, but our relationship is not a one-way street. I know your government white-coats have not done well either, and suddenly they make a break-through? Not likely. The Manhattan Project took centuries to happen.
The Colonel stood and looked away casually, not wanting to be outside anymore, the commons in front of the Smithsonian stopped being cheerful. “30 Pieces of silver.”
“Fair enough Colonel. Same protocols then?” Paladin stood and straightened his coat.
“Same.” The Colonel turned and took a few steps before stopping for Paladin’s cough.
“If I may ask, what’s the coat-rack and sheath for really?”
Colonel Arthur smirked and pulled out another cigarette as if from thin air. Lighting it with the Zippo he held in his hand through the whole meeting, he took a very long drag making the end burn yellow. His eyebrows furrowed deep as if deep in thought. Exhaling through his nose, his smirk disappeared back to the seriousness of his next words.
“To save the Earth.”
(All) To be found?
“Positive?”
“I’m sorry to say Colonel, but yes.”
Proust looked back to the building in disbelief. It was four stories tall and dingy in all the classic areas. Each window was tinted in different colors. Movement could be seen from various rooms, but what the people were doing could not be seen clearly, yet the purpose of this building gave away what was happening regardless of tinting or color. Pedestrians on the sidewalk either ignored, or listened to a man advertising something at its front doors. The flashing neon lights from a simple marquee insulted Proust with each blink.
It was a brothel.
Proust knew it as such. King’s Row had a few and he learned of their existence from Paladin. How they managed to be in business did not matter to Proust, only that something precious to him was inside the building.
He looked back to Paladin and put a hand on his should. Paladin’s face was apologetic and didn’t flinch as Proust’s large hand squeezed a threat. “Proof?”
“Yes.” Proust’s mood turned from suspicion to anger. In his mind he tried to conceive of events that could lead anyone to be inside that building. As each scenario played like lightning flashes in his mind’s eye, he declared each as impossible. That was his training. Proust felt like shutting down, at the same time, he needed to fix the injustice of the reality he was facing.
Paladin, expecting a reaction from Proust raised his other arm, producing black and white photos. “See for yourself. I was discrete.”
Proust snatched the photos and quickly scanned through them, dropping each as he was finished. At the last photo his eyes widened and he shredded the photo until his large hands could not tear further. The pieces rested around his feet and he simply closed his eyes, breathing heavily but steady. The gravel of the rooftop bounced a beat as Proust readied himself for what was to come next.
Self-massaging his shoulder, Paladin looked toward the building and shook his head. “Colonel, for what it’s worth … I’m sorry.”
“Accepted,” Proust growled.
Paladin fished into a coat pocket for something. Finding it, he spoke into a receiver, “Stand by.” Turning to Proust, “Begin.”
At the command, Proust leapt into the air. Arcing high above the street, he heard sirens activate and magnify as they turned the corners to converge on the building he started to fall toward. He crashed through the roof in a cacophony of wood and electrical wiring. Untangling himself, he was surrounded by women screaming and men grunting from either trying to escape, or frantically dressing themselves. Proust ignored the frightened looks and pointing fingers as he got his bearings. Seeing the elevator, he took the most direct route toward them by tearing down doorways or ruining walls in between.
Proust forced the doors apart as half-naked people ran around and behind him while shouting from officials could be heard from the stairways. Grabbing a cable he fell five stories and into the elevator car resting on the basement level. By now his rage was almost uncontrollable as he could not block the image from the last photo. Proust pried the doors apart and stepped into a large room. It was dimly lit with only candles scattered throughout the room. Incense hung heavy in the air like sleeping ghosts and one sniff told Proust his waking nightmare got worse.
Narcotics. Hallucinogenic vapor.
His fury filtered the foul stench and his vision focused on a large plinth in the center of the room. On it, draped in translucent red cloth suspended from the ceiling was a large bed. Red carpet ran from the elevator to the bed, inviting a visitor to become a participant inside the veil. Rows of seat surrounded the centerpiece for spectators and within the veil rested a female.
Proust balled his fists and walked up to the lightly glittering cloth only looked onto the bed. Wrapped in satin-like Sheet slept a woman, sprawled face-down and away from him. Her long white hair, clear yet disheveled, covered her face but blended with the sheet and pillow. As the authorities continued the chaos above, it was all muted in Proust’s ears as he slowly walked around the bed in distraught disbelief. He parted the veil and breathed in shock as his fear was revealed.
“Kassandra.”
---
Paladin watched peripherally as paddy-wagons were being filled with prostitutes, pimps and johns equally and with protest. His attention was focused on the roof, especially the hole his associate created several minutes ago. He glanced at his watch when his attention was captured by movement. A grappling hook found purchase on a ledge and the cable was taut. A large purple hand clawed its way up, pulling Proust and a white bag over his broad shoulder. Within seconds, Proust was next to Paladin, gently placing the bag of the rooftop between their feet.
“Medic.”
Paladin took a knee and uncovered the woman’s sheet-wrapped face. “My god, she’s … beautiful.” Paladin gulped. I promise the Earth, she will be fine.”
Proust stood. “She is a GREL. I know she will be fine.”
“Name?” Paladin could not look away from her beauty.
“Shandra.”
“I’m sorry to say Colonel, but yes.”
Proust looked back to the building in disbelief. It was four stories tall and dingy in all the classic areas. Each window was tinted in different colors. Movement could be seen from various rooms, but what the people were doing could not be seen clearly, yet the purpose of this building gave away what was happening regardless of tinting or color. Pedestrians on the sidewalk either ignored, or listened to a man advertising something at its front doors. The flashing neon lights from a simple marquee insulted Proust with each blink.
It was a brothel.
Proust knew it as such. King’s Row had a few and he learned of their existence from Paladin. How they managed to be in business did not matter to Proust, only that something precious to him was inside the building.
He looked back to Paladin and put a hand on his should. Paladin’s face was apologetic and didn’t flinch as Proust’s large hand squeezed a threat. “Proof?”
“Yes.” Proust’s mood turned from suspicion to anger. In his mind he tried to conceive of events that could lead anyone to be inside that building. As each scenario played like lightning flashes in his mind’s eye, he declared each as impossible. That was his training. Proust felt like shutting down, at the same time, he needed to fix the injustice of the reality he was facing.
Paladin, expecting a reaction from Proust raised his other arm, producing black and white photos. “See for yourself. I was discrete.”
Proust snatched the photos and quickly scanned through them, dropping each as he was finished. At the last photo his eyes widened and he shredded the photo until his large hands could not tear further. The pieces rested around his feet and he simply closed his eyes, breathing heavily but steady. The gravel of the rooftop bounced a beat as Proust readied himself for what was to come next.
Self-massaging his shoulder, Paladin looked toward the building and shook his head. “Colonel, for what it’s worth … I’m sorry.”
“Accepted,” Proust growled.
Paladin fished into a coat pocket for something. Finding it, he spoke into a receiver, “Stand by.” Turning to Proust, “Begin.”
At the command, Proust leapt into the air. Arcing high above the street, he heard sirens activate and magnify as they turned the corners to converge on the building he started to fall toward. He crashed through the roof in a cacophony of wood and electrical wiring. Untangling himself, he was surrounded by women screaming and men grunting from either trying to escape, or frantically dressing themselves. Proust ignored the frightened looks and pointing fingers as he got his bearings. Seeing the elevator, he took the most direct route toward them by tearing down doorways or ruining walls in between.
Proust forced the doors apart as half-naked people ran around and behind him while shouting from officials could be heard from the stairways. Grabbing a cable he fell five stories and into the elevator car resting on the basement level. By now his rage was almost uncontrollable as he could not block the image from the last photo. Proust pried the doors apart and stepped into a large room. It was dimly lit with only candles scattered throughout the room. Incense hung heavy in the air like sleeping ghosts and one sniff told Proust his waking nightmare got worse.
Narcotics. Hallucinogenic vapor.
His fury filtered the foul stench and his vision focused on a large plinth in the center of the room. On it, draped in translucent red cloth suspended from the ceiling was a large bed. Red carpet ran from the elevator to the bed, inviting a visitor to become a participant inside the veil. Rows of seat surrounded the centerpiece for spectators and within the veil rested a female.
Proust balled his fists and walked up to the lightly glittering cloth only looked onto the bed. Wrapped in satin-like Sheet slept a woman, sprawled face-down and away from him. Her long white hair, clear yet disheveled, covered her face but blended with the sheet and pillow. As the authorities continued the chaos above, it was all muted in Proust’s ears as he slowly walked around the bed in distraught disbelief. He parted the veil and breathed in shock as his fear was revealed.
“Kassandra.”
---
Paladin watched peripherally as paddy-wagons were being filled with prostitutes, pimps and johns equally and with protest. His attention was focused on the roof, especially the hole his associate created several minutes ago. He glanced at his watch when his attention was captured by movement. A grappling hook found purchase on a ledge and the cable was taut. A large purple hand clawed its way up, pulling Proust and a white bag over his broad shoulder. Within seconds, Proust was next to Paladin, gently placing the bag of the rooftop between their feet.
“Medic.”
Paladin took a knee and uncovered the woman’s sheet-wrapped face. “My god, she’s … beautiful.” Paladin gulped. I promise the Earth, she will be fine.”
Proust stood. “She is a GREL. I know she will be fine.”
“Name?” Paladin could not look away from her beauty.
“Shandra.”
(All) To be found?
He pushed the door until he could enter without using it again. The stench of burned wood, plastic and metal filled the room but was not coming from it. The source was deeper into the structure. As he turned the first corner, Proust realized he was very calm, though alert. Then a flicker from exposed wiring revealed the hallway in an instant.
Bodies were strewn down the length of the hallway. Only a half-dozen, but all were laying still and looked as if they were rag-dolls thrown away from a bored child. Proust knelt to the first one and checked for a pulse. Faint, but alive. He inspected the unconscious and bleeding victim. Blue military uniform, black boots and gloves, and silver helmet. Though the helmet was crushed, it protected the man from death.
Sky Raiders.
Proust surmised whomever did this amount of damage was powerful and dangerous. He did not notice anyone leave the building in the hour he watched the entrance and these wounds still seemed fresh. His alertness reached a new level as the idea that the assaulter might still be in the building.
Feeling confident in his own abilities he boldly walked through the hallways, disregarding the occasional moan of pain or debris on the floor. His footsteps echoed down the hallways and faded around corners into darkness. He didn't care, he had a goal and his greatest obstacle so far had been eliminated. Recalling most groups do not usually attack each other without provocation, this was the work of a “hero”. Proust shrugged as he walked in thought. “At least usually,” he thought to himself.
Upon entering a cavernous room he inspected the surroundings he could see: crates, conveyor belts, metal stairways. Typical warehouse fair. Proust concentrated a little and his perception of the room improved. More bodies, more debris. But in the corner rested a container unlike the rest. Large and metallic. It seemed as if it was covered by dirt with some of it caked on the sides. A few guards strewn around the metal box. Proust recognized the Crey Industries logo in the corner of the box and half-covered in mud. That is it. That's what Paladin was talking about. He looked around and behind. Nothing. As far as he was concerned, he was the only person standing in the room.
“Is that your box?”
Proust spun on his heels to his left to see a woman casually resting against the wall. She wasn't looking at Proust, but at the corner his box was in. The faint light above them both revealed the scene: she was tall for a woman but nothing beyond the ordinary. A lithe figure whose bright red hair flowed across her shoulders and covered her face. Her black body suit revealed more skin than Proust was used to seeing lately, but again, nothing beyond the ordinary for “heroes”. Gloved arms were crossed and fingers tapping against one arm betrayed a sense of impatience.
“Yes.”
The woman hmphed slightly. “Hello Proust, good to see you again. You'll need this if you want what's inside.” She held up a shiny object and stood to look at Proust. The black eye patch over her left eye covered streaks of scars along the side of her face. He tensed at the sight of the woman, who was objectively beautiful, strangely made more so by the eye patch. He remembered her but his sense of duty and mission did not extend the thought beyond recognition of the fact.
“Provide.” Proust raised an open palm up, the meaning clear.
An eyebrow raised and she clutched the key in one gloved hand, still holding her new fist up in defiance. “Or what? You wouldn't hit a girl ... your former commander ... would you?”
Proust paused. “Yes.”
Her gloved hand lowered and she took a step back while crouching ready to strike. “Is that right? Before we do this, the wreckage of this place was done by me. If this key is what you need then you better prove it's worth.”
Proust calmly, slowly, lowered his hand. He thought hard to determine the next course of action. She did not and has not attacked, but is giving a chance. He decided to gamble: “The contents will help me find my brothers and sisters to crush the Rikti and save the Earth. Give me the key, or die.”
The heroine was visibly stunned by the comment. She stood and her laughter filled the room. Proust stood quietly but began to focus his energies to formulating an attack pattern. The leather of his suit squeaked at the silent strain his muscles put upon it.
“Heh, ok. That was worth it. If you wish to continue then we can work it out here now or later at your choosing. Honestly, I'd rather not fight you for this key anyway. You passed my test. Besides, I know what's inside the box. Looking at you, I am sure it was made specifically for you anyway. Here, take it. I'll be looking for you in the future.” She smirked and tossed the key to Proust who caught it one-handed in front of him without effort.
“Ally?”
The Scarlet Scorpion raised an eyebrow. “Back to the facade again? Yes, for now. Anyone who is brave enough to single-handedly walk into a Sky Raider fence-front looking for a box that big must be doing some good around the city. At least that's my hunch. I'm taking a big gamble here … and I don't bet unless I'm going to win. Besides, your short stay with the Patrol is still worth something to me.”
Proust nodded. “Agreed.”
“So, enjoy your hard-fought prize. You owe me one.” She pointed a finger and winked with a small smile, then started walking toward Proust. He sidestepped to let her pass into the hallway and watched her disappear into the darkness, the heels of her black boots signaling her presence in the building.
Proust scratched his head feigning puzzlement then walked across the room to the large metal crate. His developmental programming instantly recognized what he needed to do to gain access. He felt its sides until he found the keylock. Pressing the key flat adjacent to the keyhole caused the lock to beep twice. The seals hissed gently and the lip popped open an inch. The Scarlet Scorpion had indeed opened it previously, otherwise more air would have rushed into the crate to replace the slowly increasing vacuum inside. He looked around him once more to make sure he was truly alone. A guard near him whimpered and Proust kicked the helmet hard enough to silence the man. Then he opened the crate …
---
Later, inside the Sanctuary.
“You want me to paint that?”
“Yes.”
Rex was the artificer of the Sanctuary. His telescoped monocle retracted and extended as he looked over the armored suit laid out on the table. His greying hair disheveled and unkempt started to match his labcoat. Smudges of grease and grim smeared across his jaw. He looked up and down the suit, then poked at it's shell before one grimy hand gripped his jaw and the other scratched his head. He started to nod.
“Yeah, no problem. Give me the color scheme you want and it'll be done by tomorrow. Mind if I tinker with it while I'm playing Mario's day job?”
Proust shrugged which caused Rex to smile a toothy grin. Then Proust moved a finger across his throat in veto which caused Rex's smile to fade.
“Yeah thought so. The secrets in this closet can make a man claustrophobic quick. At least I get to see it before anyone else does!” Rex clasped his hands and rubbed them scheming how to get his new job done.
Proust turned to walk away, then pointed at Rex and to himself, “Trust.”
Bodies were strewn down the length of the hallway. Only a half-dozen, but all were laying still and looked as if they were rag-dolls thrown away from a bored child. Proust knelt to the first one and checked for a pulse. Faint, but alive. He inspected the unconscious and bleeding victim. Blue military uniform, black boots and gloves, and silver helmet. Though the helmet was crushed, it protected the man from death.
Sky Raiders.
Proust surmised whomever did this amount of damage was powerful and dangerous. He did not notice anyone leave the building in the hour he watched the entrance and these wounds still seemed fresh. His alertness reached a new level as the idea that the assaulter might still be in the building.
Feeling confident in his own abilities he boldly walked through the hallways, disregarding the occasional moan of pain or debris on the floor. His footsteps echoed down the hallways and faded around corners into darkness. He didn't care, he had a goal and his greatest obstacle so far had been eliminated. Recalling most groups do not usually attack each other without provocation, this was the work of a “hero”. Proust shrugged as he walked in thought. “At least usually,” he thought to himself.
Upon entering a cavernous room he inspected the surroundings he could see: crates, conveyor belts, metal stairways. Typical warehouse fair. Proust concentrated a little and his perception of the room improved. More bodies, more debris. But in the corner rested a container unlike the rest. Large and metallic. It seemed as if it was covered by dirt with some of it caked on the sides. A few guards strewn around the metal box. Proust recognized the Crey Industries logo in the corner of the box and half-covered in mud. That is it. That's what Paladin was talking about. He looked around and behind. Nothing. As far as he was concerned, he was the only person standing in the room.
“Is that your box?”
Proust spun on his heels to his left to see a woman casually resting against the wall. She wasn't looking at Proust, but at the corner his box was in. The faint light above them both revealed the scene: she was tall for a woman but nothing beyond the ordinary. A lithe figure whose bright red hair flowed across her shoulders and covered her face. Her black body suit revealed more skin than Proust was used to seeing lately, but again, nothing beyond the ordinary for “heroes”. Gloved arms were crossed and fingers tapping against one arm betrayed a sense of impatience.
“Yes.”
The woman hmphed slightly. “Hello Proust, good to see you again. You'll need this if you want what's inside.” She held up a shiny object and stood to look at Proust. The black eye patch over her left eye covered streaks of scars along the side of her face. He tensed at the sight of the woman, who was objectively beautiful, strangely made more so by the eye patch. He remembered her but his sense of duty and mission did not extend the thought beyond recognition of the fact.
“Provide.” Proust raised an open palm up, the meaning clear.
An eyebrow raised and she clutched the key in one gloved hand, still holding her new fist up in defiance. “Or what? You wouldn't hit a girl ... your former commander ... would you?”
Proust paused. “Yes.”
Her gloved hand lowered and she took a step back while crouching ready to strike. “Is that right? Before we do this, the wreckage of this place was done by me. If this key is what you need then you better prove it's worth.”
Proust calmly, slowly, lowered his hand. He thought hard to determine the next course of action. She did not and has not attacked, but is giving a chance. He decided to gamble: “The contents will help me find my brothers and sisters to crush the Rikti and save the Earth. Give me the key, or die.”
The heroine was visibly stunned by the comment. She stood and her laughter filled the room. Proust stood quietly but began to focus his energies to formulating an attack pattern. The leather of his suit squeaked at the silent strain his muscles put upon it.
“Heh, ok. That was worth it. If you wish to continue then we can work it out here now or later at your choosing. Honestly, I'd rather not fight you for this key anyway. You passed my test. Besides, I know what's inside the box. Looking at you, I am sure it was made specifically for you anyway. Here, take it. I'll be looking for you in the future.” She smirked and tossed the key to Proust who caught it one-handed in front of him without effort.
“Ally?”
The Scarlet Scorpion raised an eyebrow. “Back to the facade again? Yes, for now. Anyone who is brave enough to single-handedly walk into a Sky Raider fence-front looking for a box that big must be doing some good around the city. At least that's my hunch. I'm taking a big gamble here … and I don't bet unless I'm going to win. Besides, your short stay with the Patrol is still worth something to me.”
Proust nodded. “Agreed.”
“So, enjoy your hard-fought prize. You owe me one.” She pointed a finger and winked with a small smile, then started walking toward Proust. He sidestepped to let her pass into the hallway and watched her disappear into the darkness, the heels of her black boots signaling her presence in the building.
Proust scratched his head feigning puzzlement then walked across the room to the large metal crate. His developmental programming instantly recognized what he needed to do to gain access. He felt its sides until he found the keylock. Pressing the key flat adjacent to the keyhole caused the lock to beep twice. The seals hissed gently and the lip popped open an inch. The Scarlet Scorpion had indeed opened it previously, otherwise more air would have rushed into the crate to replace the slowly increasing vacuum inside. He looked around him once more to make sure he was truly alone. A guard near him whimpered and Proust kicked the helmet hard enough to silence the man. Then he opened the crate …
---
Later, inside the Sanctuary.
“You want me to paint that?”
“Yes.”
Rex was the artificer of the Sanctuary. His telescoped monocle retracted and extended as he looked over the armored suit laid out on the table. His greying hair disheveled and unkempt started to match his labcoat. Smudges of grease and grim smeared across his jaw. He looked up and down the suit, then poked at it's shell before one grimy hand gripped his jaw and the other scratched his head. He started to nod.
“Yeah, no problem. Give me the color scheme you want and it'll be done by tomorrow. Mind if I tinker with it while I'm playing Mario's day job?”
Proust shrugged which caused Rex to smile a toothy grin. Then Proust moved a finger across his throat in veto which caused Rex's smile to fade.
“Yeah thought so. The secrets in this closet can make a man claustrophobic quick. At least I get to see it before anyone else does!” Rex clasped his hands and rubbed them scheming how to get his new job done.
Proust turned to walk away, then pointed at Rex and to himself, “Trust.”
(All) To be found?
Paladin waited in the shadows. "Creys Folly" was one of the more inhospitable places in Paragon City, even though he conducted many missions in this area and had more than a few contacts in darker places than the one he was standing in. Still, all sorts of evil lurked everywhere. How Crey Industries was able to make anything from the factories and office complexes was still a wonder to him.
A cola can danced down an alley and it's echo was sure to attract attention. Paladin instinctively reached for his twin silenced Eagle pistols but thought against actually drawing from their holsters. Was that a sign?
Proust's red scarf seemed to glow in the darkness from the alley. He nodded to Paladin then looked both ways of the street separating them. Paladin did the same and all seemed clear.
Hoping against watchful Nemesis snipers, Paladin sprinted from his concealed location. As he crossed the median he wished Proust carried some sort of rifle because the hulking man was in a perfect defilade. Meanwhile, Paladin was a moving target, albeit a very fast moving one and silent as a whisper. He launched himself into the air and vaulted above Proust, noticing his margin for error was almost nullified by Proust's considerable height. He landed behind Proust with a hushed tap and when he looked at his large compatriot is when he noticed the tri-barrelled cannon slung over the shoulder.
Paladin's mouth dropped as he recognized the prototype weapon: a Magna Hellstar Particle Projection Cannon. "By the Sephiroth ... where the hell did you get that thing?!"
Proust raised a finger to where his mouth was covered by the shroud. "Secret."
Rolling his eyes, Paladin reached into his cargo pants leg pouch and pulled some neatly folded papers. "Of course, is it the 'top' version?"
"Indeed."
"Indeed. Let me know how powerful that thing is, will ya? I heard it can be pretty loud."
"Boom." Proust's free hand made a sign suggesting a large explosion.
"Indeed."
"Indeed."
Paladin watched Proust accept the paper and unfold it one-handed while his other hand still rested on the trigger of the cannon. He watched Proust read in the dark and enjoyed the look in his eyes as Proust comprehended the news.
"That's right big fella. We found one. And before your group could do it."
"Planned?"
"One day you'll have to trust me. My sources actually want you to succeed. This came to us via a mole in the Twilight Consortium. She was located in Warburg and doesn't know any affiliation, at least not according to that report. Regardless, the Korps needs to be put together. There is a storm on the horizon and it's why you are here."
Proust was still reading the report. He looked up when Paladin stopped talking. "Mission?"
While nodding, "Oh, yes. An unknown group stole a shipment of weapons from Vanguard."
"Retrieve?"
"No, we already know the Dawn Patrol are investigating who did it. We want you to do something more suited to your abilities. The last page is a copy from the Patrol's investigations. Follow the one known as 'The Scarlet Scorpion'. According to the report, she knows where the shipment is and it's in Talos. Your mission is to enter the location after she leaves with any evidence. It's not what they stole, but who did it."
"Explain."
Paladin took a step closer as if the next thing he were to say could alter the course of history. He looked into Proust's eyes.
"Punish."
A cola can danced down an alley and it's echo was sure to attract attention. Paladin instinctively reached for his twin silenced Eagle pistols but thought against actually drawing from their holsters. Was that a sign?
Proust's red scarf seemed to glow in the darkness from the alley. He nodded to Paladin then looked both ways of the street separating them. Paladin did the same and all seemed clear.
Hoping against watchful Nemesis snipers, Paladin sprinted from his concealed location. As he crossed the median he wished Proust carried some sort of rifle because the hulking man was in a perfect defilade. Meanwhile, Paladin was a moving target, albeit a very fast moving one and silent as a whisper. He launched himself into the air and vaulted above Proust, noticing his margin for error was almost nullified by Proust's considerable height. He landed behind Proust with a hushed tap and when he looked at his large compatriot is when he noticed the tri-barrelled cannon slung over the shoulder.
Paladin's mouth dropped as he recognized the prototype weapon: a Magna Hellstar Particle Projection Cannon. "By the Sephiroth ... where the hell did you get that thing?!"
Proust raised a finger to where his mouth was covered by the shroud. "Secret."
Rolling his eyes, Paladin reached into his cargo pants leg pouch and pulled some neatly folded papers. "Of course, is it the 'top' version?"
"Indeed."
"Indeed. Let me know how powerful that thing is, will ya? I heard it can be pretty loud."
"Boom." Proust's free hand made a sign suggesting a large explosion.
"Indeed."
"Indeed."
Paladin watched Proust accept the paper and unfold it one-handed while his other hand still rested on the trigger of the cannon. He watched Proust read in the dark and enjoyed the look in his eyes as Proust comprehended the news.
"That's right big fella. We found one. And before your group could do it."
"Planned?"
"One day you'll have to trust me. My sources actually want you to succeed. This came to us via a mole in the Twilight Consortium. She was located in Warburg and doesn't know any affiliation, at least not according to that report. Regardless, the Korps needs to be put together. There is a storm on the horizon and it's why you are here."
Proust was still reading the report. He looked up when Paladin stopped talking. "Mission?"
While nodding, "Oh, yes. An unknown group stole a shipment of weapons from Vanguard."
"Retrieve?"
"No, we already know the Dawn Patrol are investigating who did it. We want you to do something more suited to your abilities. The last page is a copy from the Patrol's investigations. Follow the one known as 'The Scarlet Scorpion'. According to the report, she knows where the shipment is and it's in Talos. Your mission is to enter the location after she leaves with any evidence. It's not what they stole, but who did it."
"Explain."
Paladin took a step closer as if the next thing he were to say could alter the course of history. He looked into Proust's eyes.
"Punish."
(All) To be found?
Paladin cursed under his breath as he looked at the body. His anger was boiling. Closing his eyes he began to count. Finally he looked up to Proust who was stoically standing on the other side of the metal slab.
"Was she alive when you found her?"
Proust shook his head.
"Did you check if she had any intel on her?"
Again, negative.
Paladin sighed and looked down again. Then looked up sharply, "Are you lying? You cannot do that you know."
Two large fists rested on hips and Proust's eyebrows came together.
"Right, right, of course not," was the whispered reply. "Well shit. This has closed a door or two Colonel." Paladin raised a hand and rubbed against the stubble on his chin, deep in thought. Proust just looked on like a statue.
A snap of his figures signaled a revelation. "There is another way." Paladin leaned in over the body, "Your group. They have access to certain records I'm sure. If you can acquire some information for me then I can get what I need to help you." His eyes were wide and he was clearly excited.
Proust's brow knotted further and he leaned in to match Paladin's stance. "No."
The smaller man pushed away from the table and took a step back. "Look, there is only so much I can do. I have not seen you lift finger to find your precious 'Korps'. I asked for a little help to get some things rolling. Remember the deal: I'll help you if you help me. So where's the love?"
Proust slowly stood and removed his bright red cowl and cape. Holding it at his right side he slowly walked around the table to Paladin's side. Proust raised his left hand and raised his middle finger. His voice was low and monotone, "Give me one reason to keep this agreement."
Paladin took a step back and whispered to no one, "Speech protocols..." To Proust, "when were you able to speak outside of combat parameters?"
Proust smiled, "Little man, you can't help me. And if you can't, then the Earth is doomed." He put the cape and cowl back on and started heading to the door, leaving Paladin in a stunned stupor.
---
"I'm telling you Colonel, your Eighty-eight spoke to me like any person would be able to."
Silence. A sigh.
"Fine. Then my services are done?"
Silence.
"Fine. Send the files. I'll give them to him. You sure this will push him?"
Silence.
"Good. I'll do what I can.
---
The man disconnected the line and rubbed his mustache. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled his chair to encompass the scenic beauty of Founder's Falls. Making a steeple with his fingers, the man was deep in thought.
He just experienced a minor setback in his grand plans but nothing that can't be fixed. GREL-88 has been remarkably brilliant since his emergence from supposed death. And now it took a giant leap from its intended design. The "Codex" was teaching him speech in normal environs. This is a good thing. They are also allowing him to maintain his physical condition. But they have also added an element of loyalty to themselves.
The GREL program assumed that loyalty to the Korps was the only motivator. Clearly this is not true. So is it possible the other GRELs might develop in a similar fashion given the same stimulus?
The man shook his head.
No, GREL-88 was made different. He was to lead the Korps in combat. The others are soldiers like him, but unlike him are less ... individualistic.
We must find the rest. Even if they are dead we must learn what happened to them. Damn you Countess. Damn you to hell.
The intercom chimed. Startled out of his reverie, the man answered, "Yes Penelope?"
"Colonel Arthur, a representative from Vanguard is here to see you."
"Yes, thank you. Allow me one minute." The line closed.
Colonel Arthur stood and put on his United States Marines jacket. The medals gleaming in the window's reflection. "Damn you, Countess Crey."
---
Proust entered his apartment in Surace Industries. Activating the silencing device he sat at the table and pulled out a small case from one of his many pockets. Dotted with dried blood and dirt, he opened the container as Jade Falcon instructed him. Inside were folded documents. They looked original. They looked official. They had the words Proust had been hoping to find on them. Jade Falcon told the truth before he had to kill her.
'Project: Genetic Recombination Elite Legionnaire'
"Was she alive when you found her?"
Proust shook his head.
"Did you check if she had any intel on her?"
Again, negative.
Paladin sighed and looked down again. Then looked up sharply, "Are you lying? You cannot do that you know."
Two large fists rested on hips and Proust's eyebrows came together.
"Right, right, of course not," was the whispered reply. "Well shit. This has closed a door or two Colonel." Paladin raised a hand and rubbed against the stubble on his chin, deep in thought. Proust just looked on like a statue.
A snap of his figures signaled a revelation. "There is another way." Paladin leaned in over the body, "Your group. They have access to certain records I'm sure. If you can acquire some information for me then I can get what I need to help you." His eyes were wide and he was clearly excited.
Proust's brow knotted further and he leaned in to match Paladin's stance. "No."
The smaller man pushed away from the table and took a step back. "Look, there is only so much I can do. I have not seen you lift finger to find your precious 'Korps'. I asked for a little help to get some things rolling. Remember the deal: I'll help you if you help me. So where's the love?"
Proust slowly stood and removed his bright red cowl and cape. Holding it at his right side he slowly walked around the table to Paladin's side. Proust raised his left hand and raised his middle finger. His voice was low and monotone, "Give me one reason to keep this agreement."
Paladin took a step back and whispered to no one, "Speech protocols..." To Proust, "when were you able to speak outside of combat parameters?"
Proust smiled, "Little man, you can't help me. And if you can't, then the Earth is doomed." He put the cape and cowl back on and started heading to the door, leaving Paladin in a stunned stupor.
---
"I'm telling you Colonel, your Eighty-eight spoke to me like any person would be able to."
Silence. A sigh.
"Fine. Then my services are done?"
Silence.
"Fine. Send the files. I'll give them to him. You sure this will push him?"
Silence.
"Good. I'll do what I can.
---
The man disconnected the line and rubbed his mustache. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled his chair to encompass the scenic beauty of Founder's Falls. Making a steeple with his fingers, the man was deep in thought.
He just experienced a minor setback in his grand plans but nothing that can't be fixed. GREL-88 has been remarkably brilliant since his emergence from supposed death. And now it took a giant leap from its intended design. The "Codex" was teaching him speech in normal environs. This is a good thing. They are also allowing him to maintain his physical condition. But they have also added an element of loyalty to themselves.
The GREL program assumed that loyalty to the Korps was the only motivator. Clearly this is not true. So is it possible the other GRELs might develop in a similar fashion given the same stimulus?
The man shook his head.
No, GREL-88 was made different. He was to lead the Korps in combat. The others are soldiers like him, but unlike him are less ... individualistic.
We must find the rest. Even if they are dead we must learn what happened to them. Damn you Countess. Damn you to hell.
The intercom chimed. Startled out of his reverie, the man answered, "Yes Penelope?"
"Colonel Arthur, a representative from Vanguard is here to see you."
"Yes, thank you. Allow me one minute." The line closed.
Colonel Arthur stood and put on his United States Marines jacket. The medals gleaming in the window's reflection. "Damn you, Countess Crey."
---
Proust entered his apartment in Surace Industries. Activating the silencing device he sat at the table and pulled out a small case from one of his many pockets. Dotted with dried blood and dirt, he opened the container as Jade Falcon instructed him. Inside were folded documents. They looked original. They looked official. They had the words Proust had been hoping to find on them. Jade Falcon told the truth before he had to kill her.
'Project: Genetic Recombination Elite Legionnaire'
(All) To be found?
Paladin was looking through binoculars when Proust walked up behind him. They were both standing on a rooftop overlooking Grendel's Gulch in Eastgate. Proust's armored gauntlet snapped and hissed into place over his massive arms. Relaxing his arms, Paladin looked up to Proust whose gaze was fixed to the gaping hole in the earth.
"Ready Colonel?"
Proust simply nodded. Then pointed into the chasm. "There?"
Paladin nodded. Then he noticed Proust was not looking at him. "Yes. There is a cave entrance to the eastern part of the ridgeline ... about eight-hundred meters from here and fifty meters down. See the half-buried red car?"
"Yes."
"Ever fought the Trolls."
Proust nodded and huffed, "Hard."
"They are?"
Shaking his head, Proust replied, "No."
Paladin crouched and peered out into the crater. "This is one of many tasks I need your assistance with. Inside the cave is a captive of the Trolls gang. She has information I need. She also has information you need. Based on what she tells me will determine what I can give you about your past and purpose."
With a snort, "Purpose."
Paladin sharply looked up at Proust. "Do you know why you exist Colonel? Do I need to remind you of that?"
Proust slowly turned to the man. "Vengeance."
"Try again."
"No."
Paladin grinned and slapped Proust's calf muscle. "Right, just teasing you. Is there anything more you need from me?"
"No."
"Ok then. Rescue Jade Falcon and bring her to me here, I'll be waiting. I'll even cover your escape." At those words, Paladin dragged a bag closer and unzipped it, pulling out a disassembled sniper rifle. Mutely he started locking pieces into place.
Proust took a step back and squatted as if a spring were being coiled. "No need." With a slight grunt he leaped into the air toward the cave entrance.
Paladin just grinned, rested the rifle's legs on the rooftop ledge, and peered into the scope.
"Ready Colonel?"
Proust simply nodded. Then pointed into the chasm. "There?"
Paladin nodded. Then he noticed Proust was not looking at him. "Yes. There is a cave entrance to the eastern part of the ridgeline ... about eight-hundred meters from here and fifty meters down. See the half-buried red car?"
"Yes."
"Ever fought the Trolls."
Proust nodded and huffed, "Hard."
"They are?"
Shaking his head, Proust replied, "No."
Paladin crouched and peered out into the crater. "This is one of many tasks I need your assistance with. Inside the cave is a captive of the Trolls gang. She has information I need. She also has information you need. Based on what she tells me will determine what I can give you about your past and purpose."
With a snort, "Purpose."
Paladin sharply looked up at Proust. "Do you know why you exist Colonel? Do I need to remind you of that?"
Proust slowly turned to the man. "Vengeance."
"Try again."
"No."
Paladin grinned and slapped Proust's calf muscle. "Right, just teasing you. Is there anything more you need from me?"
"No."
"Ok then. Rescue Jade Falcon and bring her to me here, I'll be waiting. I'll even cover your escape." At those words, Paladin dragged a bag closer and unzipped it, pulling out a disassembled sniper rifle. Mutely he started locking pieces into place.
Proust took a step back and squatted as if a spring were being coiled. "No need." With a slight grunt he leaped into the air toward the cave entrance.
Paladin just grinned, rested the rifle's legs on the rooftop ledge, and peered into the scope.
(All) To be found?
(Originally posted by Phaize)
Though he'd never expected it, Proust was beginning to grow on Jason Caine. For starters, he was perhaps the one man (or woman) he could trust to use a coaster on his table even when Jason was out of the room. But Proust... he seemed to treat people the same even behind their backs. It was admirable.
He watched the big man as he stood nearby, examining the bulletin board. After a short while, Proust noticed Phaize watching him. As he was greeted, Jason caught a subtle shift in his colleague's expression.
"Thinking deep thoughts, fella?" Phaize asked in a tone he hoped sounded nonchalant.
Proust paused, and Jason could only assume that he was thinking the question over, truly weighing his answer. "Yes."
"Want to talk about it? Sometimes our demons don't seem so bad when we cast some light on 'em."
Another pause, "No."
"Alright, guy. I didn't mean to pry... but hey, no harm, no foul, right?" He shifted a bit as Proust continued to stare at him. "Umm... well... if you change your mind, you know where to find me. And if you need a hand with... whatever... just call. Later, Proust."
With the, Jason turned and walked down the Sanctuary hall, perplexed. Something was clearly bothering Proust, but how could a man so straightforward and honest have have such troubling demons?
Though he'd never expected it, Proust was beginning to grow on Jason Caine. For starters, he was perhaps the one man (or woman) he could trust to use a coaster on his table even when Jason was out of the room. But Proust... he seemed to treat people the same even behind their backs. It was admirable.
He watched the big man as he stood nearby, examining the bulletin board. After a short while, Proust noticed Phaize watching him. As he was greeted, Jason caught a subtle shift in his colleague's expression.
"Thinking deep thoughts, fella?" Phaize asked in a tone he hoped sounded nonchalant.
Proust paused, and Jason could only assume that he was thinking the question over, truly weighing his answer. "Yes."
"Want to talk about it? Sometimes our demons don't seem so bad when we cast some light on 'em."
Another pause, "No."
"Alright, guy. I didn't mean to pry... but hey, no harm, no foul, right?" He shifted a bit as Proust continued to stare at him. "Umm... well... if you change your mind, you know where to find me. And if you need a hand with... whatever... just call. Later, Proust."
With the, Jason turned and walked down the Sanctuary hall, perplexed. Something was clearly bothering Proust, but how could a man so straightforward and honest have have such troubling demons?
(All) To be found?
There is ... a man in a mask looking down.
He cannot move his head.
There is ... a man pointing at another man. They are arguing.
He cannot move his legs.
There is ... a man in a uniform looking up and down.
He cannot move his arms.
There is ... a man with a clip board.
He cannot move his hands.
There is ... a woman with a smirk on her face.
He can move his head.
There is ... a man pointing at him, then the woman.
He can move his legs.
There is ... a man in a uniform frowning at him.
He can move his arms.
There is ... a man yelling at him. Pleading.
He can move his hands.
Splatters of red.
Tatters of white.
Flashes of fire.
Stench of smoke.
run, Run, RUN.
Find the rest.
Gather the Korps.
Arthur. Colonel Arthur.
Wanderer. Lost.
Alien: Rikti.
Defend. Destroy. Annihilate. Obliterate.
fire. Fire. FIRE.
----
Proust wakes with a start. The sheets are drenched in his sweat. The dreams have returned. He slams a fist against the wall beside him and the bang echoes slightly in his apartment. The wall is unscathed and ignored as he puts his face in his hands. There are no tears.
He stands and begins to stretch. After thirty minutes he walks to the table near the kitchen and begins to assemble the sniper cannon.
Again.
Before the barrel is locked into place, thus completing the puzzle, he disassembles the weapon and rearranges the pieces on the table and walks to the window of his apartment. Staring onto the city-scape he wonders if he can escape the dreams. Or learn more about them.
He cannot move his head.
There is ... a man pointing at another man. They are arguing.
He cannot move his legs.
There is ... a man in a uniform looking up and down.
He cannot move his arms.
There is ... a man with a clip board.
He cannot move his hands.
There is ... a woman with a smirk on her face.
He can move his head.
There is ... a man pointing at him, then the woman.
He can move his legs.
There is ... a man in a uniform frowning at him.
He can move his arms.
There is ... a man yelling at him. Pleading.
He can move his hands.
Splatters of red.
Tatters of white.
Flashes of fire.
Stench of smoke.
run, Run, RUN.
Find the rest.
Gather the Korps.
Arthur. Colonel Arthur.
Wanderer. Lost.
Alien: Rikti.
Defend. Destroy. Annihilate. Obliterate.
fire. Fire. FIRE.
----
Proust wakes with a start. The sheets are drenched in his sweat. The dreams have returned. He slams a fist against the wall beside him and the bang echoes slightly in his apartment. The wall is unscathed and ignored as he puts his face in his hands. There are no tears.
He stands and begins to stretch. After thirty minutes he walks to the table near the kitchen and begins to assemble the sniper cannon.
Again.
Before the barrel is locked into place, thus completing the puzzle, he disassembles the weapon and rearranges the pieces on the table and walks to the window of his apartment. Staring onto the city-scape he wonders if he can escape the dreams. Or learn more about them.
(All) To be found?
The dark room was illuminated by the computer screen and a burning end of a cigarette as air was sucked through it. The amber glow moved from the man's face who was smiling at what he was reading. The room itself was sparse except for the man's toolbox and rubble scattered throughout.
The smile seemed to glow with diabolical joy.
A cell phone beeped quietly and the man flipped open the lid to answer.
"Yes. Most of it is still here. The disc was almost unsalvagable."
A pause.
"All I could get was phase two through four of the Project."
A pause.
"I made contact with him. Your contacts know the right people. They found him."
A pause.
"There shouldn't be any problems. If this group can find GREL-88, they can find the rest."
A pause. A nod.
"Better them than anyone else I suppose."
A pause. A shake.
"I don't know them. Never heard of them. No one I can pay enough knows them. Now that Eighty-eight is technically 10-64, keeping tabs on him will be beyond my ... standard pay rate ... tosurveil. Eighty-eight is learned to gather the Korps together and now he has friends to do that."
A pause. A nod.
"Yes, Colonel. We'll see what Eighty-eight can do."
The line closed as did the phone. Paladin went back to his task with another drag off the cigarette.
The smile seemed to glow with diabolical joy.
A cell phone beeped quietly and the man flipped open the lid to answer.
"Yes. Most of it is still here. The disc was almost unsalvagable."
A pause.
"All I could get was phase two through four of the Project."
A pause.
"I made contact with him. Your contacts know the right people. They found him."
A pause.
"There shouldn't be any problems. If this group can find GREL-88, they can find the rest."
A pause. A nod.
"Better them than anyone else I suppose."
A pause. A shake.
"I don't know them. Never heard of them. No one I can pay enough knows them. Now that Eighty-eight is technically 10-64, keeping tabs on him will be beyond my ... standard pay rate ... tosurveil. Eighty-eight is learned to gather the Korps together and now he has friends to do that."
A pause. A nod.
"Yes, Colonel. We'll see what Eighty-eight can do."
The line closed as did the phone. Paladin went back to his task with another drag off the cigarette.
(All) To be found?
Clenched fists came down and impacted upon the gold helmet of the Nemesis soldier. It could not resist the force of the blow and the bright sphere of light surrounding those fists exploded, releasing energy in all directions. The follow-through dragged the soldiers head and body toward the pavement, unconscious. The victor took a step back and surveyed the scene: five badly beatenand broken boned Nemesis soldiers. Then he inspected himself: three bullet wounds and six knife cuts. All were rapidly healing. His breathing already calm, he turned to look for more of the red coats.
Facing him several feet away was a man, barrel chest, long dirty blond hair and matching mustache. From crossed arms he thinly smiled and gave a golf clap. “Nice work.”
The victor nodded and walked up to the grey-suited man who, in turn, looked up to seven feet of hulking muscle. “Arthur?”
The man shook his head. “No, but I know who you are. I know you are looking for others like you. I know there are others like you. I can help you, if you will help me.”
The large warrior seemed to bristle at the last sentence. “Use?”
Another shake of the head. “No, mutual assistance.”
The taller one crossed his arms and furrowed his brow in thought. After a few seconds he lowered his arms and nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” He reached out and offered his hand. “Very good, I am Paladin.”
The towering figure pointed to his chest and said, “Proust”. Then he returned the hand shake by grabbing the man's forearm, almost enveloping the entire arm from elbow to wrist in his hand.
“I know … Colonel. I've contacted a few friends of mine who will contact some of their friends and so on. Expect to be found again. I'll be watching out for more of your kind. Trust me, you will fulfill your purpose. Do you remember what that is … vindicator?”
Proust immediately saluted. “To raise my right arm against the wicked. To raise my left arm to shelter the weak. For Arthur! For Earth!” Proust remained saluting, almost straining.
The man smirked and whispered. “The protocols are still in place. Good. Very good.”
Facing him several feet away was a man, barrel chest, long dirty blond hair and matching mustache. From crossed arms he thinly smiled and gave a golf clap. “Nice work.”
The victor nodded and walked up to the grey-suited man who, in turn, looked up to seven feet of hulking muscle. “Arthur?”
The man shook his head. “No, but I know who you are. I know you are looking for others like you. I know there are others like you. I can help you, if you will help me.”
The large warrior seemed to bristle at the last sentence. “Use?”
Another shake of the head. “No, mutual assistance.”
The taller one crossed his arms and furrowed his brow in thought. After a few seconds he lowered his arms and nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” He reached out and offered his hand. “Very good, I am Paladin.”
The towering figure pointed to his chest and said, “Proust”. Then he returned the hand shake by grabbing the man's forearm, almost enveloping the entire arm from elbow to wrist in his hand.
“I know … Colonel. I've contacted a few friends of mine who will contact some of their friends and so on. Expect to be found again. I'll be watching out for more of your kind. Trust me, you will fulfill your purpose. Do you remember what that is … vindicator?”
Proust immediately saluted. “To raise my right arm against the wicked. To raise my left arm to shelter the weak. For Arthur! For Earth!” Proust remained saluting, almost straining.
The man smirked and whispered. “The protocols are still in place. Good. Very good.”
The Run
Looking around a corner to make sure no one was looking, Proust nodded in satisfaction that he was, in fact, alone. He checked his new comm to the Codex and Sanctuary. It beeped once in recognition to his genetic signature. From this he looked at the pile of armor at his feet. Once he "found" the pieces needed (that would fit him) from the Codex armory, Proust decided to give them a run for the money ... wherever that money came from didn't matter to him. The armor was here and it was his.
He looked around the corner and spied a group of Council soldiers setting up a streetside rally. Only a few of them at that corner, but that's all they needed anyway. Proust shook his head and popped a knuckle before grabbing a burgundy and gold colored gauntlet.
Proust started mumbling the litany of combat he was trained to use inmoments like these. He felt proud as his right arm snuggled perfectly into the second gauntlet. It sensed his fingers at the tips and shock padding inflated to securely "hug" his arm. He stomped once, as was his practice, like a bull ready to charge. Proust's black body-suit sported the cross of the Codex and flexed comfortably to his moves. He stretched slightly and calmly exhaled. Activating the rune on the comm, he said, "Training". This alerted everyone on the Codex frequency that Proust was active. Then he turned a corner and calmly walked into street.
Pedestrians of Paragon City have learned when a meta-fight was about to happen and stopped in their tracks. Proust was aware they were also looking at an 8-foot tall purple-skinned person. The Council group noticed him as well and pulled out their rifles. The people wanting to watch the brawl started to cower or scatter. Only the brave kept looking.
"Know you cannot defeat the Council, welp. We have a right to assembly!"
Cars stopped for Proust as he strode across the lanes. He shook his head at the words but did not stop. Traffic resumed behind him and cleared quickly.
"You will not stand," Proust growled and pointed toward the statue in the center of Steel Canyon. One soldier lowered his rifle to follow Proust's finger.
First.
"Cheddar this fool!" The Council soldiers raised rifles to shoulders and released projectile and laser pain. Proust jumped before the triggers and was airborn as the ammunition exhaled. He landed near the curious soldier and brought down both armored fists. A crack of thunder and blast of light exploded from the helmet and the soldier crumpled to the ground. The flash seemed to daze the others and Proust wheeled on his heels to smash the faceplate of a second soldier. That one went flying backward and Proust fired another fist at a third with the same effect.
The last cowered at the sight then regained his courage to face down the juggernaut. A round was fired point-blank into Proust's chest. The bullet pentrated and tore through him, missing his heart. Blood trickled from the wound but was ignored. Proust grabbed the rifle by the barrel and twisted to bring the soldier closer, then brought his free hand from under. His armored fist bowled into the coucil soldiers torso, causing a yelp from the pain. The follow-through tossed the soldier fifty feet away. He landed and did not move.
Proust looked around and a few people started to clap at his performance. He waved them off and started to fast-pace down the road until he saw a group of Outcast thugs threatening someone near an alley. He started a run toward the group who was too busy to notice his approach.
This training session to the hidden entrance to Sanctuary would prove to be very relaxing.
He looked around the corner and spied a group of Council soldiers setting up a streetside rally. Only a few of them at that corner, but that's all they needed anyway. Proust shook his head and popped a knuckle before grabbing a burgundy and gold colored gauntlet.
Proust started mumbling the litany of combat he was trained to use inmoments like these. He felt proud as his right arm snuggled perfectly into the second gauntlet. It sensed his fingers at the tips and shock padding inflated to securely "hug" his arm. He stomped once, as was his practice, like a bull ready to charge. Proust's black body-suit sported the cross of the Codex and flexed comfortably to his moves. He stretched slightly and calmly exhaled. Activating the rune on the comm, he said, "Training". This alerted everyone on the Codex frequency that Proust was active. Then he turned a corner and calmly walked into street.
Pedestrians of Paragon City have learned when a meta-fight was about to happen and stopped in their tracks. Proust was aware they were also looking at an 8-foot tall purple-skinned person. The Council group noticed him as well and pulled out their rifles. The people wanting to watch the brawl started to cower or scatter. Only the brave kept looking.
"Know you cannot defeat the Council, welp. We have a right to assembly!"
Cars stopped for Proust as he strode across the lanes. He shook his head at the words but did not stop. Traffic resumed behind him and cleared quickly.
"You will not stand," Proust growled and pointed toward the statue in the center of Steel Canyon. One soldier lowered his rifle to follow Proust's finger.
First.
"Cheddar this fool!" The Council soldiers raised rifles to shoulders and released projectile and laser pain. Proust jumped before the triggers and was airborn as the ammunition exhaled. He landed near the curious soldier and brought down both armored fists. A crack of thunder and blast of light exploded from the helmet and the soldier crumpled to the ground. The flash seemed to daze the others and Proust wheeled on his heels to smash the faceplate of a second soldier. That one went flying backward and Proust fired another fist at a third with the same effect.
The last cowered at the sight then regained his courage to face down the juggernaut. A round was fired point-blank into Proust's chest. The bullet pentrated and tore through him, missing his heart. Blood trickled from the wound but was ignored. Proust grabbed the rifle by the barrel and twisted to bring the soldier closer, then brought his free hand from under. His armored fist bowled into the coucil soldiers torso, causing a yelp from the pain. The follow-through tossed the soldier fifty feet away. He landed and did not move.
Proust looked around and a few people started to clap at his performance. He waved them off and started to fast-pace down the road until he saw a group of Outcast thugs threatening someone near an alley. He started a run toward the group who was too busy to notice his approach.
This training session to the hidden entrance to Sanctuary would prove to be very relaxing.
D.U.S.T. to dust
This should be easy.
She cracked her knuckles while looking at the target from the 10th floor of the ruined building. The glass window was shattered open and grimy from age and weather. The inside of the room was empty and equally grimy. Her footsteps unsettled the layers of dust and she prepared to attack.
The D.U.S.T. patrol had thinned out since the three-man team arrived in the area. It had been a few minutes since the lone soldier was left standing sentry in the street. Scarlet was not sure where the others were, but she couldn’t wait to long as they may be returning from their individual patrols. D.U.S.T. soldiers looked formidable as the armor was thick and their rifles were rather large. She had not seen them in serious action but the few visual records available revealed their firepower can easily dispatch the Devouring Earth. If the soldier got a good shot at Scarlet, then this sortie would end poorly for her. All she wanted was his gauntlet.
Scarlet planted a foot of the window frame and jumped. She absorbed the rushing wind from her fall and created a personal shield that enveloped her body. Two stories later she pushed against gravity and flew toward the soldier, his back to her. With both fists in front, Scarlet stretched her body flat and concentrated sonic shield around her hands and wrists. She couldn’t prevent her flight from being utterly silent and was a little surprised the solder started to turn in her direction, but he was too late.
She struck him in the upper left arm first. The sonic shield dented the armor but there was an audible snap before Scarlet coiled her body to wrap around him as he collapsed. They fell into a heap of clattering armor and flesh. Her skin-tight black body suit stretched with her movement and she recovered quickly. Jumping to her feet, she was surprised the soldier kept the grip on his rifle and lifted it, pointing toward her head. Scarlet dodged as the beam burned the air nearby. She lifted a leg as she moved and the rifle was kicked away but didn’t leave his grip. He grunted and struggled to get off his back with a useless arm.
“Bravo one!” He yelled.
A warning! Scarlet thought.
She lunged for the broken arm. He yelled incoherently as she yanked at the gauntlet but it was fixed in place. Again, the beam rifle was leveled but in close quarters the shot went wide again without much effort from Scarlet. She was frantic and thrusted her elbow against his helmet attempting to stop the fight quicker. His body went limp and the rifle clattered to the concrete.
As she removed the gauntlet, Scarlet checked it was still functional. Noticing no serious damage she checked the soldier for a pulse. After a few seconds she checked again and started to worry.
A blue laser beam crossed in front of her vision and temporarily blinded her. She fell back on her buttocks reacting to the surprise attack and could only think of the concept of luck. Another beam destroyed the concrete nearby and showered her with debris. Scarlet willed herself to resist gravity and propelled along the road. Only inches above the broken gravel she spun to orient herself then lifted toward the sky, clutching the gauntlet. She looked back as the two other D.U.S.T. soldiers arrived to their fallen comrade, the predator turned prey forgotten.
She looked away from the scene toward the gauntlet and it activated on its own. “Cape, you’re lucky you escaped. You are being tracked –“
The Scarlet Scorpion shut off the receiver and threw it to the ground. She stomped on it, crushing the gauntlet and then flew toward the Survivalist Compound.
She cracked her knuckles while looking at the target from the 10th floor of the ruined building. The glass window was shattered open and grimy from age and weather. The inside of the room was empty and equally grimy. Her footsteps unsettled the layers of dust and she prepared to attack.
The D.U.S.T. patrol had thinned out since the three-man team arrived in the area. It had been a few minutes since the lone soldier was left standing sentry in the street. Scarlet was not sure where the others were, but she couldn’t wait to long as they may be returning from their individual patrols. D.U.S.T. soldiers looked formidable as the armor was thick and their rifles were rather large. She had not seen them in serious action but the few visual records available revealed their firepower can easily dispatch the Devouring Earth. If the soldier got a good shot at Scarlet, then this sortie would end poorly for her. All she wanted was his gauntlet.
Scarlet planted a foot of the window frame and jumped. She absorbed the rushing wind from her fall and created a personal shield that enveloped her body. Two stories later she pushed against gravity and flew toward the soldier, his back to her. With both fists in front, Scarlet stretched her body flat and concentrated sonic shield around her hands and wrists. She couldn’t prevent her flight from being utterly silent and was a little surprised the solder started to turn in her direction, but he was too late.
She struck him in the upper left arm first. The sonic shield dented the armor but there was an audible snap before Scarlet coiled her body to wrap around him as he collapsed. They fell into a heap of clattering armor and flesh. Her skin-tight black body suit stretched with her movement and she recovered quickly. Jumping to her feet, she was surprised the soldier kept the grip on his rifle and lifted it, pointing toward her head. Scarlet dodged as the beam burned the air nearby. She lifted a leg as she moved and the rifle was kicked away but didn’t leave his grip. He grunted and struggled to get off his back with a useless arm.
“Bravo one!” He yelled.
A warning! Scarlet thought.
She lunged for the broken arm. He yelled incoherently as she yanked at the gauntlet but it was fixed in place. Again, the beam rifle was leveled but in close quarters the shot went wide again without much effort from Scarlet. She was frantic and thrusted her elbow against his helmet attempting to stop the fight quicker. His body went limp and the rifle clattered to the concrete.
As she removed the gauntlet, Scarlet checked it was still functional. Noticing no serious damage she checked the soldier for a pulse. After a few seconds she checked again and started to worry.
A blue laser beam crossed in front of her vision and temporarily blinded her. She fell back on her buttocks reacting to the surprise attack and could only think of the concept of luck. Another beam destroyed the concrete nearby and showered her with debris. Scarlet willed herself to resist gravity and propelled along the road. Only inches above the broken gravel she spun to orient herself then lifted toward the sky, clutching the gauntlet. She looked back as the two other D.U.S.T. soldiers arrived to their fallen comrade, the predator turned prey forgotten.
She looked away from the scene toward the gauntlet and it activated on its own. “Cape, you’re lucky you escaped. You are being tracked –“
The Scarlet Scorpion shut off the receiver and threw it to the ground. She stomped on it, crushing the gauntlet and then flew toward the Survivalist Compound.
Closer to the Heart
“I’m sorry, did you say Nathan is here?” Kathryn was a little surprised because Nathan only came to the base once to drop off the flowers that started the affair. They made an agreement that her time “on duty” did not have room for the relationship. She had to set boundaries and the most tangible was the Dawn Patrol’s front door.
“Yes, ma’am.” Chip’s voice was full but Kathryn could imagine him wincing at her question.
“No problem Chip. Please grant him a Temporary Camelot-01 clearance badge. I’ll meet him halfway.” She started to stand at her desk as she finished the order and closed the line before he could respond.
Kathryn, as the Scarlet Scorpion in full uniform, strode from her office, slightly perturbed and worried. This is not like Nathan. Something must be wrong. She turned a few corners before seeing him at the other end of a blank hallway. He looked impressed at the grandness and supreme cleanliness of the Dawn Patrol base, then he noticed Kathryn and his wonder turned to pleasantness.
“Hello beautiful,” he exclaimed.
She approached him without pause and they kissed on the cheek. “Is something happening?” She looked him up and down. Not seeing any damage, or flowers, she had to fight raising her guard. Still, she recognized she was oddly uncomfortable.
He beamed. “Nope, I just wanted to change things up and visit the most wonderful woman in Paragon City.” Nathan extended an arm. She waved off the invitation and Nathan’s smile waned.
“Nathan, darling, I do appreciate the gesture, but we talked about this before.”
He raised his hands to his waist as if to block unwanted conversation. “I know. But I couldn’t wait for your off-duty call. Can we get to your office?”
Kathryn hesitated for less than a second. “Of course, allow me to stay formal at least?”
Nathan nodded and they walked side-by-side. Turning several corners they ended up back in Scarlet’s office. He scanned the room and took a seat at her invitation. He frowned slightly as the chair was immediately discomforting and he shifted his weight.
“Sorry about that, I’m not accustomed to visitors.” She wished she wasn’t so curt about it but her own discomfort was weighing on her.
“No, no, it’s fine.” He waved off the moment and started fishing in his coat pocket, then produced a palm-sized box. It was white with a red bow. Nathan stood and presented it to her by placing it on her desk.
Kathryn was slightly stunned then quickly realized it was not a proposal. She surprised herself at her own relief than smiled brightly to mask her embarrassment. “Nathan, you came all this way for this?”
“Of course! You are worth more effort but this is just the beginning.”
She grinned as she held the box in one hand and opened it with another. Inside was a small vile of perfume, its glass perfectly shaped to represent a chromosome helix with a white-wine colored liquid dancing within the strands.
“Bonne Odeur? This is wonderful Nathan!” She was not a fan of the fact it was made by Crey Cosmetics, but she had to admit that it was one of the best in the market and she had mentioned wanting some.
His beaming smile returned. “Anything for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Chip’s voice was full but Kathryn could imagine him wincing at her question.
“No problem Chip. Please grant him a Temporary Camelot-01 clearance badge. I’ll meet him halfway.” She started to stand at her desk as she finished the order and closed the line before he could respond.
Kathryn, as the Scarlet Scorpion in full uniform, strode from her office, slightly perturbed and worried. This is not like Nathan. Something must be wrong. She turned a few corners before seeing him at the other end of a blank hallway. He looked impressed at the grandness and supreme cleanliness of the Dawn Patrol base, then he noticed Kathryn and his wonder turned to pleasantness.
“Hello beautiful,” he exclaimed.
She approached him without pause and they kissed on the cheek. “Is something happening?” She looked him up and down. Not seeing any damage, or flowers, she had to fight raising her guard. Still, she recognized she was oddly uncomfortable.
He beamed. “Nope, I just wanted to change things up and visit the most wonderful woman in Paragon City.” Nathan extended an arm. She waved off the invitation and Nathan’s smile waned.
“Nathan, darling, I do appreciate the gesture, but we talked about this before.”
He raised his hands to his waist as if to block unwanted conversation. “I know. But I couldn’t wait for your off-duty call. Can we get to your office?”
Kathryn hesitated for less than a second. “Of course, allow me to stay formal at least?”
Nathan nodded and they walked side-by-side. Turning several corners they ended up back in Scarlet’s office. He scanned the room and took a seat at her invitation. He frowned slightly as the chair was immediately discomforting and he shifted his weight.
“Sorry about that, I’m not accustomed to visitors.” She wished she wasn’t so curt about it but her own discomfort was weighing on her.
“No, no, it’s fine.” He waved off the moment and started fishing in his coat pocket, then produced a palm-sized box. It was white with a red bow. Nathan stood and presented it to her by placing it on her desk.
Kathryn was slightly stunned then quickly realized it was not a proposal. She surprised herself at her own relief than smiled brightly to mask her embarrassment. “Nathan, you came all this way for this?”
“Of course! You are worth more effort but this is just the beginning.”
She grinned as she held the box in one hand and opened it with another. Inside was a small vile of perfume, its glass perfectly shaped to represent a chromosome helix with a white-wine colored liquid dancing within the strands.
“Bonne Odeur? This is wonderful Nathan!” She was not a fan of the fact it was made by Crey Cosmetics, but she had to admit that it was one of the best in the market and she had mentioned wanting some.
His beaming smile returned. “Anything for you.”
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