I mean Phasewalker shouldnt stop from bringing others out since its still a teleportation synergy. Shroud can kidnap people away afterall. Also as long as its within New Wonderland FT shouldnt be able to interfere from just porting out 1 by 1 the rescue targets.
That said if we go with that wed need to with Memoria+Nox for a powerful enough Teleportation to get people out. It gives telekinesis atleast.
I mean Phasewalker shouldnt stop from bringing others out since its still a teleportation synergy. Shroud can kidnap people away afterall. Also as long as its within New Wonderland FT shouldnt be able to interfere from just porting out 1 by 1 the rescue targets.
That said if we go with that wed need to with Memoria+Nox for a powerful enough Teleportation to get people out. It gives telekinesis atleast.
Phasewalker isn't Memoria's teleportation, it functions differently enough that I don't think we can bet on it being usable on someone else, since the classic phasewalking superpower typically only affects the user.
We can dig up the old "Teleport VIPs to safety" builds instead I think.
@Bitterman would phasewalker synergy allow for Mass Teleport at high enough Potency or would that need Pure Teleport at High Potency?
Also would we be able to use Spiderweb on the Frozen Throne to find out about people who manage to escape the place and how to do it?
Edit: Honestly I do find the narrative of using Memoria and Nox dna together as our ace for the mission to rescue people from the frozen throne incredibly amusing.
Dont forget people. Memoria once teleported out of the Frozen throne before, but the throne DID NOT LIKE THAT. He did not like that so much that it was established that if Memoria ever returned to the FT they would have been instantly killed.
I wont say a high potency teleporter wouldnt help, but I doubt its an Instant win button. Im pretty sure the second the FT senses a teleporter or something similar trying to leave its its domain? Its going to flip its lid and or go on the offensive. Just remember that.
Dont forget people. Memoria once teleported out of the Frozen throne before, but the throne DID NOT LIKE THAT. He did not like that so much that it was established that if Memoria ever returned to the FT they would have been instantly killed.
I wont say a high potency teleporter wouldnt help, but I doubt its an Instant win button. Im pretty sure the second the FT senses a teleporter or something similar trying to leave its its domain? Its going to flip its lid and or go on the offensive. Just remember that.
Well probably need VG to use Cisma or something else to create a field were we can teleport out safely or maybe Baba Yaga domain can let us teleport out. Though Considering New Wonderland is meant to contain metahumans even teleporters that probablby wont work.
That said
There a lot of people still there. The issue is that the Throne's spacial warping powers means only the strongest teleporters can get someone out. And if they, like Memoria, ever went back the Throne would kill them instantly to prevent them from doing just what you suggest. It's why Marcos never went back.
WOG is that strongest teleporters can get people out its just that afterward the throne will mark and kill them instantly if they go back. Its possible qm meant ever since memoria got nox out FT kills all teleporters who enters and he founds out but that just means hiding the fact they can teleport until they decide to leave.
Hey, I just thought about this yesterday. We know that Faust's contracts enforce their clauses by the personal interpretation of those affected; since Ête had no problem saying something Faust thought would be forbidden and Opale could stay unaffected by signing with her deadname even though it was her legal name*. So, what's stopping someone like Scarlet Maturity from being unaffected by simply not recognizing the authority of the contract compared to his own?
*Also a law-based superpower only working when people believe it works is a very appropriate weakness for it, in my opinion.
A dangerous thought occurs, Radiant Silvergirl would be able to prove that Black Swan's backstory is fake. After all, if Mona was be trained to be a Hero by Justice Unlimited, surely Towarri would know about it?
This means that Stockpile will know something is up, if he asks Towarri about Black Swan's training.
RSG: Yes, Mona was a intern with us but she doesn't have powers, her only real skill was cooking. She won the annual bake-off twice and according to Nora made really good chili.
I think that if Mona's backstory was real, Towarri would have been involved on her training. After all Black Swan's power is gravitational just like Raidant Silvergirl. So, it is much more likely that Towarri will proof that Mona's backstory is fake.
Is Brass Shield bound by Contract to Dominion/Faust? Cause if not he can just ditch the Armor and come over to JU to be a hero.
But if he is Contracted then there is no way to save him from his corporate masters yet.
It is a question of if Faust would care to use his power on a baseline human who is also just a cowardly kid that is easy to intimidate into doing the Corp's will without the use of any powers.
Either he has not been debriefed yet or the Americans are trying to bury any evidence that one of their own destroyed their prison (and the identity of the meta that did the actual demolition work)
"Yeah!" he shouts, "I sorta . . . just got out of prison. So I have no skills or education or anything! But, I love heroes and Justice Unlimited is the best. So maybe they need someone to get coffee or lift boxes or something?"
You had, ah, taken a walk to see if you could find some clues about what was going on. Said walk had just so happened to take you right to Lady Leizi's office, but when you opened the door and the walls moved. And the floor. And the ceiling. You had taken the hint and, that night, you dreamed of a golden child wagging a finger at you.
You decided to wait after that.
. . . was this building alive?!
Good thing the Apiary is capable of recognizing peoples' intentions otherwise moving walls would be the least of her problems for attempting to enter LL's office.
Also nice to know that The Apiary can interact with our people through their dreams.
You realize it's looking at you as it speeds forward. It sees you looking and then gives you a bloodthirsty grin. You get a sinking feeling in your stomach.
"FuCk, ThAt's CrEePy. I hAtE lOoKiNg At It AnD iT'S oN mY sIdE!"
"And where is she anyway? And Châtelet? Did something happen and that's why you're in charge right now?" Juan asks, "Does it have anything to do with that messed up dream I had where you turned into Red Iustitia, Blind Judge of Heaven and fought a giant flesh-mountain- thing?"
He's even bigger in person than he looks in pictures. Photos don't do someone thirteen feet tall justice. His arm is bigger than your torso, his horns as long as your leg. He's tapping his foot impatiently at the Apiary's entrance which has disappeared and turned into a blank expanse of wall. The casual motion makes the ground rumble.
In your defense Philip, he was only twelve feet tall before Black Swan disintegrated him and he came back bigger.
Also of course Apiary Junior was gonna seal the entrance.
Yeah. Can just imagine how reluctant Junior is to allow SM entrance into ANY part of him.
Also Black Swan is never gonna be recognized as a full permanent member now.
"Huh. A carbon-fiber nanoweave. Kelso-Allard if I'm not mistaken," he says looking at Scarlet Maturity's legs. He gives a little grin. "Space-pants?"
Scarlet Maturity leans over, his eyes narrowed.
"Do you know what it looks like when someone's head is squeezed until it pops?" he growls, demonstrating the motion with one hand. Soraia involuntarily makes a little sound.
"Yes!" Simão says cheerfully, "I crushed a man's head in a doorframe once. It was amusing to see how his eyes popped out of his skull as it was smashed! Would you like to hear the story?"
Scarlet Maturity tilts his head. He then leans back and crosses his arms.
"Wait, you guys just figured this out?" he says looking around, "Really?"
"No," Virginia calls, "Bullshit, you did not know—"
"No, it's obvious, right? They get all of these super-powerful, unknown metas out of nowhere, they asked for our medical records for seemingly no reason, they asked you and 'Dre to scout non-metas with 'heroic dispositions', and doesn't Black Swan just have Novalight's powers?"
No one answers him.
He rubs the back of his head. ". . . I'm the only one who noticed?"
No one INCLUDING Trismegistus the Psychic God and 7th Hour the Probability Manipulator Precog were able to figure out the True Nature of Project Prometheus and you mean to tell me Dreamcatcher that of all the Metas in Horizon YOU alone were able to uncover the Truth????????
Damn. I really have been underestimating you all this time,
"Hi, sorry, it's Natalie again. Umm, I mean Ms. Rhodes," Doctor Silver's daughter calls from the other side of the door, "I'm sorry to interrupt again, but there's another emergency. A different emergency."
"Umm, sorry again," Natalie says, "But this man here has asked to meet with you. I tried to keep him away, but he sorta . . . kept getting in somehow. He says he's 'the Eighth Hour of the Horae Guard'.
Well, the Hours didn't waste a moment after we learned of them OOC to then immediately appear before JU and in our home at that.
Time to see who the Penitent Scholar is now.
"Man, y'know what? I like you," the Penitent Scholar says with a lazy smile, "You and that other woman rattling around in your head? You're like a Valiant Lesbian matryoshka doll!"
Lady Leizi, Châtelet, Yara Oliveira, Dr. Catherine Hawkins, and an unexpected fifth party are currently trapped in The Frozen Throne. I can provide a sure way to locate them, as well as forewarnings about any unexpected dangers. I will assure you that there are many.
My price is simple: a dose of Ambrosia, designed to the specifications below. Deliver it to the location below at the specified time and in the specified manner.
Any attempts to locate myself or determine my motivations will be considered a breach of our accord and invite immediate retaliation.
Sure enough, below that is a formula for Ambrosia. It's even written in the style you've all been using internally on the project.
Ok. I hate the guy but it might be worth it to go along with the deal depending on what the Ambrosia entails. Our priority after all are everyone trapped within New Wonderland.
"Don't worry about it," he says, "You'll burn out your power trying to figure it out. I'm your natural predator in a way, but I'm not your enemy here. I'll help you out instead of Augur, but I'll do it for free."
"What's in it for you?" Menagerie Witch says, arms still crossed, "Why help us? Don't you work for the Horae Guard? What's your beef with Augur?"
"Ha!" he laughs, "Well, besides the fact I kind of like you guys now? It's a long story."
"We're not going anywhere," Valiant Gold says, deadly calm.
"Well, okay. The short version is: fuck all of those guys. The medium version is: I have a personal interest in Yara Oliveira's safety. I've already failed her sister, and I want to make good. The long version?"
Now I really want to give Simao/Cain a P13 Power that will allow him to act as a sparing partner with Scarlet Maturity.
.
.
.
Pity that we are unlikely to ever be allowed to recruit Scarlet Maturity for Justice Unlimited.
I think Towarri is definetly gonna poke holes in our various cover stories for Project Prometheus, potentially to the point where there's a dramatic vote between revealing it to the public (or at least Stockpile's team) and Towarri's eternal emnity.
Unrelated: the high school AU about Mona trying to convince Ellie to go to the school dance with her is titled Project Prom
Part of the impetus behind Crusade was creating a team that isn't tied to Faust, so he probably isn't. But if he is, we might be able to dig something simililar to the headband Stockpile made for Été out of Nora's lab
As promised, here is the remainder of my New Year's omake. Beware, it's a longer read at 5.8k words.
Suicide
Do Us Part
Your name is Samuel, or so you like to think. You have always wondered what you would feel on this day, standing outside the marbled lobby of the skyscraper before you. For all its attempts to impress its grandeur upon you, all you can think of is a giant tombstone piercing the skies.
How strange it is to be bathed in a dreadful nostalgia at a time when your own past seems so close, yet so far behind you.
Standing from the sidewalk, you see that the birds have lost all depth, as if they became printed photographs.
No explanation comes to mind for what's happened to you. You are far too old to manifest powers on your own, so was it granted to you or inflicted by some other metahuman? You know you were out yesterday searching for something as part of your final preparations, but what was it exactly?
You spend a good minute trying to think of it, and nearly give up. But then suddenly you remember.
You searched for a rumored disappearer, but you never found them. Maybe they found you first.
A persistent film grain effect clings to the forms of every person in the commuter crowd swarming around you. What you see is accompanied by the typical bustle of a city's people, all with places to be and things to do, always in motion. Ceaseless conversations, whether by phone or by mouth. Most are about daily irrelevancies, though at a certain distance away from you the voices become completely different from what you're used to hearing.
"Listen Larry, here's what we need to align on before the meeting."
"So I was thinking of asking her out to dinner this Sunday."
"Turbulence expected in the prophet's masquerade."
"Ethics appraised!"
"Eternal recurrence and then to breaks and then to breaks and then to breaks…"
They might as well be speaking a different language. And what's more, oncoming people never fail to be surprised by your appearance in front of them, acting like a pillar had dropped from the sky to block their path. But soon after passing you, they return to the life straight ahead of them and never look back.
Some aspects of this power would indeed suit someone looking to escape their old life. As for the others, you are tempted to believe that the disappearer discovered you were going to use their services to kill and imposed additional side effects as a punishment. However something tells you that's not the case.
Nevertheless, you take a deep breath and walk in through the revolving glass doors up to the front desk. It's troublesome to get through with a large travel case rolling behind you, but you manage to squeeze it in.
The receptionist, a formally dressed young lady, suddenly straightens up and stiffly smiles as you approach. "How may I help you today?" she asks.
"My name is Satoshi Arasaka. I believe I have an appointment in the executive suite to conduct maintenance." You show her the identification badge you acquired.
After comparing your face to the badge photo, she types something into her computer. "Excellent. You're a bit early, but you can head on into the security checkpoint for screening and then proceed through the elevator. You'll want to head straight down the hallway there to the right." She points at another glass door.
Though it may well be possible to sneak through all forty floors of the tower using the power granted to you alone, you don't have enough experience in its use. And your entire career has taught you that a fancy power is no substitute for careful planning.
So you proceed as normal. You go through the first security gate without much trouble, and are escorted to a glass capsule elevator by two guards in tactical gear. One man is tall but stout, while another is short and slim. They follow you in, and then the slim one wordlessly presses the button for the top floor. Steel beams and fluorescent lights start rocketing away from you until eventually giving way to an open sky and a city that grows increasingly distant. Your idle thoughts get lost amongst the disordered clouds in the sky.
A tapping on your container breaks you out of your reverie. "It's already cleared the scanners, but I'm curious what kind of repair job requires you to lug around the weird-looking tech inside that," says the slim man.
"A hologram emitter crystal array and controller, along with an uninterruptible power supply. The ones they were using for executive conference calls broke down," you reply.
"Hologram repair tech, eh? I bet you make better money than Jerry and I," says the stout man.
"I do. I dunno if it's worth being on permanent on-call with a dozen corporations though."
The slim man chuckles. "Sounds like hell. Matthew here's already sick of being asked to come in on his days off."
The rest of the ascent passes by with more small talk that leaves your mind the moment you exit the elevator. The two guards lead you to the final entrance, enclosed by a second security checkpoint. In front of you a new unfamiliar contraption presents itself, an archway with many prongs pointing inward which emit faint blue light.
"Since your last visit, there's been new security checks put in place. Just some precautions against metahuman infiltrators," says Matthew.
Jerry gestures at a machine next to the archway, one with a finger-sized receptacle. "If you would, please take the blood test and then step through the arch."
You slip in your index finger and feel a needle jab the hidden blood pouch covering your fingertip. Biometrics you are prepared for. But that archway is still a huge unknown. You've got to fish for at least a tiny bit of information to make the judgment call. "In my line of work, it's a bad idea to stick my head in energy fields I don't understand," you say.
Matthew raises an eyebrow and you notice him subtly tense up. "No need to get paranoid. It's just to detect metahuman powers." He only relaxes after the display on the blood test machine lights up with the verified identity of one Satoshi Arasaka.
"I walk under it all the time. It's harmless," says Jerry, casually strolling through the detector.
"If you say so," you say. Mentally you prepare to attack. Your cover will most likely be blown, but you can take advantage of the momentary distraction the alarm will cause. Step by step, you count the seconds until it happens.
One, two, and three seconds.
Then five.
Ten seconds go by with no alarm. You glance at Jerry, who smiles. "See, what'd I tell you?"
With a cheerful ding, the checkpoint door opens to a spacious conference room. Light flooding in through the room's massive windows immediately blinds you. As your eyes readjust, you are struck by the sheer size of the room and the circular meeting table filling it. Is this meant to be a corporate boardroom, or a legislative chamber for a miniature government?
In the center sits an intricate radial hologram projector, which is no doubt the one that Satoshi had been called in to repair. A multitude of lenses are arranged in a geodesic dome pattern blooming out of a metal casing mounted on an axle. Hologram optics have always been beyond you, though luckily the relatively simple internal crystal is what is broken in this case. You have considerable experience with the smaller versions found inside portable hologram projectors, but it still took a couple of years of study to upscale that knowledge to a full-size device.
If you're going to do this repair you might as well do it right for the most part. You hop over the table and lug your case on top of it. Undoing its latches, you unveil the replacement crystal array and a large brick that will serve as the backup power supply.
Delicate motions are required to lift out the lenses without causing damage. Once the dome has been set aside and the internals are left exposed, your hands pull out the crystal heart and slot in its replacement with surgical precision. All that is left to wire up the new controller chip and power supply.
Overall, it is a painstaking process that burns away several hours. But now the trap is set.
"You done there?" asks Jerry with a yawn.
"Almost. I just need to test it," you say. "Could you stand a little off to the side? When I turn it on, make sure you can see the holograms from that angle."
He walks over as asked, and looks at you from a stone's throw away. You give him a thumbs up.
Then you turn to Matthew right next to you. He is about to say something when you press the button on the remote in your hand.
The hologram emitter crackles to life with the buzzing of its electric coils, but with an ominous whine that gradually escalates in pitch. That's not all though.
Glass windows suddenly darken to a pitch black tint, and the overhead ceiling lights extinguish in an instant. Only the candlelight glow of the hologram emitter remains.
Before anyone else can react, you grab your wire cutters from your tool belt and swipe at Matthew's neck in one fluid stroke. A deep gash opens from which blood begins to gush.
Then you pivot on your foot and turn to carry your forearm's momentum onwards. Your elbow fully extends and locks, at which point your hand releases the tool and lets it fly toward its second victim.
A sharp desperate gasp informs you that your impromptu knife found its mark. Two bodies hit the ground one after the other.
You waste no time in looting their pistols. Popping open a false bottom in your travel case, you retrieve your multisense headgear, a shield generator, your last mind haze grenade, and a small metal piece that quickly unfurls into a full length nanotech blade.
There's no telling how long the backdoor that you smuggled into their corporate network will last, so it's best to make haste. You take the original broken hologram crystal and power supply with you, and then sprint over to one of the doors leading deeper into the complex.
It starts to slide open before you can reach the keypad, prompting you to immediately dive behind the wall next to it. A beam of light pours back into the conference room and falls upon the bloodied corpses.
"Red twilights in autumn!" shouts a voice.
"Wipe away the dust," says another. Then you hear the pull of a grenade pin.
Unsurprisingly, a flashbang rolls in and drowns out all sound with an ear piercing explosion.
At least, it would be ear piercing if it weren't for your noise filters. You see the two guards rush in with shotguns raised through your goggles. They each scan opposite sides of the room. The one in front locks eyes with you for the briefest moment, but he is far too late to halt your incoming sword.
In a single thrust, you skewer both of them through the head.
You step back into the light and start dashing into the long corridor ahead of you. These additional guard patrols are a troubling sign, but you must press on.
Once you finally reach the end, you peek your head around a corner and see in the distance a sizable squad of paramilitary soldiers wielding laser rifles. They are barrelling down the hallway at full tilt. But somehow they do not see you poke your head out, judging from the distinct lack of lasers headed your way. You weren't expecting your "power" to prove directly useful in the field outside of the final confrontation, but this is a welcome surprise.
As the footsteps grow louder, you unlock an empty corner office with your hacked hologram remote and quietly duck inside it.
"Find the intruder. I want every last one of these offices searched," echoes out a gruff voice, presumably that of the squad leader.
From behind the cover of a desk and a closed door, you can hear the footsteps of several people converging on your position. All you can do is stare out the window facing you and wait.
The clouds are all gone now, leaving behind only a slowly sinking sun.
Suddenly an explosion rings out from far away down the hall, just as you anticipated. Distant gunshots follow. You're impressed by how convincing the gunshots sound despite coming from the conference room's speakers.
"Move out to secure the conference room!" barks the leader. Boots pivot and stampede away from the corner office.
After waiting a short while, you come out of hiding and proceed with your original course. Turning the corner, you find another long hallway that soon morphs into a winding maze of luxury office spaces. You trust in your memory of the map and let your feet weave their way through this labyrinth, guiding you to your ultimate goal.
The increasing frequency of patrols you need to evade tells you that you are getting close. Still, a thought has been nagging at your mind ever since you set foot outside of the conference room. You knew the top level executives would be mostly working from home today given the ongoing maintenance, but you haven't seen anyone on this floor besides guards and soldiers who are far too heavily equipped to be mere corporate security. Not even a random clueless janitor. Everything about this screams trap.
And yet, you press onward. To give up now would be laughable. You just need to find a way to turn the tables. For whatever reason they haven't been able to get a fix on your location and surround you. Perhaps it's taking longer than expected for them to get their surveillance system back online.
If they're sitting tight and expecting you to just waltz into the chief executive's office, you'll do them one better.
The door to the company president's office lies unlocked now, its guards disposed of. You peer inside to see glossy floors polished to a mirror-like shine, wood paneling arranged in ornate geometric patterns, and a commanding view of the city outside, only overshadowed by multiple taller skyscrapers. In the center, a desk and its empty chair levitate, carried by unseen forces emitted from chrome pedestals down on the ground. Faint hums of a heavy shield generator underneath the window reach your ears.
Your eyes trace through the endless lines of the panels, looking for the slightest inconsistency. Before long you spot the telltale outline of a hidden switch. First you override the security locks protecting it with some gentle coaxing from your hologram remote. Then you tap it with a finger.
A wood panel slides out to form a doorway into a much more barren room, one with raw concrete walls taken straight from a military bunker. You walk in and the entrance closes behind you seamlessly, filling in the doorway with reinforced metal. Complete, insulated silence replaces the outside ambient noise.
It's a nice little panic room. But you know you won't find your target cowering in one of these, not while he's still sitting cozy waiting for you.
For that reason, you start stacking the various supply crates stored in the room and make an impromptu staircase reaching up to the ceiling. You know from the blueprints that all four walls here are nearly impregnable. But the ceiling, the one that happens to adjoin the floor of the chief executive's panic room? Not so much.
You take out your sword and make four precise incisions through the thin concrete, carving out a small rectangular slab that falls out of its hole and onto your outstretched palm. As much as the designers would've loved to fill in the space above with more concrete, even panic rooms require maintainable ventilation and electrical wiring. Shame that no one in their right mind makes air ducts large enough to crawl through these days.
These and other obstructions like insulation must be cleared away, but your sword makes short work of them.
At last, you crawl up through the floor into the second panic room. You haul your gear up after you through the tunnel and survey your surroundings. It's much the same as the panic room down below, only with more furniture and an escape hatch. One thing catches your eye however. A hardwired display that shows a surveillance feed of the adjacent room. Jackpot.
Your suspicions are confirmed when you see the chief executive sitting calmly behind a hefty wooden desk in his high back chair, hands clasped together. And standing next to him is his father. An aged man wearing an unmistakable pork pie hat, but not the mask you know him by.
Robert Baron. Even through the display's fuzzy picture you can tell the years have been far too kind to him.
Guarding them are three heroes you recognize, all sporting suits and ties rather than their normal costumes. They have decent reputations in the corporate security industry and generally don't get involved in shady business, but they can make exceptions for the appropriate price.
Interdiction, a plump man wearing a pilot's helmet but with no respirator.
Shikioji, a red-headed woman wearing a tall Japanese kanmuri hat.
Foresight, a bald woman with an orange headband wrapped around her forehead.
But there's one more person in the room. A man in a blue maintenance jumpsuit who would be a convincing dead ringer for yourself. He's kneeling down on the ground with both hands behind his head. Satoshi.
Looks like your man on the inside wasn't as good at covering his tracks as you hoped. Either that, or he sold you out.
On any other mission, you would abort and seek another opportunity. Not today.
You're glad that you brought the broken hologram crystal with you, because sometimes you really need a good old-fashioned bomb to even the odds. Paired with the power supply, all it takes is some quick rewiring to create an impromptu fragmentation grenade.
With your improvised explosive in hand, you stand next to the doorway leading into the executive office and rehearse the battle plan in your head one more time.
Then, you press the door switch and chuck the humming crystal as far away from you as you can.
When the thunder of an electrical explosion hits your ears, you follow in after the bomb and dive into the clouds of smoke and debris left behind.
Through your goggles you identify your first priority, the relatively unharmed Interdiction. Several fragments of what must be crystal shards floating in the air surround him, falling to the ground in slow motion. Running up behind him, you whip out one of your pistols and fire two shots aimed squarely at his head. Both bullets suddenly slow to a halt and begin to fall, but you continue to charge ahead of them. You holster your gun and unfurl your blade.
As soon as he turns around to face you, you suddenly feel as if you have been plunged into water and forced to trudge through it instead of air. You stop trying to drive the blade with your hands and let go. It faces less resistance cutting through the thickened air on its own and sails the remaining distance into his chest before he can dodge. His jaw drops in horror.
He collapses on his knees, clutching the blade uselessly.
After a few seconds, pulling your blade out becomes much easier. All shards stuck falling in the air immediately accelerate back down into the ground where they belong.
By this point, the dust has cleared. Robert and his son have presumably ducked behind the desk for cover. Bits of wood splinters and crystal shards coat the floor. However, the other two heroes out in front are not as injured as you were hoping.
Floating sheets of torn paper orbit around a bleeding Shikioji, while multiple shards stick out of Foresight's arms. In spite of their wounds, they stand tall. They look at each other and nod, eager for a fight.
Damnit. At least their shield generators were used up.
You immediately raise your pistol at Shikioji. A mass of paper taken from the office bookshelves around the walls gathers into a thick shell to block your shot.
Your feet push off the ground to lunge forward. Before you can get anywhere near the paper wall, Foresight jumps in your way with a spinning kick.
You barely avoid it in time, only to get nailed by a follow up kick from her other foot that sends you flying.
Trails of paper follow after you, hungry for your blood. As soon as your feet touch the ground, you draw your sword once more, hacking away furiously to keep the paper swarm at bay.
Numerous fresh cuts line your skin before you successfully dice the paper into lifeless scraps that scatter back into the air. But as soon as you do, Foresight leaps upon you with uncanny ferocity and unleashes a flurry of blows.
Every time you attempt to slash or stab at her, she predicts the motion and weaves away effortlessly. You try to bait her into a grapple, but she sees through your intent and continues jabbing at your weak points. Each jab sends pain blossoming through your muscles and bones on top of the searing wounds left by sheets of paper continuing to dart in and out.
It fucking hurts. You can't remember a time you've felt the pain so strongly. All you can do is clench your sword as tightly as you can. Because you are certain that if you let go of it, you will die.
Through the fog of pain you refocus your thoughts on the blurred motion of your opponent's headband. She can't help but execute perfectly tailored counters for each of your individual moves, never deviating when you repeat one. Though even if you could think of a response to one of those counters, she would likely predict it in turn.
Another paper swipes at your jugular but narrowly misses and settles for slicing your shoulder. A desperate idea comes to mind.
With a threatening wave of your blade, you force Foresight to back off a tiny bit. You glance at the incoming pieces of paper, and catch a glimpse of Shikioji through an opening in her shell.
You take one of your hands off your sword to unholster a pistol, pointed directly at Foresight's head. She reflexively throws a series of precise punches at your wrist that knocks the gun right out of your hand.
But not before the barrel veers off target and directly at a piece of paper flying toward you. And in that moment you pull the trigger.
It would've been too much to expect a kill shot. But you see Shikioji fall down to one knee through the bullet hole in the falling paper.
And that is enough. Her sudden cry of pain causes Foresight to pause her assault and look back for an instant.
In that instant, all it takes is a single one-handed sweep of your sword. One that she doesn't see coming. It tears into her side faster than she can react, and she falls.
The final expression on her face is disbelief. You grip your sword with two hands and plunge downwards.
Standing between you and Shikioji now is a mere crumbling paper shell. You wager it's still thick enough to absorb bullets, so you'll have to finish this up close and personal. Though as the tunnel vision of immediate mortal peril starts to recede, you spot something abnormal out of the corner of your eye.
It's Robert, casually leaning on his desk with both hands.
He's just… watching. Like a child enraptured by their favorite television show.
You think of turning your pistol on him right then and there. But if he's standing around like that then he definitely has at least a second shield generator up his sleeve. You figure that if Robert or his son has a weapon you'd already be dead by now, and it's foolhardy to turn your back on Shikioji. You begrudgingly start walking over to her.
Every step sends a jolt of pain through your cuts and bruises, but nonetheless you limp. Blood trails behind you.
You stop an arm's length away from the shell. You reach under your bloodied jacket and–
The shell splits in half to reveal Shikioji sitting upright, with a leg wrapped in blood-soaked paper. Both her hands are raised, gesturing a command.
Face contorted in rage, she swings her hands together to clap. The two halves of the shell rapidly twist into twin guillotine blades, closing in on your torso in an inescapable pincer movement.
You stare blankly at her.
Both of you know that this is the end of the line.
Paper blades crash into blue walls of light. A stay of execution. The reserve shield generator underneath your jacket crackles to life just in the nick of time, and burns out just as quickly.
Before Shikioji can do anything else with her crumpled paper, you draw your second pistol and fire.
Next. You turn your gun's smoking barrel on Robert. Up until now you've never gotten a good look at his face outside of photographs. It's the wizened face of a born showman with a silver stubble and tongue to match. The face of a devil.
His lips curl upward into a smirk, and he enthusiastically applauds for the close of the invisible curtains. "Now that's an encore I've been waiting years to see!" he yells.
Your body suddenly tenses up.
He clears his throat abruptly. "Sorry for getting a bit overexcited, son. You just remind me of someone else from long ago," he says in a low and smooth voice.
You relax by a smidgen of a fraction. You mull over whether to attack now, or wait until he gets closer. "What are you talking about?" you ask.
"I was figuring we would be doing a standard recruitment pitch tonight, but I didn't expect them to send a goddamn artist. How much are they paying you?"
Before you can say anything, he interrupts.
"Doesn't matter. I'll quintuple it and add some extra on top if you sign on with me instead. Gotta thank you for executing the rat too. Can't ever expect any damn loyalty if you don't make an example of 'em." He cocks his head at something in the distance behind you.
"And if I refuse?" You don't even need to look back to see Satoshi, lying still in a pool of blood.
His cheerful expression darkens immediately. "Well, we would have to call security to escort you out." A smile paints itself over his face again.
He calmly walks over to you and reaches out to offer his fiendish handshake. "So whaddya say, sonny?"
Even on the wrong end of a gun, the only thing he can think about is toying with the lives of others.
"Die," you hiss with dripping venom.
You squeeze the trigger as fast as your finger allows.
Flashes of blue keep appearing, but you don't care.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Only when you notice the recoil has stopped rippling through your arm do you stop squeezing the trigger.
Your target is down on the floor, breathing heavily but not dying yet. Underneath all those shields he had the prudence to still wear armor. But it still won't save him.
He raises a hand to beg. "Wait!" he cries.
You toss aside your empty pistol and grab your sword with both hands. They mechanically begin the final plunge.
Staring into the eyes of the man, you see the voids of his pupils widen. The face bears a surprised expression and a dawning realization, like that of so many others before him.
The tip of the blade is about to pierce through his chest and into his soulless heart.
But suddenly it all stops.
Your arms lock in place, muscles held taut. Your crouched legs follow suit. The blade doesn't move an inch further, no how much you will it to.
You are forced to watch as the man who was helpless mere seconds ago slowly squirms his way out from under the blade tip, catches his breath, and shakily gets up.
"Hah, so it really is you then. Strange, I'm usually never this forgetful with past graduates of my games." He adjusts his tie and smirks once more. "But I could never fail to recognize that perfect little face of hatred, even through those goggles of yours."
A cold hand reaches out to stroke your frozen chin. "Hell of a way to hold a reunion though. Isn't that right, Kenji?"
Then he snaps his fingers, and unseen strings start to pull at your limbs. Despite their resistance, your muscles twitch and jerk inexorably into position. Your nerves scream in rebellion along with every single one of your wounds, but outwardly nothing is allowed to show. He poses you as he would an action figure and studies you in detail.
When he comes face to face with you, his conniving brown eyes stare into yours, unblinking. He breaks out into a nostalgic laugh. "I gave you the freedom to live, boy. Could've led any life you wanted, so long as you stayed outta my way."
This was always a possibility, in the back of your mind. No matter how long you spent preparing for the attack and searching for a way to get around your contract. There was always a chance that his power would get you in the end, no matter how much you denied it to yourself.
But why now?!
You were so close. Even if he killed you immediately after, it would've been acceptable. Is this the inescapable will of the world?
No. You were too prideful. Thought you could enact vengeance and walk away. But to truly embrace revenge is to be willing to dig both graves and dive in headfirst as long as you get to drag the other fool in. You had your chance with the bomb.
Now all you can do is wait for the end. As ever and has always been, all that's left to you is your spite.
You feel his bony hand pat your shoulder. "Still, I've always admired dedication like that. Tempting as it is to do you another solid for your timeless encore performance tonight…"
His face momentarily twitches with the crude approximation of a sorrowful twinge. He reaches over and speaks into your ear in a deathly quiet whisper. "You broke your oath."
Then he pulls his head back, and starts to pace back and forth in front of you. "I'm going to let you flap your lips for a bit. Answer all my questions, and I'll give you the gift of a good death."
With a single clap, he restores some flexibility to your mouth and vocal cords. "If you wanted revenge, why wait so long?" he asks. "I'm an old man now. I've had my fun already."
"To make sure I would succeed."
"Fat lotta good that did you. And what if I croaked it from natural causes before you could do that?"
You have no rational answer to that. You just knew he was the type of person to keep scurrying along as a cockroach does until stomped on. And disappointing as it might be if you weren't the one to kill him, there's one thing you still would've done.
You work up the spit in your mouth and launch it at your tormentor's face.
For the first time ever, you see actual anger color his face. "Disrespectful runt!" He takes a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wipes off his cheek.
Suddenly your lips seal shut again.
"Alright, you've spoken enough. Now forever hold your peace."
This time, his hands brush against your arms and start to personally guide them into pointing your sword at the left side of your abdomen. Afterwards, he steps behind you and grabs your shoulders with both hands. You can feel him craning his neck over to get a downward view, just the same as how your face has been forced to look down at the blade.
"Start cutting."
Your hands do as instructed and sink the tip of the blade beneath your skin. WIth how sharp the blade is, it feels no worse than having paper knives slicing away at you at least.
The blade moves at a snail's pace while more of your blood begins to flow out anew. But as it moves from left to right, the sword unexpectedly hits plastic along the way. Must be something stowed underneath your jacket.
Your last grenade.
The approaching blade easily decapitates the grenade's fuse. No primer is set off this way, but that's not what's important here. Pressurized gas rapidly escapes from the opened cylinder, dispersing a rainbow mist that leaks out from inside your jacket.
Before you were doubtful the gas would prove useful against him, as your best guess was that the punishment clause was based on biokinesis and that it was better to avoid letting him trigger the contract in the first place.
But now it's your last hope.
Yet you do not feel any freedom of motion returning to your arms. You can't move the blade.
No, wait. It's still cutting. You can move the blade deeper into your abdomen, but not out.
Suddenly, you realize how the contract understands the unspoken terms of his commands, and what the gas is doing. And you know what you must do.
You angle the blade upwards at your left lung. And then you drive the blade in as far as it can.
In a single agonizing instant, the blade pierces through multiple organs and breaks through the skin on the other side.
And then it keeps going. Directly into the heart of the man behind you.
"Wha–!" he exhales.
You twist the blade so that it continues to cut and cut.
Until suddenly, your mouth unseals and lets loose a sharp cry of pain.
You finally stop cutting. Both of you drop to the floor like discarded dolls.
Your consciousness rapidly begins to drain away as swirling blackness and static closes in on your vision from all sides.
Lying on the floor, you see a man running out from behind the desk and fleeing the room, and the gleaming armor of a young woman with raven hair standing over you.
If you had any strength left, you would laugh at the specter of a disdainful Mila judging you in your final moments.
You blink, and in her place you see an out of place robed figure, wearing a void of a mask. They are swirling a vial of some sort in their hands, but you can't discern the contents.
You hear their voice say one last thing before you pass out.
"I'm curious, what remains of you now that your past has feasted upon you?"
I didn't intend for it to balloon to this length, but I wanted to do some justice to what is basically a final level in an immersive sim stealth game. Since we have a couple heroes in the roster with revenge on the cards already, I thought it would be worthwhile to explore what it would look like to go full throttle on the revenge train. And apologies about another cliffhanger, this part is long enough as it is and I need to pause and get more inspiration to proceed with what will probably be the conclusion.
As a belated holiday gift, here is a totally serious and not at all unbalanced DNA entry. Let me dream of a mirror world where this somehow happens, damnit!
Name: Oblivion?, ??? Power: [REDACTED] Faction: ??? Potency: [REDACTED] Ibis' Notes: Where did we find this sample? There's no known metahuman that matches it, and we have no way to confirm if the owner is deceased. Until we can do that, I'm flagging this sample as off-limits and marking the more sensitive details as strictly confidential. Since no metahuman name is known, I'm codenaming the sample "Oblivion" since one of its powers is to induce forgetfulness. That power in particular circumvents conventional protections against mental manipulation and could have grave implications for our continued operational security. I recommend that Lady Leizi conduct a full investigation to uncover the owner.
[FULL REPORT REDACTED]
Wait a minute…
Name:Babel, ??? Power: Mental Manipulation x3, Invisibility, Energy Manipulation, Clairvoyance Faction: Justice Unlimited Stats: HIT 1, ESPIONAGE 12, REPUTATION 3, OPERATIONS 5 Ibis' Notes: Yes, yes, you are very clever. Please do not submit your own unmarked DNA to Project Prometheus. We specifically have restrictions against using the samples of people who are still alive, and you do not want to be the first to learn why they exist. If you wanted to see the report on your powers you could've just asked. Babel: I did. Twice, in fact.
You immediately raise your pistol at Shikigami. A mass of paper taken from the office bookshelves around the walls gathers into a thick shell to block your shot.
Ah I am sorry, it wasn't my intention to use your character for myself if that's what happened. I don't keep track of all apocrypha characters, I just wanted a paper mage and then figured out a name based on that. I was actually thinking of a Shikigami from another quest entirely.
Ah I am sorry, it wasn't my intention to use your character for myself if that's what happened. I don't keep track of all apocrypha characters, I just wanted a paper mage and then figured out a name based on that. I was actually thinking of a Shikigami from another quest entirely.
I feel like it would be easier to have an electrokinetic create power. Or failing that, aero kinetic turns windmills, or hydrokinetic turn the steam wheels that make up most power generation. Or even a pyro kinetic boil the water instead of burning coal.
I feel like it would be easier to have an electrokinetic create power. Or failing that, aero kinetic turns windmills, or hydrokinetic turn the steam wheels that make up most power generation. Or even a pyro kinetic boil the water instead of burning coal.
Initially probably, but it's not like anyone else can custom order superpowers, so they built the infrastructure to utilize the super they had. And with him on the way out, they've still got the fancy treadmill turbine.
