Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
At least it's not Nazi vampires this time.
Shining Example (WORM ORIGIN QUEST)
- Thread starter IKnowNothing
- Start date
At least it's not Nazi vampires this time.
- Location
- Leeds
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
Well, there are Nazi's currently messing up New York, so that's something.
No clue, maybe everyone's just jealous of the guard's amazing hats.
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
Oh would you look at that, acceptable targets.
You spoil me IKnowNothing, you really do.
Takoe
Dad
- Location
- Xehafort
Convenient target that isn't a US city but not too foreign. Because after 9/11 a bad guy can never again cause large scale damage to a big American city without cathing tons of flak.
- Location
- Leeds
Makes sense.
My example (Daleks) was from a British SciFi show.
Takoe
Dad
- Location
- Xehafort
My example (Daleks) was from a British SciFi show.
"Oh no, they've blown up the capital!"
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
You know, writing's been taking a while and as the time is slipping by, I realized that I've missed two things.
1. I missed the perfect chance for an April Fools joke saying that the quest is over. I would say something heartfelt about having a great time but losing the muse to go on.
And that I would put all of my story notes into a spoiler tag.
I disappointed myself with this missed opportunity.
2. Almost exactly a year ago, Alex got his powers. And now, with this chapter, he's finally going to get into the arc where he can finally use them on the big stage.
But one year, one year.
Where did all the time go?
... oh, right, the memes.
It's always the memes.
In all seriousness, thanks to you guys for making this story last this long. This has been, by far, the longest single project that I've ever worked on. And once more, I don't see myself stopping it anytime soon. If you've got any more questions, I'm always open.
Thanks for everything, and now if you excuse me, I'll show my appreciation by getting this chapter finished and out.
1. I missed the perfect chance for an April Fools joke saying that the quest is over. I would say something heartfelt about having a great time but losing the muse to go on.
And that I would put all of my story notes into a spoiler tag.
I disappointed myself with this missed opportunity.
2. Almost exactly a year ago, Alex got his powers. And now, with this chapter, he's finally going to get into the arc where he can finally use them on the big stage.
But one year, one year.
Where did all the time go?
... oh, right, the memes.
It's always the memes.
In all seriousness, thanks to you guys for making this story last this long. This has been, by far, the longest single project that I've ever worked on. And once more, I don't see myself stopping it anytime soon. If you've got any more questions, I'm always open.
Thanks for everything, and now if you excuse me, I'll show my appreciation by getting this chapter finished and out.
- Location
- United States
If it were to happen though then in the place of fire and brimstone we would have memes and salt. So thank goodness that did not happen...
- Location
- Leeds
It would have been the second or third near identical April Fools I'd seen that day so it'd have been hard for me to believe.
A cruel April fools would have been to do that on the 2nd.
E: Rated like by IKnowNothing. Well at least it wasn't informative.
Last edited:
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
Looking over the numbers of this next chapter, I've already come to a conclusion that my lack of math skill is going to lead to some... interesting developments in story.
- Location
- Leeds
I don't suppose you've ever considered saying "Well, the players haven't seen this yet so I can just revise it back and continue with something more reasonable so that I still have more room in the future to escalate and do stuff without leaving Earth Bet in an even worse state than it was at the start of Worm."?
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
With my current set up and what I have in my notes, that's not possible.
Actually, most of what I have is tame compared to what happens prestory in worm.
- Location
- Leeds
I am mostly teasing you.
Ghostdevil
The Devil of Ghosts
- Location
- United States
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
Should be fixed. I don't know what happened man.
Ghostdevil
The Devil of Ghosts
- Location
- United States
Still can't, not even on my phone. Maybe i just can't see IMG pics?
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
No, the image link that it's using is broken. And I can do anything to fix that.
3.8: With a Spark, Revolution
IKnowNothing
....What?
- Location
- I got lost so.....Where are we?
First things first no matter what was going to happen next, you can't act like a slob. Picking up the remains of your breakfast, you make the small trek to the garbage. Throwing your remains in, you quickly glance back to your table. The mountain is still there.
Well someone's bound to get hungry eventually, right?
Besides, with your food problem finished, and some peace of mind, there's only one thing left to do.
Drop into a couch and relax like your life depended on it.
Heading to the door, you blink, and another wave presses the call button. You don't even stop walking as you slide into the elevator and push the button for the game room the second you're entirely inside. The door slides shut, and once again you're met with silence, not that you're complaining.
The doors slide open, and your legs automatically take you across the room just to plop you on the couch.
.. damn this is good.
You bounce a little; the cushions let you sink a little deeper into their embrace. Which is fantastic, and a lot better than what you're used to. That old blown out thing could barely be classified as a couch even before three kids started destroying it. By the time you could appreciate it, there was barely enough clour to make it presentable or even enough cushion to make it feel comfortable.
Not that you didn't fix the colour issue eventually.
Although, fix is a strong word for what you did.
You couldn't save it and just accepted how it turned out. Now that you think about it, you never saved the carpet either, or Clint's jacket.
Los Angeles, 1984
"Ok, I know it looks bad, but I can fix this."
You give your sister a sideways glance. Clint would have done the same if he wasn't busy trying to save his jacket. You don't know much about how paint works, but you don't think you can get that much pink out of a black hoodie without some serious bleach.
Well, maybe not bleach exactly, but you're not the genius here.
The two of them need to get their heads into gear if the three of you were going to survive whatever god is going to strike you down. The poor couch was gone, the offending backpack still leaking blues and reds.
"Oh do tell," Clint drawls.
Danah nods past his sarcasm and smiles.
"I say that I thought it was my school bag. Boom! Problem solved."
"But it'll still be your fault though," you point out.
The glimmer of hope suddenly dies in Danah's eyes.
"Shit, you're right."
"Language," Clint warns.
"My life is flashing before my eyes; I don't give a fu-!"
"Danah!" Clint exclaims, making you and Danah jump.
You frown at her as she scurries behind you, brazenly giving you as a sacrifice to your brother's wrath. Clint rolls his eyes and looks at you expectantly. What does he expect you to do? You can't stop her from doing anything.
Just to prove that point, Danah peeks her head from behind you and opens that big mouth of hers.
"I was going to say function."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... no, you weren't." Clint deadpans.
"Nah I was gonna' to say fuck."
You shoot her a look, as she clamps her mouth shut. Taking her hand, she slowly zips her lips closed and throws away the key. You can barely keep a smirk off your face, but Clint doesn't look too impressed.
"Back to the matter at hand."
He gestures to the couch and Danah purses her lips.
"Do you think he'll notice if we flip the cushions?"
Clint's frown deepens, and Danah puts her hands in surrender.
"Could've just said no."
"You wouldn't have listened."
You roll your eyes; this was going nowhere.
"Hey, that's a little much," you say.
Stepping in front of the couch, you tilt your head a little.
"Besides, doesn't look too bad."
It's a stretch, but its all you got at this point. Clint purses his lips but steps up next to you. Danah hops to your other side. Tilting her head, she shrugs.
"I mean, If I add a little more red, we could get a nice blend going," she offers.
Clint taps his chin.
"It would brighten the place up. So long as it doesn't flake."
You nod along, all the while suppressing a smile. Danah eyes you, and the Cheshire smile that spreads across her lips is enough to send a shiver down your spine.
"Not telling Dad one two three not it!"
Wait, what-.
"Not it," Clint calls.
"Not-."
Your jaw snaps shut, and you wince as Danah smiles in victory. Even Clint laughs, but he at least looks a little sorry. Not that you minded if he did or not, it was the least you could do.
And just being able to do that is enough.
You blink away the memory. Looking up, you see your reflection grinning like an idiot, not that you mind.
It was good times, and they could happen again, once all this is over.
You shift your hand, and it smacks into something. You blink and fish it out. The tv remote, huh. You quickly dust it off on your shirt before turning to the tv.
Well, an hour or two of tv wouldn't be too bad.
Turning the remote towards the tv, you give that power button a quick press. Instead of giving a flash of static, the tv opens up to a full welcome screen. It disappears, and you catch Rocky, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, E.T and a bunch of other names scroll across the screen. Curiously you glance at the remove and press the play button. The screen turns black and what comes out next is the phrase your brother couldn't stop repeating when he first saw it.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…
Huh, home theater, you can work with that.
Putting the remote aside you slowly stretch your arms out while leaning back as far as you can. The opening crawl comes out, the music beams around you, and it's just… great.
For the next few hours, you just enjoy the movie. No powers, no craziness. Only you, a movie and not a care in the world.
As the credits roll, you reach for the remote, and the tv blacks out. You blink, what the hell? Did you press the power button? You quick check your hand, nowhere near the power button, so what gives?
Changing the channel, you're met with static. So now it had static? Wait, better question, was this thing even supposed to get static?
You switch again, nothing.
Ok, what the hell is going on? First, it's an all you can watch theater, and now you're getting nothing? Channel after channel its all the same. Dozens of channels reduced to nothing but static.
Breathing a sigh, you put a hand on the armrest, then a flicker from the tv. You freeze, turning to the black screen. For a minute, there's nothing, and then…. music?
It's familiar, but for the life of you, you can't place it. You push the thought to the side as the screen flicks again like a bad connection. Slowly, it comes into focus, giving you a bird's eye view of a huge room. Everything's wholly ornate and fancy. Two stories of benches all converging on a single huge table and desk.
Wait, you knew this place. Wasn't this parliament? Clint always had the picture up in his room, although it was empty. Now though, it's packed to the brim with people.
And they're horrified.
You can see them smashing against one another with the ones that can slamming their hands on the doors and windows. You can see their faces contort in cold panic as they scream, but there's nothing but that music. Some go so far as to pick up chairs and smash them against the windows.
It doesn't work.
No matter what they use, everything shattered before you could see so much as a crack. The doors didn't even budge, even as the knuckles of the poor men and women beating them started to bleed.
But even then, they don't stop.
The camera zooms in as some lady desperately claws against the wall, her fingers bleeding stubs. She looks around, and she opens her mouth to scream.
You blink, and her head is gone.
You catch your breath, and a cold sweat runs down your spine. Others turn around, and they scream as well.
The music hits a crescendo, and it happens.
Gold beams fly from off-screen. In an instant, at least forty people are dead.
No pretence, no warning.
Just a light, and suddenly there's no more people in frame.
You feel the remote slip from your fingers. It smashes against the floor, and the sound makes you flinch. As you do, the floodgates open on the screen, sending everyone left into a frenzy that makes the panic before look calm. A few men in the back start jumping over each other, throwing people to the side, even trampling anyone who got in the way. Nothing mattered, just that they got away.
But it doesn't matter.
Right in front of you, golden beams butchered people like animals. They shot out, slicing through the crowd without care. Some were lucky enough to duck, or just die on contact.
Others were split in two, but still, they had enough life to scream. Some lost legs, or arms, sending the poor people to the ground wailing in agony. Others are enveloped by the light, turning to dust before your eyes.
"Stop."
The music swells, and the blasts go into rapid fire. Like the burst of a machine gun, the light strikes dozens of targets each time. Those that are hit head-on lose most of their body. Those hit in the side are left with no other choice than to fall to the floor with whatever horrific injury they received, only to be easy pickings for another beam an instant later.
"Please… Stop!"
As the final cords come in, walls of golden light flash into existence. They drill through the floor, the benches, everything. Corpses turn to dust as they close in towards the lucky few who were still left. They huddling together as the golden wall forms a bubble of all sides around them. More desperate than ever before, those that still could, ran for the holes in the wall made by the gold beam. One got too close, and the walls closed in around his arm.
He screams, and as the wall enveloped what's left him.
After that, nothing stops as the wall closes in, closer, and closer. It keeps shrinking, and the people keep screaming.
"I SAID STOP!" you scream.
You're on your feet, waves blast out of you, sending the couch flying into the wall behind you. The tv station barely manages to hold itself to the floor. The tv flickers, only to come back as clear as day as the camera zooms in.
Just so you can see the tears run down the woman's face as her eyes roll to the back of her head.
Then the glow envelopes her, and there's nothing left.
The music fades into the background, and the camera zooms out. It turns in place, showing you the fallen bodies that the wall left littered along the floor, covered in gore and splintered wood. One moves, a man without a leg clawing towards the door. The camera moves around, forcing itself right into his face. He doesn't have the energy to scream. He just reaches a desperate, bloody hand towards the camera.
And a boot comes down on his head.
You lurch, fall to your knees, and everything that was in your breakfast comes out, and you can't do a thing to stop it. It's just… oh god.
Your chest convulses as you dry heave the rest of your breakfast out, and somehow, you manage to look up.
You can't even blink as the camera trails up the boot, showing the owner, and the man who just did this. You see a man in an expensive tailcoat the goes down to his ankles. Five white lines trailed up either side of him, snaking around his arms with a white line splitting the tracks into bars. Inside, a black and white two-piece tux sat, the collar unbuttoned, and a scarf tucked in to fill the space around his neck. Atop his head, a worn fedora. Over his face, a bleach mask with a single black music note.
You don't know why, but you feel like he's smiling behind his mask.
The sick fuck.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the world, now that I have your undivided attention, I feel I must introduce myself."
He gives a flourish of his arms, bowing to the camera, a showman on the stage of his dreams.
"I, my wonderful audience, am Symphony, and I shall be the conductor of this wonderful new age we find ourselves in."
He straightens, running a finger on the rim of his fedora. He all but dances around the room, gesturing to every gruesome stain he made.
"Now, I'm sure that most of my, unfortunately, unchanged audience, have come up with some excuse for how our opening act came to be. Special effects, editing, maybe even some sort of elaborate magic trick."
He stops, stroking the bottom of his mask as takes a seat on a ruined bench that managed to survive the onslaught.
"Or perhaps, this is just a horrible nightmare and that any second now, you're going to wake up and everything's going to be all better."
A chuckle erupts from behind the mask, a jovial tone considering what's around him.
"You can think that you can believe whatever your pretty little mind wants to believe. However,"
He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a baton. Like the ones that you see conductors use for orchestras or bands. It taps against the edge of the bench.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then, the tip glows.
A beam of gold shoots out of the tip, smashing into the roof. Gravity takes hold of what's left, sending the wall crumbling down and throwing dust and rock everywhere. The camera feed shakes, but it stays clear enough for you to see Symphony casually launch out of his seat and stride towards the now open wall.
"You'd be wrong."
He turns his head, and the camera turns with him revealing...
Oh good god.
London, or at least, you think it's London, is burning. The streets are caved in; cars are thrown to the side, smoking and abandoned. Over the buildings, fires rage, turning a nearby park into an inferno. In the distance, skyscrapers topple over like children's toys.
Something crashes against the ground, throwing more dust and stone into the air. From the cloud, a man in black armour runs out. He bashes into the nearby buildings going through concrete without a care in the world. As he runs, buildings fall behind him. The camera pans up, and something sends a flare through the lens as it lights up the sky like a newborn star.
A silhouette wreathed in flames holds out a hand.
There's no build up, no power, barely even a flinch and dozens of buildings in the distance were ablaze.
Then the winds came, feeding the flames towards whatever was untouched by this hell. A shill scream tears through the air, and the camera jerks back to Symphony. He throws his hands out, delighting in the destruction before him.
He breathes a hum of satisfaction, even chuckling a bit at what he's done. Then his head snaps to the camera, and all hints of humour are gone.
"Hopefully, this display has opened your eyes. This is no trick, no facade."
Symphony steps out, revealing in the sky above him. The camera pans up, and thick sheets of something start to spread across the sky. Like a spider web, it stretches out over everything that you can see. Slowly, it makes its way to the ground, crushing whatever stood in its way until it stood as a perfect wall on all sides.
"This is a revolution!" Symphony declares.
He waits, allowing the camera to focus back to him.
"What does this mean?" he asks, "Well, it means that those like me can finally take their throne. Because while I might look it, while I might speak your language and breathe your air, know this; I am not human."
He spins, bringing his baton to bare. The tip glows that sick golden glow, and with a flick of his wrist, a beam of energy bore a hole straight through a building. Symphony swings his hand to the side, cutting a clean line through whatever structures managed to last this long. They fell apart, crumbling while Symphony turns his back, the act of watching seemingly not worth his time.
"I am changed," Symphony gives a dark chuckle, holding up a finger, "And what's more, I'm not the only one."
He pauses, letting his words sink in for the full effect as he waltzes back into the remains of parliament.
"Oh yes, there are so many of us. They look just like everyone else, but they can do so much more. Imagine any impossibility that could exist, and there's someone out there can do it. You've heard about them," he says, "Those, superheroes that you've heard whispered in rumour. They hide away, by their own choice, or because of the pitiful attempts of empires around the world trying in vain to stop the flow of history."
He drops his baton, grasping the camera, putting his face front and center.
"To them, I say this; how dare you. How dare you believe that this world is still yours, that you can fit everything into your little ideas and laws. If you still think that, then consider this a reminder, a wake-up call to the reality that you still haven't come to grips with."
Symphony raises a hand and snaps. A shockwave of golden energy flashes out of his fingers, striking the ceiling and turning it into nothing, exposing it to the crystal dome above.
"The new humans have come, and as evolution dictates, it's time we take what is ours."
He reaches to the side and pulls a chair from the wreckage. Taking a seat, he wrings his fingers together and probably smiles behind his mask.
"Because while you can call me a madman, call me a monster, the truth of the matter is that as I said, I am simply one of many. Hundreds of brothers and sisters like me that are capable of the impossible. So as I speak, I hope that everyone who has suffered the same pain that I have can hear me as I say this."
Symphony raises a hand, offering it to the camera.
"My brothers and sisters, I know your pain. I have felt it, my fellow revolutionaries have felt it. You know what I'm talking about. The gifts we have, they didn't come freely did they?" he asks, his voice so quiet you can barely hear it.
On screen, Symphony shakes his head, his hand forming to a glowing fist as the fingers of his gloves begin to rip from the strain.
"No, they came through the pain and strife that could only be described as hell on earth. Now, whenever you look in a mirror, you don't see the same pair of eyes staring back at you.
You see someone who's lost something," he says almost mournfully.
Then, he throws the chair aside and points straight at the feed.
"But if you simply look beyond that, you'll find something fantastic. Someone stronger, someone precious, someone worth fighting and defending. But most of all, someone who can make a difference."
Your breath catches itself in your throat.
That's… that's wrong.
People with powers, we should be making a difference. But… it's not supposed to be that kind of difference. We're supposed to be helping people. We're supposed to be making things better.
What he's implying, that's not better.
"You may hate it, you might despise and fear it, but that doesn't matter. No matter what, everyone who's felt our pain deserves to live how they want to live. If the pitiful unchanged hate you for making that choice, let them."
He puts a hand to his face, his fingers trailing along his mask.
"Give yourself a symbol, and take the chance that's come to you. My brothers and sisters, I'm here to offer you the chance to be something that you could never be. A warlord, a king, a queen," he pauses, and a rueful chuckle escapes him.
"A hero."
A wave crashes down on the TV, causing the screen to crack.
"For the time is now! From the ashes of London, a new world is rising. One where a man can do the impossible, where we can build whatever life that we want. So come out! Take to the streets and build your world! Don't stop, don't hesitate, reach out and take your birthright! And if foolish unchanged wishes to stop you, me, or any of us, let this city be an example!"
He swings an arm around, turning all but one wall into nothingness. The remainder groans and collapses, shooting splinters right at Symphony, but the man doesn't flinch.
He just gestures to the city, or what's left of it. The smoke's blanketed the sky in a thick smog of black, with only the barest lines of light trickling through.
Just enough for you to see the bodies on the floor. Just like the former floor of parliament, it's a street littered with corpses.
You snap your head down, the sight of what you left on the floor is almost enough to make you hurl again. But that would be better than seeing that.
Not again, please for the love of god don't show that again.
"See this once great city, see how easily it can fall," Symphony warns, "Know that we are the ones in control and that this is just a taste of what could happen. Your precious nukes are nothing to what just one of my brothers can do. Your militaries can't stop us."
Symphony walks forward, heading up the pile of rubble like it was a staircase. Anything he didn't want as a foothold disappears when it touches him.
"You can try," he laughs, pointing at the camera with a glowing finger.
"And you will try, but it won't matter. When all of your plans are finished, when all your cards are on the table, when all of your dirty tricks are spent, and your threats are nothing but words, I'll still be here."
He stops, reaching the top of his pile. Letting his hands glow, he lights up the city, making the of fire look like a matchstick in comparison.
"Among the chosen who've taken their rightful place in this world!"
His hands fall to the side, the light fades, and the entire world seems to go quiet.
"And if, in the unfortunate event that one or more of my brothers and sisters thinks that this revolution is unjust."
He raises a finger, and that deadly golden glow shines like a star.
"Know that you will receive no mercy."
The glow disappears as he puts a hand to his heart.
"But even if you do, know that I don't judge you. Those that can do the impossible should be allowed to make their choice. It will be swift, painless, and saddening to meet one who won't be able to witness Paradise."
The camera zooms closer and Symphony bows once again.
"And with that, it's time for the show to begin in earnest! Once again, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Symphony, and welcome to the new world!!"
The feed flashes to static and holds on a blank white screen.
You're left kneeling there, dripping with cold sweat. Your fingers twitch, and your heart feels like thunder in your chest. You breathe, and the beat only grows larger. You barely feel your muscles tense, and your legs are pushing you towards the elevator.
The doors slide open as you barrel in, waves being the only thing that stops you from crashing into the wall. Even so, you hold out a hand, bracing yourself against the wall. The door slides to a close, and you finally notice the other occupant. Contessa just stares at the control panel. Getting your feet from under you, you catch her glancing at you through the corner of her eyes. She's calm, but there's an undercurrent there.
She's confused, almost dumbfounded.
She seems… is she scared?
It's got to be a trick of the light or just your imagination, so you shake your head. It's just you; you're just trying to make things better for yourself. Because if she's scared, then it's ok for you to be, right?
But she doesn't get scared. She has the path; nothing scares her.
Your eyes dart to her, and she can't return the favour. You try to swallow, only to find your throat completely dry. The elevator doors open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Contessa finally glances back, forcing you to shake it off as best you can. In front of you, the elevator opens up to yet another blank office space. A single table in the center, no chairs, no windows, only a tv monitor strapped to the wall. Beyond that, the only supplies that you could see were the two computers sitting on desks thrown to the corner of the room.
Harbinger stands over one of the computers, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He doesn't even tear his eyes away from the screen to look at you, even for a second. Doctor Mother is as still as a statue, watching the news on the tv flash by. Even with her back to you, you know she hasn't even blinked as the footage has rolled past.
Manton leans against a far wall, bringing a cigarette away from his mouth, letting out a stream of smoke as Matthew paces in the corner. The doctor gives you the smallest of glances, quickly going in for another puff. That's probably the best greeting you've ever got out of him. He kicks Matthew in the shin as he moves within range. Your friend doesn't even flinch, but it's enough to break out of his stupor to see you. He tries to say something, but words fail him, and his shoulders slump.
You feel a nudge behind you, forcing you to take an awkward step forward. The second you were clear, the doors shut behind you and you're left standing awkwardly before the door. Contessa brushes by you to stand next to Doctor Mother.
As you watch her go, you catch the sight of the massacre on the Tv. Your throat burn as the bile tries to make its way up, and only a miracle stops it. You all but run to the corner with Manton and Matthew. Neither of them comment on the state of your shirt, or how you refuse to look at the screen. In fact, Matthew doesn't look any better than you.
He's got a straight face, but he looks just as ready to leave his breakfast on the floor as you did. He puts a hand on your shoulder and looks at you with all the concern that he could muster. The question Are you ok? Went unsaid, but you didn't need to hear it. You just nod your thanks and lean against the wall. Matthew opens his mouth to say something, but Manton just shakes his head.
"Don't bother," Manton grumbles, taking another puff of his cigarette, "Nothing's going to make it better."
"No harm in trying," Matthew mumbles.
Manton just stares down at him.
"Words aren't going to revive the dead," he states.
You look away from the deadlock to Doctor Mother. Cauldron's Director aims a small remote at the tv. With a button, the picture pauses on Symphony bowing to the world. She tosses the remote on the desk and parses through the pages on her clipboard.
"Manton, Contessa, gather the other subjects," She orders.
Manton rolls his eyes at the doctor, but he says nothing. Contessa doesn't even waste time acknowledging the order walking to the elevator without question. Upon the door opening, she keeps it open long enough for Manton to throw his cigarette to the floor, grinding the now useless stick with his heel. When the door closes, Matthew shifts.
"... how bad is it?"
Doctor Mother didn't answer, instead looking to Harbinger. He seems to take that as his cue and types a few more keys on his computer.
"Taking visual confirmation alone, the death toll comes out to be about .6% of the total population of the city. There's a high chance that that number is increasing as we speak."
Matthew breathes a sigh of relief, but you can't join him.
"How many is that?" you ask.
Harbinger winces, and whatever relief that Matthew might have had disappears. Harbinger clicks his tongue, sending a questioning glance your way.
"Are you sure you want to know that?"
"Whether he wants to know it or not is irrelevant," Doctor Mother cuts in, "Its information, and it needs to be known."
Harbinger raises his eyebrow just a notch, but Doctor Mother stares him down. He holds the stare for a second longer, glancing back at his screen.
"If the last census was accurate and accounting for visiting and non-permanent residents, there are about 400 thousand casualties in the greater city alone."
You can't breath; you can't even move.
400 thousand people, dead? That's impossible, those kinds of numbers, you only find those after counting the dead from a war!
And you just watched the declaration, but somehow it's that bad.
You… how the fuck are you supposed to imagine that? It's like walking down the streets of LA without running into anyone. The very concept is so wrong that you feel your head start to shake.
He has to be wrong; it can't be that bad, nothing's ever that bad!
He's lying, please for the love of god let him be lying!
You wait, but Harbinger looks away. Matthew's arms drop to his side, and his knees start to shake. And honestly, you're not too far behind him.
"Alone?" Doctor Mother questions.
Another wince and the pitfall in your chest gets even deeper. Harbinger takes a few keys and grimaces at the display in front of him.
"London is the focus," he explains, "But there's radio chatter of similar attacks happening around the world. Someone named Allfather is working through New York. Moscow's been hit, as has Paris. The level of damage isn't at the level of London, but casualties are quickly adding up."
A tap of his keyboard, and the monitor changes to black. With a flash of static, it changes to Symphony midbow. The picture slides to the side and in the available space, two more appear. The flaming silhouette, and the knight in black armour.
"From what I can surmise, most of the casualties in London have been because of these three. The first, and worst is Symphony."
The screen cuts to a still frame of him pointing a finger, letting loose a beam of gold.
"I'll need to confirm with Doctor Manton for his analysis, but going with what we've seen, his power seems to allow him to fire and manipulate energy capable of destroying matter at an atomic level. There's also the possibility that he has no limit to the length or width of his output."
A few keystrokes later, the ball of fire takes center stage.
"This one isn't much better. No footage can tell the defining features or even the gender of the superhuman, but that hardly matters when it can make anything within line of sight spontaneously combust."
Another tap of the keyboard, and it's the knight again.
"And this one, in the interest of not giving false information, is essentially Rebecca without the ability to fly. Extreme strength, durability, and a minor disregard of the second law of motion."
The screen flashes and the crystal overcoating comes into view.
"Adding in someone capable of creating barriers out of nothing, and we've got a team of high-level threats."
He lets his words sink in long enough to adjust his glasses.
"At present, with the current ability of those in Cauldron, I would put the chances of victory in a straight fight against them at less than fifty-five percent. Including the support they no doubt didn't allow us to see, and that number goes down by another fifteen percent."
"Rate of destruction?" Doctor Mother asks.
Harbinger looks to the ceiling, his eyes darting from side to side as his hand taps against his leg. When he focus back on her, his expression is grim.
"They'll have the entire city under control within the day. Any emergency response will most likely be demolished, and any military assault without powered assistance will meet the same fate as well."
"T-then we've got to help them," you say, your voice cracking, "We've got the doors, we can get over there, and we'll stop them. Surprise them, take them out before they can do anything else."
"We can, but we won't."
You feel something spark in the back of your head, and suddenly, you're seeing gold. Your teeth grind together as you slowly turn to Doctor Mother. The Doctor had the gall to just stand there without a single thing on her face.
You step forward, and the floor cracks underneath you.
"What?" you demand.
"You heard me, Mr Everett, don't waste either of our time repeating the obvious."
"People are dying you heartless bitch!" You scream, "We have to help them!"
Doctor Mother takes your scream in stride, which is more than everyone else. Matthew's eyes are as dinner plates as he clings to the wall to keep away from you. Harbinger feebly puts the computer and desk between the two of you. Taking a deep breath, the waves slowly fade into the background.
"You're emotional," Doctor Mother points out, "And because of that, you're failing to see the obvious. The efficacy of this attack, the broadcast, everything points to this event being premeditated in the highest extremes. Without a plan of action, even going out there will give up a tactical advantage that we can't afford to give up and to attack them at this juncture is suicide."
"Then I'll make a plan," you reason, "I mean it only took five minutes to convince-"
Doctor Mother glares down at you, sending a shiver as the sheer amount of steel behind the woman's eyes.
"This isn't something you can just pull out of thin air, Mr Everett. This is war," she emphasises.
"Then have Contessa make it!" you argue.
"I intend to, Mr Everett," Doctor Mother emphasises, "But unless she makes it pointedly clear that allowing you, or any of the other subjects to go out there as soon as possible is the best course of action, you will not be allowed to leave this station. Starting now, the doors are closed."
"But-"
"My decision is final," She snaps, "Say what you will about the tragedy that's occurring, I am not going to entertain any idea that risks the lives of those in this facility until I am absolutely sure about our chances of victory."
"400 thousand people are dead."
The numbers don't even cause a twitch from her.
"And you won't be able to save anyone if you go out now. I'm sorry Mr Everett, but I won't be supporting any plan of immediate attack unless it comes from Contessa."
"You tell Contessa what to do though."
"Sometimes," She admits, "But not this time."
She turns away, picks up the remote and lets the tv continue it's broadcast. The feed cuts off, and it repeats back to the slaughter at the start. Turning away, you see Matthew sink back into his corner. Harbinger just keeps typing, a nervous sweat running down his neck.
As you stand there the waves exploding around your fist you…
[] Bring up that this is a perfect time to show off everyone here as Heroes. If there was any situation that you could use to save as many people as possible, this is this one.
[] Say that leaving these people alone just makes implementing your plan even harder. If she wants to keep her end of the bargain, she has to let you go and help.
[] Don't say anything. Contessa's on the path to complete her plan. You've got to pray that the path lets you help everyone with the full might of cauldron.
[] Don't say anything, but even if Contessa doesn't let you, you're going to go. Too many people have died already. Not one more.
Well someone's bound to get hungry eventually, right?
Besides, with your food problem finished, and some peace of mind, there's only one thing left to do.
Drop into a couch and relax like your life depended on it.
Heading to the door, you blink, and another wave presses the call button. You don't even stop walking as you slide into the elevator and push the button for the game room the second you're entirely inside. The door slides shut, and once again you're met with silence, not that you're complaining.
The doors slide open, and your legs automatically take you across the room just to plop you on the couch.
.. damn this is good.
You bounce a little; the cushions let you sink a little deeper into their embrace. Which is fantastic, and a lot better than what you're used to. That old blown out thing could barely be classified as a couch even before three kids started destroying it. By the time you could appreciate it, there was barely enough clour to make it presentable or even enough cushion to make it feel comfortable.
Not that you didn't fix the colour issue eventually.
Although, fix is a strong word for what you did.
You couldn't save it and just accepted how it turned out. Now that you think about it, you never saved the carpet either, or Clint's jacket.
Los Angeles, 1984
"Ok, I know it looks bad, but I can fix this."
You give your sister a sideways glance. Clint would have done the same if he wasn't busy trying to save his jacket. You don't know much about how paint works, but you don't think you can get that much pink out of a black hoodie without some serious bleach.
Well, maybe not bleach exactly, but you're not the genius here.
The two of them need to get their heads into gear if the three of you were going to survive whatever god is going to strike you down. The poor couch was gone, the offending backpack still leaking blues and reds.
"Oh do tell," Clint drawls.
Danah nods past his sarcasm and smiles.
"I say that I thought it was my school bag. Boom! Problem solved."
"But it'll still be your fault though," you point out.
The glimmer of hope suddenly dies in Danah's eyes.
"Shit, you're right."
"Language," Clint warns.
"My life is flashing before my eyes; I don't give a fu-!"
"Danah!" Clint exclaims, making you and Danah jump.
You frown at her as she scurries behind you, brazenly giving you as a sacrifice to your brother's wrath. Clint rolls his eyes and looks at you expectantly. What does he expect you to do? You can't stop her from doing anything.
Just to prove that point, Danah peeks her head from behind you and opens that big mouth of hers.
"I was going to say function."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... no, you weren't." Clint deadpans.
"Nah I was gonna' to say fuck."
You shoot her a look, as she clamps her mouth shut. Taking her hand, she slowly zips her lips closed and throws away the key. You can barely keep a smirk off your face, but Clint doesn't look too impressed.
"Back to the matter at hand."
He gestures to the couch and Danah purses her lips.
"Do you think he'll notice if we flip the cushions?"
Clint's frown deepens, and Danah puts her hands in surrender.
"Could've just said no."
"You wouldn't have listened."
You roll your eyes; this was going nowhere.
"Hey, that's a little much," you say.
Stepping in front of the couch, you tilt your head a little.
"Besides, doesn't look too bad."
It's a stretch, but its all you got at this point. Clint purses his lips but steps up next to you. Danah hops to your other side. Tilting her head, she shrugs.
"I mean, If I add a little more red, we could get a nice blend going," she offers.
Clint taps his chin.
"It would brighten the place up. So long as it doesn't flake."
You nod along, all the while suppressing a smile. Danah eyes you, and the Cheshire smile that spreads across her lips is enough to send a shiver down your spine.
"Not telling Dad one two three not it!"
Wait, what-.
"Not it," Clint calls.
"Not-."
Your jaw snaps shut, and you wince as Danah smiles in victory. Even Clint laughs, but he at least looks a little sorry. Not that you minded if he did or not, it was the least you could do.
And just being able to do that is enough.
You blink away the memory. Looking up, you see your reflection grinning like an idiot, not that you mind.
It was good times, and they could happen again, once all this is over.
You shift your hand, and it smacks into something. You blink and fish it out. The tv remote, huh. You quickly dust it off on your shirt before turning to the tv.
Well, an hour or two of tv wouldn't be too bad.
Turning the remote towards the tv, you give that power button a quick press. Instead of giving a flash of static, the tv opens up to a full welcome screen. It disappears, and you catch Rocky, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, E.T and a bunch of other names scroll across the screen. Curiously you glance at the remove and press the play button. The screen turns black and what comes out next is the phrase your brother couldn't stop repeating when he first saw it.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…
Huh, home theater, you can work with that.
Putting the remote aside you slowly stretch your arms out while leaning back as far as you can. The opening crawl comes out, the music beams around you, and it's just… great.
For the next few hours, you just enjoy the movie. No powers, no craziness. Only you, a movie and not a care in the world.
As the credits roll, you reach for the remote, and the tv blacks out. You blink, what the hell? Did you press the power button? You quick check your hand, nowhere near the power button, so what gives?
Changing the channel, you're met with static. So now it had static? Wait, better question, was this thing even supposed to get static?
You switch again, nothing.
Ok, what the hell is going on? First, it's an all you can watch theater, and now you're getting nothing? Channel after channel its all the same. Dozens of channels reduced to nothing but static.
Breathing a sigh, you put a hand on the armrest, then a flicker from the tv. You freeze, turning to the black screen. For a minute, there's nothing, and then…. music?
It's familiar, but for the life of you, you can't place it. You push the thought to the side as the screen flicks again like a bad connection. Slowly, it comes into focus, giving you a bird's eye view of a huge room. Everything's wholly ornate and fancy. Two stories of benches all converging on a single huge table and desk.
Wait, you knew this place. Wasn't this parliament? Clint always had the picture up in his room, although it was empty. Now though, it's packed to the brim with people.
And they're horrified.
You can see them smashing against one another with the ones that can slamming their hands on the doors and windows. You can see their faces contort in cold panic as they scream, but there's nothing but that music. Some go so far as to pick up chairs and smash them against the windows.
It doesn't work.
No matter what they use, everything shattered before you could see so much as a crack. The doors didn't even budge, even as the knuckles of the poor men and women beating them started to bleed.
But even then, they don't stop.
The camera zooms in as some lady desperately claws against the wall, her fingers bleeding stubs. She looks around, and she opens her mouth to scream.
You blink, and her head is gone.
You catch your breath, and a cold sweat runs down your spine. Others turn around, and they scream as well.
The music hits a crescendo, and it happens.
Gold beams fly from off-screen. In an instant, at least forty people are dead.
No pretence, no warning.
Just a light, and suddenly there's no more people in frame.
You feel the remote slip from your fingers. It smashes against the floor, and the sound makes you flinch. As you do, the floodgates open on the screen, sending everyone left into a frenzy that makes the panic before look calm. A few men in the back start jumping over each other, throwing people to the side, even trampling anyone who got in the way. Nothing mattered, just that they got away.
But it doesn't matter.
Right in front of you, golden beams butchered people like animals. They shot out, slicing through the crowd without care. Some were lucky enough to duck, or just die on contact.
Others were split in two, but still, they had enough life to scream. Some lost legs, or arms, sending the poor people to the ground wailing in agony. Others are enveloped by the light, turning to dust before your eyes.
"Stop."
The music swells, and the blasts go into rapid fire. Like the burst of a machine gun, the light strikes dozens of targets each time. Those that are hit head-on lose most of their body. Those hit in the side are left with no other choice than to fall to the floor with whatever horrific injury they received, only to be easy pickings for another beam an instant later.
"Please… Stop!"
As the final cords come in, walls of golden light flash into existence. They drill through the floor, the benches, everything. Corpses turn to dust as they close in towards the lucky few who were still left. They huddling together as the golden wall forms a bubble of all sides around them. More desperate than ever before, those that still could, ran for the holes in the wall made by the gold beam. One got too close, and the walls closed in around his arm.
He screams, and as the wall enveloped what's left him.
After that, nothing stops as the wall closes in, closer, and closer. It keeps shrinking, and the people keep screaming.
"I SAID STOP!" you scream.
You're on your feet, waves blast out of you, sending the couch flying into the wall behind you. The tv station barely manages to hold itself to the floor. The tv flickers, only to come back as clear as day as the camera zooms in.
Just so you can see the tears run down the woman's face as her eyes roll to the back of her head.
Then the glow envelopes her, and there's nothing left.
The music fades into the background, and the camera zooms out. It turns in place, showing you the fallen bodies that the wall left littered along the floor, covered in gore and splintered wood. One moves, a man without a leg clawing towards the door. The camera moves around, forcing itself right into his face. He doesn't have the energy to scream. He just reaches a desperate, bloody hand towards the camera.
And a boot comes down on his head.
You lurch, fall to your knees, and everything that was in your breakfast comes out, and you can't do a thing to stop it. It's just… oh god.
Your chest convulses as you dry heave the rest of your breakfast out, and somehow, you manage to look up.
You can't even blink as the camera trails up the boot, showing the owner, and the man who just did this. You see a man in an expensive tailcoat the goes down to his ankles. Five white lines trailed up either side of him, snaking around his arms with a white line splitting the tracks into bars. Inside, a black and white two-piece tux sat, the collar unbuttoned, and a scarf tucked in to fill the space around his neck. Atop his head, a worn fedora. Over his face, a bleach mask with a single black music note.
You don't know why, but you feel like he's smiling behind his mask.
The sick fuck.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the world, now that I have your undivided attention, I feel I must introduce myself."
He gives a flourish of his arms, bowing to the camera, a showman on the stage of his dreams.
"I, my wonderful audience, am Symphony, and I shall be the conductor of this wonderful new age we find ourselves in."
He straightens, running a finger on the rim of his fedora. He all but dances around the room, gesturing to every gruesome stain he made.
"Now, I'm sure that most of my, unfortunately, unchanged audience, have come up with some excuse for how our opening act came to be. Special effects, editing, maybe even some sort of elaborate magic trick."
He stops, stroking the bottom of his mask as takes a seat on a ruined bench that managed to survive the onslaught.
"Or perhaps, this is just a horrible nightmare and that any second now, you're going to wake up and everything's going to be all better."
A chuckle erupts from behind the mask, a jovial tone considering what's around him.
"You can think that you can believe whatever your pretty little mind wants to believe. However,"
He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a baton. Like the ones that you see conductors use for orchestras or bands. It taps against the edge of the bench.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then, the tip glows.
A beam of gold shoots out of the tip, smashing into the roof. Gravity takes hold of what's left, sending the wall crumbling down and throwing dust and rock everywhere. The camera feed shakes, but it stays clear enough for you to see Symphony casually launch out of his seat and stride towards the now open wall.
"You'd be wrong."
He turns his head, and the camera turns with him revealing...
Oh good god.
London, or at least, you think it's London, is burning. The streets are caved in; cars are thrown to the side, smoking and abandoned. Over the buildings, fires rage, turning a nearby park into an inferno. In the distance, skyscrapers topple over like children's toys.
Something crashes against the ground, throwing more dust and stone into the air. From the cloud, a man in black armour runs out. He bashes into the nearby buildings going through concrete without a care in the world. As he runs, buildings fall behind him. The camera pans up, and something sends a flare through the lens as it lights up the sky like a newborn star.
A silhouette wreathed in flames holds out a hand.
There's no build up, no power, barely even a flinch and dozens of buildings in the distance were ablaze.
Then the winds came, feeding the flames towards whatever was untouched by this hell. A shill scream tears through the air, and the camera jerks back to Symphony. He throws his hands out, delighting in the destruction before him.
He breathes a hum of satisfaction, even chuckling a bit at what he's done. Then his head snaps to the camera, and all hints of humour are gone.
"Hopefully, this display has opened your eyes. This is no trick, no facade."
Symphony steps out, revealing in the sky above him. The camera pans up, and thick sheets of something start to spread across the sky. Like a spider web, it stretches out over everything that you can see. Slowly, it makes its way to the ground, crushing whatever stood in its way until it stood as a perfect wall on all sides.
"This is a revolution!" Symphony declares.
He waits, allowing the camera to focus back to him.
"What does this mean?" he asks, "Well, it means that those like me can finally take their throne. Because while I might look it, while I might speak your language and breathe your air, know this; I am not human."
He spins, bringing his baton to bare. The tip glows that sick golden glow, and with a flick of his wrist, a beam of energy bore a hole straight through a building. Symphony swings his hand to the side, cutting a clean line through whatever structures managed to last this long. They fell apart, crumbling while Symphony turns his back, the act of watching seemingly not worth his time.
"I am changed," Symphony gives a dark chuckle, holding up a finger, "And what's more, I'm not the only one."
He pauses, letting his words sink in for the full effect as he waltzes back into the remains of parliament.
"Oh yes, there are so many of us. They look just like everyone else, but they can do so much more. Imagine any impossibility that could exist, and there's someone out there can do it. You've heard about them," he says, "Those, superheroes that you've heard whispered in rumour. They hide away, by their own choice, or because of the pitiful attempts of empires around the world trying in vain to stop the flow of history."
He drops his baton, grasping the camera, putting his face front and center.
"To them, I say this; how dare you. How dare you believe that this world is still yours, that you can fit everything into your little ideas and laws. If you still think that, then consider this a reminder, a wake-up call to the reality that you still haven't come to grips with."
Symphony raises a hand and snaps. A shockwave of golden energy flashes out of his fingers, striking the ceiling and turning it into nothing, exposing it to the crystal dome above.
"The new humans have come, and as evolution dictates, it's time we take what is ours."
He reaches to the side and pulls a chair from the wreckage. Taking a seat, he wrings his fingers together and probably smiles behind his mask.
"Because while you can call me a madman, call me a monster, the truth of the matter is that as I said, I am simply one of many. Hundreds of brothers and sisters like me that are capable of the impossible. So as I speak, I hope that everyone who has suffered the same pain that I have can hear me as I say this."
Symphony raises a hand, offering it to the camera.
"My brothers and sisters, I know your pain. I have felt it, my fellow revolutionaries have felt it. You know what I'm talking about. The gifts we have, they didn't come freely did they?" he asks, his voice so quiet you can barely hear it.
On screen, Symphony shakes his head, his hand forming to a glowing fist as the fingers of his gloves begin to rip from the strain.
"No, they came through the pain and strife that could only be described as hell on earth. Now, whenever you look in a mirror, you don't see the same pair of eyes staring back at you.
You see someone who's lost something," he says almost mournfully.
Then, he throws the chair aside and points straight at the feed.
"But if you simply look beyond that, you'll find something fantastic. Someone stronger, someone precious, someone worth fighting and defending. But most of all, someone who can make a difference."
Your breath catches itself in your throat.
That's… that's wrong.
People with powers, we should be making a difference. But… it's not supposed to be that kind of difference. We're supposed to be helping people. We're supposed to be making things better.
What he's implying, that's not better.
"You may hate it, you might despise and fear it, but that doesn't matter. No matter what, everyone who's felt our pain deserves to live how they want to live. If the pitiful unchanged hate you for making that choice, let them."
He puts a hand to his face, his fingers trailing along his mask.
"Give yourself a symbol, and take the chance that's come to you. My brothers and sisters, I'm here to offer you the chance to be something that you could never be. A warlord, a king, a queen," he pauses, and a rueful chuckle escapes him.
"A hero."
A wave crashes down on the TV, causing the screen to crack.
"For the time is now! From the ashes of London, a new world is rising. One where a man can do the impossible, where we can build whatever life that we want. So come out! Take to the streets and build your world! Don't stop, don't hesitate, reach out and take your birthright! And if foolish unchanged wishes to stop you, me, or any of us, let this city be an example!"
He swings an arm around, turning all but one wall into nothingness. The remainder groans and collapses, shooting splinters right at Symphony, but the man doesn't flinch.
He just gestures to the city, or what's left of it. The smoke's blanketed the sky in a thick smog of black, with only the barest lines of light trickling through.
Just enough for you to see the bodies on the floor. Just like the former floor of parliament, it's a street littered with corpses.
You snap your head down, the sight of what you left on the floor is almost enough to make you hurl again. But that would be better than seeing that.
Not again, please for the love of god don't show that again.
"See this once great city, see how easily it can fall," Symphony warns, "Know that we are the ones in control and that this is just a taste of what could happen. Your precious nukes are nothing to what just one of my brothers can do. Your militaries can't stop us."
Symphony walks forward, heading up the pile of rubble like it was a staircase. Anything he didn't want as a foothold disappears when it touches him.
"You can try," he laughs, pointing at the camera with a glowing finger.
"And you will try, but it won't matter. When all of your plans are finished, when all your cards are on the table, when all of your dirty tricks are spent, and your threats are nothing but words, I'll still be here."
He stops, reaching the top of his pile. Letting his hands glow, he lights up the city, making the of fire look like a matchstick in comparison.
"Among the chosen who've taken their rightful place in this world!"
His hands fall to the side, the light fades, and the entire world seems to go quiet.
"And if, in the unfortunate event that one or more of my brothers and sisters thinks that this revolution is unjust."
He raises a finger, and that deadly golden glow shines like a star.
"Know that you will receive no mercy."
The glow disappears as he puts a hand to his heart.
"But even if you do, know that I don't judge you. Those that can do the impossible should be allowed to make their choice. It will be swift, painless, and saddening to meet one who won't be able to witness Paradise."
The camera zooms closer and Symphony bows once again.
"And with that, it's time for the show to begin in earnest! Once again, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Symphony, and welcome to the new world!!"
The feed flashes to static and holds on a blank white screen.
You're left kneeling there, dripping with cold sweat. Your fingers twitch, and your heart feels like thunder in your chest. You breathe, and the beat only grows larger. You barely feel your muscles tense, and your legs are pushing you towards the elevator.
The doors slide open as you barrel in, waves being the only thing that stops you from crashing into the wall. Even so, you hold out a hand, bracing yourself against the wall. The door slides to a close, and you finally notice the other occupant. Contessa just stares at the control panel. Getting your feet from under you, you catch her glancing at you through the corner of her eyes. She's calm, but there's an undercurrent there.
She's confused, almost dumbfounded.
She seems… is she scared?
It's got to be a trick of the light or just your imagination, so you shake your head. It's just you; you're just trying to make things better for yourself. Because if she's scared, then it's ok for you to be, right?
But she doesn't get scared. She has the path; nothing scares her.
Your eyes dart to her, and she can't return the favour. You try to swallow, only to find your throat completely dry. The elevator doors open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Contessa finally glances back, forcing you to shake it off as best you can. In front of you, the elevator opens up to yet another blank office space. A single table in the center, no chairs, no windows, only a tv monitor strapped to the wall. Beyond that, the only supplies that you could see were the two computers sitting on desks thrown to the corner of the room.
Harbinger stands over one of the computers, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He doesn't even tear his eyes away from the screen to look at you, even for a second. Doctor Mother is as still as a statue, watching the news on the tv flash by. Even with her back to you, you know she hasn't even blinked as the footage has rolled past.
Manton leans against a far wall, bringing a cigarette away from his mouth, letting out a stream of smoke as Matthew paces in the corner. The doctor gives you the smallest of glances, quickly going in for another puff. That's probably the best greeting you've ever got out of him. He kicks Matthew in the shin as he moves within range. Your friend doesn't even flinch, but it's enough to break out of his stupor to see you. He tries to say something, but words fail him, and his shoulders slump.
You feel a nudge behind you, forcing you to take an awkward step forward. The second you were clear, the doors shut behind you and you're left standing awkwardly before the door. Contessa brushes by you to stand next to Doctor Mother.
As you watch her go, you catch the sight of the massacre on the Tv. Your throat burn as the bile tries to make its way up, and only a miracle stops it. You all but run to the corner with Manton and Matthew. Neither of them comment on the state of your shirt, or how you refuse to look at the screen. In fact, Matthew doesn't look any better than you.
He's got a straight face, but he looks just as ready to leave his breakfast on the floor as you did. He puts a hand on your shoulder and looks at you with all the concern that he could muster. The question Are you ok? Went unsaid, but you didn't need to hear it. You just nod your thanks and lean against the wall. Matthew opens his mouth to say something, but Manton just shakes his head.
"Don't bother," Manton grumbles, taking another puff of his cigarette, "Nothing's going to make it better."
"No harm in trying," Matthew mumbles.
Manton just stares down at him.
"Words aren't going to revive the dead," he states.
You look away from the deadlock to Doctor Mother. Cauldron's Director aims a small remote at the tv. With a button, the picture pauses on Symphony bowing to the world. She tosses the remote on the desk and parses through the pages on her clipboard.
"Manton, Contessa, gather the other subjects," She orders.
Manton rolls his eyes at the doctor, but he says nothing. Contessa doesn't even waste time acknowledging the order walking to the elevator without question. Upon the door opening, she keeps it open long enough for Manton to throw his cigarette to the floor, grinding the now useless stick with his heel. When the door closes, Matthew shifts.
"... how bad is it?"
Doctor Mother didn't answer, instead looking to Harbinger. He seems to take that as his cue and types a few more keys on his computer.
"Taking visual confirmation alone, the death toll comes out to be about .6% of the total population of the city. There's a high chance that that number is increasing as we speak."
Matthew breathes a sigh of relief, but you can't join him.
"How many is that?" you ask.
Harbinger winces, and whatever relief that Matthew might have had disappears. Harbinger clicks his tongue, sending a questioning glance your way.
"Are you sure you want to know that?"
"Whether he wants to know it or not is irrelevant," Doctor Mother cuts in, "Its information, and it needs to be known."
Harbinger raises his eyebrow just a notch, but Doctor Mother stares him down. He holds the stare for a second longer, glancing back at his screen.
"If the last census was accurate and accounting for visiting and non-permanent residents, there are about 400 thousand casualties in the greater city alone."
You can't breath; you can't even move.
400 thousand people, dead? That's impossible, those kinds of numbers, you only find those after counting the dead from a war!
And you just watched the declaration, but somehow it's that bad.
You… how the fuck are you supposed to imagine that? It's like walking down the streets of LA without running into anyone. The very concept is so wrong that you feel your head start to shake.
He has to be wrong; it can't be that bad, nothing's ever that bad!
He's lying, please for the love of god let him be lying!
You wait, but Harbinger looks away. Matthew's arms drop to his side, and his knees start to shake. And honestly, you're not too far behind him.
"Alone?" Doctor Mother questions.
Another wince and the pitfall in your chest gets even deeper. Harbinger takes a few keys and grimaces at the display in front of him.
"London is the focus," he explains, "But there's radio chatter of similar attacks happening around the world. Someone named Allfather is working through New York. Moscow's been hit, as has Paris. The level of damage isn't at the level of London, but casualties are quickly adding up."
A tap of his keyboard, and the monitor changes to black. With a flash of static, it changes to Symphony midbow. The picture slides to the side and in the available space, two more appear. The flaming silhouette, and the knight in black armour.
"From what I can surmise, most of the casualties in London have been because of these three. The first, and worst is Symphony."
The screen cuts to a still frame of him pointing a finger, letting loose a beam of gold.
"I'll need to confirm with Doctor Manton for his analysis, but going with what we've seen, his power seems to allow him to fire and manipulate energy capable of destroying matter at an atomic level. There's also the possibility that he has no limit to the length or width of his output."
A few keystrokes later, the ball of fire takes center stage.
"This one isn't much better. No footage can tell the defining features or even the gender of the superhuman, but that hardly matters when it can make anything within line of sight spontaneously combust."
Another tap of the keyboard, and it's the knight again.
"And this one, in the interest of not giving false information, is essentially Rebecca without the ability to fly. Extreme strength, durability, and a minor disregard of the second law of motion."
The screen flashes and the crystal overcoating comes into view.
"Adding in someone capable of creating barriers out of nothing, and we've got a team of high-level threats."
He lets his words sink in long enough to adjust his glasses.
"At present, with the current ability of those in Cauldron, I would put the chances of victory in a straight fight against them at less than fifty-five percent. Including the support they no doubt didn't allow us to see, and that number goes down by another fifteen percent."
"Rate of destruction?" Doctor Mother asks.
Harbinger looks to the ceiling, his eyes darting from side to side as his hand taps against his leg. When he focus back on her, his expression is grim.
"They'll have the entire city under control within the day. Any emergency response will most likely be demolished, and any military assault without powered assistance will meet the same fate as well."
"T-then we've got to help them," you say, your voice cracking, "We've got the doors, we can get over there, and we'll stop them. Surprise them, take them out before they can do anything else."
"We can, but we won't."
You feel something spark in the back of your head, and suddenly, you're seeing gold. Your teeth grind together as you slowly turn to Doctor Mother. The Doctor had the gall to just stand there without a single thing on her face.
You step forward, and the floor cracks underneath you.
"What?" you demand.
"You heard me, Mr Everett, don't waste either of our time repeating the obvious."
"People are dying you heartless bitch!" You scream, "We have to help them!"
Doctor Mother takes your scream in stride, which is more than everyone else. Matthew's eyes are as dinner plates as he clings to the wall to keep away from you. Harbinger feebly puts the computer and desk between the two of you. Taking a deep breath, the waves slowly fade into the background.
"You're emotional," Doctor Mother points out, "And because of that, you're failing to see the obvious. The efficacy of this attack, the broadcast, everything points to this event being premeditated in the highest extremes. Without a plan of action, even going out there will give up a tactical advantage that we can't afford to give up and to attack them at this juncture is suicide."
"Then I'll make a plan," you reason, "I mean it only took five minutes to convince-"
Doctor Mother glares down at you, sending a shiver as the sheer amount of steel behind the woman's eyes.
"This isn't something you can just pull out of thin air, Mr Everett. This is war," she emphasises.
"Then have Contessa make it!" you argue.
"I intend to, Mr Everett," Doctor Mother emphasises, "But unless she makes it pointedly clear that allowing you, or any of the other subjects to go out there as soon as possible is the best course of action, you will not be allowed to leave this station. Starting now, the doors are closed."
"But-"
"My decision is final," She snaps, "Say what you will about the tragedy that's occurring, I am not going to entertain any idea that risks the lives of those in this facility until I am absolutely sure about our chances of victory."
"400 thousand people are dead."
The numbers don't even cause a twitch from her.
"And you won't be able to save anyone if you go out now. I'm sorry Mr Everett, but I won't be supporting any plan of immediate attack unless it comes from Contessa."
"You tell Contessa what to do though."
"Sometimes," She admits, "But not this time."
She turns away, picks up the remote and lets the tv continue it's broadcast. The feed cuts off, and it repeats back to the slaughter at the start. Turning away, you see Matthew sink back into his corner. Harbinger just keeps typing, a nervous sweat running down his neck.
As you stand there the waves exploding around your fist you…
[] Bring up that this is a perfect time to show off everyone here as Heroes. If there was any situation that you could use to save as many people as possible, this is this one.
[] Say that leaving these people alone just makes implementing your plan even harder. If she wants to keep her end of the bargain, she has to let you go and help.
[] Don't say anything. Contessa's on the path to complete her plan. You've got to pray that the path lets you help everyone with the full might of cauldron.
[] Don't say anything, but even if Contessa doesn't let you, you're going to go. Too many people have died already. Not one more.
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Ghostdevil
The Devil of Ghosts
- Location
- United States
[X] Bring up that this is a perfect time to show off everyone here as Heroes. If there was any situation that you could use to save as many people as possible, it's this one.
- Location
- pennsylvania
so anyone think this is a simulation to make us sink or swim?
redzonejoe
Vaguely Pastafarian
- Location
- Canada
[X] Bring up that this is a perfect time to show off everyone here as Heroes. If there was any situation that you could use to save as many people as possible, this is this one.