Atlantis Awakening [IC]

[Skymin]

ATLANTIS AWAKENING
OOC thread can be found here.
Sign-Ups are OPEN

Blayze Nalaar – Nikolaiviertel, Berlin, Germany
Late Afternoon, October 16th, 2012

It wasn't my idea to reveal us to the public and I was definitely regretting it, moving through Berlin with my head down and hoodie pulled up. Everyone knew my face. It was all over television, all over the internet. It was even on a goddamned youth revolt poster. As if I was some kind of superhero, some kind of prophet who had brought a fucking revolution with him down to Earth. Well, I wasn't. I was just a guy who was getting lost trying to find a specific coffee shop in Berlin. I was born to be a leader but I never wanted to be one.

It wasn't just my face that I kept seeing; my 'brothers' and 'sisters' were there too. The five of us, plus the others who lived and learned alongside us, grew to protect our Atlantean heritage and to hone our powers. To save the world from the shadows. At first, it was like we were superheroes. To take over from our parents in managing the supernatural side of the world was like giving us a pen and paper and saying, “write your own comic book.” We could be whoever we wanted and as long as we wore a mask, nobody would know if it was real or not.

We all had to grow up sooner or later. When our parents moved on and left us in charge, this superhero style thinking had to go. We weren’t superheroes at all. We were aliens to a modern day world. A civilisation which was thought to be lost for decades and far superior to any kind of moral man. We were Atlantean and we knew that it was about fucking time that the world knew what that meant.

I didn’t realise how quickly our plan had went ahead; with the findings of Atlantean Crystals in Egypt and River, another member of the Royal Family I was part of, revealing our existence promptly afterwards, it had only been six days. Of course, I didn’t think the world was ready for it yet. I expected it to take years of work, training and planning to reveal ourselves to the public. But, River insisted the timing was right and with the Oracle’s prophecy guiding our every step, there was no other way we could do this.

I had finally found this coffee shop; Nikolaiviertel it was called. It was cosy-ish and near the river and not my idea of a rendezvous point. I pushed my way through the small groups of people and sat down at table 5, just like I had been instructed. A few moments later, another man, also sporting a hoodie like myself, joined me. I looked up see his face and realised why his hoodie had been covering his face more than mine; his Atlantean tattoo winded and weaved in spirals across his face. I removed my own hood to lower suspicion as two guys sitting at a table with hoods on looked quite suspicious even to an idiot.

“Blayze Nalaar, I presume. If that is your real name,” he smirked.

“Pietr Tillmann,” I said, waving off an incoming waiter. He spoke as if he had known me before. I narrowed my eyes only slightly.

“Ich entschuldige mich for the choice of location,” he switched between German and English as if he was trying to throw me off or test me. Whatever it was, it didn’t really work. You can’t be an international representative without knowing a few languages. “I’m glad you came so kurzfristig.”

“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to speak with you, Mr. Tillmann,” I looked away from his face for a second to quickly check the surroundings. As I had expected, the hood that Tillmann was wearing had attracted some attention. A boy from a family of four was pointing at our table. I’d have to hurry this along. “I only wish that you can accept my offer. It would be of great benefit to the both of us.”

A girl stood in the corner, staring intently at us. I recognised her almost immediately. This was not a good thing. She... she was here? I looked back to Tillmann to find him smirking again.

“I’m going to have to say no, Mr. Nalaar. Your plans are warped and you cannot hope for this kind of peace,” he stood up, knocking over his chair and whipping his hood off. Many people gasped and pointed, obviously having seen the media. His tattoo had started to glow red and I could feel his body emitting heat. This was not good. “This is the end of your tyranny.”

I quickly stood up and grabbed the man by his throat though I know that wouldn’t be enough. My fire was not quick enough for his power.

“This is the end. Goodbye.”

And within seconds, the café erupted in flames and a large chunk of Berlin was reduced to rubble.

DAY 1

Oakley North – Her Father’s House, London, England
Noon, October 31st, 2012

“Oakley! It’s on the news again!”

“Yes, okay! Hang on,” Oakley got up from her bed, dragging her arm behind her. She didn’t mean for the armour to travel up her arm so high. She had been ‘practising’ and by practising it meant she was sitting in her room, cross legged on her bed, trying to control her breathing. Three weeks of confinement and the ability of having a hand with fingers too big to type on a keyboard had taught her that her power relied on her heart beat. A slower heart beat meant the armour receded. A faster heartbeat meant it grew. And the faster it grew, the more it distorted the armour was and the more it hurt. She hadn’t learned much else, only which being a panicky teenager was not healthy for her. Unfortunately, that’s what she was.

She fell into her favourite chair, trying her best not to rip it with her right arm. Her father pointed at the television and turned the volume up as the new reporter gestured behind her.

“Evidence was found today that the work of the Berlin Explosion was the work of Atlanteans. Maaka “Blayze” Nalaar, a member of the Atlantean Royal Family, was suspected to be the cause of the explosion as survivors claimed to have seen the 33 year old in the streets on Berlin that day as well as physical DNA evidence at the heart of the chaos. The remaining members of the Royal Family have made no comments towards his disappearance but together with the United Nations have rushed an international bill, calling all Atlanteans to register themselves and their abilities with the local Atlantean Relief Centres in all capital cities. Anybody now caught using Atlantean Abilities without being registered or carrying a registration card will face detainment.

“More on this story soon...”

“It’s all very interesting, isn’t it?” Oakley’s father gave her a weak smile and a small laugh. She returned the smile, sinking into her chair. Her father had tried to help her feel better over the past three weeks about herself but he knew as well as she did that she wouldn’t be able to continue with anything she had planned. No more Oxford, like she had planned. No more future. Just an enormous metal arm. “Are you going to go?”

“I have to, don’t I?” She hated to think if she didn’t. What was the Atlantean version of the police like? Could they fire electricity from their fingers or maybe turn you into stone?

“I’ll come with you if you like.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. I’ll… go,” she looked around for her coat and her sling. “I’ll go right now.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Her father frowned a little at her. No doubt he was recalling what had happened last night. Oakley had found her brother’s old things and started to cry. It took three hours to get the armour back down to normal.

“I’ll be okay.”

* * *

"What's your power?"

"What?"

"I said, what's your power?"

"I... Why?" Oakley frowned at the stranger behind her in line. He was older than she was, probably 23 or 24, though it confused her why he was curious. As soon as Oakley had grabbed her coat and rewrapped her arm back, she had left for the bus station. The closest one of these 'Atlantean Relief Centres' was the London one, which happened to be one of the most busiest places she had ever been to. People were everywhere, lining up in lines to prove their Atlantean existence. Some were lead to rooms, some were turned away. She turned back to the man, who gave out a cheesy grin.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Mine is super bad ass," he gave her cast a sheepish look. Oakley frowned and shook her head. Despite what she told her father, she began to trust herself even less. She didn't want another accident.

"Whatever!" he laughed again. "Mine is so awesome! Just watch!" He held his breath and then exhaled as his face turned red. Then, he clapped his hands and smiled back at her. With no difference whatsoever. "See?"

"Nothing happened," Oakley stared at him, trying to find something different about him. Nope, nothing.

"Dude, I glow. You just can't see it at daytime!"

"What?"

"Next!" Oakley spun around as it was her turn, blinking at herself. He glowed? What? She approached two guards, police officers maybe, who quickly jabbed her left arm with a needle. She gasped and as they pulled it out, a small bump appeared, which then was covered over with a growth of armour. With a nod, they let her through, hearing a "what, that metal stuff on her arm! That's your power?! Lame!" behind her from the guy. She was lead to a room with several desks, doctors behind them and asking questions to people at desks. Oakley was pushed to a desk, where a very tired looking lady looked over her glasses and spoke with the most monotonous voice.

"Name?"

"Oakley North."

"And what's your ability, Oakey?" The doctor leaned her head on her shoulder and her eyelids drooped. Was she bored? Tired? Both? Oakley inhaled then pulled off the cast, revealing the armour plates. The doctor immediately sat up, rubbed her eyes then began to jot notes. She asked questions as Oakley answered them as shortly as possible. When they were done, Oakley wrapped her arm back up, was handed a slip of paper and motioned to another door. This one was to a large waiting room, full of people. She pulled a face and carefully picked a spot on the ground. One with the least amount of dirt and people. She gave a sigh and sat down. She felt surprisingly at peace, with all her freakish brethren surrounding her, but uncomfortable enough to avoid anyone. Still, she was not up for unwrapping her arm for any kind of random person yet.

[KnightShade]

It would forever be Jeff's shame that he had slept in on the day that divided humanity. The world around him would never be the same, the gears of fate were turning relentlessly crushing those that could not adapt but the small cog that was daily life had to go on. And at that time the cog had been straining against the chain of ever lengthening nightshifts. This being the case it wasn't until a rather awkward doctor's appointment, hurriedly booked for his incessantly itching stomach, that he was given the diagnosis. His GP of over two years, having examined the area carefully, had turned to him with a sombre look.

"Tell me what the problem is doc, I can take it," he'd said with trepidation, then added with a trace of optimism "Will I live?"

"You're an Atlantean son," had been the doctor's gruff reply, "I'm not even sure if your lot are alive to start with."

And in the following weeks he had come to understand what that meant a little at a time. Of course understanding the term was not hard, especially when it blared out of every news channel twenty four hours a day. Now other things were more difficult to understand, like the new role he had in society. Of course he was far removed from the politics and legislation above him, but he was in the midst of something darker. Gangs ran campaigns of terror against anyone with visible tattoos, which considering many of them already had them, meant many self destructed in violent massacres. Marches had been organised for and against and suddenly fire hydrants weren't the only easily available weaponry. And then there were the attacks that were simply senseless.

Finding his power took more time but one night as he had sat watching over the bowling alley he had found himself reaching out as though to grasp at the curling smoke when his electronic cigarette had disapeared. His first thought had been he had somehow incinerated it but to his suprise, just as he thought he would never have it back, it returned to his hand. The next thing he had made disapear was his house key. He had not been able to get it back until morning. Eventually he started to be able to picture were these things went to and could consistently get them back, but being of a pragmatic nature he naturally looked for an application.

Of course there was smuggling, he could have flown to cuba and bought some nice fat cigars, but to do that you first needed the money to fly there. Then their was petty theft, he was quite adept at picking up things after they had fallen of the back of a lorry. But a sneaking suspicion told him that the world would adapt and if things disapeared every time he went into a jewellery store he would be the one having to do the catching up. He could take up vigilantism, but what use his power to protect others. No, it's strength was in suprise so he settled for having a trusty kitchen knife ready at all times for his own safety. Their was magic but nobody had ever really believed in that and now that their was imperical evidence they doubly denied it's existence. So he had settled for trying to attract the attention of groups who would pay him for his powers.

"For God's sake wake up man, sleeping on the bloody job again," his manager, an angry little shrimp of a man had screeched at him, "Well? Where are they?" Jeff always found it funny that this man couldn't tell when someone was faking sleep, and he had answered with false grogginess "Wat'sat?" "The balls from the ball pool are gone," his manager had replied with deceptive patientience, "Why are they gone?" Jeffrey had made a show of yawning and stretching, "Dunno, maybe someone nicked off with them," was his answer all the time thinking, 'Because I couldn't take the bowling balls, they were too big.' The rest had not gone according to plan, he had known he would be fired but he thought it make the news to advertise to those who could decode the power behind it. But still the Atlanteans with 'real' powers dominated the news, compared to someone who could start fires or bend light or grow wings what was he? Practically human.

But he was still determined to get a job and for the second time that nonth had the wrong reactio to world shattering news. The more forward politicians were calling the Berlin explosion the new nine eleven. Debating programs were inundated with calls crying out against the atrocities commited by these inhuman monsters. But when he heard a registration act had been passed he smiled. He waited long enough to get the location of his nearest centre, grabbed his jacket and ran all the way there.

[TornZero]

Cira Gaile - Gaile Home, Seattle, Washington
October 31st, 2012

“Evidence was found today that the work of the Berlin Explosion was the work of Atlanteans. Maaka 'Blayze' Nalaar, a member of the Atlantean Royal Family, was suspected to be the cause of the explosion as survivors claimed to have seen the 33 year old in the streets on Berlin that day, as well as physical DNA evidence at the heart of the chaos. The remaining members of the Royal Family have made no comments towards his disappearance..."

"Guess there are some bad apples in every bunch, huh?" Cira's father was relaying a bit of commentary while they had their... what was it, dunch? Linner? Well, somewhere between lunch and dinner.... Linch? No; can't make it sound as good as brunch no matter how you say it, apparently.

"... calling all Atlanteans to register themselves and their abilities with the local Atlantean Relief Centres in all capital cities. Anybody now caught using Atlantean Abilities without being registered or carrying a registration card will face detainment."

"Detainment for not registering?" Cira asked. "Are they supposed to put you in some massive database where they'll keep track of you using your powers?"

"I don't think even a supercomputer's capable of that."

"Do you even need to register?" It was obvious his father had obtained the signature of Atlantean descent (put simply, their tattoo), but there were no abilities to be witnessed. If it wasn't for realizing the danger of having to learn how to use and manage a superpower, Alexander would've been jealous that his son was given telekinetic powers. Cira was experimenting (read: playing) with them right now, spinning a few decorative metal balls around in the air. Doing the same in his hand would've been a relaxation technique, but the way he was doing it now should have no difference, right? Wait, do they have to be in your palm for that relaxing thing to work? No way, he was feeling pretty relaxed. Speaking of, the eyes (that is, the pair of tattoos in the palms of Cira's hands, which only looked like the outline of a pair of eyes) had a slight radiance to them. It wasn't really something obvious or attention-grabbing, but it was still there if you managed to notice. It seemed to just happen whenever he was using his powers, but it's gotten gradually more intense. The glow wasn't visible when the Royal Family showed up in the world, but now it's like a nightlight.

"Since they'll never see me using anything like giant fire explosions or even just making sparks, I don't think I'll have to register myself. You, however, will." They both knew Cira was going to be using his powers at almost any convenience; it was something they could share a short chuckle over, at the least.

=~*~=

There was quite a big line to the facility. Some of the people farther back started setting up some kind of camp like they were going to wait overnight. Kind of foolish actually, since they could simply go home and return tomorrow. After about half an hour of waiting, Alex and his son were finally near the front door of Seattle's Atlantean Relief Centre. Rather small building, though, like a big steel shack made just for registering Atlanteans; just two rooms inside from the descriptions of the people who had already gotten registered, one being a waiting room and the other to actually get registered. Probably felt oddly like a dentist's office, if Cira had to guess.

"So, which one of you has the powers?"

"Or are you both gifted?"

The pair turned around to see identical twins, young men about Cira's age with joyful demeanors, contrasting his own relaxed disposition.

"We share..."

"One ability."

"We're in perfect sync!" they both shouted, responded by the shh's and shushes of the people around them.

"We speak to each other through thoughts,"

"Unless we want to talk out loud of course."

"We share our joy and pain,"

"And sometimes our sense of bodily functions, too." They finished each other's sentences to boot, though that last part really should've been omitted for the sake of decency.

The group had a short conversation (as in fifteen minutes long), making it into the waiting room before another squick-worthy comment was made. They may have some twin telepathy or whatever, but one of them messes up by speaking an off-handed thought once in a while. "Sitcom-like" could be the most accurate way to describe their situation.

"Next!" a guard called. When Alex and Cira walked up, they were both stuck with a syringe in the arm and left with little bumps like they had a tuberculosis test. Rather than waiting a couple days, though, Alex manifested nothing, and Cira quite forcefully... ah... forced, the guard back a few feet.

"Great," the man sarcastically started. "A psychic." As he led the younger Gaile into the back room, he was muttering to himself. "Just what we need: someone who... without lifting a finger." Cira wasn't able to make out the middle, but that wasn't important now.

"Name?" Nearly empty room with one man sitting down in front of Cira, another chair and a table between the two, and some things typical to scientists like a 3G-model iPad and a stylus, probably for taking notes and sending them off right away.

"Cira Gaile."

"Ability?" The name probably made the researcher (or at least that's how the man was dressed) think the boy would be given the powers of wind, but no.

"Telekinesis, I guess." Cira was able to lift the tablet and stylus out of the researcher's hands without much effort, regardless of the light headache the injection gave him (that was slowly intensifying). Thankfully, the ability didn't have to last long; the device was quickly placed on the table at the researcher's request.

"Go ahead and take a seat, Cira. I'll have your registration confirmed in a moment." After writing on and tapping the iPad's screen for a minute or so, there was a short, optimistic ding.

"Does that mean I'm registered?"

"Yes," the researcher answered, "and... no."

"What does that mean?"

"I just received a message saying your ability is too potentially dangerous." This almost alarmed Cira, since he was probably facing detainment already despite doing nothing wrong, but the man kept talking. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. If you'll come with me, I'll explain what I mean." The researcher took him to a third room through a door in the back. Weird how he didn't notice it before.

[The Man]

James Hazen- Convenience Store, Honolulu, Hawaii
October 31st, 2012

The affairs of Hawaii went on much as it always did. Slow, steady, and in James Hazen's eyes, boring as hell. You would think that the discovery of the Atlanteans would have changed something there, and you would be dead wrong. It was almost the same as when the events of September 11th hit New York, or when a new pope was appointed to the Vatican, or when the swine flu outbreak began in Mexico. Even though the events were severe and had major impacts, if they didn't occur in the area, all it was, was pass-time news. That was the sad truth of life there. People weren't concerned much with the troubles outside. Or perhaps they were concerned, but instead of confronting or addressing the problem, they figured the problem may never reach them there, and eventually the problem would somehow be corrected. And for most people, that would be alright.

But James Hazen was different. He hated this false sense of security and tranquility that existed here. He hated that nothing was taken seriously, and nothing was ever seen as a serious matter. Even the latest event was just a hiccup in these people's lives. Sometimes, James had to actually imagine things happening, just so he wouldn't drive himself crazy. It usually would be some small imagining, like a car crash at the corner of the street, or an individual holding up the store where he worked.

But lately, his imaginings grew even bolder. This began to occur after a strange tattoo appeared on his neck, one in the shape of distorted arrow, pointing outward in an unbalanced circle. It was an Atlantean tattoo. Soon after, he discovered he had an ability, just like the people in the newspapers he would read about. Now, the big news didn't seem so far away anymore. It was right here, right in front of them. None of them knew, but James intended to show them. He just needed the right sign. So for now, he simply imagined doing it, sending a spark in the convenience store where he worked, causing a light bulb to burst. Shut off the power in an office building floor, if he can manage it. For a while, that suited him. But as the desire to actually do something about it grew, so did James's patience withdraw. A boiling point would eventually be reached.

James swept the floor at the corner of the convenience store where he worked. He had no idea why he still worked there. He hated the job. The pay was crap. His boss was an asshole. He assumed he needed the money, but sometimes no amount of money was worth it. Harold, James's acquaintance and coworker managed the cash register as a few customers wandered the store. Then suddenly, the news was on the television which was attached to the wall on the adjacent corner to where James was.

“Evidence was found today that the work of the Berlin Explosion was the work of Atlanteans. Maaka “Blayze” Nalaar, a member of the Atlantean Royal Family, was suspected to be the cause of the explosion as survivors claimed to have seen the 33 year old in the streets on Berlin that day as well as physical DNA evidence at the heart of the chaos. The remaining members of the Royal Family have made no comments towards his disappearance but together with the United Nations have rushed an international bill, calling all Atlanteans to register themselves and their abilities with the local Atlantean Relief Centres in all capital cities. Anybody now caught using Atlantean Abilities without being registered or carrying a registration card will face detainment.

"Holy shit, man." Harold said in his typical surfer accent. He turned to James, who had stopped sweeping and looked intently at the TV. "Can ya believe it? I mean, I heard the news, but to think that they're like, here. It's just crazy, man, ya know?"

"Yea...crazy." James said softly. He wondered what he should do. Obviously, he would have to register, or get detained. But did they really know who among them was Atlantean? He was sure nobody knew he was one. But it might be safe to do so anyways. Suddenly, the manager of the store came into the room from the back, while James and Harold still watched the TV. James hadn't noticed him come in, while Harold had, and quickly went back to work. Seeing that James wasn't doing his job, but was instead watching the TV, the manager walked up to James from behind, before slowly clearing his throat to let James know he was there.

At the sound of the throat clearing, (which James had been hearing a lot lately due to the number of times he had snuck out of work, or took longer breaks to practice his ability secretly) James's eyes snapped away from the TV and to the manager.

"Mr. Hazen, this is the second time I've had to get you back to doing your job today. What is with you? Over the past month, there's been a dozen cases of you arriving late, leaving early, not doing your job, and everything in between! What the heck is going on?"

James didn't reply. He began sweeping the area, hoping his manager would just walk away.

"Mr. Hazen, are you even listening to me?"

"Remotely...." James said quietly, continuing to sweep the floor.

"Excuse me?" The manager said, crossing his arms as he gave James a disbelieving look. Harold, as well as the rest of the customers stared back at them, wondering what was going on. This was the type of thing that caused the most attention among people in the area. It was a sad fact that for so many, this would be the highlight of their day, an argument in the convenience store. "James, I'm talking to you. Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

James sighed and stopped sweeping as he turned to the manager. "Do you mind? I'm trying to do my work..."

"Oh, now you're interested in doing work? Well if you were doing your job before, I wouldn't have to be having this unpleasant conversation with you right now."

"Listen, man. Just back off..." James said softly.

"No. You don't get to make that call. I have a business to run, and when little shits like you don't do your job, it makes me lose money!"

James looked at the man irritatingly. He clenched his fists, and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. The manager continued to scream in his face.

"You think you're so special? You're nothing. Nothing but a waste of a person. If I wanted, I could fire you and hire a retard and he'd be doing a better job than you!"

James could feel his heart beating faster. A light bulb flickered for a moment above the two. Nobody noticed.

"You are a worthless piece of shit, and you're lucky you even have this job to begin with, and you disrespect me and think you're badass? You're a prick who thinks he's hot stuff!"

James's breathing became more uncontrolled. Light flickered above in the store, but the manager was too busy screaming to notice.

"Why don't you do us all a favor and either get the hell outta here, or go drop dead somewhere, cause it's obvious you can't do shit here anymo-"

The light bulbs above all shattered, minus one which flickered on and off uncontrollably at the end of the store. The manager never had a chance to finish his sentence. It all happened so fast, even James wasn't sure what happened. He just knew he stuck out his hand to the manager's chest, and the released all his anger out through his hand. Sparks of lightning flickered around the area from the aftershock. James looked around, noticing the customers and Harold all were on the ground, their hands covering their heads, many in shock and fear. The manager lay motionless on the ground. Whether he was unconscious, or worse, James didn't know, but he didn't bother finding out. He didn't look at anyone else, but ran through the outside door. He didn't stop running, turning the street corner and heading down the first smaller street he could find, and then kept on running. A taxi cab was driving close by. James hailed it, and got inside.

"Airport." He said to him, the only words he needed to say before the taxi driver took off. Luckily, he had been prepared to leave, all of his cards and passport on him always since the day he discovered his powers, on the off chance he had to leave. Now, he had no choice. Whatever happened in Berlin was irrelevant. He didn't know what the deal was with the Atlantean Center, but knew there was no way he was going to one now, not after what he did in the store. If he got into the system and they found out about his power, they could easily trace the same power to the incident there. No, he had to get out. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. All he knew was it was time for a change. A big one. This was the beginning for James Hazen.

[Raikiri]

Nathaniel Calaway- Somewhere in London, England.
October 31st, 2012

"Nate! Nate! You gotta wake up mate!" A voice burst through a door, tearing it off its hinges.

"Bill, leave me alone…I need some sleep" Nathaniel groaned, rolling in his bed pulling the covers over his head. It didn't help that Bill called Nathaniel by a nickname that he was not too fond of to begin with. Nicolas was the first to call him by that name and his English roommates just decided to call him that too once they caught wind of it. It didn't help that it rhymed with "mate" which Bill loved to say.

"Come on, man. It's getting late. We have to go to class soon anyway," Bill pouted with concern. "Trust me, getting up for this is worth it," he continued as he knew Nathaniel would say something along the lines of 'Class isn't for a while'. Nathaniel rolled around to face Bill with a blank expression, overwhelmingly cold expression. "I'll take that as you'll get up," Bill chuckled in victory.

Nathaniel emerged from his dark room, still in his pajamas, groggy and tired. He was rubbing his eyes still as the conscious world was becoming gradually more clear to him. His roommates, Bill (the rude awakener and his best friend here), Charlie (Bill's friend from high school) and Arthur (the only one more reclusive than Nathaniel himself) huddled together around the small television that Nicolas bought Nathaniel for his room abroad. While small, it still got job done and fortunately Bill and Charlie pooled money together to get basic cable or the English equivalent to such a thing. Nathaniel didn't catch the details, nor did he care for them. As Nathaniel grew closer to the television and his consciousness restored, a news report rung through his ears.

“Evidence was found today that the work of the Berlin Explosion was the work of Atlanteans. Maaka “Blayze” Nalaar, a member of the Atlantean Royal Family, was suspected to be the cause of the explosion as survivors claimed to have seen the 33 year old in the streets on Berlin that day as well as physical DNA evidence at the heart of the chaos. The remaining members of the Royal Family have made no comments towards his disappearance but together with the United Nations have rushed an international bill, calling all Atlanteans to register themselves and their abilities with the local Atlantean Relief Centres in all capital cities. Anybody now caught using Atlantean Abilities without being registered or carrying a registration card will face detainment.

“More on this story soon...”

Nathaniel was in a temporary state of shock. He had, since his abilities manifested recently, he could get anyway not having to worry about getting caught. However, now everything became just a little more difficult, if only because Nathaniel's powers were not in complete control.

"Pretty crazy stuff eh?" Bill said to his roommates.

"You can say that again," Charlie replied, letting the news report run in the background as he rose from the small couch and stretched, releasing a huge yawn. Probably slept there again, Nathaniel thought. Everyone turned to Arthur for his response to the news report, but he just grunted and went back into his room. They turned to Nathaniel, who was still processing his thoughts.

"You okay, Nate?" They both asked simultaneously.

"Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just shocked a bit," Nathaniel said.

Bill and Charlie raised an eyebrow each, judging him. Bill cleared his throat. "You are rarely shocked by things. Where is your cheeky one-liner on it? Or your clearly objective analysis of the entire situation?"

"It's nothing to worry about. It's just…the world responding to a potential threat. I am sure it will blow over soon and everything will go back to normal." Nathaniel assured his friends. He returned to his room and slammed the door shut and fell into his chair. His desk was covered in books, papers, organized in small piles. Many of them were unrelated to one another, but there was one trend: history, myths and ancient texts. After the Atlanteans revealed themselves, Nathaniel took an invested interest in them. It had only been a few weeks (he lost track of in between everything), but nevertheless Nathaniel got caught up in the whole "being from Atlantis" concept. It is not everyday you learn grandma and grandpa were probably mermaids or something. He wanted to learn about his heritage, but sadly he did not find as much as he had hoped for. Mostly he found legends, stories and things that just didn't add up. Nathaniel thought he was only looking in the wrong place, but this wasn't a time to dwell on his lack of findings. It was a time to just deal with the facts. He is an Atlantean and he had to answer the summons and meet more members of his kind. It was at this point he drew comparisons to mankind's most constant equality: Fear. Humans always fight what they fear and try to lock it away so it cannot fight back as if they fear losing their position at the top of the food chain. Nathaniel sighed at this realization, knowing he wanted to fight back at this injustice but he could not do anything at the moment. It would take time. He was mostly stressed at having to go out for an extended period of time. During his time researching, trying to learn about his origin, he was trying to hone his powers. Wishing he had more time, Nathaniel managed to be able to get a grip on the most basic aspects of his powers, freezing water and a few other nifty circus tricks he could perform at birthday parties. A lot was left to be desired, but he was content with the results. More control would come with time. At least he learned being emotional made his control erratic.

He gathered his things, clothes and some paperwork and stepped out of his room. Bill and Charlie were cooking up some breakfast, and as usual Arthur's room was locked to all. He snuck into the bathroom and washed up, in a daze, doing everything without much thought. The only thing awoke up from his daze was when Nathaniel stared in the mirror, noticing some more streaks of gray in his black mane. Putting on his regular outfit (accessories and all), halfway soaked with his hair still wet, Nathaniel stepped out of the bathroom. He packed his bag with a few necessities but curiously left a few stapled papers on the table. He made his way to the closet beside the door and put on his favorite black and red racing jacket, almost forgetting his black racing helmet with the design of his favorite game painted on the sides and back. "Taking the bike out?" Bill's voice said in the distance. "You do remember we got class in a bit right?"

"Yeah," Nathaniel muttered. "I do not think I am going to class today. Can you give my professors the papers on the table for me?"

"Yeah, but what do you want me to tell them?"

"Make up a story. You are good at those," Nathaniel replied with complimentary charm.

"Think you will be home tonight?" Charlie interrupted the little moment. "I was going to cook up something for supper tonight. Its for a class. I need to cook up an original dish and survey it. I was hoping you'd help, You are the only one honest enough to tell me if it is terrible or not. Bill's too nice and Arthur never talks."

"I'll have to see. I'll try. Catch you guys later," Nathaniel said with a half wave, closing the door gently on his way out. Hating elevators, Nathaniel walked down the stairs into the lower levels of the parking garage. He was the only one with any sort of vehicle, so by default he got to keep the parking spot all to himself. Mounting his motorcycle, Nathaniel secured his bag, put on his gloves and equipped his helmet before racing off in typical egotistical motorcycle fashion. Rarely one to observe traffic laws, Nathaniel raced through the crowded streets of London only respecting the foreign laws when he noticed a police officer in the vicinity. He got pulled once before, barely able to walk away with a warning. He took a number of shortcuts through some alleys on his way to the Atlantean Centre. He arrived later than he wanted to however, unable to bypass the influx of vehicles and people at the centre. It seemed many people saw the news report and wanted to sign up for the register card as to avoid any sort of unsightly incidents. Or a bunch of retarded teenagers thought it would be a good story to show at the centre and troll the officials. Troll people with super powers, yeah…nice one morons.

Upon entering the building, he was directed a painfully long line. It seemed to make no progress in the hour or so that he remained on the line, though he witnessed a number of people be rejected. Why anyone would want to pose as an Atlantean was beyond Nathaniel's comprehension. The only reasonable explanation would be gain insight into the society itself. Not that would do much.

After some time, it was his turn. A menacing guard and his close friend, stabbed Nathaniel in the arm with some sort of needle (luckily he took his jacket off a while back when he entered the building) leaving a bump in its wake. He was lead through the doors and ended up in a room with a few doctors to undergo further tests. It seemed whatever solution was in the needle was a preliminary round. Now it was time for the real test. Nathaniel sat a desk and stared his doctor waiting for the next step.

"Name?" the doctor asked, apathetic at the whole situation. Bored of the day, Nathaniel was already getting a bad feeling about it. The needle from earlier didn't help.

"Nathaniel Calaway." The two corresponded briefly, taking down Nathaniel's information. The minor details that Nathaniel said offhand with little concern for the repercussions. He had to give him the information even if he didn't want or face punishment later.

"And what can you do, Mr. Calaway?" The doctor asked, trying his best to sound polite and interested. Clearly this doctor got the boring ones. It was this time that Nathaniel reached a crossroads. He could explain his power in a polite manner or he could have a bit of fun.

"Is that coffee?" Nathaniel asked the doctor, pointing to his mug.

"Um…yes?" The doctor said, confused. Undoubtedly, the doctor probably thought that his patient had the ability of Coffee Manipulation, which would be deadly to any Starbucks fan.

Nathaniel placed a single finger on his mug and watched as the mug instantly froze. "Hope you enjoy iced coffee."

Eyes wide, the doctor stumbled over his words: "Um….oh yes. Very interesting, Mr. Calaway. T-take this paper and see the guard for your next batch of instructions. N-next!"

With a forced smile, Nathaniel took the slip of paper and rose from his seat, putting his jacket back on (he felt a chill) and proceeded to follow the doctor's instructions as he was lead to a crowded room full of other Atlanteans. The whole experience was a bit surreal and strange. He couldn't really believe it was happening. Of course, he had felt shades of any time…The Holocaust to be precise in which Jews were round up by the Nazis to be sent to camps. Hopefully this was not the underlying plot of these centers.

He looked for a spot to rest, the stress getting to him a bit. The room was crowded, which didn't help things at all for a person who grew sick of people rather easily. Nathaniel maneuvered around the room until he found a young girl sitting by herself, alone with a sling, on the cold ground. Couldn't get much more depressing than that. Nathaniel walked over to her, throwing his jacket over her shoulders as he plopped next to her. Wow, the ground is cold, he thought to himself. Luckily, his ability made him enjoy the cold.

"Crazy day, isn't it?" Nathaniel said to her, stirring up conversation. "Name's Nathaniel. You could call me 'Nate' if you want. Everyone seems to. What's your name?"

[Skymin]

??? - ???
Late Morning, October 31st, 2012

"Good morning!" he cheered at his daughter as she strode down the hallway into the kitchen. It was probably 6am or so, maybe a little later. She was not known to sleep in and would greet her father the same way, without fail.

"Good morning, sir."

"I trust you slept well?"

She didn't reply, instead seating herself down at the dinner table and picking up whatever was in front of her. At this point, it was raisin toast, nicely buttered with a dash of strawberry jam. He took her silence as a yes and continued with perfecting his outfit. By outfit, he meant disguise but he didn't want to be so crass.

"How do I look?" he turned around, presenting his final touches to her. She lazily looked him up and down.

"Like a Hawaiian cab driver."

"Excellent!" his 'disguise' consisted of a pair of dirty jeans, worn sneakers, a slightly ripped Hawaiian shirt (perhaps that was overkill) and his face was quite unkept. As much as he hated being anything less than neat, it was vital for the part. As soon as he had finished, he would make sure to change. "Are you ready to leave, after you finish eating?"

"Yes," she was already halfway through her toast and quicky finished it off.

"Would you like me drop you off at school while I'm on the way to work?" he laughed. She didn't.

"Yes."

* * *

It was actually remarkably easy to 'steal' a cab in Hawaii. As long as you walked in and looked like you belonged, nobody questioned you, even if you were unrecognisable. He walked into the car park, placed a hand on the most average looking cab and the lock sprang open after a moment of concentrating. And then, he just drove out, heading down a side street. The roads were unfamiliar (he had never lived in Hawaii or spent more than a few months here) but he seemed to know where he was going. He spotted a figure walking quite quickly down another street, who hailed him down. He didn't hesitate to pull the cab over.

"Airport," the newcomer said rather hastily. With a nod, he pulled the car back on the road, heading in the general direction of the airport but had no intentions of actually going there.

"Now, do you think the airport is a good idea?" he said with a very un-Hawaiian British accent, arching his head back to the newcomer with a small smile on his face. "It's just a little bit suspicious, don't you think? A young person, like yourself, taking a spontaneous flight to somewhere with nothing on them but a passport and a little bit of money." Now, he turned right around, not even looking at the road and no hands on the steering wheel. Despite this, the car didn't veer off the road, still following it perfectly. "With the news about the Atlanteans and this new 'registration' act, one look at that on your neck," he pointed to the tattoo which poked up from the newcomer's t-shirt, "and you'll be detained, kept for questioning and probably sent to some jail somewhere where they can make sure no 'accidents' will happen."

The car turned left down a street and he didn't even flinch, keeping a warm, steady smile on his face.

"I'm not sure you've thought this through."

??? - Atlantean Relief Centre, London, England
Noon, October 31st, 2012

It was cold. It was a little wet. From the snow. This didn't deter her. She couldn't get in line quite just yet. She had to wait for the perfect moment.

Oakley North – Atlantean Relief Centre, London, England
Noon, October 31st, 2012

Oakley got a bit of a fright when she felt the weight of a jacket being placed on her shoulders. She flinched as she noticed it was a person, much larger than herself, sitting down next to her. How odd it was that a complete stranger would come over and talk to her! Maybe... he was just a polite and friendly person? Oakley hadn't even given talking to another person a second thought, just a big nope.

"Crazy day, isn't it?" he opened with. She semi-agreed with this. She had three weeks to deal with an over sized arm. Comparing today to the previous 21 days, it was pretty okay. "Name's Nathaniel. You could call me 'Nate' if you want. Everyone seems to. What's your name?"

"I guess. My name's Oakley," she said, not sure if she should share a nickname with him. It seemed too personal of a thing. At least he was very open and accepting of friends. She considered asking the man about his ability, but felt perhaps that again, was too personal. What else do you talk about? The weather? It was cold, but nothing really to talk about. Maybe if she just let him steer the words.

"Thank-you. For, for the jacket," was all she could really think of.

[The Man]

James Hazen- Taxi Cab, Honolulu, Hawaii
October 31st, 2012

With a nod of the head, the taxi cab driver pulled into the road and began driving to the direction of the airport. James rubbed his hands together, his foot tapping uncontrollably. He was nervous, his heart racing from the events that just transpired. But he had to calm down. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. If anything could ever be noticed in Hawaii, it was when someone was acting too nervous or jittery.

"Now, do you think the airport is a good idea?" The cab driver asked James, in an accent definitely not of a typical Hawaiian. James couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed British. The man arched his head back and smiled at him. James did not return the style, but instead began to try to think of who the man could possibly be. "It's just a little bit suspicious, don't you think? A young person, like yourself, taking a spontaneous flight to somewhere with nothing on them but a passport and a little bit of money."

The last sentence caused James to begin to panic, although he did his best to try not to show it on his face. He had to play it cool. He couldn't give the man anything to work with that he could use later. By now, James had already assumed that the man was from some sort of authority, which means he probably could have been bugged. Judging by the comment, he probably could have been following him the entire time, ever since he discovered his power. While these thoughts and more raced through his head, James stared long and hard at the man, letting him continue to speak as he remained silent. He was definitely from some sort of police force, or worse. At least, that is what James first assumed. But there was no mention of powers or Atlanteans, or anything of the nature, so he couldn't assumed anything just yet.

Then, he let go of the wheel entirely. James's heart beat as he grabbed hold of the side of the car, believing that the vehicle was about to veer off the road, but no such thing happened. Instead, it remained as still and steady as ever. At this point, James had no idea what the hell to believe. Still, he sat in silence, hoping an explanation was coming, and also hoping he wasn't about to be arrested, or killed.

"With the news about the Atlanteans and this new 'registration' act, one look at that on your neck," he pointed to the tattoo on James's neck, "and you'll be detained, kept for questioning and probably sent to some jail somewhere where they can make sure no 'accidents' will happen. I'm not sure you've thought this through."

The car suddenly made a left turn on the street, the man still not making contact with the wheel. The way he described the situation, it didn't seem like he was actually with the authorities. The fiasco with the car gave James a different idea. Another Atlantean, he thought. But that still left the question of what he wanted. Was he here to kill him? No, if he wanted to do that, he probably would have done it a while ago. It seemed he was here for a different reason, one not fully apparent to James. James tried to break down the facts. He was an Atlantean, James was almost fully sure of that. He was most likely not in his normal clothing, as he had made himself dress as the locals would. His accent was one most likely of England, which meant he had traveled a long way to come here. Was he after James specifically, or just on the way to others? While James collected the information to try to put something together, he looked to the side of the street, wondering if a fall out of the taxi cab at that speed would kill him. It most likely wouldn't, but it would leave him with cuts, bruises, and most likely broken bones. James wasn't sure he was ready to take that route yet. Not until he knew what this man wanted. But if he would discover that his life was in danger, James would do whatever he had to to get out.

James crossed his arms, trying to seem as casual as he could, given the situation. He eyed the taxi driver. "You have a better idea?" He asked the man, hoping this response would be adequate enough to get the reason for his visit without giving away information on the off chance he really was a cop.

[SilverStagg]

Wyatt Cale – Lancaster, Lancashire, England.
Wednesday, October 31st, 2012

Breathing in through his nose, Wyatt brought the bow string past his front shoulder until it grew taunt and tight; refusing to stretch further. In his head he turned the vanilla business card over and over watching the information disappear then reappear within one full rotation. With arrow notched and ready, he let out the breath slowly, feeling his lungs deflate but not letting go of the arrow just yet. In his mind’s eye he focused on the information embossed onto the card:

Daniel Cain
Directive

With all the air escaping into the chill afternoon breeze, he released the taunt string, watching as the arrow sailed through the air in an arc; striking the target in the distance a few centimetres below the bullseye. The crowd erupted into an orchestra of clapping and cheering as his third and final arrow saw him taking second in the National Archery Championships. He replaced the bow on the table behind him, picking up the thin wired framed glasses that allowed him to see the table more clearly. His heart beat faster as the cheering reached a crescendo and he smirked as his flatmates rose from their seats, screaming his name.

Now alone in his room, silver medal resting warmly against his chest, Wyatt again rotated the business card between his fingers, watching the name, title and number being replaced by a simple logo with a signal word written beneath. Three weeks ago while trialling for Nationals, a suited man approached him under the guise of some firm called the ‘Syndicate’, looking at funding him for future championships. Once alone, the man began talking to Wyatt about a fairy-tale civilization that sunk beneath the waves thousands of years ago and mysterious people with the ability to fly or hurl boulders. Wyatt cast him off as an absolute nutter, still accepting the business card the man put into his hands which he could not find the heart to throw away. Somehow it seemed important and that he would need it. What was a ‘Directive’ anyway? It seemed utterly ridiculous for someone to make a mistake on a business card, so the title must have been real or the card itself fake.

Picking up his cellphone from amongst the clutter on the bedside table, he dialled the number from the business card, putting the receiver to his ear, listening to the call ring through. After three rings it clicked and the same deep voice crackled into the ear piece that had spoken to him three weeks ago.

Daniel Cain speaking, yes Wyatt?”

Wyatt stopped in his tracks, obviously the man had some sort of caller ID on his phone that must have flashed up his name when he called, but the fact he had addressed him by name in the first instance scared him a little.

”Uh, Mr. Cain, yeah, it’s Wyatt speaking, well, I want to take you up on your offer.”
“Alright then, how soon can you be picked up?”
“What do you mean? What for?”
“We’ll need you to come in so we can have a better look at you.”
“That sounds quite creepy, I’m not too sure I want to do this now.”
“If you want to control this, then I suggest you come in. We’ll have someone come pick you up in soon.”

Michael was speechless as the phone clicked and the call ended. Sure, he wanted to control this ability of his but he was under the impression that they would help him outside of work and practice, not taking off to somewhere else.

A knock at the door turned into Wyatt’s flatmate bursting in to his room, launching herself onto him and giving him a big hug.

“I’m sorry I could come, my boss wouldn’t let me take the day off, that slave-driving, perverted scum…” Anastasia mumbled into Wyatt’s shoulder as she embraced him. Still quite stunned from the previous conversation with Daniel Cain, Wyatt only half-heartedly returned the embrace.

“Silver, right,” she played with the medal that hung around Wyatt’s neck, “Varsity Nationals and you take second place,”

“It’s nothing big, only second place,” he replied rather nonchalantly.

“Nothing big? Out of the entire British Empire, you are the second best Archer!”
“For Varsity level…”

“Hurry up and get changed,” Anastasia rose from his lap, heading for the door; “Mark and Travis are going to pick us up in roughly ten minutes.”


Wyatt let out a deep sigh before resting his head against the wall, more than anything he wanted to just go to sleep, exhausted and slightly sunburnt from the day, but Anastasia insisted that they go out to celebrate. He jumped as, out of the corner of his eye, a boy about two or three years younger than himself appeared on top of his desk chair.


“Who the hell are you?” Wyatt called as he rolled over the bed, dropping to his bed and bringing up the Bo Staff hidden beneath his bed.

“Woah, settle down, eh?” The kid spoke as he wiped sweat from his brow, Wyatt catching a glimpse of a strange watch that took up half the kid’s forearm.

“Why are you in my room? How’d you get in here?”

“Oh, sorry for scaring ya, the name’s Jeremy, Jeremy Fisher. I was sent by Mr. Cain to retrieve you.”

“Uh, well I have plans, so you’re going back without me. Wasn’t he going to send a car instead?”

“I’m the envoy, if I’m not mistaken, we’re related.” Before Wyatt could even ask how Jeremy lifted up his shirt, revealing his ribcage detailed with thin black lines that stretched around to his back; joining at the spine.

Wyatt stared at the marks, subconsciously reaching around and rubbing the mark that had appeared three weeks ago.

Taking a quick glance at his watch, Jeremy stretched his hand out to Wyatt, “we’ve got limited time, are ya coming or not?”

[Raikiri]

Nathaniel Calaway- Atlantean Relief Center, London, England.
October 31st, 2012

"I guess. My name's Oakley," she said before pausing for a moment. "Thank-you. For, for the jacket."

"No worries. It's actually a bit warm out for my taste anyway," Nathaniel said with much thought. He leaned back against the wall, trying to get as comfortable as possible all things considered. He didn't know how long he had to wait for his name to be called or be processed or whatever strange behind the scenes conspiracy would take place between now and whenever he could leave, so getting comfortable and making a few friends (or at least one) seemed like the most reasonable idea. Oakley, though, seemed like a project to befriend. Not impossible though, but difficult.

Truthfully, Nathaniel had no idea why he chose to approach the small blonde girl in the first place. Perhaps he felt bad for her. She appeared to be younger than most of the others here. She was maybe what…16, 17 years old. That places her in the midst of high school. Dramatic years those were for Nathaniel and he managed to avoid the bulk of it. Also, he couldn't help but notice the cast on her arm. Nathaniel broke his wrist a few times, but never an arm. He was curious as to why she had her arm all wrapped up. Some kind of accident maybe? Probably better to not ask as to bring some memories.

Bored, Nathaniel gently ran his fingers through his hair and wiped off some melting know from his jacket, soaking his hands before cupping them together, one on top of the other. His eyes narrowed a bit as he focused on his hands. In a few seconds, Nathaniel removed the top one and lying in the palm of his other hand was a sculpture of a wolf in mid leap. It was far from a flawless sculpture, revealing that Nathaniel was not a masterful artist quite yet. "I am not sure if you are big fan of sculptures or wolves, but here is a gift from one Atlantean to another," he said as he offered the small token of friendship to Oakley.

[KnightShade]

"Next!" Came the call from inside the relief centre, Jeff could hardly here it as far back in the queue as he was. He knew he should have taken the bus, then he wouldn't have been forced to endure the company of his fellow 'Atlanteans.' The kid in front of him, who seemed to be genuine, couldn't have been much older than ten or eleven. He had a bandage wrapped all the way around his head, covering his eyes, yet every time someone walked past him he turned to look at them and challenged them to a game of eye spy. Some accepted in a rather bemused or pitying manner and invariably got their asses handed to them.

The kid wasn't annoying though, that was the demain of the deluded. One man walked in casually with nothing but the radio on and crept around on tiptoes. When he saw some poor elderly woman staring at him he made a dramatic shushing gesture which sprayed the line with spit. "I'm invisible," he declared in a noisy whisper. A guard was soon dispatched to chase him off, not that he took much chasing, even as he was put into a police car he fervently denied it was happening. "They're not really arresting me," he protested, "It was just a slip with the handcuffs. I am still invisible."

It was after that a general feeling settled on the line that they should discuss their abilities in order to root out anymore nutters. A scuffle broke out between three men each convinced they were the only time travelling Atlantean, for their grandoise claims it was rather pathetic. Jeff was dead set against revealing his powers, he felt his ability required the element of suprise in order to be effective, after all who knew what was going to happen in the future. These people may be his competitors and not just in the job market. So he had to think of something that would be hard to prove false when asked, the man behind him had a skull tattoo on one shoulder. It was almostly certaintly Atlantean, this man looked far too... normal to have it by choice, and it was soout of place he couldn't help staring.

"How bout you then?"

"Huh what," was Jeff's well thought out reply.

"Your power, you know, can you shoot laser beams or something?"

"No, erm," he glanced at the tattoo again, "I see dead people," said his mouth. 'What an idiot said his brain.'

"Cool, do me!"

"It doesn't work like that," croaked helplessly.

"Just give it a try."

"Okay..." he waved his hands dramatically and closed his eyes. Think, think dammit.

"Aunty M m m."

"Uncle Max?"

"Yes that could be it, he says you left the cooker on."

"Fancy that, never touches the thing in his life and now starts lecturing me," he said nefore dashing off.

Thankfully people seemed willing to believe today, well apart from one, the kid with the bandages on had been staring at him since he had started the lie. Well as close to staring as he could get. He looked in front, it was a long line. Ah well. "Fancy a game of eye spy kid?"

*****

"Next!" It was Jeff's turn but as soon as he saw the needle his stomach did a back flip. He'd seen his fair share of needles on the street and they were never good there. "You're not gonna stick me with that," he asked half pleading. The guard ignored him. He closed his eyes, bracing himself ready, clearing out any distraction. He felt the sharpness against his flesh and focused harder. And the needle was gone. Vanished. "You're not gonna stick me with that," this time he was telling the guard. The man's radio was out in a flash and seconds later Jeffrey was pressed face first into the floor being handcuffed.