It was another one of those mild, agreeable midsummer afternoons that seemed almost archetypal of Proto-City; A familiar balmy air pirouetted effortlessly betwixt the towering monoliths that raked the city’s skyline, balancing atop a temperate summer breeze, both moist and sweet; Along those minarets and campaniles, great lines of neon light pulsated rhythmically, bathing the clouds that passed by in all manners of psychedelic colours, from electric blues to hot fuchsias.
As far as the eye could see, the sky was tinted a gentle amber hue, which immersed the world below in a warm, golden glow.
Yes, in a world where the weather was at the whims of the city council, there was no need for anything but the most comfortable heat, and the most soothing rain.

And consequently, its inhabitants were amongst the most driven and enthusiastic in the nation.
In 2236, Proto-City was within the top 3% for employment satisfaction within the United States, and in 2239 it was reported that the average time it takes for a new employee to receive a paid promotion within the city’s largest corporations was only around three years.
So every day, keen workers rose, dressed and went confidently to their careers, in the knowledge that they were doing a job they loved, in a city they loved…

And then there was B-Team, and the Café E-Spresso.
Internet Cafés once referred to an archaic building in which civilians had, at one point, needed laptops to access the internet: Now, they are simply “Data Hotspots”, areas in which anybody in search of a pick-me-up might gather a bit more data along with their poorly made coffee and loveless donuts.
The effects are dulled over prolonged periods of time, though: Something the Moderators who run the establishment- in civilian guise, of course- would know all about.

It was just after the last customer for the ‘noon had just departed their cosy little establishment that Oliver Baudwin- the newly minted Red-101- sank softly into one of the two birch chairs they’d erected behind the counter, breathing a gentle sigh of relief as he allowed his head to roll back, and his shoulders to become lax.
The Café E-Spresso was a quaint little place, not drastically far from Central Park: It consisted of a relatively small sitting room, which boasted several circular glass tables which began to glow a light blue in correlation with the sun setting, and a white-marble serving counter, behind which was a plethora of tools and machines for making the most mediocre coffee and confections you’d ever have tasted.
You could almost have sworn they’d tried.
The floor was wooden- or at least appeared that way- and made of a dark, smoked hickory, contrasting quite nicely with the walls, which were made primarily of glass tinted a very light blue.
Little did anybody realise that, beneath this unsuspecting bistro, there was a great labyrinthine construct of brass and steel, in which the city’s Moderators had made their home.

“So this is life as a Moderator, is it?”, Oliver asked- to himself, more so than any of his co-workers- “We spent four years in an Academy, and now we’re pouring coffee? They didn’t even teach me how to make coffee.”

Michelle, also known as Black-106, sighed. All her hard work and determination went to this. As Oliver implied in his tone of voice, life wasn't exactly the best. "Hey, we made it this far, didn't we?" she asked, trying to lift up the atmosphere. "Soon we'll be the ones that people look up to and... stuff. Yeah." She lowered her head, doubtful that her efforts even had a spark of success.

"Да! Иди к черту!" (Yea! Go to hell!) Kirina screamed as she sailed through the empty storefront on a very unstable bucket with wheels. In one hand she brandished the wet mop, dripping water all over the ground and herself. Her face was split with a contagious grin as she laughed at her own jokes that breezed through her mind. Her red hair sailed behind her like a mane, getting whipped back and forth while she pretended to fight with an invisible monster with her sword mop. Only Kira could have this much fun inside her own imagination. Or insanity, whichever you prefer to call it.

Once she noticed the tone in the room she settled a bit, her laughs reducing to giggles and her swearing quieting to a Russian folk song that she hummed and sang as she got the mop ready to actually do some work. People passing the shop would probably stop to stare at her, maybe even get a few laughs out of it. Kirina was wearing a very nice antique Lolita style dress, paired with almost perfect makeup, on top of incredibly high boots (reminiscent of go go shoes.) In this outfit she held the mop as if it were a wriggling eel and grappled it against the ground. Although her technique was sloppy, she liked to say she was the best cleaner there was! Which was debatable.

"Oh brighten up guys," She said in her thick accent, "Who wants to fight with me?.. I've got another moooooopppp!" Her voice sang before switching back into Russian nonsense. She held up a second mop as if it were bait and wiggled it around before putting it back in the bucket. Pushing her hair behind one ear she turned, and focused on cleaning the floor again, a smile always on her face.

"Just spit in it and it'll taste good as new." murmured Cecilia, hunched over the near alabaster bar table. Coffee, to her, tastes like freshly-sewn dirt despite how much sugar, sweetener or whipped cream you toss in there. Cafes like this were usually only good for delicious hot chocolate and surfaces to scribble on. Speaking of which, Cecilia was just finishing a little design scrawled on the stone tablet she rests her arms, head and shoulders on. Currently she was working on the tail of a massive griffin with it's glorious mane flowing in the wind as it swats away at the swarm of ants attempting to lock themselves in battle with the beautiful beast. The ants themselves were subtitled, "The Hopeful, the Noble and the Brave," with the violent griffin stated as, "The Conquest." The final touch to the engraving would be a lone ant walking away from the battle. His name was, "The Winner."

Once finished, she threw herself back to admire it from a viewer's perspective. "Hmm..." she hums, hand digging into her unruly head of hair during her phase of consideration, "Too ominous?" Her finger twirled around the tie of her bright orange bandanna adorning her forehead with a bow offset away from her face. Underneath she wore a long sky blue sundress with maroon ribbons tied on random places of the dress and two red bows on the neck. The skirt of the dress flared out in a sharp hexagonal shape, draping downwards nearly to her knees. Ribbons hung off the edges of the dress in varying lengths and in varying styles from curled to wavy to straight. Below that was a paint-stained pair of dark work jeans, small holes strewn throughout from use. She wore scarlet sneakers with white soles reaching up toward the sides of the show, great for running. Underneath it all, though not easy to discern was a grey tank top splashed in countless shades of paint to the point where the grey was barely noticeable.

Now loosed from her creative trance she took the time to examine her surroundings once again to notice the teddy bear of a Russian toying with her cleaning tools. "And if I were to win this duel?" Cecilia asked in the most medieval of accents she could drum up. With her mild intrigue she leaned as far back in her tall seat as she could, gripping the lip of the bar with her toes as her only balance. Her hands met at the back of her head, still playing around with the excess of cloth from her bandanna.

“Heh heh heh,” Malika snickered proudly, “Ollie, such amateur! Have you never had all-night marathon?” The tall Norwegian placed the cleaned cups back by the coffee pot, “Coffee and biscuits, is only meal for all-nighter!” She nodded sagely, “Aaah, remember first all-nighter so well! Did not know how make coffee, but Mama and Papa were asleep so couldn’t tell me… First cup brewed tasted worse than stuff here!” She pumped her first dramatically, looking up at the ceiling with stars in her eyes, “But episodes I saw…” She whipped around, firmly placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, “Ollie, they were best have ever seen! That was night I finally finished Death Symphony arc of Tatakae Mahou Shoujo Minatsukomoto! Was amazing, such climatic battle between Mina and dastardly Conductor! Was so many times I thought was over, but Mina pulled through in end, haaa! But that twist, would never see coming from million miles away Ollie!” She grabbed Oliver by the shoulders, “You just have watch it with me someday, I have whole box set! Will make us good coffee, will be most coolest thing!”

"Who wants to fight with me?.. I've got another moooooopppp!"

Malika’s head shot around, her eyes fixing on the dangling mop in Kirina’s hand. To some (namely sensible people), it was merely a cleaning utensil. A stick with cloth on the end for wiping floors. But in Malika’s eyes, her Russian associate held a great weapon. She held the Zhulong – The bo staff of the mighty Great Green; only the coolest member of the Seven Wonders superhero team! Unhanding Oliver, she threw a dramatic pointed finger at Kirina, putting on a grave expression, “Karana!” She shouted, getting her Russian co-worker’s name wrong once again, “You have made foolish mistake challenging I, Great Green, the vanquisher of evil! You shall know error of your ways when you witness my sheer skill with great bo staff Zhulong!” Folding her arms, she laughed triumphantly, “Do you still dare challenge me? Or shall you run to live another day?”

Michelle sighed and lowered her head onto the table she was sitting at. She was no longer in the mood for such nonsense. She had worked so hard to be a Moderator, yet here she was, at a so-called "internet cafe", with some colleagues practically near insanity, serving a pathetic excuse for coffee. "Someone just shoot me now," she said to no one in particular. Needless to say, her mood was quite black.

Oliver knew for a fact that his new co-workers were speaking, but didn’t actually pick up on any of the words.
Instead, their voices became a dull thudding, muffled and hidden somewhere within the brume that hung in the back of his head.
On any other day, he surely wouldn’t have been so cynical and irascible- at least not to this extent- but this was meant to be the day.

Their first day on the job, as moderators: Four years of academic preparation, come to fruition.
He’d built the scenario up in his head so very high, that when it fell flat- and it did fall flat, around the time his commanding officer had said “… and this is the coffee machine”- it took a far steeper drop than it might’ve.
His mood followed suit.

Four years, he’d scrimped and scraped those final marks; Four years, he’d trained during his lunch and break hours just to get a feel for his blasted sword, and four goddamn years he’d competed with his brother, falling short time and time again.
And for what? To be a barista?
His father’s jacket had never felt heavier on him.

He exhaled deeply, straightening up in his seat and opening his mouth, to address his comrades, but then…
“…But that twist, would never see coming from million miles away Ollie!”
Had… had she been talking all this time?
As he pondered this, she grasped his shoulders, and all around him Oliver heard the clatter of his personal bubble crashing to the ground like shards of glass.
He shrugged her off with a grumble, climbing out of his seat.

For a moment, he contemplated using his Clawshot to confiscate their brooms: But then concluded that his own bad mood was no reason for anyone else to suffer.
Well, he actually concluded that somebody should probably drop a reality bomb on them, but to hell if he was going to be the bad guy on their first day of working together.
So, mutely, he passed them by, stepping behind the counter before kneeling down, and sliding back a hidden floor panel.

A series of brass steps revealed themselves: A concealed, helical walkway which- when he ventured down- would take him to the sleeping quarters.
Because just beneath the unsuspecting Café E-spresso, the city harboured a secret: The Moderator’s HQ, in all its squalor.
Well, perhaps squalor was the wrong term, but certainly it didn’t hold a candle to the expansive, expensive interiors of the Admin’s base in central Proto-City.

It was an expansive circular room- at least twice the size of the café which’d been constructed above it- made up almost solely of brassy and coppery wall panels, all highly polished and yet very unflattering in their reflective properties.
That is, of course, save for the room’s most Northern point, which was taken up by one long, curved glass panel, which harboured a faint green light, and hummed in strangely dulcet tones.
It was upon this surface a massive, golden M was posted upon the surface of a silvery shield.
This was the signature of The Moderator Corps, their logo and identifier.
Upon that screen, the Admins- or other Moderator groups- could contact them, if ever they had need.

Oliver had been told that it was very likely they would ever get a call.

Behind each copper wall panel- for they were slide-able, whereas the brassy ones were not- there was one of eight rooms.
Seven of them belonged to the Moderators, and the eighth was sealed off permanently for reasons that couldn’t be discovered for love or money, try as Proto-City’s Moderators might.
And in the main room’s middle, there was one solitary brass pillar, covered in small moving pistons and hanging chords.
In its centre was a glass sphere, in which there was a digital replica of the planet Earth: This is what provides the Café E-spresso its “wifi hotspot”, for it linked right into the planet’s data core.

Oliver cared little for this, though.
Instead, he fell into the wheeled-chair which sat before the great green monitor, and reclined into it with a deep sigh.
“Maybe if I wait here,” he began, tone hollow, “Somebody will call and give me an actual job. Maybe.”

Kirina jumped! Cecilia had wanted to play with her! With a tilt of her head she spun the mop around so that the stick was facing the other girl, she bent her knees and stood on a fencing position. Her smile grew wide, and it was clear that she was genuinely happy that someone gave her some attention. “Why! If the noble fighter were to win this duel… uhm.. They would be free of cleaning duties for a whole week!” She let out a giggle as she arched an eyebrow at Cecilia. With the mop she poked the back of her chair, which was already on two legs, and made it wobble.
”Karana!”

“Как интересно!” (How interesting!) Kirina jumped when she heard Malika butcher her name and point a finger in her direction. Impossibly, her smile grew wider still at the thought of having two friends to play with! “Do you dare challenge me too?! You will regret this choice soon!” She jumped away from both of them, still humming her Russian tune through her pants and threats.

Kirina tossed one mop towards Malika and the one she was holding at Cecilia before skittering away from the two, her heavy shoes made deep clanks against the ground as she swerved and hid behind a nearby table. “You’ll never get me!” She shouted at the two of them.

Kirina went quiet when Oliver passed. Her smile dropped for one moment as she saw that he was not having any fun. She always wanted her friends to have fun. Maybe he didn’t think that they were friends? This thought made her very nervous, as she thought that she was friends with everybody. She called out, “Her Oliv-“ but he had already disappeared through the secret door. “He couldav’ been on my team!” She muttered to herself. In only a few moments though, she had forgotten all about it and was yelling curse words in Russian at her two opponents once again.

Juno sat impassively at one of the tables in the E-Spresso, listening to the others make small talk. A cup of the unfortunate coffee itself was in front of her, virtually untouched, cooling in front of her. She looked rather down, but in reality, she was something else entirely.

Bored out of her mind.

This wasn't, as Oliver and Michelle had briefly discussed, what they'd signed up for when they'd gone through the academy. She didn't know any of the other's reasons, but she knew her own, and that was quite enough to make her look like she was sucking up all the joy within a two foot radius.

Plus, she agreed; nobody here knew how to make coffee. Or at least nobody who knew had tried yet. These facts and her regular outlook on life left her with a rather sour look on her face. At least not everyone was obviously depressed - in fact, most of the Moderators present were almost.... peppy. At the very least, hardly anyone here seemed legitimately sad, Juno observed, with challenges being made even as the truly depressed member of their rag-tag group made his way down to the basement.
As Kirina reoriented herself to dangerously close to the table Juno occupied, she stood, grabbed her coffee, and made her way to behind the counter. Mop fighting was practically at the bottom of her priorities, and conversely, getting out of the way of such nonsense was close to the top. The spiky-haired woman nodded to Michelle, as Oliver vanished below.

"I hope you're not really planning on getting shot," she said, unceremoniously dumping the drink down the drain. It was a bad sign when the 'employees' of a cafe itself wouldn't even touch the brew. "That may turn out badly when we're finally sent out to do our real jobs."

Michelle lifted her head to look toward the direction of the voice that responded to her. "It's a figure of speech. I'm just bored.... and depressed," she said. Her hands moved around as she continued on saying, "I mean, we work our asses off at the academy, for FOUR YEARS I might add, and what do we get? Work at a coffee shop where I can barely even make coffee!" slamming her hands down at the end. She sighed and said, "Sorry, I kinda... lost my temper there. Maybe I'm just expecting... something more. Something.... I don't know." She sighed and lowered her head back down to her arms on the table, muttering something about how she should have listened to her parents to earn a degree and get a job.

She then realized something. She lifted her head back up and asked, "Where's Oliver? I thought he was right here with us." She had her eyes closed while she was depressed and consequently never saw where Oliver went. She turned her head left and right as she asked, looking for him.

Marvin sat behind the counter and eyed the display case full of pastries. His mouth practically overfilled with drool as he thought of devouring one of the goodies. 'Goodies' being a term loosely used. The pastries at the cafe were like the coffee: bitter, burned, and below edible. It was a wonder why the large man wanted even a crumb of a cookie. But, whether from sheer hunger or lack of concern about food poisoning, he wanted it.

His eyes snapped away from the pastries as a few of his companions began a war with mops. A lopsided grin on his face, Marv raised his arms and roared out cheers. Very, very violent cheers.
"Hit the her in the leg!" he called out. "I wanna see it pop off." Marv giggled like a little toddler. His eyes shown with delight as he watched the cleaning utensils fly.

His smile drooped as he spotted Oliver head down to the secret base. He seemed almost...sad.
With a curious tilt of his head, Marvin followed silently.

“Maybe if I wait here, somebody will call and give me an actual job. Maybe.”

Marvin paused a few feet behind Oliver, his head still tilted in a ridiculous fashion. "If you wish on something a lot, then it'll come true," he piped up with a near childlike tone. "That's what Mum told me."

“Do you dare challenge me too?! You will regret this choice soon!”

Malika caught the mop flung in her direction with surprising grace, though any cool factor she gained fell a bit flat when she span the mop around between her hands very, very slowly; like a pianist trying to get the grips of a song. Still a wide grin filled her face, “Took words right out of mouth!” Her grin instantly sank into a determined pursing of her lips, her grip tightening on her mop – Nay, those fingers wrapped around the great and powerful bo staff Zhulong now! A low chuckle slipped past her lips, “Battle is about many different things,” she recited, “Skill. Wits. Strength.” Malika glanced up in the middle of her speech, her mouth curling into a smirk as she saw her opponent turn her head to follow Oliver. In that instant she clumsily broke into a run, dashing at the table Kirina was hiding behind before hopping up onto it and sliding across on her backside just as her opponent turned back and began shouting in Russian. She was soon looking down at Kirina, her legs perched up on the table and a wide, goofy grin on her face, “But most important is sheer, dumb luck! She jumped to her feet, lining her mop up like a snooker cue, aimed at Kirina’s forehead, “And now, is time for finishing blow! Coodee grass, if will!” Drawing back, she prepared to thrust it forward, but not before Marv called out behind her.

"Hit the her in the leg! I wanna see it pop off."

She swung her head around and suddenly pointed the handle of the mop at Marv with a proud chuckle, “Cannot promise, but will try just for loy-” Malika didn’t manage to finish her sentence before the table seemingly had enough with being wobbled to and fro, and tipped over onto its side, bring Malika right down with it, her legs dangling awkwardly over the tipped table, the upper half of her body sprawled across the floor, “Oww… Need medic, need medic!” She cried feebly, flailing her arms around lethargically.

Juno was definitely in agreement, but she decided Michelle didn't need to be brought down any lower. She nodded slowly at 'bored and depressed', listened quietly to how they'd all been to the academy, then sighed. "This is just our day jobs, you know. We haven't been called yet; it's boring, and annoying, for sure, but not... bad," Grimacing at her own forced optimism, she continued, "after all, if we're here, it means the City is peaceful." She left out the part where she somewhat craved the chaos of a battle, and how she had had more than enough of her share of peace. Those were points for the opposing argument.

"Oliver? ... He went down..." Juno started to reply, as Marvin made his way past them and to the hidden panel, following their leader; she blinked, jerking her head towards Marv as an indicator of where Oliver had vanished.

"... Down below. I personally think we should leave him be. Seems he feels much the same as us about our current statu-"
As if some divine force had decided Juno had spoken for too long, her words were suddenly silenced by a crash. She stared at where Malika and the table had fallen; that was... startling, but somewhat expected.

Michelle was startled by the sudden crash, and quickly turned toward the source, then relaxed when she realized it was just a mishap of the mop fight. Sighing, she got up from her chair and pushed it in, saying, "I think I'll join Oliver. Might be at least somewhat more exciting, and I don't think I can stand chaos of them anymore," motioning towards the mop fighters. She walked toward Oliver's room, past the secret panel, and stopped to Oliver's left, placing a hand on the back rest of the chair. "Is anything happening?" Michelle asked Oliver.

Double post, removed

Oliver eventually found some paltry peace in his solitude, reclining a little further into his seat as he bathed within the warm, enveloping glow of the monitor.
Perhaps- he supposed- it was being around people so keen and full of vigour that had left him in such a reticent (if not a little tart) state of being.
Jack, before them, had been that way: So intrepid and venturesome, keen to sail out into the titian sunset and leave him panting in the watery brume at his flank…
And the last thing Oliver needed was another shadow to live in.

There was no doubt in his mind that, one day, Malika would be training future Moderators-to-be in the art of combat, peppy then as she is now, and almost thrice as competent.
Kirina would probably be transferred to a far superior sector- perhaps Tokyo, to work with Jack- too, once she’d matured enough, and Juno…
… Well, Juno was bitter too, but she wasn’t him, so she probably had some skill or another the Administrators would one day call upon.
But Oliver… Oliver wasn’t going anywhere but down.

In the years to come, he would undoubtedly gain his reputation as the ”Most Mediocre Moderator Ever”, and be forcibly retired before his reflexes had the chance to deteriorate any further.
And following that, he would eventually fade from memory, replaced by some younger, fitter Red 101, until the history books remembered him only as “Oliver Baudwin – Brother of Jack”, and nothing more.

But these morbid futures only ever seemed to linger with him in the presence of his team… alone, he found relief in other thoughts.
For now, they surrounded his Initialiser: That sleek, black alloy which clung comfortably to his wrist, and resonated faintly with the pulsating energy of a Red Moderator.
They’d issued it to him, of all people: This tool, entrusted only to defenders of the Earth…
The best of the best.

True, in the case of the Proto-City Moderators, it had been a gesture of desperation: They’d selected the best of the worst, for fear of otherwise leaving themselves unguarded…
But still, the gesture was an immense one.
He’d taken his father’s role in a team of warriors, entrusted with the lives of millions…
And that idea touched him. The jacket he bore still weighed greatly upon him, but in these rare moments of deep thought, it seemed lighter somehow.
Slowly, Oliver reached out, brushing his fingertips against the warm metal of his Initialiser.
It was smooth, inviting, and…

“If you wish on something a lot, then it'll come true, that’s what Mum told me," A new tone piped up, suddenly.
”Jesus Christ we’re under attack!” was Oliver’s first thought, although it did him little good.
His palm suddenly slammed against his Initialiser, barely- very barely- missing the Modifier trigger, which would’ve activated his hookshot.

But quickly enough, he realised who’d spoken up, and breathed a- shaken- sigh of relief.
“H-Haah… hey, Marvin,” he spoke, tone quivering, steeling himself again.
He didn’t turn around.
“Give a guy a little warning, won’t y-”
"Is anything happening?"
“Gah!”

This time, he was not so fortunate. Jumping, Oliver’s thumb struck against his modifier, engulfing his fist in a massive sphere of writhing red energy- a cloud of data, composed of bijou, rapidly changing integers and binary- before sealing it into a crimson gauntlet, topped by a closed set of metallic talons.
Then, suddenly, what seemed like an ignition spark erupted from the gauntlet’s palm, before those same talons shot across the room suddenly, burying themselves in the closest surface- a brass wall- and wrenching Oliver across the room like a sack of rice tied to a tailgate.
He struck the wall with an unnervingly plosive thump, before sliding impotently down to the floor, leaving a small trail of vermillion in his wake.

He laid there in a heap for a few long moments, before groaning uncomfortably, and dragging himself into the sitting position.
He’d been fortunate: All he’d sustained was a busted lower lip. Still, it reflected very poorly upon the team as a whole that one of them had sustained an injury before their first assignment.

Oliver sat there for a few moments, before very slowly getting to his feet, his hookshot dissipating slowly into a cloud of glowing red spheres, before disappearing all together.
Then, he moved quietly and uncomfortably back to his seat, lurching to the left and right on occasion as he regained his bearings.

He fell back into his chair, before rotating it to face Marvin and Michelle.
He exhaled deeply.
“No, nothing is happening,” he spoke, eventually, after what must have been five seconds of silent chaos.
“Not a thing.”

But, as Sod’s Law would have it, something was about to happen.
Before Oliver even had the chance to rub his jaw and just generally feel sorry for himself, the Moderator’s logo which haunted the screen behind him began to spin rapidly, letting out a thrum of sharp, mechanical rings.
Oliver hadn’t even managed to turn around, before a new face appeared on screen.

She was a woman no older than thirty, with a coffee-coloured complexion and hair that fell in thick, glossy brown ringlets.
Her facial features were hard and defined- from her high cheeks to her sharp nose- and despite her eyes being a natural hazel, her left was a vivid electrical blue…
Because it was cybernetic, as were many other parts of her.
Officially, hair name was Alice, a sub-Administrator who had, at some point in the past, held the title of Green 03.
But due to her patchwork nature- having been implanted with a variety of cybernetics, following a potentially fatal accident- she garnered a nickname for herself.

The Ragdoll.

She scowled down at Oliver, eyes narrowed and lips curled into an irritable frown.
“Red 101,” she greeted, tone cold and hard as the metal which’d substituted much of her flesh.
“R-Rag- Alice,” he replied, head swimming still, “To what do we, uh…”
“You’re injured,” she acknowledged, “How on Earth has that occurred.”
She spoke as though her question needed no tonal change, monotonous and cool.
“I, uh… no idea what you’re talking,” the Australian murmured in reply, “Must be… must be something wrong with the camera. I’ll look at it later.”
“Hrm.”
“Y-Yeah. Anyway, is there something else I can help you with?”

Ragdoll didn’t reply, she simply threw her eyes around the place, scanning Marvin and Michelle closely.
“This is not your squadron.”
“U-Uh, the rest of them are upstairs, I think…”
“Ah, good,” she nodded, her voice softening very lightly, “You are clearly very into your civilian identities. Perhaps you are not quite so incompetent as I had previously surmised.”
”Oooh yes we are.”
“Yeah, they’re just closing up shop!”, Oliver continued, “We can’t all disappear at once, you know?”
“I do,” she nodded, “Well done, Red 101.”
“You, uh… you can just call me Oliver if yo-”
“Unfortunately, your work day does not end here, Red 101.”
“Oh…?”

Suddenly, Ragdoll’s head was compressed to a quart of the screen’s size, and moved to the bottom left as a new camera feed took over the majority of the display.
It was a scene of rippling, steaming water: Broiling sea brine, bubbling preternaturally and pushing all the ships within its vicinity outwards.
The supports of the wooden docks which seemed to flank the occurrence crumbled and broke beneath it, and smaller vessels began to sink beneath the waves as civilians on the mainland watched in a mixture of awestruck silence and outright panic.

Oliver blinked, dazedly.
“What am I looking at?”
“Your new assignment. Gather your team, we’ve got a class C virus attacking Proto-City’s eastern harbour.”
“Eastern harbour?! That’s a half hour away, we’ll never make it in time!”

Ragdoll sighed, shaking her head lightly as- to Oliver’s right- the eighth copper wall panel made a distinct, metallic clicking sound, symbolising that it’d finally been unlocked.
“Summon your team.”
And with that, Ragdoll- and the display as a whole- disappeared, leaving the Moderators alone and in stunned silence.

Oliver slowly turned to the staircase.
“… Guuuys?”, he called, eventually, “You, uh… you might wanna come down here.”

She nearly laughed in surprise when Oliver flew across the room. "Sorry," she said while trying to suppress her laughter. Then it passed as soon as something, or rather someone, showed up on the screen and told them about the virus attacking. When Ragdoll disppeared, she kept repeating, "Oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear," her state of worry showing up quite visibly. She began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail, and showing other nervous habits. "Okay, calm down, calm down," she muttered to herself, trying to breathe evenly. It had limited success, but she still had butterflies in her stomach. "Ok, eastern harbor, we-we need a plan, a m-mode of transport, some-some sort of- oh my god we need to do this." Even though she had been originally bored of being inside the coffee shop doing next to nothing, she clearly did not expect to be suddenly thrown out into the open with barely any info about their mission. She looked at Oliver, nervousness clearly shown on her face, and asked, "Please tell me you have something in mind." Then something caught her eye and she looked toward the panel that had opened, curious to see what was inside.

Kirina gaped, her mouth open in a split second of surprise (Which was a rare look for her, since Kirina didn’t get shocked by much at all). Malika was right on top of her! Her legs dangled off the edge of the table and she looked down at Kirina! Scrambling backwards Kirina kicked her legs frantically as she moved out of the way of a heavy mop, which was haphazardly being swung to and fro by a wobbling maniac who stood atop the table. Somewhere in the mess, Kirina’s heavy boot kicked the unsteady edge of the table and that was all it took. As if in slow motion the table started to tip backwards. Kirina lunged forward to grab the other end, she didn’t really want to see a team member injured in her mock battle, but she was not fast enough. The huge crash that followed made her squeeze her eyes tight, covering her face with her hands for a few seconds. Peaking out between her fingers she called “Are you ok?” and crawled over to the squirming girl.

Letting out a huge laugh when she saw the girl, Kirina had to lay out on the floor to catch her breath. Malika looked like a beetle, who had been tipped on it’s back, with her arms and legs flailing as they were. Once she calmed down a bit she leaped up onto her feet and reached her hand down to help up the other girl. With a huge smile and bright eyes she nodded at her, “Good fight!”

Something was not right. Something was different. Kirina suddenly grew very silent, and very still. Her head tilted to the side and her eyes looked straight ahead for a moment, but soon she realized. It was a voice! A new voice! She had never heard this friend before, and it was coming from the downstairs! Kirina almost yelled with excitement, she loved making new friends!

” “This is not your squadron.”

Kirina heard the voice and made her way, very quietly, over to the stairway that led down to Oliver and the rest of the group. On her hands and knees she started to crawl down the stairs, listening in on the conversation that Oliver was having with his new friend. For a moment she was rather upset at him, not letting her meet the new person right away and keeping the friend all to himself! It just wasn’t very nice of him.

As the screen opened up to reveal a dock. A dock in danger, and people in a panic. Kirina’s eyes grew wide as she stared at it, mouth hanging open. She was about to start inching her way down the stairs again when one hand missed a step and down she went. With a huge crash she rolled down the steps and then some, tumbling head over heels in a flurry of red hair and fluffy dress. She came to a stop directly in front of Oliver.

The fall, needless to say, had hurt. In fact it brought huge tears to her eyes as she rubbed the back of head and various places on her arms. The tears, which would have fallen in any other situation, were forgotten as she stared up at the screen.

“Боже мой, что это?!” (Oh My god, what is that?!)

Standing alone near the passageway down below, Juno immediately heard the alarm. But she didn't immediately go down; she froze in place, suddenly nervous. Juno didn't even notice when Kirina slipped past and headed down, but shortly after her she jogged down the stairs like a girl on Christmas morning. It was the first expression she'd worn since arriving here that didn't liken her to a dissatisfied looking cat, and it wasn't one of joy, but of dazedness. And clear nervousness.

This was everything she'd been waiting for. A real fight, truly becoming a moderator, getting out of this damn cafe with it's terrible coffee. But... Would she fold, like she had back in the academy? Countless times? The people here were her team - they would likely be together for a long time, and humiliating herself on the first mission was not something Juno was very into. For a few precious moments, she stood there, mouth agape, until...

“Боже мой, что это?!”

... she came back to herself at the red head's foreign words. Why was Kirina on the ground? When did she even get downstairs?... Why hadn't Juno bothered learning Russian? This was bad, she had to pay attention. A couple of mechanical bells and staring off into space had completely thrown off her groove and she couldn't let that happen again. She'd even missed the briefing, Juno noted, staring up at the screen as it had been all day - blank, with that logo.

Christ. Couldn't have botched this harder if she'd tried, and nothing had even happened yet. She was beginning to live up to being posted here. Juno took a deep breath, trying to collect herself, and see what was around her.

Kirina had apparently fallen down the stairs, Michelle seemed a little bit flustered, and Oliver's lip was busted (how?). Marvin's emotions were hard to discern, and two of the team were still upstairs, likely to join them momentarily. A wall panel was opening. It was clear that wasn't a courtesy call, then. There was something amiss. Juno's hands clenched, the initializer on her wrist suddenly feeling unnatural, as if she had never been meant to wear it. She couldn't find the words to ask what was happening.

“… Guuuys? You, uh… you might wanna come down here.”

“Am coming, Ollie!” Malika called back. Placing her palms on the floor beside her, she pushed herself up onto her feet. It didn’t take her long to get her bearings, and soon she was bounding down the steps. The scene she was met with was odd to say the least – Kirina seemed to be doing a good impression of Malika about five minutes ago (she needed to work on it, Malika had been face up), Oliver seemed to have sustained an injury somehow, Michelle looked incredibly nervous and Juno just looked rather… Grave? Malika was never good at figuring out real people’s feelings. She was very curious; what on earth had happened here to put everyone into such odd situations? She had to find out! First order of business was to help her Russian friend up off the floor, though.
“Ah, Korona! Are alright?” Malika lifted Kirina up from the floor, supporting her with an arm around the shoulder. Malika looked around one last time, before settling her gaze on Oliver, “What happened, Ollie? Is looking like penultimate episode of Minatsukumoto here! Everyone so grave and nervous, like final battle is approaching… Did miss something important, maybe?”