Oliver was well aware that his team mates were saying something, as he climbed slowly out of his chair, and stepped gingerly over Kira’s toppled form.
Hell, he imagined he probably even knew what it was: “Oliver, what’s going on? What’s that on screen, Oliver?”
Oh yes, he knew: But he didn’t hear it.
No, as he threw his eyes up onto the Moderator’s logo, the only sound he heard was the thundering of his heart in his chest; The relentless pounding of adrenaline as it surged through his veins like lifeblood, and the rattle of his hurried breath as it quaked his ribcage in short bursts.
This was it. This was their time.

He lurched and staggered unsteadily over to the opening wall platform, in silence, with his chest constricting and his eyes obscured by the glare of his glasses.
Then, he leaned against the sliding wall panel, rigid and still as the door slowly slid aside, to reveal the secret HQ had dared not speak of…
It was a corridor.

A sleek, black tunnel: Long, trim and extending further than the eye could fathom, as though it were the base of a fallen skyscraper.
All four surfaces were gleaming ebony, lustrous as a maiden’s hair and prettified further by the addition of deep, pulsating grooves of golden light, streaking across the hall like the burning flakes of dawn and fading slowly into the dark distance.
This was a thing of myth to most, a network through which people- converted momentarily into data- could travel hundreds of miles in moments.
An artery, fed through the heart of every major city in secret.

“An Ethernet Corridor,” Oliver breathed.
And then he knew what they had to do.

A few seconds passed, before Oliver pushed off of the wall, and heaved a few deep breaths, steadying himself, and his vitals.
Then, he turned to his friends, and took a resolute stance, slamming his foot into the floor in the process.
“What’s going on?”, he parroted, clearly fighting still to keep his voice from shaking.
“We’re Moderators is what’s going on,” he began, shrugging off his leather jacket and dropping it to the floor behind him, revealing his sicklier frame in a little more thorough a light.
Then, he lifted his arm skywards, revealing his Initialiser, which was exuding a faint red aura, “And we just got our first job.”

He then lifted his other arm horizontally, placing two fingers against his Initialiser’s touchscreen, on which a light-red power symbol lingered, glowing softly, fading in and out.
“Moderators? It’s time to log in!”
”Initialiser Activated: Issue Voice Command.”
“Red 101, Logging In!”
And with that, Oliver was gone.

Or at least, his features were: From his wrist there spread a searing red light, so very bright and pure that it seemed almost to make the shadows of their headquarters cringe upon their retreat…
And it engulfed him, his body made smooth and featureless, like a doll not yet painted: Glowing as though filled with energy, and levitating just a few inches from the ground.

Oliver found himself floating in the ceaseless void: A black space, extending into the infinite and unnervingly motionless, and still.
At first, there was nothing.
And then, there was everything.

From seeming nowhere they came: Streams of data, of binary, code and captcha, flowing past him in all directions.
Every single IM, every phone call, text message and key stroke was here: All in the form of number upon number, surging past and tinted- for him at least- in a very vivid red.
Then, it started to disintegrate, crumbling before his eyes and taking the form of small, red, translucent cubes: Pixels, the building blocks of all data.
And they sped to him, and lingered, orbiting him like water does a maelstrom.

This, too, was momentary: Soon, they’d begun to rush together, clustering around him and thriving like one large, moving organism.
Suddenly, Oliver found himself stripped bare, before the pixels overwhelmed his form, surrounding him and spreading, filling him with warmth.
In moments, he found himself in a silken red suit: Strong enough to deflect bullets, and yet so thin as to be mobile.
Then, a gauntlet in two parts formed at either end of his left hand, and hovered there a while, before clamping suddenly and down sealing itself shut around each digit: The same happened to his right hand, and then his boots formed in a similar manner.

Oliver turned his head, and wiggled his fingers very faintly: There was a warm sensation in each of them, a tingling…
And then suddenly, euphoria. A surge of total ecstasy passed through him, climbing up his spine and arching his back.
Oliver threw his head back, as a red visor formed across his eyes, and clamped itself around his ears.
When he lowered his head again, this moment of intensity finally passing, he found that- now- all the data made sense…
Now, he was a Moderator.

In one hand, a brassic, basket-hilted broadsword formed slowly from data of a bluer persuasion, and in the other, a familiar looking Hookshot made its presence known.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was all over…

Oliver dropped to the floor, fully clothed in his new Moderator’s gear: The whole transformation had taken only seconds, but done him years of good.
As Oliver got back to his feet, it became clear he’d been empowered: The Moderator’s Suit would raise its wearers strength to up to twenty times their average, and render them fit and quicker for it.
He grabbed his leather jacket as he got up, throwing it back on over his newly acquired outfit, adding a nice contrast to the bright red of his garb.
Then, he took off his glasses- the visor correcting his sight- and put them into his pocket, before turning to face his team again.
“Moderators, follow me,”
And with that, he backed into the Ethernet corridor, and was gone in a bright flash of golden light.

Michelle stared in wonder and awe as Oliver seemingly transformed before her eyes. He was now wearing this red suit that seemed to radiate authority and power. Then he ordered, "Moderators, follow me." and disappeared. Michelle summoned her courage and walked into the corridor after him. She activated her initializer and said, "Black 106, Logging In," similar to how Oliver did. In moments she was suddenly wearing this dark-grayish suit, similar to Oliver's, but not completely. She was also wearing a black visor that completely hid her eyes and had a crosshair where her right eye was, and in her hands was a sniper rifle, which just felt... right. The suit revealed quite a bit of her form, which somewhat embarrassed her now that she thought about it, but it was nothing compared to how she felt while wearing the suit, and she felt powerful and confident, that old nervousness from earlier disappearing. She grinned and said, "Come on guys, we got a mission to do," disappearing in a flash soon after.

Without wasting a second, Kirina slammed her hand against the Initialiser on her wrist. “Blue 102 here I am!” The blue that spread from her wrist wasted no time engulfing her small frame. As she vanished from sight, all her team members were left with was a frantic laugh of a half crazed Russian Lolita.

At first it was darkness. Despite all the light from her wrist, Kirina was engulfed in a darkness that left her nervous and somewhat empty. For a moment she thought that she would be alone in this darkness forever, and it made her scared. To her knowledge, Kirina had never been scared before, and that thought only scared her more. Goosebumps etched into her skin as she floated in the abyss.

A blue number soared passed her. Then another. Then billions! The feeling of loneliness passed her almost instantly as she was swept away with the beauty of a countless array of blue lights. They raced past her and left trails of light wherever they soared, Kirina wanted to touch them but couldn’t lift an arm.

“I can see my house from here!” She called into the darkness, hoping to get some response from the code that flew by. Something caught her eye. Far in the distance she could see code that wasn’t moving. It floated in a brilliant blue, being interrupted only by other code that soared through it. For some reason, Kira felt like the code was just for her.

All at once it came to her. Something in her brain clicked and she could read the streams of Data that stood frozen just for her. Straining her eyes she wanted to float closer, but her body was trapped in place. “Ki… Kiri… Hey! It says my name! It says Kirina!” She laughed to herself as she squinted to see what else the message said.

“Kirina run!”

And just before Kira could have a reaction, her brain intervened. Just like it had in the past, it wiped away everything she just saw, and the coded message turned into plain numbers once more.

Kirina, in a daze, noticed that she was naked! She let out a loud laugh as she looked around her, not afraid of anyone seeing her at all. Small pixels surrounded her body, waving to and fro, engulfing her small frame.

They started at her waist, spreading down across her legs and turning into a soft pair of deep blue pants. They hugged her hips, but spread out towards the bottom to be airy and comfortable. Then the small dots moved to her arms and spread out across her whole body in soft waves. Like streams of water they surrounded her, pulsed in the beat of her own heart, before moving away. Looking down, Kirina noticed that she was wearing a pretty classy, business-like suit. The jacket was a deep blue, buttoned only once in the middle, and underneath had a nice light blue undershirt. Her feet, however, were still in her signature high heels.

The suit, it felt good. Kirina couldn't help but let out a long laugh as the darkness started to vanish and she could see traces of the room around her again. She couldn’t describe the sensation that it gave her, happy? Excited? Strong? No, Kirina wouldn’t use those words to describe it at all. Kirina felt ready.

And ready she was. As she stood in the now clear room, she just saw a faint glimpse of jumping into the great abyss. Without a moment of hesitation she followed his footsteps, singing a song loudly in Russian, the clinking of her high heels disappearing in a matter of seconds.

It was like a cartoon – Malika found her words falling on deaf ears, and her arm supporting the still air besides her. Malika was never one to be put down though, and she simply bounced back with a wide beam on her face. It was time, her time! Throwing her arm out, Malika yelled, ”Log-in routine, set!” With a flourish, she brought her arm up parallel to her grinning face, ”Execute!” Malika placed two fingers on the touchscreen of her initialiser, “Green 103, logging in!” In an instant, Malika was engulfed in a bright green light, emerald pixels swirling around her body. As the transformation occurred, Malika began to, quite oddly, sing.

”Fight for you! Fight for me!”

The pixels began to clamour around Malika’s body into one mass, and for a short moment her body was revealed. Shortly after, a green outfit began to materialise across her body.

”Peace is her weapon, love is her shield!”

Two gauntlets appeared on her hands, as well as a pair of boots on feet. Landing on her new boots in a crouched position, one hand on the floor, Malika stretched out her other hand. Eventually, a long green scabbard appeared in her grip – Getting to her feet with a flourish, Malika brushed her hair out of her face (since in all of the flipping and swooshing she was starting to resemble cousin it) and pumped her fist. Her heart was pumping faster than it ever had before, and she wore a huge, beaming smile on her face. This wasn’t playing with mops in the café. This wasn’t being sat in bed watching her TV shows. This wasn’t even her wildest dreams of fighting evil. This was real. Her body was shaking slightly, but only out of excitement. There wasn’t a negative feeling in her body, not a nervous thought in her mind! She was no longer Malika Bjornstad, she as Green 103! She was the spitting image of Great Green (except for the differences)!

”Who’s that over there? A bird? A plane? The fire in your eyes? No!
It’s Mahou Shoujo Minatsukomoto!””

She was ready!

Soon, the world faded back in around her, and she was left posing dramatically with a sheathed katana in hand. Strapping it to her back, she threw a hand in the air, “Let us go with the butt-kicking!” She yelled excitedly, rushing after the other Moderators through the Ethernet Corridor.

This was happening.
Christ, this was actually happening.

Juno watched as the others began to transform, all of her bitterness beginning to melt away as she began to tremble - what right did she have to complain now, when it was finally go time and all she did was stare at the others? But she couldn't just stand there. Soon they'd look to her, and she couldn't just be motionless (save for her shivering, of course). There was no way she was letting herself screw up so badly before she even stepped into that Ethernet Corridor!
Which existed, apparently. God. This was all a little bit too much. Tentatively, her wrist rose, and brought the initializer with it. The opposite hand followed, touching it as her breathing grew somewhat laboured. She shut her eyes and spoke, haltingly.
"P-Pink 105, log-logging in!"

Through her eyelids, she saw bright, pink-coloured light, and then darkness. She used to dream of speaking those words; what had come over her? She'd never felt so nervous in her life. Juno was almost beginning to regret all of this, maybe she hadn't been cut out for it after al-

And then, a wave of elation took her in its embrace, and wiped away all her fear. Her eyes finally opened to her transformation. Pixels, she realized, bright fuchia and darting around her, were clothing her in matching colours, even as her visor materialized and turned everything somewhat rose-coloured. Juno felt a lightweight, folded contraption settle itself on her back, and a SMG (the silver and purple sticking out in the storm of pixels) appearing in her grip. This was the single most incredible moment of her life... Had she really been afraid? That fear was long gone, now, replaced with a rising ambition like the one she had felt when she'd first learnt of the Moderators. She would protect this world! There was no way she couldn't, she thought, as she landed back in the base, and began to follow into the Corridor.
Juno was Pink-105, and finally she could prove herself to everyone... Including herself!

As each Moderator filed systematically into The Ethernet Corridor, they were overcome by a most preternatural experience: For the moment their data-clad feet spanned the portal’s threshold, they found themselves dazzled by a flare of white light, before they were whisked away to somewhere else entirely.
Before it was even truly apparent what’d happened, they were soaring, weightless as they careened through some long, brass conduit: A tunnel, seemingly woven together out of thin, flaxen metals.
Every few moments, a powerful golden pulse travelled its length, gaining on the Moderators from behind, before surging forwards and out of view…
The Moderators pursued, at slowly increasing speed.

All around them, data lingered: Thin screens of translucent material, which looked almost like glass, but- upon being touched- exhibited the consistency of water.
Each screen betrayed a different collection of data: Profit margins, Q&A answers and dating profile details all came to orbit the team, before they slowly lost momentum, and disappeared behind the Moderator’s flanks.

Oliver had taken the liberty of aligning himself horizontally, lying flat on his stomach with his arms to his side, his head craned towards the distance, where an inviting light- all shades of warm, autumnal colours- awaited them.
He remained still, and stoic… save for when a passing data chit loudly declared an interview with the ‘legendary Blue 42’, at which point he punched outwards, and shattered it into pieces.
“Virus did it,” he announced, unflinching, “Everyone steel yourself. ETA ten seconds. Nine… eight…”

“… one,” and as promised, they were delivered: Upon contact with that light, the Moderators passed out again into the real world.
And as they egressed, they felt their mass return to them: Oliver had shot forwards upon their exit, falling into a crouch and grazing his knee in the process.
Still, he’d leapt to his feet moments later, keenly drawing his blade, and raising the sword skywards, “Worry not, the Moderators have arrived!”

Behind them, a rigid amber monolith, embellished with pulsating white binary, descended slowly back into the ground…
Around them, there was nobody. Oliver’s cheeks burned a red so fierce that they began to match his outfit.
“… I-Is what I’ll say, when we meet panicking people,” he added, clearing his throat and puffing his chest out, “Come on Moderators, let’s investigate.”

He led the group northwards a few metres, before a writhing crowd of worried onlookers became apparent: Clouds of steam seemed to be billowing into the air before them, and those who orbited the scenario were quickly backing away.
Oliver stopped the nearest civilian, an elderly figure with a firm brow but a slack jaw: He wore a fishing hat, and a tatty blue fleece.
He looked startled, and was made no more comfortable by Oliver’s interference.
“Hey, civilian: Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
“Shouldn’t you be tellin’ us that?!”, he asked, clearly caught between the throes of terror and exasperation.
“Uh- Well, I-”
“The ocean’s boilin’, that’s what’s happenin’! It’s swallowin’ up ships left and right, those boats’re our livelihoods!”
“Well, we-”
“What took you so long?!”
“I-”
“An’ what’s with that accent? You wasn’t always Australian, Red, surely!”
“… I’m trying something new. Vacate the premises, we’re going to do what we can.”
“’Bout damned time!”, the older man huffed, before shuffling hurriedly away. Some of the crowd followed suit, but many stayed.

Oliver turned to the rest of his team, “I want these people outta here, pronto! We need space to manoeuvre and I don’t want any casualties on our first mission! After that, follow me!”
Then he turned, and disappeared into the crowd, shoving and shunting his way very impolitely towards its forefront.
There, he stared down into the harbour: The boardwalk- which had been made of a fairly sturdy metal-and-wood combo- had been completely demolished, leaving only the harbour walls between the ocean and Proto City.

The water below was caught in some bellicose maelstrom: A watery twister, which thrashed chaotically about the place, and snarled all the while.
It spat thick, malicious foam as it churned away below, letting forth primal growls and sharp hisses…
All about it were pieces of ships, made of both steel and wood alike, crushed and torn apart as though they were naught and left to drift as ghosts of once mighty sea-fairing vessels.
Slowly, they were blackening, breaking down as their data joined the murk beneath them, or disappeared into the thick, viscous clouds of gas which were rising from the whirlpool’s centre.
Oliver pointed his blade down at it, his jaw locking as he was faced for the first time with true threat.

He lingered there a moment, savouring the sensation of his father’s jackets upon his shoulders.
It was time.
“Halt, virus!”, he called down to the growing disaster beneath him, “You have met your end, the moderators have arrived!”
It gave no response, save for a seeming seething.
“… You better start listening to me, and quick! I am Red-101, the crimson glare of justice! The blade of law, the-”

Suddenly, some long, moist limb shot from the ocean’s depths: A spindly thing, thin and made of what looked to be scarlet bone, surrounded at each side by wet, mottled muscle.
It struck Oliver full-force in the head with its end, launching him backwards and sending him hurtling into the concrete wall of a nearby storage locker.
He broke right through- with another sickly thump - before disappearing into the dark.
Slowly, more of those limbs began to clamber out from the maelstrom’s centre.

When Oliver finished his little outburst when they arrived, Michelle could barely suppress a giggle. Then they encountered a group of civilians gathered in a group. That's one of the things she hated about human nature: curiosity beats sense of danger. When Oliver gave the order to evacuate them, Michelle was only too happy to oblige. "Come on, people, evacuate the area," Michelle shouted to the onlookers. Some were protesting about their boats, but then Michelle said, "Evacuate and you won't die a horrible, painful death!" That was when she heard a crash. She looked past the group to see a... thing emerge from the water, followed by several more things. The group looked back to see what was happening, and needed no further encouragement to leave. On the contrary, they ran screaming, pushing past Michelle as they did. Michelle could not withstand the force of the mob of people and fell, getting slightly trampled as well. After the last of the people ran over, Michelle coughed and winced, feeling the pain. "Ow," Michelle said, picking up her sniper rifle back.

As they flew through the void, Kirina swung her legs out and into a half running, half crouching position. This prepared her for the rough landing as she was thrown from the data stream and into the tangible world once again. Almost gracefully, her heels tapped against the ground and it only took a few steps for her to slow her body down, allowing her to stop and wait for her team mates. Turning around she placed one hand on her hip, the other was keeping her balance while gripping the staff of a rather huge halberd.

The staff itself reached her middle forehead, and the dagger and axe that protruded from the top and side made the weapon even bigger. The blades pulsed with bright blue data streams that matched her heartbeat while the staff was a shiny, unscathed metal.

Kirina almost laughed when Oliver told them to clear the crowd. With a crazed grin she turned towards the bystanders and started swinging her weapon above her head. “Убирайtис отсюда!” (get outta here) She raised the halberd over her head and shouted, “Или вы действительно увидите кровь,” (Or else you’ll really see some blood!) and slammed the staffed end against the ground.

The bystanders did what normal people would tend to do, they turned on their heels and ran away from the crazed girl who screamed at them. Kira followed them for a few steps, letting out loud barking laughs that echoed off the boardwalk. Once she had calmed down she turned just in time to see Oliver get thrown back through a wall of a nearby building. Wincing, Kira ran over to him almost instantly. Her heels clicking against the ground as she skipped to and fro to avoid the rubble that lay around Oliver’s body. “Oliver? You ok?” She called at him, and although she was deeply concerned for his well-being, her face still held her cheery smile and her voice rang out with delight.
Placing her weapon down on the ground against a big rock, Kirina put out a hand. Once Oliver was ready, she braced her feet against the ground and pulled him up. She patted him on the back and dusted him off quickly. “You know, you really shouldn’t do that. I’m not sure that wall wanted a hug very much!” Letting out a soft giggle she gave him another pat and made sure all the dust was gone.

Just as she was about to kneel and pick up her halberd once more something wrapped around her waist. It was wet, and gripped her rather harshly, pushing the air out of her lungs. Kirina’s eyes widened as she froze for a moment. Her eyes glanced behind her and she saw that the arm had stretched from out of the water, and many more had begun flailing around the surface.

The thing lifted Kirina off of her feet and swayed her forward. She twisted her body and put out her hand, her fingers searching for her Halberd. As the arm lifted her higher, her hand grazed against the soft metal of the weapon but she couldn’t grab hold. Within moments she was high off the ground, the arm strangling her and tightening its grip.
Screaming curse words in Russian, Kirina clawed at the arm as it swung her back and forth. Lurching her body forward she managed to kick the flesh with full force, her sharp high heel getting stuck in the wet muscles. This, however, did not have the intended effect. Kirina wanted the thing to set her back down, but she did not think it would let her go entirely.

For a moment she was confused. The monster had let go and Kira felt weightless. Then she realized she would probably break all her bones. This was not fun. Somehow, as she reached her arms up, the creature had grabbed hold of her hand. Kirina heard a sickening pop and a sharp pain seared through her hand and wrist. She let out a scream as she flailed in the grasp of the virus.

After a brief period of time to recover from her recent ordeal, Michelle wasted no time climbing up onto a couple of old shipping crates for an elevated platform to shoot from. It probably wasn't the best place, but she was a fair distance away from the virus, which always helped. She lay down on the platform she was on and took aim at the base of the limb Kirina was hanging from. She may have had terrible grades in a lot of the subjects in the academy, but she was an excellent shot. She took a breath, and fired. The shot landed an inch from where she had aimed, but it had the intended effect. The virus let go of Kirina, who Michelle hoped would be able to recover and help take down the beast. Michelle readied her sniper rifle for another shot, aimed for where she hoped the head was, and fired again.

When Kirina found Oliver, he was a sight to be seen: His body lay limp and motionless amongst an assortment of fishery equipment.
One arm was entangled in a wiry net, old, frayed and wrapped so tightly around his elbow that even his armour seemed to have torn, earning him a nasty wound upon impact. That hand was twitching, pathetically.
His visor was cracked to the point of potentially shattering, too, its red glow demoted to a simple flicker, and its once smooth surface structure fractured to the point of better resembling a mosaic.
When Kira reached him, he was struggling to maintain consciousness.
“No… Kira…” he rasped, in a voice far coarser than his own, “The people… help the people… help the…”

Fortunately for him, his team didn’t seem the type to listen to orders.
Kira had outreached her hand to him, instead: Oliver, however, didn’t feel as though he had the power to stand.
Still, one hand was available: The one that clutched to the crumbling hilt of his data saber, Hauteclaire.
With great effort, he unfurled his fingers and allowed the dulled weapon to drop to the unforgiving concrete of the floor.
With even more, he reached up, and grasped Kira’s offered hand…
And then it happened.

As though some invisible circuit had been joined together, a surge of energy passed between them: A rush of blue light, which left Kira’s hand and passed into Oliver’s, where it promptly became red… and surged through his suit.
A blinding light pierced the cracks of his visor, and the wound at his elbow, to boot, pouring through each opening like water through stone.
Then, in a display of regeneration, the cracks began to disappear.
The visor, and the suit, seemed to take the form of liquid, moulding back together as if they’d never been parted: Within moments, Oliver was fully restored.

He shook the net from his other arm, and Hauteclaire leapt from the ground and into his grip, renewed just as the rest of him had been.
“Of course… the suits! That virus must’ve drained my energy!”
Oliver hurriedly pulled himself to his feet, his strength restored, and firmly shook Kira’s hand.
As she dusted him off, he looked down at the residual energy flowing through his palm.
“Thanks, Blue… I guess I owe you one.”
He wriggled his fingers, “I wonder what else these things can do…”

Red-101 didn’t have time to contemplate this for long, however.
Just as things had gotten a little better, they got a whole lot worse.
Kira had strayed from his side to retrieve her weapon… and just as quickly as she’d left his line of sight, she’d been snatched up by his attacker, and dragged into the air.
Oliver was quick to leap into action, but lacked the physicality and skill to do anything: He found himself swatting aimlessly at the limb which’d seized her, all whilst more encroached upon his flank.

Soon enough, his attention was drawn by others, as he began slicing his way through a small collection of creeping, fleshy claws: That is, until the loud, unmistakable ringing of a gunshot breached the air, and the world seemed to come to a crashing halt around him.
He became acutely aware that Kira was falling, and before he knew what he was doing, he was sheathing his sword, and moving.
Instinct had overridden common sense, and in an instant he’d snatched Kira’s halberd, and begun a charge towards her.

Then he leapt, and with an arcing motion, summoned his hookshot into that same hand.
It happened in a blur: By luck alone it’d struck a warehouse’s upper-wall, and it’d wrenched him skywards with the same fierceness it’d displayed back at HQ…
And as luck would have it, right into Kira’s path.
He’d wrapped his arm around her waist, and clutched onto her as hard as he could manage- which admittedly, wasn’t very hard- before both of them shot hurriedly upwards, and out of gravity’s reach.
Oliver closed his eyes tightly as they did so, and braced himself for the impact…

”Ach!”
It hadn’t been a… smooth, landing. But it’d involved a whole lot less broken bones, and that had been the main objective.
They’d collided roughly with the warehouse- Oliver taking most of the impact- before finding themselves suspended a good twenty or so feet above the battle, hanging by a glimmering metallic chain.
Oliver took a moment to account for everything- his limbs, his wits and the contents of his stomach- before managing an infirm, but nonetheless relieved chuckle.
“Haah… we’re… that worked! Haha, maybe I’m not so bad at this Moderator gig after all, huh Kira?”
Slowly, the two began sinking towards the ground.
“… we’re sinking. Why are we sinking?”

The chain they’d been suspended from was lengthening, producing and more and more of itself from Oliver’s palm as it slowly lowered the Moderators to the floor. Once it’d done so, it quickly dissolved into a cloud of data.
But instead of returning to Oliver, it instead rushed to Kira, synthesising with her suit, and restoring the energy that the virus- unbeknownst to her- had stolen.
Oliver took his arm from around her, and handed her the halberd she’d left behind.
He smiled sheepishly, “I think I just expended all of my luck for this lifetime. You’re going to need this. And, uh… I guess this makes us even.”
And with that, he turned, and- without another word- rekindled his weapon’s blade, before rushing back into the fray.

Hundreds upon hundreds of those limbs were beginning to creep onto the mainland, now, climbing the harbour walls hurriedly and clambering over one another as they hurried to escape the maelstrom’s grip, like carnivorous vines.
Unfortunately for Michelle, there seemed to be no head in sight: Just an awful lot of hands.
“Keep your distance everyone!”, Oliver barked, upon clearing two or three of them in twain, “This thing feeds off of the power of our suits! Don’t let it get a hold on you!”

Kirina flailed and kicked while being yanked around by the giant tentacle like arm. Although it was obvious that she had some bones broken in her hand and despite the fact that she was crying out in pain, her lips were turned up in a permanent smile. Even Kirina herself didn’t really understand how she could keep the bright appearance as her life was at risk, but from the back of her throat bubble the occasional hiccup of laughter.

Then she was falling again. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clenched she was prepared for an impact that would probably break her back if not kill her. What a lame way to die, she thought to herself, everyone would remember me as the Moderator that never accomplished anything. But the impact never came. In fact, now it felt like she was flying!

Prying an eye open she glanced around her and noticed that it was Oliver, who was actually gripping her rather tightly, that was flying through the air with one arm outreached. Kira noticed that his hookshot must have grabbed onto something nearby. Just as she was about to call out to the team leader everything was jarred with a sudden crash as they flew through the old wood of the warehouse and landed with a rather soft stop on the ground.

She stood up, dizzy and scratched. With a meek smile on her face she glanced over at Oliver, not really focused on the pain she felt searing through her hand. Only when her vision cleared and her head stopped spinning did she look down at her wrist. Her bone was jutting at a weird angle and her hand was the oddest tint of light blue. It almost matched her whole outfit! The bone had been yanked and dislocated when the virus grabbed her from midair, and the blue was caused by the lack of circulation she experienced in her arm while being held. As Kira stared at her injury she began to cry. Much like a child, getting put into time out for the first time, her tears were huge and steadily streaming down her face. In between her small, ragged, breaths she let out shocked giggles.

A deep red light hovered from Oliver’s hookshot chain. It surrounded Kirina while changing from red to purple to sapphire blue. Soon the data waves had collected themselves around each injury that Kira had, be it small or large. Once the light from the data waves disappeared, Kirina noticed that her hand looked perfectly normal again. All her scrapes and bruises were gone, and even a button was replaced on her uniform.

As Oliver handed Kirina her Halberd, she only cried harder, this time, the smile on her face huge. “You looked like superman!” She stuttered between small sobs of relief.

She didn’t watch Oliver leave back for the battle, instead turning to face the other direction. Twisting her wrist a few times, Kirina rotated it and made sure everything was working properly as all her tears started to dry. With both hands on the weapon she practiced a few basic moves in the warehouse before turning to face the battle once more. “Я могу сделать это! Я могу сделать это!” (I can do it. I can do it.) Placing a strong grip on her trusted weapon, Kirina ran back out of the warehouse and towards the huge monster that was appearing from the waves.

One set of roughly five arms was slowly making its way towards a group of civilians that were trapped between piles of rubble and a few buildings. Kirina made her way over towards the crowd, approaching the arms from the side and trying to get a closer look at how the virus moved. Raising the axe of her Halberd high over her head she easily sliced one of the arms in two when she brought her blade back down. The rest of the arms started to wriggle and darted out towards Kirina. Jumping to one side, she quickly evaded the charge and cut two more arms in half.

The last two arms started to move rather quickly in all directions, avoiding Kira’s attacks while keeping her bouncing around out of their way. Kira was rapidly growing tired, but knew if the things touched her the same thing would happen all over again. However just as she had stopped to catch a breath, both arms came charging at her and Kirina couldn’t jump out of the way fast enough.

Suddenly her visor released a soft blue light. The two arms passed right through her body where she stood and retracted back slowly. Kirina looked down in shock. Her body had become slightly blue, and she could see small pixels running through her arms and legs. Kirina had become.. data?

Without wasting time to think about how it worked, Kira raced through the two arms again and appeared behind them. Just as she turned to face the monster once more, her new found ability evaporated and she was become tangible once more. Before the arms noticed where she had appeared she let out her signature laugh and sent the spear of her Halberd through the flesh of the virus, “иди нахуй!” (Fuck off!) she shouted as the arms slithered back into the ocean.

“Please to be leaving place! Is very angry monster, want no casualties!” Malika had missed a fair amount of the action while she was trying her best to herd the civilians away from the large virus. It was rather difficult however; most people couldn’t seem to understand her past the rather thick accent and less-than-perfect grasp over English. As Malika continued to call out to the clamouring crowds, she just barely managed to avoid a large tentacle zipping towards her. ‘Barely managed to avoid’ meaning ‘stumbled over onto her backside’. The large appendage slithered back, before returning with a few more friends – The tentacles looked like they were formed of exposed muscle and deep red bone, and (most importantly) they all looked poised to strike again; and Malika was in a rather bad position for dodging, being half way into scrabbling back up to her feet. Malika had no idea what to do – It certainly looked like a bad situation. As though acting on some kind of deep, semi-competent instinct, her arm shot up, her hand splayed out as she yelled “Shishigami Ninpo Binding Art!” The tentacles stopped in their tracks, bound together by green, pixelated chains. Malika let out a deep breath with a sheepish chuckle, “Heheh. Haah… Thought was goner!” Malika paused, looking between the bound tentacles and her sword. A grin slipped across her face. Jumping to her feet, she ran forward and leaped onto the bundled-up appendages – It was a rather sloppy landing, and she had to pull herself up to a standing position and keep herself steady. Once she was certain she had her balance down, she ran forward (though it was a very awkward slow run, more like a jog as she tried to look cool but also avoid falling off the wriggling tentacles that were fairly high from the ground) and eventually stopped near the base. Sliding her sword from her sheath, she suddenly bounded off of the virus and shouted “Celestial Star Sword: As Silent Nirvana!” at the top of her lungs before swinging her sword into the base of the bounded tentacles, and slicing clean through and looking cool as hell!
… or at least that’s what she wanted to have happened. What actually happened was that the sword had a fair bit of trouble making its way through four whole thick tentacles, and was simply left stuck in the muscly flesh of the virus, while Malika clung onto the sword’s handle, dangling around in the air and looking rather conclusively like a massive dork, “Uh… Little bit of help, guys?” She called out sheepishly, “Will repay in some way! Like um… Uh… W-Will think of something, please get me down!”

“Please to be leaving place! Is very angry monster, want no casualties!” Malika had missed a fair amount of the action while she was trying her best to herd the civilians away from the large virus. It was rather difficult however; most people couldn’t seem to understand her past the rather thick accent and less-than-perfect grasp over English. As Malika continued to call out to the clamouring crowds, she just barely managed to avoid a large tentacle zipping towards her. ‘Barely managed to avoid’ meaning ‘stumbled over onto her backside’. The large appendage slithered back, before returning with a few more friends – The tentacles looked like they were formed of exposed muscle and deep red bone, and (most importantly) they all looked poised to strike again; and Malika was in a rather bad position for dodging, being half way into scrabbling back up to her feet. Malika had no idea what to do – It certainly looked like a bad situation. As though acting on some kind of deep, semi-competent instinct, her arm shot up, her hand splayed out as she yelled “Shishigami Ninpo Binding Art!” The tentacles stopped in their tracks, bound together by green, pixelated chains. Malika let out a deep breath with a sheepish chuckle, “Heheh. Haah… Thought was goner!” Malika paused, looking between the bound tentacles and her sword. A grin slipped across her face. Jumping to her feet, she ran forward and leaped onto the bundled-up appendages – It was a rather sloppy landing, and she had to pull herself up to a standing position and keep herself steady. Once she was certain she had her balance down, she ran forward (though it was a very awkward slow run, more like a jog as she tried to look cool but also avoid falling off the wriggling tentacles that were fairly high from the ground) and eventually stopped near the base. Sliding her sword from her sheath, she suddenly bounded off of the virus and shouted “Celestial Star Sword: As Silent Nirvana!” at the top of her lungs before swinging her sword into the base of the bounded tentacles, and slicing clean through and looking cool as hell!
… or at least that’s what she wanted to have happened. What actually happened was that the sword had a fair bit of trouble making its way through four whole thick tentacles, and was simply left stuck in the muscly flesh of the virus, while Malika clung onto the sword’s handle, dangling around in the air and looking rather conclusively like a massive dork, “Uh… Little bit of help, guys?” She called out sheepishly, “Will repay in some way! Like um… Uh… W-Will think of something, please get me down!”

Michelle sighed. This is one reason why she chose a ranged weapon, unlike her teammates who thought they'd look "cool" waving around what would be toothpicks and q-tips when facing large viruses. Michelle aimed and fired again, the shot landing on what Michelle thought was the head. It seemed to do a bit of damage, but then the virus got irritated and advanced toward Michelle's stack of shipping crates. She (probably wisely) chose to get up and jump off onto a nearby stack of wooden boxes before a tentacle swung downward at where Michelle was originally, denting the shipping crate on top.

Michelle crouched and readied her rifle for another shot, but then another tentacle destroyed the bottom of the stack of wooden crates. Needless to say, they toppled to the ground, having Michelle fall to the ground for the second time today. She flailed wildly, accidentally firing a shot that missed by a mile before falling on her side. Fortunately, her suit had pads that helped cushion falls, among other things. Winded, she took a second before getting up and running away, while a tentacle smashed the place where she was barely a second ago. She started to run, but then realized that during the fall she had dropped her sniper rifle..... right where the tentacle hit. She was in a predicament, since without her weapon she would be useless yet it was far too dangerous to retrieve it. The tentacle still lay there, trapping her weapon underneath it.

Distracted, she didn't notice another tentacle headed straight for her until it struck her full force, smacking her straight into a wall, creating an indent of her body onto it. She stuck there for a second before gravity pulled her to the ground, where she lay unconscious, blood slowly trickling out of her mouth for a couple seconds before stopping. She would be a mass of pain when she woke up, and there would most likely be broken bones.

Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and instantly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
“oh.”

Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and suddenly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
“oh”

Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and suddenly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
“oh”

Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and suddenly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
"oh."

[ignore this]

Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and suddenly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
"oh."