“Can you hear me?” quizzed Collin.
“Yeah, it’s a bit loud. Turn it down.”
“Not happening, guns make noise, so does fighting, not to mention you.”
“Ok. Point made.” Will accepted.
It had taken him weeks of convincing to let Collin set up a live communication feed between the suit and Collin. Up until now the computers back at the base had fed all necessary telemetry and kept everything in his HUD as he needed. Collin however, now felt that him sat at a bank of screens analysing information and feeding it to Will vocally was just as vital. Will initially fought the idea worried wires would be crossed and lead to confusion, or worse, an argument. Pleading the positives, Colling eventually convinced Will; larger tactical view, instant view changes and instant internet access among them.
“So what now?” asked Will.
“Well, we wait.” responded Collin.
“Wait?”
“Yes. Wait. What’ve you been doing up until now? Hopping around looking for trouble, yeah? Now we play by my rules, we play smart. I’ve lines on police emergency alerts, the seven largest private security contractors in Fortitude and some less illustrious communiqués. Your job is to sit there and go where I tell you.”

Will would’ve loudly bemoaned such an order had it been in person and the situation less serious. When he decided upon setting forth on this path of personal redemption he had not imagined he’d be idling around waiting for orders. Something about that just felt sour.
Resigning himself to this new method of work he began to relax his breathing; stood atop this inner city rooftop his heartrate slowed and within Tempest, Will slowly lulled to a meditative state. Noise from all around entered his mind, filtered finely by audio receptors in the suit. In a combat situation they worked in tandem with the visual processors to give him as much sensory information as possible. Now however, in his calm state, along with his naturally cleared mind, he could hear much. A gentle ‘pit-pat’ of rain droplets clinging off the metal plates of the suit, the roof and a nearby antenna. From the streets bellow he heard some laughter and the locking of a door. Further again, maybe a block, maybe two, the sound of two men shouting at each other. And that was it. His hearing was nothing superhuman, he had simply made use of technology and well-known breathing techniques to actually distinguish the sounds his was hearing. Something about it was soothing; the never-ending effervescent rumble of a city.
“Twenty-one blue. I repeat twenty-one blue.” The voice came over the comms, deep but startled.
“Shots fired and officer down. Alley off of Upper Verten Street. Requesting immediate back up, three suspects escaping northbound on foot.”

Snapping out of his relaxation, Tempest began running. Coming to the ledge of the roof, hesitation didn’t manifest. Vaulting violently off the edge he began to fall momentarily. Flinging his arms down and twitching his powers, Tempest produced a kinetic blast straight down and launched himself a dozen metre into the air; enough to carry him to the lip of the adjacent roof.

---

“Sir we’re picking up three URE signatures in Fortitude alone as of two minutes ago. We have a unit prepped for op with an ETA of seventeen minutes. Do we proceed?”
The information and question came from a fuzzy eyed spurious little stickler of a man hunched over a workstation.
The response came from a tall, attractive middle-aged man with slightly greyed hair, wearing a delicate suit, stood at the other’s side.
“Negative. I said I want as much information confirmation before any direct contact. I don’t care how long it takes”

Extra-Office Communique from the Bureau of Unresolved Terrestrial Threats to Advanced Surveillance Sector

"The URE is likely aware of our knowledge regarding its movement." There was a brief pause punctuated by laughter from multiple people, clustered around a terminal in the darkness of a cargo hold. "Well, there are only so many cargo ships going in and out of Fortitude between those times. What's our current speed?"

"Twenty knots. ETA is 0700 Thornday." Another voice replied.

"Well, the boss did give us leeway with the schedule. We can either sit and play chicken, maybe try a game of monty, or we can try to rush before they're expecting us."

"This scrapheap can't go any faster than 25 knots. I don't think rushing is an option unless the bossman pours humours into the engine, and that would probably give us away."

"We also have to assume they can remotely monitor each ship heading for Fortitude, especially since they have a narrow timetable. They know which group of ships we're in, just not which specific ship. We can't pull a turn or play chicken. They'd know."

"Well, if the enemy knows we're going to be coming, there's no sense in hunching over and sticking to the shadows. Tell the boss to pour some humours, and to make it thick. In the meantime, let's see what kind of trouble we can get our little helpers to wreck in the city proper, anything to keep them busy."

"Sounds good. How fast can the humours get this hauler up to? 30 knots? 35?" The question is met with grim laughter.

"The engine won't survive. We'll be dead in the water. But the city will come to us."



Estria
Fortitude City
Warehouse District 16D

"Good evening everyone, this is channel six with the eight-o-clock weather. I know we promised you a clear night just five hours ago, but a surprise storm front came down nearly thirty minutes ago from the ocean, likely due to some unexpected heat blowing in from the East and starting convection cycles in a number of weak drafts we missed earlier. It looks like they've all come together to form a multicellular storm cell. Looking at the rate of intracellular dispersion and cohesion, there's no reason to think the storm will get any worse, but it's definitely going to hang around a while. Everybody get ready for light rain through the night and tomorrow morning..."

Charis watched the forecaster on her wrist-screen as he gestured and motioned at the CGI background of the storm rolling towards the city, restraining the urge to tug on the collar of her suit-coat. They had to be out and about tonight, and while she did not dislike the rain per-se, it made her job harder, especially with the need to wear formalwear over her ballistic armor. Worse yet, the call she had been expecting from HQ hadn't come in yet, already four hours late and counting, which meant there would be complications, and in the meantime she was left to babysit all the idiot coffin stuffing being paid overtime to loiter around doing nothing but asking questions.

"Both you and I have signed nondisclosure agreements. Not only can I not tell you what's in the crates, but you can't ask me what's in the crates. Despite the fact that they are clearly labeled with their assigned lot numbers, and the manager at least does know what's in them, and you don't see him making a fuss." She didn't even glance away from his wrist-screen as she spoke, trying not to grind her teeth together in irritation as she flicked between news sites, trying to figure out if there was some local event or incident that was resulting in the delay. Another thing to curse in this thankless job - the mandatory communications blackout with HQ. Which made coordination and logistics a nightmare. Everything had to be done by word of mouth and a lot of fake paperwork filed, and either way a lot of everyone's time was getting wasted.

"Look, two of my workers have said they heard pounding from the inside of some of them, and a bunch of others have noticed these strange stains on the lids. We don't know where they've been, and even if we don't know what's inside them we're responsible for the contents if there's a surprise inspection." The shift supervisor was a reasonably trim if weathered man, straddling the thin age line where both strength and wisdom were briefly equal. "If you can't tell us what's in them, at least tell us where they came from?"

"Each of these crates was packed up in Letona and shipped directly here by air." Charis said almost automatically, her voice clipped and rehearsed, clashing with the narrow set of her brow and her tightly clenched fists. "I've been with them the whole time, so if anybody is held responsible for them, it's going to be me."

That was when her wrist-screen cried out with a soft chime, and a simple text message rolled across the screen's lower bar.

Buyers en-route, have gained heat. Initiate turnover, leave them with the product to worry about.

"About time." Charis grunted. "Looks like the recipients are finally getting in. Let's go to the main floor, get this over with."

"I'm afraid not miss, I actually clocked out two minutes ago. Just thought I would see if I could pry anything from those pursed lips of yours that might make the others feel better."

"Wait, so you're leaving now?" Charis asked expectantly, switching her wrist-screen off and looking up at the supervisor for the first time while casually reaching into her coat.

"Yeah, I-"

Charis drew her flechette gun from her concealed holster as a lazy smile visited her lips. The supervisor's eyes barely had time to dilate before hundreds of metal shards had torn through them. He didn't even have time to scream, and the soundless weapon had no report to give the murder away.

Charis hauled the body over to the corner so the blood wouldn't pool near the door, which she closed firmly once she had left the room. She walked down the hall and onto the main floor catwalk, where she called down to a number of haulers who had been patiently browsing the internet on their own small wrist-devices while waiting. "Hey, recipients are finally coming in, get all the crates ready to move and ready for inspection!"

Of course, that was all just part of the facade. The crates contained indentured slaves, three to a crate, sweltering in the cramped and hot interiors for nearly sixteen hours straight. Their original owners had no further need for them. In the past they had just dumped them onto the streets; but opportunities in the past few years had led to the current arrangement of selling them on the black market, double-crossing the buyers, and then calling in law enforcement to raid the exchange site immediately afterwards. The sellers got paid, and the Estrian government got lumped with the cost of putting the slaves into either foster care or protection services. All neat and tidy. It had the added benefit of reducing the number of organized criminal operations staged from warehouse districts, which was something the sellers, being rather logistically minded, found preferable - and it reoriented local law enforcement to cracking down on organized crime, drawing their attention away from other areas of concern.

Once all the crates had been moved, and the lids unbolted save for the thick padlocks holding the doors shut, Charis silently disposed of the haulers. Only a faint hissing noise accompanied the flechette gun's emission as Charis turned it on the haulers while their backs were turned, and so they didn't even realize something was wrong until four of them had fallen to the ground with shredded torsos and limbs, with viscera and blood splattered everywhere. Thanks to all their heavy lifting, they all merely died tired, leaving no witnesses on top of the nonexistent paperwork trail.

"Hey guys, nice job with all the handling. Five stars, would work with you all again. In your next lives." Charis said dryly as she replaced the vacuum-chambered clip for the flechette gun, pocketing the emptied one in her suit. Having already deactivated the warehouse security footage hours beforehand, the only evidence she would leave behind would be the thousands of steel flechettes embedded in the floors, walls, and bodies. When S.W.A.T. inevitably raided the warehouse with the buyers in it, forensics would likely conclude they had been responsible for killing all the workers, nevermind that a flechette gun hadn't been found on the premises. If they had pursued a few intensive cross-investigations with precincts in the next few cities over, they would have discovered the disturbing trend that Human Traffickers had picked up involving the use of mysteriously vanishing flechette weapons to kill warehouse employees.

Charis left by the rear entrance, heading for the chain-link fence that surrounded the warehouse perimeter. The sounds of wailing sirens and the distant whopping of police helicopters coming from the opposite direction informing her that the buyers would probably be arriving any minute now. Before she could go any further though, her wrist-screen chimed with another message.

New priority. Head two districts East and start a fire near Warehouse 19B, then head to the meeting spot.

Please remember to wear formalwear this time.

"Fucking control freak." Charis muttered as she dismissed the message. Commit arson while police and S.W.A.T. and backstabbed traffickers turned the whole place into a warzone, without being caught, and without ruining the suit. She turned East, to the warehouse districts directly adjacent to the city docks, just as the previously almost paltry drizzle escalated into a light shower.

"They should be asking me to burn the whole word." Charis growled angrily as she started to hurriedly jog towards the chainlink fence.

Chips.
Crisps.
Whatever you want to call them, it doesn't really matter all that much. All that matters right now is the person purchasing them. He was a normal man for the most part, and the chips he bought were a simple rippled variety. They were plain and dry just like the man who desired them.

Jackson threw a five dollar bill down onto the counter. He had more exact change for the 2.30$ bag but he needed to break the five anyway. He took the bus, after all. The man behind the counter counted out his change and said his generic "Hello's" and "Goodbye's". Jackson briefly wondered about the man behind that glass and metal, the man who stared out at him past the packs of cigarettes and cheap products. He had a simple, friendly look to him that person. His features were calm under his hippy length beard and long ginger hair. Jackson wondered what decisions brought this kind man to behind the counter.

In the end though he decided that thoughts like that were worthless, and that he would rather think about what movie he would pirate tonight. He said his generic "Hello's" and "Goodbye's" to that man and left the store. As he left the chimes attached to the door rang out into the night. The sound truly did complete that melancholy, lonely atmosphere Jackson deserved.

He walked and walked and walked, footsteps echoing as his feet sloshed through puddles. His thoughts moved to his feet as he realized he would need to wash out his socks and shoes the next day. The man was walking through the warehouse district now, his feet wet and his happiness non-existent. Jackson had always liked the look of the warehouse district. It had that peculiar mix of dread, wonder, and modern adventure to it. As such he always made sure to use this route when on his way out to purchase cheapo snackfoods.

Jackson shifted the weight on his back around a bit, pushing his axe back up onto his shoulder. He inquired mentally as to whether or not he really did need to wander around the city looking like a crazed murderer from a slashed film constantly. The answer he arrived at was, naturally, a yes.

He most definitely did.

Sadly, it seemed he would not be able to continue walking with leisure. The warehouse district was usually a violent, crime ridden place, but it was rarely being set on fire. And being set on fire was what it currently was. There was a woman Jackson saw, her clothing and overall look confused him; arsonists didn't tend to have day jobs.

And people who have day jobs didn't tend to carry around large amounts of gasoline.

"Erm... excuse me... Miss? I really couldn't care less about the reasons behind your... rather emphatic use of flammable liquids... but you're... erm... sort of in my way... and I need to get home... because it is dark out... and I like my sofa quite a lot..."

Naturally this whole situation was annoying Jackson quite a lot. He just didn't give enough of a damn to want to deal with this right now. After all, the new season of Game of Bones was on tonight and he was not going to miss it! He had to know what was going to happen next to all of those well written skeletons.

Jackson briefly wondered if he valued television more than his own life.

The answer to that peculiar question was a "Yes".

“Gosh, there are a lot of people here…”

Gretchen headed a soup kitchen near the south side of Fortitude City. It was one of the poorer areas where age expectancy declined every other year because of how impoverished everyone was there – a stark contrast to the advanced and busy rest of Fortitude City. Naturally the University’s Society Reach-out volunteer group and the board of committees sought to help out with recreational neighbourhood activities, community services and even fundraising. Gretchen, president of aforementioned group, took charge and with the aid of contacts and backers, a soup kitchen was found. With the work everyone was putting into making a better environment, positive changes were starting to be seen. It was considered negligible at first – that “you’re not solving the root of the issues” – but one has to initiate the change, and over time it will.

Hiccups are expected, of course, and when the fire east side of Estria broke out, the soup kitchen just got busier. For the amount of good work that they put to making this part of the city a better place, a balance in the universe seems to counter act this. What a Kansailian way of thinking.

Though that wasn’t fair, principally, since there was not much good work done yet. It really could all be negligible, but somebody has to help – and right now, there was a queue going back two blocks. The warehouse was what it was, a warehouse, but it also housed many of the homeless, and unfortunately harboured and fostered criminals and bad blood.

Now here she was, working at the frontlines ladling cream soup to an ocean of tattered, patchy clothes and perpetually dirty faces and hair. It was a sad sight to see, and it didn’t help to see families in here. It took a brave and great heart to really extend time of your life to help the misfortunate, but Gretchen and her team of volunteers have all but heart and care to give. The chefs worked furiously to replenish the food that would vanish in seconds, but there was no quarrel; in fact, the homeless sat around quietly, prioritizing feeding their children and queueing back in line for more. All of this was for free, but the gratitude and generosity paid for it all knowing these people were, for a while, taken care of.

A familiar face was next in the queue. It was Mrs. McHaggison and she had with her a little boy dirtied with ash and rubble, held by her hand by the hunched old lady.

“Hi Mrs. McHaggison! Who’s this? Why, aren’t you adorable?” where by the little boy smiled - a tooth missing but was as beautiful as any child could be. He looked no older than seven years old.

“This little guy is Max. Say hello!” To Gretchen directly, she said: “I found him playing round on a pile of debris and I thought to bring him here where we might find his parents.”

“You’re really pretty,” spoke the little boy with a high voice. “She really is,” as Mrs McHaggison agreed, a closed-lip, genuine smile so warm and motherly, a gentle gesture for all the times Gretchen helped her.

“Thank you, Max. You’re really brave, you know that? But let’s not hold the line. Here’s a bowl of soup for you and Mrs McHaggison. Sit tight, your parents should be here soon. I’ll keep an eye out for them myself.” The boy seemed to blush as Gretchen assured him with a wide grin. Really, if it wasn’t for her frequent appearance in the kitchen and her recently gained friends amongst this community, she would seem out of place. She looked ‘too beautiful’ to be in the suburbs, whatever that meant. It attracts the male elderly to come by and help out, if not just to get to see her every other time.

It was the middle of the day, and Gretchen allowed for some of the staff to go on break once the crowd settled down. Some were trying to liven up the sullen surroundings by playing music. The sounds of the rhythmic harmonica and children dancing and laughing made Gretchen feel good and proud of the work she and her team did. “One step at a time,” she thought.

All seemed to go well until screams and metal clattering sounded and everyone turned their attention to the direction of noise, the kitchen was being robbed. .. again.

Gretchen rushed to the kitchen. Several capable men came behind her as she entered to see the sight of a few members writhing in pain. The door further back slammed shut and one could faintly yelling and berating, to “hurry the hell up.” Someone else was missing; Vix, she must have tried to stop the robbers outside.

Some of the homeless went to tend to her teammates, while Gretchen rushed and slammed her shoulder to the door, only to exclaim in pain. The broken door had a tendency to lock itself hard, and now was not a good time. She could hear more screaming and the rev of an old car engine that needed time to really get going.

At a hunch, she hoped to recreate the thing she did back at her dorm. She wanted to forget it as a freak moment to never happen again, but she could not leave her friend out there. She backed away from the door, and focused all she could, however she could, onto her right hand. Nothing seemed to happen at first when her hands started to shine brightly, like a glow stick at night - except, it kept growing brighter.

However she did it, a beam of whatever shot out from her hand and evaporated the door knob. There was burned wood and red hot metal from where most of the lock mechanism was, and the door swung open. She jump back, shocked to see what she’d just done, and the beam stopped. In its place of where the beam was shot, a rainbow gaseous beam of light lingered. She spared no time to wonder at what she just did, however, as she saw the car outside start to drive away. Without serious thought, she threw her arm and aimed a beam at the car. What she just did looked like a shot from a railgun, and she burnt out the car’s right back tire. It slowed, but managed to turn the corner. There goes most of the food for the day. Another rainbow trail, wider and way longer, appeared where the beam was shot, from her hand to the darkened part of asphalt she hit.

She leaned on the door frame, and was only brought back to attention when Vix, on the ground, spoke. “Gretch, your hand is glowing… Are you okay? What was that? How did you do that?”

She had no idea.

“Uhm... just keep this between us, please.”

Whatever was happening to her, she knew better not to tell more people about it. Bad enough that she did it in public, but fortunately only Vix knew, and the two knew they had to talk about it.

“Don’t worry, Gretchen, just another hiccup. It’ll be alright... I hope…”

"An officer chased the suspects Will, they escaped via vehicle after a short on foot chase. The officer seems to be remaining in pursuit. Find and stick with him. At least three suspects, heavily armed and dangerous."

Collin's info had better be rock solid, this was the first time they had co-ordinated as such and Will had emphatically reminded Collin beforehand that mess ups could and would lead to very unfavorable circumstances.

"Ok. I think I see the officer."

One of the criminals leaned against the tarnished metal railing at the edge of the road. Traffic had stopped entirely, leaving the path clear for the police force to begin running (or driving) after the remaining fugitives. The older detective handed the cuffs to his colleague, an almost bemused smirk crossing his face as he tapped on the wanted man's face as if trying to tell if a nut was rotten or not.

"Look, kid, just remember – they aren't loyal to you nor each other. You risk nothing by telling us where they're going."

"Go suck a–"

The handcuffs tightened and the 'kid' was shoved over the metal bars, arms pinned behind his back. The other police officer's voice held a note of warning: "Zaquina..."

"Anything you say can and will be held against you. You have the right to legal counsel as well as spiritual guidance from a practitioner of a chosen creed, both of which will be offered to you at the precinct..." 'Zaquina' let go of the cuffed kid as a patrol car and its siren screamed down the main road. "Delaney, you take him."

Will skidded to a halt in a half-landing, half-running motion on the rooftop above the detective. The man was roughhousing a suspect, a cheeky young man. No doubt allured into this gang with delusions of grandeur and promises of a prodigious lifestyle. Idiot. A curt integration street-side was the least he deserved, a slap of the book and a jail sentence should have been in store for him.

"I'm going to chase after 'em, see how far I can get." The senior detective lit up a cigarette, almost directly contradicting what he claimed were his intentions as he instinctively half-turned towards the building behind them.

'Delaney' scoffed. "Like you know where they are?"

Zaquina straightened his posture – someone was watching them – in a way that was similar to a cat bristling in defense. It didn't shine through in his voice, even as he pinched the kid's pierced ear apathetically to stop the profanity from spewing out of his mouth. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do."

And there wasn't anything the other man could say or do to refute that.

"Gonna take a shortcut." Detective Zaquina slipped into the alleyway without another word and, amazingly, nobody seemed to notice the breach of protocol. Life went on, the criminal was bundled into a car and he was looking right at the building Will stood atop as if seeing through brick and mortar. "You can come down."

Internal conflicted had preceded this moment as Will wrestled with the decision of interacting with the 'proper authorities'. Fears of rejection and even persecution made him a tad trepid. Lives were at stake here however, and he trusted they would know he could help.

Jumping timidly off the roof, Will released small but consistent pops of energy downwards slowly his fall to a light float down, still accompanied though, by a pretty heavy thud. Examining the man he ascertained he wasn't a rank and file blue; he didn't wear a uniform and seemed to have an a little air of authority about him. Catching the man's gaze, the suit's optics caught his retina and scanned it. Fitzroy Zaquina, detective indeed.

"Detective I'm here to help stop them. Do you know where they're heading?" Will's tone was as respectful as possible but fairly clearly put on.
He knew roughly where they had headed and Collin was attempting to track them but if good old fashioned intel worked, then so be it.

"Don't bother chasing the car," the detective said to the vigilante – the wannabe hero – with a distinct tone of nonchalance. He looked up to the sky as if trying to ascertain their destination from the clouds, or the Gods themselves, and his lips curled up into some sort of smile. His mouth moved slightly, wordlessly for a few moments as if he'd forgotten how to speak aloud, before he collected himself. "They're taking the long route back to their HQ. You'll find them in the Industrial District, down by the warehouses. 24 Floriette Street."

And then, unexpectedly, he continued. "There's twelve of them – try not to kill more than half, if you're into that sorta thing." Fitz's head tilted to the side was if he was listening in to something whispered on the wind itself. "Try and keep your secret identity secret, please. It was me and the boys who had to clean the last one off the sidewalk."

Thankful for the information as he was, Will still felt a little anxious of the detective. His mannerisms were odd. The ever so subtle tilt of the head, the lack of shock at Will in his suit and powers. It was definitely a bit odd. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth though Will knew he'd have to press on soon.

"Warehou.." nattered Collin's voice over the comms before being cut short by a curt 'on it' from Will.
"Thanks detective. I'll do my best to incapacitate the crooks, but you had better follow. It's not like I can formally arrest them."
'Crooks?' he quizzed himself. Really? If he was one to cringe he would be. Laughing to himself slightly he tried to relax. It was important this, what he was attempting to make work. Yet, he had perhaps been taking too seriously.

"Erm... excuse me... Miss? I really couldn't care less about the reasons behind your... rather emphatic use of flammable liquids... but you're... erm... sort of in my way... and I need to get home... because it is dark out... and I like my sofa quite a lot..."

'Shit.' Charis concluded emphatically as she finished emptying the can of gasoline over the warehouse HVAC. It was set right against the exterior wall, next to a nearly overflowing garbage dumpster and a side entrance. In her mind, it was practically begging to be set on fire. She had not been expecting anybody to be around though - the haulers at her warehouse had all been clocking overtime to make their appointments with demise. The entire warehouse district should have been deserted save for a few security guards.

Turning her head slowly, Charis peered over her shoulder. Standing there was a bum wearing a gas-mask and reeking of nicotine, a bulging backpack and a battered axe strapped to his back. At first Charis imagined he was an axemurderer who had seen some woman in a deserted warehouse district in the dead of night and decided to axemurder her. His words though, however muffled, convinced her that perhaps he really was just a bum. Maybe some kind of veteran if the gas mask was any indication.

"No, you've got entirely the wrong idea." Charis said calmly as she moved the gas can to her left hand and tossed it away, reaching into her jacket with her right. With her back turned, Jackson wouldn't have a good view of what she was doing. As she drew her flechette gun, she turned to her left in order to minimize the time she needed to point the muzzle at Jackson, who was treated only to a brief look at the quad-barreled end as it peaked around her side.

"You're not going anywhere." Charis said as she flashed a smile at Jackson, pressing the trigger and firing hundreds of steel flechettes straight at his chest. The weapon itself gave no report, only accompanied by a faint hissing noise as the metal spikes flew through the air.

Alice stood on the landing above, surveying the scene below her with a mixture of pity and exasperation. It seemed that someone had decided to use one of their warehouses for what seemed to be a trade-off gone wrong, and their workers had to pay for it.

She looked down at the grotesque mess below her: blood and body parts splayed over wood and metal. She had already searched the rooms before coming to this point, and had seen what happened to the shift supervisor. It wasn’t too difficult to piece together what happened, or what was going to happen. From this point of view she could see crates of defeated-looking, emancipated men and women clawing desperately at their cages while the sound of sirens increased with each passing second. Human traffickers. It wasn’t her place to decide what was right or wrong in the world, but she definitely was leaning more towards the ‘wrong’ side of the spectrum.

Alice made her way down to the main floor, the heels of her steel-toed boots not making whisper. She was careful to avoid leaving any sign that she was even there, her suit would ensure that no biological trace can be detected even by the best of trackers, and her years of discrete work enabled her to be observant, yet silent. She ignored the desperate cries of the captured men and women, she could do nothing for them that the authorities could not to better, so she left them be. It was almost deliberate mess left behind by the workers’ killer (or killers) that she wanted to study. Judging by the ballistics and trajectory of the shrapnel, Alice knew that this was the work of one person. Tall too, a few inches taller than Alice by the looks of things. She traced the steps of her mystery killer, wanting to understand the psychology behind this person. He or she had not hesitated, and the choice of weaponry felt almost personal, a flechette. Alice sighed inwardly, there is a certain sadistic tendency behind using a flechette. The way the steel projectiles tore through flesh made things a lot messier than bullets would, and this meant that her killer had no qualms in taking a life, and perhaps even enjoyed it. Those kinds of people are the most dangerous because they typically have no regard for anything, even themselves.

Taking out a tweezer, Alice picked up a stray shrapnel from the ground and placed it in an evidence bag, before pocketing it. Forensics would tell her a little more. She knew that this wasn’t the first warehouse to be hit like this, but this is the first for Lucracidy, and it was up to her to make sure it was the last.

The sirens were becoming precariously close now, it was time to leave. She looked down at the dead eyes of a young, blonde worker at her feet. He was handsome and tan, with blue eyes frozen in fear. He was one of the unlucky few that died knowing what was coming. Death was not something that remotely bothered her, but the taking of lives needlessly drew emotions of pity. Bending down Alice ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes with her gloved hand. Shouting started outside as the sirens came to a stop. It was her time to leave.

Alice made sure to give herself a few feet of distance between herself and the warehouse, but close enough to observe what was happening. Letting out a low whistle, a black shadow emerged from the wall behind her, so camouflaged that the creature appeared to melt from the shadows. She gave her best friend a little rub on the neck, before taking out an earpiece and putting it into her right ear.

“Gabriel.”

“Hey Angel, what did you learn?”

“Human traffickers.”

“Ah.”

“I’m sending Killer over with some evidence I want you to look over. See if you can find out if it’s from the same weapon that hit Aurora’s a week ago.”

“On it.”

Without saying goodbye, Alice removed the earpiece and took out the evidence bag she previously picked up. Crouching down so that she could look at Killer eye-to-eye, she handed him the bag, which he took gently in his mouth. “Hand this to Gabriel sweet, and come find me after.” Her German Shepard-wolf hybrid nudged her cheek with his wet nose, before disappearing into the shadows once again. As long as she stayed within the city, Killer will be able to find her no problem, their decades of teamwork ensured that.

Sighing, Alice stood back up, watching as the police storm her warehouse. She could no longer do any good here, it was time to see what else she could find out.

Squeak.


They must have polished the floors again.
The white tile of the hospital floor was blinding beneath the artificial sunlights of the hall putting forth a very sterile feeling. The recovery wing was quiet this time of night, most of the patients were in drug induced sleeps and only two nurses manned the station. The resident was likely out fold in the coffins they called sleeping pods in the on call room.
“I have been called out and will head home after.” Annika took the stack of charts from the short blonde nurse. The loud squeaking of her shoes had announced the doctors arrival.
Annoying.
Annika quite enjoyed surprising the nurses. It was one of the simple pleasures in her life.
“Dr. Kellis is the intern assigned to you section tonight.” Mal smirked, he had worked with Annika since her arrival six months ago and had been there the night the intern had called her so many times that she returned to the hospital and threatened to remove his hand.
God I hate that idiot. I thought he was on Dr. Cooper’s service, he must have sent him back just to annoy me.
“Tell Dr. Trexler that if the intern calls me someone had best be dying.” Annika finished flipping through the charts, everything should run smoothly without her until morning. If something were to happen to any of them it would be an act of the Gods, Annika's patients never had complications outside of surgery the benefit of being able to heal others.
Bzzzt.
The wrist screen sprang to life projecting her orders for trauma dispatch. “Duty calls.” She handed back the charts meeting the blonde nurse’s gaze very seriously. “No calls unless someone is dying.” Annika said this slowly not breaking eye contact, the nurse turned away her gaze first.
“Understood Dr. Bystrom, have a good night.” She replied shakily obviously unsettled by her eyes.
Squeak.


By the time she had wandered the maze of halls across the hospital to the staging area Annika had decided to throw away her shoes. The squeaking would drive her insane.
“Oh, it is just you Dr. Bystrom, I thought we were getting an impromptu visit from a basketball team.” Dr. Cooper flashed a smile and laughed. His teeth reminded Annika of the tile, and the squeak. Unfortunately she couldn't throw him away like her shoes.
Dr. Lantz stood next to Dr. Cooper shaking his head at the jab. He was polar opposite of the trust fund cookie cutter, he was a head taller with olive skin and messy black hair. He was a more than competent surgeon and he was working on a neurosurgery fellowship; this made him one of the very few who’s company Annika actually enjoyed.
“Good evening Dr. Cooper, Dr. Lantz pleasure to be working with you again.”
“I was hoping that you would be assigned with us, we will need another competent hand.” Dr. Lantz cast a sideways glance to Cooper who ignored the insult, “Another raid is my guess. There have been quite a few across the board lately.”
“It is about time if you ask me. This city has gone to hell, a man should feel safe in his own home at the very least.” His genuine tone was almost infuriating. He wouldn't know struggle if it beat him to a bloody pulp.
Annika glared at Cooper, “My condolences to you Dr. Cooper. It must be very difficult for you living in a gated community with private security.” Her monotone carried all the bite needed and she moved on to do a final supply check on the Emergency Medical Response Unit. She really did hate that entitled asshole.

The E.M.R.U. was a bullet proof mobile hospital capable of sealing itself off and sterilizing the air within for full open cavity surgeries. It could also pressurize, filter and recirculate it’s own air incase of a chemical attack. It could withstand an IED explosion from underneath and all equipment was bolted down to survive multiple rollovers. It was a marvel really and they were very lucky to have one at the hospital.
Dr. Cooper spent the whole ride to the staging area calling the E.M.R.U. an over glorified ambulance and a waste of money.
What a prick.

The rain was coming down hard as they reached their destination. Along with two E.M.T. teams they set up a triage staging area far enough away that if the encounter spilled out of the warehouse no stray bullets had the chance of hitting the team. Regardless the Police required that they all wore bulletproof vests, the bulkiness irritated Cooper’s delicate sensibilities and his complaining irritated Annika. Tuning out Cooper she intently listened to the radio listening to the countdown to the raid. As the gates opened and the radio signified the team was moving in she waited to hear the gunfire to tear the silence apart.
Gods let this be over soon.

The ability to generate huge surges of electrical energy. Conversion of it to kinetic energy. A hi-tech suit that allowed the directed application of the former and ranged projection of the latter. Yet here he was frog hopping from building to building suspending himself temporarily with limited kinetic blasts. ‘Just make the damned thing fly!’ he had told Collin who had been less than impressed. Will had no idea where he was. Rather, he would have had no idea were it not for the convenient augmented GPS overlay currently being displayed by his visor, the informed location visible in a bright orange in the distance. Initially disorienting the augmented reality was the most efficacious method of him interpreting data in a natural way as quickly as possible.

456 m.

321 m

204 m

84 m

At this distance Will could see that some of the more diffuse orange he had seen is his visor was not part of his location system. Another few hundred metres past the warehouse he was bound for a similar building was wreathed in a torrent of flames. Either a planned arson or an unfortunate amount of nearby flammables must be at the root of such an intense fire he concluded.
“Will.” Chirped Collin.
“Yeah, the fire I see.” He was a bit stunned by the sight.
“No no. Well yes, but no. The clouds. There’s a storm front moving in that isn’t, well it isn’t natural.”
“What do you mean?” Snapping out of his mild daze.
“it’s moving in from the sea, should be visible. It wasn’t predicted nor does it appear to be moving like any atmospheric front. You told me there were going to others like you. Well I mean I’m not one to jump to conclusions but it’s looking like two plus two from here.”

Throwing his gaze skyward Will did certainly see the unusual clouds rolling in, the rain lapping his suit all night had come from the fronts fringes, now though, the centre drew closer. It was only foreign looking as it had been pointed out to him. The dark hue and the way the vapour slithered around itself seemed unnatural. He could do more than most but bilocation, like flight, was out of his reach. Turning to his immediate concerns he leapt to street level. The warehouse in which the suspects were holed up, according to this Fitzroy fellow, was dead ahead of him. Jogging lightly Will’s telemetry switched to a heat detection mode.





Finally. Action. Was that a bit sadistic? Meh, means to an end what did it matter.
The two emerging from the warehouse had spotted him, and he had a visual ID on their firearms. IA-33 Mantises. Iris-built high rate of fire low recoil. Time and tested assault rifle designs. Still these weren’t any cheap knock offs, or exactly easy to get. They were high-end military grade rifles; these guys weren’t messing around. Relaxing the tension in his wrists, Will spread the joints in his fingers. Surges of electrons accompanied by stray ions pulsed from his chest along his piles located in the sub-epidermal layers. The energy reached capacity along his arms.
“Hey! Fuck off!” came the barely intelligible screech.
“You got….” The shout was cut off as an electric current entered the gunman somewhere near his right shoulder, circulated through his body momentarily and dissipated through his feet into the ground. His accomplice underwent a similar fate. The current was carried in a brief flashing plasma extending from Tempest’s fingertips, conducted by an artificial induced potential difference between him and the targets. Picking up his walk pace, Will reached the door. Perfect he thought; the two men were breathing lightly, seemingly only unconscious. The element of surprise would be lost soon, he needed to act quick.

Getting inside the warehouse he was greeted by another grunt, right in his face. No time for either of them to fire any ranged options. Left and down, a quick dodge avoiding the butt of a rifle. Followed up by a small jab to the offender’s shin which unfurled a small kinetic impulse shattering the bones underneath. Stepping over the downed man and kicking away the rife, it became apparent that his presence had been acutely detected. The three in the centre standing around a small crate peered up. Will thrust his right arm forward, the plasma shooting forth from it and flowing into the chest of the man in the middle. Like a violent wave, it arced up out of his body and entered that of the other two rendering the three of them unconscious. Diving to the right, Tempest avoided incoming fire from the four staged up on the walkway. Flinging both arms up over his head electricity gushed into the metal of the walkway and up through the final four targets.

‘Phwah’ came an exasperated sigh. Current flowing up; hard. Shaking himself off Will rushed outside to see if the detective had showed, and to see if this fire situation was being handled. Not to mention the incoming storm. Busy night.

Undisclosed Location
Outskirts of Fortitude City

“Incoming communication from the Bureau.”
“Is it coming via the correct channels?”
“It appears so.”
“Open it.”

“Be advised that the Threat Category Ten (10) URE RefNo 9W72248SC12 is currently en-route to Fortitude City via cargo ship, agenda unknown. Cultist elements are present in the Shipping Authority and the Harbourmaster's office, and have obfuscated the exact ship being used and its ETA. It is expected that the ship will arrive between 0300 Thornday and 2200 Linday however.

This information was obtained at a great cost, and the Bureau was unable to neutralize the URE prior to its transit. We lost four predominant assets in our attempts to do so, and the URE is likely aware of our knowledge regarding its movement. Exercise C&D. We are insufficiently mobilized to provide any further assistance at this time.

Naduir preserve you.”

“Why are we only receiving this now?” quizzed the suited man.
“Well sir, we were on communication black out as you requested, whilst we initialised the S Protocols.” The answer lacked the sarcasm normally accompanied by such a reply.
The suited man scrunched his face slightly, deep in contemplation about what to do. It was happening quicker than anticipated. They had known it was coming and had been preparing. That’s what tonight had been for. The final bout of reconnaissance leading up to contact with the others. Events had conspired to now unfold simultaneously in a unfortunate timeline for the Sector. This moment was what months of preparation had been for, this is why this organisation had been established; dealing with threats to national safety that went above the ordinary, outside the scope of the explainable.
“Do we have any active agents in the immediate vicinity?” Quizzed the suited man to his assistan.
Moving from his standing position the man sat behind the large mahogany desk. The operator he had been speaking directly too was the one nearest to him; operational manager. Two dozen others sat at near identical workstations in the room. Above them hung a massive high resolution screen used when necessary for tactical data. Currently it was displaying a map of Fortitude. A number of different coloured markers lit up the map.

“One. Sir. The immortal.”

Convenient he supposed, mulled the suited man. Flicking a finger across the touch interface in the centre of his desk he opened his comms and waited for the operators to patch him in.

“Agent 89? This is the Director. We need you to initiate A Protocol. I repeat, you are to attempt to make contact with any known UREs. We are sending locations of several in Fortitude. I am advising you to leave the warehouse district as soon as possible. Something terrible is coming and we are not equipped to deal with it as of now. Completion of A Protocol is your most immediate concern. Report immediately with any updates.”

After finishing speaking the channel was severed. The same frequency not to be used again. Data scrubbed from as many sources as possible.
“Get me every other agent in Fortitude. Now.”





Great. Just fucking great. How could he have been shafted with another wild goose chase? I mean sure he’d only been an investigator a couple of months, and hadn’t received a partner yet, that was reserved for special investigators. Still, how did they expect him to prove himself if he was stuck investigating bogus sightings of Lasair in people’s porridge and paranoid housewives thinking their neighbours were cultists.
“Ah at least it’s sunny.” Bemoaned Andrew to himself.
Reaching into the pocket of his trousers he removed the slim silver case inside. In turn, from this, he removed a slim cigarette. Pursing it between his lips he lit it with a small lighter. Another day, another dozen cigarettes. Why did he smoke? He’d never be able to afford tumour correctional surgery, never mind a new set of lungs. He’d quit sometime.

Moseying across the road, he shuffled through the numerous homeless seeking reprise. None of them seemed too disgruntled, all happy enough to wait. Pushing past politely amidst mumbles of ‘federal agent’ and ‘excuse me’ he made his way inside. Behind the soup counter he could see what was his subject of investigation was. The ‘pretty blonde girl’ part of her profile seemed accurate, especially the first bit. Now to see if the more incredulous part of the story had any merit to it.
“Eh hi. Yeah hello?” Words fumbled a bit.
“I’m with the Bureau, is there a chance we could go somewhere to talk.” Holding his badge out briefly he continued, “I just have a few questions regarding an err, ongoing investigation.”

-----------A week earlier-----------

A raised eyebrow, a singular raised eyebrow is what it took to clue her in. Next the slight sound of stumbling steps, likely from someone moving to get out of the way of an intimidating presence. Finally and the most obvious of ques was those she was playing cards against folding their hands and turning to face her. Several people had been standing behind her for two hands, and had little reaction compared to when they had first arrived.

Looking at the reflection on the glass of her fellow gambler she identified 8 men beginning to spread about behind her, she confirmed what she had already deduced.

"I assume saying that I am not actually a cheat wont change your minds?"

A hand placed it self on her shoulder in reply.

"I thought not."

She folded her hand before she turned toward the gathering, a rather apologetic smirk on her face. Three and a half meters tall, likely eleven percent body fat by the way his suit barely contains his chest and biceps.

"Sound's like your pretty bad at cheating but pretty good at getting away. But jus' so you know, unless you got wings you ain' going to be gettin' away from me."

She nodded in agreement before answering.

"Then I would hope you do not plan to let me see open sky."

He went to yank her up, but he would be perplexed that aside from slight shifting of the flesh in his hand she didn't move from her seat....She couldn't way more than a sandbag or two. Two of the others looked at him with clearly stifled laughs, the man pulled back his hand as she stood of her own accord.

"After you then. Please know in advance that I understand it is your jobs and I am sorry for what is too come."

The group of men couldn't help but chuckle at the man as the small girl motioned for him to lead on. He sneered as he turned his back to her and walked forward. She would step along with a sigh, and as part of the dance the rest of the men would encircle.

A short walk to a back room that had little more than a singular bulb lighting it, no windows and only one door. The man was going to show just how far chivalry had fallen. A confirming chime and the mechanical sound guaranteed the door was locked. His fist tried to catch her off guard. The man practically fell over with his own momentum when he missed.

"Oh that was impressive, I am certain that would have rendered a normal person unconscious. Particularly when you do not announce that you are about to strike, quite an excellent way to guarantee maximum damage and negate all potential for resistance or a counter. Good form."

Another man of similar stature attempted to strike her from behind, only to end up falling into the first man.

"Oh another attempt at subterfuge, it is clear to me that you all are quite good at your job of preventing others to cheat. Which I am going to remind you, I did not do."

It was when one of them went to use a crow bar that she would actually raise her hand, only to catch the bar. He stumbled back, the entire group was visually unsettled. The speed was more shocking than the strength.

"I offer you all a chance to say I ran out, or are you all the type who take pride in your work. In either case I will not judge your intent nor intellect. But I can assure you, The lack of cameras in this room is, at least in this case, not in your favor."

As if to add punctuation she flicks, yes flicks, the crow bar into the leading mans head. In the time it took for the crowbar to travel she had turned around to the four gentleman still wearing her apologetic smile. One of them had blinked so he missed it, perhaps that is why he started to exclaim.

"The Fu-"

Her hand cupped his mouth and that if the man beside him. 'Cloc' echoed in the room as their heads connected, instantly the two went limp.

"Minor concussions, they will be fine. The sound we heard indicates that their skulls did not fracture."

The awe shook from the four fresh men, who with a collective grunt tried a unified attack. Their heads met the floor in almost parallel a fashion, she had literally whipped around with a sweep that went a full 360...

"Impossible."

The man who had went to attack her from behind had finally gotten his bearings, only to see all of his fellows on floor but the girl simply standing in front of him that same apologetic smile on her face.

"Improbable, however for you to inflict any sort of physical trauma to me was actually impossible. Now shall you let me leave?"

Reaching into his jacket, the woman made the woman sigh.

"I must ask you to reconsider."

The gripping of the concealed weapon acted as confirmation. Her palm smashed into his exposed stomach? Why was this so confusing he had already been witness to her speed but yet it shocked him for her to take three steps in almost a blink of the eye. Why was he surprised at the amount of force that she struck him with.

"Why do they always do that?"

It took her far longer to....appropriate both the key and a weeks worth of money. Luckily she had little need for money but food and shelter is fairly important.

"I am honestly apologizing to you all for the entire ordeal you just suffered. I am in need of money and as you did this I will not be able to redeem my chips for the needed funds for food so I will be taking your firearms and jewelry for pawn, oh and also be taking this large bag stuffed with sporting equipment."

With that she stuck all of the aforementioned 'loot' in the bag and walked out with it.

-------present-------

Much to her fortune she had more than enough currency to last her the month. These gambling dens had far more valuable sporting equipment, and also their firearms had nice rare metal finishes.

"These casinos are much nicer locations than the ones that had been on the outskirts. I shall frequent them if only to be caught."

She chuckled as if her words had been a joke for herself. Her wings would open as she stepped off the top of a rather dilapidated building. It would look almost like she was rejected from gravity as she launched skyward. Just high enough to be over the buildings but not enough to be easily spotted by both the wandering eye and or radar. She noticed a rather strange cloud formation that didn't match up with the meteorological readouts of both the news and her own rather acute systems.

"Hello, I don't think you are listening to Zues now are you?"

Her wings let off a little more of a hum as she put a bit more 'juice' in it. An internal struggle keeps her from going any faster but the damage to the buildings and or drawing attention was to great....Well a few missing shingles wont be missed right? With those thoughts she gains a tad more speed and headed towards the clouds.

The cafe was a dim, crowded place, thick with the mingled smells of roasting meat, cooking oil, and incense from a small shrine to the Little Sisters occupying a corner next to the kitchen.

"Have you tried the noodles here?" asked the doctor, flashing a bright smile full of big, square teeth. "Delicious. Gods only know how they cook the pork- if it even is pork- but it is something good."

"I haven't," said Mason, frowning across the table at his two interlocutors. The doctor was a big man, slabs of muscle sliding beneath a superficial layer of fat. Well fed, but certainly not going soft underneath that white silk suit. The lawyer, Sloan, was the doctor's opposite: sallow, thin and hunched. He wore a dark suit as cheap as the doctor's was expensive, and cradled a hand rolled smoke of some spicy blend in one yellowed hand. He sat there smoking and saying nothing.

"Noodles for him! Pork!" the doctor shouted at a passing waiter, thumping the table with one meaty hand and pointing at Mason with the other. Dishware rattled. He chuckled, silver eyes glittering in the restaurant's dim light.

"I didn't come here for the noodles."

"All business Mason. All the time." the Doctor said, shaking his bald head, "It's not good for a man. A man needs to take the time to enjoy life. Feed the soul. Right Sloan?"

The lawyer shrugged, his muddy eyes drifting from his untouched food to Mason and back again.

"Whatever you say." Sloan's voice trembled as though he suffered from some infirmity or deep sadness. He sounded on the verge of tears. Mason knew better. Sloan wasn't sick and he wasn't sad. Behind the lawyer's sallow, wasted exterior lurked a keen and vicious intelligence.

"Whatever I say, Sloan," said the Doctor, stroking his grey-fringed goatee like a man pondering some sublime mystery, "Whatever I say. Well, what do I say to Mason here? What is there to say?"

"You could start by asking what the Bureau is going to do about whoever is interrupting our shipments. This mysterious flechette gun that seems to never turn up at any crime scene."

"I could," said the Doctor, slurping his noodles and nodding, "I could. Or I could ask why our friend hasn't bothered to inform us about the ship churning towards the docks, even as we speak."

Special Agent Mason Bags smirked, "You MVS people think that just because you do us a few favors you have a right to know everything?"

"Rights?" said the Doctor, shrugging, "What are rights, anyway? Fictions, I think- though occasionally useful ones for Sloan here to throw around in front of the other lawyers. I'm talking about realities, Mason. The reality is your organization is in over its head with whatever is busy chugging towards these shores."

"Oh?" asked Mason, "And is a stern talking-to from some overeducated corporate thugs going to help us do our jobs?"

The Doctor wiped his mouth and threw the soiled napkin on the table. He was grinning.

"We are going to help you Mason." said the Doctor, "We are going to help you."

Sloan produced a tablet from a slim black valise and pushed it across the table to the bureau agent. He glanced at the figures flashing across its tinted screen.

Mason's eyes widened. "Where did you get this?"

"What's important, Mason," said the Doctor, "is where he is. And what you're going to do about it."

Just off the Coast

The Cargo Ship Mountebank sat dead in the water, viscous tendrils of inky pitch spreading through the churning ocean around it - though it was not an oil tanker and had no breaches in its hull. Directly above, the storm had started to force itself forward towards the city, the clouds arranging themselves into the shape of an arrowhead. The ship did not move, save to bob and shift slightly in the turbulent waves around it.

Yet, despite its stillness, the lights of Fortitude City drew closer. The sea in front of the vessel seemed to boil and steam as it rushed, as though some great Chthonic beast stirred the depths.

In the darkness of the ship's interior, several dimly lit figures gathered. The dimly lit environs smelled of blood and rotten vegetation. Standing between all the figures stood a statue, a figure of a kneeling woman, made entirely of salt.

"Sacred envoy, we have done as you asked. Even as we speak, a fire rages in the warehouse district. Law enforcement and emergency services will be distracted. I think we can expect at least fifteen minutes before they will be able to react to us."

A sallow figure clad in robes spoke. His voice, though soft and low, had an unnatural depth to it. "You have done well. But forces beyond our knowing have discerned our whereabouts. Genevieve gave her life so that I might waylay them, but a number of...other forces are converging. Lesser in number than the law, but great in power. I ask of you all. Who here, might give their life to stand firm against these hazards? I will not force you."

With a rustling of cloth, every darkened figure save for the sallow man in robes knelt, mirroring the pose of the statue.

"...Your sacrifices will not be in vain. Roderick, stand. You shall be my instrument in the coming conflict." The sallow man approached one of the knelt figures, who rose and stood expectantly.

"I now anoint you with the seal of Sathanas." The sallow figure spoke, his hands moving to probe and touch the figure's chest and brow. "All listen and take heed. Here is what you must do..."

Fortitude City
The Docks

The woman flying through the sky did not have to go far before she saw the source of the sky's turmoil.

A large cargo ship, listing dangerously towards its starboard side with its prow somehow impossibly facing more than ninety degrees off the course of its motion as it drew closer, approached the dockside on a collision course. The waters around it were dark, seeming to seethe and boil with vehement force akin to a rogue wave. The harbor this close in was nowhere near deep enough to accommodate the cargo ship's hull, but the ocean apparently cared little for such trivial concerns. The cargo ship drew inexorably closer, the wave of broiling water sweeping before it upturning several vessels moored at smaller docks tilting dangerously on the sides just before the cargo ship smashed headlong into them. With tremendous force and deafening noise, the cargo ship's starboard hull tore through wood and concrete piers, metal rending and shredding as rock was torn apart and obliterated. Refusing to slow down, the monstrous vessel dragged itself further towards land, its side crumpling inward and flooding even as it advanced as an irresistible wall of force. Raising a cloud of thrown up rocks and dust, the cargo ship was finally rammed across its side directly into the dockside. Dozens of ships capsized while more splintered and shattered to pieces as the cargo ship rolled over them, while screams tore through the air only to mingle and be lost in the sound of crumbling cement.

Finally, the massive vessel's motion shuddered to a halt. Immediately, in the massive haze of smoke and debris floating in the air, dozens of darkened figures wearing pitch robes rushed out from the now condemned hull, spreading out and heading in different directions away from the docks.

All the while, fire burned in the distance.

S-01 gave the ship a wide berth uncertain of if it had some sort of way to slow it self. Her uncertainty was violently ended as the ship used the harbor as its breaking. The sound of metal screaming and moaning as it was torn from its metal skeleton, S-01 didn't realize that she had hovered too watch, similar to a pedestrian watching a car accident.

The hooded individuals who where abandoning the ship had a peculiar garb, but they seemed to lack the expected fear and disorder that comes with a accident of that magnitude. A pause as she considered interrogation but the fact that there where many different sources for intel but the chances of getting one that knew any more than standard mission parameters eliminated that as an option. The loud scream of her burst of speed announced her commitment.

From looking over the ship, several entry points had become structurally unstable, but every moment she hesitated the window diminished. "Window." Dropping in low she began to skim the surface of the large deck, several plumes of fire and debris made for some excitement.Abruptly she slammed to a halt in front of the bridge. hands emitted a hint of light but the shattered glass was far louder than the low hum that resonated from her hands.

S-01's eyes darted around the room, various holo displays flickered making it easy to determine she would not be getting anything of worth from their damaged systems. The malevolent activities that happened aboard the vessel were all but confirmed when she found the ship's black box smoldering in a corner. She would continue her search, tearing the panels off the consoles, seeing if there was any recoverable hardware. The smoke that greeted her showed that that too would be a fruitless endeavor. Rather than panic, S-01 thought about how even in times of panic, habit cannot be broken. She burst out the door of the bridge, quickly using her logic to find her way to the rapidly collapsing captain's quarters.

Here she found a break. An old style filing system, complete with manila folders. She ripped the handle off of one, due to her growing tension. Wuth a far gentler touch, she opened the one below. Her eyes searched quickly, looking for key items- coordinates, anything that could prove to be of further use at a lter time. She reached to open the final drawer, only to find it put up a resistance. Her fingers would find the edges of the drawer. Next she would tear it off as if it was a poorly wrapped present. Within was a singular portfolio. While being unassuming, among its folds she would find a detailed shipping manifest, complete with names, payments, and, most importantly, what it had been shipping.

Despite wanting to take the time to read it, a loud explosion that shook the ground beneath her feet reminded her of the rapid decline of her surroundings. She tucked the portfolio beneath her arm and opened her wings. Though in a confined space, the walls had long since lost their stability and the metal was beginning to melt. Her pulse blast tied into her impressive acceleration allowed her to literally tear through ceiling of the structure, a plume of flame seemed to have a mind of its own as it followed behind the fast moving S-01. Looking about the wreckage of the harbor, she searched for a place to land so she could go through manifest in more detail. However, the situation had attracted more than just a little attention. Between the fire and the now destroyed docks, there was no way she wasn't seen. She quickly landed between two buildings and attempted to sneak away with the crowd.

She knew she had likely been tailed, but the need to know what was in the contents in more detail overrode something as simple as someone detecting her. She slid into a mom and pops diner, her wings still in full view, and the ash still sticking to her face. Finding herself a seat on a stool at the counter, some of the other patrons raised am eyebrow at the bizarre sight but S-01 had a more important task at hand, to satiate her curiosity. she looked over the her prize no real defects but it was both charred and damp. Carefully she began to open it but fate would make sure she was once again be interrupted.

"What can I getcha?"

That familiar warm smile appears S-01's face, "I'll take a coffee. Oh, and if you have'em, cinnamon rolls as well."
The woman, in her late thirties, hardly seem phased by a woman with metallic wings walking in to her diner. In fact, by her reaction it seemed like a common occurrence. As she would ask a follow-up question,"Sweetheart, you need a towel? Between the ash on your face and your wet dog hairstyle, I'm assuming you're having a rough night."

S-01 chuckles lightly and tapped the portfolio in front of her, "I hope so, I may have found a ticket for a most amusing ride."

A collaborated work of Dioxide and Darkmatter

"Gretch, what was that?"

Gretchen was just as clueless as Vix, and probably as terrified at herself as Vix at she. We're talking about lasers piercing through doors and car tyres, and scorching the ground - who wouldn't be scared? Vix unexpectedly did not react so fearfully as Gretchen had thought: Gretchen reached for her to pull her up and carefully brought her back into the kitchen. She took a look back behind her, and the rainbow trail was slowly starting to fade, like a smoke trail that dissipating into nothing.

"There's nothing much I can tell because I don't know myself. All I ask of you is that you don't tell anyone else about this." They both jumped as a gust of wind blew the door with the vaporized door knob back into the frame. "This... we'll just say they did this."

"Yeah but... Gretchen what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine... I-... I don't know. Listen, people still need our help. Team A's helping around at the docks with the freak accident, and we're here, tending to people's needs. I heard Team A's not doing very well either - there's just way too much going on. But we have to keep going - who else will? Come on, let's see to them now.." With that, Vix wasn't entirely reassured, but she nodded, an understanding smile but her eyes showed insecurity. Gretchen was just the same, but her spirit, long-tested against a lifetime of turbulence, kept her strong.

"Thank you for saving me, by the way. That was... cool," and Vix walked back to the main hall to help the injured. What followed next were phone calls, reporting the incident to her supervisors and the relevant authorities. Next after that was the resumption of duty with what little food they had, the chefs scrambling to make do with what they had, hoping to calm people down. They announced they'd end early, and Gretchen didn't expect much more for the day, hopefully. It's a life lesson to be accepting of what you have when you have very little of anything at all. The people understood.

“Eh hi. Yeah hello?” Words fumbled a bit. “I’m with the Bureau, is there a chance we could go somewhere to talk.” Holding his badge out briefly he continued, “I just have a few questions regarding an err, ongoing investigation.”

"Oh no who's this? Why's he got a badge? What did I do?"

"Could it be because of what I did..? No way, there's no way. Why be so suspicious? He's probably just health authorities, checking up on inspection, or maybe just the friendly neighbourhood officer keeping things in check."

"Hi there, officer.. Andrew. What seems to be the problem?' Gretchen coupled this with her signature wide grin, her perfect white teeth and squinted eyes that mixed the elements of cute and sexiness.

She sure was attractive he thought, but he got more than a hint that she knew it. Trying not to fall for the smile he continued, attempting to be curt and professional.

"I'm just doing some routine questioning with regards an incident earlier today." His voice was gentle and pleasant, not because of any kind-hearted intentions, but because he just didn't really care all that much for this duty and was just treating it like a day out from the office.

"Is there perhaps somewhere we can talk?"

"An incident, you say? Well, there was a robbery about an hour ago. I reported it to the authories... to be frank I wasn't expecting someone to actually show up; the last few times this happened... no one really did. If you want to talk, then we can do it out back. Follow me." She turned with unintended finesse, a good sway to her motions while otherwise maintaing professional posture. She looked back at the officer, and with her forefigner pointed at the door. Then the idea of a burnt door seemed poor to her, so she brought her out through another door. This one was mainly for the door where the delivery came in, closer to the fridge and all - far from the burnt door that was, though just right in view as they walked into the kitchen. This, for this fact, walked curtly and looked busy while doing it, inspecting the kitchen only briefly then exitting the door.

Following the direction the women indicated, Andrew withdrew his small e-pad from his trouser pocket and swiped it open. Making a new note section he quickly swirled with his finger two words 'suspicious witness'.

Once outside, he flicked to a fresh page, accompanied by a faint bleep, and swizzled open a panel from the side and tapped record. before placing the device back in his pocket.

"So, eh, Gretchen is it?" he announced. New to this interrogation deal it wasn't as easy as it was in the movies. "Don't mind if I call you that I suppose." He was trying to sound authorative yet welcoming, not an easy thing to muster when you're tripping over your own thoughts.

"Well yes, that crime is being resolved by local law enforcement. Those suspects were caught fleeing at high speed less than quarter of a mile from here soon after. I'm here in a different capactiy, I'm sure a detective will be contacting you for a statement." Surely she wasn't this naive he thought.

"Anyway, I'm here because, actually, of a report issued by the suspects. They claimed, rather fantastically, that they were assaulted by, and I'm quoting here..." Reaching into his pocket he grabbed the device again and swished to the relevant section.

" 'A blond bimbo what shot some kind of lasers at us so it was.' Naturally, these somewhat sensational claims are what have me here, in my capacity with the Bureau, which leads me to my first question. What do you know about this? "

At this stage, having taken stock of most everyone around, Andrew knew for definite, either his suspect had fled the scene immediately, or was stood in front of him.

"Oh", just the one word that entered her mind as she slowly panicked. Her face, however, showed no indication of this, at least she thought. Instead, her worried thoughts gave her a worried look that was, promptly, appropriate.

"Lasers? How does that work? Aren't those machines that shoot them huge? I also couldn't have seen much; I was trying to help my friend Vix who was being brave but quite zealous."

"I mean, it was quite sunny not too long ago... doesn't light reflect on glass and water or something? It could have been that, too.." It didn't feel very good to lie... but.. she had no idea what to do. She had no idea what was going on so... she decided to play it "naive" for now.

She dug her hand into her hair, swiping and moving it around to fix it up. It flowed and heaved healthily, and seemingly gleamed with the sunlight, what little of it now that it was past above them. "I'm also not the only blonde in the world, you know?" She followed this with a wink and a giggle, its brevity proportional to how adorable it looked. She learned that trick quite a while back. She didn't consider it abuse of her beauty: she just knew how to work with what she had.

"Ah ha well yes, I know you're not the only blonde in the world." He definitely knew a thing or two about blondes.

"The question is though were you the only blonde here around an hour ago?" Cutting to the chase seemed the order of the day. She was dodging the questions and he wasn't sure if he wasn't entirely falling for her charms.

"Well, were you?" he quizzed again. Don't judge a book by it's cover, if the Bureau had a creed, it was that.

"Well, yes, I was. I don't shoot lasers though, if you're going to ask that next." She stiffened herself up, crossing her arms across her ample chest. She seemed taller than him, and they were on level ground. "Anything else, officer?"

It was her, it had to be. She was being far too lackadaisical. The nonchalane she displayed only heightened his concerns. If it wasn't her, she at least knew something, definitely, he thought. New to the job sure, but he hadn't been called aside for no good reason, he was a good sleuth.

"Ma'am, I'd like you to just come with me to the station just to answer a few more questions." He said, beckoning across the road to his sleek black unmarked cruiser.

Gretchen knew there was no way out of this. If she tried to deny and avoid him, it'd only solidify his suspicions of her. She turned back to the kitchen door and there Vix was. She gave her a reassuring nod, and looked back to the daunting experience about to come.

What is to become of her?

Perhaps this one word. The same word uttered to Officer Andrew.

"Okay."

Swinging his head in quick sweeping motions, Tempest scanned for the detective. No sign. Blast it, he was likely on the way though. He couldnt have been that far, that cruiser he'd been with had looked nippy. Tempest's train of thought was violently derailed by a great shuddering. 'What the?' his thoughts scrambled to gather themselves. Shifting his weight he hopped and propelled himself up with a slight blast. Clearing the roof off the warehouse be thudded down onto it, skidding like a three wheeled hatchback on the soaked sheetmetal.

Casting his gaze out beyond the rooftop he saw the obvious culprit of the resounding thud. Accompanying it was quite a degree of carnage. Gnarled remains of a boat warped around the docks. Metal and wood bled together. From the interior, dozens, if not hundreds of black robed figures streamed out. Ants from an anthill.

Letting himself slide he lightly flung himself off the roof again. Sprinting towards the trouble, the night air hummed with the snickering of flames, screams of men and flailing of sirens. The robed figures didn't seem the least perturbed, in fact they seemed to be revelling in the chaos. As one of them danced by, Tempest reached out and grabbed him.
"Who are you, what is this?"