So many lives. So many people, we have to protect. So many ways to fail them.

The man the world knew as Pariah hid his thoughts behind a mask, but every day those demons haunt him. Demons far more elusive than those he had been fighting for almost three years. Shades, memories, fractured hopes, lost dreams, the faces of all the men and women who died for him to be here today. All the people he failed. Polaris. Destiny. Zephyr. Olympia. And so many more. Men and women who had been among the only ones he could trust. Once there had been hundreds of them. Smart, determined, trained, loyal. Working together to defend civilization from the monsters and men who would destroy it.

Now all that was left was a husk. Fresh-faced recruits, scarred veterans, shadowy former enemies. It wasn't a team any more. It was a collection of different individuals and groups that decided the monsters on their door were a more pressing threat than each other. And yet he needed them. If they failed, everyone would fall. And he would fail them again. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen. Even if it meant giving up his life. He made a promise. And he wouldn't break any more.

Pariah slipped on his mask, or perhaps it was his real face for it was the only one the world ever saw. It stared back at him blankly, the dull red eyes framed by a black face. Scars covered his muscled body, he had almost as much scarred tissue as normal skin. It all vanished under the skin-tight black suit. Then came the weapons. Two pistols riding low on his thighs. Another pair under his shoulders. Two collapsible batons at his belt. And an extreme amount of blades, most of them hidden. There was hardly a place on his body where he couldn't easily reach a weapon. And if he couldn't his boots were steel toed and the knuckles on his gloves had steel inlays. Between these weapons and the other equipment he kept on him, Pariah was hardly ever caught defenseless. Never in fact.

He exited the small private room he kept in his office. It was the security floor right underneath the penthouse and Pariah's residence and operations center. From this room he had a commanding view of the entire settlement and cameras and other equipment that let him keep track of everything else. Hardly anything happened here without him knowing. Almost nothing in fact. He left the monitors on and strode to the elevator as Cassandra's cultured voice filtered over the speakers they had all over the Citadel, "All Council Associates to the Assembly Room. Operations conference to begin in ten minutes."

---

The Citadel was just over a square mile of space, ringed by high concrete walls and an outer chain-link and razor wire fence. He got a good glimpse every time he descended the elevator. The facility, all modern buildings with large windows and gentle curving architecture, had just finished completion when the Apocalypse began. Cassandra had turned it into her fortress, filling the empty space with supplies, equipment, and any of her personnel she could get her hands on. If it hadn't been for her thousands would have died. Pariah and his hastily assembled team of vigilantes, do-gooders, military men, thieves, murderers, and specialists had turned it into a city. One of the last in the world. Every free inch of space was converted into either farms or homes. Everything else was retrofitted into whatever they would need.

The library held every salvaged printed or digital media they could find and every artifact of the old world worth preserving. It also served as a memorial for every super who died in the fighting, and for every citizen who had made the ultimate sacrifice to keep the Citadel safe. From there the past would be preserved for the future. It was also where the surviving sorcerers, alchemists, mediums, exorcists, and sundry supernatural practitioners studied the magical arts and deciphered more of the mysteries of the arcane. There was an enterprising survivor who had managed to open the never-used cafe and stocked it with homemade coffee mixes made from the coffee plants the survivor grew in his home. A technopath known as Binary had managed to create their own intranet and the monitors found use daily. It was also where the four-man Citadel newspaper team digitally launched daily broadcasts of the goings on in the Colony. It was also where the scavengers kept their maps and kept track of their expeditions into the city.

Near it was the greenhouse. Cassandra had combined a garden and a park into one. A place where her future employees could take a stroll and the buildings would get their own organic produce to use in the mess hall. There was a reason her company had been near the top of the Fortune 500. There wasn't much space for a stroll now however. It was nearly overgrown by Orchid's enhanced crops which she had created before her death. It was christened the Orchid Memorial Garden and served as the primary farm in the Citadel, the bulk of the colony's fresh vegetables, fruits, and grain was farmed there. It was the primary reason the ten thousand plus souls within the Citadel's walls had three square meals or how the hospital managed to gain study herbal supplies. Guard posts on all four corners and rolling patrols made sure nobody thought to plunder or loot the critical supplies.

The hospital was another innovation. It was nowhere near the size of municipal facilities but was destined to be staffed and filled by the best personnel and equipment money could buy. It would be up to the task of caring for the workers as well as any ambulances that desperately needed to off-load patients. All optimized for maximum savings and profits. Now it was one of the most critical buildings in the Citadel. Unfortunately there were very few trained doctors or magical healers who survived the Apocalypse but one psychic surgeon and a few alchemist apothecaries had managed to find the Citadel. They scrapped together all the medical students, nurses, and even veterinarians they could and they had a working hospital with as much equipment as Cassandra could ship or what the teams could salvage. If Seraph was alive they could have had all wounds healed instantly. As it was the Seraph Memorial Hospital serviced every injury, mundane or supernatural in the colony. It was where they treated sickness, gunshots, and werewolf bites all together. It was also heavily guarded, every staff member carried a sidearm and it was patrolled by a half-dozen squads of Cassandra's security forces.

There were four twenty story buildings surrounding the large rectangular fountain that had been converted into a fishfarm, two on each side. They had been devised as tenements for all the maintenance personnel, support staff, and their families. Low rent, and right next to work. What Cassandra had envisioned was basically a company town and Pariah had no doubt she would have made profit off of it. And even if she didn't she had been insanely rich anyway. Tents covered every roof and the interior walls had all been knocked down inside and replaced by curtains to convert as much living space as possible. Between every building were wooden huts and large canvas tents that was the shanty town around the tenement buildings. This was the largest population center in the Citadel itself, over a fifth of the population was housed here. The rest were sequestered in basically every other corporate building and collection of shacks throughout the Citadel or underneath in the bunkers below, though few lived down in the dark reinforced lower levels which was were the jail was and most of the emergency supplies. Most of the supers lived in the Tower, which overlooked it all from a stately distance.

Around the Sprawl, as the large neighborhood was known, there was a bazaar ringing the fountain where citizens would barter their homemade and homegrown goods. Us dollars were still accepted but most people traded in commodities or services. Pariah had no doubt that Cassandra and others had their fingers in pies. It was also a heavily patrolled area, pairs of guards walking down the market aisles and around the tenement buildings. Nearby was the power plant. Megavolt sat in the squat building most of the day, the former electrokinetic bank-robber used his talents to provide power to the settlement. There was a permanent guard on the building. Even though there were solar panels, if Megavolt was lost they'd lost most of their power source.

Pariah could see the Wall itself. More than twenty feet high and constantly patrolled and manned by the wall guards. Guard towers dotted the wall at regular intervals and Pariah knew one of them was Deadeye where he watched with a fifty caliber rifle. The main gate was where Sentinel usually stood vigil, ready to defend against any intruders. Nearby was the Forge, a retrofitted machine shop turned garage where the mechanics worked on the Citadels salvage trucks as well as where an enterprising man named Cutter and his assistants had plans to begin turning salvaged metal into weapons. If anything mechanical or metal needed to be fixed, modified, or made in the Citadel chances were it was there. The nearby warehouse was where the majority of the colony's salvaged weapons, ammunition, and gear was kept. The entire area was a constant patrol zone.

There were many other buildings. Converted office space or newly erected shacks were survivors made their homes, their places of congregation, and other things they might need. An entire building had voted to convert their living space into a place of worship of every faith with different sections for a synagogue, a mosque, a church, and many others. Another had been turned into a school for all of the Citadel's children, as well as an orphanage for the depressingly large number of parent less children. It was known as the Temple and it saw a lot of use these days. Pariah and Cassandra left the administration of these population centers up to the elected district leaders.

But Pariah knew some shanty towns had brothels, drug labs, gambling dens, bars, and other black market areas. The drinking, gambling, and whoring was mostly a non-issue. It had been decided people could do what they wish as long as their work was done and nobody was hurt. But it was a constant battle by the Sheriff and their deputies to stop the crack labs and sex slavers, the ones who exploited the citizenry and made life miserable. Anyone they caught was punished harshly. And for the most part they succeed, but somehow a new one always propped up somewhere. Pariah had his own suspicions. The Supers ruled with an iron fist but as long as humans were around there would always be a few islands of crime. A small collection of buildings near the wall was known as Dark Town. It was where the few hundred or so nonhumans lived. Very few humans went there.

---

Finally he made his way to the meeting room. It was a large space, where Cassandra had planned to address hundreds of workers at a time in a theater like setting. Only a fraction of the space was used now, all filled up by the heroes and villains that made up the alliance of supers who ran the Citadel. Everyone was in attendance save the Dark Town magic users. But then they almost never showed up. The seats filled up as everyone from Megavolt to Sentinel filed in. Pariah had used the private elevator and arrived at the head of the room where a conference table sat and where every high-ranking associate was. Cassandra was dressed in the Athena armor. It stood at seven feet tall and was head-to-toe metal plating with her own personal owl logo on the chest. The suit gave no indication the wearer was a woman. Cassandra silently regarded him as he took his place next to her at the podium in front of the table.

Cassandra turned up the speakers on her suit, "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. We have some important business to get through and then we will return to our daily duties of saving the world." A light chuckle made it's way through the room. Pariah abstained. Cassandra continued, "Our emergency stores are full and all production capacity is proceeding nominally. However it has become clear that we can no longer rely solely on Megavolt for our power. No offense to the human lightning bolt of course." A scrawny black man in the middle of the seats chuckled, "None taken." Pariah remembered how Megavolt and Cassandra used to fight in the streets back in the day. It had all been business of course but he wasn't sure if he liked their friendly tone now.

"Regardless of his hard work, there are simply too many people that need power. We need more renewable energy sources, mainly solar panels. We have the alchemists working on green alternatives to power our generators but it will take time and it still won't solve everything." Pariah spoke up, "Scavenger patrols have been hit with increasing regularity. It isn't just elves or ogres either. People. Heavily armed, in possession of vehicles, hostile, and tricky. They've been setting up ambushes and traps all over town. We've lost half a dozen men just this past month. Not to mention more and more raiders probing our perimeter. We'll need to decrease the amount of patrols but increase each individual team's complement. No less than three supers on every run now. And any intel we can gather on this group is essential. It may come to a war." A low murmur worked its way over the room, though there were more than a few who seemed to relish the idea of a fight.

"We will send a recon team at a later date to take an account of this colony. We will try the diplomatic approach but I'm having the wall guard doubled. And any new citizens will be heavier scrutinized. Sphinx, I'm relying on you to process a few dozen new survivors who have made their way here in the past month and are in temporary housing. Take a few men to assist. Destiny's wards remain in place but I want everyone to be vigilant for any signs of possession or curses." Cassandra recited a list of those who were tasked to wall duty and their shifts. Volunteers could sign up at any time.

She then said, "Today's scavenging run will be made to a high-rent condominium building about forty minutes from here. Scout reports say several solar panels still line the roof and it seems mostly untouched by looters. It is a large building however and we're sending two trucks. I'm tasking Comet to lead the convoy. He'll pick around twenty gun-hands to man Big Blue and Red Rover. DaVinci and Flare will assist. Stay on the lookout. Mythics or raiders could appear at anytime. Bring all the panels and supplies you can as fast as you can as safe as you can. Anyone else who wants to ride with them feel free to do so."

"That's all the important business today. Anyone who doesn't have active duty may join us for a preliminary session which will begin in a moment. Attendance is optional but we will discuss the moral issues in the colony. Everyone else is dismissed." Men and women in costume, it was general practice that meetings be attended in costume, filed out while an unassuming guard came to Sphinx to lead him to the temporary housing. DaVinci, Flare, and whoever else wanted to join them made their way to the garage.

Eventually everyone who stayed for the meeting sat down at the table or in the first few rows. Cassandra began, "The civilian population is beginning to become restless. The small attacks, presence of the mythics in our walls, and the continued lack of elections are among their biggest gripes. As you all know we have a five-year plan to return control to a democratically elected mayor but certain district leaders are rousing small numbers of the populace," Pariah stepped in, "The situation isn't serious but if they become any more disgruntled there may be demonstrations. Riots if they become violent. This cannot be allowed to disrupt the daily production of supplies. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

---

Meanwhile DaVinci, Flare, and whoever joined them met Comet and Sentinel at the main gate. Overhead in the guard tower, Deadeye sat in his perch and looked through his scope. Sentinel stood in full plate armor with shield and spear while Comet stood in her leather jacket. Sentinel nodded his head in their direction and Comet turned to greet them. The petite blonde woman smiled and said, "We're loading up now. Big Blue and Red Rover will be good to go in no time. I'll be riding up front in Red Rover, you two mind Big Blue in the rear." Each truck could fit four in the cab. A dozen or so more would be in the modified bed. The trucks had square shaped holes cut in the side of their containers, six on a side, for the riders to look and shoot out of. The doors had a large opening on the back and a gate that closed or open like a civilian truck.

"This might be a heavy run, we're going right in the middle of mythic territory. Keep your eyes open and get loaded for bear. We ride in five." Soon enough our heroes were ready to scavenge. Both semi trucks were filled with scavengers and a smattering of salvaged national guard humvees or armored SUVs accompanied the trucks, a few in front and a few behind. Sentinel stood in front of the gate with weapons raised while Deadeye raised his rifle. The convoy filtered out and the gates closed behind them. They didn't know what they were in for.

Meanwhile, Sphinx found the processing center. It was in the middle of a shanty, and the guards led him to where they housed new survivors until more permanent accommodations were found. And where they made sure nobody was possessed or otherwise a threat to the Citadel. Deputies patrolled and guarded the building and a smiling woman at the front desk said, "Howdy Sphinx. We've got a few dozen people here right now. Pariah rang to tall me that he needed a full sweep. These fine gentlemen will be helping you. Any emergencies they'll take care of it. Pariah just wants you to make sure everyone in here is clean. Anything else you need before we get started? Here's a list of names, pictures, of the tenants." She slid over the list and smiled.

"Well then, I think this will be a splendid outing don't you say Tanner?" DaVinci turned and smiled to the scavenger who sat next to him as the gentleman clapped his hands in excitement. Wasteland safaris were always good fun even if they got a little rowdy, Hayden expected nothing less today.
"Umm... O-of course sir. It w-will be fun." Tanner nervously chuckled, his greenhorns showing.

Hayden examined the young man as he rocked back and forth, his hand tightly wrapped around his fire axe; not quite as good as Hayden's own Gentleman's Survival Tool, but that's personal preference. Tanner was the newest of the little "resource procurement" team which Hayden lead, replacing Jordan Hawkens after he took an unfortunate bullet to the chest which had some sort of poison on it. Hayden shook his head sadly at the memory, Hawken's final breath was nothing but pained screams.

"E-excuse me, sir?" Tanner sheepishly waved a hand to bring Hayden out of his nostalgic past, "Will y-you be expecting u-um... enemies? Li-like bandits?"

The gentleman noted how he emphasized the word "enemies", as if he expected them to be any real threat. Typical greenhorn behavior. Once he got himself into a few fire fights and one or two good all-out, fists-flying melees he'll no longer worry himself about it. Assuming he survived all of that.

"Tanner my boy," Hayden chuckled heartily and slapped the greenhorn on the back, "They're just minor nuisances. If you're scared of a few mad denizens of dark alleys with guns, you won't last a day beyond the walls! Its the mythics you've got to keep an eye peeled for, the bloody cunts can kill you faster than you'll be able to call for help you aren't careful!"

Hayden laughed to himself while Tanner forced a chuckle, clearly Hayden's speechcraft need a bit of polishing, his moving speech only served to unnerve the boy even more. Hayden could sense the fear radiating out of Tanner, his sweat trickling down the openings between his head and his beanie.

Checking his own equipment, Hayden patted his armored vest and made sure his gun was loaded as the others started to fill the truck. Once again turning to Tanner, looking like he was about to break down, Hayden transformed into his teacher mode, telling the young man how to best deal with dastardly vampires and such, what was the best way to accurately aim a gun, the rough locations of vital organs, all those itty bitty details that would increase his chances of remotely surviving.

Hayden lit up his pipe and leaned back against his seat, Poor bastard he thought to himself, he was expecting something to go wrong. He knew it, the winds were unfavorable and something just felt amiss. Hopefully he'd find another book or trinket to even it all out though, they were always worth something to DaVinci.

Isaac looked over the library from a metal gangway in the rafters. The last bastion of human knowledge and culture. So much had been lost. Hundreds of historic site thousands of years old obliterated, museums and galleries desecrated by the war, and even the everyday culture of the world laid in ashes. He leaned on the railing his metal arm clanging against it. The device had raised him to rival some of the metas in the town, but Isaac swore it was his intelligence that let him keep up. That was his fear now that one day this knowledge would fade away leaving the normal people here with nothing left. He didn’t want to see humanity survive he wanted them to thrive.

Another set of footsteps came clanging down the gangway. Isaac looked to see technopath binary who also functioned out of the archives for the network in the citadel. Isaac stepped aside best he could sitting on the railing basically.

“It’d be nice if our infrastructure was as advanced as our technology right?” Isaac joked somewhat scorning their lack of resources, “A city run by superhumans and we can’t even get a solid source of concrete. At least the emergency rations are full, for as far as I’ve known, for the first time ever.”

“I think that’s the first positive thing you’ve said in weeks.” Binary remarked, “Also you’re going to be late to the meeting you scheduled.”

“Sorry hard finding a watch that fits on this thing” Isaac said tapping his metal arm.

The Citadel Intelligence Agency, or CIA, was an overseeing group for the archives. Isaac largely ran the group having devised the database that stored and connected all the information stored there. Binary held a very high position as well creating the network for access by the normal citizens. Mostly the other members were librarians and historians more or less a couple minor metahumans, a few magic users, and a number of humans. Lexicon was the head of the magical library a mage with a perfect memory able to retain and learn things near instantly, information like spell casting is near perfectly retained. Shame the man was in his late nineties and needed a wheelchair. Neil Fawkes was the other major player in the archive once a master criminal he used his superpowers to burgle the biggest museums of the world. Now he was kept as the “recovery expert” able to get of rare works as well as restore them.

The major members were all gathered up in Isaac’s office. A simple room with only a cot, a computer, and a desk with papers and pencils. Neil and Lexicon were sitting there with a deck of cards and book respectively.

“Sorry this is on short notice, but that’s what Pariah gave me, and I don’t like going to those meetings without hearing from you guys. I’m not sure what the topic will be today, but anything you guys need to tell Pariah?”

Everyone exchanged looks and considered.

“Besides the energy problems? We do drain tons of energy for all the machines we have here. Without a new source they may start cutting us back.” Binary admitted drumming her fingers against the wall nervously.

“Yes yes. We’ve all been over this. The scavenger groups know to report that kind of stuff. I’m assuming your alchemists haven’t gotten anywhere Lexicon.” Isaac huffed sitting at his desk

“No. Simply not enough materials to try and create an new fuel source. We can’t just turn dirt into uranium.” The old man said closing his book.

“I sometimes wish it was that easy though. Keep them working on it though. We still don’t know enough about how all this works. You of all people know how hard it is to get our hands on new arcane knowledge. Neil heard anything from your contacts?” Isaac looked over at the lean man on the floor.

“No. Nothing smuggled into the city that could help. Not sure we can fit a new generator in under someone’s hat anyways.” Neil said not looking up from his solitaire.

“Just remember I only keep your methods protected because you get results.” Isaac glared, “We’re doing what must be done to survive. To preserve what’s left of humanity. Now we’re in agreement then that making sure there is power for the archive is our first priority now. correct?”

Everyone nodded.

“Alright second and last point. I’ve been looking at getting a real workshop up and running here. Something to teach more advanced engineering to people. We need more people putting this information to use. The database has been working hard to put together everything we’ve collected, but it can’t actually make anything we’ve theorized yet. Yes we won’t have the resources needed immediately, but I think within six months we could actually be in production of new advanced tech for the citadel. Thoughts?”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind some more useful things.” Neil remarked, “Even with powers that wasteland is a nightmare. It’d also give the archive more leverage to keep a focus here.”

“I’m not certain on your date, but it may be possible. I’d like to think on it still.” Binary said only somewhat confident.

“Not really my field. So long as this won’t interupt me and my novice’s studies carry on.” Lexicon waved the topic aside.

“Alright thank you. I’ll be keeping it all in mind. I need to get going through Pariah’s meeting it shortly.” Isaac concluded before heading out.

=====

“Hold on there.” Said a man raising a metal hand before the convoy, “You don’t plan on just ripping those panels off the roof do you? I’m coming with to make sure you don’t screw up everything.”

Isaac climbed up into the back of one of the trucks spotting a frequent source of good stories, Hayden Zhang. Isaac had interviewed the man multiple times for stories to add to the archive. The man was intelligent if not a bit full of himself.

“Well well, finally run out of stories and going to get some more?” Isaac asked sitting down near the older metahuman.

Waiting for a reply Isaac started to check his arm. He adjusted the machinery to calibrate the arm cannon, checked the grappling cable, and then extended out the silvered blade.

“Heh. Lovely piece of tech isn’t it. Nothing beats the classic elegance of a sword.” Isaac said admiring the blade.

“I don’t know. I think a Colt always has it’s high points.” said a smooth young man.

Another man climbed up into the truck. Dressed in a duster and cowboy hat there was no mistaking it this was Jack Wright, Reaper. He sat down smirking to all the other guys.

“So anyone who wants to follow the nutbag with a sword is free to anyone who’s sane enough to fight at long range can be with me. What you doing out here anyway Isaac?”

“The cargo we’re going for is solar panels I don’t want anyone ruining them. I’m the best engineer there is, and the power problem concerns me a lot.”

“Ah that’d do it.” Jack nodded it all making sense now, “Ya do love your electronic garbage.”

Annalise checked her equipment before heading to the gates: a SIG-Sauer P220 handgun, fully loaded, with a couple of spare clips of ammo, two cigarette lighters, both sparking a flame the instant they were clicked, and the all-purpose combat knife with the broad, 11 inch blade. Probably she wouldn’t need them, but better to have something you don’t need then need it and not have it, her old commanding sergeant had always said. With that in mind she picked up the chain whip she’d recently started practising with and looped it through her belt: no harm in taking it with her.

She scowled as Cassandra’s words echoed in her mind: people. Heavily armed, in procession of vehicles, hostile and tricky. Her time on the force, short as it has been, had taught her that there were always some people who would turn on others and take what they had, but still… “Fuckin’ traitors,” she muttered as she jogged to the gate.

At the gate, she returned Comet’s smile with a faint smile of her own; she liked the deceptively slight young woman. She nodded without speaking at her words, taking her place in Big Blue. She glanced around at the others in the van: DaVinci, Hax (what was he doing coming out on a run?) and Reaper, scrambling in just ahead of her.

She grinned as she overheard Hax’s comment about a sword, and Reaper’s response. She knew he creeped some people out, with his powers coming from death and all, but she quite liked him – he was a medic, former army guy (you could always tell) and clung to his ethical code like he was a fricking samurai or something.

She was unable to supress a small laugh as Hax mentioned his ‘electronic garbage’. “Yeah, right; and while you’re supervising the lifting of the panels, me and Reaper’ll be keeping the bad guys off ya with our inelegant guns.” She said. “Jus’ in case they don’t feel like duelling today.” Her tone was light, teasing rather than mocking.

----

Nick gave the last of the new knives a wipe with a heavy cloth, polishing the blade to a respectable shine, and turned his attention to the small scrap of metal on the table in front of him, brushing it with a light fingertip touch. it was the work of an instant to change the scrap into a figure, the lean legs and narrow but powerful body, long, curving neck and head lowered not in submission but in challenge. The spiral horn completed the figure. He studied it for a moment, absently reducing the sharpness of the horn so it was less likely to cause injury, and added a bit more of a flowing windswept look to the mane and tail.

He made sure it could stand before giving a nod of satisfaction and buffing it to a shine with the heavy cloth he'd used on the knife. Little Alice loved unicorns, and when she'd told him yesterday she was going to be eight today, nearly all grown up - well, he thought she'd be grateful for the present. God knows, it's not like she'll be getting much else, he thought.

"All Council Associates to the Assembly Room. Operations conference to begin in ten minutes." He stood up, pulling on his jacket and dropping the small figure into the pocket. He'd give Alice her present after the meeting.

***

As one of the supers generally thought of as more useful in the Citadel than out of it, he remained in the meeting room after the others had been given their orders. A troubled expression, not exactly a frown but not far off, settled on his face as Cassandra and Pariah spoke of the problems with the normal population, the district leaders stirring things up. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before: the occasional civilian telling him that ‘Fletcher said-,' or ‘I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but Cunningham was talking to the others yesterday, and-,’ All murmurs, nothing more, nothing definite, but combine that with the uneasy feeling he sometimes got of eyes on his back when he was chatting to the people, and he could see all too clearly what they were talking about.

But what to do? That was the $64,000 question, wasn’t it? How to take action without it playing in the hands of the trouble-makers; any attempt to clamp down on them would act as a spur to their complaints: we’re living in a meta human dictatorship! We need to stand up for our rights, not be ordered around by a bunch of freaks! He didn’t think many people would follow them, but even one or two was enough, and if blood was spilled… well, whatever happened, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Bringing forward the elections wasn’t an option either – if one of the district leaders got in, it would be a disaster – they’d try and change the order of things, run the Citadel as they saw fit, and that’d probably mean the mythics would be dumped outside, with the metas being sent to join them if they objected (never mind that without them the Citadel wouldn’t last – most leaders suffered from chronic short-sightedness). If a moderate leader was elected and kept things running as they were they’d be accused of being a puppet of the metas.

“I know it sounds damn stupid to suggest a charm offensive, but it might work,” he offered quietly. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. “Get some of the more presentable metas out and mixing with the people more – we’re still seen as ‘other’ – if we seem more familiar, they’ll be a bit more comfortable around us. Some of ‘Dozer’s team, maybe, to show them it’s possible to work with metas.” He gave a sort of shrug, elbows tilting up towards the ceiling. “I’ve heard a few people complaining about leaders causing trouble – I can have a quiet word with the people I trust, ask them to keep an ear to the ground.” He straightened up. “The last thing we can do is confront this directly.”

Sphinx was never quite comfortable in the Citadel. He supposed it was the atmosphere that bothered him the most. The bleak, grey-toned days, filled with dust and silence, seemed to drag on forever. Perhaps the city did not seem this way to everyone, but it always did to him. Where he went, the hustle and bustle of the Citadel’s many workers and residents seemed to grind to a halt. Not that he could blame anyone; he was quite deliberately among the most mysterious and conspicuous members of the Council. The image of the erudite and mystic Sphinx, a man who knew your innermost thoughts, and could kill you without moving a muscle, was one that he had raised up about himself to keep the population at arm’s length. Sometimes he felt like it had worked too well.

Population centers, even when silent to his ears, had a “chorus” of thoughts, which Sphinx was almost always passively listening in on. Chicago had sounded like a busy restaurant, a low roar of many passionate voices. The Citadel, Sphinx found, sounded more similar to the hushed, clipped tones of a church. That was something else that unsettled him; it was too quiet, perhaps even depressingly so.

In any case, he had arrived at the temporary housing district to screen the newest batch of aspiring residents. This was a rather unpleasant duty of his, for even as strange as it sounded for a man privy to the true thoughts and intentions of those around him, he was not a paranoid person by nature. These policies were Pariah’s, not his. He supposed that there was a certain value to weeding out those with violent tendencies and such other deficiencies, but people like that very rarely showed up at their doorstep. Sphinx knew that these protocols had been ramped up purely in response to contact from the other colony. Pariah wasn’t afraid of criminals, he was afraid of spies.

Still, Sphinx did his duty. He was comfortable where he was, and didn’t have much reason to protest his responsibilities. At the very least, he was keeping the Citadel safe (from itself, more than anything else). He arrived at the processing center (honestly a shack, but these more bureaucratic names comforted Sphinx in a nostalgic sort of way), and was cheerfully greeted and handed the information gathered on the in-processing refugees. Sphinx cast an imperious glare to the receptionist, feeling that she was far too friendly than his public persona would permit. He took the information and set out into the housing slums, his cadre of guards in tow.

He arrived at the residence of the first person on the list. He detected a presence inside of the small shelter, and so didn’t bother to knock. Sphinx didn’t even feel the need to let the person know he was there. Rather, he simply entered their mind to conduct his business, standing outside the premise, encircled by his guard. At first he merely probed the person’s mind, feeling the surface for reactions and responses. The last thing he wanted to do was plunge into the mind of another telepath, and end up being attacked in retaliation. Finding no defenses or psychic reactions, he delved deeper into the murky pools of their mind. Thoughts, emotions, memories, all of these things flowed and reflected within the pulsating core of their brain. Sphinx treaded lightly, merely skimming through their memories for anything that stood out as unusual to him. This discretion was partly to preserve some of their privacy, mostly because he had a lot of people to work with today. Once he felt satisfied by the lack of unusual memories, he briefly examined the neural structure of their mind for any outstanding psychological conditions. A mind that was sick or broken was much like a car engine in disrepair; something was clearly wrong, but careful and skillful observation was needed to discern exactly what. Despression and anxiety (characterized by a dark, foggy quality, and a teetering instability, respectively) were relatively common among refugees, and weren’t deal breakers. If he had turned away everyone that had come out of the Wastes a little bit broken, no one would be let into the Citadel.

---

Sekhem was easily the sharpest-dressed person in the room. One could even say that he was overdressed for the occasion. He liked it that way; it let the others know where they stood in relation to him. That is to say, well below and on far worse footing. His grey, pinstripe suit was clean and pressed, accented with a gold tie and handkerchief, his signature coat had minimal traces of dust and wear, and his bandages were fresh, white and neatly wrapped about his face. As the council’s meeting proceeded, Sekhem leaned back in his chair luxuriously. Gloved hands laced behind his head, and he crossed one leg over the other in a gesture of urbane boredom.

Orders were barked to the lesser attendees, and as they left to carry out the tasks at hand, Sekhem stayed behind. He had no orders to attend to; the pompous “leaders” of the council knew better than to try to order him around. The most pressing matter of civil unrest was brought up, and Sekhem listened in with a blasé expression. Sekhem was already well aware of the tension among the populace, as he had his ear to the ground, so to speak. His closest associates in the Morale Committee were among the more vocal of the dissidents, and Sekhem may have encouraged them to vent their frustrations. Just a bit, nothing implausibly deniable.

The idea of a democratic election was a joke; the superhuman elite had deliberately stacked the house of cards to put themselves at the top, and they had no intention of letting go of their power. The supposed tension between the Citadel and the other enclave of survivors that they had just discovered seemed too conveniently timed. Sekhem had encountered them on a scavenging expedition with his personal team more than a month ago, but they were easy enough to avoid. This “conflict” would likely boil over in time for the elections to be suspended. An obvious move, but all of Pariah’s moves were obvious.

A few nobodies offered limp-wristed solutions to the growing civil unease. Hearts and minds campaigns, that sort of thing. Sekhem found them to be distastefully cowardly. They stood uncomfortable on the fence between a autocracy and democracy, refusing to truly commit to either. The population could sense their weakness, and lashed out at the scapegoat presented to them: the superhumans. They were trying their best to project an aura of strength and authority, but their half-hearted commitment to justice and social responsibility left their weaknesses obvious and glaring. They demanded respect, but refused to earn it, and so were only given scorn. Pathetic.

Sekhem stood to voice his opinions (or, at least, what he wanted the council to think were his opinions), and spoke loudly and clearly for all. His voice was deep and commanding, but had a dry, papery quality, like a thundering rainstorm gathering over a desert. “This is a superficial solution, and a poor one at that. If the masses are finding time and reason to rebel, it is because they are either not busy enough, or because you are failing to meet their needs.” Sekhem was sure to distance himself from the council with this accusation. “Increasing employment and productivity will alleviate most of the dissent. More patrols, more excursions, and longer hours worked. Compensate them with the surplus fruits of their labors.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, the leather of his gloved hand sliding against the linen bandages. “Additional resource allocation to the Morale Committee would also be beneficent. Panem et circenses, quoth the Romans.” Sekhem stood standing after his declarations; he would not be talked down to by any of the spineless worms present on the Council.

In the deep of the wastes, the convoy drove through the remains of Los Angeles. The City of Angels was barely recognizable. Destruction by earthquakes and storms had leveled many buildings while the streets bore the scars of war between armies and superhumans. The debris of cars, armored vehicles, aircraft, and structures was common. The sky was gloomy and overcast now, where once Southern California had been reliably arid. The sun shone brightly, but thick grey clouds covered the sky and hushed the light. The hustle and bustle of the city was gone, replaced by stillness. Occasionally the sounds of roaming animals could be heard to break the silence. Nature had begun to reclaim Los Angeles. For whatever reason, whether it was some magical side effect of the Fall or some other cause, trees and greenery had started to appear in the city. Forests began to grow from the cracked roads and inside buildings, morphing the urban jungle into an almost literal one. Thankfully there was still enough road left to drive on as the vehicles zoomed by the bizarre landscape that was both desolate and blooming, lifeless yet full of life. At least the air quality was much improved.

The convoy drove through with little incident but it was clear they were close to mythic and bandit territory. Strange arcane glyphs marked several trees and buildings in various different scripts, giving evidence to the perpetual tribal war between the mythics. More recognizable graffiti could be seen as well, various bible verses, skulls, and other markings warred over space on any kind of surface from buildings to cars and trees. The convoy drove a bit more cautiously here, not wanting to run headlong into an ambush. But for the moment the area was quiet, though everyone in the vehicles gripped their weapons tightly. Mythics were not always violent to humans, and not all non-Citadel survivors would shoot on sight. But there had been far too many deaths and injuries for them to take no precautions. If they saw anyone they would not engage in any dialogue, and would attack upon being attacked.

But the streets and buildings were deserted with only the occasional jackalope, coyote, or deer crossing the street. Eventually they reached the building their scouts had surveyed. The condominiums where in what had once been a very rich section of the city, and miraculously the building was mostly untouched by the Fall. Vines grew along the sides but the building was intact. It may have been looted before but the large array of solar panels could be seen on the approach. The jeeps cordoned off a section of the street around the main entrance while the trucks parked right in front. Cassandra's guards filed from the jeeps and set a perimeter while a few others stood on top of the trucks to gain a vantage point. The two teams of scavengers assembled before Comet, "Alright boys and girls. Standard run. Secure each floor as we ascend, take everything useful that we can get. Nobody goes alone. I want each floor cleared thoroughly before you move on. One squad starts in the basement, they might have emergency fuel down there. Other squad starts at ground floor and makes sure each floor is clear, mark each room that holds useful supplies. Basement team will do the collecting. Second team will make their way up as quick as possible to the roof. Give me the signal its clear and I'll go up and help you get it all down. In the meantime I'll hold the fort down here."

She pointed at a seasoned scavenger, "Reed. You're on basement squad," She regarded the other supers, "Each of you pick a team of three scavengers. You'll coordinate as you go up. If anything happens, do your best to protect Isaac. We need him to make this run successful. Now let's get this done quick and clean in time for dinner." The two dozen scavengers and supers set off, Reed's squad securing the basement floor while the other squad worked it's way up the floors. The building had been overlooked in the initial wave of rioting and looting during the Fall and was remarkably clean. As they made their way up they faced no signs of habitation, the power was shut off and the tight halls were dark and gloomy. The scavengers in the lead had flashlights and as they cleared each room they found many items that could be used. Clothes, canned food, equipment. The owners had seemed to desert in mass in a panic, leaving many things behind. The trek was tense but was so far very quiet.

Suddenly when they were three floors away from the roof they had difficulty. The door to the stairwell wouldn't open. Heavy objects seemed to be leaned on the door from the other side. They might not be alone any longer. The scavengers had a choice to make. And they needed to make it quick. The collection squad was halfway through salvage, they had found several barrels of oil and brought them to the truck when suddenly a difficulty emerged. Shouts started echoing down the streets, the sound of footfalls and yelled curses. The guards became tense and Comet pinpointed the sound just as a mob of people started to come down the street. They were dirty and ragged, most of them carrying only bats and other collected junk as weapons but a few toted guns. There were many. Dozens of people, at least eighty men and women who didn't look very friendly. They all wore red bandannas on them, either around their heads or a limb. They were one of the roving groups of bandits who enjoyed violence too much to join the Citadel and were too stupid to organize properly.

Comet cursed and floated up to the air in a golden aura, she gestured to the guards who sighted down their rifles and let out a few bursts that struck the concrete a few feet in front of the mob. They stopped moving but started yelling and cursing at the Citadel forces. Comet yelled over the din, the mob was well within rifle range, "Stop right there! We're collecting supplies now. We'll offer some clothes and food but none of you move from that spot or we start shooting." A man yelled out, "Fuck you Freak! The fucking monsters are giving us grief. We need that shit. Give it up and we let you walk." Comet shouted back, "We can work this out. We have a large group. We'll give you what food you need but we keep the rest." The man yelled, "I got bitches to feed! We're coming and we're taking!" Comet gestured and a large golden wall appeared in front of them as they started banging on the wall. It had no effect and several of them started breaking off and running in two directions. They were trying to circle around.

Comet cursed as the guards took position on all sides and keyed the radio, "Scavengers this is Comet, Collection team move your ass! I want you to strip down everything and get back here in ten! Advance squad, are you able to proceed quickly and safely? We have a situation and I don't want to get bogged down in the waste. So either secure the area fast or get down here. Your call over."

---

In the processing center matters proceeded smoothly. Most of the potential residents were torn down and weary but none were violently unstable, many had families and just wanted to go to safety. They were anxious about potentially being denied entry but it did not seem any were spies or bandits. A few of the young teens there might have even been psions. A few psions manifested at a young age but for many their abilities started to appear with the onset of puberty. These young budding talents felt the brush of Spiro's mind but could not identify it as more than a sensation of another presence. They didn't even know about their own abilities at this point. Not all psions were telepaths and the youths seemed to be mediums or clairvoyants for the most part.

All seemed well until Spiro reached the last room. There were two people in there, man and woman. A Caucasian male, both white. They had arrived at the gate together. And Spiro could not get more than the knowledge of their presence. He knew they were there but their minds were blocked to his probes. He could hear them moving around in there but the door was locked. Either the duo were trained or were not entirely human. And they may be hostile. Spiro needed to proceed very carefully here. The guards noticed that something was wrong and the lead whispered, "What do we do sir? Call for backup? Bust in now?"

---

The associates present at the meeting, two dozen or so supers in all listened to the speakers thoughtfully. Some were heroes, some had been criminals, some had made money off their powers, and others had helped civilians in ways other than fighting crime. It would be trying to get even this small number of associates to agree on a course of action. Pariah was well respected because he had fought alongside the first metahuman heroes since the beginning while Cassandra had respect because the Prometheus Group had built hospitals and schools while she fought her own fair share of villains. It was their voices that would be needed to decide on a course of action.

Cassandra stood in her power armor and said, "I like the idea of this charm offensive. We did it all the time at Prometheus after I appeared in the Athena suit. Parades, ribbon cuttings that kind of thing. It would be good PR to get more of our guys on the ground with the civilians. Those three you mentioned have good temperament. We could rotate them to Patrol. Let the kiddies and their parents see them walk the streets and get friendly."

Pariah spoke up as he leaned on the table with his fists against the wood, "Sekhem does have a point. We need to keep them busy, keep them well supplied. Our production is proceeding well enough but they need more rewarding work. And distractions." A tattooed, dark haired woman called Nightshade leaned back and sneered at Sekhem, "That may well be but I'd be careful taking advice from him. Destiny didn't trust him and neither do I." After Destiny's death Nightshade was one of the premier magic users left. She had been Thomas Vakil's apprentice, and some said they were closer than that. The Archmage known as Destiny had been a powerful and learned mage. He had never been at ease in Sekhem's presence, and that didn't change up until he gave his life to power the ward that kept dangerous entities outside the walls from getting at those inside.

A hispanic man in dark leather named Beast said, "Mummy has a point. We let the civs stay busy and stupid and they won't try anything." One of the scavenger leaders, a tall black man named Iceberg replied, "I'm not saying it's not a valid idea. I'm saying anything he wants us to do might best not be done. We all know he's up to no good. With all the trash that's flooding the shantytowns." The sheriff, a man in a tan uniform with a cowboy hat codenamed Lonestar said, "The investigation into these incidents is ongoing. And there is no concrete evidence linking any associate of this council to them." Nightshade snorted, "I don't need evidence to know he's crooked." Murmurs began to cross the room as the associates silently discussed the rumors of Sekhem's involvement in a secret criminal syndicate in the Citadel. Extortion, drugs, smuggling, sex slaves, the whispers were unsubstantiated but many were suspicious. A bespectacled small man in a suit, a minor tier psion named the Owl said, "Let me remind the council that Sekhem's Morale Commitee has done a lot of good for the population. The youth center and cinema are-"

"Smokescreen for his fucking cult," growled Nightshade and a few in the rows seemed to agree while most were still uncommitted. Pariah talked above the murmuring, "We're all on the same team now. If anyone here is guilty of undermining the security and well-being of the Citadel, they will be brought to justice. Otherwise, I will not have anyone be unjustly accused. That's all there is to it." That seemed to quiet the chatter, though Nightshade looked like she swallowed a lemon.

Pariah continued, "As for his plan, it's not fully workable. We can increase the wall guard and the patrols but the scavenging runs can't be expanded further at this time. We don't know much about the other colony and I won't have our manpower stretched thin. We keep the runs well-staffed but we aren't increasing the pace until we know more." Cassandra spoke up, "As you all know, as the current plan stands the elections will have each district elect a representative while the population will vote on a Mayor. The Tower will have one of us as a representative and the eventual Council will make the majority of legislation, unless more than a thousand citizens sign a petition for a direct vote on legislation. The mayor will be the one who controls the daily operation of the Citadel. It's critical that one of us or someone sympathetic to us will win the position. If they cooperate with us things can keep running smoothly, but if an opponent wins it could be disastrous for the colony."

A rumbling of assent grew. Most of the supers recognized that their influence shepherded the survivors to the Citadel and got the facility running. Many heroes were antsy about giving such powerful responsibility to a civilian politician, when it was the politicians under the influence of malignant forces that drove the Fall. Former villains did not want to give up their power to those they looked down on.

Pariah said, "Elections are coming up, not soon but they are. This period is critical. We need to earn their loyalty. We can combine these two approaches," Cassandra nodded, "Exactly. We'll pull out all the stops on this. There are some spare building materials left from the construction that we were saving for critical building. We can requisition enough to build their entertainment. I'll start drawing up designs for a small amphitheater, an expanded gymnasium for sports, a community pool, and a large playground. Anyone who takes the extra work duty will get increased rations and first entry. I'll get my PR department on an ad campaign and I need each of you to get the word out."

Pariah spoke, "Each of you have skills that contribute to our community, and teams of civilians who have similar roles. The civilians need more work than building and farming. I want the hospital, the armory, the library, and all of our specialist departments to start taking in more apprentices. Start with the teens of high-school and college age. I want all supers with these kind of skills out there, interacting with the populace, mentoring the next wave of skilled workers. We're going to offer increased rations and other incentives for each successful new specialist."

Cassandra piped in, "I know that we have a lot of civs who were involved in the arts and sports before they came here. And a few of us are as well. I'm putting the word out. We're going to start creating our own new media. We'll find budding writers, amateur artists, musicians, athletes. And put our people into training them. Make our own leagues, distribute our own e-books, put up our own live performances, display our own art, hold contests. All sponsored by the Council. I want everyone to reach out to their civilian contacts to get the ball rolling on this."

Pariah said, "Everyone of us with these kind of skills that we can spare from critical guard positions will start getting rotated into these mentorships and community relations. Scavengers not on active runs will train the next generation. Patrol and Wall Guard will take on more deputies. We'll show them we can be worked with and trusted."

"And we need to build our own numbers. New metahumans can pop up randomly at any time, and most of the ones who manifested in the Citadel have joined us pretty much immediately. But Psions and Magic users usually develop around puberty. The schools might have young supers that don't even know it yet, especially since we know that Psions and Supernaturals were more and more common leading up to the Fall. I want the Psions and the Magic Collective to start looking for potential recruits and training them. Offer their parents more rations and board in the tower, and very few will resist. We could have more Exorcists, Enchanters, Alchemists, and even Mages if we are lucky," Nightshade, who lead the Collective nodded while a man sitting next to the Owl, a seer named Prophet did the same. Cassandra said, "I can always use more on my team. I'll offer apprentice ships in Prometheus for promising candidates. My buddies in the bazaar, the ones who make their own homemade goods, will start looking for new staff."

Pariah gestured to Sekhem, "The Council and all associated departments will be taking direct patronage of these efforts but I encourage your own group to participate. We will have future meetings to discuss this between the full assembly but this is the plan we have at the moment thanks to some good ideas," Pariah nodded at Dozer and Steel. Cassandra spoke, "I believe we are adjourned. Return to your departments and start spreading the buzz. We will meet again tomo-"

She was interrupted as every radio in the room buzzed, "This is Deadeye. I got a whole mess of armed mythics riding down the road. No attacks yet but there's hundreds of 'em, maybe a thousand. Need backup here." Pariah accessed the PA, "All work duty is suspended. All Scavengers and Wall Guards report to the wall. Patrol Guards remain at posts. Emergency Personnel to your stations. Non-essential personnel return to your homes in a calm and orderly manner. This is code-yellow. Remain in shelter until we signal the all-clear." Cassandra gestured to Lonestar, "I need you and your men to get the civvies moving without panic. My guys will back you up. Everyone else, you heard the man."

---

The room emptied as the supers went to their duties. It had been quite a while since a major incursion of mythics had tested their perimeter and it had not been pretty. Mythics were usually superior to humans in pure physical capability, manifested magic at a greater rate, had access to enchanted or poison weapons, and often had mythic beasts as support. Pariah and Cassandra walked in a brisk pace to the wall with every other combat super while the Patrolmen started to calmly direct the civilians to their homes. The streets of the Citadel slowly emptied as the posse of supers moved to the wall, not running in order to keep them from panicking.

Jeeps moved down the street to the gate while squads of wall-guards and scavengers jogged with weapons in hand. Every section of the wall and every gate saw extra men but the mythic were approaching the main gate. There jeeps formed a blockade in front of the gate behind Sentinel who stood with spear and shield at the ready. The tall warrior nodded to them as they ascended the wall. The combat supers stood on a platform above the men or stood with them in the battlements, where they were shoulder-to-shoulder weapons at the ready as a mass of mythics calmly advanced.

Pariah looked through his binoculars. Indeed there were hundreds of them, and there was likely around a thousand. It was a menagerie of mythics. Tall elves in tribal war paint with bows, daggers, and swords. Dwarves toting mostly two-handed weapons with heavy armor alongside Gnomes in leather with shortswords. Harpies perched in buildings along the road. A few gorgons slithering with snakes hissing. Broad ten-foot trolls ambling with tree trunk clubs alongside similarly massive cyclopses. Scores of tiny goblins with crude spears and daggers marching in loose formation while ghasts oozed forward in droves. Large dogs with three-heads. Centaurs clopping with bows. Svelte nymphs gracefully striding. Bands of ogres, around seven to eight feet tall with curving horns and scars alongside Minotaurs dragging axes and snorting steam. Packs of tall Ghouls with sharp teeth and long claws with goat-faced satyrs and horned fauns. He even saw Werewolves in bestial form and lone human-like figures that could have been blood-sucking vampires, enchanting sirens, wailing banshees, or any number of near-human mythics.Some of them even had scavenged firearms. Virtually every kind of non-demonic mythic in North America could be seen. Mythics usually kept to their own races but it seemed several had come together.

The leaders rode on horses, there were seven of them. Each leader was of a different race but the one in the very front wore a metal helmet that obscured their features and rode a unicorn. A Centaur rode next to them waving a tall white banner. Chatter started and Pariah turned to see an elf and a cadre of assorted mythics ascend the walls. The elf wore fur robes and had intricate green marks on his face. They were the magi of Dark Town, mythics who left wasteland tribal life to join the Citadel, and Gariel was their leader. Many guards started to whisper in suspicious tones. Gariel spoke, "I believe them to come in peace. There are old oaths in our world and the white banner signifies peaceful intention." Beast snorted, "Peace? Looks like a war party." Gariel shook his head, "It is not all warriors. Look closer. You can see they bring old ones. Sick ones. Children." Cassandra zoomed in and saw that he was right. There were great big aurochs who drew carts with elderly and ill mythics while children gripped the hands of their parents.

A masked man with bare muscled arms named Tank said, "Fuck that. We're at war with those things. Warning shots. And if they don't turn back we start shooting, drop them before they drop us." Some of the guards nodded agreement while the supers began debating hotly. Cassandra spoke, "They don't have anything that can hurt me. I say a few the toughest of us get out there and see what's what. If they come to negotiate, I can handle it." Gariel spoke up, "You're taking me too." Cassandra said, "Fine. Pariah you should stay on the walls, we need you if it comes to a fight." Pariah nodded, "Agreed. Does anyone else wish to join them? We need to handle this delicately. If it breaks out into a fight they could very well overwhelm us in such numbers. It is essential that a peaceful resolution is found if possible. Under no circumstances can anyone strike first." A few volunteered on the spot. Pariah nodded at Dozer, "I can't order you to go but you're one of our heavies as well. Same for you Sekhem. If it blows up, you both have a fair chance of survival." Pariah called out to Deadeye, "If any of them move to harm our people, shoot." Deadeye grunted in acknowledgement.

The mythics stopped around a mile down the road and held their position. The guards kept their weapons down for the moment but the tension was palpable as the volunteers for the negotiation party descended the stairs. Cassandra nodded to Sentinel, "Wish us luck." Sentinel dipped his helmeted chin and the supers boarded two jeeps and drove while Cassandra and two others flew. They stopped within shouting distance and got out of the vehicles as Cassandra landed. Gariel yelled out in old elvish and received a response from a matronly elf atop a mount. Gariel spoke in english to the supers, "She swears us safe conduct. Our races hold our spoken word to high regard. They won't brazenly break such oaths for fear of the gods. Their leaders want to meet us in the middle." Cassandra stroked her armored chin in an unconscious gesture,"There's always a loophole. But if we don't talk this out, they might get restless and want to be more... ah intimate in their discussion. Thoughts?"

Dozer simply gazed at Sekhem cooly, her stare sharp as a knife. She didn't like the mummy, and didn't trust him at all. However, he was correct. They did need something for everyone to do together. Everyone in the room was aware of her gaze, and the distrust it strongly implied. However, she said nothing until the argument was almost over.

"His plan is valid: his requests for more power and resources are not. That's all I have to say." She REALLY didn't like being in the same room as that shifty mummy, it gave her a sort of... uncomfortable feeling. However, as many people pointed out, they are all on the same team, now, so she had to work together. Luckily, Cassandra, (God, she loved that woman,) handled the situation better than she ever would've. Continuing to glare at the mummy, Celine's head whipped around in the direction of her radio, on the table. Hearing her orders, she grabbed her radio and started talking to Andrew, and the rest of her men, as well as Aegis, a Citadel Guard division leader, who she worked with closely on several occasions.

Exiting the Tower, Celine kept barking orders into the radio, and began to jog, her body moving faster than most of the others, although there were a few metahumans with enhanced speed to help them along. When she passed Sentinel, she clapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, speaking in a low voice, "I know your duty is to protect the main gate, but if things get dicey, don't hesitate to fall back to protect the civvies, you hear? The gate, while important, isn't as big of a deal as the people." Sentinel nodded, and saluted her with his shield. However, she had already moved on, and gave him a distracted, halfhearted salute in reply, taking the stairs two at a time. When she reached the top of the wall, she rushed to stand beside Andrew, and grabbed his pair of binoculars from his toolbelt. Scanning the horde, she saw everything that Pariah saw, as well as what Cassandra saw, although in a lower resolution.

While they did have the elderly, ill, and young with them, Celine had seen gangs in L.A. that had done the same thing. Everyone went to a rumble, no matter if your arm was broken or if you were only twelve. So she didn't trust the mythics (excepting the Dark Towners) one bit.

Listening to Cassandra, Dozer grinned. "Hey, Cass, I was planning on going, no matter what you told me. However, I guess I'm not the one for diplomacy, so I'll try and keep my mouth shut. And let 'em come! I'd like to see them try and take us!"

Sphinx waved down his guards, who were apparently starting to worry. They really didn’t have any sort of formal training, and were honestly civilians that they had given guns. As such, Sphinx would consider them as much a threat to his own life as they would be to any potential threats if they began to panic. “Hang on a minute,” he said, trying to placate them.

The minds inside of the room were warded from the influence of his telepathy, but that didn’t mean that they were the only minds in the room. His eyes once more took on an ethereal glow as he psychic powers sprang back to life. Sphinx mentally searched the small domicile thoroughly, mostly concentrating his efforts around the floors and walls. He quickly found what he was looking for: a mouse. Sphinx entered the rodent’s mind, a task not unlike putting a round peg in a square hole, and assumed control over its senses. The tiny creature had just become eyes and ears for Sphinx inside of the shack.

The mouse’s sight wasn’t particularly sharp, but it would be sufficient for gaining a better grasp of what Sphinx was contending with. He gave it a strong suggestion to scurry into the main room, closer to the two persons, and the overwhelmed rodent had little choice but to obey the mind that had come to dominate its own. Silently skittering closer to the individuals, Sphinx was able to get a decent look at whoever had been blocking out his attempts at telepathy.

---

Sekhem’s suggestion was received about as well as he had expected it to be. There were dissidents, of course, but most had nothing more than ad hominems and uncredited accusations with which to oppose him. Others vied for his proposal and credibility, Pariah included. Sekhem looked to Nightshade smugly, his attempt at a smile looking more like a grimace. Even so, the look in his eyes conveyed to her all that needed to be said. He didn’t need to fight her off. Her allies would do that for him. He looked then to Lonestar, but it was only a passing glance; no need to give anything away. He was on the take, of course. Lonestar had been hesitant to throw in his lot with Sekhem, but unlike most in attendance, he had a family. As such had greater personal responsibilities to fulfil, as well as far more to lose.

Discussion moved on to the upcoming mayoral election. Sekhem’s continued belief was that the impending (that is to say, deliberate) conflict with the nearby settlement would indefinitely postpone such elections, but he listened in regardless. As always, the superhuman collective was terrified of having to give up any of its power. It was only natural, Sekhem supposed, considering that subservience would be alien to self-important “heroes” such as these. Sekhem idly considered which candidates would have an effect on his greater plans. Most of the lesser superhumans, and nearly any civilian would have no bearing; they could be dealt with easily enough. Pariah’s competency would be a greater risk, but he was disliked by the masses, and unlikely to win an honest poll. Cassandra stood a better chance of being elected, but she ruled so much of the Citadel already that civilians would likely to balk at the idea of handing her the rest of the Citadel. Or at the very least, Sekhem could make sure that they held that sentiment.

Plans were discussed for further expansion and urban renewal. Interesting ideas, and Sekhem was not totally surprised that he and Cassandra had most followed the same course of thought regarding these plans. The woman was at least partially aware that she was more or less treading into Sekhem’s territory with these plans, and offered him a sort of apologetic acknowledgment.

Sekhem kept his features stern, yet civil, as he replied, “Of course, the Morale Committee would be honored to dedicate manpower to the success and efficiency of these projects. Such is our specialty, after all.” While his words seemed perfectly diplomatic, they carried a subtext that only pragmatists such as himself and Cassandra would notice. More or less, his true statement was, “You’ve ventured into my territory. Cut me in, or I’ll impede you at every turn.”

The meeting came close to adjournment when the developing situation was radioed in. Sekhem traveled with the rest of the present party to the main gates, where they found the Mythic host. There were a lot of them, but Sekhem could tell apart true strength from the deliberate appearance of strength. They were starving, sick and wounded. Mostly noncombatants, with their strongest warriors put at the front for appearances. If they tried to attack, they would accomplish little beyond breaking themselves upon the Citadel’s walls.

Apparently this was a diplomatic visit, if Gariel was to be believed. Sekhem still didn’t like the look of it. This was a mass emigration, this much was obvious. Something had to have driven them together like this, as such hated rivals as Dwarves and Elves would have never aligned willingly. Not to mention that this was likely the bulk of their population. If diplomacy failed, they would likely all be killed. Fear most likely drove them to this desperate move, but fear of what?

Pariah offered Sekhem to accompany Cassandra’s diplomatic party. Of all of the people in the Citadel, Sekhem had no stronger enemy and likely ally than Pariah. The man trusted no one, and in doing so was never fully trusted. He used this as his strength, to make the decisions that no one else could. Sekhem respected this, and knew fully well how to play it to his own advantage.

Before the diplomatic party set out, Sekhem stood close in to Pariah and spoke quietly so that only he could hear, “They’re running from something. I don’t know what, but if it could unite them, it could also destroy them. They’re seeking asylum, I have no doubt. We can’t support an influx of numbers that large, and the civilians will never tolerate it.” Sekhem spoke plain truths that most were loath to even consider, but Pariah was the only man to both acknowledge and act on them. “If an… incident were to break out at the meeting… Withdraw until they meet the walls. Then attack their flanks with mages. Their warriors are few and they will break quickly. Crush them now, and they will never return.”

Without another word or even a passing glance to Pariah, Sekhem stepped away to join the gathering diplomatic party, not waiting for Pariah’s response. They both knew what had to be done. The only matter was if he had the stomach to see it through. Sekhem had seen the man tested before, but not like this. His choice was to either damn to Mythics to pitiless deaths in the wastes, or upset the stability of the Citadel. In either case, he played right into Sekhem’s hands.

There was a certain wonder to the fallen land of LA. Once a population center now empty and broken. Sometimes Isaac found the sights welcome a reset to put humanity back in it's place let us trim the fat and really become who we should be. An end all be all to the old corrupt governments, a removal of old world ties, a chance to decide again what life was about. The cost was always too high though. Isaac wasn’t sure whether to pity the dead or those left behind. The orphans, the widows, the fathers left with only memories. Isaac knew all the stories. He knew them too well. He sat back unusually quiet looking at the new world, and just existing.

Jack looked to his friend's cold expression it would be best to lighten the mood.

"So, been a while to get this whole band back together. Never get to hang out with you guys anymore. It's been at least a month flare, and DaVinci has to been at longer than that. I know you've met Isaac, hayden, but have you Anna? He doesn't get out much. He runs the archives keeps all that stuff we need to remember safe."

"Heh, really it's a thankless task. I'm happy to do it though. We head the archive, the network, mage studies, supply general education stuff, and maintain the memorial. Lot's of work, but it's all a long term hope. Only matters if you guys keep us going. Maybe then we can make it a better place for the next generation." Isaac went on smiling vaguely at the possibility, "You have anyone else in the Citadel, Anna? It's a lonely place sometimes, so many without anyone left. I'm lucky I met Jack we've been like brothers after fighting through the wastes to get here."

"I had three having one more ain't so strange. Isaac is the strange part." Jack added.

====

Mobs. Despite fighting every kind of wasteland monster and all sorts of superhuman or magical shit there was nothing Jack feared more. More often than not it was a band of terrified desperate people doing what had to be done. Mobs had so much power people thrown together kept by fear and hate. Meeting them with drawn guns and powers often just cemented that mentality. With luck they could be met with compassion.

"Wait! We can do better than that." Jack called to comet jumping out of the jeep his bright red duffle with the white cross on his shoulder, "We can offer you something you can't salvage from the wastes. I'm a doctor. If you give my group time to work I'll trade treatments and give you some recipes for natural cures all from plants out here."

The medic looked out at the crowd eyes pleading that this would not end in a brawl, or worse a bloodbath. He wasn't new to the wastes he had as high a kill count as any, but that didn’t change anything. These were people scared people who just want to survive. He was a medic first and foremost. He was there to save life not take it. Sometimes that meant choosing a side a "greater good" though more often "lesser evil." It never got easier being Reaper. Jack wondered how Grim did it all these years.

Isaac had been leading the scavengers up the stairs his ballistic shield, Matilda VII, acting as mobile cover while everyone was ready with weapons or powers behind him. He’d bash open the door push in just enough for everyone to get a good look and then they’d disperse to check the floor. Everyone had something to look for. Isaac did what he did best and took every last bit of electronics for his scrap heap back in the citadel. Most people didn’t have electricity or even a use for this kind of stuff, but the war had gotten lots of it destroyed. The elements weren’t kind to the elements, so Isaac took what he could get cramming them into a duffle bag on his back. He’d rip apart ovens fridges for the wires and switches, any last bit of a clock radio, every last bit could be reused to him. He threw it all in before returning to the stairs going up and up.

When the radio call came in Isaac decided it was time to move things along.

“Meet you on the roof.” He said going to the nearest window and smashing it out with his metal arm before firing his grapple up to the top.

He started scaling the building only giving a short glance below. They were on the far side unable to be seen by the convoy or the boogies. Isaac’s arm reeled him in and he positioned himself on the roof. He had come up behind a short of handyman’s shed on the roof, and hunkered down there checking his tool belt for what would be need to uninstall the panels.

“Alright I’m on the roof." Isaac radio'd in to comet, "This’ll be a piece of cake from here. Just keep the boogies busy. Doesn’t matter if we can’t get these panels home.”

Sphinx's little spy skittered into the room and spied the man and woman. They had been searched thoroughly on their arrival and possessed no weapons. But it looked like they didn't need them. The man, a tall and broadly built man of around thirty-five, blonde with blue eyes, cracked his fists which flickered in flame. The woman who was similarly tall and muscled, with short brown hair and green eyes blew out a cloud of white frost from her mouth. She seemed to be the same age as the man. Both were metahumans, a pyrokinetic and cryokinetic. Usually new supers declared their arrival immediately but these hadn't. That meant the two had something to hide. Their bearing and calm posture indicated they weren't regular civilians, they were trained. Trained in combat almost certainly but also to resist psychic examination. It took remarkable concentration to do so. Pariah had made all of the associates undergo the training but they had never encountered anyone else with the same capability. Until now.

For now the two metas were docile, leaning on the walls on the shack and speaking in hushed tones. The woman who sat cross-legged on the bed said, "How long do you think we're going to be in here?" The man shrugged his shoulders, "Hard to say. Whenever they think we're not a threat." The woman nodded, "When their telepath comes by we have to let some things slip. But not too much." The man lazily scanned the room, "I know that. The boss won't tolerate any failure." Suddenly the sounds of the PA system filtered over the air and the general hustle of the civilian population started as the workers fled to the safety of their homes. The woman stood up, "The Mythics must have showed up. Faster than I thought they would." The man chuckled, "Boss has them running scared."

"Should we do something? If they work out a deal it could create complications."

The man regarded her, "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm thinking we get out of here and cause some chaos. Make them start shooting at each other. Leave them scrambling and watch the carnage."

The man rubbed his chin, "It's risky. There's a lot of guards here. And other supers. We're not supposed to start operations until we integrate with their population."

"Yes, but if we're careful we can weaken both sides, let the boss have a better chance."

"If it doesn't work we'll end up dead."

"But if it does work we'll get a promotion."

The man nodded and smiled, "Alright then. Let's start by getting out of here." The woman grinned and frost and flame started gathering around their hands, each of them obviously willing to kill everyone in the building. They were on the outskirts of a residential district, in the shadow of the wall. If something started here it would wreak havoc on the defenses and could get many innocents killed. Sphinx needed to act immediately.

---

Pariah seemed to ignore Sekhem but his mind worked furiously, mulling over his options. Neither was optimal and Pariah knew that anything he did would likely play right into Sekhem's hands. He needed another way, hopefully Cassandra would find an answer. The supers and their subordinates stood shoulder to shoulder on the wall, ready to start blasting or shooting if violence erupted. Some of them were scared, some were anxious, and the rest were eager to start mowing down mythics. There was a lot of bad blood between humans and the magic races, and it was casting tension over the Wall. Pariah could rely on many of them to keep themselves in check, but not all of them. Whatever happened down there, it needed to happen soon. Pariah listened in over the radio.

Cassandra finally made a decision, "Gariel, you and me will go in front. Everyone else will follow but give us some space. Let's not spook them. None of us can shoot first. Tell them we're coming over." The elf nodded in relief and called out over the road. The older elf woman replied and the two parties began slowly advancing towards each other, every eye for miles around was on them as they moved forward. Cassandra felt herself tense, every rumbling step in her armor only adding to the churning in her gut. She wasn't scared to fight but if they got this wrong, it would be war with the entire wasteland. They might kill or capture most of the mythics but some would escape, spread tales of what happened and then every scavenger and wall guard would be a target. They'd ambush all their scavenger parties, launch surprise attacks on the wall. The civilians would get restless and they might have a full blown riot inside the Citadel with guerrilla fighters on the outside. It would be a disaster. Cassandra would need every ounce of diplomacy.

Finally the two parties met each other in the middle. Gariel stepped forward and bowed his head, the mythics on the horses returning the gesture. The elf slipped out a knife and cut his hand while his female counterpart did the same. They moved towards each other and pressed their palms together, a blue corona of energy surrounded the both of them and they each retreated to their companions. Gariel nodded at Cassandra, "We performed an ancient blood oath. Any who break the oath will suffer a curse on their heads." Cassandra nodded, "Ask them if they understand English." Gariel spoke out a phrase and the armored figure in the middle replied, "Indeed we do Human. Most of us know your tongue.'

Cassandra stepped forward, "My name is Cassandra Patel, you may know me as Athena. To whom am I speaking?"

The armored figure dipped his head, "Ah Athena, you take an ancient name Human, though I hear you are worthy of it. I have no name you can say in your tongue but I am known as Nightsong." He gestured to his companions, a female elf, a brawny male dwarf, a female ogre with long curving horns, and a male centaur, "You have the honor of addressing Shara the White, Dumin Redbeard, Kasha the Impaler, and Haryo the Swift." Cassandra nodded to them all and identified the Citadel party, mostly by codename.

Cassandra finally said, "What brings your peoples here today Nightsong?"

The armored figure, whose voice could not readily be identified as either male or female replied, "Many tribes and clans have come together to form a unified tribe. Our peoples used to be enemies with each other and with human clans in the city, but that time must pass. A new threat to both human and nonhuman arises. A powerful sorcerer, one who we know only as the Master, arrived suddenly several moons past. The Master commands an ever growing army of humans, those with abilities and those without, and wields magic rarely seen in your kind. He has destroyed many clans, killing those who fought and enslaving the rest. He has built a kingdom out of the bondage of our people. Humans too are little better, they are forced to work in his fortress and are little more than serfs. He has conquered many."

Nightsong hung its head, "Hundreds have perished. Thousands more toil in the Master's fortress, the Nexus, a place that rivals your own Citadel. It is the Master who has attacked your own scout parties. The Master knows you are the only true threat to its dominion of the Waste. If the Master cannot make you bow, it will destroy you instead. Many powerful creatures have decided that cooperation is better than slavery, he has an army greater than yours. Arcane servants, fanatical followers, and a horde of slaves."

Cassandra mulled it over, "How many does the Master command?" Nightsong seemed to stare right into her eyes, "As best as our scouts and mages can ascertain, Nexus has well over a hundred thousand humans, mainly serfs. The Master's fighters number in the thousands. And there are almost ten thousand more mythic slaves." Cassandra's eyes widened in the helmet, "He outnumbers us nearly ten to one!" Nightsong nodded, "And he has just as many superhumans as you do. Not all follow him willingly, but they are threats just the same. As our people fell, we realized we could not survive on our own. We banded together and took everyone we could here. If the Master is left unchecked the entire city will fall, his power will keep growing. We must stop him now, and to do so we must work together."

The hero ran over it in her head, "We can't take just your word on it. We have to find this out for ourselves." Nightsong nodded, "I didn't expect you to take us at face value. But we are willing to prove it. I will show you Nexus myself, and you can find the truth of it. But in the meantime, the people are desperate. We have many weak, many sick or wounded. We cannot flee anywhere else. We need shelter." Cassandra sighed, "We can take those who need treatment into our fortress, and you may select an envoy with an escort to enter as well. But we cannot allow all of you into the Citadel. You may take shelter in the surrounding buildings but until we find out more, it may not be closer than a mile. Each of our people will keep their distance. If this Master and his threat is real, we can reconsider. But those are my terms now."

Nightsong and his companions seemed to have a spirited discussion. The Dwarf and the Ogre in particular made a lot of threatening seeming gestures and motions to the fighters behind them before Nightsong silenced them all. Nightsong turned back and said, "We agree to your terms. Those who need your aid will come forward. Shara and a dozen of our men will treat with your council. The rest will remain outside your walls to build our village. We will ride now to spread the word. You may do the same with your people. I will lead a group of your handpicked men and women to Nexus when night falls. Goodbye." The riders turned and galloped back to the host of mythics.

Cassandra keyed the radio, "Did you get all that Pariah?"

"Affirmative. You made the right choice. Head back now, we need to pick a few scouts to find out more about this Master."

After a few minutes the negotiation party was back on the wall. Most clapped the party on the back or shoulders, except Sekhem, but the others seemed to resent the negotiations. Pariah addressed the assembled men and women on the walls, "We can't trust them right now but if this Master is a real threat, we can't ignore it. I need a small group to accompany the mythic leader and find out more about Nexus. Do I have any volunteers?"