“I’m alive,” Maya cheered as she carefully examined her body, “And all limbs are intact.”

Before stepping outside, Maya checked the planet’s data on the drop pod’s computer system to make sure she wouldn’t instantly die due to environmental factors. Breathable air? Check. Temperature? A little chilly but still inhabitable. Seismic activity? Not enough to be concerned about. Local time? Roughly around noon. No other imminent threats popped up on the screen. Looks alright. Time to get a move on. As she popped the escape hatch open, steam spiraled upward from around the drop pod. Maya cautiously peered out. Darkness encompassed her. Taken aback, Maya scrunched her forehead in confusion. I thought the computer said it was daytime. Worried that there was a bug in the program, she refreshed the system and checked the data again. The clock still read the same. Taking into consideration the planet’s rotation and orientation in regards to the sun, it should have been daytime.

Maya reemerged again, wary of her surroundings. She did not like the darkness; she felt vulnerable. Her pupils struggled to dilate wide enough as they scavenged for traces of light. Maya stumbled around blindly, trying to get her footing on the rocky terrain. The lingering sense of dizziness from her descent in the drop pod did not aid the situation. Finally, like living shadows, silhouettes emerged and took shape as Maya’s eyes adjusted. Minute discrepancies between shadows revealed the jagged curvature of a barren landscape that stretched into the inky horizon. Overhead, a canopy of rolling black clouds churned angrily. Their billowy outlines were revealed only by the faint glow of artificial lights in the distance. That must be why it is so dark. Sunlight can’t penetrate the atmosphere’s cloud cover.

A cold gust of wind swirled Maya’s silvery locks around her face and stung her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself as shivers traced her spine. Unless she wanted to inadvertently become the Archon of Ice, she needed to find shelter quickly; and even more ideally, she needed to find the elusive Archon. She peered into the distance towards the almost imperceptible flicker of stark white light. While she was not entirely sure, she thought she could make out the box-ish outline of a building.

“Guess I will head that way,” she mumbled, not looking forward to the long trek.

"Hey there Fuma, an unknown craft entered the atmosphere in quadrant three. Do you copy?"

Radio's slightly annoyed updates crackle in through his craft's com system. He jumps a little, not expecting her to still be working. Honestly, he tends to zone out a bit when he's flying. It's a relaxing place for him to be, he's in control, alone. Fuma slaps his receiver and takes a deep breath.

"Yeah, yeah I'm with ya Radio. What seems to be the situation? Any more details?"

"Nope, we were waiting on your orders."

"Alright, well I'm pretty far from base... and quadrant three."

"HOW are you that far??" Radio scrolls over her map, searching for signs of Fuma's craft. His trail vanishes at the edge of her known map, the lastly charted territories of the battle field as well as enemy territory. It just vanishes. "Fuma it's not safe to just take off wherever! How long have you been doing this?"

Fuma reaches to terminate the transmissions but stops, remembering the original reason she began making contact with him.

"... Send out a scout team, I'll be back soon. Do NOT, deploy Rai. He stays home this time." He flips off the signal and pulls his craft around, headed back to base from his unknown location.

This... this could be interesting. Something other than the enemy for once.

The dank, suffocating landscape seems to grab at his craft, like cold and living tendrils. His disregard for them is evident as the craft glides through the clouds, thoughts circling all the things he has planned. He checks his mask for cracks and solidity, preparing to deal with whatever threats may come.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The scouting troupe of four bikers rev up, preparing for the gates to be opened. They roll out into the perpetual night, speeding toward the given coordinates dispatched by Radio. The engines don't even echo in the canyon drop off, swallowed up by the swirling presence around. It's going to be a long day.

Maya pulled her jacket tightly against her torso in hopes of conserving every precious ounce of heat her body produced. Her glassy eyes watered in protest against the biting wind. The climate was far from arctic, but the Archon had a low tolerance for the cold. Out of all the coordinates that Marcus wrote down, I just had to go and choose this lovelllly planet. Sunshine is overrated anyway. The crumbly shale surface crunched beneath her boots as she stomped through the darkness. Every now and then, a protruding rock would send her lurching forward as she blindly fought her ways towards the glowing horizon. Expletives rolled off her tongue in frothing frustration.

The soft purr of machinery intermingled almost imperceptibly with the whistling wind. At first, Maya thought she was imagining it, but then she saw the headlights of approaching vehicles. The noise got louder as the lights got brighter. The outline of four automobiles, which Maya recalled as being referred to as motorcycles, zipped across the shadowy landscape. Maya inhaled sharply. Her heart felt like a heavy knot in her chest. Not knowing the intentions of the advancing figures, she could not help but to panic. She clutched her trident. Four against one, while doable, was not advantageous.

Andromeda asserted her own input. Whatever you do, refrain from using your powers if at all possible. On one hand, they might reverently place you on a pedestal like a goddess, but alternatively, they may burn you at the stake like a witch. Could go either way, really.

Duly noted.

Maya would have to make a decision fast or else she would be left standing in the open like a deer in the headlights. She opted for the running and hiding option. Just as the motorcycles approached, she ducked behind a large rock, sliding across the gravelly ground. A billow of dust clouded around her. To Maya’s dismay, the sound of revving engines slowed and then cut off. No, dammit. Keep moving along. She pressed her back against the cool surface of the boulder and held her breath. Her heartbeats rattled her ribcage in furious sputters. She could hear the sound of heavy footsteps, but the voices were hushed so that she could not discern what they were saying.

An irritating tickle emanated from the base of her sinuses.

No, no, no.Maya thought woefully as she rubbed her nose desperately, This can’t happen.

You have to be kidding. A sneeze? Really?

Does this look like a joke? Maya remarked snarkily as the prickle got more intense.

Don’t you dare.

Maya’s mouth quivered. Her eyes watered. I can’t exactly help it. It’s dusty behind this rock.

I swear…Andromeda started.

“ACHOO.”

You imbecile. Pure disappointment surged from the spirit.

The Water Archon could not restrain herself any longer. Closing her eyes, she clamped her hands across her face and hoped that the individuals did not hear her sneeze. Things were about to get complicated.

The plan had gone exactly according to the plan, of course as the plan was laid out it was possible for the enemy to have a counter plan, however this was thought of in advance and so a plan was made to counter the plan that would've been devised to counter the original plan. It was then thought that if the enemy were to think that there was a plan to counter their plan, that they would have devised a plan to counter that plan. So it was planned to commence the original plan to foil the counter counter plan that they undoubtedly had in place.

As he sat in the head researcher's office, The Doppelganger mused over how that was needlessly complicated.

The head researcher in question, having no knowledge of aforementioned plans, was still about to shit a square brick.

"We were w-warned about you, h-h-how could you b-be worse th-than what we were t-t-told to expect? We-"

The Doppelganger proceeded to cut him off with a gesture

"Hold on there Mr. Stutter, you were warned, about me specifically?"

The research director gave the universal look that stated that he said too much. The Doppelganger continued

"So, you're saying, that you were warned about me, and yet you settled on these scraps of trash you found bellow the barrel? Frankly I'm utterly insulted, you thought that I was worthless? That I couldn't handle a few token security guards and automated defenses? That I didn't have an entire team of people that are really good at murdering other people at my beck and call? Who the FUCK warned you? WHO!?" he leaped to his feet and his hands slammed onto the researcher's desk, emphasizing his words.

The Head Researcher, for the life of him, could not remember, The Doppelganger was not amused.
"So you we have a rodent, scurrying along the cracks, now isn't that lovely. Now you're going to tell me something you can remember, why did you acquire the weapons."

"We-we tried to harness their power, confirm the st-t-t-ory"

"You do realize, that they only work when somebody with the right genes touches them, right? You were told this correct?"

"C-correct"

"Then why the fuck were you trying to break the rules? And with what? That useless green paper people like you seem to love to flaunt about with, you realize that you can't force through the building blocks of the universe with money right? You're not serious are you? What? You're serious? What the hell is wrong with you, are you THAT soft, and THAT used to your pathetic little society where everything can be bought? Time to learn about something that you can't change kiddo, better pay attention because class is in session"

With that said he flipped the desk over to its side, and yanked a blade from its sheath. It pulsed with a malevolent energy, a piece of equipment granted to all captains of Ragnarok.

"This little toy here is like those weapons you tried to research, not exact, but its enough for mere mortals such as me to use, care to see what it does?"

Before the man could so much as think to react, the blade was plunged into the soft flesh underneath his mouth, cutting off a terrified yelp into a confused gurgle as blood frothed forth from an ever increasing gap. The Doppelganger twisted it out then proceeded to stab him in the chest, with practiced precision he pierced the heart once, twice, and on the third he left it embedded. Afterwards it didn't take too long for the dead man to stop thrashing. then the blade immediately set to work. The body gradually shriveled and decayed as its soul was absorbed into the corrupted metal. Finally, the body was rendered a desiccated husk. Telling him that it was safe to remove the knife.

Nice of Raggy to give me such a nice toy to play with The Doppelganger thought as he placed it back into its sheath. As he closed the door to the office and locked it, another researcher approached him and saluted.

"I take it everything's prepared?"

"Yes sir"

He looked at the nearby window and saw the reflection of the head researcher staring back at him. Ragnarok seemed to enjoy giving away free toys, such as these camouflage suits that could mimic nearly any appearance.

"Remember, the target is to be kept alive, only use lethal weapons if we run into a snag"

"Already understood"

"Good"

And now, I wait

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Marcus couldn't decide if these natives were stupid, or just crazy.

Probably the latter, most tend to run when they see your face

I wouldn't blame them

He stood still for a moment, surveying the crowd around him, before scanning through their minds. One in particular stood out, the woman who thought that he was.... a goddess.

what

Regardless, her mind was more.... spacious, than that of a normal being, and he only knew of one race that had a mind that felt that way.

Another tribal, great

Another indeed, this will be fun

Hopefully she won't get herself shot this time

He cleared his throat, to stop the endless chatter over his identity, and at once cancelled out the projection of darkness.

"I'm no god" he said simply, as he unsheathed Raiden from his back, pointing the tip of the blade straight at the archon heir. "But you and I need to talk"

Rai looks up from his motorcycle, and notices alot of commotion.

"Hey Radio, what's going on?"

"Nothing, we are just sending out some guys to scout an area."

"Awesome I just fixed up my bike and I'm ready to go."

"No, I need you to stay behind just in case we need you somewhere else."

Rai gets a frustrated and raises his voice some

"But why, what else would I be needed for I'm the best scout here."

"You never know so stay put until further instructions"

"Fine"

He kick his tools and sits down next to his bike, waiting for something to happen.

The leader of the scouting formation swings his leg over the bike and crunches through the sharp gravel. With every step he is reminded of the mauled scars that ravage his body. Surviving a crash in this terrain is almost worse than death, as the hungry surface was quite adept at stripping unfortunate stumblers of flesh. Shaking off the unpleasant memories, he sighs and looks around.
Communicating through his advanced holographic display within his helmet-

"See anything? Better safe than sorry."

His second in command cuts off his engine and responds.

"Negative. We haven't made it to the crash site yet, sir. As always."

Surprisingly, their ring leader has extremely poor directional abilities. Even so, his combined paranoia and extreme amounts of luck end up giving their team the highest hit stats and most valuable intelligence officers. He's truly an enigma, that no one questions.

The leader speculates aloud.

"Hm... This could be another instance like Commander Selah-"

"ACHOO-......."

"Did you hear... what I think I heard?" The taller of the four, and leader, turns toward the direction of the sneeze. He watches the dust swirl about and begin to settle behind a large black stone. He motions for his group to fall quiet and aims his gun loosely, slowly crunching to the side of the boulder. Two of the other armored men do the same toward the opposing side.

He motions for them to hold their position and takes a deep breath, calmly accepting the small amounts of adrenaline his body is barely capable to produce.

"Reveal yourself, we've surrounded you. Please don't make this hard, any commotion will alert the Enemy to our position. We all live, or none of us do." He keeps his gun trained on a possible exit, but his finger off the trigger.

Well here I am again. Nose to nose with some freak show that spiraled into the middle of our quad, without invitation. At least they didn't crash into our base. Not again. Maybe it won't be a hostile...

but I'm not going to take any chances...

The scars upon his back and throat tell a story of broken trust and missions gone awry.

But not this time.

Not this time.

Maybe, just maybe, if I sit here quietly, they will go away. Maya thought dubiously to herself. She mentally mapped out her options, quickly weighing the pros, cons, and likelihood of survival. Running would be futile. Fighting presented too many risks. Surrendering held the most potential of getting her to civilization and closer to the Archon.

Must you overthink everything? You’ve spent most of your life as a royal official. You know how to charm and lie to get what you want.

I prefer to think of it as tactfully-embellished negotiating. Most politicians and ambassadors typically weren’t pointing weapons at me, however.

"Reveal yourself,” a voice called out, “We've surrounded you. Please don't make this hard, any commotion will alert the Enemy to our position. We all live, or none of us do."

Maya nervously caressed her trident, deciding whether she should bare it defensively or retract its blades into the compact cylinder. Choosing the latter, she slid her weapon into a sheath slung around her back. Slowly, she emerged from behind the rock with her arms lifted above her head. The headlights from the motorcycles washed over her, illuminating her silvery hair. She squinted, trying to discern the faces of the shadowy silhouettes around her.

Maya cleared her throat. “Hello, gentlemen,” she greeted cordially while eyeing the myriad of guns focused on her, “No worries, I’m not wanting to cause any trouble. If you would be so kind as to lower your weapons, that would be much appreciated.”

While fighting back the spicy bile in his throat thanks to the veracity of the impact, Paul was busy picking off some leather that was sticking ever so slightly out of his boot. While, had he immediately gotten out of the pod, he probably would've been able to catch his ever-so-charming lover as she was also removing herself from a pod not terribly far from his location. Instead, Paul preoccupied himself with removing the one little piece of leather that was hanging ever so slightly, just enough for him to notice and become irritated. Paul had also cut his fingernails recently, so he was having quite a frustrating time. Finally, after a solid five minutes, Paul picked it off and was put in such a bad mood that he forgot to check the pod's schematics for oxygen levels, air pressure, etc. Thankfully he had no repercussions for his naivety on this day, but if that were to happen again he very well could've become a Paul-pancake (Paulcake?) if the gravity was too strong. Hopping out of the pod, he waved his hand to get the spiraling steam out of his face.
Barely in the distance, he could see a shape that looked an awful lot like the drop pod that he just removed himself from. Curious, Paul made his way over the pod while rubbing his arms rapidly in an attempt to stay warm. Peering inside the drop pod, he gave it a big whiff, and instantly recognized the smell.
Maya.
He couldn't place exactly what she smelled like, but it was a smell that gave him warmth inside, although he would prefer warmth outside at this point.
Odd, the coordinates for a Archon are supposed to disappear if someone is already looking for them... A glitch, maybe?
Or perhaps there are two Archons on this planet.
That'd be a change of pace, for sure.
Despite the gravely ground and murky atmosphere, Paul could just barely make out Maya's footsteps from amongst the dark soil. He had to practically form an acute angle with his body in order to make them out, but he followed the footprints nonetheless, until he bumped he tripped and fell on his head. Taking a few seconds to dust himself off, he could now make out some headlights in the distance. While they were yet to exist on his planet, he had at some point in his adventures encountered the mystical "motorcycle," a transportation device of untold power. He continued to follow the footsteps until he finally made out Maya, hiding behind a rocky structure. He was about to call out to her, but her loud sneeze covered up his voice. Maya emerged as the motorcycle riders pointed their weapons at her, and Paul remained where he was, prepared to jump out if anything went wrong. His dagger, ever at the ready, was gripped tight in his hand.

Fuma lands his craft and it dissipates into the surrounding, writhing blackness. He doesn't break stride and continues into the hangar. It's quieter, since the shift change went smoothly and without confusion. The calmer, more rested day shift just finished lunch. Now, what was he back for... Ah that's right.

Fuma taps on his radio and begins to speak but is interrupted.

"Took you long enough. The scouts have made contact with the intruder. First report states that it's a female,white hair and dark clothing. She does not appear to be hostile and did not greet our team with malice." Radio pushes a roughly typed report into his hands that he does a once over of.

"I see. Well, than we should refrain from using force." Fuma flips on his channel to the scouts and calmly speaks his orders to them.

"Good work fellas. Please lower your weapons as the lady asked, I thought I taught you to have some manners."

The leader jumps a bit at his superior's voice and reaches up to his Comm device.

"Yes sir, understood, sir." He repeats the orders as protocol demands, and the scouts lower their weapons. He takes off his helmet and nods to the strange woman in apology.

"Please forgive me, we don't take any chances around here. What happened to you, miss? You look worn, and you appear to be alone. It's too dangerous out here for that kind of behavior."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Rai shakes out her jaw length jet black hair and walks over to Fuma with growing curiosity. She listens to his orders and feels a spark of excitement. Sounds like what Radio was talking about is a lot more than she made it out to be. Even so, there are weapons to be repaired and blades to be sharpened.

There's a rumbling in the atmosphere... I can feel it. Like the thick warm winds before a storm.

Her exotic appearance and unearthly skin tones mask her wonderings as she goes about tuning up her weapons and armor, waiting for more information on the visitor.

Maya stood poised and patient as the leader of the group contacted his commanding officer. Having lost sensation in her fingertips, she lowered her hands slowly to her sides, hoping not to spark a shower of bullets. Minutes ticked by awkwardly while the man reported the details of their expedition. Tilting her head inquisitively, she carefully examined each scout in attempt to discern if any of them exhibited telltale signs of Archon lineage. Marcus was capable of reaching out with his mind in order to scan others’ thoughts, but Maya hadn’t quite perfected the skill. Instead, she relied on her acute perception to pick up on behavioral cues. None of them men before her fit the bill.

Her back stiffened; Maya was suddenly very aware of someone else in their presence, hiding in the shadows. The leader was still engrossed in conversing on the radio, and none of the others appeared to be aware that they were being watched. As the wind switched directions, she eased as she detected a familiar scent -like burning leaves mixed with leather and a sweet touch of rum. It was Paul hiding out of sight.

Sneaky bastard. He should still be in sick bay. What, did he think I couldn’t handle this mission on my own?

Well, you’re currently surrounded by men with guns…

They haven’t shot me yet.

Yet.

At that moment, the leader of the pack turned back around to Maya, taking his hat off apologetically. "Please forgive me,” he announced, “We don't take any chances around here. What happened to you, miss? You look worn, and you appear to be alone. It's too dangerous out here for that kind of behavior."

Dangerous? I wonder what has been going on on this planet…

Putting on a smile and her polite business voice, Maya replied, “No worries at all. It is completely understandable, especially in times like these. As odd as it may sound, I am actually trying to find someone of great importance to me. If it’s not too much trouble, could I possibly catch a ride with you to the nearest town or city?” She made sure that the last sentence sounded extra pitiful, pouting her lips for effect.

The leader sighs a bit and looks her up and down for additional weapons. He notes that her clothing choices are not ideal for this particular terrain of sharp rocks and unforgiving wind. She has no idea what she's walked into...

"There are no more towns. However.. we wouldn't dream of leaving you out here alone. Night is falling, come along with us."

One of the other riders slings his gun back onto his back and approaches the odd girl slowly, extending his empty hands to show he doesn't mean to harm her. He moves as though he has training for these situations.

The days are getting even shorter... only a few hours after noon and it's already dropping severely in temperature out here.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Fuma nods with satisfaction at what he hears over the radio and finally turns to Rai.

"Well well, if it isn't tardy mctardy."

Rai turns her nose up and scoffs, "Oh save it, smart ass. You okay out there? Radio seemed pretty worried."
She finishes her snide remark with genuine worry, not that she gives a crap anyways. She's just bored.

"BAH, I'm fine Rai. Heard your bike was busted, did you wreck?"

"Not this time. I upgraded her calipers and scavenged nicer tires. The tread helps, but the roads aren't any more forgiving than before. That's all," she shrugs off the observation and grins.

"Okay okay we're cool. The scouts are bringing in the unknown female, I may need you to hold things down while I have a chat with her. You good with that?"

"Right as rain, sugar."

Radio cackles through the headsets and Fuma jumps, but ends up laughing about it.

Hm... I wonder what this girl is here for. Usually they don't survive entering the atmosphere. We'll see.

As the man in charge looked her over, Maya smirked when she realized that he chalked her up to nothing more than a nonthreatening female. In reality, she could violently rip every molecule of water from their bodies before they could pull a trigger, turning them into fleshy human prunes. They weren’t worth the headache though. Plus, Maya had a strict do not attack unless provoked policy in regards to strangers. Nevertheless, the thought amused her.

No more towns? Huh. This planet sounds like a post-apocalyptic nightmare. On the bright side, if the population is diminished, it should be easy to find the Archon.

With night approaching, the air began to bite with more ferocity, sinking through to the bone. A man approached Maya cautiously as if she was a skittish deer. She raised an eyebrow and boldly walked past him, calling out, “Which bike is yours? If you would be so kind, I would like to get a move on before I freeze my tits off.”

Before hopping onto the back of the motorcycle, she glanced into the darkness to search for Paul. Part of her wanted to run and embrace him, but she was wary of blowing his cover. They had a mission to complete, and she needed him to act as back up just in case things took a turn for the worse. He was either going to have to hitch a ride himself or go for a run. Hopefully he had worn a jacket.

When the man in the center of the crater cleared his throat, the shadows absorbing back into him like mead into bread, the I'nik's hushed, tensing at the noise. Enoch gripped her ax tighter, noting the way the others around her likewise held their hands.

In a single breath, all the the tribals tensed and got into defensive positions when the figure drew an impressive blade from his back. He didn't look to be ready to pounce on them, but, then again, he had just crawled out of some decapitated skull like it was nothing more than a hammock.

Then he had to go and speak to Enoch, stating simply that they needed to talk. At once, she narrowed her eyes, while a few of her kin glanced curiously at her. Enoch continued to stare down the mysterious figure, her face worn like a stubborn mask. All that gave away her nervousness was the quick beat of her heart, visible in the hollow of her throat.

“We will do no such thing if you're pointing that weapon at me.” Enoch snapped.

Hearing that Enoch wasn't being compliant, Aarav stepped sideways to put himself between Enoch and the blade, his eyes leering. Behind him, Enoch flushed with irritation, as Aarav had all but insulted her ability to defend herself before this stranger. But as much as she wanted to shove him in the sand and tell him to eat hippo dung, now was not the time.

Instead, she stepped back around Aarav, standing to his left. “I don't know you. I don't see what we were have to talk about.”

Pandu, to Enoch's right, moved forward. Pandu was the strongest male in the village, and all but accepted as their leader in any situation that required one. Though he was easily the most muscular of the rest of the trible, he barely came up to the figure's shoulder. “We don't associate easily with outsiders. So offer your weapon in peace, or go away. Otherwise, you're our enemy.”

There was a nervous murmur of agreement that slithered along the I'nik's.

The leader climbs on his bike and kicks it in gear. Upon closer observation, the white haired woman notices that he only possesses a total of seven fingers, and his dilapidated riding gloves have been altered to accommodate such. Creepy.

Oddly, he's headed away from the blocky looking structure that was the rebel base. He didn't seem aware of it at all, that's odd. Shouldn't he be going back? Wait what- oh yeah.

"Ahhhh, sir? Might I advise a revision in regards to your navigational plan? We're going the wrong way." The second in command politely intercedes with the leader's actions to lessen the chances of a very very long night.

"I would accept said advisement and thusly resolve to flip-a-bitch." He pulls on the handle bars and turns the bike back around, headed for the base once more. He remembers this patrol quite well, and ends up guiding his team flawlessly.

"Fuma, we're en route back home. Visitor in tow." The leader promptly updates his waiting superior, on his current actions and status of the visitor.

"Excellent work, Calvin! And so timely, for once." Fuma responds to his officer optimistically, encouraging him but ending the transmission with a playful quip. He pushes back his highlighter orange hair out of his masked face and watches the fighters slowly turn in for the night. Tension always grows as night approaches, as does the silence. They're fearful, but equally exhausted. One by one they give in to sleep, and hunger.

Good... He decided. The less to interact with the visitor the better. His fighters were under enough stress already, having lost their families decades ago and live on fighting a black, burning enemy. They're fearful of the enemy, as well as their own nightmares that every fighter is enslaved to. Despite the bleak status of the dimension, Fuma always thought himself be a warm host. He made it his mission to help, protect, and accommodate stragglers. The world is a harsh one and he refused to give in to the convenience of overlooking anyone who may need help. This new visitor may not need anything that his rebellion has to offer, but he would certainly do what he could to ensure they aren't left behind.

We're the good guys. The good guys always suffer, but that doesn't mean that others should have to bear that suffering as well. His rather romantic musings are interrupted as a pounding comes from the hangar door and the scout troupe enters in their tight formation. Fuma jumps a bit but takes a deep breath and stands. He fixes his annoying hair again, and strides across the hangar with a confident gait. His masks tries to depict a smile with the strange markings, and he gestures to the visitor with a half bow.

Calvin, the ring leader, pulls off his helmet and allows his black eyes to adjust to the bright light in the hangar as he shakes out his white-blonde hair. With a bit of a jerky movement, he assists the visitor with getting off his motorcycle and steps aside to allow unhindered contact with Fuma, as he would prefer that.

"Welcome to the Circus, miss. I'm Fuma. Who might you be?"

There were times that Deidre appreciated being here, like when she woke up in the morning the first few days with a rumbling in her stomach. She was grateful that she was dry, sheltered, and could rely on the next meal coming. At night, though, when they turned down the lights in the cell block and the metal doors had all been locked tight, she wasn’t so fond of this place. There wasn’t much down-time in the evenings, and they weren’t permitted to have things like books with them during this time.

And that was part of the consequence of being in prison, really, a lack of control. Rhonda lay on her bed, arms folded across her stomach, probably trying to decide what she was going to say tomorrow to make her stories even more outlandish. Deedee lay on the floor, doing reps of thirty-second exercises.

Crunches, superman, bicycle, push ups, V-ups, reverse crunches, plank, repeat.

Every 7 minutes, two cycles, she took a thirty second rest, her goal being to keep it up for a little more than 20 minutes. At night she had to be careful because they weren’t supposed to be out of their beds. During the day, she could do pull ups on the bar for the bunked bed, or most physically strenuous activities, but at night they were supposed to be quiet, so she had to focus on keeping her breathing steady and her movements controlled.

There was some time in the day built in for exercising, but it was difficult to get to some of the equipment, which tended to be reserved for people she didn’t want to mess with. Besides that, it made her a bit uncomfortable to work out around other people. Deedee had always been told that she paid too much time worrying about what other people thought of her, but she knew that her concerns were justified. She needed to be able to take care of herself, and she needed to stay relatively unnoticed. Perhaps that would mean ‘plaining’ up her appearance after the trial was finished. She could work on gaining weight gradually, but she didn’t think it would make a lot of sense for her to be gaining a lot of weight in prison, with the heavily regulated nutritional meals.

She could lose weight, but that only seemed to get more attention from people, and since she was working out, it wouldn’t look terribly natural either. Deidre finished her routine when her mind drifted from counting the seconds of each exercise, and then stretched for a few moments before crawling into bed. She had good timing because the clang of metal told her that a guard was walking along the path outside of their cell, and passed by her cell only a few moments after she had gotten into the bed. She must have seriously lost track of time then, since the guards came every thirty minutes. Either that, or they had a reason to change their routine.

She fell asleep eventually, but her dreams were strange. They were about different people, ones that she was sure she had never seen before. They were mundane, mostly. One had a man and a woman meeting, going out to dinner and a movie. The man spent most of the time looking at the woman, and the woman was beaming with the attention. Afterwards, they held hands, and walked along a beach together. The dream grew strange after that, as all dreams do. The beach shifted to a lake, and the water began to freeze. The woman complained of the cold, and began to turn blue. The man panicked, and tried to wrap her in warm things, but her body grew stiff, tears freezing on her cheeks. The man seemed unaffected by the cold, but his heart was obviously afflicted.

Deidre woke with a start, sitting up so quickly she almost hit her head. Looking around, she saw that her blanket had fallen on the floor. That must have been the source of the strange dream, she reasoned. Hopping off of the bed, Deedee grabbed the blanket and tossed it onto the bed before climbing up once more. Rhonda was unmoved by the whole affair, it seemed, and hadn’t so much as stirred in her sleep.

When the lights turned on in the morning, Deidre found herself once again pleased to know that a meal would be coming. At breakfast she also learned that she was selected for one of the work details. Laundry. Because she was in prison, she wouldn’t get a traditional yellow garment to represent the field, but there was a yellow band that they affixed to her wrist. They also updated her file to give her permission to report for her duties at select times. Of course, her blood would be checked there to ensure that it was she who arrived in the laundry rooms, rather than someone else. With the bracelet and the blood check, it was difficult to fool the system, and Deedee didn’t know of anyone who had. She didn’t particularly care about any of that, though. She applied for work because it was heavily recommended to her that she make an effort here, that she take some time to give back to the community, and it would get her out of her cell a few extra hours a day.

Her laundry shift would be between breakfast and lunch this week, though next week it would likely shift to the morning before breakfast. In either case, her meal allotment shifted accordingly. Now that she was expected to be on her feet more, she had a slightly higher calorie diet, along with a new shake-like liquid along with the main course. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it didn’t taste awful, which was good. Penny joined them again at breakfast, and was already sitting with Rhonda and Lola by the time Deedee joined them, her new yellow wristband making a bold statement on her plain white clothing.

Maya frantically clasped her arms around Calvin’s waist to keep from flying off the back as the motorcycle revved to life and lurched forward, spinning a spray of gravel into the air behind it. Her stomach twisted in knots as they raced across the rugged terrain. She wasn’t particularly fond of trusting a stranger to drive her, especially when they were zipping along at an unsettling speed. She felt as though one slight bump in the road might send her crashing into the darkness. She clenched her eyes shut to block out the dust and wind. Over the loud engines, the Water Archon picked up bits and pieces of conversation –something about navigational plan and flipping-a-bitch. I better not be the bitch they’re flipping…whatever that means.

After what felt like days, the bikes finally slowed as they approached and entered a large hanger. The harsh glow of artificial light greeted the scout troupe. White light bled into the black abyss outside and quickly dissipated into the shadows. With some help from Calvin, Maya eagerly hopped off the motorcycle. Her legs wobbled slightly beneath her as blood circulation returned to her lower extremities. Maya quickly resumed her regal demeanor with head held high and shoulders pushed back. She tugged at her jacket, straightening it out in a formal fashion and then brushed her fingers through her wind-whipped hair in attempt to loosen the tangles. She brushed dirt off of her leggings while gazing around the vast building, checking for any impending threats. People meandered about, but she could not immediately pick out a man in charge, or at least, that was until a masked teenage boy with unnaturally bright orange hair waltzed right up to her.

"Welcome to the Circus, miss. I'm Fuma. Who might you be?" inquired the lad. Even though Maya couldn’t see through the black and white mask, she sensed that the boy was smiling. His appearance left her momentarily speechless. For once, someone else’s hair outmatched hers in ridiculousness.

“Hello Fuma,” she greeted slowly, making more eye contact with Fuma’s hair than eyes (or eye holes for that matter), “My name is Qiada Maya Lavandula, but please, just call me Maya. So, uh, could you please direct me to whoever is in charge around here?”

Calvin goes about debriefing his team to preserve order of events, and promptly returns the Roamer bikes back to their assigned stations. Without the presence of the many officers, Fuma senses the interaction seem to relax. At least, for him it seemed that way. He observes the woman's expressions and posture as she takes in his appearance. Yeah... He knows he looks different. But he always assumed it was a generally non-threatening appearance at the very least.

"Hello Fuma," the lady finally spoke, and more sighed out the words rather than said them.

She's still staring at me funny... I understand, but wow. She's more confused than Selah was.

"My name is Qiada Maya Lavandula, but please, just call me Maya. So, uh, could you please direct me to whoever is in charge around here?"

Whoops, she continued. Ummmm Kaida Maya Lava Plooda- crap I wasn't paying attention. This is awkward. Fuma straightens a bit as she clarifies her shorter name, and poses the question of authority. Well that's interesting, typically they want to avoid the highest level of authority on this planet. The attentions of "the boss" are not something to be treasured or longed for. It's a brutal reality, that everyone is a pawn to be used and discarded. If no one notices you, you can't be discarded. It's a fine art, the ability of being average. Don't be so good as to get noticed, but don't be so BAD you get noticed. A game of push and pull, success and failure, that must cancel out until your existence is simply erased. No impact whatsoever. It's rumored to be a nice feeling, but Fuma wouldn't know anything of the sort.

"Good to finally meet you, Miss Maya. The scouts certainly took their time escorting you- and CALVIN didn't even give you a jacket on the ride here... Unacceptable. Well, at the very least I should answer your question. The authority figure of which you seek, would be me."

Derek had never been one for AR goggles. In his personal opinion, they limited his awareness a bit. Back in his early days, the HUD had a tendency to block key details that could alert him to pursuers. However, when it came to gathering info on the fly of a job, there was nothing superior. Besides, he could always just take them off in a bind. And his lack of information was his biggest challenge here. Looking out at the Rashin research station, a ping appeared in the top left of his visor, indicating active comms.

"Never seen you wheel and deal with our 'friends' so quickly, Derek. You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Myles intoned.

Derek put two fingers between the crease between his neck and chin. His usual communicator had been swapped out with a sub-vocal model. "I did the prep work for this job in three hours, friend. That's probably my new record. Am I serious?" Derek was normally sarcastic, but it shot to new levels when he was on edge. And every bit of intuition he had told him this job would go bad. Still, he felt determined for some reason. Maybe he just wanted to show off. "Anyway, yes. I have my toys. Gecko gloves, RFID eraser, multi-tool, white noise generators, and a light absorption suit; the works. So I hope you found a way to make this work, or we owe people some serious gear."

There was silence for a few seconds. "Well," Myles said nervously, "I found a few things. A few Rashin agents came in early tonight in deviance of standard procedure, so something is going down. I tried to check if they left security holes, but no dice. Other then that, there is one way in. But its suicide, and......... you're going to go in through it, aren't you?"

Derek was grinning ear to ear. "The main chimney, huh? You would think when they re-purposed this place they would, I don't know, close off the chimney stack? Welp, their loss. I'll contact you if things go south." Derek went radio silent, and double checked his gear. He spent a bit of extra time on his gecko gloves. He was good with his glider, but he would need these working at full capacity if we wanted to make it through alive. With everything in order, Derek jumped off the building, and engaged his glider.

Normally, Derek might have been picked up by cameras in a fly by of this place. However, his suit would pay dividends here, and keep him out of sight. After making a quick aerial movement, he flew up the chimney stack of the building and dove in. While the chimney wasn't active any more, timing his landing was imperative to a clean entrance. Spotting an old shaft with his AR goggles, Derek attached to the wall with his gecko gloves and swung inside.

About 10 minutes later, Derek had worked his way through the old vents into a security room. He was overhead the guard working at the console. He smirked. This poor soul had no chance. Opening the hatch with the multi-tool, Derek attached a grapple line to the vent and slowly descended. A quick shot from his tranquilizer dart rendered the guard unconscious, and Derek hit the floor. Carefully removing the dart, he took a look at the desk space, spotting an empty coffee mug. "Should've had a bit more, I think," Derek muttered to himself. "Now your supervisor's gonna be pissed at you for sleeping on the job." Derek went into the camera layout on the console, and started snooping. It didn't take long to find what he needed. Project Gemini. The files had a lot of scientific jargon that seemed a bit much for a simple pair of pistols. Seems like dear old dad left of few details out of this one's story. Something was very wrong here, and Derek was getting a vibe he stepped into something nasty.

Still, he was too far in to quit now. It was time to make a move. Derek quickly tracked down the pistols. They were locked down in isolation chamber Delta 4, which wasn't to far from here. As good of security they had outside, Derek was a mastermind at internal infiltration. With a quick glance to find his way, Derek dove into another set of air-vents, switching between them in short bursts to dodge any security within them, and headed towards his legacy.

“Oh, I see,” Maya remarked while raising a skeptical eyebrow, “My apologies, Fuma –I didn’t realize.”

A little young to be the leader, don’t you think? thought Maya as she rubbed the back of her neck.

You were on the throne at the age of seven. Andromeda pointed out.

And look how well that turned out. Maya scoffed.

Suppressed guilt gnawed at her gut as she remembered the nation she left behind. Millions of people –her people –were abandoned to the whims of a power-thirsty oligarchy while she sought justice and adventure in galaxies far away. She reminded herself that she had no other choice, that her destiny was to be an Archon, but maybe that was just a bittersweet concoction of lies to help her sleep at night.

Turning away from her pensive thoughts, Maya plastered a smile and chimed, “I have quite the favor to ask of you, Fuma. You see, I’m looking for someone of cosmic importance; however, their identity and appearance are unbeknownst to me.”

Crossing her arms, she peered down her nose at the flame-haired boy, piercing behind the mask with her ethereal gaze. In a solemn hushed tone, she repeated to Fuma what Marcus conveyed to her when they first met, “I can tell you that this person will be someone who does not belong here; it will be someone who has great difficulty fitting in. The individual I seek might be in a high position of power, or alternatively, they might be a commonplace nobody with no status. Vague, I know,” she admitted, “However, out of all of these things, the most concrete characteristic is that at least one of their parents was killed during their childhood."

Maya paused. Emotional scabs threatened to give way as she remembered the violent slaughtering of her parents. She could clearly recall their bodies slumped over each other in their dark bedroom. Flashes of lightning silhouetted their motionless forms. A pool of sticky crimson crept across the marble floor. Exhaling slowly, she scanned the faces of strangers around her in the hangar, wondering who shared the same misfortunes.

“Alas, I digress. Your assistance would be most appreciated, yet hindrance will be met with forceful persistence considering that failure on my part is not an option,” she bluntly concluded with a shrug.

The den was dim with candlelight, the moon only providing scant light to augment the orange glow. Inside sat Raulyn, cross-legged and overlooking one of the earlier books referencing Archons. There hadn't been much progress lately and in truth, she didn't actually know much about these beings of power. She only knew that they commanded the classical elements as well as more obscure ones such as gravity or light and that they were able to transverse worlds - though she wasn't sure if this meant other worlds among the stars or the unseen ones that some scientists have theorized exist. Raulyn did know of several cultures that treated them as gods or ancestral spirits and even in some cases, as ascended beings of some sort - but none of this really shined any truth into what they were or how they got this power.

Her mentor had been, with good intentions, obsessed with obtaining the powers for the use of good (even if Raulyn knew that nothing good would come of such a quest) and yet she was more interested in seeking the source. If the source was something other than supernatural, perhaps small specks of it could be used to advance technology, provide energy, and give everyone less worries about food, shelter, or even money. She wanted to better the world if she could and while there were certainly more practical methods, there had been several clues to the actual existence of these beings, and she supposed she was just one to chase unusual or outlandish ideas. Perhaps she was just following the same thing she had always done...