Sullivan's Irish Pub, Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, 20:50 UTC+8

"I have aerokinesis precise enough to rip off your breath from your lungs. Do not test me."

Highly doubtful considering he hasn't attempted to knock him out with it yet, and even if he tried, his regeneration and blood manipulation can compensate. Jason hasn't bothered testing how long he could do such a thing, but that could be a pretty good avenue of future training.

"You've already killed civilians; by the laws of war..."

Technically speaking, that's an unfair accusation. Attacked them? Sure. Set in motion misunderstandings leading to untimely deaths? Plenty. However, the only instance where he's been directly 'responsible' for the death of a civilian was the woman with the stab wound, at least during his deployment here. He's not even sure she's dead yet. The civilians he killed within the pub can be justified in the eyes of society, if not the law, since he is under duress; he would have stopped at infection had he not taken a bullet to the leg, but since he had been temporarily impaired, his life had been under imminent threat. Killing those people could therefore be considered an act of self-defense, since his choice to do it had been purely utilitarian in nature.

...He still didn't want to deny the accusation. He can't be certain about the woman, since he didn't know whether she has yet succumbed to blood loss, and splitting hairs on killing a civilian versus civilians and the circumstances surrounding qualifiers to such statements wouldn't accomplish anything anyway.

There's a dull thrum in the back of his head when he thinks about what he's done to that woman in particular. He supposes it was rather selfish, using her as a personal litmus test.

Ugh... he's letting his thoughts wander again.

"Do not make your situation any worse; if you surrender now, arrangements can be made in exchange for the survival of the remaining civilians; even more for curing the infection you caused..."

He barks out a laugh. Then he lets go of the man he's been holding hostage, letting his Hemokinesis hold the knife against his throat. "Hand me an empty bottle. Your cheapest drink, if you've got nothing empty."

He ignores the sound of a flare going up outside as the man shakily complies, standing up - within view of the gunman outside, though he can't imagine they'd take the shot through the infected civilians clogging up the pub's entrance, nor risk extraction of the remaining uninfected when the man is currently between the floating knife at his neck and Jason, who happens to be armed with a large ball of stolen blood. The man returns with a mostly empty bottle of San Pellegrino, looking pale as a sheet. He supposes that's to be expected given the bedlam going on at the back of the pub - a cacophony of crying and misdirected violence as they all panic out of their minds.

He takes the bottle, uses a little blood to clean out the insides, removing all of the sparkling water, then discards the liquid in the sink. He takes a bit more blood, fills the bottle up, then turns it into the Panacea.

He creates another two knives to cover all angles, then positions them around his hostage's neck. It takes a bit of concentration to keep them the right distance away to keep from cutting the man as he moves and breathes, but he already has to divert focus to him in order to keep the other infected off, so it's not much worse.

He calls out to the gunman as he tests his mostly healed leg with a stomp against the ground. "Coming out. Attack, and I can't guarantee this hostage's safety." He couldn't even if the gunman didn't attack, and safety was relative to begin with, though he had no intention of harming the man, (at least not meaningfully) and at a certain point, language simply does not play nice with specificity. If he specified he had no intention of harming the man at all, he'd also have to specify for how long, and 'until I escape' probably wouldn't go over well, especially if they took it to mean he wanted to harm the man afterwards. What if he's a particularly ornery hostage with a hidden Noble Arm? People never think their commitments through.

In any case, the gunman didn't feel it prudent to take blind shots through the counter, so he doubted he'd actually risk the hostage even if he had something to say to the contrary. He stood up, finally showing himself from over the counter, and directed the man to stand up with him. He had the man lead the way to make it easier to multitask his concentration, but instead of walking towards the back of the pub near the hysterical infected to go around the counter, the man decided to clamber over it. Fair enough, not even Jason was safe from them, even if none of them could realistically harm him.

They walked out in front of the pub, gently pushing the forlorn looking civilians who had been eyeing the gunman out of the way when his hostage didn't feel confident in doing so. Jason floated the Panacea bottle over beside him.

There, Jason finally came close enough to get a good look at the gunman. He had flown down to get a better angle on the pub, but was still hovering out of reach of the infected. His features were effeminate, and his hair was a nostalgic shade of strawberry red...

He averted his eyes before his ghosts had time to come back and haunt him. Hopefully the mask did a good job of hiding where he was looking. It certainly helped hide whatever face he was making. He mentally shook it off.

"If you wanted the cure, all you had to do was ask." The San Pellegrino bottle filled with Panacea floated on beside him. He really didn't mind giving away the cure; it's not like it could be kept effective for long, and curing the zombies wouldn't constitute a failure state. In fact, it would help hide the inherent time limit of his viruses. The exterior of the bottle just so happened to be covered in a thin layer of the apathy virus, but since it was mostly dried and impossible to discern from the bottle's contents, the gunman didn't need to know that.

He handed the bottle over to the hostage, being sure to keep the virus on the bottle from infecting the man. It would help hide the virus and prove the Panacea was real. "Why don't you demonstrate it? Pick one of the infected and make them drink. Here, I'll remove my protection to make it easier to see the effect-"

All at once, every lonely infected took their eyes off of Amadeo to stare at the man in their midst. He flinched, and Jason let the back of the man's neck touch one of the knives. "You're safe. Relax. They're annoying, but harmless."

The man was soon smothered by the strangers who had started grabbing and holding onto him for dear life. It was better that he didn't make contact with the infected to prove the cure's authenticity, though he wouldn't deny avoiding that was a major factor in his decision to do it this way.

The man, visibly very uncomfortable with all the people and the knives around him, uncapped the bottle and pressed it against the nearest man's lips. "Drink." Jason commanded, since the hostage didn't seem composed enough to give the order himself. The infected man, irrationally trusting the object of his obsession, complied, and, after a few seconds, began to grow confused, not entirely sure why he was hugging the pub's bartender. He backed away from his first hostage, and Jason stepped forward to put an arm around the man. It was an overly friendly gesture - hopefully indicating his lack of intent to harm to the gunman. Technically, all of the infected were his hostages, though it seemed that they weren't recognized as such until they were cured. "Hello, healthy hostage two." He pulled another knife from his back - a butterfly knife, just to play with using his free hand. It felt rude to point it at the new hostage right off the bat, though the knife tricks and his grip on the man's shoulder had him plenty intimidated. He let his protection on hostage 1 come back up, and the lonely infected slowly began peeling themselves off of him, returning their focus to the gunman.

He took the bottle from the first hostage's grip, using his Hemokinesis, lifting it up to the man's lips. "You might want to take a drink yourself." The man wasn't actually infected - he had enough control to do that much, but he was covered in the sweat of the other infected, and he didn't particularly see the point to letting the man become infected when they inevitably parted ways. The Panacea wasn't by any means a permanent cure, though unless he deliberately messed with the virus strains, it could prevent reinfection in cases like these.

The man hesitantly complied, taking a sip, then made a disgusted face. He finally spoke for the first time since he was taken hostage, "Tastes like blood."

A shocking revelation. Who would have thought that blood tasted like blood. "I've been working on that." he comments offhandedly, because he has, even if it hadn't been because of the Panacea. He doesn't look back at the gunman - didn't like his face, but he turned to address him nonetheless. "The bottle contains the cure. It works on the zombies and all of the infected here." There. No room for ambiguity. It should be clear he meant it when he said that all the gunman had to do was ask.

Just then, a riot police squad pulled up, leaving their vehicle only for the attention of all of the lonely infected to turn away from Amadeo and towards them.

"Attention! This is the police! Surrender now, and there will be no further trouble!"

The infected hesitated, but still began drawing towards the newcomers as they erected a shield wall. Unfortunate, how often police seemed to shoot first and ask questions later, though he supposes that trait isn't unique to the police. One of the members held an old Roman shield, too ornate and incongruous to be anything but a Noble Arm. He held it up above him - a barrier perhaps? Not likely a threat, then. He addresses the gunman without taking his eyes off of the riot police. "You mentioned something about killing civilians earlier?" It'd be quite ironic if they began opening fire. He shook his head. "Nevermind. Well, here, you wanted the cure, right?"

Jason takes the bottle from his hostage and uses his considerable strength to throw the bottle up, aiming it over rooftops, at an angle from his escape route so that he could potentially take the gunman captive if things went well but divergent enough that he could avoid the gunman if things didn't. He took off at the same time, not particularly caring if the riot police opened fire considering the crowd of infected he had as cover and the two hostages he was dragging along. He carried the second over one shoulder, letting the butterfly knife float next to his head, while the other felt the gentle press of a knife on the back of his neck until he followed, forced into a route that put him in the way of any incoming bullets or Noble Arm projectiles. Jason ran back towards the alleyway, turning the corner into it, then ran up to the gate and simply jumped it, kicking off the wall and over it. It left him vulnerable to gunfire if anyone had an angle from outside the alleyway, but the gunman should hopefully be busy, and hostage 1 could continue providing cover from the other side of the gate after landing.

The back of the alleyway led to a small square lot, which would let him break line of sight to the alleyway. Upon arrival, he'd pulled the knives around hostage 1's neck away, up, then towards him, releasing his hostage without meaningful harm, as promised. He'd then reposition the knives around hostage 2, reducing the man's struggling, but mainly just to save himself the trouble of making more.

The lot rests at a lower elevation than the street at the back of it, but it wasn't too high for him to leap up and climb over, and from there, he could get try getting lost within the semi-residential backstreets.

---

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

Once the subject launched his plan, the cops opened fire. While Henri was shocked by the act, he couldn't exactly blame them. Civilians or no, they were infected and danger of spreading more. Besides, police had a reputation of aggressiveness, in and out of Philippines, so nothing new there. Still, they showed enough empathy to help the released hostage to safety.

"Okay, Armsmaster unit, get him!" Came Captain's order, and Henri, along with the four cops that escorted him before, advanced through the opening created by the salvo.

"What are you waiting for? Activate your power!" One of the team-mates told.

"Not yet" Henri said, "I've used it already plenty of times and I'm exhausted. We'll wait until we have the perfect change."

"Exhausted?" The cop asked, bewildered, "What kind of an Armsmaster are you?"

"One who knows he's not a god." Henri replied, not in the mood to argue.

After a while, they caught up to the assailant. Now the hard part. While technically sacrificing the hostage was an option, it wasn't one anyone would lightly take. Words would have to be used first.

"Just give up, already!" Henri shouted, "You cannot escape!"

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

Marta managed to see the flare and deduced, without much difficulty, that if something related to the current zombie plague was happening, whoever sent that flare-up needed the help reasonably desperately. She finished emanating the healing light of the hand of Mercy - a kid had dislocated a bone while trying to escape the confusion - and began transferring the power to her right hand.

"Run along, kid! Quick!"

Hurrying the kid along, she turns around just in time to avoid one of the Zombies' frenzied attacks. With the Hand of Might still inactive, she had to rely on good old-fashioned boxing dodges and hitting the thing with a stick - she didn't feel very interested in touching the infected hordes, even if this wasn't a contagious virus-type scenario, though she'd wash her habit carefully later, just in case.

With a flash of light, the gauntlet manifests on her left hand, and without missing a beat, she brings up her palm to strike the zombie as softly as she can - which still sends the poor person flying across the street with a discomfiting crack of broken ribs. The nun winces, looking at the encroaching horde ahead and the trail of unconscious zombies behind her. She's unsure if this zombie virus is reversible, but...

"...they're just civilians, not soldiers or war machines. I can't just turn them into a paste and move on. Have to focus... no one can get hurt!"

She lunges forward in a boxing guard, diving fearlessly into the middle of a cluster of zombies. She aims her jabs carefully, immobilizing their legs with hammer blow force and knocking them to the ground. Without time to breathe, the next wave stumbles in, and she's forced to keep them at bay, barely missing a lunge at her exposed face. A single, mighty left straight punch - pulled back with tremendous effort - strikes one of the zombies in the abdomen, careening backward and bowling back several others. She continues to advance, undeterred, but slowly, so very slowly, digging her way through one non-lethal zombie encounter after another.

She grits her teeth in frustration as she hears another cry for help amid the chaos - an increasingly rare circumstance, considering everything - and looks back toward where the flare was.

"I'm coming... whoever you are... just... hold on!"

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, 20:55 UTC+8

One of the law enforcement officers ran after him, telling him that he cannot escape. He ignores the officer, making his apparently very successful escape as he clears the alley's gate without getting shot and continues towards and up the back of the lot, over to the next street.

It's pseudo-residential, with buildings that show clear signs of habitation standing right next to small businesses and at least one residential home with a housefront stall. A small sign in front of it advertises it as an electronic shop that does, in fact, do TV repairs.

He ignored it, running down the street towards their neighbor, who happened to have left a small table out, which was perfect to use to jump up off of and onto some corrugated metal roofing. He didn't like the stability of the roof under his feet, so he continued on to the next building, which he only belatedly realized from the parking lot on the opposite side was the Balibago Barangay Hall. He's not sure how he ended up on the rooftop of a city hall by pure accident, but hey, he's got a sizeable lead on the cops because of the gate in the alleyway and the high wall at the back of the lot. Maybe he could use this. Not a lot of better places for stereotypical acts of terrorism, no?

In any case, he first has to stall out the flying guy with red hair. He can hear the wind rippling closer and closer from the guy's Noble Arm behind him, so he sets his hostage down onto his feet, taking care not to accidentally cut him with any of the floating knives pointed at him. He turns to face the guy as he approaches, then remembers that he should avoid looking directly at his strangely, eerily familiar face. Not for the first time today, Jason is glad he decided to wear a mask to work, even if it is hopelessly tacky.

((Collab Post between @Letter Bee and @Ryik.))

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, 20:55 UTC+8

Amadeo handed the bottle to Henri and said, “That guy says this is the cure for the zombie virus; take care of it!”

Then, he jetted forward, pursuing the weird, masked man with the hostage, adrenaline flowing through him as he gave pursuit. Although the masked man had a head start, his flight was faster, and he didn’t have enough time to go far. The man was doing what could only be described as urban parkour up onto the rooftops of the buildings the next street over, but he must have heard him coming because he decided to stop on one of them. He put the hostage down, letting him stand on his own two feet but not releasing him from the knives pointed at his neck from several angles. He then turned to face Amadeo, ostensibly staring at him through the opaque black eyes of his plague doctor mask.

Amadeo landed on the opposite end of the same rooftop, figuring that dialogue was the only path to a solution at this point. He still leveled his rifle at the masked man, though at this point it was nothing more than a bluff. The masked man’s bare leg, visible through his shredded black jeans, had already fully healed, which meant that the chances the hostage would survive Amadeo making an attack on his captor were slim. Still, he wasn’t yet prepared to give up completely, leaving the hostage to die. “Let the hostage go!”

Jason responded calmly, ”I was planning to.” He made no move to do so, however.

His calm was unfitting for the situation, or at least Amadeo thought so. His heart was pounding rapidly, but the masked man spoke like it was an ordinary Tuesday.

Amadeo couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong here, but he struggled to think of what that could be. Focusing on the here and now, he said, “Then let him go. Free and safe. I’ll even let you leave if you don’t wreak any more havoc.” There was a silent plea in his eyes.

”Is that so? I wouldn’t mind, but I recall from your earlier threats that you make a habit of telling lies.” He took a step, moving closer to Amadeo.

Amadeo was finding himself frustrated, yet at the same time, his ability to care was running out somehow. So he implored, “What would you want, then? For you to let the hostage go and stop wreaking havoc?”

Jason tilted his head from side to side, as if to indicate that he was considering his answer in place of any visible facial expression. It was an unnecessary gesture, though not a duplicitous one. ”Know anyone who can take away a Noble Arm?” He’d genuinely consider going rogue for such an opportunity, though, to his knowledge, no such person exists. OPL cannot be used to simply delete a Noble Arm, and even if it could, the prototype OPL code he developed has become amalgamated with Razlyubit. As such, removing his Noble Arm would be the only way to purge it completely, and the process would likely damage his soul, since the code is not entirely self-contained within it. He could, perhaps, develop a procedure and find one of his old colleagues to perform it, though his Noble Arm would have to go first, and getting it back afterward without corrupted code ruining his life would be difficult, if not impossible.

It was no surprise, then, that Amadeo didn’t have the right answer. “Henri - that guy with the shield back there. I know him, and his Noble Arm can disable other Noble Arms.“ Maybe he shouldn’t be spilling such intel about one of his allies to someone who was clearly dangerous, but at the moment, he just couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences.

Jason simply shook his head as he continued to casually close the gap between them. ”That’s not nearly good enough.”

Amadeo felt like he should do something about his presence, though, really… should he? He had lowered his rifle, (when?) and the hostage was basically fucked anyway. He was, possibly, in danger, as the masked man drew near, but at the end of the day, what could he even do about it when the man had shrugged off a .50 caliber bullet like it was nothing? “What about… uh… money.” It was a half-assed offer; one he couldn’t even realistically fulfill. Still, he couldn’t give the man what he wanted, nor come up with any better offer. Maybe, he admits to himself, he just couldn’t be bothered.

”I am satisfied with my current financial security.” He stated, matter-of-factly. He was standing right in front of Amadeo now, staring down at him through the mask.

Amadeo eyed Jason, as if trying to divine the content of the man’s character with just his eyes. It wasn’t very effective, but interacting with the man directly to figure it out was starting to feel harder. “Would you do it…” He couldn’t think of anything. “...If I asked?”

Jason gave the guy a contemptuous glare from behind his mask. “Can’t say I’m inclined to do favors for liars.” Accidental lies, he might find annoying, but wouldn’t hold against someone. However, Amadeo’s lies had been malicious, meant to intimidate and deceive. They weren’t very convincing, but had he believed them? He can’t imagine any outcome but an unrepentant betrayal.

He casually walked over to Amadeo’s side, leaning his elbow on his shoulder. Another unnecessarily friendly gesture, but it would help confuse him and move things along. He was also getting tired of pretending to look directly at the guy’s face, and this position would excuse him obviously avoiding eye contact. “Now, tell me, do you have any objections to becoming a captive?” The original plan to send an infected member of Task Force: Obsidian in to infect the others didn’t seem like it would pan out after its various members willfully went out during their vacation to handle the outbreak. Taking one of them captive would be the next best thing.

Amadeo knew by now that there was some malign mental influence pushing him ever so gently into a bad course of action. He was finding it hard to care and recognized that this was due to that influence, but it was a self-perpetuating problem. Thus, he simply nodded and said, “Okay.” He then dropped his gun. He was getting tired of holding it anyway.

It wasn’t quite a valid answer to his question, but it’s not like he needed the guy’s consent in the first place. He leaned down a bit, picking Amadeo up with one arm and hauling him over his shoulder before walking back to the hostage who had been watching the scene unfold nervously. He was now wearing a dumbfounded expression, blissfully ignorant about what had just happened.

Seeing as how he now had a better hostage, (who also happened to also be more portable) he didn’t need the previous one, and figured he’d set him loose on city hall to spread the zombie virus. Before he did so, however, he decided to ask the man a question, indulging him for a bit if only because his shock and confusion were amusing. ”Do you have something to say?”

“Why did-” the man stopped, his face going through a range of emotions, as if suddenly realizing something, then asked, “Will you let me go? Unharmed?”

Hmm. He can’t deny that the virus counts as harmful, even if it’s just by virtue of dehydration, but it’s not like he has to use this guy to spread the infection. ”Do you want me to?”

The man puts on an uneasy expression, visibly unsure. “...Yes?”

Jason simply pulls the knives away from his neck. ”Very well.” There are plenty of infection candidates in the building after all. All he has to do is take one of the floating knives and launch it down to knick one of the civilians below. Once that was done, he looked over at his former hostage. ”You can make it down yourself, I trust?”

The man nodded, perhaps not wanting to push his luck.

”Then this will be where we part ways.” And with that, he took off, jumping off the roof and disappearing into the surrounding urban sprawl. He pointedly did not mentally examine why he chose to do a favor for some civilian he’d likely never meet again, because whenever he did such things, he always looped back to the same conclusion: he didn’t think the same way anymore, and dwelling on how wrong it felt was by itself enough to give him another headache. This time at least, it didn’t matter. He had accomplished his mission, and there was no sense in dwelling on it further.

He caught lots of odd looks as he passed by people, what with his mask, Amadeo, and the bloody holes in his back and leg, but if anyone reported him, the results never materialized. It fortunately didn’t take him long to find a parked car ripe for theft, and after buckling Amadeo into the passenger seat, putting a blindfold on him and taking off the mask, he drove his way over towards the designated extraction point.

New Clark City - 10/18/2022, 19:38 UTC+8

Jasmine exited the vehicle first, bearing an ample knapsack and wearing a sundress. She heralded the disembarking military personnel and Noble Masters as they descended the steps onto the fresh concrete below and encircled her. Iker was last and lingered longest. His shorts and collared T-shirt caused him to stick out unfashionably from the ensemble. On the final step, he inhaled the twilight air. "Fresher than that of urban landscapes; lovelier than the sea's," he commented, "our transport's exhaust notwithstanding."

The streetlights at that moment happened to flicker on, and Jasmine announced: "Welcome to New Clark City's inaugural evening shift!"

The following awkward pause hampered the cheerful introduction. "It feels so... empty," remarked a traveler. "It's eerie."

"As I'd suspect of a pet development project during wartime," Jasmine supposed. "It's nighttime, as well."

"So... What do we do?"

Jasmine lacked a fitting answer. "Well, um, walk around. Check out the facilities? Enjoy yourselves!"

"I recommend locating the restrooms and whatever amenities have food and drink," Iker intervened. "Remember this location relative to key landmarks, such as that government complex over yonder. I'd otherwise identify what work was needed and assemble a squad, but, since I'm to relax... Is there a tennis court present?"

"It's largely track and field, or alternatively a covered Olympic size swimming pool," Jasmine suggested.

"Oh." The minor assembly returned to silence.

A soldier signaled for attention. "I'm running laps in the amphitheater, if anyone wishes to join." He jogged off. Stragglers trickled behind him until Iker and Jasmine comprised the remnant.

Jasmine bowed in deferral. "You have experience with this!"

"Most employment in my adult career started by departing a bus," Iker explained. "You learn to unravel alien environments. Not everyone and everywhere is identical, but they do share certain aspects."

"Wonderful!" Jasmine affirmed. "Meanwhile, as the stadium's occupied, what say we visit the aquatics center?"

"I'd rather not," Iker stated. "And, I apologize, but I'd be a poor lifeguard if you sought to utilize it yourself."

"Why is that?"

Iker swallowed, hesitant to disclose the information. "I can't swim."

Jasmine instinctively laughed at the absurdity and tried to rein herself in. "Wait, but I heard you manned the lifeboat?"

Iker nodded. "That was a boat."

That was hardly an explanation. "So you risked your life, knowing how dangerous failure was for you especially?"

"It's what you do everyday, isn't it?"

Jasmine reflected on Iker's comment. An attaché had the luxury of safety, merely tasked with supporting from the sidelines. She motioned for Iker to follow. "If you're in the employ of the navy, that won't do! Let's remedy that, shall we?"

New Clark City - Aquatics Center - 10/18/2022, 20:49 UTC+8

Jasmine had packed a modest two piece swimsuit with her gear, and the grounds thankfully possessed official spare shirts and trunks for Iker (which an hour of rummaging and scrounging exploration would produce). They forewent the massive professional lanes for the humble training area. Iker submerged his bare feet. Jasmine lay herself astride the edge. "How's the water?"

"I anticipated colder." Iker recalled a prior gig in the wintertime, beside a frozen lake. He had doubted the frigidity that the rumors detailed. Curiosity nearly succumbed his digits to frostbite; his comrades saved him. He shuddered in remembrance. "It's quite warm, actually."

"Doesn't look it from my view," Jasmine teased.

"Recognized." Iker ventured further, pausing as it touched his waist and just before it reached his bearded chin. "I await your instructions, maestro." Iker glanced aside. "Maestra?"

"Either works," Jasmine chuckled, kicking her legs up in alternation. "I want you to mimic this." Iker's mimicry resembled an a old fashioned march. "No, off the ground, and much faster," Jasmine corrected.

Iker jumped up and followed his teacher's directions, bobbing himself upward while suspended underwater. He teetered into the ledge, bumping close to Jasmine and catching himself with his hands. "Apologies."

"No, that was adequate," Jasmine assured.

Meters away, her backpack vibrated, emanating a repeated fragment of a heavy metal tune. Iker pointed to it. "Is that important?"

"It's my cellphone," she dismissed, mildly embarrassed. "No, we're on a roll. I don't wish to disrupt that."

"What if it's an emergency?"

She peered back as the device chirped. "There's naught we can accomplish out here," she countered. "Admiral Abasolo mandated productive relaxation, and we're doing that. If he demanded us specifically, he told me he'd send an escort to recall us. Perhaps a helicopter! Return to your exercises; you were doing swimmingly. Next, you'll outline circles with your arms, cupping the surface and pushing it underneath you. Lie on your belly for this, as I am."

Iker breathed deeply and planked flatly. Despite splashing Jasmine, he successfully propelled himself forward. Jasmine beheld him sputtering like a toy mechanism to the opposite side, where he bounced innocently off. He floated backwards, motionless. Jasmine stood up in alert. After a few seconds passed, he flailed about, a flurry of white foam obscuring the helpless whelp.

Without skipping a beat, Jasmine dove in, wrapped herself across his abdomen, and kicked herself to shore. As Iker coughed up the chlorinated solution, Jasmine exhaled. "Don't forget to breathe, you fool! Tilt your head sideways!" She embraced him. "You had me worried there!" In the distance, the telephone reiterated hard rock.

"It's not my only brush with death; simply my sorriest," Iker quipped. "Regardless, I appreciate it. Permission to commence again?"

Jasmine waited for her heart to stop pounding as she vacated and dried herself off. She investigated her pack. Not looking at its screen for notifications, she shutdown her phone and stowed it. Her matters settled, she crisscrossed on the pavement. "Alright. Don't scare me this time."

Iker's second attempt was noisier and splashier but smoother. He remembered to collect oxygen, and he clung to the finish line once his crown bumped into it. Jasmine applauded. "Excellent; it's a start!" She stopped herself. "Sorry, that sounded condescending. Are you okay with... all this? I'm treating you as a child."

Iker inspected his watery reflection. "I was in Argentina, the Cordoba region if you're familiar with the geography. The hired help were intended to carry these enormous bales of hay." He outstretched his arm for effect but lost balance and reclaimed his position. "Raul was a street rat, down on his luck. He migrated to the countryside because none would hire him in Buenos Aires."

His eyes grew misty. "He wasn't strong, but he was willing. He never adapted to the climate, though. When he hauled it up to the truck with his partner, his allergies forced him to sneeze. He relaxed his grip, and the bale slid and crushed his chest. He died in the hospital." He looked to the sky. "It gave me perspective on the world. Something as simple as that can kill. A mining incident killed my father, and I figure I might die from another triviality. Humans are fragile creatures, indeed."

He smiled. "So I don't mind mockery, or mocking others in kind. The sheer scale of things beyond us, or that can be made so, renders any arrogance fruitless. My quest is to guide other folk through the hazards, that by my sacrifice my neighbors may prosper." He refreshed his mindset. "That was far too heady a topic for my intention. Whoops."

Jasmine arose and circumnavigated to Iker's place. "No, that was beautiful." She extended her hand to pull Iker out. "I suppose that's enough practice for tonight. It's getting late; we should change, and notify the land athletes."

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:56 UTC+8

Cristina's hunch was soon proven correct as she finally hears the motors of another drone. Admittedly she won't hear it if she was joining everybody else at stopping the attack but she knew what she was searching for this entire time. Just a little turn and right there!

Another drone was flying in the guise of the night sky, silently recording everything that had taken place.

She cut it in half before bringing the pieces back to the rooftop. If everything was accounted for, the military should have the remains of the machine at their custody by the end of this mess.

There was still that familiar buzz from the drones motors, it was weaker and yet at the same time clearer.

One left.

She continued moving around the rooftops finally finding the last of the drones. She was still disappointed that they couldn't fight back.

She might as well toy with it as a finale.

She jumped at the drone, blocking the camera with her face sporting a confident grin as they slowly descended. Soon a ring of Shooting Stars surrounded them before closing in as she somersaults to the ground

Behind her an eye catching explosion erupted, everyone around the area should be looking at her direction right now, it doesn’t matter, it's not like her entire life story was hidden to anyone willing to spare a few moments and connections.

"Mission Complete."

What now?

Amadeo & Jason

---

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

"Wait! Who are... you?" But Henri's question remained unanswered, as the kid disappeared in pursuit of the masked man.

Henri considered the bottle in his hands. It seemed too simple to be the cure. Although, the boy didn't seem like the lying sort. Besides, if it was poison or the virus, Henri could simply not open the bottle, and nitroglycerin too dangerous to bring with you when jumping about.

Nonetheless, Henri returned to the trucks, where the police had managed to gain something of a control of the situation.

"Sergeant, what on Earth happened?" Captain queried.

"Some armsmaster gave me this." Henri said, presenting the bottle, "Claims it to be the cure for the zombies, though I can't confirm it."

"Take it to the headquarters in Truck 5" Captain ordered "The boys in the lab can figure it out. And be ready with that power of yours, in case the bottle breaks"

"Yes, sir"

After some preparations, the truck left for the base, with it hopefully the solution to this crisis.

Intermission Two: Ghosts of Angeles City

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, Philippines, 21:02, UTC+8

There was a second surveillance drone taking pictures just a hundred meters ahead to her west; a model small enough to sneak through even Lotus Squadron's heightened vigilance. Cristina would have to bring that down, too. But while doing that, her ears might catch Cornelio's latest grumble as he looked at his Noble Arm's shining surface, "Pro-Chinese insurrectionists in Davao, really? The clans and oligarchs have a lot to answer for..."

As for the third drone the man had mentioned, there was one approaching, eighty meters away, from the southeast, having circled all the way from the Chinese beachhead in the furthest north of the Philippine Archipelago, where they had switched invasion routes after their main thrust in Lingayen had failed. Which should Cristina destroy first, considering that both were feeding information on the terror in Angeles City's neighborhoods to the Chinese?

The Ritz Hotel - 10/18/2022, 21:00 UTC+8

If anyone had stayed in the hotel, even one single person, they would see the hotel staff watching the news in their free time. The local news was of the 'zombie' outbreak in Balibago and Task Force Obsidian's attempt to cure or quell it with the help of local police and military units. The national news was about the insurrection in the City of Davao, far to the south, started by the loyalists of the Previous President that the Government of National Salvation replaced. These Insurrectionists, drawn from local political clans, oligarchs, and compromised Army and Police units, were actively trying to open the gates to China, blaming a 'US Conspiracy' for the entire war and China's 'special military operation'.

World News was not much better; crisis everywhere, mass starvation, and turmoil all over the globe thanks to the disruption in the world's supply chains and trade networks. Grain did not arrive in struggling countries that needed bread; it was the same for rice, whose exportation was restricted now that the countries that grew it were at war, while raw materials for electronics and manufactured goods were not getting to where they were needed.

In this desperate time, people turned to whoever would help them, including the Seven Virtues and their adherents; the televisions showed public scenes of Diligence and other 'avatars' of Industria working together with avatars of 'Charity' and 'Patience' to build roads, factories, and infrastructure from almost nothing, with Diligence even consenting to a photo-op where he constructed an entire railway network for the Congo with his Noble Arm.

Charity's avatars, most of them large, well-built, matronly women, also posted videos showing them growing fruit trees in vacant pieces of land and handing the fruits out to starving children, as well as making it rain in drought-stricken areas and then growing rice, wheat, bananas, turnips, peppers, coconuts, and all sorts of crops in the now-watered land.

A graph showed their followers' numbers skyrocketing after that, with many joining them in droves, giving up their previous names and ranks to support the Virtues' mysteriously vague objectives.

In the previous week, it was the Paragons of Science that had experienced a surge of support, bestowing Noble Arms on the ideologically driven and the extremely wealthy, and sending out 'envoys' to lobby the US Government to stop isolating itself. This had the opposite effect on their objectives, however, as their arrogance and condescension, mixed with an open elitism, caused support for intervention to decline and made many people in the US Congress support isolation when they otherwise would not have.

Russia, China, and other countries, including Iran and North Korea, have now openly begun to discuss strengthening the 'Shanghai Cooperation Organization' so that it can ultimately replace The West with 'stronger, more primal values', the nature of which were kept vague.

The world was growing dark...

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik@Digmata

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

A shockwave rocks the walls as a crowd gets swept out of the way. The sound of screams, impacts, and hurried apologies start closing in on a particular alleyway from which a flare was fired a short time ago.

The Sister, clothes stained and torn, uneven coif exposing a few locks of hazel hair, tried her best to reach her destination as fast as possible. It turns out, however, that - even with most people having already gotten far from the danger - there was always something to do. She could have gotten there much faster, but her particular abilities weren't suited for it unless she wanted to leave a trail of craters and jellied human bodies in her wake.

By the time she reaches her goal, she's downright exhausted and looks a mess - far from the sacred cavalry Marta wished to invoke, she seems more like a desperate, hyperventilating runaway. Trusting in the protection of the Hand of Might, she leans against a wall to catch her breath.

"Okay... Okay, I'm... *hooo...* caralho, que corrida...just gimme a minute here, ... catching my breath..."

She raises a metal-clad finger, looking into the alleyway in search of anyone who needs...

"Anyone need help? Sorry, need some direction here."

Intermission Two: Ghosts of Angeles City - Timeskip; Final Six Days

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/20/2022, Philippines, 7:00, UTC+8

The Zombie plague had burned out, and Noel and Myron had requested to be allowed to help in the rebuilding. Now Noel and Myron were leading efforts to rebuild the neighborhood and its establishments, with Myron's stash of supplies coming in handy right about now. Not just that, but seized assets from the past administration were being put to good use, with government workers actually being paid to help rebuild the neighborhood, compensate property owners, and see to it that medical care was provided for those injured during the outbreak.

All the while, Noel was thinking, We lost another aerial asset; Amadeo sacrificed himself to save us before we could meet him.

He was only a passing acquaintance with the older guy, but Noel knew that he was a good fighter during the overthrow of the past administration and the establishment of the Government of National Salvation. His loss was a blow to Task Force Obsidian, but NCIA Director Cornelio Malong had offered the services of another mercenary, Cristina Bernadino, a girl just one year older than him who was in this to rescue her sister... From the service of the Downward Descent.

Cristina had been instructed to meet up with him and help with the rebuilding, and as Myron began distributing more supplies to his fellow Amerasians - Wasn't Amadeo an Amerasian too, or was he Eurasian? - Noel paused to wait for her; the days of their enforced break were running out, but he could sneak in a chat with her; from glimpses of her alone, she was one of the few girls he might be attracted to. Not that he still didn't hold a torch for Regil, but... Regil seemed to have gone off semi-permanently.

Or permanently, God forbid, Noel thought as he waited...

The Ritz Hotel - 10/20/2022, 7:00 UTC+8

The news kept being dire.

China had almost cut off the Mekong River in Mainland Southeast Asia through Jinghong Dam, an act of ecocide that in just a few weeks, destroyed the livelihoods of thousands of farmers and their families, as well as killed waterfowl, fish, and cattle, along with other forms of wildlife. Not just that, but it has also put in Prisoner of War camps just beneath the dam, camps used as a source of slave labor in violation of the now-tattered conventions of international law.

An airstrike at the dam would put the prisoners in danger, thus meaning that the dam was effectively guarded by human shields.

ASEAN had promised to 'Act in a week', but preparations had to be made, and Task Force Obsidian had to recover further from Mischief Reef and the Zombie outbreak. So for now, all they can do is watch and try and recover and relax.

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik@Digmata

((Collab between @Digmata and @Letter Bee.))

Cristina had been instructed to meet up with him and help with the rebuilding, and as Myron began distributing more supplies to his fellow Amerasians - Wasn't Amadeo an Amerasian too, or was he Eurasian? - Noel paused to wait for her; the days of their enforced break were running out, but he could sneak in a chat with her; from glimpses of her alone, she was one of the few girls he might be attracted to. Not that he still didn't hold a torch for Regil, but... Regil seemed to have gone off semi-permanently.

Or permanently, God forbid, Noel thought as he waited...

Cristina took her time making her way to the meeting place, she still could not believe her luck or the sequence of events that happened that fateful night.

When she first received that offer, she hadn't really thought much of it. The sender is probably paranoid but he wasn't the only one in her line of work, some had even made measures to keep the communications virtual through the middleman.

Who would have that the paranoid client was an officer at the New Government and he possessed the specific power to progress her three-year search? No one.

Although what she saw, had soured her joy.

Ever since that night, she had dreams of going to her prison and meeting her. What exactly would happen was up in the air.

Basillia had changed and it wasn't her white hair. She had never seen her laugh like that or be mindless during fights. It spits at her image of the kind, cheerful sister who kept her alive at that place.

For now, she pushed those thoughts away, joining the Task Force Obsidian is the clearest way for her to find and meet Basilia.

She had an obligation that entailed it, and one of those was this meeting.

---

Noel Alonso was 16 going on 17, although he was growing taller thanks to a growth spurt. Nevertheless, the First Lieutenant waved hi to Cristina as she approached, then said, “Freelancer Bernardino; welcome. I am First Lieutenant Noel Alonso, at your service. I trust that all was well with Mr. Malong?”

Honestly, she was pretty, just as pretty as Regil. But she probably doesn’t like him that way and there are Anti-Fraternization laws on the books. So best to put those thoughts out of his head.

He tried to divert his own feelings with a question, “So, umm… Need anything to do? I can take some time off and we can go to an eatery if you want.”

---

Cristina returned the wave to the lieutenant. She wasn't a social person but she knew that ignoring her seniors won't place her in good graces.

"It wasn't bad."

Ever since that eventful night, she had deferred the old man as her payment to the search. He is also the one who offered her to join the task force in exchange for assistance to her formerly search and now rescue of her sister. She quickly accepted the offer.

"Don't worry about me, I have already eaten." she waved off the man's offer preferring that they go down to business.

"I'm more interested in the purpose of this meeting."

---

Noel nodded, realizing that as a military man (well, boy), he needed to not beat around the bush. So he decided to be honest, “We need to get acquainted if we are to fight alongside one another. Also, your sister might be imprisoned by the Chinese in the PoW camps south of Jinghong Dam, which the ASEAN Leadership has promised to liberate in a week.”

He sighed and said, “However, thanks to this Task Force recently losing a few important volunteers and a few others contemplating a transfer, it’s going to be hard to coordinate, especially when I don’t know how well you and your powerset can mix with the others’ and mine.”

---

There was a small pause in Cristina’s voice as she listened to Noel's words.

"It was reasonable," she answered. God knows how many problems could be solved if people decided that they don't work alone and they could use each other's help. It's not like they needed to be friends to work together, you know!

She was glad the military didn't fall to the same fallacies.

"So what do you have in mind?" She asked as she looked around the place.

---

Noel was up-front, “Tell me about your powers in your own words and what tactics you use with them. Also, show me a few sample uses.”

---

Cristina was a little disappointed but if he wants a report he will get it.

She summoned her Sinagtala, a pitch-black blade with white spots that resemble the stars.

"First the ability to make a tear." she swung her sword, making a dark stroke that nearly covered her upper body and took some nearby empty cans. "It could absorb anything or anyone but I would need to release them after a while." She then waved the sword upwards releasing the cans before they fall down once again.

A single white orb then appeared at her back, quickly circling her while making some loops to demonstrate her control.

"This is my shooting stars, they can do two things; one is basically a grenade that no one needs here, the other…"

A sudden flash of light suddenly appears from her back, potentially blinding Noel if he wasn't on guard.

"...is a flashbang. I have a third use for my Noble Arm but I don't want to cause panic so you can know it by reading my files."

Her tone was a little teasing in contrast to her earlier professionalism. There was still a part of her that was a teenager after all.

"What about you? I showed mine, time to show yours."

---

Noel decided that he liked her, as a potential friend, of course, right then and there. Conjuring up his scythe, he spoke, “This is La Luna; a Lunar-themed scythe that not only acts as a weapon but also increases my speed and reflexes while affecting probability to make sure I evade bullets, grenades, and most ranged attacks, but not necessarily explosions, allowing me to get to melee range. Not only that, but I can cloak myself in magical camouflage that stops working at noontime or when confronted with a Sun-themed Noble Arm.”

He then continued, “Also, when the moon is up in the sky, including at daytime, I can copy one use of a Noble Arm power I’ve seen for how many times I saw it, but it does not work on Sun-themed NAs or various A-ranked powers. It’s debatable if it works in the New Moon, but that’s because I have a conditional A-Rank; to throw people into madness in a city-wide space on the New Moon. Note that Sun-themed Noble Arms can dispel that.”

---

Cristina nodded at Noel's words, those were probably the most versatile Noble Arms she ever heard. It might even match sister's first Noble Arm.

That power would surely be a huge help for her although there is one thing we need to ask.

"That madness, does it affect everyone? including us?"

Every single of Cristina's power was indiscriminate after all. One act of carelessness is all it would take for collateral damage to set in.

---

Noel shook his head and said, “Only those I count as my enemies, and I can exempt people from it. So no need to worry.”

---

Cristina let out a sigh of relief, at least she doesn't need to worry about losing her mind in a friendly fire. It felt unfair but that was life.

She looked at the empty street.

"So is that everything? I was planning to do some training after this conversation after all."

---

The boy’s response was, “That’s all; unless you want a training partner?”

---

Cristina smiled at the offer "I do need to shake off my rust. The drones are hardly the threat after all."
The smile was a little unnerving, it sounded like Cristina was excited about the prospect of training with Noel.

Or fighting him to be exact.

((Part 2 of a Collab between @Digmata and @Letter Bee.))

Cristina smiled at the offer "I do need to shake off my rust. The drones are hardly the threat after all."
The smile was a little unnerving, it sounded like Cristina was excited about the prospect of training with Noel.

Or fighting him to be exact.

“Let’s find a place where we can spar, then,” Noel said. “I’ll ask someone to drive us to some vacant lot or another or maybe outside the city entirely; you alright with that?”

---

The smile didn’t leave Cristina’s face as she followed Noel. Shame that the hotel doesn’t have a suitable room to accommodate a spar or that they need to walk away so that no one will be harmed.

Then again, she doesn’t want to terrify everyone because two Arm Masters decided today was a good day to try killing each other.

---

Pampanga Countryside - 10/20/2022, 10:00, UTC+8

Noel found a military driver and a jeep (not jeepney, an actual jeep) to drive them to the countryside, where he and Cristina found an empty rice paddy they could spar in. The field, once used for growing crops, was dried out, and empty, and the cracks in the soil meant the area was suffering drought. Perfect for a spar.

The young man got off first, before holding out his hand to Cristina and saying, “Shall we go?”

---

Cristina took Noel's hand as she got out of the jeep's door, after that the jeep immediately drove away to ensure that it won't be caught up at the upcoming spar.

"My pleasure." she answered as she walked ten paces away, after that she summoned her Noble Arm and a shooting star began revolving around her.

"So what are the rules, is it first blood or until one of us surrenders?" she asked.

---

Noel mused and said, “First blood. Also, as it’s daytime, you have an advantage; just thought I’d mention it. So, shall we start?”

Two seconds’ warning was given before Noel’s scythe appeared in his right hand, its blade cutting at Cristina’s left leg…

---

Cristina managed to leap away at the last second as the shooting star dropped to the ground, blinding Noel for a moment.

She then took a leap toward him, going for a slash across his body.

---

Noel closed his eyes and was instinctively zig-zagging backward, an otherwise dangerous maneuver but one that allowed him to avoid Cristina’s attack until his vision cleared up. As it was not noonday yet, he could activate La Luna’s Veil of Night, his camouflage/invisibility power. And so he vanished into thin air, with no indication of where he went.

Nevertheless, Cristina would hear a whoosh of air thirty seconds later as Noel’s scythe cut at her right shoulder, enough to make a shallow wound.

---

Cristina nearly managed to hit her opponent but before she could follow-up her attack, Noel had vanished. She tried looking around but she couldn't find anything due to the camouflage.

So she focused on what she could hear, like the time she was searching for the drones.

She heard a step.

She turned around and managed to raise Sinagtala to meet La Luna's strike although it was a weak guard that could be easily broken.

---

Noel didn’t hesitate; as he dropped his camouflage and became visible again, he pushed forward to break Cristina’s guard, hoping to finally score a cut.

---

The difference between the amount of force between a scythe and a sword was enough to break Cristina's guard. The blade of the scythe also manages to break through the meager protection offered by Cristina's jacket and finally leave a cut on her left arm.

Cristina didn't notice until she tried throwing a punch at Noel's face.

"Huh, you won," she muttered as she checked at her wound.

---

Noel, meanwhile, was nursing a bruised cheek, before nodding and mumbling, “So, should we get back? I can call the Jeep.”

((Collab between @Letter Bee and @Amidatelion))

Intermission Two: Ghosts of Angeles City - Timeskip; Final Six Days

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/20/2022, Philippines, 11:02, UTC+8

Myron patrolled the streets of Balibago, leading a phalanx of military police in body armor and borrowing Noel’s authority to make sure that Balibago’s establishments and residential houses were protected. Under Lotus Squadron’s aerial cover, construction workers were able to carry bags of concrete and hollow blocks, as well as set up metal scaffolding from which they can repair the buildings ravaged by vandals, zombies, and fire.

Window panes were being replaced with new glass, billboards patched up or replaced as well, and Myron had instructed the local junkyards and recycling centers to smelt as much glass and metal as they could for future use.

But it was not enough, although it was certainly more constructive than his previous activities. Either way, despite his efforts, the streets were filled with more vagrants, the storeowners and local residents were more sullen, and there was a cloying smell of urine and excrement due to the local sewers being overtaxed.

It would take years to recover from this even if the war was over, and the status of the Amerasians would degrade further if he didn’t do anything.

Which reminded him to call ‘Sister’ Marta through military comms and ask, Hey, I’m coming back to Murata’s Ramen House right now; want to meet up with there? You must be tired out from healing dozens of people; you have the right to take care of yourself too, you know?

A Haggard voice rings out from the other end of the Comms - the Sister rarely keeps anyone waiting long, whether or not the circumstance is life and death as it was recently. Hey, Myron! Yeah, that sounds - an unbidden yawn interrupts. Yeah, that sounds good to me. I’ll just google the address and be right there.

Marta had in fact, barely rested recently - just enough to not make herself a nuisance to those she meant to help. But so long as there were still people injured and debris to clear, she felt compelled, nay, obligated to help. To ignore those you can help right in front of you is unconscionable…but it also means that she’d worked up quite an appetite, and a thick bowl of Ramen could have lured her from anything at that point.

A quick trip to the hotel and a splash of water to the face to ensure she was wearing a clean habit and a clean face were needed - it wouldn’t do to show up all slovenly when invited - but within the half-hour she was entering the restaurant fresh-faced, looking for Myron and hoping her energy could hide her eyebags.

Myron was close to the entrance just in case anything happened, and was eating from a bowl of chicken ramen; chickens were still plentiful in the area, after all. Waving hi to Marta as he sat behind a wooden table with some beer stains, on a wooden chair whose upholstery was faded and starting to wear due to lack of maintenance, the young man greeted her with a, “Hi, Marta; want to order something? I’m paying.”

He then sighed and said, “Thank you, for helping clear up the aftermath; things would have been worse without you.”

“Hey, there he is!” With a happy wave, she settles down on a chair in front of him while grabbing the menu. “And really, thank you - I was just doing my best to help, but it feels good to hear the gratitude. I guess I have to work on my humility, heh.”

She browses the combo section for a moment, satisfied that the pictures are indeed, mouthwatering. Added to the aroma of the Chicken Ramen her host is eating, extracted a very undignified grumbling from her stomach.

“But really, I’m even more thankful for the food. I was starving , and I barely realized. So I’m thinking - ” she turns the menu to show the combo options. “- Should I get the meal with Karaage or the one with Gyoza? I can’t choose.”

Myron answered, “Karaage; the chicken is crispy yet tender at the same time. With Ramen, it proves that noodles can be higher-class instead of just poor people’s fare; not that there’s anything wrong with the latter.”

He then sighed in his seat and said, “You don’t need to feel guilt for finding gratitude heartwarming. While you’re not entitled to their gratitude, if the latter is freely given, you should accept it.”

“Hmm… yes, you have a point. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

She calls over the wait staff and quickly puts in her order, looking forward to the delicious Karaage and Ramen.

“An excessive concern with being humble and altruistic can easily turn into self-righteousness by itself. I imagine you yourself must’ve been receiving many thanks after what happened.”

She crosses her arms over the table with an inquisitive expression. “What did happen, anyway? I got the gist of it from the news reports, but I was in the middle of the whole thing and I’ve been busy since then. I guess some of the troublemakers weren’t zombies? I had to scold some people on top of everything else.”

Myron froze up a little as he said, “People were spreading rumors that the Amerasian population - Descendants of American soldiers, businessmen, and bureaucrats from the time when they Americanos had a base here - were behind the Chinese invasion. Others believed them and formed a mob; it was easier to believe when for three or so generations, the Amerasians were seen as prostitutes or children of prostitutes - Many of them are the latter who become the former just to survive.”

He looked at her, drawing attention to his own pale skin mixed with his Southeast Asian snub nose, and said, “I barely avoided the same fate; ended up in a Spartan Training Program, escaped from there and joined the Disablers and then became an Arms Master… But I digress - Someone mixed in a zombie virus in an already violent situation.”

Then he went silent.

“... I see,” she responds after a few moments. “That must have been difficult. Frustrating. These are difficult times.”

She takes a sip from her ice tea which arrived fairly quickly.

“It can be… disappointing to see people get violent and irrational. I’ve seen it before. Rumors, misinformation, slander… when you start mixing all that into the worries of war, whether or not they’ll live or die… Well, most people aren’t saints. They’ll do bad things. Things they regret.”

She has indeed seen it before. You never forget your first angry mob, whether that be a flareup of ethnic conflict in eastern Europe, religious persecution in south Asia, or hate-filled “vigilantes” in small American towns. People can be horrible.

“...People can be horrible… but they can also be better. They just need someone to open that path for them. That’s why someone who makes things even worse - like with the Zombie Virus - can’t be left to roam freely.”

Myron nodded in agreement, then said as he ate another few strings of noodles, “We have a suspect already, but he’s gotten away, back to China. With one of us forced to surrender himself in exchange for him not causing any more havoc here for the time being. But let’s talk about how people can be better.”

Looking her in the eye, the former Disabler spoke, “I saw Arms Masters as monsters, nonhuman, holders of power no one deserved to have and which should not be in human hands. But turns out, they don’t have to be that, either - They could simply be people who realized that they themselves can be better than they were right now and chose to follow through. I myself gained my Noble Arm when I saw that the cycle of hatred existed and that whoever wins, all will suffer including the winners - Well, that’s part of that.”

He then ordered a can of beer and a glass from a waitress, then continued, “To be honest, part of me still dreams of a world without Noble Arms, but with the people who would otherwise be Arms Masters still existent. But that will require alterations to the history of the world only the insane would want, at this point. And besides, Arms Masters who come from a place of self-improvement, stemming from knowledge of their own shortcomings, can be an example to all.”

The Sister looks at her hands for a few seconds before replying. “I spent a lot of time thinking… about why I have this power. Why does anyone? And I think… it doesn’t really matter, ‘why.’”

She clenches a fist.

“Noble Arms are power. I think it’s a power that’s been bestowed upon us to do as we see fit. But lots of people have power already - the father over the son, the teacher over the student, the general over his soldiers, and those soldiers over the lives of those they kill. Having power isn’t new. It’s something that already existed.”

She puts her hands back on the table, eagerly accepting the Karaage being served.

“I think people like the Disablers, the Virtues, whoever… they’re too taken in by this flashy power, this everyday miracle. But at the end of the day, it’s just power - what matters is that it does not become an excuse. That hasn’t changed. And those who wield power should be good people, but so should anyone.”

She brushes a hand along the crucifix adorning her habit.

“Well, that’s my answer anyway. Perhaps you have your own.”

Myron smiled and said, “I have my own; it’s similar to yours’. Basically, Noble Arms come from personal change and a willingness to accept it - At least in most cases. And not all change is positive or negative or neutral. Not all is worthy of resistance or submission. But what we’re all obliged to do, is live in symbiosis.

“As time passes and change is accepted and encouraged, we’ll get more Noble Arms, to the point where most Humans have them. But coexistence will still be the best option for us all, if only because cooperation produces more cash.”

He then smiled at that and continued, “Sometimes, greed appeals to people as much as altruism.”

Marta, eating her food, smiles knowingly. “Well, I can’t really say I approve - spiritually - but your words have the ring of truth to them. I guess it all comes back to people in bad places.”

She raises a finger dramatically. “Man shall not live on bread alone, and all that, but they need the bread first. And if material desire is the carrot needed for people to be decent for a start, then I can’t be too sniffy about it. Ah, speaking of-”
The server arrives with a thick, steaming bowl of ramen topped with eggs, pork, corn, and other sorts. The anticipation on the Nun’s face is undisguised as she picks up some of the noodles, blowing on them carefully before dipping them back in and then slurping them all up.

“Oh man, that hits the spot. Love me some Miso Ramen. Hard to get a meal more filling, even back in Europe.”

Myron then spoke, “Yep. So, want to spend the meal in relative quiet? These walls still have ears, after all…”

“Oh, let’s just have some small talk, you and I - it’ll be fun! So anyway…”

Mission Three - Assault on Jinghong Dam

The Ritz Hotel - 10/25/2022, 6:00 UTC+8

((Post originally written by @QJT but published by me with his permission.))

Soldiers and Arms Masters alike fetched their complimentary breakfast as they settled in for the briefing. Key elements were often gleaned from conversations around the room, so Adrián Abasolo struggled to keep a fragment of his senses fixated on the hotel's egress. He couldn't hear or see the door open; rather, the slight change in temperature from the chill outside breeze alerted him. He walked purposely to the entrance to encounter a short, squat individual wearing navy blues, in striking contrast to his own bright whites. Whether the tedium of office work earned him additional weight or muscles truly underlay his blazer, the rotund serviceman filled his suit nonetheless.

Abasolo extended a handshake. "Lieutenant General. An honor and a pleasure."

"Rear Admiral," the man accepted. "I don't recall a formal introduction. Your exploits in the South China Sea precede you."

"Yes, well," Adrián surveyed the area, "Credit belongs with the grunts and officers at the spearhead. Plans never survive contact with the enemy, after all."

"You do yourself a disservice," the visitor reassured. "Regardless, I hope for more active involvement in these joint operations. I'm ecstatic we finally meet in person."

"Then seat yourself wherever you want; we'll commence..." he perused his cellphone, "presently."

"If it's acceptable, I'd prefer to stand. Exercise for the soul."

"Permission unnecessary but granted."

Jasmine, punctual as ever, had summoned the crowd at the front of the gathering. "Alright, everyone, we'll be starting shortly. Take your seats and quiet down." In the din of conversation, she murmured to her superior as they exchanged places, "The presentation is prepared and awaits you, sir."

"Much appreciated," Adrián acknowledged. He scanned the enclosure for sentiment before commencing. "Good morning. When we last fully assembled, I mandated productive relaxation. The undead incursion notwithstanding, I trust that you've had ample rest for the following mission. I've heard reports of fatigue and exertion, but none of injuries, which is the crucial concern. While not government property, your physical fitness is vitally important to the success of this endeavor. I'm grateful that you informed me during the engagement as opposed to afterward." His personal thoughts on the matter beyond that were best kept private.

"Onto the main event." He grabbed a remote from a nearby desk and stepped aside for a newly activated projector. The first slide showed dual satellite images of the same site, comparing prewar to interwar activity. The latter boasted a host of new makeshift warehouses and a considerable buildup of ammunition. "With several major setbacks, for some of which I must commend you, the People's Republic of China has come to terms with the fact that this conflict will not be as immediate and conclusive as they predicted. With international sanctions now realized, their stockpiles are beginning to falter, and they're preparing for the long haul. We've detected a dramatic restructuring of their supply chain towards firearms and similar components."

The next display was a brief video of the skyline of Shantou from the ocean at night. The evening lights shone through the smog, then flickered off across the entire metropolis. " For anyone without experience in manufacturing, this takes an extreme toll on the energy grid. Already we notice signs of stress on critical nodes of infrastructure. High command believes that a small push will collapse their military-industrial capabilities for months. If you wish to not deal with waves of modern tanks on the battlefield, then I'm sure your interests align.

"That brings us to our current objective: the Jinghong Dam," the admiral continued. A computer-generated 3D model of the structure in question is displayed on the screen. "The PRC is collecting every volt they can acquire, from each corner of the map under their sovereign control. This facility provided - emphasis on the tense - hydroelectric power to the Thai people by siphoning off the Mekong River, to the protest of Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. Indochina sacrificed its fertile fields and risked drought for the benefits of electricity. With that bounty diverted to the Chinese mainland, The Kingdom of Thailand has authorized its destruction.

"To this end, I've invited Lt. Gen. Bayani Bautista of the Philippine Air Force to join us. General," Abasolo nodded.

Bautista took the stage, pointing out various details. "Yes, on reconnaissance missions, we've noticed that they've placed anti-aircraft artillery on the flanks of the construction, as well as at points along the canyon leading to it. To deter a strike, they've further established two facilities beneath it and downstream. They currently detain prisoners of war there. This does violate precepts of the Geneva Conventions," he embarked on a tangent, "but the PLA has proven dishonorable from the outset. This shouldn't surprise any of us at this point."

"General, if you'd please..." The admiral gently steered his counterpart back into sync.

"Certainly," Bautista assured, tracing a route upon the projection. "The plan we've spun is as follows. Embarking from Wan Hkung in Laos, you will travel upstream in disguised vessels to the base of Jinghong Dam, with full moonlight visibility. Be advised: you will be traveling past a civilian city, so don't attract unwanted attention. You will disable the AAA and other obstacles you find on the way, and we humbly request that you liberate those incarcerated in the valley."

"Above the ethical implications," Abasolo clarified, "It would be a propaganda victory for our adversary to report that we killed our comrades to spite China, well, assuming that their media could still broadcast afterward. We believe but cannot confirm the presence of Arms Masters there so that we might swell our ranks."

Bautista concluded, "At completion, you will hike up the ridge to a target roughly a kilometer away. We will scramble our fighters and retrieve you via helicopter. I will emphasize: that stealth is paramount in the initial moments. We cannot afford an alert to our position. We calculate that they can attain air superiority in one hour from the moment we are spotted, at which time our planes and copters will be rendered moot."

Adrián smiled. "Questions from the gallery?"

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik@Digmata@Chiro

---

Henri listened carefully to the briefing. To be honest, while this wasn't exactly the European mission, he had desired for a chance like this. And granted, this wasn't his first big mission by any means. The naval invasion had that honor.

The sergeant took a deep breath. He was letting excitement getting to him. Trainers had warned not to let lust for battle get to the head, because then things would get ugly. You couldn't afford to see enemy as a human, but neither could you turn yourself into a monster. No, the enemy was the Chinese government, not the Chinese people. Not to mention that there were hostages that needed releasing.

He looked at the surrounding arms masters. Many of them were still kids, and some of them even outranked Henri. Some had proven themselves at the Lingayen Beach, but not all of them. Sending a child to battle was something the First World was supposed to frown upon. But with Arms Masters, the rules were stretched. And he didn't really trust them. That's why Leonidas was an anti-NA in the first place.

And speaking of Leonidas, where would the officers place him? Evacuation? There were more people that could be fit within Henri's range, and real weapons were still a problem? Direct combat? He could neutralize even China's strongest Arms Masters, but Leonidas was indiscriminate, disarming allies, as well. The Lingayen Beach had shown his capability as a teleported assassin, striking and leaving. Some sort of co-ordination would be required.

Henri took the opportunity and asked. "How shall we be organized for the mission? I mean, what unit has which members and operation?"

The Ritz Hotel - 10/25/2022

After a relaxing vacation - admittedly interrupted by a humanitarian crisis related to the undead - Marta was seated again in a space where she didn't quite belong. She'd been to many crisis situations, but typically, that was her alone, operating as a mendicant nun and talking with whoever needed to be talked to to get things done - sometimes a few informal agreements with NGOs and the local emergency services. Only recently has she begun liaising with an actual military force, and the differences are... striking.

Still, it doesn't do to complain - Ora et Labora, as the Benedictines would say - and liberating prisoners from prisons in the shadow of an ecological disaster is about as righteous a mission as they come. She tugs nervously at the collar of her habit, unsure if she's worried they'll ask her to ditch it to infiltrate or if she'd be glad for the excuse to avoid the temperature where they're going.

"Uh, hey, if I may ask a question-"

She raises her hand more politely than she used to do in school.

"Our mission is to disable the anti-air weapons and rescue the prisoners, yes? We shouldn't bust up the actual dam?"

The Sister is more interested in the parts about saving lives than the ones that might involve taking them, but she thinks... maybe... the Left Hand of Might could destroy the dam. She flushes a bit as the awkwardness sets in - not offering the possibility seemed like malingering.

The Ritz Hotel - 10/25/2022

It had been two full weeks from the mission at Mischief Reef, a long deserved vacation for the Obsidian taskforce. Nil in particular had been doing little more than resting and her usual goofing, even when a zombie infection spread through the city Nil was to stay out of it, issues of collateral damage or something.

But in the middle of Abasolo’s speech she dozed off, lots of words and nothing that seemed directly relevant, to her anyway. At least they eventually showed images of their target, and the mention of its importance to Thailand kept her listening… even if at the end of the speech all she gathered was that there’s this wall of sorts, important to various countries and it was damn, or damned or something. Safe to say Nil gathered barely anything from Abasolo’s speech, and then Bautista took the stage.

Maybe it was Bautista’s more direct approach or hus different voice, but Nil found it much easier to understand the mission at hand, anti-aircraft around that needed to be removed, moreover they needed to do so quietly so the later airstrike can surprise the PLA, and not waking civilians at the late hour is a courtesy too.

Nil then slouched back as the rest of the room pelted the officers with questions, among them she recognised few like Henri from Lingayen and the vietnamese pilots, supposedly they will be the ones to take over once the AAA is disposed of.

Not a GM Post

The Ritz Hotel - 10/25/2022, 6:05 UTC+8

Noel was ill at ease, feeling like a schoolboy in an auditorium; he had spent twelve years in conventional schools before becoming an Arms Master, something that had defined his life. His left hand gripped the seat of his plastic chair as he listened to what the Rear Admiral and the Lieutenant-General had to say. Even in the slightly cooler weather of October, and the natural coolness of the early morning, he was sweating in the military uniform - With green and brown camouflage patterns - he had chosen to wear to avoid looking like he was waving his privileges as a member of Task Force Obsidian at other people.

To his credit, he looked good in green and brown camouflage patterns, but that was not the point he wished to make. Right now, the boy had a pair of concerns, one he knew had to be discussed early before things went off the rails, as they doubtless would.

So he raised his hand like the student he would have been in a different life, and asked, "I noticed that the following night is the New Moon, which allows me to use a certain ability my Noble Arm has. However, if Huo Ren is in any way near Jinghong Dam, he would probably be able to counter said ability; so I have to ask: Do we know if he is anywhere in the area?"

His left hand had loosened its grip as he asked, but it tightened again as Noel asked another question, "Also, I couldn't help but notice that most of our heavy hitters are out of commission; either called to other fronts or dropped out of the Task Force due to some reason. This means that we will have to be more subtle, especially as the remainder have not fought alongside each other to any real extent and so they'd have to coordinate in the midst of battle. Or do we have a stopgap solution at hand?"

Myron, who was wearing his traditional black and white semi-formal suit that made him look like a Mafiosi or a Yakuza (or more charitably, a Government Agent), looked at Noel and provided an answer to the first question, "Mr. Malong told me that Huo Ren is in the area; if we can take him out using Henri's own Noble Arm, you can use your own trump card, First Lieutenant Alonso."

The last three words were said with some affection as Myron continued, "My Noble Arm can take us to the staging point at the last minute, but we should not rely on Arms Masters' transportation abilities alone - Not even mine. So are we going to fly to the staging point - Wan Hkung - the hard way or are we going to use my abilities? Both carry risks; the first is interception and the second is overreliance."

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro

Mission Three - Assault on Jinghong Dam: Special GM Post

Jinghong Dam - 10/25/2022, 8:30 UTC+8



Ai Chen was the Rooster of the Zodiac, and Warden of the 'prison farms' that now dotted the area immediately downstream from Jinghong Dam, where she and Huo Ren, her occasional 'consort', had been stationed in anticipation of the ASEAN attempt to rescue the PoWs that were no more than slave labor now; her slave labor.

Patrolling the air on her Noble Arm, a recurve bow of gold and lapis lazuli so big that she can ride it like a vehicle, she shamelessly stared at the laborers' glistening backs; she had mandated that in exchange for decent food and sanitation, the prisoners were to wear only their shock collar and a pair of shorts (with chest wraps for women). This resulted in a most pleasant view in her opinion as she flew over the fields and hills where crowds of prisoners were harvesting rice, peanuts, and peas from the green and brown ground, which also grew a host of other crops she didn't care about and were being gathered up too.

There was no danger of food theft; their collars sparked with electricity should their mouths move too close to the food - Having their own microchip plants was an asset in these trying times.

Spotting a flash of red hair below, she soared a little downwards to look at their new prisoner, Amadeo Balagtas, the Filipino Arms Master Jason had brought in during that 'disruption operation' in Angeles City. He had been interrogated most harshly by Huo Ren when Jason had gone back to Russia where he belonged, and now the young man was bearing numerous marks of harsh treatment on his back, chest, biceps, and abs, marks that had multiplied when he had foolishly refused to accept her and Huo's 'interest' in him. Now as the price of his defiance, he was being forced to haul rocks in a wheelbarrow away from the fields and onto a dump site alone, but it was clear he wouldn't give way... Yet.

Oh, well, she can play the long game, and it wasn't like there weren't plenty of captives of both sexes to choose from in the meantime, assuming ASEAN's 'Task Force Obsidian' failed to take advantage of the New Moon tonight. But right now, it was time to watch over the large, bungalow-like barracks where the prisoners were housed at night and their larger, blockier counterparts for the guards, the watch posts meant to prevent escape, and the barbed wire fences, ditches, and minefields that surrounded the very edge of the 'prison farms'; a grim reminder that escaping was just not viable even with Noble Arms.

And of course, she had a canister containing one of Jason's viruses, strapped to her gold and ebony-colored bikini's belt, as a trump card, just in case every countermeasure failed. What a shame that bastard was loyal to the memory of the wife he himself killed; he was a looker underneath that mask...

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro