[IC] QUIX Universe: New Skywell.

[LHG100]

News Anchorman Ryan Johnson stood at the podium, shuffling around some papers as the camera crew and other staff prepared for broadcasting. As soon as the clock hit 5:00, the camera started rolling, and Ryan Johnson started using his own soothing voice to relay the news. "Good morning, New Skywell", the friendly sounding young man said to the camera, "Our average temperature for today is going to be a decently pleasant sixty-six degrees, Fahrenheit. It's going to be a calm day, with just a few clouds."

"For our 'interestingly able' viewers, the International Anti-Super Defense Command has put into action the Super-Registration program starting today. If you've been paying attention to our little channel, this act was authorized by many world governments just a few weeks ago. If you find an IASDCOM agent knocking on your door today, that's probably going to be why."

He cleared his throat a little, "Something in my throat, heh.", "IASDCOM made the announcement yesterday afternoon that the act was publicly passed in all participating countries.". "As well, Presidential Candidate Thomas Goodwill's approval rating has unexpectedly dropped to 56%, a massive ten point decline. This is likely because of his earlier profane comments on the aforementioned registration act."

He continued with the 'morning politics' for a few minutes, until the station went to commercial. Channel Eight News was one of the most popular networks. Ryan Johnson was commonly called their best news anchor. His pleasant voice, and lovely accent, was just peachy to wake up to.

After the two-and-a-half minute commercial break, "This just in, a large archaeological team has been gone missing in Japan, contact was confirmed completely thirty minutes ago. This team of archaeologists was investigating a mysterious tomb, said to contain a legendary swordsman."

"Let's hope he was a nice one!", Ryan joked. "Continuing on, IASDCOM has also announced it's going to begin selling public patents for its' 'Normalcy Field' technology to certain New Skywell companies."

The news continued being reasonably boring, as the various superheroes of New Skywell were likely beginning to get up. Aside from one, but he wasn't exactly super.

"...You think anything bad's going to happen?", A somewhat short man in some sort of military suit said to the driver of the vehicle, a dark-grey Aston-Martin DB5. The driver, a taller, bearded fellow responded jovially, "Nah, I can't think of any suspected supers I've heard of we'll be going to today would really mind registering. You'll be fine anyway, you at least got your revolver, right?" "Yessir", the slightly russian-accented agent said in response.

"So who's the first one again?" "Ah, Corona, read her file again. First one in the brief case.". Arthur opened the briefcase, on the left it had a small stack of papers, and on the right it had his own revolver. Adamska paraphrased it out loud, reading it all in half of a minute or so. "Sofia Roberts, also known as Corona, has light based abilities. Intelligent, yet noted to be blunt. A sort of celebrity to the people of New-Skywell. That one?" "Yep, that's the girl. I've seen her on tape a few times, she's a nice one. Should be easy."

The car eventually stopped to an apartment complex, and the Agent got out of the car. He closed the door behind him and carried the briefcase, quite imposing in his militaristic combat uniform, the gas-mask-helmet not helping at all. Obviously, he got very strange looks by various passerby. "Hey, you coming?", he said to the driver. "Nah, I'll wait here." "Suit yourself."

He then walked inside.

[Driving Park]

Arthur went to the desk of the apartment complex, and asked the attendant staff-member which room was owned and used by a 'Sofia Roberts'. He flashed his IASDCOM badge, a show of forceless authority. The staff-member answered, "Three-hundred seventeen, sir.", and Arthur went on his way, as the clocks ticked to 5:04

Arthur walked up a few stairs, then eventually found the room. He quietly counted aloud, "311.. 312... 313... 314... 315... 316...", then knocked at 317, and patiently waited. He checked his watch, and made sure he had no obvious weaponry on him. "Yep, just my revolver", he concluded and thought, after patting himself down.

Sofia's sleep was interrupted by the knock at her door. She groggily opened her eyes, sat up and looked at her clock. "FIVE IN THE MORNING?!" she exclaimed, as her room was suddenly very bright. "Some people..." she said at a more civilized volume. She begrudgingly stood up and walked to the door, her casual attire nothing to be particularly proud of. She looked through the peephole and beheld what she thought was a gas mask.

"...what?" she said softly to herself. Nonetheless, she opened the door.

"May I help you?" she asked, not hiding her being very unaccustomed to being up this early.

Arthur slightly jumped at the outburst he heard in there. "Fuck, did I just really anger her? I really don't want to fight today...", he thought. He really didn't want to. Of course, he only had his revolver. He saw her opening the door, and when it was fully open (and after hearing her response), he revealed his intentions. "Hello. You're miss Sofia Roberts, yes?", with a notable russian accent.

Sofia noted the shorter man's Russian accent. At least he wasn't another reporter. "That's me," she said in a fairly carefree tone.

"I'm IASDCOM Agent Arthur Nickolai. Or just Adamska. I'm fine with either. May I please come in?", He said, politely.

Sofia sighed, mentally noting that she was already awake so she might as well accomodate the presumably armed agent in a gas mask. "Help yourself," she said, walking back into her room and leaving the door open for the IASDCOM agent to enter.

Arthur closed the door behind him, and looked for somewhere to sit down. He did, however, take off his helmet, revealing his decent looking face. A bit dirty, though.

"Oh good, you're normal," Sofia commented. "That's a relief." She sat down on her bed and gestured towards her office chair. "Sorry I don't have a couch for you. I'm pretty frugal," she added.

"That's completely understandable.", he quietly replied, as he sat down on the chair. He spun around a little before resuming seriousness. "You likely know what I'm here for, do you not? I just want you to register, please. I would greatly appreciate this with no fuss.", He said while getting out a few papers from his briefcase, a small glint could be seen as it was slightly tilted. She couldn't be sure what metallic object was in there though, due to the angle.

Sofia slightly nodded. "Oh yeah, that," she said, as if having completely forgotten about it until just that moment. "Sure, as long as it doesn't make me even more popular. Before long I'm going to actually like it."

"Of course not, Miss Roberts. The way I see it, it's not our fault you're this popular.". He then got a pen and closed the briefcase a little quickly.

"I'd actually be impressed if it was somehow your fault that I was popular. And annoyed, but you know...details," Sofia replied, having only given a slight curious tilt of the head to the briefcase. She assumed it was just classified things she couldn't be bothered with.

"Anyway, please, sign these papers and give the requested information as accurately as you may.", he asked. The papers asked for her name, address, types of powers, effectiveness, and what she usually does with those powers. Along with a few other things.

Sofia took the pen and papers and put them on the floor where she could sign them effectively. After quickly looking through the forms, she scrunched her face a bit and began filling them out. Name and address were easy, though she figured they knew those already. She spent a little more time with the next three categories, answering them in a very unscientific but to-the-point fashion (e.g. "I can control the sun" rather than "Hyperion Strand"). Fairly soon she had filled out the form to the best of her ability and gave a few requisite florid signatures, before handing them back to the agent. "Good?" she inquired.

Arthur looked over the papers, slightly amused by how informal most of it was. However, this was technically what was asked, so he decided to not say anything. "Thank you, Miss Roberts. Before I leave you be, may I ask how you would react if I stated you may be eligible for a certain program in IASDCOM?"

Sofia sighed. "I can only properly react if I know what the program is. IASDCOM is pretty much a Men in Black alphabet soup to me at this point," she replied. "I appreciate the straightforwardness, though. Much better than most of the people I get."

"Ah, that is somewhat related to the aforementioned program. Effectively, think of it like a bounty-hunting system. Obviously, we'd prefer if you didn't murder any rogue supers, simply bring them to us to properly judge. In essence, if you bring us a Super Troublemaker, we'll give you a decent amount of pay. As well, this wouldn't require you to join that program, but if you want we can have agents be planted in the area to reduce the amount of reports that come your way."

Sofia thought a moment. "Getting paid to turn supers in to a group that is pretty much guaranteed to handle them better than the police could? Dig. Seems like a no-brainer to me. As long as, you know, I don't get more press," she replied. "Though I feel like that's inevitable in this town."

"As long as you handle it as... well, sneakily as you can, I'm sure we can convince news reporters to ignore your activites."

"Eh, don't worry about that. I'm not a very sneaky superhero. Light and all, y'know? I'm sure it'll be fine."

"If you ever need anything, just call us, Miss Roberts."

"Will do. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back to sleep. Thanks for being normal for a change," Sofia replied as she opened the door for the agent. Once he left, she jumped/fell on her bed, her room went immediately dark, and she was sound asleep within seconds.

Arthur walked out, put on his helmet, and smiled at how easy that was. He loved it when things were as simple as that.

[Defacto]

EVERY NIGHT SHE WALKED ALONG the Central Park, going home. Every night that park was covered with a quiescence. Jillia loved that place; the green of the trees, the owl's hoot, the smell of nature and the stars. Horizon was mostly rock and water, and the few giant coconut trees were not captivating at all.

Jillia attracted attention. The news had spread faster than she would like, suddenly all over the world became interested in the Arctic and the capsule which opened a crater—and they all looked at her with questionable eyes. She wanted to talk, to shout to the world that she was not an alien, she was human like they were; but it would not help. The metallic green hair and the lines on her face branded her, telling the world that she was an outsider.

She was not used to walk among the mind-blind, much less among "humans of the past"; a term that she had whispered just for herself to use. People looked at her out the corner of their eyes, whispering about "Kat"—admittedly an alias she sort of liked—wondering what vile reason she had come here for, to this planet, to this time; yet another one of a series of misunderstood outsiders.

And so, every night she walked through the park, enjoying the solitude as she walked home, blisfully unaware of how the tranquil lonelines would soon be interrupted.

Kat was the sort of tart you would mistake with an actress if not for the damn lines of synthetic skin. She was wearing a blue halter dress accompanied by black low-top sneakers with no socks, a choice that no one would make for a walk in the park, but that lack of understanding on the twenty-first century fashion didn't seem to bother her. She was focused on a greater obstacle, New Skywell's tormentuous climate. She always complained that Earth was too hot compared to Horizon and there was nothing like enjoying the wind on her face while strolling through the park to cool off.

She might be clever, but she was the kind of girl who trusted too easily, or wouldn't have the courage to investigate something that looks suspicious. That's where we would come in. Someone like me, the nosy detective brave enough—or stupid enough—to take those kind of risks.

"Two million," A man dressed in a brown overcoat barely hiding a UMP-45 said as I tried to sneak around, "That's what he told me."

Sounded like dope, but why the hell would they set this up in the middle of this forest? No one did business here, it defied all common sense; hard to find the dealer and harder to move the stuff around. And obviously prone to the odd fly on the wall like me.

"Take it or leave." The armed man said, apparently angry at the other penny-pincher.

"And you're sure the artifact works?" Said the second, a short blond man.

"Your boss is a scientist, he'll most likely figure out. Besides, we both know that I wouldn't be sent to hand over a fake artifact."

The second swung his arms, barely hiding his discontent, "So your people didn't--"

"--Yeah. No one else even knows what it is we have. Enough dawdling, does your boss want it or what?"

"Shit..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a smart phone. "Done. The money is sent." He said after sliding his finger here and there on the phone screen.

The first man threw the backpack on the ground, waited for the other to pick it up, and left without another word.

Drug or not, my detective's sense was telling me it was something big enough and I was not in the mood to leave it in the hands of some crazy scientists or to the lads of O12; after all, nobody pays two million for some cool Aztec paper weight. This city is known for the technological jazz, the damned LED signs or all those smart-things crap. And nothing would prevent someone from playing outside the rules, marketing a powerful artifact.

I followed the man carrying the backpack around the city, like any good detective would. People have a sixth sense about bad things; that feeling of "I'm being followed" or "got someone spying on me," a feeling that I didn't allow people to have about me. With a little concentration I could make people forget that I was in the room with them or even make them feel comfortably safe as I followed them through dark alleys.

The plan was simple, hit the man with a pipe and take his body to a warehouse and interrogate him. No preparation needed, just the right amount of brute force.

☉

The blond-haired man finally regained his consciousness. We were in some kind of computer warehouse, based on the shelves with broken hard drives and other technological scraps everywhere. I took advantage of one of the empty shelves and tied him up. Not the best choice of furniture, but it was what I got.

He tried to yell, but I interrupted him with a straight punch to the nose. Clearly he was afraid, probably thought I was part of the mafia, one of those types who sell goods and then got them back the hard way. Or maybe was my M1911 in my belt.

Either way, it was easy to establish the rules with a good punch or a kick. People always feared the bad cop.

"Who do you work for, and what did you pick up for them?" I barked in the man's face

"Some kind of artifact, please don't kill me!" the blonde quickly said in his irritating nasal voice, dividing his speech with restless breathing through his newly broken nose. Nothing new there, I already knew it was an artifact, and of course I had already failed to open the box.

"I'll just repeat this one more time, okay? Who bought it?" I hated it when people pretended to be stupid, especially when they were just a stupid courier from a larger and equally stupid company.

"Cobra! CobraTech!" A little squeeze on his broken nose brought out the name. The blonde screamed and moaned in pain, something that looked like a request for clemency.

"See?" I said in mocking comfort, wiping the blood on my hand on his sweater.

"Who are you?" He spoke silently, probably fearing another beating.

"You can call me Spade."

Kat carried the artifact to her home. Two blocks later she heard shots, probably a policeman noticed the blond man's screams and decided to shoot the lock off the warehouse and investigate.