It had been a splendid morning, in the mind of the Dreamwalker, despite the sour mood of the animals. The verdantly beautiful scenery of the forest simply called "Emerald" was certainly a more unique sight than the ones he'd seen in the past few years, the air was warm with a bright and sunny warmth, and the fact the forest hadn't decided to swarm them in Feral Lionbears was certainly something he was glad for as well. One could feel how 'alive' this place was, both metaphorically and in the literal sense, and a Living Forest wasn't exactly something he was going to see every day either! It was fascinating, though he hoped the forest would let them through long enough to get to the other side. A druid he was not, but....eh, if it came down to it he could try to communicate? Maybe? He'd have to maybe thumb again through a particular tome he had finished reading through a few nights ago after some weeks on the road. Well, said tome was more like a journal that had been used to compile someone's notes on native occult art and practices in some peculiar jungle far away at least.
Though after having gone so far to pull the carts and pieces of the caravan along, he also felt like he couldn't blame the animals for needing to rest at least. Except for that slug wagon. It was kept near the rear of the company for a reason, given the slippery trails it left on the path that could make some other animals slip and trip! Last thing they needed was that to happen to anyone, especially when the other animals were getting tired. Though according to said beast's driver, the creature could move quite fast when it wanted to and especially fast if it one held a rotting carrot on a stick in front of its face. Hmm. Still, he did want to go back one day and talk to the driver he'd seen a couple of days ago being pulled along by that pair of titanic centipedes if he got the chance....and preferrablly after those things were fed already to boot. Sure they helped ward off some predators from that part of the caravan, but if anyone got eaten that was not going to help the driver's case!
Still, as he was pondering things while his mostly mundane-looking and well-covered (wooden walls and a nice little roof to boot) wagon pulled itself along on its own he felt some means of thanks to the Vilkyn for that much at least. The rest of the things they'd done to others? Ah, no thanks he was fine with that. Making a mana-gem-powered self-driving-and-stopping traveling wagon though? It had taken a few years to get and make the components for it, but it was so very worth it compared to what he'd had before. Pfft. Having to conjure some wiggling monstrosities to pull it was simple and all, but having to get permits or temporarily dismiss them or coming up with some excuse every time a paladin or war cleric or such came over his direction when they stopped in the larger cities eventually became a bit of a constant headache for him there.
"Knossos, O Walker of Dreams. What do you know of undead and old tombs? More than I would like, I imagine. We are very near to some of both. Ready your occult knowledge close at hand to protect us. But, please, spare my sensibilities the details."
Athulwin was not a bad navigator, he had to give him credit, but the man was as lazy as anything sometimes. Not that magic didn't make it easy to send some quick messages about the Caravan, so perhaps his passing thought there was a bit moot. But if it came to chopping wood or other such hard labors? That was where he felt most correct in that thought about the other man, really, and more secure in it. Still, he didn't mean Athulwin any bad or ill-intent, nor would be speak about the man like that behind his back. His personal thoughts were just that, personal and private and subject to change. Besides, he hadn't a clue about the other man's past or history for that matter....but he knew one thing for sure since he'd first seen him:
Dark magic clung to the monk-like man like parasite, the aura feeling to the occultist as if it was leeching and drinking from Athluwin like some kind of horrid cup of living wine. A horrible curse likely cast on a horrible night, if trends for such things lent themselves to taking a guess, and placed on one who seemed to be a sort of monk of all things. He could sense it, feel it even, from the other man. Likewise the other man had been watching him for some time, as if wary somehow about him since that they had shaken hands the night he'd introduced himself to Athulwin. Was it a case of 'had bad experiences with dark magic' or perhaps a case of 'it takes one to know one' though? In the end, it mostly didn't matter if they kept things peaceable between them. He'd tried to only ever be genuine and friendly in return, and even shared some meals with the other man over the past several years to boot. No issues. Not trying to get rid of him. None of it. And if Athluwin wasn't prying into him, he wasn't going to do it in return either out of mutual respect and precaution.
Not that he was the only other one there with some kind of dark magic palpable on them, even if Athluwin was the most perceptible to him thus far. Everyone had secrets to hide, it seemed, after all. He'd only pry or do his thing with more 'cloak and dagger' type discreetness if they made themselves a danger to them all or the caravan as a whole.
"Alright, Athulwin, I'll come up there to see what's going on."
Speaking in a pleasant, yet calm, matter-of fact tone to the airy magical messenger, the occult expert of the caravan would sit up from his spot at the covered driver's seat of the wagon as it pulled over to the side where he had his own little spot. From here the magic-user would lightly hope off of the wagon, before stretching his arms and legs. He didn't need to worry about anything trying to steal from the wagon at least, if nothing else. A few well-placed wards and the like generally kept it secure, really, just as they had before the wagon was turned into csone animated construct. Albeit occasionaly pests would still try to get into the wooden wagon for his rations or such, and the magical wards and such would of course kill them, but he didn't want to hurt anything innocent. In that vein he'd been up-front with the local cheese-maker of the company to make sure his rats were careful, as he had warded his wagon for very good reasons. The magical bag he had attachedto his left hip currently held much, if not his most precious and dangerous, things. The wagon though? It contained and had a lot of things locked up in there for safety's sake and containment, ranging from harmless supplies to a small hanful of things which had also been repurposed for helping in defending or making the magically-moved wagon by this point in time.
Beginning his walk to the front of the caravan, however, the older man glanced at anyone else along the way who seemed to be heading the same direction as he was or at least looked like they were preparing to. Along the way his nose, however, picked up a familiar and yet pleasant aroma. Ah. He knew whose wagon was coming up along the way.
"Good day to you, Gru."
Knossos gave a polite nod to the peculiar and portly little cheese-maker, whose wagon was pulled by rats. Tight with the money, always a bit of a miser, and yet someone who made rather high-quality product and cared more for his rats than perhaps many would ever take the tie to notice. Had seemed to always peddle his wares and goods, but from what he'd seen and heard nothing bad had come from it all. For one thing, the cheese wasn't turning into a monster and eating people or the sort, nor did it seem to be tainted by dark magic. Hold the traces of it here and there? Yes, he could percieve that much, but a trace of something was definitely still different than being imbued or infused with something. From the start he could feel something lingering on the man and that wagon of his, but had kept his mouth shut and minded his own business to see how Gru would conduct himself in those initial weeks.
Safe to say, the cheese-maker seemed to be doing that and just that: Making cheese and caring for his rats. And he was glad for it!
In that vein he'd always tried to treat the other man kindly and fairly in turn as well, even purchasing different cheeses here and there at more spread-out times. Not that he was as perhaps prolific a customer as he felt Athulwin was, really, but if the monk was part-rat and loved his cheese then so be it! No judgement there. Meanwhile he only tried to appoach to try particular things at times, maybe look into a particular delicacy he'd been curious about. Maybe offering part of the supplies to try to help the-, oh!
Knossos took pause for a moment near Gru, turning his head back to him with a small smile on his face.
"Apologies, but I did want to also tell you I've finally found that bottle of fine but rather rare vintage Ilgirian Coast Red Wine I mentioned that I got back three months ago from one of my more 'affluent' clients. Apparently I kept it in my magical bag at the time, but after digging it out I've put it back in my wagon in its proper storage place. I was still curious if you could infuse it into a fine cheese for me, perhaps?"
A fine wine-infused cheese. Not something Knossos could at least remember seeing often at all, save for a few choice places in the last few years. He had been curious about it, but blast it all he'd forgotten where the bottle was initially! Still, he hoped it wouldn't be too much of a bother to ask the cheese-maker. He was providing the rare wine for it at least, if nothing else, so maybe it'd help the price a little bit?
Whatever the case, he wanted to check with Gru about the small matter of that before he would finish making his way to where Althuwin and anyone else the man had summoned would likely be.
"Chasing Murkrow seems like fun! I'm cool with whichever choice, but I reckon you're more excited to follow them birds more than anything, huh? If that is the case, let's do it!"
Had she seemed that excited? Maybe. Clarissa peronsally had no idea, but as they moved on to enter the Industrial District on the tail of the flying bird Pokemon proper.
Heading away from the Commercial district, towards the docks, and following the seaside to the Industrial district would be the easiest way to get there. Eventually the noise of the loud ads, the cacophony of different voices from tourists would be a distant noise replaced by the sound of silently humming machines, bird song and the sound of an occasional worker or vehicle moving by. Skyscrapers instead gave way to warehouses, row upon row of them along with other industrial buildings for shipping, manufacturing.
A gloomy serenity would fill the area left behind by Bjyerlfals commercial district. Even the people here were more rough and tumble looking compared to the commercial district's more glamorous and shiny exterior.
Despite their efforts, however, the flock would disappear from sight despite it all. they would soon find they had...ah...
"Bun..."
Yes. They had lost the trail of the flock. And the scenery was becoming more and more sketchy by the moment frankly. Dark, gloomy, and yet where some more nocturnal Pokemon like those birds might be hiding out really during the day. At the same time, though, it was becoming more and more familiar to her in some distant sense all the same. Though if those birds were perhaps nocturnal, what had made them come out in the day in such a case? Hmm. Either way, the psychic trainer did not want to think too hard on things in that sense.
They could hear a few Murkrow cries coming from further in, down some alleys but the place didn’t exactly seem the safest place to go poking about in. Still, even this place had a few things of note.
A small chain of shops, and even a small cafe named ‘Wailords Rest’ was visible lining the walls. Seemed fairly cozy and well traveled. It faced the sea and a number of sailors from the SS calliope, the recently docked liner could be seen here. Looked like there was some commotion within.
They had for now, though, lost the trail of the Murkrow. They might need to either ask around or find some way to look for the pokemon.
Sir Lopsalot's ears perked up at the sound as well, turning in the general direction as he poked his trainer to get her attention. He then looked over at Ripley as well, before he gestured down the general direction he'd heard the cries in. Why these trainers wanted to go down into such a place was beyond him, but he was stciking by his trainer no matter what! Or at least that was what the bunny might've said if he had the ability to speak to humans. What was he, some strange foreign Meowth from afar who was talking to humans and trying to steal from a mere child for over two decades? Pfft.
"Well, certainly the alleys could be hiding some Pokemon. Sir Lopsalot seems to agree as well. Not that it would be very safe perhaps, but we could find something hiding or sleeping amidst the trash and such in the alleys perhaps. Hmm..."
Clarissa's right hand came up to her chin in mild thought. Indeed it would be those alleys where some Pokemon might be found in particular. No risk no reward, yes? Or that was how the saying went. She'd been around some sketchy enough areas to at least understand how to navigate such things in a rough sense perhaps, though she'd never been in this particular city before either. Either way she seemed almost at a certain neutral ease, perhaps, keeping aware and yet seemingly adjusted well enough to such an area as the Indistrial District. At least, so told her body language of all things. Facially she remained ever the usual stoic, as it were, her eyes flickering about the sights to try to help think of something.
Ultimately, however, Clarissa's gaze would fall squarely upon the cafe called "Wailord's Rest".
"Should we see if the local cafe here knows anything? It seems well-used, and perhaps the staff might have seen these Pokekmon fly by or heard rumors or the like before about where they hang out? Something of the sort.
Do you have any suggestions?"
Her tone was formal enough about it, but the matter at hand was certianly one that the psychic wanted to have them both weigh-in on at least. If Ripley had no qualms she head with him to the Wailord's Rest Cafe and see if anyone in there had some idea. Worst case she got to ask some sailor hopping in these if he or she knew anything about Pokemon in the area here, perhaps, or a member of staff could point them in another direction within the district to look for clues? If nothing else, it was a start.
But if Ripley had a partiular idea, she'd not want to jump the gun if he had his own suggestions as well. No sense being in a group without getting an opinion, right? Besides, it wasn't as if some Pokemon was literally going to jump out at them from the trash as she learned to simply peer a little curiously into the closest alley to them in the meantime. She was still looking back to Ripley, after all, to listen to him as well and let him know she wa still paying attention to whatever he had to say if nothing else.
@Click This, @Crusader Lord, @Hammerman, @Qia Well... It's been over two weeks now, and no new IC posts at all. I realize that having Laynea leave you guys in the forest was a bad idea, but the benefit of hindsight is only available after a mistake sadly. But more importantly, I think I'll be closing this story down - unless you guys yourselves wanna keep running it. I'll leave that decision up to you all, but for my part, I feel unmotivaed and unenthused about keeping this going.
Apologies for not being a better GM and giving you all more direction and guidance in matters.
As I said, if any of you want to keep going with this, please just let me know in a PM or VM or something, and I'll make one/some/all of you Co-GM so you can keep running this RP on your own.
For what its worth, I had fun with you all so long as it lasted, and I hope you all have fun in whichever future RPs you decide to join. :)
Apologies for also not being a better player in this case on my end, Xalt.....even after my goofed-up post I just ended up kinda running on a bit of a blank when trying to think of something. But it was fun while it lasted indeed, and I hope to see another Xalt RP one day! :D
"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
-Paarthunax, The Elder Scrolls Skyrim
Real Name: Jason Alexander Smith (the name given to him at the facility he was in) ((Daniel Craig Taylor" is his actual birth name when he went missing as a kid, but its not what he goes by currently either.))
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Alias/Nicknames: Alcides
Color Choice: Coral
Appearance: A younger man with a physique seemingly that that of an ancient greco-roman statue, which is to say his body is at its uttermost prime and then some to an extent enabled by the modified Extremis he was exposed to and treated with for over a decade. His body and face and limbs and such are muscular, toned, and well-defined to a a frankly superhuman level in terms of body shape and build, and yet overall he is not overly large akin to big bodybuilders either in the end. Could even keep that build even if he stopped working out, frankly, due to how his body was altered by modified Extremis as well over the years. His height of 5'11" falls below that of 6-foot-tall people, but is tall enough to reach the top shelf spectacularly well while having to avoid low-hanging entranceways as a tradeoff. His once childhood-age dirty blonde hair has been altered and tweaked to be jet black by this point, and his eyes are a dark chocolate brown color that he seemingly still had as a young child at least. While not pale or otherwise tan-skinned naturally, though, he can still get a proper tan rather than burn in the sun as well.
A person who could be seen as a ‘true stoic’, having learned how to endure much without showing any visible emotion and while keeping his mouth properly and tightly shut. To others Jason would likely appear ‘unfeeling’ and ‘no-nonsense’ otherwise, or simply like a ‘man of action but no words unless they’re barking orders’, but in reality it's more he’s been trained and pushed and frankly forced to learn how to compartmentalize, internalize, process, and then handle his emotions and such in a different way than most humans normally do. Otherwise he can and is able to express himself much like other human beings, though it's taken a solid year in SHIELD custody to get him to do it somewhat more naturally and learn how to better ‘flip the expressive switch’ inside of his head when doing so in a mental sense. It isn’t perfect, but it's more than he ever had the option of being able to do before. In that sense he’s ‘grown’ in the human sense since his capture.
He is also someone who enjoys spicy foods and cooking, and is a nerd who enjoys ‘geeky’ type of media and cheeky silly pop-culture references since he first began to indulge in such things for the first time (even plays a few video games to boot). At the same time he has remained someone highly-disciplined in how he holds himself and acts in general, and continues to do so. He is someone who enjoys sitting on the porch and watching the sun set over the hill, and feeling the cool air of a gentle fall breeze on his skin when sitting outside, or floating on his back in water even, to soothe his mind when he’s feeling either stressed enough or simply wants to be (or already is) lost in thought. He is also someone who has become detached from the trauma of his early childhood due to how he’s lived for over a decade by now, and yet at the same time retains some passing curiosity about it and is able to recall it with a superhuman clarity now that he never asked for in the first place. Yet he is also someone who feels a number of mixed emotions about those he was around in the past to boot, ones which have yet to unravel or be fully worked out as of yet.
In the end, Jason has expressed well enough that he ultimately wants to find a better course for himself. To do something better. To become someone better. Likewise, he has mostly without speaking sought to reclaim his humanity to enough of an extent moving forward. He is essentially a shooting star in the heavens, seeking a path all his own in a cold and dangerous universe that he is trying to better navigate now than he was able to before….but whose warmth and ‘warm spots’ have also consequently become more brightly visible to him than they were prior as well.
History:
It all began with an idea. A goal. A vision. An advanced weapon platform, one similar to the likes of the legendary Iron Man and yet also surpassing his designs. Something akin to a ‘miniaturized mech’ worn as powered armor by the pilot, capable of incredible speed, precision, and firepower. Something that, in the mind of its original designer, would be a tool of hope for Earth’s people to use in a seemingly very much ‘mad’ universe. Alien invasions. Ultron. Magic. Technology. Mutants. Whatever had produced all these sorts of villains, they tore apart cities. Wrecked countries. Destroyed any sense of safety and comfort that humanity perhaps had at some point in time, whenever that last was, and made them reliant on the charity and whims of what boiled down to a small few who themselves were far from incorruptible.
This was what the eventual Greek-German polymath Atticus Meyer came to believe, even after moving to the United States with his family as a young boy after a traumatic disaster back home in Germany before rising up the ranks of academia and seeking to see his vision be made manifest. Was it an obsession for him? Certainly to some extent, and yet at the same time the genius of a man was shaped by the chaos of the places he and his family lived in before he set out on his own in his adulthood. Someone who had lived in a world where security was not guaranteed, technology was rapidly advancing, and where superheroes and horrible villains alike existed around him. Thus in the end Atticus would calculate his chances, look at potential avenues, and then approach a company known as the Paradigm Corporation in an effort to see his idea to fruition.
The Paradigm Corporation, a subsidiary of Hammer Industries, seemed to be the perfect target. It was no secret that Hammer Industries was on less than amicable terms with Stark Industries and its own superhero of a ‘leading man’, as it were, and thus the promise of defeating or surpassing the number one enemy of Hammer Industries’ own CEO would likely come off as wholly enticing. Too enticing to resist, even, as the polymath hoped. Tugging at contacts before approaching the Paradigm Corporation with his formal presentation, Atticus would in particular seek to bend the ears of Hammer Industries CEO Justin Hammer to him. Anything to ‘set the stage’ and ‘rig the odds’ in his favor before he went in. And indeed the idea would find purchase with the board of the Paradigm Corporation as its potential was brought to light, likewise being helped along as Hammer Industries’ CEO would put some notable but indirect pressure on the subsidiary to take on the project. Thus “Project Talos” would be brought into existence, as it would so be named, with Atticus being hired on to assist with the project at a black site under the company’s facilities under the supervision of the Paradigm Corporation’s own Head of R&D: Sergei Radovich.
The technology itself could be developed using various advanced designs and the like that were in existence on Earth, and there were also a number of necessary ‘acquisitions’ of things like alien wreckage or the like to study and use in the project’s development in turn over time. However, the main issue of the project ended up not being the technology as much as the….pilots. Even while the project’s initial prototypes were functional enough, their specs were greater than what a human being could handle at first. Likewise, dumbed down versions lacked the promised potential in terms of firepower and capabilities that the project had tempted Paradigm and Justin Hammer himself with. Human augmentation using things such as implants, prosthetics, protective clothing, and even illegally-acquired samples of Extremis only did so much to potentially bridge the gap. Likewise, despite falling into hiring on ‘highly resilient’ mutant test pilots most human or mutant test pilots alike were hurt or maimed in one way or another by the suit or the very means being used to try to adjust them to surviving use of the prototypes.
There was a development called an “inhibitor device” that would eventually be created in the pursuit of increasing pilot survivability as well. This device acted as a sort of ‘addition’ to the prototypes, as it would automatically monitor pilot health and adjust the prototype suits’ capabilities to be survivable for the pilot based on futuristic biometric data analysis. It saw a notable increase in test pilot efficiency and a vast drop in damage done to them, and some increased funding given to Project Talos at that, though even then it was only serving to hurt the end product by further degrading its capabilities when used in combination. It did, however, save a fortune on further medical bills and the like. Even so, its success was part of the frustrations of Project Talos only grew and Atticus as well as Sergei tried to find a solution.
This solution would come with the hiring of a few ‘less scrupulous’ individuals, a decision that was made at the rather indirectly-applied pressure of Justin Hammer to the Paradigm Corporation as he discreetly monitored the development of the project from afar. Cue the entrance of one ‘Sebastian Schmidt’, a genius biochemist of seemingly Swiss origins who was brought on-staff and would ultimately greatly contribute to the project with his expertise. Sebastian would seem to buddy up with Sergei as well as Atticus, acting as a more passive ‘guiding influence’ for the project’s work. With his contribution, many of the less effective methods of attempting to create a ‘proper pilot’ for the project would be pruned in one way or another. At the same time, it would be Atticus who was inspired by a targeted but seemingly innocuous suggestion that Sebastian made one late evening as the two worked alone in the lab: “Perhaps the problem is that you are trying to perform these changes on fully grown adults, people whose bodies are far less malleable to shape and develop for such a purpose.”
It was here the man who had seen much darkness, who had sought to ethically improve the project’s results with his critical work in developing the Inhibitor Device, and had such dreams for his vision would finally be convinced to cross another line. A final line that would see him fall from grace for the sake of success. Between him and Sebastian, they were able to develop a process and methodology that would be presented to Sergei (and Justin Hammer approving it above Sergei from the shadows) for approval. Once this approval was given….the new method of trying to create viable pilots would commence.
The idea was simple. Take young enough children and begin a long-term therapy of exposure to and immersion in modified batches of Extremis, going from ‘weaker batches’ and graduating up to stronger ones over time. Temper their bodies with it in the long-term, use them to test equipment and prototypes along the way, and give them combat training as well as piloting training and education to likewise hone their skills and minds, and then from there the candidates could be weeded out until only the best remained. The best. The brightest. The ones who could pilot the final product with meticulous preparation to turn them into the optimal soldiers. The future of humanity’s protection and defense.
Using a number of black market and disposable contacts alongside more disposable means, as well as only gathering up ‘candidates’ over the course of six months, one hundred and twenty three children candidates would be acquired and imported to the facility black site discreetly for the project from the USA and around the world by illicit means. Each candidate would be given an initial treatment period of two months in the weakest batch of ‘introductory Extremis’, and from this only sixty one would survive this initial testing to move to the next trials ahead. Over the next eleven years beyond these two months, the remaining child candidates would be trained, drilled, educated, sent on limited ‘missions’ eventually, and conditioned to shape them and mold them into what the project sorely needed. The optimal pilot. Likewise, the technology itself would be improved for the project to match the growing potential of the pilots.
Many would die, go mad, or the like along the way, narrowing down the candidate pool and culling its size over and over until only three candidates were left. These three would then be unceremoniously brought to a underground arena of sorts created underneath the black site, one where they and others had tested equipment and sparred in for years, and told they had one last task before they could ‘graduate’ to the next stage of the program: They had to kill each other. Only one of them could receive the reward of the one ‘final product’ suit that had been made, one which would be used in a year’s time to show the project’s successes off to the board first before working to put it and a series of clones of the final test pilot into a greater production line. Thus the final three would be pitted against each other, fighting to survive in a bloody and brutal battle until only one of them came out as the victor.
This victor would then be taken back in, and for another year be pushed even further with even more potently modified Extremis and training. They would be polished and drilled and even sent on several further missions to ensure their performance shined like the purest glittering gold during the project’s final showcase. Even the very final product this ‘victor’ would wear was further tweaked and refined out of meticulous nervousness to prepare for the coming showcase at that.
As the momentous day finally arrived for what seemed to be Project Talos’ success, and the Paradigm Board of Directors arrived at a private above ground testing site leased out for the occasion, the showcase would finally begin as Atticus, Sebastian, and Sergei watched on with anticipation from the same observation deck as the board was in. They would explain the project’s parameters and success as the pilot performed out there for the onlookers. Flying. Ducking. Rolling. Precision fire. Etc. Yet as the pilot was doing his routine for the showcase, the test site was suddenly accosted by a rather large SHIELD force. Guns raised, superpowered help brought in, the whole metaphorical nine-yards as SHIELD cracked down on the project at the same time as a raid on the Paradigm Corporation’s facilities and concealed black site was taking place. Many were arrested, many tried to fight back, and in the end the test pilot would be subdued and captured as well.
Sebastian, for his part, would be killed by a cyanide pill stored in a fake tooth as he muttered the phrase ‘hail HYDRA’ before passing. Because, as genetic testing and a SHIELD investigation would finally turn up, Sebastian had been a clone and body double for the infamous Arnim Zola sent to help the project along and send back useful data to HYDRA. Meanwhile Atticus took a hard impact to the head and went unconscious before being captured, finally mentally snapping after he woke up in SHIELD custody after the incident. Sergei would himself die trying to shoot SHIELD operatives with a pistol taken from one of the slain company guards at the site, going down in a hail of bullets. Most of the board of the Paradigm Corporation would be arrested as well, having surrendered, with only one death occurring in the crossfire as the board’s guards attempted to fight back SHIELD. Further, a strange chain reaction of explosions that seemed to be caused by accident during the raid on the facility black site would destroy remaining samples, most machinery, and most of the final data Sebastian had not gotten to transmit yett along with it in the process.
As for the pilot? The pilot would be taken into SHIELD custody, being initially contained, then forced into therapy, and along the way being studied for around a year before an offer was brought for the pilot to join the Avengers Academy.
….It was a discussion that, in the end, the pilot would accept.
He was only five years old at the time he was taken. A kid who had lost everything in a fire, no parents, no family, not a single thing left. He’d rejected it, he’d cried, he’d screamed, and then ran away from the home he’d been temporarily placed in while they looked for his other relatives. A stupid kid with the stupid idea in his head that he would be able to find them, maybe, somewhere out there at his old home and address. They had to be. He needed them to be.
In the end, the young Daniel Taylor would be labeled a ‘missing child’ case after police were unable to find him after many days and several weeks of searching. Many assumed he was dead somewhere, or had been kidnapped, and yet the trail had gone very much cold along the way. In reality, the kid had been kidnapped by illicit types in search of a ‘payday’ by kidnapping him and bringing him and a number of other kids to men in black suits with unmarked vans and guns held in their hands. Money had exchanged hands, he and the others were forced into the vehicle owned by the men in suits, and then after the sound of shouting and gunfire rang out before he and the others were driven far away.
Such was Daniel’s experience as he, and one hundred and twenty other children in total, would be kidnapped and brought to the black site underneath The Paradigm Corporation’s facilities. Here he would see in horror as around half of the ‘candidates’ the company had acquired were injected with and immersed into modified Extremis over the course of two months, with him being one of the survivors of that initial batch. Yet despite his desire to escape somehow, the boy was terrified and forced into the harsh and disciplined training regimen that would come afterwards. At times he and some of the other surviving kids talked, got to know each other, and dreamt of escape or getting back home. Yet over the years this pool of peers shrank and shrank, and likewise the remainder of them were hardened and conditioned more and more alongside being pushed beyond their limits over and over and over again.
Less and less of them were around to talk to. The memories of what came before they were taken into this “Project Talos” became fainter and fainter or otherwise forgotten. More and more focus on their own personal survival and success began to come into their minds, simply to be able to get by. The will to live would even come to supplement much of their former secretive (albeit actually observed) camaraderie outside of the times they’d be sent on missions covertly or secretly to gather materials or kill and destroy people and places to ‘test their capabilities’ in the field. Yet even so, some shards of humanity would seemingly persist among those who remained….even if they seemed to be being worn away bit by bit by the sands of time.
By the time only three of them were left, they had forged some sort of bond in a sense. One forged in survival and training and the like, and yet filled with various deep-running cracks from the pressures placed on them and the desire to come out of the other end of all of this. Likewise as "Jason" (as Daniel was renamed at the facility) would say in his own words later on, he would call it ‘complicated as hell, but something we felt was better than nothing’ after some thought. Even so, he and the other two survivors of the last over a decade would be brought to what seemed like another training session in the underground arena before being told their ‘graduation’ was at hand. All they had to do was....genmuinely kill each other until only one was left alive standing.
For a moment they almost seemed to pause after the instructor left and the all-too-familiar ‘starting alarm’ was rung to signal the beginning of their ‘graduation’. Then almost at the same time they fired on each other in a flurry, one that erupted into tactical and chaotic combat like that even to its observers was itself a bloody and brutal affair by the end. Yet in the end, Jason ended up being the last one standing. The only candidate left. The last survivor, and one whose bloodied hands had killed the last of those he had at times been able to in some capacity or another call ‘comrades’ on or off of the field. It was an experience even then that he would describe as ‘numbing’, but still as if something had been lost beyond the blood and sweat and damaged flesh he’d sustained during that fight. Indeed, the event would cement itself in his memories with a terrifying clarity despite the following year of continued training and missions and drills and Extremis treatments that came with it as he and the project workers prepared for the final showcase.
Then when the day of that showcase arrived, but lo and behold SHIELD came barging in with serious force. Those who had made him died or were captured. The board members were arrested. Even he would be subdued and captured after putting up some kind of fight, before being taken away and locked up for a time. Then what? He had no idea what came next, but he expected death or containment of some kind more than anything. Perhaps interrogation or torture, as he had been agonizingly trained to face.
Yet…no, none of that would happen in the end. What could come was questioning and such, yes, but then nothing like the torture or ‘advanced interrogation methods’ he’d faced in his training and led to expect by his creators. Instead there was….hot food. A soft bed in his containment cell. Talking to some doctor or another who was called a ‘therapist’ in sessions held with him while he was in his cell. His food situation would improve. Eventually, when he proved willing enough to not start a mess, even time to walk around and stretch was allotted to him. Bit by bit, even if much couldn’t be undone, hard work was done to try to ‘help’ him. Help? He and others had needed help long before, and yet even this internalized frustration would dissipate some in the face of the genuine humanity being shown to him. Things that tugged on the shards of memories of the past, before he and the others had become so hardened and conditioned, and it was….almost alien to him at first, really. Then came TV shows and movies, internet and games, and many other things that over the time period he would come to actually embrace in one way or another. Sure he eventually had to test his suit and its capabilities for those who contained him, but after a while he didn’t mind it so much even.
At the end of this most strange and peculiar year and a half, Jason would then be approached in his containment room by a strange person offering him something. A chance. An enrollment, if he was willing, into something being created called “Avengers Academy”. It was a chance to help people, to do good for the world, to become something more than he had been made to be if he so wanted to choose it.
Hmm…choice. To choose it? Not simply be ordered to do it? It was still strange enough to him, but in the end he would choose to accept the offer. It was a chance. It was a gift. It was an opportunity to ‘begin anew’ for himself, and allowed for someone among all of those dead candidates to actually live more of the life they had dreamt of in hushed whispers in the dead of night. Thus, after an amount of preparation, the new prospective ‘hero’ to be known as “Alcides” would begin his journey to Avengers Academy.
Powerset: (And skills/training too?)
Extremis Serum Physiology - The effects of the modified Extremis on his body and physiology. Super Strength, Superhuman Speed/Reflexes, Superhuman Stamina, and Superhuman Durability are among the most prominent capabilities this has granted him, as well as in the case of this modified Extremis granting him a potent Regenerative Healing Factor that can keep him alive through and allow him to recover from even injuries more standard Extremis healing factors cannot (lost organs/limbs, blindness or the loss of other sensory organs, etc). His body likewise produces a notably greater amount of bio-energy than before in turn, and both his memory and even ingrained ‘instincts’.’muscle memory’ have become very superhumanly potent in their own right (note this is not ‘super smarts’).
However, the most notable ‘peculiarity’ that he seems to possess is with regards to his genetics. Due to ____’s long term exposure to modified Extremis, the effects of the serum have become integrated fully into his natural biology. Likewise, his genetics have become….strangely and superhuman resilient as well. Drastically so in this case, as he has become immune to genetic damage and has achieved ‘biological immortality’ (as in doesn’t age, not ‘doesn’t die’). This simply means he will grow to hit his physiological prime before his biological ‘aging’ will cease entirely beyond that point. This does not originate from his regenerative healing factor repairing the damage of aging, but rather exists as its own thing at the genetic level.....and is suspected to have been a secretive addition to the experimental Extremis that created Jason that wasn’t intended to be there at first.
Enhanced Combat Training/Field Experience/Education - From missions served in the field as an advanced child soldier, to a constant and harsh training regiment back at the black site, to constant sparring matches and the like held in the facility’s underground ‘arena’, to years of drilling and education in the subject alongside more mundane or advanced topics, Jason’s potential for a childhood was sacrificed to turn him into the ‘optimal pilot’ as well as a super soldier. This training, experience, and education encompasses his skills both while in his suit and even while engaging in combat or such outside of his suit, including how to handle general ‘field repairs’ manually, unarmed combat or knife-wielding combat as well as ‘dirty fighting’, disassembling/reassembling weapons, assassination or sabotage, and things like general survival skills.
Mental Conditioning/Pain Tolerance - Jason has been conditioned over the years to withstand quite a bit without giving into the pain, both in his training and in more particular ‘conditioning’ such as being forced to suffer from various extremes and even very harsh torture methods (among other things). This conditioning did include being conditioned to following orders and to follow along with the training compliantly, though did not include subversive mind control or things like ‘trigger words’ or such things that were seen as too much of a ‘liability’ for the project’s end goals. However, his pain tolerance ended up and has remained extreme after it was all said and done and SHIELD ultimately took him into its custody.
Equipment/Paraphernalia:
Aegis Mk XVII Combat Exo-Suit - Also colloquially known to those in Project Talos as “Talos” or “The Aegis”, this is the final fruits of Project Talos’ developments and is the only existing ‘final product’ combat suit created by it after over a decade and more of development, upgrades, and fine-tuning prototype designs. While admittedly a rather expensive suit to design that stands head and shoulders above the prior prototypes created by the program, it was made to showcase the full potential of the program just as the pilot of it (Jason) was created to do the same. They were not designed at all to be the ‘mass produced version of the product’ for reasons and issues of sheer costs, time, and efficiency, among other things, and the idea held even by the leaders of Project Talos was to further study the test pilot and suit to develop ‘cheaper, distinctly lesser/weaker, but still effective clones and suits’ for sale that remained true enough to the program’s aims and goals. In this vein Jason and the Aegis alike stand out as the ‘be all and end all’ of Project Talos. but also as the lone examples of the ‘true full potential of the program’ which was to be worked down from after showcase when it would come to discussing potential mass-production efforts for the suit and new pilots.
Organic Metal Construction - The one ‘secret’ of the black site hosting Project Talos that survived the explosion, only one known mutant in the world is known to utilize or possess this substance: Colossus. At the same time, the man known as the mutant “Colossus” was never even involved with Project Talos, and from recovered records of the project it seems that some unknown mutant brought in on the project was the source of it before those involved in Project Talos fully developed the means to artificially grow/create Organic Metal on their own. The substance is exceptionally tough while remaining light and very flexible for something of its durability.
Likewise, due to its organic nature it can seamlessly interface with organic materials as well. It is also in this manner the suit interfaces easily and at a deeper level with its pilot than other forms of technology seem to be able to do. Still, the Organic Metal of the Aegis alone can also protect against most man-made ordnance and even superhuman assault, which would hardly leave a scratch on the hull for the most part.
Weapons - The primary weapons of the Aegis, as designed for the Aegis in time for the showcase at least, are as follows:
-The ‘Thundercloud’ Railgun: A handheld plasma-kinetic railgun rifle. In its ‘plasma’ mode it takes in and superheats and transforms the air on a planet (or even gases and plasma in the vacuum of space) around it into a super-concentrated projectile fired with the power of a high-powered but still handheld-size electromagnetic railgun. It also is loaded with a clip of kinetic penetrator rounds, and by switching this weapon to ‘kinetic’ mode one can fire up to seven rounds from the 20mm round clip. Switching between ‘modes’ is a very easy process the pilot can do by flipping a simple non-electronic switch on the weapon.
-The ‘Harpe’ Nanite Cluster: A cluster of self-replicating and semi-organic nanites that are EMP-resistant, at least, and can form a number of pre-programmed weapon designs such as axes, machete/short swords, blades, shields, and most uniquely an arm-mounted pile-bunker. While not as durable themselves as the Organic Metal composing the Aegis, they can passively regenerate rapidly in the field. In cases of high levels of damage to the suit and/or pilot inside, these nanites will switch into ‘emergency support mode’ and work to keep the pilot alive/healthy as well as support the rest of the suit itself and its systems to restore functionalities or help maintain them and the like.
-The ‘Enyalios’ Pulse Gun: A handheld crowd-control weapon developed using the principle of a PEP or “Pulsed Energy Projectile” weapon. Taken from designs made by the US Government for a non-lethal weapon, this design was miniaturized, given rapid-fire capabilities, and turned into a lethal-or-non-lethal-capable weapon for Project Talos. It is also the most potentially mass-producible aspect of the Aegis aside from the ‘Harpe’ Combat Suite. This Pulse Gun weapon works by using a powerful invisible laser that, when fired, ablates the surface of the target and generates a small amount of exploding plasma.
The electromagnetic radiation created by this small plasma explosion in ‘non-lethal’ mode affects the nerve cells and causes pain to the target without actually hurting them, while the pressure wave generated at the same time stuns the target’s body in a localized manner at the point of impact. Combined with the weapon’s rapid-fire capabilities, the weapon can cause rapid widespread pain and stun the body parts and bodies of a number of targets, but no matter where it hits the effects remain non-lethal in full and do not cause brain or dangerous heart damage.
The electromagnetic radiation generated by the ‘lethal’ mode of this weapon is enough to scorch through flesh and bone as well as briefly semi-melt the surface of tungsten metal during the brief plasma explosion. While not enough to do something crazy like ‘shoot holes through tanks’, that’s the railgun’s job after all, it does make it a lethal and dangerous crowd-control weapon in turn.
-Built-In “Supplementary Suite”: Two smaller nanite-replenished-and-repaired means of fighting built into the suit, either to be used in supplement to its primary weapons or in the case of not having access to the suit’s primary weapons.
The first part of this ‘suite’ is a simple pair of micro-missile launchers that can pop up out of each shoulder of the unit, mostly being protected by armor and limited in size and potency to keep them compact. Each ‘launcher’ can fire a total of two micro-missiles, which are each themselves capable of blowing up a general-use car/minivan/sedan one might find on the street.
The second part of this ‘suite’ is an attempt to mimic Iron Man’s ‘repulsors’, which are installed in both palms of the suit’s hands. It is not as advanced as said repulsors, but it mimics them through the use of converting heat/energy from the pilot and surrounding air/water into superheated plasma that can be fired in a sustained ‘beam’ (not ‘bursts’ or ‘blasts’). While mostly not dangerous, using this underwater can lead to potentially….’explosive’ results if the target of the attack isn’t far enough away from the suit in such conditions.
Movement - Thrusters for movement are built into the suit, allowing for rapid and even successive bursts of high-speed movement on the battlefield, flight in the air, and even enhancing physical attacks like knee-strikes or kicks or punches. In terms of travel speed, meanwhile, the suit at its maximum speed can reach just over Mach 1 at its top speed when flying in the air specifically (or if flying just above the ground if given enough room to reach that top speed).
“Nano-Repair Suite”/‘Inactive Modes’ - The Aegis possesses a built-in “Nano-Repair Suite” dedicated to maintaining and repairing the suit actively on and off of the battlefield, though this and the organic-interfacing nature of the Synthetic Organic Metal it is made of also lends itself to another capability. The suit can break itself and its weapons down very rapidly, storing them inside the pilot’s body in hollows and spaces and ‘gaps’ in the body as tightly-condensed matter until the pilot activates it again (in which case the suit reassembles itself and the weapons overtop the pilot’s body rapidly in this case).
The Aegis can both store itself inside the pilot, going into its ‘inactive mode’ in this way, but also let out the pilot and sit there in what is called its ‘freestanding inactive mode’ as well. In its ‘freestanding inactive mode’, it does retain a small bit of energy from when the pilot was using it for purposes of powering self-maintenance/repair functions. While stored inside of the pilot’s body, or going into its general ‘inactive mode’, it helps curb the excess bio-energy in the pilot’s body at a much lower rate by tapping into it still to further power its self-repair/maintenance functions in this state (as well as helping repair/heal the pilot from within to boot). Albeit this power drain occurs in this case at a much slower and lower rate than when it is being actively used in its ‘deployed’ form.
Sensors/Computing - A sophisticated sensory array was installed into the Aegis, allowing it long-range radar, telescopic visual, infrared/thermal, and other such sensory capabilities when being used by its pilot. It can also access databases linked to it as well as interact with general wireless devices when out in the field, and is capable of very fast interfacing with its pilot and its own internal systems as well as being able to interface with the suit's own list of weapons (carried or built-in) through touch or even wirelessly. With how the suit was designed, it can be operated without needing a supporting A.I. to help manage it and its capabilities, though this comes at the cost of any such advantages a built-in A.I. might have for such a device as the Aegis as well...
Combat Knife - A gift received from one of the last two of his comrades after it was just the three of them left, and well before the ‘graduation’ ceremony, it has his name and the names of the other two former pilots etched permanently and painstakingly into its hilt. It was already like this when he was captured by SHIELD, and it was one item that he requested to keep by the time he left for Avengers Academy. To him it is a personal keepsake, something that is both a well-cared for weapon and survival tool as well as being a memento he has refused to let go of from his days back in the black site. Jason keeps this knife sheathed on his side at all times while he’s out of bed, keeps it within reach while he showers or bathes himself, and even keeps the thing close by when he sleeps for that matter.
Mauser M1932 Pistol - A refurbished WW2-era German pistol produced by Mauser, it was a family heirloom of Atticus’ German grandfather. Said grandfather worked in a factory that produced those particular arms after 1937, before acquiring one for ‘personal protection’ and eventually using it when fleeing with his family and two Jewish families on a dangerous route to get to the United Kingdom in 1941. He then passed it down to his son when the family moved back to West Germany after World War 2, who in turn eventually passed it down to Atticus as a family legacy. Then Atticus (who had no children of his own) passed it down to Jason after his ‘graduation ceremony’ as a gift after pulling him aside to talk with him. The weapon has been cleaned and refurbished, still uses a 10-round detachable box magazine, and chambers 9x19mm ammunition that can still be found on the modern market.
In some ways it can be considered the last ‘sane’ bit of Atticus that the man gave away to try to help another, as in the man’s eyes Jason was basically like a child of his since the beginning. Especially after the ‘graduation ceremony’ of all things. Someone that, despite it all and the scientist’s own internal struggles along the way, that Atticus was genuinely proud of for surviving and getting that far. Despite falling from grace and already having gone a bit ‘mad’ by then to a certain extent, this perceived relationship of seeing them like his children was what drove Atticus to over time show some kindnesses to the ‘subjects’ and then final ‘test pilots’ over time. Indeed when the man woke up after being captured and finally ‘snapped’, Jasoon was brought to see him four times during his own captivity to see if his presence could help SHIELD get more information out of Atticus. Atticus would go into a state of rare semi-rational questionable lucidity upon seeing him where they could even almost converse properly to some extent.....at least until the older man began to sink back into the mire of his own mind one more.
Weaknesses: Weaknesses is exactly that; the flaws in your character, whether emotional, physical, or technological. Point out weak spots in their powers, character flaws that can be exploited, or vulnerabilities in their gear that could be detrimental. Like before, an example will be provided.
Excess Bio-Energy/BOOM - Due to being essentially an organic battery for his suit, Jason’s excessive production of bio-energy is being kept in check when he pilots or dons it for periods of time. This certainly makes him less prone to potentially exploding, though if he does not drain the excess bio-energy for overly long periods of time the risk to potentially explode will notably increase instead.
No Heat/Electricity Attacks - Donning the suit to keep his bio-energy in check results in him being unable to project this bio-energy as heat-based or electrical attacks like most users of Extremis could. This is due to the constant drain the suit puts on him, which leaves energy levels too low to be able to do this sort of thing. On the other hand, if he goes too long with the suit then he could unleash such attacks….but this comes alongside other risks (as noted in the prior entry above this).
Organic Metal Weaknesses - Only when extraordinarily powerful individuals or other super-metals (or of course, abilities that can influence machinery in some fashion) get involved when the material can truly be found lacking.
Railgun Weaknesses - While this weapon doesn’t work underwater in any firing mode, or when submerged in water for that matter. Generally air humidity otherwise is regulated by built-in filters for the weapon and doesn't affect it for the most part in any firing mode, but something like a sauna or the middle of the steamy rainforest after a fresh rain though? It can still work, but it works a lot slower than normal under such circumstances when in its ‘plasma’ mode while respectively being unaffected in kinetic mode under such environmental circumstances in turn.
Aegis Internal Pilot Storage - If the suit stores itself inside the body of the pilot, it does inherently have the obvious drawback of making the pilot’s body super-dense and easier to sink. Not a fun time to be sure if in a body of water or on a fragile surface….hence why the ‘external storage’ method was developed for it so the pilot isn’t always forced to store the suit inside of their body.
Prior Conditioning - For over a decade Jason was molded into the optimal specimen for Project Talos, and as such he is a trained (and was a child) soldier who exhibits all the issues of someone trained in that manner and who lived such a life in the psychological sense. While he has become ‘better’ than he was over the course of his year in SHIELD custody, some things like ‘don’t go for certain areas of the body when doing unarmed combat training’ are still, er, either new to him or so ingrained that they remain a reflex.
This also comes with the notion that he is still learning ‘what to expect’ from training and such, and could react more or less brutally in application on his end of things, after having been trained so brutally and harshly and intensively over the years prior to SHIELD taking custody of him. This doesn’t mean he hasn’t been told to and reminded to expect something not on par with what he’s gone through before in training and education, but ah…..old reflexes are still at times going to be hard to notice and work on restraining when you were used to the instructor going for your knees before.
(Anything Else Listed In The Prior Sections Of The App Potentially)
Issue #0/Testing Post:
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk. His boots weren’t made of metal, but on the hollow walksways reaching over to another part of the complex’s ‘containment unit’ they sure made a thud of sorts. Nothing he wasn’t used to, and yet the occasion for walking to elsewhere in the SHIELD facility was certainly something he wasn’t used to. Even so the door slid open with a gentle but swift ‘woosh’, and while the nearly pin-drop-silent exterior had been one things…..the sounds inside of it were something else entirely as he, and Sub-Commander Francois walked inside. More like a blood-curdling howl into some imaginary night air than anything else.
“My babies! All of them! Dead! Oh please, please my children, forgive me for doing this!”
Thump. Thump. THUMP. Thud. CRASH.
Before them was a clear-walled cell, or at least it was from the front, though it had been lined with copious amounts of tear and bashing-proof padding of some description. It assuredly wasn’t a cell of as high of a security level as his own was, and yet at the same time held something inside mostly to….keep it safe, it could perhaps be said, in this instance. Though what was being kept safe from who depended upon the perspective.
“I did it! I did it all! It’s real, its…..I….I….what have I done….no, by the heavens what have we done?! They’re all dead! No, please, I didn’t mean for this. But I did it anyway! Every last damned bit of it, and now you won’t stop talking to me!”
Within the cell sat an older man, one who had been thrashing around initially, though seemed to have stopped for a bit as his restraints were mechanically tightened through remote-control as he had been forcefully ‘swaddled’ a bit tighter by his straightjacket and seemed to make him slow down a little more. His body seemed almost as frail as wet paper, and yet his strength seemed like that of a man possessed. Perhaps he was….perhaps not. His thinning white hair, once a Mediterranean-esque dark brown that nearly looked black, was regardless frayed and tossed and messy as anything, with signs that it might be close to needing another trim. Even so, his contrastingly bright green eyes seemed to flit about as if covered in a haze as if he was looking at something no one else could see….or ‘somethings’ really.
“Ah! The blood!!! There…..oh there’s so much blood! Please, get it off of me! It’s staining my skin! My clothes! My hair! Get it out, get it out! Please, please I don’t want to hear your voices anymore! I’m damned to hell as it is, but please stop! I can’t….please….somebody save me…..pleeeeeeease….”
The last agonized, squeaking plea for help from the genius’ mouth cut through the air like a knife, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. And indeed, as they walked closer he could see more to the cell than perhaps met the eye. Scrawlings, drawings, scribbled almost like a child on the floor. Some looked like planes. Some thunderbolts. Others looked like exploding bombs. Yet even among this were mathematical and chemical formulae, internals for some peculiar machine yet to be invented or made, and most notably….the word ‘sorry’ seemingly carved deeper than the rest into whatever it could be. The bed that had gone irregularly used, from the looks of it, and its metal frame had been the canvas for that it seemed….before the restraints came into play at that, if he had to take a guess.
The weight in its holster on his right hip felt even greater with each step he took toward the cell, until as the two of them got close enough the old man in the cell seemed to suddenly stop in place. It was as if he’d been frozen in time, his head craned back and to the side until his eyes had discovered their presence. Yet the SHIELD Sub-Commander wasn’t what the intense focus of those eyes was fixated upon. Rather, he was.
“My boy….oh my boy! You’re alive! Oh bless this day, you’re alive my child!”
The old man swiveled back around and seemed to sit his butt hard down on the floor with a plastic-y ‘SLAM’ in short order. His legs crossed as if he was sitting for story-time in turn. Yet as two chairs were brought up for them to sit in, his own closer to the cell than the one for Francois, the old man let out a jubilant laugh.
“I had thought your voice was calling to me like all the rest, but no. Oh frabjous day! Callou! Callay!”
“....Yes sir. It’s me.”
“Oh my boy it's been awful since then, but Sergei’s been sneaking in to tell me things. Maybe we can get you out yet! Then we must go see my sister and her children back in Berlin. Chose to move back there despite the mess….oh the dirty, nasty mess back there. Almost wiped out the city, you know? It's why our parents left that forsaken place….but….really nowhere is safe.
Yes. It's why you-....why all of them had-.....but I had to sell them on it, and I had to….I had to complete the-….oh….no! Please no not again! Please, not the blood!”
The older man seemed to start craning his neck again all over, as his voice near the end of his speaking turned again almost into a bestial howl, though pulling out the growing weight on his right hip he flashed the glimmer of metal in front of the man. Something shiny. Something he could perhaps recognize as he quickly piped up to speak to him again.
“Director Attic-.....Sir. I’m here. You….don’t have to look at the blood right now. Just look at this. Follow my voice.”
The old man froze again before he could wind himself all the way back up, the glimmer of metal bringing him back down into his ‘criss cross applesauce’ sitting position with another loud ‘THUD’. Indeed, the older man’s face would press closer to the clear side wall of the cell between them as he turned his head a little to get a good look at it. In turn, however, ____ silently rotated the gun a bit for the older man to see a bit better.
“Ah….that was my father’s, you know! Brought him and his father safely to the United Kingdom in World War Two. He lived there for a time before grandfather took them back to Berlin after it was partitioned off….wanted to see if his brother’s family was still alive there. Last he’d heard of them.
In fact my mother met my father there, in Berlin, after grandfather had settled down there after the war. Didn’t have the inkling to return to where he’d once lived and worked otherwise really…can’t say I blame him in hindsight. But my parents loved the streets, even though my grandfather barely left home anymore after a particular episode he had out in the city one day. Just froze up as if someone was going to shoot him……he had been holding my hand that day even. I always wondered why it happened, but father never told me until I was much older after that day about the reasons.
That weapon….it saved lives you know. Ours. The two Jewish families grandfather brought along with his own along the way that had been his neighbors or friends at some point in time even. Filthy Nazis, damn Nazis, bastards sullied the damned world and ruined us! German? Oh sure, let’s use the damn Germans as STEROTYPE EVIL VILLAINS AND FILTHY BEASTS BECAUSE HITLER AND SCHMIDST DECIDED TO-....to-….to…
Ah! My boy you’ve still got it! Oh I hope it serves you well. I….I’ve not done a thing to deserve keeping that. I wanted to pass it onto my kids, but after the accident back home I….we….my wife couldn’t take it after all we’d invested into the idea of our happy family. I couldn’t either.
But you, dear boy! ___! Oh I remember yours and the others’ names….I still….I still do….I can’t let myself forget….I can’t ever forget….but they just keep ringing in my ears! Talking to me. Screaming Crying. So much pain….
But maybe that heirloom will serve you better than it did myself. Save more lives. Yes, once we get the project funded I can finally help them all! A world where no man has to feel like grandfather ever did again, where the damned walls and soviets or turks aren’t mucking things up for so many people, and where even that damned alien who destroyed it all can’t make the children of the world afraid ever again!!! And then I can bring them back, they’ll all see! Then we can be a big, happy-….and maybe my wife will….ah….its hurts….please…..please make the voices stop….”
He looked back silently as the older man rambled on, his face wrought in ironclad stoicism as a couple of his fingers gently rubbed the surface of the gun unconsciously. He would silently nod every so often as well, hoping the older man could see, though ultimately a very soft sigh would escape his lips as the old man seemed to descend back more into his more depressed ramblings.
“It will. I’m going to help people, just like you wanted to do.”
“You….are?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“That’s…..maybe I managed to….oh…..oh the voices….and the blood! THE BLOOD!!! Mother! Please I need you, just to hear your voice again! Please! Father, why are you glaring at me so? Are you taking their side?! Why those little….no, nonono they weren’t-.....they didn’t deser-.....oh….oh…..OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
For a moment it was as if he was looking back into the eyes of a man who had more hope for the world. Or perhaps he’d been hiding all of that stuff behind hopeful eyes, all of this time, and when those eyes faded he’d finally been left alone in the dark finally. He still didn’t fully know what to think. He didn’t want to call him what he’d asked him to, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to truly hate the man either. It was…..messy, far from what he’d been trained to do. Training that had torn him to pieces and rebuilt him as something, someone, else. And yet he could rely on that same training to get him through in the end, somehow, in what was perhaps a cruel twist of irony.
As Francois tapped him on the left shoulder, ____ looked back and nodded at the man before holstering the Mauser he had been holding out in his right hand gently back into its leather holster. He then gently stood up from the chair, just as the other man did, turning his gaze back toward the doorway they’d come in from….and not looking back at the old man returning to the height of his hysterics behind him. He could hear it, but he could also tune it out so easily it was terrifying….or perhaps comforting? Still couldn’t fully tell about that either, really, but maybe one day he would be able to. One day.
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk.
The boots he wore now sounded just like the ones he’d worn before as he walked back toward the door. Sounded the same as they had for a very long time at that, even as they left and the door ‘wooshed’ closed behind them again.
Did that mean these boots were the same as those ones? Maybe. Maybe not. Only time would tell, really, but he had a new mission to pursue and focus upon. One he had chosen for himself, or at least he thought so, that he’d have to see the results of later in hindsight. But maybe the open sky before him now wasn’t wholly his though. Perhaps some of it was just the torn-up fragments of the utterly distant dreams of a genius-turned-madman, fragments that shone like stars before him. Yet he couldn’t deny that, if such was the case, the same starry fragments likewise lingered in the very twilit background that bloody and haunted creature behind him was howling into.
Did that make those two vistas they saw the one and the same? Again, perhaps so. Only time, and the days ahead, would be able to tell…
The SHIELD Sub-Commander ran a hand down his face as he sat at his desk, before looking back up at the Agent standing at attention in front of him. He could already feel the wrinkle lines in his own face growing older and older at the mere thought of what he’d been told. It was something he expected to see from some barbaric warlord in Africa, but to have it happen on US soil of all things? They’d already lost most of the black site, as well as the destruction done to Paradigm facilities sitting above it, and the raid on the showcase had lost them one suspect in the crossfire despite being a general success.
This was just icing on the cake.
“Humor me here, please, but the one piloting the damn thing was just….some kid? You’re sure, Agent Ortez?”
The hispanic man standing before him would solemnly nod after a moment of pause, before gesturing again to the documents he’d placed on the commander’s desk. A stack of printed reports and the details of the initial examination of the subject sat in front of the older man, clear as day and yet still something that managed to seemingly get him to feel disbelief at something as….well, as comparatively mundane as this. Mundane. What was mundane in the world anymore? Aliens, galactic deaths of trillions at the snap of a finger, magic, mutants, demons from hell, what else was new anymore? What else wasn’t the world seeing go on? So something like this, somehow, was more surprising than the rest of it.
“The subject, after powering down the suit they were operating, was found to be in their late teens after further observation and quarantine. Likewise what surviving lab records we possess take note of the subject’s age as well, though where the subject was taken from is still entirely unclear. However, it seems that the-”
“Yes yes, I read that part. This thing was going on for longer than we thought it was, a lot longer in fact. Hell the kid was killing a fair few of our agents out there as it was, and I still don’t want to believe it to some extent.
Is the pilot properly contained? Bells and whistles and everything based on what was observed in the field?”
“Yes sir, just as you requested after speaking with Commander Fury on the matter before relaying it to us. The containment cell itself was made of highly-rated materials in case of an attempted escape by the pilot, being highly resistant to kinetic damage, high-grade explosives, and thermal capabilities. We’ve got three heavily-armed and prepared guard units keeping a constant vigil on the subject’s cell as well in shifts, armed with heavy anti-electronic weapons and and gas vents installed in the roof of the cell that automatically go off in case of cell damage caused from the inside. There is also-”
Sub-Commander Francois Alderson would silently nod as the agent listed out the containment measures in a general sense. Even so, his tired brown eyes, expression, and aging gray-ish blonde hair seemed to reflect something of an exasperated mood still. He wanted to know if the checklist of safety provisions was sufficient, and so didn’t mind hearing it all over again for what felt like the millionth time in the last few days, yet all the same the matter still troubled him to a certain extent. Sure he’d been ‘snapped’ away for a while with the whole Infinity War mess, but even so he wondered…..if a lot of them had still been around, could they have stopped it any earlier? Found the trail of breadcrumbs just a little sooner, and maybe given the poor kid a chance?
“Ortez….how’s he doing?”
The agent stopped his listing, closing his lips in another brief silence before looking back in his CO’s eyes and nodding once more.
“He seems to sleep as little as he needs to remain alert, and keeps a close if not trained eye on anything he can hear and see from his containment cell. We had to keep the walls of it clear so we could keep an eye on him, but he seems to be doing the same with us. Also seems as if he’s….expecting something.
Energy levels in his body are also rising at a notable rate, sir, and Captain Asha requests installing something to siphon his energy reserves given its….er…given the Extremis he seems to have been imbibed with based on initial analysis.”
“Well there’s no telling what Meyer and all of the others did to him, or made him expect out of a situation like this, but see if he’ll take food this evening. Tell Asha she can install the measures underneath the floor, but I am not letting anyone in there directly for now. I also want three extra teams down there with her and the workers.”
“Yes sir!”
“And Agent.”
“Yes?”
“I want to go see the prisoner right now.”
“....Yes sir!”
It was a bit of a walk to get to the containment block in the facility from the offices, but there was a good reason for that as well. Security offices were close, just as the response stations were, but in case of a ‘worst case scenario’ they wanted to be able to evacuate staff and other non-combat personnel in a hurry. Beyond that, it had taken some space to build the containment sector of the SHIELD facility they were in to be able to be ‘customized’ for keeping particular sorts of ‘residents’ in them. Because this facility was made to handle and process and contain a number of high-security or ‘potentially variant’ threats of a notable sort. The sorts of things and people that couldn’t be kept behind normal bards or in simpler SHIELD facilities…..even the sorts that they had no idea what to do with for that matter, like that pilot they’d captured in the planned raid on the Paradigm Corporation.
Even as the two men’s shoes clanked over suspended metal walkways heading into the containment sector, passing rows of armed guards and security stations and the like, Francois couldn’t help but feel a grim expression come to his face all the same. The kid here was as old as one of his grandsons was getting, for pity’s sake, and while he’d seen a lot worse things come through here (or attack the facility for that matter) this one felt more personally disturbing than most others had felt to him over the years. A kid. A child soldier who could kill like that, who’d been doing it for heaven knows how long, and for all he knew had parents out there worried sick over him thinking their kid was dead or long gone.
“Sub-Commander Francois on deck!”
The guards currently on shift would each salute with one hand as the Sub-Commander and Agent came into the room, before in turn each soldier’s finger returned back onto the trigger guard of their primary weapon. No more than one set of eyes at a time looked away from the subject at any given time, or left them out of their peripheral vision, and EM-turrets and other tentative measures were looking on the subject with their own even more eternal vigil.
“At ease, and maintain your duties. I just wanted to observe the prisoner for myself after everything I’ve read on the incident so far.”
The kid’s dark eyes seemed to snap over to him in an instant as he spoke, and in turn the french-american man would stare right back.
They had no idea what else this kid could be hiding, or what he might do, and thus until Fury gave orders one way or another they’d have to remain on high-alert for this one and keep a careful eye on someone that was only some days ago painting the brains of some of their best trained general combat agents all over the concrete and terrain. It was a terrifying prospect that one of Hammer’s own subsidiaries had become wrapped up in this, but the weasel wasn’t going to go down with that ship either….hell, Hammer Industries had already approached SHIELD for ‘full cooperation’ in prosecuting Paradigm to try to sugar-coat it all a little bit to boot.
Yet that aside, just looking into the kid’s eyes Francois felt something all-too familiar begin to prick at the back of his mind. Something he didn’t much care for as an old soldier himself in the personal sense, but which would gradually bring itself further and further forward to the front of his mind that he didn’t bother to stop it. That look. The look not of a cornered animal, but something that expected pain. Expected torture, perhaps, for what he was and had done. Perhaps he even expected to die at any point in time that he or the guards so willed it. And yet despite expecting it, he did not seem to visibly fear it at the same time.
“...What’s your name, soldier?”
The words slipped out of the older man’s mouth like he was talking to a subordinate back when he had been in the service for the USA’s own. The kid only seemed to stare back silently in response, though neither’s eyes seemed to waver from meeting the other’s gaze. Eventually, however, the boy seemed to stand up with a straight back to look at him at least. Was pretty tall too, but nothing the old soldier was intimidated by either as he unwaveringly maintained his own standing posture. Then again, he wasn’t sure if the kid was going to try something or if he was even trying to be intimidating at all….hmm.
“Silent? Understandable enough, I suppose. In your eyes it must seem like we’re going to do something to you any second. Just one twitch of the muscle in the wrong direction….then BAM! Something happens. Or perhaps we are waiting for you to let your guard down, and then in comes the torture the moment you aren’ watching, hmm?”
The kid seemed to stare back without moving a muscle even still.
“I’ve a grandson your age. Kid plays football, runs around with friends, gets into trouble, the whole nine yards. Told me once he wants to join the military….follow in my footsteps where his dad was physically unable to. Told me he was proud of me, hell, got me to take him to a shooting range more than once when I was visiting his folks. Heh. You two are about the same height, all things considered, at that.”
“....”
“But truth be told, I wish he wouldn’t. You see, I want him to do what he wants in this world. I want him to be away from the messes that keep cropping up all over the place. Away from the horrors of things like….seeing the guy in front of you, knowing one of you’s got to pull the trigger, and at the same time he’s just pissing himself in as much fear as you’re feeling in that moment. Away from seeing the brains of some mother’s son or daughter’s father plastered all over the wall like Jackson Pollock turned into Marilyn Manson on a dime, even though the two of you were just talking over drinks a few short hours ago. Away from feeling like you’re trapped in the hell of the battlefield, and part of you just wants to cut and run no matter what it means….but you can’t run at the same time. Because if you run, you won’t survive it. Because you don’t want to die.”
“...”
“I see that look in your eyes like they're my own a little bit there. Even saw it in the eyes of people serving under me, and saw it in the eyes of people who didn’t deserve to be forced to feel like that in the first place. I’ve seen that stare that goes for a thousand yards and more as well….I’ve seen the look of fear in the eyes of the dead, or the resignation in what’s left of a face after a firefight.
Men. Women. Children. The more I went along in the service the more I began to understand. Nothing can get those things out of my head forever, as if they never left their mark on me in the first place. But I sure as hell can keep living. Living for me. Living for my family and loved ones. Living, perhaps, even for the sake of the poor sods who didn’t make it this far with me or who didn’t want to die. Or at least that’s my look on things.
…But if you wish to remain silent, that’s fine. Perhaps one day we’ll get to talk, but talk as men. Not as a prisoner and warden, but as men who have seen things and been through things that no one else should have to.”
Letting out his own sigh, Francois began to turn back around as he nodded to Ortez. It was time to go back to his office, but part of him wondered why he’d decided to say such things to this prisoner. This kid. This child soldier. This enemy who had not long ago killed even a few field agents he knew by name and face, and had even sent Christmas cards to during the holidays at that. Yet as Ortez looked to him to nod, the agent seemed to freeze suddenly for a moment…before putting a hand on the Sub-Commander’s shoulder.
Turning back around partly, Francois looked back with his eyes for a moment only to freeze in place himself. And, then, he finished turning back around as he felt a small smile come to his face. His back straightened up. His posture was formal. His hand, then, straightened out and came up to his forehead.
A salute….in return for the one the prisoner was giving him back.
A sign of respect for authority, and this kid was giving him one. A silent one, but it was clearly a proper salute.
For a second, Francois felt he could almost see a glimmer of something else in the kid’s eyes to boot as well. Hope? Slightly less tension? A silent way of giving him mutual recognition? It almost didn't matter to Francois in this case, but he wasn’t going to not return that respect or gesture in kind either. It could just be nothing as well, just something to lure him into a more comfortable position. Eh. But part of him didn’t feel like that was the case here. Not in this situation.
Perhaps there was hope for the kid yet, if nothing else. Hope for something better. But for now, they’d have to take it just like anything else: One day at a time.
...And he hoped they could meet each other there one day.
I was thinking of changing the hat to a top hat so it makes more sense that a rat could be beneath it, and yeah, the rat in question would naturally also be wearing a top hat.
The rat wearing its own little tophat is now canon. Best timeline.
Ok, here you go. I'm happy with how it turned out but amenable to suggestions.
Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan: Human (Supposedly), 34, 2 years 8 months and 1 day
Appearance: Though ostensibly human, Gru possesses an odd assortment of shapes and proportions that make him seem less like a real person and more like a caricature come to life. Standing on the shorter side at a mere 5’7”, Gru possesses a somewhat unimpressive, heavyset physique, with thin arms and legs, a rotund middle, and not much neck, which his hunched posture certainly doesn’t help. His eyes are small, sunken, and a beady black. He bears a very prominent hooked nose, a strong chin made even stronger by his pointed goatee, and what might be termed a triple mustache with three tapered lengths extending to either side. It’s wenge, a dark drab brown, like his somewhat greasy hair, which is worn slicked back with a long, thin ponytail. Large, scruffy eyebrows and sideburns complete the look. His skin is quite pale, though it gets quite pink around his nose, ears, chin, et cetera
History: For centuries, if anyone were to go searching around the world for a place they could call ‘paradise’, they might have very well ended up at Arcadia, the Valley of Plenty. Its famous black soil, rich with minerals and impossibly fertile, can be traced back to the activity of volcanoes that arose long ago thanks to the region’s fault line. Exactly when settlers first arrived to farm the valley is up for debate, but eventually people of all shapes and sizes would flock to the region in an unprecedented gold rush not for metal, but for grain. For a time budding nations fought over the Valley of Plenty, but after almost destroying the area’s natural beauty and abundance forever, wiser heads prevailed in the nick of time to strike a truce. The paradise became Arcadia, a no-man’s land and a shared blessing to all, governed by a council with representatives from various nations and hailed by many as the agricultural capital of the world. It would remain that way for an age, so valuable to surrounding nations that any threat to it would result in action from all the rest, keeping the Valley of Plenty in peace.
During that time, many mercantile guilds would come and go, managing trade both within Arcadia and with foreign countries. With so many competing interests, its economy was in a state of constant flux, but a few guilds endured. One was the Chemists’ Guild. It specialized in investment, repayment, research, and development, with fingers in countless given pies at any one moment despite the rather tight-knit, clandestine nature with which it operated. The Chemists provided miraculous fertilizers and other products that enriched their clients with harvests of unprecedented bounty even for Arcadia, with vegetables and livestock larger than usual, as well as cultivation of crops not typically climate with the region. Other suppliers just couldn’t compete. Despite the whispers about unconventional, even occult methods, official investigators found nothing amiss, and the Chemists became rich. Of course, they new this couldn’t last. In their underground laboratories they pursued ever more ambitious means to combat soil depletion and ensure that the perennial bumper crop never wavered. One day, things went wrong.
That night, there was no massive explosion. No destruction or indication of any calamity whatsoever. Yet in the morning, with no fanfare, the Chemists quietly packed their bags and left. Those who saw them thought nothing of it, for the Chemists often traveled to secure the rare and exotic materials for their craft, but in the weeks afterward things began to change. It began with the soil, as it became slightly discolored, adopting an odd, fuzzy texture. The crops planted at the time began to experience accelerated growth, initially celebrated by the farmers as the Chemists’ latest innovation made free to all in as a mark of respect for the age-old, often-forgotten tradition of Arcadian generosity. But as large as they grew, the crops weren’t quite right. They came out with strange colors and textures, tasting terrible. Livestock experienced madness and premature death. Soon, the people began to curse the Chemists for unleashing a plague upon them. Those with the means began to leave, but the rest did what they could to purge the disease and try again for the better. Instead, things continued to worsen. Strange, fuzzy growths appeared all over the ground. Animals began to experience grotesque deformities, dying or rampaging in large numbers. The people who remained were in denial, eventually to a delusional extent, and evidencing signs of infection themselves. Attempts at stopping the infection failed, and soon the whole valley was under quarantine.
Within months, fungal mold had infested all of Arcadia, taking over and eventually consuming everything that had ever eaten infected food. Few witnesses ever risked going into what would come to be known as Mycelia, the Valley of Blight, but disturbing rumors got out about what happened deep inside. They say that the mold eventually replaced everything that it killed. Mold birds singing in mold trees that bore mold fruits. Mold predators roaming mold woods hunting mold beasts that nibbled mold grass. Mold farmers tilling mold fields and selling mold grains. Mold men worshiping mold gods and dreaming mold dreams about a land of perfect peace and happiness with neither grief, nor disparity, nor greed.
Well before the point that the ruin of Arcadia became known far and wide, a man who called himself Gruyere E.C. Yarg, known to his friends as Gru (if only he had any, as he often jokes), joined the Pilgrim’s Caravan with a small carriage run by rats. Styling himself as a self-made merchant, he used his travels with them to run a small-scale cheese-making operation. Rather than horde money, he put most of his earnings back into his business, either improving his ever-evolving Chuck Wagon or purchasing milk, feed, rennet, grapes, salt, and cheese-making tips from the various farms he visited during his travels. Gradually he’d build up a reputation as a sleazy-looking but reliable itinerant merchant, his quality products (if not his attitude) earning him a good reputation. Like many members of the Caravan, he doesn’t talk about his past much, and if asked only ever mentions a boring and humble beginning in the small village of Stilton, never bothering to mention where it was. The past, as Gru says, is behind him. He wants nothing more than to practice his beloved craft, care for his beloved rats, and live a comfortable, quiet life.
Personality: To most, Gruyere would appear to be the archetypal unsavory businessman or snake oil salesman. He’s greedy, cunning, jocular, and capricious, bitingly sarcastic one moment and an obsequious lickspittle the next. Whatever it takes to make the sale. In fact, his manner sometimes undermines the fact that his products are actually very high quality, made to his exacting standards. In terms of his business dealings, he’s actually pretty honest. He’s just not very nice. Highly secretive and private, both about his trade skills and life, he isn’t very social and minds his own business as much as possible. While he doesn’t like conflict, he’s competitive and vindictive, never forgetting a slight. He cares a lot about his rats, both for their own sake and for the joy they bring him, and he gives them all the love that withholds from his fellow man. A perennial miser, he never does anything for free, and he expects anyone he deals with to honor their word
Motivation: To continue building up his business and ‘family’ in pursuit of a comfortable life
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:
+ Cheesemonger: Gru’s trade skill. He’s cultivated almost encyclopedic knowledge of how to make cheeses, from the chemistry of their creation to the tools needed to produce them. The cheeses he makes are of very high quality and nutritional value, and he prides himself on their appearances and flavors across a whole host of different styles. This is how he makes his money while in the Caravan; taking and orders while on the road, selling pre-made cheeses or taking orders for clients, then aging the cheeses he makes until the Caravan visits them again and he can fulfill those orders. Somewhat more recently he’s also tried diversifying into wine, a trade that demands even more patience but pairs well with his main craft. He makes these foodstuffs with a speed and efficiency few can match
+ Friend of Animals: Gru is much better with animals than he is with people. This extends to most (domesticated) animals, so whether it’s cows, goats, sheep, or even camels and yaks, they feel comfortable and affectionate around him, and he around them. This means he can often get top yield from whatever animals he encounters, and he’s a surprisingly good companion on hunts
+ Rat Authority - His natural bond with one animal completely transcends all the rest: rats. For whatever reason, he’s so completely in-tune with rats that they lack any fear of or hostility toward him, even in huge numbers. He knows how to take good care of rats, and ‘his’ rats listen to him almost unconditionally, obeying his orders like trained dogs and exhibiting unusual intelligence, strength, and dexterity. This goes double for his four favorite rats: Pepper Jack, Rick Otta, Wensley Dale, and Reggie Ano. If Gru is the general, they are the captains. Working as hordes under his command, his rats are capable of astonishing feats, so much so that one can’t help but wonder if this bond is supernatural
+ The Chuck Wagon: Named after his father Charles, Gru’s personal method of transportation is possibly the most impressive thing about him. It’s the largest wagon in the Pilgrim’s Caravan by far, and isn’t just a living space, but a mobile cheese factory that he’s put huge amounts of money into perfecting. It’s divided into ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ halves, each with their own doors on the right side. The wet half is essentially a laboratory, with multiple vats and tanks for liquid storage, milk coagulation, curd separation, brining, and so forth, all watertight and able to be locked down during travel. There’s even vat for the crushing and fermentation of grapes The dry half has shelves for drying and aging cheese (and also wine), and is where Gru lives. The top floor of the Chuck Wagon, about a foot in height and known as the ‘attic’, is a compartment reserved exclusively for his rats. They have little houses in there with straw bedding, food stores, etc, and on good days Gru can open up the top of the wagon to make the little village open to the air. On the left side of the wagon are two large silos, one filled with water and the other with rat food, including grains, seeds, and nuts. Perhaps most interesting is how the wagon moves; instead of being drawn by horses or other beasts of burden, it has eight enormous wheels, four in the front and four in the back. These are hollow and function as giant hamster wheels, making the Chuck Wagon entirely rat-powered. The rats work the wheels (and, under Gru’s supervision, the kitchen) in shifts and go up into the attic to rest
- Noncombatant: Gru isn’t really a fighter. He doesn’t have the constitution for it, nor the interest. He prefers to get others -people or otherwise- to do his fighting for him, especially if there’s serious risk and/or publicity involved
- Something Irreplaceable: Although Gru’s greatest strength, the Chuck Wagon is also his greatest weakness. It’s very important to him, and he’s extremely averse to any damage to it. Losing it is practically out of the question, and there’s very little he wouldn’t do to keep it safe. After all, it’s not just the source of his livelihood; it’s everything he owns, and without it, he’d be almost nothing. The same goes for his rats. While losing them isn’t the end of the world, they’re all his friends, and not just tools for him
- Unlikeable: In contrast to animals, people generally don’t like him, and he doesn’t like them. His generally acerbic attitude makes it difficult for genuine relationships to form, and he prefers businesslike arrangements of give and take where expectations are clear and no strings are attached
Mycomancy Gru isn’t just a businessman. He’s also a practitioner of a dark school of magic that manipulates fungi, especially mold–a fact he’s gone to great lengths to hide. He only ever practices it in the privacy of the Chuck Wagon’s interior, and even then in very small scale, manipulating mold to make cheese and the yeast that ferments wine to speed up the processes. In his time with the Caravan to date, he’s never needed to resort to using it for combat in front of the others, instead relying on his rats for self-defense. However, it’s possible for him to infest living things with mold that corrupt and weaken them from within, reducing their speed and defense so much that even he can kill them easily, let alone his rats. This mold can also be used to break down and dispose of dead organic matter, and create mold creatures under his control
Gru also owns four cheese-making tools that he keeps in his Chuck Wagon which happen to be usable as weapons. This includes:
Two cheese knives the size of scimitars, curved and with double-pointed tips
A cheese fork with a shaft so long it functions as a bident
A spico, a kind of curd-cutting tool about the size and shape of a large mace, but with a head shaped like a round cage of blades
A curd harp, essentially a shovel where the head is a square array of cutting blades
He could try fighting with these if he wanted, but they're mostly wielded by his favorite rats when they become Rat Kings. This is when Gru commands them to use swarms of their fellow rats to create large, bear-shaped rat masses that Pepper, Rick, Wensley, and Reggie 'pilot'. These Rat Kings are very strong, but since at least a few rats die whenever the Rat Kings take a hit, they'll typically fall back to regroup if threatened with serious losses
Greatest Desire: To never face the consequences of his actions
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Three Likes: His rats, his cheese, and his trade
Three Dislikes: Nosy people, unreasonable people, unmanageable people
Driving Organ: After seeing where his mind got him, Gru decided to follow his heart
Worst Fear: His secret getting out
Favorite Color: Wine red
Most Like The Animal: It’s hard to say
Favorite Time of Day: Dinnertime
Style of Dress: Gru dresses in the style of early industrialists, like the archetypal oil baron, with a rough, outdoorsy sort of formal wear. He’s given to large, heavy, long coats, expensive but still highly functional, worn over a pinstriped suit vest and pants with accompanying tie, ascot, or bow tie (his favorite). He prefers dark, desaturated colors, including black, brown, gray, and red. Most often he wears gray, accentuated by wine red. He’s seldom seen without gloves or boots, a mix of function and (perhaps questionable) fashion that nevertheless form a iconic aesthetic. Most iconic of all are his very small dark spectacles and his tricorn hat. That hat’s side flaps are much larger and rounder than the forward one, which together with its pink underside give the impression of big, floppy ears. One other thing to note is that all of his coats seemingly have a big gray fur collar. On closer inspection, this collar is actually a mass of live rats, so he literally has rats on him at all times (when possible, anyway). He also keeps one of his four favorite rats under his hat at all times, which itself wears a hat while doing so
Favorite Season: Spring, the best season for farm animals to feed on fresh growth, and thus the best season for cheese
Beliefs: That everybody deserves a second chance
One very important question, which I'm asking right now real quick at the end of my break at work this evening:
.......Is the rat hiding under his hat also wearing it's own tiny tricorn hat? You mentioned it does wear a hat, but not the kind of hat. Yes. Hat-ception
Finally....completed...the app! Finally. Not that it wouldn't perhaps need edits to fix it as it gets reviewed, but I am just happy to finally have it completed. Lol. XD
Now it is time to sleep..
Alcides
"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
-Paarthunax, The Elder Scrolls Skyrim
Real Name: Jason Alexander Smith (the name given to him at the facility he was in) ((Daniel Craig Taylor" is his actual birth name when he went missing as a kid, but its not what he goes by currently either.))
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Alias/Nicknames: Alcides
Color Choice: Coral
Appearance: A younger man with a physique seemingly that that of an ancient greco-roman statue, which is to say his body is at its uttermost prime and then some to an extent enabled by the modified Extremis he was exposed to and treated with for over a decade. His body and face and limbs and such are muscular, toned, and well-defined to a a frankly superhuman level in terms of body shape and build, and yet overall he is not overly large akin to big bodybuilders either in the end. Could even keep that build even if he stopped working out, frankly, due to how his body was altered by modified Extremis as well over the years. His height of 5'11" falls below that of 6-foot-tall people, but is tall enough to reach the top shelf spectacularly well while having to avoid low-hanging entranceways as a tradeoff. His once childhood-age dirty blonde hair has been altered and tweaked to be jet black by this point, and his eyes are a dark chocolate brown color that he seemingly still had as a young child at least. While not pale or otherwise tan-skinned naturally, though, he can still get a proper tan rather than burn in the sun as well.
A person who could be seen as a ‘true stoic’, having learned how to endure much without showing any visible emotion and while keeping his mouth properly and tightly shut. To others Jason would likely appear ‘unfeeling’ and ‘no-nonsense’ otherwise, or simply like a ‘man of action but no words unless they’re barking orders’, but in reality it's more he’s been trained and pushed and frankly forced to learn how to compartmentalize, internalize, process, and then handle his emotions and such in a different way than most humans normally do. Otherwise he can and is able to express himself much like other human beings, though it's taken a solid year in SHIELD custody to get him to do it somewhat more naturally and learn how to better ‘flip the expressive switch’ inside of his head when doing so in a mental sense. It isn’t perfect, but it's more than he ever had the option of being able to do before. In that sense he’s ‘grown’ in the human sense since his capture.
He is also someone who enjoys spicy foods and cooking, and is a nerd who enjoys ‘geeky’ type of media and cheeky silly pop-culture references since he first began to indulge in such things for the first time (even plays a few video games to boot). At the same time he has remained someone highly-disciplined in how he holds himself and acts in general, and continues to do so. He is someone who enjoys sitting on the porch and watching the sun set over the hill, and feeling the cool air of a gentle fall breeze on his skin when sitting outside, or floating on his back in water even, to soothe his mind when he’s feeling either stressed enough or simply wants to be (or already is) lost in thought. He is also someone who has become detached from the trauma of his early childhood due to how he’s lived for over a decade by now, and yet at the same time retains some passing curiosity about it and is able to recall it with a superhuman clarity now that he never asked for in the first place. Yet he is also someone who feels a number of mixed emotions about those he was around in the past to boot, ones which have yet to unravel or be fully worked out as of yet.
In the end, Jason has expressed well enough that he ultimately wants to find a better course for himself. To do something better. To become someone better. Likewise, he has mostly without speaking sought to reclaim his humanity to enough of an extent moving forward. He is essentially a shooting star in the heavens, seeking a path all his own in a cold and dangerous universe that he is trying to better navigate now than he was able to before….but whose warmth and ‘warm spots’ have also consequently become more brightly visible to him than they were prior as well.
History:
It all began with an idea. A goal. A vision. An advanced weapon platform, one similar to the likes of the legendary Iron Man and yet also surpassing his designs. Something akin to a ‘miniaturized mech’ worn as powered armor by the pilot, capable of incredible speed, precision, and firepower. Something that, in the mind of its original designer, would be a tool of hope for Earth’s people to use in a seemingly very much ‘mad’ universe. Alien invasions. Ultron. Magic. Technology. Mutants. Whatever had produced all these sorts of villains, they tore apart cities. Wrecked countries. Destroyed any sense of safety and comfort that humanity perhaps had at some point in time, whenever that last was, and made them reliant on the charity and whims of what boiled down to a small few who themselves were far from incorruptible.
This was what the eventual Greek-German polymath Atticus Meyer came to believe, even after moving to the United States with his family as a young boy after a traumatic disaster back home in Germany before rising up the ranks of academia and seeking to see his vision be made manifest. Was it an obsession for him? Certainly to some extent, and yet at the same time the genius of a man was shaped by the chaos of the places he and his family lived in before he set out on his own in his adulthood. Someone who had lived in a world where security was not guaranteed, technology was rapidly advancing, and where superheroes and horrible villains alike existed around him. Thus in the end Atticus would calculate his chances, look at potential avenues, and then approach a company known as the Paradigm Corporation in an effort to see his idea to fruition.
The Paradigm Corporation, a subsidiary of Hammer Industries, seemed to be the perfect target. It was no secret that Hammer Industries was on less than amicable terms with Stark Industries and its own superhero of a ‘leading man’, as it were, and thus the promise of defeating or surpassing the number one enemy of Hammer Industries’ own CEO would likely come off as wholly enticing. Too enticing to resist, even, as the polymath hoped. Tugging at contacts before approaching the Paradigm Corporation with his formal presentation, Atticus would in particular seek to bend the ears of Hammer Industries CEO Justin Hammer to him. Anything to ‘set the stage’ and ‘rig the odds’ in his favor before he went in. And indeed the idea would find purchase with the board of the Paradigm Corporation as its potential was brought to light, likewise being helped along as Hammer Industries’ CEO would put some notable but indirect pressure on the subsidiary to take on the project. Thus “Project Talos” would be brought into existence, as it would so be named, with Atticus being hired on to assist with the project at a black site under the company’s facilities under the supervision of the Paradigm Corporation’s own Head of R&D: Sergei Radovich.
The technology itself could be developed using various advanced designs and the like that were in existence on Earth, and there were also a number of necessary ‘acquisitions’ of things like alien wreckage or the like to study and use in the project’s development in turn over time. However, the main issue of the project ended up not being the technology as much as the….pilots. Even while the project’s initial prototypes were functional enough, their specs were greater than what a human being could handle at first. Likewise, dumbed down versions lacked the promised potential in terms of firepower and capabilities that the project had tempted Paradigm and Justin Hammer himself with. Human augmentation using things such as implants, prosthetics, protective clothing, and even illegally-acquired samples of Extremis only did so much to potentially bridge the gap. Likewise, despite falling into hiring on ‘highly resilient’ mutant test pilots most human or mutant test pilots alike were hurt or maimed in one way or another by the suit or the very means being used to try to adjust them to surviving use of the prototypes.
There was a development called an “inhibitor device” that would eventually be created in the pursuit of increasing pilot survivability as well. This device acted as a sort of ‘addition’ to the prototypes, as it would automatically monitor pilot health and adjust the prototype suits’ capabilities to be survivable for the pilot based on futuristic biometric data analysis. It saw a notable increase in test pilot efficiency and a vast drop in damage done to them, and some increased funding given to Project Talos at that, though even then it was only serving to hurt the end product by further degrading its capabilities when used in combination. It did, however, save a fortune on further medical bills and the like. Even so, its success was part of the frustrations of Project Talos only grew and Atticus as well as Sergei tried to find a solution.
This solution would come with the hiring of a few ‘less scrupulous’ individuals, a decision that was made at the rather indirectly-applied pressure of Justin Hammer to the Paradigm Corporation as he discreetly monitored the development of the project from afar. Cue the entrance of one ‘Sebastian Schmidt’, a genius biochemist of seemingly Swiss origins who was brought on-staff and would ultimately greatly contribute to the project with his expertise. Sebastian would seem to buddy up with Sergei as well as Atticus, acting as a more passive ‘guiding influence’ for the project’s work. With his contribution, many of the less effective methods of attempting to create a ‘proper pilot’ for the project would be pruned in one way or another. At the same time, it would be Atticus who was inspired by a targeted but seemingly innocuous suggestion that Sebastian made one late evening as the two worked alone in the lab: “Perhaps the problem is that you are trying to perform these changes on fully grown adults, people whose bodies are far less malleable to shape and develop for such a purpose.”
It was here the man who had seen much darkness, who had sought to ethically improve the project’s results with his critical work in developing the Inhibitor Device, and had such dreams for his vision would finally be convinced to cross another line. A final line that would see him fall from grace for the sake of success. Between him and Sebastian, they were able to develop a process and methodology that would be presented to Sergei (and Justin Hammer approving it above Sergei from the shadows) for approval. Once this approval was given….the new method of trying to create viable pilots would commence.
The idea was simple. Take young enough children and begin a long-term therapy of exposure to and immersion in modified batches of Extremis, going from ‘weaker batches’ and graduating up to stronger ones over time. Temper their bodies with it in the long-term, use them to test equipment and prototypes along the way, and give them combat training as well as piloting training and education to likewise hone their skills and minds, and then from there the candidates could be weeded out until only the best remained. The best. The brightest. The ones who could pilot the final product with meticulous preparation to turn them into the optimal soldiers. The future of humanity’s protection and defense.
Using a number of black market and disposable contacts alongside more disposable means, as well as only gathering up ‘candidates’ over the course of six months, one hundred and twenty three children candidates would be acquired and imported to the facility black site discreetly for the project from the USA and around the world by illicit means. Each candidate would be given an initial treatment period of two months in the weakest batch of ‘introductory Extremis’, and from this only sixty one would survive this initial testing to move to the next trials ahead. Over the next eleven years beyond these two months, the remaining child candidates would be trained, drilled, educated, sent on limited ‘missions’ eventually, and conditioned to shape them and mold them into what the project sorely needed. The optimal pilot. Likewise, the technology itself would be improved for the project to match the growing potential of the pilots.
Many would die, go mad, or the like along the way, narrowing down the candidate pool and culling its size over and over until only three candidates were left. These three would then be unceremoniously brought to a underground arena of sorts created underneath the black site, one where they and others had tested equipment and sparred in for years, and told they had one last task before they could ‘graduate’ to the next stage of the program: They had to kill each other. Only one of them could receive the reward of the one ‘final product’ suit that had been made, one which would be used in a year’s time to show the project’s successes off to the board first before working to put it and a series of clones of the final test pilot into a greater production line. Thus the final three would be pitted against each other, fighting to survive in a bloody and brutal battle until only one of them came out as the victor.
This victor would then be taken back in, and for another year be pushed even further with even more potently modified Extremis and training. They would be polished and drilled and even sent on several further missions to ensure their performance shined like the purest glittering gold during the project’s final showcase. Even the very final product this ‘victor’ would wear was further tweaked and refined out of meticulous nervousness to prepare for the coming showcase at that.
As the momentous day finally arrived for what seemed to be Project Talos’ success, and the Paradigm Board of Directors arrived at a private above ground testing site leased out for the occasion, the showcase would finally begin as Atticus, Sebastian, and Sergei watched on with anticipation from the same observation deck as the board was in. They would explain the project’s parameters and success as the pilot performed out there for the onlookers. Flying. Ducking. Rolling. Precision fire. Etc. Yet as the pilot was doing his routine for the showcase, the test site was suddenly accosted by a rather large SHIELD force. Guns raised, superpowered help brought in, the whole metaphorical nine-yards as SHIELD cracked down on the project at the same time as a raid on the Paradigm Corporation’s facilities and concealed black site was taking place. Many were arrested, many tried to fight back, and in the end the test pilot would be subdued and captured as well.
Sebastian, for his part, would be killed by a cyanide pill stored in a fake tooth as he muttered the phrase ‘hail HYDRA’ before passing. Because, as genetic testing and a SHIELD investigation would finally turn up, Sebastian had been a clone and body double for the infamous Arnim Zola sent to help the project along and send back useful data to HYDRA. Meanwhile Atticus took a hard impact to the head and went unconscious before being captured, finally mentally snapping after he woke up in SHIELD custody after the incident. Sergei would himself die trying to shoot SHIELD operatives with a pistol taken from one of the slain company guards at the site, going down in a hail of bullets. Most of the board of the Paradigm Corporation would be arrested as well, having surrendered, with only one death occurring in the crossfire as the board’s guards attempted to fight back SHIELD. Further, a strange chain reaction of explosions that seemed to be caused by accident during the raid on the facility black site would destroy remaining samples, most machinery, and most of the final data Sebastian had not gotten to transmit yett along with it in the process.
As for the pilot? The pilot would be taken into SHIELD custody, being initially contained, then forced into therapy, and along the way being studied for around a year before an offer was brought for the pilot to join the Avengers Academy.
….It was a discussion that, in the end, the pilot would accept.
He was only five years old at the time he was taken. A kid who had lost everything in a fire, no parents, no family, not a single thing left. He’d rejected it, he’d cried, he’d screamed, and then ran away from the home he’d been temporarily placed in while they looked for his other relatives. A stupid kid with the stupid idea in his head that he would be able to find them, maybe, somewhere out there at his old home and address. They had to be. He needed them to be.
In the end, the young Daniel Taylor would be labeled a ‘missing child’ case after police were unable to find him after many days and several weeks of searching. Many assumed he was dead somewhere, or had been kidnapped, and yet the trail had gone very much cold along the way. In reality, the kid had been kidnapped by illicit types in search of a ‘payday’ by kidnapping him and bringing him and a number of other kids to men in black suits with unmarked vans and guns held in their hands. Money had exchanged hands, he and the others were forced into the vehicle owned by the men in suits, and then after the sound of shouting and gunfire rang out before he and the others were driven far away.
Such was Daniel’s experience as he, and one hundred and twenty other children in total, would be kidnapped and brought to the black site underneath The Paradigm Corporation’s facilities. Here he would see in horror as around half of the ‘candidates’ the company had acquired were injected with and immersed into modified Extremis over the course of two months, with him being one of the survivors of that initial batch. Yet despite his desire to escape somehow, the boy was terrified and forced into the harsh and disciplined training regimen that would come afterwards. At times he and some of the other surviving kids talked, got to know each other, and dreamt of escape or getting back home. Yet over the years this pool of peers shrank and shrank, and likewise the remainder of them were hardened and conditioned more and more alongside being pushed beyond their limits over and over and over again.
Less and less of them were around to talk to. The memories of what came before they were taken into this “Project Talos” became fainter and fainter or otherwise forgotten. More and more focus on their own personal survival and success began to come into their minds, simply to be able to get by. The will to live would even come to supplement much of their former secretive (albeit actually observed) camaraderie outside of the times they’d be sent on missions covertly or secretly to gather materials or kill and destroy people and places to ‘test their capabilities’ in the field. Yet even so, some shards of humanity would seemingly persist among those who remained….even if they seemed to be being worn away bit by bit by the sands of time.
By the time only three of them were left, they had forged some sort of bond in a sense. One forged in survival and training and the like, and yet filled with various deep-running cracks from the pressures placed on them and the desire to come out of the other end of all of this. Likewise as "Jason" (as Daniel was renamed at the facility) would say in his own words later on, he would call it ‘complicated as hell, but something we felt was better than nothing’ after some thought. Even so, he and the other two survivors of the last over a decade would be brought to what seemed like another training session in the underground arena before being told their ‘graduation’ was at hand. All they had to do was....genmuinely kill each other until only one was left alive standing.
For a moment they almost seemed to pause after the instructor left and the all-too-familiar ‘starting alarm’ was rung to signal the beginning of their ‘graduation’. Then almost at the same time they fired on each other in a flurry, one that erupted into tactical and chaotic combat like that even to its observers was itself a bloody and brutal affair by the end. Yet in the end, Jason ended up being the last one standing. The only candidate left. The last survivor, and one whose bloodied hands had killed the last of those he had at times been able to in some capacity or another call ‘comrades’ on or off of the field. It was an experience even then that he would describe as ‘numbing’, but still as if something had been lost beyond the blood and sweat and damaged flesh he’d sustained during that fight. Indeed, the event would cement itself in his memories with a terrifying clarity despite the following year of continued training and missions and drills and Extremis treatments that came with it as he and the project workers prepared for the final showcase.
Then when the day of that showcase arrived, but lo and behold SHIELD came barging in with serious force. Those who had made him died or were captured. The board members were arrested. Even he would be subdued and captured after putting up some kind of fight, before being taken away and locked up for a time. Then what? He had no idea what came next, but he expected death or containment of some kind more than anything. Perhaps interrogation or torture, as he had been agonizingly trained to face.
Yet…no, none of that would happen in the end. What could come was questioning and such, yes, but then nothing like the torture or ‘advanced interrogation methods’ he’d faced in his training and led to expect by his creators. Instead there was….hot food. A soft bed in his containment cell. Talking to some doctor or another who was called a ‘therapist’ in sessions held with him while he was in his cell. His food situation would improve. Eventually, when he proved willing enough to not start a mess, even time to walk around and stretch was allotted to him. Bit by bit, even if much couldn’t be undone, hard work was done to try to ‘help’ him. Help? He and others had needed help long before, and yet even this internalized frustration would dissipate some in the face of the genuine humanity being shown to him. Things that tugged on the shards of memories of the past, before he and the others had become so hardened and conditioned, and it was….almost alien to him at first, really. Then came TV shows and movies, internet and games, and many other things that over the time period he would come to actually embrace in one way or another. Sure he eventually had to test his suit and its capabilities for those who contained him, but after a while he didn’t mind it so much even.
At the end of this most strange and peculiar year and a half, Jason would then be approached in his containment room by a strange person offering him something. A chance. An enrollment, if he was willing, into something being created called “Avengers Academy”. It was a chance to help people, to do good for the world, to become something more than he had been made to be if he so wanted to choose it.
Hmm…choice. To choose it? Not simply be ordered to do it? It was still strange enough to him, but in the end he would choose to accept the offer. It was a chance. It was a gift. It was an opportunity to ‘begin anew’ for himself, and allowed for someone among all of those dead candidates to actually live more of the life they had dreamt of in hushed whispers in the dead of night. Thus, after an amount of preparation, the new prospective ‘hero’ to be known as “Alcides” would begin his journey to Avengers Academy.
Powerset: (And skills/training too?)
Extremis Serum Physiology - The effects of the modified Extremis on his body and physiology. Super Strength, Superhuman Speed/Reflexes, Superhuman Stamina, and Superhuman Durability are among the most prominent capabilities this has granted him, as well as in the case of this modified Extremis granting him a potent Regenerative Healing Factor that can keep him alive through and allow him to recover from even injuries more standard Extremis healing factors cannot (lost organs/limbs, blindness or the loss of other sensory organs, etc). His body likewise produces a notably greater amount of bio-energy than before in turn, and both his memory and even ingrained ‘instincts’.’muscle memory’ have become very superhumanly potent in their own right (note this is not ‘super smarts’).
However, the most notable ‘peculiarity’ that he seems to possess is with regards to his genetics. Due to ____’s long term exposure to modified Extremis, the effects of the serum have become integrated fully into his natural biology. Likewise, his genetics have become….strangely and superhuman resilient as well. Drastically so in this case, as he has become immune to genetic damage and has achieved ‘biological immortality’ (as in doesn’t age, not ‘doesn’t die’). This simply means he will grow to hit his physiological prime before his biological ‘aging’ will cease entirely beyond that point. This does not originate from his regenerative healing factor repairing the damage of aging, but rather exists as its own thing at the genetic level.....and is suspected to have been a secretive addition to the experimental Extremis that created Jason that wasn’t intended to be there at first.
Enhanced Combat Training/Field Experience/Education - From missions served in the field as an advanced child soldier, to a constant and harsh training regiment back at the black site, to constant sparring matches and the like held in the facility’s underground ‘arena’, to years of drilling and education in the subject alongside more mundane or advanced topics, Jason’s potential for a childhood was sacrificed to turn him into the ‘optimal pilot’ as well as a super soldier. This training, experience, and education encompasses his skills both while in his suit and even while engaging in combat or such outside of his suit, including how to handle general ‘field repairs’ manually, unarmed combat or knife-wielding combat as well as ‘dirty fighting’, disassembling/reassembling weapons, assassination or sabotage, and things like general survival skills.
Mental Conditioning/Pain Tolerance - Jason has been conditioned over the years to withstand quite a bit without giving into the pain, both in his training and in more particular ‘conditioning’ such as being forced to suffer from various extremes and even very harsh torture methods (among other things). This conditioning did include being conditioned to following orders and to follow along with the training compliantly, though did not include subversive mind control or things like ‘trigger words’ or such things that were seen as too much of a ‘liability’ for the project’s end goals. However, his pain tolerance ended up and has remained extreme after it was all said and done and SHIELD ultimately took him into its custody.
Equipment/Paraphernalia:
Aegis Mk XVII Combat Exo-Suit - Also colloquially known to those in Project Talos as “Talos” or “The Aegis”, this is the final fruits of Project Talos’ developments and is the only existing ‘final product’ combat suit created by it after over a decade and more of development, upgrades, and fine-tuning prototype designs. While admittedly a rather expensive suit to design that stands head and shoulders above the prior prototypes created by the program, it was made to showcase the full potential of the program just as the pilot of it (Jason) was created to do the same. They were not designed at all to be the ‘mass produced version of the product’ for reasons and issues of sheer costs, time, and efficiency, among other things, and the idea held even by the leaders of Project Talos was to further study the test pilot and suit to develop ‘cheaper, distinctly lesser/weaker, but still effective clones and suits’ for sale that remained true enough to the program’s aims and goals. In this vein Jason and the Aegis alike stand out as the ‘be all and end all’ of Project Talos. but also as the lone examples of the ‘true full potential of the program’ which was to be worked down from after showcase when it would come to discussing potential mass-production efforts for the suit and new pilots.
Organic Metal Construction - The one ‘secret’ of the black site hosting Project Talos that survived the explosion, only one known mutant in the world is known to utilize or possess this substance: Colossus. At the same time, the man known as the mutant “Colossus” was never even involved with Project Talos, and from recovered records of the project it seems that some unknown mutant brought in on the project was the source of it before those involved in Project Talos fully developed the means to artificially grow/create Organic Metal on their own. The substance is exceptionally tough while remaining light and very flexible for something of its durability.
Likewise, due to its organic nature it can seamlessly interface with organic materials as well. It is also in this manner the suit interfaces easily and at a deeper level with its pilot than other forms of technology seem to be able to do. Still, the Organic Metal of the Aegis alone can also protect against most man-made ordnance and even superhuman assault, which would hardly leave a scratch on the hull for the most part.
Weapons - The primary weapons of the Aegis, as designed for the Aegis in time for the showcase at least, are as follows:
-The ‘Thundercloud’ Railgun: A handheld plasma-kinetic railgun rifle. In its ‘plasma’ mode it takes in and superheats and transforms the air on a planet (or even gases and plasma in the vacuum of space) around it into a super-concentrated projectile fired with the power of a high-powered but still handheld-size electromagnetic railgun. It also is loaded with a clip of kinetic penetrator rounds, and by switching this weapon to ‘kinetic’ mode one can fire up to seven rounds from the 20mm round clip. Switching between ‘modes’ is a very easy process the pilot can do by flipping a simple non-electronic switch on the weapon.
-The ‘Harpe’ Nanite Cluster: A cluster of self-replicating and semi-organic nanites that are EMP-resistant, at least, and can form a number of pre-programmed weapon designs such as axes, machete/short swords, blades, shields, and most uniquely an arm-mounted pile-bunker. While not as durable themselves as the Organic Metal composing the Aegis, they can passively regenerate rapidly in the field. In cases of high levels of damage to the suit and/or pilot inside, these nanites will switch into ‘emergency support mode’ and work to keep the pilot alive/healthy as well as support the rest of the suit itself and its systems to restore functionalities or help maintain them and the like.
-The ‘Enyalios’ Pulse Gun: A handheld crowd-control weapon developed using the principle of a PEP or “Pulsed Energy Projectile” weapon. Taken from designs made by the US Government for a non-lethal weapon, this design was miniaturized, given rapid-fire capabilities, and turned into a lethal-or-non-lethal-capable weapon for Project Talos. It is also the most potentially mass-producible aspect of the Aegis aside from the ‘Harpe’ Combat Suite. This Pulse Gun weapon works by using a powerful invisible laser that, when fired, ablates the surface of the target and generates a small amount of exploding plasma.
The electromagnetic radiation created by this small plasma explosion in ‘non-lethal’ mode affects the nerve cells and causes pain to the target without actually hurting them, while the pressure wave generated at the same time stuns the target’s body in a localized manner at the point of impact. Combined with the weapon’s rapid-fire capabilities, the weapon can cause rapid widespread pain and stun the body parts and bodies of a number of targets, but no matter where it hits the effects remain non-lethal in full and do not cause brain or dangerous heart damage.
The electromagnetic radiation generated by the ‘lethal’ mode of this weapon is enough to scorch through flesh and bone as well as briefly semi-melt the surface of tungsten metal during the brief plasma explosion. While not enough to do something crazy like ‘shoot holes through tanks’, that’s the railgun’s job after all, it does make it a lethal and dangerous crowd-control weapon in turn.
-Built-In “Supplementary Suite”: Two smaller nanite-replenished-and-repaired means of fighting built into the suit, either to be used in supplement to its primary weapons or in the case of not having access to the suit’s primary weapons.
The first part of this ‘suite’ is a simple pair of micro-missile launchers that can pop up out of each shoulder of the unit, mostly being protected by armor and limited in size and potency to keep them compact. Each ‘launcher’ can fire a total of two micro-missiles, which are each themselves capable of blowing up a general-use car/minivan/sedan one might find on the street.
The second part of this ‘suite’ is an attempt to mimic Iron Man’s ‘repulsors’, which are installed in both palms of the suit’s hands. It is not as advanced as said repulsors, but it mimics them through the use of converting heat/energy from the pilot and surrounding air/water into superheated plasma that can be fired in a sustained ‘beam’ (not ‘bursts’ or ‘blasts’). While mostly not dangerous, using this underwater can lead to potentially….’explosive’ results if the target of the attack isn’t far enough away from the suit in such conditions.
Movement - Thrusters for movement are built into the suit, allowing for rapid and even successive bursts of high-speed movement on the battlefield, flight in the air, and even enhancing physical attacks like knee-strikes or kicks or punches. In terms of travel speed, meanwhile, the suit at its maximum speed can reach just over Mach 1 at its top speed when flying in the air specifically (or if flying just above the ground if given enough room to reach that top speed).
“Nano-Repair Suite”/‘Inactive Modes’ - The Aegis possesses a built-in “Nano-Repair Suite” dedicated to maintaining and repairing the suit actively on and off of the battlefield, though this and the organic-interfacing nature of the Synthetic Organic Metal it is made of also lends itself to another capability. The suit can break itself and its weapons down very rapidly, storing them inside the pilot’s body in hollows and spaces and ‘gaps’ in the body as tightly-condensed matter until the pilot activates it again (in which case the suit reassembles itself and the weapons overtop the pilot’s body rapidly in this case).
The Aegis can both store itself inside the pilot, going into its ‘inactive mode’ in this way, but also let out the pilot and sit there in what is called its ‘freestanding inactive mode’ as well. In its ‘freestanding inactive mode’, it does retain a small bit of energy from when the pilot was using it for purposes of powering self-maintenance/repair functions. While stored inside of the pilot’s body, or going into its general ‘inactive mode’, it helps curb the excess bio-energy in the pilot’s body at a much lower rate by tapping into it still to further power its self-repair/maintenance functions in this state (as well as helping repair/heal the pilot from within to boot). Albeit this power drain occurs in this case at a much slower and lower rate than when it is being actively used in its ‘deployed’ form.
Sensors/Computing - A sophisticated sensory array was installed into the Aegis, allowing it long-range radar, telescopic visual, infrared/thermal, and other such sensory capabilities when being used by its pilot. It can also access databases linked to it as well as interact with general wireless devices when out in the field, and is capable of very fast interfacing with its pilot and its own internal systems as well as being able to interface with the suit's own list of weapons (carried or built-in) through touch or even wirelessly. With how the suit was designed, it can be operated without needing a supporting A.I. to help manage it and its capabilities, though this comes at the cost of any such advantages a built-in A.I. might have for such a device as the Aegis as well...
Combat Knife - A gift received from one of the last two of his comrades after it was just the three of them left, and well before the ‘graduation’ ceremony, it has his name and the names of the other two former pilots etched permanently and painstakingly into its hilt. It was already like this when he was captured by SHIELD, and it was one item that he requested to keep by the time he left for Avengers Academy. To him it is a personal keepsake, something that is both a well-cared for weapon and survival tool as well as being a memento he has refused to let go of from his days back in the black site. Jason keeps this knife sheathed on his side at all times while he’s out of bed, keeps it within reach while he showers or bathes himself, and even keeps the thing close by when he sleeps for that matter.
Mauser M1932 Pistol - A refurbished WW2-era German pistol produced by Mauser, it was a family heirloom of Atticus’ German grandfather. Said grandfather worked in a factory that produced those particular arms after 1937, before acquiring one for ‘personal protection’ and eventually using it when fleeing with his family and two Jewish families on a dangerous route to get to the United Kingdom in 1941. He then passed it down to his son when the family moved back to West Germany after World War 2, who in turn eventually passed it down to Atticus as a family legacy. Then Atticus (who had no children of his own) passed it down to Jason after his ‘graduation ceremony’ as a gift after pulling him aside to talk with him. The weapon has been cleaned and refurbished, still uses a 10-round detachable box magazine, and chambers 9x19mm ammunition that can still be found on the modern market.
In some ways it can be considered the last ‘sane’ bit of Atticus that the man gave away to try to help another, as in the man’s eyes Jason was basically like a child of his since the beginning. Especially after the ‘graduation ceremony’ of all things. Someone that, despite it all and the scientist’s own internal struggles along the way, that Atticus was genuinely proud of for surviving and getting that far. Despite falling from grace and already having gone a bit ‘mad’ by then to a certain extent, this perceived relationship of seeing them like his children was what drove Atticus to over time show some kindnesses to the ‘subjects’ and then final ‘test pilots’ over time. Indeed when the man woke up after being captured and finally ‘snapped’, Jasoon was brought to see him four times during his own captivity to see if his presence could help SHIELD get more information out of Atticus. Atticus would go into a state of rare semi-rational questionable lucidity upon seeing him where they could even almost converse properly to some extent.....at least until the older man began to sink back into the mire of his own mind one more.
Weaknesses: Weaknesses is exactly that; the flaws in your character, whether emotional, physical, or technological. Point out weak spots in their powers, character flaws that can be exploited, or vulnerabilities in their gear that could be detrimental. Like before, an example will be provided.
Excess Bio-Energy/BOOM - Due to being essentially an organic battery for his suit, Jason’s excessive production of bio-energy is being kept in check when he pilots or dons it for periods of time. This certainly makes him less prone to potentially exploding, though if he does not drain the excess bio-energy for overly long periods of time the risk to potentially explode will notably increase instead.
No Heat/Electricity Attacks - Donning the suit to keep his bio-energy in check results in him being unable to project this bio-energy as heat-based or electrical attacks like most users of Extremis could. This is due to the constant drain the suit puts on him, which leaves energy levels too low to be able to do this sort of thing. On the other hand, if he goes too long with the suit then he could unleash such attacks….but this comes alongside other risks (as noted in the prior entry above this).
Organic Metal Weaknesses - Only when extraordinarily powerful individuals or other super-metals (or of course, abilities that can influence machinery in some fashion) get involved when the material can truly be found lacking.
Railgun Weaknesses - While this weapon doesn’t work underwater in any firing mode, or when submerged in water for that matter. Generally air humidity otherwise is regulated by built-in filters for the weapon and doesn't affect it for the most part in any firing mode, but something like a sauna or the middle of the steamy rainforest after a fresh rain though? It can still work, but it works a lot slower than normal under such circumstances when in its ‘plasma’ mode while respectively being unaffected in kinetic mode under such environmental circumstances in turn.
Aegis Internal Pilot Storage - If the suit stores itself inside the body of the pilot, it does inherently have the obvious drawback of making the pilot’s body super-dense and easier to sink. Not a fun time to be sure if in a body of water or on a fragile surface….hence why the ‘external storage’ method was developed for it so the pilot isn’t always forced to store the suit inside of their body.
Prior Conditioning - For over a decade Jason was molded into the optimal specimen for Project Talos, and as such he is a trained (and was a child) soldier who exhibits all the issues of someone trained in that manner and who lived such a life in the psychological sense. While he has become ‘better’ than he was over the course of his year in SHIELD custody, some things like ‘don’t go for certain areas of the body when doing unarmed combat training’ are still, er, either new to him or so ingrained that they remain a reflex.
This also comes with the notion that he is still learning ‘what to expect’ from training and such, and could react more or less brutally in application on his end of things, after having been trained so brutally and harshly and intensively over the years prior to SHIELD taking custody of him. This doesn’t mean he hasn’t been told to and reminded to expect something not on par with what he’s gone through before in training and education, but ah…..old reflexes are still at times going to be hard to notice and work on restraining when you were used to the instructor going for your knees before.
(Anything Else Listed In The Prior Sections Of The App Potentially)
Issue #0/Testing Post:
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk. His boots weren’t made of metal, but on the hollow walksways reaching over to another part of the complex’s ‘containment unit’ they sure made a thud of sorts. Nothing he wasn’t used to, and yet the occasion for walking to elsewhere in the SHIELD facility was certainly something he wasn’t used to. Even so the door slid open with a gentle but swift ‘woosh’, and while the nearly pin-drop-silent exterior had been one things…..the sounds inside of it were something else entirely as he, and Sub-Commander Francois walked inside. More like a blood-curdling howl into some imaginary night air than anything else.
“My babies! All of them! Dead! Oh please, please my children, forgive me for doing this!”
Thump. Thump. THUMP. Thud. CRASH.
Before them was a clear-walled cell, or at least it was from the front, though it had been lined with copious amounts of tear and bashing-proof padding of some description. It assuredly wasn’t a cell of as high of a security level as his own was, and yet at the same time held something inside mostly to….keep it safe, it could perhaps be said, in this instance. Though what was being kept safe from who depended upon the perspective.
“I did it! I did it all! It’s real, its…..I….I….what have I done….no, by the heavens what have we done?! They’re all dead! No, please, I didn’t mean for this. But I did it anyway! Every last damned bit of it, and now you won’t stop talking to me!”
Within the cell sat an older man, one who had been thrashing around initially, though seemed to have stopped for a bit as his restraints were mechanically tightened through remote-control as he had been forcefully ‘swaddled’ a bit tighter by his straightjacket and seemed to make him slow down a little more. His body seemed almost as frail as wet paper, and yet his strength seemed like that of a man possessed. Perhaps he was….perhaps not. His thinning white hair, once a Mediterranean-esque dark brown that nearly looked black, was regardless frayed and tossed and messy as anything, with signs that it might be close to needing another trim. Even so, his contrastingly bright green eyes seemed to flit about as if covered in a haze as if he was looking at something no one else could see….or ‘somethings’ really.
“Ah! The blood!!! There…..oh there’s so much blood! Please, get it off of me! It’s staining my skin! My clothes! My hair! Get it out, get it out! Please, please I don’t want to hear your voices anymore! I’m damned to hell as it is, but please stop! I can’t….please….somebody save me…..pleeeeeeease….”
The last agonized, squeaking plea for help from the genius’ mouth cut through the air like a knife, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. And indeed, as they walked closer he could see more to the cell than perhaps met the eye. Scrawlings, drawings, scribbled almost like a child on the floor. Some looked like planes. Some thunderbolts. Others looked like exploding bombs. Yet even among this were mathematical and chemical formulae, internals for some peculiar machine yet to be invented or made, and most notably….the word ‘sorry’ seemingly carved deeper than the rest into whatever it could be. The bed that had gone irregularly used, from the looks of it, and its metal frame had been the canvas for that it seemed….before the restraints came into play at that, if he had to take a guess.
The weight in its holster on his right hip felt even greater with each step he took toward the cell, until as the two of them got close enough the old man in the cell seemed to suddenly stop in place. It was as if he’d been frozen in time, his head craned back and to the side until his eyes had discovered their presence. Yet the SHIELD Sub-Commander wasn’t what the intense focus of those eyes was fixated upon. Rather, he was.
“My boy….oh my boy! You’re alive! Oh bless this day, you’re alive my child!”
The old man swiveled back around and seemed to sit his butt hard down on the floor with a plastic-y ‘SLAM’ in short order. His legs crossed as if he was sitting for story-time in turn. Yet as two chairs were brought up for them to sit in, his own closer to the cell than the one for Francois, the old man let out a jubilant laugh.
“I had thought your voice was calling to me like all the rest, but no. Oh frabjous day! Callou! Callay!”
“....Yes sir. It’s me.”
“Oh my boy it's been awful since then, but Sergei’s been sneaking in to tell me things. Maybe we can get you out yet! Then we must go see my sister and her children back in Berlin. Chose to move back there despite the mess….oh the dirty, nasty mess back there. Almost wiped out the city, you know? It's why our parents left that forsaken place….but….really nowhere is safe.
Yes. It's why you-....why all of them had-.....but I had to sell them on it, and I had to….I had to complete the-….oh….no! Please no not again! Please, not the blood!”
The older man seemed to start craning his neck again all over, as his voice near the end of his speaking turned again almost into a bestial howl, though pulling out the growing weight on his right hip he flashed the glimmer of metal in front of the man. Something shiny. Something he could perhaps recognize as he quickly piped up to speak to him again.
“Director Attic-.....Sir. I’m here. You….don’t have to look at the blood right now. Just look at this. Follow my voice.”
The old man froze again before he could wind himself all the way back up, the glimmer of metal bringing him back down into his ‘criss cross applesauce’ sitting position with another loud ‘THUD’. Indeed, the older man’s face would press closer to the clear side wall of the cell between them as he turned his head a little to get a good look at it. In turn, however, ____ silently rotated the gun a bit for the older man to see a bit better.
“Ah….that was my father’s, you know! Brought him and his father safely to the United Kingdom in World War Two. He lived there for a time before grandfather took them back to Berlin after it was partitioned off….wanted to see if his brother’s family was still alive there. Last he’d heard of them.
In fact my mother met my father there, in Berlin, after grandfather had settled down there after the war. Didn’t have the inkling to return to where he’d once lived and worked otherwise really…can’t say I blame him in hindsight. But my parents loved the streets, even though my grandfather barely left home anymore after a particular episode he had out in the city one day. Just froze up as if someone was going to shoot him……he had been holding my hand that day even. I always wondered why it happened, but father never told me until I was much older after that day about the reasons.
That weapon….it saved lives you know. Ours. The two Jewish families grandfather brought along with his own along the way that had been his neighbors or friends at some point in time even. Filthy Nazis, damn Nazis, bastards sullied the damned world and ruined us! German? Oh sure, let’s use the damn Germans as STEROTYPE EVIL VILLAINS AND FILTHY BEASTS BECAUSE HITLER AND SCHMIDST DECIDED TO-....to-….to…
Ah! My boy you’ve still got it! Oh I hope it serves you well. I….I’ve not done a thing to deserve keeping that. I wanted to pass it onto my kids, but after the accident back home I….we….my wife couldn’t take it after all we’d invested into the idea of our happy family. I couldn’t either.
But you, dear boy! ___! Oh I remember yours and the others’ names….I still….I still do….I can’t let myself forget….I can’t ever forget….but they just keep ringing in my ears! Talking to me. Screaming Crying. So much pain….
But maybe that heirloom will serve you better than it did myself. Save more lives. Yes, once we get the project funded I can finally help them all! A world where no man has to feel like grandfather ever did again, where the damned walls and soviets or turks aren’t mucking things up for so many people, and where even that damned alien who destroyed it all can’t make the children of the world afraid ever again!!! And then I can bring them back, they’ll all see! Then we can be a big, happy-….and maybe my wife will….ah….its hurts….please…..please make the voices stop….”
He looked back silently as the older man rambled on, his face wrought in ironclad stoicism as a couple of his fingers gently rubbed the surface of the gun unconsciously. He would silently nod every so often as well, hoping the older man could see, though ultimately a very soft sigh would escape his lips as the old man seemed to descend back more into his more depressed ramblings.
“It will. I’m going to help people, just like you wanted to do.”
“You….are?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“That’s…..maybe I managed to….oh…..oh the voices….and the blood! THE BLOOD!!! Mother! Please I need you, just to hear your voice again! Please! Father, why are you glaring at me so? Are you taking their side?! Why those little….no, nonono they weren’t-.....they didn’t deser-.....oh….oh…..OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
For a moment it was as if he was looking back into the eyes of a man who had more hope for the world. Or perhaps he’d been hiding all of that stuff behind hopeful eyes, all of this time, and when those eyes faded he’d finally been left alone in the dark finally. He still didn’t fully know what to think. He didn’t want to call him what he’d asked him to, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to truly hate the man either. It was…..messy, far from what he’d been trained to do. Training that had torn him to pieces and rebuilt him as something, someone, else. And yet he could rely on that same training to get him through in the end, somehow, in what was perhaps a cruel twist of irony.
As Francois tapped him on the left shoulder, ____ looked back and nodded at the man before holstering the Mauser he had been holding out in his right hand gently back into its leather holster. He then gently stood up from the chair, just as the other man did, turning his gaze back toward the doorway they’d come in from….and not looking back at the old man returning to the height of his hysterics behind him. He could hear it, but he could also tune it out so easily it was terrifying….or perhaps comforting? Still couldn’t fully tell about that either, really, but maybe one day he would be able to. One day.
Clank. Clunk. Clank. Clunk.
The boots he wore now sounded just like the ones he’d worn before as he walked back toward the door. Sounded the same as they had for a very long time at that, even as they left and the door ‘wooshed’ closed behind them again.
Did that mean these boots were the same as those ones? Maybe. Maybe not. Only time would tell, really, but he had a new mission to pursue and focus upon. One he had chosen for himself, or at least he thought so, that he’d have to see the results of later in hindsight. But maybe the open sky before him now wasn’t wholly his though. Perhaps some of it was just the torn-up fragments of the utterly distant dreams of a genius-turned-madman, fragments that shone like stars before him. Yet he couldn’t deny that, if such was the case, the same starry fragments likewise lingered in the very twilit background that bloody and haunted creature behind him was howling into.
Did that make those two vistas they saw the one and the same? Again, perhaps so. Only time, and the days ahead, would be able to tell…
The SHIELD Sub-Commander ran a hand down his face as he sat at his desk, before looking back up at the Agent standing at attention in front of him. He could already feel the wrinkle lines in his own face growing older and older at the mere thought of what he’d been told. It was something he expected to see from some barbaric warlord in Africa, but to have it happen on US soil of all things? They’d already lost most of the black site, as well as the destruction done to Paradigm facilities sitting above it, and the raid on the showcase had lost them one suspect in the crossfire despite being a general success.
This was just icing on the cake.
“Humor me here, please, but the one piloting the damn thing was just….some kid? You’re sure, Agent Ortez?”
The hispanic man standing before him would solemnly nod after a moment of pause, before gesturing again to the documents he’d placed on the commander’s desk. A stack of printed reports and the details of the initial examination of the subject sat in front of the older man, clear as day and yet still something that managed to seemingly get him to feel disbelief at something as….well, as comparatively mundane as this. Mundane. What was mundane in the world anymore? Aliens, galactic deaths of trillions at the snap of a finger, magic, mutants, demons from hell, what else was new anymore? What else wasn’t the world seeing go on? So something like this, somehow, was more surprising than the rest of it.
“The subject, after powering down the suit they were operating, was found to be in their late teens after further observation and quarantine. Likewise what surviving lab records we possess take note of the subject’s age as well, though where the subject was taken from is still entirely unclear. However, it seems that the-”
“Yes yes, I read that part. This thing was going on for longer than we thought it was, a lot longer in fact. Hell the kid was killing a fair few of our agents out there as it was, and I still don’t want to believe it to some extent.
Is the pilot properly contained? Bells and whistles and everything based on what was observed in the field?”
“Yes sir, just as you requested after speaking with Commander Fury on the matter before relaying it to us. The containment cell itself was made of highly-rated materials in case of an attempted escape by the pilot, being highly resistant to kinetic damage, high-grade explosives, and thermal capabilities. We’ve got three heavily-armed and prepared guard units keeping a constant vigil on the subject’s cell as well in shifts, armed with heavy anti-electronic weapons and and gas vents installed in the roof of the cell that automatically go off in case of cell damage caused from the inside. There is also-”
Sub-Commander Francois Alderson would silently nod as the agent listed out the containment measures in a general sense. Even so, his tired brown eyes, expression, and aging gray-ish blonde hair seemed to reflect something of an exasperated mood still. He wanted to know if the checklist of safety provisions was sufficient, and so didn’t mind hearing it all over again for what felt like the millionth time in the last few days, yet all the same the matter still troubled him to a certain extent. Sure he’d been ‘snapped’ away for a while with the whole Infinity War mess, but even so he wondered…..if a lot of them had still been around, could they have stopped it any earlier? Found the trail of breadcrumbs just a little sooner, and maybe given the poor kid a chance?
“Ortez….how’s he doing?”
The agent stopped his listing, closing his lips in another brief silence before looking back in his CO’s eyes and nodding once more.
“He seems to sleep as little as he needs to remain alert, and keeps a close if not trained eye on anything he can hear and see from his containment cell. We had to keep the walls of it clear so we could keep an eye on him, but he seems to be doing the same with us. Also seems as if he’s….expecting something.
Energy levels in his body are also rising at a notable rate, sir, and Captain Asha requests installing something to siphon his energy reserves given its….er…given the Extremis he seems to have been imbibed with based on initial analysis.”
“Well there’s no telling what Meyer and all of the others did to him, or made him expect out of a situation like this, but see if he’ll take food this evening. Tell Asha she can install the measures underneath the floor, but I am not letting anyone in there directly for now. I also want three extra teams down there with her and the workers.”
“Yes sir!”
“And Agent.”
“Yes?”
“I want to go see the prisoner right now.”
“....Yes sir!”
It was a bit of a walk to get to the containment block in the facility from the offices, but there was a good reason for that as well. Security offices were close, just as the response stations were, but in case of a ‘worst case scenario’ they wanted to be able to evacuate staff and other non-combat personnel in a hurry. Beyond that, it had taken some space to build the containment sector of the SHIELD facility they were in to be able to be ‘customized’ for keeping particular sorts of ‘residents’ in them. Because this facility was made to handle and process and contain a number of high-security or ‘potentially variant’ threats of a notable sort. The sorts of things and people that couldn’t be kept behind normal bards or in simpler SHIELD facilities…..even the sorts that they had no idea what to do with for that matter, like that pilot they’d captured in the planned raid on the Paradigm Corporation.
Even as the two men’s shoes clanked over suspended metal walkways heading into the containment sector, passing rows of armed guards and security stations and the like, Francois couldn’t help but feel a grim expression come to his face all the same. The kid here was as old as one of his grandsons was getting, for pity’s sake, and while he’d seen a lot worse things come through here (or attack the facility for that matter) this one felt more personally disturbing than most others had felt to him over the years. A kid. A child soldier who could kill like that, who’d been doing it for heaven knows how long, and for all he knew had parents out there worried sick over him thinking their kid was dead or long gone.
“Sub-Commander Francois on deck!”
The guards currently on shift would each salute with one hand as the Sub-Commander and Agent came into the room, before in turn each soldier’s finger returned back onto the trigger guard of their primary weapon. No more than one set of eyes at a time looked away from the subject at any given time, or left them out of their peripheral vision, and EM-turrets and other tentative measures were looking on the subject with their own even more eternal vigil.
“At ease, and maintain your duties. I just wanted to observe the prisoner for myself after everything I’ve read on the incident so far.”
The kid’s dark eyes seemed to snap over to him in an instant as he spoke, and in turn the french-american man would stare right back.
They had no idea what else this kid could be hiding, or what he might do, and thus until Fury gave orders one way or another they’d have to remain on high-alert for this one and keep a careful eye on someone that was only some days ago painting the brains of some of their best trained general combat agents all over the concrete and terrain. It was a terrifying prospect that one of Hammer’s own subsidiaries had become wrapped up in this, but the weasel wasn’t going to go down with that ship either….hell, Hammer Industries had already approached SHIELD for ‘full cooperation’ in prosecuting Paradigm to try to sugar-coat it all a little bit to boot.
Yet that aside, just looking into the kid’s eyes Francois felt something all-too familiar begin to prick at the back of his mind. Something he didn’t much care for as an old soldier himself in the personal sense, but which would gradually bring itself further and further forward to the front of his mind that he didn’t bother to stop it. That look. The look not of a cornered animal, but something that expected pain. Expected torture, perhaps, for what he was and had done. Perhaps he even expected to die at any point in time that he or the guards so willed it. And yet despite expecting it, he did not seem to visibly fear it at the same time.
“...What’s your name, soldier?”
The words slipped out of the older man’s mouth like he was talking to a subordinate back when he had been in the service for the USA’s own. The kid only seemed to stare back silently in response, though neither’s eyes seemed to waver from meeting the other’s gaze. Eventually, however, the boy seemed to stand up with a straight back to look at him at least. Was pretty tall too, but nothing the old soldier was intimidated by either as he unwaveringly maintained his own standing posture. Then again, he wasn’t sure if the kid was going to try something or if he was even trying to be intimidating at all….hmm.
“Silent? Understandable enough, I suppose. In your eyes it must seem like we’re going to do something to you any second. Just one twitch of the muscle in the wrong direction….then BAM! Something happens. Or perhaps we are waiting for you to let your guard down, and then in comes the torture the moment you aren’ watching, hmm?”
The kid seemed to stare back without moving a muscle even still.
“I’ve a grandson your age. Kid plays football, runs around with friends, gets into trouble, the whole nine yards. Told me once he wants to join the military….follow in my footsteps where his dad was physically unable to. Told me he was proud of me, hell, got me to take him to a shooting range more than once when I was visiting his folks. Heh. You two are about the same height, all things considered, at that.”
“....”
“But truth be told, I wish he wouldn’t. You see, I want him to do what he wants in this world. I want him to be away from the messes that keep cropping up all over the place. Away from the horrors of things like….seeing the guy in front of you, knowing one of you’s got to pull the trigger, and at the same time he’s just pissing himself in as much fear as you’re feeling in that moment. Away from seeing the brains of some mother’s son or daughter’s father plastered all over the wall like Jackson Pollock turned into Marilyn Manson on a dime, even though the two of you were just talking over drinks a few short hours ago. Away from feeling like you’re trapped in the hell of the battlefield, and part of you just wants to cut and run no matter what it means….but you can’t run at the same time. Because if you run, you won’t survive it. Because you don’t want to die.”
“...”
“I see that look in your eyes like they're my own a little bit there. Even saw it in the eyes of people serving under me, and saw it in the eyes of people who didn’t deserve to be forced to feel like that in the first place. I’ve seen that stare that goes for a thousand yards and more as well….I’ve seen the look of fear in the eyes of the dead, or the resignation in what’s left of a face after a firefight.
Men. Women. Children. The more I went along in the service the more I began to understand. Nothing can get those things out of my head forever, as if they never left their mark on me in the first place. But I sure as hell can keep living. Living for me. Living for my family and loved ones. Living, perhaps, even for the sake of the poor sods who didn’t make it this far with me or who didn’t want to die. Or at least that’s my look on things.
…But if you wish to remain silent, that’s fine. Perhaps one day we’ll get to talk, but talk as men. Not as a prisoner and warden, but as men who have seen things and been through things that no one else should have to.”
Letting out his own sigh, Francois began to turn back around as he nodded to Ortez. It was time to go back to his office, but part of him wondered why he’d decided to say such things to this prisoner. This kid. This child soldier. This enemy who had not long ago killed even a few field agents he knew by name and face, and had even sent Christmas cards to during the holidays at that. Yet as Ortez looked to him to nod, the agent seemed to freeze suddenly for a moment…before putting a hand on the Sub-Commander’s shoulder.
Turning back around partly, Francois looked back with his eyes for a moment only to freeze in place himself. And, then, he finished turning back around as he felt a small smile come to his face. His back straightened up. His posture was formal. His hand, then, straightened out and came up to his forehead.
A salute….in return for the one the prisoner was giving him back.
A sign of respect for authority, and this kid was giving him one. A silent one, but it was clearly a proper salute.
For a second, Francois felt he could almost see a glimmer of something else in the kid’s eyes to boot as well. Hope? Slightly less tension? A silent way of giving him mutual recognition? It almost didn't matter to Francois in this case, but he wasn’t going to not return that respect or gesture in kind either. It could just be nothing as well, just something to lure him into a more comfortable position. Eh. But part of him didn’t feel like that was the case here. Not in this situation.
Perhaps there was hope for the kid yet, if nothing else. Hope for something better. But for now, they’d have to take it just like anything else: One day at a time.
...And he hoped they could meet each other there one day.
"Spirit wha-" Simon was interrupted as the blast shot his way and hit the shield. The shield shattered completely and Simon flew backwards into the wall and then dropped to the floor. "Oh, shit," he cursed in pain. "What the hell was that?"
The mage's hand reflexively twitched as Lillianna jerked it back in a hurry. A mild shock was in her eyes to see that she'd managed to bust the other man's Lesser Ward and outright just send him flying into the wall. Hadn't he done this before, or was this particular anomaly of a 'spell' just that strong? She had no idea for sure, but it was worrying in the heat of the moment just as much as it was intriguing in the back of her mind. Either way, she stood there with a perhaps fair but visible bit of hesitation as she watched Simon. Did...was he going to be ok? He was a Cleric, right? So maybe he could patch himself up a bit, or perhaps had a deity on call for some kind of rejuvenating blessing? Er...
Simon struggled to his feet. "By the winged sandles of Iskara, that was amazing. Spirit Gun? I've never even heard of that, before." He walked over to her, his face a mix of admiration, confusion and perhaps a little fear. But he managed to smile through it all. "You think you could do that again? I mean, is still there, in your mind?"
...Eh?!
"Y-Yes, it is still there just as it was before I used it, but more importantly are you-"
"Never mind for that now! I'm fine and well enough, yes, thank you for your concern. But more importantly we must look into this! Please, grab one of the books and help me look for a reference for this phenomenon."
Simon seemed to rush back over to the books he'd picked out for Lillianna, with the mage almost hesitating again before letting out a sigh and following him back over to the desk. The ardent Cleric almost seemed possessed by excitement itself, or perhaps it was still the adrenaline running through him from his prior impact with the wall, but either way he seemed to be thumbing through the pages, eyes flying over the pages of the tomes as if trying to find something. In that same vein Lillianna herself would pick up one of the books as well, beginning to thumb through the pages and looking for anything mentioning a 'Spirit Gun' of some sort....or at least something similar enough to match it perhaps.
"Are you sure we'll find anything similar to this?"
The man didn't even look up from the tome he was face-first in by now as he responded to her concerns.
"I hope so, but for now let us keep looking. We will not know until we have plied the appropriate tomes. Perhaps even one of the Histories will shed light on this, if nothing else."
...They were going to be here a long time, weren't they?
....
....
....
This gut feeling from the mage would prove true enough, as it would be some time passing by as the duo thumbed through the tomes Simon had procured, going page by page, chapter through chapter, volume by Quinity-blasted volume he could bring them to look through. Anything that might produce some sort of history, precedent, or frankly 'data' that could describe what she'd done. Histories, records or autobiographies of famous Spirit Magic users, tomes about practicing Clerics and individuls in history tied to the local god Hades, instructional manuals, tomes of advanced techniques, and the like seemed to fly by in an almost hectic flurry even as the Cleric seemed to come down from the mage's supposed 'adrenaline high' without pausing for his part.
She in turn would help look through things for familiar words, though in part felt mostly that it was some miracle she could read anything here in this new world. Literally read the stuff without having to fumble around and learn all over again. Whatever had brought her and the others to this world, it hadn't done so totally unprepared....though the trajetory of how the stone coffin she'd landed in had arrived left something very much to be desired. She'd nearly fallen over! But that was besides the point at the moment, especially as they were searching through the literature for an explanation. She was getting more curious by the page about more things Spirit Magic could do, but even more so peronally was feeling the itch to find something to explain what she'd done there.
Every so often the Cleric would likewise pause to pull her away from whatever tome was in her hands, asking Lillianna to once again use the spell as he tested Minor and even more moderately-stronger wards against it. It would still make her wince a little as the man at times got thrown back against the wall, but at other times he'd project the ward onto something like a chair before having her use the spell while he observed. Observing damage done to an object after breaking a cast ward, looking into the impact and radius and such anecdotes, asking her questions about her magic usage, and jotting down notes on blank parchment he would leave the room to grab alongisde an enchanced 'never ending ink' writing utensil of some description would be among the things he would put them through together. Then inevitably would come going back at looking at the tomes again, before another roound of testing and questions and writing down notes from the tomes and otherwise along those aforementioned lines would commence.
Time would begin to blur as they chugged along well through the day, the mage forgettting if she had any other business to do in the meantime as she eventually kicked into full gear while trying to find an answer. Even then, though, there was only so much they could get done in the course of a day. There was only so long they could go without food or water or rest in the end, despite Simon sending someone out for 'intellectual snacks' to bring to them and paying the poor student he'd wrangled earlier to do so for them when the poor adventurer made the mistake of looking curiously into the room at them. On top of that, it wasn't as if they could search this entire library's contents in the course of one day! That would be absurd enough as it was!
"I....think we've run in circles by this point. Tome after tome, test after test, and we haven't gotten any closer to finding a reference in these works thus far.
...Also you just left some meat drippings on those notes about Archimeden the Great you were just writing down."
The slightly frazzled Cleric would quickly pull back the last of the sandwich he'd been biting into from the table, a few drops of juicy meat juice dropping down onto the-....ah crap it was carpet. Lillianna herself had finished the gyro-like wrap she'd been bought for a pseudo-lunch/dinner by Simon already, in her haste to get back to things and needing sustenance, while the man had interspersed it all between at times drawn-out periods between taking bites of his food. Still, the man would finish the last bite of his now-cold food before he sat back down in a nearby (and slightly damaged from the testing) chair.
"Thank you. But....by Iskerea's haste, I wish we'd more time to look into this. But to say the least what you can do is...astounding!"
"I wouldn't say it's astounding as much as damaging to the library's property and yourself by this point. All the same....I agree I wish we had more time to look into this. I can't seem to find anything that shows precedent for this peculiar spell of all things...its-"
"Vexing? Irritating?"
"Close enough, but yes."
So he did know what she was talking about, at least in terms of how it made her feel as a scholar. But she couldn't pin a precise word on it all that made any lick of sense for the moment being, perhaps being due to the mental exhaustion beginning to settle in. Not to mention that she'd finished her food hours ago at that, and her stomach was beginnign to rumble once more. It was enough to make Lillianna sigh in a more expressive sound of 'defeat' than anything else had made her feel thus far in the day.
"For now I must take my notes and see what I can gather. Will you be able to return here tomorrow?"
"Ah, no actually. I'm an adventurer, and my party is to leave for a gold-ranked quest tomorrow I believe."
"Gold, you say? To be so new and yet such a high rank, its very peculiar. Yet at least being oddly gifted in something itself isn't unprecedented among a certain few gifted Spirit Magic users in the records from what we've gathered and been able to peruse thus far. Yet that alone speaks volumes of what this spell might mean, given there's seemingly no evidence thus far for its existence in our search thus far.
Or in other words....you are, as of what I can gather thus far, the lone person with access to this particular spell among Spirit Mages for the time being. This being seemingly in lieu of possessing a standard Spirit Bolt of course."
He was maybe right. It was a bit concerning, but at least it-...oh! Yes, that was right. She had mentioned they were headed out on a mission tomorrow, but there was still something she needed to do! Well, other than eat and sleep at least. Definitely eat, and of course get some sleep, but she needed to see the new group member (maybe) and tell the party about her request for a pit-stop along the way! The mage had failed to tell them for at least a day already, though everyone had seemed busy enough from the looks of things, yet it was something that needed communicating as soon as possible before they left.
Lillianna pursed her lips a bit as she somewhat tiredly got up from her desk chair and grabbed the poor staff of hers she'd left leaning against the table for most of the time they'd been working on things. Among the tests Simon had wanted to do, she'd held the staff when casting it a few times. That had mostly amounted to literal 'nothing', though she could still feel a thrum of power from within the object. What he had hoped for her holding the staff and casting the spell would do was a mystery for now though.
"....With how little I know, and after all of this, I'm inclined to agree. But I must get my things and leave for now. I truly do need to talk to my party as well before we leave about something, actually, that just came back to mind."
"Ah, of course. But please do come back when you get the chance. In the meantime I'll do some more digging and investigation into the matter of this 'Spirit Gun' spell."
With a silent nod in return, the mage would begin to make for the exist as quickly as her grumbling stomach and aching head could muster. Perhaps Frederick knew of someone who could provide some cheap painkilling medicine after a long day of studying? Not doubt some of the students here maybe sought certain 'substances' for use while on the premises, but she both wasn't that sort of person nor did she have the time to see of the Academy had the local equivalent of what Zell had looked like to her as a first impression. Etc. For now, she needed to return to the Mended Drum, get a bite to eat, and see if she could ask James and the other party members (telling them all together or not at this rate) about her request.
Xaltwind
Spiffy
dwyer austin
The Otter
Zapdos
Dezuel
Izurich
Danyel
Aku the Samurai
tundrafrog1124
The rat wearing its own little tophat is now canon. Best timeline. 