Liaison

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle Chapter 4: Evolution

Location: Earth-F67X New New York City, Brooklyn Bridge Park

Screeching sirens neared as paramedics gracefully navigated the mounds of warped steel, cars, and rubble operating coconut crab-like transports. A potent, swaying strobe light surveyed the area for survivors as men with agile robot units leaped out with haste. Compacted like a can, Genesis' car stood out like a sore thumb, sitting vertically at the top of the pile, wedged between several hulking rods of steel. The nose of the car was completely stuffed, crushed to such a degree that it appeared Genesis' limp body was in the back seat.

Her entire lower body was crushed. The accompanying robot to the paramedic scanned the car with due diligence while several debated even attending to her.

/–[PULSE DETECTED]–/

It was a miracle. The unit's arm transmogrified into a form much larger than its initial size, employing a hard light saw to butter through the car's metal exterior. Mouths gaping, the crew of medics stood perplexed and aghast. Immediately after pulling her limp body from her wrecked vehicle, her flesh, stripped to the very bone aggressively multiplied in real-time, reforming around her matte black skeleton. It baffled them. How she was even alive let alone unharmed after this ordeal was a conundrum bordering on conspiracy. The questions only multiplied as she was ushered to the hospital. What kind of governmental tech was this? The investigation was already underway.

The answer lies in the past….

Jag had overt ways to obtain resources. Dealing with the various colored syndicates on Earth-F67X was risky but it had to be pursued to quench his insatiable lust for power. Often, lives could be seen as house money, especially in a case where they could yield miraculous results. The sample Jag received from the Goldman Brothers due to their "partnership" was not to be seen as charity by any means. They had methods and devices to track how their experiment would pan out. That would worry most men but Jag couldn't recall the last time he slept without one eye open. He was a powerful man. Ego gave him immunity to the idea of consequence. His soul darkly settled on if he couldn't have Genesis nor could the world.

Guinea-Pigging your partner was a heinous act Jag would have to atone for one day, however, he lived in the moment. Despite this, the urban chief genuinely foresaw a future with Genesis. Just not the one she envisioned for herself or Amina. In many ways, this was an investment. One to ensure that his family and tribe would become one. To gain this, in that vulnerable time for a lover even, like a hawk, Jag preyed on her will to survive, focusing on turning Genesis into an asset.

Battling leukemia, Genesis was told she was getting a bone marrow transplant. Albeit, by suspect means, she knew very well, but there was no way to know Jag would stoop as low to experiment on her. At that point, their relationship was already on rocky terms.

To keep Genesis, Jag gave her a new lease on life, healing her illness but in return, the river of life flowing throughout her veins was home to millions of Val'gara nanomachines. Subsequently, the hemocytoblasts in her marrow were charged with a permeating influx of Bioforce radiation. As a result, her physical traits began to defy human anatomy over time. First, she'd never bruise or scar. Not too long after that, she noticed how toned her body became. Genesis worked out, but not enough to yield such results. She then cut her regiment for a few months, mindful of her feminine figure, but the improvements in strength and flexibility remained. At times, looking in the mirror, it appeared she had grown a little though she recalled being 5'5 her entire adult life. With every year, her body changed slowly but surely, but it was a candle in the sun to her mental changes.

Genesis couldn't pinpoint it, but at times, she didn't feel like herself. Her emotions ran at severe highs and lows. She often repressed deep anger, blanketed by her sadness. In times of stress, she'd black out, losing her sense of time, having weird visions like dreams where she imagined committing gruesome violence to solve her daily dilemmas. When in spells, she’d forget to pick up Amina from school and gymnastics. Feeling she was losing an understanding of her body, Genesis asked for help from time to time from Natsasha. Primarily, Amina even spent most of her time at Grandmother's home, the one place Jag's personal code of conduct forbade him from entering.

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Alias: Erykah "The Empress" Morant
Name: Genesis Erykah Morant
Height: 6'2
Weight: 184 lbs
Affiliation: Tribe Barrio
Home: Earth-F67X

With steel will and an uncompromising demeanor, her words resonated, never falling on deaf ears as even Tribe Barrio members acted in confidence on her whims. As a genuine empath, Erykah consumed the feelings of others only to dominate them under the sheer presence of her aura. Through this, she was able to subdue animals and command them through telepathic means.

Erykah could out-wrestle a silverback gorilla as if it were a toddler. Her flexibility and strength far exceeded human anatomy despite her relatively compact size. The gradual infusion of bio force radiation through her marrow transplant, influenced by Thane's nanomachines, fortified her bones into an element creating a pseudo dreadamantium, an element from Colossus the original Val'gara home world.

Erykah's chiseled but curvaceous figure marked the peak of humanity and evolution in Jag's eyes. She operated on the grounds of a sophisticated savagery that the gangster saw befit for a Queen of the Jungle. Years of frustration molded an alternate persona that overcompensated her lack of ability to change her circumstances. In many ways, it quelled her anxiety. It spoke to her in a manner that assured her that she now had the power to enforce her will upon others as they had done so frequently to her.

Appearance: In base, her body reflects like a satin silver with subtle plated ridges. She had a curly fro like steel wool and it was common to see her wearing cheetah and other animal prints in a style fit for an amazon complemented with feathered cape shawls.

Abilities

Val'gara Nanomachines: Though nowhere as malignant and versatile as the Herald they were recovered from, the machines over time augmented her body into that of beyond a super soldier. Because her marrow operated like a factory and produced them at the frequency of white blood cells, Genesis never fell ill to disease. Within a week of them being introduced, her leukemia disappeared without a trace. It was no surprise toxins had virtually no effect on her as the nanomachines fueled by the influx of Bioforce radiation, evolved her body to withstand the trials of modern combat. This included even biological warfare. Her body is slowly but constantly improving itself to become stronger with each battle that passes. What was not slow was how accelerated her healing process was. A bullet could enter her body and be pushed out but her rapidly healing wounds in seconds.

Faux Dreadamantium Skeleton: Once liquid dreadamantium cools and hardens, it can never be manipulated again. Draedamantium is a very powerful metal that does not combust under any sort of atmospheric pressure, even in the vacuum of space. However, unlike dreadite it does not grow through solar bio-force, but it simply diffuses it, taking none for itself. The version that made up her skeletal frame and razor-sharp nails were most parts identical to the original but dreadamantium does fare much better in outer space.

Accelerated thought: As a result of the nanomachines constantly working to improve her body, it is only natural that her brain did as well. Through this, Genesis' thought process sped up exponentially. She became an excellent strategist and could read people off the slightest nuance. She tapped into the ability to manipulate her bioforce and sense it in others.

Queen's Ambition: Seeing herself as the queen of the concrete jungle, her conviction and aura naturally dominated others. With just a trance, animals yielded to her and once they tasted Genesis’ blood, she developed an empathetic bond with creatures granting her the ability to command them autonomously.

Who's who?: As a metamorph, Genesis had the ability to alter her appearance, height, and voice to match individuals she interacted with. This is entirely cosmetic and for espionage purposes. She doesn't mimic or gain the abilities.

Out of the Ordinary
> 0 Clout ::
> 1 Intellect :: Accelerated thinking
> 1 Magic :: Capable of Altering her appearance and manipulate bioforce. Empath.
> 2 Physical :: Extremely powerful/Regenerative abilities/Freakishly Nimble
> 3 Technological :: Advanced Nanomachines.

Nexus Finals: Sóse Oakes vs Ivplec Ulkonotor

After a reptilian blink, the demon's pupils scattered like a broken rack of pool balls. Parooz's mouth foamed, leaking a malodorous miasma laced with kerosene and Eau de Parfums. To his fellow spectators displeasure, the devil's abhorrent wheezing and violent spasming distracted from the final, probably drawing Kyinon's ire. Like a marlin, the devil's straight jacket restrained body jousted into the doorstep of Daniel and Tom. Billions of electrical impulses in the depths of his twisted mind fired relentlessly, mirroring the action beyond the scope of the portals, ping-ponging through the endless labyrinth of his gyri.

The mafioso's body was too hot to touch, fatally searing if even a quick attempt to unlatch his bindings bounded by hell occurred. A demon suffering at the feet of mortals was no sad scene, so no sympathy was expected, but if anything, the bizarre sequence of events before them were a sign of something significant. What could cause a malefic entity to virtually have a seizure when he had nearly infinite pools of hell energy to siphon computing prowess from? The terrifying luxury tendons currently binding him to hell allowed for just that. What did that say about this verse in general? The straps loosened on arrival, but now Parooz felt like he was being dragged back. Their power was increasing. The boundless verse that was the nexus, deemed unscalable, impenetrable to outsiders, was vulnerable. Perhaps by the subterfuge of events masquerading as a final. Whether it was carelessness or hubris, obliviousness could lead to oblivion, which wouldn't be so bad in the demon's eyes considering what they put him through prior.

Before Parooz even came to his senses, reminiscing slightly to events not even a day ago, an explosion thrusted him like a blade into the wishmaker. His maleficent frame vibrating like a wet saw with hell sourced energies, highly adaptable to being capable of burning through arcane walls of power by the most ever-present and long living entities.

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 3: Refusal

Earth-F67X: New New York City, Brooklyn-Queens Expressway

Much like Genesis’ gut-wrenching emotions, the storm did not subsist. Squinting, her’ eyes barely made out the road. It was hard to see the winding snake path yet she maintained to break into the BQE safely. On this tiresome commute back, a good night’s rest was craved. However, there was no telling how much her mind would race the second her body hit the bed. Genesis’ hastening thoughts penciled what Amina’s life could become were Jag to find out. The horrific reality of her daughter being groomed to become some corrupt engineer, scientist or political pawn for Jag’s tribe tugged viciously at her sanity. The joy of her world was in Amina. For her to go down a path like her father… Stressed, she no longer could stomach the thought. To drown out those worries, Genesis turned up the radio.

“Breaking News: This is a localized alert via CitizeNN. There are dangerous disruptions in your immediate vicinity along the BQE. Depart immediately.”

With no option to turn around, Genesis rerouted to the next exit hoping the commotion was at least a few miles ahead. Mistaking the grumbling road for potholes, the pavement below this quindecuple-stacked expressway deteriorated in real time, waving like lifted bedsheets. Genesis acrylics dug deep into her palms, clenching the wheel hysterically the instant she felt weightless. Her navy sedan floated trunk side up, propelled meters forward to the point where she barely made out some makeshift mech rampaging through the highway. With legs like an emu, it leaped, crashing through the lower levels, hurling cars like hot wheels.

Its Octavian bundaloo extensions drilled through any mass of infrastructure with the audacity to be in its path. This carnage Genesis found herself in the middle of, despite seeming senseless, had some means of madness. At the helm of the mech was a man named Vernon Hayes, a member of a cult led by an environmentalist influencer gone rogue. The group, Neo Environmentalist Working, Destroying, Earth’s Ailing Liabilities (N.E.W. D.E.A.L.) took up the task of limiting carbon emissions by stringing a long series of terrorist attacks on transportation infrastructure contributing to climate change.

What was unclear to the public was how said group obtained the consistent flow of funds and tech to commit such atrocities on society regularly. There were plenty of wealthy groups and politicians secretly lobbying on their behalf. The corruption was that clear but somehow unproven. In a corporatocracy, they were a feared collective among CEOs and executives. With devoted members ready to sacrifice themselves on the regular for a cause, it was often too late when discovering who a member was.

Vernon Hayes, a statistics secretary of the Metro Transit Authority, after copious amounts of research, hand-picked the demolition of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway as a means to put a clot in the flow of traffic into Queens from Brooklyn. This easily inconvenienced millions, giving Vernon an orgasmic shot of dopamine which was particularly heinous when factoring in the complete disregard for innocent lives now in harm’s way. It was rush hour. He couldn’t have picked a worse time for such pandemonium and Genesis, like hundreds of other drivers found themselves descending to their imminent demise.

Nose diving at a corkscrewing angle, all she saw was the rubble-filled junkyard that Brooklyn Bridge Park became below. Hipster joggers and bicyclists fleed frantically, piercing the air with ear-splitting screams. Knowing this was the end, Genesis shut her eyes. The cries for help, the destruction around her, fizzled out, muffled by perhaps the acceptance of death. Consoling memories of Amina, her mother, graduating from NYU with Natasha; she experienced it all simultaneously, finding solace after many years of duress.

It was finally over…

“One’s death ushers the birth of another.”

Right before impact, the gaze of a gorgon penetrated her psyche. A voice, which sounded much like her own, more powerful and with conviction spoke to her soul. The will to see Amina. The will to survive overcame her. Genesis had no time to make sense of the jolt of heroin in her veins but before she could act it was already over.

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 2: Reunion

Earth-F67X: New New York City, 4 Pennsylvania Plaza

Plopped on the ground like a sack of potatoes, Natasha's bent round-eyed frames fell into the umber shag carpet preceding the full-grain leather couch Jag lounged on. The reporter felt dwarfed as if she were laying right before the Lincoln monument when looking up at his onyx-suited hulking figure veiled in the dim lighting. Natasha swallowed her heart as the tingling breath of a beefy black panther bore down on her neck. With that and the gangster's judicious leer suffocating her, the tactical transfixion of the reporter was complete. A voice cold with anger then spoke out.

"I never concern myself with gossip from those at the bottom of the food chain but your insistence on justice seemed hollow, contrived. I had to conduct some research and came across some fruitful connections between us."

The prowling panther showed restraint, sauntering back to Jag but Natasha's cold sweat persisted. Her heart thumped like the 808’s humming through the walls of the neighboring party. Right before her was Demarco "Jaguar" Lucas. A man with practically an urban militia, guilty of just about everything vice, snugly living in his small sector of the city, yet here she was, face to face with him. She made a living loathing and exposing real-life villains like him, yet none of her pieces about his jungle mafia Tribe: Barrio ever seemed to gain any traction in the media. It was clear Jag read them at least, as he sent an assailant to abduct her.

Prior to this meeting, she carried a deep personal hatred of him. Her vendetta against Jag was founded on very simple accounts of his history of abuse towards Genesis, her old college roommate, and friend.

A momentary lapse in judgment allowed the journalist to forget just how much danger she was in as she recalled their past. Scowling at him, she remembered the luxurious limos he'd often send Genesis way in the thick of the night. Peeking through the blinds, the chauffeurs in name resembled thugs of the worst caliber. Bestial cyber-enhanced goons bordering on body dysmorphia were their common theme. Natasha wrote extensively about the psychological dangers of delving too deep into cyber enhancements. In the tribe's particular case, the gradual degradation of their psyche as they obsessively sculpted their bodies caused them to emulate the behavior of their favored animal making them subhuman. To think Genesis was subjecting herself to being around such a crowd on the regular showed what kind of psychological hold he had on her. Though she and Jag were no longer together, the child they brought into the world forever entangled their lives. Natasha thought if she could just bring enough attention to his black empire through the press, the authorities would do the right thing and Genesis as the caged bird she was would be set free.

Mustering up a microgram of courage, with her eyes producing waterworks Natasha lashed out. "If you wanted to kill me over the articles I wrote, you could have done so without bringing me here!"

Inching slightly forward, a smug smirk momentarily crossed the tribe leader's face. "You should be thankful for having a purpose beyond fertilizing the soil for a near life cycle. I have some tasks for you, woman. We'll start with the most important one. I have a daughter as you know. Her birthday is coming up. I would like for you to find out what she wants. I expect through your integrity as a journalist that the info you report back will be accurate."

Natasha stared at Jag in genuine bewilderment. This couldn't possibly be what he dragged her down here kicking and screaming for. Not in the position to object, she replied "That won't be a problem," fumbling to straighten the glasses on her face after wiping her eyes.

Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, Jag lit a cigar off a peculiar spark emanating off his golden prosthetic. "Good, and as a means to safeguard your task, I’ll remind you I have many more animals camouflaged throughout this concrete jungle we call a city. Some which, won't be as delicate with you as Oringo."

He was right. Even if she tried to somehow report this, thugs just like the one who brought her here could swoop her off the streets in an instant. Natasha wasn't aware, but Oringo who watched her with hawkeyes from the corner of the room had her scent engraved into his memory. He could whiff out her location and hunt her down like the prey she was.

"I take your silence as a sign of obedience."

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Are we back?

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 1: The Tribe

Earth-F67X: New New York City, 4 Pennsylvania Plaza

A blend of bare-throated bellbirds, electronic synths, miscellaneous roars, conga, and trap drums awaited Oringo as he neared the club. Carrying a frantic Jane over his left shoulder, the damsel repeatedly battered his back which felt more like woven steel than muscle. Desperately, she began to pull on his dreads, the pelted lion’s mane of his vest, and so on, but to no avail. The transporting warrior proceeded to clear draping fauna with his free hand, allowing her to turn ever so slightly to see around his shoulder and catch a glimpse of the two men guarding an entrance to a vault door. She caught sight of the bouncers. As much as the blaring stroboscopic lights allowed and even looked to the two for help, but as she approached, they practically ‘high-fived’ her kidnapper.

“That’s my young bull right there! Yo, look! He caught another one."

Turning around, one of the heavyset bouncers, built more like a gorilla than human, with his cybernetically enhanced arm proportions, relinquished his grip on a belligerent drunk. He bore the entire weight of the man with just his pressing forearm. The unconscious male fell several feet off the ground, folding upon himself on the Boston ivy and weed-ridden concrete as he turned his head. Simian walked over to examine the woman, identifying her as Natasha Holcomb, a reporter for the Daily Hound.

"Mans is relentless when it comes to his prey.” Haughtily laughing, his oversized gorilla-esque gold and diamond-studded canines revealed themselves, leaving the reporter terror-stricken.

"Go right to the back. Jags waiting.”

Oringo, her captor, gave a slight nod and proceeded to the back where he’d soon meet with the chief.

---

With the tinnitus-inducing sounds of the party, rattling the walls of the VIP section, the stocky fingers of Jag palmed and carefully caressed the top of a black jaguar’s skull. The imperfections of his vitiligo-ravaged skin stood out compared to the rosette pattern drowned in the feline’s melanistic fur. Typically, to observe them you’d have to venture into the endangered animal's habitat, which many were hesitant to do. However, the alternative was no better. Meaning, you had to get close to Jag, in his territory—a jungle hid in the metropolis at 4 Pennsylvania Plaza. Now only known as ‘The Garden,’ the world’s most famous arena and much of the vicinity around it became notorious under his thuggish tutelage, transforming it into a community of cybernetically enhanced humans living in a housing project of tribes under one umbrella.

---

“I’ll be frank. I can’t help but fear for Amina’s future...”

A middle-aged woman, clearly overworked, tidied her messy bun before carefully sorting through the report cards of her fourth-grade students. On this wet, thundery day, she was tasked with meeting with all the parents but she felt exasperated with the thought of a single one. Another woman sat across from her, clearly anxious in her own right, failed to even make eye contact with her. Genesis, like every other parent, awaited her child’s grades. The teacher, Mrs. Herring, slapped a sheet of paper face down in front of her. Tensely flipping the report over, it was revealed to be some sort of an IQ test to her confusion, widening her distressed brown eyes. It read the following. “The results of the administered test have determined that Amina Lucas has an approximate intelligence quotient score of 219.”

After reading the score, the woman sunk in her chair a bit, head down, plunging further into her anxiety until the teacher placed her right hand on hers. “Raise your head, sweetie. You must stay strong. Please, for her sake. Keep this a secret from him. There is no doubt in my mind that he values her as the princess of his kingdom and that is what I find so...unsettling."

With the inevitability of her daughter being involved in the vice operation Jag called a business looming over her thoughts, Genesis cried. Her cheeks resembled the drenched panes of glass soaked by the storm, running her mascara to her chin. “I’ve never been so afraid of tomorrow.”

Gaslands: a Palimpsest’s Tale

Jag

Full Name: Demarco "Jaguar" Lucas
Age: 39
Height: 6'9
Weight: 358 lbs
Race: Human

Jag is an enormous man whose size was only second to his pursuit of control. Built like a brick, he carried a reputation that painted him as superhuman. The rosette-like patterns on his skin from vitiligo were probably his most famous feature, and it only added to his intimidating mystique. When he was younger, he often put his Rühl-like physique on display as an enforcer for Trey Eleven Vice, an infamous gang known for clashing with the Red Syndicate in the 2020s before their leader, Hans, mysteriously went missing.

Since then, Jag has made a name for himself as one of the most brutal crime lords in the northeast. When it came to vice, he had his foot in it all: drugs, human trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering. He accumulated a fortune of wealth from it and was not afraid to flaunt it with his large collection of chains, watches, grills, and even gold-plated weaponry. Arrogant, but calculated was his motto. The crimelord often roped his adversaries into his very hands by playing off their impatience and intense hatred of him.

Jag was battle tested and ready for confrontation at a moment's notice. He has been beaten, stabbed, shot, jailed, and tortured. The whole nine yards. He wore his large collection of scars like a general's medals, with his proudest being his severed left hand. His solution to losing this part of himself left him far from handicapped. Instead of leaning towards regular prosthetics, he managed to fortify his arm with technology, going through experiment after experiment until it was a classified superweapon.

Jag gained the ability to mold his gold-plated arm into several weapons with its base form being a dangerous set Tekko-Kagi Claws. Other forms allowed him to fire bullets from his finger like a pistol. From his palms, he could let off shots like a machine gun and a shotgun. His arm could even go as far as becoming a full-blown flamethrower.

Out of the Ordinary
> 3 Clout :Has a small portion of the city under his control as territory
> 1 Intellect :: Extremely calculating in local crime and political strategy
> 0 Magic ::
> 2 Physical :: His enormous frame wasn't just for show and he was deceptively agile for his weight
> 1 Technological :: Understands advanced prosthetics and frequently invests in augmentations and newly discovered advancements.

Unsolicited Invasion (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

The smoke trail from Margaret’s opera style cigarette painted the air like an elegant script, caressing her chin before withering at her almond eyes. Surrounded by a void of obscurity, only the amber crescent moon she stood on gave light to her figure. Though the darkness, a daunting presence could be felt, even with the virtual nature of the domain. Starting at her heels, an archimedean spiral of illuminated glyphs and code churned outwards, one by one, activating the series of arches placed throughout the miniature amphitheater. The floodgates were officially open bathing Margaret in dozens of heavenly lights. Many of Allure's more fruitful, troubled minds were on their way, soon to be welcomed by Margaret's introductory statement.

With only several minutes to go, Margaret's left hand extended palm up. A neon purple wisp spawned, promptly condensing into a tesseract. She began to fidget with it like a Rubix cube, miraculously studying its millions of archaic symbols and blend of images with each logarithmic shift. As the dozens approached and transferred through their portals, she began her speech.

"On this, one of the most moving, eventful, and personally critical moments in our history, my first words must be to say thank you. Why? For granting me this rare privilege of uniting us all, despite our differences, under one umbrella, as our survival as a nation depends on it."

From the jump, it was clear. To the intrigue of Tristan and the many Earthf67x officials observing, Margaret was in full diplomacy mode.

"My thoughts turn to numerous occasions like these, where I have addressed the likes of Parlament and handled matters alone as the public has elected me to do... I've concluded that if the balance of powers is to be maintained, this could not be one of those instances. I summon you all, whether you consider yourselves within the ranks of The Grand Orchid Lodge or not. I elevate you to this platform. I, Margaret Iedereen, deem you essential to the preservation of our society and present you with the knowledge I have going forward in confidence that you will use your resources to keep Allure upright as it benefits us all."

The conviction in her tone was admirable. The first to arrive, the sleek black suit, red tie-wearing Vileiro took note of this. He gained comfort in her demeanor. Usually eager to speak, the bluefaced tycoon listened with his sharp ears. If it wasn't obvious by now, he sobered up a considerable degree. With his arms folded, he adhered with a nod. Margaret had the stage.

"It is true. We often war amongst ourselves but our unspoken union of mind and purpose as vagabond cultures allow us to stand together today. However, I am not asking for us to form an iron wall like we've done in the past against Fortis. I'd like you to look at Earthf67x through a different lens. Allow me to enlighten you... Due to unforeseen circumstances, we find ourselves wedged into their society. As I've learned, unlike us, their experiences with outsiders have long been a record of tragedy, leaving trails of destruction and monumental loss whenever they gather any semblance of peace. It's as if the gods themselves are cursing them with their wicked pens, etching their chaotic destiny on a whim. It should be no surprise by now, but our arrival is just another chapter in this story and as a result, we too inherit tumultuous times ahead. We too, whether we acknowledge so or not, are now apart of the Earth ecosystem. Their culture is the antithesis of ours, and so, I take on what I believe is Allure's obligation to negotiate a middle ground and offer many of our resources and problem solving to forge a relationship that can benefit both parties..."

With her words, it was clear that she spoke to more than the Allureans alike. Ever so frankly spilling out her intent, she was only able to speak with such cantor due to the perhaps unintentional sacrifice of Merse. No doubt in her mind, he placed himself into a dreadful spot. The conundrum of if this was out of newfound compassion or some nefarious long term scheme remained unanswered. How involved other citizens were in this "random" relocation remained murky as well.

"Everyone will be vetted. Everyone!" she practically screamed internally. For now, she played nicely, using the heat on Merse to read the room. With the most resting bitch face humanely possible she adressed the elephant at the exact moment the meeting started.

"State your needs within your borders. I will address them. This is not without equal exchange, however. In return, I require your unwavering cooperation in building Earth relations going forward..." An internal sigh of relief fell upon the horned tycoon's expression but upon opening his eyes he was greeted with Margaret's intense leer into his soul.

"If only it were that easy," she said mockingly. "I require one other thing I'm sure you all are aware of... All of you are required to tell me your last dealings with Merse. Every. Last. One of you." Vileiro's profound adam's apple rattled like he was swallowing a rusty can. His sudden nervous gulp insinuated much. The Prime Minister knew very well, no matter how much she prepared, one day, Merse would be back, probably sooner than later, and it would bring problems not even she could foresee but she'd be damned if she didn't try.

Meeting offically started

Unsolicited Invasion (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

Margaret’s red bottoms excessively tapped against the hardwood. Arms folded, her sour expression oversaw the disorder and chaos with much aversion. Like an angry mother, she vowed to straighten out the city later like it was a child misbehaving in public. Without her “extensions” notable crime syndicates like the Burnulogos family would seize the moment and gain capital. “Bottom feeders. Every last one of them.” She cursed them under her breath.

With Tristan's inquiry into the moonward spectacle, Margaret's slight nod to Howard ranked low in importance. Loose sheets of paper vigorously whirled around the room in a gust left from the speedster's departure. His signature white trail etched through the zigzag avenues and Seussian hills eastward. Just like that, he was gone to do who knows what.

"I’m to assume he’s running harmless errands?" Tristan’s voice notably lacked amusement.

Backing away from the window and twirling on her narrow heel, she joked about it, insisting the operative would learn about "the extensive micromanaging Allure required in due time."

With little time to go, the lights dimmed and she made her way behind a shoji screen. While Tristan brewed tea, her voluptuous silhouette popped out of her clothes and she began to change at a painstakingly slow pace.

“In that chic cabinet on the left is a particularly rare strain of tea gifted to me by the residents of Galdi Ik'raal. A rather peaceful planet, I should visit sometime soon. Would you believe that despite being sandwiched between two perpetually warring star systems, that for whatever reason, it remains untouched? It's somewhat hard to get to, making it quite the delicacy. Feel free to help yourself.”

“I’ll think about it.” The operative replied, entertaining her small talk, knowing very well he would never do something so foolish.

“This particular strand is oxidized under the planet's three intensely reflective moons and that only, as their leaves are sheltered during the day.”

“Mhhm.” At this point, Tristan basically tuned her out. Eventually she finished changing but not before drowning him in rants about alien gossip he couldn’t imagine relating to. With Margaret’s black belted dress, tilted pillbox hat and birdcage fascinator, she was appropriately dressed for a funeral. Standing before the arch, she gave the operative a crocodile smile.

“Let’s begin shall we.”