Roman

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

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"Do you have everything?" Jasper asked, once again at reception and casting a studious eye over the now-upright figure of the young mutant girl now taken into his care. She was out of her gown and dressed in her own clothes again, a fairly nondescript t-shirt and shorts combo, in the distinct leanings of the '90's grunge' trend - at least as far as Jasper understood contemporary fashion trends, and if you looked at his suit, you'd probably think he didn't understand them very well. Ah, but this was part of the illusion - because then Jasper could say it's 'vintage', and you wouldn't be reasonably able to refute him, and he'd walk away with a very irritating smug grin on his face.

The only thing that decidedly wasn't 90's grunge, that even Jasper knew was garish, was a vibrant yellow trenchcoat that trailed down past the backs of her knees. She wore it almost proudly, collar popped, sleeves pushed up over her elbows. It was fairly obviously too big for her, but she wore it all the same.
"I didn't exactly come in with much." Jubilee replied. Jasper just rolled his eyes. If she wanted to be sarcastic, fine, but he wasn't turning the car around if she forgot anything. Instead, he turned to his colleague, stooped over the reception desk scribbling away and signing dutifully at various points on the page where the attending nurse's finger pointed.
"Marty, you done with that transfer paperwork?"
"Just about, sir. You sure you don't want to approve this?"
"You wanted me to check it out, you put your name on the paperwork for when the brass comes calling."
Marty frowned, but knew better to protest. He finished signing the paperwork, and the nurse took her copy away, leaving the three of them alone in the reception. Jasper nodded, and Marty lead the way to the door, pushing it open and beckoning Jasper and Jubilee through. Jasper went first, but Jubilee hesitated on the precipice, squinting out at the bright afternoon sun. She held a hand over her eyes.

"Christ, it's bright. When did that happen?" She said, Jasper turning to look at her.
"When did what happen?" He replied. "The Sun? We just installed it yesterday."
Jubilee lowered her hand and frowned. "Don't be an ass. I'm just saying, it's bright. Feels like a camera flash permanently going off in my eyes."
Jasper looked up at the sky. It was sunny, sure, but not anymore than any other day. There were even clouds lazily drifting across the sky. A nice day, but hardly blazing.
"Well, the car windows are tinted. Now can we go?"

Jubilee grumbled but didn't say anything further - at least not that Jasper or Marty could overhear, anyway. Marty headed toward the car, clicking the beeper to unlock it, while Jasper held the door for Jubilee. She hurried through, taking a sharp intake of breath as she stepped into the sunlight, practically jogging toward the car until she reached it and wrenched open the door. Jasper regarded her in confusion as she bundled herself into the rear seats and pulled the door closed hastily.

After-effects of the seizure, maybe?

He shrugged mentally, filing the thought away for later, and made his own stroll over to the passenger side of the vehicle, climbing in to sit beside Marty.
"Take us away, champ." he said, watching Jubilee in the rear-view mirror as they pulled away from the clinic.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Simple Unicycle>

As an excuse/explanation for my post count?

@Sep

It's so inspirational how you've worked hard to overcome adversity and be the man you are today. I don't think I could have done it if I were Scottish.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: House Lynx Dorms - P.R.C.U. Campus}

Dance Monkey #4.027: HIGH ON THE WIRE

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Gil shivered beneath the cascading cool water that bounced off his chest and shoulders, beading down his ribs and stomach. His skin was still jaundice-splotched, bruises at the end of their life cycles lingering with ugly yellow-browns; looking at himself in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door, he was a far cry from the well-maintained figure he'd cut a couple short weeks ago. The 'just-enough' tan was fading in the perpetually-overcast weather of the autumnal Canadian coast, and while he'd previously maintained carefully-crafted definition in his arms and abdominals, he felt the loss of progress where he'd been laid up in the infirmary. He ached, his body remained tender in places, and his ankle was still sore and reluctant to take his full weight.

He put his head to the wall and twisted the temperature gauge, shivering again as the water sputtered and the cold water was replaced with hot. He stood there, eyes closed with steam pooling around his feet and beginning to rise up his slick-wet calves and thighs, just enjoying the stillness of it. The water played white noise in his ears and he could feel himself almost lulled back to sleep, his mind wandering lazily around everything and nothing. He took deep breaths, centring himself and allowing the steam to fill his lungs and clear his head.

A harsh buzzing interrupted Gil in what would otherwise have been a meditative descent into a re-infused perspective. Instead, he furrowed his brow, irritable for the intrusion, and lifted his head from the wall as he turned off the water and stood dripping, clinging to the last vestiges of vapour and heat as the buzzing continued and he groped for a towel beyond the shower curtain. He found it and dragged into back into the cubicle, drying himself off quick-and-rough before wrapping and tucking it around his waist and stepping out into the still-steamy bathroom.

His phone buzzed again, the vibrations loud against the tile sill it rested on above the sink. He thought about dashing the damnable thing against the floor or the wall and letting it shatter into fragments quite unable to bother him again; instead, he picked it up, inspecting the incoming call.

Artie was trying to reach him, again. How many days had it been? Gil supposed the persistence was warranted, perhaps even necessary in his line of work. He sighed. There was no avoiding it forever; at the very least, Gil owed Artie a professional obligation. He opened the bathroom door, goosebumps spreading across his bare torso as the warm air rushed out, and moved to sit on the bed, still slightly damp and wet hair dripping onto his shoulders.

He answered the call.

"Hi Arthu-" "Gil! Where in the damn hell have you been?"

Artie's voice came through thick and fast, laden with ire and exasperated. Gil pinched the bridge of his nose, immediately filled with regret for picking up the phone.
"Infirmary. I was laid up after the tri-" "The trials, yeah, I know, why do you think I've been trying to call? You missed that weekend shoot. I had to play nice, reschedule. Are you at least on your feet now?"

Gil felt the good mood he'd woken up in drain away. Amma and the calm she brought felt so far away in this moment.
"Yes, Arthur, I'm on my feet, but I don't thi-" "Well that's good news, at least. Bouncing back like always, eh! Look, I'm glad I finally got through, because the re-shoot is this weekend, and it's looking like we've got some more scripts coming through. Some of these are hot, Gil! Hot!"

He just kept talking like nothing had happened, like Gil hadn't nearly died, like he'd just had a bad hangover from a networking party and was ready to dive straight back in. Gil felt angry, an emotion he'd been previously unfamiliar with but was growing quickly accustomed to.
"It's all great stuff, I'll send it through the usual way once I've gone over everything. Anyway, the car can pick you up from the ferry dock like normal, you just need to get away sharp Saturday morning, we'll fly you out and have you back Sunday night. You know the routine. You still got the lines?"

Gil didn't answer; he just sat there, drip-drying, wishing he was talking to anyone else right now.
"Gil? Bud? You still there?"

"I quit."

This time Artie didn't answer, and Gil let the silence stretch out.
"What? No you don't, come on kid. Look, we can push the ad back again or chuck it out if you don't like it, it's just licorice mints, you're right, it's not on-brand. Just check out these new scripts I'll send you, there's some great stuff. You just need something exciting again! You took a blow but you got right back up, and I'm proud of you kid, I really am, but I can guess you're still a bit screwy from the hit. Take a week off, get some bed-rest - we'll have you right as rain in no time. Quit! You sure you're not making a move to comedy?"
Artie laughed, unconvincingly, and that just annoyed Gil more.
"I mean it, Arthur. I'm done. I can't deal with it anymore. I quit, or retire, or whatever you want to call it. I'll finish out my year here, and then I'm going back to England to do something else. My dad's firm, maybe. But I'm done with Hollywood. I'm grateful for all the work we've done together, but this is it for me. I'm out."

"Look, just- I'll scrap the ad. You just take some time."
"I'll have the same answer the next time you call me."
"You're not thinking straight. Get your head on right, and we'll get back to norma-"
"I said I fucking quit!"

Gil yelled down the phone and hung up, tossing it across the room. It bounced against the door and thudded onto the carpet; he could feel his face flush with anger, and he took a few long, measured breaths to cool down. He got up, pacing around the room, angry at Arthur, angry at himself, angry at his bruised and aching body, angry at his ankle that throbbed with a dull ache every second step. Gil scooped up his bottle of painkillers and chucked two pills dry down his throat, pocketing the rest; in the closet hung the suit he'd picked out for the dance, and after pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee, the bag was slung over his shoulder.

He stooped to scoop his phone on his way out, taking a spiteful second to block Arthur's number, and then shot a text out to the boys:

I'm picking up booze on the way over. Little bit of everything.

We're letting loose tonight.

Roman's Scrapbin

D R . S O L O M O N ' S A L L Y ' W I N T E R S
D R . S O L O M O N ' S A L L Y ' W I N T E R S

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^{_{"This is the shape and the point of the tooth: nothing has ever lived that will not die."}}

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P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N ________________________________________________________________________________________ NAME: | Dr. Solomon Isaac Winters _______________________________________________________________________ STATUS: | Active _______________________________________________________________________ INDEX DATE: | TBD _______________________________________________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH: | 1973/10/11 _______________________________________________________________________ ALIAS(ES): | The Occultist _______________________________________________________________________ RESIDENCE: | Damascus, Virginia _______________________________________________________________________ CITIZENSHIP: | American, Canadian _______________________________________________________________________ CLEARANCE LEVEL: | Special Agent B A C K G R O U N D B A C K G R O U N D ________________________________________________________________________________________ Solomon was born an only child to his mother and father after several years of misfortune in their attempts; he was a pale and sickly child, but well-loved, his parents each grateful for his presence. Raised in a mining and logging town deep within the Appalachians, he was no stranger to spooky stories told around bonfires nestled in the trees, quickly familiar with folktales and rumours and the myriad monsters that made their homes among the mountains. Alongside local myths, however, were far more mundane fears; the industry of the town came with its due share of injury and accident, sometimes monthly, weekly, or even daily incidents. Solomon's father, a lumberjack himself, was witness to much, and was careful to instill Solomon with caution, not willing to risk his only son against the same tragedies that befell many of his neighbours. All in all, Solomon grew up a pallid, morbid, but ultimately happy child. It was only when Solomon started speaking truth to long-circulating town rumours, divulging secrets none had told him, and reciting final words he had no explainable reason to know, that his parents - and the town residents at large - became concerned with his behaviour, and eventually his psychology. The town doctor was ill-prepared to handle a case like Solomon's. While well-equipped to handle the physical trauma and respiratory issues that plagued the town's logging and mining workers, there was little literature, training, or even precedent available to manage the mental difficulties that visited upon the young Winters child. Solomon withdrew socially, shunned by his peers for his odd behaviour and his conversations with invisible partners, and talked about in hushed whispers by the adults of the town. The medication prescribed by the doctor floundering for a treatment plan only served to flatten his emotions and numb his perception of, and participation in, the world around him, only pushing himself further beyond the social fringes. When Solomon was discovered one winter break in the woods, kneeling in the snow with his hands on burst-open carcasses and bringing unnatural, sluggish movements back to dead animals, he was condemned utterly. Solomon's battered adolescent body lay in the snow on the brink of death from combined injury and hypothermia beyond the passing of midnight before he was finally found and returned home to his parents. The day after, an emissary darkened their doorstep to instruct that Solomon was no longer welcome in the town. It had been decided that at best he was odd and unsettling, and a potential danger to others; at worst, he was actively dabbling in dark and heretical things beyond human understanding, and would deliberately bring monstrous consequences upon them. Solomon was taken away a week later by H.E.L.P. after a desperate letter of appeal from his parents to their headquarters in Canada, seeking somewhere Solomon could not only be safe, but also understood. He spent the rest of his adolescence in the organization's care, effectively a foster child, and came to learn that he was no dark wizard, nor possessed by the devil; he was a Hyperhuman - a distinctly unique Hyperhuman - and H.E.L.P. were keen to assist him in understanding his own nature, so that they could understand it better in turn. R E C R U I T M E N T R E C R U I T M E N T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Between his natural interests in the morbid and the occult from his early years, and his growing understanding of his own abilities in his adolescence, Solomon spent much of his time with in H.E.L.P.'s care researching magic and the supernatural, poring over old tomes and studies of the paranormal. By the time he reached eighteen, he was already considered something of a specialist within the organisation's officials, and following a university course graduating with a Bachelor's in Mythology & Occult Sciences, and then a Master's degree, and then completing a Doctorate, the freshly-honoured Doctor Solomon Winters was by default the foremost expert on magic, the occult, and all things paranormal within H.E.L.P. - and most of the country, if not the continent - and his own personal research into the supernatural that his academic studies didn't cover wasn't about to slow down. When Solomon started seeking out actual real-life encounters with those things that exist outside the veil of humans and Hypes, he was alternately warned off, or laughed out, considered broadly as an intelligent but off-putting man, who wasted his talents on fanciful stories meant to frighten children. When Solomon actually did come face-to-face with a beast from beyond the pale - and managed to have the good sense to record his encounter for concrete, empirical evidence - he was suddenly the only man worth talking to about the supernatural, and was quickly inducted officially into H.E.L.P. to share his knowledge within the organisation - and allow the organisation to supress it as necessary. C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U ________________________________________________________________________________________ Solomon has worked with H.E.L.P. and H.I.T. for over thirty years, and for such a long career, his rank within the organization - Special Agent - doesn't reflect the sheer breadth of his experience and service. What it does represent is the reaction his superiors and comrades-in-arms invariably have to his aloof, vaguely-absent, off-putting personality and behaviour, as well as the unsettling nature of his abilities, and his obsessive study and research into aspects of un-reality that the organization doesn't necessarily consider worth the time-and-resource-investment that Solomon continues to put into, and demand for, his inquisitions. As a result, while Solomon is a well-respected agent among most within H.E.L.P., and a well-recognized name to most who work for the organization, he's also an incredibly 'internally-mobile' one; he's been shipped around and transferred between many units, offices, and task-forces across both H.E.L.P. and H.I.T., more than nearly any other individual within the operation, and is passed over for promotions and more senior positions. He struggles to make friends, and is absolutely incapable of playing the political network game to his advantage; it is only the sheer tenure of his service, the breadth of niches filled by his occult expertise, and the unique utility of his particular abilities, that cause him to only be shuffled, rather than disciplined, demoted, or fired entirely.

P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N _________________________________________________________ RACE: | Caucasian _________________________________________________________________ SEX: | Male _________________________________________________________________ HEIGHT: | 6'3" _________________________________________________________________ WEIGHT: | 161lbs _________________________________________________________________ HAIR COLOUR: | Brunette (going grey) _________________________________________________________________ HAIR LENGTH: | Short-cut _________________________________________________________________ EYE COLOUR: | Grey _________________________________________________________________ HANDEDNESS: | Left A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S _________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || NECROMANCY __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Biological __POWER SCALE || 4 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Δ Solomon's hyperhuman Einseele, or 'OneSoul', has a unique resonance (even among fellow Hypes) with HZE ions, granting him a peculiar dominion over the lingering Überseeles ('Oversouls') and Unterseeles ('Undersouls') of the deceased, and even partial communication with those of the still-living. This dominion allows Solomon to interact with the dead (and sometimes the living) in a handful of ways: • Through focus, Solomon can conjure up the Überseele of the dead and communicate with the lingering consciousness contained within, able to ask questions, share memories, and with the more recently-deceased, engage in full two-sided conversation; • By making physical contact with deceased bodies, Solomon can funnel his dominion into simple commands to the Unterseele of a being, animating the dead flesh into carrying out his command; • Through a combination of resonance with the Über- and Unterseele in tandem, Solomon can dip into a being's memories and emotions, feeling them for himself. Using the same method, he can also experience the final living moments of a recently-expired corpse. L I M I T A T I O N S & W E A K N E S S E S • While Solomon can connect with the Überseele of a living being to experience their memories and thoughts, he cannot influence them, nor can he command the Unterseele. • Solomon's Unterseele commands require a corpse, and physical contact with said corpse; he cannot animate dead-flesh from distance. • Commanded dead-flesh is still subject to real-world physics, and isn't imparted with any additional durability or strength, so can be fended off accordingly by those capable. • The Überseeles of the more recently-deceased, or those of individuals who were particularly strong-willed in life, can manifest to Solomon independently of his summons, which can distract, frighten, or overwhelm him with voices and thoughts he didn't willingly conjure. • Due to the Einseele inherent to Hyperhumans that unifies and balances the Über- and Unterseele, Solomon's abilities do not work whatsoever on other Hypes.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

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The humvee rumbled to a dramatic stop on the street outside the clinic. The few scattered citizens and the awake (not necessarily sober) members of the nearby houseless encampment - the clinic was not set up in what was known to be a 'good' neighbourhood - jerked their necks in the vehicle's direction. Even in a more affluant locale they'd still stand out; around here, they may as well driven up with sirens and a neon sign. Jasper sighed as he watched, through the tinted windows, all the people noticing their presence, all the people who could say 'yeah, someone was here today'.

Marty noticed Jasper noticing, as well as his sigh, and Jasper looked around to him as he heard the intake of breath that prefixed an apology. He gave Marty a very specific look that cut that off before it began. Instead, they just got out, trying to look as non-descript as possible - best not to tie any one particular organisation into their activities, if it could be helped, as it saved on phonecalls from self-important men who wanted their moment to chew out a division that otherwise superseded them in every way - and entered the clinic.

It was sparsely populated; no one in the waiting room, and a subsequently-bored nurse on reception. Linoleum floors, plastic chairs, and flyers for rehabs of various directions made the space closer to a methodone centre than a mutant clinic, but Jasper supposed that was by design. In a run-down neighbourhood on a quiet side of town, where mutants wouldn't have to walk through crowds of potentially-hostile civilians, and the greater area didn't need to know what the clinic was truly for. A halfway house for junkies? Well, you just didn't think about it. It hid right in front of you, because you didn't want to see it. Which was just perfect for the people going there, because they didn't want to be seen either.

The nurse looked up from her crossword. Jasper pulled out his ID, pushing it against the plastic screen that separated him and Marty from the woman. She peered at it through bottle-cap glasses, which only served to emphasise the widening of her eyes.
"Sitwell! As in Colin and Justin Sitwell?"
Jasper pocketed the ID and smoothed an eyebrow.
"Indeed."
The nurse looked past him to Marty, who was pulling out his own ID. She waved it away.
"No need, Agent Reyna. I could pick you out of a line up at 50 paces even without my glasses, we see you so much."
"Is that so?" Jasper said, turning to raise an eyebrow at Marty. Marty just blushed.
"Ahem. We're here to follow up on the girl who came in yesterday. Is she still being kept for observation?" Marty said, his tone sheepish.
"The seizure girl? Certainly is. Last room on the left. Here, I'll let you into the ward."

The nurse stood up from her station and disappeared through a door behind her; Jasper and Marty stood patiently for a few minutes, Jasper distinctly not addressing why Marty was hanging around a clinic outside his usual assignment enough to be recognised by on-site staff, until a subtle electronic 'whooshing' sound came from a door to their left that indicated the release of magnetic locks, and then the rattling of some more traditional locks being opened, until finally the door swang open with the nurse on the other side. She beckoned them forth and pointed them down the corridor.
"As I said, last room on the left. She's been quiet today - sleeping, mostly, when I've checked on her. We took more bloods and a...well, a stool sample. Just for something else to check...but still all clear. As it stands, we were probably going to release her tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, ma'am." Jasper said. "We just want a quick chat. We'll let you know when we're done."
The nurse nodded, and disappeared back to her station, leaving Jasper and Marty alone in the corridor as the door closed and sealed behind them, and they walked the short distance to the girl's room in further silence.

- - -

The girl was awake when they stepped in; Jasper first, Marty second, closing the door behind them. She watched them carefully, with eyes far more alert than the bags beneath them would indicate. There was a strange ferocity and animal cunning to her gaze that Jasper, though quite unprepared to admit it, found himself nonetheless unnerved by. He smiled, polite but wan, and moved across the room, collecting the chart hooked onto the end of the bed as he went, casting an eye over it while flipping the scant few pages attached.

"I know who he is." The girl said, breaking the silence and pointing a well-manicured nail in Marty's direction. "He's the one who's been in charge of all the poking and prodding done to me over the last 24 hours, including the bedpan, which was highly undignified, thank you very much."
Jasper raised that quizzical eyebrow again, and Marty coughed awkwardly but, cleverly, decided not to dispute.
"But I don't know you." She continued, that pointed finger rounding on Jasper now. "And you don't look like a nurse. So who are you, and what do you want with me?"

Jasper considered her tone. Irritation was layered across every word, the kind of bored frustration a healthy person stuck in hospital might harbour, tempered only a little by the conscious rationality reasoning that the myriad healthcare professionals attending to them had but only good intentions. But there was something more there, an edge that crept in on her final question; whatever else this girl was dealing with, Jasper realized, it was important to remember she was a mutant, and considered herself as such, and was probably subject to the aspersions afforded to mutants in the modern era. Anti-mutant sentiment was not uncommon or even particularly suppressed; some of the highest echelons of military and governmental institutions were outspoken about mutant suppression, and billionaire playboys around the world spun entire PR campaigns on hating 'muties'.

Jasper had no specific love for the demographic, but no specific hatred either, just the same mildly-jaded ambivalence he held toward most aspects of society, his job, and life in general. Probably best to tread careful.
"Miss..." he returned his eyes to the clipboard chart in his hands, scanning the top of the first page for patient details, quickly finding her name. "...Jubilation?"
His tone and eyebrows raised in matched surprise. Kids' names were getting more and more unusual these days.
"My friends call me Jubilee." Jubilee said, clarifying with the kind of audible measured patience only someone used to clarifying could carry.
"Well, Jubilee-"
"We're not friends."

Jasper sighed and shot a look to Marty, trying to put across how utterly not-worth-his-time this impulsive jaunt was currently shaping up to be, and how severely it needed to improve in that aspect if Marty didn't want to be picking up Jasper's admin scutwork for the next 6 months.
"Well, Miss Lee, my name is Jasper Sitwell, and I'm from the W.H.O." He lied, evenly and without hint of deception. Jubilee frowned.
"Sorry, who?"
"Yes." He replied. "Martin here contacted us about your unusual case, and I thought I'd come take a look. But it looks like..."

He flicked through the chart again, taking some mental notes but otherwise not seeing anything beyond a healthy late-teens girl with one completely-unexplained seizure.
"It looks like you're healthy." He finally said, anticlimactic and aware of it. "Apart from your...unusual pallor."
She was pale, too, noticeably so; her skin was closer to eggshell-white than the slight-pink of flesh, and a long ways away from Jasper's aged-leather pelt or Marty's healthy, ethnically-ambiguous tan.

Marty cleared his throat, and Jubilee and Jasper both turned their heads to him.
"Actually, Miss Lee came in like that. It's not uncommon among patients of similar..." he paused, unsure exactly how much he should say, despite everyone in the room being quite aware of Jubilee's genetic status. "...nature, on the same treatment plan." He finally settled on, and Jasper furrowed his brow.
"Hmm."
"So can I go?" Jubilee chimed in, and Jasper turned back to her.
"We're waiting on the results of the final samples taken today, but I can't imagine they're going to reveal anything new." Jasper said, conceding to the girl. Her face lit up, and she sat forward. The eagerness to be let out was so apparent, Jasper nearly didn't carry on.
But he did carry on.
"Still, it's probably not a good idea to try and re-treat you, and withdrawal has proven to be...challenging, for some patients. If you'd consent to it, we'd like to take you to our advanced facility."

Jubilee's face fell, and she flumped back into the bed. Jasper tried to smile as sympathetically as he could.
"You'd have more freedom than you have here - access back to your devices - better food - some more privacy. We'd just want to make sure the 'purge' wasn't too difficult on your body."
Jubilee looked from Jasper to Marty and back to Jasper, before sighing and throwing her hands up in exasperation.
"Fine. Fine! I'll come with you. Change of environment, at least. Maybe my next room will have a TV."
Jasper looked at the corner of the room. The wall was discolored in the shape suggesting a television set had once been hung there, but the hole and some loose wiring suggested it had more recently been torn out. Some neighborhood.
"Wonderful. We'll have the clinic fax us your sample results. The car's just outside."
"The Humvee?" Jubilee asked, and Jasper shot Marty the third look of the morning. Jubilee caught it too, but only grinned, amused to ruffle feathers. "I heard it pull up. Not very inconspicuous."
"We're hiding in plain sight?" Marty offered, and Jasper just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Roman's Scrapbin

Biokinetic grafting
Skin-shedding shape-shifting
Hooks?

hyperhuman powerset focused around talking to, manifesting, and manipulating/commanding the dead would be in the setting. Maybe it's a kind of HZE-driven dominion over Uber/Unterseele, through the 'higher' Einseele? He'd be able to talk to the deceased to glean info others can't (Uberseele), temporarily animate dead flesh and have it perform a simple single command (Unterseele), and probably something around witnessing or experiencing moments of death when interacting with still-fresh corpses.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Roman>

bland, boring, and forgettable

@Sep

Buddy just wait until you see my posts

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S . T . A . K . E .

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^{"Just when you think the world's getting boring again...something new happens."}

^{_{J A S P E R S I T W E L L ♦ S H I E L D I N T E R R O G A T O R ♦ N E W Y O R K}}

O R I G I N S:

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The Sitwell's have generational history of service in the name of the United States of America; but you won't find them decorated in the annals of history, their names carved into memorial plaques, or even remembered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In his day, Jasper's grandfather - Jason Sitwell - was instrumental in the suppression of the mutant pandemic, working under the banner of a clandestine branch of the U.S. Government known as the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division. In Jasper's time, the organization has evolved, and so has its name, the branch referred to now as the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.

Either way, the Sitwell's have always, and likely will always, work for SHIELD, and their family's legacy is a colorful story of dubious service in the name of the greater good of the nation.

But you'll never hear about that.

Just like you won't hear about what Jasper's going to start working on next.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"Mornin' Sitwell."

Jasper lifted his sleep-heavy head and turned away from the droning buzz of the coffee machine to look at his colleague. The face was briefly familiar but he couldn't for the life of him place a name. How many people had he seen come through over the years? Between his father's and his own tenure, the numbers must have ranged in the thousands.

"Good morning, agent." He eventually replied, using a professional posture and brusque, authoritative tone to cover the fact that he had no idea who he was talking to. The coffee machine stopped buzzing and Jasper lifted the mug to his lips, taking a deep sniff of the steaming coffee before sipping gingerly. It burnt his tongue, but it tasted good, and held the promise of making him feel a bit more awake by the time he drained the cup.

"Much on your plate today?" The mystery agent asked as Jasper shuffled over and allowed him access to the coffee. Jasper sipped more from his mug, thinking on the stack of manila folders he'd walked away from yesterday, and was imminently about to walk into.

"The usual." He replied, to which the agent gave a solemn nod. ‘Sitwell’ was a familiar name to many in the organisation, and while Jasper’s official role was as one of their leading interrogation agents, in truth he was something of a general dog’s body; he had the breadth of knowledge to assist on nearly any assignment, and the network to navigate himself only to the ones he found interesting.

He’d been navigating himself less and less recently. SHIELD had become, for lack of a better word, boring.

“Well, have a good day.” Jasper said, after a lengthy pause between the two that had long become awkward. He retreated from the canteen back towards his office, wishing the front walls were made of something considerably more opaque than the partially-frosted glass that was currently in place. He’d already finished his coffee by the time he sat down, and wondered how many folders he’d peruse before boredom bid him to fetch a refill.

Not that many, as it would turn out.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Issue #1.01
Issue #1.02
Issue #1.03
Issue #1.04
Issue #1.05
Issue #1.06
Issue #1.07

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

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Jasper was leaning back in his chair, head resting and eyes closed, trying to sense the caffeine from his second coffee permeating through to his bloodstream. He felt like if he focused on it very hard, he could will his body to metabolize it faster. In actuality, he was slowly falling asleep, while the caffeine struggled in vain against a thirty-plus-year career that was sadly culminating in routine and tedium.

Three sharp raps on the glass front wall roused Jasper from the cliff-edge of slumber, and he jerked forward sharply, spinning his chair to face the door and opening the folder he held in his hand. The door was pushed open, and around the edge peered the face of a young agent, skin tanned, hair black and buzz-cut, and a neatly-trimmed goatee adorning his well-set jaw.

"Good morning, Marty." Jasper said, beckoning Martin Reyna into his office proper. Agent Reyna had been with SHIELD for only just over a year after a respectable career with the FBI, but Jasper had to admit he'd done well acclimating in his short time, and they'd formed an odd kind of friendship that was half peer-to-peer, half mentor-to-mentee. "Got something for me?"

Martin stepped in, leaning on the glass as he flicked open a manila folder of his own, glancing briefly at the contents before looking back to Jasper.
"Maybe. How familiar are you with your grandfather's research?"

Jasper leaned back, taking a deep breath as he cast his mind to the annals of history. His grandfather, Jason Sitwell, had been instrumental in the 60's when the mutant pandemic first rose to public notice, then public concern, then public panic; his early foray into the suppression of the so-called 'X-Gene' paved the way for the invention, and then refinement, of SHIELD's present-day X-Inhibitor Serum. The problem was, Jason Sitwell had invented it, and his son - Jasper's father - Colin Sitwell had perfected it. By the time Jasper got through probation and signed on as Agent proper, the formula was stable, with minimal side-effects, and had begun to enter mass-production; there simply wasn't anymore work to be done on it, and Jasper's skills were ultimately better suited elsewhere.

"Not greatly." Jasper admitted with not a small pang of shame for not being more diligent in his studies about his own family's legacy. "I have the basic gist of it, I suppose. I wouldn't say I'm any more of an expert on it than the lab boys, though."
"Well, I went to the lab boys already, and they're stumped, so here I am with you."
"They just fobbed you off like that?"
"Little bit. They said they'd look into it but had other priorities."
"They probably do. Plus, you're still green. What's this about?"

Marty pushed himself off the glass and walked up to Jasper's desk, passing him the folder he'd been leafing through. Jasper tossed his own for-show folder onto the mismatched pile of identical papers in front of him, and began to peruse Marty's as he explained.
"We had a girl come in for her regular inhib dose yesterday, and within minutes of inoculation she went into grand mal seizure."
Jasper stopped reading and looked up at Marty from beneath his brow.
"Well that's never happened before." He said.
"I know. I looked through the early research - what I was cleared to look at, anyway - and while early iterations had plenty of side effects, seizure was never one of them, even at the lowest incident rates. And since then, the serum's only gotten better. Side-effects these days barely amount to more than a slight headache and cottonmouth."
"So you've got the mother of all outliers." Jasper concluded, handing the file back. "Or, more likely, she lied in her pre-screen and reacted poorly to a serum-smack combo platter."

Marty rolled his eyes.
"You don't think that's the first thing we checked? Bloods were clear. Too clear, I'd say, like her blood was formulated in a lab for perfectly level everything."
Jasper just raised an eyebrow. Marty looked at his feet.
"It's just weird, is all."
"How's the girl now?" Jasper asked, careful not to let on that his curiosity had been piqued. Marty would sniff it out, and then he'd never hear the end of it.
"She's fine. In observation at the inoculation center, but fine. MRI didn't show anything abnormal or any lasting damage. Again, she was just...clear."
"So what you have is a healthy girl with one anomalous seizure, and you want my weight on that instead of on..." he gestured broadly at the messy stack of potential cases and assignments that covered, edge-to-edge, his workspace, “...any of this?”
Jasper could see the blood rushing to Marty’s cheeks as his face fell and he became sheepish, embarrassed. Still looking at the floor, he only managed to mumble out:
”Yes, sir.”
“Hmmm.”

Jasper rubbed his chin. It was certainly odd, but not necessarily odd enough to warrant follow-up. Still, it was his family recipe, so to speak. If it was suddenly dysfunctional, or worse, dangerous, things would spiral pretty quickly, and he'd be completely unable to avoid being smack-bang in the damn center of it.

Better to get ahead of the curve.

"Alright. Let's go take a look. At the very least, we can grab some to-go bags for the lab boys."
Marty looked up, smiling.
"I hoped you'd say that. I've already commissioned a humvee."
"Nice and inconspicuous." Jasper said, his dry tone immediately deflating the grinning junior agent as he stood and threw on his blazer. "Good thinking."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Neat, thanks.