Supermaxx

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Silent Night, Holy Night #2

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Metropolis, Delaware - Suicide Slum

The angelic cords of Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah flittered through the cold, winter air with a haunting grace. Spotted with sharp, angry static, that muffled tune slipped out through the cracks and dents in a conspicuously-inconspicuous van parked on that lonely, otherwise quiet street. Nothing moved through the snow banks but shadows and the whispers of a snapping breeze.

It was Christmas night and the only creature stirring was Paco Tejas.

His fingers danced across his worn and well-used keyboard like a decuple of musclebound ballerinas, occasionally pausing as their owner lost himself in the music. Paco loved this song; it was his favorite Christmas song, in fact, and he hadn't stopped blasting it since 2007 and wouldn't stop until the day he dropped dead. He cycled through different covers of it occasionally, but he always came back to Buckley in the end. There was just something about the way he sang that made it so beautifully heartbreaking. He was lucky his very Catholic parents had never paid close attention to the very Uncatholic lyrics.

As enthralled in the lyrics as he was, he didn't notice the approaching figures until one of them had already thrown open the van's driver side door. Paco gave a start, nearly leaping a foot from his seat at the loud churning of old metal that came with every attempt to move the door. His terror caught in his throat when his gaze met Brenda's tired eyes, her cheeky half-grin doing little to abate the embarrassment he felt. "You're...back!" He called, his voice cracking as he tried and failed to laugh the incident off.

"Observant as always, Paco." His best friend called from behind him, dragging Paco's head around. Jaime's shoulders were sagging, and there was something oddly subdued about his ton. Paco didn't catch it, however- not that that was in any way out of the ordinary. He hadn't even noticed Reyes open the double-doors that made up the van's rear, much less crawl inside and make himself comfortable among the blankets and pillows they'd called home for the last three months. It hadn't exactly been easy. Most nights they went to bed a little hungrier than the last, and it just kept getting colder and colder and colder...but Paco wouldn't trade it in for the world. Playing sidekick to a superhero and dodging their way around an international organization of spies and assassins had to be the most fun he'd ever had; he was basically living in a movie, and he was going to cherish every pulse-pounding second of it.

"Alright," Brenda let out a slight sigh, brushing the greasy, unwashed hairs from in front of her face. None of them had gotten a chance to shower that week. They stopped by the Kord Outreach Center as often as they could, but Brenda was adamant they avoid frequenting the same places too many times; it only took one person recognizing them, or one picture getting out, to bring SHIELD's hounds running. They could never be too careful. "Where're we holding up for the night? Find anywhere good, Pac?" She asked, her voice ragged and tired from a hard day's work. It wasn't going to be enough cash to get them through to the next care package, she knew, but it was way too late to start another job; not to mention just how exhausted she was.

Paco pursed his lips, glancing at Jaime through the rearview mirror. The two's gazes met, their minds seemingly going to the same place in that instant. "Well, I didn't find any five-star hotels, buuut..." He started, only for Brenda to abruptly cut him off with a laugh.

"No. Nooo, no, no- you can't be serious. Do you see the time?" She waved her hands in front of her chest, an incredulous look on her face as she swiveled her head between Jaime and Paco. Neither of them were laughing with her.

"Come on!" Paco protested. "It's close, and it shouldn't take long at all!" He turned toward his computer, punching in a few keys as he brought up a map of the city. There were colored, digital 'pins' stuck in the map at varying locations throughout Metropolis, and a little cartoonish version of their van pointing out their current location.

Brenda scrunched up her nose, looking back at Jaime in disbelief. "We've been shoveling snow all night, aren't you exhausted?" She asked, hoping to God that he'd agree with her so she could finally get some much-needed sleep. Much to her regret, however, he only shrugged.

"I mean...it's the whole reason we're out here, right?" Jaime reasoned, choking back a yawn. "Plus the sooner we find this guy-"

"-or girl-" Paco interrupted.

"...thing..." Jaime offered him the briefest glare before continuing. "...the sooner we can get everything fixed and head back home."

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Metropolis, Delaware - Hob's Bay

Lines of warehouses stretched as far as the eye could see, their shadows cast long across the concrete and asphalt. There was nothing alive down here save for the rats; the sharp odor of old fish hung so heavy that even the most desperate of wanderers would find somewhere else to spend the cold, winter nights. Jaime practically leaped out of the back of the van, throwing the doors wide as he took in the horrific scent like it was cotton candy at a carnival. "Really wakes ya up, doesn't it?" He snickered, calling over his shoulder to the others. He appreciated the change of scenery a great deal more than he'd like to admit, and he was excited to finally be doing something. It felt like an eternity had passed since they had last pursued a lead.

Dr. Caulder's alien had been a ghost of a ghost, alluding them at every turn. Brenda and Paco weren't even sure the thing was real at this point, but Jaime never stopped believing. He'd seen that bastard's face when he told him about the second alien...The alpha, Caulder had called it. It was another of the doctor's obsessions. If they found it, they'd hopefully pick up on his trail again. It was...a long shot, to be sure, but it was the only shot they had.

"Unfortunately." Brenda replied with a heavy sigh, dragging herself up alongside Jaime with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her heavy winter coat. "And here I was thinking I couldn't smell any worse than I already do. Silly me."

Paco stumbled out of the passenger side of the vehicle, his backpack clutched to his chest like it was an old woman's pearls. His fuzzy Trapper Hat was secured rather firmly to his head, the unsecured flaps flittering with every awkward movement from the boy. "Oh, no, you smell- fine!" Paco assured her as he hustled to join the other two, only just realizing how that sounded. "Err, uh, I mean-"

"No she doesn't." Jaime stopped him.

"No, I don't." Brenda was quick to agree, hurrying that conversation away as quickly as she was to start down the rows and rows of warehouses. "Let's get this done nice and quick before I pass out." From lack of sleep or from the scent of dead cod, she didn't know, but Brenda would rather not wait around to find out which one would do her in first.

A look of shame and defeat crossed over Paco's face as he made his way after her, careful to only stay a few steps behind while not getting up into her personal space. "Place kinda gives you the spooks, huh?" He asked, trying and failing to start a conversation to get the last one out of memory; that, and he felt the need to keep the silence away. It was dark, and the looming shadow of all these buildings- and the knowledge of what had happened here- only emphasized his need to keep talking.

Once Brenda was well ahead of him, Jaime cut back, grabbing Paco by the arm to drag his friend back with him. The two kept their pace up enough that she couldn't get too far ahead, but far back enough for them to talk for a moment. Reyes leaned in just to be safe. "Dude, ya gotta take it easy."

"What do you mean?" Paco coughed, his eyes going everywhere but to meet Jaime's.

"You know what I mean, man. You're trying too hard!" Jaime said, slapping him on the arm. "Take it down a notch. Play it cool. All'a that stuff. Girls like it that way."

"Whadda you know about girls? You can't talk to Traci without bumbling like an idiot!" Paco countered defensively, his cheeks puffing up. "You get one suit of alien armor and suddenly you're an expert on everything."

"Like you do any better!" Jaime shot back. "You've known Brenda since you were twelve and you still haven't told her how you fee-"

'Unknown energy detected.' Khaji Da's voice rang in Reyes's mind for the first time in quite awhile. 'I recommend vacating the area immediately or arming yourself in preparation for attack.' The alien had gotten less and less talkative since the first incident with SHIELD, only ever popping in when Jaime asked for his help.

It was...odd, but Jaime hadn't felt the need to ask Khaji about it. 'Guess I can't really tell Paco off for doing the same thing, huh?'

"Eyes up, guys, we're close!" Jaime called, pulling himself back into the present and mentally preparing himself for whatever might lie ahead. It was just then that he noticed Brenda was no longer walking in front of them and had managed to disappear while he and Paco were talking. For a brief moment, he felt the pull of growing panic, but the sound of her voice in the distance calmed him- somewhat.

"No shit! Come check this out!" She yelled from inside one of the nearby warehouses. It looked like it'd suffered quite a bit of wear over the decades, several holes marring its walls, rust covering the metal and the wood chewed up by termites and the slow weathering of time. Jaime and Paco rushed inside to see what she'd found, an unexplainable anxiousness sprouting up in Jaime's chest.

He passed inside the warehouse, his gaze met by a wall of sheer darkness. He could barely see anything more than five feet ahead of him, save for the faint outline of several wooden crates stacked up on top of one another in front of him. Jaime sucked in air between his teeth, his eyes shifting back to Paco who was already picking through his backpack for flashlights. "Here ya go." He handed one off to Reyes, taking one for himself as he struggled to sling the bag back around his shoulder.

Jaime flicked the light on, illuminating the darkness in front of him. Every visible surface was covered in dirt and grime, a layer of dust hanging just above every box and discarded piece of trash in the place. Nothing in here had moved for months at the very least; maybe even longer than that. He started deeper into the warehouse, keeping the beam of light moving as he took in his surroundings. Old shelving covered in rusting tools, rotting plywood and marred pieces of sheet metal. "Brenda?" He called out nervously, shifting between his feet as she shuffled deeper into the cavernous chamber. "You're still alive, right?!"

"D-dude!" If Jaime was nervous, then Paco was about to pass out. He could barely stutter out that single word between his chattering teeth, that feeling of anxiety laying heavy on his shoulders as he advanced just behind Reyes into the mounting darkness. This was the worst part about adventuring, he'd realized: actually adventuring. Anything could be lurking in between the scattered and broken storage containers. His fears were far from irrational; the things he'd read about in the last eight months...all of the bombastic superheroes and excitement came with a healthy dose of demons, monsters and sadistic, superpowered serial killers. "M-maybe I'll go wait outside..." Paco gulped, slowing down significantly.

Reyes sighed, stopping to turn and look at Paco. "Why don't you tell me again about what we're doing here?" He asked, hoping to get Paco's mind off his fear and onto something at least semi-productive.

"W-well, uhh..." Paco nodded, trying to force the words out between his slicked teeth and wavering jaw. He'd read over the article on a 'Local Paranormal Mysteries' website at least three times. There was a lot of nonsense on that site, but this one looked the most legit. "T-the dock workers don't come by this part of the pier anymore. I-it started with them complaining about...a...a feeling that someone was watching them, y'know? But it got worse over time. They started wearing weird- weird noises coming from the warehouses, a-and they were finding d-dead animals a-and, like...one of the workers went missing around here, s-supposedly, b-but the cops never found..."

His eyes went wide, nearly bulging out of his head as he started to rapidly retreat backwards. "Oh God. They never found the body. God, Jaime, we're gonna die-"

"Get a grip!" Reyes hissed. "I can protect you guys, but only if you stick with me. Just stay behind me, watch my back and- and...why hasn't Brenda said anything yet?" He whipped around again, letting his light trace along the wall. The far wall. He hadn't noticed that they'd gotten all the way across the room, yet there hadn't been any sign of Del Vecchio yet. "HEY! BRENDA! This isn't funny, okay?! You're freaking me the fuck out now! Brenda!" And yet again there wasn't a reply but the cold, malignant whisper of the winter breeze.

"Fuck this." He muttered under his breath, dropping the flashlight to the floor. "Khaji-" Before he'd even finished, Jaime could feel the sickening movement of his flesh as it made way for the escaping carapace of his alien armor. That slick, chitinous stuff shoved it's way up through his bones and slithered over his skin until every inch of him was shielded from harm by it's living metal. "Scan for her. And gimme night vision while you're at it."

'As you wish.' Khaji Da gruffly replied.

The Scarab complied, a sonar-like ping being sent out in every direction. It would send back an echo of everything producing body-level heat in the vicinity. Provided Brenda hadn't been flash frozen like that freak in Gotham, Khaji Da would find her. In that same vein of thought, it had already activated the green-and-white specialized vision for Jaime that would let him search with his eyes as well as with the scanner.

Only it wasn't working like it was supposed to. Jaime's vision was popping in and out, filling with static for short, quarter of a second bursts before returning to normal or failing and shunting the world into darkness. The scanner wasn't working properly either- it kept giving multiple short pings, like there were several people right next to him. "What's going on, Scarab?" It didn't make sense; it only should've been pinging Paco once. It must've been broken or...or something.

'NOT' Khaji Da practically screeched, its voice echoing and distant yet blarringly loud in Jaime's mind.

"What the hell?" He breathed, a hand going up to grasp his head. "Scarab, what's wrong?" Something...something was hurting it- him. He didn't know what, or how, or why. But the Scarab was in physical pain, and it was leaking into Jaime's brain and sending bursts of dulled agony through his nervous system.

'NOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOT-'

"J-jaime. Jaime, behind-" Paco screamed too, but it was already too late.

Something drapped in shadow had already wrapped its arm around Jaime's throat, dragging him backwards into the darkness. It wasn't particularly strong, but whatever it was doing to the Scarab made it impossible for Reyes to focus on anything but the pain he felt inside of his head. He let out a howl, flailing his arms like a madman in an attempt to tear the force off of him.

It tripped him, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the floor, his back somehow passing directly through whoever was standing behind him. Paco was screaming, the Scrab was screaming, Jaime was screaming as shadows began to pass over his chest and limbs. Then they swallowed up him, and everything went quiet.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Slowly but surely chipping away at a post here.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

The screen in front of him was what really should've been dominating his attention, though. He scrolled through hundreds upon hundreds of social media posts, conspiracy theorist articles, and the ramblings of the madmen that still used forums like it was 2004. Each and every link that rolled passed his gaze had several phrases highlighted in several different colors. Each highlighted word was being automatically tagged as 'Relevant' by his system, and the color associated with that word told Paco what category it belonged to. Words in red, for example, had to do with the names 'Jaime Reyes,' 'Doctor Niles Caulder' or 'Blue Beetle.' He'd only ever seen a handful of those since he set the program up, thankfully- that color was bound to give Paco a panic attack.

There was a point in time when Paco wouldn't have dreamed to have such a program at his disposal. It was effectively doing the work of the FBI from his rinky-dink laptop in the back of a poorly heated van; realistically, it shouldn't have been possible.

And before the release of Brainiac, it would've been.

But all Paco had to do was plug his phone into his computer, and Luthor's greatest creation had written up months upon months worth of code in less time than it took for Paco to tie his shoes- and he could tie his shoes exceptionally fast. Skynet had always been one of his many, many fears, but he couldn't deny that it made his life a sight easier. If his robot overlords could make everything this simple, he'd be the first one to sign up help the machine uprising along.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

Silent Night, Holy Night #2

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Metropolis, Delaware - Suicide Slum

The angelic cords of Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah flittered through the cold, winter air with a haunting grace. Spotted with sharp, angry static, that muffled tune slipped out through the cracks and dents in a conspicuously-inconspicuous van parked on that lonely, otherwise quiet street. Nothing moved through the snow banks but shadows and the whispers of a snapping breeze.

It was Christmas night and the only creature stirring was Paco Tejas.

His fingers danced across his worn and well-used keyboard like a decuple of musclebound ballerinas, occasionally pausing as their owner lost himself in the music. Paco loved this song; it was his favorite Christmas song, in fact, and he hadn't stopped blasting it since 2007 and wouldn't stop until the day he dropped dead. He cycled through different covers of it occasionally, but he always came back to Buckley in the end. There was just something about the way he sang that made it so beautifully heartbreaking. He was lucky his very Catholic parents had never paid close attention to the very Uncatholic lyrics.

As enthralled in the lyrics as he was, he didn't notice the approaching figures until one of them had already thrown open the van's driver side door. Paco gave a start, nearly leaping a foot from his seat at the loud churning of old metal that came with every attempt to move the door. His terror caught in his throat when his gaze met Brenda's tired eyes, her cheeky half-grin doing little to abate the embarrassment he felt. "You're...back!" He called, his voice cracking as he tried and failed to laugh the incident off.

"Observant as always, Paco." His best friend called from behind him, dragging Paco's head around. Jaime's shoulders were sagging, and there was something oddly subdued about his ton. Paco didn't catch it, however- not that that was in any way out of the ordinary. He hadn't even noticed Reyes open the double-doors that made up the van's rear, much less crawl inside and make himself comfortable among the blankets and pillows they'd called home for the last three months. It hadn't exactly been easy. Most nights they went to bed a little hungrier than the last, and it just kept getting colder and colder and colder...but Paco wouldn't trade it in for the world. Playing sidekick to a superhero and dodging their way around an international organization of spies and assassins had to be the most fun he'd ever had; he was basically living in a movie, and he was going to cherish every pulse-pounding second of it.

"Alright," Brenda let out a slight sigh, brushing the greasy, unwashed hairs from in front of her face. None of them had gotten a chance to shower that week. They stopped by the Kord Outreach Center as often as they could, but Brenda was adamant they avoid frequenting the same places too many times; it only took one person recognizing them, or one picture getting out, to bring SHIELD's hounds running. They could never be too careful. "Where're we holding up for the night? Find anywhere good, Pac?" She asked, her voice ragged and tired from a hard day's work. It wasn't going to be enough cash to get them through to the next care package, she knew, but it was way too late to start another job; not to mention just how exhausted she was.

Paco pursed his lips, glancing at Jaime through the rearview mirror. The two's gazes met, their minds seemingly going to the same place in that instant. "Well, I didn't find any five-star hotels, buuut..." He started, only for Brenda to abruptly cut him off with a laugh.

"No. Nooo, no, no- you can't be serious. Do you see the time?" She waved her hands in front of her chest, an incredulous look on her face as she swiveled her head between Jaime and Paco. Neither of them were laughing with her.

"Come on!" Paco protested. "It's close, and it shouldn't take long at all!" He turned toward his computer, punching in a few keys as he brought up a map of the city. There were colored, digital 'pins' stuck in the map at varying locations throughout Metropolis, and a little cartoonish version of their van pointing out their current location.

Brenda scrunched up her nose, looking back at Jaime in disbelief. "We've been shoveling snow all night, aren't you exhausted?" She asked, hoping to God that he'd agree with her so she could finally get some much-needed sleep. Much to her regret, however, he only shrugged.

"I mean...it's the whole reason we're out here, right?" Jaime reasoned, choking back a yawn. "Plus the sooner we find this guy-"

"-or girl-" Paco interrupted.

"...thing..." Jaime offered him the briefest glare before continuing. "...the sooner we can get everything fixed and head back home."

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Metropolis, Delaware - Hob's Bay

Lines of warehouses stretched as far as the eye could see, their shadows cast long across the concrete and asphalt. There was nothing alive down here save for the rats; the sharp odor of old fish hung so heavy that even the most desperate of wanderers would find somewhere else to spend the cold, winter nights. Jaime practically leaped out of the back of the van, throwing the doors wide as he took in the horrific scent like it was cotton candy at a carnival. "Really wakes ya up, doesn't it?" He snickered, calling over his shoulder to the others. He appreciated the change of scenery a great deal more than he'd like to admit, and he was excited to finally be doing something. It felt like an eternity had passed since they had last pursued a lead.

Dr. Caulder's alien had been a ghost of a ghost, alluding them at every turn. Brenda and Paco weren't even sure the thing was real at this point, but Jaime never stopped believing. He'd seen that bastard's face when he told him about the second alien...The alpha, Caulder had called it. It was another of the doctor's obsessions. If they found it, they'd hopefully pick up on his trail again. It was...a long shot, to be sure, but it was the only shot they had.

"Unfortunately." Brenda replied with a heavy sigh, dragging herself up alongside Jaime with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her heavy winter coat. "And here I was thinking I couldn't smell any worse than I already do. Silly me."

Paco stumbled out of the passenger side of the vehicle, his backpack clutched to his chest like it was an old woman's pearls. His fuzzy Trapper Hat was secured rather firmly to his head, the unsecured flaps flittering with every awkward movement from the boy. "Oh, no, you smell- fine!" Paco assured her as he hustled to join the other two, only just realizing how that sounded. "Err, uh, I mean-"

"No she doesn't." Jaime stopped him.

"No, I don't." Brenda was quick to agree, hurrying that conversation away as quickly as she was to start down the rows and rows of warehouses. "Let's get this done nice and quick before I pass out." From lack of sleep or from the scent of dead cod, she didn't know, but Brenda would rather not wait around to find out which one would do her in first.

A look of shame and defeat crossed over Paco's face as he made his way after her, careful to only stay a few steps behind while not getting up into her personal space. "Place kinda gives you the spooks, huh?" He asked, trying and failing to start a conversation to get the last one out of memory; that, and he felt the need to keep the silence away. It was dark, and the looming shadow of all these buildings- and the knowledge of what had happened here- only emphasized his need to keep talking.

Once Brenda was well ahead of him, Jaime cut back, grabbing Paco by the arm to drag his friend back with him. The two kept their pace up enough that she couldn't get too far ahead, but far back enough for them to talk for a moment. Reyes leaned in just to be safe. "Dude, ya gotta take it easy."

"What do you mean?" Paco coughed, his eyes going everywhere but to meet Jaime's.

"You know what I mean, man. You're trying too hard!" Jaime said, slapping him on the arm. "Take it down a notch. Play it cool. All'a that stuff. Girls like it that way."

"Whadda you know about girls? You can't talk to Traci without bumbling like an idiot!" Paco countered defensively, his cheeks puffing up. "You get one suit of alien armor and suddenly you're an expert on everything."

"Like you do any better!" Jaime shot back. "You've known Brenda since you were twelve and you still haven't told her how you fee-"

'Unknown energy detected.' Khaji Da's voice rang in Reyes's mind for the first time in quite awhile. 'I recommend vacating the area immediately or arming yourself in preparation for attack.' The alien had gotten less and less talkative since the first incident with SHIELD, only ever popping in when Jaime asked for his help.

It was...odd, but Jaime hadn't felt the need to ask Khaji about it. 'Guess I can't really tell Paco off for doing the same thing, huh?'

"Eyes up, guys, we're close!" Jaime called, pulling himself back into the present and mentally preparing himself for whatever might lie ahead. It was just then that he noticed Brenda was no longer walking in front of them and had managed to disappear while he and Paco were talking. For a brief moment, he felt the pull of growing panic, but the sound of her voice in the distance calmed him- somewhat.

"No shit! Come check this out!" She yelled from inside one of the nearby warehouses. It looked like it'd suffered quite a bit of wear over the decades, several holes marring its walls, rust covering the metal and the wood chewed up by termites and the slow weathering of time. Jaime and Paco rushed inside to see what she'd found, an unexplainable anxiousness sprouting up in Jaime's chest.

He passed inside the warehouse, his gaze met by a wall of sheer darkness. He could barely see anything more than five feet ahead of him, save for the faint outline of several wooden crates stacked up on top of one another in front of him. Jaime sucked in air between his teeth, his eyes shifting back to Paco who was already picking through his backpack for flashlights. "Here ya go." He handed one off to Reyes, taking one for himself as he struggled to sling the bag back around his shoulder.

Jaime flicked the light on, illuminating the darkness in front of him. Every visible surface was covered in dirt and grime, a layer of dust hanging just above every box and discarded piece of trash in the place. Nothing in here had moved for months at the very least; maybe even longer than that. He started deeper into the warehouse, keeping the beam of light moving as he took in his surroundings. Old shelving covered in rusting tools, rotting plywood and marred pieces of sheet metal. "Brenda?" He called out nervously, shifting between his feet as she shuffled deeper into the cavernous chamber. "You're still alive, right?!"

"D-dude!" If Jaime was nervous, then Paco was about to pass out. He could barely stutter out that single word between his chattering teeth, that feeling of anxiety laying heavy on his shoulders as he advanced just behind Reyes into the mounting darkness. This was the worst part about adventuring, he'd realized: actually adventuring. Anything could be lurking in between the scattered and broken storage containers. His fears were far from irrational; the things he'd read about in the last eight months...all of the bombastic superheroes and excitement came with a healthy dose of demons, monsters and sadistic, superpowered serial killers. "M-maybe I'll go wait outside..." Paco gulped, slowing down significantly.

Reyes sighed, stopping to turn and look at Paco. "Why don't you tell me again about what we're doing here?" He asked, hoping to get Paco's mind off his fear and onto something at least semi-productive.

"W-well, uhh..." Paco nodded, trying to force the words out between his slicked teeth and wavering jaw. He'd read over the article on a 'Local Paranormal Mysteries' website at least three times. There was a lot of nonsense on that site, but this one looked the most legit. "T-the dock workers don't come by this part of the pier anymore. I-it started with them complaining about...a...a feeling that someone was watching them, y'know? But it got worse over time. They started wearing weird- weird noises coming from the warehouses, a-and they were finding d-dead animals a-and, like...one of the workers went missing around here, s-supposedly, b-but the cops never found..."

His eyes went wide, nearly bulging out of his head as he started to rapidly retreat backwards. "Oh God. They never found the body. God, Jaime, we're gonna die-"

"Get a grip!" Reyes hissed. "I can protect you guys, but only if you stick with me. Just stay behind me, watch my back and- and...why hasn't Brenda said anything yet?" He whipped around again, letting his light trace along the wall. The far wall. He hadn't noticed that they'd gotten all the way across the room, yet there hadn't been any sign of Del Vecchio yet. "HEY! BRENDA! This isn't funny, okay?! You're freaking me the fuck out now! Brenda!" And yet again there wasn't a reply but the cold, malignant whisper of the winter breeze.

"Fuck this." He muttered under his breath, dropping the flashlight to the floor. "Khaji-" Before he'd even finished, Jaime could feel the sickening movement of his flesh as it made way for the escaping carapace of his alien armor. That slick, chitinous stuff shoved it's way up through his bones and slithered over his skin until every inch of him was shielded from harm by it's living metal. "Scan for her. And gimme night vision while you're at it."

'As you wish.' Khaji Da gruffly replied.

The Scarab complied, a sonar-like ping being sent out in every direction. It would send back an echo of everything producing body-level heat in the vicinity. Provided Brenda hadn't been flash frozen like that freak in Gotham, Khaji Da would find her. In that same vein of thought, it had already activated the green-and-white specialized vision for Jaime that would let him search with his eyes as well as with the scanner.

Only it wasn't working like it was supposed to. Jaime's vision was popping in and out, filling with static for short, quarter of a second bursts before returning to normal or failing and shunting the world into darkness. The scanner wasn't working properly either- it kept giving multiple short pings, like there were several people right next to him. "What's going on, Scarab?" It didn't make sense; it only should've been pinging Paco once. It must've been broken or...or something.

'NOT' Khaji Da practically screeched, its voice echoing and distant yet blarringly loud in Jaime's mind.

"What the hell?" He breathed, a hand going up to grasp his head. "Scarab, what's wrong?" Something...something was hurting it- him. He didn't know what, or how, or why. But the Scarab was in physical pain, and it was leaking into Jaime's brain and sending bursts of dulled agony through his nervous system.

'NOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOT-'

"J-jaime. Jaime, behind-" Paco screamed too, but it was already too late.

Something drapped in shadow had already wrapped its arm around Jaime's throat, dragging him backwards into the darkness. It wasn't particularly strong, but whatever it was doing to the Scarab made it impossible for Reyes to focus on anything but the pain he felt inside of his head. He let out a howl, flailing his arms like a madman in an attempt to tear the force off of him.

It tripped him, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the floor, his back somehow passing directly through whoever was standing behind him. Paco was screaming, the Scrab was screaming, Jaime was screaming as shadows began to pass over his chest and limbs. Then they swallowed up him, and everything went quiet.

Star Wars: The Beat (closed)

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Op. No. KY-9914; Pvt. Malik Skaya
121st Battalion, Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, 1st Squad
Lothor Minor | In orbit aboard the Tempest
APPROX. 1200HRS; 5 BBY

---

A burst of static covered the screen like a field of jagged, broken light. It's steady, stabbing rhythm lasted for no more than a second as it transitioned harshly into a black screen, the day's date marking the middle in large, blocky letters. The darkness receded slowly, revealing a poorly lit, tightly cramped room, and a man seated far too close to the camera.

"Shamech talcu."

Though spoken in little more than a gentle whisper, the voice seemed to rumble with the depth of an ocean trench and the barely constrained power of a thunderstorm. The audio cut, a burst of crumbled static cutting off the next few words he spoke before it came rumbling back in like a runaway starfreighter. It was exactly the sort of voice one would expect to come from the brawny behemoth with a rigid, aggressive jawline and shoulders broad enough to carry a Bantha on. Even underneath the plastoid white armor of a Stormtrooper, one could make out that he was a powerfully-built individual.

"I apologize for how long it's been since my last message, but things have been...chaotic, recently." Fat, tired bags hung underneath brilliant ruby eyes, emphasizing the exhaustion that permeated his words. He forced a smile, long lines stretching across his face as he glanced above the camera. His brow furrowed, a hand reaching up into frame. It fumbled with something, sending the screen into a violent, shaky mess. "Is this even on?" The voice growled, the rest of his mumbling cut off by the booming sound of his hand slapping against the side of the cam. After seemingly determining that it was, in fact on, he returned to his seat- which looked to be no more than an overturned container inside of a tightly packed sanitation closet.

"Right, where was I?" He sighed, rubbing a great, meaty fist in his eye. He was quiet for a few moments while he tried to remember what he was talking about before. "Why I haven't recorded anything. That's right." He nodded, pulling himself back on track. "I was transferred away from my previous team. It was a last minute decision; this squad needed a spot filled and I was the one they chose to do it. It's not ideal if I'm honest with you- I was only just adjusting to the last bunch, and now I've got to start all over again." He sighed again, his gaze sharpening for just a moment; he remained still for several seconds until his expression began to relax.

"Once I have their trust, I'll begin sending footage with them back to you, father. Hopefully, they'll provide a better example of the Empire's finest than the last bunch." There was a brief glimmer of hope in his gaze, but it was struggling not to be choked out by the frustration and exhaustion that fought to hover in those crimson eyes. "If not, well-"

The man in the video cut himself off, his eyes darting out of frame. He leaned down, retrieving a bucket-shaped helmet from the floor and placing it upon his lap. It was beeping softly, a red light flashing to alert him of an incoming message. "-Apologies, father, it seems duty calls. I'll speak to you again shortly." He brought a fist up, balling his gloved hand tight. "May peace follow you wherever you may wander." He reached up back in front up of the camera, flicking it off- causing the screen to go dark in an instant.

Malik Skaya flipped his helmet around, staring down inside its dark interior. He had to turn it sideways to slip it on without getting it snagged on his nose. A chiming click sounded, informing him that he'd secured it in place. His ears were immediately greeted by the sound of his new sergeant's voice as he ordered the squad to assemble in the hangar bay. He spun around inside the closet, his gaze searching for-

There it is.

The black, sleek rifle he'd carried since his academy days was resting up against a shelf, alongside several canisters of unknown chemicals. He snatched it up, sliding it into his armor's holster before making for the door. 'Alright. Hangar bay. Hangar bay.' He went through his mental map of the Tempest, trying to remember where everything was from memory rather than relying on his HUD. Ignoring the pair of officers giving him the side eyes for popping out of the janitor's closet, Malik made his way down the hall at a quick march, intent on reaching the destination on time. He didn't want to be the last one to arrive; he hated that. It always felt like everyone stared at him when he did.

He was halfway there by the time he remembered that he needed his medical kit- since he was, in fact, a medic. Quietly reprimanding himself for his forgetfulness, he rushed back in the other direction toward the medbay at doubletime, thankful that the order to deploy meant he wouldn't be reprimanded for making such a rush. Skaya filled his pack with the standard allowed supply, logged it with the attendant, and started back toward the hangar bay- after making a brief stop at the armory for extra energy cells and flares.

By the time he'd arrived in the hangar, he was sure he'd be one of the last to arrive. It was some wonder, then, that he was only able to spot a single other member of first squad in the entire hangar. He pushed his way through the crowds of troopers, engineers and technicians that flooded the cavernous chamber, jogging up toward the armored Stormtrooper his HUD marked as 'SN-7739.'

"Uhm, hello-" Malik nodded, intent on introducing himself to his new squadmate. He had seen him around the bunks, and perhaps even spoke a few words to him, but he had yet to properly introduce himself to anyone except his ranking officer. Though he'd spoken the tongue for years now, basic was still difficult for Malik; it was so impossibly different from the native tongue of his people that he still had trouble coming off as stunted and overly formal at times. "Orson, right? My name is Malik. It is good to meet you."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

Op. No. KY-9914; Pvt. Malik Skaya
121st Battalion, Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, 1st Squad
Lothor Minor | In orbit aboard the Tempest
APPROX. 1200HRS; 5 BBY

---

A burst of static covered the screen like a field of jagged, broken light. It's steady, stabbing rhythm lasted for no more than a second as it transitioned harshly into a black screen, the day's date marking the middle in large, blocky letters. The darkness receded slowly, revealing a poorly lit, tightly cramped room, and a man seated far too close to the camera.

"Shamech talcu."

Though spoken in little more than a gentle whisper, the voice seemed to rumble with the depth of an ocean trench and the barely constrained power of a thunderstorm. The audio cut, a burst of crumbled static cutting off the next few words he spoke before it came rumbling back in like a runaway starfreighter. It was exactly the sort of voice one would expect to come from the brawny behemoth with a rigid, aggressive jawline and shoulders broad enough to carry a Bantha on. Even underneath the plastoid white armor of a Stormtrooper, one could make out that he was a powerfully-built individual.

"I apologize for how long it's been since my last message, but things have been...chaotic, recently." Fat, tired bags hung underneath brilliant ruby eyes, emphasizing the exhaustion that permeated his words. He forced a smile, long lines stretching across his face as he glanced above the camera. His brow furrowed, a hand reaching up into frame. It fumbled with something, sending the screen into a violent, shaky mess. "Is this even on?" The voice growled, the rest of his mumbling cut off by the booming sound of his hand slapping against the side of the cam. After seemingly determining that it was, in fact on, he returned to his seat- which looked to be no more than an overturned container inside of a tightly packed sanitation closet.

"Right, where was I?" He sighed, rubbing a great, meaty fist in his eye. He was quiet for a few moments while he tried to remember what he was talking about before. "Why I haven't recorded anything. That's right." He nodded, pulling himself back on track. "I was transferred away from my previous team. It was a last minute decision; this squad needed a spot filled and I was the one they chose to do it. It's not ideal if I'm honest with you- I was only just adjusting to the last bunch, and now I've got to start all over again." He sighed again, his gaze sharpening for just a moment; he remained still for several seconds until his expression began to relax.

"Once I have their trust, I'll begin sending footage with them back to you, father. Hopefully, they'll provide a better example of the Empire's finest than the last bunch." There was a brief glimmer of hope in his gaze, but it was struggling not to be choked out by the frustration and exhaustion that fought to hover in those crimson eyes. "If not, well-"

The man in the video cut himself off, his eyes darting out of frame. He leaned down, retrieving a bucket-shaped helmet from the floor and placing it upon his lap. It was beeping softly, a red light flashing to alert him of an incoming message. "-Apologies, father, it seems duty calls. I'll speak to you again shortly." He brought a fist up, balling his gloved hand tight. "May peace follow you wherever you may wander." He reached up back in front up of the camera, flicking it off- causing the screen to go dark in an instant.

Malik Skaya flipped his helmet around, staring down inside its dark interior. He had to turn it sideways to slip it on without getting it snagged on his nose. A chiming click sounded, informing him that he'd secured it in place. His ears were immediately greeted by the sound of his new sergeant's voice as he ordered the squad to assemble in the hangar bay. He spun around inside the closet, his gaze searching for-

There it is.

The black, sleek rifle he'd carried since his academy days was resting up against a shelf, alongside several canisters of unknown chemicals. He snatched it up, sliding it into his armor's holster before making for the door. 'Alright. Hangar bay. Hangar bay.' He went through his mental map of the Tempest, trying to remember where everything was from memory rather than relying on his HUD. Ignoring the pair of officers giving him the side eyes for popping out of the janitor's closet, Malik made his way down the hall at a quick march, intent on reaching the destination on time. He didn't want to be the last one to arrive; he hated that. It always felt like everyone stared at him when he did.

He was halfway there by the time he remembered that he needed his medical kit- since he was, in fact, a medic. Quietly reprimanding himself for his forgetfulness, he rushed back in the other direction toward the medbay at doubletime, thankful that the order to deploy meant he wouldn't be reprimanded for making such a rush. Skaya filled his pack with the standard allowed supply, logged it with the attendant, and started back toward the hangar bay- after making a brief stop at the armory for extra energy cells and flares.

By the time he'd arrived in the hangar, he was sure he'd be one of the last to arrive. It was some wonder, then, that he was only able to spot a single other member of first squad in the entire hangar. He pushed his way through the crowds of troopers, engineers and technicians that flooded the cavernous chamber, jogging up toward the armored Stormtrooper his HUD marked as 'SN-7739.'

"Uhm, hello-" Malik nodded, intent on introducing himself to his new squadmate. He had seen him around the bunks, and perhaps even spoke a few words to him, but he had yet to properly introduce himself to anyone except his ranking officer. Though he'd spoken the tongue for years now, basic was still difficult for Malik; it was so impossibly different from the native tongue of his people that he still had trouble coming off as stunted and overly formal at times. "Orson, right? My name is Malik. It is good to meet you."

Star Wars: The Beat (closed)

Malik Skaya

Malik Skaya

"I'm tempted to let you meet the gods rather than waste more of my supplies on a runt that can't aim."

---

---

Identification/Serial Number:

KY-9914

Sex:

Male

Age:

23

Homeworld:

Aquella

Rank:

Private

Role:

Stormsurgeon

Callsign:

Patches

Appearance:

Malik Skaya is smaller than the average Aquellan, standing at a mere six feet in height and having a chest only as wide as a barrel rather than a barn like many of his larger, bulkier cousins. Powerful, coiled muscles stretch across a wide and towering frame, forged like wrought metal in the fires of a crucible. A sheet of tanned, oily flesh sits atop that bulging brawn, marred by numerous scars, piercings, and tribal tattoos alike. Swirling ink of a deep, royal purple traces it's way from the bottom of his feet up to the back of his neck in a brilliant display of grandiose color. Each individual branch of the tattoo links to the primary 'trunk' painted upon his torso; every branch representing one of the five principle gods of the Aquellan pantheon. For example, he bears the god of the ocean upon his right arm, with images of tidal waves and gargantuan leviathans from his homeworld melded seamlessly into the primary branch. The other marked gods include the god of the sky, the god of stone and the twin goddesses of the living and the dead.

Another important facet of Aquellan culture is the five rings pierced within every adult's skin. Four of these rings are placed into a single ear (the right ear for men and the left for women, though homosexual members of either sex have started doing the reverse in recent years) while the fifth is driven through the nose. Each of these rings represents a single principle deity and is forged from the metal that represents each god or goddess. The sky god is represented by Osmium, the stone god by Duralium, the ocean god by Brass, the life goddess by Iron and finally Obsidian, representing the death goddess. The nose ring is chosen based upon which god the wearer feels the closest connection to.

The thick, manicured beard resting on his chin is- like much of Malik's appearance- based on customs and tradition. Warriors from Aquella are expected to remove all of the hair from their bodies save for that which lies on their faces; it is believed that the minor God of Battle looks more favorably on bearded men due to the fact that he's most often depicted with facial hair himself. Normally Malik would be expected to allow it- and his hair- to grow out wild and untamed, but Imperial regulations require him to keep it controlled and well cut. Unwilling to shame himself by allowing another to shave his head, Malik carries a crude hand razor and does the work himself. He's gotten good enough at it that it isn't uncommon for others in his unit to ask that he acts as their barber as well.

Equipment:

Standard E-11 Blaster Rifle
Standard Plastoid Armor w/ Bronze Identification Pauldron
Backpack
Additional E-11 Energy Cells
Ion Flares
Bacta Patches, Salves, Bactade, and Bio-Bacta Tank
Additional Medical Supplies
A Single Thermal Detonator

Psychological Analysis:

Malik Skaya is trapped between two worlds that don't accept him. He's small, weak and a borderline traitor by the harsh standards of his homeworld's culture. Yet many Imperial citizens look down their noses at him as if he's nothing more than a disgusting, vile wretch, no more than a degree away from the aliens they treat as second class citizens. One side calls him a savage; the other believes him cowed and domesticated. He is called soft and weak in one breath and gruff and violent in the other. No matter what he does to try and appease his peers, Malik finds that it is never enough. There's always some failing that needs to be fixed. Some hole in his character that requires patching. It's a never-ending cycle to reach some unattainable perfection that Malik's too blind to see doesn't truly exist.

Growing up on Aquella for the first eight years of his life, Malik learned the hardships of life had to be faced head-on. He grew up in a very traditionalist tribe that- while knowing the secrets to space travel- still followed the 'old ways' in many respects. Farming was considered beneath any proper man, left only to slaves and droids. Disputes were handled not in courts of law but rather in fighting pits with wooden weapons, and 'honor duels' to the death were frightfully common despite, technically, being outlawed. Even as a boy, Malik participated in several of these events. His life was spent stooped in violence; to survive and thrive meant growing hard of heart and facing each problem that arose with his fists rather than his head.

These ideas on what life was meant to be like led to his downfall when his father brought him across the galaxy to Coruscant, where the people were practically aliens to someone like Malik. He was reprimanded fiercely for 'acting out' several times; he never knew what the 'appropriate' action was, and often found himself facing consequences for things he didn't even know were 'wrong.' Malik was nearly arrested on several occasions, though thanks to his father's influence those altercations were scrubbed from the record completely. As time went on and he adjusted his behaviors and thought processes to fit in, he found himself constantly and consistently rebuked by everyone he approached. He made few friends as a boy, either frightening away other children or being the target of relentless bullying for his awkward demeanor; it was easy to make the boy angry, especially since he was no longer allowed to fight his abusers without risking the wrath of his parents.

Somewhat surprisingly, Malik's life improved significantly when he arrived at the academy- once he had endured and overturned the initial preconceptions of his peers. He was no longer surrounded by the prissy, arrogant children of senators and politicians; they were farm hands, warriors and the children of soldiers. He fell easily into the routine of army life, proving himself surprisingly intelligent on top of impressive physical capabilities. He had a particular fascination for Imperial medicine, as things like bacta and other modern amenities weren't readily available in his sector. His philosophies on life were considered rather odd, to say the least, by the other medic trainees; on Aquella, death was considered a good thing by most, as it allowed them to overcome their mortal coils and ascend to, essentially, godhood. Many considered it callous and strange that he refused to mourn the fallen, though his beliefs proved useful on the battlefield as he could continue to operate on the wounded with little regard for their ultimate fate.

As he has grown older, Malik has turned to humor to combat feelings of inadequacy and anxiety. He'll bury his true fears underneath a mountain of mocking jokes and gruff jests, using his tongue as a weapon in times of doubt. He often worries about maintaining an image of strength around his fellow squadmates and soldiers, going out of his way to 'prove' himself in ways that are occasionally detrimental to himself. Hiding his true thoughts has become second nature as he seeks to create an image of himself that he hopes lives up to the standards of both the Empire and his home, though rarely can he ever live up to those high standards that he sets up for himself.

Backstory:

Senator Daros Skaya, the democratically elected representative of planet Aquella, was not a popular man on either his homeworld or Coruscant. At home, he was often referred to as a traitor to his culture and a dog of the Empire; in Coruscant, they thought of him as a savage stuck in his ancient, outdated ways, barely better than an alien. In an effort to bridge the two clashing cultures, Daros and his wife, Sara, brought their child to Coruscant. He was named Malik after his grandfather and was to be raised as they hoped all future sons of Aquella would be raised- with their culture intact, yet modernized to conform to Imperial law.

As a boy, Malik found himself enthralled by the pomp and circumstance of life in the Empire's capital city. He was more than attuned to the fanciful parties, strange costumes, and plentiful festivities. One of the things he enjoyed most was waking up early to watch the Stormtroopers in their bright, heroic armor drill in the Imperial Plaza every morning. Though he didn't know it at the time, that impressive sight would be burned into the forefront of his mind for the rest of his life.

Though life as the son of a senator proved hectic and enjoyable, his father, Daros, was bending under the weight. His superiors in the Senate were pressuring him to tame the wild nature of his home system, pressing hard for the eradication of slavery in particular. The Aquellans were far from accepting, as the enslavement of debtors and the children of whores had been a facet of their religion and culture for thousands of years; it was a common punishment for petty crimes since it was said that imprisonment made men lazy and worthless. Their vitriolic refusal had brought the veritable hammer down on their heads when a Stormtrooper battalion arrived and forcibly freed every man, woman, and child enchained on Aquella. Many believed that it would be impossible to reconcile Imperial rule with the ferociously independent Aquellan culture. Even Daros's own family and sponsors doubted him, often pleading with him to return home so that Malik might grow up a proper man.

Infuriated by their derision and unwilling to break, Daros spoke frankly to his son about the situation they were in. He convinced his child that the only way to solve the issues they faced would be to prove that Aquellan culture could be integrated with Imperial rule; he needed to prove that a child could grow up under the Emperor's banner yet continue to live free and serve his gods with the same fervency and reverence as ever. Malik would be that proof. He would be the living embodiment of everything that Daros had preached. Malik would be lauded as an icon of his people, and a model of Imperial service and citizenship. Eager to make his father proud, he accepted, and the course of his life was altered forever.

Since the dawn of their culture, Aquellans had imprinted upon themselves a tapestry of the heavens in a ceremony that represented their passage into adulthood under the watchful care of the gods. To have that ink flow through one's flesh was to be accepted as a fully-fledged member of the clan. An Aquellan without tattoos was seen as an outcast; one cursed to wander alone until they earned the right to bear those marks that they all wore. It was considered the greatest shame to be denied the right to wear those tattoos. Malik refused to leave for the Academy until he had undergone the ceremony, all but begging his father to take them home to Aquella- just for the celebration. Just so that he might stand as an equal among his brothers for at least a few, precious days.

But he was set to leave for the training facility in but three days; there was no time to get to Aquella, led alone go through the nearly week-long celebration ceremony. The only way Malik could feasibly do both was if he waited until the next cycle to join, yet that, too, was painful for the boy. He'd been dreaming of leaving the senate's pampered halls since practically the day he got there. Now that the opportunity presented itself to leave, he couldn't bear to pass it up. So, reluctantly, he chose to have his tattoos applied by a droid, far away from the boisterous festivities of hundreds of relatives that he might've expected if he returned to Aquella.

Then he was off to the academy, where he immediately met rather fierce opposition from his new peers. Now that he wore his alienness so openly upon his flesh, Malik had painted a large, purple target right on his back; he was mocked, bullied and ostracized as if the paint in his skin made him any less human than the rest of them. The first few weeks were...discouraging, to say the least. In the quiet of the night, he often contemplated dropping out and flying back to Coruscant with his tail between his legs. He feared that it would never get any easier, and that the torment of those around him would remain a constant battle. It was only the thought of disappointing his family that kept him to the faith; he could not live with himself if he returned home a failure.

As time went on, however, things began to change. His fellow recruits warmed to him over time. Some had seen the error in judging him after spending such a great deal of time at his side; others had seen the fierceness with which Malik competed and thought better of antagonizing him further. He was still seen with a degree of 'otherness' by his superiors and peers, but once that initial hurdle was jumped, Skaya found himself enjoying military life a good deal more than the civilian one he had once led.

Malik had a natural athletic ability that, when coupled with his pre-training from age eleven, made him a top student in his class of cadets at the academy. He had a sharp, inquisitive mind coupled with a dedication and discipline one could not expect. Every course, every drill and every little scrap of instruction was approached with the fullest eagerness; there was almost a palpable desperation in the way Malik leaped at each opportunity presented to him as if he was so terrified of failure that he could not help but succeed. He proved particularly interested in the field of field medicine, showing a natural talent for healing that brought him into the Medical Corps for further specialized training.

He eventually graduated in the top percentile of his class, earning the right to wear that shining white armor that he had once ogled at from a distance. Though he has only served for a handful of years, he's already adjusted well to the soldiering life; admittedly he does miss the luxury he once lived in, but his surroundings are more than tolerable. One of his primary duties given to him by his father was to document his time in the army well, sending back plenty of material for Daros to use as Imperial propaganda to show Aquella the Emperor's light; it was one of a dozen other tactics Daros and his allies were using to fight against the resent created by the Imperial occupation of their homeworld. The whole world's eyes now lie on Malik as he begins his slow, perilous climb up the Imperial ladder to prove himself- and by extension, Aquella- as an equal to the rest of the Empire.

'Imperius Unitada ober Totallex'

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

@Master Bruce Baby don't hurt me.

@Lord Wraith

He can definitely hurt me if he wants.

_{hurt me bad bat daddy}

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

post related shitpost

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Silent Night, Holy Night #1

---

---

Metropolis, Delware - Suicide Slum

It was a cold and lonely Christmas night. There was naught a carol in the air, nor a cheer of a child born; the few that roamed those dark, freezing streets had no home to return to and no hearth to sit beside. The destitute, the homeless and the unwanted wandered between those looming projects and those rundown apartments with dark circles under their eyes and solemn looks plastered on their weary faces.

Jaime Reyes was among their number. A child driven from his home three months prior, with nary a clean blanket or a working heater to call his own. A numbness etched itself into his marrow as the wind beat into his thin coat. There was a sharp pain in his cheeks like needles in his flesh as each frozen gust rolled by. He tried to ignore it as he thrust his shovel into the snow, lifting it up with all the strength his arms could muster and throw it back into the grass.

Though the snow still fell from the grey clouds that loomed overhead, he'd been tasked with clearing a path to the apartment complex towering over him. It was one of many odd jobs he'd been forced to take on after their last care package ran dry; it was the only way he might afford a more adequate coat. Shivering and fumbling to keep his fingers from falling off, he continued his work, diligent and desperate to finish that uncomfortable work.

"You look like you're about to pass out." A voice called from down the sidewalk. Brenda was approaching through the snow, her own shovel hanging over her shoulder and a much larger, firmer coat wrapped about her form. She, at least, was bundled up properly. "You can borrow my coat if-"

Jaime cut her off with a firm shake of his head. "No, no. I'm fine," he lied. "The Scarab keeps me warm. Let's just hurry up so we can get back to the van." This wasn't the first time she'd offered, and it wasn't the first time he had to use that excuse. Reyes knew she did worse with the cold than him. Even with how she was dressed up, she still looked frozen to the bone. Reyes could take it. They were nearly finished anyway. He just had to ignore it for a little longer.

It wasn't the only thing he was trying to ignore.

_{"-can't do anything right, you god damn bitch-"}

The Scarab was the only reason Jaime was still alive. It had saved him several times over, and for that he was nothing but thankful. He appreciated all it could do- all of the power it allowed him to wield. It let him do a lot of good.

_{"-please, Henry, not in front of Mary-"}

But there were some things Jaime wished it couldn't do.

_{"-don't you tell me what not to fucking do!"}

Some things he wished he couldn't hear.

_{"I'm sorry! Please, just-"}

Jaime had been so enthralled in the whispers carried to his ear by the Scarab that he hadn't noticed just how hard he was digging with the shovel until he heard a sharp snap like a whip. He blinked, staring down at the handle- he'd broken it straight in half on the concrete, the head of the tool sent clattering against the pavement. His hands were shaking, but not from the cold.

'Just ignore it.' He told himself.

"Jaime?" Brenda called again, dragging his gaze away from that broken mess of a tool. He'd have to pay to replace it- less money to go toward food and new clothes. Typical. "They're at it again, aren't they?" She sighed, her voice solemn and quiet.

He nodded without saying a word, unwilling to meet her sympathetic gaze.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard it. They spent a great deal of time in this neighborhood the last few months as they chased ghosts and leads that never went anywhere. In fact, they used to park their van in an alley just around the corner- it didn't last long, though. Jaime couldn't sleep with all the screaming in his ears.

She sighed. "I'll go tell Larry. We can get the cops down here again, and-"

"-And what?" Jaime suddenly let out a violent, angry snarl, his eyes darting up from the snow to meet her gaze. There was a fire burning behind his pupils that had rarely lived there. "And what, Brenda?" He repeated with equal, furious emphasis. "Nothing, that's what. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing happened the first time we called, nothing happened the seventh time we called, nothing's going to happen this time either." He protested, tossing down the broken remains of his shovel as he threw his hands up into the air in a sudden start. "The cops don't care. They've never cared. I...I should-"

It was Brenda's turn to cut him off. "You should what, Jaime?" She took his own words, twisting them against him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Throw on your armor and go kick Henry's ass? Is that what you want to do?" She accused, taking several steps toward him.

Jaime didn't back down, meeting her iron gaze with one of equal strength. "Maybe- maybe, yeah! Maybe I will!"

_{He was supposed to be a hero now. He had to do something.}

That set her off even worse as she continued to press him, moving even closer. "Brilliant, Reyes, fucking brilliant." Brenda praised, her words oozing with joyless sarcasm. "Do you have the memory of a goldfish? Because the last time you brought the Scarab out, SHIELD spent three weeks chasing us across the country! How much sleep did we get then, Jaime, huh? How close did they get to catching us?"

_{He fought the Silver Surfer. He helped save the world.}

Jaime took a step backward, his hands moving up to run through his hair. He could feel his heart pounding through the front of his chest. There was a pressure in his skull as he felt an unrelenting desire to drive his fist through something. He was angry. So, so angry. But he felt a snaking pit of doubt forming in his stomach. He remembered those first nights all too well- he remembered how palpable his fear was back then- he was sure they were going to be caught. He didn't want to go back to those days. Yet...at the same time... "Am I supposed to do nothing?" He asked, his voice broken and pleading. "Is that it? You want me to just sit here and listen like I couldn't stop it whenever I wanted?"

_{But now...}

"Yes!" She affirmed without skipping a beat. She was equally distraught, if not more so. She felt like a monster for trying to convince Jaime not to help someone in need. It made her soul ache with a painful sort of spite; she hated having to be on this side of the argument. But she knew he had to hear this. She knew from the very depth of her marrow that Jaime needed to be reminded of the consequences his actions would wrought. "It's not worth the risk. If you get caught, we're done. Do you understand that? We're done. They're going to lock you up and throw away the key. Every night we spent in the back of that stupid...stupid van? It'll- it'll be wasted. You'll be blamed for everything that happened and, and we- I- won't get to see you again."

_{...Now he couldn't save just one little girl?}

Those words cut deep, and they gave Jaime pause. He retreated another step, his eyes falling to his feet as he was overcome by shame and guilt. Conflicted, weary and cold, the only thing he wanted to do now was to shut out all of the noise and leave. He stood in silence for several minutes, the sound of that vitriolic arguing like the constant, mocking whispers of his inner demons. His shoulders sunk when he finally spoke, his voice naught by a broken mutter. "Alright. Let's tell Larry." The landlord could handle it. He'd tell the police, and...and they'd come down and talk to Henry again...Maybe this time it'd change. Maybe this time it'd be better.

And if not?

'Just ignore it, Jaime.' He was forced to tell himself.

_{Some hero he turned out to be.}