z

Young Writers Society


Overwatch: The Nightwatch



User avatar
176 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1983
Reviews: 176
Thu Jul 27, 2017 11:45 am
View Likes
sheysse says...



"Is… Is this thing on?

I made a chronal accelerator, I can do this.

To all agents of Overwatch!

No, that's not right.

To what is left of Overwatch!

Ah, better.

Chances are, if you're watching this recording…

We're all dead. And you are the only ones left who can save this world.

Your organization was formed in the event that Overwatch was defeated. Destroyed.

I'm recording this in the event that we don't return from our siege on Talon's headquarters. There is quite a bit of room for error.

If we don't come back, you will become the new Overwatch. The next generation of heroes.

If anyone can save the world, it's you.

Are you with us?"


Nightwatch



Overwatch. An organization of the most elite soldiers and warriors from all over the world, fighting for the good of the citizens. Soldiers, engineers, scientists, doctors, robots, working together to save the planet. Overwatch was formed to fight the omnic, a group of robots created by humans, only to become their enemies. Once the Omnic Crisis was over, the people felt Overwatch was unneeded, and they were forced to disband. But the world was once again endangered, and Overwatch came together to help the people which persecuted them.

With Overwatch fighting on the front lines, they were constantly in danger. Should they be defeated, the world would be hopeless. So, they began training a small set of backup heroes, to become known as Nightwatch. In the event that, someday, Overwatch was completely killed or captured, Nightwatch would take over.

That day is today.

Overwatch decided to directly attack the headquarters of a major terrorist organization, Talon. They were ambushed by two of Talon's leaders, Reaper and Doomfist, leading an army of soldiers. Having both the advantage of surprise and numbers, Talon defeated Overwatch, killing or holding hostage each member.

Now it is time for to take over, and to defeat Talon. They must topple the terrorist organization plaguing the planet.

Are you with us?

Character Templates



Below is the character template.

Code: Select all
[center][b]Hero Name:[/b]
[b]Weapon and Clip Size:[/b]
[b]Class:[/b]
[b]Country of Origin:[/b][/center]
[center]<·>---[¤]----<·>[/center]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]History:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[center]<·>----[¤]----<·>[/center]
[b]Ultimate:[/b]
[b]Special Ability One:[/b]
[b]Special Ability Two:[/b]
[b]Health:[/b]





User avatar
176 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1983
Reviews: 176
Sun Aug 20, 2017 7:42 pm
View Likes
sheysse says...



Mask



He stepped out of the shower, drying himself with a pale towel and throwing on a robe. The sun was rising above King's Row, and he sat on the balcony of his apartment, on floor ten of the building, watching it shine light down upon the gray, dirty streets. He grimaced at the graffiti littering the walls, offensive statements and propaganda on display for everyone to see. This was not the world he and Emma had fought for, and it certainly wasn't the world he enjoyed seeing now.

“Time?” He asked into the empty room through the doorway behind him. On the far wall, by the kitchen cabinets. A light flickered on, and a sweet humming emanated. A flying drone hopped off its station on the wall and flew over to Mask.

“8:36 A.M, Hugh,” It spoke with a high-pitched voice that he knew very well. Every time he had to hear it, a fresh wave of nearly knocked him to the ground. Emma had programmed it with her own voice sample.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Hugh, my primary code tells me to call you it, no matter what you say. That was what she told me to do, and I'm only a software. I simply cannot compute doing anything else.”

Mask groaned, gesturing with his hand for the device to shut off. It complied. With yet another groan, he rose from his chair and threw on a white suit. After flattening it onto his chest, erasing all wrinkles from the surface of the fabric, he took his white masquerade mask and placed it delicately onto his face, shielding most recognizable features. Lastly was his white cape, which was draped over his back dramatically. With a quick goodbye to the program on his wall, he walked out the door and into town.

Walking through the streets, he aimlessly wandered. He had no job, and thus no reason to even come here. But it just felt right to “enjoy” the town he helped build, even if no one around him was aware of his role in it. As usual, the streets were busy, and no one batted an eye at his odd choice of attire. Good, he thought. Just how I like it.

He had always blended into the shadows well, despite his bright clothing, and it was the main reason he was asked to work with Blackwatch. They were a secretive organization, and he fit perfectly alongside Gabriel, Jesse, Genji, and Emma. Together, no one could stop them. The thought brought a smile to his face, despite himself.

But it was a short stroke of happiness, because then he remembered that yes, someone could stop them. In fact, the world could stop them, and they had. His team, though not directly, had been blamed for helping the people. Rather than receive appreciation, they were met with distaste and spite. That alone convinced him to draw his gun and shoot everyone on this street, but he refused to fall prey to such desires. He was not like Gabriel. He was a protector, wasn't he?

Beside him, in an alleyway, he saw an omnic on the ground. It was sparking, but hadn't yet shut down. A crowd of young women sneered at it, throwing rocks and other things. They had a rough look to them, and Mask could tell at a glance that they were trouble. He hesitated, wondering if he really wanted to get into a fight. After a moment's consideration, he decided to pursue the conflict.

“Excuse me, but I'm going to ask you step away from this omnic.”

They turned to him as he strolled down the alley, and one stepped forward. She raised an eyebrow, grinning arrogantly. “And who might you be? A cosplayer?”

“I am Mask,” he said with his smooth yet weirdly gravelly voice. “Now I ask you step away from the omnic.”

“And why do we need to listen to you, Mask?” Another member of the group asked in a taunting voice.

Mask smiled cheerfully, drawing his shotgun and placing a bullet directly in her stomach. She looked down at the wound, shock and fear flashing in her eyes, before falling over. Her eyes quickly glazed. “That's why.”

The apparent leader of the group nodded, and the gang immediately charged him with old bats and rusty pistols. He ducked under a bat and knocked away a bullet with his gun. Sliding backwards, he caught a swinging bat with his vacant hand, and ripped it out of his assailants hand, tossing it into the air and then catching it by the handle. The bat was slammed into its original owner's head, causing said head to burst open, blood decorating the wall of the alley.

Tossing the bat aside, he sidestepped a bullet as he reloaded his gun. The bullets were replaced by red darts, and he fired them at two of the gang members. They were engulfed in balls of flame, leaving behind only charred remains. The other two gang members saw their comrades fall and decided to get the hell out of there. They sprinted past Mask as he spun around, reloading his gun. Two shots, on in each of their necks, and they fell to the ground, the air slowly draining from their body. They were gone in seconds.

Mask hopped over the bodies and melted back into the busy streets, not checking on the damaged omnic. Someone else in the crowd would do it. Or maybe not, since they hadn't batted an eye when he killed five gang members. Not his concern.

He pulled out a vintage pocketwatch and flipped it open, checking the time. Instantly, he was captivated by the melody a music box within played, the one Emma had composed.

phpBB [media]


From up in the sky, a bird swooped down, clearly noticing his shiny watch. It tried to grab the watch out of his hand, but he swatted at it, and it fluttered out of his reach. Pulling out his gun scared it away, and it flew back into the storm clouds now covering the sky.

Rain began to fall, typical of the UK. Mask groaned and turned back to his apartment, reaching it within a few wet minutes. On the way up, he grabbed the mail, finding a single letter addressed to him by name. Mail was rare as it was, but something addressed to him using his proper name was even rarer. He rushed up to his room and tore open the envelope. Unfolding the letter, there was one word.

Nightwatch.


Instantly he knew what was being asked of him. This wasn't the first time he had been offerred a position on the backup Overwatch team, so it wouldn't be the first time he denied it. Picking up a letter and addressing it to the return address, he began writing his apology letter, but stopped. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he didn't say no in the letter. Instead, responded in just as a simple a note as the request was.

Sure.





User avatar
49 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 3000
Reviews: 49
Mon Aug 21, 2017 4:57 pm
View Likes
wakarimasen says...



Image

"I can't do it."

She throws the weapon down, the blade clattering as it hits the ground, like it always does, its echoes multiplied infinitesimally by the dreamscape.

A collective murmuring spreads through the small crowd of established Clan members, assembled to watch the initiation rite, if only Midori would complete it. There's disappointment. But also smugness. A sense of "I told you so; she's not good enough."

"You will not complete the initiation?" The voice, harsh and furious, belongs to the one who didn't doubt her, the one who'd soothingly assured her this was the right path, the one who'd brought her in with open arms. Arms dripping wantonly with blood.

The crowd still stares, expectantly, waiting for the moment of uncertainty to pass, for Midori to pick up the sword and do the deed. In her foggy memories, their faces contort into leering, demonic monstrosities, even more difficult for Midori to resist. Her knees quake, but she doesn't give in.

"I won't."

And like always, her target, squirming and hooded, heaves a massive sigh of relief -- before the bullet tears through their head.



Then, Midori woke up, beads of cold sweat running down her face. Robotically, she used her bedsheet to wipe them off. It had become a routine, an expectation, a fact of life, to wake up from this night after night.

Midori didn't even know who it was, the poor soul who'd been shot. If there had been anyone close to Midori, they would have been selected to die at her hands. But there was no one left alive who qualified; and so, a stranger was picked.

Exhausted and unrested, Midori contemplated closing her eyes and trying to fall asleep, but she knew the nightmares would only return. She threw off the sweat-soaked bedclothes and stumbled out of her bunk.

It was still dark outside, but multicolored neon lights flickered from within the various establishments that were still open at this unearthly hour. This part of Hanamura was known for its many clubs and arcades. Midori, disinterested in such follies, would've liked to lodge closer to her destination in the central district, but she could only afford so much.

The one smudgy windowpane in her small room grudgingly allowed a reflection to gaze at: bluntly cut black hair, blotchy skin, and alarmingly green eyes that didn't seem to fit in with the rest of her face. She liked them fine. They were like Mother's eyes, but they slanted a little in the outer corners. Growing up as she had, traveling from place to place, that plus her name (ironically, it meant "green") seemed to be a dead giveaway to others that she didn't come from around there. At least, her father hadn't.

Pulling a clean brown tunic over her head, Midori gathered her few material possessions back into her pack: a few changes of clean clothes, toiletries, camping gear, and a faded photograph of Mother ... from happier times.

In the picture, Mother's freckled face is rosy and smiling, a sharp contrast to the drawn, careworn (and oft-disapproving) one Midori had grown up with. The man she's with in the picture (at least, Midori thinks it's a man) has an arm around Mother's shoulder - perhaps the cause of her joy. His half of the picture is blurry and water-damaged beyond recognition, and Midori had never been successful in determining the mysterious man's identity.

By the time she was finished dressing, the sun was starting to rise, casting orange hues across the mishmashed skyline of temples and highrises. She left her money on the manager's desk when she got to the lobby and vacated the dingy hostel while the rest of its occupants were still in bed. She was in for a long walk.

<·>---[¤]----<·>


Hanamura's changed a lot in the past three years, Midori thought as she looked out at the village's market square. The sweet smell of sakura blossoms perfumed the morning air, as it had been the first time, but not as a facade for ominous dealings.

People were living here again.

Children played in the street under the relatively relaxed gazes of adult shoppers and vendors. It seemed like the worst threat to the peace, as far as they knew or cared, was the occasional petty thief.

Everything was calm, but Midori couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness. Was it instinctive? Perhaps, with time, she'd get over it, as these villagers evidently had.

Mother had kept the truth about Midori's family until her dying day ... minutes before Mother's spirit left her, she'd given Midori one hint about where she came from: a single word, a name, Shimada. That one lead, uttered feverishly in a moment of desparation, had taken her far. Too far.

The Shimada Clan was family, from a certain point of view. They stuck together and protected their own. But from another point of view, they were a gang of ruthless killers. If you weren't one of their own, or couldn't prove yourself worthy of being so, you were dead meat. Midori was lucky to get out alive.

Perhaps the years of training with Mother weren't a complete waste after all, she thought.

But things were different now. She'd heard rumors of change and reform orchestrated by a man named Hanzo. She saw them coming true around her, as she walked through Hanamura's now peaceful streets, where its denizens walked proudly, heads held high, unoppressed by the power-hungry criminal clan that had once been the Shimadas.

Midori had made an appointment with the man whose name she'd heard the few times she'd bothered to watch the news. It was always in relation to Overwatch, that now rogue organization of peacekeepers who'd fought a war long before she was born. The more she heard about it, the more it piqued her interest....

The complex of temple-like buildings that was the Shimada compound, deceptively beautiful when she'd last come here, loomed high over her head when she reached her destination. All the way there, she felt eyes upon her - the ninja - but she could not place them.

An unfamiliar older woman demurely escorted her to a large, hall-like room. At the other end, seemingly leagues away, hung a large, vertical tapestry Midori couldn't read (she could speak enough broken Japanese to get by, but reading its many texts was a whole other matter) over an altar with a pair of blades.

Before this altar knelt a robed figure. From its build, Midori determined it was a man, and judging by the way her escort spoke to him, a man of great honor. He nodded, the lady left, and he rose, turning to face her. Though he wasn't armed or dressed for combat, he was unmistakably Hanzo Shimada, he of the stern face, forlorn eyes, and the greying, ponytailed hair.

"Midori Fawkes," he said, followed by a traditional greeting Midori couldn't quite figure out how to return.

Additionally. he'd addressed her by her mother's name, which made Midori slightly uneasy. Did he not consider her a member of the family?

Awkwardly, she executed what she hoped was a respectable bow around the butterflies who'd taken up residence in her abdomen.

They sized each other up in silence for a full minute before Midori decided if someone was going to break it, it had to be her.

"Thank you for allowing me to come," she stammered, butchering Hanzo's mother tongue.

"Genji spoke of you," she ventured in English, "highly, in fact. He said--"

"Genji is dead."

The words, snapped out with resentment, hit her harder than she'd expected. But not because of their harsh tone.

"It is never too late to change your path. A path higher than revenge." That was what Genji had told her three years ago, when he'd found her and tried to stop her from going to Japan, to the Shimadas. This route, he'd insisted, would only bring her more despair.

But she'd been reckless and angry at the time. Angry at the world. Angry at herself. Angry at anyone who dared meddle with her plans, like Genji had been doing. Angry at Mother for keeping the truth from her for so long, for whisking her away from her family (before she'd known what "family" truly entailed around here).... Midori cringed as she recalled the extent of her naivete, but her heart ached for the loss of yet another she might've been able to call family.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to say, swallowing down the growing lump in her throat and willing herself to appear strong before this great warrior. "Genji told me not to come here ... before. I did anyway, but he was right. Now, uh, I'm here again."

Hanzo let out the breath he'd been holding with a slow hiss. "Yes. Why have you come here now?"

"I had questions. You answered the first one ... which, er, kind of rules out the ones after that ... but maybe you can answer the last one."

Hanzo nodded almost imperceptibly, which Midori took to mean, "Go on."

"I, uh, don't know if this is the right time or place, but I was hoping that Gen-- I mean, somebody, could tell me how one might go about joining Overwatch?"

"Overwatch is ... over." Hanzo didn't laugh at the irony of his words. He fell silent and turned away.

What is it with me and touchy subjects? Midori thought with dismay. She decided not to push this matter.

"What more have you to ask of me?"

Midori's boots, rugged and worn, seemed like the most interesting thing in the room. "I.... I'd like to stay. If you'll let me. When Genji told me--"

"Stop talking about Genji!" Hanzo's voice was like thunder, rattling around the cavernous space and making Midori quake inside.

"Why?" Midori hardly recognized the defiant streak that'd emerged in that one spoken word. Just moments before, she'd been ready to retreat right out of the temple, right out of the Shimada complex, and all of Japan for that matter.... She felt just as surprised as Hanzo looked.

Hanzo opened his mouth and closed it again. Several times. Then, "I thought I was finally letting go."

Cryptic words. Midori didn't think now was the time to seek clarification.

"I should go," she said hurriedly, turning and fleeing the temple before Hanzo could say more. What could he do? Order her back like she was a mere clan underling? He was unarmed and so was she, and he'd made it crystal clear that she was no member of the Shimadas, old or reformed.

Midori exited the compound unaccosted, though she still felt the eyes of watchers on her. As she put more distance between herself and the Shimadas, she still couldn't shake that prickly feeling traveling up and down her spine.

Feeling more stressed than hungry, Midori made her way to a nearby ramen shop. Growing up, Mother had always insisted Midori eat healthy and straight from the basket of nature itself. Midori knew how to select the non-poisonous mushrooms from any patch, and the different types of edible berries and plants that grew in most of the forested areas they'd camped in for many a night.

Midori's palate really wasn't used to fast foods, and she found that most of the time, the salty ramen left her feeling slow and lethargic for a couple of hours. Not ideal for a day of rigorous exercise and training, but with Mother gone, Midori figured the diet that came with those activities wasn't quite so necessary.

Rikimaru's menu boasted of serving the "Tastiest Ramen in the World" for only ¥700, with a spicy option for only ¥100 more. Reluctant to part with her limited funds, Midori paid for her order (the "boring" tasty ramen and a cup of hot tea) and took a seat by the shadowiest corner of the bar. While she'd placed her order, a group of rowdy young people had walked in, probably from the arcade across the street. Over here, she hoped she'd be unnoticed.

But she soon found she was not alone in her lonely corner. Midori felt the eyes again, this time stronger. She glanced surreptitiously as she could at her closest watcher.

A woman holding a cup of tea, untouched and no longer steaming, sat just one seat away. She was plainly dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved shirt that showed off toned, muscular arms, and her brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. A comm device crackled softly at her side, and she turned the volume dial down. She was older, but not by much.

"Mind if I join you, Midori?" Without waiting for an answer, the woman closed the distance between them by sliding into the next chair.

In her surprise, Midori took too large a slurp of her noodles, letting out a strangled yelp as the hot broth scalded her mouth.

"Don't be alarmed, I come in peace! My name is Brigitte."

Annoyed by this stranger's forwardness and her own clumsiness, Midori swallowed and muttered, "Well, Brigitte, what do you want?"

"I'd like to extend an invitation..." The woman set her cup of cooled tea down on the counter and reached into her pants pocket for an unusually unwrinkled, pristine white envelope. Discreetly, she slid it across the tabletop.

Midori opened it carefully, her eyes scanning the printed header. "Nightwatch?" she read aloud, barely containing her astonishment.

"Shh!"

"Oh, sorry." Midori cleared her throat. She continued reading, all the while thinking aloud in half-finished questions. "But why would...? How...?"

"You were, ah, recommended to us by Genji Shimada."

"Genji?" Midori half-expected an angry Hanzo to burst out from behind a paper screen or something at the mention of his brother's name. "But Genji's ... dead."

"Yes," Brigitte concurred sadly. "We've only been trying to track you down for the past three years."

"Wow...." Midori had been a jerk to Genji the last, really one of the only times they'd spoken. But she was amazed at this parting gift he'd left for her. He wouldn't have tried to talk sense into her that time if he hadn't seen some kind of potential in her, right?

"Wow," Midori said again.

Brigitte looked at her expectantly, as if to say, "Are you done saying 'wow' yet?"

"Well, what do you say? Are you in?"

I need time to think. That's what the voice of reason in Midori's head was trying to say. But Midori had a bit of a track record of ignoring voices of reason, especially when they started to sound like Genji. This time, though, she had a feeling it wouldn't be to her detriment.

"I'm in."





User avatar
174 Reviews

Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 3255
Reviews: 174
Wed Aug 23, 2017 4:58 am
View Likes
soundofmind says...



MICKEY



In the streets of Pacific City, the sky was dark, and the street lights lit up the foggy night. A lowrider rumbled down a small alleyway, its bright purple coat of paint shimmering in the streams of light peeking into the narrow space. A group of rowdy gang members laughed amongst themselves as they hopped out of the vehicle, each with a large gun in their person. From the back of the car, there was a struggle as one of the members dragged out an already injured omnic.

The omnic was thrown in front of the car, hitting it's head on the dumpster at the end of the alley.

"Hasta la vista, ******* omnic!" The woman spat, her words followed by a roar of laughter and guns cocked in its direction.

As every member pointed their weapon at the omnic with the intentions of obliteration, a huge splat of green paint exploded on the omnic, and it appeared remarkably revived. Though covered in paint, the omnic looked around with surprise, wonder, and rightful alarm.

The woman cursed, but has little time to respond with anything else apart from looking up to the rooftops, as a hail of paintballs rains down on them. They all ducked, but were all hit hard.

"Mickey!" she growled, as the rest of those in her group moaned and groaned as they hopped back up. Her eyes shot over to the omnic, who she saw beside the paint-covered Mickey. For only a half second, Mickey's dark eyes made contact with her firey hazel ones, and he gave a subtle wink to the familiar once-friend Mia. Mia's eyes opened wide with rage as her gaze landed on the traitor and coward she once knew as an ally and family.

As the brief moment of recognition passed, Mia's gun raised, aimed at Mickey, and Mickey was catapulting up to the top of the building with a grappling hook in one hand, the omnic behind dragged behind with the other, and his paintball gun slung over his back. A rush of bullets followed Mickey as he narrowly made it to the top with the omnic unharmed.

He looked over to the omnic with wisps of black hair, loosed from their two dutch braids, hanging in his face. He raises his brows, looking at the shocked omnic expectantly.

"Vámanos!" He says with a smile, waving hurriedly for the omnic to follow him as they ran across the roof. The omnic nodded, taking his extended hand as he led it in their flight from Los Muertos.

By some stroke of luck, Mickey was able to deliver the ominic to the safety of his studio for the night before going back out. The ominc looked at him quizically, worry clear in its body language as Mickey reached for the door.

"What, you wanna know where I'm going, is that it?"*

"What I wanted to say, was thank you," he replied in a robotic voice. "I also worry that if, left alone here, they will return for me."

Mickey waved a dismissive hand. "I've booby trapped the place for that very purpose. We'll get you back home in the morning, friend."

In the dim lighting of his studio, the green half-skull tatoo that lined his jaw glowed, drawing the attention of the omnic watching him. Though it didn't say anything, the question seemed to linger in the room as to why Mickey bore the mark of the people who just terrorized him. The omnic seemed to almost recognize Mickey, or at the very least, the artwork that covered the walls of his studio, that had once been seen splattered across the walls of the city as anti-ominc and pro Los Muertos propaganda. Mickey, discerning this, spoke up.

"I used to be like them, you know," he explained, his paint-coated fingertips feeling along his chin where the tattoo shone. "But it just didn't sit right."

The omnic nodded, looking away, and at his paint covered frame. He didn't say anything, seeming to be battling two contrasting streams of thought at once, as the lights on his face blinked varying colors, before landing on a warm yellow. He looked up at Mickey, who was already closing the door behind him.

"... I'm glad you changed," the omnic spoke, though Mickey was no longer there. He rubbed his fingers together, scraping off a layer of paint. "Odd... paint man."

<·>---[¤]---<·>

Mickey woke up in his studio with a start, looking up into the face of the omnic he'd saved the night prior. "Oh!" He said with a smile, probably a bit too cheery for the morning, but nonetheless genuine. "Well good morning, there, my friend! You've got a name, yeah?"

The omnic nodded. "And you've got mail."

Mickey sat up from his previous position of being sprawled out on the floor. It seemed like, as with most nights, he'd fallen asleep before he could even get to bed because he was so exhausted from running around all night. He pulled the ponytails still holding his braids in place in his hair out, carefully unwinding his hair so it was down to its full length. His fingers caught in a glob of dried paint as he continued conversation with the omnic.

"Didn't expect you to grab my mail for me. Seems like a bit ahead of things, don't you think?" He asks, prying his hair apart from the paint with a small wince.

"I didn't get it for you," the omnic corrects him. "It came to me, or rather, you.""

Mickey looked up from his sitting position on the floor at the omnic holding the clean white envelope in his hand. "¿Que?"

The omnic handed him the letter as Mickey's thick black hair fell around his face. "A small drone delivered it."

Mickey's face was blank a moment before an amused smile took over, his cheeks bunching up and his eyes squinting in genuine laughter. "Hah! That would make a lot of sense! Because I was about to say, I don't even have a mailbox! Didn't know how you would've gotten my mail! Haha!" He took the letter, still laughing, the omnic laughing a robotic laughter along with him.

"So! What about that name of yours, though?" Mickey asked as he curiously ripped the top of the envelope off.

The omnic abruptly stopped laughing as it transitioned to speaking. "I go by Prog."

Mickey smiled up at Prog, "And I go by Mickey!" He replied, triumphantly pulling out the letter and looking back down to read it. As his eyes passed over the one word he blinked a few times, in shock.

Nightwatch?


The omnic watched his reaction. "Is it bad news?"

Mickey stuttered a moment. "...Maybe. But... not really! Or... not..." his voice trailed off as he became swallowed up by the task of hurriedly and eagerly writing a quick correspondence letter to confirm that yes, he did want to answer the call to join the Nightwatch. He had been approached by Brigitte the previous day, but had told her he wanted a day to think about it.

"Hey, is that drone still around?" He asked as he haphazardly threw his letter of response in an envelope and sealed it with a glob of acrylic paint with a stroke of his thumb.

The omnic looked from side to side for a second before scurrying to the end of the room to grab it. "Yes, Mickey!" He handed it to him, and Mickey attached his letter to the little compartment made to carry it. He took a moment to figure out how to re-program it to return to sender, and once he got the wiring and coding correct he rushed outside and let it loose. The ominc came up behind him, watching it buzz off into the sky. There was a moment of silence as the two watched it grow smaller and smaller, but once it could no longer be seen by the human or even the omnic eye, the omnic made a sound that mirrored a human clearing its throat, but likened more to a beep.

"So are you going to let me go home now?" Prog asked.

Mickey nodded, turning to Prog and patting him on the back. "Yes, my friend! But first, lets get all of this paint off you. It healed you at first contact, but now it's just paint."

Prog gave a small bow of his head. "I thought so," he said with a robotic laugh, that despite it's monotone sound, make Mickey laugh as well.

Spoiler! :
*Since I'm not a fluent Spanish speaker, and I don't think most of you are, I kept it mostly in English! But assume he's speaking all in Spanish in this post!
Last edited by soundofmind on Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:42 am, edited 1 time in total.
Pants are an illusion. And so is death.






User avatar
107 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 487
Reviews: 107
Thu Aug 24, 2017 4:08 pm
View Likes
XxXTheSwordsmanXxX says...



Gwen Wilkins


"Watch it on the turns Gwen. You're riding it a little close," the voice in her headset warned.

"Would you relax, Dad?" Gwen responded. "I built this baby. I know exactly what her limitations are."

Feeling the hum of the engine was Gwen's best feeling in the world. The rumble of the high rpms as the AG wheels ran over the track. Hitting the clutch and throwing the car into the next gear, she zipped around the cars ahead of her. Some said she was crazy for having such an outdated transmission system in her cars, but she felt so much more control over the car when she did.

"Watch it, Gwen. They're boxing you in."

"I see it."

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. A grin spreading over face as she can feel the world around her starting to slow. Pressing the gas down she swerves through the gaps just barely big enough for her to slip through. Throwing the car into the highest gear she releases the clutch and slams the gas pedal to the floor. This was what she loved.

The speed.

The feeling of freedom when there is nothing but road in front of you and no limitations.

"That's it, hun! Almost there!"

She sped through the finish line and quickly began her slow down. She could see the engine was on the verge of going critical, and that is never a pretty sight.

"Told you to trust me," she quipped before pulling into the pit stop. Getting out of the car she took a deep breath of the night air. An older man held out a beer to her with a grin.

"Only trophy we get, enjoy it," he said sipping from his own can.

Gwen took the drink and let it run down her throat. "Ahh...that hits the spot." She could feel the world around her starting to catch up finally. People waved as a congratulations, others were quite upset for having lost yet again. Gwen didn't care.

Winning or losing didn't matter.

Just how fast she could go.

"I think if I tweak the timing of rotations in the arc then I can probably get a few more horses out of this beauty," Gwen said patting the hood of the car like it was a thorough-bred horse.

"You already have the fastest car on the track. Why do you need to go any faster?" her father asked.

She shook her head gently. "Cause it isn't fast enough...yet." She took a gulp of her drink before gathering up her things to pack the car up.

"You Gwen Wilkins?" a woman asked. She was dressed in a business suit with sharp rimmed glasses resting on the end of her nose. She looked more out of place than a mechanic in a fine dining restaurant. "I have something for you."

"Oh come on!" Gwen groaned throwing the half drank can on the ground. "This is a private track! This doesn't violate any part of my agreement!"

"I don't know who you think I am," the woman retorted. "But I am just delivering this letter."

Gwen snatched it, her elation from winning having completely been dashed with the woman's arrival. Ripping open the envelope she opened the single piece of paper with the single word written on it.

Nightwatch


To say that she was shocked would have been an understatement. Taking a deep breath she nodded to the woman before approaching her father.

"What is it?" he asked.

"They're calling for me."

Her father gave a small smile and a nod. "Well...if you're ever in the neighborhood while you're saving the world, make sure to stop by."

"I will. Once I figure out where I will be staying I will send for my babies."

Gwen hurried to her car. She grinned as she sat in the driver's seat and started the engine. Purring like a kitten, she was ready for action. The guns resting on the either side of the hood and loaded to blast anyone deemed a bad guy.

"Look out world...here I come."

Throwing the car into gear she shot off from the track heading to meet the team.





User avatar
177 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1093
Reviews: 177
Fri Aug 25, 2017 1:13 am
View Likes
Chaser says...



Geryon


Tokyo was burning. Smoke rose from the Shibuya district, a hellblaze refracted in glass skyscrapers. People fled like rats from the wreckage, but some would stop, as if by quiet despair, and watch the world crumble around them. But when they saw that which stood in the carnage, they found the terror to scream once more as they perished.

“Ah, I love this move.” Geryon leaned back in his chair as his avatar spewed a wave of flame across the stage, melting the shopping district to a swirl of steel and magma. Bonus points stacked on the side as Geryon tilted the thumbstick back to charge his jump, bashing through five helicopters as his monster skidded across the landscape.

Smashing into a movie theater (near you!), it stopped and drew itself to full height, roaring. The raging Godzilla now sported the fuzzy head of Mothra, its left arm bearing a kaiju’s jaw. Its body held the scales of a T.rex, but the eye of a cyborg; to reiterate the total effect, -

“You look so awesome!” Geryon crowed, his tyrannomothjumechzilla swinging its tail (Cthulhu tentacles) to decimate the city before him.

Geryon’s room was a large computer bank, with merchandise of various monsters adorning the walls. A Voltron poster hung lopsided from another monitor, while a Gamera figurine had taken over the desktop. The crown jewel it all was a giant robot that sat at the front of the room, a tower of red steel in the darkness. In front of it, Geryon’s video game raged on a holographic table.

An indication popped up in the corner menu, beneath an icon of swords. Geryon chuckled, selecting the icon to enter PVP. “Come to me, my sweet little upgrade,” he breathed as the opponent spawned into his world of Gigant-King, the online mass destroyer-game.

A great helmed owl unfurled its wings, hovering above the destruction with an olive branch tucked in its beak. Geryon readied Godjulhumothchinesaurus for battle, frowning. “An owl? I don’t think Gigant-King has...wait.”

He groaned, knocking the controller against the table. “Athena!”

The owl then spoke, the interface pulsing with a blue light as it did so. “Geryon. You’ve been playing for too long.”

“It hasn’t been more than six hours!”

“Statistics show that this is a common phrase of those who have been playing too long.”

Geryon sighed. “Brigitte’s already taken care of Hanamura, the drone is still in Dorado, and I haven’t seen Clancy in days. I’m not even supposed to go outside, dang secrecy policy. Anyway, you - you just hacked Gigant-King! I asked you not to touch my games!”

“Your video game is currently taking up power on the holo-table. Processing power needs to be restored in order to run a proper search.”

“Boo.” Geryon sagged in his chair. “Well, I won’t be taken off my streak so easily. Get ready, Olive Owl!” He slammed the triggers of his controller, and Moth - zilla - ju - (???) reared back, a molten core pulsating in its throat.

“I see.” The owl avatar’s eyes flashed blue; all of a sudden, ice began to emerge from the ground. Geryon watched, dumbstruck, as his (Godzilla+Mothra+etc.) was immobilized beneath a sheet of ice, its eyes wild, then despairing; then listless, of soul depleted.

“Defeat,” quoted Athena as the beast of multiple franchises disintegrated into pixels.

“Kaizilhuborg Mothrex!” Geryon cried, clutching his head. “No!”

The owl made a move as though clearing its throat. “Unfortunately, the monsters you chose for your...creation...were mostly cold-blooded. Added to the machine parts that prevented insulation,” the avian shrugged, “a critical weakness to frost was created.”

“I’ll never forget you,” Geryon vowed, “not your dino-scales, robo-eye, moth-wings, your monkey fists.”

“It didn’t have monkey fists.”

“I can choose how I remember him!”

“Oh.” The computer AI was silent.

Geryon folded his arms, tapping his foot. “Alright, alright. What’s there for me to do?”

The owl shrugged. “Prepare the rendezvous for all arriving recruits. A smile is suggested when you greet them.”

“It’s okay for me to go in person?”

“They are likely to be intrigued by you. All the more hope that they will join this team.”

“And when are you going to stop possessing my video game?”

“Immediately when you depart,” Athena answered.

“Ah, fine.” The hologram shut off, leaving the room in darkness. Then, with a gigantic tremor, the iron robot rose from its slumber. Its body was a massive, crimson bulkhead, highlighted by circuits of energy through the armored plates. A single eye awoke with a pale light, hydraulics whirring in its legs to stand up. At full height, its huge form was the size of three bodies; the omnic, knowing this, had named himself accordingly.

“Geryon online,” said the omnic, grinning as the game controller disappeared into his arm. “Ready to rock.”

Immediately, he shook his head. "Nah, I can make it cooler. Ready to...roll. Rocking and rolling! Transform and roll out? Ah, dang it," he said as he lurched out of the darkness towards Nightwatch.
The hardest part of writing science fiction is knowing actual science. The same applies for me and realistic fiction.





User avatar
81 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 3262
Reviews: 81
Mon Sep 18, 2017 3:12 am
View Likes
Lael says...



Sasha


He reviewed the area surrounding Rikimaru's Ramen Shop from an overlooking balcony, his eyes not missing a single detail. He saw the street vender next door slicing taro with a wickedly sharp knife, and the punks walking across from the arcade into the busy ramen shop, all the while pushing and shoving each other roughly and speaking in loud, crude words.

His hands itched to wrap around his particle cannon pistols and aim carefully at them, in case they tried anything threatening, but instead, he pulled out his comm device and cleared his throat.

"Brigitte, this is Sasha," he said into the device, a scowl forming on his face at the sound of his own, lightly Russian-accented voice. "Watch out for those guys who just walked in."

But Brigitte didn't answer. Undoubtedly, she had located Nightwatch's nearby recruit, Genji Shimada's younger sister.

Sasha let out his breath and put his comm away. She can handle herself. It's just some punks, anyways. He crossed his arms and leaned against the pole structure next to him, then he shut his eyes.

He honed in on the Omnic, pausing and counting to five in his head before a particle burst spat out of his right pistol and hit it in the center of its chest area. He flicked his wrist and the Omnic moved towards him against its will. Sasha aimed his other gun at its head and fired. It spluttered and faltered, and it fell to the ground with one swift kick to its legs, where it did not get up again.

A particle shield flared to life around Sasha, and he straightened to catch his breath. He glanced around him at the other soldiers around him, battling the enemies threatening their home.

Even a year or two ago, Sasha would have never imagined he would no longer be fighting for himself, for the thrill and the feeling of schadenfreude when he won and beat someone else down. The pounding blasts of guns and the sight of fallen bodies no longer gave him the morbid satisfaction like they once did.

But now, he was fighting to make a difference and peace. Strange, when he thought of it at times, but helping the South Koreans fight off the Omnic force on their border was . . . therapeutic, almost. He felt like he was making the first step to atoning for his sins.

Somewhat to his relief, the memories which threatened to follow were pushed to the back of his mind as an Omnic charged at him from the side. Sasha aimed and fired continuous lasers from his guns, taking every opening he found to add in some extra blows in between.

Soon, there were no more Omnics left alive and fighting on the battlefield. Sasha swiped at his forehead and holstered his pistols as he watched any remaining ones fleeing. Time for the cleanup, he supposed. The aftermath was not pretty at all.

As he walked alone, he noticed a woman come beside him. He gave her a single, passing glance and ignored her.

"Sasha Volkov?" she said.

Then he turned, meeting her friendly gaze. His eyes narrowed. He hadn't gone by his full name since he'd left Russia. How did she know it?

"I'm Brigitte," she continued, as though he had affirmed her previous statement. "That was a hard-won battle. You were quite good out there, yourself."

Sasha snorted, a derisive smirk forming on his face, but he still refused to verbally reply.

"It's not just lip service, Sasha." Brigitte pulled an envelope out of her pocket and held it out. "Here."

He accepted it, suspicion turning inside of him as he opened it and pulled out the letter. But no matter what he had been expecting, this wasn't it.


Nightwatch?

"You know what this means, don't you? We'd like you to join us, to fight for the innocents, in case something terrible happens. You in?"

Sasha stared at the single word, inked boldly on the paper, then brushed over it with his fingertips. After a moment's consideration, he looked back at Brigitte.

"I'm in."


Sasha's comm cracked. "Sasha? We're done here."

He opened his eyes and glanced down, seeing Brigitte and a girl beside her outside of the ramen shop. He turned to exit down to the street.

Three years later, he was the one helping to find yet another recruit. That thought was almost amusing.

Sasha wove through the passersby and joined the pair where they stood, towering over them both. He eyed the new girl, wondering how good she actually was in real combat.

"Midori, this is Sasha," said Brigitte warmly. "He's been with us for a few years now. Sasha, this is Midori."

Sasha gave Midori the briefest nod before turning away. "Let's get going," he said shortly. (The less words out of his mouth, the better.) He started forward, leading the way out of the district.

"There so much to tell all of you, when the time comes," said Brigitte, seemingly somewhat to herself, from Sasha's observation. "Besides you two, there are six more recruits coming to meet us." Her tone seemed a little dampened, as if she had though of something sobering or bad, but Sasha kept his silence and remained focused ahead of them to get to their transportation.

As he navigated through the people and streets, an image flashed in his mind, unbidden:

Blood, seeping out of the sacks. It was dark, it was red.

Omnics didn't bleed red.

Sasha didn't - couldn't - even say a single word when he lifted those sacks off the limp figures' heads and saw that they were, in fact, human. Their faces were so familiar to him, even now he could remember their faces, pale white like snow in death.


Mother, Father. Why? The words echoed in his mind like the repeating sound of a gun firing. He felt numb as he stared down at his parents - dead by his own hand.

Sasha shook his head. This was why he was desperate to set things right. He hated the strange, uncomfortable feelings inside of him whenever he remembered that fateful day. He supposed that they were what others would call 'guilt' and 'regret'; perhaps even 'grief'. But he had never quite understood feelings well.

They neared the vehicle and Sasha steeled himself for the journey back. Hopefully, by the time the three of them arrived at the Nightwatch base, the rest of the recruits would be ready and waiting.
"And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
Philippians 4:7





User avatar
378 Reviews

Supporter


Gender: Other
Points: 3775
Reviews: 378
Sun Oct 15, 2017 3:09 am
View Likes
Omni says...



Joao



Joao sloshed the vibrant drink in his hand, inspecting it. Piercing blues sloshed and melded with stark pinks to create... something.

Ah, screw it, he was a little drunk already anyway. He gulped it down in one fell swoop with an exaggerated sigh. The fluids mixed together down his throat to burn and sooth at the same time. Damn Oasis drinks have to be special.

This rewarded him a few sour looks from the other scattered patrons in the bar. Apparently he had said his latest thoughts aloud. "Whassit to'ya, huh?!" he shouted to no one in particular. His words slurred and felt like bricks coming out of his mouth.

The bartender rolled around to his side, a simple omnic with three pulsing lights on its forehead and a levitation mechanism for its legs. Such was the case here at Oasis. It almost made Joao sick just looking at it.

Everyone was equal in Oasis, until they weren't. The bartender stopped in front of him. "I see you have finished your drink, sir. Would you like me to call a driver here?"

"Iiiii would like... a NOTHER DRINK." Joao slammed the glass on the marble counter in between him and the omnic bartender.

The omnic just stared at him for a moment, its apathetic nature figuring out how to respond to a drunkard like Joao. He took this moment to wave his arms around him. "Y'see around here, Omnic, these people don't treat you like... a person! You are an omnic, but-but, you serve these omnics here like a slave!"

The bartender just stared at him, silent. This just pissed Joao off even more.

"They call Oasis 'The City of Progress'! Ha! The City of... of unprogress, I say!" Joao shouted until he almost fell out of his stool.

"Sir, I will give you another drink if you are able to pay for it and you lower your volume. We are receiving noise complaints."

"Noise complaints?" Joao scoffed which turned into a wheezing laugh. "NOISE COMPLAINTS? The only complaints you should have are the ones of being screwed over."

The bartender's eyes flashed red and blue repeatedly. "The police have been notified of your constant grievances. Reason: Continued noise complaints and alcohol levels above the..."

Joao tuned the now officer Omnic to loosen his trenchcoat. Inside the back of the coat, rustled snugly to look like a just a bunch of clothing that a drunkard wouldn't mind, was his weapon. Just a meager staff at the moment, it flowed with hardlight energy that was the signature of Vishkar Corporation, the company that helped build this gleaming city of hypocrisies. To Oasis, this was just a simple walking staff, nothing of importance. All technology in this bustling ghost city far surpassed what laid between his clothes and his coat.

But, they were wrong. "They were wrong!" he found himself saying in his lurching voice. "Wrong to build this city on the ashes of so many civilizations!" Just then, the familiar screech of police sirens flooded the alleyway, and Joao could hear people scrambling out of the sleek chasers they thought they wouldn't have a need for. Joao shrugged off his trenchcoat and the hardlight staff fell into his hand, a maneuver he found himself fond of doing. Groaning as he stood up, he glanced back at the bartender, now himself again. "Thanks for the lousy drinks. Honestly, I wish I could help you, but it's too late for you."

With a wink and a smile, he flipped a Du-rong, Oasis' self-proclaimed currency, onto the counter. "Keep the change," he said simply. "I won't be needing it, I guess."

With two long strides, Joao left the bar and his drunkard persona behind, although that last drink did bring spots to his eyes and causes the flashing lights of the police vehicles to stun him for half a moment. Damned Oasis drinks and their fancy shit. What he would do for a classic Brazillian beer.

"Stop where you are!" Shouted a voice amplified by megaphone. Could Joao hear fear in the man's voice? He didn't sound much older than 20; maybe it was just youth. Who could tell the difference anymore, with the world they lived in?

With a crooked smile, Joao clicked a button on a side of the staff. The inert hardlight roared to life, pulsing through both the staff and his forearm. Sigils of waves and currents woke both his weapon and his fury back to life, wiping away the cruel artificial life of Oasis' drinks.

"Drop your weapon!" the voice shouted again, but with much more than a tinge of fear. Joao could hear his voice begging for backup over the muted humming of his vehicle. Tonight, he didn't care. Bring them all, and the best will live.

After a sputter, the hardlight staff formed itself to its full glory: a trident. The blue, translucent haze of the three tips wavered in the harsh light of the car, but Joao knew it would deceitful that truly was. In the distance, more sirens sung their horrible, screeching song.

"Playtime," Joao muttered, and pounced.

The officer barely had time to fire a bullet before the trident dug its starving nails into the hood of his car. Sparks flew from the impact of hardlight on metal, but still his trident found the engine and ripped into it. The failsafe system flooded the car with puffy ooze, drowning out any potential fire, but Joao didn't much care about the vehicle. He kicked the car door shut as the officer stumbled away, pulling out an electric baton.

Red-blue flashes painted Joao's back and the alleyway eerily as reinforcements entered the scene. Joao swung hard once, twice, and the baton was shattered. The officer cowered from him as he mustered all of his height. He wanted this man's last sight to scar him as he collapsed in Death's embrace.

A piercing pain shuddered through his shoulder, and Joao's staff-arm fell half-limp. He turned to find three officers pointing their weapons at him. Well, at least things got more interesting. He nimbly shifted the staff to his other arm. Like it or not, that's how this game was gonna be played now.

With a step, Joao spun his trident to deflect the bullets fired at him. The hardlight formed a competent enough shield as he tilted his weapon down to his feet. With a kick on the ground, he surged forward, slashing through the officers and spinning his trident around, punishing anyone foolishly close enough to his hardlight points.

The officers scattered back to the misplaced safety of their chasers. Two of them pulled out their trusty electric batons as the third called for even more backup. By the time the night was over, Joao thought ruefully, the entire Oasis police force will be in this alleyway. Or dead. It made no difference to him. They knew what they signed up for.

As Joao moved in, he pushed the trident into overload. "Feel the ocean's might!" he shouted to the officers, or Oasis itself, or maybe just nobody. He didn't care at that moment as hardlight pulsed through and speared the cars and forced the officers to the wall.

And in that second, everything changed. The Omnic bartender had wheeled itself out of the bar and in that moment they met each other's gaze. In that moment, Joao felt more than saw the true mind controlling it at that moment, and memories shoves their way back through his barriers. Memories of a time long ago, where he had agreed to serve the greater good.

Athena was calling him from this simpler time. Joao rushed up the wall, riding the ample hardlight his trident created as a wave as he climbed from the tempting battle in the alleyway and slipped into the comforting invisibility the skyscrapers of Oasis created.

Up above his alleyway, he contemplated Athena's message. A simple blurring of the eyes, it was certainly enough. Yeah, the world was shit, that he knew, but how could one man change anything. On his personal endeavors, he could at least cause a nuisance. But in this world, one without Overwatch? What could he do?

A cricket sung its shrill song at the top of a lone skyscraper, the little creature still braving through life, even in this exotic habitat. If this little bugger could push through life defiantly, why shouldn't Joao?

Throughout all of this, his mind tugged at one thought. His friend, his past. Sighing, he set out for a girl named Midori. Who she was, he had no clue, only that she was in Japan at the moment. But Athena had asked, and damn it, he was gonna go through with it, whether he liked it or not.

With one fell swoop, he squashed the cricket. He hated bugs.
This account proudly supports lgbtq* rights.

sass levels loading




[he/him]





User avatar
49 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 3000
Reviews: 49
Sun Oct 15, 2017 7:15 pm
View Likes
wakarimasen says...



Midori



Midori exited the ramen shop, with its garishly artificial decor and salty food, following tentatively behind her new acquainance Brigitte. It took Midori a moment to re-adjust her eyes to the sunlight, but she still kept the rest of her senses alert as they walked through the now densely populated main street.

Heavy footsteps approached their direction from up ahead. Effortlessly parting the oncoming crowd, a tall, brawny man. He wore all black in the midday heat, and appeared to have more than one dangerous-looking pistol holstered at his side. Their eyes met for a chilling moment; Midori opened her mouth and to get Brigitte's attention by tugging on the woman's shirtsleeve, but paused as Brigitte spoke:

"Midori, this is Sasha. He's been with us for a few years now." The tall man gave Midori the subtlest of nods as Brigitte continued, "Sasha, this is Midori."

"Hi," Midori barely managed to squeak out. "How are--?"

"Let's get going." Sasha's attention was on to other things, it seemed. Midori could detect the slightest hint of a Russian accent in his speech, and shivered slightly at the memory of her brief time there.

With Sasha leading the way out of the district in complete silence, Midori turned to Brigitte once more, hoping to ask one of the many questions that filled her brain, but instead, Brigitte spoke.

"There so much to tell all of you, when the time comes," the brunette woman said in a quiet, sober voice. "Besides you two, there are six more recruits coming to meet us."

Midori frowned thoughtfully. "Where are they from?"

"Around," Brigitte replied vaguely. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

You mean you're only recruiting us because you're desperate? Midori wondered, feeling her elation deflate slightly.

Sasha brought them to an empty alleyway where a small hovercar sat parked in the shadows. The tall man made a cursory inspection of the area before signaling that it was safe to enter.

"How long have you been, y'know, recruiting people?" Midori asked once they were on the road.

"A few years now," Brigitte replied. "It takes a while to track candidates for recruitment down, and if I may say, you were one of the most challenging."

"Oh." Mother had always insisted they live as much "off the grid" as possible, with minimal technological commodities. It was, she asserted, much harder to be found that way, though she never did say by whom. The Shimadas, perhaps? Midori was beginning to wonder if her mother's parting words had been meant as a warning, not a push in the family's direction.

"It was Hanzo Shimada who let us know of your next-known wherabouts," said Brigitte. "If I understand correctly, he is your...."

"Family," Midori responded tersely. "I don't know much more than that."

She thought she heard Sasha mutter something like "Genji..." under his breath, but decided not to push that matter. She didn't know enough of the family herself to question others on the topic. Besides, it was best to leave it alone for now. She wouldn't strain anything with these people she just met.

Making herself as small as possible in her seat, Midori lets the gentle, rhythmic humming of the hovercar lull her into a fitful nap. On her left side, Brigitte was flicking through a series of electronic documents on her datapad and talking quietly into her earpiece.

As was to be expected, their driver didn't breathe a word until they reached their destination.

"So, um, who was that you were talking to?" Midori asked the one other conversationalist when the older woman finally put down her earpiece.

Brigitte frowned for a microsecond, as though the question annoyed her, before switching just as to a more nonchalant expression. "That was ... Athena. She's our, well, operator. You'll meet her soon, after we get our last two members on this side of the globe."

"There are more?" Midori was incredulous. Well, Brigitte had said she was one of the more difficult recruits to find.

Brigitte nodded. "Global endeavers rarely happen in a day," she said as she met Sasha's eyes in the rearview mirror. "What's our ETA?"

Maybe it was a combination of the adrenaline wearing down and the salty additives from ramen finally kicking in, but Midori soon found herself drifting off to sleep...


"Put that away, will you? I need you to focus."

Sheepishly, twelve year old Midori glances up at the solemn-faced woman staring down at her and slips the old photograph back into her pack. On those rare occasions when Midori can make Mother smile, it is nowhere near as carefree as it looked in that faded picture.

Whump! Midori's on the ground again, looking into Mother's frowning face.

"You must focus if you're to hold your own in a fight. Now, pay attention...." Midori is shown how to execute the move right. "...Now, try again?"

Grumbling, Midori readies herself for another sparring match. In all the places they've gone, no other twelve year old spends an hour after breakfast doing this. She's never, ever been in a fight before, and she doesn't plan to if she can help it.

"Who's that person?" Midori asks as she ducks the feigned punch.

Now, it's her turn to be the offense. The question throws Mother slightly off-guard, and Midori uses the moment to gently put her in the same position as Midori had ended up in minutes before.

"What person?"

"The person in green," Midori prods, pinning her mother's arms down at her sides. "The one in the picture."

Mother sighs, pushes Midori off with ease, and picks herself up to a half-sitting position. "They're just somebody that I used to know, okay?"

"They? Are they a he or a she?" Midori knows she's pushing her luck, but she's never gotten Mother to say this much before.

"What does it matter? They're dead now." Dusting herself off, Mother changes the subject. "Come on, let's work on your summoning."



In what seemed like just mere moments later, Midori found herself roused back to wakefullness as the car's engine was shut off. Looking around, she deduced they were at what seemed like an abandoned airport, one that had been all but swept away in one of Japan's recent floods.

"More travelling?" Midori hoped she didn't sound as whiny to Brigitte as she did to herself. Hoisting her backpack over one shoulder, she climbed out of the vehicle after Brigitte and took a look around. Everything looked so ... eerie. Midori wasn't easily spooked, but already, she could pick out seven places where one could hide unnoticed, waiting for the perfect moment to strike....

"Plane's in this hangar." Sasha pointed to the least rundown structure adjacent to the runway. "Meet me back here when ready to depart."

Brigitte nodded approvingly and gestured to Midori. "Come on - there's at least one more recruit we have to look for before we head on out."

"And at most?"

"Two."

Midori sighed. "Well, where will we--"

CRASH!

Brigitte whirled in the direction of the sound, which Midori quickly determined was from the near airplane hangar they'd just vacated. There was a baritone yell, followed by cursing in a European tongue, that was distinctly Sasha-esque, and the staccato sound of repeat blasterfire.

Brigitte yanked a small but deadly-looking pistol from a well-hidden holster at her side and ran for the structure. "Sasha's in trouble," she said, although more to herself than anybody else.

Midori gazed helplessly at her firsts. It was one thing to bring a knife to what was most certainly a gunfight, and another to depend on one's hands alone. She was lucky if her backpack even contained a slingshot!

Midori ran after Brigitte into the hangar just in time to see the burly Russian swept off his feet by a blinding arc of hardlight. Its source was a dark-haired man wielding what reminded Midori of a mythical king's trident. He raised it menacingly, as though to strike the fallen Sasha once again, but paused as Brigitte and Midori came into his line of sight.

Midori expected Brigitte to open fire, but instead, she put the gun down and shouted, "Joao! Hold your fire!"

"Brigitte?" Joao, as was apparently his name, paused uncertainly and gave the pair a once-over. His eyes met Midori's for a moment, and Midori did her best not to hesitate under his scrutiny.

"Sasha is one of us," Brigitte declared as Sasha picked himself up with uncharacteristic gingerness. He gave his attacker a death glare the entire time.

"What are you doing here?" Brigitte asked.

Joao brushed invisible dust from his noticeably flamboyant getup before shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well," he began sheepishly, "I ... Athena sent me to retrieve the girl," he gestured to Midori with his trident," but I thought your friend here had gotten to her first..."

Brigitte's earpiece crackled, apparently with the sound of Athena's affirmation of the new person's account. "You're too wary of people, Joao." But she left the rebuke at that. "It's nice to see you again, Joao. How did you get here?"

"I have my ways," was all he said with a wink. Then his attention shifted back to Midori. "So, a bastard Shimada, then?"

Heat rose to her cheeks. "Excuse me?"

Brigitte gave Joao a warning look and instructed, "However you got here, you're to take her the rest of the way back to headquarters. You have your orders, Joao, and we have ours. Let's see that they go smoothly. On to Ecopoint: Siberia."





User avatar
176 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1983
Reviews: 176
Wed Oct 25, 2017 12:20 am
View Likes
sheysse says...



Mask



For some reason, Mask was in charge of retrieving the designated soldiers in North America, since no others were coming from Europe. Most of the Nightwatch was in Asia, and were probably almost gathered by now. Mask was flying in to the U.S, where he’d pick up Gwen Wilkins, drive south to retrieve Mickey, and then catch the next flight to Malaysia, all in six days. At least they were paying for the flights. There was that.

The flight touched down a few towns over from Gwen’s location, so Mask was forced to take an hour-long train ride through a hundred miles of rolling hills a jobless suburbs. It was what Mask had expected to be the last peace he would get before he officially joined Nightwatch. However, Mask’s plans of a long nap were ruined by the man trailing him.

He was older, or at least was currently disguised like it. Mask recognized him immediately; the only reason his costume didn’t work was because Mask had encountered him on several occasions. Those same eyes he had spotted in many of the civilians walking by him on King’s Row he saw in this man. Mask had always disregarded the eyes, and he would have now as well, but seeing as the man had coincidentally gone from the same airport to the same train station as Mask, he chose not to.

On the train, the man seated himself behind Mask, and Mask realized he had been watched for so long in anticipation of his inevitable joining of Nightwatch. They had been waiting to tail him, so that they could get the secret location of the base. Mask instinctually reached for his shotgun, only to hesitate. Eyes weren’t much proof to shoot someone based on. No, he needed to be sure of it, and then he could fire. So, rather than spin and shoot, he lifted the gun to his head. If he was right, then-

The man tackled him, displaying strength much more immense than what a senior his age should have. Kicking him off, he drew his gun at the man, and to his surprise, the man drew a pistol in return. Mask realized that his orders constituted self defense, and it occurred to him this might get messy. He turned to the wall of the train and and fired his explosive bullets. They shattered the window, which he leapt through, up onto the roof of the train. From the other side of the train his assailant followed suit.

From the top of his pistol, a dagger emerged, and he lunged at Mask with it. Mask in turn blocked using the two barrels of his shotgun, sliding back to gain some distance. He closed his eyes and dropped a flashbang, giving the man no time to shield his eyes. Now blinded, he staggered back, giving Mask the opportunity to place a bullet in his chest. The man faked pain, before throwing off his suit to reveal dented armor.

“Who are you? Why have you been following me, and who do you work for?” Mask shouted over the roaring wind sailing past them. He still kept the gun aimed at the man.

“I go by many names, but you can call me X. Or Y. Heck, I’m even cool with Z,” he said casually. “Those other questions. Well, you should already have figured their answers out.” A arrogant smile. “Your faking suicide suggests that yes, you do. It only took you three months.”

“So you do work with Gabriel.”

X contemplated the accusation. “No, I don’t think I’ve heard of a Gabriel. I do work under a guy named Reaper, however, who coincidentally sent me on the very mission that has me trailing you.”

Mask cursed loudly and fired the gun, first the left barrel, then the right. X ducked under the first, sidestepping the second. The dagger in his pistol launched outward, straight at Mask, who frantically stumbled back and blocked it in the process. Upon contact, it exploded, and Mask was thrown into the connector joint between two cars. Above him, on top of the car, X pointed the pistol at him. Mask’s eyes opened wide in shock as he saw the pistol open into a long rifle, similar to a primitive flintlock rifle. He tested its weight, shrugged, and fired at Mask.

Mask jumped up, climbing onto the car opposite X. The bullet hit the connector, breaking it and separating the cars. The last three cars lagged behind as the rest of the train traveled onward, and once X realized he was on the wrong side, he attempted to leap across the growing gap, but Mask kicked him back to the slowing cars.

“Tell Reaper I’m coming for him.”

---


Mask reached the location he and Gwen had agreed to meet at prior to his departure from the UK. He was alone, that he had made sure of, and not even Gwen had arrived yet. To be sure, he patrolled the warehouse cautiously, and was positive no one had followed him. When he returned to the doorway of the warehouse, Gwen was waiting there for him.

“Gwen Wilkins, I presume.”

She nodded. “And I suppose you’re Mask,” she said, looking him over. “I expected you to be a bit more beat up after the fight on the train, though.”

“Fight on the train? How do you know about that?”

“The assistant you sent to retrieve me and bring me here told me. Speaking of, when’s he arriving?”

Mask felt his face pale, and instantly he reached for Gwen’s hand. She flinched away from his grasp. “We need to go. Get far away from here. Fast.”

“Fast?” Gwen smiled. “I can do fast.”





User avatar
174 Reviews

Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 3255
Reviews: 174
Wed Nov 01, 2017 7:59 am
View Likes
soundofmind says...



MICKEY



Gwen looked at Mask with a growing grin as she pulled out a garage opener from her pocket and a garage door and pressed the button. Just a few feet down, on the side of the warehouse, a large garage door began to open. As the two walked over, they could see a large sheet covering what looked to be a racing vehicle, even with only the silhouette. With one swift motion, Gwen pulled the sheet off, revealing her sleek car - her masterpiece that she built herself.

"You say we need to move fast? Well get in," Gwen commanded confidently, pulling her car keys out of her pocket and gracefully unlocking the car and sliding into the driver's seat. Mask hesitated only for a second, before jumping into the slightyly crowded passenger side. Clearly, the vehicle was not designed to for large groups of people. No - this was built for speed.

"Secure your seatbelt!" Gwen said with a smile and eyes filled with anticipation. Mask quickly did so, and as soon as Gwen heard the click of his seatbelt, her foot was on the pedal, and ZOOM, they zipped out of the garage and onto the open road at frightening speed. Gwen had her eyes set on the road and a wide smile on her face as the dust rose behind them. Mask gripped the sides of his seat in apprehension as he felt the force of gravity push him back into his seat due to the very speed at which they were accelerating.

"Where we going, Mask?" Gwen asked, her eyes still focused on the road ahead.

"Airport," he replied.

"You got directions?"

Mask nodded. "Yes." He turned around, looking back at the warehouse and the few buildings around it. In the distance, he could see another vehicle in pursuit. "Listen closely. We're going to take an alternative route. We've gotta lose our tail."

<·>---[¤]---<·>

Mickey swung his feet back and forth as his legs hung off the side of the building. It wasn't the traditional place to wait, but he always liked having a bird's eye view of things when possible, so waiting atop the roof of the small airport he was requested to meet at seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.

That - and it was the only good vantage point for him to shoot at anyone if need be. He wasn't naive - he knew there was a great possibility for danger to follow them as they worked to gather the NightWatch and he was determined to making sure they were successful in doing so. So he waited patiently on the rooftop, enjoying the warmth of the sun that sat high in the sky and the breeze that blew softly. He looked out at the road that led into the somewhat isolated airport, eyes watching for something to come their way. He looked... well, for a long time. Perhaps he'd gotten there too early (he had), but when he spotted the great cloud of dust that was fast approaching down the road, it quickly caught his attention.

"¿Que es eso?" he muttered, quickly grabbing his gun that was laying beside him. Using his scope, he looked closer at the approaching dust cloud.

After a closer look, it looked like there was one car in front, and another trailing a considerable distance behind, going much slower.

"Eso debe ser Gwen," he chuckled to himself. But the people in the back? Well, that couldn't have been Mask following her. That wouldn't make sense. It had to be...

His developing theory was set in stone when he saw several motorbikes emerge from the parking garage across the way, and others from the adjacent building that began to pour out and pursue the leading car that was coming his way.

"¡Ay, dios mio!" He exclaimed, scrambling to focus his aim on the motorcycles rolling out around them. It looked like Gwen was about to diverge from the road and lead them away, but instead the car spun and slid to a stop - leading the car behind it to swerve out of the way and crash into a sign. Suddenly, a two shots were heard, and two of the bikers were shot down, falling off their bikes. Mask was ducked behind Gwen's car, shooting at the approaching enemies with vigor. Gwen seemed to be waiting on standby.

Mickey, carefully, and with a focused and steady hand, aimed his gun at the crashed car. Someone looked to be emerging from it.

Mask stared with an anger-filled glare as he saw X leap out of the crashed vehicle. Gwen saw the look of recognition. "Wait, he's the guy you fought on the train?" She asked in disbelief. "That was the guy who said he was your assistant!"

Mask simply furrowed his brows, and send a shot at X, which X dodged. From what Mickey could see, it wasn't long before they entered into close combat, and Gwen began to literally run over the bikers. It looked like chaos, but from what he could see, they were all outnumbered and needed help, so with one deep breath, he pulled the trigger.

Blap. A splatter of bright blue paint decorated the side of X's face, and as the noxious gas was relased, he stumbled to the ground asleep. Mask was freed up a moment to deal with the other bikers still remaining, but looked up in mild alarm at the sudden appearance of paint splatter. From the top of the building, Mickey sent a thumbs up that Mask probably couldn't see, and shot another two shots at two bikers approaching Mask on foot - marking them with red paint. Mask, taking the hint, shot at them with his two shots, taking each out with one hit.

The rest of the battle seemed to flow with just as much chaos as it started with, and after many biker deaths and a few close calls of Gwen and Mask kicking the bucket (but they didn't, thanks to Mickey's healing shots), it seemed that the entire gang seemed to be defeated or had fled. Once this seemed sure, Mickey climbed down the building to finally meet Mask and Gwen, with his paintball gun slung over his back.

He ran over to them with a small, relieved smile. "I'm glad you guys are okay," he says with a thick Mexican accent. "When I saw you coming I was worried I wasn't even going to get to meet you guys, with how many people were following you."

Both Gwen and Mask were breathing hard, and Gwen raised a brow, and grinned. "You're Mickey, right?"

Mickey nodded. "Yeah. And those guys were...?"

Mask and Gwen exchanged looks, before Mask replied. "Talon operatives."

Mickey's brows shot up. "Ay, caramba. Then we'd -"

"Better haul ass," Mask said.

"And car," Gwen added.

"We can discuss things on the cargo plane," Mask explained. "But for now, we have no time to waste."

Mickey looked around the airport - eyes landing on the only plane that could've fit Mask's description. He had a hunch that that might've been their ride out when he was surveying the place before their arrival, but he hadn't been sure.

"The plane flies itself," Mask explained in brief, before waving for Gwen to get in her car and drive it over to the plane as he and Mickey ran.

Mickey looked around briefly, reassesing the status of the very dead looking operatives lying around on the ground. He then re-adjusted the strap of his gun slung around his back and ran after Mask, who'd already gone ahead of him.

"How did they find us?" Mickey asked.

Mask seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact as he kept his eyes forward, fixed on the large plane ahead of them. "They were following me."

Mickey's brows drew together, and he brushed a loose hair from his face as he continued to try and keep up with Mask's quick pace (his legs were considerably shorter - he was not that tall or fast). He didn't know that Talon had already begun tracking them, but now that he knew that they were already on Talon's radar, he knew they would have to keep a keen eye out.

The three rushed their way onto the plane, loading Gwen's car on with considerable speed, and making their way to the cockpit in impressive time. Mask sat himself in the captain's seat, and punched in the coordinates of . Both Gwen and Mickey looked over Mask's shoulder at the bright, high-tech screen that Mask punched the numbers into, and watched the location pop up while the engine simultaneously started.

"Malaysia," Gwen commented under her breath.

"Far from home for all of us, it seems," Mickey added.

Mask simply gave a weak nod in reply to the two, before they all headed to a seat, buckling themselves up as the plane took off into the air. Mickey stared out the window, watching the dusty airport grow smaller and smaller as they flew higher and higher into the sky. It seemed that - all at once, he felt a longing for home and the adventures ahead. But he was sure that once they reached their destination, the desire to return to Mexico would dissapear. He knew that they had a great responsiblity resting on their shoulders.

He would have to say goodbye to his home - because now, he was no longer a single vigilante running around the streets and pulling omnics out of harms' way. Now he was a member of the NightWatch. He would have to be the hero he was expected to be.

We are the protectors now.

And he was ready.

<·>---[¤]---<·>


In the depths of the cargo bay of the plane, a man shuffled from his hiding spot, peeking out from a dark corner behind a crate. X looked around, his eyes adjusting to the light. He was wounded, and he was bleeding, but he was conscious - or getting there. With deep breaths he pushed himself to his feet.

A sly grin spread on his face, and he whispered.

"Thanks for the ride."
Pants are an illusion. And so is death.






User avatar
177 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1093
Reviews: 177
Tue Nov 14, 2017 7:30 pm
View Likes
Chaser says...



Geryon


Geryon stood in the frozen wasteland, arms folded. A chill wind blew past, curving snow dust into the plates of his armor. Suddenly, his eye lit up crimson. “Ignite!” he roared, posing strongly.

“Deep in the scars of yesterday’s battle a blood-red oath is sworn!” He thrust his palm skyward, letting his gears collapse and reform. “I am the successor, a crimson visage that breaks through the sky! I forge a great blade to break through this earth sown with darkness!” The metal of his arm warped into a drill, air currents converging around the tip as it began to whirl.

“Go!” he screamed, “Grand Geryon Ground Grinder!”

The drill spiralled into the ground, spitting up chips of dirt and permafrost. When he’d carved a sizeable hole, he removed the drill and stepped back.

“Alright.” Geryon shook off the dirt and flexed. “Now, for the finishing blow!”

“Terra Ruptor: Earth’s Evisceration!” he screamed, hoisting a cedar sapling over his head. “T.R.E.E.!”

With that, Geryon delicately placed the tree into the hole. Stepping back, he gauged the angle with his fingers and nodded in satisfaction.

“It’s rather impractical to plant trees with a drill,” noted Athena from the commlink.

“Hey, everyone would do it if they could.” Geryon reached down and scraped the dirt back into the hole. “And, finished! That’s the last tree!”

“Excellent,” Athena said as Geryon produced a small metallic bulb and attached it to the tree. “Within a few months, we’ll have enough data from these samples to run a larger scale operation. Return to the Ecopoint, and don’t get distracted.”

“Okay, mom,” Geryon sighed, walking back towards the neck of the woods. The snowfield he stood in was merely one of many that dotted the Siberian taiga. They were cut from of the surrounding forest in the shape of missile explosions, the snow black where the footprints of omnic hordes had been swept away. The Russian artillery had held no reservations about using every weapon of destruction they had to fight off the guerrillas; the land would bear the price of their tenacity for a long time.

Geryon knelt down in the field, his legs compacting into long snow treads. He rumbled peacefully through the forest, steering clear of the burrows. Some of the trees here were marred with holes from cannons; their dead roots made a sharp crack as Geryon trundled over them.

“The Omnic Crisis hit pretty hard here, didn’t it?” Geryon said. “Really makes you wonder how we’re all still kicking today.”

“What do you mean by that?” Athena buzzed.

“Ah, nothing,” Geryon replied, bursting through a snowbank. “I just can’t stand this silence.”

“Are the voices back?” The words made Geryon stop short. Turning his head, he gave an incredulous look to the comms device.

“No. Course not. Didn’t we go over this?” Geryon set off once more, brushing coldly through snowy branches. “I own them, not the other way around. Don’t act like I’m the same thing. Given Dad’s circumstances, I thought you might have understood that.”

“Winston was better than his brothers, but he was not as you are, created of them. Do not belittle the virtue of who you are,” Athena warned, “nor the danger.”

“Ah, just can it!” Geryon yelled. “Forget I said anything!” He punched a dial on the commlink, and Athena’s blue glow disappeared from his shoulder. Geryon continued in absolute, voiceless silence.

“I’m the omnic Frankenstein,” he muttered to himself. “Why should I listen to you?”

------------------

The airplane glided down from the sky, wheels touching down in the snowfield and finding the old runway beneath it. It began to slow as Brigitte eased the throttle, and from there the agents inside could see the radio tower of Ecopoint: Siberia. The plane trundled to a stop just outside the compound’s perimeter, where a giant red robot stood, a large suitcase beside him.

The Brazilian was the first to emerge, stretching immensely before shivering at the immediate cold. The Russian, exiting behind him, handed him a coat, then turned to glance wordlessly at the snowscape. Then, a Japanese girl emerged, followed finally by Brigitte, who huddled in her parka and walked in front of them.

“Though it’s a little-known piece of Overwatch history, we were instrumental in freeing the hostages of the King’s Row Uprising. Operatives Tracer, Mercy, Reinhardt and -” she paused for a second, “Torbjorn were sent in to stop the omnic extremist group Null Sector, who had taken over the foundries and rigged them with explosives.”

Geryon flinched, a slight click of metal. Brigitte looked to him and continued, “Thanks to their efforts, the foundry was retaken, and the terrorists dealt a death blow.”

Sasha nodded. “So Overwatch did these kinds of things, too.”

Joao shrugged. “Well, that’s impressive, but why are you telling us this?”

“Because not even Overwatch knew what Null Sector had been making.” Brigitte turned back to Geryon. “So, why don’t you introduce yourself? Son of Null Sector.”

“...nate,” Geryon mumbled under electronic breath.

“Nate?” Joao raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Dunno what name I expected.”

Geryon looked at them all again, his neck shifting on an axis as though scanning through them. His head cocked to the side as his eye’s orbital aperture narrowed to a malicious point. “Exterminate,” he repeated.

Midori gasped. Joao’s eyes widened, and then he drew a metal bar from his belt. “I knew it.”

“Exterminate. Exterminate, exterminate, exterminate!” Geryon’s voicebox screamed, his hands crackling and distorting as the gears collapsed within each other. Slowly, his eye sealed over with a crimson sheen: the bloody red of Null Sector.

“Geryon, what-” Athena began, but a quick tap of Geryon’s finger silenced the comm. A long-barreled cannon sprouted from his shoulder, and Geryon almost stumbled from its weight. Still, he shouted the mantra, speakers overloading into a hellion static scream.

Brigitte stumbled back. “No, they can’t have hacked him. Not here, why?!”

“There’s no time to ask!” Joao yelled. “I’m taking him down now!”

Geryon’s torso detached and whirled outwards, another cannon sprouting from his elbow. The plates of his body spread out, tripling his bulk, and his left hand began crackling with loose plasma, boiling over and melting the snow.

Sasha whipped out his pistols, strafing as he fired on Geryon’s flank. The shields shifted in Geryon’s torso, blocking the laser from his body. He advanced on them, the cannon glowing on his shoulder.

A flash of hardlight disrupted his shot, Joao slicing his trident down the barrel. With a quick twist, he dismembered the cannon from Geryon’s shoulder, jumping back as the omnic swung a giant fist.

“Exterminate.” The word was calmer now, tenser as Geryon focused. He reached down for the cannon, wires running over it as it assimilated back into his form.

Quickly, Sasha charged up the pistols again, this time aiming for Geryon’s leg. The shields moved downwards to deflect the shot, rooting Geryon to the earth.

“Now!” The opening had been created; Joao surged forward like a tidal wave. As Geryon stood immobile, he slammed his palm against the ground, a pillar of hardlight water bursting from the point of contact, propelling him up above Geryon and thrusting the trident as he fell.

Geryon’s eye shattered as the hardlight spear pierced his barrier and sliced through his skull.

The omnic stumbled back, his face a cavern of sparks, hydraulics whirring and failing in slurred motion. He began to shudder, steam bursting from the gridlines of his armor, shaking violently. Gently, a voice burned through the mechanical clamor, trembling in the bolts of Geryon’s shoulders as he burst into raucous laughter.

“Oh, man! That was incredible!” Geryon said, the hole in his head twitching erratically. “You - You’ve got to be Joao, right? That guy who broke out of Utopia? God, that trident is so cool!”

Joao wrinkled his nose, caught somewhere between surprise and disgust.

“And you - Sasha, yeah? You knew exactly how to move in this terrain! You fought as a guerrilla? That’s Mother Russian strength right there!”

Sasha flinched and looked down at the dark snow.

Geryon noticed the Japanese girl standing off to the side. “Midori! Gosh, the way you look, it’s just like-!”

“Geryon!” Brigitte snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Geryon paused, looking straight at her. “Introducing myself,” he explained simply.

“Himself and a few dozen cannons,” scoffed Joao.

“Oh, I just thought I’d bring us all to even terms,” Geryon said. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who shows off. Isn’t that the qualifier for Nightwatch? Our convenient monstrosities.”

Brigitte exhaled evenly. “I’ll give you one more chance to introduce yourself properly.”

“Nice to meet you!” Geryon announced, striking a pose. “In the database, I’m listed as the ‘first composite omnic’. But that’s a huge understatement, right? So, uh…” Geryon tapped his chin, looking away. “Ever seen Voltron?”

Sasha shook his head.

“Terminator?”

“No,” Midori said.

“Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann?”

“I was in prison,” Joao growled.

“Oh. Right, right. Hah,” Geryon sighed, then held up his arm; the plates rotated in his hand and became a toaster. He gestured to it apathetically. “Machine guy.”

“Oh.” A collective murmur of understanding swept through the group.

Geryon sighed again. “Yeah, so, I’ll be your teammate for Nightwatch. Please take good care of me! Or, something like that.” The wires were growing back in his head, the plates sealing over as the white light of his eye reactivated. Geryon blinked and shifted his arms back to normal, folding them across his chest. “Bored now. Let’s get going to Malaysia, okay?”

With that, he turned around picked up his suitcase. As he raised it, it fell open, and six posters of the idol gamer D.Va fell out. The group went utterly silent. Geryon looked at them all for a moment, then quietly gathered the posters back into the suitcase and walked past them to the plane.
The hardest part of writing science fiction is knowing actual science. The same applies for me and realistic fiction.





User avatar
378 Reviews

Supporter


Gender: Other
Points: 3775
Reviews: 378
Thu Dec 28, 2017 2:37 am
View Likes
Omni says...



Image


They had spent a few days resting and relaxing in Geryon's habitat, Ecopoint: Siberia. It was a desolate loation, empty of most things except ice and snow. Joao had never known snow could wiggle its numb fingers into so many places. More than once, he foun himself scooping out handfuls of clumped snow from his underclothes.

The location itself was little more than an outpost. Its food was old, dull, and went down much worse with no alcohol to follow it (Geryon himself didn't quite mind at all, of course). The only thing the damned place was good at was its strong connection with Athena, their mysterious A.I. ally.

And that was where Joao foun himself three days after Geryon played his little welcome gift with the crew. In hindsight, Joao had to give it to the omnic morbid humor was hard to come by these days, and if he as in the same situation, Joao had to admit he would have totally so done the same thing.

"-Joao." Athena's crisp, rather annoying, British voice floated over the console.

Joao leaned back in the heavily cushioned desk chair. "This thing heats my buns. Cool."

"Continue your report." Athena was not amused.

"Oh, come on, Athena.I haven't 'reported' on anything in years. Cut me a little slack, would you?" Could she see through his lies and see what he was trying to cover up? He never could hide things from her. But, of course, that was in the past, and before he had to live in a prison for years.

The A.I. sighed, or expressed something a close to a sigh as she could make. "Start from the beginning; go as far back as you deem necessary to fully explain the situation we're in with Oasis. Just know that your unwillingness to confront your need for assistance fully places this failure in your hands."

"Hey, you take care of your problems, I'll take care of mine."

"This has become more than just your problem, Joao. Don't be so short-sighted."

"Uh huh, and, oh, on a completely unrelated note, how's it going with Talon, who is totally not my problem in any capacity whatsoever."

Silence. He won this round against Athena, a rare feat.

"Report, Joao. Leave nothing out."

Joao straightened in his seat reflexively, relaxing back into his role with his former mentor and mission director. Oh, how some things never change. "Three months ago, Oasis officially opened its doors to the public eye. Not necessarily to the public, mind you,.but they opened their doors to the press to show the world that they really are bringing the world into a 'better future'. However, what I didn't know, or was too foolish or lax in my instincts, was that Oasis had figured out my operations. At that point in time, I had been in and out of Oasis' prison so often that I had figured out all of the flaws in their system structure. So, the next plausible move was to exploit those flaws and created my own intelligence operations in the rotten underbelly of the pristine city.

"I had gained control of the city for over a year, and had quieted anything opposing me, with Vishkar none the wiser. Anyone smart or high enough to report to Vishkar anything wrong with the city's production were bribed to silence or... snuffed out and replaced by people more of my liking."

Joao sighed. "I shouldn't have even worried about Vishkar, as they weren't even the real enemy. Symmetra --yeah that Symmetra-- was apparently clued in to my schemes the entire time. I was foolish, Athena. There, I said it. I was foolish to think I had more of a strategic mindset than someone like her. While not bred for war, she was bred for outthinking her opponent.

"My right hand, one of the people there in the prison with me from the day I... was given over, was one of Symmetra's pawns. Not that I didn't have my suspicions; I never trust people who have gone to prison, even if their hearts are in the right place, but the man had passed through all of my safety measures. It wasn't that he was deceiving me, it was more that his mind was honestly controlled by Symmetra somehow. Well, not controlled as in, like, actually, actual brain control, but more guided. He just.. seemed to forget anything related to Symmetra herself. He was adamantly vigilant in seeing Vishkar fall, but any mention of Symmetra and he seemed to deem her of no importance. So, despite my misgivings, I was foolish to keep him by my side. It was short-sided and something that will not happen again.

"In truth, it was easy not to be noticed or stopped by Vishkar while unraveling my web. What, was foolish, though, was that I thought nothing of me getting my trident back. I should have know that Symmetra would never let anyone but her have access to that kind of coveted hardlight emitters again. That should have tipped me off that something was amiss, but again, I made a mistake. Eh, nobody's perfect.

"Anyway, Oasis opened its doors to the public eye, but also let in the full force of Vishkar's pockets, in the form of mercenaries. The police force tripled, the omnic slaves hidden, and every single informant I had painstakingly gathered were 'relocated' to India. The prisons were emptied, and any trace of imperfections had been sanded from the city. I had lost any foothold I ever thought I had in a night's sleep.

"That's not the worst part, though. I could rebuild, I could adapt, hell, I could even take on Symmetra once I knew she was there. That wasn't my breaking point. The nearest Omnium factory, in what used to be Iraq, which you and I had thought to be derelict and will forever be so, had resumed production. These omnics seem to have no purpose, for they are not built for war. They seem to be built as slaves, and they quickly filled Oasis' undergound. For what purpose, again, I cannot tell. "

Joao leaned back in his butt-warming chair, taking a long breath. "I don't know what Symmetra's plan is anymore, and with me out of the city, you've lost your best chance to figure out more. The web I had once created is now in shambles, and it will take me months to gather back what I had. From the minute amount of information I have been able to gather, it's highly likely that Talon is involved in some sort of fashion here. How much, I can't tell."

All was quiet for a moment. Athena was combing through her database and connecting dots far more extensive than Joao could even hope to do so. He knew the program would go over possibilities so unlikely to happen that Joao wouldn't even consider them, and connect strands of information that wouldn't even seem remotely connected to someone with humanity. That's what separated Athena from her own informants. She was able to think without compassion, with a cold-hearted calculation. She never made assumptions about how far the enemy would go, only that they held nothing back, not even to save what made them human.

Athena spoke up finally. "We've suspected that Vishkar and Talon have had a relationship for some time now, but they keep it quite concealed. I will not make any assumptions without more information, but it seems sound Talon was involved with your recent excursion. Symmetra never held a tight grasp over Oasis, and unlike what you seem to believe, she was not a person to hold grudges over technology being shared, even to the enemy. I must consult other opportunities while I ponder this.

"As for the omnium, I believe that these omnics are not being built as warriors, not as slaves specifically, even, but as workers. They are meant to build something."

Joao perked up. "What?"

"I will take time to think over that. Unfortunately, at this point, we can only speculate." Athena's voice sputtered. "My communication satellite is passing, so this conversation must be cut short."

"This is short?" Joao scoffed. "I think you forget us humans actually have a limited amount of time to do things in a day, or y'know, in their lifetime."

"Yes, yes. Let us focus on the task at hand." The console purred to life with a digital mock-up of Kuala Lumpar.

"Or what's left of it, at least." Joao muttered his thoughts aloud.

"Yes, this city has gone through changes," Athena said.

"'Changes' is a bit of an understatement," Joa bit out, examining the scorched ruins of a once great city. Pressing on the screen, Joao flicked through the different statistics, resting on the population view. Human life glowed red and omnics glowed yellow against the pale blue of the derelict city. It was not a hopeful sight. Barely any colors shown within a five-mile diameter of their drop-zone in Kuala Lumpar. "Are we entering a ghost city?"

"I don't believe Kuala Lumpar is as much a ghost city as you believe. Our systems do not work well in this city due to the nearby Omnium factory still running. You'd be quite surprised by how much life is in the remains of this once beautiful and thriving metropolis. We have outdated information on this city, as does Talon. It is a place ignored by the world."

"Which makes it the best place for us. Hiding in plain sight." Joao nodded. "But if our best equipment cannot reach there, how will we stay in contact with you, Athena?"

"Our equipment is only as good as the headquarters it resides in. Since we have none, therein lies a major problem. As for your other question, leave that worry to me." And she faded from the console, cutting off the communication.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The flight to Kuala Lumpar was uneventful and boring. Ecopoint: Siberia housed a long-disused carrier plane that Geryon dutifully explained was his ride to and from the icy wasteland. It still ran, confirmed by Brigitte, which was comfort. Eventually, the skies cleared enough for them to take off, but they had to wait for Geryon to plant another tree, which he was extremely proud of and wanted all to witness. After ceremony and tree-planting galore, they finally (finally) took off. All the while, the was no booze. None at all to take his thoughts off of their predicament.

He trusted Athena. He had to. She had helped him out of sketchy situations so many times that he couldn't not trust her. Plans were unfolding far too fast for his comfort. Just a handful of days ago, he was still in Oasis, dealing with a situation on his own. Now, he was in an invisible carrier with practical strangers flying to a city-turned-warzone-turned-graveyard. If they failed to reach Malaysia, no one would ever find them, nor would anyone car.

The narrow window revealed their destination. Joao glared at the vibrant colors clashing with the war-scarred grays and blacks. They were truly invisible now. Invisible plane, invisible city, invisible plan.

Invisible people.

"Welcome to Nightwatch."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


"You see that rubble over there? It's even and stable. Underneath is a library cocooned by the fallen skyscrapers. That's our new home." Brigitte pointed to an indescribable speck on a hazy screen of indescribable specks.

Geryon's head poked through the hole that used to be the co-pilot's seat and his robotic eyes squinted at the location of Brigitte's vague finger-pointing. "Should be easy enough to land." He ducked back out of sight, and the ship lurched to the side as they circled over the landing zone. Joao stumbled to place a hand on Brigitte's chair back and the digital screen aside. The cockpit windows opened up to reveal Kuala Lumpar in its full glory. It was quite beautiful, the parts untouched by destruction. As the jet squeezed between two skyscrapers, the skyline of the city transitioned to fallen buildings and smoldering ruins, still on fire from a long ago battle. They hovered over the side of a fallen and flattened skyscraper that looked fairly even. "That's so not safe." Joao said.

"It'll have to do," Geryon cheerfully replied, and set the ship down with a graceful crash. Once on the ground, the scanners initiated a fresh scan. No human or omnic activity sounded within a three mile area around the place. They were alone. Still, the place unnerved Joao. He couldn't quite put how it did into words. The others walked out behind him.

"Let's hope no one noticed our landing." Sasha muttered.

Geryon scampered out and brushed dust up from the ground in the movement. He examined some. "Ash?" he asked, rubbing it against two fingers.

"From the debris." Brigitte said, walking over to a corner of the skyscraper landing. "And no one will see us. If they noticed any dust or debris from our landing, it wouldn't have been any different than what they see every day. Wariness breeds an inclination to not bother with things that don't affect you." She pulled out a small pole from her jacket. With a click of a button, it quickly expanded to twice her height. She slammed it into the ground. Its rod broke through what was left of the building foundation and it planted itself firmly in the metal and concrete below.

Geryon sniffed the ash. "It smells... wrong."

"You can't smell, Geryon." Joao sighed but picked up some ash himself. Brigitte busied herself with the second pole.

Midori sidled up next to him. "Does this place give you the chills, too?"

Another pole.

Joao let the ash from from his hands and settle back onto the floor.Brigitte stuck the last pole into the ground. Electricity filled the air, putting Joao's arm hair on end. The tips of each pike opened up, revealing pulsing blue lights. Brigitte wiped her hands on her trousers and looked to the sky. "This ash used to be radioactive. Nuclear meltdown. Harmless now, though." Geryon dropped the large handful he was playing with and made a motion of wiping his hands on his metal body. "Ah, there's the rest of our team."

Sure enough, a smaller jet flew the sky, becoming a speck, then an ant, then larger and larger until it steered itself to land gracefully besides the other jet. Joao punch Geryon's large leg. "Why can't you steer that well? You damn near killed us getting in the air and landing."

Geryon shrugged.

The ship's door opened, and out came three more people. So, seven. Eight, including Brigitte. Hardly comparative to Overwatch. Then again, they were dead. We weren't.

Brigitte clapped her hands. "All right. Let's get to work."
This account proudly supports lgbtq* rights.

sass levels loading




[he/him]





User avatar
174 Reviews

Supporter


Gender: Female
Points: 3255
Reviews: 174
Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:59 am
View Likes
soundofmind says...



MICKEY



Mickey pressed the button by the jet's bay doors and the ramp lowered down for him and Geryon to board. Geryon towered over Mickey as they entered the ship and proceeded to the main computer. As they travelled up the stairways, Mickey let his fingers brush against the wall.

"You think they'd paint this or something," Mickey muttered. "I mean, they could've picked any color, but they picked dog pee yellow."

"You talking about the walls?" Geryon asked, his previous humming of some tune Mickey hadn't heard of being interrupted by his words.

"Sí, mi amigo," Mickey nodded. "I'm tempted to pull out my paints."

"Oh yeah, you've got a paintball gun, right? With paint that heals and stuff? How does that work?" Geryon asked, making a gun shape with his hands.

Mickey laughed. "Lots of science."

"Hah! That's not really an answer," Geryon replied in amusement.

Mickey smiled and shrugged as they approached another set of doors that slid open automatically to the control room. Mickey and Geryon both hurried eagerly to the computer, nearly bumping into each other to both begin pressing buttons. Mickey made way for Geyron, who pulled up the map of the place.

"I wonder what living here is like for the locals..." Mickey pondered. "If the flight in is any indication it doesn't sound pleasant."

As he finished his thought, on the screen laid out in front of them, a shimmering blue hologram appeared, showing a full picture of Kuala Lumpar, with a small hovering red arrow indicating their location. There was a silent pause between the two.

"...you were right to wonder," Geyron observed.

Mickey nodded.

<·>---[¤]---<·>

The city almost looked like it was taken straight from a post-apocalyptic novel. Though it was busy and heavily populated, the scenery was littered with damaged and decaying buildings, fallen bridges, and roads of concrete shattered into hairline fractures. Water and electrical lines had been torn apart as much as the rest of the city, so it was no surprise that the streets were dimly lit with flickering lights and the streets weren't very clean.

If the place had been standing in its former glory, it would've appeared to be a normal neighborhood. But under the circumstances, and even in observing the dodgy responses from passerby, it did seem pretty sketchy.

Though the environment was foreign, Mickey couldn't help but feel like it was just a different version of what he knew back home in Mexico.

As they began to walk through the streets, Geryon's large frame had begun to draw a lot of attention. There were a lot of suspicious stares, people not-so-subtly retreating into buildings, and wary glances.

"I think you stick out a bit, 'migo," Mickey said with a small smile, though he was a bit unsettled by the negative reactions.

"Well I am a big, tall, omnic," Geryon replied matter-of-factly.

"Seems you're pretty popular," Mickey chuckled, nudging Geyron's metal arm with his elbow.

"Already?"

Mickey laughed more, watching as a more curious city-dweller passed by them on the road who was giving them some intense side-eye. Mickey smiled and gave them a friendly wave.

"Ay, mister, don't worry about my friend, here," he explained, gesturing to the omnic. "He's a good fellow."

The man tucked his hat down, so Mickey couldn't see his eyes, and continued walking past them, but faster.

Mickey and Geryon paused in their walk, watching as the man hurriedly escaped their presence.

"Why do I get the feeling he doesn't believe me?" Mickey wondered aloud.

"Maybe he's hard of hearing," Geryon hypothesized.

Mickey half rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Okay, okay, enough of this now, let's get done what we need to get done. We've gotta establish a connection with the locals and leaders here."

Mickey walked up to a storefront selling produce out front. He knocked on the door, seeing the storeowner inside. The store owner approached the door but Mickey could see the woman hesitate when she saw the omnic looming behind him.

"Hola, Señora - oh, I like your hair clips, they're nice," he said, gesturing to the neon colored clips holding her hair behind her ears. "So, we're looking for the people in charge around here. You wouldn't happen to know where we could find them, would you?"

The woman didn't reply, but instead her eyes looked behind him. Mickey looked at her expectantly, but then looked at her line of sight.

"Oh."

Mickey felt a gun tap his back and Geryon's finger poke his shoulder.

"I think we found them," he whispered loudly.

<·>---[¤]---<·>


Mickey and Geryon were led to the gang's base by its group of ten gun-wielding members. Though Mickey was trying his best to put on a friendly face, it certainly wasn't easy when they kept sticking their guns in his face any time he tried to say something. So reluctantly, he kept his mouth shut, giving looks back at Geryon every once and a while.

It looked like their final destination was the remains of a hollowed out two-story mall. Somewhere along the line in their efforts to restore the building, they added tall pillars as columns around the building and the entry-way, giving it a bit of a dramatic appearance like something seen on a movie set. Mickey was disappointed to see the lack of color on the walls again, as it seemed the gang had opted for lifeless grey tones which made the place almost seem more like a... really fancy prison than a base.

As they walked across the slick parking lot and entered through the sliding doors, Mickey couldn't hold it back any longer.

"So you guys are the local government then, yeah?" he asked.

Silence from their plain-faced escorts.

"The sliding doors are a nice touch," Geryon commented.

"Yeah, makes me feel real intimidated," Mickey added. "I feel a shopping spree coming on."

The two entered an elevator, still surrounded by ten people. And ten guns.

"Oh! You think they have a game store here?" Geryon asked, with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Mickey tried to suppress a chuckle. "I don't think so -"

"Cut it out, you two" One of the gang members finally said, pointing her gun at them. "You said you wanted to find us, so here you are."

The elevator door opened to the top floor, and at the very end of the building, could be seen what looked like an old clothing store - except, the sigh that used to hang there was replaced by a bunch of simple graffiti - red streaks forming different words and symbols in a language Mickey didn't know. Exiting the store, was a short, but burly man with thick black hair and a long black coat. Following behind and beside him were six people, all armed, who Mickey could only assume were body guards of some sort.

"Looks like you're the big guy in charge, ey?" Mickey asked as the man came up to them. "This your posse?"

The man sneered, but almost looked offended. "Who are you and this omnic and what are you doing in my city?"

Geryon lifted up a hand as if called on to answer the question. "Oh! That's easy. I'm Geryon. This is Mickey."

"And we're here to -" Mickey stopped, looking back at Geryon for a moment. "Well I guess I'll just put it this way. We're the NighWatch. We're here to help the people of this city by setting up a relief force and providing protection. Offering hope. And we need your cooperation in order to do that."

The man raised his thick eyebrows, blinking a few times before his mouth spread into a smile and he laughed.

Mickey and Geyron exchanged glances.

"...Did I just tell a joke?" Mickey leaned in, whispered to Geryon.

Geryon shook his head, replying in a much louder whisper. "If you were trying to, at least one person thinks it's funny."

Mickey pulled away from Geryon and looked at the laughing man in the furry black coat.

"You got a name, guy?" He asked.

"Haibaa bin Nawfa," the man replied, laughter dissipating. "That's funny, that you think you can come in here, without even knowing who I am... yet you make such demands!" Haibaa looked around at his six guards expectantly. They all began to erupt into somewhat forced, obligatory laughter.

"Look, Mickey," Haibaa said, pointing a finger. "I don't know who you are, nor do I really care. But since you and your giant of a friend here have walked into my den, we'll make use of you."

Mickey and Geryon exchanged glances.

"What does that even mean?" Geryon asked.

"Well, not really you," Haibaa said, giving a dismissive wave towards Mickey's short, stocky frame, and looking up at the large omnic. "But you, you might prove useful for entertainment."

"You looking for a standup comedian?" Geryon asked.

Haibaa's smile disappeared. "No, omnic. But you'd make a perfect gladiator."
Pants are an illusion. And so is death.






User avatar
49 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 3000
Reviews: 49
Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:52 pm
View Likes
wakarimasen says...



Image

"All right, show me what you can do."

The obstacle course was so ... perfect. Predictable. So unlike the challenges nature posed. No matter how many times the pieces are arranged and re-arranged, Midori makes quick work of the hurdles, the faux rock walls, the rows of spinning torches and knives.... She's barely breathless when she reached the end, but that could change the second her adrenaline store runs out.

Behind her comes the sound of a single person's applause. "Excellent. You have the making of a ninja, a true Shimada."

Midori bows her head slightly. "Thank you, Sensei."

"Tomorrow, you will demonstrate everything you have learned thus far before the family, and complete the final step of your initiation," the elder clanswoman declared, rising from her observation seat and smoothing the folds of her black robes.

Tomorrow? So soon? Midori almost thinks aloud.

It seemed like only yesterday, the family had taken her in, showed her their ways. Midori was now fairly proficient in swordsmanship, but her passion, it seemed, was for archery. She'd taken to the bow and arrow right away, exhibiting natural aptitude and a good aim. She was good, but was she good enough?

"But ... there's still so much more I ... I need to master, to review ... you know, get good at!"

With unexpected familiarity, the old woman gathers Midori into an embrace. There's no warmth to it, and the old woman's loose-fitting robes hide a rock-solid physique that you don't really find in people her age, the build of a ninja. But her words are comforting. "I believe, young one, that you will succeed."

Midori holds still, unsure she's able to reciprocate this semblance of maternal affection only eight months after Mother's demise. Realizing this, her mentor releases her and turns on her heel towards the dojo's entrance.

"You must rest and prepare your mind for tomorrow's trials," she called over her shoulder. "Do not neglect yourself!"

"Yes, Sensei," Midori whispers. When the older woman's gone, Midori goes to her gym bag, digs out the simple training bow and a handful of arrows, and shoots a few through the still-spinning ring of torches.


<·>----[¤]----<.>


Counter to Joao's increasingly irritable assurances, Midori soon learned that walking into a Talon outpost was anything but a walk in the park. They found the abandoned structure by midday: It was a non-descript buildng in a non-descript part of the city, perfect for fitting in as much as possible. The walk through the ghost city was boring, the missions was vague and unconvincing, and Midori wasn't sure how she felt about Joao, the only person there that had said more than a sentence to her since she joined Nightwatch, besides Brigitte.

"So, are we going in?" Midori took a step towards the not-totally-uninviting entrance.

Joao held up a hand. "Not before I run a scan for hostiles." Without moving from where he stood, Joao fished into his pocket. At first, he pulled out a small gadget-looking thing from his pocket. "Oh, that's where my flask went." He turned it over. "Still got some left in it." Loosening the cap, he downed the alcohol in one gulp. With an exaggerated satisfied sigh, he clipped the now empty flask onto his belt. "Been far too long since I had something with alcohol in it."

"You had some before we set off." Midori's tone had an impatient edge.

He flashed a pointed stare at Midori. "Far too long," he muttered something else under his breath. "What was I doing? Oh, yeah." He turned his attention to his other pocket and pulled out something that looked almost comically similar to his flask, and Midori braced herself for another agonizing delay. He wagged it at Midori. "Stole this from the ship. They won't mind it, I'm sure."

He set the machine down on the ground, where it planted itself. The contraption in its middle opened and a large rod sprouted out. Within moments, it was taller than them both, and a soft red light lit the top of it. It pulsed once, then twice, then a larger, stronger pulse sent light and sound through the surrounding area. The bass echoed in Midori's head and stomach, causing the latter to do jumping jacks in her.

"You can do that ... like that?" Midori asked in disbelief. She'd been expecting a long trek around the building, perhaps. More walking, for sure. Maybe using the flask-like thing at a few different surrounding locations.

Joao shrugged. "I may not be Geryon, but I've got plenty of tech. Just gotta know where to look."

"And where to steal?" Midori quipped, eliciting a small smile from her companion.

"You got it."

"So, what did the scanner say?"

"It's over 9,000!" Joao exclaimed.

"What?" Midori screeched. "9,000 what? People? Oh no, we're doomed!"

"I'm joking. It's a reference." Joao glanced at her expectantly. "You don't get the reference?"

Midori shrugged. He groaned. "Kids these days. There's nothing, it's clear."

"Oh..." Midori was visibly relieved as she followed Joao inside. "Although ... I'm not really your average 'kid from these days,' as you put it."

"Ah, so you're one of those special chosen one types?" Joao rolled his eyes. "Kids these days. Give me a break!" He stomped past her towards the building. "Bastard Shimada, chosen one, lemme guess, you had someone shoving that shit down your throat since you were a child, right? That you were special and you were going to, oh I don't know, change the world?" He scoffed. "The world is doomed, whether we like it or not."

Midori bristled at the torrent of profanity. "No, it wasn't like that at all."

"I'm sure." Joao stopped, but Midori could tell he was fuming. From what, she couldn't quite tell.

"Listen, Joao, I, uh...."

"What?" He stopped and turned to her.

The problem was, Mother never told her anything until the day she died. Literally. And even that which she knew now had gotten her nowhere. There were no more answers. She was nobody special. Those Shimadas? They saw her and immediately made her into their pawn. And it was not because of who she was or where she came from; it was because she'd simply showed up. All they wanted was strength in numbers and in their eyes, Midori could be used for that.

"Never mind. Let's get that reactor core."

Midori brushed past without another word. Behind her she thought she heard Joao draw in a breath, as though about to say something, but whatever he'd planned on saying was cut short by Midori's own exclamation of "WHOA!" The tile beneath her right foot had moved.

Letting out a small shriek, she jumped back just in time before a pair of gigantic blades, concealed until now in the dark, unsheathed themselves from the ceiling with the intent of slicing her in two!

"Joao?" Midori called over her shoulder. "While there aren't any other people here now, I think we've just walked into their trap!"

"You don't say."








Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.
— John Milton (Poet)