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Inferno

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    Dave ST

Inferno last won the day on March 14

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  1. --==[Manhattan, New York]==-- "Okay....," Mikey stepped away from the gun and looked at the vacant hallway where mystery dude just upped and poofed. "Think, Mikey. Think. Is this shit really so strange? I mean... you were just on fire... so, there's that. The hell though?" He walked around looking at... well, he had no idea what he was looking for. Dude was here, now he's not, but he left a gun. The gun. His thumb slid across the screen of his smartphone, his fingers tapping in a few keys for a Google search. He tapped the number Google provided and waited for someone to pick up while he paced around. The police would be there soon, but they never negotiated stairs very well so he figured he had some time. "Uh, yeah," he began as a receptionist answered. "Uh, hi, look uh, some dude was just on a roof top sniping people and then teleported away when I confronted him. You guys have people that handle this sorta thing, or is it like an F.B.I. thing? This is Irregular Solutions, right? The mutant group that helps other mutants? Cuz, seriously lady... I have no idea who to call right now, three people are dead and if this dude it teleporting, there's no way regular police are gonna find him. He left a gun behind, weird kinda tech on it... is there a finders fee?"
  2. "What?" Mikey asked back. "Who what?" Realizing that he was a guy on fire he thought it might be best to diffuse (hehe) the situation a bit. Either way, bro was going to jail, no point in letting the guy accidentally burn himself trying doing something stupid. He looked to his hands. "Oh. This?" He waved them about and the made that wooshing sounds flames make when you wave them around. His accent was gone as he dropped the hood rat mentality in lew of something a bit calmer. "Yeah, it's fire, bro. Totally real, and it will burn you. Me? No. But you? Oh, hell yes. And what the hell, dude? Are you like the dude on Netflix who goes around killing people? Did you lose family to muggers or some shit? I get it, those people suck, but killing? Dude, that just makes you as bad as the people you're trying to stop. Give it some thought when you're in lock up. I hope this experience changes you, man." He took another step and flicked his finger a few times forward to indicate for the man to turn and start walking. "C'mon bro, getcho' stride on."
  3. Mikey was a fast guy, especially dropping from a building, fast, but that speed would not out run a bullet. His senses helped him to slow the world, at least, to the ordinary human that's was the closest approximation. As his brain processed and took in information it often felt like everything else went in to slo-mo while he made his decisions and acted accordingly. His perceptions caught the echo of sound of the next round firing. He knew he couldn't save whomever it was being fired at, he wasn't that good... hell, he'd just gotten these powers a few weeks ago and the most he'd managed to do with them was light can drum fires for the bums in the Kitchen. Hey. It was the little things. He scanned the area and the glimmer of the sniper's scope spurred his body into action. He as certainly no hero, but this was dude was poppin' of slugs in the hood and while he didn't care for hoods in his district, killing them was certainly not the way to handle things (okay, so he was a softy)! He didn't need the wings, they were just for show and kind of fun. Last week it was bat wings, and ealier this week it was insect wings, which looked really cool with veins of multicolored flames wrapping through them. He leapt from the building, thankfully he'd had a good grasp of his ability to fly as gouts of flame exploded from his shoulder blades like a pair of flaming dorsal fins or stabilizers on a plane. From his feet gouted flame like that of a jet engine and from the palms of his hands as well and in a simple motion he soared up into the air looking like an Iron Man without his armor with thrust coming from his back, hands and feet. A trail of heat marked his trajectory as he flew towards the sniper, who decided to cut his losses and turn tail, running back into the building he was firing from. That didn't stop Mikey, he soared right through the window, the room and the door, tackling the man in the hallway of the abandoned tenement building. He hit hard. A bit too hard. He could handle the velocity, but man, that impact when flying into something was sure a bitch. They both tumbled as the sputtering of Mikey's flames extinguished and the rolled in separate directions down the trash filled hallway. The managed to rise to their feet at about the same time, wobbly from the impact they were both struggling to catch their bearings. Mike's sunglasses had fallen off in the tumble. he stood and looked at the man, his eyes were pure white, no hint of color or pupils, just pure Deadpool CGI. "Wrong hood, ass hat. You wanna blow people away, take that shit up to Baltimore or Philly," his hands ignited into thick flames that writhed up his forearms, the moment his hands ignited, his eyes went from white, to being set aflame as well. The flames dances and licked across his eyebrows. His voice was an intense combination of adrenaline and street slang. "So I'm gon' make this shit simple. We gon' walk down them stairs and you're gonna wait with me til the cops arrive, or I'ma start dolling out third degree ass whoopins'. So, you lookin' to get down right here?" He held out his hands, cocked his head and took a step forward egging the man on for a fight.
  4. --==[Manhattan, New York]==-- The officer dodged the spray paint can as best he could in the cramped confines of the stairwell. It slammed against the wall as his partner pushed him forward in an effort to not lose any ground against the degenerate that threw it at them. They shouted for him to stop and pressed on as he laughed and continued spiraling up the stairwell. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Mikey!" One of the officers shouted as a young man in cargo shorts and and a hoodie darted up the stairs, leaping and hooking corners with a parkour flair. "Hard?" The guy chuckled. "C'mon, I ain't even winded O'Brian. You, uh... might wanna sit your pudgy ass down though, you likely to have a heart attack at this rate." The guy laughed without breaking his stride. The officers chased him through the stairwell, passing through corners littered with trash and debris and passed spray painted walls until they burst through the door to the roof and the light of the mid-day sun dazed them from the sudden transition of inside to outside. Mikey laughed as they gave chase until he reached the ledge of the ten story apartment building. The two officers slowed their pace, which took several paces as neither were in the best of shape. Holding up his hand, trying to catch his breath, officer O'Brian shouted to him in a thick New York accent. "C'mon, Mikey. Cut the shit, you had your fun... now get down and get over here. You're not gonna jump, and we're not in the mood for games. How many times have I busted you kid? Eh? Six, seven... this month?" "Four." Mikey laughed, hopping about like he had an adrenaline rush, his sun glasses didn'tmove to far off his nose as he hopped about. "That shit on Twelfth I'm not counting, because I wasn't doing anything wrong, bruh!" "You were loitering!" Officer O'Brian shot back. "Pfffft," Mikey scoffed. "Loitering ain't illegal! I was just sleeping, damn." "Uh, yeah, it kinda is." O'Brian's partner said, resting his hands on his knees still trying to catch his breath. "No shit?" He looked puzzled under his glasses. "Seriously?" When they both nodded their heads, still out of breath, he chuckled. "Well, shit. Okay, five then, I'll give you that." "Fabulous," O'Brian said sarcastically. He held out his cuffs, "Now c'mon Mikey. I'm getting too old to chase you, boy. You know how this works and how to put em' on. Get off the ledge and quit screwing around." Mikey smirked through pursed lips, holding his arms out in a shrug. "Yeah... no. Not today, O'Brian." From his back exploded flaming wings of orange, white and gold heat. Each feather a luminous inferno of blazing heat. The feathers began to explode downward, spraying flames downward like feathery jet engines that provided enough thrust for him to elevate a few inches off the ground. Mikey smirked. "See you around, O.B.. Better luck next time." He rose higher and the wings exploded with and flared once more providing enough lift to send him soaring through the sky at a break neck speed. "Oh, shit," O'Brian's partner huffed in moderate disbelief. "I'll get on the radio, I mean, it can't be too hard to miss that landing somewhere." "No," The veteran officer said shaking his head. "Let him go. The kid's as dumb as the day is long, we'll get him. We provoke him and he might do something that both he, and we regret. He's a life criminal, but the kid's crafty." Mikey spiraled through the air and soared past them leaving a trail of a heat wave exhaust behind his wings. "This is nuts! Bananas, bruh! Bananaaaaaaaaaas! Woooooooooo! Later O.B.!" As O'Brian's partner looked at him the officer shrugged. "Yeah, definitely a bit dumb though."
  5. "Flight control is ready and on stand by" Jensen said. "As an aside we all heard what the station commander said in there. We have a professional responsibility to not keep repeating our personal feelings or little snippets here and there on the matter." He looked around to everyone present as this was the second time he'd heard an off comment about what the Commander had said. He couldn't believe that he got railed for speaking his mind earlier and here he was now, reminding senior officers how to be professional. "If he feels that way, it's his prerogative. Our place is to serve our Captain, and right now there is obvious animosity over what he said. As leaders, whether we realize it or not, we carry that animosity with us back to our duty stations. Enlisted will hear about this, and about our personal thoughts on the matter, which is why we should not have any. We have a job to do, let's do it." His eyes met the XO's, "Ma'am."
  6. "Speak your mind openly, get threatened with violence. Passively beat around the bush and imply instead insinuate, everything remains awkward." Ensign Jensen mumbled under his breath. What he wanted to say was 'It's obvious there's some drama there. We have to serve under you, so get your house in order. We're not stupid and it's insulting to sit us here and treat us like we don't see it', but frankly, Petty Officer First Class Chief Harkness had scared him enough to keep his mouth shut for now. Well, shut enough that he wasn't afraid to mumble like a seventeen year old brat stuck at a dinner table with 'family' he didn't really want to be hanging out with. He'd yet to understand how politics worked. Honesty and truthfulness were not something people wanted to her. They needed, no, wanted to be lied to. But, why? It persisted and and that happened in between the moments of silence was the XO leaning over to hisper something in the Skipper's ear. Finally, after rolling around some of the food on his plate he raised his hand like he was in class. "I-I'm sorry... I'm not sure the protocol here. Do we all sit quietly in awkward silence or is conversation okay? I-I'm really not good with people and situations like this. Did I miss a social queue? Are we waiting on one?"
  7. Jensen, still fuming on thunderous heartbeats of frustration, clenched his fists. "She is a manipulative-" "Does any part of me look like I give a single damn about hearing anything but 'yes, Chief', boy?" He still didn't look at Jensen, his eyes stayed locked on the turbo lift door. "Petty Officer, I-," he was still going for the win, futile though it may have been, but when Harkness turned and shot him a glare that could have melted Andoria Prime, the cocky Ensign leaned back a bit, like shirking away from a nightmare made flesh. He swallowed hard. "Y-yes, Chief. Cr-crystal clear, Chief."
  8. Jensen reached for and handed J'Sira a tricorder, implying that she could calibrate the warp core herself. "We are not wandering and everything you told me about the Warp Core is not helpful. I already know that, I memorized that on my down here, along with several other of your core systems. While I'm sure the tech manual you reviewed a few moments ago and thought necessary to regurgitate back to me might impress others, I assure you Lieutenant, I forgot more by the time I was ten then most will ever know." His tone implied that he was including her among that 'most' category, but left it unsaid. "What I came down here for were the things I couldn't get from a tech manual. System limitations, quirks or flaws inherent with that particular model... things that my staff and I are going to need to take into consideration when we plot a course light years from here and hit target the size of a blueberry and navigate our way through frontier space and nebulae. I was under the impression that the best way to get said information is from the professional experts, namely you and your staff. However, since our presence here isn't 'desirable' we'll leave you and yours to it and just make due with the specs we have, I've my own job to do, I've not the time to do yours as well. Good luck with your diagnostics and calibrations." Jensen turned and walked away, shaking his head. He spun about addressing V'Lar. "I'll get the staff meeting going, meet in fifteen, I need to compile all this into a brief." He held up his PADD and wobbled it from side to side. He nodded, "Lieutenant."
  9. "Lead Flight Controller," V'Lar said quietly as they exited the Captain's brief. "Congratulations." "Hmm?" Jensen looked at her, then it popped into his head what she had said to him and shook it slightly to clear away his multiple thoughts and focus on the moment. "Oh, uh, yeah... thanks." With an actual duty section to report to, or in this case, lead, he went to meet with his team. Surely there weren't only two people aboard all of The Destiny who could fly her. They walked together, taking in a few sights of the ship as they headed to their berthing. "You didn't seem to say much in there," V'LAr said finally, realizing Micheal wasn't one for conversation. "I suppose being he youngest member of Starfleet, you don't really need to learn a whole lot more?" "Youngest? Oh, yeah, right, eh, I'm not really all that special, honestly. Ensign T'Set is eighteen, she's a vulcan too, like you." He shrugged, blowing off the prospect that being the youngest member of Starfleet was all that big of a deal. "We were in classes together, she accomplished no less than I did." "Very humble of you." She offered him a polite nod. "So, as lead, what is our first order of business?" Jensen froze in his tracks. It just suddenly dawned on him that he was actually in charge of a department. "Uh, well... I'll be honest V'Lar, I'm not really the leadership type. W-what I mean is, well, we just went through the same four years, or we're going to be working with people who have experience. I don't want to be the guy looking over everyone's shoulder, micromanaging things. We know our job, by virtue of us being in that brief, we're already damn good at it too. So, let's 'by the book' it. Run our typical diags, use a lot of big words to explain simple things, familiarize ourselves with the ship's capabilities, and meet our team and make sure we have all our fingers and toes." She looked at him, puzzled. "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with that expression." "It means make sure we have everything in order, five fingers, five toe, right where they should be." Jensen laughed. "It's an old Earth saying. My dad had hundreds of them, I picked up a few." "Very well," V'Lar smiled, understanding the premise of the comment now. "I thought perhaps we should familiarize ourselves with Engineering as well." "Agreed, let's see what this baby has under the hood. Good call." He saw once again that V'lar, who was fluent in Earth's languages did not seem to speak Jensen. "Sorry, more expressions... I'll explain later. Let's take a look after we get our berthing straight, hopefully we can dodge Lieutenant J'Sira." Puzzled once more, V'LAr looked at Jensen expecting an explination. "She's very wordy. If we get spotted I've no doubt she'll attempt to explain how the whole of Engineering works and we don't have another four years to take it all in. She actually made darts unfun. How does one even do that?! It's darts!" He looked completely shocked. "It's a vulcan thing." V'Lar said deadpan as they continued down the p-way.
  10. Micheal listened the entire time, his stomach twisted in knots as nausea set in, while Garner stared daggers at him from time to time. He didn't speak or motion to ask any questions, at least, not yet. He knew that Senior Officers often looked to see which if the new comers and younger officers were prepared to step up to the plate and voice their thoughts and be inquisitive, but that just wasn't him. He could waste words on things that would be revealed in time or were nothing more than space fillers promising things that carried no credibility with them, yet. One thing was for sure, he didn't understand older people. They sure loved the sound of their own voice. Quietly enough he simply paid attention and listened, while Garner made slight facial expressions at him indicated that his time in the galaxy was limited.
  11. Michael stepped forward. "Ensign Michael Jensen," he said, clasping his hands in front of him to patiently wait for what came next. "Ready when you are Master Chief."
  12. Ensign Jensen stood quietly, reading his pad and listening to the endless supply of rumor, hearsay, and the usual scuttlebutt. It appeared as if the 'professionalism' of senior enlisted and officers was no different than the junior ranks within Starfleet Academy, if given the chance they would talk and talk about anything and everything, never quite grasping that they had a job to and were they meant to know more than that, they'd already have been read into what was going on. "The rivers know this:," Jensen said softly. "There is no hurry." He tucked his tablet under his arm and waited patiently. He'd know his assignment soon enough.
  13. Michael stood there for a few moments, taking it all in. It was, without a doubt, an impressive sight to not only see Asgard Station, but still see it being build. There was a certain nostalgia to seeing something built and wondering if he'd ever come back this way again years form now and see it completed. Like old people were fond of saying on Earth centuries ago (and still today) 'I remember when all this used to be...'. He smiled quietly at the thought of whether or not he'd be that sort of old man. Or whether he'd live to see 'old'. Garner had drawn a target on him, chances are he'd contact his mother and she'd request that the next shipt designed would be cylindrical so Garner could fly it straight up Jensen's-... "Astronomers." T'Set said calmly. "I'm sorry, what? I-I was somewhere else..." He admitted, trying to wipe a mental image from his brain canvas. She offered a warm smile. "Astronomers, I said. It's amazing how throughout all cultures they used to dream of all that was among the stars, and here was are, just starting our careers with endless opportunities to see all that others' dreamt of seeing. It's very exciting." He seemed to understand, but like always didn't seem very interested. It was hard to guess what went on inside Jensen's mind, but most people either got used to it or just thought he was weird. "Umm, I should go get my things together and. T-thanks for helping out with Garner. Chances are he's gonna kill me, so, if he does, do me a favor and tell my family I loved them." She was pretty sure that was humor, but he was just to dry it was hard to tell. "S-seriously. Thanks. I appreciated it." In a very unofficer-like manner, he tucked his hands in the pockets of his uniform, turned and walked off to collect his belongings.
  14. "It is," Jensen said, mustering as much snark as he could. Fact was that Garner scared the crap out of him, but Michael was bolstered slightly by sight of senior officers who, he hoped, would call the rabid loser off him. "I figured since I'm still living rent free in your head I might as well get a cup of cocoa, put my feet up, and get comfortable." He stood tall, probably a few moments from letting his mouth write a check his ass couldn't cash, but, nothing ventured and all that... "Take it in Garner, this is me from the front. Since you've been looking at nothing but my back for the last four years and probably the rest of your career... breathe it in."
  15. Michael recognized Ensign T'Set in passing and had to admit to himself the nod from her seemed... out of place. At the academy the two could have probably counted on one hand the number of times they shared a few words, let alone a greeting lest it was part of some evolution or after hours assignment study. To say they 'knew' each other was a lie that neither could pass off on their best day, but to suddenly be acknowledged out of nowhere by her was strange. Perhaps it was because they were no longer classmates and were now 'colleagues'. Yes, that must have been it. Saying Michael Jensen was a social young man would have been like saying Vulcans produced some of the angriest death metal in the galaxy, sure they were capable... but it just did come all that easy to them. He managed a smile, that honestly looked like it may had been his first attempt at one, ever, and managed a wave at T'Set in polite acknowledgement of her greeting. His wave was lazy and gave off the cues of an individual who really didn't know what he was waving for, but he'd seen other do it so thought he'd follow along, it would have been enough to embarrass a human woman into never speaking to him again... ever. To say he felt out of place was the understatement of the century. Michael was an anomaly, among humans, anyway. His intellect was staggering and here stood in a Star Ship as a member of Starfleet at only seventeen years old. It was almost unheard of. Even in this century he would have loved to say that humanity had changed and evolved past it's pettiness and desire to hurt others simply because one could, but that was not the case at all from his experience. His whole life he'd always encountered those who, because he was so smart, treated him like he was an outcast of the bearer of some plague, keeping their distance and refusing to let him be a part of what was 'normal'. Starfleet wasn't his choice, his parents made it for him when they approached his family. Once there, it was just like Michael knew it would be, although they were all gifted and young, Michael wasn't afraid to ask questions, challenge, or even bark orders during the evolution and quickly became ostracized during off hours and out shunned in no time at all. So, his four years sucked. "You uh, gonna move?" Came a voice from behind him, and Jensen turned about to see two other junior crewmen standing behind him, semi-trapped in the doorway he was currently blocking. So lost in his own head he didn't even hear the door open. They swiftly noted his collar devices and the one who spoke quickly corrected himself. "Oh, uh... s-sorry, sir. That came out a little more tactless than I intended..." "Huh?" Jensen looked at them both like they were speaking gibberish until his mind swiftly put all the dots together. "Oh, oh, no it's uh, okay, it's fine. I'm uh, the one blocking the door, it's all good... you guys, please, come in and enjoy your, uh, off time... or your... whatever..." his voice trailed off at the end as his brain decided to shut down that babbling before it embarrassed him too much. "Let me uh, get out of the way and y-you two come on in and I'll uh... j-just go," he pointed towards the blackjack game, but walked in the opposite direction to the bar. When his brain had caught up that we was walking opposite the direction he pointed it picked up the pieces and his other arm swiftly took the reigns and he pointed in the proper direction. "Go over there and... d-do something." The two looked at each other and tried not to laugh outright. With his back to them and a few steps away Jensen closed his eyes and chastised himself for looking like a complete tool. As an officer he was expected to actually give people orders and here he was... barely able to speak... or point... or walk... or think... yay Starfleet. He sat at the bar, tilting his head into his hand with his elbow on the counter, sulking inwardly. "That, was painful." Said the on duty staff behind the bar. Since everything here was replicated, one wasn't really necessary, but one of the crew from the Maranval volunteered their off duty hours to hang out and help with some of those having a difficult time with the transition; answering questions, being a friendly ear, and portraying that vibe that everyone was Starfleet; one team, one family. It was a tactic that worked especially well with Ensigns, who, even after a four year academy, could be really intimidated by all the strangers they found themselves surrounded by who knew the area, the ship and the people so well. "What can I get you that doesn't involve years of therapy to erase the whole last few minutes from existence?" "Mint hot chocolate, 71.1 degrees, marshmallows too, if it's okay. And something to make me invisible..." Michael sighed, releasing some of the tension he was feeling through a tensed up expression. The guy laughed. "That first one I can do. Second, you're on your own there, kid. But, some free advice: don't let it get to you. We all have to learn to crawl before we walk. Lemme get that drink for ya."
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