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Found 175 results

  1. ,, THE PRESENT Date & Time: November 23rd, 2013, 11:41pm Location: Kaolak meteorite impact crater, approximately 3.75 miles east of Kaolak River, Alaska Coordinates (GPS): N 69 55.146, W 159 55.888 ,, Jimmy Smalls, Major in the United States Air Force, pulled up his collar and hunched his way further into his artic-rated coat as he leaned into the wind kicked up by the helicopter currently coming to rest fifteen or twenty meters away. The helicopter landed, and a moment later disgorged one of its occupants, who made his way to Smalls in the typical crouching-jog that people tend to use around helicopters. By the time the man had reached Smalls and was straightening out of his crouch the helicopter was already several meters in the air again and still rising. ,, Major Smalls saluted at the man’s approach and, once he was within earshot, half-shouted in formal greeting, “General!” ,, Brigadier General Tom Ballard returned a hurried and cursory salute without once breaking his stride, forcing Smalls to fall into step beside him or be left quickly behind. “Where is it?” the general asked, his brow furrowed and his eyes asquint as he peered into the arctic night around them, searching for the reason he’d flown all the way out here. ,, “Over this way”, answered the major, pointing off to their right, beyond the hastily assembled land-moving equipment and even more hastily assembled command tent. ,, They were more than a hundred miles from the nearest settlement large enough to be called a town – and much further away from the nearest actual city – in the middle of one of the remotest and most poorly mapped regions of Alaska’s North Slope region. Even during Alaska’s summer months travelling there would have been difficult, but in the middle of the Alaskan winter getting all of the equipment and personnel out there that they had, and getting them there as quickly as they had, was the kind of feat that only the United States Air Force could have pulled off. It was the middle of the night, but because they were so far north even if it had been daytime it would still have been dark, and there were high-intensity lights set up on poles at regular intervals throughout the makeshift camp, with a larger concentration of light set up around what the general assumed to be the actual point of impact. The temperature was well below freezing; there was hardly any snow at all, however, which Ballard thought strange until he remembered that he was standing in the middle of a recently formed impact crater. ,, General Ballard could see that the tractors and other earth-moving equipment had been busy, hauling away piled up debris from the central cone of the impact crater, forcing them to climb over and weave their way between a few different piles of recently moved rubble. He’d seen the crater’s central cone clearly from the air as he’d ridden in on the helicopter, but from down here on the ground it looked more like a small hill or large mound. Ballard had always found it strange that impact craters like this one often had these raised cones smack in the middle of them. He knew there was a scientific explanation for it, but couldn’t pretend to know what it might be. ,, As they walked the general spared a glance in Major Smalls’ direction. “Give me your report, major. What’ve you got so far?” ,, “Yes sir”, answered Smalls. Taking a breath, he dove into his report, “the object would no doubt have warranted an investigation of some kind in any case, but several anomalous events before and during its descent and impact attracted our notice and sparked the ongoing operation you see going on around you.” ,, “Anomalous events?” asked the General. “Such as?” ,, “The way the object changed course after it collided with the Radiosat 3 satellite, for one. At its mass and velocity, a collision with a satellite shouldn’t have had any notable impact on its course or bearing, yet it did. Additionally, there was the relatively small release of energy in the form of light or heat during the objects descent – significantly less than there should have been. Most of what was released was generated by the actual impact itself. Also, sir, the object slowed down significantly during its descent – down to around Mach 53 at the time of impact – much more so than can be accounted for by atmospheric drag. Especially considering the object’s actual size.” ,, Ballard cast a questioning glance in Smalls’ direction and asked, “Size? How big is it?” ,, “Much smaller than it should be, sir”, Smalls said. “You’ll have to see for yourself to really understand.” ,, They were nearing the actual point of impact as Smalls said this, so the general let the major's non-answer slide and allowed himself to be led to ‘the object’. ,, They crested the lip of the central cone and Ballard immediately found himself being led down into another, much smaller crater that lay inside of it. In the lowest portion of this inner crater’s basin was a crowd of personnel and equipment; as he and Smalls approached, some of the men turned and, seeing Ballard, stiffened in salute. The rest of those gathered quickly noticed this and turned to offer salutes of their own, standing to one side to allow the general access to whatever lay at the center. As the crowd of soldiers and workers cleared away Ballard finally caught site of Lieutenant Colonel Darnell Flowers, his officer in charge out here at the crater site, squatting over something practically at the dead center of it all. ,, The colonel turned and, seeing Ballard, stood to offer him a salute as well. The general returned it and said, “The major tells me there’s something here I need to ‘see for myself to really understand.’” ,, “He’s right, general”, Flowers told him. The officer stood to one side and gestured for the general to look into a recently-excavated pit that opened just behind him. ,, Ballard took a step forward and peered down into the pit. Lights were pouring into it from high-powered lamps, so the darkness wasn’t a problem, but the general was still having trouble working out what he was seeing. After a moment he turned back to Flowers with a curious look on his face. ,, “Is that a… a statue?”, he asked.
  2. ,, My flight from Tyche to the outermost edges of the solar system (as measured by Neptune’s orbit) winds up taking me only 5.8102 x 107 seconds, which OK, yes, that’s a long time, but I think anyone would agree that it’s a significant improvement over 7.0186 x 107 seconds. More than four month’s worth of improvement, in point of fact. Needless to say, my average acceleration has gotten better during my travels. ,, By the time I reach the last few hundred thousand kilometers of the roughly fifteen thousand astronomical units I must cross in order to reach my destination, my average acceleration over the entire length of the journey has reached a whopping 2.651 m/s2, which is only around 27% of one standard gravity. This is still only my average acceleration, however. My actual acceleration by this point is 17.6667 m/s2, which is pretty nearly two full g’s of thrust. There are two reasons for the discrepancy between my actual and my average acceleration. ,, The first reason is that, aside from a few semi-fantastical exceptions that are still not out of the “really neat idea” phase, let alone the design phase, there are no propellants or engines in existence that can maintain constant acceleration, over a scale of years, larger than a very small fraction of a meter per second squared. My own ability to propel myself through space is no exception. At “full burn”, I can maintain constant acceleration for approximately sixty-six hundred seconds at a time before I’m “all out of juice”, so to speak; if I take it easy and go at half-strength or less, the span of time over which I can maintain constant acceleration increases in inverse proportion. ,, Usually I just go full-burn until I’m all worn out, though, because something I’ve gotten even better at than generating thrust or listening for radio signals is regenerating my power levels (or battery charge or whatever it is that keeps us novas going). It generally takes me less than fifteen thousand seconds to regenerate fully, so I can typically manage slightly more than four full-burn sessions per twenty-four hour period. The actual percentage works out to pretty nearly 30% of every day that I can spend at full-burn, which in turn works out to roughly 30% of each week or month or year. And 30% of 17.6667 m/s2 is 5.3001 m/s2, which in turn is my maximum average acceleration. ,, I’m sure it’s readily apparent to anyone, but this is exactly twice the acceleration I quoted above as being my overall average, which brings me to the second reason for the discrepancy between that number and my actual acceleration. I know I’ve covered this before, but it’s worth going over again: in space, once an object is in motion it will remain that way until acted upon by an outside force. What this means in practical terms for me is that, unless I want to crash into another moon while traveling at several kilometers a second (or actually, a whole hell of a lot faster than that, given how long I would’ve been accelerating by this point), I have to start DE-celerating at about the halfway point of my journey. In essence, I must spend the first half of my journey building up speed and the second half shedding it all. The net result, from a mathematical perspective, is that my effective average acceleration over the entirety of my journey can be no faster than one-half of my maximum average acceleration. And one-half of 5.3001 m/s2 is 2.651 m/s2. ,, And there you go: basic astrodynamics. Bet you feel smarter already. ,, Something that really confuses me for a kind a long while is that my trip seems to be taking even less time than it should, even if I account for the steady increase in my average acceleration. The difference isn’t huge – especially not at first – but the discrepancy gets worse over time until I just can’t ignore it. After a while, though, I figure it out: time dilation. ,, By the time I reach the midpoint of my journey and have to turn it around and start shedding speed I’m travelling at fully seventy-six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-seven kilometers per second (that’s just shy of seventy-seven kilometers for every one-thousandth of a second, for those keeping score). A different way to say it is that I’m moving at exactly 25.68% of the speed of light. Of course, my average speed over the entire trip works out to only 12.84% of light speed, but that’s still really fast. Fast enough, in fact, for relativistic time dilation to begin to matter. ,, Overall, the net effect of the relativistic time dilation between my own frame of reference and any stationary observer is about 0.008 seconds per second. That probably doesn’t seem like much, but it starts to add up after fifty-eight million seconds. As a result, to me the entire trip winds up seeming as though it’s taken 5.762 x 107 seconds, rather than the 5.8102 x 107 seconds that it seems like it should have (and that it did take, from the frame of reference of any hypothetical earth-bound observer who might’ve been watching me during my travels). Again, the difference isn’t large, but it’s still strange to think that I’ve effectively moved more than five whole days into the rest of the human race’s future.
  3. “Just find the most Aryan American you’ve ever seen in the middle of the forest. He’ll be friendly. And he should be able to speak German.” ,, The instructions from Wilheim had been unhelpful, to Silvestru’s point of view. The archer ghosted through the woods without a final destination or end point, without concrete instructions, without a defined timeline, and with a description that matched half the strapping farm lads of the area. ,, Worse, this entire affair annoyed her. She hated being sent out to babysit an Allied soldier who was probably coming. Probably. The radio communication had stated that he was, but this was a war. Silvestru held out zero expectation of things happening as they should. ,, She came over a hill and paused, pulling out her map. Tilting it so that the dim moonlight fell on the paper, she glanced at it and checked the position of the stars and the terrain. The valley below was the meeting place for the G.I. Joe. Silvestru thought about going down there but instead she clambered up into a tree, settled against the trunk and waited for the Allies’s miracle. ,, Maybe I’ll have someone else rail against the useless resistance with me.
  4. They say that in space, no one can hear you scream. ,, But that isn’t how it works, because in space? You can’t scream. ,, I mean, sure, you can explosively expel any air you happen to be carrying around in your lungs into the deep, cold vacuum all around you – assuming, that is, that your lungs haven’t already ruptured due to the pressure difference – but you aren’t going to be making any sound when you do. And once you expel all your air and fail utterly in your attempt at screaming, you can’t even take another breath and try again. Because, you know, it’s space. There’s nothing to breathe out here. ,, I can say this from first-hand experience, because trust me: when your eruption as a nova includes a giant ball of fire falling out of the sky and dropping onto your head, only to find yourself suddenly and mysteriously dropped into orbit around a previously uncharted “cold Jupiter”, spinning through the darkness a full quarter of a light year out from the sun (instead of, say, dead from sudden-meteor overdose, for example) – well, let’s just say that screaming seems like the most appropriate response when it happens, and leave it at that. ,, They say the Refugees came from another dimension, right? And that there are potentially an infinite number of other dimensions out there besides theirs and our own, too. Knowing that, I can’t help but wonder at the highly improbable – hell, the astronomically improbable – sequence of events that led to that meteor even entering the earth’s atmosphere in the first place, let alone to it landing right where I’m standing at the time it hits me. (Which, if you’re curious, is on a small fishing boat off the coast of Mexico, thanks for asking.) I can’t help but wonder how many other universes there are out there where I get to finish my vacation in Cabo – and if those other universes don’t outnumber this one by somewhere around “infinity-to-one” – or what the odds are that I’d be the version of me that’s living in this universe instead of in one of those others. And right about here is where the whole multiverse thing starts hurting my brain, causing me to find something else to think about…. ,, I find out much later that the meteor that sparked my eruption was the source of a major mystery in the days following my own then-presumed death. Afterwards, the scientific community apparently convinced itself, along with the rest of the world, that the meteor (which estimates say was travelling at several dozen times the speed of sound when it hit our atmosphere) exploded in an air-burst when it was only a few hundred meters over the waters of the Bahia San Lucas. Which is why they call it a ‘meteor’ instead of a ‘meteorite’ – it never actually hit the ground. The only thing the scientists can’t explain is why the air burst explosion of a meteor estimated to weigh more than 12,000 metric tons didn’t wipe Cabo San Lucas off the map, because all it did do was break windows for miles around and make a really big noise. Only four people were declared dead in the aftermath (myself among them), though a lot of people were injured by all the flying glass. ‘Where did all that mass and energy go?’ you ask, but they have no answers. ,, Personally, I don’t think it went anywhere, I think it became – specifically, I think all that mass and energy became me, but even now I couldn’t tell you what really happened that day. I can only tell you what I remember, which is this: ,, There’s a sudden flash, like a second sun just popped into the sky or something, and I look up only to be blinded by a light that’s actually brighter than the sun; I’m feeling my eardrums burst under the relentless pressure of a noise that seems like it’s bigger than the whole world, along with the sensation of my skin being baked off by the heat flash the light brings with it – and then, silence. ,, And also coldness. But not just silence as in the absence of sound or coldness as in the Long Night of the Arctic Circle; this silence and this cold do not represent the lack of their opposites – sound and warmth – but the utter impossibility of the existence of those things. Think about it: when you hear a sound, that’s the molecules in the air around you vibrating, and when you get cold it’s because the air around you is cold and it’s sucking away your warmth; in a vacuum, sound and temperature can’t exist. You think you know what real silence is or what true cold feels like? No. You really don’t. ,, Anyway, it’s hard to describe. ,, Whatever the cause, I suddenly find myself floating helplessly in blackness and struggling with a crippling case of vertigo as I stare thousands upon thousands of kilometers straight down at something so large my mind is having trouble comprehending it. It’s a planet, a gas giant, and it’s literally bigger than I have a frame of reference for; it’s forcing a new frame of reference on me even as I stare at it. Distantly, it occurs to me that until just this moment I’ve never really understood what words like ‘huge’ or ‘enormous’ really meant. Later on, when I realize I have an intuitive sense of dimension and distance, among other things, I measure this planet’s equatorial radius as 76,324.607785km – bigger than Jupiter, though not by much. ,, I don’t really have time to think about all this at the time, though, as I realize that I haven’t arrived here alone. The boat I was standing on when the meteor detonated is here with me, along with what looks like a significant portion of the water the boat was floating on. And so are the three friends who were on the boat with me. ,, Tom Kerry, Fred McHenry and Sam Harris. Those were their names. Watching deep space kill people is a terrible thing. ,,
  5. Personal Traits: Name: James Allen Winston A.K.A.: Aurelius Known Relatives: None Theme: Living Singularity ,, Physical Traits: Weight: 112 metric tons (123.46 short tons) Height: 6’3” D.O.B.: January 14th, 1982 Gender: Male General Appearance: James’ skin is a semi-translucent crystalline gold in color. It gives the impression of being comprised of a thin layer of pure crystal, overlaying a deeper layer of equally pure gold. His hair appears as though it’s made of glittering, spun gold and has the same crystalline quality as his skin. The net effect is quite beautiful, if also very alien. ,, Additionally, James has a “third eye” that sits on his forehead in the shape of a large, pearl-like structure. Both this and his two normal eyes also possess a semi-translucent crystalline appearance, only they are cloud-blue in color, rather than gold, and frequently give off a faint light that seems to come from within. ,, Powers, Skills, and Personality: Traits and Personality: James is a friendly and generally outgoing person, but he has spent nearly his entire life living on the fringes of mainstream society, living and working in places and conditions that could charitably be described as “harsh”, and that have often been downright unforgiving. On the other hand, James has also spent a significant amount of time in places most would consider paradisiacal or exotic (or both), and knows how to make the most of his time in these locales as well. As a result, he is a very self-sufficient individual, used to making his own rules and to relying on nothing other than himself for survival. Having spent his childhood on the edge of the societal grid, and the majority of his adult life almost entirely off of it, these traits have proved not only useful but absolutely vital on a regular basis. All of this can cause James to come across as somewhat anti-authority (and, frankly, he is) and as being somewhat “out of step” with the modern world; it also lends a hard-bitten edge to his personality as well as an “air of adventure” that many find compelling. ,, Abilities and Special Skills: James is skilled in the art and technique of boat-building, and knows a great deal about most forms of modern commercial fishing. Years of practice and hands-on application during his time spent building boats has given James a very solid grounding in general engineering principles as well. After having spent so much time traveling to and living in some of the wildest or more exotic places earth has to offer, James has also learned a thing or two about survival – both in the wilderness and on the streets. Finally, James was an amateur astronomer by hobby even before his eruption and has only become more proficient and knowledgeable in this area since his eruption. ,, Nova Capabilities: James Winston is, for all intents and purposes, a gravitational singularity possessing self-awareness contained within an extremely high-density and nearly indestructible carbonaceous shell that itself masses more than 100 metric tons. ,, How this can be is not something science can currently explain, but it is theorized that when the Baja Meteor (see Background entry, below) descended on Winston’s position and sparked his eruption, James not only used a significant portion of its mass to power the immediate transfer of himself and most of the meteor’s remaining mass and the energy from its air burst explosion out into deep space, he also somehow ‘merged’ with the meteor, using what was left of its mass after the transference to construct a new body for himself; one that could survive and function in the vacuum of space. Because this does not explain the apparent presence of a gravitational singularity within his body, it is further theorized that the Baja Meteor itself may have been hosting a so-called ‘primordial black hole’ – a low-mass gravitational singularity formed during the volatile period shortly after the Big Bang. The possibility that some such low-mass black holes might be hidden within asteroids is well-accepted in the scientific community, and James Winston’s eruption provides potential evidence confirming it. ,, Because of his wholly unique physical nature, Winston’s powers all revolve around the direct control of the four fundamental interactions or forces. (Technically, all novas control these forces; most, however, are limited in this regard through mechanisms that are not well understood and may in fact be psychological, and so can often only indirectly influence one or more of the four interactions and sometimes cannot influence one or more of them in any way.) James can directly influence such things as gravitational fields, electromagnetic fields and radiation, radioactive decay rates, and the quantum properties of atomic and subatomic molecules. However, his control in some areas is greater than in others, and so far he has (perhaps naturally) shown the greatest degree of ability in manipulating the gravitational forces in his surroundings. ,, The carbonaceous shell that makes up James’ physical body is extraordinarily dense, massing in at over 112 metric tons, and evidence suggests its makeup is highly complex. The outer (visible) portion consists of a diamondoid matrix that is yellowish in color and semi-transparent, overlaying a deeper substance of unknown properties that is opaque and is the color of pure gold. What lies under this opaque golden layer is unknown, but the sheer density of the shell as a whole would mean that internal temperatures and pressures may be sufficient to induce a superionic state, or possibly even a full-fledged fusion reaction in the matter closest to the shell’s center. Regardless, it can be observed that this shell generates its own, surprisingly potent, magnetic field, which James Winston has demonstrated conscious control over. The shell’s extreme density alone is sufficient to impart it with significant resilience, but in combination with the highly stable diamondoid makeup of its outer layers it becomes nearly indestructible. ,, As a fascinating addendum, when James Winston mimics normal human movement by moving this dense outer shell, he does not do this by “reshaping” the shell and rearranging atomic bonds, but rather by initiating a dynamic change of quantum state in those particles involved, such that their relative positions and whether they are “real” or “virtual” cannot be determined with certainty. The net result of this is that at no time does the shell enter a fluid or otherwise non-solid state during any motions Winston might put it through, which allows the shell to retain its maximum resistance to physical trauma at all times. ,, The singularity contained within Winston’s outer shell is estimated to have a mass of somewhere between 1013kg and 1018kg – a very low mass for a singularity – and an internal temperature of approximately 100 billion Kelvin. Its Schwarzschild Radius would measure only 1.5 x 10-14 meters in diameter, however, which is three orders of magnitude smaller than that of a hydrogen atom. It is believed that James’ ability to deliberately alter the singularity’s charge and angular momentum allows him to hold it in place using powerful internal magnetic fields and complex gravitational interactions, as the singularity itself would otherwise slide unimpeded through most matter. ,, Background: James Winston became a ward of the state of California in 1985 at the age of only 3 years, after his parents were killed during the crash of Delta Flight 191 at Dallas Fort Worth Airport. Like so many other children orphaned past the age of infancy, James was never adopted and spent the next fifteen years in and out of various orphanages and foster homes. Court records show that he ran away on three separate occasions during this time, and was a victim of physical abuse at two of the various foster homes he was placed in. ,, Shortly after James turned 18 and reached the age of majority he left California and travelled to the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska, attracted by the promise of earning large sums working the various fishing jobs available. Winston secured work on a seining vessel during his first summer in the region and was able to use the experience to gain a spot on a crabbing vessel later that same year. Crabbing typically pays extremely well, and Alaskan boat captains nearly always pay in cash or with a personal check (meaning that accurately reporting income to the IRS for tax purposes becomes an ‘optional choice’ that many fishermen choose not to make), and so James suddenly found himself with a very comfortable amount of padding in his bank account. For the next three years James Winston would travel to Alaska in the winter to take part in the crabbing season, then travel to other parts of the world – usually Hawaii or Mexico – for the rest of the year, taking the occasional odd, usually part-time job to further bolster his earnings. ,, While on a crabbing vessel in 2004, however, James injured his back and was unable to complete the season. Suddenly without his primary source of yearly income, he began looking for other means and, after a few very financially tight months, managed to land a job at a boat-building company that specialized in laying the fiberglass molds used in many small to medium-large boats. Even though the monthly income was nowhere near what he’d earned while crabbing – and even though the job actually required him to show up for work all year round – the yearly income was nonetheless better, and James was surprised to discover that he truly enjoyed his new job. So much so that, in early 2005, he left Alaska for Seattle, Washington so that he could enroll in classes for a specialized two-year course on wooden boat building and general engineering principles as they applied to the wider boat-building industry. James was still in attendance when the Refugees came through the Stonehenge gate later that same year, causing waves of psychics and superhumans to spring up all over the world. ,, James Winston didn’t erupt when the Refugees came through their gate, however, and the next three years were normal years for him (not including the fact that the world now had genuine super-powered beings in it). He completed his schooling and returned to the Kenai Peninsula so he could get back to work. In the winter of 2008 he even took a position on a crabbing vessel again, the resulting payoff for which seriously augmented his bank account. Having some extra cash to burn and feeling a little stir crazy after a long winter (a common enough experience for those living through the Long Night of the upper two degrees of earth’s latitude), James and three of his friends decided to put their summer to good use and take a vacation to Cabo San Lucas. The decision proved to be their undoing. ,, On July 27th, 2008, the Baja Meteor exploded over the waters of the Bahia San Lucas, resulting in several thousand injuries and four deaths; the bodies of those presumed dead were never found however. Those four individuals were James and his three friends. ,, The Baja Meteor itself constituted a long-standing mystery, as its estimated mass and the height at which it exploded both indicated that the damage on the ground, along with the total number of injuries and deaths, should have been several orders of magnitude greater than they were – possibly on the order of a global-scale disaster. The event caused a great deal of alarm in the period following, as the meteor’s approach had remained entirely undetected until after it had entered earth’s atmosphere. ,, James Winston knew nothing of all this, and would not hear the details of his eruption event until more than five years later. The meteor’s explosion had not killed him, as was assumed by authorities at the time, but had instead caused his eruption. In fact, it is highly likely that his eruption as a nova at that precise moment in time was the ultimate cause for the relatively benign explosion of the Baja Meteor, and may have saved the lives of hundreds or thousands of people living in the surrounding region. It nonetheless cost James’ three friends – Tom Kerry, Sam Harris and Fred McHenry – their lives. ,, The events surrounding James Winston’s eruption have yet to be adequately explained, but it has been theorized that, in the instant before the Baja Meteor’s impact, he somehow utilized the potential energy stored within a significant portion of its mass to power the instantaneous transference of himself, his three friends, the small fishing boat they’d rented, and a large quantity of seawater across a distance of more than 15,000 astronomical units. The sudden exposure to deep space as a result of this would have proved almost instantly fatal to Kerry, Harris and McHenry, but Winston’s eruption altered his physiology so that he survived, and was eventually able to return to earth. ,, For reasons that remain as mysterious as the mechanisms responsible for the events of James’ eruption, or for his current physical nature, the newly erupted nova was unable to generate any similar “teleporting” effects after his initial eruption. As a result, he found it necessary to make the journey back to earth through unassisted flight. Detailed records of this journey can be found elsewhere.
  6. Life continued easily enough in Japan, the addition of another nova greatly helped, even if she was an outsider. It was just so hard for many to not like Sasha, though of course the rumor mill was always in overdrive regarding who she spent her nights with, whether it was true or not. ,, There still existed a great deal of tension between her and Ryu, but work had been good enough to largely keep them separate, save for a couple nights of eating together at small restaraunts out of the way. ,, This evening found them together again, but on business. Sasha was there to put their hosts at ease, and Ryu there as the muscle. An anonymous tip came into DSA HQ stating that one of the local shipping companies was undertaking some highly illicit trade in restricted Nova-tech, and They wanted the two novas to go in, and see what they could see. ,, The company had largely proven intractable but within a few moments, Sasha had easily gotten them inside the warehouse compound maintained south of Tokyo. ,, Long was on full alert, there was just something that didn't feel right as they were being led around and inside the massive warehouses.
  7. Lee stumbled into sudden consciousness, guided by the sound of someone calling her name – her current one at any rate – repeatedly. “Ms. Roman”, Lt. Mayne asked her yet again, “are ye alright?” “Lee”, she muttered, sounding a lot less coherent than she meant or wanted to. “What?” “Just call me Lee”, said Lee. It sounded more like a moan than a sentence. “Er… right”, Mayne responded noncommittally. He was still looking pretty worried, but that expression was steadily giving way to one of bemused confusion. After a pause he told her, “Yer ‘chute failed t’open an’ ya hit the ground savage like, aye but you know yerself. We were none too sure you’d be getting’ up again from a fall like that, but tankgodanisolymuther yer still amongst the living.” “The others?” Lee asked, after her still-groggy mind managed to parse Mayne’s Irish accent into a form of English she could understand. She sat up then and started glancing about, taking stock of her situation now that her senses were returning to her and the shapes and colors all around her were starting to make sense again. Rake and Le Chêne were off to one side, standing behind Mayne, and nodded a greeting as she looked their way. “They’re fine, ma’am. Lee”, Mayne answered her, “Plewman landed wrong on his ankle, but he’ll be alright.” There was Plewman, Lee saw, sitting low on a sand dune several yards away with O’Sullivan crouched next to him. Lee nodded her understanding at Mayne, still taking stock, putting the pieces back together. There’d been the training in Egypt – completed only days ago now, but it seemed like years – followed by the rapid journey down to Darfur day before yesterday, the night-flight over Ubangi-Shari, a day of bouncing about in a jeep in Nigeria and, finally, a second night of flying, this time deep into French West Africa. They’d passed entirely over French Sudan and penetrated deep into Mauritania, at which point she and her team were to perform a parachute drop into the desert some 40 kilometers outside of Ouadane. Right, the parachute drop…. Hers hadn’t opened – like parachutes were supposed to – leaving Lee to plummet to her death. Or so she’d thought up until her sudden return to consciousness a moment ago had proved her wrong. Not that she was complaining. Surviving a fall from an airplane. That was a new one she could add to her List of Stuff What Hasn’t Killed Me (yet). And one she wasn’t likely to have put to the test voluntarily, either, so she supposed she should consider the event both fortunate and educational. Lee pulled herself to her feet, brushing aside Lt. Mayne’s attempts to stop her, and realized as she did so that while she may have ‘survived’ a fall from an airplane, she hadn’t done so ‘unscathed’. Yes, those were definitely some broken ribs she could feel scraping about in there, her right knee audibly popped back into joint as she struggled to stand, and she had a sneaking suspicion that there was something seriously wrong with her spine. She brushed at her temple and, upon seeing the clear fluid that was rapidly turning an inky black color clinging to the metal ‘skin’ of her hand when she pulled it away, realized she was also bleeding from a head wound. A benefit of being dynamic: she would almost certainly have recovered mostly or entirely from all of these injuries by this time tomorrow. Which was good, because more than 30 kilometers lay between them and their first objective and they needed to cover it all before this time tomorrow. She would be sore enough without the injuries. Lee accepted a strip of cloth from Mayne to clean her forehead with. She looked around at her five-man motley crew of British and Free French army as they watched her expectantly; Plewman was back up on his feet and appeared to have little or no limp, which was good. Spreading out around them on all sides as far as the eye could see under a night sky that blazed with stars, but no moon, were the low rolling sand dunes of the Sahara. To the east, the horizon was showing the first glimmerings of the rising dawn. “Alright", she told them, turning so that the coming dawn was to her right. "Let's go."
  8. It was the last day of summer. Sasha was enjoying the last days of warmth in her Bohemian home. She had a few friends over and it was somewhat a subued affair. Music, drinks, dancing, socializing, watching the summer sun go down for the last time this year. It was quite beautiful. After this she would have to go back to the States and be assigned to some droll mission by the DSA. While she didn't hate her work, she was coasting through these nova recruits. If it wasn't for her insatiable vice for traveling, she'd have tired out in the first few months. That and the DSA's handling of her personal life. She had seen Connor since their 'breakup', but it was formal business work.They both looked for something more than that. Sasha was a worldly type, but she couldn't help be frustrated that her mentor and friend was off limits to her. Though these were things she tried to keep her mind off of. Later that night, after the festivities were over and everyone was gonee - a couple of cute normals she decided to keep for a while, but they were fast asleep - she slipped outside to starwatch. The warm breeze would be something she would miss. She looked out to the quietwater beach. It was peaceful and serene. That serenity was broken when her phone buzzed. "It's three in the morning," she mumbled at the still buzzing phone. Normally she would go on about her business, but it seemed this call WAS her business. Horst, head director of the DSA. She tapped the OK to open up the call. "Hello, darling," she said opening with an upbeat greeting, "How are you on this fine autumn morning?" Of course Horst was understanding of the pleasantries, but he had no time to chat. He quite bluntly told her that she was going to be DSA ambassador to Department Zero. That stung Sasha. Last time she was in Japan She almost made a fool of herself in front of their head agents and gained the emnity of some Russians. Fortunately the DSA knew neither of those tidbits. The DSA got a glowing report of her impromptu visit to Japan. They gave her a couple of weeks to get ready, as she would be living in Japan for a while. The amount of time she would be there would depend on how well it went. That gave her time to crash course on the Japanese language. She also did Russian, just in case she ran into any angry mob bosses. The plane ride was first class. Six planes later - Miami to Atlanta, Atlanta to Dallas, Dallas to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to Honolulu, Honolulu to Tokyo - she was in Tokyo. Department Zero met her with a limo ride. It was quite fun talking to the driver, an older man who didn't know Spanish or English for the matter, so Sasha had the chance to brush up on her learned language. While she was expecting to go straight to work, the limo actually made its way to a nice apartment building. They had set her up with a penthouse overlooking the bay. While Sasha was accustom to these things, she wasn't sure Department Zero or DSA would go this all out for a liaison. There was a note and gift basket on the bed. She took the note first to read it. "Please make youself comfortable. This is all yours for the time you are here. Your luggage will be delivered shortly. The apartment is yours as long as you are in Tokyo. Enjoy your stay. PS There will be a report meeting with Department Zero this evening. We will send transportation." The gift basket was full of tourist type attraction things. Then again, being a seasoned traveler, she could spot these comps a mile away. Still that massage did look comfortable. The next few hours was preperation. Sasha Tetris'd everything into the penthouse with feng shui accuracy. After that, she took a nice long hot bath. After being on the plane for nearly a day she thought she could use some relaxation. Finally after fliping through some sightseeing planners, she got ready for the meeting. A black strapless evening dress that seemed to accentuate everything perfectly. A little make up, some heels and a ruffle through her hair and she was ready. Now all she had to do was wait for the call of her ride.
  9. story note The events of this thread takes place back dated to June, a couple weeks after Wings of Change 2 hours from ACE Atlantic June 20th, 1941 22:40 Hours. ,, "So, let me get this straight, Anne, we're doing a night landing?" ,, Anne smiled, looking over her console, the backlit dials proving helpful that she had put into this particular aircraft. "Yep, ACE Atlantic has been fully kitted out for such a thing, Dad... I don't know what is worse, really, the fact that a Woman is at the controls of this Kingfisher with a actual military rank or that her disabled Dad is in the observer's seat!" Anne said, straightening out the orange colored suit she had developed in partnership with her dad for cold-water and high-altitude operations, although it wasn't needed, it was all part of an identity she was starting to put together... although while on-board the ACE Atlantic she'll be known for the orange version of her suit, she can change it black when flying actual combat missions. Of course for now, that wasn't in the cards as she was needed to examine some wunderwaffe captured over the past couple months. She pulls out her letter given to her when her commission was practically rescued by public opinion, her record, and a few choice lies. ,, Lt. Cmdr. Anne Aceworth ,, It is of the opinion of Naval Command that due to your non-disabling injury after being shot-down over London earlier in June, and under advisement of President Roosevelt, we have decided not to Honoribly Discharge you. You will be transferred to ACE Atlantic for the time being to assist British and Resistance researchers in cracking how German Wunderwaffe function, as well as serve as a test pilot for any new carrier aircraft we develop. We, of course, will not mind any input you have. ,, We are also reminding you that any combat activity must not be done with any obvious tie to the US Navy. We are sure you will conceive a proper identity for when these times arrive. ,, In the meantime we look forward to your first report. Commander Pine is your CO on board ACE Atlantic. Also there is talk that the USAAF's Dynamic, Colonel Ryan Hawk may be transferred soon. This might be a definite boon for our efforts and we highly encourage you to work with your counterpart in the USAAF. ,, We will miss you here in the dungeon, but we look forward to seeing your continued success, no matter who you are. ,, For your continued efforts and on advisement of the Department of War, you are to be promoted to the rank of Commander, and will be the chief representative of the US Navy while onboard ACE Atlantic. ,, Good Luck, Commander. ,, Office of Naval Intelligence Washington D.C. Classification Level: Black ,, Anne sighed folding up the letter and the following promotion and assignment papers together. It was a bit hard with the gloves of her suit, but not impossible. ,, "So... how you getting home from ACE Atlantic?" ,, "I'll be picked up by the supply plane when it leaves in a couple days after we arrive." He said, brushing off the spare flight suit he picked up from the RAF before leaving with his daughter. "That and to be honest... I couldn't resist the opportunity to fly with you... how long has it..." ,, "4 years, Dad... we flew that crop-duster into that farmer's lake by accident when the engine failed." ,, Alex, her father and now no-longer Alex Sr. laughed. "Oh god yes, that was a funny explaining that to Mr. Jenkins." ,, Anne smiled looking back at her dad, the light from her dashboard playing off of the clear Aetherfiber helmet she was wearing. "Would have loved wearing this suit then and there, the water was still cold from thawing out... it was... mid-april when that happened, right?" ,, "Yeah... Your grandmother was livid!" ,, Anne shook her head and looked out to the ocean. "It's odd, Dad... after all this happened we still talk." ,, "Why not?" ,, "Everything's different now... everyone looks at me different." ,, "No kidding. But that doesn't change the fact you're my kid. My daughter. You'll never be anything less, and you're all the world to me." ,, He smiled. "That and you did look cute in that officer's uniform. The men will just go nuts." ,, Anne sighed. "I'm just glad I can wear it as a actual commissioned officer and not as a recently discharged pilot." ,, Alex wished he could put his hand on her shoulder, but she was too far ahead in the cockpit. They were talking by the onboard radio anyways. Anne just sat back, looking over her suit as the weather was quite calm and the wind was very light, looking at the moon. "Heh... we designed this thing well.. I just hope the color changing system functions properly." ,, "Oh the whole thing about hiding who you are... how you think you'll hide your face?" ,, "Well I'm going to wear a aviators cap under this bubble helmet and have some sort of mask to cover the face. My goggles should cover my eyes well." ,, She presses a button at the neck of her suit as the bubble helmet opens and collapses back. "Speaking of which I should put my cap on now..." ,, She puts on a aviator's cap and pulls the goggles down. "Whatcha think?" ,, "Not bad... that shock of blonde hair sticking out you'll have to work on." ,, Anne giggled. "It's a work in progress." ,, Two hours later... ,, The Kingfisher deploys it's landing gear and makes a steady landing on the deck of the ACE Atlantic. Commander Pine was waiting on deck for her, in his dress uniform. Anne hopped out, walking over to the Commander, not waiting for a ladder or anything. ,, "Commander Pine. I'm Commander Anne Aceworth. Naval Intelligence, Technology and Research division. I wager your clearance is black level or better?" ,, "Of course." The commander said, looking like he was waiting for something. ,, "If this is a rank thing, Commander... we're equals." ,, "I'm the commander of this ship, Commander Aceworth." "Yes, and I am not a member of your staff... I'm not here to tell you how to do your job, Commander, I just gotta keep you in the loop, and as you have the clearances, I'm perfectly fine with that." ,, "Yes, and as long as you are here I am your superior officer." ,, She stood face to face, only a couple inches shorter than he was. "Let's not turn this into a deck-cleaning exercise with our rank pins." ,, "I can have you kicked off my ship, miss." ,, "Yes, and you'd be obstructing important research into Wunderwaffe being employed by the German military machine. All over a perceived threat to authority." ,, Commander Pine adjusted the collar of his uniform. Anne was a strong personality, but knew how to ride that line. If it were anyone else he'd have them escorted to the bring for a few days to learn their lesson. ,, "But... I can see at least knowing where I stand on this ship is far more important right now." Anne saluted. "Commander Anne Aceworth, reporting for duty." ,, Commander Pine smiled offering his hand. "You took a lot there, Commander. I think you'll do just fine. No need for saluting then." ,, "You mean this was a test?" Anne said. ,, "Yeah... come on, I'll show you around the ship." ,, Anne's dad was assisted off of the Kingfisher as Anne looked to the Commander. "Alright." She said fiddling with the tie on her life preserver. She had gotten one from the RAF out of thanks for her help fighting in the Blitz. "Seems a good idea." ,, "What's up with the suit by the way?" ,, "Oh? It's the Mark 1 Extreme Environment and Altitude Flightsuit. Something I and my Dad have been working on." ,, "I would assume the orange is for it being a prototype and the actual model will be blue... I heard talk Luftwaffe pilots like to aim at anything brightly colored." ,, Anne nodded. "Trust me, we got a couple coloration options." ,, "Excellent..." He said seeing her Dad catch up fairly well on his prosthetic leg. "...odd your Father has clearance to even be here." ,, "Actually I just need a place to be until the supply plane arrives." ,, The commander nodded. "I'll be on that shortly. I think I'll show you two to the mess first, you must be hungry." ,, Anne nodded. "Would be nice, yes." ,, Commander Pine showed Anne to the door on the bridge island leading to the interior of the ship. "After you..."
  10. July 25th 2013 12pm Eastern Standard Time Langely DSA Headquarters ,, Rebecca decided to sleep in. By the time she woke up, it was very much lunch time on the DSA campus where she lived. The NextGen initiative has been gutted, but the young nova and her compatriots were still DSA agents... sort of. Rebecca, being the hyper competent, easily bored type went over to her computer first and started managing her Facebook and Twitter accounts. ,, Rebecca had a deep-seated melancholy lately. She was planning to pop over to the moon, but suddenly lost the interest when Naomi Minami-Hideyoshi passed... someone she had idolized. It just seemed now life seemed a bit less colorful, and to her the later vetoing of her request to start gearing up for her moon trip later only seemed to further increase her boredom towards her daily drudgery. ,, That, and on top of that was the Mexico City disaster. The Adults were still stirred up about it, but there wasn't any tell why. ,, She walked around the kid's section of the campus, eventually staring at a vending machine, seeing herself standing there wearing a pair of grey overalls she wore as pajamas, her slightly purple hair a complete disaster. ,, She cracked up laughing seeing herself, and a few people walked past wondering just what was up with their young Nova under their roof lately. ,, Scratching her head, she started considering choices from the rotating food vendor that had microwavable junky-type food.
  11. Note Once I open the thread, others can join in at their discretion. July 1, 2013 1:30 am Japan Standard Time Tokyo University Hospital, Nova Medicine Ward ,, It was a rough delivery. Naomi had been struggling for four days without rest. Each child from her was a war against herself. A body is not designed to carry so many for a full term, and it took more and more for her to deliver each child. Then after her last child came out and the umbilical was cut, she dormed, her quantum energy utterly spent. The sound of blood and afterbirth hitting the floor sent the doctors into a scurry as Naomi let out a horrifying scream. For a few moments, they thought they could save her. But a quick scan with a portable MRI told the story... her internal bleeding was not healing, her organs had minor ruptures from the sudden change back to human. She only had minutes left... only moments. ,, A nurse came to Ryu who had heard the scream. ,, "Mister Hideyoshi, you need to see your wife... I'm... sorry... but you only have a few minutes now... maybe less."
  12. Having spent a year on the run from the Russian mafia can make one very very "alert" to the point of staring at every shadow one sees. ,, Ivan has gotten to that place. To the place where he checks under the bed for assassins, and in every closet in the rooms he rents. He's never found one, but somewhere in the back of his brain is the nagging sensation that the one time he doesn't check is the time he's going to be found and murdered. Such is the way of life for one who defied the mafia. His face bears a road-map of scars, long ragged scars that remind him every time he looks in a mirrored surface that he can never be the man he was before. ,, That man died as the wounds were being opened, as he was being devoured alive and frozen alive at the same time. Only in Russia would they make sure two lethal methods of death were utilized simultaneously and so callously. Russia. The thought of the spiraling towers in Moscow brings a slow, sad smile to his face. He never got to see them in person, mind you, but the pictures always made the people in them look so happy to be at the Kremlin. It was a joyous occasion. One he will never experience. And the smile fades, the intensity in his eyes fade alongside it, as if the realization he won't ever find that joy is a weight he carries day in and day out. ,, Who cares that he was reborn something more than before. Happiness, it seems is the one thing he cannot steal. Sitting on the bed, the Russian grips the blanket beneath him with a hand unconsciously, squeezing it until his knuckles pop softly from the strain. At the noise he lets go and flexes and unflexes his digits, loosening his hand up once more. This motel room is like all the others before it. Dingy, smelling of mold and moisture, stained sheets, a lock on the door that couldn't stop a 10 year old child from breaking in...and yet there is a sad familiarity to it. A relief that there is some sense of stability, some sense of consistency in his life. ,, A long ragged sigh escapes Ivan's lips and he curses softly in his mother-tongue. Lifting himself from the bed he goes to slide the window-shade to the side, peeking into the world beyond without even thinking. He's conditioned himself to be like this. It doesn't require thought anymore. His dirty and ripped jeans allow him to blend in with most of the rabble around, faded Army surplus jacket from Wars long ago on his shoulders, surrounding him in its embrace. A subtle reminder of the war he is part of daily. A war of existence. He glances down to the aged combat boots that adorn his feet. The only thing he brought with him from Vladivostok; they were his father's, or so he believes. ,, He goes back to sit on the bed, then stops. How long has it been since he's eaten? He can't remember. Instead of settling in for the night, he digs his hands into his jean-pockets and pulls out some faded and beaten currency. Do they even use this here? A shake of the head and the scarred Russian pulls the motel door open, stepping out into the night beyond, heading for a small Chinese restaurant nearby. Dinner, it seems, will be quick and greasy.
  13. Name: Ivan Vandal (Ivanovich Vandalenska) Aliases Used: Frostbite, Steve Varner D.O.B.: Unknown (looks to be 32-35) Place of Birth: Vladivostock, Russia Gender: Male Color Eyes: Cerulean Blue Color Hair: Bald Height: 5'11" Weight: 220 lbs Race: Caucasian Marital Status: Not married Citizenship: Russian ,, Appearance & Distinctive Features: Ivan is a heavily scarred individual, his face appears to have claw-mark scars down his face. His piercing blue eyes are the most distinctive thing about him beyond the scarring. He is well-built and looks to keep himself in good athletic shape. ,, Personality: Ivan is very well known for possessing an icy demeanor to match his blue eyes. His demeanor is often remarked on as being reptilian, often watching and observing situations before engaging in them. He is not quick to anger, nor often quick to laugh - though he smiles often, or perhaps he's just showing teeth. Charming is not a term often used for this man. ,, Known Powers: Ivan has been documented with the abilities to shift his physical form into that of a large icelike humanoid. In this form he is a veritable wrecking machine, possessing ice-shard blasts, long jagged claws, and appearing heavily armored by the dense ice-form he adopts. He can withstand immense amounts of damage, often shrugging it off with little effect. ,, Verifiable History: A well-known safe-cracker in his home city, Ivan was utilized frequently by the Russian mafia to boost safes. In his human life, he lived very well-off and drove expensive cars. He was unaware that living the lifestyle he believed he should would become a danger to his life, and the same people that hired him regularly would be the ones to decide to end his life. ,, Ivan lived the fast life, possessing money, women, cars, homes, and power through his affiliation with the mafia. His fast living came to an abrupt and hard stop when he was asked to crack a safe containing some of the jewels worn by the Romanovs. While the man didn't possess much in the way of morality and decency, he did hold his heritage near and dear to his heart. He politely refused, and on the surface it seemed like there wasn't an issue. A few weeks passed uneventfully, until the fateful day he was pulled from his bed, handcuffed and beaten unconscious. ,, Waking in a large meat locker, Ivan quickly realized what was going on - especially when he noted the numerous faces he'd worked with in the past. Demands were made, threats on his life and person were levied, and then when he continued to refuse - his wrists were slit and two attack dogs were locked in the freezer with him. When the lights went out in the freezer, all hell broke loose. That night, Ivan Vandal died...or was born...or reborn... ,, Enemies: Without question - the Russian Mafia is his biggest threat and enemy. Their fingers are everywhere and in everything, regardless of location on the globe. Ivan is constantly looking over his shoulder, though less-so now that he's been rebirthed, and yet the paranoid of the night in the meat-locker helps him to stay alert and vigilant, if not mild paranoid. ,, Allies: As of now, Ivan has no allies, and hasn't seem to find anyone(s) he can genuinely trust. Having been a lone-wolf for quite a long time, he's seeking companions or friendships or some type of interpersonal relationships, yet they have proven elusive.
  14. RAF Bawdsey June 1, 1941 7pm London Time ,, Alex adjusted his flight gear, nervously. He had been assisting a injured pilot who hurt himself on a rough landing a few nights ago. Flying his shifts. Although he always got nervous before a scramble. ,, "Lieutenant Aceworth!" A woman shouted, wearing a WAAF set of overalls. "Can you come here a moment, please?" ,, He nodded and ran to the hangar where normally barrage balloons were filled and maintained. There he spotted some strange wreckage. Also the woman was the person he had met earlier... when he erupted. "Ah, Miss Ravensworth, nice to see you again." ,, He sets his parachute down next to what looked like a wrecked aircraft. ,, "This... looks nothing like what we have been dog-fighting up there... With how this got mulched I'm suprised there isn't bits of a pilot here." ,, "That's the thing... no one reported finding any remains, or even anyone bailing out when one of these is shot down." ,, Alex massaged his chin. "There's still a windscreen..." ,, He runs his gloved hand in front of the clear windscreen. "... looks like treated aetherfiber instead of reenforced glass..." ,, He kneeled next to the wreck.
  15. The three months and change since the Mexico City quake had definitely been Active ones. Humanitarian Aid poured in like never before, and while much of the city was in ruins, and work was still being done, looking now for corpses, to give the survivors closure, still great strides had been made, and A temporary settlement had been raised to house the many who did survive. What few novas who could control weather patterns were quickly employed to do so, keeping storms at bay and providing temperatures that the many workers and military personnel could function in without great inconvenience. ,, Of Course, the DSA's novas received the lion's share of the good press, through the efforts of Telluris, Vixen, Connor, and everyone else, Things were kept running smoothely. It was Karrie however who made a more startling discovery. Studying the tectonics, and all the readings provided by Rob, as well as a testimony provided by Connor, There was mounting evidence that something might have caused this quake. The entire region was unstable yes, but the volcanoes had been lying dormant for a long time, and the crustal plates were moving far far less than others. The Factors simply didn't add up for such a quake to have occurred. Of course Horst immediately classified the information as top secret, at least until the smoking gun could be produced. In an Emergency meeting with the President and Chief's of Staff, he did lay out the preliminary reports, receiving authorization to pursue this with the full abilty of the DSA. ,, Due to Japan's own well developed studies of earthquakes, the Decision was made and authorized to enlist the aid of Department Zero, adding their expertise to the DSA's. It became something altogether different, when some similarities to the Tohoku quake of March 2011 were revealed. ,, The DSA maintained a strong presence on site, the rubble was being cleared away of the old city, and already plans were being made to rebuild, though for many the question was "Should we rebuild over the bones of the old city once again, or Relocate somewhere more tenable. At any rate it was a massive undertaking, and both local buisnesses and American ones were on-site, drawn by the promise of work, and the lure of money. Many survivors worked side by side with the relief teams, they knew the area better, and one could feel the palpable awe and gratitude when a nova was found at the center of a workparty, or descended from the sky to assist. ,, ,,
  16. The guards outside the secure area were clearly bored; they had mastered the art of leaning against a wall without actually appearing to slouch. Both of them had the slack-muscled expression that suggested that they were moments from falling asleep on their feet from sheer boredom. There was nothing down there; the hallway ended at a corner. There was nothing interesting to see. ,, Until the laundry girl appeared from thin air and lodged throwing knifes in their throats from twenty feet. Both men went down with only the clatter of their twitching bodies. Silvestru retrieved her blades and cleaned them on the men’s uniforms before digging through pockets for the keys. Then she opened the door to the secure area. ,, She’d never been allowed this far before. The guards brought the linens to the door and left them outside for her and the other laundresses to retrieve. When cleaned, they were left in the same spot. Silvestru had always wondered why they didn’t allow anyone other than the guards back here and her first glimpse of the area didn’t explain matters. It was just a long hallway, lined by doors on either side. The doors were dozens of feet apart, implying massive rooms or suites of rooms behind each. ,, Silvestru didn’t have time to ponder. The sound of approaching feet required her to cloak herself again and press herself against the wall. Four men in the Gestapo uniforms exited a room and paused when they saw the door was open. One of them stepped past Silvestru, his expression confused until he saw the bodies. “Intruder!” he cried in German even as Silvestru winced. “Sound the alarms!” ,, Klaxons rang in the air, which was to her advantage. Under the aural cover of the sirens, Silvestru turned and dashed deeper into the complex, seeking the prisoner’s cells. The rooms in this area were interrogation cells and so reminiscent of her time in her cell that she shivered and fought nausea. The Nazis were no better than the Romanian Fascists. ,, A door right in front of her opened and Silvestru slammed into it. Another second either way and she’d have been fine, but the timing didn’t allow her to compensate and dodge. She tumbled to the floor, visible, and the guards who’d been emerging from the other side blinked at the sight of the blood-splattered laundress lying on the floor. ,, Silvestru kicked up while the first of the three was still gaping, slicing his throat and turning the splatters into a spray of gore across her and her clothing. With the other hand, she grabbed his submachine gun and turned it on his companions. Blood clouded the air in a mist as the bullets minced their flesh and bone and Silvestru turned as the Gestapo she’d been fleeing heard. They were leveling their guns at her as she sprayed the hallway again. When they returned fire, she ducked behind the heavy metal door, glad that it stopped bullets. ,, They were alternating shots, trying to keep her pinned down while they advanced on her. Silvestru scowled a moment before moving to the gap in the door formed by the hinges. She nudged the barrel of her gun into that opening and rapidly picked them off, each burst of fire taking out a man. ,, Silence followed her last shot and the young dynamic peeked out carefully. There was no sound or motion from the men but Silvestru sprayed the bodies again, just to be sure none of them were playing possum. She quickly exchanged her used gun for a fresh submachine gun. ,, Satisfied she’d protected her cover thus far, Silvestru jogged down the hall. Where did they actually keep the dynamic prisoners? That thought made her cloak herself again; where were the dynamic guards? ,, The last door in this hallway had a name on it: ‘Bæl’ Silvestru frowned slightly. What was a Bæl? With a shrug, she found the right key and opened the door. ,, The two guards in the control room were surprised to see her when the door swung wide, as surprised as Silvestru was. But she recovered first, the submachine gun rattling loud in the small room. The men were good; one of them returned fire as he went down, and Silvestru’s chest sported three holes. At least one of the bullets was in her lung; when she pressed her hand to her chest, it was easier to breath. The girl felt her stomach twist with fear. She wouldn’t die, not here. Not so far from home. She needed to heal, but she was low on energy after the cloaking, and she had a long walk out yet. Hesitantly, she forced the bullets out and stopped the bleeding, but that was all. ,, A thump bought her attention from the hole in her chest. A waist-high window peered into a water-filled room. A man was floating in a diving suit, but he was no ordinary man. His eyes burned like fire behind the faceplate. His hands were pressing on the glass, the source of the noise. He didn’t need to gesture to make his desires known; they were writ large in his face. ,, Struggling against shock and dizziness, Silvestru went to the control panel. Most of it was monitors and dials; there was only one button, leeren. Draining seemed logical when you had a man trapped in a room of water, and she pressed the red switch.
  17. With all due respect to Mala, I've noticed that suddenly Sanctum Sanctorum has become a discussion point among CN players. As the conversation in regards to Quantum 6 has been mixed up with discussion on Sanctum Sanctorum, I feel that it may be a good idea to discuss how to fix/improve Sanctum/Sanctum Sanctorum as a feature in Cosmos Nova. I know something got posted in the Q6 discussion, I would like to offer something as well. I will post it in the next post for ease of reference.
  18. We've been having a sudden swarm in terms of rules issues and more and more Aberrant and the Storyteller system has proven unable to fit our needs by my opinion. Therefor I am putting up a motion to change systems to something far more defined and can be more easily house-ruled where necessary. 1: We move to Mutants and Masterminds 3rd Edition. 2: We decide who will be a GM in said game to oversee plot. 3: We operate from where we leave off in the Aberrant plot. 4: We keep a democratic process in regards to the game. I am feeling that once we make the switch to M&M3 our path will be clearer in this game, and we might be able to stop having rules problems being a barrier to doing what we should be doing in this game; being our characters. I don't know how this proposal will be recieved, I don't have any expectation of success, but I don't want CN to get killed off because of a game system that is, quite frankly, dysfunctional for our needs.
  19. “And there you are.” The Hindi porter set down Olivia’s bags and turned with a smile to watch her take in the cabin. It wasn’t a small room despite their mode of travel, done in white and reds. The space was brightly lit with soft, indirect lighting. A small dining table with two chairs was placed against the back wall. A loveseat immediately to the left of the door faced two armchairs, making a small seating area. ,, The porter opened one of the two doors to show her a compact bathroom. “Here is the water closet. You have a hot tub for your use, as well as a shower. Your berth includes full use of water.” The tub filled most of the room and was large enough to fit two comfortably. ,, “Goodness, that’s… the largest tub I’ve ever seen.” Olivia stared, stunned. She was starting to feel a little overwhelmed—more overwhelmed. ,, “And this room is the bedroom.” Most of the space in the suite had been devoted to this room. The windows were large and made with thick glass; the image was slightly distorted but the golden light in the room was rich and warm. Heavy curtains could be drawn across it for night but were open right now and showing a picturesque view of Bangkok—as picturesque as that city got, anyway. Drawers and a closet had been built into the walls to create an image of space without sacrificing storage. The centerpiece of the room was the bed; it was a queen or maybe a king. The comforter on top looked as thick as a mattress, and all Olivia could think was that it was a bed made for lounging in for hours. ,, But it was the desk under the windows and across from the bed that really caught Olivia’s attention. The wood of the piece shone with a pale hue, matched by the cushioned chair in front of it. The young nurse reached out and brushed her fingers over the edge of the ætherlabe terminal. ,, “I’m afraid that you’ll not always have access to the æthersystem,” the porter said, slipping past her to turn on the screen with a flourish, “but when you do, you’ll be able to use it within the privacy of your own room.” The young man’s dark eyes glittered with dark amusement as he murmured, “And there are no restrictions to your usage.” ,, “Thank you,” Olivia said, knowing he was trying to imply something not sure what he meant. ,, The porter all-but winked as he repeated himself, “No restrictions. You can watch things you can’t find in say… a movie theatre.” ,, Olivia was still drawing a blank. “Unedited war footage?” she gamely guessed. ,, “He means pornography, darling.” James dropped his bags at the foot of the bed and dug a tip out of his pocket. “Oh, and have them bring around some champagne, glasses and a do-not disturb sign.” ,, The porter managed to tuck the money away without looking at it but it was clear he knew exactly how generous James had been. “Of course, sir.” He bowed. “Enjoy your honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. Fleming.” ,, And with that, Olivia was alone in the cabin with James. Nervously, she spun the gold band on her left ring finger and said, “We should establish some rules. For… us. This. The… cohabiting.” She knew she was babbling, but her nerves wouldn’t let her stop.
  20. The wind blew cold and hard outside the Kauffman Center for the Arts; Midwest winters were always unfriendly. The other members of the charity committee board were straggling out in twos and threes, but Kitty was well ahead of them, moving briskly toward her rented car. She was eager to get away before Connor caught up with her. ,, It had seemed a pleasant commitment last November; a charity for cancer, featuring a nova auction. It was still in the formation stages, which meant they had a long time before this duty would be over. Before Christmas, Kitty had looked forward to it. Now the long months of planning seemed to drag on interminably. ,, It was so hard to see him and know that they weren’t together. It was harder to look at him and feel disappointment. Kitty felt tears sting her eyes. She’d lost Harley, her best friend, and now it felt like she’d lost the friend she’d made since Harley’s death. Damnit, Connor, why? I thought we knew where we were… ,, Kitty lifted her chin and blinked back tears. No. No more crying over Connor. She was done with moping over a man. It was a new day for Kitty Price.
  21. Age: 29 (born April 1, 1984) Height: 12 inches (was 4'8") Weight: 1 pound (was 98 pounds) Concept: Artist Nature: Gallant Allegiance: ? Human Form Strength ●●Brawl Might ,,Dexterity ●●●●● Athletics ●●● Drive Firearms Legerdemain Martial Arts ●●● Melee Pilot Stealth ,,Stamina ●●● Endurance ●●● Resistance ●●● ,,Perception ●●● Awareness ●●● Investigation ,,Intelligence ●● Academics ● Bureaucracy Computer Engineering Intrusion Linguistics Medicine Science Survival ,,Wits ●●● Arts Biz ●●● Rapport ●●● ,,Appearance ●● Intimidation Style ●● ,,Manipulation ●● Interrogation Streetwise Subterfuge ●●● ,,Charisma ●● Command ●● Etiquette ●● Perform ●●● (Gymnastics) ,,Backgrounds Contacts ●● Reputation ●● Resources ●●● ,,Willpower ●●●●● ,,Quantum ●●●●● ,,Initiative 8 ,,Movement Walk 7m Run 17m Sprint 35m ,,Bonus Points Willpower 2 (4BP) Ability 5 (10BP) Specialty 1 (1BP)
  22. 6 March, 3:02am Tokyo Time Tokyo, Japan Hideyoshi Estate Naomi was rummaging around in the Kitchen. Her 5 little kitens within her driving her late-night feeding spree. Pickles and Ice Cream she thought was some sort of stereotype, but damn her tail she wanted it badly. As she chewed on a pickle she turns on the television. On a NHK news channel, she sees what would make her night much more interesting. "Son of a..." The scene was a familiar one. One of a city destroyed... someone lived there... worked there... children played and lovers kissed. Now... all that is there is pain and the end of life. Something she was keenly, keenly familiar with. She adjusted her maternity gown and listened to the news intently. She had a very bad feeling about this, and things were just going to get more complicated. Kamiko had left not only the family residence, but Japan entirely, her whereabouts were once again unknown, perhaps she would find herself someday. She knew Naoko was in the house somewhere. Ryu... Ryu... Department Zero might call him! "Ryu! If you're awake you'd better get in here! IF not get your tiger-striped butt awake!" She shouted. Turning up the volume in interest. She decides to switch channels from time to time between CNN, the BBC, and NHK. Trying to appraise the situation. She massaged her chin. Knowing even she might get called in. This would be a good test of Department Zero's telepresence network system. Naomi mewed, waiting to see Ryu enter the living room. She's since forgotten she took out a pint of ice cream and the pickles, which are sitting on the table in front of her. Her sensitive nose still smelling the odd combination of smells of strawberry and dill. Her face wrinkled a little, but now she felt she shouldn't be eating at a time like this. Didn't seem proper.
  23. Date: April, 1941 Location: Near the Burmese / Chinese Border ,, The jeep rolled to a stop at the checkpoint, the red mud-slicked sides testament to the quality of the roads along which it had traveled. In the back were bundles and sacks under the waterproof tarpaulin covering, and in the front was an unshaven man wearing a beaten and battered bush hat. From behind the dirty windshield, the man watched the uniformed soldiers manning the checkpoint as they not-quite-pointed their guns at the jeep. An officer marched to the driver's side, impassive Oriental features locked in what the young man probably thought was a stern poker face, the driver mused. He'd have to work better at it - the combination of wariness and officious hostility was all too evident to one who knew how to see them. ,, "Who are you?" the officer demanded in decent English, at least. The man in the jeep smiled up at him, tipping back the bush hat. ,, "I work for Pok Ma Ting." he said easily, a touch of some European accent in his voice. The officer shifted his footing at the name, but that was to be expected considering that Pok Ma Ting was chief of the local bandits and nominally an ally of the Japanese. He also had a nasty habit of mounting the heads of men who displeased him on wooden stakes... with their genitals in their mouths. The officer narrowed his eyes. ,, "You work for him?" he demanded, trying to sound incredulous. Though the man in the jeep was scruffy enough, he seemed a cut above Pok's run of the mill scum - deserters, bandits, murderers, opium fiends and rapists. ,, "Hard to believe, ja? I am a geologist, Herr. I look for gold... for Pok Ma Ting." ,, "You are German?" ,, "Ja. My name is Herman Klumperbum." the man lied. "I am a graduate of the university of Dusseldorf, and I-" he was cut off by the officer waving a peremptory hand. ,, "If you work for Mister Ting, you have papers!" The officer held out a hand, but the driver shook his head. ,, "So sorry, mein freund, but Mister Ting... he does not want people to know that I work for him, you see. In fact..." And the man leaned closer in a conspiratorial way, his manner prompting the Japanese officer to likewise lean forward. "He would be very unhappy if he knew that you knew. So it is best to forget I told you this, Herr. We are allies, Japan and Deutschland. I would hate for some mongrel Burmese to bring harm to an ally." The officer looked nervous. Tokyo was a long way away, out here in the jungle. ,, "You shall pass. But please, ask Mister Ting to provide papers for you. Other officers man this checkpoint..." ,, "And they may not be as wise. I understand." The German nodded. The Japanese officer nodded in turn and stepped back, waving a hand to his men to raise the checkpoint barrier. ,, "Danke." the German said with a smile as he started off again, passing the checkpoint into the small border town of Wan-Ting. ,, It was a trade post grown large over the years, situated on the Burma Road and swollen with the constant traffic back and forth. In recent years, though, the traffic was lessened, the constant trade along the route drying up since the Japanese occupation of China. The legitimate trade, anyway. The trade in opium, slaves and weapons was brisker than ever, and Pok Ma Ting owned most of it. And he would probably decorated a stake with the driver's own head and genitals, the driver reflected as he turned a corner onto the main market street of Wan-Ting and looked for a likely place to park. The fact that he knew Pok would probably only make the process slower and more drawn-out. ,, How did I get into this? James LaHaye, Capt, DCM, DFC, AFC, thought to himself as he pulled the jeep in behind a ramshackle looking hotel, now turned into a bar and probably a knocking-shop as well. He grabbed his kitbag from amidst the clutter in the back of the jeep and headed inside. Oh yes, I remember. He looked around the dank, smoke-stinking, gloomy interior of the bar and ,, Family. That's how. ,, * * * * * * The girl was really skilled, her brown skin gleaming in the lamplight as she smiled and swayed above him, and LaHaye was just laying back (but hardly thinking of England) and admiring the way her gyrations caused all sorts of pleasant sensations when the door shuddered under a heavy knock. ,, "Go away!" he called. ,, "Captain LaHaye? My name is Major Justin Tunbridge." an educated voice called through the door over the delicate moans of the girl. ,, "My apologies. Go away, sir!" LaHaye called back. Typical, a man was on his vinegar strokes and that was when someone had to try and- The door was kicked in by a booted foot. The girl screamed, but LaHaye's arm kept her from rolling off him. Instead, he rolled with her and came up onto his feet, pistol in hand and leveled at the doorway. The sergeant who had kicked in the door goggled at the sight of the female flesh and then double-goggled at the sight of a .45 automatic pointing at his face. ,, "Captain!" A slim figure, immaculately dressed and turned-out and wearing an officer's cap. "Lower your weapon." He paused. "Both of them, if you please." ,, "The last time someone kicked the door in on me, you must appreciate that they did not mean me well." LaHaye said calmly as he dropped the pistol onto the bed, shielding the girl's body with his own as he snatched up a sheet to wrap her in. "Ka mya, Thiri." he told her gently as he made sure she was decent. "Shin ne-kaùn-yéh-là?" ,, "Ne-kaùn-ba-deh." she replied, smiling shyly at him before throwing a distrustful look to the soldiers and grabbing her clothes. "Kan kaung ba zay." she murmured to him before giving him a last smile and slipping from the room. The major and sergeant stepped aside politely for her, then turned back to LaHaye as he pulled his clothes on. ,, "You speak the language like a native." Tunbridge noted with a trace of admiration as he crossed to the window. Outside, the courtyard of the rundown colonial house that was now a whorehouse was overrun with half-naked children and their mothers. "Any of those yours?" he asked as he looked back over his shoulder at LaHaye. ,, "Who knows?" the Dynamic shrugged into his shirt and buttoned it with deft motions. He moved with eerily precise, flowing grace, the entire act of dressing taking maybe thirty seconds. "The women here know of a certain root. Supposedly, they only have children if they want to... Or if the tea they make isn't strong enough." He came over to the window and joined the major in looking at the spectacle beyond. "Maybe that one." he pointed to a paler-skinned child. "But then, he could be anyone's. Mostly, though, they are their mothers children, not the various father's." ,, "Curious attitude." the Major observed. ,, "I'm a curious person, but then I'm sure the file tells all." LaHaye smirked sardonically. "Sir, I'm likely to live out the century, or beyond, barring accidents. I will still be this young-seeming when your grandchildren, and may you have many of them, are dead. If I have children, I'll likely outlive them too. As yet, I'm not sure how to handle that thought, so I don't think about it." ,, "Practical, one supposes. Well, I see the tales were not exaggerated." Tunbridge nodded as though satisfied. "His Majesty's government has an assignment for you, Captain. A hunting expedition." ,, "Go on." LaHaye said as he pulled on his boots and fished a cigarillo out from a case. He offered one to Tunbridge, who declined, and lit it with a match struck from his boot. ,, "Three men, British soldiers. Deserters, actually. They faced the death sentence recently after a court martial." ,, "That nasty business over the American nurse, wasn't it?" LaHaye said as he blew a smoke ring. "Filthy buggers. So some rabbited?" ,, "Yes, but that isn't enough alone to warrant calling on your services." ,, "Of course not." LaHaye said, one corner of his mouth turned up in a cynical smirk. "After all, she was only a negro, correct?" Tunbridge opened his mouth to protest, but LaHaye waved a hand at him. "On with it, sir." he said, an expression of profound world-weariness settling on him. ,, "We would have organised a hunt for them regardless." Tunbridge retorted stiffly. "However one of the men was a sergeant in the quartermaster's office. And we believe they took with them some valuable paperwork regarding our troop deployments and supply dumps. And they ran straight for the border to China." ,, "Lovely. Rapists, cowards and traitors." James snorted blue smoke. "What makes them think the Japanese won't simply take the information then snickersnee their heads off. They have a strange but strict definition of honor, that lot." ,, "Our local sources tell us that they've ingratiated themselves with local bandits, who will probably act as brokers in this deal. The Japanese forces in that area liaise heavily with elements that the Chinese government previously suppressed." ,, "That means Pok Ma Ting." LaHaye said with a sigh. "I can't believe nobody has slit that fiendish little brown swine's throat yet. He's got to be eighty years old now." ,, "You know him." The major looked astonished. ,, "Oh yes." ,, "Well wonderful. You can maybe negotiate-" LaHaye shook his head slowly, but definitely. ,, "He wants to use my privy parts for an ornament." he said, then added. "And he won't be slow about removing them." ,, "Ah." ,, "There was a woman involved. His fifth wife." ,, "Aaah. But that was a while ago?" the officer asked hopefully. ,, "Well, fifteen years or so. But there was also an opium shipment..." ,, "So negotiation is out." ,, "Quite." LaHaye stood and stretched. "But that's alright. I dislike him almost as much. He's a slaver, and I can't abide slavery." ,, "So you have a plan?" The major asked as the Dynamic strode towards the doorway. ,, "Yes. I plan to go and find Thiri and take up where we were interrupted." ,, "I meant about the plans." The major said with a hint of exasperation. LaHaye shot him a grin. ,, "Yes. I plan to make it up as I go along." He gave the officer a jaunty wave. "Toodles." ,, * * * * * * "Can I help you?" The wizened old lady asked the European in the local bastardisation of Burmese and Chinese. ,, "A room please." James answered in the same tongue, and gently caught her hand as she turned back with the key. "Is Pok Ma Ting still king of Four Dragons Street?" ,, "Pok Ma Ting always king of Four Dragons Street." she answered sourly. "And he does not like white men." Her sour manner brightened when LaHaye placed a silver coin on the counter. ,, "Pok Ma Ting likes nobody." James said with a smile. She nodded. ,, "This is true, except if they make him rich. Then he likes them plenty, for awhile." she turned and shuffled out from behind the counter. "Come, I show you room. You want girl? Boy? Pipe?" ,, "No to the second two, but maybe a girl. Later." he replied as he followed her upstairs.
  24. Alex was born on July 4, 1915. His father, Alexander Aceworth SR., had just gotten back from his most recent tour of duty in the first World War, and had been discharged due to losing his right leg. But in the process, Alexander Senior erupted, becoming a sharp mind with a keen intellect. He went into business for himself, eventually pioneering research into a form of Aetherfiber that becomes one of the premier brands of Aetherfiber clothing on the market. Even after the Great Depression set in, Aceworth Aetherics Applications created many Aethertechnology products that have recieved wide acclaim, enough to bouy the corporation through the troubled waters of the 1930s. Alex's mother, Rebecca Aceworth (Nee Shwarzstadt) was a Nurse during the war effort, although once her husband Alex came home, they had gotten together. Rebecca was a smart woman herself, although she loved her coming role as mother to her dear boy. Alex was a only child, unfortunately, as Rebecca died soon after. Alex Junior had an eye for airplanes. They were the new form of transportation, and Alex loved putting models together whenever he could. Although he sighed as to how aircraft just weren't coming along like he wanted. He wanted to go faster, further, and with greater heights. Then when he turned 18, after hearing about the US Navy's aviation program, he immediately enlisted, and indeed showed great promise as a pilot. First in training with seaplanes that were just starting to see use, then with fighter aircraft designed for carrier use. While many higher up officials in the Navy didn't see the viability, Alex did, and participated in a demonstration that showed that indeed a carrier-based attack could devastate a old style battleship fleet. Then in 1940, as he was flying in a new Catalina type flying boat, he and his crew were testing a potential new aetheric detector that would pick up on submerged enemy submarines through the electromagnetic disturbances they cause as they travel through the water. When the device activated, it could detect even the most minute electromagnetic variance using a specific frequency called "Aetheric X-Frequency Waves". Everything started alright, as the crew reached their testing point over the Atlantic 50 miles off the coast of Miami. Then the device shorted, releasing a massive pulse of X-Frequency Aetheric Waves, causing Alex's crew to immediately have massive brain hemmorages. They died on the spot as their brains became a mush. Alex on the other hand was slammed into with the same waves, but unbeknownst to everyone, through interaction with his father and the constant exposure to a variety of Aetheric waves; his central nervous system was arranged in a certain pattern, causing the trigger of a eruptive event. Just as Alex's head hit the dashboard of his stricken plane. When he came to, his plane was sinking as the tail end was sheared off in the crash, and he had mere moments to get out. Grabbing the now fried device, and got out. Left floating out in the Atlantic for two days, blood trickling from his nose, and the test team on shore didn't know what had happened. Search parties went north and south of him. He didn't even know if the submarine that was picked to head out as a test subject would be passing through and made part of the search. All the while he knew sharks would arrive. And they did, but before they could make a meal of Alex, the test submarine surfaced and picked him up, sending him back home. Luckily he grabbed the device as well, the science teams had a field-day on it wondering why it failed. But Alex already knew just by looking at how it faulted. Sabotage. German Sabotage. Then he showed how the Aetheric waves interacted with the emmiter ring, and several other things only a Athertech engineer could figure out. In fact they discovered that Alex had somehow become smarter, and his reaction time jumped up greatly. Seeing he would be a great asset analysing Wunderwaffe weapons starting to pop up from the Blitzkrieg, Alex was sent to Washington DC; with a higher rank and a new duty to a newly formed department made up of the best minds in the US Navy. In January of 1941, he is sent to England to assist the Royal Air Force, Navy, and Army, in analysing discovered Aethertech from shot down Luftwaffe aircraft. This, is where Alex's war begins.
  25. Name: Bǣl Real Name: Valentin Brandt Nature: Rebel Date of Birth: 1924 Sex: Male Apparent Age: late-teens. Height: 5'11" Weight: 167lbs Known Appearance: A beautiful young man with red-gold hair, molten gold eyes and sharp features. Known Powers: A manipulator of fire, Bǣl can perform a wide range of effects with his element. Visible Aberrations: Unearthly Beauty, Distinctive Appearance, Anima Banner (green flames) History: Claude and Lotte Brandt were lucky, blessed even. The two Dynamics were heroes of Germany during the Great War, they parlayed their fame into fortune and did well even during the hard years following the Treaty of Verdun. They had a son, whom they called Valentin, and life was good. Theirs was a happy household. ,, Then came the rise of the Nazis, and the widespread belief that the ubermenchen would catapult Germany back into worldwide prominence. The Brandt’s saw this dangerous movement and began to speak out against it, pointing to the follies of the prior war and warning against militarism. Their words, as Dynamic heroes of the nation, had a lot of impact, and people were swayed. Other people saw, and heard, and elected to do something about it. The Brandts were killed in a mysterious automobile accident – a very mysterious accident indeed, considering that both Dynamics were inhumanly resistant to damage. Valentin, at the age of 7, was especially confused: he was sure that his parents did not even own an automobile. Lies were told, close family members were persuaded by the evidence, and Valentin went to live with his grandparents in Heidelburg. ,, On his 12th birthday, Valentin’s talent expressed itself. A book-burning was taking place, and one of his cousins – a member of the Hitler Youth – decided that the small collection of American comic books that Valentin hoarded was a perfect gift to the flames. Valentin struggled, but his cousin was bigger and heavier, and held the young boy away while tossing the comics into the roaring fire. Valentin was furious beyond measure. Those comics had been gifts, every single one, from his parents, and this fat pig had destroyed them to appease a funny little man who shouted and now somehow ruled the country. ,, He walked into the flames to get his verdammt comics back. The flames swirled around him, but didn’t touch his skin, their color changing to a verdant green hue that illuminated the terrified faces of the townsfolk, and as he stood on the emerald pyre and looked at the scorched remnants of all the books, his own included, Valentin quietly decided he would have no part of such blighted stupidity. The flames winked out, leaving the market square in darkness. ,, The Waffen SS arrived the next day, with their own Dynamics. They wanted to test the boy, and his grandparents, already old, dared not resist the superhuman presence of the SS ubermencsh who made the demand. So the Nazis took Valentin away – he didn’t want to fight them on his grandparents doorstep, after all. They took him to a camp, but he refused to use his powers. They cajoled him, and he refused. They threatened him, and he refused. Politely, he explained that he didn’t want to be a super soldier for the Fatherland. He wanted to go to school, and then to university in Vienna. He wanted to study the works of the philosophers and work to help all humanity, not just the Nazi party. To his keepers, this sounded like treason, and they couldn’t risk even a single ubermensch working against the Reich. ,, So they imprisoned him, and he escaped. They caught him, and built another prison. This one he also escaped from after a couple of years, causing the deaths of five guards and one Dynamic in the process. His powers had grown in captivity. The effort, however, drained the young man, and he was unable to resist capture a third time. This time, the Nazis did it right: they moved him to a fortified prison on the outskirts of Berlin. His cell was a hundred feet below ground and flooded: a stone box of water. Valentin was strapped into a diving suit and left there, kept alive through means of an air hose from the ceiling. Two smaller tubes also carried his meals (baby mush) and water. Once per day, under guard, his cell was drained and he was allowed to relieve himself and exercise while his suit was cleaned. The rest of the time, he was alone in the dark waters of his prison. He has been told that, should he attempt escape again, his grandparents will be killed in horrible ways. So he does not struggle, and does not complain. ,, And he remains there to this day. Thinking... planning... hating. The solitude and utter isolation, rather than breaking the young man, have hardened his soul to diamond-toughness. He has nothing to sustain him except his anger, which burns hotter with every passing moment. The irony is not lost on him – the Nazis wanted him to be a weapon, and he will be. Just not in their hands. Not in anyone’s hands but his own. Valentin has actually started to hope that his grandparents die soon – and he hates himself for that hope. If he were strong enough, he could reach his grandparents before the Reich can punish them, and spirit them away somewhere. But where? He has been kept isolated – where is safe from the Nazis now? Russia? Norway? One thing is certain, the Reich is going to regret ever having heard the name of Valentin Brandt. Or Bǣl, as he calls himself now. Bǣl, the fire of the funeral pyre. ,, The flame of destruction. (40NP build) ATTRIBUTES Physical (Tertiary) STR: ●●● () DEX: ●●●● (Agile) STA: ●●● () Mental (Secondary) PER: ●●●● (Intuitive) INT: ●●●● (Bright) WIT: ●●●● (Quick) Social (Primary) APP: ●●●● (Stunning) MAN: ●●● () CHA: ●●●● (Arresting) - ( 3 NP spent) Abilities: Brawl: Might: Athletics: ●● Drive: Firearms: Legerdemain: Martial Arts: ● Melee: Pilot: Stealth: ● Endurance: ●●● Resistance: ●●● Awareness: ●●● Investigation: ● Navigation: ●● Academics: ●● Bureaucracy: Computer: Engineering: ● Intrusion: Linguistics: ● Medicine: Science: ●● Survival: ● Arts: Biz: Rapport: ● Intimidation: ●● Style: Diplomacy: Interrogation: Streetwise: Subterfuge: Carousing: Command: Etiquette: ● Perform: Modulate: ●●● (2 BPs spent) Backgrounds: Node ●●●●● Attunement ●●●●● (3 BPs spent, ) Merits: Iron Will - 6 Quantum Recovery - 1 Flaws: Vengeful - 2 Lusty - 1 Dependant - 4 (His grandparents) Phobia: Claustrophobic - 2 Aberration - 2 Unearthly Beauty Quantum: ●●●●● (14 BPs spent) Quantum Pool: 40 Willpower: ●●●●● Taint: 7 - Aberrations: -Taint based: Minor: Anima Banner: Emerald green flame dances around Valentin when he manifests his power. Distinctive Appearance Moderate: Uncontrollable Power: Elemental Mastery Hormonal Imbalance: Rage Special Effect: All of Valentin's fire-based effects manifest as emerald green flame. Mega-Attributes Mega-Strength Mega-Dexterity ● (Quickness) Mega-Stamina ● (Hardbody) Mega-Perception Mega-Intelligence Mega-Wits ● (Multi-tasking) Mega-Appearance ● (Awe-Inspiring) Mega-Manipulation Mega-Charisma ● (Autonomy) - (9 NP spent ) Quantum Powers Bright Viridian Sword - Quantum Bolt Lvl 3 (Extra: Armor Piercing) ●● Prince of the Emerald Sun - Elemental Mastery: Fire Lvl 3 ●●●● (Imprison, Enhance/Diminish, Shield, Storm) Jade Gates - Transmit: Fire (Extra: Incontiguous) - ●● No Power But Mine - Invulnerability: Fire - ●● - (3 NP spent clean, 20 NP spent on Tainted dots) Combat Stats Base Soak: 4 Bashing / 2 Lethal Health Levels: Bruised x1, Hurt x1, Wounded x1, Injured x1, Crippled x1, Incapacitated x1 Initiative: 9 (1 BP spent) ,,
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