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May 7, 2012, 9:45 p.m. Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center April Wolcott and Scott Harrison were getting married. It was a gala affair that was the buzz of the Washington D.C. social circuit. April Wolcott was the daughter of the British Ambassador to the United States, Marcella Wolcott. Scott Harrison was the son of U.S. Senator Richard Harrison, a hardcore warhawk Republican from Florida. The social and political implications of the evening were a minefield. The Democratic President, Jonathan Henshall, needed Harrison’s support for a Medical and tax bill that had been a key point of his campaign. Harrison’s support for this sort of thing was grudging at best, but the promise that Henshall would protect Harrison’s pet weapons project in exchange for support made this alliance a possibility. For now, Henshall had to play nice and attend the wedding and reception. The International Trade Center, or ITC for short, was the site of the wedding and reception. The lavish wedding was to be held in the Atrium; its 125 foot tall skylight, marble and granite floor and bold columns created the perfect place for a wedding of power and prestige. The reception would be held in the Atrium Hall, while there would be dancing in the Ballroom. The guest list numbered in the hundreds; anyone who was anyone in the U.S. Capital had been invited – and would probably come. The riff-raff were not invited, and it was here that Mirage, Rebekka and May found themselves. They were clothed appropriately for their roles – Mirage and Rebekka were in the most fashionable dresses Mary could create. May was dressed nicely as well, but she was going to work the crowds outside – and provide a distraction should it be needed. It was a trial by fire- '[i Yesterday...']May 6, 2012 Home David grinned at the two women who had entered the room. May was already there, lounging in her ‘base’ form, a woman with black hair and green-blue eyes. While similar to Raven’s image, this woman appeared to be far more innocent and younger than Raven had been. “Sorona, Rebekka, thanks for coming.” “Tyrone hinted that you had plans for us. Something about… the President?” Rebekka asked this with a coy tone, but David didn’t seem to take it personally. The powerful mutant’s smile didn’t change as he waved the two women to a seat. “I do have plans. We need, more than anything else, information. Specifically, military codes for satellites. If we have those codes, we can use the United States’ satellites to monitor the DEHA.” David smiled thinly. “Sorona, I’d like you to help Rebekka determine who she needs to sleep with to get those codes. Rebekka, I think you understand by now what we need from you. May’s faces are known to DEHA until she develops another, so she’ll have to remain outside for now. She’ll be there in case things go wrong.” “There’s one more catch.” May didn’t act like it was a problem as she said, “We don’t have invitations to the wedding reception. It’s the only place to have this kind of public access to the people in the highest positions of power but we don’t have the pull to get you into the party. You’ll have to find your own way in.” -but somehow, it seemed more fun this way.
Transcript from Interview with Mirage Transcript from Interview with Noctis Transcript from Interview with The Archive May 5, 2012, 6:45 p.m. SAST Spicenkop Research Facility, South Africa The Spicenkop Research Facility was normally a rather quiet place; located in northwest South Africa, it sits in the side of a mountain. Hollowed out of the stone itself, the facility normally didn’t host mutants at all. Instead, their scientists typically worked on research, both mechanical and scientific, derived from mutants. As such, the Facility didn’t normally host EBS-geared RRs, or any of the R-94 Supertanks. But for the last twenty-four hours, the place had featured both. The normal soldiers stared at the RRs in their exo-suits, trying to not feel like they were on the set of a science-fiction movie. They’d all heard about the Trains, and what they looked like when fully loaded, but it was still a sight worth staring at. It was also a constant reminder that they had strange mutants inside the facility – foreign and home-town guests, so to speak. Spicenkop has two areas; the first is the garage where the mechanical R&D was done. There are several offices and workshops and labs in this area, and grants the entire facility has a slight smell of grease. Deeper in the mountain is the chemical lab, which has been getting a lot more attention these days. The scientists think they have found something to help them in the on-going war for mutant control. The evening’s focus is on this lab. “Seven o’clock on a Saturday evening. Fuckers,” one of the guest soldiers muttered, glancing at his watch. “How long will this take?” The man had been excited to learn he was going on a mission to South Africa; he’d never been there, and he wanted to see exotic Africa – and exotic African women. Then he’d learned that he was in the middle of nowhere in the northwest part of the country, hours from a large city. Worse, there were no donne nere, here; the South African government would never trust their black population in a position of power. He had seen a pride of lions on his way in, so that was something, but they hadn’t stopped and he hadn’t gotten a picture. This was a terrible mission. The Italian soldier was doing his best to ignore the three mutants in the room, each fitted with an AMP collar and restrained to examination chairs. They all seemed rather calm and complacent; he knew that their Noctis was cooperative. Too cooperative, given some of the stories he’d heard about the mutant being open to being fucked for favors. He’d also been told that even when forced into sex that the mutant had seemed smug about it. The soldier mentally shook his head. That was just all messed up. The French were more observant. Mirage was a little more concerning to them. She was mostly cooperative, but if she were to become less so in this setting, they’d have a hell of a time restraining her. There was always the collar, but that was a measure of final recourse. Many of them even liked her; she was largely non-offensive. But none of them could trust her, not completely. Her green hair was a constant reminder of why trust was impossible. The South Africans were much more casual about their charge. The beautiful Rebekka was dragged into the room, shivering from the final throes of the feeding they’d just given her. When she was dropped roughly into the chair, she moaned in delight; her expression, as they secured her, said that the experience wasn’t unpleasant. The Italians and Germans watched uneasily, filled with a mixture of disgust and envy as the South African men took their time lashing her down, none too careful where they put their hands. Finally they stepped back and the scientists moved in, preparing IVs and saline bags. A line was attached to the saline drip, which led to a small remote designed to slowly administer an unknown drug. That done, the scientist heading the experiment said, “We need to clear the room, please. We don’t know what reactions the chemicals will induce.” That wasn’t comforting at all to the restrained mutants. “It will not kill them, will it?” the Capitaine in charge of the French contingent asked. Mirage was France’s best mutant; he was loathe to allow her to be destroyed at DEHA whim. “No, kytone doesn’t kill, and neither should dyxelkytone,” the lead researcher assured him. “Clearing the room is merely a precaution.” Nervously, the soldiers withdrew, casting final looks over their shoulders at the mutants. A low rumble shifted through the complex; screams rang through the corridors from the mechanical R&D area. “What is happening?” one of the Italians asked, moving automatically to cover the door to the room the mutants were in, just in case. “I… I don’t know!” one of the scientists babbled nervously, his eyes wide. “God help us.” The whisper was strangely loud in the room. The woman who’d spoken was staring at the screens that monitored the room; wish a shaking finger, she pointed at the fourth mutant who was now in the room. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The three mutants were only alone a few seconds when the tiled floor writhed and buckled. The stone underneath bubbled upward, stretching over six feet tall before parting to reveal a man in blue jeans and a collared shirt, open over a gray t-shirt. He had pale brown hair, gray eyes and the kind of face you would buy a used car from. “I’m here to getcha y’all out,” he announced to the three in American English. “Anyone not wanna leave?”