AI
03-06-2007, 04:16 PM
GM: Very much a working sub-title, but it sounded hammy enough and really - It's about time I got this out here. I'll try not to frag this up. :p
"Oi! This is a Wescorp controlled area, please step back behind the blue tape or we will use force!"
The binman spat into his face, or would have done if the spittle hadn't been caught by the mans protective visor. The building perimeter was surrounded by them, all the same, top to toe in so much armour they looked like a two-legged armadillo that had been spray-painted blue. He stopped short of punching the man in the face, although God it was tempting! Instead he flashed his badge, and on queue the rest of his officers plowed through the blue tape that then men so courageously hid behind.
"DCI Thomas Tyme, Lutonopolis police force."
He pushed past the man, marching into the building, pausing only to flash his badge at yet more corporate stooges who tried to get in his way. He swore to himself that he wasn't going to run, that he was going to handle this like a professional - He was already dead, there was nothing that Tommy, or anyone else on the world could do to save him. But he couldn't believe it. Heroes didn't die. Figureheads never died. He depressed the button for the lift, but the wait was far too agonising so he broke an ran. Bounding up the stairs, taking them three at a time, with a small squad of his men at his heals.
His heart was beating firmly against the roof of his mouth, and it was all he could do not to keel over and throw it, along with what was left of his stomach after all the churning it had been doing, up all over the stairs. But he resisted, flying past floor, after floor. The offices were empty, the binman had seen to that, the building like several ghost towns built on top of one another, climbing to the heavens as though the ghosts that might have inhabited it had got tired of Earth. It was then that his men started to fall behind.
Time slowed to a crawl.
The world blurred around him. Their breath, the clatter of their footsteps, the heaving of their chest - All the background sounds that he had taken for granted, coming less and less frequently, sounding so much more laboured, until he left them behind completely. He shot up the remaining few stairs, the man who had all the time in the world running as if his had run out. He leapt from the last step, bursting through the doors and out into the midday sunshine once more.
"Don't you touch him!"
He screamed at the top of his voice, as time retaliated with a vengeance . Everything happened so fast, his vision flared red and he just lashed out. Seeing him, the man he regarded as a father in all but name, sprawled out on the floor, with those... Those bastard Wescorp medical examiners poking and prodding him like he was a mere sack of meat sent him into a rage. He punched the first one across the side of the cheek, sending him sprawling backwards. The other one yielded, and when Tommy's men arrived on the scene he was knelt on the floor, stroking his cold, dead forehead as the world's greatest super hero rested like a baby in his arms.
"He's dead..." He said, voice strained and tears streaking down his face. "... Figurehead is dead."
* * *
Charge stared vacantly at the TV screen. The news was reporting that 'Neo-England's Greatest Superhero', some guy who mainly worked the rest of the country but got very little coverage in Lutonopolis because, well, he wasn't Wescorp affiliated like they were. It was depressing, but it was all he could bare to watch right now - The rest of the news was about them. it had been for a couple of days, wild speculation mostly, or so he thought. A new law had passed through parliament, making super humanity less of a grey area... He'd originally thought it had been a good thing, but he wasn't so sure now.
"So..." It was Equalizer who broke the silence, it had to be Eq. "... What now?"
Fifteen minutes earlier the Sensational Secret Reserve had gathered for a meeting, much like any other. It was actually called half an hour ago, but again much like any other meeting, most of them arrived late. Charge realised there was something suspicious about this particular meeting from the start, with far more people gathered than usual. Himself, Equalizer, Diva, Loki, Ronin, Crimson, the Adamantium Boy, Mr. Bitesize, Mammoth Man, the Stapler, Ghost, the Solar Avenger, Pal the dog and even the deranged undercover operative Sergeant Smackpunch. Nobody had ever told Charge exactly what he was undercover as, but he strongly suspected the answer was 'a raving, psychotic lunatic'.
"As you all know..." O'brian announced, he was uncharacteristically sullen, almost subdued. Maybe years of being overworked had finally caught up with him. "... A new law has been passed that... Well, gives you lot more rights. That's no bad thing, shows dear old Blighty is moving with the times - And at least it won't take fifty odd years like it will with the yanks. O'course, this law has also brought into question the process that Wescorp used to... Acquire most of you..."
"When we kidnapped them, right?" Equalizer asked, flippantly.
"Kidnapped is a strong word, and in this case, spot on. But I'm not here to argue the morality, you want to argue morality take it up with Wescorp's lawyers - You're wasting your breathe, cause they got none, but that's beside the point!" He gripped his makeshift podium as tight as he could, before inhaling a deep breath. "The point is, you're fired. As an act of good faith, and nip this problem in the bud, Wescorp is letting you go. All of you. The SSR is, as of now, disbanded and you're all free to go out and live your lives as you please."
There was a commotion unlike any the meeting room had ever seen. Some people were angry, most of them confused but the vast majority just shell shocked. Charge had never seen so many jaws drop, and as the second stringers filed out of the building, he was left alone with most of his team. And he realised, even though the group had just folded, they were still looking to him for answers.
"I don't know." He said, in response to Equalizer's question. "I really don't."
* * *
I tried to warn them! I tried to ****ing warn them! But they just wouldn't listen!
She thought to herself, hysterically as she stumbled down the streets. She was going to be arrested. She was going to be arrested and she knew it. But what could she do? She couldn't have stayed at the casino, she was as good as dead there. Maybe she was as good as dead out here. The night was bitter, and it was starting to seep through the fabric of her dress. She shivered. She never knew anyone could bleed so much...
She realised people were looking at her. There seemed to be eyes just about everywhere she looked, and they were all on her - Looking at her as if she'd murdered someone. Maybe she had. She glanced over her shoulder, stumbling into a lampost and quickly managing to stifle a scream. She was a wreck, but at least there wasn't anything following her. She must have gave him the slip when she escaped into the crowd that was stampeding from the casino. She breathed a sigh of relief, it was the most luck she'd had in weeks.
It was a week earlier and she was sat patiently inside her GP's office, becoming more and more agitated with each passing second. She waited while the middle aged man peered over his glasses at his computer screen, as if he'd never seen one in his life (despite working with it on a daily basis). He wouldn't listen a word she was about to say, she knew it, but she'd be damned if she didn't try. He taped a few keys with a precision that suggested he was perhaps playing a piano, or maybe even an organ, or at least something much less mundane before turning to face her.
"How may I help you today?" He said, still stern faced. She'd tried to joke with him in the past, but had no luck getting him to crack a smile - He was the kind of man who could even laugh without one.
"Listen, you're going to think I'm wasting your time - So I'll get right to the point." She said. "I've been down on my luck lately, losing every single night of the week..."
"Is this some kind of joke?" He asked, raising an eyebrow - He knew all about her habits, and strongly disapproved.
"Oh for... At least hear me out!" She took a deep breathe, tried not to get too flustered. "I haven't been able to win a single damned thing! The slots, the wheel, the various tables! Something bad's coming, I know it is! Last time I had a losing streak like this, I came down with the flu for Christ's sake!"
"I'm sorry, Rose." He said, playing a few more of his keys. She really missed a time when these guys had big, brown, paper folders. It was much less irritating. "I can't give you a full medical assessment because you lost a card game."
She reflected on that now, and realised she should have stormed out. She should have screamed at him, told him this was a matter of life and death, threw a string of vulgarities at him - She didn't know that at the time, but she should have done it anyway. But she didn't, she left with her tail firmly between her legs, head bowed down and feeling like a true idiot. She stopped in the street, holding her head in her hands and collecting her thoughts. All she wanted to do was break down and cry, but that wouldn't get her anywhere - And neither was this. She looked up at the building to her left,
THE LUTONOPOLIS AVENGER.
The sign read. She wanted to go to the police, but she couldn't - Not like this. She finally had the nerve to look down at herself, and yes - The police was indeed a very bad idea. Her most elegant white gown, it would have to be white! she mused, stained red. It was so fresh that it still dripped onto the pavement. She cursed under her breathe and entered the building.
"I need the... The..." She swore to herself again, what were they called?! "The SSR! I need the SSR!"
"I'm sorry..." She was getting so tired of that word. Even if she was surprised the doe-eyed receptionist could form it. "They've... They're gone."
"Gone?!" It was her turn to stand agape. "What the... Super heroes don't go! Where would they be gone too, for Christ's sake?!"
"Wescorp... The news... Some new law..."
"Forget it!" She snapped, this was impossible! If the SSR were gone... She suddenly remembered where she was. "I need an ad!"
"I'm sorry, what?!"
"A newspaper advertisement! You know, black white and maybe a little red all over?"
"Isn't that a peng..." She scowled scowled at her, and she suddenly remembered herself. "Oh... Yes..."
The receptionist turned autonomously to her keyboard.
"What size?"
"Full page!"
"I'm sorry..." The woman began, before she slammed a quarter of her night's winnings on the table.
"I have the money! Just ****ing do it!"
"Of course..." She said, finding something new to stare at aside from the freshly her freshly 're-decorated' dress. She mused on the possibility that the woman had never seen so much money in one place in her life... Although the other possibility was that she'd never seen a blood splattered Indian before. "... What... Well, what do you want it to say?"
"Super heroes wanted. Life in danger. Will pay whatever fee. And here..." She pulled a card from her purse. "My name and details. I don't care how you do it, just make it big and print it soon!"
She turned and left the building, unable to take it anymore. She hoped to God the ad would go out soon, and that somebody, anybody would pick up. Even that Burgundy or whatever his name was. In the meantime all she wanted to do was go home, lock all the doors, all the windows and make sure nobody else came in in the meantime. She was in such a state that she burst into a fit of involuntary, hysterical laughter when a single thought crossed her mind.
Looks like my luck's finally run out!
"Oi! This is a Wescorp controlled area, please step back behind the blue tape or we will use force!"
The binman spat into his face, or would have done if the spittle hadn't been caught by the mans protective visor. The building perimeter was surrounded by them, all the same, top to toe in so much armour they looked like a two-legged armadillo that had been spray-painted blue. He stopped short of punching the man in the face, although God it was tempting! Instead he flashed his badge, and on queue the rest of his officers plowed through the blue tape that then men so courageously hid behind.
"DCI Thomas Tyme, Lutonopolis police force."
He pushed past the man, marching into the building, pausing only to flash his badge at yet more corporate stooges who tried to get in his way. He swore to himself that he wasn't going to run, that he was going to handle this like a professional - He was already dead, there was nothing that Tommy, or anyone else on the world could do to save him. But he couldn't believe it. Heroes didn't die. Figureheads never died. He depressed the button for the lift, but the wait was far too agonising so he broke an ran. Bounding up the stairs, taking them three at a time, with a small squad of his men at his heals.
His heart was beating firmly against the roof of his mouth, and it was all he could do not to keel over and throw it, along with what was left of his stomach after all the churning it had been doing, up all over the stairs. But he resisted, flying past floor, after floor. The offices were empty, the binman had seen to that, the building like several ghost towns built on top of one another, climbing to the heavens as though the ghosts that might have inhabited it had got tired of Earth. It was then that his men started to fall behind.
Time slowed to a crawl.
The world blurred around him. Their breath, the clatter of their footsteps, the heaving of their chest - All the background sounds that he had taken for granted, coming less and less frequently, sounding so much more laboured, until he left them behind completely. He shot up the remaining few stairs, the man who had all the time in the world running as if his had run out. He leapt from the last step, bursting through the doors and out into the midday sunshine once more.
"Don't you touch him!"
He screamed at the top of his voice, as time retaliated with a vengeance . Everything happened so fast, his vision flared red and he just lashed out. Seeing him, the man he regarded as a father in all but name, sprawled out on the floor, with those... Those bastard Wescorp medical examiners poking and prodding him like he was a mere sack of meat sent him into a rage. He punched the first one across the side of the cheek, sending him sprawling backwards. The other one yielded, and when Tommy's men arrived on the scene he was knelt on the floor, stroking his cold, dead forehead as the world's greatest super hero rested like a baby in his arms.
"He's dead..." He said, voice strained and tears streaking down his face. "... Figurehead is dead."
* * *
Charge stared vacantly at the TV screen. The news was reporting that 'Neo-England's Greatest Superhero', some guy who mainly worked the rest of the country but got very little coverage in Lutonopolis because, well, he wasn't Wescorp affiliated like they were. It was depressing, but it was all he could bare to watch right now - The rest of the news was about them. it had been for a couple of days, wild speculation mostly, or so he thought. A new law had passed through parliament, making super humanity less of a grey area... He'd originally thought it had been a good thing, but he wasn't so sure now.
"So..." It was Equalizer who broke the silence, it had to be Eq. "... What now?"
Fifteen minutes earlier the Sensational Secret Reserve had gathered for a meeting, much like any other. It was actually called half an hour ago, but again much like any other meeting, most of them arrived late. Charge realised there was something suspicious about this particular meeting from the start, with far more people gathered than usual. Himself, Equalizer, Diva, Loki, Ronin, Crimson, the Adamantium Boy, Mr. Bitesize, Mammoth Man, the Stapler, Ghost, the Solar Avenger, Pal the dog and even the deranged undercover operative Sergeant Smackpunch. Nobody had ever told Charge exactly what he was undercover as, but he strongly suspected the answer was 'a raving, psychotic lunatic'.
"As you all know..." O'brian announced, he was uncharacteristically sullen, almost subdued. Maybe years of being overworked had finally caught up with him. "... A new law has been passed that... Well, gives you lot more rights. That's no bad thing, shows dear old Blighty is moving with the times - And at least it won't take fifty odd years like it will with the yanks. O'course, this law has also brought into question the process that Wescorp used to... Acquire most of you..."
"When we kidnapped them, right?" Equalizer asked, flippantly.
"Kidnapped is a strong word, and in this case, spot on. But I'm not here to argue the morality, you want to argue morality take it up with Wescorp's lawyers - You're wasting your breathe, cause they got none, but that's beside the point!" He gripped his makeshift podium as tight as he could, before inhaling a deep breath. "The point is, you're fired. As an act of good faith, and nip this problem in the bud, Wescorp is letting you go. All of you. The SSR is, as of now, disbanded and you're all free to go out and live your lives as you please."
There was a commotion unlike any the meeting room had ever seen. Some people were angry, most of them confused but the vast majority just shell shocked. Charge had never seen so many jaws drop, and as the second stringers filed out of the building, he was left alone with most of his team. And he realised, even though the group had just folded, they were still looking to him for answers.
"I don't know." He said, in response to Equalizer's question. "I really don't."
* * *
I tried to warn them! I tried to ****ing warn them! But they just wouldn't listen!
She thought to herself, hysterically as she stumbled down the streets. She was going to be arrested. She was going to be arrested and she knew it. But what could she do? She couldn't have stayed at the casino, she was as good as dead there. Maybe she was as good as dead out here. The night was bitter, and it was starting to seep through the fabric of her dress. She shivered. She never knew anyone could bleed so much...
She realised people were looking at her. There seemed to be eyes just about everywhere she looked, and they were all on her - Looking at her as if she'd murdered someone. Maybe she had. She glanced over her shoulder, stumbling into a lampost and quickly managing to stifle a scream. She was a wreck, but at least there wasn't anything following her. She must have gave him the slip when she escaped into the crowd that was stampeding from the casino. She breathed a sigh of relief, it was the most luck she'd had in weeks.
It was a week earlier and she was sat patiently inside her GP's office, becoming more and more agitated with each passing second. She waited while the middle aged man peered over his glasses at his computer screen, as if he'd never seen one in his life (despite working with it on a daily basis). He wouldn't listen a word she was about to say, she knew it, but she'd be damned if she didn't try. He taped a few keys with a precision that suggested he was perhaps playing a piano, or maybe even an organ, or at least something much less mundane before turning to face her.
"How may I help you today?" He said, still stern faced. She'd tried to joke with him in the past, but had no luck getting him to crack a smile - He was the kind of man who could even laugh without one.
"Listen, you're going to think I'm wasting your time - So I'll get right to the point." She said. "I've been down on my luck lately, losing every single night of the week..."
"Is this some kind of joke?" He asked, raising an eyebrow - He knew all about her habits, and strongly disapproved.
"Oh for... At least hear me out!" She took a deep breathe, tried not to get too flustered. "I haven't been able to win a single damned thing! The slots, the wheel, the various tables! Something bad's coming, I know it is! Last time I had a losing streak like this, I came down with the flu for Christ's sake!"
"I'm sorry, Rose." He said, playing a few more of his keys. She really missed a time when these guys had big, brown, paper folders. It was much less irritating. "I can't give you a full medical assessment because you lost a card game."
She reflected on that now, and realised she should have stormed out. She should have screamed at him, told him this was a matter of life and death, threw a string of vulgarities at him - She didn't know that at the time, but she should have done it anyway. But she didn't, she left with her tail firmly between her legs, head bowed down and feeling like a true idiot. She stopped in the street, holding her head in her hands and collecting her thoughts. All she wanted to do was break down and cry, but that wouldn't get her anywhere - And neither was this. She looked up at the building to her left,
THE LUTONOPOLIS AVENGER.
The sign read. She wanted to go to the police, but she couldn't - Not like this. She finally had the nerve to look down at herself, and yes - The police was indeed a very bad idea. Her most elegant white gown, it would have to be white! she mused, stained red. It was so fresh that it still dripped onto the pavement. She cursed under her breathe and entered the building.
"I need the... The..." She swore to herself again, what were they called?! "The SSR! I need the SSR!"
"I'm sorry..." She was getting so tired of that word. Even if she was surprised the doe-eyed receptionist could form it. "They've... They're gone."
"Gone?!" It was her turn to stand agape. "What the... Super heroes don't go! Where would they be gone too, for Christ's sake?!"
"Wescorp... The news... Some new law..."
"Forget it!" She snapped, this was impossible! If the SSR were gone... She suddenly remembered where she was. "I need an ad!"
"I'm sorry, what?!"
"A newspaper advertisement! You know, black white and maybe a little red all over?"
"Isn't that a peng..." She scowled scowled at her, and she suddenly remembered herself. "Oh... Yes..."
The receptionist turned autonomously to her keyboard.
"What size?"
"Full page!"
"I'm sorry..." The woman began, before she slammed a quarter of her night's winnings on the table.
"I have the money! Just ****ing do it!"
"Of course..." She said, finding something new to stare at aside from the freshly her freshly 're-decorated' dress. She mused on the possibility that the woman had never seen so much money in one place in her life... Although the other possibility was that she'd never seen a blood splattered Indian before. "... What... Well, what do you want it to say?"
"Super heroes wanted. Life in danger. Will pay whatever fee. And here..." She pulled a card from her purse. "My name and details. I don't care how you do it, just make it big and print it soon!"
She turned and left the building, unable to take it anymore. She hoped to God the ad would go out soon, and that somebody, anybody would pick up. Even that Burgundy or whatever his name was. In the meantime all she wanted to do was go home, lock all the doors, all the windows and make sure nobody else came in in the meantime. She was in such a state that she burst into a fit of involuntary, hysterical laughter when a single thought crossed her mind.
Looks like my luck's finally run out!