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Jonah and the Heat Death of The Universe; OPEN - SHIELD, Locals, Evil Doers.
Topic Started: Apr 23 2013, 03:52 AM (361 Views)
Henry Orchard
Unregistered

Mutant Town, A Warehouse on the Waterfront
April 22nd 1030


Henry turned the rock over in his left hand. It was a fat, ugly lump of concrete that time had hewn out of the wharf and left to disintegrate in the rain. It was stupid, pointless thing and it was slowly becoming more and more useless. A product entropy, the tendency of all things towards chaos simply because they could exist in more states than the ones you wanted them in. He wondered how close to chaos he was, how far was he from useful?

Their recent encounter with the Brotherhood had ruined him. He’d been out for days and when he’d finally woken up it the world was a very different place. Weeks he’d lain in that bed, turning events over and over in his mind until his paranoia was pulling on so many strings that he could pluck out a tune. He’d pushed the doctors, he’d pushed himself, trying to get back on his feet so that he could get to setting the world right again. But Spiral had put a stop to any such notions.

Memetic terrorism was the term apparently. SHIELD analysts had likened it to a sort of cultural bomb, one inflammatory suggestion designed to reinvigorate existing prejudices and subsequently ignite a new militant movement at a grass roots level. There had been papers on the subject floating around for years before but most of the case studies were localised instances of civil unrest like the 2011 London Riots. Something on this scale was totally unforeseen and the initial reaction in the intelligence community was not one of alarm. They assumed public involvement would be limited to isolated mental cases, and they turned their attention to finding the anti-matter device.

The video hadn’t been up for more than a few hours when the first attacks took place. The first incidents were minor and the perpetrators shared a common vein of mental unrest, for example some had stripped off in front of the Baxter Building and bounced a couple of .32 rounds off Ben Grimm. Nothing to be worried about, so far so good. Then professional triggermen took down Warren Worthington and suddenly #killyourheroes wasn’t just the preserve of un-medicated schizophrenics. Serious people were getting in on the act and anyone on a SHIELD watch list with even the slightest dislike for metahumans jumped up a couple of levels on the Threat Matrix.

Henry had seen that report, it read like a Who’s Who of heinous motherfuckers. Neo-NAZI’s, white supremacists, human supremacists, ultra-conservative patriot militias, hardline eco-terrorists, HYDRA, AIM, The Brotherhood, al-Qaida, The Klan, Fox News, and also Your Mom. The best part was that despite having all these shitbags on their Christmas card list they couldn’t launch a proactive response. Either they’d knock over the wrong compound and they have another Waco on their hands, or they’d leave themselves exposed to some other threat they didn’t know about, or both which would much kill any agency stone fucking dead, even SHIELD. Still, they couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.

The first thing they had to do was prevent the situation from getting out of hand. Every successful attack would only embolden others to try the same, and the more attacks the greater the danger to the public. Fortunately, while they couldn’t anticipate where their enemy would come from they knew very well where he would go. Where possible they secured the obvious targets, moving high value metahumans into safe-houses and putting boots on the ground where they were known to congregate. Where they couldn’t physically control the situation they set up surveillance networks and kept rapid response units on standby if trouble cropped up. So here they were, on a beautiful April morning in Mutant Town.

Henry, not having been cleared for full duties, was to assist with the surveillance coverage. There were several dozen agents here at their waterfront staging area, and just as many again out on the streets of Red Hook with the most sophisticated equipment available to sniff out potential agitators before they could get busy agitating. Alongside them a couple of trooper squads, who for the time being were cooling their heels until such time as sufficient agitation occurred that their expertise was required. His contribution was a sizeable fleet of camouflaged drones patrolling the skies over the neighbourhood in the place of the usual compliment of massive black helicopters which, someone had keenly observed, might prove a little indiscrete.

It wasn’t the assignment he wanted but it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was needed here and that had assuaged his frustration for the time being. The drones offered them a degree of versatility and mobility that their scanners and covert patrols couldn’t manage. He could simultaneously produce a broad overview of the neighbourhood and hone in on particular individuals of interest allowing the others to focus their attentions where they were most effective. Altogether they had an incredibly rich and deep picture of the situation in Mutant Town. It was just a shame that it was not a particularly nice picture.

Mutant Town was wide open and saturated with possible targets. The sheer number of angles they had to cover meant that at some point something was going to get past them and they’d have a major incident on their hands. As the timer on Spiral’s doomsday bomb counted down to zero, tensions would rise and people would get desperate. Right now they were just looking at people who already had an excuse to kick off but soon they’d be looking at damn near everyone. People would be driven to extremes by their fear, be it for their own personal safety or the lives of their loved ones. He could hardly blame them, he supposed. After all, if someone Henry cared about was in danger how would he feel? At that there was a flash of anger, a shiver of pain down his right arm.

With a yell he hefted the rock and threw it as hard as it could. For a moment the rock became a projectile, pushed back up the scale towards order by the purpose his intent imposed on it. He watched as it fell short of the water and smashed apart on the wharf. Entropy, suddenly and violently accelerated. Chaos.

That’s what Spiral wanted, for their system of protection to become something less useful. Well, that’s what the Illuminati wanted. Ever since their encounter in London Henry wasn’t too sure what Spiral wanted, he just wished she’d just out with it so they could come to some sort of arrangement like civilised people. For a moment he considered that not too long ago thoughts like that would have sounded in his head in a disturbingly calm and darkly rational voice. These days he felt cold all over.

He went back inside, hoping to find something less pointless.
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Jawesome
Unregistered

Jawesome’s birthday was going to be shit this year, his twentieth at that. It wouldn’t be much different from any other year really but he had got his hopes up. Silly silly boy. Apocalypse had utterly sucked the joy from his sixteenth; maybe twenty-one would be the magic number, if he lived to see it. He swore he wouldn’t bitch about it until the week was well and truly done, and only then in hindsight would he maybe voice anything.

It was royally screwed up in Jawesome's humble opinion. Some spider bitch of a woman with delusions of omnipotence was trying to stir up big trouble big time. It was royally screwed up because she was succeeding. “Kill all the heroes and I won’t kill you” screw that. Anyone with half a brain could see that that killing all the heroes would mean that she could then kill everyone else. It was the heroes who kept the world safe from whackjobs like her.

That was one thing that Jawesome had found quite impressive, that the heroes could manage to hold back the villains. Because as everyone knew, power corrupts and yet there were actually heroes out there not corrupted by their own capability to do whatever the fuck they wanted. For every super-genius billionaire with a suit of armour running for Tyrant of the Year, there was another trying to stove their teeth on. For every guy bitten by a radioactive scorpion, there was another bitten by a spider stopping them. For every freaking godpowerful mutant trying to rule their corner of the world, there was another mutant saying the little people come first. For every bitch with six arms, there was another six armed guy who was a gentleman.

Jawesome was currently trying to fit the role of Mutant hero. Without instruction to do otherwise, he was on the surface, in Mutant Town, looking for trouble so he could bash it in the skull. He had two massive arms with which to do this with, in the grip of each massive clawed hand, he had a two meter scaffolding pole. It was going to be a bad day to be a badguy. That was the impression he was trying to give. What anyone badguy saw might be different.

At this precise moment – and the previous few and the next few no doubt – he was following the “stealth” drones flying about. Whatever cloaked them was no match for his multispectral vision. He was curious to see if they were trouble or would lead him to trouble. Not the wisest thing to do by any means but none claimed Jawesome was wise.
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Darkstar
Unregistered

It was a beautiful morning to be back in the game, enjoying the sights that the mutant hub had to offer or at least that was the role she wished to portray. Laynia was dressed in casual attire, a thoughtful disguise that allowed her to blend in with the crowd and maintain an aura of incognito. Straight cut dress pants hung loosely from her hips, swinging as she walked on a modest, practical two inch heel. Her hair was done up in a French braid positioned over her right shoulder. Her slight, but powerful upper body wore a sleeveless, jade hued blouse, a colour that she wore exceptionally well.

While she was indeed on duty, it just didn’t appear that way with a shopping bag in one hand and lack of an official uniform. This type of assignment was right up her alley, given her less than desirable political background Laynia was exceptional at fitting a typecast and getting lost in the crowd. The crowd, another matter that was concerning, considering the most recent viral terrorist attack, Mutant Town was buzzing with life and in a way, it offered hope. Beautiful moments could be found in the most upsetting of times and for the moment, she stopped worrying about the safety of everyone around, providing order and what seemed to be their inevitable demise at the hands of some societal rejects and their newest tech toy.

No, for the moment she let that all go, enjoyed the warm embrace of the sun’s light and the energy emitting for the hustle and bustle of the citizens in the Red Hook. She tightened her hand around the early morning’s purchases, a couple used books, a moderate pace allowed her to ease drop casual conversations, peeking down less populated side streets for trouble more or less ensuring that she could actively survey as much as possible.

It seemed quiet on the eastern front, or so to speak. Hopefully the good vibrations would last but such thoughts in this line of work would always be in vain. Her eyes rolled over slightly as a voice muttered into her ear piece that was cleverly hidden behind her woven mass of hair. A subtle, single nod was her initial reaction; apparently some suspicious behaviour needed some follow up. Tilting her head downward she spoke softly, a gentle whisper of a response.

“Roger that. Keep your position, I’ll go talk with the big fella.” Swiftly, she turned a corner and leap from the ground, flying upward to a rooftop to obtain a better vantage point. Truth be told, a woman flying to a roof top was a common sight in this neck of the woods, surely her plunging neckline had brought more attention her way than the common day practice of flight.

Physical mutation was another social anomaly, in the streets of Mutant Town the populace was accustom with the large and extraordinary, other places in the city would have the reptilian behemoth sticking out like a scaled, sore thumb. It wasn’t his size, nor his claws and scales, it was his posture, his demeanor, the fact that he was brandishing weapons. That was what had gotten him some friendly neighborhood attention, sunbeams reflected off the metallic cylinders, catching a pair of keen of eyes.

She descended to the city streets, her boots meeting the concrete sidewalk yet again, giving her target some breathing room until she closed the gap. Despite appearing all on her own it was quite the opposite, the streets were littered with government personnel, some well hidden and others in plan sight. Agent Orchard was a skip and hop away, assigned to the docks that were a couple hundred meters away, besides, surely this fellow was simply frightened, just like everyone else. A bounce in her step, she approached him casually until she was in ear shot. “Hello. Hi, there.” A smile on her sharp features, she kept her posture relaxed and gestured to his make shift smashing clubs. Looking him square in the eye, not the simplest feat considering he towered over. Height, it was all a state of mind.

“Do you require assistance?” She flashed the badge attached to her belt, hidden under her blouse. She wasn’t there to intimidate, but to maintain order, offer some emotional support if need be.
This was the first line of resistance to the madness, compassion, bravery and unity.
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Henry Orchard
Unregistered

Henry returned to his lounger at the back of the operations suite, closed his eyes, and concentrated. The fore of his mind filled with Mutant Town, the streets and rooftops flowed before him in a strange, shifting patchwork of dozens upon dozens of competing perspectives. With the whole neighbourhood under his mind’s eye it took if only a few minutes to find something to occupy his time.

Jawsome hardly cut a discrete figure and his particular interest in the vorpal drones singled him out amongst the colorful denizens of Mutant Town. Henry waved his assistant over who took down the details from his description and subsequently put them up on the incident board. Low priority, probably just a concerned resident but after a short discussion the senior agents decided to err on the side of caution and send someone in for a look. If only because a giant lizard man in pursuit of one of their drones might draw unnecessary attention to their operation. They routed in a ground team to get eyes on and Agent Petrovna to make contact. Henry concurred, a prudent decision.

He also elected to divert another two of his drones to the perimeter, just in case his colleague might require emergency assistance. Better safe than sorry.

“Darkstar,” he mumbled into his comms, most of his focus elsewhere still “I’m moving response drones up on your four and eight o’clock. Direct intervention unit on standby. Keep us appraised.”
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