Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and suddenly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
"oh."

Each cry and grunt hit Oliver as though it were a blow to the solar plexus: A heavy, lead-fisted gouge to the abdomen, as if he were taking each hit himself.
The chaos was physically paining him, and now he could feel it rising from his stomach and into his chest: A white-hot panic, a broiling scream edging ever higher, waiting to escape and shake this city to its foundations.
Moments ago, his comrade had compared him to Superman, but now his team was suffering and he felt unworthy of being compared to even Clark Kent.
“They didn’t prepare me for this at the academy,” his inner monologue whispered and shouted all at once, ”What do I do? What would dad do? What would…”
His jaw tautened.

He knew exactly what they’d say, as they confiscated his Initialiser and returned him speedily to civilian life.
”Jack would’ve done it. Jack would’ve…
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.
Oliver clenched his fist with a subconscious cue. His knuckles cracked audibly through the material of his gauntlets.
He exhaled shakily, and narrowed his eyes.
No. Jack wouldn’t do anything. Because he would.
Oliver Baudwin would help rescue this mission.

Slowly, surely, he straightened up, choking down that boiling fright and anger inside, and exhaling it fiercely through his nostrils.
Beneath his visor, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, resolute.
His team was in trouble… but which would he save?

Michelle was incapacitated, she should be priority… but Malika was still in active danger, should she be priority?
He made an uncertain gesture, sidestepping left, and then right, and clasping ineffectually at his sword’s hilt, the blade of which seemed to brighten and dim regularly, as if reflective of his internal struggle.
Then, as if he were being thrown a cosmic bone, his choice was made for him: A blur of radiant green, so very unnatural and bright so as to almost burn him as he gazed, rushed past, in its grasp, a familiar and cumbersome shield.
“Michelle,” he murmured, and hurried quickly to her side, as Cecilia hurtled to Malika’s aid.

She was broken, just as he’d been, but fortune was on her side: It seemed the tendrils had left her be after they’d rendered her unconscious, motioning instead to join those who were crowding now around Malika.
Oliver knelt beside her, and rested his hand on her shoulder, dragging her up into a sitting position against him.
Then- just as it had done twice before now- the connection exchanged a spark of energy between the two, and Michelle’s suit began its repairs.
But Oliver felt the energy leaving him, and he knew now he was running short… there would be no second chances from here-on out.

Oliver shook Michelle gently, “Hey. Hey, wakeup,” he whispered, “We’ve got a virus to kill, no time for napping on the job.”

Upon mention of said virus, Oliver threw an almost involuntary glance towards his other team mates.
Cecilia was mounting the charge with her shield raised, coming in at an odd angle as tentacles of all shapes primed to take her down, too.
Then- suddenly- something pierced the protective wall’s metal, and suddenly Cecilia- and Marvin, who had hookshotted onto her shield- were flying through the air at one another, tugged suddenly together and throwing the tendrils into disarray in the process.
As they collided, the tendrils rushed down, dropping Malika in the chaos but seizing the pair of them as they recovered.
Malika’s suit had been drained of almost all of its power, and now sparks were leaping from each gap in the armour.

Oliver laid Michelle carefully against the wall with which she’d collided, and then hurriedly got to his feet, preparing the glowing edge of his blade before rushing tenaciously towards the rest of his team.
The virus was descending upon his Orange and Yellow Moderators, and it was doing so quickly.
“Get out of there!”, he cried, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down upon what was becoming a writhing mass: But for every limb he sliced, two more took their place, wriggling unnaturally as they engulfed his team.

Oliver pressed on, but the virus pressed back, and after a tedious few minutes, it simply shunted him away, his blade humming wearily as he was pushed a good ten feet back, and looked up just in time to see his comrades being drained of all the energy they had left to offer.
“No!”, he snarled, pouncing forwards only to be swiftly rebuffed. But he kept trying, and trying, until bruises formed against any bare skin, and his voice was hoarse.
“Let them go! Let them go now, just let them go! LET THEM-”
And then, they were gone.

In an instant, their forms decompressed into a series of glowing microdots, of small, luminescent blue cubes, which slowly rose from their entangled prison and hovered briefly in the air, before forming a series of vertical words in thick, glassy letters.

L
O
G
G
I
N
G

O
U
T

“Logging out,” chimed the cool, authorative disembodied voices of their Initialisers, before those same pixels dispersed, and rushed rapidly into the atmosphere, before disappearing into the all-encompassing grid.

Oliver watched wide-mouthed with abject horror, body shaking and shoulders worn low.
His blade dropped to the ground with a metallic rattle, the blade fading into nonexistence like the lingering glow of a lamp upon the retina.
He was so stupefied, he didn’t even notice the virus’ retreat, the limbs hurrying quickly back to the bay-side, and returning to the maelstrom from which they came, their lust for Moderator power satiated.
A tepid tear ran down Oliver’s cheek, dripping from beneath his visor silently.
“Oh,” he murmured, for that was all he could muster.
“Oh.”
”Jack would have done it.”
He dropped limply to one knee.
"oh."

Michelle flickered back into consciousness, and she had no idea what was happening. Then the pain kicked in, which was definitely not a pleasant experience, especially if you felt like you could barely move. Fortunately, the pain slowly faded, and Michelle's eyes fluttered open when she something gently shake her shoulder. She heard some sounds that she couldn't discern at first, but she was soon able to concentrate long enough to get a vague understanding of what was happening. She turned her head slightly to see Oliver in her peripheral vision, who had a look of concern on his face. Before Michelle could say something to him, he placed her in a sitting-up position and left to rejoin the fight.

Michelle took a deep breath, then winced as the pain in her ribs flared. She tried to push herself back up onto her feet, which the pain in her ribs flared again in complaint, and she managed to do it while leaning heavily heavily on the wall. Then she realized that her sniper rifle was not with her, and she turned her head left and right in an attempt to find it. She spotted quite a way away, and she immediately started heading towards it, pushing herself off the wall. She stumbled, but managed to regain her footing before she could collapse on the ground. She slowly walked toward her sniper rifle, her right arm clutching her chest, then reached her rifle and picked it up with her left. Michelle looked at her hands trembling, and realized that she'd never be able to pull off a successful shot if she tried. Instead, she used her rifle as a walking stick, heading towards the sound of Oliver screaming, something about letting them go.

Walking some more, Michelle was just in time to see the letters spelling out "LOGGING OUT". As the tentacles retreated and Oliver dropped to the ground, Michelle slowly made her way toward Oliver, hoping to figure out what was going on. She stopped walking after reaching Oliver's side, then asked, "What happened? W-why did those words appear?" Then she saw the tears coming down from his face, and she then knew that his answer would not be a good one.

 
“Get away from them!!” Kirina screamed as she watched her team mates engulfed in the fray of writhing tentacles. Without thinking about the consequences, she charged directly into the center of the moving mass, her halberd at the ready. Despite what had happened earlier, Kirina didn’t have time to reflect on her actions. As most of the tentacles turned towards her, she regretted her decision of jumping into the center ring.

The tens of arms around her formed a surrounding circle, keeping their distance as she poked and stabbed at them with her weapon. The pushed closer and closer, giving Kirina less and less room to keep all sides of her guarded. “Вы лохи умные…” (You fuckers are smart…) she muttered to herself, teeth gritted into a pained grin. Occasionally one arm would dart out and slice her where she wasn’t watching. A cut appeared on her cheek, on her thigh, on her arm. Her suit was turning from brilliant blue to ragged and rusted.

Kirina slammed the end of her staff on the ground, switched the position of her hands and heaved the halberd over her head. One hand over the other she started spinning the blade over her head, slowly at first, keeping the monster at bay. Faster and faster her hands moved, until the pulsing blue light from the blade became a constant stream. “Но я умнее!” (But I’m smarter!” She screamed as she spun the sword over her head, slicing and distracting the virus.

Lines of sweat dripped down her face, into her eyes, her mouth. Her arms throbbed, but Kirina knew if she let go the arms would rip her apart. Straining her head, she tried to see her team mates. Had she succeeded in distracting the monster away from them? Were they ok? All she could see was a wriggling mass of flesh. Her arms throbbed, and her body lurched forward as her grip almost slid from the blade.

Spinning it faster, each breath was ragged and followed by grunts of struggle or pain. The bright blue light that flashed from her halberd turned duller and duller by the second, and, all at once, it was gone. “NO!” Kirina shouted, her halberd dropping from her hands. “No no! Нет!” Kirina dropped to her knees and let out a strangled cry. The arms slid away from her slowly, and all at once she could see her team mates.

Oliver, who she had just called superman, was lying on the ground. Michelle was near him, dumbfounded. She couldn’t see the rest of her friends at all. Kirina slammed a fist on the ground over and over, ignoring the pain that seared through her hand. “We could have done it! We could have!” She yelled to herself. Her lips curled into an ugly smile as her eyes closed. Spreading out in the dirt, the mud, the sea water, Kirina lay near her halberd. Silently she buried her face in her arms and grieved to herself, small giggles escaping her throat.

A thump.
”Get out of there!”
The sound of a blade slicing flesh.
”Let them go! Let them go now!”
Silence, and then a disembodied voice – A faintly familiar voice at that – pierced the still air.
”LOGGING OUT.”

Malika was vaguely clinging to consciousness – Her vision blurred, fading in and out, and her body stung all over. Sparks flickered in the gaps of her armour as she panted for air, trying to drag herself away. She soon slumped back down onto the floor, the world around her sinking away into darkness, her last moments of consciousness catching more voices…
”What happened? W-why did those words appear?”
“We could have done it! We could have!”
And then… Malika’s grasp slipped and she fell.
Tumbling down.
And down.
Further down…

”We could have done it!”
“You’re right.”
“Let them go! Let them go now!”
“Please. Please.”
“LOGGING OUT…”
“That means…”
“What happened? W-why did those words appear?”
“Because… It’s all my fault.”
Everything felt so hazy. Malika knew it had to be a dream, or perhaps just some kind of hallucination. Either way, this definitely wasn’t real life. The world spun around her, features blurring and refocusing with each second. Nothing stayed still.
“Hey.” Malika jerked her head up to meet the owner of the voice – Stood before her was a man in a green suit, wearing a matching green helment with a visor. His chest was adorned with a large ‘G’.
“G-Great Green?” The figure before her ignored Malika’s shock, simply tossing something in front of her. Glancing down, she recognised it immediately, “T… The Kaze-Kage…?”
“You forgot something. Maybe why you were busy getting your teammates killed.” Malika’s eyes widened.
“W… Wha…”
“Those two died saving your stupid ass. You’re too obsessed with theatrics and looking cool – And you paid for that.” Malika shakily reached for her sword, clutching it tightly.
“I just… Wanted be like you…”
“And what? You thought acting like a jackass would do that? Get your head out of the clouds and see that playing hero gets people killed.” Malika stayed silent, shutting her eyes. “Pick yourself up, and wake up. You’ve got work to do, try not to screw it up this time.” Malika pulled herself onto her feet, her fingers still coiled around the sheath of her sword, the others curled up into a fist.
“I… I didn’t kill them… I didn’t, did not kill them!” She suddenly lunged out with her first as, without warning, the world blurred into nothing.

Malika awoke, still sprawled on the floor, but now aching slightly less – Enough to get up and look at her teammates. The mood seemed sombre to say the least. She knew why – She wasn’t the brightest, but she knew what “logging out” must have meant, especially by everyone’s expression. Still, she feigned some kind of ignorance, her voice cracking as she looked at Oliver and peered up, “O… Ollie… What happen to Ceccy and Marv…?”

They were talking to him again, asking him what’d happened, where their comrades had gone… but did they really want an answer?
Did they really not know? Did he?

Oliver swayed lightly, down on his bent knee still, both in meagre prayer and utter defeat.
He knew they were talking, but not what they’d said: This was speculation, for their voices had long since been drowned out by the screaming in his own head.
The relentless pounding of his monologue, raised, screeching and howling its threnody in lieu of his own vocals, which’d tightened to the point he could no longer speak.
Tightened to the point they were choking him.

Shakily, he raised a hand to either side of his head, and covered his ears with his palms, drowning out their voices, his own voice, until only the rushing of his blood was audible, thundering through his temples like the pistons of a steam engine and muting all else with its percussive sound.
He needed a moment of peace. He needed a moment to think.

Why had they done that? It was spontaneous, it was reckless and unsophisticated…
But it may very well have saved Malika’s life.
Marvin had been all of those things, but also so good natured, so kind.
A force of nature with golden intentions.
He’d never known Cecily, had she been similar? Or perhaps she’d just followed his example.
Oliver had no doubt in his mind that, had Marvin been possessed of a greater wit or aptitude, he’d have been leading his own Moderator squadron on some sunny, distant shore right now.
Now, he never would.

Was that what this had been, then? A selfless sacrifice to save Malika? The very thought that they felt it necessary weighed heavily in his chest.
How heroic. How very Moderater of them, to rush in without a thought for themselves…
To leave people mourning in their wake, and not care.
Oliver gritted his teeth. His jaw locked as he fought back the urge to sob, to scream.
To call them idiots. Brave, noble idiots.
Better Moderators, perhaps, than he would ever be.

They’d done what they had so selflessly. They were almost like…
“You looked like superman!”
Almost like…
”…superman!”
Some light snapped on in the back of Oliver’s head.
They’d died liked heroes, like all Moderators should hope to.
Leader mode had been triggered.

Slowly, Oliver took his hands from his head. He wiped away the tears with the back of his glove.
Then he stood.

"What happened? W-why did those words appear?"
” “O… Ollie… What happen to Ceccy and Marv…?”

He mutely dusted himself off.
“They did their jobs,” he replied, coolly, straightening his shoulders, “It’s about time we do ours.”
He threw a glance around: Kirina and Malika were both sprawled across the floor, and goodness knows where Juno had gotten to. Michelle was the only member of his team standing.
He inhaled deeply.
”Get up,” he breathed, not as a request, but an order, rigid and unwavering.
Then he turned away, towards the sea, towards the harbour walls, where the virus’ maelstrom still churned with an animalistic fury.
“We’re not done yet. I think it’s about time we show this thing what we can really do.”

He took a few steps away, “You should know this part, Malika… this is the part where the retreating villain comes back bigger and stronger than ever.”
He gestured for them to stand, but didn’t turn to face them.
“And this is the part where the heroes grind them into dust.”

And as promised, from that writhing whirlpool there broke new life: A thick, fleshy limb of dark purple, that looked almost to be made from wires of meat, like discoloured copper made moist. Then another erupted, and seemed almost to push the maelstrom’s edges aside to permit the rest of its mass to escape.
When it emerged fully, it stood above them as a colossus: A mass of crawling black skin, shaped almost like a man, although it walked on all fours like a great ape, and in lieu of a head there was but a flat slab of black stone, onto which there had been engraved the code that would destroy this city.
Oliver stood in its shadow, and outstretched his hand to his left.

“Hauteclere!”
The claymore’s hilt shot immediately back into his palm, and its blade erupted back into life in a shower of fierce blue sparks, humming intensely, thirsty for vengeance all of its own.
“Moderators, line up! I need a shooter with me!”
He gestured up to the approaching virus with his blade. Beneath his mask of command, he was terrified.
But he needed to be strong. To be brave.
He needed to be like Marv and Cecilia.

“Hey!”, he barked, trying his best to emulate those self-certain Moderators of old, “He hasn’t seen the last of you and me! Let’s kick this up!”