[i][u] Citrine | Portland, Oregon[/u][/I]

[b]"Been a while since I've seen your sorry face, Cyrus."[/b]

They sat in a quiet cafe, one table from the door and sidled up against the window. Citrine had an arm hooked around the back of her chair, staring non-chalant across the mahogany. She wore black server clothes, giving the appearance of a coffee girl on break. Despite working for the past five hours, she looked perfect. Not a blonde hair was out of place, and her crystal blue eyes were highlighted with smudge-free cosmetics.

It was her smile that was most disarming. It spoke with genuine warmth, lighting up her eyes. [b]"But I am thrilled you're here. Tell me, is there any news?"[/b]

Her visitor leaned forward, resting an arm on the table. He was an intriguing man to look at, what with his black nationality, bald head and patch covering his left eye. He was tall and built (maybe even handsome), but seemed to have a dislike to any colour. Dark clothes and a black trench coat hugged his body, shiny dress shoes on his feet. 

[b]"Not anything good, I'm afraid. Zephyr was found dead outside his apartment at 4:36pm yesterday, the cause unknown. Epsilion was forcibly taken in by the government two weeks ago."[/b] He spoke evenly, an assertive tone behind his words. 

Citrine's brow delicately furrowed. [b]"I see. So if it's as bad as you say... Are you ready to tell me who you are?"[/b]

A quick shake of the head. [b]"No. In time, Citrine."[/b] Cyrus glanced up at the clock hanging by the flatscreen embedded in the wall. [b]"I can't risk staying any longer, unfortunately. Turn on the news, you know what day it is today."[/b]

He was half-out the door before Citrine could stand. Hovering, he glanced back. [b]"...Be careful."[/b] The door clinked shut behind him not a moment later. 

Dutifully, Citrine waltzed around the counter, pulling out the staff remote. The TV to her right came to life, and she flicked through the channels for the news station. With absolutely zero customers in the cafe to serve she could watch in peace. Wringing out a washcloth, she began idly washing down the counter as her eyes hovered on the memorial special. 

[i]"Today we remember the tragedy that happened exactly two years ago on June 11th, 2012 at 5:19pm. Obsidian, the leading founder of its time in biochemical technology erupted in flames, setting fire to the buildings surrounding it. Although most were evacuated safely, 51 people died while 27 were rushed to the Emergency."[/i]

They rolled some footage of the site as it was two years ago, with smoke filling the air. Screams and small explosions could be heard as the camera tried to capture as much destruction as it could. The scene was replaced with Obsidian's HQ as it was in 2014, completely demolished and turned into a memorial site with copper statues, trees and gardens. 

[i]"Obsidian was sued and disbanded after their top-secret weapons wreaked havoc on our city. Their name on file was 'Operatives', but these super-human creations were the furthest from the heroes depicted in popular media. With the country's security on high alert, the government has done its best to bring these terrorists to justice..."[/i]

The screen was behaving strangely, flickering out of focus. And suddenly, both audio and visual cut out. All the screen displayed was black and white static. Citrine frowned, flipping through channels. All had the bizarre static. But right as she was about to give up and turn the TV off, a masked man came into focus on the screen. His skin was painfully white and his attire was strange, black monk robes with gold edges coupled with a black mask. He stood behind a white wall, in his grasp was a thin, square device with rows of red buttons.

[i]"Hello... Operatives. I have something for you."[/i] Malice dripped from his tongue. [i]"This is being broadcast on all channels US-wide, I want the whole world to witness their greatest, most [/i]stupid[i] fear. You, my dear Operatives. They hate you, fear you, spit upon the ground you walk!"[/i]

He made a dramatic flourish with his hand. [i]"I don't. In fact, we're friends already, and I'll tell you why. This device I have, I'm sure you're familiar with its original. I believe they called it the Kill Switch Protocol."[/i] 

With a malicious laugh, he pressed a red button at random. Citrine's heart jumped into her throat, and she held her breath. Seconds passed before she finally relaxed, utterly relieved. Half-way across the US, a man slumped in his seat on a bus, dead in an instant. 

[i]"You see, your life is in my hands. A man just died to be an example for all of you. Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to be in New York tomorrow, Manhattan square. I'll have people who will contact you when the time is right. You could consider this a... Forced business proposal, almost. You could be great, my dear. Enough of this hiding in fear, you're better then the cage society confines you in."[/i]

He put a finger on his masked chin, appearing thoughtful. But he shook his head. [i]"Mmm, nah. We'll talk more later. And, for your sake, I do hope you [/i]consider.[i]"[/i] He seemed to smile behind the thinly veiled threat. The screen abruptly blacked out, then resumed normal programs. 

Citrine continued staring in horror, her body frozen in cold fear. In an instant, her past caught up with her. The awful days of living in terror under the hammer of Obsidian... The ghosts were back, clawing at her insides. 

[i]Well shit...[/i]