[center][img]http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo63/NMShape/coollogo_com-197432088_zps0cffe20e.png[/img][/center]

[b]French Quarter Police Precinct, Lost Haven[/b]

"Yo, Frankie. I think he's wakin' up."

Chike Baatul felt like he had been hit by a freight train. He tried to open his eyes but found himself temporarily blinded by the overwhelming amount of light. Chike rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes until his vision cleared up. He was sitting on a concrete floor, starring at a set of metal bars. On the other side of the bars stood two uniformed police officers. Chike placed a hand against his forehead, wincing in pain. That speedster had hit him harder than anyone else had since he lost his powers. Knocked him out cold with a single punch. It was obvious he was in some kind of holding cell. The two men's uniforms made them out to be cops, not prison guards. Chike concluded that he must be in one of the LHPD's many holding areas awaiting transport. Or trial. He had to wonder what sort of due process he was allowed as a metahuman. [color=aba000][i]Speaking of which..[/i][/color] he thought to himself. Polemos slammed a fist against the concrete and immediately regretted it; definitely no superpowers. He had been out for quite some time then. And his fist now hurt. A hell of a lot. [color=aba000][i]Ow.[/i][/color]

"Whoa, George. He crazy or somethin'?" The second cop, Frank, asked. He was young, likely straight out of high school. The kid's accent made him out to be a native of Boston. "Not crazy, Frankie. Report says the guy had super strength when we got 'im." The other gentleman appeared to be in his early forties. His dialect denoted his origin point to be somewhere in New York; maybe Brooklyn? Baatul couldn't make it out. His head still hurt like all hell. 

"Well what happened to him?" Frank inquired. He titled his head to the left, examining the prisoner with some curiosity. "No idea. Must'a lost 'em when he blacked out." 

Meanwhile, George was filling out a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. Probably some kind of incident report about the vigilante's capture. "What's that?" Frank poked his head over his partner's broad shoulder. "It's everything we've got on this guy. Forensics says he's the same guy who threw down with Icon during the riots. Calls himself 'Polemos.' Jerry down in accounting told me that meant War in Greek." George informed the ignorant youth. "His boss was Ares, God o' War, right?" George just nodded. "Yup. STRIKE's suppose ta show up later today and haul him off to some dark hole."

Now that got Chike's attention. He thought he'd get away on bail; he and Ceri were still rolling in cash after Hephaestus and Ares were defeated by Athena. They hadn't figured out what to do with the mansion or the army of automatons living underneath it. But if STRIKE was coming for him, there was nothing Chike could do to get out of this. Not legally, anyway. Baatul didn't particularly enjoy breaking the law. He'd purposefully gone out of his way not to engage the police at all until recently; and he only did that to save the city from a metahuman apocalypse. [color=aba000][i]If I don't get out of here, none of that will matter. Can't let STRIKE take me. But what am I goin' to do? No powers, no weapons and no backup. Damn it. No way outta this one, is there?[/i][/color]

"Po-lee-mos."

"Nah, I think its more of a...Pole-moss."

"Pfft. No way, that's stupid. We should ask Jer-"

[color=aba000]"It's pronounced Paw-leh-maws."[/color] Chike corrected between gritted teeth. His knuckles were turning all shades of purple from their impact with the concrete flooring. "Ey, buddy. You need somebody to look at that?"

[color=aba000]"That'd be nice, actu-"[/color] Chike's words were drowned out by the slamming of a nearby door. A trio of men in standard BDU camouflage marched into the holding area. The momentarily frightened police officers managed to shake off the scare and greeted the soldiers. "You boys must be STRIKE operatives," George assumed, "your man's right in here. We've been expecting you." Something buzzed nearby. A moment later the door to Chike's cage slid open, allowing the STRIKE team to step inside. The two officers kept their hands near their weapons. Chike noted that his escorts had sidearms at their hips as well; yet, the three seemed tenses for a fist fight rather than a shootout. [i][color=aba000] Can't exactly take me in alive if I'm full of bullet holes.[/color][/i] He mused in silence. He didn't resist when one of the STRIKE agents slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists; nor did he bother trying to fight them as he was led out of the building and into the back of a nondescript black van.

"Hello, Mr. Baatul." Chike froze where he stood. Every muscle in his body coiled, like the spring of a mouse trap. He knew that voice. That voice belonged to his most dangerous foe. The CEO of SuperIOR. Jack Grey. "I've been looking for you." The suave businessman's grin made Chike's blood to boil. He wanted to choke the life out of Grey with every fiber of his being. But without the serum, he was little more than a man. A man fueled by rage and vengeance, but a man nonetheless. "I'll kill you, you piece of shit!" Baatul roared. He struggled against the vice-like grip of his captors. Neither gave a centimeter. In fact, both only seemed to squeeze harder. [i][color=aba000]Holy hell.[/color][/i] Chike gasped internally. [i][color=aba000]They're super soldiers.[/color][/i] The man's epiphany must of shown on his face, because Jack knew exactly what he was thinking. "Surprised? You shouldn't be. You didn't really think I'd let you disappear into the ever hidden shadow of STRIKE, did you? Oh no, escaping me isn't that easy. I still have some questions for you. Besides, I think I have an offer you can't refuse."

Chike became still. No matter how much he struggled, the two men who held him down wouldn't budge. Resigned to his fate, Baatul chose to instead listen to Jack's proposition. [color=aba000]"What could I possibly want from you?"[/color] He spat. Jack's easy-going manner didn't change as he wiped the spittle from his cheek. "Well, it's quite simple. You crave power. Every since Ares gifted you with the Polemos enhancements, your body has changed. You'd become comfortable being a god. Relied on it, even. When that was all taken away from you, you sought a way to satisfy that hunger within you. The Super Soldier Serum was your ticket to peace. Not for others, as you so passionately preach to your friends. No. You only wanted peace for yourself. Your soul is broken, Mr. Baatul. Ares shattered the man you once were. No one could help you. Not even Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, knew what had become of you. You're such a little man, pretending to be a god. But you don't have to pretend any longer, Chike. I can give you the power you seek."

[color=aba000]"I've never told anyone that before."[/color] Chike whispered. [color=aba000]"How could you know-"[/color]

"Because I was a god once as well." While the two spoke, Jack had begun unbuttoning his dress shirt. Chike shifted in his seat, a feeling of dread rapidly building up in the pit his stomach. "My name is Archangel Uriel, the god of wisdom. I came to this earth thousands of years ago because I was cast from the heavens for my rebellion. My people are known by many names; a heavily embellished version of our history was recorded by humanity and still remains in circulation to this day. At least, that is what I have been lead to believe. My memory was fragmented centuries ago when I was...separated...from my armor. I am no longer whole." Chike's eyes widened at the sight of it. Jack's chest was covered in glowing alien symbols. It shouldn't have been possible, but somehow Chike recognized the language. "The Athanatoi and my people shared a similar dialect."

Chike's eyes flicked away from Jack's tattoos and at his face, confusion and fear billowing like a terrible storm in his heart. "I can read your mind. I'm a telepat-"

[color=aba000]"Stop. Interrupting. Me."[/color] Chike growled. His anger momentarily cut through the terror and flooded to the surface of his consciousness. [color=aba000]"I cannot tell you how insufferably annoying it is to hear you speak whatever I'm thinking. And its making my damn skin crawl."[/color] Uriel gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Very few talk to me in that tone and live to tell the tale. Be warned, Polemos. My patience runs thin. You may be too important to kill now, but the future is uncertain."

[color=aba000]"Yo-you said you can give me my powers back. How? What did you mean?"[/color]

"I believe one of the Cowl's affiliates is in possession of a device called the Uzziah Tablet. My sources claim that it is inscribed with powerful magic. If my theories are correct, the tablet will lead us to the body of one of my people-"

[color=aba000]"-Uzziah?"[/color]

"Yes. He was not one of the Fallen, as I am. So it is reasonable to assume he died with his armor on him. If we get that armor, you and I are one step closer to restoring our godhood."

[color=aba000]"What if his body was looted? He's likely been dead for hundreds if not thousands of years.[/color]

"No power on earth can separate one of us from our armor."

[color=aba000]"Hold on, you keep talking about 'your people.' Are you an alien?"[/color]

"We are called the God-Machine. Our existence is beyond your immediate comprehension and my knowledge of my past is limited. Without my restoration, there is little I can tell you. Will you help me?"

[color=aba000]"On one condition. You'll leave my friends alone."[/color]

"Deal."