[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wKZoxNV.jpg?2[/img][/center] [hr] [center][h1][color=blue]STA[/color][color=yellow]TIC[/color]: SPECIAL CROSSOVER ISSUE # 3[/h1][/center] [center] [h3] EVENT: ABSOLUTE CRISIS [/h3][/center] Cold. That was the first word on his mind, flying upwards above the Narrows. Teeth chattering, he wiped a sheen of dew that had accumulated on his googles from his trek towards Staten Island. Then, a face-full of sea-gull slammed into him. “ Motherfu-” His shouts were blocked out by the wild roar of the southerly wind. Feathered wings flapped in his face, the smell of bird poo and sour fish choking his senses. He waved his arms uncoordinatedly, one foot coming loose. Crud. He slipped off the slick metal and would have nearly fell into the murky depths below. If it wasn't for his last minute thinking. Static charge built up on his fingertips, allowing him to stick to the bottom of the manhole like an old piece of gum. He watched as the flock dispersed, squawking in laughter. Virgil swayed in the air precariously for a few moments before managing to haul himself back up on the thick disc of grilled steel. He'd imagined his obituary for a second. VIRGIL HAWKINS. 2001 - 2019. DIED BECAUSE HE WAS SURPRISED BY BIRDS. He would never live that one down if it happened. Virgil found it odd that he’d never seen the ocean before. He’d explored swimming pools, rivers and lakes before but nothing could compare to the wide open blue vistas in front of him. Sea salt flecked on his lips, soaking in the cold, briny air. The polarized goggles protected his pupils from the blistering autumn gales, eyes narrowing on his target. Staten Island. The site of one of the last towers. He was still too far away and worse of all, the weather wasn't helping either. The Dakotan native muscles bunched up in the chill. The cloth of his jacket flapped relentlessly in the middle of the bay. That and his reserves were beginning to peter out. His legs were beginning to feel like jelly. He hadn’t traveled this far and for so long before. The glowing stripes on his jacket began to dim in luminescence in a traffic light. Screams echoed over the waters. Words that he heard a dozen times over in different contexts over hundreds of patrols, coming somewhere over from the bridge between Brooklyn and Staten Island. HELP ME. PLEASE, SOMEONE ANYONE No. He couldn’t give up now. He still needed to do this. If he'd give up now, then, what about Dakota? Dakota could have been hit by this damn thing and he'd have been none the wiser for it. Hell, if Sharon and Dad were in the thick of it right now......A look of grim determination spread upon his face. He needed more speed. The low hum of current increased in volume and the bottom of his surfboard exploded in a starburst of blue brilliance. He burned away in a trajectory of thick ozone and lightning. Air parted away and rushed back into the empty vacuum in his aftertrail, creating thunderclaps. The Verrazano sliced through the bay like a rib-cage, a bulky mass of gun-metal steel protruding above the swirling water. He flew in closer, hovering above the chaos of beeping cars and shouting drivers. The intersections were gummed up with mile-long traffic jams, everyone trying desperately to flee from Brooklyn towards Staten Island. At the back were a school of buses and behind them were a crowd of infected individuals that were slowly closing their jaws on the rear of the conga line. The mass of infected individuals were battering the sides of the vehicles, passengers inside huddling together frightened. He struck down like a bolt of lightning. The horde stopped in their tracks for once, eyeing the newest arrival with surprise. “ I’ve had a real long day today.” Virgil’s eyes scanned the loosely organized crowd of bloodthirsty civilians. “ So, here’s what I’m only gonna say this once. All of you can just go have fun with one another while I escort these people out of here. Sound like a deal?” There was a pregnant pause. The bus passengers behind him waited with bated breath. A scream followed by several others dashed Virgil’s hopes as dozens charged towards him, leaping and vaulting over cars and obstacles. “ All right, then.” Virgil grunted, electromagnetically pushing a sedan that had stopped in the middle of the intersection in front of the crowd to act as a shield. One teen against a hundred people. No sweat. " If you're still alive after this - " He looked back. " I'm gonna need to borrow one of your buses for a second." Looks of confusion were shared between each of the passengers. Virgil signed. " Trust me. It'll make more sense later." A scream of terror and a pointed finger behind the window turned his head towards the left. They were already clambering on top of the sedan. He raised out his hands and a slash of light followed. [hr] Drone 4_A_23_Alpha host would soon expire within 23 hours, 15 minutes and 10 seconds from a cerebral stroke from an overdose of hormones within the male’s circulatory system. Enough time to fulfill the parameters of the task that it had been given. It, along with the rest of Group Alpha, is on alert, has been maintaining a one point five klick perimeter radius around the central tower in Staten Park whilst fulfilling the parameters of its secondary objective. The loss of Group Beta in Central Park is an obstacle towards their primary mission. The network recalculates. The network accounts. The network alters the mission objectives and issues instructions to all drones in Group Alpha to move back towards Tower Alpha. It’s host sensory organs detect a moving object above them. It observes and relays the image towards the rest of the drones in its group. The target is currently airborne, a distance of 80 meters above and 0.5 klicks away from the central node. Further analysis through the drones infra-red sensors and through the vision of their hosts indicates that this unknown metahuman is on top of this bus. Images received through their hosts retinal organs indicate that the appearance of the individual matches those of the metahuman known as Static. Current analysis of its trajectory and behavioural patterns indicate that this Static is heading towards Tower Alpha. Drone 4_A_23_Alpha signals to the rest of the swarm to move in on the proposed coordinates. High priority. The tower is under attack. [hr] “ Are you folks all ready for the Magic School Bus?!” Virgil shouted out to no one in particular with a grin, trying to ignore the agonizing fatigue that had infected all the muscles in his body. Some might have called him insane for surfing on top of a 10 ton vehicle but who was going to stop him? The four-wheeler public bus moved with the grace of a dinosaur and at the speed of a bicycle under his command. The Bang Baby vigilante grunted with exertion as he shifted his entire body to the right, forcing the five-ton monstrosity of steel and rubber to change its direction. It was all going to be worth it in the end. Besides, the bigger the better, right? It was simple high-school physics. Half times the mass in grams times velocity squared. Or was it mass times acceleration? Eh, he couldn't care less. The park comes into view and with it, the four-story tall tower. Virgil drops his hold onto the power and the bus slams into the base of the tower like a battering ram. He falls off the roof during the impact and lands painfully on his back. It takes every inch of what will he has left remaining to ignore the nauseous strain on his muscles and stand up. Sweaty tangles of hair swayed in his blurred vision. Was he really that tired? He didn’t know what he was running on now. Will? Courage? Pretzels? Maybe, it was a product of the Big Bang. He didn’t have to ruminate, pushing away the crumpled front of the bus by a few degrees by magnetically repelling it away. The metal exterior of the tower had been crumpled inwards and a torn portion of it revealed a glowing relay. The power conduit. Virgil gingerly removed the glove right hand, hairs on end. Electricity permeated the air, suffusing it with the sinister hum of lethal current. Breathing in, he touched - White. So much. White. All he could see was a vast cauldron of white that was boiling him alive to the marrow. The generator in Hemingway was a mere hill compared to the mountain of power that the tower funneled throughout its entire circuitry. In spite of the pain, Virgil pushed on, letting the river of current overwhelm him before making his move. With a scream, he reversed and amplified the flow of electricity out into the web of wiring interlaced throughout the tower. Circuits overloaded, capacitors shattered apart and internal resistors melted like wax. Every drop of electricity he had within him and more was forced within the machine, its massive reserves of power being used as its own weapon. Lifting out his other arm, he forced a left fist to smash into the conduit, pulling out burning rubber - Before everything exploded. He was launched back, weightless for a moment, before landing sideways on his elbow. Ringing dwelled throughout his ears, dissipating slowly, as he rolled over onto his back. Staring out at the cloudless sky, he let a laugh of fearful mirth. Something trickled down his nose. He wiped his upper lip with a finger and saw crimson stained on the whorls of his fingerprints. That wasn't supposed to come out of your nose like that. Why was he feeling tired so suddenly? And then, Virgil let the sweet sensations of slumber take him away.