Mary Madison was born January 5th, 1695, in York, England. Her mother, Maud, was a house wife as most were at the time, though her timid attempts at cottage industry almost made her more than that. Her father, Paul, was a farmer in her early life. She had three brothers and two sisters. Only the eldest sister, Susan, remained alive by the time Mary turned 16. They were a lower class family, living on the outskirts of York on a small farm. Eventually, her farm failed. The Industrial Revolution was right around the corner, though the big cities were already beginning to industrialized. Living so close to York, Paul and Maud decided to move the family into the big city so he could find a job. Unfortunately, neither of them were quite away that their children would have to get jobs aswell, ones more dangerous and grueling than subsistence farming or sharecropping. Mary and Susan were 14 and 16 respectively, and her 12 year old brother Mark was still alive at the time aswell. Together, Mary, Susan, Mark, and Paul, all went to work at the big textile mill. That was when Mark died, the only Madison child to die in his childhood not from disease but from hazards in the workplace. This was simply how life was. Mary was expected to be accustomed to loss, and she was. As much as one could be.

Social mobility was virtually non-existant. A born peasant w expect to die a peasant. There were few misconceptions about becoming rich with a stroke of luck at that time. Mary was used to it. It was fine. She enjoyed playing games with her siblings, and though she missed them dearly the memories they gave her during her formative youth were not easily forgotten. Mary and Susan would forge a bond that would last the rest of their lives. Mary was an upbeat young woman who counterbalanced Susan's more sardonic tendencies. They made a fine pair and would joke with each other often. Susan particularly enjoyed picking on Mary for her obsession with keeping flowers. Any old flower or weed, Mary would try to capture and keep alive. It failed more often than not, but Mary would keep trying until eventually she got it right. Mary dreamed of selling flowers to people in the big city, but a textile worker like her would never own a business.

1711. Mary met an older boy named Lao Peng when she was 16. He was 17, and on vacation in England from his homeland of China. One of the first of his people to ever visit England. He was rebellious, and was exploring one of the textile mills when they came upon each other. He was chased away when the master of the mill caught on to his lies of being a "foreign health inspector" but he promised they would meet again, and he would take her to Beijing. They never saw each other again, but that was a fond, mysterious memory Mary reflected on often. It was strange to see someone so different from somewhere so far away. Exhilarating, in a way.

1716. After a long youth of labouring, crafting, and dreaming, it was time for the 21 year old to get married. Children had to grow up fast in those days, and though she maintained some of her happiness, the spark of innocence had long been crushed within her by the toil and suffering of her life up until that point. A poor woman, lowest on the totem pole except for the imprisoned slaves brought over from other lands. Mary was far too focused on her own survival to even worry about the atrocities of her mother nation. Like most people of her class she was proud of being English and had little choice other than to believe the upper class that the pillaging of other nations really was for the best for everyone involved. She could hardly even read.

She caught the attention of a man named Steven Silverstone. The grandson of a failed noble family, thus the extravagant name but ratty red shirt. Or, so he said, anyway. He was a storyteller, and could read very well, so Mary was inclined to believe him, naive and starry-eyed as she was. Oh, how he waxed poetic about her youthful charm and natural beauty. Susan, of course, didn't buy into it for a second. Her second husband (the first had died from influenza in 1712), Clyde, was a plump butcher who worked in the meat factory. Everyone worked in the meat factory. He was gruff, stoic, and worked to support Susan and her incoming children. Not a dandie like Mr. Silverstone. But Mary believed Susan was just jealous because her husband wasn't as handsome or as interesting as hers.

Truth be told, it was a facade. Steven just wanted to impress someone, and this inner city brown haired girl with dust on her face and a twinkle in her eye was just the right person to do it. So he lied, and they got married.

He tried to do right by her. He was the one that taught her how to read, when he wasn't getting frustrated and hitting her. Mary had expected this. Her dad hit her mom, and Susan's husband hit her. It was just the thing to do. The cultural norm. No reason to get too upset about it. Steven was nice most of the time, and the love there was real, even if the naive wonderment of this silver-tongued bard had long since worn off.

1720. When Mary Silverstone was 25, she and Steven had their first child, Charlotte. A sweet little girl with a bad habbit of lying. Two years later, she had Robert, one year after that, James, who died. It was normal. It was expected. But even back then, Mary's soul knew it wasn't right. That her living situation shouldn't be this bad. But there was nothing to be done, no solution presented. Grin it and bear it. Her soul was always slowly withering, but Mary could still try to find peace and joy. Three wonderful children, two of which survived to adulthood. Mischevious children. Mary quits her job at the factory and becomes a stay at home mom. Steven continues his work in manufacturing, making enough money to support all of them and their little house. Just enough. The factory helps to support their family with loans that keep the Silverstones in their debt, but no matter. It's either that or starvation.

1726. Mary's parents pass away. Paul from an accident in a factory. Maud from disease, or a broken heart. Susan's second husband dies the year after that, and she remarries the year after that to a man named Gregory, who is bland and safe and sturdy. When they meet, he brings bread. Mary and Susan still swap stories and catch up, they both live in the same town and are now both stay at home mothers.

1736. Mary is 41, her eldest is 16. Everything is the same. She's content, if bored. Safe, if drained. Happy, but...sad. In a way that's hard to put into words. In a way that was universal then, and much too common now. The feeling of making do whilst underneath a stone ceiling so low, one has to be prone. To smash it would be to just break one's knuckles. Best to just warm herself by the fire.

1746. Mary is 51. Grandchildren. Cute little babies her daughter and son bring to visit, with their son-in-law and daughter-in-law respectively. The family grows. Innocent and curious, the joy of new life invigorates everyone. Steven and Mary are proud. How can they not be? Their lineage is passed down. The lineage of their forebearers before them. Robert's son is named Paul, after her grandfather, and Charlotte's daughter is named Maudette, after her grandmother. It's enough to bring someone to tears. None of Susan's children have children, be it by choice or by simply not living long enough to do so.

1756. 61. Time flies. Susan passes away. Her only living child moves to America. Mary has never missed anyone as badly as she did her older sister. Gregory still brings his bread, and visits her grandchildren. Gregory is a good man, though he and Steven don't seem to get along very well. Usually Gregory and Mary talk, and Steven and Mary talk, and Gregory and Steven talk about Mary, but they never talk to each other. Maybe they're just too different, Mary wonders.

1766. Whatever happened to the florist? Mary sometimes thinks she's a different person than she was before. 71 years old. She has great grand children now. Maudette with Dave and Charles, and Paul with Maggie. It's a beautiful thing. Mary Silverstone can only imagine how far they will go. If she can be content with anything, it's that she fulfilled her duties as a wife and grandmother. She raised them right. Charlotte and Robert, her little girl and her little boy, liars and schemers both, clearly taking after their father. In a good way. The kind of lies you could never stay mad at. Now, all grown up, grandparents themselves. They were more successful than Mary was and their children mroe successful than them. One advantage of everyone having children so young is seeing the family tree grow and blossom in one's lifetime. It was a blessing.

When Steven died that year, she was at peace. She would miss him, but she knew she would reunite with him soon, in the next life. The great grandmother knew she would pass peacefully in a house full of people that love her. She never knew her own grandparents, but she was able to be there for her own children, their children, and now, the little babies.

The year is 1769. It will soon be seen that one flower on the family tree will refuse to wither. Mary Silverstone will have to try to find the value of an apple that does not fall from the tree at all.

1769. The year that everything changed. The year that, more and more as time has gone on, Pandora wished she never lived long enough to see. Pandora does not wish for death, but sometimes, she wishes she had died.

Where she lived, nobody knew about the meteor. Mary Silverstone wouldn't find out about it until later. Whoever was in charge decided it was best nobody knew about the end of the world, lest looting and disruption of the peace occur.

So when the coughing started, Mary assumed that it would be the illness that killed her. She didn't plan on fighitng it. She was old, and grey, and frail, and had lived a good life. So she closed her tired eyes and waited for the end. But the coughing didn't stop. She became less frail, finding the energy to not slowly stagger out of bed but rather climb out of it as if she was 60 again. The coughing got worse. Things began to get more strength. A week past. Now, it wasn't as if she was 60 again, she looked like it, too.

The nature of her transformation was an unpleasant one, and thus will be ommitted from this biography. Let's just say the children had to be kept out of the room, and Mary needed to make room for her new anatomy somehow.

But within a matter of months, when Mary looked herself in the mirror, she did not see the gray, thinning hair of a proudly resigned matriarch, but the full, brown, shoulder length hair of a young woman in her twenties. Full of life vigor. She could walk freely, even healthier than her own children. It was a miracle. It took long time for the implications to set in.

News of superpowered heroes had become commonplace, and Mary Silverstone assumed her vigorous health was the extent of her powers. She used them to the fullest, playing with her great grandchildren in the yard. Throwing them up in the air. How was it not natural for her to enjoy her renewed youth? It certainly was a change of pace. It was enough to make the grumpy old woman a starry-eyed girl again. Mary Silverstone didn't need to eat, sleep, or drink. She was full of...emotion! A spirited persona that had long since been crushed out of her, and it was contagious to the rest of the family.

Only one problem. She would have to come out of retirement. She was of prime working age again, and there was still a family to support. Even though she tried to argue that since she doesn't need food or water or sleep that she's basically the perfect roomate, her children guilt-tripped her into finding a job. It was the right thing to do, after all. Mary dreaded returning to the factories more than she realised, but fortunately, that wasn't to be the case. For she discovered that reverting to her early twenties in perfect health was only the beginning of her abilities. When she accidentally turned a wooden spoon into a floppy, gooey stick. Dropping it in surprise, it hit the ground only to shatter, as the now freezing cold wooden floor consumed and broke the spoon instantly.

It took one year for her to get her powers under control. The ability to Alter. As more and more powered people revealed themselves, it became quite clear that she was extraordinarily powerful. Some people could bend a single element, like water or fire, or could even generate it from their bare hands. Others still could fly, or teleport. But Mary could touch anything, anything at all, and bend it to her will. She practiced day in and day out, hopeing to use it to avoid going back to the factory. She had wasted away her entire first youth in those damn things. God forbid she would waste her second youth, too.

1770. 75 years old, but with the body of a 25 year old. A healthy 25 year old, too, not one who had labored in the heat in the sun and of factories all her life. With hindsight, all the insecurities she may have had about her appearance back in the day completely vanished. She looked good. Her gaunt cheeks had filled out, so had her abdomen. She was still a bit lanky-short. Her strength had returned, though, even greater than before because there was no malnutrition.

The question is, what to do now? Having this much power was cathartic. It made her angrier at all she had lost, and grateful for what she still had. All she knew was, she wasn't going back to the factory. She would find a new job, a better job, and hopefully lift her family out of poverty.

The first thing she did was go around repairing people's damaged houses. It was very easy and safe to do. Sometimes she made mistakes and the building collapsed, but she could repair even that, too. Every time she did it, she got better at it until it was second nature. Cleaning up people's houses was nice, and though she usually refused payment, occasionally she accepted it. Her family was happy to just let her do her thing, but she really wanted to start making money for them, somehow.

She discovered her ability to heal when a factory worker had his arm chopped off by machinery. It took a bit of doing, but she managed to re-attatch it good as new. It was her first use of the Restoration ability, and the manager of the factory paid her a pittance for her duty. This made her angry for reasons she couldn't quite explain, but at the time she had to leave because she needed to go throw up due to the sight of a dismembered arm. Despite all the death and horror she had seen in her life, stuff like that would still take some getting used too. That was when she discovered she only threw up purple space goo, now, though slightly transluscent. When she exerted herself, she still sweats, and it's mostly see through, but sometimes it's a little bit purple.Very weird. So, apparently she still needs to maintain some kind of body temperature, though she has much more resistance and stamina than before. This discovery prompted her to begin working out. She wanted to do something in the long night hours, instead of just forcing herself to go to sleep anywhere (the best superpower of all by the way, sleeping on command). So working out would have to do. She would have to consume more energy to do so, so that was when she discovered she could eat grass now, or even just plain old dirt, if she Altered it and consumed it directly via her abilities.

She was naive and wide-eyed, ready to take on the whole world. The florist was back. A superhero. One of the first ever. Mary Silverstone was a generation one superheroine. So early, they didn't even have superhero names back then. People just called her "Mary Silverstone", since Mary didn't even think about concealing her identity. It was also pre-hero organization of any kind. It took fifteen years for them to have any kind of influence over the people of York and the surrounding population.

Leftovers and villains were abound, so Mary, being the most powerful hero around, and the oldest and the wisest, put together a loose coalition of powered individuals. One kid who could control water suggested naming it "Blokes Wot Protect York Town" as a joke and it kind of stuck. The Blokes were created, and Mary was the leader. Two years into her career, Mary took down and defeated her first supervillain, who ended up being named Craig Brindley. He didn't have a villain name, he just put on a mask and started mugging people. His power was a simple one, super strength and super durablity. Fortunately, he was no match for Mary's power. She just ended up burying him up to his neck in the street by turning it to cobble stone. Then she softened up his skin and muscles to get rid of his powers and the coppers took him away.

Back in those early York days, it wasn't Heroes, Villains, or Leftovers. It was Blokes, Mugs, and Barmies. Even though Bloke usually meant men, in this case it adopted a gender-neutral meaning. Like calling someone 'dude' or 'man' today.

The first ten years of her career as a member of the Blokes went well. Those were the golden days. They improved living conditions for everyone in York, protected the innocent from Mugs and Barmies. Unfortunately, there were many systemic issues that even superpowered people could solve. At the time, though, Mary was mostly blinded to those injustices and the Blokes settled for maintaining the status quo. History may judge them harshly (Pandora certainly does), but at the time a greater moral perspective was hard to grasp.

Twenty years past. 1790. At this point, the implication of her agelessness had finally, finally set in. Her children were almost the same age that she was, now. Charlotte's husband had passed away from old age. There was a lot of grieving, a lot of bitter tears, as Mary Silverstone realised she was going to watch her children die. The extra years granted to her by her powers was going to come at a terrible cost. She had great, great grandchildren now, cute little babies. Richard, Timothy, Agatha.

In the superheroing world, ROYAL, a government initiative to help maintain and manage superheroes on behalf of the King, spread it's influence from London and took over York. After twenty years of protecting York, the Blokes were disbanded. Some retired, but most, like Mary, joined up with ROYAL to continue the work they did. With it, they brought ranks and new terminology. Mugs and Blokes were no more, now it was Heroes, Villains, and Abnormalities.

There was talk of using ROYAL to take back the colonies, but it was nixxed. During the American Revolution, soldiers who had powers were just kind of stuck in with the rank and file and expected to use their powers when appropriate. No one was really sure what to do with them. Now, though, everyting was sorted, and superhuman based warfare was starting to really kick off. However, since the Yanks also had their own powered individiuals, and had already entrenched themselves as a new nation, it still wouldn't be worth the effort to take back the Colonies. They could take back the Colonies, of course, but the Yanks fought dirty and it would be too expensive in lives and money to do so. So, they'd let it go.

1800. The dawn of a new century. Charlotte is the first Silverstone child to die, but she wouldn't be the last. Looking back now, Pandora knows she should have seen it coming. She should have seen it all coming, but at the time, Mary didn't want to think about it at all.

Mary had thirty years of superheroing experience under her belt, and quickly garnered respect in the ranks of ROYAL. Most people with that many years were on the way out of frontline combat, but Mary was 100 years old and looked like she wasn't a day above 21. At this point, Mary stopped keeping track of how old she was. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. They say age is just a number, but for Mary it really was true.

Mary was given her first hero code name by ROYAL: The Changer. Entirely original, for sure, but back then one didn't have to be that creative to come up with an original superhero name. Mary preferred still being called Mary, since that was what she was used too. So the higher ups called her The Changer but her friends just called her Mary. This habit of not really liking superhero names would be one that stuck.

Mary's home life was becoming uncomfortable. She spent more and more time away from the house and her children after the loss of Charlotte, and eventually, Robert. It was too sad to think about. Her grandchildren moved out eventually, so whenever Mary was home, she only had memories to keep her company.

So, she left. She signed up with ROYAL's global heroing initiative and became a hero ambassador.

Mostly she travelled up and down the entirety of England. It struck her that up until that point she had never even left York. She travelled from the countryside and into York, and never left. She'd never been 10 miles away from her birthplace. So this was an exciting opportunity. The world was her oyster.

Mary's first brush with military experience was the Napoleonic War, specifically the first coalition of 1805. It was different from protecting the homeland from domestic threats, but that time under pressure had given her the composure to fight in battle. The Changer was especially useful in Navy combat. Manipulating the ocean currents she could travel under the surface quite quickly. Latching onto the bottom of the ship, she would simply carve away the hull until it was full of holes and leave it to sink.

The first time she ever killed anyone was during these naval battles. Simply put, some of the Yankee sailors drowned because of her efforts. It was an inevitability, and it shook her emotionally when she realised she had killed someone without even thinking about it. Only realising after the fact what she had done. Still, the soldiers thought she was a hero, and the sailors were immensely grateful for making their lives easier, and for saving their lives when they wounded. That much it much easier to accept absolvement. She was a soldier. Still, she preferred saving people with her powers rather than killing them.

Mary Silverstone had her first near death experience during the Battle of Trafalgar. It was the largest naval battle of the Napoleonic War, with Britain battling to maintain control of the seas against a Franco-Spanish alliance. After sinking three ships, she was put out of the battle. Under the hull of the fourth ship, a French hero ambushed her and put a hole through her belly with a narrow beam of energy. The british sailors went to recover what they thought was her dead body, following the trail of purple blood left behind in the ocean. But when they pulled her corpse onboard to find it still alive, they sent her on a medical ship back home to England.

That wound was her first brush with her own mortality since becoming ageless, and it occured to her that the peaceful apathy she felt towards death when she was an old woman had faded. Once again, she was not ready to die. She was afraid of it. She remembered feeling hole appear in her belly, looking down with wide eyes as the inky violet substance inside her flowed out into the water, and she remembed seeing the hero that had ambushed her deaming her no longer a threat as she closed her eyes and went limp before floating back up to the surface. She remembered the fear, and the pain, and the cool ocean water turing warm with her life force. It was a bad moment. One to keep in mind as she went forward into battle. Unfortunately, she didn't get a medal or a stripe for the wound since that wasn't a thing yet.

Anyone else would have died, but it was impossible for Mary to drown. Some of her blood came in contact with a sailors cut hand, and healed it. Mary didn't wake up for six months because of the large amount of blood loss, but eventually the wound sealed itself up. It was a miracle recovery. Afterwards, Mary agreed for ROYAL to draw some of her blood to use as medical supplies, but even drawing a little bit left her woozy, and a useable amount would cause her to pass out for an entire day or even more. Hypotetically it could work, and Mary agreed to some blood drawing anyway, but they could only draw an extremely limited amount before putting her into another coma. Despite her durability, Mary is vulnerable to blood loss. There also seemed to be diminishing returns, where the blood would lose it's healing property if too much was drawn over the course of a few days.

Mary was sent over to fight the Americans in the War of 1812. She helped burn the White House down. That was a strange day. The reasons behind the war are lost to her now, but Mary was mainly there to help the wounded troops, and to do her ship sinking trick.

In 1813, she participated in the Napoleonic Wars. Fortunately, England's involvement ended soon after. The Battle of Trafalgar had secured the British homeland's safety for the forseeable future. Since defense was no longer a concern, and that was the main reason Britain was fighting Napoleon in the first place, Britain decided to let the mainlanders of Europe duke that one out amongst themselves. For the next decade or so she patrolled England, battling Mugs- er, "supervillains", and spending time with her family.

1830. Maudette passes away from heart complications. Mary is crushed. She has been spending more time with her grandchildren, her great grandchildren, her great great grandchildren. There are good times had with her and her adult children. Christmas of 1828 is one she always looks back on, where she discovered her Alteration ability allows her to make excellent food. So delicious, it made Richard cry.

Richard and Agatha with their respective partners worry about the future of their children. Richard Jr. is about 10, and Lilly is 8. Neither of them want their children to work in the factories, not so young. At this point, Mary decided to do right by her great great grand children. Using the influence she has built up over the years as The Changer, she decided to become the poster girl of the abolishment of child factory labor. It was a movement that had long been in the making, but having one of England's most well known heroes lend her name and support to the cause was a boon. She was guilty she hadn't thought of it sooner. It was strange to feel so behind when it came to moral thinking. She hadn't even noticed the abolishinist movement, even though right now it was mostly for economic reasons. Mary decided to focus on doing what good she could do more feasibly, and thus focused her efforts on disbanding child labor.

In 1833, she succeeded. Children were banned from working in factories until they turned 16. The labor rights movement carried over into that of slavery. Mary hopped on the bandwagon and slavery was abolished in the British Empire in 1834. But not entirely gone. Britis human rights abuses in the Caribbean and Africa still continued, but Mary didn't very much care about that. It's difficult to care about terrible things happening on the other side of the world. It's impossible to fight for every single righteous cause at once. There are simply too many. One would go insane. Mary wasn't thinking about that, though. She simply thinking about doing good in the area around her, a mission most superheroes aim to uphold in the modern day.

Superheroing around in England was fun. Something to take her mind off things.

1840. Everyone knew of The Changer at this point. Britain's longest operating superhero of ROYAL. Some were still alive from the old days but almost all of them had retired or taken up office jobs.

1841. Paul dies. Both of her grandchildren are dead. Mary finally beings to reckon with the nature of her immortality and is stuck with a deep depression that lasts for five years. She battles evil much less often.

1842. Richard dies in war. Perhaps instead of directing the blame towards rampant British imperialism creating wars all around the world, she grows angry at the rest of the world. Her depression and exisential dread turns to misdirected rage. No longer is The Changer a reserve troop, a volunteer, an auxillery force only used situationally. No longer does she prefer to do tricks and stay on the backlines. Infact, The Changer is no more. For the rest of her life, Mary Silverstone will be better known as The Shark of Crimea.

The next fifty years are somewhat of a blur. Pandora regrets most of her life. The naivete of her past self. How she did not see what was obvious for so long, and when she did, she resorted to rage and nationalism. When she tried to reconcile for her deeds, the vilest parts of humanity revealed itself. When Mary broke and loathed humanity, and herself.

That is ahead of us still. Now, Mary Silverstone runs from her feelings and herself, seeking comfort in the throes of nationalism and war. A comforting cause to fight for. No worrying about morality or action. Where there is only two teams- the enemy, and the British Empire.

Until 1853 Mary travelled around the world on trading ships, protecting the British East India Company's poisonous trade routes. There were many wars to be fought. Mary was relegated to healing roles, but she desired more.

Mary was also given official military training. She had gone to bootcamp in the past, but her training was outdated. Now that she was going into more traditional combat scenarios, she would need to prove herself. Normally, women were not allowed on the field, but even the sexist culture of the day recognized the value of powered individuals, regardless of their gender. It would be foolish to deny them. However they were not permitted to take on leadership roles. But an exception was made for Mary. She was incredibly demanding, leveraging her clout and experience in order to get what she wanted. Mary wanted to be in charge. She wanted to lead charges. She wanted respect, and power. She wanted to serve her country, to get revenge on the world for Richard. Also, soldiering paid more than ROYAL work. Significantly more. Be it salary or rewards from stolen goods. That money would entirely go towards funding her family and increasing their social status. To give them a good and happy life of luxury. It's possible for greed to come from love.

Mary wanted fulfillment. She needed something to fight for, something real and tangible. Even if it was only as tangible as invisible borders drawn on maps. Maybe this would actually accomplish something. No more fighting crime, only for another villain to pop up later. No more worrying about whether or not she was doing the right thing, or if she should focus her do-gooding elsewhere. Now, she could recieve and execute orders as she saw fit.

Mary learned how to fight. She learned how to shoot, how to lead, how to fight with a blade and read a map and ride a horse. It came naturally, she was determined. In few years she became a true blooded officer of the British Empire. Captain Silverstone, leader of the 24th Cavalry Platoon. Her soldiers loved her. She was one of them, a hero of the British people before even joining the army. Any time they recieved a mortal wound, as long as they could hold out long enough for Silverstone to arrive, all would be well. Silverstone always lead the charge, never commanded it from behind. She was kind, but authoritative.

This was the structure Mary needed. The immediacy of an objective. To ride into a battle where those you call friends may die at any moment is a relief, opposed to watching your children age and die while you remain the same. Mary was resolved of moral responsibility by her uniform. Once again she could focus on helping those around her- her platoon. Unlike the endless crusade against evil the Blokes had undertaken, Mary would know victory when the British flag rose on the enemies capital. She would know love when she returned home to an adoring public. How could she be wrong, when so many people believed she was right? This is what she was born to do. Richard's death had been the wake up call she needed. Not to serve some fake, ethereal ideal of "goodness" or "justice". Not to parce out what was right and wrong from some made up morality or the pages of religious text. But from orders, commands, and from her country. Black and white, good and evil, winning and losing. That was all that mattered.

The Shark of Crimea was born in the Crimean war, one of many Ottoman Wars. The sparks were lit over religious conflicts and border skirmishes. It was time for the imperial powers to set things right with glorious, beautiful war.

This was when Mary discovered her most powerful technique. The full implications of being able to turn the ground she walks on into water. She could provide her platoon with cover on the spot, raising the ground infront of her lines as they reloaded. Wounded troops could be brought back into the fight on the spot. Enemy super heroes hardly stood a chance. Enemy cannonballs would freeze in midair and be tossed back at the enemy at high velocity. She and her platoon marched across the Crimean landscape, winnig victorys and capturing and killing their foes. Around her horse a high pressure wind would deflect bullets before they could hit her, or her magnetized blade would snap to the bullets coming her way instantly and slice them out of midair.

Her superheated sword would cut clean through any enemy super attempting to take her on in 1 on 1.

Perhaps there was a mistake in the orders. It looked like suicide. Her and several other cavalry platoons were ordered to charge across a valley while enemy artillery were pointed right at them. It didn't make sense. But she planned on completing her mission. In what is known as the Charge of the Light Brigade in our universe, became the birthing place of the Shark of Crimea instead, an event in which songs were sung and ballads were created. There's a statue of her still up in her hometown of York to this day.

Captain Silverstone decided to tell all her troops to hold back, and convinced her fellow captains to do the same. She was going to do the charge on the enemy position on her own. She assured them she was confident in her ability to do it by herself. She knew how to get there.

As her soldiers looked on, Mary Silverstone waded into the grass as if it was an ocean shore and vanished under the surface. She didn't need to breathe. Turning the dirt and rock into water was easy. She could manipulate the newly created water's ocean currents like she did in the naval battles to speed her up. If she traded permanance and range for speed and control, the technique was doable. Mary was travelling in a bubble of water, a one woman marsh that travelled through the valley in a 50 foot radius. It was invisible until it was too late, when she had already surpassed the minimal range of the gatling guns and cannons.

On the other side of the valley, captains watched through telescopes as cannons and gatling guns were swallowed by the watery earth. The Russian troops saw friends and allies fall beneath the ground. Their musketballs and rifleshots shattered upon the surface tension of the water. Once they were pulled underneath there was nothing to do except drown or be cut into pieces by a superheated sword. Bodies bubbled to the surface, bobbing in the waves of wet grass. Men were trapped underground as they left the radius of her marsh, embedded in dirt and stone.

Mary could make out the murky shapes of her enemies through the water above her, but the enemy could not see her. Even if they could, it wouldn't matter. Survivors of the attack and spectators from British forces remarked her shimmering, white hot blade breaking the grass-water as she occasionally went closer to ground level to slice a cannon in half or buckle the knees of an enemy horse. The curved white sabre was compared by a particularly poetic captain to a shark's fin. A terrifying warning of impending doom, that was horrifying when you saw it, but even worse when you couldn't.

It was a massacre. There was an enemy hero who could fly. When he realised what was going on, he tried to save his allies by pulling them away, but he didn't have super strength. He was a scout and a bomber. He made a mistake when he tried to rescue his commander, who Mary had pulled only halfway under as bait. Made it look like the panicking horse was somehow resisting the pull of her marsh, even though she could easily pull it under. Afterall, no one knew the true nature of her ability. So when the flying Russian hero went to save his commander, the muddy earth swelled and swallowed him, and he was gone. The rest were easy pickings, it was a massacre. The British cavalry took the strategic foothold. Mary herself wasn't sure how many men she killed the day. A muddy red blur. Given the average size of a platoon, and how many were holding that position, she estimates it to be well into the triple digits.

When she emerged, there wasn't a speck of dirt or dust on her. Clean as a whistle, as if she had just done her laundry and was getting dressed to recieve the medal that honored her services.

Queen Victoria remarked that Mary had personally killed more people that day than she had lived in her long life. Almost two hundred years later, that still holds true.

1860. Life expetancy has gone up, but the inevitable finally occurs. Another one of her great great grandchildren, Timothy, passes away from a stroke. Hopefully him not having to worry about the financial future of his family spared him stress in the end. Hopefully she had given him something to be proud of, and the safety in the knowledge that Mary was protecting his family. Lilly is a beautiful 28 year old woman and Richard Jr. is growing up to a handsome young man. Both of them are waiting to have children longer than usual, which is good.

1861. The American Civil War starts. While initially she was under the impression that it had nothing to do with England, Mary travelled to Liverpool to help build shapes for the navy. One of her many low-effort activites has a member of ROYAL, putting her abilities to good use in a low stress environment. But someone let it slip that these ships were actually headed to Georgia to support the Confederate slave state currently rebelling against the North. Mary watched as the ships she helped constructed sail away to fight for an evil cause because the cotton trade was worth more than human lives. Mary put it out of her mind, not sure what to think. She simply quietl withdrew from that assignment. When President Lincoln emancipated the slaves, the assignment stopped being available anyway. Britain supported the good side when the money wasn't in it anymore. The risk of upsetting the populace outweighing the potential gains of purchasing forced labor cotton.

1865. Agatha passes away. Was the money worth it? Mary believes so. She has too. Otherwise she would have no good excuse for spending so much time away. Lilly has her child. Lydia. Great, great, great, grandchild.

1866. Richard Jr's wife has a child. Richard the third. Cute little babies. Mary will see them lowered into the ground. It's inevitable. It's all she can think about when she looks at them.

1870. The passion that the Shark of Crimea once posessed faded over time, as even this attempt at finding purpose withered away. Down into Africa, to the East and across the Atlantic she fought war upon war. Victory after victory. More and more indigenous peoples crushed underfoot for money. Little english boys sent to die for no good reason. Proud, distinguished officers gaining fame and glory for their victories. Of which she was one. One could tell just by looking at her that the spark had gone out in her eyes. The Shark grew quiet and sullen. Inspiring via her stoicism and front line presence, but certainly not her charisma. Not anymore.

1880. Boer war. Another british colony lost. Even when Mary first got her powers, despite everything she has fought for, the empire is in decay. Not like she much cares about that anymore. In her off time her patrols around England, Europe, North Africa and China grow dull and dissatisfying. The ROYAL global heroing initiative is growing ever more popular, with collaborations between ROYAL and HERO, a North American organization. Everyone is battling super villains everywhere. Somehow, we still find time to murder each other on a grander scale while defending our cities from powered maniacs with ludicrous agendas.

1881. Richard Jr. dies in his middle age, the second Richard to die too young. Mary Silverstone retires from the army entirely, and sinks away from ROYAL as a whole. ICOSA, the ever present survellience force that has been watching her for a majority of her life, notices this and begins to keep track. She's learned almost all their tricks at this point and just lets them do it. If they're afraid this jaded general will go mad and become a supervillain, good. That's kind of funny. Let them be afraid.

1882. At this point Mary forgoes traditional clothing in her attire, beginning her long habit of wearing crop tops. A woman exposing her belly was not technically illegal but it was looked down upon. The Shark of Crimea and the Changer were long gone. It was just Mary Silverstone again, but a weird Mary who on her 5th midlife crisis. Silverstone was odd. It was odd to read, and to see. That the name of a man one century dead was still tacked onto hers. Mary realises how sexually deprived she has been and begins to sleep around. Not like she has to worry about disease. Around this time she discovers she's into girls, too, not just boys. So there's that. Mary very occasionally still heroes around, but rarely solo. Usually she tacks herself onto ROYAL endeavors. They still let her know when particularly bad bad guys are running around, but the general public's adoration and respect has lost her interest. She only fights when all of England, and thus her family, is at stake. Let the new blood sort out the little guys. Her family grows increasingly worried about her. But retirement checks from almost a century of crime fighting is a healthy supplement to their income and allows them more time to better themselves and be granted marketable skills. After all, Mary thinks bitterly, their punishment for not being given the opportunity for bettering themselves should be not being able to better themselves.

1884. This new strange phase of Mary's life lasts a long time. Normally, war heroes are supposed to die of old age or retire in dignity, not hover around and become the weird aunt of England. Mary is still on ROYAL's payroll. Though as more of a consultant and contractor, a part timer. Like before, she shows up to help with major threats, rebuilding, or if there happens to be a supervillain nearby she'll go over and give it a try. Her heart isn't in it, anymore, though. Hasn't been for a long time.

1900. The beginning of a new century. Mary doesn't show up to the family party. Instead she discovers how to use her powers to get drunk again and passes out in a forest for three days straight. When she wakes, she contemplates her life for another day in the forest, not even getting up and hardly opening her eyes. Just staring at the back of her eyelids. People aren't supposed to live this long. She's a wreck, and she knows it. If she doesn't know what to do with herself, how can she expect people to find something for her to do? The forest is pretty, but it's one of the few left in England. Most of them have been cleared out for one reason or another. "Progress" and what not. What a scam that turned out to be.

1901. Mary becomes a lighthouse keeper for a couple years. She visits her family on holidays. They're increasingly worried about her but she's emotionally distant and aloof. None of them know the Mary Silverstone that grew old. As far as they are concerned, Mary has always been there, the perpetual 20 something brunette that pops in and out of their lives and keeps the money flowing. The one who used to make jokes, and was likeable, and wise, or was proud and heroic and stoic, or both, or neither. Now she was just kind of there. There, but not really. She has trouble looking people in the eye. Still she wanders around the world, with no limit to where she can go given her biology. It would only take a normal person 100-200 days to walk from Berlin to Beijing with no sleeps or breaks, which Mary didn't need. She could also travel much faster than the average person's walking speed. Very often, she wasn't even walking, but travelling by train, carriage, horse, or boat. All depending on where she wanted to go.

1905 Lydia has a baby named Juniper. Mary meets and tangentially gets to know the husbands and wives of her various children but she has trouble keeping it all sorted. Nothing more awkward than when your great great great great grandmother in law calls you by the name of a man who's been dead 50 years.

1910. Richard III has a child he named Richard the Fourth. Cute little baby. Despite herself, Mary finds herself playing and warming up around the child. She's always had a soft spot for the children. Even when she wishes she didn't. This baby will be grown up in the blink of an eye.

1912. Mary begins to recover from her depression, feeling better. Reserved, quiet, but not perpetually miserable. She's found peace in wandering, and even stops some minor crimes again. Some people chastise her for abandoning her duties as a hero, but others still say that if anyone is deserving of a rest, it's Mary Silverstone. Besides, Mary thinks, everything's gone well without me. Mostly. There was probably a fire or disease or villain she could have stopped faster but that's true for the rest of the Blokes, and they've been dead for over a century and nobody's angry at them.

1914. She felt up to heroing again just in time, though. Just in time for the big one. The war to end all wars. The Great War. The World War. She regained herself just in time to feel bad at the sight of millions of british lads put on their helmets. For thousands of men and women with their little nicknames and their powers to perk up and seek glory in the army. But she knows it won't be glory. She's seen the signs. She saw them along time ago. There are planes, now. Guns, bombs, and machineguns that make gatling guns look slow. The imperial powers have been at peace for a long time, since after the Crimean war. But it's about to end, and it will end badly. Someone has to look out for them. Someone has to look out for these kids and these old men who don't know any better.

It was time to rejoin the army. It was time to fight in the Great War. Maybe this time, it really will be the last.

Saying goodbye to her family once more, Mary takes up position. The Royal Army and ROYAL both give her permission to retake her leadership role as Captain Silverstone, but she declines. Even then, she recognized the bad place that she was in, but she failed to realise that it didn't really matter if she was in charge or not. Especially not for this war. This "Great" War.

Quickly she was dragged into the vortex of mud and blood. There were so, so many soldiers. British and French alike. No man's land. Mass charges resulting in dying people so far out she couldn't reach them without dragging them under the surface of the ground and dragging them yards and yards back. Wounded people could die from being submerged in muddy waters. The wounds could get infected, which is something her Alteration had trouble dealing with without removing the infected part completely, and how does one remove the infected part of gut wounds? Diseases of all sorts. Chemical warfare. The other ROYAL members brought back wounded troops for her to heal, and the triage did their best. But it was overwhelming. The Great War was a terrible one. It was supposed to be over by Christmas, but she could read the writing on the wall. Either way, Mary Silverstone was a beacon of hope on the battlefield for allied forces. The idea that someone, somewhere, could make all there hurt go away, and could protect them. She ended up caring for these little soldiers boy, only trying to march home. Like she did so long ago. These soldiers were all the same. In their faces she saw the reflections of comrades long old, grey, or dead. The banter, the bravery, the...naivete. Just kids, really. She couldn't stop the war, but she would stop as many as possible from dying. Maybe this was what she was meant to do.

It was hard not to give into cynicism. For every soldier she saved, hundreds more were dead somewhere else. So hard, it was impossible, and she did. It didn't take very long at all for whatever crackling, ashy fire of spirit burning in her heart to be put out once more by the sheer vastness of human suffering on display. How nothing, nothing at all had changed. It had been this way her entire life. The recognition of old friends in the faces of these new soldiers wasn't comforting, it was depressing. It was losing them all over again, and she knew she would lose again, and again, and again. Just like her children. Dave had his great grandfather's eyes.

Mary Silverstone stayed in the auxillery of the war for it's duration. Staying just back behind the frontlines. In a particularly dire situation where the officers could not be dissuaded that charging was suicide, she swam underneath no man's land and disabled the enemy position, drowning the Germans in their trenches. The Shark of Crimea returned to the cheering of the platoon she was apart of, and her gracious smile was hollow and dead. When that officer shook her hand she wanted to grab him by the throat and seal it shut, watch him choke. She hated him. She hated, hated, hated him, for making kill those men. She hated him, and everyone he worked for. The dominoes fell, and a blasphemous traitor was born that day in Mary Silvertstone's heart. That this officer who had the loyalty of his men would send them to die, that the King would sign off on this for reasons beyond anyone's comprehension. She hated herself for practically being that person herself not so long ago. She hated the soldiers for not shooting him in the back and going home, for not shooting her in the back. She hate, hate, hated everything and everyone, and this misanthropic loathing for humankind only worsened overtime.

Still, she stayed. But she was bitter and cold and make cruel jokes at the soldiers expense when they came to her crying. Oh, bay, oh wail, ye poor dogs. But talk. Keep talking about how much you hate the Germans for doing this to you when you are all doing it to yourselves. Your real enemy is in Buckingham Palace, in Parliament. Your real enemy is each other, your infantile machismo pushing each other further and further into action. Shaming one another for not performing the Imperialistic duties. Your terrible mothers raised terrible children. Everything, everyone, is rotten and useless to the core, only causing pain and suffering. There is no difference between England and Germany besides the color of their uniforms and the language they speak, yet they tear, tear, tear each other apart. Mary Silverstone loathed everyone and herself. The only ones spared her bitterness was her family, for base human reasons of love and compassion that Mary knew was hypocritical that only made her hate herself more.

1918. The war is over, and nothing has changed, except millions of people are dead. Soldiers and civilians alike. Everyone go home. Mary returned home even more broken than before, though aggressive and angry rather than apathetic and resigned. Irritable. Only softening around her family, and even then she had to take frequent breaks before she went on some childish tirade about the futility of it all. Like she was the only one to ever have these thoughts. Stupid, stupid, stupid Mary who lived this long only come to this realisation now, and seflish, selfish, selfish Mary who is causing her sweet family to suffer for it but she can't, can't, CAN'T MOVE ON! Because it's going to happen again. Mary spent many days and nights in this loop of negative feedback. Of all the wars, and all the things she had experienced, the Great War seemed to harm her mental health the most.

So, she spent the next years trying to relax. She still had plenty of leftover fortune from her plundering and ROYAL work days. Her successful and long heroing career had granted her that much. Between spending time with her family, she once again began global heroing work. Despite everything, it was what she was good at. It was what she knew. Without it, she was lost entirely. She travelled to impoverished countries and took solace in using her powers for restoration, rebuilding, and creation only. She was tired of fighting for "good" and "noble" causes.

1920. Lilly passes away. Mary and her family grieve and mourn. It never gets easier. It shouldn't get easier. Richard IV and Juniper are cute kids still. Even Juniper, the grumpy teenager, who insists she isn't and is infact, very "cool", which is a thing kids say now, apparently. Juniper seems to both respect and dislike Mary for various reasons. Being a soldier is bad, but wearing crop tops is "cool". Mary likes Juniper a lot.

1930. The Great Slump, or Great Depression, hits England. Suddenly all that money Mary made so long ago doesn't seem to add up to much. Mary tries to find more work with ROYAL, who, after all these fucking years, is of course, still happy to oblige. They have a great deal of respect for Mary Silverstone. The Changer. The Shark of Crimea. But it's what she is good at. Her family desperately needs money. Like everyone else in England, they verge on homelessness. The real money was in espionage. Mary had proven her adaptability in the past. She had the strengths and weaknesses of any young woman hero looking to serve her country at the time. So, she was put in with the other recruits and trained to become a spy. Mary recruited her earnings from this dangerous job were funneled directly into her family's bank account.

1931. After completing her training, Mary discovers a new use for her Alteration ability. People know Mary Silverstone's face, at least enough people it would be a risk. Using Alteration on herself is dangerous, and her body has a very strong resistance to it. However, she can still do it. Thus, she began making changes to her body to aid in her espionage. She started out with something small, something not that big of a deal, like changing the shape of her belly button over the course of a week and then changing it right back to how it was. Somewhere in MI6 head quarters there are precise measurements of her navel in various moments of her changing it, which is a weird thing to think about. Either way, this proved that she could make changes to her body slowly, over time, and restore them afterwards. Thus, she got to work on making herself a new face.

First, she changed her hair color to blonde, which was easy enough. By only slightly uptilting her nose, removing the mole on her neck, plumping out her lips and shifting her eyebrows, she looked like a totally different person. Mia Becker, german native, was born. She learned how to speak German, though she had already picked up a significant deal over the years. Had even read books about it. Plenty of things to do when one didn't need to sleep. She could even alter her vocal cords to assist in her accent and delivery. She was a perfect spy. Of course, that's not exactly true, as one man was a shapeshifter who could change his entire appearance over the course of a few seconds instead of a few weeks or months. So he was better at in than she was, but still.

So, into Germany she went. In disguise as a young woman looking to apply her healing powers. British intelligence was particularly curious about the goings on on a new political power rising in Germany- the National Socialist Party. The god damn Nazis.

Turns out, Mia learned, they were evil. Really, really evil. It took a year to see past all what they were doing to find out they were an authoritarian hate group bent on taking over Germany and then all of mainland Europe. Mia had seen this kind of thing before, though she hadn't recognized it at the time. They were going to start a genocide. Like what happened to the Armenians in the Great War under the Ottoman Empire. This time, against the Jews, Slavs, disabled people, gypsies...everyone. It made her sick. She hadn't confronted something like this before. It was an insidious poison. Somehow even worse than what the empires of the past had done. The things that she regretted. Maybe, Mia thought, she could redeem herself. By stopping this new power from rising, she could balance out the harm she had done to the world with her many conquests. Then, she might have to go after Britain. Somehow. More civil rights stuff, more protesting and activism. She might be more extreme than that, but with her family and identity public, she couldn't put her loved ones in danger like that.

1935. Mia Becker is entrenched in the Nazi political party. Oh, the Heil Hitlers this, the Heil Hitlers that. It was disgusting how much these Nazis reminded her of her younger self. Of the Shark of Crimea. All nationalism and conquering. The racial element never really came into it with Mary, but it certainly did with these people. She slept with some, men and women both. Anything. She wanted, needed, to stop this. Somehow. At least help stop it. Otherwise...another World War. Mary wasn't sure she could handle another World War, so Mia was going to do her part to stop it. She fed intel the best she could in all the ways that she could. Deadrops and secret messages and ferrying people out of Germany and into France and vice versa.

1939. The war kicks off. Richard IV has a kid he names Jessica. Unknown to Mary, he runs off to join the army. Dread fills Mia's heart. It's happening again. Even worse, this time. Humanity learned nothing. She hates the Nazis. When she attends speeches how she just wants to drown everyone. But the Nazis have their own heroes and she would be defeated before being able to do any real damage. She needs to attack them from within. Her time will come.

1940. The Battle of Britain. Her hometown is being bombed. She and many other spies went tried to get word back home as fast as they could...she just hoped she was fast enough to save her family. She wasn't. Juniper, Lydia, and Richard III are all killed in the bombings. Only little Jessica survives, miraculously. In order to not comprimise Mia Becker's value as an asset, MI6 decides not to inform her of these events. Not like they get much of a chance to communicate with her, anyway.

1941. Mia Becker's most successful year of spying. She even pulled off a few high ranking officials without being discovered. It took weeks of planning both times. All she needed to do, though, was find a spot where a german official was, and nobody know that she had been there. Then, she just Altered the officer and the wall, combined the two together, and the body and person vanished without a trace. Being able to walk through any surface made her quite the assassin. Co-ordinating with French resistance also helps massively, with Mia spreading disinformation among German intelligence while giving the French the real deal. She feels very good about herself. Her efforts are making a real difference, she knows it.

That year, she is discovered by the Nazis. The enemy sneaks into her room and puts a bullet into the back of her head, splattering purple blood all over the table. It's heavily disorienting, and she knows her time is running out, but she still manages to escape anyway. She turns the wooden floor of her room into water, causing her and the assassin to plummet to the floor below. Only for that floor to be turned to water, and then the floor after that. Upon reaching the ground floor she narrowed the liquidification effect to only affect herself, so the assassin would hit hard ground while she would splash safely under the surface. Mia Becker vanishes underneath the surface of the wooden floor. With the limited amount of time she had left, she used her powers to find a place to hide that was impossible to find by anyone without omniscient powers. Then there was nothing left to do but wait for her consciousness to fade, feeling the purple blood pour down her face, into her eyes, spitting it out as it dribbled into her lips and drenched her shirt. The exit wound must have been hideous, and she felt it was large. Eventually she slumped over in her little hole. Six months later, she woke up.

Since Mia Becker was ousted, and there was no way to go back undercover, the blonde german girl who was secretly a brunette british girl over 200 years old, fled west into France.

She was put into contact with MI6, where they informed her of the death of her family. They also informed her they had placed Jessica in protective custody. Mary went into a dark place. The telegraph she recieved the news on bubbled into boiling lava. When it was done meltig, Mary was gone. She disassociated. When she looked herself in the mirror, she saw Mia, still. She liked it that way. Sorry, Mary wasn't home right now. Only Mia.

She became a member of the French resistance. There are many stories from this time. Earning trust, assassinating officials, bombing places that neede to be bombed, protecting civilians from retaliation. At the very least, Mary knew her war was just. Despite the evils of all of humanity, including the nations she fought for, the Nazis were the greatest evil of all. With her ability she could travel across all of Europe freely. Mary discovered and liberated one of the more minor concentration camps. True, despicable evil. Finally, she had a chance to stop it. Not support it, as she had in the past. Stop the evilest form of humanity from spreading, corrupting, and destroying. Whoever these people were, they were not worthy of sympathy or understanding as the grey uniformed kids she battled in World War One. None of them deserved to live. Her rage was overwhelming, and as much as she hates to admit it, she took pleasure in their suffering. Seeing the fear in their eyes made her feel good, like it was justice. She discovered a technique where she could grant people immortality on one condition- she combined their form with an inanimate object.

Tying their life forces together, so they would live as long as the boulder or ground existed. But all they could was sit there, as new beings, trapped inside rocks and the mud. Some of them, she assumes, are still alive to this day. Some of them may have been fortunate enough to be destroyed. Without her personally travelling their and restoring them, they would never be free. Even then the process of transforming someone into a rock in the first place must be immensely traumatizing, so they would never be the same. Might aswell just leave them there. This dark, sadistic part of herself once awakened, was impossible to subdue. There is no moral excuse for sadism. Yet, she found herself enjoying inflicting pain on others. Eventually she just accepted it as a new part of herself and moved on, because she was too furious to care.

Mia/Mary spent four years carving a bloody swathe across wartorn Europe, challenging Nazi villains and killing or combining them with the wartorn buildings. Making horrible things of their bodies and leaving them was warnings to their fellows. This extended to the French Police aswell, who had been easily co-opted by Nazi Germany into their tools of oppression once they had taken over. She wondered if the same would happen to Britain had they been easily defeated, and her conclusion was 'yes'. Mary also felt personally betrayed, because she didn't find out about her family's death for almost an entire year. She felt betrayed that they weren't put somewhere safer. She felt betrayed that the only reason she wasn't home, protecting them, was that she needed the money, and this was her only skillset that would allow her to be paid enough money to support them. To fight. To be in ROYAL. It was all she knew. Maybe she should have just gone back to the factory.

The World Wars had broken her faith in systems and made her despise herself and her past actions even more. She wondered if she even wanted to go back. Just let Jessica live her life in England with the family she found, the Browns. Mary would stay Mia, the defecting Nazi, and travel the world killing people who did bad things she didn't like.

1945. Mia found herself liking the ragtag group of people called the French Resistance. They came from all over the world. They died for France, a country that hated most of them and cared for little of them. They were selfless and brave. It was stupid, Mia thought. They should be selfish. They should run and hide, not stay and fight. They don't owe anyone anything. Half of these people would risk their lives for this country that had betrayed them. She hated them for their bravery. They were too good for this world, and that's why she couldn't save all of them.

The war in Europe was over. Hitler had killed himself in his bunker. It was up to the Americans to finish off the Japanese. Mia disappeared over the next few months, Mary restoring herself to her previous form. She returned to York, and would never fight a war again. She visited Jessica in her new home. While technically it was only temporary foster care since the entire extended Silverstone tree had been wiped out by the Germans, and Mary could become Jessica's guardian, she decided it best to leave her with the Browns. Mary wasn't sure she could raise a child again. Jessica could barely remember Mary, anyway. Might aswell let her be happy.

1950. The Cold War is on. The Yanks and the Ruskies are eyeing each other with their big bombs, and at any moment the world could go up in flames like Hiroshima and Nagasaki did. It was strange to think those cities which she had visited long ago were now nothing but craters. Such loss of life was inevitable though, given the twisted nature of man. Mary didn't so much have a contempt for individuals as she much did the very idea of life itself. She tried to put on a brave and happy face for Jessica and the Browns, but Jessica was a baby when the attack happened. Mary was absolutely crushed, whatever pieces of her soul she had tried to maintain was gone. There was a huge family plot of Silverstones that Mary had protected and maintained over the years, and three bloody tombstones had the same date, and the graves were empty because her beloved family had been blown to pieces. Mary fell into the worse depression of her life, which was saying something. The few times she felt better was when she was around Jessica, but even that could make her feel worse. She felt like a fake person.

1960. Over the last decade, her depression has evolved. Her existential dread changed. The civil rights movement and general public awakening to the ideas of morality, ethics, battling against the system has awakened her spirit. She's feeling something again. Even though it's usually just contempt, disdain, and mild amusement. It's one thing to not be able to care, it's another entirely to choose not to care. There was power in that choice. Mary embraced the nihilism of her life, and in turn acquired some kind of spiritual enlightment. She walked around in bikini tops and bell bottoms, with ridiculous sunglasses. Casually battling villains and humiliating them. The 60's was the last decade that Mary Silverstone participated in the public eye. She liked the idea of people looking at and ogling her body. Mary had never stopped working out, and her natural regeneration prevented blemishes. She genuinely looked perfectly beautiful at all times. It made her feel good. She enjoyed being pretty. Perhaps, in some ways, this was Mary refusing to come to grips with her internal struggles. But it was a life. It was something. It was better than nothing. She went around the world, participating in civil rights movements. She walked from Beijing to Berlin, which was apparently a "statement" about race issues, it didn't matter. It was fun, it was casual, and she could still do some good. There was nothing more annoying to Mary at this point than her tendency to do good. She just, did it. If she was going to do anything, it had to be "good" somehow. It was a bad habit, almost.

Somehow, the good-natured girl who just wanted to stay out of the factories and stop people from suffering the way she so often saw people suffer was still in there. Annoying little brat.

1970. Jessica has a son named Todd. Cute little baby. Mary comes over more regularly to visit. During the 70's, Mary settles down and decides to retire from hero work all together. The fun she had in the 60's is over. Hundreds of thousands of Americans are being sent to Vietnam to kill people for some (no?) reason. People are protesting and rioting and occasionally being squashed by the boot of the upper class and she has entirely lost faith. As far as she is concerned, the good fight is over. It's lost. Nothing will ever get better. Every old problem is replaced with a new one. Places like China murder millions for something, famine is everywhere. Many parts of the so-called "Third world" are still in shambles after being ravaged by imperialist powers for centuries. Plague sweeps through various parts of the world. It's all the same. Some places have gotten better, others have gotten worse. There seems to be a total amount of human suffering that never changes. What's the point? Supervillains and heroes smashing into each other, forever. For all time. She's sick of it. Burnt out. Nothing is getting better.

1980. Mary is trying to be a family woman again, but the loss of everyone except Jessica is still fresh. Todd is a smart know-it-all of a ten year old. He's probably going to grow up to be someone. Still no sign of powers. Mary spends travelling the world like she always does, since she has an infinite amount of free time. Battling the odd villain here and there. Just enough to keep Mary Silverstone in the public consciousness, if only barely. Just enough to make it so when she gets mentioned in textbooks that only get updated every ten years, it says "Active" instead of retired. She just can't seem to stay away.

1990. After many years of no contact at all with ROYAL as a contractor and consultant, she officially sends in her resignation form. Hire year- 1781. Resigned-1991. Time flies. A weight is lifted. Finally, she's done. Let the world sort itself out.

2000's. Todd is growing up to be a fine young man. Not much happens this decade except the slow degradation of hard earned liberties. Not like anyone ever put them to much use, anyway, or that they were ever really real. She's surprised America is even still going. Of course it had also been one of the big imperial powers on the block despite apparently having face oppression itself. She reads the news only to be amused by the predictable suffering human life inevitably entails, and to make sure Todd, Jessica, her husband, and the Browns aren't in any immediate danger.

2010. Jessica passes away of a heart attack. Her husband follows soon after. 71 years already? Where had the time gone? Todd marries a woman named Cynthia. They have a sweet little girl called Rose. Cynthia is an annoyingly optimistic young woman who loves superheroes. Mary doesn't spend much time with Cynthia, but Rose is an absolute joy to be around.

2011. Rose is diagnosed with Leukemia. Mary is powerless to stop it.

2012. Cynthia and Todd die in a car accident. Mary takes care of Rose by herself, never leaving her side.

2014. Rose passes away. Before she goes, she asks Mary to become a superhero again, like she used to be. The kind of superhero that fights bad guys, puts out fires, and stops car accidents. Pinky promise? Pinky promise.

With Rose Brown gone, so is Mary Silverstone. There isn't much light left. Nothing except the promise to a little girl.

2021. She decides to make it official. Some of her spycraft from the second world war still works. Crafting a perfect look alike of herself using her Alteration powers, Mary stages her suicide. It was easy to fake her own death. The only way to get a corpse to convincingly die by impact, so she would have to hurl it off a high enough bridge, which she did. Using her powerset, doing the bait and switch was easy enough. She did it when no one was around, because witnessing that kind of thing can be quite traumatizing. She would have preferred to do it some cleaner way but any coroner worth their salt, even with her utterly bizarre biology, would be able to tell if she just shoved some poison in it's mouth or whatever. Her 'body' washed up along shore a few days later, was discovered, and her death was made official.

To the world, the tale of Mary Silverstone is an interesting one. One of the world's first ever superheroes who lived into the modern age. Long enough to see herself become the villain, and then become the hero again. Her actions, heroic at the time, had to become villified as moral thinking evolved. A conflicted and troubled woman who lived a long life. Always acting in accordance to what a hero is according to the status quo. Her old house in York was turned into a museum. Some people left flowers outside it.

A note was left inside her bedroon. "I kindly beg your leave."

Her fake body is buried in the family Silverstone plot. Some members of the public attend her funeral. It is a historic moment after all. On her gravestone it is engraved thus:



Someone picked the epitaph for her, and she supposed it was pretty good as celebrity epitaphs go. Short, simple, to the point. It contrasts nicely with the bizarrely long life span. It would have been inappropriate to write something like "Taken from us too soon", after all. Her life accomplishments wouldn't be succinct at all, and half of her great deeds were warmongery in retrospect. So, at ease. We understand why you left, and we give you permission. Also a reference to her long history in the military. She thought about that epitaph alot, since it's a new experience that a rare few people get to have.



Forging a new identity, Mary changes her face, fingerprints, and hair follicles over the course of a few months whilst in hiding. Her new legal name is Jane Smith, but she asks everyone call her Pandora. She moves to America. She's sick of ROYAL. She's going to be apart of the aptly named HERO. Maybe. Pandora makes a little living for herself and opens up a florists shop in Castleburg.

2033. Pandora never joined with HERO. She was content being a florist. Happy to just...be alone. Forever. Mary Silverstone is dead, long live Jane 'Pandora' Smith. The beautiful, enigmatic, cynical florist who lives in a two storey townhouse in Passenger Island. She owns a floral shop called 'Pandora's Potts'. Get it? Like Pandora's Box? As much as she hates to admit it, she's scared. Scared to be a hero again. Scared to start making connections. Scared to come to terms with her promise and what it means for her future. Maybe it would be best just to...fade away into obscurity. Wait from some electrical accident to take her out, or for this agelessness to suddenly stop working. Just take care of flowers for all time.