[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PSrr0Nu.png[/img][/center] [indent][b]S.H.A.D.E.[/b][/indent] [indent][b]Issue 1[/b][/indent] [hr] [indent][b]New York City, NY --- The Ant Farm; 1000 miles above [i]Rudy’s Bar and Grill[/i][/b][/indent] [hr] >S.H.A.D.E. NET LINK ESTABLISHED, AGENT PALMER. >PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD ___________________ >PASSWORD ACCEPTED! THANK YOU, WELCOME TO S.H.A.D.E. NET. >QUERY: WHAT IS “THE ANT FARM”? >QUERY PROCESSING; STAND BY [//--------] 20% The world around Ray Palmer was awash with static, fizzing white planes of light arcing off into the far distance before levelling, curving upwards, and rolling back into themselves like the tide. Ray might’ve liked it. Lie down and coast off the end of his morning coffee into a nap that might ease the dark circles below his eyes and the caffeine twitches in his hands, Ant Farm be damned. He would have, anyway, if the familiar buzz of background static was enough to drown out the teleporter matrix screaming in the background. >QUERY PROCESSING; STAND BY [///-------] 30% [color=#2c68f5]“[i]Palmer[/i]!”[/color] And then there was the shouting, the only shrieking whine of a voice loud and commanding enough to edge out the violent thuds of the teleporter array and nest in Ray’s ears like an overgrown gnat. [i]Father Time[/i]. [color=#74bdfc]“S.H.A.D.E. Net, downcycle teleporter test procedure -- listen for Agent uplinks as normal. Send time-stamped logs to my L-Pad from the last... Call it ten minutes. Deactivate mind portal.”[/color] Ray said, sweeping his hand at the static that flowed around him. >EXECUTING COMMANDS, AGENT PALMER. >QUERY PROCESSING; STAND BY [/////-----] 50% There was a [i]schlorp[/i] as reality bled in from around the static’s edges, ripples in signal folding itself away, back to the world of curved metal and office chairs, lab coats and half-destroyed packets of [i]Twizzlers[/i] across each workstation. [color=#2c68f5]“[i]Well?[/i]”[/color] Father Time’s shrill voice raked across Ray’s ears. He blinked what remained of the static out of his eyes and turned to face the other man. Father Time’s head came up to about Ray’s waist, but he held himself like a man twice as tall, shoulders set and arms poised at his sides, staring up at Ray through the eye-slits of the cartoonish domino mask plastered across his face. He might’ve mistaken him for a Japanese schoolgirl playing dress-up, wandered into The Ant Farm through pure coincidence and trying to play it off like she was meant to be here. Might have, anyway, if it weren’t for the hard look in his eyes that betrayed centuries of experience; and the way Father Time insisted on busting his balls at every available opportunity. >QUERY PROCESSING; STAND BY [////////--] 80% [color=#74bdfc]“Well, the ah teleporter frequency is [i]definitely[/i] reducing S.H.A.D.E. Net’s operational efficiency. Even standard queries get met with significant loading time.”[/color] Ray fiddled with his labcoat as he spoke, searching for wherever the Hell he’d crammed his L-Pad. [color=#2c68f5]“And your solution is?”[/color] Father Time had already turned on his heel, starting his disappearing act into the labyrinth of The Ant Farm, and expecting Ray to follow. >QUERY PROCESSING; STAND BY [//////////] 100% >THE ANT FARM: A MACRO CITY COMPLEX STORED IN THREE-INCH MICRO SCALE SPHERE, DESIGNED BY S.H.A.D.E. OPERATIVES RAY PALMER AND SCIENCE AGENT BELROY. THE ANT FARM SERVES AS S.H.A.D.E.’S PRIMARY HEADQUARTERS, OPERATIONAL CONTROL, AND PRIMARY TESTING FACILITY, AS WELL AS SERVING THE NEEDS OF S.H.A.D.E.’S FULL AGENT COMPLEMENT. Ray ignored the buzzing of S.H.A.D.E. Net in his head, stumbling forward to keep step with Father Time as he practically skipped ahead like a grade schooler. The Ant Farm before them was a maze of criss-crossing hallways that seemed hand-molded out of the metal that always lead to another laboratory or Agent Apartment Complex secreted away into the body of the metal. [color=#74bdfc]“Uh, Father Time, isn’t this more of a Computer Engineering concern?”[/color] Ray’s sweaty palms finally closed around the shape of his L-Pad and he wrenched it from his labcoat pocket, nearly losing his balance and careening into a wayward Agent. Father Time looked back at him, face blank, [color=#2c68f5]“and?”[/color] [color=#74bdfc]“Well, sir, I’m a, uh. Physicist.”[/color] Ray stammered, trying to look tall in his oversize coat. Father Time rolled his eyes. [color=#2c68f5]“Labcoats like [i]you[/i] are what’s keeping S.H.A.D.E. from evolving, Palmer. Get another doctorate, learn another discipline. Two, while you’re at it. It’ll put some hair on your chest.”[/color] Father Time’s voice cracked and he resumed his walk. A S.H.A.D.E. Agent wheeled a child past in a bright pink stroller, with Father Time’s S.H.A.D.E. Logo emblazoned on its jumper, marking it as an agency-approved non-agent family member. [color=#2c68f5]“Besides,”[/color] Father Time gave Ray a glance, [color=#2c68f5]“the nerds in engineering are convinced it’s something to do with [i]your[/i] shrink tech keeping us at micro-scale. No issues on their end.”[/color] Ray slowed, gripping his L-Pad. [i]His[/i] tech? All Ray was doing was [i]compressing[/i] matter, it shouldn’t have affected S.H.A.D.E. Net [i]or[/i] the teleporter array’s frequencies. In all likelihood it was the bastards in Computer Engineering passing off a job they didn’t want to handle. And Father Time had to know as much. Ray opened his mouth to comment and found that his legs had carried him off with Father Time deeper into the winding halls of The Ant Farm. [color=#74bdfc]“Where, uh,”[/color] Ray began, [color=#74bdfc]“where are we going?”[/color] Father Time stopped where they had started -- The Teleporter Labs. The machine whirred to life once again, metal armiture pinwheeling around a central yellow pad. [color=#2c68f5]“[i]I[/i] am going to a meeting to convince a board of Pentagon stiff-necks that the energy blip in Tibet was [i]just[/i] a blip -- bastards want to make another Roswell out of it. [i]You[/i] are going to deal with [i]this[/i].”[/color] Father Time jerked his thumb at the open door, as the smell of flash-burned silicon started reaching Ray’s nostrils. Somebody was teleporting in. [color=#74bdfc]“Deal with wh--”[/color] Ray was cut off by the ‘WHUMP’ of the teleporter, whizzing bands and thuds and electronic whines as it enhanced a simple signal into the form of a man, piece by piece of the teleporter, transitioning from one space to another. He was huge, mottled, and green, with a sword that had to be bigger than Ray’s whole body hanging off of his back. [color=#2c68f5]“Frankie!”[/color] Father Time shouted, [color=#2c68f5]“welcome home!”[/color] [color=#518c65]“Father,”[/color] Frankenstein's monster still smoked from the teleporter, [color=#518c65]“[i]where[/i] is my [i]wife[/i]?”[/color]