Jingx
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ππ¦π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππ€πππππ₯π π, π».β. / / βππ₯πͺ / / ~ππππ
Chrisβs approach didnβt proceed unnoticed by the feminine shape in the flickering light. He reached her and before he could fire, she extended a hand, turning it supine before the same beam of light that had drained the river shot him point blank, originating from a space inches above her palm and scattering the wisps of ice around Chris.
βWhy?β a flat, androgynous voice asked in the brief second before the flakes of white detonated. If there was any emotion to glean from the passive face that--upon closer inspection--only vaguely looked human, it was confusion. Consternation, even. As if it couldn't understand why the dragon was turning on it.
The sparks of ice snapped and froze Chrisβs dragon body, ready to send him plummeting back down to earth in a trip he likely wouldnβt survive intact. Unlike the ice statues of dead humans below, the dragon formβs durability stymied the iceβs effects, its damage freezing just the outer layer of scales and skin and trapping Chris in a molded prison.
He fell two meters before colliding with a clear, glassy platform that spread quickly around him as his frozen form tumbled and slid before finally coming to a stop. In the distance, a sharp scream cut through the air and then through the ice maidenβs arm, severing it clean at the elbow. The lost arm exploded into tufts of deadly white wisps that returned to the owner and reformed her whole.
But Whisper had simply been testing the waters.
Trial and error and close shaves had made clear for the group that, with very fewβand very terrifyingβexceptions, regenerators often needed a portion of their original body to reform. Mere inches away from the reptilian ice sculpture that was Chris sprawled across Scaffoldβs saving platform, a horizontal column of heat flashed away all air in its range, becoming a thick beam of light that engulfed the entirety of the ice girl. The light cut across the skyline like a blade, but anyone who was familiar with the effects knew what they were looking at: Firestarter, heavily amped by Refrain.
The attack lasted only a second and originated from a point towards the southwest end of the city, across the river, and at an even elevation with the ice manipulator and converter. When the heat flash faded, there was nothing left of the ice girl or her light and the golem she had created in the distance stilled, its body crumbling slowly even as Hazelβs attack bisected it vertically. Callanβs charge towards the body continued and the supergirl pounded through the breaking points, making sure death would be a permanent affair.
With the ice creature gone, however, the slime and the crusher were free to proceed. Gray lines warped and broke around Scaffoldβs platform and the frozen dragon, the same phenomenon that had practically disintegrated the fighter jet earlier. Not a millisecond too soon, a blunt force shout fired at Chris, knocking him out of the targeted location and shattering the ice, tearing off large swatches of scales and skin as the cost for saving him from annihilation. Scaffoldβs platform was crushed to a fine dust by the power and the material dissipated soon afterwards. Chris collided with a building that had fallen sideways, chunks of ice still clinging to much of his back and tail, flash frozen with the skin there as well. A hindleg had been broken by the shoutβs impact and one wing bent uselessly at his side. The dragon lay atop the fallen building, bleeding heavily from where Whisperβs shout had torn away both ice and flesh.
With the notice that Catβs Cradle was in the area, what was already a screaming, mindless evacuation turned into utter pandemonium. People had pushed and shoved at each other earlier as they made their way to the escape routes. Now they trampled over one another, some abandoning children and loved ones to flee while others shook off the pleading injured to escape unburdened. The military, frazzled already with the combined attack, decided the ten subnatural terrorists were of bigger concern than the slime and the crusher, redirecting a large portion of their forces towards the direction of the attack just as Perfumeβs signature golden cloud bloomed into life in the far distance as a blurry mist, the sphere of deadly gas buying time while a large, elongated Tumor circled around the group, swallowing up bullets fired in their general direction. Kadabra raced towards the group on his floating platform, throwing the full brunt of everything he had used against the ice giant towards the infamous subnaturals.
A tear in time and space appeared, its tip peeking just over the rim of Tumorβs massive body like a spearhead, the lining of its existence ragged at the edges and an abyssal black within. Backdoor. They were running.
By the time the broken buildings and cars collided with the ground, Catβs Cradle was gone, their one opportunity to attack safely used up to defeat the Dreamcatcher creature that had appeared above the city in tandem with the second awakening of two new Animi. Nico had chosen the most accessible target to assuage lingering sentiments that the group could (and Donovan would have argued should) help, but there was little chance to remain if Kadabra was present. They werenβt in this for another relentless fight and it was too late to engage the two new Animi regardless. Too deep in the city. Too mired in Washingtonβs hatred and military. And conspiracy.
Too many forces were at play and even Donovan didnβt protest when the de facto leader called for a retreat. The past year they had noticed more frequent monster attacks, along with more activity from Fracture. What one had to do with the other, they had never bothered trying to find out, but it didn't take a sociologist to understand that something was shifting in the climate for both humans and monsters alike and something or other reeked of desperation. More than one something. And with strengths like theirs it was only a matter of time before the Precursors organized a search and destroy on Cat's Cradle as well--a serious one, on the level of the operation that turned Garrote into little more than a long, red stretch across the ground. If the monsters were ever dealt with, Nico was certain a reckoning was due. And for that moment, he already had plans.
In that time, the slime had appeared to hesitate, the presence of the infamous group of Animi slowing its spread to a feeble crawl. When the danger seemed to pass, however, it surged forward again, veins and organs pulsing rhythmically beneath its casing of digestive liquid. With newfound vigor, it rushed down the street, mere minutes away from where Zoe had briefly fallen.
ππ¦π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππ€πππππ₯π π, π».β. / / βππ₯πͺ + ππ¦π₯π€πππ£π₯π€ / / ~ππππ
Hazelβs sword took the ice giant by surprise, along with several of the fighter jets attempting to draw the behemoth out of the metropolis. The blade whizzed clean through the creatureβs chest, detonating where it made contact and further showering the area with shards of ice. Most of the fragments scattered into the nearby buildings and smashed through wall and glass while smaller, lighter pieces burst away at slightly higher trajectories. Several skimmed past Hazel and several more struck her body and transparent arms, turning sharp nicks into three gaping puncture wounds on her left arm and one on her right with myriad more lacerations across the width of her arms where only thin cuts should have rightly been. The force of the large detonation knocked Hazel off her projection, her flight path fortunate enough to land her on the roof of a nearby building already sagging from structural damage. Her left arm snapped at the elbow from the impact, dangling uselessly while her right arm colored itself red. The rest of her body felt the unmistakable sting of severe bruising.
But her attack had its intended effect. The giant reeled, its upper torso and arms sliding off and crashing into the ground below, crushing buildings and people alike.
But it did not fall.
The sky light hummed again with that sharp ring, sending another beam of light towards the far river again and the Potomac drained even further, its waters already lower than half. More wisps of ice snapped and exploded across the length of the beam, frosting over the air and freezing solid anything within their range, including the larger portion of a jet unfortunate enough to be near the beamβs direction. The frozen F-35C plummeted away, towards the direction of the encroaching slime and heading for a crash into the Walter E. Washington Convention Center. That same distortion appeared in the airβlines of gray solidifying and crumpling in on themselves. But it appeared a short distance away from the falling planeβs descent, as if preemptively. Or protectively.
In the second it took for the magic to compress the targeted area, the jet had reached the distortion. Titanium, steel, and aluminum caved inward with the ease of tissue paper and the ice encasing the machine exploded into a fine dust.
There was almost nothing left of the plane by the time its pieces clattered to the ground below.
In the same moment, before the dust and debris had even settled around the ice titanβs fallen bust, the monster was already reforming, its thundering steps spastic as it wavered unevenly, waiting for the regeneration to restore its missing body parts. The pilots of the remaining jets jumped on the opportunity, firing a salvo of missiles at the bodyβs stump.
The damage slowed down the regeneration by a fraction, but not nearly enough. The titan would be whole again soon.
That was the thought, at least.
A line of white light fired from the direction of the Pentagon on the other side of the river, slicing clean through the air across the draining Potomac and colliding with the sphere of light above the city center. The detonation washed the sky white for an instant, temporarily blinding anyone who happened to be looking in that direction. When the harsh light of colliding powers faded, the floating cluster of energy in the sky lookedβas much as a nebulous bundle of magic couldβfrazzled. The edges of its light looked ragged and what had appeared to be almighty light and power seemed to shiver sporadically. A wounded animal.
The giantβs regeneration slowed as well, forming only half of its head before finally sputtering to a stop. It careened wildly, flailing out of control as the power source flickered like a dying light bulb. But the danger it now posed was immense; without any sort of focus that could be used to bait it away from the city, the monster was now blindly rampaging, tearing through the city at breakneck speed. Sharpened spears of ice jutted out from its body at random as the magic struggled to regenerate the humanoid shape while the monster struck down buildings with reckless abandon. People and rubble became one as it crushed them underfoot, every heavy step leaving deep craters in the ground.
Had the disaster been a movie set, Kadabraβs dramatic appearance at that moment would have been perfectly timed. The Precursor floated up from behind a building in the intact sector of the city, standing upon a large platform of what was once the wall of a small business, the remnants of a βGrand Openingβ banner still clinging sideways to the edges. There was little fanfare to his counterattack. One second the jagged remains of asphalt and high-rises were floating in the air like a swarm of concrete and wood, and the next they were raining onto the giant, burying the ice construct in a veritable mountain of man-made materials. It fought back viciously, however, and the ensuing chaos of a monolithic monster batting away entire edifices rained a new sort of hell on Washingtonβs downtown.
Below the airborne chaos, Zoe and Allisonβs approach down Massachusetts Avenue and towards the intersection at 5th Street near the looming monsters took a turn for the worse when their path narrowly missed a heavy step from the rampaging giant that was being slowly hemmed in by the force of telekinetically pitched buildings. Glass, wood, and broken beams rained down upon them as the giant smashed through several of the buildings with arms like battering rams, the collision forces drowning the area in deafening waves of sound.
The sheer brutality of literally throwing parts of a city at something, however, at least forced the creature backwards, pushing it past Gallaudet University and into the less congested grounds of the National Arboretum, Kadabra moving forward as well at a safe distance while he constrained the giantβs actions.
The focus, however, left the spreading slime to happily engulf more of the city unimpeded. Closer inspection would reveal the patterning of black, spidery veins to be nested deep within the clear ooze while the gargantuan heart and brain at the core of it made for tempting targets. The caveat, however, lay in the disseminated bits of clothing and flesh as civilians unfortunate enough to be caught by the viscous liquid were slowly digested alive, their masses adding to the bulk of the sentient fluid.
By the time the giant had been corralled, the slime had spread to within ten blocks of the two girlsβ location, its speed as it greedily surged down their same street appearing to pick up the more it consumed. Anyone with a sharp eye would notice that by now the ooze was starting to eat through even wood and plaster with threads like mycelium crawling up vertical surfaces in a strange imitation of hyphae.
At the same time, the mass of light in the sky still seemed unable to consolidate its power, a feeble attempt at a direct beam of ice aimed towards Kadabra failing to extend any further than a paltry ten meters. The effect of the unknown attack from the Pentagon lingered tenaciously, revealing why Kadabra had waited until then to emerge.
On the ground, civilians stampeded away, most abandoning their cars in the congestion to flee on foot towards designated escape routes that had been hammered into public knowledge for the past 10 years. Towards the chaotic outskirts as forces withdrew from the surroundings to deal with the surge of panicked citizens trying to flee, the members of Catβs Cradle sported rings of red on their left hands while Cecilia gathered her transparent panels, readying for the moment the guards had thinned enough from the outskirts to allow the group a quick peek for a clear shot.
ππ¦π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππ βπππ₯πππ π / / βπ π π πΉπ»πππ / / ~ππππ
The Pentagon's basement floors were as confusing to navigate as its aboveground counterparts, but Vincent had been living in the facility ever since the United States' government bartered his citizenship from Vietnam in exchange for providing the weaker country military aid during the opening years of the Slumber.
He had already frequented the US prior to that, but never forced to remain under US military rule until 2011. For all his fame and power, it was staggering how little clout he truly had in the government. Even now he was only consulted for matters directly pertaining to subnaturals or Dreamcatcher's monsters. As a teenager, he had wanted to rebel against the established norms, taking up inspiration from old tales of vigilantes and superheroes. And the day he ran after Dreamcatcher on its slow, gliding walk through an underdeveloped countryside of hand-tilled fields and rice paddies whose owners were still fast asleep, he had wanted to change the world for the better. Fix the country's corrupt government that even his fledgling mind had understood to be broken. Save the people. Become a hero. Childish ideations.
Actually having power, however, wasn't about how many mountains he could fling before he exhausted himself. It was having a nation at your fingertips. Or, in the case of one USARILN director, a school of supernatural, magically gifted students at her beck and call. In exchange, she provided them a sort of sanctuary from the horrors of discrimination so long as they were willing to fend off monsters on command. On a bigger scale, the Precursors were under the same agreement, with a simple stipulation: if they ever fought back, Benediction would die first. The world's only known hope of revival, even from death, would be executed through a simple implant--similar to a pacemaker--that would trigger a heart attack. Any attempt to tamper with it would kill him as well. And the public would hear that the Precursors had killed the only power that could resurrect the dead. It didn't truly matter that most people would never have access to Benediction. The fact resurrection existed at all was a large beacon of hope to most in a world where death lurked and loomed from every angle. And none of them were so heartless that they would abandon Renard to die for their own "freedom," which would end up a perpetual chase until the day one of them slipped up.
Of course, the healer Precursor himself had always harbored misgivings when it was his life on the line, but to his credit the man had never faulted any of his teammates for their predicament. The government knew the damage they could wreak if left unchecked and the threat of death to the world's most competent healer was enough to stay the hands of countries, let alone eight magical humans.
Vincent and Julia had subtly offered to find a workaround to the death trigger implanted near Renard's heart, but a simple glare from the man had ended the double-sided words and implications. He didn't trust them to manage it without killing him and Vincent had accepted that the paranoia was fair enough when neither of them could perform surgery to remove the thing. It was just as likely that Julia's power would wear off and Renard would die from other complications of open heart surgery performed by complete amateurs with zero medical knowledge. And even with the aid of a practiced surgeon, there was no guarantee that the device didn't have alternative consequences on removal that they weren't aware of. Too many uncertainties, and Stella had only confirmed for every question and hypothetical solution Vincent could think of that "Yes, Renard will die."
No one was happy with the situation, but they had lived with it for years now. Among their skillsets, it just seemed like they didn't have the powers necessary to secure everyone's freedom without sacrificing the healer.
Now, though, with the events of the previous night behind him and a small hope, he had a few questions for the woman who seemed to maneuver through the current storm of politics like a leviathan through water. Her underground room was clean and painstakingly neat, the director of USARILN East seated behind stacks of papers and folders as she flipped quickly through a thick document secured with a binder clip where staples had failed.
She didn't acknowledge the Precursor stepping into the room, pausing only to take a quick sip from a cup of coffee nearby.
βSo, the Hyatt Regency,β Vincent began with a curt statement, his tone remaining as flat and uninterested as ever. Without waiting for her permission, he took a seat in a nearby couch, crossing his legs on the coffee table in front of it and settling into his seat. He would be here a while.
But Zhang had interacted enough with the Precursor to understand the question behind it, so she looked up from her mound of paperwork, waiting for him to elaborate.
βAnd using your own money, too? Whatβs wrong with an official facility?β
"They refused to let over a dozen powerful subnaturals into the safest locations in the Pentagon and the White House, so I had to settle for the safest civilian-accessible location." As if that explained everything, she returned to her current file, content to let the Precursor stew in his seat.
"That's quite a lot of resources invested on these kids."
"Yes."
"Which begs the question why."
"I believe we've already discussed this. And no one should have any issues with my decisions since none of these expenses come from taxpayer dollars." The Director earmarked her location in the document and placed it on the desk, turning her full attention to the Precursor. "So what are you here for?"
"Let's just say that...I have a feeling you are still hiding an agenda from us."
"Even if that were true, what makes you think I'd just tell you?" She swirled the liquid in her cup briefly before downing the rest and looking to the nearby coffee machine, checking if it had finished brewing another batch.
"Thought I'd ask."
"Well then. You've asked."
"And I would like to ask some more." The Precusor remained in his seat, the message clear. He still had yet to accomplish what he came here for. "I want a favor."
"I make no promises." But she didn't turn him down.
"You have always had such an...uncanny luck when it comes to asking Stella questions." The previous night came to mind, when the Director had managed to find out when and where her subnaturals would be causing trouble. "I want to ask her something, too."
"I'm sure you don't need me to get what you want from Foresight. You are the Precursors' tactician, after all."
She stood up when the light on the coffee machine flipped from red to green, sliding her cup beneath the dispenser as the coffee poured out and filled the room with a hazelnut scent.
"But let's say I agreed," she continued without turning around, keeping busy with adding sugar and cream to her coffee, "what would I be asking her? And what's in it for me?"
"You will get a favor from me. From us." Vincent watched her back, choosing his words carefully. Because this was, no matter how he looked at it, treason. A dangerous offense. The underground rooms were the only safe locations to talk due to the excessive sealing and fortifications on every room in the event of emergencies. The same level of defense prevented any significant wiring for cameras or audio within the rooms themselves, and just beyond the automated sliding door, the paneling ofthe room could be made airtight in under a second if a biological attack commenced, the wall panels designed to close swiftly over the door's opening. He was lucky, then, that the Director had chosen one of these rooms during her stay rather than better accommodations on the upper floors. Or she was lucky. Again. "And in return, all you need to do is ask Stella about Renard's implant. Or more specifically, how to remove it."
"I could secure an even larger favor from the President himself if I notified him of this, you're aware."
The Director returned to her seat, a new cup of coffee in hand.
"You must be very confident in me to even present the offer. That, or you're not as intelligent as everyone believes."
"Perhaps a little bit of both." Vincent merely held her gaze, expression betraying nothing. "So what's your answer?"
"It's not a favor from you I care about. It's one from Benediction. Guarantee me a resurrection in the future should something go wrong and I'll see what I can do for your...situation."
"Deal." Vincent rose to his feet then. "I would wish you luck, Director, but you don't really need it, do you?"
She only smiled in response. "Some of us are just lucky."
As he turned to leave, the Director called out. "From my session with Foresight, Kadabra, something exciting will happen today, though telling you any more would alter the flow of events. At the very least, I'll tell you to stay alert and prepared."
"...Thank you." The Precusor paused for a few moments, then turned around to face Zhang once more. "And call me Vincent."
With that said, he left.
ππ¦π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππ€πππππ₯π π, π».β. / / βππ₯πͺ ππ¦π₯π€πππ£π₯π€ / / ~ππππ
"You're fucking kidding me. They really went into Washington," Donovan groaned, peering at the fortified defenses of the city's outer rim where multiple layers of tall, electrified perimeter fencing hummed with live and lethal current. There were several different entry points into the city, but on the furthermost edges guards and K9 units prowled like a scene straight from a prison break movie.
It seemed strange, perhaps, that the city hadn't walled itself in like so many other small towns that had the resources, but the matter wasn't too difficult to fathom after some thought. Given the wide variety of Dreamcatcher creatures and powers along with the constant stream of refugees surging into safer, better equipped areas, most large cities had to cope with balancing both a strong defense and flexible city spread during the years immediately following the Slumber, something construction of a wall would have hampered incredibly. And even then, a wall wasn't nearly as effective as people wanted it to be. The near constant demand for ground-based fortifications had died down quickly when a massive sphinx had flown into the city and wiped out much of the main downtown square, decimating the old Pinnacle Theater in the process.
It was proof--horrible, yet effective proof--that elimination and fast response trumped standard methods of prevention. These weren't cockroaches that could be dealt with simply by blocking off routes of entry. These were full-blown monsters with a plethora of unnatural attributes and abilities courtesy of Dreamcatcher's interpretation. Most of them would not be fazed by a wall.
Now preventative techniques were focused on stopping any straggling small fry, while the city relied heavily upon Precursor intervention to withstand larger attacks. In the last few years, there had been progressively higher rates of monster assaults, though most of the public were spared the panic of awareness. USARILN East's first experimental unit, after all, had borne the weight of rerouting and annihilating the enemies at the steady cost of their own members, the group whittling down to the paltry six that remained, two of whom had been more recent additions within the last month.
But the payoff was the glistening city and its gleaming new downtown center, a gift worth the price of human (or subnatural, rather) lives. Not a shred of justice for the forgotten dead, nor would there ever be.
Perhaps what followed was deserved, then.
Donovan tracked the group of Aberrations Cat's Cradle had been chasing on foot and through teleports since La Plata, straining to catch the sense of relief and safety just as they passed out of his range. Even the notorious terrorists weren't keen on marching straight into the jaws of heavy military and the waiting Precursors. A game of cat and mouse between Jonathan and the enemy group's teleporter had ended with the other side's victory and escape, Jonathan's randomized portals costing them precious time in the chase.
And it was all the more disturbing that in one of the United States' most hostile cities, the runaway group had felt relief. The ginger suspected a safehouse, potentially. Or contacts in the city.
Contacts influential enough to let them pass through the security checkpoint without issue.
"I don't think we can challenge this, Nico," he mumbled, trying to sense anything other than the soldiers in the distance.
"They have two Aberrations about to become Animi and you're telling me we can't challenge that?" Nico's glasses were cracked in several locations and the left hinge wobbled dangerously close to breaking apart.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. It'd be bad enough just getting in and out, but to fight two at once and the Precursors? Not to mention a stray bullet can kill any of us if someone isn't keeping an eye out constantly for soldiers. That's a disaster waiting to happen."
Donovan felt the hypocrisy rise in his throat like bile. Just days ago he had argued about Nico's callousness in letting Wisford's civilians die, but he was all too willing to let the citizens of Washington fall prey to the two Aberrations just a few quick kills from becoming the latest in a long series of monsters.
"Then we wait here," Nico's voice pulled Donovan's thoughts back to the present.
"What? We're way too close for comfort. If we don't leave now there's a real high chance we'll get caught--there's no way someone didn't catch Maaya's giant worm display back there. We're lucky they aren't patrolling as far as this freaking hill!"
There was heat rising to both his neck and voice at Nico's stubborn insistence on staying. It was true that they couldn't pass up the opportunity where two Aberrations would change, but everything about the location was a death trap for well-known terrorists and their targets weren't close enough for Donovan to scare back towards an approachable distance.
"It's our lives to two more tries, Nico. I don't think it's worth it. ...And I don't want to argue with you. Feels like we've been doing that too much these days."
Whisper came up to them, then, the raised voices drawing his attention. Rhian followed behind him, her expression mirroring his concern. "Hey, Nico," she cast a wary glance towards Donovan before motioning towards the rest of the group behind them, "The others are getting kinda antsy. We want to know what the plan is. Are we waiting for something?"
Even from that distance, though, the group could already tell that they were far too late.
A nanosecond in time.
And for all the Aberrations in the city it felt like a choking firebrand gripping their necks across the lines of their mark.
But only two today. Just two.
Yes. Two.
Too brief to comprehend and just long enough to feel with every molecule in a body, but in the moment time stretched to eternity, running away from its own flow like it feared for its life.
Light froze and fractured and every particulate matter in the air knew its place like space itself was holding its breath and waiting to drown.
The Animi of Cat's Cradle felt the thunderous pressure crash over them again, rushing towards the vacancy of their Stigmas and into the sanctuary of their thoughts, slipping fingers into the gaps, widening, searching, peering.
And then it was gone, as if dragged away by a slipstream.
An emergency siren blared in the distance and suddenly the protective perimeter surrounding the city was in chaos. Soldiers craned their necks in alarm, some ran towards vehicles and others shouted orders to one another just before a low rumbling drowned it all out. A massive pillar of dirt and debris burst up from within the forest of skyscrapers and more recently erected watchtowers that dotted the city.
Before the dust could settle, a second noise drew all eyes towards the sky. A high pitched ringing accompanied a bright white light as it flared and condensed just before firing off a thin beam that, for a moment, seemed as though it were headed towards Roosevelt Island but instead plunged into the Potomac. Chilling flurries of snow spilled from the beam in short bursts, spiraling off in some direction like a rogue firework before exploding. The first wisp found its way dancing towards the reflection pool in front of several shocked and terrified citizens and tourists. With a sparkling pop, everything within an eight foot radius was completely encased in ice. Bloodcurdling screams increased in volume as, along with a small corner of the long pool, several people were frozen in place.
Meanwhile, a small whirlpool formed in the center of the river where the beam met the water. A massive hand composed of solid ice rose from the deep blue currents, reaching for the shore. Five clawed fingers, roughly the girth of redwood trees, plunged into the asphalt of one street, sending cars veering off the road and crashing into each other. A gargantuan shoulder emerged next, followed by a head and face that, aside from its icy exterior and frozen expression, seemed remarkably human. Two sapphire eyes were lifted high above the city as the ice giant rose to its full height and the beam disappeared. Standing in the river, frantic boats moved towards the opposite shore at excruciatingly slow speeds, leading some men to abandon ship in panicked confidence that they might outswim the monster. Unfortunately the temperature of the lake had fallen well past what any normal human being could withstand and those unfortunate enough to try their luck couldn't help but sink as the cold overcame them.
While the river's shores erupted in chaos, more screams filled the main streets thick with smoke and debris. On the northwest side of the city, a blob of gelatinous, transparent substance had formed. It was large, rivalling skyscrapers with its height and could easily engulf said buildings. Within the substance of its body, a floating heart and brain could be identified, and from those two organs, nerves and veins thread across the clear slime. The creature appeared harmless, its shapeless body devoid of any claws or fangs, until it began to catch people with its slime. Civilians and soldiers alike sank into the blob like quicksand as it spread, slowly but surely drowning city blocks.
In the distance, the air around one guard tower suddenly shimmered with jagged gray lines like the space was cracking apart, distorted by an unknown power. Seconds later, the walls collapsed in on themselves like paper. The phenomenon repeated a few moments later at another guard outpost, disabling the cityβs defenses at a frightening speed.
By sheer coincidence, all of the threats originated from the far side of the city, towards the border of Washington, D.C. and Bethesda, Maryland, leaving the White House and the safest political havens and buildings untouched for the moment, but with an ice titan as tall as the Washington Monument lumbering through the town, the blessing of distance was a small one indeed.
In the Hyatt Regency Hotel, pandemonium had broken out among the staff and occupants, with many of the VIPs and major political figures ushered quickly towards the safety of the White House bunker. Those with less ties to the government were directed towards an underground tunnel that led to a fortified shelter just outside the White House grounds--one of many developed under the city for fear of this exact event. There was no concern for the subnatural occupants of the top floor, with only the USARILN soldiers rushing to their rooms and calling for backup from any nearby military troops. The deafening crash of a building toppling just several blocks away cut the message relay short and Officer Brahms was the first to issue orders to the students themselves.
"Two or three hostiles in the city, all high threat!" he barked as soldiers ran to pull students out of their rooms and into the living room. "And a monster we're classifying as a three until further notice! Orders are to evacuate and regroup for an assault once backup arrives--"
The entire building rumbled as the titan broke into a sprint, tearing through the city haphazardly. Military fighter jets had already sortied and were firing from afar, but the creature was already retaliating in kind, breaking off segments of buildings and pitching them towards the planes. A giant swatting at flies. One of the thrown building sections--a fifth of a high-rise office building--smashed into the ground level of the Hyatt Regency's East Tower, the force of the impact crushing half of the ground floor and destabilizing the entire tower. The skywalks that connected the towers creaked and groaned dangerously from the impact and sections of the glassy encasement broke off, shattering on the ground far below.
But it was a jump from the ice titan that did it, the creature jettisoning itself forward to lunge at another squadron of jets hammering missiles into its rapidly repairing body. The impact of its landing about seven blocks away was an earthquake and the unsteady tower lurched.
Once.
Twice.
Then toppled.
But the royal penthouse suite had long been advertised as "bulletproof" and "bombproof," boasting about the multiple layers of protection anyone staying on the top floor would receive. And it wasn't all smoke and mirrors. The tower collapsed forward, tearing away from the attached skywalks and falling across New Jersey Avenue and the shopping plaza across the street, sending debris, glass, and dust surging out of the impact in a wave.
Inside the intact penthouse suite with its fortified walls and floors, most of the windows had shattered on impact, raining glass onto the students tumbled onto the side amidst the scattered furniture and spilled snacks from the shelves. Several soldiers were dead or injured, bodies crushed by sofas or injured by chandeliers. The wall of broken glass was now the floor and the adjacent wall, with its row of shattered windows, was now the new doorway.
Officer Brahms was unresponsive near an equally knocked out Lawrence, both rendered unconscious by the fall and impact while other soldiers attempted to move furniture off their fellow military.
Emma and Hazel had, by a miracle, landed on an upturned sofa, sustaining only light scratches from the hail of glass. One of the soldiers still standing glanced at the two and, gritting his teeth, fished Brahms's phone from the downed man's pocket, tapping at a few commands that opened all of Hazel's cuffs save for the original school's cuff and the collar around her neck.
Ernie was pinned under a coffee table nearby, but the glass and wood structure wasn't heavy enough to be of any serious threat. Sander and Marcus had tumbled cleanly onto the new floor of windows and glass, both sporting lightly embedded shards and small gashes across their bodies. Brent, Lily, and Chris had been partially buried under a mountain of miscellaneous items--lamps, small end tables, cushions, and the broken frames of various paintings.
A larger group of Grant, Kusari, Siena, and Callan had fallen onto each other into a large dog pile, in that order with Grant on the bottom, nearly speared through by Kusari's claws. Angel and Sophia were half caught beneath a bookshelf a short distance away, the weight of the damage looking almost certain they'd suffer internal hemorrhaging. Gregory, Zoe, and Allison had been caught by one of the chandeliers and its torn wiring in a corner, tangled and held down by its weight.
Christmas had stumbled near the balcony during the hotel's initial shakes, and had barely avoided tumbling out in the fall. When the entire hotel had finally crashed to its side, the balcony segment had broken off, dropping him a short, but painful distance to the group below where a broken edge of the railing slammed into his leg, impaling it as another bar stabbed into his side.
Between the pain and his short, uneven breaths, he had no time to scream.
x
πππ₯: πππ‘π₯. ππ‘, ππππ / / πππ€πππππ₯π π, π».β. / / βπ πͺππ βπππ₯ππ π¦π€π ππ¦ππ₯π / / ~ππππ
Christmas had never experiencedβnor had he ever wanted toβthe Hollywood movie scene of waking up alone and naked after a drunken romance. And his hadnβt even progressed any further than first base, leaving all the mistakes of the prior day in the limbo of the uncertain question βWas it worth it?β
No. His answer, with the mild ache of hangover gnawing in a tight band around his head and Sander nowhere in sight, was no. He shouldnβt have continued drinking despite how appealing the drink was in flavor. Yesterdayβs events still replayed too clearly for him and he wondered if his morning would have been easier had he simply forgotten it all. Heβd crossed a line, even if it was just a step. That was a mistake, no matter how he tried to console himself about it, and Sander disappearing so early in the morning was almost definitive evidence that whatever they hadβhowever nascentβwas now gone. Or, if not entirely vanished, sullied by his drunken stupidity. Were it not for the obvious futility of it, he would have hammered his head against the wall in shame. Instead, he just stumbled with his bundle of clothes into the bathroom, regretting everything and still hoping it was some kind of fever dream brought on by the residues of concussion. There were so many more important things to worry about, like the rest of the world for starters, but he couldnβt think that far around him. He could only think of Sander.
A scared, tired face stared back at him from the mirror and he took little comfort in the old routine of combing shaking fingers through his hair and tying on the new ribbon before even putting on clothes.
A small part of him wanted to blame Sanderβs unrelenting closeness, how impossible it was to avoid the temptation of touch and breath and taste when Sander always seemed to tempt in the most unbelievably innocuous ways. But he knew it was a feeble excuse. It wasnβt Sanderβs fault he had overdone it his first time drinking and ruined everything between them. Their shared experiences might have been more emotionally binding than some people would have managed in an entire lifetime, but it didnβt change the objective timeline of events. Theyβd barely known each other past two weeks and already he had managed to make a mess of the first real friendship he had formed after leaving his old life behind. Friendship and something more, and now it was too late to pretend like he didnβt know what that βmoreβ was.
He liked Sander, and it went a little beyond friendship.
But that was wrong of him. Sander wasnβt like him. Wasnβt βweirdβ like him.
To force those feelings on someone who couldnβt refuse like Sander was wrong, just like how almost everything about the boy known as Christmas was wrong.
βWow, you like this stuff? But, like, arenβt you a guy?β
βOh, that Christmas guy? Yeah, his nameβs pretty fruity. Who names their kid βChristmasβ?β
βHeβs dating Alvin? How even? I know Alvinβs gay but where did that come from? They donβt even look good togetherβwhat the fuck?β
βItβs so weird seeing those two together, though. Alvin could get basically anyone, right? I thought he was always around Alan βcuz those two were datingβ¦β
βI donβt want to sound mean, but itβs, like, okay, you know, when someone like Alvinβs gay because, like, his familyβs rich and all and heβs good-looking so he can be whatever, right? But if you donβt have that kind of stuff to make up for it, itβs like, not good, you know? To be gay. βCuz what if youβre not even that attractive and youβre gayβitβs just limiting your options or whatever. Like, all these fish in the sea and all that, but βcuz youβre gay you only get like half the choices and if youβre nothing special, like, why bother, right? And, oh my god, did you hear about Cynthia getting pregnant so she had to drop out of school because her parents wouldnβt let her abort the baby? Thatβs so terribleβ¦β
βHeβs kinda weird, right? Like heβs always huddled up somewhere or something. Alan keeps inviting him to the table but no one even wants him there. Heβs so weird. Like he doesnβt even talk to us and he just sits there with his head downβwho even wants to deal with that? You think Alanβs just doing it βcuz he feels sorry for him?β
He knew it was wrong, and for all the apologies he had made yesterday, he had still gone ahead and let the mistakes happen.
That was the problem with his apologies. They never meant anything because he was still doing what he was apologizing for.
God, why was he this stupid? This desperate? He didnβt want Sander to be a mistake. He wantedβ
Cold water splashed onto his face and dripped onto the marble counter top.
The shock of it relieved him of thoughts for a moment and he repeated the action, trying to keep himself from panicking.
It didnβt work and he felt the shortness of breath coming just as he finished pulling on a fresh T-shirt and pantsβthat he hadnβt set out for himself, that was for sure, once he realized the clothes were new and clean. Sander again, still taking care of him despite everything.
The soft bed was too large for just him and as Christmas lay there waiting out the gripping fear of losing Sander as a companion he couldnβt help but think that he had just begun expecting Sander beside him too often.
He was sorry. He really was. He shouldnβt have done that. But his apologies meant nothing when his actions wouldnβt correlate. His lungs struggled with breathing for several minutes longer while the anxiety twisted and spun in his stomach.
When the fear had passed enough for him to stand, albeit unsteadily, he rummaged through the bag of ribbons at the foot of the bed, pulling out a handful at random and trying to hold on to himself in whatever fragile way he could. He wanted to be here, in this moment, because he was supposed to be trying.
What for, he didnβt know now, but if he didnβt at least hold on to that small conviction, heβd be nothing but empty space and static again, like he had been for most of his life. He was scared again and lonely so he clutched the fistful of colorful fabric to his chest and tried to tie happiness down to his heart.
ππ: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / ππ βπππ₯π, πππ£πͺππππ / / ππ π¨π / / ~ππππ
The more interesting interviews gleaned by reporters during the USARILN East students' stay had been on replay and rehash since the early hours of the morning, with rival stations and small-time newspapers latching on to a different station's interview and reviewing it on their segments as well, forming a disjointed echo chamber of "Marc" and footage of a trembling boy named "Christmas" writing on a notepad, interspersed with conflicting information from an Arbiter that some quick investigation had revealed to be a "Brent Roless" and another Arbiter fleeing down an alley that records eventually revealed as "Siena Santana."
They were the sort of field days that made the hyenas of the paparazzi--normally bloodthirsty--absolutely rabid. There was a great outcry from news stations the morning they received information that the soldiers were starting to pack up and route elsewhere and the exits and entrances of the motel and hospital were jammed with bodies, microphones, and cameras all hoping to catch the last vestiges of the tragic teenagers or, as some stations liked to spin the story, nigh-uncontrollable monsters.
There was a slowly forming divide in opinions after KLPN aired the most sympathetic subnatural interview broadcast in years, the brief, but compelling segment clipped and reposted in message boards and sent along to subnatural activist groups nation-wide within days.
In it, a teenager with scars across his face hung his head and dropped his shoulders, asking for the interview to end, his clothes wrinkled and his hair a mess. The segment ended with a long take of the thin cuff on the student's ankle before the camera cut back to the reporter in charge. Disturbingly human and a small, but noticeable threat to the status quo perpetuated by both the common folk and the people in charge. But it had already spread, and people were already watching, the views on every reuploaded YouTube video spiraling quickly into the millions before yet another version of the report was taken down. For now the majority of the recognition centered on the East Coast, but with a few choice words from a certain reporter and several stations agreeing to spread the news, "Marc" was slowly rising as the poster child of subnatural oppression. The portion of the interview that revealed his powers had the internet abuzz with speculation and potential uses, until a recurring nickname that cropped up was--as typical of simple, internet agglutinative fashion--"Time Scar."
It had become something of an unofficial tradition by now to name their subnaturals--the public viewing it as akin to naming a pet or, on the other end of the spectrum, heralding a hero. Regardless, it would be media publicity and spread of use that determined what would, in time, become "official" as far as nicknames went.
This meant, of course, that any subnatural who caught the public eye would either be forgotten or crowned with a moniker that may or may not be the worst name in existence. And despite not revealing his powers, Christmas's diminutive stature and generally unimposing demeanor snagged him the unofficial (and quite ironic) name of "Pixie"--a jab at his baby face, his gender, and the fact that he was far from being the bite-sized femme fatale that a colloquial "pixie" generally was.
Brent's interview had been washed out once the information was found lacking in sufficient sources in an attempt to save face for the station that had originally aired it, but the networked world of 2020 never forgot and never forgave. Opinions were divided between Brent being a mastermind or simply an unstable idiot, and even though he had introduced himself indirectly as "Gearhead," what people saw instead was the array of silver circuits that had danced down his arm, the sight captured in detail by the cameraman who had steeled his nerves and zoomed in instead of flinching away. That, combined with the obvious act on camera had several well-versed internet denizens refer to him as "Proteus." When they explained the loosely applied name, it caught on within a small circle, which then spread like wildfire once people jumped on the bandwagon.
While cyberspace boiled, however, the soldiers meant to guard and detain Experimental Unit B remained contrastingly calm. They met the wall of reporters with stern glares and ready rifles, jabbing the particularly brave ones back before they could approach any of the students being herded out of the buildings and into the waiting cars. A loud warning from Officer Brahms had scared most of the waiting paparazzi into submission, but made the threat painfully clear when yet another reporter broke rank and tried to dash into the center of the forcibly parted aisle of human bodies, microphone raised for a question towards the departing students from the motel. A snap crack of a pistol butt against the man's head knocked him down groaning and Officer Brahms simply motioned for the rest of the escort soldiers to keep moving the students into the cars while a spare soldier shoved the reeling reporter back into the swarming crowd. When the motel group had been safely secured in one car, the APC made its arduously slow way towards the hospital to join up with the second car collecting the students who had remained in the medical building.
Hazel was the last to be escorted out of the hospital, still cuffed with multiple suppressors and surrounded by guards. The reporters snapped plenty of pictures as the soldiers shoved her forward and into the truck, two soldiers sitting on either side of her to prevent any of the students from doing so.
ππ: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππ€πππππ₯π π, π».β. / / βπͺππ₯π₯ βππππππͺ βπ π₯ππ / / ~ππ‘ππ
The military trucks stopped well outside Washington, D.C. where the students and their assigned soldiers were moved to far more comfortable vehicles: luxury limousines lined with leather seating and built-in fridges stocked with drinks and expensive snacks ranging from caviar and top shelf liquor to the more common fare of chips and sodas. The students were shown into the cars at random, blacked out windows concealing the modular, leather design inside. Though the interiors were luxurious, it was made clear by the thick tires and steel lining on the door frames that these were vehicles made to withstand an emergency or more, should the occasion arise. The drivers remained focused on the road ahead, providing no indication of their destination. However, the comparitively short one and a half hour drive and the sight of an iconic white spire across the Potomac would soon reveal that it would still be a while before the subnaturals would return to the comfort of their dorms.
The emblem by the elevators leading from the underground parking lot displayed "Hyatt Regency - East Tower" in silver text, a lavish hotel and resort frequently patroned by executives and politicians enjoying a stay in the country's capital. The East and West towers were connected by both an underground concourse and a skyway, with both towers mirroring each other's amenities from conference floors to the 2,500 square meter ballrooms on the 15th floors.
The students were marched past shocked CEOs of large firms, current politicians, and the general upper echelon of society gathered around the hotel lobby ornately decorated with polished pilasters and carefully etched filigree on semi-elliptical arches over doors. Fluting further defined the heartwood borders of doors and windows, harkening back to classic antiquity in style and taste. Marble flooring buffed to a mirror shine spread out around them while the vaunted roof of the lobby's anterior portion gave the impression of a vast space. In truth, it was a large lobby furnished with embroidered seating and gold-etched tables, but the architecture seemed singularly designed to dwarf.
Further in, two rows of elevators facing one another moved the hotel's occupants between floors in glassy columns, the lavish decor of the lobby giving way to a different sort of modern luxury the higher the floor.
Men and women in only the highest quality suits and dresses gave the students and guards a wide berth, their procession marked by pin-drop silence as almost half of the nation's most influential people watched and judged from a snap impression.
On a massive, embedded TV facing the east lounge of the lobby, the interview segment with Marcus was replaying with commentary from a different news station about the state of affairs between humans and subnaturals, the golden-haired anchorwoman speaking about the two categories as if they were entirely separate species.
But they didn't get a chance to watch for long because once they had traversed the expanse of the marble tiles, the students were ushered into one empty elevator, the mobile room large enough to fit all of them and their guards with ease.
1, 2, 3, 4...the elevator continued upwards, slowing down only to pick up more potential passengers who quickly backed away from the doors at the sight of the large group of subnaturals. 15, 16, 17, 18--and only then did the elevator begin to slow down until it deposited them with a soft "ding" on the 20th floor, right in front of the glass doors leading into the lobby of the royal penthouse suite which took up the entirety of the top floor and consisted of 12 bedrooms with individual bathrooms, a 103-inch plasma TV in the cavernous living area, a private pool and jacuzzi towards the west side of the floor that bordered an insulated music room populated by a Steinway grand piano, two Guaneri violins, and a Style 85 harp.
Where the floors had transitioned to modern elegance earlier, the penthouse suite retained that Hellenic-inspired artistry of the lobby floor, gold and silver filigree lining the mullions and lintels of the large windows while a decorative chair rail of curling vines and blossoms in silver relief wrapped around the walls. Cove lighting carefully illuminated the room without irritating sensitive eyes and the ergonomic furniture had been custom made to match the room's decor, even if their designs were undeniably modern. Plush, off-white carpeting and cellula chandeliers finished off the luxury of every single room, ensuring its occupants were as comfortable as could be.
Each bedroom was furnished with a queen-sized bed, a multitude of tasseled pillows and sheets, a sofa, full-length mirror, automated closet compartments, maroon silk robes, floor-to-ceiling windows with adjustable, motorized interior shutters, and a bathroom large enough to throw a small party in; the bathtub was a sunken pool in the center of the floor while a showerhead perched on its raised mount attached to a short post beside the circular tub. Every room, living room and balcony pool included, displayed careful instructions on an electronic screen embedded in the wall that controlled a motorized snack and wine shelf that slid in and out of the wall on a press of a button. The rest of the control screen directed users to room service and other enjoyable amenities at the resort (a gym on the 3rd floor, conference halls on the 6th and 7th floors, a buffet on the 10th floor, a computer lounge on the 11th floor, and an arcade in the first basement floor; surrounding the hotel towers were high-end boutiques, cafes, and restaurants while a short distance away a concert hall advertised the next orchestra showing).
"You'll be staying here temporarily. Director's orders. No ETA on location change from the Commander, just a warning to avoid issues here. Even the Director won't be able to stop these people if they want you dead. If you're going to go outside, make sure a guard knows. The police force here don't take kindly to subnaturals, even from USARILN, so have a guard clear you over the law enforcement line first," Officer Brahms addressed the students after the soldiers had gathered them in the living space.
The short announcement done, the current CO of the group looked towards Hazel, who had been trudged into a corner and kept there.
"She can move freely on the condition that everyone here--" he looked at the students, "--acts to disable or kill her the second something goes wrong. The soldiers are ready, and if any student attempts to stop someone from eliminating her, they'll be marked for death as well. If she remains obedient, no one needs to get hurt."
The soldiers around Hazel stepped away as he finished, but they didn't remove the extra suppression cuffs. The message was clear enough: she wouldn't be using her powers until they confirmed she wouldn't lose control again.
"I'll be on the floor below and four soldiers will remain in the living room on standby. As safe as this place is, there's still a lot of potential danger from you all and to you all, so this setup is a bit of double-edged sword. Let's just hope the Director isn't wrong about placing you all here."
Without waiting for further responses, Officer Brahms left with most of the guards, leaving behind the promised four to keep an eye on things while they waited for the Director to respond to communications.
"πΈ πππππ πππππ€ ππ π₯ππππ πππ£π."
The world is filled with the supernatural--the typical supernatural. Dragons, fairies, imps, mermaids, phoenixes, etc. and some weirder combinations of the creatures coexist peacefully with humans, even in scenarios where they truly shouldn't. And still even stranger creatures exist in the unexplored regions of the world, flitting just out of prying explorers' sights. All are peaceful. All have been peaceful for as long as anyone could remember. All have been peaceful even as humans expanded and modernized, slaughtering many of the creatures for territory, for raw materials, for clothing.
With the advancement of more modern technology, the news stations and radio announcers were able to crowdsource repeated sightings of a vaguely humanoid, pure-white creature mixed with vestiges of animals--elegant deer antlers on its head, claws for feet and hands, a narrow, whip-like tail lined with spikes. But the main body remained unnaturally human-shaped: a torso that was too thin and gangly to support any internal organs, a waist that was little better, and legs like stilts. Its head had no features, mimicking a human cranium only in general shape while its interpretation of hair was a thin, white membrane flowing backwards from the crown of its head, parting around the roots of the antlers and splitting into three filmy sections. It, too, was never hostile. But it also took no damage from conventional weaponry.
Every sighting heralded a new creature into the world: a chimera straight out of Greek mythology, a leviathan from the Old Testament, scores of tiny sprites sourced back to European folklore, and sometimes creatures straight out of Lovecraftian horror stories. It was almost like the white creature was testing the waters of human thought--taking the fantastical ideas and turning them into reality, but without any of the potential backlash. Almost like the being just wanted to mimic the thoughts of humans in its own way.
Every creature it created allowed itself to be reined in by humans if they came into contact. Any that people feared too much quietly sat by while guns and artillery tore it to pieces.
Without any way of stopping the creator itself, and with no threat of harm from any of the magical monsters it created, the world slowly relaxed and settled into an era of wary curiosity about these wondrous fantasies made reality. Reporters eventually coined a name for the white creature that actually stuck with the public (other attempts had only mixed levels of success): Dreamcatcher.
Around the turn of the 21st century, Dreamcatcher's patterns of appearing, creating a creature, and disappearing began to deviate. It started wandering into human cities where it had always favored outskirts and abandoned locales, if not the wilderness or unexplored territories overall. Every foray into civilization marked a human with powers. It was subtle at first--small powers like levitation and minor telekinesis--but as Dreamcatcher began tapping into the modern imagination in earnest, the powers became wilder: precognition, gravity manipulation, lasers, elemental generation, a magical weaponsmith, a shapeshifter, a healer whose powers could cure even recent death, and even a weaker mimicry of Dreamcatcher's own ability to create monsters.
But for all that it escalated, the number of people Dreamcatcher actually bestowed powers to was severely limited. By 2006, only 10 were known to exist throughout the world. Reddit speculated the number was likely higher accounting for areas where civilization didn't flourish enough for effective communication. The 10 were taken into custody wherever their respective governments caught wind of their existence, and they all went willingly. Eventually, word spread that the common threads between Dreamcatcher's choices were adolescent human beings of the cleanest moral caliber. At the very least, that was the news the governments spread. And so the 10 precursors were set to work under government supervision, carefully monitoring them for any signs of violence. When years passed with nary a smudge on any of their records, the world took to calling them superheroes in recognition of all the good they had done.
Everyone began hoping to be Dreamcatcher's next choice. People started simply acting better, and non-profit organizations saw a rising peak in interest. Certain parties opposed to celebration of something as unknowable and uncertain as Dreamcatcher formed small groups of opposition, rebelling against the norm. Society, for the most part, ignored them. The world was becoming a better place, even if no one could fathom Dreamcatcher's objective.
On January 5th, 2010, everything went to hell.
Those who were nearby saw Dreamcatcher appear in a city--just flickered into existence in the middle of the street in a quiet cul-de-sac at eight in the morning. People around the area flocked to it, only for the creature to shoot straight up into the sky, the trail of light it left behind almost blinding the people around it before coalescing into a thin thread of immovable white light leading up to where Dreamcatcher had flown. A pulse reverberated throughout the world that day, felt by all creatures and humans alike as a white light began spreading from a point high in the sky. There was little sound or fanfare that marked Dreamcatcher's actions. When the hubbub had finally died down, a thin, white veil had been draped across the planet. It followed no laws of light--sometimes a space telescope could catch it, other times it simply wasn't visible. But it was there, evidenced by the thread that the government finally traced to a massive, white, cocoon-like shell high in the stratosphere. The rest of the thread continued onward past the atmosphere, ending at some point where the barrier began.
Dreamcatcher had fallen asleep. That was the rationale. And something was coming that it needed to shield the planet from. This would have been a sacrifice worthy of song, were it not for the sudden, violent rampage of every creature Dreamcatcher had ever created. Leviathans rose from the sea to decimate coastal states and settlements, chimeras tore through inland settlements before being gunned down, the more absurd amalgamations of monsters rose from the unexplored frontiers and laid waste to anything and everything in their paths, some of them as tall as mountains and just as unstoppable.
Monsters true to their nature at last.
In the midst of this, the individuals granted powers by Dreamcatcher were detained, set to be executed before they, too, went the way of their less-human compatriots. It was the current President of the United States who saw fit to use them against Dreamcatcher's monsters instead.
In the middle of discussions for controlling the formerly regarded "superheroes," breaking news of magically gifted individuals began cropping up all around the world, with varying levels of approval and dissent from all factions.
For years afterwards, the world fell into complete chaos between stemming the tides of Dreamcatcher's monsters and rounding up the sudden surge of magical individuals. Too many lives were lost to a cause no one had any understanding of, and too many resources were spent trying to apprehend particularly powerful individuals who simply didn't want to rot in a reinforced cell for the rest of their lives just for the crime of being Dreamcatcher's chosen (assuming a cell could even hold them in the first place).
As small countries were wiped off the map by swarms of fairies wielding disproportionately destructive magic and entire cities were devoured by ghouls, manticores, and anything inbetween, humankind faltered. They couldn't sustain this. When half of China was obliterated by a swarm of dragons that took several nuclear bombs to stymie, the governments of the world crumbled and looked to other sources for help.
A new solution was proposed to the ongoing crisis as magically gifted individuals (dubbed the lusus naturae by the scientific community) began finding each other and banding together, forming anything from organized militia and vigilantes to terrifying cults.
The magic users all held one struggle in common, disparate philosophies aside: the world wanted nothing to do with anything involving Dreamcatcher. It was only by a fortunate twist of fate (fortunate for the "subnaturals," at least--as regular people began calling them) that the militaries of too many countries were too weakened by the constant battle of attrition to deny the usefulness of magic in the now endless war against some of Dreamcatcher's worst monsters. Thus began rigorous background checks and psychological evaluations of the adolescents the government could get a hold of, with the more promising ones assigned to institutions that would ensure proper education and preventative measures while allowing the government to keep a close eye on them. These institutions also doubled as headquarters from which to deploy children against any monstrosities that normal military forces couldn't keep at bay--and those were plenty. Under any normal circumstances, sending teenagers to fight borderline hellspawn would have violated human rights on a terrifyingly fundamental level, but with the horrors of the past few years weighing heavy on everyone's minds, most of the world turned a blind eye to this. Most of the world, actually, hoped the monsters on both sides would kill each other off.
Initial concerns about separating institutions based on age group were quickly debased when all the adults who had gained powers died inexplicably within a month after the event. The deaths were gruesome, to say the least. Some of the "bodies" left behind could hardly be called anything more than bloody smears on the floor. Analysis revealed that any individuals over the rough ages of 21-23 died to some unknown side effect of the powers while the ones on the border suffered severe dementia or simply fell comatose. And yet the Precursors, the original 10 personally chosen by Dreamcatcher, were now well over the danger limits. Someone eventually proposed the theory that powers gained young incorporated more easily into an individual and powers gained after adulthood might suffer a similar effect to rejection of foreign bodies. It wasn't a perfect explanation--nothing was a perfect explanation where the enigma of Dreamcatcher was concerned--but it was the best people could think of when physical examinations and autopsies of more salvageable bodies provided absolutely nothing to go on.
So the world tentatively tolerated the magical children, simply for the purpose of keeping them on society's side. There were enough to pose a danger to civilizations all around the world, but not enough to win in a battle of numbers. Not yet, at least. And for all their powers, they were still human: they tired from overuse of their abilites just like an athlete would overexercising, and a bullet to the head for most of them could kill them just as easily as anyone else. It wasn't quite so easy with the monsters, and there were far too many monsters outside to worry yet about the monsters on the inside.
"ππ€π π₯πππ π¦π‘. πΉπππ π£π π»π£ππππππ₯ππππ£ πππ."
Here's where our story begins in the year 2020, 10 years after Dreamcatcher abandoned the world to seemingly erect and maintain a barrier around the planet--the event now dubbed "The Slumber."
After waking up with your powers, you realized--unlike a lot of other dead idiots--that obedience (feigned or not) meant the antsy, trigger-happy government wouldn't execute you, so now you're at the United States Army Research Institute for lusus naturae on the East Coast (USARILN East), boasting a high school-to-college-level education regime to keep everyone feeling "normal" and "stable," whatever those words mean nowadays. The Institute is located in the brand-spanking-new town of Crimen Culpae 1 they set up just for your kind and all the weird people who find subnaturals more amusing than terrifying. That means you'll be somewhat welcome in this town--but not for the reasons you'd like.
Crimen Culpae 1 (CC1 as the locals like to refer to it) is tucked away in a corner of the East Coast near much of the farmland and former wildlife refuges and game lands of North Carolina, far from any easy access to major cities.
(35.725413, -76.955924)
It's the first of a series of CC towns the government has set up around the nation to control and utilize--as best they can--the emerging subnaturals. They don't really run the mascots and school colors thing, but the students still do, if just to defy institutional apathy on the matter.
The school's colors are, depressingly, black, white, and grey. No one really thought bright, exuberant colors worked for the situation, plus USARILN East is known to be near several major points of aggression for Dreamcatcher's creatures. (And USARILN West already took the bright colors thing, so it would be embarrassing to imp it now.)
However you went about "presenting" yourself to the mercy of the government is your tale to tell. Maybe they had to drag you in by force. Maybe they simply found you somewhere surrounded by dead people because you couldn't control your abilities (and you somehow looked pitiful enough that they didn't murder you on the spot). Maybe you brought yourself to the nearest police station and let things go from there.
But all the same, Dreamcatcher (or something else) gave you your powers, and you were just intelligent enough to know that the world is in no state to tolerate your presence if you didn't comply with their every demand.
What almost no one outside of your fellow mages (the world calls your kind "subnaturals" as an insult; your peers know better, usually) know is that everyone chosen by Dreamcatcher saw a dream. They saw a dream of their magic taken to its utmost limits--power beyond imagination serving the purpose of something that lined up with what every individual personally saw as "good." And right after that dream, everyone saw the nightmare--a perverted version of your power tearing down your enemies and making the world yours in whatever way you wanted, whether it was simple domination or some heightened form of solitude. Your world your way. But without a doubt yours.
When the visions faded, you saw two paths in a hazy mental landscape of sounds and light. On the one path, the you from the dream walked towards something you thought might be a bright future. On the other path, the you from the nightmare (or maybe that was the dream to you?) walked towards something that seemed to whisper "This will be even better."
You chose one. You followed one. And the moment you rejected the other, you felt a visceral emotion from the side you didn't favor--perhaps your brain translated that into hatred.
Those of you who followed the first vision bear a white streak that stretches from below your right eye and across your right temple, stopping as it reaches above the ear, the ends of the streak jagged and faded, as if someone took a brush with too little paint on it to your face.
Those who followed the second vision sport a thick, black X (someone once joked that it looked like the Xbox logo's "X" and the visual stuck) on the front of your throats, near the base.
With a bonus. In listening to the temptation, the second vision brought with it a deadlier version of your powers with the same cost for all: the worst day of your life, the most annoying things in the world to you, your most terrifying secrets, your deepest shame, your biggest regret--any and all of those play in your mind without cease, the sounds louder and the emotions more pronounced on each replay. Only doing something can distract you even partially and only doing something destructive to people or objects can sate what the more unfortunate mages have taken to calling their "Stigmas." Sate temporarily, that is. It always comes back.
The more cognizant mages of the various institutions have long ago spread this information amongst each other via a private forum where only mages attending an institution were allowed an invitation--it helped that one of the forum administrators could detect lies. It's an unspoken rule among the mages now that no one mentions what everyone secretly calls "The Awakening" to the "regulars." There was something too intimate about it to share with people who were looking for excuses to kill them.
The forum, known by the innocuous name "Death and Taxes," has also proliferated the underground names "Arbiters" for the mages who woke up on the "right" side of the bed, and "Aberrations" for those who didn't. Frequent, heated discussions debate the existence of a "second Dreamcatcher" due to the duality of the Awakening, with common parlance referring to this potential second Dreamcatcher as the "Wisheater." Even mages whose powers allow for something as abstract as "seeing magic" have no conception of Wisheater aside from the insidious hint of that second vision. The current magical community remains split on the debate with slightly more believing that Wisheater is a desperate fabrication to soothe the sting of Dreamcatcher's betrayal. This tends to lead to flame wars on whether Dreamcatcher had any morality to begin with or if all the current strife in the world is just another of Dreamcatcher's whims.
Individual opinions aside, the forum has a stickied thread titled "Unwritten Rules Written Out For Once (We'll Find You If You Break Them)." After a lengthy introduction, the gist of the post lists the core tenets of magical subculture in the Institutions--the only places that even officially allow a magical subculture, really:
- Do not speak of the Awakening to the regulars. For the new mages, this refers to the two visions you saw when you got your powers. Further discussion can be found in the "Awakening" thread stickied below this.
- Do not mention the nature of this forum to any of the regulars. We can wipe it before anyone investigates and we'll find you.
- Do not call yourselves "mages" around the regulars. You are "subnaturals" to them.
- Do not mention the divide between Arbiters and Aberrations to the regulars. For the new mages, check the thread "Arbiters and Aberrations" stickied below the "Awakening" thread.
- Do not attack your fellow mages unless you absolutely have to.
- Do not provoke the regulars.
- Do not attack the regulars even if provoked.
- Do not be baited by an Aberration. They're naturally never in the best of moods. Don't deal with them if you can't handle that.
- Do not respond to an Aberration's suicide notice. They almost always fail. We can find them if they actually manage to get close to succeeding.
It remains to be seen if those unspoken rules and the animosity of the world will stop you from doing what you want.
But within the subculture of the Institute, there are more things to fear than just the guns of the military guards keeping an eye on you.
"ππππ π€π¦π£π π₯πππͺ ππ π'π₯ ππππ ππππ π π₯πππ£ π¦ππππ€π€ π¨π π€ππππ₯ππ π ππ₯."
π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππ€ππ π£π, πππ£πͺππππ / / ππ π¨π / / ~ππ ππ
Bright truck headlights broke the uniform darkness of the night as several APCs turned off the interstate and onto the main road leading towards the remains of Wisford. Five trucks filled with soldiers, paramedics, and emergency relief supplies for injured citizens rumbled carefully to the miraculously intact evacuation team APC parked at the town's edge. Dean had driven them back once the sparks of tension between quite a few of them had abated enough that he could slide into the driver's seat without much notice.
The civilians already present in the APC had been entirely silent on the brief ride to the safety of military backup, doing their best to avoid angering what appeared to them only more of the volatile subnaturals that needed to be collared and hemmed in, lest absolute anarchy fall upon what remained of civilized society.
As he let the car idle and stepped out, Dean raised his arms in surrender, making sure the soldiers heading into hostile territory wouldn't shoot him on sight for commandeering the APC. He had opened the back doors to allow several of the passengers to exit as well, but didn't urge them. Between the haunted gazes of both civilians and subnatural teenagers, he found it hard to form words without the pressure of danger at his heels. Instead he let them rest in the brief moment of transition. From quiet lives to traumatic memories, the dead and the dying were as much as part of his small life as the unfortunate subnaturals' now--perhaps more, paradoxically, because Dean knew he would never have the potential to become desensitized. He didn't fault the bitter teens who still needed time to realize their childhoods hadn't simply vanished, but had been taken from them in a cruel jest. What teenager before the Slumber hadn't wanted magical powers? Even now, some still did.
But this was the reality it led to, because the scales previously tipped in favor of harmonious coexistence couldn't bear the weight of the worldwide disaster and so crumbled. Nothing measured the morality of the populace against the presence of magic now. The rules of society--at least as far as subnaturals were concerned--had given way entirely to martial law, ankle cuffs, and persecution.
And if he had to be brutally honest with himself, Dean felt more comfortable with that state of affairs than letting them run loose.
The arriving soldiers were quick to hold him at gunpoint until the paramedics could determine that the passengers in the back were the right people and then some. Another smaller military APC rounded a nearby corner and approached them, stopping at a distance before the driver's door swung open and revealed Ethan. He waved at them, but didn't make any further comments, turning towards the back doors as paramedics rushed over and began loading the exhausted or unconscious onto stretchers. The group moved with their prone teammates, joining them in one of the trucks while Dean explained himself a short distance away.
At Dean's location, a soldier was contacting a commanding officer and relaying the information: a civilian had taken command of the truck, the original driver was dead, and they were trying to determine at the moment if he was a subnatural or not. Another soldier rubbed at the skin over Dean's right temple, then checked his neck, looking for signs of makeup or other forms of concealment. When it seemed clear enough, they remained in position, just in case the final confirmation from Rosa revealed he was a subnatural after all.
The same soldier contacting command panned the phone's camera across the area, over Dean, and walked towards the back of the truck, gun at the ready the moment Rosa confirmed someone was a subnatural who wasn't accounted for. But everything checked out and three of the APCs drove off into the town, towards any marked survivors while looking for others as well.
Once the all clear was given, the rest of the soldiers were quick to separate the students from the citizens, with the majority of the paramedics crowded towards their own kind. The remaining ones in charge of the subnaturals gave most of them a cursory glance, checking for wounds behind the blood and dirt, but assured in the confirmation that both healers were indeed still alive, so there appeared to be no need to check further. They avoided Kusari entirely, deciding that the immortal girl wasn't worth the attention when the only injury she couldn't survive would have been blindingly obvious and equally as undeserving of a second look.
Lawrence and Savannah were taken away on stretchers to separate cars, with Christmas, AngelΓque, and Hazel joining Lawrence's car along with several soldiers. The unconscious enemy Arbiter, still trussed up, was taken away with Ethan's group.
A quick check of several notes regarding the abilities and the chief paramedic ordered Sander onto the same truck as the other unconscious students just as another medic recommended that Callan be taken with that group as well. Harried medics and well-worn stretchers swiftly moved the superhuman girl towards the truck, with another two soldiers directed to lift Siena onto the familiar canvas and framework before carrying her towards the rest of the injured.
The last person to join that truck's group was Lily, who was deemed unwell enough for at least some concern.
Loaded up with gurneys onto which the unconscious or weakened students were transferred, the truck's doors closed after the last of those requiring further medical attention were assigned and drove off first.
The remaining students were packed into a different truck while soldiers checked the evacuation team's APC for any significant damage or unwanted attachments. It was impossible to prepare for every eventuality when it came to magic, but at the very least they wouldn't be caught unawares because they hadn't tried.
Civilians were moved onto a fourth truck on standby while a fifth made its winding way into the town towards the location of survivors Kusari had pinged, eyes alert for more on the way.
π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / βπππ‘π¦π€ / / ~ππ ππ
"Move them to the nearest town with proper accommodations, then take them to Washington. Director's orders," Commander Kardos sighed, his communications with the temporary base just finished. They had cuffed the subnaturals found in Wisford and the officers at the base were already starting to pack up, the majority of the soldiers returning to the campus on emergency orders along with Ethan's team, which would be three hours behind on the return, but they needed the reinforcement in case things got worse before they got better.
Kardos's left arm hung uselessly in a sling as he sent the clearance papers to Mr. Greten, the entire process of one-handed typing and clicking far too tedious for his liking. His attached commands directed the secretary to contact the heightened security near Washington that had only grown pricklier at the mention of a subnatural or Dreamcatcher attack in a nearby city. They were not going to enjoy the news that Cat's Cradle had been sighted near Wisford and if the necessary permissions weren't managed prior to the students' arrival, the group was more likely to be gunned down than given a respite. And incendiary retaliation on the students' parts would simply make USARILN East look bad--doubly so if any of the students actually succeeded.
While a frazzled and bruised Mr. Greten rushed back and forth between his office and Rosa's gathering the identification papers and contacting the military forces near and in Washington, D.C. Kardos limped towards the shattered entrance of the administration building, clicking his tongue in irritation at the extensive damage to the building front. The brief, but severe battle had reached just far enough that the administrative buildings and several research buildings had taken enough damage that even their resident magical repairman couldn't handle it all at once. Currently, the boy was focused on rapidly restoring several of the underground passageways leading to and from the containment chambers, including the deeper areas. He had fixed the worst of the damage to the aboveground buildings, but was conserving his energy for the truly important structures.
Hector was currently cleaning up the bodies of both enemies and allies at once, with specific instructions to collect dead soldiers without further destroying the bodies. It was a hard task, considering several of the soldiers had been turned to stone in a cruel imitation of the legendary Medusa's powers. It had failed to work on Hector's eyeless abomination, however, and one of the enemy mages' attempts to shrink the creature down to a more manageable size only partially succeeded. Hector hadn't fought the change in size, letting the mage expend the energy with a feigned resistance until Miranda was the size of a small child and nearly too fast to track. There hadn't been enough time between the mistake and the mage's death for the woman to enlarge the creature again and the remaining mages had no defense against the impervious monster. Two teleported away, fleeing once the battle was no longer to their advantage, leaving behind the parts of thirteen other Aberrations torn asunder by Miranda.
There were cracks and rifts along the cement, and massive craters where explosive impacts had left behind broken soldiers and students. Several of the more capable students had fought back and luckily survived, but with most of their firepower at Wisford the Institute took far more damage than expected.
There had been attacks on all the Institutes here and there. Isolated incidents and usually easy to contain and eliminate. But an organized attack by mages had, ultimately, required a mage to end, especially when an Aberration girl in a bodysuit had baited out their snipers' locations with a field that appeared to freeze time on anything that entered.
Two other mages had appeared stuck in the field with her as she froze entire waves of bullets and prevented any ranged attacks from connecting. Rosa had suggested unloading even more projectiles into the field, a careful parse of the girl's power revealing certain limitations in the power's effect.
By all accounts, the group caught in the field's temporary safety should have been shredded once the magic faded, but its duration allowed one of the other mages inside the field time to touch one of the bullets with an unhindered arm, arcing a bright blue line between every projectile that touched the field. The third mage took the free period of safety to begin reshaping the immediate area, reconstructing the ground and walls into a far-reaching maze that encompassed the entire campus, though failed to overwrite Template's projected cityspace.
The moment the girl released her field, every bullet disappeared, the compounded effects of the destruction occurring all at once to the objects.
In the safety of the maze and with its creator leading the way and opening passages at will, it was too simple a matter for them to corral the unfortunate soldiers into a compact space and for the Aberration girl to drop from above into the group of disoriented soldiers and freeze them, her body suspended in mid-air while the linker mage reached in and touched the soldier closest to the field's edge, thicker bands of blue connecting the people together.
The effect was slow and inefficient normally and required a suitable amount of victims to truly be worthwhile, but a minute was more than enough damage, especially among six unlucky military recruits. When the field released again, the soldiers appeared to crumble into themselves, bodies dry as sand and just as structurally unstable, leaving only a bundle of clothes and their weapons behind. With legitimate arms dealers harder and harder to come by and almost prohibitively expensive for most without proper government sanction and discounts, the Aberrations were eager to take the weapons, even if their particular abilities didn't compliment the new equipment too well.
That wasn't their main job anyway, being the distraction, and the sudden explosions that felled two of the security outposts was a sign the main group had found the snipers' nests.
It was supposed to have been going well.
Then the litany of hissing had erupted from the forest and a monster like a woman had grown large enough to dwarf the buildings. It moved like molasses, but boasted enough strength that even the superhuman forces of their group were swatted away like flies. Most powers seemed to roll harmlessly off its shoulders and the only truly appreciable effects relied on external manipulation rather than direct damage.
There was a point to which powers were too strong to risk engagement without knowing how to fight it, and that thing had certainly surpassed that point.
A plan to clutch at that filmy substance that formed its flesh-like dress and freeze it momentarily had succeeded for the duration of the girl's power, but in the time she held it at bay, it had pulled a handful of cement from the ground and crushed the labyrinth constructor with a throw like an afterthought, the maze immediately retracting and the landscape returning to normal in the wake of the Aberration's death.
Bullets had no effect, and the linker mage had fled once the creature reached down for another scoop of cement.
He didn't get far.
When the girl's field ran out, she didn't get far either.
And then it was short work for Hector, who watched the scene aboveground from the safety of his containment chamber, tracking visuals through glass-black eyes and spinning slowly in his swivel chair, legs kicking back and forth impetuously. He was having fun for once--and who knew that girl could actually stop Miranda. It was impressive. If she hadn't fallen in with the wrong group, Hector thought he'd have wanted to play with her, too.
By the time it was all over, a fourth of the school had been decimated, with all its security outposts down and major security holes all across its perimeter where entire teams of soldiers and patrols had been murdered in the attempted invasion. And it was the most successful one by far, too, timed too conveniently to be coincidence and far too deadly to ignore.
The worry was creased in the furrows of Kardos's brow as he surveyed the shattered buildings on the southeastern side of the school. The attack had decimated most of the sport facilities, as well as the nearby security outposts. The buildings there now lay in ruins, concrete walls had already collapsed on themselves. Collateral damage from the battles between inhuman forces. The track was littered with debris and bodies, smoking vehicles and makeshift barricades marked where the guards had set up their defence perimeter.
The hospital had also suffered considerable damage from the initial attack. The buildings were still standing, though it was only a husk of what it once was. Most of the occupants had been evacuated; those that didnβt leave remained buried beneath the crumbled walls.
The administrative buildings remained mostly intact, fortunately. A broken window here and there, scorch marks and bullet holes marred the buildingβs front, but the damage was superficial at most. The same could said to the rest of the buildings on campus.
π: πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / ππ βπππ₯π, πππ£πͺππππ / / ππ π¨π / / ~ππ‘ππ
Meanwhile, Experimental Unit B was transported to the nearby town of La Plata, a larger location than Wisford, but still significantly smaller than the growing city that was Crimen Culpae 1. Stuck in that strange purgatory of not quite irrelevant, but not quite notable either, the town carried itself with an unsure air, several high rises in construction within what the mayor hoped to be the future "financial district" while the majority of the locale spread out in short, squat buildings built too many decades ago and entirely preserved out of sheer indifference to the modernizations around them. Close enough to a major hub of civilization and spared from any notable Dreamcatcher attacks, the town's police force and government-sponsored militia were ill-prepared for the lockdown that had been issued to towns near Wisford. As it was, their defense consisted of several car blockades and rooftop patrols, with what amounted to a ring of human bodies around the perimeter of the town facing Wisford.
Military clearance and communications had arrived just in time for the chief of police to relay that USARILN East's subnaturals and soldiers would be staying at the town for a period of time and that the situation in Wisford had been handled. The announcement was public enough that local stations picked up on the news and spread it among the townsfolk who wavered between a mixture of fear and anticipation. Some resolved to hole up in their homes until the subnaturals had passed through while others leaned over their porch railings, staring down the main road hoping to catch a glimpse without actually interacting.
The media, however, was starved for news in a town where a teenager saving a cat was considered the breaking event of the day and where rehashed news feeds from bigger stories around the world were the only reasons the populace even bothered with the news at all. The station had milked what they could of the Wisford disaster, but with military orders to remain out of the general vicinity of the town, there was little to do but wait until the situation changed. Of course the police chief received a slew of questions from the local news station regarding the Wisford situation and whether the incoming subnaturals had anything to do with the resolution, but he fielded them all with a curt "No comment."
That left them only one recourse which was to wait and follow the military arrivals until they could chance an interview with either an officer or--if they were truly lucky--one of the subnaturals themselves. It was the kind of controversial hit that big city news outlets always had their pick of, and finding one in La Plata was a godsend, so a journalist, a news anchor, and a camera crew followed the military cars from a safe distance, interviewing even the citizens down the street from the motel while they waited for the intimidating military soldiers to settle in.
The mostly uninjured students were placed inside the biggest motel the town could offer, recently requisitioned by USARILN East and promptly emptied of all current inhabitants, much to their chagrin. Each room there housed two single beds and a bathroom facility; however, the students werenβt allocated to specific rooms. The officer in charge of the group wasn't interested in keeping too close a watch on the more obedient students, choosing instead to eye the stream of information coming from USARILN East on his phone and making sure he would be ready to move if the situation changed. So the students were left to sort that out among themselves. The conscious ones, that was.
In the motel's lobby, a terrified manager and receptionist cowered behind the front desk while the commanding officer addressed the group of students in front of him briefly.
"If you're leaving the motel, you are to remain within easy access. That means stay on the main roads and don't wander any further than a few blocks. Make sure a soldier knows so someone can keep an eye on your tracker mark if they don't outright escort you. If we can't keep track of your position or you leave without informing one of us, we'll act on the assumption you tried to escape and shoot to kill."
That done, he left the building, returning to one of the APCs and shouting orders to the nearby soldiers.
The second truck of injured and unconscious students drove three blocks away to the town hospital, passing by a cafe and several restaurants where evening customers watched with wide eyes and bated breath, following the unwieldy truck's progress towards the hospital's ER entrance where each student was fearfully escorted from the emergency room after check ups and placed in their own accommodations in the local hospital: one per room with minimal guard presence among them patrolling the hallway that all the occupied hospital rooms shared. Hazel, however, was restrained by three more suppression cuffs--another on her right ankle, and two more on her wrists, then handcuffed to her bed. Unlike the usual cuff on their ankles with the option of turning suppression on and off, Hazel's were meant for dangerous prisoners. While most mages would have been entirely suppressed under the effects of four, Hazel's power still petered through, though it was a long shot from any of her prior antics. Four guards were stationed in the room at all times, weapons at the ready. If she so much as hinted at aggression, they had orders to kill.
Doctors and nurses were briefed by a soldier concerning the powers of the relevant students, with USARILN East's recommendations in handling each one while soldiers occasionally checked in on the child-sized body bag in the hospital morgue, making sure the dead Savannah was truly 1. her and 2. dead.
Christmas's unconscious body was carefully rolled from room to room on his bed, the doctors injecting his blood via syringe and needle into all the injured students except Sander, whose notes had carefully and repeatedly warned against large doses of blood, and Hazel, who was under special watch. They did, however, leave one packet of blood for Sander in the room's refrigerator, the nurse handling it nearly throwing the bag as she tried to leave the vicinity of the subnatural within seconds.
After the first bout of awe at the shimmering, glassy mist that enveloped AngelΓque's torso and restored her to full health, the doctors were much more ready to utilize the boy's magic, with or without his permission. None of the soldiers were surprised to hear a request to use the blood on several of the long-term patients in the hospital and after a brief check with the commanding officer, they allowed it so long as the blood was replenished through a transfusion.
Afterwards, the doctors wheeled the healer back to his room and left him hooked up to a blood bag and IV. While the notes confirmed that the boy's blood could take in large volumes quickly and convert them, the hospital staff followed basic blood infusion procedure, fearful of the repercussions should they injure a subnatural--both from the subnatural himself and from the fearsome reputation of USARILN East.
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