“If you’re so sure, then the door is right there.” The King said, as the way they’d all come in slid open. Nobody dared move. Even the inmate in question blinked a little, almost seeming to reconsider, before shrugging again. In his mind, there was no way they could’ve pulled off something like that without anyone noticing anyway.
He made his way to the door, at a casual pace, everyone watching him with wary, or mildly curious, eyes. He took a step outside, and turned to the others. He smirked, “See? What did I-”
And then his head exploded.
The headless man toppled to the floor, and lay limp on the ground, before a couple of the guards dragged him off and the door closed behind them again. A frustrated sigh could be heard over the speakers.
“There’s always one, isn’t there? Oh well, Jacob Greene was one of my less essential pieces, so I suppose he was worth the sacrifice.”
Most of the inmates were stunned into silence, especially the others who had shared the ex-inmate’s opinion. That could’ve been them.
“I don’t suppose objections will earn us his fate?” Khan says, tone flat. “I have several, but you don’t seem to be quite receptive to what we might say. I suppose I shall have to keep them to myself.”
Khan turns, his eyes boring into the projection. “My name is Khan, and you would do well to remember that. You may think yourself untouchable, as all tyrants do, but that shall only make it hurt more when you fall.” His usual level tone is gone, replaced by malice, his face twisting into a snarl.
“I suppose you would know a lot about tyrants, wouldn’t you Khan? You were quite the troublemaker back in your homeland. Where was it again? Bialya? Kahndaq? Some sandball like that anyway. But let’s return to the matter at hand, shall we? The floor is yours, my Knight.”
The King stepped away from whatever camera was recording him, and into his place stepped a rugged dark-haired woman with piercing green eyes, “My name is Lydia Rhodes, and I’m going to be your field commander for this mission.”
Why the heck am I still living in this neighborhood?
Gideon marched up the steps to his apartment building, stealthfully checked about to make sure he wasn’t being obviously followed, and unlocked the door.
With his back to the front door Gideon nearly collapsed entirely. It wasn’t stress from worry, it was stress from having to deal with a literal wave of organized crime swarming all over his doorstep, and nobody was doing anything to stop it. Where were the heroes which were supposedly everywhere? Why weren’t they, y’know, ‘saving the day’?
Fumbling with his keys for a moment, Gideon ascended the stair and unlocked his apartment door. Time to completely reword his resume and try the next job… And maybe take the train this time.
Covering visibility of his face with his hand, Iosif swiftly made his way back to his room, slinking around the door and closing - and locking - it behind him. He looked about in a horrified manner, deathly suspicious of someone jumping out of a closet or slinking out from under the bed.
No security cameras in the corners, no loose floorboards with someone hiding inside, and yet I don’t feel…
Alone.
Iosif slowly slid down his door, cradling himself in his arms. I know there’s an outlet in here, behind the bed. But what good does it do? I keep running, I’ve crossed more of the planet than I ever knew existed, and I can’t get away. I’ll never get away.
And now I tell myself that I can be honest and ‘friendly’ with people. They’ll just turn on me. All of them do. One day, they’re going to get me.
Happy to wait around until the speech ended, she glanced around as Lauren continued her work. “What do you even need to take pictures of. You can’t use all the pictures in the newspaper anyway.”
“Well, my… coworker is writing an article about this. Which means I’m going to need a picture to go with the article. And really, you just expect me to take one and deal with it? What if the picture I take doesn’t come out right, or doesn’t match the article? Plus I just like taking pictures…” She adds the last part in an undertone.
Amid the crowd of inmates, Selene slowly regains her composure, pointedly looking away from the late Jacob Greene. She glances over toward the camera, and the green-eyed woman glowering out from it.
“How…many of us are going?” She says hesitantly, picking absently at the back of her neck.
“All of you. You were each brought here for a reason, and each of you has skills that this mission requires.” Lydia explains, “We wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble otherwise.”
The next job was a curious one, but it paid: security for reporters of the Lancer. Apparently there had been concerns ever since the unprovoked attack at the Luthor rally that some of the newspaper’s employees might get assaulted on the job.
After who knows how long, half an hour, more perhaps, Iosif would likely hear a gentle rap on the door he laid against.
Mrs Kelly’s speech was beginning to wrap up now, the crowd’s frenzy having died down somewhat as some shuffle this way and that as they begin to loosely disperse.
Gideon sank into a chair and rubbed his forehead. A quick search on his phone confirmed his suspicion about their position on masks.
Well. Wouldn’t hurt to apply. He called and as usual was left leaving a message. “Hopefully that’s enough of an advanced notice. I better get out there if I want to catch the subway.”
Ten minutes later he was freshened up and had a slightly modified resume, with notable changes including ‘history in lab work and general knowledge of chemistry’ changed to ‘history in security work and general knowledge of journalism’. Master linguist if there ever was one.
Papers in hand, Gideon exited the apartment building, hoping that there would be no giant goons threatening to kill him or cats up trees or… Where the heck are the Real masks?
Any attempt to sleep was in vain, Iosif’s nerves were too preoccupied being live wires. The gentle rap resulted in Iosif jumping forwards, landing on his face, and swinging his arms up to avoid being struck.
After about fifteen seconds the door unlatched, and with all the speed of a snail on doxepine opened enough for Iosif to see out of.
“Wait don’t you guys have those cool new fangled cameras or whatever?”
Perking up as the crowd brushed past them, Adelaide happily glanced around. “Wish me luck I suppose. If I somehow manage to land it, maybe you’ll get an early scoop.”
Nobody causes any trouble, but the whole neighborhood is still crawling with gangsters, committing crimes and dealing product. If Gideon stopped to deal with them all, he would probably be there for the rest of his life. Southside had been a dilapidated mess for decades, but this was getting ridiculous.
The friendly smile of a woman this time greeted Iosif’s tentative peeping through the door, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there. Iosif, right? I’m Mandy. I just came to let you know that lunch is ready. We can bring it here for you like before, or, if you’re feeling brave, you could come to the cafeteria and eat with the other kids. What do you think?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” A voice speaks up from the back of the crowd. “But I heard you say that you believe Mr. Luthor to be our best hope, at getting rid of these masks?” Anyone who turned to look might see a man in a very crisp, white suit, likely in his fifties, very thin and, if it weren’t for the way he held himself, very frail looking. “But what can he do for this cause?”
Samantha Kelly stopped in the middle of her closing remarks, regarding the newcomer with a quiet suspicion as she let him speak. The crowd turned on him with similarly ostracizing glares. Once he had finished, Samantha smiled as she drew up to her full height again, very much in her element.
“Mr Luthor has shown solidarity for our cause, and has already been in the White House once. He’s at the top of opinion polls despite being an Independent, he’s a popular public figure and had a successful previous presidency, but most importantly, he’s speaking for the people. People who are tired of the unchecked violence and destruction left in the wake of careless masks battling it out in our streets. If he gets into office again, Mr Luthor will be in the perfect position to bring the justice system up to speed with this modern world. He’s pledged to expand the influence and duties of the SCU, which may include employing more metahumans to put them on an even playing field. That way, we could start to phase out masks entirely, and crack down on those that step out of line. With America at the forefront of this phenomenon, if we begin to change our tune, the rest of the world is likely to follow. In time, the masks could be a thing of the past.”
“Well, I’m just saying.” This man answers. “As you said, he’s been in the White House once. And yet, what did he do then about this? Because obviously, if it was anything, it wasn’t enough. And on top of that, as you said, he’s independent. True, this keeps him out of the pockets of the parties, but it also means he doesn’t have that support, be it in the House or Senate. He’s alone, and it’s hard to pass legislation on your own. And why, why do we have to rely on legislation anyways? Why, when the government has done so little to help us already? Surely, this is something we can do more about that sit and wait for them to do something when they haven’t already, Luthor included.”
(@TheMightyObsidianDude)
Gideon was having a hard time giving a convincing death glare to every goon he could see, whether or not they were even remotely facing him. Being mean was not in his work experience, but neither was figuring out subway lines, which took him a solid fifteen minutes of staring at the route map.
Finally convinced he had a sense of where he was headed and how he was headed there, a train pulled up and he, along with a couple huddled people who may or may not have been regretting their decision to head out, boarded in awkward silence.
At least I have these papers to look- Crap! Gideon pinched his nose angrily. I misspelled Lancer as Cancer. That’s what I was forgetting, to bring rope for when they lynch me.
Iosif gulped.
“I’ll come.” He squeezed out of the door with incredible dexterity, shutting it behind him as if he had never passed through. Would he have preferred to eat in utter isolation? Absolutely. But they would almost absolutely spy on him or try to hurt him- no, trying to hurt him was a certainty. You go along and you don’t lose any fingers.
Plus, crowds were great for tests. So many people to get lost in, hide behind, climb across… Unless they all turn on you. That happened before and it wasn’t fun.
A chance I’ll have to take. Iosif thought as he meandered forwards and hoped the kindly Mandy would outpace him and indirectly lead the way there.
Mandy blinked as she watched this unfold, but didn’t comment on it, simply smiling and saying, “Glad to hear it.”
“Just follow me.” Mandy said, walking on ahead, and leading Iosif down that same corridor that Mark had done into the now bustling cafeteria. The place was a clamor of voices and sounds of cutlery against plates, there had to be at least fifty other children of various ages here. Some had noticeable abnormalities betraying their metagene, while others looked outwardly normal. Among the people gathered there, Iosif might spot Trisha fidgeting in her chair, or Tom using an extra pair of arms to shovel double the amount of food into his mouth, with mixed responses of both amusement and disgust.
Iosif clutched his stomach and immediately looked in a different direction. Ugh. I obviously threw up and fell down last time I saw… That… But I don’t know what else I did. Did I say something compromising? Or-
Focus. Move. Table.
With a mechanical stride, Iosif moved directly to the first open seat his eyes came across. All the tables were equally noisy, clamorous, and packed, and Iosif was too distracted by his own thoughts to notice where he sat, if he had passed any other open seats on the way there, or who he was even sitting with - the objections and encouragements coming from Tom’s table were so prevalent he may have accidentally ended up across from him.
He didn’t know and as long as he didn’t make eye contact it didn’t matter as long as he… Actually, what was he trying to accomplish?
Food. Iosif whacked the bones of his ankles together to refocus himself. You are here to eat food.