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IC: Ashley

 

Ashley chuckled nervously. "That was um...an impulsive decision! I was panicking!"

 

"This plan I actually thought out." Ashley explained as they descended an elevator down to the lowest level of the mansion. They stopped at a solid steel door, there was a keypad that was used to unlock the door. It was the only thing standing between them and the Blackbird.

 

"Hmm....I wonder what the password is..." She hadn't considered that they might not know the password. "Oh! I know what the password is! It's so obvious!" She started pushing buttons, punching in DALLAS.

 

INVALID PASSWORD the keypad displayed. Ashley frowned. "Hmmmm....oh it has to be this then!"

 

KITTENS...INVALID PASSWORD

 

WARRENISLAZY...INVALID PASSWORD

 

Ashley sighed, none of her guesses were working, how would they get in? Her eyes widened as she thought of another guess. It was so obvious to her she wondered what she hadn't guessed it before.

 

WARRENXBETZY...PASSWORD ACCEPTED. The door unlocked.

 

"Haha! I knew it!"

Edited by Yoko Littner

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

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IC: Lilliana

 

"I wouldn't be an English teacher if I didn't love Shakespeare. But I'm also fond of Oscar Wilde, Dickens, and.. And... Just all of them! Have you read Beowulf?"

Ic: ######, Quinn though, she's bringing that up. He was slurping his juice box when she asked and at the mention of Beowulf he sucked that straw so hard he drank the box dry and had to crush it to get the final infinitesimally minute drop from it until there was nothing left to consume, be it liquid or air. "It was required reading," he politely said, not at all revealing his sentiment of hate and disgust for the overhyped piece of Anglo-Saxon war poetry. There was nothing lovable about the epic, the insight into ancient culture and lore in the Isles and its denizen's homelands notwithstanding, and he had suffered through all 3182 agonizing, painful lines for the entirety of half a term, further cementing his stigma against the poem forevermore.

 

His calm personality overrode any misgivings he briefly held, though, and he forgave Lilliana for bringing the pagan poem to mention. "Have you been shown around yet? I'd be happy to show you around if you have not," he offered.

Edited by Daenerys Targaryen
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IC (Romulus)

 

Romulus took his seat at the table but a few moments later. "A false alarm, it seems. She merely wanted to adjust her makeup." He didn't doubt Alaric would see right through that, hopefully he wouldn't mention it however. Things were already unstable enough, they didn't need another problem to deal with in addition to HYDRA and Ms. Worthington. Hopefully, this could be settled before he depart for Africa.

 

Hopefully.

I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people. You are wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.

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IC:

 

"Good." Tera said to Aella with decidedly increased cheer, leaning back against the wall behind her. "Behaving is good."

 

OOC: James post to follow, Jameson post to follow, as well as a few others you don't know.

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Lilliana

 

"I think Wiglaf is my favorite character." She said softly, not paying much heed to Quinn's obvious disdain for the story. "Truly an epic of the painful truth that humans shall never achieve perfection."

 

She smiled a bit as she looked at Quinn. "Actually I haven't... I haven't even picked my classroom. I'd love it if you showed me." Lilliana said happily, her briefcase still held tightly against her pencil skirt. "Thank you."

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IC:

 

They made their way down the stairs arm in arm, the perfect couple and a study in contrasts; light and dark, smiling and grumbling, beautiful and...just as beautiful. The point still made itself clear. The ground floor wasn't exactly hustling with kids but it was nowhere near comatose - pairs or trios of students would walk in groups and talk into the cafeteria to grab a mid-class bite, or maybe slip into the lounge and kick back to see what was on TV. My school. This should have been Hank's job, Hank's or Scott's. They were the ones geared for it. Tie Warren Worthington down, and it only made his wings itch to be stretched all the more. He cast a quick look at Betsy, and the thought slowly took to the backburner. He smiled.

 

She always made him smile.

 

"Well, now you can be a psionic ninja with work experience. That's double the fun," Warren shot back good-naturedly. "Did you know we're in a recession, Betsy? Every little line of text on your resume is gonna help."

 

-Tyler

 

Edited by Aegon Targaryen

SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC:

 

Jennifer stood still as the Archangel troops rained down from the heavens after Fury's announcement to the public. She noticed their bright blue skin and matching eyes. She hadn't known about the Archangels till now. It must of been very hush-hush within SHIELD. Archangels... the blue skin. No it can't be. They didn't... Archangel immediately made her think of Warren, AKA Archangel.

 

He'd had the horsemen Death trapped inside him which gave him the blue skin and metal wings. Did SHIELD really use the power of Death to create these new soldiers? Were they still even human? On the other hand it was good to hear the Sentinels were never coming back. They had brought about nothing but pain and death for mutants, for her people.

 

IC:

 

Kane chuckled at Aleks and shook his head as he inhaled from his cigarette. "No, I've seen the ugly side of humankind too much to accept that fairytale. This whole thing really isn't my style. But I try to not rock the boat. Either way it beats killing innocent people for my insane father. May his soul burn in HeII."

 

IC:

 

She tried to compose herself as she stared at Matt's body for a few moments. Maybe he's still alive... maybe I can help him... she thought. She grabbed Matt and gently lifted him out of the dumpster before laying him on the alleyway as lightly as she could. She looked for signs of his chest falling, a finger twitch, anything that would show he was still alive. There was nothing. He was gone and she knew it.

 

"No... Matt..." she whimpered as tears began to fall from her eyes. Christine never cried. She was strong and tough. But here she was looking into the innocent face of Matt smeared with his own blood and cold as death and she couldn't help but cry.

 

"I'm sorry Matt," she said as she touched his forehead and moved a strand of his blonde hair. The moment her fingers fluttered against Matt's bare skin something happened. Christine's head snapped back as Matt's memories poured into her head. How? He was already dead... she thought as the tangle of new memories tumbled in her mind, not sorting themselves out yet. Maybe he hasn't been dead for too long... wait now I can see what happened to him. Christine closed her eyes and focused on her new downloaded memories from Matt. She sifted through his memories, looking for when the chain of events that took his life began and she pressed play.

 

Matt crouched low breathing hard as he watched Aleks and John tumble from view. He smirked. Good they'll be safe. He thought. He looked down to see Aleks knife sticking out of his gut. Daken has a good throw. Too bad he didn't concentrate on playing football instead of killing people. That thought hit Matt hard. Football. He would never get to play again. Never feel the ball in his hand before he unleashed it into the air, watching the perfect spiral as it came down in a beautiful arc. He'd never play for the NFL. HeII, he wasn't even going to see who won the Superbowl. Matt knew it was over for him. This was the end. He'd never imagined it would come so soon and like this. Killed by John's brother. That's twice I saved your *** Howlett, you better not waste your freedom. Matt thought.

 

As he crouched there he saw flashes from his life. So it was true, you really do see your life while you die. Matt thought. He saw himself as a kid playing with John, Ric and Ash. He saw himself within the Brotherhood compound. Talking to Christine and Jake. God, Christine. She will be devastated when she finds out I died. Matt thought. He wasn't sure how Aleks would take it. He'd told him the truth and all he'd gotten back was awkward silence. Maybe it was better this way. Better if Matt died before knowing how Aleks really felt.

 

He saw himself with his ex-girlfriend Ashley, as they looked at the massive tree she'd grown. He hadn't thought about Ashley in a while. He hoped she didn't take his death too hard.

 

He saw himself outside the institute doing push-ups because he'd thought Aleks had called him fat. Saw him and Aleks sitting on the banister as they looked at their pics from their Hangover night. He couldn't give up now. He had to give Aleks and John more time. More time to get away from this maniac so they had a chance. He had to keep fighting for them.

 

Matt slowly got to his feet staring Daken down. He wasn't afraid to die. It would be better then the pain he was feeling now. Bullet through his shoulder, knife in his gut. Maybe Matt would see his family in the next life. His mother and father, Ashlynn. Even the Magnus family which he was related too through his mom: Pietro, Magneto and others. Cyclops and Jean Grey, the Aunt and Uncle he'd never met. Maybe he'd find his car in the next life too. Matt wasn't sure if it worked that way but he'd like to die with hope. Hope that this wasn't the end. That he'd see his friends again one day when their journey met its end too.

 

He was walking towards Daken now. Kinetic blades extending from each palm towards the ground; glowing like red lightsabers as he ran at Daken.

 

"You may kill me Daken, but I've won. My friends are safe. X-Men 1, Daken 0." Matt said as he swiped his kinetic blade at Daken's chest. Daken deflected it with his claws easily. Bone and Muramasa blade meeting kinetic energy for a moment as the two foes stared in each others faces before stumbling away from the force of the kinetic energy.

 

Daken came at Matt now. Becoming a flurry of death as claws swiped and slashed at his body. Matt parried and deflected as many of the attacks as he could with his blades. He felt claws cut across his chest, his side and his thigh. Matt stumbled back as the new cuts burned like something fierce. He couldn't have much blood left in him. He was feeling weak and sloppy. He wasn't at his best. But still he wasn't going to stop. Not till the fight in him was gone.

 

He attacked again, this time one of his kinetic blades slamming against Daken's chest. Daken was sent flying back a few feet. Matt's blade had hit hard, maybe cracking a rib hopefully. Daken came at Matt again; slashing at his throat. Matt ducked under the slash; he could feel some of his blonde hair being cut from Daken's blades. What Daken did next Matt didn't expect. His knee smashed into Matt's nose. Pain burst through Matt's face now as he fell backwards. Daken caught him. Thrusting each set of claws into Matt's shoulders right into his clavicles.

 

Blood burst from Matt's lips as Daken's claws were buried deep into him. Matt's whole body shook as he looked Daken in the face. Then he spat a wad of blood into Daken's face before grinning.

 

"I know where I'm going, you won't live forever Daken... and when you finally die you will burn. Burn worst then Ashlynn's flames."

 

Goodbye Aleks. Goodbye Christine. Goodbye everything... Matt was then consumed by the blackness as his body fell still in Daken's arms.

 

Christine sobbed now as the last of Matt's memories played. She'd felt him die. As if it had been her. Christine sat up as anger, pain and sorrow churned inside her gut. She raised her hands and then screamed in frustration. Twin beams of red kinetic energy burst from her palms and smashed into the nearest building.

 

She continued to scream as the beams shattered windows; cracked walls and left two massive grooves of destruction on the building before she lowered her hands. She'd borrowed Matt's powers... it was the last of his kinetic energy that would ever exist, and once it wore off it would be gone forever, just like him.

 

Christine got to her feet now as she picked up Matt's body and slowly began to carry him towards Aleks' Camaro. She pulled open the backseat before laying Matt's body down and slamming the door. Christine then climbed into the front before starting the car and peeling away as she drove back towards the institute. Suddenly her phone rang. She grabbed it with one hand, seeing that it was Aleks on the caller ID before she answered.

 

"Hello?"

 

IC:

 

"So... wait, you say that as if I would know this person." Nicole said after a minute.

 

"You would, actually, though as I said... You might not want to see him."

 

"Who is it? If you mean Ric I've already seen him..."

 

"No, it's someone else. Enrique, bring him in."

A few seconds later the musclebound man lumbered in, hand on the shoulder of someone familiar. The guard left and Robin swayed before leaning against the wall, obviously having seen better days, his eyes dark and hair slightly long. He had a black eye and there were slight blood spots on his face, though they weren't his.

"Hey, Nicole," he said weakly, grinning.

 

"I assure you that we didn't do this to him," Madysyn added.

 

"Robin?!" Nicole gasped as she leaped to her feet. She hadn't expected this at all. "I thought you were dead." she said as she rushed forward pulling the half vampire into an embrace.

Edited by Flex Cop
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IC: Lynae

 

The vampire grabbed her clutch and stood up. "I'm going to grab a cab... I don't really want to go home yet."

 

She made her way through the restaurant, ignoring some of the looks she got from some of the diners. She slid into her coat, her body turning into a provocative silhouette as she was consumed by the black fabric.

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IC: Robin inhaled sharply but hugged Nicole anyway, the sheath at his side clanking into the wall. "Sorry. I-I couldn't find... It's been a while, I'm sorry. I missed you."

 

Now, for the first time, Mady watched Annie's face.

 

IC: "Because obviously 'Deputy Headmistress for a day' is gonna read better than 'psionic ninja.'"

Edited by Shaquille O'Kaithas

No such thing as destiny.

BZPRPG Profiles

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IC:

 

"You never came back from that deminsion, I thought you were trapped there for good." she said as she pulled away a bit, aware that Robin had sucked in a breath during her hug.

 

"Who did this to you? And what are you doing here?" she asked as she touched his face.

 

IC:

 

"Christine, its John."

 

"John! Are you okay? Ah saw you in Matt's memories, Ah saw what Daken did to you. God are you okay?"

 

"I'm fine. Guess you found Matt then..."

 

"I saw him die in my head. I absorbed his memories. It was terrible. We have to do something. We can't let Daken get away with this. With what he did to you and now to Matt. He didn't deserve to die like that."

 

"I know," John said as he began to slowly pace. Each step pained him slightly from his damaged feet. He exhaled some smoke and then flickered his cigarette into the grass. Too lazy to put it out. It slowly continued to smoke as John talked to Christine.

 

"We'll figure something out. Me and Aleks are safe. We're in a red-cross camp run by the Brotherhood. We're coming back to the institute in a little bit."

 

"Okay, I have Matt..." Christine paused as her voice caught in her throat for a moment. "I'm driving back to the school now. Hurry back, both of you. We need to burry our friend."

 

The phone clicked as Christine hung up on John. He sighed before turning and hobbling back towards the tent Kane and Aleks were in.

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IC:
"Oh...yeah. Him." Aleks English was silent for a second before flicking his cigarette upwards in a mock salute that looked more like an obscene hand gesture than any sort of toast. "To your father, then."
Kane looked at him silently before they both began to laugh loudly again, two old mercenaries thinking about the "good days." They toasted Johnson together and then took long drags off their smokes, as though they could blow him out of their lungs and kill him all over again.
"Whatever happened to him?" Kane asked.
"I burned his eye out and torqued his neck," the Russian said back bluntly.

 

"Oh right... I remember now. I was angry because I wanted be the one to kill him. I burned his body to ashes after you finished him off."

 

"And riddance to the ," English toasted again. They laughed until John walked back with the phone and set it into Aleks' hands. Christine. Suddenly he'd wished he had been the one to talk to Christine after all. He could've just said that John was fine and talked to her. It could've been me.

 

"She's going to the Institute, Aleks," John said. "She has Matt."

 

"Alive?" One look at John's face gave the answer away. You were Murmansk's best thief before you hit puberty. You're Russian Mafia. You toppled Weapon-X. You kept the Enforcers at bay with a broken back in Vegas. You helped fight off Hydra at New York. You've seen death a thousand times. Maybe ten thousand. But he would have given everything, all his accomplishments, all of his failures, all of his loves and hates and memories and names, everything he was, for the freedom to sob like a baby about this one.

 

But he couldn't. Not for all the world.

 

The tears that were Matt Summers had dried beneath his eyes a long time ago.

 

He stood up and pocketed the phone, holding out his hand to shake Kane Johnson's. "If you ever want out in the field again, or just need the paycheck, come by the Xavier Institute Westchester," he heard himself offer, even though he wasn't quite sure why. "Nobody outbids Warren Worthington. Trust me."

 

A taxi came and picked them up from the park not long after; Aleks Belikov and John Howlett were on the road to Westchester, leaving ghosts and demons to choke on the exhaust they left behind.

 

-Tyler

SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC:

 

Kane shook Aleks hand back. "I might stop by. I've been tempted to check it out a few times." he nodded.

 

"Take care of yourself Aleks."

 

IC:

 

John sat silently in the taxi with Aleks. "You shouldn't blame yourself," he said finally. "Matt made his own choices. Daken gave him plenty of times to stand down and leave but he didn't give in. He picked his own fate." John said bitterly.

 

John felt bad himself about Matt's death. Matt had been one of his closest friends, but after being tortured for so long he felt just... numb. Part of him felt like Matt had died in vain. Daken wouldn't stop. He wasn't done with John. He'd find him again. John knew it.

 

IC:

 

Christine was speeding. She ignored the signs posted as she flew down the highway. She looked in the rearview mirror at Matt and noticed his lifeless eyes staring up at the roof of the car. A bloody smile still on his face. Why hadn't she closed his eyes? Christine cursed and pushed the gas pedal down harder.

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IC:

 

Matt's eyes are probably blanker than John's right now, he thought morbidly. Aleks nodded all the same and leaned back. The driver didn't want to talk, as many drivers were wont to do sometimes - no pictures of his new kid, no tales about a crazy ex, no nothing. He just let them have their own conversation. For some reason, that made the Russian feel absurdly grateful.

 

"I would have left you," he told John bluntly. "I was going to. Until we had a better grasp on the situation, until we had some actual firepower, until we could have fought Daken and pulled you off that roof with everyone in one piece, I was gonna leave you up there to rot. Matt was a good guy. I was smarter...and he was better. Now look where that got us."

 

It was a long, cold, bitter way of telling John "I know," but it was all Aleks had to offer.

 

-Tyler

Edited by Aegon Targaryen

SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC:

 

"Maybe I could make you Deputy Headmistress as a full-time job, then!" suggested Warren. Stepped right into the bear trap, Betts. The slow morphing of her facial features into a variety of expressions was interesting to watch.

 

"Not happening, Worthington." Was that a tinge of fear in her eyes?

 

"It'll be fun! I don't know why I didn't see it before!" exclaimed Angel, hugging Psylocke in public. "You and I can work together."

 

IC:

 

"What?" Dal snapped, before he could contain himself. "Do you three have any more need-to-know news? Tali, Bekah? Nothing? Ashley--Ashley, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not totally stoked that you have brain waves again, but I was kind of hoping you'd be, you know. Back home. On the other end of the device we need to go back home."

 

-Tyler

SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC:

 

"When I woke up in that rundown, ###### hospital, there was no one there." Ashley said rather smoothly. "When I discovered you all left our universe and abandoned me to rot, I figured there was nothing left for me there." She shrugged.

 

"Honestly if you all wanted to come back you should have left me a post-it note or something."


IC: Ashley

 

"Warren's girlfriend." Ashley replied quickly as she opened the door and led the group inside the rather large hanger. In the center of the hanger was the Blackbird in all it's glory.

 

"Woohoo!"

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

Skyra | Hakari | Oceanna | Taleen | Arisaka | Zanakra | Kaminari | Drakkar

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IC: As Kristen went back into her room, the guard closed it behind her. There were ways of locking it as well, but the guard lacked a key. Instead Song just had him and his buddy stand guard outside it. Couldn't have a stranger simply wandering around the place, they might stumble on to anything. The Black Queen needed to be more careful about her distractions, she seemed to have forgotten this one entirely.

Or did she think this one was competent enough the handle herself? Hmm, was this one more an ally than a pet? Song decided she needed to more about Lynae's latest fancy, and the easiest way, as it usually was, was telepathy. It was tricky, doing it via another 'server' as it were, but not impossible. It just meant that the entry wouldn't be as smooth as could be hoped. Kristen might have felt a slight pressure as Song slipped into her head via the guard's

 

 

IC: As Persephone watched the falling of angels she was struck with a sense of sadness, perhaps on more levels than others. For her the dread of SHIELD having the whole world placed under martial law was there, but it was...deadened. Some core element of her programming told her this was righteous, and she could see its point. It would certainly make dealing with supercrime a lot easier, an army of angels fighting for good. Quite biblical really. You just needed to give them flaming swords and voila.

No, for her the apprehension was more a quiet little niggle of inadequacy. Or perhaos obsolescence would be a better choice of word. It must have been how mobiles felt when the first iPhone came out. Looking at your replacement and having to agree that in some ways it was just better than you. It gave her the urge to crawl into some war corner and curl up, knees tucked under her chin.

She wished another Hydra robot would show up. She needed to punch something...

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IC:

 

WIth regards to maximum security prisons, there are two main distinctions; First, the prisons that an average criminal can find themselves in. Those maximum security prisons are uncomfortable, to be sure, but the primary difference between maximum and normal security lies primarily in how they are patrolled. Maximum means a doubling, even tripling, of the guards, an increase in security protocols, better cells, and a placement deeper inside the facility.

 

SHIELD maximum security is far, far worse. The entire cell block is attached to the Helicarrier via a series of clamps and locks, with only two passages between the main ship and the cell block. Both can be sealed with triple reinforced doors, airtight, and theoretically impenetrable to any non-empowered beings. Past those entrances is a surprisingly spacious facility, but that is in large part because the number of occupants is surprisingly low. Anyone housed here is someone who proved too dangerous for even the Big House, or otherwise requires SHIELDs direct supervision. As such, each cell is tailor-made to its inhabitant, designed to keep their abilities and skills neutralized. Even beyond that, unlocking one requires authorization of the highest caliber, in the form of either a direct code input or prior remote authorization. Every function is encrypted with a code that has theoretically infinite permutations, more redundancies than you can shake a stick at, and reinforced security that would make the worlds greatest technopath scratch his head and stare.

 

But among these is one surprisingly comfortable. Beyond the cells bars, an adamantium alloy themselves, and the force field that coated every inch of the cells walls with a frequency that changed every twenty seconds, was a room almost the size of a small apartment. The bed sat in a corner, a simple, metal frame outfitted with a decent mattress and enough bedding to not be uncomfortable at the very least. A table was bolted in the floor near the right edge, a chessboard pattern machined into its top. A small area was partitioned off, no doubt a restroom, and a small bookcase adorned the left hand wall, though its shelves were forlornly bare. A clothes rack held a surprisingly varied wardrobe (They let the occupant have two colors of prison clothes, imagine that.), though varied truly meant that there was more than one color, and he had a set of pajamas. A TV screen was built into the wall, though access to it was barred by the aforementioned forcefield, and mounted next to it was a radio with most of its controls present, though the volume knob was notably lacking in range.

 

However, when the doctor entered the prison area, flashing his badge to the security officers, and took his customary seat outside of the cell, something was unusual. The occupant, unlike normal, was not sitting over his chess board, idly moving his cardboard pieces, no, he was seated in a chair, eyes fixed on a seemingly random point in the distance.

 

************************************

 

The worlds eyes were fixed on the sky.

 

Not for the first time that year, not even for the first time that day. A year ago they had stared transfixed as Hydra attacked for the first time in decades, fear clawing at their hearts. Nineteen hours ago they had watched, despair gripping their souls as they realized that it was not over. And now they watched, for the first time swelling with hope as their salvation descended from the heavens. The first time they had watched, an era was ending. This time one was beginning.

 

And it was a beginning that was ushered in by hope, when it should have been met with wariness. The people were looking for a protector that would not fail, would not falter. One that would always be there. They had lost faith in their heroes, lost it when they watched them fall one by one in New Yorks streets. How quick they were to cast aside those whom had given so much, how quick to accept the new. How quick they were to overlook what, in their desperation, mankind had done.

 

The world watched with admiration, while James Rogers watched with dread. In their desperation, humanity had created something inhuman. Unnatural. They had dared to tamper with forces that they should have left well enough alone. The supersoldier crouched on what was left of a New York building, watching as divine wrath descended from the sky, incomprehensible and alien. Archangels. Such a pretentious name, and yet, an accurate one for the force which the military had seen fit to unleash. They looked human, and yet they were not. They were something else, something far more and far less than what they had been. An era was ending, and a new one was beginning, for good or for ill.

 

James cursed quietly under his breath, flipping a card between his fingers. Humanity had turned its back on them all. Turned its back on the X-Men, turned its back on SHIELD, turned its back on the Avengers. Instead they put their faith in something that they couldnt control, something untested. Something unnatural.

 

They had turned their back on those who had shed blood in these very streets. Noel, Stark, Ares and countless more of the masses, unknown to the world. They had forgotten the lengths they had gone to in order to save them.

 

But that didnt matter.

 

James stood, his armor moving smoothly with him. A gift from the late Stark. Another hero forgotten. The Archangels continued to descend, catching the suns light behind them as if graced by the heavens. They seemed to radiant, so perfect. So why did he distrust them so? Why did the very sight of them send tremors of dread running down his spine? Of distaste? He didnt know for sure. Maybe he never would. But he did know one thing for sure; The Archangels answered only to the military, and that did not inspire confidence. Nick Fury would never have signed off on this, not willingly.

 

The world still needed its heroes, it needed someone to watch the forces meant to protect them. For that, James needed his team back. The supposedly-dead soldier gave a wry smile, though it didnt quite reach his eyes, as he flipped the card once more, looking down at it. His priority card, recovered from the streets of New York a year ago. When he was thought dead. No doubt his allies would have a ball with that. Theyd probably never seen a ghost before.

 

"Jarvis." He said into his earpiece, hearing the AI chime as it surged into life.

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"Broadcast my priority cards signal on all SHIELD channels. Stark ones, too. I dont know who still has their cards, and I want them to hear this even if theyre in space."

 

"Affirmative, sir."

 

With a swipe of his thumb the card transmitted a signal for the first time since the Battle of New York. Across the world, wherever they were, its brothers activated in kind, broadcasting the signal. The rallying cry. Radios hooked up to the SHIELD and Stark channels did the same, a fact likely unnoticed by the media, overshadowed by the angels arrival.

 

"Avengers; assemble."

 

**************************************************************************

 

"Hello again, doctor."

 

"Good afternoon."

 

"Is it?" The occupant still didnt look at him, but his tone took on a dryly amused tone. "Afternoon, I mean, though the adjective could be taken into question as well."

 

The psychologist ignored the jibe, acknowledging it only with a mild grimace, spreading his materials out on the table in front of him. In truth, he was not the first to sit this particular seat, nor the first to play this game of wits. He was, in fact, the third. The first psychologist rejected the subjects case after a few weeks, citing an unworkable client and a lack of progress. The second, after delivering five different diagnoses on five different occasions, quit out of outrage at having realized that the occupant was toying with him.

 

"How are you today?"

 

"The same as I was last week, when you last asked. Though admittedly, I have had an epiphany since then."

 

This was a change, perhaps he was making progress. "Whats that?"

 

"You're always going to open by asking how I am."

 

This time, the psychologist visibly grimaced, but he forced his smile back into place. He needed to keep his calm. It wouldnt do to lose this case, this one had so much potential Instead, he straightened his papers once more, opening the file, and folding his hands on the table as he looked into the cell to see his patient. After a few moments, he cleared his throat and decided to try again.

"I've been informed that you like to read. Is that so?"

 

"Yes, it is. Have you ever read the works of Thoreau, doctor?"

 

"Actually, I have. His essays on civil disobedience and isolation were particularly fascinating, in fact, I used a quote from Walden as the opening for my college thesis."

 

"Then I pity you, doctor."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"You read the works of another, and took their opinions as more valid than others. Thoreau himself did not believe in quoting others in place of his own ideas, in fact, one of his own journal entries railed against those who did so."

 

The psychologist, for a moment, was caught off guard, falling silent once more. He shook his head after a moment, gathering his thoughts and his resolve. He'd taken extensive notes on the subjects tendency towards wordplay, he would not fall into those traps again.

 

**********************************

 

Within the White House, the president's frown deepened.

 

He watched the television, as most of his staff did, where General Morales speech was being broadcast, watched as he delivered his rhetoric. The crowd was eating it up, that much was clear. They were desperate, looking for some kind of hope. Hope that had been sorely lacking in the past two days. Many of his staff didnt understand why this speech was so important, not in specific terms. They could sense that something critical was about to unfold, they could feel the spark of tension in the air. The mixture of anticipation and apprehension that was almost palpable. The former newspaper editor knew that his family was watching, too. His wife, his son. His siblings. And somewhere above them, his parents were watching, too.

 

Would they be proud of what he had done? Would they approve of the force that he had authorized, the lengths to which had had agreed to go?

 

When the Archangels were unveiled, the shock that went around the room was audible in the form of several gasps, and countless more sharp intakes of breath. Every face in the room went through the same paces, the same sets of emotion. Wonder, wonder that these creatures existed. Curiosity at what they were. Hope that maybe, just maybe, the war might yet be won. And underneath it all was fear. Fear of what had been created, fear of what they didnt know. They were in awe.

 

In a single motion, Jameson downed what was in his glass, and his cabinet knew that it wasnt water. The president was an honest man, and a hardworking one, but this was something they hadnt seen before. Reaching to his right he poured another glass, ostensibly for a toast, as his staff picked up their own glasses. He vaguely heard the Secretary of Defense give a rousing toast, and on cue, he downed his own drink. But he wasnt really listening. His eyes were fixed on the screen, watching as the Archangels descended from the heavens.

 

For the first time in a long time, Jameson felt his age. He was old enough to have seen the rise of superheroes, and report on the Fantastic Fours inception. He was old enough to employ Peter Parker, even as he made his greatest mistake in campaigning against Spiderman. He had personally written a collective eulogy for those who had fallen against the Phoenix, and attended Parkers funeral, knowing for the first time what a fool hed been. He had lived long enough to see powered beings return, and the new fights that they had brought with them. He had lived long enough to see his city attacked time and time again, watch the nation mourn over and over and over, long enough to see heroes rise again only to fall. He had been forced to watch the people suffer time and again, and then he had been in a place to do something about it.

 

And he had authorized this. He had lived long enough to watch mankind harness powers it didnt understand in desperation, and they had created something unnatural. They had created something they didnt understand. They had harnessed the power of Death itself, a Horseman of the Apocalypse, and though he would never admit it, it scared him. The lengths he had taken to keep his citizens safe, mutant and human alike. It kept him awake at night, wondering if he made the right choice.

 

And right now, he knew in his heart that if they could see him, his parents would be frowning. He would go home and his wife would tell him he did the right thing, but in her heart, she would wonder what else he had done. What other things he might have created.

 

"Have we gone too far?"

 

The question was barely audible, but his staff turned to him. Some had already left to spread the news, but the others remained, looking at him uncertainly.

 

"What do you mean, sir?"

 

Jameson gestured at the television wearily, looking for all the world like an old man. "That. What we've done. What I've done."

 

They were quiet again, until his vice president spoke. "Mr. President, youve done more to ensure the nations safety than any of your immediate predecessors. The people will praise you, and you won't even need to worry about reelection."

 

"Reelection?" He echoed incredulously, staring at his glass again. "What a trivial thing. We've turned men and women, volunteers, into something else. We've tampered with forces we barely understand, harnessed the power of the apocalypse, all in the name of keeping people safe."

 

"But it was necessary, sir."

 

"But where is that line? Hydra, Weapon X, all of these tampered with the natural order. Tried to create what they wanted, what they needed to serve their purposes. Countless groups have tried, but we succeeded. Where is that line? At what point do we, underneath our moral justifications, cease to be any better than what we fight?"

 

*******************************

 

"Be that as it may, Im interested by the findings of my predecessors. The first replied that you stonewalled him at every opportunity, but the second He noted that your behavior changed every time he met you. The first time, he was convinced that you were a sociopath. The second he was stubbornly insistent that you were schizophrenic, after noting that you spoke not to him, but to a point behind him. I could go on and on, but I think that you get the point. He paused, gathering his thoughts once more. He then went on to realize that you were exhibiting those textbook symptoms intentionally."

 

"What of it?"

 

"Do you not find that strange?"

 

"I get bored. Believe it or not, a cell doesnt hold much potential for entertainment."

 

"I think something quite different."

 

"By all means, enlighten me."

 

"I think that youre not nearly so calm as you act, nor so uncaring." The psychologist clasped his hands, watching the subject intently. He had spent weeks formulating this conclusion, and it represented his last, best chance at understanding the subject. So much was depending on this, his entire career He was right. He knew he was.

 

"I searched out the records from your past. Graduated high school early, and then you simply Fall off of the map. Your birth certificate has been obscured, along with the details of your childhood. But from what I did see, you had nothing to hide. No crimes, no associations. But it goes deeper than that."

 

"Most of the world doesnt know how Pietro Maximoff died, but SHIELD has worked out what happened with reasonable accuracy. While he gave his speech on national television, outside of his own body, you and two others stole into his study. One of you bound him to the chair, the other fired an arrow into him You shot him. You killed Pietro Maximoff."

 

"No. I killed Quicksilver."

****************************************

 

One might wonder why Mycroft Daniels was wandering the streets of Wichita at a time when all reasonable people were abed. Why, when world-changing events were occurring, he was walking the roads with his pockets. There were a few answers to that. He might say that his existence was one big roaming, that life had set him on the path to wander the streets at all hours. But truthfully, he was here because a local stores alliance had asked him to look into a rash of burglaries in the area.

 

He didn't need to see the televisions. He didn't need to tune in to the announcement that would begin in a few hours. He didn't need to ask. He had been reading the signs for weeks, the slow reassignment of countless troops, the hints of the government that a new force was coming. New York, and the announcement of this press conference, had merely confirmed it. The world was going to change, and it would never be the same again.

 

He paused in the street, listening carefully. Muffled voices. Smell of burned rubber. Not things that should belong in a commercial district at such a time. Normal people would have called the police, or kept going.

 

But that wasnt moral, was it? That wasnt what mutants had been given their powers to do. They had been given them to help.

 

Pushing through the suspiciously open front door, he surveyed the standoff between a local vigilante and a criminal calmly, without taking his hands out of his pockets.

 

"Y'know, the worlds unstable enough without this going on."

 

*******************************************

 

"Is there a difference?"

 

"Yes, though youre not likely to know that."

"Regardless." The psychologist pushed the remark aside, refocusing to push forward. His theory needed validation. "Surveillance just before your capture, upon review, reveals that you werent abandoned by your followers. You sent them away."

 

"Time and time again, you have shown a tendency to go out of your way to keep those associated with you to be distanced from your own actions. Your past, the Brotherhood You toy with us here, you put up a sarcastic facade, but thats not it. Youre depressed. You had, at the time of your death, chosen to die to keep them all safe."

 

Finally, the subject looked up, and regarded him with intelligent eyes, their intent kept hidden. "Did you ever make a mistake, doctor?"

 

"Well, of course. Everyone makes mistakes."

 

"What mistake did you make?"

 

"Well, most recently, I accidentally switched the labels for different cases, causing a massive paperwork mishap."

 

"That's not a mistake." A pause. "I made a mistake once. It spiraled, and many, many people paid with their lives before I realized that I had made a mistake. I intended to die to correct that mistake."

*******************************

 

Tera was going to respond, when she stopped mid-sentence, eyes riveted to the window. The pacifist all but flew across the room, staring out the window as salvation rained from the sky. They were

 

Angelic.

 

Each one different, but with the same feel to them. Blue skin, sharp features, an aura of just determination. A whole heavenly host descending upon the city, their new hope. She gesticulated wildly behind her, a note of disbelief in her voice when she spoke.

 

"Turn on the TV!"

 

A small grin began on her face, a fragile expression. She looked on with rapt fascination, a sense of hope entering her heart for once.

 

Maybe things would get better now.

 

**************************************************

 

"I did die to correct that mistake."

 

"But what about the Brotherhood? Theyre still around, and if anything, stronger than ever."

 

"Yes. But that Brotherhood is not the old one. You see, while ultimately I failed, I did enough. Just barely enough. I couldnt wipe away the stain Id made, but I accomplished the next best thing; I cleared the path for whomever came after me. I gave them a chance to make the Brotherhood into what I could not, a chance to rise above the sea of blood that I drowned in."

 

**************************************************

 

"Yes, its the same one-"

 

Alistair began, before stopping short. A chill ran down his spine, Excalibur quivering against his back. The blade was an embodiment of good, something that existed to strike down evil. Corrupted creatures throughout history had found it painful just to the touch, and only those good of heart could wield it.

 

But now, if it could speak, it would have cried out in anguish.

 

Face pale, he looked to Dante again.

 

"Something, somewhere, has happened. Something is inherently wrong in the world."

 

******************************************

 

"Does that mean that you feel responsible for the crimes of the Brotherhood?"

 

Another pause, longer this time. The subject turned towards his chessboard, regarding the setup carefully. The Black King stood alone, its comrades taken or elsewise unable to aid. After a moments contemplation, he placed a finger on its crown and pushed it over.

 

'This session is done."

Edited by Simon the Digger

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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OOC: I think I’ve read chapters with less words then that. Excellent post.


IC (Borte, Saphine)


Hours after angels had fallen from the sky, descending from on high to defend the streets and cities of the United States, a black limo pulled up on a Washington street. A small cluster of beings could be observed climbing out of it, led by a black-robed Alchemist, with a sleek, lithe woman wearing sunglasses and a dark brown trench coat following after her. They were all unarmed, at least, on the face of it. One of them was quick enough to bury her fangs into the unsuspecting before their hands could so much as twitch to their weapons, another was at least seven decades older then she looked and held the knowledge to defeat death within the confines of her steel-trap mind.


Saphine honestly wished she could just burrow deeper into her coat, there was a nasty nip in the air tonight. She was just lucky she couldn’t see her breath, she supposed. When your body temperature was even with the room on the best of days, the cold was a bit more than an annoyance, it was potentially deadly. She just wanted to get home and bury herself under ten or so layers of thick woolen blankets and maybe grab a pint or so of blood before she dozed off. That wasn’t gonna happen evidently. She turned her gaze to the boss, watching her strut up to the White House like she owned it. Considering the fact that any bureaucracy that had tried to rise against her had been mewling and rolling over in the next second, she just might at this point. Saphine smirked at the thought.


One didn’t arrange a meeting with the good ol’head eagle himself without knowing how to navigate the byzantine confines of politics or in the case of the boss, barely deign to notice it as they ran it over with a metaphorical bulldozer traveling at speeds more suited to a sports car. Saphine couldn’t say she particularly looked forward to what was coming but there was precedent for it in her contract. She privately cursed the lawyer who’d looked it over for her. If she were the vengeful type, she’d track him down and jam his head against a curb. Thankfully for him, she wasn’t. Which was why she’d just written an anonymous article trashing him online, lots of creative cursing, a few cat photos and she’d congratulated herself on a job well done.


Least it’d be over in a couple of hours. Then she could demand a bonus.

Edited by Basilisk

I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people. You are wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.

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IC: Aella

 

Tera's sudden excitement took me by complete surprise. Then I saw what she was looking at. Winging beings were flying in the sky outside the window.

 

"So I take it you don't usually see flying people with wings??" For all I knew it could have been an everyday occurrence, I briefly wondered what it would be like to have wings.

Edited by Yoko Littner

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

Skyra | Hakari | Oceanna | Taleen | Arisaka | Zanakra | Kaminari | Drakkar

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IC:

John nodded not really affected by Aleks words. "I would of left me too. You should have left me. In fact, I didn't really want to be saved. But there's no going back now. No Dallas to turn back time and save Matt's life. What's done is done."

 

IC:

 

The black Hydra vehicle landed discrelty in an alleyway. The wings folding in and the tires going down as it set down on the ground. Conrad opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle. He had seen something amazing as he'd flown in over New York. An entire army of blue men raining down upon the city. So this must be SHIELD's new army... their new super soldiers. Conrad thought as he moved towards the back of the van. He opened the hatch and then smiled as he looked at a weapon laying in the trunk.

 

"Heil Hydra..." Conrad said as he lifted the sleek black sniper-rifle. It came loaded with only for or five shots but that's all Conrad needed. He was close to the coordinates Ryck had given him. Close to his targets. Conrad wasn't sure if Bootleg had followed him to the city or not but he couldn't wait for his comrade. He had to proceed before his targets moved.

 

Conrad walked to the alleyway wall and began to climb up the rusty fire-escape, sniper-rifle strapped to his backside. Once he reached the rooftop he crouched down and shuffled to the far wall of the rooftop. It had a fairly high wall coming up to about his waist if he was standing up. Conrad set the rifle down and began extending the tripod legs to keep it securly in place. He then moved behind his weapon and turned it towards the apartment building. He zoomed in with the scope, looking for signs of his targets. He wouldn't shoot them. He couldn't. Hydra wanted them back alive. But the other two people they were with. They were expendable.

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IC:

 

"Not even close." Tera replied, plopping down on the couch near Aella's waist, occupying the small space that she wasn't. "That's not even close to normal. I wonder what's up."

 

"Now wings are a mutation I'd like."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Aella

 

"Yeah, they seem really cool. They'd probably be a pain to manage though...I mean you'd knock over everything. And how would you sleep on your back?" I wasn't sure why but I felt like knew exactly what it was like.

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

Skyra | Hakari | Oceanna | Taleen | Arisaka | Zanakra | Kaminari | Drakkar

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IC:

 

What's done is done. Daken turned you into a morbid little , didn't he. Then again, Murmansk had done much the same to Aleks, so he couldn't hold it against John too much.

 

The ride continued in relative silence after that until the cab pulled to a stop outside the gates of the Institute. His Camaro had beaten them here, somehow; the Russian thief got the idea that he knew who had driven it here, and what it was carrying. He was out the door before the cab had even stopped; it was raining, and the ground was covered in a thin layer of mud, and he almost tripped into it when he got out. His walk turned graceful as he pushed through the courtyard and towards his car. A girl stood by the trunk. The tears poured freely out of her eyes. He'd never seen her cry; the sight of it shook Aleks to a core he'd thought long buried.

 

He spoke, so softly that his voice could have broken. The rain had pushed his hair to his head; it poured freely down his face, from his eyes.

 

"Christine."

 

-Tyler

SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC [Nizhoni/Wichita]

 

"Oh, hello," Nizhoni said, slipping back a distance from the thief as the mist and smoke began to clear up. The front entrance was the only way to get out, so at any rate the entrance was covered. Further distance gave the thief less a chance to get a good shot off at Nizhoni. She didn't know who this new man was, though; just her luck she'd get double-teamed. Maybe she should think about upgrading her ranged weaponry, by a stun gun or something. Maybe add electric shocks to her batons... "Quick question, who's backup are you?"

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"In short, my English Lit friend, living in a mental world of absolute rights and wrongs, may be imagining that because all theories are wrong, the earth may be thought spherical now, but cubical next century, and a hollow icosahedron the next, and a doughnut shape the one after." -Isaac Asimov, responding to a letter he had received saying that scientific certainty was false, The Relativity of Wrong

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IC: Aella

 

"Hmmmm...yeah I guess if they folded up they wouldn't be as cumbersome indoors." I admitted.

 

"If I had wings...they'd definitely be black."

 

IC: Ashley

 

The Blackbird's ramp was already extended outwards, and Ashley happily went up the ramp and into the jet. She went straight for the pilot seat and started pushing buttons and flipping switches, the Blackbird began to hum.

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

Skyra | Hakari | Oceanna | Taleen | Arisaka | Zanakra | Kaminari | Drakkar

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IC:

 

Emerald eyes streaked with running mascara looked up at Aleks as he approached; his shoes clopping lightly through the mood as he approached with John coming up behind him. Christine looked at Aleks with sad eyes. Eyes that had seen to much. Eyes that had seen what Matt Summer's had seen as he died.

 

"I absorbed his memories Aleks, I saw him die. I saw everything. He said he loved you before he blasted you away and then he died. Alone with Daken. We weren't there for him. He didn't deserve this. That mother ****er needs to pay." she said, her palms glowing red.

 

"You go in there wanting revenge and trying something and maybe you'll end up dead, or maybe Aleks this time. No, revenge will get us nowhere. We need to mourn our friend, not raid Oscorp." John said. He looked up at the sky watching as the rain fell down and pattered on his face. It felt cool against his skin. Much nicer then being strapped to the X and being beaten down by the hot sun for hours on end.

 

"God John you look awful."

 

"No... Matt looks awful." John said as he took a peek inside the Camaro and looked away. Wishing he hadn't.

Edited by Flex Cop
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IC:

 

"I wasn't particularly planning on being anyone's backup tonight, but I suppose that's not how the cards fell." The coat-clad man noted, gaze panning around the room. Mist and smoke still obscured some details, likely the result of a smoke grenade of some kind. The one who just spoke was clad in eclectic armor and yoga pants; definitely fit the description the locals had given to their own superhero.

 

Her opposite number, from what could be seen of her, was much younger. Early twenties at most. Female. Armed; Mid-to-high caliber pistol.

 

Vigilante; mid-to-to late twenties based upon physical size and vocal development.

 

"The answer to your question in actuality, however, I suppose would be you, Ms. Vigilante."

 

IC:

 

"Your fascination with green doesn't extend to wings, I take it?"

Edited by Simon the Digger

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC [Nizhoni/Wichita]

 

"You can call me Wind Walker." Nizhoni glanced back to the thief. "Well, if you're going help me, the not-so-nice lady has a gun and I do not, so we're at a bit of an impasse." All the while Nizhoni was tense; the thief was going lose patience with this at some point and probably let loose, so some quick diving and rolling would be in order.

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1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89


"In short, my English Lit friend, living in a mental world of absolute rights and wrongs, may be imagining that because all theories are wrong, the earth may be thought spherical now, but cubical next century, and a hollow icosahedron the next, and a doughnut shape the one after." -Isaac Asimov, responding to a letter he had received saying that scientific certainty was false, The Relativity of Wrong

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IC:


"No...Matt looks awful."


Aleks Belikov made an emotional decision, spun around on his heel, and rocked John in the face hard enough to elicit a crack.


John fell backwards into the mud. "Aleks!" Christine shouted shocked. John slowly got to his feet; rubbing his jaw. "Guess I deserved that one." John said. "I'm used to be hit in the face now." he said as he lowered his hand. "You want to hit me again? Take out your anger on me if you want, Daken made me his personal punching bag so why not."


"Matt died for you, you little ######," Aleks cursed bitterly. "Not some beaten down little ###### of a wreck, not some little brother with family issues and Stockholm Syndrome, he died for you. If that means anything to you at all anymore, act like it. If not, go back to Daken. You've officially caused enough that I don't really give a squirt of anymore."


He turned back to the Camaro. The rain was pouring down his eyes.


"And get him the ###### out of my car. I'm not going to foot the bill for a new interior because of some blood and corpse stink."


There was nothing to be said after that, so Aleks Belikov made a logical decision and continued trudging to the Institute. He waited for the rain to stop once he walked inside, but it didn't; it poured and poured, through the hallways and the stairs, until he ripped open the grate he used to crawl into the vents and slowly laid himself down.


-Tyler

Edited by Aegon Targaryen

SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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