Saint Joseph School

Lonely again
____________________
Tawney sat in her room, glancing at the clock. An hour til the dance started. She stood up, and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her outfit was tight. Too tight in some areas. "They would all know now." she said to herself. "No way to hide it anymore. Are you ready for that?"

She wasn't ready for that.. she paced back and forth in her room, thinking of what she should do. Time passed quickly, and before she knew it, it was dance time. She reached for the door knob, then turned back.

"I can't.." she said. "I just can't. Not now.."

She pulled out a piece of paper, and began to write. A few minutes later, she was done. With a poof, she was gone, outside of the boys dorms. She slipped up to Sage's room, and slid the letter under his door.

"He'll understand, I hope.." she whispered to herself.

Sage,
I'm so very sorry, but I cannot make it to the dance tonight. Things are just, kind of crazy right now. I am not ready yet. I'm so sorry. I really am. You know how I feel about you, but, I just need to work some things out first. I am sorry I haven't been around lately, but I hope to be soon. I just need some time. If you will wait for me, I will be there for you. I do not know when, but I hope soon. If you won't, well then I am sorry for what I put you through. I lo..

The rest of the letter was smeared too much to be read. It seemed some water of some sort had gotten onto it.

With a poof, she was back to her room. She laid down on her bed, until she fell asleep, all alone...

Sage stepped out of the dance. He had been late and looked for Tawney and thought that he was far to late and missed her. Sage wandered around the dance and spotted a number of people that he knew from the school

Stasis looked lovely in her outfit, as did Mimi. The rest of the girls were looking very nice aswell. Sage counted his blessings that he knew a few of these girls. The guys that he new were dancing with the girls and seemed to be having a grand time. Sage wished to join them but held back.

After talking to Stasis, Detective and Soul, Sage had joined just in time to take a class picture. It was quite nice to be apart of something. Not to be so lonely. Thinking of that word, Sage looked about but couldn't find Tawney. After awhile Sage thought that he had done something to make
her not show.

Sage looked around from the door to the Pocket D. The rest of the school had paired off or gone from the D, Sage smiled to himself. These are good people he thought, very good people. I'll miss them.

Sage walked slowly back to the dorms, alone. With a heavy heart he opened his door and retrieved his suitcase turned around and saw a letter on the floor.

Sage crumpled up the note and threw it over his shoulder. His eyes flashed and he wanted to throw things and scream. Sage sat on his bed and sighed deeply. Taking the note in his hands he put it in his pocket. Grabbing a pen he wrote fast. After he was done he put it in Tawney's mail box.

------------
Dear Tawn,
I am sorry you couldn't make it to the dance. I was late and i though i had missed you. I tried to have fun and for a moment i did. There are good people here, people you should get to know. They care about you and will help you, as i have tried to do.

I'm off for awhile, going back to my grandparents place. I'm needed there but i shall return soon. Here's where they are if you get the chance to come and see me, i would like that.. and here's their number, call me if you need me.

Be good and be safe. You are not forgotten.

Sage.
------------------

He sat by the waterfall and waited for her to come. She would, wouldn't she? She couldn't couldn't talk to him like that, hurt him like that, and not come. She wouldn't do that.

Here, he had laughed and joked with her, and Lycia too. Lycia-- that had started all of the horrible events in motion. That man, Solomon. He had broken them. Their school, their family.

The mist from the falls made it easier to cry.

And he waited. He waited for a long time.

And just when he could stand to wait no longer, she was there.

Put on your Red Shoes and Dance
________________________

Spiked punch bowl...check.
Girls AND Guys refusing to dance...check.
Weird guy in Sweatsuit...check.
Leisure Suits....check.
Nervous teens...check.
Drama...check.
Uncomfortable Misericorde...double check.

It was a high school dance, all right.

He tried dancing, even though he hardly felt up to it. His enhanced physiology precluded most of the hormonal outbreaks that normally affected kids his "age." It also kept him from feeling anything but numb about the events of the past few months. Unfortunately, no amount of tailored organs, pheremones, or nanite infusions could remove the butterflies from his stomach.

He put on a good show, though, and his half-hearted attempts at mingling left him with an overall sense of satisfaction. Besides, there'd been a lot he hadn't known. No Annie, which was too bad, because she had just the right type of attitude to bring even the most socially awkward people to the dance floor. The same with Jai...where was he? The guy literally made dancing into an art...a martial art, but art just the same. Rooster was there, in a white leisure suit and fedora and Misericorde mostly kept the Moonwalker jokes in check. Rooster was a stand-up guy, not a lot of nonsense there. That deserved respect.

Biff was a no-show, but that was no surprise. Something was up with that kid, and it bore looking into. Just not while his pride was wounded. Misericorde's shoulder was still sore from their own little "dance party" the day before.

Stasi...he still hadn't gotten her "real" name...looked like she was way out of her element, trying to dodge all the bruised hearts that swarmed around her like angry insects. First impression was, she was at her best knocking down villains like ninepins, not dodging clumsy advances from teenagers.

Mimi...well, she was Mimi. Cut through the juvenile hordes like a hot knife through butter. Easily mistaken for one of the staff, if you ignored the hair and that dress that clung to her like...well, anyway. She was in charge, and no-one seemed to mind. She seemed capable. You'd have to be, with this crowd.

A lot of the other kids were there, too, including some characters from the Bloodvine Academy in the Isles. Mostly, they stuck together in a corner, except for some kid named Karl. He seemed to be Francis' date for the evening, but then there was Kid Lion...who knows?

There was a ghost, too, apparently: some kid named Jeremy, he was linked to the school, gave his life, something like that. Something about the apparation left him - uneasy. That...thing...had an agenda, and he'd wager it wasn't pleasant.

A couple of archaeology students from Para-U mingled with the crowd. They had the look of Scrapyarders about them, but they weren't as fanatical as most. Nice folks to know. Some of the Legionnaires were at the function as well, and he absently tried to make them feel welcome.

He drifted through crowds, through conversations, gathering some basic intel and generally trying to make himself feel at home. As always, he hadn't really made any connections to anyone, but it had only been a couple weeks. Still, he felt himself sliding into "outsider" mode, and he knew that wasn't right.

His deprogramming had gone pretty well, all in all, with the aid of Longbow's DET-6, 5th Empath Forward Support. He just felt...cut adrift. Without Minerva, his Handler, he was still unsure of his own feelings, and dreaded becoming close to anyone. He found himself slipping into the protective cocoon of isolation that had saved his humanity during the long years as an agent of The Hood. Wrapping himself inside his own mind until...


...well, until the Warwolf belched in his face. Then he looked around, startled, and saw things. Ninjas. A freaking pirate. He quickly realized, that tonight was not a mission, that there wasn't recon to complete, or force protection to consider, only that he was seventeen years old, and he was at a dance, and that tonight, being a kid was his job, and that this place was a beautiful mess, and that there were girls here, and they smelled so good.

No world-spanning evils except the smell coming off that drunk guy in the flannel. No robots or zombies, except the ones dancing like it was their birthday. Suddenly, he was seventeen, and a kid, and lonely and mixed up and he really, really wanted someone to ask him to dance. Of course, no one did, but he didn't really mind too much.

He could always take it out on some Arachnos agents later.

He did.

Crucibus stood over the bodies of the Hellions who had stormed the rave. His outward self was jubilant and ever voiceful at his victory, but his basic nature looked on his fallen foes with silent contempt. He needed a challenge. The Hollows? Or maybe the Skulls in King's Row? Either way, he was ready for the next level.

She is clear, all the way to the bone.

Not glass, because glass shatters. Not diamond, because she is not worth so much. Not even ice - because ice melts and exposes the worst places of the heart. Water can only wash away so much sin.

No, she is lucent and light as she walks down the hallway. Daybreak works its way through the tall windows to streak her hair pale and dark as she passes. Nothing hurts anymore, nothing matters.

Her girl is gone.

And Jaygo knew.

The quad is just how she left it. Somehow she thought it would be different but it's not, nothing has changed as she stands in the doorway. Kris' bed is made, waiting quietly for her to return, a stack of books on the bedside table. Lucia's corner is simpler with just a blue-gray corner to betray the suitcase still tucked against the wall and a snow angel looking shy on the single pillow. The third bed is still a tumble of clothes and shoes and laughter. A black sequin winks from the floor.

A photograph, this room, already fading at the edges.

She is clear as she walks to the windows and drags them open. She doesn't have much and the few things she owns are light as feathers. She must be making noise but really, she doesn't hear anything. Water falls and speaks its own music even as the bedframe breaks in her hands like matchsticks. It is only when the place that used to be hers is made straight and empty that she turns to look at the place where laughter once was.

It is right that her hands are wet because her face is dry.

Her girl is not coming back, these things are also empty. It takes no time at all before the laughter is gone. Glass has shattered somewhere along the way, glittering on the floor but she has not.

Two things she has saved from the slaughter. Things crunch under her feet as she picks the first one from the corner where she has thrown it, wrapping a red fist around the shoulder strap. The spikes are dull but they're supposed to be, the wicked curve of it smiling. Wachabe's gift, unlooked for, undeserved. The second is still in its slim box and she breaks the catches with one hand, cracking the metal.

In the rising light it is so beautiful and for the first time she hesitates. Another gift, undeserved. Worth so much more than she is. She reaches for the cold, cold hilt.

The armor is meant to shield, the sword meant to protect. She did neither. She watched one across the room, and touched another, and failed a third while her girl died alone.

Light as air now. Up, the armor against the wall and the killing point of ice against its throat. She does not need skill for this, she knows intimately where armor can break. She hears finally the sound of crying as the keen edge slices through the metal and pins her failure to the wall.

It is not a crucifix but it will do. Her heart made real, spikes and pain and blood. Her warning.

Her girl is gone.

And Jaygo knew.

Before anything else, that will be taken care of. Before anything else, that will be fixed.

The dance was over.
For Kali it had been somewhat of a disaster. First her dress she had so carefully chosen wasnt ready at the tailors. Then she got caught up on Peregrin Island and was terribly late arriving.
Drago was a perfect gentleman... telling her not to worry it was ok , He understood.
Arriving in an old dress, and terribly ashamed of her appearance , Kali left Jaygos jacket on until they called for the photos. Only then did she remove it , putting it back on as quickly as possible afterwards.

The dance went rather quickly after that. People excused themselves to head out to other commitments and Kali was relieved.
Drago said his goodbyes to her and headed out. She was about to wander out quietly when Jaygo and Franky asked her to tag along with them.
Franky had some leads to check out and needed a hand. Happy to be able to hang out in more familiar surroundings she agreed.

The trio were tearing thru some Circle of thorns when the com-cast came through.....

Kali didnt catch it all, but she caught enough to know something was terribly wrong. She knew Lycia was in trouble. She could hear Jaygo shouting frantically into the com to get to her and get her out NOW!
There was alot of commotion going on wherever it was happening. Kalis com was staticy and she couldnt quite hear it all.
Then the words came.... Lycia is gone, shes dead Hes killed her...

What happened after that was all a blur. People screaming at each other, some crying , and some ... like Kali ... stunned. Not sure what to say ... she stayed quiet.

She could hear Stasis now . Stasis and Jaygo argueing heatedly over the com.
" she thinks He knew? She thinks He has something to do with it? " the words poured through Kalis head until finally she couldnt hold them anymore.
She found herself pleading with Stasis to stop.... He couldnt do that... he wouldnt do that.. didnt Stasis know that?
No not Jaygo.. not Him... not her Jaygo
Kali would never believe it. She would stand beside Him no matter what any of the others thought.

Tenuous fingers prodded the cherry maple banister upstairs across the girls' hall. She was angled against the very same balustrade that her body had cracked a couple weeks earlier. Someone must have fixed it.

She looked over at the infamous Quad 5 aperture. There was a growing collection of stuffed animals, plush toys, roses, and teddy bears obstructing the passageway. Notes and letters adorned the wall surrounding the ominous door. Yulia heaved a throaty sigh as she looked away, folding her arms over her abdomen. It pained her to know that the joyful, and at times endearingly annoying, laughter from that chamber would no longer stir her up in bed. She cringed at herself for the times she sat up in her cot, cursing in Czech at the sudden uproar of cackles shaking up the walls at 3 AM.

"Waiting for someone?"

Yulia glanced up, her eyes glistened with moisture. November cocked her head to the side, those inky and arrogant brows lifted high in curiousity...wait, concern? She swallowed the lump in her esophagus, "Ano." She nodded. November watched her through softly tapered eyes, "Pour qui?" she asked quietly. "Pro vas," Yulia answered. November's face was soft. Her brows were suddenly not as pompous, her upper lip was not in its usual brash pucker. She was genuinely affected.

November drew a gaunt hand to Yulia's face and she dropped her voice to a whisper, "It'll be OK." Yulia's cobalt eyes were hazy but unusually stern. She let her hand fall to her side and she mimicked Yulia's posture, crossing her arms over her bosom; her own stance more snug and defensive. November's brow crinkled, "Fine. Fuck off."

Yulia's expression remained unshaken as she spoke, "See. That's the thing, Pad. I'm not planning on disappearing. Others have. Some never to return." Her eyes finally broke into pain. "I need you to stop with the attitude and the avoidance already. It's times like this that it should dawn on you how fragile life, companionship, and...love is. I need you to get over your stubborness and hurt. I need you to embrace the friendships that are offered. I need you to open up. I need you to let go. I need you to love me, but most importantly, I need you to love yourself." Yulia straightened. "But for now, I'll fuck off -- as you say. For little while." The word "little" was soused in that heavy accent of hers, coming out as "leetle" instead. "Mimi insists I try out the pork kalamaki at that City of Gyros place." She flicked her forefinger with middlefinger off her brow at November, "Sbohem."

She started down the stairs with her hands in her trouser pockets, leaving November in her guarded state. She spun around at the main doorway and stared up at the austere girl, "Congratulations on the contest, by the way. You and Andrew consistently look good together it seems. Don't let that get to his head, yah? You're still mine." Yulia smiled up at her weakly, her eyes still overtly dewy. She swiveled and exited with her chin down.

Mis sidled through the halls, hands thrust deeply into his pockets.

Many of the children here had some difficulty separating themselves from their own mortality...and why not? They were scared kids. Kids with powers, but scared kids nonetheless. Most of them were kind at heart, and had an innocence he envied.

He stopped at his locker, pulling out a few textbooks, and checked his hair in a tiny mirror he'd placed there. He made some faces. Introspective much? Gotta snap out of this. He slammed the door shut loudly; a few kids looked up, startled. Mis smiled winningly. Anything to break the tension. He headed to the Library.

Still, it seemed to him that the majority of the kids had left presents at Lycia's quad almost as offerings to an angry deity, to stave off the inevitable. Rumor had it, that Solomon character had made none-too-idle threats towards the students of St. Joe's. He stopped at the fountain for a drink...the water was tepid, and the taste of it was thick with iron.

Rumor also had it that Solomon considered himself "chosen by God," although it seemed sort of suspicious that God would declare open season on a Catholic School, even one like St. Joe's. This struck a chord with him, having spent his childhood as an indoctrinated religious fanatic probably twice as disturbed as this individual. Something one of the Empaths at DET-Six told him during his therapy stuck with him, something by Aquinas...

"Beware of the man of one book. "

Even so, something didn't add up. In the old days, murder was typically the last resort. Why kill one girl? The heat from killing masks wasn't exactly low-key. "And you should know...Misericorde." It just didn't add up. This guy had big plans, and every member of this school was caught in the strands. And now, so was Mis.

He'd seen Stasi head off with that Bloodvine kid, VonWhatsisname the night of the dance. Now the kids were saying she was blaming Jaygo for Lycia's disappearance...that he knew something about it. What was that all about? Was this just her grief at being unable to protect her friend, transferred to the J-Man? Or did she know something no one else was privy to?

A Sister cleared her throat. He suddenly realized he'd been standing bent over the water fountain for five minutes. He'd also grown a "kick me" sign. "Are you going to stand there all day, Michael? Is the water here THAT good?" She plucked the sign from him, and several students giggled, in spite of the sombre tone of the place.

He straightened, and flashed a quick smile, showed some teeth. "No, Sister. I guess the atmosphere in here is a little heavy..." She nodded compassionately, and dismissed him.

He wondered how some of the Big Names handled this...how did they pick which battle to fight first? How did they know who to trust? This school had global-level threats on every front, and those were just the attending students.

Why would Longbow, and Minerva, send him here?

He filed it away for future reference. If someone wanted his help, they'd have to ask. Besides, that cute telepath in his Alien Physiologies class told him there was going to be a quiz today.

(I don't know where to put this. I'm not even sure how to set the stage. It just is.)

Ode to a Sometimey Gyul

Black and white, their fingers touched
And quickly intertwined
Both dark and pale
They made a scale
A full eighth when combined.

Hot and cold, the air they shared
Became like steam, like mist
The icy fear
Of heat so near
It melted when they kissed.

Snow and shadow, thus enrapt
Saw what they wished to see
How blind they’d been
To her, to him
Lost in uncertainty.

Love and loss, they felt them both
When parted lips at last
Such happy torture
Seemed the future
When looking from the past.

Fear and hope, they saw each other
And made each other swear
To guard it, keep it
Own it, speak it
They smiled at what they’d shared.

(Thank you. Let the PMs commence, right? )

The Sub
___________________________

As he pressed further into the depths of the cargo vessel, the Council forces fell before him like stalks of wheat. Each strike from his claws a reminder to each man that fell before him that it could have been worse, much worse, had they continued their advance. He took the time, that extra second, to remind them of what he could do to them with these, his terrible claws. He often leapt recklessly into the fray, gunfire biting into him angrily. When he reached each enemy, he allowed them to think him impervious to all harm. It helped them surrender more easily.

"You've got to get me with your first shot, or you won't get me at all," he whispered through a smile, to no one in particular.

He felt good. He was working alone, as he often did; this came naturally to him. It allowed him to gather his thoughts as he disarmed each foe, leaving them the option to flee or risk serious injury. Most were smart enough to head up to the cargo level, where Paragon SWAT was ready to prep them for transfer to the Zig.

Mis had cleared the final cargo hold, when a grenade took him full in the chest. His body flared briefly with a burst of pale green light, miniature machines signaling repair systems hard at work, converting their energy into light. The concussion rattled his teeth, yet he stood his ground.

And that's how he met Archon Tuvol.

Their fight was brutal. Tuvol was no slouch; when the grenade failed to stop Mis, he switched to a flamethrower. When that didn't work, he stepped in to attempt to finish the job, personally. He blocked some of Misericorde's strikes relatively easily, but not all. Mis wore him down, slowly. Tuvol just couldn't outdamage Misericorde's ability to soak it up. Each strike of Misericorde's claws tearing away more and more of the Archon's armor.

The battle moved to a stack of cargo containers, several stories from the patient steel deck below.

Finally, Misericorde knocked Tuvol onto his back with a focused attack that left the Archon reeling. He was dangerously close to the edge of the container; Mis prepared to allow him to yield, when he realized that Tuvol was breathing hard. Too hard. Mis stepped back, puzzled. Was Tuvol committing suicide? The briefing Stephanie Peebles had given him didn't indicate Tuvol was the type to die. The Council's lawyers were getting people out of the Zig on technicalities all the time...

Mis cautiously took a step forward. Was this some sort of trick? The dossier didn't mention any medical problems, and he wouldn't be an Archon if he wasn't in perfect shape...

Tuvol's breathing got heavier as Misericorde approached. Misericorde stopped short, confused. Quietly, he asked..."Are you...ok?"

The Archon's voice was husky, "Yeah, baby, DO it."

Misericorde froze, dead in his tracks. He was glad his new costume hid the look of utter disbelief that crawled across his face. "I...beg your pardon?"

Mis could see Tuvol lick his lips beneath the cloth of his mask. Tuvol spoke again, his voice thick with lust. "Hit me again. DO it, c'mon..." Tuvol moaned.

For the first time in his life, Misericorde was shocked into complete inaction. This was an unwelcome development. He didn't even have a clever reponse to hide his complete confusion.

Confusion became revulsion as Tuvol crawled forward and caressed his boot. "Aw, man...." Mis stated, and kicked Tuvol in the face. The Archon moaned with desire. "This is not happening...this is NOT happening." Mis felt a little sick, and embarassed, and this was definitely NOT his element.

Tuvol made another grab at Misericorde's boot; he had removed his mask, and the guy was sweaty. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He tried contacting Paragon SWAT on the secure channel, but all he got was laughter. "Hahaha, you got TUVOL down there?" was the only response. He could hear raucous laughter from the command post channel.

Tuvol crawled into a kneeling position, his voice heavy with desire."C'mon, baby, HIT me! Do it right! Do it....hard."

Misericorde's foot caught him under the chin, that swift kick sending Archon Tuvol of the Council into a reverse somersault from the kneeling that would have made an Olympic diver proud. He hit the steel deck with a wet sound and a crunch. He was tough, he'd survive, with some good physical therapy. And a good psychotherapist.

"Hard enough for ya?"

((Post Rescue))

Kris stood in front of the mirror, inspecting her handiwork. It was an excellently done job, she thought to herself, as she pulled the latex gloves from her hands, then toweled her new raven locks of hair. It was hard enough to see her face, without remembering it all. At least now she had a distraction in her new hair color. It was time for bed, now, so she would try to get some sleep. If she could manage to do it.

After three hours of pretending to sleep, she got back up, and put her outfit on. Time to fight crime, if she couldn't sleep. She wondered what was going to happen next. Everything seemed to be moving by in fast forward, while she was slowed to half her normal speed, metaphorically. Kris knew she needed to see Conrads, but she was tired of people wanting to talk. Sick and tired of it to an extreme. She felt bad about snapping on the comm to Francis, Sapphire, and Detective, but sometimes the feel good stuff wasn't what she wanted.

Hangin out with the Girls

The Girls were all meeting up under the Yellow line in Atlas. For the first time Kali was brave enough to ask to tag along.
She was so excited to be able to be one of "them" she grabbed the jacket sliding it on quickly hurried to the train.

It was nice at first. Stasis , Mimi , Kris and her all talking .
Then it got a little uncomfortable.
Stasis and Mimi were conversing when Jaygos name slipped into the conversation. Kali went semi silent. She knew too much about Stasis and Jaygo. She knew the hard feelings ran on both sides and for very different reasons. So she put back on that smile she forced herself to wear so often and tried not to show anything bothered her.

The tension was obvious...

Stasis and Kali had never spent much time around each other. Not that Kali didn't want to..... neither had run into each other much and when they had the timing was always bad.

She didn't mind Stasis asking her about Jaygo... not even when she asked " What about Jaygo... is He a touchy huggy kind of guy Kali? "

She saw the shock on Mimi's face and even when Mimi told her not to answer she did.

" He's never crossed any lines if that what your getting at Stasis" Kali replied smugly.
"there maybe that'll appease her" she thought to herself .

But oh god how she wanted to say more.....

She wanted to tell Stasis that she knew Stasis was always His first choice... that even now she was sure Stasis could have Him if she wanted Him... but no , she couldn't say it. To know it was one thing. To actually admit it out loud was another.

She couldn't let Stasis know how jealous she was of her. Stasis had it all...
She's so pretty , She's outgoing, She's so smart , She's a fighter....

All the things Kali wasnt and probibly never would be.

But Stasis was something else Kali wasn't... She was cold and seemingly uncaring. Another thing Kali probibly would never be.
Kali could never talk to anyone as harshly as Stasis did.

Kali was lost in her own thoughts when the conversation took another turn. They had been gabbing about resteraunts and which theyd been to , how the food was , etc... etc , when Mimi abruptly exploded at Stasis.

Kali stood quiet again. Listening to Mimi's rage and finally watching dumbfoundly when Mimi raced off in tears.

Stasis played it off as if she had no idea what it was about. Asking if Kris or Kali knew. Kali didnt know, She hadnt been around much to know any gossip or tall tales of anyone at SJS. And Kris? Well of course she didn't know She'd been in hell for the last few weeks and was barely adjusting to being back in SJS.

She tried to comfort Kris briefly as she too was bewildered and upset at the outburst but she knew she hadn't helped any.

Watching the girls leave Kali was almost glad the visits hadn't lasted any longer. It wasn't how she had wanted to hang out . She had wanted to laugh and joke with them . Like she'd seen them do in the halls and in the cafeteria. She had wanted to be a part of them.

Maybe next time..... maybe when things at SJS calmed down a bit. So much had happned so fast. Tensions were a mile high and were effecting everyone.

Report
______________

Misericorde sighed; the report was complete and ready for upload. He was proud of it, too. There was a lot of good information, and he'd spent extra care detailing his Task Force's attack on the Clockwork King himself. He felt Minerva would be pleased with him.

He took a final glance around, and hooked his laptop into the "Secure Line" at the Info Terminal. It appeared damaged beyond repair, to discourage tampering. The fact that it was located in "Faultline" helped keep inquiring minds away, as well.

He hit the "XMIT" key located on the terminal, and waited for confirmation from Minerva.

>
>>
>>>
>>>>
>>>>>
NO RESPONSE> USER NOT FOUND>TRY AGAIN Y/N?

Mis frowned. This was...not good. He hit the "Y" key, while chewing a hole in his lip. Well, he tried to, anyway. Damn regen.

CONNECTION TERMINATED BY REMOTE SERVER. CODE b23ac%se*

He cursed and jerked the data cable from the info terminal quickly, before it could send the preprogrammed command to erase the contents of his laptop's hard drive. Whoever was on the other end of that line wasn't Minerva. Either the terminal had been compromised, or something was up in TacOps. Either way, protocols dictated that he was to assumed to be "in the open" and his codes compromised until he was reached by his Handler, or her superiors...neither of which would reveal themselves to him until the heat was off him...whoever, or WHATever the heat was.

Misericorde packaged the laptop securely into his satchel, and leapt away nimbly, as the Info Terminal / Uplink sent a shower of blue sparks raining down into the ravine nearby. It was now as it appeared to be...damaged beyond repair.

He had been cut adrift, on his own until he was contacted by Longbow. He headed back to the school, and for the first time, in a very long time, he was worried.

Misericorde sat nervously in the waiting room, chewing at his lip. Freedom Corps headquarters still made him uncomfortable, but he was relatively anonymous among the swarms of new heroes running about the halls. he had been waiting quite some time, and the smell coming off the guy next to him was really starting to turn his stomach.

The S.E.R.A.P.H. researcher finally came out of the lab. She was pretty, in a librarian sort of way. Soft-spoken. "Dr. St. John-Smythe will see you now, Mr. Corde."

He stood and stretched, silently wishing the guy next to him good luck with his aroma issue. Michael hoped he could get the scent out of his uniform before lunchtime. The researcher led him to a partitioned room in the back, where St. John-Smythe was waiting for him. This guy was a mover and shaker in S.E.R.A.P.H., though you certainly couldn't tell by his demeanor; he was like a favorite grandfather...for science-based superheroes. He smelled like aftershave, starch, and clean clothes. Misericorde called him "Smitty."

"Ah, Michael! It's been awhile." Smitty had always had a kind word for him, in spite of his past. "I had a chance to examine the blood sample you sent me. Been spending some time in Terra Volta, have we?"

Michael chuckled, in spite of the concern gnawing away at his gut in much the same way he gnawed at his lip. "Yeah...some mercs got hinky, wanted to blow the thing up. Obviously, we succeeded...but...eh...I haven't felt the same since."

Smitty nodded, and reviewed the notes on the clipboard, flipping through several pages slowly. Everything was so damn shiny here. Even the paper. "Well, your body has undergone some fundamental changes. Healing properties were degraded 5% across the board, and...there's been a significant alteration in your physiology."

Michael nodded, not liking where this was going. He bit down hard on his lip as Smitty continued.

"Also....your basic kinesthesiology has been altered, as well as your nanotech power supply and routers. You mentioned teleportation, well....technically you aren't. Your body is sending tremendous amounts of energy to your body, accelerating you to a tremendous velocity in a very short time...so that travel time is percieved as near-instant. So, you're not really teleporting, per se, just hyperaccelerating. Your visual systems can't quite keep up with it, but...that fight or flight system of yours kicks in, and slows you down. It technically takes a long time to slow down, but it still happens so fast that no one can percieve it. So, you can't move through solid objects like a true teleporter, for instance."

Michael stared at the floor. Even the floor was shiny in here. He hated it. The whole place was sterile, just like he felt inside. A shiny, new person... engineered, organic, but devoid of real joy or emotion. Sterile.

Smitty placed a reassuring hand on his schoulder. "Michael, look on the bright side. First of all, you're one of the fastest men on the planet now...you just can't quite control it yet. That lack of control is what makes you so fast..so learn from this, ok?"

Michael mumbled something that sounded like "Yeah, ok."

"And second...my findings show that these effects are temporary, so relax a bit. Like I said, learn from this...because you've got no choice." Smitty squeezed his shoulder a second, then straightened his labcoat.

Michael sighed, then stretched like a cat. His back didn't pop; it never did, really, unless his spine was broken...which happened more often than he cared to admit. This, like all wounds, he imagined, would heal with time.

That was him, really. It was what defined him, in a way. Pick him up, throw him down, break him, remake him; fold, spindle, mutilate. The amazing, incredible, breakable, repairable boy. No matter the damage to his physical form, he...remained.

Michael thanked Smitty, and exited the room...at least Captain Stinko was gone. He just hated to relearn his body...again...with Minerva missing, Longbow gone silent on him, and Scythian back in the picture. When it rains, it pours.

His comm suddenly chattered to life; one of his contacts said there was only an hour to stop the Family from their newest plot, and could he make it to Independence Port fast enough to stop them?

He smiled, in spite of himself.

"Figure I probably can."