Those Who Watch

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by RayCaptain, Aug 5, 2014.

  1. RayCaptain

    RayCaptain Stranger in a Strange Land

    Nov 2, 2006
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    Issue 1: Prelude​

    Welcome to Neopolis, "The Gateway to Tomorrow" if you believe its Council approved motto, but if you ask the average citizen, tomorrow looks bleak at best and like a long shot at worst. Maybe, once upon a time, Neopolis was indeed a snapshot into the future, set up as one of the biggest experiments in the world by a group of impossibly wealthy, inconceivably ambitious, but apparently benevolent technocrats known as the 'Council'. A few decades ago this area was all but unsettled, but now, with billions poured into resources and the Council's personal, mysterious contracting company Saturn Corp., a major city appeared on the map almost overnight. A city built almost entirely without human labor, on the backs of machines that did not tire, demand wages, or fall victim to illness. Neopolis, the Council's grand experiment, to discover not only just how far technology could take us, but how quickly. The population boomed, from the dozens, just the Council and their Saturn Corp. contractors, to millions. Businesses of all shades, enormous residential buildings built up, not out, with the well-to-do at in the penthouses that knocked on God's door, to the very heart of the beast, city hall, known as the Citadel, the home of the Council.

    But all was not well in Neopolis. The city's glossy sheen, future-lust design, and tall structures served to pull ones attention away from what hid just beneath ones nose... Well, ones feet really. While Neopolis, from the knees up, may have seemed a magnificent city on a hill, the crowning jewel of civilized society's achievements, around the ankles lay the victims of advancement. Those left behind, a sea of urchins whose parents simply didn't come home one day. Something that happened at an alarming rate; while any disappearance should alarm someone somewhere, the vanishings in Neopolis was an epidemic. The missing persons posters told a story of lost pieces swept under the carpet because everyone knows the world does not stop turning, even for a momen-

    The harsh sound of paper being shredded before being tossed into the air, "What is this crap?" The polygon shaped, paper snowflakes fell around a stern, sweaty, portly man in a faded suit. His voice fell somewhere between chain smoking cheap cigars and the dawning of obesity brought on by job that required donut-based meals and sitting at a desk for extended periods of time, "What is this?!" He repeated, louder and garbled, the hues in his sweaty face flowing between pinks and reds, "You may forget, Mr. Galloway, but this is a well established and respected information distributing company, newspapers damn it, we craft newspapers not tabloids. I give you one goal, one. I tell you- I tell you to go get me a spin on why our town should take on those Saturn guys to build us a new head quarters in South Central and you bring me back this? I should have you drawn and quartered for wasting my time," A deep shade of violet now, having seemingly forgotten to breathe or just had a clot reach his brain perhaps, the portly man pushed his fingers into his eyes, groaning.

    "Sir?" Mr. Galloway, a young man, too young to have the amount of gray in his hair or bags under his eyes that he did, spoke sheepishly. He was tall, lean, handsome in that 'tall skim milk latte with an extra pump of caramel' way. The clip-on burgundy tie, the uneasy lean to one side, shifting his weight on scuffed up black loafers, clutching a folder by his side, a silver band on his ring finger... A strong jaw, clean shaven except for four hairs he missed this morning.

    "Does it bring you pleasure, Mr. Galloway?" The fat man seemed to be massaging his frontal lobe he had his fingers buried so deeply into his sockets.

    "Sir?" Galloway repeated, softer, more sheepishly.

    "To bring me pain, does it bring you pleasure?" The reporter's mouth opened, his lips were thin. One meaty sausage went up, the man's index finger, "Don't answer that, Mr. Galloway," The thin lips closed shut submissively, "In fact, don't say anything. Just turn around, get on the 9:15 and take it all the way to the end of the line,"

    Galloway flinched, "A-am I being fired, sir?"

    "God I wish, but seeing as how I am either a damn saint or a closet masochist, no. No. You're being sent to Neopolis to get me a real story," The fat man reach under the table and produced a glass tumbler, dark brown fluid filled about a third of it, and a glass that was not unresembling of its owner, round and squat. Filling the glass to about half and taking a short, harsh sip, he began again, "This is your last chance Harper. I liked your old man, but I don't like you and I don't like your stories. I'm not joshing you here, either come back with a story, a real good story, or don't come back at all. Stay there... With your- your urchins and your robot slave labor," He finished the glass on the second swig, quite a feat by the expression the fluid left on his face, "Your ticket is already paid for and accommodations have been made for you in Neopolis, the paperwork is in the folder. But look at me Mr. Galloway, Harper, look at me. Do not screw this up. I mean it. Don't f**k up,"

    Harper bowed quickly and shambled out the door that read 'Head Editor and Chief' in block letters. He didn't stop to make eye contact with any of his coworkers who returned the favor as they clattered about on their computers. Picking up a small gold locket and his jacket, a nice, casual pinstripe gray jacket, from his desk Harper Galloway, journalist for some little two-bit newspaper in some little one-bit town, was headed for the 'Gateway of Tomorrow" turned virtual open air circus. Strange things, horrible, wonderful things happened in Neopolis. A few decades ago, it had just been a city with some razzle-dazzle, now though, things most unusual took place.

    Boarding the bus with a sense of anxiety, Harper Galloway did not realize he had just crossed the precipice into something greater than he was ever meant to be; a turning point, not simply in his career as would-be journalist, but in his life as a human being. What await for him in Neopolis, as he handed the driver his ticket and took a seat three rows back, was something quite extraordinary. For Harper Galloway, Neopolis was just what it promised, the gateway to his future.
  2. RayCaptain

    RayCaptain Stranger in a Strange Land

    Nov 2, 2006
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    Issue 2: Those Who Watch
    The rain seemed endless, falling in heavy, burdensome sheets choking out the palest of heats. A row of dim glows of headless light, street lights along the empty waterlogged asphalt. Underneath the awning of a building, the unlit neon sign read 'BAR', another light glowed. A faint, orange ember, pulsating like a slow, restless heartbeat. The cherry of a cigarette on the lips of a man, hidden underneath the awning from the onslaught of water falling from the black void of heavens above. The cigarette's dull glow cast along the deep canyons along the man's face, etched out around his forehead, eyes, and lips. His hair, buzzed around the ears and high upon his neck, rested neatly in one short puddle on top of his head; birch white. Wisps of smoke hang about his somber faces, gray-blue eyes peered out across the street at the other side, a row of burnt out and boarded up storefronts amongst a canvas of rubble. In the distance, police sirens wailed, and even further, the occasional chatter of gunfire.

    Nighttime in Neopolis was not always so pleasant.

    A short series of chirps and beeps came from the pocket of the man's cream colored trenchcoat. He took one last, slow drag from the dying cigarette before flicking it into the street, its orange glow snuffed out as soon as it met the roaring maw of the rain, before shoving his hand into the pocket and fishing out a small, round device, a stylized "W" on the front, and "SC." in small print on the back, "Arbiter," The man spoke coolly into the device.

    Through a background of shallow static came a female's voice, "You're needed back at HQ, Solomon," The name caused a very distinct, disdainful look upon the man's face, but only for a moment, as if a tick. No more words were said over the communicator. The man simply put away the device, pulled the trenchcoat tightly and sloshed off across pavement and vanished into the blackness.

    The sirens had long since exited the audible range, and the chattering gunfire had seemingly come to a still. Only the rain persisted.


    A circular table-esque machine, projecting a bright holographic map above it, sat in the middle of an otherwise dark room. A number of individuals stood in a semi-circle in front of the projection murmuring among one another.

    Two sliding doors opened and the man with the birch colored hair and cream trenchcoat entered, a steely-white eyemask upon his face, still dripping from the rain, "Ah, how nice of you to show up Solomon," A very petite woman in a skin-tight purple catsuit and thick heels commented, stepping over to greet him, a tablet and stylus in hand. Her voice had been the one over the communicator.

    "Arbiter," The man apparently named Solomon corrected sternly, "I've told you a thousand times that-"

    "Yes, yes," She gave a sly smile, continuing in a mocking voice making use of over an exaggerated monotone and straight face, "We don't use real names in the Watch, Emilia- I mean Lady Alexandra,"

    The look on Arbiter's face grew more irritated, "If our identities were revealed, the ones we love and care for-"

    "Would be in terrible danger, yes, absolutely awful. Except you forget most of us don't wear masks, Arbiter. We're not Golden Age superheroes. As much brooding as you do, you're not Bruce Wayne," Lady Alexandra prodded his chest with the stylus, "Now quit your griping, Bats, and fall in line. This is going to be a fun one,"

    The woman turned, her sable black hair in curls so grand and luxurious that they pushed the boundaries of reality, "Listen up boys and girls, as you are all aware, me calling you all here from your otherwise action-packed and, no doubt, riveting lifestyles, can mean only one thing. Work! That's right kids, we get to go save the city from what would otherwise surely be a fate worse than death,"

    "What's worse than death?" A young sounding boy asked out among the small crowd, "Packing anymore into those tights of yours?"

    "Shut up, Blindside," Lady Alexandria spoke indifferently.

    "But it looks good on you, babe," The boy gave a little catcall to which a much larger individual behind him responded with a solid blow to the back of his head, giving a satisfying thud.

    Emilia rolled her eyes, "Old enough to be your grandmother," She groaned, beginning to tap on the tablet with the stylus, "Continuing on. Now, our good friend Jason Alvadorez, otherwise known by his alias, Riot-" An image of a lanky, young man with a tall, fire engine red mohawk appeared. His getup was that of a guitarist from a hardcore punk band equipped with trip pants, sleeveless shirt with the Anarchist 'A' sprayed on the front, punk jacket with patches, studs, and buttons, and topped off with combat boots... With more studs, "Your run-of-the-mill Nekro-baby. Paranoid schizophrenic, anger issues, wanted for multiple accounts of first and second degree homicide, conspiracy to commit first and second degree homicide, terrorism, arson, inciting a riot- go figure-, conspiracy to start a riot- seeing a trend-, and, of course-" A swipe of the stylus and another picture of baddy known as Riot appeared, several groans and 'ew's emerged from the crowd, "-public indecency,"

    "Yo that's messed up," Blindside's voice carried an overly expressed sick tone, which appeared to much please Emilia. Her eyes moved to Arbiter who was steady on giving her the coldest of looks. Lady Alexandria cleared her throat and began swiping away at the tablet.

    "Of course, as with all Nekro-babies, Riot is a certified meta-human. Along with his increased vitality, endurance, strength, speed, and agility, he has extreme empathetic abilities, though they have proven to be very raw and mainly outwards projecting. That is to say, what he feels, others feel. Being your very generic punk, Anarchist this is one very pissed off individual, thus, everyone around him ends up a little bit cranky, throws a few punches, flips a few cars, throws a few firebombs, and attempts to hijack the nearest military power armor they can find. This is not good. The Council does not like their power armor in the hands of individuals emotionally influenced by an unhappy Anarchist. So, to prevent the Council from having a bad day and having their city leveled, it is our job to-"

    In unison the group groaned, "Be the guardians of the city, be those who watch,"

    "Very good, children," Lady Alexandria mashed down on the tablet once more and the room lit up, exclamations followed as various individuals of the Watch shielded their eyes, "That never gets old," The lady in purple smiled, her glossed lips in a quaint, satisfied smirk.

    "I don't see why we don't just smear this Nekro-baby across the friggin' street. He wants to go out with a bang? I'll give it to'm. Bang! Bang slice bang kapow!" Blindside, standing around in what looked something like a red motocross suit had two handguns, one large revolver and sleeker looking pistol, miming his blaze of glory. A very Japanese-esque sword rested sheathed on his hip, an ax on the other, and a squat, boxy rifle on his back, "Every time we send'm to the Irongate he just up and breaks out again. Just like all the others,"

    The larger individual who was standing behind Blindside, glared down in a mixture of dumbfoundment and disgust at the volatile individual below him. The man had curly, chocolate hair, the color of his skin. What little skin he had anyway. The majority of the man's body was a shiny, chrome with green, illuminated streaks running like a circuit-board across his body. Only the top left portion of his face and left arm and leg below the thigh were flesh in appearance, "You should be sent to Irongate, Blindside. I'm sure you've got something wrong with your brain,"

    "Oi, I'll have you know Mama had the good doctors look at me and they said the concussion only had moderate lasting effects. That means it ain't that bad," The large cyborg sighed loudly, "You just mad 'cause you ain't got no courage tin man!"

    The cyborg's cybernetic forearm swiveled, his hand revolving to where the elbow was, a large hammerhead in its place, "Oh! I am going to show you lasting effects you shrimp,"

    Blindside's eyes grew wide as he seemingly vanished, the hammer hand coming down where he had stood only a moment before, "Don't call me shrimp, I'm just not done growing yet!" Blindside's ax came down with a loud, metallic clank against the robotic parts of his target, the small statured assailant now behind, "Diediedie!" Repeated shouts and chops at the cybernetic shoulder served only to fill the room with even more noise before Arbiter boomed.

    "Stop! The two of you stand down!" The oldest looking of the Watch's voice quickly calmed the seas, "You all should be ashamed. Ashamed I say, to call yourselves a part of the Watch. Blindside, Ajax, you two are an integral part of what keeps this city standing, functioning. We have been the first and only line of defense against the onslaught of Nekro meta-humans for too long to have you two flub it up now. Fall in line soldiers, we're going to work now," Arbiter tapped his eyemask and it fluidly changed into a Greek hoplite style helm, still maintaining the eye covering.
  3. RayCaptain

    RayCaptain Stranger in a Strange Land

    Nov 2, 2006
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    Issue 3: Riotmaker
    "Burn it all! Burn it to the f**king ground!" Riot stood on top of the burnt out husk of a semi, a lead pipe in hand, raised high above his high, "Down with the Fascist Council! Down with Satan Corporations! Burn them to ashes and burn the ashes!" The young punk gave a psychosis-inducing noise that was somewhere between a cry of pain and maniacal laughter. Around him, the scene was ablaze. The entire block was under siege from a legion of those made mad by Riot's presence. What wasn't already reduced to rubble or smoldering was soon to be a target by the mob, "Kill'm all!" He shouted, his words fueling the mob's rage as a brawl broke out in front of his semi, teeth being reduced to splinters, teeth gnashing, and the potholed street slick with blood.

    The strike force of the Watch arrived on the scene atop the ridge of storefronts at that point, Arbiter at the forefront, a small orb hovering above his left shoulder, "Ajax, crowd control," He muttered, eyeing up the situation, "You getting this Lady Alexandria? How's the feed on the drone?" Arbiter spoke into the wireless piece on his helm as Ajax stepped forward, his robot arm flipping and rotating much like it had, but this time produced what looked much like a cannon before a sound that was reminiscent of distant thunder exited the end of the barrel. A swath of the mob cried out, grasping their ears and staggered about, some of them falling, but all of them clearly stunned.

    "Sonic cannon readings look good, Ajax. Keep that up and we can hopefully prevent any further civilian casualties," Lady Alexandria stood in front of the circular hologram projecting table, flipping through various graphs and charts as well as viewing a live feed of the situation, "The drone is getting good reception of the situation. Riot is a good test-run for them as he isn't capable of aerial combat,"

    "Keep the mob stunned, Ajax. Blindside, you're with me. We're bringing Riot to justice," Arbiter barked.

    The punk looked up from his semi, across the street towards the Watch, "Is that right you Fascist? You're gonna try and put me back into Irongate? Nah, it ain't going down like that!"

    Arbiter grimaced and stood taller, pointing a finger towards the supervillain, "Jason Alvadorez, you are hereby under arrest for inciting a riot and conspiracy to commit terrorism! Come quietly and be brought to justice or suffer the consequences of your actions at my hand,"

    "God, you really are kind of lame aren't you? Come on Clark Kent, get it together," Blindside chuckled pulling his katana from its sheath.

    Riot clawed at his face, screaming in a shrill voice, "Don't call me that! It's Riot, Riot! Not Jason, Riot!" He let out a earsplitting mix between a roar and cry and, in the next moment, the mob was whipped into a furious uproar.

    "He takes the code names more seriously that you do, Dick Grayson," Blindside giggled to himself.

    "Enough with the comics. Go save the city," Arbiter muttered, reaching to smack Blindside, but caught only air, "Should've known," He sighed and leapt from the store top.

    In the meantime, Blindside appeared from a blur in front of Riot, "Hiya pal!" Called the obnoxious quickster before taking a mighty swing with his katana, catching Riot across the face and sending him up and over before landing on the pavement, skidding for a ways before the villain could right himself. A small cut lay across his right cheek.

    "Don't you ever touch me!" Another shrill scream and the mob began to climb semi, all shouting incoherently at Blindside.

    Arbiter landed beside his younger, shorter ally, "You knew that would just piss him off,"

    "Dude's a nut, giving him a small, fluffy kitten would piss him off," Blindside retorted before rearing back to take a swing at one of the folks nearing the semi. Arbiter quickly snagged Blindside's wrist.

    "No. They're not Nekro-babies, you'll cut them in half," Without waiting for confirmation, Arbiter took a leap towards Riot, "You're going down!"

    Blindside frowned and let his arms fall beside him, the katana clanking against the semi's scorched roof, "Don't hit the civies this, don't grab the girl's butt that. Ugh, dude really is a fascist," Blindside took to pushing gingerly at the zombie-like masses crawling up the semi with his boot, sending them falling back on several more of their peers, "And again with the lame. 'You're going down', what kind of a line is that? At least say something classic like, 'hasta la vista jerk off'!"

    A sturdy right came from Arbiter, but was quickly deflected by the younger, more agile villain, Riot, "You know nothing of our suffering, it didn't affect you like it did us! They're to blame! The Council and their Saturn SS! Now look at you," Riot, with surprising strength for his rather scrawny build, took a deathgrip hold on Arbiter's fist and wrenched, the sound of bones cracking brought Arbiter to a knee, "You're nothing more than a thug to them. An attack dog... An aging one at that, Arbiter. There was a time when you could have shattered my skull with one blow, but that was a while ago. Now... Now I can do this," A second series of crunches as Riot's grip tightened, "Imagine what I can do to your skull," Riot said sickly as he reach his other hand downwards towards the helmet.

    A cacoffiny of gunfire interrupted Riot, sending him staggering back and back and back, "Didn't your Mama ever teach you not to pick on senior citizens?" Blindside asked, now standing directly behind the still crouched Arbiter, "Sorry boss, there was this one cute one that crawled up and I was hoping to ask for her numbers but I got distracted because she had this really big mole on her boo-"

    "Blindside!" Arbiter shouted, righting himself, holding his visibly broken hand to his chest, "I'm injured and out of this fight. You and Ajax will have to do all the heavy lifting from here," His voice was solemn, a hint of anguish, but not from physical pain.

    "And it had a hair coming out of it! Can you believe that? It was like all infected and puss-filled! It was sooo gross, but it's good thing I'm a romantic and see pass things like hairy moles," Blindside put his fists on his hips triumphantly, the two handguns still smoking, "And don't worry boss, I'll show this guy, I'll show'm real good!"

    "Got you covered Blindside!" The ground shook as Ajax leaped to the ground and strode over quickly just as Riot got to his feet and let out a shrill screech, blitzing towards the two of them, "Pancake and shake?" Ajax asked with a grin.

    "Stirred, not shaken!" Blindside responded excitedly and vanished into a blur.

    Ajax raised his cannon arm and a whirring began deep within the tube as the green circuitry across his body grew brighter, just as Riot came with arm's reach, his eyes filled with murderous rage, enough to send the entire city into a frenzied riot at one word, a heavy thunder came from Ajax's cannon, blowing Riot's mohawk, along with the rest of him, backwards in a straight line. Standing back about twenty paces appeared Blindisde, the boxy rifle on his back raised. The gunshot was deafening as the large round struck Riot with enough force to send him directly back towards Ajax, whose arm was rotating and switching.

    "Pancake coming up!" The cyborg called; the hammer hand locked into place just in time for a decent windup and swing by the mighty Ajax, reversing Riots momentum once again, back to the crazed quickster Blindside. With a katana in one hand and his ax in the other, Blindside instantly became a blur where he stood, a tiny tornado with the glimmering blades.

    "With a shake to wash it down!" Riot vanished into the red and shining tornado for a moment before being sent directly in the wall adjacent to Blindside, "Stirred, not shaken, of course,"

    "Dude... Come on," Ajax placed a hand over her face, "I'm going to have to delete that from my memory chip again,"

    "What? What!?" Blindside looked over at the incapacitated villain and saw the shreds of clothing that lay around oh, "How- What- Wow. That piercing look like it hurt," He sat staring, mouth slightly agape, his weapons resting at his side.


    "The mission was a success. Jason Alvadorez, aka Riot, was apprehended and turned over to the proper authorities. There were some civilian injuries prior to our arrival and some of them are going to be waking up with a migraine. A combination of a sudden empathetic break with Riot from his falling unconscious and Ajax's sonic cannon. But, no fatalities, and that is what we strive for," Arbiter gave a conformational nod after he ceased speaking, his hand wrapped in thick bandages, his arm in a sling around his neck.

    Lady Alexandria's usual look of sly smugness played about her eyes and lips, "And one team casualty, correct?"

    "Oh, hardly consider it a casualty. I just let my guard down and got my wrist sprained is all,"

    "Doc said he broke it in like a bagillion places or something," Blindeside chuckled, laying horizontally across a couch in the room, "I think the word 'mosaic' was used,"

    "Shut up, Blindeside. Don't you have someone else to torment?" The lady in purple, asked with playful irritation.

    Blindside seemed to ponder the question, "Um... N-... Not until like 6:30 or so. That's when Doc normally takes her evening shower," Lady Alexandria shot him a look, "But I'm certain I can manage to find something!" He answered quickly and vanished into a blur.

    There was a moment of silence between the two of them, Lady Alexandria and Arbiter. A long, by the looks of Arbiter's face, painfully uncomfortable moment, "You have to be more careful Solomon, you're-"

    "What? Getting old," He scoffed.

    "Mortal," She snapped.

    Another moment, and Solomon's flint-like face sank. She was always able to do this. To everyone else it wasn't strange, she new how to read every single one of them. Truly new them inside and out. But Solomon, Arbiter, the leader and forerunner of the Watch... He was not in the slightest happy that she was able to pick her way through his cool, business as usual exterior.

    "It's getting to you, Solomon," Lady Alexandria, tablet and stylus in hand, began tapping and swiping away at the screen, "With my calculations you have, at best-"

    "I don't want to hear you damn calculations," The man said in a hushed voice, biting back some emotion, it was hard to tell which emotion as they all came out the same way on Solomon. Gritty, worn, irritable, "You may not understand this but some men do not want to know how long they have left. Not that you..." He stopped, but it was too late. Landmines don't give second chances.

    "Because I'm what, Solomon? Because I'm not real? Is that what you were going to say?" She frowned deeply, her eyes narrowed.

    He stammered, searching hurriedly for damage control, "N-no just that-"

    "I'm an AI, yes. I don't eat or drink or sleep or hurt like you do. I don't age like you either," A few taps of the stylus and the beautiful AI had transformed into a small boy with a baseball cap, "I can be young-" Another swipe of the stylus and she was in the form of a near ancient looking Turkish lady, "Anyone, any age. For goodness sake, I could be a camel, would that make you happy? I could even be-" Another swipe and Solomon was staring into a mirror. Except the mirror him held a tablet and stylus. A few more swipes and mashes and his voice came out of the hologram, "I could be you, Solomon... But I have to be right here, in the base. My virtual self can't even go beyond fifteen point seven six meters from the bloody table," She mashed a button and her image reset. Back to the tight purple catsuit, luxurious black curls, and tall heels, "I'm equipped with emotional ranges far beyond that of most primates, and, apparently, beyond that of indifferent, apathetic, jaded, old men!" She shouted, her lip quivering slightly. The distinct sound of Lady Alexandria swallowing was emitted.

    "I didn't mean to offend," Solomon, Arbiter, mumbled, examining the chromatic floor beneath his gaze around his boots, "Dying isn't easy. I know the Nekro in me, in us all, it makes us near invincible for all of about, oh, twenty-five years. Then... I don't even remember how it happens,"

    "Your metabolism is sped up to such an incredible rate that your organs like your kidneys, liver, and basic muscle structure is overworked, but the worst effects are found in the heart. Structural weaknesses in many of the arterial valves are especially targeted by as little as one dosage of Nekro. One exposure and its a cap on your life," Lady Alexandria blinked a few times, "I'm sorry Solomon, I didn't mean-"

    "It's alright, Emilia, you mean the best. To keep us informed and aware. What bothers me is something Riot said,"

    Emilia shifted her 'weight' and looked confused, "But, Jason is such a low-level meta human, his empathetic powers are childlike at best. Besides, when he went out, so too should his link,"

    "No, no. Nothing to do with his temper tantrum. It's just that he said Saturn Corp. had made him like that,"

    "I could see the reasoning, in a psychosis sort of way. A branch of Saturn Corp.'s scientific chemical research wing is indeed responsible for the creation of the serum used to make meta humans and so-called Nekro-babies; however, as you also know-"

    "Saturn was knocked over by some real baddies twenty-five years ago, the Vanguard. Terrorist organization devoted to the eradication of humanity. They took out Denver, Osaka, St. Petersburg, Nairobi, but Neopolis is meant to be their jewel. They hit up Saturn Corp. twenty-five years ago, stole the serum, but something went wrong and everything went up in flames. The security forces and Vanguard battled it out. Poor bastards never stood a chance against the power suits though, wiped every last one of them out. Somehow, shortly thereafter, super powered dopeheads started popping up, wrecking the security forces and even the military, not even the power suits could stop some of the stronger ones. The Council had to do something drastic. With the help of Saturn Corp. they remade the serum and took volunteers from the military for an experiment. God those were awful. Watching boy after boy go crazy. I don't know why I went through with it, I had to be one of maybe four that they got it right with the first time around. They're all gone now though. Just me," He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, "They inject you right in your brain stem with a needle so big you could such a milkshake through it. Your whole body feels like it's imploding on itself, your blood boils and you sweat out every last drop of water and then you just keep sweating. Forty-eight hours that happens. Some don't make it, those that do, they go crazy... Then there were us,"

    Lady Alexandria pulled up a picture on the hologram of a vial labeled 'Saturn Corp.'. The thick, red gel-like substance within was apparently the subject of conversation, "But they perfected it shortly thereafter. No more serum-induced psychosis. No more deaths. 100% of future participants became successful meta humans,"

    "And became part of the Watch," Solomon gazed at the image on the screen, "What I don't understand is where these new Nekro-babies keep coming from. It's just like they crawl out of their godforsaken pit ready to blow up the city. Who keeps pumping these people full of Nekro and why?"