I hate coffee...especially when it contains hallucenogenics.
Dr. Volkov was contemplating what appeared to be a...crab...talking to a...ninja, and thought it best to not take sips of his coffee anymore. When aforementioned ninja rose with the intent to kill a man not far from him, only to be restrained by...the talking crab...Volkov concluded that the hallucinogenics must be in the air, rather than the coffee, as it seemed to be producing vivid experiences far beyond the possible quantity of drugs in a few sips.
He still didn't sip the coffee; the stuff tasted like bitter piss and caramel.
Considering those around him, Dr. Volkov was fairly certain this 'Red Hand' organisation was in the business of special individuals, as a fair few around him had those subconscious, yet annoying tendencies to either use their power to perform simple tasks, or to over-compensate and struggle with things they would normally do with their ability, in some bizarre attempt to prove that they're actually quite average.
In his life Volkov had, however, been around enough individuals of the 'special' persuasion to grow used to...well, them being annoying, and was currently much more concerned with this Red Hand.
The heavily armoured waiter was one of those concerns, but events prior to his sitting at this table, squashed between two strangers, seeded these doubts.
Volkov was fairly certain that this organisation may just be a little...evil.
Earlier that day, Volkov had been enjoying the finer points of living in a run-down shithole apartment - in other words; sitting down, reading a book, and breathing musty air - when a fairly forceful knock shook his door. Dr. Volkov, being a private gentleman, liked his door - it kept out people he didn't want in, after all - and was not too happy to hear someone knocking, let alone doing so with such force.
Volkov opened the door ever so slightly, as far as the latch...lock...contraption would allow, and took a good look at the three individuals gathered outside his home.
The closest to the door was a woman, flanked by two men, all of which undoubtedly had abilities - the male on the left certainly possessed super-strength, due to the ludicrously large limbs attached to his ample body. The woman had the usual confidence that came with feeling one is above the rest of humanity, but took it to an extreme, it seemed, as the two men consciously kept a fair distance from her, most likely learned behaviour after having a few conversations with her.
The other male on the woman's right did not have an obvious power either, but he was dressed the part; amongst other flamboyant, eye-catching items of clothing, one stood out.
"Oh, dear lord, is that a cape?"
The smug, over-confident look on the woman's face twitched, recovered, and twitched again, before she replied.
"Dr. Josiah Volkov, I am here on behalf of -"
"-No, really, do tell me that is not a cape...Dear boy, this is not a comic book, how on Earth do you face going...anywhere looking like that?"
It was the prancing prat's turn to twitch, as the woman, more forcefully this time, began her prepared speech again.
"Dr. Josiah Volkov, I am here on behalf of The Red Hand"
"Who?"
"...The Red Hand, who believe that you fit the qualifications required to join their organization, due to your, shall we say, special abilities."
Still speaking through the gap in the door, Volkov frowned at the woman, chuckled at the cape one last time, and considered this vague, bizarre offer.
"So...you're recruiting?"
"Yes."
"No thank you, perhaps you should try the apartment below me, I hear that chap has the ability to melt plastic, I'm sure he's much more suited to...whatever this is."
"If you do not wish to co-operate, Dr. Volkov, we will be required to use force."
The Doctor paused for a few moments, ran his fingers through his hair, and scratched his brow. He seemed as if he was about to speak, but instead slammed the door shut. On the woman's command, the particularly large man approached the locked door, raised a fist, and lowered it in confusion when he heard screaming from within the apartment.
Whatever he was doing, Dr. Volkov, from the sounds of his yells, appeared to be in agony. At one point, he may have incoherently babbled for his 'mummy'. The woman pushed the large oaf further towards the door, and nodded with satisfaction as he once again raised his fist. He hesitated as the screams ceased, blinking for the first time since his arrival. He put his fist through the door...as his eyes widened in surprise, as he choked, as he spat blood, as he died.
Below the hole he had made, another had erupted from the other side - a long, thick lance of bone had penetrated the door and tore through the man's stomach. The flamboyant twit took a few steps back, as did the woman, before Dr. Volkov withdrew his arm, and spoke through one of the holes.
"As much as I like this door, I am willing to put many holes through it in order to gut both of you, as I did this poor boy. I am more than happy to kill the two of you - so, please take my advice, and leave...Quickly."
Rather than heed the Doctor's words, the woman motioned to the remaining subordinate, who approached the door, raised his hands, and smiled as the door frame combusted, exploding into the apartment. Volkov, however, was not amongst the damaged piles of wood.
Cautiously entering, the camp crusader looked both left and right as he stepped into the apartment, turned back to the woman as he saw nothing, and, as he heard Dr. Volkov detach his arm through the ceiling, looked up in surprise as the mutated spike impaled him from shoulder to groin. Volkov was attempting to remove his arm from the dead lackey, hearing the woman's high heels step over the door frame, when the worrying sound of compressed air and a speeding dart ended in a slight pain in the Doctor's neck.
"Oh...well..."
Volkov collapsed to the floor, his arm snapping and grinding back into place, as the woman shot another two darts into his neck.
With their policy on recruitment, their apathetic waste of their employees' lives, and the waiter dressed in full body armour, Dr. Volkov was fairly sure that this Red Hand could be a bit evil. Nefarious and menacing, at least.
Dr. Volkov turned to the clock - this appointment was already late in starting, and Volkov found himself rather impatient. He turned back to the talking crab, considering the possibility that this was not, in fact, a hallucination.
I wonder...if I were to disect the illusion of a talking crab, would I hallucinate vocal chords and a tongue? Would my hallucination be biologically accurate enough to convince me I was not under the effects of an illusion?
Reminding himself that he had no scalpel, and that the crab belonged to a ninja, Volkov occupied time by staring at the floor, and hoping that no one would speak to him.
Aileen Anemoi looks around the room she's sitting in. All these people with powers...freaks, if you will, just like her. She notices that she is apparently the youngest in the group. Hopefully, that won't affect how seriously she is taken. As she looks down into her coffee, she reflects on the events that drove her to where she was now sitting.
Flashback F.M.: Here she was, a few days shy of graduation...or at least, she would have been graduating in a few days, had she not run away. Why did she have to turn down that guy's offer?! If she hadn't been so damn willing to keep herself pure...she remembers the fight like it was yesterday. She had been attacked viscously. She was still not yet fully recovered from the broken cheekbone she had sustained before...she managed to win.
Deep in her reminiscing, she does not notice the man blocking her path until she nearly knocks him off his feet.
"I'm...I'm sorry," she stammers.
"No need for an apology, Aileen," the man replies.
She looks at him, her eyes narrowed. "How did you know my name?"
"I know a lot about you. Your name, your abilities, even the reason you're on the street. If you would be willing to listen, I have an offer you may be interested in."
"An...offer?"
"Yes. I work for the Red Hand, an organization run by people like yourself. We have noticed you and your powers, and wish to offer a chance to join us."
She looks down, holding back grateful tears that she is not alone. She looks up again after controlling her emotions. "So, there are other people with special abilities there?"
"Yes. Many other people."
"Take me there."
"I will, on one condition. Drop that wallet you picked off the man two blocks ago."
Flushing, she drops the wallet on the sidewalk.
"Now, come with me."
She looks up, leaning back in her chair, looking several times at the clock. The leader should be here soon. Of course, "should be" and "will be" are two very separate things.
Dr. Matthew Anderson took a sip from the cup in front of him. Ugh. Coffee. He'd wanted tea, but when the waiter had handed him the cup, he'd been too polite to complain. So here he was, sat half way down a long table in a small room. The man sat across from him hadn't touched his coffee either, but then he seemed to distrust the cup. Anderson looked at the man's arm, which seemed to be twitching occasionally beneath his coat. Strange, he thought, but that was hardly the strangest thing that he had seen today...
Flashback!:
"...That's all for today's lecture. Please read chapters 5 and 6 by next week, when we'll be starting on antiquarks. Thank you, class!"
As the class shuffled out of the lecture theatre, he noticed one man sitting in the back row. As the door closed behind the last student, the man stood up and walked down the central aisle. He was dressed in an immaculate black suit - not exactly the best way to blend in with the students...
"Mister Anderson?" "Doctor Anderson, please. How can I be of assistance?" "HVAC, Dr Anderson. Your High Velocity Antimatter Collider. I'm sure you recall the incident."
Anderson could never forget that day. A fault had occurred in the containment field, firing a stream of antimatter particles throughout the facility. He'd been the only one to survive.
"What do you want from me? I've already told the investigation as much as I know." "It's not the details of the incident that concern me today. It's the consequences... for you in particular. The organisation that I work for could make use of a man with your talents." He panicked. "Talents? I don't know what you mean!" "Special skills. Gifts, you might say." The man had disappeared and the voice seemed to be coming from behind him. Anderson span round. "But... how?" "You're not the only one with power, Dr Anderson. If you want to find out more, come to this address at 2.35 this afternoon." Anderson took the card and read the details. "But I have lectures!" He looked up, but the suited man had... gone.
He'd arrived early, of course. A polite Englishman is never late. After he'd been ushered into this room, it had filled up with a group of... unusual looking people. Anderson never liked not knowing what was going on. All he knew is that they were behind schedule. "Poor form." He thought, sipping his drink. A moment passed before he spat the coffee back out again. Ugh...
Jay sat at the table, staring at the other people gathered around. He was beginning to feel cramped; he didn't like having to sit in a building, cut off from nature. The lack of fresh air disturbed him.
PLOOSH
If there was one consolation, the room had plenty of moisture with which to play. There was a water cooler standing in the corner. He kept himself entertained by making the bubbles dance. He created beautiful bubble pictures in the tank, performing a underwater ballet of sorts. When he tired of that, he simply watched as his glass of water condesated. The droplets slowly drifting down the side, tracing a path like a sidewinder in the grass.
He hated this room. Good things never happened when you are in an office...
Memories
PLOOOOSH
Jay was shaken out of his thoughts by the movement of the water. He hoped he would be back in the water soon...he loved to just lose himself amongst the waves.
Sam sat in his chair and leaned forward, taking the coffee given to him by the man with the heavy accent. The hot drink slid down his throat and he lowered the cup, wiping his mustache of the liquid and trying to remember how he had gotten to this room with all these strangers.
Flashback:
Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam and Sam sat around the breakfast bar while Sam mixed them all drinks, his reflection starting up at them in the perfectly polished faux-wood that had recently been cleaned by Sam. They, or he, whichever you prefer, were celebrating a recent bank robbery that had gone off without a hitch. On the middle of the table sat a large pile of money that Sam was handing out, and suddenly everyone disappeared except for Sam, who lowered his nose close to the pile of cash, inhaling it's scent and getting a look of quiet ecstasy on his face. It was this scene that two man walked in on, one folding his arms and tilting his head back while the other cleared his throat. Not even looking up from his money, Sam shouted: "Whoever you are, fuck off, I'm busy." "I'm afraid we can't do that Mister Mason, you see, we represent certain interests, and your talents will appease those interests. So if you'll come with us..." "Fuck you!" Sam Shouted, tossing a glass at one of the men that making a 2 copies of himself. "I'm gonna go live large for the rest of the day, Sam, Sam, would you please show these men out?" And with that Sam ran up the stairs to the roof, for some reason, the access door was already open, but Sam didn't care, he ran up the stairs and right when he was almost through the door, it closed, smacking him in the face and leaving him unconscious.
Darren sat forward in his chair, hunched over the table a bit and looking down into the cup of now lukewarm coffee that he was levitating a few centimeters off of the table to keep himself occupied. He quickly glanced at his watch to check the time, the meeting was already about fifteen minutes late in starting, but he wasn't concerned. He wasn't particularly excited about this meeting.
He lowered the cup back onto the wooden table and sighed quietly, taking a casual glance at the other people at the table. Some of whom were very strange looking characters. Especially the one in the ninja costume with the pet crab. He looked back down into the black liquid in his cup, letting his mind wander, remembering the events that brought him here.
Flashback: It had started off as an average day. He ignored his alarm clock successfully for fifteen minutes before finally getting up. Ate a nutritious breakfast consisting off chocolate flavored puffs of corn and a glass of milk. Then showered, dressed, and headed off to work at the Help Desk. Which was essentially a knock off of Geek Squad with a much lamer name.
He spent the morning taking the usual calls: "My screen is blank!", "My computer won't turn on!" and other similar ones, all of which can usually be answered with "Is it plugged in?". He found it amazing that people wouldn't check that before calling a tech support service, and made a mental note that in the future he would make it seem like a big deal and go over there so they'd have to pay him for the visit.
Right before lunch though he got a particularly interesting call:
"Hello, you've reached the Help Desk. My name is Darren. How can I help you?"
Darren answered, using the usual speech. There was silence for a moment, before a woman responded in a slow, calm voice.
"You can't, but I can help you."
"Excuse me?"
"Do you want to find your sister?"
Darren dropped the pencil he had been holding between his teeth, his eyes widening, she had left him speechless.
"I'll take that as a yes." She responded.
"Who the hell are you and how do you know about her?"
"Meet me at the Blue Moon Cafe in fifteen minute."
With that she hung up, leaving Darren confused, perplexed, and hungry. He told his supervisor he was going to lunch and walked quickly to his car, he sped over to the cafe and sat waiting for about twenty minutes. He was getting ready to leave when a young redhead wearing a pant suit sat down at his table and placed a small yellow envelope in front of him.
He opened it, and inside was a picture of his sister. She was laying on the floor, either unconscious or dead, he couldn't tell.
"Where the hell is she?" He asked, staring at the picture, no longer caring how this woman knew about her, just wanting to find her.
"We're not sure, but we think we can find her. This information won't come for free though."
He looked up at the woman, a serious look in his eyes.
"What do you want?"
"For you to join us."
"And who are you?"
"I represent an agency known as The Red Hand. We recruit people like you, people with special talents."
It didn't surprise him that she knew about that as well, after all, the only person who knew about his sister was him. Or so he thought. He considered it for a moment, not knowing exactly what this agency wanted with him, but decided he didn't care.
"What do I have to do?" He asked.
After that she gave him this address, and told him to show up for 2:30. He got there a few minutes early, but it didn't appear to matter. Whoever was in charge was late anyway. He took another look around at the others in the room, wondering what they could do and why they were here. Then took a deep breath, and went back to staring into his coffee cup.
Armony looks down at the coffee, she shook her head and relaxed, trying to recall the moments leading up to how she had gotten herself in this situation
Take a guess what this is... just try and guess: Armony strolled down the sidewalk, she heald in her hands a bag full of clothes and other, more random, objects of value. Armony had spent the day shopping. The sun was setting as she made her way back to her apartment. But something was different today... Armony could'nt help but shake the feeling that she was being watched. She shook her head, finally deciding that she was being overly paranoid as she continued to walk home... Her steps picked up some speed nontheless
It appears that she was not simply paranoid...
Armony was about halfway home when she could hear brisk footstepps rapidly approaching her. Strange, it's as though the being wanted to Armony to hear them. She turned around to see the man that was tailing her. Athough clearly male, a lot of his figure was blocked by shadow and the dark sky overhead. Armony fought the urge to transform, this man gave her some major bad vibes. She took a deep breath to relax herself as he began to talk. "You have very unique skin"
Armony raised an eyebrow and took a large step back, this guy was indeed creepy enough to warrent a metal thrashing... Armony's eyes widen, he could'nt be talking about- "Who are you?"
The man continued, in a voice that was bland, and almost bored "An agent for a company known as the red hand, a group that could make use of your... talents"
Armony continued to back up "What talents? I'm just your adverage-"
The man's voice grew more violent as he continued "Don't try to hide it, I know all about your metal gift, Armony Everash"
Armony has now put several feet between her and the man, as she had continued to back up as they spoke, she now stopped "You know me"
He nodded "I have read your files... now if you will listen, I have a proposal for you"
Armony glared at him "What kind of proposal?"
the man's voice relaxed, back to it's bland state "As I said earlier, our company has need of your powers, if you are willing to help us out, then it will be made very worth your while"
Armony scowld, she knew right off the bat that this group of theirs simply wanted to use her as a metal yes man... or woman in Armony's case "Forget it, I'm no mercinary"
The man's head lowerd, if only by a inch at the most "Very well then"
he rushed forward at an insane speed, Armony could'nt react in time because of the two factors that played to the man's advantage, both and his speed and the darkness allowed him to catch Armony completely defenceless... Armony felt a cloth come over her face and could smell chloroform before she blacked out.
Armony looks up, she resists the urge to start breaking the room apart as she glares at the door "Red hand..."
Graham's finger danced around the edge of his empty mug. He was bored. Things were taking too long to begin, he just wanted to hurry up and get out there as usual. Admittedly he'd not done terribly much for the Red Hand up until now, minor work at most. Chores for a person of his abilities. He was hoping that this group of misfits he was collected alongside meant that he would finally be doing something that was of far more interest to him. At least he wasn't cooking food anymore.
Backflash: "Oooorder up!" he shouted over the counter, placing two plates in front of him and ringing the tiny bell. He turned to go back to his next creation, however in his path was a man in a suit wearing dark glasses. "You know, the suit and dark glasses thing is a bit cliché, right?" Graham asked as he edged his way past the man to the oven he was fixing things on.
"It still works well enough, doesn't it, Mr. Wolf?" The man replied, slowly rotating on the spot. His voice was deep, not gentle or caring and had a certain edge to it. A sharp one. It was a careful voice, one which weighed up each word as it said them, enunciating them perfectly. His accent was mostly English but Graham felt like there was at least a small hint of French there. The man's hair was short, clean cut and no nonsense. Graham grabbed a baking tray from the oven, the smell of freshly cooked brownies wafted out from it and spread its way across the room. "I represent a certain business you may be aware of. We feel we have need of your...unique abilities." The man continued.
"Free brownie?" Graham said, apparently not paying attention as his knife whisked this way and that along the delectable desserts cutting them into even sized rectangles. He picked one up with a flick of the blade and passed it between his hands, gasping slightly at the heat, before throwing it to the man, who caught it at the last second before placing it down on the side next to him. "Tch, at least use a napkin if you're going to put it on the counter. Come on man, hygiene." He moved from his tray to the abandoned single brownie, swept it up in a single motion and bit into it. "I can only assume," Graham continued, "that you are talking about my fire powers rather than my incredible cooking skills." The man merely nodded. Graham sighed and clicked his fingers. In a flash of light a small fiery feline appeared on his shoulder. It licked one of its front paws and yawned. "So what business do you represent exactly and, more importantly, are you interesting?"
"Oh we're most certainly interesting, Mr. Wolf."
That was...how many months ago? He couldn't quite remember. Perhaps this was the day that that man would finally deliver on that "interesting" promise the man had made. Everyone else seemed to be settled in, if a tad nervous. He clicked his fingers, creating a little ball of flame in the centre of his pal which he passed between his hands, as he did so another appeared, and then another until he had four spinning in a large circle above his head. He juggled the four and waited. Waited for the entrance of the Red Hand's spokesperson to pop up so they could get on with this meeting and out to doing something entertaining.
Jazz drank his glass of water. He didn't like tea, and it was too late for coffee. Besides, he was thirsty. Hungry, too, but that was beside the point.
Looking around, Jazz saw that most, maybe all of the people around him were UC's. That wasn't good. In his expirience, no one who gathered a group of Uncommons could have a well-meaning purpose in mind.
Of course, that's half the reason he was here. He wanted to see what they were up to, and stop them if he could. He doubted he could, but hey, he'd been wrong in the past. Would they be surprised to see him here? He doubted it. Even if they weren't expecting him, they wanted him here.
Last night...: Jazz was awakened by a knocking on his door. It was a loud knocking, too, as though the people had a frank disregard for his feelings.
Jazz looked at the clock. 2:47. Bad time. No one who needs help would come knocking on doors at this hour.
"Mr. McHarris? Could we have a word with you?"
Someone gruff. A heavy, likely.
Pulling himself into a sitting position and rubbing his eyes, Jazz said, "Go fuck yourselves."
The door burst open with a bang. Six people stormed in, banging the place up as they did. What they saw surprised them; a small, single room apartment (with bath) with only an oven, a refrigerator, a couch, an end-table next to the couch, and a digital clock.
After a few moments of akward silence, one of the thugs mustered up the courage to state the obvious; "Hey, where's that 'Ghost' guy?"
"Not sure. He was in here, I'm sure I heared-"
Jazz, having moved through the floor and into the apartment below, pulled the spirit thread he had woven into the supporing beam in the middle of his apartment. A large chunk, maybe three inches long, came out of the beam. The roof of the apartment fell in, killing all those inside.
Jazz sighed. He hated killing people, and he hated that he was so good at it.
Cracking his neck, Jazz walked out of the apartment.
The instant he stepped out of the door, he was struck with a searing pain. Someone had struck him with something that was electricuting him; a tazer gun, likely.
"That was very impressive."
Jazz opened his eyes and looked up. A tall black man, bald, and in a business suit, and with the third greasiest voice he had ever heared, was standing in front of him. "No one yet has taken out all the men we sent in for them. Then again, you aren't like the others, are you? More training, perhaps?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"Mmm. A pity, we would have liked to have you come in quietly. We didn't think it was likely, but we would have liked it, nonetheless."
Jazz concentrated. He had been through worse than this. He could pervail.
"I'm not that easy to kill."
The black man looked back to Jazz, puzzled. "You're still conscius? Amazing. You're a strong man, do you know that."
"Stronger than you think."
Jazz, using every iota of willpower he had, jumped from the ground. His face regestered a look of surprise, then he coughed blood and fell to the ground.
Jazz dropped the man's still-beating heart on the floor.
Still managing to stand, Jazz said, "If any of you want to live, I suggest you leave. Now."
There was a brief shuffling of footsteps, then silence.
Jazz took a deep breath, then pulled out the tazer bulletts. These people were trained, and well; if he had any less willpower, he would be in their hands right now.
But what did they want? Why did they come after him? How did they know where he lived, and how did they would have gotten rid of them?
They had been watching him for some time, maybe since he had come back. That was the only thing that made sense.
Jazz looked in the black man's breast pocket and found a business card. "The Red Hand" it said. Perhaps he would pay these people a visit, see what they were up to.
Jazz wished again that Adagrel was here. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do.
Jazz looked at the other people assembled. Did they know what they were getting into? On some level, maybe, but not as much as he did. Did that make it his responsibility to protect them? Maybe. He was going to anyway, and he knew it.
Amnestic: Graham's finger danced around the edge of his empty mug. He was bored. Things were taking too long to begin, he just wanted to hurry up and get out there as usual. Admittedly he'd not done terribly much for the Red Hand up until now, minor work at most. Chores for a person of his abilities. He was hoping that this group of misfits he was collected alongside meant that he would finally be doing something that was of far more interest to him. At least he wasn't cooking food anymore.
Backflash: "Oooorder up!" he shouted over the counter, placing two plates in front of him and ringing the tiny bell. He turned to go back to his next creation, however in his path was a man in a suit wearing dark glasses. "You know, the suit and dark glasses thing is a bit cliché, right?" Graham asked as he edged his way past the man to the oven he was fixing things on.
"It still works well enough, doesn't it, Mr. Wolf?" The man replied, slowly rotating on the spot. His voice was deep, not gentle or caring and had a certain edge to it. A sharp one. It was a careful voice, one which weighed up each word as it said them, enunciating them perfectly. His accent was mostly English but Graham felt like there was at least a small hint of French there. The man's hair was short, clean cut and no nonsense. Graham grabbed a baking tray from the oven, the smell of freshly cooked brownies wafted out from it and spread its way across the room. "I represent a certain business you may be aware of. We feel we have need of your...unique abilities." The man continued.
"Free brownie?" Graham said, apparently not paying attention as his knife whisked this way and that along the delectable desserts cutting them into even sized rectangles. He picked one up with a flick of the blade and passed it between his hands, gasping slightly at the heat, before throwing it to the man, who caught it at the last second before placing it down on the side next to him. "Tch, at least use a napkin if you're going to put it on the counter. Come on man, hygiene." He moved from his tray to the abandoned single brownie, swept it up in a single motion and bit into it. "I can only assume," Graham continued, "that you are talking about my fire powers rather than my incredible cooking skills." The man merely nodded. Graham sighed and clicked his fingers. In a flash of light a small fiery feline appeared on his shoulder. It licked one of its front paws and yawned. "So what business do you represent exactly and, more importantly, are you interesting?"
"Oh we're most certainly interesting, Mr. Wolf."
That was...how many months ago? He couldn't quite remember. Perhaps this was the day that that man would finally deliver on that "interesting" promise the man had made. Everyone else seemed to be settled in, if a tad nervous. He clicked his fingers, creating a little ball of flame in the centre of his pal which he passed between his hands, as he did so another appeared, and then another until he had four spinning in a large circle above his head. He juggled the four and waited. Waited for the entrance of the Red Hand's spokesperson to pop up so they could get on with this meeting and out to doing something entertaining.
Very good. And "interesting", did you ever do any short stories?
Mika began looking around while drinking her water. She had never wanted to come to here anyways but since she was here she might as well make the best of it. She couldn't help remembering how she got here.
-flashback(even though everyone else did this too)-
"These are Bougainvillea's, miss. Would you like to buy them?" Mika looked up to the man talking. "Are these vines?" "Yes they are, Miss. These are a thorny kind of vine from Hawaii. They perfer warm climates." "Thank you. I think i'll get 8 packets of this." "Wait....did you say 8? What could you be using all of them for?" "Growing, of course." What she didn't say was how and why she was going to. "Okay miss, that will be $69.99" "Okay then." She then gives the man the owed amount. She, of course, would never tell anyone how she got it though. "Thank you miss and have a nice day!" He says as she grabs the packets and walks out. She then starts looking through her messanger bag and going through the seeds that she has. "Let's see.....Poison ivy, Morning Glorys, Bamboo, Dracaenas, Cacti......" "You've been popping up on our radar again, Mika" "GAH!" She says while jumping back and turning around. Of course she saw that same agent again, Agent Michigan. "It's you again. You guys are always looking at your radars huh?" "It's been a week. Have you got a answer for us?" "Yes, like i told you before, i'm not joining." "That's too bad." "Why?" "Because that's the wrong answer." Suddenly he tosses something in her face. She reaches into her bag and grabs some seeds in one hand and wipes the dust away with the other. 'Something's wrong." she thinks to herself while looking at what she thought was the Agent. 'My vision's not clearing!' she thinks while trying to wipe her eyes again. She soons finds out that she can't move her hands though and her vision darkens some more. She starts swaying and soon falls down. Her vision has completely darkened now and she close her eyes, or was it the other way around? It didn't matter anymore. The last thing she hears is Agent Michigan saying, "No matter what you do, you will join us....", the rest being lost to her as she slips into uncontiousness.
-later-
She wakes up and looks around. She sees nothing except what is right in front of her which is nothing. She looks down and sees that she has been tied to a chair and her bag is gone along with her seeds in her pockets. She then starts to try to undo the bonds that keep her here when she here's something open and close in the backround. She guesses it's a door and she is more convinced when a gent walks up to her. It's not Agent Michigan but he wore the same uniform as him. He then looks at her and says, "Miss Mika Hayashi. We've been watching you for some time now." "Yeah. And?" "And we want you to join us." "Agent Michigan already tried to get me to come. As you can see it didn't work." "Ah Michigan. He tried to go nice on you and let you join willingly. But you see, Mika, we want you to join, whether your willing to or not." "What are you going to do to me?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "Nothing." And with that he left, leaving her more confused then ever. Why would they do nothing? It puzzled her very much. She spent the rest of the day trying to undo the knots and rope while asking for water before falling back to sleep. Day 2 Spent time trying to undo knots with no success. Now demanded water. Asked to use the restroom Day 3 Fully understood what that agent meant now. Struggled in her bonds. Demanded to go use the restroom. Day 4 Talked to nobody in perticular. started seeing hallucenations due to no weater. Day 5 Found that her head was held in place by some contraption. Had water landing on her head. Barely got any water from contraption. Day 6 She looks up, not being able to take it anymore. She needed water, even more than most humans do because she was part plant now, and she was willing to do anything for it. "Hello? Is anyone there? I give up. I'll join." She says in a whisper. A speaker comes on and through that she here's a voice say, "What was that?" "I'll join." she says. "What? Speak louder." "I'LL JOIN!" She shouts before putting her head down and relaxing. She didn't remember much after that except walking down a hallway, using the restroom, and talking to someone. The next thing she knew, she was sitting around with a group of strangers, holding on to her returned messanger bag and drinking lots of water. -Flashback ends. Thank you for watching. Now get out.-
She then starts to hum a song that keeps getting stuck in her head.
John pulled at his tie. He had always hated the formality of the nylon strands, and the suit only antagonised this feeling. Another thing he notched up onto mental 'Avoid at all costs' list was the coffee cooling in front of him. It had only taken a single sip for him to analyse the taste and conclude that not only was it not Earl Grey tea as he had hoped, but it was not even close to a well-brewed mix of grounds, water and tea. There was a peculiar mix of people around him - men, women, Europeans, Asians, businessmen and an odd man with a black body suit and a stuffed crustacean on his shoulder.
The Red Hand had seemed interested in him because of his talent. Perhaps these people had talents, too? Only time would tell, though John. He bit into his cheek as punishment for this godawful cliche.
Flackbash: It was late. Not too late, mind, but late enough for John to have finally stopped playing the markets at work and started re-reading 1984 again. He eased open the small bottle of port he had invisibly helped himself to from the manager's office (smug bastard wouldn't miss one. Or two. Or four) and slowly poured it into his dry mouth. Another page turned, and he lost himself in his book.
When, finally, the sun rose and now the book on his lap was War And Peace, John looked up. His incessant insomnia was often a blessing for him, but when he was reading he was as good as asleep. He was fascinated by books and any classic work of fiction enthralled him to a point beyond that of almost every person in the country. As a result, he found his newly-raised head staring at an officious-looking woman holding a note.
"How long have you been standing there?" asked the twentysomething stockbroker. "At around the point that Winston Smith was sent to Room 101." "Ridiculous. That was hours ago." "We can wait. And we do wait. We are the Red Hand, and we have an offer for you." John eyed the exit to his study and judged if he could make himself invisible before the woman could stop him. His options were simple; leave, or stay in this room with a woman who had managed to get through three locked doors and had a bulge on her hip and a hand ready to sweep the poorly-concealed weapon from the holster. No excessive thought was needed and he flung himself from the oak reading chair and went through the usual mental rigamarole of bending the light around himself, when he realised a few yards from the door that his photokinesis wasn't working. This had never happened before. Was it the tiredness? No, he was always tired. Was it the stress? He was certainly stressed. He would have to look into this furth-
John's unconcious body hit the ground near the fireplace and the taser clicked as the last of the voltage discharged through his shoulders.
John reached into his pocket and drew out the note he had found placed there, presumably by the woman, and began to read it.
The clock strikes 2:55. You look around at your fellow recruits trying to divine if any of the others have come to the same conclusion. This Jennifer the waiter spoke about is now officially 20 minutes late.
There is a noncommittal stirring in the room, as if its occupants are subtly polling each other's opinion on the prospects of leaving. There is a wild convulsing in the room as if the doors had flown open and an agitated woman in a pantsuit stormed in. Which, coincidentally, she has.
"No. No. No. Vincent," She exclaims, turning to the Kevlar padded waiter following clumsily in her wake "I don't care what the bosses say. Serve me Decaf, and I fire you."
"But, yt ys not good for your heart. Y have orders not to gyve you -"
"Screw the orders! Get me a cup of coffee! I have work to do."
The waiter retreats hesitantly and Jennifer marches to the head of the table. She is perhaps the perfect picture of severe formality. She is approximately 5'7 and in her 40's; her dark hair is rolled carefully into a tight bun and she sports an immaculate gray pantsuit complimented by an expression of systemic irritation. She's of Asian heritage and carries herself with a certain discipline. Just from first impressions, you're willing to bet that discipline is a law degree.
Jennifer reaches her chair and wheels it to the side instead assuming a standing position looking down at you.
"Hello I am Jennifer Park and I'll be supporting your cases for advancement in the Red Hand. Before we begin are there any questions you'd like to ask me?" A moment's pause yields an abundant harvest of raised hands. "That's too many questions. Let me just explain then. You've been recruited which means you are entry level employees of the Red Hand. All entry level employees are assigned an agent to keep track of their activities and serve as an advocate for their advancement to higher ranks in this organization. You fourteen have been assigned to me. Now, you will likely not be seeing very much of me; I am very busy. Your missions will be supervised by VA's or vice agents who report directly to me about candidate's suitability for advancement. Are there any questions?"
The group takes a moment to comprehend the lightning fast explanation. Hands rise once more. Jennifer sighs.
"That's too many questions. Your VA's are Rose and Daniel. I'll send for them now."
... Is that silence? Considering the room was filled with it just, Christ, two minutes ago according to the clock now claiming 2:57, it seemed very foreign. Jennifer stood in place with her eyes staring off into the distance, seemingly half asleep.
POP!
A woman appears sitting cross-legged on the center of the table. She has shoulder length blood-red hair that hangs in half realized dreadlocks around her face. She's wearing a psychedelic tie-dye tee-shirt and white and green army patterned cargo shorts. She seems younger than Jennifer and infinitely happier. There's something about her smile uncomfortably similar with that of the Cheshire Cat's.
"Rose." Jennifer demands.
"Here to help." Rose calls amiably.
"Bring Daniel here."
POP!
A man with a leather jacket appears in a corner of the room. He's leaning forward in a chair that was not there before and holding a glass of wine, smiling at a person who is not present. He starts and looks around the room.
"Ah come on Rose. I was with a girl." He objects to the room at large
"You're always with a girl. What was this one's name?"
"Oh, I don't know; Phoebe or something. Hey Vincent! Bring me something real to drink." Daniel stands from his chair and tosses his wine glass over his shoulder. He has greased back black hair and stands at about 5'11 with a sharp nose and chin. "These are the recruits then?"
"Yes" Jennifer answers "Rose, bring their files."
POP!
"Now, take all of them to their sleeping quarters and answer any questions they have."
The clock read 3:00. The entire meeting only took five minutes. And now you and all thirteen of your fellow recruits are standing in a room filled with bunk beds. Fluorescent lights glow off the wood floors. Rose is lounging lazily on a top bunk while Daniel is still frozen in mid-protest.
"-answer their questions here? ... Damnit."
Rose seemed to notice the group for the first time. She sat up slightly.
"This is your sleeping quarters." She says, drowsily gesturing to the numerous bunk beds. "There's living quarters too, which are conveniently filled to the rafters with everything life necessitating. Couches, television, pool and ping-pong tables, you name it! It's great fun. I'm Rose and this is my associate Daniel. I imagine Jennifer mostly ignored you. But Me and Daniel will happily answer any questions you have." She rattled off with faux formality.
"Yeah, Jennifer is a little highly strung and can be a bit of a ... well. Anyway, what do you want to know?"
Darren didn't have any questions he needed answered. He figured that they knew about his powers because one of their agents had seen him use them, or they had someone whose power was to sense other people with powers in the area. Both made sense to him, so he just shrugged it off.
He made his way over to one of the bunks and took a seat on the bottom one, pulling an MP3 player out of his pocket and sticking his headphones in, then hitting play before laying down. He looked up at the bottom of the top bunk, the heavy bass pounding in his ears.
All he wanted to do was sleep; he could work a way out later. After all, they were inhibiting his powers, but they were being more generous and less forceful than the last people that knocked him unconscious. He could work that to his advantage.
"'Fuck You!' isn't a question," Graham said to the loud man, smiling sweetly, his eyes twinkling with one part sincerity and one part mischievousness. He wasn't terribly surprised by the whole thing, but learning that he'd get free food, drink, bed and entertainment was certainly a nice surprise. A thought occured to him. "Ah yes, I do have a question after all." He continued, addressing the two vice agents. "What clothes are we talking about here? Do we get uniforms? What about more casual attire? Do we get a 'clothing allowance', so to speak?"
Dr. Volkov was surprised to find himself rather content - yes, he'd been kidnapped. Admittedly, he was feeling the side effects of knockout darts, and, yes, he was surrounded by seemingly untrustworthy fellows, but at least something interesting was happening. That didn't happen in a shithole apartment, unless you counted leaks and creaks as interesting.
Volkov, in his prime, had redifined areas of biology, mutated himself into a living weapon, and, amongst many other exploits, even successfully reanimated a dead body. He had fallen far to find himself here, but at least this place was a start...that is, if they had anything in mind other than enslaving him into their organization.
"I also have some questions...although I'll try to refrain from shouting. Firstly, I'd like to know what you could possibly have to offer us, that should keep us loyal - say, something that would stop some of us from merely going AWOL as soon as we're outside...wherever we are."
"Secondly, I'd be interested in knowing if there's any alternatives to the sleeping arrangements. No offence to my fellow captives, but I don't trust them to not slit my throat as I sleep...or draw crude images on my forehead. Also, if anyone were to snore, I could not be held responsible for any violent actions on my part."
Volkov straightened his lab coat, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled at Rose.
Doctor Anderson was worried. He thought he'd been invited here, yet there was a lot of talk of kidnapping and abduction. It seemed like everyone was here because the Red Hand wanted them to be here. Getting out didn't seem to be an option any more so he might as well get used to this situation. He considered using his powers to escape but given how he'd been found, he doubted that he could escape the Red Hand's gaze. It was odd how they'd found him - the accident had happened a few years ago and he'd tried to avoid using his powers indiscriminately. He helped where he could, but maybe he'd got sloppy... There was one thing though... "What happens to our old lives? I was teaching a class this morning and now you're saying we're employed by this Red Hand? Do we get a choice in all this?"
Jay slumps down on one of the bunks. He's too bored to think right now. This room is too cramped...why can't they stay in tents?
The one man starting cursing. Why did he need to curse? He could simply get his point across without swearing.
Jay looked up at the woman...Rose, she had introduced herself as. "Miss, are we leaving soon? Or is there like a courtyard or a pool or something? It's a little too stuffy here for my tastes."
SargentToughie: Armony stands up "one question... why the hell did you kidnap me!?"
Rose lays back and speaks to the ceiling. "That should be obvious. We kidnapped you because you wouldn't come willingly. Why else would we do something like that?"
POP!
A file appears in Daniel's hand. He looks at it quizzically before opening it up.
"Armony, right?" He asks brusquely. "It says in your file that you were abducted because your recruiter noticed his Black Hand counterpart following you. We wanted to get you on our side before they did."
thebobmaster: "And for that matter, how did you find out about our powers? Do you just spy on everyone and wait?"
Daniel tosses Armony's file on a bed behind him. "Of course not. That would be inefficient on the verge of ludacris. We have a person who senses powers and tells us who to send recuiters after."
Rose's voice drifts down dreamily "The Black Hand spies. The Red Hand doesn't have to. We're cool like that."
Spartan Bannana: "Fuck you! That's my question! Let me get outta here!"
Amnestic: "'Fuck You!' isn't a question," Graham said to the loud man, smiling sweetly, his eyes twinkling with one part sincerity and one part mischievousness. He wasn't terribly surprised by the whole thing, but learning that he'd get free food, drink, bed and entertainment was certainly a nice surprise.
Rose sits up slightly to look at Graham. "You'll go far."
Amnestic: A thought occured to him. "Ah yes, I do have a question after all." He continued, addressing the two vice agents. "What clothes are we talking about here? Do we get uniforms? What about more casual attire? Do we get a 'clothing allowance', so to speak?"
Rose's head falls back on the pillow. "Or not."
"Hey, that's a legitimate question!" Daniel objects. He turns to Graham with an air of one master imparting secrets to another. "The Red Hand doesn't have any uniform structure, so you can wear pretty much anything. It only pays for clothing if the clothing is required for a recruit to function. Fireproof clothes, clothes that will stretch, stuff like that. So, the trick is to make every expenditure 'nessecary'. You see this leather jacket? You know what's special about it? It won't change size. Ridiculous right? I had to deal with one recruit who could grow and shrink items so I told the Red Hand they had to get me some clothing. I buy what I want, they take the bill. Or you see these shoes?"
"Are there any other questions?" Rose interrupts innocently. Daniel throws her an irritated glance.
Spartan Bannana: "You got a deathwish kid?!" Sam shouted, then made seven copies of himself and ordered them to attack Graham.
Daniel snaps with his left hand. The seven clones walk into an invisible wall between Sam and Graham. Feeling the wall like mimes they find themselves trapped in a large box. Rose looks up.
"So violent. Can't we all just get along? Visualize world peace. What's so funny about peace love and understanding?" Rose began vocalizing Elvis Costello under her breath.
"What my associate is trying to say," Daniel says casting Rose a look of confusion. "Is that you're going to make those clones go away now or I'm going to make the box smaller. Don't use your powers on your fellow recuits and especially don't use them in your sleeping quarters. The Red Hand employs a strict 'No Murder on Premises' rule."
Qayin: "I also have some questions...although I'll try to refrain from shouting. Firstly, I'd like to know what you could possibly have to offer us, that should keep us loyal - say, something that would stop some of us from merely going AWOL as soon as we're outside...wherever we are."
"Secondly, I'd be interested in knowing if there's any alternatives to the sleeping arrangements. No offence to my fellow captives, but I don't trust them to not slit my throat as I sleep...or draw crude images on my forehead. Also, if anyone were to snore, I could not be held responsible for any violent actions on my part."
Volkov straightened his lab coat, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled at Rose.
"Finally...are you single?"
Daniel took the first question "We pay a decent salary? You get to save the world? Work outside the bounds of law and get free room and board with meals paid for? What more could you want?"
"As for sleeping arrangements, I can understand your reluctance" Daniel looks to Sam "But this is where you'll be sleeping. Don't worry, we keep it pretty well policied. No midnight throat slitting."
Daniel looks up to Rose who is still humming Elvis Costello songs. "Hey!" Daniel shouts trying to get her attention. "He wants to know if you're single."
Rose stops and looks at Daniel curiously. She then throws her gaze to Volkov, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Well, I'm not plural. What else would I be?" After a moments pause she lays back again and looks to the ceiling.
Lucas113: "What happens to our old lives? I was teaching a class this morning and now you're saying we're employed by this Red Hand? Do we get a choice in all this?"
Rose took this one. "No, you don't really get a choice. And you don't get to go back to your old life. You have to admit though, this one is more fun already. And more usefull to civilization as a whole." She lifted her arm and threw a thumbs-up.
irishdelinquent: Jay slumps down on one of the bunks. He's too bored to think right now. This room is too cramped...why can't they stay in tents?
The one man starting cursing. Why did he need to curse? He could simply get his point across without swearing.
Jay looked up at the woman...Rose, she had introduced herself as. "Miss, are we leaving soon? Or is there like a courtyard or a pool or something? It's a little too stuffy here for my tastes."
"Two lefts and a right, down the stair case and past the door." She says in a drowzy sing-song "Our pool is Olympian. So it must be very good."
Daniel took the first question "We pay a decent salary? You get to save the world? Work outside the bounds of law and get free room and board with meals paid for? What more could you want?"
Volkov considered this - what did he want? Money was always a bonus, and whilst saving the world was not too appealing, being outside the law and getting free B&B was never a bad thing.
"What more could I want? Hmm...well, for one, my own quarters. A well-equipped laboratory would be nice, and privacy. Am I in a position to make demands? No, but your organisation sacrificed the lives of two employees to get me here, and you're very keen on me not leaving - so I'd say I'm certainly in a position to...'negotiate'. I can be far more useful than what capacity I seem to be employed under, and all I'd request in return is my own room...with a lock."
Volkov was too busy capitalising to recognise any looks of animosity from his fellow 'recruits', if there were any such looks cast.
"Perhaps a lab-coat that doesn't stain...or stretches, I keep tearing mine..."
He turned to Rose.
"As for the availability thing - forget it, after that whole love and peace thing..."
Dr. Volkov had, up until this point, been smiling. As he addressed both Daniel and Rose, that smile faded.
"I find myself lacking motivation - I had nothing before this, and therefore I don't really have a lot to lose...but that doesn't mean I'd settle for this. I don't imagine I could make things too difficult for you...but I did kill two of your men already, another two may not be too much of a stretch." He paused, realising he'd just been rather aggressive, "Forgive the threat, but I'm much more than just a field operative, and, well, I'm a dirty, opportunistic bastard, when in the right situation. For my own quarters, I could spend all my time in between missions helping in other areas."
Sam absorbed the copies back into himself, then sat back down. "You got any unrippable clothes? I have an embarrassing incident when I made a lot of copies, and the weakened clothing snagged on something. That was an embarrassing robbery."
Darren glanced up from his spot on the bunk and pulled one of the headphones out of his ear to listen to Daniel & Rose answer the other recruit's questions. Most of them seemed pretty silly but there were a couple of answers he found useful. Specifically the bit about the pool.
He scratched his head as the older man in the lab coat complained about not having his own room and shook his head before laying back down. He hit pause on his MP3 player to listen to the rest of the questions, the man still going on about his lab.
Mika looks around at the living space. 'Will i have to be cooped up with these people? I don't know if i could handle that, especially since that one guy had a point when he didn't trust us cause he could be killed in his sleep.'. Personally, that won't matter to her because she already had a plan for if they even tried it. She then turned her head to Daniel and Rose. "I have a question....will we be allowed any freedom to move around outside? Not outside in the court yard but outside in the world?"
Armony lowers her head, she understood now that these bastards wanted nothing more than to make the world a better place. But the way they did it was so... Dark, at least, that's the way that Armony saw it. However, she shared their ideas in certain fields, about wanting to make the world a better place. She had made a vow to herself when she was given her gift, she vowed to destroy all evil, to make the world an easier place to live. If it was'nt for crime, and thugs just looking to please themselves... Then her brother...
Armony looked up again, deciding to wait untill the others had made their decisions to make her next move
Sat on the end of one of the couches, Dr Anderson was taking it all in. His new colleagues all seemed to have rather colourful pasts, making him the quiet geeky one. Terrific. At least this Red Hand seemed to be fairly upright. Despite the compulsory recruitment, of course. Maybe this was some kind of government agency, working for the greater good. That was a pleasing thought to Anderson, the sort of guy was used to absolutes and not so used to the grey area that is morality. "Maybe this will work out OK..." he thought.
His questions answered sufficiently, he was all to ready to settle in. The restrictions on use of his powers was a bit tedious, but understandable, he supposed. At least he'd get to use them when he went out on tasks for the group. He was glad that Copyman, a temporary nickname until introductions occured, had been reigned in and put under control. He had little wish to start setting the building on fire to protect himself and he doubted that the Hand would let him. Plus he was never terribly good with numbers and he had little doubt that were he to face up against a number of opponents he'd lose track of one quite swiftly.
"I...ah." Perhaps his questions hadn't been answered so sufficiently. "Apologies, but I have another question; what about booze? Not to sound like an alcoholic, but I do enjoy the 'occasional' pint or five at weekends. I suppose this links in with that young miss' question concerning freedom to move about in the open world, but how often do we get free time and assuming we come back her when necessary, how free are we on the whole to do as we please in the wider world?" Not that he had a problem with the Red Hand, or even the close-quarters living arrangements he'd been given, he didn't, but he quite enjoyed going to the pub at the end of a hard week, maybe watch a sports game while casually flirting with the waitresses and tipping them far, far too much.
I hate coffee...especially when it contains hallucenogenics.
Dr. Volkov was contemplating what appeared to be a...crab...talking to a...ninja, and thought it best to not take sips of his coffee anymore. When aforementioned ninja rose with the intent to kill a man not far from him, only to be restrained by...the talking crab...Volkov concluded that the hallucinogenics must be in the air, rather than the coffee, as it seemed to be producing vivid experiences far beyond the possible quantity of drugs in a few sips.
He still didn't sip the coffee; the stuff tasted like bitter piss and caramel.
Considering those around him, Dr. Volkov was fairly certain this 'Red Hand' organisation was in the business of special individuals, as a fair few around him had those subconscious, yet annoying tendencies to either use their power to perform simple tasks, or to over-compensate and struggle with things they would normally do with their ability, in some bizarre attempt to prove that they're actually quite average.
In his life Volkov had, however, been around enough individuals of the 'special' persuasion to grow used to...well, them being annoying, and was currently much more concerned with this Red Hand.
The heavily armoured waiter was one of those concerns, but events prior to his sitting at this table, squashed between two strangers, seeded these doubts.
Volkov was fairly certain that this organisation may just be a little...evil.
With their policy on recruitment, their apathetic waste of their employees' lives, and the waiter dressed in full body armour, Dr. Volkov was fairly sure that this Red Hand could be a bit evil. Nefarious and menacing, at least.
Dr. Volkov turned to the clock - this appointment was already late in starting, and Volkov found himself rather impatient. He turned back to the talking crab, considering the possibility that this was not, in fact, a hallucination.
I wonder...if I were to disect the illusion of a talking crab, would I hallucinate vocal chords and a tongue? Would my hallucination be biologically accurate enough to convince me I was not under the effects of an illusion?
Reminding himself that he had no scalpel, and that the crab belonged to a ninja, Volkov occupied time by staring at the floor, and hoping that no one would speak to him.