Chapter Text
Date’s of interest:
Oklahoma City Bombing: April 19th, 1995 (Real Life event)
New York Disaster: April 18th, 1994
Evil Coup (Ep. 52): November 1st, 1996
Countryman’s Funeral (Ep. 67): November 8th, 1996
Now on with the show~
Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, Oklahoma City
April 18th 1995, one year anniversary of the New York Disaster
***
I don’t remember much about that day. Can’t even remember my mother’s face really. The sun was mockingly bright, and I was messaging someone on my pager. Birds and butterflies danced on the spring breezes outside. There was a window on my right & it was warm if you stood in the sight of the sun at that window. The checkered floor seemed cold and the white dry wall colder.
It was the last day I felt anything fully by myself.
I was in wing five, but for whatever reason it was the Roman numeral. Wing V. A radioactive warning sign was above my head, no... behind me, over my shoulder to my left.
It’s all hazy sometimes when I try to remember what it looked like. I know what it felt like though. I deduced later that my mom was getting a mammogram at the hospital next to the federal building.
Then suddenly, the light from the sun outside seemed to turn green. It felt hotter for a split second. Gravity seemed to not exist and I was-
***
Present Day
November 5th, 1996
“You were what, Lyon?” Connie cooed, her head on his chest while they rested after a night in the sheets.
The brunette man sighed, and his tone took on a peppier hue as he euphemistically ended the grisly story, “And my powers activated and saved my life.”
“Aww,” Connie groaned, “don’t cut it short. Now I’m even more curious why you don’t open up and show me the real you.”
Lyon chuckled, he and Connie were both shapeshifters. Truth be told, he hates taking on the personalities of other people. He felt fake enough as it was, all he felt like he had was his persona sometimes. Even if it was the stereotypical “bad-boy-on-a-motorcycle” slash drifter persona with his usual biker-jacket hoodie.
“Now you got a feeling of what I mean when I say it’s not really the usual stupid teenager insecurity stuff. You never showed me your real self either.”
“Because,” she replied, huffing some of her blonde hair out of her blue eyes, “I look more like my sister this way.”
“And what if I thought your sister was ugly?”
Connie jabbed eyes for daggers into him and he chuckled. She replied by changing into a red head with green eyes and freckles, saying, “Then I’ll have to improvise.”
He laughed, “You have freckles don’t you?”
Connie blushed and the freckles miraculously disappeared.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Why do you want to see the me-ME so bad?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, with a teasing voice, “curiosity?”
“Killed the cat, Lyon.” Connie deadpanned.
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Understanding passed between those eyes. Something only the closest of friends shared but they crossed that line when Connie paged Lyon to come over when Bill, her legal Guardian, was out mourning in a bar or park somewhere. They crossed that line when he saved her, rallied her and others during CALIBRE’s attempted coup in Las Vegas.
They were definitely more than friends. Neither of them knew if the other were willing to say it out loud though. The closest Connie could get however was to let her hair shorten, her freckles reappear and let her eyes darken. Her real self was shorter than her other forms, with short brown hair, brown eyes, freckles and a pug nose. A slight shimmer of anxiety passed through her as Lyon just looked at her. The unease was blown away by the boy’s smile and passionate lips to hers.
Time passed on as it did and they were resting in amiable silence until Connie stated, “I’ll be going with Bill to Countryman’s funeral in a few days.”
“I already told my friends to send their condolences.”
“You’re not coming with?”
“Bill doesn’t even know about us Connie and I already called in to work for tonight. I’ll try to honor everyone at the mass funeral service downtown.” He combed his fingers through her hair comfortingly, cooing, “Everyone from work is sending flowers though. Including myself.”
“I should be able to meet you downtown. For the Gang.”
“For our stunt gang.”
Little did the boy know, but this was going to be the last time he saw her for quite some time.
***
Meanwhile
Excelsior was Ronny Dimitri’s favorite ballet, and favorite vintage vinyl he played in his office from the lavish hardwood desk with a marble top. A fireplace was to his right, and there sat his bodyguard West, a Unique with no shadow. Even the oil black hair that oozed over his eyes a tad had no shadow. The only shadows the man had were the facial ones below his eyes that highlighted his dark and gaunt look. That and whatever shadow demon was in the boy’s soul. Just one look with intent could paralyze a man, not due to his ability, but his status and reputation.
The don of the Dimitri mafia family only kept some of the best Uniques as personal bodyguards.
And Lyon was supposed to be here instead of West.
Ronny Dimitri however, was an aging and understanding man. West obeyed orders without question, Lyon was that way to but what was coming into the boy’s life wasn’t defiance or laziness. It was a little bit of humanity. The boy needed some time to himself, and the war shock written up and down on the faces of many of his men after the coup reminded him of his grandfather’s generation. Well, those who were alive to come back to Italy after the world wars.
Dimitri’s father watched the mafias in Sicily take shape. Many men, without a father, clung to the mafia. Then the New York Crisis of 1994, all the Psions die, and many Uniques are orphaned or fatherless. Now Ronny Dimitri was repeating the cycle, giving men and even women Omertà. To the dictionary omertà meant silence but to the Family? Omertà was family, it was honor, it was respect. The code of Omertà was the only thing keeping crime families on the streets and out of each other’s homes.
To the Family, home was sacred. Family was sacred. Worship was sacred. And any gang, group of police, or other meddling factors who didn’t respect this were eliminated brutally. Even when the Yakuza broke the pact all the Families of California destroyed the Yakuza Family branch. CALIBRE likewise was crushed with little to no mercy. Now the age of Omertà could continue stronger than ever with the help of Uniques. The cycle can continue but the don of the Dimitri family wasn’t contemplating that in the peaceful abode of his office. No, he was wondering if 1997 was going to be another year of Omertà, of Tangentopoli, of corruption, or one of Mani Pulite; one of clean hands?
When, he wondered, will the cycle be broken?
A picture of Lyon’s flame, Connie Sage, sat on his desk, next to a picture of her sister shaking hands with the President just days ago. Ronny had to act fast, before someone else did. The man’s voice wheezed out of the old wounded throat covered nicely with a crimson cravat,
“West,” the boy’s head snapped attention to the call with nigh animalistic loyalty, “go get me the Governor’s... special phone number.”
***
November 9th, 1996
Madison City
“Umm, well I thank you for your condolences Governor but I can’t give you a definite answer right now.”
The word—FATALITY—blared from the neighboring room and Motherboard covered the bottom of the phone she was talking on and yelled, “TURN THAT DOWN YOU IDIOTS!”
She then politely ended the call before letting out a groan.
“Can I turn it back up now!” A nasally voice Motherboard knew to only belong to Singe yelled.
She got up from her computer and then went to the living room where most of the gang was relaxing in and she sunk into a leather Lazy-Boy and kicked the prop out.
“At least they had the decency to call AFTER the funerals.”
“Nother politician?” Quake asked while cutting onions and jalapeños to mix them into beef patties from the kitchenette.
“Ever since the VP passed that sponsorship law while the President went around giving pardons to Uniques and people wrongly imprisoned by CALIBRE people from every state in the US has been calling us.” Motherboard groaned.
As if on cue, the phone started ringing again and Motherboard face palmed.
“So what did that law do again?” KQ asked, nestled closely to Scout on the sofa.
Motherboard groaned again, irritation in her voice, “This is the third time Quick!”
“Basically,” Scout answered, “instead of using tax money from CALIBRE, the people can crowdfund superhero teams.”
“Or oligarchs from corporate white collar jobs can have Uniques as their own Yes-men.” Quake said with a sniff.
KQ asked, “Does that mean everyone is getting a tax cut?”
“Bet they won’t.” Quake said with another sniff.
Singe looked up from the screen of Mortal Kombat finally, “You cryin’ over there chief?”
“What? No it’s the onions!”
“Oh and can I turn the game back up?”
“I,” Motherboard answered Singe, “am not answering that phone so yeah.”
As soon as “FATALITY” blared through the group of young adults again the front door swung or rather slammed open.
“We’re back!” Hope declared, “And we have pizza!”
At this KQ gasped and zoomed out of the room.
“So you’re telling me,” Quake commented, his words more of a wisecrack than a show of annoyance, “I shed blood, sweat and tears over these burgers and you got pizza?”
“You sweat in our food?” Motherboard quipped with a smirk, “I’ll take pizza any day over that.”
“We called from a pay phone but no one picked up.”
“You-“ Motherboard stammered, “must have forgot the number.”
Singe chimed, “Bullsh-“
“Hey,” Scout stated, “why not burgers AND pizza?”
KQ walked back into the room sniffing.
“What’s wrong babe?”
“The onions & jalapeños are to die for!”
“Hey!” Singe protested, pausing the game, “How many slices did you eat?!”
Singe rose from his spot at the foot of the television and rushed to the scent of pizza sauce and grease.
“Quick will be hungry again soon anyways.” Hope assured, “So no need to mourn the loss of your burgers yet Quake.”
“How,” Quake asked, “did it go?”
Everyone was silent for a moment and Hope answered, “I stood by his grave for a while. Promised some stuff. Cried. Talked to Michael. And then got everyone pizza.”
The phone started ringing yet again and Motherboard pried herself from the recliner, declaring, “Well, it’s pizza time!”
“So your not-“
“Nope, you answer it Hope!”
Hope groaned and walked over to the phone on the wall and twirled the cord around her index finger habitually, “Hope Sage, New Guard speaking.”
“Venus sends her regards.”
The air seemed to constrict in Hope’s throat.
“She also wonders how her Angel Boy is doing, is he well?”
Hope didn’t recognize the voice. So she grasped at straws, was it a secretary?
“I’m assuming you work for Ms. Pryde?”
“Pryde? I will reward her pride in kind. I’ll probably kill her next.” The voice spat, “You may call me Adrestia.”
Hope’s voice and patience snapped, “What do you want?!”
“Me?” The woman on the line chuckled, “You assume that I would be selfish enough to make demands on what I wish. Oh no, Hope Sage, I called to ask you what you wanted. Should I send your sister to you in an envelope? A bucket maybe?”
“Don’t. You. Dare. Touch my sister!”
“I fear it’s a little bit too late for that Ms. Sage. Venus may, or may not have made her shapeshift into a man.”
Hope grit her teeth. Her rage boiling to a point when items were floating around her and she didn’t notice.
“Come to the pool bordered by angels and sins to suffer for your hubris.” There was a smirk in the woman’s voice. “Or wait. Whatever YOU want Ms. Sage.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Bill should be calling soon and I... will be waiting.”
***
It didn’t take much digging into what the woman said to find out the location. Scout had operated in L.A. before and knew that Los Angeles’ nickname was “The City of Angels”. Las Vegas was of course the most notoriously sinful cities in America. What irked Hope however was how the woman’s alias tied into her poetic little slap in her face.
Adrestia, Motherboard found out, was another name for the Greek goddess of vengeance: Nemesis. Adrestia, also meant “she who could not be escaped”, and was to some scholars the distributor of fortune or fate. In mythology, Nemesis was the one who led Narcissus to the pool where he died after smiting Echo; thus punishing him for his hubris.
Hope could almost see the sadistic smile on the mystery woman’s lips. She thought that she was so smart. Hope would show her, she would rub it in her face as she clobbered it.
However, she couldn’t let the personal side of this issue consume her. The Governor of California called and practically begged them to come help with the post-coup rise in crime. An associate of Scout’s was going to meet them at the airport once they teleport to San Francisco and take them to their center of operations.
Hope had promised to visit her sister but never did. Now, teleporting to California and not having Connie waiting for her tore a hole into her stomach. What was waiting on her was a pale woman with sophisticated bionic hands and feet. The smile the woman had was friendly and her purple eyeliner was skillfully done but Hope thought she saw a hollowness in the girl’s brown eyes.
Until they landed on Scout.
“Buddy!” She ran up and gave Scout an embrace and Hope thought that Katie was going to kill this woman.
“It’s been a while, killer scar.”
“Yeah,” he wormed out of her embrace and draped his arm over Katie, tacitly trying to send a message, “you’ve... changed as well.”
The woman didn’t voice anything aloud but from a hint in her voice and a narrowing of her eyes everyone knew she had recognized the message, “Ah, yes. Having a building fall on top of you tends to... change things.”
“How’s the family?” Scout asked, politely trying to change the topic.
The woman laughed a hollow laugh, “They’re great. Now I’m going to go make some phone calls and tell the Governor and his affiliates that you all arrived safe and sound.” The woman took out her phone saying, “There’s a few ballet shows going on if you and your... friend wanted to go after everyone gets settled in.”
“Thank you,” he declined, “but I’ll go where my team goes.”
“Fair enough.” She said before walking out of earshot.
“Scout,” Katie gripped one of his fingers tenderly and threatened to break it, “who was that?”
Oblivious to the threat he admitted, “She’s a friend. Ow-!”
Katie twisted his finger, growling,
“And how do you know her?”
“Ow-ow! Babe! She’s a cape with the same abilities as I have and a ballet dancer!”
“So you used to watch her shows?”
“Before I joined the team! Ow!”
“Stop it you two.” Quake said, “Something’s off about that girl and it isn’t her clinginess.”
“Quake,” Motherboard stated, “you think something is off about California in general.”
“Do you disagree?” Hope asked.
“Not really.” Motherboard admitted with a shrug.
“Hope,” Scout asked once his finger was free, “should I call Ghost for some assistance?”
“We got a lot on our plates with helping all California while looking for my sister but I got Virtue’s number. I think we can hold off for now.”
As if on cue, the guide came around the corner a shade paler than before.
“Scout,” Hope asked, “what’s her alias?”
“Black Swan, inspired by ballet naturally.”
“I’m afraid,” Swan said, “we got a situation.”
Singe groaned, “Whenever we hear those words we gotta suit up.”
“Indeed, if you would follow me. Your gear is being loaded onto a SWAT van as we speak. I hope you all can gear up in a speeding van.”
***
Hope could almost smell the salt in the van’s AC as they got closer to the coast. This was a good time to test out their new gear. The armor hasn’t seen combat and Hope wondered if the plating the tech that designed their outfits wasn’t lying or mistaken. Even though the sword was weaker than the pen, the pens still knew nothing about the lives of the swords.
The van also came with a tech booth where Motherboard plugged in her implants and worked her magic. It was only a few minutes before Black Swan and Motherboard communicated the situation to the team. A pre-1995 Cold War Unique weapon called Legion had escaped captivity. Scientists are actually confused about the monster’s origin. Legion, is assumed to be the culmination of a hundred people bionically sewn together and run by a singular hive mind. Such gross disrespect for human life has caused many to wonder if the Soviets or even Nazi’s in World War Two had made “him”. If this was the case, many wonder, why is it in the United States?
Legion has gained near mythical status with conspiracy theorists after carving several miles of destruction once CALIBRE happened upon the secret warehouse he was being held in during the coup. It’s theorized by Motherboard that Hope’s mind attacks will be ultimately ineffective against the behemoth since the hive mind is essentially one hundred minds, with one hundred wills to break and even Hope’s parents couldn’t do that at once.
Files say that Legion is constantly at mental war with itself. Due to this, it will confusingly spout things in several different languages. Some languages on the list are Russian, Czech, German, Hebrew, Danish and many other languages represented by WW2 German POW camps or Stalin’s prisoner labor for his Five Year Plans and gulags.
Hope somewhat wanted to know who was responsible for such a monster. However, Hope has seen the lobotomized Uniques that powered the force field for the White House. And that part of Hope didn’t want to know the Frankenstein behind this monster.
Hope drank it all in, trying to form a plan. Black Swan said that several other groups from the area were called in and were currently engaging it. It was in essence a one man riot of a hundred bionically boosted people and the worst part was that it was in the center of Los Angeles. Efforts to contain the threat have proven futile. She couldn’t put it to sleep like she did Annilgator.
They heard it before they saw it, when the tumuntolous voice roared, “Hilf mir! Pomoz mi! Pomoz mi!” Scout flinched.
“T-that’s Czech all right.”
“You know a bunch of languages or somethin’?” Singe asked, popping his knuckles.
“M-my mother knew Czech.”
“Oof, sorry dude.”
“Y-you’re good.” Scout asked, “Hey Michael, can you say a prayer?”
“What? Me?” He stammered as all the eyes in the van landed on the angelic young man. Singe gripped his shoulder in the solemn silence and comforted, “You got this feather boy. Don’t be afraid,” Singe echoed, “right?”
Michael remembered those words he had said as he shielded Singe from what looked like certain death at the White House. The memory revived the courage he had from that moment and the New Guard beseeched Providence for the first time, together. In the awkward silence after the short prayer everyone did the sign of the cross. Singe finished his with a kiss to his fingers to God and Motherboard wisecracked, “Isn’t that a Catholic thing?”
Quake chuckled, “Just roll with it.”
“Alright team,” Hope started, “Katie, you are speed. Evacuate any wounded and civilians. Motherboard will stay in the van and mobilize her drones. Everyone else? Roll out.”
The van stopped and Katie busted out in a literal blur. Hope and the others, including Black Swan, hit the pavement running towards the sounds of combat. Roars could be heard and a crash.
“Aidez-moi! Pomozte nám! Aidez-moi!”
Scout flinched and Singe asked, “What’s it saying?”
“It,” Scout hesitated, unslinging his grapple, “It’s screaming ‘help me, help us’ over and over again.”
Pity for the souls forced into one mind and body washed over Hope for only a second. There was nothing to be done for Legion, her team and the innocents in the crossfire. She pressed the COMM in her ear, asking, “Motherboard, who are the heroes currently engaged with Legion?”
“The oldest is a hero named Vespasian. He claims to be a late twenties ‘Typic’ with expensive gadgets, tastes, and the ego of a Roman emperor; thus the name. CALIBRE classified him as a Unique due to his Olympic athleticism. He’s so athletic he can catch bullets at point blank range. Another is a Unique vigilante who goes by the name of Draco. The twelve year old kid can teleport to conductors and uses two knives. Not much is known about him. Finally, an actor with advanced pheromone powers is being called in but isn’t here yet.”
Before Hope could ponder further a car rolled past them into the insurance agency on their right with a crash. Flames kindled brightly at an alarming rate. In a deafening boom shrapnel and debris erupted from the wreck and Hope tossed up a quick shield in response. After metal, dust and stone clattered to the ground the heroes rounded the corner and finally saw the commotion that they have heard on their approach.
For lack of a better term, the monster was grotesque. It was humanoid, just a big brute that looked like he was sewn together with rags from a distance. If only that were the truth. There were lights under and between the hundred canvases used to make this beast; evidence of the bionics making this thing possible. Plates covered it’s hands and fingers, in fact, it’s feet and hands were more metal than flesh. Hope looked back to her team.
Sort of like Black Swan’s hands and feet.
Turning back to her opponent, she noted the hive mind. Visible to all, it hissed with electric power like some sick versions of Frankenstein. Sparks crackled at the collar around it’s neck.
Below it flashed gold whenever the black and gold armored man dodge the creature’s attacks. Blue and white would flash as the other Unique would throw his daggers and teleport to their location. Both avoided damage with ease but could hardly do anything to the aberration. They were keeping it distracted.
My team readily engaged with Singe blasting the higher back. Quake caused it’s feet to sink into the street. Scout twirled his nano-fiber rope and shouted, “Katie! Catch!”
Rapping the legs, they tried the first strategy that came to mind: take out the legs. The man with a golden Roman bust for a mask, emblazoned in a heraldic sun, huffed, saying loud enough for Hope to hear,
“Stupid children.”
Michael landed on one hand and Hope used all her power in an attempt to restrain the other. In reaction, the behemoth batted Michael through a window like a fly and ripped the other hand from Hope’s mental grasp. Pain washed over Hope’s mind like a tsunami, the headache worse than the time she made CALIBRE agents think they were TF3 (Ep. 36), and the suddenness floored her. Both hands free, it ripped the nano-fiber restraints away like string and the pavement off like candy glass.
Gripping the rope, the monster flung Scout like a toy. Hope struggled with the pain on the ground as Legion’s metal fingers creaked as they coiled tightly into fists. Hope couldn’t tell what Motherboard was screaming into her ear when a shadow blocked off the sun. All she saw was a brunette in a black leotard cartwheel over her before the earth shifted her away from the double hammer fist that sought her life.
Black Swan batted the monster’s hands away with tectonic force, rolled under and struck the knees. Forced to it’s knees, Vespasian jabbed his Bo staff into the ground, twirled and kicked its chin with both feet. That kid, Draco, slashed the ankles looking for the Achilles Tendons. Singe’s flames engulfed the face. Scout was fast to rebound, flipping over as if on cue with his super glue pellets and landed in front of Legion as he screamed,
“Pomoz mi! Pomozte nám!”
Scout shook his head forlornly, replying, “Nemůžu.” (I can’t.)
With a twist, overwhelming strength ripped the glue from Legion’s hands and feet. However, the glue found itself in the smaller crevices and sparks spat through the ensuing flames. Everyone leapt back and Black Swan shouted,
“The collar! We need to power the collar!”
Temples pulsing, Hope looked again and caught the sight of a busted transformer. Quake uppercut Legion with the earth beneath him as Black Swan slid from cover and tapped a knee with her tectonic needles. Vespasian threw ice pellets at the downed knee and hit the other with his Bo staff. It bounced off with a ringing sound as Hope mentally manipulated the wires from the busted transformer and plugged them into the collar around Legion’s neck. Glass shattered as it screamed,
“Aidez-moi! Hjælp mig! Pomogi mne! Hilf mir! Pomoz mi!”
Electromagnetism so strong that the arc were visible drew Legion’s hands and feet together. Finally the behometh collapsed, whimpering,
“תעזור לי!”