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"Translating..." [RP Post]


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Posted (edited)

 

 

An elderly man, perhaps in his 70's or 80's, dressed in deep green dress clothes and glasses ambled his way through the Vanguard DPO within the Rikti Warzone. One would have expected a man of such small stature to be sauntering his way toward a lab, or an office, but, he was making his way toward the exit. His destination was outdoors.

Little Round Top, to be precise.

 

"Professor?" a younger male in a lab coat would jog to catch up to the elderly man's slow gait.

"Oh, hello young man." the elderly gentleman stops and turns his attention to the younger scientist. British. Very British. The old man sounded like he was fresh off a flight from his homeland.

"They told me they were bringing in a specialist, but I didn't think it was going to be ... you." the younger man says.

"It's a matter of need, really. One of the forward teams had a building collapse on an armor rig." he tips his head to the right in slight. "...and they need the debris removed without alerting the enemy. No explosions."

"...but, Professor, you're not exactly ... you know ..."
"A spring chicken? Oh, I know, lad. Don't worry, though. Stronger 'hero' types patrol all the time. I'm sure a little old man will get an escort." he chuckles wryly.

"That's not funny, Nick." the younger man says, not amused.

"Lad ... " the older man, Nick, raises and rests his right hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Relax. It's going to take more than a few ugly little monkeys to stop me."

"You can't fly, or shoot lasers from your eyes. You have an issue with STAIRS, Nick." he shakes his head, shrugging Nick's hand off of his shoulder. "This is careless, and you know it."

"Get back to the lab, Jenkins. I'll be back in a few." he turns on his heel and makes his way out.

 

Pavia and The Bulge remained well-defended, allowing the short statured senior to make his way out of the region without much issue. Looking about as he kept the same slow, sauntering pace, the sounds of explosions and weapon-fire permeated the air like the smoke and the stench of death. Straightening his off-gold tie and then adjusting his glasses, he'd look up as the concussion of a sonic-boom made his clothing whip about. A high-speed flying 'mask' was after a Rikti Drop Ship.

 

"By Harry!" he raises his left hand to the top of his head, stopping his hair from moving about as he just ... kept on walking as slowly as he had been.

 

Coming upon a squad of armored, armed, Vanguard specialists holding a small trench outside of a leveled building, one of them would dart over and hurry The Professor over behind one of the armored vehicles.

 

"Thank whatever Gods exist, Doc. Welcome to hell!" the Vanguard that hurried him over removing his helmet and setting it on the hood of the truck. "You'll have to forgive me and the boys, here. We thought we had more time to get cheese and wine for your visit!" he shouts over the sound of the battlefield stretched around them in every direction.

 

"Nothing so fancy, lad!" Nick responds. "Cucumber sandwiches and tea, perhaps!" he chuckles. "Is this the place?" he asks, turning his attention to the mess of rubble.

 

"That's the one! One of our pilots drove one of our suits in there after one of the Monkey Commanders. Ugly bastard dropped the building down on the suit! Now, we're still getting a good read from the cams and systems, but, our drones weren't meant to hold up -buildings-, Doc!"

 

"I wouldn't imagine so!" he turns and makes his way toward the rubble. "Give me some room, would you, lad?" he asks, waving his left hand some.

 

The Vanguard 'superior' retrieved his helmet and replaced it as Nick approached the mess of concrete and twisted supports.

 

 

Finally reaching it, the old man rolled his shoulders and stretched his left arm out to his side. Curling his fingers downward, a framework would begin to be drawn within his grasp, drawn in fluorescent green lines, the spaces would begin to fill. A rather simple looking bowler hat was held in Nick's left hand, turning it about and placing it over his head.

 

"Translating ... " his voice sounding deeper and more vivacious, taking to his right knee. His entire form being encased in a blue-green bubble, sparking and crackling as dust made contact with it, with a sharp 'pip' sound, the bubble would burst.

 

Standing where the elderly man once stood was a well-built man in his 20's, perhaps. The tails of his vest had grown, his moustache straightening and curling upward slightly. He looked like he'd stepped out of 1950's Britain. Tweed suit, perfectly bow-tied shoe-laces, and no more glasses. Reaching both hands up and resting both open palms upon the pile of debris. Within seconds, the same green wireframe would begin to be drawn around the whole of the pile of milled stone and metal, the eyes of the man-out-of-time blazing in what appeared to be green flames.

Splits in his exposed forearms were seen forming, green light leaking out from the new cracks before the same 'flames' would vent from them like small jets.

With the show of light and fire, the debris trapped within the green 'frame' would begin to shake without sound, it's very existence being shaken and displaced, looking like a colorless, poorly done 3-D image being shaken back and forth rapidly.

 

"Trans ... lating ... " he chokes out, knees quivering as he spread his arms to his sides, appearing to be fighting against a heavy unseen force.

The shadow of the debris was no longer visible, light passing between the very atoms that made up the wreckage.

 

"Holy ... mother of ... " the commander being stunned at what he was seeing.

 

Clapping his hands together, Nick's green flames would extinguish instantly, but the largest change was the collapse of the debris without even a sound. The wireframe and all that was within had been ... erased. Tech scans of the area would read high-yield non-ionizing radiation. Research of the area indicated that the very matter of the debris had been converted, 1-to-1, to energy, and left to disperse over time, as energy is want to do.

 

Dropping to his knees immediately after the 'collapse', Nick's own image began to flutter back and forth within a short space.

 

"Doc!" the commander shouts, sprinting over to him.

 

"BACK!" Nick responds loudly. "STAY BACK!" which caused the commander slow to a stop about halfway to Nick.

 

"Doc? What's goin' on, here?"

 

"Overflow." the 'chap' responds through his teeth.

 

With the debris now gone, they could have removed their armor, however ... the Rikti that had brought down the building, had done so on top of himself, as well. With the debris now gone, the sound of automatic plasma weapon fire erupts from where the debris once stood.

Nick stood immediately, spreading his arms, taking four of the six shots and staggering backward. The remaining two, luckily, planted themselves into the side of the APC.

 

"Make a hole!" the commander shouts, taking to his knee and shouldering his rifle. The other Vanguard operatives turned to train their weapons in the Rikti's direction, though, Nick's back was in the way. "Doc! Move!"

 

"I don't much ... care ... " Nick starts, standing upright and rolling his shoulders once more. " ... for the cut of your jib, sir!" Nick shouts at the Rikti, putting his hands up like an old timey pugilist. A boxer. Fists closed and turned upward.

As he took this stance, the splits in his skin began to vent out more green flames, each streaming out an inch or two from his body.

 

The Rikti Rifleman takes three more shots, and with both blinding speed, and trails of green light, Nick would knock the plasma bolts aside with his fists. The Rifleman took a step backward. Just one. This made Nick grin from ear to ear, even as the Rikti unloaded the remaining twenty-six rounds from his plasma-rifle.

Nick stepped TOWARD the shots with each swing, causing the bolts to go flying and arcing off into the distance to explode, in most cases, a quarter of a mile away. His hands and arms were moving faster than the short period of time between each rifle blast. Parts of his shirt and vest were being sheared off with the speed of each swing.

 

CLICK

 

The Rikti Rifle clicks, the shooter looking down at his weapon, and then back up to Nick, who was now within reach.

 

With a wink, Nick cocked his right hand back and took one swing, just as quickly as he'd done with the plasma rounds, in the dead center of the Rikti's armored chest. A gout of green flames erupted from its back before it fell forward and collapsed.

 

Within seconds, Nick was on his knees as well, hunched forward, arms wrapped around his stomach, the venting flames dispersing, leaving slowly bleeding cuts all over his face, neck, and arms.

 

"Get a damned Med Unit out here, stat!" the commander shouts, sprinting toward Nick. "Doc!"

 

Nick's left hand reached up for the hat on the top of his head, removing it as it deconstructed itself the same way it had appeared. The same bubble of greenish electricity surrounds the super-chap before the familiar 'pip' of it popping.

 

What was left was a frail looking, smoldering, cut up and bleeding old man, pants being all that remained of his clothing. Even his shoes had burned up from the movements.

 

"I'm ... I'm aces." he raises his left hand shakily and gives a thumbs up before it returned to the ground as he was on his hands and knees.

 

"They said you used to be a cape, but damn, old man!" the commander says, kneeling beside old man Nick as the armor suit was retrieved by the pilot from the safety of the APC.

 

"Used to be." Nick repeats. "I don't suppose you'd do me the courtesy of keeping that little ... outburst ... out of your report?" he asks between coughs, turning his head up to the commander.

 

"Sure as shit, Doc. You got it. You just saved us a few million dollars."

 

"Smashing ... now ... when is that Medical Team arriving? I think I broke my ... everything ... "

Edited by Raiden Dirty
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TALOS ISLAND BOARDWALK

 

 

 

Nick sat at a small round table with an umbrella mounted within a hole in the center. Tea was the order of the day.

Across from him sat a woman who looked to be maybe 60 or 70 years of age. She wore a rather conservative dress, her hat sitting on the table, as the umbrella was already doing the work. She wasn't the sort to dye her hair in her older years, believing grey to be a sign of experience.

 

"It's good to see you, again, Mister P." the elderly woman says. "When they said you'd called about your anchor, I had to be the one to bring it." she says, having been smiling since she sat down. "My father would be overjoyed to see you trying to hold on."

 

"He would, Miss Alice." Nick responds, taking a drink from his own cup of tea. "So, what do you think? A friend of mine brought me out here the other day." he says, looking to the docks that he and his friend had spoken on.

 

"It's lovely, Nick." she chuckles. "Still try to evade emotional topics, huh?"

 

"It's one of my super-powers." he grins, raising his teacup.

 

"Nick ... talk to me. How are you, really?" she asks, setting her cup down and resting her hands on the table.

 

"It's been difficult, Miss Alice." he admits quietly. "Your father, and the rest of out group, were the only people I truly cared about. Present company included, of course."

 

"It's good to see you trying to move past it." she sighs, furrowing her eyebrows. "They wouldn't have wanted you in isolation for eternity, and they wouldn't have wanted you to just ... give up."

 

"You would be surprised how many of the newer generation have asked me to keep fighting."

 

"I wouldn't, Nick. You've always been good with people. At least, as long as I've known you."

"Dear girl, you were born after I'd burned my ego up in that reactor." he chuckles softly, raising his teacup.

 

"I know. Not a conversation goes by that you don't remind me how my mother gave birth in -your- lab." she chuckles, herself.

 

"Your father was a proud man, but, I saw him humbled before you the day you were born, young lady. You meant the world to him."

 

"He left me in good hands. That's how I know he loved me, Nick." she says, smiling warmly at him.

 

"Still wearing those ridiculous glasses. Doesn't stop you from seeing them all as static, though, does it?" a male voice with an American accent speaks up from the table behind Nick.

 

"Excuse me. We're trying to have a conversation here." Alice says, looking to Nick. "What is he talking about?"

 

"He didn't tell you? This crusty old Seaman sees people as masses of atoms. He has no idea what you actually look like." 

 

"Ah ... Johnathan." he says, taking a drink from his cup without bothering to turn around. "I see you found a body to come interrupt me in the middle of tea. Tell me, where are you, boy? We can have this conversation in person."

 

"Blimey Gov'na, tea and crumpets with Queen Nicholas?"

 

"Quite."

 

"I know that facade, Nicky."

 

"...still as careless as you are without honor, Mister Crawford." he continues to banter with the man he hasn't even turned around to address directly. His eyes were on Alice. He was watching -her-, and keeping a faint smile on his face. Confidence. That's what people expected of the 'hero' sorts. If they were confident, there was no reason for the people to worry. The truth was ... Nick was terrified. He would never let Alice, or any other civilian, see that fear in him.

 

"If I had a heart, it would be broken, Professor. You were always my favorite."

 

"That's terrifying." he says calmly, taking a slow drink from his tea. "Get to the point, Johnathan."

 

"You used to be fun! What the hell happened to you?"

 

"I grew up, Johnathan. Something you still have time to do."

 

"Why improve on perfection? Besides, I'm just here to watch the sand run through that glass. I don't want anything from you, Doc. I just want to watch you die, knowing that you failed."

 

"You're the one that failed, dear boy." Nick says, finally looking over his left shoulder toward the voice. "You failed us. You exchanged love for power. You lost what made you brilliant. If the others were still alive, they'd tell you the same."

 

The man that Nick lay his eyes on was a man in his 30's or 40's in a disgustingly expensive looking red suit. Reflective ruby lense glasses, slicked back black and grey hair.

 

"It's ... it's you ... " Alice stammers.

 

"Yes, yes, it's me. Now, shut up, wench, or I'll snatch that crooked spine out through your ribcage."

 

"Mister Crawford!" Nick stands immediately, turning to face the seated man in red.

 

"There we go! Swing down, and piss off The Pugilist!" the man in red stands, spreading his arms with a wide grin.

 

"I may be old, and I may be running out of time, but I am still quite powerful enough to erase your new body, and any other corpses you're puppeting around."

 

"Are you sure about that?" the man in red asks, lowering his arms and leaning forward on the table with both hands.

 

"What have you done?" Nick asks quietly, eyes widening behind his glasses.

 

"Now, Professor, is when I agree to tell you where I am."

 

"Johnathan. What have you done?"

 

"You're gonna' love it, Nicky! Come then! Let it begin!" the man in red turns around and begins to saunter off.

 

"Where are you, boy?" Nick asks once more.

 

"Why, our old haunt, of course. The best place for the dead to meet." the man in red simply walks off down the road.

Nick didn't give chase, or move away from the table very far. He wasn't going to leave Alice alone where this ... thing ... could reach her. After a moment, he'd return to his seat, hands on his knees, looking down into the cup of tea he'd stopped drinking. Deep thought.
 

"You're not actually going to -go-, are you?"

 

"I have to." Nick says quietly. "He's my mess to clean up, now."

 

"Why? Why do you 'have to'?"

 

"We failed him, Alice. Me, your father, Simmons. All of us." he shakes his head slowly. Uncanny as it was to see, Nick was no longer breathing unless he were about to speak. "That's all I can say without putting you in danger. His problem is with me, and I'd rather it end there."

 

"Nicholas..."

 

"Your father would have agreed with me, Alice." he finally looks back up to her. "I have to meet with him."

 

"Before you go? The ... the anchor." Alice says, sliding a suitcase under the table with her foot.

 

"I'm terribly sorry for all of this, Miss Alice."

 

"You don't get to die on me, Nick."

 

"I wouldn't dream of it, young lady..."

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Posted (edited)

 

 

The following data has been unsealed at the request of The Invictus Academy (Party A). The State of Rhode Island (Party B) will keep these files available to senior staff until such time as Doctor Phylo (Subject) is either dismissed or deceased.

This information has been compiled from military service records and hero registry data, as well as school transcripts and interviews.

 

Name : 

Phylo, Nicholas W.

 

DoB :

22, October, 1867

 

PoB :

Harwell, Oxfordshire, United Kingdom

 

Parents :

Linda and Wilhelm Phylo

(Deceased)

 

Sibling(s) : 

None

 

Military Service :

Her Majesty’s Royal Navy

20 years

-Naval College.

-Specialized in Nuclear Physics.

-Three PhDs earned during period of service.

-Participated in Navy sanctioned boxing matches.

-Participated in Operation Buffalo.

-Participated in Operation Antler.

-Aided in establishing the AERE in the city he was born.

-Three Service Medals, all for ‘Bravery Under Fire’.

MEDICAL DISCHARGE

 

Subject participated in nuclear research and testing. He was tasked with designing a tool to ‘translate’ physical matter into ambient energy. Succeeding, and proving its success by removing debris from a battlefield, his technology was later turned on people without his knowledge, causing the deaths of forty-four civilians.

Subject destroyed all traces of his research, tracking the weapon to where it was being stored, and programming it to ‘translate’ itself out of existence.

Subject believed he would be destroyed in the process.

Subject survived.

Subject was then discharged from Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, believed to be radioactive enough to harm his comrades.



 

Hero Registry Service :

Alias : ‘Nuclear Pugilist’

Known Abilities : Matter-Energy Conversion, Atomic Manipulation, Energy Absorption

Class/Grade : Unknown (Subject refused official Grading test) 

Years of Service : 31

Status : Retired

Affiliations : ‘Hero Group’ Unit 21

Highest Member Count : 14

Surviving Members : 1

 

-Subject originally detained by Unit 21 for patrolling without registration.

-Subject isolated in Unit 21 vault due to radioactive energy output.

-Subject released and made official member after 20 days of isolation and non-invasive study.

-Subject is the only surviving member of the Rikti Invasion.

-Subject remains in contact with daughter of late Unit 21 member.




 

Retirement Record :
A few years after the collapse of Unit 21, Subject appeared once more, seeming to have aged quite a bit. Taking the job of teaching, he has since been a Professor of Nuclear Physics at Peregrine University, as well as assisting Vanguard and Portal Corp with their energy needs.

Subject has also been tasked with removing debris, locating mines, as well as pinpointing the locations of survivors within collapsed buildings.

It was later discovered that the Subject was decaying from a lack of stable energy.

 

On the date of 6/20/2022, Subject was aided by another registered ‘hero’.

This aid included a wealth of energy that the Subject used to exit this ‘decay state’.

Subject now appears to be in his mid-to-late 30s.

 

—---

 

It is our understanding that Doctor Phylo is seeking employment with The Invictus Academy.

Despite the state’s lack of information on the exact nature and limits of his abilities, he has never been responsible for, or suspected of, ‘going too far’. We do not believe he or the use of his abilities to be a danger to your staff or students.

The Subject exhibits a level of control expected from somebody who has been a 'meta' for over a hundred years.

Edited by Raiden Dirty
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