Sinister Squad Sinister Stories

[Moka]

This is where we post stories revolving around our villain group, the Sinister Squad! 

 

Baron Deadeye was never a betting man. Like holding a pair of loaded dice, he always made sure fate played right into his hands.

 

As the ferry departed from Grandville, the stench of the gutters grew less and less disgustingly potent. The Baron stood at the edge of the ship, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the coat pocket of his long duster. He took out his skull-engraved lighter (that he just so happened to snatch from a Bone Daddy) and took the first relaxing drag of the evening. He breathed out a foggy sigh as he could tell he was not alone.

"Your boy Skorch didn't do so hot, huh?" An amused, callous voice chirped from behind the walls of cargo. A man dressed in a black and purple pinstripe suit exited from behind cover. He re-adjusted his black, cybernetic cyclops mask and walked over with a skip in his step to stand next to the Baron. The Baron possessively held his pack of cigarettes against him, which evoked a small chuckle from the mysterious man. "Oh, no. I don't smoke. I'm not a whore." His smile was almost audible. The Baron snarled and finally spat out his late retort:

"Skorch didn't fail." He dug out a tablet from his other coat pocket, handing it over to the man in the suit. Upon the tablet was a Longbow insignia with a raised bounty - a Forty grand per capture bounty for every member of the Sinister Squad, as opposed to Arachnos' thirty thousand. An amused giggle escapes the man.

"Oh, cheeky cheeky. You're raising the stakes. You know how to tease, but can you actually put out?" He passes the tablet back. The Baron scoffs.

"I always get what I want."

"And what of your dear friend Arbiter Eden? Did you not promise him the Squad's heads?"

"Eden and I go way back - back to his days as a Tac Ops. Our relationship has never changed since then; purely professional. If he wants the Squad, he's going to have to offer more. Though something tells me Arachnos never intended on paying, anyway. They want this just as much as I do. They want the Squad to be made an example of."

"Oh, but if they are by anyone but their own terms, they look weak. Are you sure you're ready to betray Arachnos so soon?"

The Baron inhales the rest of his cigarette, puffing out three rings before flicking his dud into the ocean.

"I'm a Gatecrasher, not a Gatekeeper." He almost smiles at that. Almost. Perhaps more so because now it was his turn to taunt. "I hear your kind didn't do too hot against them, either."

"Oh, just the same as you. I disposed of some unwanted bodies and showed them that they're vulnerable. There's only...one thing."

"What?"

"We will pay you personally eighty thousand each for Squad callsigns: Aimbot and Ten, each."

"Deal. What's the catch?"

 

The man in the suit raised both of his hands defensively.

"Oh, no, no, no. There's no catch besides that. I want those two secured for the Church of Nyx. If you do that, I will make sure the bounty spreads globally."

And as always, fate played right into the Baron's hands.

"You drive a hard bargain. I can see why Empyrean hated you."

"Don't lie to me. Your soft, departed leader could not learn the meaning of hatred. He was so forgiving."

The Baron clenches both of his fists. The man in the suit rolled his eyes underneath the mask.

"Oh, forgive me for pushing a topic you yourself brought up."

"We'll see. Is that all?"

"Yes, our business is concluded. Just one teensy favor, if you may?"

"What?"

"Kill this body for me. I'm done with it. Just mind the suit, and fold it after. I'll be back for it."

"My pleasure."

Edited April 13, 2020 by Moka

[Badger54]

"Kill this body for me. I'm done with it. Just mind the suit, and fold it after. I'll be back for it."

 

Despite the creepiness of it, this made me grin and really sold the character for me.

 

Just mind the suit.

[Moka]

Thank you so much!!! There will be more to come : ). This'll likely just become the thread for Sinister Squad stories.

[AerialAssault]

Meanwhile, at the Sinister Swamp..

 

Deep in the metal halls of the Sinister Squad’s secret swamp hideout, the faint buzzing of machinery echoed rhythmically at a volume only just audible. Past the biology labs and chemistry areas, beyond the quiet hum of hi-tech hardware and just after the gentle bubbling of vats of indescribable liquid lay the engineering bay.

 

It was dimly lit in here, for its lone denizen had no need for illumination. Boxes stacked up to the ceiling, brimming with untold technological horrors and countless weapons ready to wage war at a moment’s notice. In one corner of the room, three concentric rings sat in quiet above a large platform, a small terminal with readouts feeding information to the lone occupant. Wires & cables criss-crossed the floor haphazardly, with no rhyme or reason to them, feeding into and out of numerous displays and machines. In the centre of the room was a large, flat machinery workshop, its robotic appendages idle as the head of the Squad’s engineering loomed over their latest project.

 

In truth, it wasn’t really a project. Ten hadn’t made anything truly ambitious in a long time. No, instead they had relegated themselves to a one-robot assembly line. A bit of solder here, a few flux-capacitors here, and Laser Rifle #1176-1/X was born. Ten regarded the heavy rifle for only the briefest of moments, before moving it aside into the ‘Done’ pile, which was invariably a heap of laser rifles at the foot of the workbench. Such organisation would appal most, but Ten had perfect recollective memory of each laser rifle and its whereabouts. Indeed, most of their half-baked projects laid strewn around the room in various states of completion.

 

For a moment, Ten had a reprieve, a slight time of clarity. It was in these moments that they would plan & organise their future. Inevitably, Ten simply picked up the next piece of sheet polycarbon to start work on the next laser rifle. As their hands moved in a practiced manoeuvre, building a complex piece of weaponry faster than any human eye could follow, the room was suddenly bathed in light. Photo-lenses adjusted and Ten’s senses calibrated and opened in expectancy, and their personal force field formed around them preemptively.

 

“Easy there buddy, it’s just me.”

 

Ten turned to the doorway, seeing Carter stood there with a crate in their hands. Carter, or Cesspit as he was better known, was a bit of an anomaly for Ten. By all accounts a living joke, Carter had surprised Ten by being a surprisingly competent leader, as well as a formidable combatant, quite an achievement for someone as singularly repulsive as Carter was. He wasn’t dressed in his usual hazmat gear, instead wearing a grey denim jacket and shadow blue jeans, which Ten briefly noted as a rarity.

 

Carter was relaxed, in contrast to Ten’s tension. The meta-human smirked and tip-toed their way over to the machinist, being careful not to trip over the dozens of hazards laid across the floor. Ten stared them down as they approached, only dropping their force field after their scans had shown Carter was not hostile, at least at the current moment of time.

 

“Carter. This better be important.” Ten said. Using their vocal emitters was not something Ten did a lot of these days, and their normally human-sounding voice had a distinctive metallic grating to it.

 

Carter dropped the crate onto the workbench, causing bits of metal and tools to jostle around, though Ten barely flinched. “Not really, no. Just thought I’d check up on you.” Carter looked down at Ten with a smirk. At 6ft 4”, Carter towered over Ten even when Ten was stood up, but Ten’s hunched posture only made them look meeker before Carter. There was an awkward pause as Ten calculated the best response.

 

“I’m fine, Carter. If that’s all.” Ten retorted curtly, their voice showing no inflection or meaning.

 

Carter sighed and rested a fist on his hip, clearly not convinced. “Right, sure, that’s why yer’ve been locked up in ‘ere fer what, three months?”

 

“There’s work to be done Carter, I’m not sure if you have noticed.” Ten briefly gestured to the stacks of munitions crates.

 

“Yeah, I can see that. Ain’t there a machine or somethin’ y’can make t’do all that for ya?” Carter looked around the engineering bay, taking in the sights.

 

“Yes. And no. I require full information logs of every item that passes in and out of here.”

“Why?”

“Because it is imperative to-“

 

Carter folded their arms “I’ll stop ya there, I don’t really care why.” For a brief moment, Ten felt flustered. It was the first ‘emotion’ they’d felt in a very long time. The sensation uneased them, and Ten shifted uncomfortably in their seat, again, something that the robot hadn’t done in a while. Eventually, they responded.

 

“What is the purpose of this visit, Carter.”

“I told ya, t’check up on ya.”

“I’m here, I’m functioning-“

“Alive, th’ word yer mean is alive.”

 

Ten’s visual receptors focused on Carter “No, Carter. Have you forgotten that-“

 

“Yer a robot, yeah, I get it. We all get it, yer a ‘beep boop beep boop’ robot” Carter briefly mimed a robot for emphasis“Programs an’ functions an’ all that.”

 

Something was beginning to build in Ten’s chest. It was annoyance. Something that came quite easily to the robot, but another feeling they had pushed down further.

 

“I will be honest Carter, I do not know where you are going with this.”

 

Carter sighed and shook their head “This might come as a surprise buddy, but some of us ‘ere are getting’ a bit worried about ya.”

 

There was another awkward pause as Ten felt Carter’s judgemental eyes piercing through them. Ten looked themselves up and down, then back to Carter. “Why would anyone be worried. I’m fine.”

 

There was a short, dismissive laugh from Carter, followed by a longer, equally dismissive laugh. “Fine? Is this what ya call fine? Look at yerself Ten, yer sat ‘ere in a jumpsuit ya ain’t washed in months, yer workplace is .. well it’s a shambles is what it is.” Carter gestured around the room as they spoke, then prodded Ten in the chest to emphasise their speech “An’ yer not even talkin’ t’anyone else, ever, ‘cept to give ‘em orders or fer ‘data’.”

 

Ten calmly pushed Carter’s accusatory finger away. Though they tried not to show it, Carter had managed to get under their panelling, because deep in their processing they knew they were right. Had they not been expunging their own humanity? Rejecting their unique trait to pursue some machine-ideal? It took Ten only a few seconds to response, but those few seconds of silence were damning for a machine that could formulate responses in nanoseconds.

 

“I’m not here to be friends with anyone Carter.”

 

Carter huffed “Who said anythin’ ‘bout friends? We’re a team, Ten. A buncha no-good, dirty rotten scoundrels. But that don’t mean we gotta hate each other, or just let each other slide inta .. well, I don’t even know what ya doin’ anymore.” He walked around Ten and the workbench, idly inspecting some of the components before stopping around the other side of the workbench, Ten’s inscrutable gaze following them. “Ye used t’be different Ten. Ye used t’ave pleasure in this stuff. Ye used t’ .. I dunno, enjoy bein’ Ten. But ever since Seven-“

 

Ten visibly twitched. Seven was a complex issue that, while the rest of the Squad had quickly gotten over, had haunted Ten for reasons they never explained. It was true, since that fateful day when Ten had closed that chapter of their life for good, or so they thought. They cursed themselves for their naivety and distanced themselves in any way they good to remove that history from their life as permanently as possible. But it always crept up on them, when their thought processes least expected it to.

 

The robot put the tools in its hands down, its focus completely out-of-balance. Carter stood expectantly on the other side of the workbench. Ten’s mind flashed with hundreds of responses. Some of them snarky, some of them vicious, some of them in agreement and some of them, simply nothing.

 

Carter smirked, in a friendly gesture, as they reached into their jacket pocket. The panic gone from Ten’s mind, the robot focused on what Carter was doing now. And the robot watched in horror as Carter produced an iPod and set of headphones from their pocket.

 

“Where did you get that.” Ten asked, a noticeable tone of apprehension to their voice.

 

Carter toyed with the small device “Swiped it off the desk when you were busy ‘avin a crisis.”

 

Ten, for the first time in months, pushed away from the workbench, the metal stool’s grinding was barely audible in Ten’s receptors as they stared Carter down. “Return it. Now.”

 

The meta-human’s sadistic teasing was clear on Carter’s face and in their voice “Or what, ol’ bolt bucket? Ye can’t tell me ye’d be willin’ t’kill over an old piece ‘o junk like this? Like you ain’t able t’just play music in yer head.”

 

Plans began flashing into Ten’s CPU. Kill Carter. Incapacitate Carter. Bargain with Carter. Comprehensively deny. Accept fate. These things Ten thought of a hundred times over in a microsecond, each one as impossible as the last.

 

Ten wouldn’t have the chance, as Carter’s smile spread into a sadistic grin as they thumbed the play button ..

 

♪Ooh aah, just a little bit! Ooh aah, a little bit more! ♪

 

The muffled song pierced the silence between the two. Ten was frozen in place, filled with deep shame and regret. Carter could scarcely contain their amusement.

 

“Yer listenin’ t’crap music as well.” He mercifully stopped the music “It’s over Ten, yer intervention officially starts now.”

 

Ten had yet to actually move, still stunned at Carter’s obvious blackmail “You wouldn’t.”

 

Carter’s eyebrow raised, and he looked over Ten’s shoulder and yelled “Hey Judas!! Come see what Ten was listenin’ to!”

 

A confirmatory response indicated that Ten had mere seconds before their shameful secret was exposed. With a bit more animation, the robot pleaded.

 

“Fine. Fine. I promise nothing other than my participation.”

 

“That’s all I’m ‘ere fo-“

 

Ten pointed at Carter “But if -anyone- finds out, you’ll know what it feels like to be de-atmoised through space & time.”

 

Carter tossed the iPod back over to Ten, who caught the small device and bundled it behind several layers of pockets. He smirked, watching the robot scrabble over something so small. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

 

 

[Moka]

LOVE this, AA! I love all the personality between your characters and it's a treat to see a medium in which they can interact.

[chase]

more!

[Moka]

Rain rolled off of the man and out of bed. She struggled to squeeze her jeans over her rear and buckle her pants before scraping her torn top off the floor and throw it on. The man, who was handcuffed to the bed with the sheets sprawled over his groin smiled like an idiot up at her. Rain always loved watching the doofy grin of someone who was about to be broken. 
"Wow. You're amazing." He laughed through a soft gasp, shaking his head. Rain pursed her lips and shrugged. "Yeah, wish I could say the same for you." She stated just above a mutter. 
"What? I thought you were having a good time. I saw your eyes roll and eve -"
"And why do you think that is? Your dirty talk was on par with a children's cartoon villain."

The man's smile dissipated and he frowned softly.  "Well, I can try harder next time". This caught Rain's attention. She turned and smiled, kissing him on the forehead, staining it with a red lipstick mark, just as she had his torso. "Awww. Cute. Next time." She repeats after him through a snorting giggle. 
"Heh. Well. Can you get me down?"
"Down? I already got you up, I have to get you down, too?"
The man laughs and points a finger with as much freedom as the handcuffs allowed him. "Funny girl. No like...Can you uncuff me?" 
Rain swiped his wallet off the nightstand, as well as dug out his pack of cigarettes and stuffed them into her pockets. "Mmn..." 
"H-hey! What do you think you're doing?"
"Oh, I know what I'm doing." She smiled back at him, offering a wiggly fingered wave as she left. "Oh, and to give you a preview of what you could've expected from next time..." She popped a gag in the man's mouth, listening to his muffled screams of protest. She boops his nose and leaves, not bothering to lock the door. 

She had a meeting in about three minutes and she was a driving distance of thirty away. So in reality, she had about two minutes and fifty five seconds to spare. She bought her coffee and cheap shitty hotdog from the vendor in St. Martial. Ugh. This hotdog had RANCH on it. She didn't order that. She rolled her eyes as she tossed it over head, allowing the wailers to kill each other over it. She took off running, being sure not to spill her coffee on the way. This means she arrived fashionably early with a second to spare. She sat upon the window seal of the executive's office of the building belonging to the Horizon corporation. A man with some sort of Daft-Punk wanna be helmet sat patiently in his chair, observing his watch. Rain clicked her tongue, as if to beckon a dog. The man turned, jumping slightly as Rain waved. 
"What." Rain greeted him. 
"What?"
Rain shrugged with annoyance. "What. What do you want to hire me for?"
"Are you-"
"Runway." She forced a smile. Somehow along the way, she acquired a pair of sunglasses. 
"Well...."
The man displayed a picture of one of the building walls. It appeared to have been tagged by some graffiti. 

"The hell is this? Your kid draw this? I'll put it on my mini fridge." She cuts up. The executive didn't seem interested. 
"You're a light shove away from being the custodians' worry instead of mine" the man snarled underneath his mask. Rain leaned in just slightly. 
"Don't you -" A loud Arachnos flier flew overhead. "-ing threaten me, you hear me? There's a reason you hire the best." She leaned back, relaxing against the window as she took a sip from her black coffee. The man's knuckles paled as he tightened them. He took a breath and relaxed. 
"They go by the Shattered Seven; a group of Do-gooding vigilantes who believe they can make a change in the world. They seek to change the way heroing works - from a business back into a glorified idea. They're warriors who stand for the greater go -"
"Oh my Godddddddd shut up shut up. You're basically giving them a handy right now." Rain groaned. The bodyguards in the room stood up from the wall, but the executive held out his hand to silence them. 
"How much would you require for their elimination?"
"Dead or alive?" Rain grunts, turning her head towards the man. 
"The only one I want alive is Epilouge." 
"So like. The leader. Give me a run down. I think I remember the news report. Uhhh." She starts to count on her fingers. "Viper. Psiflare. Cyberwave. Rebelle. Scry. Devil Horns. Epilouge." 
"Very good. You're familiar with them."
"Something like that. Leave it to me. Seven hundred grand, up front."
"What?"
"Up front."
The man stepped forward in a challenging position. 
"Listen here, you harlot. You are in no position to make demands. You dirty my building's windows with your feet, you insult me in my office, you -" 

The man's bodyguards were suddenly sprawled out on the floor and the man himself was held by his neck up against his cracked wall, gagging for his life. He was slammed against the wall by Rain several times, who was biting her lip in anger hard enough for it to bleed before she threw him on the ground and fractured his ribs with a single kick. 
"Seven fifty up front." She walked across him and opened his office door. "Send your check to the Sinister Squad. Expect some lunchbags with some heads soon."

[Ikmachek]

"ssScrew me, I already hate this place."

 

Standing right outside Krawfish Kenny's, the Chimera crossed his arms while looking up at the sign. It was as if every bar, speakeasy or dive in Sharkhead had to be a run down roach motel, and this one was just tacky to boot. Oh well, it wasn't as if Daniel was here for the drinks. A loud KRAK interrupted the heavy rock that was playing that moment, right during it's crescendo. Danny couldn't have picked a more dramatic time to grab everyone's attention as a powerful hoof kicked off the front door.

 

Aside from the track that was blaring through the cheap sound system, it was dead quiet. A seven foot monster made up of grey fur, smilodon teeth, hooves and God knew what else thumbing back the way he came before stepping in. "AlrrRight, clear out boys."

 

Again, dead silence from every sailor, factory worker, fisher and one or two off-the-clock Arachnos goon there. Unsure who or what just warranted a villain cutting off their night collectively, was he... Robbing the place? This shithole of all places?

 

"I'm not assSking twice." a more impatient tone trilled from the brute. That's when they finally acted, some walking out and past Danny with a bitter stubbornness that could only come from someone who lived their entire life on an island full of supervillains, while others booked it past for fear of their safety. The bartender was nowhere to be seen, having ducked in the back right after the door was kicked in. Danny however took the arm of one of the young men drinking there that night, cutting off their escape. "Malcolm?"

 

"Ah... S-shit dude, what do you want?". That was all the confirmation The Chimera needed before his grip got more forceful. A powerful, bestial hand grasping the dark-haired kid's throat and pushing his whole body onto one of the shitty, termite-infested tables. "Whatever you know about your GatecrrRasher buddies."

 

By now Malcolm knew he was all kinds of screwed. A villain shaking him down for that kind of talk didn't mean anything pleasant, for him or his buddies. "How did you even find me!?" was all he could choke out past the firm grip. "Your dealerssS talk. Gatecrashers - Now."

 

"S-shit shit shit, okay, what do you-"

 

"Anything." Yalton snarled, not even letting the stupid question finish.

 

"Okay, okay! Fuck me, ever since Emps was killed by those Sinister Guys, Baron Deadeye took over... He's working with this weird cult, Chapel of Nyx or something, they-" Malcolm didn't even get to finish before the blast of a twelve gauge made the room ring and caused Danny to flinch ever-so-slightly. The wound on his back was a gnarly mess. Fur blasted away and bare hide underneath peppered with the tightly clustered grouping of double zero buck. The bearings however didn't make it far, easily able to be plucked out and still visible to the bartender who just tried to blow away the Chimera raiding his bar. The Chimera who turned his head with a very impatient expression.

 

It was impressive how quickly the still-smoking shotgun was dropped, it's owner losing any courage he had and running right out of his establishment along with the rest of his customers. Now Malcolm was Daniel's only focus. "Chapel of what now?"

 

"Church! Church of Nyx, some crazy cyborg cult Dead eye's working with, I don't know why-"

 

"That it?" The Chimera asked, cutting off his prisoner yet again. "YES, please! Don't hurt me it's-"

 

A much more subtle krk cut off the Gatecrasher. Yalton's grip turning from firm to lethal enough to snap Malcolm's neck without much issue before he finally let go and let the corpse slump off the table. "Well it'ssS a start."

[Jon]

 

 

The heated rays of sunshine piercing through the burn holes in the black-out curtains over the windows spent hours slowly creeping towards the bark-like skin of Woody’s face as he slept. The light finally reaching its destination worked as a relatively effective alarm clock for a schedule-free heathen who didn’t even own one. As Woody awoke from his slumber and sat up in bed, several empty bottles of liquor rolled off of him and onto the floor. For a brief moment, Woody idly pondered his reasoning for being awake before finally reaching for his phone.

 

According to the phone’s screen he had “1 New Notification(s)!” that he missed late the night before. Although he wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, Woody decided to go ahead and check his messages to see who the hell tried to contact him on a weekend.

 

“Hi! This is Tabatha calling from Pearly Whites to confirm your appointment with Dr. Langston for tomorrow, Friday, at 1 PM. Please show up 15 minutes early!”

 

Wait a minute, it was Friday? Woody closed his voicemail and looked at the clock in the upper right-hand corner, which read 12:10 PM. Panic began to bubble inside of Bonfire’s stomach as the gravity of his situation started to fully sink in. His drunk ass got the date mixed up, and he was getting dangerously close to missing his dentist appointment. He had no desire to go through the hassle of paying the no-show fee, so he forced himself out of bed and out the door towards the dentist’s office while wearing nothing but the same pair of pants he wore the night before. Most clothing didn’t fit him after all, so most days were pants-only days anyway.

 

It was well after 2 PM by the time Woody stumbled in the front door of the dentist’s office clutching a half-empty handle of gin. “You’re late, Mr. Woodward,” chimed Tabatha, the gleeful receptionist. “We’re going to have to reschedule your appointment. Our next available spot would be next Friday, one week from today.”

 

“Reschedule? You gotta be kidding me,” Woody complained. “You guys are open for like three more hours. Just squeeze me in before the next one!”

 

“Sir, we can’t just--”

 

“Oh, spare me the bullshit, Tabatha,” interrupted Woody as he drove a wooden spike from his hand into the counter out of frustration. He leaned in so that she could feel the heat from the flames where his eyes should be. “If you don’t let me back there right now, I’m going to take it very personally.”

 

Leaving the spike embedded firmly in the countertop, Woody stood straight up and took a step back to get a quick look around the waiting room. When he felt assured that other people would be within earshot, he proclaimed, “I didn’t realize this was an anti-mutant establishment. It’s 2019! You can’t discriminate like that!” 

 

Tabatha immediately bolted up from her desk with an alarmed expression on her face. “Uh, r-right this way, Mr. Woodward,” she stammered as she opened the door for him to head back. With an air of smugness, Woody brushed by Tabatha and tossed his empty gin bottle towards the bin at her desk, which shattered when he missed. He then proceeded into a room where he waited for someone to begin his appointment.

 

After a few minutes, a young hygienist enters the room. Woody, who was ready for the entire visit to be over with by this point, was already laying back in the chair they used for the dental cleanings and oral examinations. The hygienist, who introduced herself as Vicky, sat down next to Woody’s head and prepared to start his cleaning. When Woody opened his mouth, a burst of flame billowed out and Vicky fell backwards off of her stool in surprise.

 

“I… I don’t think I can do this,” admitted Vicky, who sounded absolutely defeated by the experience before she bolted out of the room.

 

A few more minutes passed before another knock at the door welcomed Dr. Langston himself, who was dressed from head to toe in heavy-duty protective welding gear and wheeling in an industrial toolbox. Vicky must have given him a heads up.

 

The dentist got to work right away. His toolbox was full of dental supplies, as prolonged exposure to the elevated temperatures inside Woody’s mouth cause them to melt out of shape after a while. He’d work with a tool until it was no longer usable, and then he’d replace it with a brand new one to continue.

 

“Well, I don’t exactly know how this is even possible,” began Dr. Langston as he switched out a melted tool for a fresh one. “All of your teeth seem to be made out of wood, which already doesn’t make much sense with all of the fire you’ve got going on in there. But somehow, you’ve managed to get a cavity in one of your rear molars.”

 

“Wha ha hehh aya--” reacted Woody, whose mouth was being held open by a retractor device that was secured in place. He reached up and pulled it off of his face so that he could actually get his words out. “What the hell do you mean I have a cavity?!”

 

Woody, with his head covered in flames that seemed to be gaining intensity as he stirred, pulled himself out of the examination chair and knocked over the dentist’s toolbox with a dramatic kick. “Do you think I’m gonna pay extra for something as stupid as cavity repair? You guys know I don’t have insurance.”

 

He stood towering over a cowering Dr. Langston, who was still sitting on his stool next to the chair. The dentist was speechless, unable to process the leaps in logic of Woody’s defensiveness. This moment of hesitation was all Woody needed to convince himself to drive a spike through the dentist’s sternum, pushing him onto the ground and impaling him to the floor.

 

“Ha! Now you’re the one with a cavity, Doc,” taunted Woody as Dr. Langston bled out onto the floor of his own practice. Woody casually ignited the contents of the room around his rapidly dying dentist before heading back the way he came in, making sure to ignore Tabatha’s requests for payment as he passed by the front desk. The building’s fire alarm started going off right when Woody reached the exit.

 

As he stood on the sidewalk outside the building amid the growing frenzy caused by his act of arson, Woody reached into his mouth to feel around at his rear molars. It didn’t take long for him to find the cavity in question. With a hard tug, he snapped the charred wooden tooth out of his mouth and chucked it onto the asphalt of the parking lot in front of him.

 

“Boom. Problem solved. Dentists aren’t shit,” Woody said to himself as he departed towards his home with absolutely zero self-reflection on the events that just transpired.

Edited August 20, 2019 by Jon

[AerialAssault]

Soldier Finnian sat on their bunk, enjoying some well-earned rest after a long shift in the base. The barracks were medicinally clean and utilitarian to boot, with few personal effects being noticeable around their squad’s bunks. A few of Finnian’s squad sat around a table playing poker, invariably betting to cover each other’s shifts or ‘visits’ to the bio-lab (which never ended well for the Sinister Soldiers who went there). Others were playing on their games consoles, socialising or otherwise spending their downtime relaxing. Finnian was engrossed in their book, as they usually were.

 

Finnian was a typical case for a Sinister Soldier. A criminal nobody who had done a few stints in jail, in their case, armed robbery. An unassuming white male, they’d fell into the Squad’s clutches in one of their ‘recruitment’ drives, which is to say, surviving an encounter with the Squad. Word got around and eventually Finnian found themselves in a Squad uniform within the week.

 

They were too engrossed in their book to notice the sudden ceasing of talking or the snap of heels. They also didn’t notice the figure looming over them for a good minute or so, before Finnian took notice. When they did, the hapless soldier scrambled backwards in their bunk, like an animal cornered into a wall.

 

Maria Alvarez, otherwise known as Anti-Mage, was looming over them. At least, not physically, Maria was not exactly tall, but carried a force of character and air of authority that cowed all but the most unruly of minions. Finnian hurriedly climbed out of their bunk, tripping on the sheets and banging their knee in the process, before ungracefully snapping a salute to the villain. There was an uneasy silence as Anti-Mage stared them down.

 

She wasn’t wearing her full get-up, eschewing the skull-mask and rough leather body glove for a more comfortable one-piece loungewear, but still wearing her long-coat and signature hat. Her bronzed skin was criss-crossed with scars, some clearly visible and others barely noticeable, all a mixture of combat and medical scars. To the errant eye, she had a typical beauty about her, but upon closer inspection her face had unsightly, unsettling veins showing just beneath the skin at odd hues, and her steely eyes and stern expression stared straight through those who drew her ire. Arms folded, she didn’t even have to say anything to show that she was awaiting for an explanation from the soldier.

 

There was an uneasy pause as Finnian tried to avoid eye-contact with Anti-Mage, giving side-glances to the other soldiers in the barracks, who were similarly on edge. Eventually, Maria broke the silence.

 

“Care to explain yourself soldier?”

 

Finnian hesitated. As far as he could recall he hadn’t broke any regulations, aside from perhaps making jokes at the expense of some of the villains. He stammered a response out, but before he could finish she pointed to the book he had been reading. His eyes narrowed and his brow began to sweat as he looked between Maria and the book.

 

“R-really? I-it’s just a bo-“

 

Maria held up the book; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (a signed copy)

 

“This? This isn’t a book. This, is propaganda.”

“I d-don’t understand..”

“No, you don’t. That’s why you poison your ignorant brain with this filth.” She tossed the book onto the bunk like one would dispose of a used bit of toilet paper. Finnian winced as his only prized possession became crumpled and scuffed. “You will destroy this item before the end of the day, and if I see you, or anyone else for that matter, reading these things again, I’ll have you put on bio-lab duty for a week.” There was terrified murmuring throughout the barrack at the mention of bio-lab duty. Finnian could barely contain their sadness, stifling to hold back their fear. Maria gave an insincere smile to the now thoroughly intimidated soldier before leaving, arms behind their back in a confident stride.

 

There was stunned silence for a moment.

 

“Well, shit ..”

 

-

 

Wherever she walked, staff at the sinister base either did their best to avoid her or try and end any conversation as quickly and painlessly as possible. This suited Maria fine. After all, the grunts hardly made good conversion material. They did what they were told and that’s all that mattered. Still, she felt a measure of disappointment that they had not been taking her lessons to heart. Did they not respect her? Fear her? Perhaps they were simply too ignorant. Or perhaps they were being purposefully misled. Either way, it did not dampen her resolve. She would simply have to broadcast more lessons.

 

She made her way to her recording studio in the base. It had taken much negotiation not just with Blackwell, but also Dr. Zhou & Ten to even get this tiny piece carved out for herself. But it was her temple. It sat down the hall from the engineering bay, it’s sound-proofed walls providing a peace & solitude from the hum of activity and occasional screech of machinery. Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, drinking in the lightly scented and clean air. The equipment in here was top of the range, everything she needed to begin tearing away the lies permeated through society. To some, this was merely a recording studio, but it was her battlefield upon which she waged war.

 

It was empty in here, as it usually was when there was no recordings currently taking place. Usually some unfortunate soldier was dragged in to manage the recording equipment, microphones and cameras and the like. She hoped some day that they would fight over the opportunity to see her orations first hand.

 

Entering the stage itself always sent a rush of euphoria through her, a feeling of excitement and of intense purpose. To say this was her passion would be a disservice to how fervently she felt for it. Were it not for the fact that circumstances required their personal intervention, she would be happy to spend the rest of her days in here, fighting the good fight.

 

When she sat down at her chair behind the large, circular desk, it was like being sat on the throne of her god. Though idle, the camera sat opposite her, silently observing, was the implement in which they would reshape the world, albeit as much as the bandwidth would allow. Ten had stressed numerous times the efforts they had gone through to ensure that no enemies of the Squad could trace her sermons back to the base.

 

As she traced her fingers across the artificial wood desk, she felt an unease begin creeping in the back of her mind. As she probed her thoughts for this feeling, it only began to grow. In this timeless, motionless room, it seemed as if reality was coming to a stop. Her breath became laboured, restless, and a chill rested uncomfortably upon her skin. Was the room cold, or was she cold? She shivered, the feeling alien to her .. and yet somehow familiar. The room was beginning to spin and undulate, her vision swimming in whatever malaise was taking over her. Not even closing her eyes could stop the nauseating visions, clear even behind her eyelids. She grasped the desk, an anchor of normality in a sea of unreal. Was this an attack? Was some vapid sorcerer taking their umbrage? She couldn’t feel the stink of magic. It was then she heard a voice. A deep, raspy and deathly voice. The sound of heavy fog given a voice, it’s syllables wrapping around her head like a suffocating smog. And yet, it said nothing. Just a deep, airless gasp that emanated from all around.

 

Gasping for breath, she went to stand, but her feet found no purchase. Surprised, she opened her eyes to see she was no longer in her sanctuary, but some shadowy reflection of it. Her feet were stood on writhing masses on indistinct tendrils which clung to her feet, their touch icy down to the soul. She tried to summon her powers to her, but found only a damning silence on her lips and an empty feeling in her hands. Something was overtaking her, and she didn’t know whether it was fear or whatever this affliction was. She tried calling for help, but only thick, inky smoke escaped her mouth. Clutching her throat as an unseen force throttled her. Stumbling for the door, she felt equipment and stationery knocked out of her way even if she couldn’t see it.

 

But that’s when she saw it, floating ominously and soundlessly above her, like a dismissive god looking down upon their unruly subjects. A skull, it’s jaw fused into a furious grimace, the eye sockets burning with hot, red rage. It did not say anything, only drawing closer. It’s eyes stared through her very being and the heat from it’s rage scouring the skin from her bones. She held her hands out to stop the unnatural power from unmaking her, watching in horror as her hands were reduced to bones, and then to ash. For the first time in a long time, she felt fear .. and she heard her name being called, echoing through the cosmos ..

 

“MARIA.”

She snapped too. She was stood at the doorway, her hand on the handle. Stood directly in front of her was Ten. She felt glad to see a familiar face, even if that face was robotic and expressionless.

 

“I heard some shouting. What is going on in here.” Ten asked. They peered over her shoulder at the studio, and she followed their gaze. Expensive equipment lay on the floor, along with the shattered remains of her favourite mug.

 

Maria stumbled over her words, and over her feet. Ten grabbed her and steadied her, setting her down on the chair. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, taking deep, measured breaths and resetting her mental state. Ten waited patiently.

 

“If you are going-“

“No .. Ten. It was nothing.” Maria grabbed Ten’s jacket to emphasise her point, but her trembling hand suggested otherwise. Ten gently removed her hand from their jacket.

“I detect that you are being defensive. If this is about your Condition, might I remind you that-“

“Yes, yes I know, Ten. I know what to do.”

 

Ten stared back at her. She looked into their green optical lenses. Cold, uncompromising. Emotionless. And yet it seemed like exactly what she needed right now. She sighed. Ten stepped back.

“I will have to keep a record of this incident.”

“Don’t, Ten. Keep this between us.”

“You know that I cannot do that.”

Maria stood up, the sudden inertia making her wobble, but she pointed a finger at Ten.

“Consider it a personal request Ten. This will hamper my work.” She stared the robot down, before adding

 

Ten stood quiet for a moment, before putting their hand to their chin in a gesture, something that was unusual for the robot.

“If I do, you will owe me a favour, correct.”

She noted that it was not a question.

“Yes. Within reason.”

Ten tapped their chin twice. “Good. Then this will remain between us.”

Maria relaxed, exhausted. Disappointed, annoyed & confused, but her direct problem dealt with.

“Thank you Ten. Now please, get out of here.”

 

The robot nodded and turned, leaving through the door, giving a second look over their shoulder at Anti-Mage. Their impassive expression did not betray any feelings or emotions, but a measure of doubt had entered the robot’s thought processes.

 

Maria waited in baited silence, hearing the rhythmic clanging of the robot’s boots fading into the distance, until she could only hear her own staggered breath again. She sat there, not moving, not thinking .. waiting .. for something, anything to happen. But only silence answered her.

 

And it said ..

“Hate…”

 

[Moka]

I killed my father.

 

I killed my mother.

 

I killed my father. 

 

I killed my mother.

 

And in his hand he coldly gripped both the joy of growing up and the agony of being alone.

 

A man dressed in obsidian colored armor took a walk through the Hollows. He hadn't seen it himself, but he heard of it being a hell for regular civilians and a nirvana for the crooked. Rain pitter pattered down his visor, and each step he took tested the weight of the ground below him. It was nights like this he felt suspended, one could say. He feels he has become more than a man, but all the same, when he looks up, he sees humanity, and feels that perhaps it is he who has fallen. At least, so it goes in his dreams. Behind him marched several men all wearing masks etched with eternal grins and red gloves. 

 

They arrived at a slummy looking building (though that's per the usual for the Hollows) with red light illuminating the interior and loud, satanic deathmetal blaring inside. The man in armor raises a hand for his men to stay put. He walks over to the door, knowing better than to knock, and simply barges inside. There's a group of Hellions all jamming to music, drinking kegs, and stumbling across overturned furniture on the inside. All but the music comes to a halt as they spot him - Godbringer. 

 

"Welcome HOME GU - Who the fuck are you?" One particular Hellion rose up. His name was Furnace. "Hey! Chumps! We got a hero here!"

Godbringer felt a surge of delight coarse through his veins. 
"Could you call me that again?" He asks with amusement. 

"What? Ew. Are you getting off to this?" Furnace reeled back. "Gross. Look. We're all in good spirits tonight, so we'll let you slip on this single fuck up. You walk away nice and slow, or run if you're a big pussy, and we'll forget you ever stopped by."

 

All Godbringer replied with was silence. He dips his head, shaking it. "I'm so sorry." 

Furnace threw up his hands in frustration. "Come on, man...Don't cry about it. Just leave, okay?" 

"It is only human to shed tears for the fallen."

"Oh we're fallen alright. We're what demons aspire to be!" Another hellion cheered, crushing a beer can against his head. 

"You may soon be demons yet." Godbringer folds his hands in front of him. "Go ahead. Show them their aspiring, flaming nirvana." 

 

It felt like eons before the guns stopped firing and the hellion bodies stopped twitching. Each one, for the first time since they had 'fallen', lay completely still and cold. As for Bonfire, Judas, and Hellfright, there would be no welcome back party. 

 

"There's still more of the crew. Perez Park will be our next stop." 

[Moka]

Ten years ago, a tragedy fell upon several suffering souls.

 

 

 

Sying ducked behind in an alleyway in a rural village in Taiwan as a missile barreled past her, destroying several cars. She coughed through the smoke and scurried further into the alleyway, making a sharp turn before calling out: "Raijin!" She screamed out, though her voice hoarse. "Raijin!" She repeatedly called the name for the little boy she lost. It was not her son, nor her brother. It was not even a family member. Well, not one in blood, at least. She felt herself slip, and then she fell forward, scraping her knees as her denim jeans ripped open and her black bomber jacket was stained with mud. She studied her reflection - already she had become a shadow of her former self. Her skin had turned a dark, sickly grey and her eyes were golden yellow. Her lips darkened into a roasted black. Consume. CONSUME. That is what the voices in her head demanded of her. But no, these were not her thoughts. Her thoughts, or what was left of the ones to call her own, were focused on finding Raijin. 

 

 

 

A loud booming voice screamed out over an intercom system hooked across the town. 

 

"Attention all citizens. We understand the demon threat. It will be neutralized. Please stay calm and seek out a shelter immediately. You will be vaccinated. Any persons caught assisting the demonic threat will be eliminated." 

 

 

 

Sying could hear footsteps. Soldiers were coming. If it wasn't soldiers, it was something much worse. Two men dressed in hazard suits aimed rifles towards her. She could hear the robotic mumbling from behind their masks. She was somehow fortunate that a horrifying gargoyle swooped down from a building to assault the soldiers, but she wasn't going to stick around to be the next meal. She abandoned the soldiers to their gory fate as she continued to flee through the alley and into the crowded streets. She pulled the hood up over her head and kept her head low, her long black bangs covering her eyes. She couldn't be noticed. Not at this stage. She watched as a woman played tug of war with a soldier over her baby, refusing to give them up. As the woman suddenly hissed and snarled, the baby was snatched from her arms and a bullet flew between her eyes, sending her body to the ground, and civilians scattering away from her in a panic. She had to focus. Focus, focus, focus. 

 

 

 

"Raijin!" Her voice grew more desperate as minutes turned into hours and she had only just exited the smoking city. Several grunting noises greeted her from the bushes. It was there she found Raijin, a small child no older than twelve curled up meekly into a ball. His black hair had mostly whitened and his pupils were slit. He rocked back and forth, not looking up. Nova squatted near him, wrapping her coat around him. "Raijin..." She whispers. "Hey. I'm so glad you're alr -"

"I'm not alright. I'm a monster!" He muttered between sobbing breaths. Sying bit the inside of her cheek. 

 

"You're not a monster. Come on. Let's go. We need to find the others and get out of here. Come on." She attempted to give his arm a thug, but Raijin wouldn't budge. 

"Why bother? Zhang was eaten by demons and Li was shot by soldiers..."

 

"And what? We should just die? Is that what they would want?"

 

Raijin looks up, staring Sying in her vibrant yellow eyes. 

 

"We're already dead! Look at us! We're already demons! The next step is our minds! We're going to forget who we are! I see him in my dreams. I hear him in my thoughts...Tenebrae. Tenebrae. I don't want to be Tenebrae! I want to be Raijin!" He pleaded with shaking breaths. 

"We'll always be us. We'll -"

"Easy for you to say. I'm going to forget mom and dad and then nobody will visit their graves."

Sying was fine with forgetting her own parents. She tugged Raijin up and just started running.

"We're not going back to the compound, are we?" Raijin asked, running his sleeve underneath his nose. Sying laughed bitterly. 

"Hell no. I don't know where we're going. Let's just run!" She looked back at Raijin, who's eyes were glistening with tears. "No more experiments! " She shouts out. "We're making a new home!”

 

They ran for miles, and somehow never felt the sense of fatigue wash over them. It was perhaps adrenaline that kept them going. Or perhaps it was something more; freedom. A new beginning. Unfortunately, this world is just so cruel. They arrived at another settlement, which seemed to be completely deserted. Sying continued to lead Raijin along by the hand, keeping him close. They explored the small town. They looked inside a bar that seemed frozen in time, with no one there to finish their abandoned drinks. They walked through a video store that seemed to have been in the process of being looted, though turned at the sight of a bloody trail leading to the back room. They walked through a small, lovely park. The ducks were still frolicking about in the water. They sat for a long time together, and fatigue finally caught up, forcing the two to nap on a bench.

They awakened to the sound of a loud nearby crash. It sounded like a car. Sying jolted to her feet, grabbing a groggy Raijin’s hand and bolted out of the park with him. Raijin could barely wake up before they were out of the park.
“Wh – where? –“
Sying shushed him. Distant marching caused Sying to run even faster. Raijin fell and tripped, scraping his already scabby knees. Sying whirled back around to help him up and continue running. They couldn’t be seen by soldiers. As far as the world is concerned, they’re the enemy, now.

Sying lead them inside an abandoned office building and up a long flight of what seemed like endless stairs. She didn’t dare to test what was left of the elevator. They stopped on the eighth floor. Sying rummaged throughout the cubicles for supplies, looking for anything to burn. Luckily, it was an office, so there was plenty of paper. She overturned a large trashcan and was able to start a ‘campfire’ of sorts by finding a lighter and lucky day for her, a pack of cigarettes. She took single long inhale from the cigarette before tossing it into the flame. She puffed out a cloud of smoke and rubbed her face. Night had fallen. Raijin wanted to ask what Sying’s plan was from here, but just by looking at her face and her blank, empty stare, he could tell she was just as lost as him. He simply snuggled up to her side and rested his head on her shoulder. She played with his thick, white hair. The two, once again, fell asleep.

They had nowhere to run, this time.

They woke up to the sound of munching and smacking. As they opened their eyes, they saw an enormous winged demon sitting in the middle of the room, staring straight at the two as he continued his meal; a leg. Sying felt her heart skip beats. She rose up, and as she did, the demon stopped munching. She started to sit down again, but as she did, she looked to Raijin’s face, and she stood up even straighter. The demon turned, obviously perturbed by the fact this strange human wasn’t showing fear. She brushed Raijin along. “Hide, and don’t look.”
“But Sying –“
“Do as I say, dammit!”
 

The demon, which looked like if some sort of pterodactyl had a prom night dumpster baby with Satan, bared its four rows of teeth as it opened its tendril-like mouth. As Raijin took cover and covered his closed eyes with his hands, Sying acted by taking their trash fire and muzzling the beast with it, pressing it into its mouth and attempting to lodge it into its throat. The beast wacked Sying aside with its tail and leapt towards her. Sying rolled to the side and scrambled to her feet, hoping it would play chase. Instead the beast opened its jaws and fired a great, big, beam from its mouth. Sying ducked, letting it fly over her head. The beam crashed through the wall, missing her. However, several flashlights and spotlights landed upon the area. Soldiers.

“God DAMMIT!” Sying cursed, chucking a beefy computer box monitor into the demon. “Come on! Come get me!” She taunted it. The beast dove her way, and she leapt out of its dive. It scathed her, tearing her jacket and shirt and leaving a nasty gash on her side. However, as soon as the beast flew outside, it was pelleted by bullets. It immediately took a U-turn and zoomed back inside, to which Sying leapt on its back and began to strangle it with her legs and arms both, gearing it towards a wall where she repeatedly slammed its head against it, leaving several cracks and eventually breaking it open, before she would steer it over to the cubicles and have it stumble over them, forcing it to fall to its stomach. Sying rolled off the creature, but unfortunately, she rolled in front of its mouth. It took a chomp out of her right leg, biting it off at the knee. For whatever reason, Sying did not pass out on the spot. The shock and pain overtook her, and the world spun before her, but she needed to protect Raijin. The beast scrambled towards her, gnashing its fangs again and again. Sying backed up as fast as she could and found herself against a wall. With wailing breaths, she attempted to move to the side, but it was far too slow. She wrestled with the brute strength of the monstrosity before her, attempting not to be eaten.

Hunger.

Pain.

Consume.

She bit down on the demon’s neck. At first, she could feel her teeth nearly crack from its tough exterior, but as she took another go at it, it felt as soft as mashed potatoes. She cleaned right through its neck, taking bite after bite, ingesting the demonic flesh, no matter how bitter it tasted. And as she did, demonic vines shot from her stump leg, starting to form the shape of a new leg. It wasn’t long before she had completely beheaded the demon, and she stood victorious on a brand-new leg.

As she went to look for Raijin, she turned, and saw him standing there, horrified.

“H-how did you know to do that?” He asked with a shaking voice.

“Raijin…I-It’s been a long past few days. I can explain i-“

“N-no…You’re a monster.” He started to back up.

“Raijin, wait. Please!” She held out a hand, but Raijin backed up and ran for the stairs. “No, Raijin! Not the stairs! They’re – “

A platoon of soldiers burst into the room, surrounding Raijin with pointed guns. Sying attempted to run to tackle them, but was forced to the ground and held down, a gun pushed into her mouth. She reached her hand out to Raijin, who terrified, simply put his hands up. The soldiers started to lead him away, and before she could react, Sying saw a boot plant down on her face. And all was black.

 

Present day.

 

Aimee jolted awake, taking the knife she slept with and planted it into her bed sheets. Her hairless cat, Goblin, let out a deadpan meow with the same elegance of a frog croaking. She was sweating. This was unusual for her. That dream again. That dream where she consumed and consumed until…No, it wasn’t worth thinking about. She rolled out of bed and got dressed in her usual work attire. She had a long day ahead of her.

As she left her room and entered the Sinister Silo proper, a supervisor rushed to her side with a digital tablet in hand.

“Miss Aimbot! We have – “
“Aimee will do, supervisor.”
“M-Miss Aimee – “
“Just Aimee.”
“Aimee, we have new intel about this ‘Godbringer’. We believe he travels by sea on some sort of disappearing vessel.”
“Perfect. What else?”
“We have a recruit who’s looking to join the Squad. His name is the Dread Dragoon.”
“Where does he wish to meet?”
“Port Oakes – by the docks. Will you go alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t question me, supervisor.”
“R-right.” The supervisor saluted Aimee and marched off to assume the rest of his duties.

Aimee left the Silo and proceeded to leave the Sinister Swamp located within Nerva Archipelago, taking flying off the series of islands by jet-boots, and proceeded to make way to Port Oakes. She focused on her missions in order to not wrack her brain about her horrible dream. Why was it such an issue for her today? Dreams never concerned her.

The stench of the docks greeted her far before the sight of it. Port Oakes had a certain smell to it that assaulted the senses in a way that says, ‘Welcome home’, much like a mother’s signature apple pie. Except it sucks. Port Oakes smells terrible and it sucks. She ran a scan along the docks, and soon picked up life signals. However, the life signal she picked up had an incredibly abnormal heart rate – and it wasn’t alone. She stealthily made her way about the docks, moving from behind cargo container to cargo container and past some slumbering Lost before she found a helmeted, armored individual laying on their side, panting heavily. Half his side was sticking out from behind a cargo container, and he seemed to be reaching for his discarded lance, that was halfway dipping into the murky waters. Aimee turned her head around the corner to see the vigilante ‘Devil Horns’, a fierce demon girl, devouring one of the man’s legs. She snapped her back to the metal sheet of the container, taking aim and firing towards the back of Devil Horns’ skull. Devil Horns shot up a fist bump, deflecting the bullet with an overgrown obsidian-like carapace covering her arm.

“I’m sorry, did you want a bite too?” She turned her head, her mask pulled down to reveal her bloodied mouth, long forked tongue, and gnarly fangs. “I could always share, if you ask nicely. Shooting me is a bitch move, though.” She ungracefully dropped Dread Dragoon, who let out a grunt.
“You…I thought Cesspit humiliated you, already.” Aimee spoke up. This didn’t seem like the same woman. Devil Horns stood to her feet, cracking her neck.
“You a friend of his? – Oh. I know you. You’re one of the Sinister Squaddies.” She raises a stub-arm, long vine-like tendrils forming a new steaming arm and hand for her. “I guess this guy’s new blood. I thought he operated solo.” She snickered. “Oh, it makes sense such a piece of shit would be begging to be one of you. I bet he thinks he fell into a trap. He must really hate you.” Devil Horns then kicked Dread Dragoon into the water. Aimee drew her sword. Devil Horns raised her arms into a fighting stance and shifted her footing, as well.

“I haven’t fought you, yet.” Devil Horns’ grin stretched wolfishly.
“This will be no fight.” Aimee retorted.
“Have some confidence in yourself.”
“Perhaps I’ll take some of yours. You’re dripping with it.”

As Devil Horns and Aimee rushed each other, a shockwave shook the docks, causing debris to fly through the air in a whirlwind. Devil Horns had hardened her hand to match the blows of Aimee’s sword. She continued to block and parry sword strike after sword strike, sweeping her leg to throw Aimee off guard and pin her to the docks. Aimee and Devil Horns wrestled on the ground until Aimee took advantage of the situation to wiggle herself free from the grapple.
“Weren’t you a hero, once? Eating people…How monstrous.”
“Shove it. I’ve heard this villainous speech a million times. You guys kill people en masse each of your missions, and you have the gal to call a little bit of lost flesh the work of a monster.”

Aimee took to the air, landing suppressive fire upon Devil Horns, who was forced to raise her carapace arm as a shield. However, Aimee didn’t account for Devil Horns also having jet boots, which she stole from Dread Dragoon. The two continued their brawl in the air, tossing each other all over the docks and through the buildings. Neither relented from one another, lashing at each other through an epic hurricane of wooden splinters.

Devil Horns eventually had the advantage, as the two came to a brawl inside some sort of abandoned laboratory within one of the dock houses. She slammed Aimee’s head into the pavement again and again and bent down and opened her mouth. “Maybe I won’t eat you if you ask nicely.” She taunted. She had no plans on eating Aimee, but Aimee didn’t know this. However, despite not knowing this, Aimee remained a proud bitch.
“Fuck you.” She spat. Devil Horns raised an arm to strike, but found she no longer had it. Standing across from her was Denizen, the Sinister Squad’s signature ninja, who not only lobbed off Devil Horns’ arm, but had recovered Aimee. He threw down a smoke bomb and vanished with Aimee.

“Why did –“
“Don’t ask questions. Next time, maybe don’t conduct these interviews alone.”
“R-right.”
“Don’t stutter. It’s not like you.”

Aimee couldn’t help but manage a soft, bitter smile.

[AerialAssault]

Supervisor Graham looked out over the harbour of Port Recluse from the safety of the Sinister Submarine’s deck. The sea was unusually calm around the Isle today, but the nose-wrinkling stench of fish and industrial spill still polluted the air. Only the acrid tinge of their cigarette did anything to make it bearable. Truth be told though, he had become accustomed to bad smells.

A few months ago, Graham had been put under the direct leadership of Carter McKeeny, better known as Cesspit. Among the Sinister Soldiers, it was regarded as a ‘joke’ position. He knew why he’d been put there, of course, as punishment for failing to stop a duo of ‘heroes’ from sabotaging a smuggling run. He initially resented the posting, the constant pervasive miasma of the Squad’s chief terror weapon had him consider signing up for Bio-lab duty just to get away to it. But it was Carter’s personality and mannerisms that made him stay.

Some of the Squad were known for strange habits or outbursts. Soldiers sent to the bio-lab usually came back different, physically, mentally or both. If they ever returned, that is. Those in the engineering bay found themselves censured for the slightest infractions by its neurotic inhabitant. The recording studio was were the truly unfortunate went, forced to record hours and hours of demagoguery. He’d heard that some had tried to swim their way back to the mainland on the mere suggestion of being sent to the studio, but figured those were just stories.

Cesspit, on the other hand, was surprisingly, and refreshingly for Graham, quite normal. His abilities he would never understand or get used to seeing in action, but he had a certain coolness and understanding about him. He was neither heavy-handed nor a soft touch, and the two had found a common interest in men’s hair styling products.

A waft in the air and a souring of the atmosphere indicated to Graham that his boss had joined him on the deck. He was watching some protesting miners clashing with Arachnos, and snapped a quick salute to Carter.

“All quiet up here then?”

“No interference. We’re in position like asked.”

“Good.” Carter clapped the soldier on the shoulder. Carter was unusually tall, through no apparent scientific or technological enhancement, towering over the already fairly tall soldier. He also left a dirty imprint on Graham’s jacket. “I don’t expect I’ll be too long, but you’ll get th’ signal when I’m done.”

Graham smirked “Just a friendly visit then eh?”

Carter grinned back “Hey, y’know me. All friendly, all the time.”

The Supervisor took a long drag on their cigarette before flicking it into the ocean “Make a mess out there boss.”

Carter nodded in sadistic agreement, slipping on their iconic gas mask and taking to the skies. Graham hated it when he did that, flying along on jets of toxic gasses. He didn’t even want to entertain where he summoned enough of it from to be able to jet through the sky, but as he watched the veritable dirty missile soar through the air, he didn’t give it much thought. A few months watching the mutant at work had jaded the soldier through.

-

Carter raced through the air like a fly with a rocket attached to it, bumbling and ungainly as he focused his powers as jets of propulsion from his hands and feet. He’d long forgotten when he’d discovered how to achieve such a feat, because to him it didn’t matter. He could, and that’s all that he needed to know.

Scanning the docks below, he flew overhead a number of skirmishes between Arachnos and some rebellious miners. Flying further inland, he spied his destination and swooped down. It was a dingy old warehouse, now ostensibly a mass-laundry cleaning service, but the well suited thugs outside suggested that filthy overalls weren’t the only things they were laundering. As he landed, the two guards motioned for their weapons, until the miasma caught up with him. One of them gagged while the other recoiled in horror. Carter waited for a moment until they stopped coughing.

“Fellas. Here to see Big Boom.” Carter stated matter-of-factly.

One of the guards held a handkerchief to their face in a vain attempt to block the suffocating effluvia emanating from Carter. “Jeezus .. Y’must be th’ one th’ boss mentioned .. holy mother of- .. look just get in an’ out before we gotta get th’ whole place condemned.” The guard fumbled with the door to open it. Carter gave a mocking bow as they entered.

“Why, so kind. I’ll let th’ big guy know he’s hired th’ right muscle eh?” He didn’t wait for a reply, taking a certain pleasure in hearing their pained gasps for fresh air as he moved into the building.

Business was booming here, both dirty and illegal. Naturally, this was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and one Carter had hoped the mob boss he was meeting would surely not have been so stupid as to actually try. But then, he wondered, perhaps it was so stupid that nobody would expect anyone to actually do it. Was Big Boom a genius, or a lucky idiot? Carter shrugged to himself. Soon he’d be a dead idiot.

Carter & Big Boom, who’s actual name was Benny Loggens, had a lot of history. When Carter first made the jump to Primal Earth, Benny helped find Carter somewhere to stay … then tried to extort him. That didn’t end well for Benny. Carter had forgot the number of times he’d had to put Benny in their place, but their somewhat pathetic, puppy dog charm had prevented him from ending him in a brutal and unpleasant way. He sighed as he knocked on the manager’s office door. All good things come to an end, he supposed.

A muffled confirmation of acceptance came from the other side, and Carter walked in. The office was a horrid mess, with files and books haphazardly shoved into whatever space could be found. Clothes, both male & female, were dotted around the room and draped over any available furniture. A painting of a clown hung on the wall, and Carter made a mental note to take it once he was done. The lone occupant of the manager’s office had been enjoying a meatball sandwich until Carter had walked in.

“Ah .. shhhhhhhooooo good t’see ya Carter! He-heh .. it’s been a *urp* while ain’t it?” Big Boom forced a smile and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, promptly slopping himself with marinara sauce. Benny was not like most other Family bosses. For starters, he was possessed of mostly luck and no actual skill, and hadn’t been “Supe’ing up” like others had to face down heroes, or worse, villains. Instead he’d been able to get to where he was by simply being in the right place at the right time, or avoiding the wrong places at the wrong time, or a mixture of both.

Carter feigned interest in Big Boom’s office “Oh y’know. Work. Speakin’ of work, I’m just gunna cut straight to th’ chase. By all means, keep stuffin’ yer trap.” He gestured to Benny’s sandwich.

The portly mobster briefly considered doing so, until the wall of stench hit him. He was no stranger to Cesspit, and yet every meeting seemed like the first time they’d ever met. He took a deep breath of what would surely be the last clean air he’d breath for the next few minutes.

“What’s on yer mind buddy?” Benny squeezed through their pursed lips.

“Shipments pal. The Boss ain’t happy.” Carter folded their arms “And when he ain’t happy, nobody can be happy, y’get it?”

Benny nodded, then shook their head “Everything’s been runnin’ smoothly, jus’ like we agreed.” He fidgeted with his short, fatty fingers. “Yeah, there’s delays .. th-there always is in this business y’know.”

“Delays we can live with. I’m talkin’ ‘bout no shows.”

“Whaddya mean no-shows? There ain’t no no-shows with Big Boom, y-y’know that right?” A layer of sweat began to form on Benny’s forehead. Lying was certainly not the forte. Or maybe it was the effort of holding their breath finally getting to them.

Carter relaxed a bit and stepped back, again feigning interest in their surroundings “Yeah, shipments always get there. Just problem is, not all th’ shipments. Like U-12236? Ring a bell?”

Benny paused as they searched their mental notes “Right, 100 pieces t’Indy Port. Got there uh .. fifty minutes late? Come on, that ain-“

“88 pieces, Benny. 88 turned up. Now y’tell me how 12 hi-tech guns managed t’fall outta their secured crates? Cause it’d be real bad of ya t’keep lyin’ right about now.” Carter approached the mobster at their desk, privately revelling in the interrogation.

Scrabbling in their seat, Benny stammered for an answer. The mutant approaching them, and being fully aware of their powers, he raised his hands in protest “Okay okay! We were skimmin’ of th’ top! We all do it, y’know that!”

Carter tutted, shaking their head and talking in a condescending tone “Oh Benny, Benny, Benny .. ye really are just that stupid ain’t ya? Well, how ‘bout y’tell me where yer keepin’ th’ skimmed guns, an I’ll see ‘bout lettin’ ya finish y’sandwich eh?” He placed both hands on the mobster’s desk, leaning in to face the terrified criminal.

Benny’s stomach was churning, from the terror, the overwhelming toxic aura of Carter and from the marinara sauce “W-we keep th’ trimmin’s in Talos u-uh .. Warehouse 218, they’re all there, I swear!”

There was an uneasy pause. Carter’s head sagged, and Benny was still held in a cold, sweaty fear. Carter’s low chuckling turned into a hysteric laugh.

“Ohhhhh Benny Benny Benny. Y’know when I came here, I thought ‘How bad will I mess him up? I know, I’ll mess him up as much as he lies t’me face’..” Carter pressed away from the table, circling around the room and then clasped their hands, turning to face Benny. “Y’see Benny, our weapons guy, they’re a bit of a paranoid wreck. So all those guns? Trackers. Trackers, Benny, y’freakin’ fresh idiot!”

Dread realisation crossed Benny’s heart. He knew his time was up. He stammered a response, but then he felt .. something .. in his chest. Heavy and burning, he choked on it as he started to convulse. Bloodshot eyes fell onto Carter, who stood, relaxed as if this were a normal conversation, with a single outstretched hand balled into a fist.

“Man Benny, y’really did yerself in. I woulda been happy just dowsin’ ya and ya little shindig here, but y’just .. couldn’t help it, could ya? Now .. I’ve gotta make an example”

Benny coughed and spluttered, their lungs filling up with .. well, in their last few moments, he barely had time to consider it as Carter’s outstretched hand flexed open ..

-

Operative Vance inspected the scene like one might look at a piece of art one found pretentious, yet not utterly repulsive. Being a Huntsman of many years, he’d seen a lot of things, but this one probably had to take the cake as both the weirdest, and most brutal. He turned to his colleague, Seer Yulia. “Don’t suppose it was the meatballs that did him in hm?”

Arachnos were crawling all over the crime scene. Whoever had been here had no interest in a robbery, although a clean patch on the wall suggested a painting or other fixture had gone missing. It looked to be a clear cut case of intimidation.

“I do not think that is very funny, Operative.” Yulia’s sense of humour was as dead as the look in her eyes. With her helmet removed, she had a haunting beauty about her which belied the grisly scene they found themselves in. Other operatives had either refused to enter the scene, or kept their business brief.

Vance shrugged, sipping their coffee from their travel mug, grimacing a bit as it had gone a bit cold. “So either someone planted a bomb in this guy or .. well, that’s all I have.”

The Seer prodded a still warm chunk of gristle splattered on a fancy looking clock “You could say that. I suspect the victim fell foul of a Destined One.” She paused, looking over to her colleague “We have no reports of any Destined Ones in this area at the time of the murder.”

The Huntsman idly inspected some of the (now soiled) filing cabinets “Hm. Too bad neither of the two outside feel like talking.” He looked around and stifled a yawn “Just call it foul play and call it a day?”

Soundlessly, the Seer moved over to one of the cabinets the Huntsman was inspecting. As if under some given mission, she flung it open and began flicking through the files. Eventually, she stopped at one and pulled it out.

“No. I think we’ve found our lead ..”

Sinister Squad

 

Edited September 5, 2019 by AerialAssault
Just been informed that there is no evidence of Cage Consortium employing child labour

[Ikmachek]

May 19th, 2015

---

 

The beating on the motel door grew louder. Somehow it was worse than the entire night of agony, vomiting, relocating bones and now raw starvation. Other guests probably heard... Which was why the manager was at the door.

 

"Kid if you don't OPEN THIS DOOR I'm coming in, and if I gotta call the cops-"

 

Yalton couldn't even make it /to/ the door, the formless... blob that was his legs couldn't be moved. Manipulated. It was like running in a dream.

"I'm gonna count to three! and if you don't open this door-"

What was he going to do to the abomination that had more or less fused to the bed? Hopefully call for a doctor...
 

"Two...!"

 

Or if he was lucky, put him out of this agony.

"Three!" There was a click, the master key opening the solid wooden door. A protoplasmic... Thing of fur, scales. feathers and Jello stared back at the pudgy hotel manager. Croaking out a weak "HeeELP."

 

"JESUS CHRI-"
---

 

The sound of a truck horn woke Danny as he laid slow and stealthily on the roof of an abandoned King's Row factory. Muttering a curse at himself for falling asleep on watch... and that nightmare again. It changed a little every time, but the horror of it was all the same. The pair Family goons in suits far too nice for such a late hour and place stood watch below - openly armed to boot. A cube van full of 'Dyne backing up while the driver slammed the horn. Impatient to get it into the docking door.

Yalton knew about the Family's Superdyne trade even since before he became... What he was now a week ago. Before then the prospect of taking on half a dozen men with automatic rifles was suicide. Now a walking tank of superhuman durability and power? He had more than a fighting chance. Once again peeking through the binoculars he brought. The chimeric manbeast confirmed what was in the back, gallon drums and boxes. The cargo of the van having been opened before they even began to back it up. "Well... Good at ssSomething. Never do it for free."

The first mook dressed in a white suit down below didn't even get to scream as seven hundred pounds of raw beast and muscle landed on him. A sickening crack coming from what may have been his now-corpse as Danny stood and cracked his knuckles for show. The driver who had been backing up in reverse braked, unsure if what he was seeing in the wing mirror was even real.

 

It only took a moment for the second Family thug's instinct to kick in. Not even raising the military-grade rifle he had and opening up in full auto on Yalton who had in-turn made a rush for him. It was only a few feet away from the docking bay as rounds spalled off the concrete and embedded themselves in hide and muscle. Not even having the kinetic energy to breach into vulnerable organs. Another disgusting crack of elbow striking face was heard. What was surely now a dead mobster with his neck twisted by the force lay on the asphalt. By now the gunfire had attracted more from inside and despite the abuse he had taken from a few .223 rounds, this was a heist, not a siege.

 

Warehouse "workers" packing heat rushed the dock door, only soon to be chased away into cover by returning fire. Even if Danny had just killed two men with just his mass and weight. Nothing did better to frighten off inexperienced tough guys than automatic fire. The rifle that just put about a third of it's magazine into Daniel picked up and emptied in kind. Smartly the driver of the van had bailed before the seven-foot monster noticed him. A fact Yalton acted on as he rushed for the driver's seat - and never making it.

 

A feeling of raw force pulled the chimera away and onto the pavement. Danny didn't even get to see what happened before he was yet again slammed into the side of the van's cargo compartment by raw telekinetic force - and held there.

 

From his limited view with that muzzled face pressed up against the sheet metal of the truck. Finally Danny saw who just pinned him. What had to be a man built bigger than a professional linebacker and tall as himself stepping out of the lit warehouse. Dressed in a fine suit that could only exist custom made with one arm held up lazily.

 

"AND WHAT THE EVER-LIVIN' FUCK DO WE GOT HERE!?"

The pressure against the vehicle was too much for Danny to speak - even breathing was a chore to the hulking beastman that was pinned without so much as a show of effort. "Come on, ya tell me what you think yer doin'!?"

 

Finally the force of raw gravity lightened up for Yalton to slump against the ground, not daring to move as more thugs dressed in warehouse worker's clothes flanked the Capo that just mopped the floor with him. Rifles trained steadily. "I mean, I expected maybe the Skulls 'er someone would try this, but one lone freak- I know you ain't a hero. No costume and heroes don't use guns. What did ya expect here?"

 

Coughing and gasping to catch his breath, Danny sat up against a wheel. His hands weren't raised but he knew better than to try something now. "I got told the Family wassS moving 'dyne... Was gonna sell it myself."

 

The admission to such a brazen theft made the behemoth of a made man laugh. "HOOOLY SHIT. You thought you were gonna drive off with two thousand gallons of refined 'Dyne and just what? Sell it on the turnpike like Liberty Scout cookies? Like we wouldn't find out? Can you get a load of this!?" The Capo's entourage chuckling on queue like a good crowd. "What's yer name, dumbass?"

 

Defiant to the end. Danny didn't answer. The spite of it making the 'dyne augmented mobster glare, losing his jolly composure. "I said what's yer fuckin' name-"

 

"Daniel." The behemoth spat out. A moment of raw fear overtaking him while death breathed down his neck.

 

"Na - Freak like you has to have a better name... A badass one, come on. Tell me."

It took a moment for the question to catch up to a brain filled with the primal fear of imminent execution... An alias? A code name? Shit... Danny didn't even think of that, he was just a freak now. Not some supervillian - and as suddenly as he registered the question, the perfect response hit him. "...Chimera."

 

Instead of death by firing squad, or the Capo's crushing powers. A broad hand was offered to Daniel 'Chimera' Yalton.

 

"Well then get the fuck up Chimera... I could use a freak with balls like yours. So long you don't kill any more of my guys."

[Alchemystic]

Fame had come quite naturally to Mellow Dee, the popular lounge singer often nicknamed 'The Siren of St. Martial', an apt name for the enchanting performer as she captivated audiences with her beautiful and melodic voice. Little did they know that they were being hypnotised, soothed and seduced into becoming more compliant and less... wilful.

In truth, Mellow Dee's singing was the medium for her powers, every note lulling her victims under her control, enticing them to surrender their fortunes to her casino, going against their better judgement as they gambled on and on, the stakes getting higher with each game with no sense of restraint as they lost time and time again. Such addiction to the power she wielded inspired her to explore greater means of control, using her wealth and influence to push her singing career to local radio, where she learned that her powers did not carry the same potency as they did in her live performances. While her voice still carried a seductive melody that made people more suggestible, it lacked the ability to properly control them.

Even with the magnitude of her powers being diminished, they were enough to reward her with a small fortune in record sales, but that wasn't enough for her, she desired nothing but absolute perfection for her talents, hoping to find a way to harness her powers over the airwaves in their pure and unrestrained form. 

"My my, this simply will not do, what's a girl to do to get some proper recording equipment? Mmh, that kinda technology doesn't just grow on trees, I'm gonna need something tailor made just for me, and that's not gonna come cheap..."

She ponders, giving a melancholy sigh as she considers her options. Mellow Dee was no stranger to getting her hands dirty, metaphorically at least, when the Family or Carnies threatened her business, but she had hoped to be above all that by now.

"Looks like I may have to get a little more hands on after all, maybe make a few friends who can open doors for me, create the kinda opportunity I need to get ahead... besides, a little villainy does wonders for the career around here, bad publicity is good publicity in the Isles after all!"

 

She smirked to herself, looking into numerous influential groups that were making waves in the Isles, the kind of people that respect power and aren't afraid to use it. After looking through many would-be syndicates and aspiring cartels, she eventually came by the Sinister Squad... yes, these were the ones, she could feel it. She got up and poured herself a glass of scotch, pressing a button on her PA system with a devilish grin.

"Josephine, could you be a darling and send my agent to meet the 'Sinister Squad'? I wanna do a collab, they'd be perrrfect for my next project~"

[AerialAssault]

An undisclosed location somewhere in the vicinity of Paragon City

 

A pair of eyes darted between dozens of computer screens, each one recording through the helmet of a soldier. Occasionally, one would cut out into static, punctuated by a short but blood-curdling scream. The observer winced and hit the button for the next video feed. As the experiment proceeded, the tap of the button became rhythmic, each report of it’s press like a hammer into the observer’s skull.

Previous tests had gone by smoothly, without incident. But then, those tests had been conducted on weaker parties. Freakshow, Tsoo, lone Arachnos cells. Even some individual villains and small groups of meta-criminals. A few of the Gene Troopers were lost in these engagements. This, however, was something else. This wasn’t a tough engagement or a desperate break-out, but a massacre. The observer cursed under their breath, tugging at their collar. They had underestimated this group. They had assumed that, once they felt the pressure they would simply break ranks and scatter, becoming easy prey for the organised Gene Troopers. Instead, they fell into formation, taking down targets with ruthless precision and overwhelming force.

“Test subjects approaching Engagement Zone Oracle.” A mono-tone voice reported through a speaker. Flicking between video feeds, the observer saw the group of villains methodically fighting their way to the extraction point. To do so, however, they would have to walk a veritable killing field. With Gene Troopers pinning them in, they would surely crumble under the assault. Sure enough, the villains into the trap.

The observer pressed a button on the console and pulled the microphone closer “Teams Moscow, York, Lisbon & Seoul, initiate battle-plan Close Noose.” A series of affirmatives reported through to them. The observer shifted in their chair, flicking through the video feeds with bated breath.

At first, the manoeuvre was executed as planned. Penned in from all sides, the villains began to falter under the assault. Gene Trooper teams assumed their attack positions, launching volley after volley of psychic blasts into the cornered villains. Eventually, one of them was downed, and then another. The observer allowed themselves a sigh of relief and pressed the microphone button “Execute Phase 4.” At the command, the Gene Troopers advanced into close range. Video feeds continued to cut out as the villains reaped a toll into their ambushers. Far too much for the observer to feel confident.

Just as another order was crossing their lips, they witnessed disaster. A number of the villains broke free from the kill zone, throwing the Gene Troopers into disarray. In the chaos, two of the downed villains recovered, wasting no time in seizing the opportunity. One side of the kill box crumbled in a matter of moments, a chorus of death shrieks signalling a turn in the battle.

“Team Lisbon is Code Black.” The monotone report came through the speaker.

“Teams Moscow, York, Seo-“

“Team Seoul is Code Black.”

“Team York! Fall back a-“

“Team York is Code Black.”

“Moscow! Team Moscow, initiate retreat and regroup at Point Cartographer!”

The speaker was silent, except for static. The videos showed a grim picture, with cameras pointed absently at the ceiling.

Sweat dripped from the observer’s brow. Speechless for a moment, a murmur of activity behind them reminded them of their job.

“Field Command, prepare for Targets at Point Cartographer.”

“6-02-4.” The almost robotic voice responded.

A few silent seconds passed before the scout reports came in and went silent almost as quickly.

When the villains engaged the command group, the observer's hopes that were briefly raised were cut drastically short.  A whole squad of elite Gene Troopers wiped out in less than a minute.

The control room was deathly quiet, aside from the soft crackle of static and restrained cough. An unmitigated disaster.

Suddenly, a message came through the intercom “Administrator, the Executive wants a word..”

The churning feeling in their stomach turned into frozen bile. This was it, the end of their project, the end of their career, and depending on her mood, possible even the end of his life.

He trudged through the office halls. Wherever he walked, staff stared at him with absent expressions. They all knew the weight of the defeat they had just suffered. He entered a small office room to the side. A spartan dressed room, there was only a chair and a single holographic projector in the centre of the room. He took his seat, adjusting his collar and prepared himself as best he could.

When the hologram came in, he couldn’t bring himself to meet the gaze of the Executive. An incredibly powerful business mogul, their hologram suitably towered over them. Their expression was hidden by shadow, and the glare of their square glasses.

“Doctor Venkman. It would be an understatement to say I am merely ‘disappointed’.”

The doctor bowed their head, trying their best to curl up without actually entering the fetal position.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. This failure rests on my shoulders, the project-“

“Is a failure. Dealing with street gangs or lone metas is not worth the investment, not when we have our own security forces which *can* deal with groups of metas. From my point of view, your project has reached it’s end, Doctor Venkman.”

He choked back tears, struggling for words. Would it help him to plead? To beg? All he could muster was a meagre “Please ..”

“Yes, your project in it’s current incarnation has no future.” She looked down at the doctor dismissively. “I expect the next incarnation to produce better results.”

A gasp of relief escaped Doctor Venkman’s lungs involuntarily. He composed himself enough to stammer out words of thanks. “Yes, thank you ma’am. We will deliver, I promise.”

The Executive scoffed. “I don’t build my enterprises on promises, Venkman. I build on hard results. And if you fail to deliver, well, let’s just say there won’t be a third incarnation.” With that, the hologram winked out of existence.

Doctor Venkman’s cold, stuttered breath rattled from his chest. A minute or two passed before there was a knock at the door. Gathering himself, he stood up and opened the door. His second stood there, concern written plainly on her face. “Doctor? Is everything .. are we still ..?”

He straightened his tie and cleared his throat “Still in business? Yes. We have a lot of work to do.” He left the conference room, purpose putting a spring in his step. “Send a message to the PI Lab; fire up BIO for the next phase of the project.”

[Ikmachek]

Lord Blackwell's Desk, 9:44am, 7/12/2020

 

A folder lay across the expensive mahogany desk of the Lord and Dread Nictus Blackwell. A simple manila filing folder filled with typed reports, sat-imagery and statistical documents. All of it neatly organized to a degree some would call obsessive, however to the beast that worked day and night on the proposal it was nothing short, no cut corner to proving his worth as a member of the inner council. That under a chimeric behemoth was an even more dangerously cunning predator.

---

 

THE WHAT:

Lord Blackwell I hope this proposal finds you in good spirits. I'm sorry this took ages but I took the time to ironclad what I think should be out first major move as the Sinister Squad. As you likely know Croatia is a eastern Slavic country with a troubled history since the cold war. It's fragile, barely first world and in short, perfect for us. My plan is this, we take the Sinister Sub around Italy into the Adriatic sea to the city of Zadar, from there we take control of the coast and the cities Sibenik, Splif, and Knin.

 

THE WHY:

Croatia was a major instigator in the Yugoslavic wars, it's neighbors Bosnia, Serbia and Albania it's still got poor ethnic feelings for, only curbed by the U.N. intervention in 1991. In other words, the perfect buyer for our paramilitary might and weapons. Not only that, it's the perfect climate for poppy flowers which the west coast of it is ripe in. The opium market always hungers. We're sitting on a small army, let's use it.

 

THE HOW:

I've given this some thought, there is no way we're transporting thousands of Sinister Soldiers by one sub, we will need to acquire some means of mass teleportation. From there we must make coordinated strikes from Zader downwards, hitting media stations, radio repeaters and government buildings ontop of military bases. The quicker the coast is cut off from contact the easier this will be. I expect their rinky-dink little post-USSR defense force won't be any trouble. Infact after this, they'll be our biggest market. Once we control the coast, it's poppy fields and it's communications, we can figure out how to handle the capitol of Zagreb. Rapid deployment and control will be our best and only asset. If the world or U.N. see that a villain group has taken over a small part of a yugoslavic country, it will be more than we can handle.

 

EXPECTED RESULT:

I don't expect us to stay within the country indefinitely. At most a few months to sell our excess guns and armor and to make a good harvest on summer poppy yields, by the fall we should withdraw and let decades old tensions sort themselves out with laser rifles and AK-74s. If anything we might be able to bolster our ranks with what's left of the army. Again, speed and control will ensure our success.

 

-Daniel 'Kymeria' Yalton

[Ikmachek]

Military outpost near Knin, Croatia, 9/16/2020

---

"Pred vratima su!"

(They're at the doors!)

 

"Brzo! Nazovite Kapitol, recite im-"

(Quickly! Call the Capitol and tell them-)

 

The two bickering officers in the sealed command room underground didn't get much time to discuss what to do. The dull THUDS of hoof-shaped imprints began to dent the blast door that sealed what was left of the command structure near Knin away from the force that had made short work of their base, not to mention the monster leading them. Second generation AK rifles and Makarov pistols were pointed at their only defense. For a tense, awful moment it had seemed like their beast stopped taking out his hatred for existing on a blast door designed to shrug off shaped charges - until with a final screeching tear of metal, the Chimera leading the orange and black paramilitary thugs shouldered it open like a linebacker about to sack a quarterback a few dozen yards away from first down.

 

The deafening CLANG of the quarter-ton of metal was almost downed out by the report of old soviet guns. Their force not even enough to get through Yalton's dense hide, and almost as if to mock them - the officers and whatever staff were unharmed. Lazily disarmed as Danial simply took their guns one at a time, ejected the magazines and snapped them over his knee or in his hands with the subtle crack of wooden furniture and surplus soviet steel. When all the gunfire had stopped, only then was he joined by a small squad of Sinister Soldiers. The ringing silence broken by a question spoken in Croatian. "Tko vasSsS vodi?" (Who is in charge?)

 

Another long period of silence was broken - Yalton putting a fist through an old security monitor. "WHO-"

"I am, disgusting beast!" finally someone brave enough to speak up, and judging by the pins in his beret - he was truthful about being in charge. Even better was his English. "You raid my base, kill my men, destroy my command center! For what!? Who are you!?" Danial considered the questions for a long moment before giving a nod of respect. "Commander? I'll assume Commander-"

 

"Brigadier." He corrected, before Kymeria spoke again. "I'm here to propossSe a deal with the Croatian coast on behalf of the Sinister Squad-" Again Yalton didn't get to finish, the proud officer spitting out curses inbetween his frustrations. "YOU COME INTO MY BASE, KILL MY MEN FOR A DEAL!? What kind of deal did your mother make with her favorite bull on the farm to make you!? Whatever DEAL you have, you can take with you and get off my base!"

 

Politely, Danny let the Colonel finish. Beaming from that feline-like face only with a nod. "Are you quite done?"

 

"What do you mean done, I am not DONE with you unti-" The twack of meat being severed was all that finished the Colonel's rant. Kymeria beheading the former officer with the chop of a flat hand. The rest of the base's command structure cowed into silence, watching as he simply wiped his hand off with a rag offered by a Sinister Soldier. "Who'ssS next in command?" This time there was no need to break anything to get a response. A much younger man in fatuige and a beret standing up. "First lieutenant Alexandri sir! I am prepared on behalf of the Knin army base to offer our full surrender to your Sinister Squad!" his pleading uncomfortably practiced - likely repeated in his head as soon as his former officer spoke off to the monster that had to weigh as much as the door he broke free.

 

"Hold on a moment." Yalton held up a taloned finger to the much more agreeable acting commander, addressing a bestial-looking Supervisor in orange and black who had come up from behind. "RrReport?"

 

"Our forces in Zadar report a total media blackout and army compliance with our forces, the transit portal is almost underway too.... but-"

"but what...?" Yalton asked with apprehension.

 

"...We detected an outgoing distress signal from this base just a few minutes ago - we don't know where it's for but the main defense forces in Zagreb might be aware of us."

"I sssSee, try to trace it - dismissed. Inform Lord Blackwell of our progress too." The spliced, inhuman officer gave a salute to the council-holder of the Sinister Squad before that seven foot chimera turned back to what was left of Knin's command structure. "ssSo about that deal..."

[AerialAssault]

The Engineering Bay

 

Ten dismissed the staff from the engineering bay. The staff hurried out, knowing full well the repercussions for not following their robotic overlord's orders expediently.

 

Having received the highly requested item, Ten wanted complete solitude to investigate it fully. A smooth metal container, cool to the touch, it had been brought to them on orders of The Boss. Now, finally, their plan could be put into motion. Ten's machine mind whirled with possibilities, and a malicious glee whelmed up within them merely thinking of the chaos that could be sown. As they peeled off the metal lid of the container, their mind reset and became clear. Using a set of manipulators, they pulled the frozen prize from the container.

 

To an outside observer, it would look like a set of soggy meat with a random collection of electrical components wedged in. Ten had to give their commiserations to Dr. Zhou for the separation of the cybernetic components. The cerebral implants once belonged to one of the Sinister Squad's deep cover plants within the United Nations, whose explicit goal was to uncover the location of one of their assets. The operative had reported back with some findings, but then their cover was blown. The rest, as they say, is history.

 

Ten briefly considered simply wiring the implants into themselves, but the thought of interfacing with anything biological filled them with revulsion. Instead, they took the implants to one of their many analysis machines. Working with unmatched speed, Ten plundered all available information contained within. Memories of their final moments, their next of kin ... useless. For a brief moment, hope began to fade from their processors until .. there.

 

They gestured to the output screen, placing a finger on a string of numbers and letters, pointing it out to nobody in particular. A set of co-ordinates. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Bringing up another screen, they punched in the co-ordinates. It didn't take long to show a tiny spot of water out in the Pacific Ocean. Current satellite images showed nothing, but that did little to dissuade Ten. An inconvenience for one such as them. Searching through online forums at a speed that only a machine could achieve, they found innocent comments from sailors and pilots alike about a sudden and mysterious no-fly zone which had appeared in the area less than a year ago. Yes, the timing was too coincidental.

 

Nodding in approval, Ten tapped their communicator.

 

"Blackwell. Location of Subject Zano identified. Beginning Phase 2 operations."