Aurora_Girl

((Comment, for the love of all that is holy or unholy! Tales of Emerald Claw's nemesis coming soon...once I get CoV installed and updated... >_&lt)

((Part 2))

I was sent out that night on a special mission: to kill the members of an elite team investigating what they called “corruption” in the Crey hierarchy. I was to silently infiltrate a laboratory they were raiding and surprise them. Simple, for one as skilled as myself.

I entered the lab through a passageway known only to my superiors, to find utter devastation. Our scientists were savagely beaten, blade marks had destroyed countless pieces of equipment, and the strong smell of ozone from energy and electricity blasts filled the air. I tracked down the source of the offenders in a hallway, and presented myself to them.

“What is that?” one of the spandex-clad buffoons asked, flames spouting from his hands.

“I have no earthly idea, but in that suit she’s kind of hot,” one said, strangely surrounded by the same green emanations I had seen on my own body.

I merely stood there, examining the six costumed “do-gooders” for weaknesses. I was already tired from my exertions that day, and wanted to destroy them as quickly as possible.

“Well, I suppose we could always ask,” the one who was obviously the leader said, and his robotic armor and blue and red coloring almost silly in its appearance.

“No need. I am the Paragon Protector, and I am here to kill you.”

My claws extended and I sank into a fighting stance, fluid motion adorning my every movement.

The leader reacted, quickly shielding his companions in what appeared to be force fields as the green-shrouded one moved as if to engage me.

I merely flipped onto my hands, bringing my legs over my head to kick him brutally in the face, sending him flying. The flame-wielder began to sear my costume with his blasts, but I waded through them and sank my left claws deep into his abdomen.

He gasped, feeling the cold titanium react to his hot flesh, and went limp. I raised my other hand to impale him through the throat when the robot encased me in some sort of bubble, rendering me unable to attack.

“Magia, get to work on Devil’s Fire, right now. I think Manticore was right!”

“What do you mean, Pax?” the green one said, now standing, rubbing his chin, seemingly unaffected by the vicious blow I had given him.

I fought, struggled to get free of my invisible prison, but to no avail.

“She said ‘Paragon Protector’, right, Qwiz?”

“Yeah, so?”

“There’s been something my contacts have been saying about a new weapon Crey was planning to create to kill heroes, using heroes themselves.”

“I still don’t get it,” the healing one said, her task on the firey hero complete.

“After the Rikti War, Crey Industries removed bodies of dead heroes without permission, but no one knew why. We know they have an extensive genetics and cloning division, and there were rumors...”

“What?” Now it was my turn to be startled.

“Take off your helmet,” the one called Pax ordered.

“I take orders from no one but the voice,” I spat.

“Look, it’s either you take off your helmet or you go straight to the Zig, and they aren’t too friendly to lithe young women in there, or so I hear. Besides, you don’t even get fresh air.”

I thought about this momentarily, and I decided that I could kill them as easily without my helmet, so I acquiesced.

A look of shock, almost recognition, adorned the healer’s face.

“Oh my God, that’s Stephanie Curtis! She used to be called Feral Fury! I teamed up with her once in Atlas Park before the war! But she never had claws, and certainly never killed…”

She fell to her knees, completely overwhelmed.

“Magia, what’s wrong?” Pax said.

“Stephanie Curtis died in the initial attack on Paragon by the Rikti. Her body was never found.”

There are some days where I don’t know who I am, what I know, or even what memories are mine. Sure, some heroes in this city have two souls in one body, some have spectral helpers, or are just plain schizophrenic, but I have an even better excuse.

I’m a clone of myself. At least, that’s what they told me.

My name is Stephanie Curtis. I think. As of today, I’ve been a registered hero in Paragon City for three months, but I’m not even sure exactly how long I’ve been alive. It makes doing my job a bit…difficult at times, to say the least.

“How is the subject progressing?”

“On schedule, doctor.”

“The genetic enhancement?”

“Taking hold as expected, sir. Though…there have been a few minor issues.”

“Such as?”

“Subject demonstrates unusual amounts of rage and uncontrolled aggression, marked by sudden loss of higher brain function when provoked.”

“Does this lessen subject’s effectiveness in any way?”

“No, doctor.”

“Very well. Continue monitoring.”

I woke up the first day in a small cell. No idea of where I was, who I was, or what was going on. I know it’s cliché, but I can’t deny the truth of the first memory that is truly mine. I wore a white jumpsuit with “Crey Bioengineering Department #43104” printed in blue lettering, and nothing shared the cell with me save a stark white cot and a small camera mounted on the wall.

I stood, staring at my surroundings. I could smell things in the air, scents I could tell were far off, yet still strong in my nostrils. I could hear footsteps and whispered conversations from people I couldn’t even see. I could see the minutest detail in the room, from the cracks in the floor to imperfections in the bars on other cells yards away, almost down to the microscopic level.

Glancing at myself for the first time, I took stock of my appearance. Stark white hair, almost to my waist. Grey skin, covered in a fine grey fur. Tiny claws in place of fingernails on each hand and foot. I had no way of seeing my face. My muscles were toned, though I didn’t know why.

Paced the cell. Called out for someone, anyone. No response.

“Have we determined the extent of the improvement?”

“No, doctor. Subject’s sensory awareness and agility remains at near metahuman levels, but we will not know the level of the auxiliary enhancement until more rigorous testing is undertaken.”

I woke again, this time to several white-masked men entering my cell, accompanied by something vaguely robotic, glowing with blue sparks and looking very powerful.

“You will come with us,” the robot said, but I could tell it was human, and very, very powerful.

I followed them meekly out of the cell, down a brightly lit cement hallway into a pitch-black room. The robot-man strode to the other end of the wall, and the other men left, closing and locking the door behind us. Lights were lit, stinging my already-sensitive eyes.

“You have but one option, subject. Fight,” a voice called from an unknown speaker.

I merely stood, weak-kneed, leaning against the nearest wall.

“Fight!” the voice ordered again, and this time the command was punctuated by the robot-man rushing at me, fists raised, now bathed in red energy.

I instinctively leapt into the air as high as the room would allow, narrowly avoiding the strike. He seemed to be moving slowly, but I knew it had to be a trick of my senses. He lunged again, and I ducked down and nimbly scampered between his legs, again dodging the attack.

This technique would not last, as I soon realized he meant to do me real harm. Giving up on the fist attacks, he instead aimed his hands at me and they exploded into a blue and white corona, and the blast struck me full in the chest, knocking me off my feet and searing my jumpsuit. I could smell my singed fur, and the pain dizzied me.

He sensed my weakness, and followed the bolt with a savage uppercut to my chin. I flew into the air, and fell limply to the floor. The taste of blood was strong, metallic in my mouth. I could sense myself falling into and out of consciousness, and wondered why this man had beaten me so savagely.

Stepping back, he regarded my immobile form.

“Some fighting machine you are. I’ve bested better children at the company picnic.”

I suddenly felt a rage build inside me, and suddenly the blood vanished from my mouth, my burned chest knitted back instantaneously, and I began to crackle with energy of my own, only it was green, and seemed to revitalize me.

He noticed the change as well, and nodded.

“Very good, Power Tank 26. You may exit the exercise,” the voice boomed again.

“Subject seems to have taken to the engineering well, doctor.”

“Yes, the last eight took the hit to the chin and expired immediately. This subject possesses great potential, but there is one piece missing.”

The days that followed were the same routine: wake, fight, sleep. Only as time progressed I learned to fight back against my attackers, and they always changed. Some set me on fire, others savagely beat me with fists, still others used bladed and blunt weapons to try and damage my flesh. Through it all, I always emerged unscathed, as the green energy instantly healed any wound I received, and let me concentrate on subduing my opponent.

I was a gifted acrobat, nimble and almost supernaturally fast. I found I could move at breakneck speed, becoming a blur and nearly invisible. I used this to my advantage in the scuffles, reasoning that at some point there would be a reason for my confinement and all the fighting.

“Subject has retained super speed ability, and is progressing well in hand-to-hand combat, and has bested some of our top trainers without use of a weapon, doctor.”

“Very well, then. It is time we explain to the subject its mission, and provide it with its means.”

“Yes, doctor. Immediately.”

The gloves fit perfectly, almost like a second skin. They were black with green circuitry, encasing my hand and wrist, throbbing with power.

“Subject #43104, it is time you were given your purpose. You are charged as the first of your kind to defend Paragon City from its most dangerous threat: so-called “Heroes.” These vigilantes take law into their own hands, costing innocent lives almost every step of the way. They seek to destroy we who have given you these abilities, who have nurtured and protected you. They seek to kill you for what you stand for. The gloves you wear are your tools, use them passionately and without abandon. You must kill those who seek to kill you. You must never lose sight of your mission. You must give no quarter, no mercy. You will be a champion of Paragon. You will be the first of its Protectors.”

For some reason, I believed the voice. I believed I combat those who would seek to destroy me, destroy the lives of innocents, destroy the institution who had trained me. The gloves, which I found I could not remove, contained a liquid titanium alloy that, at the merest thought, would oxidize and form razor-sharp claws. I still don’t understand the technology behind them.

I couldn’t tell you how many days, weeks, months, or even years I wore that yellow and blue suit, complete with shiny helmet. I hunted and killed countless heroes, protecting the city from their lawless and destructive rampages, every night returning to the non-descript building I knew as my “home” to return to my cell.

Until that night. That night I met the heroes who would show me exactly what I needed to see.

::slides tongue back in mouth::

Thank you. Thank you sir.

Spent a little time over at your site a few days ago...very impressed.

But I know nothing of this Easter Egg! I am depressed!


-AG

/e cries

I've been reading this nonstop for the past day...and now no ending!

Gah!

Name: Emerald Claw
Real Name: Stephanie Curtis
Apartment: 608
Age: Unknown, as subject's lifespan is currently not known.
Apparent Age: Late teens.
Height: 5'4''
Weight: 138 lbs.
Skin: Light grey
Hair: White
Eyes: Black
Registered Hero Class: Scrapper
Primary Powers: Claws
Secondary Powers: Regeneration
Other Powers: Super Speed, Leaping
Personality: Moody. Can be feral and unresponsive in the heat of combat. Tends toward being alone, but enjoys company when the fighting is thick. Does her best work when left to her own devices.

((My first serious venture into RPing...spent 6 hours reading all that is Whitmoore, and I'm now hooked.))

Paragon Times, April 20, 2001

Atlas Park--Another new hero was responsible for breaking up a gathering of Hellions threatening several innocent bystanders last night.
Joshua Pryce, one of the onlookers at the scene, called his savior "A big blur of white hair and claws. She leaped off the building in a trail of yellow light, and tore those poor guys to shreds. Told us her name was Jade Claw, or something."
Other scattered reports of this "Claw" include perching near the Atlas Park tram station, but outside of this relatively safe zone, her reputation is non-existent.


Taken from Crey Industries documents recovered by Freedom Phalanx members shortly before the Rikti Invasion:

To: Genetic Upgrading Division
From: CC
Re: Upcoming Project
Date: 12/18/01

As new breakthroughs in the Human Genome Project provide exciting ways to understand the DNA of a [censored] Sapiens, the goal of this Division will change directions from an analysis of [censored] Sapien DNA and begin study and testing on [censored] Superior genomes.

Why do mutations of such magnitude occur?

How do they spontaneously react to the environment?

What kinds of mutations occur more often than others?

Most importantly, can they be artificially triggered?

There will be no shortage of subjects for your research, rest assured.

Of special note: These procedures, as in any case where genetics are involved, can be very taxing on the subject. Therefore, extreme care will be chosen in selecting test applicants to assure the highest standards of viability.

On this vein, the first subject has been pre-screened and approved for testing, one Stephanie Curtis, also known by small-time criminals as "Emerald Claw".

Ms. Curtis is of value to our project for several reasons:

Her mutation provides her with an incredible metabolism and physical ability, plus a naturally more active immune system.

Though her appearance has been described as "feline" in nature, screenings showed Ms. Curtis as one hundred percent [censored] Superior, with extraordinary speed and acrobatic abilities.

Ms. Curtis will be arriving at the Seven Gates Laboratory in Brickstown in one week's time. Have everything prepared for her arrival and subsequent stay."

((Atlas Park, most days, actually.))


-AG

"Good. Now that that's taken care of."

::flies out of the hole in the roof, thinking 'Never again will I take the tram from Talos to Steel at 4 a.m.'::


-AG

((Maeve Walker, AKA Aurora Girl - 19 years old, nrg/nrg/elec blaster, inflated sense of self-importance since reaching SL 50, likes to flirt, has a penchant for shiny costumes, but is a bit of a prude))


-AG

::lurches forward off her seat, barely missing the handrail in front of her::

A redhead in a motorcycle jacket and miniskirt generally gets catcalls from time to time on the Yellow Line, but not me.

See, the big blue "A" on the jacket pretty much tells anyone who's anyone in Paragon who I am:

Aurora Girl.

Well, usually the blue lightning pulsating from my skin does it too, but I'm proud of the jacket.

"What are you thinking?"

"Mafia!" cries the suit.

I stand up and pull my hair back, realizing this bazooka-wielding clown-morphing-thing is not your run-of-the-mill panhandler I've seen more and more often recently.

"Look, Bozo, seriously, I'm kind of a big deal. You might not want to blow me up. People know me, you know? You wouldn't want one of the biggest supergroups in the city to rain down on your curly little head because you wasted their primary blaster, do you? And you, Suit Boy, I'm gonna get real skittish if you can't shut that thing up. When I get skittish, things blow up, and I'm not the kind of girl who wants to see your suit blown up in broad daylight."

My hands start to glow blue and white as I subtly make my point, but I can't help but stare at the kitten sneaking up behind Bozo...


-AG