Shining_Glory

Tesla winced as Lytton swerved the car sharply to miss a truck that had been abandoned in the center of the road. The streetlights in this part of London were dark, and they didn’t dare use the headlights since the alien craft had taken to strafing any easy target.

“These things are amazing! Clear as day!” Lytton said as he looked across at her. The multi-vision goggles gave him a bug-eyed appearance. She’d perfected them on the long trip from Nepal to England as a way to pass the time. Certainly she’d never thought the prototype pair would be field-tested in a life or death situation.

“Can you keep your eyes on the road, please?” Tesla said, drawing back in her seat involuntarily as Lytton jumped a curb to avoid a pile of stone rubble. Brickwork shorn off one of the battered buildings, most likely.

“Sorry, sorry,” he replied with a sheepish grin. With his eyes firmly back on the road, he pressed a bit harder on the gas pedal. The speedometer began to climb again... 100km/h... 120...

“You do realize that, for the speed to count, we actually have to arrive in one piece?”

He grinned. “You’re in good hands, Doctor. Trust me.”

She had to admit he knew the streets and how to drive them. Given the state of things, anyone else might well have wrapped them around a telephone pole or a derelict vehicle by now.

“Are you usually a driver?”

“Good lord, no. I usually do intelligence work. Analysis and such. I was at a briefing at the MoD when all this started.” He shrugged. “That’s the reason I’m wearing this somewhat impractical uniform.”

“You work with Brigadier Balfour on a regular basis, then?”

“‘The Old Man?’” Tesla could actually hear the capital letters in the nickname. “Yes, of course. Shows, does it?”

“A bit.”

“Something bothering you?”

“Something was. But then I figured it out.”

Lytton snuck another glance at her. “And what did you figure out?”

“Why the Brigadier is allowing me to examine this craft.”

Lytton made a sharp left turn and suddenly they were driving across the greenery of a public park of some sort. “Short-cut,” he said cheerfully. “Anyhow, he explained that already. He was impressed with the way you cracked their invasion pattern.”

“That’s probably true. But that’s not the reason he’s letting me do this.”

“No?”

Tesla shook her head. “Under normal circumstances, there’s no way a representative of the United Kingdom lets a foreigner examine a potentially invaluable piece of technology. He’d absolutely want his own people to handle it.”

“Well, we are a bit pressed for time, you know.” A sudden bump and they were back on pavement.

“That’s not it, either.”

“Then I crave enlightenment, Doctor.”

“There’s every chance they’ll try to retrieve their craft,” Tesla said calmly. “There’s no chance I can tell them anything of value about your personnel or plans if they should capture me. And that’s assuming the ship has no security measures to deal with intruders.”

She offered him a tight smile. “In other words, I’m utterly expendable.”

He beamed at her. “So you are. But charming, nonetheless.”

“Thank you.”

“Being expendable doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m weighing it against the prospect of examining an object from another world.” She shrugged. “And it’s not a great deal safer anywhere else.”

“Very practical.”

“Thank you again.”

He leaned forward, casting his eyes upwards to look into the night sky. Tesla could just make out the roar of jet engines overhead. RAF fighters. She couldn’t see them at all, but with the goggles, Lytton probably could.

“Godspeed,” he said softly. Eyes back on the road, he spoke again. “The Lyttons have been fighter pilots going back to the Battle of Britain.”

“Then shouldn’t you be in the RAF?”

“Ah, now you sound like my father,” he said. “I’m afraid I rather let the family down there. But then I’ve always fancied myself a bit of a maverick. Still, I keep my hand in – pilot’s license and all that.”

He drew the car to a sudden stop as a wave of color washed over it. Color, but not one Tesla could describe. Red... but not red. With a hint of what? Blue? Purple? Yes and no.

“Impossible,” whispered Lytton as the color faded.

“I think we’ve arrived,” Tesla said as she climbed from the car. She was as amazed as he was, but determined not to show it.

A soldier dressed in grimy fatigues hurried to greet them. He was in such a rush that he nearly forgot to salute Lytton. “You’ll be the ones from HQ?”

Lytton nodded and handed off a sheet of paper. The soldier glanced at it.

“It only just started doin’ that,” the soldier said, waving for them to follow him. “That was the second.”

“What was the first? Can you describe it?” Tesla asked as she hurried toward the shattered one-level building. She could see a portion of the craft in the rubble.

The soldier shook his head. “A color. A sort of color, I guess. Dunno what more to say. Sort of green but not really.”

The craft itself was vaguely circular and the same shade of grey as the creatures themselves. Little thought appeared to have been given to aerodynamic needs, but if it were used ordinarily for combat in space that wouldn’t be a major consideration. Or perhaps they had ways of totally cancelling out gravity? Various portions glowed a pale green. Indications of charged areas?

Tesla shook her head. Too many questions, too little data.

The rest of the soldier’s company waited nearby, having taken up positions behind whatever cover they could find.

“Nothing’s come out,” he said. “Maybe they’re all dead in there.”

“Or waiting for rescue,” Lytton said.

Before Tesla could speak again, another color filled her vision. Again it was like nothing she’d ever seen. From their expressions, she knew the others were seeing it as well.

When it faded, the soldier’s face was pale.

“D’ya... d’ya think that means... well... you know... that it’s going to blow up?” he whispered.

Lytton looked at Tesla. She had no answer for him.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “But we’re not going to find out standing here.”

And, with that, she started across the street.

The dining area of a pizzeria on the lower level had been cleared, save for a single large table and several chairs. Maps of the city lined one wall and several officers fussed over them, gesturing emphatically at certain areas and muttering to one another. Other men rushed to and from the kitchen area, clutching documents, photos and phones. Half a dozen laptops sat on the table, each one running a different tactical program.

In the center of the apparent chaos, only one man remained seated at the table. He was in his late fifties, stocky with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. Like the lieutenant escorting Tesla, he was wearing his dress uniform. He alternated between barking orders at the men around him and bellowing into a phone.

The lieutenant halted just shy of the table and snapped off a salute. “Doctor Morrow, sir.”

The man behind the table stood, raised an eyebrow and gave Tesla a brusque nod. Then he turned to the lieutenant. “Rather fast work finding the lady. Even for you, Teddy.”

The lieutenant had the good grace to flush and clear his throat before saying anything. “Doctor Morrow, this is Brigadier Balfour. He’s in command of the ground forces in the city.”

“By virtue of everyone else getting caught with their pants down,” Balfour rumbled. “Neither here nor there now, though. You’re the one who deciphered the pattern in their invasion?”

“I extrapolated the appearance of a portal, yes.”

Balfour nodded. He reached back and turned one of the laptops to face her. Its screen displayed her photo and a great deal of text. “Your file makes interesting reading, Doctor. Enough degrees to paper one of these walls – physics, chemistry, engineering. Sort of all-rounder, aren’t you?”

“I try to be versatile.”

“I’ve no time for false modesty,” Balfour said in a low voice. “Until the secure government bunker is up and running, the responsibility for this city and possibly this very nation rests with me. And right now, our enemy dominates on land and in the sky.”

As if to emphasize his words, a high-pitched whine filled the room. “Bombing run!” someone shouted.

The men instinctively hunched over and braced themselves. The lights flickered for a few seconds as a series of shockwaves swept across the whole of Covent Garden. Somewhere a window shattered. Items tumbled from shelves. Balfour’s phone bounced from its resting place on the table, landing at the Brigadier’s feet.

A moment later, the whine faded. The men returned calmly to their work.

“I don’t understand why you want to see me,” Tesla said quietly.

“It was a bad show all around dismissing you at the Eye,” Balfour told her. “You showed remarkable initiative and skill in getting the information and then making use of it. That impresses me. Until our own boffins pull their socks up, I’d be grateful for any advice you can give on these creatures.”

Tesla blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. She tried to phrase a response, but Balfour’s internal timer hit the zero mark.

“I’ve spared as much time as I can on this, Doctor,” Balfour snapped. “If you’re unwilling or unable to help, then kindly clear the area, as you’re in the way.”

“I’ll... do what I can, Brigadier.”

Balfour favored her with a tight smile. “Very good. Lytton there will see that you’ve someplace to work. Get it set up, Teddy.”

Lieutenant Lytton nodded. Balfour ended the conversation by picking up his phone, which was already ringing again.

“Right, come with me,” Lytton said. “We’ll have you sorted out in no – ”

He broke off as Balfour snapped his fingers.

“Cancel that office, Teddy,” Balfour said as he handed off the phone. “Have you ever heard of Shining Albion, Doctor Morrow?”

Tesla shook her head.

“One of our super-powered chaps. Tough as steel.”

“And thick as a brick,” muttered one of the men.

“Respect for the dead!” roared the Brigadier.

The men fell suddenly silent, looking at their commander.

“I’ve just been informed that Shining Albion gave his life in the defense of queen and country not half an hour past,” Balfour said in a softer tone. “Collided with one of their attack craft.”

He allowed himself a thin smile. “Which gives you a chance to show us what you can do, Doctor.”

“Wait... are you saying...?”

“I am indeed. Shining Albion brought down one of their ships.”

A cheer rose up from the assembled men. To her surprise, Balfour let it run its course. As the men continued to rejoice, an officer rushed in from the kitchen area. He handed Balfour a slender GPS unit, which Balfour promptly passed to Lytton.

Balfour leaned close to her to make himself heard. “Get out there and bring me back a way to carry the fight to them.”

Now

Tesla stood, maneuvering the girl behind her as the creature from another world readied its scythe. Well, at least it wouldn’t be a dull death...

Then the girl began to wail, long and loud, her cry echoing across the water. The creature tilted its head, listening closely, unsure what to make of that. Maybe it had never heard a child in distress before. It didn’t matter; with that hesitation, Tesla knew she’d just been given perhaps ten seconds to act.

She jammed her hand into her jacket pocket, fingers closing around a tiny metal tube. Just as the creature reacted, its own hands tightening on its scythe, she pulled the device from her pocket. A tiny crimson dot shot out from it and trailed across the chestpiece of the creature’s armor. The invader watched this intently, seemingly frozen in place. Guided by Tesla, the dot slowed to a halt exactly where a human’s heart would be.

“Right, now I’m betting you understand the language, the gesture or both,” Tesla said, willing herself to keep her hand from shaking. “So you just do as I say or I’ll use this.”

She motioned just a little with the device, the universal sign for “back up.” To her relief, the creature did, its heavy footsteps echoing on the bridge as it stepped back.

So far, so good, she thought to herself. I wonder if I can disarm it now...

But, just as she was about to speak again, the dot flickered. The creature’s eyes narrowed. Then the crimson light vanished as the batteries in Tesla’s laser pointer died completely.

“Been meaning to get new batteries for ages,” she said and promptly tossed the keychain toy to the startled creature. “Here, you keep it.”

She scooped up the girl and, even as the creature drew its handheld weapon, launched herself over the side of the bridge.

A beam of energy crackled past her as she twisted in mid-air, trying to turn a blind lunge into something resembling a graceful dive. The effort was only a partial success, and they hit the water hard.

Absolute darkness crept into the corners of Tesla’s vision, and she fought to stay conscious, hold onto the girl and figure out which way was up. She took an involuntary breath and ended up with a mouthful of brackish water. Catching a glimpse of light, she swam in that direction.

She surfaced under the bridge moments later, gasping for air. The girl was silent, so much dead weight. Not breathing. Tesla rolled over onto her back, pulling the child along as she paddled toward shore. She wasn’t sure if the creatures had already advanced to the other side of Westminster Bridge, but she didn’t have time to worry about it just now.

Footsteps echoed on concrete as she reached the shoreline. Almost immediately, several flashlight beams darted across her. Squinting into the darkness, she could make out almost a dozen men.

“Human! Hold your fire!” barked a voice from the shadows.

Strong hands reached down into the water and pulled both her and the girl from the water. In moments, Tesla found herself surrounded by Royal Paratroopers. The wary men formed a tight circle around her, weapons ready, eyes constantly moving.

She knelt beside the girl. A tinge of blue had already crept into her face. For long moments, Tesla worked in silence. Finally, she was rewarded with a gasp and a trickle of water from the child’s lips. She cradled the girl in her arms and stood.

“Right, we’re falling back,” said a gruff man with sergeant’s stripes. He gestured at Tesla and the girl. “You lot are with us. Let’s move.”

They made their way swiftly along the embankment. Huge sections of the city were ablaze now, flames licking at the night sky. The sounds of battle were loudest in Westminster, but there were obviously skirmishes going on across the entire area. Several times, the sergeant threw up a hand and the entire group halted and fell absolutely silent. Apparently conventional weaponry was having little to no effect on the invaders, and the last thing the paratroopers wanted at the moment was a firefight.

As they marched, they picked up other survivors in groups of two or three. By the time the soldiers had reached Covent Garden, the site of a makeshift command headquarters, the total number of civilians with them numbered more than thirty. They were directed to an area off to one side, where they sat, grateful to have the opportunity to rest.

Tesla had only just set the girl down when she heard her name being called.

“Doctor Morrow?”

She turned to face a man about her own age. He was wearing an army officer’s dress uniform bearing the rank of lieutenant, but the dirt and stains on his clothes showed that he’d seen his fair share of action that evening. If Tesla had been in a mood to care about such things, she might have called him handsome, given his sandy hair and green eyes.

“I’m Tesla Morrow, yes.”

The lieutenant grinned. “Well, that’s the first bit of good news I’ve had all night. You’ve just saved me a trip to who-knows-where, doctor.”

Tesla raised an eyebrow. The man responded by holding up a passport. Her passport.

“They were about to send me out to look for you.” The lieutenant continued to smile as he gestured toward the shops of Covent Garden. “Come this way, please. You’re expected.”

Before

Tesla paused by the window of the television shop, all thoughts of reaching the Baker Street tube station forgotten. The familiar BBC1 logo was in the corner of the screen beside a scroll: “Piccadilly Circus closed as investigation continues...”

“...it’s a sort of, well, disc, I guess would be the closest comparison,” the correspondent in the field was saying as she stepped inside the shop. “Perfectly flat. Perhaps three meters high and a vivid scarlet.

“As you can see, the army has now covered it.” The correspondent gestured over his shoulder, the camera following his movement past wooden barricades to a large plastic tent that had been erected only a few feet from the Eros statue. Tesla frowned, recognizing the sort of haz-mat tent normally used as part of containment protocols for extreme chemical spills or radiation leaks. Soldiers in full haz-mat gear moved in and out of it.

The broadcast anchor back in the studio nodded, obviously stalling for time while he received a question from a producer. “Now Alan, witnesses are telling you that this ‘disc,’ for lack of a better word – it simply appeared out of thin air?”

“That’s absolutely right, Ken,” replied the correspondent. “Hovering just off the pavement here. Several of the witnesses put the time as – ”

“Alan, Alan, sorry to interrupt you, but we’re going to have to cut away to go to Sophie Onteneko in Barking, where we’ve just had word of a second scarlet ‘disc’ appearing... Sophie? Sophie, can you hear me?”

Tesla turned away from the screen. With the army on the scene, the media would be useless as a source of information. Fortunately, there were other sources.

A scarlet disc... That was a description so vague as to be useless from a scientific viewpoint. Still, it was tantalizing. Her mind racing with all the possibilities, Tesla stepped outside, scanning the street.

She spotted the computer store six doors down. The owner, glued to his own mini-television, glanced up as she entered.

“I need your best laptop and an Internet connection,” Tesla said before he had a chance to speak. She reached into her jacket and placed her credit card in the counter. “Charge it.”

Moments later, she was tapping furiously at the keyboard. When the Internet had come of age, she’d amused herself for a few months by trying her hand as a hacker. Having seen “War Games” multiple times, she’d stopped short of cracking the NORAD system, but she’d paid visits to the Pentagon and the White House. The British government’s info-network set-up was, if anything, slightly easier because it was more logically arranged.

The Ministry of Defence had no information, or at least none that had been disseminated electronically. The same for MI5. The only references to the “discs” came in oblique comments within internal memos. Reading between the lines, there appeared to be a great deal of peevishness among various groups about that fact none of them were overseeing the operation. So who was?

Finally, within the online database for an obscure research group (designation: Torchwood), Tesla struck gold. She found locations for a dozen more “discs.” As each one appeared, army forces already seconded to the researchers were dispatched to cordon it off. Speculation among investigators was rampant in a series of confidential emails, with guesses ranging from first contact to the second coming.

However, there were no photographs of the discs themselves. Perhaps they didn’t photograph. Or maybe the investigations team was simply playing things close to the vest. Probably wise, but it didn’t satisfy Tesla’s curiosity.

She returned to the map displaying the locations of the various discs. For a few moments, she leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin.

“Let’s assume intelligence,” Tesla said to herself. “Intelligence means purpose. And purpose means a pattern.”

Her fingers returned to the keyboard, running a myriad of extrapolations using the map. The distance of one disc to another, the time between appearances, commonalities between locations, and a hundred other variations.

Long minutes passed as she continued to work. Then, just as she made her breakthrough, the laptop pinged. She’d written a program to monitor the Torchwood database and alert her when new information was added. Tesla returned to the homepage.

One of the latest wave of discs had appeared at a busy intersection in East Ham. An oncoming car had hit it dead center... and vanished. Disintegrated? Or merely displaced? Given the data at hand, Tesla couldn’t know for certain. Either way, it was unlikely the vehicle and driver were returning any time soon.

Her frowned deepened as she returned to her extrapolation work. If her pattern theory was correct...

She slammed the laptop closed, tucked it under her arm and raced out the door. On the street, she practically threw herself in front of an oncoming cab. Before the driver could rage at her, she slipped into the backseat and passed a fifty-pound note up to him.

“There’s another one just like that for you if get me to Westminster as fast as you can.”

She checked her watch. Half an hour. So little time. How nice it would be if she were wrong for once. But she knew she wasn’t.

By the time she’d reached Trafalgar Square, traffic was hopelessly snarled. Tesla had been on the phone for the entire ride. She’d tried the Torchwood contact number, but it had been an automated system requiring a numeric code to advance. So she’d turned to the Metropolitan Police, who had politely transferred her call from one baffled individual to the next before she simply gave up. She’d considered telling them she was a terrorist, but it would impede her investigation if she had to conduct it from a jail cell.

“Sorry, luv, never seen it in a state like this,” the cabbie told her, gesturing to the traffic that lay ahead of them.

She replied by passing him the second fifty-pound note and exiting the cab. Setting off at a sprint, her long strides carried her closer and closer to her goal. Eight minutes...

Her sides ached and every muscle burned as she reached Westminster bridge, but she didn’t dare stop. She stumbled, jostling a passing tourist who cursed at her in French. She ignored him and ran on.

The area around the London Eye was crowded, as it always was. Security concerns required bag checks, even handheld metal detectors in some cases. And that meant a long line of people.

People who were right in the spot where the next disc would materialize...

“Move!” Tesla shouted. “Move! Move! Move!”

Naturally, everyone froze at the sound of her shouts. She saw the security people moving to intercept her and knew that if one of them so much as laid a hand on her, she’d be too late.

So she ducked beneath the grasp of the first, leaped over the lunge of the second and straight-armed the third. In a moment, they’d recover and they’d have her, but in a moment, it wouldn’t matter.

She hit the overweight woman who was unlucky enough to be standing at ground zero full-on, sending them both tumbling into a souvenir stand. The action scattered the people around them, which was just what she wanted.

To human senses, the disc materialized instantaneously. There might have been a miscalculation in the process with this because its lower tip actually made contact with the ground. And the reaction that followed carved out a bowl shape in the stone and metalwork beneath it. The matter that had once filled that shape had simply vanished.

Tesla had time to note that the disc was indeed scarlet and perfectly flat before the security people hauled her to her feet and pulled her away. What followed was a series of seemingly endless interrogations by the Eye’s security manager, the police and, finally, the military. Her laptop was confiscated and her passport taken.

And then they’d cut her loose. They’d eventually looked at her extrapolations, but by the time they’d gotten around to it, the appearances were over. Discs had materialized throughout the city. She’d offered to help with the investigation, of course, but that had been politely refused. “We have the situation in hand,” they said and she knew they hadn’t a clue.

When she emerged from the makeshift security office, the disc had been covered by another tent. An army officer took her past the cordon, where throngs of people lined Westminster bridge, craning their heads for a look at the “mystery disc.”

There was nothing to do now but wait...

Part Eight: Three Years Ago

Smoke and dust filled the night air. Somewhere in the distance a machine gun chattered briefly, then went abruptly silent. There were screams and shouts, orders and prayers, cries for help and pleas for mercy.

And there was death. Above all else, there was death everywhere.

Tesla ran.

In that respect, she was in good company; everyone else was also moving as fast as their legs could carry them. The difference was that Tesla had chosen to run in the opposite direction from all the others.

She was headed back across Westminster Bridge. Back in the direction of the London Eye. And back toward the creatures that were now destroying the city with apparent ease.

She’d seen the little girl become separated from her mother out of the corner of her eye. The panicked crowd had carried the woman away effortlessly, her shouts unheeded. But the girl had been small and scared, a tiny pale figure in a blue hoodie, and she’d simply stopped in her tracks on the eastern end of the bridge . It was a miracle she hadn’t been trampled.

She stood paralyzed on the sidewalk, looking wide-eyed in every direction and yet actually seeing nothing. It was as though her mind couldn’t process what was happening. Tesla suspected there’d be a lot of that before the night was over.

With a lunge, she cleared the last of the fleeing crowd. The bridge was empty now, save for her and the girl.

Behind her, some sort of particle weapon – she could tell by the sound – sheered away a massive section of Big Ben’s facade. Debris tumbled to the ground below. More dust. More screams. More death.

Tesla ran.

She reached the girl’s side as a massive assault craft swept low over the bridge, strafing the Houses of Parliament with the same type of advanced weaponry. The girl clung tightly to her, breathing in pants, and Tesla huddled over her to shield her from the worst of the flying debris.

Its work apparently done for the moment, the assault craft banked sharply, perhaps headed now for Downing Street or even the palace. Tesla pushed those thoughts away and focused on the girl.

“Okay,” she told the child softly, “we’re gonna go find your mom.”

The girl stared blankly at her. Shock, Tesla thought. It must be. She wondered if the child would – could – ever be quite normal again.

Then she realized the girl was actually staring at something over her shoulder. Letting out a deep breath, Tesla turned slowly and got her first up-close look at one of the creatures.

It stood over six feet tall, its exterior appearing to be a combination of hardened grey skin, armor and some kind of organic carapace. It had an impossibly wide forehead, a long snout and small, deep-set eyes. The one in front of her was obviously a footsoldier of some sort, since it carried a handheld energy weapon.

It looked from her to the child and back again. To her surprise, it put the weapon away. For a moment, she was hopeful that perhaps kindness – even the tiniest example of it – was universal.

That hope died as the creature drew out a massive scythe and raised it high over their heads.

Part Seven: Four Years Ago

“Where are you calling from?” Sidney Zweibel shook his head, even though he knew the gesture was meaningless over the phone. “This connection’s terrible.”

He adjusted his wireless headset, but it didn’t help. He could still hear the low, constant hiss of static. And Tesla’s voice sounded as though she’d put one end of a long metal tube against the phone and was now talking down the other.

He shook his head again. If the girl hadn’t been loaded...

But she was. She’d been some kind of hotshot science whiz before going on sabbatical and, for nine months now, Tesla Morrow had been his most lucrative client. Prior to leaving the country, she’d hired him to manage her assets, which included stocks, bonds, real estate and an ungodly amount of cash. With his commission, this was turning out to be a very good year indeed and that, considering his hefty alimony burden, was welcome news.

However, the good fortune came with a price tag – his client’s eccentricities. Prearranged calls at odd hours from strange places. Large sums of money being transferred to destinations all over the globe. Bizarre purchases of materials and equipment. The list of unusual behavior was a long one.

He wasn’t the only one who’d wondered about it all, either. The FBI had been in the offices on three separate occasions, muttering about national security. They’d checked the transactions, gone through the files, even tapped his phones.

All for nothing, in the end. That money she’d requested be transferred to Rome for art supplies? She’d taken up sidewalk chalking on a whim. The funds for the creation of the perfect Zen garden? On the level. The same for the crash-course in how to play the didgeridoo, the trek through the Khyber Pass and the purchase of a collection of more than 25,000 books. That last one in particular killed him because she’d promptly given the entire collection away, save for a single paperback with a cover price under the equivalent of two U.S. dollars. All that money down the drain just because some senile old coot in West Anglia wouldn’t part with one book at a time? Madness.

“Kathmandu,” said Tesla finally.

“What in god’s name are you doing in Nepal?”

Even using a calling system that was apparently only one step up from tin cans and a length of string, he could hear the gentle laughter in her voice. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Probably not. But tell me anyway.” Sidney loosened his handmade silk tie and leaned back in the $500 chair his massage therapist assured him was ergonomically perfect for his back.

“I’m looking for a man named Abhisyanta.”

“Gesundheit. Seriously, what’s special about him?”

“He makes the most intricate, delicate windup toys in the world,” she said. “Each one is absolutely perfect. He works so methodically he’s lucky to produce three in a year. They say he once built a songbird so exquisite that it made a princess weep when her lover presented it to her as a gift on their wedding night.”

“You’ll need money, I suppose?”

“If he lets me apprentice with him, it’ll be expensive.” She told him the figure, and he scribbled it on a notepad, along with the details for the transaction.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes. Oh, hey, did Katie like the didgeridoo?”

He smiled as he looked at the framed photo on his desk. His daughter was nine now and as far as he was concerned, the only good thing from his marriage.

“Loves it. Plays it all the time. All the time. Did I mention she plays it a lot? Maybe you’ll be good enough to send me a pair of the world’s most intricate, delicate, perfect earmuffs?”

“Consider it done.”

“Tesla?”

“Hmm?”

“...what’s it all for?”

There was nothing but static on the line for a moment, and he feared he’d lost her. But then she was speaking. “Sid, that may be the only personal question you’ve ever asked me.”

Sid cleared his throat. “Yeah, well...”

“I don’t know who I am. I know what I am – I always knew that – but that’s not nearly the same thing. So, you know, I’m looking.”

“So... what happens when you find out?”

“Then things get downright interesting.”

Part Six: Five Years Ago

The reception had been painfully dull. The sole bright spot for Tesla was that the alcohol was free and now, at 21, she was allowed to indulge. But all the free drinks in the world couldn’t have made that ballroom bearable for one second longer.

It wasn’t the presence of people from sales, marketing or business affairs that disappointed her. She was used to hearing the endless anecdotes about the tough pitch and the constant chatter about the bottom line. No, what really bothered her was the fact that most of the individuals in the room were scientists... who had turned out to be every bit as shallow as their business-driven compatriots.

No exchanges of ideas. No spirited debates on theory. Instead, they strutted around the social circle like everyone else, showing off younger (and inevitably more beautiful) spouses, dropping names and wrangling for credit over meaningless projects. If that was the scientific community at work, you could keep it. Small wonder she stayed in her lab most of the time.

But if she was being honest with herself (and that wasn’t always one of her strengths), even that had lost its satisfaction over the last few months. She’d overcome one challenge after another, finding a solution to any problem the company handed her. In the end, though, so what? None of it seemed to matter anymore.

And it was that thought that led Tesla Morrow to the roof of the hotel.

Below, even as the hour moved toward midnight, hundreds of tourists crowded the sidewalks as they walked through Times Square. The wind seventy stories above the street was fierce, bitingly cold through the fabric of her pantsuit. But that made no difference to her. Like most things these days, she simply didn’t feel it.

She walked slowly to the edge of the roof. Heights had never bothered her so the next step, the one onto the ledge, was simple enough. She spread her arms wide, feeling the wind rip past her, sending her red hair flapping in all directions. Was she going to jump? Part of her mind analyzed the situation as coldly and objectively as she would any other sort of data. She rather suspected she was. And why not?

“Er... Doctor Morrow?”

She looked over her shoulder. The young woman who stood by the door was roughly her own age, pretty and lean, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Unlike Tesla, she’d actually worn a dress to the reception, and she held her arms close to her chest to fight off the cold.

“I really... I think it would be a good idea if you came down from there...” Her voice was soft, and Tesla was just able to make it out over the howl of the wind.

“Do I know you?” Tesla made no attempt to leave the ledge.

“Well... no.”

“Then go away.” Tesla turned back to face the street below.

“...I think you’re awesome.”

“What?”

“I’ve read all your papers and I saw you on ‘Nova’ once and you were on NPR that time...” The young woman offered her a weak smile. “Your keynote speech – wow, that was really good. I, um, I came after you to ask you to sign my program, but I left it down in the ballroom –”

“Who are you?”

The girl winced. “Abby. Abigail. Abigail Foster. I came with, you know, Doctor Masseda from Hero Corps. I’m his intern there for a semester. It’s pretty much scutwork, but I’m really hoping it might lead to –”

“Go away, Abigail Foster.”

Instead, Abby Foster approached the ledge. She took a tentative look over it, then quickly turned her back to Tesla so as not to face the street below.

“Heights. I have this thing about heights.”

Tesla sighed. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Doctor Morrow... why?”

Tesla hesitated for what seemed a lifetime. Finally: “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Probably not. I mean, you’re pretty much a genius for geniuses. But I could listen and nod a lot. Sometimes that helps.” Abigail offered another smile, warm and genuine.

Tesla closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath of bitter air.

“Meaningless.” She through her arms wide again. “All! This! It’s all meaningless!”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I know it. I feel it. It’s all just... empty.”

Abby Foster finally turned and forced herself to look out at Times Square. When she spoke, her voice was even softer than before. “No, it’s not. And I think you know that.”

“Do I?”

“What’s empty isn’t out here.” Abby sighed, warm breath misting around her as she nodded up at Tesla. “I think it’s in there.”

Silence fell over them. For long minutes, the only sound was that of the wind as it rushed through the steel-and-brick canyons of New York.

Tesla glared down at Abby. “Say – just say you’re right. Where the hell does that leave me?”

Abby shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Big help.”

“Well, see, I don’t have to know. Because you’re a problem-solver, Doctor Morrow. Maybe the best in the world. And now that you’ve put your finger on it, this is one more problem to solve.” Abby Foster turned away from the view of the street again and began to walk toward the door. “Like I said, I think you’re awesome. I definitely believe you can solve it. But only you know for sure.”

Another shrug. “Kind of a shame to not even try, though.”

Tesla remained on the ledge as Abby opened the door. Even from her perch, she could feel the rush of warm air.

“I’m going for a drink,” Abby announced. “Free booze is always the best thing about these receptions. Once I get toasted, I can even put up with the marketing monkeys.”

She’d gotten four steps down the first flight when she heard Tesla’s flats make contact with the rooftop gravel. Abigail Foster let out a deep breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding.

“...thank you.”

Abby simply nodded.

“You probably think I’m crazy now.”

“I live in Paragon City, Doctor Morrow. Believe me, you’re not even close.”

Tesla sighed. “Did you really come all the way up here to get my autograph?”

Abby smiled again. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Now... I’m pretty sure you owe me –”

“– a drink?”

“I was gonna say a whole bar, but, hey, we’ll start small.”

They headed toward the elevators.

Part Five: Twelve Years Ago

The hospice was nice. Surprisingly so, given some of the horror stories Tesla had heard when she’d done research on the subject. Aside from the presence of the hospital bed (partially disguised by ornate blankets), the room looked like one that might be found in any above-average hotel. It was furnished with a dresser, television, desk and small couch, but its greatest asset was a large window looking out over a perfectly-maintained garden.

“...very nice...” her father said as he turned slowly in the bed to admire the view. His voice was wet and thick now, and only a few wisps of red hair dotted his head. His painfully thin frame was disguised by the blankets and the housecoat he wore over his pajamas.

Tesla forced herself to smile. “I’ve got some really promising leads, dad,” she told him. “There’s a clinic in Switzerland that’s doing some research that dovetails with mine and –”

He reached out and took her hand in a surprisingly firm grip. She didn’t want to think about what the show of strength was costing him. His skin was incredibly pale, each vein visible beneath its surface.

“Honey... time to let go...” He managed to finish the sentence before the next coughing spasm overtook him, causing his entire body to shake for long minutes.

Tesla blinked. “What?”

He held up his hand, motioning for her to wait until he could speak again. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Enough... did a lot, you know... stretched six months into twelve...” He smiled at her and, for just a moment, she could see her father as the healthy man he’d been. Then the pale scarecrow returned and spoke. “Nobody thought you could do it... but you did.”

Tesla felt the first tear forming at the corner of her eye. “But – but I’ve still got a lot of things to try. I’m going to find a cure, dad. I am.”

Ron Morrow allowed himself to sink back on his pillows, shaking his head just a bit. “We... we ran a good race, Tess... really good... you need... to be proud of that... okay?”

Tesla chewed her lower lip as she willed herself to nod. The tears were coming freely now, but she didn’t look away from him.

“...proud of you...” The words were barely more than a whisper and, after he’d gotten them out, her father slept.

Eleven Years Ago

“That must have been hard.” Julia hesitated a second too long before looking up as she spoke. Too fixated on her notes. Bad form, though Tesla. Eye contact is essential in dealing with a patient.

The office was professional enough, though. Located in a nice part of town. Furnished with items designed to emphasize comfort and support. Just the right level of light.

“Tesla?”

Tesla stopped looking at her surroundings and met the psychologist’s gaze. “It was hard, yes.”

“And your mother... she passed away shortly afterward?”

Tesla nodded. “Lovebirds,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know what they say about Lovebirds. If one dies, the other will pine away until...” Tesla shrugged. “It’s not literally true for them... but it was for my mom. She just missed my dad. She just... faded away, really.”

Julia made a note. “So what did you do?”

It took all of Tesla’s willpower not to laugh. Great technique, doc. Your parents both croaked within a year... how’d that go over with you?

“...I worked.”

Seven Years Ago

“Well, I think it goes without saying that your performance is outstanding,” Doctor Jeffries said as he waved Tesla to a seat in his small but functional office.

He sorted through several bits of paper in her personnel file as she waited. Like everything about Michael Jeffries, the office was immaculate. Every sheet of paper – every paperclip – arranged just so. Behind him, through the window, Tesla could see her colleagues at New Horizons going through a series of tests involving a miniaturized industrial laser.

The design basis was hers, of course. Most of the items being rolled out this quarter had come from her, directly or indirectly. She was encouraged to follow her hunches and her interests, and she attacked the opportunity with something approaching frenzy, remaining in the lab for days at a time when she was after a result.

“I feel completely justified in authorizing a twenty percent increase in salary,” Jeffries said, smiling at her.

She nodded. It was a generous raise, but she didn’t care about money. She had few needs outside the lab, and her accounts were overflowing.

“I do have a concern, though,” Jeffries said.

That surprised her. What could he be talking about? Her research was meticulous. She dotted every “i” and crossed every “t.” Wait... she thought she had it. Some of her side interests had led her to some extraneous research. “If it’s about materials costs...”

He waved the notion away. “God, no. We’re getting tremendous value even for the amount of money you spend.”

“Then what?”

“You have over twelve weeks of vacation accrued. I’ve got a note here from HR that says it’s time to use ’em or lose ’em.” He smiled again. “So... where you gonna go?”

Tesla thought for a long moment. Finally she stood.

“Back to the lab.” Seeing his expression, she felt compelled to speak again. “I just want to work.”

After all, that was easier than actually living.

Part Four: Fourteen Years Ago

Another day, another doctorate. By the time Tesla Morrow stepped up to receive her latest diploma (a PhD in Psychology), she’d heard that line more than a few times. Even from her own father, who simply shook his head, bemused by the fact that his little graduate was already checking off interesting items in the university course catalog for next semester.

“Eventually, you might want to give the real world a try,” he told her, not unkindly.

“I think I’m gonna put it off as long as possible,” she replied with a grin as she adjusted her cap.

“Just make sure you go looking for it before it comes and finds you,” he said with a smile of his own, snapping a quick photograph before she scurried off to take her seat at the graduation ceremony.

Jokes aside, her parents faithfully attended every graduation and insisted their daughter don cap and gown on each occasion. And each time they seemed just as proud and excited as they always had. Every affair was photographed and videotaped, and more than one unwary visitor to the Morrow home was subjected to a string of reminisces about “Our daughter the genius.”

Each time, the education was paid for by scholarship money and, when Tesla took on a part-time job, it usually involved simply more hours in a lab where she practically lived anyhow. With each diploma came new offers of work – governments, major corporations (from Crey on down to Microsoft), private concerns and more – and every time those offers were politely turned down. “I’m not ready to come down to Earth,” Tesla told more than one headhunter.

After all, those offers involved science at a practical level, and nothing could have interested Tesla less than that. She preferred the abstract, the dusty and dark corners of theory, to anything that might have a concrete application. The concrete and practical layman’s work, as far as she was concerned. The new frontiers, the very boundaries of knowledge? That was where the action was, and that meant an emphasis on the theoretical.

So, as Tesla accepted the rolled slip of parchment from the dean and shook his hand, her thoughts were already turning toward the latest theory she wanted to explore.

But her father’s words had been prophetic. The real world was about to come and find her.

Thirteen Years Ago

Tesla sat in the uncomfortable chair and refused the offer of undrinkable coffee. She ran a hand through her hair and let out a long, slow breath. Behind his desk, the oncologist steepled his fingertips and waited.

“I’d like to see his charts, please,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Whatever he’d been expecting, that request hadn’t been it. Of course he’d been told by the mother that the girl was gifted, remarkably so for her age, but that hadn’t been enough to prepare him for how she talked, how she held herself. Even so, she was just a teenager, wasn’t she?

“Miss Morrow... Tesla... I agreed to see you as a courtesy to your mother, but it really wouldn’t be proper for me to let you see your father’s medical information,” he said. He kept his tone even and gentle, his eyes firmly on hers. Eye contact – that was key when dealing with those who’ve just had shocking news. “You can see that, can’t you?”

Tesla said nothing. But neither did she blink or look away.

The oncologist cleared his throat. “Without getting into a lot of jargon, the cancer is extremely advanced. This is not a new development. He must have been in a significant amount of pain for quite some time.”

“He didn’t say anything,” she said softly.

“That happens sometimes,” he replied. “People don’t want to admit that it could be serious or show weakness or whatever. I’m very sorry.”

She nodded. “He worked with radiation, you know. When he was younger.”

“I know. When we took the medical history, he told me.”

“They think... some people believe that’s why I’m the way I am.”

He nodded. It seemed the safest reply.

“I’d like to see his charts,” Tesla said as she stood. “I want to see everything you have.”

The oncologist shook his head, more out of exasperation than refusal. “Even if I were to allow that, what positive outcome could it possibly have?”

The reply was so faint that he had to lean forward and strain to hear it.

“I’m going to cure him,” the girl said. “I’ll find a way to do it. Watch and see.”

Part Three: Sixteen Years Ago

Prodigy. Whiz-kid. Genius. Freak. In two years at Harvard, Tesla had heard them all. Even after they’d grown accustomed to her presence, few of her classmates stopped wondering just what made her so different. It was a question she often asked herself.

So, when several enterprising medical and engineering students completed work on their advanced version of an MRI scanner and offered Tesla the chance to be the first human trial subject, she leapt at the opportunity. She was confident there’d be no mishaps; after all, the scanner’s advancements were based around several components she herself had designed.

What followed was hour after hour inside a smallish metal and plastic tube. Don’t move your head. Don’t scratch that itch. Any signs of claustrophobia? Deep, slow breaths, please.

Hours later, the assembled group pored over the results of the tests. At first, the medical students murmured that the scanner hadn’t been calibrated properly. That was loudly shouted down by the engineering segment, who had the technical details to prove it. Then the entire apparatus was painstakingly checked one more time. It was in perfect working order.

So the results were true. Tesla Faraday Morrow was like no other person on the planet. Her brain had contours unlike those of a normal human being, her synapses were far more efficient, her centers of neural activity didn’t conform to the standard. On and on went the results. The medical students babbled with excitement and called in friends from the Biology and Chemistry departments. More discussion followed. There was talk of a paper discussing a different evolutionary track for the human mind.

Prodigy. Whiz-kid. Genius. Freak. And now Tesla had a new word for the collection: Mutant.

Fifteen Years Ago

One of the blessings (and curses) of Tesla’s mutant mind was that she remembered everything. Everything. Every word of praise, every compliment, every act of kindness. And, by the same token, every slight, every embarrassment and every failure. All captured forever in perfect, exquisitely painful detail.

So she would always carry with her the memory of watching Statesman on television that Saturday morning as he went toe-to-toe with an army of Nemesis robots. She’d been in the commons area of her dorm, surrounded by people who, if they weren’t exactly friends, were at least comfortable in her presence.

Lauren, who was shy and thoughtful, had been the first to speak, which was unusual enough. What she said made the situation feel even more odd, as far as Tesla was concerned.

“He’s a lot like you, Tess,” she said, not taking her eyes off the red, white and blue figure on the television screen.

They’d all blinked at that and then a collective chuckle rippled through the group. Little Tesla and Statesman alike? Lauren blushed and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. “I just meant... he never gives up on a problem, he’s one of a kind, and he does the impossible all the time,” Lauren said in her low, soft voice. “Just like you.”

The others stopped chuckling. Maybe Lauren had a point in a roundabout way. Weren’t there all sorts of mutants who fought crime? Some of whom built gadgets and gizmos to help themselves and others? If anyone could do that sort of thing, Tesla could.

Except Tesla had no desire to fight crime. What she wanted out of life was a well-stocked laboratory and some interesting scientific questions to answer. In the end, making a major discovery could change the world a lot faster than stopping some mugging.

“Nah, I’m nothing like him,” Tesla replied with a shrug. She looked back to the screen as Statesman continued his fight. An uphill battle, but he was winning it. “Whatever else I may be, I’m not a hero.”

Part Two: Eighteen Years Ago

Even in December, the temperature in the lecture hall was stifling. A number of the physics grad students had nicknamed the place “The Inferno,” and there was a running pool on who would be the next to doze off (or pass out) during the lectures. Odds were lengthened or shortened on the basis of seating arrangements, lecture topic, etc.

Unsurprisingly, the heat didn’t seem to faze Professor Bradley Westphalen, head of the Physics Department, veteran of thirty years of tenure, and “affectionately” known to the student body as “Brad the Impaler” because of his tough grading habits. A tall, urbane man with a few wisps of white hair left on his head, Westphalen was forever pacing the department in his trademark tweeds (guaranteed to be ten years behind the fashions of the time). He was known for his quick mind and his even quicker temper.

“Very well,” Westphalen said, tugging at the lapels of his well-worn jacket. “For purposes of example, we’ll be using only spin-free tachyons in two-dimensional space-time. Everyone got that?”

A few weary nods and the sound of multiple pencils scratching across bits of paper were the only reply. Westphalen nodded to himself, quickening his pace back and forth across the lecture podium.

“That said...” he came to an abrupt halt, pivoted to face his audience and pointed sharply at them. “Faster-than-light communication using tachyons! Discuss!”

A moment of awkward silence passed as grad students looked to one another for help. Wasn’t this supposed to be a lecture and not a lab? They’d come prepared to take notes this morning, not to actually think – it was a 7am class, after all.

Westphalen scanned the lecture hall, his gaze moving from face to face. “Well?” he growled.

More silence. He hadn’t expected an answer, of course. Not really. But you had to challenge the kids from time to time, throw up an unexpected obstacle to that “A” grade occasionally if you wanted their best work. Westphalen held himself very still as he concentrated on bringing his blood pressure up and working himself into a real lather. A little outburst was a great motivator.

But, to his surprise, he saw a hand slowly rise into the air. He shaded his eyes for a better look at the back of the lecture hall. His brow furrowing, he followed that hand down a very slender arm. It was attached to the body of a girl perhaps eight years old, auburn hair done into cute pigtails. She was wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon character emblazoned on the front, and her sneakers didn’t actually make contact with the floor due to the height of the chair she’d chosen.

“Who – who – who are you?” Westphalen finally managed to say, biting off the words. When he found out who had decided to turn his lecture hall into some sort of daycare center...

“Tesla Morrow,” the girl replied.

“Do you have something to add to the discussion, Miss Morrow?” Westphalen’s tone was acid, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

“Just that given the fact that faster-than-light communication using tachyons would have to involve both subluminal and superluminal variables, which would be contradictory on the face of it, it seems highly unlikely such a means of communication would ever be possible,” the girl said.

Westphalen blinked as a buzz of murmurs swept through the lecture hall. The girl was right; it had been something of a trick question. Had somebody coached her? Possible, but highly unlikely. There was something about her tone that made him think she’d assembled the answer herself. A prodigy! Remarkable. But still, there were smiles and more than a few chuckles from the students. An eight-year-old had just gotten the best of him on his home turf!

“What brings you to class today, Miss Morrow?” Depending on her answer, there might be a way to take advantage of this.

“I want to audit the course, Professor,” Tesla replied simply. “I want to learn.”

Westphalen allowed himself the slightest of smiles. Good answer, Miss Morrow, good answer. “Do you see that? She wants to learn!”

He jabbed a finger at the class. “You people on the other hand – you’re the sorriest lot of future physicists I’ve ever had the agony of trying to teach!”

He’d been using the line for almost three decades now, and it never failed to get a rise out of at least one or two students. Once they were in “I’ll show the old geezer” mode, it was amazing what students could accomplish.

He looked to the back of the hall, and his eyes met the girl’s. He practically beamed as he spoke, a sight sure to unnerve even the toughest of grad students. “Why, I’m now acquainted with a child who knows more about quantum mechanics than the lot of you! Class dismissed! Out of my sight!”

He winked up at the girl. She winked back. And, just like that, Tesla Faraday Morrow had joined the Physics program at Harvard University.

Part One: Twenty-Four Years Ago

The soft thump caused Ron Morrow to put aside his pen and turn his attention away from the sheet of notebook paper he’d been hunched over for the better part of the morning. It wasn’t as though he was making headway on the equations at any rate. With a sigh, he spun his chair around to look at the playpen.

The home office was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and, in turn, the shelves were crammed with volumes of all shapes and sizes. Without tenure (and the pay increases it brought), several of the bookcases didn’t match – the result of garage sale safaris – and many of the books themselves were purchased secondhand. It didn’t matter. This was where Ron felt comfortable, and he’d done some of his best work on the battered desk at which he now sat.

The one out-of-place item in the room filled with books, papers and scientific journals was a modest three-by-five wooden playpen. It was lined with a faded pink blanket, on which were scattered several battered plush toys. At the center of the blanket sat Enid Anne Morrow, two years old and already the major accomplishment of Ron’s life. Enid blinked up at her father, clutching a leatherbound volume she’d obviously managed to pluck from one of the lowest shelves.

She was a quiet girl, especially for her age. Ron and Sylvia Morrow were the envy of other parents because they more often than not got a full night’s sleep. On top of that, Enid was usually content during the day to sit for hours on end with her building blocks, arranging and rearranging shapes that occasionally looked vaguely familiar to Ron.

She held the book out with tiny fingers, looking for all the world like she was actually trying to open it and turn the pages. Ron smiled at the image. Then he stood and leaned over the edge of the playpen, reaching for it. It was a bound volume of lectures by Richard Feynman, one of the few truly expensive books he owned. If he could just get it away before disaster occurred...

But he froze, all thoughts of the Feynman book forgotten, as, in carefully enunciated words, Enid said, “Father, my fingers are far too underdeveloped to turn the pages of a volume this delicate. Would you read it to me?”

Ron blinked. Several thoughts flitted through his mind, most of them having to do with overwork and job-related stress.

They vanished when Enid spoke again. “I know this comes as a shock, dad. I’ve been trying to think of a way to break it to you gently, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten impatient with only ‘See Spot Run’ and ‘Fun With Dick and Jane’ as intellectual stimulation. You can understand that, can’t you?

“By the way, I noticed something when you had me on your lap this morning,” Enid said, her large blue eyes twinkling. “I think you’ve made an error in your equations, and that’s why you’re stuck now. I could probably help you out with that.”

Ron felt for his chair, found it, and sat heavily.

“One more thing as long we’ve opened a dialogue,” she continued. “What are the chances of changing my name? I know mother’s very keen on Enid, but really, don’t you think that’s just years of therapy waiting to happen when I start school and the other kids hear it?”

Name: The Tomorrow Foundation

Leader: Tesla Tomorrow

Preferred Method of Contact: Ingame tell or email to Tesla Tomorrow.

Motto: Making the world of tomorrow a reality today.

Description: The Tomorrow Foundation is a privately-funded, nonprofit group dedicated to exploration, research, and, most importantly, providing licensed heroes and law enforcement agencies with equipment, tactical knowledge, technical expertise and field support. The Foundation encompasses experts and support personnel in a variety of disciplines ranging from xenobiology to cryptozoology to particle physics. In addition, many of our professionals are field-certified as licensed heroes who do pro bono work both in their private pursuits and on company time.

((The Foundation is a RP-Heavy SG with an essentially optimistic tone. Characters should have a love of adventure, exploration and discovery. All ATs and Origins are welcome and we do not require individuals to be scientists (as support positions within the Foundation are available), but we seek active players who enjoy teaming even if it means exemplaring.

If you've ever wanted to be a member of the Fantastic Four, the Challengers of the Unknown or the Hong Kong Cavaliers, we might just be the group for you. Those longing to visit Dimension Z, explore the vast underground kingdom beneath Paragon City, or build a time machine in their basement from old radios and chewing gum wrappers are encouraged to apply immediately.))