cool, looking good on the start off Stase, waiting for the next installment! 
((I've taken a few liberties with a canon character in this section; and there is moderate violence and swearing. Enjoy!))
He had never been an early riser, preferring to wait until the sun was well over the yard arm before he began his day. Another member of the household had a different idea though. Well before the birds had started to stir, a tiny four legged creature had decided she wanted feeding, and nothing...not even deep sleep, was going to stop her getting what she wanted. Therefore, at an ungodly hour of the morning, the young man was awoken by a claw to the forehead as the small white fluff ball mewed loudly in his ear. "Not yet mum, five more minutes," he moaned, his accent a strange mix of Russian, English and American. The cat was relentless though, and continued to poke at his skin, each prod slightly more painful than the last; but the man refused to stir. In any normal situation, the cat would have given up and plodded off to find a defenceless wild animal to catch; but this was no normal cat. She, like her owner, had inherited a strange brand of magic, and she was going to use it now.
Without moving from her position, Pixie managed to cause a time worn horse hair brush to lift from its seat on the dresser, and fly across the room. It hovered for a moment above the man's head, wobbling dangerously, before it fell with a sickening clunk. Pixie meowed at the exact point the brush made contact with his forehead, as if trying to disguise the noise. A pointless gesture, as the man had sprung up into a sitting position, rubbing his bruised head vigorously. "Damn cat, get out!" he called groggily; yet Pixie merely purred, delighted with herself for completing her goal.
"You want feeding?" Weasel turned his sleepy eyes on to his companion, he wasn't able to stay mad at her for long...purely because her grasp of telekinesis was much more powerful than his own, and he didn't want to get into a flinging match with her.
"Mew," came the response.
"Right, get up then."
Pixie obviously did this most mornings, as Weasel slipped automatically into an age old routine. At the bottom of the bed, he had placed a bowl and a couple of Perspex tins of cat food. From his vantage point at the other end of the bed, he was able to lift one tired arm, clench his fist and direct a burst of blue energy at the can. If he had been a beginner, the result would have been disastrous; but Weasel was a dead shot, he never missed and today was no exception. With a small pop, the lid flew from the can, travelled a few feet through the air and landed in a waste paper basket--already full to bursting with cat food tins. Another, slightly less powerful burst caused the can to topple over. The sticky brown substance trickled out into the bowl, and Pixie, after thanking her owner with what she believed to be a friendly squeeze of the leg (but which actually caused Weasel to moan softly in pain), trotted off to the end of the bed and began to feast. Thoroughly pleased, Weasel showed his appreciation for himself by punching the air and whooping quietly. Once he was convinced no one could be mistaken about just how fantastic he was, he lay back down, his limbs flayed out in random directions, and shut his eyes--willing sleep on.
Either he was already too awake, or else the sound of Pixie slurping her food was too loud, as no matter how hard he tried, sleep just would not come. He begged for it, he threatened it, he even attempted to count sheep, but his head was too full of thought to settle. Whenever he shut his eyes, his mind diverted to an image of a familiar young woman. This wasn't odd in itself, Weasel regularly thought of his friends--he was a caring soul, and spent more time worrying himself over their safety than his own. Yet, the images he "saw" were unusual; his body was overwhelmed by an intense feeling of sadness, then happiness, then fear. It was as if he was picking up the thoughts of another person--this woman he was day-dreaming of, but in fast motion. Being of magic origin, the dark haired man was far more susceptible to empathy than the next person, but the thoughts and feelings he'd picked up in the past had never been as intense as these. Whoever's mind he was picking up on must have been directed at him, whether inadvertently or not.
Immediately, he gazed down at Pixie; she was able to transfer her thoughts but he knew instantly that they weren't coming from her. She was far too interested in her food, which as a result, was hovering about an inch above the surface of the table.
Then it happened. He was given a split-second glance of the woman whose future he was reading. For an unskilled telepath, the vision would have been far too short to make any sense of; but Weasel had already been fairly sure of the person he was channelling. Before his mind's eye appeared a lean woman with raven-black hair, staring wildly at whatever was in her sight. The blaster couldn't mistake that face, he had seen it almost every day for the past two years, and he knew she was in danger; though he knew he had a chance to act. She was still safe now, as he kept getting flashes of extreme joy. He was out of bed in an instant, all thoughts of sleep wiped from his brain. If he was to help her, he had to act fast.
********************
The caves below the city were dark and damp, and could bring out the claustrophobia in the strongest of people. They were, it was understood, abhorred by villain and hero alike--and so, being called out at four o'clock in the morning to investigate one could put even the signature heroes in a bad mood.
One such hero had had this happen to him. The small hours of the morning was the only part of the day when he had some time alone. He knew that at six o'clock on the dot, the city would be thriving once more and so he made as much of these few hours as he could. Occasionally he and Swan would slip off for a few drinks, maybe catch a movie or two at the local cinema--but not today. Swan unfortunately, had less time off even than he, and so had had to decline Manticore's offer of dinner and dancing. So, instead, the hedgehog helmeted hero had decided to pop home and get some sleep. Like Stasis, Manticore didn't need to sleep often and he very rarely went home--his small house was surplus to requirements, but he kept it anyway. Just in case one day he actually managed to get a date. All of these beautiful heroines running around the city, and he none of them had expressed more than a fleeting interest in him.
He'd only closed his eyes for a moment when his cell phone started to beep at him. There was a text message waiting, from Stasis. Manticore liked Stasis, in a brotherly way. He had helped her regain some control over her life, and she in turn had kept Brickstown fairly free of immense threat. But he did find it odd that she'd be sending him a text message, especially at such an odd time of day...not to mention the fact that the last time he checked, Stasis hadn't even owned a cell phone. Still, he assumed she'd either borrowed one from somewhere, or used her influence to blag herself one.
Slightly annoyed to have been disturbed, he clicked "read" and gave the message a once over:
"Found nu Crey hideout. Perez Park. cave 2 the west of Everett Lake. Will join u there in 20."
"Duty [censored] calls," he muttered, and threw the phone down onto his bed. There was no point taking it with him--he never got any reception in the caves, and besides, who would call him at a time like this? After grabbing his quiver and some arrows, he rushed out to catch the train. He could've quite easily teleported himself all the way there, but he was angry and tired. Stasis was a tough girl, she could bloody well hold her own while waiting for him.
********************
Blissfully unaware of either of these two events, Stasis had arrived at the Crey headquarters in Crey's Folly. From the outside, it looked like a perfectly innocent oil rig, dotted with a few broken down Warhulks and an empty sniper cabin or two. Manticore had been right, the place was virtually deserted. There were usually hundreds of Crey patrolling the area, and a few stray Rikti...but on her relatively short journey, Stasis had encountered none of the usual suspects. Crey must have been planning to move, just as the note had said, and they were obviously building up to the end of their preparation.
Without caring an inch for her safety, Stasis forced open the door to the rig, and stepped into the gloomy workstation. The place was covered with dust, but it wasn't the usual haphazard dust coating which collects over time...this looked as if it had been carefully placed in order to make the rig look deserted. There was a simple reason for her feelings, it had. The Crey were old fashioned when it came to "underground" operations; though they had the technology to build a breathtaking, state of the art base, they preferred to use their knowledge to create weapons and programs which would improve their lives but ruin others'. Hence the pristine dirt. No one would bother looking in a place such as this for the headquarters of one of the most powerful enemy groups around; and this was where they had the advantage, and Stasis had walked straight into potentially fatal territory.
She was confident she wouldn't get caught; if she was to encounter any resistance it would most likely be that of the lowest threat...the scientists and guards. She'd taken them out many times before, sometimes hideously outnumbered and so didn't fear running into any. It was the Paragon Protectors she was worried about, but then, she had been the top of her ring during her stint as one. None of them had bettered her yet, and she doubted any ever would. As long as she was prepared, she'd be fine; Manticore himself had said so.
Treading carefully across the metal sheets which made up the floor, Stasis reached the large elevator and proceeded on her journey down into the pits of the earth. There was a small camera in the corner of the lift, but the lack of the little red light indicated that it wasn't working. Though confident, the scrapper was grateful for this, she wasn't in the mood to go around slashing machinery to bits; there was every chance her metal claws would connect with a livewire...and she particularly didn't want to be electrocuted when this close to freedom.
The old, creaky elevator clunked to a halt once it reached the basement. The doors opened noisily, but there was no one there to greet her. Excellent, she praised herself. No welcoming party meant she hadn't been detected on their scanners; and not being detected meant...no one was around. If she was confident her plan would come through without a hitch before, she was absolutely certain now. As long as she didn't set off any of the alarms and hence bring a team of gung-ho heroes raining down, she'd be a free woman by this time tomorrow. She allowed herself a little cheer, and stalked down to the huge metal door, through which was the Crey's headquarters. There was the usual keypad situated on the wall next to it; and Stasis hesitated. They could very well have changed the code since she left...even Manticore wouldn't have been able to find out if they had. She held her breath and tapped in the code which was burned on her brain, "49930262"...she waited, her stomach knotting as the computer checked the code for authenticity.
Beeeeeeeeeeeep!
The noise made her jump, but it was a jump of joy. The code had worked! The Crey hadn't been clever enough to change it; and she thanked them for their stupidity. She was in.
The metal door slid open, and Stasis was almost blinded by the bright white walls and floors of the hallway. During her years as a Paragon Protector she couldn't remember having ever seen a cleaner...yet the headquarters had always looked this clean. It was a sharp contrast to the room above, and indeed the whole of Crey's Folly. Countess Crey obviously liked her tidiness, and she'd be damned if she was going to let her subordinates work in a pig's sty.
Stasis had to trod carefully along the corridor, as the floor was slippery with wax. Luckily she always wore rubber soles and so didn't go skidding down the length of the hall...yet it did mean she squeaked rather loudly with every step she took. It was a sign of her confidence that she didn't even bat an eyelid as her feet gave away her position to anyone in the vicinity.
Finally she came across a door which she recognised. It was unmarked, but she knew from memory that this was the office in which the Crey employee files were kept. Hers would be in there, marked under "deceased"; the Countess had been ashamed of allowing Stasis to escape and so had convinced her team that she had been killed on duty. Such was her power that even those Crey would fought against Stasis and lived to tell the tale, didn't make the connection between Stasis the hero and Stasis the Paragon Protector. If the Countess believes something, everyone believes the same. That was the main reason Stasis had wanted out. She'd been brainwashed into believing that villainy was the only way to go, and for a time had even forgotten about her friends. But upon seeing that familiar warehouse one day while trying to goad Lusca into attacking civilians, the Countess' power over her had dropped and she had realised what a mistake she was making. It was on that day that Stasis escaped and started her new life as a probationary hero.
She placed a hand on the door handle and pushed; but the door wouldn't budge. "Locked," she sighed. There was no problem with this, she could pick the lock easily--but she had been on a roll, everything had been going her way; this was only a minor hitch in proceedings, but a hitch nonetheless. With practised ease, Stasis extended one gloved hand and flipped the middle claw out from under her skin. There was no flinching now, the young woman barely felt the pain anymore; the claws had been part of her for too long, and every morning she cursed them. They were useful in crime fighting, and of course, lock-picking...but they would never leave her. Even once she was a free woman, she would still be different from the others...still, she supposed everyone was different in their own way -- her way was just slightly more obvious. A few minor flicks of the wrist to adjust the position of the metal, and the lock popped.
Whoever had been waxing the floors had obviously been oiling the door hinges too, as the door slid open smoothly, despite the room not being used often. It was a surprise then when the first thing Stasis noticed was a shadowy shape in the corner, which most certainly wasn't a filing cabinet or a computer system. Her heart sprang up into her throat; the shape was moving...ever so slowly, but it was definitely showing signs of life. Whatever it was had locked itself in a room within an otherwise deserted building. These facts proved to her that this was not a Crey official, or at least, not a well liked one. Perhaps it was the phantom cleaner trapped at last?
"Hello?" She called softly to the figure, the other two claws on her left hand extended now, to join the middle one. It was unlikely this shape was a threat, but she could use whatever it was to increase her personal safety. "Wh-who's there?" The shape called back. The voice was male and young, possibly younger than Stasis herself. It sounded frightened, but also practiced, the words could have been read from a script--they were just so cliché. Never the less, Stasis wasn't in the position to judge; this young boy was trapped and alone, and unless he was a very good actor...she was more than a minor threat to him, especially with her claws popped and ready to strike. Realising this, she hid her arm behind her back. There was no way she was going to retract her defence against possible attack, but she didn't need to make it so obvious.
"Are you ok? Why are you locked in here?" She deliberately didn't answer his question. She was running the show here, not him...and she meant to keep it that way.
"I'm fine...they...the, I was locked in...are you one of them?"
"Come out into the light," she hadn't flicked the light switch, but the computers were always left on and were throwing a hazy blue glow across a section of the floor, "I won't hurt you." She wasn't telling the whole truth. No, she wasn't going to attack him, but she was going to use him as a human shield. If, by some horrid change of luck, she encountered any patrols, she could attempt to use this young lad as her cover. Stasis wasn't in the practice of sacrificing innocent bystanders, but her life and her freedom depended on her success here now. If someone had to get hurt because of it, so be it. She'd promise herself to feel guilty later.
The boy moved out slowly from his hiding place and stepped into the centre of the room. Stasis followed suit, determined not to let him get away. She had been right about his age, he looked about fourteen...but he was wearing a Crey guard uniform. This struck her as strange, but the Crey were constantly looking for new recruits; perhaps they'd sunk so low as to start looking in the local secondary schools. "I'll get you out of here, but I have to do one thing first. Will you wait?" She asked, revealing her claws now. A little more persuasion wouldn't hurt. "Y-yes, yes I'll wait. Please be quick though...we don't have much time." That was an odd thing to say...did he have inside information? Were the Crey on their way here now?
"What do you mean? "We haven't got much time" what does that mean?" Her voice was louder now, and more threatening; but instead of backing away or cowering in front of her the young man's eyes began to twinkle. Stasis was confused. A moment ago he was scared for his life, and yet now he was smiling at what appeared to be the wall behind her head. She whipped her head round to check, but her reflexes were slow--she hadn't expected to run into anyone. Before she had caught a glimpse of whatever it was this guy was looking at, she felt a sharp crack to the back of her head, and heard the sickening splat as it broke through the skin. She had been ambushed. Her prisoner had been the bait; and the note...the note must have been a fake. Manticore wouldn't have sent her into this, would he?
She felt her legs buckle out from beneath her, and she crumpled to the floor. As she did so, she turned her head to find out what had hit her. But the attack had been too violent, she was slowly losing consciousness. The room was swaying around her, and she couldn't focus her eyes on anything more than two inches in front of her nose. With her last ounce of energy she whispered, "You bastards," and there was no more. Stasis was lying in a bloody heap on the pristine white floor, completely at the mercy of the Crey.
To be continued...
*cough* teh n00b got pwned... 
This is good, Sis. Although you did forget to put unyielding on, you nubbin.
((Aw, Quilty - Stasis just got splatted, give her a little sympathy wontcha? And Jaq...that's actually a very good point. I've only just realised I've completely left out her secondary powerset! D'oh!))
((Yeh, because sneaking around with Unyielding on is SO easy ))
GREAT STORY!!! sucked me in and i wanted to read like theres no tomorrow. Great Work! 
((More liberties taken with a canon character. Quite a lot of swearing in this one, and a blatant mickey-take of a close friend . It's mostly scene setting, hence the length. Enjoy!))
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The month old rainwater fell from the ceilings and walls of the cave, a slow endless torrent of bitter cold liquid. Manticore shook whatever landed on him from his helmet and stomped moodily down the dank tunnel. He'd been stalking the cave for at least half an hour now, but still hadn't run across Stasis or any of the Crey she had claimed were there. With each step he took, he was becoming more and more depressed and angry. Being tired, wet, cold and dirty was not Manticore's favourite hobby; and it wasn't above him to put all of the blame on a young girls shoulders. He promised himself he'd find the worst possible mission for Stasis to complete in the future, but he had to find her first.
"Stasis!" He called, caring little for his safety and less for the weak structure of the caves. His teleport was lightning quick, and he was ready to spring away at the first sign of tumbling rock. "Stasis, for Christ's sake, where the bloody hell are you?!" Unsurprisingly, there was no reply. Manticore had long ago resigned himself to the fact that she wasn't there. Yet, despite his rebellious nature he kept searching; it wasn't in his heart to leave a girl in what could have been mortal danger. Sighing, he decided to give her ten more minutes; if she hadn't appeared by then, he was off.
Though it was almost completely obstructed by the natural noises of the caves, Manticore was certain he had heard someone snicker, just to the right of him. It had come from behind the wall, naturally meaning whatever it was was in the next tunnel. For a moment, Manticore was ready to storm out, thinking it to be Stasis laughing at his misfortune...but after more consideration he realised that the snicker was male; and unless the scrapper had taken up impersonating, wasn't her.
On instinct, Manticore crouched low to the ground and took out his bow, seemingly from the inside of his top. No one was quite sure where the bow was kept when he wasn't using it, and Manticore wasn't ready to tell. The world might've known his dating habits and favourite brand of tea, but they didn't know everything...and he was planning on keeping it that way. Once his bow was prepped and ready, he removed a long thin spike from the same, impossible, location. This arrow didn't look as if it could kill due to the fact that it couldn't. Instead, the tip of it had been remodelled to create a small semi-circular compartment; within this was a small, yet powerful, LED bulb. Upon impact, the fine wooden casing of the enclosure would smash open, revealing the bright light inside and hence blinding anyone within a certain distance. Manticore very rarely used any of his fatal arrows, much preferring the modified incapacitating ones made by Hero Corps.
When he had made sure he was ready to fire in an instant, Manticore pushed himself up into a standing position and, by focussing for a moment on where he wanted to go, teleported himself behind the wall. With a loud zumm and a bright flash of light, he appeared in the opposite tunnel to the one he had previously been standing in; popping up directly behind two idiot goons from the Crey. They were dressed in the usual blue of the patrol guard uniform, and wore their riot helmet visors up, leaving their gormless faces exposed to the world. The signature hero would have fired in a second had he not been so surprised to see such an unlikely looking pair...these two definitely weren't high up in the Crey, rather they looked as if they were used as meat shields. Manticore reasoned it wouldn't be hard to persuade these two to stand in front of a speeding bullet...they probably wouldn't even know it would have been potentially fatal.
"You the [censored] who were laughing just now?" Manticore's English accent hadn't been wiped out by Americanisms yet, a fact which proved a recurring joke in the Phalanx.
"Look a' that. If it ain't hedgehog boy," howled the most sensible looking of the two. His companion merely snickered, Beavis and Butthead style, at his co-workers awesome wit.
"Shut up, sparky, and answer my question. Are you alone here?"
"'Ere Johnny, 'e wants to know if we're alone."
"Heh. Heh, yeah...yeah, tell him. Go on, tell 'im if we're alone."
Poor Manticore sighed. He wished he'd attacked first and asked que--no, on second thoughts, they probably wouldn't have been any more intelligent if he'd blinded them. He should've just killed them really; at least that way they wouldn't have been able to talk. If you could call their New York drawl, talking.
"Boys, if you know what's good for you (if you know anything at all) you'll quit with the idiocy and answer my god damn question, before I manually stick this arrow here through your heart," he paused to check for a reaction. Nothing. "That. Would. Be. Fatal."
Still nothing. The guards hadn't even registered the fact he was threatening their lives.
"Fatal...means...death."
There we go. Surprisingly it was Johnny who reacted first. Manticore hadn't pinned him as the intellect.
"Oi, dude. Dude, there ain't no need for that, dude. Put the arrow down man, we'll tell ya." Johnny had raised his hands up to shield his face, he'd obviously realised it was the only part of him on show and wanted to protect it from possible damage. Well, that or he believed that by covering his eyes he became invisible. Manticore wouldn't put that past him.
"I'm all ears," this line should have prompted quite a lot of snickering from Johnny, due to the shape of Manticore's helmet he did indeed look as if he had multiple ears. But either the guard was too stupid, or too scared to react.
"Yeah man, we're alone," the other guard was talking now, having taken a cue from his friend to obey the man with the bow and arrow, "Wilkins told us to come down 'ere and wait for ya. He said we wouldn't have to wait long and when ya did arrive, he said we was to...uh..." It was painful to watch him attempt to remember. The man's eyes had screwed up, forming deep wrinkles on his forehead, his nose had raised a centimetre or two from its original location and his mouth was hanging open in an unattractive scowl. Manticore had to force himself not to gag. "What was it he said we was s'posed to do, Johnny?"
Oh hell, there went the other one. The hero prayed Stasis hadn't turned up yet, but reasoned she hadn't. Stase didn't put up with this blatant display of moronic talk...the two guards would have been shred to pieces already.
"I fink he said we was to kill him, Brad."
"Yeah...yeah, Wilkins said we was s'posed to kill ya. Uhm..." Brad had finally realised that he'd made rather a big mistake. There was no way he and Johnny were in a position to fight Manticore now, let alone kill him. Why on earth had the Crey sent such idiots to take on such a difficult task; even the high ranking members of the Rikti had trouble laying a finger on Manticore, these two didn't stand a chance.
"You're in a bit of a pickle then, aren't you chaps? Shouldn't have let me get this close really...and certainly shouldn't have let me pull an arrow on you." The goons cowered in front of him, edging slowly back into the wall as if trying to force themselves through it. "Tell you what, you tell me why you brought me here, and I'll just rough you up a bit...that means I won't kill you." This idea pleased the morons, and they began gabbling at him, revealing their entire plan. They had trouble with the larger words such as "headquarters" and "plot", but in all, they managed to give Manticore enough clues; and allowed him to come to a conclusion.
It turned out the Crey had been tracking Stasis since she'd left their employ. A week ago, one of the scouts had found her home address and from there the Countess had launched her plan. She needed to get Stasis into her headquarters in order to destroy her once and for all, and for that, she had to make Stasis believe that walking straight into such dangerous territory was perfectly safe. Manticore had been the obvious choice. He was, after all, a well known, well respected signature hero...and one of Stasis' friends. The Countess knew Stasis wouldn't know Manticore's handwriting from one of her cronies', so she had a letter written and sent to the scrapper, detailing why she should head for the Crey's base and how easy it would be to get in. Of course, she then had to get Manticore out of the way; it was actually Brad who's come up with the idea (not deliberately of course). He'd been sending a text message to one of the guys down the pub, and the Countess realised this would be the easiest way to contact "hedgehog boy". She had enough technological skill to make sure the number was impossible to trace, in fact, she could make it look as if it had come from another location entirely. Then she sent two of her most gullible employees to wait for Manticore, and instructed them to kill him on sight. The boys were good at "killins", preferring to use their own fists and feet rather than expensive guns and lasers; unfortunately, the Countess hadn't reckoned with them being caught. Once confronted, Brad and Johnny were reduced to babbling idiots. She most certainly hadn't hired them for their intellect.
"...and then she says..."
"Yes, yes. Thank you. I know enough now," Manticore had quickly realised that once Brad started, he found it hard to stop. He'd cut him off twice now, only to be given even more detailed accounts of just how "[censored] gorgeous" the Countess was.
"So...dude...you gonna hurt us now? We ain't gonna follow ya, we'll get in just as much trouble as you if the Countess finds out ya got away," Johnny was speaking again...and amazingly, he did raise a good point. The Countess surely wouldn't spare them just because they were too stupid to attack first and taunt later. Still, there was always a chance the pair would manage to get back to the base before him. He didn't have much of a choice but to put them out of commission for a few hours, but he could at least do it in the least painful way.
"Sorry chaps. I never go back on my word, you see."
Shielding his own eyes, he fired the arrow at the guards' feet. The white light illuminated the room for what seemed like an eternity; once he was sure it was safe to look, Manticore took a small vial from one of the compartments on his belt, and transferred the glowing green substance into a syringe. He then injected both of the stumbling idiots with a small dose. It was a powerful tranquiliser, they'd be out for at least twenty-four hours. Manticore just hoped they'd be sensible enough to cover their tracks and leave the city once they woke up...rather than heading straight back for the headquarters and subsequently, their deaths.
Manticore made a mental note to warn the morgue of two incoming bodies.
********************
"Pixie...Pixie, get out of the...no, I can't play now. Put the book down, girl...put it...look, I'm in a hurry, I'll be back later."
Weasel was a good fighter, but an even better intellect. It had taken him approximately ten minutes since the vision to find the location of Stasis; and he wasn't too surprised to find her in an extremely unlikely area of Paragon. Throughout this time, he had been given more flashes of intense emotion...it was still on the lighter side of the emotional scale, yet this worried him even more. He had known the feisty scrapper for a long time now, and had never picked up on such powerful good thoughts; she was, to put it bluntly, angsty by nature. Not depressive angsty, but still virtually constantly upset. Weasel wasn't convinced that these feelings of intense pleasure were legitimate.
Various possible explanations had jumped in and out of the blaster's brain. Some of which causing him to blush furiously; but his telepathic mind had dismissed all of them, and he was growing more worried by the second. He was a cynical soul and believed without a doubt that this much optimism always ended in severe disappointment. He just hoped it was mental rather than physical.
Once he had pinpointed her exact location, he performed a quick shuffling of the hands, and an invisible to anyone but him, dark red beacon appeared in front of his eyes. This took the form of a small arrow complete with a plausible distance in tiny letters beneath it. Instead of pointing due North as compasses are wont to do, this once pointed constantly in the direction of Crey's Folly. Unfortunately, Weasel lived in Dark Astoria (he was one of very few inhabitants of the area, possibly why he had picked it. The young man did like his privacy) and so had a long trek ahead of him.
He was already dressed, and carried no weapons, so he was already ready to set out on his journey. He had managed to make it to the front door (a personal record) before the white fluff ball had noticed, and charged at him, meowing furiously, determined to know where her owner was going and whether he'd be long. Normally Weasel would have stopped to pat her goodbye, but for once, there was something far more important to do than assure his companion that he loved her. With a few stern words, and a promise of a treat when he returned (if he returned), he was gone. Taking to the air as soon as he'd left the building, he had cleared Dark Astoria in an instant and was now attempting to force his way through the guards at the door to Talos.
"I'm in rather a hurry...you've seen me many many times before, just let me pass will you?"
"Sorry Mr. Silver Weasel sir," the guards tone was authoritative but understanding, "I'm afraid I can't do that Mr. Silver Weasel sah! All heroes must present their licenses upon changing locations. Security measures and all that. I'm afraid I'm going to have to see yours, or I won't be able to let you pass." It wasn't really a bluff, as he had been granted magical protection by M.A.G.I against all forms of attack. Hero Corps knew there were many rogue heroes running around the city, and didn't want their security men being put out of commission permanently by a stone tanker with a headache. So, Weasel's power blasts were useless against this almost-civilian. He had no choice but to show his card.
"Thank you Mr. Silver Weasel, sah!" Barked the guard, once Weasel had managed to produce a rather tatty piece of card from his breast pocket.
"You can call me Weasel, Simon," his voice was kind if a little frustrated, and he gave Simon a small smile before running full pelt through the large chicken wired entrance.
********************
"Damnit. Those bloody idiots!"
Once out in the open again, Manticore had realised just how long he'd been down in the caves. From what the guards had told him, he reckoned Stasis had over an hour's head start. If she had believed the note, she would already have reached the base and perhaps been caught. He hoped she hadn't been as gullible as he. But there was one sure fire way to make sure. Stasis was a polite girl at heart, her father having always taught her that a "please" and a "thank you" did far more good than an expensive gift or two. If she had taken the note as the genuine article, she surely would've attempted to find Manticore to thank him...failing that, she would have at least phoned him.
"[censored]! [censored] [censored] [censored]. Damnit!" Manticore fumbled around in his armour for only a few moments before remembering he had left his cell phone back at the apartment. Which, and Lady Luck most definitely wasn't on his side today, was at the other end of Paragon City. Though mentally exhausted, Manticore knew he'd have to push his powers to the limit in order to get back in time; a fact he really wasn't looking forward to.
He managed to port himself to the security barrier at the entrance to Skyway City before he collapsed, completely worn out. He was almost ready to give up on Stasis' chances of survival, he knew he wouldn't make it to Crey's Folly before the Countess sprung the trap. If he was to save Stasis, he'd already have to be in Brickstown at least. Then something caught his eye...it was something which he saw every day of his life, a perfectly innocent telephone box. Yet today, instead of standing there, looked over by hero and civilian alike, it seemed to glow with a heavenly light. It didn't of course, but Manticore had never been so pleased to see a telephone in all his life. He had one of those new fangled S.E.R.A.P.H phones which had a feature implemented in which you could call its built-in answer phone from an outside line. Forcing himself to move, Manticore rushed over to the phone and dialled quickly.
"Got note. Thanks. See you soon!"
She had read the note, and she had believed it. Manticore's heart fell once more. The message was timed at five am, over an hour ago; unless she had stopped on the way, Stasis was already in mortal danger and there was nothing he could do about it. He sunk down next to the box, and shut his eyes. He wouldn't cry, but he felt extreme pain at having been a party to Stasis' inevitable death; he had witnessed heroes and heroines die in the past, but he'd never really got to know them as people. To him, they were just vessels for awesome power...some of whom were unable to control it and therefore, suffered at their own hands. Stasis had been different, she hadn't been a hero when he first met her, and so he had seen her heart; the part of her which wasn't power...the human portion of her soul. Now she was dead, or dying, and Manticore would have to live with the guilt. He wondered for a moment how badly Silver Weasel would be affected by this...
Weasel! Of course! He was a supremely powerful blaster, and one of Stasis' closest friends. Not to mention, he lived much closer to Crey's Folly than Manticore was now. If he could contact him, Stasis still might have a chance of survival. Weasel, of course, didn't own a phone -- not being able to touch metal substances, but Manticore knew how to contact him, and unlike phone calls, this method of communication always got through.
********************
An attractive redheaded woman was on her way home from Siren's Call, after an eventful day keeping the villains out of Paragon City. She kept strange hours, this woman, sleeping through the daytime and patrolling at night; but her friends had come to accept this, and though it meant she didn't see them as often as she would like, they always managed to make time for her to listen to her accounts of "pesky villain bashing". She looked much more innocent than she was, in her turquoise outfit and flowing cape, and her makeup was always perfect, no matter how many times she'd ended up face-down in the mud. This was Jaquiline, a skilled empath and a close friend to both Stasis and Weasel.
She was flying through Brickstown, having taken a slight diversion to do a little window shopping, minding her own business and blissfully unaware of any of the events Manticore, Weasel and Stasis were suffering. Had she known, she might not have been daydreaming so intently, and probably would've noticed the white blur heading straight for her.
"Jesus! Holy mother of...watch where you're going!" She screeched as she and the blur coincided with one another. "What in the name of...what do you think you're doing?" One of her arms was raised in defence, yet she moved it now to attack the figure; her vision swaying in and out of focus as she tried to regain her composure. The body she had hit had already returned to normal, and was ready to zoom off again in the opposite direction. "Ohh no ye don't," Jaquiline reached out to grab the bright material of the figure's top, "Stay right where y'are. I'm not about to let y'get away so quickly."
"Jaq, Jaq...let go, let...Jaquiline, I have to get going. If I don't get there in time, she'll..."
"Wezzle?"
"Yes, now let go!"
"What on earth are y'doing out here so late? You're not usually up until well after I've got to bed."
"I'm in a hurry. Please, if you'll just let go. I promise to explain it all to you later!"
"All right...but I don't usually let people who've just smacked god's living daylights out of me rush off like this."
"I understand that, and I'm grateful for your...ARGH!"
Weasel clutched at his head, out of nowhere, excruciating pain was flooding through his brain, rendering him powerless and stemming the visions he'd been having since he woke up. Unknown to him, the pain he felt directly coincided with the smack to the head Stasis had received once she was ambushed. As he got closer, Weasel was channelling Stasis more thoroughly. It wouldn't be long until he started to hear her thoughts in detail.
"Weasel? Mother of god, what's happening to you?" Jaquiline's features were distorted in concern for her friend. She had never seen him in so much pain, usually she had been able to heal any cuts or bruises...but she was still reeling from the crash and so wasnt able to react in time.
"I'm okay," breathed Weasel having recovered from the pain without aid. He had a splitting headache and his breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, but he was able to see and as far as he could tell, no more damage had been done to his body. No more excuses, he had to move.
It all happened so quickly, Jaquiline only realised she'd been talking to herself after Weasel had made it to Crey's entrance. She flew off, muttering to herself about the youth these days. A young female hero whom she passed on the way had never heard so much profanity in such a short amount of time.
********************
She blinked twice and opened her eyes. Her retinas were nearly burnt off by the extreme light they encountered. No matter how hard she strained her vision, she couldn't see a thing; not even the many shapes milling around her. Her ears still worked though, she could hear bleeping and beeping and reasoned she was in one of the laboratories that littered the headquarters. Then there was a voice, a sinister familiar female voice, and it was talking to her.
"Welcome home, Stasis."
To be continued...
cool, getting good, altho i would watch that cat if i were me... oh, wait...
Fame at last!
Now, where my gin? You promised me gin!
((In this section, another signature character appears. Ive revamped her as the storyline she has in CoH isnt explained well; so please remember that this version shares only the name
and the profession, nothing else. No characters in this (except Stasis) belong to me, blah blah blah etc. Enjoy!))
"I would have thought those five years you spent in permanent sleep would have put you off the activity, but I can see I was wrong," Stasis could hear the woman smile though she couldn't yet see her face, "I was starting to worry Samuels here had hit you a little too hard; he is a bit of a devil with a crowbar, he'll go on to better things yet, oh yes."
The voice had moved slightly to the left of wherever Stasis was; she assumed it was heading for Samuels; and sure enough not a moment later she hear the rustle of fabric which indicated the voice and the man were shaking hands. "Thank you Mistress, I shall endeavour to do my very best." It was with those words that Stasis was able to pinpoint exactly who had been talking to her. There was only one woman in the world that was referred to as "Mistress" by her subordinates...
Countess Crey.
The ageless woman had a distinct voice, she always sounded perfectly happy no matter the situation she was caught in; being a shameless flirt despite her obvious genetically enhanced looks, meant she always stayed out of trouble. And this woman wasn't picky when it came to gender; oh no, she'd use her womanly wiles to free herself of any sticky situation and occasionally, just for the hell of it. The Countess' tone had a sinister ring to it, but it was that of a disappointed head teacher rather than a deranged lunatic and it unnerved Stasis. This woman, possibly the richest in the world and adored by many a man and woman alike who knew nothing of her after-hours activities, scared the living daylights out of her. There was every possibility that one misplaced word, or even a slight shuffling of the hands would set her off; the ex Paragon Protector had watched many a co-worker succumb to the Countess' charm, only to end up strung from the rafters moments later. The head of Crey Corporations was a silent psychopath...and though the Paragon officials had released arrest warrants for her many times, she had never been caught. Instead, hundreds of look-alikes were serving time not meant for them in the Zigg. Stasis had come across many of them during her years spent sleeping in the cupboard, and wasn't surprised to note that none of these non-Countesses cared a hoot for what had been done to them. They had all been brainwashed into believing that by serving this time, they were protecting their one true love. Stasis was certain the real Countess didn't even know their names.
"I was just about to give up on you. It was a shame really," the voice had moved back round to the front of the room, "Having to watch your brain patterns die out without having anything to do with it. Samuels here very nearly took the pleasure away from me."
There was a gulp to Stasis' left. At least Samuels seemed to know not to upset his mistress.
"This is all completely irrelevant, as you may have realised. You're back with us now of course, but I thought you might like to know what was happening while you were asleep. Just manners, dear girl, it isn't too polite to keep secrets, oh no. Especially not when they concern another individual directly. That has always been my motto, "no secrets" of course, if those fools in Longbow can't be bothered to look for them it is none of my concern." There was a short, sharp, sadistic chuckle which sent shivers down Stasis' spine; and it was then that she realised she couldn't move. Every part of her body was being held back by something, though in her drowsy state, she couldn't work out what the "something" was.
The Countess had obviously noticed Stasis' sudden change in position, "I wouldn't bother trying to move much. As you shall see in a moment, I took the liberty of restraining you; I was considering giving you a chance to escape...but you're just too good at slipping away from me. Though this isn't how I pictured your demise, a girl has to make some sacrifices. The end result will be the same nonetheless." Ignoring the Countess' words, Stasis again tried to wrench her arm free; but her strength was too much, and the restraints too strong. Instead of pulling her wrist free of the magically enhanced metal bind, her elbow jerked upwards, distorting the shape of her arm. If Stasis had been of normal strength for her shape and height, she may have simply strained a muscle; of course, she wasn't and with a loud crack which sounded like the firing of a starting pistol, her ulna snapped clean in two.
Her scream mixed with the spine chilling laugh of the older woman. "That wasn't clever now was it?" The Countess breathed between bursts of laughter, she was finding the whole thing quite hilarious, and Stasis' willing incapacitation of herself had been the icing on the cake. "You see, these restraints aren't any normal metal bars and locks. I have had them enhanced by our scientists with the secrets they have learnt from Azuria over the years, Stasis eyes widened at this remark, though she still couldn't see anything, "Oh don't look like that, Azuria isn't on our side. She is far too weak a woman to become a party to the Crey. No. Simply her magic was used to bind the metal with magical properties. Dark magic of course. It taps in to the magic heritage you possess and negates it all. You're in a personal suppression field my dear, your invincibility is useless." Tears sprang up in the scrapper's eyes, not out of fear but pain. She couldn't remember the last time pain such as this had coursed through her body, attacking every nerve end and making even her toes ache. It was the intense pain she felt that caused her to speak up for the first time since she had opened her eyes.
"You [censored]," she whispered. Not the best comeback in the world, granted, but it was at least true, "If you want to play so fair as you make out, why have you blinded me? I'm not complainin', I'd rather not see your repulsive face, but I'd a'least like to know where the hell I am."
She hadn't seen it, but the Countess' face had dropped for an instant as Stasis insulted her; but only an instant. It was unlikely any of the other bodies in the room had noticed, yet even if they had they would never tell. Sometimes even a life of crime is better than none at all. The woman recovered quickly, and picked up her speech as if no interruption had been made.
"You might have noticed by now that you can't actually see. Another little game of mine. While you were sleeping I had my crew here insert probes into your brain; they won't actually do anything to it...all your functions will come back online with the touch of a button, and of course, the opposite is also true. There is one button for each serious brain pattern. If I were to press the large red one, for instance, you would be rendered completely unable to speak. And the blue one over here would shut down your hearing. There is also a rather small grey one which will stop your heart instantly; but I'm hoping we won't have to use that one. So far only one is in operation, and as you may have guessed, it is the optic nerve probe. You see, I wanted to make sure you remembered me without having to see my face; and now that you have proved you do, I suppose we may as well remove the probe..." There was a pause, then a noticeable click and after a short tingling sensation in her head, Stasis' sight began to improve. She had always presumed being blind would be dark and yet she had seen only bright white light; though she reasoned that sticking a probe in someone's brain and manually messing with the nerve endings would severely affect the human body. The glare she saw was probably deliberate, it was too intense to see through and so there was no chance of her accidentally seeing shapes moving around behind it. Shadows were easier to make out, and so the Countess couldn't risk dulling her eyesight.
The dimming of the light eased Stasis' head, though it took a moment for her eyesight to return in full. She usually had twenty-twenty vision, yet now most of the things closest to her were a fuzzy blur. Even in such immediate danger, the girl hoped this wasn't permanent; adding glasses to her mix of various flaws wasn't in her plan. As her sight came back, Stasis realised she was lying on what seemed to be a laboratory style experiment table. It was propped up into an almost vertical position, allowing her to lean back as if it were a bed, but also be at a wonky diagonal to allow her to see everything going on in front and to the left and right of her. No matter how she moved her head, she could not see behind her; her movement was hindered not only by her diagonal stance, but by what she could now see were large metal bands around her stomach, wrists and ankles. Immediately her eyes fell on the arm shed snapped in two. She could see the bones imprint pushing against the sleeve of her flack jacket
though she still felt agonising pain throughout the rest of the body, the actual arm was completely numb. Stasis hadnt reckoned with her own strength
she had actually managed to cause the bone to rip through the skin and it was now bleeding profusely. A dark, damp ring was slowly increasing in size on the dark material. Barely visible, but a disgusting reminder of her injury. Worried she was about to throw up, Stasis turned her attention to the room itself.
Various shapes and figures appeared before her, as if she was watching them pop into creation. She noted that the room was much larger than the filing room she had been in before. Considering her position, she couldnt judge the exact noise, but from the pitter patter of many feet on the floor and the echo which they produced, she guessed the size to be about that of a large high school assembly room. This room, like the rest of the building was pure white, but duller than the corridors and hallways she had seen before the ambush. There were no visible lights, instead the walls seemed to emit a soft glow; this would have been because each wall doubled up as an LCD display though that was yet unknown to Stasis. The walls which weren't bare were stacked high with bits of machinery, bleeping regularly and lighting up every now and again; turning her head slightly to the right, Stasis saw the machine which obviously controlled the probes in her head. It was deceivingly small and littered with buttons...the most dangerous of which (the tiny grey one), situated near the back so it wouldn't have been knocked by a careless goon. Another computer, next to the probe controller, showed CCTV style maps of the building, little red dots appearing on it every so often to indicate Crey officials. Stasis took a moment to wonder how this computer recognised an intruder...an outsider wouldn't have shown up as a red dot as it wouldn't have contained a Crey location tracker; and she certainly didn't have hers anymore. Her silent question went unanswered, and she was forced to believe that the Crey had been tracking her manually; for some reason, the fact that she had been followed so closely without realising bothered her more than appearing unknowingly on an electronic map. She had walked straight into a trap, one which had been meticulously planned in every tiny detail.
Once she had finished mapping the room, her eye was drawn to her ex-employer. She was smiling, as usual; showing off her abnormally white, straight teeth. It might have been an attractive smile had the woman's eyes not been so disturbingly cruel. They were twinkling with an almost hellish light and Stasis was convinced they could bore holes in solid steel. Nor were they attractive eyes, had they been smiling. Each one had been nipped and tucked to perfection, there were no wrinkles on this face, not one small flaw and the end result was hideous. Her nose was tiny, and pointed up at the end...even the bump which must have been there when she'd had the nose job was impossible to see; it was probably invisible even to the Hubble telescope. Though the woman must have been in her late sixties, possibly even older, her chest stuck out as firm and round as that of a well-endowed twenty year old. Stasis didn't make a habit of staring at women's chests, but these were almost hypnotic. They were obviously fake, but seemed so real and the fact they were practically bursting out of the Countess' top made it very hard to tear her eyes away. Countess Crey looked like an evil human incarnation of a Barbie...and her clothing went only to enforce this view further.
As any woman will know, the smaller the outfit, the more expensive it is...and the Countess only bought expensive clothing. Hence, the outfit she was wearing now was tiny and quite possibly pure leather. Her top was no larger than a bra, and her skirt could have been mistaken for a belt, showing off her again artificial baby giraffe legs. The stomach which was on full view was washboard firm, hell; the woman even had a tiny glittering ring in her belly button. Unsurprisingly, the Countess' knee-length boots were spiked stilettos and covered in small metal studs. Stasis felt she was going to be sick. This woman was three times her age, and yet she looked younger; it was all far too extreme Hollywood for the young woman.
"Thank goodness there was no nerve damage. I would have hated to have to kill you without you being able to see."
Stasis didn't even falter. She was concentrating too hard on blocking the pain out, and besides, the moment she had heard the Countess' voice she knew she was going to die. There wasn't much chance of saving herself now...but she would still be strong; she wasn't going to give the lunatic the benefits of seeing her victim cower.
"Why did you wait this long?" She asked, fixing her eyes on the Countess'. She even allowed herself a small inside grin as she noted the Countess' expression drop a notch; she certainly hadn't been expecting Stasis to take the news of her impending death so well.
"I didn't wait!" The Countess spat, furious now. "I have wasted a good two years of my life searching for you! Hero Corps knows how to hide their witnesses. My employees have seen you many times, but of course, they never mention it. They're too [censored] loyal to me and don't want to remind me of the fact that one of my best managed to get away."
"Then how did yo--"
"One of these idiots grew some balls and followed you home one evening. I disposed of him soon afterwards, I couldn't have anyone knowing it was a slimy little guard who found you. I found you. No one ever escapes from me."
"Obviously you weren't as clever as a slimy little patrol guard."
"Shut up!" The Countess moved to Stasis' side in two long strides, and slapped her hard across the cheek. The girl's head jerked to the side, and her eyes once again welled up. One of the Countess' long sharp fingernails had caught the skin, and ripped it in two. As Stasis fought back the tears, a stream of blood trickled down her face and into her mouth; the bittersweet taste forcing bile up into her throat.
"You've been an embarrassment to me since you left us. A constant reminder of the mistake I made, trying to recruit a skanky little [censored] like you. I don't like being played for a fool, STASIS," she pronounced her name as if it were a terrible disease, "And I certainly don't want my property running around the city as if it were the Queen of Sheba. So you're going to have to leave; and as I can't be sure whether or not you'll come crawling back to this god awful city one day, I'm going to make sure you never return."
A man cloaked in pure white appeared behind her. Stasis recognised him immediately as one of the medics. She knew in a second what the Countess had meant by "never return"; they were going to infect her with their special brand of radiation. A slow, painful death...and there was nothing she could do to stop it. "You don't look surprised? Ah, you still know me as well as you ever did. I'm a voyeur, and I enjoy nothing more than watching people suffer. Especially," she spat, "Ex-employees."
She waved the medic forward. Stasis struggled within her restraints, but the pain in her arm and the struggle to hold down last night's food weakened her strength. As the restraints had suppressed her powers all she had left were her claws--and those were bound to the table too, permanently popped and sending a shooting pain through her fingers that she hadn't felt since the day she first used them. As the medic revealed a small, innocent looking, syringe, Stasis resigned herself to her fate; she was in too much pain to fight back...and besides, she couldn't have done anything now even if she wasn't bound to the table. One of her arms was out of commission and she was vastly outnumbered. Even a kitten could have taken her down now. Though the scrapper wasn't as depressed as she might have been. If she died now, she would still gain that which she was constantly searching for...freedom. And it wasn't as if any of her friends cared. Even Manticore hadn't tried to stop her, and he would have surely listened to the answer phone message by now. No, no one cared enough about Stasis to warrant her staying alive; she might as well leave forever, but instead of heading for Paris, she'd be on her way to eternal happiness, or damnation. She hoped it wasn't the latter.
The Countess laughed a cold, hollow laugh, she had won again. How easy it was to manipulate young girls, girls she could've used. Girls who might have risen to the rank of second in command. Ex-property, the only chance the Countess had had at all-inclusive power. Yes she was bitter, and yes she always got even.
"You know how this works, Stasis. If I recall correctly, you used it on a number of innocent civilians in your time. It felt good, didn't it? You felt powerful." The Countess wasn't satisfied with making Stasis suffer physically. She was going to kill her off mentally too. "This all could've been yours, girl. We could've ruled this place together; just you and me, and some of your friends."
A scientist at the back of the room took this as his cue to punch up some old photos. On the wall in front of her, six old familiar faces appeared. These were the smiling youthful faces of Stasis' old friends...the ones she had helped get killed all those years ago; immortalised forever in the Crey's files. A tiny spark was ignited in the girl's stomach. She should have ignored the faces and continued on her way to freedom through death...but she could never ignore them; she never forgot them. They were her only friends, and now they were gone. Now Stasis was dying too...would her friends have forgiven her? Would they welcome her in the afterlife? She hoped so, she really hoped so.
Though her strength was waning fast, Stasis managed to cry out softly. "No! It wasn't my fault. Janice..." she called to the photo of her old friend, as if she believed this would make her old, dead friend forgive her. Death wouldn't be as free if she was forced to pay for eternity; tortured by the ghosts of Janice and the others. The Countess only laughed. Her plan had worked brilliantly, and she was finally rectifying her mistakes.
"It won't be long now, Stasis. The infection will take hold soon enough, and then you can expect the same excruciating pain your victims felt--"
She was cut short by a loud bang somewhere in the building. The Countess obviously believed it to have been caused by one of her idiot employees, and so sent another of her subordinates to check it out, rather than going herself. Stasis didn't have enough strength left to care what the noise was. If she had been fully conscious, she might have deluded herself into thinking one of her friends had come to rescue her; but in her poor radiation-addled brain, she was re-living her capture by the Crey. It had happened such a long time ago, but she remembered it as if it were yesterday:
A group of happy, fun-loving teenagers, free from all responsibility, had snuck out one evening to an abandoned warehouse in Independence Port. Amongst them was a fresh-faced, all American girl with shiny hair, bright eyes and an unrelenting love of life. This was Stasis, or, as she had been known back then: Jemima. The average looking teenager had had a crush on the leader of the group, Floyd; and although her conscience would have usually told her not to go sneaking around Paragon so late in the evening, she had desperately wanted to impress her friend. Therefore, when he had casually mentioned they would be trying Superadine (the new drug on the market), the young girl hadn't batted an eyelid.
If she had only tried to stop them. Listened to the nagging voice of her late beloved father throbbing in her head; she might have been able to save her friends. Not herself though, the Crey had been following Jemima for a long time, and would have eventually caught up with her--but there was no reason her friends had to die; and it was all her fault. The group had been, for want of a better word, wasted when the Crey had jumped them. Floyd had been the first to go down; Stasis could still remember the image of his brains splattered against the wall. His face stuck in the position it had been when he was shot--he had looked surprised and sad, an expression he never used in life. Stasis couldn't remember what had happened to the others, but she knew they were dead before she'd reappeared from behind the large crate she had slipped behind. Janice, her closest friend since the age of six, had tried to save the group. She had been the most resourceful, quickly activating her teleporting chip...but had been interrupted before she could rip any of them to safety.
The young blonde, who was slightly older than Stasis and so took the role of "older sister figure", had automatically turned to her friend in the seconds it had taken her to die. The last thing Stasis could remember of this gorgeous girl was a sad smile; it was as if, with her last breath she had blamed her friend. Stasis hoped she wasn't still holding a grudge.
"What do you mean you don't know?" The Countess was speaking again, but this time in a barked whisper to one of her cronies. Stasis was brought out of her reverie as she struggled to hear the conversation through the blood pumping loudly in her ears. "...didn't come back, Mistress...destroyed...," she could only catch snippets of the young man's speech, but his expression spoke volumes; he was terrified. Stasis knew the Crey didn't scare easily, so whatever had happened must have been life threatening. "Fool!" Screamed the Countess, and she slapped the scientist hard across the cheek. The man hardly flinched, he was obviously used to being abused by his commander, "If he gets past the rest of the security measures, my entire plan could be ruined! Get your worthless soul out there and stop him!! The scientist shuffled off, his head hung low...a bright red hand mark already gleaming out from his skin.
Who was "him"? Someone come to save her, perhaps? Even though the odds of this happening were stacked high, Stasis found herself clutching to a last shred of hope. A moment before, she was resigned to death and yet now she was hoping she could stay alive. It was then that it clicked. Stasis didn't want freedom so much as she wanted to feel needed and loved. She had thought all hope of that happening had died with her old gang, and so was ready to finally give up the search; though seeing those old faces, which brought back so many memories she had tried desperately to block out she had realised; Stasis would never be happy if she remained alone. And death was final. If it turned out that Janice, Floyd, Doc and the others hadn't yet forgiven her for her crimes, there would be no way to prove them wrong. She would have failed by not even trying; yet if she managed to survive maybe she could prove to them that she was sorry and she was going to make up for it. But she needed help...she needed the mysterious intruder to turn the maybe into a definite.
Stasis didn't have to wait much longer for an answer. With a loud bang, and a flash of blue light the door to the room was knocked from its hinges and fell cluttering to the floor. It was surprisingly light for such a thick door. In its place stood a tall, thin figure; light from the corridor behind it throwing it's face into shadow. Though she couldn't make out any discerning features, Stasis knew who it must have been.
Unfortunately, the Countess had spotted the figure before Stasis had had a chance to cry out and warn it. She turned to the blocked doorway, and though Stasis couldn't see her face, knew that she was not surprised either by the tone of her voice.
"I wondered when you would turn up."
To be continued
((I'm away from tomorrow until the Wednesday after, so I'm afraid there's going to be a bit of a wait for the next part; but don't worry! It's already in its unstructured form, I just need to flesh it out s'more. So when I get home, expect to see the last part posted within a few days. Sorry for the unexpected delay.))
And you have to come back and finish it before the wednesday after that, as that's when the clone arrives and I'll be missing for a while.
Less farming, more writing!
((This is a follow-up to Stasis' backstory as written by Silver_Weasel. It may have been lost in the board wipe though. Anyone who hasn't read it will still be able to follow the story (I hope!) but there are a few references to parts of the original. Enjoy!))
The sun blazed through the bars of the window, throwing strips of bright yellow light across the room. One such strip came to rest on the eyes of a dozing woman of around twenty; she blinked a few times, almost as if she was trying to bat the light away, and turned over. She hadn't been asleep long, and her head was already starting to throb with the first signs of a hangover. Oofing and aahing, the woman attempted to move her aching body into a more comfortable position; but it was too late, she was awake now. As her father had always said, "Make the most of the morning, you never know how awful the afternoon will be," Stasis didn't yet know how accurate he was.
With a burst of energy that seemed almost magical, her eyes popped open and she kicked off the covers; revealing as she did so, last night's clothes. Stasis rarely slept, as her heritage gave her immunity from the majority of normal human functions, but when she did she tended to sleep in her clothes. It tended to save time if there was an emergency, or, as she had been many times, was kicked out of her little grubby room in the middle of the night. Those were the risks you took when you lived in a caretaker's cupboard, let alone the caretaker's cupboard within the Ziggurat.
Stasis wouldn't have chosen the cramped, stuffy cupboard as a home of choice; but she hadn't had a choice. With no money, no family and very few friends there was no where else for her to go. Manticore could've helped her, she reasoned, but he was hardly ever around anymore. Paragon City was too big a place to constantly run into the same people; and for all she knew, he might have even left completely. Skipped town, as the locals said.
Brickstown was already awake; though it was doubtful it ever slept at all. Like her, the run-down city seemed to have an aura surrounding it...but this one was far at the other end of the colour spectrum. Bricks was an evil place, and this girl was forced to call it "home". She vaguely remembered having been woken up by birds chirping sometime in the past, possibly when she was a little girl; she had enjoyed being greeted in that way, it was calming and soft. Those were the days she missed, and they really were just days. No matter how hard she racked her brain, Stasis could only recall three days of her life when she'd actually felt free. Everything since then had been falling swiftly downhill.
She didn't have a barcode yet, but she had been owned since the day her mother left. Her father had brought his little girl up well, but he was much older than his ex-wife and died when Stase was very young. As a result, the spunky little girl was placed in an orphanage; and though the orphanage was fun, and the people there were wonderful, already Stasis was owned. She appeared on the orphanage's records as a number and a surname (something she'd long forgotten). It hadn't bothered her then, she had been too young to understand it, but as she looked back she realised that hadn't had a life of her own; she was just another little prize waiting for someone who wanted to claim her. Since then, Stasis had belonged to her friends who she had desperately wanted to impress; then the Crey had claimed her as their property, and finally, the city itself. Twenty-three long years on Earth, and only six of them belonging to her.
When Manticore and Swan had saved her from Crey's clutches, Stasis had once again handed her existence over to someone else. Her trial judge had warned her that she was only being allowed back into society as she was useful to them, but they'd keep a close eye on her and if she stepped one foot out of line, or even attempted to leave, they'd have her removed. He hadn't explained what he meant by this, but it had sounded just as sinister as it was probably intended to. So here she had to stay, in Paragon City, fighting crime. The crime which, she painfully remembered, she had committed herself only two years ago.
Oh, she didn't mind being heroic and noble, but she relished the occasional snatches of freedom she could get. Like last night's drinking session for instance: Herself and a handful of her closest companions (she was hesitant to call them friends) had decided to take a night off from their heroic responsibilities; they'd taken the boat to Talos Island and found a little pub tucked away in amongst the various shops and "businesses". Much laughter and drinking ensued, and for the first time in a long time, Stasis had actually felt free. She'd even swallowed her pride and taken to the dance floor with one of the slimy lushes who'd tried to pick her up. Of course he hadn't managed to get far with her. The look on his face when he found he couldn't get close enough to her to hold her was priceless; these were the times Stasis was glad of her powers. Despite the painful reminder she had woken up with, the night had been a success.
Now she was sufficiently awake, she risked a little smile as she recalled her friend Punkrocker's parting words to her, "Sh'take care, Stase. Woul'nt be the sh'ame wi'out you." No, she thought, it probably wouldn't.
********************
It hadn't taken her long to get washed and dressed, even if she was a woman. Stasis hadn't worn makeup since she was thirteen, and her jet black hair was always pushed back into a loose ponytail. This was one girl who embodied the phrase "low maintenance". Occasionally she would stop and stare longingly at expensive dresses in shop windows; but she didn't want them for herself so much as a person she might have been. One day, she told herself on a regular basis, one day I'll blend in with the crowd. I'll be the one being stared at. Though she never revealed this private fantasy to anyone; not even her diary. There are some things a girl must keep to herself.
She toyed with the idea of popping down to the drugstore and blagging herself a breakfast of chips and coke; but the thought didn't last long. As if being pulled by invisible string, her head jerked roughly to the left and her eyes came to rest on a small white envelope sitting on top of one of the boxes that littered the room. Even in her slightly groggy state, she was sure the envelope hadn't been there the night before. This puzzled her; sure, she was used to people letting themselves in to her bedroom--but they usually followed it up by shouting her out of the building. They didn't leave notes.
For a moment she considered the idea that one of her friends had snuck in and left it for it. But remembered swiftly that none of them knew where she lived. Had someone followed her? Possibly, but then, someone was always watching her...just waiting for her to slip up. No, it couldn't have been the authorities; they didn't leave notes, they confronted her head-on. It might have been her dance partner from the night before...unlikely though. When the night was up he had attempted to escort her home, but she'd "persuaded" him not to. It was doubtful he'd ever visit that pub again, let alone write her a love letter.
So she had ruled out the majority of her contacts, but was left with the burning question of who had left the note.
She clenched her fists; an automatic action whenever she came across something suspicious. Yet her curiosity was proven by the fact that she didn't extend her claws. Stasis always popped her claws whenever she felt in danger, her reflexes were fast, but those extra few seconds of preparation had saved her life on more than one occasion. There was something about this note that concerned her, yes, but she didn't feel threatened by it--and that was more than enough encouragement to take the step and open the letter.
It would've been easier to shred the top of the envelope with a claw, but instead she carefully pealed the flap back from the sticky underside, as if trying to prove to an invisible spectator that she trusted the note. Finally she had prised it apart enough to reach in and take out the small, dirty yellow piece of paper which lived inside. It didn't look like it belonged in such a pristine envelope, the paper was ripped and stained. It looked more like someone had picked it up off the street due to a lack of new paper. Still, the writing was legible--and faintly familiar:
"Stasis, first off, don't let anyone know I sent you this. If my employers knew I was helping you this way, we'd both be in trouble; so keep it a secret. Ok, I hope you've been sensible enough to make sure you opened the envelope away from prying eyes--"
Stasis glanced up from the note. She was blushing, furious with herself for not checking the room was clear. It could very well have been bugged; even though she had disabled the CCTV camera in the corner long ago, she hadn't bothered to keep check on it. This was the Zigg; the authorities were bound to keep an eye on it, and make sure the security measures were working properly. Cursing beneath her breath, she laid the note down and proceeded to check the room for spies, bugs, hidden cameras and any number of possible tracking spells. Only when she was completely sure she wasn't being watched did she continue reading.
"--I have information on the Crey. They're planning to move on, to leave Paragon City forever. This, as you know, is great news for everyone; but mostly, you. Your probation doesn't cover the possibility of your previous employers leaving. I've found a loophole, Stase. If you can get into their headquarters and remove your data imprint from their files, once they leave, you'll be free. FREE. I can sort out the paper work, don't you worry about that; but I need you to delete all traces of yourself from their records. I trust you'll be able to do it. Crey hardly ever use that building anymore, so the risk is low. You know the code."
There was one more line.
"Good luck. Manticore."
For what seemed like an eternity, the room was completely still. Even the shouts and screams of the prisoners seemed to have stopped; it was as if the whole world was holding its breath--waiting to see what Stasis would do next. That, she wasn't sure of herself. This dirty, ripped note (obviously Manticore had had to write it in secret and therefore couldn't use his monogrammed paper, she reasoned) was her ticket to freedom. There was a slight risk she'd get caught of course, but she'd fought Crey since her escape from them, she could do it again. And once the records were destroyed...!
It'd only take a few hours for Manticore to remove her teleport chip and location tracker, then she'd quite literally disappear from the city's logs. Oh, there were so many places she wanted to see. London, Paris, Rome, Prague...but most of all, her hometown. There was no time to hesitate. If she wanted her freedom, she'd have to go after it now, before the Crey had a chance to vanish completely.
She slipped out of the room and crept down the corridor, taking her usual route in order to bypass any security men or CCTV cameras; it was lucky she knew the route like the back of her hand, as her mind definitely wasn't on her safety. She was already planning to visit her old orphanage, get a job, buy herself a beautiful one-story house somewhere in the country...perhaps she'd even be able to start a relationship beyond friendship with someone. First things first though, she had to thank Manticore.
He wasn't in his usual spot. That was slightly odd, but not enough to make Stasis question his motives. She'd spoken to Swan, and she had suggested Stasis phone Manticore; he always had his cell phone on him at least.
He must have been out on business, or deep within the caves below the city, as Stasis was put straight through to his answer phone. "Got note. Thanks. See you soon!" She chirped into the payphone's receiver; she was going to add more, but Swan gave her a puzzled look and she decided to leave it at that. "It's easier to keep in touch via letter," she casually mentioned to the scantily clad heroine; and without waiting for a response, darted off in the direction of Crey's Folly.
To be continued...