As always your story was amazing. A very enjoyable read. Lady Praetoria's take on Primal Earth's PPD also leaves something to be desired, as well as a completely different problem. A little background, Lady Praetoria is Praetoria's version of my level 50 MA/Shield Scrapper Ms America.
Quote:
Riley squirmed on an uncomfortable chair inside a windowed office within the red brick walls of the King's Row precinct of the Paragon Police Department, or PPD, as they were commonly referred as.. She was wearing old blue jeans, a white tank top and baseball cap. Her blond hair tucked up under it, as her blue eyes took in the surrounding chaos. | Someone has broken into your home, what do you do? |
Outside the office three PPD officers were trying to restrain a large man dressed in black, with his face painted white to resemble a skull, to their left a woman was yelling at another officer and a plain clothes detective about her purse being stolen..again. And beyond them was a woman dressed in short lepard print dress handcuffed to a bench being interrogated by another uniformed officer, who kept mentioning the term “john”. The surroundings made her uncomfortable and again brought home the vast differences between her world and this one. Still, she lived here now.
A weary man in a dark blue shirt with a thin red tie and a shoulder holster that would be hidden if the man had on his jacket, came into the room, he sat casually on the corner of his desk near Riley. He wore dark slacks and shoes, and there were sweat stains under his arms. His brown eyes looked tired and he generally looked overworked.
“Thank you for coming down to the station Miss Sterling.” he said, and added. “I'm Detective Becktries, Officer McKinzie forwarded you initial report to me, and I'll be handling the investigation from here on out.”
“Thank you Detective,” Riley said, pleased that someone was looking into the break in of her small apartment. It wasn't much, a little less then a block from the tram, near a bright neon sign that did its best to keep her awake at night. Still, she didn't have much and couldn't really afford to lose what she had.
“Now, Miss Sterling, we have an interesting problem with your case.” he said, looking at an open manila folder in his hands. “You claim your name is Riley Ann Sterling?”
“Yes sir,” she answered but thought to herself 'Claim?'
“Well Miss,” he said slapping the folder down in front of her, “Seems we already have a Riley Ann Sterling, living in a much nicer apartment on Union Street in Steel Canyon.”
Riley looked down at her own face staring back at her. They were ID photos from the University of Paragon, and the name under them was hers.
It also listed the address as the detective had said, Union Street in Steel Canyon. It took her a moment to understand that it was her, well the Primal Earth her anyway.
“So blondie, who are you really?” Detective Becktries leaned forward a little trying to stare Riley down.
“Riley Ann Sterling,” she said calmly, “ and until very recently I was a resident of the city of Praetoria.”
“Prae..what?” he said, looking over her statement again, “Where's that Europe or something?”
“No Detective, its another dimension.” came a voice from the doorway.
At the sound both turned towards the doorway and saw the distinctive uniform of a Longbow agent. White with red stars and strips adorned the man who walked into the room, Detective Becktries stood up and stared at the approaching agent..
“Sergent Jacobs, Longbow.” he said by way of introduction. “This young lady's embassy contacted us as soon as they heard about the break in. I figured something like this might happen.”
Detective Becktries looked as if he might throw the file at the brightly dressed man, instead he just glared at him.
“Another dimension?!” he exclaimed. “You gotta be kidding me.”
Sergent Jacobs remained standing and calmly pulled out a folded piece of paper from a small pouch at his side. It had a PPD symbol on top.
“We sent the PPD information on possible incoming Praetorians and the PPD sent out this interdepartmental memo. I am certain you got it, but I have a copy just in case.” he said with just a hint of smugness.
The detective took a few moments to read over the memo, and then stared at Riley then the Longbow Sergent.
“So, as you can see Detective this is not a case of identity theft, this young woman is also Riley Ann Sterling, just from a different dimension.” he said pleasantly.
“Okay Miss Sterling,” Detective Becktries said, waving his hand dismissively, “you can go.”
“I can....” Riley said, then stood up herself, “What about the break in? My stuff? I just bought that dress and they ripped it to shreds, not to mention they stole my television, stereo and laptop.”
Detective Becktries turned towards the angry young woman, a smug smile on his face.
“Are you serious?” he said, “Get better locks next time lady. A pregnant squirrel could've broken into that dump with the cheap lock that was on that door. I suggest dead bolts next time.”
Riley took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. This world was proving more barbaric each day she stayed on it. Doing the right thing was proving more difficult then she thought it would be.
“Come on Lady Praetoria,” Sergent Jacob's said, using her Praetorian identity. “We'll see if Longbow can't scare up some replacements for your stuff, and maybe a security upgrade on your place as well.”
Riley started to walk out of the office with the Sergent she turned back to see the Detective sitting back down as his desk.
“If my suite in Imperial City had been burglarized Detective, I can assure you that my PPD would've had the suspects in custody by now,” she said through clenched teeth. “I guess I expected too much from your department. I will not make the same mistake again. Good day to you sir.”
And she turned on her heel and stalked out of the small office, Sergent Jacobs chucked and followed her out of the room.
((None of my characters own homes dammit >8I ))
Steel Canyon, that evening.
lieutenant Wetherby did not need this today. He'd been flat out dealing with the REGULAR threats in Steel Canyon and now he'd been standing behind a barricade ringing the entrance of a popular, three storey clothing boutique, sixteen people held hostage on the top floor. The stand-off had lasted nearly six hours, apparently some manner of clothing launch for some up-and-coming starlet who'd probably be yesterday's news within a year.
Still, the Sky Raiders had seen an opportunity to make a quick buck, ransom for someone with so many adoring fans would be astronomical...however, in turn so was the police response. Snipers posted on the rooftops, Police and SWAT at the doors. Not only that but the woman they'd been meaning to grab through all of this had proved to be all the more slick than anyone would've expected, her security detail having ushered her out with a quickness the moment the Pirates had made their presence known.
She now sat in the back of a Paramedics van, a brown blanket draped over her shoulders, coffee in hand and eyes streaked with both tears and running mascara gazing upward at the top floor of the boutique. Her publicist was still in there. Joanna had always been good to her...and now, if Rhode Island wasn't able to make with the fifty-million dollar ransom, she'd be dead by midnight. Not to mention the other fifteen poor souls still trapped inside.
The media had been swift to jump on the band-wagon, this situation an absolute media gold mine. Vans, cameras and lighting all over the place as they relayed the situation back to the hungry masses of Paragon's evening audience.
"And as we can see, six hours in and the situation is still tense. Paragon Police have established perimeter and negotiations are on-going..."
"A total of sixteen hostages, who had been attending a fashion launch..."
"...Unknown yet whether a strategy has been formulated..."
"...with no sign that the situation will be over any time soon..."
Above the noise and confusion, two icy-blue eyes, burbling like a font of cold calulation surveyed the scenario. While he'd hoped for a more...gentle return to his career of vigilantism, this situation was at best, disasterous and someone needed to act. Where the police were dumbfounded and confused, their intel scattered and contradictory, Shadowstormm knew better. A thermal vision scope had indicated there were eight hostage-takers in all. Sky Raiders. Automatic weapons, body armor and at least a decent level of military training. However the greatest weapon in combat is not the one that you carry in your hands, it is the one that manipulates your enemy into doing what you want.
Tactics, Strategy, Emotion.
Fear, more specifically. These men had been trained, but were not immune to one of the strongest of human emotions.
Paragon's Grim Huntsman vaulted from his ledge, shimmering into invisiblity as his cloaking generator hummed into life the dark figure gliding high over the melee of police, media and onlookers below. It was time to return to the eyes of the public, time to make his mark once more.
---------
Six hours, six freakin' hours cooped up in a damn fashion store with a pack of mewling sissies all pleading for their lives. This raid had gone south faster than any of them could've expected. Overhead, the thick thudding of a helicopter's rotors could be heard, the searchlight beaming in the windows between racks of clothing. That freakin' media princess had given them the slip, but that was okay. Sixteen hostages were more than an ample bargaining chip. However, his men were getting restless, trigger fingers getting itchy.
Some fat guy began another round of pleading for his life, as if it'd make a difference. Though the group-leader was starting to grow tired of his crap, hopping off the checkout counter and tromping over to the stammering fat-body, levelling a pistol to his head, which made him descend into blubbering whimpers instead,
"Seriously, fat-man, all the begging in the world won't save you. Come midnight we start topping hostages and if you keep up with this 'making noise' ****, we're starting with you. Clear?"
The porcine, sweating, suited man nodded his head vigorously, causing his pudgy chin to wobble comically as a smile or a chuckle filled the air from the Sky Raiders, who went back to keeping an eye on the news.
"Hey, Officer Hill, Sir! We're on TV!"
"Dwight, we've been on TV since we invited ourselves in. What's new?"
"Well...nothin'. Just thought you'd be proud or somethin'..."
The Officer shook his head, gazing out the window with a frown before checking his watch: 11:45pm. Fifteen minutes until they'd begin opening up on civilians. He smirked a little, plodding over to his radio to give the Pigs a hurry-up...before his hand stopped, it crackling into life on its own...as the lights in the store suddenly cut out and the escalators shut off.
He blinked, head wheeling around, brow furrowing as the red emergency lights came on with a hefty CHUNK! He gestured to his squad, already all of them on their feet and weapons shouldered. The civilians, too, seemed rather confused, daring to lift their heads a bit before the Raider Officer pointed sharply at one of his cronies and gestured to the hostages, the man turning back to the previously moving staircase.
Suddenly there was the sound of something punching through glass, several members of the group, five in total slumping to the floor, neat holes in their skulls. Again the Officer, Hill by his name tag, wheeled around, blinking in horror as more than half his team hit the floor..
----------
Outside the PPD respose to the shots fired sent the radio into a frenzy:
"Roof teams, confirm shots fired!"
"Roof team one here. Negative, no shots fired. Confirm full mag."
"Roof team two. Also confirming no shots fired. Whoever the shooter is, he isn't one of us."
Lieutenant Wetherby lowered his radio, gazing up at the skyline. Another shooter? Damn it. This was hardly the time for some crackpot of an ameteur vigilante to be trying to make his mark. LIVES were at stake here. He clicked onto his radio, barking into it,
"Roof teams, do a sweep. Find whoever took those shots and...."
He blinked, staring at his radio and giving it a shake as unnoticed above glided a ghost's shadow, vanishing into the gloom above the shop's roof...just as the radio crackled into life with the most curious signal he'd ever heard...
-------
Raider Officer Hill scowled sharply and plodded back to the radio. Damned Pigs had suddenly grown a pair and had decided to start shooting. With a fierce growl, he picked up the radio and began speaking into it,
"Oh, that was CUTE. Though five of us means five of THEM! Eye for an eye!"
He clicked off, gazing at the radio but there was no response. He blinked, checked the button again, only to find there was no static when he depressed the button. It was then the radio bursted into life, an infamous quote with equally infamous connotations:
"Well there's a passage I got memorized, sort of fits this occasion. Ezekiel 25:17.
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the
tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and goodwill, shepherds the
weak through the valley of darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder
of lost children.
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."
Officer Hill let the radio fall to the ground, drawing his pistol as the escalators ground into life, both running UPWARD toward the floor they were standing on. The Sky Raider clenched his teeth as he leveled his pistol, barking sharply at the air.
"Oh, that's REAL funny, J*ck*ss! Y'know what? Come and get it. I'm right..."
His voice slowed to a stammer as something came up the escalator: First a black hood, followed by a glowering skull mask with glowing blue eyes, gazing at him with disdain. Spiked shoulder guards were next, gleaming in the ruddy lights. What followed was all bullets, bandoliers and angry, a gleaming Colt Python held in his hand as the moving stairs ground to a halt, the shadowy figure's cape lazily drifted forward a moment with leftover motion.
Raider Officer hill shook his head in horror. The one face he had hoped was gone for good was staring him in the face. He'd always thought the Shadowstormm to be a damned tale used to scare the hell out of greenhorns who got too uppity.
"No...not you..." was all he could stammer, the Grim Huntsman's eyes narrowing sharply as he growled in response,
"Yes, me...Me, me, me."
The arm holding the revolver snapped up fiercely to level at the three Sky Raiders, the hooded skull tipping to one side slightly as more words followed.
"Running time, fellas. Tell ya what, I'll even give you three a head-start."
He drew the hammer back on his revolver, the men in blue overalls not hesitating to sprint toward the glass.
-----------
Outside, shrieks of surprise rang out shortly after three bright flashes accompanied by hefty booming sounds echoed from the top floor of the Boutique. The radio went into overdrive, comm chatter going balistic as the police tried to figure out what was going on:
"Holy...SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED!"
"Roof teams! Status report!"
"Still searching, sir! We haven't fired a shot! Trigger-man must be inside!"
"Jesus CHRIST! Get me an eye on the hostages. I want status on the Hostages, dammit!"
There was a long, agonising silence. The collective crowd holding their breath for what seemed an eternity before the radio crackled into life again,
"I...I got movement. Lots of movement. It looks like the hostages are coming downstairs!"
There was a cheer of triumph as sixteen of sixteen hostages came barreling out the main doors of the boutique, clapping ensuing as they all departed to worried loved ones. Though, where was the Hero of the hour? Who was responsible? Cheers of delight and relief slowly ebbed away as people saw the last figure to exit the doors. In the face of spotlights came a somber figure, cape billowing as he stepped onto the stairs. Faces agog with awe and shock, hands pointing the direction of the door.
Shadowstormm. The media had labeled him a murderer, a vigilante, even a terrorist, and yet here he was, standing tall in the face of spotlights and cameras.
The towering figure strode into the middle of the curved barricades, his hooded face and glowing eyes looking upon the crowd with uneasing sharpness before a barrel-chested voices issues forth,
"Your media has labeled myself and my Brothers and Sisters in arms, the Guardian Angels terrorists, thieves, CRIMINALS. Senate-hopeful Donald White has labelled us enemies of the state and has set his Longbow hounds on us to drag us in for his 'justice'."
The hooded, caped, spike adorned figure nearly spits the last word as if it were a distasteful flavor in his mouth.
"Though I ask YOU, people of Paragon-" He gestures to the building, where not sixty seconds prior he had ended a hostage situation single-handed. "Are THESE the actions of an enemy of the State? A terrorist? A criminal? Are these the actions of a man who extorts, steals and trafficks in the illegal? Selflessly putting his own life in danger to save YOUR own?"
The unforgiving gaze shifts, watching the cameras. Lights were still on. They were still recording. Good.
"You have been LIED to, People of Paragon City! A veil of untruths dragged across your eyes to shield you from the real truths lying just beneath the surface. Donald White and his pack of boot-licks have deliberately decieved you for the sake of his own political position...and the people that stood up and protected you from the worst things to crawl out of this city's alleys have suffered for it.
Well I say this: For every 'crime' that Donald White dredges up, there is an equal truth behind the matter. Donald White may be able to sick the dogs on us, drag us in or gun us down, but he CAN NOT silence the combined voices of the citizens of Paragon City. So open your eyes, seek, look, dig beneath the surface and you WILL see the truth. Then question, retort and contradict. Because, people, you are entitled to the truth. You deserve to hear it spoken."
A final, icy glare locked upon the camera in front of him before the towering figure of the Shadowstormm suddenly blinked from view, vanishing into the night once more.
Modern Samurai snapped to with a start, as he heard the door to his apartment open. Not exactly an uncommon occurrence in Paragon City, to be sure, but living in an apartment building in the relatively upscale "Steel Canyon" district, normal burglars weren't likely. And to be honest, it wasn't the opening door that awoke him, so much as the earbug tied to his computer sounding an alert tone, telling him that someone had opened his door, and their fingerprints didn't match any known registered hero, authorized individual, or governmental agent.
Pulling his Impervium-strengthened blade from its sheath with nary a sound, the underwear-clad superhero padded quietly to the closed doorway to his bedroom, listening for the intruders. A few brief whispers - military-style commands, from the cadences - were all he heard, save only for the quiet tread of boot soles on the ground and the occasional rattle of combat harnesses. Most likely it was the Malta Group - he'd been foiling several of their plans lately, including one to try and smuggle another Kronos-class Titan through the sewer network to Atlas Park, there to wreak havoc on City Hall and the newer heroes that tended to cluster around the area, looking for temporary (or not-so-temporary) teammates.
He felt more than heard someone testing his bedroom door to see if it were locked, and he took that as his cue to kick the door open, slamming it into the Malta trooper behind it - their gear was unmistakable, both in its shade as well as its configuration. A quick katana slice went through the suppressed submachine gun the trooper carried - in passing, Modern Samurai noted it was a Fabrique Nationale P90 - and Modern followed the strike up with another to the trooper's helmeted head with the flat of the blade, knocking him unconscious.
Slicing the weapon in two might have seemed like an odd move, but Modern Samurai was no Jedi, despite sometimes seeming to have the attitudes of one. He couldn't deflect the bullets in midair without an insane amount of luck, so instead of parrying the shots, he parried the weapon. Regardless, both strikes had their intended effect, and the first Malta trooper was down.
Modern dived behind his couch as the other four individuals in the room - two Gunslingers, an Engineer, and a Sapper - all opened up with their own weapons. The Engineer was carrying a P90 as well, the Sapper was using his stun weapon, and the Gunslingers each had their customized pair of pistols. Modern kept moving, knowing that the P90, at least, would cut through the furniture easily, and more than likely the heavier, if slower, slugs from the pistols would as well.
But for all the lead streaming at him, it wasn't the Engineer or the Gunslingers that worried him - it was the Sapper. The energy weapons Malta Sappers carried were designed to dampen the nervous system in a target, essentially draining their energy. It was possible to kill with it - though in Paragon, at least, the city Mediport system would be able to remove and revive any hero or innocent bystander whose strength got that low, but for superheroes, it had the added effect of dampening their powers - regardless of origin. A hero so affected by a Sapper would find that it took much more effort to use their abilities, and thus would quickly weaken them for other Malta agents to take down. The one weakness Sappers had was that their equipment was fragile, almost notoriously so.
And so, Modern Samurai quickly changed direction and leaped over the couch in a dazzling display of acrobatics - or what would have been, if anyone besides those in combat had seen it - and bashed his blade into the back-mounted energy unit Sappers utilized. It was a precisely-aimed blow, and it had the desired effect. Namely, the power cell overloaded and unleashed a powerful blast of its peculiar endurance-draining energy - right into the Malta operative wearing it.
The man crumpled to the ground noiselessly, and Modern Samurai grinned. He was between his attackers and the door, and he'd taken on hundreds like the ones before him without breaking a sweat. Of course, moving into a new apartment, one Malta hadn't identified as belonging to one of their superhuman adversaries, wouldn't be as much fun as this would...
((Love it 
Will be reading all of these once work slows down Keep up the excellent work people!))
This is a weekly article, delivered to you every Wednesday. These articles are intended to be a fun exercise as well as a good resource for role-players to explore Character Development so please feel free to post your own characters reaction to the weekly prompt. So be sure to stay tuned to this blog for future installments!
Someone has broken into your home, what do you do?
The Tiburon style of Serena’s apartment never seemed to fit the facade of Rose Maiden, Liz or Pearl White its occupants, everything though crisp and modern seemed to have a no nonsense elegant comfortablity about it, a reflection upon its owner herself. The building housed eight other stories, each story containing four apartments each with a central turn of the century wire caged elevator with polished wood floors and steel running through out. Wrought iron fire escapes circled the building only eight of the stories, the top two bare of accent looking out over the northern portion of the neighborhood, with what would have been a grand view of Perez Park, but the view had been lost when the war walls had been constructed. The top two stories where surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, the open polished steel kitchen, back splash and diagonally cut leopard wood floors, the design of the modern over stuffed white furniture and other modern amenities even Serena’s own bedchamber seemed extremely out of place in the Kings Row top floor apartment when compared to the other buildings in the neighborhood.
However the design suited Serena Jordan, when she had turned twenty one and taken possession of her fathers apartment and all its contents, with her first patent sold she had bought the entire building and renovated it lovingly from the ground up with help from a local friend and contractor. It had been her passion at that time and her taste for the serene and modern lines of sail boats had influenced her choice of design and when remodeling she had decided to turn whole of the top two stories into one giant suite of modern luxury.
However Serena was a bit of a security nut since leaving her first fiancé David Prescott, she had invested in the best security systems money could buy, She had tracking devices in each of their phones or comm. Badges, she could track the whereabouts of Lizzy, Pearl or herself within a two foot radius, which more often than not saved Serena time in dragging Lizzy out of shoe stores or Pearl from wandering into places where she was still to young to frequent. Motion sensors, infrared, armed security guards and closed circuit television monitoring stations where set up in all buildings owned by Serena, that was why on a clear day any super hero flying by would notice Skulls perched on fire escapes and roof tops trying in vain to get into one of the windows of the Serenity Apartment complexes.
These extra precautions where what had tipped her off first and how she had found out someone had breached her security. Though the officers had gained admittance to her building with no problem even Joe the security man on the scene could not provide the Inspector with a key or the access codes to Doctor Jordans Ninth floor apartment, and without the correct finger print scan belonging to the inhabitants the Inspector and his men had broken into her home without any further to do.
Joe had dispatch call Serena as soon as the breach had been made; in the entire six years he had worked for Doctor Jordan he had never seen armed officers in that building, there had simply never been the need. Doctor Jordan was a fine upstanding citizen and held a lightweight belt with the local bare fist boxing circuit, even the thugs on the street knew not to mess with what was hers. However these where armed and badge carrying officers of the law, when he had asked to see a search warrant or a warrant for the good Doctors arrest after one of the officers had accidentally broken one of the large windows they had told him in no uncertain terms to hit the road.
The officers had been in the apartment for only twenty minutes when Serena had finally shown up. When she had received the call from dispatch, her own security device had warned her of the break in while she had been in the middle of guiding the new Prosthetists through a particularly grueling procedure using the new Grae180 model for Vanguard. Her hands had been elbow deep in rewiring neural pathways when the alarm had gone off. Used to working well under fire she had finished her lesson before allowing the new doctor and her team to close. After she had taken off her scrubs and dodged some colleagues in the hallways of the bunker she had flown with all haste and speed landing lightly on the pavement only a few minutes later while a block away a sonic boom echoed setting off car alarms. She ran at a brisk trot into her building noting the several PPD cars and a few unmarked Bonneville’s parked illegally in front.
She had decided to take the stairs, ever since she and Shadowstormm had repelled down an active and booby-trapped elevator shaft of a building in Steel Canyon, it was enough to convince her to always take the stairs. The main elevator did not go all the way up to the Ninth floor but rather stopped at level eight where a specific key was required to take the second elevator up to the following ninth and Tenth floors. Opening the stairwell door she quickly stuck her head around the corner for a quick peek down the hall and seeing a few boys in blue milling around with uncertain faces by her apartment door she saw what was making them all look so uncomfortable and guilty.
Her front door had been reduced to splinters, but guarding the doorway keeping the men at bay from entering was Pearls cat, Mr. Fluffers. The white female cat rushed out of her hiding place to rub against Serena’s legs and to hiss forcibly at the Detective who came from the apartment when Serena walked confidently forward before with a sniff and a twitch of her white fluffy tail Mr. Fluffers left the hallway like a Jailer who was giving over duty for the night.
Detective Drew Cross of the PPD who was working in conjunction with Captain Spangler the head of long bow special task force in charge of routing out the members of the Guardian Angels was the lead Detective on site. He was only slightly older than herself a large man in his early thirties, about six foot eleven inches, easily two hundred and fifty pounds of lean muscle of an ex football player with sandy brown hair, cold blue eyes that could look all sympathy and remorse one moment and hard the next, a smirk to his lips that seemed to let everyone know he was not impressed with what he saw, and large paw like hands which always rested on the butt of his gun when he crossed his massive arms.
“Ms. Jordan, I’m so happy you could join us” He smirked at her as she entered into her own living room stepping over the broken front door. “As you can see we let ourselves in I hope you don’t mind?” he picked up one of her favorite dinning room chairs now with the seat and back slashed to ribbons and setting it down before him he sat in another opposite to her own “please sit” he said it like he was used to giving orders and being obeyed. Seeing she would gain nothing by being uncooperative before he had had his chance to explain why he had broken into her home she complied pulling the chair just out of arms reach and sitting down in it with her hands at her sides. “Hello Detective.. Cross? And please call me Doctor Jordan.” She said Cooley unimpressed by the man standing before her.
Detective Cross sat back in his chair putting one foot upon his knee, his hands clasped before him as if they where going to have a pleasant chat, “Of course Doctor Jordan” the arrogant ******* even put a pleasant smile on his face while he proceeded to interrogate her as to her whereabouts over the past few days and if she had had any contact with any of the members of the Guardian Angels.
Though not widely circulated it was well noted in her file with Hero Corps that Dr. Serena Rose Jordan was also known under the Alias Rose Maiden. She did not flaunt her super powers while dressed as a civilian and only those with access to the Hero Corpse or Vanguard records would have been able to learn of her alternate identity as the personality of the two where so seemingly different that one would never think to connect one with the other.
Producing a stack of papers from his inner jacket pocket Detective Cross tossed them to the floor at her feet “We Found these tickets to Monaco, London, Paris, Berlin, Stockholm, Tuscany and Rome for yourself and Mr. Adrian De’Havaland Dated about two years ago Ms. Jordan, same time in which that Shadowstormm a known vigilante and member of the Guardian Angels was spotted in these same places in Europe, would you care to explain that?”
Serena shrugged easily answering the annoyingly personal question with relative calm, even as they sat amidst the destruction of her home and personal property, with him sitting there as if they where just two good friends chatting over coffee. “We where engaged to be Married, the Wedding was canceled the tickets where non-refundable.”
The Detective took out a small pad of paper and pulling a pen out of his pocket he began to take notes, looking up at her with mock sympathy. “Was it a mutual break up Ms. Jordan?”
Serena sighed not immediately answering his question, “Look we’re no longer together ok, and we haven’t been for two years, whatever you think to gain by coming here and interrogating me, breaking into my home without a search warrant and destroying personal property I cant begin to imagine, I don’t frighten that easily.”
Cross sat forward his blazer falling open to give her a quick but pointed glance at the glock tucked into his shoulder rig. He smiles at her, a smile which didn’t reach his eyes and was little more than a baring of teeth. “Ms. Jordan, you should really cooperate with us if you know what is good for you, we’re all friends here.”
Serena sat forward, that part of her personality which was most comfortable as Rose Maiden shining through her clear deep blue eyes to stare unflinchingly back at the man across from her, her husky whisper of a voice like a good malt whiskey on the rocks spoke dangerously into his face, “I’ll tell you what Detective, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t desperate to pin something on Adrian, probably for this Shadowstormm characters acts of vigilantism again no doubt, when you know damned well that it is stated on my file with Hero Corps that I do not condone manslaughter. What makes you think I would be with such a violent man as this Shadowstormm if that is indeed whom you believe Adrian to be?”
Serena sat back now smiling a soft smile, her face angelic, crossing her long legs tugging on the charcoal gray of her dress slacks and examining her manicure with a cool calm if not slightly annoyed demeanor. “and its Doctor Jordan to you.” She said lifting her own cold blue eyes to stare daggers at the Detective across from her.
“We also have records placing you as an onsite member at several of the Guardian Angels various events do you deny that you where affiliated with the group Ms. Jordan?” Cross asked through clenched teeth, he did not seem so unruffled as Serena, his jaw was twitching and she could see that the hand which rested on his knee seemed to be flexing as if he where afraid of her and thinking of his gun a man unused to being the one intimidated. “Are you aware that your involvement with Adrian De’Havaland a suspect wanted in connection with the Vigilante Shadowstormm not to mention the nature of your affiliation with the various members of this dangerous group of terrorists puts you in a compromising position? Aren’t you afraid that evidence will be found linking you with some of their crimes? What about the Death of your ex-fiancé David Prescott, his remains where never found Ms. Jordan, perhaps we should give up on investigating Mr. De’Havaland and focus our efforts on you.”
Serena looked up from quietly studying her nails her blue eyes fixing on the crooked cop who sat before her, “I have been a Role Model for years, there are lunch boxes and dolls made of me given to the children of this city, I have a cartoon for heaven’s sake! I have done everything asked of me, and you lot think you can come in here and try and intimidate me like this, an honest god fearing citizen?” She said squaring her shoulders and looking down her nose at the man in contempt.
“I wouldn’t get so high and mighty Ms. Jordan, we have enough to tie you to not only Shadowstormm, but also to other members of this group as well as a pending missing person case file still open on the disappearance of David Prescott. I suggest you cooperate Ms. Jordan.” Cross said letting a sneer curl his mustachioed upper lip.
“It seems likely to me Ms. Jordan that Shadowstormm and yourself where working in cahoots to kill Prescott, did you fund his killing spree across Europe too? Then the cripple wouldn’t marry you, am I right? What was it Serena, tell me who is Shadowstormm, you will get our full protection once you give him up, I know someone who will make your compliance worth your while, just give us the name and we will protect you; No? You won’t budge will you, I see how it is.” Cross said standing taking two photographs out of his jacket pocket, another treasure of evidence found in the gold mine of her home, found while he and his goons ransacked her belongings terrorizing her trust.
“Did you ever bother to tell him about these, is that why he went mad killing everything in sight?” He said holding up the two ultrasound pictures for her to see, with her name and a date of a little less than seventeen months prior written in digital script on the corner. The two little white blurs in the middle of the small squares of photo paper. Her heart stopped and tears stung her eyes as he spoke down to her in a vicious self righteous undertone, “or did you get rid of those too?” Cross finished with a sneer.
“Get out” she said in a low and dangerous tone, her voice seething with promised violence while her eyes blazed still brimming with tears and a sharp gust of wind slicing through the broken window which carries her hair out around her face causing it to writhe in a mass of ebon tentacles seemingly alive. She felt the rage building inside her, uncontrollable with the onslaught of her painful memories. The sounds of the gunshots echoed in her ears so loudly she had to clench her fist so hard that her nails cut half moons into the skin in order to drag her back from the brink where her fear and pain met in that dark jungle in Peru.
“I’ll be back Ms. Jordan and next time with a warrant for your arrest.” Detective Crosses voice was arrogant and indistinct from the call of the savage garden where she nearly died and lost everything. She almost gave in to the rage, to let it wash over her and to let it take out its indomitable will on anything that got in its way, but she couldn’t let it have free reign of her again, Cross might be a crooked SOB but she would not let even him come face to face with what resided in her.
“GET OUT!” She roared, the wind picking up whipping her hair back from her face, her chest rising and falling quickly near hyperventilation and her hands turned to fists as she lunged at the retreating backs of the officers.