<This takes place shortly after Gravitas discovered his ability to create a wormhole and should immediately follow post #345 from "One the Strip">

Having left Las Vegas at about 2am, Quentin found himself shading his eyes after stepping through this, his third attempt at breaching space. The day was relatively clear, the sun was high in the sky. Big Ben began to gong in the distance - 10 o'clock. Some of the pedestrians he'd emerged near were startled, but calmed down once the foggy blue vortex he'd stepped out of collapsed back in on itself and vanished.

He'd just traveled about 5200 miles in a single step - at least as the plane flies. Practically speaking the two locations were somewhat closer since the shortest distance was actually through the planet itself.

He did some quick guessing, turning an imaginary globe around in his head. About the farthest place from London on the planet would be New Zealand. He tried to picture that geographic location as well as he could in his mind and then held out his hand to call to that location in space, dragging parts of it towards him even as he pushed parts of his current location towards it. When they met, the vortex opened and he could see a night-time vista before him. He estimated that to be about right, and stepped through.

It was notably colder, which helped to support the idea that he was now in New Zealand, as the location he picked was towards the southern end and being that it was summer in the northern hemisphere, it was now winter in its counterpart. Unfortunately the area he'd arrived in was on top of a foothill, he could see a town in the distance and, he thought, the sea.

The trip was a success, which was what he principally cared about. He'd just traveled about as far as one could without actually leaving the planet.

Leaving the planet? That was a thought. He looked into the sky and found the moon. Would it be possible to get there? Would he even be able to survive without any special preparations? He knew he could inexplicably breathe underwater and survive various other extreme conditions, but space was like every extreme condition one could imagine all at once.

He lessened gravity's hold on himself and lifted into the air. Unlike some of his teammates, he was not able to breach the sound barrier, or even come anywhere near it, just by letting various gravitational fields pull him along. He opened another portal, jumping a a dozen more miles straight up.

He noticed that pressure changed, but he didn't feel it. There was still air, but he needed to breathe it less and less. Another vortex swirled into existance, taking him to the hazy line that scientists defined as 'the edge of space'. The Earth's atmosphere was virtually non-existent here, its normal protections essentially gone. Quentin's ears didn't even pop. He simply ceased to breathe entirely in response to the lack of air. His body didn't react at all to the loss of pressure. Could it be that quantum forces held him together? It was impossible to tell.

The earth rotated slowly beneath him. The moon hung in the far distance, and the stars were all but invisible because of the glare of his home planet below - the worst possible light pollution around.

Could he make it all the way to the moon from here? He could only try. He concentrated on his internal source of power, drawing out all that he could before he reached out to find the space around the moon itself. It was becoming clearer and clearer to him that distance was only an illusion, that space and its curves were a much more simple construct than many believed. With the right pokes and prods and the proper application of power he could warp that space to traverse it in ways man had only imagined possible.

He pointed towards his intended destination, space rippled when his arm became fully outstretched, as if he'd poked the filmy substance of reality itself. A vortex opened, still cloudy and blue, in spite of the lack of air - Quentin thought that was somewhat odd, but he'd investigate that another time. Would he make it all the way to the moon, mirroring Neil Armstrong's 'one small step' with only a few feet of subjective movement?

There was only one way to find out.

Comstock brought his fist down on the nova's neck and felt bone and sinew tear apart.  Before the injury could register, a wave of heat blinded him and he collided violently with a wall as an explosion rocked the building.

He dusted himself off, watched Zeus cook a pillbox with a torrent of lightning, and got to his feet.  The man he thought he killed was back on his feet, screaming for Allah and none the worse for wear.  Must have regenerated.  As Comstock reeled in surprise, the man swung the butt of his rifle for Comstock's head.  The blow was much stronger than it should have been, but ultimately the entire weapon shattered with the force of impact.  Rookie mistake.

They traded punches for a short while.  The man was good, and every time Comstock moved to grab a limb or pin him to the ground he would slip away like a cloud of vapor.  Joker that this guy was, he left a grenade each time he slipped away.  The third one actually did some damage, driving shrapnel deep into Comstock's face and shoulder.

Still, as cheeky as this guy was, he'd only erupted maybe a month ago.  He didn't know that he should have run while he had the advantage.  While he was busy dodging Comstock's fists and screaming prayers, Phantasm had a chance to line up the perfect rabbit punch.  The fight was over.  The shooting had stopped, and Zero was yelling something in the native language, apparently in control of a machine gun nest with RPGs and munitions.

The metal fragments in Comstock's face melted down and seeped under his skin.  "Hell of a day.  Thanks P."  He dusted himself off, let his extra mass go, and gave her a thumbs up.

---

They were just outside Mogadishu.  A cleric had gotten his hands on some freshly erupted men and women and started selling miracles.  It wouldn't have been quite so bad except that these Novas were true believers and eagerly slaughter a group of Christian missionaries and then some US servicemen in neighboring Djibouti.  A miraculous victory, they proclaimed it.  Killing baselines didn't sound like a miracle to Comstock anymore; it felt like cheating.

After the July 4th attack, T2M was called to deal with the problem, and it looked like they were going to be done before sun-up.  Gravitas was a bit worn out from all this cross-continent jumping, but if he was up to it they might even get back to the Strip in time for the fireworks, thank you eleven hour time difference.

"Frostburn, this is Comstock: we have four novas subdued and in custody.  Does that match the US Army report?  Four Novas?  Over."

"All accounted for.  Start pumping them full of drugs and cuffing them.  I've already sent helicopters your way to pick them up."

"Copy, Frostburn.  Hey, are you getting leave with the rest of us?  Coming out to my parent's place?  It'll be great.  No politics.  Great view.  Over."

"We'll see.  Frostburn out."

"Alright ladies and gentlemen.  You are fine, beautiful people all of you.  Let's get these guys drugged, restrained and handed over."

Some soldiers, doctors, and two other Utopia Novas Comstock didn't recognize came flying, requesting "custody of the prisoners" who were being transferred "to a holding site in Bahrain for processing."  Pretty standard procedure.  Comstock signed off, shook the woman's hand and sent the Novas on.  "Nice work team.  Uh, I don't want to sound like Pax here or anything but I am glad we've got ways of controlling these people."  The alternative to this sort of justice was outright killing, like the elites did, and the last thing Comstock wanted to have a score printed next to his name.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
The scene stands alone pretty well, but if anyone wants in on it, be my guest.

---

Imp walked into the glittering marble lobby of the Grand Hyatt in Cairo, he had just finished working in Central Africa and was looking forward to a little pampering and some much needed re-creation time.  He checked in, using some of the money that he had from royalties of his last fashion gig, then sauntered into the Revolving restaurant to meet Caroline Fong.
She was, as he'd expected, already there, sitting by the window, enjoying the view of the Nile and the downtown core of the city, glimmering red and rust in the sunset and dust.
"Caroline, a pleasure," Imp took her hand and kissed it before taking a seat across from her.  She smiled back, it didn't have the same kind of intensity that she had had the last time they met in Vegas, but it was perhaps more than friendly.  "Impetus, how have you been?  Doing a lot of work helping out the victims of the wars, yes?  Cleaning up the messes made by people who think they can feed our still human obsessions for fame and money and feed our egos so that we do what they want, not what we should?"
Imp smiled, this was exactly why he had come to her, she was smart, insightful, opinionated and more than a little gorgeous.  "Of course, but I still maintain that we can best define ourselves by how we treat those who have so much less than we do, it's not a bad thing to enjoy helping others, yes?  AS to governments buying us to fight their wars for territory," Imp's face tightened, "They should be dropped in the middle of the carnage they have wrought and left to the tender mercies of their victims."
They bantered back and forth for a while, enjoying each other's company and the view, and of course the food.  After a while, feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time, Imp finally broached what was troubling him the most. "Caroline, I'm curious, I have had some success changing my body and mind, becoming stronger, faster, better, but it's not enough, I am still a slave to my base passions, things that I know demean me, things that I must control, but wish to master.  Is it possible to change our very brain chemistry? To make our urges things that we have chosen, not that we have had thrust upon us?"
She smiled warmly, "You see, Imp, that's why I enjoy you so much, you ask the same questions that I do, seek to remake yourself not by the whim of the power that flows through us, but by bending it to your will and allowing it to shape you as you will it to."
They talked until dawn, then retired to Imp's room for both more discussion as well as other, physical, intimacies.  Two days later, when it was time for Impetus to go back to work he felt both more at peace with who he was and in far more control than he had since before he could remember.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:15, Tue 04 Aug 2009.

The Doctor hums a few bars while shaving in the bathroom. The songs are off key, and new. The Docotr hopes to see it's wife tonight.

Quentin welded two more of plates together further covering the capacitors. Nearby sat a small pile of thicker armor plates, he'd put those on later. The generator was designed to output roughly enough power to supply a small military base and was, the theory, going to be tough enough to withstand nova-scale attacks (a new, distinct category somewhere between nuclear-scale and artillery-scale). He flicked some fingers, shutting the welding torch's valve off and squinted as he examined his work - he hadn't been wearing a welding mask. Why bother? He concentrated gravity along the seam of the still-hot weld, pulling the molecules closer together and strengthening the bond.

Soon enough he'd have this, the third of its kind, completed. Once all five were done and deployed to the sites they were needed - mostly villages or small towns that'd lost power in the fighting - he'd start on his next project. He was still trying to decide what that'd be. A part of him wanted to work with the Swiss physicist he'd gotten an email from on the construction of a gravitic wave detector - his unique insight into the topic would be highly useful there. Such a device was less practical than some other things he could set himself to, though. It would further the cause of science, but whatever findings might come of it may not bare fruit for months or years. Pax wanted him buildings more war-oriented gear. Specialized grenades, nova-piercing ammunition, fortified armor - the list went on.

Maybe he'd split the difference and make some sort of exoskeletal suit? Such a contraption would have wartime application and be useful in peace-time as a heavy lifting assistant and general purpose human-enhancer. Images of the loader from Aliens flashed through his mind and were rapidly dismissed. His agent would kill him (or at least try) if he got anywhere near anyone else's copyrights.

Somebody had blown up her hair, again. It was singed, frazzled and generally unpleasant. A small corner of Solitaire's brain complained about that fact, that it was always <i>her</i> getting blown up, but only a small part, as most of her thoughts were elsewhere.

To be precise, they were concentrated almost entirely on the diamond claws she was barely managing to dodge or brush aside. Her opponent jabbed at her viciously, precisely at eye level, her hand deflected it, but not enough. A finger caught her, opening a thin line across her cheek and Solitaire was mildly impressed, it had been a while since anything had made her bleed. It was gratifying on some level to know she still did. But the move had cost him, the other nova had overextended and unbalanced himself. She stepped into him, pivoting, grasping the outstretched arm and flipping him.

"I would suggest you give up, I'm much older than you are kid." Solitaire advised, face barely a foot away, and adding weight to the statement with the booted heel clamping one hand to the ground, her own vice like hand around his other wrist and knee resting lightly on his neck. It looked like a game of twister.

In point of fact, Solitaire thought he was older than she was, she pegged him for around 30, but those were human years, and there were only a few hundred Nova's worldwide 'older' than she was.  He struggled a moment, trying to dislodge her, for all the good it did him, he might as well have been trying to shift a mountain.

"Now now, lets not have that." She put a tad more pressure on her knee for emphasis. "Just accept your defeat gracefully and we can get this over with. I'm sure this position is more uncomfortable for you than it is for me. Really, its generally much easier to do this when your conscious, it saves me trouble." Solitaire smiled, and the man on the ground nodded choppily, terrified.

Good. She cooed, as the sounds of battle died around her, and her team subdued the rest of the Elite camp. It was a small one, only half a dozen nova's and baseline support, and it was well in hand.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Imp blasted through the tin roof of the long low building buried under the sand and desperately tried to gain altitude Harley, limp weight on his shoulder didn't complain as the jagged edges of the hole cut wounds in his back and legs. "Impetus to all teams, fall back, fall back..." His words were drowned out by the wind roaring past him and the sudden aweful pregnant thump from a mile below him.  The bunker that he and Harley had been investigating had indeed held a weapons lab, but not a small one like Harley's informant had said.  It had been massive, with huge tanks of poison and what looked like a massive nuclear bomb.  One of the novas Harley took down had managed to press a button on his uniform and the chemicals had started mixing, which had distraced Imp long enough for the nova he had been fighing to fire off a weird transluscent black bolt at his head which would have killed him if Harley hadn't jumped in front of him and took the blast in the chest.  Imp fired off a bolt at the nova then grabbed Harley and flew as fast as he could back up and out before the bomb exploded sending a gigantic cloud of radioactive dust and poison vapours that had somehow survived the explosion into the atmosphere.  Imp went straight up, just on the leading edge of the cloud, the light burning his vision, the blast of energy just seconds behind him.  he hit the top of the atmosphere, felt Harley rapidly hardening in the supercooled super thin air, then plummeted back to Earth towards Bunia and the Utpoia docs, his eyes blurred with tears, "C'mon Harley, make it, make it, make it."  As fast as he flew he know Harley would be gone before he arrived.

"... so Frostburn's just like 'isn't she so cute when she's angry?' and Pratima's all polite and embarrassed."  He even tried to mimic her face, prompting a peal of laughter from around the table.

Utopia's own Steve Debow and Ragnarockette -- Comstock couldn't even begin to pronounce that Icelandic keyboard-smash name of hers -- were sitting in for poker night along with an off duty elite calling herself Hydra and one Carlos Luna, a Nova managing his own international aid organization.  A dust covered poker table, a long while before the next plane out, and nothing to do unless some Elites came knocking.

"So how long are we staying in Ethiopia, anyway?" Comstock tossed out to the rest of the table.

"Long as it takes.  Problems in the gulf have Eretria up in arms.  That crazy president they have won't let anybody in, and the word is he's built a chemical arsenal."  Carlos Luna was remarkably human looking, but he had a peculiar, unmistakable scent.  Like cinnamon sugar or a shot Harley Logan might cook up.

"Word's also that he's a nova."  Ragnarockette folded, a look of disgust on her face.

"Could be.  Not confirmed."  Debow, hyper-intelligent dead-panner that he was, kept raising.  "They also say that there's this German ubermensch he's hired who's contract is just about up.  I don't know the details, but there's some bad blood there because supposedly this elite was promised more action that he got."

"Wait ... the guy's complaining because he got paid and didn't have to do any fighting?"

"Hey, supposedly he's just one of those guys.  More masks showing up every year."  Debow frowned.  "I mean, how am I supposed to argue for our legal rights when we're dressing up in costumes and chasing murder?  It's bad enough that CNN keeps trying to get its ratings back by chasing us over all of Africa.  And the damn action figures ..."

"Brazil's worse," Hydra chimed in.  "Without a mask down there you're nothing.  That's why I've got mine."  She wasn't wearing it now.  It seemed like she only pulled it out when she was working.

"Hey, Hydra, I still haven't figured it out.  What is it exactly that you do?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean powers.  Like what do you do?"

Hydra just shook her head and looked at her cards.  "Lay off, Comstock," Ragnarockette chided.  "Just play.  Hey, anyone want a beer?"  They had a cooler's worth of something local.  It tasted good but didn't do a thing.

"Well since I don't want to hear about Steve's 'separate but equal' bill anymore and Pratima will kill me if I keep telling stories, who's got something else to talk about?"  Comstock couldn't win a hand to save his soul.  Thankfully the game was just recreation.  Wouldn't ruin the 'Stay in School' campaign he'd just started if anyone found out about it.

"I've got something," Carlos Luna said with a smile.  "Bill Gates just sent me a check."

"Whoa, seriously?  What for?"

"He wants me to bring my charity into his foundation.  Knows that he has the funding I need and that it would be a PR boom for him to have a Nova saving the world for him."

"So ... what are you gonna do?"

"I think I'll refuse him.  I do not like the idea of being subservient to a little man in glasses."

"You know, Carlos, if its just money you need for these projects of yours, you could just get sponsorship out of Utopia.  Safe, easy, straightforward.  No need to change the name or even ask twice if you're just building hospitals and grocery stores."  Debow was only a few steps shy of the ultimate salesman.  He never let up.

"Yes, but then I'd be subordinate to many little men in glasses.  You would stop me from entering Uganda or Eritrea or Iran.  I do not think politics should come between compassion and mankind."

"Oh come on.  How long have we known each other?  Two years?  You really think we're that bad?  Pax is in Afghanistan right now delivering food and medicine."

"Food and medicine.  Come on, we all know why he's there."

"Hey, Pax is a jerk but I haven't seen him..."  He couldn't finish the statement.  Pax had been ready to sell out Bunia in a heartbeat just to protect the political stability of the region.

"Dillon, you're new to this sort of thing.  But believe me: you can't have that much money and influence and not step in a steaming pile of politics.  Just a word to the wise."

Debow groaned.  "I don't believe this.  Carlos, we've ended long-standing tribal conflicts and helped more than a dozen popular elections happen.  We've distributed more food and medicine in the last year than you could in ten.  Why judge us for that?  I know this fighting is bad but you haven't considered all the angles."

Carlos shook his head.  "And you've helped the UN to become a credible organization and reduced the political autonomy of third world nations and helped eliminate the energy crisis and unlawfully imprisoned thousands of people whose rights are guaranteed under the UN Charter.  The scales balance well."

"Ah come on.  You can't blame us for the fighting.  People are dying out there.  What are we supposed to do?  Let them?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised you aren't.  Dr. Antaeus seemed awfully perturbed about the issue of overpopulation at that press conference last week."

There was an unspoken tension in the air between Debow and Luna.  Comstock couldn't think of a thing to say.  "Well this conversation got heavy fast," Hydra tossed out there.  "Are we playing or is everyone going to have a moral dilemma?"

"Yeah, yeah we're playing."

"Next time I'm inviting Impetus," Comstock muttered to no one but himself.  This kind of thing never happened around Imp.

The masses where herded into the open, black field for the slaughter. They stumbled about in the dark, sweating, unnerved, and unready. The unsuspecting fools. They where warned. They would all be wiped out. The Sovereign had researched all known Quantum forces, and there was one that was truly unstoppable. He who harnessed it first was a God among Gods. The spot lights blazed through the darkness, startling the victimize, burning their Baseline retinas. Roars of speakers broke the silence and startled the sheep. Explosions erupted on a hellish stage of fire and light.

Chemicals of horrid hues of green, purple, and blue gurgled and percolated in giant vats as massive electrodes and circuits hissed while white and blue electricity danced around them. A great table slowly lifted into the air under a motorized lift. The clouds in the sky looked ominous as lightning illuminated them briefly, until the entire stage erupted in the light of a great lightning bolt strikes the ascended table.

Electrodes and circuits sizzled with lightning and glowed a white so bright that every face in the field was illuminated in a shocked expression of awe and fear. The loud speakers roared "It's alive! Alive!" The cloth on top of the table caught fire and roared six feet high as the unnatural bolt continued to pound the stage's table and strange equipment. The burning cloth rose up, and an engulfed figure from underneath ripped it away from it's tall form, and discarded it to the wind. The bolt stopped, the equipment fell silent and dark, and the black, chard figure of Dr. Zero stood, holding a mighty axe.

It strummed the cords, and the speakers growled. It then raised its' hand into the air, and attacked the cords in a fury of blows, blowing the audiences' hair back from the ruthless base. Savage rifts beat on the audience, twisting them to The Doctor's fiendish will. Drummers in lose straight-jackets began to pound on their instruments, and backup vocalists sang in Latin and Arabic. Beautiful and handsome dancers dressed in vamp costumes or lab coats began to danced to hypnotic beats. For five minutes they listened in shocked awe, and then began to head bang and thrash as if possessed, screaming for more. And more they got, swearing loyalty to their new Dark Lord. The neon sigh light up over the stage. "Green Women!" it pronounced. This band was The Doctor's foundation. It was all a begining.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:31, Wed 05 Aug 2009.

23:01:05
Dodge left, kick through the gunman's knee, break through the 10th story window, catch the ledge on the way down.

Read sensor input, recalculate the location of the radiation output... Recalculate it myself, as my wrist computer just got shot off from the gunfire from below.  I want my shield.

"//Its on the 5th floor, not the 10th.//"  It would have been nice to have someone with energy sight here, more dependable than relying on the machinery.

Cell phone rings.  I never should have gotten international service.  CD, great, I don't need this now.

23:01:10
"Hey, little busy...  Yeah, I know, I should have called, sorry.  Uh huh.  No, really, its not you, its me... I just don't know if I want to take things to that level right now, not sure I'm ready.  And you're older than me, and with everything going on... No, don't cry, its ok.  You're a nice guy, you'll find someone..."

More gunfire.  Drop to the fifth floor, catch the ledge.  Which chooses to fall apart.  Can't anything go right?  Hmm... when we remodel the base, I think we should use non-standard building materials, something more sturdy.  Should I have slept with CD?  Not really ready for that, and he's soooo needy.  Cute, but irritating.  Oh, have to prep for group fun night, it's my turn... Maybe we could go to a japanese techno club or something?  If I can get rid of CD, I can call and make arrangements... Drop to the FOURTH floor because of shitty building materials.  Break through window.  Dodge small arms fire.  Is that a rocket launcher?  Why do these people have rocket launchers?  Intel said no explosives except the supposed bomb. Pop shield, no more keeping a low profile.  Dodge behind the stairwell as they blow up the majority of the floor.

"Yes, that was in fact an explosion.  Apparently the noise cancelation software can only cancel so much... But I said I was busy.  No I won't get myself killed... Damnit, it wouldn't be on YOUR conscience, I'm my own person, you aren't my keeper... NO, I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH IMP!  Ok, that's it.  We're done.  Go find a nice, pretty girl that wants to be pampered and who will find your neediness and paranoia endearing.  I'm too busy for this shit."

Click.  Yay, I can make dinner arrangements. I wonder if I'll ever be able to have a functional relationship.  I'm still young, and I got an early start, so the odds are in my favor, right?  Unless of course all this screws me up so much that I can't have a normal relationship ever ever ever. I want a pet cat.

23:01:30
Leap up the stairs.  Dial Information in Japan. Kick in the door.  Dodge around Zero as he fights a burning nova. So, exactly when did he get here?  I hate that.  Leap off the wall and flip over the gunmen's baricade.  Elbow to the throat. One. Palm heal to the sternum. Two. Hook kick to the temple. Three. Move left, let bullets fire into Four. Reach over shoulder, grab head, throw. Five.

"こんにちは、私は猫のレストランのリストが必要です。私のパッチを直接することはできますか？

私たちは10のためのテーブルを得ることはできますか？明日の午後6時。幻影。 "


I love these new headsets.  Bluetooth patch, and super noise cancellation equals improper use of military equipment and breach of proper protocol... Eh, they can replace me if they think they can.

23:01:45
Run to the bomb.  This isn't a bomb, its a radiation emitter made to look like a bomb.  Flame guy must have been a trap.  Or maybe the building will fall on us or something.  Whatever.  Well, I've got reservations for dinner before hand.  We'll just show up at the club though, works out better that way, less chance of media getting there during the first hour.  Ooh! Maybe we could go to see that new movie back in the states before the night's over... 12 time zones ahead?  Should work out.  If we ever got to remodel the base, we could put in the movie theater... But it wouldn't be the same as going out.  Hmm.  I want a pet cat.

23:01:46

//Phantasm to Comstock, this isn't a bomb, its just a lure.  Infiltration team is now unnecessary.  Heavies can clear the building.//

I'm bored.  I should call back the teddy bears from the fight outside, bring this building down.  But there are probably things we need in here unfortunately.  Maybe I can get out of here in the next few minutes and join Quentin in the lab.  Convenient way of getting transport out of here at the very least.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:04, Thu 06 Aug 2009.

Imp put the finishing touches on the rough hewn divan and gestured grandiosely for Sol to take a seat, this was going to be surreal.  Far far below then, or above them, or well, over there, the earth hung in the void of stars, lights twinkling where microscopic people had built their cities.  The edge of the disc was growing light, brilliant rays of solar energy began trickling, then flooding across the world beneath them.  Sunrise from the moon, it was quiet, deathly quiet, and so beautiful that it made tears spring up in Imp's eyes, tears that froze instantly when they fell from his face.  He passed one to Sol as they say and watched the Earth come alive below them.  She had become less carefree, far grimmer and more other, especially after the arm thing.  Still, she was Sol, and she was always up for doing something that had never been done before.
After watching the sunrise they lifted free of the Moon and began hurtling across the void towards the Earth, one trailing streamers of light, the other glowing with an inner radiance.  Their flight switched from a climb to a freefall at some indeterminable point, and they hurtled earthward, white hot flames flickering around them as they hit the atmosphere doing something in excess of 50,000 miles an hour.  They fell, streaming flames, straight down, hurtling towards the ocean like twin comets.  the force of their impact kicked up huge clouds of steam and massive waves but they continued on downward, deep below the surface, below where any light had ever penetrated before.  They continued on, down into the Challenger deep, descending the 11 kilometers in mere minutes.  they alighted on the bottom, stood limned in their own radiance, grinned like idiots despite the crushing pressure, then Imp scooped Sol up and they powered towards the surface, broke free and headed towards Thailand.  There were some beeches and some back alley markets they needed to visit before they had to be back on duty.

"I don't give two shits what the fuck you were trying to do with this but Jesus Fucking Christ Impetus, pull a stunt like this again and I swear to God I'll skin you alive and wipe my ass with your prettyboy face!!!"  Pax's face was a dark ugly purple, veins straining in his neck and a big fat wormlike one throbbing in his temple.  He looked like an action figure that they had wanted to look sinister and imposing, but had put in too much purple dye and overdone the age so he looked constipated instead.
"You may have noticed, Shelby, that I merely asked questions and raised points for disc..."
"I don't fucking care if you were just talking with the Dali fucking Llama, you are on Team Tomorrow and you will not question novas' humanity aloud again!"  Am I one hundred percent fucking clear, Dickweed?!"
"Loud and clear, Pax," Imp pulls a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wipes some spittle off his face then rolls into a very crisp salute that somehow still managed to be lackadaisical and insulting at the same time.  He stood up and walked out of Pax's office, past his secretary and to the balcony. Then he jumped.
Sailing through the clear blue sky above the Ethiopian plains he grinned, that had gone exactly as he had thought it would.  The paper that he had submitted to Oxford's contemporary Philosophy hadn't been nearly as fiery or rabble rousing as it could have been, Imp had just asked questions that he knew others like him had been asking themselves since Fireman Day.  His points about "becoming the archetypes of humanity's subconscious, thus allowing us to transcend human limitations and inspire people as only something that dwells inside their own hearts and souls can" had not been off base.  After all, hadn't he recently been asked by his agent to do "that thing" every time he was in front of a camera.  Apparently Imp could affect people on the other side of the globe either through radio, TV, movies or any audio/visual media, live or otherwise.  Caroline had contacted him, on his other phone of course, and had said that her friend Jeremiah wanted to meet Impetus and talk about the religious ascension of novadom, or somesuch.  He was looking forward to it.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:43, Sat 08 Aug 2009.

The Nova that calls itself Zero sits in it's Spartan room in a lotus position. Within the duel mind of this creature it reviews it's actions and goals, and strives to martian commonality among it's duality. One persona is seen in it's familiar uniformed & masked state, while the other remains a twisting shadow, stretched long across the floor of the Doctor's mental landscape. "Soooo... it's been a year. We've been busy."

The shadow shimmers as a smooth sounding voice speaks all around, like a returning echo. "There is a growing divide among Utopia. Pax... He is a problem. He's stifling his subordinates. They will go underground and rouge, if this happens. Is he a puppet, or just a fool?"

"Not sure. Wither way, he needs to go. We need more power. The popularity of our persona is doing... well. But we need to diversify. 'Tipple threat!' We shall start in other fields and genres. Our objective is clear. 'Vernacular.' Other hyper intellects are too horny for their own thoughts. They do not bother to reach or truly reason with others below their petty IQ ratings. This dooms them. We do not need to be the smartest, just the wisest, and we see little wisdom among the Nova."

"This is a welcome distraction from our original goal, but I acknowledge what has anchored our existence here for so long. You are restless. You would like to go back and pursue our original objective."

There is a pause in the internal conversation. "I... wanted to think I was growing beyond it. But I've realized something. I will never be beyond it.  I don't want him dead. I need him dead. It is just something I must act on, no matter how it damns me. It is a state of being. It obsesses me."

"All is coming together. Soon, we will pause from our current goals and use our research for our baser needs. After all, how can we properly relate to humans if we do not acknowledge what makes us human?"

"What we are aiming to accomplish here is a complete ceasefire, and the first one of them to break the ceasefire gets to be our example to the others.  Anyone makes moves on their neighbors and we'll hit them hard.  Feedback and Estevez are keeping their thumbs on the wire and will coordinate the counter-attack as soon as we hear anything about movement.  Let me be clear here: we're through playing games with these people.  If anyone of them so much as breaths toward a border, we'll put them down."

Impetus exuded an aura of displeasure.  He and Pax weren't on the closest terms.  The rest of the room murmured with questions.  Since he had something of a relationship growing with Pax, Comstock raised his hand to ask the uncomfortable question.

"Sir.  Doesn't this constitute a pre-emptive strike?  A month ago you told us we had to wait until shots were fired before we could intervene."

"And let those Op-Net idiots call us slow to respond again?  No.  Debow's got this one figured out.  He'll be playing interference for us.  We're not going to wait for another massacre to happen just to satisfy some international law.  We're going to fight and save those villages."

Shelby always had that forceful style of argument; disagreeing with him always meant killing kittens somehow.  Even if we was ordering you to kill kittens.  Comstock nodded slowly in agreement.  "Sir."

"Solitaire, Impetus, Zeus: you three will patrol between these points.  Phantasm, Dr. Zero, Tremor: you hold tight at our facility here.  Gravitas, Comstock, Pele, and Lightning I want you on the Congo border ... here.  Billabong, Sunflare ..."

This mixing teams bullshit again.  Great for getting to know the organization.  Bad for response time.  Pax was the sort of general that threw men at the problem.  Resources existed to be used, and the men and women under his command were just that: powerful resources.  He didn't squander them, but he didn't do much for their morale.  Whenever it looked like he was losing their faith, he'd just burn some quantum and exude that aura of greatness he had.

"Sir, if I may inquire," Lightning interjected.  "You haven't assigned Maverick or Mr. Logan yet.  Are they on long patrol?"

Pax fumed, his skin deepening a shade.  "I had a talk with Mr. Logan and Maverick.  Let me make this clear right now: you break regulations on my watch, I will break you.  I will fucking break you.  This isn't some game or an excuse to become a celebrity: this is war.  We're in the business of saving the world from itself, and if you're interested in slumming down, getting drunk, and then fucking around in the middle of an operation you can leave right now and save yourself a beating."

"Pax, he killed two Elites and saved an orphanage.  Even the news couldn't get over that.  He's the only reason it's been so damn quiet around here-"

"I will fucking break you," he reminded Comstock.  "Harley traded an orphanage for a company of Ugandan troops.  He didn't do shit.  Now we've got more militias with military grade weapons because he couldn't stick to a god-damn post and protect those soldiers.  And because Maverick thought it would be fun to help him instead of doing her job, I couldn't make it to the scene in time to do a thing.  So no, Mr. Chang, to answer your question I haven't assigned Harley or Maverick, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I do."

The rest of the briefing was tense.  Comstock gathered the rest of T2M:A once the briefing was over and made sure they were still willing to break ranks if things went badly in this engagement.  Between Solitaire's speed and Gravitas' portals, they could probably command the battlefield and respond to any changes without compromising their positions.  "Guys ... somehow I don't get the idea Shelby's interested in stopping massacres."  And somehow, saying that aloud took an amazing effort of willpower on Comstock's part.

After that, he clamped his brain shut every time he came face to face with Pax.

"Ok Dillon, go over this again.  You have to split up your mind so that you can go over everything its doing while its doing it.  Not all nova powers depend on brain chemistry to work, so you need to be able to detect when someone's fucking with you."

"But do I really have to do this while going through those weird kung fu moves?  It's kind of distracting-- But I guess that's the point though right?  If I can do it under the most distracting situations--"

"Exactly.  And if you make me hold on to her much longer you're gonna give me an aneurysm, or just get eaten.  So, get it right.  Oh, and you're form really kinda sucks, use your full body on those punches."

A green duplicate of the nova they had fought in their first day of battle, the illusionist and mind controller, struggled on her leash.  She screamed at Dillon, and pleaded with Phantasm, somehow at the same time.  Probably her/its telepathy at work.  Waves of psychic force pounded against Comstock's metal brain, telling him to come be part of the collective, to make the once-woman whole again by joining her in her prison.  Phantasm yanked on her/its leash every time Dillon started to get that glassy look in his eyes that said he was starting to think it was a good idea to be her prisoner forever and ever and ever.  It occurred to Phantasm on their third try that this might be creeping Dillon out a bit... She was so used to him just accepting her as is that she sometimes forgot to think about how he would see things.  But he had kept all her secrets so far, and if it saved his life it was worth losing him as a friend.  She cared to much about him to let him lose his mind to some enemy nova... or worse, a friendly that decided to take advantage of him.

"No, no, no.  That style works for me and Zero, but we're smaller.  You have to turn more, shift your whole body around, you cant just twist at the hips like we do.  Damnit! Don't stop thinking!  You're glazing over again.  Shut up bitch! No, sorry, not you Dillon."

"I think I like play time with Zero better..."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)

Attempting to teach "Discerning Mind" pg. 48 of brainwaves.  Along with more martial arts. DM protects against non-psychic influence, and Phantasm would try to teach him.  Whether he ends up picking it up is up to Comstock.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 20:29, Sat 08 Aug 2009.

Dillon, for his part, understood the necessity of the training.  "You promise this is going to help me with that bullshit that Pax does?"  He could feel the psyhic woman picking through his childhood memories, inserting herself in them, creating a narrative of pleading and guilt.  His brain reeled under the assault.

"Yes!  Now do it again.  This time faster."  P.  P was growing up fast.  Strange and cruel world they lived in.

"Alright!"  Exasperated, he proceeded through the routine again.  The psychic managed to persuade him, somehow, that cockroaches were crawling through his intestines and veins and he needed to get them out.  He managed to complete the set, somehow, before violently retching.

It took awhile, but eventually Comstock started to pick up the training and see the pattern.  Like a perfect chemical reaction, every suggestion and influence had its own obvious components.  He started to see things as they came.  "Look P, I appreciate this.  The whole weird kung-fu thing's just hard for me to-"

Phantasm rewarded his overconfidence and chatter with a few horrible shades to fight with.  That they couldn't actually hurt him with their blades and claws wasn't the point.  They brought fear of death with them.  Comstock wondered if they were some sign of some frustration with him.

"Alright!  Point taken!"  His martial arts were still clumsy, but he completed the exercise without missing a beat.  "Let it go.  Don't eat me.  I think I've got it down.  Like a program or something."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Hey, I'm game.  Consider it bought.  Feel free to use my character whenever you need or want in your vignettes, by the way.  That goes for the rest of you, too.

---

The Star
Novax Star, Dr. Zero, is an alien!
A recovered diary, discovered in another set of caves near where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered, reveales the origin of Team Twomarow's mysterious Dr. Zero! Jack Lenin, a respected archeologist, revealed the scrolls to Star that he found while exploring the caves near the sea. "They are amazing!" said the renowned scholar. "And parts of them are even written in English! You simply must read them to belive them. Does this hint that the so called 'Doctor' is also a time traveler? The possibilties!" Project Utopia has yet to return our calls about fasly representing an alien for a Nova.
(More on Page nine.)

Pedro exited the building just as Quentin dropped through the wormhole he'd used to arrive. The man's sense of timing was impeccable, probably because of his ability to predict what would happen so accurately. "Ready to go?" Quentin asked as a formality. Pedro was, obviously, ready, as he'd already left his home dressed for dinner. The other man merely nodded a confirmation.

Quentin concentrated a moment on his intended destination - a place he'd been to several times in the last year - and opened a gateway. Pax would probably be mad if he knew who Quentin had been keeping company with when he wasn't either on the battlefield or inventing something. Aside from his Nevada-based teammates, he'd been meeting the small circle of philosophers he'd met in Vegas near the start of his tenure with T2M. Several other teammates had been as well. For his part, Quentin had been trying to keep things quiet so as to not stir up trouble - not all of the others had.

The pair arrived on the walkway up to a villa owned by Count Orzaiz - one of many, Quentin had learned. He silently cursed himself, he'd been aiming to get closer to the door. Approaching the door, he knocked and politely waited for one of Orzaiz's servants to open the door. "The count is expecting you, gentlemen," said the butler as he ushered the pair in and took their jackets. Quentin rather liked most of Orzaiz's people, they weren't the type to be easily impressed with novas and were both efficient and discrete in their service. Orzaiz undoubtedly paid them handsomely.

Orzaiz was already chatting up several others at the table when Pedro and Quentin entered, he paused to greet them and gestured towards empty seats, "Welcome! Now that everyone's here, we can get started in earnest." He smiled and raised his glass for a toast.

It was going to be a good evening. Quentin just had to make sure to get back by 0530 Ugandan time so that he'd not be missed.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Tue 11 Aug 2009.

Dr. Zero’s Book Club:
The Good Doctor goes on an all out conquest of the World’s philosophical and political paradigms with several books it began to write in the Equilateral Wars. The Doctor wants nothing less than to win the hearts and minds of the world. This is the foundation.

“Nova & the Archetype: The New Prominence of Psychology & Mythology in the Nova Age” By Dr. Zero

This is a book written by the Doctor explaining some bold ideas the Doctor has about Quantum development, and the new role psychology and mythology can have in it. It is based on hundreds of cases studies Utopia and many independent organizations have compiled that the Doctor has gained access to.

The Book primarily focuses on the new use of psychology with helping Nova’s develop their powers. The book discuses the idea of using meditation, psychological counseling, and a focus on mythological archetypes to help shape and focus a Nova’s growth.

The last chapter discuses the unusual cases of “Quantum Backlash” (as Zero currently calls it), and some early theories on it. Part of it discuses the possibility that this “Backlash” (i.e. Taint) could be caused by the growth of the MR Node against the rest of the brain. The Doctor notes some of it seems to be caused by excessive/extreme Quantum use. The Doctor notes that the manifestations of “Quantum Backlash” seem to coincide with the psychological fears and hopes of the Nova, much like their powers. The Book ends with the hope that Novas using archetypes to focus their development might be able to curb or cure these undesirable symptoms in the future.

The book includes some comments and observations fro Caroline Fong if she takes the Doctor’s offer, and decides to add to it. It openly credits her as an early inspiration.

“The Art of War & the Nova’s Place in it: Part I” By Dr. Zero

This Book is released during the Equilateral War. It mainly compares the use of Novas in war to that of Airpower in WWII, with Novas, on average, being horribly effective at surgical strikes and mass destruction, but mostly ineffectual at holding conquered territory without competent Baseline support. It notes that competent and strong coalitions in the UN forces can guarantee a solid victory, during war, but possibly not during peace if local situations and politics are not understood.

The Book makes a bold statement that might cause some commotion in Utopia. It observes that so-called ‘Mega-Intelligent’ Novas should not be the chief planers of campaigns once the fighting begins. It expands on the idea that no good plan survives the first minutes of battle, and that ‘Mega-Witty’ Novas would perform much better in the field with command and strategy. The Doctor points to several battles in the War that where meticulously planed by Mega-Intelligent Novas on both sides that fell apart after combat issued, while sighting several initially disastrous engagements that where saved by the ‘Mega-Quick of Wit.’ It ends noting that Mega-Intelligent Advisers may serve better in peace and early war preparation.

“Why Utopia Works: A Cynical Bastard’s view on a Marriage of Benign Self-Interest and Grossly Liberal Idealism.” By Dr. Zero

A very smooth piece of propaganda directed at turning a troubled public opinion, and the opinion of intelligent critics of Utopia, toward support or tolerance of the organization. The book works much like the Federalist Papers, with a lot of dry humor. The book claims that Utopia works because of it’s duality of acting on the baser needs of humanities self interest, and it’s higher aspirations for virtuous works, by making saving the world a very profitable business. It openly criticizes criminal Novas as being too stupid to realize they can make more working legitimately in Utopia, and ridicules criminal Novas as ‘uninspired and too psychologically damage to be of worth to themselves or this world.’

The Doctor hopes to aggressively distribute the document to move others into supporting Utopia, stating that those who don’t want to join are the people Utopia needs to keep focused and honest.

“So you’ve got a Big Brain: A Realist’s observation and discussion on the limits and pitfalls of so called ‘Mega-Intellect.’” By Dr. Zero

The Book rips into the ego of many Mega-Intelligent Novas, and notes a lot of shortcoming with ‘Hyper-Intellect,’ as the book calls it. One noted problem is the idea that bigger plans lead to bigger mistakes, and the danger of Mega-Intelligent Nova’s ‘outsmarting themselves’ by devising completely impractical ideas.

Another problem is an observation that ‘Hyper-Intellect’ means very little if the Nova cannot communicate their ideas with others, and that true intellect can learn to break down such grand ideas to the masses. It notes that ‘any “Hyper-Intellectual” idea that can not be broken down and explained was very that brilliant to begin with.’ The Book again recaps some of the Doctor’s observations during the Equilateral War and the falling apart of many grand ideas by ‘Hyper-Intelligent’ advisers.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:56, Tue 11 Aug 2009.

The Doctor raised it's own glass. "Here, here! I know some of us are on a bit of a budgeted schedule, here, but I was wondering what you all thought about Impetus' new book? I hear it gave Pax a conniption, so it's already done some good by me."

"A conniption?" Imp says as he walks through the door just behind Gravitas.  "I'm surprised that he didn't break the windows in his office, poncy git."  He shakes Gravitas' and the Doctor's hands, as well as several others that he knows in the room, then heads over to an empty chair beside Caroline and kisses her on the cheek.  There are any number of gorgeous people here, both men and women, strangely Imp seems to be a one woman man, he is affable and friendly with everybody, but unreasonably provocative with none.  "As much as I enjoy my work with the Project, I am really, really starting to get sick and tired of Pax."

"Agreed. He's behavior has become intolerable. I would like to discus some solutions, latter on. I'd hate to bore our friends with politics."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:52, Tue 11 Aug 2009.

Dinner is a surprisingly simple affair.  Catered by discreet staff that leave after placing food and beverages, the dinner is also quite private.  Guests are expected to serve themselves, and Orzaiz fosters a sort of "family get together" sort of feel.

Caroline is happily seated by Impetus (as happy as she ever seems, she is a bit sterile in public, probably a cultural thing), and the rest of Orzaiz's little club are there as well.  Discussion starts out casually, but moves quickly to the newest developments in the budding philosophy.  Caroline notes that after reading some of Zero's commentary on myth and psychology, she has decided that they need some sort of guiding principle for their ideology, and for the evolution of novas.

"What about Teras?  It represents both our evolutionary growth, our divergence from the the normal, and our development into beings of myth and transcendent power.

We need some sort of... Guide for our development.  It is progressively clear that we are defined by our hopes, fears, and general self image.  Our nature is not merely random change, but directed by the often conflicted subconscious beliefs that we hold.  We need a way to change these beliefs, channel them.  Humanity, for as long as it has existed, has instinctively done this through religion, meditation, and countless other methods.  Why can't we do the same?  Create an ideal, and become it?  Change from these larval states into something greater?"

"'Larval states' Caroline?  Your words are, well, slightly disturbing, they conjure images of pupae and cocoons, and writhing metamorphoses beneath translucent skin.  Also, total helplessness.  I have had some success guiding my own growth using techniques we discussed and it was very challenging, a full on metamorphosis will be immensely difficult."

"Likely so, but it would be worth it.  And after going over some calculations with our Mathematician, the quantum forces involved are immense, and would have to be prolonged.  So, energies turned inward, and prolonged focus on transformation to the exclusion of all other extraneous details.  The idea of a chrysalis does seem apt."