In the wake of the terrorist attack on Team Tomorrow in 20xx, activity returned to "normal."  Decontamination efforts and medical inspections gave everyone a clean bill of health.  Impetus and Utopia's PR wing swooped down to divert attention and assure the media that Team Tomorrow had stopped the terrorist threat.  The individuals responsible were holdovers from Columbia, and there was certainly no greater conspiracy at work.  Aid work, humanitarian efforts, and collaboration with governments worldwide increased in the weeks following the incident, lead by a charismatic, friendly, and occasionally controversial Ragnarockette, further shifting the spotlight away from Utopia's failure in handling the remnants of Columbia's militarized nova forces.

Ex-T2Mers were given a loving public speech by Laragione and a private invitation to return to the fold, while both new and old members were instructed to keep the truth quiet for the time being.  The investigation was ongoing, and Utopia didn't want to tips its hand after all.  Life resumed its frantic crawl towards the next disaster, and the victims of the attack went back to their lives.  It was three weeks before anyone knew something wasn't right.

It began with a sneeze.  One of the newest members woke up with a head cold, and he was new enough that he didn't recognize just how strange his condition was.  But his teammates on T2M:Europe did.  Days of medical tests couldn't determine the cause of his problem, but they did track a growing fluctuation in his control of quantum.  Abilities reduced to near-human levels, inability to maintain quantum energies, and general fatigue.  After 6 days, he was mostly returned to normal, though experts like Gravitas noted a residual and seemingly permanent weakening of his quantum pattern.

Researchers were both excited and worried, spending hours analyzing the data. Some suggested that the young man's powers were unstable, or that he had some variant of the dormancy ability was at work.  Others posited varied ideas ranging from evolved nova bacteria (completely unsupported by the evidence), a result of the earlier terrorist attack, or a subtle "aberration" similar to those experienced by other novas.  Analysts were no closer to understanding when more cases began popping up among T2M novas, with nearly identical symptoms.  This time, all of the weaker novas, and a few of the mid-level novas were affected.  The "youngest" novas recovered in a matter of a few weeks, but evidenced the same residual instability in their quantum signatures.  The more experienced novas were slower in onset, and recovery; months passed, and even after partial recovery they were weaker than before the onset of the mysterious "condition."  After 2 months from the first case was reported, the team veterans and less experienced members with the most powerful quantum signatures and nodes, began showing extremely mild symptoms of power degeneration, fatigue, and reduced quantum capacity.

During this period, Utopia guarded information on the strange nova sickness with utmost secrecy.  Were it leaked to the general public, Utopia would be devastatingly weakened, weapons developers would attempt to replicate the effect, and the lives of Utopia's novas would be endangered.  The causes of the sickness were unknown, but as they seemed to only affect T2M novas, most agreed that it was probably a result of the earlier terrorist attack, with a possible interaction effect for veterans of Columbia due to cellular damage from nuclear fallout.  The nature of the illness seemed akin to an auto-immune disease, as the nova's own quantum pattern seemed almost at war with itself.  Those with weaker patterns recovered almost fully, but retained the condition, while those of greater power were more deeply and permanently affected.

After 3 months, the impact of the mystery illness on the most powerful T2Mers was yet to be seen.  They continued to experience progressively greater levels of quantum interference, and the pattern was clear; they would be the hardest hit, as their own power turned against them.  The ultimate results could include temporary or permanent power loss, coma, or even death.  As their powers waned, the most debilitated members were quietly moved to positions where their power loss would go unnoticed.  Such an event couldn't be hidden forever of course, but perhaps with a little more time they could isolate the cause and find a cure.  But with the greatest nova minds slowly losing their enhanced faculties even as they worked on one of their most daunting challenges, Utopia was running out of options...

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
And... GO!

Ok, just to set the scene and provide some structure, give an initial post with a brief synopsis of your reactions and activities as this 3 month process went down, and then give your current course of action.  I want people to come together and try to interact somewhat, but how you go about that is up to you.  I hope to get some faster paced back-and-forth dialogue going here, some dramatic interaction that we haven't seen for a while.  Who are these characters, how does this hit them, and how do they react to the situation and, most importantly, how do they react to EACH OTHER?

---

This message was last updated by the GM at 21:12, Fri 30 Aug 2013.

Quentin called a meeting. He had to. He was unlikely to be able to hide what was going on any more without further assistance. He was also forcing himself to admit that he couldn't solve this one on his own. He needed to brief the others on what he knew.

He'd called together several of the people that had been present at the event that he believed to be the cause of their collective problem - namely the alumni meetup of Team Tomorrow. Most were not, to his knowledge, yet exhibiting any symptoms. They might just be hiding it, though. He'd also invited several members of his research team and one or two others from outside the Utopia umbrella whom he believed he could trust with discretion on this issue (including Hell Kraken if he wishes to attend).

They gathered in a secure conference room deep in the bowels of the Nevada T2M complex. Quentin leaned heavily on a cane, shifting most of his weight to his right, whole, leg; he hadn't needed a cane since perfecting his prosthesis technology many months previously. He held the cane in his left hand, pressing it against the ground to relieve his left leg and kept his right hand inside the pocket of his jacket.

Without fanfare, he spoke as the last arrival sat around the oblong table. "You are all, probably, aware of the condition plaguing T2M novas who were present at the all-Team gathering several months ago." As he spoke, the holo-projector in the center of the room hummed to life and the lights dimmed a bit to make it easier to see for those that didn't have altered vision. A table was the first thing to appear, containing names, symptoms, and durations along with miscellaneous notes. "What we first thought to be merely an aberration is proving to be considerably more. We currently estimate that every nova present at the event will eventually display signs of the condition."

The image shifted to a humanoid wire-frame shape filled in with a hazy blue color, the blue eventually starts to spike outside the lines, dim, brighten, and otherwise distort. "All we really know about it so far is that its primary symptom seems to involve the disruption of the nova ability to control quantum with their own quantum pattern. Weaker novas have, so far, seemed to recover with only minor damage to their quantum signature." The hazy blue eventually stabilized, but was dimmer than when the animation had started. "We predict that the overall strength of quantum signature affects all of onset, duration, and intensity of the condition. Consequences for high powered novas - including many of you in this room - are currently unknown. I theorize a potential for nearly total power loss for an indeterminate duration of time likely measured in months and severe long-term damage to quantum pattern that may result in a permanent reduction in the overall ability to harness quantum energies. Temporary total power loss will, according to pessimistic models, even last for years."

He looked out across the room of assembled individuals and a sad half grin formed on his face, "I can see it in your eyes, 'What of it Grav? We're not scientists, don't you have a solution yet?'. Well, I'm working on it. I've called you together because there are some things I just can't do on my own. Primarily, I can't provide my own data for this sort of thing, I'm only one data point - I need to run total physicals on all of you. Also," he removed his right hand from his pocket and held it up. Half the thumb and most of the palm along with all the other fingers had been replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis of his own design after the Columbia bombing. He flexed the fingers into a fist and back - or tried. The ring finger didn't move at all and the motion was exceptionally jerky. "I'm beginning to show symptoms."

The hologram changed again, showing a brain with a small highlighted lump toward the front "Modelling indicates that the size of the node has some impact on the severity and exact effects of the condition." The size of the lump grew and the distribution of the parts of the brain changed accordingly. Once it reached a certain size, notes appeared floating next to it listing some common side effects of exceptionally large nodes.

"Several of you have seen my file - I had a 6th instar node." The image shifts slightly, those familiar with the human brain note several differences from a baseline brain, including structures they can't identify. Floating text nearby labels the brain as that of Quentin Abernathy around the time of the T2M psych evaluations. The node is prominent, "After my chrysalis my node evolved further and I'm tentatively classifying it as 7th instar." The hologram shifts as the node actually fragments into several parts and more evenly distributes itself throughout the brain. "My MRI shows that a part of it is pressing against my motor cortex. This hasn't really ever been a problem until now. Whatever quirk of nova physiology that has kept my node from interfering with other parts of my brain is beginning to fail."

He stuffed the hand back into his pocket, "My best guess is that over the next month or two the rest of you will begin to show symptoms as well, if you haven't already. In my own case, my best guess is that, aside from the loss of my control over gravity, I will lose the majority of my enhanced cognitive capacity and, given the distribution of the node in my brain, I will begin to exhibit a number of different psychological and neurological conditions. I will almost certainly become unable to continue contribute meaningfully to the search for a cure - and that is another reason I've called you all here." The normally unemotive nova looked, by this point, pretty distressed - or at least as distressed as he ever seemed to get. "I need your help."

"As an aside," he looked to Impetus and Solitaire (if either are  present), "It is currently unknown what the effect of having undergone chrysalis is on the condition other than the now-known fact that it does not confer immunity."

He cleared his throat, "On the upside, we know it isn't contagious, and it doesn't appear to be caused by any sort of pathogen that we can identify or isolate - other novas that you come into contact with do not appear to be at risk. Further it has no effect on baselines. Further research is, of course, ongoing."

The lights came back up as the holo-projector shut itself off. He unsteadily took a few steps forward and slumped into an empty chair. "So: questions, comments, thoughts?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:10, Sat 29 Oct 2011.

Comstock -- for surely he wore the stern, emotionless expression of his nova persona -- sat perfectly straight.  He did not swallow or move.  But periodically, the more perceptive and insightful could detect a shiver running through his body.

"I ... don't think I get it.  Is it worse to have a big instar node?  Or a less developed node?"  His hands were folded on the table in front of him, the knuckles coated with liquid silver, fingers gripped tightly together.  "Do we know for sure it was something in that attack in New York?  Could it just be that we're ... just losing it?  Our juice, our nodes, all of it?"

"Generally speaking, the node's size seems to have some effect on the amount of quantum one can channel through their quantum pattern in a period of time. Larger nodes are also widely noted to have side effects - usually mental ones - as it presses against other parts of the brain," Quentin had switched to a lecturing style for the moment, hoping to ensure that everyone had the same basic background on nova physiology to understand the implications of his briefing, "Those effects are not universal, hyper-cognitive novas, such as myself, are less likely to manifest such mental problems. That all said, those with larger nodes seem to be more severely affected by this condition. With regard to this condition, it tends to be worse to have a larger node."

He let that sink in for a moment before answering Comstock's other questions. "We do not know, for certain, that the attack in New York was the cause. It is, however, the only common link between all of the current victims - aside from their organizational status as members of T2M and the fact that they're novas. We also know that the attackers released some sort of air-borne chemical agent during their attack."

He shrugged, "It is unlikely that we are simply 'losing it'. There are others that have been novas as long or longer than most of us that have never suffered a similar condition, and many of those that were affected have been novas for much less time than the original T2M:A members. Further, the condition does not seem to affect the size of the node, simply its functioning. In my case, that's part of the problem."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:23, Sat 29 Oct 2011.

"I'm pretty sure that it occurred because of the attack on the party in New York, there's no way that all of the novas present, and only the novas present, suddenly manifested the same symptoms, at roughly the same time depending on overall power level, as a result of some other event.  Pax hasn't associated with any of us since he quit, and he's starting to have some symptoms as I am, namely blinding headaches. We both have 6th instar nodes, and I expect that if our conditions worsen I may require heavy medication in order to function."

Solitaire, who was not, strictly speaking, allowed deep into the bowels of the T2M Nevada base anymore, nodded. She didn't have any of the symptoms the others had mentioned, yet at least, but she looked slightly less colorful. The tones in her hair were more muted than before, and it seemed less able to ignore gravity.

"It was the party. I'm sure of it. I'd thought something smelled a bit off about the gas, but then, I had never smelled sarin gas before, and was on the fringes anyway. Didn't know what to make of it, and there were more pressing problems at the time. In hindsight though, maybe I should have leveled whatever it took to catch the leader." She said, tapping the fingers of her left hand on the conference table, steadily deepening the depressions that they left. Solitaire looked, concerned, which was something unusual in and of itself. She wasn't the type to worry, since if you had time to worry, you had time to do something, and if you couldn't, it wasn't worth worrying about. Of course, this was possibly the most crushing problem she had ever been faced with, and it was one she couldn't just beat an answer out of.

"I think this is the opening ante of a new player, and I don't much like the game they're playing."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Sat 29 Oct 2011.

Phantasm seemed confused and worried, but not surprised.  Her movements gave away why; she entirely lacked the effortless strength that defined the existence of novas with enhanced grace and strength.  "I think Sol's right, we have somebody making bold moves to get rid of some of the worlds most powerful novas... And succeeding at it.  More importantly, why are they doing this?  It doesn't seem like just a grudge, not to me anyway, more like they're trying to clear the playing field to do something.  I mean, how much of Utopia's time is this taking up, how many of their people are out of commission because of it?  And do we know anything else about the people involved?  The Columbian leftovers were pretty cut and dry, but the leader, and that wrestler, what were they doing there?"

She continued further, describing possible strategies behind the attack and ruminating on the purpose motivating it.  Her language was complex, and some of what she spoke about required enhanced intelligence or manipulative faculties to even fully comprehend.  This wasn't the face she revealed to the world normally, this was Phantasm in problem solving mode, barriers down, with the sole purpose of dealing with the problem at hand.  But the problem she was concerned with wasn't the reason behind the attack, she was only discussing it to comb it for data that might help with the real problem at hand, or at least the one she identified as such.

"But the most important thing is to deal with this... degenerative condition.  We need to figure out something.  Maybe we need to find these people and figure out what they did, maybe we need to lock ourselves in a lab, or even bring in outside help.  But we have to fix this.  I... I put together some data of my own, all my medical theories as to what this might be, and all of the data I've been able to collect that might in any way relate."  A slight stutter was the only indication that she was reticent of handing over the drive full of data, and revealing just how intricately her mind functioned even when in her weakened state.

Phantasm was worried, and deeply frightened.  Even more than the Terats, whose identities were defined by their status as novas.  Some of them probably knew why, or could intuit it at least.  Whatever had forced her to erupt had required her powers to even survive; she'd come to depend on them to feel safe.  And they let her live life in a way impossible as a baseline, something that was true of every nova, but especially true for those possessed of advanced intellectual abilities.  This threatened to turn her back into a slow, stupid, defenseless teenager with little to no control over her feelings, and she was deathly afraid.  Frightened enough to let go of her facade and do whatever was necessary to work toward a cure.

As well-known a Terat as the Hell Kraken would find it simply impossible to get into a Utopia facility, but Kraken Pharmakon was the third (or first, if you disregarded the market share attributable to ED pills) largest pharmaceutical company worldwide, just ahead of Merck and just behind Novartis, and his fellow novas had need of his medical and scientific skills so he'd found a way.  A tracked MEDBOT had been parked in the conference room since before anyone had arrived.  It awoke as soon as people started milling about.  Gleaming stainless steel limbs bearing biopsy needles, ultrasound transducers, scalpels, and the like unfolded, performed a power-on self-test, and stowed themselves.  A flexible, thin-film OLED monitor folded out of the back of the bot and unrolled, flashed once, displayed a screen of scrolling text, then shifted over to a video display of the Kraken suit in an immaculately white room.  The screen was obviously intended to improve the bedside manner of the bot, but given the inexpressiveness of the Kraken suit and the array of pokey-prody objects immediately below the screen, it didn't have the desired effect.

"If the gas smelled of anything at all it certainly wasn't GB.  From what you have described, the individuals responsible were not amateurs.  They would not have used contaminated nerve agent.  I doubt there would be any discernible odor or taste with the pure agent."

The final statement wasn't exactly true.  Wilhelm thought that Sarin tasted kind of like phosphonates, but then again what didn't?  He oversimplified to avoid having to explain Sarin's peculiar flavor to anyone without super-olfactory and super-gustatory senses.  It was like explaining green to someone who could only see in the ultraviolet.  Maybe it was like rancid olive oil?

"It seems the first step in finding a solution, an antidote, is determining the agent used.  Chemicals that inhibit the functioning of the M-R node are not unknown, after all, though the persistence of this particular agent does seem peculiar.  Moxinoquantamine, for instance, disrupts intranode signaling if administered in the appropriate dosage.  An experience with which you are all likely familiar."

Wilhelm was relying on reports from literature in describing the effects of Mox.  He'd never been in a Rashoud Facility, though Utopia agents had "encouraged" him to go with enough vigor that he'd felt the need to disappear into Central Asia for a while, and Mox had always reacted rather explosively with his personal biochemistry.  He hadn't the slightest idea what the chemical's effects would be like.  He didn't really want to find out either.

"A sample will have to be obtained.  You have collected residual samples of the gas used, correct?  If not, well, some portion of the agent must remain or else you would not be experiencing symptoms."

The MEDBOT mimicked Wilhelm's video-conferenced body language with its biopsy arm in a strangely human fashion, most likely under the control of some sort of haptic feedback system integrated into the Kraken suit.  The sample source Wilhelm intended to exploit was obvious.

"A few simple tests and you should know what you're up against, if not how to deal with it."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
I've spent XP to add more Mega-Int and Medical Prodigy, which should hopefully be of some use here.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 02:25, Sun 30 Oct 2011.

"This is one hell of an opening play, Sol.  In one shot they eliminated or weakened the powers of 50 of the worlds most powerful novas.  Them being novas makes this unlikely to be the work of, say, the Michaelites, them using the dregs of the Columbian experiments speaks of some criminal connection.  Could it be someone in China, eager to weaken Utopia so that they can become dominant? Or perhaps some technologist who was shut down by our tech reg division?  Could it have something to do with that side project, Grav?  I haven't found anything that can get through my resistance to drugs and chemicals, not even the nova meds cooked up by Triton, could anybody make something like this without a significant support structure? Is it a nova whose body is a factory that produces chemicals that can even affect us? I know of one such young nova in the Terragen, and I haven't ruled him out, but it seems very unlikely that he would do this to 4 fellow Terats. Especially two who have reputations for doing violent things to those who hurt those they care about."
He raked a hand through his hair, "A significant part of me would rather die than to go back to the way I was before I erupted, to being short, weak, stupid, frail and ugly. To becoming an object of pity to be held up as an Icarus-like figure held up as an example to those who rise too far above the mewling horde. That being said, I will move Heaven and Earth to get to the bottom of this, and to make sure that this abomination cannot happen again.  Hopefully we can find a cure for this, novas have found solutions for things that seemed incurable since we erupted, we're not going to start now." He paused, looked conflicted, then determined, if Tasm was willing to put all her cards on the table then who was he to hold back.  "Sol, Grav, is this room secure from eavesdropping?"

"I may be able to help with the eavesdropping."  Without further explanation, 'Tasm manifested her green, ever shifting forcefield.  It was still unnerving, but somehow less intense; only the fear in the half seen faces kept it at its requisite level of disquiet.  Walking to the wall, she produced a construct that slithered across the walls, coating it like a layer of viscous slime mold.  Faces in the mold wailed and moaned for release, some of them almost familiar.  Those in the battles could see the chained figures of past psychic foes in the thick green miasma if they peered hard enough.  "Before I close this up Grav', did you want to bring Kraken here?  With an open electronic feed we can't really be safe can we?  I can absorb any ambient radiation with this wall, or Sol could do it even better, but that would cut off the 'bot feed."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Kind of a weird stunt, but just creating a construct with psi resistance and spreading it over the entire room.  I'll push for it, and spend a will.  And pull on some of the chained psychics for this.

---

"I'm for it.  Kraken's not a bad guy."  He'd called off work on the moon.  Kraken techs had been scrambled with equipment to take care of his assignment and there'd been no repercussions.  KHI seemed to be under good management, and, after all, Kraken himself had never mocked or swindled Comstock.

Quentin nodded, "I can if he would like to be present in person for the remainder of this briefing." He'd leave personal attendence up to the other Terat. It might be that he'd already prepared for the contingency by giving the MEDBOT a set of autonomous responses in the event that he was unable to manipulate it directly. In either event, Quentin knew the bot was recording the entire event.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
If Kracken does want to come, assume Grav facilitates this without much issue

---

Wilhelm stepped through the portal with only slight nausea.  He understood intellectually that the portal was created through a simple application of de Broglie-Bohm pilot-wave theory, but he still found the experience ... unnatural.

"You needn't have worried about the MEDBOT.  Its communications links are quite thoroughly encrypted.  A necessity for FDA and EMA approval.  In all likelihood, anyone who could break the encryption either already knows and desires, for one reason or another, to keep matters quiet or has no desire to find out."

With the flick of a few switches, Wilhelm shut off the MEDBOT's remote functions and enabled its manual override.  He may have need of its medical equipment, so it would still be useful to keep around.

"If we're all in a sharing mood, I'll be needing medical records in addition to whatever research has been done.  There is no sense in reinventing the wheel, after all."

A small touchpad folded out of the MEDBOT and displayed release forms for electronic signature.  Wilhelm wasn't going to get hit with HIPAA penalties.  He figured that any tests undertaken in the past few months would have been non-invasive.  MRIs, EKGs, sonograms, and the like.  Worth looking at, but probably not containing the solution to the problem.  If the problem could've been solved with a scan and a few little, white pills it would have been thusly solved by now.  Little worth doing ever came without pain.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:22, Mon 31 Oct 2011.

"In the interest of full disclosure, when I was in chrysalis I experienced visions, some less than relevant to our discussion today, but there was a particularly vivid one, of Caroline being taken while she was under, and of them doing experiments on her, experiments so invasive that she had to chose between keeping herself alive or keeping our unborn daughter alive.  She chose the latter.  The last thing I remember from that image cascade is an old woman, i have a drawing of her here, taking baby Jenny, and saying that the drugs clearly aren't working on me.  I got the impression that she was taking Jenny as evidence that I can procreate, and that this act was what the drugs were supposed to stop.  If this human is indeed carrying out a pogrom of sterilization, and she realizes that her efforts are for naught, maybe she has upped her game to attempt to destabilize and damage our nodes." Imp was, to those who could read him, seemingly relieved that he had gotten this off his chest, and worried about what this disclosure could mean.

"Interesting.  Most probably unrelated given the discrepancy in time, but still..."

The MEDBOT had earlier deployed a whiteboard that now featured two entries in red dry-erase marker:  Node Disruption and Sterility?  The matter of procreation had quite honestly not occurred to Wilhelm with any frequency.  He knew of reports in the literature suggesting that nova birth rates were below what would be expected from demographics, but he'd always presumed there was a physical reason for the shortfall.  Certainly Wilhelm's early post-Eruption attempts in the field had been awkward affairs filled with flames and poison, both of which had a tendency to kill at least the mood if not things more biological.  He'd assumed similar factors governed the efforts of other novas.  An unwarranted bias, perhaps.  He could only anticipate the difficulties he would encounter in obtaining the data necessary to test the validity of his assumptions.  When the only tool you have is a biopsy needle...

"Any other symptoms that may not be in the medical record?  Anything else anyone can think to look into?"

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Ah, the whiteboard.  The one true sign that a nova has the Synergy enhancement.  I feel like I may start viciously belittling everyone in order to facilitate brainstorming and taking massive quantities of Vicodin at any moment.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 15:09, Mon 31 Oct 2011.

Comstock squirmed nervously, his body-language revealing everything that his rigid expression denied.  "I ... I've stopped dreaming.  The strange dreams of shapes and links.  I can't really see fields anymore, like x-rays and microwaves and radiowaves and whatever.  And I, uh, I'm having trouble with basic things.  Like math and stuff."

He really didn't seem himself.  He wasn't commanding or witty or engaging.  He seemed confused despite himself was pathetically easy to read, no more complex to puzzle out than any other baseline.  He was focusing very hard on sitting still.  But the worst was his shame at losing the meager personal accomplishments his eruption had brought him.

At the very least, his physique -- and the metal -- remained.  "I can try to let you take samples.  Like blood or ... spit or what you need."

Job done, Phantasm leaned against the wall, nervous energy preventing her from settling back down into her chair.  Comstock's revelation left her even more uneasy; this was her worst fear becoming reality right in front of her.  "What happens if we can't get this under control?  Who are we then?  Should we plan some sort of contingency, while were all... well, still here?  I mean, Grav and I at least are probably going to go all Flowers for Algernon on you guys.  I've got a 6th instar node myself, and some altered physiology... shit.  I really need to pull it together, sorry."  Words coming out in a flood, 'Tasm visibly calmed herself.

"Okay.  It looks like our abilities are going at a fairly constant rate across the board, but we're seeing it most in areas where we weren't all that exceptional.  'Stock wasn't ever a nova genius, no offense big guy, his intellect was more narrow, helping him work with chemicals and structures on an instinctual level. I wasn't ever a powerhouse, I was at the low end of agility and strength.  We've both lost those areas of our power.  I'm not thinking as fast or as clearly, but I've got more to lose there, so it isn't hitting as hard yet."

A moment of contemplation, then a meaningful look at Impetus.  They were talking recently about conspiracies and subterfuge.  How much of that did he want to reveal here?  Did he have more evidence?  How far did they want to go with their friends?

"I'm fine with more testing, but the data I handed over to Grav' has everything I've been able to figure out so far.  From everything I can tell it's reacting more like lupus or some other autoimmune disease, albeit at the quantum level.  Our patterns are fighting themselves.  But I can't actually see it happening, my senses don't go there.  Grav's do though.  And Zero's.  Man, I wish he were here right now..."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
I have Phobia: Powerlessness in case anyone was wondering.

---

Gale stayed toward the back of the room.  She wasn't looking too well lately.  Her blue hair (darker somehow) was disheveled, her skin pale and wane, her wings no longer seemed to have that lustrous quality that so entranced the baselines.  And her hair and feathers were still.  No movement to them.  She was clearly trying to compensate with her eufiber, formed into a classy suit, and if anyone thought about it, she hadn't been making any public appearances lately.  Barely keeping up with the rest of the conversation, the winged woman offered her own experiences.  "I've almost fallen out of the sky a couple times.  It's...it's almost like I've forgotten how to use my wings.  I can glide ok for a little while, but actually moving them..."  She shook her head back and forth, at a loss for an explanation.

"I'm willing to donate any samples, too.  If it was the gas, I was the one who was exposed to the poison for the longest period, while I was trying to contain it."

"Its never lupis." Solitaire commented offhandedly. Still, she was at something of a loss as to what to do. She wasn't an overly smart nova and really only had a vague idea of what everyone was talking about from a clinical standpoint. She stated as much. "So, I'm not brilliant, but it seems to me comparing symptoms won't get us much progress when they seem to be as varied as we are. It seems to me we need to approach this on two fronts. You smart people need to figure out what the hell happened, and those of us that aren't need to find out who the hell did it. Phantasm, you seem to be both, so you can pick."

She paused her drumming on the table for a moment as her mind finally got around to processing Imps last statement. It was disquieting to note it had taken a little longer than usual to do so. She didn't have the brainpower to keep multiple trains of thought running constantly, but she could switch between one or two fast enough as made no difference.

"Wait. Caroline is dead!? Did I hear that right? Experimented on and dead?! She's Pantheon, why have we not found and crushed whatever the hell this is?"

One attack was bad enough, but this was putting Solitaire close to truly pissed. Cities tended to end up rubble when Solitaire was pissed.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:06, Thu 03 Nov 2011.

"Caroline was missing?"  He paused, confused.  "You mean that Caroline that we met at the Archon, right?  Not a different one?"

"They have our daughter, whoever they are.  If we go in full force she might die.  The only known child of nova parents in the world, might die.  I cannot risk that, Sol, which is why I told almost nobody." His eyes, normally bright and cheerful were fixed on the table in front of him, staring at something only he could see.  "Also, there is the war that Santiago sees coming, could us leveling whatever facility they're holding her in be the catalyst that sends us down the road to Hell."  He exhaled, trying to let go of some of the tension. He failed.
"Yes, 'Stock, you're right, it's the same Caroline.  The one who helped me to stop thinking with my penis and grow up.  She's still with me, somehow, or she was before this poison. Her mind was with me when her body died, and some trace of her lingers on in my own quantum field.  Her voice has been growing more faint ever since the incident, and she's become completely silent now, hopefully if we can purge ourselves of this she'll still be there."  He was silent for a while, then looked up and met her gaze with a look of pure anguish and rage, "There is one thing that I would like your help with, Sol.  I know the bastard who sold her out, and I'm going to kill him with my bare hands before i get too weak to do so.  Would you back me up on this in case I fail?"

Suzukaze remained quiet during the meeting. She was certainly not one of the more brilliant nova's. There was no way she could possibly help solve the issues going on with them. She worried about what would happen. Then almost out of the blue the meeting veered off course onto the subject of Caroline and Impetus's child. She turns her focus to Impetus and breaks her silence...

"I'll go and get your daughter for you." She looks him dead in the eyes as she speaks. "I don't know what will happen with these power issues we are having. If it just leaves us powerless then I can just live a normal life with my family. If it can kill us then I'm not going to let it take me down. I want to die in the field not of some poison. Either scenario I have things I need to get done. I want to see the end of the Assassins. Also Shiro went missing. Someone took his body, and I'm not going to stop until I find him. Your daughter is more important though. Those bastards are crossing a line they should never cross. She stands up. "You promise me you won't die going after this guy, and I promise I'll get her in your hands or die trying. At the very least I can recon the place. Have Binary rig me up with any type of sensor, recorder or tracking device he can come up with. If Paul clears Utopia's tests and joins the team we'll have a reliable porter who was not exposed to the gas. If I can get as far as locating her he'll be able to get her out and too you."

Comstock giggled like a frat boy.  "You're going to get her back?  Imp can't talk his way to her, Grav can't puzzle out where she is, and Sol hasn't heard anything, but you're just gonna go get her?"  He giggled some more.  "Sounds great.  Imp, you've got nothing to worry about now."

Suzukaze turns on Comstock. "If Imp knows the guy who sold her out he can find out to who. We can find out locations. I may have not been the best teammate, but I'm one of the best at what I do. As he said we can't go in full force. I have the speed and stealth needed to either recon the place or get in and find her. You all think I'm crazy, but I'm not. I'm determined. I have the experience in situations like this. And I have the killer instinct if any of those bastards get in my way. I also said that if I fail to get her out I can locate her. Add Paul into the mix and it should be a sure thing. He can finish the job, and If things go well I'll live as well. If I fail then I at least died doing some good." She turns back to Imp. "You can trust me on this. You find out what's needed I'll have Binary work on equipment. Let me do this for you. It's probally the only thing I can."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:25, Fri 04 Nov 2011.

"Whatever you say," Comstock shrugged and recomposed his face, shaking his head.

Phantasm looked at Suzukaze as she spoke.  The woman was unstable, but she was good, and she'd been there for Phantasm in the past.  'Tasm spoke slowly, and with cautious approval of 'Kaze's intentions.  "One thing she does have going for her is connections in special places.  Her past of course, but also what she's doing now... You're working with other people right now 'Kaze, I'm almost positive, and I think they may be part of the problem we're dealing with.  And that's a potential opening for us." Phantasm didn't even bother feigning surprise at anything that had come up in this conversation.  She'd known for a while that things were odd in Utopia, from the signs of black ops activities to the fertility information that Impetus had shared with her, it all fit together in a pattern that indicated her former employers.  But there was precious little proof.

"I think some element within Utopia is responsible for our problems, or some of them at least.  I don't know if they'd go so far as to take out their own team, but the issues with fertility and with Impetus' child, I think there's only a few people that could be responsible and Utopia is high on the list.  And from simply looking at 'Kaze's behavior, hours, and interactions, I think she knows more about the hidden side of Utopia than any of us do.  The problem for me right now is proof; without it, we're just shooting in the dark even if we know the general direction to aim.  If only we had something other than circumstantial evidence regarding Utopia's involvement..." She didn't bother to fill in too many blanks for people, though if they asked she would certainly share her observations over the years that had brought her to these conclusions.  She was more interested in answers.  Hopefully someone else here had them to give.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Hopefully people are okay with this little leap of logic, but I figure this lets us potentially open up dialog on proteus, slider, and anything else that has been festering on the side.  If people want to go there of course.

---

"Thanks Sue, it means a lot to me.  Frosty hinted at some stuff, the same stuff P mentioned, and if you can carefully, very carefully do some digging that would be awesome.
Be very, very careful though.  These people know who they're dealing with, and know what will happen if they are discovered.  They will kill to keep their secrets.  More likely poison, imprison and experiment on.  Also, since they went after Car, and have our child, they knew that they would have to deal with me, and they know how easily I can pull information from people.  They would be using double, triple or quadruple blinds.  Nobody they talk to will talk to people like the Judas.  Instead it will be many times removed.
 I also find it troubling that none of us heard anything about this, or of anti-nova poisons, and we should have.  Between us we know almost every nova operating on an international scale.  Going one step further to our associates and there is almost no major player we don't have knowledge of.  How we never heard a whisper of this alarms me.  I'm guessing that if these people are as good as they appear to be, then they will have all the information that Utopia has on us.  Further, they might accidentally leak it to other anti-Utoipa or anti-nova groups, who would then try to retro engineer this substance. This could be the final answer to the nova emergency." He looked drained.  The problem with the Judas is that he's almost as slick as I am, or was.  If I give him an opening he'll spin doctor me but good.  Grav, do you have a Mad Scientist machine that can pull information from a recently deceased brain?" he finished with a slight smile and the ghost of his usual pep.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:51, Fri 04 Nov 2011.

Quentin shook his head in the negative. "Even with nova science, an awful lot about the brain is still unknown. Could such a thing be created? Probably, though it'd depend on how long the subject has been deceased and would probably require several months to research and prototype before an even marginally functional device could be constructed. I would encourage those interested to pursue such a goal, but I fear I do not have that sort of time, presently."

He seemed to slump further into his chair, "As for secret organizations and all of that - its not really my area of expertise. I will say that I don't think it is impossible for there to be hyper-cognitive novas that are capable of operating on the world-stage that are not publicly known. It took some time after my eruption for me to develop to the point that I am at, but it is not unthinkable that someone might erupt directly to such a state. Fortunately, it is also, apparently, rare. Eruptions tend to be fairly chaotic and public, but that's not universal."

"I could probably get at some of your guy's memories, but I'm not sure I want to do what's necessary to make that happen.  Oh, and I believe you about Caroline still being with you by the way, in case you were wondering."  Her reply to Impetus was quiet and matter of fact, but it hid a deep revulsion for something.  Her attention quickly shifted to Gravitas.  "You also should remember that there are probably plenty of novas who reveal less than their full potential.  Novas that aren't who they really appear to be.  After all, I've been with you guys from the beginning, and only a few of you even know who I am..."

Phantasm would be powerless soon, if predictions held.  And what strategic faculties she had remaining suggested that now would be the optimal time to reveal her secrets, while the others were sympathetic and revealing hidden information of their own.  I hope they don't hate me too much...

Phantasm said nothing else, but followed her prior statement by slowly unlocking the quantum "muscles" she held clenched at all times, allowing her appearance to slide into it's natural state.  Mousy brown hair, a pretty but plain midwestern face, a runner's body with fewer curves and thicker features.  And instead of an ambiguously aged 20ish year old woman, a girl that could only barely be 18.

Quentin kept his expression tight. He knew enough about human behavior that he'd suspected for some time than Phantasm was not what she appeared. It was interesting to note how much was the same and how much was different. The analysis would have to wait for later. "Quite so," he said, instead, "Well illustrated." His gaze flicked around the room, noting any responses the others made. Despite his slowly declining powers, his eyes remained pitch black, at least for now.

"For my part, I've certainly concealed the full extent of my capabilities from Utopia, though most of you witnessed what I'd been hiding from them in Colombia. In both cases we see the same point being made: Novas can, and will, hide things about themselves from others - even those they consider close friends." Quentin sat forward, "So this raises a number of possibilities. Someone well-known might be behind the chemical or it might be someone unheard of. While Utopia puts forth quite a bit of effort to document novas via the Rashoud Facility network, Herr Förster," he gestured briefly, "is proof-by-example that not all novas visit one. Unfortunately, at this point it seems we need information more than speculations."

Gale's expression contorted with concern as she listened to the conspiracy theories flying around her.  The others all suspected Utopia as working against the novas?  A nova sterilization program?  People killing loved ones and stealing children?  It was a lot to take in.  She knew Utopia wasn't a perfect organization; they cared too much about image and publicity for her taste.  But...Utopia had been her savior.  They'd offered her a home when she had nowhere else to go, given her a purpose.  And if she hadn't joined Team Tomorrow, she probably wouldn't even be here right now, talking with her friends.  The conversation had taken quite an awkward turn for her.  But she didn't make any noises of protest.  The others were all much more experienced, much smarter than her.  If they thought something was wrong, there must be a reason.

Phantasm's transformation caused her immediately to push off from her spot on the wall.  "Oh, P..."  She went over and sat next to Phantasm, putting an arm and a wing around her younger friend in an attempt of a comforting embrace.

In reply to Phantasm (msg #29):

Angelo put all four legs of his chair on the floor and sat up in astonishment as Phantasm's true face at last came out.  He rose and stepped to her side opposite Gale, crouched down and took her hand.

"Bonita," he said, kissing her hand softly.  Then he rose again looking from face to face, suddenly blushing and ducking his way back to his seat.  I shouldn't even be here, he thought, much less interrupting things with my schoolboy romantic gestures.

El Dragón definitely doesn't look like himself.  The shape is the same, the lines are the same, but the impression he gives off is more like the baseline soldiers who man the base than the lively nova the team has come to know.

Imp, unsurprised by Phantasm's revelation, didn't even blink.  "I'm pretty sure all of us are going to undergo some pretty radical changes, P, there's nothing to be ashamed of.  Before I erupted I was 5'6 and 140lbs dripping wet.  I was also perhaps the most tragically geeky person you had ever seen.  Will I revert to that state, or will the gross physical changes I underwent during eruption stay with me?  Will they stay with any of us?  I don't know."

Distraction, Cognitive Deficits, Generalized Neurological Defects/Elevated Intracranial Pressure?  Wilhelm continued to write, largely ignoring the talk about Caroline.  He doubted he'd be much help in matters of vengeance.  If experience was any guide, he'd only make things worse.  As he wrote, Wilhelm was developing a hypothesis.  Many of the symptoms could easily be related to the mere presence of an M-R node inside one's skull.  It really was amazing that what was basically a tumor the size of a quail egg could persist for as long as it had in these people's brains without negative effects.  There were no symptoms just a few months previously, though.  What had changed in the interim?  A new structural abnormality, something that wouldn't necessarily show up on a static MRI image?  Changes in the composition of the cerebrospinal fluid?  Whatever the change, if a chemical agent was the cause then the blood-brain barrier would present a useful limit on the range of agents that would have to be tested for.  Most bacteria, viruses, other microscopic particles, and large, hydrophilic molecules could not pass through CNS vessel endothelium.  A hormone perhaps?  No, hormones wouldn't be persistent enough.  Nanoparticles, that would do the trick.  Hexadecylcyanoacrylate nanospheres doped with the appropriate chemical agent.  The large amount of blood flow to the M-R node would cause the nanoparticles to preferentially accumulate in the node, just where they would have greatest effect.  Kraken Pharmakon was developing a number of antineoplastic drugs for the treatment of gliosarcomas that were based on a similar theory.  All in all, it would be how Wilhelm would attack the M-R node if he were of a mind to do so.  Trying to keep the jargon to a minimum, Wilhelm related this line of reasoning to the others.  This would prove a relatively easy hypothesis to test, especially since the MEDBOT had an integrated atomic force microscope.  He would need a sample, though.

"Ho, ho, ho!  Mr. Amargosa, Gale, friends.  You misunderstand.  I'm afraid I'm going to need more than just a bit of blood.  Here..."

Wilhelm handed the pair a handful of circular stickers divided into black and white quadrants.

"...affix these to your heads.  I'll need to track the movement of your skulls.  And lean back.  I've found the quickest way to one's node is the transorbital route."

Wilhelm clucked quietly to himself as he assembled a clever little leucotome-like device, a slender metal tube and plunger into which a biopsy needle was fitted, out of parts taken from a compartment in the MEDBOT's chassis.  A feeling was niggling at him.  Perhaps he was being too blasé about the idea of pounding an instrument into a man's brain?  The procedure was an outpatient one with only a very limited possibility of adverse reactions so there was no reason anyone should object, but he still thought they might.  These feelings had been coming more frequently lately.  Wilhelm didn't know if he was increasingly viewing people simply as tools and data points or if he'd always done so and had just started caring about it recently.  Shaking his head, he forced down these misgivings.  He was here to provide results not introspection.

"Information not speculation, yes?  If I find what I'm looking for we should have precisely that.  Aum Shinrikyo made Sarin in plastic sacks on an Australian sheep ranch, anthrax makes more of itself if presented with nothing more than a flask of warm nutrient broth, but nanoparticles, nanoparticles require specialized equipment to synthesize.  Equipment that can be traced.  So, are we all ready for some science?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:37, Sun 06 Nov 2011.

Comstock winced at the needle.  "Yeah ... that's probably not happening with that little thing."  There was no way he would keep calm enough, and there was no way the little needle had the oomph to pierce to where it needed.  "And electrodes get all funny on me."

"A question, Kraken, how many biopses have you done on novas?  Not that i don't trust your skills, but, well, i'm a little hesitant to getting a needle poked into something important."

"That's why I've got this."

Opening up a different drawer on the MEDBOT, Wilhelm withdrew a sterile, medical-grade hammer still in its plastic wrapping.  Turning again to the leucotome, Wilhelm demonstrated how it worked.  He pushed down on the device's plunger and a grooved needle slid out of the metal shaft.  Pushing down on the plunger still further, an annular blade slid out to sever the material trapped in the needle's grooves.

"So, you see, the shaft does most of the cutting, not the needle, and it's faced with sintered, yttria-stabilized zirconia.  That can hold a far sharper edge than any steel.  And those discs aren't electrodes, just stickers.  The MEDBOT's surgical suite tracks everything visually."

Wilhelm removed the basic biopsy attachment from one of the MEDBOT's arms and installed the leucotome in its place.  He socketed the hammer into one of the MEDBOT's other arms.  Depressing a button on the bot's side, three small cameras snaked out on fiber-optic leads.  Wilhelm held one of the stickers out in front of the cameras and shook it from side to side.  The leucotome tracked the motion exactly.  Turning to Impetus, Wilhelm continued.

"There's a first time for everything.  Mazarin and Rashoud used this method when they initially characterized the node, though, and they didn't report any more adverse reactions than is the normal in baselines with this procedure despite having more primitive equipment."

Wilhelm looked down on the bot with the pride of a new father, though his featureless plastic exterior obviously displayed nothing.  Maybe he should start naming the bots instead of just designating them.  They seemed more human than humans some days.  Beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all of the virtues of man with none of his vices.

"Much more primitive equipment.  The needle only takes a minute tissue sample, after all, and the tissue in this case is glandular, not white matter or gray matter."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:42, Sun 06 Nov 2011.

Apparently unconvinced and less than enthusiastic about the teflon man and his robot trying to poke at his brain with needles, Comstock demurred again.  "Try someone else first.  If you break the thing trying to get something out of my head, I don't want everyone angry at me."  He knocked on his own head for emphasis.

"Alright, use me as your first subject, it's either my node stops working, for who knows how long, or we get this sorted out."

“I’ve also had some major power fluctuations; occasionally my fire has no juice at all, or just smoke.  The first time it happened, I was unconscious for the rest of the day, but at the time I just thought I was tired. The healing has been a bit more stable, but I’ve had to make several attempts to use it at times.”

She shifted nervously in her seat, and seemed content to hide in her hoodie.  Her personality at least was much closer to being Sara Childe, than the nova she had become.

“Do you…do you think this could end up being permanent?”

Flare made sure to keep her voice even.  She’d never wish the loss of their powers on any of her friends, but she had a very different reaction to the lessening of her most potent ability.  She’d had an idea of what she wanted out of life before her eruption and while being Flare had been an amazing experience; she had felt elation mixed with fear when a fireball of hers had spluttered out.  Without her powers, she didn’t feel terrified, or pathetic, or even scared anymore.  If she was being honest, she wanted the life she was living before, even more now that she could look at it objectively.

“You can sign me up to go after Imp, I’ll do whatever I can to help everyone get their powers back.” She could help but send what she hoped was a supportive grin to the nova as well, “I’ll also do anything that might help get your daughter back.”

She thought about holding back, but as much as she might desire a return to her previous life, she’d never hold back on helping her friends, nor be less than forthcoming when even Phantasm had revealed herself.

“Kraken, I don’t think I’ve been having quite as trouble as some of the others.  This might just be that I’m less powerful than they are, but it might also be that healing is one of my major abilities.  If we’re looking for a cure, that healing might be able to help.”  Her smile was clearly nervous, the last time people, Utopia, had prodded her, she was gifted with chronic screaming night terrors.  She wasn’t too keen to let Kraken and his state-of-the-art can opener have a crack at her.

Quentin made a face. "I'll have to excuse myself from a procedure for the moment. My brain structure is not well-suited to node-biopsy given its distributed nature. I'm also not keen on discovering what other sorts of side effects might come from extra pressure on the various bits in my head."

He turned to Flare to address her question, "If the data points we have so far extend to the rest of us, there is some sort of permanent damage, though the extent is as yet unknown. The also assumes no intervention on our part. The total power loss aspect of it does not seem to be permanent."

"Whatever you think best."

If everyone here (aside from himself, of course) had been exposed to the gas, Wilhelm didn't care who was his subject.  Impetus would probably do quite nicely.  If he couldn't obtain results from the first sample he might turn to those more intimately exposed to the gas, but a lack of complaints was enough qualifications for the first try.  Instructing Impetus to lie back and relax, Wilhelm affixed the tracking stickers to his head, activated the force-feedback control system in his suit, and made sure that the MEDBOT was properly tracking the slight movements of Impetus' head.  It simply wouldn't do for unexpected head motion to scramble brain tissue, after all.  Wilhelm considered synthesizing a bit of cocaine hydrochloride in the tissues surrounding Impetus' eye for anesthetic and vasoconstrictive purposes, but thought that Impetus would likely prove resistant to the drug's effects.  The nova would just have to grin and bear it.  Everything checking out with the machines, Wilhelm began.  First selecting one of the bot's fine grasping arms, Wilhelm maneuvered it into position and retracted Impetus's upper eyelid.  Locking the grasping arm into position, Wilhelm switched to the leucotome arm and slid the instrument under the eyelid and behind the eye alongside the nose.  Pausing for a moment, he brought out the MEDBOT's fluoroscope to check the angle on the instrument and made a few slight adjustments.  A quick tap of the hammer and the leucotome was through the thin bone behind the eye and locked out.  The plunger was depressed and the biopsy needle went in with more of a sensation of pressure than of pain.  After only around five minutes all the instruments were out.

"There may be some bruising, but seeing as you are a nova I doubt it will last long."

"THERE NOW.  THAT WASN'T SO BAD, WAS IT?"

Following immutable preprogrammed routines, the MEDBOT dispensed an orange lollipop.  It's voice could probably use to be a bit less mechanical.  A bit less horrifying while it was at it, too.  Reshaping his graspers for better fine manipulation, Wilhelm removed the sample from the biopsy needle, carefully sectioned it into paper-thin slices with a scalpel, and inserted one of the slices into the atomic force microscope.  While the microscope scanned the sample, Wilhelm turned the bot's monitor around so that everyone could see and brought up a reference image of M-R node tissue from the literature.

"Now if there's nothing wrong with your node tissue then we should only see the noodly structure of M-R coils in the sample, like in the image on the left.  If you've been exposed to nanoparticles the M-R coils should be accompanied by a fine snow of particles.  The particles will be much smaller than the coil cells, only 80 nanometers or so in diameter, perhaps one tenth the diameter of a red blood cell.  If we zoom in close enough they should look like truncated icosahedrons.  Ah, it's done scanning.  Let's see what we've got here."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
I'll be getting six extra dice on every medicine check for this diagnosis thanks to Medical Prodigy.  10 successes on the present roll.

00:25, Today: Hell Kraken rolled 1 success using 3d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 9,4,4. Imp Medicine, Mega Dice.
00:24, Today: Hell Kraken rolled 8 successes using 13d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 6,7,9,10,7,9,5,10,4,10,6,2,10. Imp Medicine, Regular Dice.
00:22, Today: Hell Kraken rolled 1 success using 3d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 7,6,2. MEGA INT, Medical Prodigy.
00:21, Today: Hell Kraken rolled 4 successes using 5d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 9,7,8,1,7. INT, Medical Prodigy (Correct # of Dice).

---

This message was last edited by the player at 07:29, Thu 10 Nov 2011.

Imp hadn't really felt any pain during the operation, thank goodness his nova physiology hadn't given up the ghost, but it had been most unsettling.  Very difficult to lie still for, and it would probably be quite some time before biting into an apple didn't remind him of the faintly juicy crunch of the needle going through his skull.  He took the proffered sucker and lay back, letting the sensation rippling out from his eye, and the strange oscillations of his quantum abilities to settle before sitting up.  He sucked pensively on the sucker and wondered how Kraken had known that his favorite flavor was orange. He looked at the screens, he may not have some of the others raw knowledge in medicine, or their brain power, but he was no slouch in either area.  This should prove illuminating.

All of those present are privy to interesting facts regarding the situation.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Most of you have an individual blurb below.  Read it, share what you like, keep whatever you don't want to share private.

---

[Private to Hell Kraken: Kraken. The initial analysis shows slightly elevated numbers of farahcytes within the M-R node.  While there is variance in node structure and composition, the number of farahcytes present represent a 5% increase over even the high end of expected farahcytes.  Analysis also indicates the presence of leukocytes; while not generally able to pass the blood brain barrier, these cells are able to cross in small quantity in limited circumstances, and are seen at much higher levels in cases of neuropathological disorders like multiple sclerosis or retroviral infection.  http://www.jleukbio.org/content/56/3/407.abstract

While a difficult and requiring advanced testing procedures, these findings should have been readily available for any of the utopia teams working on the problem.  Oddly, there is no mention of the presence of leukocytes in the data available.   Is data being repressed?

Finally, on a whim, you cary out a chemical analysis using your molecular abilities.  The results were... odd.  After a 5 separate attempts to isolate the problem, you find that roughly 3-5% of the farahcytes present have altered genetic structures, and are composed of slightly different materials, some of which are common to eufiber.  Structurally these cells are nearly identical, but they provide different levels of quantum conductivity, and may be responsible for the presence of leukocytes; the body is detecting foreign agents in the M-R node, though the immune system is having trouble differentiating between the native and foreign cells.  These cells wouldn't necessarily be detected under routine scans since they are nearly identical, and the structure/composition lead them to naturally partially attune to the novas physiology and quantum pattern.  Not completely, but enough to throw off tests.

The disruption is likely the result of several issues: 1) altered quantum conductivity and disruption of node pattern due to increased farahcytes and altered farahcyte composition; 2) the presence of leukosytes throwing off M-R node function and quantum conductivity; and 3) leukocytes attacking farahcytes within the M-R node and disrupting normal node functioning.

Edit: It is unclear whether the altered farahcytes are actually foreign, or some sort of mutation that is replacing the regular cells.  If it is the later, then it could replace the pre-existing farahcytes and allow for the quantum pattern to re-stabilize, albeit at a lower level of efficiency.

Sharing this information in full with the other hyper intelligent novas might provide further insights.  Not sharing it... could be of benefit to the teragen, and provide a weapon against Utopia.  And it could bump up Kraken's standings within the organization; some pantheon members aren't too keen on Grav, Sol and Imp, and would be more than happy to see them crippled.]
--
[Private to Suzukaze: Suzukaze.  You know that there is an organization within Utopia that handles the nasty stuff that Utopia can't do publicly.  You work for them, and by this point have been on multiple missions for them.  You also know that one of the opperatives at least, your initial contact, is a former T2M:A member (Logan) that was supposedly killed in the EQ wars.  All operatives of this organization are under orders to apprehend the former T2M agent Slider for further questioning.  Finally, a few of your missions have utilized your impeccable stealth skills to act against even T2Mers, removing evidence of your organization and working with telepaths like Freak to remove memories of certain events.]
--
[Private to Flare:
Flare, you've had nightmares about your time with at the Utopia facility for years now, dreams that they've done things to your mind.]
--
[Private to Impetus: Impetus, your research on nova infertility obtained from devries shows nova gametes are genetically dissimilar to the rest of the nova’sbody (with the potential to eventually become cancerous), and for this reason are quickly destroyed by the nova’s own leukocytes.  This is not telling in and of itself, but might have some relevance to the current situation.]

--

[Private to Solitaire: Solitaire.  Your contact with Slider left you in possession of damning data regarding the process by which novas are sterilized at Rashoud facilities when they first errupt.  This process involves the use of two retroviruses.  The retroviruses were designed so that they would specifically target and infect all the cells of a nova’s gonads within thirty minutes after exposure. Once there, the retroviruses attack two different targets in the nova’s DNA, both of which are involved in the genetic basis for nova capabilities. The first retrovirus directly attacks any and all existing gametes, altering the targeted DNA so that they carry what amounts to an encrypted genetic sequence. The second retrovirus alters the cells that produce gametes, ensuring that any gametes produced in the future will also carry the encrypted genetic sequence. Their dirty work accomplished, the viruses are then quickly eliminated from the nova’s system.

Further, the overheard conversation at the scene of the crime suggests a few things.  First, he had no reason to believe he was being observed, only someone of your perceptive abilities could have done so.  Second, he seemed to have a grudge against the Utopians, though he might also have been saying things to maintain influence over his brainwashed soldier.

Finally, your interaction with Slider, and her accusations that Corbin was assassinated, might be of interest to those present.  Though how far you want to go in revealing your contact with her and the reasons behind it is of course up to you.]

--

[Private to Gravitas: Gravitas, Phantasm.  Data collected from the scene of the crime, and from observing Utopia's response both internally and externally, does not provide sufficient evidence that this is a Utopian operation.  It may be involved, may be working with others, or uninvolved.  If the others reveal sufficient info about the sterility cocktail, you can eliminate "uninvolved", but they may still only be a tangential player.  Someone with your level of abilities could have discovered the sterility process, and then proceeded to used it for nefarious puruposes.  Or Shadow Utopia could be eliminating the world's most powerful novas.  More info is required.

Gravitas, your hyper-intelligence forces you to admit that you might have been the victim of telepathic tampering in the past.]

--

[Private to Comstock: Comstock.  In retrospect, I guess you're the one that really ended up going all "flower's for algernon" as opposed to Grav and 'Tasm.  That said, you do realize a few things: 1) your chemical senses, while you still had them, did detect something odd about the gas; 2) now that you are trying to remember it, the oddity was organic; 3) you have little holes in your memory that are only apparent because of the constant reminders coming from your friends.  Impetus' commentary on Caroline brings up a shadowed memory of being asked to go into a hostile environment to retrieve a shimmering coccoon, before the memory is repressed.  Mention of a shadow organization within Utopia brings memories of an argument with the director prior to Columbia regarding weak spots in the attack strategy that were painfully obvious; his reply, "we have people taking care of that, focus on your direct assault" was for some reason absent from your mind until now.  There were other incidents, numerous but fleeting.  Actually, you even remember having remembered before, and wishing you'd written some of it down, before forgetting again.]

--

[Private to El Dragon: Dragon.  Your mission, to provide the US with intelligence on Utopia, is the result of a deep mistrust for the organization within the US government.  That said, you aren't paranoid if they're really out to get you.  All this talk of shadow organizations is of fantastic interest to your superiors.]

--

[Private to Gale: Gale.  I don't have anything to say to you about this stuff.  But as an aside, Prodigal has continued to make overtures to you, and has offered further information regarding the "Utopian New World Order" for your perusal, on the condition that you come to see him at the church's headquarters.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:47, Fri 11 Nov 2011.

"Jeez, you could at least buy him a drink before you go sticking things in." Solitaire said, making a joke out of a operation that frankly creeped her out. She'd never liked medical stuff, all the poking and prodding and people smarter than she was mucking about inside people. She could rip a man in half without batting an eyelid, but needles... *Shiver*

"Still, this isn't the first time I've heard about weird stuff and Utopian Black Ops. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her right hand. "I don't think its related to out current concern. Whoever gassed us seemed to have a real grudge against Utopia. Then again, Slider is convinced it was Utopia that assassinated Corbin, and is now after her. She passed some interesting stuff my way, not that I have have any idea what it all means. I just don't think we should either fixate or ignore any players in this matter.

"Hmm.  No nanoparticles."

Wilhelm twisted a few knobs and scanned the image back and forth.

"But this could be just as useful.  You see this farahcyte?"

Wilhelm took a screenshot of the noodly cell before scanning to another.  The atomic force microscope produced a three dimensional image, albeit with a very shallow field of view, so Wilhelm could rotate the image and bring the second farahcyte into the same orientation as the first.  The first cell was distinctly more fibrous.

"Unless I miss my guess, I would say that that cell is partially made of eufiber.  Something very much like it at least.  Definitely not natural.  That would explain the node disruption as well as the inability of your immune system to successfully attack these cells.  These couldn't have passed through the blood-brain barrier, though.  They would have had to be synthesized on site.  A retrovirus perhaps?  I will need a more concentrated sample to run some tests."

Sticking another thin section of the sample under the MEDBOT's optical microscope, a lower resolution instrument than the atomic force microscope but capable of viewing in real-time, Wilhelm started sorting cells with optical tweezers.  Regardless of the fact that he was head down in the microscope hood and his attention was somewhat divided, he continued to converse without apparent difficulty, occasionally gesturing at the monitor to make a point.

"I do not think that it would be a bad idea for all of you to start taking antiretroviral medications immediately.  I cannot discount the possibility that whatever caused this has been engineered for resistance to the most common drugs, though.  What you should do is go up to Minneapolis and talk to Dr. Robert Vince at U of M and then go to Chicago and talk to Dr. Arun Ghosh at UIC.  They're both working on some interesting and novel antiretrovirals:  portmanteau inhibitors, protease inhibitors, etc.  I should know, I've spent enough money on it already.  Tell them Kraken sent you.  Oh, and if your skin falls off after you start taking whatever they give you, tell me immediately.  It could be important."

Scraping a portion of microscope slide contents to one side, Wilhelm carefully deposited it in a small vial.  He held the vial up to the light and shook it.  There wasn't much material, but it would probably be enough for a few tests.

"As far as who produced this, the list of candidates is rather short.  Someone like Anibál Buendia could probably just excrete the required materials.  Lacking such a nova, you'd probably need a lab capable of artificial gene synthesis.  There aren't many suitable labs around.  I know the J. Craig Venter Institute in Rockville, Maryland has one.  Maybe VECTOR State in Koltsovo, Porton Down, and Fort Detrick.  Vozrozhdeniya, though that was supposed to be abandoned in 1992.  There might be a few others.  If the active agent is a retrovirus, production could be somewhat easier, though the number of suitable facilities is still limited.  Any polio vaccine plant or the like would be adequate to the task.  Something to look into, I suppose.  Something else occurs to me.  Are any of you resistant to eufiber?  I know my biochemistry reacts explosively to the material.  It would be interesting to see if there are any differences in the progress of this disorder between someone resistant to eufiber and someone who can make use of it."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:27, Fri 11 Nov 2011.

"I've never had any luck with eufiber," Quentin put in. "It always dies not long after I attune to it. I've always suspected it was due to the power leakage from my quantum signature; I can't entirely contain it myself, so the eufiber itself fails to as well, and also dies in the attempt."

He sighed heavily. "I'm also forced to admit for the sake of transparency that I am capable of engineering this sort of thing. I wouldn't, normally, and I'd certainly not infect myself with it - but I could," he admitted. "That means that it is possible, though unlikely, that I could have been the subject of telepathic tampering. I'm normally pretty resistant to telepathy - I assume my unusual neural structure has something to do with it, but so does my enhanced memory. I'd notice any gaps unless they were filled in quite carefully and in great detail. Nevertheless, the possibility exists."

Comstock slapped Impetus on the shoulder, a gesture awkwardly between reassuring and jockish.

But as the conversation further transpired, he shuddered and turned grim again.  "I ... do ... okay, so, can any of you crawl around my head?  I got a bad feeling.  Like ... like we have a problem."  He struggled to remember more.  "Like, I used to be able to ask Zero but it bugged out and disappeared.  I always tried to keep sharp, you know, just do like P showed me to do.  Ssshit," he muttered.  "uh, Kraken, the uh ... the gas when I tasted it back in New York it had a kind of ... I don't know, organic?  Like an organic taste.  Not like a meth lab or a hospital but more like a ... I don't know, like a ... "

Gale winced as she watched Kraken perform the procedure on Impetus.  She was regretting now that she had volunteered for the procedure.  Definitely not looking forward to that.  "Kraken, if you're going to take a sample from me, you better do it quick before I change my mind."

Turning back to the conspiracy conversation, she made a mental note to try and find some things out for herself.  Later.  "You've seen Slider?  Is she ok?"

Gravitatas’ confession sparked a similar thought in her own mind.

“Grav, I think you might have hit on how this came about, though I wonder if there was more than one reason that this problem is only affecting members of T2M.”
She gave a heavy sigh and pushed her hair out of her face before launching into her conspiracy theory.

 “I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I was recruited for Utopia I, well, I think they did something.  I have flashes of experiments, or observations or something, and they still wake me up screaming in the night.  At first I thought it was just the experience of erupting, but now I’m almost certain that Utopia did something.  Actually, I’m not sure that they still aren’t doing something. “

Flare shifts in her seat a bit, nervous of sounding foolish, or even crazy.  “I think they might have started the problems we’re having long ago, perhaps to keep up in line.  Maybe the gas just kind of activated it.”

She can’t repress a self-depreciating smile, “Though I’m nowhere near as mentally apt as Grav, I am fairly resistant to mental things, so if we are tampered with either someone very powerful did it, or my mental shielding is a reaction to their tampering. I know it might sound a bit out there, and I really hope I'm being paranoid but we, well mostly you guys," gesturing at the more powerful of the group, "are each a major threat on your own, and several of you left Utopia to follow your own agendas recently.  Its not impossible that Utopia had a contingency plan for dealing with novas that decide to leave."

This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Tue 15 Nov 2011.

"Slider is, well, alive, I guess. Good, considering her circumstances I suppose. Frightened and paranoid, but she was never a heavy hitter." Solitaire said, answering Gale. "Still, she's difficult to pin down, and knows how to call me if she needs to. I think she'll be all right until we get this shit sorted out."

"Anyway, it would be crazy for Utopia to be behind whatever this is. Or at least Utopia proper. If they had a weapon like this, they'd have used it on the Teragen ages ago and saved themselves the headache, not their own forces." Utopia was many things in Solitaire's considered opinion, but stupid was not one of them. Shortsighted, and with the wrong kind of vision yes, but not stupid. "Not to say we shouldn't investigate, but everyone is fixating on it. That's a mistake. What we should do is start with what we have. Those Colombians, somebody paid them and outfitted them. Anyone have the ability to hack the net to pieces to find the trail? Give me something to go on and I'll rip whatever organization did this apart."

Comstock was clearly interested in anything said about Slider, but wasn't making any comment on it yet.

"I know a few guys who could do the OpNet hacking thing.  But I don't know if we should be, like, bringing in that many outside people.  I'm not even sure some of us should be here."  He wasn't explicit, but he didn't have nova subtlety anymore.  Or even patience.  He didn't like Suzukaze, and he wasn't sure about El Dragón either.

"I've also got some people I can talk to about running down labs able to do this, although I don't know how much information I want to give them.  I also have to admit the possibility that someone took control of me to orchestrate this, I definitely remember this party being my own idea, but I'm pretty sure that many of the people I convince to do things feel the same.  I don't have any weird blank periods, or incidents like waking up in a strange place or with different clothes, so it's probably pretty unlikely.  Probably."  He sucked on his candy.  "Flare, I had no idea about those things happening to you.  After we finish hashing this out, let's have  a sit-down, ok?"

“Sure Imp, thanks.  I would have brought it up before, but well…” She squirmed a bit, clearly embarrassed.   She was Flare, fireball of T2M:A, she was supposed to save victims.  Not be one.

She cleared her thoughts, shame wouldn’t help this situation.  “I don’t know if I’d be much help for science or computer tracking, I think I'll see if I can find out what the police found out, if anything.  Sol, I think you’re right; we shouldn’t focus on Utopia when there are other possible culprits.”

It was comforting to see Gale's sympathy, and the other's acceptance.  Even Angelo was kind.  She had expected that response, but there was always the possibility that things could go wrong, some unexpected variable could throw everything off.  Especially now that her mental faculties were deteriorating.

Phantasm gave Gale a quick hug with one arm, and squeezed Angelo's hand with the other, then stood up.

"Alright everyone.  I'm sure we've got quite a bit of personal catching up to do; the things that have been revealed here are pretty big bombshells all on their own.  We need to set aside time to stay in contact, discuss some of this.

And we need to trust each other, we're all we've got right now.  'Stock, I know you and 'Kaze have problems, but she's always been loyal to us.  I don't much trust Kraken, but Sol, Imp, and Grav all thought he was safe.  Some of us may be tempted not to trust one another, most of us have revealed very... personal things that we've been holding back, but the fact we brought them up in the first place says a lot.  And we have to trust ourselves, even as our powers decay; indecision and second guessing will get us killed."

A short pause, then a steely look at everyone in the room.  "We've got new missions.  The top of the list is figuring out what's wrong with us, and how this happened.  But after that, well, the things utopia has done don't add up; we need  to address the problems there.  We need to get Imp's child back.  We need to deal with Nova sterility.

And I think we need to bring Slider back in.  She knows things, her abilities are both useful and not subject to this deterioration, and she's one of us.

Now, the question is, where do we start?  My analysis indicates..."

Phantasm continues for several minutes laying out her thoughts on the situation, and synthesis of the information revealed.  She agrees that working in two teams is worthwhile, with one to deal with scientific information (and ferret out such info from various sources) and another to deal with hunting down the cause of all of this.  She details her thoughts on how to go about both objectives, and then cedes the floor to the rest of those gathered, suggesting that they their insight.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
mega-atts trump this writers paltry mind.  P' rolls mega-int to say useful things.  I figure we can get some sort of group roll going.  I'll go with analyze weakness, we can get some science progigy, and if anyone has it, Tactical Genius.  Then get a direction and run off to start doing things, maybe talk about these revelations with our teammates in the process?

An.Weakness: 4 successes 5,9,5,4,7,6,9.
4 successes 1,8,5,8,1,1,4,1,5,9,6.
4 successes on a raw int roll to determine where the paths of least resistance are for us to exploit in this situation.

---

Gale remained quiet through the remainder of the conversation.  She would listen to the others, and do anything they asked of her.  After all, they were her friends, her teammates.  And Utopia, for all that it was her home, was just an organization.

Before anyone could think the better of it, Wilhelm completed the sample gathering on everyone else who'd offered.  He didn't go through the same analysis procedure with these samples as he had with the first.  He assumed the results would be manifestly the same and thus less immediately interesting.  Besides, he had access to more advanced equipment off-site.

"I'm afraid my expertise does not extend to matters telepathic.  Oh, I know the basics, but anyone with a college degree in physics can give you that.  It's much the same with the Opnet side of things.  I'm afraid my interests lie more in preventing people from penetrating my networks than the opposite.  I must, therefore, confine myself to matters biological.  Before I do, though, I will say this.  I would not expect those Colombians, as you called them, to know anything."

These novas obviously had very little experience with industry.  When contemplating something legally ... questionable, one never actually told one's minions anything.  Preferably one never even got within a few kilometers of the minions.  Minions got nicked.  Minions couldn't keep their mouths shut.  No, if the responsible parties had been so amateurish as to give the hired help anything beyond a bank account number where payment could be found and the bare minimum of instructions then they'd have been too amateurish to pull off the operation undertaken.

"If you want to eventually find someone to run down I am afraid you will most likely have to content yourselves with the physical evidence for now.  Accordingly, I will need to take these samples to a more complete lab to do a full analysis.  I will leave the MEDBOT here.  While I'm gone, you may wish to have the MEDBOT perform a full physical on each of you.  I've noticed some discrepancies in your charts.  The changes in node composition that I noted, or rather the immune response to these changes, should have produced a very distinct signal in CSF and blood tests:  oligoclonal bands in the cerebrospinal fluid, none in the blood.  Your records indicate that the required protein electrophoresis tests were run, but no bands were recorded.  Very sloppy that.  Who knows what else they missed.  Anyway, if you'd be so kind."

Wilhelm waited around for a portal out of the base and listened.  He was eager to start producing results instead of debating methods, but he was more than willing to postpone his departure if something groundbreaking came up in the next few minutes.  With all this talk of sterility, Wilhelm was also planning out an experiment to solve the fertility question.  He'd need to locate a corrosion-resistant catheter, an XG-sized cylinder of argon gas, and some zona-free hamster ova by tonight.  He'd have to search all his desk drawers.  Let it not be said he wasn't willing to suffer for science.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:38, Mon 21 Nov 2011.

"I read you loud and clear, sir," Angelo said to Comstock, then rose to his feet and spoke up so everyone could hear him.  "Since everyone else is emptying their rucks on the table, I'll empty mine."  Then he added, "not that there's much in it."

His heart was pounding as he shifted from foot to foot with his hands shoved into the pockets of his fatigues.  What am I doing? he thought.  I took an oath!  Can I really stand up here and betray that?

You took an oath to support and defend the Constitution, came the voice of his Tia Carmen over his shoulder, as it so often had during the troubled years of his childhood, against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

Is that it then?  Has the U.S. military become an enemy?  He thought about that as he looked over the faces of those around the room, coming finally to Comstock's hard, expectant eyes.  No, he decided, but these people were standing up to protect that which he had sworn to protect.  To expose their current weakness to his superiors in Washington would be a most fundamental violation of his oath.  Though he was thinking his superiors would hardly see it that way.

Realizing he had been standing and staring for several seconds, Angelo cleared his throat.  "When I was assigned here, I was given two missions.  The first was printed on my orders: essentially to be the official Liaison between the U.S. Army and Project Utopia and to act as a full member of Team Tomorrow: Americas; the second was given to me in the corner of a conference room, kinda like this one.  And it was given to me so slyly that It was a month before I even realized they were orders.  I was supposed to watch you and report back anything 'unusual'."  He tipped his head down to stare at the toes of his boots for a moment before he added, "If any of you are surprised that I was given this secondary...mission...you need to take Professor Bharati's Political Science again."

He paused, pulling his hands out of his pockets and resting his fingertips on the table.  After scanning everyone's face again, he said, "I'm sure that the Army would be very interested to learn about our condition...but they're not going to hear it from me.  To set your minds further at rest, I'll give you a reason why that comes strictly from logic:   I took an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States.  If the military 'Establishment' were to learn of this, even if they didn't isolate the cause, there would be enormous pressure to take advantage of Utopia's temporary weakness to effect a shift in the balance of power.  Pressure to attack an organization we signed a treaty of mutual cooperation with.  Others would rightly feel that such an action would be a violation of our national honor.  Those advocating 'action' would whip up fear among the masses (all too easy to do these days) and there would strife and division in this country.

"No," he said again, "they won't hear it from me."  He took a step back from the table and crossed his arms.  "Here's the bottom line.  Unless I hear of something that is a threat to the national security of my country, I will consider everything I see, hear, and do as a member of T2M:A to be covered by the Security Non-Disclosure Agreement I signed as I was processed in.  And according to the laws that govern such things, no one outside this chain of command can order me to reveal any classified information...not even the Commander-in-Chief, himself."

"Now, if that doesn't satisfy everyone, or if I'm liable to hear something that could be deemed a threat to the United States, I'll leave now and we can discuss my continued status at a later time."  Then turning to Impetus, he said, "If you're agreeable, perhaps a silent vote could be taken? (I can't leave this sealed room, but I can stand in the corner with my eyes covered)  The question being whether they will trust me."

Imp smiled, "I have no problem with you being here, Angelo, if I had figured you couldn't be trusted you wouldn't have gotten the invite.  Also, it is impossible for us to expect others to trust us unless we allow ourselves to trust them. You've always been as straight forward with me as you could, and I think you've read the situation rightly." He paused, looked pensive, "Sometimes I wonder if the world would be a better place with one of our kin at the helm of a world power, the question is who, and what country.  And would it make the world safer for ourselves and our future." He shook his head, then focused on P.  "I'll talk to Anna DeVries, see if any of her on site scientists have heard anything about this, or if any of her operatives have encountered anything similar.  They must have field tested this prior to hitting us."

Comstock had been vacillating on saying something.  He wanted someone to just go through his head.  That wasn't an option.

Dragón's forthright honesty was the last straw, shaming him into coming clean.

"Alright man.  You're alright by me."  He slapped DeVarga on the shoulder, then took a deep breath and paced a few steps.  "Okay.  I'm not really sure.  I think ... I think I know why my brain has kept locking down so hard over the years."

The alarm and confusion on his face was obvious.  "Guys ... I think I took Caroline into custody."

He kept his voice level, trying hard to put together half-thoughts and shadowy impressions.  "I need a telepath to try and get in here.  Because I think they asked me to do things and then wiped my memory of those events.  I'm remembering two different days on the same day and everything you guys are saying ... one memory seems more real, and one meshes with what all of you are saying."  He quizzed people on details for a few minutes, mostly events from just after Colombia.  A few events dating all the way back to the Equatorial Wars.  Talk of a secret department or a shadowy organization led him to think of an internal security officer that had reviewed tactics and strategy with him on a regular basis.  He thought he recalled times when they'd persuaded him to follow more risky strategies, things that put his people in greater danger.  "... and then there was this, this ... this shimmering cocoon thing."  He spared a look at Impetus and Solitaire.  "Look I didn't know what chrysalis was back then, I figured it was some weird nova-tech animal or a new eruption with like butterfly powers or something.  I didn't even remember this until just now!"

"They asked me to head in, set up some equipment, make sure it was safe and then bring the cocoon out.  I ... I think I handed it off and then I ... no, I took it to a truck with a containment unit, like a military ambulance.  And then I rode back with them and talked to ... to someone.  Ah damnit!"  He clenched his fists a little too hard.  Droplets of quicksilver and crimson dripped to the floor, then lethargically seeped back toward Comstock's feet.  "I went to the truck and then I rode back with them and then I talked with another nova and then ..."

He turned back toward the teragen members.  Aggressively.  Since he was expecting a fight, some anger and backlash, his frustration was helping him find one.  "Look, my head's not what it used to be, alright!  And I'm trying not to lock down here because I'm not sure how much of that is the metal and how much of that is like some brainwashing or whatever, okay?  I didn't goddamn know."

Here's where we get to see what the teragen are really made of...  Phantasm held a neutral calm, but inside she was prepared to move the instant anyone went after Comstock. Of everyone at the meeting, he'd been there for her the most, and she wasn't about to let anyone hurt him.  Odds are it wouldn't come to that, but if it did... Well, she was ready to lay Impetus out before he even had a chance to use that pretty voice of his.

Quentin felt a migraine coming on. He wasn't sure how much of it was his node pressing against the rest of his gray matter and how much was the situation in the room. Probably more the former than the later, if he was totally honest with himself (which seemed to be the prevailing theme of the meeting). He resisted the urge to thoughtfully scratch at his chin with his right hand - the motion would be incredibly awkward with his cybernetic fingers acting up.

Nonetheless, the skin around his flat, black eyes tightened. "As someone who may also have been the victim of telepathic tampering, I find I cannot blame you for your role in Caroline's abduction - if that's really what happened." The fact that he chose to use the word 'abduction' said much all on its own. "If you were mentally tampered with, I should very much like to find a telepath we can all trust - preferably one capable of negotiating your mind and mine, and perhaps Flare's - to confirm your testimony and attempt to retrieve the lost details and to see whether or not our memories has been tampered with." That was a fairly tall order, he knew. Not many people trusted telepaths if they knew what they were.

"In any event, I wish to know where she was taken. If she is still there, we should retrieve her, regardless of her current... state." He knew Impetus believed her to be dead. That may well be the case, but even if true, he didn't want Utopia or, really, anyone else getting their hands on a chrysalis-bound nova body. "It is likely that the child would be in the same place, if it exists as believed," he added. Such a child was one in, well, six billion; Quentin found that its life was rapidly rising on his priority list as he considered what it represented.

How much of this was connected? If there were a telepath that had tampered with the memories of several of the individuals present, that might neatly tie everything together. But there was still the possibility that the condition afflicting then, Caroline's abduction, and the nebulous nova sterility issue were all independent events. Quentin needed more data, and he needed it soon.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:37, Tue 22 Nov 2011.

Imp was perfectly still.  Not still like a mime, or still like a cat stalking a bird, they had involuntary muscle contractions, trembled slightly, breathed.  He did none of those, he was, for all intents and purposes, a statue made of flesh and bone.  His mind raced, recalled its former processing power, then threatened to shut down.  After what felt like an eternity his vision came back, strange that he had never noticed that it was gone.  He looked up, perfect blue eyes stared directly into Dillon's.  "It's not your fault, my friend, there is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to apologize for." He put his hand on Solitaire's, either looking for comfort or trying to offer a sense of calm.  "Trust me when i tell you that I still trust you with every fibre of my being, and that you are still the person I look to to make the right choices, and for leadership.  They have taken the love of my life from me and my daughter, who i have never met.  I refuse to let them take one of my best friends." His voice was soft but firm, resonating with emotion but still keeping the near hypnotic quality it was famous for.  Then it hardened.
"I am, however, now finding it very hard to find some other solution to what we do when we find these people, other than wringing every last drop of information from them, and making them glad they gave it--then making sure that they can never, ever do something even approaching this again."

Feeling the tension in the room once again focused externally, Angelo stood up again.  "I can't contribute anything to the scientific search, and my investigative skills are fair at best, especially since my nova abilities have faded.  One thing I'm uniquely able to offer, however, is my knowledge of strategy and tactics.  Not only have I made a study of it as an officer in the U.S. Army, but I've earned a Master of Science degree in it, and even beyond that, I understand tactics at an instinctual level...sometimes I can just feel a tactical situation.

"I really don't want to sound like I'm beating my own drum here," he said with eyes that asked for acceptance, "but this is something I know I can do."  He starts to sit back down, but a sudden thought strikes him and he holds up his hand and says, "And just so your all aware, tactical science can be applied to areas other than the battlefield.  It can be applied to any situation where one side seeks to employ its resources to gain an advantage over another side.  That includes the board room - which is why so many businessmen buy a copy of "The Art of War" - negotiations, trading, you name it.  As long as I'm in the grip of this...thing...I can't serve as a soldier, but I'm also trained to serve as a staff officer, an adjutant or an adviser.  Let me serve that way."

Angelo then made his way around the room to where Hell Kraken was waiting.  He was getting his first up close look at the giant teflon containment suit.  He couldn't help but be reminded of the old sci-fi movies and serials he used to watch on Saturday afternoons. He had to suppress the urge to grin and say "cool."  "Professor Förster?" he said, stepping forward, "I beg your pardon, but do you prefer Professor Förster or Hell Kraken?"  Did I hear you right?  This stuff around our nodes is based on eufiber or something like it?

"As it happens," Angelo continued, "I'm very adept at manipulating eufiber, and have a lot of experience with meditative trances.  I don't have any illusions of being able to control it, but I thought if you were to make active scans as I made the attempts, I could see if I could get it to react.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:33, Thu 01 Dec 2011.

It had been a long time since Flare had been shocked into tears.  There had been too much bloodshed, and too much war for her to gasp in surprise or howl in anguish over every new atrocity.   She swiped angrily at her eyes now, wanting to hurt someone, preferably the responsible party, over this.

“We’ll get them Imp.  We’ll find them, then find Caroline and your daughter, and then…we’ll settle up with them.“

She was a bit shaky at the apocalypse she had envisioned between Comstock’s admittance and Impetus’ acceptance.  An eternity passed for her in those few moments, one in which she’d imagined Utopia razed in a nova battle.

What had it cost Comstock to admit he could be, and may have been, used against his teammate? That he might have, unknowingly, assisted in this abduction.   And what had it cost Impetus to accept that information without retribution and move on?

This wasn’t the time for musing, she supposed.

“Grav is right, your wife and child are likely held together, and it would be the safest method for guarding them.  We need a plan of attack on this.  If Comstock’s memory is accurate then there was transport, and accomplices to get this kind of operation in motion.  Also some method of finding a nova in chrysalis.  It reeks of military in some form.”  She put a hand on Comstock’s arm and tried to look supportive.

“It might be an idea for you to try to find and go back to the scene of all this.  I know it was probably a while ago, but it might help jar your memory, assuming no one has a telepath on hand that they trust.”


Flare had a cop’s brain, and it told her that something messy might be in the works.  The sooner they got to work on whatever they were going to do, the better.

Flare seemed to calm Comstock.  There hadn't been a kaboom.  He'd been expecting a kaboom.  She let him know it was alright to stand down.

"Thanks."  He recomposed himself.  "I think I can lead you guys back to the spot.  I don't know who else would know where it is, so maybe we can narrow it down or something."

"And Devarga?  I'm convinced.  I want you in on this.  We could use another badass, and if that brain of yours is as good as you say it is than I want you puzzling out the angles before anyone here gets their ass shot off."

He sat down.  "If one of you vouches for a psychic, I'm game for it.  Otherwise ... looks like we've got four things to do: find Caroline, find the kid, sort out the business with our nodes, and get Slider back out of the cold."  He drummed his fingers.  "Vegas should be safe.  Fl- ... I know some safe-houses and people around town.  And I'm willing to guess the rest of you have your own resources available.  Sol, do you think she'll come back in?  We could ask Raoul to use the Archon as neutral ground."

"The Archon," Angelo said, raising his eyebrows, "isn't that awfully public?  I mean...she's not running from a gang or a crime syndicate who might have a vested interest in respecting a neutral ground.  These are the legal authorities and they're coming armed with an arrest warrant that allows them to pursue her pretty much anywhere.  Getting them to agree to a neutral ground would take some major leverage."

"Who said anything about the authorities?  I meant neutral ground with us.  If she thinks everyone in Utopia is out to kill her, I don't blame her for getting all weird on us."

"Whatever she's thinking, most of us are still Utopia too.  The Archon, she could portal into the back room, she's got Raoul and his friends to make sure everyone's playing nice, and the only way the cops or the bad guys will know to show up and crash the party would be if one of us told them.  If it goes well, she'll calm down and at least talk to us.  Maybe we could let her crash in town for awhile.  I don't know."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:34, Fri 02 Dec 2011.

"I agree with Dillon. Cops, or nova cops, are the least of Slider's worries.  Heck, I have standing orders to try to take her into custody if feasible, she should be very leery about meeting me.  We were friends before this Corbin business started, and I certainly bear her no ill will, but she hasn't stayed free this long without being paranoid.  If it makes her feel better I say that everybody currently working for Utopia stays away."

"That probably goes double for me then," Angelo said, jerking a thumb up to the Army insignia on his uniform.  After a moment's thought, he said, "I can help you design your security tactics for the building, I suppose.  Other than that..." he added shrugging, palms up, "if anyone can think of another way I can help, I'm all over it."

He settled back uncomfortably in his seat.  He had always been so proud to serve in the Army, especially as a Ranger.  Proud to serve his country, proud that the men in his platoon trusted him to lead them into combat.  Tonight however, there was a small part of him that wished he could take the uniform and hide it away so that no one could see it and he could deny it existed.  These thoughts left a bitter feeling in him which began to show on his face.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:48, Sat 03 Dec 2011.

"I think she'd show up if asked. Honestly, anyone dumb enough to try and raid Archon deserves what they get. Everyone there is a nova, and a fair number are Terats. They'd back us against Utopia Spec Ops any day." Solitaire said, looking around the table, but mostly at Comstock. She had absolute faith in Comstock, that he always did the right thing. It didn't shake her confidence in him per se, but it was... Something to consider. "I can set that up. You are all welcome to show up if you wish, but Slider is under my protection, and I will personally beat any of you who try to arrest her down. With love, of course."

Dissens?  Interessante...  Any possibility of driving a wedge between Utopia and world governments looked promising to Wilhelm.  If it were a country, KHI's GDP would be slightly ahead of Norway's in the world rankings.  This economic power could be exploited in dealings with individual nations in order to initiate a race to the regulatory bottom.  Utopia's overarching bureaucracy acted to make things more difficult.  Personal concerns didn't enter into the question.  Caroline was not among his people.  Neither was anyone here.  He owed no duties to anyone beyond what he was hired for, finding a cure for and the source of whatever ailment was causing the node interference.  He was thus perfectly free to exploit what he heard here for his own private gain.  Looking too eager might harm his hand, though.  Fortunately, looking nonchalant was easy when you were wearing a carapace.  When Wilhelm reduced the suit's internal pressure, retracting its limbs and settling it to the ground, people occasionally mistook him for some sort of appliance.  A soft-serve machine, perhaps.  You couldn't get more nonchalant than that.  How best to move forward?  Being helpful, helping everyone cause as much trouble for Utopia as they desired, that was probably the best option at the moment.

"Professor Förster was my father, Lieutenant Colonel Devarga.  I'm afraid I've never taught at the university.  As to the Hell Kraken moniker, well that was an invention of the papers.  I'll admit that it serves admirably as a trademark, but Doctor Förster will suffice as a means of address.  It would certainly be interesting to see whether you could exert some form of control over the synthetic farahcytes.  Here is not the place for such a test, though.  The MEDBOT's instruments are limited in either temporal or physical resolution.  The instruments that can produce the best picture quality can only capture stills and vice versa.  I could taste for any changes, but that would be ... unpleasant."

Wilhelm extruded a flaming pseudopod through the arm of his carapace to illustrate just how unpleasant.

"More than usual.  Potentially damaging.  Inadvisable.  Have you been to the KHI compound in Mercury?  The company hospital there has a much more complete selection of equipment.  A SPECT scan ought to suffice for functional imaging of your node.  Present this at the gate..."

Wilhelm's grasper opened up to reveal a plain, white RFID badge, the required biometric identification information already captured and loaded into KHI's computer system.

"...to be admitted.  My assistant will be contacting you shortly to arrange an appointment."

Wilhelm hadn't sent Lucas an email stating that an appointment was needed, the anti-snooping field around the room making certain of that, but he had no doubt that Devarga would have a message waiting for him as soon as he left this meeting.

"So Slider is still around.  I would've thought she'd have disappeared for good after all that hubbub.  If you want something more private than the Archon, I could arrange to have her filed in KHI Central Records.  People have been lost down there for weeks."

There'd be a fee involved, of course, but Wilhelm could think of few safer locations than under 400 meters of Polish salt.  And he figured whatever information Slider had that necessitated her flying under the radar would be useful for sticking in someone's eye.  Keeping her safe at least until she could be thoroughly pumped for data was just good business.

"Oh, one last thing before I forget.  All of this talk of the 'scene of the crime' makes me think you may need some means of remote sensing.  Try not to crash this into anything."

Pulling out a flash drive, Wilhelm plugged it into his PDA and downloaded the software and encryption keys required for retasking one of his fleet of mapping satellites onto it.  The satellite in question was KrakSAT-103, one of his older Yantar units.  The xenon propellant for its Hall effect thruster had run out some months ago, severely limiting its maneuverability, but it could still generate a bit of delta-v through the use of its photovoltaics as a combination solar sail and aerobrake.  KHI being deprived of the satellite would be no great loss.  A press release stating that KrakSAT-103 had suffered a computer failure and was no longer under ground control, but was expected to reenter the atmosphere harmlessly in a few months should provide suitable cover for the use of the satellite.  If someone was going around snatching novas it would be reasonable for them to take measures to protect against novas snatching them back.  Better then to take a bit of care in reconnaissance.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:14, Sat 03 Dec 2011.

Angelo accepted the badge with a nod and slipped it into a uniform pocket.

He listened to Solitaire's assessment of the situation with Slider.  At first he sat up and put his arms on the table, but then his face hardened and he slumped back in his chair, chucking his pen down, sending it rolling halfway across the table.

He wanted so badly to stand with his team, but He kept running into that brick wall that was his chain-of-command.  If someone in the Special Operations Command caught wind of this (and there was always a leak) there would be some hard questions that he would have to answer...and he couldn't flat-out lie to them.  Thoughts began to chase one another around in his head.  He stood up and paced along the back wall of the room, looking very agitated with twitching fingers and eyes that couldn't seem to land on any one thing.

On his third trip across, he stopped and snapped his eyes closed tightly.  He took a couple of deep, but uneven, breaths then strode quickly to the largest area of open floor he could find (probably a corner).  After a couple more breaths that are growing more regular, he began to flow through Tai Chi patterns.

Imp watched Dragon's progress with interest.  "If it helps, my friend, there will always be times when you cannot say everything to the people you must tell everything to.  The best way to deal with it is to remove their ability to ask that question, either by careful use of NLP, or by making the question seem like it's one they dare not ask.  I can give you some pointers on either or both, if you'd like."

Angelo's breathing had evened and deepened as he had focused his way through the simple patterns of the Tai-Chi exercises.  When Impetus spoke, his tone was reassuring even if what he said wasn't entirely clear.

"NLP?" he asked, not interrupting his movements.  "Frankly, Imp, I could use all the help I can get in that area.  I feel so completely out of my depth when it comes to the admin functions and politics my new rank involves.  A year ago I was a captain in command of a platoon of Rangers, and I knew what to do with that."  He takes another measured breath.  "Then when I erupted, they promoted me to major, way ahead of the curve.  I was fine with that because it seemed like a mostly ceremonial promotion, and the only responsibility I had was to learn to use my abilities."  He paused through two slow breaths before he continued.  "But then this thing opened up with Utopia that they felt called for a 'field grade' officer, so they promoted me to light colonel.  A lot of guys spend eighteen to twenty years in service to get this rank."  He finally stopped and returned his hands to his sides with a final exhale.  "I'm still only halfway through my second enlistment, dude," he said, finally opening his eyes.  "If I'd known they were going to chuck me this far out into the deep end, I'd have become a SEAL," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Neuro-Linguistic Programming, it's not that hard, once you get the hang of it.  I reccomend using it sparingly though, if people find out you've selected their reatcions for them they tend to be upset. I, we, also understand being promoted with a certain breathtaking rapidity.  Before i erupted I as working on a phd and my most pressing decisions were what tshirt to wear, what kind of burger to have at lunch, and what manner of geekery i would engage in to while away the evening.  Then i joined Utopia and, well, there were the EQ wars, Mexico, Brazil, Colombia...  If it helps, there's plenty of people splashing around in the deep end with you, some of us have found floatation devices that we're willing to share."

Anyone with quantum sight notes that Angelo's pattern is more stable as he moves through his exercises.  Particularly perceptive individuals in touch with their nodes feel a calming sensation in his portion of the room, where the rest of the area is subtly discordant, akin to constant low-level static.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
more to come, but I wanted to throw that out there while you were together and it came up.

---

With nothing else to do for a bit, or so it seemed, and not wanting to give his anxieties another chance to cycle up, Angelo takes up a lotus position on the floor and lightly meditates as he continues to talk to Impetus.

He was struggling with what to say, however, because he wanted to ask the man's advice, but he was being held back by an extreme reluctance to complain about his problems.  "It's not..." he began, then stopped to rearrange his thoughts a bit.  "It's not the level of responsibility that is overwhelming," he said then paused for a slow, deep breath.  "One, I still don't have an actual command I'm responsible for; and two if I were given a Lt. Colonel's responsibility, I'd just suck it up and 'grow bigger shoulders' as the saying goes."

He waited through a few cleansing breaths for his thoughts to sort themselves out.  "The Army's way of doing things seems like nonsense or chaos to outsiders.  At the same time, however, it manages the most advanced and powerful military force in the world with millions of personnel and billions in equipment.  For an officer, coming up through the ranks is like an apprenticeship in this arcane system, not to mention all the contacts you make as you serve with officers of every rank in various postings."

He breathed quietly for a few moments, seeking that center place of peace.  "I guess the biggest stress for me comes in the prospect of some sort of showdown where I've got a captain's sized shield to cover a lt. colonel sized target painted on me - if you read me."

The meeting continued, as tactics were discussed and information shared.  Pervasive fear, held in check for several tense months, gave way to tentative hope.  The members of Team Tomorrow and their highly paid consultant parted ways with two divergent paths before them.

The scientific prodigies in the room committed to pursuing a cure to the strange quantum disruption. It was a race against time, and the degenerative condition; they were almost guaranteed to lose their mental faculties as their research progressed.  But at least they had a clear several useful clues to guide their research:
1)Nova infertility, and the documents provided by Impetus (via devries) and Slider (via Corbin, and her own teleporting info gathering).
2)The alterations in the M-R node, and the similarity of the cells to eufiber.
3)The relationship between high quantum/node, time to onset of symptoms, and severity of symptoms.

The research team had a daunting task before them, but the rest of the group had an even greater challenge.  Tasked with uncovering conspiracy, and unraveling the web of deceit woven across the heights of government power, the dregs of the criminal world, and the corporations spanning both, the rest of the team had precious directions to move in.
1)Investigate the sites where the pathogen could have been developed.
2)Hunt down Slider, in hopes of finding more info and as an act of solidarity with their erstwhile comrade
3)Attempt to penetrate the secret cabal that might be hiding within Utopia.
4)Investigate the pasts of those involved with the attack on T2M
5)Play detective and infiltrate the government and/or underworld in order to find potential leads

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Split into two groups, talk, determine your direction.  I will happily reveal more as you do stuff.

---

---

Three months after the attack on T2M, amidst mounting legal presures from the US and other major governments, Utopia announced a major policy change.  In a press conference scheduled to address media concerns regarding T2M's vastly reduced public presence, Director Laragione made the following statement:

"In response to growing hotility from concerned governments, and lack of cooperation with our organization and its policies, Utopia will no longer serve as an unwanted police force to those that do not desire its intervention.  Contrary to the paranoid rantings of media pundits and politicians pandering to nationalistic feelings in their constituancies, Utopia is not intent on 'taking over the world' or forming a 'one world government.'  We are an organization of concerned individuals, dedicated heart and soul to making the world a better place.  We are not interested in power, but in making a difference.

To this point, we have endeavored to make a difference on many fronts: research, implemenation of scientific advancements, communication enhancements, aiding law enforcement, preventing war, and bolstering economies to name only a limited number of our activities.  But mounting concern from the uncooperative world powers has made us rethink this approach.  Rather than continue to offer our services to regulate the nova community and the development of nova-created technolgies, services that cost billions of Euros and for which some of the worlds most talented people have sacrificed their lives for, Utopia is changing its policies effective immediately.  From this point forward, Utopia intends to focus its efforts on scientific inquiry, development of technologies to help all of humanity, and providing nova aid to those countries willing to approach their relationship with Utopia from a perspective of mutual cooperation.

What does this mean?  For starters, as many of you are aware, Team Tomorrow's has been less active of late.  This is no coincidence, as Utopia is stepping back from its role as 'nova police'.  Instead of Impetus or Ragnarockette charging into a terrorist hideout or stopping a nova criminal, these duties will be relegated to countries in which they occur.  The same is true of natural disasters: Utopia will only intervene at the specific request of local governments, and only in cases where full cooperation is offered.

Utopia is proud of its past efforts and the countless lives it has saved, but our goal is broader. We are not professional cleaners, sent in to sweep up recurring messes.  Our mission statement positions us to be a repair crew, fixing problems so they do not occur again, or engineers replacing inefficient devices with better technology.  One does not tell the plumber that the pipes are off limits, nor tell the engineer that they must avoid building too efficient a machine.  While we fully intend to aid those in need, we deserve respect for our efforts, and require cooperation to continue them..."

The director continued at length, detailing Utopia's position.  While they would continue to enforce nova nonproliferation, and regulate harmful technology, but it would only intervene directly regarding violations in those areas, or when given full cooperation to resolve situations.  After the speech he took question, and talking heads from the major news outlets debated the rammifications of the announcements.  Was it free reign for nova criminals and terat terrorists?  Would Utopia steal even more power by strong arming governments into subordinate positions?  How would they repurpose the T2M members?

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
A gambit, and a smokescreen to conceal the powerlessness of Utopia's most powerful figures.

---

Imp sat comfortably in a pair of loose fitting khakis and a rather tighter, untucked, white short sleeved button down.  If his preternatural poise, grace and beauty had been lessened, it didn't seem to be affecting his outward state of calm.  The venue chosen for today's meeting was as secure as Santiago's tech whiz-kids could make it while still having said tech be unobtrusive.  Imp was perched on a flat bouder high atop a mesa in the Mojave.  He'd flown up here, despite the nova physician's recommendations not to use his powers unnecessarily, and was laying out a gourmet picnic spread with an alarming quantity of all the traditional picnic fare.  He was waiting for anybody who had accepted his invitation to the meet, anybody who wanted to help get to the bottom of this mystery, and to make those there suffer when their obfuscation was peeled away.
Once those who were going to join joined, and had a plate filled with strangely high end potato salad and cold chicken, he opened with an idea that had been rumbling around in his head for a while.  "So, I know that there's some faction in the government responsible for at least some of what's going on, and I honestly have neither the patience nor the subtlty to cloak and dagger my way through the layers of conspiracy to get to the heart of what's going on.  So, I'm thinking about running for president, and convincing Dillon to be my running mate. We would begin our very public run this year.  This will accomplish four things.  One, it will terrify anyone who's worried about us novas wielding too much power over the ruck and run of society. Two, by virtue of one, it will act to make them come at us in whatever way they can: character assassination or outright assassination.  It was written that the best way to know your enemy is to examine his preffered method of attack, what weapons he relies on, and to turn those very weapons against him.  Three, when I win it'll give me access to the CIA, FBI, NSA, and a raft of other scronyms that we'd normally have to work around or against.  Oh, and four, which isn't to be forgotten, it will give me more leverage to ruin those responsible for going after Comstock's reputation.  Not that this is personal, of course." He sank his unnervingly straight white teeth into a drumstick. "What do you think?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:58, Mon 26 Dec 2011.

Gefasel...  Wilhelm watched Director Laragione's speech (and a report on the London Stock Exchange, a DFB football match, as well as 53 other programs, all simultaneously) but was unswayed.  One certainly did tell one's plumber what pipes he was allowed to touch and which he was to leave alone.  He was the help, after all.  If you wanted polka-dotted pipes his job was to quote you a price and make it so.  At the very least you'd expect him to not show up in your house in the middle of the night, knocking down walls and saying he's 'improving the water service'.  Seine Redenschreiber brauchen bessere Metaphern.  Despite the Director's lack of quality scriptwriting, Wilhelm was still somewhat tickled by the contents of the speech.  He couldn't see how he could fail to profit from such an opportunity.  The first phase of this profiting was due to begin soon.  It had cost a pretty penny, but KHI had managed to procure ad time immediately after the Director on every video channel airing his speech and ad placement adjacent to the speech on most Opnet sites that were carrying it.  A rotating metallic skull on a dark background; glowing red eyes; a pounding, metallic, mechanical, synthesized theme by Brad Fiedel.

"KRAKEN HEAVY INDUSTRIES:  WE BRING GOOD THINGS TO LIFE."

Yes, nothing like a little bit of fear of a Utopia security shakedown to increase drone sales.  Even after the speech and the advertisement were over, Wilhelm continued watching the video feeds with no particular aim in mind.  Analyzing his motivations, Wilhelm came to the conclusion that he was stalling.  Understandable, really.  His next task in the day would be ... unpleasant.  He'd read through copies of the documents provided Impetus and Slider on nova infertility.  There'd been speculation about Utopia involvement of some kind.  This speculation was all well and good, but it wasn't science.  Science needed controls.  Wilhelm had not had any great contact with Utopia, besides the incidental.  He hadn't been through the Rashoud facilities.  He was thus the best control immediately available.  His particular condition would require extraordinary measures for fertility testing, though, hence the unpleasantness.  PESA, percutaneous epididymal sperm aspiration.  Percutaneous meaning 'through the skin'.  With a needle.  Oh well, nothing to do but be done with it.  Stepping out of his suit, Wilhelm took the needle and went to work, staring at the ceiling all the while.  He was of the opinion that it was better not to see these things going on.  He had a reasonably accurate mental picture of how everything was laid out anyway, so what could it hurt?  In an instant he was done and back in the carapace.  Now there was just the simple matter of a comet assay, an HZFO test, and a few other diagnostic procedures.  If the results were the same as described for Utopia novas then nova infertility was most probably an aspect of the nova condition.  If the results were different, however, things might start to get interesting...

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
I suppose HK will be starting with 1.1.  That's really the only one he can work on on his own.  He'll help out on 1.2, 1.3, and 2.1 if anyone is interested in those.  Newly uncovered information would of course alter this arrangement.

---

Angelo checked a humvee out of the Army's motorpool and drove out to his appointment at KHI in Mercury.  Not knowing what to expect, he focused on remaining calm.  After passing through security and checking in with the receptionist, he sat in the indicated waiting room and meditated.

He practiced manipulating the eufiber he was wearing with his eyes closed, feeling his way through changes of color and shape, like an octopus' skin.  He tried the tile from the floor (it was difficult to get the fabric to look so rigid), the naugahyde seat covers, the wood from the arm rests (another challenge), and so on through the different kinds of terrain he could call to his mind's eye, trying to get a distinct feel for how eufiber responded...until the doctor called his name.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
In the mean time, he's been in contact with the people he knows at the Pentagon and Special Ops Command to see what he can come up with on 2.3 and 2.4. 

---

This message was last edited by the player at 03:09, Sat 07 Jan 2012.

Dillon was stunned.  He had climbed to the mesa, and his truck was below.  But finally being here, he had no words.

"What?"  The idea still was sinking in.  "You're serious?  You're actually serious?"  He breathed in deeply, though the climb had not winded him.  "Imp you ... you can't be president.  You ... you just can't.  That's nuts.  People are already gunning for you, and you want to give them more ammo?"

More stunned than angry, he idled over to his friend and sat.  He took a piece of chicken and then put it back down.  "Look, I know you've got a fanclub but you'd need positions and agendas and opinions on policy and an army of people.  Alright, that's stupid, you've got all of those but ... but would you run as a Democrat?  A republican?  Just ask people to write your name in and hope for the best?"  He rubbed at his chest.

Flare had been floored by the idea of Imp for president, but she quickly warmed to the idea.  She had always wanted to, and did, play detective, and with such impressive bait she could break down every meeting, every letter, and every bid for political power to ferret out what agendas were floating around.

“I don’t know Comstock; I think the idea has some merit.” She gestured at Imp in semi-normal dress clothes.  “Even with our current power problems, he is one of the most striking and easily recognizable Nova faces.   You’re also very well known.  Both of you are going to be heavily targeted by anti-nova sentiment even if you didn’t do something as grandiose as this.  I think putting in a bid for presidency will force the hand many hidden enemies.  Win or lose we’d gain some information.”  She gave a fierce grin. "Also, absolutely crushing the people out to ruin your reputation sounds like a great idea."

Flare had driven over, not wanting to tax her powers, but had flown up to the mesa. Because there was no way in hell she was going to climb after that long of a drive.   She alighted on the edge of the boulder and turned facing the pair, enjoying the feel of the hot wind at her back.

“I’ve started compiling information on pretty much everyone that might be behind things. Both in the government and in Utopia, but I can only get so far if they don’t make a move.  I don’t want either of you in danger, but at least while you’re in the spot-light, other people can see who’s lurking in the shadows.”

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
I'll be looking into 2.1, 2.3 and 2.5.  With her detective skills Flare will be tracking possible locales (and snooping onsite as needed) as well as doing a bit more shady work for the government while trying to inflitrate.  Also, why is Captain Kirk climbing the mountain?

---

Gale helped herself to a sandwich and some of the potato salad as Imp began his proposal.  She took the opportunity of a bite of her food to hide her immediate reaction.  She had flown up here, albeit nervously, as her flying power had been cutting out randomly.  But at least she wasn't like the others, she could glide safely to earth if she had to.

"You know, I don't think it's a bad idea either, 'Stock," she replied after swallowing.  "He probably doesn't need to run with a party.  Everyone already knows who he is.  He could even use the conflict between the parties as a big part of his platform.  And nothing draws out your enemies more than the idea that you could be in control of their lives."  They'd already seen it somewhat with the backlash against Utopia.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Gale will probably be working on 2.1, 2.2, and 2.4

---

Imp grinned and laughed aloud at Comstock's reaction, not a mocking or offensive laugh, but one based in pure enjoyment.  "That's why it's perfect, if you're looking for a sniper you strap on a bullet proof vest, give 'em a target and have friends watching for the muzzle flash.  We have fanclubs that number in the tens of millions in the US alone.  We have met and negotiated with many of the most powerful leaders on the planet.  We are the faces of the organization that has done more to clean up the environment, to end human trafficking, and to bring factions together that have been at war for hundreds of years.  We have been soldiers in wars, have survived nuclear nuclear detonations, are the stars of cartoons, and have our own action figures.  It's not why should we run, it's 'why shouldn't we?'" He cracked a bottle of beer with his thumbnail and took a drink, then continued.
"I think we should run as independents, as Gale says, or maybe act as the nucleus of the Future Party, or somesuch.  Run on a platform of social reform and activism, anti-corruption, raw cool, and novaness.  If we don't get killed, we'll win.  If we do get killed then our shooters get their heads kicked in by Sol, and public outcry will crucify anti-nova organizations.
Just think of what we could do, like your social projects, and whatever it is that you and Flare are doing that you don't want me to know about, with the resources that will come from running the country.  Think about what we will be able to do for nova rights and nova human relations."
He paused, then continued, "The big problem with being an independent is not having the support to get your bills put through, but you know, and they know, how persuasive I can be."
He grinned again, "Also, funding won't be a problem, nor will publicity.  If you're really nervous about getting killed I suppose I could ask Anna to provide some security, but I'm pretty sure that, weakened though we are, we can handle or deal with almost anything they can throw at us that isn't radioactive or a hit squad of elites that doesn't work for DeVries.  Also, aren't you the least bit curious to find out what's going on in area 51?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:28, Wed 11 Jan 2012.

There was a lot of logic to this.  And Comstock wasn't quite as resolute as he wanted to be.  "D'aye ... I don't know."  He stood a paced, giving up on the chicken and finding something else to fidget over.  "Why not bring on a baseline?" he immediately regretted using the word.  "A regular person, or an established politician?  Someone to, like, ease people's nerves and let them know you're serious and don't want to put novas above everyone?  I like this ... Future Party idea but ... Christ can you imagine me trying to run for office?  That's bullshit, man!  I'm not cut out for that!"

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: Comstock is climbing a mountain ... because he's in love.

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 05:19, Fri 13 Jan 2012.

Imp tore off a bite of chicken and chewed thoughtfully before answering.  "Why not bring on a baseline?  Good question, and I know that it's something that we'll have to deal with more than once on the campaign.  The most superficially important reasons are the ones that I will never say on the record.  Or off it, really.  I'll do those first.
First, the whole point of this is to make our enemies shit live kittens.  Having a baseline on board weakens the terror as they know that if they can get rid of me they have a much more tractable target to go after, so they'll try greater risks to get at both of us and expose their hand.
Second, tied to the first, I need someone who can live through anything that might kill me, and you're about the most indestructible thing I know of.
Third, you understand power, and know how not to use it.  That's something I'm still learning from you.
Fourth, I can bend, stretch, twist and reform the minds and emotions of baselines and most novas as easily as you can manipulate metal.  The difference is that the metal won't love you forever for doing so.  I think.  You're one of exactly two people I know for a fact can actually get angry at me to my face and hang onto the anger for more than five seconds, and Frosty'd never agree to doing this. I need someone who can stand up to me and not lose themselves in the euphoria that i engender.
Fifth, if a baseline politician were my running partner they'd be a comically obvious beard.
Sixth, Having you on board makes them know I'm serious, because you're about as tractable and prone to flights of fancy as the Empire State building, and far more iconic.
Seventh, my earlier days as a playboy and my reputation as a moderate make it hard to get more conservative voters on board.  You called out a communist totalitarian drug funded proto-empire.  You then proceeded to survive a nuclear blast and helped tear apart said proto empire with your bare hands, and that will get many of the right on board.  That and the world has been convinced that you were not a hero on that day or the days that followed, and this gives us carte blanche to run a media campaign to make people remember that you're the truest hero walking the earth today; and to make those who hurt you eat crow and come to us hat in hand to beg our forgiveness when we refuse to do interviews with them or appear on their networks until we feel like they're sufficiently sorry.
Eighth, my interlocutor on this must know why I'm doing it, for my own sanity, and so that our work will not end if I do.
Ninth, Your raw power will help make people forget that I can tear buildings out of the ground with a wave of my hand and can survive anti-armour weapons.
Tenth, you're someone I admire.
Eleventh, I trust you with my life and the life of my child when we find her.
Twelfth, you're a far better person than I am.
Thirteenth, You were, are, and always will be the axis mundi around which the most powerful, capable, and experienced team of novas that has been assembled revolves.
Fourteenth, you don't want to do it, which means that you're the perfect man for the job.
Fifteenth, devils run when a good man goes to war, and there's a lot of devils out there in the dark quiet places."  He took a sip of beer.
"Do you want me to go on?"

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Please read the above through the lens of well crafted oratory several magnitudes greater than any human could achieve.

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This message was last edited by the player at 11:58, Fri 13 Jan 2012.

Each point was ten million years of wind and water, eroding away Comstock's resistance to expose the heart of the man beneath.  The argument hit home.  Bonds of loyalty tightened and renewed and his mind turned to the greater cause and his inevitable destiny.

"Alright I ... okay you're right.  But," he had a million questions, but stopped himself lest it sound like a protest.  "... the Future Party, huh?  I'm ... going to have to step down from heading the Amargosa Trust.  I don't want it turned into a talking point or anyone accusing me of leveraging that for personal gain."  He paused a little longer.  "And I'll need real suits for the campaign trail.  No eufiber.  I like the little guys I just ... that's not someone just anyone could wear."

But the biggest fear that paraded boldly across Dillon's face was his fading nova grace, the fleeing spark of genius that had helped him keep control of his life.  Without it, how would he face a nation of voters?  Voters as ignorant as he, maybe even more?  He only knew now that whatever his fear, he had to face them.  The metal receded, leaving discolored splotches here and there across his skin.  "Phew ... well, ladies, while I'm out there making sure Imp doesn't get blown up, what are you going to be up to?"

While the women were grabbing plates and getting their thoughts in order, Imp looked at Dillon, and read the look that washed across his face, and at the emotional turmoil that caused it.  "My friend, the reason that you're extraordinary comes from who you are, not what you can do.  Everything that you are that matters is what was there before you became a nova, and has been unaffected by your powers.  You are honest, reliable, and brave.  Nothing that has happened has changed that.  You also have a reputaion for doing what's right, and lead T2MA in some of our toughest fights, our best rescues, and our most memorable projects.  People will flock to us because of you, just be yourself and everything will be fine.  Besides, we're not going to lose our powers, Grav's working on this and he's never found a puzzle he couldn't unlock." He took another drink and then popped a fork full of potatoe salad into his mouth.  Chewing expectantly he looked around at the rest of the group assembled, waiting to hear their thougths.

Gale sat down cross-legged next to Comstock.  "I hope he can figure it out soon.  You guys should be careful until then.  Depending on how fast this disease goes, you may not be as indestructible.  I doubt any of us could take a nuclear blast full force right now."  She shuddered.  She could be wrong, but if they were going to draw out their enemies they should still be cautious.  "Not to mention, that if they have the technology to do this to most of Team Tomorrow, who knows what else they may be hiding up their sleeve.  They might have more chemical weapons.  In fact, I'd like to see if we can locate where they may have made the one they used on us.  It might help Grav, at least."

“I’m going to keep hunting.  This presidency run should draw out our enemies, and I plan to gather all the evidence I can to take them down.”  Flare felt her fist clench in determination.  “It would probably be easier to arrange an ‘accident’ for them, and I think in the past I might have.  I want to legally and legitimately destroy these people. It will hurt them worse in the end, and seems fair as they have tried to discredit us in the same way.”

“The thing I find most disturbing, for all of us, is our continued power fluxes or dissipation.  I’ve been doing some digging, and I will hopefully be getting close to any government information on it soon, if the government is involved. “

Flare, who devoured her food, flopped on her back and gazed at the clear blue sky.  “This whole situation just burns me up.  We have too many directions to look in, and too many possible enemies.  It’s great that Imp and ‘Stock may be running mates, because it keeps them in each others company.  “We need to try to be more in contact with each other.  With our powers lessened it would be far easier to make one of us conveniently disappear.”

While Flare had started out being fairly pleased with her return to near-normal life, the looming threat over her and her companions had strengthened her resolve to find some kind of cure, or cause at least.  She had been quick to start finding leads and running them down.  From back alley conversations to GIS tracking of cave formations, she'd been hunting for their enemy, and hoped that her rather flashy behavior in the past had left their enemies thinking her a bumbling, if violent, moron.  She still put in appearances that maintained that image, but she now did her most important work behind the scenes.

"If you had raised that issue last year, that people might pick us off if they find us when we're alone, I'd have discounted it because such a move would be way too blatant.  Now, well, I'm not so sure.  I think it'll be near impossible for one of us to be quietly disappeared, most of us are pretty close and very visible.  I could ask Santiago for some emergency transponders if you want, Flare." Imp's expressive face was quite serious, "I'd also warn against paranoia, yes we have enemies, yes we don't really know who they are but we also have allies that we don't know about, or don't interact with regularly.  I'd rather take the risk of being too trusting than to shut out potential friends and allies out of fear."
He finished his beer. "Gale, I'd love to find the lab that cooked whatever this is up.  And find the people responsible.  I was pretty much immune to any drug or disease know to man or nova before this happened, and that aided me not one wit.  If we can remove the ability to shut down novas via gas attacks from the face of the earth, and ensure that it can never happen again I think that'd be one of the greatest gifts we can give to our children, and ourselves."

Greatest gift we can give our children, and ourselves?  Comstock wasn't quite so sure, but if Impetus said it than there had to be some truth to it.

"This is gonna take up a lot of time.  I might have to quit the Lunar base project ... and I probably won't be able to help in the search for Slider."  Everyone's eyes were going to be on them.  "Whoa, hey.  I just thought of something.  Remember when we were fighting Freak in the base?  And Zero ... teleported into the rock or whatever to get her?  We were all over the news because of those little bugs taking video."  Comstock's metal began seeping out as he worried.  "They're going to watch everything.  And every lobby in the US is going to have something to say about it."

"Well, that's the price of being famous, 'Stock.  Besides, if you guys are going to seriously try for the presidency, you probably shouldn't be running around trying to solve nova problems.  At least, not the ones we don't want other people to know about.  You should be campaigning, making sure your image is clean.  Leave the other stuff to me and Flare."  The winged woman shared a grin with her fire-y counterpart.  "I don't think it's a good idea for us all to be on your campaign wagon anyway.  That would definitely make it look fishy.  So the bugs will watch you guys, and we'll sneak off to find out what we can."  She wasn't sure exactly how she was going to do that, having not very many ideas where to start, but it was better than doing nothing.

"We will get snooped on, absolutely.  There will be paparazzi, reputable journalists, spooks, spies and saboteurs doing their best to uncover everything we do from what we have for breakfast to how often we use our powers to accomplish a task that a normal person could do," another beer floated out of the ice chest and smacked into Imp's waiting hand. "It's going to suck, especially for you who has been less on the radar of late.  For me it's going to be more of the same, save for perhaps being more intense.  However, my friend, this time you're not going to be alone, if anybody goes after you, I'll go after them.  Even if whatever this is strips away most of our powers I'm still going to be more than a match for any human muckraker." He clapped Dillon on the shoulder. "I've also got access to some state of the art anti-snooping gear," he tapped a sleek black box with Core International's logo embossed on it,"that Mathematician assures has a 98% chance of defeating any baseline eavesdropping gear that will be produced for the next 5 years.  I can also get some gear from Anna, if needs be, but I think Mathematician has us covered.  You know, Dillon, you can broadcast and receive radio waves, and you should certainly be able to affect magnetic fields with your mastery of all things metal, you should be able to learn how to set up a jamming field yourself, or even short out any electronics near you, if you worked at it."
He rolled his shoulders, as if relieving some tension, "Gale's right, we shouldn't gather like this, just the four of us, in secret, for a while.  We want people to focus on the targets, not on the spotters.  We can still associate, meet for coffee or make appearances together, to do otherwise would be odd, but we have to do our best to hide the actions, goals and members of our cabal."

Dillon spared a significant look at Flare.  "Yeah.  Probably shouldn't meet too often."  There was a ... significance to that, something Dillon wasn't even thinking about and something that his body language betrayed blatantly to the other three.

"I'll ... see what I can do to about sending up radio interference," he mumbled glumly.  Finally, without enthusiasm, he took a piece of chicken (tastless to him) and began eating it.  "How long?  Before campaign season?  Next election's 2008, right?  What do you need me to do before then?"

"Devarga, Angelo?"

It had the voice of Peggy Lee, a pleasingly full figure, and flawless synthetic skin made by experts in the art of Hollywood stagecraft, but the Nursebot was still vaguely creepy in a crawling-skin sort of way.  It was the eyes that did it.  Lifeless eyes.  Black eyes.  Like a doll's eyes.  It had proven impractical to keep the eyes continuously wet and dry eyes signified 'corpse' in most people's minds.  Oh well, it was better than the prototypes.  Shiver.  The Nursebot walked a path through the halls of Mercury General to a door labeled Nuclear Medicine.  A complete physical followed.  Informed consent forms were passed around.  Side effects of the KHI Combi-Scan could include:  skin reddening, blistering, ulceration, leukopenia, fatigue, purpura, hemorrhage, epilation, fever, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, hypotension, shock, and a 1.35% increase in your cumulative lifetime cancer mortality rate.  The tedious legal niceties taken care of, it was time for the scan.  Further doors, further hallways.  Eventually a small closet of a room was reached, its interior filled almost entirely with a vertical cylinder of x-ray tubes and gamma cameras, its door six inches thick and made of lead.  An IV line was established to introduce ^197mPt-tagged radioligands into El Dragon's system.

"<CLICK-POP>!  If you could just step into the cylinder we can get started."

Wilhelm hadn't been around for the preliminaries.  He found them tedious, if necessary.  The coming scan was functional, real-time, and El Dragon's cooperation would be needed to get good results.  The Lieutenant Colonel would need to go through the motions of manipulating eufiber while the scan was taking place.  It would be easiest if Wilhelm was around to provide the necessary instruction.  He'd be staying in the control room and communicating via intercom, though.  After all, if he'd gone around standing behind the machine every time he CT or SPECT scanned something he'd be glowing like a Russian submariner by now.

"In an effort to minimize your radiation exposure I'm going to explain all you need to do now.  You're already at the equivalent of 600 meters from ground zero at Hiroshima, albeit spread out over a much greater period of time.  You don't want to get much closer than that, now do you!  Haha!  Anyway, that IV in your arm will administer a series of radioligands keyed for absorption into your brain tissue and adrenergic tissue as well as radioisotope-tagged leukocytes into your blood stream.  Each dose of tracer will take around an hour to thoroughly permeate the tissues in question and has a half-life of only 95 minutes, so once an injection is begun, time is of the essence.  Initially I want you to do nothing so that we can take a control reading.  When I give the signal, go through some sort of exercise for manipulating your eufiber.  When I give the signal again, try to do the same thing with whatever is in your node.  Try not to move if you can.  The CT portion of the scanner captures at 30 frames per second, but the SPECT scanner only captures one frame every six seconds.  Motion will make the image blurry.  Do this right and we'll be out of here in about nine hours."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
5 successes on 12 regular and 3 mega dice...  Bound to happen eventually, I suppose.

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This message was last edited by the player at 10:00, Mon 23 Jan 2012.

"First thing you need to do is to try to have a bit of fun with this.  If the public thinks you really don't want to do it, then they won't vote for you.  the second thing you need to do is to continue being the amazing person that you are.  Keep being a community organizer.  Be passionate about helping the little guy and cleaning up crime.  The only way we're going to be any better than the other guys is if we stay true to our beliefs and look as this as an opportunity to do more good things for more people, to hopefully create lasting positive change, and to protect the people we care about."

The slight hitch in her step first led Angelo to believe she was a little drunk and he almost chuckled...then he saw the eyes.

"Caramba," he he muttered, "I should have guessed."  I wonder if KHI employs any humans.

Ensconced in the scanning "cabinet" he settled back to begin his part.  Part one: Motionlessness...pure meditation...keeping the muscles and joints loose by making micro-movements and isometric flexing every few minutes.  Part two: Still meditating, he began repeating the series of exercises he had just been doing in the waiting room, manipulating his eufiber, attempting to feel how the interaction occurred between his mind and the particles.  Part three: He hadn't been under continuous meditation for this long since before he joined the military and the tiny corner of his mind devoted to his physical condition was starting to notice.  When the third portion began, however, he set all such considerations aside and went even deeper into his trance save only what was needed to listen for the doctor's instructions.

He felt toward that region of his brain known as his node and began feeling for eufiber particles while sending the same signals.  He ended the sequence with alternating signals akin to "clothe" (the signal he used to put his eufiber clothing on) and "unclothe" (the signal he used to cause it to gather up when he wanted to take it off).

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Part Two:  05:37, Today: El Dragon rolled 2 successes using 10d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 1,6,6,5,5,8,3,3,2,10. Wits + Eufiber.
Part Three:  05:39, Today: El Dragon rolled 6 successes using 10d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 7,9,4,1,6,10,8,7,10,2.  Wits + Eufiber.

---

"Okay.  I can do that."  There was a swelling optimism growing in Dillon as Impetus' ideas took root.  "We've got one more trip to dig through my memories, but then I'll ... I guess I'll go on tour.  Arizona, Cali, Utah ... try to make a scene and get people talking."  Even if all he did was throw up a few sculptures or offer his services for free to all-American cities and their good wholesome people, it would get some recognition.  Do a little driving, talk to some people ... he had the cash.  He could do it.

"When's the last time a man in his truck could run a campaign, huh?"

"I have some friends who could help you with your memories, if you want, Dillon.  Friends I'd trust with my life, i can bring you to them today if you want.  Also, how do you feel about  starting our run for office by building an association of community activists and leaders who're involved in things like habitat for humanity, economic reform, education and the environment?  I'm going to have to talk to Laragione about this, hopefully I can convince him that I should remain affiliated with Utopia during all this, and that this will be a way for me to help the Project and human/nova relatikons even if my powers continue to weaken.  He'll see the benefit of having an American government sympathetic to Utopia and its goals.  Heck, we could even get some financial backing for what we're doing.
I think one of the keys for our new party and our campaign will be social networking websites and the internet in general.  Time to put that degree i have in Computer Engineering and website design to good use.
What do you think about me creating a website where people can create their own home pages, upload pictures, talk with each other, and plan and organize events?  We could cal it Futurespace, or Novabook or something.  We could even charge companies who wanted to advertise and funnel that money into our campaign."

Warning: Long post is long.

The course of the degenerative condition is based on node + quantum:
9-10 = -3 to mega atts, with acute period of -4
7-8 = -2 to mega atts, with acute period of -3
5-6 = -1 to mega atts, with acute period of -2
All individuals will find their quantum pool depleted; at the early stages it is a -10 to total q, but it will quickly progress to the point that the nova can maintain no more than their Quantum (big Q) in quantum pool.  During the acute stage, the nova will initially become ill, then lose all ability to hold quantum in their pool.

Those below 5 still have minuses, but they merely take a minus during the acute period.  The symptoms ramp up slowly, peak, then slowly dissipate; the process takes Q+node months to fully resolve for those of Q+node > 5, and weeks for those of 5 and below.  Assuming no cure, there will be permanent minuses randomly determined as the quantum pattern of the nova never fully recovers.

Other factors can complicate this, such as Quentin's super node, which will result in derangements, or the "chi manipulation" involved with Dragon's tai chi will mitigate the symptoms somewhat.  Those with body mods and such will find them not performing well, and creating health problems.

Post-chrysalis Terats are impacted even more by this process, as they suffer more than others from social and self-esteem issues in addition to power loss.  Oh, and they tend to have their power "short out" more erratically than others, and have minor derangements surrounding their sense of self and identity ("I'm a Marvel goddamn it! I will FLY off this building, even if it kills me..."  "Who am I?  I... I'm not this... I don't understand, what's going on?") Dissociative fugue, delusions, and other breaks with reality would be some of the more common.

If graphed, the symptoms would provide a jagged curve with a positive skew... Rather than forming a regular curve, symptoms Peak earlier and taper off slowly.

---

For those interested in where this plot connects to the larger setting, and those looking for plot hooks:

1) The nova infertility issue is connected to the degeneration, primarily in that they share a mode of delivery.  Finding a cure to one could help with the other, and insight into one might reveal the nature of the other.

2) The plot is meant to reveal the machinations of Utopia, not as the primary culprits, but rather inadvertently as the details of the degeneration is uncovered

3) The villain is intimately connected to nova society, and is working with the U.S. government, for whom the "shadow man" is an operative

4) As some of you have likely guessed, this plot takes characters "full circle", back to their days as a baseline.  No cure will be found that will prevent the onset of the acute, debilitating stage.  It's necessary for plot.  Nor will there be a "certainty" that any cure will work or return characters to normal.  The emotional uncertainty is there to provide drama and force people to address what they became, what they have to lose, and what they might have to settle for if their powers never return.  There is of course a cure, but the characters don't get to know that until it's administered and the degeneration has ran its course.

5) This plot was meant to introduce the Directive.  Depowered novas with strong
connections, limited options, and a lot of field experience are appealing operatives.  I want to introduce this right after powers bottom out.

6) Teragen characters will see friendships dissolve, self identity become exceptionally confused, and find old enemies treating them little better than baselines.  How does it feel to be one of the masses?

---

Any questions?  I'll address them on the OOC thread.

Flare was just slightly concerned.  Imp as president, or dictator, or god?  Sure why not.   But Comstock?  The man was easy to read and lacking in guile, as seen with his earlier reaction.   She mentally created a list of all the reasons this was a bad idea before realizing she was just trying to justify being worried for her friends, and she decided not to be a downer.

“Well, it’s a crazy idea, but the best one I’ve heard so far. “ She walked around the picnic spread to clap both Comstock and Impetus on their shoulders.  If her hand lingered on Dillon’s bicep just a bit longer, who would notice?

“Good luck to both of you on this, and don’t forget to watch your backs, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be on the top of a lot of hit lists for this.”

Flare turned and looked down…down…down at the ground far below her.

“I really hope our powers balance out soon though, it’s harder to search…harder to do everything really.”

It really was a long way down, maybe she could use some more chicken before taking off…

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
  I can't wait for the plotsplosion if and when we find out who is behind all this

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This message was last edited by the player at 04:24, Thu 16 Feb 2012.

Time passed.  The team saw to their projects.  Science was done.  Investigations were carried out.  Leads tracked.  Weeks dragged on, as each had to conceal their project behind their everyday nova lives to avoid suspicion.

One evening in October, one of Solitaire's cards managed to get word up the table to her.  PuppyLove23 wanted to confirm the pending sale of one of her golden retrievers to a good home.

Slider was ready to come out from the cold.

---

Solitaire met her in Ibiza, of all places.  Somewhere Solitaire could enter and exit without drawing great suspicion.  The Amp Room had policies similar to the Archon, and so could be relatively secure from eavesdropping or worse.

Slider had herself a table and a drink.  Big sunglasses covered her eyes, but through the tint Solitaire could still make out that she was tired.  Exhausted.  Nervous.

The crowd in the Amp Room made way for Solitaire, they knew her here. That was unsurprising though, since everybody knew Solitaire, if only by reputation. Even in her diminished state, she still exuded the same confident 'feel free to start a fight but expect me to bloody well finish it' aura that had always defined her. It was enough to keep the younger generation at bay most of the team, at least the ones who wanted to make a name for themselves and were not terminally stupid. Beating her in a scrap would be a feather in their cap to be sure, but she made a point of thrashing anybody that tried it hard enough to discourage others.

"Yo S." Solitaire said, sliding into the chair opposite Slider. "You doing all right? Relax, we're among friends here." Her smile added to anybody looking that they damn well did not want to be anything else, Solitaire had a short way with enemies. Hopefully Slider would find it reassuring, and nobody would try anything here, the half dozen Nova clubs were as close to accorded neutral ground as there were. Just about everyone would be all over the poor bastard who threatened that.

A casual wave and a smile at the bar was all it took to get her a drink, the usual noxious beverage that she ought to knock back quickly before it ate though the glass. That didn't fit the mood of the meeting though, so she just settled back in her chair, slouching comfortably, legs crossed, and waited for Slider to tell her what she wanted.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:10, Wed 30 May 2012.

Meanwhile, in Washington DC, Impetus was called to a different sort of meeting.  A congressional hearing.

The problem, once again, seemed to be the Michaelists.  The whole conservative movement had scarcely recovered from the Equatorial Wars, let alone the Colombian conflict, but with the 2006 elections coming up a few conservatives had found new political life in pandering to the Michaelists and other anti-nova groups.  Naturally, Project Utopia wanted to keep operating inside the United States, and preferred that the Democratic President Brown should be supported by a like minded, liberal congress sympathetic to Project Utopia.  So, when some coalition of representatives and senators got one of their own appointed chair of the House Subcommittee on Nova Affairs, without hesitation they'd asked Impetus and Ragnarockette to set aside his projects for a day or two.

"We can't push them too hard.  None of your NLP, alright?"  Guggie was nervous about the entire matter.  She was a good replacement for Pax, but lacked his ego-maniacal love for the job.

The committee wanted Team Tomorrow's input and judgment on the matter of nova rights.  Revisiting the subject at all was a tremendous step backward: it had only been eight years ago that the UN had agreed to recognize novas as human and entitled to the same rights as anyone else.  This was a fishing expedition, of course -- nothing could really come out of one House Subcommittee's muddling about -- but the Subcommittee would almost certainly be interested in Impetus' thoughts on the teragen and the Null Manifesto.

"It is good, for once, that Dr. Zero is not present.  I think the cameras would find him distracting."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: Trying to give everyone something to do.  Testify, if you like, or else head off to another plot.

---

Slider smiled in return, signs of life returning.  "Thanks for coming.  I've been snooping.  And I've got my own personal spook now."

"How's your ... how are you feeling?  No, don't answer that.  I got a name.  Proteus.  Have you heard that one before?"

"Really now, who did you manage to convince to spy for you? Don't feel obliged to answer." Solitaire said, taking a drink. "As to your second question..." She concentrated, and for a moment, she was Solitaire again. Her long hair floated outward, vibrant and colorful, energy traced diamond patterns across her skin and she glowed with that inner vitality that marked her as a Nova of the first rank. Then, quickly as it had come, it was gone, and while Solitaire was still there, she was lessened. "Its anemic, true enough, but I husband it carefully, and it will come when I call. Don't worry about me. Now, about this 'Proteus'..."

Solitaire was well connected to quite a number diverse interests though her House of Cards, and she had set them to sniffing around the periphery of Utopia ever since her last meeting with Slider. Always subtly, always casually, as she had never intended the organization to be a spy network, but her Cards were smart people who listened and learned. There were successful businessmen, artists, local politicians, even the better part of an organized crime syndicate that wanted out of the game when the super-cartel's started taking over, (though Solitaire kept a close eye on that Table). As such, she had an enormous amount of potential information, if she wanted to tap that resource, so she had.

There had never been anything concrete, just the odd hint that something might be going on under the surface, a shipment that disappeared in the overall traffic, a few accounts that didn't add up and other bits of miscellanea that could be put down to clerical error in most cases, if it had been anyone other than Utopia. She knew the calibre of people Utopia employed.

"It sounds like it might be familiar, but I can't place it if I have heard of it. Still a name is good. I can pass it around the 'family' if you think its a good idea. Phantasm is skulky enough she might know something, and Comstock can keep his mouth shut. I'd tell Imp, but I'm not sure he wouldn't just walk into the Directors office and demand answers, which I doubt would end well, even if he got them."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Its funny because I honestly don't remember if Solitaire has heard of Proteus, and she wouldn't either unless it had been flagged as important at the time. interesting.

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This message was last edited by the player at 07:53, Wed 30 May 2012.

"I don't even know what it is.  But it has something to do with Andre's murder.

"I went to five different people -- big mistake -- and they're either part of the cover up or hostile.  Obviously, the guy I talked to as my old Utopia liason, Albert Petalan, is part of this conspiracy, but so are the Calcutta Police, the AP reporter and my representative with Amanda Wu's company.  I'm almost totally burned now.  You're my last friends even remotely near Utopia.

"Bottom line is, we can't go to anyone.  Anyone.  Get the family together and let them know the scale of the hush-hush, because obviously if you're not part of Utopia's solution you're part of the problem.  And Utopia's got everyone involved as part of the solution on some level.

"I also found out that Andre was retiring.  He'd run into some sort of trouble.  And that word, Proteus, is all I have left for a lead."

Slider took a sip of her drink, then removed her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes a bit.

Imp winked at Guggie.  "Would I do something like that?  Or, more to the point, would anybody notice?" He smiled at her frown, "Relax, I don't need any voodoo to sway this crowd, and the government nova spooks in the audience would probably sniff out anything i did that was truly interesting.  I'll just be my usual magnetic self and let them come to their own conclusions."
Imp walked forward when he was called upon to speak, his wavy silver hair and slightly sundarkened complexion went perfectly with his charcoal grey suit, cream shirt and pale yellow tie.  "Ladies and genttlemen, I am honoured that you have called me here to speak on behalf of novas.  We truly live in historic times, times when technology is driving forward faster than it haas ever done before, when the environment is cleaner than it has been in decades, and when hostilities have ceased between the people of Israel and their neighbours.  It is also a time when democracy is flourishing, and medical advances are saving those who just a few years ago would have been doomed to die a slow, wasting death.  Speaking of, Governor Jones, how is your granddaughter doing at school? I understand she's joined the soccer team."
Jones shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as well he should.  It was one thing to deride novas as agents of chaos and dangerous weapons, but quite another to use his influence to get his grandddaughter moved to the top of the list to get cured of cerebral palsey.  Still, she was a terrific kid, Imp had made the pickup himself, and it was great to see her doing well.
"I  would like to speak to the issue of the Michaelites first.  Misguided, wrongminded fanatics who use the bible to preach hatred of nova kind, just as other organizations used the bible to justify the enslavement of the blacks, the relocation of the Native Americans to reserves, and the evil of having children with those of a different ethnicity.  Make no mistake.  This is racism, pure and simple.  hate speech delivered from the pulpit by  individuals who are ridden by fear and ignorance, just as their spiritual predecessors put to death those who dared posit a heliocentric solar system, and that a difference of opinion on wine and wafers was grounds for war, rapine and murder.  I feel pity for those who have fallen under the toxic sway of Mr. Jones, and I am alarmed by some members of the government's protection of those who most certainly would be prosecuted for hate crimes if they targeted any other visible minority."
Imp paused for a drink of water, letting the full force of his outrage wash over the audience.  He was no longer able to affect every person watching the screen at home as easily as he was able to sway those in his immediate presence, nnor bend people's minds like so much taffy, but anybody in the room not spellbound by his thunderous oratory had some special protection against his towering force of personality.
""Do the Michaelites have reason to be worried about novas? Certainly..  Just as those who espouse violence against America, those who preach a final solution for novadom should be very worried.  Think of it this way, if there was an orgaization that preached that all those brave men and women who put their lives on the line so that those safe at home could live lives of peace and plenty should be put in internment camps or segregated from society because they were dangerous.  Imagine this organization, so self absorbed and misguided that they were willing to treat those real life heroes like villlains, or dangerous animals, simply because they are more skilled at the arts of war than those they protect.  Imagine the outrage of the veterans who had seen friends die to safeguard the future of the many.  The betrayal felt by those who had watched friends die fighting in a war that they were commanded to fight.  Do they have a right to be scared? Yes, for my kinsmen have done all those things, we have been betrayed in this way, and some of us are willing to use violence to protect our rights, and the rights of our children, from oppresion.  I do not condone violenc, and I would stand against those who would resort to it before all other options have been tried, and I would be saddened if this problem came to a violent end, but I am reminded of the old saying, anger the bull and you'll get the horns."

"On the Null Manifesto,, I wouldn't presume to put words in Divis' moouth, nor to offer second guesses on his opinions.  We novas, we Teragen, are too disparate to have our guiding principles pput in a single document, much as it would be impossible for one speech to encapsulate all of human existence.  Are there portions of what he said that I agree with? Yes, absolutely.  Are there porrtions that I diisagree with? Yes, of course.  Did he have the right to express himself? Of course, how could I, who have fought and killed and watched friends die defending the ideals of America,, Utopia and the UN not defend his freedom to express himself?

Having said his piece, Imp stood quietly, waiting for their response.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: Assume that Imp isn't using all his juice, but that he will probably have around 15-20 successes for his speach.  No manipulative voodoo, just charisma and appearance.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 03:45, Tue 05 June 2012.

Two figures who had been standing at the corners of the room acknowledged one another with subtle body language.  Army or private security novas.  Impetus hadn't used anything out of the ordinary or prohibited by law, so it seemed they had decided they could stand down for now.

The apparent ringleader, Chair of the Subcommitte Representative Preston Mills (R-Iowa), took the opportunity to thank Impetus, and ask a few inane questions to give himself time.

"So if I understand right, you feel that the Church of the Archangel Michael is a threat to the well-being of United States citizens."  Mills nodded slowly, as though pondering this over.  "But you still defend their right to free speech, just as you defend the right of novas to their own speech.  That's a very noble stance, Mr. Impetus.  Very noble indeed."  He sounded impressed, but there was something strange about the representative.  He was not swayed into adoration by Impetus.  He never met Impetus' gaze.  He almost seemed to be humming to himself or singing songs in his own head.  Someone had aggressively coached him to resist influence and telepathy.  "Now, this Divis Mal figure, in your personal opinion, would he also share this opinion?  Or would he be willing to come here and speak before this committee?  He does not appear to be a US citizen, or a citizen of anywhere really, so I do not know where to mail the invitation."

"Divis? He most certainly supports everybody's right to self determination and freedom of expression.  He also supports people's right to act on their beliefs.  He also may chose to speak to this board, but I wouldn't count on it, even though he assuredly knows about these proceedings despite his lack of a mailing address.  As to the appropriate demonym with which to lable him, I'm not sure where he was born, but I don't believe he shares the common conception of nationality.
Was there anything perhaps more specific that you wanted information on, sir?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:33, Mon 04 June 2012.

The microphone fed back slightly as Rep. Mills hovered near it.  With clear, planned words, he pressed on.  "Mr. Impetus, I realize you are not a congressional scholar, but it has been the judgment of this government in the past that the rights of individuals, even citizens, may be suspended if a clear and eminent danger can be demonstrated.  And while it can be agreed that no one would like a repeat of the profoundly unjust Japanese internment of the Second World War, the PATRIOT Act of the Equatorial Wars and the support of Project Utopia telepaths demonstrated the value of focused investigations.

"Now, part of this committee's purpose is to determine whether or not there is reason to believe that novas, as a group, present a clear and eminent danger, to the United States and even to the world.  So, let me ask you outright: do novas, more than any other group, present a clear and present danger that warrants this committee's attention?"

Even in his diminished state, Impetus could see a scheme emerging.  Mills wanted an excuse to call for greater scrutiny of novas, to scale back nova rights, target them with the privacy eroding provisions of the PATRIOT Act or perhaps even open them up to a new registration act.  Registration separate from Project Utopia or any corporate registry.  China had gone that far, and these legislators clearly felt they might be able to achieve the same thing, if not this year than in years to come.  By asking Impetus' the question straight, Mills intended to avoid the appearance of bias.  So he treated Impetus with respect, praised him for his wartime service and philanthropy, and appealed to his wisdom.  But he didn't want Impetus' wisdom.  He wanted Impetus' words.  Something for his writers to work with down the road.

And here stood Impetus, scarcely able to project his quantum-self through media anymore, let alone melt hearts through the reprinting of his spoken words.  The man had been coached, obviously, and the security agents clearly had some part of it.  If they weren't dormed down novas, than they were enhanced in some way.

Imp weighed his options and thought about the ways that he could slap the man down.  It was amusing that he, and whoever he was working with, thought they could play Utopia, novadom and himself in such a way.  Very amusing.
Imp started laughing.  A rich, deep laugh that filled the room with pure enjoyment and played directly on the amusement centers of the brains of those present.  Once his mirth had subsided he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and looked directly at Mills, who had somewhat foolishly stopped his avoidance and counter persuasion techniques to address him directly.
"Your concerns are unwarrented, the sky is not falling, congressman," he delcared in amused tones.  "Before I go on to answer further, in the name of total disclosure, and my distaste for hypocrisy, I would like to draw everybody's attention to representative Mills' nova minders who are on site to make sure that I don't do anything that might unfairly impinge on the decision making processes of the panel. The two gentlemen there and there," Imp pointed at them across the room without turning around. He waited until the press had stopped shifting and snapping pictures of the two outed novas.  "You are not in more danger from novas than you are from any other collection of individuals, and yourself, Goosey Lucy, Turkey Lurkey, Gander Lander, Cocky Locky and Ducky Lucky have nothing to fear from novas in general, unless you believe people like Foxy Loxy.
Now, you clearly trust the two gentlemen I mentioned earlier, who I must say have done an excellent job of training you, and whom you must trust implicitly.  They are two wonderful examples of the true nature of novadom.  There is no single trait other than our capacity for greatness that defines us, we are as disparate, or more, than humanity.  Many of us often reflect humanity's views of us, as is evidenced by India Syndrome and the other cults to novaness in parts of the world, but we are not all of us like them, just as I know that there are humans who would try to do physical harm to any nova unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches, but that I have nothing to fear from humanity as a group since most people are guided by a sense of morality that makes them unwilling to attempt to harm me.
The people that are a threat to you, your way of life, and to your future are the fear mongers, the sensationalists and the unscrupulous few who prey upon your fear of the other for their own gain, and who have done and alarmingly thorough job of conditioning America to believe that every acorn is the first signal of Armageddon.  Those people are not worth listening to, people like you, Congressman.  People who flap around the farmyard convincing everybody that their doom is immanent from the latest boogeyman.
Imp's amusement had faded as he talked, and by this point he wsa deadly serious, "I have a question for you, Congressman. is the reason you you and your cronies arranged for this tedious re-hashing really motivated by hysteria, or is the hysteria that you are trying to incite in the minds of Americans, people who are not going to fall for it this time, a hopelessly transparent attempt to bias people against novas, with me as their supposed mouthpiece, in preparation for the upcoming presidential elections?"

Impetus' meglomaniacal laughter under these circumstances was a shock.  Ragnarockette turned white.  This was going poorly.  A sussaruss of activity, outrage and debate stirred within the crowd.  The two security officers did not seem amused to be picked out of the crowd.

Eventually, some order was restored after a flurry of violence upon the gavel.  It's ringing notes cut through the hearings, making Mills and the other congresspeople seem so very small and powerless to Impetus.  "Have you no sense of decency, sir?" one of the microphones picked up from an astonished legislator before things calmed, though it was unclear if it was directed to Mills or Impetus.  Impetus estimated that perhaps half the room had been turned to his side and now regarded Mills with disgust for his clear and obvious lack of civic virtue.  Even if they couldn't actually tell how they knew he lacked civic virtue.

"Mr. Impetus, you are here at our privilege and I will not have you besmirching the honor and character of our armed servicemen out of your suspicion that they, too, are novas.  Nor do I appreciate your insistence that the capacity for greatness somehow rests in novas and not in all of us.  This is a fair hearing and we have called numerous representatives of a wide variety of viewpoints, including yourself and other representatives of your organization."  The strain of avoiding Impetus' charisma to continue as planned was giving Rep. Mills palpitations.  Beads of sweat rolled down the side of his head.  Locking eyes had been a mistake, and the congressman could not bring himself to level a direct accusation.  "I'll ... give you another chance to restate your case, Mr. Impetus, but I warn you not to distract from the matter at hand with your insinuations."

Was Guggie whispering something to him?  Probably something like 'take it easy' or 'don't rock the boat'.  It was hard to tell though.

Don't rock the boat? There were far more serious issues afoot than simply playing nice with some fear ridden zip.  Why could Ragnarockette not see it?
"Congressman, is it besmirching the honor and character of the two gentlemen by implying that they are novas? Is there something wrong or shameful in being a nova? Surely not. Further, there was never the implication that the capacity for greatness solely resides in novas. Far from it. The same spark for magnificence resides within everyone, to some degree or another, nova or baseline, and for you to think that my recognition of the greatness of one means the absence of it in the other is deeply troubling, almost as troubling as the elaborate anti-NLP mechanisms that you are employing right now out of fear that I would use some underhaded method of persuasion to compel you to take my viewpoint on this issue, even though I swore, verbally and in writing, not to.  Your lack of trust in me and novadom in general is patently obvious. Imagine if a person was invited to a presentation by the local police, and they showed up in bomb disposal gear out of fear that the police would shoot them, your behaviour is that preposterous.
This is the matter at hand, make no mistake. Not some reasoned debate about the virtue of treating those who save your loved ones from disease, build shelter for the homeless, feed your starving, and die in your wars as if they were dangerous animals. We are dealing with the petty fear of irrelevance lurking in the minds of all mankind, when all we do is to allow everybody's lights to shine brighter, without worry of starvation, disease, or ecological catastrophe. There is no reason to fear novas above the rest of the calidescope of souls on this planet. Far more palpable is our need to be protected from those who would shackle, brand and castigate us out of fear thinly veiled as concern for public wellbeing."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:51, Sat 09 June 2012.

Solitaire tapped the side of her glass with a finger in time with the music pulsating through the club, studying Slider.

"Gotcha, I'll be cautious. On that subject though, you look even more wrecked than you did last time. When was the last time you had a good nights sleep? Or well, relaxed or whatever. I could put you up at my place if you want, it's about as secure as anybody can make it, plus its mine, even if anybody knew where it was, nobody messes with me." Solitaire said, her tone light, but that only emphasized her point. Very few Nova's who had danced with Solitaire were in a position to do so again. Even in her current state, she was confident of her ability to look after Slider.

"Whatcha say, I can guarantee no assassins for at least 48 hours."

Chaos.  Impetus could sway the room, but enough legislators and lobbyists were now enraged.  What dictatorship was this, that there were armed nova securitymen standing by?  What outrage to fear Impetus, such a good and noble citizen!  Public opinion

Mills attempted to reply, but before he could stammer out a few more words the two men stepped in.  One cut all the microphones.  The other stepped forward to commandeer the last active mic.  Since they were dressed the same -- that classic secret service uniform of suits and glasses -- it was hard to tell them apart.

"With the chair's permission I would like to speak and then call for fifteen minutes recess.

"My name is Col. Henry McGinnis, United States Army, and I am part of a special detail for the protection of the United States Congress.  Participants such as myself are present at all major assemblies and hearings to ensure the fairness of testimony and the safety of our lawmakers and the public.  I myself am also part of a larger security Directorate tasked with the preservation of human lives and rights across all member nations.  I ask any who are surprised or hurt by my presence to please understand the clandestine nature of our work.

"I am not a nova, though my partner is."  Lies!  Impetus knew this man was lying.  Spin and damage control.  These agents had not been present to the best of Impetus' knowledge, at previous hearings.  They were new.  And if this agent or the other agent were simply dormed down novas, how would the public know?  "But that is secondary to our task of providing security.  If there are further inquiries, from the press or from any of you legislators, we will make my orders and what information we can publicly accessible.  Mr. Chair, a fifteen minute recess?"

Mills agreed.  The room exploded with noise.  People asking questions.  People outrages at Impetus.  people outraged at this new security detail.  All of them powerful Washington denizens and all of them with axes to grind, and all while the public watched over cable and OpNet.  Ragnarockette leaned in close to Impetus.  "What are you doing?" she asked in a minor panic.  She wasn't cut out for this like Pax was.  Guggie wouldn't shy away from a fight, but she didn't understand that this was a fight.  Didn't like the scrutiny and the attention.

"Okay.  Thanks Sol.  How do you want to get there and how quick can we leave?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:09, Fri 15 June 2012.

"Right now, if you like." Solitaire replied, hitching her devilish grin back into place as she stood. "As to how quick we can get there, the answer to that is a simple question." She leaned forward across the table and extended a hand. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."  Slider took Solitaire's hand and grabbed her own backpack.  From the look of things, that small bag was Slider's whole life right now.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: If you want her to portal, she'll head wherever you direct.  Or else hold on for dear life while you fly.

---

Science takes time.  Gravitas, Phantasm, and even Kraken in his secluded industry lab, all knew this.  But as the weeks turned into months, and the infected novas continued to degenerate, time became their greatest enemy.  Initial research was promising, but it unraveled new layers of complexity, for which their rapidly plummeting intellects were ill prepared to handle.  Only Kraken maintained his pristine analytic abilities, and he had... pressing personal matters that distracted him from the project all too often.

Finally though, after several months of research, they understood the full scope of the problem, and all the complexity inherent to it.  The novas were exposed to a tailored retrovirus that targets the node of infected nova.  The delivery system is ingenious, utilizing quantum-mimetic properties of eufiber to attune the virus to an individual's powers and immune system until the virus was able to reprogram gene sequences within the node of the nova, modifying a large percentage of the novas fahracytes to carry quantum differently.  These modified cells channel quantum poorly, distort a nova's energy field, tend to absorb minute traces of quantum energy, and fight to resist the flow of quantum (similar to the properties of the synthetic 'vampiric' eufiber colonies); further, while these modified cells are seen as cancerous or pathogenic, the immune response of the nova has difficulty targeting them, thanks to their quantum-mimetic and bio-mimetic properties.  This increased immune response weakens the nova further by using resources, and more importantly, by further disrupting the actions of a nova's node with the presence of leukocytes.

Gravitas easily sees that a similar version of the responsible retrovirus, minus the eufiber-like qualities, could have been utilized to sterilize most of the nova population.  Evidence passed on from Slider via Solitaire virtually confirms it.  And that is where his research goes awry, as his traumatized brain cracks under the strain of the research, the scope of the possible manipulations, and his own node-induced taint.  Obsession with other ways in which these retroviruses could have been employed, mind-control genes, genetic kill-switches, and other more nefarious uses fill his mind.  Gravitas loses focus, which is a shame considering that his eufiber incompatibility might hold a possible cure for this particular problem.

Phantasm sees the same signs as Gravitas, and provides information on the properties of "vampiric" eufiber that help to further unravel the puzzle.  The time involved in the research was less about finding the general properties of the disorder, but rather finding the exact specifics that might help them understand and ultimately defeat it.  Phantasm was helpful in this regard, processing multiple streams of data simultaneously and tirelessly working to uncover the specifics of the disorder and its root causes.  But by the time the research is complete, she is barely able to maintain the information in her mind, and pieces keep falling away.

Hope lies with Kraken industries.  Dr. Forster, has received every update from the Utopians.  The power is his... But what to do with it?  He has the resources and the still functioning intellect, to continue the research.  His investigation of Devarga even uncovered additional useful information, such as a strange calming of the quantum static when the Dragon was involved in Tai Chi movements, a calming with no explainable roots in quantum field theory. But who does he help with his research, and what power should he attempt to leverage for himself?

Currently, the possible routes to a cure include:
-Quantum Eufiber Incompatibility (perhaps a cure, but also may be the cause of Quentin's more pronounced degeneration)
-Eufiber Control, exercised at a cellular level (either by an affected nova, or by an actual eufiber controller)
-The strange quantum field harmonics seen in Devarga's scans (and noted by anyone gaining access to Solitaire post-vignette which, though different from Dragon's, are also unaccounted for)
-Extraction of the altered cells (assuming they don't reproduce themselves, and that such extraction doesn't kill the nova)
-Providing genetic markers to help the novas immune system differentiate between the native and the modified cells
-Engineering another retrovirus to fix the damage of the first (which might also provide a cure to nova sterility in the process)

Kraken Industries is in the best position to accomplish most of these goals.  The Utopians recognize the possible routes, but their degraded powers, lessened social status, and the clandestine nature of their efforts make their task much harder.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
More on the investigative side of the project in a day or two.  Please feel free to rp interactions based on this info, calls made, allies contacted, actions taken, etc.

---

Imp sat calmly in the middle of the chaos, looking for all the world like an aggrieved uncle whose dignity had been impuned at a dinner he was hosting.  He caught the eye of the Colonol, "Liar." he mouthed minutely.  He then turned his attention to Guggie, he loved her, but she had to realize what this was, and what was at stake.  He pulled her in close, put a hand over the mic on his lapel and whispered very quietly into her ear.  "This is an ambush, Guggie, they called me in to get sound bytes to support a campaign that will use this meeting as a start and build from there.  We've seen it before, and the algorithms that we created show that the most effective way to deal with this strategy is to spring the ambush and turn it around on them.  By making it a circus now it eliminates their ability to quietly build a campaign of innuendo, lies and distortions.  Instead everything that all the congressmen in this room do from here on in will be scrutinized and we'll have every eager anti-government, pro-nova journalist and commentator fighting on our side, or at least making this particular tactic untenable.  Also, this Directorate seems to want to be hidden, they're new, by the way, and now I've forced them to show some of their cards.
What happens in press conferences and congressional hearings is as dangerous as anything we encounter in the field, Guggie.  Here people wear suits and sit in padded chairs, but this is where the real battles take place for things like preventing nova internment caps and registration and the removal of our legal rights.  I can't really turn up the juice, not here, not now, but trust me when I say that I'm more than a match for a bunch of power hungry bureaucrats. "  He released his grip on her shoulder and turned to look at the rest of the room, "I wonder if this is a sign of things to come that shadowy branches of the military will step in to protect the government from citizens who have done nothing more than to ask a few questions and point out the hypocrisy of certain elements at work in Washington." He mused, microphone uncovered, knowing full well that his words were being heard in news rooms and tv rooms across the nation.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:23, Fri 22 June 2012.

Staff had named the sheep Elwood and Joliet.  Wilhelm preferred designations, but there was no sense upsetting anyone by insisting.  Technically calling them sheep wasn't quite correct.  The Animal Liberation Brigade folks camped out just beyond the gates of KHI Pharmaceutical's Monocacy Research Facility called them heep.  The Michaelists led by some guy calling himself Rev. Roper camped just across the street from the ALB folks (Wilhelm was certain they had a lot to talk about) called them shumans.  The term sheeple had apparently been taken previously by some other group of conspiracy nuts.  In house they were called tetragametic sheep-human chimeras.  They were beautiful.  Beautiful in a purely intellectual fashion of course.  Taken physically, they were sorry excuses for sheep, their skin mottled with patches of wool and blotches of hair, all of it traced with Blaschko's lines.  Their brains, though, their brains were works of art.  It had taken months of experimentation, but cells harvested from the nodes of Impetus and Gale had finally been successfully fused with viable sheep embryos.  Elwood and Joliet were the result, with brains that were 15% identical, on a cell-for-cell basis, to Gale's and Impetus' respectively including rudimentary, non-functional M-R node tissue congenitally infected with the retrovirus.  Wilhelm had had a bet with the researchers that only the brains would show any evidence of the chimerism, but he'd lost.  Evidently the M-R node tissue exerted some sort of hormonal influence over the rest of the body.  An interesting finding in and of itself, but not what Wilhelm had ordered the sheep created for.  If he was going to get whatever was in his fellow novas heads out, he'd need to practice.  And sheep were ever so much more tractable than human test subjects.

"Yes, they are adorable..."

They weren't.

"...but I didn't call you all here to show you lambs.  We need to decide how we wish to move forward.  These two test subjects are all I was able to produce.  Experimentation has exhausted what tissue samples I obtained from you all.  Procuring more samples and producing more test subjects would take some time.  It would make sense to proceed carefully.  I have made some advances in the surgical removal of affected cells but there are ... risks."

It would probably be best to not inquire too closely as to these risks, at least not so soon after a meal.

"It seems sensible to explore less invasive means of remedying the problem first.  Have any of you made independent advances you wish to test before I expend Elwood and Joliet?"

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Might as well provide a jumping off point for interaction.  Jump in if you wish to, anyone that's been previously involved on the investigation end of things.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 06:34, Sat 23 June 2012.

"Fascinating!" Gravitas decided aloud. He was now confined to a wheelchair, unable to consistantly conjure the energy or concentration require to fly and too disabled by periodic spasms and general loss of motor control to walk. Predictably, the wheelchair had just about every bell and whistle ever innovated for assisted movement. He pushed the joystick situated on the left arm to wheel himself closer to the actually-kind-of-horrifying lambs.

The man himself had removed his cybernetic limbs when it became clear that his loss of control over them was sufficient to make them more hindrance than help. He now lacked much of his left leg. Several of the fingers on his right hand were missing, with only the cybernetic sockets for his prosthetics capping the place where his fleshy extensions had once been.

"Chimerae such as these could be used to study a number of aspects of anatomy and innovate new surgical techniques!" he declared, despite that being the generally understood reason the creatures had been created in the first place. He wiggled the joystick of the chair a bit as he spoke, shaking himself back and forth. "I'd love to get a look at the lab writeups from-- AGH!" He was wracked by a spasm of pain as his body bucked violently a few times before settling down into a shudder. Fortunately, he had been strapped into the chair and didn't fall.

"I," he cleared his throat, "I... don't think I have much to add. The retrovirus was my latest discovery." He rubed at his temple with the one good finger left on his right hand - the index finger. "I wish I could do more. I used to be able to do more." He shook his head, "But I can't. I can't anymore. I don't know... Things." He seemed very nearly on the verge of tears, but was managing, with effort, to hold them in check.

Phantasm put a hand on Quentin's twitching shoulder, a gesture to comfort herself as well as him.  Everything was so clear, the world laid out in perfect patterns, and now it was just a jumble that slipped through the mind like water cupped in one's hands.

"Dr. Forster... You prefer Doctor, right?  Anyway, we should probably look at either controlling the eufiber particles or shifting the quantum pattern of the sheep itself first.  Those might be the least invasive, or at least lethal, options.  After that, maybe tagging the... Tagging the cells, and seeing if we can get the sheep's body to fight back, or seeing if we can extract or alter the mutated cells.

Another retrovirus would be great, but time is an issue, and I don't know who's left that could create one.  Maybe Antaeus, but I haven't heard from him in at least a year.  You know, now that I think of it, who do we get to even try the other procedures?  Buendia's the only one I know of with the eufiber skills to do that.  Harley was good, but I'm not sure his skills went beyond his own eufiber... and he's dead of course.  And while manipulation of quantum patterns is theoretically possible, I don't know of a single nova with that ability.  So... How are we going to do anything?  How are we supposed to FIX THIS?!"

Frustration and anger bled through Phantasm's usually calm and carefree exterior, as she groped for some way to take control over the problem and her own rapidly deteriorating faculties.

"Imp ... don't do this."  Guggie's eyes moved from panicked frustration to genuine worry.  "We'll talk about it later."

She left.  She still didn't understand.  Could his charm and reason have failed to reach her?  Impossible.

The rest of the hearing was much more positive, and permitted Impetus ample opportunities to speak his peace.  But then it moved on.  Other experts were called in.  Other politicians and think tanks had their say.  The whole thing turned into a non-starter and, as Impetus predicted, a source of talking points.

But the Directorate.  That simmered in the media for quite some time.  Information about it was highly regulated, but President Brown was forced to make statements explaining the scope and reach of the organization.  It was 'an insurance policy, and a last line of defense, a vital part of the security policy of the United States in the Nova-Age.'

In the days and weeks after the special investigative hearing, Impetus was very active on the speaking circuit, engaging everybody from Larry King to Dan O'Reily and Jon Stewart on the issue of the government's new anti-nova task force.  It was totally expected, he would say, that the powers that be would take steps to protect themselves from the power of individuals, just as China was doing in the virtual realm.  His increasingly strident, increasingly more problematic, rhetoric lacked much of the total precision, the effortless maneuverings, and impossible magnetism that they had a year ago, but there was a fire that had been lacking, an almost fanatic zeal to press forward, to make those who moved behind the scenes seen by the masses and a totally obvious and honest calling out of the power brokers in society to engage in unscripted, public debates.
In his quiet moments before the weakness that was sleep took him, Imp wondered if he was doing it to force his enemies' hands, to build momentum for the upcoming elections, or to get himself killed before the disease ran its course and he was rendered a totally helpless, feeble, near imbecilic baseline.  Laughter and tears, alone or together, often were his last companions before drifting away.

"Doctor will do nicely, yes.  I can't speak to the efficacy of controlling the eufiber particles.  I never had the skill myself.  But tagging the cells I can do.  Tests have indicated that the cells express Eufiber-specific Antigen B.  You all seem to have developed an immunological tolerance to this antigen, but it is a simple matter of grade-school immunology to produce a monoclonal antibody that will bind to the site.  I'll mix up a batch while you figure out who to call in on the other front.  I would suggest not Buendia.  He would bring ... uncomfortable attention with him."

Wilhelm walked over to a liquid helium freezer, opened it, and started sorting through containers.  Eventually he pulled out a Tupperware container with "Murine EAB Splenocytes - 05/03" scrawled on a piece of tape on the side, a Ziploc bag filled with a pinkish goo labelled "Human Immortalized Myeloma - 09/01", and a vial marked "Sendai Virus".  He upended all of the containers into a mixing bowl, put the bowl over low heat on a hot plate, extruded a tentacle into the bowl, and begin mixing.

"This shouldn't take but a moment."

Wilhelm withdrew his tentacle into his suit to taste.

"Ah, it's coming along quite nicely.  Now for a bit of seasoning."

He took a red salt shaker labelled "¹³¹I-Cl" down from a shelf and liberally sprinkled the bowl's contents with the reddish-brown grains within before taking up mixing again.  After a while he got out a second bowl and separated off a thin, clear liquid as one might separate the yolk and white of an egg.

"Et voila!  Immunoglobulin G keyed to eufiber.  I've attached some radioiodine in an effort to denature the eufiber.  Even if that doesn't work, Protein L will bind to this antibody and there are antibodies that will bind to Protein L.  Chain enough antibodies to a site and eventually the immune system will react to something.  If the radiation doesn't work, though, it will become necessary to induce encephalitis in order to increase the permeability of the blood brain barrier and expose the brain more fully to the immune system.  Rabies should suffice.  There should be a fresh vial in the freezer.  Ketamine, Midazolam, Ribavirin, Amantadine, and a medically induced coma should make the ensuing infection quite potentially survivable.  A regrettable necessity, as is the fact that everything will have to be injected intraventricularly.  I'll get the appropriate equipment.  Could someone please restrain one of the sheep?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:38, Wed 18 July 2012.

Investigations

When he became El Dragon, Angelo's life changed and many doors opened for him.  But a few doors are ones uniquely suited for the old Angelo to walk through.  Calls to military contacts, chats with buddies that went mercenary after the war, and candid discussions with friendly superiors who were willing to talk "off the record" to an old friend, were all things that Angelo could do better without his nova powers.

Discreet inquiries inside military circles turned up little in terms of US involvement in the attack.  Whoever it was either didn't have ties to the US military, or those ties were so deep that they would take someone with far better contacts to ferret out.  Chats with those frequenting the mercenary scene turned up information on anonymous individuals looking for veterans from Columbia, but nothing concrete.

The best information (though perhaps unrelated to T2M's troubles) came from Angelo's platoon-mate MSgt. Kinney.  A sit down at a local hole in the wall bar gave Devarga a lot of information to consider.  Apparently, James Kinney had joined up with some sort of international task force intent on protecting humans from novas, and making sure the world didn't get blown up by crazy super-people or idealistic organizations like Utopia.  He only told Angelo because they were friends, and because the organizations did hire a few novas and... Well, James thought Angelo might be a good candidate.

---

Impetus's had friends literally everywhere, but finding someone with useful information was tricky.  Especially with his "friends" getting in the way as much as they helped.  Everyone wanted to have drinks with the man, get an autograph for their kid, or ask his opinion on important topics.  It was disconcerting too, since many of them almost seemed disappointed after talking to him, like he didn't measure up to the legend imprinted in their minds.  Only his faithful stalkers seemed elated to see him these days, and they weren't all that helpful, with a few notable exceptions.

A young nova by the name of Mary Doyle, recently erupted and a long time fan, was apparently obsessed with Impetus and his activities.  Instead of using her highly developed analytic skills to solve the world's many problems or to make a small fortune for herself, she tracked Impetus constantly, piecing together every appearance and discussion, analyzing the effects of his nova-enhanced personality on the population at large (new trends, traffic movements, potato chip sales...)  She shyly approached him as he was exiting a meeting outside the Archon, and informed him that he was losing his powers, as though he was unaware of the fact.  She also let him know that whoever caused the power loss was "somewhere in Las Vegas", and she explained in an embarrassed-yet-hopeful tone that she just "always knows where there are dangers to the people she cares about."

Another rabid fan showed up at 3 press conferences and 2 all nova clubs (she wasn't a nova) before catching his attention.  Apparently she was the president of his fan club, and she just HAD to let him know that the fan club was in danger of being closed by the police for cyber terrorism.  But the charges were ridiculous of course, most members did little more than post LOL-Imps on message boards and talk about his next speaking event.  Someone was obviously trying to tarnish Impetus' reputation, and she wanted to make sure that didn't happen.

Finally, Imp's biggest fan came through with a bit of information.  Apparently Anna reported that someone in the Elite circles had been recruiting any leftover Colombian novas that hadn't been rounded up by Utopia for an operation, and he'd based out of Mexico.  The man's powers fit the description Solitaire gave after the attack.

---

Comstock wasn't an investigator, and he didn't have the kind of contacts his friends did, but he was a popular man and he had a reputation for being a protector of the downtrodden.  That reputation brought a 20-something mexican (most likely illegal) immigrant named Antonio to him.  The man was poor, and had a hunted look.  He met Dillon at his car in a parking garage, and whispered frantically about how "they took his powers" and only the "Shining Metal Hero" could save him.  If not for the fact that the man WAS a low-powered nova, and the symptoms the vagrant rambled about so similar to his own, Dillon might have ignored him... But it was too strange not to follow up on, and the man obviously needed some help.

After finding a place for the man to stay, and getting him fed, Dillon got more of the man's tale.  Apparently, he had erupted less than a year ago while living on the street when a man in a Lexus tried to purposefully run him over.  Before he could make it to the local Rashoud facility, he was kidnapped by a man in a "twisting black suit that smelled of bad cigars and whiskey."  After that they "put something in him" with a syringe, and he started losing the powers that he was certain would elevate him from the life of a migrant worker and turn him into a superstar.  They kept him in a cage, constantly drugged.  He only escaped by secretly cutting off the circulation to the arm where they had his IV.  It cut off enough of the drug (probably Mox) that he could use his teleportation powers to leave the facility.  But even off the drug, his powers steadily decreased until they were almost non-existent.  And he claimed that they were hunting him, that he had no where left to run...

Imp was relieved, yet strangely hurt, by the lull in his fans' obsession.  Intellectually he knew why, that the degredation of his node meant that he was less addictive and that the high that people got around him was less intense.  It still stung though.
Mary Doyle was something else, she could be a huge problem if not handled correctly.  Fortuitously, he was still Imp.  He allowed his brow to furrow, and for the fatigue that he was still cripple by to come to the surface.  "Mary, you're amazing, absolutely amazing!" He gushed as he put an arm around her shoulders and placed a hand on her elbow to guide her to a nearby restaurant that he co-owned, Splash's.  His half of the proceeds were funnelled into a science academy that taught kids about the oceans.  He took her to the private table that he always had reserved.
"Mary, you're right.  In the last six months my powers have been disrupted by some sort of terrorist attack." He waited for her exclamations of alarm and pity to die down.  "You can understand why I want to keep this secret, if the world realized that my powers were slipping it would damage Utopia's image.  Also, if it became know that my powers were slipping, then maybe they might start testing other Tomorrowites'  for weakness, which could get people hurt or killed.  It's not just my social powers that are going, it's my mental faculties and other powers as well.  I can't manage my schedule like i used to, can't process data the way i used to.  I really need someone to help me track this, to help me track my schedule and to track my impact on the world around me.  I think you'd be uniquely capable of helping me with this, wat do you think?"
Sally, Imp's superfan, was less of a problem and more of a problem.  Less of a problem because she didn't have the capability to exose his weakness to the rest of the world, more of a problem because she had har hand on the throttle of a group of individuals who had proven that they were willing to pipe bomb churches full of michaelites.  Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.  He did his best to convince her not to do anything drastic, posed for a picture and left her in a state of happy blissfullness.
Anna was another matter entirely.  Smart, confident, dangerous, rich and determined.  Her data was important though, very important.  He set up a meeting with her in Ibiza for later in the week, she was looking into buying a cruise boat for some purpose or another and he was going to be in the area anyways for a meeting with some diplomats from Northern Africa about Utopia's goals in the region.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:03, Tue 24 July 2012.

Angelo sat down at his computer and began to type:

Dr. Förster,
I has been some time since I participated in the tests at your facility.  I've heard hints that my meditation techniques had something of a positive effect on the mutant culture that is effecting our nodes.  This has made me extremely curious to know more of the specifics.  Perhaps I can tailor my meditation to increase this effectiveness, then perhaps teach this technique to others.

I appreciate you taking time out of your undoubtedly busy schedule to respond, and look forward to hearing from you.

With regards,
Lt. Col. Angelo Devarga

"It's alright, Antonio.  You did the right thing."  Comforting the man was hard.  Like comforting a child after losing a limb.  "I've got some friends, they'll help us track down your kidnapper.  And I know a guy who can get you private medical care.  No charge."  He tried to use his Spanish, and was pleased it was one of the few skills that didn't seem to be fading, but his vocabulary had fallen to crap from disuse ... and fading memory.

"First thing we've got to do is get you some rest and keep you out of sight.  If someone's looking for you, we can't let you be wanderin' around, y'know?  You have family back home?  Write it all down, I'll make sure they get some money without anyone being able to track it back to us."  Another mouth to feed.  Things were starting to get tight, what with the road trips and crap with Flare and everything, but he could spare a few thousand bucks if it meant stopping this guy from doing something stupid.  He had to.  Who else would?

Next came the phone.  "Uh, yeah, I'm looking to talk to the Hell Kraken.  It's Dillon Amargosa.  Yes, I'll hold, thank you Lawbot.  Uh ... just anything will be alright."  The Kraken had said to use that number in case of emergency, and even the automatic system queuing up his call was polite enough to ask what music he wanted to hold.  Phillip Glass' Koyaanisqatsi began to hum ominously over the phone.

The safe house was just another low-income housing development.  He hadn't had time and hadn't thought about something safer.  But the people there all seemed glad to have nice places to live.  Hopefully none of them was an opportunistic sell-out calling any reporters.  If he could get Kraken on the phone, the teflon man would know what to do with Antonio.  Maybe find a way to help him.  Hopefully without more medical procedures and that crap.

"Ja?  Amargosa?  Richtig.  Verbinden Sie ihn."  Wilhelm listened.  He didn't give the call his undivided attention, but he listened nonetheless.  He was somewhat perturbed.  The emergency number wasn't supposed to be used to help out every vagabond, grifter, and derelict on the street.  Still, he did collect favors.  "You are not in imminent peril, jawohl?  Stay where you are.  I will send someone to pick you up."  He didn't mention a price.  That wasn't how the game was played.  Now there was just the matter of figuring out what to send.  If what Amargosa had said was true it would probably pay to be discreet.  Discreet could prove difficult.  Wilhelm was really more of the limousine and helicopter persuasion himself.  He didn't need to be discreet to avoid the paparazzi.  That's what he had killbots for.  Diese Amerikaner tun wie ihre Nutzfahrzeuge.  A utility vehicle.  There was something by such a name in the inventory.  It would probably suffice.

The truck could be heard before it could be seen.  It wasn't so much that the thing was loud, though it was loud, as that there was a high-pitched whine underlying the rattle and roar of the truck's engine.  After a moment it pulled up before the safe house, the top of its roof visible through the second floor windows.  It was certainly an SUV by someone's definition, but the six-wheeled Unimog chassis was probably a bit excessive.  As was the fact that it didn't have a driver's cab and the body looked to have been fashioned from a single piece of glossy, black metal.  Upon investigation (and an automated retinal scan from an infrared laser/camera hidden within the glossy blackness), a seam opened in the side and a door slid in and back where no door was obvious before.  The interior was brighter than it ought to be; the exterior was mostly glass, but the glass was all one-way.  It was also well appointed:  eight Recaro seats, a bed, a three-burner stove, a refrigerator, a chemical toilet, an entertainment system.  As if the truck was intended for use on an expedition.  An insufferably moe animated truck-tan with orange hair, trucker hat, overalls, and a toothpick was displayed on the main screen of the entertainment system.  "Now where can I take y'all?"  The system was preprogrammed with a destination of the KHI hospital in Mercury.  The intended use of the vehicle was obvious.

Vehicle dispatched, Wilhelm returned to the memorandum he'd been drafting before the interruption.

Lt. Col. Angelo Devarga:

It is fortuitous that you should write me now.  Data analysis has just been completed.  Your meditation techniques seem to work by feeding a time-delayed and scaled quantum signal back into your node.  Link to data. 

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
If you want the actual link, http://www.wolframalpha.com/input/?i=plot+1%2Fsqrt%28%281%2B0.7^2%29-%282*0.7*cos%281.5x%29%29%29%2C+1%2Fsqrt%28%281%2B0.5^2%29-%282*0.5*cos%28x%29%29%29.  RPOL unfortunately kills targets in hyperlinks.

---

  The red plot being your quantum signal prior to meditation and the blue plot being the same signal afterwards.  Much like a comb filter really, and it's retarding the progress of your disease by a similar function.  The infection in your node increases resistance to quantum flow so a greater signal amplitude is required to have the same effect as before.  The constructive interference provided by your meditation techniques produces such an amplitude increase.  It is a simple matter to construct a device that duplicates this effect for the base case of only a single quantum channel.  Given the sheer number of channels in any particular node, though, considerable effort and time will have to be expended on miniaturization and microsurgery before any usable device can be produced.  As far as inducing an enhanced effect through meditation or teaching meditation techniques is concerned, I'm afraid I have no expertise in the matter.  Further scans will show if you are making any progress, but you'll need a guru, not KHI, if you wish to proceed in this direction.

Dr. Wilhelm Förster

---

EDIT:  And that took longer than planned.  Spent too much time trying to get graph links to work.  Oh well.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Sat 28 July 2012.

Angelo stared at the graph on his computer screen, trying to absorb the information and understand its meaning.  Then he opened his OpNet browser and looked up "Comb Filters" on Wikipedia.  His science education (at least compared to most of his team mates) was somewhat limited, but Nature had gifted him with the ability to see patterns of relationship between one thing and another.  He primarily applied it to tactical situations, but at a stretch, he could apply it in other areas.

The meditation techniques he had been using were intended to clear the mind and balance the flow of Chi through the body.  He thought about what Dr. Förster said about the disease inhibiting the flow of Quantum energy through his node.  It was the same concept as a clogged or blocked chi meridian and Angelo was becoming more and more convinced that Chi and Quantum were one and the same.  There were a number of Qi Gong exercises for correcting such imbalances, but the node represented a new meridian beyond the ones he was taught.

"Doc's right," he muttered to himself, "I need a 'guru.'"  He picked up his phone and began dialing his Tia Carmen's number but stopped.  What could he tell her?  If she were really going to be able to help him, she'd have to know the truth.  He wasn't sure he had the right to make a unilateral decision to pass on what his team desperately needed kept secret.  Besides, letting her in on the secret would subject her to the danger of this whole...conspiracy.  He couldn't do that to his aunt.

He began pacing back and forth across his quarters, racking his brain for anyone he could brainstorm with on this problem.  Suddenly, the name Uma Bharati came to mind.  Was it possible that she practiced yoga?  Their concept of the flow of internal energy was very similar, and she was already "in" on the secret.  He picked up his phone again and dialed the extension for her office...

The experiment with the sheep seem quite promising, the genetic tagging a resounding success--

A rapid movement seen from the corner of your eye is the only warning of danger as you exit the bar--

Your anxious wait to speak with the professor is finally at an end--

Your phone conversation with Anna comes to a close, and you turn toward your new assistant to--

The disaster that is your parents' wedding reaches a crescendo--

The car pulls up to the hospital--

Logan gives you the mission parameters--



The moment you were in cuts sharply to a deep, aching darkness.  The darkness gives way just as suddenly, replaced in a timeless instant by a large foyer.  The room is clearly part of a larger building, what appears to be a Victorian era mansion, remodeled to include all the modern conveniences 1923 has to offer.  Electric lights glow in wall sconces, a phonograph plays upbeat music in the corner, and through the open doors at the end of they foyer, a projector displays a glowing white screen in what appears to be a private theater.  Several other closed doors lead away from the circular room as well, while a sign reading “back at 9:30” rests beside various papers and knickknacks on the desk in front of the theater doors.  The longcase clock opposite the theater doors reads 9:15.

There are others here with you, at least 12, perhaps more. Shouldn't you be able to count them all?  You know some of them, others are unfamiliar.  Quentin is here, well dressed and leaning on his cane for balance, gloved hands flexing mechanically as he waits.  Dillon stands near the center of the room, still and solid, as though cast in metal.  Solitaire leans comfortably against a wall, waiting, as her well-tailored suit shields her from the drafty air.  Phantasm crouches near the desk, examining the minutia of the patterns in the floor tile, in clothing reminiscent of Anderson's little matchstick girl.  Angelo and Suzuka both sit on the floor in lotus position facing one another, he in military dress uniform, she in traditional samurai garb, as they ignore the world around them.  Flare slips an arm out of her straightjacket to poke at the furnace, trying to bring warmth to the room, while Gale attempts to unlatch the shutters on the room's only window, but her thick gloves and gas mask make her movements clumsy.  Dr. Forster is her as well, lab coat leaking a thick, viscous fluid as he listens serenely to the music.  Impetus, dressed in an early aviator's uniform, chats with several unknown individuals about absolutely nothing.

The there are the others, the people that you don't know, but for some reason feel you should.  Why can't you focus on them?  Maybe if you interact with them?  There is woman in red staring intently at a portrait, while a man in a top hat stares at her.  A grizzled older man drinks from a cup... or is it a bottle? A child reads a book as an older gentleman listens intently.  There are others, but they move at the edge of your vision, elusively avoiding your conscious mind.

With a shock, you realize you are carrying out your own actions without thought, automatically and unconsciously.  Seemingly at once, many of the others seem to come to this realization as well, faces changing expression as they gain control over themselves, even as others remain fixed in their patterns.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
You are in control from here.  Anyone not interacting right now will be assumed to be caught in their own little behavior loop until the jump into the scene.  You can interact with each other, or the nebulous other characters that have yet to fully resolve themselves.  This place, and even how you present yourselves, is governed in part by your perceptions and thoughts.  Your characters aren't going to fully realize this (kind of like in a dream) but you as players should be aware and write accordingly.  Feel free to take control and change some things about yourself, or even the setting.  You can investigate the area if you like, you can wait for the show... this is a chance to jump back in the water and have a little creative fun before we tackle the other dangling plot threads.  It won't last very long either, so don't worry that we won't get back to what we were doing... Just enjoy for a bit and react to the situation at hand.

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 08:58, Mon 22 Oct 2012.

El Dragón rose from his meditation with practiced grace.  There were elements of reality, but there were also enough dream-like elements that he felt safe treating it as such.  He had a lot of experience with dreams (more often nightmares) but though this...place...was placid on its surface, it was unsettling enough for him to be wary.

He first stepped up behind the man in the top-hat.  The tableau presented was interesting enough to give some consideration to.  He started at the center, the portrait that the woman in red was so intent upon [Was the person familiar? Was there, perhaps a family resemblance to someone familiar?] Then he shifted his focus to the woman the man in the top-hat was so intent upon [Was she familiar?]  Then finally to the man himself [Was he familiar?  Could anything be read in his expression that might reveal something of the reason for his interest?]

Gradually, however, he was drawn inexorably to the little girl reading the book.  There was nothing about her that seemed to warrant his fascination, but eventually, he found himself sitting on the floor, listening to her read.

Solitaire's Safehouse

Slider managed to hide out with Solitaire for quite some time.  She rested, sorted through some of the data she'd acquired, and tried to make sense of it all.  She had a lot of information, and a decryption algorithm slowly, laboriously chipping away at locked files in the hopes of finding more.  But that would take better computers than the little POS she was carrying on her, and time she did not have.

After a little over a week hiding out with Solitaire, Sol received a text.  "RUN.  IM SORRY."  Sol's senses weren't what they were, but she could still hear figures at the safehouse rummaging through things.  Two men.  One small, maybe Japanese?  The other silent and precise, giving no indication of origin.

The only question left was whether to call the house a loss and hope nothing there was of use to them or fly in and kick their asses.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: Tying up this loose end.  And a fight, if it please you, though with Sol's new trick she'll only have a few rounds at most at her full strength and then she'll be little better than a baseline.  And she knows it.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 17:48, Mon 22 Oct 2012.

The Dream?

Dillon barely noticed when the hispanic gentleman in the uniform moved.  The catchy phonograph drew him in.  He couldn't decide how long he'd been standing there, listening.  The niggling memory of Antonio, the man he was trying to deliver to KHI's clinic, eventually brought the scene into contrast.  He turned and looked across the room.

"This isn't right," he murmured.  "What's going on?" His first instinct drove him toward Gravitas.  Quentin would know what was going on.  "What's-" The sight of Quentin standing with a cane in unfamiliar clothes shocked him.  This wasn't normal.  He turned around the room, feeling slow, confused.

"Zero!  Zero you're here, what's going-"  He stumbled toward Gale, only to realize the gas mask and gloves were not Dr. Zero's but rather hers.  There were wings and claws, and kind eyes behind the old mask's glass lenses.  Was there anyone who knew what was going on.  "Gale.  Gale, can you hear me?  What's going on?"  She wasn't quick enough to respond, so he shook her.

Doing so, he noticed his own sleeves.  A workman's outfit.  A wool cap.  He could be a laborer in another century.  What on Earth was going on?!
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:49, Mon 22 Oct 2012.

Quentin inhaled sharply as he assumed control of his body. His fingers flexed once more and then stopped. He frowned as his eyes (brown, now that much of his taint and associated quantum problems had receded to some degree) scanned the room. He looked down at himself. He was dressed in a three piece tweed suit with a bow tie. Some of the fingers on one of his gloved hands did not flex with the others. He shifted his weight to one leg and used the cane to tap the other experimentally. The knocking sound confirmed that it had been replaced with some sort of wooden prosthetic to fit with the other aesthetics of the place they were now in.

"Well," he said, "this is unexpected." He took an experimental step, somewhat shakey. His wooden leg was not responsive or adaptive like his cybernetic prosthetic had been. Walking was considerably more challenging. Leaning heavily upon the cane, he hobbled a few more steps before stopping again.

Again he looked around, seeing both familiar and unfamiliar faces amongst the many others that he was sure were there, but were so hard to make out. As he examined the people around the room from where he stood, he noted former and current T2M or Teregen members present among them. He wondered if the unidentifiable people were more of the same. In either case the fog of his mind did not allow him to immediately draw a conclusion.

"Who is," he stopped for a brief moment, trying to pick an applicable word, "conscious?" he asked in a loud voice, somewhat short of actually shouting. Many did not seem to respond and instead continued their near-robotic looping behavior.

Solitaire fingered one sleeve of her suit experimentally, then nodded in approval. It was black pinstripe men's suit, tailored well enough to shine despite her cheerful disregard how it ought to be worn. Still, being Solitaire, she pulled it off effortlessly, but even if she hadn't, she'd never given a damn what anybody thought of her style anyway. It was rather difficult to kick somebody in the head in a skirt, and that was that.

"I am, good to see you Grav. Nice place." Solitaire said casually, giving him a wave. Then she narrowed her eyes, staring intently about the room, studying it. If there was one thing Solitaire trusted above all others, it was her senses. Few enough things could evade them, and almost nothing could actively fool them. "Do you think this is real? I expect I'd notice if it wasn't. Perhaps a better question is... Why? But even that I expect will sort itself out soon, unless we're in Hell's waiting room." She gave a shrug that said, quite eloquently, that she would give this place the 15 minutes it asked and then punch down a wall just to see what would happen.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Tue 23 Oct 2012.

"I'm... here too, wherever here is."  Phantasm stood, smoothing the folds of her tattered dress as she pointedly ignored the pattern that previously engrossed her attention.  The tile was quite pretty, but the idea of how long she might have continued to stare at it was vaguely unsettling.  She walked toward Gravitas, and gave Solitaire a "nice to see you again" nod as she went.

"You're walking again Q-ball.  I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."  Looking around the room, she spotted Angelo examining the room.  "Angelo looks like he's got the right idea though, we should probably figure out what's going on..."

"Only barely walking," he responded. "I think the best description of this place I can come up with is 'dream-like'. Strange actions; strange locale; strange people. The shared experience is somewhat beyond me at the moment though..." His brow knitted and he resisted the urge to continue flexing his fingers around the top of his cane. "I agree, an investigation may help us figure out what's going on, though it seems we're on a timetable."

He limped his way over to where the woman was looking at the portrait while the man looked at her. He tried to focus on each of these in turn: the portrait, the woman, and the man. He noted their arrangement and postures and attempted to draw some sort of insight. "Does anyone recognize any of these people?" he asked the room. "Or even this building? Our clothing seems to indicate a setting some seventy-ish years ago, but I don't think this place is familiar to me." He attempted to consult his internal clock only to get nothing in response - either his own general power blockage or the surreal nature of the place prevented any sort of accurate reading.

As people started to speak up, Angelo was startled.  "Bonita?" he said, turning away from the little reader.  He rose to his feet and held out a hand to her, "I feel a little like Alice Cooper...'Welcome To My Nightmare.'"

A moment before Comstock shook the daylights out of her, Gale had paused in her endeavor to get the window open.  Why was she trying to get the window open?  Why was she wearing gloves and a gas mask?  Then the world was a blur.  "I don't know!  I don't know!  Stop shaking me!"

Assuming that he let her go, she removed the gas mask, pushing it up on her forehead.  Her vision now a bit clearer, she looked around with the others.  "None of this is familiar to me.  Other than a weird sense of nostalgia."  She removed the gloves too, tossing them onto the ground.

Gale woke up, and Dillon let go. "Sorry."

"I'm conscious," Dillon added, waving to Quentin and Sol and everyone else.  He felt so strange.  Why wasn't he heavy?  Coated in metal skin and safe?  "I think I'm conscious."  A shadow passed nearby.  "There ... there has to be a real explanation for this.  Did you see that?"  He waved a hand through the air where he though he had seen someone.  Nothing.

He stooped to pick up Gale's discarded gloves.  Feels real.  Even dust on the floor.  The portrait and the hazy figures caused a dull ache in his head.  A few steps into the room, he turned around again, then approached the figure in the oily lab coat.  "Who are these people?"  Leaning in close, he tried to match the face but had never seen Dr. Forster outside of the Kraken suit.  "Quentin, didn't you tell me time travel wasn't possible?  Why does everything look old?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:31, Wed 24 Oct 2012.

Imp scanned the room underneath his aviator glasses, the corner of his mouth twisted in to a smirk.  "Well, this is unanticipated.  Judging from the lack of a migraine, I'm pretty sure I'm not actually here in the flesh." Anybody have any idea on who's got teh juice to get us all to wherever here is at teh same time, even when we're as widely scattered as we were, 24h ago?  Or what i assume was 24h ago."

It was bound to happen eventually.  Wilhelm hadn't slept for years now.  He'd finally cracked.  Vielleicht ist dies nur ein Traum.  A dream would be the most reasonable explanation.  Otherwise everyone here would have been dying or breaking out in dermatitis or something.  He was uncontained after all.  He resolved to test his hypothesis.  He turned his attention to the phonograph.  Jetzt sind Sie spielen ... John Cage, Organ²/ASLSP.  Even in it's shortest rendition, As Slow as Possible couldn't be played in less than 70 minutes.  Ideally it would be stretched out to 639 years or so.  There was no way it could be made to fit on a gramophone record.  Thus, if the music switched over he was in an unreal world, a dream within a dream.  Then he could wake himself up.  And possibly have his head checked out for signs of epilepsy or something of a similar sort.  If it didn't, he would have to adjust his hypothesis.  "How very curious."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:20, Wed 24 Oct 2012.

"Technological time travel isn't possible. At least not yet. I'm unwilling to discount an quantum option at this point. Whatever brought us all to this place is almost certainly quantum-driven. Unless it isn't. This sort of thing," he waved his hand about at the hazy half-images around them, the setting, the other more-resolved people, "isn't really my specialty. This is all very... dreamy. Before the quantum remission virus, I hadn't even slept in close to 5 years."

He thought for a moment, "As for who has the juice to pull something like this off - I think we need to know more about what is happening before we can make that call. If this really is some sort of time travel - then not a lot of people. If its some sort of shared dream, hologram, or something of the like, that opens it up considerably."

"Given the...symbolic...nature of these surroundings," Angelo said, waving his hand vaguely around, "I'm reminded of someone I read about in your files.  Someone called 'Shadow Walker?' or some-such.  Does anyone know more about him?  If I remember rightly, he sent members of the team on some sort of vision quest or something."

Dillon startled at Dr. Förster's sudden break from reverie.  He backed a step away, then waved a hand at the man, unsure if the break was genuine.  "Kraken?"  German accent, but with that suit Kraken wore Dillon guessed the man could speak in any sort of voice he wanted.

He nodded to Phantasm and Dragón and took a head count of people he could see clearly.  "So ... everyone's here."  He removed his cap and ran a hand over his head.  "Shadow Walker was ... well, if you walked through a portal of his you got a trip, that's for sure.  I'm surprised you read the file that close."

"Interesting, but how would Walker connect Kraken, Dragon, Sue, Flare, and Gale to us?  He went off the radar long before those associations were made."

"I wouldn't put it past him, Walker is both powerful and quite strange, even for us." Solitaire said, wandering idly around the room. She paused by the drinking man, taking another bottle off the table next to him and eying it speculatively. It was unlabeled, but she could drink sulfuric acid if she felt like it, and he wasn't melting, so she shrugged and knocked it back.

"Still, if this was Walker's doing, I think it would be more surreal that it is. He was into the cosmic scale weirdness last I saw of him."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:18, Thu 25 Oct 2012.

Suzukaze starts to come to. Not recognizing the faces at first. The odd feeling and surroundings startling her she jumps to her feet drawing a sword she backs away from everyone. Her head twitches and she blinks repeatedly as her mind comes more focused and she begins to recognize everyone. She lowers the sword as she speaks...

"Tasm... Imp.... Everyone..." She blinks a few more times and shakes her head as she reaches for it. "What on earth is going on here. This place..." She looks around the room more as she takes everything in putting the sword away.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Long post is long, but hopefully in a style that encourages further exploration and interaction, rather than just telling you "what happens next" as many of my longer posts have been.

Feel free to incorporate the above info into your discussion, or to look around the room and explore further.  Or leave.  Or do whatever.  This is your small sandbox to play with.  I want to try out the suggestion Kraken had regarding setting the scene and letting you guys move it forward.

Some ooc notes on the scene: character's thoughts do influence the scenery, but subtly.  You don't lucid dream a new door into existence in front of everyone, but the quest for another door would likely turn up one, for example.  Feel free to include your own hints at the future and past... even ones that aren't in the books.  Sol for example has seen some dark futures in vignettes, so she might find some frightening reminders of those visions of her other self.

---

Investigations reveal the following:

Things
-The painting is of 8 people, 4 women and 4 men, of wildly divergent appearance.  A white woman dressed as a soldier from the future, rifle hanging in front of her from a strap around her neck.  A young black man in a well-tailored mandarin suit.  A smiling old man in robes who might be at home in the free love or New Age movements of years past.  A stern Chinese woman in seemingly poor health, hair twisted in a bun, wearing a cross at her neck.  A middle-aged white man with a stethoscope, glasses, and short cropped hair.  A middle-aged Indian woman, chains of bondage subtly hidden beneath her blouse and lab coat.  An older black woman with strongly African features wearing environmental protective gear and looking away from the others.  A man of almost androgynous appearance, of indeterminate race and age. The portrait was drawn against a twilight sky, the moon and sun simultaneously visible.  The painting is titled “Darkness, Shadow, or Light?”  The frame is ornate, and thick.  For those with keen perceptions and an eye for art, the portrait may have been painted over another image.

-The view from the window, through the slats in the shutters, is a world out of post-apocalyptic nightmare.  War swept over the city outside in the recent past, and from the rubble one would guess that the city is likely somewhere in North America during the middle of the 21st century.

-The desk is full of odds and ends.  What appears to be a field guide from a military organization titled “Trinity Field Manual: Psi Laws”.  A pamphlet entitled “A Better Tomorrow, Today?” with a picture of Caestus Pax hitting Divis Mal in an unknown desert locale: the pamphlet goes on to question the veracity of T2M's claims to a better future, in light of Bahrain... Whatever that means.  A vintage Star Trek poster featuring the wide cast of aliens in the series, with the captions “The galaxy is a big place, rife with danger, but ripe with possibility...  Boldly go where no man has gone before!”  Other items may be hidden, but would require more than cursory inspection... Though that is true for most items in the room.

-The phonograph continues to play the same upbeat big band music, unless someone reaches for one of the many albums stored under the stand the machine is situated upon.  The majority of the records are anachronisms; Cage is in fact among them, as is something titled BANG! with an intricate holographic cover, a collection of the top 10 nova performers of all time, the Beatles Anthology, Nena's 99 Luft Balloons,  and many other ecclectic choices.  Most of the “records” contain a list of music that could not possibly fit on an actual record.

-The clock isn't ticking.

People
-The woman looking at the picture is familiar to some, a forgotten casualty of the rise of the Nova Age.  For those that remember her, Anne was last seen recovering from trauma in a hospital bed.  Her current appearance is subdued and elegant, but with a dangerous edge.

-The man watching Anne is of indeterminate age, of European descent, and looks vaguely troubled.  Those that studied the history of Utopia and the Aeon Society that helped create it would note that he was in several pictures of the founding members.

-The child is young, perhaps 10 or 11, a Latina girl in a flowered summer dress..  She is reading from a novel by Julian May, Jack the Bodiless.  She isn't looking at the book as she reads from it, though she does occasionally turn a page.

-The gentleman listening to the child is of advanced age, but very alert.  He is pale, thin, mustached, and his gaze is intense and thoughtful.  Those versed in academics, the random corners of pop-culture, or the history of early inventors may find him familiar: Nikola Tesla.

-The grizzled man looks up and tracks the movements of anyone that draws near, but dismisses them unless they move to bother him.  He is unshaven, with a deep tan and the weathered clothes of a wanderer.  He drinks soda, similar in flavor to coca-cola, but without a label on the bottle.

El Dragón turned to the room in general and asked, "Is anyone familiar with the book, Jack the Bodiless?"

Solitaire's Safehouse

Solitaire flicked her phone shut and returned it to her back pocket. She was conflicted, on the one hand, she was annoyed that anyone dared violate her place. On the other, she hadn't had a chance to pummel some poor fool in ages. Slowly, she smiled.

Solitaire... Smash.

Looking inside herself, Solitaire could see the well of her power, it was nearly empty, but what remained was distilled to perfection. She brushed a mental finger over top, drawing upon the smallest portion of it, and her form blurred. An instant later, she stood behind the pair how had invaded her sanctuary, a war goddess in all her splendor and wrath.

"Well, well. We are in trouble aren't we..." Solitaire said, her voice soft and casual, dripping with quiet malice. Then sentence was punctuated by the crack of knuckles.

Imp rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, then looked at his friends, "We've been in similar, but wildly differnet places before, some of our kind have powers that can bring us to places of their choosing, mentally or physically," He nodded reassuringly to Sue. "I'm not familiar with Jack the Bodiless, Dragon, care to fill me in." As he listened, Imp studied the room in greater detail.

Solitaire's Safehouse

Inside there was a short Japanese man with sunglasses busily looking through things.  He was precise, orderly, polite, replacing things where they had come from with nova-precision.  His backup wore a black suit and a golden skull mask.  Solitaire required no introduction, as the man's reputation spoke for itself: Totentanz.  A famous elite.  His action figure was sold world-wide.

"Sir."

"Ah.  Solitaire.  So this is your house.  I hope that I am not the one in trouble."  He examined a smudge on a piece of glass.  "She's already gone, isn't she?"

Totentanz had a short spear in hand.  Diamond edged, reinforced, a trademark weapon.  He oriented himself toward Solitaire, watching for movement.

"I haven't read it, unfortunately, but if we hang around long enough, this pretty little señorita will read it to us," Angelo said smiling at her, though he wasn't entirely sure she perceived him.  "But since I'm not sure how long we have until this all dissipates...or something bad happens." he added in a grim undertone, "Let's see if we can't hurry things along."  To the room at large, he asked, "Who's our fastest reader?"  Then, more gently, reaching toward the book, he asked, "Señorita, may I borrow your book for a minute?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:03, Fri 26 Oct 2012.

Dragon had some good leadership instincts.  There was a moment of pride to know his team was in good hands.  "I'm not really a big reader."  Dillon returned to Gale's window and gazed out on the world outside.  Destruction as far as the eye could see.  "What happened here," he murmured.

"We're in the US.  But it looks like ... like the war finally came."  The Teragen's War?  What Phantasm, the Mathematician and the others had Predicted?  He could see for at least two miles, and it was rubble and death as far as he could see.  A ruined wall had bible verses spray-painted onto it, and signs from some sort of emergency response.  This made the Equatorial Wars and the World Trade Center look small and insignificant.

For a moment he thought he saw a shadow of a dead soldier in the street.  Future body-armor and rifle.  The badge didn't look right though.  "This hasn't happened yet.  Can't have happened yet."  He stepped away, waved a hand in front of Flare, and shuddered when she continued on with her looped behavior.

"C'mon Gale."  Frustrated, he started looking for newspapers or magazines, something with a date on it.  "Pax punching Divis Mal ... something about Psi Laws ... I've got everything from the early 20th century to the early 22nd here."  The Trinity Manual read like gibberish to him.  "What about alternate reality?  Imp, you showed me that one TV show that one time ... Sliders?  Something like that?  Can we be in some sort of parallel universe?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:16, Sat 27 Oct 2012.

"Anything's possible, I suppose. String theory posits that there is a profusion of realities,  of which ours is just one. Then again, certain of us have either analytic or intuitive abilities that allow for precognition, limited or not, if someone with those powers also had the ability to bring others into their mental landscape then something like could be the result. Another possibility is that whoever brought us here is just screwing with us."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:27, Sat 27 Oct 2012.

Gale moved away from the window, closer to the center of the room.  This whole world had a hazy quality for her, the lights seemed a little too bright, the way they do when you're tired or you've had a bit to drink.  She didn't know if it was because of the dream-like feeling this place invoked or because she had been wearing that gas mask too long.

She felt drawn to the man who was watching Anne.  He was so familiar.  She couldn't resist reaching out to tap him lightly on the shoulder and ask  "Do I know you?"

Angelo furrowed his brow in thought.  "If...this is an alternate reality, then...where's the 'reality' of it?  Why aren't these people reacting to us or moving around with whatever they're here to do?  They seem more like set pieces of some sort.  We need to find out the common theme or...how they all fit together, or something."

"For that matter, we are like set pieces too.  I mean, look at how we're dressed.  His mind started casting about for the bits and pieces he could come up with when a sudden idea struck him.  "Hey, does anybody know what year the Aeon Society was formed?"

Aside from advanced physics, medicine, and other arcane scientific knowledge, Phantasm was a repository for useless entertainment info.  Parallel processing and the inability to sleep made for a lot of spare time and useless hobbies.

"I can't comment much on the whole alternate reality angle.  Or I guess I could, but I wouldn't be bringing anything new to the table.  But I do know that book.  Story about an evolutionary leap in humanity, evolution into psychic beings.  The main character was ahead of even the other psychics and his body burnt out, leaving him a floating brain.  And there's a couple other subplots about time travel loops, aliens, and the psychic unity of sapient beings.  I'd tell you the story in more detail, but my memory is a bit fuzzy these days..."

A thoughtful look passes over Phantasm's face before she speaks again.  "Actually, I'm surprised I remembered that much.  I wonder if, in this place, we aren't as powerless as we were.  I mean, look at Grav.  He's not in a wheelchair with quantum parkinson's, no offense by the way Quentin, and the rest of you seem more like your old selves.  And we can actually see Dr. Forster's face, which is a first."

The girl reading her book is a bit upset at being interrupted, but she passes along the book via some sort of telekinesis.  She waits patiently for people to be done with it so that she can resume, though after a moment she looks troubled and asks quietly “Was I not reading it right?  I can do better if you give me another chance.”

In another part of the room, Gale's question is met with a blank stare, and then a cordial nod.  “Pardon me madam, I hadn't realized anyone else was here.  I do not believe we have met.  Whitley Styles, pleased to make your acquaintance.”  Mr. Styles offers his hand along with his greeting, seeming completely unperturbed by  Gales talons.  Or anything else for that matter.

Offhandedly he turns his head toward Angelo and says "1923" before turning his gaze back to Gale.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:12, Sun 28 Oct 2012.

Suzukaze moves around the room glancing everything over. She comes to the desk and looks over the paperwork. He eyes catch on the mention of Bahrain. She sets the paper aside and starts racing through the rest of the paperwork. "Imp you may want to come here. Does anyone in this room know anything of the Bahrain Project?" Even though the question is general for anyone to answer she looks towards the man Gale was talking to expecting him to answer another question.

Dillon stopped in his tracks when Whitley Styles broke into the scene.  "I guess they can hear us."

"... we've got a Rashoud Center in Bahrain with a detention center.  It's a hospital.  We sent a lot of novas there during the Equatorial Wars, the ones who were violently unstable or dangerous to the public."  At the time, he'd felt like it was the right thing to do.  Everything about the mansion and the strange phenomena around it was unnerving him, though.  For the first time in a long, long time, he felt very small and powerless.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:40, Sun 28 Oct 2012.

Solitaire continued her circuit of the room, the mans name didn't mean anything to her, nor did she think that the book held any answers. Answers would be presented in time, one way or another, so for the moment she was content to let things be. She paused in front of a full length mirror in a corner, noting that her reflection was rather different than she looked. Her head tilted to the left as she considered it. She knew it from... Somewhere...

The Solitaire gazed back out of the glass from a similar room, different mainly in that it mirrored the wreckage that could be seen from the windows. That room had not survived the apocalypse.

"He is coming, you know. Soon." The Solitaire said, a cruel smile slowly creeping across her face. She raised one bloody finger and poked a glass. It rippled. "He can take you back. You can make him take you back. He knows how it began, and how it might yet end. You could fix it. Just till him I say hello. He will know.

"I don't think I like you." Solitaire replied, turning away from the mirror.

The Solitaire shrugged. "We will meet again. See you soon." The Solitaire then turned and walked out of sight.

"Creepy bitch." Solitaire muttered quietly, uncertain of the implications of that conversation. It wasn't a good sign when the best reason she could think of was she was going crazy.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:28, Sun 28 Oct 2012.

Hm, this guy could be a good source of information about this place/time/universe.  "I'm Gale.  Nice to meet you," the winged woman responded with a small smile as she took Whitley's hand.  She noted how he answered Dragon's question, and shot a look to her fellow nova to indicated that she would continue the line of questioning there.  "Do you know much about the history of the Aeon Society, Mr. Styles?"  Was the Aeon Society important somehow?  She tried to remember, but honestly, she couldn't remember much about them.

"The Aeon Society founded Project Utopia," Angelo muttered to himself.  The area inside seemed keyed to the 1920's, outside was the ruin brought about by the war between novas and baselines that everyone feared was coming.  The book was essentially a parallel of the rise of novas in the world.  Then there was the painting and the contents of the desk.  The links were starting to align.  This was a warning.  What were they supposed to do with this warning?

She turns towards Comstock, and glances between him and Impetus. "Bahrain may just be the clue to the whereabouts of Caroline and their child." She looks right at Impetus. "I asked one of my collegues about it. Just mentioned I was looking for a friends wife and child. According to him if it has to do with a mother and child it's the Bahrain Project." She glances around the room and desk some more. "If there is information here then i want to find find it."

Quentin hobbled over to where Gale was now speaking to Whitley Styles, "I suspect he does," he slipped into the conversation. "Whitley Styles was one of the founding members of the Aeon Society. I saw an old photograph buried in with some other things when I was checking into Utopia's background. Now that I think of it, this man was definitely one of the people pictured," he raised an eyebrow. "You look remarkably good for a centenarian, Mr. Styles. Unless none of this is really happening, that is. Or there's some sort of strange temporal phenomenon occurring," he looked outside the window at the war-torn landscape before shrugging helplessly, "Or both."

"You doing alright Sol'?  You were talking to the wall there..."  She puts a hand on the older woman's shoulder when she speaks, her eyes shifting between the clock and the painting.  "And is it just me or are there some things wrong with this room?  That clock hasn't moved at all since we got here.  And that painting looks off, like the paint is too thick or something, colors different at the edges."

Imp blinked, "You did whatnow? Which colleague?  And did you come right out with it, or did you allude to it?  I appreciate the intent, Sue, but anybody who's involved in kidnapping pregnant novas and is able to keep it quiet is both extrordinarily ruthless and very clever.  I hope to God that you asked someone who was in no way connected to it, or you may have signed all our death warrants."  Imp's slightly bemused demeanor had vanished and he was totally focused on Sue, unblinking blue eyes burning with a mix of concern and anger.

"Don't worry. I trust this person with my life." She stares at Imp with a serious look on her face. "I mentioned no names or the fact of whether they were Nova oe Baseline. Just said a friend asked me if I could help out . Said I personally didn't care and haven't decided if I'd help or not, but that I'd like  the information for my own knowledge." She shifts her head cracking her neck. "Besides if this person was involved I expect he would have killed me then. Possibly even worse. I was prepared to fight just in case, and I'm glad we didn't cause as I said I'd  probably not make it out  of it."

Dillon stood beside Impetus and put a hand on his shoulder.  "We'll find her, Imp."  Bahrain ... wasn't a bad idea, actually.  If part of Utopia was hiding things, or if someone wanted to infiltrate Utopia, than the high security low-profile Bahrain facility would be appealing for a variety of reasons.

One thing he didn't want was conflict in this dream-place.  "C'mon, we've got another mystery first."  He tried to put the Psi Manual into Impetus' hands.  "I can't make sense of this, but you and Quentin are scientists so help me out here."

Since Phantasm had mentioned the clock, Dillon took a look at it.  He put a finger on it, tried to feel out its mechanisms and laws.  Nothing.  Mechanical movement, no magnets or electric parts, and nothing impeding its movement.  Physical laws did not work correctly here.  "Another goddamn metaphor ... there's nothing stopping the clock!"  His body ached, and his head was throbbing, so he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the tricks Phantasm taught him for resisting mental influence.  Nothing.  "What do we do if we're trapped here?"

Mr. Styles nods at Gale's question.  "Yes Miss Gale, I would say that I do.  I was one of its founding members, back in the heady days where we believed we could accomplish anything and the world was an unexplored wonder to us."  A wistful look fills his eyes before the rest of Quentin's comments pull him back from his reverie.  "Well sir, for my part I find it infinitely more practical, and often much easier as well, to simply take things at face value and let them unfold as they may.  Situations of this sort have a way of working themselves out.  But in the meantime, I'm certain there are clues in this room that we are meant to find.  This picture, that clock, even all of us, are all little windows on to a much larger picture I suspect.  And I would dearly love to see what we are missing, wouldn't you?"

While Mr. Styles spoke, Suzukaze's further investigations revealed the contents of the desk drawers, as well as a loose panel on the side of the otherwise sturdy piece of furniture.  The drawers held seemingly innocuous objects, albeit many of them anachronisms to the "current" time: a digital watch, a roughly cut silver coin from Mesopotamia, a small lunchbox filled with a sandwich and a juicebox.  At the revelation of the food, the young girl squeaks and exclaims "My lunch box!  I wondered where it went, I lost it at school last year!"

The panel moved to reveal a complex series of mechanisms and moving gears that should not be able to fit inside the desk, and whose functions were a mystery.

Dillon's investigations of the clock continued to frustrate him.  He noted a few details that were not readily apparent before: an inscription on the bottom dedicating the clock to Maxwell Anderson Mercer, a serial number listed inside showing that this to be number 003, and that in place of the numeral 12 on the face of the clock was the roman numeral for 1922-2122.  And the clock read 9:20, though no one noticed it move forward.

"Trusting them with your life is one thing, trusting them with the life of my child is another." He shook himself a bit, soemthing he wouldn't have had to do months earlier when he could process multiple strands of input at one time, and effortlessly match his behaviour to achieve whichever outcome he desired, "Thank you, Sue, I'll make the risk you took pay off, one way or another." His thought processes rerouted he focused on the book in his hands, "Psi, hunh? Interesting.  I wonder why there aren't more of these... Psions in our own time, and why there are no novas in whenever this is supposed to be.  Is it like the varying species of humanoids that existed alongside eachother in history, one being out-competed by the other, or is it a case of them eradicating us, or we eradicating ourselves, or is it our general inability to bear offspring that will make novas a one-generation phenomenon, or do novas just up and leave?"  Imp frowned, more questions than answers here.  "Mr. Stiles, perhaps you could tell us, there have been stories about heroes and demigods in the past, and psychics have been grist for rumours and supposition for seemingly all of recorded history.  Why do you suppose there was the sudden appearance of large numbers of trans-humans around the end of the 20th century? And why do there seem to be so many Psions in this era," He held up the book, "and do you have any idea why we are here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:49, Thu 01 Nov 2012.

Mr. Styles turned toward Impetus and cocked an eyebrow.  "Not one to beat around the bush, are we?  I respect directness in a man, it's refreshing and frankly it's a great deal simpler.  But I am sad to say that I don't have many answers for you.  I--" He shuts his eyes for a moment before continuing, as though collecting his thoughts.  "I know certain things confided in me by a friend, but I have yet to see the future you described by your questions.  I have, in fact, not seen anyone like all of you before today, though my friends and I anticipated that you could exist.

Hmm.  Perhaps it would help if I started at the beginning of this, or at least the beginning that concerns our special community.  You see, several years ago, in 1922, a man by the name of Hammersmith engaged in a revolutionary experiment that went tragically wrong, and fantastically right.  Some died, but many others were imbued with telluric rays, granting them powers beyond the ken of normal men.  These powers, as another friend of mine has painstakingly cataloged, seem to break down along two primary lines: the subtle powers of the mind and manipulation, and the far more overt physical feats of the stalwarts among us.  My friend Primoris would argue for a third path, exceptional individuals with some sort of probability alteration or perhaps time manipulation, but the only evidence we have seen of that so far are the abilities of the friend I mentioned earlier...

So how does this relate to your questions?  Well, I believe that a few possibilities present themselves.  Perhaps the Hammersmith event echoes out through time as well as space, perhaps it even resonates with other points in time.  Or perhaps other experiments or natural occurrences created similar phenomena at other points in time, with the particulars of their environments shaping how these special powers manifest.  Much of this is based on conjecture of course, but I am assured by men and women more educated than myself that recent discoveries in physics support these ideas.

And finally, as to where we are, I would guess that we are somewhere outside of time.  But as I said earlier, I find it a bit pointless to try and figure out the particulars of these sorts of situations.  They usually resolve themselves regardless."

Dillon was listening as Impetus and Stiles talked.  "Than ... 1922 and 2122 ... those are boundaries?"  He tried to set the pendulum in motion.  "Mercer's clock."  Had he seen this clock before?  "Look, Mr. Stiles, I'm not supposed to be here.  I don't think any of us are supposed to be here.  If we're unstuck in time or in a weird dimension than what do we have to do to get back?  And why would we be here in the first place?  Who does this even benefit?"

The clock starts ticking.

Mr. Styles looked to the new speaker and nodded.  "Sir, where exactly are you 'supposed' to be?  I think it is a bit presumptuous to say things are supposed to be a certain way.  But I do understand, this is all confusing to me as well.  I'm not sure why we are here, or who this might benefit, but assuming that it isn't a matter of us washing up like driftwood on the island that time forgot, then we will likely see who or what brought us here when that clock reads 9:30.  I wouldn't risk making a guess as to how we might 'get back' to our own times, as my expertise rests in other areas, but you all are welcome to try.  You could always take a leap out the window, or take one of the many doors here, though I won't be joining you myself."

The clock reads 9:25.

Angelo felt inadequate to participate in the discussion.  Phantasm, Impetus, and Gravitas were all much more intellectually gifted than he was.  Still, he had to do what he could.  It wasn't in his nature to sit back and wait for others to solve problems.

He shut his eyes and breathed.  His eyes had already seen everything in the room, even if he hadn't consciously cataloged them, and thinking about it, running through one idea after the other wasn't going to get him anywhere that others couldn't get to faster.  So he cleared away all the clutter of thought and all the debating voices and focused on that part of his mind that lay behind his genius with military tactics.  The part of his mind that found patterns, connections, and intentions from sometimes unconscious clues.  The things in the room were too dissimilar in and of themselves to be a "natural" collection of objects, but there must be some reason behind these things all being collected into this room.  He included the people in the collection, who they were and how they were dressed.  Then he focused all his conscious thought on breathing in...and breathing out.

"But-"  Dillon was speechless.  The machine worked or didn't work by some design or power beyond his perception, and the ache in his head and body made him less than inclined to ponder it.  "If you don't know, than who would?  This Mercer guy?"

Though he had been silent, Quentin continued to pay attention. "Hammersmith?" His brow furrowed in thought. Had he ever heard of a Hammersmith, probably somewhere, but he didn't immediately recall any details. "Telluric rays?" He was sure he didn't know what those were. Still, something about an experiment going wrong and 'granting them powers beyond then ken of other men' was pretty familiar in light of the advent of the Nova Age. "Do you know any further details about this experiment that Hammersmith conducted? Or what these telluric rays are? I'm... a pretty accomplished physicist, and I've never heard of them. The story mirrors one familiar to us though - an orbital satellite which exploded some years back seems to have been the trigger for us and thousands like us to develop our powers. I'm forced to wonder if the experiment might have been similar - or even the same - though conducted on a somewhat larger scale."

Imp, while not in Grav's league (not by far) still had the degrees to attest to a past life spent in labs, crunching code, and trying to puzzle out some previously unexplored nooks of modern physics to make a name for himself.  He hadn't hard of telluric rays either.  "I'm curious myself, if it was an experiment that gave people those powers..." He trailed off, his train of thought very close to Grav's.  "Could you tell me, Mr. Stiles, a little more about the founding members of the Aeon Society?  There's been a rather thorough job of obfuscating their, and your, history."

Mr. Styles shifts his weight from foot to foot, showing a bit of frustration at standing still in this timeless place.  Those with a bit of hand to hand fighting experience might note that he has perfect balance, and naturally assumes a defensive posture.

"Telluric rays.  Well, as I have stated, my colleagues were better versed in these matters, but I am told that they underlie and bind all the other forces of the universe.  But I find it easy to believe that you would know little of them, since after Hammersmith's accident the press labeled everything the good doctor did as bunk.  But the aeon society, especially those of us impacted by the incident and marked by the energy, we knew otherwise.  As to the founding members, well chaps, if history hasn't seen fit to tell you who we are, there must have been a reason I suppose.  My friend Mr. Mercer was one, something of a leader to us actually.  I only reveal his name because I get the feeling you'll be hearing more about him before this strange day is done."

---

Near the record player, another person comes into focus.  Wearing an elegant dress with long gloves over her hands that cover her arms to the elbow, the woman could easily be mistaken for a lounge singer.  Only the sour look of distaste on her face, and the sound of her cursing under her breath as she sorts through the records looking for satisfactory music, ruins her poised appearance.

Laura was mindlessly flipping through the albums, trying to find something of worth to listen to.  She enjoyed Cage, he was a true pioneer, but Organ²/ASLSP wasn't her favorite piece.  She quit muttering to herself and grinned when she found Impressions-Debussy, Ravel by The Tokyo String Quartet.  She had always been a sucker for Debussy.  It wasn't until Laura moved to put the album on that she noticed the antique phonograph...and her attire.  She looked down at her hands, enveloped in black kidskin opera length gloves, with approval.  Her gaze went from her hands to her gown, a red a-line body that flowed down into a skirt that hugged her legs with a single slit, the shoulder straps and plunged bustline were embellished with jewels.  On her feet were 4-inch prism-heeled peep-toed sandals that strapped around her ankles.

Laura carefully replaced albums and restarted the phonograph, and closed her eyes lightly as Debussy's Quartet for Strings in G minor, Op. 10 began playing.  She then proceeded to walk about the room, taking in the scene before her.

"What an unusual dream this is."

She greeted the people in the room with a small smile as she walked around taking it all in.  When she got to the painting on the wall, her eyebrows stitched in contemplation.

"Why would I have a dream in which there was a piece of art that seems to have been painted over?  It's rather unusual...although I do wonder what the original painting was.

The paint appeared to be an oil based paint.  From the little experience that she had with oils, if they got on your clothing and dried you used mineral spirits to scrub them off but you could only take off a layer at a time.  Theoretically that would work with this...she assumed at least.  She looked around and noticed an easel with art supplies leaning against the wall by the desk.

"Hmmm...maybe there are some mineral spirits here."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Sat 10 Nov 2012.

Dillon gave up on the clock.  And he gave up on Stiles.  Physicists were talking, and while he could follow that stuff before the virus, now it was just so much noise.  And Stiles seemed to like riddles.

He noticed the lady in the opera gown come into focus and then begin speaking.  Eager for answers, he approached.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he waved to make sure she could see him and it wasn't a fluke.  "This is going to sound weird, but what year is it?  And do you know where we are?"  Since she was interested in mineral spirits for some reason, Dillon rummaged through the cabinets nearby, eventually finding some painting supplies.  He had no idea what he was looking for, so he brought all of it out and started reading labels while hoping this unfamiliar figure would respond.  Sure enough, he found a bottle.

Laura started at being addressed directly, and looked up to regard the man dressed as an early 20th century laborer.

"This dream keeps getting odder and odder."

She gracefully removed the long supple gloves, set them across the desk, and delicately took the offered bottle from the man.  She took the painting from the wall and grabbed one of the discarded rags by the easel, then began speaking to him while gazing into his eyes for longer than was customary for people meeting for the first time.

"You couldn't discern this from the surroundings and the attire, but it is 2005.  I am being held at the Rose M. Singer Center, in NYC.  I am assuming that I am dreaming of this place because right now I really want to have something fucking happy to think about.  So, what is your name, sir?  I am Dr. Laura Manning."

I can't believe that I am having a conversation with someone in a dream...then again, I am also about to deface a piece of art in a dream just to see what is painted beneath it. 

"The strangest part about all of this though is how real everything feels.  This is the most tactile dream that I can ever remember having.  I mean these gloves FEEL like kidskin, these mineral spirits SMELL right.  It's really weird.  I wonder if this is just part of being a nova...you can do everything better, including dreaming.  If that is true, I can't wait to find out what else I can do; after I wake up that is."

She took the rag and put it up to the mouth of the bottle in her hands, and tipped it over in order to just dampen part of the the cloth.  She then began the process of removing the top layers of paint on the canvas staring intently at her work, so as to hopefully not remove too much.  This was a delicate process and she wasn't the most knowledgeable in regard to visual art, but she knew enough and was smart enough to hopefully be able to do this without a hitch.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Mon 12 Nov 2012.

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Singer" Imp said, "welcome to our little corner of Never Never Land, my name's Impetus. What do you mean by 'being held at?' Are you a prisoner?"

Upon hearing the other man speak Laura's eyes jumped from the painting to his face.

"I of course know who you are, sir.  Everyone does!  Are you implying that this is a shared experience and not a dream???  Because if it is, I need to ask you to consider the request to try to get me out of jail that you will probably get in the morning.  I was arrested last night for accidentally hurting some people who were pummeling me in a bar fight.  I erupted when I was ganged up in by some huge guys.  I really don't remember much of what happened but I think that I hurt some people, maybe killed someone, and the bar was trashed.  My agent said that she is friends with the person who represent s you and that she thought that you might be able to help me out."

Her eyes averted from his face in embarrassment and possibly shyness at actually being around Impetus.

As people go about carefully attempting to uncover the painting, they note another portrait of almost the exact same design.  Preternatural dexterity and perception allows those working on the painting to uncover the first layer without destroying the others.  Two of them in fact.  The second layer of painting shows the initial crew of Team Tomorrow.  The first layer pictures Mr. Styles and several others in early 20th century garb, though faces are difficult to discern.

Dragon's meditations reveal little, only that the unifying theme of this place seems to be the linear progression of events from 1922 toward 2122, and key points within that time frame.  Or perhaps turning points.  Why you are here is still unclear.

The clock reads 9:29.

Dr. Laura Manning lasted all of a few seconds against Impetus at his full realized self.  Dillon wasn't surprised.  Still, better to let him handle it.

"Gale, didn't you say you were around when they put together the first T2M?  And you decided not to join up so you could go pursue a degree or whatever?  Does anyone else here look like anyone from that era?  We're all in 1920's clothes, look at faces, photographs.  Check everything."  The ticking of the clock only inflamed Dillon's sense of anxiety.

He nudged Solitaire, then Dragón.  "No time to be sitting around, we need to find anyone who looks like they're from the future, from 2100."  He found a shadow of a person, but after a few words they seemed to fade out of existence with a whisper.  He found another, but she seemed to just be a confused maid from the 1920's, confused by a strange man asking her bizarre questions.

As the dexterous and artistic pulled off the first and then the second painting, Dillon's confusion grew.  "Alright, that doesn't make a damn bit of sense."  The painting was of Team Tomorrow?  Pax and the founding crew?  And then ... "Mr. Stiles, are you one of the figures in this painting?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:19, Tue 13 Nov 2012.

Comstocks nudge snapped Solitaire out of her musings, and she realized she had been staring blankly at the wall for the last, what, 10 minutes?

"Look if you want, but I don't believe in any future but the one I set for myself. People from the past, sure, but from the future?" She flicked her hand dismissively, clearly unconcerned. The future was its own damn problem and she would deck it in the face when she got there, there was no point in worrying about it. Feeling that the crowd at the painting was probably the most interesting thing going on, she floated over there to watch and offer sage and unnecessary advice.

Gale turned to look at the painting.  Surely she would recognize some of the faces in the portrait.  The question she was pondering as she watched was the title, and why someone would choose to paint the portraits in that particular order.  The Aeon Society, then Team Tomorrow, then the group of people in the top layer.  She knew they must be some formed group, similar to the others; the figures were too disparate, and the one woman looking away seemed to imply that they did not all get along.  There was a connection here.

”The Aeon Society founded Project Utopia, which in turn created Team Tomorrow.  Somehow, Team Tomorrow must create this new group?”  She mused quietly to herself.  That didn’t make a lot of sense.  If so, why were there people here in the dream who were not members of Team Tomorrow?  Descendants of each other?  No, there were too few people in the Aeon Society to have populated that many novas around the world.  Perhaps the connection lay in something else.

”Mr. Stiles, would I be correct in inferring that you were also touched by the Telluric rays, and therefore, have some unusual quality about you?”  Gravitas would probably ask more about the experiment itself, but to Gale, the goal was finding the underlying connection between them all.

Laura nodded a greeting at the newcomers, then turned her attention back to the painting.

"The title of this is "Darkness, Shadow, or Light?", and there are three separate portraits.  It can't be a coincidence.  The artist doesn't seem to know the answer to the question that the title is asking, there aren't elements in any of the paintings that would guide the observer toward the artist's opinion.  The people don't seem to be exaggerated at all, they seem to be true to the subjects.  So...if the artist doesn't know which groups fall within which category, why paint it, unless the artist wants the observers to either come to their own conclusions or answer some sort of riddle.  Now, because the paintings are painted over each other, one can conclude that it isn't a question of which group of people is light, which is darkness, and which is shadow.  This is because if the artist was asking that question, he or she could have simply done one piece of art with three separate scenes.  No it seems as though the audience is supposed to determine individually if a certain group is Darkness, Shadow, or Light.  The question that I have is, why?  You don't spend this much time and effort painting something like this unless you are getting paid to, or unless it is extremely important to you.  The fact that the same canvas was reused two times leads me to think that the artist wasn't doing it for a commission...so again, why?  What does this mean to the artist, and why does he or she feel like the question is so important?"

Laura began quietly "playing" the orchestral parts of Luigi Nono's "Il canto sospeso" while she softly sings the solo vocalists parts.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Il_canto_sospeso  the solo vocalists sing letters that were written to loved ones by captured European freedom fighters just before being executed.   She "plays" the instrumental parts by way of Holo.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 03:56, Wed 14 Nov 2012.

In reply to Rydi (msg # 131):

He knew he should probably have informed someone of his decision.  Protocol demanded that he get authorization from his commanding officer.  But there was no way to do that without spilling the secret he had vowed to keep. He could've told Impetus, but something kept stopping him. Maybe it was the nagging feeling that Impetus had more important things on his plate, and couldn't care less what Angelo did. He could've just let it go… But no… His old friend James Kinney was involved in something that could be a danger to his new friends. So he was going to go undercover… Alone… He had to discover what was going on, and if it was a danger, put a stop to it.  As a single nod toward a safety measure, he left a note in a DOS batch file in the base's server, confident Johnny or Binary could find it relatively quickly if something went wrong.

And so he found himself walking along a dusty sidewalk, toward the door of a dusty roadhouse bar. A call to Sergeant Kinney had set up a meeting here, and he was about to walk through a weather-worn door into the unknown.

The new people, Mr. Styles and the lounge singer, were already fully engaged and there wasn't much she had to add to the conversation.  Angelo looked to be doing his meditation thing, so she figured it would be worth giving him some time on the off chance that he could come up with some insight into their situation.  Phantasm meandered toward Comstock.

Moving along side the big man, brushing against his elbow to let him know she was there, she spoke quietly. "Nice party isn't it?  Doesn't seem like they're fully with it, and all these clues are full of implications but no substance.  Hopefully in a minute we'll get some actual answers..."

When Gale asked her question, Quentin instinctively called upon his Node to check for nearby quantum sources. Or tried to anyway. Instead he realized he didn't quite know how to make that happen, or else, he didn't have the equipment to make it happen, or it just wasn't working. In any event, he looked confused for a moment as he attempted to shift parts of his perception to sense the various sorts of things he could normally perceive with his abilities. Getting no results, he sighed.

It was a mixed blessing. On one hand, he wasn't feeling as completely crazy as he knew he'd been acting for the last several weeks as his brain futily attempted to cope with the increasing pressure of what were essentially several large tumors. On the other, the consequence seemed to be a continued lack of access to his abilities. For the moment, he reserved judgement as to whether or not that was worth it. If the clock hit 9:30 and men with machine guns stormed in to attack them, he'd probably wish he was empowered again, even if he was schizophrenic as a consequence.\

Instead, he turned back to Whitley Styles and waited to hear his answer to Gale's question or his own earlier question, if either was forthcoming.

Imp's brow furrowed a bit, "It's not exactly unusual for eruptions to cause damage or injury, so if you're willing to work with the Project I can get legal dispatched to you as soon as we get out of wherever this is.  Judging from what I've seen here you have powers involving your voice and music, yes?  That you're a doctor speaks to a foundation of determination and intellect that will serve you well as a nova, regardless of what road you choose to walk."

Dillon frowned.  "This whatever it is is really screwing with me."  He turned to regard Phantasm more directly.  "P, time doesn't work this way.  This has to be intimidation or speculation.  Head games and telepathy.  No one can just walk into the future and back and declare how it's going to be."

"I need to know.  Who's doing this?  Where are they coming from?  And if they think they're going to trick us into starting a shooting war, they've got another thing coming!"

Laura raised her eyes toward Impetus as he was speaking, and when he mentioned being willing to work to free her tension that she didn't realize that she was holding in her face relaxed in relief.  "That would be wonderful!  I would be willing to work with Utopia of course, well within my capabilities.  It does seem as though my powers are based around sound, but I don't really know.  I haven't really had much time to experiment, and it seems like it would be harmful to any defense that I could have to play with my new found abilities while in jail."   With her work on the painting accomplished she looked around the room at the others who are obviously present rather than stuck in what appeared to be a looping cycle.

Angelo gave Phantasm his hand to hold if she wanted.  "I've given up on trying to understand each one, but what I've been trying to figure out are the things they all have in common.  Wasn't getting anywhere, though."  He sighed.  "Wait and see it is, I guess."

"The usual defense for eruption mayhem is temporary insanity, however if you erupted while getting attacked then injured bystanders when you defended yourself then we can use the well established precedent of holding your attackers responsible for instigating the incident and having them shoulder much of the blame.  You might have to do some community service, but since that's what Utopia does anyways it shouldn't be much of a burden.  More importantly though, you need to recognize that your life will be totally different from this point on, and that you're going to have to learn how to control your abilities so you don't unintentionally harm people around you, or damage your surroundings.  Don't do anything until we get you out of there, there'll be plenty of time to practice with your new gifts once we get you onto the compound."

 "Don't worry, I am not planning on doing anything until I get released.  So, Utopia will provide me with training?  How rigorous is this training, how long does the training period last, and what happens when I finish?  Am I to be impressed into Team Tomorrow?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 07:17, Tue 20 Nov 2012.

It was as though this dreamlike elsewhere could sense that its guests were beginning to become comfortable with their surroundings and to lose interest in the riddles it presented.  As the "guests" began talking amongst themselves about their lives, their disbelief in the veracity of their surroundings, and their willingness to simply "wait" for time to pass, the clock chimed the half hour mark and a loud voice cut through the quiet hum of conversation.

The speaker sits at the desk, though no one saw him assume his position.  The middle-aged black man is familiar to some: Dan Walker, the inscrutable head of operations for Utopia Nevada who went missing after his time on the early project.  Though his uhser's uniform is certainly a change from his former suit-and-tie attire, he remains otherwise unchanged by the passage of years.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THANK YOU FOR WAITING!  SEATING WILL START NOW, AND THE SHOW WILL BEGIN AFTER EVERYONE IS INSIDE!  PLEASE STEP UP TO RECEIVE YOUR STAMP, AND TURN OFF ANY CELLULAR PHONES, PAGERS, OR OTHER ELECTRONIC DEVICES THAT MIGHT DISTRACT OTHERS FROM THE SHOW!  EVERYONE STEP UP,  LINE UP HERE, SEATING WILL START NOW..."

Mr. Walker continues shouting until everyone appears to be lining up.  Once the first "guest" is in line, he pulls out a clock-shaped stamp and an ink pad as he reaches out to stamp their ticket (or hand, once he realizes with a scowl that no one has their tickets).

"Good, yes, very, until we're satisfied, and that depends on you.  We don't impress people into T2M, you have to earn admission.  Let's see what Dr. Walker has in store for us shall we?" Imp strode over and lined up, then grinned somewhat sheepishly when he admitted that he didn't have a ticket.

Angelo shuffled through the line hand-in-hand with Phantasm.  "What do you think, P," he asked, "is this guy legit?  Dr. Walker was before my time."  When he reached the desk he extended the back of his fist for the stamp.

Farther back in line, Dillon took the stamp and moved on uncomfortably.  "You're not Walker," he grunted to the usher as he passed.

Finally getting used to the notion that his powers were back, Dillon tried to feel out the foundations of the building.  Nothing but conflicting information.  He spared Phantasm another impatient look, noticed her proximity to Dragón, and decided against pestering her with another question.

A thought struck him and he looked farther back in the line.  "Kraken.  What does this place ... 'taste' like to you?  Nothing's registering right to me.  This all isn't metal."  He pointed ahead. If psychology played a role in whether their powers worked here or could influence this place, his own hangups might be the cause of his confusion.  But Kraken might not have that same limitation.  "It's not metal, exactly.  But maybe you can warp it.  I want to force our host to come out."

If Kraken gave the affirmative, he mumbled ideas of how to blow up the mansion, make a statue of Mercer to force Mercer's dream-self to appear and answer questions, or even shock themselves out of dream with smelling salts or something like that.  He was grasping at straws, too uncomfortable with the inevitable tick of the clock to simply stand and wait.  His metal second skin seemed restrained, unable to stretch out or give Dillon his usual solid demeanor.  He wrung his cap in his hands.

Laura arched a golden eyebrow in the direction of the gentleman.   "Curiouser and curiouser"   She carefully retrieved her gloves from the desk, taking care not to get paint or chemicals on them, and draped them across the crook of her elbow as she waited in line to get her hand stamped.

Flare hadn't quite decided if she was hallucinating during most of their time in the room.  She had, however, decided to commit any documentation she got her hands on to memory.  She hoped what she read really was a fever-dream, or the future was going to be crazy.

With the raucous arrival of Walker, whom she'd heard of, but never met, it was time to get her head back in the game, so to speak.

She slid in line behind Dillon, looking askance at the stamp.  "Erm, this does wash off right?" Either way she was going forward.

Flare's quiet break from reverie, reading and mechanical repetition caught Dillon off guard.  "Oh.  It's you.  You're awake." He let out a sigh of relief and reached out to unhook the straps on Flare's straight-jacket so both her arms would be free.  "I don't even know if these are my hands in front of my face.  Stay alert."

Wilhelm's thoughts had paralleled Comstock's, though he'd been momentarily distracted by the problem of the gramophone records.  They shouldn't be!  The duration limits for gramophone records were imposed by the material properties of PVC.  Exceed these fundamental physical limits and you were left with dramatically compromised recording dynamic range and a record that could be damaged by the slightest misalignment of the needle.  The longest recording pressed into vinyl that hadn't suffered from these problems was Todd Rundgren's Initiation at sixty-seven minutes, thirty-two seconds.  This was fact.  Yet paging through the recordings Wilhelm found a record, he couldn't call it an LP, claiming to be Beethoven's Missa Solemnis in D Major, Opus 123 clocking in at just under eighty-five minutes.  Balderdash!  "Yes, let's get out of here.  'Tis a silly place.  Nothing is as it should be.  We may want to be careful, though.  If I am to succeed in changing this place the consequences could be ... unforeseen."  Not knowing the rules here, Wilhelm thought he'd need to focus.  Debussy was too calming.  He turned back to the music selection, running an oily finger across the spines of the record sleeves.  Something aggressive, rhythmic, yet not soothingly predictable.  Aha.  The phonograph screeched like a proverbial cracker had just walked into the equally proverbial juke joint.  Moments later, the multi-tracked vocals of Einstürzende Neubauten's Halber Mensch started up at the maximum volume the phonograph was capable of, soon to be accompanied by the band's trademark pounding percussion.  "Much better.  Shall we get started?  I may require your assistance, Mr. Amargosa."  Wilhelm started small, trying to make his body liquefy, expand toward the walls, and ignite.  By all rights he should have been in such a state already.  It had been years since he'd walked about on fleshy feet.  If all worked as planned he'd burn the glass in the windows, boil the wood in the walls, vaporize the paintings in their frames.  At the least he'd see if had full control over his body in this strange land.  This should be his element and now at least he needn't worry too much about taking his powers on an excursion.  To make certain of things, he tried to generate a sizable ingot of aluminum out of the ether.  It would anodize under chemical attack and prove quite resistant to his peculiar charms.  "Metal is your media, yes?  Insure that no one is in the way if this gets out of hand."  Wilhelm's voice vibrated strangely within his ever-expanding, fluid, black, and cephalopodic body, like ripples in a pond.  Without the audio transducers of his suit he had to improvise.

---

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

---

This message was last edited by the player at 06:35, Wed 21 Nov 2012.

Solitaire stared closely at Walker, eying him up and down and even floating all the way around to complete her examination, then she gave a nod. "Hey Walker!" She said brightly, slapping him on the shoulder. "Good to see you, I thought you were dead or something. Do you have a butterfly stamp? No? Why are you looking at me like that. You're no fun."

Consenting to be stamped, Solitaire moved on and found a seat, or more precisely, two seats, as she promptly spun the one in front of her around and set her feet up on it. She looked completely relaxed, as she generally did.

"Did anyone bring popcorn?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:24, Wed 21 Nov 2012.

Her conversation with Mr. Stiles interrupted, Gale turned to follow the others.  This scenario was just getting weirder and weirder.  All this pomp and circumstance, and for what?  They might have been about to find out, or maybe it was just going to be more riddles.  The whole thing was quite frustrating.

Gale accepted the stamp, and moved inside to take a seat near the back.  She wasn't sure what Comstock and the Kraken were up to, and wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Flare took a brief moment to shimmy out of the straight-jacket completely, then rubs her hands against her arms.  "Warm, but definitely not the fashion statement I was looking for, not that this is any better." The creepy prisonesque white dress barely reached her knees, and had definitely seen its better days.

Dillon spared Flare his cap and vest.  "Well, the good doctor is going to see about making us a fire."

If the ingot formed as Kraken willed, than Comstock would do his best to shape it into a mighty shield around his fist.  Of course, if it did form, than it was also likely he could detonate the building if he wished.

Either way, he called out to the others.  "Keep close, gang.  If our host doesn't show up soon, Kraken is going to test the limits of our dream."

Phantasm gave Angelo's hand a quick squeeze but didn't hold on.  This wasn't the place for getting comfortable.  She was about to respond to Dillon when the announcement cut the chatter in the room.  "Well, I guess we get to see what the fuss is all about..."

Phantasm stood in line dutifully, accepted her stamp and made her way to the door of the theater.  The spectacle of Dr. Forster becoming the Hell Kraken made her pause however.  "I always wondered what he looked like under that suit..." she said to no one in particular as she stared at the expanding monstrosity.  "Kind of pretty, in an alien sort of way."

As the room started to burn she tore her gaze away and found a seat in the theater.

The Usher Walker frowned at Impetus and his absent ticket.  His brow furrowed further as he looked along the line of people, noting their lack of a ticket.  "You always make yourself the exception to the rule, don't you Sir.  Here, just hold out your hand."  Stamp.  "Next."

"Mr. Devarga, Miss Phantasm." A tilt of the head, a smile.

A nod for Dillon as the big man passed.  "Mr. Amargosa.  Astute as always.  No, of course not, merely a proxy simulacrum.  Next please."

Another nod for Solitaire.  "Solitaire Three.  You were always our favorite.  Here you go.  Next."

And so it went, until only Kraken and Comstock lingered behind.

---

Inside the small theater, the projector was already playing, the light obscuring the operator.  To the side of the screen stood Walker, dressed in a scholarly suite, old fashioned pointer in his right hand.

Professor Walker gestured, and Camera Operator Walker moved quickly to shut the door.  With that, the show began.

---

In the waiting area, the door closed as the burning started.  It began as a normal fire might, catching quickly and expanding to catch the walls and the desk.  Usher Walker frowned, pointing toward a small No Smoking sign sitting on his desk as the flames climbed up the furniture and smoke wafted through the air.  The fire rapidly intensified, destroying the walls, furniture... Everything.  As the doors burned away, scenes of other places, other times, were revealed.  A whole and un-Tainted Dr. Forster, addressing the U.N.  Comstock, metal skin twisted by rage into an instrument of destruction, ripping apart the White House.  Others, gone too fast or too confusing to make sense of.

The scene fell apart too fast. Even as Comstock manipulated the metal into a shield, the fires consumed everything But as was already clear, this was not a natural place.  The walls, when they fell, did not reveal other rooms, the sprawling estate that should be attached to such a place.  Nor did they reveal a war-torn landscape, flames still burning against the night sky.  Beyond the walls there was simply... nothing.

---

The film was silent, punctuated only by Professor Walker's droning lecture.  "Time.  Reality.  Choice.  Individuality.  These are confusing even for those well-versed in the literature and with a long career of scholarly research in these areas.  You are not such individuals, and therefore this lecture will, of necessity, be couched in simple terms and will not delve into the finer details.  If you have questions on the science behind the presentation, save them for your later coursework, when you can speak in an educated fashion about the topics... Alright, let us begin."

The film shows a single line forking at a single point, with multiple lines emerging from each fork until they begin to re-connect, eventually merging into a single line once more.  "At certain points, there are powerful localized events that cause a break in the normal, linear progression of time. These events create branching realities quite different from your standard alternate universes and divergent timelines... No, please, no questions.  As I was saying, when such an even occurs, it creates a series of branched realities that expand out into a nearly infinite array of realities at a single point in time, which then eliminate themselves or rejoin with nearby realities to form a single timeline once more."

Professor Walker clears his throat as the image expands, then changes to a series of pictures showing the Hammersmith experiment.  "The Hammersmith Event was one such point.  Releasing powerful energies across reality, the even warped both the quantum and sub-quantum reality.  From there, the realities diverge and shift under the pressures, at first creating distortions in the base timeline causing impossible occurrences and disjointed time, even as realities begin to split.  Forming a bookend for our fractured reality, is--"  The image shifts to another time, with the Venezuelan geography warped nearly beyond recognition, and a giant archology visible in the far distance. "The Venezualan Phenomenon."

"Why should this matter?  Isn't this something that will sort itself out at a different layer of reality with all of us happily unaware?  And why are you here, as opposed to others, or even your alternate reality selves?  Quite simply, because the nature of the timeline that emerges from our Venezuelan bookend can be manipulated by changing the..."  Professor Walker frowns a bit, much as Usher Walker did when he realized there were no tickets.  "By changing the flow, if you will.  By changing the way that realities cascade into one another, altering the way that possibilities collapse into one another, those with the appropriate vision can prune reality to create a final, desirable result."

Clearing his throat again, as the projector displays a series of disjointed events, Professor Walker continues.  "You are all here because you are crucial to the way events fall, but more than that, you are here because you are mutable elements.  Some individuals, most actually, are swept up in the tide of their reality-" The screen shows the vast multitudes as they fight and die in wars, attend political rallies, and buy the same mass produced products.  "Even those roles we believe important are often simply the necessary products of a confluence of events."  The winner of the 2004 election, President Brown, is displayed in the oval office before being replacee by George W. Bush, and a series of other political figures.

"And then there are others, whose presence is of monumental importance, but who vary little in their role, their paths set, with only a few crucial choices influenced by the the manipulable variables within the manifold realities.  Whether they are key players within a single reality--" An image of Frostburn, a rare smile on her face, passes by. "--move between realities, reshaping them--" an image from the portrait, the man known as Mr. Mercer, stairs back from a series of stills taken over the course of 200 years. "--stand outside reality, controlling it--" An image of the Shadow Walker in the desert of the unreal. Ghostly alien faces, staring knowingly at the audience. A cold, invisible hand observed only by the distortions it makes on the flesh of a man's throat and the rain falling around it.  "--Or stand astride all reality, a monolithic piece of terrain shaping all around it--" An image of Divis Mal, superimposed over the entirety of the timeline shown earlier. "--These individuals are swayed only by the tide of realities, and only in extremely limited fashion.  You, however, are among the few individuals whose role isn't set, who can play a meaningful role in the events to come, changing the course of the future."

The reel stops. "This concludes the first half of our lecture.  You may now ask any questions you may have.  After your questions are answered, we will move toward outlining key events, and your role in the timeline."

---

As the last remains of the building's interior burned away, Kraken and Comstock could see the vague outline of the building's form take shape: a gigantic man, his abdomen burning away, the fire expanding outward to consume the rest of his crouching form.  As the chest burned away, the face of Building Walker, wrapped in a tenebrous hood, revealed itself before it too burned away. Usher Walker still remained, seated on nothing and wearing a disgruntled look on his face.  A faint throb of quantum energy could be felt, beating somewhere within the void.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:25, Thu 22 Nov 2012.

Amid Kraken's inferno, Comstock stood on the floating debris.  The theater floated in the void behind Usher Walker.  All light in this void now seemed to come from Kraken's all-consuming being, casting the remaining matter in deep and lurid contrast.

"What is this?  Did you Utopia send you?  Walker!  Answer me!"  He whirled about toward the Usher, reverberating steel edging his voice, demanding obedience.  "All this smoke and mirrors crap.  Do you want me to attack the White House, is that it?  Are you trying to give us a warning?  What?"

As was usual for something he didn't understand, Quentin was full of questions. "Most of the postulated multi-world theories I've heard don't involve realities reconverging ever again. I'm...," he shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Really, he was trying to access his higher mental abilities, but most of that seemed beyond him for the time being. "I'm not too sure how that'd even be possible. I mean, how would-are discrepancies between timelines resolved? Aside from that, there's several other things that you mentioned that I'd either like more information on or don't understand: What are the details of this Hammersmith Event or the Venezualan Phenomenon? I'm quite familiar with quantum mechanics, but what is this 'sub-quantum' reality you mention?" This later he'd actually managed to pick up a very small bit of information on, but it never hurt to ask. "Finally, you say that those with 'vision' can prune realities into a desirable result. Who do you claim that to be? Us? You? Someone else - who?" He addressed Professor Walker, though he half expected that his questions would be shut down.

"Chillax Comstock." Solitaire said, tossing a piece of popcorn up and catching it in her mouth. She had acquired a carton of it from who knows where and was munching on it casually. Somehow both chairs that she occupied had failed to dissolve into the void. "He's just saying that we are powerful enough to change fate without being powerful enough to determine it outright. If we play our cards right we can influence how this hand plays out." Of course, that was nothing new to her, it was essentially her core philosophy.

"Popcorn?" She asked, holding out the bucket.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:53, Thu 22 Nov 2012.

"Well, if you look at the recent work being done on string theory by Dr. Hulang Tang you'll note that he doesn't discount the possibility of the various dimensions converging, collapsing in on each other, or converging then separating again.  He's pretty far out there, but still..." Imp trailed off, a worried frown crossing his face at he glanced at his enraged friend, "Dillon, these are scenes of what might come, or might be visions of other dimensions, or, well any number of things, one of which is a blatant attempt at manipulation.  Walker's never maliciously screwed with our minds before, and I generally trust precedents until given a reason to do otherwise.  If he really wanted to get you to do it, well, there's far more effective ways, really."  A stream of popcorn floated out of Sol's box and towards Imp's waiting hand, "I don't think it's just that we are powerful enough, Sol, otherwise Pax'd be here too, along with Antaeus, Scripture, Gabriel, Mathematician, Totentanz and a few others that i can think of.  Also, it's not that everybody here is drowning in power, most of us are currently little more than zips with very high opinions of their abilities, and the lovely Serenade is newly erupted.  I'd argue that it's a combination of power, influence, awareness, and a willingness to act, along with a certain ineffable something that sets a select few above the rutting masses.  We must do what they cannot, or will not."

Laura’s lips were pursed in thought as she absorbed the lecture.  Her gaze softened in contemplation at the conclusion of the first half of the ‘class’.  ”When you are composing a symphony you have to know all of the qualities of the instruments that you are incorporating into you piece.  If you don’t you may have the musicians attempting to do things that either don’t sound as you had envisioned, or you may have them attempting something that is impossible.  You also must have a clear vision of what you want to say, and where you want the piece to go.  If you don’t have a clear vision you can’t possibly hope to create a piece that is coherent, or even has a foreseeable conclusion.  I say this because it seems to me as though the diverging and converging time streams are a symphony of realities, and the orchestra has its parts written already.  We are then to be the soloists; it is up to us to guide the piece to a pleasing conclusion.  The problems with this are:  A) If we are the composers, we need to know how our actions effect the piece.  I know that I don’t have an understanding of how my actions will effect the future, and B) If we are simply the musicians, then who is the composer and how does he know the qualities of the instruments that he is writing for?  It is all well and good to state that our actions have a greater effect on reality, but really if we can’t determine how said actions will change the timeline how can we hope to consciously avoid the disasters that are foreseen?”

She shifted her attention from Professor Walker to the others in the theater, her sharp green eyes meeting everyone’s eyes in turn.

“One more thing confuses me a little bit.  Upon observing all of you, it is apparent that you know each other.  You have a relationship with each other.  How do I fit into all of this?  I can assume that in the future I will also have a relationship with you as well, but that is simply an assumption and could just be the work of my mind to make sense of things. ” 

"Not entirely accurate," said Quentin, "While many of us are or were members of Team Tomorrow at some point, others are not, or have never been. I don't think any of us have met Mr. Styles there before now." Indeed, there may have been others in the theater he didn't recognize, but as he'd had a conversation with the Aeon founder, it seemed most relevant to point him out.

Dragón was following the lecture on a conceptual level...At least until the questions started coming up… Then he was completely lost.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Comstock wasn't in the theater, but rather than derail posts, lets assume that ll of you see him as being there, but talking to people and reacting to things you don't see.  He's in both locations simultaneously... because?  Weirder things have happened after all, and Walker's power is less stable than you realize.  Your own quantum signatures are being used to stabilize all of this, something those versed in quantum science might be able to realize.

---

Comstock hears the voices of his companions answering his angered demands toward Walker.  But they weren't there... this didn't make any sense at all.  Behind the voices of his friends, the sound of Professor Walker's voice came into distant focus.

As for answers from Walker, few were forthcoming, beyond the brief moan that escaped Building Walker as he dissolved into the void.  Usher walker, attempting to be polite despite his irritation, put on his best patient tone and replied.  "Sir, I am here only to help seat people and maintain order.  I can tell you little about the topic of the film, or the intents of your host.  Perhaps you should find him and ask him?"

---

Professor Walker ruminated a bit on Gravitas's questions before answering.  "Gravitas, you've always been an exceedingly bright student, but as I said before, the science will be saved for another day.  It would do you little good anyway, unless you want to use it to advance to the level of those reality-striding luminaries we just spoke about... And it isn't time for that yet.  But one of your other questions I can answer, in a roundabout fashion.  The sub-quantum medium underlies, even creates, the quantum medium.  Its effects are more subtle, but can be even more profound given the correct circumstances.  If the quantum universe represents the rules and building blocks of reality, while the sub-quantum universe is the totality of the letters that make up those rules, or the coordinate system that makes note of the relationships of the blocks, though those descriptions do the topic little justice... Oh, fine.  Here is the math, just be quiet and let me talk to the others while you go over it." A small explosion of thought bursts in Quenten's mind, revealing a long and complex series of equations that will require further analysis.

"As to your relationships, you are incorrect that many of you haven't met, at you simply haven't met at this point.  Mr. Styles for example is well aware of you eventuatlly.  And Serenade will be intimately acquainted with all of you before this everything is complete.  Or so I hope.  And yes Gravitas, I consider myself a 'pruner' so to speak, but I believe that one day you will be as well.  In fact, I am counting on it.  You see, if I can create more people to do my job, and if I can force the most important random variables to take a limited number of values, then I can create the future I'm hoping for.  Mr. Styles, your friend Mr. Mercer has been taking a similar, if less scientific tactic.  There are... others, however.  Less scrupulous, or with quite different goals in mind.  We'll get to them in the next segment, as well as the nature of the 'symphony' we are constructing.  Any other questions?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:08, Sat 24 Nov 2012.

"I'm not going to chillax," Comstock growled.  "And I'm not going to sit down to watch a movie.  I've had it with your snide insinuations."

Floating in the void, he had no way to move, nothing to vent his frustration against.  The pain in his head had reached a deafening, mind-numbing intensity.  His insides roiled and churned.  His breath felt like fire.  The second skin reached out to integrate the shield and consumed his arm whole.

"If you have anything to say to me, Walker, better say it fast."

Usher Walker assumed a look of strained patience and a polite-but-condescending tone.  "Mr. Amargosa, Walker isn't here.  We had a perfectly good presentation planned, but you and your friend caused a ruckus, confusing everything.  At least your getting to listen in though, your poor friend is missing the entire show."

---

Professor Walker continued after it was clear no one else intended to ask questions.  "So, your role in all of this is three-fold.  First, you are meant to be the deciding factors in the decisions of a great many important people, those individuals that we mentioned earlier who only move in a few predictable directions.  You will ultimately decide which direction these individuals ultimately take.

Second, you are here to prevent other efforts at influencing the timeline by those similar to myself.  Others that act outside normal time and reality, with goals inimical to the actualization of humanity's potential.  Perhaps, you will even transcend the limits of your single perspective by the time you are done, and stand astride realities.

And third, you are here to ensure that your reality moves toward a very specific ending.  Ideally, with your influence, your reality will accomplish certain goals as it collapses into the other timelines.  There will be a war in the mid 21st century, but if you act appropriately it will be a war with the alien Doyen who fear humanity, rather than a war amongst Aberrants.  The destruction will be terrible, but it will  cause the Doyen, present in multiple realities, to realize that direct conflict would result in their annihilation.  This is not your only, or even most important, action of course, but this is the one that I can tell you of without jeopardizing your role in things, and the one course of action that you will need my input on in order to be successful.  Other actors are acting beyond the constraints of normal time in an effort to deprive you of information, and I intend you to have it."

As he spoke, images flashed rapidly.  Schematics, history excerpts, faces, places, alien landscapes, incomprehensible images without the context required to create meaning.  They moved by too quickly for all but a few to follow.

"Now, any further questions?  This will be your last opportunity before leaving here, and I suggest you contemplate worthwhile questions that will help you further your future goals rather than simply assuaging your curiosity of the moment."

"How are we to do this?  Meaning, how are we to know which actions will lead to favorable results, and how are we to even know which decisions are pivotal?  Or is our mere existence a wildcard if you will, where our very presence creates ripples that have unforeseen consequences?"

Sadly, a deep thinker Flare was not.  Musing on the future, altering the flow of time, and all of that existential mumbo-jumbo was kind of beyond her.

She does raise her hand for one question though. "So, just in case I missed something, part of this magical time movie involves us doing your will.  Or at least believing you are right."  She chews her lip a bit, not wanting to come off rude, but needing answers. "Assuming this is all" she gestures around the room vaguely, "real, somehow, there isn't any proof that you aren't some shadow branch of the government, trying to get us to do whatever you want."

Solitaire, ever the practical one (if you squinted just right), had only one question.

"So Walker, if you're outside space-time or whatever, do you know who's ass I need to kick for mucking about with my powers?"

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: Failed a die roll.  Whoops.

---

Kraken burned mutely in the void as Comstock worked up to a furious roar.  The first thing to go were his feet, disintegrating particle by particle into rust and droplets of quicksilver and falling to into the dark by some gravity of their own.  He lashed out at Usher Walker, his arm stretching to crush the man, but the devastation spread to his arms and shield.

The metal crumbled away, but there was nothing left underneath.  Dillon was simply gone.  Usher Walker looked on, disapproving and unmoved.

---

The theater shuddered violently, cracks forming in the walls.  The clever among those gathered could deduce that one of the quantum patterns maintaining the dreamscape had vanished, and so the strain on Walker had grown.

Professor Walker answered questions as they came.  "How will you to do this?  By whatever means necessary.  Simply knowing, having clear goals, and having the necessary information should provide you with the appropriate push in the right direction at the key junctures.  Which does bring me to another important bit of information... You won't remember any of this until certain triggers are reached.  It would be inconvenient to have you pursuing these goals too early, and it would tip my hand to others.  But rest assured that the film you have been watching in the background, and the diverse information you have been shown, will remain with you and resurface at the appropriate time."

"As to my own motives, and your 'doing my will,' I have little to say in my own defense.  Yes, I am attempting to influence you and the timestream itself.  It is for you to decide, when the time comes, if you wish to support me... Though I believe that when faced with the coming choices, they will speak for themselves, and the information you have been provided will simply allow you to act more effectively in the manner you already would have chosen."

Looking at Solitaire, Walker shook his head.  "I'm sorry, no.  I have guesses, but nothing firm.  Though I believe that before this is through you will find the party or parties responsible.  And I believe your powers will return."

Professor Walker grimaced, as though in pain, as cracks appeared all around the room.  "It seems that our time is drawing to a close prematurely.  Hopefully we will meet again, but if we do not, you have my thanks for the trials you will face for the sake of a greater dream."  With that, the walls of the theater began dissolving to reveal an endless void behind them.

Wilhelm drifted a lazy corkscrew through the air, tendrils tracing his path behind him.  Gravity seemed to work strangely in this place.  Flight was not normally Wilhelm's thing, unless it was inside some manner of aircraft, but here a bit of spontaneously generated and accelerated nitrogen was enough to keep him aloft and moving about.  He was beginning to understand what was going on here.  Some nova with exotic powers - directed hallucinations, telepathic domination, holographic images, something of the sort - was attempting to manipulate him.  This could not stand.  Wilhelm expressed his displeasure thermo-acoustically, blasting the void with a dissonant wash of sawtooth tones at prime number frequencies ranging form the sub- to the super-aural, all at phenomenal volume.  He extended his tendrils into every crack in Building Walker's form, forcing them wider, searching out any flaws in the void beyond.  The bastard's psyche was around here somewhere and he would find it.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Wed 28 Nov 2012.

As Comstock melted from the void, and those in the theater returned to the normal course of their lives, Kraken was left alone in the void.  Even Usher Walker faded into the quantum background noise, giving Kraken the clue he needed.  Though his normal senses detected nothing, reaching out intuitively with his node allowed him to trace the flow of quantum energy in this formless place.  While he was not adept enough with his quantum senses to make out more than the thrum of quantum power, and a vague direction, it was enough.  A stream of nitrogen and an eternal moment later, he was on the edges of a desert floating in the void.

A man cloaked in black was face down in the sand, seemingly the template from which the other "Walker" constructs were drawn.

Angelo woke with the awareness of having had a very vivid dream.  It somehow felt important to remember it, but it ran out through his fingers like sand.

Imp came to, a dull punding behind his eyes told him he was awake, as it had done since just after the incident.  Something floated into focus, Rose M Singer, Dr. Laura Manning.
He rolled off the sweat stained sheets, had a quick shower and shrugged into a clean Eufibre suit, dark grey with a deep crimson shirt.  He then got on the phone to legal, "There's a Dr. Laura Manning who erupted last night, she may be at teh Rose M Singer Center in New York City.  She injured people when she erupted.  Put some people on it."

As his eyes snapped opened, Quentin became aware that he had been sleeping. It felt foreign to him, like hanging from one's ankles for many hours might feel to a baseline. He lifted his head, noting that he'd fallen asleep at his desk (well, one of his desks). A brief glance around told him he was in one of his condos in Las Vegas.

He couldn't remember how he got there. He did have the vague feeling that he'd just been talking to people somewhere else - somewhere strange. Was it a dream? He wasn't sure his altered neurochemestry allowed him to dream anymore - after all, he didn't sleep. Not normally, anyway. Maybe it had been before he slept? He wasn't sure of that either. He was having a hard time remembering anything that had happened in the last week. Normally he might theorize as to why, but he found he couldn't anymore, so he didn't. He couldn't remember enough about neurology to even try.

Unbidden, formulas drifted into his consciousness. He had no idea what they meant. He grabbed a marker off of the desk he'd been sitting at and, lacking anything to write on, started scribbling them in the top-left corner of the room's north wall. There were, after all, a lot of equations. He no longer trusted his previously infallible memory; best to make sure he had a hard copy before he forgot anything.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Wed 28 Nov 2012.

Flare jerks awake where she'd been leaning against the cave wall.  Gun still in hand.  Looking around the rock formations, it seemed like nothing had changed.  Flashes of her dream filtered though her conscious as she tried not to move, hoping to retain as much as she could.

"Whoah."

Solitaire opened her eyes and gazed up into the sky. She was lying flat on a park bench somewhere with no real memory of how she had gotten there. She just had a vague notion that her dream had been something interesting. She reached back and laced her hands behind her head, content to stay where she was for a while.

"Well, I don't believe in all that stuff, but I do think its about time we shuffled the deck. Still, I wouldn't mind changing the game, just a bit."

Dillon awoke in a plush Recaro seat.  He was still in the KHI truck with Antonio.  Antonio looked worried.  It looked like they'd just arrived at the hospital in Mercury a moment ago, and already someone was in the truck and shining a light in his eyes.

He tried to speak.  The world swam, and words wouldn't come out.  Someone escorted Antonio out of the SUV, and a robot with perfect Spanish started triage.  "Mr. Amargosa can you hear me?"  The medical professional held up fingers and probably asked a question, but Dillon couldn't process it.  His hands felt wet and a little numb.

He nudged the medic out of the way and keeled over to cough and vomit.  It was mostly blood and tissue, a mass of little tree-branch like things, a bit of liquid metal quickly hardening.

He passed out again, dream and nightmare melting together.

Laura woke with a start, and fumbled around in a daze trying to figure out where she was.  The dream that seemed so vivid was quickly fading from her memory, leaving only the reality that she was in jail.

Wilhelm needed something to go on to try and find whoever was responsible for the violation he'd been subjected to.  The desert template could just be another construct, a wheel within a wheel as it were, but it was the only clue available.  Increasing speed and dropping onto his tentacles once there was desert beneath him, shambling through the sagebrush on uncountable flaming limbs, Wilhelm tried to reach the black figure before it escaped.  If he could he'd engulf the man.  There was no better way to to determine the maximum possible amount of information about this Walker character in a potentially short span of time.  And if it turned out that the figure was the actual Walker, well, problem solved right there maybe.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:10, Mon 03 Dec 2012.

As he sat there with a level of fog in his mind that he was thoroughly unaccustomed to, Angelo began to hear a woman's voice calling his name, but there was no one else in the room. There was something important about this voice, something that inspired a sense of emotional urgency in him.

"Ay caramba!" he shouted as his hand dove to the floor to retrieve the phone, "Professor Bharati! I'm so sorry, I um… dropped the phone. … He chuckled. "You would think," he said, "but even novas have their clumsy moments."

"Anyway, the reason I called was that I had a strange question for you, and I wondered if we could meet to discuss it." … Lunch tomorrow is just fine… See you then…uh-huh, bye."

In the desert, Kraken wrapped caustic tendrils around the cloaked man, consuming him utterly.  The act was anti-climactic, but revealing.  The man was dazed, and gave little resistance, mumbling only "Why is it always so hard with you?" before his body collapsed, but when he gave up fighting completely the body's cellular structure disintegrated.  It was as though the man's willpower was the only thing holding the body together, and when it failed, the body simply ceased to be.

The dull thrum of a strong quantum signature still pervaded the area, but the desert was melting, its quantum signature tied to Walker by unseen threads.  Kraken was falling...

When Dr. Forster woke from his absent seizure, there was a dead sheep and two handicapped novas waiting to great him.

---

Phantasm and Quentin, limited though they were, still possessed enough scientific acumen to examine the findings from the experiment.  The injection worked, to a point, killing off the eufiber-node cells.  But between the dramatic strain the cellular battle placed on the sheep, and the rapid multiplication of the eufiber cells in response to attack, the sheep died.  It was probable that a higher than acceptable proportion of novas would fair no better than the sheep if subjected to the procedure.

---

At the KHI medical facility, rich and intriguing data flowed in from a multitude of tests.  The homeless man, Antonio, was clearly suffering from the same condition of power degeneration as the utopian novas, which of course had a great many implications.  Dillon was in deteriorating condition, the collapse of his altered physiology brought on by the degeneration of his powers accelerated and intensified by a severe disruption to his underlying quantum pattern from an unknown source.

---

On the park bench, a familiar gentleman dressed in the garb of early 20th century high society sat next to Solitaire.

Maxwell Mercer seemed sad and a bit frustrated when he said "I just missed it, didn't I?"

The office was a mess when Angelo entered.  Papers were piled in stacks across the room, the computer had several devices attached to it, and multiple tablet PC's were laid out on the large desk.  Dr. Bharati looked up from her work, her gaze keen and discerning despite the obviously hectic pace of her research.  "Lt. Colonel Devarga.  What was so urgent that it brought you in to see me?"

Angelo took the one chair not burdened by books, scientific journals, survey and test results, etc.  Good morning Dr. Bharati, I realize how busy you are, so I'll get right to the point.  Do you practice yoga?

Dr. Bharati was taken aback by the odd question, and it took her a moment to respond.  The wrinkles on her forehead said she disapproved of this line of questioning, but after several seconds she finally replied.  "When I was younger, before leaving India, my parents paid for me to be tutored by several accomplished yogi, and I was enamored of the works of Patanjali during my early college years.  I still meditate a bit in times of stress, but I haven't thought about more serious practice in quite a while."

After quick shake to her head, as if she were shaking off the residue of another life, Dr. Bharati was stern when she spoke again. "Now, is there something specific I can help you with, or did you just come to chat with me about spirituality?  I AM quite busy at the moment."

"Did anyone else...?  That was strange.  Sehr seltsam."  Wilhelm mentally went over his surroundings.  The room in which he was presently standing had walls, ceiling, and floor all reinforced with 70 layers of doped graphene mono-layer sheeting, both for blast-resistance and EM shielding.  As an excellent electrical conductor, the sheeting transformed the room into a quite satisfactory Faraday cage which should have put his brain outside the reach of telepathics or the like.  At a bare minimum the mesh would be opaque to any electromagnetic waves up to 550 petahertz, well into the hard x-rays.  A signal couldn't be generated at such frequencies, could it?  ...  He'd have to retrofit the room with an added layer of high-z material just to make certain.  And have his head scanned to see if anyone had tampered with it (he kept a regular record of functional-MRI, image-association tests for just such a purpose).  Taking out his PDA, Wilhelm pushed a button, copying data from short-term to long-term storage.  The sensors in his carapace recorded on a twenty minute loop.  Hopefully they'd caught something that could explain the intrusion into his consciousness.  "Where was I?  Ah, yes.  As you can see the treatment is 100% successful, although there are some side effects.  What can I say?  There are always trade-offs in heroic medicine."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sehr interessant.  Ja, wirklich interessant.  You do realize what this means, Mr. Amargosa?  Mr. Amargosa?"  The nova had passed out again.  This wouldn't do at all.  Wilhelm needed information and Comstock was the only source for some of it.  There was no cure for what the metal man was afflicted with, at least not yet, but Wilhelm knew how to do symptom management.  Heroic symptom management.  A cocktail of Adrenocilin, Oxycodone, Cocaine, Methamphetamine, Piracetam, Modafinil, L-DOPA, Ciproxifan, and Vitamin B6 synthesized directly in his bloodstream ought to get him back on his feet again.  He was a big man, though, and probably resistant to boot.  He'd need a lot of drugs.  Possibly enough to give his blood the consistency of chunky salsa after administration.  A chance Wilhelm was willing to take.  While he was not certain, this 'Antonio' did not look like the sort to have been invited to a Utopia shindig.  And he clearly had the same disease as was affecting Comstock at approximately the same, if not a slightly more advanced, stage.  Yet the gas released at the party of

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
When was that anyway?  I've looked but can't find a date.

---

XXXX was assumed to be the vector of infection.  Wilhelm explained this to Comstock while the drugs brought him back to the land of the living.  "So we have a contradiction, nicht wahr?  Unless our friend Antonio here is Patient Zero.  So, tell me, Antonio, where have you been?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:13, Thu 06 Dec 2012.

"You felt it to?  Like deja vu or a... a dream that you just woke up from?  If you felt it that must mean it wasn't just the power loss getting to me at least."  Phantasm didn't go further with the subject unless Forster did; she didn't want to embarrass herself trying to posit a theory on what might have happened.  Instead, she moved on to the experiment at hand.

"We need to go down one of the other routes I think.  We can't risk half of us dying using this method.  At the very least we need some way to control the eufiber in order to make this method more safe.  Non-invasive means would be best, a eufiber controller would be great, but it isn't exactly a common power and the only one with the finesse is a bit high profile for this sort of thing.  Though at this point I'm willing to give it a shot, the worst he could do is say no."

Dillon coughed and jolted back to life.  Kraken conjuring drugs directly into his body circumvented the usual problems administering injections.  Given what he'd been coughing and vomiting up lately, he didn't even want to think about what his insides looked like.

"Antonio's story was pretty sound.  He said he'd been taken, by a man with a black cloak, stinking of cigars and whiskey, and that they gave him a shot that caused him to start losing his powers."  He eased himself back onto his feet.  He still felt ... weak.  Bruises, and veins of blue were spreading beneath his skin, and his chest felt like fire.  He did his best to recount what Antonio had told him, then slapped Antonio on the shoulder to reassure him.  "It's alright, man.  They're weird, but their friends."

"Then it was not just me?  ...  Perhaps we should continue this conversation in a more secure location.  I am no longer entirely certain about the confidentiality of what is said here.  ...  But I suppose we are nearly done here for today anyway.  If the present state of development is insufficient then we shall each have to endeavor to make improvements.  I have some ideas of my own for controlling eufiber, but they require the use of the Kraken High-Energy Physics Superconducting Supercollider and it's just had a quench.  If you have contacts with such people, finding a eufiber controller is probably the quickest alternative.  And remember, there are many ways of securing the services of such a nova, besides simple polite inquiry.  Many ways.  I'm certain, if it came to it, Buendia could be made to see that his interests are aligned with your own.  But I'll leave such arrangements to your best judgment."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Alright, let's try to build some sort of eufiber controller.  Preferably one that draws more power than a small city and has lasers.

22:57, Today: Hell Kraken rolled 5 successes using 16d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 3,9,2,2,7,5,3,2,1,3,3,8,4,9,7,5. Eng'ing a Eufiber Controller, Mega = 1st.
22:55, Today: Hell Kraken rolled 3 successes using 8d10 with the Target Number system with a target of 7 with rolls of 7,4,9,7,6,2,5,1. Int Engineering Prodigy, Mega = First.

6 successes.  On 16 dice (some of which were mega dice).  Not exactly the badger's nadgers, that.

---

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Indeed, indeed.  But where?  And how recently?  This could be an important lead and it must be followed up before any more important evidence disappears forever."  Wilhelm did not hold out much hope.  If Antonio's putative kidnappers were reasonable people, and there was nothing to indicate that they weren't, the first thing they'd do on discovering that they were missing a captive (Wilhelm had no doubt that there were more than just Antonio) would be to liquidate or evacuate the other captives and sanitize the site.  But maybe he would get lucky.  If Antonio proved forthcoming with the information, Wilhelm could have a semi-trailer loaded with three medium-sized killbots and ready to roll out within the hour.  Haste was in order, but Wilhelm wasn't of a mind to go anywhere near a nova kidnapping operation without backup.

Solitaire glanced over at the man, quirking an eyebrow. "You mean that dreamy visiony thing? Yeah, it was a bit weird, even for me. You're Mercer aren't you? I've seen you in my dreams." She thought about that for a moment, then added, "That might not have come out quite right, but whatever. What brings you to my bench? Besides me, of course."

Kraken's efforts at a eufiber manipulation device showed promise, but the process was far less refined than necessary for the kinds of delicate operations that would be required to remove the genetically modified eufiber from infected nova's nodes.  While it was entertaining to watch eufiber dance in a vat to pulses of radiation emitted in time with the nutcracker overture, it was of limited practical application.

On other fronts, Antonio was cooperative, but the information he provided was limited.  Hours of interrogation inquiry resulted in a confused story with few easily corroborated details.  He was taken shortly after erruption, and woke in some sort of testing facility.  He escaped by using what was left of his powers, teleporting until collapse from exhaustion, only to begin again upon regaining strength.  His first teleport landed him somewhere in the middle east, and his progressive teleports carried him north, then west.  He wound up in Europe, where he attempted to 'port across the Atlantic but wound up splashing down somewhere in the middle of the ocean.  He ported further west until he found a cargo ship to stow away on.  He arrived in New York, only to find that the same man that captured him was there waiting.  Antonio resumed his flight, heading toward Las Vegas and Comstock.

The man's clothing and skin were at least as revealing as his story.  They revealed traces of pollen and soil that confirmed his general story, and narrowed down the location where he was likely held: Bahrain.

Medical scans revealed a subtle tracking device, only partially functional.  Something about Antonio's quantum signature likely did not agree with the device, made largely of eufiber.  The device's signal strength was weak, but it would serve as an excellent focus for anyone attempting to use clairvoyant abilities to track Antonio.

---

Mercer seemed surprised that he was recognized.  He was a genuine fellow, or at least seemed to be, as his emotions were easily read on his open features.  "Time is a strange thing miss.  I was hoping to find the man in the cloak before he fled again.  He knows things, things that I need to know if I am to prevent terrible things from happening.  And I need to speak with him, stop him from meddling with things that could go horribly awry with the slightest mistake.  Some things are better left to the universe to decide... We are not gods, no matter the power we possess.  Even if we were gods though, everyone deserves the right to make their own choices.  I think you, of all people, should understand that."

"Again, I'm sorry to intrude, Dr. Bharati, but this concerns a potential remedy for the toxin."  Angelo quickly laid out his notion of a parallel between chi and quantum.  "I wanted to 'brainstorm,' if you will, with someone else with knowledge in this area.  If this is something you're not comfortable with, I can, of course, continue to experiment on my own."

"Oh, I agree. But the universe is made up of people meddling. That is what people do. You're meddling now, hell, I'm meddling now." Solitaire replied with a grin. "Can you imagine what the world would be like if nobody meddled? Nobody would do anything. To live is to meddle. It's balance that is the key. We're not gods, but our decisions do have greater weight that baselines, and not to acknowledge that is a mistake. What future do you fear that motivates your meddling?"

This was rather promising, Solitaire so rarely got the argue philosophy on the nova scale with anyone outside the Teragen, even there much of it was moderating the more extreme ideologies.

"Come.  Both of you."  Wilhelm motioned for Antonio and Comstock to follow him and left the diagnosis room.  "Lucas, fetch me my..."  "Maybach, sir?  It's waiting outside.  And the Silbervogel is fueled and ready on the pad."  "Ah ... yes.  Quite.  Thank you Lucas."  His valet's predictive powers had passed endearing, stormed through indispensable, and were now nearing pretty annoying.  Wilhelm was either going to have to fire the man or find some more suitable task to assign him to.  Still, productivity was way up...  "Among other things wrong with you, Antonio, you appear to be bugged.  Worry not.  I believe I have a solution to this problem.  I will have to file you, though.  And we will have to move quickly."  Wilhelm didn't go into detail.  He didn't know if anyone was listening in right now, after all.  He did know that he had to get Antonio into a place where clairvoyance would be of little use.  Temporarily losing him in the converted salt mine housing the KHI Records Department underneath 440 feet of Polish bedrock seemed the best option.  By the most direct suborbital route he could have Antonio safely ensconced there within three hours.  Wilhelm was of a mind to take a somewhat longer route, though, and kill a few birds with one stone.

Rocketing off to the northwest, Wilhelm turned to his passengers again, Comstock in particular.  "Now, you have dropped this problem in my lap so I am afraid you will have to do something to help me solve it.  As you've no doubt noticed, I've set a route that will take us around the world and over Bahrain from the south on our way to our final destination.  The country is small enough that I can image it quite completely in the minute or so it will be visible.  If anything comes to light, investigation may be necessary.  If nothing is obvious, I may need to make use of your contacts in Utopia.  Whatever the case, an unscheduled Gulf vacation is probably in order."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:54, Sat 29 Dec 2012.

"You want me to check out Bahrain?  Today?  Are you stopping the plane there or-" he paused.  "You want to drop me from the plane.  Parachute or ... trust the metal."

"While this plane is equipped with a MOOSE pod, I was thinking that we could return to Bahrain after Antonio here is properly secreted.  Muharraq has a runway long enough to handle spaceplanes.  It should only take a matter of hours to turn the plane around once we are on the ground.  I had thought you might wish to use this time to contact such people as you thought advisable.  Opnet coverage is spotty at cruising altitude."  Sub-orbital spacejumps?  Wilhelm made a mental note to gradually decrease Comstock's cocaine dosage.

Dr. Bharati face scrunched into a pinched look of confused impatience.  "Of course I want to help young man, I simply don't know what I can do for you.  From our phone conversation I had assumed that you came up with some new way to alter the flow of quantum..."  She paused for a moment, piecing together the information she had been given, and the thrust of Angelo's questions.  "Are you saying that meditation is the key to controlling quantum flow?" With a brief nod from Angelo she continued.  "And you want me to help you find further insight in that area?" One could almost see her thoughts turning from her work to fully focus upon the question Angelo had dropped in her lap.

"It makes sense really, there are reams of papers on the benefits of yoga, tai chi, zen meditation, and other forms of meditative practice and their ability to alter ones state of consciousness.  We've even seen some limited success in experiments with novas and guided meditation.  You are talking about another level entirely though, the kind of control that would be needed to counteract your condition is unprecedented in the literature.  This isn't merely altering your body temperature or amplifying your quantum signature for a few moments..."  Dr. Bharati continued to discuss the literature in detail, all the while explaining why Angelo's quest would likely end in disappointment or injury.  "...but, in the end, I'm willing to try if you are.  I will set up monitoring equipment and contact a yogi I know, assuming this is what you really want."

---

On the bench, Mercer shifted uncomfortably.  He was afraid of the future, but he had so few he could share it with.  "What am I afraid of Ma'am?  The war, for starters.  The destruction is so widespread... I can't see a way around it, and I fear that meddling will only make it worse.  What truly frightens me though is that there comes a point where I cannot see past, a white barrier that blocks my passage.  Does it mean the end of everything, or is something else at work?  While it seems grandiose, or even prideful, to think that we could bring about such destruction, you have seen first hand the power possessed by the most powerful novas.  Their power is only growing... I had dearly hoped that I could talk some sense into the cloaked man, but he flees from me whenever I try to contact him."

Mercer looked tired, and though he had a timeless quality to him, he looked a bit old.  "I don't know at this point.  I set so many things in motion, but they all seem to be turning out wrong.  What should a man who can travel through time do with himself, assuming he wants to help humanity realize its potential without imploding in the process?"

---

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
The following assumes that Gravitas and Phantasm explore eufiber control methods further, as suggested by Kraken.

---

Gravitas and Phantasm follow Kraken's advice as best they can, given their diminished state.  Combing utopia databases for those with the gift for eufiber control produces few leads, as most are competent only in controlling their own colonies.  A few novas showed some proficiency in creating a temporary attunement to a non-bonded colony or even a colony attuned to another individual, but of the three novas turned up in the search one was dead (Harley Logan), one was only capable of large scale changes (a fashion designer and interior decorator in Manhattan), and one was a criminal whose eufiber talents were not fully cataloged.

The only other possible recourse was Buendia himself, and though he was potentially their strongest candidate for a cure, the reclusive billionaire nova hadn't been seen for months.  Calls to his secretary went unanswered, and inquiries in person revealed nothing.  A bit more intensive investigation revealed that no one had heard from the man in months, not even his business partners or friends.  Where was Buendia?

---

The flight over Bahrain was uneventful, but revealing.  It was a poorly kept secret that Utopia had a base there, used to house criminals and to manage affairs in the region.  Kraken's research indicated an 85% likelihood that Antonio started his flight somewhere near the Utopia base.  Scans of the area revealed a suspiciously innocuous Utopia facility, but Kraken's intellect and the advanced hardware he had access to revealed that there were areas of the facility that were heavily shielded against detection, using nova technology to cloak both underground portions of the facility and to hide specific rooms from prying eyes.  Kraken was at a loss to discern more however; direct scrutiny was useless, and the indirect observations that allowed him to detect the hidden areas were little help in mapping them or determining what transpired there.

On the other side of the world, Antonio was deposited safely into his new, hopefully temporary, residence.  The man looked to Dillon as his guide, and if the big man said that Antonio needed to fly around the world and hide deep in the bowels of the earth, then so be it.

"Oh good," Dillon gave a sigh of relief after Kraken explained the plan.  He retained a high opinion of the Teflon Giant, but after the heep and other mad science he was just glad to hear he wasn't expected to jump.  "I'm still not fond of heights."

---

"I trust Kraken, Antonio, and I wouldn't have brought you to him if I didn't think he was your best bet to stay safe."  A year ago he would have estimated that he and Flare could have held off anyone.  But that was then, and this was now.  "This place is kind of creepy though."  He provided whatever assurances he could, told Antonio to relax and take a spa week, and reassured him again that money would reach his family.  However weird this was, it would only get worse if the man freaked and tried to flee again.

Later, with the scans and other information, Comstock said Solitaire's name.  "Alright, listen Sol.  Pass this information along to whoever needs to know.  I don't want to send more messages out than I have to.  Had a weird hallucination ... thing ... two days ago.  Took a stray to Kraken, and now we're heading to Bahrain to check out where he stumbled out of."  He quickly relayed the other relevant details and promised he'd call if anything went wrong.  "With any luck, I'll have some answers by tomorrow."

But for who else to call, Dillon was at a loss.  Letting Sol know meant people who needed to know would have someplace to start if anything went wrong.  But Dillon hadn't really done the corporate circuit like other Utopia novas, and didn't know too many people in that part of the world.

When the Silbervogel was nearly finished refueling, Dillon finally made contact with an old elite buddy who owned a house in Bahrain: Hydra.  "Oi guerreira.  Short notice, but I'm going to be in Bahrain.  Let's hang out, discuss work."

He hoped she'd be willing to provide some backup.  Or at least an alibi for why he and Kraken were visiting Bahrain.

Phantasm had a feeling she knew where this path was headed.  The man behind eufiber was nowhere to be found, and he disappeared around the time that T2M was hit with the power blocking eufiber-based retrovirus.

The next step was to figure out whether it was coincidence, collusion, or coercion behind Buendia's disappearance.  While he could just have picked that moment to leave the international spotlight, it was one of the only leads she had and her faculties were too diminished to add much to what Kraken was doing, thus she might as well investigate further.  If it was collusion with T2M's nebulous enemies then she could at least add a bit to the knowledge pool and perhaps find some clues to fixing everyone.  And if Buendia was somehow coerced into helping their enemies, or even just kidnapped to keep him out of the way, then they had a potential ally waiting to be rescued.

Phantasm contacted the rest of the team, the old team plus Dragon that is, and laid out what she knew.  She trusted it to old fashioned pen and paper though, electronics were a sure way to leak any information one didn't want to get out.  A short letter to meet in the Archon, including the fact that Buendia was missing and evidence suggest him as a potential lead, dropped off via courier.

She was waiting at a table upstairs at the scheduled time.  The crowds downstairs were tedious, the upstairs rooms regularly secured against eavesdropping, and most importantly, there were fewer novas that might push her into a conflict that she was ill prepared for in her current state.

Arriving via taxi, Gravitas bee-lined to the appointed room and began to pace. His injured leg and the cane he was forced to use made the movement seem all the more painful to watch. He had, apparently, abandoned the wheelchair for the time being, apparently prefering mobility over the safety from falling frequently.

"Buendia seems like our best bet," Quentin said. His tone implied that the statement was actually half-question. His diminished state and addled mind seemed to be taking a toll on his confidence. Between that and his difficulty in staying on task, plus semi-periodic seizures and other outbursts, anyone working with them tended to have their hands full.

"But no one's seen him, it seems." He was repeating things that were already known, though probably even he couldn't say why. "What if he's on Mars?" he shook his head, "No, no. Too close. Europa?" His furrowed brow implied that these were serious suggestions.

While fuel poured into the Silbervogel and Comstock made his calls, Wilhelm took a screwdriver to the ICAO number plate of the Records Department's An-72, swapping it for the Silbervogel's and reprogramming the spaceplane's transponder to match.  The Silbervogel was now SP-GGZ (callsign Golf Zulu) instead of D-AKHI (callsign Kraken-1).  The swap wasn't exactly legal (though what was the UN going to do about it?) and wouldn't fool anyone who actually looked at the plane, but the change might keep the flight from showing up in automated records.  Then he leased a hanger at Bahrain International's cargo terminal.  KHI didn't have any facilities in the region and even with the registration change it would be best to keep out of sight.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Golf Zulu.  You are cleared for Runway one-three-left.  You seem to be coming in pretty fast."

"We've got quite the tailwind here.  Golf Zulu."

"Golf Zulu.  A thousand knot tailwind?"

"...Affirmative.  Golf Zulu."

Five minutes for landing, fifteen minutes more for taxiing.  They could be on the streets of Bahrain inside an hour if customs didn't decide to raise a stink.

"Has this friend of yours brought a car?  I am not exactly inconspicuous.  I could try camouflaging myself..."

With a moment's concentration the color of Wilhelm's carapace changed from featureless, shiny white to a matte grid of tan and gray squares.

"...but I don't think it would be very effective.  Especially if we have to take the light rail."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:24, Mon 14 Jan 2013.

Angelo strolled calmly into the Archon and casually made his way to the meeting room mentioned in the invitation, doing his best not to call attention to himself.  Fortunately, he was barely known among the nova party crowd.

He took a chair next to Phantasm, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, then set about keeping as calm and alert as possible.  This had all the feeling of some of the covert ops briefings he had attended, but there was much more at stake here.

Imp pulled into the private parking lot in the hotel across the street from the Archon, parked and walked over to the elevator.  He inserted his pass key and pressed B3.  Upon exiting he walked through the tunnel to the Archon elevator and moments later walked into the upstairs lounge.  Seeing Dragon and Phantasm Imp strode over, grinning.  "P, good to see you again.  Dragon, likewise.  Who else are we expecting?"

"Hydra's probably got a few cars.  Hopefully one of them will be big enough for us.  She likes off-roading, so maybe one will be a Hum-vee or something.  She knows better than to drive anything unarmored, though, and doesn't really keep a staff."  Comstock made sure to provide Kraken with details of exactly how he knew Hydra, how they'd fought together in the Equatorial Wars and the Columbian Conflict, and figured Kraken would reflexively look up anything else he needed to know through the OpNet.  "She's an Elite, so it will probably be all business here.  I trust her well enough, but I wouldn't go giving her your passwords or darkest secrets, you know?  And the plus side is that she's definitely not Utopia.  Discreet."

Having a few spare moments, he went through his mail, which a courier had helpfully delivered since he had been incapacitated and then revived through a wonderful combination of horrible drugs. Including a letter from Phantasm.  He read the letter quickly, and swore at himself for not reading the letter sooner.  With only an hour before they were supposed to be meeting at the Archon, he asked Kraken for yet another favor.

---

Before landing completed, Comstock got a quick tutorial on teleconferencing, and before long he was at the Archon in spirit, if not the flesh.  "Hey everyone.  It's been a rough few days.  Sorry for the digital presence, but Kraken tells me his plane is transmitting to you via a direct laser bounced off of a private satellite or something.  As secure as we're going to get, since I'm on a space plane and all.  You'll have to ask Kraken and Raoul for details."

"Kraken's neck deep in this too, so I hope you don't mind him hearing what you have to say.  And neither of us have too long, since we'll be landing pretty soon here."
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:25, Wed 16 Jan 2013.

Gale hadn’t been super active in the search for a cure.  Honestly, her loss of power hadn’t been nearly as extreme, compared to the others.  Maybe it was only a matter of time.  She wasn’t the smartest of the group anyway, so she wasn’t sure what more she could contribute.

Regardless, when she got Phantasm’s message, she made her way to the Archon at the appointed time.  It reminded her of old times; better times?  When they had all been a team together, solving the world’s problems one battle at a time.  ”Hi guys,” she said by way of greeting as she entered the private room.  She took up a position in the corner, where her wings could be out of the way.

Phantasm spared a look of concern for Gravitas.  This was hitting him so much harder than the rest of them.  She put her small hand over his ruined one, and said "Yeah, Europa maybe.  Hopefully we'll find out for sure soon."

When the rest of her friends had gathered, and 'Stock's face lit up the screen of the laptop at the other end of the table, she started laying out her information.  Buendia could be the cure to this, if they could find him.  He went missing around the time this happened, and there weren't many leads, but it was too big an opportunity not to pursue.  And too big a coincidence that he went missing when it happened.

Find Buendia, maybe find a cure, maybe find the people that did this...
This message was last edited by the player at 03:55, Thu 17 Jan 2013.

A tiny portal irises open above the table, and a disk with a prison manifest for the Bahrain facility falls out before it closes.

Buendia is on the list.  Caroline is on the list.  Annette is on the list.  War criminals from the various nova conflicts are on the list.
This message was last updated by the player at 04:06, Thu 17 Jan 2013.