Mutant NES: The Rising

[Masada]

Paperclip it was called. That's how I got here. I didn't have to go through the ratlines, 'sides nobody was looking at me. They were looking for me, but never bothered to really look at me, you know. I could have slipped the leash once and for all then. Just walked out of the Berlin, gone home. I didn't have one to go to, but I could have at least tried, couldn't I? Instead, I walked like a lamb - and I was, so young, so dumb, so trusting - straight into the adoring arms of the USAF.

That's where paperclip comes in. I'm not sure why they went the extra mile and gave me false papers. Nobody knew about me. My former captors were dead; the secret of my identity burned by to hell on a solemn petrol pyre. In law I became Anabelle Smith of Wilington, Virginia, daughter of Georgina Smith and Richard Smith both of the same. I would have liked to have walked in her shoes for just one day. Just the names of her parents were reassuringly normal. But the reality of my days in these United States of America was different. I become something of a soldier, a close confident of death, a friend to funeral directors and coffin makers everywhere and ten parts crazy.

The craziness, well there's two ways of explaining that. The one favoured by them is that the trauma of my past experiences sent me catatonic. How that explains '47 is beyond me. I didn't do that. Someone did, it wasn't me. I've done some horrible things but that tops it. The second theory and the one I like, is that they drugged me and made do all that. Some of it I remember, maybe I did those. I don't remember. I was suggestible then. '47 I didn't do. Those were decent white folks. Good people. Would have been proud to have served with them in the dark days.

I think it was them testing me. Trying my limits. Seeing if I would break. Swerve from the cause. I never flinched. Well I think I didn't. I don't know. That's the scary thing. Not knowing. Am I sane even now? I don't know. I'm more conscious of my actions now, if that explains anything; not quite so suggestible as I was. But whether I'm sane or not, that's a whole other question isn't it?

Anyway, I was MKULTRA. CHATTER during my naval stint. Later still, BLUEBIRD/ARTICHOKE. Quite a storied career. Read some good books on both. Seems the FOI requests weren't as free as some thought. The forgeries were good, really good. I can't tell the difference and I was writing some of them back in the days. At least they let me do that. It was a good investment, extra testing for a part-time job as a typist. I suppose the school incidents had dampened their enthusiasm to make me a proper American. That incident was back in my P.O Box 1142 days I reckon. Can't remember. My memories failing, I think - I can't remember.

My job, if you can it that, was to make men jump. To take the laws of nature, shove them up mother nature's ass and make men do what they won't ever do. In polite parlance, I was to suspend self preservation. It had applications I was told, fearless soldiers not afraid of fire or fall, enemies who pulled their own pins and didn't throw and so forth. Sick stuff. Simple enough proposition right? Well, it wasn't. Took me a long while to master in the way they wanted. I didn't know then why they insisted on finesse. I just couldn't fathom why you would want a line soldier to fake falling from a building.

Gullible, that's what I was. Naive. Stupid. Ignorant of the ways of the world. No killing they said and I believed them. I didn't fathom that learning to kill and being told to kill are just one and the same coin. Nope, that slipped past me, I didn't realise that I was in-training to be the CIA's first port of call when the going got tough. A failed dictator? No problem. A puppet not towing the line? Easily solved. But as time went on they got jaded with that idea. Problems like that could be solved without me being bought in. Mutant problems on the other hand required a defter hand than the average G-Man. That was me. I did all that. I was a one girl army. Hell, I was the anti-mutant army.

They've stopped using me. Been a long time since I've been wheeled out. I'm too independent they say. Too dangerous. I admit, the Kennedy job was botched. But don't blame the master if the tools are sub-par. I mean, the whole operation was just FUBARed from the start. Nobody was going to believe he was capable of doing it. Hell most still don't. Good on them. It isn't like I planned to use him. I was told, I did. The bastards were lucky I managed to grab Ruby. Man was itching. I flicked, he kicked. It was all good. Still, I lost favour for that. Bastards cut my TV. Then stopped me going on missions - my little freedoms stripped away.

I lost it. '47 Redux, I'm told. I remember that one. But what can I say? You don't teach a girl to kill then go and take away her I Love Lucy now do you. I only killed a couple of hundred. Killed some I liked as well. Shame. They fed me slops after that for a few years. But come on! I didn't try to escape. There wasn't a need for that level of punishment. The mad-man across the block did more than I did and got a slap on the wrist: 'torture'. I mean, what's the point of torture if it just involves water and a towel? No batteries. No exposed genitalia. (That last one always gets me excited). No cattle prods. Dogs. Cats (those are fun). Rats (disgusting). Mice (boring). Hamsters (interesting for the juxtaposition). Or anything Good. Instead I got shafted for a decade. Left in the proverbial pit of hell.

I've had a quiet few decades. Whiling my time away reading. Good books. Proper books. White books. Mostly I've been bored. Some of the old-timers still give me gifts at my birthday. Some of the newer ones think to woo me. I'm tempted to kill one to make an example to the others. But the threshold for me acting out has just kept on decreasing. Used to be the case that I could kill a dozen blacks without so much as a slap on the wrist. Now if I kill one, it's all bad Anabelle, blacks are our equals. What a load of dross. You just need to look at them to see the simian. What do they think I am? An idiot.

God, I just want to get out of here. Have some fun of the kind long denied to a decent girl. Maybe have a road-trip or two. Then I'll come back. I like the books. The quiet. Some of the other guests. And the doting. I might have to endure a century of punishment this time around. But it'll be worth it. Warden III might even have passed by then. Bastard sure is long lived. His son has more promise...

 

[DarthNader]

I'm out. I just can't be arsed to write stories for this anymore.

 

[Freemanuncg]

“What are we gonna do? Rough the place up?” she suggested

“No its way to dangerous for you, one wrong move and someone could get hurt.” Set said “We are going to go in the front door; all we need is information, I need you to hack into their computer system and find out where the mutants are being sent. A fifteen minute operation tops.”

“Sounds like less fun than roughing the place up.” She said with a grin. “What about security?” she asked “I’ve heard they screen people with telepaths, I bet they have guards.”

“There are two guards, at least one is a psychic; but all you need to worry about is the electronic security system, and the information.” he said.

“But what are we gonna do about those guards?” Aubrey asked.

“Leave that to me” Set said with an evil smile.

A shadow in the corner of the man’s eye, he stopped in the middle of the lobby and turned around. “Did you see that?” he asked the man to his left. The man ignored him and walked away, he was sweating profusely now his heart pounding in his chest. His skin began to crawl as he was paralyzed in fear “I don’t know what is wrong with me, someone call a doctor!” no one responded to his desperate pleas. The people around him took no notice of his panicked state he began to claw at his own flesh “CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?” he screamed. Suddenly it seemed that the people began to shriek around him, banshee’s out for blood, a voice whispered to him telling him to flee to run and climb to the highest floor and there he would be safe from the demons.

The guards leapt up from their posts to find the cause of the commotion. As the raving man sprinted down the hall the guards followed calling to others on their portable radios.

Two shadowy figures slipped in the door unnoticed in the confusion, Aubrey laid her hand on the security scanner as we passed deactivating the security systems in that part of the facility. They took the stairs down to the basement, she knew where to look, it took only a few minutes to find the main frame room. She placed her hands on the computer system and suddenly went limp; Set caught her and laid her down gently.

The monitor before him flashed and words appeared on the screen “FIND SOMETHING TO STORE THE INFORMATION ON” in large blinking letters. In a moment he began to look around the room for the discs that computers could imprint information on. Aubrey came to and began to climb shakily to her feet and shook herself as if her limbs had gone to sleep. He indicated the stack of discs he had found while she had been in the computer system. She began to take them off of the spindle one by one putting her palm against the shiny surface of each for a moment.

“I got too much data out of the system” she explained “I can’t access all of it in my head”

“We don’t have time the guards will be back!” Set said urgently

“Follow me I got the specs of the building, there’s an exit down this hall we’ll come out of a emergency door near the parking lot, I shut down the alarms and security systems for another thirty minutes and erased all the camera footage for the day just to be safe.” she rushed down the hall, Set followed close at her heels.

“Stop right there!” a voice called out. They had just burst through the emergency door and were making a dash for the car. Behind them stood a guard with a weapon drawn, “Don’t move!” he shouted. The gun stayed trained on Set as he turned to face the man. A squeeze and a flash the bullet passed through the illusion and ended its flight a mile away embedding deep in the ground. The man never saw Aubrey and Set climb into the car and drive off; he called on his radio reporting an intruder down at his post. The illusion of the dead man shimmered and vanished as the other guards arrived, “he was just right there!” the guard exclaimed, pointing.

“Are you feeling ok?” his friends asked looking worried. “A guy went nuts in the lobby earlier; we think it was caused by this psychic they are interrogating upstairs.” A new guard was assigned to the post and the men trooped around to the front of the building to reenter.

The soldiers at the check point lifted the gate, saluting a superior officer, as Aubrey and Set exited the base.

 

[sophie]

Masada! That, was...fantastic! bravo!

 

[Megaman_zx]

They were out, finally out. Barnabas stared back at the New York skyline, smiling like an idiot. He was so happy, he almost wanted to run the car off a bridge or something, see what would happen. No. He had the kid to look after. So much potential. If only he had a grasp on reality. Although, Barnabas had a firm grasp on reality and all he could think of was escaping it. At least the kid was happy with his beliefs.

He drove and drove. They stopped at a fast food joint and got meals, then continued down the highway. The kid was whistling and drumming on the hood of the car. Barnabas couldn’t help smiling at his innocence. It would be another day, but at least he wouldn’t be stuck in a cell, to be tortured.

They reached the New York border, and found that there was a checkpoint of National guards checking citizens. The kid was still ecstatic, and when they drove up to the checkpoint, Barnabas channeled some of that energy into the guards. They looked over their papers and passed them on, bidding them good day multiple times. As they were pulling out, one of the guards pointed at them. Barnabas readied for a fight. He stopped the car and calmly got out. He sent a wave of euphoria from the kid to the guard approaching him. There was a sudden skip in the guard’s step and he smiled at Barnabas. He took off his glasses and looked the man in the eyes, while the man greeted him and reached out his hand for a shake, Barnabas went in, pulling a berretta from the soldiers holster and firing into his chest.

The guards turned, some raising automatic weapons and others picking up walkie talkies to call for backup. Barnabas shot three of them, and let the rest escape. He went to the corpses and looted their ammo, another pistol, an m-16 and a bullet proof vest. Shots began pattering around him as soldiers began to fire at him from cover. He fell down as a bullet struck the bullet proof vest he was holding over his back, then got up and continued towards the car. The kid had his head buried in his hands. “Don’t worry, the monsters don’t know yet, we can still escape.” He revved up the engine and sped off into whatever state they were in now.

He stopped a few miles later to put on the bullet proof vest under his hoodie. The kid took a piss in the woods nearby, and after checking the guns and getting them secured in the car, he restarted the engine. He nodded his head at the on car compass: due west, as far away from New York as possible. Hopefully there was a bit of peace in California. Because it was hard to commit suicide when the all the government wanted to do was perform experiments on you and keep you alive as long as possible.

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

That's my last story before the update, by then, assume we are in Illinois.

 

[Masada]

I remember my first. He was nice, conscientious. Knew how to talk to a girl. How to show her a good time. He was a soldier. Had been training to be a doctor before the war. I suppose you could say that he had a good bedside manner. Put together he was calm, quiet with hands like a surgeon. Now those where steady hands... the things they did for me, enough to take my breath away even now. That was good. I wanted to know how far blood could shoot and he was just the man to slice his jugular clean. I was young, he was older, it was inappropriate and besides I just had to know. It wasn't just curiosity. I was a scientist in the making or so I thought. Life took me in different directions but I never lost that fascination with how things really worked.

To this day, I still have to test things in the field. I saw that youtube video where the guys head blew six foot up in the air after being hit by a Barrett. I tried that. It works. Got in trouble for it. But he was a just a negro. I mean, what's the big freaking deal? Punish me for animal cruelty or something. Not murder, that was just tripe. The suits bailed me out. But it should never have come to that. When I nodded at the white jury and gave the judge a tip of my bonny blue bonnet I should have been acquitted. I wasn't. Hell the bastard held me in contempt. Whatever happened to racial solidarity? Died during the war I fancy and that negro communist King's crusade.

His hands never faltered. That's something rare. Most shake just a little when the blade rises. Some faint. That's a pain in the ass. I have to wait until they come to and move fast. Something painful, usually the gut. If you waste my time, I'll increase yours. Fair trade, I think. Most don't see it that way. But the negroes got to them. That and the chinks. The spics. The Injins. And them Hippies. Killed lots of those buggers in my time. Free love. Happiness. Peace. All rubbish. Show them a short skirt and a young face and they're all the same. The buck negroes are the worst. They die quick, like animals. But the hippies, they die painful like. They're humans. Kinda. Something went wrong, some animal spirit inhabited them, drove out the white man and replaced it with some mongrel half-breed mixture. There's nothing worse than misegration cept' mental misegration. Somewhere along the way the pride that kept us above them got dropped and the animals came home to roast.

Anyway, he stayed conscious. Standing even. The blood squirted. Never seen a funnier sight in my little auld life. I was standing left of centre and I got covered in it. I thought maybe his hands had slipped but the cut was on later inspection clean. What happened? Well, all that pressure. To little space. It sprays out. There's no sudden jet. It just spurts in all directions. So anyway, I was laughing, dancing and generally getting all excited like and then this little rivulet of blood runs into my mouth and I just lost it. The feeling was indescribable. I'm no vampire. But the notion of just eating someone. Of tasting them just gets me really going. Blacks taste like pork. Asians like chicken. Whites like well whites. You can even tell what people have been eating by their taste. It just sits in the blood. The fatter someone is the fatter the blood is. You can roll it around your palette and feel it stick there, the fat dry against the gums.

I was hesitant at first. There's some deep-seated fear of blood. I don't know why. It's a great feeling to shed some. Pure exhilaration. Perhaps the Jews made it so? The Protocols are fairly exact on that. Seems like something they would do. Bastards. Stripping all the fun out of life. As he sagged to the ground, all my inhibitions faded away. I lapped like a cat at the blood. Out and in my tongue went all over his body. I could taste everything about him. I've been fond of a drop of the secret sauce ever since then. I reckon that was 1919. I can't be sure.

 

[Freemanuncg]

“That was intense” Aubrey said.

They hadn’t spoken much on the ride back to the city. Set parked the car and they got out, it was late but no one saw them cross the few blocks to her home. Up the stairs to her apartment, she jiggled the key “this always gets stuck” she said as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Come in” Aubrey said as she stepped inside.

Set always preferred to be invited in to someone’s home.

The screen flashed on the computer as she powered it up and sat down on the couch, Set handed her the stack of discs. The computer made a whirring noise as the disc slid into the slot on the side, the computer was like an extension of her body the technology was part of her. Her fingers flew over the keys making a soft clicking noise, within seconds she had accessed the data that they had stolen.

“I want to know where they are sending the most powerful mutants that they had captured.” Set said “I have to help them.”

“We got a lot of data, it could take me a little time I’m gonna have to check each of the discs.” She replied. The clock on her microwave read 5:45 am.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The lust for blood was always with him, he had eaten this night but could easily drink a river of blood before the sun rose; he had done it before. “No thank you” Set answered.

God of death

He thought of the guard who had fired the shot earlier. How many times had he seen himself die?

A Stake, screaming in the flames; a stake thrust through the left breast of the illusion. A silver axe thudded into the block and blood spurted from the illusions neck; the face left unrecognizable smashed by a brick in Venice. The corpse broken on the street fallen from a great height; bloated on the shore. The body anointed with garlic, lemon, salt, or boiling water. The gypsies would drive steel needles through the body, who knows how they formed their superstitions but when the illusion died it gave them comfort. The illusion screamed as its skin dissolved, melted by holy water. The ash blowing away after the illusion burst into flame when rebuked with a crucifix. Then it was over, Set could leave in peace.

“I have very sensitive skin. Can I stay here for the day?” Set asked suddenly.

“No problem,” she replied “the bedroom on the left is empty; I can get you some pillows and a blanket from the closet.”

“Get some sleep, and then find out what you can from the data we stole, but don’t come in here during the day please.” Set said gravely.

Aubrey stared at the door for a long time after she heard the lock click. Eventually she went to work on the gigabytes of data they had stolen. What was his plan? She had heard stuff on the news from Indianapolis.

She realized she was crying, the information on the screen was almost too much for her. Camps, all over the country, where thousands of her fellow mutants were being held; many were innocent of any crime other than having mutated DNA. Why did no one know about this? She had to do something, had Set known? “I know what to do,” she mumbled to herself.

Aubrey placed her hands on her computer.

 

[Masada]

blondi1488
Active within 1 weeks

Fun'loving, adventurous...cute

* >92 yr old Woman
Mercury, Nevada
United States
seeking 16 to 20 year old Men
within 100 kms of Mercury, United States
United States

Relationships: Single
Have kids: No
Want kids: Maybe
Ethnicity: Caucasian/White
Body type: Slender
Height: 5' 4"
Religion: Atheist
Smoke: Non Smoker
Drink: Non drinker
About Me and Who I'm Looking For:

Im highly creative with a passion for travel, animals, books and the cause - Im a language buff who can speak a dozen languages. I write action/adventure and crime fiction novels as well as wagnerian operas. Im a trained dance and love to spend the arms of someone special. Im exceptionally hardworking and driven...what i set out to accomplish, I alway do. Im independent and organised. Spending my days as a controller means that I love being swept off my feet.

Im looking for a man who is strong - physically and mentally.Confidence and intelligence, and very loyal... Someone ready to take control...as Im fiercely indepedent and used to being in control 100% of the time. Someone who likes a challenge and who isn't afraid to show their true feelings...I never play games, what you see is what you get...always!

Shared interests and stimulating conversation are always key to a successful relationship...whatever the boundaries. A great sense of humour adds to the package. Too clingy can be a turn-off, but of you are the right man...I will do absolutely anything for you...total adoration.

Family is very important - mine is like the Mafia...once you are in, you are always in, always protected and cared for...the man in my life will have to accept that and take it apon himself to be that protector.

My interests are varied...travel is of utmost importance and I work to travel internationally every year. Long walks by the beach, dancing or simply enjoying someone special's company over an intimate dinner...

I never back down from a challenge, and am not afraid to try anything at least once. I am strong-willed and determined. Im not to be controlled, but equalled and on occasion fawned over...

Im always honest and value this one trait above all others - a relationship built on honesty, respect and friendship is a relationship worth fighting for.(in my opinion anyway)

About my life
Hair: blonde
Eyes: blue
Best Feature: eyes
Body art: none
Sports and exercise: Gym / Aerobics, Swimming, Hiking / Camping, Yoga / Shooting / Hunting / Fencing / Horseback riding / Operating
Exercise habits: Exercise regularly
Daily diet: Healthy, most of the time, Fast food, Sweet tooth
Interests: Books/reading, Hiking / Camping, Dining out, Movies / Cinema, Museums / Galleries, Nightclubs / Clubs, Theatre / Ballet, Shopping, Travel / Sightseeing, Black Rock, Punk, Singing / Playing Instrument
Education: Bachelors Degree(s), Master(s), PHD(s)
Occupation: Science / Operations
Income: Pension
Languages: English, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandish, German, Spic, Frog, Wop, Wog, Negro (modern),
Politics: Middle of the road
Sign: Gemini
My place: Live with pets, Live with roommate(s), friends (Sambo and Uncle Tom, Greasy Wop)
Pets: Kitties!
Pets I like: Kitties!

About my date
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'6" +
Body type: Athletic/toned
Languages: German
Ethnicity: white duh
Faith: 88
Education: Any
Job: Honest
Income:
Smoke: None
Drink: None
Relationships: Single
Have kids: no
Want kids: Yes
Turn-ons: Boldness / Assertiveness, Dancing, Controlling Power, Tattoos, Thrill Seeker, Breaking the rules, Aggressive
Turn-offs: Long Hair, Hippies, Negroes, Wops, Spics, Injians, Frogs, Slit-eyes, non-Aryans!!1

 

[Freemanuncg]

As Set fell asleep a scream echoed through the millennia, even Gods die in child birth. Love is not always ordered, Set wept as he held his newborn son.

The word swept like fire through the land of the Nile, the son of God was born. Before the masses he held the child aloft they began to chant his name, like thunder that pierced the night the voices rose.

“RA! RA! RA!”

He had never been this happy that he could remember, maybe in that sapphire island city remembered only in his dreams where he must have grown to manhood. Never before had he felt like such a normal man.

Ten thousand years an instant, ten years an eternity; he mourned Nephtys and loved his son.

“One day my son, you will be king as I am king now.” Ra walked beside his father his small hand clasping the long fingers of his father, “but you must be a good and just leader, the first in the charge and the first to protest injustice.”

They walked through the temples, Set taught Ra to see through the illusion of the world. He showed Ra the stories of Egypt, the face of his mother. All Set knew of the world he taught to his son. He trained him to fight as warrior, to win the love of the people as a great leader, to reason as a scholar, to negotiate as a politician, and to rule as a King. Ra grew into an intelligent fierce young man the girls loved him and his enemies feared him. Set knew no greater joy than to spend time with his son, Ra taught his father as well; experience is invaluable when time is your eternal companion.

“Father” Ra bowed “Look what I made for you.” Set wept when he saw the design done by Ra, a temple, how better to honor her; the body of a lion, the wings of a bird, and Nephtys beautiful face. The greatest artisans in the world began work on the temple, the Sphinx took shape to stand forever a monument for the the love of the goddess.

Ra grew into manhood, he became a man of iron will and unimpeachable character; no father was ever more proud of his son.

The flood waters washed over the banks of the Nile, bringing the nutrients and water that fed the whole Nile valley. Karnak, Set stood where he had eighteen years before, the torches blazed as the man approached and bowed before the Pharaoh.

“Why do you come to me here in the holiest of places?” Set questioned the man.

“You must return my lord the prince has taken ill” the messenger said his eyes cast down to the stones at the kings feet.”He is as the palace in Heliopolis” the wind rose a rush of cool air in the darkness; he raised his eyes, and realized he stood alone in the temple.

Four hundred and fifty miles north the god of darkness looked upon his son, Ra shook and shivered in his sleep. Set had never felt fear before, grief for Nephtys but he had not feared for her it was too sudden, he felt fear now his only son was in mortal danger. He journeyed, further from the Nile Basin than he had in many years; Ra had fallen into a deep dreamless sleep.

In the lands of the far north he found what he sought, and brought the child with him back into the land of Egypt. The power of life the child could control to bring someone to health who has long suffered, and to restore those broken to whole.

The shadows that haunt the corners of a room fled, seeking new places, dark holes where they could turn their eyes away from the sun. Ra stirred light seeping through his closed lids, Set’s eyes burned as he wept with joy for his son; his skin began to tingle. Ra finally woke, as he opened his eyes bright burning light burst from his eyes; every corner was filled with the light it was as if the whole room was on fire. Ra’s nails began to glow shining the same radiant light Set’s skin was shining and turning red.

“Father?” Ra said questioningly.

Set stood before his son and his tears turned to steam, “Beloved son, the time has come for you to take my place and rule as I ruled before you. I ruled age of the darkness but you will lead the world into the light of the Sun” Set’s hair became brittle as the light’s intensity increased and fell out when he moved.

“Father don’t go!” Ra’s tears were pure light rolling from his eyes, as bright as the sun.

“This day was prophesied my son, if I do not go now I will die” Set was gone, as he
vanished Ra’s light continued to grow brighter he shone through the walls, the shadow’s fled Egypt; Set fled Egypt.

To those northern lands he went, into those wilds to lose himself. He fed to recover from the burns, he fed to drown his sorrow, he drank rivers of blood, and when the cold in his bones was too much to bear he sought out the cities of the south. He wouldn’t travel to the land of the Nile again before many millennia had passed.

Set sat on the stone and wept for the first time in many hundreds of years the image before him a face he would never forget. The name was unknown, Apollo, but there in the mountains of Greece stood a temple where men worshiped still, the face of his son.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Set woke with the sounds of the prayers to Apollo still ringing in his mind.

He rose and exited the room to find Aubrey sitting on the couch in front of the television; the screen was slowly scrolling information. After a few minutes he realized it was the locations and descriptions of atrocities that had taken place at each of the mutant concentration camps. He stared in shock as countless list of mutants incarcerated for no crime and pictures and information about the vicious human rights violations that were taking place across the country was broadcast across the air waves. “What have you done?” Set asked her, a look of disbelief on his face.

She smiled wickedly “People needed to know; it’s a virus,” she explained “it hacked into every major channel and is broadcasting most of the information we stole. They won’t be able to trace it and they wont be able to shut it down.”

Set smiled at her, “Well as long as you found out what where they are keeping the most powerful mutants, I do not think it matters.” He said and laughed.

“I did!” she said excitedly, “Actually that’s the only information I didn’t broadcast, I thought you’d be angry.” She turned the computer screen so that he could see the specs of the instillation, and the list of its captives.

“Looks like I’m headed West.” Set said, as he stretched his long limbs.

“You mean WE I assume.” Aubrey said hotly “You’re not leaving me here to get captured and thrown in one of these death camps.” She looked frightened all of a sudden.

Set looked at her seriously, “Are you sure you want to come? You could be killed.” He thought for a moment, “If you would travel with me you must always obey my commands. I will protect you but if you disobey me you could get us both killed.”

Aubrey looked into his eyes, “I can’t go back to being who I was not now that I know about this horror, I have to do something to help. Who better than me to help you interact with this age of technology” she said with a wink.

“Grab your computer” Set said “It looks like we are headed west.”

West, the portal to the netherworld in ancient Egypt, he was worried about her. They had to leave soon, thousands of miles lay before them, and the information Aubrey had released would soon spark great unrest.

 

[Megaman_zx]

when is the update? if you are waiting another week, it's ok, but it would be better to know, so we can write 2 weeks worth of stories instead of one.

 

[Dachs]

when is the update? if you are waiting another week, it's ok, but it would be better to know, so we can write 2 weeks worth of stories instead of one.

Yeah, I kind of held off on developing any more stories on the understanding that an update was imminent. If one isn't...

 

[SKILORD]

Freeman is ripping it up with that Ra story.

I usually wouldn't be too worried about holding back for an update unless Kara puts those "Update Reserve" posts up the update usually follows like a day ( <3 ) after that. There was talk about an update, but until I see the reserve posts I was just going to assume that schoolwork was keeping Kara busy and that we would be informed... when it was truly time...

Here's what I've heard:

when is the update? if you are waiting another week, it's ok, but it would be better to know, so we can write 2 weeks worth of stories instead of one.

Yeah, I kind of held off on developing any more stories on the understanding that an update was imminent. If one isn't...

I usually wouldn't be too worried about holding back for an update unless Kara puts those "Update Reserve" posts up the update usually follows like a day ( <3 ) after that. There was talk about an update, but until I see the reserve posts I was just going to assume that schoolwork was keeping Kara busy and that we would be informed... when it was truly time...

February 2, 9:00 AM (U.S. Central Standard Time)

Deadline for candidates intending to test in the U.S. to submit completed Registration.

 

[Masada]

I remember, I still have memory left to me. He was young, I was older. He aged, I didn't. It was appropriate, then it wasn't. He ached first for want, then need and then ached for want of want and want of need as he bowed down to the earth's revolutions. I couldn't help him, then I could. It came to me one day. Not out of the blue. But out of happerstance and coincidence. Things shaped themselves around me. My will became manifest upon the world. I did not enforce it, it became true. Not for me, that's the irony but for those around me. I suffered for want, then need then ached for want of want and want of need. I could help him, but not myself. He aged, lover, father and grandfather. I stayed still, lover, daughter and granddaughter. It wasn't hard for him. A shift in perspective, strange to some. But not unpalatable. Need and want disappeared in the way I needed, I craved, died for. His changed, like a suit oft worn always new. I suffered. I lost what I wanted, what I needed. And when I grew the new, I lost that to. I was difficult. I had a right to be. But as time went on, I eased. And then it began again. I look forward to burying him, not out of spite, but love for what he was, twice before and now. There never was a girl more deserving of peace; I am she, I am anger, fire, rage. Deliver me.

I met him when I was young. Paperclip it was called. He was not one of them. I think he wasn't. I can't remember. I don't think I could have fallen for one of those. Maybe I did. Stockholm Syndrome. Battered Wife Syndrome. Who knows, who cares now, save me with my faulty synapses. He is gone, well that him. In those days he was young, dashing in his uniform, ready to sweep a girl off her feet. I don't think it was secret. I think they knew, manipulated me with him; I still haven't decided if he knew. I wish, hope, pray he didn't. Even if he did would my feelings change? I don't know... I can't know. I won't know. It's the one good thing left in my life. I have bent the world to suit this premise. I can't be wrong. Not when I can change reality. But can I change it when I know? Can I make myself forget. Do I make myself forget. I don't know. But he was handsome then. Small hands, dainty. Pale skin. Blonde hair. The merest tuft of a beard that would grow to envelop his face. Watery eyes, palest blue, crying always in the sunlight. No manly but comfortable. He was my rock upon which I placed my sanity. It slipped but never fell loose. I think. I can't be sure. '47, always '47.

He aged. It became difficult for him to look me in the eyes. No man wants to bed a girl. No real man. The war had taught me that. It became awkward, slowly. Then one day, he stopped. He couldn't handle it. The pain grew, blossomed and then laid him waste. Something broke at his core. His love was there, but it was cold burning. Silence reigned for months. No words exchanged. He couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear to hurt him. Sanity slipped. This was '62; '47 redux. I killed, I reaped a butchers bill. In certain parts they still remeber it as the year that the world went wrong. Flood, fire, pestilence and suicide. I was all of those deaths. I was none of the clean-up, that was left to lesser powers. Thankfully. I manipulated for him. I cajoled. I promoted him. I planted thoughts. Ideas. Brilliance. Erudition. Leadership. He responded but not to me. He married, had kids. I was left on the wayside. The spurned bride, the never-to-marry. I couldn't hate him. He knew that. I was his niece. I stayed. Grew to know her. I could kill with a heartbeat. But I couldn't bring myself to do that. She died. Accident. I had nothing to do with it. I dreamed it. I hope I didn't cause it. I never checked to closely. I still haven't.

He died, not physically. But mentally. He sought my arms once more. In the morning I had my realisation. I lanced his mind, cut out the pain, cauterised the wound and hid it deep inside his subconscious. I implanted a narrative. My own. I became his daughter. Painful. God knows. But I could be close. I could smell him. Taste his scent upon my lips. It was hard. So damn hard. I nearly broke. But, I think, the contradiction would have killed him. Stilled his heart as surely as I had stilled his mind. Strange the linkages between the two. I haven't fathomed them myself. Medicine doesn't understand. I do, unique perspective and all. I lived like this for as long as the illusion would hold. My sisters. My brothers. Believed. So did he. I loved, I yearned. But I never broke discipline. They knew. How could they not have noticed? They let me. More control for them. More leverage. All the better to kill for them with. I did. Again and again. There's still a part of my that doesn't care, has never cared. I won, for now. She's gone away. She'll return. Mock my weakness. My quaint little heart. She's right. In a way. I coped. I coped by killing.

The illusion faded. I think it did. He grew older. The maths broke down. He became grandfather. My siblings became my parents. It hurt. I became a child. I became the child eternal. I could never age. I could never grow in his respect... He will die. I won't follow him. I don't think I can. I don't know. I can shed blood. But not my own. They made it so. I love him. I hate him. He is my rock. To stand upon chained, head above water, always just above... Will they replace him? Can they. I have grown in power. I am the rock now. They know no better. I think they do. I hope do. I remember now, I remember not...

 

[Luckymoose]

Ain't nothing like a walk in the desert, carrying a large American SUV on your shoulder and whistling various classics, German mostly, along the way. It was the case of Klauss who was now somewhere in Nevada, having been walking now for a few days after taking a bus to Vegas. He had left Bloodwolf in upstate New York during his leave, after finding some amazingly important information in public libraries, he wondered why no one ever bothered using them anymore. The more you know, he thought, wouldn't be so bad if the place would get rid of all non-Aryan literature though. The map he has printed out, in black and white as per the librarians preferences, he knew he couldn't be far from some signs of the base, and outer electrified fence should be coming up, and he was ready for the fun to begin. He hadn't broken into a base since the 60s in the USSR, and that was the definition of turkey shoot.

&#8220;Ah.&#8221;

The shiny, metallic silver of the electrified fence came into focus in the distance, finally beating out the heat waves rising from the desert sands. Those same sands that were turning his pink JUICY shirt and ugly brown, and really irritating, Klauss preferred colder climates, less fashion issues that way. As he made progress towards the fence, he noticed a little warning sign, it read:

HIGH VOLTAGE
UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT PROPERTY
TRESPASSERS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED
TURN BACK NOW

&#8220;Heh, little bureaucrats, a sign is fairly rhetorical at this point don'tcha know?&#8221;

Klauss placed the SUV, a brand new black Escalade, onto the desert soil and got inside the driver seat. Turning on the engine and full blasting the AC, he couldn't remember who he stole this from, perhaps some gangbangers in Vegas? Then the CD player kicked on, blasting hardcore rap music through the expensive sound system, he could barely understand this tribal, uncivilized garbage, but the words of cop killing and woman sexualizing, was kind of interesting, the beat too was worth the listen.

&#8220;Hmm...knock knock Amerika.&#8221;

He exited the comfort of the AC and left the car running, blasting the gang affiliated rap music with the windows down, and closed the door behind him while viewing his obstacle. With his left hand he grabbed the SUV from underneathed and lifted it onto his shoulder, resembling a large boombox, if thats fitting at all and began to spin in Olympic fashion. With a grunt he leaped forward, with the SUV on his shoulder and with brutal accuracy he cleared the fence with his precious vehicle in tacked.

Making crowd sounds with his hand and mouth, he gave a bow and pretended to accept flowers from his fans, but it was time to move on and get to his goal. The pace must be quickened, his print outs alerted him to the motion sensory on the outer perimeter, so he would have approximately two minutes to make it to the next check point. He took off in a sprint, running faster than any normal man as he galloped like a pure bred stallion with an SUV on his shoulder, making quick time to the next fence.

He saw a checkpoint within seconds, crossing the country side with amazing ease, as he came closer he noticed two guards in the post, but decided to kill them on the exit. As he ran past the guards were playing cards, only to look out their window and see a buff old man, carrying a car, running and jumping their defenses.

&#8220;Um....what the hell was that?&#8221; the first guard said to his buddy.

&#8220;Just uh, hit the alarm, uh and lets get under this table.&#8221; the other replied while hitting the comically large red alarm button, that started the generic alarm system of all such secret bases. But he carried on, with similar speed he met the last fence/checkpoint, and cleared it as well, they still hadn't organized a fighting resistance to him, pitiful Americans.

He approached the seemingly empty area where he knew the secret hatch into the facility was located, buried under a bit of sand. Following his google maps print off he found the location, but at the same time army helicopters began to circle him. Multiple Apaches and Blackhawks, loaded with elite looking forces, well elite by American standards, but certainly not ubermensch material. He kicked through the hatch, after a try or two, and it fell away revealing the tunnel to the underground base, by now soldiers were dropping from the Blackhawks and the Apaches were arming their weapons, unfortunately he couldn't see a way to get his SUV in with ease, so what followed next was typical of moving into a new house.

As Klauss twisted and turned the SUV, to fit it into the tunnel, with some frustration, the Apaches and soldiers opened fire, with small arms at first, ripping his lovely pink shirt to shreds. Upon seeing his shirt torn by the US military for the second time this week, he sat the SUV down and put his hands on his hips, turning to the approaching soldiers. In his anger his accent came out.

&#8220;Vhat did I do vrong!? Huh? My shirt is ruined, vhy are you so stupid?&#8221;

The soldiers stopped, aiming their guns at Klauss, and taking combat stances.

&#8220;No more games! It's HAMMA TIME!&#8221;

In a quick motion he grabbed the SUV, ripping it in half, and with one half in each hand, threw them at the approaching soldiers in a scaled up version of bowling. Strike. Within a moment a number of the men were either knocked out or dead, the rest opened fire, including the Apaches. One of the Apaches released a missile straight at Klauss, he ran towards it, shirtless and beastly, he jumped into the air and grabbed the missile, throwing it back at one of the Blackhawk, demolition it in midair.

&#8220;Vhy you hitting yourself? Hahahahah!&#8221;

He turned and dropped himself into the opened hatch, going into the underground, running through tunnels he had lost his print outs in the gunfire. Americans are so rude. He went deeper and deeper, ignoring walls, they were paper to him, ripping through the guards who tried to stop him.

Finally, the hall he was looking for, the top level mutants, the most dangerous men on the planet. That were captured. Noman was here, somewhere, other cells were full of mutants from around the globe, none of which interested Klauss, he was here for a specific individual. That was until he read the name on the end cell of this block.

He tore the door off, solid, more so than the others in the block, and revealed the present inside. Before him stood an old friend, if friend is the correct word in this case, smiling at him.

&#8220;You still vant that hammer time, Blondie?&#8221;

 

[sophie]

To: Brian E. Terrance, Director of Operations, EAFB-SHADOW

From the Desk of Harold [REDACTED], Head of Mutant Incarcerations, SHID

Dear Brian,

Attached is the journals on Codename Noman, written by your predecessor 5 generations prior, Edgar [REDACTED]. I hope you read it carefully. We have reasons to believe that there are elements outside our borders conspiring to free and utilize Codename Noman. We at SHID are taking every precaution to ensure that these cells do not enter our borders, but should our agents fail, it will come down to you to make sure every precaution is made in the event that Codename Noman is set free.

The Journal of Edgar [REDACTED]

March 23, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

I have just received word that one of our operatives has apprehended the so-called Projekt Nichtvorhandensein in a town somewhere in Bavaria. The superhuman, an operative of the infamous Ubermensch program is considered extremely dangerous, and as such, every care is being taken to ensure his safe delivery here to Fort [REDACTED]. If the stories about this supe are true, the potential for this thing as an operative in the field are enormous. I have also just received word that the documents produced by Ubermensch on Projekt Nichtovorhandensein have just arrived. I will leave now to look over these documents

March 24, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

Having looked over the Ubermensch documents on Projekt Nichtvorhandensein, I am astounded by the potential lying dormant in this supe. Having recently finished a reading of Homer's Odyssey, I have decided to redesignate Nichtvorhandensein as Codename Noman, after the clever ruse used by Odysseus in Sicily. There is a little that I am perturbed by. Why was this supe never used? The abilities and powers listed to Nichtvorhandensein are stupendous, and had it been unleashed would have changed the war for us - so why was it never unleashed? What went wrong that prevented the Nazis using this powerful supe?

April 7, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

Codename Noman has just arrived in base. Codename [REDACTED] who both apprehended and aided in delivering the supe has placed him in the specially designed containment cell we have built for him. I managed to speak to him a little a few hours after his getting settled. Speak probably isn't the right word as Noman doesn't talk. It's weird though, as even though he doesn't speak, I can still understand what he's saying. He says his name is Hermann Schatten and that he comes from [REDACTED] in Bavaria. He seems very distraught about something, but won't tell me. Perhaps this has something to do with why he was never deployed by the Nazis, it occurs to me that I must gain his friendship and trust, and only then can I get to the bottom of this. Nevertheless tomorrow we're going to take him out and see how his abilities look in the field.

April 8, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

Codename Noman possesses incredible power, more than I possibly could have fathomed. He is completely immune to bullets, explosions, fire, basically anything except for light. Moreover he can slip in and out of any room, and is virtually undetectable. Moreover, the slightest touch is enough to kill most. His capabilities are vast, this much is true, but he seems resistant to actually using his powers. I think this goes back to what I was suggesting yesterday. This means even more than before I must gain his trust, it is the most important project of the MIB right now, apparently the CIA has some very ambitious plans involving this Codename Noman, as well as another recently apprehended supe, Codename Siren.

April 30, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

Progress regarding Codename Noman still remains slow. Although I have made an effort to visit the creature regularly, he still gives off nothing. It is very frustrating, and I must admit I have lost my patience many times in these past few weeks. This was not helped by the ever increasing pressure put on me by the higher ups in the CIA and MIB. Thank God Project Circe is proving more cooperative.

June 20, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

Breakthrough. Finally, after nearly 2 months of work, I've finally gotten something out of Codename Noman. It's not much, just something about a sweetheart in his hometown, but it's a start! With all luck we'll have Noman deployed by Christmas.

September 8, 1946, [REDACTED], Arizona

Further conversation with Codename Noman has revealed a psyche far more damaged, and a past more troubling and checkered than I can possibly imagine. Most of it is hard to make out, because he still hasn't given me the whole story; events prior to his transformation are very hazy, and there are still secrets he is reluctant to tell me, but here's what I can figure out.

Hermann was a happy man in 1943. He was happy, financially successful, and fiancée to the girl of his dreams, Maria [REDACTED] of [REDACTED], Bavaria. Then came the Ubermensch. Hermann was selected as a candidate for the program sometime after the invasion of Poland, but it was some time before they finally came to "recruit" him. But came they did, and at a most inopportune moment too. They kidnapped him in the dead of the night, and immediately began testing on him. He endured these painful and exhausting experiments for many months until finally, one day he was born as Noman. The Nazis were delighted, and immediately began testing him, not taking into account his emotional state. Noman had a hard time controlling his powers and his deep depression prevented him from performing to the best of his abilities.

Eventually he was released from prison, though he's unclear about how, and he's equally unclear about what he did afterwards. What I do know, however, is that eventually he returned to his village home to visit his fiancée Maria. Maria, horrified at the appearance of her one-time fiancée, flees to the safety of her house. Noman snuck into the house and tried to explain himself, but was still met with nothing but fear and horror. At some point in time Noman accidentally killed his own wife. Noman fled the village, and eventually the village discovered the scene. When Noman tried to return to explain what happened, the village forsook him, and tried to run him out of town. When Noman saw his mother, father, and younger brother standing at the front of the crowd railing angrily at their one time son and brother, the rage, sadness, fear, and depression of 2 years' imprisonment, and Noman unleashed the the full power of unique abilities, killing everyone inside.

The subsequent army detachment sent to investigate was likewise killed by Noman, but after this Noman descended back into self-pity and depression. By the time Codename [REDACTED] arrived on the scene, Noman was too mired in contemplation of his own existence to put up any sort of resistance to the man, and was apprehended basically without a fight.

Such was the state we found him in April. It is horrifying, and now I am not in the least surprised that he is reserved in the use of his powers. I see now that my wish to see him in the field by Christmas was far too optimistic, and I fear it will be many years more before he is anywhere near operations-ready.

June 4th, 1947, [REDACTED], New Mexico

Progress is moving far too slow for the CIA, and so they are moving Hermann to they are forcing the issue; moving Hermann to the primary training and preparation center in [REDACTED], New Mexico, despite my repeated warnings and voiced concerns that Hermann is not emotionally ready for this move. The concerns fall on deaf ears, though. I only hope that nothing comes of this potential disaster.

July 4, 1947, [REDACTED], New Mexico

Disaster. Today Hermann could stand no more of the far harsher policies of the CIA and made his escape. He broke out some time in the early morning, killing 4 guards before making his way towards [REDACTED], where he was seen by a few civilians. Hermann was captured soon after, and memory modification is being brought on the affected civilians, but the escape is being taken as a very serious matter and I am taking a lot of flak for the escape. I think I'll be able to weather it, I only hope that nothing else happens.

July 8th, 1947

That's the end of it all. After the fiasco last night and early this morning involving Codename Siren I have been sacked. The MIB says that the recent events surrounding Codename Siren and the earlier escape attempt made by Hermann have shown quite clearly that I do not have control over my projects, and have been too kind to them, treating them more as children than as weapons, and so I am being replaced by someone who they feel will be able to do so. I wish them luck, and only pray that they are not too rough to Hermann, who I have come to love as a son, and I fear that any more stress may permanently damage Hermann beyond repair. Unfortunately this journal of mine has now come to an end, and I am going to submit this to the MIB with the hope that whosoever receives and reads this journal will take what I have said into account, know the circumstances regarding Hermann's transformation, and realize that he needs to be treated as a man, and not as a weapon....

 

[Masada]

Blondi smiled, it wasn't unpleasant, red lips curling up against perfect Aryan dimples, the kind that Marlene Dietrich - that Jew loving race traitor - had dreamed of having but never quite managed after she turned coat. The cause was obvious: prostitution, not just of the body but also of the soul. No Aryan women, even a traitorous one, could suffer a Jew for long. The bellies, the nose, the greasy skin, the greedy mind and stupid hats weren't just a turn-off instead they consumed the soul, hollowed it out and replaced it with Liberalism. Poor old Marlene Dietrich had to put up with it from the time she turned coat till the day she died. That's why she looked like she was sucking lemons - she'd sucked more than that in her time.

The man she smiled at, she hadn't seen since the days of the bunker: Klaus. Then he'd looked good, now he just looked old. Damn old. Like a corpse given legs. Strong legs, admittedly but legs fit for nursing homes and death all the same. And he was dressed in pink, ragged, blood-stained and bullet ridden with little shreds where the shrapnel had gone in and bounced out. She couldn't help but laugh, a cruel laugh fit to match his dead legs and ragged pink shirt - one of age and hatred, hopes frustrated and burned to ash in the streets of Berlin all those years ago..

Her mouth opened. German. The old language. Rapid-fire. Harsh. Biting. Contemptuous.

"Pink old man? I don't think the fall of Berlin was kind to you. Haven't gone and become one of those Greek-love, metrosexual, fudge-pushing homo's because of it have you now? Be funny, if it wasn't so sad."

A pause. English. The new language. Slowly.

"And stop looking. I remember last time. I'll kill you this time. Burn your mind clean out of your ass. Maybe I'll turn you into a Jew, stupid hat and everything. I can do that, I've been training, I'm much better than I was"

With that she turned on her heels, slowly bent down, skirt sliding up her thighs... then snapped back eyes glowing, mouth chewing on words full of malice.

"That's the last chance your going to get. Now to business, what the hell are you doing here?"

 

[Luckymoose]

October 30, 1961 - Novaya Zemlya, U.S.S.R


Unconscious on the shores of this deserted wasteland, Klauss had washed up, after nearly drowning, in his flight from the mainland. It was dawn now, the brilliant brightness of the sun as it rose above the horizon woke him, he coughed up the water in his lungs. To close for comfort. He sat up, his clothing torn and burned, disoriented he staggered to his feet and looked off to the south, towards the mainland. They were coming, he could sense it, those who have given him a run for his money for the first time in a long time.

It had been a while since he shaved or had his hair trimmed, he was looking more and more rugged as the months passed, but he didn't have the time to stop with the Reds chasing as him. All the way from the coasts of the Caspian, he thought, running through the various settings and trying not to be killed was the hardest thing he had done in decades. For the first time in a long time he was not given time to rest, time to think or make plans, for an invulnerable ubermensch he was certainly on the losing end right now. He reached into his soaked pants pockets, pulling out a sealed silver cigar tube, unscrewing it and pulling out a stub of a cigar, all that he had left. Below it was a match, his last as well, he struck it on his boot and ignited his stogie.

&#8220;About time.&#8221;

A whip like beam of golden energy arched across the beach, wrapping around Klauss' left wrist while unleashing a steady crackle of high voltage. Klauss stood unaffected, puffing his cigar and turning towards his pursuer.

&#8220;Lasher. What took you so long?&#8221; He said in nearly flawless Russian.

The beam of energy connected to the hand of a skinny young man, in shape but not overly so, standing ready for combat. A fair face, and long shaggy hair, wearing something you'd expect from a mechanic, white undershirt with suspenders holding up his oily stained pants.

&#8220;Where are your friends?&#8221;

&#8220;Coming, Zermalmen.&#8221; Lasher smirked with his reply, they had a history of conflict going back over a year now, and a score to settle. With the beam still linking them he freed his left hand and formed another long robe of energy, whipping it to the side and making a loud pop not unlike a bullwhip.

Klauss sighed. The second beam flickered as it was whirled, thrown at Klauss' free arm, locking up without restraint as Lasher pulled as hard as he could. Snapping Klauss' arms towards him and forcing Klauss to turn to face him.

&#8220;You're fun Lasher, but still so green.&#8221;

Klauss flexed, causing his already wet and ripped shirt to explode off his body in cinematic glory, wrapping the energy whips around his arms for a better grip before rotating on his heels. Swinging Lasher with him, out over the water with such speed that Lasher was nearly skiing for a moment, until Klauss violently pulled him towards himself. Seeing that he was heading right into Klauss' grip, Lasher dissolved the beams and shot new ones at a distant old pine, catapulting himself over Klauss and to safety.
As Lasher lowered himself down the ground, the burns from his whips caused the top of the tree to fall off behind him. With a loud thud, and sweat on his forehead, the Soviet superman couldn't manage a word in retaliation, but Klauss could.

&#8220;Children shouldn't come to a man's battlefield.&#8221; Bringing up Lasher's age always caused him to go off on a blind frenzy, the less focused the better, Klauss couldn't let Lasher be thinking when his friends show up. &#8220;Come on boy!&#8221;

As Klauss taunted his foe, his situation rapidly became worse, the other two Soviet supermen arrived on the beach in grand fashion. The lumbering hulk of a man, codename Sickle, dented the soil as he dropped from the sky, he was rather comparable to Klauss in size and strength.

&#8220;Hammer!&#8221; he said enthusiastically.

&#8220;Sickle.&#8221; Klauss sighed in disappointment.

And as he had figured not far behind Sickle was the last of the trio, the femme fatale of the Soviet program, Red Star. A beautiful figure, with black hair and the abilities of flight and energy manipulation, a hard hitting b*tch if he had ever met one. She touched down just beside Sickle.

&#8220;Klauss, baby, why are you running from me?&#8221; She said in her best innocent girl voice.

&#8220;Cause your c*nt smells like a Parisian cheese shop.&#8221;

With a gasp of surprise, and a 'no you didn't' hip shift. &#8220;How dare you!&#8221;

&#8220;Not what you said in Moscow, Red, why don't you tell your goons where you went that night?&#8221;

&#8220;You're dead Klauss.&#8221;

&#8220;I know.&#8221;

Within a second of his words they were all over him, whips and balls of explosive energy, the charging rush of Sickle knocking him off his feet and through a series of trees. He couldn't help but think hard about how much he was getting his ass handed to him right now. He knew he only had a chance if one of them messed up, like before, but he didn't think they would. The seconds dragged out like hours, for a moment he might have the upper hand but it would quickly slip from his grasp as one of the others brought him down to size. Outnumbered, outgunned, it was a losing fight but he knew he would have to wait it out.

As the minutes passed, and the beating continued, trees and boulders burst beneath the power of this supers and the ground shook. Mother Earth was kneeling before the gods on her surface, fighting for supremacy, fighting a war long over for a cause long fallen. Klauss feinted injury, he stayed down because he know Lasher was over confident in his abilities, and he was the one he could hurt the most. Sruely he wouldn't be so gullible, but he was, and he walked over to kick the downed Hammer, the last mistake he would ever make. Within arms reach Klauss sprung up, with his fist bursting forward with god like strength, piercing the gut of Lasher, through and through. The young man fell limp as blood poured from his innards, covering Klauss' chest and arm, but he wasn't dead. In his final act he tied Klauss' arms with a solid rope of energy. With much surprise Klauss was immobilized and vulnerable.

The next moment was terrifying for him, still hanging on to life Lasher was keeping him tied down and Red Star and Sickle made their way over. Lasher was passing on, and his beams were weakening, they had to complete their mission now, Sickle grabbed Klauss' arms and held them behind his back, strong enough to hold the strongest ubermensch. Red Star came over, and eased the dead Lasher to the ground, kissing him on his forehead. She turned to the restrained Klauss.

&#8220;Comrade Khrushchev gave us direct orders on this one Hammy.&#8221;

&#8220;Why don't you put that mouth to good use Reds.&#8221; Klauss remarked as he laughed, spitting out his cigar finally. She moved over to him, mounting him, wrapping her legs and arms around his massive chest. &#8220;Little kinky?&#8221;

&#8220;Something like that.&#8221;

Her eyes turned white hot as she radiated energy, Sickle was not invulnerable and his skin began to melt away, with a quick movement he threw them into the air as hard as he could, but still disintegrating in his final act. A second of flight, Klauss still recovering his arms, they were hundreds of feet in the air now and rapidly ascending.

&#8220;I'm sorry Klauss, no more hammer time for us.&#8221;

He took a deep breath. She erupted in energy, a giant fireball like nothing seen before on this planet, within a second the ball of energy expanded to forty miles in diameter. Sending out a shockwave that flattening trees on the mainland to the south and being recorded as far away as L.A. A lone plane flew in the distance, filming the incident, to be covered up as a nuclear test by the Soviets.

And as the mushroom cloud ascended, the explosion subsided, a trail of smoke shot off to the west into the sea.

A parade was held a month later in Moscow, the public didn't know the reasoning, but pictures of the supers were paraded around as true communists, great figures that could be turned into propaganda for the public. The ideal workers as it were. All of Moscow was in attendance, including Klauss Eisen.



@Masada: I'll reply to your story next.

 

[SKILORD]

Isn't MC hammer an awfully ethnic reference for a white supremacist?

 

[Luckymoose]

Isn't MC hammer an awfully ethnic reference for a white supremicist?

Dumbass.

Please refrain from calling me a dumbass, when you can't even spell supremacist.

 

[SKILORD]

yeah, I totally got pwned for not being familiar with your racist underpinnings because I type in the dark when I'm drunk. (Still, even if I couldn't spell it right, at least I can understand the ideology)

Good work, mein herr.

EDIT: Did I fix the spelling later.... like this? Did take out dumbass as soon as I wrote it? Did I try an 'e' before I realized how to spelle 'supremacist'? Who knows?

DOUBLE EDIT: I notice a comma splice... who wants a prize for pointing it out to everyone?

TRIPLE EDIT: The last word is... Bagel.