Phantom Protocol

Virtue City Hall, Virtue City, Rhode Island, 0901 hrs Now Playing: You Will Know My Name “Alessandra Reinhardt. Alessandra Reinhardt. Please come to Counter Fifteen — Virtue City Hall Metahuman Operations Licenses.” Sandra is jerked from her reverie. She was reading old after-action reports — pushing the pictures of ground zero back into the file — and as she stands, she puts the file back into her little attaché case. She always had preferred the feel of cold, hard files in her hand — much more difficult to hack into a physical object and steal its contents, and she never has to worry about having it physically stolen. She looks around — a few people are queuing in costume, a few in plainclothes — and pauses at the large statue of a severe-looking woman in a classic spandex costume. The Resolute (Elizabeth Grayson),the plaque below said,1843-2025 (MIA). Aquiline features, powerful build, pretty young for someone nearly 200 years old. She’s standing at ease, eyes front-and-centre, with a look of quiet intelligence behind them. One of America’s most famous metahumans… disappeared fighting her alternate self, the Sovereign, last year, she thought, before smiling crookedly to herself. Metahumans, we’re called. But some of us prefer the term ‘superheroes’. Makes us sound more like people and less like… commodities. Shaking her head, she taps the side of her cybernetic eye-socket. Her heads-up display appears in front of her inhumanly-glowing green eye, along with a little humanoid avatar of SIBYL, her djinn-simulacrum operator. And instantly, she starts speaking, in that tinny, grating emotionally-passive voice. “Alessandra, your mother is worried about you. She wants you to call her again once you are settled.” “I told you, SIBYL, call me Sandra. Calling me that just makes me sound like my mother.” She snaps back irritably, making sure to lift her hand up as if she was speaking into a wristphone — mostly for politeness. This is technically a government building, after all — she does not want to be rude in a foreign country. “Sandra, the point still stands. Elder Alessandra wants you to call her tonight.” “I’ll call her when I’m not busy. This isn’t a holiday trip, SIBYL, and mother knows it. I’m here to find my brother.” “Sandra, Elder Alessandra is only worried about you. You are the only child she has left–” “Markus. Is. Not. Dead. Stop acting like he is.” She murmurs in a low growl, arriving at her counter. “Now start recording. I’m going back into the bureaucracy.” “As you wish.” SIBYL’s tinny voice fades, and the HUD mostly fades away. Sandra lets out a soft hiss of a sigh, before pulling her hand down again — flashing a smile at the pretty girl sitting at the counter, waiting patiently for her to finish her ‘call’. “Sorry about that, cutie. Mom wanted to talk.” She says with an easy, disarming smile, her Napoli accent immediately fading away into a seemingly-natural New England accent. “Did my application get through?” There’s a brief twinge of confusion from the girl at the counter at Sandra’s little flirt, before just a bit of colour comes to her cheeks. “Uh… y-yes, Miss Alessandra–” “Call me Sandra.” “R-right. Sandra.” She clears her throat. “Your application’s done and your licence is ready. We just… need to ask for your… um…” She pauses, awkwardly. “…Metahuman Callsign.” Sandra blinks. “My what?” “Y-your superhero name!” She winces. “It’s required.” “Oh.” There’s a brief flash of irritation in Sandra’s good eye before it passes. “Right.” Sandra pauses for a while, briefly looking like she’s thinking. “Legio.” The counter girl bites her tongue for a moment as she types out Legio, mouthing the name as she does. Sandra briefly notes how cute the girl looked doing that, but bites her lip -not right now Sandra, you useless- before raising an eyebrow when the girl shakes her head. “I’m sorry, um, the name’s in the system already.” “What do you mean ‘the name’s in the system already’?” “Someone already took it.” “Oh. That’s probably my brother’s callsign.” “Oh!” She checks through the system again and reads it out loud. “Markus… Reinhardt… well, if you can prove that he is your brother, we can contact him–” “He’s MIA.” Sandra’s voice drops an octave as she says that. An almost audible wince comes to the counter girl’s face. “Oh. Um. I can… there’s a legacy system in place for –” Sandra lets out a sigh. Bureaucracy at its finest. “Cutie, is there any way I can hurry this along? I have a few meetings to take care of today.” “W-well… I-I’ll just — maybe if you give me some time –” The counter-girl’s cheeks are getting a little pinker. “I can j-just… contact my manager about the legacy system… make some calls… you’ll have your licence by next week.” Sandra pauses. She scans the counter-girl’s desk briefly — before noticing her name-tag in the little slide-on at her counter. Alice. Cute name. “Not good enough, Alice. I need it by tomorrow.” “W-well, I can’t enter two of the same name in the system!” “Why not?” “People kept trying to be copycats.” Alice winces again. Must be a nervous tic. “We tried that out a few years back.” Sandra rolls her good eye and shakes her head. “Well, what about I give you a different callsign and you change it over to Legio when you’re done talking to your manager?” “Well… um… I can do that… b-but don’t tell anyone.” She murmurs quietly, looking at the rest of the room. “Name-changes are a different application… but I know how it feels to lose a brother. Lost mine in the Sovereign invasion three years ago.” Sandra pauses, briefly stunned. Wow. Didn’t expect that from a counter-girl. SHE DESERVES BETTER THAN YOU She then flashes a small, comforting smile towards Alice. “Thanks. I’m here to find him so I can bring his sorry ass back to his mom. She’s worried.” “I bet she is, Sandra.” A small, sad smile briefly appears on the girl’s lips — ‘oh god, I need to comfort this poor girl’- before it disappears, and she’s fully professional once more. “Right. A temporary name…” Sandra thinks for a brief while, closing her eye. It takes a few moments, but she thinks she has a decent placeholder. “The Phantom Guard.” “Your father would have been proud, Sandra.” She’s walking down the front steps of Virtue City Hall, a brief irritated expression flashing across her face. “Papa is dead, SIBYL. I took that name because there’s a chance Markus might be paying attention.” SIBYL’s emotionless voice floats into her cybernetic ear. “Your father’s former callsign in Virtue City is the Phantom Fencer, however. Perhaps it would be more apparent if you had taken that name?” “I am not a fencer, SIBYL.” Sandra snaps. “Fencing was Markus’ thing.” “You are trained in fencing. You studied the Epitoma rei Militaris, the Fechtbucher and the Book of Five Rings. You are also versed in Bojutsu, Nangun, Bailangan, and Eskrima, and you have taught yourself several different styles of archery, including Kyudo and Shè Dào and, in addition, you are the most accomplished marksman of your generation with various styles of firearms.” Sandra just rolls her good eye as she continues to walk, holding her attaché case to herself and pulling her hair band off to let her dark auburn hair free. She brings up her HUD again, absently touching her eye — she doesn’t need to do this, but it helps her visualise — and notes that there’s some time before she has to meet Evarch Divinity. ‘Good. Time enough to get a coffee, maybe. “Get to the point, SIBYL.” She mutters. The dispassionate, patronising voice of SIBYL floats into her cybernetic ear. “You do not give yourself enough credit, Sandra. You are just as good as your brother.” “I didn’t say I wasn’t. I’m just not a fencer. Anyway, the cute girl already gave me a break. I don’t want to change it any more than necessary.” “As you wish, Sandra.” There is a mild hint of annoyance in the normally-unflappable machine-soul before it disappears. Sandra herself lets out a soft sigh — before pulling her blazer off and stuffing it aggressively into her attaché case. She leans against the side of Virtue City Hall and looks out towards the park in front of her. Perfectly manicured lawn, perfectly-manicured hedges, perfectly-manicured paths… all leading up to a looming, brutalist-style monolith. The Watchtower, it’s called — the headquarters of the Watch, the first proper ‘supergroup’ in North America. Supergroup, she thought to herself. The word stuck in her brain like a bad song. She stares down at her proper dress shoes, slacks, formal shirt — and a brief sound of frustration escapes her lips, somewhere between a growl and a scream, impotently shoving her elbow right into the stonework behind her. This is wrong. Sandra lets out a hissed sigh, leaning her head back and staring at the perfectly-blue sky, out towards the perfectly-manicured lawn in front of her. This… compartmentalization. Bureaucracy. Labels and names for things that don’t need them — that work better without them. SIBYL’s voice comes through, shaking her from her brief stupor — realising that a few bystanders were staring at her. “Are you all right, Sandra? I did not realise that our interaction frustrated you that much. ”There is… a strange sound of remorse there that briefly surprises Sandra. “No, SIBYL. Just… let me think sometimes, all right? Leave me alone for a few hours.” “You know I cannot do that. I am physically incapable of doing that, even if I did want to respect your privacy.” “Then…” She lets out another sigh. Right. They are both trapped here, trapped to do what they need to do, what they have to do, what they are supposed to do. Thinking quickly, she stretches, before opening her case and pulling out a black leather jacket — threadbare, frayed, festooned with badges and patches of metal bands past. “SIBYL, let’s give mother a nice itinerary to read about for your report.” She says, putting it on to the surprise of passers-by, undoing the first two buttons on her shirt. “Look for the closest goth club you can find. When do they usually open in America.?” “Are you sure that this is appropriate, Sandra?” “Fuck being appropriate.” There is a brief moment of silence there, before SIBYL’s dispassionate voice comes in once more. “Very well, Sandra. Searching.” Sandra pushes off from the wall before anyone notices her little bit of vandalism and starts walking again, pulling her hair band off and freeing her fiery auburn hair. She pulls her sleeves up and untucks her shirt — briskly moving across the city. She pulls a cigarette out from a box in her pocket and lights it in one smooth motion, and just like that, her mind is aflame — as SIBYL feeds her information, her mind creates an itinerary. Coffee, obtained from a lovely little shop across from one of her safehouses. A hot weiner, bought from a street vendor named Marco — along with a fresh info-link to Cell 533, Legio’s Virtue City cell. A list of goth clubs, so politely listed by popularity and size — and Sandra plans to visit the larger ones, if only to give her mother a fun little report to read. “They’re not open yet,” Sandra murmurs to herself. “But it’ll be nice to get the lay of the land.” As Sandra walks across Virtue, she notices something about its people; children in the streets, waving to flying metahumans as they patrol the skies. People going about their daily business even as just a few blocks away, gunfire and explosions sound off. Police officers with glowing green eyes cordoning off the area, herding nonplussed pedestrians. From where she came from, all this would be cause for concern or alarm — but to the people of Virtue it seems… normal. As she passes by a large screen on a particularly busy street on Founders’ Avenue, a heavyset man with a jovial smile was speaking, his bright eyes and animated hands emblazoned across the screen, speaking more for him than his words. “Virtue, as we know it, was built on old Providence — after the Razing of Providence in the Civil War, the city that once stood here was wiped off the map! But now… Virtue stands. After the Confederate army sent their pet psycho, the Steam Tyrant, to wipe us off the map, we rebuilt. After two alien invasions, we stand. After Sovereign brought his entire dimensional army down on the world… we stand. We, the Superhero Capital of the United States of America! “And now, those whack jobs from the Thule Society, Unit 731, the Xiziv War Council and whatever’s left of Sovereign’s loyalists have declared war on us. Hell, even the mob’s got their sights on us! Us! Because! We! Refused! To! Stay! Down! “But remember this, Virtue City. We’re going to do what we’ve always done. We help our fellow citizens, no matter who they are and where they came from. Our heroes fight the good fight out on the streets, but every single one of you has a role to play here, Virtue City! We’re going to beat these a-holes and kick them back to the stone age. We’re going to show them exactly why everyone calls us Hero City!” Sandra had paused in the middle of her walk, watching the man as he gave that speech; Mayor Terrence Jablonsky does not disappoint. A man of conviction, that one; even Legio was not able to find any kind of dirt on him personally, though his administration suffers from the normal amount of corruption as most governments do — he spends a fraction of his city’s budget just keeping an eye on his own people. She pulls out another cigarette and lights it, taking a slow, steady drag as she leans back against a railing — watching pedestrians walk by without a care in the world. Naples, her home, was hit by one of the worst metahuman attacks on Italian soil to date — the international terrorist only known as the Carthaginian — and it took years for the city to rebuild. She lost a brother then. Italy’s people were gripped by political upheaval as confidence in government protection eroded — which was when the Thule Society managed to grip its claws on the peninsula, and from there, spread its influence to the rest of the world. Naples was crippled for years. The Sovereign invasion ended only over a year ago, and it’s said that the fighting was fiercest here, where most of North America’s metahumans were based. Meanwhile, Rome was devastated, Venice was frozen, and Syracuse was turned into a warzone — only barely beginning to recover. And yet… here she is, where the fighting was fiercest, and it is as if nothing had happened here. Sandra is so buried in her thoughts that she barely noticed a speedster running past her, causing her cigarette to go out. As Sandra moves to relight it, the costume-clad girl — cute freckles, shock of bright pink hair, dark skin — lights the cigarette for her with a spark, winks, and zips away in another blink of an eye. This is going to take some getting used to. After gathering her bearings, Sandra starts walking again along Virtue’s city streets, perfect blue skies over her, and a storm of thoughts in her mind. Virtue Rectory, Haven Sovereign Territory, 2147 hrs Now Playing: What Will Become It is nearly ten in the evening now as Sandra clambers up to where she is to meet Evarch Hess, or rather, Evarch Divinity as e prefers to be named. She looks over the edge of the roof at the building below — the newly-christened Virtue Rectory of Divinity’s burgeoning variant sovereignty movement, Haven. A place where all variants are given refuge and sanctuary, no matter where they were born or who they were, escaping prejudice and fear from their homes if need be. With its sleek glass walls echoing transparency and the greenery surrounding the six-storey building, it is clearly designed to evoke a sense of modernity and openness towards the world-at-large. “It’s a little much, isn’t it?” Evarch Divinity floats up quietly and settles on the ground next to Sandra, as quiet and pale as a ghost. The first thing she notices about the Evarch is eir eyes; both of them are a bright, piercing green, the eyes of someone who sees more than she ever could. Eir silver-on-green costume, matching eir silver hair tied neatly back in a ponytail, nonetheless gave the Evarch an unsettlingly phantom-like quality in the night breeze. Coupled with eir toned, androgynous build — e was barely taller than Sandra — one could mistake the Evarch for a ghost. She shakes off the uneasy feeling in her cybernetic spine as she turns to face em, standing at-ease. “Evarch Divinity?” “Call me Divinity. That title sits heavy on my shoulders since I took it from my predecessor.” Eir voice is soft, yet it rings of command in her good ear — Sandra finds herself stiffening her shoulders in instinctive response. “As you wish, Divinity. I am Alessandra Reinhardt — Markus’ sister. We spoke briefly in that embassy call.” She pauses. “Call me Sandra.” “Yes, yes we did, Sandra.” “Then you know why I came to speak with you.” A sigh comes from eir lips. “You are looking for Markus.” “Yes. My brother, the former Legio. He was the leader of our cell here in Virtue for over seven years — and you worked closely with him during his time here.” “Yes… the Retaliators.” There is a brief, faraway look in eir eyes. “Your brother is a good man. A little intense at times, but a good man.” E pauses, then looks directly at Sandra, piercing green gaze levelled directly upon her. “I know what you want to ask me, so let’s not dance around it.” There is an almost imperceptible squirm in Sandra’s shoulders at that very moment. She can feel the power hidden behind those eyes, and she knows what e is capable of. “… Do you know of Markus’ current whereabouts?” “No. And that is not the question you came here to ask.” “… Can you locate Markus using your powers, Divinity?” A small smile comes to eir lips. “There. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” E says, reaching eir fingers out to touch something seemingly invisible in the air. “Give me a little moment to look for him. In the meantime, Sandra?” E looks down to the street in front of the embassy, pointing to it with a lopsided expression. “What do you make of that?” Sandra walks over to the side of the roof and looks down towards the group of people huddled around a few scattered tents, one of them holding a megaphone and screaming epithets into it at the crowd. “Anti-variant crowd. You’re popular, Divinity.” She says drily, a foot on the lip of the roof as she bends over to take a closer look whilst pulling a cigarette out of her jacket pocket and lighting it. Her cybernetic eye zooms in closer on the crowd — immediately picking out several undercover individuals from the VPD, FBI, Monolith and other miscellaneous organisations. “Very popular, actually. A few friends in that crowd.” She looks over to the Evarch, who seemed to be handling something in eir hands — like plucking invisible strings in thin air. She heard about eir ability — the ability to find, and manipulate, the strings of fate of any mortal e has met. She didn’t understand the exact extent of eir powers — eir dossier mentioned some kind of transgenic radiation manipulation as well — but all she needed to know is that e could find Markus with it. “They are putting pressure on you… or keeping an eye on things. Or both.” She says finally, leaning back and rubbing the back of her head in thought — frowning a bit as she watches Divinity work. E pauses then, holding one long, slender finger up to Sandra as e works. “No… look closer.” Sandra pauses and furrows her brow in confusion, before glancing back over the edge of the building — her eye scanning the crowd once more. Nothing different, until a little ping comes up from SIBYL. “Sandra, I count three variants unaffiliated with Haven in the crowd. One of them has a criminal record… and one is a minor with unknown abilities. There is a possibility that there could be more of them that do not show up on cursory scans.” Sandra stands up and gives a concerned look to Divinity, now with a sad smile on eir face. “You think that there will be an attack here. From one side or another — anti-variant and pro-variant extremists. That is why you’re here…” She pauses, and then takes another drag of her cigarette, fingers briefly shaking as she thinks of the implications. “…but you are unable to do anything. Haven is barely allowed to act outside of Rectory walls here. So either way the swing goes, you lose.” “And people will die.” E says with a sad smile. “I would normally say ‘fuck the rules’, pardon my french, but… I’m no longer just a registered hero here.” E plucks at the invisible strings in front of em, eyes distant. “I’m a diplomat. I represent my people. Preemptive investigation and ‘crime-fighting’ is no longer my wheelhouse… but that’s a part of why I agreed to this meeting, Sandra.” Sandra just raises an eyebrow at that as she walks away from the edge of the Rectory roof, giving Divinity a scrutinising look. “You want me to act as a third party?” Divinity’s serene expression does not change at all once e notices Sandra’s intense gaze. “…You remind me of your brother. The same intense look in those eyes — though I can tell that yours are different from his.” E murmurs, in the middle of eir machinations. “Markus’ eyes were always driven and clear — always knowing where he was going. Yours are… stormy. Unfocused.” Eir own violet gaze glances aside to Sandra, a wry little smile on eir lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing, don’t you?” A flare of irritation rises inside her that she immediately quashes. One of the most powerful variants in the world here, Sandra. “Maybe. I know that I am not my brother. I am not here to replace him.” She pulls her jacket close and grits her teeth. “I am here to find him and bring him home — but you are dodging my question.” Divinity’s easy smile stays on eir lips as e continues to weave invisible threads through the air — plucking through them one by one absently. “I might have overstepped my bounds there, so I will apologise — but if I may offer some advice?” E looks over the side of the building with a little smirk. “I have lived in this city for a while. I know its strange little quirks — especially when it comes to the ‘superhero’ community that calls it home. I suggest taking your brother’s moniker and offering your services to a… like-minded group of crime fighters. Put that name you share back out into the limelight.” E finally pulls eir hand away and sighs. “That might be your best option, as… Markus seems to be hidden from me at this time, strangely enough.” “…hidden?” Sandra’s eyebrow raises in concern. “It happens at times — he is either… no longer on this plane of existence, or he is intentionally hidden from me.” E shrugs one shoulder. “Either of those options are… upsetting, but with the way he was acting in our last meeting, not particularly surprising.” E holds up a hand as Sandra opens her mouth to say something. “Four years ago. He was… more intense than usual. Did not get enough sleep. I was wondering if it was related to a mutual team member of ours leaving under less-than-ideal circumstances at the time — she was likely the closest I’ve seen to Markus having some kind of romantic attraction at all — but… no, I doubt it.” Divinity’s hovering form turns, like a ghost, towards the sea in the distance, arms behind eir back. “He asked me if I could find someone for him — the Carthaginian.” Instantly a growl came from the back of Sandra’s throat. There is a visceral change in Sandra’s demeanour at the mention of that name — and a faint memory of a burning itch coming from behind her fake eye. “It? I thought your people caught it. We gave it to you because we could not hold it!” Divinity only holds up a hand to head off more questions. “We gave the Carthaginian to Monolith because they were the only ones with the money, the facilities and the expertise to hold such a dangerous individual. At the time, even I thought they were still in Monolith custody.” The vitriol in her throat bubbles to the surface. “Did nobody keep track of it?!It KILLED my little brother!” “We were.” Divinity’s voice is eerily calm the entire time. “The problem is that Monolith had their own ideas — we were facing invasion from a different dimension — Sovereign — and they were tasked to prevent it.” Divinity tilted eir head towards Sandra. “To fight that monster, they needed their own. Monolith was going to use them as a first line of defence.” Sandra’s hackles were raised for a while as a brief but tumultuous torrent of emotion and memories flooded her mind — but, as she is usually able to do, she forces herself to push it all down and goes right back to business. “…and you told him where it was?” “I did. Or, rather, where I thought they were — Monolith kept them hidden, but I pointed him in their direction.” “And?” “…that is the last I heard of Markus.” “Fuck.” Sandra takes a deep breath. Even amongst the intelligence community, dealing with Monolith — an NGO with extra-governmental powers in regards to defending the Earth from invaders, alien and interdimensional — is a lost cause. They were the spooks of the spooks — the people the rest of the intelligence community are afraid of. They have access to cutting-edge extradimensional and paracausal alien tech, they have some of the most powerful and brightest magical minds on staff, past, present and future, and they have more capital than most governments do — all in service to defending Earth. “…as for your question, Sandra — I will talk to you again once you’ve established yourself here. Nothing’s going to happen yet.” E motions in the direction of the crowd. “Feel out the city. Get used to it. Virtue’s like no other city you’ve ever seen — and you’re going to need to learn how it ticks before I ask anything of you.” E turns back to the waterfront, letting out a soft sigh. “Have a night out on the town. Get a drink. Trust me.” Sandra has a wry little smirk on her lips. “Was that the same thing you told Markus when he just got here?” “Markus? No. He figured that out on his own. It’s just that he has his own definition of ‘night on the town’. It involved running across rooftops and brooding, mostly.” Divinity returns that smirk, before e goes back to watching the waterfront. “Have a good night, Sandra.” “…You too, Divinity.” As Sandra walks back down the roof-access stairwell, SIBYL pipes up. “I have established full contact and infolink with Cell 533. Gladia Domenica on the line. Would you like to patch her through?” “Do it, SIBYL.” A click is heard, before a small video feed of a middle-aged woman in a threadbare hoodie comes up — mousy short, black hair, spectacles, freckles, and deep eyebags, with a cup of coffee at her lips. She takes a sip before noticing the feed’s active. “Ah. Alessandra, right? Your brother told me all about you.” “Yes, Gladia Domenica–” “Ignore formality for now, bella- call me Nica. I was listening to your conversation with the Evarch, and I suggest following his advice.” Sandra hums. “I was already going to do that to spite my mother, but at least I get an excuse now.” Domenica snickers. “He also told me how disrespectful you are to your elders.” “It runs in the family. Anyway, I need you to find a few things for me — give me everything you have on the Carthaginian. I think it’s related to Markus’ disappearance. And while you are at it, find anything that could tie the Carthaginian together with Monolith — press releases, archival footage, anything you can find. The Carthaginian may be a shapeshifter, but it still has very distinctive pyromantic abilities — and it is a known narcissist, so it cannot help but want to be in the limelight. Take advantage of that.” “Understood, Sandra — we’ll see what we can do. In the meantime… get a drink. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”