A Call to Arms

[Chubbs Story Account]

The streets are full of whispering and shivering people. All television programs have been pre-empted for a single, repeating message, sounded over an image of an Earthling, a Namekian, a Frostling, an Arlian, standing humorless, but together. An eerie and alien image, almost as unbelievable as the message itself.

|| Our worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find. ||

The streets are full of eager and trembling men and women and children with the lusty warrior-flame in their breast, certain of victory and safety and glory at the expense of a face-less enemy.

The streets are full of vitality and dread and surrendered apathy.

[[In various areas of the various planets, there are stations for registration for the Militia. These stations are essentially desperate recruitment centers, in school gymnasiums, in stadiums, in houses. All applicants are accepted. All applicants are assigned to the rank of Private, without any appraisal of abilities (there simply isn't enough time). The military will provide transportation to various planets, as is necessary. Matters are extremely haphazard; while there will be expectations and obligations that accompany enrollment in the Militia, there simply aren't the resources to keep track of persons.

I will here stress that, with regards to your decisions in this saga, everything is permissible. That is, every attempt is permissible. You may choose to assassinate a leading figure in the Invading army; you may succeed. You probably won't. You may choose to be treacherous and join the Invading army; you may expect a significant backlash, and perhaps significant rewards. You may choose to rally together an army under your charisma and conquer a planet for yourself. These routes will be very difficult, but possible. The worlds are open to you.

That these things are permissible, of course, do not necessarily mean they are advisable. There is real danger here. There are real repercussions. But, of course, the greater the danger, the greater the glory.

Everything you write will be read. The saga will consist of a series of four-day cycles; three days of roleplaying, and a fourth day that is closed for administration. During these three days, do what you will, and plan accordingly, but do not plan beyond that three day period. On the fourth day, the administrators of this saga will advance the story. This will involvement the resolution of fights, the revelation of new dangers and opportunities, and evaluations of the success of creative endeavors. This advancement will take into account your actions and intentions. Of course, your actions and intentions aren't the only factors in an invasion.

For the first portion of the saga (read, the first two or three cycles), decision making opportunities will be relatively limited. The actions of the Militia will be focused on two particular regions: Mercy and Namek. All outgoing ships will be headed to those two planets. As more is known and understood about the functioning of the Militia, as well as the nature and intentions of the Invaders, your freedom will become much more expansive. Find loopholes. Find unorthodox ways to gain advantages. The success of your endeavors will be directly tied to your creativity, your bravery, and your writing ability.

Finally, this saga is potentially indefinite, and you may choose to withdraw at any time. However, once you participate, you acknowledge that you are a part of this world, and you will have to live with the consequences of your lack of involvement. If a planet falls, it will not be open to you in the same way, without threat (or the need for espionage). That planet will be dangerous to you in a way that it was not before.

To join, roleplay here, whether that be through joining the Militia (advised, at least for now; free transportation, if you are not on Mercy or Namek, is nothing to scoff at), or by acknowledging the scenario but choosing not to join the Militia.]]

[Prototype]

|| Our worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find. ||

Robert sat back in his chair, arms behind his head, legs crossed on the table before him. A small holographic projector acted as a virtual monitor on the desk, displaying an image of four humanoid creatures; a human, a namek, a white skinned midget, and an anthropomorphic insect. Robert himself had never been off Earth until his current assignment, which was responsible for the lack of extra terrestrial knowledge. Humans he knew, and the green skinned namekians were the custodians of the eponymous world he was situated on, but the other two alien species were foreign to him.

The message, scrawled beneath the flickering image, took a time for Falconer to decipher. It was broadcast on an unsecured channel but encrypted heavily. Hardly a challenge for him, but a suitable time waster while he waited for his meeting with the namekian branch of Capsule Corporation. It had, however, intrigued him. Was there any truth to the statement, or was it a ridiculous hoax? The more Bob scrutinised the warning, rocking back and forth in his chair, the more he found it difficult to grasp. A threat to entire worlds? What could possibly intimidate a galaxy?

The senior inventor checked his smart phone. There was still a good four hours before the meeting. It was destined to be dull. A review of sales, how well Namek had adapted to Capsule Corporation's presence, an overview of managerial practices, blah blah blah. Robert wasn't a fan of being an executive officer. Sure, he loved the prestige and chunky pay packet that coupled with his head inventor salary, but the administration faffing about that came with it was yawn inducing. There was no fun in sales projections or staff performance analysis. Creating objects that enhanced daily life; now that was interesting.

Flying about in a super human power suit; that was beyond interesting.

Robert sighed and plopped his feet on the floor, staring out the window of his domed domicile. The green Namek seas mirrored the identical skies above, the strange spherical shaped clusters of leaves upon the trees a unique and exotic sight. He thought he'd seen it all in his various studies and vocations on Earth, but apparently he'd only scratched the surface. Capsule Corporation obviously extended beyond the solar system and into worlds he could only imagine. How much further did the Earth born business sprawl into the stars?

Tossing a palm size capsule into the air like a tennis ball, Robert stepped out of his humble accommodations outside of Ja City, one of the capitals of the sparsely populated Namek. Robert sighed, clicking the button of the capsule and dropping it to the floor. A ubiquitous cloud of smoke materialised, and as it dispersed, it revealed a luxury hover car emblazoned with the Capsule Corporation logo on the right door. Leaping into the vehicle and igniting the engine, it levitated from the ground and shot into the air, racing towards the capital city.

As Robert approached Ja, he recalled the last few lines of the transmission. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find. Did that invitation extend to Namek? It seemed probable due to the inclusion of a namek in the signal.

Robert felt like he should have been grateful for arriving on an alien world, seeing sights many people on Earth would never know. The truth was, while there was a slight appreciation for the privilege for the voyage through the stars, a new love on his home world had consumed most of his attention. Ever since he stabilised and field tested a prototype power suit that granted him all sorts of superhuman abilities, he couldn't take his mind off it. The thrill and excitement of storming into a crime scene and stomping robbers and muggers exceeded anything he ever experienced tinkering in a laboratory. He loved the latter still, but this new world was intoxicating.

Thus, the message about adventure enticed him. To all who can fight. In his power suit, that was him. ... register with your local militia. They will not be hard to find. Even better. If they were on Namek, surely their representatives would be searching for recruits in Ja.

Robert flipped open his phone. No calls. The meeting wouldn't be for a few hours yet. Smirking, he planted his foot on the accelerator and zoomed into the Namekian capital.

[Vad]

The crash of furniture filled the room as a veteran Saiyan soldier spilled through the front door whilst being supported by his wife. She lost control of him and he fell into a nearby kitchen table, splintering it on impact. Grasping her husband's forearm, Beatrix Zulenka lifted him to his feet and wrapped an arm around him as he fell into her grasp. A smile crept across her face as Vad Zulenka's newly attained Saiyan tail brushed her leg. The diffusion had restored his racial appendage.

As he struggled to stand she gripped his clothing tighter. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fought to keep him upright. Trixie ran her fingers through her husband's silky hair and buried her face into his neck. Collecting herself she slowly made him walk to the bedroom to lay down. Sitting him on the floor next to the bed she pulled back the covers and began stripping his clothing.

Vad's veins were becoming black and his eyes were beginning to glaze over. Trixie's energy was not draining from his system as it should and it was killing him. Lifting her naked husband onto the bed she moved him under the covers to keep him warm. Once he was on his back she ripped open her blouse and began stripping herself of her own clothing. Taking a hair tie from her jeans, before removing them, she tied her hair into a pony tail. Dressed only in her underwear the demonic mistress retrieved a syringe from one of the many medical kits Toma had left them.

Moving quickly back to her husband she placed the hypodermic needle between her teeth and slipped under the covers with him. Straddling his waist she applied her body weight to keep him from moving; that was the plan at least. Pulling the blankets up she covered her legs and butt. Removing the syringe from her mouth she uncapped it and felt around her neck. Placing the needle downward she inserted it into her carotid artery and filled it with her blood.

Taking the syringe between her teeth again Trixie leaned in and pressed her forehead to Vad's, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Stay with me, baby."

Placing a hand firmly on the wound she had inflicted to her husband months back she plunged the needle into his heart and emptied the glass vial. Removing the device Trixie tossed it to the floor and vanished in a puff of pink mist. Vad suddenly shot upright gasping for air his tone returning to normal as his vitals did. As quickly as she had vanished Vad's wife Beatrix reappeared on top of him, kissing him uncontrollably.

***

As the morning sun crept in through the simulated winter sunrise, courtesy of the expensive loft Toma had gotten for his son, Trixie rolled out of bed and onto the floor with a thud. A moan escaped her lips as she placed a palm over her face inhaling deeply, taking in the aroma of fresh brewed coffee coming from the kitchen. Vad had already gotten up? Odd for him. Moving to the dresser she pulled out a pair of pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. Dressing lazily she exited the master bedroom and proceeded down the carpeted steps into the large living room.

Vad downed the coffee in his cup and closed the book titled "Ja City Spaceport."

"So. You're saying that a militia is being formed for an imminent threat to both Mercy and Namek?" He asked his father, already knowing the answer.

Toma nodded. "You're already signed up. You can thank me for that later, but down to the point. Ja City's spaceport is going to be a major supply route for the allied side defending Namek. You need to plan and head off the defense of it."

Vad yawned mightily as his wife walked into the kitchen. Kissing him on the cheek groggily she went to grab a cup of coffee; he firmly smacked her on the butt as she walked away.

Toma placed his cup down and headed for the door. "I've told you all I know. Just don't do anything stupid, Vad."

With that pleasant remark he was gone in a swirl of black flame; back to Hell probably.

Trixie sat down next to her husband at the bar situated behind the kitchen sink island. Placing her hot cup of caffeinated liquid on the counter top she leaned her head against her lovers shoulder. The mistress watched with sleepy eyes as her husband signed the paperwork that his father had brought from the militia office in Ja City. It had both their names on it and once again they had been signed up because of their expertise; It didn't bother her this time.

Placing the pen gently down on the counter Vad sighed deeply with a deep sense of calm.

"You were quite the hellcat last night, babe. Celebrating the New Year with Mom and Dad really got you going." She groaned in pain from her hangover as a response.

"I blame the open bar." He laughed, wrapping an arm around his wife holding her close.

***

Vad had returned from turning in his paper work to find his beautiful wife Beatrix surrounded by books on one of the luxuriously over stuffed leather couches. Upon closer inspection he noticed they were all her old military text books. On the glass coffee table was a satellite scan of the Space Port and littering the image were scribbles and notes written by his wife from the past two hours of his absence.

"So. What can you tell me about the spaceport? How hard is it going to be to defend?" The Saiyan asked sitting down across from her.

She raised her index finger in a silent form of communication that said she wanted him to hold on a second. Folding the corner of the page she was on and circling something Trixie closed the book and met her husband's gaze.

"It's going to be difficult."

Moving to sit up she leaned over the coffee table and took a pencil from its holder on the glass surface.

"The three main buildings are approximately 400 yards apart. The two hangar bays are next to each other and the launch and land platforms are over 900 yards from the rest being connected only by two high speed tram lines. It's going to be a nightmare trying to keep all of this area clear of whatever we'll be fending off." She explained.

Vad crossed his arms and began to listen intently to his logistical officers' report.

"Personally, using patrols to keep the lanes of traffic between each area secure is a waste of man power. It's such a large compound we need to keep a large garrison stationed at the two hangar bays and landing/launching area. We can convert the terminal into a citadel and make it a civilian refuge, hospital, and whatever else we need."

Taking another book from her pile she flipped through its pages and reached an image of soldiers storming an open airfield on an island in some tropical looking zone.

"This picture depicts a marine division having to move across an abandoned airfield to reach the mountains beyond it. The only problem is that they were in the open and the enemy had artillery set up in the hills above them. It was a fucking slaughter. Another reason why I would suggest against patrols. They would be in the open and exposed to shelling and automatic gun fire without any form of cover. "

Vad sighed deeply and sat back into the couch.

"What would you suggest our first move be?" He asked.

Trixie closed the book she was holding and placed it on her lap.

"We build a wall."

[Sigfried Hunin]

A snickering rat wiggled and writhed as it traversed the narrow corridors of the Mayor’s office deep in the center of Central City. Behind it was strung a massive, winding metallic chord that scraped ever so softly against the walls that surrounded the rodent. It forged its path forward, and even as the wires found themselves caught on hanging nails and overhangs, it scurried back and freed them before making its way onward on its path.

If you might think it strange for a small mammal to carry technologically advanced materials from outside of a public office and through the walls to the interior, you may be forced to consider if it was even a rodent at all. Or, in fact, if any of the hundreds of rodents that carried similar strands and baubles had been as they appeared to be they would, unless under almost unfathomable circumstance, would not be leading the materials needed to construct a massive homemade bomb into every habitable surface of the building. They were, as it would seem, the part of a higher conscious being with previously existing agendas. An agenda that most certainly involved blowing up a very large, politically important structure. Now certainly one would not be able to discern that agenda from a massive group of hive-minded rats but you would more than certainly assume it to be devious. Now, if you were a clever and observational technician, you might be able to spot the fact that it was not in fact a timed explosion the furry creatures were crafting but rather a remotely detonated one. On top of being a technician, you might be an electrician and realize that it seemed to be a trigger jury rigged from a cell phone and all the malicious malcontent would have to do is call the number from anywhere to set the glorious building to ruin. All assuming you had the required skills, of course.

Rats are not the strongest creatures on Earth, but they are fairly dexterous and have small thumb-like appendages and keen senses of smell. This combination of traits, the tiny hands to set complex wiring and the smell to search out locations and building material, are of a fine disposition to plant bombs. It did not take more than a few hours to coat the entire first floor in enough kitchen cooked bang-bang that would surely tip the structure on its side or send it crumbling strait down. Together they began to flee the structure as each followed its own pathway out. If any two happened to cross one another they would merge in a shimmering flash of light and so forth until only a single rat raced after another and the two became one.

Sniffing the air gingerly the animal made its way out of the tiny crack in the wall near the coffee machine in reception. Making sure nobody was looking, the tall handsome, successful looking businessman that had gone on vacation several weeks prior strode out of the quaint reception rest area and through the front doors of the facility, making sure to nod and smile at the secretary. Adjusting his tie he strode down the sides of the streets and alleyways until his expensive dress shoes were clacking along the now somber streets of Central City.

Thumbign at the metal clasp that bound his tie to his shirt nervously the businessman was still nervous about his endeavor. He brushed a fleck of the chunks of white wall from his shoulder and cleared his throat. He did not have much training or practice in the art of espionage but it didn’t seem so hard, especially with the use of his own certain gifts. He reassured himself that the cell phone had made it with him and that he could collect it any time he so chose. He didn’t necessarily need that phone to complete his personal operation but it was the only one he knew of that had the number stored upon it. He should have taken stronger measures to memorize the number, as the entire plan hinged upon his ability to make a call to it.

He slipped into an alleyway beyond the eyes of any of the onlookers, and so the businessman was not seen until he returned from his long vacation that he had left the city for all those months ago. From the other side of the alley a young man in a bright red hoodie emerged, popping the hood over his head and zipping the front of it up. His eyes were cloaked in shadow as he milled about in the urban jungle, the faces and shades of the city punching tiny holes into his heart.

He wished that he could say that it was the oncoming invasion’s fault entirely. These people had run out of hope a long time ago… They were trapped in a system that grinded them up and made bread from their backbones. They danced and sang for zenni. They skipped and hollered for public acclaim. Not a single thing that any one of them had done in their lives amounted up to what they were all about to take part in. This invasion was going to free them. It was going to make them live for the sake of living and for the sake of their children living. Soon, as the skies darkened and their countrymen’s blood ran along the ground they would be full and flush with emotion. Thunder would fill the skies and hell would open its jaws beneath their feet. Fire would spray and ice would cling. It would be a beautiful, terrible, heavenly inferno that would open its maw and eat up all of their apathy.

He was going to be a part of it, he was going to be one of the many faces that made a difference in the world and he would be able to say that he was something more than just some kid that failed out of college. He would be more than some stupid underpaid laborer. He could almost taste the glory. It wasn’t glory in the name of the others around him, it would be a glory that he could take up in his hands and massage into his cheeks and it would become a part of him. Death was going to fall down upon so many people but none of them would know what it was to be dead because for the first time in their lives they would be alive.

He was finally free of it all. Not that he hadn’t been before but he like so many others had convinced himself that that shit mattered somehow. He was one of the world’s best at what he did, he knew that for a fact. He wasn’t even sure that anybody else could do what he could. He did know, however, that in order to master his abilities he had gone through months of arduous training of the mind. Making yourself truly believe that you can be anything, in any shape that you wanted, to make your mind and body create itself anew based solely upon the concept that you know you can isn’t simple. It’s a fucking trek, and he had forged his path across it.

He saw a pair of men shouting and shoving t one another, some argument surely related to the coming war that would ravage the planet. Was the squabble over food? Munitions? Or was it just another mindless act of self-presentation designed to bolster an ego that it might survive the onslaught of destitution?

Sigfried pasued a moment and looked at the men as one took the other’s collar and they began to tumble, he standing in the middle of the street with his red hoodie striking stark contrast to the gloomy grey that seemed to devour the landscape. He took a step away before halting once angain and turning towards them. He began to take strides in their direction until strides became a sprint and he fell upon them like a jackal.

“Oi! Oi you fuckin…” he shouted and struggled with the men, pressing his body between them. He caught a firm fist to the jaw. Cracking it back and forth he grunted in agitation and finally managed to shove them apart. The three stood there panting and sweaty, looking across one another in indignation. Glancing between the two, Sigfried tugged on the edges of his red cloak and let out a long breath. “I don’t know what the hell you two are fighting over, but knock it off man.”

One of the men stepped forward and pointed at the other. “That son of a bitch tried t-“

He was cut off by a harsh snip from the young man, “Hey! I don’t know why you’re fighting and I also don’t give a shit.” He paced back and forth as they let out word snippets in frustration, combing back peppered grey hair and fiddling with the last pack of cigarettes he had managed to keep. “The days are winding to an end. Is this how you want your final days to be? Is this where you want to lie in your grave and remember being? Duking it out in the streets with somebody on the same side as you? Fuck that!” He shouted, his voice growing hoarse. His body trembled slightly, the energy of his emotions sending waves through him. “You should spend every last moment that you’ve got living proud! This might be your last chance to live proud. This might be the last time you’ll ever see the sun rise, as I am unsure of its status in Hell.” He turned away and pulled the hood back over his head. “Keep in mind that we are all men and men, over all other people in this universe, are the most resilient. Not because we are strong or fast or powerful, but because we are not. We are the only ones that can wage a war with pitchforks and shovels.”

He began to walk away casting a quick look backwards to the two, and he surprisingly found them following after. At first he thought the two might assault him and so he began to turn and face them. But soon he felt a warm hand upon his shoulder and in front of him the two stood with stern faces. He stood, almost confused about why they might have confronted him.

“Thank you,” the older of the two said softly. The other nodded in silent agreeance, each having that look of both shame and pride that swelled from within. Sigfried stood flabbergasted, completely unsure.

“Will you be fighting too, son?” the other said plainly.

He nodded in response and held his hand up in some strange gesture of compassion. “Yeah of course I am. I think I’ve got something I can bring to the table.”

“Well I would be proud to raise a flag in your name, son.”

Sigfried grinned widely and within the hidden pockets of his sweatshirt he wrung his hands within themselves. “I think we might be able to make that happen.”

[Prototype]

Robert always wondered why Capsule Corporation insisted on naming their flying vehicles 'hover cars.' Sure, in most contexts, they were wheel-less automobiles for consumers, but the majority of models in the current age were well equipped for soaring through the skies. He wasn't sure why his mind sauntered to such an inane topic as he glanced out his window, inspecting the tiny specks on the city streets of Ja. He was particularly high up, circling the metropolis in a general overview of its layout.

While it was the most densely populated city he had encountered so far on Namek, it still lacked the claustrophobic parade that made up many concrete jungles back on Earth. Perhaps it was due to the predilection of the green skinned natives to live in sequestered, intimate villages where they worked on restoring the planet's lush fauna. Civilisation such as this seemed somewhat awkwardly imposed upon the namekians, as if they had no choice but to assimilate into the global community, no matter how unnatural and jarring it was to them.

In any case, Robert knew his thoughts shouldn't have been where they were. It wasn't because he felt any form of pity for the namekians' uneasy plight, nor was it because he had misjudged the time and was overtly late for the scheduled meeting.

No, he realised he should've been looking where he was driving.

A skyscraper appeared before his accelerating vehicle, as if it protruded from the Namek soil when he had his eyes turned. Robert yelled as he thrust both feet into the brakes, pulling back on the steering wheel to fight against the inevitable disaster. The vehicle instantly cut ignition and put all power into the backward thrusters, but it was useless at his speed. When he knew it was all for naught, he closed his eyes and tucked his body into a ball. It was up to fate whether he survived or not.

The hood of his hover car penetrated the glass windows with an almighty shatter. Jagged shards blanketed the front of the vehicle and leapt forward in a fountain-like spray. The nose of the vehicle cleaved a once luxurious and pricey couch clean in two and bounced on its side like an oval football. Into the side of the wall it rammed, crushing an antique bookcase like a disused matchbox. It ricocheted, heading for a stylish kitchen, when suddenly the tumbling ball of metal immediately halted.

Robert screeched as he was flung from the driver's seat, the seatbelt unable to contain the brusque transfer of inertia. A firm hand sped from beneath him, seizing the back of his collar. Dazed, he hung in the air as he sucked in the devastation that was his doing all around him. His car was a complete write off. The apartment was in a horrid, terrifying state, at least to his bank account.

Realising he wasn't crumpled in a heap of broken bones and wall plaster, he followed the arm that held him up. He noticed the same man was responsible for stopping the renegade car's rampage.

The mysterious man stopped it with a single hand.

Now his eyes were burning with an intense loathing the likes of which Falconer had never seen.

"Oh, wow," he said nervously, grinning uncomfortably. "Uh, my bad."

The long haired man narrowed his eyes and threw Robert against the only untouched couch left in the skybox, albeit showered with glass. He slowly stalked towards him, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Hey, whoa, whoa," Robert tried to placate. "All this? All this here, I will pay for. Everything. I'll get it fixed for you within the hour. I promise."

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears. If there was such a thing as a death stare, Robert was expecting his heart to freeze at any moment.

An attractive woman appeared from the ether from behind the enraged man. Her eyes studied Robert. While they contained a measure of malice for the unwanted intruder, it didn't compare with the seething infernos of the approaching owner of the high rise apartment.

Robert scurried over the back of the sofa, ignoring the nicks and cuts he received from the pointed glass. Jumping through the window was looking like a viable option at this point. "OK, you know what? That isn't enough! Not only will I repair the damage I've done here, I'll provide you with ... something. Anything. Do you need anything? Money? Technology? Materials? Labour? A stress ball?"

The man stopped his eerie skulk, turning his head at the proposal. He seemed intrigued by something, and Robert hoped it was something in his last statement rather than what colour the man hoped his blood to be.

"Materials," Vad pointed out. "I need a wall."

[Geeli Ou]

“Our worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find.”

Three young boys pressed themselves against the storefront’s glass bay window, trying to catch a glimpse at one of the many television sets that occupied the local shop’s display. Larger adults bore down on them from behind, hardly noticing the pre-teenagers before them. The youngest of them all, Sid, hardly noticed as his brash friends hurled curse words at their aggressive elders, and as they delivered stern kicks to their shins. The set that Sid was watching was repeating the same message over and over again.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Billy shouted, and then grabbed Sid by the strap on his backpack and pulled him from the crowd.

The three boys wormed their way through the crowd, going out of their way to step on people’s shoes and knock into their stomachs as they carved their own path. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they burst forth from the rear of the gathering. William, as his mother endearingly referred to him as, which was something that he was also very embarrassed of, as she had a habit of calling him by his full name in front of his friends, turned around and kicked out at the crowd one last time, before gripping the straps on his backpack and darting forth into the street, leaving Sid and their other friend, Richie, to catch up.

Sid’s old, faded converses slapped against the sidewalk’s concrete as they leapt up from the street and darted down the crowded walkway, weaving in and out of traffic and giggling all the while.

“Hey,” Richie, the largest of the three boys, shouted out as Sid began to put distance between the two, “Wait up!”

“No way, hurry the hell up!” Billy shouted as he darted forward.

Sid laughed as he continued to gain distance on their de facto leader, but the message from the television set kept poking at the back of his mind, and he could not shake it. He was only in the seventh grade, but he could understand the situation that was at hand. All three of them could, they just chose not to talk about it. One could feel it in the air, a palpable tension that stank of both fear and courage. His older brother had left the other morning to join the local militia, and he had sensed the same cocktail on Steve, that was his elder sibling’s name. He told him before he left that “of course he was scared, but he was honored to serve and eager to defend his family.” And Sid couldn’t explain the tension he felt any better than that, his brother had always been better with words than him. Well, Steve had been better at pretty much everything, but school especially.

“Hey, dummy, slow up!”

Sid snapped back to reality, he hadn’t realized that he had spaced out for nearly an entire block! In front of him Billy was facing the local milkshake and ice cream parlor, aptly named ‘Mr. McGoo’s.’ It was apparently named after its owner, but Sid had never met anybody by that name.

“What’re you an idiot?! I’m standing right here!” Billy shouted and jokingly jabbed Sid in the shoulder as he slowed. Richie nearly collapsed behind them, doubled over and wheezing as he came to a halt next to the two.

“Sorry,” Sid stated simply, he was always the quiet one. “What’s up?”

“Dude, Jessica Hawthorne is in there!” Billy whispered excitedly as he pointed towards the parlor’s innards.

“What? Where? Let me see!” Richie pushed past Sid and pressed himself against the glass window, ogling at the young girl.

“You know I heard she’s dating the captain of the football team,” Billy stated in his snide tone. He was leaning against the shop’s window now, with his arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his tanned complexion. It was only early June, but his family took a trip south earlier last month and he showed off his bronzed skin as if it were a trophy.

“Yeah right,” Sid countered. One of Steve’s best friends was the captain of the football team, and Sid had met his girlfriend more than once. She was definitely not Jessica Hawthorne.

“I’m serious! It’s true!” Billy shouted defensively, pushing himself up from his post.

“Guys, shut up! She’s looking right at us!” Richie had turned his head back and squealed at the other two boys. Sure enough, Jessica Hawthorne was sitting at on the stool closest to the door, flanked by a gang of giggling girls. It was common knowledge to all the boys at Roosevelt Memorial School that Jessica Hawthorne was the most beautiful girl in all of West City. The heartthrob of every boy in the seventh grade, she held a very privileged position on the hierarchy of popularity. All the boys wanted to be with her, and all the girls wanted to be her. It was even rumored a teacher or two lusted for her. That was probably why Billy hated dusty geezers so much. He wouldn’t admit it outright, but he had a bigger crush on Jessica Hawthorn than any other boy in the school. Except for maybe Richie, that is.

“I’m going to go talk to her,” Richie stated, stiffening up boldly.

“What?” Billy retorted, taken aback by his companion’s brash decision.

“You heard me; I’m going to go talk to her.” This time he sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest in a feeble attempt to look ‘buff.’ Sid and Billy exchanged glances, and then burst out in laughter.

“Oh man, I’ve got to see this!” Billy exclaimed as he doubled over in fits of laughter. “Go on, lover boy!”

Without a word, Richie pushed open the door and walked inside. He was covered in sweat from their little run, and was still wheezing in a manner that was similar to his grandmother, but he had always been the one to make bold and brash moves such as this. Billy quickly recovered and, with disbelief flashing across his eyes, grabbed Sid and darted in the store. The boy in the baseball cap brushed off his advance, however.

“I’m gonna head home, I’ll just catch you guys later.”

“You’re what?! Come on man, this is going to be hilarious!” Billy shouted. He was standing motionless in the door frame, half inside and half outside the shop. His left hand was propping open the glass entranceway.

“I’m not feeling good; I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Suit yourself man.” Billy chuckled as he let the door close behind him. He darted inside excitedly and raced up behind Richie, grabbing him by the shoulders and massaging him as if he were the trainer to a boxer who was heading towards the ring.

Sid stood for a second and stared through the glass window panes. Inside Richie and Billy were approaching the gaggle of young women, who were all propped up on barstools and were sipping away at their respective milkshakes. Next to them, he noticed, was the fading reflection of himself. He adjusted his baseball cap, shook off the emotions that were rising within him, and turned back t the street. He knew there was a chance he would never see them again.

This unknown threat, he thought, it was just like when his dog Susie died, except everyone he knew was at risk. He had to find out who the guilty party was, and bring them to justice. He just had to. The only problem was, he noted to himself as he descended into the crowded sidewalks once more, how does an unassuming twelve year old get involved in an intergalactic war?

After darting back to his house, which was on the way to the local community center, a surefire spot for militia sign-ups, and writing a note to his parents informing them that he would be staying at Billy’s for a few nights and that he had his cell phone on him if they needed anything, Sid snatched up everything that he thought he might need and headed down the street.

~~~***~~~

There was no way that they were going to allow him to join the militia, not at his age at least. But he had to join, he just had to. That seemed to be a recurring mantra of his today. He considered his options as he crouched behind a few cars and examined the line of volunteers streaming from the center’s front entranceway. His mother had always said that he had “some sense of justice and of right and wrong for someone his age.” If only she could see him now.

“There, that’s my chance,” Sid whispered and noted a large transport vehicle on the far side of the community center’s large, outdoors recreational area. Men and women adorned in fancy uniforms slowly boarded the oversized airplane. That had to be it, he thought to himself, that’s where the militia was heading.

As he started to rise, however, he stuttered and then quickly came to a halt, before returning to his crouched position.

“How’s a kid like me going to sneak on to that plane? Never mind actually help in this war!”

Sid sulked, and then thought for a moment before cringing. He slid the straps of his backpack from his shoulders and unzipped the enclosure on the blue sack, revealing the colorful mask within. He stared at it for a few moments. He’d only worn the mask once, but it wasn’t hard to deduce that it was an object of darkness and mystery. When it transformed him, he felt ancient and knowledgeable and clever and, above all else, he felt dangerous. And behind everything else he could sense that small tingling in the back of your brain that you get when something is amiss; it felt exactly the same as when his older brother had jokingly manipulated and influenced him when he was younger.

He continued to stare at the mask. It was his only way to actually help people; it was his only way to enact justice on those who perpetuated evil. But at what cost would that justice come? This mask had an agenda of its own, and even tough Sid did not know what that agenda was, he had a feeling that it could not be good.

“I’ll only wear it for as long as I can control it, and then I’ll just take it off,” Sid reassured himself and ducked out from the parking lot and into the nearby darkness of an adjacent alleyway. “How hard can it be?”

As he pulled the mask from his blue backpack he stopped to stare at it once more. Almost in response to his hesitation, a peculiar glimmer drifted across the costume piece’s face, as if a ray of sunlight had caught it at just the right angle. Sid lifted his head and looked around, there was no sun, and there was no source of light to be found.

“Weird,” he stated nonchalantly. Lifting the mask to his face, he gently pressed the cold wood against his skin and held it there until he felt it grab hold of his pale flesh. Dropping his hands, Sid stood up, the mask still stuck against his facial features. He could feel a soft wind picking up around him, just as it had last time, and he let his body relax. White noise drowned out everything and the scene before his eyes was cast into darkness. From nowhere a rush erupted in his chest and darted towards all his extremities, filling him with the sensation of power and energy. His knees buckled as a second wave came, and he dropped onto all fours as the excellence of some ancient deity coursed through his veins. It was originating from the area where the mask contacted his face.

As the sensation began its crescendo, he could feel the immense power within his body, having been transferred from the mask into himself, double back into his center. He prepared himself for what he referred to as the ‘knock.’ And, as if waiting for him to brace himself, it came on cue. As the power raced back to his center, he felt a strong force drive against the center of his chest and shoot him backwards onto his back. He cringed in momentary pain, and then it was over.

“I wonder if this is every going to get any easier,” he whispered as he stood up and examined himself. Just as it had happened last time, his entire appearance had been altered. His clothes had transformed into that of a vagrant forest fairy, or at least what he imagined one would look like. His skin had become brown and thick once again. And, most noticeably, the lens through which he viewed the world had changed. His eyes felt much larger, almost as though he had those that belonged to an insect. His peripheral vision was much extended, almost as if he were an owl, although he did not need to aerobically twist his neck in order to utilize this enhanced vision. Colors were more vibrant, light was brighter and darkness was more easily navigated. In many ways, the world that he viewed through the mask was much more beautiful than the one that he knew otherwise.

Sid Luck snapped his fingers once without giving his actions much thought and, as he had expected, the world around him came to an immediate halt.

“This is never going to get old,” he whispered as he stepped out from the alley and into the world that he had froze. Having control of time was definitely beneficial in these sorts of situations, as one might imagine.

As he walked towards the transport vehicle, with an exaggerated skip in his step so that it appeared to anyone who was watching, and of course no one was since they were frozen in time, that he was literally dancing across the recreational area, he remembered that he no longer had to talk. The life of the ancient forest fairy miscreant must have been a lot of fun, Sid remembered thinking.

His body evaporated into nothingness and reappeared a hundred yards away, materializing in the same instant that it had disappeared. Again he performed this stunt, and his thin, dancing body warped to the transport plane’s open bay door. From there, he simply walked forward into the cargo bay and chose what appeared to be the most comfortable area. It was sure to be a long flight, and as much as he wanted to remain hidden he also wanted to remain cozy.

“Perfect.” The transformed seventh grader dropped to the floor and reclined against a bunch of inflatable mattresses, which he fully planned on deploying once they were in flight. With a snap of his finger, he allowed time to once again carry out its own agenda.

“Just like I said, easy enough,” Sid snidely remarked to himself as he pulled the mask away from his face and reverted back into his normal, unassuming twelve year old self.

As he adjusted his body in his little nook a stream of letters that were imprinted on a nearby crate caught his attention. He craned his neck and examined the wood, which read: “High Priority Delivery to Planet Namek.”

“Well, I guess we’re visiting the little greenies,” Sid whispered as he tucked the mask into his backpack and awaited the takeoff of his flight across the galaxy.

[Mal Nova]

The fire danced in it's usual whimpering wave; Attempting to breath and keep alive as it ate all the oxygen that it could, almost as if it was starving. When a breeze came in from the tunnel, the flame grew for a few moments, almost in a taunting manner, but quickly lowered into it's choked flicker.

The Son of Retane, Maleficus Nova, spent his spare time, staring at such flames, lost in remembrance of his first and only failed mission. His name had slightly become a whisper in the underground as a Mercenary of many talents. To him, the fire represented a struggle within, one that he couldn't come to face; No matter how many missions he completed, there would always been that one that he failed to complete.

Not far above, the two watched, the white maned Mystic, and the silver haired Maid. Tamsin looked on at the indian-styled prone warrior, noting that a tribal marking had found itself on part of one side of his face since she had last seen him. His eyes were closed, but she knew all to well that if she spoke he would hear her. There was of course, a deep inner fear that he might not recognize her voice, and that would be more painful. There last meeting felt so as if it had been so long ago.

She closed her own eyes then, as they watered up, but the tears still squeezed through. The dark orange cloaked woman wiped her eyes as fast as the drops had appeared with a a sleeve, and looked to the Elven one, who motioned for her to follow him out of earshot of the wicked hearing of a Namekian; Even more so a Namekian that could control sound with his wind abilities.

Enroshia looked to the sky, attempting to avoid the look of the unique Human, but looking to the storm clouded sea, as a sun attempted to rear its face, just reminded him of looking into her silver-lined eyes. He looked down and stared at the brown rocks of the mountainous region, "I am sorry. I wish I could have gotten to you in time to stop it. But Gypsies are wicked people alone, and with the combination of a wizard, and using the strength of such a powerful warrior, it was impossible ."

Tamsin took a deep sigh, as she looked at her hands. They looked a bit pale, and they had a slight trimmer to them. "But you are sure that asking Master Maleficus Nova to help me, that he could save me?"

Enro nodded, "Yes, he is the only one able to save you. It takes a powerful bond of love and strength to counter such a concoction that has been made against you." The Crimson Robed figure looked to Tamsin then and spoke in a tone that would really cause her to question if she should ask for help or not, "This will be at a great risk to Mal's own life at well."

"Then I wont do it! I'll just die!" Tamsin couldn't, nor wouldn't see her Master hurt for hersake. She'd die proud in service for the Namekian Warrior.

Enro only shook his head, "You have no choice actually. I'm here to assign him the job myself. The Higher Up's think it is time to see what he is made of. You can help him and save two eggs from being cracked and thrown away, or just hope he is better then his own father."

It was a bit odd to hear the words come from the Mystic, giving her no choice in the matter, as she would certainly follow the rogue to the depths of hell and back. It was her job to assist and protect the Namekian with her life. It was what she had been trained and taught to do for her Master, and she did with all her heart. But now the weight of her actions seemed to reflect her weakness and failure.

She had spent most of her time, after the escape of their target and Pyresien, attempting to track them down. Nova, seemed to be in a depression of sorts, and stayed in his dwelling until another mission was brought to him. From the rumors of some, the jade fiend seemed to lack the compassion for the job, and seemed as if something was missing. Tam, knew all to well what the issue was though. 'The one that got away.'

In her journey to track down their target known only as Maxwell, and the fire wielding Pyrotechnic she had sought out a Gypsy woman, said to have the ability to help her in her quest. The human had exhausted most of her more conventional methods in her attempt, and was running out of ideas, so she gave it a shot out of desperation. After the first meeting with the vagabond, the Maid was given a place and time in which to meet, where the Gypsy would tap into her powers in hopes of finding the locations of the hunted.

At the ritual spot, two additional characters were present. A middle aged, man that was professed as a wizard, and cloaked being who's face and identity was shrouded by a hood. His power was said to be a conduit of power for the spell-casters, and while still septic, Tamsin agreed to proceed. The aftermath, however led to the three mysterious beings fleeing, after the warrior held Tamsin down against her will, as the wizard forced a bitter concoction down her throat and the head conspirator, placed a spell upon her. When she came to later, she learned that she had been sentenced to death.

"But while that matter is on the table," His voice seemed to have raised slightly, or maybe it was just her coming out of her day dream," There is another issue, in which I'm here to gain see our dear Maleficus Nova. Cold Steel wanted me to bring word that there seems to be a pending invasion that can be very catastrophic. A galactic message has been sent and is being broadcasted repeatedly on multiple planets, including this one, asking for all able bodied personnel, to take up arms and assist." Enro pulled out a hand held holographic projector and played the message for Tamsin. Tamsin watched the four beings as they stood together, as if to signify the unification of races on a broad spectrum.

As the message ended, she paused trying to evaluate the message. She looked up, her eyes showing her confusion, "Is that all? There's no more information? Does Cold Steel have any further information?" Tamsin normally would have received the mission personally from her Employer, but her communication devices had been lost or broken and she hadn't acquired any new ones or even thought about checking in. She wondered how long ago it was since she actually did check in, and scoffed at herself for being so irresponsible.

"No. Or at least he didn't inform me."

"And what of the Saiyans?" From the darkness of the cave, emerged the mercenary. His clothing was identical to Tamsin's, dark orange, with dark green linings, but his was less tarnished and worn out. He strode forth, out of the mouth of his domain, torturing the world with his presence once more. He had heard the Mystics voice outside and had floated up to investigate. He had listened in about their newest mission, wondering how long it had been since he had seen Tamsin.

But, he didn't look her in the eye, instead he looked to straight to the crimson ordained warrior. As he passed, Tamsin, though, he did touch her shoulder and within almost an instant, her outfit had been altered into a clean fresh one. Still he didn't look to her. Enro's furrowed brow showed cause for concern, as he looked down then back up to the jade warrior.

"I don't know actually. I didn't even catch that."

Maleficus didn't nod, didn't grunt, but stood there, almost unnerving the elvish warrior. After moment's of silence, Nova spoke again, "Where does Cold Steel suggest we head to sign up?"

Mal would soon find out more details, even if this one couldn't give it to him.

[Garbanz]

Despite his preoccupation, Garbanz hadn’t been entirely oblivious to the war effort. Ships were leaving every hour, filled with soldiers of every kind. Young, old, male, female, human, alien … as his eyes passed over them, the saiyan gulped. Garbanz probably had a natural advantage over most of them - even as one of the weakest of his race, he was still naturally strong compared to humans - but that didn’t stop him feeling nervous. No doubt, many of them wouldn’t be coming back.

Garbanz took a second to gather himself. His head was reeling. Despite the protests of his logical mind, he had no intention of turning back. Bizarrely enough, as he prepared to risk his life in open warfare, he felt elated. His lady had given him a purpose. Somewhere from deep within, he felt a power he’d never felt before. Like he had limitless energy, all of a sudden.

Maybe this is what it feels like to become a super saiyan, he thought to himself, unable to suppress a chuckle at the idea. He knew it wasn’t the time for jokes, but he couldn’t help himself. Doubling over, Garbanz let the laughs rack his body until he couldn’t feel his legs.

“Having fun?” came a familiar voice.

The saiyan’s eyes widened, and he spun around. “M … My lady! I was just … I was about to-”

“Shut up,” she said, and pointed towards the ship behind Garbanz. “In.”

Garbanz looked to the ship, and back to the girl. Then at the girl, and back to the ship. This repeated a few times. “Wait, you’re … you’re not coming along, are you?” The saiyan looked mortified. “But my lady! It’s dangerous! I implore you-”

“Shut up,” the girl repeated. “You‘re going to make me weapons with that skill of yours, so it‘s fine. Get in the ship.”

Garbanz felt his heart beating in his chest. I have to trust her, he thought. Placing a hand across his chest, he bowed forward. “My lady is brave, and even nobler than I had imagined. Very well!” He stood up. “I shall make sure you return safely, I swear it!!”

The girl simply shook her head and started walking towards the ship. Garbanz followed, his narrowed eyes now scanning the other passengers for any suspicious characters. He would have to be on guard.

As it was, nobody approached the pair. Something about the saiyan’s attempt to stare down every other passenger may have contributed, but the journey into orbit went with without event.

Garbanz fidgeted nervously in his seat. “So … tell me about yourself, my lady.”

“…”

The saiyan coughed, and tried another tack. “Is this your first time leaving Earth?”

“…”

“Hey, guy, she’s way out of your league,” laughed one of the other passengers. “Give it a rest, huh?”

Garbanz felt something snap, and before he knew it he was on his feet. “SHUT UP, YOU!” he roared. In a moment, a black slick of metal had detached itself from his armour and congealed into the form of a gigantic claymore. He thrust it forward, eyes ablaze, but a hand around his wrist stopped him.

“What the hell are you doing?” said the girl, the level tone of her voice belying the anger in her stare. “You’re going to get us kicked off the ship.”

In an instant, the man’s rage had dissipated. “Of … of course, my lady! I‘m sorry!” The sword melted back into his armour, and he sat down, cursing himself. Moron, moron, moron! Get a grip! He pinched himself, letting the adrenaline subside. As he did so, he noticed that his wrist hurt. Rubbing it, he glanced over at the girl.

She fixed him with a glare, and this time her voice carried just the hint of a growl. “What now?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Garbanz raised a thumb and forefinger to his lips, and made a zipping motion before turning his face back to his hand. But damn, he thought. She is strong. I wonder if one of her parents was saiyan. Then he shook himself again. Enough idle thought. I need to prepare myself. Once we get out there, there’ll be no time to think. I need to protect her.

He thumbed his chin, deep in thought.

Wish I’d brought my copy of Ki Control: Basic Combat Applications for Personal Energy.

[Lia]

Finding the plethora of Militia vessels that were boarding and waiting to depart wasn’t exactly a difficult feat; all the Android had to do was follow the swarm of citizens heading for the station. Considering the situation - the militia were clearly recruiting as part of a last ditch attempt to survive the invasion, - people seemed rather keen to enrol themselves in the war effort and throw themselves into the fray. Lia’s dark gaze scanned the crowd, silently sizing up each of the individuals, trying to assess whether or not they’d ever had to wield a weapon before. Most of them seemed to be your average guy, although she hadn’t really been expecting to see any trained warriors spring out of the woodwork. After all, this was Earth. Wars weren’t as much of an issue now as they used to be; and when they were fought, technology played a much heavier role. (Well, that’s what she had been lead to believe, in any case.)

Running a hand through her unkempt tresses, Lia found her attention drawn towards a familiar figure; Garbanz. He was a very strange Saiyan, to say the least, and he seemed to believe he was indebted to her in some way or another. While the Android didn’t fully understand his reasoning, she wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. If the Saiyan was so willing to serve her, why shouldn’t she indulge his request? Sure, he was a little inept and prone to being more of a hindrance than help… but maybe that would improve. Maybe. Some part of Lia prayed it would pay off eventually.

“Having fun?” Lia began, addressing him in her usual melodic tones. They seemed a little out of place given the intonation of her voice - it seemed slightly more acidic than it would be if she was dealing with a potential contractor, - but nobody had ever bothered to question it. Least of all Garbanz. Lia instantly regretted drawing the Saiyan’s attention to herself, as he instantly began jabbering at her. She did what she could to block him out, interjecting as necessary, before boarding the ship.

Lia was quick to make herself comfortable upon the Militia vessel. It wasn’t the most welcoming of environments - there seemed to be an air of dread hanging in the air, - but the female seemed more than capable of blocking that out. It was only when her companion got overexcited that she realized she would have to get up and deal with the situation. She wasn’t entirely sure what had occurred - then again, with Garbanz, the littlest things set him off, - but she knew she had to deal with it before it got out of hand. She snarled a warning at him; “What now?” It was more than enough to calm the Saiyan, and he quickly lost whatever false confidence he had found.

Shooting Garbanz another warning stare, Lia slowly returned to her seat. Her stride was purposeful, her face painted with irritation. It was at times like these that she had to question her own judgement… Was his help really worth all this hassle? Her gaze swept over him as she weighed up the chances of him having another outburst before the ship landed. The probability seemed rather high, and the Android was unwilling to take more chances than were absolutely necessary, so she reluctantly pulled herself from the seat, gliding towards the Saiyan.

As she reached Garbanz, she drew one of her long swords. At this point, a few of the other passengers turned their heads curiously - Lia could see some semblance of fear in their gaze, although they mostly seemed to relax when they realized her anger was being channelled at one person in particular. Pointing the tip of her sword at the Saiyan’s neck, Lia’s gaze was cold as her eyes bored into his.

A hiss came from the female‘s pursed lips. “My patience with you is wearing thin. Bite your tongue, lest I remove it altogether,” she spat. Strangely, once her warning had been issued, her entire face seemed to relax. She calmly sheathed her sword again and returned to her seat, much to the surprise of the passengers who had been watching the events unfold. “… Saiyans,” she murmured irritably.

[Sophia]

Continued from here: http://cdbzrpg.com/forum/showthread.php?t=28042

“Deal,” Kaden cracked a smile, running a hand through his blonde hair as he shook his head at the sight of his truck. He motioned towards it vaguely with his free hand. “I doubt we’d get far, anyway. If we got anywhere at all.”

Sophia had inched her way towards the vehicle without even realizing it. She really did wonder why he even kept it around, or why he didn’t invest any of his hard-earned zeni on upgrading to a new one. Paint was chipped in places all around, the windows were dirty, and the entire machine just seemed to slump like an old man settling into a nursing home. Then again, the healer had to admit that despite all its shortcomings, it held a certain amount of charm for such a shabby-looking vehicle. She looked between Kaden and the truck a few times before she walked back to the courier, running a hand along its surface as she passed. “You can come back for it. I doubt anyone would even bother to tow it; not in this part of town,” she smiled, though it faded as soon as a stray thought struck her. “You get in even more crazy adventures than I do. How did you find your truck before?”

“Well…” Kaden paused, pondering the question as his eyes wandered towards his broken-down vehicle. “Suffice it to say that it happens to show itself when I least expect it.”

“Kind of like me?” Sophia stuck her tongue out.

“Exactly like you,” the courier laughed. Sophia shared the sentiment and held up a slender hand to mask her chuckle, although she did a poor job due to the snort that she accidentally let out. The pair sighed after the laughter subsided, leaving behind only an uncomfortable silence that was sullied only by the street noise surrounding them. It took a bit for either of them to realize what was wrong. Kaden clicked his tongue. “Okay, this whole deal sounded better in my head.”

“Yeah…” Sophia rubbed her arm awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed about leaving her only job in twenty-two years of life for a random, nameless adventure. “You really didn’t have any ideas?”

“I did go to space,” the courier shrugged, a casual move for something that sounded so ridiculous. “But…you know. How often can someone say that?”

“Yeah…wait, what?” Sophia shook her head. “When the heck did you go to space?”

“Remember Ander? Creepy guy with the bandanna, hit on you a lot?”

“Sure. What about him?”

“I bumped into him a while back. We ran around, did some things, and I ended up on a planet called Namek,” Kaden responded bluntly. He cleared his throat after a moment. “I’ll have to explain it later. Anyway, the point is that we literally have an entire galaxy just…out there.”

“Okay, then…” the blonde woman smirked, crossing her arms. “How do we get there? We haven’t made it ten feet from the restaurant, and we’re already short on ideas.”

“Let’s…just go,” Kaden sighed and shook his head, motioning for the girl to follow him. Sophia blinked and turned heel, following his steps just a few feet behind him. She supposed that it was probably the best thing to do—after all, they weren’t going to get much accomplished just standing around and arguing like an old married couple. Kaden shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and turned his head slightly. “We’re looking for something to do, people to help, baddies to fight. Stuff like that, right? This entire place is a shithole…something this broken surely has something that needs fixed.”

“We just need to look around,” Sophia finished his thought as she did just that, turning her head to take in the sights and sounds and smells. West City was a problem that she had simply ignored, and for the first time, she actually cared that it wasn’t exactly the best place to be, at least on this side of town. The trick, however, was determined the cause of the disease, and not the symptoms. It’s easy to point out trouble when you spot it, but it’s more difficult to find a solution. Up ahead, down the sidewalk, a group of people had started to gather around a store window—judging by the distance from their relative position, Sophia guessed that they were looking into the local electronics store.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Kaden muttered, his head turned from the scene. “I mean, how hard could it be to find work? You’d think that we could just walk down the street and…Sophia?”

He glanced at the woman, but directed his gaze towards the group that was gathering in number, finally aware of it as they got close enough to discern facial features. They were all looking at a television display wordlessly. Every set displayed the same eerie image, and broadcasted the same eerie message, though the content of the latter was harder to understand. The pair of adventurers stopped at the back of the crowd, staring into the monitors with raised eyebrows. There were images of different people, all races that Sophia had seen before. The words stopped for a moment, but the message suddenly repeated:

“ur worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find.”

Sophia blinked at what was said, and while the other members of the crowd started chattering amongst themselves, she couldn’t help but crack a smile.

Kaden looked over at her. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Her grin was almost mischievous. “Space, you said?”

[Garbanz]

The saiyan’s arms felt heavy, but he kept swinging. Explosions lit up the sky and deafened the world. All he could hear was ringing.

There was the girl, and she was a sight to behold. She moved like a ballet dancer, controlled but fluid, not wasting a single manoeuvre. Every swipe of her blades felled an enemy; and yet still they kept coming.

Garbanz blocked what felt like a cannonball with his shield, and staggered backwards. The tip of his spear dipped towards the ground. Anger. An axe swung towards him, and the saiyan raised his arm again to intercept. The two weapons pushed against each other; Garbanz felt the muscles in his right arm screaming.

Not yet. He concentrated - the spear in his hand shot outwards, extending its reach. It bit flesh; took life.

Still more now. Drawing the spear back into his metal reserves, Garbanz thickened his gauntlets into huge mitts and held his arms out against the tide of bodies. They crashed forward anyway. His knees buckled. He couldn’t hold them back.

There was the girl again. And there was the ball of energy, descending from the sky towards her. He watched it engulf her in the midst of the melee, as he struggled to stand. He watched her skin dissolve and her silhouette vanish into the blinding light.

He woke up and drew air.

Garbanz looked across at the girl. She was sitting in her seat; arms crossed, eyes closed. She could have been sleeping or merely thinking. Either way, Garbanz had the feeling she could look after herself.

He stood up and walked towards the ship’s bathrooms before entering a stall. Raising the toilet seat, he vomited.

Just a dream. It was just a dream. Garbanz leant against the wall, legs shaking. A sense of gratitude began to fill him, and he found himself thanking the Kais that he was here, that she was alive, that she existed at all. And yet he couldn’t shake the dread, and the doubts it gave rise to.

If she dies, and I survive, thought Garbanz. What will I do? Go back to working for the Empire? Start a shop on Earth to sell my weapons? He felt another lurch in his stomach. No. No. No. I couldn’t. I won’t. I’ll never go back to how I was before. She is everything. Without her, I am nothing.

The saiyan spat, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Pulling the flush, he left the stall and washed his hands beneath the cold tap, splashing some water onto his face.

“Hang in there, buddy,” said a bald man standing at the next wash basin. “We’re all feelin’ the nerves.”

Garbanz looked up and made eye contact, offering a weak smile. Turning back to the basin, he grabbed someone’s forgotten bottle of mouthwash and gargled until the acrid taste in his throat had faded a little. She couldn’t know. He had to be strong for her. He had to protect her.

As that thought crossed his mind, Garbanz froze. She was alone! What if …

The saiyan darted out of the bathroom, back to the seating area. As he turned the corner, he exhaled. She was in exactly the same spot as before. Of course she is, the saiyan chided himself. You really are ridiculous.

A voice rang out through the ship’s loudspeakers. “Arrival on Planet Mercy in one hour.”

* * * * *

As they descended the ramp, Garbanz took in a deep gulp of air. It was dusty, and harsh, but after so long breathing recycled air it felt like a cool summer breeze. He turned to the girl.

“Hey, milady,” he said, knowing even as the smirk crept across his face that it was a bad idea.

“What?” she replied flatly.

“Let’s not show any Mercy. Eh?”

She punched him in the head.

[John Doe]

"Was tuh awefissor, prablum?"

John Doe struggled to keep his balance as he stood in front of a young man. The man was suited with clumsily fitted military gear, seemingly thrown together in haste. "You can't be here, sir!" Doe bobbed his head around in response, taking a short glance at the man through thick, black shades. He quickly turned his attention towards the two half-finished bottles of liquor he held in his hands. "Sir?" The young man slowly reached for a riffle that hung by his shoulder. "I won't say it again, you can't be here!"

"Calm dawn, Jennurfer." With his left hand, Doe raised the bottle of liquor to his mouth, then leaned back and took a swig of the drink. He lost his footing for a moment, taking two short steps backwards before swinging forward again. "Was gawt yur pantees inna bawnch?" He noticed the young man had his riffle aimed at him, a slight tremble in its motion. Doe took a moment to get a better look at the man.

The young man seemed to be in his late teens, no older than 18. His hair was kept messy underneath his helmet, which had been leaning more towards the left side. He was dressed in light brown fatigues and carried an old riffle that had seen better days. Even in his drunken state, Doe could tell this man was part of a militia of some sort. Swishing his liquor inside his bottle, he took another gulp before asking "Ya inna war?"

The militiaman widened his eyes in surprise while trying to steady his weapon. "Don't you watch the fucking news!?" he blurted unprofessionally. Taking a short pause, the young man tried to explain the situation to Doe. But he wasn't listening to him. Instead, his eyes wandered around the area as he caught glimpses of images. More militiamen were running about, guns in hand, while large metal crates were being loaded with food and ammo. A few sharp dressed big shots were yelling at people and organizing soldiers into shuttles. Behind the young militiaman was an open cargo ship, filled with more metal crates that were stacked up to the ceiling of the cargo hold.

The images slowly faded away into a cloudy fuzz. Doe wasn't interested in any of these images anyway, but slowly stumbled over towards the outside of the nearby ship. He tripped over his own feet and spun around, hitting the door of the ship with his back. "Aren't you even fucking listening!?" Exasperated, the young soldier continued to aim his riffle at the overcoat wearing individual. Doe continued to ignore him, staring inside his empty bottle of alcohol. "Screw it, we don't have time for this. We need to get this ship mo-"

"Shutap!" In that instant, Doe swung the empty bottle against the door of the ship, breaking the bottom half into large, sharp shards. Still clutching the neck of the bottle, Doe thrust it into the young man's face, driving itself deep into his skull. The militiaman fell backwards in a heap, eyes and mouth wide open. "Ya killin' muh mood!" With a slight chuckle, Doe turned away from the corpse. He eyed the cargo ship's hold and, feeling tired, simply decided to call it a day. After climbing into the hold, Doe slowly raised his last bottle and took a refreshing swig from it. With nothing left to drink, Doe fell back onto one of the crates and quickly drifted into sleep.

As he drifted into slumber, the ship's doors closed and it began to rise. It sped off into the grey daylight, entering the blackness of space. The large cargo ship had a one way trip to Mercy to supply the militia forces there. The war to end all wars was at the end of the journey of this vesicle. As the ship entered hyperspace, Doe still slept, murmuring in his sleep. Little did John Doe know, but he wouldn't soon wake from his nightm-

"Boobs, heh heh heh..."

...

[Katelyn Ross]

Iris Swanning, Earth. Continued from: Fluorescence.

Before anything else, Iris Swanning needed time to think. She couldn’t fully comprehend what had taken place inside that office, and she hadn’t had a moment’s rest since leaving the place. For whatever reason, she felt compelled to run. She didn’t know where she would go, but that was her purpose, that was the path that she now found herself on. She sprinted down the sidewalk of West City, weaving between passersby and not even thinking to stop and explain her hurry. Once or twice, her solo grand prix aroused anger from those she shared the sidewalk with, but she ignored them — they didn’t matter.

The girl’s mind preoccupied itself with other thoughts, probably as meaningless as the people who cocked their heads in confusion as she ran past. What, she wondered, would Stephanie say? Would she even believe her? It wasn’t the most plausible story in the world: the fact that she had ripped a light fixture from the ceiling and slammed it onto her desk, just through her will. Iris might’ve had a hard time believing it herself if she hadn’t actually been there.

She continued to run; she ran, and ran, and ran, until at last, she had lost track of where her body stood. She slowed to a stop, surveying her surroundings, and took a deep breath. Unlike the streets of the city — which were abnormally empty — this tiny block was crowded with people, all looking up at a television screen. Something on it was attracting their attention, so Iris made for a closer vantage point. She nudged a few people aside, and finally found a spot where she could see the screen clearly, and hear what was being said.

“Our worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find.”

A shuffling to her left caught her attention, and her eyes flew from the giant television screen that blared overhead to a small pebble that rolled across the ground. She looked up, and saw a suited man pushing through the people, heading straight for her. Without a second thought, she bolted away from the crowd, pushing people away violently. Shouts of offended pedestrians filled her ears as she zoomed away from the crowded city block.

After running for a couple of very long minutes, she dared to shoot a glance back over her shoulder; no one was there. There was no assailant, no pursuer, like she’d expected, so she ceased her sprint, and leaned against the building next to her. As she gathered her strength, she looked down at the pavement, at a tiny pebble, not much different from the one that had incited fear in her not four minutes ago. Her breathing grew heavy, and she closed her eyes nervously, slowly raising her hand from her side. She opened her palm, and began to think one thought: rise.

She opened her eyes, and there it was, in mid-air; the pebble, just sitting there, as if there was something holding it up. She staggered back, pulling her hand close to her chest and pressing her spine to the building’s cragged surface. She gazed back in the direction from whence she’d come, a new fear surging through her. Nothing had followed her — not yet, anyway.

Across the street, a myriad of all different types of people gathered at the doors to a public gym. There were aliens, and humans; people wearing suits, and people wearing overalls; young people, and old people. Iris took a step off the curb, and a hover car skidded to a stop; the driver yelled obscenities at her, but she pressed forward, leaving him in her dust.

She couldn’t face Stephanie, or Jim Bombadil, the man who, out of a fear for her abilities which she now shared, had offered her a job. Hell, she could barely face herself — so this, signing up for the militia and being shipped off to a faraway world, seemed like the only option. A disappearance, at least for a while, was necessary; and what better way to disappear? She ignored the risks, and rather blissfully; the thought of death never crossed her mind. She would join out of necessity. Not because she wanted to help, but because she had to. This was a decision for herself; it wasn’t anybody else’s to claim. Not many of her decisions could brag of that.

There was, she considered, another reason that joining might’ve seemed prudent in her washed-up, vulnerable state. She could do something here — granted, she wasn’t quite sure what, but she had some sort of ability that could be utilized, and so she supposed the thought entering her head was, ‘why the hell not?’

Why the hell not, indeed. That was what a lot of the different people standing in line to sign up for the militia were thinking, Iris assumed. She had, minutes beforehand, shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, not wanting her to lose control of her abilities again, like she had in Bombadil’s office. She’d have plenty of time to muse about her abilities and try and get used to them on the ship to whatever planet she was going to, and right now, it looked like that would be Mercy-sei.

“Everything looks to be in order, Ms. Swanning,” the tiny man sitting at the recruiter’s desk nodded, “Welcome to the militia. You’ll get your assignment when you get to Mercy. Until then, enjoy the ride.”

He stamped her paperwork, finalizing the transaction, and handed it back to her. She walked past the desk, and out into the exterior areas of the gym — the outside basketball court was the only area with a currently boarding shuttle. She forced herself up the steps, and slid into a seat near the back. In one hand, she held the paperwork that signed her life — or at least this short part of it — away, and with the other, she began to twirl her long, brown hair, her nerves tickling the back of her next with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

She leaned her head back, her eyes scanning the seats in front of her; had the suited man followed her? She couldn’t take any chances.

As she sat here, though, she turned over the thought in her head, and wondered absentmindedly if he had ever posed a threat at all — had he really been coming for her, as she suspected, or was the fear his approach ignited in her born of an eerie, chilling paranoia that had been sitting prettily in the back of her mind since she’d left the jewelry office?

Without warning, sleep began to nibble at her senses; thoughts overloaded her mind, and her ability to stay awake suffered because of it. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her vision strayed in and out of focus. After a few minutes of pointless struggle, everything went black.

[Sigfried Hunin]

Roy Munin stood atop his literal soap box in the middle of the street, his fine suit soiled with oil and ash from aiding the waves of militia. His hands were held high in the air, fresh calluses formed on each of his palms. He wore a concerned look upon his face, the wrinkles of age creasing his forehead and around his lips.

“Citizens of Central City! Listen! Listen to me, please!” The people around him slowed and glanced up to him as they waded about the streets like the urchins they had all endeavored to become. “Where are you going? What are you doing? They looked at him like an alien, the answer plain and simple within their minds: To war! They thought. “You are fleeing the only thing that should be on our minds. You are abandoning your homes, your pets, you families… All for what? Do die on foreign soil? To die protecting some green skinned aliens? Think about your own. Think about the cities that will fall because we are off pretending to give a crap about namekians and arlians and changelings! Those fucking aliens that have tried to conquer us themselves? Let the saiyans have them, what should we care! Let the threat swell up and consume them. Maybe they’ll soften them up on the way to Earth, our home.”

The people around him seemed to share a conflicted sentiment. Who might disagree with a sentiment of protection of your siblings, spouses and children? But who was a common person on the street to know the complexity of war, especially when it had flung itself into space? The bombardment of planets, warp drives, interstellar interception, all of the concepts that it took years to master in specialized schools. For most of them, they went to space because that is where they had been called.

“Do not let them fool you into thinking that they will not come to Earth. They will! Don’t you think that an intergalactic conquest seems a bit suspect if one of the most prosperous planets in the galaxy is left out? I do. I know I do! You should too!” He thrust his fingers in the faces of the men that passed by and roared with fury when children were near causing them to cling to their mother’s pant legs and some even to burst to tears. That is what he wanted. He wanted them to be afraid, angry, scared. That’s how they should feel. Roy didn’t think he was lying about what he was saying. It was his home land, and he knew that people deserved better than a wasteland or imprisonment when they returned.

Most of the militia he had seen flying into space were either terrified citizenry or, worse yet, cold hearted cyborgs and aliens that went only because curiosity served them to or because some strange dictation that had forced their hand. Nobody gave a shit about Earth or its people. They were the underdogs, the stupid and weak of the galaxy. Never mind the fact that they had become the most prosperous small planet in the known universe.

He stepped down from the crate and took a man about the arm. “Sir, look at your family. Are you going to leave them here to die? Alone at the hand of some monster that nobody has ever known before?”

The man sneered at him and pulled his arm away violently. “Get off of me. You’re scaring my child.” He began to stalk away with his kindred in tow.

“So you want your children to be pillaged? Is that it?! You’re a coward, sir! A COWARD!” he yelled after them. The man suddenly stopped and spun on his heel. Speed walking forward the stranger clenched his hand into a steely ball and thrust it into Roy’s jaw, tossing him to the ground.

“Fuck. You, mister. We’re doin the best we can, and it’s better if you just let us do what we gotta do. We don’t know what’s gonna happen, but we’re gonna put them down.” He nodded firmly in that “Good Old Boys” way, like the whole problem had just been solved by punching a stranger in the face. He was probably from South City.

Getting to his feet, Roy wiped his lip for blood and stared the man down. “Will you be saying the sam thing when your wife is dead in your arms?”

The flannel wearing madman completely went off his rocker and assaulted Roy, grabbing him about the collar and ,tugging him to the ground. Pounding over and over again, he took a moment to correct his bright orange trucker hat before cracking him one more time and dismounting. The savage beating ended aptly by the man spitting on his downed foe. He trot back to his family and left the downed orator to wallow in his defeat.

Stagger back up, Roy shook his head and cupped his black eye and swollen cheek. Coughing once he tugged on the edges of his jacket and stepped back up on his crate. He cleared his throat and looked out over the crowds once again. Nothing would stop his word. Not now. Not when the lives of the people of Earth were at stake.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

“I. Fucking. Hate. Roy. Munin.” Sigfried paced around the room in irritation. “I mean, really? REALLY? Oh yeah, let’s tug on the heart strings of the people of Central City by being a total douche.”

Skoll sighed and flipped the page of his newspaper and shook his head. “Well, it works. Now we have a whole seven people in the Earth’s Combined Militia. Fan-TASTIC!” He punctuated his statement by once again flipping the page.

Hati shuffled the skillet on the electric oven’s top and flipped his omelet over before turning back to the group. “Well at least we planted that bomb man. That’s the most important thing. Once people see that Roy isn’t just bull shitting them around we’ll gain momentum.” He slid the egg dish onto a plate and smothered it in spicy salsa. “Doesn’t he have that publicity thing on that one show… The like, Crossblow or whatever?”

Skoll scoffed. “Yeah, that oughtta really inspire the people…” He shook his head once again before closing the newspaper. “Well, this is bullshit.” He slammed the paper media into the table at his side. “Nothing makes any sense anymore.”

Sigfried rolled his eyes and wandered into the single bedroom of the tiny basement that they called home. “It never did make any sense. We’re trying to fix that. Remember?”

[Katelyn Ross]

The turbulent rocking of the shuttle awoke her, her face slamming into the window just inches away from where she sat. Her eyes popped open, and she looked out of the glass portal, seeing almost nothing but complete, arid, untamed desert, for as far as the eye could see.

In the midst of all of this wasteland — meriting, Iris supposed, the ‘almost’ in her previous statement — was a large, glass dome, sitting idly on the landscape. Inside, it looked like a normal city; one you might find on Earth, if a bit shabbier and less shiny than their human-constructed counterparts. This, she guessed, was where they were to be landing, as the desert seemed anything but hospitable to this motley band of travelers.

Another wave of wind collided with the ship, and it tipped to the right, sending Iris flying over toward the aisle. She caught herself, thanks in no small part to her seatbelt and the arm rest she was clutching as if it were her last life line, and took a deep breath, refocusing herself.

“Apologies for the turbulence,” the grizzly voice of the captain spoke over the intercom, “Mercy’s got some wild weather. We should be landing any minute now.”

Iris’s eyebrow raised — so they’d gotten all the way to Mercy while she slept. Bracing herself for more turbulence, she turned back to the window and continued to look out of it. The environment below seemed, as she had first thought, harsh and inhospitable; gusts of wind blew sand in every direction, and she could see clumps of it smacking against the side of their ship. Luckily, the winds at this altitude couldn’t support the weight of stones or anything that heavy, so the outer hull looked to be safe for now — but, of course, Iris couldn’t help but worry.

As they grew closer to the dome, the civilization that lay within its glass walls seemed more like a town or a trading post than an actual city. The buildings were brown-tinted, and had shingled roofs, and couldn’t match the sterling metallic brilliance of West City’s skyscrapers. It was surprisingly primeval, but the many alien species that walked the streets — or, at least, the different colored dots that Iris assumed were different species — only added to the mystifying aspect of the planet. It was only at this moment that the brown-haired telekinetic realized that this may not have been the most wise place to choose on her first expedition from Earth.

The girl hadn’t, as must be assumed, done anything that exceeded the normal boundaries ever in her life. Her parents had died, and she had been left an orphan, to be raised by a maternal figure in her life that had no blood relation at all to her. Perhaps, to some, this was abnormal, but in her world, she had speculated that with the death and destruction that had plagued the galaxy, her situation was far more commonplace than most people liked to believe.

Up until the previous evening, however, she had literally done next-to-nothing that could be counted as peculiar, or special, in any way. She had gone to high school; she had dated boys; she had lost her virginity at seventeen, a fact which she was still hesitant to reveal to Stephanie; she had gone to college; she had been to college parties, though she would admit she had never exactly been a party girl; and she had graduated from college, and from that point, set herself up with an interview, and expected to get a nice job she could use to support herself and Stephanie.

Of course, that was where it had all gone wrong — the accidental activation of her powers, for one thing, powers which she had known nothing of, and still knew very little of, no more than the basic functions, and the succeeding spiral into panic, paranoia, and, eventually, punishment.

She hesitated to call this punishment, however, if only because if it was, indeed, punishment, then it would most definitely have been self-inflicted. Which would make her a masochist. Iris had never really been one to dwell on labels, but that didn’t seem like something that she wanted to think of herself as. So, perhaps, it was better to not call it punishment, but… paradise? No, that gave it a positive quality, which it most definitely did not have — however, it was a vacation from her life on Earth, so paradise would fit. In the end, as she leaned back in her seat and took in another deep breath, then exhaled, she decided that whatever this experience was, it was tip-toeing on the line that separated punishment and paradise, and the only way she was going to find out which it was, was to actually do it.

There was a conflict, though — inside of her. She was afraid, scared, paranoid, even; she was so far away from Earth, where should could be hurt by anything, but here… here, she could be hurt by everything, and no matter how much she decided that this had be done, that this was a part of whatever preplanned destiny had been planned for her, she couldn’t help but feel that fear tugging at the hairs on her neck, begging her not to go through with it, to just ask the pilot to turn around and take her back to the safety of her little blue planet. It was too late now, though. She had signed up for this job, and she was going to do it, whether it killed her or not.

[Victoria]

“They cut off my fingers, Jeremy, my fingers!”

Daylight fell in through the windows that lined the far wall. Small shadows were cast against the marble floor, and the leather sofa that remained beneath the glass. Fresh daisies had been placed within the vase, these ones were not clinging to life in misery. Their bright white petals were vibrant in the touch of sunlight gracing the room like hope on the face of the day. The world outside was golden, sand rising up and down in mighty peaks, another hot blazing day within the desert.

“Three fingers,” he replied. The clink of glass could be heard, the smooth sound of amber pouring into the small cup. Jeremy set the bottle down and grasped the glass in his hand, shooting the alcohol back promptly, without another word.

“Did you know that they were going to do that?” the anger in her voice began to settle, as she stared upon her leader. Sunlight laced itself into his raven lochs, and glinting light from the glass flecked upon his cheeks. Jeremy never did seem to change.

Victoria had come back from her mission two weeks ago, but it felt as if months had gone by. She had asked, for once, to have a vacation. Not unusual, she had spent nearly all of that time within the confines of her room, or within the training room. Joal was gone, and she had never missed him more than now. In the end, the mission had done just as her mentor had feared, it had made her distant again. The young hunter wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't even look at him. It was any wonder why she had finally come up to his office this time.

“Yes,” he turned away from her and looked out at the desert. Little had changed within Zone Five during her absence. The mission had been, for the most part, successful. Victoria had played solider for South City and endured the worst kind of torture. She had held up against her enemies, and had come home hardened, and less focused on her leader, and her feelings. If anything...the girl had lost a small part of herself in the war, but, the war was over...or so he thought.

“You knew, and you sent me out there?”

“Don't make this personal, Victoria, you're still a hunter,” his reply was sharp, and he turned to look at her sidelong. She barely changed, either. Long coral tresses fell down her back, a few long strands over her shoulder. Her leather uniform was snug to her body, the slit skirt exposing one of her thighs up to her hip. The emotion in her eyes was cold, her lips twitching faintly at one corner. Jeremy turned his gaze to the window again. Even having lost three fingers, and put through the ordeals of South Cities training program, she didn't have a mark on her body.

“Apologies, sir,” she replied, and straightened her back.

Jeremy frowned, but he continued to remain facing away from the youth. Everything they had built...well, it was his fault. His marriage to Olivia only made matters worse. He felt so strongly for Victoria, but, could do nothing. They needed something...anything, to gain an edge, and to make the founders allow such a thing. The leader of Zone Five would lose more than a wife over any affair he attempted, and it pained him to see his hunter so upset, but there was little he could do.

“I have another mission for you,” he said and walked away from the window. His shoes clicked against the marble until he settled himself in his chair behind his desk. Fingers reached into a drawer within the large oak desk, procuring a file from within. “I didn't want to force you up here, but this is important.” His eyes gazed up at her, so formal, with very little life left in her eyes. Jeremy sighed and stood up once again. Slowly he approached her, after setting the document down, and his hands fell to her shoulders.

“Jeremy,” her voice whispered, eyes downcast to the side. It had been a month since he had touched her, not that she would let him. She was wounded, more than by a knife against her flesh, but by a feeling of betrayal.

“I knew they wouldn't kill you, but I wanted you to gain training that I couldn't give you. Please don't hate me for that.”

“I don't hate you,” she replied softly, and remained still. “I'm keeping myself composed. I don't want to find out that, in the end, you can't have me. Yes,” she looked up to interrupt any sort of reply from her leader, “I know that you aren't rejecting me. I know what could happen. I learned a lot out there, during the war, and I know that I have to be patient.”

Jeremy remained silent, and his hands slowly fell away from her. Victoria, however, leaned forward just a fraction and pressed her cheek to the soft fabric of his tie and dress shirt. Instinctively, her leader, her mentor, lifted a single hand to press against the back of her head and slide down languidly along the soft strands. “You made me proud, you know, you really did,” he whispered.

Victoria smiled, small, soft, and with a tinge of happiness as she drank in the scent of his cologne.

--

“So, what you're saying, is that the alien forces are going to come to Earth and conquer the planet while most of our forces are off fighting a war with these 'invaders' we've been hearing about,” the man asked. He was well dressed, handsome, with blonde hair sleeked back. The chair he sat in was divide from the other seats by a small table with a potted plant. It was one of the most popular talk shows on the network, and their current guest had caused quite the stir in Central City.

“Think about it.” Roy motioned with a hand, his features calm, his hands animated. “What better way, than to convince the population of Earth that a threat imminent, and beg for their help,” he said, licking his lips for moisture. “What invading force would attack two planets, and leave Earth out of their scope? Can you think of any time when, in the past, our enemy had decided, 'Oh let's attack Namek instead of Earth', no? I didn't think so.”

The talk show host stared at Roy Munin carefully, skeptical. Sure, Earth had been attacked many times before, but his guest was throwing a lot of rumor to the mix. “Other planets came to help us in our time of need,” he pointed out.

“They've also tried conquering us before. This is only their next plan. Scare the people, force them into fighting an invisible enemy, only to return to their homes leveled, and their families in shackles. I'm telling you, Jack,” he leaned forward, “Earth is in grave danger.”

“Where's the proof, Roy,” the man shook his head with a small smile. “This is all hearsay, you're just assuming the worst in this situation.” The host leaned back, and he looked off to the side, “Roger, play the recording.”


The various television screens lit up with the hazy image of four figures together. Human, Namekian, Frostling, and Arlian side by side. The message was clear, and sound, with the flicking image. It was unclear which of the humanoids spoke but it cast shivers down Jack's spine.

Our worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that a human with the others?” Jack asked, the recording finished. He pointed at the television just behind them.

“They could manipulate imagery to have it show anything, or anyone, you and I both know that,” Roy argued, shaking his head slowly. “My poof is sound, rushing off to the other planets to fight for them will only spell our own disaster. It will leave us weak and defenseless.”

“I think that's all the time we have, thanks for coming onto the show, Roy,” Jack smiled charmingly and held out his hand. It was clear in his eyes, he didn't believe a word of it.

--

“What's going on?” Victoria stared at the computer terminal with a grim frown.

“From what we gathered, there's a threat toward the galaxy...not just certain planets. It's hard to say if this man is correct or not. The message could have been manufactured to fool the inhabitants of Earth into fleeing to the aid of the other planets...only to be attacked, and take advantage of. We need to know what's really going on,” Jeremy leaned back in his chair, lifting the folder. “Our contacts on Namek, and Mercy, have confirmed that the same message was given to their respective planets. However, the Company wants to know all of the facts.”

Victoria took the folder and flipped through it. Very little information was given on Roy Munin, it was surprising. Most people, especially people that spread propaganda, had a paper trail. “You want me to find this guy?” she asked, looking away from the papers to look down at Jeremy.

“A galactic war could mean a lot of things for us. We could make a lot of money from contracts, but a war on Earth could be disaster. First and foremost, we're here to protect the planet, if only to secure our own agenda. Find this guy and find out what you can, it could all just be a rumor, for all we know. We'll be looking into the information on the other planets. If Earth is, in fact, not in danger, your mission will shift toward helping one of the other planets.”

The hunter eyed him for a moment before closing the file. “Protect the planet for our own agenda,” she smirked softly. “Can't make money if we're slaves?” she hummed softly and her eyes glinted. “I imagine I'll fight for whichever planet pays the most, too?”

“You know this business,” Jeremy shrugged softly, returning her smile with one of his own. At least, now, they were back to civil manners. Their personal business would have to wait...perhaps, Victoria's aid in this endeavor, would prove rewarding her anything she might like...including romantic desires. The leader of Zone Five shook his head and stood up.

“We have a few more things to go over before you leave, follow me.” He gave her a lingering glance and headed around her desk. This would be something she might like, something she needed, and she would never feel betrayed by him again. The young hunter followed him obediently, leaving the room silent and filled with sunlight.

--

Central City was still as dismal as ever, if not worse. Half of the city was cast in an endless rain from an attack that had taken place long ago. The poison in the air was thick, the clouds roiling in anger to make the stinging rain singe the ground. It was hard, but some of the people still tried to make a life there. The other side of the booming city was hardly scathed, if anything, it only improved. Wartime was in the air, people were both worried, and hopeful. Mothers, sisters and daughters roamed the streets with adamant prayers, while their sons, brothers, husbands and fathers left the planet to fight for soil that wasn't theirs. Such was the concern, and the panic, that even women were signing up to fight.

Victoria was, for lack of a better word, undercover. Instead of her usual get-up, the hunter wore a long white skirt that flowed in the soft breeze. Sunlight was warm, kissing her pale skin, and dancing in her cherry blossom hair as it drifted well past her lower back. Her blouse was snug, buttoned, matching her skirt with a small pink bow between the two articles of clothing on the front. It was something she would have worn two months ago...something she would have worn, as a girl, a normal human girl.

A smile graced her soft pink lips and she skipped over a bottle on the sidewalk. Bending down, the undercover hunter plucked up the garbage and disposed of it in the nearest recycling bin before continuing down the street. Her crystalline hues gazed around the area that, from all of her visits, was none other than down town Central City. Roy had been spotted down here throwing out his propaganda.

She crossed the street, as the warm breeze clutched at her flowing skirt, and played with her long tresses. Her dainty feet skipped upon the hot cement and she stopped to let her dazzling smile fade into girlish softness. Eyes flicked down the road, and there, upon a box, stood Mr. Munin.

He looked everything like his picture, and everything that the video had displayed. Mahogany hair was feathery, snatched at random by the soft gusts of wind buffeting his body. The lower edge of his suit jacket fluttered carefree with each pass of the waft. A tie was neatly tucked beneath the buttons of the jacket, against his crisp white dress shirt. Anyone who knew Victoria, and knew the life she had lived, would not have been surprised as she stood still and watched him upon that box with a faltering gaze. He did, after all, look like one of the Suits. The hunter in her wanted to respect the man just for what he looked like, the girl...well, she could have blushed, but Vic wasn't like that.

“Mr. Munin?” she asked, fingers clasped together in-front of herself as she stopped right in front of him. “I believe you.”

Her voice was small, her eyes gleaming with youthful vigor, and she looked up at the man on his box. Other people walked by, mothers dragging children, fathers flipping the bird. Victoria stood up to him, like a beacon of hope, a timid smile showing perfect white teeth. One of her feet lifted, toe to the pavement, digging in, out of what could have been shy reaction to his gaze. “Where do I sign up?” she bit down into the plushness of her bottom lip.

[Sigfried Hunin]

Roy looked down across the streets and saw a fleck of bubblegum trotting towards him slowly. Something fluttered beneath that hot pink mass that seemed to bubble and pop all on its’ own, but his clear blue eyes were fixed on that charming shade as it approached. He found himself short of words for once in his long and rambling lifetime and he stared upon the creature that slowly approached him. She was young, a sweet looking girl that stuck out from the hordes of amassing people from around the Central City district they found themselves in at the time. “The Devil can be found in the glint of an eye,” he recalled, a saying that he had put much faith into especially over the past few weeks. That glint seemed to be there but, like all good politicians, he ignored the sentiment.

The elegant woman, if he would call her that yet, stopped in front of him and clasped her hands like a child attempting to bait their parents for another bite of candy. “Mr. Munin?” she coyly asked. He had almost made up his mind to demand she call him Roy before she finished her sentence. “I believe you.” She didn’t bat her eyelashes but she may as well have. Her posture was coy in and of itself. She lay herself before him temptingly, a mystery whether or not she had made the pose consciously or not. A gentle breeze tugged at her clothing and drug it against her flesh, a sight that Roy forced his eyes to avert from to avoid an embarrassing scene. It would be just his luck to pop one in front of a crowd of people. “Where do I sign up?” The woman bit her lip, an act that nearly flipped the silver tongued fiend’s resolve on its ear, and he quickly cleared his throat.

He stepped down from his makeshift podium and extended his right hand stiffly. He grinned that flax-oil grin that he had so perfected over years however underneath it there was a genuine smile. Such devious men became so well practiced at hiding true emotions from the objects of them. “Why hello there!” She took up his handshake daintily in that half-limp wristed manner that ladies sometimes do. This usually irritated him, the mentality that if you’re going to shake a hand it should be done firmly coming from his experiences dealing with others publically, but in this incidence he would allow that thought to sink to the bottom of his mind. “Well there isn’t much signing to be done I’m afraid…”

She smirked and cocked her head to the side as she called her hand back to her. “Oh no? Is there not a roster?”

Roy chuckled softly and shook his head. “No, no. Militia don’t usually tend to until they’re formed I suppose. At least not in this day and age.” He pulled his hand through his brown hair and looked down at the young girl. “But you are just the type of person we’re looking for to join us!” He choked on his words as they tumbled out of his mouth. He would never want to see such a flower like her be sullied by the profanity of war. That is what you have to do though, destroy something you value to save something you love. “Young, ready to really get out there and do something for the effort. That’s what the citizenry should be doing!” He shouted the last of his preaching words, pumping his fist into the air in an attempt to prime the milling strangers around him to action.

Oddly enough it certainly didn’t seem to hurt having a pretty face by him as he spouted his word. Young men and women both responded to her presence, slowly gathering around the two. Almost as though it had been rehearsed he stepped back up onto soap box and gingerly invited the young lady to follow after him. He leaned in and whispered, “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Victoria.” Her words were loud enough to be heard by the crowd, arousing mild suspicion in his audience.

With a wide, white grin he waved his hand over the gathered flock. “Victoria here has seen the light in the truth! She can see the lies that are being spread by the facilitators of your death.” Strange what good a pretty face can really do you. The people seemed content to simply stand and listen now, though they weren’t a rioting mob, they at least seemed to pretend to care now. “When your husbands and wives are off on other worlds boxing with shadows, think about Victoria here. Think about this young, bright girl who is willing to give her life for a cause that she knows is just and important. This is our Earth! These are our people! When the darkness comes, where will you be?” He ended his speech by pointing with a mock pen down unto the people below him. They were sold.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Numbers had been handed out. Meeting places had been circulated and everyone involved was suddenly intensely interested in the Unified Militia of Earth. It was like some kind of hot-girl magic that nobody but the top sages of the age could understand, but damn if it didn’t work. As the last of the inspired blue collars lurked off into the ever-darkening streets of the city Roy turned to Victoria and extended his hand once again. “Oh my gosh!” He took a faux deep breath of exasperation. “Thank you SO MUCH for helping me today. I thought I might never get through to these people!”

The bright haired young woman smiled sweetly and ducked her head shyly. “Not a problem, Mr. Munin. Any time.”

“Roy, call me Roy please.” He snatched up her hand and shook it vigorously, a statement that made her giggle softly. “Well, I was wondering, would you like to come out with me again? I mean, having you on the field really changed the whole ball game. You must have some charisma, I tell you what.”

Nervously looking about she pulled a lock of hair from her face and lay it behind an ear. “Well, I-“

“C’mon!” He held his hands out wide as he bent at the knees slightly. “C’mon you have to! If you really want to help the people of Earth, this is where you belong.”

“Well, I guess I could, yeah.” She followed her shyness with a wide grin showing a few rows of brilliantly white teeth.

“Jeeze it’s like somebody made you to be beautiful.” Roy nudged his agenda forward roughly, and for a moment he was afraid he had stepped out of his bounds. Thankfully the young lady didn’t seem to mind.

“Why thank you…”

Patting around his slate grey suit he found and produced a small writing pad and a pen. He began to scribble a series of numbers and a street name. Pointing his utensil at her suddenly he locked yes. “Look. I’m going write down my address and I’ll have my man Sigfried meet you there. We can get organized after that. Sound good?”

Swinging her hips back and forth innocently she nodded. “Yeah, sure, that sounds alright. When do you want to meet me there?”

“Ah, make it eight thirty tomorrow.” He scribed down the added note and looked up to her. “That isn’t too early for you is it?”

She laughed a little. “Oh no no, my work usually has me up at silly hours anyways. I can be there.”

He nodded absent mindedly as he flipped across a few more pages in the palm pad. “I’m gonna give you a few numbers in case something happens.” He glanced up and blinked a few times. “OH? What does your job entail usually?”

The young girl glanced away. Roy picked up on it almost immediately. It was practically his job to spot when people were hiding things. “Oh, you know, it wasn’t much really. Paperwork mostly. I quit a while ago.” She didn’t return her eyes to his until after the statement was finished, a trait that rose suspect in him. He could tell she thought he was cute, or at least that she was trying to give that impression. Attraction makes people sloppy in judgment and acting. When you’re too busy trying to cover up your heart swelling you miss the little things. That fact laid reminder to keep himself in check.

“Oh?” He went on with the conversation as though nothing had odd had even occurred. “Well I guess that just means a bit more time to spend on the campaign trail then, huh?” Almost every sugar-soaked line was followed by a starched stiff grin. She bobbled her head around in airheaded agreement to his hypothetical.
Passing off the papers as he tore each from the pad he listed them out. “The address, my number, Sigfried’s number aaaaaand… my email.” He flourished the final paper into her palm and slammed it firmly into place. “Make sure you contact me if you can’t make it or if Sigfried isn’t there. He isn’t much of an early bird, sadly.”

“Is he your assistant?” Her tone was innocent but her questions were probing.

Roy shook his head. “Oh, well, I guess you could say that, yeah.” With a chuckle he added, “I really wouldn’t be alive without that guy!”

“Hm… sounds a little unreliable. Hopefully he can get his act together.”

Roy continued his laughter and nodded. “Yeah, here’s to hoping.” He grabbed her hand from her once again suddenly, a motion that made her flinch. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. I have a few things to take care of.”

She nodded and waved. “Tomorrow.”

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

She stood on the corner of 7th and Hangman Street, a combination that made her cringe as a chill wind scuttled abreast her. It was already eight forty five and she had gotten there ten minutes early. She was cold and irritated. This Sigfried character was certainly living up to his name. She felt like she recognized the name for some reason. Some far off mission in some far off place. Strange, how things like names and places haunt you.

Down the street a kid cloaked in a bright red and gold hoodie sweatshirt trudged his way towards her. Before he was hardly within a reasonable talking range he shouted out, “Hey! You Victory or whatever?”

Squinting she peered over to him spitefully. “Victoria. And yes, that’s me.”

Without so much as pulling his hands from his pockets he jerked his head in towards him, heralding her to follow him. She rolled her eyes and trot a few steps to catch up as he had already turned back down the lane and began to walk.

Struggling slightly to keep up with the young boy’s quick strides she stammered out, “So you, you’re uh, Sigfried right?” She smiled in a vain attempt at friendliness. Forced as the gesture was politeness is an important part of espionage.

“Yup.” His voice was flat and listless. His hood and long brown hair obscured his face and he seemingly refused to face her.

“Well, I look forward to working with you.” She was a bit dejected. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so simple as following around a politician with smiles and inspiring words.

Sigfried grunted and turned towards the stairwell that led into the underground sub basement that was their base of operations. He stopped in front of the door and pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket, picking through them casually. He took the moment to glance out and observe the young woman. Obnoxious pink hair, probably dyed. She was wearing some kind of… what? A skirt? She looked like a damn child, though he could understand why that might appeal to Roy. The sick bastard. She didn’t look all that bright on the outside, but he could see though that crap. She was a razor’s edge away from getting what she could and bouncing town. He hated her type.

“Should be right in the other room.” He gestured with his head to a barred window door in the dark living space.

Two men sat in chairs cattycorner ot each other, one sewing some small trinket and the other reading a black leather bound book. Each glanced up to her, but one with short, gel spiked hair allowed his eyes to linger. She strode in past both and knocked on the door firmly, a metallic ring calling out. “Mr. Hunin?” she called. “Roy?”

“I’m gonna go get something to eat.” Sigfried looked to the other two. “You guys want me to bring back somethin’?”

“Double Dowwwwn.” The spike haired boy didn’t even pull his eyes from his sewing to reply.

“Dude, it’s like… nine of clock. You’re gonna die if you eat that.” Sigfried’s rebuttle was short, and the group’s loud discussion had began to distract Victoria. Is this really how revolutionaries act?

The man reading the book replied for the other. “Just let him eat his super meat-which and die. I’ll have a bagel or something. I don’t much mind really, not very hungry.”

“Aight, be right back bros.” Sigfried slammed the door after him.

No sooner had the door jammed shut than did Roy’s fly open. “Why hello there!” He greeted her warmly. She noticed that he had brought out a sleek black suit and sported a pair of large frame glasses, leather gloves seeming to aid in the illusion that he was simply a shadow. Not waiting for the young woman to reply he continued with his tirade. “So, what do you think about discussions over some hot breakfast? My treat.”

[Victoria]

It all went so smoothly, incredibly so. Victoria watched Roy work his silver tongue, spewing his words like a prophet to the people. The youth stepped up beside him, like a school girl, a symbol of hope and passion against the common enemy. Her pretty hair dancing to the side, a small charmed smile as she nodded in agreement. Once or twice she openly agreed, glancing to the man in his slate suit with her eyes alight. Yes, she believed him, she truly did.

Well, that's what they needed to believe. When all was said and done, the paper tight in her hand as she watched him leave, the hunter turned on her heel and crept along the streets toward the hotel. It was a nice place, and no one knew who she was. She stared at the paper, memorizing the addresses, the numbers, before turning to enter her room.

“Roy Munin,” she let out a little grunt and tossed the paper into the garbage bin. “That man has charisma, alright, but I think there's more to this than one little rumor.” Her hands lifted to work down the buttons on her shirt, her feet taking her across the hotel room and into the washroom.

There was no doubt about it, she would have to watch him closely. Victoria disrobed from her outfit, surprisingly, she had no guns or knives hidden on her body. The girl didn't need such things...she was the perfect spy. She started the shower and dipped in under the stream, letting the hot cascading flow pound against her perfect sculpted body. Roy had been right, she had been built to be beautiful. The perfect warrior, it wasn't hard to guess that men found her less intimidating than her power truly made her.

--

Hardly sleeping, Victoria sat up on the bed as the sun began to peak over the horizon. Her eyes fluttered and she stared blearily at the small clock on the nightstand. It was quarter past six in the morning, she had spent most of the night laying in bed staring at the ceiling. A hand lifted to thread through her long lochs, and she stood up with a gentle stretch of her limbs. With a stumble, she walked away from the bed, and pulled her suitcase up onto the mattress.

“I knew these dresses would come in handy, and, I have a feeling Roy Munin won't complain,” the vixen mused aloud and rubbed a balled up fist against one of her eyes. She pulled the clean outfit from the case and began to prepare for the day. Strangely, she found herself...excited. The faintest of butterflies fluttered about within her stomach. The girl put it off as mission jitters. Victoria was a hunter, but her field of expertise had been in combat, not espionage. Yet, given the nature of her assignment...observe, collect information, and decide on further action, meant to go undercover. It was all she could do to remain acting as a bubbly youth with an equally cliché story to back her up. Only once in her life had she done this, and seduced a man, and that man had sliced her neck open...Jeremy had certainly surprised her that night.

She pulled on the thigh length skirt, barely making it to her knees, after slipping on a pair of panties beneath. Pretty blue bows fell down either side of her waist adding to that girlish 'I'm candy, lick me' charm. Her shirt, white, was slipped on and buttoned up. A similar blue bow tied and set much like a tie would have been. Her deep blue eyes took in her appearance, she twirled before the full length mirror, and smiled. A thumbs up was shot toward her reflection, followed by a wink that was cute and docile. “Right on.”

--

Finally, after waiting in the chilled morning air, soft sunlight casting shadows along the empty street, Signfried appeared. His appearance was familiar...but she wrote it off. There were a lot of kids in this city, and he looked like them, down to the letter. It was obvious immediately that he was not a people person, nor did he fancy her. She couldn't falter, as much as she felt those flips in her belly, her feet stepping into the lions den.

That den was comprised of two more men, one that was seemingly...uncouth. She walked past them, ignoring the glazed hues peering at her slender formed legs. Victoria had a body that could rival a Goddess. Toned, perfectly proportioned, without one mark on her flesh. Her height was a decent five foot six, and her bosom ample against her chest. She was every boy's wet dream, but, she didn't really know it.

Her knuckles sounded against the door, and as the younger cold-shouldered male left them, the door opened. The sudden sound of his voice caught her off guard, eyelids widening, lips parting. Without having a chance to speak, he proposed breakfast, making the girl stammer softly.

“B-breakfast?” she glanced up at the would-be politician, and then toward the two men that seemed like an audience in the corner.

“Yes, food, you know,” he replied motioned with a leather clad hand toward his mouth. “Don't mind them.” His hand flicked in the direction of the two men.

“Alright, if you insist,” Victoria nodded slowly, and took a small step back. Her fingers gently gripped the fabric of her short skirt, and she turned to leave the room. “I like pancakes, although, they make an awful mess all over my hands and lips, every time,” she said with a small giggle and all but skipped out of the room.

--

Central City had a few small restaurants and diners, one in particular, was not far from where they had been. She led the way, skirt swishing against her milky thighs, hair flowing prettily against her bottom, more than likely obscuring any chance of viewing her in such a perverted fashion. She rounded the corner and pointed at the diner. “This one has great coffee,” she said with her crisp voice before bounding in.

Sliding into the seat of one booth, she sat with perfect posture, and watched Roy with big blue eyes. Now, she would not say it, but black was rather dashing on the man. She sat still, silent, staring at him from across the table like the shy girl she wanted to be. A fingertip grazed the tabletop in a small circle. Pink lips puckered gently whilst she glanced down, and then up again.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

“No, sir,” she replied, a shake of her pretty head. “You have very nice eyes, I think that they're very trustworthy eyes.” Her head tilted to one side slowly. His hues were clear blue, like the morning sky, very much like her own. The hunter saw something beneath those eyes, something most men had. She diverted her attention when a woman began to approach them, her keen sight picking up the motion before any regular girl would have.

“Oh, pancakes, please!” she nearly squealed in delight and gripped the table. “Do you like pancakes, Mr. Munin?” she asked, her voice falling, a shy little question.

“Why yes, yes I do,” his reply was prompt, his eyes pinned to her. “I don't think I know anyone who would say no to that question! And didn't I tell you to call me Roy?”

A rosy blush tinted her porcelain cheeks. “Yes, you did, I apologize,” her eyes flitted away and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “My job, you see, it makes me attempt to be as proper as I can,” she glanced to him again with another fraction of a tilt. Strands of pink hair draped down, and she carefully plucked them back behind an ear.

“Tell me, Victoria, what can the Unified Militia of Earth do for you?” he asked, his voice suave, his posture leaning against the table. The waitress had left after leaving their respective drinks, and their order to be made. The hunter wondered if there had been a double meaning behind his words...

Victoria sipped upon the milkshake slowly, her eyes lifting upwards as she thought, her lips tight against the straw. She pulled her mouth away, and pinched the item to stir her drink carefully. “Well, I just want to do like you said,” she gave a sweet smile. “Protect our own soil, you know, from the...aliens,” she whispered, looking around with shifting eyes before leaning closer over the table. “It's true, right? You think they'll come and turn us into slaves?”

It was hard to tell if Roy was resisting the urge to spurt off into a tirade, or pull her across the table and have his way with her. “It's as true as me or you, this threat cannot be ignored,” his lips pulled into a grim frown. Victoria followed with an equally grim frown.

“I don't want to be a slave to a nasty alien,” she shook her head and leaned back. “I'll do whatever I can! I promise, whatever you ask, I'll do it, for the good of planet Earth!” she exclaimed, almost a little too loud, and fist pumped the air before her elbows hit the table. Pretty blue eyes looked up at him, lashes batting, lips suckling against the straw again.

“Yes...well, good!” he replied and adjusted his tie. “We could use you, in any way...definitely.” His eyes glinted as he stared at her.

The girl smiled against the straw, she wasn't stupid, she knew that look. As far as what happened beyond that look, not so much. Their meal arrived and her lips parted into a little circle, staring in elation at the large pancakes drizzled with sticky, gooey, maple syrup. “You're really treating me to this? I'm flattered, Mister- I mean, Roy,” she added softly and smiled.

“I sure am.” It was hard to tell who might have been enjoying the moment more.

Her dainty hands worked with fork and knife to cut up the fluffy sweet pancakes into edible pieces before she stuffed them past her lips and against her tongue. A soft hum sounded from her throat. As she ate the pancakes, sipped her drink, and flashed her baby blue eyes at the man across the table, her mind worked through everything she had witnessed thus far.

Roy was a closet pervert, at least, up to this point. Sigfried was a cold younger male, likely around her age, although hard to tell. The quiet one's were the smart ones. The spike-haired male back at the base of operations was, if anything, probably obnoxious. Bomb specialist? She paused in her thoughts, her tongue sliding absently up and down against the prongs of her fork. The other man had been less loud, but nearly as cold as the young male that met with her. Out of all four, she had to keep her eyes on Sigfried and the man with the book.

“Do you have combat experience?” he asked suddenly, breaking her thoughts. Victoria hadn't been paying attention, like a schoolgirl in class. She slowly lowered her fork.

“Only a little,” she said timidly. “My dad owned a farm, you see, and he taught me how to shoot at the coyotes.” Her eyes glanced away, it was a small lie, she did kill thieving no-good-dogs. “I'm pretty strong, too, but I don't think that will help any. Maybe I could run errands for you? I'm sorry, I'm probably no good to the cause.”

Right on cue, water filled up her eyes and she quickly wiped them away. “I don't want to be useless but I'm not sure what I can do. Anything! I don't want the Earth to be dominated. But I'm just a student, I live all alone, what can I do?” She looked so helpless, so unsure of herself, a girl that wanted to save the world but had no power to back her up.

She hoped that Roy fell for it.