Earth B

The Leviathan of Los Angeles
The Bonds have been broken

Except for the introduction, this is a copy of the report I’ve filed with the DMA. I’m just skipping past the boring paperwork stuff.

We’d only run a few operations together when we caught wind of some gremlins attacking an electronics shop. One of the gremlins wasn’t as aggressive as the others; it was smaller, leaner, and fairly talkative and seemed confused as to why it was sent with the raiding party. We talked it into leading us back to its home, an abandoned rail junction deep in the sewers.
Long story short, they were building a giant power nullifier. Hard to tell, but I think they were trying to wire it into the city’s rail network, maybe trying to cast a wide enough net to hit Primus, wherever it is he hides, so The Bond could get in. (I promise, we’ll get to Los Angeles soon. I’m not just trying to make us look good by saying we saved North Harbor too).
After I disabled the leader, I noticed he had an implant that HADN’T exploded after the body was starting to dry out and flake. Corvette said it had started emitting a faint signal, which she said were coordinates.
We traced them to the front doorstep of a house in Harbor Gardens, which had a lock even I couldn’t pick. Crunk almost tore the door of the hinges, but when we got the implant near to the door, it unlocked for us. After a brief encounter with a security system, we realized we’d found The Defense’s secret base, and that 802 had a subthread stowing away on the implant.
It was only a small part of her, but she gave us some crucial information. She’d jumped into the implant when the gremlin came as one of the Bond’s attendants to visit wherever she was being held. She was able to grab a rough location, and then she waited for the opportunity to lure in some backup.
Corvette got her jet ready, and we followed the location she gave us: a few miles south of Santa Monica, California, on the edge of the Pacific. We had to hike off road for a bit, but we found a isolated cave, and inside it, ancient, strange machinery. We fired it up, and it opened what turned out to be a portal to an underwater base dozens of miles off the coast. The Bond had constructed a lab in the ruins of a domed, underwater city. Crunk, tearing off on his own, almost immediately found Aegis trapped atop a towering spire, having energy siphoned off of him to power their grid. He refused our help until we’d saved the rest of his team.
We found 802 soon after in a building that was shielded against wireless signal with every trick we knew, and a few we didn’t; or, I suppose, more accurately, we found most of her mind trapped inside an old computer. She jumped into Corvette’s suit, using it to start launching attcks against the facility’s systems as we started looking for her body. Dr. James had realized we were there by then, and was sending the drones which patrolled the ruins after us, but Crunk was able to stop everything that found us.
We came across their primary power generator next, and trapped inside it was Professor Plasma. Even in his… condition, I suppose, it was obvious he was in agony, twisted by the machine he was imprisoned in. I turned down the machine, to spare him the suffering, and out of pity, I freed him. I know he’s a mass murdering monster, but what I saw in that room…
He’d sworn he’d leave us alone, and he kept his word. He flew out, fast, Dr. James his obvious target.
Now, Dr. James was ranting at us through these giant shapeshifting-sand heads on the tops of the ruins, and just after we’d cut the power, he started going on about how we were too late, and that “Leviathan would be making landfall in Los Angeles any second.” I believe the Professor must have caught up to him just after that because that’s when the heads cut out.
802 said she’d managed to free a friend, that they’d finsih up with the facility, and told us we should go check out the Doctor’s threat against LA.
We went back through the portal, and it didn’t take us long to find the Leviathan: an enormous version of the drones they had defending the base, terrorizing an open air mall. We were able to keep its attention, and to bring it down without much difficulty.

I’ve attached some relevant files 802 was able to extract from their networks. The data she pulled represents the bulk of the intelligence we have on The Bonds of Tyranny, and is contained in a different report

Black Bird

Attachments (5):


Research Log
Dr. James

The pesky “heroes” have all been detained. We can finish our plan without further worry of interruption. There was some… disagreement as to what to do with them. Though not ideal, the current distribution of the specimens will do, for now.
The speedster has been allocated to the Primary base. His regenerative cells will be useful in more quickly breeding a warrior class of Gremlins.
We utilized some of our influence to hold the creature at Stonehall, as we do not presently have the capability to neutralize his teleportation abilities. I’ve made a note to look into this, as I find its biology fascinating, some sort of extreme variation on the mutant gene.
The Professor will take Aegis and the technopath. He claims he can use their unique mutations to improve the efficiency of the Drones.
The leaves the cyborg and the metamind to me. I believe my first avenue of investigation should be into the cranial wetware. Perhaps I can use the mutant to analyze data, until i can decide on a proper regimen to run it through.


Research Log
Dr. James

The Professor is a fool! So pleased by his initial success at adding the mutant Aegis’s energy production to the power grid, he’s grown careless, resting on his achievements, and allowed the technopath to escape into our grid.
We’ve been cleaning it out for weeks, and now that it’s finally scoured from the networks, he decided to lock it up, ignoring the potential for the breakthroughs we could discover using it.
The fool.
And his constant meddling in my methodology! I must do something to prevent his incompetence from slowing my work. The Bond keeps us strong, and forbids one from striking against another, but I will find a way.


Research Log
Dr. James

The facility’s purpose seems to be the construction of additional drones; simple, barely conscious worker automatons.
Though I first supposed whatever ancient race had created them had done so merely for labor purposes, the broad array of unused mechanisms in the facility have led me to question that initial theory. I now believe these drones are a second-generation creations, low-class drones created by a higher caste of more sapient automatons, left to eternally maintain this ruined city in the absence of their creators.

Though my scientific curiosity has me wondering if we could rebuild these High Caste workers, it is not worth the risk of losing control of the Drones to their former masters.
However, I am curious if we could adapt the technology to create something else.


Research Log
Dr. James

The Cyborg’s resistance has proved admirable, but it has finally fallen. At least, in the rare circumstances it is capable of breaking through the new control protocols, it is crippled, capable only of screaming in terror. Not a total success, but ahead of schedule, nonetheless.

I can now focus more on LEVIATHAN.


Research Log
Dr. James.

My initial estimates on LEVIATHAN seem quite solid, though I need a power source much stronger than even the augmented Charge Tower. Perhaps… perhaps I can adapt the technology used to transfer the specimen’s energy projection to the Charge Tower to boost the output of the primary reactor. Yes, if we converted HIS ionic Plasma, it could act as a midgrade fusion reactor…

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Mechs of the Chesapeake
The Moody Cyborg meets his maker

The short version:
James’s mental wetware was falling apart, and the only way we could find to fix him was in an X-Arc facility hidden in the Chesapeake Bay.
We raided the facility, and discovered James’s cybernetic implants were a product of their experiments, aiming to create cyborg pilots to drive their enormous war mechas.
We defeated the facility director, who was remotely-controlling an on-site drone, which launched several of his giant robots against North Harbor before self-destructing. We plugged James into a machine to repair his mind, but the machine snatched him away and merged him into one of the giant robots.
James held off the mechs as we made our way back to the surface to join the fight. He took the brunt of their assault, but we managed to destroy the mechs, saving the city and James’ life.

Since then, James has returned to his ranch, where’s got plenty of room to get accommodated to his new body.

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The Temporal Recalibration Engine
How times change...

I wasn’t expecting to put together an after-action report today, but Galilahi just got finished telling me we saved our timeline.

When she arrived at our monthly meeting, she started noticing things were a little off—the big giveaway being when she noticed the president was a man she didn’t recognize. After some discussion, Galilahi convinced the rest of us of her immunity to temporal shifts; Nassim, apparently, was very hostile to the idea that it wasn’t the “real” timeline.
While we were unable to nail down the exact point of divergence from our own memories, we identified a few key differences, hoping that one would lead to the cause.

Captain Awesome negotiated with The Troll in order to learn the source of his recently acquired, conspicuously advanced weaponry: the elusive man called The Broker.

We faked the escape of Dread Mechano in order to lure The Broker into an ambush. We attempted to question him once we’d captured him, but he refused to cooperate. However, Osprey was able to catch glimpses of a secret he was trying desperately to hide using her telepathy. Nassim immediately recognized the place she described seeing in The Broker’s mind’s eye; a former manufacturing facility destroyed by terrorists three years earlier during a raid by DMA forces.

The facility had been repaired—and cloaked to appear destroyed—by X-Arc. Expertly infiltrating the building, we discovered an experiment in its final stage, orchestrated by The Director via remote-control drone. After dispatching the security, we studied the mechanism, a machine designed to create a stable timeline matching X-Arc’s desired parameter. We figured out how to safely shut it down, and once we did, we “woke up,” once more on the morning of our meeting, time set right.

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The Creeping Hive Invades!
The Christmas Invasion

Another day, another alien invasion to repel.
Well, held at bay.

All at once, half the globe was under assault by extraterrestrial forces. It was all we could do to keep their vast forces from swarming the other side. Realizing we’d never be able to stop the invasion if we couldn’t even make forward progress against it, Corvette went to find a solution while the rest of us held the line.

Corvette sought out Expedient Energy Solutions, LLC for their services. After Vim Editor rigged up a makeshift space-suit for Gronk, and the group took a jumpship to ATLOS-1, Corvette’s space station, to get a better vantage point to study the alien menace. There, while Apollo kept the spaceborne aliens away, they isolated a frequency the creatures used to communicate, using planetary satellite information to pinpoint the broadcast’s source.

Vim Editor was able to build a short-range signal broadcaster to cancel out the alien frequency, masking their presence as they descend to Lake Baikal. The forest provided the group some cover as they approached their destination, a clearing at the lake’s edge, where a hive-like biological structure was visibly growing outwards from the lake’s edges; a grotesque, towering creature was vomiting out a substance, which its uncountable tiny arms kneaded as they passed it down to its base, attaching it to the ever-growing hive. The creature’s defenders soon spotted the group.

The group hit the monstrosity with everything they had, as reinforcements poured in. Surrounded, and nearly overwhelmed, they were able to bring down the beast. The rest followed almost immediately; seemingly connected to the large one via a hive-mind, every alien on the planet and in orbit perished at once.

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Defense Air
The capture of The Director

Okay, before I get started on what went down today, let me give it some context.
After The Defense reformed, I started noticing strange similarities in the deleted sectors of X-Arc servers when we raided their secret facilities.
Took me a while to figure out the pattern, but I realized that if I withheld the information I found from my teammates, the sectors stopped deleting.

One of X-Arc’s assets, a mutant code named The Sentry, had precognitive abilities which gave him the foresight to remotely wipe data that contained information about his existence and his facility, a centralized information hub coordinating information between the otherwise isolated X-Arc cells.
As far as I could tell, I was immune to his abilities; his precognition was apparently reliant on being able to read biological minds, and I’d been separated from my body during my confinement by The Bonds.
I formed a plan to strike at The Sentry’s Watchtower, a spire built into a small island in the south Atlantic, while disguising our intent from the psychic.
I contacted my teammates, had them meet in a cargo plane mocked up to look like our meeting room, and we took flight towards The Watchtower. I warned them to avoid thinking anything specific about our current situation, and told them of The Sentry’s existence.

The plan worked as pretty well. Once I told them about The Sentry, they reported that they could feel someone prying into their minds, but they maintained the deception, and when we arrived at The Watchtower, we found they were not expecting us.

We infiltrated the facility, and found The Sentry communicating with The Director, panicked that we had discovered his existence, and begging for additional support. To our surprise, The Sentry was no longer human, but an enormous, mutated brain, suspended in vat. The Director, as usual, was remotely controlling one his drones, and disconnected once we made our presence known.
As The Sentry’s attacked my teammates, I began to take control of the computer systems, stealing and preserving the data contained within before The Sentry could wipe them.
They won the fight easily, shaking off his illusions, destroying his defense drones, and shattering his tank’s casing, but our investigation was cut short; I found a hidden server among the others, and as soon as I accessed it, it triggered a series of explosions. I managed to stop enough of the detonations to allow our group time to escape as the tower collapsed around us.

We returned to our base to decipher the data, and discovered that the message that triggered the explosion was a notification sent to several X-Arc bases, detailing the location of The Director during a short time frame. We decided to take the opportunity to plan an ambush to arrest him during that window, which was today.

The coordinates brought us to the middle of the Pacific, a few hundred miles from Hawaii, and there we observed a large jet flying along the vectors we’d uncovered. When we approached, its defenses confirmed that it was The Director’s transport; not only did the plane open fire on us, but it was supported by missiles launched from an underground sub, a deflection shield and drones from a nearby island, and another of X-Arc’s giant mechs which slowly emerged from the water nearby.

Once we’d dispatched the plane’s defenders, we boarded without much difficulty, discovered it was equipped to fly indefinitely, and soon found The Director holed up in his quarters, hiding behind a forcefield. After some vague threats, an enraged Captain Awesome tore the forcefield from its housing and flew it into the upper atmosphere, nearly suffocating The Director. Bargaining for his life, he claimed he knew the location of my long-missing body. Captain Awesome returned him to the plane, and he divulged the location before losing consciousness due to the strain.

We Just dropped The Director and his plane off with in Hawaii with the DMA, and are heading back to our base to figure out our next move.

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Whatever happened to the car in the sky?
Fight Guy learns a new trick

[fight]

Jordan Delp shifted his weight backwards, cocking his head slightly, quickly, to the left, as a jagged shard of glass passed just millimeters from his neck.

He frantically looked around, trying to find the source of the explosion. Christine, the new girl, was standing on the far side of the counter staring open-mouthed at the middle steamer, its glass top shattered. “I… I only looked a way for a few minutes…” she stuttered as Jeff, the manager, came running in from the back.

“It’s okay, everyone! Everything is fine! Go back to your coffees, nothing to see here!” he shouted, arms out. His faux smile melted into a scowl as he faced his two employees.

He quickly pulled them together and growled in a low whisper. “You’re still holding your phone, Christine. I know this is your first week, but this is the third time your inattentiveness has damaged company property. I’m really starting to doubt that you are JavaBEANS! material.” Jordan wondered how Jeff managed to make the shop’s name sound the way the corporate logo looked. Does he practice in front of the mirror? “And Jordan! Why the heck weren’t you paying attention?”

[fight]

“I was hoping that promoting you to assistant manager would motivate you take this more seriously. But you’re still coming in late or taking off early all the heckin’ time. That makes me think I made a bad call. Both of you need to shape up! If I don’t see improvement soon, we’re going to have to talk about ending your relationship with JavaBEANS! Now go clean up that mess.” Jeff turned back, smiling brightly at the shop’s patrons as he headed to the back office.

Christine started to apologize to Jordan, but he waved off her concern. “I’ll clean,” he offered, “Why don’t you take register? It’s dead in here, and you look like you need a minute. Just try to look busy in case Jeff peeks out from his fortress.” He grabbed a broom and pan from the storage closet and walked around the register, searching for the shards of glass spread across the floor.

Jordan wished he could explain his poor punctuality. “I’m Fight Guy!” he dreamed of saying. “I’m a member of The Defense! And I was late for the double you scheduled me for last week — EVEN THOUGH I ASKED FOR THE DAY OFF — because I was saving the city from a lunatic who could control skunks with his brain AND make them shoot eye lasers!” Thinking this to himself for the 108th time, he sighed and picked up the last piece of glass. Jeff wouldn’t believe him. Jeff would probably have fired him on the spot for making up excuses, and Jordan needed the money. Rent in North Harbor wasn’t cheap, the monthly payments on his graduate degree in Post-Modern Literature with an emphasis on Southeast Indian Neopagan Folklore were oppressive, and JavaBEANS! was the highest paying job he could find.

Jordan kept an eye on Christine as the line slowly built up, but his mind was preoccupied. He was so absorbed in his thoughts and his cleaning that he didn’t notice his nemesis enter the coffee shop. It wasn’t until that incomparable snort jolted Jordan back to his present surroundings that he was alerted. Damen was next in line.

[fight.]

His first thought was to dash out the back of the shop. The Entity that possessed him and guided him when he was in danger was urging this same course of action, as usual. But at that moment, all Jordan could think was, What would Amanda do? Amanda, who he still hadn’t saved, whose abduction remained a total mystery two years later. Jordan knew what Amanda would do. He dashed up to the empty register and looked at Damen. “Next in line?”

“Well, it is about time,” Damen began his daily rant. “I’ve been waiting in line FOR. EVER. The service here just gets worse, and worse, and worse. Are you ready for my order?” Jordan nodded, dreading the familiar routine: request a ridiculous specialty order, search for something to get angry about, pitch a fit at the manager, get something for free. Jordan, relieved to have saved Christine from the nightmare customer, was hopeful he could at least get through the ordering portion of the ordeal without setting Damen off. “Okay, give me a large cup and a marker, otherwise you’ll definitely mess it up,” Damen condescended.

As Jordan handed the items across the counter, he heard a quiet, muffled, electronic chirp come from his pocket. He was CERTAIN he’d turned his phone off. He glanced at the irritable customer. “Fill to here with regular, and add a pump of vanilla, fill to here with decaf, then add two pumps of white mocha…” Another chirp. “Do you hear that noise?” Jordan stared. “No? Hrm, okay, well, then pour heavy cream up to here, and make sure you get this in the right order because otherwise the taste changes and it’ll be RUINed. So after the heavy cream, drop a shot of espresso, then add ice to here. Then please stir it a little for me, you don’t have to shake it or anything. Okay, now, ring that up as a regular coffee, add…” Another chirp. “Are you really telling me you don’t hear that chirping? Are you deaf as well as dumb?” Getting no reaction from Jordan, he widened his anger-net to include Christine. “Which one of you — yes, Miss, I’m talking to you too, MISS — didn’t turn off your phones?”

[fight.]

Damen continued to work himself up, grumbling about The Millennials and their phones. Jordan reached quickly into his pocket, mashing the buttons on his phone to silence the ringtone. The noise continued. It was coming from his other phone.

He pulled the The Defense communicator from his other pocket. The screen displayed “NEW MESSAGE,” on a background of blue and red. He knew those colors were a secret notification code, but before he could remember what it meant, Manager Jeff reappeared and snatched the device from his hand. “Jordan, what have I told you about turning off your phone during work hours? Whoa, what kind of phone is thi… nevermind, Go. Go take out the trash.” After poking the device until it stopped chirping, Jeff dropped it into his pocket like a school teacher reprimanding a high schooler who texted during class. He turned his focus to calming the disgruntled customer, ignoring Jordan’s protestations and repeated requests for his “phone” back.

As he emptied a trashcan into the dumpster behind JavaBEANS!, Jordan wondered if he’d be able to pickpocket his manager, or if he’d have to wait for his shift to end to see what The Defense needed of him.


Jordan tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest, then picked up his comm and reread the message. “BE COOL. Get to Palmer Airfield, Hanger 12, now. Try not to draw too much attention. Try not to think about it. Keep your warpaint handy. -802

It’d been hours since 802 sent the message, but only a few minutes since Jordan had read it. He’d asked if everything was okay, but 802 hadn’t responded, and that was making him nervous. She was a computer! Or something, he wasn’t really clear on that. Texting was her whole deal, though, and to not respond for this long… Jordan opened a message to everyone on The Defense.

“Hey guys. I caught an Uber and I’m on my way to the airfield. What’s going on?” He started tapping on the armrest again, eventually looked up from the device’s blinking cursor, and immediately made accidental, awkward eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror. He quickly turned back to the comm and typed again. “Are you still at that hangar?”

A few minutes and awkward glances went by. He typed again. “I didn’t get the message til just now, but I’m coming!”

“My boss had my comm, and made me stay late to clean because…” He stopped typing. They didn’t need to know about that. He deleted the message, and paused for a moment, growing anxious that no one had responded.

“Is everyone okay? I don’t see any, like, giant lizards or ninja robots or whatever on the news.”

“Getting on the interstate. If I need to go somewhere else, let me know ASAP!”

“Anyone know what’s happening?”

“Pulling up to the airfield. Be there in a minute.”

Jordan entered the huge hangar, empty except for a car that he recognized as belonging to Slate Flamepunch. He spotted a door on the far wall that led him to a small office. An unsecured computer soon showed him security recordings of his teammates boarding a large cargo plane that taxied out of the hanger shortly thereafter. He also found a flight plan for the plane, revealing its current position over the Atlantic.

Jordan was crestfallen. The Entity only gave him superior reflexes and fighting abilities, he couldn’t travel that sort of distance. He couldn’t fly, like half of the team. He didn’t even have a car! Much less a sweet flying car, like Slate’s! Oh, wait…

Jordan ran over to Slate’s car and spotted the keys half-heartedly hidden under a pile of scripts in the passenger-side foot well. He started the engine, and paused for a moment of reassurance. He usually took public transit or an Uber. He couldn’t afford a car anyway. But, after joining The Defense, he’d finally gotten his license for emergencies just like this one. He’d taken the driving test recently. And he’d watched Slate work the little spinning thing on the dash that made it ascend and descend. After they defeated Fear Falcon and Jordan started singing “Can’t Fly Friends,” Slate had asked him to stay quiet, giving him plenty of time to observe how the dial worked. Jordan was confident he could get the car airborne.

Jordan sped the car out of the hangar and down a runway, gently manipulating the altitude controller. The vehicle started to climb. After a few seconds, Jordan looked out the window. The hangars below were shrinking rapidly. He had a brief moment of elation at being untethered by gravity at his own direction, but before he could form the conscious thought This is going well!, the car began to list.

Jordan tried to readjust, but only made it worse. The car flipped, started to spiral, and began to plummet back towards the earth. Jordan frantically tried to steer the car away from… the ground, he guessed, disoriented by the spinning.

[fight!]

Time slowed to a crawl. Jordan became acutely aware of his surroundings, extraordinarily attuned to the dangers around him. Loose change drifted lazily past his face as he turned his head. A figure had appeared suddenly in the seat next to him. The same figure that had taken Amanda. He called himself “Balance” then. This is the closest he had ever been to Jordan. He usually appeared to taunt Jordan from a distance. Balance’s grey shroud seemed unperturbed by the car’s askew angle. His face was obscured by a golden mask with shifting white and black patterns. He turned toward Jordan. “Hurtling thoughtlessly towards destruction. Are you still surprised?” His voice was quiet and even, and sounded closer than he looked. Jordan felt an underlying maliciousness whisper coolly into his ear. “All that you hold dear, gone, and all your fault.” Balance turned forward. Jordan felt his body suddenly twitch, arms jolting towards the door. He followed the expressionless mask’s gaze and saw what The Entity was trying to avoid.

Before Jordan could reach the door handle, Slate’s car collided with a tanker truck as it filled up with fuel for the airstrip’s private clients. Later, the fire marshal in charge of the investigation would write in his report that collateral damage was minimized by chemical accelerants in the cargo of the flying vehicle that consumed most of the jet fuel before flames could spread. He noted that the chemicals were most commonly used in special effects work, which may be useful in identifying the owner as the scorched remains of the John Doe pulled from the wreckage were burnt beyond recognition.


“Good evening, Harrison. Let’s see what you’ve brought me today. I hope our last discussion has helped you to find what I require.”

“Yah, sure, Doc. But seriously, just call me Harry. I checked all’a these against that list, but like I toldja, ya gotta be less choosy if you want that many of ‘em.” Harry gestured over his shoulder to six metal tables, three of which held large, black bags. His taller companion approached a stack of file folders on an empty table and selected the folder on top. He briefly adjusted his glasses before thumbing through each.

“You must not have understood the list, HARRISON. My list said ‘no significant burn damage’ and you brought me a body bag with a chart that says ‘Incinerated in Fire,’ nonetheless.”

“Yah, and? I checked it out! Body looks fine. A few burns on the skin. Musta been the smoke. Saw a video on that once, Doc. Said ain’t the fire that kills ya, the smoke chokes ya first. I’m sure his guts or whatever are good, but maybe not his lungs, know what I’m saying?” The man guffawed a deep snorting laugh, to match his wide belly, looking back at the doctor’s two bodyguards who stood nonplussed by the small room’s entry. “Really, Doc, if you need ‘em a specific kinda dead, I could bring you however many you want. But I gotta snag ‘em alive first,” he laughed, again.

The doctor curled his lip into a sneer as he moved towards the bag matching the chart in his hand. “That’s ‘asphyxiation’ not ‘incineration,’ and I’d trust the M.E.’s opinion over yours. I shoulder some of the blame, trying to use a hammer like a scalpel. Perhaps we should remain within your skillset.” He leaned in and unzipped the bag to examine the supposedly scorched, possibly suffocated corpse.

[FIGHT]

A hand burst from between the zipper teeth. The base of the palm impacted the doctor’s jaw, knocking him unconscious. Fingers clenched into a fist around his glasses, snapping them in two. The body sat up from the bag. The two halves of the glasses flung at the guards waiting by the door. The metal frames found their marks in the goons’ wrists, and as they dropped their weapons, Harry reached for his. The now-alive corpse rolled forward, springing off the operating table with one hand, before dropping an axe-kick across Harry’s face. The body lunged forward as Harry hit the ground, dispatching the guards quickly. One head-butt to the nose, one knee to the solar plexus.

Jordan Delp looked around the room — somewhere in a sewer by the smell of it — and at the people groaning and writhing on the ground around him. It only took a moment for his heart rate and breathing to slow. He remembered the fireball burning away his flesh, and realized he was naked. He stammered, “Wwwhat. The. FUCK?!”

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