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HOUSE OF M(ETA)
HOUSE OF M
A DREAM IS A WISH…
In dreams you will lose your heartaches,
whatever you wish for,
you keep.
Anti-Meta sentiments are on the rise. This is no secret. Check the news and you see it, politicians arguing about the dangers that superhumans pose to the world. What if they go rogue? What if they stage a mutiny? How can they tell that heroes are really the good guys, when so many of them have secret identities. In the last week, multiple protests against metahumans potentially moving to their cities have broken out across the United States. Some cities have proposed legislation that would make it illegal for metahumans to live within their borders.
Excelsior is leading the charge, politicians are looking to ban any metahuman whose abilities are not technical in origin from living there.
It is little wonder, then, that so many go to bed dreaming of a better world. One without the hardships of this one, or of the one they endured before.
Meanwhile, across the country, Sunset Falls is in a state of change. Mayor West finally has candidates willing to take the position of Mayor from him. This shift in the city's attention prevents anyone from paying much mind to the odd and potent energies taking shape. Sure, there are strange occurrences happening. A young woman walks by the school and immediately forgets her name, her job, and where she lives. Others report a strange feeling of being watched. Those sensitive to it may feel something otherworldly and strange hanging in the air. Bearing down on them with oppressive force.
And, dear heroes, as you know - two forms of surging energies create what is known as a Confluence.
In dreams you will lose your heartaches,
whatever you wish for,
you keep.
Anti-Meta sentiments are on the rise. This is no secret. Check the news and you see it, politicians arguing about the dangers that superhumans pose to the world. What if they go rogue? What if they stage a mutiny? How can they tell that heroes are really the good guys, when so many of them have secret identities. In the last week, multiple protests against metahumans potentially moving to their cities have broken out across the United States. Some cities have proposed legislation that would make it illegal for metahumans to live within their borders.
Excelsior is leading the charge, politicians are looking to ban any metahuman whose abilities are not technical in origin from living there.
It is little wonder, then, that so many go to bed dreaming of a better world. One without the hardships of this one, or of the one they endured before.
Meanwhile, across the country, Sunset Falls is in a state of change. Mayor West finally has candidates willing to take the position of Mayor from him. This shift in the city's attention prevents anyone from paying much mind to the odd and potent energies taking shape. Sure, there are strange occurrences happening. A young woman walks by the school and immediately forgets her name, her job, and where she lives. Others report a strange feeling of being watched. Those sensitive to it may feel something otherworldly and strange hanging in the air. Bearing down on them with oppressive force.
And, dear heroes, as you know - two forms of surging energies create what is known as a Confluence.
THOSE LEFT BEHIND
You wake to pandemonium.
An emergency broadcast is blaring across any transmissible signal. A Confluence of unprecedented size has struck. Half of the country has been consumed by it.
By noon, there is a quarantine in place - not that anyone seems to be trying to leave the affected area. No, this quarantine is to prevent people from trying to go in. Unauthorized access is not permitted, not until the capes in charge have a better idea of what is going on. Once again, the Godfall Protocols are enacted. All able-bodied metahumans are recruited to the task, and once again, the Starfallen will find themselves standing shoulder to shoulder with those far weaker than them.
This time there is no giant monster to fight. Just a barrier, invisible to the naked eye, that seems to alter anyone who enters into it. The early metahuman scouts report themselves to be unaffected for the first few hours, but any normal humans who enter this space quickly find themselves… no longer themselves.
Atomight, Frances Starling and Mechanima are all at the Alliance HQ. For once, the three faction leaders seem to be in perfect harmony. This is a bad idea, they cannot send their people into this No Man’s Land… but they have no choice. The Godfall Protocols are what they are, they were created for this very reason. Though they are not arguing with each other, the government agents suddenly standing in HQ are telling a very different story. The three of them are not hiding the fact that they are all too aware that their “freedom” comes with a price, and their resentment is reaching a boiling point.
At some point during these early hours, Atomight finds himself temporarily locked out of his office. While the three leaders are distracted trying to regain entry, Fantastic takes center stage and begins issuing the most scripted heart-felt speech you have ever heard. Unlike the other three, he doesn’t seem to care much for what he could be sending people into. This is not a speech meant to inspire confidence that all will work out in the end, that the weakest among them will be taken care of, it is a speech to inspire soldiers.
By the end of this first day, they have gathered enough information to make a determination. The Starfallen seem to be more resilient to whatever effects are occurring than the rest of the population. They are called to a unique, private meeting - one in which all three leaders attend.
“We don’t know what you will be facing there,” they state plainly. “But we know you have the best chance of making it out with your minds intact.”
The choice is yours. You can help secure the area, you can retreat to Little Love and hope that this expands no further, or you can step into the unknown.
You can engage with the leaders here.
HOUSE OF (M)ETA.
Inside the quarantine zone, all is well.
Your alarm rings a little late and you find yourself groggy and briefly disoriented, as though waking from a very long dream. One that you find yourself considering to be unpleasant, and not worth thinking about. You stretch and slide out of bed, perhaps kiss your partner good morning and prepare yourself to wrangle your children and get them prepared for school, but today is like any other day. The world is as it always has been, and you find yourself oddly comforted to know that things are not as bad as they could be.
And then your day begins.
If you are a card carrying member of the Guardian Alliance, then you report to work before most of the world is up and running. Atomight appears to be busy in Central City, as he is not present and is not answering any calls, but you know what to do. The Guardian Alliance is all about finding ways to be useful, without enrolling in any of the government run Metahuman departments. It pays less, and you have to have frequent check-ins with actual government approved heroes, but you find a measure of freedom in it… though the pressure is immense. One wrong move and you may find yourself imprisoned for “irresponsible” use of your powers, branded as the reason why metahumans should stay under the thumb of the government after their service ends, and not allowed to organize themselves in fear they may take over the world.
If you took the darker path, then you will find yourself reporting to an ordinary office building in whatever city you live in, for a boring job that you do not have. Villainy is not a safe passtime, but those who band together tend to stay alive a little longer. The Society of Villainous Reformation exists to provide the community that most villains lack. Villainy comes in many shapes and sizes, and the Society has all sorts. The only uniting factor in this faction is the fact that you do not want to be used the way heroes are. You want to use your powers as you see fit, whether that means you get an edge on tests or rob banks to your heart's content is up to you.
Or are you a vigilante? A complete wildcard, answering to nothing and no one but your own personal sense of justice? Vigilantes have a reputation for being brutal and efficient, needing none of the teamwork and oversight that the guilds use. They are also generally less accountable, unless The Society or the Guardian Alliance steps in.
Starfall, formerly Starstruck. He was one of the first heroes to enroll in the government's War Hero project, which has now become a mandatory military service for all young metahumans upon reaching 18.
The most concerning thing right now in the world is the cult, the Battlements of the Shining God. They are known to sacrifice people to their fearsome God, stating that it will give them the power to put things right. But… you have never seen them in person. Only heard of the wreckage they leave. But disturbingly, if you tune in to the nightly broadcast that the Dreamers of the Willow Maiden put out to help lull you to sleep, you will note they seem… off. Warning of a war that is coming. You are fairly certain you can handle a confrontation with them, though. After all, nothing you couldn’t handle has ever happened.
And as you fall asleep at night in this perfect world, in your perfect life, you swear you hear The Lady herself whispering in your ear. Wake up, wake up, this dream is not yours to live.
Yet when you try to hold on to those words, they slip from your thoughts. And when you awaken, all remains as it should be.
SNAP BACK TO REALITY
For those who agree to go into the quarantined zone, you find yourself given the best gadgets both the Alliance and The Society can offer. They are unsure how to prepare you for this, though the scouts that made it back say that things seem… fine. Peaceful, even. Everyone seemed so happy, but they did not recognize them.
Contact will be difficult to maintain. The radios were functioning while they were inside, but it seems that the further they went into these zones, the worse communication got.
When removed from the quarantine zone, those who were affected regained themselves bit by bit. Some held on stubbornly to their illusionary life, but when presented with undeniable evidence of the life they had before, and reminders of any joy they found within it, they came back to themselves.
“Are you saying that they have to befriend them to remind them of their sanity?” Mechanima asks, torn between incredulity and amusement.
“What he’s saying,” Frances cuts in, “is that they need a reminder that they have a life worth living outside of whatever the hell is going on in there.”
Atomight nods. “This appears to be a shared delusion manifested by magic. So, a mass psychic relay would be the best way to break the hold. However, it will take time to do safely.” He turns to the gathered volunteers. “Your job is to start cracks, so the whole thing shatters when we deliver the final punch… and no one soul is left bearing the brunt of that psychic backlash.”
There’s a moment of silence. You find yourself being handed resources for your trip inside - no weapons, just first-aid kits and any items you may have told people to gather that could remind your lost friends of who they are.
"This is going to change everything," Atomight continues. "Even if all this goes to plan, the fact that it happened at all means things won’t stay like they’ve been."
He doesn’t elaborate. Mechanima’s mask turns to troubled static, and Frances throws a glance back towards the Alliance’s tents. Many of the native metahumans are gathered, and Fantastic is posing for photos with them. The hashtag #METASTOTHERESCUE has been trending for hours, and were you to believe social media, Fantastic is the one leading the charge.
You turn, take a deep breath, and walk through the invisible threshold into another world. The teleportation devices you have been given will take you directly to the city of your choosing.
IN SUMMARY...
- The unrest in Excelsior and the upcoming election in Sunset Falls has caused a massive confluence, which has affected a great portion of the country.
- Anyone within the border of these affected areas finds themselves thrust into an alternate universe, wherein they lived a very different life as a native citizen of this world. In this version of the world, the Godfall Incident never happened.
- All metahumans - regardless of if they belong to Society, the Alliance, and the Unaligned - find that the Godfall Protocols are being enacted, meaning that metahumans will be conscripted into assisting. Knowing most metahumans do not stand a chance against whatever metaenergies are causing this, the leaders of these groups are asking the Starfallen to enter willingly.
- Being in the alternate universe for more than 72 hours will make you start to believe that you are part of it. It is very keen to assimilate you into it, and you may find yourself slowly developing false memories the longer you are in there.
- Exiting isn't an immediate cure, but the longer you are out, the faster you will come back to yourself.
- You can bring your AU-affected friends back to reality by reminding them of who they are, and that the life they have outside of the bubble is equally good as the one inside.
- Anyone who wants to sit this one out can kick back, relax, and enjoy some Kansas hospitality. Little Love is a safe area and will protect any citizens who do not feel capable or are unwilling to jump into the unknown.
Please direct any questions regarding this log HERE.
no subject
Guardian takes the ray gun away from him.
"It's okay. Arming yourself in case you needed to defend yourself wasn't a bad idea. Just wait here for a little bit, okay? Then we'll work on getting you home."
Guardian gets up and goes to put the gun with the rest of the equipment they're salvaging, then holds a hand to his ear and starts talking in a low voice to someone.
Tim will catch it even if it's quiet.
"Yes, ma'am. It's under control. We're recovering the tech now and will secure the mutated victims for transport. There's also a civilian survivor that needs to be debriefed and taken home."
He listens. His face contorts in a frown.
"I don't know if that's necessary. It's handled." He listens, his expression getting more concerned. "Why are we - no, I'm not -"
His eyes cast downward.
"No, ma'am. Yes, ma'am." He looks at his team member. "No, I can handle it."
There is now a tension in the room, as the others stare at him. The one with energy constructs looks angry.
"This is getting out of control," he says. "I didn't sign up for this. I'd rather rot in a brig somewhere than -"
Guardian holds up a hand.
"Don't. Don't challenge her, you know how she is. I'll handle it, okay?"
There is obvious relief in the body language of his teammates.
He walks back over to Tim, slowly.
"I need you to come with me."
no subject
Tim doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He’s just present in the room, trying to be patient and brave. He thinks being quiet and still is passable for both. He’s waiting here for a bit, and then Guardian will take him home.
Mutated victims. Mutagenia. He can’t ignore the obvious anymore: the other things in the cells. They weren’t things. They were victims. People.
As the call continues, Tim amends that. He’s waiting here for a bit, and then Guardian will debrief him and take him home. That’s still very reasonable, and they give you coffee and vending machine food in interview rooms. On the crime dramas and re-enactments, anyway.
But Guardian’s face falls. Tim sees it. He has been watching the hero - it’s more comforting than looking over destruction, and Guardian is nicer than the rest (an arbitrary decision if there ever was one).
No, his face definitely falls and he takes the others with him. Tim thinks he’s a good judge of people, and so I’d rather rot in a brig is just confirming that they’ve been told something that they really object to. It’s like watching Coach dress someone down in the middle of practice.
“Time to take me home before I turn into a pumpkin?” It’s a nervous joke. An especially bad one that he immediately cringes at, because Mutagenia could have turned him into a pumpkin.
But he doesn’t know what to say as he takes a step forward to go with Guardian, and there’s a tremendous urge to fill the space after the caller sucked all the oxygen out of the room. “My name’s Tim. If you’re going to carry me off, you should at least know my name.”
(The crime shows also say to tell your abductors your name, repeatedly, to make them see you as a human being.)
(Weird time to think about that.)
no subject
Guardian places a large hand around his forearm. The grip isn't painful but it's vicelike. There is no fighting it. It may as well be made of steel.
He starts walking Tim along but not in the direction of the hole in the wall.
No, he brings him to a nearby room. One with only windows, no door.
Then he stares at him, as if making a decision.
There is something...strange about him. Familiar. Feelings stir in his chest that he doesn't know the source of. Protectiveness.
There are more of those vague whispers in his ear about how everything is all wrong.
And the truth is...it is all wrong. Walpert has been asking them to get more and more violent, has cared less and less for civilian casualties, has been collecting all kinds of dangerous tech.
He and a few of the others have been suspecting that something has changed, that maybe the project has gone rogue.
But the problem is it's only three of them out of the whole group. Dao, Constructor, and himself.
He reaches into his ear and pulls out a device there, wrapping it in his teke to block the sound for a moment.
"If you want to live, I need you to do everything I say. Do you understand?"
no subject
And it’s not necessary, but Guardian’s a superhero. Tim follows willingly. His feet drag a bit when they go past the whole in the wall.
“Bu-“ But why aren’t they going out the way the heroes came in? Is it not safe? Is that what that conversation was?
He doesn’t want to ask questions - if he’s not supposed to know things for national security reasons, then Tim shouldn’t be too nosy. He only needs to know what he sees, and he’s supposed to forget that too.
The dead-end room though. Tim realizes there isn’t a second door pretty quickly, and panic claws up his throat. He can’t quite put together why. He has no reason to think the good guys are questionable. Not here, not ever.
But then… Guardian says that, and Tim has burning questions that he can’t fix in the appropriate priority queue.
“No,” he says in the softest whisper, with a terrified glance over his shoulder. “I don’t understand.”
They saved him. They beat up the bad guys. He watched them do it. Why is he still at risk of not living? “I’ve been doing what you say - I won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll tell them I got drunk and woke up in a dumpster, okay? I won’t give away secrets, I promise. I want to live, but you saved me already. And then you said you’re debriefing me and taking me home. Is that what you mean by understanding?”
no subject
"Okay, one? Stop. Talking."
He is talking too much.
There is a spark of red in his eyes. He isn't going to hurt him, but it's not like he knows how to handle this with nuance.
He can be kind. It's instinct. It's a base level of being that he was lucky enough to be programmed with. He was lucky the mental template was based on someone good and the partial brain scans left him with some of that morality.
Jim Harper was a good man.
And he was lucky that his earliest handler, KIA in a mission a year ago, was also good man. That he taught him to be a good man, despite everything. In his short life, Clark Kent was one of the best people Thirteen has ever known.
He treated him like a person, taught him things Walpert probably wouldn't have wanted him to know. In all honesty, that makes his death - combined with everything Walpert's been doing - seem awfully suspicious.
But despite that he still usually handles conflict like the weapon he is. With aggression.
Still, Tim's already afraid. He takes a deep breath, and the spark in his eyes dies down.
"Sorry. I'm not going to hurt you."
He needs to be made aware of what's going on. Maybe then the babbling for his life will stop.
"We just got orders to kill you since you're the only witness coherent enough to tell anyone what happened here. I don't know why. It's not necessary. And it's not - it's not how we used to operate. Civilians weren't just collateral before."
He shakes his head.
"But the person in charge of us has been giving orders that are more violent lately. Everything she's been doing has been shadier. Something's wrong."
He looks a the small earbud in his left hand, muffled by his teke.
"Three of us suspect the government project we're apart of has gone rogue."
He seems to make a decision at last, the teke dismantling the comm unit into its components. Then he takes off his helmet, casting it to the floor, smoothing a hand through black hair.
Even slightly mussy sweaty hair does not detract from the initial brickjaw impression Tim got at all. There is no secret acne or a Lima bean shaped head.
"If I don't follow orders and kill you, one of the others probably will. Most of them aren't bad people but their freedom is on the line. You need to come with me. We need to run."
no subject
Tim shuts up. He doesn’t know what glowing, red eyes mean to Guardian, but his brain snaps to glowing means metahuman abilities and red means danger, so he will stay very shut up.
He’s scared - was already, but the relief of I’m saved, thank you handsome hero wilts when the handsome hero starts explaining that he’s been ordered to kill Tim. Tim wants to believe him, but he just explained that the rescuers think that murdering a civilian (murdering him) is collateral damage.
(That’s not even what colllateral damage means.)
Tim takes exactly one step back, eyes swinging wildly around the room for a second. There has to be somewhere to run or hide. (There isn’t.)
Some choice other than Guardian or death. (There isn’t.)
Guardian could change his mind at any minute. This isn’t a sci-fi fairytale with the stormtrooper whipping his helmet off I’m Luke Skywalker I’m here to rescue you.
(He kinda looks like Skywalker. Great big blue eyes, bit of a tan, great jawline - no, stop, can the focus stay on glowing red eyes and death threats and how he gets out of here.)
If what Guardian says is true, going with Guardian is the only choice that delays Tim’s death. There are half a dozen other heroes -
(Agents. Heroes don’t kill.)
- that will follow orders and kill him, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.
Once they’re away from others, he’ll get away as soon as he can. Until then, he’ll keep as quiet as he can, follow instructions, and take any natural chance to remind Guardian to remind him that Tim is only 19 and would very much like to live forever.
“If that’s all true, then why are you trapping us in here?” That is necessary not being quiet. Guardian’s plan to hide in the room that everyone saw them enter sucks if he’s not killing Tim. “I’ll do anything you say. Just - I thought you saved me.”
So please, save him.
no subject
He holds a hand against the outer wall and dismantles the entire thing, brick by brick, all of them radiating out. The shift is somehow incredibly quiet compared to just punching his way through a wall. He piles them quietly and neatly in the alley outside.
"I am saving you."
A few extra seconds while they're confused at the door and breaking in, is a lot of distance at superspeed.
"I know it's a lot, to ask you to trust me, but you don't really have any other choice." Still, he lets him decide whether to come with him or whether to take his chances on his own. "It'll take time, but they'll be able to track your abduction backwards until they get video footage of you and then run facial recognition. They will find you."
He holds out a hand.
"If you come with me, you at least have a chance."
no subject
(Lord Kuruku was the bad guy.)
Guardian… might not be. Tim only has his word that he’s been marked for death, but there was that other agent. The one who objected and said he’d rather be in the brig. It takes a lot to convince someone that prison is preferable. “Mutagenia said ideal because I was a gymnast. They … knew who I was.”
Meaning that he was selected on purpose. Anyone trying to hunt down a witness wouldn’t need to wait for facial recognition across the whole city. If they picked him, he has to be identified somewhere in their records. An address. The school name. Something.
Tim looks back at the door again. It’s not a choice, but he makes it anyway. He reached blindly for Guardian’s hand and finds it easily through good spatial awareness. “Let’s go.”
no subject
"I'm gonna carry you, okay? That way I can fly at superspeed."
And with that, he scoops him up into his arms, easily.
King Snake's voice comes from behind the door.
"Hey, freak, you kill that kid yet?"
Well, there's Tim's confirmation.
"He's been eliminated. I just need to vaporize his body. Tell the others I'll be back inside in a few."
"Sure, whatever." Sniff. Sniff. "Wait a sec, why don't I smell blood or burning flesh, though?"
Guardian launches at superspeed but Tim is protected from the pressure wave and from any of the inertial forces by the field of teke wrapped around him. And Thirteen flies fast. Very fast. Until they're on the entirely different side of the city.
He hides them in an abandoned office building, puts him down, looks through a wall with eyes glowing blue with X-ray vision, making sure they're not being followed.
"I think we should stay in the city. Once Walpert figures things out, her first assumption is going to be that I booked it as far as possible. And Central's huge. The best place to hide is somewhere we can disappear into crowds when we need to. We can change our clothes and our hair. Maybe do something to screw with the facial recognition, like putting on glasses. Until I can figure out what to do next."
Because the problem isn't just hiding, it's somehow ending this.
"I have no idea where to start on taking the fight to her, but I do know how she operates. All the team's SOPs. I can keep us one step ahead until I figure something out."
no subject
But Guardian lies smoothly, as if suggesting that he “eliminated” Tim is nothing to him. He’s so calm that Tim can’t believe it when the agent knows that there’s something amiss. Cra-
The thought bubble is left hanging in the air, because Guardian doesn’t wait around to spin out the falsehood, and the world melts into a streak that Tim’s eyes can’t track at all. To compare it to what happens when you’re tumbling - they’re not on the same plane.
I think we should stay in the city…
Is it odd that his brain isn’t scrambled like an egg? If he been warned, he would’ve expected nausea, but he’s fine. Confused, but he’s nodding along with Guardian’s plan like this isn’t madness.
“SOP - standard operating procedures. Nevermind.” Cop shows again? Tim’s not sure, but he knows it’s right. He has very little to contribute. “I know how to use hair dye? Um - how long do you think they’ll look for me - us?”
They are apparently an us now. “We could go to my parents house to get food, if you think we can beat them there. I know we can’t stay there. But there are hair clippers and clothes there.”
He waves a hand at Guardian’s brightly coloured, tight uniform.
“It’s going to take more than glasses to hide you. You’re the kind of person people doubletake.”
no subject
"They won't give up looking. You didn't just witness something Walpert didn't want you to, with whatever was going on with Mutagenia. They'll probably figure out that because I saved you, that you found out we were ordered to kill you, too. That's another reason to make sure you're dead. No, this ends when I can figure out someone to give you to that won't fold under government pressure to hand you over, or when I figure out how to take the fight to them."
He looks down at his clothes. Tim's right about fitting in, though.
He's not exactly ready to pass as a civilian.
"Going to your place might be a good idea. We've got maybe about an hour for the digital forensics guys to do their work. They'll have to work backwards from the site. Do you have any family we have to worry about at home? Someone that needs to be protected, too?"
no subject
For medical supplies, but still. Tim knows they know people. When it comes to government, knowing people is what counts. “They’re in South America right now.”
Tim recites the address, including the zip code, which he then has to correct. “I mean, four eight, not zero eight. I don’t know how I got that mixed up, I lived there my whole life.”
There aren’t any 08XXX zip codes in Mighigan that Tim can recall. This must be shock, right? Shock is supposed to be strange.
no subject
He could've gone for something like Butch and Sundance, but no, he went for the couple as a reference instead.
But Thirteen doesn't belabor that point. Tim's too rattled for him to flirt. And they have to figure this out.
(08XXX is New Jersey. He's got enough dumb programmed field knowledge to know that. Weird mistake to make. Must be nerves.)
"South America's a long way to go for a hostage so your folks are probably safe for now. And you're right, Walpert will probably will tell the guilds some cover story about you being a criminal. Or mind controlled in a way only they can fix. Whatever makes people not listen to us and hand you over. So until I solve this and you can go home, I guess you're stuck with me."
He wants to make it very, very clear he won't just ditch him.
One last scan of his X-Ray and telescopic vision shows the team is still occupied far off on the other side of the city. Tim's address takes them even farther away from them.
"Okay, they're not following us yet. They're probably thrown because they don't actually know what happened yet."
There are lots of reasons they could have disappeared from Tim mind controlling Thirteen and making him take him away, or some third party dismantling the wall and grabbing them.
He holds out his hand again and takes Tim's.
"I'm gonna carry you again. Ready?"
no subject
His parents will be fine. The Drakes live unassuming lives. Tim’s day is a fluke. It doesn’t disprove 19 years of refined dullness.
“How do you know that? You did something to your earpiece. I - sorry. Shutting up again.” Tim just gives Guardian’s hand a squeeze. More of a grip, because it doesn’t loosen up immediately as a squeeze would. “Ready when you are, Bonnie.”
He gives him the smirk that the hero was afraid to offer. Everything is fine. They’ll get clothes, money, and sleeping bags. A couple days of urban cooking, and Guardian will get this sorted. He has so many powers. It’ll be a snap.
no subject
He lifts Tim into his arms again. This time, with less of a rush to escape, he's a lot more aware of how Tim has no choice but to put his arms around his neck, and how close their faces are to each other.
"Boy, but you ask a lot of questions, though."
It isn't a complaint. He seems amused that Tim's reacting to this whole thing with so much curiosity despite the non-stop adrenaline haze.
There's another whoosh, a blur, the briefest pause high in the air as he glances down with telescopic vision and takes in a bunch of street signs, lining them up with the maps of the city he memorized.
He nails down what he thinks is the right place and puts them down in Tim's back yard. It's a big enough brownstone to have one.
"This is your place?" There is some light skepticism because the
'Gee thank you for saving me mr. Shield, sir' attitude was not what he'd have expected from a rich kid. From a rich kid he'd expect outright demands to save him. Because...sometimes rich people have demanded he save them or done the "do you know who my parents are??" bullshit. Even while he was already doing the saving.
You didn't work as a part of the military-industrial complex without realizing rich people generally sucked. And you were far more prone to realizing that when a) you were the boots on the ground that was expendable, b) were sometimes deployed to secure people's obvious financial interests, and c) you were reminded more than once about how much you cost to make.
Because the investments had to pay their dividends. The government didn't just develop everything wholesale, they funneled the tasks of creating weapons into all kinds of contractors on a river of taxpayer money. Even if said contractors maybe they didn't all have a full picture of what they were making when it was that top secret.
The government wanted those spent billions to actually pay off.
"You did say your parents had a lawyer on retainer, I guess."
no subject
There is a positively enormous bicep running across Tim’s back.
“I ask a normal amount of questions for someone who was kidnapped last night,” Tim snaps back, skirting a very fine line around sulking.
“I haven’t asked for your name, rank, and serial number.” Being what soldiers were allowed to provide during wars, this seems like the bare minimum to request.
“Or the name of your agency,” he adds, now that the world has stopped whipping past and he is standing on his own to feet.
Tim looks up at the house and, like with classmates, feels a need to somewhat distance himself with what the house represents. He isn’t sure his family constitutes the highest 1%, but they are certainly in the 10%. It can make for awakened conversations when he recounts something like ‘the housekeeper made me dinner every night.’ “It’s my parents place.”
So not exactly his. It’s not like Guardian is a kid from school, what does it matter? “I don’t have my keys. I lost all my stuff when they grabbed me. Can you do the brick thing again?”
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He goes over to the door, places his hand against the lock and the blue light flows over and into it. Tumblers rotate and click. Bam, done.
Then he opens it.
Apparently, he can do subtlety, too.
He closes and locks the door behind them, X-Ray visions the house.
"Clothes are upstairs, right?"
He bounds up the stairs towards the room he saw that looks most like a non-parent's room, talking to Tim as he leads the way in his own house. He's only ahead because of those long legs and his speed.
He steps aside at his door so Tim can go in and get started. It's clear the other rooms are a parents' room, guest rooms, etc.
This one seems like a young guy's and has a closet of clothes that'd fit his frame.
"Okay, get dressed. Fast." He rattles off the best way to do it. "Keep it as plain as possible. Solid colors wherever you can, plain jeans, or cargoes. Layers in case we have to be out in the cold. No logos, no print screen tees, no band shirts. Try to keep it unmemorable to someone giving a description. They're more likely to get plain colors wrong and distinct designs right. Then grab a plain bag or backpack, an alternate outfit to change into later in case they catch us on camera near here, and pack some basics like underwear and socks."
He shakes his head.
"I don't think we should waste time on hair dye here. We'll grab some if it's in your cabinets to take with us, but if we dye our hair, it should be at a location they're not going to eventually link you to, like a motel. But if you have plain hats - beanies, baseball caps - that'd be good for now. See if you can grab one for me, too. Glasses, sunglasses, or a parent's reading glasses that don't screw too hard with your vision would be good, if there's any around. Then we'll worry about supplies."
He goes into Tim's parent's room across the hall, calling over to him.
"I don't think I can fit in your clothes but I see your dad has some stuff that might fit me. So I'm gonna raid your parents' closet or maybe steal from one of your neighbors."
There's a pause from the other room.
"And you'll get answers, when we have time. To everything. You deserve that much. If they already want you dead as a witness as is, there's no point in hiding anything confidential. Either they'll kill us, or I'll somehow fully expose or blow the whistle on the project to the public somehow, there really isn't an in-between."
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He changes quickly. Clean underwear, then under armour tights for warmth. Jeans - there’s an entire troop of options, but Tim finds 501s. The ultimate nondescript pants, because everyone alive sees them everyday. Tank top, black t-shirt, navy henley. Gray hoodie. Canada goose coat - no, too nice. There’s plain black varsity jacket with black-and-white striped cuffs that won’t be as hard to move in. It has some quilting so he shouldn’t get cold.
Tim proves a speedy rummager. When he finds a navy backpack, good quality but not eye catching, Tim already knows where each type of clothing is. Almost no time to get few extra pairs of underwear and socks into it, another pair of 501s, couple extra shirts and that pretty much maxes out the bag. He doesn’t want to overfill it. Plump backpacks stick our, literally and figuratively.
A hanging organizer has accessories. A pair of gloves is split between two rogues in tan and black, and a grey toque goes in . He finds exactly two plain trucker caps, red and blue, buried underneath scarves, and puts the red one on automatically. A pair of black-rimmed glasses with non-prescription lens “for style” go on his face. As a final thought, he puts on a plain black belt.
“Hey. Check the small drawers and any trinket boxes for cash.” Tim is methodically doing that as he calls the instruction to Guardian. He pockets two twenties and and a Swiss Army knife.
New plan. He grabs his disgarded clothes and gets on the floor, sliding under the bed and cutting a six inch in the box spring. Shoves the clothes inside. (They would look in the hamper.)
He heads down the hall, tossing the blue cap to Guardian. “There’s a slit in the underside of my box spring that I hid my clothes in. They’ll already know about the house, no point in ditching the clothes in another location. I’m going to check the fridge for ice cream containers and plastic lettuce.”
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But it appears that only his comm did.
He even manages the packing of food and supplies. He keeps it relatively light. Tim's right that a bulky bag sticks out. Two mostly filled bookbags easily registers as "college kids" though.
He puts the baseball cap on his head.
"Okay, I went through your kitchen and gathered up some stuff, and some cash your parents had hidden in a toolbox. I also have cash of my own. A few grand. We bribed a criminal contact for info on Mutagenia and then just...recovered the money. I think this is the best we can do."
He looks down at himself.
"Do I look...normal? I, uh, don't really get out much."
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He gives Guardian a once-over. The clothes are okay. Plain, but that was the idea. They fit well enough to not noticeably baggy or tight where they aren’t meant to be so.
(But um. Kinda no hiding how broad those shoulders and chest are.)
(He should not be looking at his dad’s clothes this way.)
Clearing his throat, Tim shakes his head and explains the logic of clothes. “You need to untuck your shirts if you’re going to layer flannel. It’s the difference between looking like a middle-aged exec on his day off or like a young, hot guy going somewhere cool. People will still look at you, but you don’t want them wondering why you’re incongruously nerdy. They’ll look more. At least do a French tuck.”
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[He looks confused but untucks his shirt.]
Do the French tuck their shirts different?
[He has quite a bit of programmed knowledge, including a little bit of the first Guardian's residual memories of pop culture. But the OG Jim Harper wasn't big on fashion, the techs at the Cadmus Project hadn't prioritized the knowledge when creating him, and Walpert has made sure he's been somewhat isolated in the FREAK Force. Even in his time off, he usually goes around base in fatigue pants and tucked-in t-shirt.]
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[ He’s not aware where the term came from - French fries aren’t necessarily French, and he’s sure that neither the kids or tuck started in France.
Tim tucks the front of his shirt in, loosely and incompletely. ]
Like this. And then you’re clear to go out more often.
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I think I'll just leave it out.
[He nods, satisfied. Yes, he is now performing the part of Normal Guy.]
Okay, you ready? We don't have much time left.
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I don't-
I don't...have...one? Everyone that doesn't call me Guardian just calls me Thirteen.
[Which is really more of a code name.]
[(Very very not normal.)]
You can just...make one up for me.
[He can probably pick something that sounds very normal.]
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