Sentinels of Tiras

THREE YEARS AGO

In the upper reaches of the exosphere where atmosphere ended and gave way to space, there existed only darkness. Hours moved on, and a thin line of light crested the horizon as the star known as Solus threatened to burn away that peaceful night's curtain. The band of light grew and grew before bursting forth as the star fully emerged, igniting the edge of the planet below. More time passed, Tiras rotated on its axis and Solus moved further and further into the sky, bringing light where darkness once reigned. Far below, the clouds churned—and further still, the people began their day, though some rose slower than others.

All alone on that roiling canvas drifted an object of unknown origin. It moved in geosynchronous orbit, kept in place by the gravitational pull of the planet far below. It had remained there, undetected and unbothered by the Tirans for over a decade. The object was small, and the people were primitive by galactic standards, so it was not entirely the fault of humanity. In another fifty years, the world's scientists would have located, retrieved, and studied it with great interest. For now, the object remained undisturbed.

The object was ovoid in shape, only a few feet larger than the average human. Two viewing windows were perched near the top at eye level. Thick tendrils of metallic tentacles extended fifty feet in all directions. There, they took measurements, observing the planet below, tracking the passage of time as they fed information back to the object.

Upon discovery, it was named (Unknown Orbital Object) UOO-1379-2. This was because one thousand three hundred and seventy-eight previously unknown objects had already been catalogued in the upper atmosphere. Those objects, however, were much larger, and more easily spotted with the humans' primitive telescopes. The '2' at the end simply indicated that this object was of a new category as opposed to all previous discoveries—it contained a lifeform.

UOO-1379-2 continued its trajectory without interruption for another day. Its orbit kept it above one of the largest land masses on the planet, a relatively young country called the United Freedom Republic. Solus set once more, again plunging UOO-1379-2 into complete darkness as had happened with regularity for the last three thousand, six hundred and fifty-eight days.

As the three thousand, six hundred and fifty-ninth day dawned, something unusual occurred for the very first time. A micrometeoroid had broken from a larger meteor that had been patrolling the local solar system since its formation. That tiny rock collided with UOO-1379-2. This would not normally be a problem, having happened many times before to no effect. This time, however, despite only weighing three grams, the micrometeoroid traveled at exactly twenty-two thousand, five hundred and seventy-nine miles per hour, enough to cause an energy flash from the force of the hypervelocity impact.

UOO-1379-2 sustained enough damage to disrupt its orbit, causing it to spiral into a downward trajectory. This would have forced it from orbit and into a crash landing without immediate action. The pod hummed to life, the two viewing windows illuminated with a soft, blue glow. The sensors detected the impact and declining altitude and were already taking preventative actions.

A screen inside flickered, and text began to flit across the display.

> Lifepod damage: critical...

> Memory subroutines: incomplete

> Orbital decay imminent...

> Firing auxiliary thrusters...

The lifepod's thrusters flared, attempting to bring the pod back into stable orbit. It was far too late, though. UOO-1379-2 sustained too much damage, and the thrusters had not fired quickly enough. As it descended, rapidly picking up speed, the pod began to compress the air in front of it, superheating its hull into a burst of light visible to any nearby locals. Luckily for UOO-1379-2, it was falling into a relatively secluded area of the planet where not many would see it. Unluckily, now that it was entering the Tiran atmosphere, it had been detected by a human agency that would take decisive action.

In one last desperate bid to preserve the life of the individual inside, UOO-1379-2 fired its larger thrusters in an attempt to slow its descent. This had the desired effect, and as the pod entered the lower atmosphere, the glowing surface of the hull cooled. Moments later, the lifepod impacted Tiras's surface, scattering dirt and debris in all directions. The landing sounded like a bomb going off to any residents of the planet within fifty miles. No civilians came to investigate, though, as the site was deep in the forests.

The metallic tendrils were scattered around the impact site, still attached to the lifepod. They sprang to life, sampling the oxygen rich air and determining if the environment would be safe for the lifeform inside. Once the lifepod's systems had finished, the tendrils retracted back into their containment bays, their job accomplished.

The screen flickered to life once more:

~~~initializing~~~

> Atmosphere Composition:

>> 78% nitrogen

>> 21% oxygen

>> .97% trace gasses

>> .03% carbon dioxide

> Lifeseed safe to disembark

> Routines satisfied:

> Musculoskeletal growth: complete

> Cellular Maturation: complete

> Essence implant: ...partial

> Memory implant:

>> ~~ ...!!

>> ~~ ...!!

>> incomplete........

> Pod procedure failure...

The door of the lifepod hissed as the cover opened and swung forward. It disconnected from the pod and crashed to the dirt, kicking up dust. Twenty local minutes had passed since the pod landed, but the lifeform inside remained unconscious. Slowly, his eyes opened, questing about as he took in the surrounding scenery.

As the lifeform clambered from the pod, he moved into the dim light of the rising sun. He was almost an exact replica of a human, though an exemplary one. The lifepod had been filled with breathable liquid that now poured out across the ground, cascading away in a wave that washed away the plants and any remaining sticks and small rocks. As he staggered away from the pod, he tried to remember who he was, where he was, and why he was there.

    "H-hello?" he asked, trying out his vocal cords for the first time. "Is anyone out there?"

The forest did not respond.

He looked down at himself and noticed he was wearing a skintight white outfit that covered his entire body, leaving only his hands and head exposed. His hair was long, brown, and streaked with white, as if the color hadn't finished filling in yet. He felt it in his fingers; it was easy to move and manipulate. He brushed it out of his face, still taking in his surroundings.

An odd four-legged animal glanced at him from the edge of a copse of trees some distance from his position. Its tail flicked up and down, then its nose moved, as if it was taking in his scent. "Can you help me?" he asked aloud. The feel and sound of his voice confused him.

The animal started and bounded away into the trees, lost to sight almost immediately. The creature had been nearly fifty feet off, but he could still see it as if it were standing right next to him. As he wondered how that was possible, he then wondered how he had any sense of distance at all.

"Hey, pal!" someone called from above.

The alien's eyes turned, watching as a trio of figures descended, all three clad in mostly matching blue-and-white uniforms. He shook his head, stumbling as they landed. The group remained cautious but the one in the middle called out, "Easy there, buddy. My name is Copper Champion! I'm a cop, so you can trust me, okay?" the man said, holding his hands up. Wide copper-tinged gauntlets encased both forearms and wrists, leaving only his hands and upper arms visible.

The alien looked at them—he was confused, disoriented. How could he understand their language? He had never been here before. He felt his eyes begin to burn against his will, glowing white-hot.

"Hold up, don't try and attack now, we're here to help!" Copper Champion waved his hands about slowly, as if to ward off a foul smell. "What's your name?"

    "Adam," the alien said, the words punctuated by two beams of plasma exploding from his eyes. The trio was engulfed in the blast and Adam began to panic, suspecting he'd accidentally killed three innocent people who were simply attempting to help him. But as the fire and smoke cleared, he saw a latticework of blue crystals had sprung into place, surrounding them in a sort of protective barrier. Once the threat had passed, the crystals broke apart and fell away, splintering into smaller pieces before collapsing into dust. Adam saw the man on the right relax, the skin all over his body now covered in glittering blue crystals. The crystals retracted and he held his hands up, too.

"My name is Lattice," the crystalline man said. "Come with us, we can help you."

    "Help...me..." Adam groaned.

But Copper Champion was through playing nice. He raised his gauntlets, which began to flare with some sort of light-based energy.

Adam reacted instinctively, his body moving before his mind could even consider what he was doing. He moved from a standing position faster than the human eye could follow—his fist slammed into Copper Champion, knocking him into the ground, creating an impact crater where he landed. Adam blurred into motion, this time closing his hand around Copper Champion's neck, lifting him off the ground.

The one called Lattice rushed forward to help, but Adam knocked him away like a flea. The other one, this one a woman with purple hair and tattoos on her arm, opened her mouth and let out an ear shattering scream. Adam gasped in surprised pain and dropped Copper Champion, who collapsed and began thrashing around, trying to regain the ability to breathe. "You...psycho," he managed.

    "Sirensong, hit him again," Lattice shouted as he ran forward to attack.

The purple-haired woman screamed again, this time with enough force to throw Adam backwards, directly into Lattice's path. He brought his arms up and a wall of crystals sprang into being, smashing into Adam and sending him tumbling head over heels until he came to rest thirty feet away from where Sirensong had blasted him.

"Do you think we've got him?" Sirensong asked, panting now.

"I think so," Lattice replied.

Adam stood, his eyes once again glowing white.

"We did not get him," Lattice said as the pair ran in two directions, clearly trying to split his focus.

Before he could fire, the sound of a droning engine filled the air and Adam looked to see what was approaching. It was some sort of small plane or ship, with engines on either side intended to keep it aloft. They whined like an insect as the aircraft came closer and closer, the droning growing louder. It was followed by a second and third identical vehicle.

"Stand down, alien lifeform!" a voice boomed from the lead aircraft. "This is Majestic, you are ordered to stand down on authority of the United Freedom Republic. If you do not comply, we will use deadly force!"

As he looked, the other two aircraft dropped lower, allowing men wearing some kind of technological suits to descend, slowing their fall with backpacks that contained a thrusting mechanism. The soldiers landed and trained their weapons on him, moving to surround him in a tight circle.

"We don't want to hurt you," a man called out from behind the circle of soldiers. Adam shielded his eyes from the spotlights which now blinded him. The wind whipped, blowing grass and debris around in the air. "I'm Director Robinson," the man said. As he drew closer, Adam saw a man wearing a black suit and dark glasses despite there being ample cover from the sun offered by the surrounding trees.

"Help me," Adam said, echoing his words from earlier.

"We want to help you, son," Director Robinson said, not unkindly. He held out his hand and started to move forward. "Come with us, we'll take good care of you."

As Adam drew close, extending his own hand in kind, the soldiers opened fire. Adam grunted in pain as the energy blasts slammed into his body. The skintight suit he wore served to protect him from the worst of it, but he could still feel his body weakening. His vision darkened.

"Stand down!" Director Robinson shouted. No one was listening. Adam let out one last gasp and then collapsed to the dirt. "I said only shoot him if he attacks," Director Robinson bellowed. "What was that?"

"Sorry, sir," one of the soldiers said. "Looked like he was reaching for something."

"Reaching for—he's wearing a skintight body suit, you moron," Director Robinson snapped. "Great Rebirth, just put him in the Hornet and get us out of here before we have to wipe half this town's minds. Fuckin' Rebirth."

"Did I do a good job, sir?" Copper Champion asked sheepishly, wringing his hands.

"Shut up," Director Robinson said. "I'm not your dad."

Sirensong snorted, then when Copper Champion glared at her, she managed to turn it into a hacking cough. "Let's just go," Copper Champion said glumly as the soldiers gathered Adam and carried him back to the aircraft.

The chatter of the crowds carried for miles—young and old alike intermingling, laughing, and playing festival games around the city square. Some among them simply milled about taking in the sights. Helium balloons fluttered in the soft summer breeze, moving to and fro as each gust tousled their strings. The distinct scent of fried foods, grilled meats and cotton candy drifted on the breeze, carried higher and further across the city, causing even the people outside the celebration to turn and take notice.

Caisteal City was an eastern coastal metropolis sprawling across four boroughs, each serving a vastly different purpose. Bogha, being the largest, hosted the festival each year. It was a global center of finance, culture, and technology—much like the Scotian city of Alba had been nearly two hundred years earlier.

Overmark hung in the lower exosphere as aethereal energy buzzed around him, lost in his comfort zone when he didn't know what else to do. The air was thin up here, but he didn't need to breathe very often anyway. He was just so fucking tired of it all. His long white cape fluttered behind him, disturbed not by the wind but by his own subtle movements as he hung suspended on the edge of the atmosphere. Something about being up and away from everything gave him a comfort he didn't—or couldn't—find anywhere else. Perhaps it was because this was where he'd been "born."

A voice shook him from his ruminations "Hey! Overmark!"

The air was thin, but it wasn't completely absent, of course.

Overmark turned to see Copper Champion flying towards him, clearly struggling with the thin atmosphere at this altitude. He was surprised there were no ice crystals forming on his suit.

"What is it?" Overmark asked, glancing over at the newcomer with mild irritation. "Can't you see I'm trying to be alone?"

"Sorry, I—" Copper said, stopping short. "I can go."

"Good, do that," Overmark said firmly, closing his eyes, trying to return himself to his happy place.

"It's just that..." Copper started.

"To the blazes with it," Overmark said, rolling his eyes deliberately this time just to emphasize his displeasure. "What do you want, Copper?"

Copper Champion was clearly having trouble breathing, his face turning blue as he tried to gasp for breath. "It's just," he managed, "going to be starting soon. Brittany's been looking for you, she's wondering where you are." He stopped to gasp again. "Are you coming down now? I told her I'd let her know."

Overmark slowly, carefully drifted over to Copper Champion, who was then trying—and failing—to cover up his struggles against the thinning air. He moved intentionally, drawing out the time it took for him to arrive at Copper's side so they could speak. "I'll come down when I'm damn good and ready to, you tell her that. Got it?"

Copper gasped and then nodded.

"You may go," Overmark said with a dismissive nod.

Copper turned to leave. Once he'd flown some distance away, Overmark called out for him. His lips were turning blue, but he'd already changed course and flew back, struggling now. When he got near, he waited for Overmark to speak.

    "What?" Overmark asked. He offered his best, innocent smile.

Copper turned and flew off at full speed back down into the lower atmosphere. Overmark's sharp hearing allowed him to listen in as the wannabe cop took a gasping breath. Before long, he'd vanished from near-sight. Overmark could have followed his path with his enhanced vision if he so wished, of course, but he chose to close his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun as it beat down on him without any pesky clouds to get in the way.

Just as he was starting to feel relaxed, his ears picked up the sound of his own name being chanted louder and louder from far below in Caisteal City. Overmark let out a long sigh, the air frosting as it left his lips. He supposed he couldn't delay any longer—he pointed his head in the direction of the city and opened his eyes. As he gathered his strength, his chest began to glow white-hot, as though a fire burned within. Moments later, the energy exploded, and he shot forward like a rocket ship, faster than the eye could follow.

As he broke into the lower atmosphere, the clouds rushed past him. He pushed through them with a spin, feeling the slightest bit of joy in being free of everyone for even a moment. As the city seemed to rise to meet him, he saw the banners stretched across the sky, pulled along by the floating dirigibles—"Overmark Day" they read in bright lettering.

The celebration was entirely for him. Every year, on the fourteenth of Holly Moon, they held the festival in downtown Bogha, and every year, Overmark found himself less and less enthused at the prospect of spending hours of his life pretending to smile at the people who threw themselves at him. Every now and then a woman he could sleep with would turn up, but most of the time it was young children or old people, a demographic he had no interest in whatsoever.

Overmark sighed again as he drew closer. There was a massive stage, decorated with the same 'O' logo that adorned his chest armor. "Overmark! Overmark! Overmark!" the crowd chanted, getting louder as he drew nearer to them. He landed heavily, dropped into a crouched position with his fist on the floor. He watched as the people clapped and cheered for him. The stage buckled under the impact, cracking and splintering. That would be a mess for someone else to clean up, anyway.

A woman whose name Overmark didn't know was positioned center stage, microphone in hand. "Perfect timing, as always!" she said loudly. "Everyone give a huge Caisteal City welcome to the one and only Overmark!"

The crowd erupted into an ever louder raucous. Overmark raised his hands into the air, his long white cape flaring in the light wind as he stood. "Thanks, everyone! Such a pleasure to be here with you today!" he called, gesturing broadly. "Everyone knows Caisteal City is my home, where my heart will always be. You all really are the best people a guy could ever ask for!"

Overmark continued his speech—the same he'd given last year since the city had such a short memory—as several other costumed celebrities began making their way through the crowd to join him on stage. At the front of the line was Scott Speed, known to the people as Double-Time, clad in his skintight blue-and-white Sentinels uniform, sporting a pair of Tiger brand sneakers. They had been touted as the only shoes capable of withstanding the friction caused by a speedster, a product the man put to the test every day. As Double-Time was mobbed by women of all ages, he gave his trademark smile, gently pushing past as he walked to the stage. "Come on, ladies, there's plenty of me to go around! I love you all! Make sure to check out Double-Time 3: Working Hours, coming out this year!"

Just behind him followed a lanky figure with amethyst skin. His clothing was intricate yet tasteful; a long cloak that flowed as he walked, draped over the blue-and-white Sentinels uniform beneath, which protected most of his body from the harsh Tiran sunlight. His name was Geal, a being from the fourth planet of the Solus system, Caldris—known in ancient human records as Dearg. The world was split between desert wastelands on one side and an endless tundra of bitter cold on the other. Geal came from the frozen half, hence his need for colder climate and his inability to weather the hottest summers.

"Scott, are you ready to move along?" the alien asked, mastering his patience as he waited behind Double-Time. His tall twin face stalks twitched involuntarily.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," Double-Time said. "I gotta go, ladies!" He continued in his attempt to extricate himself, smiling broadly, clearly enjoying the attention. "It's Double-Time!" he exclaimed, his signature catchphrase from every film he'd ever made. The crowd went ballistic as Geal dragged him away.

Copper Champion came up behind them, fighting the urge to shove them both forward. "Will you ladies move?" he snarled. "Had enough of this shit."

"Calm down," Lattice intervened. His dark skin glistened with sweat from the beating summer sun, his blue Sentinels uniform form-fitting, as always.

"Fuck you, Lettuce," Copper said, not even turning, knowing that would get under his skin.

"You know it's Lattice, unless your skull is too thick to—"

"Enough, lads," Sirensong interjected, taking Lattice's arm and trying her best to lead him away from the brewing confrontation. "Let's just get this over with so we can all sod off home for the day, aye?"

"Speak for yourself," Copper snorted. "Unlike you, some of us have real work to do."

"And what work do you have to do?" Lattice asked.

"I'm on overwatch, okay? I have to keep my head on a swivel at all times, make sure to assess any and all possible threats to Tiran safety. That's my job. I was chosen for it, not that you'd know anything about that."

"If you find a threat, do you let Overmark handle it for you?" Lattice asked in a sickeningly sweet tone.

"I swear to—" Copper began.

    "Enough!" Geal hissed. He used his surprising strength to shove Copper Champion ahead of him, putting himself between Lattice and Copper. "You two will soon find yourselves answering to Johnson."

"It's Director Robinson right now," Sirensong said.

"Robinson was killed last week," Lattice reminded her. "Again," he added. "That's the fourth or fifth time Robinson has died."

"Blighting Rebirth," Copper said, stomping away.

As the group climbed the stairs and spread out across the stage, Overmark smiled genially, glad for a reason to cut his canned speech short. "Here is my team, the backbone of this country! Every single day we fight for you, Caisteal City, and the rest of the United Freedom Republic! We may be the ones with powers, but the citizens are my heroes!" Overmark said to thunderous applause.

"Where's Umbra?" Lattice whispered. He jumped as a figure slipped from the shadows beside him. "Fuck! You scared me, man," he said, retracting the crystals that had sprung from his arms before he could stop them. "I could have killed you!"

    "Doubtful," Umbra said, his voice wavering, otherworldly.

"And here's Umbra now!" the woman said to more cheers. "Let's give it up for our guardians, The Sentinels! They'll be back in a quickie for autographs and to take some pictures!"

"We love you Overmark!" someone screamed from the increasingly fevered audience. As they began chanting "Overmark! Overmark!" the Sentinels were led away from the stage and into the backstage area, out of sight of the frenzied crowd. A spread of light snacks and refreshments stood nearby, untouched until Double-Time got close to them.

"What was that out there?" Copper snapped, shoving Lattice roughly.

"If you two don't settle down," Overmark said, rubbing his temples with disdain. "I'll throw you both into the sun, got it?"

"There's someone here to see you?" a timid young woman said, her headset lopsided as she poked her head into the tented backstage area.

Overmark slumped down in his seat like a child yielding to parental demand. "Fine, who is it?"

"Brittany Baker," the assistant, whose name Overmark hadn't bothered to learn, said quietly.

"Send her in. The rest of you fuck off," Overmark said.

Double-Time made a grab for one last snack before they all departed. Umbra melted into the shadows and vanished, sliding between layers of reality, unwilling to step into the sunlight.

"What in Rebirth was that?" Brittany snapped as she came into the tent. "You were twenty minutes late for your own celebration!" She stabbed a pen toward him angrily. "Who does that? You know I'm assigned to cover you until the end of time, are you trying to annoy me?"

Overmark stood and began stomping around the room. "Stop nagging me. You won't even let me put it in your a—"

"Shut the blazes up, Overmark," Brittany spat his Sentinel codename with the absolute venom he deserved. "You may act like a tough guy with me, but you and I both know you're just an overgrown manchild with the powers of a god. That's why we broke up, and that's why this will never work. You and I are done, Adam, get that through your leaden skull. Just because I'm forced to report on you, doesn't mean there will ever be anything else. Got it?"

Overmark plopped back into his chair and stared at the floor. "Why are you being so mean to me?"

"For fuck's sake." Brittany clicked her pen onto her forehead several times in rapid succession. "Grow up, Adam! And quickly!" Her camera strap was the only thing that prevented her from throwing it at him before she stalked out of the room—that and how much it had cost, more than an entire month's rent.

    "Must be her time of the month," Overmark muttered to himself.

THREE YEARS AGO

The sharp pounding in his skull was the first thing Adam noticed as he slowly returned to consciousness. His memory was fuzzy and he found it difficult to concentrate on the present. He couldn't remember where he'd been or why his head hurt so much, but as his sight cleared, he found his entire field of vision obscured by a blank metallic sheet. There were sputtering knocks as whatever contraption he was inside shifted with the motion of the acceleration and turns.

How did he know any of this? He couldn't remember where he'd been before and...he'd already thought that? The pounding in his head seemed to only be worsening, so he struggled, only to find his arms bound across his chest by a sort of metallic band fastened to each forearm. Some semblance of sense had settled in and he surmised he was lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling of some kind of transport.

"Where are you taking me?" Adam asked, his voice hoarse.

"No need to panic, mate," a comforting voice echoed nearby. He looked over to see a woman with dull purple hair seated just to his side sporting a padded blue-and-white suit that covered most of her body.  What little skin remained visible was etched with flowing, otherworldly tattoos. "Protects my vulnerable bits from the whole screamy thing," the woman said, noticing him eyeing her armor. "Name's Serena." She extended her hand towards him before realizing how foolish she looked given his tightly bound hands. "Sorry about that. They call me Sirensong."

"No names." Another voice, this one deeper, with an air of menace about him.

"He ain't even from here, love," Serena said airily. "He literally dropped from the sky, didn't he? I doubt he's ever been to Tiras before, have you, big guy?" She looked at him with kind, caring eyes. Whatever those men had done to him, Adam could tell she wasn't like them. He could feel it in the way she spoke, and the way she looked at him with clear concern for his well-being.

Adam leaned back, feeling content for the first time since he'd woken up.

"So where are you from?" Serena asked.

"Name's Jayden," the man who'd admonished her said. "Uh, Lattice," he said after a moment. "That's my codename."

"Now who's giving out names?" Serena said playfully.

"Well, I figure you're right," Jayden said thoughtfully. "Reckon he doesn't know anything about Tiras, does he? Might as well make him a friend."

"My name is Adam," the alien said, closing his eyes, trying to cast his memory back to wherever he'd come from. He still couldn't recall anything about his life before he'd crashed here, but he knew one thing for certain—wherever it was, it had to be better than this.

    "Quiet," the one called Copper Champion said brusquely. "Director Robinson, I'd like permission to interrogate the prisoner, find out where he's from and what he knows."

"He doesn't know anything," Serena said flatly.

"You don't know that," Copper said. "We need to figure out for sure why he's here and who else is coming. I'm the only one out of all of us that's been to space, technically Tiras is my beat so I gotta—"

    "Enough," Director Robinson said, not-so-subtle annoyance creeping into his tone. He struggled a moment to master his anger, then turned to Adam. "Listen, no one's going to hurt you, okay? We just need to run some tests, maybe see what you can do, and then..."

"You'll let me go?" Adam asked.

    "Well," Robinson said, looking around at his team, "then we'll talk."

"Who are you people?" Adam said after a moment. His eyes were still closed—he could feel something growing inside him. It wasn't fear, he didn't think. What was it? He shifted uncomfortably in his restraints, trussed up like a piece of meat. "How did you find me so fast?"

"Sorry, that's classified above Top Secret, way over your clearance level," Copper Champion said, not looking down at Adam. "If you start with us now you may get there in a year or two—"

"Shut it," Director Robinson said, cutting him off. "We're called Majestic, we're an organization funded by the United Freedom Republic government to protect the colonies and her citizens from extraterrestrial threats. We're in a WolfCat transport vehicle armored with two inches of steel, designed specifically to contain lifeforms like you. No offense."

"Are extraterrestrial threats common here?" Adam asked sarcastically, still struggling to contain that unfamiliar feeling deep within. "Or maybe just aliens popping down for a visit?"

Director Robinson frowned, taking notice of Adam's discomfort. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Maybe if you let me out of these restraints."

Robinson shook his head. "Not happening. Once we get back to The Vault, we'll talk some more." He exchanged glances with Serena and Jayden before continuing. "So far we've only had one off-worlder that we know of...but ever since then President Flint has ordered that we maintain oversight of the skies at all times. We caught you on radar, teleported here, and found you within a few minutes. The rest you were there for."

"I remember it well now," Adam said, battling the nearly overwhelming feelings that seemed ready to consume him.

"I feel vibrations," Serena said, placing her hands against the vehicle's wide bench seat. "Adam?" she asked.

"It's burning," Adam said, his body beginning to shake.

Robinson hammered on the transport wall. "Stop the truck!" The driver veered, pulling the WolfCat to the side of the road.

Adam's chest began to heat up, a blue-white glow emanating through his thin skintight suit. He closed his eyes, struggling to hold back the pent-up energy within.

The WolfCat slammed to a halt and Director Robinson flung the doors open, nearly tripping in his haste. Majestic agents behind and in front of the vehicle exited their own transports, drawing handheld firearms that hummed with blue energy as the varied group activated their weapons.

"What are we dealing with, sir?" one of the agents asked. He looked remarkably similar to Robinson, though his skin was a lighter tone, and he was a touch slimmer in frame.

"Omega level threat," Robinson said, facing the WolfCat. "Let the Sentinels handle it."

Inside the transport vehicle, Adam turned to face Sirensong, his eyes now illuminated with the same blue-white glow that had erupted from his chest.

"What's happening to you?" Lattice asked.

"Let us help you, mate," Sirensong cooed.

"Just run," Adam coughed. His eyes were fully engulfed by a near blinding light then, and he screamed with rage from the effort of being held against his will.

"Both of you, go!" Copper Champion screamed. "He'll kill you, you don't stand a chance against him!"

"And you do?" Sirensong asked, readying herself for the fight to come.

"We're about to find out," Copper said breathlessly.

Adam let out another primal scream and ripped his arms free of the restraints, crumpling the metal as though it were tissue paper. In that state, his mind raced through a thousand thoughts a second, calculating the best move for every possible outcome. He turned to the closest target and smiled.

"I see only ants," he said coldly.

Copper Champion gasped as Adam raced forward faster than his eyes could follow, slamming into him with incredible force. Copper let out a grunt of pain as he felt himself dragged from the WolfCat, pulled by his neck out into the open air. He struggled to activate the armbands that controlled his aetherlight projections, but it was no use—Adam moved like a man possessed with the strength of the ancient Titan Trodach. He bellowed like a caged animal and hurled Copper Champion as if he weighed absolutely nothing.

Copper activated his armbands to summon his aetherlight shields and protect his body, but he was far too late. He slammed into a building, blasting through two interior walls before crashing through the second outer wall and into the city below, his limp body carving a path of cracked pavement into the street.

"Who's next?" Adam asked, landing in front of the group of Majestic agents and the remaining pair of Sentinels.

Director Robinson subtly tapped a button on his watch, hoping back-up would have enough time to arrive.

"I said...who's next?" Adam bellowed. "This puny planet stands no chance against the might of the OVERMARK!"

Director Robinson turned to the collected Majestic agents. "Fire."

They complied immediately, opening up on the threat with little hesitation. Lattice and Sirensong dodged out of the way, attempting to get clear of the blasts.

Adam grunted as the first salvo of energy slammed into him—but he did not yield. Citizens of Caisteal City, having noticed what was happening, began to scream and flee in terror. Some, foolishly, stopped to watch, mesmerized by the scene before them despite the immediate and grave danger to their lives. One pulled out his wirephone and started recording.

Adam was on his knees by the time the aether weapons stopped firing. His suit was smoking, but seemingly undamaged. "My turn," he said, rising to his full height. His eyes burned white and exploded, twin beams of plasma lancing out, nearly igniting the air around them. The Majestic agents had little time to scream before they exploded into a cloud of atoms at the speed of light. The rest broke ranks and ran for their lives, panicked at the sight of the monstrosity murdering their fellow agents.

Adam's eyes extinguished and he breathed hard, still feeling the flaring energy in his chest. He couldn't see any sign of Director Robinson—the man had probably been incinerated with the rest of his team. Adam smiled. "Good," he said softly.

An ear shattering scream crashed forth from behind him, Sirensong's tattoos glowing as she released her pent-up energy. Adam heard it before the shockwave rolled over him, but even at his speed, he wasn't fast enough to react before being blasted off his feet. He shot into the air, slamming into the building behind him, ricocheting off of the exterior wall before crashing into the sidewalk below, leaving a man-shaped dent in the asphalt.

"You think I got him?" Sirensong asked.

"You hit him, for sure." Lattice pointed at his prone form. "Will he stay down, though?"

Adam rose and looked at them, a burning fury in his eyes.

"I'm going to say no on that one," Lattice said.

"Weak Tirans!" Adam screamed in rage. "You believe you can stand against the might of Overmark, too?"

"What in blazes is an Overmark?" Sirensong asked.

"No idea," Lattice replied as they ran for cover.

Adam's eyes began to ignite once again. "I think I broke your puppet master!" he shouted. "Next come the puppets."

"Enough of this!"

Adam turned to see a newcomer with amethyst skin and robes that fluttered in the wind. "A Caldrian? On Tiras?" Adam asked. "Interesting." He began to advance on the lanky figure, his pulse racing at the thought of battle with this greater foe.

"My name is Geal. I can assure you that you do not wish to engage in combat with me."

"Is that so?" Adam asked, grinning from ear to ear, the thrill of battle pulsing through his heart. In his case, literally, as his chest once again glowed white-hot.

"It is." Geal spread his arms wide, inviting no conflict. "If you simply surrender, there will be no further violence. If you do not, you will regret it." He let the threat hang in the air.

Adam broadened his smile, then raced forward, tearing up a chunk of sidewalk as he did so. He drew back his fist and brought it forward to slam it into that smug nitwit's face—but then it was gone. In a burst of plasmatic energy, the Caldrian had vanished. Overmark twisted in mid-air, attempting to halt his attack and redirect it to where he suspected the alien would reappear, but Geal was too fast, even for him.

"I warned you," Geal said softly.

Adam screamed as the Caldrian touched him. Every drop of energy drained from his body in the blink of an eye. He collapsed to the ground, the blue-white burning in his chest flaring briefly before fading entirely.

Sirensong and Lattice peeked out from behind the blue crystal formation he'd thrown up in a desperate attempt to stop Adam from beating both of them to a bloody pulp.

"Are you both quite alright?" Geal asked, extending a hand in their direction.

Her worst fears had come true—The Tiran League was now a reality. Sometimes she wondered if her boss simply disliked her or if he truly despised her outright. While most people the world over would be celebrating this, it also meant widespread and unilateral cooperation between formerly disparate governments and a unified law enforcement agency born from the centuries-old Ruckers International Constabulary—an organization that could now operate beyond the bounds of any individual nation. The politicians called it a huge step in the direction of "peace for all."

Brit snorted. She'd heard all this bloviating before, and it had never come to fruition. Why should today be any different? Their first order of business had been to officially change the planet's name from Avalon—outdated, they said, and too closely tied to the legends of the past—to Tiras, a name meant to reflect the world as it now was. Whatever that meant. The only meaningful alteration to her life would be the increased presence of unwanted politicians in the city, blowhard pundits looking to make a name for themselves, and him. Why, for the love of Rebirth, did it always have to be him?

The Tiran League was the beginning of what she knew to be the end of any semblance of peace and quiet and the emergence of endless talk, talk, talk. All of it for nothing, going nowhere, amounting to a load of spittle and empty promises. They'd voted for the league, yet she and every other woman in the UFR hadn't had a say in the matter one way or the other. She had no patience for it, and not for the first time this morning considered throwing herself in front of a speeding motorcar just to add some variety to her day.

She shook her head as she left her apartment, trying to clear the unwelcome thoughts away. The door hissed shut behind her, locking automatically as she departed. She slung her bag over her shoulder, pulling her hat low to try to hide her identity as she exited onto the main road outside her building.

Alas, it was a crowded affair, as always. Motorcars buzzed noisily up and down the streets, their engines roaring loud enough to be heard from blocks away. Brit felt a breeze catch her pleated knee length skirt, nearly blowing it to an immodest length for a public appearance. She kept one hand on her hat and the other on her garment, attempting to keep it from showing her unmentionables.

    "Brit!" someone called out. "Brittany Baker!"

The wind had caught her hair now, pulling her hat from her head and blowing it away. She gasped, trying to reach for it, but it was too far gone. There was a burst of fire and Double-Time was in front of her, flashing his perfectly white movie star smile. "Careful, Brit, I might not be here next time." He passed the hat back and vanished in another gust of fiery aether energy.

"Brittany Baker!" the voice called again.

Brit was tucking her long, red hair back, feeling her bangs fluttering about on her forehead. "Not today, nothing for today!" she called as a motorbus went rumbling by. Her motorbus. "Shit," she snarled.

“Miss Baker!” The interminable man had finally caught up with her, still catching his breath as he crossed in front of her, blocking her from crossing the street. "Brittany, any comment for the Caisteal Times?"

"Leave me alone, Gordon," Brit said in a tired tone. She was already well familiar with Gordon Prewitt, one of the Times's premiere reporters. "I have nothing to say about my relationship with Overmark, you know this, as I've reaffirmed it to you approximately twelve thousand times. Move along."

"No, no," Gordon said, doubled over but recovering. "Any comment on The Tiran League?"

Brit's mind began to race. What possible reason could the Caisteal Times have for inquiring her about such a monumental event? She was a nobody, barely even a reporter at the Public Radio Network, her longtime employer. She hosted the 9pm to midnight timeslot, meaning hardly anyone listened to her show or cared what she thought about much of anything. They always wanted to know about him.

"Well, that is a breath of fresh air," Brit said, feeling some sense of happiness return to her otherwise dreary morning doldrums. "Perhaps you can join me on the bus, and I'll tell you exactly what I think."

As if on cue, the next motorbus pulled up to the stop. She politely waved off the newsie insistently offering her a morning broadsheet as she stepped off the curb and into the double-decker transport. The driver barely gave her a moment's notice as she tapped her chip, the reader deducting the paltry amount from her account.

"Hey, you gotta pay, too, if you're gonna ride," the driver said as Gordon tried to dodge past.

"I'm only here to talk to the broad," Gordon protested, pointing at Brit's receding back.

"Pay or get off," the driver said firmly.

Gordon rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the minuscule fee charged for public transport in Caisteal City would be a burden to his bank account. "You got some nerve, mister, I oughta—"

"Just pay the fellow," Brit said from her seat, giving him a sarcastic grin.

    "Fine," Gordon said, tapping his own chip with reluctance. Finally, the driver nodded and disengaged the brakes. The motorbus lurched into motion and took off towards the heart of the city.

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" Gordon said, sitting down beside Brit.

"I know I am," Brit said. "Now, about The Tiran League, you want to know my opinion on it? I'm flattered, but I'm a bit confused why anyone cares what I think, Gordon."

"Oh, they don't!" Gordon said suddenly.

Brit turned a stern eye on him, frowning. "What?"

"I mean," he said, stammering over his words, "no one asked me to come to you. I just wanted to, see? It was my idea. I came here on my own."

Brit's eyes narrowed. "If you ask about—"

"I just wanted to see how this development would change the way you feel about Overmark!" Gordon said, almost blurting it out. "He's been nominated as Ambassador to The Tiran League, as the first known offworlder living on Tiras, it's a position of major honor and prestige, you know?"

"I certainly am aware." Brit was looking out the window now, considering how hard it would be to shove Gordon through it. She watched as workers at a construction site across the road instructed a pair of androids to perform the heavy lifting. The machines were not entirely sentient, but they could understand complex commands and perform them with precision.

Brit recalled when her apartment building had been constructed—she used to come down nearly every morning before work to watch, knowing one of the units would be hers. Her job was relatively low paying compared to most in Caisteal City, but her celebrity status as Overmark's fiancée had once afforded her quite a luxurious interview circuit with many of the popular broadsheets and outlets looking to pay her for her time. That was gone now, and she was all the better for it.

"So..." Gordon finally said after a moment's hesitation. "How does it make you feel?"

"How would you feel if your face impacted the road outside?" Brit snapped. She tugged the cord to signal her desire to exit, and the driver pulled over at the earliest opportunity. The motorbus sank down and Brit stepped off, leaving Gordon behind in the hustle and bustle of the crowd. She fought back her anger, trying not to let him get the better of her. He was only doing his job, after all. Chasing the story as they say. She just wished that, for once, she wasn't the story everyone was chasing.

Brit looked up at the towering façade of the newly-constructed Tiran League headquarters as her second motorbus of the day rolled to a stop, allowing those on board to depart in a mostly orderly fashion. As she stepped onto the curb, the sound of a thunderclap boomed overhead, a familiar sound if ever she'd heard one. She barely even glanced up, knowing what that sound meant. Mere moments after her foot touched the concrete, the wild screaming started as the unmistakable outline of Overmark descended. He landed on the sidewalk with an audible crunch, cracking the concrete under his feet.

Brit rolled her eyes as Overmark found himself mobbed by the adoring crowd. He smiled and waved, signing autographs as people shoved pens and paper into his face. She could tell it was all an act—she knew he hated every moment of the spotlight, all the people fawning over him. She took some pleasure in knowing how much it was eating him up inside. He had to grin and take it, like a good little—

    "Brittany!" someone from the crowd called out.

Brit tried to pull her hat down lower to shield her face, but it was too late. She was manhandled by several in the gaggle of bodies, pulling her closer, shoving her to the center, pushing her up against Overmark himself. "Get off me!" Brit protested as they mashed them together.

"Oh, come on now, don't be like that," Overmark cooed, looking at her with an expression of pure enjoyment. If he'd been fighting back his anger at having to fake his enjoyment of the crowd moments ago, that had been supplanted by the redirected attention. "Just because things didn't work out between us, doesn't mean there's any bad blood!" Overmark announced to the crowd. "Brittany and I are still best friends, isn't that right?"

"Yes, of course," Brit said, forcing a smile and nodding along. "Best friend in the world, I absolutely adore this man! He's like my gay best pal!"

Overmark shot her a look which she promptly ignored.

"Time to head inside now!" Overmark announced to a wide groan of disappointment. "Don't worry, once I'm done doing my duties as the new Ambassador for The Tiran League, I'll be out here soon as I can to answer questions and sign some autographs! Looking forward to it, folks!"

"You really enjoy pissing me off, don't you?" Brit hissed as the crowd dispersed and the pair walked into the building side-by-side. They were stopped at the front gate but immediately waved through. Overmark was one of the most recognizable faces in the entire world, and Brittany Baker was a close second. Without a moment's hesitation, they cleared every checkpoint between the entrance and the sweeping conference hall.

"It's something I'll never get tired of, honestly," Overmark said with a faux smile. He made a show of escorting her to the press section. She took her seat and watched as Overmark strode up to the waiting podium, his immaculate white cape billowing with each step.

The hall was already full, stuffed with dignitaries from foreign countries small and large, the chatter polite but still noticeable. Aides ran to and fro, fetching coffee or refilling snacks for their employers. Reporters and heliographers similarly crowded the perimeter, flashbulbs bursting as they took image after image for careful printing in the following morning's broadsheets.

Overmark passed the section of delegates, his eye catching one in particular—Queen Rialadair Ilyana Aberdeen of the small island nation of Albion from across the ocean. She was regal, as always, her entirely cybernetic form the result of her brutal murder two centuries prior. She clearly hadn't let a simple thing such as Death stop her, though she rarely spoke of the encounter even when she agreed to the odd interview. After the passing of The Great Charter nearly a century ago, she was mostly rendered a figurehead, having ceded her powers to the Prime Minister.

The Ambassador Queen looked up as he passed, nodding in polite acknowledgement of his presence. "Greetings, Overmark," Ilya said, her voice artificial but still vigorous and purposeful. Despite her artificial body, she was nearly indistinguishable from a normal human being, apart from her distinctive alabaster skin. "I trust you're well?"

"Fine, thank you," Overmark returned with a slight bow. "Minister Illum, are you doing okay?" he asked to the man on her left.

"Aye, thank you, Overmark!" the minister said jovially. "So glad you're here to set this place straight! They should let you take over as President of the UFR!"

From the press box, Brit rolled her eyes, fighting back an audible groan. She knew if there was anything Overmark hated more than giant crowds of people fawning over him, a close second was politics.

Overmark gave a forced laugh. "Perhaps one day, Minister!" he said.

"And here he is now!" the voice of the newly elected Chief Secretary of the General Assembly boomed out from the podium at the center of the room. Mounted behind the podium was a map of Tiras, framed by a great golden circle that gleamed in the artificial light from above. The Assembly Secretary smiled genially as Overmark ascended the steps and turned to take his place behind the podium, his cape flaring out as he came to a stop.

"Friends!" Overmark said, his voice amplified by the microphone before him. He held up his hands, waiting for the great hall to calm so they might fully pay attention to the weight of his words. "Thank you all for coming, and welcome to the very first General Assembly of The Tiran League!"

A thunderous roar of approving applause met his words. As usual, the people were overjoyed at his presence. He found it all so intolerably boring. Brittany simply found him intolerable.

"I am honored to serve as your Ambassador at the pleasure of our President of the great United Freedom Republic! I will be in this position for as long as I am deemed fit, and perhaps even longer! What's he going to do, remove me?" Overmark gave a laugh, which was echoed with a slightly muted enthusiasm by the crowd. "But seriously, folks, I'm looking forward to doing good work alongside all the men and women who serve on this assembly. Let us make the world proud again!"

With that, he turned and swept from the podium, leaving the Secretary of the League scrambling back into place. Once Overmark was out of sight of the crowd, he watched his publicist come hurrying up to him.

"You were late," she said. "Again! I had to—"

"You're fired," Overmark said, brushing past her without stopping.

"I'm..." she stuttered. "What?"

"You're fired!" Overmark bellowed, causing everyone around them to flinch away in fearful surprise. "The next time you admonish me like I'm a child—" He cut himself off, vaguely aware of the small crowd of dignitaries staring at him. "Get out of my sight," he snarled quietly. In the blink of an eye and a rush of powerful wind, he was gone.

TWO YEARS AND NINE MONTHS AGO

The engine roared as the motorcar wound down a nearly deserted forest road, its dense canopy blocking the sun above. The open-air cabin of most vehicles left little room for conversation, but the occupant of this one kept the roof firmly in place at all times, preferring his peace and tranquility undisturbed.

"Are you well, Mr. Secretary?" the driver asked politely, his eyes flitting to the rearview mirror. "You haven't spoken since we departed, I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting too nauseated in the back."

Secretary of War Charles Montgomery returned the look through the rearview, his eyes accentuated by the soft light of the tablet computer he'd been grimacing at for the majority of their drive. "I'm fine, Humphries, thank you for asking. It's been a rather long week, and I tire of the games the president plays with me."

"With you, specifically?" Humphries asked. "Or with the people of the UFR in general?"

Charles allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Perhaps we shall see which it is. I don't imagine he'll be re-elected again, but that remains to be determined I suppose. President Flint yanks at the chains of his position of power far too often for my liking, figuring himself above all this."

"Above all what, Mr. Secretary?"

"The plight of the people," Charles said simply, then he waved his hand dismissively, resuming his study of his tablet. A wide-brimmed hat, black gloves and dark grey neck scarf lay on the seat of the motorcar beside him, ready to be donned at a moment's notice. "I serve at his pleasure, and sometimes I wish that pleasure were not so inexhaustible."

"I'm sure you don't mean that."

"Oh, I do, Humphries. There is something he isn't telling me, and I want to know what it is." Charles switched his tablet off and stared out the window as dampened sunlight filtered through the trees. He winced as a stray sunbeam struck him, turning his face away—it never got easier, being out in the daylight, or dealing with the endless hunger. Sometimes he wondered if President Flint had only given him this position as a handout to his people based on what humans had done to his kind for centuries, perhaps thousands of years.

Records from those ancient times were spotty—as always, the winners penned the history books. Back in what humans called the Old Age, when elves and dracons were the ruling peoples, humans were treated as scum unworthy of notice and his kind, by contrast, were hated, feared, and hunted. When the Old Age ended and humans rose to power, his people went into hiding, locking themselves away from man's world.

If they believed things would get better, they were wrong. More than anything, treatment of his kind had become worse. Now, his people were rare—nearly extinct. Prejudice was intense, as were suspicion and hate. People called him a monster; said he wasn't fit to serve as Secretary of War. That he would be too...bloodthirsty.

Charles gave up the thought, for it was moving his mind in circles and he needed to focus on the task at hand. He looked back to the tablet and pulled up the report he'd received not four hours earlier—an unidentified falling object had been spotted and submitted to his people, but no one had any video footage.

Then, there had been the incident one town over three months prior. Reports of an unknown being of unmatched power, blasting plasma from its eyes and fighting The Sentinels as if they were children, stopped only once Geal intervened to subdue it. Charles found it unbelievable that there was, once again, no video evidence of the battle. Not only that, but the town showed no visible damage, as if it had somehow been scrubbed clean.

Impossible. Wasn't it?

He had come to learn that nothing was impossible for Majestic, if they did indeed exist. This was what he suspected President Flint to be hiding from him, though he couldn't prove the organization's existence any more than he could be certain of the reason for his appointment to the administration.

As the motorcar rattled to a stop, Charles gathered his belongings, donning them without a word to his driver. Humphries was a relatively new hire, and they didn't know one another well, but Secretary Montgomery found him amiable company enough. These folks never lasted, though, and Charles wouldn't be surprised if the man was rotated out of his service within the next month or two.

As he slid from the motorcar and closed the door behind him, Charles pulled his hat low, the wide brim shielding his sensitive alabaster skin from errant sunlight. His light skin was rare among his kind, and his sensitivity to sunlight even more unusual still. Both were due to genetic abnormalities caused by his condition, as far as he could tell. He knew several of his kin, and none of them had to shield themselves from UV light.

"Shall I wait here for you, Mr. Secretary?" Humphries asked. "Or should I return later?"

"Pull up the road a ways, then idle," Charles said. "I won't be long."

"Yes, sir," the driver said, releasing the brake and shifting the motorcar into gear. He sped off as instructed, vanishing from view moments later.

Charles closed his eyes, relishing in the silence, feeling the warm summer breeze on his skin. He generally remained indoors, away from the light of the sun, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy being outside—even if the act didn't always agree with him.

He stood before what appeared to be an empty, undisturbed field. The lack of any visible signs of activity only heightened his senses. He could smell something lingering in the air. He doubted a normal human would detect it, but his enhanced senses allowed him to pick up on such subtle things. Not for the first time, he wondered if the report of the falling object had been delayed to intentionally slow his investigation of the incident itself—long after the scene had been cleaned up, leaving nothing for him to find.

"Charles?" a voice asked from somewhere behind.

Secretary Montgomery turned, his eyes finding the source of the noise with little effort.  "Struan," he said. His friend bore three distinctive scars running parallel across his face, reminders of a time long since passed, yet still fresh in his memory.

Struan was a muscular, stout man with brutish features and a strong chin. He smiled as he approached, pointing at his nose. "Thought I smelled you out here," he said, pointing to the empty field. "I see I'm not the only one with questions about the official story President Flint fed us."

Unlike Charles, Struan was here in no official capacity. He was a mercenary, like the pirates from the old tales, working for whomever paid the most and the fastest. At the moment, he worked directly for Charles, though his work was not on the books. President Flint would be incensed were he aware that he'd hired Struan. He would never learn of it, though—Charles had made certain of that.

"What do you think it was?" Charles asked, returning his attention to the empty, open field. The tall grasses blew in the wind, tempting him to come closer. He obliged, stepping off the road and onto the soft grass, his keen eyes taking in every minute detail of the scene.

"Majestic. Has to be," Struan said, echoing what Charles already suspected to be true. "Based on the eyewitness reports, there's no one else who could have pulled off a cover-up like this. From what I can gather, this happened long ago, long enough for them to clean up and wipe away what fell here." He stopped abruptly, looking around in alarm.

"What is it?" Charles asked, halting in his tracks to observe his friend's movements. His suspicions on the timing of the report had been confirmed, but there was no time to dwell on that now.

Struan breathed in deep, closing his eyes. "Men," he said, eyeing Charles with concern. "Getting closer. Should we call for your ride?"

"No," Charles said, waving him off. "You need to go, now."

"And leave you alone with them?" Struan asked. He shook his shaggy head, his hair waving with the motion. "Not a chance, Charles."

"How many are there?" Charles asked.

"Four...no, five," Struan said.

"They're outnumbered," Charles said, a gleam in his eye.

"Don't be foolish. One good shot and they'll have you, we both know that." Struan was looking at his friend with genuine concern in his eyes, pleading with him to see reason. "If we go now, we can get away before they find us."

"A Montgomery never backs down from a fight," Charles said softly.

"This Montgomery should," Struan insisted.

"Go, now," Charles said firmly. "Before I call them here myself."

Struan snarled, then loped off into the trees, reluctance and frustration tarnishing his gait. Charles could hear his mutters long after the man had departed, and he allowed himself a small smile. Struan was a good friend, loyal as ever, but unpredictable in a fight. Better to lower the odds of something going wrong, lest one of these men end up with his throat removed.

As the group came into view—Struan had been right, it was five—Charles struggled to contain the hunger. It was always there, pulling at him, raging against him, begging to be set free. "Pleasure to see you again, Adrian," Charles said loudly, standing tall, his thin frame as nonchalant as he could make it.

"Secretary Montgomery! I had no idea you would be here,” the man leading the group yelled across the clearing. Adrian Galbraith was rarely casual, though he made a good show of it for the Secretary of War, his hands tucked into his pockets as he cast his gaze about the clearing. “Where is he?"

"I've no idea to whom you are referring," Charles said innocently. He glanced around as if searching for the target of Adrian's hunt.

The hunter seemed to be losing his patience. "We've been tracking Struan for miles. We know he's nearby, so save us some time, hand him over, and we can call it a day."

Charles looked down as if he was actually considering the offer. The wind picked up, blowing his hat, forcing him to reach up and hold it to his head. His scarf danced, fluttering about his neck in the breeze. His eyes rose, locking his gaze to Adrian's. "I don't think I will."

Adrian unslung the usual weapon for his organization—a crossbow which could fire multiple bolts before needing to be reloaded. He thumbed the release, and the weapon expanded, folding outwards into its full size. Adrian leveled it at Charles's chest, smiling with obvious pleasure at what he was about to do. "This is your last chance, Charles," Adrian warned.

"That is where you are mistaken," the secretary said softly. "You'll regret this decision, I assure you."

Adrian took aim and pulled the trigger on his weapon, the motion accentuated by a satisfying thunk followed by the hiss of the bolt sailing through the air. It moved faster than the human eye could follow, hurtling towards the man standing across the clearing. Charles's arm flashed up, a blur of motion. He snagged the bolt mid-flight, his hand wrapped around it at the last moment before it was set to strike his heart.

"That was fun," Charles said, smiling as he tossed the bolt into the nearby brush. "Anything else you'd like to try, or should we move onto the finale of this little show?"

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Adrian," one of the men behind him said.

"Now he has the right idea!" Charles agreed. "Perhaps it's best to listen to him, Adrian."

"Kill me and more Knight Owls will come for you, Charles. I don't know what the blazes you are, but if you're a lycan as well, know that we will hunt you down right alongside Struan."

"I am far, far worse than a lycan," Charles said coldly, almost too quiet for the men to hear. They began to falter, looking around and at one another, as if they wished to flee in terror at the sound of his very voice. "Lycans are only dangerous once a month. My kind? Threaten our safety, and we are dangerous all the time." His eyes turned an opaque, glassy black as he removed his hat and scarf.

Adrian lowered his crossbow, if only an inch. "What the fuck are you?"

Charles's fangs lowered, his nails grew, and his mouth yawned wide like a monster from the storybooks of The Old Age.

"Vampire!" one of the Knight Owls cried in panic, realization dawning on the group.

"Shoot him!" another shouted.

As the men scrambled to attack, Charles blurred into motion. The man just behind Adrian let out a scream as Charles's claws raked across his throat. Blood burst into a crimson fountain as the man gasped, gargling out his surprise. Before his body had even hit the ground, Charles spun and clamped his fangs into the face of another, rending flesh from man as he screamed for his life.

Adrian was only then beginning to react, turning to fire his crossbow, but Charles was too quick—he knocked the weapon away, sending it into the ground where it discharged and fired a bolt which promptly lodged into the face of a third monster hunter. He collapsed as Charles lifted Adrian off the ground, his fingers closed around his throat in a vice grip.

"Do you wish to join them?" Charles asked the last standing hunter, not looking away from Adrian's face.

He screamed, as if his brain had only then caught up with the bodies strewn before him. He sprinted away into the forest, lost to sight within seconds.

"Coward," Adrian grunted out.

Charles lowered the remaining man, looking him deep into his eyes. His gaze seemed to penetrate the young hunter's very Essence. "Your actions today have cost these men their lives, do you understand that?" Charles hissed. "I gave you every opportunity to back down. We are not your targets, your prey, or your quarry. We are living, thinking beings."

"You're monsters," Adrian managed to growl.

"You're the monster, Adrian. You and the rest of the Knight Owls. If I ever see you or your kindred brothers again, my fangs will not rest until the blood is drained from your body, do you understand me?"

"Yes," Adrian said weakly.

Charles let him fall. By the time he hit the ground, Adrian was already scrambling for his crossbow. He grabbed it, spun, and tried to take aim, but the Secretary of War had already vanished into the foliage.

That was a huge waste of my time, Brit thought to herself as the first official meeting of The Tiran League came to a close. World leaders, ambassadors, foreign dignitaries, civilian observers, and journalists alike all rose, offering applause for the closing remarks. As the attendants began to file out, Brit packed her recording device into her shoulder bag before finding herself swept away along with the flow of the crowd.

She caught a glimpse of Queen Ilyana once more, the figurehead monarch of Albion who had spoken with Overmark just before the ceremony had officially begun. Strangely, unlike most world leaders, she was entirely without protection or personal guard, save for a single clerk flanking her, a short woman rushing on her equally-short legs to keep up with the Queen's fast strides.

"Queen Ilya! Queen Ilya! Queen Ilya!" some members of the media called out, struggling to get her attention. Brit briefly mulled over adding her own voice to the din but thought better of it after a few short seconds of consideration. Whether intentionally or not, the queen seemed disinterested in interviews today, departing the chamber without so much as a backward glance.

Brit sighed, quickly losing sight of the so-called "Clockwork Queen" as she was fondly referred to by her people and fell into step with the rest of the folks still filing out. Despite the meeting's end, some of the heliographers had remained behind, their flashbulbs bursting with light and noise as they took images of the departing crowd.

Brit escaped the Tiran League building complex, though she was still surrounded by the throng of people. Now that the rather lame main event was over, most of the news crews had started packing up and heading back to their stations, while the civilians with no official duties moved off to go on about their respective days. Truck vendors lined up along the thoroughfare, blocking traffic as they sold foods of all varieties.

The noise of the streets filled her ears and Brit took a moment to slow down, breathing deep and filling her lungs with the smell of the summer air. Due to her well-publicized relationship with her former partner, Brit found she was often swarmed in ways she definitely did not appreciate when out in public. It was a nice change of pace for her to be in a crowd of this size, her face just another of the hundreds passing by. No one even stopped for a second glance.

Brit stopped for a moment, enjoying the anonymity. She could feel the energy of the city, feel the beating of life in every heart and soul that passed her by. For the briefest of moments, she was just a girl in a crowd, nothing more than another face lost in a sea of humanity.

This feeling was wonderful, despite how short lived she knew it would be.

    "Brittany!" someone called out. "Brittany Baker!"

And there it was. She sighed again, letting the puff of air blow her bangs out of her face.

"Are you absolutely heartbroken from Overmark leaving you?" one of them shouted at her, shoving a microphone into her face.

"Do you have any comment on working with your ex and having to see him every day?"

"How has it been? How are you feeling?"

Brit recoiled, trying to architect her escape from them, but they were like starving piranha, relentless in their pursuit. At least one of them had asked about her for a change, she supposed.

"No comment for now!" Brit shouted, moving away from the group as they pressed in around her. She hurried to the wide thoroughfare, hailing a cab with one hand while maintaining her death grip on her bag with the other. "Just trying to get back home, that's enough for now, thank you!"

From somewhere above, there was a clap of thunder and a shockwave which caused everyone to gasp in surprise, covering their ears from the almost painful sound. Overmark slammed into the ground, leaving a crack in the sidewalk where he landed.

"I believe the lady said she doesn't want to talk to anyone right now," he said sternly.

"Overmark! Overmark!" the crowd immediately roared, surging forward even more, if that were possible.

"Listen, the break-up between me and Brit was just that, a simple break-up. It happens, people are right for each other one moment, and then they're not. I hope Brit isn't mad that I had to do it, but it was time for both of us to move on. You all know what I mean, right? About time I traded her in for a younger model?"

Overmark shoved Brit playfully as he gave her a wide grin, intending to just nudge her. Her ankle caught and twisted and she was thrown painfully to the ground, smashing her elbows and scraping up her clothing. "Woah, had a little too many to drink there, haven't you?" Overmark said, laughing as she climbed to her feet, stumbling on her heels. Her face was red hot as she tried to regain her balance.

Some of the crowd was laughing, one of the heliographers snapping pictures as she stood. A woman bent to help her up while Overmark watched them both. Once she was back on her feet, the crowd mostly dispersed, shooed away at Overmark's behest. "Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?"

"You absolute brute," Brit snarled, once again trying to hail a cab without success.

    "What?" Overmark spread his arms wide, maintaining his faux innocence. A heliographer continued taking pictures of them as they talked. "What did I do now? Oh, you tripped so somehow that's my fault too, I guess?"

Brit glared at him.

    "What?" Overmark repeated, loud enough for everyone around them to hear.

"You are such a tool," Brit snapped, summoning up as much dignity as she could muster, resisting the urge to punch him in the mouth as she tried to walk away.

Overmark blurred forward, clamping his hand around her wrist. She yelped, the sudden halting of her movement causing her to twist painfully. "Ow, let me go," she spat. "You're hurting me."

"Stop being so dramatic," Overmark said, rolling his eyes. She always did things like this, throwing a tantrum in public so people could see and make him look bad. "Come on, let's fly and talk it over."

"There's nothing in all of Rebirth I want to talk to you about," Brit said. "I just want to go home and move on with my day. Just leave me alo—"

Without waiting for her to finish her sentence, Overmark grabbed her underneath her legs, scooped her into his arms and took off into the air. Brit shouted in surprise, instinctively clinging to his neck as the street fell away below, the people moving about getting smaller and smaller as they rose into the air, soon only ants far below.

    "Fuck!" Brit shouted as they passed the high-rise rooftops. She fought the urge to resist, as a fall from this height would be fatal without question. The wind blew around her as they rose, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Having dated Overmark for a year, she'd grown accustomed to flying with him, though she still didn't appreciate him picking her up and hauling her around like a sack of potatoes without her permission.

"See? Now we're up here and away from it all," Overmark said, looking out across the city as they flew. "Isn't this better?"

Brit was still clinging to his neck in desperation or fear—she wasn't sure which. He looked like he was enjoying this a little too much. "You shouldn't pick people up and fly off without their permission," Brit said angrily, looking down as the wind continued buffeting her hair, causing her to release Overmark's neck in order to prevent her hat from blowing away. "It's not right. You overstepped a boundary."

"Here we go again," Overmark said with an exaggerated eye roll. "Don't be so sensitive, you're upset over nothing."

"I'm upset," Brit said through gritted teeth, "because you've got me entirely in your power and on a whim you could drop me and I couldn't do a blighted thing about it."

"It's always something with you," Overmark said, not looking at her as he swooped between a pair of towering buildings, the sound of his passing echoing off the close facades on either side. "There always has to be drama, doesn't there?"

    "Adam," Brit said, her tone harsh and her voice firm. "Put me down, right this instant. I mean it, I don't feel safe up here with you. Take me home and let me go."

"Let you go?" Overmark asked, grinning.

"Yes, at home, let me—"

"As you wish," Overmark said. He pulled his arms apart, and Brit screamed as she felt gravity's inevitable tug drag her down.

Brit looked up, sure she was imagining it, that Overmark was simply having her on. But she could see him above her, waving down, a smile plastered across his stupid face. Wind whipped around her as her hat was ripped from her head, and she could see her own reflection in the windows of the nearby office building. The workers inside looked up in alarm, some rushing over to watch as a young woman went plummeting by before their very eyes.

    "Adam!" Brit screamed as she looked down, the ground coming up faster and faster below her. Her heart was hammering in her chest, she was sobbing, her hair blowing about as she screamed and screamed for him to catch her. She was certain he was playing some kind of cruel joke on her, but she just kept falling.

Finally, mercifully, somewhere around the twentieth floor, Overmark caught her, pulling her back into his arms. She clung to him out of pure instinct. Then her righteous anger asserted itself over her sense of self-preservation. "You damn lout!"

"You should have seen your face," Overmark said, laughing until there were tears in his eyes. "I can't believe you really thought I'd let you fall! You were flailing around all 'ahhhhhh, oh help me, I'm gonna die,' now that was comedy."

"You're a real prick," Brit snarled.

"And you broke my heart," Overmark said, sudden anger flashing in his eyes.

His glare shocked her into silence. They didn't speak for the rest of the trip. Finally, Overmark set her down on the rooftop to her apartment building, his feet touching the flat surface as she pulled away from him.

"Are you sure you even have a heart?" Brit asked him softly.

"I used to," Overmark said, turning away from her to look into the bright orange ball in the sky. His curly brown hair blew in the wind, mirroring his cape as it whipped about. He looked almost serene, standing there gazing out over the city. "Until you ripped it out."

"I left you because of how you treated me, Adam," Brit said softly, holding herself as she spoke. "You didn't treat me the way a man should, you treated me like I was—"

"Like you were what?" Overmark said, rounding on her, his eyes blazing with fire.

Brit stopped. "Like I wasn't a person," she said firmly. "Like nothing I said or did mattered to anyone." She paused for a long moment, staring at him. "You never loved me, did you, Adam? Not like I loved you."

"Millions of women would kill to be carried through the air with me like you were, every single day. And you just threw it all away," Overmark said. "I lo—" He faltered, stumbling as he spoke, going down on one knee, his face a paroxysm of pain.

"Adam, what is it?" Brit asked, hesitating to reach out for him. She feared this may be one of his ploys for attention. When he didn't recover, she got closer. "Adam?" she asked again. "Are you okay?"

Overmark let out a scream and looked at her, his eyes alight with swirling orange and white plasma. "FUCK!" His scream was raw, and he struggled with the pent-up energy. "I have to go," he grunted.

Before she could protest, he blasted off into the air, breaking the sound barrier before he cleared her vicinity. Brit screamed out in pain, clapping her hands to her ears as the shockwave nearly sent her to the ground. She looked up one final time as Overmark rocketed away from the city in a flare of burning plasma, like a star ripping the sky open in a blaze of fire.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched him go.

TWO YEARS AND NINE MONTHS AGO

He could hear one of the men shaking in his boots as they all awaited the signal. Their aether weapons hummed and clicked as they trained them directly at his torso and face, prepared to give one last attempt to take him down.

Adam Agner looked at the closest man, clad head-to-toe in the specialized armor worn exclusively by Wardens—Majestic's elite field soldiers. The suits were capable of temporary full-body cloaking and withstanding one of his punches—mostly, anyway. It was constructed from a new artificial material the white coats at Majestic had created. They called it aetherium, an alloy capable of absorbing incredible kinetic energy, allowing the wearer to survive blows that would kill a normal person.

"Are you scared, soldier?" Adam asked.

"Quiet, Overmark," the soldier said. He was still shaking. "Await the signal."

Adam smiled. He tapped the side of his neck and the nanobot helmet materialized seemingly from thin air, the small machines working in tandem to lay a latticework of interlocking nodes over his head that pulled taught as one, encasing everything except his eyes within a protective shell. "Oh, I'm waiting," he said softly, his voice coming from the speakers at the helmet's mouthpiece.

"Do you really need the helmet?" one of the other soldiers asked.

"Wah wah shut up," Overmark snapped. "No one asked you, Kim."

Kim looked down, avoiding his eyes. "No reason to be a cad," she muttered.

"Enough jawing," Director Robinson interjected loudly over the intercomm system.

"Yeah," Overmark said.

"You are such a child," the first soldier said, rolling his eyes within his own helmet.

Overmark blurred forward, coming to stop directly in front of the soldier, his cape swishing around him from the movement. "One more word out of you—" he began.

"I said, enough!" Director Robinson barked again.

Slowly floating back over to his original spot, Overmark gave the soldier the finger. Adhering to strict department protocol, the soldier refrained from returning it.

"Now!" Robinson called out.

"Wait," Overmark started, looking at the observation deck viewing window high above them. Before he could protest further, the aether weapons barked to life, spitting fire as they roared in unison. "I said," Overmark gasped, the impacts from the firearms knocking him out of the air and to his knees. "Fucking wait!" he tried to scream, but it was no use.

Realizing what was happening, Director Robinson hit the intercomm button. "Stop!" he shouted, panic edging into his voice. "Great Rebirth, I said stop!"

"What's going on?" a figure cloaked in shadows asked from the corner of the room. "Will they kill him?"

"No," Director Robinson said, sweat collecting on his brow. "He'll kill them."

As if on cue, Overmark screamed in rage, bellowing as the rounds from the aether rifles caused him to stagger once more in pain. His chest flared blue-white, and his eyes illuminated to match, the helmet falling away as he blasted plasma from his eyes.

The Wardens quickly understood what was happening, screaming in panic as the plasma beams raked over them, melting some of them where they stood, sending others scrambling for non-existent cover.

"Overmark!" Robinson barked. "Stop this, at once! Please calm down!"

"Has telling someone who is angry to 'calm down' ever worked in the history of humanity?" The Shadowed Man asked nonchalantly. "Their lives are hardly worth fretting over, Director. We'll simply replace them, as usual."

"What about Overmark?" Robinson asked, breathless with uncertainty. "What do we do?"

"He's absolutely magnificent," The Shadowed Man said, coming over and watching through the one-way glass as the alien murdered the soldiers around him. He did not flinch as Overmark's plasma blasts burst against the ablative glass, dissipated into harmless gas. "Can you subdue him?" he asked, turning to Robinson.

"Subdue him?" the Warden echoed. "Are you joking? We can barely control him in the first place."

"Marvelous." The Shadowed Man scratched his chin, weighing their options. "Have you considered deploying him against our enemies? The ones who would do the UFR harm?"

"Deploying him? You mean as a weapon?" Director Robinson asked. "Sir, what you're suggesting is tantamount to treason against the government."

"No one has to get hurt, director," The Shadowed Man said. "We would simply...use him, to achieve—"

The glass of the observation deck shattered as Overmark punched through it, screaming with untethered rage. The Shadowed Man turned just in time to see a fist come flying at him, erupting his head into a cloud of bloody brain matter. The body collapsed onto the floor as Overmark landed, panting. He faced Robinson.

Director Robinson looked at the body. "That's probably for the best," he said, nodding.

"Die!" Overmark bellowed.

"Eh, saw that one coming," Robinson sighed. "I lasted longer than most. It was a good run."

Overmark's eyes burst with plasma. In response, Director Robinson disintegrated.

Director Williamsawoke, coughing as the Essence transfer completed. One of the workers reached in, doing her best to lift him from the stasis pod. Williams pulled the oxygenator from his mouth, letting it fall away as he climbed free, completely naked.

"Would you like to get dressed?" the woman asked, making no move to cover her eyes or look away. There was no shame here, only a task that needed to be taken care of.

"Thank you, Alanna," Willliam said gratefully, accepting the clothing she passed him.

"Overmark again?" Alanna asked nonchalantly. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her black bangs hanging down near her eyes. She was wearing a simple white lab coat over a blouse and red tartan skirt. She pushed her cheaters up on her nose, her slim white watch glistening in the artificial light.

"As usual." Williams finished donning the clothing, simple garb unlike the typical black suit and tie ensemble field agents wore. He would have to finish with Overmark, then retire to his quarters to change into a proper outfit. "How do we take him down? Or, at the very least, stop him from destroying this facility?"

"Will he calm down eventually?" Alanna inquired.

"Yes, but when is the real question. I could have gone through all my monthly quota of replicas by then."

"What happens if you run out?"

Director Williams turned and look at her seriously. "It's never happened before. Probably best not to start now."

Alanna considered this, deep in thought as her neural interface raced through dozens of possibilities within a few seconds. Finally, she said, "The aether weapons seemed to have an effect on him, at least temporarily. Perhaps we could turn the defense turrets on him?"

"Alanna, were you watching the exercise?" Director Williams asked.

She grinned. "Yes, Director Williams. I find it stimulates my processors in a pleasing manner."

"Indeed? Keep that up, then," Williams said. He moved to the emergency weaponry locker, opened it, and withdrew an aether rifle that matched the ones the field soldiers carried. He grabbed a second and tossed it to Alanna, beckoning for her to join him. "Well, you'd better come along, two heads are always better than one."

"Is that true?" Alanna asked, snatching the weapon from mid-air with a fluid motion. She checked it, primed it, and locked it into a ready position.

    "Impressive," Williams said, nodding.

"Thank you, sir," Alanna replied with a smile. "I pride myself on my ability to—"

"Not now." Williams held up a hand. "Overmark first, then we can chat."

They crept through the hallways together, moving from corner to corner, keeping each other in their respective sight lines at all times. Before long, they reached a control panel and Director Williams began tapping on it while Alanna stood guard.

"Moving to Red Alert status," the director said, pulling the lever. The entire facility went dark for a moment before the emergency lights kicked on, the dim red illuminating the upper corners of the hallway.

"This makes it scarier and harder to see," Alanna pointed out.

"In theory, it's to make it harder for the intruder to see while we search for them," Williams said. "In this case, it may put us at a disadvantage, something I hadn't considered until now."

Alanna looked up. "Director Williams," she said softly. "It's him."

Overmark came fully into view, the red lights flickering across him as he walked menacingly towards them, his cape billowing from the movement.

"Stand down," the director instructed. "Don't make me hurt you. That's an order, Adam."

"I'm tired of this blighted place, Robinson," Overmark growled. His eyes burned with plasma, growing hotter with each step he took toward them.

"It's Williams now, actually."

"I don't fucking care," Overmark roared. "I'm tired of you and the rest of Majestic telling me what I can and can't do, when I can sleep, when I can eat, where I can go and what I can say. I'm not your weapon anymore. I'm at my breaking point now, Williams," he said, sneering at the name as if it tasted like rotten fish. "You are no longer the boss of me. I am my own man now, do you understand me?"

Director Williams and Alanna exchanged glances. "As long as you promise not to murder either of us." He paused. "Some of us have already gone through that and don't wish to repeat it." He ran a hand across his perfectly coiffed head of hair, struggling to find the words. "This wasn't my idea, Adam, none of it was. I do what I'm told by the people above me. If I didn't, they'd retire me and put someone else here, someone who would be far worse than me."

Overmark hesitated, his eyes returning to normal as the plasma dissipated, leaving a trail of energy puffing from his eyes as it vanished. "When I first landed on Tiras, you said no one would hurt me, that it would just be some tests. Three months of nothing but imprisonment, and I'm beginning to wonder if you lied to me. To keep me from killing this entire planet."

"We didn't lie to you," Director Williams said. "Things have gotten...out of hand." He lowered his weapon, making to lay it on the ground. He motioned for Alanna to follow suit—she complied without hesitation, though she kept her eyes on Overmark the entire time.

Overmark looked exhausted, far more than Williams had seen him during their time together. The alien sagged, as if feeling overwhelmed with everything. "Thank you," he said finally."

"There he is!" a voice called out from behind them.

"He murdered all of them!" another shouted. "Fire!"

Director Williams held up his hands. "Stand down! The threat is contained!"

The soldier closest to them reached into his belt and withdrew a small aetherite crystal, tapping it against his helmet for good luck as he placed it into the port on the side of the rifle. "Sorry, Director Williams, this fucker is going down."

"I said, stand down, soldier!" Williams barked, putting himself between Overmark and the armored soldiers. He drew his own pistol, pointing it at the cluster. He recognized the head of the group—Paul Rheinback—a pain in the ass, but still a loyal servant of Majestic. A veteran of three combat tours, Rheinback knew when to take orders, but he'd also just lost a dozen men and women under his command.

Rheinback gave a small smile, his mouth barely visible under the purple aetherium faceplate. "This alien just murdered people I call brothers and sisters. Do you think we'll just let that go, Director?"

"I understand—" Williams started.

"You don't understand!" Rheinback barked, cutting him off. Directors technically outranked Wardens in Majestic's command structure, but that didn't seem to matter to them now. Behind Rheinback, the rest of the soldiers were priming their weapons, as well.

"Don't do this, Paul," Director Williams said softly.

Overmark's eyes illuminated with plasma energy. "This won't end well for you. Don't be foolish," he warned.

The crackling energy from the aether weapons illuminated the dim hallway, casting a purplish glow around the confines. "Gotta be done," Rheinback said. He went to fire, and Overmark's eyes burst with plasma, raking over the soldiers without hesitation.

"No!" Director Williams screamed, but Alanna was pulling him back, clear of the fight. Once the gunfire settled and only the screams of the dying remained, Overmark blasted straight up into the air, smashing through the ceiling of the Majestic outpost before disappearing with a sonic boom.

"What do we do?" Alanna asked.

"Call for The Sentinels,” Director Williams said breathlessly. They're our only hope now."

"You never loved me, did you, Adam? Not like I loved you."

"Millions of women would kill to be carried through the air with me like you were, every single day. And you just threw it all away," Overmark said. "I lo—" He faltered, stumbling as he spoke, going down on one knee, his face a paroxysm of pain.

"Adam, what is it?" Brit asked, hesitating to reach out for him. She feared this may be one of his ploys for attention. When he didn't recover, she got closer. "Adam?" she asked again. "Are you okay?"

Overmark let out a scream and looked at her, his eyes alight with swirling orange and white plasma. "FUCK!" His scream was raw, and he struggled with the pent-up energy. "I have to go," he grunted.

Before she could protest, he blasted off into the air, fighting the urge to explode as he went. Once he'd cleared the buildings—and only just—he accelerated rapidly, breaking the sound barrier and leaving a shockwave he knew would catch attention behind.

Please, please, not now, not where people can see me, Overmark repeated in his head over and over as he waited until he was clear of Caisteal City. The nanosecond he was clear, he screamed. Burning plasma lanced from his eyes, scorching across the skyline while he yelled a primal roar of pain and rage.

With the initial blast gone and the worst of the build-up now dissipated into the upper atmosphere, he could think much more clearly. Overmark felt the subdermal implant near his ear buzzing—he tapped it with a finger, slowing down enough that he could hear as he continued racing to his usual hiding place when it came time to discharge.

"Overmark, this is Majestic control, are you okay?" came the familiar voice of Alanna. There was the shortest pause, and then she said, "What was that plasmatic discharge? Are you losing control of your powers again?"

"No," Overmark lied, trying to regain control over his emotions. He couldn't be certain, but his suspicion was that these lapses in containment came when he was feeling particularly strong emotions, usually negative but sometimes positive. He had to be careful to keep them in check, never straying too far in either direction. His physiology wasn't human—that much Majestic had told him—so the psychosomatic rules that governed them seemed not to correlate to him.

"Are you certain? Director Johnson is growing concerned that—"

"To the blazes with Director Johnson," Overmark growled. "He doesn't have any power over me anymore, remember? I agreed to lead this team on that one condition, and that means the ability to go on my own without interference from any of you."

"Overmark, the wind sounds exceptionally loud. Are you travelling at high speed away from Caisteal City?" Alanna asked, her voice sounding genuinely concerned. He was surprised—he'd been uncertain her kind could feel emotions in that way.

    "Yes," Overmark replied shortly. "I'm busy, we'll talk later." Before she could reply or protest, he cut the connection and switched the receiver off, ensuring he would not be interrupted again. He imagined her sitting in her comm center in the middle of Caisteal City, trying to flick the switch that buzzed his subdermal again, but it was a futile effort now.

In another few seconds, he'd cleared the continent upon which the United Freedom Republic sat and headed out into the open Western Ocean, in the direction of Albion several thousand miles from the Republic mainland. Less than thirty seconds elapsed as he passed over the smaller island country of Adélard, the Strait of Almophad, and the rest of the old world before emerging back over the water once more. Three seconds more and his destination, the vast continent of Tartara, loomed. Its coast was dotted with towering volcanoes, some active, most dormant. This had been the former homeland of the dracons, one of the most powerful empires in all of Tiran history. In the distant past their territory spanned much of the world, including Albion.

Overmark thought about their people often—what they were like, the power they held, the dragons they created and then allowed to die out. It was a thought that came to him at least once a day, how a people so mighty and great could possibly fall. Fall it did, and in its place came the Age of Humans, now the predominant species still alive on Tiras.

Once the aether—the diaphanous layer which separated this plane of existence from the magickal realm—was destroyed at the end of The Old Age, most non-humans either passed away or fled to the faelands. Overmark knew The Long Egress was written about in the history books, but he hated reading and had more interest in formulating his own theories.

Overmark finally felt the last of his energy ebb away as he rocketed from the sky, landing headfirst into an open, bubbling lava lake inside one of Tartara's largest volcanos. He felt the heat envelop him, pulling at him and refueling him. He stood within the lake of lava, welcoming the raw and renewing energy as it washed over him. His heart seemed to settle as he absorbed the energy from deep within the planet, feeling it flow through him.

    "Fuck," Overmark sighed. He sank down into the lava, allowing it to envelop him. His skin and suit remained undamaged, capable as they were of withstanding the extreme temperatures.

For years, Overmark hadn't struggled with keeping himself charged. Lately, however, things had changed. He often found himself unable to contain the plasmatic energy within him, forcing him to unleash it in huge bursts before temporarily recharging at an active volcano in order to stabilize himself. He didn't know why volcanoes worked—perhaps it had something to do with the heat, or the fact that the magma was coming from underground. Majestic had no answers, either. Perhaps they would never know.

He'd told no one of this and had no plans to change that. Only women and girls needed to ask for help, and he was a god among men on this planet. Everyone loved him here. If he showed a single sign of weakness, he would be finished. They would throw him out of The Sentinels, maybe even turn on him, putting him out of his misery just to save themselves the hassle of dealing with him any longer.

No, best no one knew of this. He'd nearly relaxed, as if equilibrium had been returned, when he suddenly gasped and grabbed at his chest, just as he had when talking with Brit. He attempted to scramble out of the bubbling lava pool, making it halfway onto the nearby obsidian shore before falling to one knee. "Fucking Rebirth," he grunted, trying to hold it in. "What do I do now?"

He knew he needed to unleash more plasma, but he was afraid. What happened if he was completely drained? Would he lose his powers entirely? This had never come to pass before, but he had no desire to find out. He blasted into the sky, rocketing away and breaking the sound barrier as he flew to The Far North, the only place he knew no one would be able to hear his outburst.

As he landed on the northern-most continent, Overmark looked about. The snow was wild, whipping around him—though he couldn't feel the cold air. Were he a normal human, he likely would have ended up with frostbite within seconds, but whatever he was, he wasn't affected by the cold in the same way.

He didn't know what he was or where he was from. That was part of the unending question, one he had no idea if he would ever be able to answer.

Overmark pointed his head to the sky and let out a primal scream of rage, unleashing the plasma from his eyes, mouth, and chest. It even began emitting from his hands, blasting into the snow-covered ground before he turned them skyward. The episode lasted just over ten seconds. Then he screamed again—this time with exhaustion—before collapsing into the snow.

In his unconsciousness, the dreams came once more; the same one he'd had for months now. An unknown form, standing over his containment pod, the one he'd crashed to Tiras in.

    "The Lifeseed is ready, my Sovereign."

A deep voice replied, as it did with every iteration of this dream. "Deploy it immediately, then take us out of this system. We shall return in three hundred years, as planned."

His body lay, unmoving and undisturbed, for an hour. The snow kept falling, piling up, collecting over his still form. He did not stir save for his steady, hot breaths puffing softly into the sky. Another hour passed, and his white cape began to blend in with the surrounding snow as he was buried further still.

A flash of light and an explosion of expanding air signaled the arrival of a newcomer. She didn't waver as the aether energy dissipated, flowing in the form of electricity across the ground and into the air. Alanna examined Overmark's ghostly visage framed by the freshly fallen snow, his body seemingly drained of energy. She'd had suspicions that Overmark was hiding something, having trouble controlling his powers. When he'd cut off the subdermal communicator, she knew it for certain.

He may have been able to escape her audio communication, but he couldn't fly fast enough to ditch the satellites Majestic kept trained on him at all times. After he'd killed the line, Alanna turned off her recording logs and kept track of his flight path, waiting until he'd reached his ultimate destination.

She crunched across the ancient, untouched snow, crouching down next to Adam's prone form. She knew he liked to go by Overmark and only preferred the name Adam when he was out of the suit, but she had trouble thinking of him in any other way. Adam didn't know it—Alanna had been keeping such thoughts to herself—but she felt a certain kinship with him, one she had trouble describing. He too was a fish out of water of sorts. A man without memory of who he was, trapped on an alien world.

Once she was level with him, Alanna's hand bent back unnaturally, exposing a device embedded within her wrist. She activated it, creating a sparking of energy at the tip which she pressed into Overmark's chest. She delivered several jolts, then waited until his eyes began to flutter open once more.

"Alanna?" he asked groggily. "We only have three hundred years until they return for me."

Alanna was confused. Unusual. "Until who returns for you?" Three hundred years was an awfully long time, even for them.

But Overmark had already collapsed back to unconsciousness once again. She lifted him in her arms and keyed in a communication to her workstation via remote access. As she looked down at Overmark's face, the teleportation kicked in, whisking them both away with an ear-shattering explosion that left a blasted snow crater where they once stood.

Instead of returning to her command center, they reappeared directly in her laboratory, where she conducted all of her official experiments for the agency. With little effort for one so petite, she carried Overmark across the room and placed him gingerly onto an examination table, not bothering to strap his limbs down.

A strange-looking metallic lamp was mounted above, which she switched on. Aether energy began to radiate from the device, illuminating Overmark's body. He did not stir, but she could tell it was working. As a rule, she did not often invent things which did not work, but no one was perfect, as they said. She, however, was as perfect as one could hope to be.

TWO YEARS AND EIGHT MONTHS AGO

A loud knock on the door jolted Serena Bless awake such that she found herself spilled from the bed and onto the floor, tangled in a mass of bed sheets.

"Miss Bless, you need to wake up this very instant!" a raspy feminine voice declared from the hallway outside.

Serena didn't bother to answer, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she pulled on her discarded nightclothes and stepped lightly across the floor, the wood creaking beneath her feet as she went.

The knocking came once more, louder and more insistent this time. "Miss Bless, you need to open up right—"

The demand was cut short as Serena yanked the door open. "I was on my way, love. Don't get your knickers twisted, eh?"

The woman's face flushed red. "My knickers? My word, Miss Bless, the cheek on you, if you didn't—"

"What do you need, Miss Hart? I'm very busy, as you know, sleeping," Serena said loudly, annoyance plastered across her face. "Let's move it along."

Miss Margaret Hart looked incensed, as she always did. She was relatively young, only now in her forty-fifth year of life, though she acted as if she were twice her age. "Miss Bless, you know very well the rules of this house." She cleared her throat, as if she were about to launch into her spiel.

"Here we go. On with it, then," Serena said, rolling her eyes.

Miss Hart ignored her and went on. "'Those who avail themselves of the comfort of the Parish Home must be young, unmarried, employed, and furnish satisfactory testimonials of character. The young women of the Home will keep themselves and their room neat and clean, attend breakfast and dinner, entertain any guests only in the parlor, and adhere to a strict 10 o'clock bedtime. She will be expelled for breaking any of these rules, or for exerting an influence contrary to the spirit of the Home,'" Miss Hart recited. "There, now, do you see my problem?"

Serena frowned. "I have exemplary testimonials from my employer, don't I?" she asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes, that is another thing I mean to ask you about," Miss Hart said, frowning. Serena wasn't sure how this woman hadn't gotten her face permanently stuck that way given how often it was scrunched up. "Who exactly do you work for, Miss Bless?"

"You received my letter of recommendation and salary, didn't you?"

    "Yes," Miss Hart said slowly, "but it was very vague on what you actually do and for whom. I tried searching for the company name, but nothing came up. You keep odd hours, very odd hours, and are in and out at all times of the night. It's unbecoming of ladies of the Parish Home, Miss Bless. Perhaps you should come to my office so we can discuss it further?"

"I actually need to get going, thanks for stopping by! Ta for now, and please forget all about this conversation," Serena said in a singsong voice. Miss Hart's jaw went slack a bit, as if she had forgotten why she was there. Serena took the opportunity and slammed the door in her face.

Despite the fact that she was nearer thirty than twenty, had a well-paying job and had been employed her entire adult life, Serena still had to deal with living in a moral home with dozens of other single women, unable to purchase her own apartment simply because she was unmarried and childless. Detestable. Serena shook her head, pushing the thoughts away as she got dressed in her skintight blue-and-white Sentinels uniform, putting on a second layer of clothing over it.

Today was to be a big day. Director Williams had an announcement for them, one she assumed involved the alien lifeform they had located in the woods a few months back. It seemed like everything they did these days was somehow connected back to him in one way or another.

The leader of The Sentinels, the only team of what Majestic called 'augmented individuals' in all of Tiras, was expected to speak at an event later this morning, one they hoped would be attended by fans of the team in huge numbers. Serena knew Copper Champion had been calling this his "big break," the time when he would finally gain the recognition he deserved for keeping Tiras safe and making the world a better place.

Serena felt nauseous just thinking about it. If this went his way, she knew he would be absolutely insufferable for the next...well, eternity. He was insufferable enough already. Rumor was that this was the first time The Sentinels would be publicly acknowledged by the UFR.

Her wirephone buzzed. She picked it up, looking to see the blip from Jayden Lattimer. They had only been together for a few months after years of friendship, but she was grateful for his company and his companionship. It didn't go over her head that he was perfectly capable of getting his own apartment to live in, but since they weren't married, they couldn't live together.

Taking a glance out the window, Serena saw him on the pavement far below her small room.  He was difficult to see from the twelfth floor of the imposing brick building. She waved down to him, but he wasn't looking. Sighing, she pocketed the wirephone and departed her room, closing the door quietly behind her so as not to attract the attention of Miss Hart once more.

Serena made her way down the flights of stairs with ease, her long strides carrying her swiftly to the ground floor. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the bustling street, the sounds of vendors hawking their wares and motorcars driving loudly down the roads washing over her.

Spotting Jayden nearby still waiting for her, she dodged a group of chatty women in elaborate hats and hurried over to him. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of her, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Serena! There you are, my dear," he said, proffering his arm to her, which she accepted. "I've been waiting for you."

"Sorry I'm late," Serena replied, leaning in to press a quick kiss onto his cheek. "Had a bit of a run-in with Miss Hart this morning."

Jayden chuckled. "That woman never gives you a break, does she?"

They fell into step together, walking arm-in-arm, perhaps a bit more slowly than they should have given the time. "Perhaps we should move across the ocean, to where I came from," Serena said.

"Where did that come from?" Jayden asked with a laugh.

"I'm just tired of being treated as a second-class citizen here. I can't even get my own housing as a woman. What kind of shit is that?"

"It's the worst shit," Jayden agreed with a smile. He winked at her as they crossed the road at the crosswalk. "I go wherever you go, love. If you want to move back to Albion, I'll be right there with you."

Cheers rose from the gathered audience as a man in a black suit stepped onto the stage, dark glasses obscuring his eyes and a perfectly pressed white button-up shirt visible under his jacket. He waved to the crowd, though most of them had no idea who he was. As he made his way across the wide, wooden stage to a lone podium, he nodded at the crowd, extending a hand in their direction. "Welcome, welcome, everyone, to this most exciting announcement. My name is Director Williams, I work for the United Freedom Republic government. We are here today to, for the first time, acknowledge the existence of the group known as The Sentinels."

The stage was ringed with Wardens to prevent anyone from getting any ideas about joining the team on stage. Their weapons were slung, but their helmets were on and they scanned the audience looking for any signs of trouble. Two WolfCats were parked nearby, flanking the stage on either side, fully loaded with a contingent of Wardens prepared for any outcome.

The crowd, all proudly waving tiny flags bearing Republic colors, cheered raucously. "Here before you, I will introduce you to them one by one! First up, we have the master of darkness himself, Umbra!"

A dark form materialized seemingly from nowhere, fading into existence from the tiniest sliver of a shadow cast by the podium. Darkness itself seemed to manifest around him, flowing from his body as he stepped onto the stage, making way for the rest of the team. He didn't speak, instead simply gazing with his glowing eyes into the gathered audience.

They sat in stunned silence for several seconds. "Fuck yeah!" someone eventually shouted. Then, the rest burst into cheers and applause. If Director Williams thought the crowd would be scared of him, he was sorely mistaken.

"That's right!" Director Williams said. "Next up, we have the movie star himself, Scott Speed, known to all of us as Double-Time! We're so lucky to have him on the team!"

A blur of movement followed the blue-and-white clad speedster as he came to a stop beside Umbra, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. "Love you all!" he shouted. "You are the real heroes here!"

"The bride and groom themselves! Lattice and Sirensong! Just kidding!" Director Williams announced.

Lattice was perched on a nearby rooftop, jumping free and sliding on one of his blue crystalline structures, coming to rest next to Double-Time. Sirensong followed shortly, using her sonic scream to slow her descent and land gingerly next to her boyfriend. The pair clasped hands and waved to the crowd, smiling as they turned this way and that.

"This team would be nothing without its fearless leader!" Director Williams said into the microphone.

Sirensong looked to the side of the stage, seeing Copper Champion awaiting his signal with eager anticipation. He was practically vibrating with excitement at hearing his own name finally announced to the world. As much as he pissed her off, she was glad something good was finally happening to him. Maybe it would turn him into less of a prick from now on. One could only hope.

"The Sentinels have been our shadowed protectors until now, guarding the UFR and the rest of Tiras from threats that would chill your bones. From now on, they will operate in the daylight with the full backing of the government and acknowledgement for their good deeds. The only man who could lead this team, the only man right for the job, is a newcomer on the scene. A powerhouse hailing from parts unknown, Overmark!"

"Oh, fuck," Sirensong said under her breath.

    "Shit," Lattice agreed.

There was the echo of a sonic boom from somewhere above them. The crowd was startled, gasping and looking skyward as a figure rocketed towards them. With explosive impact, a man landed directly on the stage, the force dampened by specially designed material made to withstand his particular style of entrance.

The man rose before them, his hair long and unkempt, his gold and red suit flapping in the wind. "My name is Adam," he said, "but you may call me Overmark. I am here to protect the UFR, her citizens, and the rest of Tiras from threats both foreign and domestic, terrestrial and alien. My solemn vow to all of you is Tiras will be watched over by the Sentinels, now and forever!"

The applause was thunderous, flags waving and voices cheering. Overmark waved, a wide grin plastered on his face. The Sentinels stepped forward and joined him on stage. They clasped hands, taking a bow, and stood before the crowd, accepting their duty as Tiras's defenders.

"Oh, yes," Director Williams said, "and Copper Champion is here, too. My apologies, Copper." The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the wild noise coming from the crowd. Sirensong turned just in time to see Copper Champion fly away in a burst of aetherlight.

"Fuck me," she said again, shaking her head.

From the crowd, Secretary of War Charles Montgomery watched the proceedings, his hat pulled low over his sensitive skin. He frowned, knowing that while one mystery had been solved, many more remained frustratingly unanswered.