@@impurestcheese gave us this;
5th Column Comics: Fireteam Hades
The Cistern, Classified Location somewhere under Indigo City
The Cistern dripped from the pipes that ran along the roof, pools of waste-water lining the floor, and flowing around the bodies lying on the concrete, the single light flickering on and off. All was quiet for a few seconds, before an electrical charge ran across the unconscious bodies, their arms and legs twitching, before one after another they got to their feet.
“Ugh I knew I shouldn’t have had that eighth beer.” A man wearing black armour grunted in an Australian accent, before looking down at his wrists, and the chains binding him to the floor. “Okay which one of you b****y w*****s chained me to the floor, if this is some fetish thing I’ll rip your throats out one by one.”
“Oh shut up.” A woman answered in a Hispanic accent, “It’s not like you’re the only one chained down here.” She added, as she moved under the light to reveal green skin covered in needle like barbs clad in ripped jeans and a crop top. “You’re not even the strongest one here.” She added, as she shook her head, her long green hair flowing around her neck.
“And I suppose you think you are?” A large man dressed in overalls snorted, the light bouncing off his bald head and big black bushy beard.
“I’m the only carrier here.” The green skinned woman announced proudly, as she strained to free herself. “So therefore I must be.”
“You are mistaken Miss Rojas.” A voice announced from a speaker mounted on the wall. “There are multiple carriers in this room, and as for power…”the speaker paused as a fierce electrical shock arched up and down the figures in the room. “…I’m the one who has it. But enough about that, you are here because at current you are the worst criminals in Indigo City. With the Blight Wars coming to a close it has become clear that men and women like you have had too much freedom, that you have abused your powers and abilities and we will not stand for this.”
“So what you decided to shackle us?” Another woman, this one with dark mocha coloured skin and flowing ash white hair, asked, as she knelt down, her leather pants and corset squeaking slightly due to friction.
“Correct Miss Morningstar.” The voice announced. “Down here you can’t fulfil those murderous urges you all have. But the thing is, those urges, that need to murder everyone you come across, well right now my employers need that” The voice stated, as the chains binding the prisoners fell apart. “Right now you are below the headquarters of the PMC known as Mattock Military Solutions, I’m barricade in the control room downloading some sensitive data. If you could be nice enough to come find me, I’d be most obliged.”
“What do we owe you? Nothing that’s it!” The armoured man spat, as he rubbed his wrists and glowered around the room. “You may think you can count on the freak-show but I’m in the wind.” He added, as he walked to the door, only to receive an electric shock, one that forced him to his knees.
“I still have the power Mr Collins.” The voice announced, as the ashen haired woman walked to the door before stroking the metal. “And even among your fellow prisoners, you are the weakest. I suggest you toe the line, that you all toe the line or you end up in a coma.” He added, as the woman closed her fingers into a fist, the door and part of the wall sinking into the ground. Cocking her head to one side the woman stepped through into a brightly lit corridor, one ringing with the sound of alarms. “Good, looks like you got out of the room, you have permission to do whatever you want to anyone who gets between yourselves and my position, and that includes each other, consider that my gift to you.”
“Yeah right so anyone know where here and there is?” Collins spat, as the group of prisoners walked down the hallway, each one eyeing the others up and wondering what they were capable of.
“We are currently ten levels below ground.” Morningstar stated, as she ran her hands along the walls as she walked. “The earth is all around us, and she is not impressed by all this metal being sunk into her flesh.”
“You some kind of hippie Morningstar?” The man with the beard stated, as the group stopped at a door locked with a palm scanner.
“No, but I am a Geokinetic.” Morningstar replied, as a thin bald woman wearing a snake skin leotard and ballet flats walked to the front, and rubbed her fingers together. “And call me Earthstar, you mention my slave name again and I’ll give you your own personal volcano.” She added, as the bald woman began to pull off her skin, new features forming below, not to mention short golden cropped hair. Placing her hand on the scanner, an optical laser shot across the surface, before the door lock hissed, and disengaged.
“What in the?” Rojas asked, as the woman picked up her sloughed skin and draped it over her shoulders. “That was freaky as hell.”
“Maybe to you, I myself have grown used to it.” The bald woman replied in an upper class British accent, as the group continued into the next corridor, the sound of boot steps thundering down stairs sounding above them. “Call me Trace, and don’t bother introducing yourselves, I know who you all are?”
“What you psychic?” Collins asked, as the door before them hissed open and seven men wearing black armour emblazoned with an orange spade appeared, machine pistols and shotguns drawn and ready. Before anyone could reply Rojas opened fire, barbed quills shooting across the room and stabbing into the eyes and faces of six of the men. Shocked and surprised, the last soldier fired a quick round before Collins closed the gap, his hands sprouting razor sharp talons that ripped the man’s head off.
“No, I stole the plans for this little team, you’re working for the CBTF as part of a scheme called Fireteam Hades.” Trace whispered, as she clutched her chest, a bullet hole drilled into her stomach. “I can’t tell you anymore, I’m sorry.” She whispered, before sliding down the wall and closing her eyes.
“Figures.” Collins snorted, as the big man with a beard, and a second man dressed in gladiatorial armour bended down next to Trace’s body. “What you two weirdos stealing her s**t?”
“No, just seeing if I can do anything to help.” The bald man replied. “I used to be an engineer with the army, I saw enough gunshot wounds to know how to fix one. Unfortunately Trace is too far gone, it’s a shame too she was such a beautiful woman too. Just a shame I didn’t have all of my tool kit, he sighed, as he removed a USB key and a long cylinder from his belt. “Now let Vulcan see that troubled mind chica.” He mumbled, as the gladiatorial finger placed his hand on Trace’s, and pulled three of the fingers out of the socket. Raising them to his mouth, he stopped and shuddered as electricity shot through his body, causing him to drop the fingers.
“I can see you.” The voice announced over the PA system. “Vulcan, Myrmidon leave her, we have far more important things to accomplish here.” He ordered, as Myrmidon snarled something under his breath, before walking over to the door the security guards had been behind, the others following him at a distance. Reaching the end of the corridor, Myrmidon ripped the lift doors open and stared up the shaft, his eyes narrowing.
“Anyone got a way to get up the shaft?” Rojas asked, as Collins pushed to the front, his arms held wide as an array of metallic feathers sprouted.
“Too bad you can’t fly.” Collins sneered as he took to the air and soared up the shaft. Shaking his head Myrmidon collapsed, his body exploding into a swarm of ants, all of whom scuttled into the shaft before climbing up the sides.
“And I thought Trace was weird…” Vulcan sighed, as Earthstar leapt into the shaft, a chunk of metal and rock rising up the shaft with her standing crouched on the top. “Any chance of a ride?” He asked, as Earthstar cocked her head to one side, before moving over for Rojas and Vulcan to climb onto the stone. Seconds later lava was climbing up the shaft, the rock rising up until it came to a stop next to the doors where Collins was hovering, trying to cut through the doors.
“Get out the way.” Earthstar ordered, as she melted the door lock just enough for her to prize the doors open. Walking out the lift shaft, the group of criminals came to a stop as they realised they were in a massive room filled with security personnel. “Oh c**p!!” She spat, as every gun in the room was trained on them. “Would you guys believe we’re the pest control team?” She added, as one of the guards pushed himself to the forefront of the mercenary security.
“Not one bit.” He drawled in a Texan accent, as he drew his machine pistol. “Now you four put your hands up!!” He ordered, only to see the intruder stand their ground.
“Four?” Vulcan asked, as he eyed up the array of guns pointed at them, not noticing the ants covertly making their way out of the lift-shaft towards the assembled security. “What happened to Myrmidon?” He asked, as the first shots rang out.
@ichoirboy gave us this;
Name: Jonah “The Revealer” Mercury, 34, Autistic, 20 years for theft, B&E, assault with a deadly weapon, Size: 6’ 6”, 270 lbs
Family: Mother, Elyse, deceased - Father, Reuben, deceased – Sister, Shauna, 37, serving a minimum of 8 years in Bedford for assault
History: The Mercury’s had a successful locksmith company in the Flatiron District in the early 80’s. When Jonah was born, the doctor’s bills along with the rising rent prices forced Mr. Mercury to close his shop in 1984. Jonah was 5. They moved to Hell’s Kitchen where Reuben took up an “apprenticeship” with a local locksmith, Martin Erikkson, alleged second cousin to the criminal nicknamed “The Locksmith” from San Francisco. In 1987, Erikkson’s shop burned down. Reuben claimed it was the doing of Hammerhead’s goons, when in reality it was his son, whom he had left in the backroom unattended and who had accidentally started the fire. Reuben found the boy curled up in a ball in the corner of the room barely breathing. He escaped the fire with second degree burns over 20% of his body, but he was alive and had saved his son. He regretted it for the rest of his life.
Reuben found odd jobs and did some illegal smithing to pay the bills, but succumbed to alcoholism and committed suicide in 1993. Needing to keep the family afloat, Elyse began working as janitor at the hospital where she also worked in the gift shop. Unsupervised, Shauna took to prostitution and drugs, and Jonah was left unattended for most of his preteen years. His Autism continued to go untreated and he became a whipping boy for his classmates, even though he was 2-3 heads taller than them all and outweighed them by 50 lbs. In one bullying encounter, Jonah knocked another boy to the ground and stomped his face on the curb, shattering his cheek and jaw bones. Elyse pulled him out of school and left him home alone.
He began to tinker with the complex locks that he found in his father’s stuff in his closet like he had watched Reuben do as a kid. It became an obsession to feel the tumblers give way every time he would pick the lock. When he had mastered all of the locks in the trunk, he began to wander outside of his family’s apartment. The cops picked him up trying to break into the super’s office-apartment. When they confronted him, Jonah panicked and broke an officer’s nose. They beat him and arrested him. When Elyse tried to pick him up, they told her that the state was taking Jonah since she had failed to properly have his Autism treated and failed to keep him in school. Jonah spent the rest of his childhood as a ward of the state.
When he was an adult, he moved to a halfway house. A petty thief named Richie who had just finished a 3-year stint at Rikers after being busted by Daredevil saw Jonah messing with the other residents’ trunks, picking the locks, but not taking anything out. He saw that Jonah had a knack for it and saw an opportunity to exploit his skill. Using his contacts in the Kingpin’s sub-organizations, Richie lined up a gig to hit some houses in Midtown. He tried to tell Jonah about it and realized something was wrong with him because he wouldn’t talk or make eye contact. He just shied away when Richie got near. He gained Jonah’s trust by bringing in different locks and letting Jonah pick them. He lined up the Midtown heist and they broke in and stole $100,000 in cash and jewelry from 10 homes. One house had an alarm system, but Jonah was able to decipher the code after staring at it for a few seconds.
He gained notoriety and picked up the moniker The Revealer due to his aversion to taking the goods he broke in for. Richie was the mastermind and thief, Jonah was the lock-man. On his last B&E, Richie was shot and killed by the resident. The man shot Jonah, but his mental condition due to seeing his only friend die combined with his mass was too much for one bullet. Jonah wrestled the gun from the man and hit him across the temple, leaving him for dead. The man was in a coma for a year. The police found Jonah curled up in the corner of the room where they found Richie’s body, he was sobbing and they were able to arrest him without much resistance.
Suicide Mission: The Revealer will play a key role in mission, as the point man to break into the SWORD headquarters. There is a shape shifter who will act as The Revealer’s friend Richie to coerce him into picking the locks. If he gets unruly, the other team members will use a shock implant to take him down. He will break into each section until they reach their mark. Once there, they will kill the mark in her cell. When her life sensors go offline, the entire SWORD will be looking for our team with kill orders. Make it out alive and they will have their freedom.
@batkevin74 gave us this;
NSA HQ, Fort Meade Maryland
“Project Wraith?” Marion Singh looked at the business card apprehensively when it suddenly burst into flames. “Jesus!”
“We don’t exist,” said the man in the black suit. “You ready to serve your country?”
Marion checked her fingers for damage “I didn’t catch your name…?”
“And you won’t Mrs Singh. Now please, answer my question.”
Marion looked at the man who looked almost like a caricature; flat-top hair cut, aviator sunglasses, black suit, white crisp shirt, black tie, shiny shoes, briefcase. “What about my job here at the NSA?”
“That sounds like a yes,” his face almost broke into a smile as he handed over the briefcase. “Check over the contents and call the number inside within the hour regardless.”
“Or it’ll explode?” she joked.
“No,” he stated as an automated cuff snaked out of the case and clamped onto her wrist. “It’ll release sarin gas killing you and anyone within thirty feet of which will label you as a terrorist which will make life hard for your widowed husband.”
Marion’s jaw dropped as the man walked off. “Hey!”
The man paused but didn’t turn.
“What’s the combination?”
“Clock is ticking Mrs Singh,” he called as he left the room.
Area-56, Wyoming/Montana border
Marion Singh walked through the rows and rows of supercomputer processors studying the dossier in her hand. It’d been a whirlwind six months. She’d gone from data analyst for the NSA to now working for Project Wraith, which didn’t exist and she technically didn’t work for. Her husband believed her to be on a fly-in fly-out rotation in Alaska instead of saving the country on a seemingly daily basis. Today was no different.
She nodded at the man waiting beside a large steel door. “Snuggles.”
“Please don’t call me that Mrs Singh.”
Marion shrugged. “You won’t or can’t tell me your name, so until you do Snuggles, that is your name. Or do you prefer Fluffy?”
He shook his head and opened the door. Marion stepped inside to be greeted with a semicircle of seven people dressed in orange. They stood strapped to boards; bound, gagged, cuffed and shackled, the only thing they could really move freely was their eyes.
“My name is Marion Singh,” she took a seat on the only chair. “You were all brought here because we need people of your disgusting talents to work for us here at Project Wraith, which doesn’t exist and this chat isn’t actually happening.”
She looked up at the glaring eyes. “You are all horrible, horrible things. Just being in this room, this close to you, makes me want a shower. Out of the seven of you, I only need five which isn’t good for at least two of you.”
Marion dropped the dossier on the floor. “I’m about to have your shackles released for the final stage of your interview. Up in the rafters is a sniper with a 70 cal sniper rifle.” She removed a large metal cyclinder, almost the size of a can of soda, from her pocket. “It fires these which are designed for penetrating tanks. So if you move towards me or the guards, you will be turned into paste from up on high.”
Fourteen men in full riot gear quick marched into the room and in pairs unshackled the prisoners with ridiculous efficiency before moving in behind Marion.
“Now what?” growled Zion Bradley, the prisoner who’d burnt down an apartment block to kill his cheating girlfriend who actually wasn’t cheating nor was it her apartment block.
“I said I only need five of you,” Marion said as she nodded as a guard tossed two tonfas into their midst. The metal batons bounced dramatically on the floor. “Whenever you’re ready?”
“I must say it’s a shame you made the cut,” said Marion as she took a seat. The man with the black eye gave a wry smile before returning his gaze to the concrete floor.
“Charles Malcolm Shipman. Burglary, attempted burglary, concealing stolen property and possession of a stolen vehicle.” Marion read off his file. “And nine counts of sexual assault on minors.”
“So you say,” Shipman muttered.
“Oh I don’t just say, I know. I’ve read your file, seen the tapes, examined the evidence. You’re a monster. And I need expendable monsters like you.” Marion stood up. “Because instead of wasting resources in prison you can do something productive. And if that fails you’ll die so it’s a win win for us.”
“Who are you?” asked the prisoner as two guards sat him in the chair opposite Marion.
“You don’t listen too well do you Daryl,” said Marion. “My name is Marion.”
“Can I go home now?”
“No Daryl, you’re not going home for a very long time. Do you know why you’re here?”
Daryl swung his legs. “I hurt some people.”
Marion flipped open her file “You killed your mother. Your father. Your carer. Three dogs.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“So I work for you and I get what?” asked Zion Bradley.
“What do I get if I say no?”
“Have you ever heard of Gldani Prison in Georgia?”
“You think some prison in the heart of this racist union of states is supposed to scare me woman?” He raised up angrily, eyes full of hate.
“No, Georgia the country. You will be sent to the fourth worst prison on the planet where they don’t speak English and the inmates set themselves on fire to escape the brutality. We send you there.”
Zion went silent.
“Do you think they can do it?”
Marion looked at the man she called Snuggles and shrugged. “We have a child molester, a retard with anger issues, a very angry black supremacist, a serial killer with a broken arm and to my surprise Oliver Marshall.”
“He stole over two billion dollars in stolen money,” Marion said almost proudly. “He ran a Ponzi on the Mob, the Triads and several other criminal organisations.”
“A Robin Hood?”
“Not at all Snuggles,” Marion smiled. “It was pure greed on his part. I’m impressed the man could fight.”
“Back to my original question Mrs Singh, can they do it?”
“Work as a team and assassinate the Russian ambassador in France and escape without starting a world war?,” Marion paused as she pondered her own question. “We’ll soon see. Let’s get this suicide squad in the air in an hour.”
@cbishop: gave us this
"I'm telling you he's the best man for the job," Button said simply. Dressed in black pants, long sleeved black shirt, and even black gloves, she sat in a very small conference room, hardly big enough for the conference table, which seated only eight. There was only walking room around the table- four feet on the long sides, six feet on the ends- and the walls were a dull metal, making it feel like they were having their meeting in a large elevator. There were only three other people in the room.
Amelia Earhart sat at the head of the table. A descendant of a relative of course, but she had a set of wings pinned to her dress, in obvious acknowledgement of her heritage. Joy marveled at how much she favored the aviatrix. Even the hair was similar, as was the easy, amused smile.
Conversely, pacing at the other end of the table was Albert Ross. He had black, feathery hair with streaks of white, and a perpetual scowl. He was looking at the file for Joy's candidate, and wasn't liking it at all. "Come on, Joy! This guy? He's a joke!"
Amelia spoke up, "I can assure you he is not. I have seen this man as the demise of many men over the last twenty years."
Sitting across from Joy, a man with a bald head, mustache and glasses added, "He wouldn't even be in prison if he hadn't turned himself in. He had never been caught."
"Oh get off it, Principal!" shouted Ross. "His file said he killed a man in prison by asphyxiation! What'd he do? Smother his cellmate with a pillow for snoring too loud? Please!"
"I'd prefer if you addressed me as General," stated Principal. "And the man in prison was just the latest in a long line of victims. This man is a stone killer. He's taken dozens of contracts over the years, all of them completed, no traces left behind."
"Pfft," scoffed Albert. "'No traces?' Then how do we know who all he's killed?"
"We don't," answered the general. "We only have his word for it. He confessed to every murder-for-hire he's ever done when he gave himself up. The dates and circumstances matched up to several unsolved murders, some of them high profile, and numerous 'accidents' that weren't thought to be killings."
Ross was quiet for a couple of seconds while he lifted a sheet on the file. Less angry, but still clearly perturbed, he asked, "He called himself 'Fling?' Really?"
Joy smiled sheepishly, "Um, that's my fault actually." Albert gave her a shocked look, but clearly expected her to continue. "Randy and I..."
"Randy?" Ross interrupted, rolling his eyes.
"Randy and I have a history," Joy continued, "from our time together in the military, but it was brief. We took liberty together while on assignment. When it was over, I told him he was a 'just a fling.' He took it personally- used it as his codename for awhile, trying to rub salt in a wound that didn't exist for me."
"That's kind of heartless," said Ross.
"Why? Because my attitude towards sex is the same as most guys'?" rebutted Button. "I have a lot of sex, Mr. Ross."
The General smiled at this, clearly interested.
"It's a means to an end for me," she said, "and it's rarely special." Looking directly at the general, she added, "I find that most men are pigs."
The general stopped smiling. Then he added, "It should be noted that 'Fling' isn't the only name he had, although it's the only one he ever used. To those who knew of the black ops missions that he and Miss Button were on, he was known by a very different name."
"Oh? I can't wait to hear this one," said Ross, "What did they call him?"
"'Death,'" answered Earhart, "and it was never a joke."
"And you would know that because...?"
"I was his handler," said Amelia, taking Ross by surprise. "Peter," she said, "will you please bring Mister O'Phayre in?"
The general got up to do as asked. Joy noted to herself that he didn't object to how he was addressed that time. Returning, he motioned for the man to sit down in his chair, while he remained standing by the door.
O'Phayre shuffled around the table in full cuffs- wrist-to-wrist, ankle-to-ankle, both connected to a belt around his waist. As he did so, his eyes never left Joy. As he sat down, he said, "Snatch. It's been a long time."
"Um, 'Snatch?'" asked Ross.
"My codename, from after the military," answered Joy. "My specialty was infiltration, which I've used as a thief, which is why I'm here. And as I told you, I have a lot of sex. It seemed to fit."
Albert raised his eyebrows, then shook his head lightly. "Okay, then. Just one more felon to add to this little mission. General," he said with emphasis and clear disdain, "bring in Mister Mercy, please."
O'Phayre's head snapped up at Ross when he heard that name. He looked to the door. Principal was already coming back in, motioning for the new man, cuffed in the same manner, to take the seat next to Randy. "Killerg!" Randy said through gritted teeth.
Mercy just sneered. Sitting down, he looked across the table and said, "Snatch."
"Noah," she returned. Ross just looked at her. Joy shrugged and started, "I..."
"...'have a lot of sex,'" finished Ross. "I know. Keep it in your pants this time. We need you all focused. Mercy's electrical powers are going to be needed for this."
Randy took a deep breath, jaw clenched, then asked, "And what is 'this?'"
"Dangerous," Earhart said plainly, "completely off the books, and comes with a full pardon for all past crimes, up to completion of the mission."
"Once you say you're in, you're in until it's done," said Ross.
O'Phayre seemed to be considering.
"The offer's just a formality," said Principal from his place by the door. "You're in."
Randy looked at him for a second, then nodded. "Fine. Just to be clear though- full pardon? All crimes forgiven up to completion of mission? That's the deal?"
Looking at Joy, he said, "And you're in on this too?"
"I actually did volunteer," she said. "A clean record is too good to pass up."
Turning to Noah, he said, "And you? How come you're here? Why not just use your powers to blast your way out?"
Killerg winced as he shifted his chains, pointing to a thick, black plastic ring around his neck. "It's this damned inhibitor collar," he said. "Puts a blasted needle in my brain that keeps me from using my powers until a remote disarms it."
"Hurts, does it?" asked Randy.
"Like blazes it d..."
Before he could finish, Randy threw his head sideways, butting Mercy in the mouth. Getting to his feet, he caught Noah's head under his arm as he lunged forward from his seat. Locking down tight, he twisted right and allowed himself to fall into the floor, snapping Killerg's neck as he did so.
Ross and Principal were on him immediately, jerking him to his feet and throwing him forward onto the table. "What the hell, O'Phayre?"
"I never liked him," answered Randy, "and I promised I'd kill him if I saw him again."
"I told you we needed his powers!" shouted Ross, his arm pressing Randy's head against the table.
O'Phayre chuckled. "Then I suggest you get us some tasers instead."
Ross threw Randy back in his seat as the general returned to his spot by the door. "Dammit!" shouted Ross.
Walking over behind Joy, the general placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed with his thumbs. "Why don't you try cooperating like Miss Button," the nicety in his voice strained by agitation.
His hands started to slide inward before Joy caught his wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. "General, while I do have a lot of sex, I'm very particular about being touched. If you so much as brush my neck with your finger, I will be forced to kill you. Are we clear?" she asked, as she very stiffly and sternly removed his hands.
Dropping his resistance so she'd let go, the general rubbed his wrists, and looked at Earhart.
"Don't look at me, general. You were out of line. Do something like that again, I'll see to it that you lose your stars. Now get out."
The group was silent for a minute as the general continued to rub his wrists. He looked to the other two men in the room, who both stared back in silence. Finally, he straightened his cuffs, then his jacket, and left the room.
"O'Phayre, you're in. Try to refrain from killing anyone else we may add to this mission. Albert..."
"Albert?" Randy interrupted, sneering at Ross.
"Albert, please show Mister O'Phayre to his quarters. Mister O'Phayre," she said firmly, "behave."
Randy laughed, but left with Ross.
"Miss Button, are you okay?" asked Amelia.
"I'm fine," she said, still seething.
"You handled him very gently, all things considered."
Joy looked a little shocked. "I'm not in trouble then?" she asked.
"In trouble?" Amelia laughed. "No." Leaning towards Joy, she whispered conspiratorily, "I'd have killed him with a kiss."
"With a kiss? Poison lipstick? Is that really a thing?" asked Joy.
Earhart smiled. "Something like that. Come on, let's get you back to your quarters." Joy got up to follow, and as they left the room, Amelia said, "I've got to requisition some tasers."
You have until 18:30 GMT on the 29th August to accomplish your mission. For those Americans that is 13:30 Eastern Seaboard Time and 10:30 Pacific Time. If your name happens to be Batkevin that generally translates to 04:00 on the 30th.