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#Post#: 60--------------------------------------------------
It Was Bound to Happen
By: insert name Date: April 22, 2017, 9:40 am
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[quote=From the New York Times, July 7th 1969]
War Correspondant Becomes Metahuman
A brief skirmish between NVA and American forces on the border
at an undisclosed location. Six American soldiers, all
metahumans, are confirmed dead.
It was a scene of chaos on July 2nd when a group of NVA
metahumans attacked Team Jackson. The first Team Jackson knew of
the attack was a gout of flame in the shape of a dragon striking
the soldier on point. The soldier's clothing ignited, but his
metahuman body was uninjured. Without a word spoken Team Jackson
fell into formation and began firing into the jungle. It was
then that they realized their guns weren't making any sound.
When the Sergeant began shouting, he did so without making a
sound. Something exploded in the middle of the team, and was
equally silent. The sergeant went down with the explosion. The
rest of the team began firing wildly into the jungle, but return
fire was just as silent as theirs. The dragonlike flames burst
out and struck another soldier. He wasn't as impervious as the
first and began screaming in silent agony. Team Jackson returned
fire with a flurry of lasers from one Private. Ice and frost
formed over the Private moments later. His skin distorted as it
froze solid. The vanguard was still fighting. Bullets bounced
off of him, the flames failed to harm him, and even as ice
formed on him he kept fighting forward like nothing was
happening. As the bullets rained down he was soon the last one
of Team Jackson standing. There was still no sound, but enemy
soldiers were seen reeling back as though shot by his hail of
bullets. No deaths or injuries could be confirmed. After two
minutes of fighting the enemy managed to restrain the hero by
encasing him in layer after layer of thick ice.
Then it was over. The NVA troops came out of the jungle. They
checked the bodies. They put bullets in the heads of those who
were still alive. Everything was still impossibly silent. They
found the journalist with Team Jackson, who was wounded in the
fire fight. Suddenly the noise of the jungle cut back in, and
the NVA squad began speaking in Vietnamese. They were trying to
decide what to do with the survivor. Their leader came over. He
was recognized as Rong Lua, the Fire Dragon of the North. Even
as he calmly looked over the battlefield his well known dragons
of flame circled round him in the air, or perched on his
shoulders. He spoke to the journalist in English, asking who he
was and what powers he had. The journalist explained that he was
a war correspondent and that he wasn't a combatant.
"Bao Verong says we should let reporters live," a woman amongst
them said. Bao Verong is a name that's been showing up a lot
lately.
Rong Lua agreed. "You will live," he told the reporter, "So that
you can tell your countrymen what happened here. Let them know
the pain they cause and share in it." Then he nodded to the
woman. "Let the pain be shared."
The woman nodded back. Then she looked at the reporter. Then she
turned and rejoined the larger group, who were standing around
the block of ice with the valiant metahuman inside. They were
trying to decide what to do.
It was then that the journalist realized that a strange thing
was happening. His wound was fixing itself. It closed up before
his eyes and he didn't feel hurt anymore. He stood up. Several
NVA soldiers aimed guns at the sudden movement, but no one
fired. In the end they put together a makeshift stretcher and
loaded the ice onto it and left with the metahuman. The
journalist was left alone in the jungle. To find his way back.
An hour into his walk back, the journalist started flying.
I apologize, but I have to break objectivity now. I've done it
already, really, but I've drafted and redrafted this report in
an effort to keep at least the veneer of it. I'm sure you've
already worked out that I, Richard Baden, am the journalist in
question. I have, somehow, developed metahuman powers. I have,
of course, told the military the fate of Team Jackson and have
been asked not to use names or give the location. Frankly, I was
told to report on even less than that, but I have my integrity.
Right now you'd be seeing color video of the events if the
military hadn't seized my camera.
Now I'm trying to work out what I can do. So far I seem to be
able to heal rapidly, fly and show other people my memories by
projecting them like a cinema. I've been doing the metahuman
beat long enough to suspect I may have other powers I don't know
about, or might develop later, but so far that's what I've
found.
This puts me in an awkward position, as it puts any journalist.
It is the great fear of many of our profession that we will
become the story, rather than the objective voice outside it,
but in the story of metahumanity, I am now solidly part of the
story. I've been thinking a lot about what I should do. Whether
I should sign up for the war effort or withdraw from journalism
to preserve my objectivity, or just go home and sort myself out.
In the end, I decided to keep doing what I'm doing. It strikes
me that we've seen plenty of metahumans now, heroes and villains
and especially soldiers, but I've not seen one on the side of
the media yet. I guess I'll be the first. I'll do whatever I can
with these new powers to pursue the same ideal I have always
pursued in my career: truth.
I'm not sure I'll ever be as distant and objective as my
training teaches me to be about these issues again, but that
doesn't change what I have to do. Rong Lua is a monster, but
he's right. We should know the truth, even if it's
painful.[/quote]
President Johnson puts down the paper. "Goddamn it," he
proclaims, "Those reporters already stuck their noses so far up
our business that we can't take a dump without them getting
covered in ****, and now one of them's got superpowers!" He
turns to his aide, "Go talk to Hoover about this Baden fellow. I
want a full report on the c*cksucker."
#Post#: 381--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Was Bound to Happen
By: insert name Date: June 22, 2017, 7:30 am
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The New Face of War
It's a hot muggy day at the base. All the days are hot and
muggy, unless it's raining. The jungle can be seen easily from
the base, but there's enough wide open land to see anyone coming
for at least a few hundred yards in all directions, broken only
by the never sleeping contingent of soldiers made of earth and
metal. The soldiers call them Turfers, and their vigilance is
meant to protect the base beyond the capabilities of ordinary
soldiers.
Private First Class Joshua Mills is patrolling the inside of
the base's twenty foot fence. The fence is made of hard mesh and
razor wire. He is smoking a cigarette. He has his itchy shirt
off and is scanning the tree line for movement, but is too board
to really focus. From somewhere in the forest a tree flies
through the air and crushes Pfc Mills into a red smear. The
Turfers are moving before it even lands, one tried to jump in
the path, another twenty converge, at the orders of their steel
officer, on the point it came from. The tree keeps going and
tears through the fence.
A seconds later a giant made of metal and covered in images of
the proud history of Vietnam comes charging through the
treeline, flinging more trees at the base. The monster of a man
is called Tuong, which means 'Monument'. Turfers are already
firing at him, and climbing on his steel skin to hold him down.
Those grabbing him disintegrate, one by one. A tank moves into
position to challenge Tuong, only for the giant to run forward
at an alarming rate and punt the vehicle. The tank is crushed
inwards and the useless mass of steel goes flying into a storage
room. The munitions kept inside begin to ignite in a brilliant
red fire, capped with bursts and explosions.. The death toll is
already rising.
Soldiers of America and the Army of the Republic of Viet Nam
pour out of the base, scrambling to grab their gear and weapons.
Tuong keeps moving, bullets bouncing harmlessly off his steel
skin. Turfers turning to dust, or being thrown bodily at their
compatriots. The Turfers don't cry out in pain, don't hesitate,
don't fear.
There's a strange swelling in the open field, almost
imperceptible, and then the earth rises up around Tuong. It
looks almost like a series of grasping hands that try to pull
him down. For all Tuong's bulk and strength, it seems to be
working.
Anti-aircraft guns and rocket launchers are brought to bear
against Tuong. The man about to fire the first volley from the
guns starts to scream. His body is ripped upwards into his own
skull, bones breaking and flesh compacting into it by unseen
forces. Blood sprays outwards on those around him, and panic
sets in. The men around him lose sight of firing on Tuong as
they try to find the source, or run for it.
A man amongst the American soldiers, a Sergeant, starts
speaking calmly, but loudly, and the soldiers begin to steel
themselves and refocus their efforts.
An ARVN soldier literally leaps into the fight. He leaps from
somewhere in the base, clears the fence, and makes a distance of
at least four hundred yards before planting himself, foot first,
in Tuong. And Tuong, miraculously, is actually knocked back by
it. He tumbles down into the grasping earth. The soldier is
already gone before Tuong falls, leaping to the treeline as
easily as a child plays hopscotch.
The screaming within the base continues as more and more
soldiers are ripped into their own skulls, and the watchtowers
run slick with their blood.
Then the wailing begins. It's a horrible sound that feels
almost like it starts in the bones rather than the ears, shaking
the whole body as it builds to a horrible cry. It's the kind of
noise that should only ever be heard in nightmares. And that
wailing isn't even the worst of it. The worst is that they form
words, begging in Vietnamese and sometimes English for release
from their pain. They talk about the cold grip of death, the
foolishness of fighting, and beg to for release. Dead men come
staggering out of the jungle. They plead and scream and wail.
Some wear the tatters of civilian clothing, but most the
uniforms of the various sides of the conflict. The defending
soldiers freeze when they see these horrors emerge from the
jungle, as though Hell itself has spat up an army to oppose
them.
The Turfers don't freeze. They don't cower. They simply engage
the new enemy, as they would any others.
Amongst the dead are the hopping soldiers, almost
indistinguishable from the others. These are the dreaded Cuong
Thi, and at the sight of them the ARVN soldiers begin to recite
Buddhist mantras and the Americans pull out and spin tiny wooden
prayer wheels. It seems a silly superstition, but it's what
their orders say to do. In the absence of these prayers the
Cuong Thi are almost indestructible.
The figure who earlier ducked into the forest runs back out
onto the field. He reaches one of the Cuong Thi and kicks its
head so hard it severs and goes flying back over the fence, and
then the soldier leaps back into the treeline. The whole thing,
from leaving the trees to jumping back takes the blink of an
eye.
The Turfers are pressed hard against the Cuong Thi. They say
the Cuong Thi drain the life of any human they touch, and make
more Cuong Thi from the corpse. Their touch does nothing to the
Turfers. Instead they rake the earthen troops with horrible
claws, tear them apart, rip holes in their body. It doesn't
matter, there are always more Turfers.
On the other side of the base, Tuong rips his way back out of
the earthen pit. He lets out a bellow so loud that it sends
Turfers flying away from him. He grabs a copper officer and
flings him hard towards the base. An almost man-shaped wall of
earth rises from the ground to intercept the throw, only to be
shattered by the impact. Still, it knocks the copper officer far
enough off course that it fails to hit any men or buildings.
More soldiers scream as they're shoved upwards into their own
heads. Out of their mutilated bodies, bloodly lumps no bigger
than basketballs, small doves that shine like lightbulbs fly.
The doves congregate around a woman in surgery scrubs, who
directs them with quick gestures and words. The birds dart and
weave and fly into wounded soldiers. When they do, the wounds
shine bright, and then are gone. When soldiers are worse than
wounded, another dove flits from their lifeless body and joins
the flock.
From behind the Cuong Thi a pair of long serpentine columns of
fire appear, each in the shape of a roaring dragon. It's the
signature assault of Rong Lua, and it's a horrifying spectacle
as the dragons strike out and burn soldiers alive.
As the chaos reaches its peak a NVA officer suddenly appears in
the camp. Unnoticed by most around him, he looks around in
terror. A soldier sights him, and barely bothers to point him
out to others before firing on him. The man screams in terror
and falls to the fetal position. Bullets bounce around him, aim
destroyed by shaking hands, and many can't bring themselves to
shoot at all. Then everyone within a hundred yards of him
panics. Some drop to the fetal position, others scream in
terror, and several drop to the ground. Doves of light fly from
no small number around them.
Near Tuong there is a sudden and distinct smell of ozone. This
is the only sign warning before a bolt of lightning bursts from
the blue cloudless sky, and tears apart the landscape around
Tuong, it's brilliant glare blinding everyone who looks at it.
Tuong staggers back from the impact, but stands again fast
enough. In the wake of the blinding flash there is an alien
figure, eight feet tall and tiny next to the giant Tuong. It
looks like a man made out of stained glass, but he has the head
of some great cat and massive condor wings made of black
obsidian.
As Tuong reaches out to grasp the alien figure, light expands
off of it and forms a rainbow body of glowing light. Tuong
grasps hold of the light, and the figure inside it begins to
disintegrate. The glowing body grabs Tuong back and the cat head
bites into his metal frame. The teeth glow with bright white
light where they touch the metal skin, and with a swift upward
pull the creature tears off a chunk of Tuong's metal flesh.
Tuong's body shifts strangely, filling in the gap of the teeth.
There is no wound, but Tuong is just a bit smaller now.
Tuong holds on, the light wavers and the thing under it loses
its legs, disintegrating into nothingness.
The creature digs its teeth into Tuong again, ripping off
another chunk. Again, Tuong shifts to fill the wound, and again
Tuong is diminished.
Tuong grits his enormous metal teeth. Even his teeth have
murals of the glorious history of his homeland. The howling
creature inside the light roars, and is nothing. Tuong roars,
and the sound causes the Turfers around him to fly back like rag
dolls. He charges the fence at full speed. A rocket catches him
in motion, and another chunk of metal is shorn away, only to be
refilled by the ever shrinking giant.
For no clear reason people have stopped imploding into their
own skulls. The sergeant is trying to coordinate the troops to
deal with the screaming man who was so recently in the fetal
position. He's now yelling at them, and those he is shouting out
seem to shrink from him, or flee. A few fall down, and from some
new light doves emerge.
A pair of doves flank the Sergeant as he starts yelling back at
the man. The two officers begin shouting at one another as loud
as they can. One of the doves flies into the Sergeant and light
shines from his mouth and ears.
The two continue to yell at each other.
On the other flank, the lightning fast soldier of the ARVN is
still leaping back and forth, killing a Cuong Thi every time,
but the precision tactic is taking too long, even with his
speed. The Cuong Thi are breaking the front lines, the Turfers
have failed to hold them off, and Rong Lua's fire dragons have
forced a retreat of the prayer speakers. The dead reach the
barbed wire fences and begin trying to tear the tangle of wires
apart. Instead, the wires suddenly come to life like the arms of
an octopus and engulf the dead men. The bladed wires turn and
twist, and shred the men to nothing.
A moment later the grappling fence starts to freeze over, water
from the air becoming a thick layer of ice.
Tuong reaches the fence on the other side and tears through it
like a runner crossing the finish line. Bullets still bounce off
the giant, but the heavier fire seems to keep reducing him. He
grabs a soldier, and the man vanishes. He grabs another, and he
too is gone. Slowly, subtly, Tuong begins to grown back in size.
The sergeant and the NVA officer continue to scream at one
another. As the officer is distracted yelling at the sergeant an
anti-aircraft gun is brought to bear. The operator stares at the
man, the gun aimed right at him, but instead of firing he just
stands there, shaking like a leaf.
Suddenly there is a dragon in the base. Not one of Rong Lua's
fiery creations, but a flesh and blood monster larger than any
vehicle in the field. It floats effortlessly above the fray,
having come from nowhere. It's scales shine brilliant blue, it's
underbelly a fine silver. It's mustache is long and fleshy, like
the whiskers of a catfish. When it roars, clouds form in the
sky, and rain begins to fall ludicrously quickly. The sergeant
breaks off his screaming match, and the anti-aircraft gun begins
to fire at the dragon, shells exploding and ricochetting against
its scales. The dragon flicks a claw, and casually tears an
anti-aircraft gun apart.
Under the dragon another NVA soldier appears from nowhere. He
holds his hands, palm outwards, towards the enemy soldiers.
Their guns backfire. Their bullets explode in the case. Grenades
on their belts explode.
A third NVA soldier appears, and around him the earth begins to
rise up beneath the dragon. A fortress of living earth, hardened
thick, rises up to contain the two new soldiers, and the
screaming officer. It provides them with the high ground, in the
center of the base.
At this point it is clear that the battle is lost. The
metahuman power brought to bear by the NVA has made the
conventional army useless, and the metahumans present aren't
enough to fight back. The wounds to Tuong were impressive, but
he's already restoring himself almost to full size. There is a
flock of hundreds of shining doves, even as they flit around and
seek figures to save. The NVA has lost nothing but soldiers that
were already dead. While the Turfers bore the brunt of the
offense, the USA and the ARVN have already paid dearly in human
life.
In a moment, however, the rest of the base will be leveled and
more than a thousand brave soldiers will be dead.
There is a flash of green on the new earthen fortress. A figure
in an unimpressive dull green US Army uniform and a similarly
dull green gas-mask with a flat face stands on the battlement
behind its creator. The mysterious soldier raises a hand and a a
sphere of bright emerald light bursts from him. The fortress is
ripped apart. The people standing on it are sent flying. The
soldier who erected the fortress lands hard against the ground,
and his spine is left twisted and snapped and hideous angles.
The screaming officer goes skipping like a stone across the roof
of the barracks. Once again, everyone within a hundred yards of
him panics and screams, and many just drop dead. He tries
desperately to run, but only manages to limp away. The munitions
destroyer is sent flying into the air and, collides heavily with
the ground. He stands up without sign of injury.
The figure in green is none other Green G. The battle is no
longer lost.
Rong Lua sees Green G amongst the wreckage of the instant
fortress. He let's out a bloodcurdling warcry, and his fire
dragons roar with the crackle of bonfires. The three of them
charge forward, forcing their way past the fence and razor wire
towards green G.
The dragon strikes at Green G, but Green G vanishes from sight.
The claw strikes empty air.
A yellow ray, fired apparently from somewhere close, strikes
the man with the broken back. Just like that, he's gone.
Tuong shouts something to the dragon. He's trying to call a
retreat.
Rong Lua searches wildly around, looking in every direction, as
fire wreathes his body like a suit of armor, and the fire
dragons prowl around him. Suddenly, emerald light flashes behind
him and bursts through his torso. His blood and organs are
scattered across more than two hundred yards.
Another yellow beam pierces the air and strikes the limping NVA
officer, disappearing him.
The dragon let's out a howl. A moment later, mist rolls in from
nowhere. The mist is light enough to see almost clearly for
almost a hundred yards. It does, however, reveal a silhouette
moving through it, making a hazy image.
Rong Lua is still moving, trying to crawl away. The silhoutte
speaks, in poor Vietnamese muted by the mask: “You have one
chance to surrender.”
Rong Lua breathes deep and clenches his teeth. “I will **** on
your ashes.” The dragons strike at the shadowy shape. There is a
flash of emerald light, and they pass harmlessly through empty
air.
A yellow beam crosses the field towards Rong Lua, but the it
stops in mid air, like a light striking a wall. There is another
blast of emerald from a space an arms reach from where the light
stopped.
The dragon reaches out with a terrible claw to try and block
the blast, but it is too late.
This time, Rong Lua is left without a head.
The dragon roars, and the mist vanishes. It whips its enormous
bulk around the camp. Tis tail levels watchtowers, and tears
through a hangar as though it were tissue. The claws flail
around, but find nothing. There is an emerald blast, originating
from just above the dragon's left shoulder. The light tears
right through the dragon, and spilling gallons of blood. The
dragon howls in pain.
Tuong has already escaped to the treeline and is almost lost in
the jungle. Another yellow ray strikes the dragon, and it is
gone. At almostthe same moment a second beam strikes the running
munitions destroyer, who had made it to the edge of base.
A moment later there is a muffled voice speaking poor
Vietnamese in the middle of the shambling undead. The voice is
speaking a Buddhist prayer. There is another emerald blast, like
the one that destroyed the fortress, tears the Cuong Thi and
their zombies into giblets.
The tally at the end says that 218 undead soldiers were
destroyed, 406 Turfers and metal officers were destroyed, 51
American and 116 ARVN personnel were killed. There were, thanks
to the doves, no wounded. The base was destroyed, almost a
hundred thousand dollars worth of supplies and construction
lost.
And one NVA metahuman, Rong Lua, was dead.
The American and ARVN forces celebrated this as a victory. One
dead metahuman was worth all the death and supplies lost on the
other side.
That is what the war is, now. Victories are measured in the
lives and deaths of metahumans, and everything else is
secondary.
[right]Richard Baden.
September 4th, 1969[/right]
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