Realistic or Modern Death Squad「 Not Accepting 」

[Blu]

☠ P R E M I S E ☠​

A group of superhuman assassins from the 1940's—the first of their kind—are awakened from their cryogenic hibernation only to find that they've been "decommissioned" by the United States government, and are now entirely on their own. They find themselves in a strange new world where the concept of "Supers" has become normal and widely accepted. As they struggle to adapt to the pitfalls of modernity, villainous plots brewing from behind the scenes will spur these out-of-time outcasts to once again take up killing in the name of peace.​

Expanded History

In the early advent of World War II, the Allies formed a secretive coalition for the research and development of biological weaponry which would ultimately result in the creation of the world's first super humans; only, the world would not know it. These individuals who were successfully experimented on as part of the program were sworn to uphold its secrecy, operating in the shadows under the elected authority of the U.S. government and the team's handler: John Avery—referred to affectionately as "Doc". Among their rank, most had little to no family and/or volunteered to be officially listed as deceased in order to join.

Their objectives and missions varied, but most boiled down to assassinations of extreme prejudice, earning the team the colloquial name of the "Death Squad". They, who receive no glory, no recognition, and no celebration in the performance of their duties, were held together by their adamant belief that what they were doing was all in the name of ending the war and bringing peace back to the world. And so they did. Numerous complications and tragedies were avoided because of their efforts; the Atom bomb, the death of Hitler—the Death Squad had their fingerprints over these events and countless others, but they were erased before the public could know the truth.

And then, the war was over. In the roughly ten years following the end of World War II, the unsung "heroes" of the Death Squad were allowed to resume some semblance of a normal life albeit with completely new identities. Contact with anyone in their past was strictly prohibited, and they lived under constant surveillance by the government to ensure their silence. To most of them, however, this new life held little comfort as they had grown accustomed—dependent, even—to a life of service. But these were times of peace and the world did not need killers. So another idea was born: to keep the Death Squad in a state of cryogenic hibernation until the time when they are necessary once more.

It was their choice, and most chose to go under the ice. The few that decided not to would be allowed to live out the rest of their lives under the circumstances mentioned before. They didn't know the kind of world they would be waking up to, but it was better than to live without a cause.

The world has radically changed since then and, in the Mid-Nineties, the general public was finally introduced to the concept of the "Super Human" and the emergence of the "Superhero". Universal icons of moral goodness and justice created and funded by governments from all around the world. Since their inception, Superhero popularity has grown exponentially and they have integrated themselves as just a normal part of daily life. So what became of the Death Squad? Unfortunately, they were never officially recognized; their existence seen as a black spot on the shining image of the Superhero if it was ever exposed.

Those under ice would remain forgotten, perhaps never to be awakened again. That is until one day…

RP Rules

• 1 All RPNation rules applies.
• 2 Use general RP etiquette (no godmod, powerplay, etc.).
• 3 As the Host/GM, I have final say on all decisions relating to the RP.
• 4 One character per player. Feel free to create as many NPCs as needed.
• 5 One or two posts a week. Let me know when you can't post.
• 6 Minimum post length is one paragraph.
• 7 If I like your character sheet, that means your character is approved.

Chapters

Chapter 1 | Made In America | Link
Synopsis: The Death Squad wakes. The team attempts to track down their old handler.

 

[Blu]

Germany, 1945
"Who are they?" a masculine voice asks in Russian. Flying at approximately 12,000 feet in the air, a C-47 belonging to the Red Army approaches an active combat zone. Only a small group of passengers are on board, including a pair of Soviet soldiers speaking in hushed tones to one another. "Americans?" the same voice—belonging to a young soldier—inquires to his older colleague. Clearing his throat and peeking glances at the back of the plane, the older man finally speaks. "I don't know, Dimitri. But I did hear some interesting rumors." He lights a cigarette.

Toward the back of the plane, near the bay doors, sits a group of individuals dressed in dark fatigues. Four men, one in a gas mask; two women among their rank. "Apparently, the Allies have a secret weapon. Some kind of elite death squad, I hear. Ruthless. Effective. They never failed a mission. From all accounts: what they can do... It's hard to even call them 'human'." Dimitri finds his mouth agape with intrigue as he struggles to keep himself from staring at the individuals in the back. He looks to his colleague and whispers, "The six of them?" To which the older man shakes his head. "Some say six. Others say sixty. No one knows for certain. And that's the point. They're boogeymen." The young man is in awe. "Where did you even hear all of this?" The older man motions his fingers to beckon Dimitri closer, and whispers in his ear, "From your wife when I fucked her last night."

Almost instinctually, Dimitri pushes him away. "Oh fuck you Vadik!" They both share a hardy laugh. "Who the fuck knows who they are. We're tasked with escorting them, that's all. Don't hurt yourself thinking too much." As the men continue to enjoy themselves, the scene pans again to those in the back.

< BGM: Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood >​

A tall gentleman with short hair and a well-trimmed beard looks out the window. "This is our stop." He addresses the others in English. His name is John Avery, otherwise known to his crew as simply "Doc". Putting on his goggles and parachute, John then proceeds to release the latch and open the bay doors. A strong torrent of wind rushes into the cabin. A lesser man would stumble, but not the Doc. His feet are firmly planted in place. The two Russian soldiers rush to stand up. They were told that this was going to happen but they didn't expect it so abruptly. Looking toward the horizon, one can see a battle in full swing taking place at ground level—fires and giant pillars of smoke abound. John looks back at his team. "See you all on the ground!" he shouts with full confidence. The man in the gas mask simply nods once in acknowledgement. John shifts his gaze toward the Russians next. "Tovarishchi!" He gives them a two-fingered salute. As the team gathers at the open bay doors, they look ready to follow John into whatever hell may come. And then, they jumped.

Chapter 1 | Made In America
Synopsis: The Death Squad wakes. The team attempts to track down their old handler.​

America, 2021
As if naught but a moment passes, consciousness is breathed back into the shapeless green mass that inhabits a peculiar mummy-like exosuit sitting lifeless in a glass prison. Eric Frieder's wrapped head—shaped to be human-like—flicks forward as if alive. His senses are coming back to him now. As the electromagnetic radiation surges about, Eric's environment begins to take shape in his mind. He can see. He then stands himself up off the metal floor and approaches the cylindrical glass; pressing his hands against it and feeling some rudimentary form of haptic feedback. Scanning the scene in front of him, Eric notices six cryogenic pods; three of which hold his old teammates: Lois Kegley, Orlov Yakovich, and Azriel Altman. Mere moments later, they spring to life with a mechanical whirl and begin to thaw.

The process is over in seconds, leaving behind bodies covered in a thin layer of water. Eric can do nothing but watch. Fortunately, they would rise as intended. Some time later, as those waking from the pods are adjusting fully to their cognizance, the double doors behind them open and in comes walking an important-looking man followed by three nondescript suits.

The man stops front and center of the room. "Welcome back to the land of the living." He ushers with two of his fingers, signaling the suits to hand the newly-thawed Supers a towel each to dry themselves off with. "My name is Agent Mayfield. I work for the Bureau of Superhuman Oversight. Now I imagine you have a lot of questions. Unfortunately, we do not have a lot of time. First things first: your clothes." The suits from before handed everyone a duffle bag containing the clothes they wore on the day they were frozen. "For the lady." Mayfield gestures behind Lois, indicating the presence of a nearby medical screen to provide her with privacy.

"Can someone please let me out of this fucking cage..." Eric interrupts. His tone hinted at annoyance but not aggression. "Right, my apologies, Dr. Frieder." Mayfield touches his wrist watch a few times and the door to Eric's chamber springs open. As Eric steps out, he, too, is handed a duffle bag. Reaching inside, the first item he pulls out is the gas mask he uses to hide his face, or lack of one rather. Inspecting it, he wipes his thumb over one of the eye glasses. Then, he puts it on along with the rest of his clothes. After getting dressed, the team is shepherded into another room with a long table and some uncomfortable steel chairs.

"Please, have a seat." Mayfield waits with his hands held behind his back. Eric grabs the chair furthest right of the table. "Well, let me be the first to welcome you all to the year 2021." It's been sixty-six years since they went under. That's quite the time gap. "That long?" Eric asks as he rests one arm on the table while leaning forward.

"Well what can I say? It's been relatively peaceful, thank God." If that's the case then why are they being woken up now? "I'm afraid I have some bad news: you've been decommissioned." A palpable silence hangs in the air. "It's done. Over and done. Starting now, you're just a bunch of civilians."

"So going under... It was for nothing?" Eric can hardly believe it. He shoots Lois a look. Although expressionless, one might read concern from his body language. "Sorry, they didn't provide me with details. Look on the bright side: you're alive; you're free. Do whatever tickles your fancy from now on. Just... keep your silence about everything like before. That's still binding, for life. Oh, and try to stay out of trouble. Remember? Civvies." One of the suits accompanying Mayfield opens the door to the room. "My men'll escort you out. We did ask one of your former teammates to come retrieve you. Thank you for your service, and good luck out there." Mayfield is adamant about not being able to answer any questions they may have, suggesting that the details of the team's dissolution are above his pay grade. Before they exit, however, he has one last thing to say. "Before you leave, you should know: there's more of you out there now. A lot more. Make of that what you will."

What did he mean by that? The suits escort the team to the open exit of the underground facility and point them toward the gate just straight ahead. It's daylight out, possibly around ten in the morning. As they walk, Eric remains quiet while trying to process it all. But enough of that for now. Supposedly, a former teammate of theirs is to pick them up. As Eric can recall, there were several who decided not to undergo stasis. Finally exiting through the gates, the team waits by the fence for the arrival of their chaperone. Currently, they are in the state of Maryland on the outskirts of Pleasantry—a smaller city thirty miles out from the nation's capital: Washington D.C.

TYPE Braddington The Hermit mikaluvkitties nevermind.

 

[The Hermit]

Paris, France: New Years of 2005
Theme

"Fifty years... Here's to another fifty more," Rosalie Leblanc is alone in her apartment, listening to the party unfold throughout the city while she finished a pack of menthol cigarettes. Of course, she was alone, as per her self imposed policy. She'd finished bathing nearly an hour ago, but still was lounging in a robe on her balcony. She'd moved around a lot during the past few decades, often hopping between continents in order to maintain some sense of excitement to pass the blurring days, months, and years. However, she always found herself back home.

There were a few times when time seemed to go back to normal - namely those times of crisis, when it seemed likely that her team would be thawed and put back to use. However, it never did. After the events of September 11 in America, she was convinced nothing would let them make the decision to do so. There were a few times here and there that she considered resurfacing the research that granted her immortality. Although, deep down, she knew that this kind of existence would crush the spirits of any other person. She had work to do. After all, who else had a life's worth of experience in creating superpowered individuals? After all, just because the public found out a decade ago, doesn't mean that's when it all began.

Pleasantry, Maryland: 2021

Quite frankly, she still mostly couldn't believe it. Sixty six years. What made them wait this long? Perhaps it was the fact that the longer they would wait, the worse it would be for them. Although, it was already past the point of no return for how 'bad' it could be. Regardless, it was news that she did not hesitate to make the flight across the North Atlantic in order to be there when it happened. Dressed in her typical attire of black jeans and a white tee that depicted some band or musician that she enjoyed at some point. Not particularly professional, but she had long since ditched professionalism in favor of comfort. Driving through the large town in her personal vehicle, being a compact car, she realized while waiting at a light that there should be five people going with her. As such, a party of six would not be fitting in there. Perhaps the larger vehicle that was mentioned to her would actually be needed after all.

After the final turn was blurted in French by her phone, Rosalie made way towards a gate that was beginning to open. The site itself hadn't changed much since the Death Squad was given the choice to go under nearly seventy years ago, so it wasn't hard to recognize. Parking about thirty feet in front of the gate and stepping out, she watched a relatively small group of people arriving through the gates. She knew the faces, but it still felt like she was looking at strangers, given how long it had been.

 

[TYPE]

THEME (for the opening, start it LOUD for a shock!) - Orlov Yakovich


​

The world was screaming. The vibrant wailing sound of a thousand untuned cat-gut violas droning in dopplered, horrifying magnificence had his thinking stutter erratically – as the pressure of distraction seemed to grasp with a violent psychic jolt the nape of his neck, wringing his form and pressing him downward. The onslaught had his teeth creaking dangerously in their uncontrolled gnashing, his jaw complaining immediately. With his body going half-limp the moment he was released, unawares of the situation in which he found himself, he made to step from his frosty prison but was almost immediately left leaning pathetically against his former-refrigerated former-coffin. Eyes wide, still, unseeing, pupils dilated as nothing and everything registered in tandem for what felt a small, excruciating eternity.

As the lingering, radiating cold started to seep into his skin from the metal refrigerator, Orlov – with weak limbs and confused, mechanical movements - gripped with white knuckled force at the frame, standing through gritted teeth more upright, shaking his head as if wanting to clear it of some harrowing. His lips pulled back unknowingly, baring his teeth, his tongue feeling dry in his silent heaving – his breathing ragged. In the background he heard them – the voices from before mixed with another he did not recall ever hearing prior to his sleep. Officious nonsense he had no ability to be interested in at that very moment. The words escaped his understanding - seeming muted and far away – low noise under a violent cascade of sharp white ambiance. With the passing of moments he collected what discipline he had, reigning in his near-panic - his breathing evening out slowly while ignoring everything that was occurring, not having the mental reserves to actually focus in on the physical. By the time they were dismissed he could barely stand upright, having dressed clumsily in a shirt - inside out - and trousers on backwards. He forgot to grab the aged bag containing his shoes and the rest of his things - as he stumbled wordlessly after the group.

As they reached the outside, the noises that were at once both loud and oppressive seemed to thin out somewhat – as if the ghosts were contained more completely within the walls for the most part. Instead, outside here, it felt thin. Potent yes – and immediately recognisable. The faint ghost-lines which had coursed through the air so many years ago – radiating from tall towers with signals powerful and rare… now was pervasive to say the least. The air tasted of it; every breath almost metallic as the energy radiated over his skin. It was a sharper thing too – more so a drill boring into his mind than erratic, infrequent taps among his temple.

Orlov stood upwards, looking at the skies – still ignoring the rest. How long had they kept him there? Frozen. Surely hundreds of years must have passed for so many towers to be build and so many things needing to be said. His eyes fell closed against the skies, and with a soft breath he reached up… they were up there. The signals came from… His eyes flashed open and a smile. The stars! With so many of them coming from above – time must have authored a fiction of reality. Entire civilisations high above there, awaiting his awakening.

He failed to notice his smile widening as he watched the skies, as if wanting to see the thousands of spaceships that must be flying around on high, excitement and joy radiating through his form in an invisible imitation of the frequencies rushing through him. A chuckle burst past his lips, quickly turning into a laugh as he turned in place – his still dumb feet having him fall to the ground and over them. Uncaring of it, he just lay down on the ground – eyes wide, mouth open, letting the soft tremors of civilisation crawl through his bones. There he was lost, trying his utmost to make sense of the noise, failing utterly and developing only further the headache which threatened to debilitate him.

The sound of something approaching had him lift his head up, watching a vehicle come nearer. His eyes narrowed at the driver before immediately rolling over and in a jumble getting up. He knew that face. A smile broke across his own as he clambered over to the car, meeting it just as it arrived, placing both hands on the hood, peering through the glass. She looked the same. His smile widened impossibly more. Focussing on her made things… easier. It quieted everything just a bit.

He got lost in her gaze for a moment and wondered a thousand things a second. How ancient she must be… the wisdom she must have picked up on. He waved excitedly – noticing a signal coming from her... pocket? “изумительный!” He rushed around the side and grabbed at the door handle, opening her side and pushing his head inside the car – grabbing her face and kissing either side of her cheeks. “You look the same!” His eyes looked her over, taking in every detail. It was not entirely true. Some things changed. How she dressed. Her eyes… “I am a time traveler! The future is LOUD!” As he shouted the last word, the adrenaline in his body seemingly amplified by the sheer level of indecipherable information coming from… everything – the lights and electronics in the car shuddered, the horn and radio going haywire for a second. His face dumbstruck just watched in awe. “Вы должны мне все рассказать!”

The Hermit - The Living Dead
Blu - CItizen Strange
Braddington - Rahphael
mikaluvkitties - Doppelganger
nevermind. - Orbit​

 

[Braddington]

Raphael


It was all a blur really. One moment, the feeling of utter dread as uncertain technology lulled him into an eternal sleep, the next? A blip. A moment in time that simultaneously felt both impossibly long and miniscule like the blink of an eye. In truth, he was not a heavy sleeper, and that was certainly heavy. His body felt lethargic as it came back online, perhaps the opposite of the loud and boisterous nature of Orlov. It was like the worst hangover of his life, and that was saying something. All he could do was drag himself along with the lull of the crowd, remaining silent.

He heard the words alright. Decommissioned.

Nothing. He didn’t say a word. He knew already.

It was obvious, the war was over, they had no use for them anymore. A bunch of maybes about the future was nothing more than an excuse to excise them of a burden for over half a century. The image of the nation and all that.

Was there a bitterness in him? Of course. Not even a measly medal. Years of service meant next to nothing. Yet when he made the decision to go into cryo, it was nothing more than a delaying tactic for the inevitable despair he was going to feel.

What was he going to do?

Already the existential crisis had set in. His mind running marathons to justify existence, all to no end. It was a circus of mismatched ideas that all hung on even more maybes.

Exiting the facility, out into the big wide world, it immediately struck him how different things were. There was just something about the air. He could always sense peculiarities, things out of place, but now everything was. Cars. What had happened to them? Why did they look like that? What were those logos? Ford? They were ugly. Shaped like insects.

The buildings, there was something familiar about them. Yet others were completely different in style, excessive use of glass. Looking around he could see the people, focusing intently on the minute details. Lipsticks, hair products, colour, clothing, movements.

He hated it.

Nothing was right. Nothing was in place. He wanted to go back.

Please let him go back.

There had to be something, anything that could pull the plug on this bad dream. He’d wake up in New York, right by the watch shop. It would all just be right.

As his crisis deepened, a car pulled up to the gate. His eyes flitted through the details of the face behind the glass, immediately recognisable. Rosalie. Youthful as ever. It calmed him for a moment, at least knowing he knew someone who would have a fucking clue about this cursed reality he had been shunted into.

He greeted the driver with a curt nod. Unsure of what his reaction was meant to be with anyone of his teammates. It didn’t feel long enough to warrant anything special, they were all together only yesterday. It was easy to picture.

In an effort to shut the loud bleating of Orlov up, he rested a hand on the man's shoulder, gripping with some intensity, his eyes burrowing into his every feature.

He held up his other hand.

“Your bag. You forgot it. I never forget.”

He flashed a smile, the first of his new life, before shuffling into the car.



The Hermit Blu TYPE mikaluvkitties nevermind. ​

 

[mikaluvkitties]

Lois had been prompt for her slumber, a reserved politeness shading every interaction with the staff. Even as her fingers numbed during preparation, she made believe at being certain. Her last thought before she was frozen was dread the country she woke up to wouldn't be one worth fighting for.

And then she was awake. Bleary, several moments needed to recollect herself, but awake. Her stomach clenched in that same dreadful anticipation as when she first signed up for this. How many years ago had that been now?

She did a headcount: Eric, up. Azriel, up. Orlov... up, but not quite right. Leaning against the pod, eyes unfocused. Professional concerns met personal. What was wrong, did something happen to his pod, would it affect the mission, was the mission worthy, how long had it been-

Her thoughts cut off as she reached for him, for the problem most pressing and most tangible.

The double doors opened. She immediately straightened, already on alert, the moment to touch passed.

Only one spoke, but his words pressed on her as she took the towel, drying herself quick and efficiently. Bag clasped in her hand, she disappeared behind the screen, worst case scenarios running through her mind.

What could be happening that they were being deployed so soon after release? Was it to keep them from asking questions? It was still eating at her as she came back around the divider. Azriel had grabbed Orlov's for him and that secured that something was very, very wrong with Orlov. She tried to catch Eric's eye, to see what was going through his head. No evidence had been presented to support it, but she already felt at a disadvantage, one member weakened and no idea what had happened other than she was again of use and they were on a time limit.

She settled wordlessly into the seat furthest to the left, one leg crossing over the other, hands clasped in front of her. If she hadn't she had no doubt the next words would have been hard to recover from. Her son was in his eighties now if he was lucky enough to still be alive. It didn't even feel like she was missing time.

But it didn't her, not really, until Agent Mayfield said that one simple word: 'decommissioned'. Everything about this encounter was recontextualized, one of the few things she had been sure of stripped from her. She could have felt empty or hurt, could have curled into a ball and wondered why she could possibly be here, what she would do next, but almost none of that was productive and what was was best done away from here, so instead she looked to Eric as he spoke, not even surprised to find him already eying her, a familiar burning in her eyes, smothered to an ember.

Agent Mayfield kept speaking and, with each word, landed further and further on the list of people Lois despised. She could have tried to be nice, to butter him up- To try and get much of anything before they were released into a hostile world that would never so much as acknowledge she existed, let alone what she had sacrificed, but she didn't. The less time here, the less time anyone, herself included, had to say something stupid.

Here was the thing: Nothing about this was right and she doubted this was the sole place things were still wrong in the world. She didn't know what she was going to do, but whatever it was she planned to leave this agent of superhuman oversight no clues.

With a tight-lipped smile, she left, only for the bastard to leave them one last riddle. She pocketed it for later.

The light outside nearly blinded her as she went through the list of current issues. Most pressing, of course, was Orlov, laughing beside her and, a moment later, planted face first into the dirt. She didn't know him very well but she doubted this was standard behavior. Then, they had to meet with their ride and get as far from here as possible, regrouping... somewhere. After that could come damage control and checking in on both Eric and Azriel. Neither would be fine after this- She wasn't fine after this, but there would be time to dwell on that later. For now, she needed to keep moving.

Sixty six years, sixteen before that, and none of it meant a thing. Not a single damned thing.

He must have recognized whoever was in the vehicle before she had- That, or he'd gone completely off his rocker- because as the vehicle approached, Orlov bounded off the ground and towards it. She followed after him more sedately, tensing as the alarms went off and she finally recognized Rosalie.

Entirely unaged, she was likely miles easier to recognize than any of their other once-teammates and without her, Lois had no idea what would have happened with Orlov. She knew the world they'd come into, knew what made it tick. Rosalie's presence was a blessing. If this had had to happen, she was hesitantly glad that at the very least these were the people she was with.

The car began to blare and she looked back to the building they had come from, much too dull for the wariness it instilled in her.

She turned back to the group, glad to see Azriel returning to Orlov his bag. "We need to talk, and we need to get away from here before we do it."

Blu The Hermit TYPE Braddington​

 

[Blu]

Eric Frieder
is Citizen Strange
Location: Pleasantry, Maryland
Mentions: TYPE The Hermit Braddington mikaluvkitties nevermind.​

Eric kneels down next to Orlov, having never seen him behave in such an extreme manner before. He knows Orlov's sensitivity to digital signals well, so such a reaction must indicate an overload of said stimuli within the environment. Eric is also affected in a not so dissimilar way. Electromagnetic radiation is a constant force that exists in the world and is the mechanism in which Eric is granted "sight". However, in this strange, new tomorrow, that force is multiplied to an unfathomable degree, providing him with a much higher fidelity than he's ever known. But unlike Orlov, it isn't noise, it's resolution. Eric does not say anything and simply watches him. What words can comfort him, after all? It's an experience entirely foreign to anyone else.

Just then, a vehicle approaches and, at the sight of its driver, Orlov springs to life. "Rosalie?" Eric stands up and watches as the car comes to a halt. She is certainly a sight for sore eyes. An unmistakable buoy within a sea of terrifying newness. Orlov is the first to rush over and greets her in an all-too-familiar way. Next is Azriel who also gives Orlov his misplaced bag. Azriel had been quiet the entire time; Eric can guess why. Seldom things perturb the keen-eyed sniper. But he is now a soldier lost of purpose; a creature of habit made to do without—and that frightens him.

Eric proceeds to the vehicle and takes the front passenger seat. "It's nice to see you, Ros. Truly." There is a fondness in his voice, muffled as it were. "Things are... complicated." He tells her, regarding their situation. There is much to talk about, but not here and not now. Lois suggests that they get the hell away from here. Eric can only agree with her sentiments. A loud, public place to debrief is exactly what they needed. "Where to?" He asks his team. Eventually, they would arrive on the idea of a diner. He looks to his side and notices a long piece of synthetic fabric. Is this a seat belt? Back then, seat belts were already a rare sight and they certainly looked different. This modern car is a confounding thing. How does the window operate? There is no handle and you can't slide it by hand either. In any case, soon, the car takes off.

Ruby's Cafe is a quaint, independently-owned eatery located further within the city. Behind the staff counter, a small flat screen television mounted to the wall plays a well-known news channel. The anchorwoman reports the following:

"... In other news, the UN is moving forward with its plans to create the world's first international Superhero team in a program it's calling, 'Heroes Without Borders'. Representative nations are being asked to volunteer potential candidates for this historic endeavor. Already, the U.S. government is seeking to endorse one of its very own for membership status—the leader of the Minute Men and America's favorite Superhero: the Patriot. Some will remember that Patriot started his career in the late 90's as a teenage Super going by the name, 'Golden Boy'."

The newscast shows a photo of the aforementioned hero. A red-blooded American through and through. Ruggedly handsome with sharp features; blonde-haired and blue-eyed. America's golden son, and the perfect candidate to represent his country on the new world stage.

That aside, the team enters the establishment after a short drive and shuffles to a nearby booth. Diners were much smaller and compact back in the day. In comparison, this place is nearly the size of a small restaurant. Eric squeezes himself into the corner of the booth, facing the wall. Once the others are settled, a waitress arrives at the table, bringing five menus. "Hi, welcome to Ruby's. My name is Maria and I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?" She goes around the table clockwise taking orders. "Nothing for me, thank you." Eric tells her when she reaches him. "I hope I'm not being rude but... Are you a Superhero?" She asks with an excited timbre.

"A... 'Superhero'? I don't believe so, no." Eric replies with hesitance. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just with the way you're dressed and all. I thought it was a costume. Well, anyway," the waitress continues to take their drink orders before disappearing to give the team time to think about food. Eric ponders the term used by the waitress. He understands the individual pieces that make up the whole, but what does the sum of its parts imply? "What the fuck's a 'Superhero'?" He thinks aloud.


Washington D.C.
A monolith of glass and steel towers over the U.S. capital. Two back-to-back M-shaped faces are connected as a singular skyscraper. It flaunts its impressive presence among the cacophony of the other faceless, nameless structures. Not this one, no. It has a name: the Minute Men Headquarters—a monument to unimpeachable righteousness.

Within the highest levels of this megastructure is a condominium belonging to none other than the Minute Men's fearless leader. The Patriot stands in front of his massive high rise window overlooking the city below. The costume from his torso up is a form-fitting spandex primarily in red—with accents of white and blue—designed to accentuate his musculature. The flap that makes up the left half of the suit is styled in such a way that it resembles the letter "P". On either shoulders are four brass stars and just beneath those are patches for the American and D.C. flags; on the left and right respectively.

His enormous wall-spanning TV plays in the background but he is unconcerned with the noise. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. "Aaaahhh, another beautiful day in God's country." He exhales. Suddenly, the news catches his attention as he turns his head to face the screen.

"Tragic news today south of the border as Mexico's President confirms their country's official Superhero team, Los Cinco Festivos, has been killed in action during a botched raid on a Sinaloa Cartel warehouse just yesterday evening. The only survivor of the horrible mishap is Captain Sombrero a.k.a. Luís Esparza who was, at the time, acting as lookout just fifty yards away when the place exploded..."

Patriot shakes his head and scoffs. "To think I share a continent with these fucking clowns." As he turns the TV off, he hears a heartbeat coming from outside his door. "Come in." He says with just the right amount of volume. A woman in her late twenties enters with a smile sprawled across her pale face. "It's so crazy that you always know- Oh!" She stops when she notices Patriot wearing nothing below his waist but some briefs and a pair of socks. His pants, gloves, and cape—blue with fifty silver stars decorating it—lies on a nearby couch with his boots sitting next to it. "I'm sorry, should I give you some time?"

"No, it's fine. What do you need, Vera?" He asks casually with his hands behind his back and his gaze still affixed to the view beyond his window. "I just wanted to remind you of the charity tour today. You're scheduled to show up during the museum portion?" Patriot interjects with a bored tone. "Affirmative. Anything else?" Vera scrolls through her digital tablet. "Other than that... Docket's clear." She reports in a cheery disposition. "In that case, mind telling me where that fuckstick, Orbit's at? Haven't seen him in a few days. I need him on the sewer job."

"Orbit? He was reassigned. He's out." Upon hearing that, Patriot turns around to face her with a bewildered expression. "Out? Of the Minute Men? Why wasn't I made aware of this?" He asks incredulously. "The Director thought it best that you had time to cool off after your argument with Orbit-" Patriot is quick to interrupt and correct Vera. "I'm sorry, 'argument'? There was no argument. An 'argument' implies both sides having valid points. No, that- That was insubordination. The order was given: we were not to interfere." Vera nods in agreement but also to assuage Patriot's rising temper. "You're totally right. 100% out of line." Patriot just waves her off. "Well no one else is going to want to wade through miles of shit and piss looking for some thieves." He sighs. "Give it to Dextro. He's back to being the 'new guy'." Vera makes a note on her schedule to do just that. "And get me a meeting with the Director. A chair doesn't move five fucking feet in this place without me knowing about it. I want to see exactly what this 'reassignment' business is."

 

[The Hermit]

Rosalie watched Orlov as he struggled to process the new world. On one hand, it was the exact kind of world she knew he'd want to live in, but seeing him like this made it more of a ... bittersweet feeling than anything else. "I'll always be like this, you know that," she laughed. It had been a while. She quickly turned off her phone before speaking again, this time in response to Eric. "Yeah, it's been too long. There's a lot we need to go over. Unfortunately, civilian life is going to be more of an adjustment than you could have ever feared. I'll be sure to tell you all about it." That last sentence was more for Orlov than anyone else. As a few of the members, whom Rosalie couldn't help but smile at and watch them interact again after so long, interacted and discussed their new situation, she herded the conversation towards getting away from the facility. Eventually, they decided, and left with Rosalie's car. Fortunately, they would actually all be able to fit.

At the diner, a lackluster imitation of the past, all five of them were sorted into the booth and looking at menus. When the waitress arrived and spoke to Eric, she realized the predicament that he would be in for quite some time. "A superhero is.. well, it's like those old comic books for children. Do you remember those?" She asked as if it didn't feel like just yesterday when they were a pretty new thing for them. "The idealized version of what we are. Pretty costumes, charismatic, saving people on the streets from disaster. The perfect lapdog for governments around the world." As much work as she'd done to help create them, Rosalie still wasn't the greatest fan of how they functioned in the modern world. "The people love them. For the most part."

Taking a cursory glance around the table, she realized Orlov had certainly tried to dress himself during this bout of sensory overload. "Hey... do you want to go into a restroom to fix your clothes?" she whispered at him. Relatively easy, considering they were directly next to each other. She'd hoped he was starting to tune out the static of technology that even she could sometimes feel. Hard to tell, she decided.

 

[TYPE]

He was sat there in the small eatery, irritating absentmindedly at the cheap leather seating with the clumsy tips of his fingers, half-watching the others with a continued case of semi-crazed eyes. The loon-worthy smile from earlier had faded somewhat – as slowly his thoughts came ever more coherent with the passing of time. Having stopped speaking altogether somewhere in the time it had taken them to get to the diner, his attentions were mostly directed inward, sorting through the noise – caring little for context and more for order. Instead of listening intently at all things that occurred around him, he was in a world that felt entirely his own. Azriel had held out Orlov’s bag to him earlier and he had – again – smiled as a loon might, at the man, in his state of elevated delirium – before he had nodded and shuffled into the back of the car without taking the bag. Then seeing what little space was left – he had in a moment of automated confusion just pulled the sniper into the back with him, settling squashed as they were – before laying his own head back – and then onto the side of a shoulder belonging to Lois, closing his eyes as he rested.

Then his stomach had growled an annoyingly loud call for food. It cemented it. He was two things – confused, and so, so very hungry.

The drive over had calmed him even more but had done little to douse the continued obfuscation of his reality. The simplest way he could imagine it was gravity – imagining that he had become so dense a presence that instead of drawing out into freefall only the lost bodies of information, instead – and much like a supermassive black hole - he was distorting reality and having all signaled calls in the world fall into him – the speed and volume pointless in the knowledge that once crossing the event horizon all information was the same. And remained utterly inaccessible to him.

Even to him the metaphor seemed lacking. Half-baked like an infant plan. For if he was a black hole, he was then also – as if by some theoretical super-positioning of celestial phenomena – also a neutron star, casting electromagnetic waves in ranges barely comprehendible. He could feel it – as if the world were enveloped in… him? No… something like him. No… Something that… facilitated him. They stood there – these vast… things. They spoke, loudly and fast – faster than he could comprehend, and they spoke clearly – and the world reacted in a delicate and perfect harmony of transistor oscillation… So much… power. How? How had they managed to… That many switches – yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, yes no… Billions of them. Trillions of them. No… more… Maybe ten sextillion? More?

All of this? For what? He could not understand any of it. It was a mess of information following patterns of desperate complexity and infinite variability. Some were clearly encoded – most of it was on some level, following patterns of mathematical language that needed translation. It all meant something – some great scheme. Were they discussing the future of civilization? The traversal of space? The evolution of humanity? What could have inspired the need for such an intricate and private thing – for those in Delhi to speak to those in Detroit. Those in Tokyo to those in Toronto… Had the world become so grand and great to warrant constant contact between minds great enough to understand the use of these technologies?

As the car went on, and he remained quiet, he had been drifting through the sea of darkness, coming into contact with these orbiting fields of information, feeling them reaching for him, asking him to commune – feeling almost saddened at not being able to respond. Not knowing what to say, or do, or imply – just waiting until the distance tore him away and into the realm of another – the cycle continuing until they stopped.

He was pulled into the real by the words of his friend, and he realised that he had been sitting there, quietly, maybe looking as if he had been listening for a period of time that to him remained indeterminate. He nodded – mechanically – as if he had been paying attention, before peering at the group. The few of them, crazed and worrisome as they might be – seemed to make sense only when together. His gaze softened just a shade, before looking down at his shirt – just as the woman returned for their order. Immediately distracted he cleared his throat, opting for English after a moment of considering her uniform and where they were.

“Pot of English if you have it, honey – and lemon at the side. Six sides of toast, and six eggs – and I want to be able to save those chickens had I vet handy!” He smiled at her, scratching at his chin as he rambled off the first things that came through his head. His words were heavy in their Russian accent, and some of it remained hard to understand by those who were unused to him speaking, but his nodding along had the waitress nodding along as if she caught it all. “Oh. I want some bacon as well. And sausages. Americans do waffles, yes? I want one of those as well. And clotted cream.” He looked at the others, raising a brow – before the suggestion that he go change rose to the surface of his mind once more.

“Ah, yes. That makes sense.” The words escaped him, before he shuffled out of the booth, trying to not bump into the girl – much of his movements still wonky and confusing. He felt around the front of his crotch, finding that the zipper was at the back, blushing and laughing heartily. “I am sorry to humiliate you so-“ He looked at his friend – looking stunning as she always did. “You should have said something before.” He looked between the lot of them then, taking them all in. “We should catch up – when I return, and we eat - why are we here?” He shook his head, feeling visibly confused again. “Is there a mission?” Having ignored the poor girl standing next to them, he shrugged, winked at her, before starting to walk away towards the bathrooms – already unbuttoning his shirt – forgetting his bag at the table once more. He got about ten feet away, before turning around – looking at Rosalie with a raised brow. “Did you eat a radio? Your hips are calling out and something is…” He looked across the room at her crotch, confusedly. “It seems whatever it... is... calling – is coming closer.” It felt like radar, but not – and confused the hell out of him. He shrugged, before turning, and slowly walking empty handed towards the bathrooms.



The Hermit - The Living Dead
Blu - CItizen Strange
Braddington - Rahphael
mikaluvkitties - Doppelganger
nevermind. - Orbit​

 

[nevermind.]

Matt was standing in the aisle of the tightly packed subway. Luckily he didn't have to hold on to a handrail or pole. He never lost his balance. But constantly being bumped into by other people was unpleasant nonetheless. He'd given his seat up to a pregnant lady several stops ago and with each stop the interior was getting more cramped.
He hadn't ridden the subway in ages, but he was in a bit of a rush today and time-wise, this was just more efficient. Traffic downtown was a shitshow. He finally got out at his station, glad to finally catch a whiff of fresh air above ground.

The original plan was that he would pick the defrosted veterans up from the government facility where they had been kept. Sounded easy enough. Unfortunately, he got held up on the way. Crime never chose a convenient time to happen.
So he did the right thing, the thing that came naturally to him, and beat up a couple of bad guys. They really deserved it.
But when he was done, he realized that he had kind of fucked up.
Normally he would stay afterwards to be showered with gratitude by the people he saved and hand over the perps to law enforcement, but today he just bolted as fast as he could.

The problem was that that particular neighborhood was being watched over by another superhero.
Normally, as a member of the Minute Men, he was able to just disregard shit like that since he had a much higher status than a neighborhood-prowling loser-ass super.
Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was technically not a member of the Minute Men at the present moment.
Fucking ridiculous, right? One tiny slip-up and suddenly he was back at the bottom of the barrel.

On top of all that, when he finally arrived at the facility, the "Death Squad" was already gone.
"Way to go", he thought to himself. His mission hadn't even really begun yet, and he'd already found a way to fuck it up.
But before he could sink too far into despair, he got a text message telling him their location.
He didn't know exactly who it was from, but he also didn't waste too much time pondering it. Probably just some IT-geek holed up in a windowless room on the lower floors of the MM tower.

Needless to say, Matt wasn't particularly enjoying this day so far. But then again, the past few days hadn't been any better. Ever since the day of the argument he was filled with nothing but regret and anger. But he was trying his best to push those feelings aside and use his energy towards something more productive. Like finding the people he was supposed to be babysitting.

Luckily, from where he had gotten off, there were only a couple more blocks to go until he reached his destination.
He waited patiently at a crossing, like the model citizen that he was, only crossing the street when the signal turned green.
One last glance at his phone confirmed that there it was, right in front of him. Ruby's Café. He'd never eaten there, it wasn't exactly the kind of establishment that he frequented. But it was open late into the night and this one time when he was drunk he had used its restrooms to puke. (No, he couldn't just do it on the street, that would've been a PR nightmare.)
Afterwards, the staff had insisted on taking his photo right then and there, smiling with a thumbs up next to the store's owner. Was she Ruby? He didn't remember. It didn't matter. He looked like absolute shit, wasted, eyes red and bloodshot, he could barely stand upright, but they hung up his photo next to the others on the designated wall.

Matt looked at his reflection in one of the diner's darkened windows. The sun was hitting his suit at just the right angle so that the silver and white parts glistened. He fixed his hair by running one hand through it and straightened out his cape where it was a little wrinkled on his left shoulder. Then, he walked in. A small bell over the entrance door chimed.
He quickly scanned the diner, looking for his assignment. And soon he spotted them sitting in a corner booth. They certainly weren't hard to notice. In fact, they stuck out like a sore thumb among everybody else, like a bunch of people out of their element, out of their time. A bunch of misfits.

He put on his friendliest toothpaste commercial smile and walked towards them. He came to a stand in front of their booth, arms akimbo.
"Hey there! Sorry to disturb you. My name's Orbit. And you guys -- I have to say. I'm a big fan. Big fan. The stuff you did back then? In the war? You saved all of our butts, you really did. Literally punching the Nazis, man! You guys are the real heroes. In a way, you are what inspired us. You're the blueprint! I feel like maybe you haven't gotten enough credit for that, so there that is. Thank you for your service. Thank. You."

He looked down in a moment of silence. Then he let his gaze wander around the table. The gang was all there, except for... Livewire. Orlov Yakovich. He furrowed his brow and looked to both sides, then turned around. There he was, standing a few feet away from the booth, close to the bathrooms, looking a little lost.

"Hey, Livewire! Loved your work. Listen, could you get over here for a second? I promise I'll let you run to the john in a bit, we just gotta get this outta the way real quick." He beckoned for him to come over, then turned back towards the group. "Anyway, you might be wondering things like, who is this guy and what does he want from us? Don't you worry, I'll get to that. I was sent by the Minute Men", he said, omitting the part where he was kicked out of the Minute Men. He was still working under their authority, wasn't he?

"For those of you who may not know, that's the official US superhero team and also the greatest, most renowned hero force in the entire world. We're the real deal.
But you've probably already been briefed about all that stuff."
They had to have been, he couldn't imagine them being released into the wild just like that. It felt weird having to explain all of this. Like who the Minute Men were. They were pillars of society, unanimous with goodness. Everyone knew them. You could ask someone in a rural village in Cambodia and he'd know Patriot.
... Fucking Patriot. If only those Cambodian rice famers knew that he was a narcissistic, domineering, xenophobic control freak son of a bitch.
Matt would love to put the blame on Patriot for getting him kicked out, but Matt knew that he really had no one to blame but himself. He was stupid enough to argue with a man who had people fired for bringing him coffee that was too cold by two degrees.

Matt moved on swiftly before he could start getting too worked up. He had spent the entirety of the past week sulking and wallowing in self-pity anyway.
He had noticed that people were turning around in their seats, staring and whispering among themselves and he knew that it was only a matter of time until one of them would come asking for an autograph.
"Just as a heads up, I'm kind of a little bit famous myself.
I'm just saying so you're not surprised when you see me on a billboard or on TV. You know, I have a brand deal with Tesla. And Pepsi, too. And right now they're promoting the book based on my movie"He paused.
"They did have movies back in your day, right? Films? Uhh, motion pictures" He tried to gauge their reactions."But, like, with sound though", he waved his hand in a dismissive motion.

"So, I was tasked with kind of mentoring you guys, helping you adapt to modern society and stuff like that. And I'll kind of be on your team too, for a while. This is the start of something great!
I'm assuming you guys are all done thawing out, so, uh, I've prepared some fun conversation starters, just so we can get a good convo rolling, get to know each other better..."

Of course, he already knew all there was to know about this group, he'd studied their files thoroughly. He just wanted to have a fun, light-hearted talk.
He had to admit though, he had imagined their reactions would be a little more... enthusiastic.
"Tough crowd.", he muttered under his breath. "Tough crowd." Then he perked up again.
"But! Before we do that! Anyone have any questions at all? That's what I'm here for!" Silence.
"Don't be shy", he said, drawing out the last word and pointing at Raphael with a wide grin.

He knew that all of this was probably still very confusing for them. Going to sleep in the fifties, only to wake up almost 70 years later in this fast-paced modern world. He felt for them, he really did. He couldn't even imagine what that was like.



Blu
The Hermit
Braddington
mikaluvkitties
TYPE

 

[mikaluvkitties]

Going to the diner had made sense- Busy, a place they could get something to eat. Lois hadn't expected it to line up one hundred percent with what she was used to, no, but the differences still sank into her. Everything was odd, sending her nerves ticking one after another as she settled in beside Eric.

She'd spent the ride over ruminating in silence, Orlov against her shoulder. The indignation was starting to settle, allowing room for worries to rise up, but she was still horribly angry. Rosalie's words had danced through her- 'more of an adjustment than you could have feared.' Somehow, it only made her angrier about the entire thing.

She kept her eyes glued to the television, itself a recognizable thing turned odd even without the video being projected.

She ordered pancakes and a side dish of fruit. Maria spoke to Eric next. Lois’s mouth ticked down at her question.

Unlike Eric, Lois was perfectly aware what a superhero was- Had gone so far as to name herself after Superman's love interest. The thought made her a little sick now, in a world where the term was in active use. She sincerely doubted the real life superheroes were anything like Superman.

Rosalie's explanation confirmed this. She hummed low, sinking into questions of what could be done to fix that. It was something worth all of them discussing. Rosalie and Eric and Azriel and-

And there was Orlov again. Somehow, in a moment as quiet as this, his entire situation had slipped from her mind. She watched him, lips pursed. She couldn't feel anything beyond a deep worry as he stood. He wasn't moving right, hadn't noticed his clothing- Had somehow missed their decommissioning.

His last words stood out to her most. She turned to Rosalie. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" she asked.

The bell of the entrance chimed and with it, the very air around them shifted- Like the collective’s attention had been sucked in towards it. She turned as soon as she noticed, looking over her seat to see a man in a cape- A man in a cape coming their way.

Despite herself- Despite what she knew, what Rosalie had confirmed- the stupid thing sent a thrill up her. He really did look heroic- A job well done on the part of PR.

And then he started speaking and oh, this man's timing could not have been worse. She couldn't even be angry at him for it- The entire thing was too pitiable for that.

Part of her knew that she shouldn't, but it wasn’t like it could make the situation worse and she hated to watch him flounder, so she humored him.

Leaning towards him, chin resting on interlaced fingers, she asked, "What's Tesla?"

Blu The Hermit TYPE nevermind. Braddington​

 

[Blu]

Eric Frieder
is Citizen Strange
Location: Pleasantry, Maryland
Mentions: The Hermit TYPE nevermind. mikaluvkitties Braddington​

"'Superheroes', huh?" Eric vaguely recalls those comics Rosalie mentioned. Occasionally, newspapers would showcase several comic strips, most were humorous but some were about people with extraordinary abilities saving the lives of ordinary citizens. A lot felt like propaganda back in those days, however, and Eric was never a frequent reader of those sections so his knowledge on the topic is limited. "Mayfield," Eric brings up the name of the agent that was there when they woke up, "I guess this is what he meant by 'there are more of us now'." Eric stares out the window with wistful thoughts plaguing his mind. It all looks so foreign to him. Not only aesthetically, but this tranquility that permeates the world. The soft morning light; the blissful ignorance of passerby. Idyllic and, yet to Eric, alien.

Orlov asks if there is to be a mission. Poor lad suffered through the entire debriefing without catching a word that was spoken; nary his fault. Eric looks at him. "No, buddy. There is no mission. We're done." He says softly. At the end there, his words had a hint of defeat in them. Orlov then says something interesting about how Rosalie's hips were calling out, halfheartedly asking if she had eaten a radio. To Eric, it looks like a brightly glowing rectangle in her pants that was giving off very mild radiation.

"I thought that was a bomb." He attempts to lighten the mood.

As if things couldn't get any worse, in walks this caricature of what Rosalie had detailed before: a Superhero. Clad in a ridiculous jumpsuit of bright colors and sporting a cape even is a man who enjoys himself a bit too much it seems. Look how happy he is as the masses gather around him to throw words of praise his way or ask him to sign this or that or to pose in front of more bright glowy—noisy—rectangles that Rosalie is also in possession of. Just please don't walk this way. This is the last thing they needed right now.

"Hey there! Sorry to disturb you. My name's Orbit."

Shit.

Of course he's here for them. When the universe kicks, it fucking punts. He starts to explain his business with them; how he's here to monitor the team with some indefinite timeline attached. He speaks at an annoyingly quick pace and uses a bunch of 21st Century jargon as he does so. As he finishes up, Eric just stares at him without really a clue as to how to respond to this situation. In the end, he just sighs.

"Great. And now we have... a babysitter." Unlike Eric, Lois is more incline to indulge the caped crusader, asking him about something called "Tesla". "Lois..." Eric says to her in hopes of preventing another tirade from Orbit, but he quickly gives in.

"Listen Orbi-" He sighs again. "Is that your actual name?" Somehow, Eric doubts that it is. "If this is the government's attempt to keep us quiet then it truly is a wasted effort. We'll keep their secret, even without you. And if they wanted us to keep a low profile then they sent the wrong man."

 

[The Hermit]

"Yeah, I thought I'd let you get a little more coherent before having you run off to the restrooms on your own," Rosalie replied to Orlov, before Eric covered his question. Following their comments, she took the phone out of her pocket and placed it in front of her on the table. "Telephones have gotten considerably more advanced. There's a lot going on in the world of technology, and Orlov is experiencing over six decades worth, all at once."
Then Orbit decided it was time to arrive and start re-explaining the situation to them. She let him talk, and for Eric to get his initial response out of the way. What he said wasn't necessarily incorrect, but clearly edited to be more PR friendly, and then rehearsed on the way to meet the group.

"Listen, Matthew," Rosalie started, interrupting Lois' question, knowing the fact that she knew his name would keep his attention. "I think you and I both know that no one here, novelty aside, cares much for the citizen-friendly version of what you guys do. I know, public diner and all, but I know for a fact that Eric isn't the only one thinking what he's saying. You're here to help me get them into shape to live independently in the modern world - because, let's face it - they wouldn't be able to so much as pay the bill for the food we just ordered without our help." She turned to Lois as an aside to finish with "Oh, and.. Tesla is a company that specializes in clean energy and electric cars." Towards the end, her accent really started to show through partially obstructing what she was saying, as she rarely spoke nowadays outside of short transactions once every few days.

 

[TYPE]

Orlov had watched the lot of them and smiled lazily and distractedly at their replies. Things were still somewhat confusing to him, and the noise remained in the back of his mind - but, overall - he was adapting. When the moron in the cape had stopped talking, and after Rose had told him that what was in her trousers was actually a phone - he had quickly rushed towards the bathroom - seeing the TV - considering it in passing, before rushing on. Inside the bathroom he stood there, peering at the man in the mirror, looking every bit the mess he felt he was, quickly taking off his shirt and trousers. He had forgotten his bag again, and decided that he would just dress in what he had - and return. It was not as if he wanted to impress anyone by wearing such luxurious things as socks and shoes. He opened the tap, making sure to put his clothes to the side and away from the spray, before washing his face and running his fingers through his hair.

A young man walked in, maybe his age Orlov thought, dressed like a vagrant in shorts and a shirt that seemed ill equipped to cover his lean body, the shirt having no arms and showing much of his sides... perhaps he was poor? The boy rose a brow at the Russian guy standing there in his outdated underwear, before the blonde closed the door and made his way to the urinal. Orlov, still trying to figure out if the man was there to rob him or... fight him? He had a lot of muscle - not like the bear men from his home, who were... round and large in their muscle - this was lean... like Roman statues - more so than he had ever seen on a man... The guy stopped, turning to look at Orlov, as if waiting for the other to say anything. He in turn had begun to look at the guy's hips, feeling the... phone - a phone - radiating the same signals as before... from Rose... and sensing this he smiled at the guy, pushing up the charm as she had taught him so long ago - walking over to the other. "Hallo. You have a phone. Can I see it?"

"Is that Russian? Nice... I have always liked foreigners." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone, holding it up to Orlov - quickly unlocking it. Orlov watched his fingers before taking the thing in his hands, curiously watching the pictures - moving as he touched the light. The guy, smirking - shrugged. "You gonna put your number in? Or you just after some nudes?" He winked at Orlov who barely noticed. He waited a few more seconds before the guy's eyes widened. "Wait, you are not like crazy, yeah?" He looked around panicked, and picking up on it, Orlov looked at the guy. He shook his head. "No, no! I am sane. I just have not seen one before." The guy looked even more confused. "It's just an iPhone man. You got them back home... right?" Orlov just shook his head, handing it back. "No... we don't." He chuckled, as he went to grab his trousers, putting them on - forgetting about the guy for a second. Once on, he turned to the boy who just stood there - looking kinda put out. "I am from long ago. Just got out today. Frozen for a long time." He smiled, starting to put on his shirt.

The guy's eyes widened -nodding with a big smile. "Oh, shit. I get it. Conservative family. You just got out. Good for you man." This just confused Orlov somewhat as he started buttoning up the shirt. The guy quickly stepped closer - nodding to the stall. "So, you gonna let me blow you or not?" Orlov's eyes, already wide, widened even more. Blow him? As in shoot him? He wanted to kill Orlov? It was a really weird way of going about it. Why would you ask someone if they would let you kill them? The boy seemed so nice. The guy clearly seemed to notice the growing confusion and panic before waving his hands. "Ah, sorry man. Forgot - conservative..." The guy raised his hand, moving it in a very suggestive way next to his mouth, pressing his tongue against the inside of the opposite cheek. Orlov felt his cheeks flush as he looked to the door, grabbing at the guy's hands. "Don't do that! They... The police will get you." His eyes wide, looking fearful - he recalled his friend from Bletchley. Such a brilliant, complicated man. And once they had won the war for the free world they had destroyed him... For something so... natural. It had immediately killed any interest he might have had in... exploring such things... seeing his friend destroyed by chemicals...

Again the pretty blonde just stopped his movements, trying to calm down the Russian. He looked really freaked out and worried - before he stepped closer and placed a hand on Orlov's shoulder. "Hey, man - not sure where you are from but like - that does not happen anymore. If they try anything - half the fucking country will march to kick their asses." Orlov just stood there for a second, taking it in. Before smiling. "Blowing." He nodded. "I was thinking that you were going to blow me." He raised a hand up and pretended to shoot himself, the guy bursting into laughter. "Holy shit man. Where the hell are you from?" "England, after the second world war." He must have seemed serious enough for the guy to believe him, because after he looked at the clothing and the demeanor his mouth had fallen open silently. Orlov shrugged, with a smile. "You... Are you like a hero? A time traveller? Holy shit man now you gotta let me!" Orlov just stepped out of his reach, shaking his head. "No, no - I have to get to my breakfast. I have very hungry." The guy looked extremely put out, and reached for his phone. "At least take my number, and call me when you figure out how."

Enjoying the energy coming off the guy - and feeling somewhat overwhelmed at the situation, he winked - and the guy's phone started ringing. "I can find you. No worrying." The guy just jumped - seeing the 'unknown' number calling him, as Orlov left the bathroom, walking towards the group once more - now dressed. He slipped into the booth, feeling refreshed and excited for life. "The world is very different. I like it." He looked at the table, the food having been spread out in front of them. With an eager smile he started to dig into it. He looked towards Orbit, frowning. "Why is he still here? Is he important?" He leant over to Rose, smirking at her. "I just almost got blown. The future is wild. Can I get an iPhone?" Smirking with a bunch of food in his mouth, he leant over towards Lois, swallowing difficultly to get it all down. "You are gonna love it here. People like us all now." He reached for the black coffee, taking a sip with a smile.

-----------

The Hermit - The Living Dead
Blu - CItizen Strange
Braddington - Rahphael
mikaluvkitties - Doppelganger
nevermind. - Orbit​