qwerty;
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
[ WITH GREAT POWER — ]
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COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY .
11-20-XXXX
“Good morning, students,” Donaghue says crisply. There’s not a hair out of place on her head or a single readable emotion on her face. She’s flanked in the back by the other school Instructors—Castillo on her immediate right, Hollick on her immediate left, and the rest farther back. “I’m glad to see you all here.
"Today, we’re going to be testing your ability to adapt to situations and work with people who you may not have practiced with before. We’ve divided you up into groups. We have enough simulator rooms to accommodate these four groups, and each group will be put into a simulation unique to the individuals that make it up.”
Group Iota: Bombus, Psyche, Sunrise, Shrike, Paradox, Aegis, Hex
Group Kappa: Quell, Slick, Epione, Wanderer, Armatura, Scatterbrain
Group Lambda: Faidh, Hellraiser, Ichor, Adrenaline, Cobra, Mimic
Group Mu: Voodoo, Aphelion, Winter, Jariri, Kraken, Echo, Fluke
After reading out the names and who is in which, they’re told to separate and assemble into their respective groups. And then, with no further instruction, they step into the simulator rooms, the Instructors’ sharp eyes on their backs as they’re thrown from their present reality into one manufactured from their fears.
Group Iota: When they come to, they are all kneeling uncomfortably with their arms bound tightly behind their backs with thick rope, wrists and ankles cuffed with steel. They’re outside, knees pressed into the dirt and hair stuck to their faces from rain; above them, the sky is dark and rumbling ominously. A man, seemingly cloaked in shadow, is standing beside a crudely dug grave. Lightning splits the sky, and in that brief moment before thunder roars, Paradox recognizes the man as his father, who looks like he hasn’t aged a day. “Pathetic,” the man sneers, seeming to make eye contact with Sunrise as he spits the word. He has a gun in each hand. He points the barrel of one so that it points straight at Hex’s forehead and gestures to the grave with another. “Now, who volunteers?” The sound of him clicking the safety off is as loud as the thunder. “No one says anything, and not only does he”—a contemptuous flick of his head at Hex—“get shot, but I’ll choose someone myself.”
Group Kappa: They’re all at the top of a tall, winding staircase, narrow enough that none of them can move much in any direction without the risk of pushing someone off or falling off themselves. Their wrists are chained together. On the ground far, far below, they can make out the bloodied forms of many people—some corpses and yet some moving, unmistakably alive and yet in pain. A pulsating, formless mass hovers a few feet in front of them, far enough away so that they couldn’t reach it without toppling over the edge. “Shame, isn’t it?” it sighs. “How you are so far removed from the people you’re supposed to protect.” A pause; a ripple runs through it. “You think so loudly,” it says, and even without eyes Quell knows it’s talking to him. “They all do, but your thoughts—they scream. Desperate to be heard, are you?” A mocking laugh. “Don’t worry, I hear you. And I hear you, too.” Abruptly, it turns to Selina. “Oh yes. I know what you are—who you are. You try so hard to hide it, but none of us can run very long from the truth. I so wonder what you are all going to do?” Armatura stumbles, her foot landing on a step—but in that moment, the staircase flickers, and her leg goes through air. She nearly loses her balance and sends all of them tumbling hundreds of feet to the ground.
Group Lambda: All but one are strapped down to unyielding metal chairs, cold steel cuffing their forearms and legs to the chair’s body. Four (Faidh, Hellraiser, Ichor, and Adrenaline) are in one room, with Cobra and Mimic in an adjacent room.
Room One: There’s a blindfold wrapped around Adrenaline’s eyes, plunging him into complete darkness; he is still able to hear (albeit muffled, due to the fabric of the blindfold covering part of his ears). Ichor is the only one left unbound, standing hunched in a room barely taller than him. A gaunt man in a white lab coat is on the other side of the room. “Don’t disappoint me,” he says in a sing-song voice. “I need you to drain them, Ichor, and give the energy here”—he pats an ominously pulsing machine next to him—“otherwise, this darling combusts, and flames will swallow this room and everyone in it. Like this.” Contemptuously, he throws a match onto the wooden floor; a spark, and then a small fire roars to life right in front of Faidh’s chair, close enough she can feel the heat. “I’ll even make it easy for you,” the scientist snickers, and the hideous twist of his face deforms his grin into something grotesque. He waves a syringe with a nasty-looking needle, long and sharp and uncleaned, in the air. With that, he advances on Hellraiser, manic smile growing wider, syringe like a weapon. “Don’t worry!” he crows. “It only hurts a lot—but it’s the after-effects that should scare you!”
Room Two: Cobra and Mimic are similarly bound to metal chairs, in equally uncomfortable positions. Their room is littered with corpses, reeking of something awful, their faces twisted in agony as if they lived their final moments in immense pain. Another man in a lab coat, a twin to the man in the first room, is clucking his tongue in disappointment. “I thought you’d do better,” he sneers at Cobra, “but you killed them all! Painfully, too—I didn’t know you had it in you.” He kicks one of the bodies over with the toe of his foot. “And I suppose you both will suffer the same fate,” he says, “unless you can stop me. But you’re weak”—he turns a look of disgust onto Mimic—“so I doubt that, highly. Ah, well, it was nice meeting you!” He reaches for a lever.
Group Mu: The group is on the unsteady deck of a wooden ship. A streak of lightning crackles across the sky; they’re thrown unsteadily from one end of the deck to the other, and the accompanying boom of thunder does nothing to help them re-orient themselves. The ocean is pitch-black and hostile; its waves toss their ship like it’s a toy. Out of nowhere, a spiked tentacle rises out of its depths, slamming down onto their ship with enough force to break the mast. It clips Echo, sending her sprawling. A misshapen head with four bulbous eyes follows, breaking the surface; another tentacle slams into the ship’s side, and everyone feels something in the ship’s frame shatter. Slowly, but unmistakably, the ship begins to sink. They scarcely have time to react before insects swarm onto the deck from where they must have been below—a massive, endless horde, a million legs and a million eyes. They can't help but feel like someone is missing—as if on cue, Jariri turns, eyes glowing silver, and hisses, "There's someone below deck." For a moment, there's silence in answer to his declaration, but Winter interjects, "Fluke! It must be Fluke."
“Good morning, students,” Donaghue says crisply. There’s not a hair out of place on her head or a single readable emotion on her face. She’s flanked in the back by the other school Instructors—Castillo on her immediate right, Hollick on her immediate left, and the rest farther back. “I’m glad to see you all here.
"Today, we’re going to be testing your ability to adapt to situations and work with people who you may not have practiced with before. We’ve divided you up into groups. We have enough simulator rooms to accommodate these four groups, and each group will be put into a simulation unique to the individuals that make it up.”
Group Iota: Bombus, Psyche, Sunrise, Shrike, Paradox, Aegis, Hex
Group Kappa: Quell, Slick, Epione, Wanderer, Armatura, Scatterbrain
Group Lambda: Faidh, Hellraiser, Ichor, Adrenaline, Cobra, Mimic
Group Mu: Voodoo, Aphelion, Winter, Jariri, Kraken, Echo, Fluke
After reading out the names and who is in which, they’re told to separate and assemble into their respective groups. And then, with no further instruction, they step into the simulator rooms, the Instructors’ sharp eyes on their backs as they’re thrown from their present reality into one manufactured from their fears.
Group Iota: When they come to, they are all kneeling uncomfortably with their arms bound tightly behind their backs with thick rope, wrists and ankles cuffed with steel. They’re outside, knees pressed into the dirt and hair stuck to their faces from rain; above them, the sky is dark and rumbling ominously. A man, seemingly cloaked in shadow, is standing beside a crudely dug grave. Lightning splits the sky, and in that brief moment before thunder roars, Paradox recognizes the man as his father, who looks like he hasn’t aged a day. “Pathetic,” the man sneers, seeming to make eye contact with Sunrise as he spits the word. He has a gun in each hand. He points the barrel of one so that it points straight at Hex’s forehead and gestures to the grave with another. “Now, who volunteers?” The sound of him clicking the safety off is as loud as the thunder. “No one says anything, and not only does he”—a contemptuous flick of his head at Hex—“get shot, but I’ll choose someone myself.”
Group Kappa: They’re all at the top of a tall, winding staircase, narrow enough that none of them can move much in any direction without the risk of pushing someone off or falling off themselves. Their wrists are chained together. On the ground far, far below, they can make out the bloodied forms of many people—some corpses and yet some moving, unmistakably alive and yet in pain. A pulsating, formless mass hovers a few feet in front of them, far enough away so that they couldn’t reach it without toppling over the edge. “Shame, isn’t it?” it sighs. “How you are so far removed from the people you’re supposed to protect.” A pause; a ripple runs through it. “You think so loudly,” it says, and even without eyes Quell knows it’s talking to him. “They all do, but your thoughts—they scream. Desperate to be heard, are you?” A mocking laugh. “Don’t worry, I hear you. And I hear you, too.” Abruptly, it turns to Selina. “Oh yes. I know what you are—who you are. You try so hard to hide it, but none of us can run very long from the truth. I so wonder what you are all going to do?” Armatura stumbles, her foot landing on a step—but in that moment, the staircase flickers, and her leg goes through air. She nearly loses her balance and sends all of them tumbling hundreds of feet to the ground.
Group Lambda: All but one are strapped down to unyielding metal chairs, cold steel cuffing their forearms and legs to the chair’s body. Four (Faidh, Hellraiser, Ichor, and Adrenaline) are in one room, with Cobra and Mimic in an adjacent room.
Room One: There’s a blindfold wrapped around Adrenaline’s eyes, plunging him into complete darkness; he is still able to hear (albeit muffled, due to the fabric of the blindfold covering part of his ears). Ichor is the only one left unbound, standing hunched in a room barely taller than him. A gaunt man in a white lab coat is on the other side of the room. “Don’t disappoint me,” he says in a sing-song voice. “I need you to drain them, Ichor, and give the energy here”—he pats an ominously pulsing machine next to him—“otherwise, this darling combusts, and flames will swallow this room and everyone in it. Like this.” Contemptuously, he throws a match onto the wooden floor; a spark, and then a small fire roars to life right in front of Faidh’s chair, close enough she can feel the heat. “I’ll even make it easy for you,” the scientist snickers, and the hideous twist of his face deforms his grin into something grotesque. He waves a syringe with a nasty-looking needle, long and sharp and uncleaned, in the air. With that, he advances on Hellraiser, manic smile growing wider, syringe like a weapon. “Don’t worry!” he crows. “It only hurts a lot—but it’s the after-effects that should scare you!”
Room Two: Cobra and Mimic are similarly bound to metal chairs, in equally uncomfortable positions. Their room is littered with corpses, reeking of something awful, their faces twisted in agony as if they lived their final moments in immense pain. Another man in a lab coat, a twin to the man in the first room, is clucking his tongue in disappointment. “I thought you’d do better,” he sneers at Cobra, “but you killed them all! Painfully, too—I didn’t know you had it in you.” He kicks one of the bodies over with the toe of his foot. “And I suppose you both will suffer the same fate,” he says, “unless you can stop me. But you’re weak”—he turns a look of disgust onto Mimic—“so I doubt that, highly. Ah, well, it was nice meeting you!” He reaches for a lever.
Group Mu: The group is on the unsteady deck of a wooden ship. A streak of lightning crackles across the sky; they’re thrown unsteadily from one end of the deck to the other, and the accompanying boom of thunder does nothing to help them re-orient themselves. The ocean is pitch-black and hostile; its waves toss their ship like it’s a toy. Out of nowhere, a spiked tentacle rises out of its depths, slamming down onto their ship with enough force to break the mast. It clips Echo, sending her sprawling. A misshapen head with four bulbous eyes follows, breaking the surface; another tentacle slams into the ship’s side, and everyone feels something in the ship’s frame shatter. Slowly, but unmistakably, the ship begins to sink. They scarcely have time to react before insects swarm onto the deck from where they must have been below—a massive, endless horde, a million legs and a million eyes. They can't help but feel like someone is missing—as if on cue, Jariri turns, eyes glowing silver, and hisses, "There's someone below deck." For a moment, there's silence in answer to his declaration, but Winter interjects, "Fluke! It must be Fluke."
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