All day the rain wouldn’t stop, tempered above the room and past the walls but still prevalent, still oppressive. Even when on the other side of the window –which only permitted the yellow light although not of a sunlight shade but rather of an artificial tone–, there was still an unnerving sense of hostility that permeated into the otherwise unlit dining room whose primary furniture was a triangular wooden table hoisted up on three legs, and around that table by each face was a chair.

On the table’s surface itself was a pile of scattered items including small metal handguns amongst cans and long black sticks all laid out in little organization with clear pouches filled with golden pellets littered about. There weren’t many handguns remaining, but there were still a few, all of them styled traditionally with triggers on handles made to be gripped and slides in the back.

Behind the table on one of the chairs specifically being the one facing one of the windows sat the young girl in shorts and tank top both lacking hygiene, although she did too as there was grime on her skin. In fact had it not been for the buzz cut she had there’d likely be more dirt tangled on her head.

In silence as the only occupant of the house whose lack of balanced lighting casts her body mostly in shadows as does the majority of the room, the girl just stared at the window aimlessly as though waiting.

Forbearance was difficult to retain for her however as her disgruntled face was only exaggerated by her youthful innocence, her large green eyes and open mouth both in a state of yearning and somehow boredom.

She passed air out her mouth with vibrating lips as an immature activity to pass the time, but after the first few bursts she already lost interest, leading to her just raising her head up at the ceiling and sighing to an extent that it resembled a yawn, or perhaps it was simply both.

Her focus then moved from the ceiling down to one of the chairs beside her, although firstly not the one that was previously holding onto the jacket. She just stared at the chair for another few periods of silence, although there lacked any occupants to socialize with her.

She then diverted her gaze to the other chair which similarly was empty, as even from waiting for seconds there was no difference made to that fact.

After a few more extended moments of just aimlessly staring at the two chairs, the girl finally, albeit with a reluctant groan, threw herself off the chair, stumbling on the floor that creaked upon her additional weight. She stood up straight and turned around before walking down the corridor in search of a distraction.

Not too far down the hallway the girl passed by a doorway which she stopped at, turning to walk inside the small closet-sized room furnished with the chipped wooden table opposite from the long countertop. On both of the surfaces were the plates and bags, but specifically on the wooden table there was that plate that had a pile of white pills laid out, and that was the plate that drew in her focus as the girl approached it first.

Upon reaching the table she inspected the plate with a contemplative frown, her eyes contracted keenly. She hummed gently to herself as music for her studying, the tune she sang being generated in real time, although due to such, had a lack of intelligent melodies.

Regardless she hummed as she raised her hand up and brought it over the table, opening it the closer it reached the plate as she prepared to grab the pills with her small grubby hand. It reached right over the plate itself, the fingers bent like claws ready to snatch the contents of the plate, and yet at this critical moment they froze still.

That contemplative expression has not faltered on the girl’s face, as instead it only seemed to grow more analytical, but at the same time more doubtful. She was given a singular option and yet she was debating it, not between another presented option but between one she could potentially give herself.

An answer was derived by the sly shift of her face.

Just one motion away from sweeping the plate, the girl’s hand was retracted back to her side, and she nervously turned around and walked back the way she came through the doorway and turned down the corridor, continuing back towards the dining room.

At the dining room she walked up to the table again beside her chair, although this time rather than first pulling herself up to the seat her attention was instead invested on the table itself.

All there was to be invested into however were the firearms, sticks, and pellets, items inappropriate for a child’s attention. Nonetheless that was where she stared at, down at, contemplating, thinking down a path that was already discernibly concerning.

She even discerned that herself, and while that did give her doubts to her own ideas, those doubts were a futile effort as she ultimately raised her hand again and reached over the table, this time not to grab food but rather the closest firearm to her, a handgun with a handle and slide resembling a Desert Eagle design although with a dulled rusted gray body.

Her hand lingered over the handle whose wooden grip was aged with cuts, again her fingers bent like claws, and behind her hand her face just pondered to herself, understanding the gravity of the decision she was bearing, a terrible decision.

And so her hand dropped, but rather to its side it instead fell on the grip of the handgun, her fingers coiling around before she slid the handgun to the table’s edge and pulled it altogether. Leaving only her body to support the weapon, the girl nearly dropped the handgun with a shocked face to the surprising weight that the small weapon had, forcing her to use her second hand to reinforce her first in order to raise it. That lack of judgment however could’ve been avoided by just noticing the sheer size of the handgun compared to her, as the body itself was greater than the length of her arm.

Even after finding her grip of the heavy weapon, glances down to her shorts and back up to the weapon were done in the realization that there was a second problem: storage. She continued to glance around the room, as walking around with a weapon was a death sentence, yet there were no visible traditional solutions in her direct line of sight, and judging by her frantic expression it was clear she struggled to think of any in her possession.

She glanced at every angle of the room and down the corridor with no answer, but that was when she raised her head all the way up to the ceiling, gazing straight up with an even worse idea coming to mind, once that she visibly winced at.

Minutes later the wooden floor of the living room creaked again by an incoming being, one who took slow lagged steps not necessarily in calmness or drama but rather out of necessity. Every footstep got louder, but beneath the footstep there was a grunting, one from strain.

Eventually the source of the movement reached the living room, the source being that same girl who at first glance no longer was carrying a firearm, but the reason for such came just as quick given the bizarre choice of outerwear being the dirtied sheet utilized prior for the bed, now wrapped and tied around her like a poncho. There were no pockets of course, but her arms were hidden as was most of her body anyways, an incredibly makeshift solution that she showed too much pride in with her innocent smirk.

Now in front of the wooden door, the girl stared at the new option she had given herself. She gave herself one more moment to scrutinize her idea, and that moment she got.

The result of that moment was the next step forward, her body pressing against the wooden door to push it open, and allowing it to swing out which with all her weight pressed against it caused her to stumble forwards.

In the outdoors the very first sight the girl was greeted with was the bombardment of the shower and blasting of yellow light which she instinctively winced to, but after shutting her eyes and shielding them for several seconds she accumulated the strength to focus on the row of rectangular buildings on the other side of the chaffed black street which bordered the lighter sidewalks one of them the girl had already stepped on.

She raised her head as while the buildings were no skyscrapers with many averaging around five stories of height, her own stature induced the perception that they were monolithic. The buildings were made not of sleek steel but rather solid concrete, having a similar color in that they were both a shade of gray but the concrete was one less appealing, dull and eroded even when viewing from afar.

The girl turned around and began walking down the street as above her on the roofs of the gray blocks were metallic constructs with a tone closer to silver albeit rusted, tall pillars that could function as chimneys or radio towers and ventilation chambers of various designs with some being long tubes along the roof and others taller towers. From so low there was still visible cluttering of the roofs, boxes and machines residing which were placed for convenience, poles hanging rags and other fabrics to dry ironically as they were instead drenched in the downpour.

There was also no sunlight that could reach any of those fabrics, as looming over the city was a thick atmosphere of smog that concealed any solar rays, as in fact the time of day wasn’t even clear. Amplifying this blanket was that heavy storm that poured rain down over the girl who hadn’t thought to cover her head, although the only resources she’d have to do such would be her blanket which was already getting drenched.

Still she trekked down the abandoned street, as while the two rows of buildings functioning as walls had grids of windows which emitted the yellow light that did illuminate the city, there was nobody visible outside at the time.

Most of the buildings had similar architectural foundations: they were shaped as blocks with harsh edges and corners, they were made of concrete, and they had windows although those windows weren’t all uniform as some buildings had grids of square windows while others had longer rays or taller. The variation gave each building some slight differences beyond just the dimension variation, although ultimately they were children of a rather bland design, all meshing into one muddled gray beneath the dark storm clouds.

Furthermore the smog crept into the city streets too, not only looming above but clouding navigation down the road. Fortunately the lights combatted the fog but nonetheless it was an obstruction, one that the girl had to walk through anyways to follow her mission.

Minutes of aimless wandering and the girl was utterly soaked, her teeth clenched in shivers, streams sliding down her nearly bald head. She clutched to her sheet, her comforter, lugging her only defense behind the cover. Yet her current challenge wasn’t one that could be solved with her tool, for even in a barren land she was faced with a hoard of conflicts.

Down the long street the girl wandered, sandwiched between the towering blocks that extended infinitely down into the storm as did the city from all directions above, an inescapable prison that stretched past the horizon.

On the right sidewalk of the street that one little girl just kept walking, regardless of the rain, regardless of the cold, regardless of the weight she had to lug every step of the way to an ultimately directionless destination.

Raindrops bounced off the metal piping of the outdoor ventilation segments, every drop emitting a thud off the thin metal surface, thuds fast like an excited heartbeat.

On top of concrete blocks stood tall metallic pillars resembling chimneys, towering over the rest of the city including the one resident that strolled about alone in the wide and long street.

Potholes littered the black road, the general roughness undesirable as a path to move across, yet such inconvenience was truthfully inconsequential as there was little use to them to begin with. Puddles collected in the holes, small pools scattered about the black surface, ripples emerging every instant that another raindrop tapped it.

Between the different walking surfaces, the main black road had the severest degradations, although that was not to say that the sidewalk was perfectly smooth either as that too has erosion detectable even from afar. In truth though there were no smooth components of the city to traverse, there were only lanes worse than others, and so a choice had to be made to venture.

Stalked by the storm clouds that mercilessly rain down, the girl strolled past the blocky buildings without a direction, without a lead on where to look, searching the boundless city for a single being not knowing where he would be when. Emotional desperation was all she had to go off of, no plan of action or leads to follow, for in fact she wasn’t entirely sure if she was walking in the wrong direction, she wasn’t sure if every step was only displacing her further away. Such contemplation reflected in the growing unease of her face, the consternation that she was making a mistake and only digging a deeper hole for herself, yet that couldn’t stop her pursuit, she couldn’t give up now.

Upon passing one of the buildings, the girl noticed a silhouette of a man standing in the alley between two, facing away at the moment and unlit due to the lights mostly illuminating the streets but blind spotted in terms of the spaces between. However she immediately recognized that the man who was of similar height to the one she searched for also had a distinctively wavy hair, as in fact he had the perfect figure for a match, one that stopped her in her tracks.

Upon inspecting the silhouette, the girl’s sparkling green eyes expanded in astonishment as her mouth opened, elation consuming her in the relief of victory.

Instinctively she charged in the new direction straight towards the alley, her destination finally located after the eternal searching, her efforts paid off and her choices vindicated.

“Dad!” joyously exclaimed the young girl in her charge towards the towering man in the alley who upon hearing the calling turned around, his dark brown eyes sharpening to an alerted glare, the man’s body more discernible now to be dressed in a black hoodie albeit torn up with loose strings.

Instantly the girl’s eyes widened in absolute horror to the immediate revelation, halting promptly with her jaw dropped, her body frozen and mouth speechless in the utter bafflement of how to react to this dreadful situation.

Although she couldn’t react, the man did as he took a step towards her and in a raspy voice he demanded, “Hey who are you? What you running up on me for??” In only a few additional steps the man was right in front of the child, staring straight down at her, a living wall that she had rammed into.

“I- I uh-, sorry sir I didn’t mean to-,” stammered the girl, words forced out of her as her entire demeanor shifted from the disgruntlement of the storm to the terror of the encounter.

On first instinct she began to backtrack her way to the alley’s exit from where she came as she turned around and casually excused, “I’m just going to go and-.”

All the sudden her movement was suspended from the grabbing of her arm by the man, forcing her still with a burning glare as she sharply inhaled, still facing the other way but no longer able to make any distance towards it.

“Now wait a second, you’re holding something there aren’t you? I can tell, what is it?” interrogated the man in a stern tone.

Facing the other direction still with a face swamped in terror, the young girl gulped and explained away anxiously, “I uh, oh just uh this sheet since it’s cold, nothing really to worry about I’ll leave you be now sir-.,” while again trying to walk the other way.

Instead the man tugged harder on the child’s arm, forcing her in place and more aggressively threatening, “You kids really think you can just outsmart anyone, don’t you? Well I’m not buying this, think you can just run up to me and turn the other way like that? Come on, what’s under there?”

Aggressively the man began tugging at the arm as the girl tried to stride forward to break the hold, pleading desperately: “Stop it, get off me, come on stop it!” Yet the restraint of the man was tough, too tough for her to so easily overpower.

“What’s in there, what you got?” demanded the man harshly, his words expelling with such intensity that spit was exerted from his mouth.

“Get off me!” pleaded the girl, tussling her way, groaning in struggles.

Similarly, the man groaned but rather than from physical stress it was instead in agitation as he again ordered, “I’m not just letting you go until you show me what’s in there!”

There was very blatantly no chance for the girl to overpower the man in brute strength alone, that much became clear to her. So after a quick moment of pondering, she closed her eyes and more calmly proclaimed, “I said…get off me!”

Immediately she spun around and strafed backwards, the man’s hand caught no longer on the arm but instead the sheet which unintentionally caused him to rip the tie off, pulling the layer off the girl like a flag, providing her just the moment needed as she lifted her arms up to take aim which at the very same time was registered by the man as told by the panicked widening of his own eyes.

Before the sheet could fall to the ground, she pulled the trigger.

Click.

There was no violent bang, no intense recoil, no reaction but for a quiet click sound that emitted from the weapon’s end.

Her eyes at first shut tight in anticipation, the girl just stood dumbfounded as those eyes slowly opened again in complete puzzlement.

One arm over the eyes in futile defense, the man also noticed the lack of effect, and after lowering his arm he repositioned his stare back on the girl.

Standing behind the sheet, now exposed in the intense rain in just her casual clothing, the girl’s entire body began shivering not only in cold but pure panic as she maintained a square aim of the man before pressing the trigger again, only to receive another click.

After the second confirmation, the girl was confused in hysteria as she dreadfully inspected the handgun she just attempted to use, and without any solid knowledge of its operations thus its handling of problems, she instinctively let go of the handle with her left hand to grab the slide at the back of the weapon, trying to pull it back as she had seen her old man do.

Yet unlike the actions of said man, the slide only could be moved a nudge before locking, unable to slide back completely regardless of all the stress the girl put, all the strength she mustered to pull back the slide.

She let it shut and tried again, groaning through gritted teeth, her body quivering now in horror from the terrible escalation of events, as no matter how many times she cocked back the slide there was no changing the limitations of how far it could be pulled.

To that limitation, the man’s frightened stare turned into a menacing glare as a smirk creased along his face and he slipped his right hand into his pocket.

Realizing now how truly defenseless she was, the girl began to again step backwards in preparation for retreat, glancing between the slide and the man in front of her, her intentions of retaliation exposed but along with its failure to be executed.

“Huh…now how did someone like you get a hold of a Hawk like that?” the man questioned sinisterly, his eyes lit in intrigue as he again began to approach the girl and offered, “Now why don’t you give me that right there and I’ll let you scram off to whatever shithole you’re from?”

“I-I can’t do that,” stammered the girl as she slowly stepped backwards, “I-It’s my dad’s…he’ll kill me….”

At that very moment the man pulled his right hand from out of his pocket, revealing it to be gripping a firearm of his own, one modeled more stubbier akin to a Smith & Wesson, but one that’s seamlessly held with one hand and aimed straight for the girl as he declared, “You want to see if this one jams too?”

At an instant the girl froze up, stopping in her retreat, her eyes wide as could be in absolute fear now that she had no method to escape, none at least that’d leave her carrying both herself and her father’s possession.

Shivers so intense they could be seen from his perspective, the girl clutched despairingly to her oversized yet inoperable firearm as she implored softly, “Wait please…wait I’m sorry…don’t do anything…I didn’t mean to run into you…please just let me go….”

There lacked any mercy in the man’s eyes though as he just took another step forward, the barrel of his gun aimed directly at the forehead of the girl as he repeated more belligerently, “Give me the Hawk yourself or I’ll blow your brains out and get it myself. Come on now, three.”

Locked to a sadistic countdown, the girl grabbed the slide of her weapon and again began trying to tug back on the slide, pulling as hard as she could but to no avail as the voice counted, “Two.”

Gritting her teeth in trepidation, her body quaking as she just pulled the slide back and forth, trying to unjam it as though there was no option to follow the demand and her only hope was retaliation, the girl struggled as a shadow loomed over her from behind and the man declared, “One.”

She immediately raised her head up from the slide just at the same time as the bright flash and the deafening thunder of the gunshot that instantly squeezed her eyes shut in defeat.

Yet after the light dissipated and the echoes of the thunder mellowed to silence, the girl kept standing, shivering but standing. That tense squeezing loosened into a puzzled stun, and she slowly opened her eyes with anxiety but intrigue, gradually allowing light to shed in to absorb the image before her.

In front of her still stood the man in the hoodie armed with the handgun, still aiming it straight at the girl. His expression was intense, however rather than being of aggression it was instead of intense dread, his eyes dilated as between them poured down the crimson liquid, the one that dropped from the circular gap in his forehead.

For a moment the man just stood frozen, but ever so slowly his legs gave out and bent inwards, descending his body til it collapsed on the floor, the gun being let go of his hand and sliding out over the ground.

Rather than relief the girl’s expression morphed into horror as she shrieked and staggered backwards into the silhouette, causing her body to stumble against it which made her cry in fear and leap away to sprint with all the power she could lugging her arm.

“Breadhead?” the familiar man’s voice asked, gentle in intrigue and sobered shock, instantly freezing the girl in silence.

Caught between her retreat the girl stood before turning around to face the man behind her, clad in the brown leather rider jacket open to reveal the black vest covered in pouches below the silver disk chain. His arm was extended out, his hand gripping the handle of the firearm which is held by the back, the entire body straight. From the barrel of the weapon emitted a dark smoke that lifted up in the sky opposite of the rain, a followthrough to the strike.

Yet after identifying the young girl, the man lowered his arm and the weapon with it, judging the safety of the environment with a glance of his pacific blue eyes ahead before returning his focus to her to which he just gently inquired, “What are you doing out here?”

Initially cast in the same terror still without consolation, the girl staggered back and began profusely apologizing as the shadow lowered with teary parakeet green eyes, “I’m sorry I knew it was stupid I was worried and I thought I could find you I don’t know why it was stupid I was stupid I’m sorry I’m really sorry please don’t-,”

“Are you hurt?” interjected in the man with a voice still sooth, halting the girl again who just stared dumbfoundedly.

After sliding the handgun smoothly into one of the holsters on his hip, the knelt man raised his newly freed hand as he tilted his head to inspect the child with keen eyes, not sharp out of anger but rather of sincerity.

While there were no visible injuries, no markings or worse that could be found, the man naturally tilted his sight to the stress imposed on the arms, the stress of carrying the large metal weight.

Upon noticing the weight, the man couldn’t help but softly smirk before mentioning, “I still need to fix that one later don’t I,” as he reached his hand out below hers in an offer.

Frowning now in disorientation of how to act given the strangeness of the man’s reaction to such a horribly dangerous sight, the girl just silently placed the huge weapon onto the man’s hand and slipped her fingers out, bringing it to her side.

Calmly the man held the gray gun and brought it to the belt around his hip, slotting it inside one of the hard shelled pouches. He then brought his hand out to wipe the girl’s cheek, only for it to immediately be wetted again by the relentless shower which he commented on: “You’re going to get sick like this Breadhead,” before his gaze just slanted to the side, but just enough for his attention to be grabbed by another object laying on the ground between her and the dropped body.

Staring down at the sheet on the ground, the man stood up straight and walked around the child before bending down and picking it off, examining it intimately to determine: “This’ll need to be cleaned, but I guess it’s about time.”

He then gripped it from the other end and balled it together to squeeze it tightly, squeezing a dense waterfall that splashed on the floor as the girl just turned around.

That splash was right over the head of the fallen man, the water droplets touching his head just as the constant rain was, the entire body limp and frozen like a statue.

After squeezing out the water like a sponge only for more to accumulate in that very instant, the man turned around to face the child who just stared up at him, her mouth hanging open as though there was something she wanted to say, and yet nothing came out.

Staring down at the child but specifically the fabrics of the clothing dampened from the unabated rainfall, the man sighed again and listed while grabbing the edge of his coat, “And that. Well hmm, you certainly can’t walk with this on so…this isn’t much better but it’ll have to do,” before unraveling the balled up sheet and throwing it over the girl.

This time covering the top of the girl’s head and pulling from the ends around her chest where the knot is made to make a cape rather than a poncho, the man patted the top of the girl’s head twice as good measure before then sighing and beginning to trek his way out of the alley before being stopped by the question: “Wait…are you mad at me?” which he found the speaker of, that being the girl who just stared up at him, still wary.

In front of the alley’s exit, the man hummed to himself for a moment before then answering with his own: “Did you learn your lesson,” to which the girl just glanced around to the fallen body behind her, cold beaten under the rain. Frowning from the disturbing sight, she could do nothing but stare at the corpse, unable to easily answer the question as the man simply just grabbed the girl’s hand with his own before nudging, “Come on, let’s get you back under a roof,” before further prompting her with the beginning of a stroll, one she’s roped into following as her legs walked to keep pace and she was pulled to face the other way.

Him in the leather coat and her in the white cloak, together the two walked out of the dark alley, taking a left turn to the streets in the direction from which she came, returning into the brighter open space and departing the scene, leaving the darkness.

That darkness is matched with the infinite void, but whereas the yellow lights provide balance instead the white light of the glittery stars do, the ones that twinkle all across the view of the window screen that the adult woman watches, her amber bangs combed for better presentation, her black blazer and leggings following etiquette. She stands with her arms folded over her chest, staring at that particular screen as there are many more beside and above, each of them with different displays of various other angles.

“We’ve reached the payload position,” alerts the voice of a nearby man whom the watcher turns towards, her parakeet eyes facing past the neighboring screens exhibiting those other angles of the cosmos but with other vehicles in sight too including black SUVs and larger buses. Her focus however is towards the center of the interior which has white hard surfaces, including the table blocks that section the huge space into smaller chunks that are divided more by the great abundance of monitors over said tables. Even a few feet in front of the woman is a circular table grounded to the floor but by a shrinking foundation like a tunnel with a flat top, one that has circular screens engaged with by a great crew of many adults some dressed in formal business suits of blazers and dress pants, others in navy blue uniforms with signature white epaulets on their shoulders in the shape of shields, and a select few in black compressed jumpsuits including the familiar colleague walking around the disk whilst announcing, “Initiate diagnostics, let’s move here.”

Every one of the adults clothed in dress suits begins hastily interfacing with the monitors before them, swiping at the screens or moving their fingers as though typing, all but for the men in the navy uniforms who simply stand around on guard with their silver board rifles over their arm, the blackpoint barrel aimed to the floor but ready at all times given their wielders’ keen observations. Similarly the few other men in jumpsuits don’t appear to be directly working with the screens, instead the collection of them standing around begin walking the other way opposite from the woman between the dividing tables that form barriers similar to corridors.

One of the adults examines a circular screen with six dots surrounding one larger central dot, although beyond that there are no other entities on the screen or at least any in movement. To that observation the man reports, “No alien entities from short range and long range scanners!”

After passing that man, Thompson approaches a woman who taps on a monitor displaying a diagram of a strange wand with an orb at the end that slowly spins surrounded by a vast collage of smaller windows with green bars and text beneath, all of that information being summarized by said woman from the announcement: “Matter Projector tests all passed, ready to transmit!”

One other woman reads a set of graphs and charts, some of which are colored uniquely with one being a blue square with purple dots, and another with a line graph of a horizontal green line above a red jittery line in a sinusoidal function. Simultaneously as she’s passed she declares, “Conditions are within safe zone, Exmatter interference minimal.”

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Thompson makes the round on his way straight towards the head woman as he shouts, “Begin module calibration,” while the adults further back behind the table blocks nod their heads and continue their work.

In a calmer tone the man nods his head to the woman and reports, “We’re moving smoothly ma’am, we’ve been doing test runs for the past week and I think we might be setting a record time.”

Smiling softly to the bright news, the woman nods her head and with a delightful voice she follows, “That’s nice, I figured this trip would be longer but guess not.”

“Probably for the best,” responds the man as he stops to stand beside her, placing his arms behind his back as he takes in the view of the monitors, watching the footage of the vast space, a sight serene yet at the same time isolating. One of those monitors displays live footage that captures the large truck itself from the back but at a safe distance, one that provides the breadth to reach the two SUVs that sit next to the truck too. Another screen displays what apparently is the body of the former camera, one of the buses that resides behind the large truck but from a side angle, seeming to be coming from one of those SUVs as all angles of the truck are covered.

The two now facing the same sight, the man clarifies in almost a whisper, “It’s a blessing that we got these guards with us, but they’re not much beyond looks. Even they’re out of their comfort zone, there’s a reason why the E.G.A left this sector on its own.”

After a few moments of consideration, the woman assures in a similarly low volume, “There is a reason, yes. But that wall doesn’t need to hold forever, and right now we’re finally getting chinks out of it. These worlds are part of the Superverse no less than the Core, and even if it takes generations we’re going to bridge them with us.”

Before a followup can be made by Thompson, one is made from a distant voice from further back which proclaims, “Calibration complete! Variables aligned and ready for activation!”

Taking in the announcement, Thompson turns around and whispers back, “Yeah I’m just surprised the E.G.A hasn’t burnt the one with us,” before he paces back to the circular table to exclaim to all: “Initiate deployment!”

As the head woman watches, all of the adults begin more hastily working on their monitors, their swipes getting faster and their general movements becoming more intense while Thompson paces down towards the back.

At the same time the woman turns back to the screens to watch that from the screen exhibiting the truck’s back, a blue light projects out of the center bottom edge downwards, although that light is suspended about fifty feet from its projector, firstly a straight ray.

That ray then promptly begins to widen at the head, the ray changing shape as it’s gained new dimensions, forming a luminous sphere with two long wings about triple the sphere’s diameter in length.

For a few moments this luminous state persists and in fact brightens, the blue light strengthening from the projector to the head, pulsating at a growing rate of overall intensity as chatter can be heard from behind, none of the words distinguishable due not by their volume for it’s adequate enough but rather by the surplus of layers.

However the woman remains silent, watching the pulsating light as it reaches a state nearly white before it all the sudden vanishes entirely, and in the space of the contorted head now sits a white metal orb with wings made of sleek blue grids given an almost glassy material but nonetheless opaque.

An abrupt cheer breaks behind the woman which she turns to, finding the source being the many professionally suited adults celebrating, many of their screens filled with green whether it be from bars, lists, or charts, although all indicate a similar consensus; the screen of the seven dots crowded around the center now shows an eighth with the new one the closest to the origin.

That consensus is verbalized by Thompson who approaches from the other end: “We have deployment!”

After the short relishing of victory, he then shouts over the cheers, “Okay now let’s all focus up again! Let’s define connection, and then we can get out of here!”

The cheering tapers out as the adults return to work, swiping and typing at the screens as Thompson nods again to the woman at the head before admitting, “These people have done nothing but simulations for the past week so I think they’re just glad to get it over with.”

A brief chuckle is warranted from the woman before she assures, “At least they’ll have a good break, we still have to wait for absolute verification from this. But once we do, I want to get ten of these, one for every world!”

“Yes yes, baby steps,” tones down Thompson in retort, and on his way to the head woman one of the others turns around to face him and announces, “We got a connection! All tests passed, the satellite is communicating to the servers with perfect stability!”

At last able to smile with genuine relief, Thompson turns around to respond as at the same time the screen with the eight dots reveals an ninth although from the very edge albeit in movement specifically towards the origin, to which the man analyzing it interjects Thompson’s response with his own albeit of concern rather than praise: “There’s an entity approaching us,” to which the guards in navy blue glance with raised eyebrows.

Thompson turns away from the woman and her good news to instead the man who watches the screen as several more dots follow behind, all moving in the same direction as he more frantically proclaims, “There’s something coming at us,” to which from the corner of her eye the woman notices a flaring light on one of the monitor screens which she glances at away from the map screen that exhibits a straight line emitting from the front dot towards the center simultaneous with the brightening of said light.

Abruptly a red ray dashes straight through the bus behind the truck which immediately bursts into a blue blaze concurrent with the sudden blackening of one of the monitors that being the one that previously showed the truck’s rear, and not even a second later a sudden clattering can be heard from the back of the interior which causes the entire space to rumble, stumbling adults including the woman as beeping sounds start emitting from many of the monitors not just around the head but also from further in the back, all of them flashing red signals and screens.

Shock instantly drowning her face, the woman blinks twice and turns around to face the chaotic crew of adults who stumble and shout incoherently, only able to express their raw terror as their specific words are muddled over each other’s while at the same time the navy guards nod to each other and one of them shouts in a commanding tone, “EVERYONE, STAY CALM!”

That specific officer raises his free hand by his ear and tilts his head down as he more quietly orders, “Formation C, I want a count,” as all the sudden from the radar screen many more dots appear from the corner, all of them moving towards the center.

Frantic as her heartbeat races, the woman turns around to the monitors to find now a fleet of lights getting brighter, all of them coming from the same direction from seemingly deep space, a siege of them out of nowhere.

At the same time the variously angled footages compose the exhibition of the remaining bus beginning to move, turning sharply around the truck and driving past it to its rear end as over the crowd of panic shouts Thompson, his voice rising over all others to command: “THE C.E.O IS ON BOARD, WE NEED TO EVACUATE NOW-,” just as streaks soar right past the window screens concurrent with the sudden explosive bursts of both SUVs visible, their scraps flying straight into the walls amongst the camera the footage of which starts flickering as the whole compartment rumbles more aggressively, dragging the other adults with it as a few fall to the ground.

Furthermore that one strike also causes the white lights of the interior to flicker, stabilizing as the rumble lightly tapers.

Passing off from the rumble however is a whole array of screens sprouting from the walls, most of them with red text and flashing triangles. One of the men in normal business attire stands up and fixes his attention to the screen before then summarizing distraught, “The engine systems are down! We’re being locked to spatial parking!”

He turns his gaze over to Thompson who glances at him with disturbance before then facing the window screen to see the second wave of streaks approach the back of the truck as the bus positions itself in front while another one of the navy guards paces while requesting with his hand to his ear and head down, “This is the squad of Operation Torchlight, I am requesting reinforcements immediately. I’m transferring my position with this message, we are being ambushed!”

Yet he then proceeds to tap his ear twice before raising his head up to a fellow officer whom he asks, “Are you getting a signal? Nothing’s going through!”

To that question the officer shakes his head and analyzes, “There’s a long range jammer in this area. We’re not getting a transmission out anywhere here.”

Watching the despairing conversation, the woman clenches her teeth and turns to face the window screen again, facing the first wave that has circled back and is now gradually approaching.

Nobody else to see her facing forward, the woman contracts her stare more keenly as her pupils flash golden, streaks crawling out and forming a series of rings in her green iris, providing her senses beyond the capacity of a human limited to organic hardware.

Through the enhanced perspective now the head of the streaks can be seen with greater clarity, the heads being motorbike pods with a yellow body and red stripes that isn’t entirely sleek but rather has a strangely retro design of a flatter front and exposed silver components by where the engine would be. Contributing to that design most especially are the two handlebars protruding from the sides with what resembles to be mirrors jutting out, ones that are glanced at by the riders.

These riders however lack the same homogeneous uniform but rather their primary aligning characteristic is the lack of such alignment, with one of them dressed in a cherry red jumpsuit with long blonde hair and another one in what looks to be a dark green tunic with golden buttons in a column. Between them and leading just hairs ahead is one with a scruffy beard matching his rugged face, wearing a midnight purple cloak who gazes up and extends his arm back. His hand then begins to supernaturally emit purplish blue tendrils of plasmic light that cluster above his palm in a spiral, forming a vortex in his hand which he seems prepared to throw.

In silent awe the woman just watches with wide eyes as behind her Thompson turns before shouting, “GET DOWN!” before leaping to her and grabbing her arm, yanking her away from the head.

Midway through the pull, the first wave of streaks soar right past the truck again concurrent with the abrupt explosion of purplish energy that consumes another SUV– whose debris crash into the walls again– and tosses both the woman and Thompson off their feet and to the ground, their bodies sliding back as the wild screaming of the adults continue.

Further back in the interior crowds the groups of employees by the blocks which upon closer inspection aren’t actual blocks but rather rounded partial rings to display screens on, yet many of them now show red text with warnings plentiful.

Such warning screens hardly made an impact beyond the present booms as the mature adults cry and yell while pushing against each other, nowhere to run as instead they’re trapped in the confines of the vehicle designed to protect them from the outside.

More quakes stumble the employees, some of them grabbing to the tables for stability as the less fortunate fall to the floor, and amongst the crowd stand the few guards who even they lack much composure, glancing at each other and to the one leader who begins pacing his way to the back of the pod while sternly demanding, “What do you mean they’re getting inside, Regex what are you saying, hey Rege-,” before his own composure collapses in terror as he sprints to the back of the truck towards the white wall with a raised voice shouting, “HEY WAIT REGEX WE’LL BACK YOU UP-,” just before a sudden boom from the back of the pod is followed with a bombardment of clattering, causing the man to fall along with the nearby adults.

Fallen on the ground, the officer clenches his teeth and glances up as one of the officers who only looks to be in his early twenties just turns around in horror towards the front of the pod at the same sight being noticed by the woman with amber bangs standing up; that sight comes from the holographic monitor displaying surveillance of the truck’s rear to reveal the second explosion that propels chunks of metal scraps in all directions, some of it flying straight into the camera which promptly shuts down the stream.

Her jaw hanging stunned, the woman just stares at one of the remaining streams this one now coming from the truck’s rear itself which shows several bikes race up to the back of the truck, all of them close enough that their strange uniforms can be seen including one wearing a sleeveless vest with metallic plating and an oversized collar made of leopard-textured fur.

All of the riders stop right in front of the back however, all including one who approaches at the very center, dressed in a white sleek sweater with an asymmetrical design, its bizarre aesthetic matched with the white lensed goggles. That man, despite the absurdity of his attire, raises his hand towards the camera as golden streaks of energy crawl out of hands and bind together to form a construct resembling a traditional key that he presses towards the camera as the other riders beside him summon blue lights from the motorbike mirrors to their hands which manifest into compact firearms of traditional designs with handles that jut normal to the body. Their compactness doesn’t equate to weakness as one of them has a design similar to an Uzi and another of a small shotgun, raising them while waiting.

What they wait for is what the woman quickly realizes as she turns around to the sound of a supernatural hum coming from the back of the pod, a phenomenon that manages to silence most of the adults not out of solace but quite the opposite. For at the far end of the truck where the guards stand, through the white wall a rectangular border of golden light passes through, one with the dimensions of a door. The light gradually becomes more solid, becoming more opaque and less luminous as the adults by the wall flood away from it for the front as the few navy guards stand in place, raising their firearms up in anticipation.

With little interior barricades built into the truck, there is little space for the adults to cower beneath, most of them choosing the furthest ring tables and some even behind the central ring spiral table by the head in front of the woman and Thompson, both of them staring in dread.

Eyes wide and unable to move, the woman just stares ahead with naked green eyes, her heartbeat drumming but hardly able to hear it over the murmuring that has quieted down as though in hopes of concealing their presence.

In fact in seconds the entire truck becomes completely silent, not a single adult speaking as the only sound is the humming of the luminous door frame etching itself into the wall, the edges being defined as in front of it stands the few guards, all of their ballpoint barrels aiming straight for the inside of the border.

Only subtly their arms waver, for despite the tension of the moment they are nonetheless trained soldiers, skilled with the power to compose themselves in the most dire of situations, to keep themselves focused on a solution rather than be drowned in the problem.

Thus they stand tall and confident behind the wall, waiting in silence, in the collective silence of anticipation, all towards the golden frame engraving into the white barrier.

It is then at the very next moment that the frame is filled by a solid golden body from a flood of light through the edges, defined in that very next moment as alerted to by the abrupt entrance of the man in the sleeveless vest stepping through the golden door into the truck’s interior as though the wall was an illusion, letting him immediately pull the trigger and fire a thunderous gunshot straight into one of the guards which hurtles them backwards as the woman in the bright red jumpsuit steps through the door with the Uzi-like weapon in hand which she unleashes a rapid barrage from, the gunfire so rapid it mirrors a lawnmower as another guard drops to the ground, leaving the others to begin tracing backwards while holding fire that nearly lands their target before those orange bolts are diverted into the purple vortex that slightly enlarges, maintained over the hand of the man in the midnight cloak, protecting the marching intruders who step over the navy corpses on their way to the remaining guards. Firstly appearing to be in retreat only for the intruders to pass one of the ring tables where a guard leaps out from, the landed strike on the vested intruder cause him to groan from the shots taken before he nonchalantly aims his shotgun back at the man and fires a shot that completely ravages the guard’s upper body, splattering the white walls with red as the fresh corpse drops down.

Unscathed by the shots with only needing to roll his shoulder, the vested man continues onwards with his allies including the red woman who deviously smirks as she paces on ahead with her weapon aimed forward.

In steady steps back the guard takes towards the head of the pod where the majority of the hiders remain including the woman at the far end, and even when another guard leaps from another ring table for an ambush he’s swiftly met with a slash to his throat by the man in the green tunic who wields a dagger that has a strange forest green mist.

The guard instinctively clutches to the open wound and staggers back, dealt with just as fast as he appeared.

Dreadfully staring at the invasion, the final guard, the lone wolf stumbles against the central disk table, leaving him nowhere left to retreat as now he’s faced down by the whole invasion who remain unharmed after wiping out the defensive forces meant to be the elite protection of the Superverse rendered fodder.

To that despair left on the guard, the red woman chuckles psychopathically, aiming her gun straight at the final soldier who aims back but clearly the least confident to make any purpose of it, least when standing in front of the crowd.

Hyperventilating, the last guard who’s in his low twenties just frantically glances around, his arm set but his gaze not.

Instead his gaze darts to the ally laying over the ring table with his arms limp, letting the blood drip from his throat as on the other side lays the friend whose face has been brutalized, and in the center back of the hub lays the bodies including that of the commander.

That gaze however then leaps to the others alive, the civilian employees, the ones who took the mission under the protection of the guards, the guards like him. Those civilians cower behind the few tables, many of them however well in range to be struck but with no better option, only left to rely on prayer.

Noticing all those counting on their guardian, the lone warrior grits his teeth and readjusts his sight on the target before bellowing a battle cry and firing a rapid stream of orange bolts out of the black ballpoint.

All that courage and bravery packed into those glistening orange flares of power soar straight for their targets, and promptly straight into the purple vortex sustained by the robed man, all of them fed right into the attracting shield, none of them able to make contact. In fact, the purple vortex only grows in size as more orange bolts are fed into it, gaining the radius nearly of an arm.

Next to the robed man stands the red woman who unleashes a maniacal laugh before raising her gun up and holding her trigger, firing a barrage of her own deafeningly loud bursts with such intensity that the recoil of the weapon forces her arm to raise only higher, her body hardly able to even manage the death machine in her grasp.

After all the valor collected, the final guard inevitably is struck by the rain of gunshots that drops his body at an instant, so fast that the barrage doesn’t complete as it continues past him over the table towards the woman standing still, completely vulnerable.

Beside her the man in the black jumpsuit raises his arm over her as if to shield, unleashing a fierce roar concurrent with the sudden manifestation of mystic blue diamond-shaped energy constructs that form aligned with each other in a tight seal that swiftly forms a greater shield, absorbing the excess gunfire despite the ripples to the diamonds.

Behind the shield, the woman glances at the man, her expression still petrified but now with an additional shock that mixes an extent of ease along with greater perplexity.

Gritting his teeth, Thompson glances at the woman before facing back to the gunman, sustaining the shield although clearly struggling to do so, revealing his own superhuman abilities in sheer desperate panic for protection.

Not too long the shield needs to be maintained however as the robed man holding the vortex aims it at the red woman before jerking his arm back, resulting in the abrupt jerking reaction of the woman’s arm that nearly has her drop her gun but at the very least stop firing.

The woman immediately shows anger as she turns to the robed man only for him to order in a raspy voice, “You idiot, don’t kill the hostages.”

As the woman frowns and lowers her head in instant obedience, the robed man’s eyes contract to an intrigued stare ahead.

Staring straight at Thompson who bears the shield still, the man just acknowledges earnestly, “Huh, that’s an interesting one,” before he then arches his arm back.

Puzzled at first from the strange compliment, Thompson’s eyebrow raises before his eyes expand in horror the moment before the purple vortex flies straight into his shield, resulting in an immediate explosion expelling a purple energy that swarms the entire head room, consuming all of the surrounding adults and causing them to promptly collapse on the floor along with Thompson whose body is first more violently thrusted back against the wall same as the head woman.

Dropping to the floor with a thud, the woman winces in pain as she lifts her head up, her eyes struggling to stay open as her pupils flicker gold.

Through her own eyes she watches all her fellow employees, the ones in business outfits and black jumpsuits all be thrusted to the ground with pouring thuds, all of them swiftly defeated in a single strike with shouts and grunts.

Through her own eyes however the world begins to darken, and in this realization she extends his arm out, her palm facing her as the skin that only she can see transforms into a golden metal, the armor ready to be morphed into.

Yet no such decision is simple, as the woman’s eyes are drawn to the many witnesses around, the many adults who, while all are disoriented, do pose the risk of exposure in the event of a full transformation.

Even in a desperate situation that calls for retaliation, the concern of being outed couldn’t lift from the woman’s shoulders, leading her to just contemplate while struggling to remain conscious to begin with, her arm just left reaching out.

From her darkening perspective, all of the intruders take immediate focus on her, the vested man approaching her along with the others as his trailing voice remarks, “Isn’t this the catch of our lives?”

Vulnerable on the ground, the woman just stares up at the invaders, wincing not only in the pain of the physical strike but the indecisiveness to action, the revelation that just because a situation prompted her to fight didn’t explicitly mean she could.

Risking exposure meant risking her life, her earnest and friendly reputation, her trustworthiness in such a high position, one that billions stared at all, all meticulously waiting for her to make the wrong move.

In a question between her life and her life, a decision had to be made, one that from her agonized expression wasn’t one she particularly liked.

Yet her decision is finalized, so she allows for the final glimpse of the towering invaders to be darkened, for their voices to be subdued, all until the world becomes black and silent.

Cold, isolated, hollow.

Like the space that she had chosen to seclude herself to, denying aid or presence even when so eagerly offered.