Element
I've made 24 posts
79 years.
Boreal
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Post by Atticus Gale on Jan 27, 2020 23:08:25 GMT -6
 CONTINUED FROM THIS POST IN "SHADES"
FEBRUARY — Manhattan, Upper West Side
It was late afternoon by the time they reached the scene of the crime, or incident, Atticus wasn’t exactly sure. The trees, still bare of leaves shuddered in light cool breeze. Plymouth had sent him a text and next thing he knew he was waiting for him down in the lobby; dressed in plain clothes. Out-of-uniform, that was good. Atticus always felt a little out of place in full costume when he was dealing with immediate danger. Casket’s look being more subtle, a trench coat and easily removable mask, was far less conspicuous than his elaborate suit.
After the usual exchange of pleasantries, they drove north. A mere ten minutes later, Plymouth pulled his jeep over and walked across Columbus ave. toward the Douglass Houses project. A collection of nondescript brick apartment buildings, the kind peppered with air-conditioning units set in the windows.
“You looking for a new place?” Atticus quipped, curious what would bring them to the Upper West side projects.
Plymouth wasn’t amused. “It happened over here.” He explained in his usual serious tone, pointing up at a fifth story window of a north facing apartment.
Atticus could see that the glass had been busted out, covered with plastic until it could be repaired.
“What happened?”
“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen happened.” Plymouth replied, keen eyes searching the scene.
He went on to recount that the previous night, he’d picked up a transmission on his police scanner a disturbance at these apartments. Officers on the scene described the vigilante known as Daredevil crashing through the fifth story window, followed by a man dressed up like a twelfth century samurai wielding a Japanese sword.
“You don’t say? Daredevil?” Atticus commented, hands thrust in his pockets as he stared up the window, imagining what it must have looked like. He’d heard of the hero. Who hadn’t? But he’d never seen him in action.
“Pardon me.” A man apologized as his cane struck the the heel of Atticus’ shoe. A white cane. Recognizing the sign of a man who was visually impaired, Atticus promptly jumped out of the man’s way, with a “Sorry, about that.”
Atticus stayed on the grass, focusing his attention on Casket. “So, why the interest?” He posed. Super-heroes tended to follow an unsaid code and keep out of one another’s affairs.
“The guy the Devil was fighting, I’ve run into him before. He’s bad news.” Plymouth stated, storms brooding in the far-away stare hidden behind blue contact lenses. He could tell that he was using his “sight”, or whatever he called it. Atticus had seen him use it on a number of occasions, the ability that allowed him to somehow reconstitute the happening of an area. Clarity, Plymouth had explained, was reliant on the intensity of the sin, or raw emotion. Day-to-day happening didn’t register.
Atticus folded his powerful arms across his chest, pausing a moment while Casket took in the history of the event and played it back in his mind.
“So wh —?” Atticus’ words were cut off as a cracking sound like thunder rushed across the sky, only it was traveling faster, the booming cadence resonating further. “Jesus!” he exclaimed looking up to where the sound had emanated to see a black tendril like a negative lightening bolt ripping through the blue.
Everyone else around them was watching it too, pointing up and making exclamations. It looked as though the sky was literally cracking open, as a dark rift streaked across the sky, like cracks down a wall during an earthquake. Then just as resonance of the first faded, a second boomed across the sky, then another, and another. People began to panic. If there was ever an ‘end of the world’ scenario unfolding before one’s eyes, this was it. All at once then, the sky turned black. From horizon to horizon, an unnatural, starless night fell across the city. Light sensitive switches triggered street and other outdoor lights, as a cacophony of of social media alerts chimed off simultaneously.
“Is this…?” Atticus alluded to the “Watcher”. He figured if anyone was going to recognize the proverbial “end-of-days”, it would be an Angel, but Casket was quick with definite and sure, “No.” His overall demeanour, however, was to the say the least, disquieting. He knew something, but instead of sharing quickly headed back to the jeep, where he retrieved a cell-phone-like device from a hidden compartment under the dashboard.
“What the hell is that?” Atticus blurted out, ever surprised by the amount of gadgets the crime-fighter had at his disposal.
The Justice League logo in the corner of the screen was all-telling, and Atticus didn’t even bother asking how he acquired it. The guy was like freaking Batman. Shit, maybe he knew the guy. Atticus really didn’t know a lot about Plymouth other than he knew he could trust him in a pinch.
“Watchtower’s on high alert.” Plymouth divulged.
CONTINUED TO SHADES |
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Element
I've made 25 posts
33 years.
Casket
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Post by Plymouth Weir on Feb 5, 2020 22:19:08 GMT -6
 CONTINUED FROM SHADES
High above Manhattan, where sky touched space the black membrane continued to expand, and as it grew tiny pustules began to form. Microscopic at first, they developed quickly maturing, gaining mass like ice in a storm until they were large enough to descend. Black, veiny sacks as large as footballs plummeted into the atmosphere, the kinetic energy produced by wind sheer of the fall creating a chemical reaction, igniting the elements within into a bright violet glow.Atticus’ head shot round as he just caught the tail end of a bright streaking flash out of the corner of his eye. “What the hell was that?”Plymouth had seen it too. “Lightening?”There was another, closer this time. A downward flash touching down within a nearby courtyard. The impact sounded like an exploding water balloon, and the site began to radiate with bright violet flickering light.Cautiously they approached the wrought iron gate preventing entry but Casket made short work of the lock with single, solid shove. Moving quickly down the corridor they entered the courtyard where a bright, sparking cloud that looked like fire flies slowly swirled about. Most of the wisps quickly burnt out, turning to ash and fading on the wind, but some seem to seek out living things. Once landed near a small ornamental tree and in a matter of seconds an exact duplicate made of a jet black material formed, only it had leaves. Another sought out a barking dog and the same process occurred, an exact jet-black duplicate of the dog forming, only this time the clone aggressively attacked the original. The vicious simulacra tore out the dog’s throat and as it died the thing appeared to absorb it’s life, as if drawing in the energy, leaving nothing but a husk.“Holy shit!” Atticus exclaimed, “I think I’ve seen this movie.”The glistening black dog-thing then turned it’s attention on them. Neither motioned to run, the crime-fighters standing their ground. Instinct dictated that whatever was happening, they needed to know how to fight it, and this was their golden opportunity.“Let’s see what makes this thing tick.” Plymouth mentioned, but before they could contain and capture the creature there was a loud, echoing scream, followed by the descending form of a man in a garish green and yellow costume with an Asian flare. His fist was like a fiery white ball, striking the creature like a meteor, completely obliterating it.“You guys alright?” The costumed crusader checked.Plymouth cast a cynical grin. “Peachy.”“Iron Fist.” Atticus called out excitedly, moving closer like an eager fan-boy, at which Casket just grimaced. “You know what’s going on?”Iron Fist didn’t answer, he just recommended they stay indoors before he leapt over another gate, vanishing into the night.Plymouth shook his head. “He has no fucking clue.”Atticus stared down at the black pile of goo, sadly nodding in agreement. “At least we know they can be killed.” He then quickly pilfered a small vase from a nearby ground floor balcony and scooped up some of the remains.“Yeah.” Casket acknowledged the move, “Let’s see what we’re up against.” |
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Element
I've made 24 posts
79 years.
Boreal
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Post by Atticus Gale on Feb 11, 2020 14:01:06 GMT -6
There was a strange ‘disassociation from reality’ that seemed to afflict super-heroes. Atticus had noted it several times in the past. A strange sense of normalcy that endured in the most dire of situations, like now. In the face of what could be the annihilation of the world, he and Casket were oddly calm in relation to the intensity of the situation. A hyper-distorted sense of duty combined with the illusion of indestructibility inflating their sense of purpose, or as Plymouth so eloquently referred to it, “Having no fucks to give.”
Hell, people were in survival mode and reality wouldn’t sink in for at least a few days. If they had that. As Plymouth navigated through the back allies of Manhattan, Atticus’ chiseled features were stone cold, cool eyes detached from the scene on the other side of the window. Inky black copies, naked, hairless and sexless preyed upon the populace with an insatiable hunger, but what they seemed to be consuming was death itself.
Law enforcement was holding it’s own and local masked heroes were making a significant dent in the numbers of these rapidly growing parasites. Fortunately, they weren’t unusually empowered. They didn’t seem to inherit abilities, just the physical form, but it was becoming apparent that the more they consumed, the stronger they became. The reports that Atticus was watching on his phone said as much. Local news was doing it’s best to apprise people of the situation while the government was still processing the bombardment of information. There wasn’t any emergency agency that could match such an intense rate of escalation.
“Shit! Look out!” Atticus shouted, as Plymouth peeled around a corner. Narrowly missing what looked like a bear moving naturally on it’s hind legs.
It was unbelievable how quickly this invading force was replicating the dominant life forms. “It’s like a virus.” he observed.
“Yeah. Well, what’s this one doing?” Plymouth posed. “Usually the goal ain't to kill the host.”
“No.” Atticus agreed, “It wants to change it.”
‘Wonder what the fuck, “it” is?”
Atticus checked the black sludge resting at the bottom of the narrow vase sitting in the cupholder between them, curious what mysteries an analysis would reveal. “Park down below.” he mentioned as his apartment block came into view up the street.
The area was devoid of pedestrians; a few vehicles milling about, the flash of police lights everywhere. People had cleared out fast, taking refuge in their homes, or wherever they felt safe. By now, everyone was aware of what was going on. A state of national emergency had been declared and martial law had been put in effect. As Plymouth cruised through the underground parking garage, Atticus increased the volume of his phone to listen to President Luthor address the crisis. A cookie-cutter response to alleviate stress on the populace. The army had been deployed, a curfew was in immediate effect, and safe zones were being set up. Stark’s Federal Regulation Bureau was in full swing, his Iron Legion Task Forces deploying across the nation from each of the major cities. What people residing in urban areas were yet unaware of was the infestation of the alien-clones in the rural districts and beyond. Various amalgamations of the animal population scoured the country-side, feeding on anything that crossed their paths. Seeking out the living with ravenous relentlessness.
Plymouth parked in one of the stalls reserved for guests and quickly made his way around to the back of the jeep, pulling out a pack and slinging it over his shoulder. Atticus grabbed the vase containing the sample and exited the vehicle, briskly walking to the stair-well, avoiding the elevator. Both men were on high alert as they made their way upward, quickly reaching the fifth floor without incident.
Once inside, Atticus sealed the reinforced door of his apartment, pulling a metal sheet out the closet that no normal could move with such ease. It fit snuggly over the doorway where it smoothly moored to the frame turning the portal into an armoured door.
Atticus waved the vase before his partner who was already getting into costume, “I’m going to get on this.”
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Element
I've made 25 posts
33 years.
Casket
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Post by Plymouth Weir on Feb 11, 2020 22:02:55 GMT -6
Even though Casket’s attire consisted of standard articles of clothing, everything was specially select and consistent, from his grey coloured trench coat, the dusty denim jeans, to the weathered charcoal coloured boots. The uniform was as detailed as any brightly coloured costume, as distinct as his violet eyes radiant in the dimly lit living room.
Atticus was in an adjacent room that had been converted into a lab, the French-style glass door hermetically sealed; it even had it’s own air filtration system. Not that he was in the habit of bringing home deadly agents, he simply believed in airing on the side of caution. The preparation had paid off in this case. The scaled down laboratory was fully functional and capable of a complete analysis of the sample. All, Plymouth had to do was wait, which had never been his strong suit. It didn’t take long for him to tire of perusing Atticus’ home. His actual age didn’t show, but it was sure as shit revealed in his decor, the dated knickknacks and mementos far beyond his youth. Even the architecture of the building itself took one back to bygone days. Quite the contrast to Plymouth’s abode, but his nosing around was beginning to reveal more than he cared to know. After a while his sensitivity naturally began to kick in, so he distracted himself by turning on the TV, and flicking through the various emergency service broadcasts. People were probably shitting their pants. He should be out there doing something, but Casket knew he was doing the best thing could right now. Atticus’ analysis was important, and he needed someone to watch his back. There was no telling what the shattered sky would rain down.
Plymouth audibly groaned when that douchebag Lex Luthor appeared on the air again. He figured somehow that prick was capitalizing on all this. No matter what he always emerged richer and stronger after a tragedy. He changed the feed to find Brandt Dietrich, trusted counsellor to the president and propaganda minister, broadcasting from New York. Seemed he was attending a gala of some sort just down in the Exchange district, no doubt meeting with the America-Firsters that rallied around the Nazi. His accented words grated on his nerves more than Luthor’s if that was at all possible, and he considered that this might be the perfect opportunity to knock the guy off. A lot of shit could go wrong in an apocalypse. He’d have to keep that door ajar, considering how things went.
Casket peeked through the drawn blinds of the balcony, surveying the sky and streets. They scurried like shadows, the creatures. Hunting like wolves, their intelligence roughly the equivalent, but they were learning. Those that were humanoid were already exhibiting human-like behaviour, manipulating objects, carrying weapons. Then, one of the global news networks finally relayed images from the Watch Tower, verifying that the invaders were indeed alien. Plymouth watched, along with millions of other spectators, the titanic black ellipse orbiting the planet, then draining into the atmosphere, casting the globe into darkness.Within a week the average global surface temperature would drop below 0ºC, it had already fell a few degrees. In a year, oceans would begin to freeze over, but only if they couldn’t punch through whatever the hell was clouding up the atmosphere. Governments around the world were already communicating their plans to break through the barrier, including the Justice League and other factions with the means to take on this globe-killing parasite.
Atticus emerged from the lab, hands in the pockets of his traditional white over-coat. “What’s happening out there?”
“Nothing good. It’s alien.”
The doctor nodded. No surprise. The big question was, ‘What kind of alien?’. Earth was getting used to the fact that they weren’t alone, that not only were there other worlds, but also other dimensions.
“Learn anything?” Plymouth wondered, leaning into a high-backed chair.
Atticus shook his head. “The analysis will take another twenty, then I’ll crunch the data.”
“You sure this can’t be done any faster?”
Atticus laughed. “Yeah. I’m sure.” He was surprisingly optimistic, which as far as Plymouth could tell boded well.
“Coffee?” Atticus offered, making his way to the kitchen.
Plymouth gave a frustrated nod, the disappointment in his face obvious. He wanted to get out there and kick some ass instead of sitting around waiting for the sky to fall.
“They got it covered.” Atticus reminded him as he calmly shovelled some grounds into the green coloured retro-style coffee-maker. “Let the army and cops do their thing, while they can.”
“Yeah… you’re right.” Casket reluctantly admitted, shuffling into the kitchen. “Not used to sitting on the side-lines.”
Atticus grinned. “We’re playing the long game.”
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Element
I've made 24 posts
79 years.
Boreal
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Post by Atticus Gale on Feb 15, 2020 22:29:43 GMT -6
The two crime-fighters sat back watching the news while outside the apocalypse raged. It felt surreal to say the least, but such was war. Every day people, got up, eased back and perused the news over a cup of coffee, while others awoke to the sound of gun-fire. It was all relative if one really thought about it, but no one did, no one really could. The world didn’t work that way.
Plymouth placed the device he had used to contact the Watch Tower beside, Atticus’ coffee cup. “When you got something, upload it to the Tower.”
Atticus nodded. The Justice League was the closest thing the world had to a global defence initiative. Of all the factions, they were the most trusted to not put their self-interests first. Of course the same question was on everyone’s lips, ‘Where was Superman?’ Especially after the latest botched attempt by the Avengers to penetrate the black screen around the planet. They had hit with everything they had to no avail. A live feed of their efforts broadcast globally revealed the barrier to be completely resistant to all forms of attack, as it just reformed after each assault.
“Somethin’s holdin’ that shit together.” Casket stated the obvious, “Good on ‘em for taking a swing.”
Of course the celebration was premature. As more information was relayed, any of the Avengers that had made contact with the barrier had been stricken with some kind of viral infection that attacked their nervous system. Thor and Captain Marvel were currently en route to the Watch Tower for treatment.
Atticus let loose an exasperated exhale as he read a news feed on his phone. “Doctor Strange’s magic had no effect.”
“It’s only round one.” Casket shrugged.
“Yeah, unfortunately those dumb-assess at the Pentagon are doubtlessly debating the use of nukes.”
Plymouth saw his point. Nothing induced panic worse than the failure of heroes. Most people didn’t have the luxury of their perspective. Even though, Casket and Boreal were considered grunts to the more popularized crime-fighting forces they knew enough to realize they weren’t down and out. The Green Lantern Corps had yet to take a crack at the barrier, and there were a wide array of geniuses focusing their giant brains on the situation. Right now, Reed Richards was no doubt constructing something to blow a hole in it, and the data they were obtaining could prove invaluable in making that happen.
“Soon as we know what we’re up against, we’re out on the streets.” Atticus promised.
Couldn’t be soon enough for Casket… or rather, sooner.
The terrified scream was loud enough to climb the five stories to Atticus’ window. Someone needed help, and not one to hesitate responding to a cry of distress, Plymouth pulled up his mask and sprang out of seat. Atticus barely had enough to time to utter a sound by the time Casket was out on the balcony. Always one to exercise caution, he was hesitant to engage these alien parasites or take them at face value. They were a rapidly evolving organism, still in their infancy, but time was ticking.
The city was eerily silent. Skirmishes resonated in the distance, the streets alive with the bright glow of police lights and flares, but there was no sign of a woman in danger. Casket’s intense violet stare scanned the area, illuminating the darkness, focusing in on details as minute as a pin lying on the street. Nothing.
He felt it’s approach. A sudden rush of murderous hunger descending upon him. It leapt from the rooftop, inky glistening flesh clinging to it’s poorly copied androgynous, genderless, form as it’s arms flailing madly before striking the floor of the balcony with a sickening crack.
A simple side step had allowed Casket to easily avoid the ill-planned attack. It hit the balcony like a sack of cement, a sinewy arm snapping from the impact, and as it laid their, momentarily writhing in pain, it’s dark distorted features like a lifeless puppet feigning human emotion the others emerged. Hairless inky black heads popped out from hiding, over the edge of the roof top above, out from the adjacent balcony. They were hunting as a pack, mimicking the cries of the helpless to draw out their prey!
Unhindered by the pain of it’s broken arm, the creature lunged at Casket, it’s hand lashing out at his throat. He easily countered, grabbing the attacking arm, gloved hand sinking into the cool flesh. Snapping the bone with a quick twist of his wrist, Casket swung the creature over the side like a rag doll. It struck the pavement and did not move, black ooze pouring from it’s cracked skull.
Atticus had observed the fray from inside, noting the ease at which Casket was able to deal with the alien copy. For now, at least they were no stronger than your average human and with far less sense. Their resiliency lied in their apparent ability to ignore pain, but it wasn’t much of an advantage against someone like Plymouth.
“You got this?”
Casket glanced back over his shoulder as he slid the door closed behind him.
This was what the crime-fighter lived for. If Atticus didn’t think he could handle himself out there he would have stepped in, but as it was he had a mystery to unravel. He made his way back to his lab and began his analysis, professionally documenting and compiling his finds. As he had suspected, the organism was aging rapidly. It’s blood cells, or what could be considered the blood cells, possessed nuclei, like an amphibian. They were copies, plain and simple, sexless, so how did they reproduce?
The street below was covered in the stinking remains of inky black alien corpses. With a flash, Casket’s silvery whip curled back around his wrist, returning to it’s tattooed state, after he descended from the roof top back to Atticus’ balcony. He was disappointed they weren’t more of a challenge, but then as he surveyed his work his eyes widened in surprise as the bodies began move. They began to twitch and wriggle and then he saw the reason; slimy black cat-sized salamander-like creatures burst from their abdomens. He watched with disgust as the mucous covered offspring began to grow right before his eyes, rapidly taking on the characteristic of different forms. One growing into a four-legged aberration, another growing into something resembling a massive spider.
Atticus jumped, startled by Casket’s rapping on the glass door. He seemed none the worse for wear considering he’d just taken on about ten or more of the parasites, but the look on his face wasn’t one of victory. Opening the door, he gestured for him to follow.
“We gotta serious problem.” Plymouth began, “Those things are multiplying.”
“Assexual reproduction.” Atticus figured, flopping back down in his chair.
“Yeah, but they’re different. I don’t know… they’re…”
“More advanced.” Atticus interjected.
Plymouth pondered the description, but for lack of a better term had to agree. The next generation could have been upgrades. “Should’a squashed those slimy little bastards while I had the chance.”
Atticus curiously nodded, but he had something more important to show him. “Watch this.”
Placing a sample of the parasite-dog in a petri-dish, he placed it in a small glass box which was attached to what Casket recognized as some kind of generator. He hit a button, and the sample vaporized.
Casket was impressed. “What did ya hit it with?”
“A small burst of electromagnetic radiation, closely resembling solar radiation.”
Plymouth couldn’t hold back his amusement. “You’re fucking kidding? Sunlight?”
Atticus mirrored the reaction, nodding. It was all too cliche, the creatures were highly intolerant to sunlight, but artificial electromagnetic radiation wouldn’t produce the desired effect, they needed direct solar radiation. The only way they were going to get it, was to punch a hole in that black curtain.CONTINUED TO 'SHADES' |
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Element
I've made 25 posts
33 years.
Casket
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Post by Plymouth Weir on Mar 15, 2020 18:36:05 GMT -6
CONTINUED FROM SHATTERED SKYThe momentary silence of trepidation simultaneously pulled their gaze to the the nearby screen. The commentator, bombarded with information from multiple sources did her best to form a comprehensive report on Russia’s discharge of nuclear warhead over Europe and Asia. News which both had been expecting. Casket was only surprised that it hadn’t been President Luthor to jump the gun, and make a first strike in the name of American superiority. Instead it was the Russian President that would endeavour to claim the glory and reveal to the world that the grip of the “planet-killer” would not so easily be broken.
“Fuck.” Casket growled. “Where the hell is Superman? He emits pure solar radiation. His beams would rip that shit apart.”
Atticus folded his thick arms, shaking his head. He’d come to the same conclusion and figured that something must have happened during ‘first contact’. It was the only explanation. If Superman was out of commission, then perhaps whatever was affecting him was a threat to his cousin as well, rendering two of their strongest heroes ineffective.
“Let’s focus on…” Atticus stopped mid-sentence when his attention was drawn to the vibrating rattle of Plymouth’s communication device lying on the stainless steel surface of his work table.
“Holy shit!” Casket exclaimed as he picked it up, “It’s Watchtower.”
He quickly began to read through the lengthy text message. The membrane was blocking most inter-space communication, satellite signals were dying, and this would be the last message the Watchtower would be able to get through. Unbelievably enough, they were among a very select group of individuals across the planet that receive first hand information from the Justice League. Casket wasted little time commandeering Atticus’ desktop computer to copy the information over as a precaution to prevent any data loss.
“You’re not gonna believe this.” Plymouth relayed, “They want us to rendezvous with one of their teams. You up for this?”
Atticus nodded, expressionless but sure.
“Good, ‘cause they just sent me the coordinates.”
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Element
I've made 24 posts
79 years.
Boreal
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Post by Atticus Gale on Mar 17, 2020 16:17:49 GMT -6
The flat grey painted Humvee silently rumbled across the fallow field as Plymouth cut across country to avoid yet another populated area. Headlights and all external lights off, widened pupils shimmering with a lavender glow turned the black into a crimson landscape. Jostled awake by the uneven ground, Atticus swung a drowsy glance out the window, the entirety of his eyes illuminating with radiant blue light, viewing the world through the distortion of air currents.
“We in Indiana yet?” Atticus inquired, the fire in his eyes dimming as he turned to the driver.
Casket smiled. “Just crossed into Ohio, half’n hour ago.”
Atticus was used to traveling faster, but their was safety in numbers. They had a much better of chance of reaching their destination if they stayed together.
A red coloured flashing light on the dashboard was never a good sign, but Plymouth was more perturbed rather than a alarmed. “Shit. Though I’d get a few more miles outta the electric drive.” he announced as he slowed down, bringing the vehicle to a halt in the middle of the field, an eerie silence haunting the enveloping blackness.
“I still haven’t been able to get the crankshaft to switch on the fly.” Plymouth informed, a hint of frustration to his tone.
He twisted a lever under the dashboard and shifted it downward. There was a grind and clunk of metal beneath them, then the flashing red light ceased. Plymouth never subscribed to the bullshit ‘hybrid engine’, which as far as he was concerned was just to appease the oil industry. He, however did see the potential of uniting electricity and internal combustion to create the ultimate long distance vehicle. As he restarted the vehicle the original gas-driven engine roared to life, it would take over, and during it’s shift would recharge the battery of the electric engine.
“What’s the range?” Atticus inquired.
“We’ll get about seven hours outta the gas, then another ten off the battery drive. Got extra gas in the back, so we shouldn’t need to make any stops.”
Atticus shook his head in disbelief. It was incredible what Plymouth had been able to create. The reality was that they didn’t even need gasoline anymore, but the industry would never die. Not while parasites like Lex Luthor were running the country.
“How many of these have you got?” He wondered.
Casket had a number of vehicles he used to get around, all painted a flat grey, and from what he understood untraceable if ever he had to ditch them.
“This is one of a kind.” He admitted, which made sense. Too much time and money went into this particular model to just discard it. Comparing it to the other vehicles he’d been in, this one wasn’t a bare bones design with portable tech that he could quickly take with him, or destroy. Plymouth had made a lot of modifications to the Humvee.
Another twenty minutes cross country before jumping back onto one of the major routes that skirted around a larger populated area. The Justice League had accommodated for the fact that Casket wasn’t like Batman who seemed to have unlimited resources at his disposal. They’d given them a generous amount of time, but they didn’t have any allotted to dealing with any of the dark entities along the way. So far, they hadn’t passed by a soul on the highway. The creatures were naturally drawn to sources of light, turning highways into death traps. Anyone with any good sense knew to avoid them.
“Ever been to Yellowstone?” Plymouth wondered.
“Yeah, a few times.” Atticus shrugged, thick shoulders rocking in his tight fitting costume, deep stormy blue with that lightening like white streak running down the right side. Obviously, Casket had never been, but that didn't surprise him. They guy was pretty urban.
“Been wondering what we’re gonna to find there?”
Atticus winced at the thought, shaking his head. “Can’t imagine.”
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Element
I've made 25 posts
33 years.
Casket
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Post by Plymouth Weir on Apr 23, 2020 18:12:18 GMT -6
Casket could tell that, Atticus had been holding something back; he didn’t have to be psychic to tell. His true age was showing, the wisdom of years beyond the years of his features keeping him on track, preventing him from jumping on the crazy-train of speculation in order to maintain his objectivity. It’s what made him such a great partner, not that he was fully committed to the idea of them being a team. He could just as easily go it alone.
Plymouth theorized the caldera were somehow orchestral in the dark-shroud’s process to exterminate all life. Planetary annihilation seemed pointless, but then so was war. The Martian Manhunter had shared his belief that they were dealing with some ancient weapon floating through space, like a mine left in a field designed for only one purpose — obliteration. It all seemed so random. There had to be more to it. He just couldn’t accept that out of all the world’s in the universe that some planet-killing alien weapon just happened to cross paths with Earth.
“What’s that?” Atticus mentioned.
Plymouth had just noticed it too and immediately his far seeing eyes raced in on the speck of light in the distance.
“It’s a semi.” Plymouth answered as focused on the license plates, “New York and DC plates.”
“Think they know what the hell’s going on?” Atticus posed.
Plymouth shook his head. 'How could they not?'. There was definitely something strange about the whole situation. “Ever get that feeling that you’re right exactly where you’re supposed to be?”
“What d’ya mean?”
Casket’s luminescent stare momentarily flicked to Atticus, then back to the blackness of the unlit highway. Over the years he’d learned to trust his senses, to give into all the flaky paranormal shit he’d scoffed at most of his young life. So far, it had never steered him wrong.
“I mean, I gotta bad feeling.”
Atticus straightened, thoughts racing through his mind. Casket called it “the resonance” that could be called “ultra-sensory-perception”, but there was more to it than just the psychic phenomena. His connection to crimes and ‘evil-doings’ seemed like it was on some kind of mystic level, but every time Atticus had pressed him for details he clammed right up. Never caused him to doubt, though, he just didn’t know what he’d caught wind of, and Casket himself wasn’t completely sure himself. He just knew, they had to check out that truck. Even if it meant throwing them off schedule.
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