Praetorians

[snowdog]

((posted this for one of rosies RP prompts))

Ruins of Denver, several years ago

It was dark. It was always dark, the clouds whipping around the ruins of what was once Denver International Airport, an ugly greenish cast to the sky above. the earth wasn't happy with the way things had gone the last few years Jeb Kincaid though as he munched a protein bar, standing in the commanders hatch of the M1 called Snowdog. The tank was ancient, yet one of the few vehicles still running in what was left of this part of the plains. Formerly belonging to the Colorado National Guard, it now flew the flag of Praetoria from the radio antenna. Not that Colorado really existed anymore, since the Devouring Earth came up from the plains. If he cared, he could have used the tank's targeting system to zoom in on the ruins of Denver in the distance, skyscrapers still choked with vines.

Still, the war was over. Cole had done the impossible, and beaten the Devouring Earth. Jeb wasn't sure what came next, he'd been fighting alongside Marauder ever since the big man came across their small community years ago near what was once Fort Carson, under siege from would be warlords coveting the mil-tech in the ruined base.

Now Marauder was called Praetor White, Cole himself had offered him the job of Praetor of Security, and White took it. Not that Jeb blamed him, hell he had gotten an offer to move as well. He'd acquitted himself well in the wars, and could have had a tank command in the Praetorian Guard near the new Imperial City. He'd turned it down though, he was hoping to get back to Alaska one of these days now that things had settled down. Besides, there were rumors about Praetor Tilman, probably not true but enough to make his wife not to want to go within a thousand kilometers of the new capital. You didn't have to be psychic to see that coming to the attention of the government wasn't necessarily a good thing, and Tabitha was. He sighed, tossing the wrapper for the bar in a garbage bag as the dismounted troops came back into sight out of the ruins “any sign Casey?”

“negative Sir” the lead trooper replied, “looks like the raiders bugged out long before we got here, just found a jury rigged transmitter that was playing that message we picked up”

“crap...why would they go through all that to lure us out here...not for an ambush, they learned that lesson the hard-” he stopped in mid sentence as his wife's mind-link hit him. Images, fire around the radio tower, people shouting in fear and pain. Lots of pain. < Jeb, they're here! >

“It's a diversion! They're at New Boulder, hitting it now!”

Everyone looked alarmed and started scrambling towards their vehicles, Snowdog's driver scrambling back into her seat, the big turbine engine wailing to life. Still...it took them most of the day to get here-there was no way, none for them to get there in time. Even at max speed, with as bad as the highways were choked with rubble, they'd arrive in time to bury the bodies-assuming there were any. These raiders were known for ****** their victims to death, eating their flesh, and sewing their skins into their clothing. And if they were very, very lucky, doing it in that order. There was one thing he could do though...but that would betray Tabitha's secret, bringing the attention to her that she so desperately wished to avoid...and he knew his wife well enough to know she was fighting the invaders, sending up a psychic flag big enough that Praetor Tillman would have to be blind drunk to miss. Once again he felt the touch of her mind <beloved? Do as thou must for the sake of everyone >

he simply nodded and switched his com over to the command satellite frequency, the one that had been set up for reporting found psychics “This is Major Kincaid, Praetorian Guard 15th Squadron requesting assistance in New Boulder, str...strong psychic detected and is under attack by raiders.”


It almost felt like a physical blow, very different from Tabitha's gentle touch * one of MY Children! Threatened! Do not worry Major, Mother has forces on the way!*


shaken, he almost lost his grip on the edge of the hatch “l..lets get going, helps on the way people.”
<she is coming > he sent on the link to Tabitha <don't stay, get moving, let the reinforcements fight them! RUN !!>

<running is no longer an option. She knows of us now, but she shall not have us. This day was foretold in the stars before you were born. We will wait for you on the other side, then we shall build or heaven together. >

“Wait what?” he said, unaware he was speaking aloud. He saw glimpses, the raiders had an armored vehicle as well, the leader a burly mutant wearing a hockey mask and having blades poking from his skin. He smelled his breath, felt Tabitha's telekinesis reaching out...searching for a fuel line on the vehicle....then bright light, blinding him, and the link was gone.


Imperial City, present day

It had been years. She would have been in school by now, his daughter who died with his pregnant wife who sacrificed her own life rather than let Tilman get a hold of her. Tilman was furious when she'd arrived, not even enough left of her prize to bury. He'd walked away from the Guard after that, trying to find peace. Yet here he was, underneath the fortress-hospital where his wife and daughter would have ended up. Nodding to the other resistance members with him, he checked his Glocks one more time, then looked up, his eyes as cold as an Alaskan glacier. “It's go time.”

[killswitch]

On a TV somewhere in Neutropolis

A stylized computer generated molecule spins as the camera zooms out, molecules becoming a spinning helix of DNA becoming blood becoming a young bald man, head freshly shaved, long blood goatee on top of a slick black suit. He smiles warmly as he sits on his desk, the floor to ceiling windows behind him showing prestine Imperial city.

"Hi. I'm Preator Masters, but you would probably better recognize me as the Magnetic Vanguard."

The screen shows an armored hero leading a ground of young teenage superpowered heroes against the Devouring Earth as well as other stirring patriotic photos of the war as he continues.

"Those were some dark times indeed, but with Emporer Coles' help, and a little bit of mutanted DNA, I was able to fight back the Hamidon and help save countless lives, including your own. It's no secret, we're kept safe because of the superhuman men and women of the Powers Division, and in return they live a life of fame and glory, a dangerous life, but one without wants."

An empty steel room has an immense battle raging, numerous heroes fighting against robotic creations using fire, lazers, claws, rocks, everything. Preator Masters strolls on screen as the camera walks with him.

"As a citizen of this great empire, you are no doubt asking yourself, "What can I do to help Emporer Cole? How can I contribute to the efforts to keep us safe from the numerous threats in this modern age, such as the terrorists that live beneath our very feet. Well, personally, not much. But what if your son or daughter turned out to be a meta-human, like myself! There is no greater feeling of pride than to bring into this world a valiant guardian of the Empire! Trust me, as an adoptive father myself I feel that pride every day, right pumkin?" He waves off to a tall blonde encased in Psionic energy how looks over her shoulder and winks at the camera before hammering a giant robot into submission.

"That is our goal at Genesis Labs." The screen shows the Genesis building, scientists working, smiling security detail, among other cheery happy scenes. "I have made it my life goal to unlock the potential of the mutant genome and fully understand just what makes us meta-humans tick, and I'd like to take the time to share some helpful hints to keep in mind if you would like to do your part and have your child be one of the premiere Power Division members of the next generation!"

*Firstly, pre-natal care is imporant. Stay away from any natural foods and veggies. Stick to 100% synthetics foods with artifical additives. Corn Syrup and yellow food dyes are some of the big additives in this department with a extremely high rate of genetic mutantion in long term use!
*Secondly, thing about your enviroment during your pregnancy. Radiation, gamma waves, toxic waste all are definatly things you want your little crime fighter to be exposed during those crucial early days when his genetic code is being written in your womb!
*Remember, all children have a chance of developing mutation, but by far the best way to increase your chances of success is if one or both parents are mutant as well. So its hunting season ladies! A short skirt, a flirtatious attitude and a night in Studio 55 may be just what you need.
*Having trouble charming your own mutant? It's hard to catch the eye of someone flying a thousand yard up in the air! You still have options! Volunteer at one of our Genesis Project fertility centers! We have a catalouge of mutant donors, and during your pregnancy we will house you in our very own Genesis Maternity Resort! Just let us take care of everything!

Masters is now behind his desk, a kid in his lap telekineticly playing with blocks on his desk. "Thanks for taking the time to listen. If you want to learn more, visit our website! Or pick up a Genesis Labs Mutant Pregnancy test at your local drug store. They are filled with information about mutantations, and can detect if your child has the Mutant gene with a 33% successful diagnosis rate. It never too early to start planning for a super powered kid."

He smiles and winks. "You have a good day..."

Neuropolis: Middle of the road. A mohawked man in a tattered blue leather coat with a Union Jack slapped across the back is sitting in a lawn chair and watching television in the midst of a riot.

"Kinsurgent! We needs ya to swoop in on our six-sixer! Kinsurgent?"

The man grumbles to himself and clicks his walkie talkie. "Oi! Stifle the jib-jab, I'm tryin' to glimpse the Slamball game!" he clickes it off muttering to himself, "If'n these spam-shows will ever run gone." Gunfire and screams of pain were the only reply he got. He took a swig of whiskey from the bottle as screaming protesters ran past, the mob enveloping him for a moment before being gone, replaced by PPD riot patrol officers. He toasted them, "Cheers blueberries."

"This area is under goverment mandated curfew." The officers shot Kinsurgent in the head with a beanbag shell, Kinsurgent seemed annoyed. "Please vacate the area."

Kinsurgent took a puff from his cigar as the Slamball game came back on. Fourth quarter, tie game. "Oi, Badger, stifle an' lay your orbits on this 'ere. I've got a pint'a dosh on this one 'ere." The officer stood between Kin the TV. "Oi! OIOIOI! I'm missin' it!"

"Vacate the premises."

"Tch." Kinsurgent rolled his eyes. "Tear in a bucket." He planted his foot in the officers guy, a burst of kinetic energy sending him flying backward, smashing the television. "Charmed! You badgers wanna take a Glen wif ole Kinsurgent? Ya think ya kin chomp ole Stripe 'ere?" He took one last pull from his cigar before sliding it into the opening of his whiskey and tossing the bottle in the midst of the crowd of officers, the flames from the makeshift Molotov spreading rapidly."

"Rioght. Let's slam then!"

[Spade]

((HAI GUYS!))

Nova Praetoria, Evening.

A quiet, rhythmic shhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhhhh came from a shadowy alley a few blocks from the Magisterium. There was a brief pause, then a soft chuckle. The sound quickly started again. Ssshhhhhh, shhhhhh, clinkclinkcaclinkcaclink, shhhhhhh-

“OH SHIT!”

A sound akin to a sack of potatoes being slammed into a wall came next, and a can of spray paint clattered to the ground of the alley, rolling off toward the street. A moment later a young man stumbled onto the sidewalk and into the glow of a street light, clutching at his gut as he wheezed and gasped for air. He struggled to catch his breath, and as soon as he could manage it he picked a direction and began a labored jog, moving as fast as he could. He didn't dare turn to look behind him, but he couldn't stop himself from hearing. The sound of heavy boots echoed out of the alley, followed him casually at first, then a bit faster, until the footfalls were just a tiny bit faster than his own. A sense of dread washed over the teen and he scrunched his eyes closed just as a navy blue padded glove suddenly grabbed him, fingers tangling into the arm of his jacket, just above his blue chevron patch. He let out a tiny whimper as he was yanked to a stop, raising his hands with paint-stained fingertips to protect his face. He was yanked backward, then half dragged to the nearest wall, finding himself shoved face-first into the whitewashed brick. He struggled to turn his cheek into the wall to avoid a crushed nose, coughing from having the wind knocked out of him yet again. He flinched as he heard a click behind him, then a rattle of metal.

The PPD Enforcer clicked open the handcuffs and wrenched the teen's hands behind his back. Once his hands were secured, she lifted a knee and shoved it into his back, right on top of the cuffs, eliciting a sharp yell from the punk. Her hands free, she pulled out a small writing pad and pen as she spoke over his complaints as if reading a script,

“You are under arrest for defacement of Emperor Cole's property. Due to the nature of your crime, you will not be allowed use of a public defender, having waived that right by speaking out against our Great Emperor through said defacement of property. You may retain a private lawyer if you so choose, and you or your legal guardians will be held responsible for all applicable fees. From this point forward anything you say or do can and will be used against you. In light of overwhelming evidence against you, you are considered guilty until any point you are deemed innocent or reformed. Do you understand?”

The teen twisted around as best he could, his bravado returned with his breath. “Oh I understand alright! You've been drinkin' the water ain'tcha blueberry girl? Another donut snorter, out to get your piece of the big ol' golden pie. Your topper's too small for your head now it's ballooned so much. I bet it's squeezing the brainjuice right out!”

The Enforcer sighed in annoyance as she finished writing on the pad and tucked it away. She removed her knee from the kid's back, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him along, toward the Nova Praetoria precinct. The young Resistance member shouted at and catcalled any passing person he could, spouting things about sheeple and brainwashing. She held him tightly with one hand as they walked, raising the other to her visor to flip it upward. She rubbed at weary green eyes with gloved fingers as she muttered to herself, “I need to stop volunteering for punk duty. And I need a car. And maybe a muzzle.”

The can of spray paint sooner than not rolled to a stop in an otherwise pristine gutter along the road. A passing Sweeper stooped to pick it up then continued on its way. It did't bother to look down into the alley from where the can of paint had come - a Cleaner was already there after all, silently scrubbing the wall clean.

---

Grace was at her desk a few hours later, filling out her nightly paperwork at the precinct. She hadn't bothered to take off the bulk of her armor yet, just her gloves and helmet. Her left elbow was on the desk, her forehead firmly planted in her hand, short messy hair sticking every which way. She scribbled details on form after form. At least a dozen Resistance punks had been skulking around in the shadows of her assigned sector of Nova, trying to cause all sorts of minor havoc. Graffiti, trashcan fires, breaking in to newspaper stands and replacing the papers with Resistance pamphlets. There seemed to be more every night. Not that she really cared, the only reason she bothered to volunteer for night patrols was to try to get some brownie points with the higher-ups, not that they cared either. Powers Division was really starting to take the wind out of the sails of a lot of PPD. Over half of them didn't bother to patrol anymore, instead choosing to stand around during their shifts, idly chatting until lunch. They just let Powers Division take care of the punks. It bothered Grace, but all she could do was keep doing her job and hope it made a difference.

Grace jumped slightly as another officer thunked his coffee mug down on her desk, right on top of her stack of finished reports. She scowled, snatching up the mug and moving it quickly, but not before a ring of coffee stain had soaked in. If she had cared more, she would have said something, but as it was, she just let out a heavy sigh as she set the mug down elsewhere.

The other officer smiled a thin, transparent smile, and thumbed toward the captain's office. “Michaels, the Captain wants to see ya. He seems kinda pissed. Something about Praetor White getting wind of your little nightly patrols. You're in for it now, I bet they're gonna finally ship you back to your igloo up in Alaska!”

Grace set her jaw as she stood, picking up her gloves and helmet. She was a full inch taller than the other officer, and she brushed past him with a hefty bump, making sure he stumbled just a little as she did. “An Eskimo joke. Funny. Just like the last five times you made that crack. Do me a favor and learn some new ones, Leonard.”

Leonard grinned and saluted Grace as she headed into the Captain's office. “Hey, whatever you say, Klondyke!” He laughed as Grace quickly yanked the office door shut behind her.