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Post by Alessandro Di Mercurio on Feb 25, 2014 17:01:46 GMT -6
ALESSANDRO, DI MERCURIO II
25//MALE//HETERO//MECHANICAL ENERGY CONTROL// PHYS-ED TEACHER| RECRUITER //AARON TAYLOR-JOHNSON
POWER INFO: Alessandro’s mutant ability is that of Mechanical Energy Manipulation, and it is one that is commonly misunderstood and labeled as a variety of other abilities. He is capable of not only manipulating the energy of motion, but generating vast amounts and absorbing it as well. While first thought to be a highly potent form of telekinesis, as he aged, and his control and refinement progressed, it was revealed that this was not the case. When he was a child, extreme emotional states (commonly tantrums) triggered his abilities. As he was not yet capable of generating large amounts of mechanical energy or harnessing the energy around him, he was relying on the energy that his own body created. Thus, at the apex of these tantrums, it was expelled in the form of a wave of concussive, invisible energy.
It was only during his second year at the academy that his ability was definitively labeled. Once his ability was determined, his training was tailored to his unique ability, and he flourished. At a very basic level, he is capable of enhancing his own movement speed through the manipulation of his own mechanical energy. This grants him a level of speed and reflex that is uncanny for a human (but by no means superhuman/preternatural.) Due to this, while he cannot augment his own strength or durability, he can augment the momentum behind his blows (thus causing the maximum amount of damage for a being of his size and durability possible.) Other uses of the ability are as follows:
This, however, relies on much more control than if he is to expel energy in a concussive manner. As if enough is put into an object, it becomes supercharged and will detonate in an explosive manner (See Incendiary Projectiles)
CONCUSSIVE FORCE EXPULSION: The SPRITE epidemic fundamentally altered the way that Lex was able of expelling energy from his body. No longer capable of creating sold blasts, or plasma, he now is capable of creating a force, or wave, of kinetic energy within a range of twenty-five meters. These waves can either be directed at targets, or simply radiate from his body within stated range. The amount of energy put into this action dictates its effectiveness. When looking at averages, the blow from one of this waves can be likened to being struck by wind speeds of up to three hundred miles per hour. When focused expulsions do more damage than simple discharges that radiate from his body.
The rate at which an object explodes is dictated by its mass. The more mass, the longer it takes for the reaction.
Mechanical Energy Transference // Redirection: He is capable of transferring energy that is absorbed or stored in a multitude of ways. This is something as simple as touching a somebody to grant them an extra pep in their step, or transferring large amounts of energy into an item to tear it apart by manipulating their mechanical energy and thus causing an abnormal level of vibrations. This ability does not grant him any sort of invulnerability or extra durability. While he could theoretically absorb and redirect the energy of a targeted explosion or projectile, it would require non-lethal damage. This ability does not negate the effects of kinetic damage done to him, it absorbs as his body deals with the impact.
On the opposite side, he can touch a being, or item in motion and completely drain the kinetic energy they/it generates/holds. This effectively stops their/its motion entirely. Due to the complexity of sentient life, he cannot fully absorb the energies of a living being. He can transfer enough of their energy away to visibly stop movement, but that is all.
He is quite capable of sustaining a concussive stream of energy that keeps him in the air with precise focus. However, handling flight in such a manner is extremely destructive to the environment around him. This mode of transportation is clumsy at best.
SIMULATED FLIGHT: With the loss of the ability to expel energy in the form of concussive beams, he had to find another way to grant himself the ability to fly. This brought him to the use of contained kinetic explosions, in conjunction of creating his own propulsion through the expulsion of his energy (in a similar manner to the waves he releases.) This doesn't allow him true flight as much as it does a very stylish way of launching himself into the air, and then manipulating his trajectory with controlled explosions and waves of kinetic energy, most closely resembling extreme gusts of wind. This manner of flight is far less taxing than the former, as he is often capable of capitalizing on the mechanical energy generated by the extreme upward/downward momentum created by the motion.
Currently, when properly outfitted, he is capable of travel at speeds of upwards of two hundred miles per hour. Travel at such speeds requires not only a great deal of space to operate, but nothing surrounding him that may impede his ability to expel the waves of energy necessary to maintain such speeds. More commonly seen speeds are between forty-five and sixty miles per hour. Any weight besides that of his own and an additional twenty pounds nearly halves the speed in which he can travel.
Limitations:
✔ The more energy he has, the more lively he is. That being said, expelling large amounts of energy (especially stored energy) is very exhausting. If he exerts himself too much, his body is prone to shutting itself down to protect itself.
✔ To redirect/or transfer kinetic energy, he most be in physical contact with the item or person. He cannot do so from a distance.
✔Due to the nature of his abilities, and the toll it takes on his body, the caloric intake needed to sustain function is much higher than your average human. To simply sustain himself, his daily intake needs to be in the range of 30,000 to 35,000 calories. The more he uses his abilities (even subconsciously generating energy) the higher the intake needed to sustain himself in a healthy manner. The amount of calories he eats within a day is directly tied to the amount of kinetic energy that his body can generate.
✔ While capable of generating vast amounts of mechanical energy, the nature of his abilities does not grant him full self-sustainability. Without the use of his active abilities, he doesn't have to tap into his stored or potential energy. However, even basic use of his abilities is enough to burn through the energy that he generates in a rather timely fashion. With casual use of his non-passive abilities it takes six hours to burn through his stored energy. Fully exerting himself depletes his energy even faster (an hour.) Thus needing to absorb energy from outside sources. While there is a ubiquitous amount of kinetic and potential energy found around him at all times, most general sources do not provide enough energy to fuel him.
Vehicles and large projectiles in motion are a great source of energy. Physical interaction (combat, general horseplay, etc.) is a great secondary form. It is theorized that at some point he will be capable of self-sustenance solely on the energy he generates, negating for absorption from outside sources. But at the current time, he is largely reliant on absorbed energy in active situations.
✔ The nature of his abilities makes him a perfect power source for those who feed off energy, or have a vast control of energy in itself. To a being with the ability to absorb physical energies, or even another with more refined kinetic control, he is essentially a walking battery.
✔ As stated before, he cannot use the energy to enhance his own physical attributes. However, he can manipulate the kinetic energy he generates during his movements. In combat, this means he has greater reflexes and attack speeds than a baseline human. However, this does not give him a strengthened durability. Thus, he must monitor the momentum he puts behind his blows or his movement. He cannot exert himself past the limits of a standard human being. He cannot push his body past his physical limits. (If he was stupid enough to try to punch through a concrete wall, regardless of the momentum, he would surely break every bone in his hand. Nor could he propel himself to anything past the apex speed of a human of healthy human of his size and health.)
✔ Due to the complexity of the design of most living creatures, the ability to charge an items potential energy into kinetic energy in explosive form is directly tied to inanimate objects. While he can absorb the kinetic energy they generate (living beings), this is purely on a visible level. His control is finite to the point of stopping obvious motion, but is by no means absolute.
✔ While immune to the effects of his own energy, he can be harmed by other forms of energy (even that of the concussive force of kinetic energy.)
I don’t like the name ‘Alessandro.’ I think that’s a good place to start. ‘Alexander’ is better, or even ‘Alex’ or ‘Lex.’ Too many people hear my name and expect me to walk into the room with a guido tan, cigarette in hand, and fist pumping. Yes, you’re racist. Accept it. Stop watching reality television and letting it shape your perception of an entire demographic of people. To be fair, physical fitness is important to me. I don’t really care for tanning or laundry though. Off track, let's get back to the point. I hate my name, always have, probably always will. You would too if your father was executed for various crimes against humanity. Same name too. Great, right?
It was a pretty public case, I grew up in the spotlight. I was a really cute kid, not that I’m not cute now (I prefer the terms “handsome,” or “drop-dead gorgeous.”) They had a pretty nice moniker for me, pretty sure it was something like “Satan’s Spawn” or “Son of Satan.” I said it was pretty nice, not clever, so don’t mistake the two. Like my father before me, my powers manifested very early in life – far earlier than they’re supposed to. Remember how you were told about your terrible twos? Yeah, apparently my screaming came hand-in-hand massive waves of energy tearing apart the rooms. Luckily for my parents, usually I was too sapped to move after the climax of these events.
My father was a proud man, like his father before him. Old school wealth, entitlement, that sort of shtick. He spent most of his youth in Imperia. His father, my grandfather, Mariano, was Prefetto for many years in the region. My grandfather was a just and honest man, proud, but quite honorable. How his son became such a ruthless, cold-hearted bastardo is something that a lot of people have questioned. There have been many lovely articles written on the subject. My favorite one was “Hell Incarnate: The Alessandro De Mercurio Story.” What little I’ve read of my grandfather’s journals have painted a picture of a man who always had a darkness inside of him. So there’s that.
Anyways, my story and my father’s are something that are linked hand-in-hand. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve spent so much time talking about a man I barely knew. The answer is simple: my life to date, my childhood, my very existence have all been heavily defined by the actions of a man I never knew. I didn’t really have the chance at a normal life. I mean, some might call growing up at a special school for special people normal. Maybe I’m still I denial? Who knows. I came to the school at the age of five. I don’t have many memories of my parents or extended family. Most of what I remember are things I saw (or heard) on the nightly news.
“Il macellaio di Imperia” (That’s ‘The Butcher of Imperia’, for those of you who don’t speak Italian) is what he was called. Unlike my grandfather who had gracefully exited office when the time had come, my father chose a different path – he held the region hostage for three months. Those who opposed him were silenced, often violently and ritualistically. Nothing like waking up to see people being crucified for their beliefs for all the world to see. His vision was apparently that of a return to form for Italy. From what I’ve read (Wikiepdia, pretty awesome) he had always been rather enamored with the history of ancient Rome.
The details of how he held the region or how he was apprehended remain a matter of public contention. Everybody has a story to tell and almost all of them differ. What is quite clear is the path of destruction that was carved into the region during my father’s reign of tyranny. Villages were razed without warning. Men, women, children were slaughtered as inhumanely as possible. It was said that the select few that were given a reprieve from the vulgar acts of hostility showed a blind devotion to the man that bordered on the loss of will. From what I know now, I’m assuming it involved some sort of telepathic altering or control. Fun stuff, right?
One of the first men to be slain publicly was my grandfather. I’d rather not get into the gruesome details, but the direct quote I’ve often read is “He loved Imperia so much that his son scattered pieces of his body across the countryside so the people would ever forget.” My conception was, from what I’ve been told, one of misplaced love. My mother, Ginerva, was the daughter of a family friend. She had grown up with my father. Sweethearts, or so I’ve been told. Much like his followers, she was blindly devoted to him. The direct quote that sticks out is, “she was forever in love with the boy he was, rather than the monster he had become.”
She vanished when my father was arrested. I assume she is still alive, somewhere. I’ve never really cared enough to seek her out. When he was finally apprehended my well-being came into question. My grandfather had spent years abroad during his youth, and at that time he found himself teaching Italian at Academy, among other things that aren’t exactly public knowledge (he was an exceptionally gifted telepath.) Unbeknownst to me (then, obviously now) he had kept in contact with the academy over the years. Postcards, letters, the occasional verbal correspondence. They had known about me, they had known about my condition.
To the public it was an act of tremendous charity for the academy to accept this rather famous orphan. Internally they were simply looking out for one of their own, an extended family member from abroad. The first week all I did was cry. The second week I decided to pretend I was somebody else – something I still do to this day. Growing up in the school, the faculty members became my family. It’s cliché, blah, blah, blah, but it’s the truth. My training began much earlier than most, and as such I developed a bit of an ego by the time I hit puberty (that’s called ‘confidence’ now, in case you’re wondering. I’ve got plenty of it to spare.)
While most were just arriving at the school and learning to manage their abilities, I had years of experience with mine. I was a bit of a show off (most will tell you I still am,) and that got me into a fair it of trouble. The standard stuff, nothing too exciting. Fast cars, a need to rebel against authority. The typical, bullshit, teenage experience. I gave them hell, but at the same time I knew I was safe. Generally speaking, Kelispell is a small town. Not bumblefuck small, but still. I got away with far more than I should he. I was given room to grow, far more than I think the other students were. That’s where the lovely accusations of favoritism came into play.
This led to fist fights. I don’t take shit, I never have. I grew up in shit, don’t like the taste of it. There comes a point in time when the sympathy fades away. They empathized, and they did far longer than any normal place would. But there came a point in time when they expected me to let go of my anger and move on with life. To put a smile on my face and interact with the world in a functional, non-confrontational manner; I just couldn’t do it. So, like every kid who thought they were better off, at the age of eighteen, I told them to “fuck off,” and I ran out the doors with my high school degree in hand. I quickly learned just how sheltered a life I had led.
Those cute shenanigans? Not so funny when you’re an adult. Fist fights? That’s assault, you get thrown in county for the weekend for that. My father had mostly faded from the memory of the general population, but local media outlets loved to brag about how it turned out the apple hadn’t fallen too far from the tree. Alcohol became a pretty decent fuel for my disillusionment when it came to the real world, and my place in it. I think they knew I needed to experience this, life, and that’s why they didn’t stop me when I left. Hell, really didn’t matter – six months later, I was back at the academy. I learned to channel all that rage and bitterness into something useful – teaching others.
There is no greater high than being in control. I don’t just mean in the sense of ‘power’ either. I’m talking about your life. Relationships, your choices, fully defining yourself without outside influence or direction. I was given that. The academy provided me something I don’t think I would have found otherwise. That was three years ago, soon to be four. Graduations on the horizon, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what to make of that. Physical Education major, I figure why stray away from something I’m good at. Teaching certification is definitely in the cards. I may have been born in Imperia, but the Bellefonte Academy is where I found I home. Yeah, I know, cheesy, screw off.
It was a pretty public case, I grew up in the spotlight. I was a really cute kid, not that I’m not cute now (I prefer the terms “handsome,” or “drop-dead gorgeous.”) They had a pretty nice moniker for me, pretty sure it was something like “Satan’s Spawn” or “Son of Satan.” I said it was pretty nice, not clever, so don’t mistake the two. Like my father before me, my powers manifested very early in life – far earlier than they’re supposed to. Remember how you were told about your terrible twos? Yeah, apparently my screaming came hand-in-hand massive waves of energy tearing apart the rooms. Luckily for my parents, usually I was too sapped to move after the climax of these events.
My father was a proud man, like his father before him. Old school wealth, entitlement, that sort of shtick. He spent most of his youth in Imperia. His father, my grandfather, Mariano, was Prefetto for many years in the region. My grandfather was a just and honest man, proud, but quite honorable. How his son became such a ruthless, cold-hearted bastardo is something that a lot of people have questioned. There have been many lovely articles written on the subject. My favorite one was “Hell Incarnate: The Alessandro De Mercurio Story.” What little I’ve read of my grandfather’s journals have painted a picture of a man who always had a darkness inside of him. So there’s that.
Anyways, my story and my father’s are something that are linked hand-in-hand. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve spent so much time talking about a man I barely knew. The answer is simple: my life to date, my childhood, my very existence have all been heavily defined by the actions of a man I never knew. I didn’t really have the chance at a normal life. I mean, some might call growing up at a special school for special people normal. Maybe I’m still I denial? Who knows. I came to the school at the age of five. I don’t have many memories of my parents or extended family. Most of what I remember are things I saw (or heard) on the nightly news.
“Il macellaio di Imperia” (That’s ‘The Butcher of Imperia’, for those of you who don’t speak Italian) is what he was called. Unlike my grandfather who had gracefully exited office when the time had come, my father chose a different path – he held the region hostage for three months. Those who opposed him were silenced, often violently and ritualistically. Nothing like waking up to see people being crucified for their beliefs for all the world to see. His vision was apparently that of a return to form for Italy. From what I’ve read (Wikiepdia, pretty awesome) he had always been rather enamored with the history of ancient Rome.
The details of how he held the region or how he was apprehended remain a matter of public contention. Everybody has a story to tell and almost all of them differ. What is quite clear is the path of destruction that was carved into the region during my father’s reign of tyranny. Villages were razed without warning. Men, women, children were slaughtered as inhumanely as possible. It was said that the select few that were given a reprieve from the vulgar acts of hostility showed a blind devotion to the man that bordered on the loss of will. From what I know now, I’m assuming it involved some sort of telepathic altering or control. Fun stuff, right?
One of the first men to be slain publicly was my grandfather. I’d rather not get into the gruesome details, but the direct quote I’ve often read is “He loved Imperia so much that his son scattered pieces of his body across the countryside so the people would ever forget.” My conception was, from what I’ve been told, one of misplaced love. My mother, Ginerva, was the daughter of a family friend. She had grown up with my father. Sweethearts, or so I’ve been told. Much like his followers, she was blindly devoted to him. The direct quote that sticks out is, “she was forever in love with the boy he was, rather than the monster he had become.”
She vanished when my father was arrested. I assume she is still alive, somewhere. I’ve never really cared enough to seek her out. When he was finally apprehended my well-being came into question. My grandfather had spent years abroad during his youth, and at that time he found himself teaching Italian at Academy, among other things that aren’t exactly public knowledge (he was an exceptionally gifted telepath.) Unbeknownst to me (then, obviously now) he had kept in contact with the academy over the years. Postcards, letters, the occasional verbal correspondence. They had known about me, they had known about my condition.
To the public it was an act of tremendous charity for the academy to accept this rather famous orphan. Internally they were simply looking out for one of their own, an extended family member from abroad. The first week all I did was cry. The second week I decided to pretend I was somebody else – something I still do to this day. Growing up in the school, the faculty members became my family. It’s cliché, blah, blah, blah, but it’s the truth. My training began much earlier than most, and as such I developed a bit of an ego by the time I hit puberty (that’s called ‘confidence’ now, in case you’re wondering. I’ve got plenty of it to spare.)
While most were just arriving at the school and learning to manage their abilities, I had years of experience with mine. I was a bit of a show off (most will tell you I still am,) and that got me into a fair it of trouble. The standard stuff, nothing too exciting. Fast cars, a need to rebel against authority. The typical, bullshit, teenage experience. I gave them hell, but at the same time I knew I was safe. Generally speaking, Kelispell is a small town. Not bumblefuck small, but still. I got away with far more than I should he. I was given room to grow, far more than I think the other students were. That’s where the lovely accusations of favoritism came into play.
This led to fist fights. I don’t take shit, I never have. I grew up in shit, don’t like the taste of it. There comes a point in time when the sympathy fades away. They empathized, and they did far longer than any normal place would. But there came a point in time when they expected me to let go of my anger and move on with life. To put a smile on my face and interact with the world in a functional, non-confrontational manner; I just couldn’t do it. So, like every kid who thought they were better off, at the age of eighteen, I told them to “fuck off,” and I ran out the doors with my high school degree in hand. I quickly learned just how sheltered a life I had led.
Those cute shenanigans? Not so funny when you’re an adult. Fist fights? That’s assault, you get thrown in county for the weekend for that. My father had mostly faded from the memory of the general population, but local media outlets loved to brag about how it turned out the apple hadn’t fallen too far from the tree. Alcohol became a pretty decent fuel for my disillusionment when it came to the real world, and my place in it. I think they knew I needed to experience this, life, and that’s why they didn’t stop me when I left. Hell, really didn’t matter – six months later, I was back at the academy. I learned to channel all that rage and bitterness into something useful – teaching others.
There is no greater high than being in control. I don’t just mean in the sense of ‘power’ either. I’m talking about your life. Relationships, your choices, fully defining yourself without outside influence or direction. I was given that. The academy provided me something I don’t think I would have found otherwise. That was three years ago, soon to be four. Graduations on the horizon, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what to make of that. Physical Education major, I figure why stray away from something I’m good at. Teaching certification is definitely in the cards. I may have been born in Imperia, but the Bellefonte Academy is where I found I home. Yeah, I know, cheesy, screw off.
SAMPLE: “They have all failed you.”
It was that simple sentence that brought the vibrant city of New York to a standstill, as the focus of an entire metropolis was upon cold, steel face of Victor von Doom. It had been a normal day like any other until that moment. Time Square was alive – people going to and from work, bumping into one another without the slightest semblance of what could be conceived as manners. Street performers desperately reaching out the world around them, seeking out money so that they may live to see another day. The foul stench of urine and desperation was evident – but it had stopped.
“America. Once so proud, so strong, where were their heroes – the world’s heroes – in their greatest hour of need? if they can’t even protect themselves, what makes you think they can protect the rest of the world?”
The deep baritone of his voice boomed through speakers, each syllable spoke drenched in an intoxicating mixture of confidence and arrogance, blurring the line between the two rather convincingly. The deep metallic hum gave his words a sharpness to them that could cut through the most deeply set skepticism. When Victor von Doom spoke, people listened – and that is what they were doing upon that day.
“Where were The Avengers? Where was S.H.I.E.L.D.? Where were these great heralds of justice and peace when America needed them most?”
Children played at the park as their parents were glued to their smartphones, the lullaby of giggles wasn’t nearly enough to bring them peace – the world was a different place now, and the world they lived in was no longer inviting.
“Humanity has seen this before, we know how it ends – the suppression of a perceived inferior race in favor of the hypothetically superior – will you walk blindly into the chambers and watch your children burn?”
Whispers grew into conversations, conversations into panic. A child gazes upon his mother, once a proud and strong woman who provided handsomely for her family, their lives had been reduced to living in slums. Gathering together like cockroaches in hopes that the numbers will some how give them an advantage – why should such proud people be forced to live under rocks like vermin? She had been one of the youngest females to rise to the level of CEO in an internationally renowned history. Now she was working at a dinner, being spat upon by the Homo superior majority. Her company had been bought, liquidated, and made an example of – this was the dawn of a new age, and in this age there was no place for humanity at the top of the food chain. This could not stand – Victor von Doom would remain silent no longer.
It had been a year since America had fallen to the Brotherhood and in that time span Victor von Doom had made his move, several, which was quite evident by the room he stood within. The amphitheater style council room was built to give an open feel, and yet with so many bodies within it one couldn’t help feel a bit claustrophobic. The podium rested on a flat surface with a slight raise to the back where all the delegates found their seats. A semi-circular arch branched out from this area, surrounding the bowl – with the podium in the center – and going up several rows back on a slight raise so that all gazed down upon the podium and the most prominent delegates who sat behind . The floor was a dark shade of beige; the lofty walls were a shade of eggshell that complimented the floor rather nicely. A marble ridge could be found encompassing 3/4ths of the chamber, at the midway point between the wall and the ceiling, ceasing slightly before the back seating.
The room was full of bodies yet there wasn’t a single sound to be heard outside of the humming of the servo-droids that had become common place amongst the meetings since Doom had taken up office within the union. Initially there had been hesitancy over introducing the automatons into the proceedings but with such uncertain times one could never be too cautious. For that very reason Lucia von Bardas kept a close on not only her monarch, but all of the inhabitants present. Her right eye was a deep chestnut brown in stark contrast to that of the mechanical glow of the crimson beam that shone brightly from her left eye socket. Scanning the room, a quick facial recognition scan gave way to a bevy on information upon those in attendance – both government and privately collected. The safety of the members was of the utmost importance.
“America has grown weak, complacent; in an ever evolving world they choose to cling to outdated ideals rather than address issues head on and take necessary steps – drastic steps – in an effort to keep their people safe. America may have failed, we will not.”
The statement was met with thunderous applause, Doom raised his hands in a motion for silence and it was instantly given to him. His massive figure was enveloped by a forest green cloak that seemed to crackle with electricity with each brush against the smooth, steely surface of Doom’s armor. In contrast to its usually dull grays, the opalescent nature of the armor was reflective of the changed man that had been presented to the world. His helm, however, was an ever present reminder of the visage of death that he had come to represent in the past. Regardless of his political affiliation or current moral standing, Doctor Doom was present, he always was.
“Europe will stand strong! Latveria will stand strong! In these dark times we must be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect our people. We must be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect our borders. Whether they be Homo sapien or Homo superior – if they are a threat to the ideals and beliefs we hold dearly, they should be dealt with swiftly and without discrimination.”
Despite the metallic undertones, his accent was thick and quite detectable yet his words were clear and concise. Gazing forward, he looked upon a see of wide eyes and camera flashes. He paid them little mind, he rarely paid many any at all. With a quick sweeping gesture from his right hand, his clinched fist came down upon the podium’s crown, the sound echoing through out the hall.
“We will not only save ourselves and bring upon a new age of prosperity for Europe, but we will save the world! America has fallen, it is now time that we pick up the sword they have so arrogantly wielded for so long. It is time that we show them the power that can only be found in the old world, and Doom shall lead all into a brave new world!”
He did not wait for applause and yet it was given. He did not seek out admiration and yet as he walked down the isles many reached out to offer him their praise and their thanks. Lucia was quick to cover the entryway as the servo-droids opened the doors widely and created a secure path for the monarch to follow. With each footstep he took, the blow echoed through out the halls creating a hypnotic beat that was only aided by the flash photography and barrage of questions that would be ultimately unanswered. Doom exited the Berlaymont building and into an overwhelming wall of bodies, but the gathering would not last long. Lucia von Bardas instantly took point front of the monarch, raising her wrist upwards and shouting out a phrase.
“Mutatjak!”
The sky became alive, energy dispersing like wildfire as the ominous presence of the Harbinger became known. The reporters parted in a panic as the ground began to rumble, and the heavens cracked with lightning. A single green targeting laser cut through the atmosphere like a knife, engulfing von Doom and von Bardas with its radiance before burst of energy engulfed them, and they vanished, leaving the crowd with nothing more than a mechanical hiss and hours of footage to remember the monarch with...
“Powerful statements from Victor von Doom addressing the press for the very first time since rising, rather controversially, to the position of President of the European Council.!”
She spoke with a great deal of spunk, her pouty lips seemingly pressed into the permanent guise of a smile. Her lengthy blonde curls bounced as she turned her head, her sparkling blue hues came to rest upon her anchor and she gave him the same toothy smile before pressing forward.
_________________________________________________________
“And with that, we take a break folks!”
The two exchanged bright smiles, her the pin-up model gone professional while her anchor was an all-American man. Bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, dirty sandy blonde hair with perfect sun kissed skin and a jaw that cut through glass. The producer began a countdown with hand gestures off camera before motioning a swipe across his throat. It was at that moment the woman’s smile faded and a look of uncertainty weighed upon her mood. The over-the-top energy that had existed upon broadcast was gone, and her phone had begun to vibrate wildly. Pulling it out, she watched as social media buzzed with word of Victor von Doom’s speech, and what it meant for the world. But as she gazed through messages, it was a single one that stopped her dead in her tracks.
"In Doom We Trust"
In the span of five minutes it had been retweeted nearly a hundred thousand times.
USERNAME: CeeCee
AGE GROUP: Twenty-six.
EXPERIENCE: 15 years.
It was that simple sentence that brought the vibrant city of New York to a standstill, as the focus of an entire metropolis was upon cold, steel face of Victor von Doom. It had been a normal day like any other until that moment. Time Square was alive – people going to and from work, bumping into one another without the slightest semblance of what could be conceived as manners. Street performers desperately reaching out the world around them, seeking out money so that they may live to see another day. The foul stench of urine and desperation was evident – but it had stopped.
“America. Once so proud, so strong, where were their heroes – the world’s heroes – in their greatest hour of need? if they can’t even protect themselves, what makes you think they can protect the rest of the world?”
The deep baritone of his voice boomed through speakers, each syllable spoke drenched in an intoxicating mixture of confidence and arrogance, blurring the line between the two rather convincingly. The deep metallic hum gave his words a sharpness to them that could cut through the most deeply set skepticism. When Victor von Doom spoke, people listened – and that is what they were doing upon that day.
“Where were The Avengers? Where was S.H.I.E.L.D.? Where were these great heralds of justice and peace when America needed them most?”
Children played at the park as their parents were glued to their smartphones, the lullaby of giggles wasn’t nearly enough to bring them peace – the world was a different place now, and the world they lived in was no longer inviting.
“Humanity has seen this before, we know how it ends – the suppression of a perceived inferior race in favor of the hypothetically superior – will you walk blindly into the chambers and watch your children burn?”
Whispers grew into conversations, conversations into panic. A child gazes upon his mother, once a proud and strong woman who provided handsomely for her family, their lives had been reduced to living in slums. Gathering together like cockroaches in hopes that the numbers will some how give them an advantage – why should such proud people be forced to live under rocks like vermin? She had been one of the youngest females to rise to the level of CEO in an internationally renowned history. Now she was working at a dinner, being spat upon by the Homo superior majority. Her company had been bought, liquidated, and made an example of – this was the dawn of a new age, and in this age there was no place for humanity at the top of the food chain. This could not stand – Victor von Doom would remain silent no longer.
It had been a year since America had fallen to the Brotherhood and in that time span Victor von Doom had made his move, several, which was quite evident by the room he stood within. The amphitheater style council room was built to give an open feel, and yet with so many bodies within it one couldn’t help feel a bit claustrophobic. The podium rested on a flat surface with a slight raise to the back where all the delegates found their seats. A semi-circular arch branched out from this area, surrounding the bowl – with the podium in the center – and going up several rows back on a slight raise so that all gazed down upon the podium and the most prominent delegates who sat behind . The floor was a dark shade of beige; the lofty walls were a shade of eggshell that complimented the floor rather nicely. A marble ridge could be found encompassing 3/4ths of the chamber, at the midway point between the wall and the ceiling, ceasing slightly before the back seating.
The room was full of bodies yet there wasn’t a single sound to be heard outside of the humming of the servo-droids that had become common place amongst the meetings since Doom had taken up office within the union. Initially there had been hesitancy over introducing the automatons into the proceedings but with such uncertain times one could never be too cautious. For that very reason Lucia von Bardas kept a close on not only her monarch, but all of the inhabitants present. Her right eye was a deep chestnut brown in stark contrast to that of the mechanical glow of the crimson beam that shone brightly from her left eye socket. Scanning the room, a quick facial recognition scan gave way to a bevy on information upon those in attendance – both government and privately collected. The safety of the members was of the utmost importance.
“America has grown weak, complacent; in an ever evolving world they choose to cling to outdated ideals rather than address issues head on and take necessary steps – drastic steps – in an effort to keep their people safe. America may have failed, we will not.”
The statement was met with thunderous applause, Doom raised his hands in a motion for silence and it was instantly given to him. His massive figure was enveloped by a forest green cloak that seemed to crackle with electricity with each brush against the smooth, steely surface of Doom’s armor. In contrast to its usually dull grays, the opalescent nature of the armor was reflective of the changed man that had been presented to the world. His helm, however, was an ever present reminder of the visage of death that he had come to represent in the past. Regardless of his political affiliation or current moral standing, Doctor Doom was present, he always was.
“Europe will stand strong! Latveria will stand strong! In these dark times we must be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect our people. We must be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect our borders. Whether they be Homo sapien or Homo superior – if they are a threat to the ideals and beliefs we hold dearly, they should be dealt with swiftly and without discrimination.”
Despite the metallic undertones, his accent was thick and quite detectable yet his words were clear and concise. Gazing forward, he looked upon a see of wide eyes and camera flashes. He paid them little mind, he rarely paid many any at all. With a quick sweeping gesture from his right hand, his clinched fist came down upon the podium’s crown, the sound echoing through out the hall.
“We will not only save ourselves and bring upon a new age of prosperity for Europe, but we will save the world! America has fallen, it is now time that we pick up the sword they have so arrogantly wielded for so long. It is time that we show them the power that can only be found in the old world, and Doom shall lead all into a brave new world!”
He did not wait for applause and yet it was given. He did not seek out admiration and yet as he walked down the isles many reached out to offer him their praise and their thanks. Lucia was quick to cover the entryway as the servo-droids opened the doors widely and created a secure path for the monarch to follow. With each footstep he took, the blow echoed through out the halls creating a hypnotic beat that was only aided by the flash photography and barrage of questions that would be ultimately unanswered. Doom exited the Berlaymont building and into an overwhelming wall of bodies, but the gathering would not last long. Lucia von Bardas instantly took point front of the monarch, raising her wrist upwards and shouting out a phrase.
“Mutatjak!”
The sky became alive, energy dispersing like wildfire as the ominous presence of the Harbinger became known. The reporters parted in a panic as the ground began to rumble, and the heavens cracked with lightning. A single green targeting laser cut through the atmosphere like a knife, engulfing von Doom and von Bardas with its radiance before burst of energy engulfed them, and they vanished, leaving the crowd with nothing more than a mechanical hiss and hours of footage to remember the monarch with...
“Powerful statements from Victor von Doom addressing the press for the very first time since rising, rather controversially, to the position of President of the European Council.!”
She spoke with a great deal of spunk, her pouty lips seemingly pressed into the permanent guise of a smile. Her lengthy blonde curls bounced as she turned her head, her sparkling blue hues came to rest upon her anchor and she gave him the same toothy smile before pressing forward.
_________________________________________________________
“And with that, we take a break folks!”
The two exchanged bright smiles, her the pin-up model gone professional while her anchor was an all-American man. Bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, dirty sandy blonde hair with perfect sun kissed skin and a jaw that cut through glass. The producer began a countdown with hand gestures off camera before motioning a swipe across his throat. It was at that moment the woman’s smile faded and a look of uncertainty weighed upon her mood. The over-the-top energy that had existed upon broadcast was gone, and her phone had begun to vibrate wildly. Pulling it out, she watched as social media buzzed with word of Victor von Doom’s speech, and what it meant for the world. But as she gazed through messages, it was a single one that stopped her dead in her tracks.
"In Doom We Trust"
In the span of five minutes it had been retweeted nearly a hundred thousand times.
USERNAME: CeeCee
AGE GROUP: Twenty-six.
EXPERIENCE: 15 years.
