Wyldstorm/The Green December

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

Mature Content

Mature Content The following section(s) contain prose, images, or concepts of an adult nature. Those under the age of legal consent, or those who may be offended by such content, should refrain from reading.

(( Bonus levels of cursing ahoy. Note: "The Green December" written by Iradium in June 2006. All non-NCSoft rights reserved. All NCSoft rights are reserved, too, but by NCSoft, which neither Iradium nor any other member of Wyldfire are. Fishsticks! ))

Sean Freeborn held a cracked PDA in front of him, trying to read around the spiderweb on the display. It looked, more or less, like some sort of computer formatted text, perhaps for a database.

It was the 6th of June. Decades before, Allied forces had assaulted Hitler's Atlantic Wall on D-Day as part of Operation OVERLORD; they would go on to take apart Fortress Europe, but D-Day would forever be a reminder of the high cost of freedom from tyranny.

It was overcast; a cloud of dust hung above the city, oddly lit by the signs of combat. Jets would occasionally punch through the clouds, drop a payload, and veer off. It didn't pay to stay within eyesight of Paragon at all.

Iradium tossed the PDA aside and spoke into his comms gear. "If you're in New Troy, you might duck. Cluster bombs and a pair of 500 pound bombs headed for Exarch," he uttered, emotionless as if he was reciting the constant and ho-hum weather.

The carpet bomb went off first, a sea of fire rising above the rooftops for a moment before the two bombs slammed into the Exarch building. Then the roof of Exarch seemed to suddenly decide on a career as low-orbit debris, launching itself beyond the skyward.

"Status?" growled the radio.

Sean looked at Thomas, who gave him a half-assed thumbs-up. Thomas had not been there a moment before; the dust was still billowing around him.

"We're good, m'am. Go back to your scary-but-not-angry cheer."

"Whatever. Hurry up."

Thomas shrugged, mirroring Sean's thoughts. Sean started to say something, but Silver was gone already; as he'd mastered his speed, Thomas had spent less and less time visible as anything less than a blur.

"...Happy birthday," he told the receding blur, wondering about his real age. It was "officially" number twenty-eight, but moving at that speed, Thomas had once confided in him, did strange things to your mental age.

Wyldstorm had been using Exarch as a staging area for the east half of the city for two weeks now; knowing Silver Valor, all the equipment they needed was safely tucked away at the next safehouse.

"Landing at Helen Point. Looks like they're going to use the War Wall. Big damn generators," Skyburner announced. Sean could feel the hairs on his body stand up and knew Skyburner was giving the invaders hell. From his lookout at the end of the Argo highway on New Thebes he could see the massive beam of white-purple electricity slam into something on the ground.

Sean felt the ground quiver before the ground vehicles landing at Helen's Point erupted in flames. Debris rocketed into the air, where the dust cloud had pushed apart around Skyburner, who was even now moving.

"Engaging air."

The roar of twin jet engines at full power pierced the sky from low altitude; a pair of A-10s broke through a cloud behind Skyburner and began to angle towards him.

"Pair of 'hogs on your six," Iradium warned his teammate.

Skyburner flew almost reflexively out of the line of fire and into the clouds, hoping the second or so they needed to switch to IR would give him a chance. A grazing blow from the monster cannon on those Warthogs would be a mortal wound.

Thunder echoed from inside the clouds as they lit up. Multiple flashes of lightning, and then an explosion; inside the clouds, Skyburner was going toe-to-toe with two of the deadliest machines in combat.

The Warthogs flew by him, one mere inches beneath him; Skyburner drew back and slammed a fist into the tail as energy coalesced around the blow. Armor peeled and shredded as the entire rear half of the fuselage dropped six feet; both halves careened into the Atlantic below.

Alan took a second to turn and fire a series of electric arcs into the clouds; the A-10 was in a tight loop, hoping to bring the cape under gunsights. Alan would have none of it; he fired a thunderous blast that melted the cockpit and set off the munitions.

"Splash two," he announced, unable to help but smirk.

"Stop loitering, we're getting out of here," Jarissa reminded them.

Sean flew to the site of the old arena in New Corinth where the rest of Wyldstorm was gathering. He looked at them each in turn; Silver was rapidly assembling and adjusting equipment around a tiny portal. Some of the equipment was old Portal Corporation gear, some of it stolen Rikti or Arachnos gear, but most of it was home-made.

Skyburner had just set foot to earth; the only sign of the fight was a bit more of dust and char on his costume. And the smirk, the pride at having done a difficult job well. He reached out and took Screak's hand as she suddenly became visible.

Screak squeezed his hand and looked at him. They were having a conversation; Sean gave them their privacy and silently hoped that they would make it through this without anymore close calls.

Black Omicron's usual spot beside the couple was vacant; that mess with "alternate versions" of him had been confusing enough. If only it hadn't happened while Wyldstorm was spread so thin, perhaps they could've done something.

Augren shoved a can of cold beer into Iradium's periphery. "Been saving this, Sean. Drink up."

The whole idea of what they were doing seemed to upset Augren at a fundamental level, even though he'd said he supported the plan. He stood over Doctor Gironde, who was frozen in some sort of high-tech life support capsule. Wyldstorm had appropriated it from an old Crey Biotech lab back when the Countess still seemed like a big problem.

Sean finished his beer and tossed the empty can aside, about to say how refreshing it was when a monocled albino in a white suit tapped his cane on the cracked pavement.

"Mister Freeborn, polluting the environment is distinctly unheroic."

Wyldstorm turned to face Simon Archangel, once and future CEO of Infinity Incorporated and the President of the United States for the past six years.

Silver Valor stopped dead in his tracks.

The Commandant says to wait for her signal!:: Screak warned before he could spring into action.

Four flashes of light announced the arrival of Nightsear, Spiderwood, the Red Stirge, and Sky Pirate.

Years of conflict and history only multiplied the tension, yet neither side seemed willing to make the first move. The presence of Simon Arkangel meant that special forces troops would be arriving soon; the longer they waited, the bigger Arkangel's advantage.

Spiderwood began pacing, anxious and furious. Stirge began to tell him to calm down when he gurgled and collapsed, bleeding from his back. Arkangel raised an eyebrow and moved his cane to better support his weight.

"Ah, the one that got away. Commandant," he said as the battle began in earnest.

Nightsear and Skyburner launched at each other, trying to put down their foe at long last. Screak, however, had twisted Spiderwood's animalistic rage towards Nightsear.

Iradium closed on Sky Pirate as a half dozen ballistic entry vehicles slammed into the ground, deploying Sky Pirate's personal robot minions.

"Don't you ever learn?" Sean shouted, letting go a localized EM Pulse. Sky Pirate laughed and levelled his rifle.

"Oh, an EMP, why didn't I think of that? Wait, I did. They're shielded, fool!"

Iradium had felt the resistance, but he'd had years of practice on Council, Arachnos, Sky Raider, and even Rikti technology; he pushed beyond the shielding, twisting the radiation like he was picking a lock. The droids fell in on themselves like clockwork without their King.

Jarissa and Augren were laying into Arkangel's troops, who had appeared out of thin air. Reinforcements were coming from everywhere.

Silver Valor glanced around, as if waking from a dream only to find himself in a foreign land. He suddenly vanished into superspeed, racing into the growing mass of men with guns.

Or, at least, they had weapons a few moments ago.

The blur moved into the heroes and villains; with momentum like his, a single punch had the force, if he wasn't cautious, to put a body into orbit. He had never pushed his speed so hard; he didn't have much left, but he had enough to finish the portal equipment.

With characteristic aplomb, he announced to Wyldstorm that he was done with a flippant grin. "We should end up on some alternate dimension earth, and we can go from there. Not much time!"

Augren raised an eyebrow. "'Should'? When you deal in 'maybes' and 'shoulds', we end up in deeper trouble than we were before. What's the bit you left out?"

Thomas cleared his throat. "Could be a time change."

Like moving to a different time zone?::

"More like time travel."

Alan groaned.

"We need a hospital. We need resources. We will come back, but first we will survive. Get moving, Wyldstorm," Jarissa ordered.

Into the portal they went, one and two at a time. Iradium, Silver Valor, and Jarissa were the last three left, the officers. They knew what the others did not; the portal was nowhere near as they would have liked.

Indeed, it was barely stabilized enough to transport people; the other side kept leaping about between weak points in space/time. The reason Thomas was unsure if it was a different dimension or a different year on the other side was because the other side kept changing.

"Timers set?" Sean asked. Silver glanced at his pocket watch.

"Five minutes. They might get a few through."

"I'll stay until the last few seconds. Go," Jarissa said, her tone of voice making it clear that she would brook no argument.

In the past, they would have argued, drawn straws, bitched until they all were there for the last few seconds, or even stayed to fight. They were tired; Iradium felt the weight of his armor, the way his cape caught differently where it was torn.

Years of special forces training in the Air Force had made him a prime asset for Wyldstorm; he had seen more combat than any other member of Wyldstorm. His medical training, devastating powers, and combat senses had let him walk out of fights in the Rogue Isles, against huge armies, and operations Gironde had sent him on to try and prevent the isolation of Paragon.

"I'll go first," he told them. He wanted to finish it; restore the world to order or die on his feet. He wanted to see his wife again.

Iradium felt, perhaps more accurately than the others, his atomic structure as it ripped apart, turned inside out, changed colors, went on vacation, and reassembled somewhere or somewhen fundamentally different.

He was standing outside the Arena on Talos Island. It was intact, pristine. It was busy with some sort of tournament. He couldn't feel the radiation the portal had given off.

He was stuck, at least for now. Stuck where, though?

He found a newsstand and looked at the display issue of the Paragon Times to find the date and get an idea of what was going on. The page one spread shocked him.

It was June 15th, 2006.

A photo of a younger Iradium was on the front page, fresh from a Task Force with the rest of Wyldstorm. It was the old costume, tights and no armor.

He grinned like the crazy bastard in the picture and went about finding a TV or an internet cafe to do some research.