Since the attack on Colchis City, the terrorist group known as Immortal announced its official declaration of war on every country in the world. Strikes against military bases were conducted by the immortals and their mutants: sudden raids befell upon unprepared defenders—helpless in combat and humiliated in surrender—while the entire installation is stripped bare of hardware, the attackers disappearing just as quickly as they arrived.
In response, countries that kept their own dedicated mutants hidden revealed them but these clumsy novices were easily captured.
Worse still were the affiliated groups infiltrated by agents of Immortal. Across the world, drug gangs, cartels, separatist movements, terrorist organizations, and even nations have erupted into civil war as their loyalists are purged by traitors who pledge fealty to their benefactor. They provide shelter, supplies, bodies, and distractions for the cause in exchange for wealth and power beyond what this world had to offer.
The immortals made their strikes with precision, but these groups saw their recklessness spread out into the streets to the endangerment of innocents.
Though the Pantheon’s ability was called into question once more, they were the only ones who could match the weapons and armor derived from mutant power. The cryogenic armaments were distributed to allied nations.
Still, they could not hope to react to all these threats, especially not with Garrick Iolcus himself paralyzed as he was the only one with the mutation necessary to operate his exoskeletons. Given that, the Pantheon looked to pursue objectives of their own to force the enemy to come to them.
There was one thing that would attract the attention of an elusive enemy, a resource more precious than gold and diamonds: mutants themselves.
That is what drew the eye of Pantheon to a small town in Germany on a cloudy morning. The GSG-9 unit was deployed to extract a mutant girl from suburbia to be contained by the Pantheon. Afforded cryoguns and silver armor, they evacuated their route with the expectation of a confrontation with Immortal.
An armored convoy would travel under the watch of snipers to an airfield where the child could be transported to America.
From a church bell tower, a sniper had a vantage over the convoy of JLTVs as well as coverage for shooters in other positions. The boys on the ground weren’t the only ones with new toys: the rifle that this sniper carried today was meant to penetrate tanks, lightly armored ones at least, while the others had the standard .308s.
From what the Pantheon told them, only heavy firepower and cryoweaponry are effective against enemy body armor. These weapons were their lifeline for dealing with the mutant threat.
A flying dagger sliced the rifle in half in the sniper’s hands. The same went for every other sniper, and the same daggers punctured the tires of the convoy. The convoy members exited their vehicles just in time to have their cryoguns destroyed. Vapor spilled out to freeze the police’s gloves and boots.
“You know,” the sniper heard from the side. Perched on the other ledge of the tower was a fallen angel, “I would prefer to limit the bloodshed today, for the sake of the kid, so just tell your friends to stand down for me, would ya?”
Angel dropped down onto the road at the end of the convoy. He strolled past the police—stuck struggling with their boots frozen to the ground—to search each vehicle for his target. They still had their sidearms, but with the gargoyle flesh on bullets were harmless.
He got past the two cars at the rear of the convoy when he heard one of the policemen break out. It was to be expected, they just got the runoff sleet from the guns breaking.
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What was not expected was for the Angel to be tackled head-on—and actually thrown to the ground when he had the strength of a gargoyle. He couldn’t move at all under the pin he was in. He fanned out his wings, each feather separated to be sent to find their mark with a dozen aimed at this bizarrely strong officer’s back. But the iron feathers were held at bay by a force stronger than Angel’s will. The feathers were nailed into the ground around him against his wishes. The sparks that shimmied on them could only be—
“GalvanGal,” grumbled Angel, “I guess I should feel flattered I made it to on the ‘ pain in the butt ‘ list.”
“Feel what you want,” she pulled him to his feet and turned him around with his hands behind his back. She used electric gyrations to shake the flesh armor loose. The armor began to slough off to be collected by the officers. Angel was put in handcuffs as without his wings or the flesh, he was an ordinary human.
The feathers were to be collected by GalvanGal; as far as they knew, with the feathers magnetized, they should be able to displace them to incapacitate the Iron Angel. Even her strength could not break them, so this would have to do. Despite the situation, Angel had a smirk on his face.
“So what is your plan for capturing mutants? It didn’t work the first time y’know? What’s stopping us from just breaking out and attacking again?”
“The principle of the law, to ensure the fair distribution of justice for everyone. I will try what I can, but if you continue to impede us, then we will do what we must when the time comes.”
“Not a bad answer. Such fine control over your electricity too,” Angel spoke with a dragged-out air to his voice, “I guess training with the big man got you to that level. Man, with how long you’ve known him, it's a wonder they trust you at all. Not that they have a choice I guess; without you, they’d be helpless. Garrick was inoffensive enough, but they must hate working with a monster like you.”
“You’re the only monster here. How can you kill so many people with that patronizing attitude? It makes me sick.”
“I never really thought about it. They are all just targets to me. Like throwing darts at a board. You’ll have to ask someone else. Like him.”
Behind GalvanGal almost all the other officers were on the ground. The snipers as well were silent. In one hand, Immortal had an officer’s face in his grip, struggling to escape like an infant held by an adult. The other arm carried the child that this was all about.
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Mayen Bol prepared breakfast the way his grandmother did. The Shahan ful: a plate full of fava beans garnished with fresh onions, tomatoes, rocket leaves, feta cheese, and whatever other suitable vegetarian items are at hand. Rather than utensils, boiled eggs and flatbread are usually used as scoops. But for the sake of the others, spoons would be provided.
This rickety shack, patched up with sheets of metal, was an orphanage for mutant children. Whether they were exiled like Khalid, abandoned like Lanying, or rescued from the Pantheon like Letiche, they were sent here to socialize with their peers. Some of them were adopted, as Auntie Chen did with Lanying and Letiche, while others were inducted into the Immortals, as with Angel.
It was Mayen Bol’s turn to be the director for these kids; children, especially mutant children, had to be wrangled like wild animals, and Bol had experience with that. Whether animal, human, or mutant, everyone knew how to sit at the table for food, which he placed in bowls now.
“I hope you have extra left over,” said Angel. He arrived with the mutant child from Germany and handed them over to Bol. He was missing his wings, however.
“What about your wings?” asked Auntie Chen through Little Birdie, “you’re pretty useless to us without them, and you lost my precious gargoyle flesh.”
“I just need some protein,” Angel came over to the pot and ate a ladle full of beans, “Gargoyle flesh is just a crutch to show off. Anyways, shouldn’t you teleport Uncle out of there?”
“He’ll call me if he needs me. It’s been a long time since he could stretch his legs. I’ll let him have his fun.”