Struggling to contain itself in a circular domain, the fiery cyan star burns in its descent for the horizon, signaling for a day’s imminent closure. The whole of the sky along the sun and beneath is an enriching cyan tone, a sharp contrast from the fading sky blue hue that is still apparent above, the two shades blending just over the raging sun. Its body however cannot shine without restriction, for planes of clouds sit high in the sky above the distant ocean reflecting the evening light, these clouds partially covering the orb which subtly dims the lighting from what it could’ve been if amongst clear skies. The fluffy nature of the clouds results in a gentle scattering of the sunlight, at least not rigidly blocking illumination but rather thinning out over a wider area, resting atop the densest layer of clouds which resides just narrowly beneath the sun albeit not for too much longer.
From within this cotton blanket whose natural body is darkened to a gray from the contrast of the cyan light topping it emerges a small pod whose engine roars in its arching climb, coming towards its peak as the trajectory starts flattening with respect to the horizon, not aiming for the stars but rather amongst the clouds. As its path straightens, the engine does calm notably to more of a hum, still present as there’s little other environmental sound but the occasional gusts, little environmental motion as well like the drifting of the clouds, serving as a backdrop for the smooth coasting of the pod.
This vehicle is modeled like an SUV in that its body is taller with greater length featuring a signature aggression in its sculpture prominent in models of that class. It is slightly longer than a regular SUV though, perhaps more akin to the capacity of a van, with a simply sleek black body lacking many other features like distinct windows, however this does allow for focus to be set on the one heavily contrasting crest decal painted on its side, a simple white shield.
Soaring just above the clouds, close enough that some of the wooly strands along the top graze through the vehicle so cleanly there’s hardly a reaction, the pod cruises as directed by the driver at the front, a man in his thirties with a black stubble matching his short wavy hair, dressed in a navy blue uniform made of a fiber material, covering his arms and legs like a suit though his head remains free. On his shoulders is an epaulet of that aforementioned white shield crest functioning like a badge, glistening in the sunlight passing through the side windows as well as the windshield screen in front of him over the sleek black dashboard, themed aligned to the rest of the vehicle which has a samely black interior with leather seats. While he does focus on the windshield ahead, which is majorly providing the clear view of the horizon onward albeit augmented with holographic gauges along the rim to provide information such as the numeral speedometer and dials for the accelerator, position including altitude, and model of the vehicle itself to represent its rotation with respect to the planet’s surface, the front passenger hazily faces off to the window beside him.
This passenger is also a man though in his early twenties, lacking facial hair and in fact he has a buzz cut thus hardly has any hair, his turquoise eyes tranquil above a neutral frown. He’s also dressed in the same navy blue uniform as the driver with the same crest epaulets, resting his back on the leather seat as one arm rests on the door beside him. Both of the backs of their seats rest against a solid black wall as there’s no visible openings to the rest of the vehicle despite there clearly being more room, for the driver and passenger are isolated in a space more akin to a truck’s cabin.
His daze is cut off as the driver sternly requests, “Hey Jackel, check on the convicts in the back can you?”
Sighing in disappointment in needing to be called to action, the younger man named Jackel nods his head before complying albeit with some attitude, “Yes yes Sir Jerem, got it,” to which the driver snaps back, “I told you not to refer to my first name, it’s Teslen to you.”
Sighing again from the aggressive reprimand, Jackel reiterates with a nod, “Yes yes okay I’m doing that,” before he then drags his hand forth towards the dashboard at his side, triggering a holographic screen to project in front of said hand, a flat monitor displaying several video streams at different angles though all inside the same small interior space with black walls, in fact similar to the pod’s front, for it has the dimensions of a van behind the front seats. It is clear that all the different screens of footage are showing the same space as in that there are two benches along the long edges both elevated, both of them occupied with a single man, the room resembling a police van transport.
The two men have similar body builds in that they’re both tall, about six and a half feet with broad shoulders as they’re generally muscular. They both have a scar along a cheek, though one of them has that scar on the right cheek beneath gray eyes and short kempt brown hair whereas the other man’s scar is on his left cheek amongst a groomed black beard beneath fair blue eyes. The man with the blue eyes is dressed in a casual bright brown coat with khakis across from the other man instead dressed in a compressed black shirt and jeans, also interestingly sporting a metal collar clamped around his neck which emits a constant blue dot light.
Observing the screen to find both men’s heads low, Jackel shrugs his shoulders and reports: “Everything looks good here, I don’t see any problems.”
“Just keep an eye on them, you’re here for a reason,” the driver responds assertively, to which again Jackel attitudinally obliges, “Yes yes.”
Thusly Jackel maintains focus on the screen, surveying the compartment where the two men sit still, facing the ground with their hands clasped over their legs. To them, all they can hear is the gentle hum emitting from the vehicle transporting them, overpowering any of the breeze that can only subtly discerned, The hum doesn’t waver drastically, the vehicle’s velocity mostly stable with only a few changes in acceleration, There aren’t any windows to allow either of them to monitor the environment though, as their only source of light is the gentle white luminescence emitting from the walls, just enough for them to view their surroundings but limited to their immediate container.
Keeping his head low, the man with the blue eyes sighs gently before muttering under his breath, “They’re probably watching us right now, and listening to us. But I guess that’s understandable, I wonder how long the ride is.”
Across from him, the man wearing the collar hums to himself before determining in a low voice too, “Probably not that long Vincent, I doubt we’re being transferred to somewhere off world at least immediately. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have to eventually stand trial to the E.G.A though, that’d be a bit of a mess ....”
Sighing in acknowledgement of that grim possibility, the man with the beard identified as Vincent raises his head slightly, his hands held together as he addresses in apprehensive optimism, “Hopefully not, I guess at least it’s not like we physically went to the other Earths to do anything so maybe it won’t involve the Alliance, but I guess there’s a chance the ripple effect might warrant their presence. I mean I guess we were picked up in this so there’s a chance they are already getting involved, but I guess the court is a whole other thing. I mean either way it’s not like one group or the other will be gentle, but I’d prefer things to stay domestic.”
Bowing his head down in pensive contemplation, the other man frowns before mentioning melancholically, “Well regardless of what happens, we’re probably not going free anytime soon, honestly maybe never at all.”
He raises his head to survey the container around them while continuing, “I don’t know if there’s even a proper precedent for this kind of thing…Exhuman terrorists used to have decent sentences until the last couple years but even then I’m sure what awaits me will be far, far worse than that. And I’m sure the time the Watchdogs have been in operation will only make things worse, it’s not like I’ve just done a few bad deeds, I may very well be seen as the worst of this generation.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Nodding his head though with it tilting low again, Vincent huffs mellowly before appending, “You’re not the only one, remember even if you’re tried as an Exhuman terrorist, I was the leader of a whole organization of them. I’m likely going to be placed responsible for the vast majority of actions from the Generation. Those sentences getting worse in the past few years was likely my fault or at least I had a hand in it, but then again I doubt me being exposed as not an Exhuman will make any meaningful reductions to whatever I get served.”
Fixating his gaze off to a corner with a frown, the man with gray eyes just wonders to himself, the collar around his neck not the thinnest either as there is a decent bulk that likely adds weight, for at the very least it doesn’t appear comfortable.
Just staring off ahead as if spacing out, the man drearily admits, “All I know is that things are never going to be really ‘normal’ again. Even if we don’t get life sentences, I doubt we’d ever be able to get another shot at a normal life, it’s not like people will just forget us. So in a way, I guess what happens from this point onwards doesn’t matter too much, we’ve done what we’ve done and now we’ll have to pay with the rest of our lives.”
On the other side of the wall are the two officers, the older driver whose attention remains on the windshield ahead as the younger passenger takes glances at the projected screen by his side, allowing him to watch in on the conversation between the two convicts, though the audio from the conversation isn’t blatantly audible to the whole cabin.
The driver, Teslen, does however ask from the passenger, Jackel: “What are they talking about? Are you getting any concerns about them scheming? It’s still weird that they just gave up their locations, Bresten seemed on the hesitant side and wanted us to be wary of any sort of ambush or whatnot that might happen. We don’t know the whereabouts for all the members of their organizations so for all we know, they might be on their way here to break them out.”
Next to him, Jackel shakes his head before detailing earnestly, “I’m listening in on them and there’s nothing out of the ordinary, no odd speech patterns or possible hidden codes, nothing in their conversations to give that impression. They’re uh…just talking right now. But if I pick up on anything, I’ll let you know.”
Sighing but keeping his gaze forward, Teslen nods his head before judging sternly: “Sounds good, just be on the lookout. Right now this is still Earth 50’s own issue so for them to ask us to transport these guys means even they’re uncertain if they can handle them. We can always call in backup, but the second one of our guys pulls a trigger, this whole thing will blow up to another scale, so it’d be best if you can catch anything before it comes. The second it looks like they’re about to do something funny, I want you ready to release the gas.”
Nodding his head in compliance, Jackel relays with a bored confidence: “Yeah I got it, I got my eye on them, don’t worry about it. I mean if it means anything, this is actually one of the calmer transports, usually they’d be pitching slurs by now, kicking the walls and making a fluck. But these guys are just sitting there talking, so unless something drastic happens you don’t need to worry about it.”
Huffing from that assurance as if there is a lack of total confidence from that assertion, Teslen shakes his head subtly before noting, “If you say so kid, but let me tell you something, silent doesn’t always mean harmless. Sometimes it’s the craziest people who seem the calmest. And from how I see it, no sane man with their kind of record would willingly turn themselves in. That’s just not what you see on other worlds.”
Shrugging his shoulders to that cautionary advice, Jackel comments though in a voice clearly tired from the long day: “I guess so, but this world is a weird one anyways so I don’t know. But yeah I’ll let you know if anything comes up, I got it.”
On the other side of the wall, Vincent raises his head back up again before tilting it curiously with a lifted eyebrow before he faces straight at the other man before questioning, “Do you…regret turning yourself in, Walker? I mean I had my own choice so you’re not responsible for me, but are you getting doubts about this whole thing?”
The man with short brown hair now identified as Walker raises his gaze up to the ceiling in consideration of the weighty question. Frowning, his eyes roll from side to side, for the question has likely thrown him off especially as he is still just on the transport vehicle, for this decision was made only very recently.
He does however ultimately straighten his neck with a shift of his gaze straight to Vincent in exchange of eye contact to deliver the answer after a somber huff: “I’ve already thought about all this before making the call, nothing’s changed since. And besides, I had to do it. I mean I just had to, I don’t know. If there’s anything I’ve been getting doubts over, it’s been everything else that came before. And if I just kept running away, I don’t think those doubts would get any better, and in fact I’d probably end up regretting not doing this. So I don’t know, I don’t really like what is probably going to end up happening but it’s happening because of what I’ve been doing for so long. So in that way, I guess this just has to happen, it’s not right to try changing that, right?”
Frowning from that observation that at least shows confidence though in a bleak manner, Vincent is the one to break eye contact with the lowering of his head before assessing, “I see…I guess I get what you mean. But…yeah…I don’t know ….”
Sighing once again given the negativity of their conversation, Walker lifts his head up to the ceiling before more casually wondering, “I had years to change my course and never did, it took a miracle for me to finally think for once. It’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that Meditat is still around, even if he was nothing like what I remember. I mean his mask was kind of similar, it was black but with the same eyes, but the leather jacket threw me off, I guess no wonder people didn’t recognize him and made up the name ‘The Tempest.’
A single chuckle emits from Vincent, his head still low but the sudden switch to the somewhat absurd mention of the legend’s continued presence albeit in an appearance that completely diverted everyone helps alleviate the burden of contemplating what punishments would be awaiting them.
He hoists his head up and chimes in with a shrug, “Yeah I feel that, and I guess it took me by surprise that he has a group, it’s definitely not The Shield, some old man, a girl with pink hair, and a golden person. It's unfortunate but I guess it makes sense that The Shield probably wouldn’t be around like him since their bodies were actually recovered, but huh I guess I never imagined there being another team out there. I wonder how long they’ve been around, I don’t feel like I remember any reports of anyone else other than The Tempest but for all I know they could’ve been looming around the strongholds this whole time too.”
He chuckles again though once again lowers his head, appending but in a tone soberized slightly so, “I guess it really just puts into perspective how narrow minded I was, I was so focused on the past that I never noticed the developments around me. I was so sure that he was gone and that someone had to step up in his place, and this whole time I was just being an obstacle he had to deal with. I was so stubborn …..”
Nodding his head in admission, Walker doesn’t immediately respond but it’s clear he resonates with the sentiment. The two of them in fact just for a few moments face the ground once again, the casual tone having dropped, the two once more stuck in the guilt of the horrid actions they had committed over the years of their dangerous delusions.
At the very least, Walker does raise his head and reflects in gentle fascination, “But now that we know he’s out there, I wonder what he’s been up to this whole time.”
Outside of the black van that still soars over the clouds, the sun has now partially set in the blanket, aligned with the van as the warm light forms a rim around the sleek black body. Its soft hum fights over the winds pushing against it as well as the continued voice of Walker being streamed out: “And now that I guess he doesn’t need to focus on us….-”
For that pod continues to coast over the clouds for miles along the Earth, carrying the two convicts, the voice from inside still pondering: “- what is he going to do next?”
That voice is picked up by not just the other convict with him, nor exclusively the officers at the front of the pod driving while monitoring them, but also beneath the soft cyan film of the clouds, amongst the darker gray fog losing its natural white light as the day is drawn to its close; that voice is picked up on by the figure in those clouds whose shoulders and triceps are of a similar gray shade as the foggy space. The dark red obsidian-like chains wrapped around the forearm are however distinct as is the gentle crimson glow that scatters over the murk, but is enough to distinguish the samely gray fist that has smaller chains wrapped around the fingers.
Those fingers though subsequently curl to a fist as the nearly black material of the chains begin to redden as if being subjected to great temperatures, flaring up steadily, brighter, hotter. For the chains then are set ablaze in red flames, burning like the very hatred igniting it, awakening a monster from its dormancy.
The Hunt Has Begun.