Advent Reunion

Kopaka

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The sun rarely, truly sets on Opealon. The proximity of its moon technically creates a binary planet system between the immense, oceanic paradise and the barren counterpart. Rotational and gravitational forces keep most of the world warm, and when one side of the planet finally turns away from the central star of the Crossroads, the night is balmy and pleasant. It was only fitting that, in the aftermath of Nausicaa's destruction, a rare twilight would fall upon the City of Hope.

Kopaka contemplated the providence of these happenings. Did Darkseid have a flair for the dramatic, or was the confluent nature of this evening mere happenstance? He gazed down at the rolling waves far below the flying city. Winking and bobbing lights from salvage and volunteer rescue vessels still swarmed the area where the skymote had sank. This edge of the city had been gated off by the city's police brigades, and construction crews worked under the pale brilliance of towering spotlights. The twisted metal wound that had once formed a bridge between the main metropolitan district and the suburb was crawling with scrap and maintenance drones as well, but it would probably still be a year before the boulevards and perimeter walls had been reconstructed.

The skylanders are eager to pretend like this never happened. They won't rest until the memories of their negligence have been paved over. Kopaka thought. He crossed his arms - the gleaming white metal still stained with black grime - and stared up at the sky-encompassing moon. In spite of his characteristic emotional control, the Toa breathed out a soft sigh. He had indulged in enough pondering for now. Despite it all, outside perspectives would be required and, if nothing else, he owed Arthur Morgan a visit.

Luckily, they had arranged to meet at the starship belonging to General Ezrihel von Althaus for what the cowboy had referred to as a 'much-needed nightcap'. Kopaka had inferred that this would be an alcohol-centric social ritual shared between the Andromedan and Human cultures. The biomech idly lamented that he lacked any cultural memories from his own past for comparison.

More self pity. Perhaps today's failures have worn on me more than I thought. he chided himself as he strode to the City of Hope's spaceport district. He ran a cold hand across his chestplate, feeling the ragged metal gash that was still ripped open. The flesh beneath his chassis had been repaired sufficiently by the masked physician, but it would take much more time for his protodermis armor to repair itself. Perhaps General Althaus would have facilities aboard their vessel to mend his mechanical externalities.

The Phantom Blossom was not hard to find amidst the other looming silhouettes parked on the heavy-duty tarmac. It was easily one of the most sophisticated, sleek spacecraft languishing under the moonwashed horizon. The garish skyscrapers of Hope, radiant with chromatic LEDS, complimented the luxury ship as backdrop. Kopaka approached the aft of the Phantom, where the boarding ramp had been lowered in anticipation of her guests. A stalwart guard of some sort stood watch next to the ramp - another Andromedan by Kopaka's assumption - who gave the biomech an eager appraisal at his approach.

"You must be Kopaka, then. The High Inquisitor and Mister Morgan are already on board. Please." the masked guard said, gesturing towards the ship's gleaming innards. The Toa responded to the sentry with the slightest of nods, and marched up the ramp with heavy, metal footfalls.

The interior of the Phantom Blossom was surprisingly austere compared to her limousine-patterned superstructure. Offwhite banks of machinery and computer bays lined an ergonomically shaped common area lit with pale, turqouise lamps. A sort of open-floor den was recessed into the central bay of the main foyer, which was furnished by smooth couches the color of damp slate. Kopaka's presence, as usual, caused the previously buzzing small talk to pause. A few other members of Ezrihel's retinue lounged here and there; some wounded, some dressed for action. One or two of these crew members eyed him hungrily; he could only assume they were technicians eager to analyze him. General Althaus and Arthur were seated at either end of a floating glass table with two crystal tumblers and a bottle of strong drink arrayed in front of them.

"General Althaus. Thank you for your invitation." Kopaka buzzed in a noticeably humorless drone.

"Pakker!" Arthur hooted out. He wobbled to his feet, using Ezrihel's shoulder for balance.

"C'mere you tin-tailed sumbitch! W'made it, ha!" the cowboy croaked. He vaulted up onto the main deck of the common area to slap Kopaka heartily on his armored shoulder. The warm meat of his hand slapped loudly and flatly in the otherwise quiet recreation bay. General Althaus raised a fresh glass in toast to the biomech's arrival.

"Glad we can finally make a proper introduction, Kopaka. I have to say, your paint scheme goes quite well with my ship's decor." Ezrihel said. Their voice had a playful lilt to it. Kopaka recognized that it was a carefully composed ribbing, no doubt an opening line the General had been working on for some time. It was a savvy attempt at sounding the depths of the Toa's alleged sentience and general demeanor. Kopaka had no doubt that the Andromedan was a skilled diplomat, just from these few words.

Unfortunately, the bionicle was stubborn and was in no mood for transparency. He remained standing, even as the cowpoke slithered back to his drink. The Toa remained deliberately silent, and carefully watched the Inquisitor's expression suppress the emotion of mild offense. Arthur, at least, knew when Kopaka was being intentionally opaque.

"Don't mind his quiet routine. 'Paka's a man of few words." Arthur reassured the General as he helped himself to another glass of this...weird alien hooch the General had set out. Ezrihel had warned Arthur that their liquor was stronger than the swill normally enjoyed by humans - sufficiently strong to pierce the resilient Andromedan metabolism. Being that he was getting a bit far gone with only two drinks in him, Arthur was beginning to admit that he ought have taken the blonde at their word.

At length, Kopaka finally crossed down into the lounging pit and eased his steel bulk into the squeaking cushions.

"I am...glad...to see you two again." Kopaka started, taking in a noticeably deep breath, "...but this is not entirely a matter of pleasure. Is it, General?"
 

Ezrihel

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Ah, so the Toa was able to navigate non-combat situations. Ezrihel had been starting to doubt how well equipped the biosynth was for social situations, given the bionicle’s terse nature. The General flashed his perfect teeth in a broad smile. “Oh, my Toa hero, so quick and efficient to get straight to the point, hm?” Ez raised his crystal to his lips and took a nice sip of the fluorescent, highlighter-yellow booze. "I'd rather prefer that I get to enjoy my rare bit of downtime between active combat engagements."

Arthur followed suit on his next shot, only stopped when the aristocrat put a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I know you have a high constitution, Morgan...” ’but it might not be wise to rush to the blackout.’

“Kopaker,” the cowboy started up regardless, cheeks and nose flushed with color, “you would not believe the tomfoolery and ventriloquist tricks this man ‘ere can pull!” He let out a sharp hoot of amusement as he roughly patted the noble on the back a few times, earning a smirk from the alien as he kept his liquor balanced.

“You may call it ventriloquism, Mister Morgan-”

“Please, call me Arthur, pardner.”

“... You may call it ventriloquism, Arthur Morgan, but it is far more than a silly parlor trick pulled by entertainers in your homeland~”

“Well what is it then?” The man cawed in pointed interest.

“I think it is a bit too complicated to get into the nitty-gritty for such a relaxed conversation, my friend~” The General studied him for a moment, peering at him with clearly curious green eyes before flicking his gaze back onto the Toa.

The aristocrat then addressed Kopaka. “In my culture it is customary to enjoy some of your host’s hospitality before discussing business matters. Surely,” he winced, resting a hand on his still-aching chest, “you can afford me that, after such a laborious day... Speaking of which, do you need further repairs for that gash across your chestplate?”

Arthur seemed to lean back and clumsily begin fishing around in his satchel for who-knows-what. “Aw, I might got sumthin’ fer that, friend- jus’ lemme have a look ‘ere..”

As if on command, P’thaeyl approached the robot. The Toa certainly noticed how the framed AI appeared brand new compared to when they’d last caught sight of each other down in the sinking temple, before he’d sealed himself and the elementalist into that glacial fortress.

“My assistant, P’thaeyl, is more than capable of showing you to our engineering bay.” Althaus leaned forward a bit, smiling as if he was letting Kopaka in on an amusing secret, “don’t worry, Kopaka, my mechanics and engineers know how to behave themselves.” He leaned back, casually adjusting which leg was crossed over which and resting his arms across the back of the lounge chair. “You are a hero, and one of my honored guests. Anything reasonable that you need can be arranged, but please- don’t let me interrupt your reunion~ Surely you two have a lot to catch up over.”

The bionicle seemed to ponder over his response for a moment before finally speaking, as if he were assessing exactly how sincere the andromedan was being with his words. “I appreciate the offer, General, but I would like to wait. It has been a while, I think I would prefer to finish this conversation first.”

“You’re not going to bleed out on my couch, are you~?” Ez asked playfully, though the sharper notes in his tone were more than half-serious. Isra would kill him if he had to deal with any more medical emergencies in such a short span of time... Speaking of which...

“No, the masked doctor mended the most critical damage.” Kopaka said as dryly as ever.

“Ah, good. My own doctor might have himself a fit if he had to perform biomechanical surgery this late into the day...” Althaus then turned to Meng, who had just begun to approach him from behind. “By the way, Meng, love, where is my doctor?”

She blinked, only a little off-guard by his sixth sense ability to pick her out from a crowd- and had he just called her 'love'? The relatively mousy woman swallowed, half-intimidated by the standards his casual affection made her feel compelled to hold herself too, and half way-too-drunk to care about how he was fraternizing with her, a subordinate. “Uhm, I think he’s still in the I-C-U ward. Why, is someone hurt?” Her keen eyes darted up to the snowy Toa looking right at her. “Wouldn’t their wounds be better treated by our mechanics?”

The aristocrat sighed softly. “No no, love. Our guest here says that they are stable for now. That’s not what I wanted to see Isra over.” He beckoned her over closer to him so he could whisper to her, a gloved hand was raised to cover his mouth from eavesdropping and lip reading, ”he needs to get out here and enjoy himself. It’s a celebration for Nithos’ sake, I’d like for him to at least have something to drink and eat... Greet the guests, get out of his office, you know. Be a darling and retrieve him for me.”

"Aye, sir." Aurora nodded as she stepped back, turning on her heel to head over to the medbay. Isra did need more than just a little bit of a break. The man was working himself to death at his own personal pace and it was frankly absurd. He owed it to himself to calm down and take his mind off of things already.

She stopped at the bar for a moment on her way past, considering an array of fluorescent drinks arranged in self-chilling crystal glasses. She’d already had a few and was clearly feeling the effects... Meng stared for several seconds too long. Oh Nithos take her, what harm would an extra drink or two really do? She downed another double shot, shivering as it burned cold blossoms in her throat. Coarae-above knew she needed the extra courage to deal with Isra, because she was probably going to have to drag him from his office tooth and nail.

He’d probably also be easier to convince if she got him a bit tipsy first.

She reached under the bar and snatched a black bottle from the freezer, along with two glasses, before continuing on her way.

In the conversation pit, Ezrihel polished off his cup and raised a very curious eyebrow at his newest guest, “you don’t happen to drink or eat, do you, Kopaka? Forgive my clumsy questions, we Andromedans are familiar with many forms of technology, but today was the first time I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a Toa. I would love to know more about you and your people, your display today was honestly incredible.”

“It was hardly a ‘display’. I did what was necessary to ensure our survival, to the best of my abilities.”

The General smiled, floating his glass tumbler down to the table between them. So the robot was humble and modest as well now? The noblethem found himself consistently pleased to discover more and more about this new synthetic creature. “Necessary or not, it was still an impressive feat of strength to hold off an unravelling, corrupted god like that. You seem to have just as strong a disliking towards these so-called Unmade as any of us here, so I have to ask you one thing, Kopaka, Arthur: how invested are you in cleansing these crossroads of Darkseid’s filth?”
 

Ezrihel

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It wasn’t long before Aurora Meng arrived at the infirmary. She was careful to be as quiet as possible as she passed by the few sleeping patients to avoid waking them. The commander was in no real mood to hear more of Isra’s cynical, pessimistic whining tonight. She was on a mission: he needed to relax and enjoy the night.

Meng felt herself wobbling to one side as she pressed the buzzer next to his office door. The hydraulic hissed open after a few long moments and she did her best to not stagger as she walked inside.

“Heyy Isra, we’re having a celebration in the lounge and I thought that-” She turned around the corner only to see the chief medical officer lying stretched out on his back, on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with the most focused, deadpan expression she’d seen him ever put on. He also looked like a total wreck to boot: his normally swept-back, black hair was scattered around his face in every direction; his shirt was half undone with the sleeves unbuttoned and unrolled, not even mentioning the wrinkles pressed into his uniform from him laying around in it. “Uhm... You alright?”

His jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he managed to answer her. “I’m fine.”

She raised an eyebrow at his unconvincing response and crossed the room, sitting at his desk and putting down the drinks and crystalware before speaking. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that right?” Meng smiled, giggling softly in her attempt to break the ice. “I brought you something to drink from the bar, by the way. Maybe it’ll help you relax, because you look very much not fine.”

She unscrewed the top of the booze bottle and poured them each a glass, holding one out to him. “Come on, here. Take this.”

He turned his head sharply, like a bird wrenching its eyes from a prized morsel, to study her. (Oh, a social obligation.) He sighed, almost choking on a stress-sob as it rose in his throat. He was exhausted. He was hurt. He ached more than he had in over a decade, and he felt unbearably fragile to the touch- just her presence in his space made him feel utterly on-edge, unavoidably aware of how limited his personal space was. Like a vibrating champagne flute, he felt like a single touch could shatter his existence into a million glassy splinters. (I don’t know why I invited her in, I just- I ca-)

The medic pinched his eyes closed and forced himself up with a begroaned sigh. He couldn’t stop how his eyebrows furrowed, or how his lips pressed themselves into a thin line as he battled the dreadful twisting in his stomach. He’d barely noticed how Meng rolled across the polished floor to be closer to him in his battle to focus.

She prized one of his white-tense hands from the edge of his mattress and held it for a moment, squeezing his deathly cold fingers in her own warm ones. Again she offered him the drink. “Come on, Isra. Take your mind off things. That’s all this is.”

When he hesitated she continued. “You’ve been working so hard recently, especially today. You deserve a break-” She’d hardly finished her words when he grabbed the glass and downed its contents in one go, then did the same to her glass that was balanced on her knee. He didn’t want to think anymore. He was tired of thinking, tired of being trapped with nothing but his damned thoughts all of the time.

Aurora tilted her head, clearly taken by surprise at his sudden enthusiasm for imbibing. Well, that solved that issue. “Do you... want more?”

He grimaced, and glanced up at her with the most heartbroken eyes she’d ever seen from him. “Please.”

Meng found herself absolutely struck by the intensity in his devastated azure eyes as she poured him another double shot and handed it off. “General Althaus is expecting to see you out in the lounge sometime soon. He wants you to socialize with the guests of honor and enjoy the night some. You know how he is, presentation and respect matters a lot to him.”

Raphael groaned out loud as he finished his third drink, the abrasive sound was rough, almost jagged in the stillness of the room. Now he took his turn to pour himself another round and down that as well. He wanted to drown this awful feeling seeping out of his soul, smother it until he couldn’t feel a damn thing at all. Three talls like this was normally his limit, but he wanted to forget the day more than anything this side of the galaxy right now, so he counted his fourth and then a fifth.

He wanted the pain to stop.

He wanted to not exist anymore.

He wanted the release from this eternal prison of flesh, he wanted to rip his stupid dumb little heart of hearts out of his chest and throw it down into that inky black sea a thousand plus feet below the tarmac so he could have a break.

“Raphael~” Meng was holding onto his wrist, taking the neck of the bottle from him before pouring some for herself. “You have to save sum for me, be considerate- sir~” She downed her glass, her hand slipped further down his arm until it came to rest at his elbow. “You caaan jus’ drink the whole bottle now...”

He couldn’t help but feel his visage falter... She was cute like this, when she slurred her words and her cheeks were flushed lavender and she giggled at almost everything, and it drove him crazy. She had that sort of warmth to her, that tedious, obnoxiously concerned warmth that showed that she cared about everyone on the ship... Even him.

Even when he was being a dickhead, she still tried to convince him that she cared. She had no real idea if it was working, but she knew she had no intentions of stopping her efforts any time soon. He was still trying to figure out if he appreciated that level of determination when it was pointed at trying to beguile him and his very messy internalized emotions.

But her warmth... It was nice.

He thought could learn to appreciate it, at the very least.

“I didn’t know you drank?” Aurora thought aloud. “I’ve neber seen you drinkin’.”

Isra half-smirked at her, “I don’t.”

“No?”

“I can’t stand the taste. It smells like chemicals and tastes like poison.”

She laughed, as if he’d just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“... What?” He quipped, confused by her amusement.

“Itsh like that because it is, silly maaan~” She was still a giggling mess, and she couldn’t help but continue laughing when he shot her an incredulous look.

“Huh?”

Meng laughed even harder, directly proportional to Isra’s growing confusion at the joke he felt like he was missing. Eventually he frowned, resorting to studying her face as if it would reveal the answers to him.

“Israaa... It smells and tastes like poison... because it is poison. Duuh~”

“Oh... I’m not sure why that’s so funny to you.” He furrowed his brow.

“Because issa really ob’ious reason for not likin’ booze is all, hun.” Aurora smiled wide. “Yer too serious all the time Raphael... You have to loosen up. Laugh a bit more... I’ve neber heard you really laugh or really smile, you know?” She started to ramble, “but I think you are very handsome, an’ you’d look real good if you smiled an’ laughed more, yeah?”

He snatched the bottle back from her to serve himself, tossing the drink back with a shudder. He couldn’t help but grimace as she complimented him, laying it on thick in her drunken honesty.

“Whaaat! I mean it!” She keened when she noticed his uncomfortable expression.

“Yeah, ’m sure you do Meng.”

“Why won’t you call me Aurora? It’s like... It’s like you don’t like me at all.” She pouted, looking genuinely hurt by that notion.

His grimace only deepened as he struggled to find an answer that wouldn’t make her probably explode into tears. He could barely handle his own emotions currently, let alone a whole other person’s rampant, stupid and drunken ones. The idea of her bursting into tears in his office, right now, terrified him. “It’s not that...”

“What is it then?? I thought that we were... Okay...?” She puzzled at him, trying to figure out how to interpret all his cryptic emotional what-its and how-dos. He was always shutting her out after letting her in just a teensy bit, and it was infuriating. She didn’t understand why he was always so wishy-washy, ready to be her friend one moment, and then ice cold the very next.

He groaned. “Meng-”

“Aurora!” She swiftly corrected him with dark, pleading eyes. She wanted him to respect her for more than just her military rank.

“Ugh, Aurora. It’s not that I don’t like you as a person, it’s jus’...” He set his glass on his nightstand and folded his hands together as he worked over the words he was already starting to slur, “everything is confusin’ and I’m confused right now, but I think yo’are nice-”

Suddenly his personal space was being very much invaded, to the tune of this woman grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him, hard, like she needed it to draw breath.

And it wasn’t all that bad.

Her heat, he wanted to catch it, wanted to languish in the comfort of her warmth and take shelter from the tundra he’d isolated himself into. He wanted her comfort, her touch and guidance more than anything, for just a moment.

Rue had kissed him like that...

Before...

Then the taste of her sweetness turned bitter on his tongue, and he pushed her away with a weak and shaky hand before standing. It was too much, she was too much to add into his rattling and overcrowded brain, too much to experience alongside recent events. He barely knew her, what was he even thinking? (I don’t wanna to make a fool of myself.) “I’m sorry Meng...I just-”

“I don’t understand.” She cut in, dismayed and devastated by his apparent rejection. He'd kissed her back for Anva's sake! “Do you like me, or not??”

“It’s not that simple!” He snipped in his boozed-up state. She recoiled from him, and he tried his best to soften his tone. “I’m confused, I’m hurting...”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Even he sounded like he was on the brink of tears now.

“Ish it your shoulder? Bothering you?” She questioned genuinely.

“What? No... It’s not my shoulder.” He’d honestly long forgotten about his shoulder, about his brush with fate. Other events had loomed so much larger in his mindscape than his own physical discomfort.

“Then what is it?” She pressed.

Raphael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to think. His whole world was spinning from a combination of his exhaustion, the alcohol, her attempts at affection, and his own mind.

He just couldn’t do it anymore. “Everything is just too much.” He flopped back down onto the edge of his bed. “It’s too much- Rue-” He couldn’t hold back the racking sobs that clawed their way out of his throat, or the tears that began spilling down his face even as he desperately tried to blink them away. He hated crying, hated it more than any other emotional display, he hated the painful sadness that sank into his soul and twisted him up until he couldn’t breath.

“Raph...” She pleaded with the gentle call of his name and tenderly holding his limp, frigid hand, her voice a vast array of so many emotions he couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t- want your pity, Aurora... Please...” He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. He felt like a little kid again, crying because his parents chose to ignore him, crying because he was lonely... They’d called him pathetic, and weak-willed. They taught him that there was no place for the softness of emotions in the real world, that people were only valued for their skills.

“It’s not pity, Raphael. I promise.”

“What is it really, then?” The medic’s cynicism dripped from his tone.

“Empathy.”

“Empathy? I-” Isra trailed off as Aurora pulled him into a firm hug and squoze him close in her embrace. She didn’t want to hear anymore of his irrational justifications against emotional displays or closeness, or comfort for that matter.

His body was stiff, tense from the constant and differing waves of conflicting responses washing across him. He wasn’t used to being hugged, of all things, and he wanted to crumble into bits in her arms as she rubbed at his back along his spine. It started as breathy sighs as she worked at the knots she found, and by five minutes in he was leaning into her with his face resting on her shoulder.

At this point, he wasn’t even sure if he was crying over Rue, his own discomfort, or how fucked he felt like he was in the head. He cried simply for the sake of it, because it felt kinda good to finally sob after centuries of silent suffering and stress. When she held him it made something feel right inside of him, a sense of security he was irrevocably drawn to and equally terrified to trust.

Meng held him until his sobs withered into quiet, rough breaths, and when they finally did she gently nudged him out of his half-conscious state. She smiled as she studied his bleary visage. “You really don’t cry often, do you?”

He shook his head, too tired to be embarrassed over how unprofessional and unsightly he was this evening.

She felt her communicator buzz in her pocket, and she would hazard a bet that it was Althaus, probably wondering what was taking her so long. “Come on hun, the General is expecting us... Jus’ show up, say hello, and then you can come back and get some rest.” She paused as she scooted back and spied his rumpled uniform once again. She knew well enough that that would absolutely not fly with Ezrihel’s standards. “I’ll go wait outside while you get ready.”



Little did Ezrihel realize he’d soon be getting greeted not by his own Chief Medical Officer, but instead by a particularly feisty feeling masked-medic he’d met earlier in the day.
 

Dr. McNinja

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Dr. McNinja approached the docked ship with his labcoat slung over his shoulder and his dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up. His normally pristine white outfit was now more red with the amount of blood Doc had spilled.

Doc walked until he was at the foot of a ramp that lead to the lavish spaceship. Doc wasn’t from a world with an overabundant amount of space travel, so he was struck with the realization that this was a… luxury spaceship? Doc didn’t know those could exist. A guard in some sort of space armor stopped Dr. McNinja, presumably to do his job.

“Greetings, sir. If I could just check for your name-“

Whatever. This sounded like the place that Dr. Leon described.

In one casual movement, Doc shoved a smoke bomb into the ground. It popped, spitting noxious gas directly into the guard’s face. The guard cried out in surprise as Doc used the cover of the smoke to vanish. Another guard dashed out of the ship, presumably to secure whatever situation was happening out there. As he did, Doc stealthily slipped into the ship. Hehe, nobody was going to know he was even here-

Dr. McNinja looked with wide eyes at the whole-ass party that was occurring in the next room. All of the guests and crew were staring at Doc, who was crouched awkwardly in the hallway.

“Uh… hi!” Dr. McNinja shouted in the general direction of the crowd, “Is there a General Arthrihel here?”

A blond man stood up from the couch in the back. He was clearly already very drunk, as he swayed to the left a little, but he stared at the physician with haughty intent. Ugh. A rich brat.

“I’m General Althaus,” he said, voice slightly slurred, “Youuu are that doctor from earlier. Welcome to the-“

“Huh. You look different,” Doc said, “So I wanted to chat about what you-“

As Dr. McNinja spoke, he stepped forward. One of the guards clearly took issue with that, and stepped forward, some sort of blade raised. Doc, without breaking stride, ducked under the weapon and jabbed at the guard’s wrist, causing them to drop it. It clattered on the floor as Doc slipped under the guard’s arm, casually pushing the guard with his hip and causing them to fall over.

“-what you were saying about Vengeance?” Doc said, not even out of breath while the guard behind him groaned. Another soldier attacked, but Doc just as quickly disarmed the warrior, despite being considerably shorter. With a quick kick to the soldier’s heel, Doc made the next soldier collapse as well.

Dr. McNinja noticed another warrior sneaking up from behind him. Ugh, this was escalating.

“Listen,” he said as he reached behind him to disarm his next assailant, “this all ends peacefully as soon as you dopes stop trying to grab me-“

“Maybe you should stop resisting checkpoints, dear doctor~” the aristo-brat chuckled.

Huh. Doc looked up at his raised wrist, which was currently being held by an outstretched hand. It was seemingly harmless, but Doc could tell this was at a subtle and precise angle that, with too much movement, Doc would break his own shoulder. A practiced warrior, then. Doc leaned forward and prepared for a tumble to neutralize the hold, moving with practiced dexterity that a normal person couldn’t possibly perceive in time. But just as soon as he did, the unseen soldier adjusted the grip, trapping Doc further and pushing him onto his knee. McNinja raised a brow curiously. He kicked back to create a backward momentum in his assailant, but the assailant shuffled back, avoiding the counterattack. Doc used the distraction to twist his arm. It hurt slightly, but allowed Doc to put his arm in a more comfortable angle to pull in the assailant and gain the upper hand.

Now that Doc could see her, he had to admit she was pretty hot.

As Doc pulled down his arm, the assailant released Doc’s arm and grabbed his other limb. Doc grabbed at the hand before her grip could settle and twisted her right wrist. He shuffled his stance so he was facing her as he prepared to use her arm to throw her. The warrior prepared to counter with her left arm, but Doc swiftly jabbed it with his right foot to pin it to a wall. Unfortunately, his stance was now too spread apart. The warrior kicked at Doc’s left knee, buckling his whole stance. As Doc unintentionally released both her arms, she flew into a jumping high kick, which Doc easily dodged.

This was now a dance. Doc jabbed under her knee as it flew over his head, making her yelp in what Doc could’ve sworn was delight. He then prepared to jab under her armpit to cripple her arm, but didn’t even notice her other hand aiming for the inside of his shoulder. Doc grunted as he felt his arm weaken, but easily parried the next kick with a quick kick of his own. The woman’s stance shifted backwards subtly as she tried to recover from the sudden stop in her momentum.

But Doc noticed. He lunged forward, reaching into his coat. The woman tumbled backwards to create some space, and Doc threw himself into a somersault, hiding his newly armed hand with a series of acrobatics. This didn’t seem to faze the warrior, who deftly noticed the hand and quickly jammed Doc’s fingers, forcing him to drop the dagger. Doc swept at the woman’s legs, and the knife she was hiding in her boot clattered to the side.

The General still stood, growing increasingly amused and impatient in equal measures. “Alright you two-”

There was another flurry of grabs and disarms, too fast for the eye to track. Doc tumbled back suddenly, seemingly defeated, and the woman rushed to follow up. Then, he stood on one of his hands, his feet wrapped around the female warrior’s head. He threw her aside, grabbing her weapon as he tumbled to his feet. Unbeknownst to him, she had also grabbed his dagger during the earlier tumble. The two lunged at each other, their weapons millimeters away from rupturing each other’s throat, but locked together by each other’s blade. The two struggled to push their weapon into the other, but both of them smirked smugly. Doc looked down with his eyes to see the woman holding a jagged and sizzling blade to the side of his stomach. Meanwhile, the woman looked to her right, noticing a syringe of green-grey fluid tied to a string. It hovered inches away from the inside of her ear.

Dr. McNinja could see her clearly now. She had toned dark skin, which rippled with the muscle underneath. There were several brassy metal bands around her arms, which miraculously didn’t jangle with every movement. She was wearing a charcoal bralette, which barely contained her generous chest - Doc chided himself for fixating on it. Her top half oozed sensuality and seduction, but there was something different about her hair. It was maroon, but as far as Doc could tell, it wasn’t dyed - the locks waved naturally and without weight, swaying back and forth seductively. It was short, presumably to keep it out of her face when she tumbled around like just now. Her bottom half was a different story. She wore baggy pants of the same color, which were tucked into flexible combat boots. Doc smiled. Like him, this woman wore her job on her sleeve - she was a soldier, and her weapon was her sexuality, along with her absolutely stunning martial skills.

“You’re pretty good,” Doc panted contentedly.

“So are you,” the warrior replied, “for a doctor.”

“I’m also a ninja.”

The warrior cooed, “Mm, I can see that.”

“Please stop murder-flirting with my guest, Asmodaeus,” General Althaus said, dryly.

“Guest?” Dr. McNinja and Asmo simultaneously exclaimed. They both looked at the blond man in surprise.

Asmo begrudgingly released Dr. McNinja, sheathing her blades while eyeing him hungrily. “My apologies for the rough treatment, sir. I didn’t know you were such an esteemed figure.”

“Neither did I,” Doc replied, grinning. He tugged with his foot, and the vial of Mummy’s Curse snapped back into his hand. “And believe me, it was my pleasure.”

Asmo raised an eyebrow with a flirtatious smile before she walked away. Doc just KNEW that woman was sashaying her hips extra hard, just as much as she knew Doc was pretty intently watching.

“Doctor McNinja?”

Doc whirled around, snapping out of his trance at the sound of General Althaus’ voice. He smiled amiably.

“Yuh huh? Oh, yeah. I need to speak with you.”

“Yes. That was quite a show,” the general chortled, “You know, Doctor, you could have simply given your name and entered my ship.”

“Sorry, yeah, old habits,” Doc sighed, “It’s from all my training with- erm, never mind.”

General Althaus frowned, but maintained his curt smile. Finally, he waved at the couch next to him graciously.

“Come, come. Sit! Have a drink. We are celebrating our somewhat successful battle with the Arbiter. Surely you have some time for a small party?”

Doc blinked. He studied the other guests who were here. Arthur was sipping from a big old dusty bottle of… something, and Kopaka was studying him keenly. Doc then drew a bottle of wine from his coat.

“Hell yeah, dude! I’m always down to party.”

General Althaus stared at the doctor as Arthur Morgan whooped and clasped Dr. McNinja around the shoulder.

“AHHHH LIKE ‘DIS MAN,” Arthur guffawed, shaking Doc around.

“Wait, where do I know you from?”

“Where’d you get that bottle?” Ezrihel interrupted, “That’s… is that our Desiirhaus Sparkling Wine?”

Doc shrugged. “I dunno, it was over there.”

“Please don’t drink that, it is exceedingly rare, as the Desiirhaus no longer exist-“

Doc popped the cork, sending it flying. Boozy foam spilled out of the bottle onto the floor in a celebratory flurry. Doc and Arthur both whooped excitedly as Ezrihel watched on, horrified into silence. Dr. McNinja promptly tipped the bottle over Arthur’s open mouth, and the cowboy guzzled on the wine.

“Shit, that’s some good wine,” Arthur said, copious amounts of beverage spilling down his beard as Doc cackled.

Ezrihel creased his brow, and Doc could’ve sworn he felt something in his brain pop. It wasn’t a physical injury - God knows he remembers what an aneurysm feels like - but something in his psyche rippled unhappily. At that very moment, an unfamiliar man suddenly clasped his hand on General Althaus’ shoulder. The rippling effect in Doc’s mind stopped as the newcomer looked sternly at the general.

“It’s just wine, General Althaus,” the crewmate growled.

Ezrihel glared back, head swaying slightly as he tried to focus. “It was the Desiirhaus Sparkling, Isra. I feel justified in-”

Dr. McNinja set down five glass champagne flutes and started pouring everyone a glass.

“You were mentioning something about Spirits of Vengeance?” Dr. McNinja interrupted, “I was wondering what you meant by that. I don’t have a lot of… desire for vengeance, but I’m super into not having Darkseid shit on everything.”
 

Kopaka

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As the good doctor went about serving the pilfered drink, Kopaka kept his icy gaze focused on the masked physician. He had seen McNinja in a fight twice now, and had learned much about the shinobi's feinting strategies. The man was a fearsome combatant and a proficient healer, the Toa would not fault him on these items.

...but the man's lack of decorum was irritating in the extreme. Kopaka was well aware that he himself could be an unpleasant guest, but McNinja's infiltration and subsequent raiding of General Althaus's ship bordered on outright hubris. He felt almost compelled to lash out at the doctor and chasten his arrogance, but he owed the man a modicum of gratitude. That would not spare the medic from a scolding, however.

"Doctor McNinja." Kopaka said firmly. The heads in the conversation pit rolled towards him in collected surprise; it had been some time since the biomech had spoken.

"Your services earlier saved several lives, and are appreciated. But we owe our survival today more to the General and Arthur than we do to you. You would do well to show some deference for Althaus' patience." Kopaka chided. McNinja blinked at the cold robot for a moment, in the middle of pouring the third flute of champagne. To the ninja's credit, he managed to level off the glass perfectly while maintaining their stunned eye contact.

Arthur whistled.

"That's some stiff lip, pardner." he chuckled, shaking his head. Ezrihel did his best suppress an undertone of amused smugness in his own response.

"Yes, well. If our antics are finished..." the andromedan shot a loaded glance at McNinja, "...I would like to discuss a collaboration." they concluded, lifting a fizzy glass in toast to the fresh discussion.
 

Morene Fellon

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Night fell quickly on the ruins of Nausicaa. Darkseid was gone, for now. The sea was active, waves crashing down below in response to the now befallen island plunging into the ocean depths. Morene Fellon stood, high above the waters on the edge of the capital. Her helmet was folded down, the cool tropical breeze flowing through her still-moist hair. She stared out into the horizon, contemplating the vision she saw moments before all the survivors on the surface of the fallen island reunited nearby the City of Hope.

Ezrihel, known by her ear as ‘General Althaus,’ had desired all of the competent fighters of this cataclysmic event to meet him on his ship some distance away from the coast. Morene nodded initially, staying behind to heal mentally for a few hours. The wind gently shook the trees behind her as she looked back, alone on the outskirts of the city, lush with vegetation.

Pulling her tablet from her pocket, surprisingly intact, she opened the message given to her by the Andromedan general, displaying the exact coordinates of his aircraft. She knew where to go from here, sighing once and treading backwards. The high tides of Opealon met the heel of her sabatons as she walked, tranquil as the night. Pushing aside the thick leaves of the tropical brushes, Morene could see the dirt road paved through the dim twilight, finding no issue navigating it.

As she walked, she strayed from the path, lost in thought. The huntress thought of Iris, hoping she was safe at least, possibly nearby but nowhere to be found as of yet. Morene figured to wait before texting her, perplexed at what sort of moral conundrum an android such as herself could have failed to consider when the holy fire of purifying flame struck the underground ruins of the floating city, Morene herself unaffected.

She figured it had to do with Iris’ design to begin with; it was very human, perhaps indicating initial design for social services, but given her massive arsenal of deadly weapons, other implications followed. Stealth, reconnaissance, or unbeknownst to the knochten at the time, assassination. The thought crossed her mind nonetheless, and she couldn’t exactly care given both of them were, up until recently, bodyguards for royalty, officially recognized or not. Iris seemed to be of good character to Morene, at least.

Nevermind that, the teleportation that had her massive frame rolled out onto the temperate beaches of Opealon was painful. Only moments before waking up did she have a literal fever dream, one of which the metaphor could be loosely associated with her encounter with an alleged god and his supposed destroyer a dozen hours ago. Morene’s head didn’t hurt anymore, her metabolism was too on point for that, but the messaging of the dream was less easy to ignore. She knew that there was no way she could defeat the likes of Darkseid by herself, at least not now.

The weight of her armor allowed her to practically push through the vegetation and small trees of the forest, trying her best not to destroy everything. Closer and closer did the coordinates to Ezrihel’s ship get to her. Energizing her social battery, Morene began to speak to herself to prepare.

“Should I be doing this, even? I don’t usually gel with military men,” the huntress mumbled to herself, pushing away a branch as it snapped in twain to her touch, hefty logs of wood crumbling beneath her. She continued to voice her concerns to herself; “I think Iris would be alright with this, since I don’t have anybody to drive me around besides her…”

A pause in her breath, feeling her tablet vibrate within the pouch on her hip. She could see spacecraft peeking through the trees already, as if the hum of its engine wasn’t much more obvious from afar. The Phantom Blossom, it was called; Morene had a feeling the most complicated of the ships was the one beeping on her map. As the trees cleared, the more urban interior of the City of Hope revealed itself. The other ships were dwarfed by it in comparison. Still, the knight-errant wasn’t certain as to how proper she should bother presenting herself.

As of now, Morene didn’t bother with that, simply deciding to walk up to the two guardsmen stationed outside of the Phantom Blossom. They were absolutely on edge, immediately approaching the knochten, as if to identify her further. They knew who she was, hesitantly walking back to the entrance of the ship atop a few stairs. The advanced nature of the spacecraft was even more shocking to look at up close. This place was extremely well-kept, and as she slowly stepped into the vehicle, Morene immediately felt unwelcome here.

Objectively speaking, she wasn’t; the knight-errant was practically ordered by the General to commune with these people. She had a choice in the matter, of course, nevermind that Morene wasn’t exactly unfamiliar to how military men operated, but she felt uneasy regardless. After all, she did kind of just pop in to defend Nausicaa at the last second, plus her tardiness in arriving to begin with. She thought as her lip twitched, ‘what am I doing here?’

Far too late to go back now, she supposed. Following the signs to the lounge of the ships, vaguely familiar faces stared intently at Morene Fellon as she turned the corner. The hydraulics and less than subtle footsteps of her cerantium power armor practically announced the woman’s name to everyone before she was even in line of sight. The ninjutsu-wielding doctor, the robot of white, the outlaw, and the General all casually held drinks, just about to discuss plans. As she glossed over the room, the last person she expected to see seated next to the General himself was Iris. Her eyes widened in slight shock, the worry of her being late taking a slight pause as she addressed the android.

“Iris, dearest, you’re here already?”

The android hummed her affirmation to the knochten, her crystalware tilted back as she downed a glass of liquor. Morene didn’t know this was supposed to be an initiation of sorts, figuring she was the odd one out despite already proving her worth defending the city and holding down the corrupted Arbiter of Opealon for a crucial moment.

Ezrihel, naturally, was the first to identify her. “Morene Fellon, if I’m correct?” The andromedan nodded in her direction, remembering her name from when he messaged the coordinates to the remaining defenders present in the battle. The knochten opened her mouth to respond, stopping for a moment, struggling to come up with a response. She exhaled sharply, straightening her posture, walking forwards and nodding, following with a modest bow.

“Yes, sir,” she confirmed, to which the General scoffed in response.

“Please,” he interjected, “no need to be that formal. We all know what we did out there. Besides, I don’t want to delay this meeting further by giving accolades.” Ezrihel stood up, readying to firmly address the room before him as the toast commenced. “To that,” the General continued, “and to you as well, Miss Fellon, you are interested in extinguishing the threat of the Unmade as it continues to become a growing threat, yes?” He raised his drink slightly, to which Morene was slightly more at ease as she responded.

“That is why I am here, aye,” Morene accepted, to which the General nodded back. He began to address the room further, watching rather thankfully as the jovialness of the room halted so those present before him could actually listen.

“Good; we are all here to wage this battle together. We all recognize the danger that this Darkseid scourge presents to the crossroads. He expects us to be complacent, protecting our homes as he meticulously picks away at our defenses like a carrion crow,” the andromedan emphasized, “but, he does not expect us to bring the aggression to him instead.” The General leaned over the table, looking up at his new band of warriors, soon to be the frontline against the disease known now as the Unmaking. He spoke again, finishing his offer. “Join me, and I assure you all that their defeat will be swift.”

Morene couldn’t argue with that. Besides, they had no choice but to fight. Without too much hesitation, Morene would find herself among new comrades, willing to look past the rather sudden circumstances and officially join the Spirits of Vengeance.
 
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