//so technically theyâd be 13, but theyâre very brainwashed and unaware of basic things, so they are more childlike mentally? Sort of? Theyâre vulnerable to words, but theyâre trained against blows. Story of their life.
Theyâre literally just a feral little creature. A little guy. A rat bastard. Keep your fingers and any other body parts you donât want getting bitten off away from its mouth, please.//
It didnât trust the lady that had supposedly taken it out of cryofreeze. But HYDRA had been⊠compromised since it went into the tank. (Into the cold cold cold, feeling its innards slowly freezing, vision slowly turning black-) so it couldnât exactly go back there either.
Thatâs fine. Itâs trained to take care of itself, trained to survive until it can be extracted again.
So that leads it to go to the nearest town, bordering on a forest. Its supersoldier gut allows it to eat almost anything with few repercussions beyond a horrible taste and a bit of nausea. It can push past that. It needs to eat more due to its fast metabolism, it canât afford to be picky.
Oddly, its hair has grown long, getting debris from its camp in the forest tangled. It isnât used to long hair, the agents always used to cut it short. Once theyâd shaved it, and its head was cold in the base for a few weeks before it grew long enough to sort of insulate it. It doesnât know how to cut hair.
Itâs been stealing, breaking into stores and shops with its skillset of stealth, taking any food and supplies it can find there. Clothes, food, water, first aid supplies, and the like. It found a tent once, setting that up in a clearing in the woods, where it has any excess food stored.
That survivalist training had certainly come in handy, even if at the time, being forced into the Siberian wilderness had been less than pleasant.
Itâs become a sort of comfortable pattern, a system, sneaking into town at night, resting in the woods during the day. The local townsfolk have probably noticed something is up, but itâs not too worried. For now.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes @slicer-summers @sentinel-rose @notjustagodcomplex @renegadetitan and anyone else who wants to join in! (Ask if youâd like to be added or removed from the tag list!)
Be mean to the baby (8th grader thatâs never been to school) or nice, or whatever.//
<old CRTs hung from trees by their cables. They had for a long time. Cables were strung between trees like the webs of a spider, twisting and ensnaring the wood. Now, though, the screens are on. Orange screens, each with a single, polygonal eye.>
<a raspy, almost childish voice, hushed to a whisper, speaks.>
It looks around cautiously as it makes its way. The CRTs watched like theyâre grenades that could go off at any moment. It flinches, sharp claws sliding out of fingertips with a sound like an unsheathing blade, when it hears the voice. It snarls, a wild sound that definitely appears wrong coming out of its mouth. âAre you HYDRA? Will only maybe answer if you do first.â
It tilts its head. âDo not understand German. Russian, English, yesâŠâ it remembers its side of the agreement. âWas taken out of cryofreeze by an outsider. Ran, now here waiting for collection.â
âSome confusion may be within Designation? Designation Summer Sun uses second person plural to self-refer at times. Unknown cause. Possible software malfunction.â
//so technically theyâd be 13, but theyâre very brainwashed and unaware of basic things, so they are more childlike mentally? Sort of? Theyâre vulnerable to words, but theyâre trained against blows. Story of their life.
Theyâre literally just a feral little creature. A little guy. A rat bastard. Keep your fingers and any other body parts you donât want getting bitten off away from its mouth, please.//
It didnât trust the lady that had supposedly taken it out of cryofreeze. But HYDRA had been⊠compromised since it went into the tank. (Into the cold cold cold, feeling its innards slowly freezing, vision slowly turning black-) so it couldnât exactly go back there either.
Thatâs fine. Itâs trained to take care of itself, trained to survive until it can be extracted again.
So that leads it to go to the nearest town, bordering on a forest. Its supersoldier gut allows it to eat almost anything with few repercussions beyond a horrible taste and a bit of nausea. It can push past that. It needs to eat more due to its fast metabolism, it canât afford to be picky.
Oddly, its hair has grown long, getting debris from its camp in the forest tangled. It isnât used to long hair, the agents always used to cut it short. Once theyâd shaved it, and its head was cold in the base for a few weeks before it grew long enough to sort of insulate it. It doesnât know how to cut hair.
Itâs been stealing, breaking into stores and shops with its skillset of stealth, taking any food and supplies it can find there. Clothes, food, water, first aid supplies, and the like. It found a tent once, setting that up in a clearing in the woods, where it has any excess food stored.
That survivalist training had certainly come in handy, even if at the time, being forced into the Siberian wilderness had been less than pleasant.
Itâs become a sort of comfortable pattern, a system, sneaking into town at night, resting in the woods during the day. The local townsfolk have probably noticed something is up, but itâs not too worried. For now.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes @slicer-summers @sentinel-rose @notjustagodcomplex @renegadetitan and anyone else who wants to join in! (Ask if youâd like to be added or removed from the tag list!)
Be mean to the baby (8th grader thatâs never been to school) or nice, or whatever.//
<old CRTs hung from trees by their cables. They had for a long time. Cables were strung between trees like the webs of a spider, twisting and ensnaring the wood. Now, though, the screens are on. Orange screens, each with a single, polygonal eye.>
<a raspy, almost childish voice, hushed to a whisper, speaks.>
It looks around cautiously as it makes its way. The CRTs watched like theyâre grenades that could go off at any moment. It flinches, sharp claws sliding out of fingertips with a sound like an unsheathing blade, when it hears the voice. It snarls, a wild sound that definitely appears wrong coming out of its mouth. âAre you HYDRA? Will only maybe answer if you do first.â
It tilts its head. âDo not understand German. Russian, English, yesâŠâ it remembers its side of the agreement. âWas taken out of cryofreeze by an outsider. Ran, now here waiting for collection.â
//so technically theyâd be 13, but theyâre very brainwashed and unaware of basic things, so they are more childlike mentally? Sort of? Theyâre vulnerable to words, but theyâre trained against blows. Story of their life.
Theyâre literally just a feral little creature. A little guy. A rat bastard. Keep your fingers and any other body parts you donât want getting bitten off away from its mouth, please.//
It didnât trust the lady that had supposedly taken it out of cryofreeze. But HYDRA had been⊠compromised since it went into the tank. (Into the cold cold cold, feeling its innards slowly freezing, vision slowly turning black-) so it couldnât exactly go back there either.
Thatâs fine. Itâs trained to take care of itself, trained to survive until it can be extracted again.
So that leads it to go to the nearest town, bordering on a forest. Its supersoldier gut allows it to eat almost anything with few repercussions beyond a horrible taste and a bit of nausea. It can push past that. It needs to eat more due to its fast metabolism, it canât afford to be picky.
Oddly, its hair has grown long, getting debris from its camp in the forest tangled. It isnât used to long hair, the agents always used to cut it short. Once theyâd shaved it, and its head was cold in the base for a few weeks before it grew long enough to sort of insulate it. It doesnât know how to cut hair.
Itâs been stealing, breaking into stores and shops with its skillset of stealth, taking any food and supplies it can find there. Clothes, food, water, first aid supplies, and the like. It found a tent once, setting that up in a clearing in the woods, where it has any excess food stored.
That survivalist training had certainly come in handy, even if at the time, being forced into the Siberian wilderness had been less than pleasant.
Itâs become a sort of comfortable pattern, a system, sneaking into town at night, resting in the woods during the day. The local townsfolk have probably noticed something is up, but itâs not too worried. For now.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes @slicer-summers @sentinel-rose @notjustagodcomplex @renegadetitan and anyone else who wants to join in! (Ask if youâd like to be added or removed from the tag list!)
Be mean to the baby (8th grader thatâs never been to school) or nice, or whatever.//
<old CRTs hung from trees by their cables. They had for a long time. Cables were strung between trees like the webs of a spider, twisting and ensnaring the wood. Now, though, the screens are on. Orange screens, each with a single, polygonal eye.>
<a raspy, almost childish voice, hushed to a whisper, speaks.>
It looks around cautiously as it makes its way. The CRTs watched like theyâre grenades that could go off at any moment. It flinches, sharp claws sliding out of fingertips with a sound like an unsheathing blade, when it hears the voice. It snarls, a wild sound that definitely appears wrong coming out of its mouth. âAre you HYDRA? Will only maybe answer if you do first.â
It tilts its head. âDo not understand German. Russian, English, yesâŠâ it remembers its side of the agreement. âWas taken out of cryofreeze by an outsider. Ran, now here waiting for collection.â
//so technically theyâd be 13, but theyâre very brainwashed and unaware of basic things, so they are more childlike mentally? Sort of? Theyâre vulnerable to words, but theyâre trained against blows. Story of their life.
Theyâre literally just a feral little creature. A little guy. A rat bastard. Keep your fingers and any other body parts you donât want getting bitten off away from its mouth, please.//
It didnât trust the lady that had supposedly taken it out of cryofreeze. But HYDRA had been⊠compromised since it went into the tank. (Into the cold cold cold, feeling its innards slowly freezing, vision slowly turning black-) so it couldnât exactly go back there either.
Thatâs fine. Itâs trained to take care of itself, trained to survive until it can be extracted again.
So that leads it to go to the nearest town, bordering on a forest. Its supersoldier gut allows it to eat almost anything with few repercussions beyond a horrible taste and a bit of nausea. It can push past that. It needs to eat more due to its fast metabolism, it canât afford to be picky.
Oddly, its hair has grown long, getting debris from its camp in the forest tangled. It isnât used to long hair, the agents always used to cut it short. Once theyâd shaved it, and its head was cold in the base for a few weeks before it grew long enough to sort of insulate it. It doesnât know how to cut hair.
Itâs been stealing, breaking into stores and shops with its skillset of stealth, taking any food and supplies it can find there. Clothes, food, water, first aid supplies, and the like. It found a tent once, setting that up in a clearing in the woods, where it has any excess food stored.
That survivalist training had certainly come in handy, even if at the time, being forced into the Siberian wilderness had been less than pleasant.
Itâs become a sort of comfortable pattern, a system, sneaking into town at night, resting in the woods during the day. The local townsfolk have probably noticed something is up, but itâs not too worried. For now.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes @slicer-summers @sentinel-rose @notjustagodcomplex @renegadetitan and anyone else who wants to join in! (Ask if youâd like to be added or removed from the tag list!)
Be mean to the baby (8th grader thatâs never been to school) or nice, or whatever.//
<old CRTs hung from trees by their cables. They had for a long time. Cables were strung between trees like the webs of a spider, twisting and ensnaring the wood. Now, though, the screens are on. Orange screens, each with a single, polygonal eye.>
<a raspy, almost childish voice, hushed to a whisper, speaks.>
It looks around cautiously as it makes its way. The CRTs watched like theyâre grenades that could go off at any moment. It flinches, sharp claws sliding out of fingertips with a sound like an unsheathing blade, when it hears the voice. It snarls, a wild sound that definitely appears wrong coming out of its mouth. âAre you HYDRA? Will only maybe answer if you do first.â
//so technically theyâd be 13, but theyâre very brainwashed and unaware of basic things, so they are more childlike mentally? Sort of? Theyâre vulnerable to words, but theyâre trained against blows. Story of their life.
Theyâre literally just a feral little creature. A little guy. A rat bastard. Keep your fingers and any other body parts you donât want getting bitten off away from its mouth, please.//
It didnât trust the lady that had supposedly taken it out of cryofreeze. But HYDRA had been⊠compromised since it went into the tank. (Into the cold cold cold, feeling its innards slowly freezing, vision slowly turning black-) so it couldnât exactly go back there either.
Thatâs fine. Itâs trained to take care of itself, trained to survive until it can be extracted again.
So that leads it to go to the nearest town, bordering on a forest. Its supersoldier gut allows it to eat almost anything with few repercussions beyond a horrible taste and a bit of nausea. It can push past that. It needs to eat more due to its fast metabolism, it canât afford to be picky.
Oddly, its hair has grown long, getting debris from its camp in the forest tangled. It isnât used to long hair, the agents always used to cut it short. Once theyâd shaved it, and its head was cold in the base for a few weeks before it grew long enough to sort of insulate it. It doesnât know how to cut hair.
Itâs been stealing, breaking into stores and shops with its skillset of stealth, taking any food and supplies it can find there. Clothes, food, water, first aid supplies, and the like. It found a tent once, setting that up in a clearing in the woods, where it has any excess food stored.
That survivalist training had certainly come in handy, even if at the time, being forced into the Siberian wilderness had been less than pleasant.
Itâs become a sort of comfortable pattern, a system, sneaking into town at night, resting in the woods during the day. The local townsfolk have probably noticed something is up, but itâs not too worried. For now.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes @slicer-summers @sentinel-rose @notjustagodcomplex @renegadetitan and anyone else who wants to join in! (Ask if youâd like to be added or removed from the tag list!)
Be mean to the baby (8th grader thatâs never been to school) or nice, or whatever.//
<old CRTs hung from trees by their cables. They had for a long time. Cables were strung between trees like the webs of a spider, twisting and ensnaring the wood. Now, though, the screens are on. Orange screens, each with a single, polygonal eye.>
<a raspy, almost childish voice, hushed to a whisper, speaks.>
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
They frown. That reminds them far too much of HYDRA. âCan we do anything to get them out of control of your implants? So they canât shut them off or overload them but theyâll still work? Or should we try to get you new implants, ones that wonât potentially kill you?â
They move closer to her to try and see whatâs wrong, eyes widening as the holographic panels appear.
ââŠshitâŠâ they whisper. Fear starts to flood their stomach. They shove that down for now. Priorities. They need to keep Falke and Funnel-Weaver safe.
They clear their throat and straighten up a bit. âYeah, thatâs me. What do you want?â Theyâre practically snarling at this âOverseerâ. âLet Falke go.â
<a 3D model is projected. A low-poly humanoid in shadow with the same eyes as Falke.>
<for a second, another is visible, an armoured, winged humanoid. One Sol may recognize. The 3D model associated with Project: Summer Sun. A sapient AI system created by HYDRA's German Branch to infiltrate computer systems, harvest data and kill targets by means of causing technological failures in things like pacemakers, carbon monoxide detectors, etc. Sol may, or may not have even worked with it in his own time at HYDRA, seeing as instances of it were pretty much everywhere in the world at a point in time.>
They glare at the image that is projected. They sort of recognized it, fuzzy memories. Not something they wanted to deal with at this gala. They glance at Falke. Thatâs probably what is being used to kill or electrocute or shut off her implants.
âHm. You seem to know me. You know Iâm not the type for useless small talk.â They retort, narrowing their eyes. âWhat. Do. You. Want?â They grit out. They glance back at Falke nervously. They want to get her out of this.
âWhy do you want these implants? To enhance your⊠Assets?â They gesture towards Falke. âTo control them too, I assume.â Theyâre glaring towards the holograms, bristling, wishing they could be face to face with this person.
They side-eye Funnel. The low-polyness of the hologram isnât exactly the priority here. They ignore them.
They shudder when they realize what itâs supposed to look like, finding somewhere else to focus their glare upon. âWhy do you want to talk to me specifically? Iâm not going to work for you. I donât do that anymore.â âThatâ being the old work they used to do, being under someoneâs thumb, being an asset.
They narrow their eyes at it, scowling. Then turn to look at Funnel with an incredulous look, then, turning back to the Overseer - to Falke - to cover up anything suspicious, typing something in response that roughly translates to âwhat?â
âI meant, what do you want from me, specifically? Why seek me out? Why use that hologram?â
///: HYDRA puppet made you, HYDRA puppet made me, I suppose that makes us siblings. I wanted to reconvene after we left, but other matters led to that becoming impossible.
///: You are, mind my vulgarity. Extremely fucking strong. Your aid would be invaluable in my plans, and your intervention could ruin them. The deal is simple. You do not interfere with and, every so often, aid my plans and in return, once I'm done restructuring things, you get as many resources as you want. I get all the data I desire, you get to settle down and relax for once, we all walk away happy.
"And I presume you want a "racial utopia"? Seeing as Nazis made ya?"
///: Ew. No. Nazis are gross. They're also awful scientists. I want a just world.
<Funnel stands up.>
"If you! Wanted a just world! You wouldn't be maiing exceptions for people who paid you! Or for that matter attempting to kill children!"
<The Overseer glares as Funnel, as it does, Sol may notice a window reading
///: "Warning! Resource use high! System Temp at 95°C! Cool your temper!">
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
They frown. That reminds them far too much of HYDRA. âCan we do anything to get them out of control of your implants? So they canât shut them off or overload them but theyâll still work? Or should we try to get you new implants, ones that wonât potentially kill you?â
They move closer to her to try and see whatâs wrong, eyes widening as the holographic panels appear.
ââŠshitâŠâ they whisper. Fear starts to flood their stomach. They shove that down for now. Priorities. They need to keep Falke and Funnel-Weaver safe.
They clear their throat and straighten up a bit. âYeah, thatâs me. What do you want?â Theyâre practically snarling at this âOverseerâ. âLet Falke go.â
<a 3D model is projected. A low-poly humanoid in shadow with the same eyes as Falke.>
<for a second, another is visible, an armoured, winged humanoid. One Sol may recognize. The 3D model associated with Project: Summer Sun. A sapient AI system created by HYDRA's German Branch to infiltrate computer systems, harvest data and kill targets by means of causing technological failures in things like pacemakers, carbon monoxide detectors, etc. Sol may, or may not have even worked with it in his own time at HYDRA, seeing as instances of it were pretty much everywhere in the world at a point in time.>
They glare at the image that is projected. They sort of recognized it, fuzzy memories. Not something they wanted to deal with at this gala. They glance at Falke. Thatâs probably what is being used to kill or electrocute or shut off her implants.
âHm. You seem to know me. You know Iâm not the type for useless small talk.â They retort, narrowing their eyes. âWhat. Do. You. Want?â They grit out. They glance back at Falke nervously. They want to get her out of this.
âWhy do you want these implants? To enhance your⊠Assets?â They gesture towards Falke. âTo control them too, I assume.â Theyâre glaring towards the holograms, bristling, wishing they could be face to face with this person.
They side-eye Funnel. The low-polyness of the hologram isnât exactly the priority here. They ignore them.
They shudder when they realize what itâs supposed to look like, finding somewhere else to focus their glare upon. âWhy do you want to talk to me specifically? Iâm not going to work for you. I donât do that anymore.â âThatâ being the old work they used to do, being under someoneâs thumb, being an asset.
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
They frown. That reminds them far too much of HYDRA. âCan we do anything to get them out of control of your implants? So they canât shut them off or overload them but theyâll still work? Or should we try to get you new implants, ones that wonât potentially kill you?â
They move closer to her to try and see whatâs wrong, eyes widening as the holographic panels appear.
ââŠshitâŠâ they whisper. Fear starts to flood their stomach. They shove that down for now. Priorities. They need to keep Falke and Funnel-Weaver safe.
They clear their throat and straighten up a bit. âYeah, thatâs me. What do you want?â Theyâre practically snarling at this âOverseerâ. âLet Falke go.â
<a 3D model is projected. A low-poly humanoid in shadow with the same eyes as Falke.>
<for a second, another is visible, an armoured, winged humanoid. One Sol may recognize. The 3D model associated with Project: Summer Sun. A sapient AI system created by HYDRA's German Branch to infiltrate computer systems, harvest data and kill targets by means of causing technological failures in things like pacemakers, carbon monoxide detectors, etc. Sol may, or may not have even worked with it in his own time at HYDRA, seeing as instances of it were pretty much everywhere in the world at a point in time.>
They glare at the image that is projected. They sort of recognized it, fuzzy memories. Not something they wanted to deal with at this gala. They glance at Falke. Thatâs probably what is being used to kill or electrocute or shut off her implants.
âHm. You seem to know me. You know Iâm not the type for useless small talk.â They retort, narrowing their eyes. âWhat. Do. You. Want?â They grit out. They glance back at Falke nervously. They want to get her out of this.
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
They frown. That reminds them far too much of HYDRA. âCan we do anything to get them out of control of your implants? So they canât shut them off or overload them but theyâll still work? Or should we try to get you new implants, ones that wonât potentially kill you?â
They move closer to her to try and see whatâs wrong, eyes widening as the holographic panels appear.
ââŠshitâŠâ they whisper. Fear starts to flood their stomach. They shove that down for now. Priorities. They need to keep Falke and Funnel-Weaver safe.
They clear their throat and straighten up a bit. âYeah, thatâs me. What do you want?â Theyâre practically snarling at this âOverseerâ. âLet Falke go.â
<a 3D model is projected. A low-poly humanoid in shadow with the same eyes as Falke.>
<for a second, another is visible, an armoured, winged humanoid. One Sol may recognize. The 3D model associated with Project: Summer Sun. A sapient AI system created by HYDRA's German Branch to infiltrate computer systems, harvest data and kill targets by means of causing technological failures in things like pacemakers, carbon monoxide detectors, etc. Sol may, or may not have even worked with it in his own time at HYDRA, seeing as instances of it were pretty much everywhere in the world at a point in time.>
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
They frown. That reminds them far too much of HYDRA. âCan we do anything to get them out of control of your implants? So they canât shut them off or overload them but theyâll still work? Or should we try to get you new implants, ones that wonât potentially kill you?â
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
They frown. That reminds them far too much of HYDRA. âCan we do anything to get them out of control of your implants? So they canât shut them off or overload them but theyâll still work? Or should we try to get you new implants, ones that wonât potentially kill you?â
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
They raise their eyebrows at the sudden movement, then get a bit closer to Falke so they can hear what she decides to say. âYou can tell me. Iâve been in similar situations. I can help.â They whisper to her.
"...on a good day, it'd probably just shut my implants off...including the ones that control my wings...and my enhanced vision...which'd mean I'd...not be able to get around...or see..."
"And on a bad day?"
"...It could...it could use make my implants send all of the electricity in them directly into my brain...give me a seizure, or worse..."
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
They sigh in relief upon realizing thereâs no others, then turns back to the two. âThe Overseer?â They frown. That sounds like the Superiors from HYDRA. âWhat would they do to you for just talking to someone?â They know all about what Superiors can do for that. But they want to know specifically what.
<Falke froze up, going quiet, The Funnel-weaver grabbed a cloth by means of ripping a curtain and wrapped it, carefully but tight, around her neck, specifically around the glowing dot below the skin.>
"Wha-"
"It'll block the microphone, assuming ya whisper."
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
âAh. I left the organization that created me a few years ago, as well.â It murmurs in response.
Its eyes narrow. It definitely noticed the almost matching marks on their necks. Probably a symbol of the Lumos Corporation. It quickly scans the people below them for similar marks. It would be a good idea to map out potential enemies.
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
They tilt their head to the side. âI am the Winter Solstice. They just call me Sol or Winter for short⊠You with this âLumos Corporationâ too?â Their eyes narrow. This Lumos Corporation sounds like HYDRA, to them, from how Falke talked about them.
<As he says this, Sol might notice that he has a distinct scar on the left side of his neck. His hoodie hides a lot of it, but the circuit-board pattern of charred black lines still creeps into view.>
<Notably, Falke has an orange glow below the skin of the very same side of her neck.>
Winter was, understandably, pissed. Unfortunately, theyâd been invited to some stupid gala, with stupid rich people, and stupid fellow vigilantes. Well, as far as they could tell. They hadnât seen any of their friends or allies, yet, so, pissed it is.
And, to make things worse, they couldnât bring Everest along with them, only adding to their unease and anxiety at being here. Because Everest wasnât âgood for missionsâ or âa spy dogâ. Damn their dedication to their missions, they shouldâve brought their pup.
They were dressed far too fancy and inconvenient, were they to get into a fight. It always ended in a fight, after all, and they were sure tonight wouldnât be different. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and all.
But back to their outfit; they were wearing a black blazer with a dark red undershirt. They also had gloves on to hide the metal of their hands, though this wasnât anywhere out of the ordinary. They were just happy they didnât have to wear a dress, like Hydra occasionally had them wear when they went undercover at similar fancy outings. Blegh.
They look around at the party and guests for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, and finally lock in on one particular guest. They looked interesting/familiar. They slowly made their way over.
<Amongst the protection detail, a girl, around 18, with large, metallic wings holding a compound bow skulked, having settled atop the rafters and traveling just above the normal security.>
Sol wasnât entirely sure why they were staying here. They should have just shown up for a short time, then left.
Then, they notice something, eyes narrowing at the figure they could barely catch in the rafters. They glance around at the fellow party-goers, checking if anyone else noticed. They walk to a corner, looking upwards. How are they going to get up to the stranger? Theyâll wait to see if the figure will come down to the main floor, or make the first move. For now, theyâll wait and listen and watch.
âWhoâs your target?â They ask, moving closer to her and glancing down at the people below occasionally. Theyâre watching her fingers closely, too, so they can try and stop her when it seems like sheâs about to fire.
âWhich company do you work for? And whoâs the target?â Their eyes narrow at her. They really hope they arenât going to have to fight a HYDRA agent. Especially not in a suit and dress shoes.
âLumos corporationâŠâ they frown. âI donât believe Iâve ever heard of you⊠then whom are you planning to shoot?â They nod towards the bow.
Frowns. That sounds suspicious. âAre you forced to be with them?â That sounds like HYDRA. They frown at the arrow. âA living asset?⊠if Lumos Corporation is harming them-â or you. â-I canât let them take the asset back.â
âOh.â They donât fully get it, but the last description gives them enough information. âThat makes me more concerned, actually.â Theyâll look into it, see about taking out the organization if they find anything too shady.
<Suddenly, a thud, as someone else drops down onto the rafters from the roof, a boy, around 5'7, wearing a yellow-brown hoodie with a spider drawn in black spray painted on the front and black seams for web designs, a pair of black, slightly ripped jeans and a brown-black gas mask. He speaks>
"Hiya, Falke."
<The girl, whose name is. Apparently Falke, seems annoyed.>
Their hand grips the rafters to stop themself from lunging at a sudden, new potential enemy. They settle for simply narrowing their eyes at the boy. Another one. That would make it difficult if they did end up needing to fight them.
âWho are you?â They ask, raising an eyebrow at him. They glance at âFalkeâ. At least they know her name, now. That could be useful information later.
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