John slumped back in his seat with an exhausted sigh. Dark bags hung below his eyes, his shoulders taut with tension and stress. Before him stretched a large dark-wood desk, its surface scattered with classified documents, reports, and dossiers from the National Security Council and every corner of the government besides. A cold cup of coffee and a plate of half-eaten cookies joined the ever-growing piles of notes nearest his seat.
For a moment, he looked around at his current -- and hopefully temporary -- office. The space was far more stark and practical than his usual space, home to only his desk and a few cushioned chairs. It certainly didn't have the decorations and adornments he'd become used to over the past year. But the worst part about it was the lack of windows.
It made the place absolutely stifling, but that was understandable. Windows wouldn't do any good here, anyway. Not underground.
John let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. He needed rest. They all needed rest. But unfortunately, any reprieve proved impossible to find. Each passing moment seemed to relish in presenting a new bouquet of issues and ever-evolving disasters that required his immediate attention. And it didn't seem like that would let up any time soon.
No, rest wouldn't come for a long time yet. Maybe ever.
His head jerked up as a knock sounded at the door. John barely stifled a groan. Something else urgent had come up, it seemed. Something that couldn't wait the five minutes of break time he'd allotted himself between all-hands meetings.
At a nod to the secret service agent standing guard, the door swung open with a soft click. An older man sporting a buzz cut and a dark green dress uniform stepped inside. A nametag above his left breast pocket read "MATTHEWS" in large letters, while his right pocket sported a veritable wall of multicolored ribbons. Stars across his shoulders identified the man by his rank, even as a tag floating above his head read Army General (Lvl 9).
The man came to stand before John's desk and snapped a smart salute. "Mr. President."
John sighed and waved a hand. "At ease, General. Tell me you have some good news for me."
"I'm afraid not sir. Though... I'm not sure if it's bad news, either."
John rubbed a hand across his face. His salt-and-pepper hair had taken on a few more handfuls of salt over the past couple of days -- an impressive feat, all things considered. It seemed impossible that the follicles could lose their pigment that fast, but there had been a lot of impossible things happening lately. If anything, it was strange for him to be focusing on something so mundane.
Regardless, John grimaced and gave Matthews a nod. "Report."
"Sir, we've received reports of seismic activity in Texas."
John frowned. "An earthquake? General, we've got holes opening in reality, people gaining superpowers, proof that aliens exist, and men on the ground fighting literal demons, and you came to tell me about a damn earthquake?"
The General nodded. "Not an earthquake exactly, sir, but yes."
"Do you have that much time on your hands to bother with this shit, Matthews? Because I sure as hell don't."
"I do not, sir."
John rubbed his temples. The General was a lot of things, but incompetent wasn't one of them. Whatever the matter was, it had to be significant. It better be.
He waved the man on. "Continue."
"Very well, sir." The General cleared his throat. "No more than two hours ago, a magnitude 3.5 seismic wave was recorded in East Texas, just north of Dallas. It was short, but lasted long enough for us to be certain it was no accident."
John's gaze turned withering as his patience thinned. "3.5? That's barely an earthquake at all, General. You can hardly feel anything under 4. I should know, I grew up with the damn things."
"That's true, sir." The General agreed. "However, this is in East Texas. The area isn't known for its earthquakes. What's more, it was highly localized, far more than usual. But the most worrying part is this."
The General stepped forward, placing a sheaf of papers atop the others on the desk and sliding them toward John. The president glanced down, skimming the front page contents.
"This is a dossier on the flying ships that have come out of the portals -- specifically, the ones in Dallas." General Matthews tapped on a zoomed-in map of the city and its surrounding area, indicating the lines radiating out from it. "The ones in red are confirmed downs by our people. The ones in blue are being tracked but still airborne."
John grimaced at the visual. There were far too few red lines there. And far too many blue ones. Still, his gaze lingered on the odd one out. "And the yellow one?"
"That one was downed, but not by us."
John blinked. "What do you mean, 'not by us?' Who did it then?"
"That's what I'd like to know, as well." The General's face turned grim. "However, our sensors indicate that it went down around two hours ago."
Two hours... John straightened, his eyes flicking to General Matthews. "And its location?"
"Right near the location of the seismic activity, sir." The General confirmed. "The timing and location are nearly exact matches."
The president leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table thoughtfully. It seemed like too much to be a mere coincidence. And that might mean there was something out there not only capable of taking down those blasted ships, but that could also cause a damn earthquake. A small one, sure, but that didn't mean it wasn't terrifying. Maybe the latter part was incidental, but the idea of some foreign element with that kind of power remaining anonymous... they had enough worries without this hanging over them.
"Launch an investigation. We need to find out what took down that ship."
"I agree." General Matthews nodded. "I'll put my people on it. However, we have little enough manpower--"
"I know. Find whoever you can spare." John interrupted. "I don't care who, but we need to find out who they are and whether they're friendly. If they are, they could be a crucial asset in this war. If not..." He paused. "Then we need to neutralize them before it's too late. You are dismissed."
"Sir."
The General snapped another straight-backed salute before heading for the door. As it clicked shut, John slumped back in his seat once more. He passed a tired hand over his face and pushed the matter to the back of his mind. There was enough on his plate across the rest of the country, not to mention their overseas allies. He'd have to trust the General to do his job.
As he stood to prepare for his next meeting, John gave a rueful smile. Maybe the investigation would turn up something. Maybe something would go right for once. At this point, he'd take all the help he could get.
***
Chad blinked blearily, struggling to stay conscious. His efforts were helped somewhat by the dull pain of Annie pressing on his wounds with far too much force.
"A-Annie..."
"What?" The masseuse asked with concern.
"Can you... maybe ease up... a bit?"
"Oh! Er, sorry." She flinched back, then passed the now blood-soaked piece of cloth to her other hand. She began applying pressure to his wounds once again with far more moderation.
"Thanks..." Chad wheezed, taking in his condition. His left arm was in bad shape. Besides the already broken knuckles and the needle still stuck in it, he also had a worrying stab wound in his shoulder from that lizard man. Not to mention the shallower cuts across his left arm and leg. All of that was on top of the injuries he'd already sustained.
Yeah. I think... I'm pretty hurt. Ouch.
Annie called back over her shoulder. "Any medics around?! Chad needs help!"
A man jogged over, skidding onto the ground beside them. Chad noticed his EMT (Lvl 9) tag as the man touched his more profusely bleeding wounds. A green light emanated from his hands as Chad felt a sensation like cool water ripple through him. The darkness at the edges of his vision receded somewhat.
"Thanks." He wheezed as the EMT checked him over.
"No problem." The man clicked his tongue as he accidentally crushed a roll of bandages in his right arm's grip. "I'll get him wrapped up, then we need to get you to a hospital. I dunno how much I can do, here. These skills are nice, but I can't fix everything just like that."
After a few more minutes, the group finally allowed themselves to relax more fully. People collapsed against fallen tree trunks and uprooted stumps with groans of relief and pain alike.
Chad laid his head back, wincing slightly as the man prodded at his injuries. Glancing upward, he saw Squawkers sitting on one of the branches above his head. The bird extended its asymmetrical wings and dove forward, flying toward Chad. However, instead of a graceful glide, all Squawkers managed was a frantic corkscrew toward the ground.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH HELPHELPHELP--"
The psychic scream nearly sent Chad's ears ringing. Annie darted forward to catch the bird in her arms, holding him gently.
"Hah... T-thanks..." Squawkers croaked.
"No problem, Squawk." The masseuse carefully lifted him to her shoulder as she headed back toward Chad.
"Damn, Squawk." He chuckled as the EMT wrapped bandages around his wounds. "You been working out?"
"This isn't funny, Chad!" The bird flapped angrily, just managing to keep his balance as the stronger wing threatened to send him sideways. "What did you do?!"
"Hey, no need to be so aggressive! I was just trying to help!" He said reproachfully. "I got a skill that let me buff everyone's strength and constitution. It, uh, didn't really work how I expected, though..."
"You think?!" The Squawkers extended his wing once again. "The hell am I supposed to fly with this thing!"
Annie nodded in agreement, wincing. "Yeah. It really threw me off, too. Not to mention, this thing hurts. Chad, how do you live like this?"
He shrugged sheepishly. "It's really not so bad once you get used to it."
"Bullshit." Squawkers harumphed. "What skill even is it, anyway? How did you pick something so awful?"
"Rallying Cry. Here..." As Chad read off the description, Annie frowned.
"Five minutes?!" Her expression turned pained. "We gotta deal with damn hulk-arms for five minutes?!"
"Hey, I'm not gonna apologize for picking it." Chad squared his shoulders. "I wanted to protect people. That seemed like the best option to do it. How am I supposed to pass up more constitution for everyone else?"
Annie and Squawkers both looked at him. Their expressions turned considering as they mulled over his statement.
"I guess..." Squawkers seemed to calm down slightly. "You have a point. I can't really blame you for that one. Besides, I dunno if we could've predicted this..."
"Exactly," Chad readily agreed. "Besides, the other options kinda sucked. I mean, Blink was kinda--"
"Wait, you passed up Blink for this?!" Just like that, Squawkers was irate again. "How?! Why?! It's the best skill ever!"
"I mean, I just didn't really think it would work for me." The arm wrestler shrugged. "I did think about it, but..."
"Oh, come on! Is it an intelligence thing?" The parrot pressed. "Even if your intelligence is only sixteen, that's still eight feet of teleporting! Eight! That's totally worth it!"
"Er, yeah, but..." His grin turned a little forced. "Still..."
"Actually..." Annie pursed her lips. "What is your intelligence stat, Chad?"
Uh... shit.
Before Chad had to respond though, he was saved by a shout from elsewhere in the clearing. "Could I get some help? I feel like I'm gonna slip a disk, here!"
"My shoulder is killing me!"
Groans rose up from all around as people struggled with their strained muscles. Annie sighed and cracked her knuckles. "Well. Guess I got nothin' better to do, then. Stay here and watch Chad, Squawk."
"What are you gonna do?" Chad questioned.
"What do you think?" She called back over her shoulder, fingers flexing. "Someone's gotta take care of y'all!"
John slumped back in his seat with an exhausted sigh. Dark bags hung below his eyes, his shoulders taut with tension and stress. Before him stretched a large dark-wood desk, its surface scattered with classified documents, reports, and dossiers from the National Security Council and every corner of the government besides. A cold cup of coffee and a plate of half-eaten cookies joined the ever-growing piles of notes nearest his seat.
For a moment, he looked around at his current -- and hopefully temporary -- office. The space was far more stark and practical than his usual space, home to only his desk and a few cushioned chairs. It certainly didn't have the decorations and adornments he'd become used to over the past year. But the worst part about it was the lack of windows.
It made the place absolutely stifling, but that was understandable. Windows wouldn't do any good here, anyway. Not underground.
John let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. He needed rest. They all needed rest. But unfortunately, any reprieve proved impossible to find. Each passing moment seemed to relish in presenting a new bouquet of issues and ever-evolving disasters that required his immediate attention. And it didn't seem like that would let up any time soon.
No, rest wouldn't come for a long time yet. Maybe ever.
His head jerked up as a knock sounded at the door. John barely stifled a groan. Something else urgent had come up, it seemed. Something that couldn't wait the five minutes of break time he'd allotted himself between all-hands meetings.
At a nod to the secret service agent standing guard, the door swung open with a soft click. An older man sporting a buzz cut and a dark green dress uniform stepped inside. A nametag above his left breast pocket read "MATTHEWS" in large letters, while his right pocket sported a veritable wall of multicolored ribbons. Stars across his shoulders identified the man by his rank, even as a tag floating above his head read Army General (Lvl 9).
The man came to stand before John's desk and snapped a smart salute. "Mr. President."
John sighed and waved a hand. "At ease, General. Tell me you have some good news for me."
"I'm afraid not sir. Though... I'm not sure if it's bad news, either."
John rubbed a hand across his face. His salt-and-pepper hair had taken on a few more handfuls of salt over the past couple of days -- an impressive feat, all things considered. It seemed impossible that the follicles could lose their pigment that fast, but there had been a lot of impossible things happening lately. If anything, it was strange for him to be focusing on something so mundane.
Regardless, John grimaced and gave Matthews a nod. "Report."
"Sir, we've received reports of seismic activity in Texas."
John frowned. "An earthquake? General, we've got holes opening in reality, people gaining superpowers, proof that aliens exist, and men on the ground fighting literal demons, and you came to tell me about a damn earthquake?"
The General nodded. "Not an earthquake exactly, sir, but yes."
"Do you have that much time on your hands to bother with this shit, Matthews? Because I sure as hell don't."
"I do not, sir."
John rubbed his temples. The General was a lot of things, but incompetent wasn't one of them. Whatever the matter was, it had to be significant. It better be.
He waved the man on. "Continue."
"Very well, sir." The General cleared his throat. "No more than two hours ago, a magnitude 3.5 seismic wave was recorded in East Texas, just north of Dallas. It was short, but lasted long enough for us to be certain it was no accident."
John's gaze turned withering as his patience thinned. "3.5? That's barely an earthquake at all, General. You can hardly feel anything under 4. I should know, I grew up with the damn things."
"That's true, sir." The General agreed. "However, this is in East Texas. The area isn't known for its earthquakes. What's more, it was highly localized, far more than usual. But the most worrying part is this."
The General stepped forward, placing a sheaf of papers atop the others on the desk and sliding them toward John. The president glanced down, skimming the front page contents.
"This is a dossier on the flying ships that have come out of the portals -- specifically, the ones in Dallas." General Matthews tapped on a zoomed-in map of the city and its surrounding area, indicating the lines radiating out from it. "The ones in red are confirmed downs by our people. The ones in blue are being tracked but still airborne."
John grimaced at the visual. There were far too few red lines there. And far too many blue ones. Still, his gaze lingered on the odd one out. "And the yellow one?"
"That one was downed, but not by us."
John blinked. "What do you mean, 'not by us?' Who did it then?"
"That's what I'd like to know, as well." The General's face turned grim. "However, our sensors indicate that it went down around two hours ago."
Two hours... John straightened, his eyes flicking to General Matthews. "And its location?"
"Right near the location of the seismic activity, sir." The General confirmed. "The timing and location are nearly exact matches."
The president leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table thoughtfully. It seemed like too much to be a mere coincidence. And that might mean there was something out there not only capable of taking down those blasted ships, but that could also cause a damn earthquake. A small one, sure, but that didn't mean it wasn't terrifying. Maybe the latter part was incidental, but the idea of some foreign element with that kind of power remaining anonymous... they had enough worries without this hanging over them.
"Launch an investigation. We need to find out what took down that ship."
"I agree." General Matthews nodded. "I'll put my people on it. However, we have little enough manpower--"
"I know. Find whoever you can spare." John interrupted. "I don't care who, but we need to find out who they are and whether they're friendly. If they are, they could be a crucial asset in this war. If not..." He paused. "Then we need to neutralize them before it's too late. You are dismissed."
"Sir."
The General snapped another straight-backed salute before heading for the door. As it clicked shut, John slumped back in his seat once more. He passed a tired hand over his face and pushed the matter to the back of his mind. There was enough on his plate across the rest of the country, not to mention their overseas allies. He'd have to trust the General to do his job.
As he stood to prepare for his next meeting, John gave a rueful smile. Maybe the investigation would turn up something. Maybe something would go right for once. At this point, he'd take all the help he could get.
***
Chad blinked blearily, struggling to stay conscious. His efforts were helped somewhat by the dull pain of Annie pressing on his wounds with far too much force.
"A-Annie..."
"What?" The masseuse asked with concern.
"Can you... maybe ease up... a bit?"
"Oh! Er, sorry." She flinched back, then passed the now blood-soaked piece of cloth to her other hand. She began applying pressure to his wounds once again with far more moderation.
"Thanks..." Chad wheezed, taking in his condition. His left arm was in bad shape. Besides the already broken knuckles and the needle still stuck in it, he also had a worrying stab wound in his shoulder from that lizard man. Not to mention the shallower cuts across his left arm and leg. All of that was on top of the injuries he'd already sustained.
Yeah. I think... I'm pretty hurt. Ouch.
Annie called back over her shoulder. "Any medics around?! Chad needs help!"
A man jogged over, skidding onto the ground beside them. Chad noticed his EMT (Lvl 9) tag as the man touched his more profusely bleeding wounds. A green light emanated from his hands as Chad felt a sensation like cool water ripple through him. The darkness at the edges of his vision receded somewhat.
"Thanks." He wheezed as the EMT checked him over.
"No problem." The man clicked his tongue as he accidentally crushed a roll of bandages in his right arm's grip. "I'll get him wrapped up, then we need to get you to a hospital. I dunno how much I can do, here. These skills are nice, but I can't fix everything just like that."
After a few more minutes, the group finally allowed themselves to relax more fully. People collapsed against fallen tree trunks and uprooted stumps with groans of relief and pain alike.
Chad laid his head back, wincing slightly as the man prodded at his injuries. Glancing upward, he saw Squawkers sitting on one of the branches above his head. The bird extended its asymmetrical wings and dove forward, flying toward Chad. However, instead of a graceful glide, all Squawkers managed was a frantic corkscrew toward the ground.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH HELPHELPHELP--"
The psychic scream nearly sent Chad's ears ringing. Annie darted forward to catch the bird in her arms, holding him gently.
"Hah... T-thanks..." Squawkers croaked.
"No problem, Squawk." The masseuse carefully lifted him to her shoulder as she headed back toward Chad.
"Damn, Squawk." He chuckled as the EMT wrapped bandages around his wounds. "You been working out?"
"This isn't funny, Chad!" The bird flapped angrily, just managing to keep his balance as the stronger wing threatened to send him sideways. "What did you do?!"
"Hey, no need to be so aggressive! I was just trying to help!" He said reproachfully. "I got a skill that let me buff everyone's strength and constitution. It, uh, didn't really work how I expected, though..."
"You think?!" The Squawkers extended his wing once again. "The hell am I supposed to fly with this thing!"
Annie nodded in agreement, wincing. "Yeah. It really threw me off, too. Not to mention, this thing hurts. Chad, how do you live like this?"
He shrugged sheepishly. "It's really not so bad once you get used to it."
"Bullshit." Squawkers harumphed. "What skill even is it, anyway? How did you pick something so awful?"
"Rallying Cry. Here..." As Chad read off the description, Annie frowned.
"Five minutes?!" Her expression turned pained. "We gotta deal with damn hulk-arms for five minutes?!"
"Hey, I'm not gonna apologize for picking it." Chad squared his shoulders. "I wanted to protect people. That seemed like the best option to do it. How am I supposed to pass up more constitution for everyone else?"
Annie and Squawkers both looked at him. Their expressions turned considering as they mulled over his statement.
"I guess..." Squawkers seemed to calm down slightly. "You have a point. I can't really blame you for that one. Besides, I dunno if we could've predicted this..."
"Exactly," Chad readily agreed. "Besides, the other options kinda sucked. I mean, Blink was kinda--"
"Wait, you passed up Blink for this?!" Just like that, Squawkers was irate again. "How?! Why?! It's the best skill ever!"
"I mean, I just didn't really think it would work for me." The arm wrestler shrugged. "I did think about it, but..."
"Oh, come on! Is it an intelligence thing?" The parrot pressed. "Even if your intelligence is only sixteen, that's still eight feet of teleporting! Eight! That's totally worth it!"
"Er, yeah, but..." His grin turned a little forced. "Still..."
"Actually..." Annie pursed her lips. "What is your intelligence stat, Chad?"
Uh... shit.
Before Chad had to respond though, he was saved by a shout from elsewhere in the clearing. "Could I get some help? I feel like I'm gonna slip a disk, here!"
"My shoulder is killing me!"
Groans rose up from all around as people struggled with their strained muscles. Annie sighed and cracked her knuckles. "Well. Guess I got nothin' better to do, then. Stay here and watch Chad, Squawk."
"What are you gonna do?" Chad questioned.
"What do you think?" She called back over her shoulder, fingers flexing. "Someone's gotta take care of y'all!"
