Mar. 21st, 2017

Singapore

Mar. 21st, 2017 08:11 am
planetaryguide: (Jenny Quantum)
[personal profile] planetaryguide
Jenny Quantum was born in Singapore, and knows its streets and alleys on a subatomic level. She can feel the city's pulse and flow in her blood, even when she's away. It's why she always returns here, when all of the universe is theoretically open to her. Singapore is home. It's where she feels safe. which for all her power is a feeling that comes seldom.

But now she's being chased through the alleys by a dozen or so identical looking men. She knows who they are, of course, but can't believe they'd pursue her here.  "What were they thinking?" she muses to herself, and then turns and scatters them with an explosion of energy. She doesn't want to hurt them. Not really. Even at her young age, she's seen enough death to be tired of it. But she won't let them hurt her, anyway.

Her pursuers delayed, she turns again and runs. Again, she tries to summon a door, and again, it doesn't come.

That's when the sonic attack hits, throwing her off her guard. And that's when the arrow tip grazes her arm, and she can feel the paralytic, interfering with her ability to access her powers. She can feel them in the shadows, closing in on her.

She won't die here. She knows that. But there are fates worse than death, and the Spirit of the 21st Century falling into their hands is one of them.  
planetaryguide: (Mystery Archaeology)
[personal profile] planetaryguide
  It's a gorgeous Southern California day in Sunnyville: the sun is shining, music's blaring from cars and open windows, young people are dressed for the beach, seemingly if they're just going to school.

Whitney Winters has come to hate the sun. She sees it as just a big lie glitzing over the horror that lies beneath the world's surface. And she's seen horror.  Horror that's cost her friends, family, her very innocence, 

"Yeah, yeah," she says to herself. "Pity party, table for one." She shakes it off and shuffles to class. That annoying Valentina Cazador is playing in the hallways. "That girl is the devil," she thinks, now realizing that she's late, and doesn't even have her chemistry textbook. She sighs, and doubles back to her locker. 

No sooner has she pulled the book from the locker, though, then she realizes that the hallways has been blocked by a wall of ice. 

"Miss Winters," says a pale white man with a sort of Jack Frost motif costume, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I need you to come with us."

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