here comes the sun

[solarcharged]

WHO: apollo & you
WHERE: the project helios facility / a handwavey safehouse
WHEN: before the 14th, on the 14th, and after the 14th January
WHAT: Pre, during, and after the rebels bring a sundad back to life
WARNINGS: none so far

PROJECT HELIOS was formed in 2018 and is tasked with studying, retro-enineering, and radically applying the photonic powers of THE ALPHA SUBJECT to create an elite task force of loyalist metahuman heroes with synthetic solar abilities, including PHOTON MANIPULATION, SOLAR FLARES, FLIGHT, INCREASED DURABILITY and INCREASED STRENGTH. There has been limited success so far, with only 29 test subjects able to control the storage of thermobaric energy without suffering immediate spontaneous combustion on exposure to sunlight. A secondary study has been tasked with exploring the potential of developing photonic immunity using biological matter from the Alpha Subject.

The few successful Helios superheroes are highly unstable and continue to require training before being released into the field, but the need to keep the Alpha Subject's as source material will likely become negligible in the next two to three weeks.

??|??|20??: BEFORE THE DAWN OPEN TO FELLOW PRISONERS / SCIENTISTS / GUARDS / PRO-GOV METAS

[ Apollo lost track of the days long ago. Without the rise and fall of the sun to chart his day, the sun king is adrift in darkness. The single, sickly fluorescent strip that lights his cell is a mockery of the life-giving sunlight he so desperately needs; Apollo is sick and wasting away, bony and shedding silver strands of hair over the concrete of his cell floor. It's been a long, cold, lonely two years.

People come and go through the armour-plated door of his cell, passing beneath the eye of the security camera. The window - the only window in his cell - looks out onto another dark corridor, where Apollo knows a whole scientific facility must lie. He ignores it mostly, except for the few familiar faces that he's come to recognise. Guards. Scientists. Even fellow metas. Apollo greets them all with the same dead-eyed apathy, silent and furiously helpless. ]

01|14|2020: EXTRACTION OPEN TO ALL

[ choose your own adventure:

if you're a rebel | using information leaked to you by the (dubiously) lovely Victor Vale, feel free to join your rebel comrades in raiding the compound, trashing all the bad science Project Helios has lying around, and maybe battle against some Project Helios experimentees while you're at it. The Project Helios experiments were once metahumans just like you, until they were brainwashed into agreeing (or just straight up forced) to become test subjects for Helios power upgrades. Most of these poor bastards are untrained, unstable, and have no idea how to use their new-found solar powers, making them both explosively deadly and unpredictable. Some may give up the fight pretty quickly if reasoned with, others will fight to the (firey) death. Wanna help rescue poor sundad? You'll have to carve your way through level after level of Bad Guys, but you will get the eternal gratitude of one (1) very very angry walking thermobaric warhead for your troubles.
if you're pro-government | gather up a team of NPC Project Helios test subjects and fight everyone else! Your Project Helios posse are the worst superheroes and just as likely to blow themselves up as the enemy, so good luck my dudes.
if you wanna play a (mostly functional/successful) Project Helios test subject | A fun third option! Your character could have been one of the more successful Project Helios test subjects, so have fun with your newfound solar powers and try not to spontaneously combust. ]

01|15|2020: SUNRISE OPEN TO REBELS & ALLIES

[ Apollo doubts that anything will be 'normal' again, but this - this could be close. The feeling of sunlight on his skin as he sprawls on the safehouse roof, far away from that cold (and mostly exploded, now) underground facility that had been home to Project Helios. The slow trickle of warmth through his veins, flooding every fibre of his being with the raw power he has been wasting away without, is an impossibly wonderful feeling after two years of darkness. How safe this safehouse is remains to be seen but here and now, feeling the slow creep of the sun beyond the horizon and the way he can feel himself come alive again, Apollo knows this is enough.

(In two hours time, when he's finally recharged his solar powers, he knows it won't be enough. When Apollo regathers the energy to get angry about this - about everything - nothing will ever be enough again.) ]

Comments

sunrise;

[strikesthrough]

[No rest for the wicked may be a turn of phrase that Victor has interalised on several levels, but he recognises the need for others (especially the less-wicked) to recharge. In Apollo's case, apparently, this is a literal state of affairs.

Apollo's extraction had been a high-risk endeavor; many moving parts, significant risk of loss, casualties unavoidable. And yet it was worth it. It needs to be worth it. Victor is already confident the price paid would be enough, the excitable energy crackling beneath his skin is all the proof of potential he needs for himself.

It takes a tremendous amount of willpower to give space for reunions, for them to reach safe ground, and to provide Apollo with room to soak in some sunlight. But for all the patience Victor can manage when he puts his mind to it, he's waited long enough.

Stepping out into the early morning light like a long creeping shadow, Victor tilts his head toward the roof before projecting his 'greeting' upward.]

I think it's time we talked, don't you?

[thermobaric]

[ With sunlight comes Apollo's powers, and with his powers comes the slow return of his senses. Apollo realises he can actually hear Victor approach now, those slow, confident footsteps as he steps out within hailing distance. Apollo smiles to himself, his face still turned to the slowly rising sun with his eyes half-shut in a grim approximation of a blissful expression.

Time we talked. Apollo nearly laughs at that. The two years spent in his cell hadn't afforded him many people to talk to, and those he did talk to weren't all that interested in hearing what Apollo had to say. ]

I'm not much of a conversationalist these days, [ He replies hoarsely, finally opening his eyes to squint, gaunt-faced and pale, down at Victor. ] Fair warning.

[strikesthrough]

[For all Victor's dubious qualities and obvious faults, he's hardly going to judge someone who has been in solitary for two years on their relative banter skills. He understands more than most, and he's been there before himself. This is as close to sympathetic as Victor gets, as he offers a slight wave of his hand.]

Consider me warned. In which case, I'll talk and only expect answers to specific questions and will try and ask things that require minimal response; general commentary is entirely optional. Sound acceptable so far? [He offers a sharp, teasing smirk, an wolf amused by his own sense of humour.] Blink once for yes, twice for no.

[thermobaric]

[ He almost considering blinking in lieu of an actual reply, just to play along with the joke. But Apollo's sense of humour isn't quite what it used to be. He shakes his head. ]

It's okay. [ He shuffles to the edge of the roof and lets himself drop heavily to the floor; it's not a graceful descent, far from it, but Apollo at least manages to land on his feet. He straightens stiffly and affords Victor a watery smile in response to that wolfish smirk. ]

I think a conversation is the least I can do for you, all things considered.

[ And besides, he'd be lying if he said he didn't have a million and one questions to ask in return. ]

sunrise;

[heliophilic]

[He was taken to this place for a reason. That's usually the case--they want him to go somewhere, so he goes. They aren't unkind--they always tell him, but he never remembers. They want him there, so he goes. One of them nudges him outside, despite it being early in the morning and there doesn't seem to be anyone outside. They ask, so he goes.

He blinks once, twice as he stands out in the daylight, the morning sun too close to the horizon to cause him to have to shade his eyes. One of them points up. He looks. There's a man there, for some reason, asleep. No... not asleep. The man was definitely awake. He looked..... thin. Pale. As if he'd been.... been... A small shake of his head as the thought passes.

There's a man on the roof. Asleep. No... not asleep. Another blink, and something in his misfiring implants tells him something useful. He knows that man. No matter how thin, no matter how pale, no matter how long the hair has grown... That man. He knows him.]

A...pollo.

[Yes. Apollo. Like the sun. That was important.]

[thermobaric]

[ Apollo could sleep. The power that seeps through his body is slow to stir; he feels lethargic, hazy, and definitely in need of a few hundred years of rest. But the way his muscles warm beneath the sunlight is pleasant enough; he could nap, here on the roof, and forget that the world will be out hunting for the escaped sun king. Maybe they'd find him here, sunbathing beneath the morning sunrise.

He hadn't thought that Midnighter would find him, though. He'd known distantly - in the chaotic fog of last night's escape - that M was there, fighting somewhere. It hadn't been the time for reunions, not when they were fighting for their lives (or perhaps that really would have been the perfect place for reunions - these kinds of things rarely go like they do in the movies). At the faltering murmur of his name Apollo feels the word like a clarion call. His heart leaps in a way that a thousand suns couldn't recreate; ignoring the way his muscles scream he struggles stiffly to his feet and drops from the roof, too heavy and too graceless, and only just lands without falling on his face. He doesn't care. The sun will work out the pains and aches from his body later. Right now he needs to see Midnighter --

Except he pauses, holding himself still and stiff as he studies the man in front of him. Things have changed, Midnigher has changed. Apollo reaches out a hand, palm upraised, offering it hopefully with his heart in his mouth. ]

It's me, [ He says hoarsely. Apollo knows he doesn't look his best but he gives M the closest thing to a smile that he can muster, all cracked lips and hollowed cheeks. ] I'm back.

[heliophilic]

[At first, all he can do is stare at it, waiting for the little motion that usually accompanies that hand motion from someone not trying to kill him. It doesn't come. How strange, that this man--Apollo, something inside him reminds him, stronger than most things the inside voice tells him these days--is not doing what he should.

After a moment, his head cocks to the side. The man--APOLLO, screamed the inside voice--wants something from him. The tender way he speaks and the way he looks at him... Even broken, he can see that much.

What did he have to offer? He's barely a person these days. They have to tell him what to do. It too hard to think... So much easier to just do what they tell him to do. But no one is telling him what to do now.

Why isn't this man making the little motion with his hand? Why is it just stretched out to him?

Why isn't someone telling him what he needs to do?]

Welcome back. [That was what they said when people said "I'm back." He's proud of himself for remembering.] Did you kill people?

[A new urge overcomes him, one he cannot place, so he fights it. He wishes to wrap his arms around Apollo and press his forehead into a bony shoulder. But that would hurt Apollo, and the inside voice tells him this Apollo is special.

So he does not.]

[thermobaric]

Yeah. [ Apollo doesn't bother to mitigate that simple statement with 'I killed bad people' or even 'I killed the bad people to stop them making others like me and you'. It had always been a thing with Midnighter, to stop evil bastards with bad science from making other monsters just like him. Apollo's not sure how much of that M remembers now, so he simply nods. ] A lot of people.

[ There's something wrong with M now, or so he's been told. Apollo doesn't know how much of the man he loves remains or what kind of man he is now. Perhaps he just needs time. But still he keeps his hand outstretched and waits for M to remember - or decide - what to do next. He straightens out his thin fingers a fraction more, both inviting and hesitant, and chooses his words carefully: ]

Will you give me your hand?

[ It's not an order. Apollo's very, very clear about that. ]

before the dawn;

[xmarksthescott]

[ the door opens, and even the hallway preceding him is dark. no light at all, but he was afforded an exception. the visor glows red and grows as he approaches, and he finds a chair easily in the center of the room. ]

Morning, Apollo. Though I guess time doesn't mean much in here, does it.

[thermobaric]

[ Apollo's been curious for a while now about that visor, wondering idly what must lie behind it. He knows factually that those laser blasts are devastating - he'd known about Scott's powers before landing himself in this cell - and there's no way he'd be able to stand up to them in his current state. But call it a professional curiosity, from one guy-with-laser-canons-for-eyes to another. They'd fought on the same side for a while after all; he can afford the Basilisk a moment of conversation, seeing as he's so keen to talk.

Not that Apollo affords him the benefit of sitting up from his bed. Or even opening his eyes. He lies in his cot, head curled into the crook of his elbow, facing the wall. ]

Is it? [ He asks the wall in a murmur of something that sounds a little like wistfulness. ] The morning?

[ He misses those. ]

[xmarksthescott]

Technically. 5 am. Before the morning hunts. Sun's about to rise.

[ there's some part deep within him that feels sadness for him, though the feeling is confusing and unfamiliar these days. he doesn't know what it means. sometimes, he'll get images of strangers faces in his head. their eyes are different there; alive, happy. unlike the empty gaze of their lifeless bodies that he remembers from past hunts. shame and anger has become strange to him too, replaced only with compulsion to follow. ]

Stand up for a minute.

[thermobaric]

[ The morning hunts. Even with his face to the wall Apollo can't help a reflexive lip curl of revulsion at those few choice words. Hunts. Hunting his people - their people. ]

They really have turned you into their dog, haven't they? [ He observes, lifting his head a fraction from his arms to shoot a heavy-lidded glance of weary pity over his shoulder. Which is also a 'no' on the standing up thing. ]

Before the dawn;

[photophobic]

They'd convinced him that Apollo was truly dead. Long enough ago now that his naively determined refusal to accept the loss and subsequent downfall feels like a fever dream when, in the course of his work on another interrogation entirely, he uncovers proof of the lie.

Project Helios.

He isn't surprised his masters had attempted to hide it from him, considering how attached he had once been to the man it's built around— but they're less wary about him now. He's proven his loyalty in blood and suffering, torn open the minds of more than one would-be rebel leader to pour out the contents in offering. And in return, he's been given more freedom and respect than his former allies had ever believed his due. He's been granted a level of autonomy they never would have allowed him.

He uses it now to gain access to their Alpha Subject, under the pretext of an interest in information he might hold concerning some of his more elusive compatriots in the Rebellion. Most people know to stay out of his way as he stalks down the dark corridor to Apollo's armoured cell in long, purposeful strides, where the door swings heavy on its solid hinges to let him inside, then bangs just as solidly shut. He stares at the wasting figure of the man he had once risked everything to try and reach, impassively silent behind the protection of his mask despite the fury singing through his blood.

Perhaps, in the years since they last spoke, they have both become something unrecognisable to the other.

[thermobaric]

This new visitor has caught Apollo indulging in his latest hobby: sitting very still and staring fixedly at the strip light above him. He stares at it without blinking, his eyes straining at the artificial glow until he can almost believe it might be sunlight. It's pathetic, yes, but it's not like there's anything else the skeletal sun god can do in his cell. Better to focus on that light, pretending, than think too deeply about anything else at all.

He turns his gaze to the masked man in his cell with a flicker of dead-eyed dread. This is new, which can't be a good thing. Masked. Tall. Broad. Authoritative, definitely, but who wouldn't look authoritative in that get up? No, this is definitely not going to be a good thing.

Which is why Apollo doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He just turns his gaze upwards again, back to the strip light. Back to his new hobby of pretending it might be sunlight if he focuses hard enough.

[photophobic]

They really shouldn't have let him see this, Kylo thinks. And perhaps, the fact that they hadn't until he'd forced the issue by discovering it for himself should be a cause for concern— he knows what he should see, in the miserable figure of this man he had once admired so violently shriveled and reduced to a pitiable wreck of himself. But they hadn't trusted him to look at what they've done to Apollo and see the inevitable fate any metahuman stored up for themselves with refusal to comply with the government. They hadn't believed he would understand it as the horror of powerless captivity he himself had escaped with his offered allegiance.

Perhaps, his masters haven't had as much faith in his loyalty as he needs them to, if he is to survive. Perhaps, allowing him here, now, is a test.

If it is, he already knows he's failed.

"You look well," Kylo comments, his voice twisted and distorted by the vocoder of his helmet. Somehow, the bitterness is still palpable. "For a dead man."

[thermobaric]

Apollo isn't just starved of light, down here beneath the ground. He's starved of information too. Whatever happens in the outside world - that place of sunlight and warmth - is painfully far removed from Apollo's version of reality contained within these four walls. The idea that he's dead is news to him. Nobody has deigned to tell him as much.

Not that he's surprised to hear it - it makes a bitter sort of sense, the kind that Apollo can understand and despise at the same time.

"Is that what you're telling them?" He replies in a hoarse murmur. God, the world might even believe it too. Apollo grimaces painfully at the thought. No wonder there hasn't been a rescue.

sunrise

[burlyboy]

[ It had been a big, vicious, bloody battle. Some of their foes had been taken care of quickly, if not brutally, but others had died more slowly, of wounds from flying debris, or choked out by that infernal smoke that the rebels had managed to get their hands on. At the end of the day, though, more of the other guys died than Magnus' guys, and he's happy to call that a win. After Apollo is freed, he leaves the man to his own devices, if not only to catch up with M - a broken, hollowed out version of who he used to be, but still the man that Apollo loved. Besides, Magnus had his faction of the rebellion to take care of, to patch up their wounds, to patch up his own, to make sure everyone was all right, to prepare for whatever the hell was coming up next.

It's a little later than the sunrise when he makes his way up to the roof, big boots heavy against the stairs, and it's obvious that it's him coming lumbering through the door through sound alone. Magnus is scraped up, soot still gathered around his sideburns, bandages over his cheek, his split lip still puffy and bloody to match the shiner he dons, carrying himself like someone who needs a bit more healing than a few hours in the sun. But his grin is splitting and there's a sense of brutal satisfaction to him as he comes to stand beside Apollo's sprawled out form. ]

Well, well, here's the man of the hour. [ He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking out at the horizon. ] I'm gonna be honest with you, bud, getting you out took a lot of work.

[ He glances down at Apollo. ]

How're you feeling?

[thermobaric]

More like myself than I have in years. [ He glances up with a weary, sidelong smile of gratitude. Not quite grateful to get up from his sprawl but - yknow. Two years of sun-starvation to overcome make standing for long periods of time difficult. Still, he smiles. ] Thanks to you and yours.

[ He doesn't know the cost - the human cost - just yet. But Apollo knows all about what it takes to make great (and terrible) things happen, the collateral damage that comes with achieving progress. But hopefully - very fucking hopefully - they'd taken out more of the others than their own. ]

Don't worry, [ Apollo adds as he turns his gaze back to the sun low in the sky before them both. ] I'll try and make it worth your while.

[burlyboy]

Good.

[ Magnus sits down beside him, knees up in front of him, forearms resting on them with a quiet hup. He lets out a long, rumbling sigh, more to let out excess tension than anything else. They can't let themselves relax for very long, and certainly can't now - they'll be expecting some sort of backlash any moment now - but they have time for moments. None of this is worth it without being able to steal away moments. ]

We didn't free you so you could fight for us instead. But I'd be lying if I said we didn't think about it. Or that we couldn't use what you've got, [ he adds, turning to Apollo with a little curl of his lip. ] Don't get me wrong, we do fine on our own. But we could make a big difference with your kinda firepower.

[ It's less difficult to admit when he needs help here. Because everyone needs help here. He needs them, and they need him. He looks out at the sunrise. ]

We'll take care of you, though. We try to take care of our own.

[ Like M. ]

tags you on both fronts!! pre-extraction

[ct_7567]

[ Apollo will know Rex well, mainly on account of the fact that he's one of the soldiers that helped take him in. There had been casualties in that mission - there was bound to be, against a foe like Apollo - but Rex hadn't been one of them. He doesn't seem to hold a grudge against him. He doesn't seem to feel much of anything.

But he's on guard duty on occasion, and today is one of those days. The way Rex looks at him, he may as well be yet another faceless guard. He shoves a tray of food through the slot in the door, staring steadily at Apollo. ]

Eat, [ he commands. ] You're still needed alive.

[solarcharged]

[ Two years ago this would have been hilarious. It's the sun that gives Apollo life, not food; being told - ordered, even - to eat anything would have earned a long, loud laugh. Sure, he'll have a sun burger! with extra photons! and a side of nuclear fission!

But the sad reality is that here and now, starved of sunlight, Apollo's body has other ideas. Without the sun to power his solar reserves his body needs something else to survive. He surveys the tray with the same dead-eyed indifference that he has surveyed every tray that came before it. ]

No thanks, [ He simply replies and closes his eyes against the sight. ]

[ct_7567]

It will be easier on you.

[ In another time, Rex would understand the injustice of this. In a way, he already does - but every time his thoughts go towards that, he gets a jolt, a reminder of good soliders follow orders, the idea that everything he's doing is good and just and necessary beyond anything else. Apollo's insistence upon standing in his way is nothing more than insolence. ]

You get nothing out of starving yourself. You are proving nothing.

[burlyboy]

[ Magnus looks at Apollo. He's dreadfully powerful. Even Magnus, confident as he's ever been, knows that. He couldn't hope to do what Apollo does. Not in a hundred years. The man could reach out and squish him like a bug. The best thing to do would be to accept his thanks, tell him they did a fucking excellent job, and leave it at that. But Magnus has always had a conscience and, moreover, has always spoken his mind. ]

...you're welcome. Wish I could've done a better job. Dunno if we did it right, [ he admits, rubbing at the torn heel of his hand. ] Might've been kinder to leave him out of it.

[ But they needed M. And he thinks maybe M needed them too. ]

Things'll get better, now that you're here. Might be able to knock the ol' noggin loose. [ Friends are one thing, but... ]

Love's funny like that.

[solarcharged]

You did the best you could. That's as much as either of us could ask for, [ Apollo assures him with a weary smile. The smile fractures a little, falling into a grimace of worry at the idea that things will get better now that Apollo's here. He has no idea how he can help, none at all, besides just... being himself. But being himself isn't going to repair broken implants or soothe past traumas. ]

I don't know how to fix him. [ But in the spirit of doing the best anyone can do: ] As long as we can keep him happy, though...

[ 'We'. Apollo means Magnus too - Magnus is important to M, and Apollo doesn't think he's wrong to think that M is important to Magnus too. ]

Maybe that's good enough.

[burlyboy]

[ Magnus nods. He still thinks that seeing Apollo, being with someone who knew him so intimately, will help. It can only help from here, as far as he's concerned. There's a limit to how much someone like Magnus can do, and truth be told, only so much time he can spare. He's a busy man. Often, too often, his mind is occupied by other things.

He clasps his hands out in front of him, elbows resting on his knees, one thumb rubbing idly against his wrist. He looks out to the sun. ]

So if this is it. If this is how he is... you're okay with that?

[ Okay is an overstatement. But more than anything else, he wants to make sure that Apollo won't leave him. He doesn't think he intends to from this conversation alone, but it's best to be blunt about these things. For every person who would stay by M's side, there's another dozen who'd give up. ]