capencowl2020 | here comes the sun

Entry tags:

!ic,
!log

here comes the sun

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.) ]

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[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?

[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.]

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

[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.

[ 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. ]

I'll keep things brief for now. There's a lot of work still to be done and what I need is a sense of timescale more than casual chatty--there'll be plenty of time for that later.

[On the same literal footing as Apollo, Victor tries to recall the man he had been before, the power coursing through, the danger he posed the government before they'd managed to shoot him down. It's hard to picture right now, but soon--]

Cutting to the chase, I know you've been in the dark for sometime. Can you give me your best guess of how much time you need to replenish yourself on a few different levels--[He holds up a hand, counting with fingers flicking up.] Basic access to your general faculties where you're not a liability. General access to your flight and combat capacities. Assurance you'd be able to take out a significant structure.

[He tucks his hand away once more.]

Honest and realistic timescales though, don't feed me optimism just because I might prefer smaller numbers.

[ Victor, Apollo notes, doesn't ask if he wants to take out a significant structure. Not that he minds. Between the colossal debt that he now owes the other man and Apollo's reputation as a flying laser cannon it's probably a very fair assumption that Apollo is okay with taking down entire buildings.

He turns his gaunt face towards the sky, squinting at wispy trails of scattered clouds over the city. ]

Down here? Twenty minutes until I can fly. Three hours until I'm at my best.

[ Even at the thought of doing something - anything - inspires an bloodthirsty, restless energy that has him balling up his fists. His knuckles are bony and sharp, the cords on his arms stand out like railroad tracks, but the grim determination on his hollowed features is the same old Apollo as before. Determined, blazing with a (not so) hidden heat, and faintly terrifying. ]

Get me above the cloud line and it'll be two.

[Reflexively, Victor's eyeline follows Apollo's skyward, taking on board his timescale and giving a steady nod.]

I was expecting days or even weeks. I'd rather give you as much daylight above the clouds as we can over the next forty eight hours, give you time to stretch and re-discover your proverbial wings. I don't just need you functional, I need you limber, formidable.

[He looks back at Apollo, emotionless and calm.]

I need you terrifying, a sight that rightly inspires fear in our enemies. And not because you look like a wraith. [He looks momentarily thoughtful, then shrugs one shoulder.] No offense.

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.

[ In times past he might have insisted no, two hours is all he needs, as a matter of professional pride. In his most weaponlike essence, Apollo was built to unleash vast amounts of deadly force and quickly regain his charge all the better to be out in the field again once more. Because what's the point in having a cannon that takes a whole day to reload?

But... Apollo's tired. He's sun-starved. Every cell of his entire being feels stretched thin and worn out, desperate for the life-giving warmth of the sun. And perhaps it will take longer to fill out the muscle he's lost, to regain that classic amber glow of warmth and power. He touches his hairline thoughtfully, ignoring the fact that a few loose strands come away in his fingers. It's been doing that for two years. ]

Sure. I know what you need. Get me up there and I'll sunbathe for as long as it takes.

[ Getting up there, Apollo assumes, will be the hard bit. He can't fly in this state and teleporting him up there will mean a dangerous free-fall until he regains enough charge to fly. Not that Apollo seems all that bothered by the idea. Instead he asks a question he feels he probably knows the answer to already, just for the sake of confirming his suspicions (and his hopes): ]

And what happens after forty eight hours?

[ 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. ]

They're... right.

[ the words come out forced, almost like he's fighting but compelled to say them. he goes quiet for a moment afterwards as though to take a moment to reset. ]

Come on. It'll be worth it. [ a pause. ] Probably.

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.

[In contrast, how to get Apollo at cruising altitude is the least of Victor's worries in all this. That's almost shockingly easy, but that's something to surprise Apollo with later.

He can relate so much to feeling a husk of one's former self. Victor doesn't exactly look healthy himself these days, but he's cresting the mid-point of his death cycles and he could certainly look a lot worse.]

When we're up there, see that you do and keep me informed on the progress. I need to know if I need to adjust our timescales.

[He holds Apollo's question at arms length for a few seconds, eventually lifting his eyes with a wicked smirk, pale eyes sparking with something that in most people would look like artistic inspiration, but for Victor it's the energy of impending vengeance.]

And if all goes the way I am hoping, in forty eight hours we'll see some fireworks. Seems fitting for the dawning of a new era.

[ 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?

[ 'When we're up there.' Even is his weary state Apollo doesn't miss that. He blinks with a wrinkle of confusion: he's expecting a portal, a Door, something transient that drops him up in the stratosphere and leaves him to do his thing. He hadn't realised this had the potential to be a group trip. Interesting.

But even more interesting than that: Victor's promise of fireworks. Apollo's expression settles into a glittering smile of fierce satisfaction. ]

The dawning of a new era, [ He repeats quietly, almost conversationally. ] I can do that...

[ He was created to do that. To change the world by force, to drag civilisation into a better place whether it wants to go or not. This is his purpose, this promise of fire and reckoning that seems to lurk behind Victor's words. Which leads him to his next thought: ]

Thank you, by the way. [ The words are simple, a little bleak. He's under no allusion that Victor didn't free him out of sympathy for his plight. But - still. ] For freeing me. For involving me in this.

[ Apollo holds himself still for a moment, considering Scott over his shoulder with the same heavy, tired gaze. Moving hurts. This better be worth it.

With a pained exhale (a stupid thing for a man who doesn't need to breathe) he slowly, stiffly unfolds himself from his ragged cot. Apollo was an imposing figure once, broadly muscled and built to truly superheroic dimensions. But when he stands in front of Scott now he's... lesser. Gaunt to the point of skeletal, hollow-eyed and starved. ]

If this is going to be a gut punch, [ He informs Scott hoarsely. ] You should know I'm really not in the mood.

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.

[The impression of embers sputtering to life in Apollo's expression is all the confirmation Victor needs. He's not someone prone to doubts, certainly not about his own visions and ambitions, though before he can slot all the pieces together there's always a sense of it being touch and go. There was always the possibility the initial break-out failed, that he and Joseph couldn't form the Samodiva, that the plan to retrieve Project Helios would stumble, and there was always the chance that Apollo would be found irreparably damaged even if they did succeed.

Victor squeezes his hand into a fist within his pocket. He can see it now, clear as day.]

I'm counting on it. This has been a long time in the making.

[Apollo's sentiment of gratitude does make something shift in Victor's expression in subtle, difficult-to-place ways. It's not shock or surprise, it's not a softening of anything, but it's also not an angry tightening. It's more like he doesn't quite know how to identify or display what those words do and in the end he settles for a slight shake of his head.]

I appreciate the sentiment, but don't misunderstand the kind of person I am, Apollo.

What I saw was an opportunity, not a rescue mission. I'm not a hero and I have no aspirations to be one. There are plenty of others scrambling to fit that bill.

[He takes a step closer. Victor is not always an honest man, not by any stretch of the imagination, but this is ground that he needs to firmly establish.]

And what I want to do is remind this government, and the so-called rebellion, that this is a war. No more treading water, it's about turning tides, and I do believe you have the potential to achieve that.

I don't do noble, I don't play fair, I won't back down, and I will not stop. Some things can't be regained once they've been taken, and I want them to feel what that loss has done as we take back all that we can inch by inch. And I want them to suffer with every advancing step we take.

[He pauses, heaving out a slightly staggered exhale before recomposing himself a little.]

Think you can stomach that?

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.

[ This should be a warning but all Apollo hears are promises. Can he handle that? Victor, this was what he was created to do. ]

Don't worry. [ Apollo almost smiles, almost, but it's like his muscles can't quite remember how that goes. The effect is more like a grimace of relish. ] I'm under no illusion that 'hero' is anything more than a PR term.

[ Because it's true. There are no heroes, just weapons on either side of a political war. Apollo wasn't brought back from his loudly advertised death because people missed him. He's here to do his job. Once upon a time Apollo looked the part - heroic dimensions, clad in spandex - but that wasn't enough to make him palatable. ]

Changing the world rarely makes you popular. But I don't think either of us are too worried about that.

[ Because Apollo isn't a tame superhero and he remembers all too well what kind of enemies you earn when you make a finer world for the disadvantaged and the oppressed. Spoiler warning: it doesn't tend to go down too well.

Apollo gives him a look. ]

What's your endgame? Are you taking over the City? The country?

In that case, I think we're going to get along just fine.

[Despite not being a very touchy-feely sort of person, Victor does extend a hand to lay it upon Apollo's shoulder, steady without being overbearing, as he gives a light squeeze. Apollo may have forgotten how to smile, but for someone who doesn't do it very often Victor finds himself doing a fair amount of that lately. It's still not an especially warm or inviting expression on him, though.

This is possible. They can do it.

His touch slithers away as Apollo asks for further clarification and Victor folds his arms across his chest.]

My end goal is a total removal of the government, either by them willingly stepping aside or via a more direct coup. By a long game is a series of smaller wins. We build up our arsenal, we provide symbols of fear and hope, we change the shape of this city, and then we expand our reach.

The truth is, we don't yet know the true extent of the Meta issue across the continent, or indeed globally. So, we start local, then widen the scope in time.

Edited 2020-01-18 13:29 (UTC)

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here comes the sun

sunrise;

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before the dawn;

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Before the dawn;

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sunrise

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