by Jay Phillips
“They’re not the family you deserve,” he said.
And then, everything went black, to nothing. It all went away, as if it had never happened. I received a new set of memories. In this version, The Seven rescued me from the containment center and then took me home. We arrived in time to find members of the American military slaughtering my family, killing them all in a bloody execution. The Seven, my new friends, retaliated and killed all of the murderers, but they were too late. My entire family died that day before I could do anything about it.
I wanted vengeance; I wanted to make this damn government pay, not just for what they’d done by locking me up, but for what they had done to my family, to my baby sister. I did whatever The Seven wanted me to do. I killed people; I destroyed men, equipment, whole armies. I did anything and everything to make these bastards answer. And I enjoyed it, knowing I was receiving payment for a price that had to be paid. All the normals, all of them, had to pay.
And then, then we won. The war was over. Agent America and the rest of his Seven took over as lords and masters of this once great land. After that, I went on; I lived my life. I made friends and girlfriends. I worked; I played. I lived my place on high above the lowly normals, and I, for the most part, while trying not to flaunt anything, enjoyed the lifestyle being one of the super powered entitled me.
My life went like this for the past ten years or so, until two weeks ago, when I checked my mail. A letter was in my box, no return address, no name other than mine. I opened it, and it was a single piece of paper with a single line of text printed on it: They’re not the family you deserve.
And it all came back, everything, every moment of that night, every excruciating detail of what I was forced to watch, every detail of what they did, what they all did. It all came back the moment I read those words. Now you see why I have to do what I’m about to do, what I will already have done by the time you read this. I have to make them feel what I did, and it won’t be enough that they die. They will have to experience what I experienced. They will have to know what it’s like to watch those they love die while they’re powerless to stop it. They have to know……
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Journal Entry
[Found on page 14]
Note: The following is a press release/newspaper article published in every major newspaper in the country after The Seven and their governors assumed control of all news organizations, radio broadcasts, and television stations.
Supreme Chancellor Rogers announced today that the United States will no longer accept imports from other countries, and on the flipside, America will no longer export our products and goods to the rest of the world. “From this point forward,” Chancellor Rogers said, “we will provide for ourselves and ourselves alone.”
This act, designed to protect America and provide for each of its citizens, is part of Chancellor Rogers plan to make sure each and every citizen has exactly what they need to survive, including an adequate food supply and a job. “While other nations may view this as an act of aggression on my part,” The Chancellor continued, “I have made this decision to safeguard this country. For too long, we as Americans have had to watch as our jobs walked away to some third world country that pay their people with literal peanuts. No more. As of today, all products will be made for Americans by Americans.”
As a by-product of this action, all of the United States borders are effectively closed, with no one allowed into the country and no one allowed out. Any attempt to cross the border will be deemed an act of treason, and any individual caught entering or exiting the nation illegally will be prosecuted as a traitor before the national tribunal.
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OPEN DOCUMENT: FIRE MAIDEN
Fire Maiden: real name Pamela Blaze. Home location: a large house in a secluded suburb just outside of the city. She lives there with her husband, Richard, her recently born twins, and her younger sister, Emily.
The Fire Maiden is without a doubt the single sweetest, most sincere person I have ever had the honor of meeting. She is loyal, brave, loving, and devoted. I’ve seen her fight tooth and nail for what she believed to be right, and I’ve seen it almost kill her when she had to do something she believed to be wrong. How she has survived the moral ambiguity of this new world we have created I will never know. Well, to be honest, I do know. As long as Pamela has The Ice Queen in her ear, whispering to her, telling her that what we did was right, it will keep her on the straight and narrow path that Ice and The Agent need her to be own.
Strengths: The Fire Maiden has a complete and total manipulation of fire, creating within her self something I have always called a “living flame,” which is basically a fire that she can control. She can shoot flames from her hands, aiming the projectile like a human flame thrower. These flames can become quite intense, as I have personally seen the temperature of these flames become high enough to melt through solid steel. She is also able to cover her entire body in a coat of the “living flames,” which allows her to use the flames propulsion to fly through the air, and by pushing the heat energy downward while in the air, she is able to hover.
This coat of flames also makes her effectively immune to any type of propulsion weaponry. Any bullet fired at her would melt before coming into actual contact with her body. The same goes for knives, swords, or any other type of weapon that isn’t completely fire proof.
Weaknesses: Foremost and obviously, I have made this particular suit completely fireproof. But the term fireproof is almost misleading. Yes, the suit can withstand direct blasts of Pamela’s flames without melting or suffering prolonged damage, but the suit is not designed and would not be able to weather an extended barrage of her fire power in one location. For example, if she decided to aim her flames at the suit’s facemask for an extended period of time, it would eventually, after just a few moments of exposure, cause serious damage to the suit’s internal systems. This effectively negates the possibility of using the suit to get close to her and defeating her with a physical attack.
This leaves two possibilities. The first is to attack her with a projectile while she is depowered and unprotected from her “living flame.” While this is a possibility, it is also very unlikely. She can cover herself in flames in the time it takes to think. It is, in most cases, a complete act of reflex, able to be completed at the speed of thought, much faster than any normal bullet could ever hope to travel.
The second possibility is to create a bullet that isn’t normal, and this is just what I have done. Over the past few years, Metal Girl has become a frequent visitor of mine. Desperation, loneliness, the pain of watching her once lover die a slow and painful death, has occasionally brought her into my company as a source of condolence, amongst other things. As I’m sure you know, Metal Girl’s powered form involves her turning every inch of skin on her body into a perfect alloy, a metal that is completely and totally invulnerable to any heat, cold, breakage, etc. In short, it cannot be destroyed. After one of our many visits, I managed to acquire several of her DNA samples, and after much trial and error, I was able to recreate the alloy’s composition and remanufactured it into a bullet; well, actually several bullets I have been saving for this occasion should it have ever arrived. These bullets, composed of the exact same alloy as Metal Girl, are indestructible, and in theory, should be able to pass through Pamela’s flame protection and into her body.
On a personal note to whomever may be reading this, while Pamela may be one of us, she has undoubtedly been the single voice of reason in most everything we ever did. While I am sure this fact doesn’t exclude her from whatever fate that we have all earned and deserve, I simply say this in the hope that you will exclude her from whatever you have planned for the rest of us.
Now I know what you’re thinking: here I am asking you not to kill her when I’m the one who has planned and designed the method in which it coul
d be done. These plans have only been created in the event The Agent should ever order the rest of The Seven against me. I would only enact these protocols in my defense and nothing else. But you, you who have hijacked my armor and are currently doing what you are doing, have a choice. I only ask, in this one lone case, that you make the right one.
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CLOSE DOCUMENT
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“Prisoner 616’s heightened senses and organ functions, both due to the increased size of his adrenal glands, should allow him to heal and become functional faster than an equivalent subject confined within the containment units for the same amount of time,” Doctor Amanda Larson said into the tiny recorder she held in her small hand. “In other words, his natural abilities will allow him the opportunity to adjust back to normalcy faster than most.”
She stood up from her desk and stretched, looking down to the clock as she placed the recorder on the desk. The clock read “5:30 a.m.” If she had a normal office that wasn’t buried hundreds of feet below the ground, she would be able to see the sun come up; instead, she only had the clock and her body to tell her that she had been here way too long. But no one ever said that being the head medical officer in “The Hole” would be easy, nor had she ever expected it to be.
Her life wasn’t easy, so she did what she had to make it easier. Graced with the ability of manipulation, the ability to persuade the weak minded to do what she wanted with her voice alone, it had made Dr. Larson’s life immensely easier; it had granted her the job here; it had given her control of every guard in the facility as well as many of the other doctors and faculty. Only some, such as 616 from earlier that night, were able to resist the orders she planted into their mind.
She was a small woman, barely above five feet tall, with a small frame that matched her height and the light timber of her voice. Her face, pretty, with small features that complimented the rest of her, did little to give away true age, making her look at least ten years younger than the mid thirties she actually was.
She had a sudden thought and quickly reached down for the recorder, turning it on then speaking: “In the event we reacquire 616 or another prisoner with similar powers, we should consider using said subject in the next phase of testing for future generations of containment units.” She pushed her pretty brown hair away from her eyes to the sides of her head, trying but failing to tuck the loose strands behind her ears The ponytail she held it in was coming loose. “A prisoner with these abilities could help us define the level of pain a prisoner could tolerate as well as the recovery time for the next generation---”
She stopped mid-sentence when the lamp on her desk, the only source of light in the room, went black. For a moment, she fumbled in the dark, finding the edge of the desk with her knee but not her hands. She managed to place the recorder back down and attempted in vain to find the lamp, hoping that the switch just needed to be wiggled and light would return.
She found the lamp, but before she could locate the switch, light returned. Across the room, where the door stood, a mere ten feet from the other side of her desk, a woman bathed in light appeared from the darkness, a blonde woman, a beautiful blonde woman who seemed so bright that it almost hurt the doctor’s eyes.
“Who---” Dr. Larson tried to say before the woman interrupted.
“Ssshhh,” the woman said, her glowing forefinger held in front of her lips. “No need to speak, now or ever again.” The woman walked closer with every word between them.
“You will stop and tell me who you are,” the doctor said, attempting to use every ounce of power she could muster.
The woman made of light smiled a smile which seemed to light up the room even more. “Sorry, doctor, but your powers have no effect on either of us.”
“Either of you?” Doctor Larson asked. “What do you---”
“Ssshhh,” the woman made of light said again, slowly creeping closer and closer. “You have seen too much tonight, and he can’t have you repeating what you know. You could ruin his plan.”
The woman made of light stood on the other side of the desk. The doctor tried to shield her eyes, but the light continued to pound her senses.
“I won’t tell,” the doctor said, her voice filled with panic. “I don’t know anything to tell.”
“But doctor,“ the woman came around the desk and stood mere feet from her, “you know oh so much, so much more than he needs you to know.”
The blade of light entered the doctor’s neck, and the only thought she could muster through the pain was trying to diagnose if the main artery in her neck had been cut or if the blade had hit just below it. She fell to her knees, using her hands to hold pressure against the wound, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.
“Ssshhh,” the woman said above her as she fell to the floor, and the darkness in the room overtook her completely.
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Just outside of the city, the sun came up in a neighborhood made up of homes no normal could ever hope to afford. Pamela Blaze, the woman once known as The Fire Maiden, rushed around her large house, trying to get everything together. The babies needed clothes; her sister was asking questions; she had to pack for herself; her sister wanted to know what the hell was going on; the babies needed snacks for the ride; her sister wanted answers. She had none to give. She just had to do what Gabby had told her to do: get herself and her family out of town before he arrived, before he found them.
She pushed them all outside, the twins, barely six months old, her pride and joy, and her brunette younger sister, who continued to ask questions she had no answers for. Together, she and her sister loaded the babies into the large SUV, her sister continually prodding, almost pleading, for answers. She said nothing, noting that there wasn’t time for talk, and she loaded the car in as much of a hurry as she could. After making sure that everyone and everything was secure, Fire opened the driver’s side door and placed herself inside the vehicle.
The gate in front of the house opened, and the SUV drove down the drive towards the street. While Fire drove, her younger sister sat in the passenger seat, and the two babies were strapped down in the back. The vehicle pulled to the end of the driveway and stopped. The two women stared in shock at the red and black armor blocking their path. Their faces filled with fear. The machine looked at the brunette in the passenger seat, and for a moment, she returned its gaze before it looked away.
Fire opened the driver side door and stepped out of the car. “Go,” she said softly to the girl beside her. “Get out of here. He doesn’t want you three. He just wants me.”
“But Pammy---” the sister started to argue before Fire cut her off.
“No,” the blonde scolded. “Drive the babies and yourself out of here, right now. And call Gabby. Tell her I need help. Go,” she yelled.
The brunette scooted over to the steering wheel, and Fire slammed the driver’s door. “I love you, Emily,” she said, her voice choking up as she spoke. “Take care of my babies.”
The brunette placed the car into gear as tears streamed down her face. Fire could see her place a phone to her ear as she drove away.
Fire looked up at the machine standing twenty feet from her. “You’re not going to hurt them, are you? They’re safe, right?”
“I’m not like The Seven,” the cold robotic voice answered. “I have no interest in harming your sister or your children. Just you.”
“It is you, isn’t it?” She asked. “I was afraid it might be, and Gabby seemed to imply there was a chance, but I couldn’t fathom it; I couldn’t believe you could do this after all these years.”
“You should know as well as I do that time heals nothing.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said, her voice almost pleading. “We can figure this out, together, just like we used to.”
“It’s too late. It’s too late for us, for them, for everything. You can’t take ba
ck what’s been done.”
“But killing us won’t bring them back. It won’t change a thing.”
“You’re right; it won’t, but it might balance the scales. The Seven will finally pay for all they have done.”
She stood erect and closed her eyes. Flames erupted across her body, covering her entire figure in orange and yellow fire. “As much as I love you, you have to know that I’m not just going to let you kill me without a fight.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” the machine said in return.
She pushed the flames from her body and flew thirty feet into the air. “I never wanted this for you; I only wanted you to be happy. But please understand, If I can’t stop you, one of the others will, and they will kill you.”
The machine activated the suit’s booster rockets and flew into the air beside her. “It doesn’t matter,” it said. “I’m already dead.”
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The Detective stood in silence by the window, staring out at the first sunrise he had seen in well over a year. It was, in a word, breathtaking. He tried on the white shirt Fire Maiden had brought him. A little snug, but it would work. Hell, he thought to himself, it beat a hospital gown any day of the week.
He turned and looked at the white haired woman still lying asleep in the bed. He had never exactly found white hair to be particularly attractive, but somehow she made it work and then some. He realized he had to be careful. Could he trust her? The word “no” immediately popped into his brain. She was one of The Seven, and therefore, she remained inherently part of the problem. She had lied to him about the suicide note, and he still felt like she was keep something from him. For all he knew, she was keeping all kind of things about this from him, and at the moment, he kind of assumed she was.
But at the same time, there remained something about her, something he couldn’t quite place, something he absolutely couldn’t understand. Maybe it was simply the year he had spent away from the opposite sex. Maybe he was just enamored by her looks. Maybe he liked her and didn’t want to admit it. Of course less than a day ago, the act of admitting he liked one of The Seven would have made him want to put a gun in his mouth. A small part of him still did.
