Massive Disaster 4 - Interlude V

Interlude 5

The shot opened with a shudder, lens struggling to stabilize through a wall of sound; the scream of a high-gain electric guitar riff peaking high as a skyscraping marvel filled the frame.

The music was a sharp contrast to the sight, squealing tones against the brushed-metal floor-to-ceiling window elegance that was Victory Tower and the shining city around it. B-Roll did its best to show off the glittering skyline of Providence, a city still under construction but already looking like something out of a recruitment vid. More than the city, the tower just screamed wealth in that VI-brand aesthetic way, all clean lines and recessed lighting that seemed a bit more Earth-inspired than most constructions. As the camera zoomed through the single open window of the penthouse floor in a one-take, beautiful as the building may have been, one could easily see the occupants were treating the place more like a dorm than anything else.

The lens slammed into a tight close-up on the source of the noise dead-center in the large common area; shirtless, absurdly muscular frame rippling as his fingers flew fast enough they were almost blurs. A graphic whipped across the screen, electricity surging across text as the shot froze for a split second, image right across the chest of the massive man.

THORLIEF GOLMENN

CALLSIGN: RAGNAROK

ROLE: THE HEAVY

The graphic slid off screen after a second, the video continuing to show the man’s long blond braided beard whipping around with force. Thorlief headbanged with the eagerness of a man that had no fear of brain trauma, fingers flying across a custom axe-shaped electric guitar plugged into an amp stack powerful enough to serve as an engine. If pure bliss had a name, you might find it started with a T and ended with an F as the man was clearly lost in the music; eyes closed, ears open and grinning wide enough to tear a muscle.

“THORLIEF!”

The screen panned quickly, the view shifting to a young man sitting on a low blue couch with a datapad in his hands. While Thorlief was an example of physicality in excess, this man seemed an example of physicality in perfection; decently tall, his own muscles stood out even through the long-sleeved blue shirt he wore, the rest of his body sculpted like marble. Another graphic burst on screen as the video paused again, only with clean elegant lines in blue and white unlike the lightning bolts of before.

CALEB LANCE ROGERS

CALLSIGN: MAJOR VICTORY

ROLE: THE LEADER

The graphic vanished and the young man let out a sigh, purple eyes half-lidded as he ran his hand through a white head of hair. Exasperated as he clearly was, Rogers didn’t seem to have it in him to look up from his datapad, said leader clearly occupied with whatever he had in front of him.

"Thorlief," Caleb repeated again, voice lower but still clear and high enough to be caught over the shrill of electric guitar. "My man. We appreciate the sonic masterpiece, yeah. A magnum opus for the ages, but I'm trying to read a prelim report on the security deficit with that VCA colony we gotta head to next week. Right now, the only deficit I'm dealing with is the ability to think through the noise, man."

Thorlief finished off the riff with a final wail of a power chord, the big man whipping his head back so hard his beard nearly slapped him in the mouth. "Ahhh, sorry, captain, my captain!" His accent was as thick as his chest, the last twenty years on Skaldmark giving him the thick accent of the colony of Norse traditionalists. "Y’know me, just getting the solo down for this new track, aye? Just do better with an audience, y’know?" The wide grin he flashed made it clear he wasn’t all that sorry, blood still up as his digits twitched back towards the strings. "Just needed to feel the hum, yeah? Get the spark-craft right in the fingers."

The view panned up, a smooth shot drifting over to the kitchen area, higher and higher and higher still until it came to a slow stop on someone standing upside down on the ceiling. A third chyron flashed as the screen froze a third time, blue and white fractals appearing alongside the text instead of lightning or clean geometry.

PEDRO O’HARA

CALLSIGN: AGENT SPIDER

ROLE: THE SCOUT

Long brown hair seemed the only thing actually following the rules of gravity as it hung down like it should, the caramel-skinned owner of said hair unperturbed as he continued his work. The figure was young, likely still in his late teens, but age was not a measure of expertise and his defiance of physical laws seemed to be only one of his skills. Screwdriver in one deft hand, the front panel of a state-of-the-art VI-brand toaster held between his teeth, it was clear the boy was something of a techhead from what he was up to.

Even if only an amateur one.

"Nahnahnaaaah, keep playing! Love the shreds, bro." Pedro's voice came rapid-fire, words chasing each other as he spoke through one side of his mouth, toaster panel bobbing up and down with each syllable. "Almost had this toaster syncing to the drum beat! Casi lo consigo, little juice and we'd have toast popping up on the downbeat!" He looked right into the lens of the hovering camera drone and shot it a wink, grin wide and manic. "Think of the vibes, man!"

It seemed Pedro’s voice was all it took to get Caleb to finally raise his head from the riveting report in front of him, datapad discarded onto the coffee table.  "Pedro, for the last time, please get off the common room ceiling. I told you, you can do this anywhere but the common room ceiling. Literally anywhere else that won’t risk things falling on people’s heads.”

“One time, b-”

“And please,” Rogers cut off the teenager, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he let out a hiss of breath. “And please, I am begging you here, stop trying to turn our kitchen appliances into a light show. No offense, but this is not Nueva York."

"Awwww, man."

From the far end of the sprawling common area, a dart pierced the edge of a board with force, sharp point stabbing directly into the number 3 at the very bottom. Several darts before it were already embedded deep, each one having landed on another number across the edge of the board; 18, 15, 12, 9, and 6. 

The screen panned slow as another dart struck the number “1”, turning to capture the image of a slim yet fit man, expression as serious and severe as his buzz of a blond haircut. 

CHARLES BARTLETT

CALLSIGN: BLINDSPOT

ROLE: THE SNIPER

A study in absolute stillness, he stood facing the dartboard mounted at least a good fifteen meters a way, a dart still held between each one of his knuckles. A slow zoom pushed in on his face, catching the moment his left eye twitched.

Just once.

"Thorlief, sweetheart…” Another voice sounded out as the final bit of noise from the guitar petered off. The camera swung to find a woman lounging in an armchair, long thick braids of snow white hair trailing down her back. Her hair was a stark contrast to her dark skin, the woman all poise from head to toe as she scrolled through her omni-tool. "You know I love you, and I love your craft… but I haven’t even had lunch yet. It’s too early to drink."

MARILYN UZURI

CALLSIGN: ARC

ROLE: THE SUPPORT

"Either turn it down, or I turn it off."

Thorlief's grin faltered, just slightly, the confidence cracking at the edges. "Whoa, hey, no need to get all EMP on me, yeah? Just trying to create, you know? Pour out the soul-fire and—"

A disgruntled mutter came from floor level. The camera drone descended, landing on a small Chinese girl in a pink-and-white bodysuit, her hair the same color. 

TONI CHO

CALL SIGN: BASTION

ROLE: THE TECH

She was nested, her entire surroundings a wall of holographic schematics and the half-disassembled guts of some sort of rifle-like weapon that bore Victory Innovation’s signature retro design scheme. "They’re right, Leafy." She didn't look up, fingers moving with as much dexterity as Pedro’s, albeit much slower. "It's distracting. It's annoying. Fix it."

A young man no older than Pedro, pale skin, long black hair, and facial features marking him as Japanese, shifted silently from where he sat not too far from Ragnarok himself. One hand held a simple cloth and the other was held tight in a fist, three long metallic claws extended from his knuckles as he just silently took in his team’s conversation.

AKIHIRO HARRIET

CODENAME: FANG

ROLE: THE STEALTH

Dark eyes scanned the room as they turned to face Ragnarok’s amp, then Charles’ darts and finally, he turned his gaze upward to stare right into the camera lens, eyes seeming to bore right through the lens.

“It’s loud.”

Two syllables seemed to do the job where everyone else failed. Thorlief’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he carefully set his guitar down against the amp. “Alright, alright! By the breakers, tough crowd. You people have no appreciation for the raw, untamed spirit of rock and roll.”

Pedro opened his mouth but whatever he had to say went unheard as a piercing alarm shrieked through the Tower's speakers, red emergency lights strobing bright. The relaxed atmosphere evaporated to nothing as six sets of eyes snapped wide.

"Victors, we have a priority one distress call. Ariadne's Hope mining colony in the Kepler Verge is under attack,” a synthesized voice cut through the blaring alarms, calm and lacking tension as it sounded over the speakers. “A mercenary cell has taken over a power plant. Confirmed hostage situation."

“Understood, ADAM.” Rogers snapped to his feet, expression more serious than most twenty-somethings ever wore. “Victors?”

“On it!/Heard./Yeah./Sir!/We fight!”

Pedro dropped from the ceiling, body twisting mid-fall to land in a silent crouch while Toni swiped away her schematics, holograms disappearing from sight. Pulse rifle forgotten in its multiple fragments, the girl was already rushing to her feet and headed to the armory. 

Six bickering roommates shifted into one unit, utterly focused and ready for combat as all of them rushed out of the common room door behind their leader. 

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The screen cut hard, jarring transition to the outside of their ship as it broke atmosphere, the words SSV VIGILANT painted clear on the side of an electric blue-and-white oversized corvette screaming through thin methane-yellow sky. 

Major Victory stood at the edge of the ramp, cobalt blue and white armor gleaminglarge V emblazoned on his chest pulsed with soft white energy. His voice came through comms now, all command and crisp clarity with none of the relaxed casualness of before. "BASTION, give me a tactical overlay. Every entry point, every heat signature, every possible blind spot. Blindspot, you're on overwatch. Find a perch, call out targets. I want you to be a ghost up there."

The shot cut to Charles already prone at a side hatch, omni-bow already prepared and pre-forged carbon bolts already holstered. The blond man gave a single sharp nod, eyes seeming to pulse under the ship’s lights

"Arc, Ragnarok, you're with me on the main breach," Caleb continued, the audio feed switching between speakers as he spoke. "We're going loud. Very loud. Bastion, provide heavy support; I want that pink monstrosity of yours drawing every ounce of fire it can. Spider, you're on rescue. Fang, you land the ship with Blindspot, get the hostages out while we keep them busy. Don't engage unless you have to. Clear?"

A chorus of affirmatives crackled over the comms as music began to play, a stylized and cleaned-up version of the riff Ragnarok had shredded earlier, as the team readied to deploy.

"Go!"

Ragnarok just laughed, a booming sound leaving his throat as the shirtless madman leaped from the ramp without hesitation into the dark of the night below. 

No parachute, no plan, no problem. 

Blue eyes bled with power as he free fell, pale blue lightning crackling across his entire body in arcs that lit up the sky like a storm. "Let's open up this fucking pit!" The scream tore out of his throat as he propelled himself toward the geothermal plant below, warhammer held high and wreathed in discharge.

Arc followed a moment later, her dive graceful and balletic compared to Ragnarok’s bellyflop of a leap. "He's so… adorable." Long white dreadlocks trailed behind her like a comet's tail, electric power dancing between her fingertips as it carried her down after her boyfriend.

The camera drone swooped to follow Major Victory as he dropped, the shot impossibly smooth despite the speed; not falling but launching himself downward in controlled psionic descent, shield already deployed and glowing with faint blue energy around its edges. The camera angle captured him from below somehow, framing him against the sickly yellow sky.

“B.A.S.T.I.O.N. is a go-go!”

With a hiss of released clamps, and firing pink thrusters, Bastion's massive neon mech detached from the ship's underbelly and aimed itself down like a missile. The LED viewport on the mech's large rounded viewport of a head displayed a winking smiley face for a split second before shifting to a determined glare as it readied its modular weapons.

Another drone swung wide to follow Agent Spider as he launched himself away from the group on a line of white fabric shot from his wrist, his blue and white suit a flash of vibrant color against the drab industrial landscape rushing up to meet them. He looked back at the camera for just a fraction of a second, the glowing white LED eyes on his mask winking directly at the lens. 

"You getting all this?" His voice crackled slightly over comms, audio barely distorted by wind and speed. "Tell me you're getting this.”

The camera slowly zoomed out, the sounds of combat fading as they all fell towards their landing point. With a simple fade to black, the screen cut to a clean, graphic image: a white V on a circular blue shield.

VICTORS, Season 2. Coming This Fall to the Victory Network.

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