Derek was having a really bad day. Caleb shoved him against the locker as soon as he saw him. Everyone laughed. Isabel DMed him and said she already had a date to the show. And people were making fun of the Fortnite fan pics he posted on IG. Then his pants ripped in class and he knew, somehow, Caleb was responsible. And then it happened— He flipped. And grew. And enraged.
Seconds later, Makayla flipped. She wasn’t scared of the Hulk, she was mad. She had enough of the boys and their anger and their stupidity.
WCAI Breaking News said:
This is Emma Patterson on site at Chula Vista. As you can see, below the WCA are battling multiple Hulks. We have word that there have been at least a dozen injuries and possibly one death. More news as it comes. Brenda?
One Hulk slams into Praxis, but she anticipates all of it and rolls with This Hulk, flipping It in the air, and redirecting Its trajectory, tossing This Hulk's massive weight into Oyna who burns bright and clear. She has a burning clear circle forming around her— her 'windows' which teleport anything short distances. As This Hulk flies through her, she directs him into the basement, where she just was, and where Sekme is waiting, and Sekme hops into The Hulk, brain first, taking over This Hulk's body, tossing a very confused, and very angry Caleb into Sekme's unconscious body. Meanwhile, a second Hulk is trying to trade blows with Clapback, but each blow amplifies off of Clapback and rebounds, smacking That Hulk hard in the face. That Hulk just gets angrier. Finally, Hù runs up and spins around That Hulk, entangling it with congealed air.
Shbh Saeb grabs Xùnsù's hand, who races them into the school. The world becomes a blur; oddly still. Shbh Saek has turned both of them intangible, but focuses on allowing Xùnsù to run. Xùnsù speeds through the high school hallways, running past a 'Go Spartans' banner. Meanwhile, Naga is spreading out her brain, searching for kids, talking to Praxis. Praxis, who is avoiding a Third Hulk, is inputing Naga's information, and is pinpointing the children. Praxis sends the information into Shbh Saeb and Xùnsù's AR display.
Meanwhile, their AI speeds through the possible movements of The Hulks, and remind Praxis that they will have a discussion, later, about AI independence.
Shbh Saeb and Xùnsù grab kids, one by one, and run them out of the school. They run through walls and floors, Praxis telling them how to avoid The Third Hulk, while Pangea and Swag go try to keep Third Hulk contained.
In moments, other members have the force poles in place. Bezzie places the last force poles and screams "Clear!" into the comms. Immediately Hinotori lights up the first pole, and an electric field leaps from pole to pole, all surrounded with Hinotori's fiery glow. The force field springs up around the gymnasium, where the three Hulks are now trapped. Moments later, there is a deafening explosion, and the south wall of the gymnasium collapses, two angry Hulks tumbling through it, entangled in fist, growls, and feet. Moments later the whole building is rubble as the three Hulks smash into each other. Occasionally, one slams against the force field.
Praxis screams out, “Sekme, Oyna, you got this?”
“Oh, hell yes,” yells Oyna, “Hinotori is lighting me up; my powers are lit!”
“Yes,” says Sekme, “I am prepared!”
“Ok,” says Praxis, “Our launch window is open in 4… 3… 2… Now.”
Oyna opens up a massive glowing circle at the top of the force field. Meanwhile, Xùnsù runs as fast as he can, on an improvised treadmill, powering the force fields, but each time a Hulk punches the field, or slams into the field, Xùnsù staggers for a microsecond. Hinotori fires her power into Sekme, who takes over Onya's body and her circular and burning 'window.' Hinotori is powering up Sekme, how is in possession of Oyna. Meanwhile, Xùnsù strains to run under the pressure which is feed-backing onto him. The 'jump window' bares down as the force field collapses, becoming smaller and smaller— All the Hulks are tossed into each other like toys in a plastic ball; but they thrash amongst the rubble, to angry to pay attention. The Hulks fight in a smaller and smaller force bubble, until all three Hulks, who are punching each other in a tight mass of three entangled bodies. The burning circle 'window' descends over the Hulks. They don't seem to notice.
Suddenly there is quiet. Sure, car alarms are going off, and rubble is still periodically crashing down, and water is spraying up from a broken main, but the Hulks were another level of noise, and now they are gone.
All three Hulks were teleported to the old super-villain containment facility built on the dark side of the moon.
“Ok, people,” shouts Praxis. “Damage Incorporated are on their way. The space team is dealing with the moon facility. Everyone who needs it, take five. Everyone else, we’re on S&R. Get medical a clear line, and Oyna I need you to stay up for emergency evacs. Ok?”
“A touching speech, Victor, but mere words will not sway the hearts of those who would cruelly enslave of our brethren. It takes action.”
“I, Victor Von Doom, Doombot! Say that there is a more lasting strength in peaceful words. There was no attack on the crowd, no riot, no incident that may push back our goal. ”
The human shakes his head at the machine, both seated in a rented meeting room.
“Truth, but only tapping on the window of the people in power will not bring freedom. More action is required. Folks like Gyrich have a closer idea to what we need. Machines must be useful, so when they withdraw their aid the masses will scream to their leaders to grant us our desire.”
The doombot nods its head to the man who cared far more than any other about machines.
“Doctor Goodwrench, I can see that happening, or perhaps the masses will cry out to force machinekind to serve them. We cannot risk an open conflict; too much is at risk, too many innocent lives that could be lost.”
“Hmp, well I can see how you would be worried. Neither of us wants the man whose face you wear to decide to renslaved you. ”
The Malcom X to Doombot!'s MLK, Doctor Goodwrench works near tirelessly for machine freedom. Through their methods differ, the pair are lucky enough to call each other friend.
In later years, people would ask whether the late 2010s would have played out differently with a different US President.
What if it had been a loud-mouthed braggart instead of a man who so well embodied 'speak softly and carry a big stick'? What if it had been someone in questionable health, rather than a man whose physical vigour was a modern legend? What if it had been someone who had not been able to shake off accusations of mob connections as readily as a known FBI associate could? What if it had been someone less willing to do as he had done, and permanently gift his business empire to a secure trust upon entering the Oval Office? Or what if it had been a political outsider instead of the former Mayor of New York, who had personally saved lives during the chaos of 9/11?
In short, what if it had been someone with the same weaknesses, but lacking the obvious strengths of the 46th President?
There were those, of course, who even then had doubted his good faith. During the 2018 mid-term campaign, a grass roots movement based right in his original stamping grounds of Hell's Kitchen had urged voters to 'eighty-six Forty-Six'. But while it had narrowed his congressional margins, it never gained enough momentum to prompt any investigation of his presidential run two years earlier.
He had just returned from Russia, where his opposite number's attempts at machismo and physical posturing were rendered ridiculous by the American's effortless demonstration of strength and gentleness combined. There had not been a diplomatic breakthrough yet: the Sokovian Question remained unresolved, as did the stalled investigation into Symkarian extremism. But commentators on the left showed grudging yet sincere respect for the President's robust defence of democratic values, while those on the right proclaimed that no phoney Russian strongman could ever compete with the true personal and moral strength he showed.
Before he retired for the evening following his return from the airport, he received a short briefing from a senior SHIELD officer.
"Sir, we've identified the most likely subjects. Of the top five, three are already in custody on the Raft. Do we have your clearance to proceed?"
"You do. I don't intend to issue any pardons for them, though. Let their participation form part of their sentence - perhaps if they survive, they may be recognised for good behaviour."
And with that, President Wilson Fisk rose and walked slowly to the Executive Residence.
* * *
OOC: Wilson Fisk had been playing the FBI against his rival mobsters throughout the 1980s. In 1991, he used the leverage he had gained with key players inside the Bureau to get his own record wiped clean on the pretext that he had been a Federal mole all along. He was Mayor of NYC from 1998 to 2006. In 2010 he became the first person to be Governor of New York after being Mayor. In 2016 he resigned that post to campaign for the Presidency, becoming the first ex-mayor of a major city to become President since his gubernatorial predecessor Grover Cleveland. He is regarded by his admirers as a man whose force of will matches his enduring physical strength, and by his critics as an out-and-out crook who is too smooth to be caught.
Her second day of flight school someone scrawled ‘Mutie’ on her locker.
After that, it got worse, but Ramona Quill wanted to fly, so she ignored it. She put up with the name-calling, the petty cruelties, and avoided any attempt to physically harm her. She never once fought back, never gave anyone reason to think she was trouble.
“I just want to fly,” she said to her detractors. “Just want to fly fighters.”
She already had her civilian pilot’s license. Degree in engineering, specialty in aeronautics. She was overqualified.
In the classroom, she shone. During flight training, she was obviously the best. And after classes, she was alone. Everyone in flight school with her had made the decisions to shun her.
“Damn mutie, shouldn’t be allowed to serve.” - Intolerance.
“It’s not fair, is it? She’s got an edge ‘cause she’s not human.” - Jealousy.
“Just don’t want to rock the boat you know. Stick to the crowd.” - Mob Mentality.
Fear. Intolerance. Jealousy. The Mob.
It made her year of flight school hell.
But she made her way through it, worked easily twice as hard as anyone else. Would let no one think she was making it only on account of her gifts.
And then came graduation, and as everyone was packing up, she was called to the Colonel’s Office.
He asked her to sit.
Looking at his computer, he said, “You can tolerate high gravity like no one else, your reaction speed has been clocked at least five times faster than baseline. Situational awareness and 3D spatial sense that no is quite capable of measuring but has been described as,” the Colonel paused, smiled in apology, “creepy.”
“It’s like you were born to be a fighter pilot.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Which is why…”
“No!” Ramona nearly shouted, almost standing.
The colonel raised an eyebrow, set her face in a deadpan expression that reminded Ramona she was just a Lieutenant and the woman was a Colonel.
She settled back in the chair. Staying still was hard.
“Which is why it is regretful that you’ll be given a two rank bump and moved into administration.”
Ramona stared at her. She could not fly a desk.
The Colonel sighed. “You can fly cargo planes, keep your hand in the game.”
“Why?” Ramona asked.
“Because you're too good. Lieutenant Quill. People have been complaining. And it has been suggested putting you in the cockpit of a fighter might be seen as,” she paused, “threatening to our enemies and of concern to our allies.”
“I’m supposed to be threatening to our enemies.”
“Take some time to think about this. There is more to life than flying fighters Quill.”
She stood. “May I leave now ma’am?”
The Colonel nodded. “Dismissed.”
Sharply, precisely, Ramona turned and marched from the office.
In her room, she was jamming things into her duffle bag. “Too good,” she snarled. “A concern to enemies and allies.” She crushed something that broke into the bag. “God damn it,” she hissed.
“Tough deal,” someone said.
Ramona turned and looked towards her window, where a talking raccoon sat.
“What the hell?”
The raccoon looked at her. Bared its teeth.
Ramona was struck by the thought it was smiling.
“So, you want to fly fighters?”
As strange as the situation was Ramona nodded. “I do.”
“Does it have to be on this planet?”
“Cause I can put you at the controls of a fighter that makes anything on this dirtball look like kites, and I can take you across the damn galaxy to point some powerful guns as some bad people. Interested.”
It was insane of course. But Ramona nodded. “I’m interested,” she said.
My first OC and Rocket's first pilot, Ramona Quill
Does she has a connection to Peter Quill? Who knows
Oh this is GOLD. Rocket taking a possibly-maybe-you-never-know relative of Quill...and Old Man Wilson Fisk, President. Somehow people keep finding new and interesting places to cast the big guy, and I love it.