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12:45 AM
Undisclosed Private Airfield, Massachusetts
The loose gravel crunched under the armored limousine as it rolled off the rough ground and onto the tarmac of the airstrip. Slowly, it approached the small
corporate jet sitting in the middle of the field, engines idling but not entirely shut down. The two could not have contrasted more. While the limousine was
dark colored and anonymous, the jet was tastefully decorated in a bright white and gold color scheme, the tail displaying a distinct corporate emblem: a
bisected diamond formed from a pair of elongated V shapes, either leg meeting symmetrically while the closed verteces each sprouted a pair of parallel lines
and a single circle sitting in the center of the whole array. In its own way, it was a declaration of confidence. Between the two players involved here, no one
would come close enough to this airfield to see the logo. And to the man in the limousine, it was an unsupported attempt to intimidate those arriving. But
then, he thought the people he was here to meet always thought themselves far more important than they actually were.
The ramp descended from the jet as the limousine's passengers walked out to meet the exiting party midway between the two vehicles in the soft, steady
rain. The two leading men similarly presented considerable contrast, though almost reversed. The representative from the jet was thin, with a beak-like nose
that had a pair of small glasses perched atop them. His hair was sandy, almost blonde, and somewhat asymetrically arranged. His business suit was a light tan
and his blue eyes were piercing beneath the umbrella he casually held above himself. His entourage were similarly dressed in business-appropriate wear and
casing the scene with the casual paranoia of professional bodyguards.
The opposing party was almost similar. The entourage of bodyguards also were analyzing the area with casual menace, but where as the previous group could be
mistaken for normal businessmen, these were most certainly professional bodyguards. Each wore a severely cut black suit, stark white dress shirt, and tie, and
dark black sunglasses, even in the dimness of the night, concealed their eyes. All had molded earpieces for tactical radio, while a small few held themselves
in ways that indicated concealed yet easily accessible weapons. Their leader similarly wore a starkly cut suit in black and white, eye concealing sunglasses,
and a perpetually grim expression. He was at least half again as wide in the shoulders as any of them, and at least two heads taller, while his own head was
clean shaven. Unlike his counterpart, he didn't bother with an umbrella, the water simply sliding off his jacket and skin without the slightest hint of his
being aware or remotely bothered by it, as it might a sheer cliff face.
"Mr. Smith," the giant said with a polite nod of his head.
"Mr. Hopkins," Smith returned in kind. "I must admit my employers' curiousity at your request for a meeting."
"I have been authorized, in light of recent developments, to offer your employers a deal," Hopkins said. "Crey has an interest in certain
biotech research you have been conducting up until fairly recently."
Smith adjusted his glasses slightly as he considered that. "My compliments to your information sources, Mr. Hopkins, but I'm afraid that such
research is, obviously, proprietary to my employers. And while we would normally welcome a fresh set of eyes on the data, especially a pair so trained as those
of Crey Biotech," he lied without so much as a flicker of discomfort, "Certain setbacks have made it impossible for us to release any information or
samples outside our personal labs."
"Certain setbacks in recent years have completely depleted any and all test material you had available to experiment on, and the source from which you
obtained the original material has similarly dried up," Hopkins corrected without rancor. "And while that biotech research was certainly intriguing,
Crey has learned that most attempts to control such sources for experimentation rarely bear results worth the overhead," he added, similarly without any
amused inflection that another might have included.
"Then I certainly am not aware of what Crey might think they could bargain for," Smith said, frowning slightly.
"Playing coy wastes both our time, Mr. Smith," Hopkins said simply. "Your Foundation has invested considerable research into an extensive
bioengineering project to replicate specific metahuman abilities on demand. To this end, you have extensive analysis and test data of a naturally occurring
example of your target result. Crey simply wishes a copy of this data for our own analysis, as well as any surviving data on Project Yggdrassil and the
prototype's unique properties. Assuming its creator didn't take all such secrets with him to his grave upon his...untimely demise," he finished,
and this time there was a slight hint of what might be a smirk on his impassive visage.
Smith, by contrast, looked extremely discomfitted. A majority of that information was supposed to have been classified to the highest levels, and while the
incident had certainly proven a fiasco by the time it was done, their media blackout had been absolute. Between that and the mandatory background examinations
and surveillance that division had undergone for the entirety of the project, it was quite simply impossible that Crey had such knowledge...just as it had been
impossible for the Plan to fail in the first place, he had to admit. Schooling his expression, he looked at Hopkins again. "And what exactly are you
offering in exchange for this? The sheer monetary worth of all that data..."
"Is immaterial so long as you retain the originals," Hopkins interjected. "Your plans are, for now, in ruins. But your people certainly still
exist. And, if our intelligence is correct, you will be doing nothing with the information for a considerable period of time," he pointed out.
"Meanwhile, Crey will be handling....loose ends for you. You're the Foundation's garbage man, Mr. Smith. Surely you can appreciate how convenient
it would be if a certain number of your previous wrinkles were...ironed out through no effort of your own," Hopkins said. "After all, while we will
have the test data you arranged, we may need to secure independent sources in the future, and if certain troubles that have been caused to Crey's
operations and your own plans are removed simultaneously, we can consider it a win-win proposition."
"And when our aims no longer allign?" Smith wondered, working through the logic of the argument as he did. Certainly, if the aforementioned
wrinkles were handled, it would secure operational security for future endeavors....and his employers certainly wouldn't mind a small measure of revenge.
They had tracked them, certainly, but Paragon City was far too open for the Foundation to act in, unlike the previous operation.
"Then we will see if Crey is still in a position to threaten your aims when the time comes," Hopkins said. "Of course, what might also be
considered is that you are certainly no threat to Crey's aims now. And should you like to force that issue, with your forces demolished
by the debacle in Japan for the most part, the Countess is certainly confident that, in the end, our own personal troops are more than a match for yours, and
she desires that data one way or another. While Crey would regret being forced into such impolite measures to obtain what we desire, we are certainly capable
of taking them," he noted, inspiring a frown of concern from Smith at the self-evidence of that statement.
"...very well. If you will give me a moment to contact my employers to ask their opinions of this offer?" he asked, receiving a polite nod in
return. They both knew that with the gauntlet laid down, it was mere formality, but forms must be observed. Smith stepped back aboard the jet, most likely to
hold a private, likely rather blunt conversation with his superiors. But Crey held the whip hand here, and when Smith returned with a briefcase containing the
digitally transferred copy of the information, Hopkins accepted it as if it had been nothing less than his right. After a brief exchange of pleasantries
underlaced with an obscured threat should the data prove to be falsified or otherwise incomplete, Smith watched the man-shaped mountain return to his limousine
and pull away.
How far we, the mighty, have fallen, he thought to himself. And all thanks to a handful of children.
***
"The data checks out, Countess," the masked scientist said as he looked it over, receiving a pleased nod from the woman as she observed the
various images flickering across the screen. "However...it's far more in-depth and complicated than we'd expected," he admitted.
"Meaning?" Hopkins said for the Countess from his position beside and just behind her.
"Full integration of the Yggdrasil Project's unique metallic properties into the Equipment Materialization system will require time to hammer out.
The two literally act like matter and anti-matter at present, most likely on purpose. Yggdrasil was intended from the start to destroy Materialization
generated materials and weapons. To counteract that inherent destructive frequency and cause the Materialization to produce the proper attributes against
anything but itself will be complicated," the scientist explained. "Though their early research data indicates that it's certainly possible, and
that it was merely their timetable that prevented them from solving the problem themselves. Furthermore, the genetic lock on the full construction blueprints
of Jormungdr will similarly require careful decryption, but once we succeed, we may finally have an ideal programmable template. The genetic lock to ensure
loyalty was a breakthrough we never really considered as a leash mechanism, but solves several problems. In fact, it should be reverse applicable to existing
Scimitars once it's completed," he said. "The applications are frankly limitless once we crack the encryption."
The Countess nodded, pleased. "Continue with the decryption as planned. It holds the key to the final problem we've been facing with this project
from the start. Don't rush things if you think it will endanger the data. With a final solution so close to our grasp, we can afford to be patient,"
she said with a smile that was simultaneously pleasant and absolutely terrifying if one caught sight of the look in her eyes.
"How soon do you think the first prototype will be ready?"
"We can speed up development by utilizing the initial bio-scan data to develop the weapons profile," he said. "It'll allow for at least one
massive conceptual breakthrough we don't have to accomplish before rolling out a field test type," the scientist chuckled. Typing in a few keys, the
small glass container sitting behind multiple layers of blast proof glass began to glow with a soft light before with a soft chink of moving metal, a pair of
pistols snapped into being in mid-air, floating in the projected anti-gravity field.
"We still have to keep power running through them continuously at present, but between the information from the Foundation's labs we've got to
sift through and the analysis of the Nemesis automaton technology, we're confident the end result will be able to power the weapons indefinitely by merely
linking them to the prototype's own bio-output, much like the originals.
The Countess considered the rotating weapons for a moment, before turning back to the man in front of her. "Excellent. Continue your work, Mr. Jackson.
It promises to provide great boons for Crey."
"As you wish, Countess."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
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