ProjectKallisti

Morning. It came in through the glass doors; pairs of socks and several old T-shirts casting strange shadows and slowly air-drying, as the drier downstairs still waited to be repaired. Any birdsong from the park was muted by a distance of many concrete floors, but the dawn chorus of the city still reached waiting ears. The roar of waking traffic was interspersed with the calls of ambulance and police sirens, and the occasional shrieking horn of a driver who hadn't had their coffee. For someone who didn't have many mornings to his name, it was more magical than mundane; the passage of time was finally starting to mean something. Nothing could

She was pretty used to not being thought about. Penny was a standard, an expectation; she had come to Global Studio with a great deal of enthusiasm, and had done her job so well that perfection was now mostly expected of her. Needed something done, delivered, recorded, erased? That was what Penny was for. Another cup of coffee, Mr. Powers? The latest copy of the script, Ms. Vasquez? That rare Japanese exported yuri doujinshi, Mr. Manella? Of course, of course, Penny, would you be a dear and… Of course Mr. Powers would have gotten up and retrieved his own cup of coffee, thanking her for her offer. “You’re already busy, Penny.

“Nick…” Maya’s grip on her companion’s clothing loosened slightly. She’d never admit to clinging to him out of fear. In a way, she seemed more upset when confronted with the homeless, another of the many evils outside the boundaries of Kurain. Rivalries were life-long, as common and as bitter as divorce in her isolated mountain home, but such poverty just didn’t happen. Still clinging to her naivety, she took a step forward. Tradition also dictated there’d be someone to lend a helping hand. There was a camaraderie between spirit mediums, occasionally extended to those without the gift of channelling.

Phoenix sat down. He sipped his coffee, trying not to think about how much it cost. Waiting to be found, unwilling to sink any lower by asking for directions; he was getting enough quizzical looks from the various con-goers. Maybe more fans of that game…hopefully more fans of that game, and not of certain comic books… His reflection stared back from the murky depths of the cup. Without the occasional firecracker comment from Maya, catching him off guard, keeping him on his toes, it was easier than ever for his mind to wander. But all roads seemed to lead to that one, unavoidable destination, twisted by his feelings. He felt stupid

New Lockeforge. If there was one good thing you could say about a prison, it was how everything just…came together. All the guards knew was that some men in suits ‘from the government’ had showed them the various facilities, acid-proof and heat-proof and unbreakable, and then left just as quickly. A once-abandoned complex, from some failed business venture, purchased and converted in a matter of days. It seemed to answer the question of where the nation’s tax dollars might have been going, and raised a whole lot more questions. But as far as the public were concerned it was a place to put dangerous mutants; out of sight,

It was night, now. The sun had slowly disappeared over the horizon, somewhere behind what was once Lockeforge Prison. He hadn't seen it set...he wasn't facing in the right direction, denied even that simple comfort. The day's heat slowly faded from his bound hands, and the concrete slab against his back grew cold. He crossed his legs, one of the few things he could do to alleviate the growing numbness. He almost felt glad. Comfort brought hope, and hope meant he'd start thinking, instead of just living. He might think that it would be someone else, returning under the cover of darkness. He might hope that someone had ventured onto this waste

Dick Gumshoe wrung his hands together. In court he'd often be chastised for running his mouth off, revealing his own inadequacies through saying too much. Right now, he was sure he was saying too little. Anything would have been better than nothing at all. He mentally turned the yellowed pages of his past, filling in the silence in his own head. Back then, he'd thought it might be like training another Missile, when something young and energetic and eager to learn was again suddenly placed in his care. Nobody else had the time. Teaching her the in-and-outs of the Police force, having her look up to him and hang on his every word, it had all

"So, Nick, when do you think Mask*DeMasque is coming?" from the glint in Maya's eyes, it was like she was expecting Santa Claus to come through the skylight up above their heads. Phoenix just put a finger to his lips, frowning at her. As boring as it was, they could only sit still and keep quiet. No doubt there were alarms and motion detectors and all sorts throughout the exhibit, especially after the first attempted robbery. They were already breaking the law by trespassing, but he couldn't have let his assistant go alone. He scratched his wing tip – if he had these growing out of his back, surely a death ray wasn't that far-fetched. T

“Hm.” Edgeworth’s eyes scanned the newspaper laid in front of him. He would never stoop to reading tabloid rags, and today was no exception. But would it really make much of a difference? Even the national press, possibly even international, too, was going gaga over ‘the Big Bang’ as it was so uncreatively dubbed. However, the media dubbed those afflicted with the explosion’s after-affects by many names. Mutants…freaks…supers. Anything to divide the world a fraction smaller, to separate ‘us’ from ‘them’, to turn men into demons. It had only been five days since the incident. Less th

“Nick, is that Prosecutor Payne?!” …What could he say, really? Though the man had his back turned to them, it was him, it was Prosecutor Payne. Phoenix would never forget his first day in court, and the sound of that derisive laugh as he made rookie mistake after rookie mistake. Or his relatively easy victory. But now, that laughter had gained a new, maniacal edge, and the prosecutor was pumping his fists to the cheer of an invisible crowd like an ageing rock star. Winston Payne with hair to spare, long, raven-black, and covering everything...more unlikely things had happened that day. Probably. But whether a side-effect of t