Atlantis Arising [M] [Most Original 4Q '11] [Best Veteran 1Q '12]
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October 19th, 2011 (1:27 AM). Edited January 3rd, 2012 by Skymin.
Butcher of the Sands
Blayze Nalaar – Berlin, Germany
Ever since the revealing of the Atlantean race to the general public, life has become tough for me to move around. I guess being the leader of the Atlantean race means that I am supposed to be this figure head, that I am supposed to unite the Atlantean Race, but in reality, the unification of our race is the last thing on my list of agendas. When the five of us first came together as friends and comrades, we had thought that we were the only ones on the earth that had access to powers and as such pretended to be superheroes. We helped out the world as shadows, keeping the rest of the populace guessing who we were and what our real motivations were. In all honesty, we were just teenagers fooling around with abilities we were only just learning to control.
Learning of how our own families had superpowers as well astonished us; we lost touch with our childish ‘hero’ mind sets and begun to think of plans on a grander scale. We weren’t just by products of human evolution, no; we were the products of careful cultivation of our own race of people. Far superior that the thousands of humans out there, we were a part of one of the oldest races in the world; one lost to history books and myths. As we grew into adults, we began to realise the true nature of the world and the true inner workings of society; soon we came up with our own plan not just for the revival of our race, but for the dawning of a new age.
Yet a week after revealing our existence to the public, I found myself crawling through the crowded streets of Berlin, trying to keep out of sight and unnoticed. I knew that if I even slipped up in a miniscule way and someone realised my identity, I would be in deep trouble. With hood dragged over my head and sight downcast, I wove between the bodies of the mortals whom crammed the sidewalks. My destination was a small café near the centre of town, not a place I wished to be, but my contact assured me that it was safe.
It wasn’t long before I was joined at the table by my contact whom like me supported a hoodie disguising his face. When he looked at me I realised why; this guy’s Atlantean Tattoo covered most of the left side of his face, winding and weaving in a brilliant pattern of whirls and spirals.
“Blayze Nalaar, I assume?” he spoke in a low drawl, his eyes moving constantly as he took in every aspect of my face.
“You assume correctly, Mr?” I responded, my New Zealand accent slipping through into my speech, putting him off a bit, yet not stopping him from looking me over.
“Tillmann, I’m glad you came on such short notice.” He seemed to be switching between both German and English, something to throw me off, or at least keep me preoccupied. Was he up to something?
“Well Mr Tillmann, I could not offer up the opportunity to speak to you, I only wish that you could accept my offer.” I wasn’t one to play silly childish games, simple and straight to the point was the way I worked.
“I’m going to have to say no, this is the end of your tyranny, Mr Nalaar.” Within seconds the man grew red hot, his Atlantean Tattoo glowing white as he unleashed his ability. “This is the end,” he said before the café erupted in flames and a large chunk of Berlin was reduced to rubble.
Michael Cale – Lancaster, England
No matter how much Michael tried to focus and concentrate on his ability, it never seemed to manifest itself in the ways that he willed it to; more often than not, not manifesting at all. Michael was lying on his bed, a box with items within sitting at the foot of his bed. For several hours already, Michael had been looking at the box, willing his vision to switch so that he could see into it, yet despite how many hundreds of different ways he tried, none seemed to activate his ability or produce any results. Finally coming to a stage where giving up was his only option, he kicked the box off the end of his bed before arising and heading out to the lounge where his flatmates gathered; stepping over the spilled contents of the box.
Michael knew he had the ability to see through objects, on more than one occasion he had slipped into the vision and seen things he wished he could forget, yet no one believed him. His flatmates were pretty sure he was crazy and his friends thought he was trying to seek attention with the revelation of the Atlanteans, but even showing them his Tattoo was not enough. They needed proof; something he could not offer. He finally made it to the lounge where he took a seat next to Anastasia whose concentration was locked on the television; a news announcement blaring on the screen. She hushed him as he entered the room and sat down, his attention immediately piqued by the urgent news report that had taken over the usual program.
“…a large explosion occurring in Berlin, Germany today, thought to be the work of Atlanteans has rushed a bill through the United Nations calling for all Atlanteans to register themselves and their abilities with the local Atlantean Centre in all capital cities. The Atlantean Royal Family, lacking to presence of leader Blayze Nalaar, has today agreed with the UN authorities to support their decision and were the first to register. Anybody now caught using Atlantean Abilities without being registered or carrying a registration card will face detainment.”
Michael had his bags packed and was on a train to the capital within an hour of the broadcast. He left his flatmates behind with little warning; none of them were really worried about him leaving since he never really talk to any of them. All except Anastasia who questioned Michael about what he was doing, but in true Michael style he kept quiet and left without a second word. During the entire train ride he was continually questioning himself, was this really necessary? All he could do was look through walls, it’s not like that could blow up a whole city? He was weak at best so did he really need to sign up? All these questions and more raced around Michael’s head, clearing as the train pulled into the station.
Michael had not been to London since he left his father in Heathrow Airport so he knew very little about London, but lucky for him the Atlantean Centre of Great Britain was only two blocks west from the station. It was only a little walk for Michael but still the questions plagued his mind like a parasite. Even as he was waiting in line at the centre, the questions still buzzed around his mind, yet it took second place to the awe of the other hundreds of people whom like himself has come to sign up. He watched as several were turned away; most likely imposters, and others were let through into another room.
After waiting in line for around an hour, Michael had finally made it to the front of the line where two police officers flanked the door through, one looking menacing while the other held a needle which he jabbed sharply into Michael’s upper arm. Soon, a raised bump the size of a coin appeared and the policemen ushered Michael through: the needle having some sort of reagent that could prove if you were Atlantean or not. In the room a couple of doctors had stations set up where they tested people and took down details. Michael took a seat at a nearby station, the doctor barely taking a look at him.
“Name?” the doctor said sharply, obviously tired from taking down details all day.
“Michael Cale.” I replied trying to keep from annoying the already stressed doctor.
It took a while for him to take down all my details, including a description of my ability, and once finished, he handed me a slip of paper including a copy of my details, directing me through another set of doors into a waiting room of sorts where people stood against walls and sat on the floor; no seats in sight. One by one people left the room, but twice as many came in at the same time. All he could do now was wait.
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