All men fear to grow old…but is it not more awful to grow young? To see flesh soften and melt away, to feel one’s knowledge fading and memories vanish into the seas of the future past. To know that when you die you will simply cease to exist, your soul de-aging into oblivion, your body not even able to return to the dust from which it came.
It is known as Benjamin Button Syndrome after F. Scott Fitzgerald’s character of the same name. There is no cure, no way to slow the de-aging of the cells, the afflicted can almost guess the day of their own death from the day of their birth. What cruel tricks Fate plays.
Such was the curse of Nikolai Petrovich Petrov. He saw himself growing younger by the day (crows feet growing shallow, old scars disappearing), and it filled him with desperation. Someday he would die, a terrible death. And Nikolai wanted to live forever.
Sometimes he felt intense déjà vu that let him know things from his own chronological past. Several weeks ago this had led to an encounter that might change the course of his life…
The girl smelled of paint, and moved with the agility of a jungle cat. He had stopped by for a routine check of the weapons his gang was moving. She gunned down many of his men, making a bright-colored mockery of their deaths. He had quickly overcome his surprise, and bent her gun around her hands, melting it around her arms. She struggled, but the strength of the moon was with him, and he levitated her weapons away from her. Her dog tags gleamed in the moonlight, and his eyes widened in surprise as he made the connection between ‘Project Picasso’ and the black-market auction of Dorian Gray’s blood-stained painting…which he himself had had a hand in moving, not realizing the potential in the old caked blood. This was much more than a girl, more than some government spook. She might be his Fountain of Youth if he could unlock her DNA. And then she was gone, vanished through unknown means when his concentration waned. He was left alone with the paint-splattered bodies of his men and a new determination that would take him to the ends of the Earth.
He had connections, so it was no matter to bring down a scientist to analyze the energy-residue her teleportation device had left. Some greased palms in high places left Nikolai with a replica of the precious piece of technology.
The time that ran backward through his veins warned him that to jump through the portal alone would be the end.
Ace was promised a challenge, the death of boredom for at least one day. He gladly accepted.
Cain was given the chance of salvation through the miracle cure Nikolai himself sought.
The Catalyst was given the chance to create a beautiful work of pain that would change an entire world with its crystalline ripples.
The twins Julius and Jacob were snatched from their beds, told their parents and loved ones would be executed if they did not follow orders.
The monstrous Zombie merely followed along. The life of an immortal is a tiresome thing.
Serial killer Polaroid was just in it for the laughs.
Illusionist Trompe L’oeil owed Nikolai a favor, and she knew better than to refuse to pay it.
Technomancer Solenoid Spin was promised the rest of the girl’s tech…he had been the one to build the teleporter, and was eager for other wonderful devices.
Convicted murderer and elemental mutant Tidal Ripple was taken from Death Row…though Nikolai would gladly send him back to the Chair.
This small army, crusaders in search of Eternity or Salvation, or perhaps merely Entertainment.
Nikolai took the teleporter for a test run (one of many), and acquired a valuable asset…he believed it might be the leader of the team his quarry currently hid among.
Everyone has a breaking point. Whether that point is reached through sleepless nights, weeping fingernails, or breaking upon the rack, they will eventually talk. Nikolai knew many, many ways to break the body, to break the soul, to break the Earth when the time came.
The captive had drawn him a map eventually, and it seemed accurate. He knew the names, he knew the faces, he knew powers and weaknesses. They might be Foxes, but he was the hunter.
The attack was launched in the dead of night, when the moon hung in the sky, bloated and red like a flayed body.
The teleporter flashed once, and they stood in the lobby of the Fox Company headquarters and barracks. Trompe L’Oeil masked them, hid them from security and sharp ears. Nikolai gestured, and his soldiers spread out, positioning themselves for stealth or dramatics, depending on their wants. Once they were all in places, Nikolai raised all the metal objects in the room up three feet and let them fall with a clatter. “GIVE ME THE GIRL AND NO ONE WILL BE HURT.” He shouted. This, of course, was a lie. There could be no witnesses.
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