Caitlin Grey (foenix) wrote,
Caitlin Grey

World Superpowers: Chapter One, Part Two

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Yay! I got the formatting fixed so it will make proper paragraph indents!

        Naturally, almost no one believed them.  People had seen enough movies by now, with ever increasing special effects quality, and better computers entering the home enabling even the simplest of setups to create the highest quality effects that were more and more indistinguishable from reality.
        The government placed it's best people on analyzing the videotape, however the state of the art had progressed to such a state that even telling fakes from reality was becoming increasingly difficult.
        After much examination, the men in their white coats, had stared long enough at multiple screens, picking over ever minute detail they could find within the videotapes, and did come to the conclusion, within a reasonable level of certainty, that they were, in fact, legitamite, and the abilities being displayed were what they appeared to be.
        Those sitting in the halls of power sat upon this information, not willing to let it out, and cause any further panic amidst the populace, possibly causing fear to grow even higher than it alrady was.
        With people disbelieving what they had seen, they remained dubious of what these people were capable of, even though they had already struck four times in as many months.  They were afraid, granted, and rightfully so, but surely telekinetics didn't really exist.  Surely it was just something to make people afraid.
        For some time, the government debated what to do.  None of the people in these meetings knew that anyone else within the government, or working for them tangentially, was seeking to replicate just such abilities.
        They didn't want to negotiate with these men, give in to them and interrupt their various agendas abroad, but even these men - powerful, confident, and assured under normal conditions - were afraid.
        The fear this new breed of dissidents had brought within the borders of the United States touched everyone.  There was always a fear that the people being passed on the street everyday was a potential terrorist.  That the people on the street could go home, and put together parts and chemicals for a bomb, and then wander downtown.  Now however, it was a whole new ballgame.  Now, that person sitting on the subway, clearly without any explosive device, or chemical weapon, could now be that weapon, could now kill you with a glance, or worse, with just a thought.  People could start dropping like flies, and no one would know who it was.
        A new, completely invisble enemy was within the country, and it had everyone on edge.
        Meetings were followed by more meetings, as the President and his men tried to decide what to do.  Typical of beaurocracy, they decided nothing, postponing the decision, argued amongst themselves, unable to decide a move that would satisfy them, and deal with the newest threat to the security of the nation, and their seats of power.
        While the debate raged onward between those in government, and the normal person, as to whether or not what was in the tape was real, and what would be the best course the nation should take to deal with them, regardless of if the images were real, time grew short.
        People were certain that the First Strike group was indeed serious about their threats, even if their strange abilities were lies, after the last attack.  First Strike said they would strike again, and no one except the terrorists themselves, knew when that would be.  With each passing day though, it became more and more certain that the next day would bring another event.
        No one knew if the government was any closer to a decision when October rolled around, and First Strike made good on their promise, and moved forward with their plans of fear and destruction.
        An early snowfall had brushed a light, sugary coating of snow across the rooftops of Omaha, Nebraska, blanketing the city in a pure, sparkling blanket, only marred by the scars that had been gouged through it by snowplows clearing out what little snow had fallen for the early morning motorists, and the occasional car tracks of people who were out before the snowplows made it to their areas.
        It was an otherwise peaceful scene, an early view, a miniature of what winter would bring in full force, in just a few weeks.  The heat of the slowly rising sun would soon melt the snow, clearing the streets, and yards, and bringing back the view of Autumn that Omaha in October should look like.
        Omaha was probably the last place anyone suspected that First Strike would call forth their astonishing new abilities, after the other attacks had struck out at major cities more on the coasts, arguably far more important than Omaha in the greater scheme of things.
        But it was indeed Omaha where they had decided to come, to strike a blow literally and figuratively into the heartland of America.
        People had settled back into their routines, as best they could under such circumstances, yet were still wary and anxious, for the most part, as they waited for news of another attack.  What else could they do?  They went to work, they dropped off, and later picked up, their kids at school.  Life was as normal as life can be while when the threat of a sword dangling over your head is ever present.
        The snow crunched underfoot, and under tires, as people went about their business.  Dripping water as the already warming day caused the snow to begin melting, and fall from the eves and form small puddles along the way, with a gentle plip with each fall.  The air was too warm for icicles to form, and the water just slowly fell to the ground, melting more snow where it hit.
        It seemed like any normal, if unexpectedly white, October morning in Omaha.  There was no cold wind blowing through.  The dark clouds in the air were already breaking up, letting the bright azure of the sky peek through, as well as the effulgent orb of our sun.  A few remaining birds, defiantly remaining in the face of the impending weather, chirped happily through the trees, flitting between buildings, as unsuspecting of what was coming as the people below them.
        Far from the sprawling downtown area of the city, on the edge of the business area and the suburbs, sat a regional Department of Defense contracter, a rather ordinary looking building, built back during the seventies, made entirely of brick, and steel.  The large building sat mostly off by it's lonesome, segregated from most of the area by a large parking lot.  The space used to house several offices, and a warehouse, but time had caused many businesses to move in and out of the location, and now it was mostly empty, except for the government connections.
        On this snowy day in October, the few people coming in to work made their way from their warm homes, into the cool, crisp morning bite of fall, and made their way across the parking lot, already cleared from the heat of the asphalt built up the day before, already having melted what little snow came in contact with it, causing the faded grey to become a shining, shimmering black in the early morning sunlight.
        However, on this day, a strange car drove down the offshoot of the road that lead to the parking lot.  An old, faded white, slightly rusting Chevy Impala broke the mostly-silent morning out there around the lonely building, roaring down the road, drawing the attention of the employees moving from their cars to work, or pausing for a cigarette before ducking inside the large metal door, green paint long since flaked off, several times over, from harsh conditions.
        None of them paid the vehicle any mind, as much as it was one they had never seen before, even in these new days of heightened fear, and expectant attacks.  The city was full of people of all kinds.  This wouldn't have been the first time an unusual car had come down the road to these offices.  People got lost, both those who were new to the area, and even the rare person who had lived here for many years, and the parking lot made a convenient spot to turn around.  As well as those, kids would often come down this way, since even with the place still being used, it was an out of the way spot, mostly empty, and nearby a number of homes.  It made a good place for them to come and get away for awhile, even if they never left their cars.  Police had more than once chased them off, but as long as they didn't cause any problems, and kept to themselves, they were generally left to their own devices.
        The employees watched the car roll into the parking lot and slow to a stop nearby the cluster of cars that they themselves had left behind not too long ago.
        A young man in his mid twenties stepped out, the wind rustling through his scraggly brown hair, the cold breeze, and sunlight glistening off the black asphalt causing him to squint.
        He tucked his hands into the pockets of his long, brown leather trenchcoat, tied tightly around his waist, yet the wind still caused the long coat to flick around his legs, snapping against his jeans.  His sneakers scuffed along the pavement as he neared the employees.  His demeanor didn't hint at any malice, just another person, protecting themselves from the cold, and maybe just seeking directions.
        Their thoughts must have surely been about how could such a normal looking young man pose a threat?  Why would anyone do anything in Omaha?  What possible reason could they have for striking here, in the middle of nowhere, away from any population center?  There was no reason to be afraid.
        They were sorely wrong.
        Once the young man was within only a few yards of the crowd of employees killing time before they had to punch in, and he stopped.  Looking them over, examining them.
        "You have been selected to act as a demonstration," he said.  His voice was calm, almost emotionless, but there was no fear, just a sureity behind his words.  "You will bear witness that what we do are no mere tricks."
        Several of the employees were beginning to get an inkling, if not more, that something was amiss there, and had begun to move away from him.
        Before they could move any further away, before their fear could grab hold, and they truly did come to realise just what he was, and what he was doing, they were all engulfed in flames and sound.
        And with that, all doubt over what the members of First Strike were capable of, was wiped from the thoughts of America.

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