KP - Episode 22 (Paid-Members)

Words Count: 4750

(Imagine this is in German)

“Obergruppenführer–” The Hydra soldier hastily charges inside the office, hair unkempt and clothes disheveled. “Sir, we just received a distress signal from a facility of ours in France! The last message claimed they're under attack from Carsten and Caesar!”

Johann Schmidt's… Difficult personality isn't a secret to the majority of Hydra.

Everybody in the know understands the Redskull has got an ugly face underneath his ultra-realistic disguise plus a nasty temper to match, hence why the Hydra Officer’s shaking in his boots, yet contrary to his expectations, Johann remains eerily calm. Slowly, he turns a page on the papers stacked high on his desk. “Caesar…?”

Under the page reveals a poster upon which a young blonde, about twenties appearance-wise, is plastered; wearing a prize-winning, boyish grin as he waves at the unseen crowds. “Hasn’t he died? According to previous reports, he was buried under the Führer's–” He lets loose a disdainful scoff at the pitiful puppet’s Rank. If not for the fact he’s charismatic and extremely proficient at riling up the mass, the talentless, wannabe painter never would have been allowed in even the lowest governmental position, let alone rise to his current Rank,

Yet he is trying to bite the very hands that feed him.

“Little pet Project?”

Being berated and bashed are both expected, but to see his Obergruppenführer so terrifyingly calm isn’t something he has ever experienced,

And it scares the shit out of him, doubly so since he knows this is probably just the ‘Calm before the Storm’.

There is a reason most, if not all of his predecessors had disappeared under rather mysterious circumstances- even listed as MIA or defected in some documents. Although they are officially declared alive, just missing, he is not a fool and neither are the rest of Hydra.

It also explains why the position of the Redskull’s personal aids, in spite of all the benefits it grants, is often passed unto the young and less experienced within their secret Society- those who were brainwashed from a young age to be utterly loyal to the ‘Cause’, which is basically another way to call ‘World Domination’, and whom nobody will miss. They do not lack… Foot soldiers, but intelligent and capable people are always in high demand.

“We- We believe he must’ve crawled out somehow, sir.” The Officer mumbles under his breaths, head lowered- if not for the fact his uniform is so incredibly tight and restrictive, the Officer would have gone on his knees to beg for mercy. Yet, again, the Redskull shows no sign of agitation. “They are proving quite the hassles…” Humming, Johann grabs a remote and reveals a wicked smirk.

“Who should we send after him, I wonder?” Image after image flashes by, each portraying a different powered-individual;

Some are male; others female-

Many cladded in unbefitting, revealing clothes;

Some dress and talk and walk the Earth like mortal, yet high-class men.

“Oh, him, perhaps?” Leaning towards the screen, Johann Schmidt erupts in a string of laughter. The screen displays a handsome and rugged young man with a body which speaks well of his discipline. His hair’s long and tugged back; his eyes containing a steely harshness and on him rests a fur-coat. The boy- the man wields a simple spear with wooden handle, the blade made out of a pebble sharpened until it shines like steel.

A tap from Redskull, and a list of the man’s abilities, general history plus whereabouts are shown.

“Kraven the Hunter?”

The Officers voices out loud, rolling his eyes in secret.

‘These mutants sure do love their Titles…’ Johann rises to his feet, hands clasped behind his back as he circles the jumpy Officer. “While an arrogant savage, Kraven is sure to leap at the opportunity to hunt two powerful animal-themed Metas.”

Keeping silence to avoid attracting Redskull’s ire, the Officer beats a hasty retreat to the safety of the hallway, concealing the regretful expression welded to his face.

‘And they all happen to be dramatic weirdos too… Should’ve escaped to the States when I had the chance.’

— Kaleidoscopic Polaris —

Something bright sears my eyes inside their sockets, before I feel myself plummet- pulled downwards by the Earth’s gravitational force, propelled even further by the explosion which causes my brain to bounce inside my skull. I’m almost certain without my Metahuman-Abilities, I’d have died instantly, ‘People can’t survive an explosion of this magnitude? Hollywood lied to me!’ The Klyntar seems to have it pretty tough though, given how quickly he retreats under my skin.

Head spinning just like how my body is, I tug on the sphere of energy in my chest, managing to transform into my [Avian Form] once again. Flapping my wings, which actually deplete far more stamina than one will usually give credits, I take to the Sky. ‘Fucking fanatics…’ Now, this may come as a surprise but most Germans do not care for Hitler’s propagandas. The wealthy have long left the country when they detected the underlying hostility, and those who do are often the poor who’re:

A) Uneducated,

Or B) Without an alternative option.

Around me, the rest of animals are flailing too, unfortunately I can’t help them.

They should be fine- my Strain is coursing through their veins after all,

Who I’m most worried about is Bryan- his wings curled; skin seared dark- Well, darker than normal. The man’s knocked unconscious and thus unable to do anything to slow his fall, meanwhile the animals are at least spreading their appendages to slow their fall… I want to call out to him- to wake the private up yet all that comes out of my mouth are high-pitched chirps.

Closing the distance between us, I reassume my [Human Form] trying to grab him, before remembering my forearms have been cut off from the joints, courtesy of a certain engineer. ‘No wonder flying takes so much efforts…’

With the Klyntar unresponsive, I can only hug him close using my stumps- kicking my feet to spin. There was a kitten in the bunch- a black cat whose yellow eyes are fearful, yet touched with love. Taking a similar form won’t help, but I can draw on the same instincts embedded in a cat’s DNA. I know I can, I have done it at least twice in the Hydra’s facility, ‘Julian? A little help please!’

‘NO!’ My Alter-Ego shouts, not even bothered to hide the sheer horror in his usual gruff voice. ‘We’re not doing that again!’

I grit my teeth. ‘We have to, can’t you see?’

‘The one to enjoy life will be you anyway. Why should I help?’

What a surprise, my Id can’t be trusted… Why did I even expect anything out of him?

I turn to the Klyntar, who’s been quiet for days now. ‘Deimos, you there?’

But once more, I’m greeted by silence. With neither responding as I had anticipated, I can only rely on myself. Taking on the Grizzly Form, I swap place with Bryan, letting my back face the rapidly nearing ground. ‘Here goes nothin– Urgh!’ Bears have a lot of fat, this is a fact no one can change… They are required to due to their lifecycle and lifestyle, meaning the Form itself is perfect to absorb the impact. Still, pain spreads all over my back like prickling needles as the breath’s driven out of me.

The instance I manage to take in a gulp of air, my Transformation drops.

I push Bryan off of me, feeling marginally lighter with a load off my chest. He’s a big guy, but his muscle density must’ve been increased by a lot after being subjected to my Strain else it wouldn’t have felt like my respiratory system is being crushed. The wings didn’t help either, plus they are always releasing a surge of heat that incinerates my precious oxygen.

Raising my head, I take a glance at the animals who look a bit worse for wear, but not nearly as bad as Bryan or myself. Nanna flies towards us, nudging our limp forms as if telling us to get up, but I am sleep-deprived; starving and utterly exhausted. Even the burst gained from the power-boosts has gone away, leaving me with just enough strength to slightly lift my head, “I’m hungry–”

I sigh, disregarding the lovebird making a fuss near my ear.

“Sorry, girl. I’m way too tired right now. I think I’ll take a nap… Just for a bit.” Like that, my eyelids close shut. Noises slowly grow distant as my consciousness drifts off, but I am still very much aware. I’m aware of the animals circling us protectively, just as I’m aware of–“Dort drüben! Die Mutanten sind dort drüben!” Of the Germans closing in on us, but I don’t care- No, that isn’t quite right. I simply cannot muster up the energy to.

The same cannot be said about my… Progenies though. Not Bryan, I’m talking about Nanna, Blake and the rest consisting of:

Two cats; a jaguar and an asp viper- all of which appear to be suffering from a form of super-gigantism. “Die Kugeln bringen nichts! Lauf! Rückzug! Rückzug!” Sounds of fighting erupt everywhere as I ready for battles, sadly while the spirit’s definitely willing; the body is not. As I am, even raising my pinkie feels like a monumental task which will empty my well of recovering stamina.

Screams; yells- all distinctively human, join together with ferocious, bestial howls.

I suddenly feel something yank my shoulder, followed by grunts until whoever- or whichever animal carrying us by the scruffs of our necks, hauls us elsewhere. "Ne tirez pas! Ne tirez pas! Regardez-les! Ils ne sont pas des Nazis!” The newcomers sound… French? Male too.

I thought the Nazis went full ethnic-cleansing on the male population? Surviving remnants, perhaps? “Il a des ailes… Est-il l’ange don’t ils ont parlé?” I catch one whisper, ‘I hear Angel. Are they friendly?’

My progenies start to growl warningly, thus in order to stop what's essentially an unnecessary fight caused by misunderstandings, I get on my feet- groaning like a newly-risen Necromorph. “S- Stop! They’re friendly!”

At least, I think they are.

My words are to address both sides, from my snarling Progenies who instantly calm, to the agitated Frenchmen who’re currently palming their firearms out of fright. “I’m American! We’re both American!” I yell. During Times of Peace, announcing your ethnicity won’t do shit, but this is WW2, and the States is known to be one of Nazi Germany’s biggest rival. Without the US, D-Day would’ve never happened, or is it, ‘Will never happen’?

I don’t know anymore… Time-Travel’s tough.

Scrambling to my feet, I try to show my hands only to remember I have none. In fact, I do not even have legs, just stumps at the moment so you can imagine how difficult it is. “As y’all can see–” I reveal a stiff- awkward smile. “I’m quite literally… Unarmed.”

One snickers, and likewise the rest follows- shattering the tense atmosphere into countless pieces. The animals are a bit confused, but after seeing the calm look on my face, they slightly ease up, all except the chimpanzee who still bares his fangs threateningly. “Down, boy.” The connection between the animals and I appears stronger than the one I share with Bryan.

The Frenchmen lower their firearms and exchange glances, their tense expressions gradually transforming into ones of curiosity.

One of them steps forward, cautiously approaching me. “American, you say?” He asks, his voice tinged with a heavy French accent. I nod, easing myself back onto the ground. “Yeah, that’s right. We got caught up in some mess with the Nazis.” I gesture to Bryan, still unconscious but breathing steadily. “My buddy there is hurt pretty badly, we could really use some help. Mind giving us a hand?”

The Frenchman's eyes widen, compassion evident in his gaze. “Alright, I can assist you, Monsieur. We have a medical team back at our base camp not far from here… We will make sure you and your friend receives the care he needs.” Relief washes over me, mingled with an exhaustion caused by starvation as I lean back. “But… Uhm… Your pets, are- are they coming along?” I turn to the animals, who look on me expectantly, then nod. “Yes.”

That basically deflates them, but with the animals whose eyes remain trained on them, none dares say anything, which I can’t blame them. If I were in their shoes, I would've kept silent too. The Frenchmen assist in carting off Bryan, while I’m carried by Blake, not because Nanna doesn’t want to, but because it’s easier for me to hold onto a grizzly bear- limbless as I am. This doesn’t mean I am without the ability to defend myself though,

My gaze continuously wander; my ears listening for the smallest sound as we travel through the forest towards the base camp. The French soldiers who escort us, glancing at our little group of oddities with both fascination and unease.

During the journey, I try to communicate with Deimos, the silent Klyntar residing within me. Unfortunately, there is once again no response. Frustration gnaws at me, but I push it aside for now. He is not dead, that I am quite certain… I watched him retreat under my skin after all, but it's simply taking too long and though receiving new Forms may have given me a boost,

The disadvantages of living without limbs has essentially invalidated all my gains. Thankfully, our trip proves rather uneventful. Arriving at the base camp, we are then greeted by the sound of bustling activity.

The guards rush forwards- waved off by those who've brought us, followed by the medics tending to Bryan’s wounds and ushering me towards a makeshift shelter.

The animals are given a round of visual inspection with curiosity and awe, and while there are those who protest, not a lot of complaints are raised after they realize Bryan’s identity. Throughout it all, Julian remains silent, an observer in the back of my mind, yet his wariness is undeniably there. Personally, I'm willing to take the leap of faith, ‘These aren’t allies, they are liabilities’ But I can see where he's coming from.

Their weapons are extremely dated;

Their medics clumsy and untrained;

Their bodies lanky and gaunt- a result of starvation and lack of nutrition for sure.

Still, ‘Look on the bright side: They've shown us nothing but kindness and understanding, plus we do need allies. The US and I are not going to win this war on our own. We can’t.’

‘To hope is to hurt.’

My Id eventually concludes, before taking a dive back into our shared mindscape… ‘How stubborn.’ Days turn into weeks as Bryan and I recuperate within the base camp.

The French soldiers, once cautious, gradually become more receptive to our presence- even welcoming, I dare say.

We share stories, both of our experiences and the atrocities committed by the Nazis and Hydra; we enjoy foods- meager as they may be, sitting around fireplaces.

For the first time, it feels like the empty hole in my chest's beginning to mend. ‘Is this the secret?’ I ponder, sight trained on the group who’re moving back and forth, transporting the new hunts they’ve gotten with the help of my Progenies. ‘Social interactions and genuine connections?’ Julian won’t admit it- he can’t, but I know he feels it too.

It’s not quite the same… Wholeness we experienced when fused, but it’s close- Oh, so close.

Three weeks since we waltz into the camp, Bryan awakes from his coma. “Julius! Julius!” I sit up from the makeshift mattress made out of sticks and hay. “What’s wrong? Are we under attack?!” The young soldier hurriedly shake his head, pointing behind him. I lean over to find Bryan- his skin smoother than a baby ass. It's kind of… Eerie, truth be told. People, no matter their skincare routine, will always have a type of texture to them, caused by years of toiling for survival.

Bryan has none…

In fact, he looks like a doll.

“… What the Hell happened to–?”

He interrupts, glare burning a hole through my forehead. “Don’t! Just- Don’t. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Throwing a palm over my lips, I hold back a snicker that soon turns to full-blown laughter as I clutch my stomach. “Motherfucker!” Our dear private Carsten lets loose a curse, launching himself at me. I quickly duck, narrowly avoiding the flying kick as I scramble away, whistling to call for reinforcements which come in the form of a black cat that hisses threateningly, her little eyes darting between us in confusion- probably having sensed Bryan’s JUL.

I just laugh, silently gesturing her with my eyes to assume her [Panther Form] and leap on top.

“Run, my dear stead!” Seeming to have understood we’re just play-fighting like cats often do, Alice sticks out her tongue as if to taunt the private, before taking off with me in tow. We whizz past several groups of soldiers who roll their eyes at our antics, though most wear a smile on their face. We have not been able to help much, not while Bryan’s knocked out cold and I with my gradually regenerating stumps, but perhaps this is helping too, if only mentally. “RUN!”

The atmosphere was rather dreary prior to our arrival, but animals are amazing like that.

There’s something that… Fills people with Hope when a creature which can disembowel them whole acts all cute and cuddly. I guess the Japanese did have/will have a point with their ‘Gap Moe’ thing, and it is absolutely a thing. “Careful, Julius! You’re still wounded!”

“I’m alright!” I say, saluting. “But thanks for worrying!”

They say: “Flying’s quicker than going on land”;

‘They’ clearly haven’t met Alice.

My girl’s fast, perhaps the fastest out of the bunch, and though Bryan’s quick on his feet- or rather, wings; the way she ducks and weaves past the treeline makes it nigh impossible for him to catch up. “Get back ‘ere!” I snap back tauntingly, flashing a smirk.

“Catch us if you can!”

Following my example, Alice shoots him a challenging stare that tells a thousand tales.

“You little shi–!”

— Kaleidoscopic Polaris —

Fun is fun, but in the end, we’re still in the middle of a Warzone. Eventually, we have to get serious. The Commander of this ‘Camp de Résistance’ is a guy in his mid-thirties with dark brown hair, soulless eyes and deep lines on his face caused by stress. The camp’s led by him mostly, although there are a few advisors who are playing consultants. Unfortunately, they’re all young, many of whom lack life-experiences and obviously, if they haven’t figured Life out, how can they be expected to know Warfare?

Their equipment are completely older than most grandmas in the country, and there are no vehicles at all.

Calling them at a disadvantage is an underestimation; ‘knees-deep in shit’ is more appropriate. “Que font-ils ici?”

Of course, while the majority are friendly towards us, the same can’t be said for all of them, like this guy whose name I still haven’t learnt for example, who hates our fucking guts for no other reason than… Well, because.

My Id says he smells like fear, and being the angry teenager he is, he again chalks it up to the guy being a traitor who’s selling Nazis info about the camp, hence explaining why every move the Résistance has made thus far has been perfectly countered.

It’s not like I can’t understand his thought-process, but at the same time, there're way too many reasons for a person to hate someone they rarely interact with. Plus, if his intention’s to snuff out the Résistance, he already where the camps are;

A word and the Wrath of Nazi Germany will descend on them faster than one can say: ‘Retreat’, and there’s literally nothing we can do. With their advanced weaponry and techs, we can’t protect them, it’s impossible.

Personally, I think he’s just jealous of the attention and respect we’re getting. “Ceci relève de l'information classifiée. Nous ne pouvons pas nous permettre d'avoir des mutants, ou des personnes aléatoires et peu fiables ici–” Seeing the death-glares he’s at the receiving end of, he hurriedly backtracks.

I have no idea what he’s saying, but it can’t possibly be good, judging from all the weary looks. “Nous ne pouvons pas nous permettre d'avoir des individus de passé douteux parmi nous… Ils prétendent être Américains, mais comment pouvons-nous leur faire confiance?” Turning to my friend, one of the rare few who can communicate in English relatively well, I ask. “What’s he saying?”

Jacques replies with a dry, awkward smile.

“He said you guys can’t be trusted.”

At the back of my mind, Julian scoffs. ‘Bastard’s the untrustworthy one! He’s clearly trying to kick us out for his own benefits! He’s afraid we’ll ruin his evil master plan!’

‘You need to stop watching cartoons, Julian. Not everyone’s out to get us.’

I sigh, forcing down the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. ‘Well, he is!’ He swiftly counters, which's fair enough. “Je te l’ai dit de nombreuses fois, Paul, ce sont nos alliés. Nous sommes dans une situation extrêmement difficile, nous ne pouvons pas nous permettre de rejeter une aide gratuite simplement parce que tu n’aimes pas quelqu’un.”

“I hear allies?”

I inquire, waiting for Jacques to explain. “Commander’s speaking up for you guys.”

Calmly, the Commander rubs his eyes. “Les pertes humaines s'accumulent. Sans eux, nous serions tous morts de faim à l'heure actuelle. Sois raisonnable.”

“Calme? CALME? Tu leur lèches le derrière comme s’ils étaient nos parents!” The Advisor screams, slapping the table. The resulting thud causes most to flinch, I'm no exception but not out of fear… I just feel for him… His hand must be stinging quite badly. Sure enough, while his expression remains harsh and cold, Advisor A throws his hands behind his back, wordlessly rubbing his palms together. “NOUS SOMMES AMIS! NOUS SOMMES UNE FAMILLE, ET TU PRÉFÈRES LEUR FAIRE CONFIANCE?!”

I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it either.

Chuckles just spill from my lips like a firehose. “Pffftt…!”

All eyes fall on us, burning holes through my head as I hold one hand over my mouth; the other waving left and right. “Sorry, sorry! I just- I got something in my throat, that’s all. Please continue!” Wiping the amused look off my face, I fix my posture, completely ignoring Bryan’s deadpanned expression.

Without any warning, he elbows my side, driving the air out of my stomach. “Can you be serious for once?”

I blow through my lips. “I said I was sorry!”

“Then swipe the smug grin off your face!”

He hisses angrily, to which I respond with a, “I’m freakin’ trying! It’s just funny, I can’t help it!”

“Incroyable! Il ne peut même pas prendre les choses au sérieux, et il s’attend à ce qu’il aide?” As though having finally found an excuse he can latch on, Grumpy Advisor A points at me with a disgruntled look on his face. ‘Tell him to put his finger down before I take it off–’ My Id pauses, adding after a second. ‘With my teeth.’

‘You mean our teeth?’

Another elbow snaps me out of our conversation. “Ouch! What?!”

“Pay. Attention.” Bryan looks ready to throttle me, but I just shrug. There’s nothing I can say that will fix his biased impression about us, all I can do is… Well, do. “Stop making this harder for us!”

As the saying goes: ‘Actions speak louder than words.’

I’ll silence him soon, but not right now. “You smug bastard!” Grumpy Advisor A speaks in a heavily-accented voice. “You think you’re better than everyone, aren’t you?” Teeth clenched, he leans over the table. “You think you- your small tricks make you above us mortals?”

I mean, kinda… Having superpowers makes you objectively better. It’s not my opinions, but a fact. I blink innocently, tilting my head. “Is this what it’s about? You’re jealous I have what you do not?” His complexion goes through a variety of colors, before settling an angry red. “I know men who’re worth hundreds of you. While they lie dead- their corpses to be devoured by the maggots, here you are still.”

My gaze meets his, and he violently flinches. “There’s… Nothing there, is there?” Grumpy Advisor asks, terrified out of his mind. “You’re little more than a doll- an emotionless puppet!” Then accuses.

That… That touches a sore spot. ‘Julian, wanna trade places?’

‘Oh, Hell-Yes! I’ve wanted to beat this bastard up for ages!’

Closing my eyes, I relinquish control to him. ‘Don’t kill him. He hurts us with his words, so hurt him with ours.’

— POV Change —

“What kind of bullshit is that?”

I yell, my question aimed mostly at the Mask, but they- the maggots who surround us, don’t know that. Doesn’t matter. It works in our favor anyway. “And what about you, huh?” I follow up with another question.

My intention isn’t to defend myself, but to hurt. “Those shaky hands; your constantly darting eyes… I know what you’re feeling: Guilt.” My smile widens. “You’re feeling guilt disguised as anger. Why, I wonder? What brought about this hate?” He recoils fearfully as I click my tongue. “Ah!”

I see… Voice like wine, I lean on our newly-regenerated wrists. “You failed them, didn’t you? Little Mr. Advisor failed his friends, or his family and now you are blaming it on me, all because you can't. Handle. The. Guilt.” For a brief moment, sadness crosses his expression which quickly gives place to rage. One more…

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Campbell!”

Just… One. More. Push!

“Admit it. You let your friends or family die, and the guilt’s so much, you have to push the blame on someone, else you won’t be able to handle it. Admit it.”

He backs away, mumbling under his breaths. “No… No, I–”

“Monsieur Campbell!”

“ADMIT IT!” Like that, he launches himself across the table, hands reaching for my neck. I just let him. Sure, the scene will upset some people, but most of the maggots are smart enough to realize who’s the one in the wrong, plus this is way overdue. ‘The Commander will take his side on the surface, but he won’t be able to reprimand us too much… We are too valuable of an asset to them.’

I scoff. ‘Finally wizening up, huh?’

We crash-land to the ground, skidding out of the tent amidst the confused, horrified stares of the rest.

"BON SANG, LÂCHEZ-LE!”

But it’s not enough to snap him out of his rage-induced haze. The piece of filth punches at me, and guess what? It hurts him more than it does me. I burst into laughter as he’s tackled off, his fist bleeding profusely. “ENOUGH! We are in a shitty situation as we are! Do you want to tear us from inside out?!”

Putting on an angry façade, I glare. “Even a Saint has a limit to his patience… Ever since I first came here, I’ve done nothing but help. I’ve let my pets hunt with and for you! I’ve ordered them to distract any travelling group away from your camp, and he has treated me with nothing but contempt! And because of what? His damn insecurities?! Guess what? I ain’t responsible for his family or whoever he lost! I wasn't even there when it happened!”

I yell, playing the part perfectly thanks to the anger sitting in the bottom of my stomach- stewing, always ready to be used. “YOU WANT ME GONE? FUCKING FINE!” I turn to my pets. “We’re leaving!” The Commander looks at us, terror etched on every line of his face. Sensing my hostility, they assume their Prime Forms, snarling and howling.

None attacks without my gestures, as expected of my well-trained pets.

The lovebird rushes forth, throwing us on her back. “Monsieur Campbell, please! I’ll talk to him!”

Head lowered, I conceal a smile, before putting a scowl on. “Talk? What use is it? I may as well return to the States!”

“Please!”

He pleads again, nearly falling on all fours. Inside, I'm practically giggling with glee, but outwardly, my face remains cold- angry. “This is the last time. If it happens again…” I let the threat hang, waltzing outside. Let them stew in their fear; meanwhile we will savor its sweet-scent. ‘How did I do?’

I question,

‘Perfect.’

The Mask admits.