Welcome to Gaia! ::

The alarm clock suddenly rang from the bedside, its little silver bells clanging as its gears whirred and vibrated. For several minutes, there was no response at all. Everything was still in the bedroom, except for the increasingly cacophonous alarm.

Artemisia walked out of her bathroom, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe with her hair in a towel, and hit the off switch on the alarm before rewinding it. The little device was really quite pointless--she woke up on her own before it anyway, and it was so obnoxiously loud. But it had been a silly gift from her parents for her 23rd birthday a few weeks ago, something they'd found in an abandoned Antarctic base from over a hundred years ago. The little contraption was entirely mechanical--it was frankly a miracle that it still worked.

She set the now happily ticking clock back down and drew back her curtains. The sun was just peeking over the horizon of Empire City, its spires of iron and crystal shimmering faintly in the early dawn. She dressed quickly and headed out her apartment door.

The bright lights of Tri-Global's residential wing made her eyes water for a bit before she adjusted to them. She headed down the hallway and was about to turn into the dining area when she remembered Dr. Green's request that she not eat this morning's experiment. Continuing past the enticing smells of coffee and baked goods, she made a right turn, then another left until she stood in front of a simple set of double doors with a plaque reading,

X-FACTOR LAB 4
DIRECTOR: DR. JORDAN GREEN

Artemisia waited patiently as a little scanner panel dropped from the ceiling and hovered in front of her.

"Artemisia Michaela Gerrard," she said clearly, then pressed her hand against the panel. The scanner blinked for a few minutes, scanning her handprint and eyes before she heard the door click open.

The lab appeared to be empty, but she knew better than that. She walked past the first hub of silently blinking computers to the second, where a tall and slightly stoop-shouldered man with graying auburn hair sat frowning at the main computer screen, deep in thought.

As usual, he hadn't noticed her, too lost in his thoughts. Artemisia rapped her knuckles on the desk next to her to get his attention. "Morning, Dr. Green," she said brightly. "What's the plan for today?"

Artemisia frowned a little to herself--Dr. Green was obviously worried about something. But she didn't say anything during the course of the experiment or while helping him pack up the equipment. Instead, she made small talk, hoping to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him.

Finally, when she'd neatly folded away the lead radiation shields and would normally have left the lab, she decided to broach the subject. More or less head-on too, since that was the only way she'd get him to answer the question straight instead of with one of his jokes--she'd known him for too long to try anything else.

"Dr. Green?" she asked. "Something's wrong, isn't it? We don't seem to be getting the results you need from the radiation, and I can't help but notice that you're stressed." She looked him straight in the eyes, her tone of voice making it clear that she was serious.

"Hey, I'm not a kid anymore," she found herself saying with both amusement and fondness. Trust Dr. Green to know the intricacies of genetics and still forget her age from time to time. "Twenty three last birthday."

"You might be able to pitch a cure for mutation or PHV and play the profit angle," she said thoughtfully. "There are lots of people who would pay Tri-Global a lot of money for either of those things...even more than they would for Faust."

"And you know you'll always be a hero to me and my parents," she added with a smile, putting her arm around his shoulders. And she meant it--he was, after all, the man who'd given her an education, a stable job, and a more-or-less normal life that she never would have had. "If you need anything from me, just say the word. I'll help in any way that I can."

((Sorry for the long post. Half of it's Artemisia's internal thoughts, and the other half...well, let's just say she happened to get locked up in a science lab, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to indulge my inner science nerd.))

Artemisia paced the walls of her cell, shaking uncontrollably with fear, grief...and fury. Up until now, she'd never had any reason to distrust Tri-Global. But she was absolutely certain that Dr. Green had been framed by one of his superiors. She'd known him for most of her childhood, and all of her adult life. Even if he had skimmed off the top a little, Dr. Green never would have done so for selfish purposes--maybe to further his research, but never just for himself.

His last words to her echoed through her mind, mingling with the harsh fact of his suicide. Had he known something was going to happen to him? Was that why he'd been so worried the last week of his life? Why had Tri-Global decided to frame him? Dr. Green would never kill himself--he just wasn't that kind of person...had his death also been instigated by Tri-Global, his so-called suicide a cover-up? The unanswerable questions swirled inside her head until she wanted to howl with frustration.

She didn't howl. Instead, she took a quick look around the lab. It was pretty standard--computers, lab equipment...cold and sterile, but she'd gotten more than used to that. What was unusual were the three cells next to hers, empty and sitting neatly in a row. Artemisia felt her blood turn to ice--she wasn't the only subject for this new experimenter. And the only kinds of experiments she ever did with other people were with other superhumans. Messing with their powers. Hurting them.

The thought that other people's lives now depended on her actions helped clear her mind and focus her thoughts. Dr. Green wouldn't want her to just sit here and go to pieces, waiting for something terrible to happen. He'd told her to get out, and she'd obey his last request to her--but she also had to sabotage the lab so it couldn't be used against anyone else. She took a closer look at her surroundings--while the other cells were covered with sensors and electrical wire with bulletproof glass between the bars, hers had only a simple padlock and iron bars. This only confirmed her suspicions that the cells were for other superhumans, and she gritted her teeth. They obviously thought other superhumans were more of a threat than her, a frightened young woman with no inherent powers of her own.

But she did have a few things working for her--knowledge, determination, and the element of surprise. Thankfully, the two guards and the lawyer had underestimated her--they hadn't even bothered searching her body before bringing her here. She pulled two bobby pins out of her hair and began picking the lock of her cell, listening carefully for any movement from the guards outside the lab door. There were no security cameras here, only sensors on the exterior doors and guards on the outside. Obviously, whatever would be done here was deemed too heinous for even the security guards to watch.

The cell swung open noiselessly. Artemisia immediately pulled off her shoes, her socks making no sound against the hard floor. She knew her way around Tri-Global's lab format like the back of her hand, and quickly made her way back to the cupboard where standard-issue lab chemicals were kept--ready-made weapons, waiting for the hand that knew how to use them.

She opened the cabinet, silently sending a fervent thank-you to Dr. Green for making her learn years of chemistry when he'd still been her tutor. Those lessons were going to make the difference between life and death for her now. She pulled small bottles of concentrated ammonia and hydrochloric acid from the shelves and used a scalpel to punch small holes in the tops of the plastic bottles. Those she set aside. Half a container of acetone solvent went into a bottle of ordinary bleach, which she quickly sealed. Finally, she grabbed hydrogen peroxide and some sulfuric acid for a catalyst, mixing them carefully in a beaker with the remaining acetone.

This was the tricky part. She stirred slowly, keeping her hand steady and taking slow breaths so she didn't jar the solution. When she stopped stirring, she stuck the beaker in the lab freezer--she couldn't wait for a more careful way of cooling the solution. Large white crystals started forming along the top of the milky-white liquid. Artemisia couldn't resist a grim, bitter smile of satisfaction as she drained the excess fluid from the beaker with exquisite care. Here was something to try even Tri-Global's finest.

Ammonia--a powerful and flammable base. Hydrochloric acid--an equally powerful acid. Acetone and sodium hypochlorite in the bleach gave her both chloroform and chloroacetone--tear gas. And her coup de grace: a little glass beaker full of crystals of acetone peroxide, a compound ten times more explosive and unstable than nitroglycerin, made even more volatile since her hasty improvisational chemistry had mostly produced the less stable dimer form. Artemisia placed the beaker of acetone peroxide so it was touching the lab door, then poured most of the ammonia in a pool around the beaker. The highly flammable fumes began to swirl up, forcing her to hold her breath. She set the jug of bleach in the ammonia puddle. The moment the door moved and jarred the beaker, the entire concoction would blow up, destroying the cages and probably half the lab while kicking chloroform and tear gas into the air. She then poured in water to dilute the remaining ammonia and screwed the lid back on the bottle--she'd take both bottles and the scalpel with her as backup weapons. Even diluted, the ammonia when mixed with hydrocholoric acid would still be potent enough to leave burns all over the unfortunate soul who decided to mess with her.

There were only two other exits: the emergency door at the back of the lab, heavily alarmed and probably guarded, and the fume vents, which went straight to the maintenance side of Tri-Global's headquarters for detox. Artemisia cut the wires of the fume hood control so the flaps of the vents would remain sealed, trapping her chemical concoction in the room when it exploded. The fume vents wouldn't open without screeching, so she used the scalpel head to unscrew one of them as far as possible without making a sound. She pulled over a cart of very expensive lab equipment to help her climb into the vent, then took a deep breath and pulled, the metal squealing as she opened the vent. She kicked the cart away as she clambered in, sending it careening into the computers with an earsplitting crash as glass flew everywhere. Part of her was tempted to stick around and watch the mayhem when she heard the guards shouting, but she closed the vent behind her instead, crawling as fast as she could down the vent toward the maintenance area.

((Teehee. Sorry--like I said, I couldn't resist. Science students like explosions mrgreen And damn right you're kidding...do you know how long it took me to figure out that post? rolleyes ))

Oh, I am royally f***ed, thought Artemisia when she heard the voices echoing through the vents. Cape-killers. She hadn't even thought of that, and she could have kicked herself for it. The airborne chemicals would have no effect on them at all, and the chemicals she was carrying with her would be about as effective as water against their hazard suits. Add that to the fact that she'd just managed to piss off men whose sole job it was to kill people like her...she realized with a jolt of cold terror that she didn't have much time before they tracked her down.

As she hurried along the vent, she heard the alarms for the emergency exit going off, and was extremely glad she hadn't chosen that method of escape. Then a different sound met her ears, a high keen of sirens and screaming echoing from the research wing of the building. The cape-killers had obviously left the door to the lab open, too eager to chase after her to bother containing the spreading tear gas and chloroform anesthetic. The chemical contamination alarms had gone off, and the still-volatile flames from the acetone peroxide and ammonia fumes were certainly not helping the growing wails of panic.

God, those poor people... Despite her fear of the cape-killers, guilt squeezed at her heart like a vice. On one hand, her airborne chemicals hadn't completely been a wash--the chaos and devastation she'd left behind would at very least buy her precious minutes, and could be the difference between life and death. On the other hand, she'd just thoughtlessly exposed dozens, if not hundreds of innocent people to chloroform and tear gas to save her own skin.

It took her a moment to refocus--first things first...she had to get away from the cape-killers. Where was the last place they would possibly look for her? The best thing she could hope for was outwitting them. She couldn't fight them head-on, there were more of them than of her, and she didn't have enough time to set up another trap in a different lab. They'd know better than to fall for that again, and she couldn't risk hurting more innocent people. She continued through the vent, which suddenly curved to the left and sharply down, toward detox. To the right and below her where the wall would be, she could smell a rather pungent odor of bathroom waste badly covered with cleaning fluids.

An idea struck her, and it took her just a split second to make her decision. Last place they'd possibly look for her? She couldn't do much better than here. The cape-killers were checking maintenance, so detox was out of the question, and she could hardly stay in the vent. And if she went a different direction, she could turn their equipment against them--their gas masks filtered all incoming air and would keep them from noticing the smell she'd noticed. Instead of heading for detox, Artemisia used the scalpel head to unscrew the panel under her feet. She peered down into the narrow opening--bingo. It opened right between the wall panels of some residential suite's bathroom, barely big enough for someone small like her to fit through.

The two bottles she'd been carrying with her had dripped a little along the length of the vent, leaving chemical fumes and marking where she'd been. If her trail just disappeared, they'd know where she had gone, gas masks or not. And chemicals weren't going to do anything against the kinds of guards chasing her. Artemisia dropped through the panel, then tossed the two bottles down the vent toward the left. They slid down the vent toward detox, dripping their contents behind them for a false trail. She pulled the panel back into its place, screwed it in, and began climbing along the pipes sideways, away from the vent and toward the main room of the residential suite, where she could hear voices speaking in a low hum.

Artemisia froze, her heart pounding as the young man's startlingly blue eyes blinked sleepily at her. Yet another innocent person who could get tangled up in this mess. He wouldn't stay muddled for long either. A week ago, she would've asked him for help out of her predicament. But her life a week ago might as well have been worlds away. She just couldn't risk it.

"No, just housekeeping," she said in as much of a calm, soothing voice as she could manage. "I must've gotten the wrong room. Sorry for disturbing you, sir."

Before he could say anything or get a good look at her, she slipped sideways into the suite's central hallway. But instead of leaving the suite, she turned left into the bedroom. Although his suite was a little different from her old one, the bedroom had much the same layout--including the laundry chute. Artemisia breathed a sigh of relief and was about to hop into the chute when she noticed a portable radio sitting on the floor next to the young man's bed, in a pile of clothes and old socks along with a blue and silver ID badge.

The name on the badge glittered up at her, and she nearly fell over in shock. Jeremy Portland--one of Tri-Global's guards. The same guy who'd taught her and a bunch of his new recruits how to fight and shoot. She'd gone out for a drink with him and his friends just a week ago, right before everything had gone to hell. She'd been so panicked when he woke up that she hadn't even recognized him.

She stood there, unable to decide. On one hand, she could easily count Jeremy among her friends. They'd known each other since she started working with Dr. Green. On the other hand, he was a guard. He could just as easily turn her in to save his job. And could she really get him tangled up in this when cape-killers were after her? She was so torn that she didn't even notice he'd followed her into the bedroom until she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, staring at her.

"Jeremy, it's me. Artemisia," she whispered, throwing caution to the winds, hoping against hope that she could still trust him. She could feel the scalpel still in her hand, scraping against her palm, and prayed she wouldn't have to use it.

Relief flooded her--warm, sweeping relief. He'd meant to rescue her from that cell? She felt her eyes prickle a little and was tempted to throw her arms around him and hug him, but the urgency in Jeremy's voice and eyes warned her to keep her wits about her. She was hardly out of trouble, and he was now in trouble with her. But at least two heads were better than one--and she knew better than to try and dissuade him when time was so short.

She settled for giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she donned his uniform. "Thank you so much," she said warmly. "You're a lifesaver--even if I did beat you to the punch." Her mouth quirked in a genuine smile, the first in a week. She finished putting on most of the uniform--it WAS too big for her, but she managed to compensate somewhat by pulling the loose material and securing it with her hairpins on the inside of the uniform.

She wanted to ask him more about how he knew what had happened to her. She'd heard rumors about Dr. Kolso--who hadn't in the research department? Even Dr. Green, who rarely spoke unkindly of his colleagues, had had a strong word or two to put in about Kolso. And Lab 8 was one of the more extensive labs in Tri-Global--she'd probably destroyed billions of dollars worth of equipment at the very least when she blew the place up. She shuddered a little as the magnitude of what she'd done started to hit home.

But first things first--she was no use to anyone if the cape-killers got to her, and Jeremy was right. She had to get out as fast as possible, before more reinforcements came. She slid the helmet on, careful to tuck her distinctive bright red hair away into the back so no one could see it. "OK," she said once she was inside the uniform completely, her voice sounding odd in the enclosed space. "What's the plan?"