Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Clones of War [Weapon S]

There were several factions of thought that occurred once the rip in space and time occurred: 1.) “OH CRAP WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” 2.) “OH CRAP WHAT THE **** IS GOING ON?! and 3.) “...interesting.” The event turned out to be a rather large breakthrough for the science community, especially physics, a field which had been halted for years do to humanity being able to discover or prove any of their founding theories their fields had been based on. It was going to revolutionize all fields of science, to the point where the world could not be recognized within only a few, short years. But not all science was focused solely on the rift. There were others, in the fringe sciences, who would take part in the madness.

Dr. Jezebel Weber had been on SUPER’s radar for years. Her controversial talks about genetic augmentation and cloning had been consider heresy throughout most of the world, but SUPER knew of the possibly applications if she were successful. Early on they had approached her, bringing her into the fold, and watched her work very carefully. With funding for her research to last lifetimes, Dr. Weber had the world of genetics opened up to her, all she needed was a breakthrough -- and she got with her first success...Adam.

With Adam, SUPER knew that they had a bonafide success with Weber, so they immediately set her to work on their own project -- mutant deterrents. After all, the only way to stop a nuke was with a nuke of your own.

It took time for Weber to achieve the quality and quantity that SUPER wanted, but through trial and error, and some poor mistakes that needed to be put out of their misery, she managed to achieve it. Weapon S was born and SUPER was finally ready to start putting them out on the field.

Marching down the hall of her facility, yes her facility, the tall, enigmatic geneticist with the ebony hair and jaded look, stopped at the steel doors of the elevator and tapped her I.D. card against the reader. A confirming beep along with a neon green light showed that her identification was accepted and the elevator doors parted before her. Stepping inside, he slipped her card back into her white, lab pocket pocket, turned over her metal clipboard, and read the readouts from the latest test runs. It was a few seconds before she realized that she never pushed the floor button, sighed, and did so with her thumb.

Really, there were some things she really needed to work on.

As the elevator descended down several floors, she continued to flip through the pages of her reports, making notes, marking where improvements or retesting needed to be done, over all being complete perfectionist; she wouldn’t accept anything less. Quickly she became lost in her own thoughts, plans for future experiments, new tests that needed to be run, so much so that by the time her floor came, she was standing in front of open doors, her floor sitting before her for several moments before she realized it. Stepping off, she sighed as she marched on -- there was work to do.

The halls were sterile, quiet, the only sounds coming from the hums of lights above her head and those of her team of scientists milling around. The second they heard her heels clicking on the smooth, black-tiled ground, every person raised their heads to attention. They nodded to her, they waved, but Weber ignored them all and instead grumbled out a single question:

“Where are they?”

One of the scientists quickly answered. “Training Room C.”

With a nod she pressed on. Her lab was rather terrifying at first glance. The smooth, black floor and ceiling seemed to keep the lab in perpetual night. This was broken by the walls of perfect glass, separated out into rooms, each with their own laboratories and a variety of equipment. Walking through, she cast glances at each lab which ran everything from sample processing, coding, tracking, birthing pods, and large rooms and warehouses, dedicated to clones in various age groups. Overall, it was exactly what she always imagined her perfect lab to be. But while she would like to focus on more endeavors, right now she needed to make the bosses happy.

Walking passed another room, she stopped at a steel door with a black letter C painted on it. Pushing it open, she stepped inside.

It looked like a high-end gym. Matted floors, chrome exercise equipment of all tips, and plenty spacious enough to house an army. However, there wasn’t an army within that room now, only a small gathering of her most advanced and successful creations. Each one was handpicked for the mission SUPER had in mind. It was time for them to break out into this universe and start proving to her bosses that the expense, the wait, and her skills were up to par.

She waited there, for several moments, until she had their attention. When they turned around to face her, she gave them all a stern, almost motherly look, though she knew full well that they weren’t actual people. Still, they were her creations and they needed a figure to look towards.

Quietly she stepped up, her clipboard tucked under her arm. As they advanced, they immediately fell into line, waiting for her, like proper soldiers should. Their loyalty always pleased her, so much so that she offered them all a small smile.

“Good morning,” she said softly. “As you all have undoubtedly heard -- it’s showtime. SUPER thinks you all are ready to go out into the field and I…” she waited, watching their faces as they eagerly waited for any sign of approval from her. “...agree. But we’re going to take this slow and careful, understand? As you know from the dossiers that you recieved from your parentage charts, you genetic sources are running free in this world. So you all will have two mission, a primary and a secondary…”

She moved over to a nearby computer where she punched in several commands, bringing up a Power Point presentation (she really had no sense of showmanship, and it showed as each clone rolled their eyes or silently huffed). She turned to start speaking but the presentation began to automatically roll, far too fast, skipping several slides of complicated charts and graphs. Weber grumbled, pressed keys, cursed under her breath, and finally managed to get it to top, only to see it was now on the THE END screen.

With a sigh she turned back around. If her creations were snickering, she didn’t hear it. Once she was facing them, she marched up and gave them all careful looks.

“Look, I’ll keep this simple. Primary mission is that you work for SUPER. You start proving yourselves. Go out there and start making a different. Start with the Most Wanted list on the Mutant Related Crimes division sheet that I printed for you. Use your skills, start bring those psychos in. Of course, help out as much as you can. Prove to SUPER exactly how much you are willing to protect humanity. Now...your secondary mission,” she smirked. “Ease into it, but I want you all to start making contact with your ‘doners’. Seek them out, start watching them, get close if you think that you can. But I want info on them, their patterns, their abilities. You can observe them from afar, if you chose or you think it will jeopardize the mission, but ideally...I want you to get as close as possible. Cozy up to them. Earn their trust. Then...as per usual...we bring them in. Understood?”

She grinned as she saw the focus and attention in each of their eyes. They understood, even without saying so. And in the same way she knew they understood, she also knew that they would succeed. This was her project, despite whatever ridiculous branding SUPER wanted to use. At the end of the day, they will always be hers.