9224/Civil Defense

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Civil Defense
Date of Scene: 22 December 2021
Location: Operations: Triskelion
Synopsis: A sudden, urgent meeting; desperate measures laid out in laminated pages. Cal'hatar, at least, is back in military form.
Cast of Characters: Jane Foster, Michael Erickson, Jessica Drew




Jane Foster has posed:
Once upon a -- no, that's not how it goes. Jane is briefly checking in, given the hour is opposite what one normally would and explaining a 'spirit of fate' to someone outside WAND typically involves violent eye-rolling. Her AAR report in progress demands attention from one of the analysts picking through the details, highlighting the screen in front of him with a sea of yellow.

"This lady in the ski suit appears," he says.

"Snowsuit, confirmed 1980s vintage," she corrects him.

"Appears after a localized drop in temperature outside the Triskelion, coordinates such, and it's nowhere else? That's just a cold snap."

"No, it isn't." Her smile is friendly. "You do not get Martian temperatures in a field."

He looks ready to throw a coffee cup at someone.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Not on this planet, at least." And behold, Michael...has all but manifested, a very displeased agent catching up behind him; someone's jumped the turnstile and beckoned for security to follow him, and Erickson now stands outside her office, a sheaf of laminated pages the size of a diary's in his hand. "I need to talk to you," announces Michael -- no, nothing human there. He stern, patrician. /Shi'ar/. "Doctor. Now."

    The Agent - Agent Nelson, a harried-looking blond man the size of a barn - has a hand on Michael's shoulder and another toward the taser on his hip, looking to Jane through the doorway. The expression reads cleary: 'Permission to light him up?'

Jane Foster has posed:
"Not outside lab conditions during a holiday party, which this informally was," agrees Jane. Her attempts to convert the analyst's opinion seem dubious, but he certainly looks somewhat approvingly at Mike rather than her. Bad choice, Mr. Analyst. "My full summary and initial scientific surveys are located in the attachments, with quantified analyses through Triskelion and onsite scanners. Skip it."

The situation halts then and there as the 'now' fits in to cut off the conversation, and she gestures to the man, then Michael himself. Her eyes narrow slightly at the tone, though not negatively; a reflex of people flexing authority when so often it's meant trouble.

"I've got this." The proper rank and file here might be measured. "Office, this way. I'll commandeer this one and they can take it up with Simmons if they don't like it."

Jessica Drew has posed:
What a lovely start to the day. Jessica sprinted to the subway, stood on every train change, three, so far until seats cleared up at the second to the last station. Some of the countryside was beautiful after the snow and ice storm that had roared across the state two nights ago.

Badge held high as she rushes through the security check points, her rapid breathing attests to the speed walking she did through the corridors to Jane Foster's offices. At least, he let her know where he was going to be. Just not why.

She is absolutely jonesing for the coffee she never stopped to have. Taking a deep breath, she chirps brightly from behind the burly agent whose hand is itching to wrap around the taser, "Good morning! What brings us all here today?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He has been there all night - and, despite the incredible stamina of the Shi'ar compared to a human man his size and level of health, he has been working hard enough throughout the hours that even Michael looks a bit wilted. To the agent, who is now stepping back, Michael offers a barked 'Dismissed.' Not your troops, buddy, not your command. But whatever he has been up to is sufficient that any patina of politeness is gone, and he marches along with Jane into the office that she has indicated as if it were a war room.

    Once inside, he swiftly begins to lay out the laminated sheets that he has brought with them; rifling through them to ensure the order, he sets down two copies of the loose sheets, each one in a place for Jessica and for Jane (whom he assumes will be sitting down at the des.) Once this is done, he takes a seat.

    "I have been informed by Agent Sims that an extradimensional intrusion event is to take place at the start of the year," he affirms. "I assume he has also told you of this, but given his composure last night I have elected not to leave it to question. He has asked that I assist in planning. So I am here." On the cover page of each 'pamphlet', two words in large, bold letters, followed by a smaller subtitle:

KEEP COURAGE
A Defense Guide To Countering The "Angelic" Threat

Jane Foster has posed:
Let it be said any crisis thrown down here in Jane's books is not a crisis to the degree most other people describe them. Her definition shifted substantially. Call it a matter of different perspectives, not even inside the arc of survivor of the Battle of New York. Otherwise she keeps her chill, such as the facade holds, settled inside the conference room and gesturing for Michael to enter. His handler is, of course, a matter that won't be gainsayed, because really, what would be the point?

Gotta respect those Inhuman girls! Long as they aren't trying to bioshock the poor little astrophysicists of the world.

She picks up a sheet without asking unless stopped, reviewing the contents front and back at the same time. Her eyes narrow a fraction, details absorbed as quickly as her mind allows. "The Commanders know about this? Interdimensional breaches, depending on the source, tend to go straight through to Fury, Hill, and Carter. At this rate, I'd expect Brand and Palamas to know too." Not that she has authority invested in much there, but her tone adheres to the structure if only to keep appearances up. Being the loose cannon gets nowhere in this agency.

"An intrusion started at New Year, how very colourful. He hasn't spoken of it on these terms, no." A frown lifts slightly. "Planning to notify people of... angels. False angels?" Her eyes narrow fractionally. "You're talking about a mass information campaign. Leaflets like this have been used widely, but you realize it's going to cause mass panic or potentially mass disinterest. Where are you dropping these?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
Like so many of the agents in SHIELD, Jess is inured to the bizarre. She mouths silently, "Angels?" Then sighs, her English accent is crisper than usual as she checks on what she has understood, "Extra-dimensional beings are going to invade New York? That's a damned sight more than colorful. You said the new agent Sims told you this? Because of you being from another planet, right?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Because I am a soldier who has more combat experience with odd things than most of you," Michael replies, nodding to Jess. His normal American English has gone off the rails, a thick, proto-slavic tang to ever word he speaks. Space Moose and Squirrel. "Perhaps not extradimensional, but nothing here is out of my proverbial wheelhouse in principal."

    The pamphlet is rather surprisingly precise and packed with information in its double-sided, laminated pages: how to conduct urban warfare, to stay away from open areas (sorry, Central Park), the best ways to bring down flying opponents -- how to lead, conduct massed fusillade fire before breaking and fading away, setting up explosive traps and wire deadfalls on higher levels in city buildings to spray formations with fragments and fire. It is, at every point, a guidebook for /vicious/ warfare against opponents that even it admits my shrug off anything but the most concentrated offensive tactics. But it is also effective. And with the significant information on survival in a wartime urban environment, it's rather a startlingly concise document for both professional soldiers, would-be resistance fighters and civilians all alike. There are even little statements of defiance written along the margins, extolling the reader to fight on for the good of their species. It's a /lot/, but it's very, very effective.

    "I do not know who knows what," he says, looking between the two women. "But I have been asked to assist. Angels, whether the human-with-wings of the modern Christian canon or the nonhuman constructs of the Old Testament, are no different than combatants with flight packs, gravity motors, and other similar devices. /That/ I know. Urban combat against nonhumanoid creatures I know. And I know how to resist, and be resisted." He taps the desk with a single fingertip. "I have no faith that this event, if it comes to pass, will do so in such a way that civilians will be entirely evacuated - civilians are /always/ left behind." He nods at the documents before them. "That is my contribution. I will, of course, fight them myself if they come. Manhattan is my home, and the nature of my armor, its connection to Nullspace, grants me advantage against such creatures."

Jane Foster has posed:
Space Moose is still audible and comprehensible. "In principal. You might be surprised still." Jane might be relishing the opportunity to surprise space birds. Just you wait!

Her posture remains gracefully coiled within the seat, details sought upon. Fusillade fire, that's something remarkably particular, and the use of explosive traps causes a line to appear between her brows. Pretty much straightlined from 'defense' to 'massive casualty event' sings in the soul, and the gold bracelet doing absolutely nothing under her sleeve crackles with importune opinions. They are summarily ignored for the moment; certainly, explaining the millennia of wealth at her fingertips could be pretty damning.

"Civilians will be left behind, but this is a city with a population passing ten million and a good many of them are sitting on an island with limited evacuation points. Previous emergencies, most notably the invasion led by Loki, trapped hundreds of thousands in Lower Manhattan. The chokepoints can easily be cut down, and any enemy worth their salt /would/. Long Island is a lost cause at that rate, since the defensibility of a low-lying island with limited land connections puts total dependency on going to the sea. Angels -- if you're talking true angels -- were of the sea as much as the sky. Even if we started today, the largest evacuation in American history was for a hurricane, probably around 1999, and that came out of multiple states. It can be done, but you'd have to mobilize them now, figure out where to store them, and on the pretext of a Biblical annhilation. This isn't the same as a flooding event. By boat, we can project probably around 500,000 people moved out in eight, nine hours. In this case, we're talking a potential Dunkirk. That didn't go very well."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "You forget," Michael says, looking across the way at Jane. "I live in Murray Hill. I was killing Chitauri raiders from my balcony - it was this that made me think of such things again. If this happens, it will be Manhattan where it begins." Again he stabs at the table with a finger. "I know this manual is harsh. I know what it suggests, but it is what I believe we must prepare for. The worst case scenario."

    That said, of course, he flops back in his seat and takes a deep sigh. "That is my draft. I am also told that the energy of Nullspace is anathema to these creatures. My armor is irrevocably tied to these energies, but if there are methods of projecting its radiation it will kill them as easily as rifle rounds."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica makes an abrupt gesture as her earpiece chimes. One finger to her ear, she listens intently, then nods to the person who can't see her.

Her eyes clear and she inserts herself into the conversation, "As long as the top levels know about this. They must be informed. I am going to have to leave you. I've been called into another meeting. Can I take a copy of this with me? Can you send it to me, Michael, please?"

Nodding to Jane, "I leave you in the best of hands. Excuse me, both of you."

Jane Foster has posed:
"I don't forget. I merely see the prospects of a great deal of damage, and I know the Chitauri are a drop of water if you mean actual angels. Not angels of the other variety." The /other/ variety being... not explained. "False angels," Jane murmurs, "would be a lovely thought. We also have a key problem that some people are going to see this as the End of Days. Others are going to behold the problem as substantially /lower/ than it is. Or faith or dumb reason ensur ethey won't react the way they should to the problem, and you're going to be fighting. Having the Pope speak out is not going to turn things the way they would've a few hundred years ago."

Worst case scenarios bring a frank, flat frown to her lips. "Oh, Nullspace energy, that's lovely. We have limited resources in even traversing our own dimension, let alone burning through others. If the risk is universal, how likely are we going to have a /fleet/ of various imperial vehicles showing up at our door? If something is this scale of danger to us, we might just expect to start hearing alarm bells running out past Vega and turn a hard right at the Orion Arm. Yes?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "According to Agent Sims it /is/." He nods to Jessica as she makes herself scarce. "I will speak with you later," he says to her, then returns his attention to Jane.

    "There is a chance that I may be able to harness the energy," he tells her. "It is a feature of the Raptor armor to be able to make this happen - it is as much a mystical artifact as it is a work of technology. But we must keep the people safe. I am, of course, willing to assist in directing military preparations, if any are to occur - I do not, of course, believe that the UN will go for it. Another reason for the harsh methods in that document." Even down to killing those who 'convert'. The true believers. Total. Warfare. He's good at it. And why wouldn't he be? The Shi'ar didn't conquer a galaxy with diplomacy and chocolates. "In any case, the creatures must be contained until the mystics can banish this...archangel, Michael. That is what Agent Sims says. I have no reason to doubt him."

Jane Foster has posed:
"I'll follow up, Agent Drew. We need bigger guns than ours on this since I'm a scientist and the Ops folks know how to deal with World War Zero." It's a pun of the darkest sort to even contemplate, dredged up from the shallows where harboured mordant humour lingers. "Assuming Agent Sims is correct."

Her expression shifts slightly and settles into a thoughtful angle. "The Raptor armour you might want to give them basics on. Keep it close, I would suggest that much." Whatever she means lacks further clarification, though the lines on her brow are soft, measured in delicate consideration. Her thoughts might turn on Michael's warnings, Jess' shadow fading into the background. "A good amount of this involves measures that you'd be hard-pressed to convince the civilian leadership to go with, if I had to guess. For all the US thinks of itself as a militaristic nation, some of these go against the Geneva Conventions and some of them -- I'm not sure the politicians could stomach it. Whether that's going to happen with actual flying horrors of Christian and Islamic devising around..." She takes a breath, slipping into silence. "Michael."

A beat. "Fuck. I have to go."

Odin.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Angels will not follow your military laws." He goes to get to his feet. "It is not pretty, but it may be necessary. If you need me, I will be in Manhattan. Or here. As for the rest..." Michael's eyes narrow faintly as he senses recognition of the armor that he shares that fruit of the void-tree with, floting in the benighted darkness of Nullspace. "Good night, Doctor. I must sleep." Like a meteor hitting the surface of the moon.

    And then he's gone.