9486/A Bastion Is Raised

A Bastion Is Raised
Date of Scene:	06 January 2022
Location:	Grand Central Terminal
Synopsis:	Zatanna comes to see what this 'Red Sentinel' is about, and finds the one who fortifies Grand Central is indeed prepared for war.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Zatanna Zatara
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Grand Central is turning into a fortress.

    Since last night, without cease, just as said on the news, an armored figure has moved throughout the city at incredible speeds, soaring overhead, taking up I-beams and steel plates and other materials from construction yards, warehouses, and other locations across the city - and using them to plate the central terminal as if it were some ancient castle. Chain link and barbed wire form barriers here and there, and the vast windows of the beautiful structure are encased in slotted shutters made from welded steel. The structure is swiftly being transformed from a work of Beaux-Arts magnificence into a giant bunker, and this strange being, made from gleaming, reflective metal and with razor-tipped wings extending from its arms, is the author of this cocoon.

    And it is still out there tonight, equal parts anatomical model and Deco hood ornament; the so-called Sentinel, a red flash in the streetlights flitting hither and yon. At the moment, the figure is busy covering one of the external windows with a large section of plate steel, using some kind of hand device that looks like a long-barreled pistol to weld the metal to the superstructure with a beam of searing white light; regardless of its obvious weight and thickness, the figure seems to hold it tight with one hand, keeping it in place while securing it. Busy, busy, but not a bee, of course. A raptor - or, perhaps more perversely, an angel.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
One of the perks of portaling is avoiding the pandemonium spreading across the City. She deliberately picked the roof of a building opposite the strange structure being built at super-speed around the grand old station to stay out of the crowds mobbing its doors. Police whistles and the sounds of sirens wailing are blown up on the winter wind where she keeps her vigil.

She had loved the sound of thousands of people echoing off the Station's high ceilings as a child and would always rubberneck at the constellations overhead. At seven she found the murals curious and very old looking until she had toured museums a few years later with her father in Europe.

Today perched on the roof, wrapped against the cold in a long black coat with a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck, holding her raven black hair in place, no one would know her as the famed magician, Zatanna Zatara. Focused on the strange armor, she wonders how to go about getting his attention.

Michael Erickson has posed:
Truly, she need not wait for long. The presence of another being in the area is sensed soon enough as the last sun-bright line of welding is done to fix the slab in place; turning, the armored figure turns to see the woman sitting on the roof, and suddenly the winged figure is hurtling toward her with a speed reserved for the truly superhuman. He makes the crossing in an instant, and hovers there perhaps twelve feet away, floating quietly, staring at the raven-haired woman with its narrow 'V' that pulses with a dull violet light.

<< This location is under construction, >> states this figure, a man's voice, baritone, twisted and disfigured through whatever means are used to transmit it. His voice seems to radiate from every surface of that armored body. << Do you require assistance getting to an evacuation site? >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The woman quite unaccountably holds her ground, chin high, staring back at the alien figure hovering high over the street. "No, Im staying to fight," the homo mage replies matter of factly.

What do you intend to do to protect the people in the station? Do you even know what is coming? It is not a comet which would wipe this place from the face of the earth like an atomic bomb." She squints up into the clear blue sky, innocent of the menace that would mar its clarity in a day's time then returns her steady gaze back to the armored being.

Michael Erickson has posed:
<> Floating there, serene, the armored figure looks over the woman for a long moment. Thoughtful. <> the figure proclaims, that long visor flaring faintly. << Who are you? >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The woman's beautiful chin raises higher as she straightens her already erect posture and replies, a trace of surprise evident in her clear contralto, "Zatana Zatara. Nice to meet you... Red Sentinel. "You know? Well, you are one of the few of the great super heroes to be on hand for what is coming."

Michael Erickson has posed:
<> the Sentinel repeats. << As do you, apparently. What do you intend to do about it? >> Somewhere, a siren blares; the floating figure turns its head slightly in the direction, the light in its visor flickering in what could be read as thoughtfulness. << On whose side do you stand? >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Side," she asks incredulously and offended. "Side? Why our side, Earth's side. I'm not one of those screaming fanatics that will kill in the name of God and their Savior. Zatanna takes a step back, swallowing ready to cast a spell to knock him out of the sky.

Michael Erickson has posed:
The woman's sudden withdrawl and ready position seems to surprise the Sentinel; it cants its head, the voice emitting next somewhat more soothing than before. Or as best it can be simulated in those tones. << Be at peace, >> the Sentinel tells her. << I do not know you, Zatanna Zatara. But as you seem to know, this is to be a war; combatants must identify one another. I, too, stand on the side of reality and these people. You have nothing to fear from me. >>

Another siren. That smooth red head turns back toward downtown. << This city will not be totally evacuated, >> the Sentinel affirms. << You know this, yes? There will be many innocent still left here. Or humans that will fight. >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna nods, her eyes sweeping the street full of hurrying people, cars blocked bumper to bumper with horns blaring in anger and panic. One can see signs of panic everywhere with trash blowing in the streets and fights breaking out between people as they rush to leave the city.

Shaking her head sadly, looking down, "They can't evacuate in time. I can't carry enough people with me to help or I would portal them from here. So you are," she raises her hand palm up to encompass the structure she faces,"building a bunker? That won't keep them out. Almost nothing will. There is a /host/ of Angels coming. An army that would make the most ambitious general on earth blanch. Believe me. What will keep them out of your shelter?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
<< Humanity. >> He gestures to the structure. << Strategy. Power. And a wide array of explosives and weaponry. This will not simply be a shelter, Zatanna Zatara. It will be a bastion, and from it, the forces loyal to this reality can base its resistance from it. Angels can die, as can any other creature. Depend upon it. We will rise, or we will perish -- but we shall do it together. >>

The Sentinel regards the woman after a moment. << You sound almost hopeless. I say to you, we will prevail. Before this war is done, these creatures of another dimension will drown in their own blood for the arrogance of trying to destroy all our worlds. Be cheered; humanity unites before this enemy, as it does with every great threat. It is your species' greatest strength. >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's mouth opens and closes, having no words to countenance such a biblical declaration. Shaking her head, she says speaking over the pandemonium below.

"Maybe. I hope so. We no longer seem to know how to work together...everything is polarized, black and white. I've seen the host with my own eyes. And though we were told there is hope. I am not so sure. But I can't leave or rather, I could, but won"t." She considers the half finished building across the streets and nods at some inner dialogue then looks up at the armored figure. "I could help. I can lay protective spells around the building."

Michael Erickson has posed:
<< Humanity survives on herd instinct and a desire to survive. >> Metallic shoulders lift in a shrug, deathly silent where surely they should clank. The Sentinel drifts slideways a bit, turning to regard the half-reinforced structure. << You are a sorceror! Excellent. I am ignorant of magic, but I respect it. What protection can you provide this place? >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Sorcerer, the word brings the first hint of a smile to her face. "Well, yes," she agrees rather than quibble over semantics. "I can put what we call wards around the building that will keep beings like angels out but humans can come and go."

Michael Erickson has posed:
A pause. << Tell me what you need to do this, >> he instructs this woman. <>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Nodding thoughtfully, she examines the structure across the street, her sapphire eyes darting from one side of the building to the other, revising locations to place the wards.

"I honestly cannot say I have a lot of experience countering beings of this order. I will need a safe place near here where no one can interfere with my corporal body while I walk the astral plane."

She asks herself whether this stranger can be trusted before she queries aloud, "Could you shelter me? I hope it won't be more than an hour. There are limits to how long the body can be separate from its soul."

Michael Erickson has posed:
<< They will fall to particle rifles and massed projectile fire easily enough. Explosives, monomolecular wire. A carnival of red delights awaits them. >> A pause. << I realize that sounds psychotic. I am speaking through a particular...filter. The suit translates my home tongue, which in its militant parlance is violent and grandiose. I am not, as you might be wondering, a crazy person. It is just that my people are particularly passionate. >>

As for the rest, he pauses, then nods. <>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna visibly takes a deep breath before replying, "Then on your word I will be in your hands. I wouldn't mind someplace where cold is not an issue, so something indoors in the station. Could I work from an office, do you think?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
<< The station is empty. >> He nods once, then offers her a gleaming hand. << Do you require assistance getting down? >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"None at all, thank you. I know the station and will meet you at the ticket offices." She draws a line in the air that teases the eye, glowing purple and steps through it to outside the ticket office.

A glance inside is sufficient for her to repeat the gesture and find herself in an office with a cluttered desk, a computer and office chair - the stationmaster's desk. It takes a few moments for her to settle, hang up her coat, adjust the chair for comfort, arrange her hair out of her face, and find the calm necessary for her to leave her body.

Michael Erickson has posed:
<< As you will. >> He descends anew, floating down to the base of the structure and passing through the station's open main doors - and, leaving them open still, enters the ticket office where she has directed him.

Which is where he finds her, inwardly a tad envious at these tricks of sorcerous teleportation, prepared to go...wherever mages to, when they leave their body. <> he informs her, and then turns to begin scanning the station proper. Can't have some random burst in and accidentally murder the woman while looking for loot, after all.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna sweeps her mind from all the worry, thoughts of what she needs to do, anguish at what may happen if their defenses don't hold. Now, it is only her breath, the rise and fall of her diaphragm, the soft flow of air over her upper lip. Another mage with sight would see, a transparent form limed in golden light stand from her seated position, then take a step away. She can see the man in the alien armor and realizes that he is as alien as what he wears.

Michael Erickson has posed:
The suit itself is a blank - a machine, no body within. But a tether leads from it, from the depths of this reality, past the veil, and into...the black depths of Nullspace, where void howls and monstrous creatures dwell among the screaming stars. There, somewhere, a mind animates this armor, alien but not /of/ Nullspace. Somewhere, that mind is either captured or enshrined.

In the physical world, however, the armor stands watching. Listening. Every sense bristling, technological or otherwise. Waiting for something to go wrong.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna sweeps her mind from all the worry, thoughts of what she needs to do, anguish at what may happen if their defenses don't hold. Now, it is only her breath, the rise, and fall of her diaphragm, the soft flow of air over her upper lip. Another mage with sight would see a transparent form limed in golden light stand from her seated position, then take a step away.

She rises and pauses to look down at herself, sitting straight-backed in the chair, palms upturned on her thighs, eyes closed.

A moment later, she rises to the top of the Red Sentinel's superstructure. Holding out her hands, palms a few inches apart, she creates a perfect circle within a circle within another until she has a three-dimensional sphere of rings like the model of electrons racing around a nucleus. She sets beads of invocations for the safety of the people sheltering or needing shelter in the station in the center. Like beads of water on a spiderweb, she strings sharp-edged refusals, keeping angelic presences at bay. The sphere will reside on the apex of the roof.

From there, the homo mage moves to all the cardinal points connecting the spheres to one another, at entrances, and the ground around the station, including the underground platforms. Each receive a sphere. The station has become a golden pyramid of a thousand scintillating golden lines to the magical eye.

Michael Erickson has posed:
Glittering, rippling, reality responds to Zatanna's will - the wards are laid, but will they hold? Only the weight of the truth of dawn will bear out their ultimate strength.

When she returns to consciousness, she will find the Sentinel just outside the office, watching quietly as a few very scared-looking people begin to filter into the structure. << Welcome, >> he thunders across the way, startling them anew - but relaxing, because the red angel is just as seen on TV, lifting his hand in salute. << You will be safe here. >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The homo magi is certain of her ward weaving. The invocations had been considered and researched, doublechecked for flaws then set with the utmost concentration. Still walking the plane, she sees the auras of the people who have begun to flock to the protection of the station -anxiety and worry uppermost in the colors that englobe them..

Zatanna opens her eyes at the sound of the Red Sentinels's voice reverberating through the station. After a few moments accustoming herself to the earthly plane, she stands and goes outside to join him.

"Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for having the foresight to provide this shelter."

Police have joined the crowd and station employees to direct people to benches and areas reserved for families with children. The crowd is orderly, quietly following instructions, a miracle for boisterous New Yorkers. Zatanna gestures to the flow, "Thank you."

Michael Erickson has posed:
<> replies the man-machine. << Tell your comrades, if you have them, that they, too, will be welcome to operate from here. The more defenses that can be erected for these people, the better >>

And now, the Sentinel looks back at the woman. << Do you require anything else, Zatanna Zatara? I must return to construction. >>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"No, nothing." A half smile illuminates hers face for a moment and she dips her head in farewell. "We will keep you informed."

Michael Erickson has posed:
<< Very well. >> And with that he leaves her, walking out past the trickle of incoming traffic, knowing well enough that this trickle may well become a throng before long. Out into the night, where the work must be done, before the dawn of the sixth day...

9486/A Bastion Is Raised

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