<div style="text-align: center"><b>Paradise City, USA - Alpha</b>​</div><a class="link link--internal" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/community/threads/118819/#post-2937776">
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</a><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(250, 197, 28)">"...and in addition to this, I am also undergoing regular, exhaustive medical testing to track the effects of long-term use."</span><br/><br/>Dr. Astana's voice, amplified by the microphone, echoes throughout the reception hall. Even at her true age, she would be in the lowest range of ages present: most of the attendees are doctors, researchers, and pharma business leaders, assembled for an international conference on changes to the industry. Most of them are over fifty and many of them over sixty, with only a few outliers - journalists or administrative assistants - in their thirties or twenties. As it is, the woman on stage appears younger than any of them: barely twenty. Even her professional attire - a tailored, deep purple suit over a black shirt and heels - makes her look more like a college student applying for a job than someone fit to discuss bleeding-edge pharmaceutical science. Of course, her apparent youth is part of the product she's describing, perhaps the most<i>profitable</i>part, so the assembled experts listen anyway.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(250, 197, 28)">"It will be years before the product is ready for widespread human testing, let alone the open market. Nonetheless, when it <i>is</i> ready, we do not just expect changes in our profits, stock prices, and market control. In a world where we can overcome our human limits, where we can control and optimize our bodies and minds, we expect nothing less than change the very world. The way we see ourselves and humanity <i>itself</i> will - "</span><br/><br/>She jumps, as does most everyone in the hall, when placed charges blast open all of the room's doors simultaneously. Wood chips are still hitting the ground when a dozen masked figures in black tactical gear stream in, assault rifles at the ready.<br/><br/><b><i>"DON'T MOVE!"</i></b>they shout, fanning out to cover the room.<b>"NO PHONES! STAY IN YOUR SEATS! IF YOU MOVE, YOU'RE DEAD!"</b><br/><br/>Two rush the stage, pointing their weapons at Astara, and she holds her hands up. She's not on her combat drugs, and while her mask - loaded with inhalants - is located in the podium drawer, she can't grab it and put it on before being riddled with bullets. Instead, she stays in place while both figures take the stage - one running up the stairs to the side, while the other hops the lip from straight on. The one who took the stairs holds Astara at gunpoint while the other stands on the edge of the stage, pulling out something like a tablet.<br/><br/><b>"Heads up! Eyes front!"</b>shouts the figure with the tablet. Holding it with both hands, she scans it across the crowd - once, then again. Behind him, the other figure continues to hold Astara at gunpoint, while the remaining attacks keep the attendees well-behaved with shouted threats.<br/><br/>"What the hell's taking so long?" the man holding Astara at gunpoint growls after a moment. "That lobster man can only distract them for so long. Let's get this done!"<br/><br/>"Facial recognition's not picking her up," the other complains. Taking one hand off the tablet, she lifts her assault rifle and fires a burst into the ceiling. Members of the crowd scream as dust and chips of building material rain down on their heads.<b>"I SAID HEADS UP, EYES FRONT!"</b><br/><br/>"For god's sake," the male spits, then moves to join his comrade, looking down at the tablet screen. With his eyes off her, Astara reaches under the podium and pulls out the metallic mouthpiece she'd stowed for demonstrations. Locking it place, she releases a dose of fast-acting stimulants and steps out of her heels. As she did so, however, she couldn't help but feel her legs constricted by her pencil skirt. Could she tear it up the side? Well, she<i>could...</i>but this is her best suit.<br/><br/>"Goddammit!" the man continues, inspecting the device. "We<i>know</i>she's here. Useless piece of crap...the hell with this.<b>Dr. Astara! Stand up and identify yourself, or we start shooting hostages!"</b><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(250, 197, 28)">"I'm right here."</span>Both attackers turn, guns coming up, but it's too late. Astara sweeps the legs out from the closer, female figure, causing her to fall off the side of the stage. The man takes a step back, rifle raising, but Astara turns, bringing her leg up to hook over its carrying handle and pull it out of his hands. The momentum carries her through into a leaping, spinning kick, driving a shin into the side of his head. His helmet comes free, its plastic visor snapping in two, and bounces across the stage while the man's unconscious body falls limp. In a mere second, only one figure stands on the stage: Alpha, lean muscles taut across her entire body, fully visible but for where they're covered by her black bra and panties.<br/><br/>"Contact!<i>Contact!"</i>One of the attackers raises his rifle, but Alpha is already sprinting. Automatic fire peppers the stage as Alpha dives offstage and into cover.<br/><br/>A moment later, another attacker grabs the rifle and pushes it upward. "Hold fire! We want her<i>alive!</i>Squad, move in!"<br/><br/>Offstage, Alpha leans against the wall, formulating her plan. Ten human beings, albeit with combat training, and now she knows they can't use their guns. She can probably win that fight, but they probably have something up their sleeve.