<div class="floatright">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Characters/Sabotage7.jpg)</div><strong>Gotham Industrial Sector</strong><br/><strong>Visvires Corporation R&amp;D Labs</strong><br/><strong>Underground Parking Garage</strong><br/><strong>2:34 AM</strong><br/><br/>"You sure about this, Tom?"<br/><br/>"Quiet!  No names, remember?  God only knows who might be listening."<br/><br/>"Right, sorry.  Sabotage.  Are you sure we should be doing this?  I mean, this is some pretty heavy shit."<br/><br/>"We need to step up our game, Fuse.  The people, they aren't listening anymore.  And compared to that great leech Big Business, we're nothing more than flies.  The only way things are going to change is if we make them change.  Y'get me?"<br/><br/>Fuse went silent, scratching at the dark blue straps of his gas mask that were beginning to dig unpleasantly into his scalp.  Compared to the young man he stood next to he was a veritable giant, shirtless brawn covered in old burn scars and tribal tattoos outlined in fresh phosphorescent paint.  Under a black light he probably would have looked damn near radioactive.  But intimidating though he was, he seemed to hang on the other man's every word.<br/><br/>Sabotage, six foot two of wiry athleticism and fanatical zeal.  Like fuse he was shirtless, marked only with scrawling tattoos, bandages, and neon war paint that read like sacred scripture, interrupted jarringly by the occasional explosive onomatopoeia.  With a pair of skinny jeans and old tennis shoes, he hardly seemed like much of a threat.  But over the bridge of that pink rebreather were golden eyes that bore into the world around him like a lion's, scrutinizing everything and dismissing it as Lesser.  In the right light his teal hair lit up like a celestial aureole, and it was in<em>those</em>moments that Fuse remembered why he would follow this young man into Hell itself: his words were the only ones that made sense anymore.<br/><br/>"Yo, 'tage!" another voice called.  A similarly dressed man, this one skinny to the point of unhealthiness and wearing a shock of red hair, weaved through a few parked cars and stopped beside them, taking a moment to catch his breath.  "It's done."<br/><br/>"The others got everyone out?  You're sure?" Sabotage said, turning away from the concrete pillar he'd been strapping something to.<br/><br/>"Absolutely.  Turned over every damn stone, there's nobody left.  We stashed the guards and the scientists in a couple dumpsters and wheeled them about a block away.  Should be outside the blast radius."<br/><br/>"Perfect.  You hook up the packs as well?"<br/><br/>The fire-headed man grinned under his mask, reaching around his back to pull out a sheet of paper which he waved in the air between them.  Floor plans.  "Every place you marked.  Once these go off there won't be anything left but a paint-soaked crater.  I also found something else you might be interested in," he added, snatching another folder from his backside.<br/><br/>Sabotage took it eagerly, flipping through it with steadily widening eyes.  "I knew it.  This whole place is just a subsidiary of Powers.  Interesting, considering he and all his assets were supposed to have been merged with Wayne Enterprises.  Looks like someone doesn't want the old man finding something out."  His hands stopped on a particular page, brow shooting up.  "What's this about a<em>Project: Proteus</em>?"<br/><br/>"No idea man.  Probably nothing good, eh?"<br/><br/>"No.  Probably not.  Good work, Light," Sabotage muttered, looking distracted.  He snapped the folder shut after a moment, placing it on the trunk of a nearby car.  "Alright, let's finish setting these charges.  The less time we hang around with our thumbs up our asses, the better."<br/><br/>The garage was nearly plastered with brightly lit devices, each one glowing and splattered with more color than a lite-brite Pollock painting.  Each one had two words painted across the surface in deep, black letters.<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 36pt;">WAKE UP</span></span></div><br/>Even from ten blocks away the shockwave was staggering, the blinding neon hair of Sabotage's little gang swept back in the night air.  Whatever chemicals the lab had been stocked with must have been particularly potent, because the place went up in a pillar of kaleidoscopic fire that near scraped the clouds, spearing up through the suffocating fog of industry and igniting it until the sky itself seemed to catch on fire.  Cannonball-sized globules of flaming paint broke through nearby buildings and parked cars, starting a chain reaction of alarms that wailed and bleated like a chorus of angels, the sound warped by distance and chaos.<br/><br/>To the men and women present it was the most terrifying thing they had ever seen, but also the most beautiful sight that rotting city had ever shown them.  Moreover it was wholly and completely<em>theirs</em>, a product of their will and loyalty to the man who had led them to this point.  It was a new beginning for this band of humble grafitti artists.  It was the Word of Sabotage, the Word they all had pledged themselves to, and damn if it wasn't a loud one.<br/><br/>The fires parted, revealing a paint-smeared hole belching smoke and chemical fumes, a great wound in the fabric of the city itself that would not soon be washed away.  Sabotage made a signal, and in unison the rest of them took up their jackets and trenchcoats, hooded their vibrant hair and masks, and turned to depart the rooftop.  The moment was gone, and there would be time to properly rejoice later.  There was no telling who might be watching, and the distant sirens told of a police force caught off guard and scrabbling to see just what the hell had happened.<br/><br/>They parted almost the second they hit streetside, going their own separate ways to whatever homes or families they had until only Sabotage and Fuse remained.  The two hurried in silence, keeping their eyes trained ever upwards as they went.<br/><br/>"Man, 'tage.  That was, I mean--there's no words.  I wanna say<em>ripped</em>as shit, but that just ain't the kinda respect it deserves, ya dig?"<br/><br/>Sabotage laughed, the sound coming out muffled but no less excited.  He'd never admit it, but there was enough adrenaline pumping through his veins that he could have probably tossed a car to one side.  "I don't think it needs any more words.  You did a good job today.  We all did.  And this is only the start of something greater."