From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

From England, Without Mercy

Pocket D was considered "the place to be" if you were a super-hero or super-villain. It had a reputation for its outlandish parties, eclectic variety of music, and even its rather volatile crowd. It was also considered neutral ground. There were incidents of violence here, but they were quickly stopped by DJ Zero's well-paid bouncers, Vanguard troops, and even Arachnos enforcers.

"Violence is bad for business," DJ Zero once said in a recorded interview. "I know there's this whole super-hero versus super-villain thing going on right now. What they do outside the walls of my club is none of my damn business. But once they step into my house, they can leave their rivalries and violence outside. If they don't... well, let's just say a ban from my club is permanent and completely enforceable."

And so it was. Pocket D became an entertainment hotspot and a place where both sides of the super-powered spectrum could meet, deal, and talk on neutral ground. Everyone was welcome, unless DJ Zero didn't want you there. This list was kept rather short - entertainment journalists called it the "Short Pocket List," and it was news-worthy to talk about the latest changes to said list.

After all, it would be boring and senseless to talk about everyone else who was welcome.

On this particular night, DJ Zero had welcomed a guest DJ from the Rogue Isles; DJ Spyyderr would be spinning the turntables tonight. Spyyderr's style included influences from drum-and-bass to old-school hip-hop and breakbeat. Even MTV predicted it would be "the party to be at in Paragon City."

That wasn't the only reason Ms. Shock was here tonight. Spyyderr was good - his mix CD's were all the rage in England's clubs before the Rikti invasion - and Ms. Shock even had a couple of his albums on her iPod. As DJ Zero began to wind up his set, Ms. Shock sipped on a Red Bull and scanned the crowd. Her practiced eyes skipped from face to face as she looked for the person she had been told about just days before.

There. The balding man in the corner with the Armani suit looked out of place at an electronica concert, but he fit right into Pocket D's eccentricity. He had all of the right features: A balding head, greying goatee, and even the little creases in his brow from hours of squinting into microscopes and magnifying glasses. The lit Cuban cigar completed the description Dr. Vahzilok gave her.

"A few members of my organization frequent the nightclub known as Pocket D. One of them, a Russian if I recall, has the information I speak of. He will give it to you willingly... but only if you ask for it."

The words replayed themselves over and over in her head. Only if you ask for it. Ms. Shock slammed the rest of her Red Bull down her throat and dismounted from her bar stool. Her black leather trenchcoat flowed around her as she started to jostle towards her target.

Ms. Shock was dressed for a night on the town. She wore black leather boots, a short black dress, and very little else. The fabric on her dress was soft and shimmied around her body as she walked. It wasn't too tight or restrictive, but it was sexy enough for her to get noticed. The trenchcoat was more for protection from roaming hands or misplaced cigarettes than for style. She did not wear any of her armor, nor did she need it.

The dance floor was already beginning to fill up. Flight-capable heroes and villains floated above the dance floor and performed their own aerial ballets. Some of the younger fliers took to jousting above the dance floor, zipping by other fliers at high rates of speed. Other superhumans and regular folks were dancing or milling about. Ms. Shock simply smiled and made her way as best she could towards the Vahzilok informant's table.

After a couple of minutes of jostling through the crowd, she managed to get to her destination. The Vahzilok chewed on his cigar as he took another puff; he knew Ms. Shock was coming his way and made no effort to hide. Their eyes met, and Ms. Shock could feel the villain looking at her face, appraising her bone structure and musculature as if he was appraising a statue.

After an overdrawn awkward moment, the Vahzilok member took the cigar out of his mouth and spoke. "You are quite the fine specimen of humanity. Those cheekbones... your flawless skin... you would make quite the beautiful Eidolon," he mused. Ms. Shock adjusted her stance and crossed her arms over her torso.

"I'm not here to be your next Frankenstein," Ms. Shock sneered. "You have information I need, and you are going to give it to me."

The Vahzilok mortician simply shrugged. "It was meant as a compliment, not an insult. And how do you know I hold the knowledge you seek?" Absently, he stabbed his cigar into the nearby ashtray. As the tobacco sizzled and cracked to an inert state, Ms. Shock walked over to the table and took the other seat next to it. She crossed her legs and sat back into a relaxed pose.

"Your leader told me about you as he was awaiting transport to Ziggursky. The rest was easy enough to figure out... your habits, your living arrangements, and even your name." Ms. Shock's smile grew as the Vahzilok member's smile wilted. "Dr. Andrei Federovich Denisov, M.D. Born in Moscow on January 13, 1963. Married once, no children. Criminal record includes several counts of murder, theft, and assault." The Russian's smile now changed into a snarl. Ms. Shock wasn't worried, however. "Shall I go on?" the British superhero asked rhetorically.

Dr. Denisov smiled and laughed quietly. "So you are the woman who defeated Dr. Vahzilok. I am honored, my dear," he said with the same smile. "You are as strong and resourceful as my boss has described."

Ms. Shock raised an eyebrow. The Russian doctor nodded in response. "Yes, he told me about you. In fact, ever since you have been harassing us, we have amassed a great deal of information about you... and your quest to find your long-lost brother."

Ms. Shock kept her relaxed pose, but her heart began to beat just an iota faster. "Then you know what I am looking for as well, don't you?" she asked.

Dr. Denisov simply nodded. "But first, we drink." He snapped his fingers; a waitress came to the table within a few seconds. "Two Stolichnaya. And leave the bottle," he instructed. The waitress nodded and walked away to fill the drink order.

"We shall drink to our fallen comrades, and we shall discuss your brother," was the Russian's explanation for the alcoholic beverages.

Ms. Shock sat forward in her chair and uncrossed her legs. "I don't have time for this crap, Denisov. Tell me what you know, or I'll get the information out of you in the most painful way possible," she said with a threatening glare.

Andrei shook his head with a sad smile. "I have removed the ability to feel pain from my body," he explained to the British hero. "Any pain-based torture you can implement against me will simply not work. And by the time you manage to get me out of here, if you manage to get past the security, the rest of by brethren will be on your heels like flies on a rotting corpse.

"So, my dear Christina, you will sit here and drink with me, because that is the only way you will find any information about your precious brother!" Dr. Denisov leaned back into his chair with a satisifed and triumphant expression.

The waitress walked up at this point and began to place the vodka-filled shot glasses on the table. The half-full bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka followed soon after. "The drinks are on DJ Zero," she announced. "Welcome back to Pocket D, Ms. Shock. DJ Zero would like to speak with you when you get a free moment."

Ms. Shock nodded at the waitress. "It will be sometime later tonight, Rebecca, but I will remember to visit him."

Rebecca, the waitress, smirked in response. "Not after a bottle of Stoli, girlfriend," she said with a laugh as she headed to get more drink orders.

---

Twenty minutes and four shots later, Ms. Shock remembered why she didn't drink vodka straight any more. Her body was fighting the volume of alcohol she had just consumed through a nice fuzzy feel-good haze. Dr. Denisov was still acting sober. They had toasted the fallen on both sides, the veterans of World War II, and several various miliary forces. Andrei poured two more shots of vodka, but Ms. Shock wasn't having any more of it.

"Seriously, Andrei... I can't drink any more of that stuff. At least let me chase it with some bloody Red Bull," she implored. The Russian laughed heartily as he slammed the bottle on the table; the shot glasses jumped and splashed around.

"Vodka is meant to be drunk two ways: Straight and quickly. Come on, Christina, drink up! It's your turn to choose a toast, my friend. What shall we drink to this time?" The Russian male and British female lifted ther shot glasses for the fifth time. It took a few seconds for Ms. Shock to place some coherent thoughts together, but she finally came up with an appropriate statement.

"To the Rikti," she said solemnly. Dr. Denisov grinned for a second before he felt confusion overtake him. Ms. Shock's jubilant smile had faded as well; it had been replaced by a grim expression of regret. "For making it possible for an ordinary girl from England to become a superhero."

The taser gun's pop-and-click noises were easily masked by DJ Spyyderr's musical masterpieces. Dr. Denisov felt his body jerk and spasm violently before he passed out. Ms. Shock grabbed Denisov's shirt and eased him down to the table. Her other hand quickly slid the miniature taser gun into the holster on her leg. Once that was done, she reached in her pocket, found the object she was looking for, and activated it. Ms. Shock and Dr. Denisov disappeared in a flash of light, and no one inside the club noticed.

When Ms. Shock could see normally again, she was in an abandoned apartment somewhere in Kings Row. She sat in a chair that was positioned very much like where she was in Pocket D just seconds earlier. There were no wildly gyrating dancers here, nor were there any musical compositions playing. The only other things inthe room were a dilapidated bed and a small dresser. The door to the bedroom opened, and a familiar face peeked in.

"Captain Golden?" The Middle Eastern man looked curiously in the room before walking in completely. "Shiva be praised! It took you bloody long enough to get him here." Shivan Eye was annoyed, and his expression definitely showed it. "Do you know how impossible it is to get international programming here in the United States?" he asked rhetorically.

Captain Christina Golden, British Special Air Services, stood up from her table and swooned slightly as her balance tried to acclimate to the sudden movement. "Sorry, Shivan. It took longer than I thought to extract the poor sap from Pocket D." She slowly moved away from the chair and blinked a few times to banish the fog from her mind. "Bastard Russian tried to drink me under the table!"

Shivan laughed at that as another person entered the room. This fresh-faced young man was dressed in civilian clothes, but his haircut screamed military. He caught Ms. Shock's gaze for a second. "Are you drunk, ma'am?" he asked in surprise.

"Damn straight I am, Sergeant. And you're not to tell anyone back home, or I will see you busted down to Corporal!" she said sternly. Unfortunately, the statement was followed by a snicker and laughter from the superhero. Sergeant MacKenzie simply shook his head and walked into the bedroom to escort the drunken officer out of there.

"'Go to America,' they said. 'It'll be a bloody blast,' they said. Bollocks!" the young sergeant complained. "Do you need anything from me, Shivan? I need to take care of the Captain."

Shivan Eye shook his head. Once Sergeant MacKenzie left with Ms. Shock, he walked over to the unconscious doctor. He cracked his knuckles and placed his fingers strategically on his hairline. "Now let's see if you truly know what is going on out there, my dear doctor," the seer and MI6 analyst said to no one in particular.