A link and the first scene of legacy CoH RP/fiction. The full story is on Deviant Art:

http://kartanian.deviantart.com/art/Foreseen-Vengeance-513379923

I may or may not convert this to a Titan City or Venture City piece at some point.

Comments welcomed!

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"Foreseen Vengeance"

From Kartanian's Personal Notes:

Kalinda woke up suddenly, shaking, clutching the sheets with a frenzied grip. She almost cried out. The shadows, the memories, whatever it was, it was eating at her. The dream--or was it a vision?--was so clear, so lifelike. It had to be a vision. She remembered it. You couldn't remember dreams so clearly, wasn't that what she had always been told? The difference between dream and the Sight? She remembered. Her powers were gone. Strong arms held her down. The faceless man was beating her while the woman leered in triumph. The pain. The fingers of her left hand; each broken. A knife pinned through the tendons of her left forearm. The faceless man. The woman's sharp, cruel laugh. "Do her leg, next." She felt an unrelenting grip and heard her leg bones snap--one-two--and she couldn't do a thing about it as she screamed out in pain....

Who? Who was responsible for this? Was it just a dream or was it a vision? She shook and clutched her legs up to her chest as sweat rolled down her forehead. She should tell Kartanian, but... He would think she was weak, and laugh at her. She shook her head to chase away that thought. No, he never would laugh at her like that. He cared. He loved her. He would want to help her, though no one else in the world would raise a finger. She should tell him. But, how could she? Kalinda didn't even know what this was, or whether it would become real. He would sigh and ask her questions she couldn't answer, and she would get angry with him... with herself, really. No, she couldn't tell Kartanian until she knew more. At least enough to put a target to him. She wasn't a child to go running for help like she was afraid of the dark. Not any more.

Who would know? How could she find out? The obvious course of action--of casting her mind out for a Seeing of these people--slid by her consciousness, too frightening to even consider. She should start with what she could remember. The faceless man. The laughing woman, almost recognized. The pain. The intense, excruciating pain. Yes, the excruciatingly *precise* application of pain. The precisely snapped bones. A personal signature of evil. Maybe Eduard Juarez, the "Efficiency Expert," would be able to identify her dream assailants. He was a rogue agent who specialized in extracting information from unwilling victims. Former CIA, her file had said, with a long, long record since then of helping whip different villain groups into shape. An efficiency expert of evil. If anyone would know how to identify someone by the methods of pain they used, it would be Juarez.

It was 4 A.M. Time enough before "work" to slip out and find Juarez. She could pay what he charged without trouble. She splashed her face with cold water and dressed in her "other clothes;" the ones where no one would know who she was, just another tough girl in the Isles. She left a message for her guards and stand-in to keep up the Fort Darwin facade if she wasn't back in time for the morning's routine. After a search of the Arachnos master database, she slipped out and commandeered a black helicopter to Nerva.

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