A Gamble

The abandoned warehouse loomed large and silent against the backdrop of the desolate industrial district, its broken windows and rusted metal exterior where a dime a dozen in this area and nothing about its appearance separated it from tis fellows. As Mr. Skeltal approached its doorway, his skeletal frame silhouetted against the distant streetlights, he tapped his bony fingers rhythmically against his cane as he paused momentarily to observe his surroundings before turning to face the heavy warehouse door. The warehouse door creaked open, seemingly of its own accord, inviting him into what should have been a scene of decay and neglect.

Instead, as Mr. Skeltal crossed the threshold, what should have been little more than a drab interior of concrete, rusted machinery and dust, he was instead greeted with what many less experienced individuals might think an illusion. Mr Skeltal continued forward his hollow eye sockets taking in the grandeur of a medieval castle hall. Rich tapestries Adorned the stone walls with depictions of battles and events of parahuman history, Mr Skeltal noted they where as always in chronological order, the arrival of the golden Scion, the rise of the endbringers to the Hero's demise at the hands of a triumphant gold skull.

Candlelight illuminated the hall, flickering from iron sconces mounted along the perimeter. At the center, a long oaken table stretched across the room, set with a decanter of fine brandy and two glasses, one half-full. At the head of the table, Miasma sat, his ghostly pale skin seemed almost to glow faintly in the dim light, his plague doctor mask as at rest on the table beside him as he carefully studies a silver orb as it floated above the table, rotating slowly before him.

"Ah, Mr Skeltal," Miasma greeted amicably, barely looking up from the silver orb he was studying with great care. "Punctual as ever. Regardless of how the papers would depict you I have always appreciated your professional, nature."

"Of course I’m on time—punctuality runs in my bones!" Mr. Skeltal replied, his skeletal jaw clattering slightly as he spoke, punctuating his words with a dry chuckle. He sauntered forward chuckling at his own joke as he removed his hat placing it on the table before taking a seat opposite Miasma, his posture relaxed appearing almost to drap himself across the chair despite his lack of flesh.

Miasma glanced up, amusement seemed to flicker across his lips momentarily as he surpressed a laugh though Mr Skeltal noted it still seemed to reach his eye's, obscured as they are in the smoky tendrils that leaked from his empty eye sockets. "A classic, as always." Miasma noted as he poured a generous amount of brandy before the cup was slowly slid across the table pausing once it reached his guest. "To your health—or, whatever passes for it."

Mr. Skeltal raised the glass, clinking it lightly against Miasma's. "And to good times, Past and future" he added, taking a sip, though the liquid seemed to vanish before reaching his throat. "So, I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy." He gestured with his now mostly empty cup toward the silver orb that floated lazily above the oak table, its surface covered in intricate patterns that seemed almost to shift and swirled under the flickering candlelight.

"Indeed," Miasma replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "My latest creation, crafted from materials appropriated from the Umbrella convoy. One that was left completely defenceless thanks to your distraction."

Mr. Skeltal waved a bony hand, dismissing the compliment with a rattling laugh. "Just a bit of fun. All those companies are always so eager to part with their goods, once you give them a little... rattle. They even forget to charge you for the priveledge"

Miasma laughed softly, swirling his brandy. "And for that, I owe you." he gestured to the orb, "This material is a gateway. Or at least, it will be. A portal of sorts, once properly configured."

Mr. Skeltal leaned in, eye sockets narrowing with interest. "A portal? Best to, take care old friend lest it becomes a one trip beyond the veil."

"All things in their time and in there turn" Miasma replied coyly, passing his pale hand over the orb as it dissapeared from view. He leaned back, studying his guest. "But enough about my little project. We have more pressing matters to discuss."

"Ah yes, the bet." Mr. Skeltal rolled his shoulders theatrically, as though he had muscles to stretch. "I suppose the old rules still hold?." Miasma nodded. "Plenty of fresh faces, though I’m not sure how many have the bones to do more than make a mess."

Miasma smirked, setting his glass down. "The Wards, yes. An interesting lot this year. Some show potential. Others, well, they seem to have a short life expectancy." His tone darkened slightly, though his expression remained unchanged.

Mr. Skeltal sniffed, or at least gave the impression of it. "I’ve never cared much for those with kill orders. Too messy, too serious all that escalation leaves them no room to have fun with it. There’s no art in it, no finesse." He drummed his skeletal fingers on the table, the sound echoing faintly in the grand hall.

Miasma raised an eyebrow, his gaze speculative. "You’ve always preferred the... simpler schemes. I respect that. But sometimes, messiness is a means to an end." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Speaking of which, I may have found someone worth grooming. A diamond in the rough, you might say."

Mr. Skeltal paused momentarily at the wording as he tilted his skull. "You, dont spend alot of time online do you?."

Miasma paused momentarily in confusion "What do you mean?" Mr Skeltal simply brushed it away. "Phrasing aside, who's caught your attention, Don't tell me its fucking Gator?"
"No, no no. no even I know a lost cause when I see it!." Miasma moved his hand as if to shoo the thought away. "No, the one I have in mind. They are a bit unpolished at the moment. A wild thing, really. But you’ve heard of the latest escapades of the ward Weaver, haven’t you?"

Mr. Skeltal paused in thought nodding slowly "The Bug girl, hmm. Yes, I’ve seen the vid's of her absolutely bodying some poor furry. I can see why she's caught your attention, she has an underlying ruthlessness that your so fond of nurturing."

"What, no not her, not directly I was thinking of nominating the hound as my bet." Miasma said as his finger tip slowly traced the edge of his glass. "Indeed. I believe there’s potential there. With the right... guidance, he could become quite the Villain. A true underdog if you will, though it will take time to tame him."

Mr. Skeltal tapped a finger against his chin "He's got to be wording this weirdly on purpose" he thought to himself before he spoke. "I see. And you think you’re the one to do it? To turn the wolf into something more... iconic?"

Miasma's grin widened. "Oh, I have a few ideas. Let’s just say I’m quite looking forward to seeing how this little pet project of mine plays out."

Mr. Skeltal tried to surpess a chuckle, Surely he has to know how bad that sounds. a quick scan of Miasma's face showed he didnt and he finally lost, chuckling loudly the sound rattling through the castle-like chamber. "Well, I’ll certainly be watching with interest. I do hope he doesn’t bite the hand that feeds him." He stood, placing his hat back atop his skull. "I’ll leave you to your plotting, Miasma. Though I think I will take an easier bet and place my money on a nominee I think will actually win, my moneys on Sniper."

Miasma inclined his head politely. "Then may the best man win. Always a pleasure, Mr Skeltal."

Mr. Skeltal walked toward the grand double doors at the far end of the hall, he paused and glanced back, his hollow sockets gleaming with amusement. "I look forward to seeing how your new project PET, plays out." With that, he tipped his hat and exited the castle-like interior stepping once more into the darkened streets of Brockton Bay leaving behind only the echo's of his laughter.

The doors creaked shut once more, and Miasma sat in silence unmoving, as the castle around him slowly dissolved. The stone walls of the castle dripped and shimmered, pooling onto the floor the tiny nanites that had made up the interior collapsed and formed tiny rivers as they slithered back into Miasma’s robes. The tapestries melted, the oaken table broke apart, and the candles flickered out, leaving only the dim, hollow expanse of the warehouse once more.

With a sigh, Miasma stepped forth from the shadows as he approached his simulacrum, his masked visage tilting as he observed his unmoving body double before it too slowly melted away until he stood alone in the vast empty warehouse.