The Metahuman Agency: The Superhuman War

All Good Things...

Two Days Later.

Jason stood tall in the soft grass, the sky almost dark as the last vestiges of the sun sank in the distance. He resisted the urge to scratch, occupying his hands by twiddling his fingers or wrestling with his own thumbs. The suit the government officials had put him in clung too tight to his skin and the tie they had given him felt like a noose around his throat. The worst though was the ski mask he was wearing. A necessary measure to protect his identity, it nonetheless was ill fitting and not as snug as his costume's mask. But unfortunately, you couldn't wear a costume for a funeral and his costume had been taken away for modifications (not to mention his mask had been lost in the battle with Jacqueline). Still, he wished he were wearing something else.

He turned to his side, regarding his companions. Laureen stood next to him, also dressed in funeral attire, her hair combed neatly and wearing her domino mask. Max, Hiroshi, and James stood behind her, the three of them dressed similarly to Jason and also wearing ski masks. James's fingers were idly assembling and disassembling a watch but his gaze was fully focused on what lay before them.

Hiroshi was absently tugging at his tie, looking uncomfortable as well wearing a suit. Jason felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked up. Audrey towering over him, clutching a bouquet of roses in one hand while the other lay on his shoulder. She smiled at him and sniffed, her eyes red. She had been crying the whole way here and Jason had nearly broken down too. He didn't know if he was ready for this. But they had insisted on coming. No way in hell would he blow this off, no matter how much in hurt.

He placed a hand on his girlfriend's (it still startled him to think of Audrey that way) giant fingers, stroking them gently. Audrey looked up and stared ahead. Jason swallowed, a lump forming in his throat but forced his gaze ahead.

Before him was a line of graves, all placed neatly in a line. They stretched outwards into the distance, finishing several hundred yards away. In the very center of them, which Jason and the others stood in front of, was a grave larger than the others, carved in the shape of the Metahuman Agency's logo. There was writing carved onto it, which read: "AMANDA PRESCOTT-DIRECTOR OF THE METAHUMAN AGENCY. THE IRON LADY. 1957-2018."

They were in Arlington Cemetery. For her service, the President had insisted the Director and the other members of the Agency be buried here, commemorating their heroism forever next to hundreds of other soldiers from history. It was pretty awe-inspiring to say the least but, more than anything, Jason felt hollow inside as he stared ahead at her grave and the graves of dozens of others he had worked with. She was truly gone now.

Jason swallowed, his lip trembling slightly as he looked at the grave. He closed his eyes and sighed, muttering to himself: "...I'm sorry, Director. I'm sorry I couldn't save you...but we'll keep fighting. I promise, the Metahuman Agency won't die with you. We'll carry on. We will."

Indeed, the discussion with the President had moved forward considerably. After much discussion and some bad ideas, they had settled on building a new base in New York City. It would be placed on Roosevelt Island, a high tech facility that while it wouldn't match their old base in Massachusetts, it would give them the resources they would need. The detailed plans would be drawn up later but the four who had elected to remain (Jason, James, Laureen, and Audrey) seemed pleased with it. Jason smirked at the notion, as he would be returning back to his roots when moving there.

His eyes flicked to his left. Standing at attention were several soldiers clad in traditional uniforms, rifles slung across their shoulders. In front of them stood Axel Beckett. He took exhausted, enormous bangs beneath his eyes, his face unshaven and dirty. But he managed a smile when he noticed Jason looking at him. He then checked his watch and with a sigh, stepped forward.