"Alpha Sentinels, Deploy!"
He doesn't hear the actual words, but he recognizes the series of electrical signals as it moves the voice coil within the speaker magnet in his ceiling. His mind attunes itself to that signal, shifting wavelengths- a simple adjustment of frequency and amplitude. He follows the source, a disembodied consciousness mingling briefly with electrons, and finds himself at the top floor of Alpha Control. This is something he needs; to feel connected, to prove his goodness- his humanity- by fighting monsters. Because that is what heroes do. He attunes his senses to the audible part of the spectrum in order to hear Miss March speak. He notices the resonance in her voice- minor shifts in pitch and tone which connote confidence and experience. As she addresses the room he feels her pacing and timbre, inflecting both urgency and safety. She says his name. Spectrum. It is the name for an unrestricted condition- something not limited to a specific set of values, which may vary infinitely within a continuum. His name. It is time to go to work. She pairs him with Will in a 2-2-2, classic double-three-point deployment. Tactically sound for the given situation: a single, powerful opponent in a contained area. Will is gone, off the balcony in a bee-line, with Miss March at his heels. Sage begins an invocation, wrapping Raven and Greenwood in curtains of arcane energy. Shifting his perception again, Spectrum tastes the radio feed from Variant and Foil, who were the first Sentinels to arrive at the scene. He bends himself along those wavelengths, and reinstates himself near the signal source: Foil's motorcycle, screaming down Monument Avenue, the broken body of his teammate Variant flat on the sidecar stretcher. Something massive, a wall of oily chitin, framed in dozens of crooked limbs, is falling fast toward them. A silver bullet races across the sky and Steel Will arrives on the other end. Will plows into it, fist-first, somewhere beyond Mach 3, the shockwave destroying every window for a quarter mile, but the split-second reprieve gives Spectrum just enough time to react. He looks at Foil with regret.
"I apologize in advance."
It is a large mass, two bodies and a motorcycle, countless millions of molecules converted directly to energy in a blatant contravention of the laws of relativistic physics, and then back into matter across town in the middle of SLJ Urgent Care. The combat-trained attending physicians waste no time rushing to Variant's aid, while Foil, himself a seasoned surgeon, wretches on the floor. Spectrum's method of teleportation is infamous for being particularly nauseating. He pats Foil on the back- a sympathetic gesture, something human.
"I'm deeply sorry, but the electronics in your motorcycle will likely need to be replaced."
"Forget about it man, just get back out there and stop that thing."
"Yes, Miss March is calling for me. Farewell."
Teleportation: superior (rank 2)
Instinctively he curls, compressing himself, sliding along the electromagnetic spectrum from radio, through microwave, infrared, visible, UV, X-Ray, to Gamma, wavelengths measured on the order of sub-nanometers, racing through the vast chasms between atomic nuclei. He finds Will's invulnerable frame pressed deep into the pavement, and grabs him, groaning as he tries to compensate for the incredible power contained within Will's body without slowing down. Will grits his teeth- slamming into a giant monster at Mach 3 is a piece of cake when compared with tagging along on one of Spectrum's teleports- and the two find themselves slightly disoriented and several meters behind the rampaging creature. Strike that, in front of. Will grins weakly toward his comrade.
"Well... that's a weight off my mind."
"I admire your sense of humor, William."
"Thanks. I admire your... fashion sense. Glowing balls of energy, very mid-century modern. Lets flatten this thing, shall we?"
I Speak Radio
Communication: standard (rank 1)
A hellstorm of hot lead pounds the side of the creature, and Miss March calls for options. Multiple voices ring out, but only Spectrum can hear them all. Not just Director Pope at Alpha Control, Miss March, and his teammates, but the SLJ overrides singing to the KPD Floating Point units, local Air Traffic Control, and Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" on the KHZN Lunch Hour Power Mix. All the radio and satellite broadcasts, cell phone signals, a network of global communication simultaneously clamoring through every electron in his being- he forces himself to focus on specific frequencies to keep from feeling overwhelmed. The Alpha Control priority frequency is comfortable, a familiar flavor, but even as Miss March is being fed information the thing is shaking off Will's attack, veering dangerously close to the perimeter. Buildings, with people inside. Heroes inside too. Nothing else matters just now.
Energy Body: supreme (rank 3)
He's stretching, unfolding, expanding, multiplying, becoming pure electromagnetism, the gamma, UV, infrared, radio, all of it is a manifestation of his will, a fundamental aspect of the universe itself twisting to yield to him, a part of him, all of him. The monster- and it is a monster, not like him, a true monster which cares nothing for the safety of the innocent- meets a solid wall of force, a burning amalgamation of every imaginable electromagnetic wavelength coalescing along a single plane. Before the creature can react a second wave strikes from above like a fifty-ton hammer, smashing down, pushing the thing into the street, pinning it, buying precious seconds for the evacuees. He's cursing it, the whole of his being pulsing with a stream-of-consciousness diatribe, a million thoughts, each randomly broadcast on a different frequency throughout the city. This thing, it's not that big. In fact... it's small. Tiny. Insignificant. Nothing at all. How easy would it be to just... Suddenly, his mind retracts, fear and pure instinct pushing him back into the shape of a man. The power, omnipresence, his own limitless potential, it terrifies him in a way this creature never could. He knows he could stretch to fill the whole of creation, if he allowed himself, but Doctor Raven says the human mind is hard-wired with a psychological aversion to infinity. There would be no coming back from that, he would no longer be a man. That terror, it limits his power, neuters it, makes him a mere demigod. The hesitation lasts less than a second, but the thing is free again. No matter, the building and its occupants are safe for the moment.
Phasing: superior (rank 2)
The moment passes. He has registered as a threat, the beast's dull eye segments twitching, extradimensional senses not yet attuned to this reality, possibly measuring black body radiation or maybe tasting the fecundity of electroweak symmetry breaking. Somehow, it knows him. Those segmented bulges, hundreds of facets, each the size of a Volkswagen, collectively fixate on him. How does it see the world? Can it, too feel the electromagnetic cacophony? Does it hear the voices in the dark, just like he does? Will notices the beast's focus and redoubles his efforts, fists flying, attempting to draw the thing's attention away from his teammate. It is twisting, coiling, its body arching behind it as it looms overhead. Spectrum stands. The hideousness descends, jaws open, savage, unearthly mouth parts that can rend steel, aching, raging down. Spectrum stands. He commands the energy, but what is energy? At a speed bound only by relativity, his body becomes nothing: incorporeal, insubstantial. Spectrum stands, inside the mouth of the beast, but also above, below, before, and behind; a consciousness unbound as vile, monstrous jaws flay concrete and steel. It draws back, studies him, and in the moment of hesitation he hits it with a wave of solid electromagnetic force. The monster lunges again for a second strike. Spectrum stands, and looks into its eyes as it descends.
Energy Absorption: superior (rank 2)
Miss March interrupts the creature's descent with a well-placed grenade. She's too close on purpose, a calculated gambit, the rockets in her boots scorching alien mouth-parts. She wants it to follow her. Spectrum stares, no longer a participant, but an observer. An unexpected wave of calm washes over him, a moment of tranquil zenlike focus as he collects himself. The beast surges forward, away from the intersection, down Lombard following Miss March. What is he doing? Standing still. Left alone. No. Time and space become irrelevant for a fraction of a second, and he finds himself on the side of a mountain in the middle of the city. Somewhere in the bowels of Alpha Control, Director Pope is smiling. This was always the plan. The Alpha Sentinels are seen fighting the monster, because that's what Khazan needs. Heroes. Then someone else comes along and cleans up. All their power, and the Alphas are just a showpiece, a feather in someone's cap. Miss March and Will appear, making a bee-line for the barricade. In Cook's Landing, a cell phone drops a call. In Signal Park, an RC boat coasts to a stop. On the street in Hereux, all the radios go out. Somewhere, carbon-14 decays into nitrogen. The city's electromagnetic heart skips a beat. Street lights flicker, and every x-ray, every gamma particle, all of it moves together as the entire city's radio flux focuses in the body of a man. Spectrum. An unrestricted condition.
Power Manipulation: supreme (rank 3)
Atop the barricade, Blind Mike the Solar Architect is weaving raw power from the fabric of the universe. A dozen Bravo Sentinels, each with enough firepower to level a city on their own, stand shoulder to shoulder, ready to follow his orders. Spectrum stands now, in front of them, but also above, and beside. Within. Beneath. The word is spectrum- it means everything exists together, one contiguous scale, there is no true separation between the aspects of the power, it all exists together, as one. Will and Miss March shoot over his head and slam into the barricade. They'll be fine. The creature is weakened, the summoners that were sustaining it have been interrupted. He moves inside it, burning, expanding, folding, curling, multiplying, all at once. He tears at its insides blindly, furiously, teleporting organs into other organs, striking it everywhere simultaneously, being nowhere, and nothing, and burning everything- all of it at once. Fury, regret, despair, raw emotions given form; a terrible dance unseen in the belly of a beast. His rage subsides. The Bravo Sentinels open fire, but they're just the janitors- cleaning up the mess. Khazan goes on, the monster is gone, and heroes walk tall. Somewhere, in a corner of an empty apartment in Lowtown, a forgotten radio crackles, the sound of weeping barely audible above the static.