[i]0:00hrs Local Time, New York City[/i]

[b]Iris[/b]
[@OneWayOut]

The night was starting off with an explosion. Whether or not that was a good or bad thing was debatable, but when it went off right in the middle of someone’s bedroom, it was usually at least unexpected. The explosion was mostly noise and light, as when it died out and Iris’ vision returned, nothing about the room was disturbed but for any loose papers that might be about. 

And the young man hanging from the slowly spinning ceiling fan by his tail in nothing but a set of boxer shorts. There was that too. He was lean and muscular, built like an Olympic swimmer, and had three, long scars down his back as if he were clawed by some massive set of talons. There was no sound from the rest of the building to indicate anyone had heard anything out of the ordinary.

[OOC: Before I forget, currently Category One, Class Two]

[hr]

[b]Juro[/b]
[@knighthawk]

Sometimes, days start bad. Sometimes, days start good. Regardless, there are the times when no matter how good or bad the day might had been, the nights just go to shit. Such was the night of one Juro Jacobsen as he was in Central Park for reasons only he might know. 

A kid that couldn’t have been more than 16 blew past him on a what looked like a rocket propelled longboard, though a closer look would reveal the short, six inch blew flames to be coming straight out of his hands. Though that was odd in and of itself (Central Park had begun to strictly enforce speed limits after mutants had begun showing up that could do highway speeds on rider-propelled vehicles), what would really bring this from odd and perhaps annoying to straight up dangerous was the seven black dual-sports, travelling near silently, close behind with people in black body armour and equipment that Juro would recognize as coming from a company the American Government refused to do business with to the point the equipment would need to be smuggled in… Bikes that Juro wouldn’t hear until they were almost upon him…

[OOC: Category One, Class Four due to possible uses of duplication and level of it.]

[hr]

[b]Jen[/b]
[@Carlsberg]

New York city, the city that never sleeps, was one of the places in the world that one might be able to find a twenty-four seven bakery. An all-night bakery that Jen had the misfortune of having to work a shift until midnight. A shift which she was just now getting off of. 

As she stepped outside the bakery, she would get a sense of something being off. Something just wasn’t quite right, though nothing would immediately jump out t her should she look around. Other than something nagging her instincts, it would seem like an average midnight in New York City.

[OOC: Category One/Four split, Class Four due to flaming breath.]