[h2]Meanwhile...[/h2][sup]Metropolis City - Good Grove Park - Midday[/sup]

[indent]A sunny afternoon-- large puffy clouds drifting to intercept the sun, traveling with a cool breeze. Good Grove Park or GGP as the residents of Metropolis called it, is a large park that takes up an area of three square miles on the north side of town. It’s known for it’s playgrounds, running trail, and picnic areas. On this particular day, GGP is hosting it’s annual “Metro-City BBQ Bash.”Among the twenty-three chefs gathered to compete, judges panel of ten well known members of the community, and a civilian gathering of around two-hundred plus people, the park is live with activity. Children play games and rough-house as parents mingle, maybe sample a beer or two, and indulge themselves on all sorts of barbecued treats.[/indent]
[indent]A small performance stage rests at the center of the event-- several local musicians perform songs, regularly trading place with comedians, activists, advertisers, and public speakers. Around the stage, the booths for BBQ chefs are lined up neatly, each chef having brought their own equipment. The dusky smell of barbecue and spices intermingle with the mouth-watering scents of a few sweet dessert items cooking. 

Voices raise occasionally above the music and rumble of hundreds of voices-- chefs advertising their dishes, handing out free samples, inviting people over to try-- but one voice in particular turned heads...[/indent]

[hr]
[center][color=f7976a][h2]VILLAIN: POTLUCK[/h2][/color][/center]
[hr]
[color=f7976a]“Fried coleslaw dumplings,”[/color] called out a baritone voice, [color=f7976a]“And cool barbecue-smoothies!”[/color]

Huffing after shouting those few words, Potluck ran a hand over his sweat soaked brow, then slung the collected moisture off to the side. A large man, far too large to be crammed into his rather poorly assembled BBQ stand, Potluck beckoned people forward and kept reminding himself to duck his head-- else he ram it into the ceiling for the whatever-teenth time. 

What he couldn’t understand was how so many people kept ignoring him-- only glancing-- not actually coming over. He wasn’t hard to miss, after all-- orange haired and as large as he was-- so why wasn’t anyone coming to try the food?

[color=f7976a]“Macaroni-bread and potato-meat-pies,”[/color] Potluck shouted, [color=f7976a]“F-Free samples!”[/color] A woman glanced over at him curiously-- Potluck beamed at her-- she ducked her head and walked away. He sighed deeply, rubbed a hand over his eyes, then he saw them, standing before him with clipboards. 

[color=f7976a]“J-JUDGES?”[/color]

Potluck jolted sharply, straightened out his back, and rammed his head into the ceiling. 

A man with graying hair, bow-tie, and a nametag that said “Chase” winced sympathetically for Potluck and told him, [b]“Careful there-- yes, we’re the judges for your category, side items.”[/b] As Potluck rubbed his head, Chase continued to say, [b]“I’m Councilman Chase,” [/b]he gestured to a tall brown skinned man and said, [b]“This is Radio D.J. and personality, Torrent-CX and,”[/b] Chase gestured to a young woman, [b]“Chef Almi Understamp.”[/b]

Potluck snorted angrily when the chef was named. Chase pretended it didn’t happen, [b]“Have you prepared your sample plate for us?”[/b] Potluck turned to the grill behind himself, kneeled down, then opened up the warming compartment. He withdrew three pre-prepared plates, placed them down before the judges, then pulled a few wrapped Popsicles from an ice chest. One after the other, Potluck pointed to the items on the plates, [color=f7976a]“Fried-Coleslaw dumplings, Macaroni-bread, potato meat pies, and cool barbecue smoothies”[/color]-- the last item he placed before them-- the frozen tube of what looked to be barbecue and shredded meat. 

The judges eyed each other skeptically. Potluck somehow managed to sweat more. He nervously began wringing his fingers as the judges silently eyed the plates. All three silently began scribbling on their clipboards. [b]“Presentation could use work-- it looks like you just threw the food on the plate,”[/b] Chase mumbled. [b]“They’re all a bit indistinguishable from each other,”[/b] spoke Chef Understamp, [b]“Kind of blending together and the textures don’t look appealing.”[/b] The DJ remained silent but winced lightly.

Potluck clenched his fists.

[b]“Let’s start with the macaroni-bread, hm? Who doesn’t like macaroni as a standard side,”[/b] DJ Torrent spoke up. The three judges nodded in agreement, took clean forks from Potluck’s stand, then began to pick apart the dish in their own ways. Eventually, as one after the other took bites, their faces twisted in a way that made Potluck confused.

[color=f7976a]“What? Is there...”[/color] Potluck asked Chase, who seemed to be holding back coughs, [color=f7976a]“Do you need water?”[/color] Chef Understamp turned around and spit heavily. DJ Torrent’s eyes watered but he swallowed, then hoarsely croaked, [b]“I can’t...”[/b] 
[b]“Terrible...”[/b] Came a voice that echoed within Potluck’s mind.
[b]“Not good that was...” [/b]Came another voice, dragging Potluck down into the darkness.
[b]“I can’t believe… horrible...”[/b] Echoed the final voice before Potluck’s world turned red. 

Potluck roared as he reached beneath his food stand, pulling a silver pot from beneath it. He scraped the sample plates into the pot and an eerie blue mist began to swirl out. [color=f7976a]“Stop being so mean,”[/color] yelled Potluck as he tied the pot up to himself, [color=f7976a]“I don’t like it when people are mean to me!”[/color]

From the pot came an unearthly screech-- a blur-- his food stand burst into a shower of wood and bent tent poles. [color=f7976a]“If you don’t like it-- someone else will,”[/color] Potluck screamed as, above him, a harpy looking creature circled. It’s wings were made of tattered coleslaw, talons made of sharpened BBQ icicles, and it let out an unearthly screech before spewing molten-hot macaroni cheese toward the judges. 

[color=f7976a]“Try my food,”[/color] shouted Potluck as the crowds began to scream and flee, [color=f7976a]“Try it!”[/color] 

Another three harpies burst fourth from the pot then went screaming after the retreating people. 

A panicked woman hiding beneath a taco stand urgently dials [b]7-8-9, the emergency hero hotline![/b]

[center][h2]Heroes! The citizens of Metropolis need your help![/h2][/center]


[hider=SUMMARY TL;DR]
Crazy man with cooked-food-monster-summoning powers is attacking a crowded BBQ festival. Might wanna do some heroic stuff, y'all. Also 789 is the emergency hero hotline! 
[/hider]

[@DepressedSoviet][@Ampere][@blumenk][@l0ck0n][@SugarRush][@Weird Tales][@GarlandDaHero][@FallenTrinity][@Burning Kitty][@Blight Bug][@DepressedSoviet][@Cherrywitch]