Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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We will put to the pyre your precious law and order. We will show you how truly vulnerable your nation really is.


Location: University District - Founder’s Island, Gotham City
Mass Panic Tie-In: Meta Brawl!

Interaction(s): None
Previously: Chaos in Gotham

Turning to look towards Terry, the gangbanger charged towards the small man. Sliding a chair into the Mutant’s path, Terry reached out for the nearest object. He felt his fingers wrapped around a piece of rigid plastic before gripping it tightly and swinging it with all his might. The empty tray whipped through the air before colliding with the other man’s skull. A resounding crack could be heard across the restaurant upon contact.

Looking down, Terry found himself to only be holding half of a tray, the other piece clattering loudly against the floor. The blow had been enough to stagger the young thug, but it hadn’t taken him down. Dropping the jagged piece of plastic, Terry raised two fists into a defensive position.

The Mutants member looked at Terry before slowly moving his gaze towards the three girls all while rubbing a hand gingerly against his jaw. Spitting a bloodied tooth from between his pursed lips, the Mutant shook his head before reaching into his tattered denim vest. Assuming the worst, Terry shouted towards the girls.

“Get down!”

Doing as they were told, the three girls immediately dove beneath their table. Scrambling towards another booth, Terry flipped the table onto its side, preparing to use it as a shield should the gang member produce a gun.

However, what the Mutant produced was far worse.

Rolling up his sleeve, the other man placed a small patch on his bicep. The veins around the area immediately began to bulge, appearing to glow green as the Mutant’s muscle mass inflated.

“Slappers.” Terry muttered before turning towards the girls, “Go out the back, get the car, I’ll meet you there.”

“Terry!” Dana protested before she was cut off as Max took hold of her arm.

“C’mon!” She reiterated as Dana reluctantly went along while Terry turned back to their assailant. Before becoming Batman, he had never run into a Mutant, they primarily kept to themselves. The gang was born from social outcasts, those who were treated differently because of what they were. But it hadn’t stopped there, and soon it grew.

From what Terry knew, the majority of members weren’t metahumans. In fact, those with the X-Gene were in the minority. Instead, the Mutants’ numbers had expanded thanks to Splicers and Slappers. While splicing had its own ethical concerns, slappers were far more dangerous. Based on a dangerous steroid used by one of Bruce’s old foes, the ‘slapper’ was a small patch which when applied increased the strength, speed and notably, aggression of the host. While extremely addictive, the side effects were considered dangerous enough that many dealers refused to traffick it due to the loss of business.

Jumping over the table, Terry twisted his body through the air. Bringing his back leg around, he delivered a spinning kick to the now hulking man’s face. It felt as though his leg had met steel. Letting out a yell, Terry fell backwards before scrambling back to his feet. The Mutant laughed, cracking each of his knuckles. Suddenly, he rushed forward at an alarming speed, catching Terry off guard as the small man was swept into the air and hurled across the restaurant.

Bouncing off of the drywall and falling to the floor, Terry felt the wind leave his lungs. Gasping for air, he pushed himself to his feet only to be grabbed again. Flying through the air once more, a loud crash echoed in his ears. Shards of glass seemed to float around Terry as he soared through the Bueno Nacho’s front window and onto the street.

Rolling across the sidewalk with a moan, Terry was forced to react quickly, finding himself amid the ongoing Mutant riot. Managing to get back onto his feet, Terry pushed through the crowd, removing a shard of glass from his side while he ran. Fumbling for his phone, Terry held his thumb down on the scanner. Pressing the scanner for longer than usual, the screen suddenly lit up as it flashed a red Bat-Signal three times.

Letting out a slight sigh of relief, it was cut short as the collar of Terry’s shirt suddenly went taut around his throat. A large hand grabbed from behind, dragging him backwards before Terry found himself hoisted into the air above the laughing Mutant.

“Anytime now, Bruce!” Terry managed to mutter between gritted teeth as he found to get free. The Mutant continued to laugh with each futile attempt Terry made to get free until the larger man unexpectedly stopped. A car horn broke the din around Terry before he suddenly fell towards the ground. His fall was cut short however as Terry landed, opening his eyes to find himself atop the hood of Dana’s Jeep.

“Get in!”

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Next Issue: Quiet Riot
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Hexaflexagon
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Hexaflexagon

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Jailbreak In Fairyland VI

The Royal Palace, Hallways, Faerie
CW: Some mild body horror towards the end, so if that ain't your thing you might want to skip this one.


“You seem troubled timoune.” Voodoo asked as he adjusted the collar of his guayabera again.

“I’m fine,” Zatanna replied dismissively “a little nervous that’s all”

Voodoo laughed

“That’s fair,” He agreed “it isn’t everyday you dine with royalty.”

“Yeah... that’s true”

Though I guess it isn’t everyday you try and stage a jailbreak either Zatanna thought to herself.

Before Tefé and her parted ways in the bathhouse they had come up with a basic plan. Fae dinner according to Tefé wasn't, “Sittin’ around a table thanking Jesus or some shit”. Rather the dinner functioned more like what Zatanna might call a ball or gala in the Mundane world. A function where the “who’s who” of society could socialize amongst themselves. If everything went well, Zatanna wouldn't be subjugated to such torture. The plan itself calling to spend as little time in the ballroom as possible. Once she rendezvoused with Tefé, they would slip out on the pretense of trying to locate a restroom. From there Tefé would lead them towards where they would be keeping the Kingkiller. If all went well Zatanna would use her magic to contact Voodoo so that he could also make his exit. They would then sneak their way out of the castle and meet back up on the other side of the bridge. From there it was as simple as getting on the next train heading back to London.

And yet Zatanna could not quite shake her own haunting anxiety as she prepared for the evening. If crime movies had taught her anything it was that no heist went according to plan. Though it wasn't even the chance of disaster that bothered the magician that much. No, instead it was Voodoo's earlier remarks about balance. Her actions would remove a society’s ability to choose and she wasn't sure she had that right. No matter the realpolitik behind the Kingkiller, he was still a criminal. Did she have the right to decide what measure of guilt counted? She didn't know but she knew what she was going to do anyway, she made her choice. And yet, despite her resolve, she knew there was also a reason she was choosing not to inform Voodoo of the plan before hand.

In an attempt to distract herself she looked at her reflection in a passing mirror. Deciding that her typical show outfit was too loud, she choose something more formal. She ended up going with a simple black dress. Along with the dress she wore a pair of white sneakers, not wanting to have to flee for her life in heels again. The outfit was more "student at fashion school" than "master thief" but a catsuit seemed a little much

Soon they arrived at the ballroom. It hung over the twilight below as its own standalone wing. A large octagonal space with dining and buffet tables lining its perimeter. The floor in the center made out of thick glass that provided a stunning view of the endless twilight. The nobles chatted amongst themselves on the floor in small groups. The hum of conversation accompanied by musicians playing string instruments alien to Zatanna.

"Jericho!" A voice called cutting through the noise.

From the other side of the ballroom Titania approached them. She wore a long gown weaved of moonlight that surrounded her in an ethereal glow. Like moths entranced by the glow, a small entourage of courtiers surrounded her. Yet Titania give them no mind as she glided across the floor towards the two magic users. She seemed happy to see them, a broad smile on her face.

"Queen Titania," Voodoo replied with a bow "you look as marvelous as always."

"Always the charmer Jericho," Titania replied chuckling "best be careful or I'll keep you."

"Oh you wouldn't want an old bore like me."

"Nonsense! Come! Come! We have much to discuss after all! I'm oh so very curious about what is happening in the Mundane."

As Titania took Voodoo by the arm Zatanna took the opportunity to slip away. The older magician glanced over his shoulder at her, Zatanna giving him a wave as he was dragged away.

Zatanna slipped through the groups of people as she headed towards an empty table. As she made a way over, she plucked two flutes of alcohol from a waiter's tray. Setting the drinks down on the table she sat and observed the crowd. The way they moved about the room reminded Zatanna about bees and how they danced to communicate. The nobles moving between groups as if following some kind of predetermined mechanism. Up close it was unbearable but at a distance there was a beauty to it that Zatanna couldn't deny.

She regarded one of the flutes of alcohol watching how the light caught the bubbles before she took a sip. As soon as the liquor hit the back of her throat, she had to fight the urge to cough. A hint of honey followed by a burning bitter burst that swelled in her neck like an open flame. As she tried to regain her composure someone called out to her.

"Didn't anyone tell you not to drink on the Job Z'?"

Tefé sauntered over to the table and pulled up a chair. Her look had transferred from The Clash to the Thin White Duke. She leaned against the edge of the table reminding Zatanna of a cat about to pounce.

"That's a shame, because I have this other glass right here." Zatanna explained as she offered Tefé the other drink.

"I never did say it was a bad thing did I?" Tefé explained as she took the other glass. Her fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed against the magician's. "Salute!"

They tapped the rimms of their glasses before they each downed the contents of the flute. Zatanna let out a long exhale as the burn of the alcohol settled in her chest. She watched in amusement as Tefé titled the flute all the way back to ensure the last drops of the liquid came out. She wore a triumphant smile as she slammed the glass back on the table.

"So," Zatanna questioned "we still doing this? "

"Fuck. Yeah."

Without another word needed the pair began to make their exit. They slipped out of a side service exit to avoid the guards stationed at the entrance. They slipped in through the door as a waiter carrying another platter of food stepped out. Ahead of them, Zatanna could hear the chaos of the kitchen as the shadows of chefs dance along the wall. Whispers and fast footsteps caused Tefé to pull Zatanna down another passage. This one-sided game of cat and mouse ending only as they exited through a door back into the upper halls.

"This way." Tefé gestured as she gained her bearings leading Zatanna to the left.

"How did you find out where they are keeping him anyway?" Zatanna whispered

Tefé laughed.

"I asked one of the guards?" Tefé explained with a grin. "Turns out they are as respective as anyone to questioning when their pants are down."

"Hmph," Zatanna mused as shook her head "guess some things never change."

"There are some things about nature that people can't fight Z' remember that." Tefé asserted with a wink.

As they continued the quiet rumble of the ballroom continued to fade. Zatanna followed behind Tefé as she navigated the labyrinth hallways with a purpose. The other woman only having to stop at one or two intersections to consult her own mirror before heading on. At regular intervals Zatanna checked behind them to make sure that they didn't have a tail. Their gambit having so far been successful as not a soul stalked the halls this far away from the ballroom.

As Zatanna was looking over one shoulder she almost collided into Tefé who had stopped at a corner. Before she could speak her companion raised a hand to her lips and gestured around the corner. Zatanna nodded in understanding before peeking around the corner to see the problem. At the far end of the hallway were three guards positioned around a large gated entranceway. Two of the guards sat on stools around a table playing cards, while the third watched the hallway.

"Guessing that's where we need to go?" Zatanna whispered cocking her head in the direction of the guards.

"Didn't say it was going to be easy did I?"

"Wouldn't of been fun if it was," countered the magician "what's the plan?"

A manic grin pulled the corners of Tefé's mouth tight.

"Act shitfaced and follow my lead."

With a wink Tefé wrapped a hand around Zatanna's waist and pulled her around the corner. Together they began to stagger down the hallway towards the entryway. Their erratic pattern drew the attention of the guard on watch who alerted the two playing cards. The card players readied themselves picking up their weapons and getting into position. The guard who had first spotted them took the initiative and step forward her spear raised.

"Stop and identify yourself!"

"D...do you know where the bath...bathroom is?" Tefé slurred as she closed the distance further "We reallllllly need to find one."

The tension in the lead guards body relaxed her grip on her weapon loosening. Her two companions stepped forward on either side of her but did not raise their weapons.

"Drunks." Explained the lead guard shaking her head

"What should we do?" Asked the guard to her left

"We'll try and send them back to the ballroom."

Expoliting the guards confusion, Zatanna and Tefé closed the distance further. As they came within arm's length of the lead guards thrusted rward spear Tefé sprung into action. Dropping her hold on Zatanna, Tefé grasped the shaft of the spear and with great strength yanked it upward. The lead guard catapulted into the air could only shout in surprise before she went flying. Dropping the spear, Tefé outstretched a hand towards the guard on the right who was readying a thrust. Zatanna's eyes widened in surprise as the other woman's arm exploded into an expanded column of vines. The arm now turned battering ram slamming hard into the guard's chest sending him flying back. The force of the blow caving his armor inward as he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

The last guard did not have a spear but instead a long sabre which he brought down towards Tefé. The young woman still dealing with the other guards leaving herself open. But before the blade could make impact Zatanna raised a finger towards him and shouted.

"Tsur!"

There was a slight distortion in the air around the guard as spots of brown began to appear on his armor. Yelling the guard dropped the sabre and tried to wipe at the spots but the damage was already done. The rust crept across his armor locking the joints as his shouting continued. Unable to move he toppled over encased in a thick coating of rust, his yelling now muffled. Feeling bad because the guard was only doing his job, Zatanna knelt down and whispered a command.

"Peels."

The panicked shouts dying out soon after.

"Remind me not to piss you off" Tefé commented gesturing towards the guard.

"I could say the same about you!" Zatanna replied standing up "You didn't tell me that you were a plant person!"

Tefé chuckled at this comment as she sauntered over to orignal guard that she had tossed through the air. The impact was enough to knock her out but unlike the other two there was minimal damage to her armor. Tefé pulled off the guard's helmet revealing elfin features and red hair pulled up into a tight bun.

"Oh I'm so much more than a plant person." Tefé explained as she reached out and touched the guard's face. "A plant person couldn't do this."

For a second nothing happened and Zatanna was about to tell the other woman to stop pulling her chain. And then Tefé's skin began to bubble, it was slow and first before growing to a rolling boil. Zatanna could only watch in horror as her skin ran off her body creating a waterfall of blood and flesh. Her bones screamed as they cracked shifting in size and position as her height increased an inch or more. A new layer of skin and hair was visible underneath all the blood, but instead of her own face Tefé now wore the guards. Bloody and naked, she began to strip the unconscious guard of her clothes.

"What. The. Actual. Fuck." Zatnna spoke as fought the urge to vomit and failed.

"Yeah that's the typical response," Tefé responded as she continued to loot the guard "if it makes you feel better I can always change back."

"You... you stole her body!"

"I copied her body." Tefé stressed "And you trapped a man in a prison of rust. So neither of us are angels in this scenario darlin'. And how else did you think I got in here in the first place? I ain't fancy pants nobility or some spell-slinger."

"Bu-Bu," Zatanna protested "that was very just... it was very visceral and you gave me like no warning!"

"You could of turned away at any time. You weren't terrified, you were curious. Now are you going to help me put this armor on or what?"

"...Fine!" Zatanna relented as she began to pull at a boot.


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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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Bounce

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G O T H A M C O U N T Y

Abandoned Farmstead

The former Boy Wonder managed to hobble his way across the open yard, pressing his back against the side of the barn.

Reaching down with his left hand, the weathered acrobat probed the knee cap. Pain shot through the joint as he tried to massage the tension there. He was going to have a hell of a time moving around with that leg, which was part of what had prompted him to give up the Nightwing identity in the first place.

Peering out from around the side of the structure, Dick surveyed the farmstead. Across, in the farm house proper, he could see lights on. Silhouettes in the windows suggested that a handful of people were mulling about, throwing back drinks. Probably the higher ups of the pecking order. The barn that Dick was scouting was the meth lab.

As Dick crept down the side of the barn, he stayed out of sight of a guy who stepped out for a smoke. The generator supplying power was out the back. The alarm started from within the moment that the generator cut out. The doors to the barn came rolling open, as voices inside complained of the darkness within.

The smoker was the first to arrive at the generator, followed shortly after by a handful of others stepping out to check on the power. Meanwhile, a shadow passed unnoticed from the rooftop overhead.

Edging out from the ledge of the roof, the grizzled acrobat looked around the dimly lit inside of the barn. Rows of tables for cooking up product were juxtaposed by the side where the product was packaged for distribution.

Reaching down to his belt, Dick withdrew a batarang. Unfolding the weapon, he depressed a button in the center to activate the small explosive charge set there. Most of the people had filtered from out of the barn, drifting along the peripheral. It gave him the perfect opportunity to hit the lab itself.

It was a hook shot. Flying in through the top loft, arcing down toward one of the center tables. The batarang gave a flashbang as it struck the table. It wasn’t meant to be a powerful charge, but the spark was enough to set off the volatile chemicals around it.

The fireball blew out both ends of the barn, sending men diving for the dirt as loud curses howled through the air.

Several went running for the cars, where they discovered their friends unconscious and the tires slashed.

The fire ought to get the local sheriff’s attention, but just in case Dick decided to force fate a bit. Flipping open his burner phone, the man dialed 9-1-1 and then casually dropped the phone into the bushes.

The rest ought to take care of itself.

Dick just hoped that Toyboy could take care of himself until Dick could figure just how the hell he was going to get out of here on a bum leg. Let alone navigate a different route back to the main road, so that he could get back to the highway and venture down to the storage facility.

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Gotham Corridor Self Storage
Bludhaven, New Jersey | Present Day

“Psychopath!”

The doll-faced man staggered away from the black-and-red costumed child before him. The short cape framed the boy’s slight frame as he squared off with the much larger figure that was still framed against the door frame behind him.

Anton Schott turned. The camera lens irises holding the reflected image of the man pivoting on his back foot as he prepared to make his retreat. Toyboy’s hand flew to the utility belt that encircled his wait. That much of the Robin outfit was actually vintage, being the same belt that Dick had worn as the original Boy Wonder.

The doll drew the grapple gun from the compact holster that was attached to the belt. With a single, smooth motion, Toyboy leveled the launcher and pulled the trigger. The line whipped outward, striking against Schott’s leg as he brought it down to take that first step. As the grapple wrapped around the man’s legs, he stumbled.

Seizing hold on the line with his free hand, the doll pulled back on the grapple line. The coiled line around Schott’s legs snapped taut. His body weight still shifting forward with the momentum of his halted flight, the self-proclaimed Dollmaker went down hard to the floor.

A feral screech cut through the air, as the torch-armed girl came barreling at Toyboy with everything that she had. The girl’s body slammed into the costumed doll, taking him back a step. As she jumped onto his back, the two other doll-faced boys followed suit.

The grapple line and attached launcher gun went sliding across the floor as it fell from the doll’s grip. His hands were otherwise occupied, fumbling to steady him as the four children spilled onto the floor, with the Toy Wonder pinned beneath a dogpile.

Retracting a hand to the utility belt, the doll used two fingers to fish out a gas capsule. Squeezing that between his thumb and forefinger, a sharp hiss gave the only warning before a haze of white-ash smoke shot out from the pile of children, slowly dissipating away. The three small forms went limp almost immediately, allowing Toyboy the freedom of being able to gently push them off.

When he’d picked himself back up from the floor, Schott was gone.

Toyboy debated pursuing him. A momentary calculus that arrived at its answer in less than a second, but for a robot it was nonetheless a rather lengthy debate. In the end, the children in the cages took priority.

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“Nine One One.”

“...hello?”

“Hello. Are you okay, sweetie?”

“No.”

“Are there any adults there with you?”

“No, but we’re worried that the bad man might come back again.”

“Who is ‘we’, sweetie? Are there other kids there with you?”

“Yeah, we were all on the school bus together when the bad man came.”

“Sweetie, where you do go to school?”

“Bludhaven Elementary. We’re in the fifth grade.”

“Sweetie, I’m sending some police officers to you. Can you describe where you are? What’s the room like?”

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“All Units, be advised, possible hostage situation at the Gotham Corridor Self Storage. All available units proceed to Interstate Twelve. Repeat, all available units proceed to Interstate Twelve. Missing Bludhaven Elementary students are on the line with dispatch and report the scene is clear, but that suspect may be nearby.”

Dick labored to sit in the driver’s seat. His lower back was killing him, his left knee had locked up on him, and his elbow had never forgiven him for throwing that batarang without properly warming up first. As the adrenaline faded from his body, the old man found himself winded just making the trip back to the car.

He’d reclined the seat and just lay there to try and catch his breath, when the call came over the radio.

Chambers called his personal cell almost the same moment.

“What? And the kids called it in?” Dick uttered, feigning surprise.

It was actually easy to do. He’d told Toyboy to observe and then report back. If the doll had actually cracked the case and then thrown wide the gates, more power to him.

Another time, another life, Dick Grayson might never have doubted that Toyboy could have done it. But there was too much of Bruce in him now. He doubted everything. And everyone. Which made being proven wrong satisfying for the notion that his concerns hadn’t been justified.

“Take control of the scene,” Dick uttered, trying to keep the wince out of his voice as he popped his seat back to the usual position and then started the cruiser. “I’ll be there shortly.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Hound55
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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With Muchos Help from @DocTachyon We Proudly Present...




M A N H A T T A N , N E W Y O R K

Present Day | C’mon man, pay attention. Manhattan New York

The Skywire kept retracting, carrying Ted in a seated position up towards the hull. As the end of the wire approached the moondoor opened automatically, and Ted rode the cable all the way inside the Bug. The hatch closed and Ted gingerly stepped down from his perch and ran to the pilot’s seat to take full control.

Ted quickly turned the craft down 7th Avenue to give chase to one of the swarms, he needed to ascertain just how bad this situation was. Citywide? Statewide? A national threat, or was it contained to the isle of Manhattan for now?

The cloud of metal was far ahead and kept surging onwards. Ted pulled up to better his view and watched as the swarm split up at Washington Square Park, with half turning West towards Greenwich where it maintained perfect formation and joined up with half of the other swarms which had been travelling parallel down 8th and turned back North. He saw a huge rising smokestack in the distance between the high rise buildings downtown near City Hall and the new WTC developments. And the slightest glimpse of smoke coming from far off Staten Island at the horizon.

They weren’t leaving the island. At least not to the South. They were turning back on themselves as if to paint Manhattan with mayhem. Ted assumed the smoke must be coming from a blaze started by crazed affected citizens.

“That’s— A relief, I guess?”

Ted turned to the console and hit some buttons, suddenly the police band broke into his cowl’s earpiece. The Blue Beetle winced at the sudden burst of cacophonic chaos blasted into his ear. Too focused. New York was madness and he was hearing a city’s wails for help. He changed the band for a wider scope, picking out a National news network, and re-routed the audio to the cockpit’s speakers rather than just his headset, to get a proper sense of the situation and turned the Bug around up 5th Avenue to go back towards Central Park and Ground Zero of this catastrophe. As he completed his turning circle he saw similar smoke rising from the horizon over Brooklyn, and similar smoke rising from the Park, it was then that he put two and two together.

These weren’t just the symptoms of the infected population. They were the cause, and its root was greater than just what he saw on the video at Central Park. Now he had a decision, but it was barely a choice in the first place. The people who did this WERE, maybe still ARE, at Central Park. If there’s any hope of ending this at the source right NOW and limiting casualties, its there.

The Blue Beetle steeled his resolve and accelerated down 5th Avenue past the Flatiron Building, urging the Bug onwards through Midtown.

Then he felt it. Resistance coming from the undercarriage as if someone was suddenly yanking on the Skywire, which was impossible. It was fully retracted. Seconds later there was a CLOMP! As if someone jumped on the hood of a car and started walking around. Followed by a sharp knocking. Ted flicked a button on the console to bring up a camera from the rear of the roof of the Bug to see the source and saw Spider-man in his telltale Black Suit crawling around looking for a weakspot in the roof’s plating.

“I really hope you’re on my team, dude.” Spider-Man searched for any divots in the plating, signs of an entry hatch. “If not, you’d better leave the keys in the ignition for me.”

Ted frantically yelled into the cockpit’s radio handset, which came out of external speakers “Hey! Hey! Stop that! It’s expensive! Give me a minute, I’ll get the damn door!”

The Blue Beetle hit an overhead button and the sundoor slid open, revealing a curious Spider-Man.

The other hero moved and wormed inside, like a sheet of black fabric sweeping over the interior of the Bug. It was the first time Ted had seen him since that day in New York. He'd read the Bugle articles, everyone had, but there was something to be said about seeing the real deal. His muscles were tight and wound under his costume, and he crouched against the ceiling as if it was the ground. Even this close, Ted still couldn't make out how he did it. There were no obvious devices about his ankles, no humming of power cells or distortion of magnetic fields, he simply stuck. Maybe he was a mutant after all. The spider scanned him up and down from tremendous silicate lenses stretched over his eyes.

"Sweet digs in here, man. But if you're another spider-themed superhero, I'm suing."

“That’d be right. You drive around in a hotrod like this, all of a sudden you’ve got every two-bit wallcrawler out to make a buck stepping off the curb in front of you to drop a lawsuit.” The Blue Beetle quipped, not looking away from the display.

“I hope you don’t have family back in Staten Island or Brooklyn, because this thing is spreading fast. I just took this down to Lower Manhattan to see how bad it’s gotten and, the good news is it doesn’t seem to be spreading East or West off the island. Bad news is it looks like this isn’t just one incident.” Ted peered off to his right side to look for more smoke. Spider-Man flipped down from his perch, landing beside Blue Beetle. He was slighter than Ted had expected, built like an acrobat, or maybe a teenager who'd skipped his Wheaties. The teen hero reached down and his costume opened of its own accord, and he produced as Oscorp-Branded phone from the pocket inside -- fitted with a K.O.R.D battery-case, Ted noticed.

"The island's full of bugs, at least up to Central Park, maybe further. Probably further."

“So good news if you’re from Queens or the Bronx, I suppose…”

"You got me pegged, Boston blue." Spider-Man tapped at his cracked screen, pulling up a Bugle article.

"...Beetle." Ted said, turning and quickly offering a hand, before retracting it just as fast to retain control of the Bug. "Boston's Blue Beetle. And you'd be Spider-Man." He quickly returned to piloting the aircraft, looking straight ahead and trying to pretend the swerve didn't just happen.

“Annnnyway, can’t see to the West from all the Highrises to check out Jersey… but it’s Jersey.”

“--So how much worse could it get…?” The pair said together.

“Right? Right. That was my thinking. Robots would only go a couple miles inland, get sick of the tolls and turn around and come back.” The Blue Beetle joked.

"Ol' pointy head probably doesn't want to tangle with those mutants they've got on the shore. But that's a good question, what do you figure the range on one of those bad boys is? And then is it the bugs or the towers that's important?" Spider-Man asked. He put his phone on the dash, there was a livemap of confirmed tower locations, plus superhero sightings superimposed on top. Wonder Woman and Supergirl in Central Park, with more dots and logos cropping up across the city by the minute.

They zoomed past Bryant Park, whilst Ted’s hyperactive memory thought back to the question that he first said to Janet Van Dyne about her husband’s work. And how she had rephrased it to Hank.

“I guess I was going to ask about whether he finds it easier to work with more complex individual nanodrone programming and a central processor which can then delineate--”

“That’s OK, hun. Ted here was just telling me what he thinks of your work. He was curious about your programming the nanodrones and whether you preferred complexity in the programming within a central processor or more autonomous individual nanites with a broader rule-governed framework.”

Ted shook his head as if to clear it and the memory away from his current thoughts.

“It’s both. The question is to what extent. I’ve a feeling I know the answer to that, but I've got to be sure. I need to get down there and have a look at one of them. I have a friend who’s worked with nanotech. There might be maybe six people in the world who are capable of doing what I’m worried about, but if I take out the towers cold and I'm wrong-- Have you seen that episode of Black Mirror with the robot drone bees?”

"Yeah, not really a great alternative to the Kingsman thing we got going on." Spider-Man said. He took a moment to appraise the technology of The Bug, in the readouts and boards of buttons that defined the main console. "Unless K.O.R.D or someone dropped a hell of a showstopper, I'm guessing you built this thing yourself. Figure we lock down one of the towers and you see what makes it tick?"

"Sorry pardner," Ted said, putting on an Old West lilt to his Boston brogue, "I picked up the last kit from RadioShack before they went under."

Spider-Man flicked the map, enlarging a quadrant. "I'm supposed to have a hot date with the X-Men by Herald Square, and the Bugle says there's a tower in Madison Square Garden a few blocks away, seems like a fit."

"Pity they only just dropped these things in today, or the Knicks could have blamed it for all of their lockerroom troubles..." The Blue Beetle jibed, turning the Bug down an alley to head back to the Garden.

The X-Men... I wonder if they ever had anything to do with Tora? Or Bea?" Ted thought to himself.
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Natty

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Holy…

It was Rory that broke the silence first. The unlikely duo had been amongst the wreckage of the English pub for some time now. Long enough for Illyana’s tears to come to an end and for her to rise.

She had been tending to the body of the Canterbury Cricket, doing her best to avoid the gruesome mess where he’d been split down the middle. She had located a tablecloth from behind what little remained of the bar and had placed it over him ceremoniously. She hadn’t known the creature for long at all, yet he had wanted to help her. A decision that cost him his life. S’ym would pay for what he had done. But now was a time for mourning.

Rory had been watching in silence, both out of respect for the fallen, and out of pain. He’d offered to help at first, but Illyana had simply told him that she had to do this alone. As such he simply kept where he was slumped up against a wall. Until now anyway.

Illyana turned towards him and saw that his gaze was no longer on her, but directed towards one of the dusty old television screens that hung near the bar. She was a little taken aback that it had survived the carnage that had taken place here, however what surprised her more was what it was showing. A news broadcast from America showcasing a man in a metal mask;



Her blood boiled as she listened to the man's speech. She never felt such shame about being a metahuman. About being a mutant. It was a side to her that she didn’t really think about much, given what had happened to her. However, as she looked on at the silver madman on the television, she just wished she’d done more. That’s what she wanted to do now.

But a thought held her back.

Belasco has a new pet to play with.

S’ym’s words filled her mind and they made her sick. Her mind began to race through all the possibilities. Who they were. Where he’d taken them from. How were they? That had to be her priority. This mutant terrorist couldn’t be her concern. Besides, the world had other heroes. Wonder Woman. The Spider guy. Hell, even Batman was supposedly back. They could surely be enough to handle whatever was happening/.

Then the metallic swarm began to fill the screen as an image of Central Park appeared before them. Her heart sank further. All those innocent lives. She watched in terror as a young girl ran in fear from her mother, who chased her like a ravenous tiger. No. There was no point in rescuing this child in Limbo if there wasn’t a world worth bringing them back to. The words that Rory said next was the confirmation that she needed.

We have to do something.” He wheezed with determination as he struggled to find his feet. His movements were rigid as he moved, with him stumbling slightly from the pain of his arm. She frowned at the sight, taking a second to glance back towards the body of the Cricket. Rory couldn’t help her. She wasn’t losing anyone else today.

No, I have to do something.” She stated boldly. “You’re not going anyvhere with vhat arm.

Rory gawked at her in confusion, before gesturing to his arm, which he attempted to move.

C’mon, I’m fine. We have to— ackk.” He let out a cry of pain, as he crumbled downwards. His spare arm went to support himself. Despite how he tried to recover and keep a straight face through the pain, Illyana knew that he was done today.

I’m sorry. I’m sending you home.

She couldn’t even face him as she pointed her arm towards him, summoning a stepping disc. As much as the words stung, she ignored his cries. The room grew silent as he disappeared; the body of the Cricket vanishing with him.

Taking one last look towards the unconscious body of Rath, who was still buried underneath the wreckage of the bar, Illyana Rasputina summoned a stepping disc once more, whisking herself away.

As she appeared in the streets of Manhattan, Illyana found herself in what could only be described as a warzone. Screams and shouts echoed around her, as Magik navigation through a sea of burnt out cars and bodies. People charged frantically around her; some scared for their lives, while others with a lust for blood, clearly infected by the swarm.

Magik reacted swiftly as one such infected made its way towards her. Her Soul Staff appeared within her hand as she swung low, taking the individual out by its legs. As they catapulted to the floor, she jabbed downwards with the butt of the staff for continuing onwards. The next few infected men and women that came towards her fell to the ground in similar ways, however as more and more kept coming it was clear to Illyana that she wasn’t even making a dent.

She moved backward, sending out a cone of frost from her hands to slow down the approaching horde, an icy incantation escaping her lips.

There were too many. She needed help. She needed to get back to the Sanctum.

A stepping disc appeared beneath her feet to teleport herself away, however, once she had arrived, Illyana found herself emerging into a much different New York than she had been in before. Around her were the all-so-familiar streets of Greenwich Village, however, the brownstones were now flooded with a tinge of blue. The sky around her seemed to follow suit, and as she stared, Illyana seemed to spot its source; a dark blue bubble seemed to encapsulate the surrounding area, spreading its magical light down onto the streets below.

Illyana’s eyes stared around her, shocked at the sight of refugees from the rest of the city resting against the stationary New York taxis, tending to their wounds and just being thankful for being alive. A smile spread across Illyana’s face as she realized what was happening. It was a safe zone; free from the terror of the battles currently being faced out in the rest of Manhattan.

Ah Illyana, I was wondering where you’d gotten to.” A calm voice called out from above.

She knew exactly who was the cause of this even before she laid eyes on the billowing cloak of scarlet that floated above them miraculously.

Doctor Stephen Strange was an imposing presence in the New York skyline. He sat in the air, his legs crossed in front of him, reminding Magik of their frequent lessons in meditation. Despite the wrinkles that were beginning to coat his face and the flakes of grey littered throughout his hair, he radiated power, with mystical energy flowing around his body. With each breath the bubble above seemed to grow slightly brighter in colour, growing closer to the shade of the deep blue robes Strange wore.

Be a darling and come give me a hand.” He smiled boldly before waving for Magik to join him.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Mao Mao
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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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New York City, New York
Present Day

Issue #4.03
𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

"Weird timing, but alright."

Yeah, that sounded better in my head. Diana thought about her comment while Supergirl vanished. The newcomer still impressed the old-timer with her abilities. She wondered if there was finally someone able to match her physically. Maybe it was Supergirl. And that got her thinking once more. Diana re-examined the teen's powers and fighting style. For one, she wasn't another God because she seemed too human. Perhaps she's got a rare gene that granted her powers, making her a unique metahuman. Regardless, Diana needed to keep an eye on her to see what other powers she had hidden.

When Diana arrived at the art sculpture, she found a small control panel nearby. It didn't appear when the sculpture was filmed live. The screen revealed that the swarm of locusts were actually small robots, which bury themselves in victims' necks. Unfortunately, it wasn't the master control to all of them. Just to the ones within Central Park and the surrounding area. Diana threw down the panel and crushed it underneath her feet. Then, she made her way to the sculpture and tied it up with her lasso. All it took was a hard enough pull for the art piece to come crashing down.

When the sculpture broke, the robotic bugs began to malfunction since they weren't getting any more orders. Diana didn't know if it harmed the victims, but it seemed that some of them were still breathing. And with the threat neutralized, Central Park seemed secured. Yet, it wasn't. Within the main swarm of robotic locusts, a decent sized group made their way towards her and Central Park. Diana grabbed her shield and waited for the bugs to come directly towards her. However, all of them were seen heading towards different parts of the area. None of them were concerned with her. For now.

Diana saw one of the robotic bugs heading for a deceased infected teenager near her. It entered the victim's neck and spent a second pulling out the deactivated bots with its tiny teeth. The active bot discarded the original one since it was useless. Now with nothing inside, it re-entered his neck and somehow revived the dead victim. Suddenly, more dead infected victims rose from the ground after the bugs entered their necks. All of them started running away from the park. Initially, she planned on stopping them until she heard a frightening shriek behind her.

The scream came from the male infected that Diana fought with earlier. It didn't make sense to her since she knocked him out. What she didn't know was that the nearby towers connected to the deactivated bots from the Central Park tower. It caused them to reboot every single bot that was connected to the original tower regardless if its victim was dead or alive. Nobody knew about the containment plan except Stryfe and his men that protected the towers. Meanwhile back in Central Park, Diana started to notice more infected victims rising from the ground; but, they were running towards her.

Diana panicked and floated above the infected to avoid them. Then, the remaining bots were also heading her way. She turned towards them and pulled out her lasso, which was intended to be used as a whip. It took a few swings against the bots before realizing it was ineffective. With the bots getting close, Diana had no options but to curl up in a ball while protecting the back of his neck. She heard rattling as the bots hit against her armor. Next, they clashed with her hands trying to bury themselves into her neck; but, her hands were blocking their only entrance. She found their weakness.

Yet, the bots were not content.

Some of them landed on her hands and started biting them. Diana was trying her hardest to not let go while more bots joined in the chewing. With no escape plan, she was stuck until Supergirl came back or someone else helped her.


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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Supermaxx
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Supermaxx dumbass

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THE BOOK OF FATE
Issue #4: DINNER BELL

Viceroy City Police Department Viceroy City, South Carolina

They say the streets of Heaven are paved with gold and the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Kent had spent enough time in both to know that only one of those was true, but at least Heaven and Hell kept their roads in working order- he couldn't say the same about Viceroy City.

Traversing the cracked and uneven ground was difficult work for the aging sorcerer. Tired bones cried out in anguish with every laborious stride, demanding that their owner stop every few minutes to rest lest they turn to dust within that very moment. Nelson had developed the nasty habit of ignoring his body's protests back when he was practically immortal. Magic could keep the man going for months on end without so much as a bite of bread or a sip of winter back then. It was when he felt his legs nearly give out from underneath him that Kent was reminded that those days were over.

"I need a moment." He rasped, tugging on the sleeve of Corrigan's jacket to get his attention.

The part-time hard boiled detective, part-time existential agent of divine judgement stopped in his tracks and gave an exaggerated groan. "Course ya do, old man, course ya do. Not like we're on a schedule here anyway; what's the rush? The destruction'o balance in the known universe? The death of all things good n' holy?" Jimmy snorted. It was difficult to tell whether his annoyance was genuine or simply being played up for a joke.

Kent wasn't sure it mattered either way- he was right. "Just- give me a second, alright?"

Corrigan simply shrugged. It was one of the rare times he didn't have anything left to say.

Their newest companion wasn't having any of it, however. Mitchell Shelly stepped around the two suit-wearing titans of the magical world, spinning around on his sandal-covered heel to face both of them. The so-called 'Resurrection Man' looked absolutely ridiculous standing beside them in a pilfered police academy polo and a pair of cargo shorts a size too big for his thin frame. "Let's just go ahead without him, we're wastin' time!"

Jim shot a glare in Mitch's direction. "How 'bout you go fight that thing again without us n' see how long ya last, ya damn hippy. I'm sure you'll get 'im, 'cause as they say, the hundredth time's the charm, right?" He finished, spitting a glob of mucus onto the asphalt.

"What do we even need him for?" Shelly scoffed. "I mean, no offense mister, but if you're really the Spectre I don't see how he'll be any help to a guy like you. You're, like, the angel of death!"

"Not quite, that's another fella," Corrigan corrected, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it on the embers of his previous one. "N' this here old coot is Kent motherfuckin' Nelson, so have a little respect."

Mitch just blinked. "Who?"

Corrigan scrunched up his face in disbelief. A second before he could go off on one of his patented tangents Kent pulled himself up and stepped between the two, eyeing neither of his companions as he started forward. "Enough lolly-gagging, we've got a job to do." They didn't have time for any of this petty mundanity. He could feel the darkness growing stronger with each step forward he took; it made it easy to tell that they were getting close.

That and the giant sign that spelled out 'Welcome to Walmart' in obnoxiously bright letters.

The parking lot stretched out in front of the gaggle of magicians like an endless sea of metal and stone. More than a dozen abandoned cars occupied the space despite the fact that the store beyond it had been closed down for quite some time. Some of the vehicles looked to have been there for only a few hours- others were rusted out hunks on the verge of collapsing under their own, ancient weight.

"How long do ya figure this place has been out of commission?" Jim wondered aloud, eyeing the lot with equal amounts of curiosity and suspicion.

"I remember the closing day sale from fifteen years back. Didn't think there were so many people left in this town till I saw 'em tearing into that place like a stampede of wildebeests." Mitch said with a shake of his head. "Damn shame, too. Their beer was killer."

"Walmart's beer was killer." Jim repeated. "Now I know yer madder than a hatter."

"Do you two smell that?" Kent interrupted, taking in a deep, uncomfortable whiff of the lot's air.

The other two did the same, though Corrigan's nostrils were too trapped up with smoke for him to smell much of anything.

"Smells like shit. Literally." Shelly answered, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Probably some of it in that bush over there. What's it matter?"

Nelson stooped to the ground. It was a slow and arduous affair, and his knees threatened to pop the moment they touched the asphalt, but he was able to get it done. He ran two fingers across the broken, black surface, and found both of his digits to be smeared in ash and sulfur. "Steady on, gentlemen. We aren't the only ones to tread this ground."

"No kiddin', Sherlock," Jim moved passed both Mitchell and Kent at a brisk pace, one hand shoved deep in the pocket of his emerald coat and the other waving through the air in rhythm with his speech. "We're here 'ta kill a demon. Turns out there's a demon here. Real groundbreakin' work, ol' boy, well done."

The old man rose back up to his feet with a little help from Shelly and the two started forward, far more cautious than their lippy companion. "Your friend's kinda off his rocker, pardon my sayin'." Mitch muttered to Kent.

Nelson gave a reluctant nod. "I wouldn't disagree, but I've seen him punch a hole through an eldritch horror the size of Mount Olympus so I'm inclined tolerate him. Bad habits and all."

"Y'know I can hear you two, right?"

"I'm aware."

Their journey continued on for a few, quiet minutes, accompanied only by the sound of ash beneath their shoes and Kent's labored breathing. The odor of burning wood only grew more and more noticeable as they drew closer to the looming, decaying building before them. It was as if the scent had been baked into the very bricks and foundation of the thing, yet as far as Kent could see there was no sign of actual fire damage anywhere. Just the signs of dilapidation that came with a lack of upkeep over more than a decade and a half's time.

Corrigan traveled several meters ahead of his two other partners, his pace brisk and seemingly unconcerned with threats of demonic and otherworldly pyre. It was far from the first monstrosity from beyond the vale that he'd be confronting, and God willing it wasn't close to the last, either. Fear wasn't something Jim really acknowledged anymore- not unless he was installing it into someone else.

Mitchell, meanwhile, was just about ready to leap out of his sandals and into the frail arms of this 'Kent Nelson' character that he was walking with. His memories from the last time he stood in that same lot were fractured and incomplete, probably left behind in whatever brain matter had been scattered on the ground somewhere not far from there. But he remembered how it made him feel. Whatever he fought had made his skin crawl and his teeth chatter, and he wasn't precisely looking forward to feeling that way again.

If Nelson had any qualms about entering the feeding ground of a demonic predator, he didn't show it. His resolve was as right as iron and his expression unflinching, even as his senses were overwhelmed by the stench of unseen fire and smoke. He'd walked among countless graveyard worlds. Seen the beating, black heart of Hell itself. Dueled every manner of dark sorcerer and twisted, fetid thing that the universe could throw at him. This was nothing but routine for Doctor Fate.

But he wasn't really Doctor Fate without Nabu and the helmet, was he?

He was just an old man that knew a couple of parlor tricks, and desperately needed to find somewhere to sit down.

No, seriously.

He really needed to sit.

It was getting-

Corrigan had crossed the threshold. It wasn't a visible thing, and even the most trained of eyes could barely make out this sort of magic. That was the subtle terror of it- this carefully laid trap was no one could see coming.

Kent's legs gave out. He hit the ground like a bag of rocks.

Around him he could see things had changed. There was a haze in the air, heavy and crimson, like a California wildfire was raging just out of sight. And that terrible stench had reached it's crescendo, and now Nelson could scarcely draw a breath without ending it in a sputtering cough.

There was an ever-so brief moment where he thought it was just his body giving out on him- perhaps his mind, too, to assault him with such sudden images- but not a second later he felt an enormous pressure pressing down on his shoulders; it was like Satan was reaching down from on-high to shove him into the dirt, doing his best impression of a two-bit schoolyard bully. Kent gritted his teeth together and tried to force the issue, pushing back against the unseen hand, but it only seemed to grow stronger as he tried to resist it.

"Mister, you okay?" Mitch asked, concern laced in his words as he reached down to grab at Kent's arm. He couldn't see the haze like Kent could, too disconnected from the matters of magic to be able to tell that anything had changed about that place. It was still just some abandoned parking lot, save for the unshakable feeling of dread in the air.

Corrigan whipped around in a sudden frenzy, throwing a hand out in Mitchell's direction. "Wait, don't touch-"

It was too late. Jim hadn't so much as finished before Shelly wrapped his fingers underneath Nelson's arm and he found himself dragged down to the ground alongside Kent. He could finally taste the sulfur in the air and see the pyre in the sky. And to make matters worse he couldn't even let go of the old man's arm- the two may have been conjoined together at birth with how tightly this otherworldly magic had bound them together.

"God...damn it." Mitch grumbled, doing the best he could to ignore the fact that Wall-Mart had just turned into a desolate hellscape- more than it usually was, at any rate. "What in the hell's going on here?!"

"This was a trap." Kent muttered. "And we walked right into it."

"Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly,
And that awful pain you shan't long abide by."


A voice as soft as silk but sharp and gruff as jagged teeth called out from every direction. It echoed with a familiar strangeness within every crack and crevice yet seemed to have no clear origin point.

Kent snapped his eyes shut and began to mutter in a long-dead tongue, his words pouring out what little power lived within his breast. He could feel the gnawing presence of chaos within every facet of his being. It was invading through his every pore and digging into the fabric of his very soul, choking out the light of Order that had been ingrained within him for centuries. He'd faced down demonic powers before-

But it had been quite a long time since he'd met one with this kind of power.

And it just had to happen on the same day his connection with Nabu had been shredded like yesterday's Newspaper, leaving ol' Kent weaker than he'd ever been before.

"Living such a state of mire,
Why not be taken, instead, by my hellfire?"


"Ah, hell." Corrigan breathed, staring at his doubled-over comrades in arms. He realized all too late that it would've been prudent to make sure he wasn't going to trip any alarm bells on his way in. Barging through like a bull in a china shop worked when he was alone, sure- after all, there wasn't anyone in this world or the next he was afraid of- but he'd forgotten just how fragile mortal flesh tended to be. Even the mortal flesh of titans of magic like a certain, elderly man that was having trouble standing up.

"This is gonna be a long night."

There was a sputter of embers on the ground between where Kent had fallen and where Jim was standing, blocking the two from one another. It quickly sprouted like a tree into a small fire that danced and twisted until it had grown into a raging inferno and rapidly started stretching out across the parking lot like an incandescent wall. A shape, a shadow black as midnight, stalked within the bounds of the fire. It seemed to follow the growing wave until it found itself lurching above a single form:

Mitchell Shelly.

The hometown hero froze where he kneeled, keenly aware that there was a presence looming over him. He tugged on the sleeve of Kent's jacket, silently urging the supposedly famed magician to do something about the monster that was about to eat his eternal soul like it was momma's home-cooked dinner.

Unfortunately Nelson seemed all too invested in whatever mumbo-jumbo he was spouting to do anything about it, leaving Mitch both frozen where he sat and frighteningly alone.

The voice continued, Loud as thunder and soft as a mouse's whisper in equal measure, snarling and giggling out it's mocking rhymes. It was projecting almost entirely from the shadow now, it's malignant tone for all the world to hear.


"Free the prince forever damned.

Free the might from fleshy mire-"


A grotesque fist shot forth from the shadow trapped in the flames, wrapping a clawed hand around Mitch's skull. It was gargantuan, covered in thick, overlapping scales of a dull, fleshy sort of color. The man went quiet, his mouth agape in abject terror as he stared ahead between the spires of flame at the watching form of the Spectre.

Corrigan didn't move, his hands still stuck firmly in his pockets and that cigarette of his still resting between his teeth.

"Boil the blood in heart of fire.

Gone, gone ye form of man-"


The fist closed around Shelly's head, collapsing it as easily as a man might break an egg. It was a rather messy affair.

"Rise the demon..."



"ETRIGAN!"
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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HenryJonesJr

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His father stood in front of him, a lone shining force in the darkness that surrounded the two of them. Even in death Odin appeared to be everything one would think of when they pictured a god. Strong yet merciful, wise yet ready for action, the Allfather stood as a testament to what Thor always dreamed he would be. Yet Odin had died like the rest of them while Thor survived. How could it be that this pillar of strength was no longer there to prop up the God of Thunder when he needed it?

"Quit pitying yourself," the father raised an eyebrow at his son. "You just defeated a mad tyrant and escaped his clutches. You should be reveling."

Thor looked down at himself, still wondering whether these visions of his father were in his head or whether they were real. Part of him wondered if that mattered. This was the place he was coming when he exerted enough of his energy. It must mean something, and he was going to make the most of his visits. Maybe they could help in some way to quell the coming storm.

"Revel? For what?" Thor responded dejectedly. "For harnessing a fraction of my power and passing out afterwards? For falling into a trap that should have never caught me? For falling behind our adversary so far that he plunders our treasures? I see not a reason for merriment, father."

He had won the day. That much was to be certain. There was a time that was all he needed to start feasting and drinking in the halls of Asgard. But that time was not now. Now he still had an anger in his belly towards his still unseen foe. He was furious that he still felt no closer to discovering who had destroyed his home and his people.

"You're looking at the negatives," Odin shook his head and looked down. "Did you not find Heimdall? Did you not discover our people still live? Did you not reclaim Jarnbjorn and harness the lightning once more? Are these not accomplishments worth celebrating?"

"Aye," Thor nodded. "I harnessed the lightning but for a few moments. And then it overpowered me."

"You have lost Asgard," Odin placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "It was where some of your power came from. Until you learn how to ground yourself without it, you will not feel yourself. But you will find a way to harness it once again. You will find our people and protect them. For you are Thor. God of Thunder. Odinson. You were born to lead our people out of the darkness, and so you will. Fare well, my son. And remember who you are."?

He woke with a startle, sending the multiple people around his bedside jumping back. He saw Quill, Heimdall, a small rabbit of some kind, the tree, a Thanagarian warrior, Korg, and Meik. As his eyes adjusted to the light on the ship, he saw he was on a larger, yet not wholly different ship from Quill's Milano, as if someone had merely stretched the ship out slightly. He sat up, and his head spun momentarily before he regained his wits.

"We got off the planet then?" he asked Heimdall. "How many came with us?"

"What you see here, and close to a dozen more on the bigger ship," the former sentry of Asgard reported, not without some satisfaction. He had been stuck on Warworld for too long. Getting off the gladiator world clearly brought him joy, as it should have. "Mongul may not like that we took both his fastest ship and his biggest one. The other is a pleasure yacht, but has potent defenses."

"And this one is a kickass, tricked-out Milano clone," Quill smiled like an idiot behind Heimdall. "I love it so much."

"Yea, and I made sure there weren't any tracking devices operational on either of them," the rabbit shrugged. "We don't need Mongul waking up and sending the dogs after us."

"Yes, rabbits do hate dogs," Thor pondered.

"What the hell is a rabbit?" the furry creature bristled at the word.

"I am Groot," Tree responded matter of factly.

"No I do not care if it means I'm cute and furry. I am an intergalactic killing machine. I ain't cure," snapped back before turning to Thor. "Name's Rocket."

"And I'm Hawk," the Thanagarian put out our hand.

He hesitated to take it, "A Thanagarian ship was the reason we ended up on Warworld. Yours?"

"Yea," she nodded as she took off her battle helmet. A cascade of auburn hair fell from within, draping over her caramel skin. "You guys had a bounty. I'm a bounty hunter. But seeing as I was just seen helping you escape by everyone with access to Mongul's broadcast, I assume I have a price on my head as well. Considering how big the one was on both of you, I assume it's pretty substantial."

"Shit, wait what?" Rocket sputtered. "You're tellin' me I got a price on my head now?"

"Probably," Hawk nodded.

"Great. Out of the frying pan and into the friggin' fire."

"I am Groot."

Rocket nodded, "You're right, pal. It isn't fair, is it?"

"So what's our next move?" Heimdall asked.

As the others chattered amongst themselves, Thor pondered the question. Quill wanted to run back to his Ravagers. Rocket just wanted to run. Hawk wanted to fight. Thor liked that. But as they tried to plot and plan, he came up with the only way he could think of to find his enemy as well as help his people escape harm.

"Quiet."

The request came out of his mouth unlike any other time he could remember. It remind him of his father when he was on the throne. It was not threatening, but it carried power. Until now he had never thought he had the ability to command a room in such a way. He had done it plenty of times on the battlefield, but not in a setting like this.

"Heimdall," he looked at his old friend, "as much as this pains me after being reunited, we must part ways. You said yourself that our people are out there and scattered. They are being hunted as we are, yet we know many of them do not have the skills the two of us do. You must take the gladiators and find our people. Collect them. Protect them."

Heimdall considered the command. It made sense, but Thor saw the trepidation he had with leaving the God of Thunder, "And what shall you do, Odinson?"

"We," he motioned to Quill, Hawk, Rocket, and Groot, "will provide you cover. While you are hunting to save our people, we will be traveling the galaxy, flaunting our living status. Helping those that need it, and, with luck, find who put a price on our heads and destroyed Asgard. And when we do, we'll go and kill him."

His four new potential traveling companions considered what he had said. Thor knew Quill was in, and Hawk seemed eager as well. It was Rocket and Groot who were the wildcards.

"Listen, we ain't usually the joinin-"

"I am Groot," Groot cut him off.

"What do you mean we stand a better chance with them!?" Rocket growled at the tree. "We survived all this time without 'em!"

"I am Groot."

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrr," Rocket growled again and ran his hands...paws...whatever through his fur in frustration. "Fine. We're in. But I do not love the idea of flaunting around while someone wants me dead."

Thor stood, before kneeling in front of the small creature. He placed his hand on Rocket's small shoulder, "My friend you have the heart of a warrior. With the rest of us, those who stand against you do not stand a chance."

"Shake the bait, see who bites," Hawk cracked her neck. "Sounds good to me."

"Shit I've been an outlaw this whole time anyway," Quill shrugged. "I'm in."

"Then let us begin," Thor smiled broadly at his new companions. "Our enemy does not rest, and neither shall we."


THOR, STAR-LORD, HAWK, ROCKET, and GROOT

ARE
THE GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Hexaflexagon
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Hexaflexagon

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Jailbreak In Fairyland VII

Faerie, The Royal Palace, Forbidden Wing


With Zatanna's assistance, Tefé was able to gather up the rest of the guard uniform. As the newly dressed guard finished putting her boots on Zatanna paced around the scene of the crime. Zatanna wasn't a professional criminal but even she knew that you got rid of the evidence. The last thing they needed, after all, was the whole thing going up in flames because they got found out early. The first order of business was the horrific display of Tefé's blood. Luckily for the magician a simple cleaning spell work just as well on viscera as it did grease stains.

The blood dealt with they now needed to deal with the bodies. The hallways barren nature provided little hiding space. Instead, they found the nearest door and got to work. With her strength, Tefé gathered up the guards while her black haired associate used her magic on the lock. With a click, the door gave way opening into an unused bedroom. Dust covered the dressers and nothing but a mattress sat on a sagging bed frame. They dumped the bodies on top of the bed in a small pile. As they left, Tefé snaked a root-like tendril into the locking mechanism breaking the door. They would still be able to force the door open, but it would still delay them if they woke up quicker than expected.

The last signs of their struggle dealt they finally advanced. Crossing the threshold into the forbidden wing, Zatanna couldn't help but feel nervous. Growing up in a place like Gotham crime and theft was always the reality. And yet even a city plagued by crime its population had a habit of romanticizing it. Crime would always be sexy you only had to look at Bonnie and Clyde or Dillinger to see that was true. Yet the platonic ideal of the Errol Flynn was that - an ideal. The reality Zatanna was finding was much more frantic, much more brutal.

Trying to distract herself, the magician attempted to talk to Tefé, the problem was she didn't know what to say. What did people talk about on heists? Or did they talk at all? It seemed rather counterproductive to the goal of not getting caught. But then again Tefé also didn't seem like the type to follow societal conventions. Deciding to go for it, Zatanna asked the only thought that she still couldn't shake from her head.

"So...."have you always been like this?"

When Zatanna was younger she had a pet corn snake that she found in the garden. She named the snake Lucifer, because of course she did, and was fascinated the first time he shed his skin. Now Zatanna found herself clinging to those memories of her old pet to reconcile with Tefé's ability. The comparison only worked so far though as Lucifer didn't leave a pile of melted flesh and blood when he shed. And even as she looked at Tefé's new red-headed, armor-clad form, a mote of queasiness still coiled in her stomach.

"Yep ever since I was a small babe," Tefé confirmed nodding her head in agreement. "A shame really might have been a more interesting story if I fell into a vat of nuclear waste or something."

"Are you a metahuman?" Zatanna asked before adding "Not that if you were it would be a bad thing. We kinda go hand in hand, after all, both having our starts in sideshows."

"No, but the way that people act when they see what I do, I might as well be." Tefé commented with a shrug "My dad controlled plant stuff and my mom controlled flesh stuff. So when I was born it turned out I got the best of both worlds."

"Must have been some family huh?"

"It was interesting at times yeah." The woman in armor responded before directing the conversation away from her. "How about you? Even a girl from the bayou like myself has heard of Giovanni Zatara before."

"It was a life."

"That bad huh?"

"Don't get me wrong, I had a very privileged childhood. Most kids, hell most adults, would have dreamed for what I had."

"And yet you always felt like you were missing something? Mardi Gras without the jambalaya?"

"Really working to battle stereotypes aren't you?" Zatanna asked with a raised brow and despite herself the start of a grin.

"Hey Z', Jambalaya is fucking great." Tefé insisted

Zatanna snorted and shook her head.

"Whatever you say, swamp girl," Zatanna teased "and maybe ask me later. I'm not really in the business of dropping years of emotional baggage on strangers."

Tefé shrugged

"Suit yourself. We are getting close anyway."

Zatanna didn't need Tefé's comment to notice the change in the environment. The ornate decorations of the palace had faded away to dark gray stone. It reminded Zatanna of walking down a street in the week after Christmas, watching the houses that were once filled with bright twinkling lights go dark for Winter's coming chill. There was no need, after all, they were trespassing beyond the veil established for the public. It was a waste of resources to focus on aesthetics when only guards or prisoners would see it.

An occasional door was the only thing to interrupt the barren stonework. Unlike the ornate wooden doors in the palace, these doors were solid pieces of metal. Zatanna deduced that their controls must be elsewhere given the lack of any handle or crank. As she neared closer to one of the doors to examine it she got startled as a fist slammed against the other side. Heavy and hard the repeated banging grew in intensity as the prisoner on the other side began to scream.

"Let me out! Please let me out! I don't wanna be here anymore!"

Tefé reached her hand out and tapped Zatanna on the shoulder.

"Come on," She stated gently "we gotta go."

Nodding Zatanna turned and followed her.

Yet the prisoner's ranting continued and it wasn't long before other prisoners joined. The arrhythmic pulsating thundering of fists sounded like a growing stampede. And on top of the slamming was the voices. Some of them were pleading like the first prisoners, others were yelling vile threats, while others still screamed. It created a cacophony of sound that only amplified with time as it traveled like a wave down the cellblock. Ahead of the magician, Tefé picked up speed as she tried to outrun the sound.

Soon the sounds of heavy footsteps joined into the chaos. Ahead of the infiltrators was a group of six guards no doubt coming to check on the commotion. Much to Zatanna's dismay, they had different uniforms than the one that Tefé was wearing. Black interwoven scales shined to a polish made up the uniform's primary material and rather than helmets, they wore masks. Horned demonic visages adorned the masks each snarling in a grimace.

"You look nothing like them!" Zatanna whispered as the guards approached.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know that?" Tefé protested

"You said the guard you were sleeping with told you!"

"Yeah, where they were keeping the Kingkiller, not the friggin' dress code!"

"What are we going to do?"

"Go with the flow."

They both slowed to a stop as the guards traversed the last of the distance. Zatanna tried her best to act casual as the masked individuals began to fan out across the width of the hallway. One of them stepped forward to address them. A large crystalline blade hung from his back and an orange mask adorned his face.

"What are you doing here soldier? And with a civilian at that?" He questioned. His voice was deep and textured like oil running over jagged glass. Zatanna didn't know if Faerie had cigarettes but if they did this guy must have smoked at least two packs a day.

"I'm to escort her to the Kingkiller, sir."

"The Kingkiller?" The man asked surprised "I'll need to see papers from both of you."

"What papers?" Zatanna asked

"Papers given to you by the Queen."

"Ah well, you see... funny story about that." Tefé started before sending an arm of bark flying forward in a sucker punch. The guard anticipating the move dodged to the right and drew his blade.

"Apprehend them!"

Three of the guards moved in on Tefé drawing crystal blades similar to the one with the blue mask. Zatanna moved to help her but before she could three sharp twangs sounded. Three crossbow bolts with crystal tips came soaring towards Zatanna. In a state of panic, she tried to leap to right out of their path. Her acrobatic efforts managed to avoid two of the bolts but a third clipped her in her left leg drawing blood. As the crystal made contact a pulse of cold energy ran through her leg. The magician having to drop to one knee as the chill made the entire leg seize.

The masked guards aimed and readied themselves for another volley to finish the job. Gritting through the pain, Zatanna looked up at her attackers and remained calm. She waited as they leveled their crossbows and fired another volley. As three more shots came to end her life, she yelled a command.

"Sigea!"

And for a brief moment, the air in front of her hardened into something thicker. The particles pushed together and pulled into a hardened barrier. The bolts one after another made contact with the shimmering magical defense. Two of the bolt's splintered from the force of the impact and a third rebounded off of it completely. The three arbalists looked to one another frantically before they prepared another volley.

But Zatanna was already on them.

"Ekans!"

One of the guards screamed as his crossbow transformed into a large serpent. Before he could drop the reptile it already began going for his neck. Screaming the man collapsed to the ground wrestling with the reptile as it began to wrap around him. One of his allies in a valiant attempt to defend him aimed his crossbow at the snake and fired. The bolt killed the creature, but the heavy impact pushed it through the snake and into the guard. He screamed in pain before the crystal's effect took place making him go numb. With the panicked guard f reloading, Zatanna turned towards the other about to fire.

"Pu!"

As if attached to a cable, the arbalist was yanked upward. He shouted as he dropped his weapon as he soared upward. The guard slammed hard into the ceiling several feet above them. As he made contact the effect of the spell fizzled and gravity took hold of him once more. Screaming even more as he came down like a hammer upon the ground. He lay there groaning on the ground, only able to curl himself up into a ball.

Another bolt came flying towards her but soared far off the mark. Zatanna turned to face her last adversary having finally finished reloading. The magician could only feel pity when she saw the tremble in his hands as he held his crossbow. In a panic, he tried to grab another bolt but fumbled and sent it clattering to the ground. Showing mercy the dark haired girl put him out of his misery.

"Thgiew!

A soft pinkish glow surrounded the arbalist's weapon as the magic took hold. He began to struggle as the weapon grew heavier in his hands struggling to keep it up. The numbness in her leg fading, Zatanna stepped over the bodies of his comrades. Closing the distance, Zatanna took a single index finger and poked it into the center of his mask. The force was enough to send him teetering backward collapsing like a felled tree. He lay struggling unable to move pinned to the floor beneath the weight of his own weapon.

"Z' heads up!"

As Zatanna ducked the blue-masked swordsman was sent flying over her head. As the body landed on the floor ahead of her in a crumpled heap, the magician rose to her feet and looked back. Tefé stood her armor dented and blood dripping from a cut on her forehead but still smiling.

"We should probably go..." Suggested Zatanna

Tefé nodding in agreement they broke into a sprint running down the rest of the hallway. Zatanna's heart pounded and the muscles in her legs protested as they ran for what felt like an eternity. She pushed on though inspired by the image ahead of her. A large vault-like circular door at the end of the hallway. If Zatanna was a prison design it was behind a door like that she would store her most valuable prisoner. Slowing down as they reached it Zatanna shouted out a spell.

"Nepo!"

Nothing happened.

"Nepo!"

Still nothing.

"What's wrong Z' outta juice?"

"I don't get out of juice!" Zatanna replied as she got up close to the door. "They must of spell-proofed it somehow!"

Gently pushing her aside, Tefé stood in front of the door and closed her eyes. As she breathed out hundreds of tiny little tendrils burst through her flesh and began wedging themselves around the door. Zatanna could only watch in amazement as she could hear dull clicks from beyond the door as the tendrils worked at an unseen lock. Tefé's eyes were shut tight with concentration as she listened to the soft sounds to guide her in the right direction.

"Stop them!"

Spinning around Zatanna's heart sank as even more masked guards were running down the hallway towards them.

"No pressure or anything but are you almost done?" Zatanna asked

"Just.... keep them busy!"

Turning her attention back to the guards, Zatanna knew that she had to hold them off somehow. Recalling the frost stonework leading to the bathhouse, she was struck with an idea.

"EzeerF!"

Patches of ice began to spread across the floor of the hallway ahead of the guards. The patches connected and multiplied and soon a thick sheet of ice covered the floor. The charging guards focused on the two of them did not notice the ice until it was too late. The first few that stepped onto the icy patch collapsed. The falling guards set off a domino effect as they knocked down the guards behind them and so on. Zatanna smiled as the sound of panicked shouts and metal clanging against the floor. The guards were already pulling themselves up but the diversion had bought them some time.

"Got it!" Tefé proclaimed

There was a loud affirmative click as the door slide open. Zatanna scrambled inside with Tefé following suit, the guards still hot on their tail. The plant elemental was just barely able to pull the door back into place before their would-be captors reached the door. The Guard banged against the door and tried to force it open but it would not budge. But it was not the banging on the door that drew Zatanna's attention.

The magician was staring at a large birdcage in the center of the room. And there sitting cross legged in the middle of the cage was a man unlike any Zatanna had seen before.

The prisoner was a large man wearing a pair of sackcloth brown pants and nothing else. He was gargantuan in size, a solid mass of muscle that seemed to fight with one another to take over his frame. But the thing that caught Zatanna's eye the most was the prisoner's skin. An amalgamation of different tones and textures patched together with staples, stitches, and screws. As they came in, he tilted his head upward from his meditative stance. Two eyes stared back at Zatanna one a deep green and the other a milky white. As they came in, he tilted his head upward from his meditative stance. Two eyes stared back at Zatanna one a deep green and the other a milky white.

"And who might you be? Does another observer come to see the freakshow? No that is not right at all, your demeanor is all wrong to be one of them. Interesting." The patchwork man commented as he rose to his feet easily towering over both Zatanna and Tefé. "Then tell me, why have you come to visit old discarded Frankenstein left to rot in his cage?"

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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Retired
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Retired "Hayao Miyazaki"

Member Seen 16 days ago


Manhattan, New York City | Present Day

Chapter One | Part Six

The mechanical buzz was omnipresent. Whirling, clicking, pumping. Footsteps marking the presence of several individuals circled the bed. The leather straps chafed against his wrists and ankles as the boy, no older than seven or eight, struggled against the bonds.

A calm voice reassured the child. "Don't worry, son. Everything will be alright."

Young Garfield Logan turned towards the source. Through the bright lights above that threatened to blind him, he could barely make out a male figure in white scrubs. A mask concealed his lower face and held in one gloved hand was a syringe tipped with a large, gleaming needle.

Garfield thrashed about wildly, bucking against his restraints. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.

"Hold him." The doctor ordered.

Multiple sets of hands reached out from the ethereal to press down on Garfield's limbs. As they did, the droning hum of the machines grew louder. Through the din a myriad of soft, distance voices called out to him.

"It's alright, kid."

"You're okay."

"You're safe."


The boy howled silently, unable to resist as he felt a sharp sting in his left arm. The bright lights intensifying with his pain and consuming his vision. His pierced flesh beginning to burn and radiate heat.

The buzzing and brightness swirled together, all-enveloping. The burning sensation along his arm cascaded down and across his body. The bright, white void shifting to hues of yellow, then orange and red. The hum dissipated and gave way to a dull, incessant roaring occasionally broken up by light crackling.

"Garfield!" A woman's panicked voice shrilled. The familiarity of it managed to break through the void and pull the boy out.

As Garfield's vision returned to him, he immediately recoiled in fear and understanding of his pain. Searing flames surrounded him and licked at his pale skin. The restraints were gone, enabling him to scramble backward along the hardwood flooring. He felt himself slam against a wall, knocking a framed photograph down.

In a daze, he picked it up and saw three figures. One, the tallest, was unrecognizable due to a crack in the glass obscuring their face. Their hand rested gently on the shoulder of a small child. Brown hair, green eyes, and a wide, goofy grin; Garfield looked at himself in the photo. His dopey smile had been directed upwards at the last of the pictured individuals. Similar brown locks held up in a loose ponytail, freckles dotting her face. The woman was looking back down at Garfield, returning his smile with one even more cheerful.

Mom, thought Garfield. He placed his fingers against the ruined glass and traced them over the woman.

Another desperate scream rang out, once more calling his name and forcing Garfield back into the moment.

"Mommy!" He returned the shout, directing it into the flames that encircled but had yet to progress closer to him. "Mommy, where are you?"

He was met with nothing but the sound of the roaring flames. Picking himself up off of the ground, Garfield was shocked to realize he no longer felt any pain. The unbearable heat had subsided, and as he realized this so too did the fire directly ahead. The blaze parted to reveal a path leading further into the house. Tentatively, he followed.

The route continued to clear for him as he moved deeper in and it led Garfield to a set of stairs. Moving up the steps, he noticed the wall on the right was covered in more framed photos. Several of himself, all with that same exuberant grin, many of which also featured an assortment of animals lovingly held in the boy's arms. Rabbits, deer, an owl, even what appeared to be a young wolf. Other photographs depicted his mother, and with each he passed while ascending Garfield could feel his cheeks wet with tears. The remainder of the pictures were all cracked or smeared with soot, concealing the same tall figure from before.

As he neared the second-floor landing, the voice of his mother once more called out. This time, however, it was faint and parsed with sickening coughs.

"... Baby, where are you?" The hacking grew louder now and Garfield shot forward, running up the last few steps and taking off down a hallway.

"Please, Garfield... my baby, where's my baby?"

"Mom, I'm here!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. For some reason, the sound of the flames seemed to grow louder with each attempt. "Mom!"

Once at the end of the hall, Garfield saw the familiar maroon door he knew to be his mother's office. He reached out to take the doorknob and immediately yanked his hand back in pain. While the fire around him no longer hurt, the knob was scalding. From beyond the closed door, he could hear the coughing again. It was so soft now, he could barely make it out through the cacophony of flames.

"Let me in, mom. Please, I'm right here. Let me in!"

Garfield slammed his foot against the door. Then again. And again.

"Gar... field..."

He screamed wordlessly and reached out to grab hold of the knob once more. Feeling his skin bubble and blister, he twisted and pulled with all his strength. The door resisted for a moment, and Garfield's scream intensified as the searing pain overtook him. But, the door flung open.

Pushing inside and squinting against the thick smog, Garfield gasped. There, prone on the floor, eyelids flickering in and out of consciousness, was his mother. He went to take another step forward, arm extending out towards her when the flames suddenly returned to life. Rushing in from the corners of the room the blaze quickly formed a barrier between the two.

Garfield called out to his mother again, his voice cracking and mixed with heavy sobs.

Lifting her head weekly and inhaling a deep, ragged breath, she tried to speak once more.

But it wasn't her voice Garfield heard.

"Kid, you're okay. Everything's okay." The myriad from earlier said once more, this time louder and more clear, solidifying into one deeper voice. "You're safe now."

He tried to ignore the voices, tried to focus on his mother. Garfield willed himself to step forward, to pass through the flames, but his body refused.

"No, mom! Mommy, please!" He wailed as he watched the fire between them begin to expand and envelop the rest of the room. "No!"

The flames overtook his mother's body and Garfield screamed.

* * *



Garfield Logan woke up in a panic, shouting wildly. His hoodie clung to him damp with sweat. Long, dark hair matted against his face and covering his eyes. Taking a deep breath, the memory of his nightmare already fading, he reached up to sweep the hair away.

It was bright, he noticed. Too bright to be the alley dumpster he had called home the last two weeks. Confusedly, he took stock of his surroundings. Concrete floor, tall support pillars leading up to high ceilings and rafters. He could feel cloth under his head. Sitting up and reaching behind him he grabbed a sheet balled up to be used as a makeshift pillow. Half-collapsed cardboard boxes were piled up just a dozen feet away with what looked like several empty containers of instant ramen and other trash.

Charlie's? He thought, recalling how his new friend had offered to give him a place to stay.

Clouded memories returned to him. Charlie's handsome face laughing at one of Garfield's jokes. A long walk through backstreets. The promise of a hot meal awaiting him. It was all scrambled. Difficult to hold on to.

Garfield raised a hand to his temple recognizing a little delayed the throbbing in his head.

I don't... what happened? He questioned silently, trying to force through the sluggishness affecting his thoughts.

"Charlie?" He called out softly, his voice abnormally low and raspy. He could feel a stabbing in the back of his throat informing him of a desperate need of water.

"Oh!" An angelic voice rose up from behind Garfield. "Elijah, the boy has awoken."

Spinning around a little too quickly, his headache flaring up at the sudden movement, Garfield's eyes widened as they fell upon a young woman standing less than twenty feet away.

Her bright red-orange hair stood out first to him, followed next by her bronzed skin. Although her arms were covered in white bandages, and she was wearing too-baggy sweatpants and a flannel button-up, Garfield's jaw slacked.

Woah... Despite his confused state, Garfield could feel his heart quicken as his adolescent body reacted to the beauty in front of him.

No way she's Charlie's girlfriend. She's... wow.

Then, from a small side-entrance stepped out another stranger. A male this time, he had a darker complexion and fully shaved head. Garfield couldn't be sure, but he thought this one looked to be in their late teens at most. Whoever the guy was, though, it wasn't Charlie.

Scrambling backward, Garfield tensed. His groggy confusion and hormonal admiration of the woman now replaced with uncertain fear. Ignoring his aching head, the young teen crouched on all fours and recalled an image, a memory in his mind. Mottled shades of grey fur, a long, blunt snout, and a sloped, slender body deceptive of the power it possessed. A grey wolf behind a wire fence, patiently resting on its hindquarters as a small hand reached through to gently rub behind its ears.

Garfield focused on this moment, channeling the memory of a faithful friend from years past. Willing himself, he could feel his own body begin to shift slightly. Muscles expanding, different bones beginning to both elongate and shrink. He could feel the familiar change begin to take hold and, knowing the transformation would take only a second or two longer, his confidence started to return.

Garfield stayed hunched over, palms splayed across the ground, head low but maintaining wary eye contact with the two strangers. The female had a wide, carefree smile while the male looked on with furrowed brows.

That's it, just stay right there, creeps. You don't know who you're messing with. Garfield told himself, letting his bravado push down the fear. No one's gonna mess with me. I don't care how hot you are, I'm gonna...

His thoughts trailed off as the boy glanced down at his hands. His still green-skinned hands. No fur. No paws. No claws.

Um.

For the first time in two years, Garfield's superhuman ability failed him. He had shifted his form into that of various animals hundreds of times. Pigeons, rats, dogs. All had been useful the last year during his time on the streets struggling to find a meal. And when necessary for protection, he had even morphed into a wolf to scare away predators. Now, no matter how much he willed the change, it wouldn't come. His body still felt sluggish and somewhat unresponding.

Garfield's head throbbed once more as panicked thoughts flooded his mind.

"What did you do to me?" He hoped his shout would be intimidating, but the crack in his voice told him otherwise.

The male approached, hands raised passively. "Easy. Everything's okay. You're safe, kid. We didn't do anything to you. You were attacked by a couple of assholes. From the way you were out cold I figure they drugged you," he explained in a surprisingly familiar voice.

A hazy memory of a sharp object jabbing into the back of his neck returned to Garfield. The pain had come suddenly followed by his body feeling heavy, then darkness. He had been talking to Charlie...

"Where's my friend?" Garfield asked. "Charlie!"

"I'm sorry, I uh, I don't know your friend. We only found you getting attacked. Looked like they were trying to kidnap you. Maybe because of... your situation." He waved his hand towards his own body, then gestured towards Garfield. "Not trying to assume, but, you know. You're green.

"But you're okay now. We fought them off and got you away from there. If you want, we can walk you home, make sure you get there safely. Or you're free to go if you're feeling better."

Garfield shook his head and collapsed back into a sitting position. It was a lot to take in and his mind was a swirl of thoughts and emotions.

"I don't have a home..." He replied quietly before adding louder. "Who are you?"

The young man hesitated, but the girl stepped closer, raising a hand in a wave. "Hello! My name is Koriand'r and it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. Although, I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Korian..."

"You can call her Starfire. It's easier." Offered the other with a sigh. "I'm Eli. And you are...?"

"Uh, right. Garfield. So... you saved me. From kidnappers. And took me here. Where is here again?"

Eli opened his mouth to answer but Koriand'r beat him to it. "This is my new home. It is very spacious. Do you like it?"

"Uh, yeah. It's, it's nice." Garfield fumbled for his words as he tried to maintain eye contact with the redhead. "Do you... do you know who these people were or where they were taking me?"

"I think I can help with that." A new voice joined in.

All three whipped around just in time to see a figure step away from an outside wall. Their body almost seemed to melt away from the surface. Reaching up and sliding back the hood of a sweatshirt to reveal a feminine form and brunette curls.

Koriand'r took a defensive step forward, nearing Garfield to shield him from further harm.

"It's okay," Eli said. "This is the girl I told you about, Starfire. She was there and tried to help."

The golden-skinned young woman relaxed and a smile once more stretched across her lips. "Then you are a friend, yes? It is a pleasure to—"

"Dude!"

Eli, Koriand'r, and the newcomer all switched their gaze to the source of the sudden outburst.

Garfield had risen to his feet, once more slackjawed with eyes wide and an accusatory finger pointed at the newest stranger. "You totally just walked through a freaking wall!" He yelled excitedly.

She nodded. "I did. My name is Kitty. And we all need to talk."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

Member Seen 3 hrs ago

We will put to the pyre your precious law and order. We will show you how truly vulnerable your nation really is.


Location: University District - Founder’s Island, Gotham City
Mass Panic Tie-In: Quiet Riot!

Interaction(s): None
Previously: Meta Brawl!

Scrambling off the vehicle’s hood, Terry clambered into the backseat. He barely had time to get situated before Dana slammed the vehicle into reverse and put the gas pedal to the floor. Despite the amount of pain he was in, Terry had to admit, it was hot watching Dana handle her Jeep like she had just stepped out of an action film.

Suddenly the vehicle turned sharply. Bringing the Jeep to a brief halt, Dana slammed the shifter into forward. Flattening the accelerator against the floor, the rear tires squealed while the back end slid around in a sharp ninety-degree turn. Now facing forward, Dana continued to guide the vehicle towards safety. Hammering on the horn while the group continued towards escape, Dana screamed for the rioting Mutants to get out of the way.

Without any warning from Dana, the vehicle lurched to a sudden stop. Terry could feel the wheels spinning beneath the chassis, protesting as the car was unexpectedly forced backwards. The smell of burnt rubber overpowered his nose, prompting Terry to look forward. His gaze was met by a Mutant in front of the vehicle. The Mutant had a hand firmly hooked in either wheel well. The hood of the Jeep crinkling like tissue paper beneath the man’s mammoth hands.

Terry had run into this character before, it wasn’t the slapper from earlier, but he knew this one too. He was a runaway from Arkham, Aaron Helzinger. As Terry recalled, Bruce had found that Aaron had undergone a procedure to remove his amygdala. It had been hoped it would cure him of his homicidal tendencies.

It hadn’t.

Instead, it had left Amygdala prone to violent outbursts. Just like the one he was no doubt currently experiencing while crushing Dana’s graduation present like a toy between his palms. Terry grimaced, ignoring the pain wracking his body. He didn’t have a choice. Looking at the three girls, Terry met Max’s gaze in the rearview mirror. She gave him a knowing look, shaking her head but Terry defied her wishes. Lunging forward, he swung himself over the front seats. Launching over the windshield, Terry delivered a flying kick to Aaron’s face, prompting the Mutant to drop the Jeep.

Rolling across the ground, Terry came to a stop atop his feet. Raising his fists, he stared Aaron down. Each pained breath reminded him why this was such a terrible idea, but there was no way Terry could have allowed Helzinger to stay focused on the Jeep. He would have rolled it into a ball and crushed them all inside. Terry couldn’t allow that to happen to Max or Carrie, let alone Dana.

Better make this count!

Terry urged himself forward, dodging a blow from Aaron. Conventional strikes wouldn’t register, Aaron wouldn’t feel it. Terry had fought this guy once before, but he had the batsuit then. That time Terry had tasers, restraints and smoke pellets. Right now, he had nothing but his fists and his training.

Steadying himself, Terry dodged another blow. Looking for an opening, a nerve strike, a groin shot. Anything that would provide optimal damage. Switching his stance, Terry saw his opportunity and prepared to strike. Fear filled Aaron’s eyes as Terry raised his fists again. The fight draining from the larger man as he turned tail and unexpectedly ran. Sighing in relief, Terry allowed himself a small chuckle before noticing the rest of the Mutants dispersing just as rapidly.

A sudden gust of air ruffled his jacket. Turning around, Terry came face to face with the Batmobile hovering above the street. An exasperated groan escaped from between his lips while Terry shook his head. Saluting the Batmobile before it flew away, he turned back towards the three girls, slowly walking towards them.

“Anyone else hungry?”


Location: The Iceberg Casino and Lounge, Tricorner - Bleake Island, Gotham City
PLACEHOLDER


The pale light of the moon reflected off the face of the towering crystalline structure. The Iceberg Casino and Lounge was Gotham City’s most prominent gambling establishment. Born out of the ashes of the Siren’s Club, the Iceberg had been a towering monument on Gotham’s edge since the mid eighties.

It was also home to one of Gotham’s most prominent crime lords; the Penguin.

The Penguin had consolidated power in the void left by the original Batman’s takedown of the Five Famiglia. The Five Famiglia were made up the Falcones, the Maronis, Bertinellis, Sabatinos and Sullivans at the height of their power, before the Batman. They were the original crime in Gotham, before the Batman, before metahumans. Now they were nothing but a memory. The Famiglia’s children fighting for scraps left by the likes of the Cartels, the Triads and the Yakuza.

When Batman had decimated the Famiglia, there had been no one to challenge the Penguin. It had afforded him a smooth ride to the top where he had remained unchecked after the disappearance of Gotham’s Dark Knight. The Penguin had the mayor’s office in one pocket, and the district attorney’s in the other. Those influences alone made the crime lord the single most powerful man in Gotham.

Outside the Iceberg Lounge and Casino, the bright beams of a large SUV’s headlights nearly blinded the valet. Raising an arm to shield his eyes, the young man lowered it the moment the vehicle came to a stop. From within the blacked out vehicle came two large men, their weapons barely concealed behind the open blazers atop form fitting shirts.

Opening the rear door, a third man stepped out. Dressed in a white pinstripe suit, the outfit certainly didn’t do the man any favours. It only served to wash out any colour his pale skin might have held. A gaunt face with high cheekbones was topped with a greased mat of hair. Entering into the casino, the man in the white suit took the lead as his bodyguards flanked him on either side.

“Pleasure or business today, Mr. Sionis?” A hostess smiled towards the three men, approaching them with a tray of champagne.

“Business, Mr. Cobblepot is expecting me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here, in the meantime can I prepare a table? Would you like your usual, Sir?” She asked as Sionis nodded.

“Have them send over a Scotch as well, neat.” Roman ordered before making his way towards his table. The Iceberg Casino and Lounge was the unofficial headquarters of Gotham’s criminal elite. Sionis had held more business meetings between the high walls of the corner booths here than he had in his own office. Taking a seat in the far corner, no sooner had Sionis sat than was his drink delivered. Taking a sip, he signalled for his bodyguards to take their place outside of the booth while he waited for Cobblepot and his meal.

After the incident with Tetch and the girl, the Batman had been relentless in slowing down Sionis’ operation. The mere thought of it was enough to make Sionis curl his hand into a fist and quietly slam it against the solid table before taking a swig from his drink. The liquid burned the back of his throat. It was a welcome sensation that went far towards satiating the rage that swelled within his chest.

With White incarcerated, Sionis was out his best client. The Jokerz were too unpredictable, the Mutants didn’t do business, and the Sons were too busy imitating their idol to be viable. That left the other crime families, but they wouldn’t dare make a move unless Sionis could get the Bat off his back.

“Roman!” A rousing voice broke Sionis from his thoughts, bringing his attention back to the present.

“How have you been keeping, my boy?” Oswald Cobblepot asked while extending a hearty hand. Roman rose to greet the older man, matching the vigour of his handshake before the pair took opposite seats.

“I’ve had better days, Cobblepot. Business has been suffering, I find myself with a bit of a rodent problem.” Roman muttered with a snarl at the mention of Batman. Across the table, the most fearsome crime lord in Gotham let out a dark chuckle.

“So you’ve come to Uncle Oz, the infamous Penguin. The one crime lord to outlive the Batman. Is that it?” Cobblepot asked, continuing to chuckle before suddenly leaning over the table.

“What? You expect me to dirty my hands for a pup like you, off this new brat Bat for you? Solve all your problems, is that it?” He snapped at Roman, “Your father never had any trouble handling his own business. How is Janus doing? Stock prices still shit, I imagine. Surprised you’ve managed to keep Wayne privatized this long, that must be a right sinking ship.”

“I’m not here to grovel-”

“Well you best be starting.” Oswald growled pointing a finger towards Sionis’ chest. “What are you here for?”

“I need your contacts and your connections.” Roman stated, standing his ground as a plate of food was placed in front of him. Cutting into his steak, he took the first bite while a plate of salmon was slide in front of Cobblepot.

“I want to put a hit out, and I only want the best.”

“I’m listening.” Cobblepot replied, interlocking his fingers in front of his face, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Sionis.

“One night to kill the Bat,” Sionis stated, “And fifty million to the individual who puts a bullet between his pointy ears.”

“Quite the offer, I guess business hasn’t been bad after all.” Oswald replied, igniting a fat cigar and taking a couple drags while he mused the proposal. “What’s my finder’s fee?”

“Fifty million now,” Sionis stated while placing a case atop the table. “And fifty million when his bloodied cowl is in my hands.”

Crackling, Oswald rubbed his hands together eagerly. Opening the case, he nodded his approval before tucking it beside his seat.

“Roman, my boy. Business is looking up for you.”

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Next Issue: Season Two - Momento Mori: One Night to Kill the Bat
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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G O T H A M C O U N T Y

Gotham Corridor Self Storage


The Gotham County Sheriff looked like he was having a bad day.

Steven “Shotgun” Smith had been a detective on the Gotham City police force. He hadn’t been the best cop, but he hadn’t been the worst either. His departure from the force had come amid an internal affairs scandal that had implicated Smith in several excessive force incidents that may or may not have been racially motivated. Even still, the next county election, Smith had popped back up and somehow come out with a win even with the skeletons in the closet waving to the crowd.

Now it wasn’t that Smith had his deputies turning a blind eye to what was happening out in the county, but the man seemed to be picking and choosing who he arrested and what sort of activities he cracked down on.

At worst, Smith was on the take. That would explain some rather strange campaign financing that had taken place during the county elections. Especially the last round, in which Smith had been unopposed.

At best, the man was just being a pragmatist. Trying to maintain public order without inciting a gang war or pissing the mafia off to the point that eliminating Smith became their desired objective.

Which was the truth? Honestly, Dick wasn’t sure. If he’d been a betting man, he’d have opted for the former and said that Smith was in the pockets of the Black Cullens, but several arrests -- while minor bit players in the organized crime drama that took place outside of Gotham proper -- had been just enough to make Dick question his assumptions even while still questioning Smith’s loyalties.

As Dick’s police cruiser rolled up on the derelict storage center, he could see Smith giving Chambers the business.

“Look, I don’t care where these kids are from. You can get your ass back to Bludhaven and the fuck outta my...”

“Steven.”

Dick’s voice wasn’t raised, but the was enough to ensure that he’d be heard. Both Smith and Chambers’ heads turned, as both Dick and another man got out of the car. Making his way toward the pair, Dick gestured to the figure who’d been riding shotgun with him. “This is Mack Flannagan.”

Smith squared off toward the approaching pair. “Like I give a fuck,” the sheriff tossed back at the former Boy Wonder. “Like I told the lady, get the fuck outta here.”

Mack pulled out his credentials. Holding up his badge, the man simply replied, “New Jersey State Detectives.”

Smith’s reaction was viceral, his already ruddy face turning a heated violet as his mouth fell open, before he seemed to think twice about speaking again.

Putting away the badge, Mack continued. “We’re assisting Bludhaven with this investigation. Given that the scope now exceeds their jurisdiction, the state will be taking it from here.” With that, the state detective merely walked on past the slack-jawed county sheriff.

Casually kicking his head to one side, Dick merely offered Smith a shrug as he followed suit. Chambers fell into step beside him, as the two peace officers ducked under police tape and entered the crime scene. “You sure took your sweet time getting here,” the lieutenant hissed under her breath.

“You’re going to a party, always a solid plan to bring a friend,” Dick deadpanned in answer. Cold sapphire eyes moved to survey the scene. Abandoned storage units, ambulances, and police lights. Amid which, there was a herd of baby humans wrapped in blankets with an assortment of uniformed officers. That much bothered Dick.

He knew what that was like. To be at your lowest point. To be at your most vulnerable. With only the cold comfort of a uniform and a badge looking down on you. “Someone wake up Child Protective Services and tell them to get some social workers out here now,” Dick snapped, a tad more forcefully than he’d intended. That was when he saw the most memorable icon of his childhood.

An EMT wheeling a gurney with a sheet draped over a body.

He felt the blood drain away from his face. “Were we too late?” the man asked. He couldn’t help the emotion that was riding on that question.

Chamber seemed oblivious to how her reply cut straight to the bone. “Understatement,” the woman answered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Then, gesturing to indicate the cluster of kids, offered, “We’ve got thirteen of the fifteen kids who’ve gone missing over the last month. There were three more, as well. We’re still working to ID them, but we’re pretty sure one’s a kid missing from Camden since March.”

Dick was hardly listening, barely able to hear anything as he seemed almost a robot himself, cutting a path straight toward where the gurney with the sheet over it was out beside the ambulance. They were waiting to load it in, as they had three more gurneys coming out of the open storage unit, each with a kid on it.

Two looked as though they had some kind of prosthesis in place of their hands or arms. Dick realized he was grinding his teeth, forcing himself to take a breath. “How bad is it in there?” the man asked finally.

He could see Chambers shiver at the question. “You have to see it to believe it,” the woman remarked, her voice thick with emotion. She paused a moment, the mask of composure restored as she added, “Hell’s right under our feet. Old Cold War bomb shelter.”

Dick gave a nod. Then he felt the lieutenant’s hand on his arm. “Commissioner, whoever did this, he...”

Her mask was slipping. Placing his hand over her’s, Dick merely turned and gave a curt nod. “I’ll take it from here,” the man offered. Gesturing toward the EMTs, the commissioner said, “See if you can ID what hospital they’re taking the kids to.” He needed to get his head back into the game. There was yet more work to be done. “Then get me a list of who all we have with training in juvenile interviews.”

As Chambers went off to do as he’d said, the last survivor of the Flying Graysons looked out at the Circus of Horrors for the modern age and braced himself to go in.

And in he went. He saw the cages. He saw the chains. He saw the tables converted into some version of a Texas Chainsaw Massacre operating table, blood stains and discarded limbs that were being bagged and tagged.

Stagnant blood had a particular odor to it. If there was a Hell, he was sure that this was how it smelled.

He pulled a handkerchief from out of his pocket, holding it over his nose as he did the best he could to mask the partial limp from the bum knee but there was no hiding the tears slipping down his face as he emerged from out of Anton Schott’s toy shop of terrors.

Coming out of the storage unit, Dick stepped off to the side. He stared up at the night’s sky for a long moment. Wiped the edges of his eyes and then put the handkerchief away.

Then his hand stuck out into the abyssal darkness of the shadows along the wall of another storage unit.

There was a cherubic echo of juvenile giggling, as Dick casually tousled hair of the doll. A strained, weak smile tugged at the deep lines on Dick’s weathered face. “You did good, kid.”

The faint outline of Toyboy’s face was visible in the dim lighting on this side of the storage center. Looking up at the commissioner, the costumed Toy Wonder asked, “You’re not angry?”

Dick’s hand was still resting atop the boy’s head. At the question, Dick did a double take. Another time, another place, he might have laughed. Instead, the man dropped down to one knee in order to get down on the doll’s eye level. “Why would I be angry?” Dick asked, moving his hand to the child-like robot’s shoulder.

“I disobeyed you,” the doll remarked candidly. “Your instructions were to observe and report, not to intervene.”

The man’s hand squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I’m not angry,” Dick offered softly.

Footsteps. Sliding his hand away, Dick turned his head as he realized that someone was coming this way. Probably Chambers. With more effort than should have been called for, Dick rose back to his feet. “Can you find your own way back to the apartment?” the man asked, his back now to the shadow.

“Yes, sir.”

“Make yourself at home,” Dick offered quietly, adding “I might not be back for awhile,” even as he started moving to meet Cissy as she came around the corner.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Hexaflexagon
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Jailbreak In Fairyland VIII

The Royal Palace, Bathhouse, Faerie

"Frankenstein," asked Tefé "like from Alvin and the Chipmunks?"

"That's what you're going with?" Zatanna responded. "Of all the cultural touchstones you go with the one with animated chipmunks? Not Terence Fisher or even Mel Brooks?"

"I have never fraternized with any chipmunks real or animated." Frankenstein asserted.

"That's beside the point!" Zatanna responded trying to drag the conversation back on track."You're Frankenstein? Like Mary Shelly Frankenstein?"

The man in the cage gave a tired sigh.

"I became friendly with Mary and her husband after coming to their aid against a lycanthrope. I would only learn sometime later that Mary wrote a biographical account of my earlier years."

"And then you murdered a king?"

" I did not perform such a brutish act. Murder is something a plebian does when they find their lover is sleeping with another. It is senseless emotion getting the better of the senses." Frankenstein stressed "What I did was peak refinement, grace, and purpose, it was art. I did not murder a king, I assassinated one."

"Murder. Assassination? Does it really matter? Oberon is dead and that makes you the Kingkiller right?" Tefé asserted.

"Ah yes," Frankenstein replied "that title that was so graciously given to me. Is it just to define a man by his darker deeds? Do vilify Einstein for his work on the atomic bomb? Or do we remember him for all his broader contributions to science?"

"Listen," Zatanna said "I'm not interested in judging your past actions. I need a monster hunter and they say you are the best there is. So we are going to break you out and you're going to help me. I think that's a better deal than staying locked up in here and getting experimented on by Anton Arcane, and you?"

Frankenstein stroked his jaw as he pondered the magician's proposition. It was, to say the least for Zatanna to view him in person. Of all the various depictions that a lover of horror such as herself had seen, all failed to capture how human he was. Not even Shelly herself who made broke him down to the desires of revenge and belonging. There was the patchwork skin, the stitching, the bolts, and the destroyed eye yes. But despite his deformities, Zatanna did not see a monster sitting there, she saw a man.

"The opportunity to challenge me against a worthy foe once more is tempting." Frankenstein commented, "Though I do not swear my loyalty to any soul haunted by the dark, who are you girl?"

"First of all, I'm not a girl." Zatanna corrected "And second of all my name is Zatanna Zatara and Tefé is my chipmunk loving friend."

"Aww, you consider me a friend already?"

"Quiet you." Zatanna sniped back before continuing. "I'm a magic user from Earth and I've been having dreams, no, visions of great evil. These visions have come after someone sent a flesh elemental to attack me in my childhood home."

"Zatara you say? That would explain the taste of magic in the air." Frankenstein replied as he leaned in closer against the bars of his cage to get a better look at Zatanna. "I never had the pleasure of working with your father, but I'm aware of his work."

Zatanna let out a frustrated sigh.

"Are all you people getting your lines fed to you by an earpiece or something? I don't care if you knew my dad or jerked off to his picture or whatever! It's not him asking for your help it's me."

The magician pushed air out of her nose trying to regain her composure. Berating the person that you were trying to get to help you wasn't exactly the best of stratagems. She knew it wasn't exactly the man in the cage's fault either that he prodded an emotional nerve. Yet Zatanna wasn't about to lie and say that finally letting somebody have it didn't feel good.

To her surprise though if anything Frankenstein seemed pleased by the outburst. A grin stretched across his stitched together mouth as he buckled over in deep bursts of laughter. Fitting for someone of his gargantuan stature, the laughs felt cavernous. Each laugh more akin to a long deep rumble like stones falling in a rockslide.

"How I've missed humanity's rambunctious nature. These fairies are too concerned with their hierarchies and unspoken unruled rules. They have no spontaneity only calculations, but feeling will drive you to conflict." Frankenstein stated wiping at his eyes with his arm even though Zatanna wasn't sure if he even had tear ducts.

"So you'll help us?" Zatanna asked cocking a brow as she took a step back from the cage.

"If you free me from my current bondage, I will aid you in your endeavor."

"Well, you might want to start working on that quick Z'!" Tefé interjected gesturing towards the cell door.

Ensnared in her conversation, Zatanna did not notice the banging on the door had stopped. It appeared that the guards had gone and gotten something else to aid them. As now Zatanna watched as something was slowly beginning to cut its way through the door. A bright light shining through as the heavy metal bulkhead was pulled away. The progress on the door was slow but consistency in its pace. Already having almost made a man-sized line on one side of the door they didn't have much time.

Quickly Zatanna sprang into action. At first, she tried to use her magic to undo the locks off on the cage, but in a similar fashion to the door, they resisted its effects. Having Tefé use her strength was also a no go, otherwise, Frankenstein would have done so already. Searching the room from bottom to top for any kind of release lever lead Zatanna towards the back wall. A console of strange levers and switches greeted her written in a language that she could not read. Reaching for a lever at random she pulled it down to see what it down.

"This is peculiar..." Frankenstein commented as his cage was now suspended in the air.

"Sorry!" Zatanna replied as she pulled the lever back into its original position.

This is pointless Zatanna thought to herself as she looked over a panel. There was well over a hundred switches and levers and there was no knowing how many needed to be pressed to open the cage. The soft hissing of the guard's cutting instrument continued pressuring her onward. In desperation, she turned over her shoulder and called over to Tefé.

"Do you know how to read this shit?"

"Coming!" Tefé responded jogging over.

Taking Zatanna's position at the head of the console Tefé looked it over. She appeared to be trying to read one of the labels, running a finger along the etched in script as she silently mouthed a word. Nodding to herself, she turned back to Zatanna with a smile on her face.

"You are going to want to stand back."

Stepping away from the console, Zatanna watched as Tefé moved a hand towards one of the levers. A second later she would yell in horror as Tefé plunged her arm directly through the console. The air light up like a rave as bursts of magical energy filled the room. The light from the denotation too bright for the magician causing her to turn away and shield her eyes until it faded. When she was safely able to look back in the other woman's direction rage boiled on her face.

"What the hell was that for!"

"That!" Tefé pointed

The plant elemental was pointing towards the now open cage door. Frankenstein tested the door grabbing at it with a huge hand pulling it open and closed again. Satisfied with his experimentation, the large man stepped out of his cage and onto the floor.

"Freedom at last."

"Yeah, well only if we can get through the guards about to chop through the door," Tefé explained

"Yeah anyone have any other bright ideas in that regard? Preferably not involving punching potentially vital equipment?" She said.

"Hey! How could you've known it was vital if you couldn't -" Tefé was cut off as the room violently shook accompanied by a thunderous boom in the distance. As the shaking subsided, the magical lights in the room sputtered out. Outside the room, the cutting stop and Zatanna could hear the guards began to yell as she heard the sound of metal scraping against stone. Rapidly Zatanna muttered a spell and threw up a small globule of light into the air.

"An explosion to direct our pursuers to another part of the palace? Most cunning indeed." Frankenstein remarked sounding impressed.

"Hate to break it to you big guy, but that wasn't us." Tefé pointed out.

"Yeah who the hell was it?"

Suddenly the sounds of screaming and fighting broke out from beyond the door as the guards clashed with an unknown enemy. It was only then that Zatanna realized what that metal scraping was. Without the magical catalyst, there was nothing keeping the other cell doors shut. The other prisoners had escaped and now they were venting their frustrations at their captors. But it was strange, there was not the chaos and yelling that she expected from rioting prisoners. Instead of revelry and yells, there was a disturbing discipline and order of a singular chant. They all yelled a singular phrase that continued to grow louder and louder, loud enough to spell into the other room.

"The Dawn Will Rise"


"Ahh shit." Muttered Tefé.

"This day continues to get more and more interesting." Said Frankenstein nodding his head in agreement.

"Can the two of you stop being cryptic and tell me what is going on."

"It's the Court of Dawn Z'," Tefé explained never pulling her attention away from the door in front of them. The sounds of violence continuing to spill over. "They are attacking the Royal Palace."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Natty
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Uttering a single word, Magik drifted upwards into the sky. Her blonde hair blew gracefully behind her as her Soul Staff moved her forwards. The higher she got, the more she could make out the surrounding area and see what was happening. The mystical dome encapsulating them was actually a lot smaller than it had first appeared glance, with the shining blue energy spanning just a few blocks. Its circumference seemed to tear through Washington Square Park like a jagged scar, turning Garibaldi Plaza into a rubbled mess.

That wasn’t the most interesting thing about the remains of the park, however. Just within the dome sat the remains of one of the obsidian coloured obilists that had started this whole ordeal. It jutted crazily out of the ground, a mess of warped colours and jagged edges as if the dimensions around it had been turned inside out. That was certainly one way to deal with them.

Strange smiled at the look on her face as she approached where he sat floating above the streets.

I see you’re a fan of my handiwork.” He jested, motioning for her to sit opposite him.

She scoffed mockingly.

Vit’s no Naum Gabo but you have potential.

He merely chuckled in response. Joking was easy with Strange. It helped. Especially with everything that had happened today.

Moving in front of him, Illyana sad down into the air, crossing her legs in front of her. She took a breath as she did so, as was the norm, however things just felt different. It was too hard to clear her mind. There was too much noise. The sound of S’ym blade. The thud of the Canterbury’s Cricket’s corpse hitting the table. S’yms words. And now the sounds of the innocent tearing themselves apart. She had no clue how Strange was staying so calm right now. She glanced up at him, and watched as he surveyed the city outside of the dome.

She followed his gaze, catching sight of a flick of blue, rocketing through the sky into Central Park like a speeding bullet. The supers were coming.

As wild as it seems, I feel I have things covered here for the most part.” Strange explained calmly, turning back towards Illyana.

She raised an eyebrow in confusion. That was certainly not how it seemed right now.

Ignoring the inquisitive look on her face, he continued.

I need you over in Star City. The magical defenses there are... Lacking. And the last I'd heard their Emerald Archer had vacated the city. They don’t have the kind of force that New York has.

She simply nodded in silence, as if in another one of his lessons.

Find somewhere safe and prepare the incantations we went over last week. Remember your pronunciations. We don't want another repeat of the island.

The words cut against. Another hit of guilt from their “field trip”. He’d taken her to a remote island in the Bahamas a few months ago in an attempt to help stimulate her magical abilities. He thought a change of scenery from the Sanctum would help calm her. It didn’t. It had simply resulted in nearly half of the Island’s wildlife being burnt away. Another day of damnation for Illyana. Another one of many.

She continued her silence as she floated back to her feet.

I’ve got it.” Her words were almost a whisper as she drifted away. Her hands trembled around the hilt of her staff as she raised tried to focus herself.

Before she could summon a stepping disc, however, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She shook at the touch in confusion, before turning back towards her teacher. He stood in the air before her, a concerned look on his face. Gone was the power and fury of the Sorcerer Supreme. Now there was only Stephen Strange; her friend.

Ilyana. What’s wrong?” His voice was kind. Comforting. Regardless, Illyana shied away from the question.

I’m fine.

Lie.

He smirked slightly.

I mean, your mascara is literally running across your entire face right now. You're definitely not fine.

Panicking, her hand went to her face, where she rubbed profusely. Confirming Strange’s statement, her hand returned stained with a mixture of black and blue makeup. Her breathing increased slightly, as she attempted to wipe it away after wetting her hand. How stupid must she look right now? How weak?

If you're not up for this, you can say no. I won't hold this against you Illyana.” He continued, trying to be nice. But Illyana could hear the pity in his voice.

He thought her weak. At the thought, she seized up slightly for a second.

No. This wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to just sit back anymore while other people suffered. She was going to do something. She was going to fight back. She wasn’t a monster.

With one last wipe of her eyes, she tried to stand tall. She wasn’t weak. She was going to do this.

I’m fine.” She confirmed. This time she meant it. Her voice no longer held the pain it had moments ago. Now it held strength. Now it held determination.

Stephen nodded, somewhat understandable. Squeezing her shoulder to comfort her once more, he drifted backward, before glancing back over to the outside of the protective bubble, where another group of infected could be seen charging in their direction. Facing Illyana one last time, he gave her one last smile.

Once this is all over, let's have a chat, ok?

She managed a smile herself, giving Strange a short wave as his crimson cloak whisked him down towards the action.

She could do this. She was not a monster.

She took a deep breath, before summoning a stepping disc beneath her feet.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Supermaxx
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SEASON ONE: GODS AMONG MEN
INFAMY #3: ISOLATED INCIDENT

Manhattan New York City, New York

"Can any vone of you give me directions to Herald Square, Bitte?" Kurt asked, narrowly ducking a tire iron to the nose. This was perhaps the only time he was lucky to be surrounded as the rogue object planted itself direction into the cheek of another bloodlusted maniac that was coming at the metahuman from behind. The second man stumbled backwards in a daze- right into Nightcrawler's extended leg. He tumbled to the ground, his flailing arms happening to take out another infected woman on his way down.

A puff of dark smoke carried the X-Man away from the mob, plopping him down atop a street light not far from where he'd been dog piled moments before. He took those fleeting seconds to catch his breath, grateful for any reprieve from the constant violence that was throttling the island of Manhattan. He wasn't sure what street he was on, nor which direction led to his ultimate destination.

"Consequence of being a homebody, I suppose..."

Still, if what Cyclops had told him was true, Kurt didn't have a lot of time to waste being lost; their new friend, the Spider-Man, appeared to be in grave dangerous, and it was up to none other than Nightcrawler to rescue him. A task only a true superhero could accomplish!

"Here ve go- Nightcrawler, to ze rescue!" He declared triumphantly, carrying himself off of the pole in a puff of smoke and appearing atop a public bus down the way. There were swarms of mind-controlled civilians in this area, he noted, far outnumbering the mobs that the rest of his team was neutralizing. He reasoned that must mean he was getting closer to the source of their troubles.

He'd need to be extra careful, here, to avoid getting caught up in this tangle of limbs and teeth. There were too many to get bogged down trying to fight. Just keep moving and everything would be al-

A scream. Kurt swung around where he was crouched, elfish ears flickering as he tried to pinpoint where exactly it had come from. Another one followed shortly after. High-pitched, loud, and terrified. A child, maybe?

"I'm on my vay!" He shouted.

Rapid teleportation always made him woozy. One jump after another in quick succession allowed him to cross great distances with little trouble, however, so he was forced to ignore his motion sickness in such urgent scenarios. All Wagner cared about was getting there- not getting puke on his spiffy new uniform was just a secondary objective in this case.

He found the kid's attackers first. There were maybe seven or eight infected all crowded around a single van, crawling over it and reaching as far as they could underneath the vehicle. It was too low to the ground for a full-sized adult to properly fit underneath, but that wasn't stopping them from trying.

"HEY!" Wagner yelled, waving his arms to get their attention. "Hey, over here, I'm juicy and delicious! Come and take a bite, ja?!"

Half of them stumbled to their feet and started to rush in his direction, clambering over cars and each other to get at the blue-furred metahuman. He waited until the first of the sprinters were upon his position to vanish. It'd take them several seconds to realize where he'd gone, and probably just as long to get back there. Kurt could only hope he could clear out the now thinned-out herd and save the kid in time.

The first of them spotted Kurt as he appeared behind the van almost instantly, leaping off of the top of it as he tried to tackle Wagner into the dirt.

Instead of being greeted by the soft and cuddly body of the metahuman being crushed underneath his weight, the crazed psycho instead found his arms wrapping around air and a fuzzy hand pressing his teeth down into the ground.

"Schade," Kurt breathed, landing atop the now very unconscious infected, the final wisps of his tell-tale smoke fading behind him.

Others turned his way at the sound of his voice, climbing off the ground to storm at him with terrifying speed. Anyone slower than Wagner would've been caught in their tackles and dragged down and beaten into a pulp. But he was quick, and teleportation allowed him to go from in their path to right behind them. "Missed me!" He teased, dancing backward until he felt his elbow run across the van door's handle.

'Eureka!'

He threw open the sliding door, doing the same for the shotgun seat just beside it. He stood in front of the open portal, arms held out to expose himself to the crowd that was starting to wheel back around to face him once again.

'Wait for it...'

Just as the first of their fingers brushed up against his armor Nightcraler teleported again, blinding them in a burst of black vapor as they tumbled into the back of the van. Kurt joined them inside just long enough to slam the door shut, jam the child locks in place, and snap the interior handles off, effectively trapping them inside, at least for a short time.

It'd be long enough for him to grab the kid, at least.

"Hallo?" He bent down, slowly, dipping his head down to see a shivering little girl clutching a colorful doll to her chest. She was pressed tighter against the bottom of the vehicle than a sardine in a can.

Terrified as she already was, the sight of what could only be described as a fuzzy blue demon made her eyes shoot even wider. The child started to whimper wordlessly, attempting to wiggle backwards to get away from the frightening looking metahuman.

Kurt felt his chest tighten, but he was quick to throw both of his hands up and back away from the van to show the girl he meant her no harm. "Nein, nein, I von't hurt you, I promise." He whispered, his voice naturally soft and airy.

She didn't seem to buy it, deciding to stay where she was- safely away from Kurt's reach.

He sighed, letting his hands fall to his knees as he racked his brain for some way to get the child to trust him. It was only once he looked closer at her, and the doll she held so tightly to, that an idea came to him.

"You like Vonder Voman too?" Kurt grinned, pointing at her toy. "She's vunderbar! She vas one of the reasons my friends and I became superheroes, too-" He fervently tapped the X on his chest. "Ve are ze X-Men, and I am ze Nightcrawler. And I'm..."

He slowly reached a three-fingered hand out toward her. "...here to help. If you vill let me."

She nodded and tucked her doll underneath her arm, taking Kurt's hand as she crawled out into the light.

"Thank you for trusting me." Kurt grinned, helping her get to her feet. "Vhat's your name?"

"...Laurie. M-my name's Laurie."

"It's vunderbar to meet you, Laurie. Let's get you somevhere sa-"

Kurt was cut off by the horrendously loud sound of a car horn going off right beside him. Laurie let out a terrified yelp at the sudden sound and jumped into Nightcrawler's arms. "Vhat is-" He turned toward the van to see one of the infected had squeezed their way into the driver's seat. A woman, covered in blood that wasn't hers, pressed a hand down on the the steering wheel and met Kurt's gaze with her own.

She was grinning ear from ear.

It didn't take long for another, terrible sound to join the blaring horn. It started as a distant echo, at first. But with every passing second it grew louder and louder as more and more voices joined in. A chorus of violent screaming came from every direction, bouncing off the walls of the building around them and carrying the sound to other hordes that soon joined in. It wasn't just getting louder because more of them were screaming, Nightcrawler soon realized.

They were getting closer, too.

'Too heavy. Can't teleport,' he thought worriedly to himself.

Nightcrawler tried to remain calm for the girl's sake, pulling her up against his chest. "It vill be okay." He promised as he began to jog down the street, head on a swivel as he looked for his best path of escape. There weren't too many options. The roads were choked up with crashed and overturned vehicles, and there was no telling how many infected were still trapped in these nearby buildings. Any time he might've needed to think his way out of the situation was cut short by the sight of a gaggle of mind-controlled people running at him from around a food truck.

'Suppose it's time to test my cardio!'
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Ceta de Cloyes
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Ceta de Cloyes Roziphontes

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T H E T E E N L E G I O N

V A L O R - | - | - K I D Q - | - | - C A M O - | - | - T W O L F


Location: Jump City - Time of Crisis I
Crisis #1.02: Anatine

Interaction(s): Star City Crisis Team
Previously: Vergō

Mon-El quickly discovered how very hard it was to stay focused during a chaotic disaster like this one; his hearing was leagues better on this planet than on Daxam, and everywhere there were frightened screams and threatening groans as the cityscape's structures quickly lost stability. They'd barely entered the city before it became too much to ignore; "Camo, land this thing!" He called abruptly, abandoning the pilot's seat and not bothering to wait for the other before slipping into the back and rolling back the side doors, flinching back at the sudden buffeting wind billowing through the group. "KQ, you're with me!"

He dove from the edge without thought, immediately catching himself in the air and bolting towards a pair of construction workers dangerously close to throwing themselves to a messy death in their maddened state. In a flash he had the two men separated and bound in ropes from the construction site. He only spared a moment to inspect them and listen to Worm’s diagnosis before moving on.

Q caught up quicker than he thought she would, skipping across the air as she stepped from temporal platform to temporal platform. The two of them landed together at the base of a skyscraper that had been crashed into by a bus. Concrete was crumbling from the sides and a large crack carved halfway up the building, all the windows blown out. Q caught a large slab of debris just before it hit the ground, totally obliterating it’s momentum and allowing her to drop it without further damage.

Mon-El shot her a quick grin, ”Nice work Q,” he complimented. He glanced around with his x-ray vision as he caught her up on Worm’s observations. ”The clouds we saw on the news must be nanites, they’re implanting themselves in anyone they can find and messing with their heads. There must be something nearby that’s controlling them, but I’m not sure what-” He was cut off by a roaring overhead, looking up just in time to see a swarm pour out of a large airplane, clearly having just affected everyone inside.

”Shit me,” Q said faintly, also looking up as the plane began to nose dive - directly towards the suspension bridge. It’s current course set it to catch it’s wing on one of the suspension towers and then be sent spinning into a cluster of glass skyscrapers. Neither of the two needed to even look at each other to simultaneously put the search for the source of the nanites on hold. If that plane was allowed to crash, thousands could die.

Q began running upwards on her invisible platforms once again, and Mon-El launched himself into the sky, moving to intercept before it could crash. For several long moments he feared he wouldn’t make it, which drove him to fly faster than he had ever believed he was even capable of, and then he was in the way of the plane’s head, throwing out his arms to catch it. His speed, his strength, his stamina, they were all untested on this world, so needless to say, he surprised even himself when he managed to not only hold on, but also push back against the momentum. The nose cone crumpled under his hands, the metal tore in odd places and gouged across his suit- but thankfully his impenetrable skin kept him relatively unharmed. He was pretty sure he’d have a concussion from the way his head bounced after colliding though.

It wasn’t enough, as he quickly found out, the plane was going too fast and he couldn’t muster enough strength to slow it in time…

Then the plane began to turn.

Some force caught the other side of the plane, directing it’s descent carefully away from the bridge and towards the shallows of the city’s waterfronts. Using his x-ray vision to see through the plane, Mon-El was awed to see it was Q who was helping him.

Her ability was as untested as his own, they knew she had the power to create fields of temporal energy that froze everything within it in a sort of space-time bubble, but the scale and utility of such a gift was a mystery.

She stood in the air over the bridge on an undetectable platform, created by pausing a thin layer of the atmosphere in time, and had one hand clutching her head from the strain and the other arm outstretched towards the plane to direct her focus. Mon-El couldn’t say for sure, but given the vibrations from the pull, he’d guess Q was freezing time around multiple air bubbles at once in order to realign it through subtle nudges rather than risk tearing it apart.

He hurried to help her, changing from trying to completely force the plane back and reduce momentum to pushing it sideways and away from the bridge all together. If they could just point it in the right direction they could use the water to do most of the work in absorbing the impact, and simultaneously have it settle where the sea wasn’t deep enough to swallow it whole and drown everyone inside.

”Mon-El!” Worm suddenly cried in his head, ”You’re moving too quickly, the wing-!” A horrible wrenching sound interrupted, and Mon-El had just enough time to see the wing rip itself free and fly up into the air at a highly unlikely angle… right before it’s engine exploded.

The force of it set the plane on the right course, maybe a bit skewed to the wrong side, but it also blew them from the sky. Q lost her concentration immediately and went dazed and flying through the air over the side of the bridge, and Mon-El was caught by a chunk of shrapnel right in the face, and tumbling through the air, unsure which way was up, head throbbing from the unexpected collision.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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Bounce

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B L U D H A V E N

1013 Parkthorne Avenue

The small child-like shadow was a flurry of motion and energy.

Bounding from rooftop to rooftop, the doll seemed a whirling dervish as he flipped and jumped and vaulted over to the top of the Parkthorne Avenue brownstone. He continued, cartwheeling into a backflip as he arrived at the skylight that offered a view into the renovated apartment suite below.

Opening the pane, the youthful Pinocchio dropped into the loft that overlooked the sitting room. Below, the back of the sofa was toward him, facing the entertainment center that was framed by bookshelves that ran floor to ceiling. The shelves were adorned with a variety of ornaments. Honors and awards bestowed upon his public persona by the state of New Jersey, various police organizations, and different charities. The picture that these icons painted of a career law enforcement officer seemed in stark contrast to the posters on either side of the room. Vintage advertisements for Haley’s Circus, prominently displaying artistic renditions of the Flying Graysons.

The coffee table was a glass case shadowbox filled with a variety of colorful circus memoralbilia. Not the least of which was a faded, black and white photograph of a young boy atop the flying trapeze. It lay near the folded newspaper, its paper yellowing, with the headline proclaiming Accident Closes Curtain on Haley’s Gotham Show.

Crossing from out of the sitting room, the boy stepped into a hallway featuring another bookshelf that was recessed into the wall. Stretched up on his toes, the doll reached for a large, leatherbound copy of Black’s Law Dictionary, 9th Edition. As the pulled on the tome, there was a muted clicking sound, after which a section of the bookshelf swung away to reveal a false wall. Behind which was the secret room that held mementos of Dick Grayson’s other life.

Stepping inside of Grayson’s own version of the Bat Bunker, the boy removed the domino mask from his face. Pulling the gloves off, Toyboy bent down to lay those out at his feet. The cape came next, folded up in his arms before he set that aside and then tugged off the boots. Changing out of the tunic and trousers, the doll changed back into the t-shirt and mesh shorts that Dick had brought for him to wear when the two had left S.T.A.R. Labs.

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

It really wouldn’t have been fair to say that it was late by the time that Dick had gotten home. Strictly speaking, it was early. Most people with respectable jobs were going to work by this hour.

Dick placed his back to the door to his home as he closed it, and was amazed that his legs weren’t giving out from under him. He’d called the mayor, but had left the press conference for Mack and the New Jersey State Detectives to handle. Cissy’s research and the preliminary statements from the kids had been enough for Anton Schott to be named a person of interest, but it was still too early in the investigation for the word suspect to get thrown around haphazardly in front of reporters.

They’d gotten thirteen of the kids back. It was still not enough. It hadn’t been all fifteen, and at least two of the thirteen that they’d brought back were going to require extensive rehabilitation for the physical mutilations that they’d suffered at the Dollmaker’s hands. But still, they had thirteen kids who were alive and safe. It might not be a resounding victory, but it was close enough that Dick would still celebrate for the moment.

The media, the law suits, and the public outrage could all follow tomorrow. For right now, Dick was going to sleep soundly knowing that there were thirteen families reunited.

As Dick pushed off of the door, the sounds coming from the sitting room prompted the haggard detective to wander into the sitting room. He found Toyboy stretched out on the floor, his head propped up on his elbows and his legs idly kicking at the air, as the doll stared up at the television watching Power Rangers Go on Cartoon Network.

Making his way over, the man sat on the edge of the couch. “Have any trouble finding your way?”

Rolling over, Toyboy flipped around so that he was now sitting cross-legged, facing toward Dick as he answered, “No, sir.”

Yes, sir. No, sir. Mister Grayson. Schott had obviously been rather particular with how he’d programmed Toyboy to respond toward adults. Gesturing back toward the loft, Dick offered, “We can set up the loft as your own room, if you like.”

It seemed strange that Dick would be contemplating sharing the large apartment with someone else. Then, when he’d thought about it, it was strange that Dick would think it strange. After all, that had been part of the reason why they’d remodeled.

For his part, Toyboy looked from Dick to the loft and then back. After another moment, the doll asked, “Are there any kids here that I can play with?”

It should have been a simple question with a simple yes-or-no answer.

If only anything in either of their lives was ever so simple. “Your prime directive again?” Dick remarked. It was a non-answer, and the vacant, expectant look that the doll was giving him made clear that his usual avoidance tactics probably were not going to work on a robot. “I’ll need time to think about that,” Dick finally offered candidly. “Unless there’s an expansion pack that turns you into a teenager, people are going to start asking questions after a while once you go public.”

Go public. Why was he only now considering the implications of that statement? Had he imagined pulling Toyboy off the shelf and then returning him to the cold storage locker at S.T.A.R. Labs when this was through?

Even if he did consider it now, the fact that Anton Schott remained at large made Dick dismiss the idea outright. Blüdhaven needed a Batman of its own, and Dick couldn’t be that anymore. But, what that meant was, he’d need some way to explain who this kid was that was living with him.

Deal with that problem first. Then figure out what to do about the Peter Pan issue. “Toyboy’s not exactly a name,” Dick remarked, leaning forward as he asked, “Did Winslow have another name for you?”

The stoic expression of the cherubic doll just shook its head. “He never named me. He would just say boy and I was expected to answer,” the automaton stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

At first Dick started to nod, then he paused for a moment and considered what the doll had said. Toyboy wasn’t a person. He was a calculator on two legs. If he used a particular word, it was deliberate. Which meant, Schott had never named Toyboy at all.

As if to confirm, Dick posed, “So, Toyboy was..?”

“An identity that I devised from his use of the Toyman persona,” the doll answered with a nod. “Toyman and his sidekick, Toyboy.”

The image that Dick had in his mind to that point of Toyboy playing happily in the Toyman’s shadow was starting to crack even further. “And Anton? He called you boy as well?”

Another nod. “Even on the few occasions that he was able to sneak me into a school field trip, birthday party, or sleepover, the other children thought it strange but otherwise accepted that my name was boy.”

The deferential tone. Nothing given him, not even a name. And Dick was positive that Toyboy had referred to Schott as master at least once. It was all starting to come together for him now. Winslow Schott hadn’t been Gepetto, he’d been Mangiafuoco. Regarding his creation as a puppet and nothing more. A tool for various uses. “Something to think about, then,” Dick uttered, rousing himsef from where his sleep-addled brain was apt to lead him down this rabbit hole. “Like Toyboy, Robin’s an identity, but it’s not a name. You should have a name of your own, to reflect who you are as a person.”

The doll’s head cocked to one side. The otherwise stoic expression blinked, as though the computer within was having difficulty in processing that statement. When he finally spoke, Toyboy said, “But I’m not a person, Mister Grayson.”

A weak smile tugged at the lines of Dick’s face. “On that, we may agree to disagree.” With that, Dick rose back to his feet. He had a bed to get to...

He made it only a few steps before he heard: “Mister Grayson, may I have a glass of water?”

Turning back around, Dick was questioning what he’d thought he’d heard. “Say what, now?”

Rising up from the floor, the child-sized nuclear reactor said, “My coolant levels are a little low.”

The moment that he’d witnessed Toyboy puking up a wet mess on the floor of S.T.A.R. Labs flashed back to memory. Hadn’t Sarah said that it had probably been coolant? “You were shut down for twenty years,” Dick remarked, as much to himself as to the doll.

Ushering the boy toward the kitchen, the man added, “We should probably have Sarah take a look at you to make sure that everything’s in working order.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man
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Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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Part I:
Punchdrunk


EXTRACT: Gotham Globe, 06/17/46

DISTRICT ATTORNEY'S OFFICE LAUNCH PROBE INTO SOUTHSIDE BOXING​


After much speculation, the Gotham City District Attorney's office announced today that it will be launching a sweeping investigation into the city's boxing and prizefighting scene. Their explicit target: Connections between organized crime and the boxing community. District Attorney Joseph Porter held a press conference for reporters today, laying out the details of the upcoming investigation.

"For far too long the professional fighting scene in this city has been controlled by bookmakers," said Porter. "Fans of the sport, people who pay to see honest and fair fights, are instead often treated to fixed contests that the gamblers control. This inquiry is the first step in a battle to wrestle control of the sport from the criminal elements of this city."

Porter himself will serve as the lead counsel on the investigation. Heading up the team of investigators will be the always colorful GCPD Captain John "Two-Gun Jack" Grogan, commanding officer of the GCPD's Major Case Squad. Captain Grogan's six man task force will provide the brunt of the investigative force, as their operational mandate lies within organized crime.

"Ain't nobody [sic] better at policing organized hoods than me and my boys," Grogan said during the press conference. "If there's anything worth finding, we'll find it."

While forthcoming with details of the probe, District Attorney Porter remained mum on his political future. He is among a small handful of candidates who have been rumored to seek the US Senate seat recently opened by the sudden death of long-time senator Charles Henderson. When asked if this is a stepping stone to a possible campaign run, Porter discouraged any such talk and only offered a “no comment” on the subject.

---


06/19/1946
West Gotham
1:13 AM

Slam Bradley rode shotgun in the car. Captain Grogan sped through the city at "Fuck-Traffic-Laws-I'm-A-Cop" speed. Slam smoked and saw the sights. Winos blasted on cut-rate hooch wagged their wieners at the passing car. Hookers peddled their stuff by the curb. Slam cracked the window and blew smoke.

He smiled. He felt alive. He felt jazzed. Grogan's squad worked the streets. They ran the streets. They were the landlords out here, and everybody paid their rent. The cost for not paying up was a quick and brutal eviction from this world. Two-Gun Jack was a hick from somewhere out west -- Oklahoma or Texas or something -- and he had that southern twang prairie accent. The hump wore two six-shooters on both hips. The hump wore shit-kicker boots and a white stetson with a goddamn bolo tie. He chewed tobacco and thought he was Jonah Hex reincarnated. He looked like a clown on the surface. Beneath it he was all killer.

Grogan spat tobacco juice in a coffee cup. He wiped his mouth and said, "Samuel, how you been liking these past few months."

Slam beamed. "Fantastic. Anything to get me out of Vice."

Vice straight bored him. It was either hooker rousts or gambling busts. He was too well known around Gotham to work undercover, so it was roust duty. Pop prosties and bust bookies. It was straight shit-work. His brain was wired for the street. He needed to be out here in the thick of it. This was his element. Grogan picked him because he was big and intimidating. The captain promised muscle work and he made good on the promise. Anybody he wanted worked over, Slam worked over. Fist work, brass knuckles work, rubber hose work, followed by dental and surgical work.

Slam flicked his cigarette out a window. The butt hit a passing wino in the forehead. The wino flipped it away and shook his fist at the car. Slam laughed. Gorgan roared.

Grogan wiped his eyes and said, "And what do you make of our current assignment?"

Slam made the jack-off sign. "Prizefighting has been corrupt since the days of gladiators. And now they want to get a hard-on for it?”

Slam knew firsthand how corrupt the shit was. Corruption got him a pass on the war. He threw a fight back in ‘40 and got a judge paid a few grand. Said judge remembered the favor when Slam’s draft number came up. Said judge helped him get a job on the PD and deemed “essential personnel.” No war for Shirker Slam. He parlayed his status as a local celebrity to get plum patrol beats. Southpaw Slam volunteered to box in late-night smokers for the GCPD brass and city hall bigwigs. The fights got him political clout. Smart Slam leverages clout for internal juice in the PD. He went from harness bull to gold shield detective rápidamente.

They had two ex-boxers under lock and key who weren’t as slick as Shrewd Slam. Said pugilists were working with the DA to present testimony to the county grand jury. They were, to wit: heavyweight Robert "Scotty" Lees and light heavyweight Manuel "Goodnight" Garcia. Slam went six rounds with Lees back in ‘38. Even back then he was a fucking stumblebum. Years of too many pops to the dome meant Scotty couldn't remember who he was half the time. Goodnight Garcia played up a faux swish persona, but he had a taste for young stuff. Said taste had gotten him in the jackpot. Testifying would quash a 'stach rape beef.

Grogan said, "The good District Attorney wants his pound of flesh, more so for a launchpad than anything else. So we do our job and give it to him. But I suspect the investigation will be coming to an abrupt end shortly."

They hit county territory. Upper-middle class homes became the main view. Slam chained three cigs while Grogan spat tobacco and the radio squawked Bing Crosby. The radio crackled as Jack Benny pitched toothpaste. Grogan pulled up to a three-story home sprawled over four lots. It ate up half a block. Feature: A bronze R.T. plaque on the mailbox.

They got out. Grogan led, Slam followed. They walked around the house and to the backyard. Floodlights on: A pool, patio, pool house. A fat man with gray hair did laps in the water. Slam checked his watch. Two in the morning. The fat man flopped out the pool. Butt ass naked. He dried his hair on a towel and walked over to them. Still sans clothing.

Grogan shook hands with the man and said, "Congressman."

"Captain Grogan."

Grogan looked to Slam. "Congressman, this is Detective Samuel Bradley. Samuel, this is Congressman Rupert Thorne."

They shook hands. Slam kept his eyes from drifting downward. Thorne guided them to the patio. He flopped on a chair. They followed suit. Thorne sprawled and smiled at Slam.

"I need no introduction, Slam,” said Thorne. “I saw you fight Mike Moldando years ago. I think you won that one.”

“TKO, sir,” said Slam.

Thorne smiled. “A win is a win, right? Captain Grogan has been telling me an awful lot about you, son. He says you have potential."

Two-Gun Jack spat juice in his coffee cup. He winked at Slam, "Slam here was originally recruited because he looked every bit the part of the mean sum bitch he actually is. Turns out he's smarter than he looks. I think he's ready."

Thorne reached for a wooden box on the table. He pulled out a fat cigar and lit it. A look passed between the two older men. Grogan nodded. His nod meant GO.

Thorne said, "Slam, do you believe that certain aspects of crime, vices like gambling and prostitution and drugs, are unavoidable and should be allowed to exist in a contained form?"

Slam shrugged. "Yeah. We can't stop people from doing what they want to do. As long as nobody gets hurt, it's fine with me."

Thorne and Two-Gun Jack traded looks. Grogan took off his stetson and placed it on the table. He leaned forward. Slam caught whiffs of tobacco. Grogan's tie was tobacco spritzed. His teeth were brown with tobacco juice.

Grogan said, "The three of us are riding the same wavelength. People like the DA see it like we do, but they're worse. They act like they want to change things but what they really want to do is make just enough change to fuck over the rest of us and get themselves elected to a higher office."

"Crabs in a bucket," said Thorne. "Nobody wins."

Slam picked up brainwaves. He rode a hunch into speculation. DA Porter, "higher office." He implied: The boxing probe. His implication confirmed by the congressman.

Thorne looked straight at Slam and said, "This little fact finding mission Porter is carrying out has the potential to damage a lot of important people who share our common outlook on this city. These people are your gateway to a whole new world, son. If you hitch yourself up to the captain and I, you'll be police commissioner within ten or fifteen years. After that? Who knows. But before that destination can manifest, the journey must begin. If you share our common interest, Slam, then we expect you to step up and see that this investigation ends before it can go before a grand jury. Do this, Slam, and you'll be one of us."

Slam scratched his neck. "How?"

Thorne opened up the wooden box. He laid a stack of bills down on the table. C-notes tied together in two thousand dollar bundles. Ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash.

Grogan spat tobacco into his cup and said, "Be creative."

*****


06/22/46
The Gotham Arms


Scotty Lees dug into his nose and stared up at the ceiling. He sat on the bed while the radio played late night big band music. Slam sat on the other bed and chained-smoked. Night work, guarding Scotty from anybody who would do him harm. Ten grand stashed in the truck of his car assured he would be the one doing the harm. Thorne laid out the details. Goodnight Garcia would play ball once Scotty was dealt with. He'd spout qué? No hablo inglés to the DA until he was blue in the face. Slam's eyes fell on Scotty. Robert "Scotty" Lees: a pale as fuck heavyweight with bright red hair. The Glasgow Gouger had a record of 22-5-32. He had mush for brains and brayed like a donkey.

A radio commercial featured a talking rabbit shilling cars. Scotty hee-hawed and ate boogers. Slam stubbed his fifth cigarette out and stood. He peaked into the room next door. There's Goodbye Garcia sleeping his ass off. His bodyguard Officer Tommy Burke was ditto. They snored in sync. Slam closed the door softly and turned off the radio.

Lees said, "Aww... why'd you stop it?"

"We need to talk, Scotty. Answer a few questions for me."

"I can try, Slammy."

"What year is it, Scotty?"

Scotty made a face. It looked like somebody asked him to do advanced trig.

"I... 1943?"

"What did you have for dinner tonight?"

"I... I don't remember."

"Who won when you boxed Chili Rodriguez?"

His eyes lit up. He said, "I did. It was by majority decision. Chili had a hell of a left cross, but I got underneath it and managed to go the distance with him. Nobody can beat me when I get my jabs working."

"Quick, Scotty, what's twenty-four times twelve?"

His eyes stayed bright. "Two hundred and eighty-eighty. See, some stuff I don't know good... but I can ‘member names and numbers. It's why I used to run bets for Frankie Momo and Mr. Thorne."

Slam cursed. He shook his head and adjusted his necktie. He sighed and cracked his knuckles.

"Come here, Scotty. I need to show you something."

Scotty stood and walked over. Slam guided him to the window. Sixth story looking down. Slam pushed him hard against the wall. He banged Scotty's forehead into the plaster. His eyes went cross. He went loopy. He babbled incoherently. Slam shoved him hard into the window. Scotty broke glass. He fell out the window screaming. Two seconds and then a loud crash. Slam looked out. Scotty's broken body resting on top of a parked car.

*****​


Max polished off a bottle of gin on the way to the crime scene. He swilled Listerine to help cover up the smell. He chewed gum to hide his booze breath. Rolling to the southside of the city in an unmarked. His notebook resting in the passenger seat.

Second straight month working the graveyard shift. Nights tapped him out. The work tapped him out. His career was tapped out at sergeant. Five straight lieutenant's exams, five straight times scoring at the top of the list, five straight times he was passed over. He had a reputation as a lush and someone with a hard-on for the rules. They could handle promoting a drunk to LT, but not a tight ass. So here he was. He worked the midnight to eight shift and paid a sitter to watch Mary while she slept. The late nights meant grief from his ex-wife. She'd left him before the war and never looked back. She was talking through a lawyer conduit, threatening to challenge him for full custody of Mary. Just one more problem on the pile.

The current call he was on came into the homicide pen twenty minutes earlier. He and Fields played rock paper scissors to decide who went. Max pulled scissors, Fields pulled rock. Max flipped him off and got his gear. He drove at a steady pace and no lights. It was a code 7, probable jumper. No rush on a suicide. He hit the brakes when he saw police lights.

Three prowl cars parked in a semi-circle around the Gotham Arms. Lights and crime scene rope. Max got his notebook and walked towards the tape. He flashed his badge to the uniform on sentry duty and identified himself: Sergeant Eckhardt, Homicide.

Max stepped on the scene and went to work with the layout and details. The DB: sprawled out on top of a car. A broken window six stories up. The body a white man, his pale skin cut up and bloody from the impact with the car. Someone loomed close by. Max turned. A big man with black hair eye-balled him. He had a good five inches on Max.

"You the homicide dick?"

Max said, "Yeah." They shook hands. "Sergeant Max Eckhardt."

"Detective Sam Bradley. I'm with Major Cases."

“I thought you looked familiar. I think--”

Bradley shook his head and looked down at Max.

"I did this..."

Max looked at Bradley and raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

Bradley's hands shook. He swallowed loudly. "I was supposed to be protecting him and... I... he... just jumped."

Max frowned. He opened his notebook and got out a pencil.

"So tell me what happened."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Admiral Moskau
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Admiral Moskau An Admiral of the Binary Seas

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Absolute Comics: The Vixen, Issue 3: Все идет по плану


Location: Washington Avenue, Dakota City

Time: 8.00 PM




The blade cut through Mari's jacket like a hot knife cutting through a jacket that was made out of butter rather than leather. It was a tragic sign of how far the once proud garment industry had fallen. Thrift store leather just wasn't the same, it wasn't the armor Mari needed, not anymore. Worse still, the steel that cut against her shoulder told her that she'd been too slow. Searing pain faded to familiar numbness as Mari darted back out of range of the machete. She'd messed up. She'd fucked up. She'd been cut, but the wound to her ego was far deeper. Some random mook wasn't supposed to get the better of her. They weren't supposed to make her bleed. She had standards to live up to. She had irritating spiders of a questionable divinity to keep quiet.

"You're bleeding," Nancy lazily drawled from somewhere in the darkness. He'd scampered away as soon as the fighting started. He wasn't much of a fighter. Unless the battle involved capturing and eating a disgusting amount of flies in one sitting.

"I know."

"That was sloppy," the spider added in a sing song voice, lowering himself down from a nearby street light by a thin thread of silk. His eyes shone with unrestrained mirth as he watched the two combatants, "You won't last long if you keep this up."

"I fucking know," Mari hissed between gritted teeth as she tossed her jacket aside. She needed to be able to move, she needed to be faster. She was done playing. She was done being nice.

"If you're done talking to yourself, then let's finish this," the woman taunted twirling the bloodied machete in a figure eight in front of her. "I've got better things to do with my time than to fight some masked lunatic."

"Fine by me," Mari agreed, circling closer. The thug could fight, Mari would give her that. She obviously knew how to slice and dice her opponents with her blade. She might even be a metahuman. She was fast. She was too fast for a normal human.

Launching herself forward, Mari swung wide with the claws of her right hand. She caught fabric and threw herself aside to avoid the blade that whistled past her in reply. The snarky comment that Mari had lined up was replaced with a sharp grunt as she threw herself aside from another cut that would have gutted her. Mari growled with frustration as she was forced on the defensive. Dodging each blow at the last minute she danced beneath and beside the deadly arcs the steel drew in the air. The young vigilante could see a smile, a great, mocking smile plastered on her opponents face. It made her mad, so mad. She was the huntress, she was the predator. She was not the prey. She would never be the prey. She would not be toyed with.

"Do something tricky," Nancy finally shouted. "Stop trying to win a knife fight."

Mari stumbled and cursed out loud. Another cut appearing across her unprotected arm in a flash of blood.

Tricky?

What sort of trick was the spider expecting?

What could she manage to do with a knife wielding psycho breathing down her neck?

Armored plates a voice whispered.

Bone, it clarified with a laugh.

Bone plates.


Visions of a dinosaur flashed across her mind. Razor sharp teeth the size of her head. Claws that could cut her into ribbons. And plates of fused bone. Armor thick enough to stop steel. Mari laughed. She was going to die. But she was going to die with style.

Bone, Mari thought as she bounded forward. Bone, lots of bone. She saw the wicked edge of the machete racing towards her face and raised an arm desperately above her. Her eyes closed protectively and she heard a loud thunk. The sound of steel hitting something heavy, something solid, and something that made the finest in Swiss steel wail in protest.

Opening her eyes, Mari stared at the blade caught in her hands with surprise. Her skin was covered in thick plates of bone, from her fingertips to her neck. The other woman was struggling, trying desperately to pull the blade free. It wouldn't budge. Mari grinned. She winked before she smashed the closed fist of her free repeatedly into her opponent's face. The sickening crunch and blood that followed made it clear that she'd hit her mark. A broken nose made fighting hard and made it far easier for her to subdue an enterprising criminal hellbent on fighting to the death. Mari wasn't much for killing. A sound beating was usually enough to get the message across. For now, she needed answers, which meant at least one of the scumbags had be conscious and able to talk.

"Bet you didn't see that coming, did ya, Miss Big Knife," Mari huffed, tossing the machete into a pile of garbage.

---

"Concrete face, where is he?" Mari asked, slamming the woman face first against the nearest wall. A wet smack followed, the sound of flesh meeting unmoving brick, and blood splattering onto concrete. Mari hesitated. Interrogations had never been her strong suit. She took no pleasure in the suffering of her prey. It was the thrill of the hunt that drove her. A growing need matched only by her desire to clean up the streets, to act when and where others would not. In the forgotten neighborhoods where the cops and capes would never venture the hunter stood alone. No one else would act. No one would keep the rabid wolves at bay. Not before it was too late, not before they'd slaughtered the entire flock of sheep.

"Don't worry about it-"

"What's that? Speak up."

"The name's Tarmack not Concrete Face," a deep voice full of gravel and rocks boomed, accompanied by the rasping laughter of the unnamed woman.

"Fuck," Mari managed, unceremoniously dropping her latest victim to the ground.

"We didn't think you'd be dumb enough to try this again."

"Well, you clearly don't know me very well," Mari said squaring off against the monstrous man of asphalt and tar. "You know, for a man I just set on fire you don't look that much uglier."

"Ebon told me to make you an offer. He said you deserved a chance. He was hoping you'd be reasonable about this," Tarmack began with a shrug of his massive shoulders. "But, fuck it. I'm just going to chalk up this failed recruitment drive as another unfortunate case of irreconcilable differences of personal opinion."

Ebon. The name didn't ring any bells. Not that Mari knew much about the gangs that operated in Dakota City. No one did, not anymore. The Big Bang had changed everything. Hopped up thugs with superpowers had smashed the rules and redrawn the maps. But a name was a start. It gave her something to work with. Nancy would know. He had to.

"I don't work with losers," Mari replied. "How about I just beat you until you tell me who Ebon is and where I can find them?"

"Nice armor, where'd you get it?" Concrete Face offered with a nod in her direction.

"Pretty slick, huh? It's a new trick I picked up. I'm basically bullet proof now," Mari bragged, shrugging her shoulders. The slag of molten asphalt and smoldering tar that came hurling towards her in a ball of grime seemed a rude reply. Concrete Face wasn't as dumb as she had figured. He could even work with a plan. He was big, he was strong, but he was also slow. Mari sidestepped the flaming projectiles he tossed at her with little effort. Working her way closer with each weave. She was done playing. She wasn't sure if she could kill him, but she knew she could hurt him. She'd slice him into pieces. Then she'd stomp him into the ground. She was going to send a message to all the drug dealers in Dakota City. She was going to make them pay. Most of all she was going to make them afraid, she was going to remind them what it felt like to be hunted.

Mari was prepared for the improvised projectiles hurtling right at her, but she wasn't ready for a gunfight. It was her armored skin that saved her. She heard the gunshot too late. The bullet hit her arm with the force of a truck, sending her reeling. The rounds of 9 millimeter parabellum that followed sent her diving behind a wooden barrier for cover. The 124 grain hollow points propelled at more than 1200 feet per second easily punched through the thin wood, smashing into the wall behind her. Cordite powered thunder and the rattle of bullets smashing against the ground near her had her scrambling towards the concrete base of a street light for solid cover. Covering her head with her armored arms, Mari pushed herself closer to the ground. Eating bullets was not part of her plan. She could feel the bruise growing across her arm. She couldn't take another shot like that. Not if she wanted to keep fighting. Not if she wanted to capture Concrete Face. He was a heavy hitter and far too big prey to stop wounded, at least by herself. She needed backup, she needed a plan.

"God dammit, Tiny, no guns, I said no guns," Tarmack roared over the shooting, slamming a great fist down on an innocent dumpster that exploded in a cloud of recently recycled plastic. Mari heard a loud thud, a lower scream, and peaked her head over the wooden barrier to see the wounded gunman collapsed on the sidewalk. The giant hands of the concrete monster loomed above his prone form and Mari could hear the big man hurling insults at the his unconscious colleague.

"How about you surrender now, Concrete Face, before I really have to hurt you," Mari quipped. She could hear the sirens getting closer. Burning buildings and gunshots tended to cause a scene. Pyrotechnics attracted the sort of crowd she preferred to avoid. Firefighters, EMTs, and cops, lots of cops, lots of cops with guns. Cops who wouldn't see any difference between her and the monster she was fighting. She was running out of time.

"Fuck you," the monster of asphalt replied as he threw another ball of tar and asphalt at her.

"Nancy," Mari commanded from behind cover. "You got any bright ideas, seeing as burning clearly only manages to piss this guy off? What's the plan?"

"И Все идет по плану. Все идет по плану," Nancy sang in reply as Mari dodged a burning car that crashed into the light pole she was hiding behind before somersaulting through a glass bus stop that shattered into a mixture of glass, demolished car parts, and burning petrochemicals. Mari didn't have a chance to move before yet another burning car came hurtling past her, crashing into a ruined building behind. She turned to hear a loud boom and flames leaping upwards through the windows of the collapsing building.

Pushing herself to her feet, Mari tried to close the gap between her and Tarmac. She managed several yards before the next car came sailing at her. Throwing herself to the pavement, she watched as it spiraled off the pavement into another building. Concrete face was going to level the block if she didn't stop him. There were plenty of cars lining the street. He had more than enough ammunition. A part of Mari was impressed. Concrete Face really knew how to party. He was a one man riot.

A particularly large pickup truck bounced off the pavement and clipped the vigilante. Spilling onto the ground in a heap, she sputtered as heat and flames enveloped her. Mari rolled to the side. It was all she could manage to do. When the cloud of dust and grime faded, Mari could see that Concrete Face was gone. The monster of asphalt and tar had somehow, impossibly, managed to make his escape.

"What the fuck? What the fuck did you say?" Mari spat, coughing, and feeling a wave of rising anger tugging at her throat.

"And everything is going according to plan. Everything is going according to plan," Nancy repeated in the same unfamiliar language. But this time the words made sense. Mari could understand him.

"Great plan, really great plan, Nancy," Mari growled back, stumbling forward, desperately trying to keep her feet moving. "I love the part where it ends with Concrete Face getting away and me getting shot by some trigger happy cop that thinks I'm gonna disintegrate him with my laser eyes."

"No, no, you don't understand. I needed you to make some noise. We had to get the attention of the right people. And we did that. You're a blip on the radar now of the peeps that matter, girl. Mission accomplished."

"Fantastic, now about those trigger happy boys in Blue that are about to roll up on us..."

"Just trust me."

"Trust you?"

"Trust me."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because tonight, my dear girl, I'm going to teach you how to fly," Nancy concluded, bursting into a maniacal fit of laughter that sent a shiver down Mari's spine.

---

Weaving through traffic, Officer Mikhailov, respected ten year veteran of the Dakota PD raced towards the scene of the latest crime. He had no real bead on the situation. All he'd gotten from dispatch was chaos. Multiple fires. Multiple casualties. Gunshots reported. Metahumans. Mikhailov could feel the sweat running down his brow. Protect and serve, sure. He knew the drill. His father had been a cop, his father had been a cop, countless generations of Mikhailov's had worn the Blue since the family had come to the country. Mikhailov knew his duty. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones. But, he hadn't signed up to fight monsters. What good was a gun against a metahuman?

Mikahilov did not see the large crow that came flying out of an adjacent alley until it was almost too late. He slammed his brakes and let out a string of curses as he fought against the wheel. He juked his patrol car to the right, preying that there were no pedestrians on the sidewalk. The row of trash cans that he barreled into sent week old garbage flying across his windshield and his car careening into the wall of the nearest building.

Drawing his firearm and stepping out of his car in a swift, well-practiced motion, Mikahilov found himself standing in the aftermath of a battle. An entire block's worth of cars lay scattered across the streets and sidewalks around him. Two crumbling buildings roared with flames and a third threatened to follow. Tied to a mailbox he found two people. A young man with a deep cut on his arm and a woman who looked liked she taken quite the beating. Her nose was certainly broken and he didn't doubt that she was missing some teeth.

Sighing loudly, Mikahilov gazed at the growing inferno. He hoped the fire department were putting the pedal to the metal, they wouldn't have much time. Removing his cap, Mikahilov brought his radio to the his mouth,"Dispatch, this is Officer Mikahilov, how about next time you send me into a war zone, you give me a bigger gun."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Bork Lazer
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Bork Lazer Chomping Time

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STATIC: SPECIAL CROSSOVER ISSUE # 2


EVENT: ABSOLUTE CRISIS


Interacting with: @Star Lord





Virgil shielded himself behind a over-flowing green garbage bin. He gagged at the sour smell of chinese take-out and mouldy shoes. He would have preferred a car or a large fridge but it was the only thing that prevented him from turning into mincemeat. Blasts of buckshot and bullets thundered through the fetid alleyway air, perforating the garbage bin, his shouts being lost in the cacophony.

“ Look, why don’t you pick on someone with their own gun?!”

On second thought, that sentence didn't make much sense. The officers replied by just continuing to fire at him. His muscles were beginning to ache from how long he’d been levitating the garbage bin for. Alright, enough of playing target practice. He steeled himself, breathing out, waiting for the inevitable sound of an empty -

CLICK

He lashed out with his right hand and the garbage bin flew down the alley in a lurching arc, its metallic frame bouncing off the walls and ground. An officer slid out of cover to avoid being crushed, just in time for a whip of electricity to catch him in the chest. A kevlar vest could stop bullets but 50,000 volts of electricity was a different matter entirely. The two others ignored their convulsing comrade laying on the ground and leveled their rifles out towards him. Only to find that their rifles had been pulled out of their hands by an unseen force. Virgil smirked. Guns were made out of metal. Magnets attract metals. And when you were a living magnet, the answer was obvious. Twisting his hands to adjust the polarity, the rifle stocks slammed into their foreheads, knocking them out cold for good.

" So much for gun safety seminars..."

Virgil let his hands down and the pair of guns clattered to the ground. He began to stroll out of the alley, readying himself to surf away if it wasn’t for the glint on the back of the unconscious men’s necks. He crouched down to examine further. Virgil closed his eyes, concentrating on the ambient electricity in the air, within his body. If high-school biology taught him anything about neurons.....

It was a spark at first. Tiny but concrete. It was there. He just needed to bring it out. He coaxed it slowly, concentrating on the cracks, the places that weren't insulated from him. It was maddeningly slow. Made sense, though. Human bodies were terrible conductors of electricity. However, a grainy after-image was forming slowly over time.

Bingo

It was like looking at some weird, screwed up X-Ray. A skeleton of wires, a blueprint of the human nervous system. The largest tangle of wires was in the shape of a hairball - the brain - and like a parasite, the drone attached itself to a long strand that trailed outwards from it. The spine. He could see that the drone was still pulsing, sending electromagnetic frequencies to the brain, commanding its host what to do. His finger brushed against the metallic surface of the drone. All it would take was merely overloading that robot with enough juice that could turn the man sane again. Or turn him into a living vegetable. He didn’t like those odds.

Perhaps, that thing in Central Park’s the key to stopping all of this…..

It sounded like the beginnings of a plan. He zoomed out of the alleyway out into the bloodied and rioting streets of New York, plagued by the infection that had taken hold of its inhabitants in the last 3 hours. Virgil zoomed over top the skyline of the Big Apple, cars rumbling excitedly and lights flickering in his wake. His target was Central Park or Ground Zero of whatever Stryfe had unleashed all over the USA. For a moment, thoughts of Dakota City, the people, his family came up in his mind and made him wonder whether or not Stryfe's drones had managed to sink their claws into his hometown. The thought only made him push forward faster, ionized air trailing behind him.

As he neared Central Park, two things came to mind.

One. That ugly as hell art statue in the middle of Central Park was even uglier now. Being demolished sure didn't improve the aesthetic.

Two. The drones were currently swarming someone. Someone who was floating in the air like he was at the moment.

Another metahuman?

No time for curiosity. He leveled his hands out, laced with electricity, and began showering lightning down on the figure. Upon contact with the bolts, some of them exploded into puffs of grey smoke while others short-circuited and fell onto the grass, wingless flies. His eyes began to widen underneath his yellow googles as drones shed off her body. He recognized her. No, everyone could recognize her.

AP Metahuman History had entire chapters dedicated to her. He'd seen her face crop up on Dakota NTV7 and Youtube channels alike, millions of viewers fawning over her. Dolls resembling her were a birthday present pastime to young girls all over the world. There were numerous facial products, clothing lines and a cereal, Wonder Wheaties, with her logo on it. Richie wore her namesake on his underpants (That had been awkward to explain at the laundromat).

Wonder Woman. The living legend of WWI and international hero. Gosh, Richie would be fuming in his ears now if he found out about this....

So, how exactly did a small-time vigilante introduce themselves to a big-time celebrity hero? Virgil levitated himself down towards Wonder Woman, struggling to hold down his excitement as the manhole he was standing on drizzled electric rain below the both of them.

“ So, uh, never thought I’d meet you like this. I’d imagine an autograph session, not an apocalypse.” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “ My name’s Static. You got a plan to take down that Stryfe chump, Wonder Woman?”
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