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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista

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Location: New Mexico
A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.01

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 1.07

Eyes engulfed by blue, the expanse of the heavens felt endless, yet even so, there was no place there for Bruce Banner.

Naked shoulders blazed from the heat, knees dug into the dirt, sweat building and draining, breath coming and going, Bruce felt like he was waiting without any idea what it was for. His mind was blank as the blue, a feeling creeping up on him that he couldn’t even call ‘deja vu’, because it was too recent to make him feel anything other than dread and guilt. He remembered the sensation of the phone popping between his fingers, a fresh smartphone turned to splinters of glass and plastic in his hand, yet it remained unhurt.

Feeling nauseous, he started to gag. Leaning over, he spread is arms to give him balance as he coughed, forcing it out. His sweat turned cold, anxiety building: vomiting under these conditions could mean easy dehydration, and there wasn’t much but flat waste and rocky outcroppings in his blurry sight. But what came was not a swill of orange and yellow, but a dab of red, and a dull thunk in the now wet dirt. Sputtering as he choked in swallowing back blood, he wiped his lip, squinting his eyes at the hunk that came out. Leaning in, the piece of metal with the rounded tip was something he feared to be a bullet. Wiping his forehead, answers seemed impossible. Vision swimming, his arms bowed, about to give. Falling to his elbow, then his back, he cringed at the heat, dust sticking to his sweaty skin. Throat dry beyond the blood that had dripped down, he gasped out, struggling to his feet. Spotting foliage, he headed to the nearest rock, slipping into the shade and collapsing back down.

Knees to his chest, arms wrapped to cover his eyes and he tucked in his head, every time Bruce thought about trying to go home he was felt with an unmistakable dread. He only had some pittance of memory: stumbling in stretches of dark, eyes hurt by flashes of light, chest rumbling from his yelling. It was definitely a nightmare, but the last time it happened, people got hurt.

Head swimming, Bruce trembled. There he sat, sky tinting to orange as the sun fell. Trembling was joined by shivering, and Bruce had no idea what to do. Because try as he might, he could not seem to wake up. Even with so little energy. Bruce forced himself to stand, back into the light on the sunset among the deepening dark shadows, the last fleeting warmth of the desert’s day. Picking a direction, as much as it hurt, he could only keep going.

---


“Here we have an urgent report from Navapo, New Mexico, which just recently suffered from an attack on El Diablo Air Force Base. Reportedly, the attacker was a hulking meta, who tore through the unprepared base for reasons still unknown. Miraculously there are no casualties, but dozens are injured: as you can see from the footage, the critical wounded were sent to a hospital for proper care. With the coast clear, concerned citizens and family members have begun to crowd around the freeway entrance to the base, now currently closed. We are now going to the scene. Christian?”

“Thank you Talanda. I’ve been here for 10 minutes and ambulances have not stopped coming out- there goes another one. We have several witnesses claiming to have seen this green hulk leaving roughly an hour ago. I’m about to get word from one of them now.” He stepped over, reaching a bearded elder.

“I really can’t believe it. It’s setting in now and I...this is a military base. A least robbers make sense, but that thing came in, wrecked shop, and scooted out. When are those metas and muties going to stop? When are they going to be stopped.”

“Sir, you said you saw the monster?”

“Monster? That was a monster alright. Probably looked like a man earlier today. I know I’ve never seen any green giants walking around Navapo. Could have been anyone though, s’far as I know. That’s how mutants work, right?”

“Uh, well, there’s more nuance to it than that sir...”

“I don’t care about nuance I want to go around the city without having to worry about some mutie going off, god dam-” The voice faded as the mic was hastily pulled away

“Well, thank you for your time sir. There you have it. We do not have the identity regarding the monster, but authorities have assured us that the search is underway. The situation is still developing and our ears are to the ground...”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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Donatello sat on the roof of the building where Alopex had seen the ninja, cursing that he and his brothers had found corroborating evidence to back up her words. A throwing star left behind from their tussle, including some of Alopex's fur, showed that the Hand were indeed real, and they were in New York City. That meant the Turtles were about to be thrown into a war their father had been seemingly be training them for their entire lives.

It was less than ideal. While Donnie was a capable fighter, he never enjoyed that aspect of his life. He could help his brothers so much more behind the scenes. But Splinter had made it clear that the four of them were stronger than three. It made sense from a purely logical point of view, but Donnie's reservations remained.

"Make sure you keep that star," Donnie nodded to Raph, who had been the one to find it. "Might be able to find something off of it."

"Aye-aye, Captain Science," Raphael mock saluted. Donnie rolled his eyes. Raph was a fighting machine, and had always teased Don about his desire not to fight. Nothing too hard, they were brothers after all, but it was still a running thread.

"Very funny."

"Quiet, you two," Leo hushed them. He motioned towards the ladder that led from the roof to the fire escape. It jiggled only slightly, and Leo didn't even have to motion to his brothers. The four of them moved to the shadows of the roof, hiding behind HVAC equipment for the warehouse.

From his hiding place, Donnie can see a pair of shadows climb up onto the roof. They move past him and towards the glass skylight that ran down the middle of the roof. He caught a glimpse of Leo, who had taken cover on the other end of the roof from him. Leo motioned for him to wait and be patient. Don nodded. Raph and Mikey would be see if they approached the newcomers, so it was up to the two of them.

They stopped by the skylight, and Donnie could hear cars pulling up below. He was amazed. These guys had fought Alopex here only a few nights ago, and they were already using it again. They were either stupid or to powerful to worry about someone else showing up to try and stop them.

Splinter would say such confidence would lead to one's downfall, and it struck the young turtle that his master was wiser than he had ever thought. What kind of idiots would go right back to the same place?

Ones who knew they didn't have any competition to worry about.

Once the newcomers came to a stop by the glass, Leo nodded. He and Don silently left their hiding spaces, and crept low and slow towards their quarry. Once each was withing their grasp, the two turtles flung themselves on the human ninja. Each was clad in a red yoroi, with a mask covering their face. Leo and Donnie locked in sleeper holds, putting pressure on points on the neck and temple of each man. Within a few moments, they were alive, but unconscious.

"They wouldn't come back to the same spot twice, huh?" Donnie looked at his brother with a bit of a knowing glance.

"I mean, we would never do something that dumb," Leo shook his head as he placed his ninja down on the roof. "It doesn't make sense, right?"

"It makes sense if you think you don't have anything to worry about in this part of town," Don shrugged. "My guess is the Hand have already secured this territory, and are hashing out their demands for their new mob underlings."

"What do death cult ninja want from the mob?" Leo stroked his chin.

"Why don't we go in and find out?" Don motioned towards the catwalks of the warehouse.

"Yessss," Mikey looked eager. "Let's super spy this mission up!"

Leo considered the idea. Don knew he'd go for it. It was safe, but it would give him information on his enemy. Donnie knew his brother. He knew how his mind worked. If there was an avenue to take to finish a mission, Leonardo was going to run down it.

"We're going in and we're getting info," the eldest nodded in agreement. "And then we're taking whoever comes in through those doors down. We're sending a message that New York has someone to protect them."


Antonio Puzorelli took his seat at the table and adjusted his tie. He had been with the Kingpin Crime Syndicate for damn near as long as Wilson Fisk. It was a good life, at least for him. It had given Antonio and his family a comfortable, luxurious life. It had given his bitch of a wife little reason to complain over the years. It had put his kids through college. It kept his mistress quiet.

At least it had until it all came crashing down. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen had killed Fisk and thrown the whole damn city into chaos. Tombstone was the first to start carving up Kingpin territory, and then the damn ninja moved in claiming they had been in a partnership with Fisk before his death. Damn bastards in pajamas started dolling out orders like the owned the place.

Unfortunately, he found out quickly that there was no saying no to them. That was clear after they chopped off one of Puzorelli's men's head right in front of him. Now he had to come to this dump once a week to talk to these weirdos or face the same.

"Where the hell are they?" Big Louie, Puzorelli's body guard asked. Lou was, well, big, but he was far from bright. But he was the only other one allowed to meet with the Hand alongside the Fisk lieutenant. They were a secretive bunch, and wanted all their orders to flow through someone who commanded the respect of the people left in the Syndicate. They probably figured Louie was too dumb to decipher what their plans were. They were probably right.

"The ninja follow a way of patience, my friend," a soft voice came from the shadows. What followed it were three ninja dressed in red, the leader the only one to reveal his face. He was Japanese, and stood at almost six foot tall. His skin was covered in scars, as if his face had been beaten by a cheese grater. One eye was merely white. His name, as Antonio had been told, was Kirigi. He was the messenger of the Hand, but not its leader.

"Yea, well, not us Italians," Louie grumbled in return. He disliked the agreement with the outsiders just as much as Antonio did, he was just worse at covering his distaste up. He would have to be warned about that. These weren't the kind of people who back talked.

"Please excuse Lou," Puzorelli smiled warmly. "It's past his bedtime."

"Indeed," Kirigi smiled and took a seat at the table. The other ninja remained standing. "We appreciate the shipments coming in on time. Things have been running fairly smoothly."

Antonio nodded. The shipments were of weapons, they brought them in on Fisk shipping containers, usually disguised as fish or some other crap. It had always been a profitable racket, but the cops were getting bolder. Probably because of the devil freak and the spider weirdo. Too many heroes in New York. Too many across the country. Antonio thought that maybe his kind was becoming an endangered species. Soon all the criminals would be like the stranger sitting across form him, and they'd all be fighting some nutcase in spandex.

He felt very tired all of a sudden.

"We've had to change up our delivery routes to escape suspicion," the mob boss explained. "We run through Purple Dragon territory now. They're a small outfit, but they're dangerous. They tried to hit one of the trucks the other night. We managed to get away without losing any of the merchandise, but stuff like that's gonna get the attention of the fuzz."

"Indeed," the ninja nodded. "I will report back to my superiors. If necessary we will dispose of these...Purple Dragons."

"Yea, well, good luck," Puzorelli chuckled. "These street gangs are like cockroaches. You think you kill 'em all and then it turns out a hundred of them were living under the rug."

"In that case we will set fire to the rug," was Kirigi's monotone response.

The mob boss knew he was not joking. The Hand wanted control of New York, and they were going to do anything to get it.

Before either of the men could say another word, the single bulb illuminating the room shattered, showering the able with darkness and glass. Antonio heard a series of thuds as heavy objects fell around him. He could hear Louie fumble for his gun before the big man's body hit the concrete floor hard. The sound of metal meeting metal clanged through the warehouse. Someone let out a grunt of pain.

Antonio Puzorelli squinted and tried to see what was going on. As his eyes began to adjust, the last thing he saw before being struck on the side of the head were a pair of white eyes glaring out from the darkness.


Detective Sam Sterns shook his head as he looked over the scene. Suspected mobster Antonio Puzorelli was tied up to some other Italian muscle head, draped over a pile of rubble that had once been a table in the middle of some two bit warehouse. A trail of blood, whose he had no idea, ran from the area near the table out the door, but then disappeared. For all he knew it was the person who did this's, or it was a friend of the mob boss.

What Sterns did know was he had a vigilante crime scene on his hands.

"Whattaya think, Sam?" the beat cop who got here first asked. "One of the devil's work? Or the spider?"

"Too much blood for the spider," Sterns shook his head. "And it doesn't have the devil's calling card. Could be someone knew."

"Aw shit, the cap's not gonna like to hear that," the uniformed officer lamented.

"No one is," was Sterns's simple response.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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Bounce

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[ Prev ] FEAT OF CLAY, Part XII” [ Next ]
T H E B A T C A V E

April 9th, 1970

Alfred’s voice stopped him before he could even move.

“You’re not going anywhere like that, young man.”

The boy wonder was snatched back from the stairs that led up to the mansion proper. The elf-like boots splashed in the puddle that had already formed where he stood. They’d caught a sudden downpour while out on patrol. The sudden rise in temperatures had brought with it a surprising amount of rainfall as spring started to thaw New Jersey.

Alfred was merciless and efficient as he peeled the wet clothes from off the trembling youth. In short order, Dick had been stripped completely bare. He fidgeted with his hands held awkwardly down in front of himself. The cold stone floor was painful to step on with bare feet, causing him to dance back and forth.

Bruce just abandoned the boy to his fate. Moving on to the Batcomputer without so much as a word. A trail of water marked his path from the car to the computer, though neither the seeping rain permeating their costumes nor the chill inside the cave seemed enough to budge the stoic guardian.

A robe was thrown over his shoulders. Alfred grabbed the boy’s arms, pulling them away from where he’d been trying to safeguard his modesty to fit them into the sleeves of the garment. “There’s a warm bath for you upstairs,” the butler stated, in his usual crisp manner. As Alfred started to gather up the boy wonder’s wet articles of clothes that now littered the cave floor, the butler locked a commanding glare on the youth as he stated, “Go there directly.”

Dick actually jumped at that.

Nothing in his life made any sense to him any more. His parents were dead. He was the foster kid to Bruce Wayne, a mysterious man who barely seemed to have more than two words for him. They lived in the same house and still it felt like there were miles between them.

And then there was the butler, who seemed to be the only one who genuinely cared for him -- but was more frightening than the Batman could ever hope to become when he got like this!

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

BLÜDHAVEN
Present Day

The toy wonder looked like a drowned rat.

Clumps of what was likely bits of Matthew Hagan were smeared across his skin and clothes. Rips in the fabric gave evidence of the struggle that had taken place between Jason and Clayface before the building fire suppression system had kicked in, dumping gallons of water on both of them.

The black hair was plastered against the doll’s scalp. The red suit was waterlogged, the water repellant treatment on the fabric either overwhelmed or defeated by the volume.

Dick had met the new Robin on the landing that was just inside the skylight that supplied entry into the condominium. The sight of the boy had brought back memories of himself. A different Dick Grayson. A younger Dick Grayson. A long time ago, in what might as well have been a galaxy far, far away.

A puddle of water had already formed beneath Jason, though unlike the recollection of himself at that age, the doll began undressing himself the moment that Dick had started to remove the cape from around his shoulders. Instead of trying to fight or resist the butler that was stripping him bare, Jason casually peeled off one article at a time before passing them over to Dick so that the soiled, wet costume could be deposited into the laundry basket.

When he’d finished, the bare doll actually did a cartwheel. “So that was Clayface?” Jason asked, popped upright and just starting up a conversation. “He didn’t seem that tough,” the boy added, putting a few punches in the air.

Unlike Dick at that age, modesty was definitely not one of Jason’s hang-ups.

Placing a hand on the doll’s head, Dick noted wryly, “You look like you still have some Clayface on you.” Tousling the wet clump of hair atop the doll’s head, the man moved his hand to the boy’s shoulder and nudged him away. “Go jump in the bath.”

Spinning around, the doll performed another cartwheel, this time blending the motion into backflip before dropping into a Naruto run and dashing off inside of the house.

With a sigh, Dick watched as Jason disappeared around a corner. He was tired from just watching the boy. A dull ache moved through his back, as the man bent down to retrieve the laundry basket that now contained a puddle of Clayface and torn parts of Jason’s Robin costume. The cape, boots, gloves, and mask were probably salvageable. The tunic was going to get burned. The trousers? Maybe.

One of the first things that Dick had discovered when he’d moved out on his own was that he’d never had to learn how to do his own laundry. Alfred had always taken care of that. Figuring out how to do his ordinary clothes had been easy. But the costumes? That was more art than anything else. Especially for blood. Getting blood out of spandex was no easy feat. In that sense, Jason’s costume hid blood stains rather well.

But, it had been awhile since Dick had to try and get Clayface mud out of a suit. That was probably going to call for more than just a Tide pod.

The dull whirl of the washing machine was barely audible through the expansive condo. Dick had settled into his recliner, an open book cradled on one leg and the television playing CNN in the background, as the former Boy Wonder mulled over what he’d witnessed through Jason’s eyes and ears.

“I’m her father punk!”

Matthew Hagan had no known children. Was he even capable of it? His anatomy was nonexistent at this point. Nothing about his consciousness made sense. So any offspring would likely have been from before his transformation, which would make his children older than this ‘Annie’ appeared.

So what was the connection? Why was Hagan so interested in that girl? For that matter, why was Hagan knocking over pawn shops and jewelry stores? That was a little low brow, even for Hagan.

Dick was snapped from out of his brooding by the sudden arrival of a pouncing Toyboy. The doll knocked the wind out of him, as Jason landed atop him amid a bubbling litany of childish giggling. Clad in one of Dick’s old police academy t-shirts, which the boy used as a nightgown, the slightly damp but much cleaner Jason squeezed his way between Dick and the chair.

“What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout?” Jason chirped, curling up against the man.

It was strange. Like thawing out an old memory. Dick could recall being that familiar with his parents, even some of the other performers at the circus where he’d grown up as a boy. But could he have imagined pouncing on Bruce? Or giving the man a hug?

Nope. Not in this or any other lifetime.

With one hand, Dick brought his arm up so that it rested atop the boy’s head, his fingers russling through the damp hair. With his other hand, he picked up the book and deposited it over onto the side table. Hm? Oh, just the news,” the man replied, lying artfully as he gave his full attention over to the boy that was snuggled up against him. Hard to imagine that thirty years ago, the two of them had been fighting inside of the bank that the doll had been robbing at the time. “What about you?”

The boy shifted so that his head was resting on Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried about that girl,” Jason remarked candidly.

It seemed that the two of them were of the same mind. Recalling the name that Jason had offered the girl, Dick asked, “Annie?”

“Yeah,” the doll affirmed. Shifting position, the boy slid up the arm rest and then sat upright, so that he was looking down at Dick as he continued. “There’s no logical connection that would explain why Clayface would target her,” the boy remarked, his hands gesturing as he spoke. Throwing his arms up in frustration, he added, “And we don’t know where either of them are.”

What would Bruce have said, Dick wondered.

That was actually simple to answer. Bruce would have said that they should focus on finding Clayface. After all, the girl wasn’t the real problem. Clayface was the danger to society. Bruce would have said that girl was a problem for someone else to sort out. Not a job for Batman and Robin.

It wasn’t what Dick would have wanted to hear if he was in Toyboy’s shoes. “Focus on finding the girl,” the man said. Not because he wanted to spite the philosophy of Bruce Wayne, but because he wasn’t Batman. He was Dick Grayson. Rationalizing his decision aloud, the man explained, “If you’re right, then at that point, Clayface will come to you.”

Bruce always focused on the problem, rather than the people. It was one of the things that Dick had set out to do different when he’d become Nightwing.

It seemed to have worked. A smile lit up Jason’s face, as the doll pounced down to give the weary Boy Wonder a hug. “Once we’ve neutralized him, we can get the girl the help that she needs,” the man offered, bringing a hand to rub the doll’s back. Then, he brought the hand up to the back of the boy’s head and neck, giving a gentle squeeze as he said, “Why don’t you power down for a bit? I noticed some software patches were uploaded by S.T.A.R. Labs. You’ll probably need to reboot anyway.”

“Does it bother you?”

The question caught Dick by surprised. Giving the boy a bit of a double take, the man tried for a moment to try and put the question into a context, and found he didn’t quite follow. “Does what bother me?”

Me,” Jason stated, sitting up in Dick’s lap. “You always treat me like I’m a real person,” the doll commented in a matter-of-fact tone. “Even though I’m not.”

Dick just blinked. At first, he wondered where that statement or sentiment had come from. Then he remembered what Jason had shared with him earlier: Schott never named me. He’d just say ‘boy’ and I was expected to answer.

A hand rested on Jason’s shoulder. “You showed that you’re no one’s puppet at Hinkley Creek,” Dick stated firmly, giving the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “You are who you choose to be. That makes you as real as any of us,” the man said evenly. Placing his hands under the doll’s arms, Dick lifted the boy up and then gently set him on his feet. Leaning forward on the chair, Dick looked the doll in the eye as he added, “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Pitching himself forward, the boy threw his arms around the man’s neck. “Goodnight, Dick,” the doll said, squeezing against him.

A weary smile crept across Dick’s face. “Goodnight, Jason,” he answered with a sigh, returning the hug before gently pushing the doll away to go to bed.

Jason came running back a moment later. “Last hug!”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Hound55
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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Then...



The booming voice of the man who would be DOOM.

“Ten... Nine... Eight…”

Victor’s sharp eyes made another final sweep across the whole control panel. They had cleared every check and test. But what man could leave the fate of so much to another’s vision? A lesser mind’s decision? To do such a thing, one might as well leave such a thing to the winds of chance.

“Seven…”

Ben Grimm flexes his fingers for one last time as he prepares to white-knuckle it, and grips the controls in sure, steadfast hands. He wouldn’t want the responsibility anywhere else. Ol’ blue eyed Benji holds their lives and his in his hands, knows exactly what it means, and the whole damn universe couldn’t pry him off his duty. So just let ‘er try.

“Six… “

Reed and Sue lock eyes lovingly. After these years the married couple share the mutual knowledge that whatever comes next, whatever they now face, they have the strength for what comes. Together.

“Five…”

The young lovers hands embrace. Even through the suits, Johnny Storm could swear he feels Valeria Von Doom’s warmth radiating through, as in all things.


Now…

"Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five…” The producer counted down, before reverting to silent hand signals, and finally shooting a pointed finger towards the people in front of the camera.

The bright lights were nothing new, but the makeup and activities of so many people scurrying around in service of a single goal - interviewing the new Head of the long thought lost mission - certainly were. So many people, after so long without seeing another human than their own small group.

Of course ‘Not another human’ certainly didn’t mean ‘Not another person’. Nor did it mean that they were alone.

Unfortunately, the truth was far from that reassuring...


Five Hours Ago…

Children playing in the sparse green fields of Central Park. A tour group rides by on bicycles. College students with books spread open come to grips with their course load whilst talking about the day to day frivolities.

All interrupted by rolling thunder. A space between places opened by an explosive cacophony of sound. Feet touched down on Earth’s soil which hadn’t known it for over a decade, as well as three who had never known it as home. The tall bug said something in Sue Storm’s ear. She looked concerned, and replied, as people raced towards them. But none could hear over the sound of the cosmic gateway. The bug confirmed, and Sue swept her hair back, deep in thought over the meaning of what she had just been told.

People were racing towards the five strange humans, their robot and one strange rock monster. The bug gave a final wave, walked between the humans and their means of arrival. Shielding itself from the sight of other people and used a small box to open a similar portal to return, presumably, from wherever they came.

The blonde haired youth looked at his craggly compatriot and noticed no change in his appearance.

“Hey? Looks like our powers are still kicking in here too.” He said, flicking a finger off of his rocky shoulder and setting his finger aflame.

People ran to the group on the grass, but then kept their distance. Standing in stunned silence, the crowd was seemingly scared of the strange man with the stony flesh.

“So…” Ben said, breaking the awkward silence. “Whaddid we miss?”


Now…

“So, Doctor Storm, the world wants to know. How exactly you all survived that disastrous mission and where you have all been for so many years?”



Susan stopped and thought for a moment. She took a long draw from a glass of water and smiled first to the interviewer and then to the camera as she formulated a considered response.

“We were remarkably fortunate all things considered. And as for where we’ve been? The Negative aperture that we were testing worked a lot better than our ship did. A credit to both Reed and Victor for their theoretical work. If anything, it worked even better than we were expecting. Thankfully.”

“When you speak of ‘Victor’ you are of course referring to…”

“Victor Von Doom. Naturally.”

“You are aware that since your departure he has become something of a… controversial figure... at the centre of massive upheaval presently taking place in the Balkans?”

“I’ve been told something along those lines, but we don’t really know anything about that. The Victor Von Doom I have known is an honourable friend and colleague. But I can attest to the fact that whatever is going on with him has made him extremely difficult to get a hold of. As his position in the mission dictated, he was the first person we’ve tried to make contact with since our return. We’re nowww… five hours later, and unless Reed’s had more success since I left him to come here, we’ve yet to have any luck on that front.”

The interviewer leaned in closer holding a prop pen to his lips. There were of course no notes to be taken, his questions were rehearsed and this was purely for television.

“And as for your return..?”

Sue smiled playfully. She picked up the glass again, but this time didn’t drink.

“Ah! That’s the crux of the matter isn’t it? How did we survive..?”

She turned the glass upside down over the desk between them, but the water held to the lip of the glass as if some strange invisible force had formed a lid on it.

“Let’s just say, the disaster you spoke about did not exactly leave us all unchanged...”

The interviewer looked on stunned, before gesturing to the camera operators to make sure they got the glass rather than his reaction.

Sue put the glass back on the table, without a drop out of place.

“And as for where we came from? Quite simply, the aperture did so much more than was intended. It didn’t merely enable us to catch a glimpse at a theoretical sub-space testing ground across dimensional planes. It opened a gateway there. My family and I have spent our entire time there. In this Negative Zone, which we were merely meant to view by experiment.”

The interviewer dropped the pen that had mindlessly been tapping and was stunned into silence for a few seconds. Until Susan’s decision to take another drink of water snapped him back to reality, stammering wildly.

“W--W--Wait, so… So-- so you’re telling us that you’ve all spent this time-- in another universe?”

Sue placed the glass back down.

“Well, technically no…”

The interviewer leaned in to ask a follow up question, before Sue finished the thought.

“...the Negative Zone is more an adjunct of THIS universe. We weren’t crossing multiversal lines. Merely dimensional ones. We breached the surface tension of the fourth dimensional planes. That’s what the Aperture does.” Sue flicked her hair back out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, after it had escaped and got in her face leaning forward with the glass.

“Dimen-- Hmm.” The interviewer took a few seconds to think of a new question, after Sue’s explanation. “Forgive me if I’m being ignorant, but I was under the belief that ‘Time’ was the fourth dimension. Wouldn’t that make this the fifth?”

“Well, we’re splitting hairs now. But the first three dimensions are all spatial. This breach, also spatial, allowed us to travel through a shunt in dimensional planes to another zone that we can now prove exists. If you were going to group the dimensions doesn’t it make more sense to bundle those dealing with space together before time? For what it’s worth, Doctor Reed Richards has also hypothesized a further fifth dimension whilst we’ve been away. Which would make ‘Time’ the sixth. But since it is at this point merely theoretical, I think it makes sense to consider ‘Time’ the fifth dimension for now until practical physicists can determine experimentation to prove the theory. I’m sorry if this is more boring shop-talk and semantics than your viewers were hoping for… This hypothetical further Fifth dimension is hardly a point of focus for us right now. If you’ll pardon the pun, the Aperture has opened up enough for us to think about right now with knowledge of the Fourth.”

The interviewer steered the conversation in a different direction.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll also have your hands full coming to terms with everything that's changed in THIS world as well, and returning to a sense of normalcy.”

Suddenly two children run up and jump on their mother’s lap as their father let them go away from the other side of the camera. Valeria hugs her mother, then turns and looks down the barrel of the camera. Franklin hugs Sue as well, and is content to just look around from the other side of the lights.

“I can only imagine how much pressure it must alleviate to know you’re able to raise your family back at home.”
Screaming. Running. Powers flaring.
Spatial anomalies initiate. Conquerors callously hurl unthinkable dispensible numbers chasing total annihilation. Gods struggle for omnipotence over all things.


Sue gave her kids a gentle squeeze and responded. “It does feel good to come back home, and we do have a lot to catch up on. But we’re not hanging up the lab coats… or form-fitting all purpose suits, just yet.”

Her husband Reed walked around from behind the camera as well, and took a place behind Sue’s chair. “That’s right. There’s still plenty more to be done. We're not yet done exploring. What gives this family its purpose and its joy isn't the destination... it's the journey.” He said. Sue seemed to agree, warmly tapping the hand he held her seat with.

“The FANTASTIC FOUR still have much more to accomplish!”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by IceHeart
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Location: Metropolis, Met-U - College Day
Issue #2.06: A Bad Day



A whole lot of things had happened today. Just walking around campus Kara had secretly stopped two purse snatchers, saved a cat from a college driver, prevented a maintenance from falling off a ladder, and foiled a shady character from taking photos on the sly. It was always a challenge to prevent the little things like this without giving herself away with no time to change into her costume. Sometimes she had to move so quickly that nobody noticed, but of course she wasn't exactly the Flash so she could really only do that when the problem was very close by or people would notice. Aside from the speed issue, it did terrible things to her wig so she had to be very careful to keep that in place. Usually she had to find some indirect way to intervene, like a quick puff of her lungs to support a ladder, or a well aimed penny to break a camera. For some reason a lot of these little things had piled up today.

Helping out like that was usually not a big deal but today she had been trying to fit in some extra study time for the test she was currently taking. After everything was said and done, she had only gotten in maybe a solid half-hour of study time between stopping crime, saving lives, talking to friends, and taking other classes. It was rare that such a costume-less day would result in so little time for herself. Kara was not feeling very confident as the test had been passed out as a result. Wracking her brain she tried desperately to remember all the knowledge that had been crammed into it the past week or so. If Kelex knew what kind of troubles she was having, the computer would probably be appalled at how low level it all was.

"Ms. Lane, you're late." The teacher scolded as Lucy Lane held up a hand in apology and slipped into a seat near Kara.

"Sorry, sorry, you wouldn't believe the crowd I had to deal with to get here." Lucy stuck out her tongue and the professor rolled their eyes.

Kara suddenly felt nausiated, throughout her entire life she had never really felt sick, maybe a slight chill when she was younger but nothing like she was feeling now. "W-What is going on?" Kara resisted the urge to gag and she accidentally snapped her pencil her two. The feeling had started almost as soon as Lucy had taken her seat. It had been a long time since she had accidentally put too much pressure on a pencil, but as she was feeling disoriented it was hard to gauge her own strength, but for some reason she felt quite a bit, weaker than usual.

Kara started to sweat, her hands felt clammy, and her vision had started to blur as she continued the test. Why had she suddenly started feeling so terrible? Was there some kind of allergen that she had never encountered before? Kara steeled herself to finish before she could even think about collapsing, but her strength was fading fast.

"Almost there..." As she finished one last problem, Kara collapsed. Kara got a final glimpse of Lucy Lane hovering over her, a strange green stone dangling from her neck before she blacked out.




Kara woke up with a start from her unscheduled nap with a start. She bolted upright and got a quick look around, a college infirmary room. The strange thing was she felt completely fine despite how nasty she had felt earlier. "Ugh, I hope I was able to complete enough of the test in time, I would rather not have to take a make-up exam." Kara grumbled as she swung her legs off of the bed.

A student nurse asked if she was alright and after a quick check up they agreed and let her go. Kara rested her right hand on her chin as she thought about what had happened. She had never felt that way before, even tanking a missile wouldn't have caused her as much trouble as whatever had just happened to her. Before she could think about it more though she was intercepted by Lucy Lane and once again the feeling returned.

"Glad to see you're up and at em Kara! I was so worried when you suddenly collapsed like that but since I was late I had to stay and finish before I could check up on you!" As Lucy grew closer Kara felt weaker and almost stumbled.

"Whoa! Easy there, guess you're still feeling ill after all?"

Kara weakly smiled, "Guess so, but I'm sure I'll be alright." As she had never felt this way before around Lucy, that meant there was something on her that hadn't been there before, the only real guess was the strange green stone. "By the way Lucy, I don't think I've ever seen that kind of stone before? What's it called?" It was taking all Kara had to keep herself upright and her voice steady, thankfully it seemed to be enough to fool Lucy.

"Oh this? It's a little souvenir I got from my crazy little sister. Apparently it came from some meteor rock that crashed on Earth a few years ago. I don't think it technically has a name yet but kind of exciting to know it's not from Earth."

"Is she some kind of rock hound?"

"Na, she's just bored crazy so has been trying out some new hobbies. She got in trouble a year ago and so as punishment, my Dad decided to send her to a small high school out in farm country. Little Lois Lane really knows how to stick her nose where it doesn't belong, just this time she went a little too far and had to pay the price." Lucy grinned, remembering the shocked look on Lois Lane's face when her father had doled out her punishment, her look of despair had a magnificent, platinum frame inside Lucy Lane's head.

"Guess I feel a little sorry for her." Kara tried to sound sympathetic but inside she was silently cursing Lois Lane's name for picking up such a painful hobby to her. "So where was she exiled too?"

"A little town called Smallville, not exactly sure where but I don't think it's actually that far from Metropolis, certainly within driving distance anyway."

"Well I think I better head back to my room for a spell, wouldn't want a relapse." Kara tried her best not to look like she was desperately retreating as she well, retreated back to her dorm room.

"Alright, get some rest Kara!" Lucy yelled before going her merry way, as soon as she was gone Kara breathed a sigh of relief as her body went back to normal. Whatever this rock was, it was going to need some investigating. She would probably need to drop by Kelex's place first though to see what he could tell her about the rock and its affect on her body.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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Alarms blared through the ARGUS compound, causing Booster to nearly fall out of her bed. Skeets was skittering around the room in panic, and nearly rammed into her as she stood up. A red light blinked on and off, illuminating the darkened room slightly. If she didn't feel so tired, she would have assumed it was a nightmare.

"Skeets," she said as she extended the armor, "time to link up. Whatever's going on I have to figure we're going to be wrapped up in
it."

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, the door to her room slid open and she found Citizen Steel staring back at her. He motioned for her to follow, "Come on, we've got a situation."

"Yea, no shit," she rolled her eyes as she followed him. "I didn't think this was just the lights out warning."

"Very funny," Steel grumbled.

"Thanks, I thought so," Booster chuckled to herself. She liked pushing Steel's buttons. "Something to do with Irons?"

"You'll find out during the briefing," was the government hero's curt response.

"Oh, the briefing, huh?" Booster nodded sarcastically. "How official."

"Do you have a problem with procedure?" he shot back at her, giving a, ugh, steely look in the process.

"Oh so many problems," she smiled back sweetly. "Mostly that if there was something really wrong the two of us should already been on our way to stop it. Not pow-wowing with the generals or whatever the hell we're going to now."

"That's exactly the problem and why ARGUS is necessary," Steel shook his head. Around them the alarms continued to blare. They walked by the helicopter hangar, where Booster saw a bunch of preparation going on. Groups of ARGUS troopers were heading into their designated aircraft for the coming conflict. "Your kind just head out and smash into anything in your way. No thought of what might get in your way, or who might be in your way. We're here to keep the peace and keep you in line."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, pal," Gold shrugged. "But in reality ARGUS just means that one day when you're gonna want to help, and they're gonna tell you no. Because some Senator's business is involved, or some tinpot dictator the government is propping up doesn't want egg on his face. Whatever the reason, people are going to die because you had to follow procedure."

Steel turned away from her and was silent as they passed into the briefing room. She may have been a bit overzealous in her critique of him, sure. But she had been cooped up in this sterile environment for days, and still hadn't heard back from Sandy about her suspicions. Not to mention the fact that what she said to Heywood was what she felt. The more time she spent around ARGUS the more she was sure that their end goal had nothing to do with keeping people safe. No militarized government body was ever going to have that as an end goal when they worked on the homeland.

No, ARGUS was all about control. She was sure of that. All she had to do was find out what their angle was. Once she had that, she could bring this whole house of cards down with a puff of air.

Taking a seat next to Heywood in the briefing room full of ARGUS troops, the ARGUS officer began, "Twenty minutes ago there was a disturbance in Chicago. The local office there reported unusually high levels of seismic activity on the heart of the city. The strength of the tremors continued to gain strength until they peaked, causing a whole city block to collapse in on itself. From the resulting crater, this emerged."

He pressed a button and a screen sprang to life behind him. On it appeared the armor that Irons had been working on in his lab, except massive. Whoever was piloting it was turned into a near twenty foot giant. It was tearing through concrete and asphalt like they were made of paper and cardboard.

"It doesn't make any sense," Booster whispered to herself. "He had barely finished the smaller version."

Steel looked over to her, confused. She caught his gaze and shook her head as the commander continued his brief.

"We've tried hitting it with a controlled EMP shock, but it didn't do anything," he shook his head. "Which is why we're sending Steel and Booster in to take care of it. She's the reason this thing is even around to begin with, and it's time to show the world what our boy can do."

The group of soldiers cheered. Some of them clasped Steel on the back. She could tell he enjoyed the attention. She could relate, obviously. There was nothing like the dopamine hit from people cheering your name. It was the reason she had taken all those endorsement deals. Why she had pimped herself out to an oil company the first opportunity she could. Fame and fortune. The pull was irresistible.

Maybe Steel's conviction to the cause he believed in wasn't all that odd after all.

"Now, squad up and head out. We've got a bad guy to catch."
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Location: New Mexico
A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.02

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 2.01

With every step seemed to come a fall. With every breath seemed to come an unseasonal chill. With every pang of the stomach came a wave of nausea.

Falling to all fours, it took everything Bruce had to not fall even further. Getting back up didn’t seem doable. On his second day of trying to find his way, his body was past its limit. No food, no water. Even if he had his full vision he had no survival skills to speak of. He didn’t know where he could find water, couldn’t catch any animals with his sight, and didn’t know what plants were edible. The only reason he hadn’t died in the night was because he had a mind to bury himself in sand, creating a cover to trap his body heat, but now his legs and arms were giving out with no salt, calories, or nutrients to function. He wasn’t even sweating any more, his body holding on to every drop of water it had. He’d heard that the body could survive three days without water, but it seemed like that was a faint hope.

Recognizing the fruitlessness of his efforts to stay off the ground, Bruce collapsed, rolling on his side. Crags and expanse all about him, his eyes were back to the blue. And there they stayed. Trapped in his own body, the heat unbearable, muscles aching, throat arid, he’d believed he was weak, that it was over, but his body stubbornly held on. As much as he wanted to melt into the scorching earth, his body remained afloat. Losing the strength to even hold his eyes open, his vision became red, sunlight bleeding through his eyelids, refusing his respite. Helpless to his circumstances, Bruce couldn’t even muster the will to try and get up. Instead, his breath reached equilibrium, his sight engulfed by white. He briefly wondered if it was intended to be a canvas, a screen to which his life would flash in his last. No such visions came, but the pain became secondary. Like the void in his sights his body felt distant, and for the first time in ages he felt at peace. A peace that went cold as his body seemed to freeze. With his darkening mood, one delicate under death’s grip, his sight too went dark, and everything was gone.

---


Just a flash of green for every moment. The blood rushing in his ears gave way to a ringing, a beeping. Endless, incessant, obnoxious. Eyes tried to flutter open but they were stopped for just a moment. There was a strangled gasped, like finding air for the first time. The beeping seemed to get louder, but he wanted it to stop, not knowing its truth. Deaf to the answers, he only heard his name being called as he struggled against that which kept him down, hand grasping at the blanket over him. A brief glance brought him to the sight of a nurse, who held one of his shoulders down, trying to keep him still.

“Let me move.” He grunted. Pulling the blankets back he expected them to hold tight but they slid back like it was nothing. “Sir, please. Mr. Blonsky.”

“Let go!” Blonsky spat. The nurse held his hands up. “I’m not touching you sir!” Blonksy finally stopped to listen. The beeping of his heart monitor refused to slow, only intensifying as his hand touched his thigh. Or rather, the empty piece of meat he thought to be his thigh. Leaning forward, he went to reach his toes, but only his shoulders came up, his waist unmoving.

Holding onto the flesh of his leg, trying to hold himself up, he gaped, noise going muddy, sight swimming. With a rush of air his head fell ever so slightly, never being so high in the first place, yet it came crashing down all the same.

---


Betty felt her nose crinkle as she opened the door, wincing and the smell of incense. She never liked the smell of smoke, and whatever else was supposed to be called to mind by the scent she didn’t enjoy either. Unable to keep herself from coughing, she hacked, “Rick what the hell is this?

Leaning over a computer screen, Rick answered, “I just focus better with it, sorry.” Stopping so that he could wheel his chair over, he snuffed it out, nabbing a remote to turn on a fan.

Flopping down on the couch, she wished she really had the chance to get some fresh air. Rick’s apartment was sparse, made up of a couch, computer setup, with a table that extended into the nearby kitchen. She was only here for a bit, as trying to get to her apartment was...well, no longer easy. General Ross grasped why she’d had the reaction she did to that monster, coming to the same realization, and in her fervor he may have let it’s identity ‘slip’ to news outlets. Needless to say Betty didn’t want to be seeing him anytime soon.

The Hulk. That’s what the monster Bruce had become was being called, thanks to one of the earliest reports on the attack countrywide. Such a senseless attack on an unprepared, government run target by a previously unknown meta was just the story the current political climate needed, very neatly fitting the anti-meta narrative. Betty might have even been running with it: she’d said her pieces before, such as after the first student to attack their school with mutant powers, complicating school shooting and gun law discussions even further. But this time, even the thought of trying to put something to the page about the Hulk exhausted her. She’d known the signs, warned others to watch for them, ask them to look past their biases and certainties. To somehow find that which was being kept hidden before it exploded out. And in no capacity had she succeeded in following her own words.

Bruce ended up in the desert over road rage? And another car had randomly found its way into a smoke shop? The way he tended to shut down when certain topics came up wasn’t unusual for him, but in the moment she even had that thought of ‘he hasn’t reacted like this before’. And then she dismissed it. She’d known Bruce for so long it felt like she knew everything about him, but that thought was a dangerous one, and reflection kept bringing her more pain, more of their childhood.

How deeply did this go? And if recollection brought her so much pain, what was Bruce going through right now?

The air a bit clearer, Betty sat up again. Rick took note, turning about in his chair. “Thinking about...you know?” Betty unconsciously bit her lip, admitting, “It’s hard not to right now. Did you come up with anything?”

Rick had been lucky to avoid particular notice. Ross’ leak had been the only significant one. Rumor and speculation was abound, but the exact nature of the Gamma Stream project, and more importantly, those who worked on it, was still very much government secrets. Betty was expected to be involved in the eventual press release when it was ready for public display and investment, but now the whole thing was up in the air. At the very least, Fendi Labs was also being quiet, so Rick’s place was currently a blind spot to snoops, once Betty shook off anyone tailing her at least.

“There was one thing: Ross fired the Discharger and Bruce just sneezed it off.” Betty winced: to her it had been the Hulk, but she kept her mouth shut. “The residual radiation should have been a threat to everyone in that room, but there was barely anything.”

Betty frowned, “That was like when Bruce was hit by it too, right? The Discharger...” Betty trailed off, having moved towards an explanation in her mind, but Rick’s winced, moving in. “Those are the exceptions, not the rules. Every time Bruce was involved, the results have been relatively tiny, but every other time the measurable output has been expected. Levels that would pretty easily kill a person. It’s not the machine, it’s Bruce. Somehow he’s capable of absorbing radiation, like a sponge. I don’t know if it’s detectable, or if it’s even safe to be near him.” Betty felt her heart run cold. Rick sensed her anxiety and explained, “Look, everyone there was tested and you had no more or less radiation then anyone there. We can’t discount the possibility that this is a still evolving mutation, if it’s even a mutation at all.”

Betty swallowed. That confirmed it, and the explosive symptoms at the very least only seemed to have started after the accident. That said, they didn’t seem purposeful. A continuation of accidents, triggered by...

“It wasn’t before the accident. It wasn’t!” Betty realized, almost jumping out of her seat. Rick seemed taken aback, but didn’t interrupt. “He was mad at Talbot, and a little while before that he got into road rage. The car didn’t match the description he gave, but that might have been the first time: the Hulk sent it into a building.” Rick seemed a bit lost in her rambling, but she persisted, “I remember him doing the same thing as he did last time before the accident, he fought off a dog that attacked us. No Hulk.” Knuckle over her mouth, she admitted, “It’s anger. The Hulk is Bruce when he’s angry.”

Rick scratched his chin. “Well, I’ve almost never seen him angry so...”

It had clicked together, but it didn’t seem to solve anything. Losing that motivation, Betty flopped back into her seat. Trying to envision a future only muddled her thoughts. She could only see clearly when looking back. “Hey Rick, there’s a scientist I want you to look into, when you get time.” Rick turned back to his screen, head over his shoulder watching her carefully. Betty closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the scent of that autumn in particular, the light smoke from neighborhood fireplaces, the leaves molding into the dirt, and the cigarette stench of the one who found the two runaway children.

“I need to know more about Brian Banner.”

---


Taste of slime and muck filling his mouth, Bruce opened his eyes, something he hadn’t expected to ever do again. He felt moisture on his back, soft dirt all about. The air was cool yet above he could see the sun, in between the crags creating shade, and flashes of green tinged his sights. Rolling over, he was shocked to have the energy. The movement shifted his bowels, and a belch came to the surface, its taste like a vegetable. Looking up to see a pool of stagnant water, he swatted away at the itching, flies finding him. Moving away, he stepped out of the hideaway and back into the heat, getting his bearings.

He was still very much in the desert, but somehow he’d ended up at what was more or less a hidden oasis. A bit more plant life was about, including some destroyed cacti. That broken fresh scent reminded him of the unfamiliar taste, and it came together, hope and fear alike. He’d been saved by the very thing that put him here, that shoved that car into the building and threw him into the desert. And yet that thing may have done something even worse, and he could not remember even a bit. He wanted to see Betty, so badly, or even just to find out if she was alright. Talbot? Ross? Rick? Anyone?

Falling to his knees, taking in the heat, the landscape before him seemed just a little bit clearer. He had no direction, and he hated that his ineptness meant he would have to continue to rely on that, but it was keeping him alive.

For better or worse.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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The call woke April up way too early on a Saturday morning.

The panicked voice of the contact that had giver her the location of the warehouse greeted her on the other side, asking if she had given that location to anyone else, and if she had planted the secret camera she had planned on placing the the warehouse.

"No," she lied. "I went and checked the warehouse out, looked for anything left behind, but didn't see anything."

The contact gave her the rundown. A mobster connected with the Kingpin Crime family had been found tied up alongside his hired muscle. A trail of blood was also found, but it was from neither of the men. They were fine, outside of currently sitting in Rikers.

April thanked him, and rushed over to her computer. If the camera worked as she had hoped, it would have turned on when it sensed motion in the warehouse and transmitted still pictures back to her. Of course, that didn't mean she'd be able to get anything usable, but if she did she'd have enough to write her story. Fenwick wouldn't be able to ignore her anymore, and that's all that mattered to her at this point.

She powered up the laptop on her desk, and almost squealed with delight when she saw that the camera's app was displaying new images. April hungrily opened the app, and began flipping through the pictures. She couldn't believe how well this had worked. The two men in suits had to be the gangsters the contact had spoke of. And then, clear as day, three ninja appeared. A few o f the pictures showed the five of them speaking. But then the pictures went dark. Only illuminated by the dim light filtering through the grimy skylight of the warehouse.

Four new figures joined the others in these, but she could barely make them out. There was clearly a struggle. These newcomers attacked the initially members of the meeting. It must have been where the blood came from, either from one of these new entrants or the ninja that the police had found no trace of.

But the final picture caused April to gasp. One of the interlopers had appeared in front of the camera, illuminated by enough light to get a fair look at it. It stood at a bout five and a half feet at most. Its green skin was dull in the low light, but the red mask it wore over its face fluttered slightly in motion, and it draped over what was obviously a turtle shell.

"Okay, well...this story just got a whole lot more interesting," April muttered to herself.


Splinter looked at his sons, all four of whom were sitting stoically in front of him. They had tasted their first true battle tonight. He could sense how excited they were. It was normal for ones so young to see battle as an exciting adventure. In time they would come to find it was nothing more than an obstacle to be avoided whenever possible. But what they had told him tonight proved that, for now, battle would be their way of life.

"You are sure they were Hand?" he asked Leonardo again. The rat had to admit, he was not expecting their first outing to go as well as it did. Leonardo was a capable leader, but even the most capable could fall victim if the whims he was to lead were too strong. While it was clear the brothers were not on the same page initially, Leonardo was able to get them in line when it actually mattered. That was almost more important than having a set plan going into a conflict.

"Yes, sensei," Leo nodded. "The lead ninja said as much. That the mob was running something into the city for them. Through some gang's territory that was not friendly to either faction."

Splinter stroked the fur on his chin, "So the Hand is still content to stay behind the curtain. Either because they do not have the strength they require, or because they are hiding from someone or something."

"We need to crush them when we have the chance," Raph added in characteristically. "If they're hiding, it means they're vulnerable. We wipe them out and we find that damn helmet they have. Then we make sure the Shredder can't come back."

"Yea, we kick em to the curb and we hold all the cards," Mikey nodded. "Wait, unless it's like Go Fish. That'd be bad."

"This all seems a bit rash," Donatello rolled his eyes.

"I agree, my son," Splinter surprised Donatello with that one. "We do not yet know enough about the Hand's movements to judge their strength. What I do want is these Purple Dragons, and what their role in all this is. Find the dragons, and find out what the mob is bringing into the city for the Hand. Once we have all the puzzle pieces, we will be ready to move in earnest against our adversaries."
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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[ Prev ] FEAT OF CLAY, Part XIII” [ Next ]
B L Ü D H A V E N

28 Phraim Municipal Housing District

People had all good intentions and no end of promises when the city had pledged to transform the block at 28 Phraim into affordable, subsidized housing to address a growing crisis of homelessness that exploded with the re-finance and foreclosure crisis of the early 2000s. Instead, cost overruns and budgetary shortfalls had presented challenges that the legislature couldn’t overcome. The price of all those promises was a tax hike that few in the city supported during an economic recession, leaving the square block a condemned collection of half-completed dreams that had come to represent the very poverty that it had set out to eliminate.

A trio of men huddled over a 55 gallon drum that was currently being used as a fire pit. A few feet away, a family of four huddled atop a discarded mattress inside the husk of an empty building that had never been completed. Down on the corner, an unkempt man drank from out of a brown paper bag, with a disheveled looking dog laying beside him.

It was an aspect of the city that the doll hadn’t thought about before, even though he’d lived in Gotham and Blüdhaven for more than thirty years. When he had been Toyboy, none of this would have mattered to him, merely whatever the Toyman wanted. There was never any question or concern for what Toyboy had wanted. It wasn’t material. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t even part of his programming.

Not until Toyman had given Toyboy the edict to protect Anton, never realizing that the doll would have to act to protect Anton from his own father. In that instance, Schott had unwittingly given Toyboy the last piece of the puzzle that separated artificial intelligence from humanity.

Schott had forced Toyboy to make a choice. In a single, liberating nanosecond, the doll had thought for himself. What did he want to do? What would he decide?

It was so different with Dick. Those moments when Toyboy thought for himself and made his own decisions, even when they contradicted what Dick had told him to do, were encouraged. Toyboy had leapt in to fight Anton Schott when Dick had told him to merely observe and report, and Dick thanked him for it. Then Dick told him to look out for Clayface and, instead, Toyboy was trying to find a lost girl instead.

Again, Dick offered only encouragement.

With the Toyman, if Toyboy lost a fight with Nightwing or did anything that wasn’t in the script, he was disassembled. “It’s not your fault,” the Toyman would say. “I clearly made some mistakes. Yes. A few adjustments is all you need.”

The message was always the same. There was something wrong with Toyboy. That was why he failed. That was why he didn’t understand. That was why he didn’t do something the way that the Toyman wanted it done. So he’d be picked apart. Tweaked. Reassembled and disassembled again and again until the Toyman was satisfied.

He wondered how many of the people who ended up at 28 Phraim were the same. Picked apart and left on a shelf of society. While the people around them just continued about their lives with a blind eye toward the children with nothing to eat at home, because they didn’t have a home to go home to.

He had no way of knowing if the girl would even be in this part of town. Heck, he’d last seen her at the bus terminal. She could have caught a Greyhound to Atlantic City, Gotham, or even Cincinnati for all he knew.

But if she was anywhere in the city, 28 Phraim was the safest place in the city to disappear to. It was far enough from the main arteries that the motorcycle gangs didn’t come this way, and far enough inland from the ports authority that the longshoreman of the local organized crime didn’t poke their noses here either. There wasn’t enough money between the three men at the fire pit to buy a hit of smack, so the drug dealers didn’t tend to come here either.

It was strange. 28 Phraim was like a bubble of isolation. An island within the city, ignored by everyone except the forgotten lives that were exiled there.

“You shouldn’t try to help me.”

The voice spun him around, as the young Robin had been passing through the alleyways of the housing district. As he looked back, from out of shadows emerged the dark haired waif in the mini skirt and cardigan. A look of genuine concern was on her face as she offered, “He’ll hurt you too.”

The boy started to take a step toward her, but the flightiness was more than apparent. So, instead, he merely shrugged. “I can handle him.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know his type,” the doll answered. At the quizzical look in response, he had to think of a way to elaborate. Not wanting to use the word ‘creator,’ he substituted the best word that he could as he stated, “My dad wasn’t much of a prize either.”

The statement seemed to register. Taking a step forward, the girl reached out, taking one of his gloved hands in both of hers. “So that’s why you care. You’re the only person I can remember who ever did.”

Tugging on his arm, the girl pulled the boy toward her. Standing on her toes, she leaned in and planted a kiss on the doll’s cheek.

The gesture was unexpected, stalling the doll for a number of nanoseconds as his programmed had to adjust. “Yeah, but you don’t remember anything,” the boy offered, sounding somewhat sheepish as he struggled to come up with something to say.

The girl gave a bit of a laugh at that, which had the effect of bringing a smile to his face.

His primary function was to bring joy to children. She was obviously hurting, but for just a moment he’d gotten her to forget about that. For a toy, a child’s smile was the sincerest form of flattery.

He could be Jason. He could wear the mask and cape of Robin. But he would always be the toy doll that Winslow Schott created in that workshop. Dick was right, only Jason could decide who he was. But he’d always be what he was.

A glance off into the distance seemed to force a change.

“What is it?” the boy asked, turning to check that Hagan hadn’t come out of the shadows again.

“That light,” the girl said, her reach directing his attention up to a billboard overhead. The advertisement board was empty, but there was a single spotlight that was still shining. “It’s familiar.”

“That’s good,” the boy said, trying to adopt the same encouraging tone he’d heard in Dick’s voice. “Try to remember.”

The girl closed her eyes. “I’ve seen one like it before,” she said, falling silent for another minute. Then, talking aloud, said, “I was walking toward it. It was dark. The ground was uneven. But the light was higher. It was at the top of a tower or something.”

She couldn’t know that she was talking to a computer. Meticulously, the boy was trying to vector the different pieces of data and then discriminate the variables against the topographical index of the city. It took a few seconds to complete, but when it finished the boy said, “I think I know just the place.”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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HenryJonesJr

Member Seen 11 mos ago


Arnold Jones, the man known as Hun, took a deep breath, drawing in the cool night air as he waited for the tell tale sounds of the approaching trucks.

There were no nerves for him at this point. He had been running these streets since he was able to throw a punch. Arnold Jones had always been bigger and badder than everyone he had ever known. Even as he entered his forties, his frame was sturdy, even if there was a little dough forming around the edges. He could still take anyone down one on one, and that's what kept him at the top of the Purple Dragon food chain.

The problem was the Purple Dragons were no longer the alpha predators of their own turf. Ever since the Kingpin bit it, his former lackies were doing jobs for a bunch of pajama wearing weirdos called the Hand. It was disgusting to Hun. There had always been war in the city, but it used to be like a bickering family. Not some of the family bowing down to some outsider and breaking the code.

Now, normally this was just something that would annoy Hun. The Purple Dragons were little more than bit players in the larger struggle to control the city. Whether Tombstone or the Kingpin were on top, the Dragons were going to defend their turf and their profits.

That was what the real problem with what the Hand were doing. They were moving product through Dragon territory and not paying the tax. That was against the rules, and he was going to make them pay tonight. He was going to send a message that the Hand weren't going to upend the city without a fight.

"Boss," one of the Dragons nudged him, shaking him out of his own seething thoughts. "Just got word that they're on their way."

Hun nodded curtly. The Hand hadn't only taken Kingpin's former grip on some of the fat man's lieutenants but some of Hun's men as well. What he was left with were loyal men, but a lot of the strongest enforcers he had learned to trust and confide in were gone. He felt his power slipping, and if tonight's gambit didn't pay off he'd probably lose everything he had ever worked for.

This part of the Dragons' territory was along a lightly used industrial road. Decades ago there would be workers showing up to these now-dormant factories for work. Now they were nothing more than decaying skeletons only good for illicit activities like the ambush he and his men were about to perform.

Hun looked back down at the man next to him, "Everything went well elsewhere?"

He had Dragons stationed across their territory, attacking the Hand caravan and forcing it towards this choke point. He had men on each side of the road. It would be a shooting gallery once they got here.

The man nodded, "Sounds like Bridge got winged by a throwing star. But otherwise no casualties."

Hun's eyebrow raised, "Throwing stars?"

"Ninjas, man," the Dragon shrugged at his gang leader.

Hun cursed. What he wouldn't give for things to go back to the time before the world got weird.



"Dude, it's so cold my shell is shivering," Mikey complained about the fall chill as the Turtles sat and waited for the Hand to reach them. They had been trying to keep in front of the caravan all night, and even Leo was starting to get annoyed.

It was easy enough to find out where the Purple Dragons called their home. It was more or less an open secret. If there was one thing Leonardo had learned in his short time on the surface was that it was easy to make human criminals talk. They were a cowardly lot, and just a look at him and his brothers was often enough to get the most hardened looking man shaking. He should have probably been offended at that, or hurt or something. But thoughts like that rarely entered Leonardo's mind. He had his mission to focus on. That was all he needed.

"Quiet, Mikey," Leo warned his younger brother. "I think the trucks are coming."

He sighed with relief as the headlights turned a corner towards them. For the first time they had gotten out ahead of the Dragons, who had been harassing this caravan the entire way through the territory. Leo had no desire to fight both the Hand and the Dragons tonight. He and his brothers weren't ready for anything like that. They were meant to be surgical fighters, not battering rams.

"Donnie," Leo looked over at his brother, "you call out the leap."

Donatello looked back at him with surprise, "You sure about that?"

"Yea," Leo nodded, now keeping his eyes on the approaching vehicles. "You can make the calculations faster. Know the right time."

"Our living calculator," Raph chuckled.

"Okay," Donnie nodded as the vehicles continued their rapid pace. Moments went by and the trucks got closer and closer. Leo didn't look away from the trucks either. He trusted his brother to make the right call, and he wanted to be more than ready when the signal was given.

He drew in breath as the trucks were about to pass. The first blew by in a blur, and as the second was about to as well, Donatello gave the signal. He leapt next to the other three turtles, and the four of them landed deftly on the back of the second large moving truck. Leo looked up and gave Don a nod of approval.

"Cowabunga, dudes!" Mikey laughed with joy. The other three turned to see the youngest turtle mock surfing on the top of the truck. "Some gnarly waves!"

"Mikey, sometimes I don't know how you're related to us," Raph shook his head. "I wonder if Splinter dropped you on your head or something."

"Why would that matter? I've fallen on my head loads of times," Mikey shrugged.

Leo and Don stifled a laugh while Raphael's jaw just dropped, "You really make it too easy sometimes, Mike."

"Thanks, bro," Mike smiled broadly.

Before anyone could break the young turtle's heart and tell him that Raphael was being sarcastic, gunfire erupted around the trucks. The lead one swerved and tipped, as it slid across the concrete sparks flew into the air, illuminating the row of Purple Dragons that lined the road. The truck that the brothers had been riding swerved as well as Leo could hear the gunshots ricocheting off the metal sides and doors. But whoever was driving their truck was either too brave or too dumb to be scared.

Unfortunately, the small tip tossed Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello off the truck. Leo watched as the three of them took cover behind the fallen truck. Leo looked back in desperation to see Raphael motioning to him to stay on the truck. As much as it hurt him, he knew his brother was right. He had to find out where the Hand were located, and his brothers could handle some street thugs on their own.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by DocTachyon
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DocTachyon Teenage Neenage Neetle Teetles

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Issue 12




New York City, NY --- New York Public Library




Ben had always tried to instill in his boy the value of his local library -- trust your librarian, and that. Houses of knowledge freely available to every American, overflowing with whatever resources you might need, texts and newspapers and computers galore. But this was The Enforcers. Peter doubted how much he could find about them with the Dewey Decimal System, but he needed to get out of the house.

His arm was out of the sling by now but he was careful to support himself on his other arm as he placed himself in the hard oaken seat before a computer that was probably a few generations behind on hardware. Peter scooted forward and began punching in his card information to the blue readout, fingers flying across the keys. They’d be good to fly, soon, Peter thought, to hold onto the line and feel the wind ripple his costume. But for now, there was this.

The NYPL’s walls were lacquered wooden bookshelves as far as the eye could see, giving way to smooth stonework and a dark coffered ceiling that looked almost like the night sky from where Pete sat, but he was more immediately concerned with the Chrome tab booting on the warhorse of a computer. Peter looked at his fingers as the loading dial circled for the umpteenth time.

Concentrate… The arm of his sweatshirt was pulled all the way forward, and his costume swirled into place around his muscles, spiraling up his arm. He squeezed and it pushed up and past his sleeve and wound around his hand. His eyes went up for an instant, scanning the faces around him. The other library-goers were absorbed, slack-jawed at screens or with noses buried in books. He looked back. His spider-glove had formed around his hand. He squinted.

Concentrate harder… Parts of the fabric receded, molding around his hand. At the back of his hand it opened, and it began sprouting metallic studs at his knuckles. Fingerless gloves. A little tasteless, but a good test of what the suit could do.

Great! Now all I gotta do is do that all over and… And then what, Parker? Dress up as Megawatt? “Hey guys, it’s me, new and improved, and with spider powers! You all buy that, right?”

Peter rested his chin in his hands and scanned the screen as the Google logo flashed before him. He bit his thumb and pecked at the keyboard with his other hand.

THE ENFORCERS. Peter typed. It was a start, at least. The page flashed and a slew of results zipped to the bottom of the screen. They were about what Peter expected. An IMDB link to a documentary Ben would probably like, stuff for the Osborn Arcade Expo, and a book series which made Peter blush. He clicked through the pages, one at a time, all for more of the same. Piles of news articles and books, until--

BewareTheBat.com? The light of the blue link shone in Peter’s eyes. “RARE VIDEO FOOTAGE -- BAT VS. ENFORCERS, WATCH NOW”. The readout said it was a few years old. Peter clicked through and was assaulted by all the garish offenses of early 2000s web design, a JPEG of a terrible font announcing the website as “BEWARE THE BAT -- The Internet’s #1 Batman Fanzine”, with a crudely rendered 3d bat logo making slow rotations in the upper right corner.

Peter scrolled. The video link had broken, but the original poster had something to say about it:
jsn_84
>BATMAN VS. ENFORCERS clip guys!!! yeah u heard me. the ONLY circulated clip of basty in action! tends 2 get taken down WHEREVER it goes up, watch qwik! ttyl, njoy

Great, my best lead is a non-existent clip on a fanzine. Loving life. Peter scanned the rest of the comments.

batfan8675309
>WOAH DUDE! Been looking E V E R Y W H E R E 4 this bad boy, DLing now!!!

BMansWackyQuest
>ugggghhhhh video qualityyyyyy

laughapalooza42
>lol who ARE these fuggin clowns, never heard of em
>give us THE JOKER

EdwardNygmaIsMyDad
>broken link

sp00kys4arcy$c4recrows
>@laughapalooza42 They r just smoe low lvl mooks i thnk

BatScholar
>@laughapalooza @sp00kys4arcy$c4recrows Actually according to my research, The Enforcers were a team of mercenaries who were actually quite successful before Batman got them: Daniel ‘Fancy Dan’ Brito, Ronald ‘Ox’ Bloch, and Jackson ‘Montana’ Brice. The Gotham Times coverage at the time credits the defeat to then Commissioner, but then this security footage started circulating!

laughapalooza42
>@BatScholar lol nerd

JonyG1989
>WHERE IS THE VIDEOOOOOO

tickitytockity
>@BatScholar where are they now? Arkham?

BatScholar
>@JonyG1989 This particular clip tends to appear and then disappear just as quickly across the net. We tend to think it’s Batman taking it down himself, avoiding publicity. If that’s the case, it’s a wonder this site is still afloat…
>@tickitytockity Actually, they would’ve been sent to Blackgate, but they’re out by now. As far as I can glean, rumor has it that they went legit, or as legit as rogues do. Apparently they’re behind Enforcers Inc., a ‘security’ company to provide teams like theirs used to be to enterprising supervillain types. A solid idea, but I’d be surprised if The Bat or someone hasn’t cracked down by now.

Enforcers Incorporated? Great, Spider-Man vs. Corporate America… Well, at least its not Amazon. Peter flicked the screen to a different tab and searched for it. It was the first result -- their website was plain, a slate grey and steel look that was at the very least created by a competent graphic designer. Not exactly screaming supervillain pow-wow right on the front page. Peter moved through the menus and sub-menus: Contracting, Services, Employment, Contact Us… Then, under About Us: Our Founders. Peter clicked.

There header changed to a cropped photo of three men, all in striped business suits. One was huge, muscles swelling out of his suit coat. He was almost as big as Kangaroo. The other two stood in front to either side of him -- both were slighter, and one had darker skin. The other seemed insistent on wearing a cowboy hat, with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth. Peter scrolled. There were three names listed on the page, and paragraphs of description for each.

JACKSON BRICE
DANIEL BRITO
RONALD BLOCH

It was looking like BatScholar was right about at least one thing. But maybe he had a bone to pick with the security company. Peter pressed new tab and drummed his fingers on the keyboard.

Search By Video.
“Enforcers + Batman”. 20,000 results. Peter scrolled. He frowned.
“Enforcers + Batman + fight”. 50 results. Peter clicked through each page. Most were YouTube news reports, dredging up old stories with each wave of BatMania that deigned to sweep the nation.

If the video keeps getting deleted… Peter gnawed harder into his thumb. He had one more solid guess up his sleeve.

“BatScholar + Enforcers”. 47 results. BatScholar was prolific. Most were posts on other fanblogs through the years, but he came across something on the third page -- BatScholar.net, The Internet’s One And Only One Man Batman Academy.

The page was newer, with embedded video, and BatScholar’s commentary beneath. It wasn’t anything Peter hadn’t already gleaned from the other sites, but there were links to mirrors beneath the video. The fourth, “b4tm4n v 3n4crz” that gave him results.

VHS artifacting ripples across the screen. Through the grain, we’re seeing the warehouse, forms of men shifting underneath the rafter beams, dragging crates behind them. The video shudders and the perspective shifts, spliced to a different camera. There are three trucks, grimy in the viewframe. One man stands over them, arms crossed and bulging like steel support wire. For an instant, there is a figure that flashes behind and above him, in the rafters beyond. It is a ghost. A glitch in the cameras.

The perspective shifts again. Another camera, a higher angle. A man in a cowboy hat waves on the half dozen workers. Another, in combat gear, leans against a steel support beam. There is a flash before the camera’s angle, the rustle of passing fabric catching on substandard audio equipment. The video winks out.

The camera above the rafters. There is something there, watching, waiting. Inhuman and bulbous, swelling like the black of the midnight ocean. Fabric rolling like a thundercloud. It is gone as fast as it appeared, secreted away among the steelwork. Hanging bays of fluorescent lights flicker. Below, there is one less workman. The Cowboy stirs.

New angle. Cowboy pulls the lariat from his hip, and whips his head from side to side. His lips flap worlessly. Superimposed subtitles flash: “WHERE IS [UNINTELLIGIBLE]?” Combat Armor pushes off from his post, obscuring the camera.

A steel ping-pong ball connects with the ground almost faster than the editor can change angles. It explodes and smoke rushes from in in a wave, instant dust storm. The camera twitches, rapidly, changing perspectives. Goons break from the smog, faces twisted, before gloved hands arced with spines emerge to drag them back, mouths silently screaming.

Big Man makes an audible ’WHUMP’ into the nearest camera’s receivers as he drops into the smog, flinging himself from the truck. The smog is beginning to clear. The workers are scattered, some hog tied and left to lie on the ground, others hung from the rafters at odd angles, legs and arms splayed out. Others still are wound to boxes with steel cable, necks limp. Big Man, Cowboy, and Combat Armor stand in loose formation, back to back, eyeing every angle. Combat Armor reaches behind his back. Cowboy’s grip tightens. Big Man cracks his knuckles.

Camera shift. The men stand before the trucks. Something silver and yellow passes through the fuzz of the VHS format and slams into the ground. The camera’s audio whines, trying to keep up with some noise, but it squeaks and fails, sputtering artifacts into the recording. Sonic grenade. Something dark and massive slams into freight trucks from above, crumpling the hood before a black wash of fabric falls over it, obscuring. The figure draws to its full height, impossibly tall from his angle, steeped in liquid darkness, covering everything but a symbol on its chest. A Bat.

Combat Armor claps his hands over his ears and runs, barreling over crates and jamming fingers into his ears. Cowboy is more pragmatic, he yells and twirls his lariat, snaking it around the grenade. But he is not fast enough to save his friend. Batman launches forward and is punching the Big Man before he can react. His fists land like machinegun fire -- “thuda-thuda-thuda-thuda-thuda--” Batman sweeps away before the big guy can so much as raise his arm, and drives an elbow into his solar plexus. He wheezes and pitches forward as the Cowboy yanks the grenade, throwing it to the far off reaches of the warehouse. Batman swings back with a foot to Big Man’s inner knee and he topples, crashing into the ground.

The Bat is gone, off camera before Cowboy can get eyes on him. His chest is heaving. He holds his lariat above his head. You can see the sweat beading on his forehead. Something drops from above, a rope twists around Cowboy’s body and he pulls at it, desperate. His feet leave the ground, but a knife arcs from somewhere beyond the edge of the screen and the ropes gives. Cowboy hits the dirt.

A new angle now and Combat Armor has readied another knife. Staring offscreen. Lips move. “I SEE YOU, BAT!” The subtitles read. He doesn’t. A metal shuriken swings in from off-camera, stabbing into the back of Combat Armor’s hand.

“AIIIEEEEE!” The subtitles read. Combat Armor clutches his hand and Batman moves in from behind, grabbing him around the waist and launching beyond the camera’s view, seeming to take off to the sky.

It changes again and there is a mass of black fabric, stringing Combat Armor to the rafters, lowering the rope down, meter by meter. Cowboy is moving again on the ground. He’s lost his hat, and his head snaps to every noise like a small dog.

New perspective. Batman drops, sending sawdust into the air as he lands. Cowboy recoils. Sees Combat Armor swinging from the rafters.

“YOU MOTHER******!” The subtitles read. The whip cracks forward and Batman sidesteps, driving in for the finishing blow. He is not fast enough. The tip of the whip circles back around and lashes over his chest. Batman drips backward. Gloved hands touch at the wound and Cowboy cracks a grin. He moves for another strike, but now Batman is ready. The whip snaps and Batman raises his fist to intercept. The line contorts and is caught on his glove, wound between the spines. Cowboy pulls, desperate, but Batman pulls in, abusing the leverage. Cowboy stumbles forward and Batman brings his knee up to meet the combatant. The cowboy crumples.

Batman unwinds the lariat from his hand in slow, practiced circles. He tenses for a moment and turns. Microfilament lenses lock onto the camera lens. A batarang flashes and the feed dies. The angles shifts once more, but it is too late. There is already more smoke. The Bat is gone, with nothing but the bodies of Enforcers in his wake.


The screen refreshed as soon as the video ended. “SORRY, THIS FILE IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE.”

That was Enforcers Inc. alright, if the cowpoke was anything to go by… Peter clicked away from the tab. I wonder if I should do Spider Gadgets? That grenade thing was cool… I could do, what? Impact webbing? Web grenades? Maybe something less obstinately web-themed?

“Peter Parker?” It was a voice Peter had mostly heard conjuring retorts for Flash’s jokes, or melting into the choir of cheerleaders chanting at games and Spirit Rallies.

“Liz Allan?” Peter responded in kind, bringing his elbows in from the computer. It was her; straight dark hair that went past her shoulders and a smile that made Flash Thompson lose whatever few brain cells he was still holding onto.

“Surprised to see me?” She pulled out the chair next to Peter and thumbed the power, inspecting her nails while it booted.

“Well, I mean, I don’t think you’ve talked to me in…” Peter considered, “... Ever.”

Liz shrugged.

“When I saw the one glove wonder I couldn’t resist.”

Cripes. Peter hadn’t retracted the substance of his costume, and the fingerless glove was still locked around his hand. He offered a smile and puffed out his chest.

“I saw it in the closet and realized I just couldn’t leave home without it.” He winked with altogether too many face muscles.

Liz rolled her eyes. She tapped at the keyboard.

“What brings you to the PL? Wouldn’t you rather work at your super-science lab or whatever?” She asked.

“When I ran my English paper through the centrifuge it came out all chewed up, so I figured I’d try here next.” Peter offered, trying to navigate to a web page that didn’t expose his tight-wearing escapades.

“Better than trying to write a paper when Flash is gunning it with the top down.” Liz replied. She had pulled up a few tabs -- one was the Daily Bugle, with a grainy shot of Peter’s mask, bug eyes looking directly back into the camera while he heaved a cop over one shoulder. The others were assorted google tabs and fansites, steeped in black and spider logos.

I have fansites? Sweet!

“Spider-Man paper?” Peter asked. He scratched at his glove idly, and the white glow of his own computer started to fade to screensaver.

“We have to write about a current event for Journo, anything related to the attack. Figured I’d suss out what our neighborhood wallcrawler was up to then.”

“Where are you at on the web head?”

Web head, that’s a new one. Groovy. I figure he’s just trying to help, yknow? He hasn’t done us any worse than Wonder Woman -- but Flash is head over heels with him.”

Flash Thompson. Head over heels. With me. I think I’m gonna faint. Peter felt a twinge of nausea at the base of his stomach.

Flash? Really?”

“Mhm. That guy’s just a big teddy bear. If he’d stop being an asshole for five minutes.”

“How do you put up with him?”

Liz looked at him then. She pushed her hair back and air rushed out of her nostrils. She turned back to her computer.

“I ask myself that one a lot, Parker. Sometimes you just sorta… End up with people. Like that Osborn kid and Mary Jane.”

“Ouch.” Peter scratched at his chest, over his heart.

“But maybe every now and then you need to... What’s that Static guy always saying…? Put a shock in your system?” She didn’t sound convinced.

Peter thought about the feeling of Megawatt’s electricity arcing through him, scorching his veins. He could still taste the metal in his mouth. Like when he and Harry stuck batteries on their tongues. Peter curled his gloved hand into a fist. The fabric felt good against his fingertips.

“Sometimes the shock hurts… But I guess sometimes it has to.”

She smiled for just a second, eye crinkling and then suddenly opening wider than they had before. Like something just clicked. “Maybe it does, Parker. Maybe it does.”

Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He moved to check it.

Incoming Message from: PARKER, BEN

Where are you Peter? Should be getting rest & May says you are not in your room. Work again 2day? XOXO, Ben


Peter grimaced. It was looking like he’d need to spend another few hours at home for the Parker Pity Hour. And if he had to hear ben bitch about Spider-Man’s behavior one more time… Peter steadied himself. He cleared his throat.

“Well this has been, um,” Peter searched for the words, a time certainly, but it looks like I need to bounce.”

“Hey, Peter. Before you go: have you been to any of the football games this year?”

Peter gave a shallow laugh as he stood. “I see Flash rattling people’s brain cases enough on my own time.”

Liz chuckled softly. Peter liked it, he decided. “Mhm. You should come. Sometime.”

Peter fiddled with the strap of his bag.

“Maybe… Maybe I will.”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista

Member Seen 6 hrs ago


Location: New Mexico
A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.03

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 2.02

Bruce had quickly come to hate the sound of the desert, and in the time since he’d been stuck here, needless to say that hadn’t changed. It was mostly the wind, the breeze picking at dirt and boulder. Sometimes there was a sound of a creature, the fearful hiss of a snake or flapping of a wing. Mostly it was his feet taking step by step. It was through those feet that he had become so aware of whatever was within him. Every day he tore his feet to shreds walking, and every morning they would be patched up stronger. He was healing, regenerating. He had been for a while but only now was he starting to see. On one hand things were easier: he likely wouldn’t die at least, and as he skin was tanning and feet getting firm the actual trail was easier to blaze. But on the other he only had his thoughts and the sound of emptiness. He hadn’t found a road so he must have been going in circles, or been unlucky in the direction he picked, or perhaps set back by those times his body couldn’t handle itself and something else took control. It was all a terrible mess, and he wanted to be free of it.

Then there was another sound.

---


Splintered and shattered, dust bellowed into the air, lungs of fire glowing from within the cloud.

“Direct hit sir.” A bespectacled operative reported. Overseeing from the back, eyes narrowed on the footage being displayed among the various monitors, General Ross picked at his firm mustache with one of his hands. The other rested trapped in a cast, hung on a sling. The general only wore a regular army shirt, his dress coat not suitable with his current injury. The man need not have served in his present state, but his was a fury that could not be so easily contained. Between the current climate around metahumans, public response to the El Diablo attack, and his own fervor, getting permission for the counterattack was simple. They’d been watching, it was only a matter of time before they could strike.

As the cloud ruptured, a green monster tearing out of it, Ross knew other matters were not going to be so simple.

As the Hulk gave chase to its attackers, bounding after them, an analyst noted, “The target’s vertical jump distance leaves the drones just out of reach at their current altitude.”

Head perking up, Ross ordered, “Get closer. Attract its attention and pull back.”

Several miles away, the drones were but a speck to the Hulk, but each jump brought them closer. Plan of attack ready, in a short minute the Hulk was on them, jumping up only for the drones to pull upward and turn about, Hulk slipping past and crashing to the ground. As it began to turn back it met another payload, swallowed by fire and dust yet again. Drones starting to circle like vultures, Hulk came out of the smoke blind, but jumping dangerously close. Then there was a its arm, pulled back before letting loose. It began to fall back as one of the drones command consoles shout warnings, its integrity compromised, a rock the size of a cake having sent the drone closer to its last, a wing plummeting to the ground as the Hulk did. The drone stayed aloft but it wasn’t going to last. It’s travel was halted as the Hulk returned to the sky once again, grabbing the drone and twisting its whole body, redirecting its descent right into the flight path of a second drone. The third fired a missile that went awry, slipping past the Hulk as he fell back to the ground once again. The tossed drone narrowly missed its target, emergency maneuvers getting it out of the way, by the drone pulled to its side had trouble stabilizing, skirting the ground and bouncing off the crags below, grounded.

The third drone had pulled back, firing just as the Hulk went after it. The monster could not reach, but the cameras finally got a good visual, noting that the missiles had found their mark, Hulk speckled in char and matted dust. Yet it did not slow his charge. Another missile came in hoping to do just that, and the Hulk swatted it aside like it was a bug.

Ross felt his eyelid throb. Sneering at that monster on screen, he finally spat, “Abort the operation.” He could feel stinging in his throat from trying to shout orders these last few minutes of combat, but it had been a disappointing endeavor. All that ordinance and the Hulk didn’t even seemed phased. Then he heard the last of it. “Sir, the last drone was taken out.”

Brow crumpling, Ross stood from his seat. Lifting it up, his arm bent awkwardly in his sling, barely gripping it with that hand, before swinging it into the wall behind him. One chair leg made a dent in the plaster. If both his arms were working then it’d have done more, he knew. That fact only pissed him off even more, dent deepening with another smack of the chair. The back of the seat came off on the third hit, chair clattering to the ground and bouncing against his shin.

Holding back another roar, Ross’ voice cracked as he commanded, “You are all dismissed. Prep a team to salvage the drones once the Hulk is clear of the area, and GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I RIP OFF SOMEONE’S ARM AND SHOVE IT DOWN THEIR THROAT.” The scramble was immediate and brief.

Placing one hand on his desk in the now empty command room, every breath further stoked the fire within him.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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Bounce

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[ Prev ] FEAT OF CLAY, Part XIV” [ Next ]
B L Ü D H A V E N

Lanely Point

The light seemed to pulse overhead.

The Lanely Point Lighthouse was a white and black structure that rose above the cay, it’s rotating light still illuminating a warning about the rocks and shoals that framed the entry into the islands that had become strung together to form the city of Blüdhaven.

The bay that the lighthouse marked was a jagged mouth, the ebb and flow of the tide masking some of the rocks that jutted upward waiting to catch unsuspecting ships by surprise. The thin beachhead was craggy. Its sand was coarse. It wasn’t exactly what most people would call the beach. It was more like sandpaper and fiberglas.

“That about right?”

The two kids were standing just behind the dunes that separated the train yard from the beachhead. This part of the Blüdhaven islands was all zoned for industrial. The old blue line railroad had operated from here, leaving a plethora of new and old train tracks. They were in the shadow of the lighthouse.

If he had triangulated the girl’s statements correctly, then the appearance of the light overhead should have matched her description.

“This all feels familiar,” the girl uttered. Her hands were buried down in the sleeves of the long cardigan that she wore over the simple miniskirt, clutching at her blouse as though either cold or anxious. Or both. “I’ve been here before. I know it!”

Scrambling up one side of the dunes, the caped toy wonder found himself left behind as the mysterious girl that he’d named Annie had moved for a better vantage point. “There!” he heard the girl exclaim, arriving at the crest of the dune in time to see that the view back along the New Jersey shoreline included a factory and a series of pipes that ran out to the sea. “That’s it! Those pipes! I remember!”

Then, Annie scrambled down the other side of the dune.

“Whoa, not so fast!” the boy called out, reached out a second too late to have halted her departure.

Sliding down after her, the boy was startled at how uneven the ground was. Even with his gyroscopic stabilizers and terrain mapping, by the time he had caught up with the girl, she was already halfway inside of one of the pipes.

“I don’t like this,” the masked doll remarked, climbing up into the drainage as he followed after her. “If this is where you lost your memory, we could be walking right into serious trouble.”

“I have to know, Robin,” the girl stated, with a confidence and determination had was unlike any other time she had spoken.

Her arm hooked around his, pulling them closer together as they walked. Her hand moved down to his, and the two held hands as they walked. Turning her head toward her, she said, “Besides, it won’t be the same this time. You’re here to protect me.”

Jason had turned the focus of his attention to Annie. Internally, he was trying to decipher the behavioral cues behind her holding his hand, the kiss from earlier, and the change in her demeanor. His human behavioral programming included data on adolescent crushes, but he had no experience in constructing responses for those behavior indicat...

The floor dropped out from beneath the two of them.

With her attention on him, and his attention on her, neither had paid attention to where they had been going. They had stepped right into a literal hole in the ground, slipping down another drainage pipe.

The fall was short, but Jason’s processors had already compensated. He stuck the landing with a splash, catching Annie in a bridal carry. “Great,” the boy commented, easing Annie back to her feet. Again, they held hands as they both looked around.

The passage behind was sealed off. “Guess the only way now is forward.”

Annie’s hand tightened the grip on his. He could see several non-verbal cues that registered as fear reactions, shying back as she uttered only, “He’s here.”

With his free hand, the boy drew a batarang from his utility belt, holding it at the ready even as he asked, “Your father?”

Just as had happened at the bus terminal earlier, Annie’s intuition turned out to be right on point. From the spot where she was currently fixated like a cornered animal, emerged the unmistakable monstrosity that was Clayface.

“Finally. You’ve come back to me,” Hagan uttered, in his rumbling voice. “Now we can cut out the games,” the man uttered, extending a hand out toward the girl.

Annie seemed frozen in fear, her face transfigured into a look of horror as Hagan’s fingers came toward her, until finally her scream shattered the silence inside the tunnel.

Hagan’s arm seemed to bounce upward, shifted at an unusual angle. Mud splattered up the sides of the tunnel and across the girl’s face.

Robin had placed himself between the girl and Clayface. The batarang had severed Clayface’s outstretched arm, even as the boy pulled Annie from out of the path of the charging giant. Stepping around the path of the monster, the caped youth narrowly avoided Clayface as he went barreling past.

“Come on!” he urged, breaking into a sprint with Annie in tow.

They’d made it only a few feet before a stream of mud shot overhead, separating into thin rivets that solidified into something akin to prison bars, blocking the path ahead.

Dropping one shoulder, the doll transferred additional power to the servos and hydraulics powering his right arm. The concrete-like construct shattered with a sweep of the boy’s hand. Bits of Clayface rained down on the two of them, as the show of force shattered the obstruction.

Jason was not human and, in this instance, had neither the inclination nor the patience to pretend otherwise. Grabbing Annie’s hand, the pair drove on ahead. “Come on. Quick!” the boy urged, seizing upon an open passage that seemed to lead out of this tunnel.

Leaping through the portal, the boy planted his feet and then helped Annie through, before the pair broke into a desperate run.

They appeared to be in an industrial complex of some kind. Scanning the signs and nomenclature for exit signs, the doll was conscious of the fact that the warehouse-like structure was dominated by large storage tanks.

This appeared to be a chemical manufacturing or holding facility. The Acme Chemical factory. It had been here since the industrial revolution, with the blue line railroad having served as the means of transporting the materials produced here to the factories and refineries in Gotham and elsewhere.

As the pair ran, the girl felt a strange sensation. Looking at her outstretched hand that was being dragged behind the caped crusader, she observed the clayface fragments starting to melt into her skin.

A sharp gasp caught Robin by surprise, skidding to a halt, he reached back to grab Annie by the waist and then move her behind him. Bracing himself, as though expecting Clayface to be on them any moment, the boy drew two batarangs from his belt and stood ready. Without looking back, he called to her as he asked, “You okay?”

“I understand now.”

“Good, because I’m lost,” Robin uttered aloud. Craning his head just enough so that Annie was in his peripheral field of vision, the boy asked, “What do you have to do with Clayface?”

Extending her hand so that he could see it, Annie displayed an arm mangled by protrusions that were seemingly fused to her.

“I am Clayface.”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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The truck continued to barrel along towards the where ever the Hand had decided to set up shop in New York. Leonardo gritted his teeth silently and held on with all his strength, determined to make it there in one piece. He was worried about his brothers, of course, but deep down he knew they'd be able to take care of themselves. They were ninja, and they were together. They were always stronger together.

That's why he was worried about himself. Going into enemy territory by himself was just asking for trouble, but this was the only way they were gonna find out where the Hand were. Knowing where your enemy laid their head was an important advantage to have, and why the Turtles had done everything they could to protect the location of the lair.

Tires screeching filled his ears as the truck skidded around a corner. The Dragons were no longer pursuing the truck, so there was no reason to continue driving like this. But Leonardo knew more than most that fear had a powerful affect when it took hold. He wasn't sure if the person driving the truck was scared of the Dragons' attack or what waited for them when they told their superiors that one of the trucks had been lost. Leo was leaning towards the latter.

Finally, the truck began to approach a guarded gate. Leonardo slid down the back of the truck and climbed below it, holding on tightly to the vehicles under carriage. His shell was inches from the ground, but there was enough clearance, and he wouldn't be seen down here. Above he would have been a sitting duck.

Once the truck came to a stop, the men inside began unloading its contents into the building. After what felt like an eternity, the men were gone and Leo felt confident enough to slide from beneath the vehicle. He then found a shadowy area to assess the situation he found himself in. It was clear the Hand had converted an old warehouse area into their base. But where was once aging industrialism was now a full fledged ninja dojo. He could see at least a dozen men standing guard by the walls. Luckily none of them seemed worried about the inner compound.

That was a good thing, for sure.

He scaled the main building, peeking into windows when he could. But he saw little of use. A few quarters of the ninja. Nothing all that noteworthy. At least not until he came to a big window overlooking the main atrium of the dojo.

There, sitting on a dias above the sensei position, shining brightly below the lights, cut the visage of Oroku Saki's helmet.

"Holy shit, am I the luckiest bastard alive," Leo said in pure amazement.

That was before, of course, a sword found itself at his throat. As the steel pressed on him, he didn't move, but looked out the corner of his eye at its wielder. There he saw a girl, not much older than he was. She pressed a finger to her lips, instructing him to be quiet.

"My name is Karai," she whispered. "I am of the Chaste. And you and I seem to have similar goals."




Gunfire continued to ricochet off the truck as the Dragons refused to let up their attack. Considering what Splinter had told Raphael and his brothers about the Hand, he didn't blame them. The Dragons weren't anything more than a street gang. They wouldn't have a shot in hell against a ninja. Making sure he was dead was the best idea they could possibly have.

"We need to get away from these trucks!" Donnie called over the sound of gunfire.

"No shit, Donnie!" Raph growled back at his brother.

"We're about to become Swiss cheese bros!" Mikey's eyes were about as big as the moon with worry.

"No we're not, Mike," Raphael nodded to his belt and took smoke bombs off of it. "You guys remember the exercise father makes us do? Where we throw the stars over our shoulders? Same principal. Make sure you get them far enough. Listen to the gunfire to judge the distance. Donnie, lay a few down closer to us. I want to be able to bridge the gap quickly so they don't have time to gun us down before we get there."

"Yea, that would be no bueno," Mike nodded.

"On my count," Raph nodded.

The smoke bombs flew silently through the air, and once they hit the ground all hell broke loose. The smoke exploded into the air, covering the entire battlefield in a thick covering of smoke. The three turtles knew that it wouldn't last, but it had done its job. They could hear the Dragons yelling in confusion and the gunfire had subsided.

"Now," Donnie said, and the three of them sprinted towards both sides of the road where the shooting had come from. Don and Mikey took one side of the road, and Raph had taken the other.

He knew he was the better fighter than the other two, and had no problem taking on the Dragons by himself. In fact, he relished at the opportunity. These thugs had no idea what was coming for them, and Raphael was more than happy to deliver it personally.

The first Dragon was reached when the fog of war was still thick. He didn't see the mutant turtle coming. The butt of Raph's sai struck him across the temple, dropping him to the ground in a heap without the ninja needing to break his stride. The next two were fumbling for flashlights on their belts. He hooked one of their guns out of the man's hand, spun it, and threw it at the other. The metal of the weapon struck the second man on the bridge of his nose. Raphael heard the crack of the bone and the yelp of pain as it broke under the swift strike. He was on the now-bleeding man in a blink. Using his momentum, Raphael grabbed the Dragon by his shoulders and tossed him into the now-disarmed one.

By now the smoke had started to dissipate, but it didn't matter at this point. The turtles had broken their ranks. Raph had estimated that there were about twelve guns participating the attack. He had already taken three of them down. If his brothers were anywhere close to that he assumed there would be four more done. That left five.

They didn't stand a chance.

He saw two of them in range, nothing more than shadows in the fog at this point. But they were facing towards him. They may not have noticed him yet, but they would, especially when he moved. He flipped a sai around and tossed it as hard as he could at the man on the left, and took off after it. He heard it crack against the man's skull. Luckily it did exactly what he had hoped. The other man was distracted by the gambit, giving Raph time to roll towards him, and deliver an uppercut that brought him clear off his feet.

"God I am good," Raph mused to himself.

"Not good enough," a voice announced itself from behind Raphael. The turtle turned to find a hulking blond man looming over him. A smirk was painted over his broad face under a nose that had been broken way too many times. He cracked his knuckles hungrily at the turtle, "I dunno what the hell you are, but you've pissed me off."

"I mean, to be fair, we didn't really mean to, you just shot up our ride," Raph chuckled. "So really, you brought this one on yourself."

"Shut up, would ya?"

The fists came fast and furious. The speed was surprising to Raphael. he had expected the man to be strong, but clumsy. It was clear from how he fought that he had been trained at some point. That was a worrying proposition.

Raph did all he could to keep out of the reach of the larger man. He managed to block a few of the haymakers, and even managed to get a kick to the man's chin in. That just seemed to make him angrier. Raph's ankle was snatched out of midair and he was brought off his feet and slammed to the ground. The blow knocked the wind out of him, and the turtle gasped for air.

"All you freaks think this city is yours to control," he raised his foot to stomp on Raphael's head. "But I'm gonna remind you that we're still here."

Before his foot came down, something hit him hard and exploded with a small pop, driving him backwards. Raphael looked up as a succession of other projectiles did the same, sending the big man into retreat. Raph searched for their origin, his eyes finally falling on a figure in a hockey mask standing in the shadows. He motioned towards Raph, "Come on! You guys need to get out of here!"

Raphael didn't need to be told twice.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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[ Prev ] FEAT OF CLAY, Part XV” [ Next ]
B L Ü D H A V E N

Lanely Point

Extending her hand so that he could see it, Annie displayed an arm mangled by protrusions that were seemingly fused to her.

“I remember now,” Annie said, her face downcast as her arm went limp. “Clayface had washed out to sea. He couldn’t hold his form anymore. He drifted near those pipes and something in the chemicals made him whole again.”

Her arms came up, gripping the sleeves of the cardigan that she wore, as she seemed to try to hug herself. “But he wasn’t strong yet and he didn’t know where he was, so he created me. And then sent me off to find out if it was safe. I was supposed to look around and then come back, but when I walked away from him... I forgot.”

Turning her head up, the girl seemed on the verge of tears as she said, “Now he wants to take me back.”

Even for a computer, it was a lot of data to process. It was only a second or more, but to a digital processor, that was an eternity. When he’d finally blinked, the costumed toy wonder snapped forward. Placing his hands on the girl’s arms, he said, “I won’t let him.” His hands gave a squeeze as he declared, “Don’t worry. I’ll save you!”

“Save what?”

It was heart-wrenching, the sound of someone losing hope. Turning her face away from his, the girl softly uttered, “Don’t you see? I’m not real.”

In that instant, the doll’s own words seemed to play back into his audio receptors. “I’m not real, but you always treat me like I’m a real person,” he’d said those words to Dick. And Dick had tried to correct him. Suggested that Toyboy was as real as anyone.

He hadn’t believed it then. But, for some reason, he desperately needed to believe now.

Yes,” the boy said, with such conviction that Annie looked up. “You are.”

“No, she’s not.”

“-tt-” the doll uttered, a tic displaying itself as Jason pulled himself away from Annie. Drawing an explosive batarang from his utility belt, the Toy Wonder squared off as Matthew Hagan emerged from out of the shadows of the chemical warehouse.

A large sickle-shaped blade formed, transforming Clayface’s right arm into a scythe that dragged along the ground, creating a grating sound. “You know now. You’re part of me,” Hagan said, extending his left hand out toward the girl. “Come home.”

“Stay behind me,” Jason snapped, flipping open the batarang. Dropping his stance, the doll was already starting to analyze the available options. “Don’t let him touch you,” the boy added, recalling that Annie had fused with Hagan’s debris.

Hagan’s right arm pulled back. “I’ve warned you once kid. Stay out of this!” Clayface roared, thrusting the scythe forward.

Jason jumped over the strike, bouncing off Clayface’s extended arm and then planting a swift boot print to Hagan’s face.

Slumping forward, Annie cradled her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do anymore!”

“Come back to me,” Hagan uttered, even as he sparred with the Toy Wonder. “It’s the only thing you can do,” the man added, as his left hand started to stretch toward the girl.

“No!”

The batarang stuck into the back of Hagan’s head, producing a crater in the shoulder and torso when it exploded a moment later. Clayface’s form swirled, as the monstrous form turned to face the doll. As the creature’s head re-formed, the monster uttered, “That’s enough out of you.”

Jumping back, the boy narrowly avoided a scissor strike as Clayface produced two razor-like projectiles and launched them in a criss-cross fashion toward the youth. Landing atop a maintenance catwalk, the costumed youth paused only long enough to verify that he had Clayface’s full attention before scrambling up the thin metal scaffolding.

His eyes were actively scanning the OSHA warning labels on the tanks that surrounded them. He had already pulled Hagan’s chemical composition from memory. Hagan’s altered physiology contained carbon, lime, and calcium.

A tendril of clay looped overhead. Swinging up from the floor, Hagan’s colossal form dropped onto the catwalk in front of the toy wonder. “End of the line,” the man uttered, squatting low as he blocked the path ahead.

Putting his head down, the doll increased the power output to his hydraulic motors. He hit Clayface with inhuman force. The man briefly gave a gasp of surprise, as the boy tore straight through his body.

Solvent.

Oxide salt.

What he needed was alumina.

A tendril of clay wrapped itself around around the boy’s arm, morphing outward into a hand that seized him by the wrist as it pulled him back.

“You’re stronger than the last one,” Hagan uttered, as Clayface reformed himself.

Flattening his palm and fingers out into a knife-hand, the boy executed an inhumanly fast uppercut. The liquefaction from the strike caused the slash to expand outward, neatly bisecting Clayface’s torso and head as the Toy Wonder calmly took a step back.

“You would be mistaken to confuse me for the prior Robin,” Jason uttered flatly.

Two more tendrils came up from behind him, encircling his head and neck. “Shame you breathe like him,” Hagan uttered, reaching out to grab the boy by the shoulders and pull him into a bear hug. Layers upon layers of clay began to fold over his head. Pulling against the clay was like salt taffy, it came away in ribbons as the boy struggled against the creature.

That was when it saw it.

It was only a glimpse. A brief second. But it was enough for Toyboy to be able to accurately read the warning label on the tank that was beneath them.

It a storage tank containing tetracalcium aluminoferrite.

Clayface had enveloped Jason’s hands and arms, struggling to contain him in a battle of strength that caused Hagan to have to maintain a solid form.

It was enough for Robin to pick Hagan up off the catwalk. And then pitch both Clayface and himself off the side of it.

The pair slammed down into a brown, crystalline salt.

A cloud erupted, as Hagan leapt out a second later. “No,” the man uttered, trying to walk and only able to stagger a few steps before his leg broke off. His form was starting to harden. “N...”

Arm outstretched, Matthew Hagan solidified into a cement statue.

Jason dropped down from the tank a moment later. Annie rushed toward him, prompting the boy to throw up his hands to stop her. “Whoa. Don’t hug me,” he cautioned, being caked in the brown alumina salt.

Turning her head, Annie looked out over the statue of Hagan. “What about Clayface?”

“The statute of limitations has run on most of past crimes, but a significant number are still running.”

It had been so long since Dick had said anything, that even Jason had forgotten that the former Robin was monitoring from the man-cave. “Not to mention to most recent crimes, assuming we can make the evidence stick.”

"That's a problem for the police," the Toy Wonder stated finally.

“So what about me?” Annie asked next, turning her head up to look at the Toy Wonder.

“Yeah, what about her?”

The doll paused for a moment. “That’s up to you,” he stated finally, giving a smile toward the girl. “But, I think I know some people who can help.”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Location: New Mexico
A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.04

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 2.03

Waking up was a new beginning that Bruce was no longer looking forward too. These rests had only been fatigue after fatigue. Aimless, it didn’t seem to matter which direction he moved in, so maybe it was better not to move at all.

Then he caught the smell of oils of some kind, a manufactured stench. Opening his eyes, he got up, looking about to see smoke, black and noxious. Unnatural and artificial. Scampering across dust in between shrubs, he cried out as he felt pain across his foot. Looking down there was a hunk of metal jutting out of the ground. Watching his step, foot angled to avoid putting pressure on his wound, each step still testing it and making him hold back a small yelp of pain, he made it to his goal, looking at the wreckage. He felt his insides wash away, averting his gaze, not wanting to see any further.

It was an aircraft. The last sound he’d heard was that of a missile, set to destroy him. And yet now, it was he who was standing. He heard a raspy rattled gurgle from his own throat, reverberating as he tried to get away on his wobbly legs. The drumbeat of his heart matched the throbbing in his head. He couldn’t look, because if he did he’d risk seeing a body. The absolute proof he needed to know that the missile should have done its job.

Peeling away, he whined as he saw the smoke of yet another wreck, then another. The energy had been swept out of him. Buckling he feel to his knees, thrusting his forehead into the dirt. His hand gripped empty air, before clawing down scraping at the earth, but none of his pain could quell the despair at his actions, the anger at himself.

Anger, that was it wasn’t it. The linking thread between the smoke shop and Talbot. Some kind of intense emotion, like the stew of grief one felt before their death.

To invite suspicion was one thing, to invite government action was another. They knew who he was, what he was, and what he’d done, something Bruce could only imagine. Body no longer hurting, Bruce pushed himself over, resting on his rear. His foot still had blood, but it no longer bled. Wiping it away, it had healed like it was new, something he could see through eyes that had better sight then he remembered having even with corrective lenses.

It was all clear now. So very much.

---


Carefully out of sight, Bruce slipped on a red and white plaid shirt, loose and oversized on his thin body. Finally in something resembling an outfit after days, Bruce skulked away from the rural home, taking to the road a little ways up. His feet had hardened, resisting the heated asphalt with only a mild discomfort. And most importantly of all, he had direction: east, away from the setting sun.

The military hadn’t bothered him again, though for all he knew they could find him at any time. He would deal with that as it came, however. If need be he’d turn himself in, though he couldn’t be certain what prison could contain him. As much as he feared being stuck somewhere cold and dark once again, it was that exact fear that drove his step eastward. He couldn’t go back, not to Betty or Rick. He could only pray they weren’t hurting, that they were still alright. But going back would risk hurting them further. He’d felt guilt and shame over his emotions, but only after the fact. That was his mistake, now he had to know himself, to keep himself restrained before he showed what he was like when he was angry.

He’d never liked when he was angry in the first place.

But as chancy as it was, in New York there might have been someone he could burden, the one with the best chances at knowing why or what exactly he was. Because one thing was certain, he was the only one alive who made Bruce, Bruce. He still hadn’t ever felt resentment over his treatment, just fatigue. His step was not determined: the man could so easily make Bruce feel emotions he didn’t know he had, but maybe that was a good enough threat to keep him in line. A wave of guilt welled from within, but Bruce swallowed hit back. Even after all he’d done, Bruce still couldn’t hate him. And now he knew why. Or rather, where.

Where the one Bruce really despised had been all this time.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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N O M A D



The ax passed through the log like a hot knife through butter, and both halves fell onto the mountainous piles on each side of the cabin's chopping block. The wind kicked up and sent a shiver down the man doing the work's spine. The chill in the air was strong, but it was clean.

The cold had begun to whip through the mountains early this year. The locals had told the man they knew as Grant Barnes that it never snowed at this altitude this early, but that when it did it often meant that the winter would end up being a mild one when all was said and done. The down home superstitious nature of the sentiment had brought a smile to Grant's, or rather Steve Rogers's, face. If the people of Rock Fall, Montana knew who their new resident really was, they were doing an admirable job of pretending not to. Steve hoped the beard he had grown was enough to throw them off the scent, but he was never great at deceiving his fellow man.

But these people lived uncomplicated lives, and that's all Steve needed right now. Time to think and get his head on straight. He saw Sharon everywhere he turned now, and he wasn't going to be any use to anyone as long as that was happening.

At least that's what he was telling himself. Deep down he didn't know if that was the real reason he was here, or if it was because he was scared. It was an odd admission for someone like Steve Rogers to admit. But he was lost in this new world. Things were no longer black and white. Everything was a shade of grey.

Suddenly, Scout, the German Shepard Rogers had adopted about two months ago stood abruptly up from a deep sleep and let out a low, aggressive growl.

Steve bent down next to the dog and patted his head, "What is it, boy?"

He got his answer when the rumble of an engine began to crest over the hill. A truck swiftly followed, and Steve saw one person inside it. But that didn't mean there weren't more vehicles on their way. He snapped at Scout, who was in the ready position behind the super soldier. Steve himself gripped the ax a little more tightly, in preparation for whatever was coming.

But his stance relaxed as the door opened, and Roy Harper, the one-time SHIELD agent known as Arsenal, stepped out. The younger man nodded to Rogers, "We need to talk."

"Looks like I don't have a choice," Rogers motioned towards the modest cabin. "Warmer in there. Don't have much to offer besides some bad coffee."

"Bad's better than none," Harper shrugged and plucked a big bag out of the bed of the truck. "Though we might need something stronger."

The wood door creaked as the two men and one dog trotted through it. The inside was nothing special, but it was everything Steve needed. An old, plushy couch and chair with well-worn grooves where Steve and Scout sat every night sat in front of an old TV. Steve had little time for most of the fluff on it, but even he had to admit the documentaries he found had done wonders for his understanding of the modern world. A small kitchen sat in the corner, the pot of coffee on a small hot plate. On the other side of the wall that bisected the cabin was a bedroom and a bathroom. It wasn't anything to look at, but it was his.

Steve motioned to the couch and Harper took a seat. Scout placed himself across the coffee table from the fugitive, silent, still, and never breaking eye contact.

"Cute dog," Harper mused, moving his head back and forth as the dog kept his gaze.

"Found him on the road," Steve explained as he poured the coffee. "Was abused by his former owner. Took him off his hands, gave Scout a cheeseburger and he's been following me around ever since."

"Yea, I can tell," Harper's eyes narrowed. The dog's narrowed back.

Steve handed the black sludge to the younger man and took a seat in the chair, "What's in the bag?"

"We'll get to that," Harper changed the subject. "You seem to have everything you could need out here."

"I get by," Steve shrugged and took a sip. "Getting my head back on straight isn't going to be easy."

"Yea," Roy rolled the coffee in his hand. "It's gonna have to be."

Rogers put his cup down on the table, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means while you're up here playing Jeremiah Johnson the world is going to shit," Harper snapped bluntly. He put his cup down and met the eyes of the former Captain America. "Ever since you and Wonder Woman disappeared its like things are coming apart at the seams."

Steve scoffed, "Come on. Things aren't great. But I think that's a bit dramatic. There's plenty of others to take care of things."

"Yea," Harper nodded curtly. "Plenty of others to get picked off by ARGUS, or HYDRA, or the League of Assassins, or whoever else is out there. There are a lot of us. You're right. But we're unlinked. Broken. Scattered. Easy picking for the hyenas that want us gone. Once that happens, they'll be free to plunder and pillage as they want."

"I'm not a leader anymore," Steve looked out the window and shook his head. "I can barely figure out who the enemy is."

Harper let out a acidic chuckle at that statement, "Please. Steve Rogers unaware of right and wrong? No, you know exactly who the enemy is, Captain. You're just afraid to admit it. Because the enemy is all around us. They've infiltrated the government. The police. The military. But you know who they are. You're just scared to work outside of the system to fix things. To chart your own path. To stop taking orders and start giving them. That's how we'll win this war."

"What war is that?" Steve's eyebrows raised.

"The only one that matters, Captain Rogers," Harper removed the item from the bag and tossed it to Steve. The vibranium shield felt familiar as it fit into his hand, like an old comfortable shirt. He turned it, and saw the bright blue and red had now been repainted a dark blue with white accents. "The war against injustice."

"How...how did you get it?" Cap shook his head in disbelief.

"Doesn't matter," Harper waved him off. "I have friends with certain skills. What's important is you have it. Now you need to do something with it. You think you're not necessary in today's world? I beg to differ. Just in your back yard a group that calls themselves the Church of Humanity has a compound. Ever heard of them?"

"No," Steve couldn't take his eyes off the shield. "Let me guess, they hate mutants?"

"Only hating mutants would have them a few rungs above where they are in my eyes," Harper shook his head. "They'd still be racist scum, but at least the kinds of people they hate would be minuscule in comparison."

"So what then?"

"White supremacists," Roy said bluntly. "And they're gearing up for something. Figured you could help me stop 'em. And in the process I hoped you'd realize you can do more on the outside of SHIELD than you ever could on the inside."

Steve ran his hand over the shield as he had done so many times. Maybe Roy was right. Maybe he was wrong. But if the agent had found him here, others would eventually. Especially if this group was as dangerous as he said. Maybe it was time to get back out there and do what he did best.

"Where are they?" he asked, meeting Arsenal's gaze.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Hound55
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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The front door swung open to the government building that was the temporary home of the returned exploratory first family of science. In the doorway stood the craggly visage of one Ben Grimm, coming face to face with the small flying device that had called him to the door. He hollered back into the house.
REED! JOHNNY! SUZE! Which one-a yers ordered somethin’ from the South American rainforest?!”

The drone remained hovering in the doorway with its yellow and black Amazon livery.

Willie Lumpkin, the young government worker who had been designated as their handler poked his head through the doorway.

“Rainforest? Geez. You really have been gone some time. They’re just an e-commerce company…” Willie said as he signed off on receiving the package and removed it from the drone.

Ben looked on slack-jawed.

“They’re a store. Where you can buy things. On your computer. Then they deliver it to you.”

“Huh… Go figger…” Ben said, taking the package from Lumpkin as gently as he could and tilting it slightly, testing its weight in his massive hands. “Whatta world…”

Just then, Johnny Storm came charging down the stairs like his hair was on fire. On this occasion it was not.

“Oh sweet! My Amazons are here!” He said, snatching up the package.

“Heh… Dumb kid. They’re just an e-commerce company…”

Johnny tore the box apart and ran back upstairs carrying the contents; a stack of girlie mags with ‘Amazons’ printed prominently on the cover.

“Huh…” He said, watching him run back upstairs.

“Oh, I signed for it in your name since I didn’t know they were Johnny’s and you were the one at the door.” Willie Lumpkin said over his shoulder as he walked away. “So expect some funny looks when they look to settle your bills later.”


* * * * *

Meanwhile, upstairs, a far less benign conversation was taking place.

“Why, Reed?! Why on Earth would you go and say that?!?” Sue asked in an exasperated tone, now well away from the rigmarole of camera crews and Government workers.

“Whilst you’ve been busy dealing with so many of our speaking commitments, I took it upon myself to do a little bit of research into some of what we’ve missed whilst we were away. Since our absence it has become very much in vogue for powered individuals and groups to name and brand themselves outside of their regular name. Whether that has been for marketing purposes, or for public familiarity to create more of a positive public image in order to operate more easily, I’m not yet entirely sure. But since so many have been doing it, I can only presume it has for good reason until I can learn more. The alliterative nature of ‘Fantastic Four’ only seemed even more of a boon in the process.”

“Yes. But Reed, to these people we’ve ALL been dead since that date in the mission.”

“Yes. And now they’re all relieved to see that we’ve returned. I’m not as emotionally out of touch as you like to suggest, Sue.”

“Except we didn’t all return. FOUR out of five of us returned. From the dead! With our two new kids. And you’re announcing to the world that we’re now this… this… ‘Fantastic Four’ when we haven’t even been able to speak to Victor yet!”

“Oh…”

“Yes! ‘Oh!’ I’m still waiting on the paperwork I’ve filled out to have our property returned to us, which is why for the time being we’re having to stay here. People are coming to terms with the fact that we’re still alive, Reed. And as such, the one who didn’t, well that probably re-opens the grief.”

“I suppose I can see how that could be received as somewhat insensitive of me.”

“Yes, and Victor had an… interesting enough temperament before any of this happens. Now he’s off waging war back in his homeland and becoming who knows what, back in Latveria. I just think we should handle this with a little less…”

“Bombastic pomp..?”

“Sure. As good a way of phrasing it as any…”

Reed’s long arm stretched and extended around his wife, the pair now united on one page. “So… how do you think he’s going to take it?”

“I don’t know, Reed. Time will tell. On one hand at least he’s already had years to grieve, on the other… well, Victor…”

Sue bowed her head in contemplation, before straightening and sweeping her hair out of her face.

“...I think if nothing else he’s going to have questions.”
* * * * *

C A S T L E D O O M

Present Day | Doomstadt, The Kingdom of Latveria



An armoured fist clenched tight with the news. The cold, calculating visage of DOOM sits astride the throne.

America. New York City. A place he hasn’t been to in some years. Not since…

Doom rises from his throne. He paces. His gaze falls to those far below from his tower; their toil in the fields. Soon a great cheer goes up from below, as they have caught sight of their glorious leader looking on from above. Doom neither revels nor basks. Such is the natural order of things. DOOM expects.

The Kingdom’s new defenses are now well in place. Doom saw to their development and deployment himself. How could DOOM do any less?

Doom walked back towards his thrown, he turned to a figure that stood alone in his throneroom. A robot of uncanny likeness for himself.

DOOM bestows his burden of leadership upon you!” He commanded the machine.

“So it shall be, as is the will of DOOM! It returned, before taking its place on the throne. A familiar pose of commanding contemplation.

Doom whisked his green cloak around himself and took his leave. DOOM would have his answers…

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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Leonardo looked at the fellow, young ninja in front of him and had no idea what to say. She couldn't have been much older than he was. Not that he held that against her. She was clearly skilled enough to infiltrate the Hand's compound. He was just surprised to find someone as young as he and his family as skilled as they were. There weren't many that could handle this kind of training at this age.

Even more surprising was the fact that she seemed to not think he was strange at all. The way she looked at him and talked to him, it was as if a giant, talking turtle was nothing out of the ordinary.

Not that he had done much talking. Mostly he had been staring at her with his jaw hanging open. It had been that way for a few seconds, but what felt like hours. He needed to say something.

"You're a ninja," he managed to mutter after eons.

"Oh good, you can talk," she laughed and sheathed her sword. "Now, from the looks of things you too are trying to get that helmet. Shall we do so together?"

The request sent alarm bells off in Leo's head. For all he knew this was a Hand spy trying to entrap anyone who looked to stand against them. Or, even worse, she could be a Foot agent looking at an easy way to get to the helmet and bring back their awful leader. Still, if she was either of that, she could have killed him when she approached.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Leo's eyes narrowed at Karai.

"No trust among shinobi, eh?" her eyebrows raised at him.

"Well, we are technically trained assassins, so...," he shrugged back.

"Technically?" she asked.

"I'm not here to kill anyone," Leo was steadfast in that. Killing was the last resort for him and his brothers. He was adamant on that. "I'm here to fulfill my family's charge. I'm here to make sure that Oroku Saki does not return. And I need to get that helmet to make sure of that."

Now it was time for her eyes to narrow back, "Then we are indeed on the same path. The Chaste is a family dedicated to stopping the Hand and the Foot from ever coming to power once again. Destroying the helmet is my primary mission here."

Leonardo didn't know what to say to her. His training told him not to trust this newcomer, but there was something deep down that told him that Karai was going to be their ticket into the Hand compound.

"Fine. I'll set up a meeting with my brothers. Meet us in Central Park tomorrow night and we'll start our plan."

"You've made the best decision here, turtle," Karai smiled and turned to leave. "The helmet will be ours."




Raphael followed quickly behind the masked man, and his brothers were hot on his tail. They had already put a good distance between them and the Purple Dragons. Raphael hoped that wherever Leonardo was, he was just as safe. What was Raph thinking, of course Leo was safe. Wherever he was, he was probably still plotting our his next move. He'd be paralyzed with indecision at least until morning. The three other Turtles would probably find him frozen in place a few blocks from here.

The Hokey Mask turned down a alleyway and the turtles followed. He motioned into an abandoned building, and once he was certain they hadn't been followed spun around to face them.

"Holy shit," he blurted out. "What the hell are you guys, and why the hell were you beatin' on the Dragons?"

"Well, clearly we're turtles," Donatello sighed. "And we weren't banking on fighting the Dragons. They were a complication."

"So you were after the new ones," the voice behind the mask was young, and if Raph was being honest, not the most intelligent. "Yea, they've really kicked the hornets nest."

"Yea, we were after them," Raph pushed Donnie away. He was giving up way too much information as is. "The question is who the hell are you, why did you help us, and what do you have against the Dragons?"

"Name's Casey Jones," the vigilante took his mask off, revealing a young man not too older than them. His jet black hair fell over his face, and he brushed it back revealing green eyes. Bruises and scars were evident on his face. "I helped you because you were about to get creamed by Hun, and my business with the Purple Dragons is my own. Just know that I'm no fan of those bastards."

"Sounds good enough for me," Mikey chuckled. "Plus this dude has a cool mask. We need more friends with cool masks."

"Mikey, would you let me do the talkin'?" Raph sighed. He turned back to Jones, "You mentioned the newcomers to the area. Know where their base is?"

Jones was checking one of the hockey sticks he kept in a bag on his back like an archer's quiver. He looked like a scrapper when it came to a fight. No formal training, that much was sure. But Raph could feel the determination rolling off him, especially when the Dragons were the topic of conversation.

"I might," he shrugged. "What's it to ya?"

"They got something we want," Mikey added in.

"Don't everyone got something some of us want?" Jones shot back.

Donnie sighed, "What do you want if you help us?"

"Backup against the Dragons," Jones was quick with his answer. "I'm sick of them having a stranglehold over my neighborhood. I want them gone."

Raph extended his hand and Jones took it, "Deal."
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Location: Navapo, New Mexico
A Fresh Set of Eyes – 2.05

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 2.04

The shadow thin around the park bench, grass drying, pond shallow and akin to muck, Betty sat up as a dark purple pickup rolled into the nearby parking lot. Aside from that, she was completely still and relaxed, even as the vehicle stopped, General Ross stepping out in a casual polo shirt and jeans, arm still cast in a sling. Keeping tabs on Betty, he went up the slight incline, already in sour states. “So now you feel like talking? I can guess why but I don’t like it.”

“This isn’t about the drones. I know they didn’t come back,” Betty insisted. Ross was given pause, resting a few steps away and only just above her eye level, leaning on his leg against the incline, hand on his knee as he looked her in the eyes. “I’m not going to ask how you know about that. But I will say that if you think this misstep is going to convince me to stop then you don’t know me half as well as you should.”

Ross got back up, taking a seat on the bench, keeping his fair distance as Betty crossed her leg, gaze not deliberately going to him. “Just answer my questions so we can get back to what I’m sure we’d both rather be doing.” Ross’ mustache rustled with a tired breath. “We haven’t talked since the Hulk smashed through my base. This is what I would rather be doing. I want to see that you’re alright.” Betty’s stern look didn’t abate, nor did she turn to Ross, the man huffing as he looked off himself, letting his vision become distracted with a plume of cloud thinning and drifting apart somewhere far off.

“His name is Bruce.” Betty finally stated. “But I’m not here for that. I want to know more about Brian Banner.” Ross was taken aback, leaning forward, eyes betraying how much he had expected the subject. “Both of Bruce’s transformations happened after the Diffuser accident, but the trigger seems to be the anger he’s always had issues with. He’s not good at controlling himself when he’s angry, and he doesn’t get angry a lot, so I didn’t notice at first.”

“And why Brian?” Ross only had a second to take in Betty’s glare before she lashed out, striking him across the face. His eyes burned into hers, the warm day only getting hotter, much like his stinging cheek. Betty’s hand was trembling, her breath like a storm. “Don’t you fucking dare. You knew exactly what was going on in that house. I knew.”

Turning away, a hand came to Betty’s mouth, clutched. Every surfacing memory gave her a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame, a punch in the gut for every bruise she saw and said nothing. She had been eight. It was just a fact of life, something that just happened and no one could do anything about it. But she wasn’t eight any more. She understood well what could have been, what needed to be done. But that didn’t explain or excuse the lack of action from those around her. Hands steady, Betty’s breath seethed as she turned back to Ross expectantly.

“You don’t look like you’ll hear me out, but fine. Their family was not my business. The only reason any of it is my business now is because someone in that family turned my base into a playground. Don’t blame me for not getting involved in something they should have been able to sort out themselves.” Betty’s glare remained unbending, the woman’s anger blazing. Truth be told she couldn’t even speak. As she rose, her thoughts stumbled into one another. His complete dismissal of the Banner family dynamic and the power Brian must have had over it, the inequity and difficulty of those victimized by him to do anything about their circumstances, ones that left a person dead. And this man didn’t care one bit.

She wanted to storm away, but she hadn’t yet gotten what she wanted. Arms crossed, fingernails pinching her skin, she turned back, demanding, “I need to find out where Brian is.”

Ross scoffed. Leaning forward in his seat, he said, “So you can do what? Get him to un-fuck Bruce’s head? He’s not that kind of doctor.” Ross’ casual demeanor was only getting on Betty’s nerves even more. He didn’t care enough to even be angry. “Saving Bruce is the idea.”

Ross shook his head, leaning back, throwing his free arm over the back of the bench. “That’s not happening. Even if by some miracle you get to him before I do, he’s the poster child of what this nation is afraid of right now. A life in Blackgate would be lucky for him. An example needs to be made. Though maybe execution would be a wiser move. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about how he’d be better off dead.”

Betty’s mind flashed to images of herself getting him in the head, crushing his nose with her heel. Her arms twitched, as if to throw the first thing that came to them. Holding herself back, her palpable frustration almost became tears, but once she felt them welling up, she blinked them back. Keeping her eyes closed tight, inky blackness took over, the faintest of light getting through showing blobs of green. With a deep breath, she asked, “Is that want you want? To piss me off?.” She couldn't keep her voice from quavering, revealing her true self, but she could step back, Betty kept away from the playing field where she would have fallen in her lack of experience, unable to match the fervor of a man who’s shouting had resulted in the oldest memory she could recall.

Ross sighed, pulling his arm off the back of the bench. “I’m trying to protect you while you’re trying to kiss up to a monster!” Ross spat “He sneezed off the Diffuser, broke my arm without even trying, and a drone strike only slowed him down. And to shoot down your stupid theory, he’s transformed randomly in the desert, we’ve been watching him. What do you think he’s getting mad about out there? Huh?”

Betty was given pause, but she refused to give ground, “I’ll ask him myself, before or after I see Brian, whichever comes first, with our without your help.” Betty turned off, making her way. Ross was taken aback, standing from his spot. “Don’t you run away from me! We’re not done here!”

Betty didn’t stop. Ross bared his teeth, swearing before shouting back, “Just because you made it away from the monster once doesn’t mean it’ll happen again!” Betty didn’t stop, her words just barely audible to her father, eyes straight forward. “I don’t plan on seeing the monster again in the first place.” As she drove off, Ross had very well seen that she hadn't looked back at him even once, and very much feared he wouldn't see her again.
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