Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man
Raw
Avatar of Byrd Man

Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

Member Seen 10 days ago



Oa
Space Sector
0001

Kilowog faced the galactic map with Salaak and Sinestro. The galaxy-wide display focused on a single star and the lone planet that orbited around it.

“Nevis,” said Salaak. “ Space Sector: 1254. They are currently in the midst of a major crisis. Scientific projections give the system a matter of weeks before their star explodes in a supernova. A planet-wide evacuation is currently underway and they are appealing to the Corps for help.”

“What’s the population size?” asked Kilowog.

“Two billion sentient lifeforms.”

“And I’m sure this is not something they discovered overnight,” said Sinestro.

“Correct. Their stars’ instability has been a known factor for at least the last few hundred years. It was only a matter of time until this moment came to be, and to their credit they have prepared adequately for it. There is a colony on second world with enough infrastructure to start the settlement process. People have already begun to make the move from Nevis.”

Kilowog looked at Salaak. “Where do we come in?”

Salaak zoomed the map out. A red line appeared from the Nevis system to another star system. At least a few light years apart.

“The journey to their new homeworld is about three days full FTL burn from Nevis. The planetary government's plan is to move the majority of the population out in a massive ship convoy in two days time. And since they pass through Terra Nullius, threats from pirates and raiders are far more real than they are in any other section of the galaxy.”

“So watchdog duty,” said Sinestro. “Keep an eye out, fly the Corps' flag, flex some muscle.”

Salaak nodded. “And I think it will be an excellent mission for you and your trainees to undertake.”

Kilowog raised an eyebrow.

“I am… not so sure.”

Sinestro crossed his arms and frowned.

“And why is that? You’ve been training them for a while now. Slicks have to be thrown into the deep end sometime, Kilowog. Plenty of new Lanterns have been asked to do far more with less training.”

“Regular Slicks, yes,” he said with a nod. “But don't forget these are… special cases.”

A look of concern flashed across Salaak's face. “Are they not up to snuff?”

He shrugged. “Jury is still out. I have two I know for sure are definitely Lantern material, two that are borderline, and the other two…”

“Well it sounds like to me a real test is called for, no?” asked Sinestro. “Time to finally see who has the right stuff.”

Kilowog saw the little smirk just beneath his mustache and knew exactly what was going through his mind.

“And what happens if one of the Slicks gets killed, or gets someone killed?”

“It’s a simple task,” said Sinestro. “And if this is too much to handle, then maybe they’re not Lantern material.”

A look passed between Kilowog and Salaak. Kilowog heard the rumors about Salaak’s psychic abilities, but in all the years they served together he never had full confirmation. But moments like this made him sure wish his fellow Lantern could read his mind.

“They have to learn sometime, Kilowog,” Salaak finally said. “And if things get too much for them to handle simply reach out to 1254’s Lanterns for backup. Anything else we can do for you?”

“No,” Kilowog said before a lingering glance at Sinestro. “Nothing at all.”




Venkoth
Space Sector 2813
70 Hours Until Solar Apogee

Zeke put the vaporizer to his lips and inhaled the smoke. He let it fill his lungs before he expelled a cloud of fumes from his slit nostrils. From his vantage point outside his cell, he could see almost the entirety of A-Block from below. The eightieth tier of A-Block exclusively housed criminals like Zeke: Political radicals, dissidents, and terrorists. Though if you asked every single one of the thousands that occupied cells here, they’d say they were freedom fighters unjustly imprisoned.

That was a load of bullshit as far as Zeke was concerned. Some of these men had committed terrible acts in the name of their beliefs. Just like Zeke. And they all deserved to be here. Just like Zeke. But just because Zeke was aware of his situation, it didn’t mean he accepted it one bit. But he had a way to change things. He just needed help, but time was running out.

“You,” a voice called from behind.

A musclebound alien stood in front of Zeke. His gray prison jumpsuit had its sleeves torn off and the alien’s thick arms was covered in crude jailhouse tattoos. On Venkoth, that tats were a shorthand for everything from who you were mobbed up with to how many lives you'd taken. The little dots running along the muscleman's jawline let everyone know he'd killed six men while incarcerated.

“The man wants to see you.”

Zeke flicked off his vaporizer and pocketed it. He could feel his nerves churning his stomach as he followed the goon down the tier. He was beginning to worry that Strok had either written off his offer, or it had never reached his ears. Communication between cellblocks around here was a bit dodgy to say the least. At the halfway point of the tier was an elevator. A guard in a caged security checkpoint sat in front of the elevator and monitored who came and went. Signs indicated that the elevators were for authorized personnel only, and any inmate who tried to use them would be severely punished.

The goon locked eyes with the guard and slowly nodded. The guard looked at him and then at Zeke, but he never really looked at them. Not the way guards did around here. He seemed to let his eyes glaze over and look past them as the elevator doors opened and they stepped in.




“You know you’re crazy right?”

Ekis Strok looked at Zeke. His cell wasn’t like any other one on Venkoth, easily the size of the warden’s quarters and maybe even a little bigger. A monitor roughly the area of a regular inmate’s jail cell covered the entire far wall. It showed a live feed of Civua as the entire planet participated in the annual Big Game.

Strok wore a loose fitting shirt and pants that looked to Zeke to be made of some fine material. The goon who came for Zeke flanked Strok on one side while an equally large and intimidating bodyguard flanked his other side. Strok was heavyset, a well-fed man was a rarity on this planet, and his grey dreadlocks were swept back and tied into a ponytail. While the copper skin Zeke could see showed no signs of tattoos, he was sure the parts not showing were covered in tattoos. You couldn’t be a shotcaller in Midnight Krew and not carry any ink.

“I’ve been called crazy,” Zeke said as a way of acknowledgement. “But genius is often confused with crazy.”

Strok chuckled deeply and sat down on a plush chair. He did not offer Zeke a seat. Instead he held his hand out and one of the bodyguards handed him a drink.

“Nobody has ever escaped off this godforsaken rock, man.” Strok paused to take a sip of his drink. “The wind rips the fucking meat from your bones.”

“Nobody has ever escaped because they don’t know the science behind it,” said Zeke. “In a past life I was an astronomer."

Strok raised an eyebrow at Zeke’s claim.

“Long story. A story for another time, perhaps. But the winds on this planet are due to its close proximity to the system’s star. Those winds that sweep through, the ones that ‘rip the fucking meat from your bones’? Those are solar winds. In less than three days time, Venkoth will have its solar apogee. It's a once a year event. An apogee means the planet will be as far away from the sun as its orbit allows. During that time, winds will be at their nadir. They’ll still be bad, but there will be roughly an hour long window where it will be enough to walk across the surface and rendezvous with a waiting ship.”

Strok snickered and scratched his forehead with a meaty hand.

“And why would I want to break out of here? Look around you. I live like a goddamn king here. I want for nothing and even the biggest, baddest motherfuckers on this planet give me respect. I’m gonna die here, and that’s okay with me.”

“I didn't say anything about you escaping,” said Zeke. “And you are a king. At the very least you have the connections of one. That’s what I need. Someone who can get the right guards to look the other way. You can do that for me. And I can do something for you. I bet even a king could use two million credits, right? Even in a place like this?”

“And where are you going to get two million credits?” Stronk laughed deeply and long. His muscle joined in and shared looks of amusement with their boss. “Aren’t you some collectivist asshole? What are you going to pay me in, bean sprouts?”

“You ever heard of the GB&S robbery?” Zeke raised his eyebrows.

“No way,” said Strok.

“Why do you think I’m in here,” said Zeke. “Twenty million galactic credits, all for the cause. Well, not all. Two million is what’s left of my share. I get out of here and I’ll wire it to your commissary fund.”

“Again,” Strok laughed. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Doesn’t sound like a yes or no to me...”

Strok leaned back in his padded seat and stroked his double chin. A smile that showed not much warmth appeared on his face.

“Deal,” he said. “You’re so fucking crazy I think I actually want to see if you can make it. I’ll get a few guards to look the other way. You wire me the money as soon as you’re free or I’ll make sure Midnight Krew hunts you down and chops you into little pieces.”

“Okay,” Zeke said with a sigh of relief.

His plan to finally get off this godforsaken planet was in motion. After six years, there was a chance for freedom. A chance to return home and take power back. His thoughts of freedom were interrupted as loud klaxons sounded through the air. Strok’s muscle immediately went into action to protect their boss. Zeke felt a flash of paranoia at the thought that he had been betrayed. The guards had heard their talk and they were now coming for him.

"WARNING WARNING PLANET ON LOCKDOWN WARNING WARNING PLANET ON LOCKDOWN ALL PRISONERS ARE TO STAY WHERE THEY CURRENTLY ARE. LOCKDOWN WARNING WARNING WARNING."

“What’s going on?” Zeke said aloud.

“Fuck,” Strok said as he switched the feed on the wall-mounted screen. The Big Game disappeared and instead a live feed of Block B, population 2.4 million, showed a calamitous riot in progress. A mass of prisoners fighting each other, guards, and two figures in the air fighting dozens of prisoners from above…

“Green Lanterns,” Strok said with just a hint of delight in his voice. “Green Lanterns on Venkoth. Hot damn.”

He turned to Zeke, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“A new deal. Your money's no good to me. I’m going to help you breakout… and you’re going to help me kill a Green Lantern.”

Zeke was about to respond, but stopped when he saw the cold looks from Strok’s muscle.

“...Deal,” he said softly.
4x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Sep
Raw
Avatar of Sep

Sep Migs Mayfield - Core

Member Seen 0-24 hrs ago



Oslo // Midgard


Thunder rumbled through the city as the Son of Odin leapt through the hole in the wall. Spinning his arm grasping Mjolnir tightly he let go of the hilt, letting the strap pull him with the hammer into the sky. As he raised up above the buildings he saw his foe tearing up the streets off the mortal city. Thor took pause, spinning Mjolnir above him to keep him in the air. A look of confusion upon his face, for the garb of the assailant was Asgardian. He swung a two handed axe, as it hit the ground it cracked. Lightning sparked from the wound as it spread out to a nearby building, glass shattered and people screamed. Thunder roared overhead as there was a flash of lightning in the sky.

Thor had seen enough. Swooping down he landed down the street. The tarmac cracked slightly under his feet. He raised Mjolnir towards the foe. Standing seven foot tall, helm and an axe. Could this be the ‘demon’ that Beta-Ray Bill had tried to defend his ship against? As the being went to sweep his axe towards a woman who stood in shock screaming Thor cast Mjolnir forth, the hammer colliding with the behemoth's shoulder sending him spinning. Arm outstretched, Thor called for Mjolnir to return to his hand, when the being turned to face him. Mjolnir fell to the ground as it went straight past Thor's open hand, as he failed to catch it. Mouth wide open as he looked at the horned helm, the armour and the axe that belonged to his Grandfather. Bor, son of Buri.

Raising his arms, in a show of peace Thor walked forward. “Forgive me Bor! For I am Thor, Son of-” The wind was knocked out of Thor as the eye of the axe collided with his chest. He got sent backwards, calling Mjolnir to his hand as he flew through the air. The hit was so powerful that the windows shattered. Running forward Bor roared as he chased down his quarry, Thor managing to recover himself.

Bracing himself Thor dodged to the left of Bors path just when they should have collided. “-I am your Grandson! Why are you attacking me? Why attack these Mortals?!” Bor gave no response, and instead, twisted his torso and swung the mighty axe around. Thor raised Mjolnir with both hands to deflect the blow. Despite all his strength, and that of the Uru metal Thor found himself pushed back, heels digging into the ground. Lightning sparked forth as the weapons met, he could feel the raw power that Bor possessed, it was far beyond anything he had ever faced against.

Thunder cracked through the city as the weapons met again, a surge in electricity knocking out the electrical grid. Thor raised Mjolnir in the air with all his might, a mighty bolt of lightning came crashing down upon it. The hammer started to glow blue before he pointed it towards his grandfather. All the energy being cast towards the Asgardian thought long dead. The bolt of energy collided with him directly in the chest, it lanced and lurched as it spread throughout his limbs. While at first he appeared unphased there was suddenly a massive crack as he was sent tumbling backwards.

Flying through the air he collided into a building, through the wall. Thor walked towards the building as the rain started to fall, weighing each step carefully. He could not allow Bor to continue his assault on the mortals. There was no honour in slaughter, especially slaughter without meaning. Though the more pressing matter was how could Bor be here? Thor remembered the stories Odin had told him and Loki when they were but children. “Bor, we need not fight! Come with me to Asgard! This should be a time of celebration from your return, not off unnecessary battle.”

Walking out of the building, debris continued to fall as he did so. Bor held the axe in his left hand in a loose grip. “Oh we’ll return to Asgard boy, but first I need to teach you a lesson.”

2x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
Raw
GM
Avatar of HenryJonesJr

HenryJonesJr

Member Seen 11 mos ago



Leonardo twirled the piece of the robot they had kept in front of him, the "TCRI" brand inside spinning in and out of view as he did so. His father had never told the four turtles where they had came from, or in reality, how their father had found them. How he had really found them. He had never said he kept the broken vial of ooze, which was now sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the Den's living room. On the couch were Raph and Mikey, while Donatello was sitting in his computer chair, leaning back. All of there were staring at the canister in silence ever since Splinter had placed it in front of them.

He figured his father wanted to leave his sons to their thoughts for now. After he stood in silence a while, he turned and headed for his room. None of the brothers had said anything else regarding the canister since then. Even Mikey was completely quiet, which was the most amazing thing about it all.

"So..." Mikey started, making Leo realize he had thought too soon.

"No, Mikey," Raph sigh. "No."

"I'm just sayin' if the place that the ooze came from is still around, and clearly they are since they sent the metal munchers after us," he shrugged. "Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to get in there? Find out what the ooze really is?"

"Good lord that's actually a good idea," Donatello was so surprised he nearly leaned too far back in his chair. He pinwheeled wildly with his arms to keep his balance.

"Hehe," Mikey chuckled. "I'm smart."

"You'd be smarter if you realized we'd be walking in the lion's den if we went strollin' into a lab that can clearly detect us," Raph motioned towards the piece of metal in Leo's hands. Before he turned to Donnie, "Speakin' of which, we gonna have any way to make sure they don't find us down here again?"

"Oh sure," Donatello waved Raph's worry away. "I'm gona rig something up with some of the transmitter/receivers I picked out of the deactivated robots. Should be ready in the morning."

Leo took all his brothers' ideas in and let them roll around in his head. His whole world had been turned upside down tonight. He found out his father had been keeping information from him, that Raphael had discovered the Foot and the Purple Dragons had become allies, the people who indirectly led to their creation were searching for them, and he now had two human allies. It was a whirlwind, and the lingering doubt of his father's decision to make him the leader of his family still spoke to him. His fears of his family breaking apart were starting to rear their ugly head.

"TCRI and where we came from are not our priority," he made the decision, putting the piece of the robot on the table next to the broken canister. "Not for now at least. We'll let April look into them and get back to us with some info. In the mean time, we need to figure out what Shredder's plan is for the Purple Dragon. If it's just general chaos, we ignore the Dragons and go after Shredder. Either way, we need to focus on our mission. On our family's mission. That's to stop the foot. Anything regarding TCRI...that can come later."

The three other turtles looked at him with determination in their eyes. The small speech had felt good to him, the first decisive action that made him feel like a leader. It was something small, but it was something.


Karai entered the mediation room that was at the center of Oroku Saki's penthouse. While most of the other rooms in the sprawling domicile overlooked the bustling city of New York, this room was encased in wood. Soft padding lined the floor, the only furniture being some pillows and an inscense holder burning on a shelf. It was a respite from the nosy, smelly city outside the windows.

The girl had hated New York ever since she had come here. While she was used to city life, living most of her years in Tokyo training with her sister, New York was different. Everything was grimy, the people were rude, and there was an underlying anger running through it she did not understand. Tokyo was so clean. it was so orderly. Whatever happened with New York seemed to happen wrong.

Sitting in the middle of the room were Saki himself and her sister Pimiko. They were both silent as she took a seat next to her sister. She still was never comfortable around her "grandfather". His power radiated off of him like a tsunami of energy. He was power incarnate, and it was scary.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke to the sisters, "I have a mission for the two of you."

"Anything, Master," Pimiko nodded. She was wholly devoted to him already. Why shouldn't she be? It had been her life's work to bring him back. She was a good fifteen years older than Karai, and during thos fifteen years she had plotted against their father, who had been part of a line that had squandered chance after chance to reclaim their birthright. Karai's birth coincided with Pimiko's rebellion and the rebirth of the true Foot. Now she longed for nothing more than to prove herself.

Karai did not answer, she merely bowed.

"An object of great importance to the Foot will be coming to New York this weekend," he began to explain. "A book of prophecy. The book where the page you used to bring me back came from. It is invaluable to claiming the world for our own. I want you to infiltrate the museum where it will be on display, and steal it. It should be of no consequence for ninja as skill as the two of you."

"Yes, Master. Your will be done."
2x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Bounce
Raw
Avatar of Bounce

Bounce

Member Seen 6 hrs ago


T H E G E O M E T R Y O F S H A D O W S
[ Prev ] Part II [ Next ]

A T L A N T I C C I T Y
HALY’S CIRCUS

It was some time after one in the morning.

The crowds had all gone home. Now, the clean up began. Clowns and freaks changed out of their colorful costumes and set to work, not only in cleaning up the grounds but also in breaking down the tents and booths. The work would take them into the next day, where they’d get a brief rest while waiting for the trucks to arrive. And then it’d be down the road to set it all up again in Gotham.

They were going to do one more show, a big July celebration in Vegas, and then go on hiatus for a few months. A little breathing room for vacations, then the planning for the next series of shows would begin in earnest. Swap out different acts, hold auditions and take on a few new routines before the next tour would be announced.

“Jason!”

Trina Todd had changed out of the colorful leotard. Instead, the acrobat look the part of working mom in a pair of worn jeans and her hand tied back with a bandana. “Jason Todd, get out here this minute!” the woman was going through the broken down carnival, in an otherwise mundane pursuit for a family that was anything but.

She turned a corner and nearly ran into C.C. Haly. “Oh, C.C. Have you seen Jason?”

The aging entertainer just gave a knowing smile. “Watching the tamers put the lions into their cages,” the former magician supplied, putting a thumb in the direction that the woman should travel.

It was when Trina had turned to walk away that the man caught a glimpse of someone walking toward him. Waldo Flynn. Still in his clown make up.

Once upon a time, he’d have been relieved to have seen Waldo. His make-up off, bow tie askew, and usually two glasses of whiskey that they’d share.

But that had been when the Graysons had still been with them. Everything had changed after the Graysons had died.

Especially Waldo.

A cellphone was extended out toward him. “Call for you, Mister Haly,” Waldo stated, the clown make-up appearing to twist the man’s smile into something strangely wicked.

The hair stood up on the back of the man’s neck. Gritting his teeth, the old man refrained from accepting the phone. “I’m busy right now,” the man uttered brusquely.

If the smile was creepy, then the gleam in Waldo’s eye was down right dangerous. “It’s a very important call, Mister Haly.”

The patriarch had started to step away, and hesitated then. He lingered, unsure of whether to take one step forward or one step back, for a moment longer. Then relented and accepted the device.

“I hear every show in Atlantic City was sold out. Congratulations on your success.”

The voice -- graveley, with a thick Jersey accent -- immediately sent shivers through the old man’s body. Gooseflesh crept up the back of his hand as he held the phone to the side of his head.

“Of course, none of us would be where we are if we didn’t have help, now would we? You’ll be in Gotham this week, and I still haven’t received my invitation. Frankly, I’m a little insulted. Haven’t I been good to you? Star City, New York, Atlantic City... no problems with the cops. No social services breathing down your neck about the minors in your crew. No hustlers, you just do your thing. You think that kind of protection is cheap? I’m charging you pennies on the dollar. Now, tell me, I ain’t on your side.”

“It is way past your bedtime!”

At the sound of Trina’s voice, the old man looked off to one side. The woman was dragging Jason, still in his Little Lord Fauntleroy clown suit and make-up, off toward the trailers.

The fact that there were families counting on his business for their livelihoods was not lost on the entertainer. With a sigh, the old man finally spoke into the phone. “I’ve just been distracted by all the showtimes, Mister Dent,” the old man said. His free hand dipped into his pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief to dab at his forehead. “You know I appreciate everything that you’re doing for us, sir. If this is about more money..."

“I got money. And I’ve spent a fair amount of it to your benefit. What I want is to see what the return on this little investment of mine is. I’ll need a private show while you’re in Gotham. And I trust this little talent show of yours will prove worthwhile. Capice?”

It was cordial, but something about it sent a cold terror straight through the man’s soul. “I understand, Mister Dent.”

The connection ended with a click. Never had C.C. been so happy with having been hung up on.

Waldo’s hand reached for the phone. As he gestured for the man to hand the device back, the clown’s twisted visage mocked the former magician as he happily offered, “Didn’t I say it was an important call?”

C.C. slapped the phone back into the palm of the clown’s hand. “What happened to you, Waldo?” the man demanded, staring down the man who’d been with him since the beginning. A man he’d have said he knew best, except he was starting to realize that he didn’t know him at all.

This time, the clown face seemed genuine as he gave a laugh. “I’m only laughing on the outside. My smile is just skin deep,” the clown stated, using his free hand to trace the drawn smile upon his face. “If you could see inside, you might join me for a weep,” he said, the poetic recitation ending with a flourish, before the clown turned and walked off.

The sound of his fading laughter made the man only grind his teeth more.


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

B L Ü D H A V E N
LATER THAT MORNING...

He’d tried to go back to sleep. Instead, he’d just found himself staring up at the ceiling for hours on end, the demarcation of time marked by the clicking of the clock that hung on the wall in the kitchenette. By the time the sun came up, Dick had been seated inside the bay window that looked out into the downtown and already two cups into a second pot of coffee.

He’d managed to do some laundry, stumbling around the inside of the apartment with his arm and leg in a cast. Nevermind the impact that had to Nightwing, how was Dick Grayson supposed to manage like this?

It was around eight when his phone rang. The number was familiar, though it wasn’t someone that Dick spoke to more than about once every year. Usually his birthday.

The name on the caller ID was C. C. HALY. He almost let it go to voicemail. Hesitated even as he reached to pick up the phone and swipe to answer the call.

He didn’t say hello. Why? He couldn’t have offered a reason. After that dream, after that nightmare, it was still just too real that he’d be talking to Old Man Haly of all people right now.

“Dick? C.C. Haly. We’re coming to Gotham and I just thought that I should give you a call before we came.”

A lump formed in his throat. Swallowing that down, Dick finally managed to find his voice. “Yeah, Mister Haly. I appreciate that.”

“Would you come by to see the circus?”

The old man sounded hopeful just now. It made it hard for Dick to answer. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

“I understand.”

Silence. Had that been the only reason for the call? Dick had seen the advertisements about Haly’s Circus returning to Gotham. It would have been impossible not to have. All the Gotham Gazette had been talking about was the fact that this was the first visit by Haly’s Circus to Gotham since the death of the Flying Graysons.

It wasn’t that they had any bad blood between them. A lot of good memories in fact. But the bad one hung like a cloud over every facet of his childhood.

“What about a job?”

As though hit by a bolt of electricity, Dick froze. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He wanted to hang up. Hang up, be done with it, and not give it a second thought.

He didn’t. Instead, he asked, “A job, sir?”

“I’ve got a pair of acrobats. Husband, wife. You know how that goes.”

Dick’s heart stopped. His chest was tight, like there was an elephant sitting on it.

“They’re good, but they’re not John or Mary. They’re as good as natural talent and repetition can make a person, but the right coach would get them to their potential. And, you know there aren’t a whole lot of people that I’d trust to do that sort of thing.”

Dick’s free hand had come up to his chest. He’d broken out into a sweat. “Yeah. I know, Mister Haly.”

“Obviously, we’d reimburse you for your time. With a little extra, because, I know this probably doesn’t sound like something you want to do.”

That fact didn’t so much as require a reply.

They both knew it was true.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you, Dick.”

“I’ll come by and see the circus, Mister Haly.”

“Good! We’ll talk then--”

He hung up on the old man. Cradling the phone in his lap, Dick just stared down at the blank screen for a long minute.

The fuck was he doing?
2x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
Raw
GM
Avatar of HenryJonesJr

HenryJonesJr

Member Seen 11 mos ago


Rogue should have taken Steve's advice about the blue furry mutant man seriously. He was like Donkey Kong mixed with Cookie Monster. It was the craziest thing she had ever seen, and she had seen a rat man just a few days ago. But he also talked as if he was the smartest man in the world. He was currently giving her a rundown on what it meant to be a mutant, biologically. He was using words like gene and chromosome and RNA, all of which promptly flew over Rogue's head at the speed of light.

"Doc," she interrupted him in her southern drawl, "I don't mean to be rude, but could ya get to the point? All this science mumbo jumbo makes about as much sense as latin."

"Oh, I can speak fluent Latin," the furry professor smiled broadly, but quickly moved on when it was clear that she wasn't going to be impressed no matter what he said. "Fine, fine. All this is just to tell you that I've discovered just how your powers work. The genes, as I was saying, have been supercharged. The way they rebuild themselves are unlike anything I've ever seen before. When you come in contact with another's genes, yours start to shape themselves to match, siphoning off any abilities the other person mid have."

"As well as their life," she muttered to herself. She didn't really care how her powers worked exactly. All she knew was that they hurt other people, that she would never be able to get close to anyone, and that she'd always hurt those she loved eventually. The science behind it didn't matter in the slightest.

"Yes," he put his head down and fiddled with his pawed hands. "That...I do not have an answer for. I know it's hard. Things are never easy for us. It is our blessing, and our curse, these abilities."

"Come on," she chuckled. "I can't touch people. At least you're fuzzy and cute."

He smiled warmly, "I understand. But there was once a time I felt as you do. That my abilities, my...differences were keeping me from living a normal life. That I would never be happy as long as I was different from everyone around me."

Hank McCoy rolled his chair over to his desk and deftly snatched up a picture frame sitting on it. He slid back towards her and handed it to Rogue, "Take a look."

She looked at it, before glancing up at the doctor. The similarities were hard to find, but they were there. The eyes, mostly. The same intelligent sparkle was in the picture and the mutant in front of her. The way his glasses hung off his nose, and the wry smile were also similar. But it couldn't be.

"Ah, but it is me," he smile broadly, realizing what she was thinking without her having to say it. "I was so ashamed by my large hands and feet that I thought I could develop an anti-mutagen. A cure, if you will. All I wanted was to be normal. Instead I made myself even more abnormal. It took finding my way to Charles for him to show me a new purpose. A new way to help the next generation of mutants. So, I understand how you feel. But know that you too can be an inspiration. It just depends on what you do with your abilities."

She nodded, taking everything she said into herself.

"Thanks, doc. Hopefully I'll see you soon."

"So do I, dear," Hank McCoy smiled. "So do I."


Steve sat in front of Xavier's desk, and Summers took a seat next to him. The young mutant was embarrassed he allowed Rogue to slip away from him so easily. Steve had attempted to ensure him it was no big deal, that kids would be kids, but there was a burning desire for leadership in that one. He was too focused on rigidity though. If Steve had the time he's walk him through the story of when Dugan and Bucky disobeyed a direct order and ended up capturing two Hydra tanks on their own.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen.

"We've done some digging while you were away and resting," Xavier started, sliding a file over to him. "The orphanage where Rogue was being held hadn't been used in two decades. The building was standing, but unoccupied and unowned. That is until a few months ago when a private equity firm bought the building and the land. We've been trying to untangle the web of funding, but so far we've only been able to find one company name in all of this."

Steve had to have a chuckle, "This is some real spy stuff, Charles."

"We have our ways, Captain," he smiled back. "In the folder you'll find information on Stagg Industries, a biotech and pharmaceutical company based in Hub City."

"Let me guess, they're working on mutations," Steve mused as he began to flip through the report.

"Not that we know of," Scott shook his head. "But considering they're the only lead we have, they're probably worth checking out."

"Guess I'm headed for Hub City," Steve shook his head. "I know it was a tough place before the war...and it doesn't sound like it's gotten much better."

"There's more," Charles winced as he flipped on the television. There scenes of the aftermath of his fight with the rat boy played out. Talking heads on the television were going on and on about how Steve Rogers, the former Captain America, had gone on a warpath for reasons unknown. There were discussions of sending SHIELD after him in a manhunt.

Steve couldn't say he was surprised. He knew that whoever had blown up the building had hoped for this exact reaction. But that was beside the point. They weren't going to frighten him out of action.

"That's certainly going to make things more difficult," Rogers rubbed his chin, the beard he was sporting starting to really fill in. "Especially travel."

"Well, we have an idea about that too," Xavier smiled.


The small aircraft was rolled out of a back part of the hanger, Steve and Rogue both whistling at it as it did. It was smaller than the Blackbird, but still big enough for a mobile base. It was sleek, almost like a hawk in flight. Two jet engines on the back were paired with wing-based rotorblades that would allow it to hover silently. Inside were some beds, a small galley, and everything they needed to survive on the run.

"I call it the Quinjet," Hank McCoy showed off the craft, smiling like a proud parent. "Fast, maneuverable, and sure to get you out of any trouble you ever find yourself in."

"Sounds like you shouldn't be giving this away on a whim," Steve's eyebrow raised.

Scott, Hank, and Charles all gathered around him. Hank put his hand on the hero's shoulder, "Steve, someone is threatening mutants. And not only that, they're trying to take you down as well. I helped design this craft to help protect my people. In your hands, it's doing just that. I can't think of a better use of its time."

Rogers smiled, and blushed slightly. He would never be used to people treating him like a living saint. All he wanted to do was help, not be worshiped. But he couldn't deny that he appreciated the help. He and Rogue were going to need all that they could get.

"Thank you," he looked at the three mutant men. "All of you. I promise, I'm going to figure out what's going on here. And I won't forget all the help you gave me. I hope I can make you proud."

"Ugh," Rogue rolled her eyes. "Don't make me vom. Come on, old man. We got some bad guys to take down. Thanks for all the help, Chuck."

"Kids," Steve shook his head and followed the teenage mutant up the ramp onto the Quinjet.
4x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by webboysurf
Raw
Avatar of webboysurf

webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

Member Seen 38 min ago

I R O N M A N

Underwater Facility, New Midaeum - Present Day
Issue 1.01.04: The World We Knew

Interaction(s): None
Previously: Issue 1.01.03: Come Fly with Me


Stark stood shocked as his eyes scanned every inch of the contraption that was standing over six and a half feet tall at the end of the hallway. The machine had the general visage of a man, if one had exposed gold wiring and swords for hands. The chest remained covered with a golden hoplite cuirass, with a matching golden Athenian helmet that revealed only two blue glowing lights underneath. To anyone other than Anthony Edward Stark, this machine would be impressive and intimidating to some degree. The billionaire inventor turned his gaze towards the business mogul. "What is this?"

Midas didn't even bother to look in Tony's direction, as he was too busy beaming over the machine. "This... this is my personal security force! I call them the Centurions... even if the name isn't historically accurate." Midas finally turned to recognize Tony, and instinctively took a step towards his machine when he noticed the bored expression. "Do you not see the resemblances to your own creation? You have no idea how many engineers I had to hire to create-"

"A poor imitation?"

Midas ground his teeth at the remark, shaking his head as he turned his back to Stark and kept walking down the tight hallway. The right wall, floor, and ceiling were all colored gold... or rather, consisted of gold, if JARVIS' readings were correct. The left hand wall, however, had a floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass window that showed off the local flora and fauna under the sea. Fish zoomed in between the long strands of seaweed that floated up towards the surface. A much more fascinating view as Tony kept pace behind Mordecai Midas, who broke the temporary silence.

"Did you fly all the way here to insult my creations, Mr. Stark?"

Tony's gaze turned back towards Midas, who had suddenly stopped to look out at the sea himself. "Not quite... I came to see your facility and where exactly-"

"Bullshit, Mr. Stark." Tony's jaw slacked in surprise as Midas continued looking out at the sea before him. "In all the years I've invested in your enterprises, you've never once bothered to ask where the gold plating and wiring had come from. Now, out of the blue and on a moment's notice, you want to fly out here with your chief of security to get a 'tour' of my factory... Please stop insulting my intelligence."

Tony stood in silence for a moment, his own gaze turning out towards the sea. He was talking to one of the few men on Earth far richer than he was, and an important business partner for Stark Unlimited. Tact was key here: unfortunately, tact was one of the few skills that Tony Stark could never learn. "I came here to find out why you would try and hack our systems, Midas."

Mordecai's eyebrows raised, before the large man turned and looked with shock towards Tony. "Wh... What are you even talking about?"

Tony grit his teeth as he pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand, his other still clutching the heavy briefcase. With a single button tap and a flick of his phone, the cameras and lights on the back produced a holographic projection in the space between the two billionaires. Projected were a copy of the email that had been intercepted, and a string of code with an IP address highlighted in red. "Whoever you hired to try and sabotage the Iron Legion project left a little something behind that traces itself back to this very facility. Care to explain how that happened?"

Midas shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Why would I sabotage your project, Tony?" Without giving him any time to answer, Midas continued. "I've invested millions of dollars into this without a single question! You made a call for investors, and I answered. I've even provided your project enough gold to buy myself another island, just because you said you needed it. And now you come here and accuse me of sabotaging your project?!"

Tony gave almost no breathing room for Midas as he began shouting back his response. "Then explain to me why the IP address is connected to one of your servers! How could that have happened? Who could have done that?"

"I don't... oh no." Midas' gaze fell to his hand as he took a couple steps away from Stark, his eyes wide with sudden shock and realization. "You... you need to leave. Now." Midas' command was firm, his jaw tightening as his firm gaze returned to Stark.

Tony's grip tightened around his briefcase, his voice lower but firm. "Who did this, Midas? I just need a name."

Midas merely shook his head. "He'll kill me if I tell you... Centurions! Get Mr. Stark out of here!" With that, Midas turned his back to Tony and began walking away.

Tony heard the sound of metal colliding with metal in rhythm as the Centurion behind him approached. As Tony began to turn to walk back the way he had come, he noticed the Centurion kept walking past him. He could have sworn for a fraction of a second he had even seen the once blue eyes had turned a dark red. Of course, that was the least of Stark's concerns when he saw the Centurion raise it's right arm blade up and point directly towards Midas. In an instant, Tony muttered under his breath. "Arm me."

To Tony, time seemed to slow down. In that moment, the large briefcase handle began shifting and molding around his hand while shifting color into a red. As it was finishing locking in place, he raised his hand with his palm facing outward towards the robot's head. A whirring sound filled the space as the disk in the suit of armor on Tony's left palm lit up and then released a blast of energy. As the short beam of light escaped his hand and shot through the Centurion's helmet, the machine was able to get a quick swipe along Midas' back.

With the machine out of order, Tony kicked the briefcase while muttering, "JARVIS, zip me up." Within moments, the briefcase began to unfold and unpack with metal stacking on top of metal to reveal the front half of a lightweight Iron Man suit. The inventor stepped in, and extra metal plating slid around Stark to engulf him entirely within the suit. It took another two seconds for the eye-pieces of the suit to glow yellow as the Heads Up Display began showcasing various statistics about the suit's power levels, arsenal, and general information about Tony's surroundings. As Tony's gaze fell upon Midas, an orange rotating circle surrounded Midas for a moment before displaying basic bio-metric readings and a tag in bold red letters: Needs Medical Assistance.

Tony rushed forward towards Midas, his footsteps echoing and clanking down the gold-plated hallway. He was quite a bit faster in the suit, able to bridge the thirty foot distance in a few bounds. Despite spending quite some time out of the armor, using it was like riding a bike. Iron Man knelt down next to Mordecai Midas, who was grunting and groaning as blood had poured out of the open wound to pool around where he was lying down. Tony's voice came from a speaker on the outside of the armor's faceplate, the quality a little garbled. "Midas, what's going on?"

Iron Man turned the business mogul slightly to see his face, and the look of fear shone through the painful grimace. "You... you can't stop him, Stark. He'll get us all."

Before Tony could say anything further, Midas began screaming and convulsing. It took the hero a couple seconds before he could see exactly why: coming from somewhere on Midas' left side, his skin was changing color into a rather bright yellow hue. As the color changed, Midas' movements became rigid, and within those seconds he could no longer scream. Tony had only removed his armored hand from Midas to realize that his former business partner had been transformed into a statue of pure gold. While the man knelt in silent shock, the mechanical voice in his ear spoke up as a new circle focused on Midas' left hand. "Sir, I saw a strange burst of energy coming from Mr. Midas' left hand. It appears to be coming from a..."

"A ring." The inventor couldn't help but exclaim the obvious as he saw a small golden ring with green trimmings and markings. Iron Man pulled off the ring from the statue's finger, it seeming to strangely glide off with ease. He lowered it towards his waist, where a small container opened up to hold the ring before closing back into the armor.

As Tony opened his mouth to speak, loud sirens began wailing as red warning lights on the walls flashed. A female, almost robotic voice began calling out over the speakers. "WARNING! WARNING! PLEASE EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY! OCEAN WATER DETECTED! WARNING!" The voice repeated the warning in Greek, before continuing to repeat the warning while alternating between the two languages. Tony Stark sighed.

"Alright JARVIS, let's see just how waterproof I made this thing."
2x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
Raw
GM
Avatar of HenryJonesJr

HenryJonesJr

Member Seen 11 mos ago


"O'Neil!" the gruff bark came from the room next to her, nearly causing April to slip off her chair and drop the folder of pictures and notes she had. Jameson had been on the phone about Spider-Man when she walked in. He really did seem to hate the hero more than most things, which was saying something considering all Triple J seemed to like was money and things that made him money.

She crossed over into his office, which could only be described as immaculate chaos. One desk along the wall had multiple monitors displaying tomorrow's online version of the Bugle. On the other desk were pages and pages of possible layouts for the print editions. If the Bugle wasn't such a rag, she would have found the process that Jameson was going through amazing and herculean. In reality, his insistence on controlling every little part of the paper was one of its biggest problems.

"Ah, good, you're here, what took you so long?" he asked, not looking up from the layouts.

"I was waiting out-"

"Sure, sure, sure," he waved her off. "If you have pictures, leave them on my secratery's desk when you leave. I'm sure they're great. Listen, I need you to cover an event at the Museum of Natural History on Friday?"

"I...what? An Assignment?" she was surprised. In the few weeks she had worked here, all he ever seemed to care about was her getting coffee and some pictures of the turtles. Sending her out on an assignment was a huge new step.

"Don't get too big for your britches," he cautioned. "My lifestyle guy got the flu, and is insisting I give him some 'paid time off', whatever the hell that means. So I need you to cover it."

"Oh, okay, cool," she didn't care what the reason was. A byline was a byline, right? And she liked going to the museum, so it was a win-win. "What's the event?"

"I dunno, they're unveiling some Japanese artifacts they found recently," he motioned to a folder on his desk. "It's black tie. If you need, we can expense a rental for you and a date. But the lowest priced option. We're not made of money."

"Uh...okay, Mr. Jameson. I won't let you down!"


"What do you think April wants?" Mikey pondered as the four brothers traversed the New York skyscrapers. They moved like a cohesive unit, flowing from one roof to the next like the wind.

Leonardo had come to love these moments above the surface with his brothers, the four of them not needing to speak to one another and instead just moving like a cohesive unit. The four of them were starting to really understand what Splinter's teachings were about, and how they could really be used. All those years in the dojo were now coming to fruition, and Leo couldn't feel better about that.

"She said she had some important news on the Foot," Raph responded to his younger brother. "Maybe she finally got an interview with Shredder."

"Nah, she probably just misses me," Mikey dismissed Raphael's obviously correct answer. "Who wouldn't miss my magnetic personality?"

"Mikey, more like reverse polarity personality," Donnie laughed. He was the only one, and Leo could tell that he was confused as to how, "Get it? Because people want to go away from him? Like...when you try to put the same sides of a magnet together?"

"Donnie, really?" Leo shook his head.

"Ugh, no one gets me," Donatello sighed.

"No, no we do not," Raph agreed as the brothers came to a stop on the rooftop of April's apartment.

They climbed down gingerly, making sure not to make too much noise on the fire escape. The last thing they needed was one of the other people in April's apartment complex coming to the window and spotting them. Splinter already wasn't happy they were here so soon after meeting April. He wanted the brothers to watch her, make sure that she could be trusted.

Leonardo wasn't going to have any of that, though. She and Casey had made it clear they were in for the long haul when it came to helping out the Turtles. Leo had been far too trusting when it came to Karai. he knew that. But these two were different. There was no ulterior motive to be had or reason for them to betray his family. They needed these allies, and he was going to make sure he kept them.

Once they made it to April's apartment, the knocked on the window, and were greeted by April's smiling face, "About time you guys got here! It's almost one in the morning."

"Yea, well, we're night owls," Raph shrugged and entered.

"Party all night long, guuuuuuurl," Mikey blurted out.

"Oh my god," Donnie sighed under his breath.

"Good to see you, April," Leo stifled a laugh. "Sorry about my brothers."

She shook her head, causing her fire orange hair to wave in a circle, "Trust me, they're no worse than basically every guy at school."

Mikey put his hand on her shoulder, "Someone giving you trouble? Want me to take care of him? I can drag him into the sewer. Make sure he's never seen again. Ninja...vanish."

Humoring him, she looked at him disapprovingly, "Now why would I want you to ruin your adorable reputation?"

Mike spun around to face his brothers, "She thinks I'm adorable!"

"Okay, calm down, weirdo," Raphael rolled his eyes.

"Your email said you had big news?" Donatello brought the line of questioning back to business.

"Oh, right," she headed back to her desk and pulled out a folder, handing it to Don. "I got an assignment from my boss. Didn't seem all that interesting until I started going through the program for the museum unveiling it's for. Take a look, I thin you guys are going to be pleasantly surprised."

Don flipped through the pamphlet for a few seconds before his head snapped up, his eyes wide and staring back at April, "There's no way."

"I know, right? Almost too good to be true," she nodded with a wide smile on her face.

"What is it, Don?" Leo asked.

"An exhibit on newly found ninja artifacts. Including, and I quote, 'the legendary Book of the Foot Clan, supposedly containing the prophecies that informed the mysterious ninja clan'."

"Holy shit," Raph blurted out.

"Yea, that's what I thought you'd say," April beamed.

"We need to get our hands on that book," Leo looked at her, and he instantly knew she had a plan.
1x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
Raw
Avatar of Pacifista

Pacifista

Member Seen 2 hrs ago


Location: Washinton D.C.
Till Death – 1.02

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 1.01

A overcast clouds releasing a slight mist kept the setting sun well out of sight, the slick roads reflecting only lamplight in the early evening. The slap of shoes against damp pavement accompanied Don’s steps as he went to the door of Perry’s Diner. Wiping his feet on the mat he stepped inside, the sickly scent of cooking meats and fried foods filling him with a guilty appetite. Just as he wondered if he’d arrived first or not, he heard a despondent waiter pleading with his date. “Ma’am, please put away the cigarette.”

“I wasn’t going to smoke them!” the seated woman insisted, a black coat over her pharmacy clothes, fresh off of work. An opened, red pack of cigarettes sat on the table next to a glass of water, one of them being rolled in her fingers despite her insistence otherwise. Swooping in, Don snatched the one out of her hand and slid the pack on the table away from her. “Excuse us.” he muttered, taking a seat across from her in the booth. Eyes, narrowed, Holly insisted, “I wasn’t! I don’t have a lighter!”

Putting the loose cigarette back before sliding the pack aside, Don murmured, “Why do you have cigarettes and no lighter?”Holly pulled back, one finger running along the edge of the table, like a scolded child. “I only just bought them, I’m supposed to quit.” Don’s mouth tightened to form a thin line. “I’ll treat you for dinner then, because you’re not getting them back.” Slipping them into the pocket of his light blue coat, he took it off and left it on the seat, before nabbing one of the menus left upright in a wire holder.

Taking up a menu herself, Holly hissed, “Tell me you wouldn’t need a smoke after that little acid trip.” Don winced, looking around carefully. The waiter had left them to decide their order, and the place was rather quiet at this hour, the only other guests well on the other side of the diner. The appliances of the open kitchen and fans made a baseline noise level that would keep them from being overheard, but Don was still wary. “Look, I don’t know what I’d call that but lets not bring drugs into it.” Squinting at his menu, he said, “Anyway, you’re looking...well.”

Holly snorted. “Oh, you definitely need glasses. I know I got fat, don’t try to smooth talk me. I swear, the next person who calls me ‘young lady’ is going to get my fist down their throat. And you’ve had better days too, while we’re at it. God I forgot what a tight ass you had, not that saggy thing.”

““It does not sag! And don’t make me talk about this in public!” Holly just cackled. Rubbing his brow, Don didn’t know if he could handle this woman.

The two went quiet as they decided, the waiter coming back around to give them drinks and taking their orders. One they had their orders on the way, two glasses of iced tea in between them, Holly’s with no ice, they were finally free to talk. Holly cracked open a few packs of sugar, beginning, “So, some aliens want us to put on costumes and fight bank robbers from the sounds of it.”

Don sighed. “I’m not up and up on this superhero stuff at all, there’s so many of them. And I don’t even understand...how. They took us to space and then put us back? If they can do that, why not just take all the bad guys and throw them into a black hole...”

Holly snapped, “Oh get off yourself. ‘Bad guys’? Who do you think you are? Look, I don’t know what some Lords of chaos and order want with Earth, but if they chose us of all people to fight, then do you really want them making other choices for us?” Stirring her tea, four empty packets of sugar bunched up on the table, she took a sip through a straw as apprehension crossed Don’s face. “No, I guess not.”

Holly continued, “Anyway, I didn’t get taken anywhere. Or, well, I remember it, but I was still at where I left from, if that makes any sense. My coworkers who found me said I’d just zoned out. When we got sent back, they were all around me, trying to figure out if something was wrong. So it’s like, our minds are the ones who become heroes, but not us, really.”

Don’s brow furrowed. So their minds were taken away from their bodies? At first it left an unsettling feeling, but on further through he realized that it kept their actual bodies out of harms way, though who knew what would happen to them if they got hurt. Even if they could fight without being in danger, where would they even begin? Trouble didn’t just happen every day, how were they supposed to find out about it? Just watch the news all day? Hell, Don didn’t even know how to do it. He was stuck in place, only uncertainty ahead.

“Holly, I don’t think this is a good idea. We’re too old for this. We’ve got a kid, and he’s got kids now. We can’t be superheroes, that’s...” Don trailed off, noting the blank look in Holly’s eyes. “Holly?” Leaning in, she blinked, but her eyes didn’t move, they were just focused on some point just past him. She moved lightly with her breathing, and occasionally she’d shift her posture slightly. “Holly? Holly?” Don continued to whisper.

I’m fine you mope. Her lips hadn’t moved at all, her voice only among his thoughts, a sensation he’d felt not to long ago while his senses had been hurtling through space. The voice was different too, younger, just like it had been then. Try it. Just think about it. That same feeling.

Don froze, glancing around the diner. The kitchen was as busy as ever, no plates being dished up to come over to the table, no guests appeared to be paying them any mind. They had a moment, so Don readied himself before daring to try.

---

Blue and black overtook him, before Don came to, a murky, cloudy sky far above him, brown roof tiling below. Even in the weather, his outfit, the hero costume, kept him from feeling any discomfort from moisture or temperature, which gave him a slight, disconnected dissonance. Glancing about the neighborhood, he started to piece together where he was. It took him longer than he should have from his unfamiliar, second story perspective, but he was at the same house he’d been at for decades, just on the roof. Aside from the faint sound of the light rain and the occasional car, he could also hear a low hum, one familiar, but muted. At once he was familiar with what was going on around him as the masked hero, but also he could hear the diner in the back of his mind, furthering his disconnection.

Though it was dark, he still felt open, naked, worried that his neighbors might see him. Body feeling immensely light, he managed to float, before steadily dropping down to the backyard. Reaching for the glass sliding door to the inside, it was locked tight. “Holly?” he spoke, before realizing his mistake. Holly? Where are you?

Look, I don’t know how to explain it any better. Just feel it, like earlier. No, I know, I’m at my house. Are you at yours? Wait, what? I assumed we would just go where we needed to be, like last time.

Heart racing, Don was worried. Wait, are you in trouble? Holly’s voice had been relaxed, though now it had been raised in response. No, everything’s fine here, I just...
---

Perched on the corner of a building over a city square, Holly slid to a sitting position, legs dangled over the side of the building. Where it had been late evening in D.C., here it was more of a late afternoon, the sun still burning brightly on its descent. The square was abuzz with people moving about, the weather temperate as far as Holly was concerned. Towering in the middle of the square was a pillar topped with a bronze statue of an angel, one of its arms holding up a crown.

Mexico City, Mexico

Well, just don’t ask me to tell you what’s going on because I have no idea. I think I’m in Mexico. Or, well, maybe. My geography isn’t the best.

Well, come back in time to eat. Don offered helplessly.
3x Like Like
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Hexaflexagon
Raw
Avatar of Hexaflexagon

Hexaflexagon

Member Seen 3 mos ago




Bryant Park, Manhattan
12:00 P.M


When she started out Jessica had felt strange looking through people’s personal belongings without their knowledge, but overtime she came to understand the process as a kind of ritual. Desperate parents, spouses, lawyers, and insurance agents offered up diaries, insurance statements, and emails as the transactional medium of exchange by which she was supposed to conjure forth their runaway children, clients, and unfaithful spouses.

To begin her latest conjuring, Jessica set up in a Japanese café that overlooked Bryant Park near where her photo of Sahiba had been taken. Jessica found it useful to inhabit the spaces where her targets existed as if the sidewalk would whisper its secrets to her. The café was attached to a Japanese stationery and literature importer that seemed to carter exclusively to the local expat and otaku scenes. With most of the regular cliental either at work or school, the only other patron when Jessica entered was an old Japanese man reading a copy of the Asahi Shimbun.

The aesthetics of the café reminded Jessica of a spaceship, or maybe an iPad, the tables and chairs made of seamless pieces of shining white plastic, three human-sized tablets replacing what would have been a traditional serving counter. The tablets had cute chibifed depictions of food with their names written underneath in English and in Kanji. Jessica ordered a matcha green tea and paid with an app on her phone that linked up to her debt card. Three minuets later, a paper cup appeared in a glass receptacle near the tablets that had two nozzles – the first nozzle injected in steaming hot water and the second injected in a green slurry like mixture. The container chimed as it opened signaling to Jessica that her tea was ready.

Taking her automated tea, Jessica sat at a window side table that overlooked the park and proceeded to pull out Sahiba’s things from a duffle bag that Wilson had given to her when she left the Cloisters. The first thing that Jessica pulled out was the laptop. A MacBook air brand-new when Sahiba would have started college, but now four years out of date, the front casing covered in stickers from various college clubs and events. Setting the laptop aside, Jessica next pulled out four identical notebooks each corn husk colored and spiral-bound. They were Korean-imports and used extensively by bullet journaling aficionados, the silky yet roughly tactile waterproof paper was like driving in a Porsche compared to her own moleskin.

Jessica took the top notebook from the stack and fanned through its pages. The first thing she noticed was that Sahiba’s handwriting was immaculate. Blocks of uniform typewriter-like writing filled the pages, the words pulled from high quality ink that neither smudged, faded, or bled. What felt like a lifetime of parsing suicide notes and various criminal paraphernalia had left Jessica with a strong eye that was able to pick up on subtle habits hidden in the page. Jessica was able to deduce that Sahiba was lefthanded, that she favored a rollerball pen, and that she had a habit of using her free hand as an anchor point leaving the bottom righthand corner of the notebook more worn than the rest. Otherwise, the notebook did not reveal anything beyond whatever lecture notes the girl had chosen to take down. The next two books followed the same pattern but the last managed to catch Jessica’s interest.

It unlike the others had been turned into a personal planner with ruler-straight lines separating pages into days and days into hours. Planners were significantly more interesting to Jessica than lecture notes as she found they give her a much better picture of a person, how they organized themselves to somehow face the big scary world. Sahiba’s planner was meticulous just like her handwriting with different categories of events being documented by different colored felt-tipped pens. Looking at the vibrant blocks of color that filled the pages, Jessica wondered how the girl even time had to eat or sleep for that matter.

”Guess you’re not the only insomniac in New York, who Who woulda thunk?”thought Jessica drily.

About halfway through the planner, a new color appeared in the blocks that caught Jessica’s eye. There in flamingo pink lowercase letters was the word - therapy – appearing every Wednesday at 5 P.M going forward. Some mental math and a cross-reference to the calendar on her phone confirmed that they began about a month after Stryfe’s attack on the City.

Jessica was on the train when it happened taking the LIRR back from Long Island City when the attacked happened. In the moment she hated being trapped in the East River Tunnels like a sardine, only later she would find out the line had gone dark when a drone infested switch operator swung a wrench at his buddy and hit the switchboard instead. And it only with hindsight that she realized how lucky she was that she was in a metal tube underground instead of experiencing the hell that was going on above. She would only find out the true extent of the damage from Kim when the detective dragged her out to get drunk to forget a long night of shoving corpses in body bags and contacting their grieving families.

Jessica drop the notebook on the table and took a swig of her long-forgotten tea. The tea had gone lukewarm, and the sensation of chilled matcha made it feel like she was swallowing a tree. Her face contorted in a corkscrew and she fought off the urge to gag as she placed the tea down on the table and pushed it with a single index finger as far away from her as she could. She rummaged around in her jacket pockets and pulled out a half empty pack of gum. Jessica unwrapped a red-tinged strip and popped it into her mouth letting an aggressive bust of cinnamon go to war with the linger sensation of lawn mulch that hung in her mouth. Jessica chewed in a slow and deliberate rhythm as she turned back to her work thoroughly unsatisfied.

As Jessica picked the planner up, she saw a small white rectangle fall from its place tucked between two pages and onto the table. It took Jessica only a moment to realize that it was a business card, intrigued Jessica picked it up to get a better look at it. On closer inspection, she realized the card wasn’t a pure white, but rather a warm eggshell color and by feel alone she could tell the cardstock was of high quality. Flipping it over revealed a logo written in an instantly recognizable yet understated Rockwell variation.

Haynes Biomedical
New York, London, Madripoor


Curiosity peaked; Jessica decided to pull on this thread to see where it took her. Setting the business card on the table, Jessica fished out her phone and snapped a photo of it. Jessica sent out the photo to Kim with the caption – “Does this ring any 🔔s?”

Placing the phone down on top of the business card, Jessica pulled out Sahiba’s laptop It was a 2018 space gray MacBook Air, the front cover coated in a rainbow barrage of stickers from bands, political movements, and tchotchke stores. Turning the laptop on, the first thing Jessica did was enter into the computer’s email client. As a new window sprung to life, Jessica briefly wondered how untampered with were the materials she was working with. After all, if Chadha’s people were the ones that cracked open the laptop for her couldn’t they have also tampered with the data inside? Jessica’s typical cliental often tried to hide their unsavory or embarrassing secrets from her and they weren’t nearly as well off or entrenched in the political quagmire to worry about some P.I seeing something that she shouldn’t of. Despite her creeping anxiety Jessica had to assume that she was working with the full berth of information, it was the only way to stay sane.

Jessica spit the wad of now flavorless gum into her matcha stained cup as she bjegins to scour Sahiba’s abandoned inbox for references to Haynes Biomedical.

“I'll be a monkey's f*@!ing uncle!” whispered Jessica in exhilaration as her keyword search brought up a single response.

The computer had highlighted a single response. A response contained within Sahiba’s online bank statement. There two weeks before Sahiba had disappeared there was a payment to Haynes for a consulting fee.

“Why would a college student be consulting with a Biomedical corporation. And Chadha’s people must have seen this in their search or otherwise she didn’t know why Chadha was paying them the big bucks. So why would they have not told her about this?”

As Jessica pondered over the implications of her newest discovery, a discovery that raised more questions than it did answers, her phone began to vibrate on the table. Looking down at the caller I.D revealed that it was Kim.

“How you doing girl scout? Sorry about the late reply, I was in the middle of grilling a Jamaican who was slinging kiddie porn out of his tacorita.” answered Kim gruffly. She sounded tired and from the sounds of traffic she was probably outside.

On her smoke break.” figured Jessica as she found herself craving a smoke, alcohol, pot, something anything, to fill the growing pit in her stomach, but she was on call and she needed to stay sharp even if that meant her paranoia getting the best of her.

“You there Jones?”

“Yeah… sorry. I’m sifting through our ghost girl’s things at the moment so I’m a little districted.” replied Jessica only half-lying.

“That why your askin’ about Haynes?” replied Kim.

“Yeah, the girl made a payment to them two weeks before she went and vanished. The only Haynes I know are the clothing people.” admitted Jessica.

“Hanes the clothing brand doesn’t have a ‘y’ in it you f&$*ing moron.”

“F#$k you, English was never my best subject anyway. Do you actually know anything Kim or are you just jerking my chain because it gets you off?”

“I only believe in consensual chain jerking thank you very much. And yeah, I do, don’t you? They’ve been in the news ever since Stryfe happened.” asked Kim.

“I try my best not to look at the news.” admitted Jessica. “There is only so much spoon-fed bulls*@t, I can deal with in a day. What is Haynes with a ‘y’’s deal.”

“Metahuman Gene Therapy or MGT. Basically they are trying to make new Wonder Womens, Supergirls, or you for that matter. Like steroids but way more f*@!ing exciting if you ask me.” answered Kim.

The idea of somebody wanting to be like her caused Jessica’s stomach to twist. She couldn’t lie and say that her powers weren’t useful sometimes. I mean who didn’t have somebody that they hated so much that they just wanted to throw them through a wall. But they also were nothing but a glowing beacon for weirdos and psychopaths of all shapes and colors, folks like Kilgrave. Even just the very thought of that name made Jessica want to throw her fist through the nearest wall.

“And… why are they in the news?” she replied finally through clenched teeth.

“Courting rituals with the Department of Defense.” answered Kim, the disgust plain on her voice. “They want to set up a trial program to make people like me into superpowered Übermensch. Police forces and military personal prepared to deal with Stryfe level responses without the need of private citizens in tights saving the day.”

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” replied Jessica. “I barely trust most cops with guns and they want to make them into mini Captain F@!*ing America’s?”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” answered Kim.

“This doesn’t answer why Sahiba would of paid for a consulting fee.”

“Well isn’t that your job to figure it out? Y’know do some actually detectiving like the rest of us?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the info you insufferable b*@@h.” replied Jessica with a sigh.

“Love you too!” Kim replied with saccharine cheer as she hung up.

Jessica ran her finger over the slightly raised lettering of the business card. And for the second time since sitting down she got that sickly feeling in her stomach that this case wasn’t as cut and dry as it appeared. Jessica didn’t know the whole story yet, but Kim was right it was her job to figure it out whether everyone like it or not.

2x Like Like 1x Thank Thank
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
Raw
Avatar of Pacifista

Pacifista

Member Seen 2 hrs ago


Location: New York City, New York
Hounded – 3.04

Interaction(s): None
Previously: 3.03

Feet sluggishly tramping down another alleyway, Bruce had an awkward sway in his step. The chill air of New York’s night in this winter was nothing to turn up a nose at. Falling asleep at the wrong place could prove to be unfortunate, but spots of warmth would often be targets for patrolling officers herding the wayward homeless away. If Bruce had known of spots free from that kind of policing then he wouldn’t need to keep up his walk, his movement intended to keep warmth coming from his body. His legs could take it, certain, but at this point he was more afraid of his mind. No progress was being made, much of his time spent on getting by day to day rather than finding Brian. Maybe that was fine. He hated living like this but it would get better in the coming months when the weather cleared. But...no, he quickly realized. It wouldn’t last. He couldn’t last. He’d felt it when seeing people herded out of a subway station. He was going to try and stay the night there, as he’d seen others doing, but bad luck left him bearing witness to police forcing them outside in the middle of a freezing night. He hadn’t even been a part of it, yet he still felt frustration. Anger that those who’d been at their lowest from whatever circumstance or sacrifice, incidental or deserved, were now being pushed around and put at even further risk. His head as throbbed, but the moment he felt a flash of green he ran from those emotions.

And now it was even worse. Sitting so low for so long, Bruce looked up and saw skyscrapers hemming in the starless night sky, knowing that if he looked back down he’d see the struggle and despair in those at his level. Those who’d been crushed and could not move. But Bruce could move, and act, and that was exactly what he was afraid of.

Ears perking up as he heard a dull thud around the corner, Bruce was glad to be ripped out of the shades of his mind, if only for a moment. That relief was gone as soon as he turned the corner, immediately ducking backwards. It was just a glimpse, but that brief moment of sight quickly contextualized everything he could hear from now as he witnessed a man being mugged. 3 others, maybe 4, surrounded him. Maybe he was fighting back, but Bruce couldn’t tell, aside from the pounding of fist on flesh, the scuffle of shoe scraping against the moist alleyway pavement. At one point there was a cracking sound, then the stomping of legs breaking out into a run.

And Bruce didn’t do a thing. He didn’t even think about lifting a finger, just of keeping his head down and letting it pass. Any twinge of anger he felt at the idea of someone victimized for no reason needed to be suppressed. Had to be suppressed. And once it was over he peeked his head out. Someone in a winter coat lay flat on his front, arms angled oddly from the fall. A faint light caught his eye, Bruce dared to get closer, spotting a phone on the ground. Leaning in, he noticed why it hadn’t been taken: the screen was cracked from the scuffle. Not knowing the state the man was in, Bruce picked it up, seeing that it was on a call screen, ‘91’ dialed. Swallowing, he struggled with the cracked touch screen, hands trembling as he pushed the screen away, pulling up a browser, using some of the phone’s data for his own ends. He’d thought about what he might search for some time now, and it came as easily as the broken screen would allow. And finally he had a street name, an address. Glancing down at the man, his feelings were muted. His relief at his goal being within sight had overshadowed any pity he felt at the victim, and that in itself sent a pit down his throat and through his stomach. Going back to the call screen, he finished the emergency number, letting it get picked up before immediately hanging up and placing the phone down. He had no idea if it would work, basing his actions off of things learned second hand, but as he moved on he wasn’t looking back. He couldn’t look back, for every moment he lingered on those events was another moment he’d regret. And he couldn’t regret it, for had he gotten involved he might not be able to hold himself back. He told himself inaction was for the best because he had to believe it.

Going to a main road, Bruce had no intention of skulking about anymore. His expression was cold, and approaching the first person he saw, an older man whose wrinkles deepened as he was forced to acknowledge Bruce’s state of filth, he stood his ground, too desperate to think of others at the moment.

His voice came, raspy, and broken, words unintelligible. Clearing his throat of what felt likes weeks of bile and mucus with a guttural hacking, Bruce finally spoke. “Where’s Neapolitan street?
3x Like Like
Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Enarr
Raw
Avatar of Enarr

Enarr

Member Seen 2 mos ago


E P I S O D E O N E
S M A R T E R
C H A P T E R O N E


Legion Clubhouse, Earth
The Thirtieth Century: 2999


“Lightning Lad, it’s fantastic to see you! Has your first week’s stay in the Legion Clubhouse lived up to your expectations?”

“Yeah. It’s great. Really ritzy,” he said, kicking one of his heels into the other.

“That skyblue shock in your eyes has returned. Is everything to your liking? Please don’t feel pressured to say that it’s perfect. I know it’s not. My research team employed a trio of focus groups over the course of several weeks to try and make it feel as homey as possible but, as an entrepreneur, I know as well as anyone that getting that many opinions on anything tends to have a blanding, sterilizing effect.”

“Oh, in that case. Yeah. It, uh, doesn’t really feel like home. It doesn’t feel real. It feels more like a dream. I wake up and everything’s spotless. The menu looks just like it did in the old neighborhood on Winath, like, it tastes like you literally hired their staff.

“I’m glad to hear that you hate it,” Brande chortled magnificently, “I was afraid you’d try to spare my feelings. I thank you sincerely. It feels too presentable. I’ll amend that at once. Don’t worry: next time you see the place, it’ll be scummier than your belly button!”

Garth looked at him with a pair of evershifting eyes, perplexed. He couldn’t tell if he felt grateful or insulted. Maybe something else, not that he knew what that would even be. He was speechless. Absolutely speechless until the second when he wasn’t: “Wait. Did you say next time I see it?”

“I told them you were a bright one. Yessir, pack your bags for an all-expense paid trip to the planet Colu! We’ll be leaving in four hours. If you’d be so kind, please go rouse Imra, Rokk and Chuck. Tell them that you’ll be undertaking your first case as the Legion of Superheroes before night’s end!”


The Mark 494 Legion Cruiser “Forneus”
Outside Colu’s Atmosphere


“Pop Quiz!” Brande spouted as he stood in front of the teenagers.

That’s the worst kind there is, Garth thought to himself.

“Within the United Planets, one planetnation produces an amount of data exponentially larger than every other member of the Union combined. What is that planet?”

Garth’s fist shot up like a bolt of lightning, standing on his tiptoes like a toddler peeking over a fence before being upstaged by Imra’s unceremonious utterance, “Colu.”

“Ah, see! I knew you were a smart cookie. Say,” Brande began, “how’d you know?”

“I read your mind. Also, Garth told us we were going to Colu before brining us down here. So… I dunno, a bunch of reasons really,” she shrugged, politely grinning out of courtesy.

“Okay, I’ll have to bear that in mind from here on out,” Brande said, pausing his breathing for a moment in an attempt to think only clean thoughts. “How much do the rest of you know about the line of Coluan succession, though?”

Imra stayed silent, waiting for the others, who were even silenter exempting the staccato shrugging sound of softly slumping shoulders.

Brande grinned. This was what he was waiting for. “The Coluans would have conquered the universe several times over if not for the simple fact that, by and large, they want nothing to do with it. They’re generally too preoccupied with their internal bickering, espionage and mind-games. In spite of the formidable processing power of their minds, they sabotage each other’s research in their casual cat-and-mouse counterintelligence games so thoroughly that their ability to progress as a society is hindered to merely being good or occasionally earth-shaking as opposed to fundamentally redefining the pace of intergalactic society on a daily basis.

This should come as little surprise given that their roots lie with the age-old beings known as The Computer Tyrants, a collective of sociopathic bean counting androids who crafted the entity known as Brainiac as a living encyclopedia to slither through the stars, sampling and stealing away data at any cost. Though he had been operating as a tenth level intelligence, he was assisted by a lowly engineer who unshackled his mind and enabled him to ascend to the twelfth level, every bit as psychically robust as his creators and with a bevy of life experience behind him. He slew them like dogs before seizing the seat of Colu as his own and creating a race of people in his own image, tasking them with the exact same manner of scientific fieldwork that he had been designed to perform with one significant difference.

Their every thought was monitored and censored by his own mind. Unfortunately for him, this put such a strain on his ability to perform other functions once they anomalously began sprouting individuals also of the twelfth level. Ever since, he has been at rest in the heart of Colu, kept latent by his own laborers enlightenment. Naturally, there are loyalists who would like to see Colu returned to the control of the monarch Brainiac, but twelfth level intelligences, the first level at which a meaningful contribution can be made to processing the massive load of data, are only born every two or three hundred years on average. None of them have been interested in shouldering the burden.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Chuck demanded. “Didn’t you say that you were talking about succession or something? This can’t all seriously be relevant! Can it?”

“Sorry for the exposition dump, my boy, but I’ll get to succession in just a moment. It just seems severely improbably that anyone would be likely to fill you in on the social context that their society has existed within for the last several hundred years organically. I had some of my best researchers working on compiling and abridging their extremely well documented history, sorting through the intentional misinformation overloads so that you could have this neat little two minute speech. Speaking of which, as I was:

“The Brainiacs are the descendants of Brainiac who possess their own twelfth level intelligences. To date, there have been five of them. Only four. The most recent of which is Querl Dox, a young man, particularly bright even amongst the twelfth level intellects, that has survived a comically intense sequence of assassination attempts. The previous three Brainiacs are all, in some form or fashion, incapacitated and therefore not straining the original’s processors. If he falls, then the original Brainiac, the great tyrant shall return with a vengeance. Otherwise, the amount of terrorist attacks on the planet has skyrocketed. From an average of none to three dozen per year. We theorize that this is an attempt to lighten the load on his processors as well. Your job is to assist young mister Dox in preventing any further attacks and attempts on his life. Understood?”

Imra nodded curtly. Chuck looked like his brain was buffering. Rokk worked his eyelids like an abacus, trying to work out how they would pull it off and Garth snapped his fingers, spelling out Y E S with a trail of electrons buzzing in the air.

“Excellent,” Brande grinned. “We’ll be embarking briefly.”
↑ Top
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet