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Nicholaus Lemaître


| {Full Name} |
Nicholaus Lemaître

| {Age} |
43

| {Species} |
Human

| {Gender} |
Non-binary

| {Class/subclass} |
Knight-Enchanter Mage



| {Appearance} |
Standing 6' 2" tall, Nicholaus stands alongside others rather with a sense of pride from being an olive-skinned Orlesian. His long, wavy, dark brown hair is complicatedly styled, often in different hairstyles depending on the occasion. While his impressively long, trimmed mustache isn't too touched upon with wax and other products. And often wearing battlemage armor formally from the Orlesian Army, modified to appear similar to armor worn by Inquisition forces. Out of combat, Nicholaus wears casual clothing made originally by manufacturers from Val Royeaux, either brought or gifted to him.

Nicholaus has trimmed eyebrows and dark brown wide eyes with measured, wearing round glasses for reading. His pointed chin, long face, and full lips are defining features in addition to his wide hips. His short torso lacks any chest muscle tone while maintaining his weight to a certain degree.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |
Enchanter Staff
Battlemage Armor

| {Skills} |
Advisor of the Magi - Having been nothing more than a plain old advisor to those illiterate in magic, Nicholaus flourished throughout the years learning much about the practices.

Survivor of The Game - Growing up amongst the nobility of Orlais, it's almost expected that one has a deep understanding and appreciation of The Grand Game. Nicholaus often found himself in the middle of such challenges quite often.

Knowledge Curator - Given there wasn't much a mage could do while stuck in a tower, Nicholaus took to reading history scrolls and books to relieve the boredom.

| {Talents} |
Spear Handling - Despite being a mage, a Knight-Enchanter was expected to engage in melee combat. Nicholaus chose to treat his stave like a spear, unlike a sword, to maintain as much distance as possible.

Nomad - Given his job required constant travel, Nicholaus quickly adjusted to temporary living, always ready to move to different locations without much difficulty.

| {Spells} |
Winter's Grasp
Spirit Blade
Combat Clarity
Fade Shield

| {Home/Family} |
Montsimmard Circle Tower, Orlais.

| {Flaws and limits} |
Calculated Bastard - In order for one to survive the Game, Nicholaus had to be one step ahead of his enemies. That meant doing whatever it took even if it brought forth death to those that crossed him. And even after leaving that life behind him, old habits were still around and often reared its ugly head regardless of the circumstances.

Aging Body - Nicholaus was not getting any younger, and it was beginning to show when his eyes started to get weaker. So far though, he was in decent enough condition to continue fighting for the Wardens.



| {Personality} |
Being from the countryside originally was something engraved into Nicholaus, even as he was sent away to the tower at the unusual age of five. His intense desire for a family was quickly used against him in The Game, where compassion could easily be discarded without remorse. It was something that was quite difficult to let go especially when he got more familiar with the dance. But it could never be crushed. His mask was a deliberate one, in which his clients assumed him to be a calculated, distant mage. Someone who wanted to break free of his confines in the tower and be amongst the nobility. And even though his freedom came with his work, taking off the mask in front of anyone was impossible.

And he paid accordingly when he did let the mask down ever so slightly. Nicholaus relied on his training as a Knight-Enchanter to push through the mental pains alongside his work as an advisor. Combat also provided thrills and the adrenaline rush to his otherwise dull life, though he did not enjoy taking away life from any life form. His mask was now a tightly held safeguard designed to never be let down even at the slightest inconvenience in front of him. But with his time in the Inquisition and the Grey Warden, the mask began to show cracks (age also played a major factor). Nicholaus was facing a dilemma that couldn't be solved with clever tactics or a simple spell trick, and that left him baffled for the first time in decades.

| {Background} |
For much of their early adulthood, Nicholaus Lemaître served as a traveling arcane advisor to noble families across Orlais. They often remained beside their patrons for a few weeks to months, depending on the severity of the commission. But given the usefulness of a knight-enchanter, they mainly dealt with protective roles or the occasional wildlife hunter. It was well-paid and respectable enough to keep the Orlesian Chantry and its Circle of Magi off of their back. That was until the War of the Lions brought forth chaos to the homeland, forcing Nicholaus to get involved.

The Knight-Enchanter was cautious to not align with the crown nor the rebels, an attempt to play both sides of the conflict. It was at this point in Nicholaus' life that the Game was truly dangerous. Lies and deceit were common tactical decisions made to protect their bottom line, which was an occurrent feat to achieve on a daily basis. And after a year of keeping up with the charade grew ever tired of the civil war and the inconvenience it brought forth to the lands. So when news came of the Inquisition and their efforts to secure a truce, it was an opportunity of a lifetime for Nicholaus, a talented mage capable, to offer their services to the cause.

The Breach was more of a threat to the whole world than the Orlesian noble ever could have realized. Nicholaus was part of the platoon that attacked Corypheus and his forces of Red Templars. Not long after it was sealed, and with the world seemingly saved, Orlais soon descended into a new kind of war from the shadows where The Game was ever so essential to one's survival. In the hopes of finding a new sense of normalcy, Nicholaus chose to remain in the Inquisition until it was publicly disbanded by the Exalted Council. So, with no desire to resume their previous occupation, they sought out purpose in the Grey Wardens alongside their fellow comrades.

Nicholaus survived the Joining and quickly adapted to life, having been transferred over to Wheisshaupt to assist the mage teachers with their lessons.
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International Refugee Coalition (IRC)

Location: Current whereabouts pinpoint the main fleet somewhere within the North Atlantic. Smaller fleets are located in the Pacific and Arctic Oceans and the Mediterranean Sea.

History: The world's forgotten victims of the ever-growing threat of climate change were always forced to rebuild on their own. But the idea of branding together truly never stuck on until the beginning of the 2030s. The subtle collapse of the global market, along with the changing climate, led to millions being displaced from their home country. Approximately one billion were climate refugees and lacked the proper representation on the international stage. So, in 2032, the International Refugee Coalition was founded and began assisting refugees who accepted their services without fear of going into debt.

Shortly after the foundation, the IRC began buying off decommissioned ships from various countries that tried to maintain their economies. Container ships, cruise ships, fishing vessels, and tender vessels were common purchases made with the banking accounts of refugees (the ones who willingly volunteered). But they weren't the only types of ships brought. A year later, the decommissioned USS Freedom and HMS Severn became the first naval ships under IRC ownership. And then, they made their biggest purchase with the INS Rajput for four billion US dollars. But then came the Space Wars.

Although far from the continents (where nuclear hellfire was unleashed), the fleet was still left vulnerable once the satellite infrastructure collapsed. In a matter of weeks, things that ships once relied upon were forever lost, reverting back to 18th-century techniques as a means of survival in this brave new world. Millions sought out the IRC in the midst of total collapse, which soon strained the already limited resources. So, the Universal Council for the Displaced (UCD) voted unanimously to cut communications with the outside world and limit their presence to the Arctic Ocean. Their last communication was in 2040 before vanishing seemingly from the face of the Earth.

But in secret, they collaborated with remnants of the United Nations to gather and perverse human knowledge and culture, becoming unofficial conservators of human history. Shortly after losing contact with the UN, they secured and raided the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. Then, cut all forms of communication with the remaining world governments. The IRC remained hidden and isolated, with occasional visits to the mainland for refuel and resupply. However, a rapid change in leadership recently forced a unanimous vote to re-engage with the outside at the beginning of the 2100s.

Culture and beliefs: Life onboard ships was always going to have its challenges, especially in the wake of societal collapse. Ration cards for food and medicine were implemented to maintain the survival of its crew and passengers. While knowledge of ship maintenance and repair was a mandatory learning course for everybody, not just exclusive to the crew. A captain was responsible for the everyday affairs onboard their ship while communicating with the various departments, managing all personnel inventory, and being a representative of the Universal Council for the Displaced (UCD).

Much of the old understanding of seafaring, along with its professions and ranks, survived and was modified to better suit survival. Access to remaining human knowledge and culture allowed for a better understanding of the old world and its numerous issues than arguably any other in the world. That left some to speculate that the International Refugee Coalition was one of the few direct descendants of old-world governance, while the council was more than willing to remain silent on the matter.

Science and technology: The IRC relied heavily upon preserving old marine technology to actively survive in the open seas while adapting gardening and solar power.

Character names: Spokesperson Noémie Mahieu
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BATMAN
OLD GOTHAM
HOMECOMING - BITTERNESS


Harvey Dent. What more could be said about a childhood friend who undoubtedly had every reason to be furious? It was hard to blame him, given it had been years since their last farewell at a lively high school grad party. Rather than reaching out the moment he landed in Gotham, Bruce let two long weeks drift by in complete silence, with each day stretching on until Harvey decided he'd had enough and undoubtedly contacted Alfred to set up this long-awaited reunion. Seated outside a vibrant café, Harvey was finishing typing on his phone when he spotted Bruce approaching, an air of awkwardness trailing him like a shadow. As he took a seat across from his old friend, the tension was palpable, to say the least.

"Hey there, how's it going?" Bruce offered a hopeful smile, clearly aiming to lighten the mood.

Harvey raised an eyebrow, his face shifting into a scowl as he shot back with biting sarcasm. "'How's it going?' Seriously, Bruce? That's the best you can do after disappearing for eight years? No letters, no texts—just this? Impressive, truly."

"I needed to find myself, you know that." Bruce replied, a hint of regret flickering across his face as he spoke.

"Find yourself? Since when does 'ghosting' everyone in your life count as self-discovery." Harvey retorted, his voice edging towards a shout. "I never thought you'd just disappear on us—especially not on Alfred. He needed you just as much as you needed him. That girl from the repair shop and I had to step in, trying to fill the void you left behind. Just thinking about it gets me so fucking furious, Bruce."

Harvey was always merciless, his bluntness a constant since their middle school days. Fortunately, that hard-edged demeanor hadn't dulled with time. Perhaps that was exactly what Bruce needed—a stark reminder of the consequences of his choices, something Alfred would never have the heart to deliver. Feeling the weight of his friend's words, Bruce realized how much he had missed their dynamic over the years of travel. With a shaky breath, he finally admitted, "You're right. I shouldn't have pushed you, Alfred, or anyone else away. Yet, I chose to. Now, I'm here to make things right—not just with you, but with everyone I've hurt with my choice. I am genuinely sorry."

Bruce noticed a subtle shift in Harvey's demeanor; the fire in his eyes began to cool. He let out a deep sigh, and a faint smile crept onto his face. "Well, it's a start," he said, the edge in his voice softening.

"I guess those years away have worked some magic. You've actually grown up a bit." Harvey teased, unable to resist a jab.

Bruce chuckled in response. "You have as well, Chief Deputy District Attorney Dent."

"Yeah, well, nothing like uncovering the depths of Gotham's corruption to speed up the aging process," Harvey said with a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as a wry grin crept onto his face. "And what about those student loans!"

Alfred had informed him about Harvey's rise in the legal field. Fresh out of law school, Harvey participated in a groundbreaking lawsuit against the renowned Doctor Thorne for medical malpractice stretching years, resulting in revoking his medical license. Harvey caught the attention of the former District Attorney, who nominated him for his current position just before passing away from liver failure. Now, with a special election looming to fill the vacant position, whispers began to swirl that Harvey might be contemplating a run. It felt as if Gotham itself was beckoning to him, recognizing the potential hidden within the man willing to grapple with the shadows. This sensation was all too hauntingly familiar for Bruce—an echo of his current crusade. But this was something that could easily be something truly monumental. Unable to shake his curiosity, he leaned closer to his friend and asked:

"I've caught wind of your ambition to run for DA. Is there truth to those rumors?"

Harvey looked surprised before quickly giving way to a flash of irritation. "Don't put any stock in whatever the Gazette is spinning."

Bruce raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "That's a shame. I honestly think you'd make a fantastic DA."

"Oh, y-you really think so?" Harvey stammered, his surprise giving way to an unmistakable spark of interest.

"Absolutely, Dent. You've always been the one to take a stand against injustice. I checked out your record as a prosecutor, and honestly, it's extraordinary. Taking down a caporegime in your first year? Getting justice for the victims of Dr. Thorne? I remember that day you almost got suspended for standing up to Tommy because you were fed up with his bullying. That moment made it clear to me: you were destined for greatness. And now, you have the chance to do even more." Bruce's voice was warm and sincere as he touched his friend's hand reassuringly. "I want a safer Gotham, and I'm convinced you're the only official who can make it happen."

Harvey sat speechless, the weight of the moment enveloping him. "I... I need to discuss this with Gilda. She's been encouraging me to run."

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. "Gilda? Gilda Gold?" The name seemed to spark a flash of old memories, and his expression brightened at the revelation. The smile that spread across Harvey's face spoke volumes, filling Bruce with unexpected delight. Gilda had been a cherished friend from middle school, but she only knew Harvey from high school before moving away during their sophomore year. Now, the news of their rekindled friendship intrigued him more.

"Wow, how did that even happen?" Bruce asked.

"Well, she ended up attending the same law school as me, and then things just fell into place. We've been together for three years now. I really think she's the one." There was a warmth in Harvey's tone that made Bruce's heart swell with joy for his friend. Yet, amidst the happiness, a bittersweet ache lingered within him—a sorrowful reminder of the love that remained just out of reach as his crusade pressed onward.


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Nicholaus Lemaître

The speech given by the three senior Grey Wardens stirred up a wave of nostalgia within Nicholaus Lemaître. It reminded him of the time spent in the Inquisition, battling alongside comrades against hordes of demons for a just cause. A sense of purpose that abruptly was ripped away in the end, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. Now, though, Nicholaus found a new cause with the Grey Wardens—for the most part. Their usage of blood magic at Adamant Fortress was an indelible stain in its history, one that should never be easily forgotten.

And speaking of blood magic...

Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.

Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."

Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"

"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."

"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.

"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."

Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.

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VENOM
OUR LADY OF SAINTS CHURCH
ON A WING...


Upon entering the Our Lady of Saints Church for the first time in decades, there was an immediate wave of nostalgia that washed over Eddie. The tall, earth-toned stained glass window cast a warm glow over the chancel that stirred up memories. The poignant image of his mother's casket adorned with soft white and pink flowers, surrounded by flickering candles that danced around. He then felt his father's piercing glare when he dipped his hand into the consecrated wine to retreat his piece of bread during Holy Communion, a silent promise that he was getting severely punished at home. And that night, under the silver sheen of moonlight, he uttered a final prayer in a whisper, aware of the gravity of his words for his seemingly dwindling time. Cautiously, Eddie approached the altar as his heart was pounding, feeling as if he were intruding upon sacred ground—one that would resent his presence for the weight of the sins he'd committed since his last visit.

Yet, this place was also where he met them.

Home sweet home, Venom purred with a low, contented growl. It was as if the symbiote had been longing for this moment. Everything's still the same, Eddie.

"Yeah, just like before," Eddie echoed, standing before the altar, his mind swirling with uncertainty. What the hell was he even doing here? He shouldn't have even made the trip—it would've been smarter to head to his new place, grab a bite to eat, and then get some much-needed rest. But now, he stood there, drenched in sweat, with his hands hovering over the altar. Just as he hesitated, a voice echoed through the empty church, calling out to him.

"Are you alright, good sir?"

Eddie turned and saw the priest, slightly older than him, with an olive complexion and grayish hair that complemented the dark fabric of his cassock. As he closed the door behind him, the priest approached the altar, his eyes fixed on Eddie, patiently waiting for a response. "I... am, father," Eddie finally uttered, trying to inject steadiness into his voice than he felt: a bundle of nerves acutely aware of how out of place he was here.

"Do you need food? Shelter for the night?" The priest asked, his accent laced with an unmistakable touch of concern for the stranger.

"No, no," Eddie quickly shook his head, trying to muster a warm smile for the act of kindness. "I just came by to visit."

"You've been here before then?" The priest inquired, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

Eddie chuckled softly, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes. "You could say that."

The priest returned the smile, then turned his attention to the altar, ensuring it was in perfect order. "What's your name?"

DON'T ANSWER, Venom snarled fiercely, their voice laced with suspicion. Even since they had been on the run, their wariness of strangers had only intensified; it never tipped into outright paranoia. Though there were close calls. Drawing from his limited grasp of biology, Eddie speculated it was an intrinsic survival instinct shared by both humans and animals, heightened by his own turbulent emotions. Perhaps he was wrong, given that he was dealing with an alien entity, but it was close enough to a satisfying explanation. Still, he felt stifling, a sensation that grew with every passing second until the priest gently placed a calming hand on Eddie's back.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to unsettle you, son." The priest said softly, his frown transforming into a look of empathy. "If you need some space, I completely understand. Or if you'd prefer, I'm here to listen to your confession whenever you're ready."

Confession? The word struck Eddie like lightning. It was something he had nearly forgotten—something he hadn't experienced in years. Certainly not since high school. And definitely not since the whirlwind that was the symbiote had entered his life. For years, he had let spite fuel his every action, inflicting pain on countless lives, all driven by a singular obsession to settle the score with one man. When his attempts were foiled, he even turned his wrath on those the man held dear without a second thought... Maybe confessing wasn't such a bad idea after all. But not just yet; Eddie must navigate this conversation carefully, shielding the monstrous truth lurking beneath his skin.

"Thanks for the offer, but I should be going, Father," Eddie replied, feeling the weight of his decision settle in his chest.

As he turned to leave, a warm grin spread across his face at the priest's farewell words: "You're always welcome back here." Those words ignited a comforting warmth in his heart as he stepped back out into the cold, icy night.


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L E T H A L P R O T E C T O R



Edward Brock/Venom Symbiote Alphabet City, East Village

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:


"WE AR BONDED, EDDIE. IN DEATH, ONLY WILL WE PART."
Edward 'Eddie' Brock sought religion, as he had always done, for forgiveness before he went through with his plan. After being laid off from the Daily Bugle and realizing his future had been destined for failure, he wandered into Our Lady of Saints Church for a final prayer before intending to commit suicide. Instead, he encountered an alien presence that bonded with him in body and mind, driven by hatred and despair for Spider-Man and Peter Parker. And what emerged for that church was a revitalized man fueled by venom for the vigilante webhead and his former work rival. For four long years, this relentless campaign swept through the streets of New York, unleashing a wave of fear and terror that targeted not just him but those he held dear. But the spite was starting to run dry as it was a constant cycle of bitter violence. That was around the time when Carnage arrived.

Carnage was a terrifying creature, the ultimate killer driven by an insatiable bloodlust. Eddie and the symbiote initially planned on neutralizing them to learn about their origins, but they were overwhelmed and witnessed harm coming to Eddie's former fiancée, Anne Weying. Desperate for vengeance, they turned to the web-slinger for assistance in stopping the other symbiote. And in the end, in an act to protect Parker's loved ones, Venom tackled Carnage into a fire that seemingly killed both of them. But it wasn't the end. They found themselves washed up on the shores of Massachusetts. Instead of returning to New York, Eddie and the symbiote embarked on a journey of healing and redefining their future—one rid of the malign and despair that brought them together.

Now, after a decade away, hiding away from the world had become tiresome as the march of time was leaving its mark.


C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

Venom had always been one of the favorite comic superheroes to read as well as write about. I wanna focus on an older, somewhat mature Venom/Eddie who finally took the time to reflect on his behavior and decided to return home. At the same time, I was sorta inspired by the three-issue run of Venom: On Trial and the six-issue Venom: Lethal Protector. Additionally, I wanna be able to mesh well with Spider-Man, too, thus being older.


C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

Anne Weying: Even since her encounter with Carnage, Anne moved out of New York City in favor of San Francisco to move on with her life from the incident. Eddie tried to rekindle their friendship years, but it was better for them to maintain the distance.

Carl Brock: Somehow, the old bastard was still breathing and living relatively comfortably. Eddie hasn't talked to his father since being told how much of a disgrace he had become after getting laid off. The two haven't met since that night.

Carlton Drake: A billionaire who created the Life Foundation, an organization dedicated to safeguarding its ultra-rich clientele in the event of societal collapse. He is willing to spend much to achieve the ideal security system for himself and his clients.

Roland Treece: Another billionaire who founded Treece International, a construction corporation, and a client and investor of the Life Foundation. His company recently secured a lucrative contract with the city to sweep homeless encampments.

Patricia Tilby: Talented television reporter and investigative journalist made famous for her coverage of gentrification in District X that exclusively targeted the mutated population. Recently, she began investigating the underground homeless community.


S A M P L E P O S T:

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VENOM
THE ALCOVE, ALPHABET CITY
PLENTY OF TIME


The blissful sleep lasted for only a few hours due to the sound of random honking in the dead of night. Eddie was almost tempted to inspect the source and take his frustration out on the driver. But it had died down almost in an instant. Now, he was standing in his apartment, irritated that he was wide awake. His partner, however, was in perfect spirits as if nothing more than a minor inconvenience had occurred mere moments ago.

Thought you'd never wake up, sleepyhead. Venom purred teasingly.

Eddie chose to avoid the sarcasm and grumbled softly as he trudged to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge and rummaged through the shelves for a cold bottle of coffee. "Well, I do need my sleep," he said, closing the fridge with a slight thud. After taking a long, satisfying sip, Eddie raised an eyebrow at the symbiote. "Kinda surprised you aren't in your dormant state. What's got you up and about?"

Boredom strikes us fast. Venom dismissed, already prowling towards the window, his excitement palpable. So come on, let's hit the town!

"It's still night," Eddie shot back before grabbing his phone off the floor, noticing it was unplugged from the charger. He winced at the sight.

And? Venom pressed, his eagerness undeterred.

Suppressing a sigh, Eddie distracted himself by unlocking the phone, where a notification immediately caught his eye—a robbery in progress in Lower Manhattan, courtesy of Step Forward. His irritation deepened. The NYPD's latest initiative was nothing but an anxiety-generator tool designed to benefit from people's fears. Selling safety as a commodity that embraces unverifiable reports tainted by biases and prejudices. All the while, the symbiote's insatiable desire for crime-fighting became apparent. Venom sensed the change in Eddie's demeanor- "I thought we talked about this," Eddie said, his voice tense as he plugged his phone back in.

Then why bother coming back home? Venom countered, pressing on. Deep down, we know why. It isn't just about keeping a low profile-

"Stop."

-or evading the police or even the webhead. It has always been the fear of-

"Please, just stop." Eddie's voice trembled.

Why? You said it's liberating to face your fears head-on. Yours, in particular, is something we can tackle together. We could be a lethal protector, not driven by malice or spite but by a genuine desire to protect the innocent. Protect them from-

Suddenly, Eddie flung open the window; the sheer force rattled the frame, letting the cool night air wash over him. He stood there, body shaking, wrestling with his anger, each breath coming in sharp and ragged. It took him a minute to steady himself and take deep breaths. Another to find the words he needed to say. "Never do that shit again, okay? Never."

Understood. Venom replied, his voice strangely sincere.

"You're right, though," Eddie admitted, his tone shifting. "Facing your fears is supposed to be liberating—at least, that's what all those self-help books claim. But maybe I'm just afraid of confronting them. Maybe I am being a coward again. It won't surprise me, quite honestly. I've disappointed myself and others enough times already. But hey, at least I recognize it for once, you know. So I guess that counts for something. I don't want to hide anymore, not in this cramped apartment or anywhere else. So, if you think stepping up as a protector will help me fight my fears, why the hell not? It might just be one of the better ideas you've had in a while."

Venom was silent, realizing what they had just done. A promise made years ago was broken tonight, and all for petty reasons. Admittedly, they fucked up. Eddie, we-

"Come," Eddie said bitterly and then climbed out of the window onto a fire escape. "The night's young."


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G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W

"Everything I've done, I do for the people—our neighbors!"
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
_________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
_________________________________________________________
Oliver Jonas Queen
_________________________________________________________
Age | Relationship Status
_________________________________________________________
Affiliation(s) [If Applicable] | Nationality

N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S
N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S
_________________________________________________________
N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
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T H E S T O R Y S O F A R...
T H E S T O R Y S O F A R...
________________________________________________________________________________________
“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly:
“but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
- H. P. Lovecraft, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

“The world is a fine place and worth fighting for and I hate very much to leave it.”
- Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
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"I awaked each morning in a fever, sometimes frantically trying to verify or discredit such information as fell within the range of modern human knowledge.
Traditional facts took on new and doubtful aspects, and I marvelled at the dream-fancy which could invent such surprising addenda to history and science.
I shivered at the mysteries the past may conceal, and trembled at the menaces the future may bring forth."
- H. P. Lovecraft, The Shadow Out of Time

“Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today. It's been that way all this year. It's been that way so many times. All of war is that way.”

"Two things make the future real, the artist's imagination and the worker's hope. Fascism destroys both."

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C A P T A I N A M E R I C A
C A P T A I N A M E R I C A

"We cannot wait for time to absolve us."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
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C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
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Steven "Steve" Rogers
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27 | Single
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United States Army | American

N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S
N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S
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N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S
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T H E S T O R Y S O F A R...
T H E S T O R Y S O F A R...
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"Duty, bravery, and sacrifice. These are the values that represent Captain America to our nation and democracy abroad. He is a hero to the world, a warrior to our adversaries, and a patriot to us—the American people. This is his story. From a frail child orphaned at a young age, Steven Rogers refused to let them define him growing up. Denied enlistment in the Army, he volunteered for a program conceived during World War II. One that molded him into the world's first super soldier. He fought valiantly against Nazi and HYDRA forces, earning his stripes and proving his mettle on the battlefield. He made the ultimate sacrifice in service to his country, showcasing the very essence of true patriotism and heroism."
The Star-Spangled Man: Captain America's Enduring Legacy.

"A Norwegian oil company has discovered what appears to be a significant number of wrecked aircraft during a recent seabed survey. Although officials have begun mapping the area where the wrecks were found, experts suggest that the planes could date back to World War II."
Underwater Plane Graveyard of WWII-era Aircrafts Found, BBC.

Nick Fury Jr. knows where he was and what he was doing when he got told the news. He was overseeing the final reports of the night in his office when he received news from the Arctic team that had been sent out the previous day. They found him. Frozen. Intact. Alive. A fury of questions, hypotheses, and explanations clogged his mind, ready to burst at the seams. Then, before he had a chance to process it all, he was sent a photo of him. And for a full minute, Nick just laughs. Laughs hard. Laughs out loud. Laughs until he is tearing up and nearly out of breath. The absurdity of it all—of his life at this point—is utterly hilarious.

His father, Nicholas Fury Sr., remained adamant that his brother-in-arms was still alive "somewhere in the cold," insisting it was "his responsibility to bring him back home." Even though he was a highly respected man who had served his country time and time again, those around him thought he was chasing after a ghost to atone for his failure in the Korean War with the Howlers. And when his age was beginning to show, the "burden" was passed onto the son. "Find and bring him back home," he ordered firmly like he always had. Nick couldn't accept what he saw as an old man's delusions, even if those words came from a man he once admired.

That photo, however, vindicated his father and validated every seemingly ludicrous claim he'd ever made about his comrade.

Then there was The Reach, who extended a hand to the world while concealing a scalpel in the other. And as soon as their deception was exposed, they declared war on Earth. Nick fought back against the invaders, of course. It was his home. He witnessed the aliens leave and detonate what was essentially a dirty bomb, altering the genetic code of thousands in an instant. The fallout turned into a national security concern and a grave embarrassment for S.H.I.E.L.D., which failed to act appropriately. Disillusioned, Nick decided to leave and offered his services to The Agency, a decision that didn't sit well with his father at all.

And now, here he is, the only person on the entire planet who knows that he is still, against all odds, alive. And he is still laughing. The only reason he stops is that the Arctic team requests further instructions regarding him. Hell, Nick can't even bring himself to say his name. He composes himself and orders them not to disturb anything until he is personally on site. Then, he contacts his right-hand man, Phillip Coulson, and informs him they are heading for Norway. He doesn't say why. Next, he begins to organize the logistics, from securing a big enough plane to gathering the necessary equipment to safely extract him from the thick sea ice.

Nick makes the conscious decision to keep everything under wraps from his bosses. He knows of the wrath that would await him from The Wall once he sets foot in the Oval Office to deliver his report after his deception is undoubtedly revealed by one of his agents. That, or he manages to keep it quiet long enough to divulge it. Yet, the potential consequences don't faze him in the slightest. He has a plan, one that would finally bring security to the country he and his father bled for so many times. The details are still mostly forming in his mind, but a ten-hour flight would provide him with plenty of time to refine them.

Just as he is about to leave, Nick reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone. He considers calling his father to apologize for ever doubting him, to reveal that he has been found alive, and to ask if he wants to join him. It would be a chance to reconnect after being apart for so long, but instead, he tosses it into a drawer and slams it shut. No, there's too much at stake, especially when Nicholas is still holding the reins of S.H.I.E.L.D. aboard that helicarrier. It would be reckless to reveal him to the world for now. Not until the plan is set in motion. For now, Nick knows he has to leave for the Arctic.

Bring him back home. At least he can do that for his father. He has waited long enough.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
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Of course, my mind went straight to Captain America while reading the summary. But I want to do things slightly differently. The most obvious difference is that our boy hasn't been thawed out. He has only been found by the big baddies, who won't waste such a perfect opportunity. This would allow me to delve into the mystery and thriller genres, with a heavy hand of politics and suspense mixed in to make a good story.

After all, history is written by the victors.

That means Steven becomes an unwitting pawn for the government, being purposefully kept in the dark of its tyrannical nature by The Agency. Every action he takes is meticulously scrutinized, with Nick Fury Jr. monitoring his every move and suppressing any unwanted inquiries. Their relationship will be antagonistic in nature, with occasional moments of conviviality between the two men. Not necessarily full-on friends, that's for sure. And while he will be an essential character to my plot, I don't want to hoard him all to myself, given his importance to the overall Marvel universe.

If it hasn't been made clear, Captain America will be working alongside the Lord Administration via the Agency. I hope he serves as a point of contention with characters who are actively part of the resistance. However, that does not mean abandoning the core aspects of Captain America. He will still stand up for what is right, no matter the consequences, with his unwavering principles and moral conviction shining brightly through the darkness.

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C A P T A I N A M E R I C A
C A P T A I N A M E R I C A


"Glory to our great people, the people victorious!
Eternal glory to the heroes who fell in the struggle against the enemy
and gave their lives for the freedom and happiness of our people!"
- Joseph Stalin

???
BRAVE NEW WORLD

The first sound Steve hears is a vibrant swell of trombones and trumpets from a nearby radio. Then, the infectious sounds of cheering and laughter coming from a few rooms over. As his eyes open gradually, he takes in his surroundings, slowly coming to the realization he's in a room. He pushes himself up in the bed and finds the other beds empty, recently made and pressed. His gaze drifts to the window on the far side of the room with a view of the outside world, set against a backdrop of farmland framed against the gray sky. Light rain taps rhythmically against the glass, which strangely complements the tail end of the music from the radio. Just then, a thick English accent crackles through the speaker, bursting with excitement.

"Celebrations continue across the country as thousands rejoice at the end of the Nazi war machine! Here in London, jubilant crowds have flocked to Buckingham Palace, their joy palpable with every glimpse of the royal family on the balcony. So far, they have appeared three times throughout the day, each occasion igniting waves of cheer from the masses. Over at Piccadilly, servicemen and civilians are merrymaking in such a collective manner not seen in a long while. And there are also reports that some individuals have taken a dip in the fountains at Trafalgar Square. With the pubs and dance halls promising to stay open all night long, it is quite evident that the party is only just getting started on V-E Day!"

As another lively tune begins to play, Steve absorbs the news in absolute silence, his heart swelling with a profound sense of contentment. The war is finally over, Europe has been liberated from fascist oppression, and justice can finally be served against those who orchestrated atrocities against the innocent. This moment, this feeling, is nothing short of euphoric. Then, he looks at the empty bed across from him and his heart sinks. Bucky should be here with him, celebrating by his side, not dead with no body to bury. A part of him foolishly hopes he might have gone to the bathroom or gone to the raucous party down the hall. But no, Bucky... is dead, killed in action. There is no way of denying it, nor praying he walks through the door to greet him with that sweet smile of his. Steve understands that, but it doesn't stop his thoughts from inevitably retracing every second on that damn plane.

It is so painfully fresh in his mind, etched in like a nightmare.

He shuts his eyes tightly, trying to ground himself amidst the whirlwind of sorrow and pain. Steve cannot afford to grieve at this moment; this isn't the time nor the place for it. Not until he understands where he is and what has happened to the rest of his unit. So he takes a deep breath, tosses the blanket aside, and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. He gathers his strength and hops off. And if not for the metal bed frame, he would have tumbled face-first onto the floor. It's admittedly surprising how agile he feels after intentionally crashing the plane into the ocean. He had honestly braced himself for far worse. A soft chuckle escapes him, the miracles of the serum playing their part once more.

But just as he's about to take another step, a sudden gasp halts him in his tracks. He looks up and sees a nurse standing in the doorway, her eyes wide in disbelief. She quickly composes herself, smoothing her curly hair while colorful confetti falls to the floor, and rushes over to help. Steve lifts a hand to halt her approach, mustering a reassuring smile as he steadies himself against the bed frame with the other.

"Sorry for startling you, ma'am," he says, relieved and slightly astonished to still be standing upright.

"Are you alright? I heard- Oh!" A doctor appears, equally taken aback by the sight of his patient awake and on his feet. He strides toward them, adjusting his tie with a look of disbelief. "You're up—standing no less! H-how are you feeling?"

Steve doesn't know how to answer. He's in an unfamiliar place, with no clue how long he's been unconscious. It could have been weeks or even months since the assault on the research facility. The whereabouts of the Howlers, the rest of his squad, weigh heavily on his mind; for all he knows, they could be dead too, just like… No. Fury won't allow that to happen, not without a damn good reason. For all Steve knows, he and the others are probably still out there in Eastern Germany celebrating this 'V-E Day' alongside the Soviets. He clings to that desperate hope. He needs to because he's not sure he can bear any more loss. He already got his childhood friend killed, after all. The guilt would consume him whole.

Steve clears his throat and manages to say, "A bit thirsty."

"It would surprise me if you weren't," the doctor says and then turns to the nurse. "Get him some water and food, preferably some mashed potatoes to be safe."

The nurse nods, still shocked, and makes her way out of the room while seeming to tuck her hair behind her ear. But just as she slips out of view, Steve notices a subtle movement. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees her quickly insert something that looks like an earplug into her ear before vanishing from the room. That puts him on alert, which the doctor quickly picks up on. "Everything alright?" he asks sincerely out of concern.

Steve meets his gaze and forces out a smile while saying, "I'm fine."

The doctor, seemingly reassured, decides to begin a rather thorough physical examination. Steve complies, but the unease still lingers, causing him to further examine his surroundings. The radio is now playing classical music, and the party outside remains as lively as ever. All seems well, normal even. Then, he glances over to the window to see if the rain has let up. It hasn't, but that's when he notices something so tiny yet uncanny among the clouds. A black square. At first, he thinks it's his mind still adjusting to waking up, but with every blink, it remains. Before being able to grasp this bizarre sight, the doctor's deliberate cough snaps him back to reality.

"Are you sure you're okay?" the doctor probes again, lowering the clipboard.

Steve rubs his eyes, drawing in a steadying breath. "Must be my head playing tricks, but I swear I just saw something peculiar in the sky."

"Could very well be the case. I don't mind taking a peek, though," the doctor offers with a smile before heading towards the window to investigate. Steve begins to note all of the discrepancies now made apparent. The music from the radio sounds unnaturally clear, with the radio itself being immaculate. The noise from the party outside, the laughter and chatter, feels almost mechanical, as if on repeat. Not to mention the earplug the nurse used. He looks back at the doctor to see if he's doing anything else. But so far, he's just searching around. Then, for a split second, his pupils dilate as if he sees the square. And yet his face remains unreadable; instead, he deftly scribbles something down on the clipboard. "I didn't find anything strange," he states, his tone gentle, "As you have alluded to, your mind is simply just grappling with hallucinations that many patients encounter after enduring... challenging experiences like yours. This will pass within a day, at worst."

Steve struggles to trust him, even though the information makes total sense. The secrecy surrounding everything is quite tiresome to maneuver in his current state. So, just this one time, he decides to stop playing along and rip the band-aid off.

"Where are we?" he asks bluntly.

"Odstock Hospital, near Salisbury," the doctor replies while getting ready to continue the exam. "It's a quaint village that-"

But before he can finish, Steve pushes himself off the bed in frustration, surprising the doctor. "No—where are we really?"

The doctor nervously chuckles, now clearly confused. "I.. I don't understand."

In one swift motion, Steve snatches the clipboard from his grip and skims through the pages, each glimpse of its contents only raises more questions that would have to go unanswered for now. As the doctor's pleas quickly morph into threats of calling security, the urgency to wrap up heightens. Then, he stumbles upon a hastily scrawled note at the bottom of the second-to-last page: 'fix dead pixel at right corner. patient spots it.'

The black square is supposedly a 'dead pixel,' a term he has never heard before in his life. But why would the doctor bother to mention this? It isn't like anyone else is... Steve suddenly feels the urge to run as far as possible from this place. So he acts on his instinct by hurling the clipboard at the doctor, the edge of it striking him squarely in the face. Seizing the chance, Steve bolts past him, only to crash headlong into the nurse in the hallway. They both tumbled to the ground, sending her tray of mashed potatoes to the floor and shattering the glass of water. The dazed nurse looks at him and tries to ask if he's alright. But Steve, fueled by adrenaline, doesn't wait for her to start and springs back to his feet.

Ignoring the frantic shouts of the nurse pleading for him to stop, he charges toward the double doors. He has little idea of what awaits him on the other side, but he's more than ready to adapt to any situation. But instead of a stairway, he finds himself in a desolate room that resembles a warehouse. Steve staggers around the back of the makeshift set, trying his hardest not to freak out. He sees another double door in the distance ahead and makes a beeline for it.

As Steve flings the doors open with all his might, he abruptly finds himself surrounded by at least a dozen people. They aren't all armed, but could easily hold their own if it came to that. One of them, a man in a trench coat and sporting an eye patch, makes his way through the crowd rather nonchalantly, as if he anticipated this. He lowers a man's baton before staring at him in restrained awe, a look Steve has faced countless times before, whether from seasoned generals or bewildered civilians. But he's doing an impressive job of showing restraint as he turns to the man and admonishes him, "Put that away, agent. No need for theatrics anymore."

He walks toward Steve and extends a hand in greeting, a gesture of peace amidst the standoff, "Corporal Nicholas Fury."


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Republic of Genosha
Republic of Genosha

"A green and pleasant land for all."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
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C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
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| Magneto |
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| Interim President | Acolytes |
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| Hammer Bay | Genosha |

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
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N O T A B L E A T T R I B U T E S
N O T A B L E A T T R I B U T E S
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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
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Charles Xavier's dream of assimilation and coexistence was always a foolish, naive notion conceived by a desperate man seeking answers. And when it was put to the test, humankind revealed its true colors in a hideous manner their thoughts of the dream. But ever such the idealist, Xavier never faltered for his dream. His closest friend disagreed and began sharing a more realistic dream, one of subjection to mutantkind as a means to pave the way for the next stage of evolution: the Homo superior. And when it was also put to the test, it not only saw grand-scale devastation but also gave humans ammunition to further spread prejudice about mutants. He realized right then and there that his dream had a fatal flaw.

Magneto left his previous life behind him in order to find the solution to that flaw. Unlike Xavier, though, he didn't have a manor or the wealth and influence to preach to a wider audience. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from trying; he just did it underground, and it too was a success. A small group of mutants across America banded together as a means of survival and then formed a brotherhood. This brotherhood, inspired by Magento's teachings, began to engage in armed resistance against anti-mutant sentiment. Admittedly intrigued, Magento sought them out with the intention to assist discreetly. But to his surprise, the group composed of young, frightened adults decided to make him their leader out of sheer desperation.

Sympathetic to their plight, Magneto accepted the role.

For three years, the Brotherhood conducted a series of attacks concentrated on anti-mutant organizations, activists, and politicians. One of their first acts was the assassination attempt on Reverend William Stryker, a rising anti-mutant activist, before his Sunday sermon. Fortunately for him, the X-Men foiled the attack at the last minute. It marked the beginning of the animosity between the two groups and their leaders that naturally escalated. But then Magento recognized how his disciples were indirectly reharshening the very problem that caused him to question his dream. Therefore, he thought the best course of action to resolve it was to hold a meeting with everyone to explore potential solutions. Only a few hours in it, and Magento found it entirely futile enough to leave them behind.

That marked the beginning of his self-imposed isolation from the world, as he sought to recontextualize his dream. The time alone made him acknowledge how outright violence and conquest would've ultimately led to the persecution and then genocide of all mutants. So, a different dream was introduced, one where mutantkind must make use of its gift for the sole purpose of survival. Only through formidable might would humankind accept mutants, albeit begrudgingly, to prevent mutual assured destruction. And after three years of formulating his newfound thoughts, Magneto self-published his book and swiftly denounced his old dream soon after. Then afterward, he chose to remain hidden from the world, so as to recuperate after decades of nonstop action.

The world, however, kept on spinning.

Magneto was assumed dead and soon became a myth.

But a few knew the truth.

Amelia Voght was one of them, the only other person who was in his old life. That was how she tracked him down with a hunch. But it became immediately apparent she wasn't just there to check on him. Relations between humans and mutants have deteriorated to their lowest point, with tensions getting dangerously close to a boiling point. This wasn't news to him, nor a surprise in all honesty. What surprised him was that she wasn't alone—seven complete strangers were waiting outside for them. Amelia explained how, in a world where uncertainty is weaponized, only an assertive mutantkind can survive and possibly thrive. She chose to come out of hiding and stand with other mutants who were willing to fight, to die, for that future. All that remained was for her to convince him to lead again.

Magneto, however, didn't need convincing to help out an old friend.

He met his acolytes, who immediately pledged to follow his principles with fervor. It admittedly gave him a sense of déjà vu, reminiscent of the Brotherhood's beginnings. Each one of them was willing to follow him into the depths of hell for their own reasons. But they all shared a common goal: to protect their fellow mutants from extinction. Magneto was able to work with that. Genosha was an apartheid technocratic island state located off the coast of Africa that had become one of the fastest-growing countries in the world. David Moreau, the billionaire geneticist turned president, transformed his nation by diversifying its economy and investing in artificial intelligence. All of that, along with a Hollywood-style global marketing campaign, persuaded the international community to lift sanctions placed there in response to its apartheid policies.

Then, the truth was revealed. The administration gradually transferred its powers and responsibilities to an artificial intelligence, becoming the world's first algorithmic republic. The younger population, already resistant to the apartheid system, called for a student protest across the country in response to the revelation. Magneto used it as an opportunity to further existing unrest among the non-white and mutant population affected by apartheid with the help of his Acolytes. A general strike was then called with demands for the government to dismantle the AI, step down, and hold a new presidential election. That increased tensions between the amassing protesters and the state police, who were particularly known for their brutality. But before it escalated to a rebellion, Magneto personally interfered to prevent further bloodshed.

It took him only an hour to depose the government, as most of its officials and Moreau had already fled the country. An interim government was needed after the collapse, and much of the population backed Magento as interim president. He was caught off guard when they chose him instead of someone else, and initially, he wasn't sure if he could even lead an entire state, even with help. But whether purposely or coincidentally, it was the only opportunity for his dream to be fully realized. And he took it, marking a new chapter for the Republic of Genosha.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
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It has been a long while since I have written nations, and this game has given me a chance to experience it again. Plus, I love Genosha so much that I wrote a paper about it for my X-Men class while pursuing my bachelor's. And I get to write about Magento again, so it's a win-win.

The major inspirations so far are Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, The Phantom Pain, and 4, as well as the depiction of Genosha in X-Men 97. So expect it to be a political thriller with action mixed in. The basis is simply how a ragtag group of radical misfits comes together to form a nation in defiance of a world that doesn't want them to even exist.

And of course, I welcome any interaction with other mutant characters within and beyond the confines of Genosha. Magento is someone who usually gets his hands dirty, so don't be surprised if he ends up in the states for one reason or another.

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TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES
NEW YORK CITY
BIRTHDAY BASH


The kitchen admittedly had seen better days before the chef took over last night to prepare for the party. Nothing had been cleared yet, as evidenced by the countertop still covered in flour, the pile of dirty dishes left unattended in the sink, and the stand mixer now requiring a deep clean after the mess it had made. Not to mention the music blasting in the background despite the complaints. Michelangelo insisted he needed it loud to "make the cakes taste better" when Raph threatened to hurl the portable speaker into the brick wall. And he would've done it for sure if not for Mutation Day—the day he and his brothers mutated. Sensei didn't like to celebrate it and spent the entire time alone in his dojo, but he hadn't forbidden them from celebrating. Regardless, Mikey made sure to bake a light cheesecake, let it cool in the fridge overnight, and then place it at the entrance of the dojo for his father, a tradition he maintained every year as a way to show his appreciation.

The oven timer went off, causing Mikey to scramble for the chocolate cake. He put on some oven mitts, custom-made for three-fingered hands, and carefully pulled out the pan. It already looked delicious, ready for the final touches before it could be served. The cake still needed frosting—plain vanilla because Donnie had asked for it in advance—and that could easily be made while it cooled. Then, there were still plenty of chocolate sprinkles left for last year to satisfy Raph. And the powdered sugar made explicitly for Leo was stored in an airtight container, ready to be sprinkled on his slice. For Mikey, all he wanted was for his bros to be happy.

"Your taste in music's still pretty weird."

Raphael didn't intend for his little brother to scream that loud, but it was funny to see him jolt nevertheless. Besides, it was payback for the shit he pulled last week with dish soap and the shower. Nuff said. Mikey was staring daggers at him as he set the pan down hard on the countertop. Raph just shrugged and took a seat on the bar stool, "Don't blame me for being so easy to scare. Plus, it's payback for the stunt you-"

He tried to reach for Mikey's phone, lying on the countertop in front of him, to change the song to something actually pleasing to the ears. But within a split second, he had no time to react to getting headshot'd by a decent-sized chunk of cake batter. Mikey grabbed his phone just before it hit his brother square in the face, still holding the spatula used to fling the batter. Raph felt embarrassed that he let his little brother get away with such a cheap shot, even if he was too quick. Sensei would've scolded him for using it as an excuse and then lectured him on not being more aware of his surroundings. And it would have been utterly humiliating if Fearless saw it. He wasn't above doing something as petty as ridiculing his brothers for not being disciplined enough, even if he insisted it was meant to motivate them to do better. Now, the thought that it could've been used against him alone made Raph furious.

Mikey's poor attempt at stifling his laugh ended the second he saw how mad his older brother was. He realized how he fucked (it was fortunate neither Leo nor Papa could read minds, or he'd be royally screwed) up mutation day, but it still appeared savable. So it meant doing the only other thing Mikey was good at besides Fortnite and skateboarding: damage control. He quickly tossed the spatula towards the sink as if it were evidence at a crime scene. Raph remained still in the stool and kept quiet; he was just breathing heavily, his eyes twitching and knuckles turning white. The fact that he hadn't blown up yet was a great sign. Then Micky got in front of him and began bowing, his arms stretched forward with the phone.

But before his little brother could speak, Raph stood up and snatched the phone. Don't get him wrong, he appreciated the effort (even if it went a little overboard) and the fact he was that quick to apologize.


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
WASHINGTON DC
APPROPRIATE RESPONSE


Patricia "Trish" Tilby listened in as the President of the United States spoke at the podium, an unusual sight for her colleagues. For her, it was astonishing to see someone so significant up close. As a correspondent for WNA, she was accustomed to reporting on the ground across the country. And no matter where, she often found herself in mutant affairs one way or another. Trish ensured her coverage of the issue was always fair and balanced, that it didn't feed into growing anti-mutant biases. Plenty in her field couldn't care less as long as there was a chance to gain prestige and notoriety from it. Even if it meant being morally dubious.

Of course, Trish wasn't a saint. How else was she able to be sitting here in the briefing room? It cost a lot of favors, but seeing the President walk in was definitely worth the price. And as was learning about the country's newest weapon, who single-handedly defeated an invasion force all on their own: Warbird. Based on footage of them in the field, they were quite powerful and distinct from other powered heroes through their light show. It was incredible but also an alarming development, one that could trigger a superhuman arms race, spark global tensions, and transform the military-industrial complex in its entirety.

But as intriguing as it was, there was a more pressing matter on her mind.

“Will there be any questions?”

Trish was quick to raise her hand, but among the sea of hands, it wasn't fast enough. Franklin Stern of the Daily Planet was the first one to be picked, a notable professional in the field. He cleared his throat and began to speak, "Thank you, Secretary. This revelation from the President himself is, quite frankly, astonishing for all of us to bear witness. And with the little time to process.. well, everything, we hardly know anything about this Warbird besides the fact that they're a powered individual. And that factor alone will undoubtedly contribute to the debate regarding masked vigilantes, whether you intended it or not. So, for the sake of transparency, will this administration divulge who is behind the mask? If not, why?"

"That is a good question, and this administration understands that the American people, at this time, have plenty of reason to fear the increasing number of 'powered individuals' that are appearing in this day and age." The Secretary responded with characteristic tempered optimism, a friendly face that could often hide an incoming barb. "However, we would stress that the Warbird is not a masked vigilante, but a unique and unprecedented member of the military's special forces, and as with many individuals within our great nation's security infrastructure, will remain anonymous to the wider public to protect both herself and our strategic interests. Unlike individuals working entirely outside the legal infrastructure of the nation, however, she is beholden to both the rule of law and the operating parameters applicable to any application of decisive force by the United States of America."

Trish wrote the answer down in her notebook quickly, but only did it out of obligation to her job. She wanted to ask about the administration's stance regarding Genosha and the recent developments in the island country. A country considered a rising star in AI research and development, which had only recently begun opening its market to the international community. Funny enough, it had signed separate multi-billion dollar investment pacts with the European Union, the People's Republic of China, and the United States hours before the Chippy scandal broke. And that ultimately culminated in the government's dissolution by its citizens, leaving the deals in limbo for the foreseeable future. Not to mention th-

"Thanks so much, Secretary. Staying on the topic of transparency, will they answer directly to the President or the military?"

She completely forgot to raise her hand.

"The Warbird will operate under the authority of the United States Air Force, although as the Commander-In-Chief of all branches of our military, the President, of course has final say on any matters."

"So, isn't it then, concerning for one singular person to suddenly have a power unprecedented in American history? There will be people who are going to be naturally afraid that such power could easily be abused in the future. What sort of safeguards have been put into place to prevent the President and, to a larger extent, future administrations from misusing Warbird?" The Daily Bugle's Washington correspondent asked derisively to provoke a more emotionally charged answer.

"The currency of our military is unprecedented power. Three of the top five largest air forces in the world sit within the branches of our military might. Our nuclear capability has remained unmatched since we first harnessed the power of the Atom and will continue to do so." The Secretary paused for a moment after evoking the dominance of recent years, before continuing.

"The US military, especially under this administration, takes the duty of remaining the world's premium warfighting force with the seriousness it deserves. You may ask what dangers this new power presents, but we ask instead of the greater danger we should face should our enemies, which we now know exist even beyond the confines of this planet, harness such a power before us. That would be an intolerable risk to the nation and people that we will not risk." This was more in line with the fire and fury of the administration's dealings with rivals, although it soon eased through the softening of the Secretary's words. "But to those with concerns, we say this: the President remains beholden to the rule of law, the American Constitution, and finally and most importantly, the judgment of the American people. This is the case with past administrations and our own, and we trust the people to continue to elect those who would take such duty seriously."

Trish raised her hand yet again, not expecting to get picked at all. But then the Press Secretary gestured at her.

"Thank you, Secretary." Trish flipped her notebook to the next page and then continued. "It's only been two days since protesters in Genosha elected a mutant to lead the country's interim government after overthrowing the previous government. The same one who led the militant group, Brotherhood, in the 1960s and now leads an entire nation, seemingly with the people's blessing. What's the administration's response to the recent developments? And secondly, there have been reports that the former president plans on forming a government in exile in the coming days. He also plans to seek out international support to facilitate his return to power. That includes the United States, where he and the remnants of his cabinet are currently residing."

The Secretary was ready to respond until the President himself approached her with a warm smile and gestured at her to step aside. Trish didn't expect him to entertain her question of all the other questions yet to be asked. He slid over to the podium and started his answer off with some good old-fashioned humor: "Heh, now this is where I have to step in and tell my good friend here to take a hike, the grown-ups are talking now."

He let the room laugh for a second before resuming, "No, but seriously, the United States of America has always and will continue to champion democracy. What happened in Genosha should have been a case study of its values being realized. Her people exercised their inalienable rights to assemble and express their grievances against their government without resorting to violence, just minor scuffles with the authorities here and there.

"What concerns me greatly is letting a terrorist hijack a largely peaceful movement."

"humanitarian reasons."

"Sebastian Marlowe, New York Times." "A question for the President himself. Will you deploy Warbird?"


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Edelweiss, edelweiss / Bless my homeland forever

Name
Ciaran Jubert

Species
Human

Age
27

Appearance
TBD

Equipment
A280C blaster rifle, RG-4D blaster pistol, Medpac, stolen 74-Z speeder bike.

Skills
Military Child - Jubert is a well-known family name on Tregallon for a reason, with military service going back generations. Some stayed here to serve in the garrison, while most left the planet to join the military. Republic, Separatist, Imperial, it didn't matter the allegiance as long as they were fighting for something. Ciaran was no exception. He participated in fitness and service programs as a child and then graduated from the Imperial Academy with honors. People assumed he would have made an excellent officer for the Empire. But he instead was the first in the family to desert, an act unheard of before and one that will haunt the bloodline.
Officer Training - Ciaran's time at the Imperial Academy shed light on the ugly, true side of the Empire, long hidden from him. But he can recognize the good that came out of it. The skills and abilities he acquired while an officer cadet remain valuable. He knows Imperial tactics and strategy extensively, while retaining knowledge of their inner workings, particularly within the army. And his combat skills were further enhanced, which made his peers envious of his presumed natural-born talent. But that wasn't given to him; he had to earn it, as his parents before. The one benefit of being raised by military parents.
Experienced Rider - When Ciaran isn't practicing sutures or working on his blasters, he is cruising on his speeder without a care in the world. He commandeered it from an Imperial outpost a few years back after its rider had left it all alone. It's his only means of escaping the confines of the remains of a bygone era. And he can't easily slip into a village, town, or city since his face is plastered on wanted signs in every corner. Riding his speeder in the rainforest is the only way Ciaran can be truly alone and take a brief breath from his tumultuous life he has found himself in.

Weaknesses
Ostracized - Traitor. Deserter. Jubert. That's all Ciaran will ever be remembered for. A middle child for a prominent military family who ran for duty when it came knocking. A man who benefited greatly from the Imperial occupation of his own home. He hasn't forgotten it, nor has he forgiven himself for it. The Insurgency sidelines and snubs him as a painful reminder. The Empire keeps on increasing its bounty on his head as a price for defiance. And his family has disowned him all for not following their twisted values, ones they're willing to kill and die for.
Second-rate Service - Ciaran knows a lot about Imperial tactics and strategies from his days at the academy. He knows some things about handling a speeder bike in the rainforest without crashing it headfirst into a tree. He knew nothing about being a medic when he was first assigned the position. It was the leadership's way of inflicting as much pain as possible by making him redundant, a cautionary tale meant to be told. He accepted it without complaint and taught himself the basics of medical care via datapads and the holonet. He had the time to hone it in, of course, but he's not exactly the ideal doctor one would seek out.
A Sizeable Reward - Governor Rax Tsundre placed a bounty on Ciaran Jubert fifteen minutes after he fled from his family home as a means to capture him at the spaceport. But to his chagrin, he evaded arrest and vanished deep into the rainforests to work alongside the rebel cell. Even then, that doesn't necessarily explain the lucrative reward offer for his arrest alive. A rumor soon spread that it's his own mother who raises the reward each year to entice bounty hunters to bring her son home and see him receive his just deserts for ruining her family's reputation among Imperial circles.
Extremist - Ever since childhood, Ciaran had the value and importance of independence etched in his mind by his parents. His mother, in particular, made her thoughts about the Republic pretty clear. But even then, he was starting to appreciate the Separatist cause. Then the Empire arrived. And after witnessing the extent of their cruelty towards those deemed dissenters as a cadet, he held newfound disdain for them now. Nowadays, Ciaran believes the only way to achieve peace is to dismantle the regime thoroughly through radical measures. A sentiment his comrades share, while those outside will undoubtedly view it as extreme.

History
Ciaran's earliest memory was celebrating with his parents and siblings their newfound independence. He asked his mother what the long word meant, and she explained how it meant their home was now unshackled from "bad, repressive people who were pretending to be something they were not." That answer didn't make complete sense to a young Ciaran, but seeing how happy everyone around him truly was left behind such a profound impression. And growing up with military parents made sure it stuck.

When Governor Larkers had Tregallon secede from the Republic, the Juberts were among the first to pledge loyalty to the Separatist cause. Then two years later, the Clone Wars began. Ciaran was still a child, but that didn't prevent his parents from enrolling him in military training and fitness programs. While his home didn't see direct combat, its resources and manpower were diverted to the war effort. He and his family were more than eager to contribute at first. But the war soon became a stalemate, and the demands imposed by the governor strained the economy to its limit. The price was becoming too much for everyone to handle, something that would have naturally boiled over if the war had continued any longer.

So when the Galactic Empire brought the war to an end, the Juberts made their allegiances clear by leaking Governor Larkers' plans for maintaining independence to Imperial officials. Their reward? Their children, who were of age or serving in the garrison, were granted favorable consideration in the new Imperial Military despite their ties to the Separatists. Ciaran and his siblings, who still couldn't serve yet, received preferential treatment in admission to the Imperial Academy.

There, he saw the price of defying the new order up close in all of its brutality. While his siblings relished the cruelty, Ciaran despised it with every fiber of his being. When it came time to graduate, instead of joining the Officer Corps, he did nothing and headed back home. His small act of defiance towards an illegitimate government. That move unsurprisingly upset his parents, who pleaded with him to reconsider, to no avail. Then each one of his siblings began pressuring him to "not let the opportunity slip away." And before long, the new governor himself came to visit for dinner one night and issued a non-so-veiled threat disguised as polite conversation.

But that wasn't the breaking point; the intervention was.

Seeing his entire family together, he was faced with a choice: show unwavering devotion to the Empire or be branded a deserter and risk the consequences. Ciaran already knew the choice had been made for him long before the governor walked in with two stormtroopers to bear. But that didn't mean it broke his heart to see his loved ones become such hypocrites. He knew what had to be done. After accepting the offer to serve as a cadet off-world, he packed a bag and escaped through his bedroom window.

Ciaran didn't get far before his face was plastered all over the spaceport on wanted signs. By the evening, all of Predolm knew of the sizable bounty on his head. By midnight, his own parents were leading a planetwide manhunt for the traitorous deserter. Ciaran had to flee the city and head deep into the rainforest in a frantic attempt to find refuge until tensions cooled. Instead, the Insurgency found him the following morning and elected to take him captive. The leadership said it was done out of an abundance of caution to make sure "he wasn't part of an Imperial ploy." But the fact that the votes to turn him over to the magistrate for the reward credits accounted for close to half made their animosity clear enough.

Not that he blamed them. His parents essentially sold off Tregallon to the Empire, which had been plundering and pillaging the planet of its resources since their arrival. He was a Jubert, a tainted name to many, and he was ready to make amends.

Ciaran, for all he had learned from the Empire, was assigned as the medic and quickly ignored by leadership. He didn't question their decision and gave it his all, even if it was mediocre. There weren't any significant incursions that could have easily overwhelmed him and the limited supplies. Then the Rebel Alliance did the impossible and destroyed the Death Star. It motivated them to begin planning a series of raids against Imperial targets. One of those was the research facility on Dubrillion.

This presented the Insurgency with the ideal chance to finally attack the Empire. It took days to improvise a game plan for a simultaneous attack on Imperial outposts to strain their efficiency. And they were supposed to strike when the skies started raining the burning remnants of the Imperial defense fleet. Ciaran mentally prepared himself for the likelihood that he would have to kill his siblings and his parents. But if it meant his home was finally free of repressive people, it was worth the cost a thousand times over.

Then a lone X-Wing came tumbling down and crushed any hope.

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__________________________________
CIARAN JUBERT
CIARAN JUBERT
__________________________________

◂◂ II ▸▸
Ciaran sped through the jungle in his speeder, navigating around ancient trees and mossy rocks with ease. There wasn't time to admire the scenery or appreciate the breeze. Hell, he couldn't even take a moment to process the fact that he had been crying for a solid minute. Today started out bad, to say the least. Months of planning and prepping for an on-the-ground revolution unraveled in a matter of seconds by their oppressors. They managed to successfully pull off the perfect ambush on the insurgency and, in large part, on the Rebel Alliance. Now, the only feasible option left on the table was to adapt. Ciaran knew that meant retreating deep into the sacred rainforest to figure out what the hell happened out there and account for the losses.

There wasn't just one singular rendezvous but a couple scattered throughout. Each one was near the jungle because it could be assembled and dismantled relatively quickly. All except for one. Located on the coast, it was intended more to alert the other sites of incoming Imperial patrols than to serve as another rendezvous point for the agent. So it lacked the manpower and supplies to properly protect them. That would have been fine under normal circumstances. But the circumstance now wasn't normal in the slightest.

Ciaran figured the crash site had to be near the rendezvous, even though the starfighter itself likely sank to the bottom of the ocean. His hunch proved correct when he heard blaster fire in the distance.

The scene that unfolded could only be described as a nightmare. AT-STs stood there in the water unopposed, firing on anyone who dared to make a move. The stormtroopers made certain the insurgents remained in cover, their blaster rifles suppressing them as they began to encircle the position. Ciaran was watching through the rifle scope, his speeder stashed nearby for a quick escape. It was devastating. His comrades weren't fighting to live but to be defiant bastards till the bitter end. Their little sacrifice. But Ciaran had to close his heart to their suffering and focus on finding the rebel pilot, if they were still alive. And then, he saw him: a lasat drenched and frightened, using a crate as cover from the blaster fire. That had to be the agent, Ciaran was sure of it.

Now, he had to figure out a way to get the lasat out of there alive. Ciaran knew he lacked the firepower to take out walkers or the manpower to fight off an entire squad. But he was looking at a group of people who could pull something off. First, he needed to get in touch with one of them. Ciaran pulled out his comlink and spoke into it, hoping the signal wasn't jammed or intercepted by an ISB agent.

"Site 7, this is Bishop making contact close by, do you read me?"

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T E E N A G E M U T A N T N I N J A T U R T L E S
T E E N A G E M U T A N T N I N J A T U R T L E S

"Witty Quote #1"
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
_________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
_________________________________________________________
| Raphael Hamato | Donatello Hamato |
| Leonardo Hamato | Michelangelo Hamato |
_________________________________________________________
| 16 | Mutated Turtles |

S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
_________________________________________________________
P O S T C A T A L O G U E
P O S T C A T A L O G U E
_________________________________________________________
XX - Post Name
-
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
___________________________________________________________________________________
Heavily inspired by Mirage's City at War arc, their cancelled Gang Wars arc, IDW's early run, and Mutant Mayhem, I want to focus on the street level aspect more so than the sci-fi elements (not that means it's discarded). And, incorporating Silverstein's concept of NYC as a den of organized criminality and corruption, I want both the Purple Dragons and the Foot Clan to be part of the problem. Of course, the solution involves a couple of turtles who were taught ninjutsu by their master/father.

As far as backstory, it remains largely the same as every interpretation: Hamato Yoshi gets exposed to a canister of "ooze" and mutates into a humanoid rat. Four turtles are also exposed, and he takes them in under his watch, calling himself Master Splinter. And in a world that would soon treat them as monsters, they are forced to take refuge in the sewer system of the city. Fifteen years later, the turtles still long to live among humans their age despite Splinter's rhetoric.

While on the surface, inspiring investigative reporter April O'Neil has secured an internship at the Daily Bugle under the guidance of Pulitzer Prize winner Robbie Robertson. Casey Jones, a star hockey player at his high school, dons his goalie mask to protect his neighborhood from the encroaching Purple Dragons as a vigilante. And Keno Andrada struggles to balance maintaining good grades with working at a pizzeria as the world around him rapidly deteriorates.

And that's the gist. I would like to introduce Agent Bishop if I manage to complete my initial arc and slowly bring in the sci-fi element known in the TMNTverse.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
__________________________________________________________________________________
I like turtles. As stated before, the starting arc will lean towards street level with a slice of life element as the turtles venture into the surface, do vigilante stuff on the side, and eat pizza on random rooftops after an eventful night. There will be hints of the sci-fi aspect, but it won't be the main focus of this arc. And I will also write about the human characters who will eventually meet the turtles, either by complete accident.

I would like to get in touch with Silverstein to see how the Foot and Purple Dragons would fit into the overall situation in New York City. But besides that, I envision that the gang has a heavy presence in the East Village and Lower East Side. While the clan would already be known in the underworld as feared and ruthless assassins across East Asia long before they established a foothold in the United States. It would also be interesting to see what the relationship dynamics would be like with The Hand.

Collabs would be limited to characters that reside in NYC, given it won't make too much sense for the turtles to go on a cross-country trip, and I'm a busser for a pizzeria, funny enough. Still, I won't mind them meeting up with the daredevils or any spiders that are roaming around the city.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"COWABUNGA!"___
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TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES
NEW YORK CITY
TURTLE LAIR

After the brief, somewhat casual meditation, Mikey and Leo arrived in the living room to find their brothers on the tattered couch, with the first-aid kit laid out on the coffee table. Donnie was just finishing bandaging Raph's other hand while talking his ear off about ways to reduce the swelling. Mikey had anticipated a straightforward check-up, one in which his brother's hands would be swiftly examined and wrapped up before he could get Leo for the party. But it became apparent that the injury was more serious than he had assumed. And Leo, ever the overbearing turtle, was already eager to demand answers before Mikey could say something.
 
"What happened to your hands?!" he barked, voice tinged with frustration more so than concern.

Raph gazed at his hands, resting idly on a throw pillow, and shrugged. "I had them wrapped."

"Yeah, no duh, Raph," Leo pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh, "but why?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Raph retorted, meeting Leo's gaze directly as he spoke. At that moment, Mikey sensed the familiar tension brewing between his brothers, a prelude to yet another impending petty argument. It was a weekly spectacle that had become nothing more than a nuisance, played out almost the same tiresome way every time. One would get irritated by the other, usually over training routines or after sparring, before insults are hurled back and forth for quite a bit. And then, it would inevitably fizzle out, and both of them retreated to their rooms to cool off. That was what should've occurred. Instead, Leo inhaled deeply and shifted his attention over to Donnie, determined to get to the bottom of things.

"Donnie," Leo began, casting a glare at him, "what happened?"

Mikey immediately recognized his brother's go-to tactic: intimidate to interrogate. Leo loved to play this card whenever he suspected his brothers were hiding something from him—or worse, from Sensei. And while it wasn't necessarily a horrible approach, the execution was, as always, painfully cringe. Raph burst into uncontrollable laughter the first time Leo tried to use it, and since then, outright dismissed any subsequent attempts. As for Mikey, the turtle simply charmed himself way out of trouble and slipped back into his brother's good graces. But when it came to Donnie, his sensitive nature made him easily susceptible to Leo's intense scrutiny.

Mikey knew it was time to step in.

"Leo, bro, ease up—at least until after the party," Mikey chimed in, his voice playful to lighten the mood. "The food's gonna get cold."

Leo's glare softened as if he were weighing the request. Usually, it would've been more difficult to make him change his mind on something he's dead set on doing. But then, after a moment, he sighed and stepped back from his brothers. Leo folded on the spot. "Sorry," he said somberly, directed more so toward Donnie than Raph. Mikey instinctively wanted to ease his brother's concerns

"If it helps, he didn't break his hands—the knuckles are bruised. He just has to apply ice every few hours and keep them elevated for a few days." That was his version of reassurance.

"And I'm sure Senesi won't let me sit on the sidelines. He'll probably make me meditate or read up on Bubishi again," Raph rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch. And that was going to be the best he was willing to provide.

"He better." Leo. "Now, I want to see what culinary you put together this time around."

Hey


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TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES
NEW YORK CITY
TURTLE LAIR

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque faucibus ex sapien vitae pellentesque sem placerat. In id cursus mi pretium tellus duis convallis. Tempus leo eu aenean sed diam urna tempor. Pulvinar vivamus fringilla lacus nec metus bibendum egestas. Iaculis massa nisl malesuada lacinia integer nunc posuere. Ut hendrerit semper vel class aptent taciti sociosqu. Ad litora torquent per conubia nostra inceptos himenaeos.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque faucibus ex sapien vitae pellentesque sem placerat. In id cursus mi pretium tellus duis convallis. Tempus leo eu aenean sed diam urna tempor. Pulvinar vivamus fringilla lacus nec metus bibendum egestas. Iaculis massa nisl malesuada lacinia integer nunc posuere. Ut hendrerit semper vel class aptent taciti sociosqu. Ad litora torquent per conubia nostra inceptos himenaeos.

____________________________Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque faucibus ex sapien vitae pellentesque sem placerat. In id cursus mi pretium tellus duis convallis. Tempus leo eu aenean sed diam urna tempor. Pulvinar vivamus fringilla lacus nec metus bibendum egestas. Iaculis massa nisl malesuada lacinia integer nunc posuere. Ut hendrerit semper vel class aptent taciti sociosqu. Ad litora torquent per conubia nostra inceptos himenaeos.

"I hope we have some time to visit the drop-off site. There's so much stuff I could-"

"You know, some of us are trying to climb."

-easily repair the things that people just throw away, like TVs, phones, laptops, consoles, and other electronics. We might actually find a flat screen for the living room in there."

"Or a Switch! Maybe even a PS5!"

"I won't mind a DVD player." "But we have to assess our surroundings first to make sure it's safe to venture far from home. Remember what Senesi told us-"

"Leo, I'm not in the mood for a lecture when we haven't even gotten up there yet."

"Okay, okay." "I think I can just push it open."

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque faucibus ex sapien vitae pellentesque sem placerat. In id cursus mi pretium tellus duis convallis. Tempus leo eu aenean sed diam urna tempor. Pulvinar vivamus fringilla lacus nec metus bibendum egestas.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque faucibus ex sapien vitae pellentesque sem placerat. In id cursus mi pretium tellus duis convallis. Tempus leo eu aenean sed diam urna tempor. Pulvinar vivamus fringilla lacus nec metus bibendum egestas. Iaculis massa nisl malesuada lacinia integer nunc posuere. Ut hendrerit semper vel class aptent taciti sociosqu. Ad litora torquent per conubia nostra inceptos himenaeos.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque faucibus ex sapien vitae pellentesque sem placerat. In id cursus mi pretium tellus duis convallis. Tempus leo eu aenean sed diam urna tempor. Pulvinar vivamus fringilla lacus nec metus bibendum egestas. Iaculis massa nisl malesuada lacinia integer nunc posuere. Ut hendrerit semper vel class aptent taciti sociosqu. Ad litora torquent per conubia nostra inceptos himenaeos.

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