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It's a beautiful morning in the hustling and bustling streets of Paragon City! The pleasant air of late spring, early summer, coupled with the golden rays of the sun still clmbing the early sky, spreading its light down upon the densely populated metropolis is a sight to behold. And more-so when you stand here, in the heart of the city, in Atlas Park! The clean buildings,. the well-tended gardens and neatly cut pavement trees, the mostly trash-free streets and well-maintained ifrastrcture gives a dazzling combination of polished metal, glass, unchipped concrete and the verdant green of nature, all rolled up into one enat and tidy locale. Inded, it's noi surprise why this place is called the city's heart, and not just becaus of tthe grand old statue to Atlas himself, but also because of this area being the city's civic center, and where the Town Hall is located.

And speaking of town hall... That's the focus of today. Yes, that white building in the very dead-center of the area, with it's domed roof and pillared outside, looking like a miniature copy ofof the actual White HOuse located over in Washington. The hall is approached via a fairly wide path of stone-tiled path, flanked on either side by long stretches of green gardens with bushes, flowers and some fixtures like stone bird baths and small fountains. To get into the hall, you'd need to ascend a small bit of low steps, to gain access to the large, double vaulted door of some dark, expensive-looking wooden materia, complete with polished and clean brass hinges and door handles. The building itself is stark white and looks like it just somehow naturally repels dirt, standing as a shining, stainless bastion for Paragon City, it's citizens and the goverment officials who dwell and work within.

But how did you get here? Well, you took the Sanctioned Hero Exam a while back, didn'¨t you? And passed, no less. Since then, you were awarded with that scrap of paper on you, the Diploma. ALong with a letter. A letter that stated that today, at exactly 9:00 AM on the orning, you were to report to and make yourself available within the lobby of Town Hall. And you were of course told to bring your diploma, and to show up in y our costume. Ah yes, that's right... Today you'll be officially recognized, and registered, as one of Paragon City's many, many heroes. A fresh-faced and still-wet-behind-the-ears rookie Justice Warrior, who'll work tirelessly to defend and protect the city and her people from the many, many, many, obnoxiously never-ending servants and do'ers of evil and dastardly deeds.

How you got here? Maybe you just live in the area and walked? Or rode a bicycle? Moped? Got a lift from a family member in their car? Took a cab? Rode the monorail to the Atlas Park station? The bus perhaps? Or maybe you used your own powers of flight, speed or spatial mnipulation to get your butt on over to infront of the town hall? Really, how you got here isn't really important - unless you want it to be. What bis important is taht you now are standing here, infront of the great alabaster building, whre you'll soon enter and chane your entire life, forever.

But...

There are perhaps those among you who haven't quite made it yet... Those of you who overselpt or couldn't seelp due to childish excitement or other factors in anticipation of today. For you, the sitaution is a bit differet, obviously.

The streets of the city are starting to fill up with morning traffic, causing the usual morning rush hour traffic-jams. The pavemens are teeming with people wlaking too and fro', trying to get somehwhere - either to work, school or just from point A to point B. The monorail and bus stops are getting crowded too, with passengers multiplying like rabbits in a seemingly endless stream of citizens. If you decided to only just now get your butt on over to the own hall, or Atlast Park if you're not already there, you'll have the whole of morning-hour Paragon City's population to contend with.

For thoe who have made it on time though, or rather, with time to spare, you'll find the outside of town hall fairly calm. There's only a few or occasional suit-wearing individuals coming out of, or going into, the large building ahead. A lone garderner is working the long and wide side-gardens withy a watering can and other tools. Small trash-can robots on wheels are lazily rolling up and down the tiled pathways, scanning for any litter or junk that was accidentally dropped on the premises, picking any such gunk up with their small, flimsy-looking hydraulic arms and dropping the offensive material down their big mouths. A few birds are sitting in the bird baths, having an early-day cleaning session... But other than that, there really isn't much to say.

The weather is fine and clear, with a big blue sky mostly free of clouds. There's a very slight and gentle breeze, at least in all of Atlas Park, and the temperature is just about right - neither too hot or too cold, that great sweet-spot between late spring and early summer.

And now, it's your turn. What do you do and where do you go? Straight up and into the Town Hall lobby, or do you explore around the premises a bit? PErhaps talk to the garderner, or one of the important looking suits who walk by from time to time? ... Or maybe you're racing against the clock to get your lazy bum over here on time because you forgot to set the alarm clock, you dingus!

Whatever the case may be, it is as they say;
The day, is yours.

To Stella, it felt a bit like the first day of school as a kid.

Waking up bright and early, spending far too long getting ready, double-checking and triple-checking that she had everything... she had to remind herself that she already passed the test. P.R.O.C. found her worthy, with both the mindset and the abilities of a fledgling hero, ready to do her part to defend the city from evils both great and small. Probably small for the time being, she wasn't exactly a force to be reckoned with yet, but Stella was learning every day. Learning, and getting stronger.

The strangest part of it all was going out in the morning, all suited up and masked as Butterfly. Stella had gotten so used to nighttime excursions with her uncle Kenta, wrapped in shadows and emerging only to strike when the bad guys least expected it. She didn't really feel like a superhero in broad daylight, where anyone could see her coming, more like just a girl in a tight black-and-blue costume, on her way to a convention or something.

She had to take public transit to Atlas Park from her teeny tiny place in Brickstown, sitting quietly in a corner of a monorail tram and wondering why no one was giving her any weird looks. She supposed it wasn't uncommon for them to see people in fancy costumes here in Paragon City, where there were more super-powered individuals than anywhere in the world. She busied herself with thoughts of all the fascinating people she was about to meet, the bizarre powers they might have, and the important work she was about to get started on. Maybe someday soon I'll be able to float across the entire city, like Uncle Kenta said Mom could do.

She couldn't do that yet, though, so she had to walk from the monorail station into Atlas Park, keeping her magical fans folded up and sheathed at her thighs. She was right on time as she made it to the town hall, just a few minutes to spare, and she jogged excitedly up the steps to the great double doors, pulling one side open just enough for her to slip inside.

Cameron wasn’t late. Not technically. But he was running down the street with a half-eaten cream puff in one hand and his diploma clutched in the other, leaving a pink blur in his wake. Pedestrians screamed as their hair flew in the sudden gusts. One poor businessman’s tie flipped up over his head as Cameron zipped past, shouting, “Sorry! Hero business! Also breakfast business!”

A moment later he screeched to a stop in front of Town Hall. His boots skidding across the stone path just shy of the steps. He blinked, cheeks puffed from the bite of pastry still in his mouth. Seeing the gardener stare at him, Cameron sheepishly raised his half eaten cream puff like it was a peace offering. “Um. Good morning! The flowers are pretty!”

Straightening up, he brushed powdered sugar from his costume, only to smear it worse across the pink fabric. He laughed nervously, struck a pose, and held up his diploma in the other hand. “Ta-da! Dynamo reporting for duty!”

He marched up the steps toward the big double doors, but not without waving dramatically at the trash-can robots as if they were his adoring fans.

Alain had arrived at the town hall two hours earlier than he needed to. He didn't want to be late, be it for mundane reasons such as traffic, heroic reasons such as stumbling onto a villainous plot on the way or a mixture of the two such as traffic caused by a villainous plot. It was his first day as an officially registered superhero, and he wanted to start with his best foot forwards. ...Nevertheless, he had arrived incredibly early, and had plenty of time to kill. Figuratively that is. He was a superhero, there would be no killing around if he could help it.

Not wanting to disrupt anyone performing their own jobs, the young man roamed the publicly accessible sections of the building, reflecting onto the circumstances that brought him there. "Huh, to think I'm here today, in this place, and for this reason. Had someone claimed this years ago, I would have probably called them a liar and gotten annoyed at them trying to give me false hope."

After his ruminating, an action that Alain would claim is technically not brooding, the lad did some last-minute review on his work phone. He had gone out and gotten a cheap-yet-durable phone specifically for use as a superhero. This was both to avoid leaking his identity by way of Phone and also to avoid his personal phone getting damaged by a stray laser or something of the kind. He'd heard too many stories of that happening to not want to avoid it happening to him.

In any case, time passed, and at around 8:55; the hero known as Sleet put his phone away and drifted back through the hallways and into the lobby. Spotting another costumed individual, he figured it probably a good idea to say hello; so he waved and spoke up. "Greetings!" he said, his voice echoing through the lobby despite its normal volume.

@Uiop

Cameron turned mid-step when the word “Greetings!” rang out. He lit up like he’d just spotted a fan in the crowd. His blue eyes went wide underneath the visor. He waved so enthusiastically his diploma almost fluttered out of his hand.

“Hiyaaa!” His voice carried across the polished lobby. “I’m Dynamo… well, Cameron Mason if you watch TV, but Dynamo for hero stuff!” Suddenly, Cameron realized something, and gasped. “Wait… Are we doing secret identities?” Then he shrugged nonchalantly. “Eh… it doesn’t matter you’re a hero too, you would have figured it out eventually.”

He zipped forward in a blur, reappearing right in front of Alain’s face. Too close. Definitely invading his personal space. “Whoa, your costume looks so cool! You’re like… icy but mysterious. I love it. Do you have a fog machine? You should have a fog machine. I could borrow one from my stage crew if you want—”

Realizing he was rambling, Cameron backed up a little, straightened and thrust out his gloved hand for a handshake, still dusted in sugar from the pastry he had finished. “Sorry, sorry! I get excited. You’re my first official hero friend! Well, first one I’m meeting here anyway. Sooo, what’s your hero name? You sound very… noble.”

"Sleet." He answered, a tad caught off guard by the other hero's sudden physical presence and force of personality. The provided real name sounded slightly familiar to him; Alain didn't follow pop music, but did follow the news and remembered hearing something about an explosion. He resolved to probably look that up later. In any case, Sleet accepted the probable-Speedster's offered handshake with a normal amount of grip before speaking up again. "And I'll probably provide you my real name as well. Just, not here in this publicly accessible government building. Don't want all of the staff and anyone else around to know who I am."

While the standard fear of 'What if a villain uses my identity to get at my loved ones?' didn't quite apply to Alain, there were two additional reasons for his decision to keep his identity secret. The first was because he did not want his hero identity to immediately draw comparisons and reflection to those of his relative with publicly known IDs. He wanted to succeed on his own merits, and avoid dragging them down if he failed. The second was so he could still be relatively anonymous in public. People recognized his relatives, true, but they typically did not recognize him. That was why he had the head-concealing helmet after all.

Alain then replied to the visor-ed man's other comments and questions, judging it polite to do so. "My thanks on the compliments; I had some help on the design, so I'll be sure to pass those on. And while I do not have a fog machine on me, I can provide a similar effect."

With a quick use of his mutation, snow floated around Alain. The substance seemed to hang in the air, drifting in ways that didn't quite mesh with gravity and the lack of wind inside. Additionally, the snow quickly sublimated in the late spring air, causing a fog-like effect. After a dozen seconds of this, Alain ceased supplying the snow, and the fog subsided.

"With time and preparation I can do more;" he stated, to point out he could do more than a thin aesthetic fog, and continued "but I'd rather not cause the custodians to need to clean up. Not the nicest thing to, especially on a first day." he finished, throwing in a subtle ice pun in his last sentence to practice the habit.

Stella had lingered in a somewhat-shadowed spot near the door, seeking a subtle place to lean back against a wall and wait more out of habit than anything. There was no need to hide in a place like this, and with all the cameras that were definitely around, she doubted she could. Still, it was good enough to temporarily avoid detection of her two fellow young heroes that arrived in the lobby after her, at least until Sleet showed off a cool trick.

"That was awesome!" she exclaimed, heading over to greet the pair of them, her mask remaining on to conceal the lower half of her face. "Sleet and Dynamo, was it? I'm Butterfly." She offered a handshake to each of them in turn. "Been training for this whole hero thing for a few years now, but this is my first time in the big city. This is going to be wild. I'm pretty sure I saw like... at least four people flying just on my way over here." While they were all interesting to her, Stella really wanted to meet Black Swan, or Aquamarina someday. She'd have to remind herself not to freak out and be too much of a fangirl around them if it happened.

Hah. Fangirl.

"So... what're we all thinking of joining? It's gotta be M.A.G.I. for me, magic and demons are pretty much the main thing I've studied since I started."

Cameron clapped his hands excitedly at Sleet’s display of power. “Oh my gosh that’s so pretty! You don’t need a fog machine, you are the fog machine! I love it!”

“Butterfly? That is such a cute name! You look so mysterious…” He accepted her handshake enthusiastically, double-pumping it with both hands like they were already best friends. “I’m Dynamo! Superhero name… but you probably already knew that, right? And I’m Cameron Mason! pop star name, but you probably already knew that, right?” He laughed at himself.

“Magic and spellbooks sounds so cool! I’ll be joining, uh…” He trailed off, scratching the side of his hood thoughtfully. “The science people, SERAPH! Because the accident that gave me my powers counts as science apparently. Even though… I don’t actually understand science. The most scientific thing I’ve done today is pick which pastry has the most calories.” He patted his stomach proudly.

@Shoopuf@Uiop

Alain wasn't used to seeing his ice powers, or at least without their newfound escalation potential, as something notable. He had them since birth, was used to them, and knew plenty of people who could do much better. So, it was unexpected that not one but two different peers had thought it to be cool. This did not show on his face, as the man was wearing a face-concealing helmet, but Alain had paused for a moment in surprise.

In any case, he recollected himself, returned Butterfly's handshake, and rejoined the conversation. "Likely ELITE." he answered, before deciding that answer needed more of an explanation. "I am uncertain how well I would fit; but I have the utmost respect for their work and manner of skillset. Though, admittedly, my decision was influenced by the other four possible options being, less of a good fit."

Alain didn't consider it a good idea to openly describe the reasons he would rather not apply to the other four factions if ELITE was an option. However, this narration will do so regardless. While Alain certainly knew more than the average citizen concerning super-science; he didn't think he had quite the aptitude required for SERAPH. Compounding this was how the lad didn't wish to be bombarded with questions concerning his grandmother's old, yet revolutionary, work. His rationale for crossing out DATA from his list of options was much the same. MAGI was eliminated for the simple reason of Alain not possessing the gift of magic.

One would expect GIFT to be a natural choice for a Mutant hero who's skillset depended upon their Mutant powers. However, the organization was strictly at the bottom of Alain's list. For one, the man didn't agree with their policy of only accepting Mutants. He considered it a potential recipe for disaster to bar non-Mutant individuals from participating in Mutant affairs. To Alain, this would further harm the general public's view of mutants, especially when a large scale incident occurs. Additionally, he did not want to get pidgeon-holed as being a Mutant hero who deals with Mutant affairs. The hero identity of Sleet was meant to be that of a hero who would help anyone; not merely those with the same genetics as him. Lastly, while Alain was not one to believe every rumour he came across; he did none-the-less consider the organization to be a bit suspicious.

But Alain didn't want to alienate his new potential-colleagues whom he had just met with his negative opinions on one of the five groups of PROC, so he merely finished by saying "I believe the manner of work that ELITE deals with could further help me develop my skillset."

"Dara darada~ Dara dadada~ ♫" Lorelei was bobbing her head to the tune playing in her headphones. Her playlist was full of songs from her favorite anime, especially the sweet and upbeat ones that can make a grown man make a cutesy pose and make peace signs with his fingers. Her hero outfit was just as subjectively, and visually, loud and colorful like her music taste. It was like she splashed all the pastel shades of the rainbow on her outfit; it was impossible not to look at her. A couple of girls would snicker while pointing at her, probably telling each other how gaudy and ugly Lorie's get-up was, but it was clear that what others thought of her was none of Lorie's concern at all.

She twirled her staff expertly as she spun, hopped, and lightly danced around while going down the sidewalks of Paragon City. People weren't sure if she was a street performer, a cosplayer, a heroine, or possibly all of the above. "Da ra dadada, darada~ ♫" She posed and made a finger heart at a younger girl staring at her, and the girl brightened and did a finger heart right back at Lorie too. She put her star goggles up and looked at the girl with an impressed smile. "Nice outfit, sis. Love what you did with your hair." Lorie complimented the girl as she put her goggles back on and skipped away, much to the delight of the little girl and her mom.

It took Lorie half an hour of travelling to get to Atlas Park from her folk's place. She left home while her parents were doing their usual morning routine which contained enough cardio to potentially outrun a horde of zombies for months. She's been enjoying her music since her train ride and walking to the town hall using her device that contained over thousands of minutes' worth of songs. As she got closer though, she regrettably had to shut her music off just so she could talk with whoever's there already.

As she walked, she reflected on all the choices in her life that lead her to this moment. Would her parents be disappointed when they learned she walked back? Even if they did accept her decision, could she forgive herself from backing down from an opportunity that others would die to have? She could go back to the safety and comfort of her own room, away from people judging and mocking her. Even when she was busy enjoying her tunes, she could still feel their judgmental stares of the people she walked passed by. They'll be more critical of Lorelei now that she's a hero; they'll criticize every action and decision she will make and didn't make. She should've thought of the responsibilities and the repercussions of her heroism before taking part in the Exam, but she's already here anyway.

Lorelei took a deep breath and exhaled softly. Whenever she felt panic clouding her mind, her family and the communities she became a part of were the ones who give her strength. They were there for her when no one else did. They loved her for her true unapologetic self. The world was a better place with them in it and by becoming a hero, she could do whatever it took to protect them and others from harm.

"Magica Lady Melina, give me strength..." Lorie said, remembering the gentle smile and heroic-ness of her anime idol. "Okay then, let's get done with this." With a more hardened resolve, she took the turn and walked towards the town hall where she could already see a group of people her age donning their own superhero costumes. Lorie took her goggles down and nodded at them in acknowledgment as she approached them. "You guys passed the Exam too? That's cool. Name's Starshine." She said while leaning against her staff, her bright and colorful costume contrasting her passive facial expression and voice.

The sword glowed in his hands as the bellowing roar of the mighty dragon rattled the warrior to his very core; his very bones shook from the reverberations of the roar. Despite this, the massive knight stood firm, shield raised before him and sword in his hand at the ready. His armor was shining, freshly polished like a sports car straight off the dealership. The faint glow of holy energy emanated from his blade. The warrior was untarnished by the battle that had been fought. Nary a scratch upon his armor, the only blood that sullied his tabard was the blood of the dragon.

It was wounded but not yet defeated, a foot refusing to his the ground due to a massive gash on the palm. It kept it curled to its chest, struggling to balance on three limbs instead. Thousands of cuts caused the blood to ooze from the wyrm, and its eyes, once fierce and defiant, now showed a primal fear not unlike a cornered rat.

Dermont, thou shalt not dally

The sword's voice, rich and booming, echoed in the warrior's head. He gripped the blade tightly in response. Indeed, he would finish this swiftly from here. In one more blow. The dragon drew another haggard breath before unleashing another roar towards the valiant knight in shining armor. To its surprise, he matched it with an equally fierce war cry that shushed the dragon. It drew another deep breath, and Dermont saw his chance, charging in. This time, replacing its roar was a torrent of flames, but merely raising his shield was enough to protect Dermont. The flames licked at the reflective surface, seemingly drawn into the steel. His charge ended when his sheild slammed into the dragon's cavernous maw.

Doth not falter, thou must act now!

The sword once more entered the warrior's voice. The dragon's neck careened back, and effortlessly Dermont released the shield from his grip as the Dragon attempted to dislodge the metal from its mouth. Both hands gripped his sword now as he swiftly swung for the now exposed thought. The sword sliced it like butter.

Doth not dally, champion!

Dermont heeded the words, instead plunging his sword straight for the dragon's chest. He roared like a berserker as he pressed all of his weight into the thrust.

Wake up!

---

Dermont jumped up from his sleep. The sun in his eyes immediately caused him to throw his hands up to block the sun. The sun? Dermont looked about the parking lot of Up-N-Away Burger. The sun was up, which it hadn't been when he had fallen asleep. He was currently inside his car: a jalopy to be sure. His drive here had taken most of what remained of his money. He could not afford a hotel and was willing to risk sleeping in the open for just one night. Dermont scrambled to find his laptop in the clutter of the back of his car. It was supposed to sound an alarm when it was time for his first day. He found it underneath a burger wrapper and a French fry cup. Tapping the keys made no response. Dead. Had he forgotten to charge it?

A proper champion is punctual and vigilant.

The sword spoke to Dermont through his mind. Dermont frowned at the words, the first words the sword had to say in his head today. With a groan, he scambled about the car, collecting his belongings. The letter of acceptance and the diploma were locked away in his glove compartment. He pocketed them in the pants he had slept in. There was no time to change them now!

Warrior of light, you shall not leave without me.

"Yeah I know, I know. Trust me, I am not showing up like this," Dermont responded, motioning to his undershirt stained with the grease from last night's meal.
The sword's incessant words caused Dermont to rub his temples in frustration. He could feel the sweat still clinging to his body, the heat of the car having collected in the morning sun. The bags under his eyes felt heavy; it was not a particularly comfortable rest, either. The sword rested safely over his collection of comic books. It was a reminder as to why no one should bother him. Even the most brazen criminal would think twice about attacking the man with a great sword at his side.

Dermont gripped the weapon, slowly pulling the blade partway from its sheath so that the glowing steel was revealed. The sword's voice boomed in his head, causing the young man to flinch at the words in his head.

A proper champion must maintain proper hygiene and presence. A hero must look heroic to inspire others.

Dermont felt his cheeks growing rosy at the constant chiding of his blade, finally blurting out in agitation.
"Geez, what are you, my mom? I'm working on it!" He called out, scrambling through the mess of belongings in the car until he procured a bottle of body spray, his toothbrush brush and a stick of deodorant. He hastily applied each in quick succession as he found a mostly clean flannel button-up and threw it over his shoulders. Once he felt secure in this, he put the key in the ignition and turned it, listening to his car grumble and moan as the engine turned over again and again. Finally, after some trial and error, the car growled to life, and he peeled out of the parking lot. The car's clock gave him good reason to be in a hurry. It read 8:51.

The streets were far less busy than he expected them to be. Most people were likely already to their destination or waking up just like him. The rest likely used the various other forms of transportation: buses, cars, or, better yet, they had powers of their own to help them get around. It gave Dermont some relief from his growing nerves. Unfortunately, his sword had yet to give him any form of respite.

A good warrior shall always be prepared, Dermont. Thou hast disappointed me.

Dermont shrank at the growing disdain in the weapon's tone. He knew better than to argue with Nothung. It was right, and he was its servant. He preferred to count his blessings that the magical weapon had not revoked its power.

"I'm sorry, I'm just-" He stopped himself. How would he explain to an ancient being, one with inherent power, that he was anxious? Would that even matter? Nothung clearly sensed his unease as they pulled into a parking lot.

Remember, Dermont, my champion-"

Dermont finished the line, irritation boiling over in his voice.
"Does not falter in the face of animosity. Yes, thank you for the reminder." Dermont groaned as he threw the shifter into park and pulled the key free. A moment of silence between the two of them gave Dermont a final moment of repose. He looked to Atlas Park in the distance. The massive statue just before the town hall, two towering bastions of justice, filled him with a new energy. He was here after months of training, after managing to pass his exam, and after a lifetime of dejection; he had a real purpose worth being proud of. He was a hero, a super one a that. He was the champion of a sword of magical origin. He took a deep breath to center himself before exiting the vehicle.

My champion shall not present himself as so. Thou shalt don thine aegis.

With another deep breath, Dermont controlled his anger and fear, finding solace in the blade in his hand. He thrust the sword into the air, but nothing happened, not even as the morning sun reflected off the glowing blade dramatically.

Thou shalt utter the incantation.

"Oh come on, do I have to? Dude, seriously, I am in a rush!" Dermont groaned. He could see people watching him now, and his cheeks grew rosy with second-hand embarrassment. Still, the sword stayed firm to its principles.

Thou must utter the incantation, and shant refer to me as 'dude'.

Dermont grumbled to himself, but he knew that arguing with Nothung was a Sisyphean task. Instead, he resteadied his stance and cleared his throat before he spoke aloud, making his voice as deep and booming as he could.

"In the name of Nothung, I harness your power! Adorn me with your aegis, grant me your protection and power so that I may cull the wicked and slay the unseelie!"

The sword glowed more and more with each word until Dermont, too, was coated in a golden aura. He swirled in place, the energy coating him until he was a silhouette of light. Armor appeared in a burst of sparkles: first a chain shirt, then the breastplate over top. A wave of his arms, and the pauldrons and gauntlets appear too. With one final battle pose, the aura faded, and Dermont was now coated in his armor. A single onlooker clapped for him, but Dermont could not pay them any mind. He was late already, and he ran for the park as fast as he could, clanking with each step.

As he neared the entrance to the townhall, Dermon was gasping for air. His run turned into a pathetic jog as he saw a group of other heroes, or at least people dressed like heroes. He waved to them as he called out.

"Wait! Valiant... reporting... for... duty!" He called out through staggered breaths. His jog turned into a walk and he nearly collapsed against the railing of the stairs as he struggled to catch his breath.
"Am...I...late..."

---

---

For those brave heroes-to-be who had actually entered the structure proper, they would find themselves in the rather lavish lobby of the city hall. It was a spacious, rectangular room, with stone floors made out of large, for-the-most-part-clean slate grey tiles. Rectangular, neutral colored and pattternless carpets covered most of the floor though. There were four large columns too, one in each corner, along with several larger potted, leaft plants - and they weren't plastic! Additionally, the ceiling was home to several square-shaped light-fixtures, which illuminated the large room in a healthy and bright atmosphere. Some walls also had paintings - of various things, including landscapes, portraits and... Abstract... art. There was even a small fash-tank over on the east-most wall, complete with a little astle and several different types of small, decorative fish.

But, all of that aside, the real meat and bones was the two other things present in the lobby. The frankyl absurd amount of stools, chairs and benches for people to sit and wait on, and the large, rounded, semi-circle reception at the center of the room. Behind the counter, tapping away at a keyboard and glaring at a computer screen - not even registering the newly arrived heroes - was a woman, who seemed to be in her early to mid fourties. She was wearing a business dress of tan coloration. Perhaps the reason she wasn't paying attention though was the small sign-plaque that was hung on the very front of the reception counter, which read:

Reception closed to the Public: 8 AM - 11 AM.
New Hero Orientation Day.

Ah. This would explain the complete lack of disgruntled citizens who were waiting in line or in the seats, hoping to file cmplaints and grievances with the city. Instead, apart from the small team of toddler-do-gooders, there was only one other person in the lobby. A girl, in the same strange costumed get-up as the others, though she was sitting on one of the chairs rather than standing up and speaking to the rest. Her outfit consisted of a skin-tight bodysuit, which showed off her curvature quite well, along with a pair of strange, electronic goggles sat over her eyes, covering the upper half of her face. Apart from taht, she had bright blonde hair that had been tied into a low ponytail. Still, she didn't seem too interested in chatting, as the caramel-skinned heroine hadn't even turned her head or looked oiver at the other fresh-faced super heroes even once.

But perhaps she was just shy. Or nervous about what was to come. Or had a speech inpedement. Or perhaps she was just a total ice queen and didn't deem her peers worhy of her glorious presence? Who could really tell? Nobody, without asking, that's for sure! Unless you were a mind-reader, duh.

Stilll, nobody had a chance to really approach her, as, when the clock struck 9:00 AM sharp, the western-most door of the lobby opened. Oh, did we not mention that? The lobby had doors for each cardinal direction. The entrance/exit was located on the southern wall, which was where the heroes had entered in through.

But back to the other door that just opened.

Out of it stepped...! ... A rather... Boring-looking man. A balding, below-average-height man, wearing thick black framed glasses and a really, really dull grey suit. Yet, despite his ra´her plain and forgettable appearance, he seemed to have a warm expression on his face, and he walked with both confidence and purpose, striding up to the reception counter and turning to face the south part of the lobby, looking at all the gathered youngsters presenet. He cleared his throat with a quick cough, then spoke with a clear and familiar voice.

"Well now, I'm glad tos ee everyone made it on time. It's good to see you all again. For those who don't remember, I'm Bernard, the greeter here in city hall."

Oh yeeaaaaaaaaaaaaah... Now he seemed familiar. This was the old guy who had guided them all around back whenever they took the written and interview-part of the Sanctioned Hero Exam. The man smiled and clapped his hands togther infront of him to gain more attention.

"Now then, before we move on to the main event, are there any questions or concerns any of you would like to ask before we move ahead? Don't be shy, ask anything if it's on your mind." Oh, and can you all gather up here, with me? Thank you."

As he said, the girl in the bodysuit and goggles rose almost immeidately form her seat. She proceeded on over to stand near the old, middle-aged man, but still didn't say anything. Perhaps she just didn't have any questions or concerns to voice? But what about you? This was your one chance to ask any nagging little inquiries before you got to enter the big league, after all.

So, what do you do now?

Stella had felt a bit nervous about all of this, truth be told, again that sort of "first day at school" feeling, but much like those days, she was relieved to find that her fellow superheroes in training were just people, and seemed a lot like her. Eager, excited, and still maybe a little unsure of themselves. Well, to varying degress, on all accounts. They had a literal pop star among them, though Stella hadn't recognized him until he introduced himself, and then there were kids like herself seemingly fresh out of high school.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask to her fellow heroes. How did they get their powers? What made them choose this life? And the costume designs, wow, they had some incredible variety already. Stella would have no problem vanishing into the shadows next to this group, they were all so brilliantly eye-catching and colorful. But it didn't feel right to start interrogating anyone when they were all grouped up like this, she didn't want to put anyone on the spot for the sake of her own curiosity. After all, there were plenty of things she didn't want to share with people who were still relative strangers. They needed to do some work together first.

To that end, it was time! Or close to it. Bernard was back, and of course Stella remembered him. His calm manner had helped Stella feel much more at ease when she was taking the exam. She half walked, half skipped over to him, gesturing for her fellow heroes to follow. "Let's go! I've been waiting for this for ages."

Like the others, Lorelei gathered around the man to discuss hero stuff. Bernard looked like any other regular joe in the city, but she finally did recognise from their examination day. She remembered he was always warm and welcoming no matter how many people he interacted it, traits Lorie couldn't even imagine herself have if she were in his shoes.

It seemed that this was an open table discussion based on Bernard's suggestion to ask him about anything the group wanted to know. Lorie acrually had a lot in mind. Do heroes have normal clock in and clock out hours like corporate employees? How much was their salary? At what range did their insurance covered? Did they even have insurance? What benefits could a hero get?

Alas, Lorie kept it simple for now.

"Do you have some advice for us on how are we going to balance life as heroes with our studies, mental health, just our usual day-to-day lives? Feel free to correct me but I assume that we're still obligated to help even when we're out of costume and it's our quote-and-quote day offs, right?"

“Would you like me to pull up to the steps, sir, or stop across the square?”

Vector sat back against the leather seat, gloved hand resting lightly on the strap of the bag beside him. The attaché case lay against his leg, its polished metal edges catching the faint gleam of sunlight slipping through the tinted windows. He tilted his head a fraction, considering. Across the square meant a quieter walk, less spectacle. But they’d asked them to arrive in costume, and anything less than directness could read as hesitation.

“The steps,” he answered at last, voice low and calm. “Let’s not waste time.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The Rolls slid forward, its movement so smooth it barely seemed to disturb the air. Outside, Paragon City was alive: pedestrians moving in streams along the pavement, the occasional drone whirring overhead, the distant murmur of morning traffic echoing between polished glass towers. Vector watched it all behind his aviators, but gave it no weight. Noise. Motion. Distractions.

His hero costume was inconspicuous enough that he could get away with wearing most of it as civilian attire. Everything but his poncho, mask, and weaponry were adorned, accented by his rayban aviators. The other components neatly tucked away with a leather bag and an attaché.

The chauffeur pulled the car to a precise halt, the hood gleaming beneath the shadow of Atlas’s great statue. A moment later, the rear door opened with mechanical smoothness, and Vector stepped out.

The air was mild, carrying the faint trace of cut grass from the Town Hall gardens. Vector adjusted his grip on the attaché, squared the line of his shoulders. His stride across the pavement was measured, each step unhurried, deliberate. Behind him, the Rolls whispered away, leaving no more than a ripple of curiosity among passersby.

He climbed the shallow steps, neither glancing at the suited officials drifting past nor the little cleaning drones puttering along their circuits. The statue loomed overhead, but Vector gave it no more attention than he had the traffic outside.

And then, as if it could never have been otherwise, he stepped into the lobby at precisely 09:00.

The space was bright, open, humming with the subdued energy of recruits who had beaten him inside. Colorful costumes, eager chatter, the barely-contained nerves of those who wanted to prove themselves. Vector set his bags down neatly by his side and took his place among them without fanfare. And no introduction.

Bernard’s familiar voice rolled across the lobby, welcoming them, inviting questions. Vector listened, still and unblinking behind the lenses of his aviators. When the pause came, he spoke.

“Two operational points,” he said, tone level, each word weighed and measured. “First, in civilian-dense environments, what is the standing protocol for escalation of force? At what threshold are we cleared to act without prior clearance? Second, communications. What systems are provided in terms of secure channels, tracking, or locators? Or are such provisions left to individual discretion?”

"Huh, that's a lot of people showing up at the nick of time; which makes sense in this line of work." thought Alain, as a number of newcomers sequentially entered the building. "Well, I'd have to be a hypocrite to judge. I did wander the halls until right before time, other people could've done that. ...or they might've barely made it here without getting late. Can't say until further notice."

However, the fledgling hero didn't spend any more time ruminating about the other heroes; as his attention was caught by the familiar voice of the greeter. Alain had thoroughly remembered the name and face of the guide from the exam. How could he not, when he had immediately suspected the tour-guide of hiding something from the moment they met. Alain didn't think it was humanly possible for someone to be that forgettable without doing so intentionally. Furthering this belief was the man's evident experience (or rather, his apparent age) as well as the juxtaposition of a formal suit and a casual attitude. The greeter seemingly had a relaxed approach towards having to herd over a half dozen likely-superpowered teenagers and young adults. To Alain, this was apparently more clues hinting towards the man being an expert of some sort. As for the final bit of icing biasing his conspiracy cake, Alain himself had previously worked in similar administrative roles; and now here he was, in costume, preparing to fight crime.

All this to say, Alain was suspicious of the tour guide having ulterior motives or mysterious origins without any real evidence supporting these suspicions. Hence why he resolved to commit the man to memory and to treat him with the utmost civility and professionalism. ...or, at least further civility and professionalism. Alain was an administrative assistant, so he was one to cut more slack to the average low-level desk clerk.

He was brought back to the present situation by his new colleagues' questions, and nodded to show his agreement with the questions. One of them caught his eye, so he decided to add to it. "I'd like to further the question on escalation." said Sleet, memories of stories he's heard and debates he's had coming to the forefront. "It would be best we get on the same page now rather than during a crisis." Then, he asked a question of his own "Also, what's our convention for contacting mundane emergency services in case we need their assistance for something like a fire?"

Cameron zipped to the front the moment Bernard mentioned gathering up, leaving a streak of pink across the tiled floor. He nearly tripped over his own boots but spun it into a little twirl, striking a pose with one hand on his hip and the other holding up his diploma like it was an award.

“Hi, Mister Bernard! Dynamo, reporting for duty!” he said with a silly grin on his face. Then he gasped, raising his hand like a student in class. “Oh! Question! Super important one! Do we get, like… lockers? Or a team fridge? Because I burn through calories, and if I don’t have snacks on hand, I’ll crash faster than you can say ‘evil-doers beware.” He patted his stomach proudly.

Cameron looked around at the others, fishing for agreement. “Right? Emergency snack access is, like, step one of being a functioning hero. Food is fuel! Also, food is delicious. But mostly fuel.”

The knightly hero huffed and puffed long after his brisk run up the stairs, struggling to keep it hidden from the others as best he could. His armpits were already starting to sweat profusely, and his hands weren't much better. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, not just from the initial jog but now from his nerves. Here he was, in a veritable city of heroes, rubbing elbows with others dressed in costumes just like him. He looked around the group. They seemed to be mostly around the same age as him. A short youngster blitzed around them; his powers were easy to figure out. The others were more anomalous. One looked like she might be a ninja, another like he might be a cowboy. They all looked so much cooler than Dermont felt in this moment. He was the only one with a paunch, and as far as he could tell, the others were lacking his sweating nervousness.

Steele thine nerves Dermont, Thou art a knight not a knave

For once Nothung had given him something other than a scolding, and Dermont found solace in the blade's words. If a sentient sword of legend had faith in him, then he could find faith in himself as well. His confidence was bolstered enough that when he noticed the woman waiting in the lobby who clearly was a hero too he tried to wave to her, but quickly lost the nerve when he realized she was not paying attention. He gently rested his hand on the hilt as they were met with the most dangerous foe of all: bureaucracy.

Dermont vaguely remembered this man, but ultimately, he looked like every other businessman he had seen before. Old, boring, and somewhat tired. The only real shocker about his appearance was his smile. How often did people wearing suits smile like that, so genuinely? Dermont found himself lost in thought about the stranger until the others began asking questions. The kind that Dermont had not even thought to ask and was internally cursing himself for forgetting.

Bah! Pedantics, whenst evil rears its fetid head, we shall dispatch of it under any means necessary, aye Dermont?

Dermont didn't respond. One their first day with these other heroes it was not a good look to start speaking to yourself. Instead, he nodded ambiguously both to Nothungs statement and to the questions at hand, only raising his hand to pitch in after Cameron spoke up.
"I have to second the fridge idea" He said, before quickly adding a question of his own in a much meeker tone.
"And uh, we do get paid, right?"

A hero dost not take handouts!

Nothung's voice boomed in his head, causing Dermont to flinch, but he gritted his teeth and endured the further scolding. He needed money; even if he was a hero, it would be if he were still an unemployed mooch. Whether or not they were, he still moved to stand besides this balding man, now standing beside the goggle-wearing woman.

[quote=@Xaltwind]

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The poor greeter watched as a few of the youths stirred from his arrival, and even fewer of them actually came on over to form a semi-circle around the old man. However, it didn't take long for a barrage of questions and inquiries to come flying his way. But the business-suit dressed mans tood firm, unflinching in the face of such things! ... Becuase he'd probably heard all of them before, like, a gazillion times, undoubtedly. He had been doing this for a few decades now, after all.

First to speak up was the young man who had arrived in the barest nick of time, who also saw fit to wear sunglasses indoors... Maybe they were part of his costume? Although, as far as attire went, the lad was surely the least eye-catching out of the bunch currently assembled. Still Bernard turned his balding head to face the young man and replied clearly, but still in his friendly and warm tone.

"As I'm sure you were told in or during the Exam, every new hero receives a personal communicator from whichever of the five groups they join." He made sure to remind them of information they sohuld've already been knoweledgeable about it seemed. "As for escalation... That should be fairly obvious, no? If you ever feel like yourself, or innocent citizens are in danger of being hurt, you're free to use appropriate amounts of force to defend yourself or others. Naturally, if there's no attempt on your person, or someone else's safety, we strongly encourage you to be moderate with any sort of appregensions or detaining of criminal elements who aren't an immediate, violent threat." So, basically, he was telling you that it was okay to beat up the mugger who had a switchblade, but maybe don't go using your pwoers on the purse-snatcher or graffiti-painting street-punks.

Next up was the boy who had the powers of ice. Or the power to generate ice, at least. He was had given Bernard a weird look earlier, or at least that's what the balding city official felt like, but he'd shrugged it off quick enough as the boy asked a tacked-on question to the first inquiry by Aviator Lad.

"In the case of a fire or other situation that you can't deal with yourself, you'll have your communicator. Just use it to contact your group's headquarters and they'll send someone who can help, or contact the proper goverment department to come and assist. Though, I should also tell you that you're all expected to handle any anti-crime endeavors on your own. The police department and other, more veteran heroes, are usually already busy and can't stop what they're doing to come help you, just because you bit off more than you could chew." So, basically, as long as you were dealing with a natural disaster or an enviromental hazard, you could just use your personal device to call for help. But calling for backup 'cuz you're losing a fight seemed to be frowned upon.

Next up was the energetic and sparkly little speedster, who zoomed and zipped right up on and into Bernard's grill, flaunting his diploma as if to say: Look, look! Praise me, daddy! Or somehting. The short little fellow was obviousloy very excited, and Benrard let out a chuckle at the display of enthusiasm. Had he had less ethic and work-place manners, he might've been tempted to give the kid a pat or tussle of the head. But Bernard remained strong and resisted such fatherly urges! Instead, hearing what the lad had to ask before replying calmly.

"Whichever of the groups you join today will have their own headquarters. There, I'm sure you'll find whatever facilities you could want, be they locker or changing rooms, training halls or a cafeteria. There's no need to worry, we've been doing this for a while and the Anti-Crime Organizations of Paragon City are well-equipped to deal with the needs and wants of its resident and member heroes." He adjusted his glasses in a way that made him look like he might be trying to brag... But it was hard to tell.

Finally, the guy in the armor, with a sword on the hip, spoke up. Tacking on a the question about food... Were kids these days relaly into eating or somehting? Maybe it was the hot new social thing? Bernard didn't really know or keep up with the fads and trends of the youngsters, so he couldn't really tell. But then came the quesitron. The big qiestion that was always broughtt up, and always lillicted the same awward aftermath when it was answered.

"Of course there's no pay. This is volunteer work. Weren't you told as such while doing taking the exam?" Bernard tilted his head and looked slightly perplexed, as if he never quite understood why people asked this. ANd it was, for the most part true. Applicants should've been told, during the exam at some point, that being a heor was not a real job. The goverment couldn't possibly afford to run all five of the hero organizations, PROC and do all the dministration and logistics for them, on top of also paying each hero who was a part of it. With the sheer number of heroes in Paragon City alone, the city would've gone bankrupt years ago if that was the case! Unless they were like, paying a montly $5 or something as a token sum... But that would cost more money to actually pay out to each hero, so again...

It didn't seem like the two ladies had any inquiries though. Neither the dark-haired girl who looked like a character from some Action Ninja cartoon from Japan, nor the girl in the far-too-tight bodysuit and goggles seemed to have want to ask anything. And frankly, that was probalby a good thing. Bernard cleared his throat and raised his right hand, making an open-palmed gesture towards the door on the west side of the lobby, the one he'd entered the area from.

"Well then, everyone. Let's get a move on. If you have further questions, you can always ask the representatives of each of the Five Groups once we get to registration area, alright? Follow me, please."

It didn't seem like Bernard was wasting any more time on taking classroom-level questions ehre, as the man turned and began to walk with a brisk, but not necessairly hurried, pace.



After passing through the double doors on the west wall, the gorup was led through a long hallway, flanked by many sdoors. No doubt these were just offices or meeting rooms, as they were unlabeled and didn't seem to stand out or appear all that important. The hallway was completely carpeted, and just like with the lobby, the walls were adorned with paintings, posters and there werer the occasional potted plant on the floor next to the wall. While largely forgettable, the sheer legth of this hallway did give some rise to just how large Paragon City's city hall actually was. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say how large it needed to be.

Still, eventually the group arrived at another set of large doors, leading through another vaulted doorway. However, these doors were already swung open and latched iin place to remain widely ajar. Stepping through them, they were all greeted by a most curious sight.

The room itself was just a rectangle, nothing particularly impressive there. The floor was made from parquet wood and the walls were apinted white. Nothing particularly interesting so far. However, what was interesting were the five booths, or kiosk-like, located along rhe walls. Two on the northern wall, two along the southern one and one at the far western wall. Each booth had a coutner, with a letters printed on them in a big, thick font. And they all read, in clockwise order from south-to-west-to-north:

- MAGI
- DATA
- ELITE
- SERAPH
- GIFT

Yes, these were they. The ones. These were the legendary(?) recruitment booths! The place where freshly minted heroes went and signed on with their respective crime-fighting group of choice. The place where you truly and honestly took your first steps into the role of an actual, honest-to-goodness defender of justice and hero of Paragon City.

Bernad allowed the youths to all pile into the large area just inside the doorway, before speaking up again.

"And here we are, my young friends. The Recruitment Center. If you have any quesitons or concerns, please, feel free to walk up to whichever of the booths interest you and ask the clerk there whatever you need answers to. I'm sure they'll be a lot more helpful than I would be." He laughed a bit at the end there.

But here it was, and here they were. On the very threshold and precipice of joining up with their crime-fighting force of choice. Who would they pick? Who would catch their fancy? Who had they always dreamed of working with? The choice was theirs, but also now. ... Or, perhaps soon, if they had any questions to ask first.



MAGI:
On the southern wall, furthest towards the doorway the kids had come through, was the MAGI booth. The counter was made of fine wood and there were things like candlesticks and small, arcane-looking crystals or devices strewn out along its top. Behind the counter was a woman of below-avearge height, with a slightly chubby - although not obese or overweight - frame, sitting on a levitating chair. She had a pointy witch hat on, and her her hair was curly, chestnut brown and her eyes were equally brown. She was busy scribbling away with a quill on some aprchment, but had a very warm and friendly-looking face nontheless. She kinda loked like the fairy tale version of a friendly aunt who'd bake you cookies, or something.

DATA:
Just a bit to the west of the MAGI booth, was the one for DATA. In stark contrast to the previous kiosk though, this one looked far more sterile and modern. The counter was made of metal, the contents behind it were all made of electronics and modern doodads and technology. Computers, flat screens, touch screens, colored LED strips, you name it. The person behind the counter was also very different, in that they didn't seem to be a person at all. Instead, it was a four-armed robot of some sort, made of sleek, silvery metal, with four colored lsenses for eyes. The machine was busy tapping away at four different keybaords and carefully monitoring several of the screens and minitors at the same time. As it didn't have a face to speak of, it was hard to tell if it was friendly or not. But hey, at least it looked really, really cool!

ELITE:
At the far end of the room, on the western wall, was the ELITE kiosk. It looked the most ... Mundane... Out of all the booths. Nothing special or remarkable, the counter was made out of wood, the insides were just a computer with an office chair, and the person manning it was a young lady in her mid-twnties, wearing a similarily grey business dress to Bernard's suit. She had shoulder-lenght brown hair, green eyes and looked to a bit on the dainty side in terms of physique. But then again, she was a receptionist. Her face was pretty enough and she looked to be friendly enough, having a slight smile as she tapped away at the keyboard infront of her.

SERAPH:
The booth for Seraph looked more like an experimentation sight than a registry booth. There wwere beakers, vials, alembics, various measuring instruments, electronic wave and radiation monitoring devices and several small white boards. The person manning the booth, who was feverishly scribbling on the white boards and going back and forth to a laptop on a small table, was dressed in a labcoat. She had black long hair tied into a ponytail, glasses, blue eyes and a very pale complextion. She seemed the more serious type, as her face gave off a stoic and stern expression, but perhaps she was just really focused on what she was doing? This booth was on the nrothern wall, by the way, furhest to the west.

GIFT:
Finally, to the east of the SERAPH booth, was the GIFT kiosk. Like ELITE's booth, it didn't look particularly special or noteworthy. Counter made form wood, filing cabinets of steel, a computer and normal office chair... Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the receptionist. A tall, muscular man, covered in short, cobalt-blue fur, with two horns protruding from his temples, yellow glowing eyes wth slit, cat-like pupils and a small, black, triangular nose instead of a human snout. He was also wearing a pure white business suit, red necktie and looked really, really, really out of place here. But, he still had a small smile on his face, as he too was busy going through the various filing cabinets and sorting them.

Thus, it was now time to steel your nerves and take the first step. Approach the booth you were most curious about... Well, ask how you join, probably. Or ask quesitons about the group itself, in case you were interested in hearing what each faction offered and were all about first.

Stella took in the sights, mundane as they were, along the walk towards the recruitment area. Maybe it was her prior training with her master, or her meditations, or some fledgling form of the inner harmony she was supposed to be working on, but she didn't feel the need to ask any questions. She knew how she intended to handle herself when faced with threats mundane or magical, and she trusted that the team she'd be joining would provide more specific direction whenver it was needed. She wasn't worried about pay, either, though she understood that not everyone came from as fortunate a background as she did. Best not to judge.

Snacks, though, now there was an important question from the speedster. Stella's suit had a frustrating lack of pockets, so she wondered if MAGI had developed some sort of mid-mission magical food delivery system. Eating with an identity concealing mask on was another difficulty, but such were the challenges a heroine had to conquer.

The recruitment room itself presented the grand choice to the heroes, though in truth there was really only one option for Stella. She wasn't a mutant, so GIFT was off the table, and she knew little of advanced sciences and technologies, ruling out SERAPH and DATA. She probably could excel in ELITE, given the covert style of hero-work she practiced, and the fact that she still relied on a heavy amount of martial arts and physical skills, but their focus wasn't why she was here.

Stella had come to Paragon City to learn about magic, both how to master her own, and to identify and counter others. Without a moment's hesitation she walked silently over to the MAGI kiosk, her padded tabi-style shoes making no noise on the hardwood floor as she entered. Almost immediately she began to feel... a fine tremor in her core, like a low hum that somehow made no sound, giving away the presence of nearby magic. She'd noticed it before, when Valiant had rumbled into the lobby in his armor, but in this kiosk it was everywhere.

Okay... gonna have to figure out some kind of filter for this power, this is going to drive me nuts.

"Hello!" she greeted the kindly-looking woman with the quill. Her superhero-ninja garb didn't really fit the aesthetic of this witches-and-wizards room, but still she carried herself with confidence both in posture and tone. "I'm called Butterfly, and I've decided to join MAGI. I have some magical powers of my own, and have already done a few years of study in the basics of magic and otherworldly beings with a personal mentor. I've been sent by the Mori clan, a lineage of yokai hunters in Japan, to gain experience and serve the people here in Paragon City."

She bowed slightly to finish her introduction. Stella wasn't sure how much contact MAGI had with the Mori, who rarely operated outside of Japan as far as she knew, but it couldn't hurt to mention them. Made her seem more official, and all that.