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Hidden 13 days ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista Ponk-ifista

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Claws clacked against the pavement as a host of cars stopped dead like mice desperately trying to avoid the attention of a cat. Indeed, it’s body was that of a large lion, occasional parts of flesh still attached, sinewy muscle red and flexing as it tugged along the forelegs with too little flesh to reasonably support it. Yet the head was not feline, nor was the tail. A human skull rested on the neck, far too long and a shade too bestial. It was like that of a neanderthal or other primitive man. Strands of hair remained on it rounded features, as did shards of cheek flesh. It was pink as though blood was flowing despite having nowhere to go on the rest of the surface that was made of bleached bone. A ways down, a shattered police car still flashed its lights, blood marking the street.

Practiced legs leaping, the dark form of the Wildcat landed on the hood of a nearby vehicle. “Jesus criminy Christmas Christ. What hellhole did you spawn out of?” It turned to him and growled, but Wildcat pounced first. A fist that had struck out a thousand thousand times made true, flesh meeting bone. It was a familiar sound: one and two. He watched the whole of the monster shake beneath the blows. Cracks formed on the surface unguarded by flesh. A growl came from a mouth without vocal chords, and a chitinous tail reared up from behind. The appendage was shattered, the interior surgically removed. But the stinger, cracked as it might have been, still had its point. Wildcat grimaced, bracing himself for the blow, hands out to catch.

Another form jumped in front. A large muscular back took up his vision. There was a loud snap, like a massive branch caught in between the tires of a big rig. The tail reeled back, shattered. The man had put an arm up in front of him, the black and magenta limb wide at and past the forearm, like a massive shield was growing out of it with fingers at the bottom curled into a fist. The other arm, held back closer to Wildcat, was white and magenta, a long spike jutting up out of the shoulder. The manticore skeleton rattled and ran, bashing against a few cars in its retreat. “Hollow ka? Ja nakute. bakemono ka?”

“I had it!” Wildcat snarled, Chad turning to look at him. The man was currently baring the brown of his torso to the world, the black tank top from before awkwardly wrapped about his face in a makeshift disguise.

“Sorry but...it was dangerous.”

“What?! You speak English?”

Chad held up his white and magenta hand, wiggling it in a gesture of inability. “Not good.”

Not much worse than my Spanish... Wildcat shook his head. “It’s getting away, let’s get going!”

Tearing through the highway, eyes from stopped cars followed as they chased. They only needed to follow the screeches of tires and honking of horns to know where to go. Reaching an intersection while failing to look both ways, a motorcycle streaked at them, screeching as it tried to slow down. Chad lowered his arm, the motorcycle bashing into it and flipping over. The left hand reached out, deftly snagging the rider by the collar of their coat. The pull against the rest of their body was mitigated as Chad pulled the motion inwards, pulling his arm back and spinning a bit, feet stopping as he gently let the rider down, unharmed. The motorcycle clattered to a halt, a little battered but intact.

Shaky hands removing her helmet, the rider asked, “I’m sorry! Are you good?”

Chad waved her concerns away. “Fine. Happened before, years ago. Can’t carry you to...hospitál this time.”

From a few feet away, Wildcat lifted the motorcycle back up, the engine still running. “Mind if we borrow your ride?”
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Hidden 13 days ago Post by Natty
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Natty

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B E N 1 0
B E N 1 0

|| New York, Earth

Four Arms pushed himself up from the cracked pavement, dust rolling off his shoulders as he took in the strange little squad that had formed around him.

The woman with the scythe moved like she had been born holding it. She was dressed in a dark stylish outfit, save for her forearms and head. Here she wore a setting of shining bracers and a beautiful tiara or headpiece. She moved with the same confidence and precision as some of the galaxy's fiercest mercenaries and warriors. He was immediately happy that she seemed to be on their side and not against them.

The silver armoured figure beside her was unmistakably a Power Ranger, although not one he recognised. Ben had seen a few of them drinking on Knowhere once, loud and colourful and impossible to miss. He couldn’t say he recognised this one though. They had different markings and a different cut to the armour. It was curious to see though. Ben hadn’t expected to see a Ranger here on Earth.

The blue and yellow flyer was familiar in a different way. Ben had seen him on a news clip once. Or maybe Gwen had mentioned him during the long catch up after Ben’s return. Omni Boy. Or something close to that. There were too many heroes now to keep track of all their names. Regardless, it was clear this guy was durable, given the beating he had just easily recovered from.

And then there was the knight. Knight was maybe a loose word here since he wasn’t wearing any armour, although the name still stuck in his mind. Older than Ben by a good decade, he held an ebony blade in his hand. Ben had idea who he was, but he seemed to be at the centre of whatever was happening here. He looked like someone trying very hard to pretend he was not terrified.

The Beast loomed over all of them, its bulk swelling with every moment. The street was a ruin of broken concrete and overturned cars. Smoke curled from shattered storefronts. The air vibrated with the creature’s growl.

The Ranger’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Does anyone have a plan?”

Ben’s upper right hand tightened as his lower left rubbed at the back of his neck. Ben certainly wasn’t a tactician. Sure he’d spent nearly five years learning to survive by himself but a lot of that had come down to instinct and a fair amount of luck. The rest of his “team” would know exactly what to say if they were here. Max would probably already be barking orders, having assessed who everyone was and what their power sets were. Gwen would already be mapping out angles and weak points. Even his old teammate Rocket, up in space, would probably be yelling about flanking patterns and blowing something up from the inside.

But none of them were here right now. Just him and his four fists. He wasn’t sure if instinct and luck would prove too helpful this time.

Thankfully, before he could express his concerns and offer a meager suggestion of trying to punch it again, the knight spoke.

“Have any of you seen Dragonheart? I need to get up to its mouth.”

Ben blinked. He had no idea what a Dragonheart was supposed to be. But he followed the knight’s pointing and the idea clicked into place. Get the sword to the weak point. Get the knight in close. Let him finish it.

The others moved immediately. Buffy sprinted one way, scythe raised. The Ranger darted the other, energy building in his gauntlets. Invincible shot upward, ready to dive again.

The Beast reacted to their movement and hurled a crushed car toward the only two who had not yet repositioned.

Ben stepped forward and caught it with all four hands. Metal screamed against his palms and he groaned as his muscles took the impact. He twisted and flung it aside, sending it skidding across the ruined street.

Catching his breath, he looked down at the knight. The man’s grip on the sword was steady, but his eyes betrayed the truth. He was clearly new to this.
Ben knew exactly how that felt. Sure he had been full of bravado back when he first got the Omnitrix, but looking back now, he’d just been a scared kid.

Ben crouched, planting his feet and lowering all four hands toward him.

“Alright, knight guy. You’re up.” Ben softened his tone. “You’re standing in front of that thing with nothing but a sword. That takes guts, man. You’ve got this.”

The Beast roared again. The ground trembled. The others carved their openings.

Ben braced himself, muscles coiling, as he prepared to throw the knight straight toward the waiting jaws of the Questing Beast.
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Hidden 7 days ago Post by Theyra
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Theyra

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Sliver Ranger

Sliver Ranger


"Dragonheart?" Zhane was puzzled by Dane's words. It must be a human thing or something, and he tried to figure out what man meant. Then the Dane spoke more, and it started to make sense. Zhane looked at the Beast's mouth and realized what the human planned on doing. It is a weak spot, yeah, though fricking risky. More so with just a sword. The ranger thought as the blue energy built up in his blaster, preparing another round against the Beast. Zhane turned his head towards the brave human, "You are crazy, you know that, right, but that is a plan if any." At least a plan he can follow and spring into action.

As Buffy moved one way, Zhane moved opposite, aiming to distract the Beast until Dane could get into position and end this. Fighting as a team, even though they all just met. It reminded him of his first fight with his team. New and barely knowing each other before charging in at an alien terrorist who sought to make an example of their world. They would win that fight, and if a bunch of newcomers like them could win, a bunch of strangers could with this one.

As soon as his blaster was fully charged and at maximum damage as he ran right, Zhane let out a swarm of energy bolts at the Beast's side. Nailing his shots as the Beast roared and used its tail to swing with enough force to launch three cars in Zhane's direction. With little time to think, Zhane quickly jumped and barely dodged out of the way. Using his telekinesis to influence one car to turn on its side to avoid a hit. That was too close, Zhane's heart was racing at the near hit. Could he survive a hit from a flying piece of metal? Maybe, the Morphin Grid has its perks, but was he going to experience that first-hand today? Not if he has any say in it.

Once he was up and seeing that there was some charge left in his blaster. Rather than shoot what would be weak energy bolts and recharge for stronger ones. Zhane had a different idea. in mind. As he went to recharge his blaster, Zhane used his telekinesis to lift a nearby car off the ground. Aiming, using his free hand, and gathering strength. He made a motion with his free hand, and the car went forward and collided with the Beast's side. The car was slightly dented as he fell to the ground, and the Beast roared again.

"Hey, you launch a car at me, and it is only fair I launch one back at you!" Zhane remarked eagerly at the Beast. It was three cars for only one, but Zhane is not caring about the numbers right now. Granted, he could only really lift one car anyway.

As he waited for his blaster to recharge, Zhane was prepared to dodge again and waited to react to Beast's next move. If that move was for him anyway.
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Hidden 4 days ago Post by Natty
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Natty

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In collaboration with @Ezekiel

|| Strange Academy, New Orleans

The Cloak of Levitation swept dust from the floorboards as Doctor Strange drifted a few inches above the stone tiles of the Grand Foyer. Ben followed behind him, sneakers thudding loudly in a place that felt like it should not echo at all. The whole building hummed with a kind of quiet pressure he couldn’t name. Magic, he guessed. It made the Omnitrix feel heavier on his wrist, like the device was reacting to the place or the place was reacting to it. Either way, it set his nerves on edge.

Strange didn’t look back when he spoke. “You’ll find the geography of the Academy is flexible.” He gestured toward a staircase that was currently rearranging itself into a spiral. “I suggest you memorize the feeling of the hallways rather than the layout. The bricks have a habit of wandering when they get bored.”

Gwen walked a little ahead of him, taking everything in with wide eyes. Ben had never really believed Gwen’s whole magic thing at first. Even after Hex. Even after Charmcaster. Science made more sense. Aliens made more sense. Magic felt like someone had forgotten to explain the rules. But the more he watched her with that book she carried everywhere, the more he saw the way the pages reacted to her touch, the more he started to think there was something real there.

She was clearly talented. She fit here in a way Ben didn’t. The air around her practically buzzed with excitement. Strange seemed to notice it too. Ben could tell by the way the man’s attention lingered on her, like he was already imagining her in one of those long robes the students wore.

Ben tried not to think about that.

After the mess in New York with the Questing Beast, Grandpa Max had practically floored the Rustbucket getting them out of the city. Ben suspected it was because he didn’t want another lecture from Agent Brand. Whatever the reason, Ben didn’t complain. He liked the quiet the road gave him. It was easier to breathe when the world wasn’t collapsing around him.

With Gwen’s early admission prospects becoming real, Grandpa had apparently reached out to an old Plumber contact who arranged a tour of Strange Academy. Ben still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The place was impressive, sure, but it wasn’t for him. It was for Gwen. She belonged in a school like this. She deserved it.

The thought of her leaving though caused a tightness in his chest. He’d just gotten her back. He couldn’t lose his best friend again.

He just hoped he could make it through the rest of the tour without saying something.

The foyer opened into a wide chamber lined with floating lanterns and shifting murals that moved when Ben wasn’t looking directly at them. Strange slowed, and Ben thought they were about to head deeper into the building when someone stepped out from a side corridor.

A young woman stepped forward, dark hair loose over her shoulders. She looked a few years older than them and was pretty in a way that made Ben straighten up without meaning to. She greeted them with a warm, easy smile that immediately softened the strange, shifting foyer around them.

Strange gestured toward her. “This is Zatanna. One of our more capable students. She will continue your tour from here. I am needed elsewhere. A meeting with a demon.”

Ben still couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Zatanna’s smile widened just a little. “Welcome to the Academy. The east wing is open right now, so we’ll start there.”

Gwen practically vibrated beside him. “This place is incredible. The architecture alone is unreal. And the way the hallways shift, and the murals—”

Ben grumbled something that was supposed to be agreement but came out more like a noise. Gwen shot him a look over her shoulder. He gulped. It was clear she had noticed him acting off and it was clear she wasn’t happy about it.

Zatanna glanced at him then, catching the awkward half sound he’d made.She was already moving toward the east corridor before the echo of Strange's footsteps had fully faded.

She took the stairs at a pace that assumed they'd follow, stepping over the gap between the second and fourth steps without comment. Ben caught it just in time. Gwen didn't need to, she'd already clocked the way Zatanna's foot had moved and adjusted before she reached it. The continuous movement of the structure of the building had left a vacant space that could, quite clearly, be a tripping hazard. The step simply wasn't there when Ben reached it, a gap of ordinary air between the second and the fourth, and she heard the brief scramble of him catching himself on the banister.

The east wing corridor ran long and cool, lit by lanterns that burned without flame. Gwen had slowed almost immediately, drawn to the alcoves lining the walls. Each held a shimmering image, a foundational form of magic captured in a combination of sculpture and arcane signature designed to call to those with the gift itself.

She turned into a doorway without slowing. The classroom inside was mid-chaos, not dangerous chaos, just the kind of chaos eight students attempting the same thing with eight different ideas about how. One student had a reasonable column of water rotating about a foot off the desk. Another had coaxed a small but genuine flame into something approaching a stable shape. A third was apparently attempting both simultaneously, which had produced a quantity of steam that was making everyone in the back row squint.

The instructor, a compact woman with her sleeves rolled to the elbows, had stopped talking and was simply watching one student in the corner with an expression past patience and into something more like professional curiosity.

“Hm.” She watched for another moment, then stepped back into the corridor. “First year elemental cohort,” she said, to Gwen and Ben.

“Four elements in simultaneous balance. It’s a little on the direct side for most magic we do here, but it certainly helps teach the importance of careful practice.” A brief cry of alarm following a sudden ‘whoosh’ of flame as someone introduced a little too much air to the equation interrupted her train of thought.

“Well, it is supposed to.” Zatanna extracted themselves from the room with measured haste, shutting the door as she did so.

“I’ve heard you have some existing experience already, Gwen, what magic has called to you before?” She asked with a smile as they carried on, each doorway a window into a new foundational class of the building blocks of the arcane arts.

Ben watched Gwen’s hand go to her bag before she even answered. That familiar weight settled in his chest as she pulled out the spellbook, the one she guarded like it was a living thing. The cover caught the shifting lantern‑light, the sigils along the spine pulsing faintly as if recognising her touch. She held it with the same ease someone else might hold a favourite novel, but Ben knew better. That book had teeth. That book had history.

Gwen smiled at Zatanna, confident in a way that made Ben’s breath hitch.

“I got this years ago,” she said, brushing her thumb over the edge of the pages. “Charmcaster dropped it during a fight. I… may have grabbed it before she could get it back.” Her tone was light, but Ben remembered the moment. The panic. The adrenaline. The way she had clutched it like it was a lifeline. “It felt like it wanted me to take it. Like it recognised me.”

Ben swallowed. It really had been a lifetime since Hex and Charmcaster.

Gwen opened the book, and the pages fluttered on their own, stopping at a section marked by a ribbon that hadn’t been there the last time Ben looked.

“Most of what I know started here. Basic constructs, energy shaping, binding glyphs. The book teaches in layers. It shows you more when you’re ready.” She glanced at Zatanna with a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been practising the core spells for years. And… experimenting a little. Variants. Tweaks. Some things I found online that actually worked.”

She lifted her hand, and a soft sphere of violet energy formed above her palm. Not a shaky spark like when she first started. This was clean. Precise. Controlled. It shifted shape at her will, folding into a shield, then a blade, then a lattice of geometric patterns that hovered in the air like stained glass.

Ben felt his jaw loosen. She made it look easy.

“I can do beams, barriers, constructs. Raw energy stuff mostly.” Gwen let the magic fade, the last motes drifting away like dust caught in sunlight. “But there’s so much I don’t know. The book only goes so far. And magic is… bigger than I realised.”

Ben watched as the two of then gushed over the book together, pouring over the pages. He watched the way she carried herself now. Steady. Sure. Growing into something powerful and bright.

She didn’t need him. Not really. Not anymore. And for the first time, he felt the truth of it settle in his chest.

The excitement of Gwen and Zatanna and Ben’s internal crisis of thought were both interrupted by a burst of noise. Akin to the sound of ripping paper and nails along a chalkboard, the tip, and then full form, of a blade seemed to punch through the air itself a few meters away, before gradually tracing an oval pattern in the air. It was not a smooth motion, clearly meeting some resistance, but it was not long before it was completed and what could best be described as a portal fully formed into reality.

The smell of ozone flooded out of the baleful shape, as a blonde woman first poked her head through from the other side, before stepping forwards, cursing under her breath. She examined the edges of the portal herself with the air of someone judging her own work harshly, before pulling the blade free of where it seemingly remained ‘stuck’ in mid air. The portal remained as she lent the soulsword over her shoulders. While many might consider her just as captivating as the raven-haired Zatanna, it was clear this was a harsher beauty, her attentions barely flickering across the two younger occupants of the hallway before settling on Zatanna.

“Ilyana, you know the wards are going to-” Zatanna began with a huff before Magik cut her off.

“Theatre’s haunted.”

“What?”

“Saenger Theatre, ghosts, bad news.” The Russian woman offered a few further words that didn’t really grant the full picture of the situation, even as she put one leg back through the portal, leaning slightly to the right to dodge what appeared to be a theatre seat travelling at some pace through the air, crashing back through the other side of the portal.

“Come on, before Khalid is accusing me of being lazy.”

“Ah…I’m on a tour, new potential students.” Zatanna offered, a little meekly, as she gestured towards Gwen and Ben.

Ilyana seemed to re-notice the pair, as if she had already forgotten their existence from the prior moment, before she shrugged.

“Bring them, field trip!” Before she dived back through the portal she had so errantly sliced through the air.

Zatanna smiled, a little awkwardly, to the pair, before pointing to the portal.

“If she’s being that polite it probably is really important…. If you don’t tell the Doctor this was part of the tour, I’m sure we could use your help.”

A smile crept across Ben’s lips as the newfound crisis snapped him out of his woes. Sounds like it was hero time.
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Hidden 3 days ago Post by Silverstein
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Silverstein Salt-Free Wolf

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Issue #1: The most wanted man in the galaxy.

Milano starship. Sector XX of the Andromeda Galaxy.

“Look alive, people; we’re fast approaching the wreck site. Let's just hope there are no space cops patrolling around that area before we find something shiny.”

Peter lounged in his captain's chair when a distress call crackled through from some uncharted sector. Two ships had collided in a messy hit-and-run, leaving a shipwreck of supplies waiting to be collected. Ever the opportunist, Quill decided to set course towards that far side of the galaxy.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Peter, I mean, this is an Orgo cargo ship. The chances are: there are multiple Nova Corps already picking up its distress signal.” Moongirl said, with a concerned look on her face, turning in her chair to face the space outlaw.

“Exactly why we need to move fast and grab the loot before anyone else. Fortune favors the bold, kid.” Star-Lord flashed a cocky grin, his swagger promising a clean getaway and a successful haul.

He flicks switches and taps buttons across the flight deck. He plays some tunes to get the vibe going and readies the Milano for interstellar travel. He clutches the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as the swirling galaxy outside melts into a streak of color, pushing the Milano into hyperdrive and on their way to the next adventure.

-

Amid the drifting wreckage left by a floating spaceship and the deep quietness of space, a solitary pirate ship bursts from a wormhole in an instant.

The Milano shimmered into existence, stabilizing as it latched onto a nearby asteroid. With a flicker, the ship vanished again, cloaked in stealth mode.

“Easy now, girl. We’ll be back before you know it,” Star-Lord murmured, giving his ship a reassuring pat.

“Dex-Starr, Gamora, you’re on my wing,” Peter called, unfastening his belt and striding out of the cockpit.

“Meeow,” Dex-Starr, the red lantern cat, drifted in lazy orbits around Star-Lord as Gamora followed close behind.

“Quill, why is your stray cat always hovering near me? Isn’t this thing a Flerken? Their tentacles give me the creeps.” The green-skinned assassin shuddered, edging away from the floating feline.

“Relax, He’s not a Flerken. Dex is just a normal household cat, wielding a red lantern ring. Don’t you see affection when you see one? He’s probably drawn to you, given that you have pent-up anger all the time.”

“I don’t know if that’s a backhanded compliment or the highest form of praise received from a space cat.” Gamora folded her arms, her eyes narrowing in mock annoyance.

“How about both?” Star-Lord strode along the hull, nodding to the scattered Ravager crew members as he passed.

“Moongirl, can you hold down the fort? Keep the crew in line while we’re gone. If anyone gets any wild ideas, shut them down for all our sakes.”

“Aye, captain! Oh! Oh! " Can I let Dino loose if they start acting up?” piped a girl with wild goggles and a cloud of hair on Star-lord’s coms. She is their engineer and shipwright.

“Go for it; Devil D can even keep any severed arms as a chew toy,” Peter said with a smirk.

“Drax, I want you to stay with Moongirl and keep an eye out. treat her as your little sister.” Star-lord continued his instructions without missing a beat.

“Understood. But it is not I who needs to be worrying, Peter Quill. I believe your poor choices by letting the assassin be by your side will be your downfall; she is nothing but trouble.” Drax whispers through the coms.

“I can hear you two, you know.”

“Aha! She admits it! She's probably feeding this vital information to her father, the Mad Titan, as we speak.” Drax exclaimed in a childlike manner.

“Adoptive ex-father. And we’re all on the same coms, you idiot!” Gamora grumbled.

“Alright, that’s enough, play nice, children. We’ve got ten minutes before the space cops show up.” Star-Lord tapped his temple, and his visor sparked to life.

“Meet you on the other side. Dex-Starr, you’re up.” The Ravager trio vanished inside a sphere of red light from the feline lantern, protecting them from the harsh, cold space environment. Quill popped the hatch as they dove headfirst into the endless space. They shot through the stars, traveling in a ball of crimson energy, weaving past drifting debris and shattered hulls until they reached the abandoned ship’s surface.

They latched onto the ship's surface as Star-Lord gave the signal.

The red feline let out a purr and unleashed a beam of red energy, carving through the ship’s hull like it was nothing. As soon as their entrance was made, Peter and Gamora exchanged a nod and slipped into their space pirate roles.



Orgocorp- Cargoship

Like space vultures descending from the sky, the Ravager trio swoop in and breach aboard the battered ship with practiced ease. They rappelled down from above and into the ship port, announcing their arrival.

“Alright, this is a stick-up! Consider this your lucky day, mateys, by being boarded by the most notorious pirate in the galaxy! Your fate is now in the hands of THE Star-lord! Put your hands where we can see—.” Star-lord made his entrance and stuck the landing. His grandiose statement about hijacking the ship was cut short when he realized he was talking to the wind.

“Hello? Where is everybody?” Only silence answered as Peter’s voice echoed through the empty chambers. Flickering lights hinted at a failing power supply, and the place reeked of recent struggle.

“Uh, Peter, I don’t think anyone’s listening; the crew’s all dead. Someone beat us here.” Gamora frowned, gesturing to the alien bodies strewn across the floor. Limbs were torn apart, as if some space beast had ripped through them.

“Looks like it. Man, I spend hours rehearsing that,” Peter muttered.

“What happened here? Looks like a one-sided massacre,” Gamora solemnly ponders, her eyes darting around, becoming more cautious as she examines the area.

“The Skrulls musta ambushed them first. Oh, well, to the ravagers go the spoils. Split up. search the area.” Peter shrugs and turns off his visor. He searches the cargo bay for anything valuable.

Gamora nodded and went in a different direction.

Star-Lord wandered the corridors in search of valuables when an unfamiliar logo caught his eye: Wayland-Yutani Enterprise. Before he could investigate further, a rare ship—gleaming in the dim light—captured his attention.

“Is that the latest Kree fighter wing? Sweet score! Hey Gamora, you seeing this? ...Gamora?” Peter’s excitement faded as he realized she wasn’t answering.

Peter walks towards the other side of the lobby and notices the green Zehobereian listening at the corner of a large vault.

“Peter, I think someone is still alive back here,” Gamora said.

Star-lord amps his blasters and points them in its direction. He prepares whatever creature would emerge from the shadows.

A strange chittering echoed through the chamber, fading as soon as the trio made their presence known. Something unseen was stalking them, slipping silently through the air vents overhead.

They cracked open the vault and found carnage: alien scientists sprawled everywhere, stomachs riddled with holes, faces torn beyond recognition. Shattered glass and broken cages hinted at experiments gone horribly wrong.

In the middle lies a sole survivor: a child all curled up, covered in alien fluids. Gamora unsheathed her daggers and approached the girl.

“Gamora, wait— " Star-Lord said, grabbing Gamora’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

Gamora nodded.

“Hey there, don’t be shy. We won’t hurt you,” Gamora said gently, reaching out to the frightened child in the corner.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Macy.. my friends call me Wendy,” said the frightened child covered in blood.

“You did this?”

“No, it was my friend. It just left.” The girl looked up and pointed at the open air vent.

“Well, that doesn’t sound completely ominous and terrifying.” Peter said in a sarcastic tone.

“Also, she isn’t actually human, per se. Her body is cybernetically enhanced to the point that only 20% of her is part human,” Peter explained, scanning Wendy with his visor.

“I’d say she’s an experimental product of the Orgo-cor—-”

The whole ship suddenly trembles as they hear a metallic thud slice through the wind. The entire ship is being magnetically pulled upward by a larger spacecraft, likely a Nova Corps vessel.

“Captain Quill, hate to break your little chit-chat, but the Nova Corps is closing in and is boarding the ship; needless to say, you need to g.t.f outta there!” A static feed breaks out on Quill’s visor as Moongirl abruptly interrupts their conversation.

Panic surged through the crew as news hit: space enforcers were closing in, raiding the ship with their cover blown.

“Peter, what’s the plan? We can’t just leave the girl here.” Gamora presses.

“Are they gonna take me away? I’m scared,” Wendy added.

“MeooRRW,” Dex-starr hissed as he started running in circles, having the case of the zoomies when under-stressed.

"Peter!" "Quill!" "Captain!"

Their voices overlapped as they all called his name in panic. Peter rubbed his temple, looking at his scattered, worried crew. He took a deep breath and sized up the situation. It was time to rally everyone and remind them who was in charge.

“Alright, everyone, chill!” Peter loudly whistles to get their attention.

“Listen. No one is going to prison if you do what I say. I have a plan, a really good plan, actually…” Quill said, trying to reassure the group. Even if it wasn’t true and was just 'winging it', Star-Lord kept up his act as this resourceful leader to keep their spirits up in this dire situation.

“Gamora, you’re with the cat, find a different route with minimal Nova Corps personel, Do not engage unless needed. Dex-starr, grab the girl and meet with the rest of the crew. Don’t stop for anything. Moongirl, guide them and prepare the ship, and set course at these coordinates. Meet you there as soon as i can.” Star-lord loads his blasters as he and his fugitive space crew prepare to escape with the new mysterious girl.

“I’ll try to distract them and keep those bucket heads preoccupied. Try not to get caught.” The space outlaw smirked, oozing with confidence behind his visor.

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Hidden 1 day ago Post by Roman
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Roman King of Dirt

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G H O S T R I D E R
G H O S T R I D E R
Location: The Desert
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Somewhere in the distance behind her, a column of smoke rose into the dry desert air, straight up and unbuffered by wind; the remains of her razing escape, not that she recalled much of it. In groggy waking she could catch only flashes at best, but was neither able nor willing to uncover anything further.

Instead, she picked herself up out of the dirt, dust and sand pluming around her as she lifted her prone form off the ground and moved to unsteady feet. Carrion-picked car chassis ladened her immediate surroundings, some stacked atop each other, some leaning at precarious angles; amidst these, gaps were plugged with scrap metal, rusted debris, discarded bits of wood and sheets of plastic. Pipes and divots played dual homes to rodentia and invertebrate alike, and avian carcasses crawled with new corpus life. Automobile and animal alike shared a graveyard here, and Danielle shivered to behold it. A death-place, and she standing on scorched earth in the heart of it.

'Or it's a junkyard and you're being melodramatic,' she thought to herself. Abandoned in the dust only a metre or two away was a sorry sight for a motorbike, some skeleton motor that in better days might have been a passable bobber or cruiser, but now could only be described as a rickety collection of oxidised bolts and struts, with a whimpering motor and tyres with rubber thinner than a rubber. The engine block was still warm - unusually so, Dani thought, hovering her hand over the metal - and the grooves in the dirt suggested she'd crashed it here; how it hadn't crumpled beneath her the moment she'd apparently mounted it, or shaken itself to pieces as she'd ridden it, confounded her - and if that distant smoke really was her hometown, she'd come some distance on it too.

Dani turned her attention inward. Her throat was painfully raw, lips dry and cracking, and she was thirstier than she'd ever been in her life. Water seemed fabled panacea to her in this moment, and she scrambled woozily past the scrap's perimeter toward the large hut adjoined to the junkyard. First and foremost she sought faucets, bottles, anything that might contain even ambiguously potable liquid; human life that might shed light on her circumstances was optional, a mere afterthought in the face of slaking her screaming thirst. The door hung lazy on its hinges and she burst through with frantic energy, only to take two steps in and immediately pivot on the balls of her feet and dart back out. The place reeked, the heat doing the stink no favours, and she dry-retched into the dirt, propping herself up on her knees as her shoulders heaved and back rippled in waves, failing to eject anything but the most acid-yellow bile.

Once recovered, she found a dirty handkerchief amidst the discarded rubbish of the junkyard and dipped it lightly in a thick-tar puddle of motor oil, wrapping it around her face so that the only odor she could make out was that of petroleum and earth. Armed with her hasty mask, she crept back in, slowly at first but with increasing confidence as the oil-soaked rag proved an effective shield. The place was a goddamn mess. Trash thrown everywhere, metal struts bent and sheared in two, and the wood burnt and charred in strange places. The front door was simply gone, wooden splinters and ash the only indication of its fate, and a series of blackened footprints made their path from the entryway to a point in the middle of the cabin; although blackened wasn't quite the right word - it was as if someone had stood in place while black paint had been sprayed around it, using a boot like a stencil. The floor was scorched in a distinct pattern around a series of footprints, and as she crept closer more bile rose in Dani's throat to realize that the shape and size fit her worn-out New Rocks.

She followed the trail with her eyes, casting her gaze along the path laid out until its conclusion; against her better judgement, she stood in that same spot, trying to reason it out, pick apart her foggy head, memory recall by recreation. She looked straight ahead, and felt compelled to raise her arm and point, but found she couldn't move as the colour drained from her face and she rushed back outside once more, not even the oil-soaked rag able to stem the new nausea.

Within the cabin against the wall was an impression much like the bootprints that had forced entry, but with the distinct outline of a person, some Hiroshima-shadow the only remains of a stranger she didn't remember murdering, but knew deep in her bones that she had; and with that realization, a single word intruded upon her inner monologue, hot and fiery and fierce, reverberating around her brain like an echo that impossibly magnified itself:
𝐆 𝐔 𝐈 𝐋 𝐓 𝐘



"Well ain't this a fine goddamn fuckin' mess."
Sheriff Jim Corrigan sighed, hands on his hips as he stood in the Maynooth lockup, staring at the bars of the cell their suspect had been ensconced in not some twelve hours ago, and more pointedly staring at the still-warm slag that marked the exit that had apparently been melted through the metal from the inside-out. He'd been called from the next town over, Bird's Creek, on account of the Maynooth sheriff department now being dead to but a single survivor, who was somewhere outside covered in a shock blanket and ranting to one of Jim's deputies about a walking talking skeleton-on-fire dressed head-to-toe in leather and murdering its way out of the station and off over the horizon. Jim hadn't even dignified the man's initial raving with a response; he'd merely flagged a deputy down and pointed at the survivor, and then when his attention was suitably distracted, walked away. Would a flaming skeleton be able to burn through the iron? Sure, why not, it made as much sense as any other part of the story; but so could a blowtorch or the right chemicals or a stick of fucking dynamite. And this was 'Dog-tooth' Maynooth, after all, the hemorrhoid on the Devil's asshole. Jim sighed.

He walked outside, removing his hat to fan himself while he held a hand over his brow. Hot one today, and dry last night; that hadn't done the fire any good, but at least they'd put it out now. Firemen picked over the hollow carcasses of burnt shop-fronts, water dripping from damp wood as the last of the smoke plumed up into the air. You could see it for miles. Jim turned, and followed the burnt-rubber tyre tracks with his eye, as far as he could until they disappeared into the heat-haze on the edge of town. Somewhere out there was their culprit; arsonist, murderer, fugitive, vagrant. Couple questions around town and he'd be able to get at least the beginnings of the story; nothing ever went on in Dogtooth - it was a ghost-town-to-be, a place where dreams and excitement came to die - so it would be very easy to get people to talk about the most noteworthy event in the town's history since founding. But first, some coffee, ideally served Irish, and then once he'd whet his whistle, he could get down to the business at hand: a good ol' fashioned hunt for a good ol' fashioned outlaw.


Somewhere along the Iowa Corn Belt, a thin man in a worn suit stepped out from between stalks whistling jauntily and raising his head to survey the sky; the weather was fair, sunny and clear after a few day's rain, and crows circled overhead in unusually large numbers. He wore a battered fedora and a tie that frayed at its end, and his mouth was stitched over with string and his eyes replaced with buttons. He scooped a handful of damp hay from the ground and held it to his face, taking a deep breath of grassy musk and earthen aromas.

"ꁅꂦꂦꀸ ꓄ꂦ ꌃꍟ ꌃꍏꉓꀘ," he mused, and then carried on his way.
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Absolute Comics Presents: SUPERMAN, The Man of Tomorrow
ISSUE #1: A Lovely Day
Newtown Neighborhood, Queensland Park ♦ Metropolis

A cool breeze blew through the streets of Newtown. Brownstone townhouses stood tall and proud on either side of the street. Sets of large, plastic bins sat on the curb every hundred feet or so. The dour, goatee'd face of Mayor Colin Thornton decorated each of them, and with a speech bubble he helpfully labeled each bin 'Rycling!' 'Composting!' or'Trash!'. The mayor's new community bin program cut down on clutter, though at a cost- landlords had to pay the city for the privilege of using them, and they sure as hell weren't going to pay out of their own pocket. Rent went up, and the bins took up parking space, so people complained. Still, there was a distinct lack of trash covering the roadside on pickup day.

Shaun Newman followed the breeze down a newly paved sidewalk. Clutcing his battered leather jacket tight, he looked up, where wispy clouds drifted through a pale gray sky. N ature wanted this to be a monotonous morning, it seemed. Shaun would have none of it. He had a date to get to. Ahead, a crowd gathered on the steps of St. Mark's Church, all wrapped up in their Sunday best. Mrs. Harrison and Ms. Valdés huddled close upon the bottom stair. They glanced over their shoulders like a pair of criminal conspirators. They gossiped about Father Burke's private life- Shaun caught something about a 'hellion of a woman' and 'too handsome by half.'

Shaun had not aged as graceful as Father Burke. He was tanned and weathered beaten like an old rucksack. Deep lines ran down his face- trenches dug deep by the passage of time. His hands were just as beaten. Beaten, calloused, worn out. A lifetime in the shops had worked them raw; that same lifetime twisted his back so badly it forgot how to straighten out completely.

'Forgive me my envy, Lord. 'S a bad look.'

The conversation changed as he approached. Both women's eyes lit up with familiarity as they greeted him in unison. "Morning, Mr. Newman!"

Shaun lifted his cap and ran his hands through his hair, gray and wispy as the clouds above. "G'mornin', ladies. Lovely day we're havin'."

"The Lord is good!"

"All the time," Shaun agreed.

"Are you coming to church this morning?"

"'Fraid not," he shrugged, offering up a wry smile as apology. "I got plans."

Ms. Valdés wiggled a brow. "Ohh, still looking for a Mrs. Newman, are you?"

Shaun blushed like a nervous schoolboy. "Datin' ain't just for the young anymore. They got apps for us, too."

"My, I couldn't imagine. At our age?"

"Age makes a Chardonnay all the sweeter." The three of them shared a laugh. Warmth rose in Shaun's belly. It burned away the butterflies he felt a-fluttering within. There was nothing he had to be anxious about, he assured himself. He knew his worth. He knew he'd find someone who could appreciate him. It might not be this time, but it would come.

Or maybe this would be the one. He had a good feeling about today.

Waving goodbye to the women of St. Mark's, Shuan pressed on to Pelham Square. The market bustled with early bird shoppers looking to beat traffic. They roiled like waves out of the gate, past the wrought iron statues of greyhounds guarding the entrance. He made sure to pet the one on the right on his way inside, and would do the same for the dog on the left on his way out, as all good Newton folk knew to do.

The market buzzed with activity. Shoppers flowed from stall to stall, where people sold everything from vegetables grown in rooftop gardens to handcrafted jewelry. A young girl sold custom portraits for thirty bucks right next to a cellphone stall, where an equally young boy tried to hawk the latest L-Phone on everyone that passed by. Shaun waved him off. He didn't trust any phone smarter than he was, and he wasn't particularly bright. It didn't matter how much his great nieces and great nephews made fun of him for that brick he called a phone- he wasn't about to give it up any time soon.

The end of his journey led him to the back half of the square, where a line of food trucks circled the market. Every kind of food one could imagine could be conjured from the backs of those magical places. Shaun made his way forward, flowing through the crowd. He craned his neck to look over them, searching for a half familiar face. They hadn't chatted much online. Neither of them particularly enjoyed typing, and Shaun hated texting. He hoped he recognized her face. He knew he'd know her voice, though. They'd talked and talked and talked over the phone for the last few days. She had a beautiful voice. Listening to her was like drinking honey and bourbon on the patio on a warm summer's night.

Passing through throngs of people gathered around a chaotic splay of folding tables and lawn chairs, Shaun stopped. There she was. A single ray of sunshine pierced the clouds above to dance through her golden brown hair. The lilacs on her cream colored dress fluttered in the wind. She pulled tight a knitted sweater over her wide, defined shoulders to fight off the cold. She was tall- far taller than he expected- and she stood with her back straight and her chin held high. She carried herself with a confidence only found in native born Metropolitans: like nothing in the world could ever shake them. She stood only a few yards away- right beside a food truck decorated with a ridiculous looking anthropomorphic taco mascot.

Shaun went to take a step toward her only to find himself stuck. It was like his shoes had melded with the concrete. The butterflies he'd chased away earlier came fluttering back into his stomach, and this time they came in greater numbers. Anxiety quickened his heart. His Fingers twitched, and his throat tightened. He couldn't do this. She was gorgeous, confident, and looked thirty years his junior. He was going to muck this up royally if-

"Shaun!" She smiled, and lines sprouted around her mouth and eyes. Her cheeks flushed, bright red and rosy. Golden flecks sparkled in her emerald colored eyes. She was right in front of him now. One moment ago she'd been yards away, and now here she was, standing eye to eye with him, glowing like the dawn. "Its Shaun, yeah? Its me, Alisha. God, I was worried I wouldn't be able to find you."

"Y-yeah." He chuckled, throat dryer than Kahndaq. "Its me. I'm happy'ta finally see you, Ms. Rhodes. You look...incredible."

"You're one to talk." With a quick step forward she planted a peck on his cheek and pulled him into a tight embrace, all in one motion. Shaun hugged her back as hard as he dared. He could smell her perfume now: it was a strong, floral scent, like violets. Floral perfumes hadn't been in fashion in decades. Shaun couldn't help but grin. They held one another for what felt like centuries, their shared warmth banishing the biting chill of the wind.

She was the first to pull away, though both of them seemed reluctant. "Let's grab a bite to eat. I'm positively ravenous."

"Yeah." Shaun chuckled. "I could eat a bear. Or a horse. Maybe a water buffalo."

"...Why don't we start with bagels first and then we'll see where the morning takes us."

THOOM.

Neither of them made it more than three steps before the ground began to shake. Shaun took Alisha's arm, grimacing. Metropolis wasn't on a major fault line. Not an earthquake. Something worse.

THOOM.

The ground shook again, harder this time. A thunderous noise like metal crunching up concrete echoed through the market square. People looked up from their plates. Some froze while others yelled, and a few people took off running. Shaun whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the noise so he could lead them away from it.

THOOM.




A giant automaton stepped out from behind a brownstone right in front of them. A towering being of metal with a face to terrify the soul: a smiling dolt's face, with white, shining teeth and enormous, glossy eyes. They were empty, terrible things, yet they seemed to stare into the depths of Shaun's soul as he looked up into them. The enormous machine looked like a plump man in a blood red bow tie and navy sweater vest. Its arms ended not in human hands, but grabber claws, like the old children's toy.

There was a loud click, and then a whining buzz like an intercom as a voice thundered out from the machine- a cowardly, sniveling voice, high pitched and snotty. "~bzzt~ Looks like everyone's out and about having a gggrrranddd old time this morning! Well isn't that just sswwwelllll for all of you?! Well some of us aren't so lucky! Some of us have to rrrrrotttt in a prison cell because our bosses ~bzzt~ couldn't appreciate true genius!"

One of the townhouses exploded as an arm passed through it, showering bricks, glass and rebar down on the crowd below. People scattered in every direction, screaming, as their stalls were crushed and glass shredded overhangs. Shaun and Alisha both yelled as they dove to the ground together, wrapping each other up to shield one another's heads from debris.

"Well here's what you get, Metropolis! Here's what you get when you screw over the great Winslow Schott. The one, the only, the TOYMAN!"

"You have got to be kidding me." Alisha groaned.

Shaun tried to stand, but his back started screaming in protest. "We- we need to get outta here, before-"

Toyman stepped forward, crushing the taco truck just ahead of them beneath an enormous robotic loafer. Concrete cracked beneath the weight of the blow. The machine loomed overhead, casting the two of them beneath the shadow of its mighty form. Slots in its chests opened, revealing rows upon rows of missiles. With a forward thrust of its arms, the robot ejected dozen of them. They screamed through the air, flying in every direction. Explosions filled the market. Fire bloomed. Rock dust, soot and smoke filled the air.

Shaun's eyes watered. It was hard to breathe. Impossible to see.

"Are you okay?!" Alisha yelled.

Shaun coughed, trying to clear his throat enough to respond. "I- shit, we- we need to go-"

Metal screeched and pistons boomed as the machine started up again. The leg sounded like crinkling sheet metal as it lifted off the ground, taking a long, striding step. The shadows around them darkened as it passed over head. Casting his eyes upward, Shaun saw the automaton's shoe hovering just overhead. Fear froze his throat. He couldn't scream. Not even as the foot started to come down on top of him.

They say you don't hear the shot that kills you. Well, Shaun heard it. He heard the riotous shrieking of steel, cogs and mechanical things as a couple hundred tons of metal came crashing down on top of him. His body should've popped like a grape. He should've been a smear of gore across the pavement, and the same fate ought to have awaited the lovely woman he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with.

Darkness, but not death. He saw something above him. The shadow of a man rose through the smoke.

Shaun blinked. He could make out colors, now, and he felt his heart melt for the second time in only minutes as he saw a man wrapped in red, blue and gold crouched above him.

He blinked, and he coughed, and he sputtered out tears of joy.



"Hnngh..."

Superman held the weight of Toyman's weaponized titan over his head. Flames licked harmlessly at him. Even his spandex, wide and blue as Metropolis bay, didn't so much as singe. With a huff, shifted the weight of the giant foot to his left hand so he could reach down with his right to Shaun, offering to help him up. "Hi, I'm SUPERMAN. Don't be afraid. I'm here to help."
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