Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ SEASON ONE: GODS AMONG MEN ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Location: Stagg Enterprises - Los Angeles, California
Season One Epilogue: First Contact

Interaction(s): None
"What do you mean A.R.G.U.S. has issued a warrant for my arrest?" Simon Stagg's voice echoed across the lab. Every syllable of his question was emphasized with the man's outrage and indignation. "Wipe every drive related to project and contact your partner, tell them I need asylum immediately."

Shaking her head, Stagg's Chief Engineer, Dr. Marcia Monroe, reiterated his orders to her staff, emphasizing the urgency further before turning around to address her employer. Raising her head towards Stagg, he took a step backwards at the sight of her unnervingly icy glare.

"Sir, we aren't happy about this." Dr. Monroe stated humorlessly.

"I know, the plan wasn't supposed to go this way," Stagg replied dismissively. "Metropolis of all places should have been secure. Having a storehouse in Gotham would have been asking for trouble, but Metropolis? How could I have foreseen these complications? This is out of my control." He reiterated, frustration clearly displayed across his features.

"I hope for your sake, the Ambassador agrees." Dr. Monroe’s human appearance suddenly disappeared to reveal an alien visage. Between the interlocking chitinous plates that covered the alien's body, Stagg could see various elements of cybernetic enhancements bonded to her being. A pair of short antenna twitch impatiently from atop the alien's head, her annoyance only further emphasized by the four spiny arms folded across her thorax. The mandibles that sat on either side of the Engineer's jaw clicked together in a sound that Stagg knew to only mean disapproval.

"You were to provide an opening for us. This technology was not given to you to be stolen and used for your planet's own petty prejudice." The creature formerly known as Marcia Monroe snapped towards Stagg.

"Worry about that later, secure the specimen for transport and get us the hell out of here." Came Stagg’s agitated retort, his temper unphased by the female alien's unsettling appearance.

"The specimen reproduced." The alien replied flatly. Its voice sounded as though there were three individual speakers, all coming from the same mouth. To Stagg, it sounded as though there was the initial voice, a second with a moment’s delay and then a third that was gargling rocks. Nonetheless, her comment stopped Stagg dead in his tracks.

"Several hundred of its offspring are now lining the holding tank." She added, her expression appeared to mimic the human sentiment of satisfaction at the sight of Stagg’s own flabbergasted face.

"Why was I not inf-" His words were unexpectedly interrupted by the simultaneous blare of several klaxons throughout the laboratory.

"It is time to go, your world's authorities are here." The alien Monroe ordered.

"But the specimens!" Stagg protested.

“With any luck in our absence, they will destroy your world and provide the opening you failed to give.” The alien engineer snapped again, grabbing Stagg seconds before the door flew off its hinges.

Standing in the portal was a squad of fully armed soldiers. A chevron-shaped logo set against a red background was clearly evident on their body armour. The silence was broken by a man raising his hand to the side of his head, activating an open communications channel with his superiors.

“Director.” The man stated, his uniform bearing the rank of Captain. The Captain had taken up a strategic position, one behind a line of trigger happy soldiers. Each of them with a weapon trained on Stagg and Monroe. “I’ve got eyes on Stagg and his partner. What are our orders?”

“I need them alive, Captain.” Came a woman’s crystal clear response in the earpiece of every soldier. The reply prompted a nod from the man in charge before he turned his head forward again towards the fugitives.

“Copy,” Captain Rick Flag responded, motioning towards the squad. “You heard the Wall, they’re coming with us.”

Suddenly Monroe grabbed Stagg, raising an arm towards his throat while restraining the corporate executive. A long spike extended from below her wrist, the tip pressing against the nape of Stagg’s neck. The creature’s mandibles vibrated aggressively as it let out a low hiss towards the A.R.G.U.S. operatives.

Raising his weapon, Flag trained it on the alien currently holding Simon Stagg. He couldn’t be entirely sure where to aim for a vital organ, but he felt safe in assuming the head to be a good start.

“Lower your… arms.” He ordered a mixture of hesitation and confusion diminishing some of his authority. “Retract the weapon, and no one has to die here.” Nodding towards one of his soldiers, Flag ordered her to flank the pair while another followed suit on the opposite side of the room.

“You do.” The alien hissed, suddenly pulling away from Stagg. Flag didn’t hesitate. The assault rifle’s muzzle flashed as a single shot rang out. Pieces of chitin clattered onto the ground. A solid portion of the alien’s skull blown clean apart. Stumbling forward towards the other operatives, Stagg looked like a frazzled old man, his arms drawn close to his body and held limply in place.

Ignoring Stagg, Captain Flag kept his weapon trained on the downed creature.

“Lieutenant Leing, report.” He called towards the female operative.

“It’s dead Si--” The soldier answered only for the creature to leap forward. The spike below the alien’s wrist was outstretched, aimed towards Leing’s throat. A single shot rang out, shattering the weapon but Leing was sprayed with whatever contents it had held.

Recovering nearly instantly, the alien had scampered over to Stagg. Taking ahold of her ally, Monroe activated their escape. The hum of foreign machinery filled the room before engulfing it in a yellow glow. The wanted pair suddenly dematerialized before Flag’s very eyes, vanishing before the squad could fire a single shot.

“Damnit!” Flag cursed, rushing to where Stagg had stood only moments. Kicking the empty air, the Captain continued to curse until turning towards Lieutenant Leing. Kneeling down, he offered her a hand before helping the woman to her feet. Nodded her thanks, Leing was preoccupied with cleaning off whatever alien goo she had been sprayed with.

“Take a moment,” Flag ordered, “Get yourself cleaned up.” Turning around, he walked through the rest of his squad, motioning them to follow. Walking back out into the main bullpen of the office, Flag addressed the remaining Stagg employees.

“This entire facility now belongs to Advanced Research Group Uniting Superhumans. Anyone caught destroying evidence will be prosecuted. Anyone caught withholding information or assets will be prosecuted.” He fired a shot into the air, dust falling from the city before he spoke again. “Am I understood?”

Nervous nods let Flag know his message had been heard. Tapping his commlink, the Captain contacted his superior.

“Director Waller, Stagg Enterprises is secured.”

“And Stagg?” Waller’s asked.

“Abducted.” Flag stated flatly.

“Elaborate, Captain.”

“Upon breaching the premises, Stagg was found with an unknown alien ally. When provoked, the alien attempted to attack the squad before being forced to retreat. It managed to do so using some kind of teleportation device.” Flag explained. “We have no means of tracking the signal.”

“Captain!” Came the yell of one of the squad members. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“Take care of it then continue your report, Captain.” Waller ordered.

“Yes Ma’am.” Moving quickly, Flag located the squad member who had called for him. Approaching the man, he moved past him immediately upon seeing the large tank behind him.

“What the hell is that?”

“Looks like they’ve got their own private Seaworld,” The soldier replied. “It’s full of starfish.”

“I may not be a marine biologist, but I feel pretty safe in saying whatever those are, they aren’t starfish.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Lieutenant Leing said, appearing behind the two men. “Whatever they are, they’ve been dissecting them. Running all sorts of experiments. Preliminary investigation suggests those creatures provided Stagg with the technology to control the public masses in New York and Star City.”

“Did you get all that?” Flag asked, tapping his ear piece again.

“Every word.” Came Waller’s reply. “Secure the specimens, Captain. I want them ready for transport immediat-” A scream drowned out the remainder of Waller’s words as Lieutenant Leing dropped to the ground.

“I need a medic!” Flag yelled, rushing to the Lieutenant’s side as he knelt down beside Leing. Her body was convulsing violently as though she were having a seizure. Instead, something else was happening inside of the woman. Whatever the alien had attempted to inject her with had been absorbed through Leing’s skin. It was now manifesting inside of the injured woman, spreading across her cells.

“Where’s that medic!” Flag yelled again.

“Shoot… me!” Leing begged, squeezing Flag’s arm tightly, “...Please!”

“Medic!” Flag repeated with a roar, “Hang in there, Lonna!” He was helpless to watch as the woman’s veins began to glow. Cybernetics like the alien had been covered in were slowly spreading onto her face and body.

“Captain, report.” Came Waller’s voice into Flag’s earpiece.

“Lieutenant Leing has been infected.” Flag replied. His tone was unwavering, but panic was knocking at the door. This was unlike anything he had ever seen before, except perhaps in old science fiction films.

“Quarantine and secure. Medics are on their way.” Waller reply was less than comforting. As usual, it was all business, devoid of any emotion.

“And if they can’t help?” Flag grimaced at the implications of his own words, his hand wandered to the butt of his rifle.

“You know what to do.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Mao Mao
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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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New York City, New York
Present Day

Issue #3.02
𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡 & 𝗖𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗔

"As for the execution of Stryfe... I am here to confirm that Captain Steven Rogers was mobilized to the scene per my orders. While the specifics remain classified, I can confirm that Captain Rogers has been one of our operatives for the past three years. While Captain Rogers reported believing Stryfe was reaching for a weapon or device when he fired his service weapon, we have chosen to suspend Captain Rogers for the indefinite future. There will be no further questions, thank you."

Wonder Woman stood silent at the podium while each of the twelve senators looked down upon her. Each of them had something to say at her. Their words and insults only stung a little while she wanted the whole thing to end already. After all, she knew what they were going to recommend. Then, Senator Swanwick looked directly at her with pure hatred and began his final speech. "Because of our investigation, we have prepared a list of recommendations for the Horne administration. The first, and the most important, recommendation is the creation of a department that focuses on metahumans. This department will deal with public metahuman altercations that might harm our nation's citizens and infrastructure. It will also investigate metahuman activities, starting with Wonder Woman's possible ties with the terrorist group, Metahuman Supremacy Front."

"The second and final recommendation is the denaturalization of Wonder Woman, and her immediately ban from entering the United States and its territories. We recommend this course of action due to her possible connections with the MSF and the partial collapse of the Empire State Building. The ban will ensure a temporary calm while peace and order are slowly being restored in the affected areas. I would go as far as to recommend her arrest but-"

"Senator, that's enough!" Senator Finch interrupted before he could finish.

Senator Swanwick took a moment to calm down and responded, "You're right. I'm just so frustrated right now. Wonder Woman, do you have anything to say at all?"

There was a moment of silence in the room, awaiting a single word to come out of Wonder Woman's mouth. But there was nothing. Instead, she left the podium and started walking out of the room. Senator Swanwick yelled for Wonder Woman to remain in the building, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered. Stryfe won while everyone else lost. America had already begun to dismantle heroes and control metahumans. It was only a matter of time before the world followed. She exited out of the Capitol and planned on taking off, heading back to deal with problems at the World Veterans Federation headquarters. Protests have been going on non-stop since the collapse of the Empire State Building, calling for Wonder Woman's arrest and her resignation for the organization that she created.

Before taking flight, she noticed that her someone was staring at her in front of her. Wonder Woman approached the person and realized that it was Steve Rogers, but she didn't say anything.

Steve was about as incognito as he could be. He wore a nondescript baseball cap, hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, large aviator sunglasses, and jeans with combat boots. But gave a smile as Diana recognized him on her approach. He gave a nod. "I can't believe what happened in there. To think, that this country could come to this..." Steve's jaw clenched shut for a moment, before he gave a sigh and a chuckle. "Care to grab a drink before they come to kick you out of the country?"

"Yeah, sure." Diana chuckled and then sighed. "I knew this was going to happen. I wished that I was so wrong, but... here we are. At the endgame."

Cap gave a nod, and started heading east. They were able to keep a rather rapid pace. There were no words exchanged. There wasn't much to say out in public. In a few minutes and a few blocks away, the two found themselves in a rather small and nondescript apartment. The living room had a half kitchen blocked off with a counter in the back. As Steve made his way towards the kitchen, he nodded towards the couch sitting across from a tv. He called out from the kitchen, "Whiskey or Wine?"

Diana briefly looked at Rogers, said nothing, and resumed watching the news. Alcohol had no favor anymore.

Cap poured two glasses of whiskey and walked towards Diana, holding the glass out for her. "You know, after all the shit we went through during the war... when I got out of that ice, I expected the world to be better. But it's not. The same ideologies... the same fear... It's sickening. It used to be simple: we punch the bad guys. Then I wake up, I join the Commandos again... but they don't have us just punching the bad guys. It's picking up intel. Killing my own men. Destabilizing countries. The things I've done..." Steve just shook his head as he took a long sip of whiskey.

Diana took a small sip of the whiskey and waited for the favor to appear finally. Still nothing. She turned towards Rogers and finished his sentence in her emotionless voice, "Are nothing compared to what I've done."

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps. Perhaps you've done a few bad things. Killed some terrorists in Trasnia, destroyed the Empire State Building trying to bring Stryfe in... Tough decisions, but they're yours. Me... I became a shill. Did Fury's bidding because I was born and raised to follow orders and that's it. Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. What matters is that when the world tells you to move, and that you're wrong... you need to plant your feet and tell them 'No... You move."'

She looked at the television and saw footage of anti-mutant protesters at the White House. "I spent the last one-hundred years doing that—It changed my whole life. I could have lived a peaceful life with my lover and had a family. But the world needed me. It needed Wonder Woman, their hero and savior for evildoers. I witnessed so much while you were frozen in the Arctic. I watched generations die out while new ones slowly replaced them. Now, I am watching everything I built dying like a star. Do you want to know the curse of being the most powerful person in the world? I can never die naturally. I am a Goddess, forced to watch humanity, slowly killing themselves, and I can't do anything about it. That is my curse."

Steve watched the TV for a moment, before he finally let out a small chuckle. "You can do something. You helped stop that maniac blow up New York. You helped stop the Trasnia incident. Back in the War, we stopped a genocide of people who were being killed because of their lineage and who they wanted to have sex with. Being a hero is about cleaning up the messes the world makes without so much as a thank you. And when you do what needs to be done... when you make the choice that they are too scared or incapable of making, they persecute you. It's how things are."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this..." Diana muttered to herself and then looked at Rogers, disappointed. "I had a plan. A plan that got ruined the moment that you killed him."

Cap finished his whiskey, before looking Diana in the eye. "I was trying to save you from this. I know exactly what you were going to do. And that... that would have been too far." Steve ground his teeth for a moment, anger swelling up in him. "I looked up to you, you know. I was some snot-nosed kid from Brooklyn who forged documents to get into the army. Signed up to be part of an experiment that should have killed me. Spent the entire damn war getting shot and beat up and blown to Hell... just so that I could prove that we 'humans' could do it too." Steve took a few steps away, his back to Diana as he looked out the window. "I take a dip into the Atlantic for 75 years, and I come back to see that you've done good. Continued protecting this country while I was gone. Start a damn charity organization to help people like me... like Steve. And now you want to start executing people like Stryfe to do... what, exactly? Be a hero?"

"You don't get it! By killing Stryfe, I would have become the villain while you became the perfect hero!" Diana yelled at Rogers and grabbed his shoulders, continuing her explanation. "You were never born with these powers. You lived a normal life and grew up in the city. You still retained your humanity even after you got your powers from a bottle. Then, you have me.. an uncontrollable monster waiting to unleash her true potential upon this world. The whole world—even you—were always afraid of me because I wasn't truly human. By killing Stryfe, that fear would have been a reality... not unless you stopped me. Captain America returns from the dead to stop the mad Wonder Woman. The media would have fallen in love with you while the American government would have stood by your side. Hell, they might have even thrown a parade for your grand return! And you would have reminded them of simple times as the world listened. You would have become the hero that I once was while I... I finally get to rest and reunite with Colonel Steve Trevor, enjoying the simple life. Do you finally understand?"

Steve brushed aside her grip before placing his hands on her shoulders in response, shaking her lightly as he spoke sternly. "That's not how it would have happened. It would have been a matter of time until he got out again and rekindled his organization. Sure, I'd get a parade and a platform. But at your expense... at the expense of the metahuman community. I made a call, and it might have been the wrong one. But you didn't give me much time to think. And I wasn't going to let you make yourself out to be a villain, Diana." He removed his grip from her shoulders and walked over, pointing at the TV. "If I couldn't have stopped you, and you killed Stryfe... This place would look like Nazi Germany. Stryfe would have won then. Kids from my neighborhood who didn't have a choice about how they were born would get rounded up by the cops and shoved into camps because they're dangerous. So yeah, I gave up what chance I had of the people seeing me as the hero so that I could save those kids from that. Being the hero requires giving up everything for those people out there. I learned that from you."

Diana understood that her plan would have lead to something much worse. So, she faintly smiled and asked her old friend, "Then, could you do me one final favor?"

"Of course."

"Kill me."

Steve shook his head, giving a long and deep sigh as he stared his old friend in the eyes. "That isn't going to happen, Diana. You can't give up like this." Steve walked back into the kitchen, beginning to pull out the whiskey again. "There are still people who believe in you. And if you're a goddess, you need to be there for those people. And I know you don't like it when I bring him up... but you know damn well that if Trevor were still here, he'd tell you the same damn thing." Steve poured another glass of whiskey and took a long sip, watching his friend with concern.

"But, do I deserve to be believed in? After everything that I have done?" Diana grabbed the glass of whiskey and started drinking it. "Should people still be inspired by me?"

"Having a bad year doesn't make you someone not worth believing in. You just need to remind them that of who you are." Steve gave a small smile. "You're Wonder Woman, Diana. You're the first hero. If I had to put all my belief in any one person, it would be you."

Diana took a seat and grabbed the glass. She thought about the people in her life that stood by her during this mess. Etta Candy, Alana Dominguez, Rachel Keast, and the countless people that believed her. Just like Rogers. Taking a long slip, she finally tasted a small spark of charred oak. It was something. And maybe it was enough. Enough to fix her past sins and make people believe in her again. She placed the empty glass on the table and looked up at Rogers with a genuine smile, the first in weeks.


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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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In the year of 2019, Earth experienced an unprecedented surge of metahuman activity and vigilantism. At least sixty percent of this surge was isolated within the United States of America prompting the METAHUMAN SUPREMACY FRONT to launch a terrorist attack simultaneously on both New York and Stary City. Led by the enigmatic STRYFE, the 'M.S.F.' unleashed a swarm of drones which when attached to a host, overwrote the individual's neural oscillations, replacing all thought and reason with rage.

Infecting hundreds with these drones, Stryfe intended to pin the crime on the metahuman population, the 'mutants' of the United States. But he underestimated his foes, and his plan was foiled thanks to the brave actions of those who chose to stand up to him. Despite being both defeated and exposed, Stryfe's plan was still successful framing WONDER WOMAN as a co-collaborator.

With metahuman prejudice at an all-time high, the United States Government was forced to expedite the create the creation of the DEPARTMENT OF METAHUMAN AFFAIRS. The D.M.A. led by CAMERON HODGE was charged with the responsibility of overseeing the creation of legislation regarding metahumans and handling the fears and concerns of the general populace.

Inspired by this, the Homeland Security branch known as the Advanced Research Group Uniting Superhumans, or A.R.G.U.S. created their own hero. Nathaniel Heywood, formerly of the United States Marine Corps was transformed into CITIZEN STEEL through the efforts of A.R.G.U.S. in cooperation with CADMUS LABS.

Now the face of the American Superhero Initiative, Citizen Steel is the first response to any threat within the United States borders. But even Citizen Steel can't protect the world alone. The same heroes who stopped Stryfe are still rising to the challenge day after day.

These are their stories.


♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ SEASON TWO: THE MONSTER WITHIN ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Location: Centuri - VI - Sector 2842
Season One #2.01: Out of Reach

Interaction(s): None
Smoke coupled with the smell of ash and weapons fire rose into the violet sky that surrounded the world of Centuri VI. Three of its moon were still visible, sitting high in the sky, unobscured by the sun even at midday. Despite never having had contact with Earth, Centuri VI’s architecture was incredibly similar to that found in some regions of the Terran Homeworld.

The Capitol; the home of the Centurii’s governing democracy, had seen better days. Buildings made of materials comparable to limestone and marble had been damaged from the sonic blasts of the insurgents’ weaponry. Entire buildings had been reduced to nothing more than rubble from the attack.

At the heart of the Capitol lay the Senate, Centuri IV’s governing body. The dome-shaped roof was supported by a series of columns that circled the building, raising it high above the ground. The Senators had been brought out one at a time, forced to kneel and wait. For what?

They did not know.

Each member of the governing body exchanged nervous glances with those on their left and their right. Any cries for help were silenced immediately, equally so any pleas for mercy. The armoured insurgents had no pity for the Senators.

Centuri VI had been a democracy for almost as long as recorded history existed. A planet made up predominantly of philosophers and artists, they had long considered themselves to be past the needless bloodshed of war. But unrest had spread across not only the Capitol but the world as a whole and soon the insurgents had enough numbers to go to war.

This was the closest any of the Senators had ever come to a violent death. Tear stained eyes were drawn towards the foreign weapons held by the insurgents. Neither the arms nor armour were of Centurii make. It was this advantage that had allowed their smaller numbers to quickly overwhelm the world’s governments.

The steady hum of a skiff echoed down the street as the sleek craft appeared within view. The narrow vehicle flew above the ground, the brake flaps deploying before it came to a sudden stop only yards from the line of soon to be executed men.

Atop the craft, a towering figure in black armour began to descend towards the ground. Wings appearing from the back of his suit allowing him to glide towards the ground before marching towards the Senators. Following behind him was a tall, lean figure.

But it was not Centurii.

<“Has not everything I promised come true?”> The figure asked, gesturing towards the men with one of its four arms.

<“You have.”> The armoured figure agreed, his helm retracting to reveal a scarred visage. His yellow skin was marred with red and orange bruising. The man’s right eye had been entirely replaced by an implant, the luminous circuitry visible within a large scar running the entire length of the right side of his face.

<“Too long have the old and cowardly forced all of Centuri to adhere to their ideal way of life. Now society will be able to begin anew, led by those who fought for it.”> The armoured figure smiled, nodding towards his men as twelve simultaneous shots rang out. In that same instant, the bodies of each Senator fell to the ground lifeless.

<“Now, you have more of this technology, you can bring us more to solidify power?”> The armoured man asked, turning back towards the alien.

<“Oh indeed,”> It smiled wickedly in response. < “I’m more than happy to oblige.”>

Above Centuri VI, the void of space was suddenly illuminated by a blinding flurry of lightning as the fabric between time and space was ripped apart like a once clenched jaw. The bow of a ship slipped through the gaping maw as a Hive Ship exited slipstream and came to orbit around the remote M-Class planet. Behind the massive vessel came another like it and another after that. Each of the ships entered into orbit around the Centuri VI. From the surface, the humanoid populace turned their eyes to the sky. Even from the surface, the Hive ships were visible around the planet.

The armoured figure turned towards the sky, a confused look crossing his face. He could not possibly understand the horror he had unleashed upon his world, but he knew enough to feel fear.

<“Deception!”> He roared, raising his weapon towards the alien. In response, it looked back towards him defiantly, clearly unphased by the sonic arm cannon levelled towards its face.

“Khaji-Da.” It replied, and suddenly, the armoured figure froze. The helmet emerging from within the armour and closing around the humanoid’s head. The eyes suddenly glowed red before it spoke.

<“Assuming direct control.”> Came the suit’s response, the weapon lowering away from the alien. The smug look of triumph passed over its face before it turned its gaze back towards the sky.

From within the Hive ships came a deafening humming noise. Hundreds of small vessels suddenly exited from the hexagonal patterning on the ships' underbelly. Diving through the atmosphere of the planet, the ships began to fire on those below. A man reached out to his child only to be struck down. A metal prong hooked into his back, injecting the man and forcibly transforming his body. Crying out to his child one last time, the man's eyes went blank as he lost his individuality becoming nothing but a drone to the invading aliens. Turning to his crying child, he extended a spike from his wrist before reaching down and submitting her to the same fate as he. More and more of the natives began to fall to this fate. From the Hive ships above, a haunting electronic voice echoed over the planet.

<“We are the Reach. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.”>

The message continued to play on a loop as the Reach began to bomb the planet from orbit. As they had done to the populace, the surface was transformed. The Reach penetrated the surface with pillars that unfolded to cocoon Centuri VI. Drilling to the planet's core, they were preparing the world for a metamorphosis, insuring it would survive the terraforming process. As the cocoon began to spread, the planet's resources were slowly absorbed as the Reach harvested each and every one of them. Their new drones slowly awakening from the transformation process as they began to assist the cocooning process, their new implants allowing them total comprehension as they became one with the hive mind. Descending through the atmosphere, the first of the Hive ships prepared to land as the other two departed from orbit.

This world, like many others, now belonged to the Reach.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by IceHeart
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IceHeart

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Location: New York City, United States - Day of Crisis
Issue #1.09: Crisis Averted/ Crisis Event Epilogue



As it turned out Supergirl actually didn’t need to dispose of all the bombs as before she could smash the last obelisks someone had managed to shut them down. It was quite the relief after the initial panic of not being able to hear that humming anymore but while the attack itself was thwarted and thankfully none of the bombs went off, there was a LOT of cleanup to do. There were plenty of hurt and trapped people to rescue, especially around the remains of the Empire State Building.

When Supergirl had first seen the destruction her first thought was that one of the bombs had been inside the building, but a quick look revealed that it was no explosion that had toppled the skyscraper but blunt force. While she helped with the extraction of survivors she found herself listening to reporters and citizens, which revealed the astounding truth that it was the fight between Wonder Woman and Stryfe that brought the impressive tower to the ground.

Wonder Woman was an absolute legend, heck Kara even idolized her quite a bit, so to hear that her hero had helped cause such a massive amount of collateral damage was quite a shock. Kara was certain that Stryfe had been the one to orchestrate the disaster but no matter how much she wanted to defend her, the fact was that through her actions, many innocent civilians had lost their lives in the process of subduing the villain. It was a very grim reminder to Kara just how much damage someone with excessive amounts of strength could cause, if she wasn’t careful, Supergirl could just as easily cause such a similar disaster.

During her recovery efforts Kara found herself ambushed by several reporters, who of course had some very hard questions for her.

“Supergirl, thank you so much for your efforts to save as many lives as possible.”

“Of course, it’s really the least I can do.”

“Now if you had been the one to fight the Metahuman Supremacy Front leader Stryfe, could you have prevented this tragedy from occurring?”

Supergirl couldn’t help but flinch a little at the question, these reporters certainly didn’t hold back with their questions. Supergirl tried desperately to think of a way to answer without making Wonder Woman look bad but, well her experience with the press was still a bit underdeveloped. Supergirl thought for a second longer before responding as best she could.

“So, I can’t say one way or the other as it completely depends on the context of the fight so I don’t know if I could have prevented it. The one thing I can say is that I always try to put people’s lives before whomping the bad guy. That’s why I was out there trying to dispose of all the bombs out there rather than fighting for the most part. Errr…anyway I need to concentrate on rescuing everyone possible, so talk to ya later!”

Not wanted to potentially make anything worst Supergirl flew away to the next area of rubble to continue the search.
“I hope you knew what you were doing Wonder Woman.” Kara whispered to herself as she located another survivor.


Galaxy Communications App


The G. Gordon Godfrey Show


Gordon Godfrey: Oh boy folks were the events of last week ever a doozy! Now everyone who watches my show knows I can get riled up by a lot of things but it when I get absolutely livid, you know there is a good reason for it.

*Background screen shows photos and video shots from the events in Star City and New York City. Mayhem and pandemonium are at the forefront of the screen*

Gordon Godfrey: As everyone knows by now an absolutely terrible terrorist attack by the MSF, or as they like to say the Metahuman Supremacy Front occurred not a week ago taking countless lives in the process. The extreme methods of these barbarians will take months to recover from but surprisingly, the biggest single piece of damage was not done by these madmen but by one of those fighting to stop them. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am of course talking about hero that so many have idolized throughout the years; that person of unparalleled strength and power, Wonder Woman.

*A video shows the collapse of the Empire State Building that occurred because of the battle between Wonder Woman and Stryfe*

G. Gordon Godfrey: You know I remember quite clearly the day the Twin Towers fell but we all know the reason for that, God-fearing Muslim Terrorists, that’s what! But was this the MSF’s fault? No! This was because a super-powered individual thought that knocking around some fellow in a tin can suit was more important than preventing civilian casualties. How many more tragedies do you think can happen if we continue to let these metahumans run around trying to ‘help’ us poor folks who just want to earn an honest living?

*The screen splits in two and a young Hispanic couple appears. The young man looks a little beat up and his holding his wife close.*

G. Gordon Godfrey: Glad you could join us Gutarz Martinez and your lovely wife. I’ve heard that you were at ground zero, so to speak. Please tell us about that dreadful experience.

Gutarz Martinez: It was one of the most terrifying moments of my entire life. You know me and my wife took shelter inside when the chaos started happening but when we starting hearing news that some heroes had started saving the day on our phones’ feeds we thought everything was going to be alright. Suddenly I hear this loud sound and look out to see the Empire State Building being thrashed apart. The only thing I could think about was finding a safer spot so we bolted for it, turned out to be a good idea as the debris from the falling tower smashed the corner we had been hiding in.

G. Gordon Godfrey: Thank God for that. I’m so glad you managed to make it out alive, so many others were not so lucky.

Gutarz Martinez: I still can’t believe that Wonder Woman almost killed us; I used to think she was a force for good but now I see she is more interested in her own brand of justice.

G. Gordon Godfrey: Indeed. Thank you so much for sharing your story, as you can see there is much for the world to think about. After seeing what transpired that day, we the people must ask the question, what can we do to prevent such a tragedy from occurring once again? While some metahumans are responsible citizens others are decidedly not and even gun-owners aren’t safe from such powerful foes. Remember when having a piece by your side gave you a sense of security and peace? Well that little pea-shooter isn’t going to help at all if you’re at the mercy of someone with powers!

*A video plays of Stryfe’s last moments with the press.*

G. Gordon Godfrey: Now look at this crazed man, despite his obvious lunacy what he says makes a lot of sense does it not? Can we really trust that Wonder Woman was not part of the Metahuman Supremacy Front like she claims? Until our government takes this metahuman menace seriously these types of tragedies will just continue without end! What historic landmark will be obliterated by the fury of a metahuman gone rogue? These beings must be held accountable for their actions and we the people, should have a say in where they can and cannot operate!


Location: Metrapolis, Lex Corp - Week after Crisis
Lex Luthor's Office



At this point Lex Luthor had enough of Gordon’s drama and shut off the screen. While he did not particularly enjoy the dribble that came out of Galaxy Communications he had made it a habit to keep up on the latest topics. There was something about Galaxy Communications’ unabashed style of reporting and commentary that kept people’s attention. It could be overblown at times and outrageous, but that fact that it was not the traditional media made it watched and consumed by millions of viewers daily.

Society had once again reached that point where they distrusted the legacy media and general distrust of the government was at an all time high. It was the usual pattern that happened as in the course of any civilization. The people were right to question what they watched but it also made it even easier to manipulate people, humans tended to want to believe in something and often that something would just be whatever was the opposite of what they hated at the time.

Galaxy Communications had tapped quite readily into that source and despite not having a regular station now dominated the internet and streaming services. Cable news and TV stations were almost a thing of the past of this point, but it was Galaxy Communications currently that had really jumped on the new trends. G. Gordon Godfrey was the prize star of the company at the moment and really sold his product with this somewhat outrageous personality, a lot of people watched the calmer voices later but Gordon often was the first of the crew viewers listened to.

“I don’t know how you can stand listening to that man.” Mercy complained to Lex after he shut off the stream. Lex Luthor couldn’t help but smirk just a bit at Mercy's gripe.

“Say what you like about the man, but G. Gordon Godfrey is a man of the people and can often be an echo of what normal citizens are thinking at the time. Of course he’s been wrong on many occasions but it’s less about his actual facts as it is tapping into his mindset. It is quite clear that this incident will be hyped up enough to be the straw to break some government backs.”

Lex Luthor looked at a report about the goings on in Washington and smiled, it was just as he suspected. Movement was being made and soon there would be a Department of Metahuman Affairs in the United States government to join the various ABC departments. Of course Lex Luthor had been counting on such an outcome, the creation of such a department would severely limit the influence of metahumans in the community which in turn would make it easier for Lex Luthor’s plans to go on unimpeded.

Of course it would take time, put Lex Luthor knew how to play 4-D chess when others were stuck thinking in terms of checkers. In the meantime, he would still have to be cautious of those whose powers would not easily be curbed by a few politicians such as Supergirl.

“By the way Mercy, what has Stagg Enterprises been up to these days?” In reality Lex was already up to speed on the issue but there was the off chance some new bit of information could prove useful.

“From the engineers working on reverse engineering the samples we procured from the Metahuman Supremacy Front, they have determined that a rather advanced intelligence was behind the creation of the mind control drones. This was confirmed by our mole in A.R.G.U.S. who reported that Simon Stagg was in fact working with an alien life form.”

Lex Luthor scoffed, “Of course someone like Stagg would botch up working with an alien species. Well this will be a good opportunity to take over some of Stagg Enterprises’ holdings, shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. In the meantime Mercy, please set up an appointment with some senators, they will of course need my guidance if they want their D.M.A. to succeed.”

“Of course Mr. Luthor.” The future of Metropolis and humanity would be bright indeed, as long as Lex Luthor was there to help guide it.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista

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Location: Present Day Navapo, New Mexico
Seeing Green – 1.01

Interaction(s): None
Previously: N/A

The sound of tires against pavement screeched, the scent of burnt rubber permeating in moments. “Oh fuck oh god auuugh... What the fuck.”

Hands gripping the wheel of is pickup, Bruce Banner gawked at the streets before him. Watching the green coupe crossing the highway he’d just been about to turn on, he pulled his car over, leaning out, intent on a shaken child with a backpack, who’d simply been heading home when that car went up on the sidewalk, barreling towards him before turning off at the last second, all right in plain sight, rubber based smoke still floating about.

“Are you okay!?” Bruce found himself shouting. The boy nodded his eyes wide, Bruce’s intensity likely not helping, but Bruce was focused now. Snapping his head back to the road, he stepped on the gas, the other vehicle still visible in the distance. Blaring past his turn, he pursued, streaming forward well past the low speed limit, keeping trail as they turned. The day was hot and dusty yet again in Navapo, meaning there weren’t a whole lot of people about off the main roads in this afternoon, giving Bruce ample room to follow, keeping pace until they pulled into an old shopping center, a few cars parked outside but no one about in the heat. As they pulled in front of a smoke shop, Bruce slammed into the space just past them, taking his keys and storming out of his car as the driver came out of his. They couldn’t have looked much more different, Bruce in his glasses, white dress shirt, and dark gray slacks, with the driver in a tank top and black bandanna, his face thin and stubble blonde. He watched Bruce incredulously as he approached, anger more than evident on his face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded, on guard but not aware anything was even wrong. Bruce’s eyes might have shot out of his head. “D-di-did you not see the kid you almost hit?” Bruce felt his arm trembling, his glare harsh, but even though he was no doubt going to be late for work, even though he no doubt looked ridiculous, none of that was anywhere in his mind. “You went up on the curb because you weren’t paying any goddamn attention!”

Pointing a finger, the man spat, “Hey I didn’t see shit, and I didn’t do nothing, now you step off, bitch.” Gait thundering, he moved on, ripping open the door and going inside. Bruce stared daggers at the neon signs filling the entryway before his attention was pulled away by a passenger, the driver’s Hispanic friend having pulled himself out of the window, looking at Bruce over the hood, claiming, “He wasn’t close to hitting him, relax man. Shit.” Flabbergasted, Bruce had no more words, the man going back into the car and pulling out a phone, busying himself in its screen.

Standing there, completely dismissed, none of Bruce’s anger was going to just fade away. He could call the cops, but more than likely the kid had moved on by now, spooked and just wanting to get home, and Bruce couldn’t know how much the family would actually press the issue with no evidence and barely an incident to even speak of. And yet, he couldn’t shake his feelings, he mind dwelling on the worst case, the kid no longer having anything ever to say, how the parents might have felt, that sheer devastation. Friends at school needing to be explained what it meant when he was never going to come back. Bruce’s fist continued to tremble, his breath coming on tensely. Moving to the backs of the vehicles, he glanced at the license plate of their car, then to his own, which just last night had nearly hit something innocent, and not without guilt at the near miss.

And then, Bruce was gone.

---


Those within the smoke shop, a tired cashier behind a thick plastic barrier and the blonde driver, had only just been making a typical transaction. Neither had any expectation or explanation when the green coupe had come barreling through the entrance, showering the room in glass, hitting the cashier booth and shifting its trajectory, knocking the driver in the leg and merely shaking the cashier physically and mentally. By the time the dust had settled, the authorities swooping in for cleanup, no one was more or less aware of what the hell had actually happened. Security cameras only took footage from the entryway itself, the only part visible from outside was the grill of the coupe before it suddenly rushed forward into the building. Both the passenger and driver walked away with some injuries, but no one had seen what had happened at all, and the evidence was left...wanting, to say the least. The passenger remembered hearing or seeing nothing until the car was launched forward, and the only unusual evidence on the car was a dent on the rear. Both driver and passenger insisted it hadn’t been there before, and it was too small to be from an impact, or at least not one that could have thrust the car into the building. More likely someone driving had simply backed in to another vehicle unknowingly. With no conclusive evidence, the only remaining line of thought turn to ‘metahumans’. The unexplainable could easily be pushed away, fears still lingering from recent events making it so much easier to accept, at least personally. Legally, paying heed to the public spooks of ‘metas’ or ‘muties’ wasn’t looked highly upon, even if the thought was always there in the back of the mind. But while it may have been brought up as a possibility, it was just as quickly dismissed: no evidence or witnesses, and no potential suspects, superpowers or no. The case went ice cold just as quickly as it came in, in spite of its heated onset.


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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Simple Unicycle
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Simple Unicycle ?

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Location: Hub City, Illinois - United States
Issue #1: Who Are You?

Interaction(s): None
Previously: N/A


I woke up unable to recall my own name.

The room was cold and damp, with no decorations to speak of. A small window behind me, a ray of pale moonlight seeping through the glass and onto the brick walls. The only exit was a door dead ahead. I tried to push myself up but found my hands tied behind my back with rope, my legs also tied up, and I was unable to move too much without chafing my wrists and ankles. How long had I been here, passed out and tied up?

I needed to think... What can I remember?

-----


It was raining, the sky above me the color of a television tuned to a dead channel. An informant of mine, an old drunkard named Roscoe, had provided me with a tip. He said that there were shady things going on at this address, something a man of my talents would be able to bust no problem. The address led to an old shack, tucked cozily into a back alley in The Wedge. I waited outside, pressed up against the wall of the shack and peeking in through the window at a group of men playing poker.

"Yo Johnny, you got any sixes?" one man asked, looking intently at another man, Johnny.

"Go fish," Johnny replied, and the other man grumbled and pulled another card from the deck.

Well never mind, then. They were playing Go Fish. I suppose poker would have been too stereotypical.

I watched on as they played, getting bored and cold and wet. The seconds ticked by into minutes, then an hour. Part of me thought that Roscoe was pulling my leg sending me here. So far it seemed I was just spying on a group of thugs having game night. Hell, maybe the old wineo was going senile, misheard something. I wouldn't put it beneath him.

It was two hours into my stakeout that it finally started to show promise. The men started making small talk while playing, having stayed silent most of the time, and one of them asked the question I was waiting to hear.

"Ain't boss gonna be coming tonight?"

"Yeah, he's on his way. Got in a bit of a jam, had to clean up a mess. Should be here soon."

Interesting... Maybe this is what Roscoe was talking about.


-----


A stakeout. One that somehow ended with me bound up in some empty room. But who would want to keep me alive? If they had such a problem with me, it would have been much easier to shoot me in the head when they had me beat. There had to be something I was missing... What was I missing?

... Try as I might, no sudden spark of memory ran through my mind. Shit. Must've gotten a pretty sharp crack on the head for my mind to be so scattered like this. It felt like my brain was a hamster on a running wheel, constantly working but ultimately ending up nowhere at all. This was pointless. I'd have time enough for piecing my circumstances together once I got out of here. Needed to be able to at least stand up.

My hands were tied behind my back. Grunting, I used my hands to lift myself up a bit, enough to get them under my thighs. After a moment, I managed it, and from there it was as easy as... Pulling my legs through my bound up hands... Damn, too tired to even come up with a witty metaphor. Need to keep going.

With my hands now in front of me, I flopped over onto my front and pushed myself up. I stood for a moment, struggling to keep my balance with my feet bound so closely together, but after laying my hands against the wall I was steady again. The window I had noticed earlier was just within reach; I couldn't slip through it, it was too small and cold steel bars prevented anyone from slipping in, but I could use it to my advantage in another way.

Clasping my hands together, I raised them up high and slammed them across the window pane. There was a small crack, and a smear of blood from a cut I had just gotten. Another smack, more cracks, bigger smear. Third smack, the window shattered, and my hands were freely bleeding. Slowly, I retrieved a sizeable shard, and slipped it between my hands to saw at the ropes. I pondered on just how stupid this was, sticking a jagged and sharp piece of glass in between my wrists, but my desire to get my Goddamn hands free overpowered any fear I had...

Bingo. I let the ropes fall from my wrists, then flopped onto my behind to undo the ropes on my feet. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... I sawed through the rope without much of a problem. I stood up and dropped the shard onto the ground, the blood stained glass shattering upon impact with the cold concrete floor. I rubbed at my wrists a bit to relieve the chafing, then reached up to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes...

My hands met flesh where my eyes should be. I glided my hands down to my mouth. Nothing there either. Did they... Take my face? No no, that was too crazy. That sort of stuff couldn't happen. I had to have been wearing a mask of some sort. Something to hide my identity. But from who? That, I suppose, was the question I should be asking.

I walked over to the door leading out of the room, finding it locked. Of course, it couldn't be simple. I placed a finger against the door itself; wooden, rotting from years of water damage, nearly caving to the pressure if you pushed hard enough. I backed up a few paces, then slammed my shoulder into the door and heard a loud crack. I backed up and did it again once, twice, three times, and knocked the door clean off the hinges.

I landed on the cold hard ground with a grunt of pain, rolling off the door and looking up. I was in a long hallway, barely lit by a dim yellow, almost green lightbulb above me. The walls looked like they would have been white once upon a time, but were now yellow and marred with water stains, a sign of how decrepit this place was. I needed to get out of here...

... And I couldn't have thought that at a worse time, as I heard shouting from behind another doorway not far from me. I looked around the hall, trying to find an exit; there were three other doors aside from the one I heard the shouting from and the one I had come out of. One of the doors, probably leading out of here, was at the very end of the hallway past the room full of thugs. If I was in better condition, I might've been able to make it, but no. Right now I needed to hide. Acting quickly, I pushed myself off the ground and scrambled into one of the other rooms, closing the door behind me.

As I caught my breath, I looked around the room, half expecting it to be full of other criminals. But as luck would have it, it seemed to be devoid of other people; from the looks of it I had wound up in a bathroom, stalls and urinals lining the walls. After making sure I was alone, checking all the stalls, I rushed back to the door and pressed an ear against it, listening for any sign that they were approaching.

A door opening...

Footsteps, from the sounds of it about seven men...

Then, shouting.

"Shit, Question got out! Look around, he can't have gone far!"

Question, huh? Must have been an alias of mine. Wonder how I got it? Wait, no. I shook my head, now wasn't the time for this. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was figuring a way out of here...

To Be Continued...
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by webboysurf
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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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Washington D.C. - 1 Month Post-Crisis
Issue 1.02.04: Sure Shot (Season 1 Epilogue)

Interaction(s): None
Previously: Crisis Tie-In


Roy looked down on the sheet of paper in his hands. It had been some time since he had done this cloak and dagger shit… but whoever managed to sneak a sheet of paper without getting noticed into his quarters at the Triskellion. The message had printed simply a time, an address for an apartment complex in D.C., a request to meet on the roof, and a single name. Oliver. To be safe, of course, Roy was dressed in his tactical gear and had his weapon drawn as he slowly began climbing the stairs. That is, until he heard an explosion from outside. Harper’s pace quickened as he rocketed upstairs and out of the roof access door. On the roof was nothing… except for a single arrow of Roy’s own design lying near the precipice. A look over the ledge revealed a terrible sight: on the streets below was a burnt and charred car, and lying on his back in the middle of the street was SHIELD Director Jeffrey Mace.

Roy took a moment to watch on in shock, before everything began to click in his head. Across the street was a nondescript antiques store, with apartments above. It was a SHIELD safehouse. Though, of course… whoever had just assassinated Jeffrey Mace knew that. And the assassin must have also stolen some of his supplies. Of course, before Roy could do anything more, he heard shouting from below. A few SHIELD agents had gathered around Mace’s corpse, checking for a sign of life. The other agents had easily noticed the red clad figure standing on the rooftop up above, and immediately began opening fire.

Roy made the only decision he could at this point: he ran. He managed to vault over the other side of the building and down the fire escape of the apartments he was perched upon with ease. He used the alleyway to quickly slip out onto the street, and noticed an empty cab waiting at the red light at the intersection. Roy sighed as he could practically hear the SHIELD agents shouting as they were moving in to intercept. The scarlet archer unholstered his sidearm as he reached for the handle of the back passenger door: to his luck, it was unlocked. He threw the door open, got in quickly, and pointed the gun towards the driver. ”Drive casually. I need to get to East Potomac Park. Now!”

As if on cue, the light turned green and the cab eased into normal traffic as SHIELD agents looked around, confused. Roy holstered his sidearm and quickly pulled out a small flip phone, pressing number 1 for speed dial. The phone rang three times, before a familiar voice picked up on the other end. ”Roy? What the Hell? It’s been years! Oliver’s miss-“

”John, I don’t have time to explain. I need a cloaked quadjet at East Potomac Park ASAP, you should be able to ping my location using the old Arrow protocols.” Roy paused for a moment to breath and to clear his head for a second. ”I’m fucked, John. Ollie’s alive… and the people who know where he is are trying to wipe me out. So for the love of God, hurry the fuck up!”

Washington D.C. - 24 Hours Later



Fury gripped the podium and looked out over the crowd gathered in the Triskellion briefing room. The murmurings were intense, but silenced as soon as Nick Fury opened his mouth to speak. ”24 hours ago, Director Jeffrey Mace was visiting a now defunct SHIELD safehouse here in the capitol. The purpose of his visit was classified.” Nick paused as the reporters in the room began murmuring again, impatient with the lack of answers and information. When he continued, the room fell silent. ”I am here to publicly announce that Jeffrey Mace was assassinated as of 3:14 PM yesterday afternoon while exiting the safehouse.” Fury again paused, but no one dared to speak. ”The assassination was carried out by an individual who fired a single explosive projectile at the motorcade awaiting Jeffrey Mace. A thorough autopsy this morning confirmed that Director… Former Director Mace died on impact.”

The reporters went wild at this. They began shouting over each other, until a grizzled older reporter managed to shout over all the others. ”Do you have any suspects?”

Fury gave a thoughtful nod at this, and ignored the barrage of other questions being slung in his direction. He reached towards a small remote on the podium and pressed a single button, which turned on two screens to either side of the small stage Fury was standing on. The screens seemed to show a bodycam still image taken from one of the SHIELD agents on the scene. The image showed a figure on a nearby rooftop. With another tap on the remote, the slide transitioned to a close-up shot of a figure clad in red with a quiver strapped to his back. ”Our preliminary findings suggest that the assassin was a former SHIELD agent of ours and temporary contractor who used the codename ‘Arsenal’ while in our employ. This individual fought in the Middle East as a contracted Mercenary for the United States government before being recruited by SHIELD. He had a spotless record, and earned an honorable discharge after surviving the incident on-board the UNN Aeneid some months ago in Italian air-space. He was recruited temporarily as an engineering contractor, before being mobilized to New York City during the Mutant Supremacy Front attacks.”

The reporters seemed just as dumbfounded as Fury, given by their silence when he paused. But Nick pushed ahead, and tapped the remote once more to reveal the suspect’s former SHIELD headshot.

”The suspect’s real name is Roy Harper. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man
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Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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Angel Eyes
Part I


Seattle

My fingers slowly glided across the ivory keys of the piano. I was playing “Skating in Central Park” by Bill Evans. The crowd in Staccato’s that night seemed to be half-paying attention to me as they had their drinks and carried on conversations. That was how I liked it. I saw myself as part of the decoration of the place, the piano player that made the piano bar legitimate. Despite the seeming lack of interest, the tip jar on the end of the piano had a nice wad in it.. The crowd broke out into a smattering of applause as I finished the Bill Evans tune. I was preparing to go into “Angel Eyes” when I saw him watching me from the bar.

Floyd Bowron, ten years and almost twenty pounds since I last saw him. The blotchy skin around his nose and cheeks let me know how his battle with sobriety was going. He had already taken out half an old-fashioned in between the time he sat down and the moment I saw him. I cleared my throat and stood.

“I’m going to take a short break, folks, but I’ll be back shortly.”

I made eye contact with Bowron as I passed his table. I heard his chair scrape and heavy footfalls behind me. We were on the far end of the bar, all alone, before I turned to look at Bowron. He flashed a smile as he took a seat at the bar.

“Hi, John. Didn’t know about your gig here until I started to ask around.”

“It pays the bills,” I said coolly. “Seattle PD never saw fit to grant me a pension, so I have to make ends meet.”

“I’m sure you’re okay, I’m sure you’re getting something from LAPD, right? If not a pension or a settlement, at least some hush money…”

I sighed. “Are you here for a reason, sergeant, or do you have nothing better to do than to harass your former partner?”

“I have a reason,” said Bowron, before pulling his ID and badge out of his jacket pocket. He flashed the gold badge. “And it’s captain now.”

“I have to get back to work soon, captain, so if you could get to it, I w--”

“I need your help.”

Bowron downed the rest of his drink before catching the bartender’s eye and pointing to his empty glass. I waited patiently as Bowron got his refill and took a slug from it before speaking.

“It's not easy, okay? The way we left things I'm swallowing a lot of pride to come in here."

"Swallowing a lot of booze too," I said. "But some things never change."

"Caleb Maddox is missing.”

I knew it. Since seeing Bowron’s ruddy face in the crowd, I knew he was here to talk about Celeste. I ordered a drink from the bar and took my own Bowronesque gulps to prepare myself for what came next.

"He's nineteen now," said Bowron.

"Nineteen," I said softly. "Hard to believe."

"Yep, and nobody gives a shit when a legal adult disappears. Just another runaway as far as missing persons is concerned."

“Last Tuesday was the tenth anniversary of her disappearance,” I said. “Were you aware of that?”

“Of course, John,” Bowron said with a cocked finger. “You act like you’re the only one who suffered. It was a fucking nightmare for all of us, me included.”

“Whatever you say… captain.

“I made a huge fucking mistake asking you for help.” Bowron finished his second old-fashioned off and pulled cash from his pocket. “I thought maybe there would be a trace of the old you still left. But I was wrong.”

“Wait.”

Bowron froze, cash still clenched in his pudgy fist. I thought back to that time. It was a little over ten years ago, but an entire lifetime had seemed to transpire. Looking back, I suppose it had. Pianoman John Jones was the current me, Detective Jones was the old me. But was it someone I could be again? Especially since the damage that the case had done to me. J’onn J’onnz was dead, as dead as the red planet he came for. But maybe I could bring the old manhunter back.

“Give me all the information you have,” I said after a long pause. “I’ll see what I can do.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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PLACEHOLDER
One Night to Kill the Bat #2.00: Prologue

"Knock, knock.”

Warren McGinnis raised his head from his desk, turning towards the source of the interruption. His expression softened once he realized the speaker had been his son. Letting out an exhausted sigh. Warren was overworked and underpaid. He gave Terry an apologetic look before responding.

“Any chance it can wait, Terry?” Warren asked, “I’m swamped with work right now.”

“I’ve got to go out,” Terry replied, his tone leaving little room for argument. Terry hoped that his overworked father would roll over and accept his statement.

He was wrong.

“Absolutely not,” Warren McGinnis responded, looking up from his work. “You’re grounded, remember?”

“I already told you I didn’t start that fight-” Terry protested, but he knew by the way his father was shaking his head that Warren simply wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Letting out a snort of deficiency, Terry prepared to dig his heels in while he waited on his father’s response.

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when we meet with your counsellor.” Warren retorted, Again.” He added, rubbing his forehead in a clear display of frustration.

“Terry, it’s bad enough that I have a son who spent time in juvenile detention before his sixteenth birthday, but then you can’t even manage to avoid getting into yet another fight? On your first week back to school no less.”

“Mom would hear me out!” Terry snapped back. He knew he had hit one of his father’s buttons by bringing up his mother the moment Warren pushed his chair back from the desk and turned to face Terry directly.

“You’re not living with your mother.” Warren’s tone was almost malicious. Terry could practically see the man’s back bristling at the mention of his ex-wife.

“You don’t have to remind me!” Terry’s resentment was apparent with each word. He hadn’t meant to yell, but something inside him snapped the minute his father had responded. For a brief second, it felt as though his vision turned red, and Terry raised a fist. He wanted to hit his father, but something stopped him. Turning on his heel, Terry swung a right hook towards the wall, the drywall breaking under the impact as white dust covered his forearm.

“See!” Warren yelled, barely keeping his own tone level. “That your problem right there! You can’t control your temper, and you’d better learn if you ever expect to get anywhere, that’s not back to juvie hall!”

“Oh yeah, I’ll be a big success alright,” Terry retorted dryly, motioning towards the humble furnishings around him.

“Just. Like. You.” Terry’s tone was absolutely venomous. His father was a chemical engineer, employed by ACE Chemicals even before it was purchased by Derek Powers. But despite his years of service and education, he had failed to amount much of a personal fortune. Add to that child support and his divorce from Mary, Warren wasn’t the picture of success he preached.

“Nevermind, y’know what? I’m bailing anyways.” Terry muttered, walking away from his speechless father. Grabbing his jacket, the teenager exited the townhouse without another word to his father.

“Terry, wait! Come back!” Warren called, but it was too late. Terry was already across the street by the time he made it to the open door. With a heavy sigh, Warren returned to his study and slumped back down into his chair. He could only shake his head before resigning to continue his interrupted work.

Catching the suspended monorail that circled most of Gotham, Terry made good time travelling from his home to the club Dana had texted him about before the fight with his father. Arriving at the stop near the club, Terry was surprised to find the line outside of the club was longer than he had anticipated.

Stepping off of the monorail, he began to descend the steel-deck stairs towards the sidewalk below. Between the grates, Terry noticed a familiar pair of heads in the line below. The voice of none other than Chelsea Cunningham could be heard above the music echoing out of the club.

“Dana, how many more times does Terry have to go to juvie for you to realize you’re dating a loser? He’s an absolute dreg, Dee!” Chelsea chided while the two girls stood in line, completely oblivious that Terry was currently descending the stairs above them. He could feel his ears begin to burn at each additional word Chelsea said, his hands balling into fists before Terry forced himself to relax his grip.

The anger was quickly replaced by shame. The words of Terry's father echoed in his ears, each ringing syllable a stinging reminder that Terry was once again in the wrong. He stopped on the stairs, stepping to the side to lean on the rail. Closing his eyes, Terry inhaled deeply, trying to release all the negative emotions he felt. Tonight was for fun, and tomorrow he’d apologize to his father.

“You have to think about your reputation, girl!” Look at me,” She continued, pausing to point towards herself. Terry’s attention was brought back towards the two girls. Watching Chelsea, Tery couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his skull as he watched the girl vainly flick her blonde hair aside before speaking again.

“I’m the cheer captain dating the quarterback, ‘cause like y’know, he’s my social equal. Like, Dee, you can’t have Terry dragging you down! That’s so un-schway! And it’s not like there aren’t even plenty of other scrumptious boy toys around.” She stated, gesturing towards the long line around them.

“You’ve got Duke Thomas if basketball is more your thing or Carter Wilson if for some ratchet reason you’re more into brains than brawn. Hell, Dee, even Nelson Nash would be a step up from Terry McGinnis.”

“Terry’s sweet, Chels,” Dana protested while Terry sighed in relief. It was always reassuring to know that your girlfriend did, in fact, have your back. “He just needs someone to help keep him on the straight and narrow.” Dana explained, prompting Chelsea to cross her arms in front of her.

“After everything with your brother, figured the last thing you’d want in a boyfriend is a gang membership.” She scoffed, clearly not pleased with Dana’s logic.

“It’s not the same with Terry,” Dana argued back, “Doug went looking for trouble, Terry was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“They don’t give you three months in juvie for loitering, Dee.” Chelsea retorted dryly, before crossing her arms. “Charlie Bigelow got thrown in Blackgate for three years because of what he and Terry were mixed up in.”

“Because of what Charlie was mixed up in,” Dana replied, stressing the name of the older teen. “Terry wasn’t part of it, he was in the wrong place because he trusted Charlie.” She added her own stance equally as standoffish. The two girls stared each other down for what felt like an eon until an arm unexpectedly appeared around Dana’s shoulders. Startled, she jumped before looking up to see a familiar face.

“Hey, Baby,” Terry smiled, giving Dana a slight squeeze while pulling her closer as the petite girl began to relax.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it, McGinnis.” Chelsea sneered, not even attempting to hide the disdain in her voice.

“Got off early for good behaviour,” Terry replied with a wink clearly determined to ignore Chelsea’s tone.

“I, for one, am glad you’re here.” Dana replied, placing a hand on Terry’s cheek to pull his lips down to meet hers. Straightening up, a smile stretched across the entirety of Terry’s face. Before that moment, Terry had never done drugs before, but he could have sworn he was having an out of body experience in that instant. Coming back down to earth, Terry looked at the line around the trio. His brow crinkled in frustration.

“What’s with this line?” He asked the pair of girls, “Have we even moved?”

“It’s the hottest scene in town right now,” Dana stated, “It’s kind of expected we’d be waiting outside awhile.”

“Did you get him to bring the fake IDs?” Chelsea interjected, batting her eyelashes sarcastically towards Terry.

“Because I have the hook-up to get fake IDs.” Terry replied dryly while both Dana and Chelsea turned to stare at him. Letting out a long sigh, he pulled out his jacket and reached inside withdrawing the forged driver licenses and dispensing them to the two girls.

The sound of screeching tires took the three teenagers attention away from the unmoving line for a moment. Looking towards the red sports car that came to a sudden stop, the driver climbed out of the driver set with a smug smile across his face. Running a hand across his short orange hair, the letterman jacket-clad individual was none other than Nelson Nash.

Terry made a fist, taking a step forward only for Dana to hold him back.

“Whoa, down boy.” She muttered before leaning in closer to whisper in Terry’s ear. “He’s here with Chelsea.”

“Seriously?” Terry blurted in response.

The echo of several other tires screeching drowned out anything Dana said in response as a group of gaudy coloured motorcycles rounded into view. Terry clenched his jaw, studying the approaching gang, one word repeating over and over in his mind.

Jokerz.

When his former best friend, Charlie Bigelow, had dragged Terry out to try and join the Sons of Batman, the Jokerz had been the gang’s most significant rival. Perhaps it was their choice of legacy imagery, maybe one side had started it. Nevertheless, Terry had fought with more than enough Jokerz to last a lifetime. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to the chance of them ruining his night.

“This is your fault.” Chelsea said accusingly towards Terry seemingly reading into his thoughts, “I don’t know how, but this is your fault that they’re here.”

“They’re the Jokerz, Chelsea.” Terry replied coolly, rolling his eyes at Chelsea. “They go anywhere they can make a scene.”

Turning back towards the unfolding scene. Nelson was yelling now. One of the Jokerz had driven his motorcycle onto the roof of Nash’s car. Unfortunately, it had elicited laughter from many of those in line, which meant the other Jokerz were now demanding payment for their ‘entertainment services.’

It was the usual shakedown, but Terry wasn’t in the mood to be humoured. He, however, was happy to finally have a target to direct his anger towards. Dana must have sensed his angry because she turned her eyes towards him, concern filled her face. Her hand found its way to his, tugging him backwards. Terry relaxed, taking the hint.

Then Dana was grabbed from behind.

“Tickle, tickle!” The clown sneered, running his hands up and down Dana’s sides. “C’mon, I see that grin, let me hear you laugh, babygirl.” But clown’s chortling was unexpectedly cut short.

“Y’know what always makes me laugh.”

Taking ahold of the gang member assaulting Dana, Terry spun the clown around. Bringing his face towards his own before delivering a swift hook across the Jokerz’s jaw. A tooth flew through the air, hitting the ground seconds after the clown himself.

“A good punchline.”

A hush fell over the crowd before a sudden, a howl of laughter filled the air. Member after member of the gang joined in until it sounded like a pack of hyenas. Every gang member outside the club turned to look towards Terry.

Pushing Dana behind him, Terry raised his fists. Shooting Nelson a quick glance, the jock shook his head before shrugging.

“You’re on your own, McGinnis.”

Typical.

Terry wasn’t left with a whole lot of options. He was outnumbered, and he was definitely outgunned. He couldn’t win this fight, and Terry knew that. Best case scenario? He could lead the Jokerz away from Dana and the rest of the crowd. Which meant he needed a method of escape. Eyeing up the red sports bike discarded on the side-walk, Terry began to form a plan.

As the first clown decided to approach, Terry rushed forward. Driving his shoulder into the gang member’s stomach., Terry allowed himself a smug smirk while the man let out a winded groan. Following up with a knee to the groin, Terry took any remaining fight out of the man. A rush of air brushed past the side of Terry’s head. Twisting to the side, he narrowly avoided being struck by a baseball bat. Rolling past the woman swinging the weapon around, Terry swept her feet out from under her. The Jokerz member hit the ground hard, allowing Terry the shortest of seconds to breathe before he continued to move towards his goal.

Grabbing ahold of the motorcycle’s handlebars, Terry turned them sharply before throwing his weight into the vehicle. Using the wheel as a pivot point, he erected the bike before jumping onto the saddle. With a twist of his wrist, he revved the engine to life. The back tire squealed loudly as the motorcycle reared into the air from the sudden acceleration.

However, this wasn’t Terry’s first time on a bike. Regaining control, he pushed the front end down, biting into the asphalt beneath. With a tap of his foot, he put the vehicle into gear, shifting higher with each whine of the engine. Each twist of Terry’s wrist put more and more distance between the club and himself. For the briefest of moments, Terry worried his plan to draw the Jokerz away from the club hadn’t worked. He slowed on the accelerator, preparing to turn the bike around. Then came the angry swarm of several similar motorcycles giving chase.

Gearing back up quickly, Terry knew if he continued through the city, the Jokerz would eventually overtake him. They were out running these streets every night. They knew every shortcut, every alley and every ambush spot. If Terry had any chance of escaping, he’d need to lead them out of the city.

Guiding the motorcycle onto the exit for the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, Terry opened the engine up. Traffic was relatively light at this time of night, which was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed him to go faster than he would have been able to on a crowded street, but it also enabled the Jokerz more leeway than they would have typically had.

Dirt flew through the air in all directions. Having crossed the bridge, Terry took the corner at the bottom of the Bristol exit faster than he should have. The bike drifted off of the pavement, biting into the sandy shoulder, threatening to buck its rider at any moment. Still, Terry held on, taking the exit for a road whose sign had been overgrown long ago. His near spill had provided the Jokerz the seconds they needed to close the gap. Their headlights were nearly blinding in Terry’s side mirrors. Taking a split second to look backwards, Terry turned forward too late to notice an old man in the middle of the dark road.

Cranking the handlebars hard, Terry nearly laid the motorcycle flat. The bike slid across the ground, coming to a halt against a tall brick wall. Numerous sets of brakes squealed in unison as the Jokerz came to a stop. They quickly surrounded Terry before the one Terry had initially punched stepped forward, cracking his knuckles loudly.

“I always did like a good, dirty joke.” He jeered, looking Terry up and down. “And it looks like you’re good and dirty now.”

“Hoo, hoo hoo!” Another clown hollered. “The no-fun boy had a little spill!”

“Let’s put a smile on his face.” Another chimed in, the blade of his knife reflecting the light of the full moon above them.

“Leave him alone!” A grizzled voice called through the shadows. To Terry, the voice sounded like a poor Clint Eastwood impression. From the shadows, the old man who Terry had swerved to avoid stepped forward. Directing the Jokerz’s attention to him, he growled again. “And get off my property. You’re trespassing.”

“Ooh!” A young Jokerz giggled. “Is that right?”

“It’s okay,” Terry replied dismissively, “I can handle this.” But it was too late, the clowns had already turned their focus to the man leaning heavily on a cane.

“Tsk, tsk, you don’t want any part of this, old-timer.” The one with the knife stated, brandishing the blade towards the other man. The one Terry had punched turned away from and approached the older man. Raising a hand, he began jabbing a finger mockingly into the other man’s chest.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, ya geezer. We’re the Jokerz!”

“Sure you are.” The older man sneered in response. A smirk spreading across his face before he took hold of the younger man’s wrist. A snap echoed through the night air, followed by a howl of pain. Driving his cane into the Jokerz’ stomach, the man wasted no time. He followed up with a swift blow to the back of the clown’s head, dropping the man to the ground.

The other Jokerz moved to react, prompting Terry to spring into action. Intending to defend the old man, Terry was surprised to see just how well the other man could handle himself. In fact, he made it look easy. Every block, every strike was perfectly timed. It was as though he knew where the Jokerz would attack before they did. He was clearly experienced, and age had done little to slow the man down. To Terry, it seemed like the man was almost bored with the entire affair. Like his body was just going through the motions.

As if to demonstrate the point, Terry watched the other man fell the final Jokerz. Without looking, he raised his can to his shoulder, striking the clown attempting to attack him from behind. Blood sprayed out of the now broken nose. The victim clamping a hand over his face while waving towards the remaining Jokerz with his other hand.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

Groans and moans of agreement let Terry know the fight was over. The motorcycles roared back to life as the Jokerz scampered aboard their trusty steeds. Terry watched more than a couple stick their tongues out while they turned tail. If they wanted him to give chase they were out of luck, he was more than satisfied with the one ass-whooping for tonight.

“Man,” Terry let out a sigh of relief a grin spreading across his face, “You’re something else,” He stated turning towards the older man. Terry couldn’t deny just how impressed he was, the admiration was practically swelling in his voice.

“I’ve never seen anyon-” His words were cut short the moment he noticed the older man was struggling to breathe.

The other man had a hand firmly clenched over his heart. Terry could hear him muttering to himself over and over while he kept walking forward. Slowly placing one foot in front other the other, he walked towards a large iron gate. Stumbling, his cane fell from his grasp while Terry rushed to catch the man by his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“My… medicine” The man managed to grunt towards Terry. “.. At the house....” He pointed towards the mansion-sized home that Terry was only now realizing had been behind them the entire time. Casting a quick look around, Terry finally realized where he was upon seeing the large metal ‘W’ in the center of the gate.

Wayne Manor.

The man clicked something in his hand, and the gate creaked open. Shaking his head in disbelief, Terry offered the other man a shoulder before guiding him inside.

The pair walked along the long pathway towards the main doors. Something began to move in the bushes around them. Terry grit his teeth, preparing himself for a straggler who had stayed behind hoping to get lucky. Instead, a black dog suddenly lunged forward. The large animal blocked their path. The dog growled menacing towards Terry, thrashing its teeth in warning should the teenager choose to come any closer.

“Down, Ace!” The man ordered the large dog. “He’s okay.” He added with a grunt before gesturing towards Terry. With one last defiant growl, the dog seemingly understood the older man’s words and instead of leaving opted to take a position slightly behind the pair while it continued to follow.

“Nice dog.” Terry muttered. The old man scoffed in reply.

“Not really.”

Opening the doors to Wayne Manor was an experience that Terry likely wouldn’t forget. The mansion managed to dwarf even Hamilton Hill High School in size. Helping the man who he now assumed to be none other than Bruce Wayne to a chair. Terry went to fetch the man his medicine.

“Here you go, the pills were right where you said.” Terry stated, alerting the Bruce to his return. He approached, bearing both the bottle of pills and a glass of water. Taking the pills from Terry’s hand, Bruce tossed them into his mouth before taking a long drink of water. Leaning back into the chair, he sighed deeply. His eyes began to close, continuing to do so even as Terry spoke.

“Well then, I guess you’re going to rest then.” Terry stated, smiling while Bruce closed his eyes. “You go right ahead, my dad is probably waiting up for me anyways. I can let myself out.” He turned to leave, pausing before turning back again.

“Hope you feel better, mister-” But Bruce had already fallen asleep. Ensuring to keep the noise of his footsteps to a minimal, Terry tip-toed out of the room. Heading towards the front door, Terry paused upon noting Ace vigilantly guarding it. The dog eyed the teenager before letting out a low growl.

“On second thought, maybe I should give my dad a call.” Terry muttered to himself, reaching into his pockets to feel around for his cellphone. Wrapping his hand around the device, he let out a heavy sigh before unlocking the screen.

“Here’s where I’m grounded for life.” Unfortunately for Terry, the device didn’t unlock. Tapping the button several more times, Terry furrowed his brow. Holding the power button, he watched the device come to life only to die again partially through its boot sequence.

Dead, just like I’m going to be.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Terry look around. Surely a house as old as Wayne Manor had a landline. Wandering the dusty old manor, Terry was surprised how barren it seemed. While it was before his time, even people as young as he knew of the parties this place used to hold. Now every room contained minimal furniture beneath white sheets and an inch of dust. He would have expected someone like Bruce Wayne to have live-in staff. However, it appeared that Terry was wrong.

Stumbling into a study, Terry’s eyes lit up excitedly at the sight of a red phone situated on the desk beside a bust. Lifting up the receiver, he was relieved to hear the dial tone. The rotary dial, on the other hand, presented more of an issue. He had never used one before, although he could have sworn his dad had at one point taken the time to explain it to him. That’s how dads were. Full of useless information and irrelevant facts.

A sound from behind Terry distracted him from the phone. Placing the receiver down, he turned towards the source of the noise. Looking around the study, he noted a small creature struggling in the face of a grandfather clock. Taking a step closer, he leaned in for a better look.

“A bat?” Terry muttered aloud. The unfortunate creature had somehow gotten caught between the glass and the face of the clock. Examining the antique, Terry spoke reassuringly to the same creature.

“I’ll get you out of there, just don’t bite me.” Placing his hands on the front, Terry gave it a sharp tug. To his surprise, the face of the clock didn’t move. Instead, the entire clock moved, pulling away to reveal a passage behind. A smile crossed Terry’s face. He had heard of servant passages before, but this was way schway. From the other room, Terry could hear Mr. Wayne still snoring and knowing he couldn’t possibly get in any more trouble with his father, decided it best to explore the passageway.

A draft of cold air penetrated his jacket and shirt, sending a shiver down Terry’s spine. The roar of rushing water echoed from the end of the tunnel as the smell of moss and moisture overwhelmed his nostrils. Emerging from the passageway into an old mining elevator, Terry pressed the button for down.

“Whoa.” He was at a loss for words. The elevator left the darkness, motion detectors illuminating the cave below. Terry’s eyes were first drawn to a giant dinosaur and then towards a giant penny. A waterfall could be seen off to one side, behind a platform that held a sleek black car. In the center of it all was a large workstation with more monitors than the high school’s computer lab. Stumbling out of the elevator, Terry continued to walk around awestruck as he tried to take everything in.

Glass cases illuminated as Terry past them. Their contents continued to astound the teenager. A black and red jester’s uniform, a purple zoot suit, a green outfit covered in question marks. But it was the case at the end that finally caused Terry to pause. The black cape draped perfectly behind the black costume. Stitch marks and patchwork covered the suit while other areas still exposed the body armour underneath. The heavy belt was tightly fastened around the waist. While the pointed cowl felt as though it was looking down at the teenager before it.

“Damn, no wonder he could fight.” A low whistle escaped Terry’s mouth. Stretching out a hand, he was too late to notice the reflection behind him. He hit the ground faster than he could yell ‘ow.’ A blow from Bruce Wayne’s cane leaving the back of his head smarting while the man’s angry growl reverberated through his skull.

“GET OUT!” The man roared, raising his cane to strike the boy again. Acting on pure adrenaline, Terry rolled out of the way, running to the elevator before hammering the up button. The ride up felt like it took forever. Once at the top, Terry ran. He didn’t stop running until he was outside the front gates. The second he outside the estate walls, the automated system slammed the gates behind him. Turning to look back towards the house, Terry was nearly blinded by a spotlight. The singular light remained pointed towards him, illuminating the boy to ensure he didn’t try anything further.

“Alright, I’m going, I’m going.” Terry yelled back towards the house. “It’s not like I did anything wrong.” He added, muttering under his breath before kicking a tuft of grass towards the wall that surrounded the estate’s grounds.

“Crazy old bastard.”

Departing from Wayne Manor on the motorcycle he had crashed earlier, Terry finally made his way towards home. Ditching the stolen bike once he was back within the city limits, Terry arrived home the same way he had left. The city’s monorail system. Running down the stairs towards the street level, he was welcomed home by the familiar flashes of red and blue from two police cruisers parked outside his house.

Terry felt his heart sink.

Frantically scanning the gathered crowd, Terry searched for a familiar face.

“Dad?” He called. But there was no answer, no sign of his father anywhere outside of the townhouse.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, no!” Panic took ahold of Terry. Running past the officers outside, he ran up the stairs and into the hallway that separated the two units.

“Terry!” The relieved voice called, breaking Terry from his trace. “You’re okay!” He looked up, coming face to face with his mom. She ran towards Terry, wrapping her arms around him. He could feel her squeezing, something bad had happened.

“Mom? What happened?” Terry asked, his voice quivering. He head was going in every direction, searching for any sign of his father.

“A robbery. Police say it was the Jokerz, they surprised your father.”

“Where is he? Where’s dad?” It was becoming harder to breathe by the second. He looked towards his mother. Her eyes were red, no doubt from crying. Crying didn’t mean good news.

“Honey… I…” His mother couldn’t get the words out. Her voice was cracking as her own tears began to start again.

“…Dad?” Terry asked again, but Mary McGinnis could only shake her head. Something inside Terry said he needed to see for himself. Pushing his mother off of him, Terry ran through the two officers stationed outside the door. He didn’t give them a chance to try and stop them before he yelled again in desperation.

“DAD!”

Bursting into his father’s apartment, Terry felt his legs go out from under him. Falling to his knees, his eyes danced in their sockets, trying to take in the chaos. The furniture was strewn about the room, flipped or smashed to splinters. A single light bulb remained unbroken. Even in its dim glow, Terry could make out the neon graffiti painted across every wall. The Jokerz’ obnoxiously scrawled ‘HA HA HA’s were audible in his racing mind. Terry placed a hand to his stomach, trying not to look away, before inching toward the unmoving body in the center of the room.

“….Dad?”

The body of Warren McGinnis lay completely still. His clothing was torn, his body bloodied and covered in bruises. Several teeth were strewn across the carpet, lying in the bloodstains on either side of Terry’s father. Acid crawled up his throat, followed by a gurgle as Terry willed himself not to vomit on his father.

How did this--? When did the Jokerz--? ‘Why?’

“Why didn’t you save me, son?” Terry nearly jumped out of his skin, skittering backwards at the sound of his father’s voice. The body sat up. The empty smile of Warren’s face looked toward Terry before speaking again.

“Why didn’t you save me, Terry?”

Terry’s heart was in his throat. Using the nearby wall to stand, Terry, turned to leave the apartment only to be stopped by his mother and brother. Both of their faces were marred with Glasgow smiles, hollow eye sockets looking up at Terry before speaking in unison.

You cant save any of us, Terry.


Words refused to come out of Terry’s mouth as he jumped back. Suddenly tripping over something, he was forced to look up to the face of Bruce Wayne, smiling down at him.

“You can’t even save yourself, Terry.” The old man growled. Pushing himself along his back on the carpet, Terry desperately tried to escape the haunting images of his family and employer. Managing to get onto his feet, Terry noticed too late the petite figure with raven hair before running into her.

Turning around, Terry was face to face with Dana. He exhaled, and his hands found her face. Gently caressing it, he was relieved to find something familiar in all of this. She looked up at him, her doe-like brown eyes widening with her smile before she opened her mouth to speak. For a second Terry felt his own smile return. Until she began to scream unexpectedly.

Terry clutched his ears and stumbled as Dana continued her banshee-like wail. The skin on her face began to melt away, exposing ivory glimpses of skull underneath. Her eyes fell out of their sockets, while her jaw slowly lowered before unhinging with a loud ‘CRACK’. Dana’s tongue suddenly snaked out of her mouth, running along the side of Terry’s face, mirroring his caress of her own face moments earlier. The tongue whipped back inside the dislocated jaw before a chorus-like voice called out from within her.

“TEERRRY!” Dana screamed, stumbling towards the young man all the while he tried to move further and further away. Strong, bony hands suddenly wrapped around Terry’s arms and torso. Looking to either side, Terry found himself looking into the empty eyes that belonged to both his father and Bruce Wayne. Dana screamed again, still moving closer.

“TEERRRY!”
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The wind ran through Booster Gold's hair like a whirlwind as she flew over the streets of New York, barely skimming over the honking, cursing traffic below her. She smiled as the sun hit her armor, reflecting the gold in a brilliant way that caused everyone on the street to look up in awe. It felt good for them to look up to her with hope. She had to admit that. After how jarring everything had been since coming to the past, not to mention the new view on super heroics that the government had, it was refreshing to have people actually want her around.

All she had in this world was Skeets, and he wasn't necessarily the most enjoyable of company. Not that he didn't have a ton to say, of course. In fact it was kind of impossible to get him to shut up. He was always rattling off some figure about the past or another. He knew too much, probably. He kept telling her that she couldn't mess with the timeline too much, or it'd break.

Still, he was having more and more glitches. She wasn't sure why. She never was a technical person. At least she didn't think she was. She couldn't really remember. But either way, Booster had no idea who she could even take him to to get checked out. It's kind of hard to have someone understand future technology, no matter how smart they were.

"Ma'am," the robot's voice echoed through her comms over the din of the rushing air, "we need to take a right in two blocks. The robbery should be happening at any moment!"

"Okay, okay, Skeets," she tried to call the robot down. He got way too excited too often. "I can fly. The traffic isn't going to be an issue."

She banked hard into the turn, corkscrewing a bit to show off for the people below, who applauded in return, painting a sly smile across her face. It was cheap, sure. But she liked some applause now and again.

As Booster made her way towards the bank, the front door exploded outwards in a cloud of smoke. A guard was tossed out at a high velocity, and Booster sped herself up to intercept him before all his bones were crushed by a hard impact with the building across the street from the bank. She swept in, passing right between a tractor trailer and a UPS truck by the skin of her teeth. She managed to swoop between the guard and the building, catching him in the nick of time.

"Wow! Thanks!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Don't mention it. When you're celebrating your non-death later, make sure to do it with some Bud Light!" she exclaimed and shot some finger guns his way. "Dilly dilly!"

Bud Light was swill, that much she knew. But they paid her more money than she could count to say that every once in a while after she saved someone. It was worth it. Who needed self respect when you had a guaranteed five-figure paycheck roll in each month?

From the smoking hole that had once been the front entrance of the bank stepped a huge, imposing man in a suit of gleaming, onyx armor. Her heads up display showed his armor wasn't all that different from hers, even if it was technologically inferior.

"Ma'am," Skeets's voice echoed through her ear, "looks like he can produce energy weapons from his gauntlets. Best disable them quickly."

"Thanks, bud," she responded to the small bot. "Any idea who this guy is?"

"Records say his name is 'B-b-b-lackguard'," Skeets seemed to stutter for a moment. "My records say he is of little note, but a villain is a villain, Booster."

"You're damn right, Skeets," she smirked to herself and sped off towards the bank robber.


Roxxon Headquarters

Dario Agger took a seat at the head of the long table, and folded his hands, smiling at the men assembled in front of him. Being the CEO of the largest oil company in the world wasn't always the most popular position in the world. Environmentalists wanted his head even though he had overseen Roxxon's foray into the solar energy sector. All because a few birds got covered in some oil after an idiotic shipping captain decided to have a few too many beers. Politicians wanted his money...his company's money all because they had the audacity to make a lot of it.

But among his fellow captains of industry, gathered here at his building, he was a god. The youngest CEO Roxxon had ever seen, and he was the one leading them into the future. That felt good.

Today's meeting, however, was not about oil, or solar panels, or fuel cells. No, this was about what was playing behind him. Booster Gold, his newest investment, was about to take down some form of ridiculous criminal or another. Agger had to admit the world he lived in was odd, but the potential for profits were still there. Booster would bring them in. He was sure of it, and no one else was even thinking about tapping into this kind of market.

"Gentlemen," he smiled and motioned towards the live feed, "you see behind me a feed of our in-house super hero, Booster Gold. Some of you probably think I'm insane. Hiring a superhero in the current climate? It's suicide. But, gentlemen, you would be wrong. While it is true the nanny state, the ever present hand in all of our lives, has put into motion the mechanism to shackle superheroics, our internal polling shows a silent majority backs the heroes. In the weeks since Booster has been our public face, our favorability rating as jumped fifteen points. And, may I remind you, we're an oil company."

A murmur of laughter rolled through the meeting as Agger paused, "So I come to you with the next wave in advertising. The Metahuman Media Movement! Now you can get in on the ground floor of this exciting new opportunity, with Roxxon and Booster Gold."


Blackgaurd swung his energy mace in a large, circular motion towards Booster, who slipped deftly under the blow before it ever came close to finding its mark. He had quite a bit of power behind those swings, that much was obvious. But he was as slow as molasses in that big, clunky, suit. He couldn't come close to hitting her, and she was making sure to rub that fact in.

"Aren't you supposed to be, you know, fast? At least when trying to get away from robbing a bank?" she asked as she flipped away from another attempted slam of the energy weapon. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be fast."

"You don't need to be fast when you can do this!" the large, hulking crook growled and turned to pick up a wrecked car. He lifted it over his head, and Booster prepared herself for the car to come flying towards her. Instead, he turned and flung it at the assembled crowd, who screamed in terror.

It never came close to hitting them. Instead, it stopped in midair ten feet off the ground, snagged by one of Booster's force fields.

"No need to fear, citizens!" she smiled and waved. "Booster Gold is here to protect you!"

With that, she flung the car back at the would-be bank robber. He tried to deflect it away, but he wasn't quick enough. The metal slammed into his arm, knocking him down to one knee, which was the only opening that Booster needed.

She pushed off the ground, closing the gap between the two of them in a blink. He swung around wildly to try and bat her away, but she caught his arm using one hand and her heightened reflexes, which drew an ooh and an ahh from the crowd. With her other hand she blasted the gauntlet off his arm with an energy blast.

"The energy source of his suit is that glowing orb on his belt, Booster," Skeets advised, and she quickly fired another shot at the circle, destroying it and powering him down.

"RRRRAAAAAAAAA!" he growled at her, unable to move in his dead suit. "I'll get you for this!"

"What are you gonna do? Fall over on me?" she chuckled back at him. "I'll make sure not to be directly underneath you. Like ever."

She strolled over to the crowd, a huge smile painted across their face as they applauded wildly, "Thank you! Thank you! I don't do it for the applause, everyone...but it sure helps!"

The crowd laughed and she continued, "But I can't do it without the power from Roxxon Energy, and the great taste of Vitamin Water!"

With that, she took off and headed for home, certain that a villain had been stopped, and her bank account would be going up by a few zeroes.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Hound55
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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M A N H A T T A N , N E W Y O R K

Less Than A Week Later | I Really Don’t Know How Much More Plainly I Can Put It… Manhattan, New York

Ted looked to his left at the two people by his side, he looked to his right at the other four.

So this was it, huh? This was the next level of insanity in his life.

New York state senator Henry Knight was almost finished delivering his speech, to his left Max Lord was starting to get antsy, stepping back and forth from the line in anticipation of giving his own speech. It was starting to become more difficult to find a politician to put his reputation on the line for such an announcement, they had been very lucky to find Senator Knight.

Senator Knight finished talking and the crowd started to applaud. Maxwell Lord stepped forward, shook the Senator by the hand and smiled for a photo op, before taking to the podium himself. In the crowd, Senator Knight’s daughter applauded and beamed with enthusiasm. Mainly for the women standing to his right, it had been a common reaction which Ted had found – women thrilled for more positive role models in the hero community in light of accusations towards Wonder Woman and the subsequent investigation. Janet and Bea basked in the limelight as was to be expected, and even Tora enjoyed the more intimate moments when she’d meet with a young fan. Ted couldn’t help but feel pride over the fact he’d been able to help make all of this happen.

The investigation into the MSF Crisis in New York had brought some of his actions to light. They connected him to his message which had been sent out to all towers across New York City, his swift action which had diverted the signal to a single tower to help limit damage, and that he was behind the towers ultimately being shut down at the end. It took him some time to realise what was happening, but he began to discover that certain political elements were trying to publicly attribute as much positive action on that day to the very human Blue Beetle, whilst negative acts seemed to be deflected onto Wonder Woman, Captain America and metahuman elements on the day.

They had wheeled out the small girl whom he had helped save, and made a public spectacle of her. Very little was made of the words she had to say about the Spider-Man and the X-Men member known as Nightcrawler, substantially more was made of the fact that she was returned to her family in his Bug, by him personally. It had taken the Blue Beetle going to the media himself to mention the heroic endeavours of Nightcrawler and Spider-Man which were responsible for her safely getting to the Bug in the first place, but even then, networks often tried to twist the narrative in editorials.

It disgusted him. He was riding high on a wave of popularity, generated by those looking to use him as a blade to carve up a segment of the community that they didn’t like. It had only furthered his conviction for this. Steeled his resolve. Proved how necessary this idea really was.

“—which is why, in light of recent events, Super Buddies Inc are proud to bring you ‘The Embassy’ and can finally announce that we are OPEN FOR BUSINESS!”

Maxwell Lord used a large novelty pair of scissors to cut a large red ribbon in front of the gate. The other 6 didn’t miss their cue and stepped forward to wave to the crowd.

“So, would you lovely ladies like me to show you around the compound?” Max asked.

“Ted already showed us around earlier in the week, once construction was completed.” Tora replied.

“Let me put it this way… Would you lovely ladies like me to show you around the compound and make realistic surprised reaction-shots, whilst this camera crew from MTV’s Cribs follows us around?”

Bea and Janet rushed forward in front of Tora and peeled off two or three different surprised or stunned expressions.

“Yes! …Yes! …mmm—maybe next time.” Max Lord said, pointing from Janet, to Bea and finally wincing before turning down Tora who had made no effort to pose.

The three rushed forward with the camera crew as the gates opened. Ted turned and watched the man in red pick up a small girl onto his shoulders. Hank awkwardly turned and walked towards the gates, Ted threw an arm around his friend – he was clearly struggling with the very public nature of all of this – and took Tora by the hand as they stepped through to their new lives.




T H E A B O D E O F T E D K O R D

Months Ago, Just After the Conclusion of the Crisis | Boston, Massachusetts

Ted staggered around his Boston home, picking up comics and action figures, the detritus of an obsolete metamorphosis. The Beetle was dead, it’s limbs in the telltale death throes within its shell.

He’d shot him. Right in front of the world.

And Ted had seen an angle the cameras and reporters hadn’t.

Just before the shot heard around the world he saw murder in the Princess’ eyes.

As bad as Captain America’s action was, he could see it for what it was. Saving their kind from a worse fate.

A sacrifice play of its own kind. But that couldn’t justify the act, surely? That-- That wasn’t what they were. All they could be.

He dumped the books, the toys; the paper, the plastic into a cardboard box. He kicked the box around his house, filling it with the dreams of a naïve little boy. The kid who didn’t understand how the world worked.

The box was getting heavy with hopes, too heavy to toe-poke around carpeted floor anymore. Now he had to lug it. He carried it to his lounge room, next to his TV. He quickly flicked an assortment of superhero DVDs in the box, picking them out expertly, as only one who spends far too much time perfectly organizing his collection can. Then he moved on to the mantle. The two perspex display boxes.

A model car, and a perfectly azure Egyptian artefact.

The two scarabs left to him by his uncle.




T H E K O R D R E S I D E N C E

Years Earlier, Christmas Day | Boston, Massachusetts

It was a white Christmas in Boston, which was rarer than you might think. The Kord boys were preparing for a visit from Ted’s favourite uncle. Dan Garrett.

TV and movie superstar Dan Garrett. Jet-setting archaeologist Dan Garrett. Professor and former police officer Dan Garrett.

Basically, the coolest guy in the world.

“Ted! Get the table set! I can’t get everything done myself!”

Ted had zoned out in front of the TV, he was watching an old episode of the Blue Beetle Power Hour. The tape had been played so often static formed on the edges of the television when he played it.

“Ted! Earth to Ted!” Ted snapped back to reality. “Come on, Ted, shut that off. David’s coming too, you know how he got when you played that last time he came down…”

“Oh. OK. Why’d he get like that last time?” The young boy asked, picking up the remote.

“I don’t know. But that’s exactly the kind of question you’re not going to ask when he comes over. They’re family, we’re having Christmas, and we’re going to make sure everybody is welcome. Right?”

“Yes, Dad.” Ted said, waiting for the final Blue Beetle punch and miming a punch of his own, as the onomatopoeic cue card flashed across the screen, followed by the poor late 60’s “frozen” visual effects of cheap plastic wrapping. As the Blue Beetle’s sidekick, the brightly coloured Nature Boy, put the knocked out goons on ice. Ted stopped the tape and turned off the TV. He walked to the kitchen and picked up the plates to set up the dinner table just as the doorbell rang.

His father answered the door, whilst Ted quickly hurried to set the table.

“Hello Dan, and Merry Christmas, David!” He heard his father greet them at the door.

“Uncle Dan!”

Heeeeey Sparky! How’ve you been, Ted? He picked the younger Kord up after he reached out for his uncle once he’d come running.

“Great! School’s out, I’ve been working on a go-cart, but it’s been too cold out to test. Oh, and a potato gun that can fire right over the house!” Once Ted was put down he used hand gestures to mime the projectile flying past overhead.

Blood runs down a metal confined face. Reporters gasp.

“Which you will not be using again!” Said Thomas Kord. “After the neighbourhood came to an accord, and forgave Mr Nicholas’ window…”

“Which I will not be using again…” Ted said, dropping his head, before peeking up and giving a cheeky smirk to his uncle.

Ah-huh… Said Dan, not believing for a second that it would be the last he heard about the potato gun.

“Ted, how about you go play with David?”

Ted masked his disappointment at not getting to keep talking with his uncle. He’d just put out a new movie, Karl LaFrey and the Plunderers of the Ark of the Covenant, which Ted had begged and scrounged enough money together to see 9 times at the cinema, including the two occasions he’d successfully managed to beg out of his father. It was considerably more successful than the tv series, had sequels planned and was even generating Academy Awards buzz. It had been Dan’s attempt to drag himself out of being seen as a typecast camp tv star, into an even more typecast tv and film star. Which is what tends to happen when you choose to play a character of the same name across both mediums. Ted had ample questions. “Where was Nature Boy?”, “Why no Bee-tle-si dance?”, “Where did the bright costumes go?” amongst others. But he knew David was sensitive about these things, particularly about asking the Nature Boy question, so Ted grabbed him by the hand and led him off to his room.

“Come on, David. Let’s go play!” Ted led the quiet young boy away.

“Egg nog?” Asked Thomas.

Please. Pass the brandy. Dan slumped into a recliner.

“That kind of a year, huh?”

Dan flashed his eyes as if to respond with “You don’t know the half of it.”

Running around shoots, playing to studio heads schedules, PR work, dragging the kid around whilst I’m doing it… I figured when I’d be producing my own movie I’d be able to set my own hours which work better for me, but the extra hours work counter all of that.

“You think it’s good for him? David, I mean.” Thomas asked, giving him a tall mug.

Dan took a long draw. I’m starting to wonder. I mean, first I thought, ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? Ted would love that kind of stuff.’ He can’t get enough of it. Great kid. But then, with some of how he was handling the show. I mean that’s why I didn’t push him into the movie stuff. It was too big an ask for him. But you’ve seen him. He’s sad all of the time. Morose. And I can’t get him to break out of that funk. Teacher’s say he can be moody sometimes. And then there’s the episodes…

Thomas nodded, slowly working on his own drink.

Still. It’ll be better this year. It’s one of my mandated gap-years. No shoots. I can trickle through PR work here and there. I’ve got a dig planned out south of Cairo this year. There’ll be more down time. I’m bringing his tutor and nanny, and the four of us are going to trek around Northern Africa on holiday for about a month and a half as well.

“So to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, then?” Thomas held out his mug, to clink, which Dan obliged and then checked the contents.

Oh… I’ve finished mine.

“It’s alright. There’s plenty more.” Thomas grabbed the empty mug and started walking to the kitchen, when they heard yelling and a brewing commotion coming from Ted’s room. The two adults rushed over.

Alright, alright, wot’s all this going on in here, then? The worldly Garrett asked, poking his head around the door and nailing a stereotypical British bobby accent.

“I don’t know. We were playing, and then he went up to some of my figures and started wigging out and breaking stuff!” Ted called back.

David was quiet, sullen, and had two figurines in balled up fists as he sat on the bed.

Ah Hell. Sorry Tom. I think we’d better be heading home…

“No!” Ted cried. “You barely got here!”

I’ll tell you what, Sparky. You can get your present early, just give me a moment to go get it.

Dan worked on gently trying to get David to respond, let go of the figures and get off of the bed. After a while he asked Thomas if he would have any better luck whilst he went and got Ted his present.

Sorry we’ve got to duck out so soon, Ted. But I had to see the look on your face when you cracked this open. He reached down and grabbed a box from under the tree, one handed but gently holding it longwise.

Ted looked at it, and then looked up at his uncle. The box was about handspan width and breadth, and just over a foot long in length. The wrapped box held boundless promise. It could have been anything.

Well? Go on, Sparky.

He tore at the paper, giving that boundless promise a singular form, as the box’s reality took shape.

“It’s… the Scarab! Oh man! Oh, this is awesome!”

I got told it’s a 1:20 replica of the real thing I drove around in. Dan smiled, seeing the joy in Ted’s eyes.

Crazy. We used to call these things ‘toy cars’, now it’s all ‘collectible replica models’. Now you have fun with that thing, yeah?

“Oh-ho, you bet!” Ted replied.

Dan tussled the shaggy bed of auburn hair on Ted’s head, which made him flinch and close his eyes, perfectly setting him up for the sleight of hand which came next. Dan brought his hand up behind the small child and dropped a fedora on the young boy’s head. He stepped back with a smile.

Ted felt the strange weight on his head, and the far too big hat dropped over his eyes. He took it off to reveal the obstruction and gasped.

Costuming had three. I asked and they let me have this one. Merry Christmas, Sparky. He said with a wink.

So did you see it?

Thomas started to walk young David Crandall back through this house, having started to settle.

“Did I see it? I saw it nin-- Ted stopped as he saw his father. “I saw it two or three times. You know, a sensible number of times.”

Ah-huh… Dan replied, knowing full well what that really meant. And what did you think?

“What did I think?” Ted had a hundred questions, but seeing his cousin David and his state, made the young boy censor himself for a question he felt would be somewhat appropriate to ask. “I thought it was great! I did have one question though…”

Shoot, kiddo. What did you want to know?

The sound of a single shot. Blood runs down a metal confined face. Reporters gasp.

“You know that scene, where Karl was running from all those guys in Tunisia, and that one guy with the sword came out, and he was waving his sword all around, showing off like, and then Karl just pulled out a gun and shot him. Why’d he do that? Karl was never shooting people in the tv series.”

Ah! Dan said, taking a knee to get himself closer to Ted’s height. That came about because the studio heads wanted to make sure the movie audience knew ‘This was not your father’s Karl LaFrey’. That he wasn’t going to behave exactly the same as the Blue Beetle in the TV series. It’s the same reason they use his given name instead of Blue Beetle in the title.

“But I love the tv series!”

I know you do, kiddo. But the studio heads felt they had to make a statement early in the series. They mandated it. Good news is though, writers can do just about anything now though, with the success of the first one. Maybe one day you can write us a way to take down the bad guys without killing them. He winked as he got back to his feet and was about tl leave. Ted waved.

He looked up.




T H E A B O D E O F T E D K O R D

Back to Only a Few Months Ago, Just After the Conclusion of the Crisis | Boston, Massachusetts

Ted looked up from the car and the blue artefact. Two scarabs of a Beetle past.

He put them back on the mantle. Tears had been streaming down his face.

As he snapped back to reality he could hear the television was on. He looked down to his hip. He drew his B.B. gun.

The television was playing earlier footage from Wonder Woman’s hearing at Washington D.C. Minutes before she’d dropped everything to engage the Crisis.

"The real purpose of this committee is to control heroes and metahumans. Your country's attempts on the previous generations have failed. Now, they have decided to set up this committee to make all of you find the answer. However, this generation of heroes is unlike any that I have ever seen. I've read the writing on the wall. They'll resist your country's attempts at controlling their lives. They'll band together and show the entire world that their powers are meant to protect and defend. Instead of giving in to your hatred, this new generation will only become stronger."

Diana turned around and looked at the people, some of them had their phones out to film her. "I know that I haven't been a perfect role model for them or the whole world. And I have disappointed many of them recently. That's how I know the heroes of today and tomorrow will make me proud. They'll be better than me. They'll become everything the heroes of the past stood for. Now, I have a city to save."

Be better. Be more.

The writers can do just about anything. Maybe one day... take down the bad guys without killing them.

He looked down at his B.B gun. He’d done it. He’d found a way to make a difference without ever needing to kill.

And then when he lost it, he was able to do it again with nothing but a circuit board, a soldering iron, a hotel hairdryer and a shitload of caulk.

Tears dried on his cheeks within the cowl. He sniffed deeply.

“Ah shit… what the Hell am I even doing here?” He chuckled at himself over how ridiculous this all was.

He’d found a way to better the world and he was going to drop everything because the people before him had made mistakes?

No. We’ve got a new Blue Beetle and the writing’s fixed.

Using his glove he remote-started the engines to the Bug. Within fifteen minutes he was amongst the relief effort digging through the debris of the Empire State Building.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Mao Mao
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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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Lancaster, Ohio
Present Day

5.02 // Cruel World
𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

Today, the United States of America was the first nation in the world to denaturalize and bar a superpowered individual. Wonder Woman was given only twelve hours to present herself to properly be escorted. It was all bullshit. She knew that no piece of paper was going to prevent her from saving lives. Yet, she didn't want to give them any more reasons to throw the book. So, she decided to obey their wishes and meet them at the location; however, she needed to take care of a few things. The first thing she did was giving her house to Rachel Keast. Then, Wonder Woman officially announced that she was taking a temporary leave for her organization, World Veterans Federation, and putting Alana Dominguez in charge.

And finally, she paid a visit to Colonel Steve Trevor at the apple tree. He wanted to be buried in front of that tree because his father planted it after buying the land. Of course, Diana went through complications to ensure his wish was secured. She arrived at the site with some roses from the garden and her iconic sword. There was a moment of silence before she was able to speak.

"This will be the last time that I will see you for a while. I only have fifteen minutes left before the government officially has reason to arrest me. I am forever barred from this country... but I won't follow with it. I have to take a stand for people that I have disappointed... and for the souls that I have taken. I need to atone for the things I have done. To take a stand for all heroes before its too late." Diana placed the roses on the grave and faintly smiled. "I want you to feel proud of me again."

She walked towards Trevor's tombstone and planted it to the ground hard enough to stand on its own. Then, Diana grabbed a few rocks and placed them around the sharp blade. "I need to leave it behind. It has been tarnished by death and brutality. I will only pull it out of the ground if there was a threat more powerful than everything else. Until that day comes, can you keep an eye on it for me? Please, my love."

Wonder Woman turned away from the grave and looked up at the clear sky. She knew what was awaiting her there. A massive crowd filled with unsatisfied protesters, calling her arrest. The avalanche of journalists and reporters asking questions despite the silence. After taking one last look at the grave, Wonder Woman took off and started making her way towards the destination. Towards the cruel world awaiting her arrival.




In other news, Empire Enterprises managed to buy the remaining Vistacorp assets with the bid of $600 million. Veronica Cale, CEO of Empire Enterprises, released a written statement about the merger. It said that Empire Enterprises has always "expressed interested in buying the remains of Vistacorp after the acquisition of WHIH News." It will mean that the multinational mass media company will have their hands in security. The statement highlights the company's expansion into security systems as "an exciting opportunity to have their hands on the security market to protect everyone from threats beyond our control." According to several...

Meanwhile, "Wonder Woman: Untold Stories of The First Superhero" remains the New York Time's Best Seller for the third week in a role. Emmett Mueller, the author, has posted on Twitter that he has started working on a book based on Captain America. It will be similar to the Wonder Woman biography, which he will highlight Steven Roger's controversies during the war and the execution of Stryfe. Critics and readers alike have said that...


Edwards Air Force Base, United States

Nearly everyone in the base was watching the live footage of Wonder Woman leaving the country. Some of them celebrated her departure while others remained silent and kept watching the screen. Then, there was General Wade Eiling sitting in his office and working on a report. Nearby, the radio was playing the news describing the crowd's atmosphere. Eiling cracked a smile when he heard the official confirmation that Wonder Woman wasn't an American citizen anymore. Suddenly, the phone rang out loud enough to catch him off guard. The General took a moment to collect himself and then answered the call.

"Hello, how can I-"

"General, it's time." a familiar voice interrupted Eiling. "Operation Achilles has been given the green light. Notify him and give him the folder. We'll talk about it at our next meeting."

Before he could respond, the caller on the other end hung up. Eiling opened up a locked drawer with his key and grabbed the folder of documents. He was surprised that it had finally been approved. Then again, it might have something to do with Wonder Woman destroying an American symbol and killing thousands of innocents. He got up from his seat and head towards the gym. It was the only place where the General ever saw him spend his days since arriving at Edwards. Except for sleeping and eating, he was always seen working out or flying around. Even today of all days, he was spotted at the gym once more.

General Eiling entered the room and saw him lifting weights with both of his hands. Captain Atom, the World War II veteran and former leader of the defunct Justice Society of America, was finishing up when he saw Eiling watching him. The soldier immediately placed the weights down and saluted at the General as quickly as possible.

"At ease, son." Eiling dismissed the sault and sat down on the bench with the folder on hand. "Do you know what I have on my hand?"

"No, sir."

"This is our solution to neutralizing the world's biggest threat before she could strike: Operation Achilles." Eiling said with confidence as he showed Atom the folder. "Before you take this folder, I have to make sure that you're committed to accomplishing the mission—no matter the cost and risk—for this great nation."

"I'm committed to my nation and American interest. No matter the risk and cost."

"Even if that means you might be given orders to kill Wonder Woman."

"Yes." Captain Atom answered without hesitation.

Eiling nodded and then handed over the folder. "Then, you are officially part of Operation Achilles. Welcome aboard, Captain Atom."


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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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"Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.”


Location: Newtown - Miagani Island, Gotham City
One Night to Kill the Bat #2.01: Two Pair

Interaction(s): None
Previously: Prologue

"Terry!" The voice persisted, invading every square inch of Terry’s skull. Each time it spoke his name, the voice increased in urgency and volume.

“Terry!”

Only that wasn’t Dana’s voice. Dana had broken up with Terry almost two months ago. It wasn’t anything unusual for the pair to go on a break. The couple had been in a hot and cold relationship for nearly seven years now, but Terry had always thought they’d end up together in the end.

At least until he became Batman.

The cowl had put a severe strain on their relationship. The last straw had been Terry’s apparent lack of support for Chelsea after the latter had been discharged from Elliot Memorial. A victim of the deranged doctor known to the media as the Mad Hatter. Chelsea’s body had been operated on against her will, and it had nearly killed her. With her father dead, her mother working all hours of the day and a boyfriend who was unable to comprehend the damage the Hatter had done, Chelsea was left virtually alone. Thus, Dana had opted to try and fill in and had expected Terry to follow suit.

Obviously, he had not.

“Terry! Wake up!”

A pair of hands shook Terry’s shoulders. The insistent voice belonged to Terry’s current girlfriend, Melanie Walker. The couple had what some might describe as a torrid past. Their circumstances had never aligned, and when they had both had responsibilities pull them apart. But Terry had to admit, the last six weeks had been the best of his life.

Shooting up from the bed, Terry caught Melanie off guard. She scurried backwards while Terry came to rest. His heart still pounding from the nightmare version of Dana. A cold sweat covered his face and back. Sinking his head into his hands, Terry sat in silence for several moments, cradling his face between his palms before he began to move. Gingerly at first, then Terry began to gently massage the sides of his head. Slowly, he dragged his hands down his face before finally lifting his head up to look at Melanie.

“That must have been some nightmare,” She teased. Her humoured tone masked the genuine concern behind her words. “Even I didn’t even make you sweat that bad last night.”

Terry scoffed. Still, the line had elicited a smirk from him.

Taking a deep breath, Terry leaned back and laid back down against his pillow. Melanie quickly followed suit. Wrapping herself around him, she placed a leg atop Terry’s left thigh before lowering her head onto his chest. Welcoming the intimacy, Terry responded by wrapping his arm around Melanie. Steadying his breathing, Terry closed his eyes while his hand slowly began to trace the small of Melanie’s arched back.

Looking down at the mass of blonde hair that was currently moving slowly up and down with each breath he took, Terry couldn’t help but wonder how he could have been so lucky. Melanie rolled her neck back, turning her icy blue eyes to look up at Terry. A smile crossed her face that almost implied she knew he had been watching.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, her own hand running up and down Terry’s bare chest. He let out a heavy sigh before responding.

“Today marks five years since my dad died,” Terry stared blankly towards the ceiling before continuing. “I still remember that night, clear as the moment it happened. I never got to say goodbye. Never told him that I loved him or that I was proud of him. My last moments with my dad were a fight.” He paused again. The image of everyone he cared about dead was seared into his mind’s eye.

“In the last moments I saw my dad alive, I abandoned him.” Terry stated, “All to go to a stupid club.”

“How did he die?”

The question weighed heavily on Terry. He knew what the official answer was. The answer his mother and brother had to live with. The Jokerz forced their way in, a robbery gone wrong the report had said. Terry had later found a flash drive hidden among his father’s possessions. The flash drive contained evidence that incriminated his father’s employer, Derek Powers of authorizing the creation of bioweapons and soliciting black market buyers. This was what had gotten Warren McGinnis killed. Not the Jokerz, not a home invasion.

“Jokerz,” Terry answered. “Home invasion gone wrong.” The lie was perfectly rehearsed.

“Shit,” Melanie replied. “Do you think if you had been home he’d still be alive?”

The question gave Terry pause. Dana had never asked him that.

That’s not fair. You can’t keep comparing her to Dana.

Terry shook his head. It wasn’t an honest answer. Had the Jokerz actually been responsible, he knew full well that he could have kept his father alive. But Powers’ fixer was a different story. Terry had only been able to best the man thanks to the advantages provided by the Batsuit he ‘borrowed’ from Mister Wayne in his quest for vengeance.

“He lives on in you y’know,” Melanie replied as she turned over to her stomach. Her hand cradled Terry’s chin, making the young man’s eyes meet her own. “You might have been mad at each other in that moment, but he knows you love him, and I can guarantee he never stopped loving you.”

Terry managed a weak smile.

“You’re going to be a doctor, Terry.” Melanie continued, “Think of all the lives you’re going to touch. Think how much more suffering there could have been if you had been home that night.”

She had no idea the truth to her words. Had Terry died that night, Powers could have succeeded and spread terror across a good portion of the known world.

“I’m not saying your father’s death is a good thing, I’m not even trying to say it was fate, but life does have a funny way of making sure we’re exactly where we need to be.”

“I didn’t know you were such a philosopher.” Terry teased looking towards the digital clock beside his bed. “Especially before nine in the morning.”

“You move around as much as I have, books become your only friends.” Melanie replied. Though she was smiling, there was a certain sadness behind her eyes. Terry understood that, though. Melanie had moved around her entire life. It was a casualty of her parents being leading members of the Royal Flush Gang. An international group of aristocratic thieves. Due to her family’s chosen profession, Melanie; like Terry, had also done time in juvenile detention. Except, Terry had put her there.

Batman had apprehended Melanie along with the rest of her family.

“You know books right, bound pieces of paper you read to learn things.” Melanie added, snapping her fingers to bring Terry out of his thoughts. “Earth to Terry! Thought I had you woken up already.”

“I’m still a little sleepy,” Terry smiled mischievously.

“Is that so?” Melanie replied. Placing her hands on Terry’s chest, she swung her hips over his pelvis. “I think I can help with that.” She whispered in Terry’s ear, pressing her lips to his neck.

An unexpected knock on the bedroom door caused the pair to freeze. A second knock quickly followed as the voice of Terry’s mother could be heard from the other side.

“Terry?” Mary asked, “Are you awake?” When Terry didn’t answer immediately, Mary knocked a third. A little louder, a little harder this time. Apparently, the door wasn’t closed properly because it swung open revealing Melanie on top of Terry.

“I’ve got breakfast wait-” Seeing the two young adults, Mary froze. Swiftly turning on her heels, she muttered a quick apology.

“I-I-I didn’t know you had a guest.” A hand covered her eyes. “Breakfast is waiting downstairs when you’re dressed.” Mary’s voice called from down the hallway while her footsteps retreated towards the stairs. Melanie let out a snort. She looked towards Terry before suddenly thrusting her hips, resuming from where they had been interrupted.

“Seriously?” Terry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“With me, Terry,” Melanie smiled seductively. Running a hand through her hair, Melanie tucked it behind her ear before leaning down and whispering to Terry. “It’s always been now or never.”


Location: The Batcave - Wayne Estate, Bristol County
PLACEHOLDER


Ace lay curled up beside Bruce’s feet. The large dog was perfectly content to remain beside its owner while the older man’s hands flew across the keys of the large workstation before him. Roman Sionis was shuffling his accounts around again, trying to hide a large sum of money. A hundred and fifty million had been emptied from the Wayne/Sionis accounts. Sionis had tried to cover it up. He had disguised the transfers as grants, bonuses and scholarships. It might fool accounting, though it was far more likely accounting was in his pocket, but it wouldn’t fool Bruce Wayne.

Sionis had never been the generous type, and he had never been good with money. In all the years since Roman’s father, Richard Sionis, had performed the merger with Wayne Enterprises, the Sionis family had never just handed out money. Bruce didn’t have to look hard to at his ailing company’s financial records to see that no employee had received a bonus in twenty years.

Except for Richard and Roman Sionis.

A sum of fifty thousand here, a cash-out of a million here. But one hundred and fifty million dollars. Standard operating costs for a crime lord in Gotham City. But one hundred and fifty million dollars? That was something special. Sionis was planning something, and Bruce was confident he knew what it was.

It wouldn’t be the first time a crime lord had placed a price on the Batman. The Falcones had tried it, the Malronis too. Harvey Dent had even put two on Bruce’s head while the Joker had attempted it during one of his more saner moments.

But for the sum of money that Sionis had used, it wasn’t just a hit. It was a spectacle.

Ace suddenly jumped to his feet. His ears alert, hackles raised. A low growl echoed through the cave, causing some of the bats to screech in protest due to having their slumber disturbed. Gripping his cane, Bruce turned his chair slowly. The aroma of bacon, eggs and hollandaise sauce slowly wafted towards the old man. But there was something else. Something familiar.

It was subtly tropical but distinctly exotic. Flora with hints of vanilla and notes of honey layered with sandalwood. Bruce Wayne had rubbed elbows with numerous women throughout the years, he knew an expensive perfume. But only one woman in his life who wore this scent. Only one could afford it.

“A detective’s work never ends it seems.”

“Talia.” Bruce replied warmly.

“Hello, Beloved.” The woman replied. She stepped out of the shadows, approaching towards Bruce bearing the tray of food he had smelled initially. “I thought we might share a meal.”

“Smells delicious.” Standing up from his chair, Bruce motioned back towards the elevator. “But perhaps we’d be more comfortable upstairs.”

“The cave will suffice, Beloved.” Talia motioned towards the small table off to the side. The table had been set up by Terry to eat at between patrols. “I come bearing news of your successor.”

“I’m already aware of the hit Sionis has placed on Terry,” Bruce responded while easing himself into a chair. Talia sat down across from him, shaking her head while she crossed her legs.

“I am not referring to your errand boy. I speak of your son.” Talia clarified, giving Bruce pause. “He is a man now. A man whose heart has turned cold from the neglect of his father.”

“You may have given Ibn al Xu'ffasch my face, but he was never my son.”

Talia inhaled sharply at Bruce’s words, pausing to choose her own carefully. “I didn’t come to argue semantics, Beloved. I came to warn you. Ibn al Xu'ffasch is coming to claim what is his. Your errand boy won’t be enough to stop him.” Rising from her chair, Talia smiled at Bruce.

“Enjoy your meal, Beloved. I do hope it is not the last we share together.”

Placeholder
Next Issue: Full House
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Bounce
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Bounce

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

1013 Parkthorne Avenue
One thing that Dick had tried to avoid was delving into the morality of everything that the Batman had taught him as a boy. The classic moral imperative, can one uphold the rule of law if he does not hold himself to the law? It was a philosophical no man’s land that didn’t lead to any pleasant thoughts or memories.

Dwell on it too much, a man could easily become just as cynical and brooding as Bruce.

Like a good novelist, Dick was carefully crafting a narrative to support the identity of the character that he was creating. Like a detective, he was doing his research in order to make that story plausible. The character had to be identifiable. Personable. Relatable.

With a surgeon’s skill, he was stitching together the pieces. A trained eye contemplating all the ways in which the deception he was engaged in would need to stand up to scrutiny. Falsified public records were about attention to the details.

He had the Center for Missing and Exploited Children database up, running cross-comparisons with data in the New Jersey state records. Extracting names and details, almost like a fisherman casting a line out from the shore. Dick wasn’t certain just what he was looking to bite, but he figured that he’d know it when he saw it.

That was when he stumbled across Jackson Todd.

If there was a dead end in life, this kid seemed to have found it. His father was dead in a gang-related shooting in Chicago. His mother was serving two twenty year sentences related to robbery and drug-related charges, neither of which had been a first offense. He’d been in the custody of a grandmother, but she’d lost custody of him to the state CPS and the boy had run out from the foster home system multiple times. He’d racked up a slew of arrests by the time he was 12 years old, done time in both the New Jersey Training School and the state Juvenile Medium Security Facility, before getting paroled to a transition program that had attempted to place him back in a foster home.

He’d run off. This time, when the state caught up with him, he was dead. They’d found him along the train tracks. Possible suicide. Possible accident.

It was tragic, but it was also an opportunity. An identity that no one would be looking for. A means by which to craft a persona for Toyboy, with the theatrical byline that read based on the true story.

He kept the part about the time at the New Jersey Juvenile Medium Security Facility. That and the arrests in connection with a chop shop gang would give this identity some color. The father’s death in gang related activities dovetailed nicely with that narrative. But a mother in jail would be problematic for someone backtracking the origins of the problem foster child that Dick was carving out. Instead of being the child of Catherine Todd of New Jersey’s Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women, he would be the son of Shelia Haywood. An opioid addict who had died of an accidental fentanyl overdose.

Carefully, Dick duplicated the Jackson Todd file. The record of Jackson’s time at the Juvenile Medium Security Facility was expunged, keeping instead only the portion at the New Jersey Training School. When he had finished, the man looked at the copy file that he had manipulated using the data from the Medium Security Facility.

Jackson would have been one of the younger inmates, so it was possible that some of the staff might recall a kid named Todd. He’d need a similar name...

In his mind, Dick was running a list as his fingers drummed on the keyboard. James? Jacob? Joshua? Joseph?

Joseph Todd?

No, it would need to be close to Jack. Not Joseph. Jace? Jason. Plying his fingers to the keyboard, Dick at last deleted the name at the top of the file. In it’s place, he wrote JASON TODD.

Well, that was Toyboy’s juvenile arrest and foster care record for the state of New Jersey. Now, Dick just needed some fake insurance, birth, and school records. But, the hard part was behind him now.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of origin story that made people stand up and shout, God bless America -- momma was a crack whore and daddy was a gang banger -- but as far as the state of New Jersey was concerned, Jason Todd was a real, living human being. And that meant it was a chance for Toyboy to have some semblance of a life that he could call his own.

Not that there was really a lot of choice. Dick worked with cops. If he had to guess, there were at least three members of his department digging through public records trying to figure out what kid that he’d adopted.

He wondered what Chambers reaction would be when she read the file, but he figured that she’d make her feelings on the matter known. Probably sooner rather than later.

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

Compared to the last time that he’d seen him, Toyboy was looking intact.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be about as much as Dick could say on the matter. “He’s unpacking the software package,” Sarah Charles commented, as the man knelt down to inspect the doll’s face. The glassy eyes of the automaton stared vacantly ahead, as though utterly oblivious to Dick’s presence. “The operating system is in place, but his processor capacity is being consumed by the software suite installation.”

Straightening back up, Dick turned to glance back at the woman. “How long’s that going to take?”

Sarah just gave a shrug. “Take him home. Put him to bed. When you wake up, he should be fully functional again.”

With a heavy sigh, Dick held out both hands to steady the doll, guiding him from off the edge of the table. The automaton started to crumple to the ground and Dick found that he had to scramble to keep Toyboy upright. Pain shot up Dick’s back, as he bent to hoist the doll up and set him back on his feet.

Pointing Toyboy toward the door, Dick was a moment too late to stop the doll from walking into the doorframe instead.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man
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Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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December 22nd, 1946
Western District Station
11:38 PM

The fat pervert spat blood. Slam sapped him across the face with a blackjack. Slam had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up past the elbow. The interrogation room sweltered even at Christmastime. Fatty handcuffed to the bolted down chair weeped. He screamed. Two-Gun Jack Grogan sat in the far corner and peeled an orange with a switchblade.

Grogan said, "Chester York. You're a disgusting pervert."

Slam worked the fat man's ribs with the blackjack. He squealed like a pig. Grogan haw-hawed and bit into an orange slice. Slam's arms felt numb. Sweat stung his face. Going on twelve hours since they started their perv hunt. GCPD wanted the Snapshot Killer found post haste regardless of innocence. Pin it on a major creep, preferably one far enough off the deep end to not protest.

Grogan popped another orange slice and sang, "Chester, Chester, the child molester. You know, I ain't never met a boy named Chester who wasn't some kind of fiend. But you, son, you take the cake. All them women you killed, and for what exactly? Did it get you off?"

York spat teeth. "I didn't kill nobody! I like kids! Grown women it ain't my thing! Killing ain't my thing!"

Grogan touched the tip of his stetson. It meant GO HARD. Slam backhanded York with the sap. Slam worked arms and legs with the sap. York screamed loud. Bones snapped over the yells.

Fatty York gasped for air. He coughed up blood and teeth and said, "I'll... do whatever you tell me, I'll say what... whatever you want. Just stop hitting me."

SLam stepped back. Grogan spat pulp on the floor and smiled.

"Excellent. We're gonna get the DA in here and you're gonna confess. Now, let Detective Bradley coach you on exactly what to say."

*****​


Gotham Central
12:19 AM

Max swigged booze from a coffee cup and got back to work. Max, Fields, and Corrigan were a three man cold case squad. They were sequestered in Max and Field’s Homicide cubicles. Stacks and stacks of old sex crimes on the desk. Fields thumbed through it with Corrigan's help. Max had a list of perp sheets in front of him, searching for known criminals who were white men with dark hair who owned a white sedan.

Fields sucked on a cigar and blew smoke. "This sex offender shit is strictly from hunger, Max. If our guy was a rape-o or a pervert, why didn't he poke any of the girls?"

Charlie's bitching struck a nerve. Max rode a brainwave. The search for a diddler or panty-sniffer played wrong. HIS guy was a voyeur. He was passive up until the point of the killings. He was a peeper.

Fields sighed and said, "To hell with this. I know this is important, but I need a goddamn break. Anybody want some sandwiches?"

Charlie took orders and headed out to the deli across the street. Max looked at Corrigan. He kept working the case files. His shoulders sagged and his fingers twitched. Max knew the look. Corrigan was coming down hard. He'd need a fix sooner rather than later. Max turned back to the files. H rode his brainwave to the files, narrowed his search for white, dark haired men who owned white sedans AND who had some kind of peeping rap sheet.

Thirty minutes later he hit paydirt. Durfee, Chris NMI. DOB: 3/10/24. White male, black hair and brown eyes. He got popped with peeping tom beefs in '39, '41, '43, two in late '45. The last string of offenses sent him to prison for six months. His release date sent skin prickles down Max's spine: 8/21/46. Three weeks before the first Snapshot Killer victim.

Max stood up. His legs wobbled. He held on to the desk to right himself. He looked over at Corrigan. "I think I've found our guy. We need to go, right now."

Corrigan looked around. "What about Fields? What about backup?"

Max could feel the case's solving on his fingertips. Eight murders solved. His glory case drew nigh. His reputation cemented.

"Not enough time, let's go!"

---

Western Gotham City
1:10 AM

Max pulled the unmarked up to the curb. Snow fell in flurries across the street. Durfee's listed address: A flophouse that was easy driving distance to all of the murders. It coalesced into theory. It gave Max goosebumps. He popped the trunk. Corrigan got out. Max got out and opened the trunk. A pump shotgun sitting in the back. He picked it up and racked a round into the chamber.

Max said, "Cover the back while I go in the front."

Corrigan scampered towards the flop's rear entrance. Max's feet crunched on snow as he went to the front door. Christmastime in Gotham. Snow flurries flecked his hair. Red, numbing hands on cold gunmetal. His ambition coalesced with absolute justice, opportunity sprung forth. Bold dreams required bold action. Eight women were dead. Heinous crimes required swift resolution.

Max said a Hail Mary and kicked the door in. There's Durfee, on a tattered couch in soiled tighty whities. Max tried to say 'Police' and 'You're under arrest.' Nothing came out. THERE: Durfee moves for something. Max squeezes the trigger on the shotgun. It kicked back. Durfee's chest caved in. Max screamed and fired again. A second shot blew his face off. Durfee flopped backwards on the floor twitching.

He dropped the shotgun. Blood spatter on his glasses. He shuffled to Durfee. Saw he was going for a marijuana cigarette on the table. Max let out a dry sob. He stepped over Durfee's body. He stumbled into the kitchen. He upended the table. A box flopped on to its side. Pictures spilled out. Shots of all eight women killed by the Snapshot Killer. Max's ears rang. Meaty hands on his shoulder. Corrigan's. He heard the sirens. Cops on the scene. They gawked. They cheered and gave Max pats on the back.

One of them said, "It's down. The whole goddamn case is down.

One of them laughed and said, "Eckhardt, who would have thought?"

Someone said, "Shotgun Max."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Mao Mao
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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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Chicago, Illinois
Present Day

1.00 // A Favor
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗥

"I'm sorry, but he died on the way."

That was what the doctor told James Pierce after his surgery. The news left him feeling numb. He had thought that he was going to break down and start crying loudly. Just like in those sappy movies that Cole always watched. Then again, Pierce wasn't normal, unlike his lover. Cole never deserved to be gunned down in broad daylight. He worked hard to achieve a bachelor's degree in English while working. And his friends and family loved and cared about him. In fact, his entire family was at the hospital, grief-stricken over the news. Yet, they still took their time to visit Pierce.

He felt like he didn't deserve vistiors.

Only forty-eight hours since he woke up that the authorities planned on releasing footage of the shooting. Pierce was glued to the small screen waiting for something significant to be revealed. After a lengthy press conference, the footage was shown briefly of Pierce and Cole walking together in the downtown area. He remembered how Cole was so excited to be outside. Then, the murder appeared behind them with a pistol hidden behind him. That was when the fucker's face was shown. Just before he fired several shots at them. Before he killed... Without thinking, Pierce grabbed his phone and took a picture of that scumbag.

Then, he got out of the hospital and started getting undressed. Both the doctor and nurses protested the decision, but nobody was going to prevent him from leaving. Pierce left the hospital without trouble and immediately dialed a number.

<"Hey, I need a favor.">

<"Pierce? Is that you?">

<"Yes, it's me. Look, I need you to look up someone from me. Can you do that?">

<"I thought you were getting married to that fellow down south?">

<"I'm not in the mood, David. I will send you a picture of someone. And you will search for everything about him, got it?">

<"Sounds serious. Let me see how you're doing over there. I heard-">

<"David.">

<"-it's a great place to start a family. I mean, it was rated number-">

<"... David?">

<"I didn't know... I'm sorry, James. I.. I will get on it now.">

<"Thanks.">

The call ended in silence for both of them. David was a good person, but he didn't know when to shut up and listen. On the bright side, it meant that he was going to get his info quicker than usual. But, he had to wait back at home. Pierce spent fifteen minutes walking home alone with his thoughts. Of course, he was trying to make sense of Cole's death. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be you, Cole? I should have died instead. Nobody would have missed me. Hell, my family never cared. But I will be there for your family, and I will kill your murder. That's a promise.

After walking for an extra few minutes, Pierce looked up and saw the home that Cole wanted to live in. It cost a fortune, but it was worth every cent. A front yard with the white picket fence and the perfect backyard for birthday parties and BBQs during holidays. Better than a cramped apartment. Now, it was a haunting reminder of the future that Pierce will never have. He unlocked the front door and slowly entered the house. The quietness felt out of place. Cole never was the one to enjoy the calm, always planning some kind of party or gathering. And he was good at it.

Pierce sat down on the couch and pulled out his phone. The lock screen was a photo of him and Cole at a friend's dinner party. He already missed him. Once the phone was unlocked, Pierce checked on new messages for friends that were filled with heartfelt condolences. He tried to read every single one of them. But then, David called. Pierce knew that he had found something on the killer and answered without hesitation. He heard some laughter coming from David. Next, he announced much needed good news.

<"Found the fucker.">


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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Bork Lazer
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Bork Lazer Chomping Time

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STATIC: CRISIS EPILOGUE





An earth-shattering boom rouses him from his dream. Storms are like monsters under the bed. A moment later, rainfall ruins his hopes of trying to sleep again. A yawning Virgil slowly crawls out of his bed. It's dark but navigating the corners of his house is second nature to him. He climbs down the stairs, one step at a time, stomach growling for a bowl of cereal.

By the time he makes it down to the living room, he notices that the front door is open. For a moment, he thinks a thief has broken into their house. He snorts at the thought. A thief tried to break into Black Lightning’s house. The silhouette of a person is standing in the doorway, looking out towards the streets with drenched gutters of rainwater. His dad freezes, caught like a deer in headlights. Worry begins to worm and nestle inside Virgil’s gut. It's not because he’s carrying an overstuffed suitcase, bursting at the seams. It's not the fact that his right cheek is stamped with a red mark that looks suspiciously like a hand.

It's the fact that his dad, the Black Lightning, is scared that makes Virgil so nervous.

Black Lightning shouldn’t be scared. What could a superhero be afraid of anyway?

His face is a muddled mess of anger, sadness and regret. He flinches away from Virgil's confused face and says two words that stick with him forever.

“ I- I’m sorry.”

For what? He doesn’t have the chance to reply back as his dad disappears in a blinding flash of light, leaving him with only the pitter-patter of raindrops for company.

His mom came down a minute later, something strange on her face. Virgil hugs her because that's the only thing he knows how to do. Something wet drops onto his pajamas.

It must be the rain.





Warmth.

Lights overhead.

Where was he?

No, he's not in Dakota City, nor is he five years old anymore. His mind scrambles to remember where he currently is right now. New York. The tower. He blew it up. It’s hard to make out the surrounding details. He tries to move his right leg...and it doesn’t want to budge. Left leg….no luck. Negotiating with his right arm resulted in a spike of pain that makes him shout a few curse words out loud that would have earned him an ear-pinching from his father.

He hears the sounds of graphite snapping against something hard. He looks up and sees an adult woman in white garb, black circles around her shocked eyes. She waves and motions towards someone out of sight. Moments later, a bespectacled sandy-haired man wearing a coat comes into view. He makes out a badge that reads ‘ CAMPBELL’. It’s seeing the stethoscope around his neck that makes Virgil realises that he’s in a hospital.

“ Easy there. You’ve been out for at least several hours and your body’s still recovering.’ The person begins pulling out instruments, poking and prodding at him.

“ Am...am I dead?” His throat feels like waxy sandpaper, gargling out each syllable in a pained grimace.

“ If that’s your first question after waking up, then, I’d be more worried about your choice in career, son.” The doctor replies testily to his question as he flashes a light in front of Virgil’s eyes like an annoying fly. The hazy fog of fatigue disappears over time throughout the impromptu examination. Craning his neck slowly from side to side, he can make out the disinfected white walls of a hospital building, with droves of patients flooding in from all over the city. Doctors and nurses rush to and fro, ushering new arrivals down towards operation rooms and medical bays.

“ W-” His dry throat makes it hard for him to enunciate properly. The doctor offers a paper cup of water in his hand. He takes it and sips it slowly. “ W-where am I?”

“ Columbia Hospital. One of our emergency team found you unconscious on Staten Island. You could imagine the shock we got when you still had a pulse. I’d be more worried about long-term symptomatic damage in your right arm. Third degree electrical burns aren’t exactly something that you can just brush off.”

The doctor stares pointedly towards Virgil’s right arm. He looks down and the sight is enough to make Virgil retch. The EKG on his right briefly fizzes and shakes in spastic seizures. Burned was an understatement to Virgil. Barbecued would be more appropriate. Blisters lined his cherry-red palms, scar-skin zig-zagging all the way up to his elbow like a demented tattoo. His fingerprints had been sanded away by high-voltage current into the texture of baby-skin. The feeling of numbness prickled in his nerves with every tug he forced into his fingers. It was less a question of how he survived and more why he wasn't lying in the morgue right now.

The only silver lining in this whole mess is that at least he didn’t break his right arm again. He notices a mess of papers stacked loosely on top of a tabletop beside him. There are multiple cards by his bedside. Hastily scrawled binder notes of one-word expressions of gratitude in ink. Pastel crayon doodles of him on the bridge. Get well cards. A box of chocolates (He’s allergic to hazelnut, but he doesn’t bother to tell the doctor).

He then looks back at the scene of chaos around him. It feels like a hollow victory.

“ Thank you. For everything." Virgil whispered " But, I just need some time alone to myself.”

" Of course."

Virgil lets his head rest on top of the pillow and lets out a sign of unbearable exhaustion that has been building up within him ever since the start of the attack.

How was he going to explain this to Dad?




It’s a Monday midnight by the time he arrives back at Dakota. His house is located in the outer boroughs of Hemingway. The sound of chirping crickets fill the air as he slowly opens the door and closes it. He hears the click of a light switch. His dad is sitting on his couch, eyes bloodshot and glaring at Virgil with as much anger he can muster.

" Sorry for not calling..." Virgil lifted up a broken phone from his pocket. " I think I still have warranty."

“ Never-mind that!" His dad stands up. " Young man, do you know how much you had me worried - “

He ambushes his dad with a silent hug that says more than a thousand excuses. A moment later, arms wrap around his shoulder in a fatherly embrace. He pushes his face into his chest and exhales slowly.

“ I need to tell you something, Dad.”

" We'll talk about it over on the dinner table." There's a gentle pat on his back. " Now, come on in. There's a plate of ricotta I've been saving for you in the fridge...."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by webboysurf
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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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I R O N M A N

Malibu, California - During Season 1's Crisis
Issue 1.01.01: Has he Lost his Mind?

Interaction(s): None
Previously: None


"I'll just be straight with you, Count... Xylophone? Xenomorph?"

Tony had a familiar smug grin as he leaned backwards on the couch, staring at the leader of the revolutionary government in Vlatava. He was savoring a glass of whiskey in the living room of his luxurious Malibu mansion, while his guest stiffened in his chair. "Zytle. Werner Zytle."

Tony rolled his eyes, waving his glass of whiskey as he continued. "Right, Zytle. Look, I'm a busy man, so let's keep this simple. I know someone is selling you Stark tech. And even if I'm not the CEO, you must be really dense if you thought I'm going to sit here while you use weapons that don't belong to you." Zytle did not appear to be amused or intimidated, and instead stared blankly as Tony took a sip of his whiskey before continuing. "So here's what we are going to do: You are going to tell me who is selling you and your rebels my tech, and I won't send Iron Man to kill you and your zealots."

Werner nodded his head, as if to weigh his options. He readjusted the ring on his left ring finger slightly, a smile forming on his lips. "I don't believe you understand the situation you are in, Mr. Stark. I came here to California because I knew you would want to speak with me and threaten me. Your arrogance, however... that will be your downfall."

Tony wasn't in a mood for threats. He set the glass down, smiling slightly as he opened his mouth. But as Tony tried to call out to JARVIS, he found he couldn't speak. And he found he couldn't move. Tony's eyes focused in on Werner, who was smiling as he continued twisting his ring. He moved from the chair to take a seat next to Stark, and whispered. "JARVIS, disable all security protocols."

Without a single moment of hesitation, Tony repeated him. "JARVIS, disable all security protocols." Werner smiled at this and stood up, walking out of view. Tony struggled, his heartbeat picking up as he found he had no control over his body or words. All he could do was sit there and listen to the door to his workshop open. After quite a bit of silence, the thunking of heavy footsteps could be heard coming from the downstairs workshop.

Tony watched in disbelief as Werner approached in the Mark Seven, with the helmut open and a smile on his face. The Mark Seven was by far the largest suit of armor, as it was built to be more of a strong tank than an agile weapon system. Werner smiled for a moment as he whispered something and the suit opened, allowing the revolutionary to step closer to Tony and chuckle. "I'm sorry that it needs to end this way, Tony. But I need to borrow this, and I can't have you hunting me down." Werner slowly unbuttoned Tony's shirt until his chest was exposed. Glowing in the center of his chest was an arc reactor, which the Count gripped on to and twisted. With a swift yank, the arc reactor was unplugged from the circuitry in Tony's chest. Werner gave a small nod as he placed it in his pocket and stepped back into the Mark Seven suit.

Tony didn't remember seeing Werner walk out of his house, or bash his way out of the front door. Tony's vision was practically all dark as breath didn't come easily. His chest was on fire, and he couldn't get enough breath to actually speak as he felt himself regain control over his body. Tony simply cradled his hands over the hole in his chest where the arc reactor used to be as he felt the small pieces of shrapnel in his chest moving with every attempt to breath. The last thing he heard was the sound of jets flying overhead and the rotors of a helicopter whirring nearby. Then, the world went dark.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by IceHeart
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IceHeart

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Location: Metropolis, United States - Normal Metropolis Day
Issue #2.01: Steps Toward the Future


About two months had passed since that day, quite a lot had changed. Kara found herself enrolled in Metropolis University with an emphasis on biology. Considering her own biology she found the topic quite intriguing with how life reacted and adapted to various circumstances. Now sure, everything she had at the ancient secret Kryptonian laboratory was way beyond anything Met-U had access to but starting from the ground up would probably be a lot more useful in the long run than just relying on whatever Kryptonian tech she had access too. Also, if she ever wanted to make herself something of note in the biology world she would need to rely on human technology as she was certainly not willing to give up her normal life as Kara Danvers.

School certainly ate into her supering hours but ever since the creation of the Department of Metahuman Affairs she had been trying not to appear too often, just in case. Sure the DMA hadn’t really gotten on her case much, but that was probably mostly due to the fact Metropolis seemed to love her and she had yet to cause any real extreme demolition. Ever since she had learned that Wonder Woman had been denaturalized from the United States, Kara couldn’t help but feel at least some rising pressure as Supergirl. Someone she had admired as a kid was now an enemy of the United States; it was a bitter pill to swallow.

But now was not the time to think about such things as today, she was just going to enjoy herself. Kara looked at a small, gold-colored wrist-watch to check the time. Sure she could just look at her phone, but a wrist-watch was just a lot classier. Fashion did make one pay a bit more but it was totally worth it.

Glancing up from her watch she noticed the person she was meeting coming her way, she almost started to wave but then realized she was a little too far away to be noticed by a normal person. Kara pretended not to notice her until she got closer before getting her attention. The dark brunette waved back and soon they were walking side by side.

“Sorry Kara! You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had on the city bus! Almost didn’t get off at the right stop!”

The young woman was Kara’s newest friend, Lucy Lane. She was also a student at Met U and they had met during English 101 where Kara quickly learned that Lucy was a bit of a fire brand that was not afraid to butt heads with her teachers. While Kara was a bit more, physically confrontational on a normal day, Lucy knew how to fight with words. Kara could quip when she wanted to but an actual argument was a bit different from exchanging witty banter with a villain.

“Just glad you could make it! Us university students have quite the schedules after all. Getting away from it all, even for a few hours is totally worth the hassle!”

“I know what you mean Kara! I sensed a kindred spirit in you when we first met! I do believe my instinct was right on the money! So where exactly is this musical gathering we’ll be swinging by for some fun?”

“They picked out a venue at the north side of Centennial Park. I heard a lot of the newer bands in town will be there to strut off their stuff.”

“I hope the Lostboys are there, have you heard any of their latest songs? They really know how to make a beat that gets you going!”
Kara and Lucy chatted excitedly together about what bands they hoped to see and listen to, when a television report caught Kara’s eye in one of the store fronts they passed.

“Another tech enterprise has been robbed this month with absolutely no clue as to the perpetrator. Once again every bit of data during the timing of when the robbery was alleged to transpire has been thoroughly scrubbed, but what is more alarming is what all the guards have to say. Apparently around 1:00am every security guard on duty fell asleep at the same time. They all claim to have suddenly felt an intense wave of drowsiness and then it was lights out. This information sounds like a sleeping agent had been used but just like the other three robberies so far, there is no evidence of any such chemical agents, liquid or airborne. The police are baffled as to how this has been accomplished but there have been no leads so far.”


“Ok, we have to cross here to get to the venue right?” Lucy’s question snapped Kara back to full attention at the fun they were about to have, wouldn’t do to have them take the wrong crosswalk.

“Ya, I think this one should do, this is going to be so much fun!”

Kara put the story in the back on her mind to concentrate on living the University dream, at least for a few precious hours.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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THE GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY

IN
RAMBLE ON




The Hasslehoff hung over the planet silently, as the distress call from it plays on a loop inside the cabin. The assembled Guardians listened again as the panicked settlers below pleaded for help to protect them from the "monsters" that had appeared a few days ago. The Guardians had gotten to the planet after a few jumps, only a few hours after Heimdall had let them know about the distress call. Using that timeframe, the settlers had been under attack for at least two days. Most of them were probably dead. That almost wasn't a question. But someone of them were still bound to be down there. And Thor was going to make sure he got them out of there.

What worried him, though, was the sounds coming from the background of the distress call. The snarls and growls coming from whatever was attacking the people were clearly the same mindless devourers that Thor had encountered inside the old Asgardian cache he and Peter had found.

"So it's a trap," Rocket said what they were all thinking. "Listen, I feel bad for the people down there, but they're probably dead, and I don't think we should be too. Let's find some other, more profitable rescuing to do."

"We are not doing this because of profits," Thor reminded the small mammal.

"No, we're doing this because you went and got us all marked for death," Hawk rolled her eyes. "We're here to draw this guy out so we can get rid of that, then we can all go on our separate ways."

"Well how do we draw him out without stopping things he's trying to do?" Thor motioned towards the planet. "Clearly whatever this world was offered him an opportunity. He could have set a trap for us somewhere less remote. Why here? Maybe there's a clue."

"And maybe I don't care," Rocket laughed. "Just because we're looking for the guy doesn't mean we have to spring every trap. Especially when this one is seemingly more deadly than others."

"I am Groot."

"Thank you, Groot," Rocket smiled. "I am incredibly reasonable."

Quill, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point, stood up out of the pilot's chair and shook his head, "We're gonna help those people. Thor's right. We can't just be doin' this for ourselves. We have a chance to do some real good, and we should take it."

"Yea, chance to do some real good dyin'," Hawk grunted. "I'm only here so I don't die. I'm not here to help some yokels who are probably already dead, or to help blondie over there feel better about himself because he's been a worthless drunken asshole for the better part of a few millennia."

Thor felt the muscles in his arm tense as anger took hold of him. She wasn't wrong about him being worthless for eons. But he wasn't doing this to make up for past wrongs. It may have been becoming unworthy of Mjolnir, the great hammer that was still resting on some rock thousands of lightyears away, but he now knew it was his duty to protect those that needed it. That such a lesson was being taught to him after the death of all that he knew and loved was not lost on him, and it made his sense of failure run deeper.

"What I may have failed to do in the past is of no concern to the present," he responded to the Thanagarian. "But the longer we bicker up here, the less chance the people below have of surviving. I intend to land. If thoust wants, thou may stay on the ship. But I am going to find out what happened on this planet. If you wish to join me, thoust may."

"How would thoust like thou funeral done up?" Rocket shot back at Thor, mocking his manner of speech.

"It should not be my funeral to be planned, but our enemy's," Thor chuckled at the furry creature and motioned for Quill to bring the ship down towards the surface of the planet.


The ship settled down quietly on the landing pad of the settlement, with nothing but the harsh wind of the planet to greet them. The steel, prefab structures that made up the modest little village. A plastic, formerly-transparent sheet covering some cargo on the landing pad snapped off and floated like a ghost down the main street of the town. When it reached the end of the thoroughfare, it snagged on the top of the metal stairs that led into the mouth of a cave. The cave had been hastily fortified, but little

"Computer says this place was built as kind of a mining sharecrop for the Tivan Corporation," Rocket explained. "The settlers were given all the land they wanted as long as they mined the nuclear material below. Not a bad deal from the looks of it."

"The settlers would have hidden in the mine, then," Thor said, picking up Jarnbjorn and heading for the ship's exit. He turned to find Quill already checking his Element Guns and suiting up to head out with him. "If any are still alive, that's where they'll be."

"Yea, running off into the dark, scary cave," Rocket shook his head. "I knew you two had a deathwish, but I dind't know it was this bad."

"I am Groot," the tree said, flabbergasting the small mammal.

"What do you mean you're going too!? Not ten minutes ago you said it was a terrible idea!"

"I am Groot."

"You changed your mind!? What made you do that? Seeing the terrible death cave!?"

"I am Groot."

The raccoon rubbed between his eyes with this thumb and forefinger in frustration, before picking up his guns, "Fine. Fine. Fine. If you want to die, I'm coming with. That way we can all die like idiots. At least then I won't have to listen to any of you any more."

The four of them made their way to the airlock, and turned to Hawk, who was lounging on a chair in the galley, sipping a drink, with her feet up on the table. She shrugged at their glances, "What? I'm not getting killed. I'll give you guys a few hours. If you're not back in that time, I'm getting out of here for sure. Just fair warning."

"How generous of you," Peter grimaced at her. "I can't believe you're just going to let people die in there."

"They're already dead, Peter," she shot back. "All of you know that. And if you go in there, you're going to be dead as well."

"Well, better to die trying to save people than die as a coward," he shrugged.

"Better just not to die," she smiled and waved as the four of them left the ship.
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