Afro Samurai

Absolute Comics: Rebirth

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X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

A little bit of a rough week, sorry for the hold up.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

"He wears a mask just to cover the raw flesh."

MF DOOM

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Methodic, Oshea began tapping his foot against the floor of the van. The group would arrive soon, and then the world would once more depend on this group of teenagers and young adults to save it. from peril. Oshea could not settle his mind, and he needed a towel for the sweat slipping down his face. To praise oneself in jest was fun, and Oshea would big himself up in front of anyone if it helped veil the angst he felt before tasks undertaken--but it offered him no true cloth of courage. In himself, there was mighty cowardice; and it only reared itself when it came time for him to be a hero and cease mere portrayal of one. Silence crept and seized him.

There was more at stake here, grand and personal. Danger once more befell the extraneous human populous, but Oshea could only do so much for them. Here in this van there were individual lives which he could have deeper impact upon, some who he had come to care about tremendously; others who he was sure he would come to care about. Gone was the worry about surviving the mission; present was the sureness of lives retained. Childish he was, and in this child like fixation the vice of cowardice and the virtue of selflessness remained--somehow, Oshea knew he had to find a way to spur the giving of himself contra the coward within.

There was, of course, always the problem of doing.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

The watchful eye of the Tiger leaves for a few weeks and now people come around thinking they run things, eh? Aight. . . aight.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

posting tomorrow after work

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

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[Part 4]

Herald the Strangers

Location: Lost Haven University, Lost Haven
Time: Present Day - Morning

Before they knew it, morning turned to noon. Terra Firma, Alchemyst, and Pantheon spent the better part of an hour attacking the other two towers. They fought as the Hounds struggled to hold each position, but together they succeeded just as easily as their first tower takedown, and with most of the trio not much worse for wear.

With all of the outer relay towers disabled and destroyed, they decided that it was time to take the fight to the main forces, to take down the main tower. No doubt the remaining Hounds knew about the loss of their towers, but the lack of a retreat or response was worrying. So far the Hound’s weapons had been ineffective against the three of them, logically one would run or at least abandon their current plans in the face of such overwhelming power, but so far nothing had happened.

The final beacon was set up outside along with the others, it wasn’t hard to miss considering the odd structure stuck out like a sore thumb, and the fact that the Hound’s were consolidating the rest of their forces there. The time to attack was now, Terra Firma, Alchemyst, and Pantheon wouldn’t waste anymore time flying around the campus.

“Same strategy as the other three then, it’s been working out just fine so far?” David asked, he worried that things were a little too easy, but that’s probably because he was bullet proof.

“The same strategy it is, then.”

With all the Hounds present in one place, he figured he would have no harder a time than before. He began right where he left off, two Hounds had their arms broken in a matter of seconds but then there was a smoke bomb and a rattling sense of pain that froze him on the spot.

Charlie came up behind Terra Firma and Pantheon wrestling with all the ire and passion she had previously. Focused, their final goal in sights. Breaking the visor on the Hound she had in front of her, he brandished his assault rifle haphazardly. With a scribbled formula across her palm she slapped her hand on his armour vest deconstructing the carbon, unweaving the kevlar. It took some experimenting previously at the other beacons to figure out how to remove their armour, when it finally fell apart in her hands she scribbled the deconstruction alchemical formula across her hand.

With her enemy vulnerable Charlie dealt rib breaking blows, battering her opponent ruthlessly. When one fell, another stepped up taking his place.

A smoke screen dropped visibility, Charlie reached out attempting to dissipate it. One loud gunshot, Pantheon’s stillness through the smoke, and the sound had frozen the Alchemyst’s hand.

A loud booming voice through a megaphone began to speak. Behind it was average looking man, in spite of the armour and strange looking rifle hanging off his shoulder. He wore reflective aviators, sported some sideburns and a dark five o’clock shadow over his jaw.

“Woah now! Woah! Shit, you guys have been hitting us at full tilt. Why don’t we take a break?” Lawrence's voice, now familiar. Unfazed by their accomplishments. “Feeling it yet, freaks?”

The final beacon’s power was unleashed it hit Terra Firma and Pantheon first then it finally hit the Alchemyst, the beacon’s high pitched shrill filled the air. She clasped her hands over her ears falling to her knees, the pain excruciating, tears squeezed out. It was unlike anything she had felt before.

Lawrence kept the beacon on, then relented on the power. He cackled across the megaphone pleased to see even the powerful metas meet a terrible pause. “Now, ya’see I feel like you see this as the final boss. Like a game. As if I wouldn’t hesitate to blow each of your brains out across the grass with this fancy bit of tech. You three represent everything that is wrong with you magic and meta freaks. We’re paving the way for regaining power for humanity, to stand on our own again without the crutch you freaks and monsters provide.” He grew angrier with every word, shouting into the megaphone. “Fuck your idealistic morals, we will defend ourselves. Firstly removing the infestation of you and yours.” Lawrence certainly didn’t feel the need to pass up the opportunity to brag.

David collapsed onto his knees, sound had been his biggest enemy ever since he arrived in Lost Haven, in every single one of his biggest fights so far sound was a powerful weapon, and now that sentiment seemed to ring true even here. Struggling and groaning against the pain David tried to block the sound by covering the sides of his head, if it helped he didn’t notice, he still felt as if he’d be ripped to shreds by the pain alone.

Whatever this contraption was, Pantheon had felt no pain near the intensity it was causing within him; much like his peers, he was soon on both knees, hands clutching the sides of his ears! It felt like his atoms themselves were being torn asunder, and this Lawrence fellow gloated as if he had already won the day. These Hounds were so arrogant to presume he had ideals, to presume he cared for their insensible desires of ridding the world of metas and magic; if anything, the former and latter were the future, humanity was the past. It was humans who required the metas and the magic folk to save them from their own stupidity, anyway! When he was free of this pestilence, he would make them pay.

David struggled to keep himself from collapsing, his powered body could probably withstand this for a little longer, but his mind was still that of his normal human self, and he was finding it harder and harder to not give in to the pain. He was a scholar long before he was a hero, and his mind was not accustomed to dealing with anything like this. But before he was a scholar, he was a proud father, his mind wandered onto his family, his wife, and his daughter.

I can’t die here, I’ll be damned if I let some asshole kill me, stop me from seeing my family again.

David angrily thought to himself, pain from the device pounded on his body and his mind, but anger presented itself as a barrier. David raised himself up with the help of his sword, he tried to imagine what he was going to do, but he had nothing. Nothing except for his anger at Lawrence, and his blatant ignorance.

“You idiot we’re not anyone’s crutch, we’re a chance to break the mold! A chance for humanity to rise above itself, show that it’s changed!” David painfully and angrily said as if talking through the grit of his teeth.

“You don’t speak for humanity, but I speak for the Earth! And the Earth says fuck off!” David shouted, and threw one of the stone swords he had been holding ever since the first tower fight. The tower was still on, and it’s effects were constantly building on top of each other. David collapsed back onto his knee, if this doesn’t work, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

The sword came dangerously close to the tower, it skimmed the edge of the satellite dish knocking it off its course, the tower itself paused its operations warning errors popping up red on the screen. The dish needed readjusting.

The sound came to an abrupt stop, the tower operators panicking as they desperately tried to orientate it. Bypassing the errors, software lagging at the unexpected disturbance.

Charlie gasped, her vision was blurred, ears ringing, but the relief from the pain was immediate. Using her staff to drag herself back up to stand. Shakey, straining herself to move. She blinked hard, sweaty skin tugging at the edge of her goggles.

The more she breathed, the clearer her eyes became, she moved slowly toward the two pained forms of her temporary allies. She dug the butt of her staff into Pantheon’s side, trying to prod him into moving, finding it was the equivalent to leaning into a brick. There was no give. “Come on! Move! Before they get that tower fixed!”

Desperately she shouted, prodding him more, “I said move!”

The pain had stopped briefly; it was enough for him to gather his wit--it took a push from another to spring him into action. Without their toy, the Hounds were just men in fancy black dress; an ironic color, because black was the choice of these humans at their funerals. It took but a few seconds for him to close the gap between himself and the pack of Hounds who circled around the tower; he pummeled his fist into the center of the nearest Hound’s chestplate; the loud crack which ensued was not only indicative of sundering his armor but also the concaving of his solar plexus. Once the first Hound fell to his knees, Pantheon punted his head backwards and sent him careening into a brick wall, he turned to face his next victim.

There were two who stepped up to take the dead one’s place, Pantheon grabbed them both by their legs and promptly crushed their steel toe boots into the metatarsals of both of the Hounds feet. The subsequent crunch akin to that of metal into a grindstone. He ragdolled both men head first into the ground with enough brute force to crack their skulls against their helmets; blood filled the plastic black visors of both men as Pantheon released his hold on the two lifeless bodies.

There was a third who apparently had not learned from the fates of his other comrades; Pantheon dealt with him swiftly as well. He grabbed the third Hound by the shoulder and applied pressure. First, one could hear the muscles and the tendons cave against the bone, before the flesh compressed against the snapping of his shoulder joint in total. His body armor did nothing to stave grotesque popping and cracking that resulted from the literal shattering of his shoulder. With a boot to the chest, Pantheon sent the third Hound flying into those who stood behind him.

“I told you I was a man who kept my word, Lawerence,” Pantheon said as he strode forward, “and to think, you could have spared yourself by simply adhering to my demands. Hah! In my many existences, one constant has not seemed to change with you humans: you all believe you are Gods--until you meet a real one and find that you are indeed insignificant.”

Pantheon meandered onward. There was no more mercy to be had.

David nodded in approval, it wasn’t his best work, but it still worked. He had hoped his throw would have hit the tower straight on, but he was lucky he was able to hit it at all, especially considering his arm was never that good. He had dropped onto all fours, supporting himself with his fists planted firmly into the ground, his chest rose up and down as he caught his ‘breath’. He wasn’t done yet, he couldn’t forgive these Hounds for attacking a school, and for their own incredibly arrogant ideals. He promptly stood up, and rushed straight at the nearest Hound.

“I think this party’s gone on long enough, wouldn’t you agree?” David asked as he grabbed the man by his vest and swung him into a group of his friends. David dashed around, moving far too quickly for the Hounds to handle, the energy from his body left a momentary trail behind him as the tossed around his enemies.

As he jumped back and forth he remembered a move he tried, back underground against the Moloids, a people have to investigate more at a later time. David motioned his arms forward and yanked them both back quickly, the ground underneath a group Hounds swiftly flew to the side, like yanking a tablecloth. Except instead of the plates staying still, they all fell over, David swiftly brought back the layer of earth he had moved, and changed it into dozens of thin tentacle like appendages wrapping up Hound members attempting to get back up.

David slowed down a little as the sound of more vans caught his attention. The Hounds not currently in a fight were running, sprinting off into vans, seemingly desperate to run.

“No, no, no, you guys can’t run away. You started this, so stick around to see how it ends!” David shouted to them as he extended his arms out with his palms and fingers upwards, suddenly brown and grey spikes burst from the ground, depending on whether a van was parked over cement or dirt, he then quickly brought his hands back, and closed his fists tightly.

Each spike shifted, then wrapped themselves around a vehicle, crushing them, leaving the metal boxes as nothing more than crumpled pieces of paper, and preventing the Hounds from escaping.

“I meant what I said about spreading your brains across the grass, I don’t care who you freaks are, but I keep my promises too!” Lawrence shouted as he waved a small group of Hounds from inside the building.

“You guys wanna keep playing, huh? Fine, say hello to my little friend!” The man shouted and opened fire with his gun, the weapon made a low thudding sound, followed by a low humming as the barrel flashed.

David got a little suspicious when the man walked out with more guns, they had proven to be beyond useless against him and Pantheon, while the Alchemyst took cover behind David’s stone walls. As such, David was a little less than nervous to see them, he had mostly overcome his human born instinct of ducking bullets, and so he only flinched enough to move his head in response to the gunfire. But he would pay for his arrogance a moment later, as he would find out that these were not bullets.

The blasts struck across his chest and hit his shoulder, as each shot collided spurts of white energy particles jumped from his body, drawing a pained shout from him, causing him to dive out of the way, erecting a thick stone wall as temporary cover for himself. For a few moments longer white embers continued to slowly fly out, disappearing only seconds after leaving his body, until finally they stopped and his body sealed itself up.

“You like?” Lawrence taunted, without any vocal order his men split up to attack Pantheon and Alchemyst, while only a few stayed with him, spouting off gunfire every now and then at David’s wall to keep him back.

“It’s a prototype version of these towers we’ve been setting up. It’s a shame you shut them all down before we could finish our testing, so you’ll just have to settle for these!”

Charlie had recovered enough to move quickly with the new onslaught, her head still swimming with disorientation. Running to the new wall forming up out of the ground she touched her hand to the wall, taking the extra second to block away the noise of gunfire, pressing her forehead to the cement. It was going to take one last push, some adrenaline. She changed the otherside into spikes forcing the rushing Hounds to a quick stop. In another blink she turned those very same spikes into dust clouds crumbling with unnatural speed. She climbed with footholds into the wall, then dropping from above using her weight against one of the men, swinging the heavy butt of her staff against his head.

The second Hound was prepared he whipped his baton free then rushed her through the cloud. Charlie turned to block the attack both hands holding her staff across her body, deflecting the attacks. Stepping back out of his reach only for him to cover that ground easily, he swung wildly. Charlie waited for her opening, balancing the weight in her staff again. He brought his baton above his head with full strength cracked it over her collarbone on the right side missing her head. He followed up with a vicious kick square on her chest, a heavy boot knocking her to the ground. Charlie coughed violently - sharp gasps. She brought her staff up in time to stop him from stomping on her neck, arms straining under his full weight. Her shoulder failing, her left arm holding him up at an angle. Had it not been reinforced with metal, it would have surely snapped.

Quickly grabbing his pistol off his hip, the click of a safety being released, the barrel aimed directly at her brow. “You’ve caused enough shit for a lifetime, now die.”

Pain only infuriated him more, he was hit with several of the prototype beams the Hounds had prepared. For what it was worth, Pantheon could admire these Hounds mettle. In the face of overwhelming odds, they began again--regardless of the futility of their actions. Anger continued to build with each bullet which hit him. As he twisted his body in order to fling another of the Hounds through a building, he saw the Alchemyst in a rather compromised position. It took but a second for him to collapse the distance between himself and Alchemyst’s aggressor. There was an odd tearing sound and a scream, and the Hound was next seen implanted into a parked car across the street. Pantheon offered his hand.

”You do know you are just a human. Be more careful, hm?”

Charlie reached for his hand with her left, quickly painfully hauled to her feet. A new wall of stone appeared cutting her view off of what Pantheon zoomed off to do next. She tried to catch her breath leaning into the wall, the heavy throb throughout her shoulder and the surely broken ribs. She felt better on her feet but didn’t dare to move.

“Fuh-fuck.”

The effects of these energy beams took hold with pristine intensity. Pantheon was sent to a knee with a single arm for support. His multi-colored iris’ swirled as the mystical energies which held him together were tampered with in ways unbeknownst to him. Any lacerations present in his frame healed within mere seconds, but he had been hit enough that he was once more immobilized. A frontal assault would not be out of the question necessarily, but it had become foolhardy with this new technology the Hounds as just unveiled. He had to improvise; and there were more than enough weapons at his disposal to help him do so--strange humans, placing steel weapons in the same places upon which they walk to and fro their destinations.

With another burst of speed, he made his way to a light pole. Once he got both hands around it, Pantheon tore it from the concrete and hoisted it up.

“OH, I LOVE BASEBALL!” Hassan reared himself again,

Pantheon wound up, light pole in hand. . .

THWACK
THWACK
THWACK

Back and forth he smacked the large crowd of Hounds, clearing their already dwindling numbers as they attempted to replenish them.

David zoomed by, moving behind his own walls, and providing new ones for Alchemyst as he flew closer. But before he could jump back into the fight a voice stopped David right in his tracks, and he watched in an unfamiliar mix of disgust and surprise. Earlier he allowed it, even agreed with it, but now he felt himself becoming increasingly bothered by it.

“[color=red]To shout something like that out loud, this man isn’t right in the head.[/red]” David mumbled under his breath, he flew up behind Pantheon, and grabbed his pole before he could swing it into another group.

“I agreed with you before when you said fair is fair, but this is obsessive, and in fact, with that little outburst just now, I’m not sure you’ve got all your marbles.”

Tentatively the Alchemyst peeked out from the wall, the Hounds were distracted trying to defend themselves and the tower. Charlie saw openings, a mad dash would be all it took to get there. Trying to control her breathing but felt every broken rib as she did. Slowly she felt around her torso, noting two were broken while there was going to be some heavy bruising. To say nothing of her collarbone, while it was swollen and incredibly painful she wasn’t sure if it was broken.

Charlie knew as soon as her hands were on that tower it’d be over. The Hounds wouldn’t have much left to fight for beyond their escape. “I’m not staying here.” She muttered to herself for a second time today.

Pulling her backpack off, she dug out her water bottle full of gasoline. She had used the majority of her supplies on the other towers, what little she had left limited her options. She had used a little bit earlier to make crude napalm, now though she dug in her sweater pocket for her sharpie. Breaking down the gasoline, changing the oily substance to something a bit slicker the colour of it darkened quite heavily to something dark brown, completely opaque when held up to the sunlight. She unscrewed the bottle, dumping it in a gross line a few feet long. She hoped it’d be enough to carry her to the tower.

She hobbled several feet away from the oily patch, thinking how painful this attempt would be. She pushed herself into an uncoordinated dash, hopped then with the momentum of her run slid right into the oil carrying her past the feet of some Hounds, and zipping by Terra Firma and Pantheon she screeched “SHIT!” The oil ran dry, she rolled right into the base of the tower’s wheels with a thud.

Using her staff to lift herself, grunting, cursing her way back up to stand.

Leaning heavily onto the console, the tower itself was more advanced controls than the others. She used her screwdriver once again, bending down to the panelled board beneath the console’s screens. It was dented in several areas, she attempted to straighten it out but the steel in the panel door reacted strangely crumpling into an accordion shape instead of flattening out like she wanted. She stared, was she really at her limit? She reached into the jungle of wires.

Charlie spent a few minutes pulling loose wires knitting them into bows, in a similar style to the other towers, stranger reactions as her alchemy failed in more bizarre ways. Precious metal beads turning into spikes, plastic imploding into gaseous fumes. Her hand visibly shook with strain.

Lawrence watched from the safety of his men, shouting orders to change tactics. Moving to keep the likes of Pantheon and Terra Firma away from himself. He landed some satisfactory hits upon the metahumans directly but it seemed to only anger them and force them into defensive positions. He watched the woman in the sweater clear her way to the tower, he roared for all their forces to train their sights back on the tower.

“I don’t give a shit, you lazy fucks defend that tower! The girl is there now!” Lawrence shouted his order.

Lawrence himself sprung into action, ordering the line of men around him to move forward laying down a wave of gunfire, followed by himself with their sonic rifles coming up behind the bullets. They aimed directly at the tower-base. Others tossed some grenades landing shy of a new wall brought up by Terra Firma. The explosion decimated the wall, causing the likes of the Alchemyst to flinch away from her work.

Charlie pushed herself to concentrate, moving up to the visual boards tearing them open searching for her golden chip.

”Obsessive? Do not be a hypocrite--look around. What we have done to them is not obsessive, what has happened to them is justice. You cannot see? They have murdered innocent people for the sake of an experiment, and yet you have the nerve to call this retribution obsessive. Maybe this is the problem with you humans, you treat every life as equal when your fellow man does not even believe your own life is worth preserving. Some men do deserve death, Terra Firma; the hands by which it happens do not matter in the slightest.”

“It does matter, the people wronged here will need enact justice the right way, these men need to be alive so that the people who died here can get that justice. How would you feel if some overbearing stranger snatched retribution right up from you? These men might die anyways at a later time, and that’s fine, but that part shouldn’t be up to us.”

”Passivity is the reason you humans have wallowed as your oppressors do as they wish with your lives. Do not act as though the kin of the people who died here today have the means to enact justice. They do not. If they did, their idiotic morals would hamper them from taking vengeance into their own hands. For all your optimism in your justice system, your policemen were not the ones who stopped these dogs--we were, and it makes no difference if your institutions of law are given some arbitrary authority to enforce peace when they are ineffectual at doing the lone thing they were put in place to do.”

Pantheon had no real reason to turn his ire on Firma, he had expended enough valuable energy on human affairs for one day and cared not to anger another who rivaled him in might--though not in ferocity. Amidst his diatribe, Pantheon had turned his sights on Lawrence and his advancing garrison. Much as he wanted to string Lawrence’s spine through his kidneys, their anti-magic weaponry were pestilences great enough for him to re-think his next plan of action. All it would take was Charlie shutting off those towers before he could make his move.

Charlie’s hands paused Pantheon and Terra Firma’s words sunk in, quite vividly the bodies of all the dead students and staff came to mind. Her own violent actions today, using napalm against normal people… Something she promised herself to never use. Was it really only a couple hours ago she thought of the Hounds as humans and not monsters? Pain flaring across her chest, mind swimming with exhaustion. It all just fanned the flames of discontent and anger. “This isn’t about justice or brutality. It’s about survival!” She shouted in response, returning to the work. “If these assholes had their way, we’d have been dead if we weren’t as lucky as we were today! Fuck ‘em!”

“We’d be dead if we didn’t have our powers, and our powers are what made these people, they’re scared as hell and acting out in anger. That’s why it’s up to us to stop them here.”

Charlie snarled, “We didn’t do anything to them! This is a university! I don’t give a single rats ass about how angry they are, or who they lost to some superhero, I lost my dad when some stupid supe knocked over a building, you don’t see me shooting up a fucking school!”

“Good, you’re not using your powers to hold up a school, or shake down some joint. That’s the difference between us and them. We’ve been given gifts, and it’s our responsibility to use them right.” David replied back, not anywhere near as passionately as her, but he too, was talking from his heart.

Charlie gritted her teeth, tearing a wire free. “The difference is that I’m trying to live my life and survive the day! If it means my life or theirs, then - I’m choosing my life every time!” Charlie had finally drawn a line for herself, there was no grey area.

Before Pantheon could act again, the Hounds had turned their weapons on him. It was as if they too had grown tired of being treated as playthings and at once released a barrage of their energy disrupting beams his way. From head to toe his body was torched; not only was his body immobilized as before, but one could see the magic tethers seeping from his being. Blood slid down his ears, nose, and mouth. His multi-colored iris’ swirled and changed colors at a rapid rate; the howl which pierced the air could nigh-shatter windows. This was not distress, this was not annoyance, irritation, or peeve--this was agony.

For Pantheon, the effect of the weapons was dual--not only did it shred his insides, it momentarily severed his connection with Hassan.

David raised an arm into the air and a thick earthen wall rose up at the same time, giving Pantheon and himself some cover. However, the hounds on the other side did not relent on their weaponry and continued to blast in Pantheon’s direction, the blasts peppered the stone wall, turning portions of it into nothing more than dust, and leaving indents marking their damage. David motioned his arm forward and the wall began to quickly slide forward, then slammed into the hounds, blowing them back, and clearing a path to Lawrence.

David waved his arms up again, chunks of stone, and cement flew up into the air. As they rose up around David they began to flatten and smooth out, then the pieces flew right onto his body, coating him in a makeshift armor. With the most of the other Hounds out of the way or incapacitated David took this chance to dash at Lawrence, so he raised his arms up defensively and charged.

Lawrence obviously saw this and opened fire, determined not to let him close in, the blasts slammed against David’s armored form, turning the affected parts into dust. Although he was granted some reprieve, parts of his armor were already lost, allowing Lawrence a chance at his target. Jets of white particles shot out from David’s arms, and his chest. It was every bit as painful as last time, but he was only giving Lawrence a short window, so he did his best to soldier through.

David shouted from the pit of his stomach, pushing aside his pain and anger for only a moment as he closed the distance. The whole scene lasted mere moments as David’s body slammed into Lawrence, knocking away his weapon in the process.

Lawrence rolled, the majority of his armour taking the brunt of the blow. The full force of Terra Firma knocked the wind right out of him leaving him defenseless. He sprung up to his feet, stumbling a little from imbalance.

“So- two against one? Hardly fair. We spent the day here getting to know you lot. I thought you types had some sort of honour code as disgusting as your existence is. Really, I’m hurt.” Lawrence’s tone hardly wavered from the cool confidence from before.

David grabbed Lawrence and slammed him into the ground, not enough to squish him, but definitely enough to bruise him. “Because of you and your men, the young men and women here had to see something nobody ever should. You brought slaughter, and murder to a place of learning. I could let my friends tear you apart, like they did earlier.” David said in an angry low voice. The ground underneath Lawrence began to lose solidity, turning into mud, and then David began to slowly push him downwards.

“Or I could put you six feet under, literally, and let you slowly rot.”

Lawrence struggled, his expression no longer cool but collapsing into full blown panic his arms pulled then stuck again through the encroaching mud. By Terra Firma’s will he sunk deeper, chest disappearing into the ground. A screech of terror ripped out of him, he begged for his life right up until the mud began filling his mouth then nose.

David heard his pleas, his pitiful begging as he continued to dip him further in. He remembered the faces of those he couldn’t save, Alchemyst’s own angry words, and he knew there was merit in letting him die. But he couldn’t betray his own feelings anymore, he couldn’t betray the smiles of his family, and he felt that the day had seen enough death.

He slowly pulled up Lawrence, just enough to free his nose and mouth, then solidified the ground again, careful not to leave mud chunks in the man’s body. “You might be right, some of us may be monsters.” David said, looking at the fallen Hounds scattered about, and then to Pantheon.

Pantheon’s frame began to knit itself back together as the energies faded from his body and the magic which tethered his being congealed once more. His iris’ steadied to their normal multi-colored palettes. Once he had retained himself, he rolled his neck around--a mild stretch needed after the intensity of several battles over this several hour escapade. A detached gaze flared Firma’s direction.

“But that’s not all of us, when you look yourself in the mirror later, I want you to remember this. I want you to remember what could have happened, and what did.”

Lawrence spat a wad of mud from his mouth, “So fucking arrogant.”

“You looked better crying.” David said as he flicked his finger at Lawrence, in an instant a large chunk of mud came straight back at Lawrence’s mouth, and attached itself around his head, preventing him from speaking.

As Lawrence was dealt with the Alchemyst finished her work, rooting through what was effectively the tower’s guts she pulled free the chip - memory chip housing the audio file they were projecting as a weapon. She stared hard at it, slipping it into her pocket. There was no telling who would use this, she decided it was safer with her before it was safe in the hands of the police. A final touch on the tower, much like its counterparts it too soon fell to rapid age crumpling under it’s own weight.

The Hounds around them scrambled into a hasty retreat, the LHPD making a break through the retreating lines. The police were successful in capturing some, while a few Hounds escaped through on the heels of their last heavy weaponry. A few vans fled chased by the police. Emergency crews flooded the area rushing into the University hoping to reach survivors. In one final dust cloud created by the Alchemyst, they slipped away.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

"Keep ya Chucks laced and ya mind straight, it's time for war."

Location: Xavier's Funtime Party Van

---

In the jubilance of the moment, Oshea hadn't stopped to consider the gravity present. There were more lives on the line now, and it may be time for Oshea to push his childish tendencies to the back of his mind. With a lasting glance along the bus, he made a mental count of the name, face, and power of all those present: Nina was hulk-woman, Allison had telekinesis and her probability sight, Ayita was the shifter, Marygold the queen of plants; Damon the tattoo specialist, and he had not seen what the rookies could do yet. The one with the bangs whose legs wouldn't cease their incessant bouncing had an agitation to him--Oshea would note this as well.

Some on the bus suggested breaking into teams: a solid idea, though it may play into the Brotherhood's trap. Divide, manipulate, conquer--a typical gameplan, but the most effective; this was especially so against this ragtag band of wannabes. Oshea had faith in his squadron, though. Yes, the first mission hadn't gone as planned, but everyone got out alive and so in Oshea's eyes, the mission was a success. A smile peppered Oshea's face as he compartmentalized and organized his X's and O's in his head with the teams which had been assembled. Maybe everything would be fine after all.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

posting when i get off work

X-Men: Legacy [MCU]

Ororo felt the tremor in the earth beneath her feet; the professor who was about to call an end to the Arabic languages course and her fellow classmates had nearly toppled over from the abrupt rattle. Luckily, nothing had fallen over. Ororo hadn't felt any seismic interruptions that great in some time. What--or whom--could be the culprit? Few people possessed a power which could cause tremors around the globe--but if there was one person who Ororo knew was capable of such a feat, it was. . . Jean Grey. The X-Men were retired though, right? This is what Ororo was led to believe; if one strong as Jean had been moved to display such a show of force then something was wrong.

Once Ororo gathered herself, she collected her items: books, pencils, bag, and speedwalked to the classroom's exit, into the hall, and out the back door of the University. She went to enter her Volkswagen and she started up the raggedy car's engine; it was an elder machine she haggled from am antique auction a week prior. Backed up behind a stalled and seemingly endless line of traffic, she waited idle. A small sigh escaped her lips--inconveniences such as these were part of the reason she missed home. China was filled with so many people, genuine, respectful, peaceful people--but still an abundance of them. In the silence of the car, she couldn't help but hear those petulant thoughts swirl in her head,

I hope this is not what I think it is.
I can't afford to go back, yet!
Why now of all times?

She was just about to graduate, an involuntary re-insertion into a life of fighting crime meant an indefinite hold on these aspirations. Not only this, but she hadn't used her powers in years; she had reigned in her temper, her life had finally found some peace. No longer did she have to face the scrutiny which came with being a mutant--the slurs, the persistent grit of the responsibility of millions in her and her compatriots' hands. It was a pressure too great, and it was one Ororo was unsure she could bear again. She didn't want to jeopardize all that she had built since the incident in China, the place she now called home. Then again, the adventurer, the wild, the spark in her had been subtly resisting this docility she constructed for herself. Part of her wanted action--part of her wanted to be Storm again. Her phone rang,

"Ororo," it was Sharon Carter, the handler for all of the X-Men. If those tremors were indicative of what she thought, then Ororo knew what this call was about,

"Get to Bejing International. It's time to come home."

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Pantheon

Character you have created: Hassan Amim
Alias: Pantheon
Speech Color: Yellow.
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: He does what is necessary to achieve whatever his goal may be at the time. Ethics and morals tend not to have a bearing on how he acts insofar as they will not restrict an act he deems necessary. If anything, the only thing that drives him is autonomy.

Uniform/costume:

Pre-transformation

Post-transformation

Origin

Origin Info/Details: Magic’s true depths are dark and unknown. Hassan was always one for destroying limits—his disdain for them born out of the legalism of his religious sentiments. It was not that he did not believe, but he often questioned the necessity of such restrictions. Part of him even wondered if they were arbitrary. Regardless of his personal thoughts, he saw results. Religion kept people in line, and kept them from hurting one another (for the most part). Magic? Magic was entirely different; it had limits, sure, but those could be tested at one’s own risk.

He was a natural, literally. A born magician, formally called a homo-magi. He already understood mystical boundaries, but he cared not for upholding them. To this end, he employed his sister—fellow homo magus—to teach him. He learned quick, and soon he was fully immersed in mystical rituals, rites, histories, and lore. Yet, of all the magic he had studied, there were dark entities, witches, and mages out there who far exceeded anything Hassan could have imagined. The same hidden powers that pervaded over the world in which he lived were also tethered to him.

Deep in the recesses of his mind lies an untapped power; a physically manifested entity of his lineage's collective conscious, knit together by his ancestors' various and deep forays into the mysterious and mystic. Every child born to the Amim line (one select male and female of a single generation) possess this entity locked away, deep within themselves. When unlocked through the realization of a heroic (and even villanous) trait of any kind, they gain access to a mighty titan of legend. He is a collection of the work of enchanters, elementalists, loremasters, and arcane specialists stretched over several hundred years--known only to his family as Pantheon.

Hero Type: Brick/Mystic
Power Level: City (as normal homo magi)
World (when transformed).

Powers: Mythic Transformation Physiology: When fully and permanently brought forth from the depths of his mind, Hassan gains the abilities of a mystical entity into which he can transform. His transformation, once complete, cannot be undone.
As Hassan

Astral Projection: Hassan can enter the astral plane and travel through it—this is his primary means of travelling to the various mystical realms (Olympus, Asgard, etc) within the universe. If his body is killed while his soul is in the astral plane, he will be in limbo until he can find a new body. If one is not found within several hours, his body will die and his spirit will remain in the Astral Plane forever.

Wards: He can cast various defensive spells around himself and others.

Illusions: He can cast powerful illusions for varying effects. Whether these illusions simply warp the space around a victim or whether these illusions have a direct effect on the victim’s mind are random.

As Pantheon

Mystical Knowledge: Even without the powers of his transformation, Hassan is a knowledgeable magi and has extensive knowledge of a wide range of spells from incantations, runes, tomes, enchantments, the like. When transformed, this mystical knowledge is enhanced several times over and grants Hassan an almost inexhaustible grasp on higher levels of magic.

Supernatural Strength: As Pantheon, Hassan gains strength leagues beyond that of a normal human and even superior to enhanced humans in some respects. The upper limits of his strength are unknown as of right now. Lifting trucks, bulldozers, semi-trucks, large buildings, and most other natural objects are no issue for him.

Supernatural Speed: When transformed, Hassan is a blur. He can keep up with some low tier speedsters, and while not quite fast enough to break the speed of light, his ability to transverse a given space in a matter of seconds is impressive.

Supernatural Durability: Pantheon can take hits form the mightiest of foes. He can survive falls from several thousand feet, his dense muscles make him nigh-immovable even if acted upon by a substantial natural force (a speeding car hitting him.) He can trade blows with world-class heroes and villains without issue and can even hold out against low-tier cosmic-level people as well, though he will be felled quickly if he ever encountered such a being. He can withstand extreme explosions and still get back up with little harm done.

Supernatural Healing: Pantheon regenerates lost limbs, heals small, major, and minor wounds in seconds, and if he so happens to be blown to bits, let us say, then he can heal his entire body back together in several days.

Energy Conversion: Bestowed with the power to harness magical energy in many forms, Pantheon can convert said magical energies into natural energies for an assortment of purposes—he can also convert natural energies into magical energies.

Nigh-Invulnerability: Conventional weapons do not harm him. Toxins, diseases, resins, poisons, none of these have an effect on him. He has strong mystical defenses against mental intrusion and other psionic attacks. Life-force draining is an effective measure against him, but even this requires a powerful retainer of such an ability for it to cause great harm to him. He is not invincible, however. Anyone with sufficient ability in any given area can bypass his invulnerability as it is not total immunity.

Extreme Magical Resistance: Lower forms of magic, and even well practiced magic from low-tier magicians have no effect on him. Higher levels of magic (those done by cosmic entities or mages with decades of experience) are able to damage him to great effect. His resistance can be fully overcome by one who possesses absolute magical abilities/reality warping powers or one with supreme magical ability/focus. His resistance also falters against natural-born magic beings (fairies, gnomes, trolls, etc.)

Flight: Standard. Pantheon can fly up to several hundred miles an hour—he flies much faster than he runs.

Teleportation: Using the mystical lightning of this alter-ego, Pantheon can transverse himself near-instantly across a single plane. He cannot teleport across the States, and the longest recorded distance of his teleportation stretches for four miles. He cannot teleport anywhere outside of Earth, at present. He does suffer from the usual drawbacks of teleportation (nausea, disorientation, vomiting).

Magical Element Control: As a homo-magi, he can evoke the use of several different kinds of spells to alter natural and mystical properties. Stilled in his conscious via an sustained mythical connection with the consciousness' of his ancestors who also possessed the magical entity within Hassan, Pantheon can control mystic lightning to be used for healing, summoning it for offensive or defensive purposes, and it is the means by which he teleports.

Attributes

Height: 5’10 (normal); 6’7 (transformed)
Weight: 196 (normal) Unknown (transformed)
Strength Level: Normal Human (as human), 100+ - Unknown (transformed)
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal human, 100+
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human, 5 hours.
Agility: Normal Human, x20.
Intelligence: Genius, Super-Genius.
Fighting Skill: Trained, Mastered.

Resources: Large, Extreme

Weaknesses: Can be killed while in Astral form, can be greatly harmed by strong users of magic. Is not immune to reality warping abilities and can be phased out of existence.

Supporting Characters:

Bibi Amim – mother (with whom he lives, does the cooking and cleaning and assuring of her son’s mental health)
Shati Amim - cousin (also lives with him, high school teenager over whom Hassan watches)
Rahna Amim - sister; (older than Hassan by a half decade, Hassan confides in her and it is from her that he gets his magi traits.)

Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:



Sample Post:

A silence crushed the desert air. He had travelled in sweltering heat for two days. There was no food in sight; his grey cloak shrouded every inch of his being. There was no cane to complete the telling garb, unfortunately. A person is inclined to renounce all belief and curse any deities he believes in should he be without food and water long enough. He begins to wonder if anything is real. Hope sprang! A well. Before him was freedom from this torture, at least it would be if this was not an arbitrary mystical quest to achieve some arbitrary mystical item for a group of angry and forgotten Old Gods.

A mirage, of course. There was no way he was going to survive long in this climate. The heat soared and did not stop until the animals themselves were nowhere to be found. Heatwaves lashed against his sand-olden skin. That’s when he saw it; his sister called it an ‘apparition’ not a magical entity per se, but a vision of one’s hopes and dreams. They were not ‘beacons’ of hope, they had no moral leanings whatever—they were simply there to deliver a message. What message? That all depends on what one envisions. He had never seen an apparition and so he also had never heard one speak until now:

“Hassan, they have a new task for you.”
”Now?”
“Yes, now. I advise you brace yourself.”
”What do y—“

Hassan was struck with a bolt of lightning and found himself in an abandoned shack. A circle of hooded figures surrounded him. A bearded one spoke,

“We’ve watched you for some time.” His voice was deep, a sage. Of the circle of beings, the voice that resonated from this hood had a stern cadence—the ends of his sentences punctuated with superiority. It helped that his robes had tints of white imprinted on the cloth, he stood out above others. Then a lady spoke.

“Here is your task. You will take this— “what looked to be a golden ring with black trim “—and keep it with you at all times. Through it, you will call on us and we will answer you.”

Call on them? Why would he need to call on them? And why was he ‘chosen’ by these. . . people to carry out tasks for them? It must be some sort of joke. A faulty projection? He closed his eyes and opened them again in hopes that all of this would be some kind of mystic rouse. It wasn’t—he really was trapped in an abandoned warehouse with some knock off Illuminati figures. Then it clicked. These were the Old Gods. They were bestowing him with the last vestiges of their power.

Then he threw up in the bathroom toilet. He and Jack Daniels never worked together well, he should have just stuck with orange juice like he planned—and why wouldn’t they turn that music down? By Allah, he hated house parties.

El Cartel de Gomez

---

The Gomez family is a vast net of men and women peasant farmers numbering well into fifty immediate members and an uncounted number of extended family and distant relatives. A matriarchal unit--a finding not uncommon among Colombia’s poor farmers where farmlands are often owned by the woman’s father and such ownership allocates power to women in ways that are inverse to traditional Western societies where men typically hold power in private and forum.

At the height of the “Colombian conflict”, that is, the ongoing guerrilla warfare between paramilitary groups and the resident Colombian drug cartels in the late eighties and early nineties, there spawned a new generation of drug barons and baronesses seeking to utilize the bloodshed in order to establish their own place within the booming cocaine trade. Men and women of all backgrounds: farmers, sewers, coca paste-makers, coffee bean harvesters, dishwashers, any and all persons who had more gut than wit flooded the fields of the Andes’ green with blood and bribery. This is the story of one such farmer boy and his bid for power.

We begin in 1979, where one Alejandro Gomez Jr. is born to Alejandro and Daniella Gomez. Alejandro Sr. a coffee harvester and Daniella, a seamstress; both--like many of Colombia’s disenfranchised--furnished a living for themselves and their son from less than a peso. Alejandro Sr. may be summed as a hard man, one who believed a man should be given no handouts--and if one’s wife was not working to help support the family, she was useless to him: “Si funciona, lo hace,” his mantra (“if it works, you do it.”) It is perhaps for this reason that Alejandro Sr.’s wife, a handsome woman herself, was given the nickname “el caballo.” (“the horse"); he preferred practicality over beauty. Alejandro Sr. never begot violence upon his only son, and for his stringent nature, knew when to be caring. These paternal traits would follow Alejandro Jr. throughout his own life.

Perhaps more important to young Alejandro’s development than his inheritance of his father’s traits were those bestowed on him by his mother. Patient, cold, warm, sharp. Daniella Gomez was in many ways more masculine than Alejandro senior. Daniella, too, was pragmatic but only insofar as her brand of ‘doing what worked’ was to pass to her children. Concerning matters outside of the family, Daniella was a dreamer, a romantic, an aspiring artist. Her ambition for painting and more delicate items in life sometimes clouded her judgement as it pertained to the empresa familiar that is, the family business. A coffee harvesting business which--during the time of the Gomez parents’--inadvertently became swept up in the drug wars which began to consume the countryside.

As exports, bananas and coffee beans were among the top two traded goods. A lucky farmer and his family could well strike rich if a year’s harvest was abundant. Of course, this was contingent upon whether he could stave the interests and the pockets of the private corporations looking to buy up lands the Colombian government had not already annexed themselves (mainly mineral farms) or handed to the displaced indigenous peoples. The rise in drug related crime had a threefold effect: 1) banana and coffee farms suddenly became the face of legitimate and easy enterprise; farmland soil was natural to the climate and one did not have to worry about intrusion from law enforcement 2) the private corporations soon lost interest in “granja de sangra”, blood farms--the farms became a liability; there was no point in shoveling even cents on the dollar into the pockets of a hundred laborers if there was no guarantee the workforce was going to survive the day, 3) men and women who were once innocent farmers now had to learn how to fight in order to survive--either one was to lose his livelihood by force or he was to defend it with his life. This rapid shift in the culture of country life meant blood spilled for hundreds of old, defiant, and untrained laymen.

It meant too that Alejandro senior would have to suffer the same; Alejandro senior was unlike most other uneducated banana farmers, however--he would not grovel, but he would not resist without intent: he would reason with these barons. All he needed was a little luck; when resident paramilitary head--who lead what was publicly the most corrupt regime of paramilitary troops in the hills of Colombia, only known to other local farmers as ”El Aguila” inevitably showed up to Alejandro senior’s lot, Alejandro pleaded with rightful dignity:

“Papa, no hay ninguna razòn para matar a mí, podemos hacer un trato.” Alejandro met The Eagle outside of his cottage and put forth his intentions right away. It was best to be straight with a man who could decimate your family and your livelihood with a flip of his finger. Alejandro senior continued,

“Aquí está mi trato. Sé que buscas reclutas, puedo unirme a ti y ayudarte a luchar. Usted tendrá el 30 por ciento de mi granja si me deja vivir. ¿cómo suena esto?”

‘The Eagle’ as the burly six foot general was called had taken a second to ponder. Many begged before the Eagle, real name William Leary, and for their insolent defeatism William had killed them. As heinous a reputation Leary garnished, the actual man was much shorter than myth made him and he was, as Alejandro senior came to find out, more lenient. He would let Alejandro senior live; in turn, Alejandro senior would not only get military training, he would retain partial ownership of his farm. It meant that his family would be secure for the future, and none of the other troops of the region would pester the Gomez farm for the duration of Alejandro senior’s service.

Many good things come with a price, and it was in the intervening five years--in which time Alejandro junior had turned ten, and Alejandro senior 35--that both men’s lives would diverge. It was now 1983. Alejandro senior had returned from his servitude to the local paramilitary chief and for his son he had lessons abundant. By 1983, the cocaine kings: Pablo Escobar, Carlos Lehder, Gilberto Rodriguez Orejuela, Daniel Barrerra Barrerra and queens: Griselda Blanco, Enedina Arellano Felix, Sandra Avila Beltrain, had all begun carving out much of Colombia’s hillside and flatland for the harvesting of coca leaves and subsequent production of cocaine. The collective rise of these cartel godfathers and mothers meant a virtual end for traditional farming in the Colombian countryside; it also meant that the large farm in which Alejandro had employed many of his relatives had to be evacuated for fear of their own safety. Of these, Alejandro senior elected to send: his only son, the youngest children, nephews, and nieces as well as his middle brother, Esteban..

Before their venture, Alejandro senior would train them as he had been trained: under a deal brokered with El Aguila, the Gomez farm was quarantined while the twelve youngest Gomez clan members were drilled in military tactics. Everything from the construction, deconstruction, and use of military grade weaponry to espionage, defensive and offensive tactical maneuvers, and a rigid physical training regimen requiring each of the children to go days without food and sleep. The young men and women from the Gomez clan were sculpted into ruthless soldiers--all this in exchange for El Aguila’s patronage and contacts in America--and, most important of all, Aguila’s own bid for power in the American cocaine epidemic.

By 1986, Escobar and the other drug lords had begun fighting a two fold war: one against rival cartels, the other against counterinsurgency leftist guerilla groups who sought to destroy the power the crime lords had established for themselves. This span of three years marked the completion of the Gomez kids’ training and their subsequent trip to America. It was, however, too soon to for Alejandro junior enact the deal forged between Aguilar, William Leary, and Alejandro junior’s father. Instead, Alejandro was sent to live with Leary’s Colombian-American contact, Don Bautista. Don Bautista earned his title formally, as a man of high political standing and a man who had made millions investing the Cuban sugar trade in the 1938 just before the second World War; he had sold his investment just before the war’s end, envisioning the inevitable crash which spawned from the European and American economic boom and the respective economies’ growing independent sugar trades.

It was while staying in the Bautista’s villa that Alejandro junior met and fell in love with the Don’s daughter, Manuela. She, too, was smitten by Alejandro II’s charm and gentlemanly fervor. When Alejandro junior turned twenty, Don Bautista granted Alejandro II’s request to marry Manuela and the two soon began a family young, like his father before him and Manuela’s mother before her. Of his original relatives who moved to the States with him, only Caspare (his first cousin) and Esteban (uncle) remained with him. The rest dispersed to normal lives; those intelligent enough found jobs in politics, banking, unions, they became doctors and lawyers as well. By early 1993, Manuela and Alejandro II had already birthed three of their seven kids within two years of one another. 1993 was also the death of Colombia’s undisputed cocaine kingpin, Pablo Escobar. Escobar’s death marked yet another transitional period in the South American drug trade; not only were trafficking routes now wide open for distributors and anyone willing to seize the void left by Escobar’s passing, the American government would now be seeking extraditions for hundreds of Colombian men and women who were thought to be lieutenants and high ranking members of Escobar’s empire. Many of these men and women were no more than associates. It meant once these men and women were released, there would be displaced Colombians seeking work; prime for helping Alejandro II establish a new life for himself and his relatives in the country.

By the end of 1998, Manuela had given birth to the last four Gomez children. Alejandro II, using Aguila and his contacts, had opened up a small fruit shop, one of the few Colombian owned businesses in the heart of Atlanta which got fresh Colombian imported goods: papaya, hass avocado, Lulo, Tamarillo, Pitayas, Zapote, among other things. Exotic imports were nothing unique in American landscape--this was one of the many unseen drawbacks of the extremely multiethnic culture America possessed: what would be exotic in another country is common,, people of all ethnicities brought their culture to the land of the Free and so no element of any culture was entirely unique. This was also America’s beauty; anyone from any culture could come and participate in the dream she offered in any way he pleased--so long as he was ready to suffer the consequences.

Alejandro II would find this out like everyone else when an unlisted package showed up on his doorstep one evening; in black marker it was written: ”El amor del àguila” (“Love from the Eagle”). It was time to repay favors. Unlike the movies, the process was slow. None of Alejandro II’s kids were old enough to enter empresa familiar; as such, Caspare and Esteban would often watch Alejandro’s kids while he and Manuela sold small nickel and dime bags of cocaine on the streets. The Gomez children received a stringent upbringing similar to the one Alejandro II had; the use of weapons, espionage, tactics--Alejandro made sure his children would be able to survive the harsh world in which they were about to inhabit.

Without the manpower or weaponry, getting a foothold in the underworld would prove difficult. Nor did he have the money to sustain a large conglomerate of soldado to do his dirty work. Conventional corner hustling was dead; he would have to find a new way to feed himself and his large family. It hit him: the fruit.

Alejandro II and Manuela began their drug venture anew; for each pound of fruit imported to their small shop, less than a gram of cocaine would be placed in a batch of fruit and either re-packaged and shipped through the Gomez’ Colombian contact or sold to unknowing customers who often became returning customers thanks to the ‘potency’ of some of the fruit shop’s natural imports. The avocado in particular was said to have a nice ‘kick’. Alejandro II had found his niche, and soon made money enough to finance a hundred fruit shops. The money had finally come, but it had not come quick enough and he had yet to establish any contacts yet in America. Not only this, but times were changing; cocaine was not the de facto drug of choice any longer; Alejandro foresaw such, just as Don Bautista had taught him: ”ver el cambio” (“see change”)

By the dawn of the new millennium, Alejandro had established a network of drug contacts in Colombia, Peru, Turkey, Canada and Chilé. In the seven years between 1998 and 2005, Alejandro Jr.--now known as “Jefe”--had opened up a series of legitimate businesses by using the money he gained from his cocaine fruit operation to invest in cheap housing in low income ethnic neighborhoods and fixing the houses up. He would rent these houses to ignorant travelers for triple the market price and in turn invest that money into buying yet another house on the same street. Alejandro II continued the process until he had owned at least one house in nearly every impoverished neighborhood in Atlanta. And once again, before the housing market crash of 2008, Alejandro--like mentor Don Bautista foresaw the crash of the sugar trade--sold his investments to desperate homeowners before the bubble burst. Ver el cambio. Jefe Gomez, before the age of 35, had become one of the wealthiest Colombians in America. And none but his family knew of his more devious dealings.

But yet again, more change was to swallow the Gomez clan; the Pax Metahumana; strange men and women with abilities unexplained appeared. People who could lift tanks with a single arm, fly, run at speeds the naked eye could not perceive, and wield arcane energies made the life of the criminal difficult. Still, even criminals are sometimes blessed; barring family members who were not in the effected areas of the metahumana (Felix, Arianna, Angel, Tino), the other Gomez relatives were bestowed their own set of powers.

---

---

Jefe Gomez

Name: Alejandro Gomez Junior

"Vel cambrio."

("See change.")

---

Nickname: Jefe, Don.
Age: 44.
Rank: Lord, King, Chief.

Power Type: Psychic/Supernatural.

Power Level: World.

Powers: Minor precognition: His 'business savvy' is largely owed to his powers; events which will effect him directly are those which he can predict, but the accuracy of these predictions is questionable.

Branding voice: His words carry an air of the mystic. Upon those which he has a vendetta and issues a hit, they become marked for death by the Gomez clan and their associates. When a kill order is issued, those in the organization attuned to the mystical in any sort are able to single out and hunt down the branded. It is effective for up to two people at a time (and generally only works on NPCs).

Personality: He is said to be the most cunning of the cartel's active leadership, rarely is his face seen on the street. A businessman in the truest sense of the word.

Whereabouts: Authorities are unsure if Mr. Gomez even resides in the United States at present. The only photo identification of his person exists in a single picture taken back in 2005.

Manuela Gomez

Name: Manuela Gomez.

"Para mi familia."

("For my family.")

---

Nickname: Viper, Queen.
Age: 42.
Rank: Segundo el amando.

Power Type: Shapeshifter.

Power Level: Street/City.

Powers: She can take the form of any person she has memorized, down to the voice and gait of said person.

Weaknesses: Still human.

Personality: As cold and calculating as her husband, Manuela Gomez serves as Alejandro's mind and eyes; it is speculated she is the one who truly calls the shots within the organization.

Psychological Profile: Displays characteristics of narcissism. Often only speaks to her husband. Extremely volatile.

Whereabouts: Unknown.

Caspare Gomez

Name: Caspare Gomez

"El silencio es oro."

("Silence is gold.")

---

Nickname: Reaper

Power Type: Supernatural.

Power Level: World.

Powers: Death Inducement: A simple glance at someone who Alejandro has marked for death will begin the process of destabilizing the target's autoimmune system. The effects are not instant and they take place over several weeks. Its effects are nullified by those with supreme healing capabilities.

Flor de la Muerte: An enchanted phantom blade which is not itself physical, instead it is used to kill targets without leaving wounds or marks of any kind. It appears in the physical realm only as a tattoo trailing down the right side of Caspare's arm.

Cloak and Scry: At will, Reaper can cloak himself from all natural fields of vision and disrupt those who possess magic sensory capabilities, though he cannot hide himself completely from those with magic sight/detection.

Weaknesses: Still human.

Age: 42.

Rank: El sicario.

Personality: The most violent member of the three-pronged head. If Caspare comes for you, it is best you make your piece with any deities in which you believe. His precision in tracking down and executing targets is impeccable.

Psychological Profile: A chronic depressive, Don Jefe is the only person who can speak sense to him. Deadly.
Whereabouts: Unknown.

---

---

(Strong arm)

Maria Gomez

Name: Maria Gomez

"La lealtad es todo."

("Loyalty is everything")

---

Nickname: Machette.

Power Type: Supernatural.

Power Level: World.

Power: Spirit Tracking: She can locate the souls of those who Alejandro has put hits on. It has no other use.

Weaknesses: Still human.
Age: 28

Rank: El escuadron de la muerte.

Former occupation: United States Marine Core (USMC) (seven years).

Personality: Stringent, organized, and deliberate, Maria leads the young Gomez 'death squad' consisting of its most violent members and most efficient killers. She studied computer engineering briefly before dropping out after two semesters.

Felix Gomez

Name: Felix Gomez.

"Si no se ama a sí mismo, ¿quién lo hará?"

("If he does not love himself, who will?")

---

Nickname: Bonito.
Powers: None.
Age: 26.
Rank: El escuadron de la muerte.

Current occupation: Class A CDL licensed truck driver.

Personality: Reserved. Of the death squad members, Bonito is the most level headed and prefers to help victims see the error of their ways before he kills them. As a child, he always loved racing cars and his father once bought him a set of one hundred Hot Wheels tracks.A romantic like his grandmother before him.

Arianna Gomez

Name: Arianna Gomez

"No tienes pelotas."

("You have no balls.")

---

Nickname: Sleepy.
Powers: Normal.
Age: 24
Rank: El escuadron de la muerte.

Former occupation: USMC (five years).

Personality: More wild and violent than her elder brother and sister, "Sleepy" Gomez gets her nickname from her lifeless eyes--eyes which she uses to lull unsuspecting men and women into carnivorous bouts of passion before ending them. Before she joined the Marines, Arianna was the proverbial black sheep of the Gomez clan as she spent many of her days jobless and living with anyone who would support her cocaine addiction. One of the men with whom she squatted was one Patrick Crosby, a young Canadian white collar criminal with whom she had a child. It was after the discovery of her pregnancy that she enlisted in the army.

Esteban Gomez

Name: Esteban Gomez

"Viva la jefe"

("Long live the chief.")

---

Nickname: Bear.

Power Type: Supernatural/Brick.

Power Level: Street.

Attributes: Projectile proof: Natural projectiles cannot pierce him, no matter the grade. This can be overcome by enchanted weaponry.

Superhuman Durability: He can withstand great impacts from other superhumans.

Superhuman Strength: He can lift a ton overhead.

Blessing of Yum Cimil: The Bear is preternaturally lucky. When on a mission, harm rarely comes about him.

Age: 40.

Rank: El escuadron de la muerte.

Former occupation: Boxer.

Personality: The definition of the quiet assassin. Surpassed only by "Reaper" himself, the Bear earned his moniker from his towering physical figure and inhuman strength. He is the definition of a 'mystical assassin', one who always seems to have the favor of the dark gods on his side.

---

---

(Lieutenants)

Isabella Gomez

Name: Isabella Gomez

"La familia siempre está ahí para usted"

("Family is always there for you.")

---

Nickname: Baby.
Powers Type: Grey Matter.
Power Level: Street.
Attributes: Superhuman Intelligence. Her IQ is well above normal human levels.
Age: 19.
Rank: Teniente.

Personality: Upon Jefe Gomez' sister's death in 2010, Alejandro took in the orphaned Isabella and has raised her as one of his own. Isabella, like the rest of the Gomez clan, felt she had something to prove to her uncle and woud display it by becoming the youngest (and perhaps most innovative) of its members. Jefe initially objected to her becoming part of the business because of her age and her penchant for compassion at the wrong times. She quickly proved her worth and to this day, Jefe guards Isabella as though she were his daughter. He has made sure Isabella achieved her dream of going to college. Her service to the cartel persists in her ability to recruit other Spanish immigrants, especially those who are not bilingual, in order to move the cartel's product through the university system.

Current occupation: Student at Morehouse School of Medicine.

Angel Gomez

Name: Angel Gomez

"Los coches y las mujeres son similares; tiene cuidado de ellos, y tendrán cuidado de usted."

("Cars and women are similar; take care of them and they will take care of you.")

---

Nickname: Angel.
Powers: Normal.
Rank: Teniente.
Age: 25.

Personality: Laid back as can be. Like his younger sister, Arianna, Angel has a love for partying. Unlike his sister, Angel spends his exorbitant partying time establishing connections with the street level gangs in and around Atlanta who are of South American descent, namely: Mara Salvatrucha 13, Sureños 13, Florencia 13, and most notably--thanks to his cousin Tino--Angel has assisted La eme (the Mexican Mafia) in operating street dealings as the Gomez cartel seeks to strengthen connections within the prison system.

Current occupation: Car mechanic shop owner. Illicit dealings in arms trafficking across Colombian, Canadian, and US borders with help from La Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13).

Tino Gomez

Name: Tino Gomez.

"Tus enemigos son tus amigos si les puede hacer creer"

("Your enemies are your friends if you can make them believe it.")

---

Nickname: Tiny.
Powers: Normal.
Ethnicity: Colombian-Mexican-American.
Age: 36.
Personality: A leader. His leadership skills may surpass those of Jefe Gomez himself. If it were not for his lengthy prison sentence (two one hundred year sentences which are to run concurrent), Tino Gomez would likely be Alejandro's heir. He has a soft spot for children, and himself had three before he went to prison. Jefe Gomez takes care of them as well.

Current occupation: In the supermax prison which he is stationed, Tino has established himself as a high-ranking member of the Atlanta La Eme chapter. A "shot caller." Tino Gomez uses both his connections to the cartel as well as his influence garnished from his position in la eme to: send orders to the Atlanta street gangs underneath eme's control, issue assassinations, and inform Alejandro of any dealings within the prison system. Any Gomez family member or associate who is sent to prison is often--under the course of bribery--transferred to Atlanta's supermax so he/she is under Tiny Gomez's watchful eye.

Valentina Gomez

Name: Valentina Gomez.

"No se tiene que preocupar más"

("You do not have to worry anymore.")

---

Nickname: El Pàjaro., El Doctorado.
Age: 35.
Power Type: Grey Matter.
Powers: Superhuman Intelligence.
Power Level: Street.
Attributes: Her IQ is well above normal human level.
Rank: Teniente.

Personality: Decisive and firm. Formally, the most educated of all the cartel's members. Valentina lacks the thirst for violence which permeates other members of her family's business, but she is not opposed to such violence: "es lo que es" ("it is what it is.)

Current occupation: She received her Ph.D. in law and philosophy from Columbia University Law School in New York when she was 31. Since, she has steadily been building her own private practice and recently passed the bar exam and is licensed to represent clients and operate in New York, Atlanta, and Chicago. With help from Jefe, Valentina has recently opened her first firm in Chicago representing juveniles and immigrants--many of whom are of Spanish descent.

Carmella Gomez

Name: Carmella Gomez.

"Yo sé lo que mi padre, y no me importa. Él cuida de nosotros, y eso es lo que importa."

("I know what my father does, and I do not care. He takes care of us, and that is what is important.)"

---

Nickname: Cuete.
Age: 22.
Power Type: Supernatural.
Power Level: Street.
Powers: Supernatural Marksmanship: Carmella always seems to hit her target.
Rank: Teniente.

Personality: Carmella is spoiled, Jefe sometimes treats her better than he treats his own wife. Like her siblings and relatives, Carmella is naturally tough--not to mention that she has a loud mouth. Her fiery temper will often get her in trouble.

Current occupation: A recent college graduate, Carmella also joined the police Atlanta Police Department. She lives in a condo Jefe purchased for her upon graduation. Of the Gomez siblings, Carmella lives furthest from her elder siblings with her residency being in the downtown area. Her police training has made her proficient in the use of handguns and melee combat.

---

El Cartel de Gomez

Base of operations: Atlanta.
Other operations: Chicago, New York, Florida, Dallas, New Mexico, Mexico, Colombia.

Estimated revenue/yr: 20,000,000 USD.

Size: Small (100-200 foot soldiers directly tied to the organization) with steadily rising numbers.

Business ventures: Buena Comida: A local restaurant which serves Mexican, Colombian, and El Salvadorian cuisine.

Cafè Colombiano: A cafè and lounge which serves imported Colombian coffee and beans. It is situated in the heart of Atlanta's business district.

Gomez fruits: An international fruit import/export business which transports Colombian fruit and vegetable produce across the globe.

Character you have created: Gomez Cartel
Alias: None
Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain
Identity: Unknown.
Origin Info/Details: See above.
Hero Type (Select one): Normal/Grey Matter/Psychic/Shapeshifter/Supernatural
Power Level: Street/City/World (upper eschelon).
Powers (Be Specific): Varies.
Attributes: Money. International connections.
Resources: Extreme.
Supporting characters: Jefe Gomez.
Manuela Gomez.
Caspare Gomez.
Tino Gomez.
Felix Gomez.
Arianna Gomez.
Angel Gomez.
Valentina Gomez.
Maria Gomez.
Isabella Gomez.
Carmella Gomez.
Esteban Gomez.

Il Clan de Campagna

Don Salvatore Campagna.

History: The Sicilian Mafia is among the oldest and most feared organized crime groups in the world. With origins tracing back to the late nineteenth century and perhaps earlier, these men and women set the course for what modern society calls 'organized crime.' The Mafia's beginnings trail back to the middle of the nineteenth century to Italian feudalism. Feudal lords and their private armies owned much of the farmland across the countryside, but by the end of 1812 and Sicily's subtle transition away from a feudal system, many of these land barons sold their properties to private citizens. The result of this rapid selling of land meant the formation of a middle class in Sicilian society as men who were formerly mere peasants could now produce, sell, and harvest their own goods at their own rate without the watchful eye of the lords dictating the market.

This transition into private property ownership caused land ownership in Sicily to soar into the tens of thousands. This also meant that land could no longer be sold to appease debts as land was no longer a means of bargaining; when the advent of the primogeniture abolished, new landowners had to find new ways to pay off debts and settle disputes. Formal feudal barons transferred their formerly private armies to the jurisdiction of the state, but these armies were poorly trained and lacking in number. A lack of enforcing bodies meant these new landlords needed to establish independent parties which could be used for protecting their lands. These young men were to hunt down suspected thieves in exchange for pardons and the return of stolen goods.

Organized into small companies of young men from all walks of life, these men were sworn to an oath of fealty to their overlord for their survival. This code of loyalty and brotherhood would set the stage for the omèrta, "the code of silence" and the familial unit which would grow into the modern Italian Mafia. When Italy annexed Sicily in 1860, these new enforcer arms of the small provincial countrysides in Sicily formed the first mafia clans. These clans structured themselves like small corporations. One such band, the Campagna clan, established themselves as one of the foremost mafia clans in Sicily in size and influence. Today, the Campagna clan controls a substantial amount of the heroin and cocaine exports in Sicily.

Base of operations: Sicily.

Other operations: Naples, Palermo, Florence.

Business ventures: Giancano's: A pizza dough importer based in Sicily. They also import tomato pastes and other authentic sauces from Italy and Sicily.

Size: Large (900-1000 soldiers and associates with direct ties to the organization).

Character you have created: The Campagna Clan.

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Unknown.
Origin Info/Details: See above.
Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Money. International connections.

Resources: Extreme.

Estimated revenue/yr: 6,500,000 USD.

National Nigerian Liberation Army (NNLA)

Chinue Uba pictured above.

History: War has raged in West Africa for mining rights to the coveted blood diamonds since the turn of the millennium. In an effort to expand their power, many of the nationalist guerrilla groups and warlords have sought outside assistance in their bids for dominance. In exchange, these guerrilla groups and their larger financiers--the liberation armies from which many of them are subsets--provide their assisting bodies with weapons, drugs, and free passage through liberation-controlled zones should their overseas contacts require it. This mutual relationship between the nationalist warlords and other national criminal organizations have allowed both parties to confound international law enforcement because of the sheer number and rate at which these exchanges occur across the second largest continent in the world.

One connection lost in the shuffle is between the Gomez cartel and the National Nigerian Liberation Army. Tbe NNLA for short, is an extremist freedom fighter group which combats corrupt Nigerian armies who are supposed to be fighting insurgent threats and are instead supplying both sides of the conflict in favor of strengthening their connections to the home countries of these terrorist groups in hopes of continuing lucrative illicit dealings between both countries. The fight between the Nigerian armies and these insurgent groups is mainly used as a cover to assassinate all political dissidents and enemies of Nigeria's current leadership.

The NNLA has--like many of its counterparts--resorted to extreme measures of violence in order to diminish the Nigerian armies' hold on apolitical epicenters near diamond mining camps. For whoever can push back the well armed platoons will make themselves and their organizations exorbitant amounts of money. Funding from outside sources--the Gomez and their contacts--means not only may the NNLA be one of the first national liberation organizations to achieve such a goal, but it also means free passage of cartel drugs throughout the African continent and further expansion of an already vast network.

Base of operations: Nigeria.

Other operations: None.

Business venture: None.

Size: Medium (500-700 soldiers and associates with direct ties to the organization).

Character you have created: Nigerian National Liberation Army.

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Unknown.
Origin Info/Details: See above.
Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Money. International connections. Extremely violent.

Resources: Large.

Estimated revenue/yr: 2,500,000 USD.

Yegorovich Bratva

Dimitri Chekhov, The Red Godfather.

History: Before the rise of the USSR, Russian peasants braved harsh Russian climates by stealing to survive. In the Russian prisons and later gulags where many of these young men ended up as a result of their stealing, there emerged an organized conglomerate of gangs. Banding together, these young men did everything necessary to survive harsh Russian prison camps and forced labor units; these societies of criminals operated by the code of thieves. Colloquially termed bratvas (brotherhoods), these new bands of criminals needed leaders--intelligent and conniving young criminals who quickly rose through their insulated ranks to become vory v. zakone ("thieves in law.").

Similar to the Sicilian mafia, the Russian bratvas maintain a hierarchical style structure. Within this structure, these oligarchical units carry out their illicit activities: money laundering, drug trafficking, arms trafficking, bribery, extortion, prostitution. Unlike the Sicilians and the Italians, the Russians are ran by a dodecagon style leadership net; that is, twelve of the top heads from the respective bratva cells meet to conduct business, solve disputes, and divide revenue among one another. It is the size and complexity of the Russian bratva hierarchy which makes them such a tough opponent to topple because as a whole they operate horizontally and function as a conglomerate more than a united front. Of these pakhan (bosses, godfathers, leaders), Dmitri Chekhov leads one of the largest cells consisting of over 3500 men worldwide.

An old school boss, Chekhov was initially against the modernization of the bratvas making their move to US soil as he foresaw the heat it would bring upon their unaffiliated comrades as well as the difficulty in operating rackets where more advanced technology and harsh law enforcement techniques existed America. For all that is said about American police, they prove much harder to bribe than their Russian compatriots. Once the Red Father saw the avenues for diversification of his rackets and the greater revenue streams from legitimate businesses in the Americas--and more important, his fellow pakhan surpassing him in worldwide inflence, Chekhov decided to expand his organization to the land of the free. To this end, Chekhov dispatched one of his most trusted brigadiers ("authorities", similar to Italian caporegimes), Anatoly Petroff, to set up operations in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn--with some help from one cartel lawyer El Pàjaro in expediting the work visa acquisition process; a favor Jefe Gomez owed to the Red Father for pardoning him of some disagreements with a fellow Russian associate of a rival bratva.

Anatoly Petroff

Name: Anatoly Petroff.

"Не пересекайте меня. Я убью Вас, вашу мать, жену, детей, детей, и собаку - и это травмировало меня, чтобы убить собаку."

("Do not cross me. I will kill you, your mother, wife, children, and your dog--and it would hurt me to kill the dog.")

Nickname: бульдог ("bulldog").

Powers: None.

Power Type: Normal.

Power Level: None.

Personality: Ruthless. Bred from a different sort of criminal, the Russian born Anatoly has the wit, temper, and cold detachment necessary to have risen through the bratva ranks so quickly at just 31 years old.

Occupation: Owns a television store and a small check and cashing place in the heart of Brighton Beach.

Subfaction (Red Arm Brigadier): 40-50 members and associates.

Base of operations: Russia.

Other operations: Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.

Business venture: Dmitri's Meats: A global meat packaging and shipping organization which imports and exports many cuts of hog and bear.

Chekhov Vodka: A global liquor export company.

Size: Massive (3500-4000 soldiers and associates worldwide).

Character you have created: Yegorovich Bratva.

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Unknown.

Origin Info/Details: See above.

Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Money. International connections. Extremely violent.

Resources: Extreme.

Estimated revenue/yr: 60,000,000 USD.

William Leary

"I am a hard working man. That is all I claim to be, and that is all you can accuse me of."

Name: William Leary.

---

History: Former Colombian paramilitary leader-turned-senator, Leary is one of the few American-Colombian dual citizens who serves on the Colombian senate. His connection to the cartel is apparent to most in Colombia, but to almost none in America as he has not left Colombia since 1979. Leveraging his connections to the cartel he helped build, Leary has seeded himself in the politics of the Colombian political scene by intimidation, bribery, and extortion of some of Colombia's eldest senate members. Through his government connections, Leary leaks sensitive information to the cartel concerning important amendments, the passing of new bills, and new law enforcement regulations within the country. The cartel owes much of its success in escaping the Colombian authorities to Leary's intervention.

These days, Mr. Leary spends his waking hours fighting accusations of corruption and fraud. As the cartel has matured in size and influence, Leary has called upon his creation to subdue his accusers with might, but the cartel denies him these privileges every time. Gone are the days where criminal organizations can murder senators and judges without recompense--even in a country corrupt as Colombia. For this, the relationship between the Gomez' and Senator Leary has become strained; the cartel was reluctant to break ties with Leary, however, because it would have meant mean the death of their sole political connection in Colombia. To counteract such measures, Jefe has dispatched his wife to assume Mr. Leary's image in the Senate with the use of her abilities. William Leary himself has been given a stipend and an ultimatum--retire and remain quiet, or el sagador may pay him a visit sooner than expected.

With his wife fronting Leary's position in the Senate, the cartel is beginning to spread its political influence throughout the Colombian political scene at a rate greater than any the original Leary could have done. The cartel possesses an estimated fifteen political allies on their payroll in the Colombian senate alone. The actual William Leary's purpose to the Gomez organization consists in his paramilitary connections and the stock of potential recruits made available to the cartel at any time with a single phonecall. The real William Leary's whereabouts are unknown; some claim to have sighted him in the Bahamas as recent as 2013, but no confirmation of such information is available.

Patrick "Canuck" Crosby & Michael Thompson

"Relax, man. I'm all good, you're all good--everyone's all good."

Name: Patrick Crosby.

"I expose dishonest crooks for what they are."

Name: Michael Thompson.

---

History: Patrick Crosby--affectionately named "Canuck" by his cartel contacts--and his former university roommate, Michael Thompson, are the cartel's northern most contacts in Canada. The duo operates primarily in white collar crimes, namely embezzlement, identity fraud, and blackmail. Thompson, a computer science major turned black hat hacker, steals confidential information from corrupt businesses and their executives and in turn ransoms this information for a massive fee. Crosby, should the companies or executives refuse to pay said ransom, will then leak this sensitive information to law enforcement agencies anonymously.

Operating under assumed identities, Crosby and Thompson also run an elaborate embezzlement and larceny scheme. By re-investing the ransomed money stolen these small-to-medium sized corporations, the two then by shares in larger corporations in bulk and re-allocates these funds upon quarterly return into the cartel's financial accounts at double the initial investment. In turn, the Gomez cartel buffers the financial and asset losses by providing the monies necessary to sustain the scheme until Thompson and Crosby can buy out the entire organization altogether and transfer remaining assets to themselves and the cartel.

Crosby and Thompson's connection to the cartel is more personal than most of the organization's other contacts. Crosby was once in a relationship with Arianna Gomez; upon the discovery of the pregnancy, Jefe forced Arianna to enlist in the military in hopes that it may straighten her personality. Crosby, on the other hand, was 'settled' into a debt to the Gomez organization; there would be none who thought he could manipulate and use Jefe Gomez' daughters without the intervention of Jefe himself. Crosby repays his debt to the Gomez' by working on their behalf.

Characters you have created: Patrick Crosby and Michael Thompson.

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Unknown.

Origin Info/Details: See above.

Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Writing code, hacking, partying, thievery.

Resources: Large.

La Eme

La eme founders, circa 1957

---

History: Formed in the California prison system in 1957 to combat racism and abuse from white gangs and correctional officers, la eme quickly became the most powerful Mexican American prison gang in the US. The organization was founded by Hispanic gangmembers who were already initiated into different sets within their own neighborhoods on the outside. La eme or the Mexican Mafia as they are universally known, is composed of primarily southern Hispanics from southern California. Their membership in recent years has expanded to include people of all sorts of Latin and Hispanic descent: El Salvadorians, Venezuelans, Colombians, Brazilians, and more.

What gives la eme its nigh-inexhaustible reach is its leadership. Among the most intelligent gang members within the penal system, la eme has correctional officers, prison lieutenants, and in some cases wardens in their pockets. These connections within prison walls give la eme a structure of power unrivaled by any other prison gang in America. Atop this, la eme has beneath itself a cell of street gangs; termed "the Southsiders" this umbrella group of infamous criminals is comprised almost entirely of Mexican American and mixed-race Hispanic American streeetgangs which originate from southern California. Underneath the '13' banner, symbolic of the letter 'M' being the 13th letter of the alphabet, these gangs include: La Mara Salvatrucha 13 (shortened MS-13), Sureños 13 (shortened Sur 13), Azura 13, Florencia 13, El Monte, and hundreds of other gang sets who all take orders from la eme. Like other organized criminal groups, they too operate with a set of rules and an established hierarchy.

The largest of these street gangs beneath the '13' banner and subsequently la eme's control is MS-13. With 70-100,000 active members spread across 48 states in the U.S., La Mara Salvatrucha is the largest operating streetgang in the nation with tens of thousands of members situated in: Guatemala, El Salvador, Mexico, Nicaragua, and Honduras. While South American branches of MS-13 do not maintain a strong relationship with most cartels, their American brethren do. American MS13 members often assist cartel heads and lieutenants in trafficking drugs and immigrants across the Mexico-US border into Texas, Florida, New Mexico, and Georgia.

Characters you have created: La Eme.

Size: Small (100-300 members spread across US penal system).

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Known.

Origin Info/Details: See above.

Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Penal connections. Street connections. Foot soldiers.

Subfactions: Azura 13 (20-100 active members), Florencia 13 (800-1000 active members), Sureños 13 (10,0000-20,000 active members).

MS-13

"'Trucha!"

---

History: The violent El Salvadorian civil war --between the Salvadorian government and several leftist guerrilla groups seeking to overthrow the corrupt Salvadorian administration--from 1980 to 1992 displaced many Salvadorian immigrants across Southern America and the Western portion of the United States as many wished to distance themselves from the violence which threatened to infect the southern tip of the free world. With immense Mexican immigration occurring during this period, many of the illegal refugees fled to California where immigration laws were more lenient. Further, these immigrants settled in Los Angeles, a city with an already high concentration of legal Mexican immigrants. There was one problem: these Mexican immigrants came under scrutiny from black, Asian, and white streetgangs who already inhabited much of L.A.

These Mexican immigrants reacted to such pressures by forming their own coalitions. Together, these Salvadorian immigrants created what is known today as La Mara Salvatrucha. Rapid immigration from peers all across South America sped the growth of this newfound organization, and by the end of the 90s, MS13 had become the largest Mexican street gang in the United States. Typically identified by their canvased bodies which sport set names and chicano-style tattoos, La Mara has since expanded beyond East L.A. and holds considerable extraneous power bases in: Virginia, New York, Boston, North Carolina, and Houston. Its members are some of the most violent of any street gang, preferring machettes and crude forms of torture to send messages to their enemies. Their rivals include nearly all black gangs and northern California based Hispanic gangs (most notably Nueva 14 who, like the Blood inversion of the Crips, identify themselves by the color red). Some MS13 sets hold alliances with Aryan Brotherhood gangs thanks to their noted relationship within the nation's prison system.

Even though it is the largest street gang in the U.S. at present, it has no central organization structure like other criminal groups of its ilk. Instead, MS13 is splintered into several 'sets' or 'clickas'--individual cliques with their own set of rules and leadership. They do not answer to a group of leaders or a single leader outside of orders given to them by la eme; la eme does not have control over MS13's daily operations, however. Certain sects of MS13 have internal dealings with several cartel groups though this is not the case for all groups.

Characters you have created: La Mara Salvatrucha 13.

Size: Massive (70,000-100,000 active members in the US, tens of thousands across Southern America).

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Known.

Origin Info/Details: See above.

Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Penal connections. Street connections. Foot soldiers.

Estimated revenue/yr: Undocumented.

Red Boar Triad

Genzo Fujioki pictured middle-left.

"我们团结在一起, 这样我们就不会死"

("We stick together and that way we do not die.")

---

History: Following the formation of the People's Republic of China in 1949 and Mao Zedong's assumption of leadership, the mainland Chinese criminal organizations which were once secret societies were splintered and forced out of the mainland. With several cells consisting of some two and three thousand men a piece, hundreds of thousands of Chinese criminal organizations, formally dubbed "Triads" were forced to find new places of operations in cities such as Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, and other southeast Asian cities and countries. Originally organized as secret societies and brotherhoods--which some speculate were formed to overthrow dynasties during China's lengthy Dynastic Period in order to restore long dead empires--these organizations at some point devolved into illicit activities following the end of the Dynastic Period.

With this devolution of interests came a need for re-organization and a consolidation of power. With Mao in charge, these brotherhoods-turned-criminals could no longer wage war on one another--or, to the ends of their new aims, make money--without collusion and systematic action. As such, these organizations banded together to form large conglomerate group of illegitimate partnerships. The "nine" as they were called, made up the nine largest of these groups: the Sun Yee On, Wo Hop To, Wo Shing Wo, Rung, Tung, Luen, Chuen, Shing, and 14K. Together, this united criminal cell dealt in counterfeiting, drug and arms trafficking, extortion, prostitution, bribery, gambling, fraud, and other illegal activities prevalent among criminal groups.

Power, however, cannot remain in one place for long. While the nine hold an iron grip on much of the underworld landscape in the Far East, newer, younger, and more violent organizations have risen up to attempt and carve some of this power for themselves. The Red Boar Triad, like the Yegorovich Bratva, have sent their own emissaries to America to attempt to establish a power base for themselves. In San Francisco California, authorities report, there has been a spike in the number of Japanese immigrants in recent years. The cause nor the correlation for this phenomenon has yet to be encountered.

Thomas Jiang

"Do you know who I am?"

Thomas Jiang.

Nickname: Tommy Gun.

Age: 27.

Rank: Straw Sandal (Liason Officer--similar to caporegime or brigadier in the Italian and Russian mobs, respectively).

Powers: None.

Power Type: Normal.

Power Level: None.

Personality: Calm and ruthless all the same. He is not brash like many young criminal upstarts, his favorite poet is William Blake. He enjoys more elegant things; the restaurant he he runs in San Francisco's Chinatown area is adorned with soft colors that aim to bring a soothing dining experience to customers. Sometimes he goes for walks on cool summer nights just to ease his mind.

Occupation: Owner of the Golden Panda, a Chinese buffet through which Jiang launders money. With backing from the cartel, Jiang is preparing to begin a chain of these restaurants across the west coast.

Subfaction (Red Light Triad): 20-40 members and associates.

Characters you have created: Red Boar Triad.

Size: Large (1200-2000 members and associates worldwide).

Alias: None

Character Alignment: Walking the Line/Villain

Identity: Unknown.

Origin Info/Details: See above.

Hero Type (Select one): Normal.

Power Level: None.

Powers (Be Specific): None.

Attributes: Foot soldiers. Violence.

Estimated revenue/yr: Undocumented (the organization itself is relatively new).