An Outsider

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Furious

He screamed when Chrome crushed his hand, the pain indescribable. If anything the sound of his bones being splintered was just as bad, his stomach lurching with each crack. He'd never felt anything like this in his short hero career, not even during his battle when that Meta-prisoner transfer bus had been hijacked and he had fought all those villains at once. He wouldn't have been able to stop Chrome throwing him to the ground again even if he had the wherewithal to realise the trainer was doing it, his entire focus was on the pain of his hand.

A big heavy boot came down on his throat, and this time he couldn't do anything to stop it. He felt the pressure, slight yet inexorable. Chrome was going to choke him out and then it would be all over. No membership in the League, no chance of showing the PMDF what he was capable of, no helping oppressed Meta's everywhere. Just a few minutes of gasping for air then it would be all over, just a miserable trip back to the Dominguez mansion where he would live the rest of his life like a ghost, trying not to get in his father's way. He could almost feel Miguel's indifference already.

But then he felt something else. It was small at first, but growing within him steadily. It was like a fire, but it burnt without heat. It grew and grew, a light to illuminate the darkness that had threatened to swamp him. It was power in its rawest form, pulsating and pure. He could feel his skin tingle with it. Even his hand didn't hurt like it did before. Perhaps he had never experienced anything like having the bones in his fist shattered, but it had made him stronger than he had ever been in the past.

But its not just that he realised. It was more than just his Metapower, it was something greater and more intangible. It was the first Daryl Redman struggling against circumstance to make life better for men like himself. It was Sofira Redman fighting to help the needy and unfortunate. It was even Miguel Dominguez, determined to make a world were the tragedy that had befallen him would never happen to anyone else. Furious came from a long line of fighters, and he would be damned if he shamed that lineage today by giving up here. He may lose this fight, but he would go down swinging.

He grabbed the closest thing to him, Chrome's ankle, and squeezed. He squeezed as hard as he could, poring every last bit off power he had into it. He was more powerful than he had ever been, but he wasn't sure if that was enough. Dr Mellori had said his strength was potentially limitless, so Furious prayed he had enough now to make a difference.

He focused on his broken hand, fixating on the pain, all just to leech a bit more strength for the squeeze. He wasn't sure if Chrome was really made of steel, or if he was some organic metal, all he knew was that he had to hurt the trainer somehow, had to get him off before Furious passed out.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Hey MrD, is Chrome basically this universe's Colussus? Like have his eyes and insides turned metal too?

The League - The Rogues Gallery

Volt's Rogues

Obsidian

Obsidian, real name Donald Sharpe, is arguably Britain's most notorious super-villain, his power only matched by his malevolence. His body is humanoid in shape but is composed entirely of an obsidian like substance, though several times harder. He has the ability to morph his appendages into simple weapons, like blades, hammers or hooks, as well as break pieces off and use them as projectiles. Eventually the broken pieces will grow back. He no longer requires food, nor does he posses a sense of touch, though he can experience pain. His body is completely insulated against electrical attacks and he is immune to all known forms of harmful gases, poisons or toxins.

Donald 'Donnie' Sharpe was, in a word, a hedonist. The pleasures of the flesh was all that interested him, good food, strong drink, loose women and expensive drugs. To fund this lifestyle he became a hotshot lawyer, his way with words, loose morals and natural charisma giving him an impressive edge on his competitors. That was before the awakening, before the world changed.

Donnie was at home when the world changed, trying to sleep off a hangover, when his whole body began to harden and blacken. Donnie had never experienced pain like it, but the worst was yet to come. He discovered that his new form had no sense of taste or touch, nor could alcohol or drugs have any effect on him. All the things he had spent his life chasing was now worthless to him. He resolved to find a cure for his new condition.

To do that though he would need money, and the only way he could think to get money was to go down the cliché villain path and rob a bank. He botched the job, understandable as he had no idea how to rob a bank, and was forced to flee the scene with the police in fast pursuit. In his escape he killed several law officers and civilians, amongst his victims was one Daniel Mackay. Donnie found he'd acquired a taste for murder after that, it providing an admirable substitute to his usual vices.

Since then he has taken on the name Obsidian gone on several rampages, usually with the goal of getting money or raising the body count, but he has been thwarted by Volt on each occasion. The two are well matched, and though Volt can usually defeat Obsidian he has never managed to capture the villain. For his part Volt holds a special place in Obsidian's heart, one he would be only too happy to put an end to.

The Iron Lady

Margaret ‘Maggie’ May, or as she is better known ‘The Iron Lady’, isn’t so much a super-villainess as she is a damaged and vulnerable young woman. Originally from the small town of Ballycastle in the North of Ireland, she moved to London when she turned eighteen to gain some small measure of independence from her strict Catholic parents. Maggie’s model good looks and perky nature quickly got her a job as a secretary for a upscale lawyer firm, but she was rarely valued for the person she was. In fact she was used and abused by the men and women alike. She tried to stay upbeat, but the emptiness of city living was a heavy burden for such a fragile girl. Then came the Awakening.

Maggie was alone in her tiny bed sit when the lights turned off and the world shook. When the power eventually flickered back on all of the metal objects in her room were floating in mid-air. It was a shock at first, but Maggie eventually realised that it was her on will that was causing this phenomenon. In the weeks to come many new super-powered people revealed themselves to the world, but Maggie refused to join them, afraid that her new abilities would alienate her even more. Then came Hi-Voltage, and her life changed again.

Although camera shy, Volt was a revelation to the public. A hero cut from a similar cloth as America’s Zenith, one who didn’t seem to be in it for the fame. Maggie couldn’t help but be attracted to him, and felt that as his electro-kinesis and her mastery over magnetism somehow complimented each other. Crafting a revealing and form fitting costume in the vein of all good super-heroines and calling herself ‘The Iron Lady’ she took to the streets, looking to join Volt in his heroic endeavours. It wasn’t long until the two met, Maggie managing to convince Volt to agree to partner up with her on a trial basis.

For the first time Maggie had met someone who treated her as a person rather than an object, and fell hopelessly in love with the Lightning-Slinger. For his part Volt was happy to have someone to share his mission with (This was before he first met Silvertongue.) The two eventually began an ill fated romantic relationship. Then, during one of St George’s crusades, disaster struck. One of George’s gang, his Men-at-Arms, managed to get a lucky shot off at Volt. While it was merely a flesh wound it actually appeared to be fatal. The Iron Lady responded with lethal force, killing several of the Men-at-Arms, putting St George himself in the hospital and even killing and injuring several innocent bystanders. She was so out of control that Volt himself had to take her down before she hurt anyone else.

When she came to she realised the severity of what she had done. She knew that the British government would have to come down with the full force of the law against her, superhero or no. She begged Volt to run away with her. Though he had grown fond of Maggie Volt knew he couldn’t, as he still hadn’t paid back his debt to Daniel or brought Obsidian to justice. He allowed Maggie to leave on her own, but warned that if she ever came back he would be forced to treat her like any other murderer. It was a tearful farewell, as both new that fate had dealt them a harsh hand, but Maggie still fled to the European mainland.

On her own again Maggie has wallowed in a pit of self pity and despair, separated from the man she loves, though she lived quietly. It wasn’t until she found out that Volt was dating Clara Lord that she roused herself. Insane with jealously she returned to Britain, intent on killing Clara. Volt managed to defeat her and save his girlfriend, but realised that Maggie was a damaged individual who needed help. Before he could apprehend her though she fled again. Though she hasn’t been seen since, Volt figure’s its just a matter of time before appears again.

Dr Whitechapel

Wreathed in shadow and mystery, the story of Jack the Ripper is one of the most intriguing and captivating of all time, with several historians, scholars and criminologist experts all lending their opinions on the real story. The truth, however, is far more bizarre than any of them could have imagined. Sir William Withey Gull was a physician of humble origins who, through hard work and perseverance, rose his ways through the ranks of the medical profession to establish a lucrative private practice and serve in a number of prominent roles, eventually being appointed to be one of the Physicians-in-Ordinary.

A true rags-to-riches story, but behind closed doors the story was much darker. Sir William and his siblings, his father having died of cholera when he was a lad, were raised alone by his cruel, harridan of a mother. Life was incredibly hard under the widow Gull, a devoutly religious woman who seen sin in every action, and took great pleasure in punishing her children for every infraction. William's resentment for both women and religion was born during these years. The young doctor-to-be soon realised that his only way out of his grim family home was his education. He left to live with a school teacher and his family, were he laid the first foundations for his career in medicine.

While he made many ground-breaking discoveries Gull's true goal was to create a world were women were no longer required. Though a brilliant physician he began to realise that his own aging body would give out long before technology advanced far enough to realise his dreams. Knowing that he had to live long enough to make his dream a reality he turned to the occult, mixing radical medical practice with the dark arts in the hopes of prolonging his life. However one cannot simply make something out of nothing, and to increase his life he had to first take someone else's. Thus the Jack the Ripper was born, the grotesque nature of the murders originally being due to the ritual needed to fuel the magic, but eventually being due to Sir William actually developing a taste for mutilation.

So it was that Sir William has survived into the twenty-first centaury, still trying to perfect his skills in genetics to the point we're he can make sexual reproduction, and a reliance on the female gender, obsolete. A difficult prospect, but one he feels he is up to the task for, and with all the time he has available to him then it is only a case of trial and error.

Every few decades he requires to repeat the ritual that prolongs his life, but on the last attempt he was foiled by Hi-Voltage and Silvertongue, the two teaming up for the first time to thwart a serial killer who has been active for over a century and a half. Unfortunately William managed to escape, while both Volt and Silvertongue have made themselves worthy of his notice.

The media have ironically dubbed Sir William 'Dr Whitechapel', due to the apparent similarities between his crimes and the Rippers. He is a misongystic-knife nut genius surgeon who is also a powerful occultist, taking up the dark magic's to prolong his own lifespan.

He is Dr Whitechapel, and he cannot be stopped.

St George

George Hackney is almost a stereotypical small minded bigot. Large, loud, poorly educated and violent, he ticks all the boxes, and then some. The only thing that sets him apart from any other neo-Nazi or extreme BNP member is his status as a super strong Meta human and aptitude for inspiring other, like minded racists.

George's early life hardly bares mentioning, as it was a fairly average story of a blue collar household in the city of Manchester. George grew up big and he grew up strong, quickly finding that a boy with his build good dominate the smaller children of the playgrounds. He took special delight in tormenting ethnic minorities, especially Muslim children, or as he called them 'towel-heads'. Georges parents were called in to his school several times after his violent actions, but they were mostly dismissive of the complaints levelled against them, usually ascribing to the belief that 'boys would be boys'.

George left school at sixteen, with the aim of joining the army. Despite his low grades and a sketchy record he was accepted into the forces. Life was slow, and for seven years he was shunted between several different peace time postings. Then, in 2012 the world as he knew it exploded with the advent of the Awakening. In the following months George seen more action than he had previously in his entire career, the British Army struggling to hold the four kingdoms together. Luckily Great Britain stayed Great, managing to come out of the crisis relatively unscathed. Even still, George was kept busy, as her majesties forces were lent to several world government's to help alleviate the pressure her allies were feeling. George travelled between America, China and Russia, serving with distinction each time, until eventually going to Iraq in early 2014.

a white supremacist skin head, who has super strength, durability and hyper aggression towards 'minorities' (Minorities to him being anyone who isn't a white English Catholic) One of the more brutal of Volt's foes, thankfully in jail at the moment.

Spring-Heel Jack

Springheel-Jack. Jack is a normal human, but an engineering savant. He built himself a exo-skelton harness that allows him to jump impossibly high and rip open steel. He also developed a skull shaped mask with a super heated blowtorch in the mouth, allowing him to melt through steel. Though he has considerably intellect and amazing inventions, he could never find something to apply himself at. To meet ends meet he eventually started robbing banks, but was swiftly stopped by Volt. Jack is what you would call a '9 to 5' crook, in that he only does what he does for money. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, and is far more likely to run from a hero than to stand and fight.

The Highwayman

The Highwayman, a dashing and charismatic thief, specialising in leading his gang in armoured car robberies. He takes design cues from 18th century English gentry, drives a souped up motorcycle and his Metapower is having brilliantly fast reactions, even quicker than Volts. He wields either two pistols or two sabres, with equal skill and grace.

The Pied Piper

WIP

Morningstar's rogues

St Diablo

Appearance; 6' tall. Appears to be slim but well muscled. Has yet to be seen without his venetian half mask, but underneath it he has midnight black hair which he slicks back, a well maintained moustache and goatee, and a constant, sardonic grin. When working he dons expensive black suits and blood red shirts, the kind you know only an overabundance of money could afford. He will also wear black with red interior lined opera capes, and usually carries a black and silver walking stick, though he doesn't appear to need it.

Very little is known about St Diablo, a mysterious and chaotic figure who has recently been making himself a name in New York, capitalising on Pariah's absence in New York since he's been helping the League. An impeccably dressed Hispanic man who conceals his identity with a Venetian half mask stylised to resemble the classical interpretation of the devil, St Diablo has arrived to carve a spot for the Colombian Cartel in New York. He seems to delight in the theatre of modern super crime, creating high-risk, high-reward style crimes that confound his enemies and astound his allies. He also seems to take great delight and a perverse sexual thrill in the pain of others and himself. While without any powers of his own, he is cunning, ruthless and utterly unpredictable. He often butts heads with Major Ursa.

Boneyard Dog

Appearance: 5'6" tall, thick black hair he wears close cropped. Constant five 0' clock shadow. Has the tanned olive skin common to Mexicans, with dark brown eyes. His body is covered in lean, wiry muscles, and scars and welts cover his torso, legs and arms, especially evident on his fists. When 'working' Boneyard Dog wears only canvas shorts, kick fighter boots and a stylised Día de Muertos mask, made to look like a snarling dog skull. He ties thick ropes around his fists and glues shards of glass to the rope for an extra punch.

St Diablo's muscle, a vicious fist fighter he lives to physically dominate his foes. Born Juan Manuel Márquez and standing at 5'6", Boneyard is hardly the most physically intimidating of men, but he makes up for it with a tenacity, determination and viciousness that few can hope to match. He honed his fighting skills in Mexican underground fighting rings, before eventually joining the Cartel. No ones quite sure when he met St Diablo, but what is apparent is his fierce and unwavering loyalty to the devil-styled criminal. Boneyard, like Diablo, lacks any powers, but manages to hold his own against all kind of foes with nothing but his penchant for brutality. He especially enjoys demolishing masked vigilantes.

Major Ursa

Appearance; Well over 7 feet tall, with a tremendous girth and breadth. Built like a competitor from a worlds strongest man contest and probably weighing over 275 pounds. Hair is a thick and almost wiry strawberry blonde that almost covers his entire body, though he is starting to show the beginnings of male pattern baldness. Usually wears a thick beard. His eyes are a deep auburn brown, and the conceal a quick and fierce intelligence. It is difficult to find clothes in his size, so he usually just wears whatever is comfortable.

The body of a bear and the mind of a chess grandmaster, Mikhail Balboshin is a man that defies convention. Born in 1977 in rural Russia, it was evident from the first that he was not a normal child due to his massive size. His father, and officer in the KGB, was overjoyed if slightly apprehensive. His son was strong, healthy and would one day be able to serve Russia to his fullest. Eventually Mikhail was diagnosed with gigantism and CIP, an inability to feel pain. This was in 1990, just before the fall of the USSR, but Mikhail's father still felt he could serve Russia even if the Soviet Union was no longer around. When he came of age Mikhail joined the FSB as a special operative, nominally working with and eventually becoming Spetznaz.

His giant size and brilliant mind were tremendous assets to the organisations, but he found the work unfulfilling, believing he could do more to help people. He left the work in 2013, shortly after the Awakening, and entered the wilds of Russia. When people went looking for him they could never find him. He eventually turned up in America of all places, New York to be precise. He took a job with the Russian mafia, and built his way up the ranks. The work was distasteful, but he was merely gaining trust and biding his time, until he had built enough connections and he broke ties with the mafia, shearing off a portion of their men, business and profits. Needless to say that family were not happy, and went to war with Mikhail, but the former Spetznaz operative was to canny for them, and he destroyed the family presence in New York.

Now nicknamed Major Ursa (Ironic as he actually made captain rank) he uses his own organisation to help immigrants coming to America get a foot up, it doesn't matter to him who they are or where they are from, only if they need help. All he asks for in return is that they are willing to help others when the time comes. He still uses gun smuggling, drug dealing and other illicit means to make money, but he tightly regulates all of these things to keep them in control. Pariah and Morningstar have a tense 'working relationship' with the Major, knowing that if they removed him it is likely someone worse would move in in his place.

He is currently at war with St Diablo, as Diablo is constantly trying to move in on his turf. The war is in its infancy, and bystanders wait with baited breath to see what happens.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Ok Mr D, I've edited it pal. Hopefully it's looking better.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Not really Furious's style to abandon the fight, even to get to the hostages. He's like a dog with bone when it comes to a challenge. The character is supposed to be intelligent yet hot headed, his arrogance and youthfulness blinding him to the bigger picture. In all honesty I shouldn't have had him notice the hostages as he would be too determined to beat Chrome now to even remember about them, or notice the rest of the team closing in on the bus.

I'll change the post, but have him continue attacking Chrome when he should be charging the bus.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Furious

The whole world became an explosion of white, thunder echoing across the bright empty planes. It took Furious what seemed like an age to realise it wasn't the world that was white, just his perception of it. Thankfully his increased durability and regeneration negated the worst of Chrome's blow in seconds, the young vigilante managing to regain his balance before he barrelled into Changeling.

Chrome was proving to be far more troublesome than he had first appeared, but on the plus side Furious had managed to escape his grasp and the steel-man now seemed to be on the back foot. Even he couldn't last long under the combined might of the two heroes.

Instead of leaping back at the attack Furious used the momentary lull to survey the rest of the field. He was surprised to see that the heroes had managed to get the villains on their back foot, especially after the dismal performance his would be comrades had put in at the start of the confrontation. Then again the worst of the bunch had probably been taken down already, so they were left with the hardiest and most powerful. Fitting then, as Furious was the most powerful of all. They would no doubt need his help to rescue the hostages, but he'd be damned if he was going to abandon his confrontation with Chrome before going to help them.

“We've wasted too much time with him,” he stated to Changeling while gesturing at Chrome. “We need to get to the bus and save those hostages. You go, I'll be with you presently.” the words were spoken with a grim certainty.

Most people would have realised that taking Chrome on head on is futile by now, the 'villain' being to strong. Added to that was the fact that the steel-man was no doubt expecting another attack, steadying himself for another bout. Furious was stronger now, and faster too. He stalked towards his adversary, rolling his shoulders to work them loose. The thing was that no matter how powerful an enemy was, how tough or how many surprises they had up their sleeve's, Furious was just to well adapted to beat physically. The longer the fight went on the stronger he became.

Suddenly he roared and charged forward once again, a move Chrome was probably becoming quite familiar with. As he closed he send a wide, powerful right hand swinging for Chrome's head. It was a cunningly crafted feint for Furious's real attack though. If Chrome took the bait and either blocked or evaded the blow then the red-masked hero would follow up with a thundering knee strike with all his force, aimed directly at the dents he had caused on Chrome earlier with his knee.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Novel length and we're still fighting the first battle!

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Furious

The first two hits connected with satisfying force, jarring his arm with each strike and filling him with goodness. The third wasn't as succseful, Chrome managing to grab his arm and twist it behind his back. With his free arm Chrome attempted to wrap Furious in a choke hold, but years of wrestling and combat classes had taught the younger hero that the first thing to do in the situation was to force your chin down, denying your assailant access to your vulnerable throat. Succsefully negating the metal teachers hold, Furious allowed himself to be manhandled in Changeling's general direction.

The teen vigilante allowed himself a small grin, one that the others would never make out through his mask.

"You know my powers tin-man, but do you know my skills?" he asked, a nasty edge to his voice. Before Chrome had a chance to respond Furious swung his left leg behind Chrome, gaining better leverage, then drove his left elbow into Chrome's stomache. Then again. Then again. Then again.

He'd force the fool to let him go, one way or another.

Young Justice 2020

"Dear Mum and Dad, its me, Magnus" . . . No.

"I have waited so long to write this" . . . Wrong again.

"Remember me?" . . . That's the worst of the bunch.

Magnus had faced Shrapnel without blanching, stared down a known hero-killer like Deathstroke/Bronze Tiger and hardly worried, even managed to escape Granny and her Huntsman without a second thought to his own safety, yet now a simple letter had him flustered. But this was no simple letter, to him this was quite possibly the most important letter ever written of all time. Or at least it would be whenever he managed to write it.

But how do you tell your parents, parents who haven't seen you in almost a decade, that you aren't dead?

Too make matters worse Magnus's handwriting was terrible. Years of having talons instead of fingers will have that effect. He didn't want to use a computer to write the message for a couple of reasons, firstly that it felt to impersonal and secondly he was terrible with technology. So he sat and he wrote and he crossed out what he had written and he worried that it would never be good enough. At this rate he would never speak to his parent's again, never manage to let them know that their son wasn't dead.

Why not just go to them? the thought leapt unbidden into his head, a host of conflicting emotions battling within him at it's wake. He couldn't go home, not while Granny was still looking for him. She was sure to have spy's watching his old town, waiting for him to rear his head. He was almost surprised that the Pack hadn't been attacked by Granny's agents yet after their battle with Shrapnel had been televised, showing Fenrir in full glory, but then even Granny would be wary of facing off with the Justice League. But if he was to go home on his own then she would strike, making the best use of his time alone. No, the letter would have to do for now.

A flashing yellow light disturbed his thoughts, a Godsend for the Meta teen really. If he remembered rightly then yellow meant some sort of villain disturbance. His lips pulled back into a tight smile, revealing white teeth. He'd been cooped up too long, it was time to let the Wolf out. Quickly donning the costume that Hawkman had sent him and buckling his new Hunting knife onto his belt he made his way to the corridor, nearly bumping into Ditto on the way.

"Trouble," growled Magnus, his monosyllabism seemingly a fixture now. Though his words went very descriptive the way he said them was, as his tone indicated it was both a statement and a question, as he was keen to know if the Cargitte knew anything more of the situation.

The League - Superhero Sci Fi and Urban Fantasy RP

Phantom vs Phantasm is one of the most interesting, confusing and unique fights of all time.

. . . Too bad no one will ever see it.