AndyC

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

I'd also add that multiverse shenanigans have been built in to the whole Supergirl / Power Girl thing since day one in DC's canon.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

<Snipped quote by AndyC>

Yeah I think my issue is I didn't really intend to write my Kara as separate long term from your Superman I just wanted to play out something that took advantage of the Marvel/DC combo and also highlighting Kara (both versions) tending to have more off world ties than Supes.

I admit I didn't necessarily plan on there being another Kara around but I also did understand that someone might want to unmerge SG/PG in a group game, so I always thought I'd give my blessing to the idea. I just dont want to end up in a scenario where my Kara is expected to be off and isolated because PG is traditionally more of a fringe Super family member than SG. Less about everyone having to get along and more just about writing/interaction opportunities.

@Ezekiel

Gotcha. I didn't mean to say that as meaning I'd be keeping Kara at arm's length: I just meant it as in saying you'd have the freedom to have her be part of the Guardians as well as the Super-family, without being constrained to one or the other.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

Sorry about that; I admittedly wasn't as attentive as I should have been,or else I would have reached out to collaborate with you much earlier.

At any rate, I don't want to take Kara away from you, since this Iteration can allow for multiple versions of her. Having a Supergirl/Power Girl thing, having one Kara more involved with Supes while another is more independent, should still work.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

Since I'm playing Superman, I want to chime in.

I didn't really get a chance to weigh in on Kara being part of the GotG, because I was distracted by IRL stuff and was never actually contacted about it. I'd honestly prefer to have a Supergirl that I can interact with in Metropolis.

However, since Guardians Kara has already been accepted and it would be a dick move to retroactively say "actually I'd rather not," the nature of my take on Krypton does allow for multiple possible futures, and thus multiple possible Kryptons. So we could have a Metropolis Kara and a Guardians Kara and it shouldn't be a problem, at least not for me.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

“This is all your fault, Superman,” Neutron snarls as his fists glow and pulse with auras of radioactive plasma.

Our fight has sprawled through most of the New Troy district, skimming along the rooftops of the Fashion District and crashing through some of the skyscrapers of Midtown, before crashing down into the green of Heroes’ Park.

Pulling myself up from the crater where I’d landed, I look around and see craters in the grass, cracks in the fountains and monuments, and hundreds of panicked people fleeing in all directions. Emergency services have been trying to evacuate people since Tryon arrived, but it’s next to impossible to clear an entire city even under the best of circumstances, and even worse when there’s no telling where the battle will go next. The best most can hope for is to make it to one of the hundreds of LexCorp emergency shelters that have been installed across Metropolis, but those tend to fill up quickly.

I’m doing the best I can to keep our fight away from populated areas, to limit the amount of damage we’re doing, to break away and get as many people out of harm’s way as I can.

Neutron, on the other hand, isn’t doing any of that. If anything, he’s been going out of his way to do as much damage as possible.

“Look around you!” he growls. “The monuments here? They’re all in memory of the people we lost fighting the Reach…people who would still be alive today if you hadn’t been in hiding for so long!”

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s not wrong–at least, not completely. For the five years the Reach had colonized Earth, I was locked away in the Fortress, shut off completely from the outside world. Kelex, the intelligence sent by my Kryptonian mother and father, had been training me to master my powers, only telling me about the occupation of Earth once it had deemed I was ready. When I asked why it had kept me in the dark for so long, Kelex said that I wasn’t ready to face the Reach until then, that they would have found a way to kill me, or worse, weaponize me against humanity. I still don’t know if I believe him: whether or not it was true, the fact was people were suffering, and I wasn’t there for them. I haven’t been back to the Fortress since.

Neutron hurls a blast of plasma towards a crowd of panicked onlookers, and I throw myself in front of them. “Get down–ngggh!!!” I shout as Neutron’s blast explodes against my back, and a wave of nausea rolls over me. The radiation from his plasma doesn’t affect me nearly as bad as Kryptonite would, but each one drains away at me just that much more.

“All those lives lost, all that blood on your hands,” he continues as he pelts me with more blasts. “And they were the lucky ones. They weren’t the ones turned into freaks and monsters by the Reach’s Meta-Bomb! A bomb that you allowed to go off! Where were you, Superman? Where were you???”

Kansas. I was in Kansas. In the ruins of what used to be the town I called home. Looking in vain for any hope that my parents had survived the destruction the reach had brought down on Smallville.

Neutron raises his hands, charging a blast he hopes will put me down for the count.

“Everything that’s happened in the last five years,” he says, “The metahumans, the Agency, everything that’s gone wrong, it’s all your fault!”

---

“Oh man,” Jimmy Olsen muttered as he frantically tapped on his L-Phone, “Big Blue’s taking a beating out there.”

To any passing observer, Jimmy might have appeared to be just another onlooker, glued to their screens as danger and disaster came down around their ears. In truth, he was using the immense computing power of his jail-broken LexCorp smartphone to coordinate a citywide network of small camera drones, something that had taken him several years and a sizable chunk of his massive inheritance to put together. Equipped with motion sensors to automatically activate when anything above the speed of sound approached them, these cameras gave Jimmy the ability to get the best possible angle on the action in a split-second and stream it live.

Most of the world saw Superman’s actions through the carefully curated view of corporate-owned news outlets like the Galaxy News Network. Those who were in the know, however, knew the only reliable way to get the facts was to get them live, raw, and unfiltered, thanks in most part to the Daily Planet. Once a respected newspaper with a staff of hundreds, the Planet was now an independent news blog with a small team, an even smaller office, a mountain of active civil suits against them, and the most trusted reporting on Earth.

Half of the Planet’s reputation came from Jimmy Olsen’s unparalleled ability to put eyes on any story in Metropolis the moment it happened.

The other half of the equation, however, was standing with her arms crossed as she watched the clouds of smoke and dust rise over the Metropolis skyline.

“Thanks for the tip,” Lois said into her own phone–an ancient flip-phone that might as well have been a walkie-talkie, before hanging up and pulling out a spiral notebook to jot down notes in shorthand. “Something’s wrong about this whole thing.”

“I know,” Jimmy nodded, “Superman was close to putting Neutron down just a minute ago, and suddenly he’s taking a beating like I’ve never seen before! What changed?”

“Neutron stopped aiming for Superman,” Lois said, “and started aiming for people on the ground.”

“Right, because he’s a lunatic,” said Jimmy, thinking he was agreeing.

“No,” Lois corrected him, “He can’t hit Superman, unless he aims somewhere that he knows Superman will have to go. Blue has to put himself in harm’s way, so Neutron can hit him again and again. It’s sick, sure, but it’s also a smart change of tactics. And that’s what’s wrong…”

“The fact that Neutron is smart?” asked Jimmy.

“The fact that he isn’t,” Lois answered. “That was my contact with the MPD on the phone. Nathaniel Tryon’s got a pretty long rep sheet from before he became a metahuman. Armed robbery, aggravated assault, possession of illegal weapons– all things that peg him as just another low-rent thug. Same thing with his school records: low test scores as a kid, dropped out at 8th grade. Nothing in any of his records shows that he’s any kind of strategic thinker, and definitely not the type of guy to make big monologues.”

Jimmy nodded, starting to reach the same conclusion as Lois. “You think he’s getting orders from someone?”

“I’m not putting anything on the record without proof,” she said as she headed towards the Planet’s office, “but off the record? This has a very familiar stink to it...”

---

“...just like you to make a mess,” said Neutron on the screen, as he dragged Superman face-first through the steel I-beams and reinforced concrete of a construction site…

“...and then fly off without cleaning up after yourself!” said Winslow Schott, the pudgy balding man in his couch, a VR headset feeding him live information while his hands worked with controls resembling those of a marionette.

“...and then fly off without cleaning up after yourself!” Neutron repeated as he grabbed the blue-suited hero by the cape and flung him skyward.

“God, you’re such a ham,” Eve Tessmacher scoffed, idly playing with her hair and snapping another selfie standing in front of the video-wall. Behind her, dozens of monitors displayed different angles of the battle, the live feed from various news outlets, the chatter on social media, and the scripts for the millions of chat-bots that were currently steering the direction of the discourse.

“I, ah, I really have to insist that you stop taking pictures in a restricted area, Miss Tessmacher,” stammered Gus Gorman his fingers flying as he coordinated Schott’s control inputs with the systems and power distribution of Neutron’s containment suit. “It’s, ahhh, it’s d-d-distracting, first of all, and that’s n-not even accounting for the, ah, the significant risk of a security leak that poses…”

“‘Poses?’” she asked innocently. “But I wasn’t even striking a pose! Ooh, what about this one!”

“All this destruction, all this suffering…” Schott continued his monologue.

“All this destruction…all this suffering….” Neutron repeated him.

“....is all your fault!!!” Schott reached a crescendo, flailing his puppeteer controls dramatically.

“...is ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!!!” Neutron screamed, his voice full of rage as he let loose with a blast straight into the air, directly at Superman, with enough power to vaporize a city block.

“He’s reaching critical mass, Winslow!” Gus warned. “If you p-push him any further, he’ll, ah, he’ll…”

“Go nuclear?” Miss Tessmacher finished his sentence. “But isn’t that the whole point?”

“Heeeeheeheeheeheeheehohohohohahaha-haaa!” Schott laughed triumphantly. “I think we got him!!!”

As the blinding light on the monitor faded, Miss Tessmacher cleared her throat.

“Think again,” she said, pointing at a speck on the screen. “See? Look, up in the–”

“Time’s up, kids,” interrupted Mercy Graves as she strode into the room, her poise and presence making the trio in the control room feel woefully immature in comparison. “We have all the data and all of the footage we need. The order from the top is to pull the plug.”

“B-b-but, but I was winning!” Schott blubbered. “Just a little longer, and I was going to–”

Mercy glared at him. “Would you like me to take that complaint upstairs?”

Schott was silent for a moment, then deflated in his couch. “...no ma’am.”

“Good,” Mercy nodded. “Schott, turn off the manual controls and activate the automated finale subroutine. Gorman, cut the signal, and activate the self-destruct on the suit’s receivers. We don’t want anything that can trace Neutron back here.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Gus said, frantically typing signals into the control transmitters.

“And Eve?” Mercy looked at Miss Tessmacher with a contemptuous glance. “Just keep doing what you’re good at: nothing.”

Mercy strode out of the room, and the three let out a collective breath.

“That woman scares me,” Gus whimpered.

“Yeah, but maybe, like, in a hot way?” Eve remarked absently.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

---

Brainiac thinks.

One hundred quadrillion times per second, Brainiac thinks.

Brainiac receives the shutdown order of manual controls from Winslow Schott, the self-destruct orders for the suit’s receivers, and the activation of Neutron’s automated subroutines, and transmits them all through itself into the armored containment suit.

Brainiac monitors all of Nathaniel Tryon’s vital signs, as well as the stress and damage indicators inside the suit, and makes its decisions.

Brainiac receives a command input from the top of LexCorp Tower.

Brainiac redirects paramedics to an apartment complex where a young woman named Leslie Willis has been seriously injured.

Brainiac alters every traffic light along five city blocks to give the paramedics the optimal path to Willis, and from there to the nearest emergency medical facility.

Brainiac rewrites all public records of Nathaniel Tryon to suggest severe post-traumatic stress and suicidal tendencies after his transformation into a metahuman.

Brainiac prepares the self-destruct sequence on Nathaniel Tryon’s containment suit.

Brainiac will kill every living thing on Earth in six months, twelve days, eight hours, fourteen minutes, and 36.55486 seconds.

Brainiac does not know the sequence of events that will cause this.

Brainiac has nonetheless calculated that it is inevitable.

Brainiac thinks.

---

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, clenching my teeth and clutching my sides as my body is racked with pain from Neutron’s blast. “Maybe I could’ve done better. Maybe I could have saved more people. Maybe….maybe what happened to you is my fault…”

Neutron raises his hands again, preparing another blast.

“...but it it really is my fault…” I say, raising my fists, “...then it means stopping you is my responsibility!”

Before he can let loose again, I tap into my power reserves, the fusion batteries that power every cell in my body, the trillions of microscopic stars that give me my strength, and I enter what I like to call my ‘Flare State.’

If I do this, I’ll be powerless afterwards, an hour weakened and vulnerable for every second I spend in this state.

If I don’t do it, though, more people will be hurt.

And a choice like that, isn’t a choice at all.

With speed far beyond my normal limit, I hurl myself at Neutron, tackling him by the waist, and pulling him up into the sky, far beyond the airspace of Metropolis, higher and higher into the stratosphere.

“The air up here is going to keep getting thinner,” I warn him, “Until you can’t breathe and lose consciousness. Last chance to stand down.”

“....S-s-Superman…” Tryon’s voice comes weakly, as sickly light begins to seep out of his suit. “....hhhhhelp…..mmmmmeeeee….”

“Wha-?” is all I manage before Tryon’s suit bursts open, and the entire world becomes blinding light, deafening sound, and excruciating pain.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

I've been sitting on a half-finished post for like two weeks now. I've got plenty of excuses, but I'll get Clark back into the action.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

“As though we were smugglers not poor honest men!” the crew roared in unison. Camilla del Atranto sawed out the notes on her violin, short vicious jerks which would degrade the bow in a matter of a few weeks. A smile crooked her lips as she considered what her mother would think to see her playing pulley hauley shanties after all the money that had been spent to perfect concertos meant for elegant drawing rooms.

“Belay that catterwallin’” Antonio Domenquez, the first mate of the Espri’d’Mar snapped. Camilla lifted her bow and the music stopped, though the shanty continued for several more seconds as the crew completed the stanza out of sheer spite. Domenquez stalked past her keeping his glance clandestine. He hadn’t addressed her more directly in the five weeks since he had grabbed her in a moment of drunken enthusiasm. The scar on his face was hardly noticeable now.

Esprit’Mar was rounding a low cape lined with verdant jungle. After so many weeks at sea the smell of greenery, trees, and tropical flowers was a pleasure. The sweltering tropical heat was less welcome. Camilla took off a broad brimmed felt hat and fanned herself. She had seen forests before of course, but what passed for forests in Medica were manicured, managed things, almost parks compared to this. And this wasn’t even the mainland, where the explorers told of trackless primeval rainforest that stretched beyond the horizon. As the ship came round the cape the smooth passage began to judder as the prow struck small waves and moved closer to the eye of the wind, little wavelets buffeting them every second or so. The bay opened its jaws, revealing masts and sails of dozens of other ships, each tethered to the settlement of Port Pact by wharves and jetties. Smoke rose from cookfires and industry, though compared to Atranto and its Blacksmith’s quarter it seemed pale and anemic.

“Where will you go once you are ashore,” Domenquez asked, coming to stand beside her at the railing, the interest in his tone casual enough to be obviously faked.

“Iontana,” she replied shortly. Away. Domenquez chuckled, though Camilla wasn’t complete sure he spoke and Medician.
“Not a big place, really no place to go,” Domenquez replied, the threat evident in his voice. Sailors were scrambling up the rigging now, bringing in loops of baggy sails in Castilian reefs, to take the way of the ship as it turned into the bay. The unpleasant slapping of waves against the prow easing as the sea began to follow. Camilla pirouetted, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword. Domenquez took a step back, then flushed with embarrassment.

“No where to go!” he called after her as she headed for her small cabin and her few possessions.

As the Esprit’Mar pulled alongside the long wooden jetty, Camilla leaped from the bulwark onto the timbers. She almost lost her dignity and plunged into the ocean as she realised that the sea legs she had so painfully acquired meant that her land legs were unreliable. She threw out her arms and balanced herself moving swiftly down the jetty.

During the months at sea Camilla had enjoyed ample time to plan. Unfortunately without much information finding her lost love was going to be something of a challenge. His ship had been headed for Free Sail, but she had languished in prison for nearly a month and by now he might be anywhere. Her stomach tightened at the thought that he might have jumped ship or simply sailed back in the mean time. She had convinced herself he wouldn’t, partly because he wasn’t a fool and partly because she needed it to be true. If he was here, she had no doubt he would make a splash she would eventually detect. Hopefully before that idiot Domenguez sold her out to the Exchange, or obliged her to redecorate his intestines.

Passing a billboard Camilla slowed, her eyes focusing on the word Adventurous Souls Wanted. An idea occurred to her and she suddenly began to smile. She could search for him but he could search for her too, all she needed to do was to make a name for herself. She headed for the Golden Cove Hotel with a skip in her step that had nothing to do with land sickness.

In Medicia the term hotel was a noble one, bespeaking wealth, sophistication and opulence. Those expectations were sadly let down by the Golden Cove. It was a white washed adobe building in the Castillian style and had, in it’s day, been a fine establishment. Unfortunately that day had been sometime before Camilla del Atranto had been born. The white wash had been discolored by years of blowing mud and cracks ran through it where local moss was taking hold. The once fine roof of terracotta tiles had been patched with palm leaves and tar giving it a rather sickly look. The clientele was in somewhat better shape, though they would have been laughed out of any drawing room Camilla had ever been in. Still it wasn’t as though she had better lodgings to get too. Pulling her plumed hat down low on her brow she strode in to find a rather pudgy looking man sitting on a chair of woven wicker, puffing lazily at a cigar.

“Where will I find Sir Edmund Lauwrence?” she asked in Castilian, making a silver coin appear and walking it over her knuckles.

@Penny

The pudgy man's eyebrows raised at the glint of silver as Camilla rolled it across her knuckles, but beyond that, he betrayed no emotion.

"I may have heard such a name," he responded, his Castillian slow but clear and deliberate, implying he was not a native speaker but taken great pains to learn. "Though I have the hardest time putting names to faces. I can't quite say I recall just where I hear the name....perhaps you can help spark my memory?"

"Hastings!" a deep Albian voice boomed from a far table. "Don't be crass-- this young lass is the first to inquire for us, and I'd like a proper introduction."

Rising from the far table and walking towards Camilla was a stout, barrel-chested man just shy of six feet, only just on the far side of fifty. He had sandy yellowing hair and beard that was once red, leathery skin tanned to a light brown, a smile as broad as his shoulders, and wrinkles on his eyes and cheeks that suggested his smile was a near constant. He wore a coat that was clearly of fine make, but had grown a bit worn and shabby over time. And while he had a paunch of a stomach and his jawline was soft and somewhat jowly, his build suggested that he had spent many years as a man of action....a time which was cut short prematurely, evidenced by the fact that his right arm ended at the elbow, and his stride suggested his left leg was false.

"Do excuse my dear Mister Hastings," the man said, giving Camilla a slight bow. "He tends to play his proverbial cards close to the chest, as it were. A fine habit in a first mate, and a mentality that has saved my bacon on more than one occasion, but it does tend to make something of a brusque first impression."

With a blink the only lapse in his composure, he realized he had been prattling on in Albian, and without missing a beat, switched to speaking in the same slow-but-flawless learned Castillian as Mister Hastings. "Sir Edmund Lawrence, Lord of the South Quay of Kernow, at your service."

Sir Edmund offered his left hand for a hearty handshake, then gestured to the barkeep. "Three pints of bitter, if you please!"

Turning apologetically to Camilla, he felt compelled to explain. "My apologies for ordering a beverage without inquiring on your particular tastes, but sailors' tradition and good common sense does dictate that one should never discuss a new business venture while entirely sober."

As the bartender filled three relatively-clean pewter mugs with foamy brown beer, Sir Edmund's eyes twinkled.

"I'm quite fond of traditions," he said. "They make one feel as though they are part of something grander than oneself. The people may change, the times may change, and the reasons for them may be lost, but the traditions remain the same. Like the clinking of drinks together in good company and trust...and how that came from the need to mix each person's drink together, to ensure none of the drinks were poisoned."

As the bartended handed Sir Edmund and Mister Hastings the pints, the barrel-chested older man raised his mug in a toast.

"To old stones and new opportunities," he offered as a toast. "Now, to business. I have a proposition that may lead to us all getting killed, or perhaps lead to us all looking very silly....or perhaps still, lead to us all uncovering lost knowledge that will change the balance of power in the New World, and make us all quite influential in the process. Does that spark your interest, Miss....?"

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

<Snipped quote by AndyC>

we still good?

@POOHEAD189

Sorry, I've totally dropped the ball on this. I'll try to get things moving.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

@AndyC When do you update us? I assume eventually we don't just write all of it ourselves (hope this doesn't sound rude)

@POOHEAD189

Updates will be coming by Wednesday. Depending on the player's preferences, I can provide NPC posts or PM them bullet-points if they want to write it themselves.

Have At You!!! A Game of Swashbuckling Adventure

Also if we are not prompted can we run with NPCs already named? DOnt want to touch it if we arent supposed to

@Penny

You totally can: sorry, I've been meaning to get Sir Edmund's prompt going and kept getting sidetracked.