Byrd Man

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

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The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

@TimeMasterX God, I love the silver age. No matter the ridiculous premise, there's an even-to-high chance that there's a silver age cover to match it.

@BlackSam3091

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

Excellent! Get cracking on that sheet and the rest of you get to posting!

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

"You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time. Sooner or later God'll cut you down."
-- Johnny Cash

Midtown, Manhattan
10:33 PM

The party was in full swing at Sam Symington's penthouse. For the FBI agents watching the action from the skyscraper across the street, it was already old news. The douchebag always bought drugs and always fucked hookers three at a time every night. The two men watching got a sick thrill of out seeing it the first night, but that was six days ago and now it was just old news. It made them angry that this little weasel could live like this and get away with it. The US attorney was gearing up to at least stick the fucker with drug charges, anything so he couldn't just steal millions from hard working people and get away with it. But to most people that felt like a chickenshit charge. They wanted him on something that would stick and leave him in prison for a long time.

"That redhead looks hot," one of the agents said with a chuckle. "Always had a thing for 'em."

"That's the sixth one we've seen. Symington must have a thing for 'em too."

The redhead in the slinky dress disappeared into the bathroom of Symington's bedroom. On the bed, Symington was engaged with the blonde while the brunette stripped her dress away and climbed into the bed. The FBI agents made sure to zoom in on the bathroom door to get a good look at the redhead when she came out, just in case she was naked as well.

"Woah," one of them said as the door came open. "Fetish shit?"

The redhead was dressed in all black with a skull on her chest. Her hair was up and she carried a combat knife in one hand, a silenced pistol in the other.

"Gun! Call for backup, we have an active shooter in Symington's penthouse!"

---


Brooklyn
Six Hours Earlier

"Sounds simple enough," Rachel said with a nod towards Microchip.

"One Symington calls out for hookers I'll make sure that the redhead's phone number gets rerouted to here. From there, you get the info you need to get into his penthouse and past his security."

"Have you got a dress?" Castle asked from the doorway leading into Microchip's store. "Something that looks like whatever a hooker would wear, but not too revealing. You'll need to wear your tactical gear under it and figure out a way to smuggle a weapon in."

"Have you got cash, Castle?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "I don't have anything to wear, but this is New York. I can get hooker chic within the hour."

---

Now

The hookers screamed when they saw the weapons in Rachel's hands. They were too close to Symington for her to take a proper shot. The screams alerted the two bodyguards in the penthouse. One came in with his gun out and ran right into Rachel. She hooked him with her left arm and tossed him to the ground. A knee to the back of the head crashed his face into the floor and knocked him out. She stood up just in time to sweep the legs out from underneath the second guard. A pistol whipping to his face knocked out a few teeth and the man's urge to resist. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to shoot both men in the head and be done with it, but Castle's orders were clear. They were probably bad men, but they had no proof they deserved to die. Only one man would die tonight.

The hookers had fled by the time she was done with the bodyguards. The bathroom door was locked. She shot the lock off with the pistol and opened it. Symington was on the toilet with his hands up.

"Please, whoever you are don't kill me. I'll give you money."

"I have money," she said as she held up a hundred dollar bill. "Unlike the people you stole from."

"Oh, god... please! I'm begging you!"

Rachel leveled her pistol at the now weeping man. "Samuel Symington, this is your punishment."

---

Three Hours Later

"She was gone before the FBI could get upstairs."

Oscar Clemmons looked at the dead body of Sam Symington. There was a neat hole in the middle of his forehead, the back of his head was blown out and his brains covered the backseat of the toilet and the bathroom wall. Stapled on his lips was a hundred dollar bill with a skull drawn on it. Beside Clemmons was William Rawlins. While Clemmons looked at the dead body with concentration, Rawlins was having the time of his life. He wore paper booties around his feet because the FBI wouldn't allow him in the crime scene with flipflops.

Clemmons looked up from the body at the FBI agent who'd escorted them into the penthouse.

"And you're sure it was a woman?"

"Two field agents recorded the whole thing. Redheaded woman, white, late-twenties to mid-thirties. She wore all black and had a skull on her shirt like the one on the bill."

"Awesome," said Rawlins.

"Mind explaining that one," Clemmons asked.

"This proves your theory."

He pointed at the skull drawn on the hundred dollar bill.

"Castle has help. And that means conspiracy to commit murder and various terroristic acts. And detective, that falls under my purview."

Clemmons stood and stared at Rawlins over his glasses.

"And what is your purview, Agent Rawlins?"

"National security," he said with a wide smile. "By any means necessary."

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

I never said anything for certain either way. That's politics, bitch!

And you are good to go, you racist bastard.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

City Hall

Bob Stockon sat in the mayor's chair with his feet hiked up on the mayor's desk. Francis Rhodes, Central City mayor, obliged the seeming affront to his office. The reason for the fealty was because Rhodes knew this office and desk was his only because Stockton and A.J. Patterson saw fit to bestow it on him.

But Rhodes wasn't on Stockton's mind at the moment. The man was off in chambers doing something with the city council. Stockton couldn't remember what exactly, he just knew it wasn't important. He made a beeline for City Hall as soon as he departed the boat. He couldn't visit the Social Club even if he went through the back door. During Stockton's first congressional run it was decided that he and A.J. could never be seen in a place that the public could see them together. That meant that Stockton hadn't visited the Combination's headquarters in nearly sixteen years. So instead, he sent word to A.J. that he was here in the mayor's office waiting.

"Sorry about that, senator," Rhodes said as he came into the office. "Just some minor municipal business that you don't need to concern yourself with."

"Oh but I do," Stockton said as he took his feet off the desk. "I need to concern myself with every facet of city life, Mr. Mayor. I represent this city as much as you do, sir. Whatever goes on here is as much my concern as it is yours."

"I figured you would be more concerned with the statehouse, Senator. Wood and the opposition are lining up rather quickly."

Stockton scowled. Michael Wood. Governor Michael Wood. The son of a bitch got elected four years earlier as a reform candidate, vowing to clean up the state's politics. So far it was easier said than done for him, but now he had a slate of reform candidates poised to try and take the statehouse away from the Combination. If Wood's party took the statehouse, that meant the end of Stockton's senatorial career. It was the Combination's legislators that put him in office and kept him there. While most politicians had to win one campaign for reelection, Stockton found that he had to manage and win several campaigns to stay in the Senate.

All that may be moot after the convention. Who cared about the statehouse if he was focused on a national race? What did it matter to him if Wood got the senator he wanted? A senator is just one of seventy-six. What Stockton was after would put him as first among equals. But still... he couldn't resist the urge to have a little fun.

"Wood's up for reelection," he said nonchalantly. "Rumor I hear is that his plan is to win re-election and then resign if his party wins the legislature back and have himself take my senate seat."

"Low down and dirty," Rhodes said with a shake of his head. "Is the Combination running someone against him yet?"

"We want to, but A.J. doesn't have a candidate in mind." He paused and looked at Rhodes. "But I do."

"What?... Me?"

Stockton stood up and walked around the desk, wrapping one arm around Rhodes' shoulder.

"Yes, Francis, you. You've been mayor for six years now. Six years experience running a city as big as this one trumps even Wood's two years as governor. He was just a state senator before that, he has no real experience. Not like you do. You have executive experience running the fourth biggest city this side of the Mississippi. After this town, the capital is easy. I want you as the Combination's man come election day. Governor Francis Rhodes. And think about where you could go from there? Ever since Lincoln, Washington is starting to think of the west as an emerging political base it needs to tap. A two-term governor running for president in '84 could be just what they need.Did I say Governor Francis Rhodes? How about President Francis Rhodes?"

Rhodes stood ramrod straight and looked at Stockton with a wide smile.

"Senator... I'm honored by your words... do you think I could?"

"I know so," Stockton said with a wide smile. "Before we talk further, can you find out if A.J. ever arrived?"

"I sure can."

Stockton held back his laughter as he watched Rhodes bound out the office like a schoolboy. The odds of him beating Wood were unlikely, even with the Combination's full weight behind him. Wood had an iron-grip on the rural parts of the state where the Combination's reach couldn't quite be felt. Even if Rhodes took the city and the areas around it with the machine's usual 90% turnout, Wood's power base in the country would equal that and make it a deadlock. Then it would come down to the non-partisan voters. Comparing the two men, Wood would almost certainly win those votes.

It would be close, and that was all Stockton wanted to achieve. Hard for Wood to engineer a statehouse coup when he had his own tight race to run.He had no faith in a Governor Rhodes or even, god help us all, a President Rhodes. But a viable threat to Wood's job would make it all that much easier for Stockton and A.J. to get the Combination's state legislators back in office.

---

Central City Police Department Southern District

"What brings you to the jungle, lad?"

Sergeant Smith, the beefy Irish desk sergeant eyed Danny Shea from his elevated seat just inside the entrance of the station house. His gray eyebrows were arched in mild surprise at seeing Danny. He was used to seeing the Shea boys popping in every now and then to see their father, but Danny was a rarity.

"Here to see my dad."

"You know where to find him."

Danny walked past Smith and through the precinct. The place was a cluttered mess of desks, paperwork, and fellow officers gathered in and around those desks. The few civilians that were in the offices were black. The Southern covered Central City's negro neighborhood and dealt almost exclusively with negro criminals. That was the reason for Smith's jungle crack. The only white people who went across the Color Line were cops and white trash up to no good.

"Danny!"

Thomas Shea stood up from his desk and smiled widely. Thomas was in his mid-50's, but he was still every bit the imposing figure of Central City legend standing at six foot two and two hundred and fifty pounds. Most of that weight had begun to turn to fat, but he was still trim enough to wear the same cut of suit he always wore. Thomas wrapped Danny's hand in his and shook it.

"All the people I be expectin' to see today, you sure as shootin' weren't one of 'em."

He'd been in America for over fifty years but he still couldn't lose his thick Irish brogue. Danny and his brothers had a touch of it that came out when they said certain words, but Thomas still sounded like he was living on the old sod.

"Shouldn't you be on duty, son? Is something wrong?"

"Everything's fine, dad. Bobby's watching the post. It's just... we got another murder. The fourth one in the last two weeks."

"What's that to do with me?" Thomas asked cooly. "Last I checked, my jurisdiction is miles away."

"C'mon, dad, you know Williams doesn't give a damn about this."

Thomas grunted and flopped down in the chair behind his desk.

"And why exactly do you care, son? They're whores, nobody cares about 'em, nobody will miss 'em."

Danny gripped the chair facing his father's desk and leaned forward.

"It's my job to care, and it's Williams' job to care, and it's your job to care. Protect and serve, dad."

"This wouldn't be a problem if you got a bump to sergeant." Thomas stroked his thick mustache while he spoke. "You'd have enough clout to be heard by people other than me. All it'll cost you is five hundred."

"I've told you before dad I'm not going to pay to make rank. I don't want it that way."

Thomas let out a loud chuckle. "Ho ho ho. He's too good to play the game, is he? Son, how do you think I made rank? I paid the Combination three hundred dollars to get sergeant stripes and a thousand for my lieutenant bar six years later. Price has gone up since those days, but it's still how it works. I made captain on my own merit, like everyone above lieutenant does, but to get on that track you gotta pay. If it's money you need, I'll loan it to you."

"I want to make it on my own merits is what I want."

"Then good luck, boyo, and get some comfortable shoes; you'll be walking that foot patrol from now until the year 1900."

An uneasy silence between father and son filled the room. Danny wouldn't meet his father's eye. This was how almost every conversation between the two of them went if the topic was the job. They could talk about almost anything else and be fine. But once work and politics came into play, they always butted heads and always ended up on the verge of rowing.

"Look," Thomas finally said with a sigh. "I want a quid pro quo. The chief put me on the security detail for the upcoming party convention. We need patrolmen and detectives to serve as protection for some of the men coming to town. They are big time movers and shakers inside the party, one of them more than likely will be the next president. I want you to volunteer for bodyguard duty. I'll see to it you get assigned. You play nice with your charges and everything goes well, you may end up actually making rank on your own accord."

"And in exchange for babysitting a couple of pols I get what?"

"My support in investigating these murders. I'll talk to Inspector Pope about the killings. He's the direct superior of me and your captain. Your name will be left out of it, but Williams will know where the ball got rolling and I can't help you if he gets mad. That's another reason why this detail works out for you. You come out of the convention with the ear of some powerful party man, you'll be untouchable."

Thomas stood and held out a beefy right hand.

"Do we have an agreement?"

Danny shook his father's hand warmly.

"Deal."

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

It's a fair question. It does kind of suck that going back this far does limit your options, but I went over this with another potential member who wanted to play a woman and there are some options. If you wanted to be a criminal working in Saloon City, a leader in the suffragette/temperance movement member that is starting to grow and take steam in this time period, or even a journalist ala Nellie Bly or Ida Tarbell. You can be a woman with power and value to the Combination without necessarily having the vote.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

First post. Not much but there it is.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

Central City

June 28th, 1876

Bob Stockton always came back home by steamboat. He was wealthy enough now to afford a private coach or his own car on the train. But coming in by river was how he'd first arrived here nearly fifty years ago. Central City was a far cry from the little frontier town he remembered all those years ago. It was so new back then that several of the log cabins in town were built with green wood.

Stockton stood on the deck of the steamboat, cigar firm in his mouth, and watched the city appear around the river bend. The city in front of him now was a vast metropolis with buildings as high as six stories stretched out across its expanse. A thick layer of smog rose above those buildings. To some that was a sign of urban sprawl and decay and pollution, but to Bob it was the price for progress. Industry and the wealth that came for it led to more expansion and growth. That was what America was all about.

"Senator Stockton."

Stockton turned around and saw a Marshall Holm standing on the deck with notepad and pencil at the ready. Like Stockton, Holm was on the way back home to Central City after spending the winter and spring in Washington. Also like Stockton, Holm and his paper worked for the Combination. Stockton scowled and blew smoke from his mouth.

"I told you, Marshall, I'm not talking about the convention until it gets--"

Holm cut him off as he shoved a piece of paper into his hands.

"This was sent to me over the wire when we stopped to refuel in Jeff City. Words coming out of the frontier. There's been a big battle out near someplace called Little Big Horn. You're chairman of the Senate's Committee of Indian Affairs, Senator, and I wonder if you'd like to comment."

Stockton read the bulletin. His face grew redder and redder the more he read. When he was done, he ripped the paper in two and tossed the scraps out of his hands.

"Fucking Custer!"

Stockton spat his cigar stub out of his mouth and watched it fly overboard into the water. These next few weeks were crucial to furthering Stockton's political goals, there was no room for error. And now some goddamn long-haired moron had fucked him over! How hard was it to kill a bunch of Indians? They were almost as easy to kill as the fucking buffalo. As the chairman of that Senate committee he stood to come under fire for lack of oversight on Custer's activities.

"My statement is this, Marshall: This does nothing but delay the inevitable. Like when the unruly child tries to ward off punishment from their father. They do nothing but ensure the punishment will be twofold. The committee on Indian Affairs will do whatever it takes to see that 7th Cavalry and Colonel Custer are avenged, and their murderers are brought to justice."

"Dynamite stuff, Senator."

Holm hurried away while Stockton brooded over the news. The plan that he and A.J. laid out for the coming convention did not include Stockton having to defend the actions of the now deceased George Custer. If he wanted to emerge from the convention as the party's compromise candidate, a man who could carry the party standard and win the White House, he needed to be as far from controversy as possible. The task was still feasible, the convention taking place here in Central City meant that A.J. had the power to put anyone he wanted on the ticket, but they would have to play things very carefully from here on out.

"Five minutes," one of the sailors announced from the steamboat's top deck. "We'll be in Central City in five minutes."

Stockton found another cigar in his coat pocket and lit it up. His original plan was to go home and rest, but that was now amended in light of the recent news. He had to head into the city and find A.J. as soon as possible. If he knew A.J. like he thought he did, after thirty-six years as partners in law and politics Bob knew him pretty damn well, then he would have already heard the news and would be ready with a plan for how to proceed forward.

---

"Saloon City"
Central City

"This makes four, Dan."

Danny Shea looked down at the dead woman's body. She was slashed across the throat and left for dead in the muddy back alley behind Uncle Ace's Brothel. Standing behind him was Bobby Coughlin, Danny's partner on the beat. Danny squatted down beside the body and touched the dead woman's cheek. Cold to the touch. He didn't expect any less. It was a quarter past ten in the morning so it was likely she'd been dead for hours before she was found by someone who actually reported it to Bobby.

"You talk to Uncle Ace?" Danny asked as he stood back up.

"'I pay! I pay! I know no girl! I pay protection!' is all the fucker had to say."

Four dead women in the last two weeks. It wasn't unusual for Saloon City to have that many dead bodies in that short amount of time, but most of those were casualties from drunken fights and card games that went sideways. Four dead women had been found dumped in back alleys with their throats slashed by a blade that the coroner described as 'big as hell.' She was the second Oriental, the other two dead women were Negro and Jewish respectively. The girl in the mud was dressed like a whore, just like the previous three.

"I grabbed a kid and told him to run back to the station house and tell them we caught a dead body out on the beat," Bobby said. "Not like it's gonna do any fucking good. This girl is dead where it don't matter. Now if she were a white girl from the east side they'd have the fucking US Cavalry riding through--"

He kept talking about something, but Danny didn't hear him. His thoughts were on the dead girls he'd seen over the past few weeks. Bobby was spot on with his assessment. All four of the dead girls were whores, all four were ethnic, and all four of them were people nobody gave a shit about. Danny and Bobby gave report after report to Sergeant O'Riley and Captain Williams, but they would just shrug and file it away as an unsolved case. They never got the detectives from downtown involved and they couldn't really give a shit.

But Danny wasn't the average flatfoot. He was the rare beat cop that had political juice at his disposal if he wished. Captain Thomas Shea, commanding officer of the CCPD's Southern District, was his father. While Danny tried to stay as apolitical as possible, Tommy Shea was the very definition of a political animal. It was a testament to his ability to play the game that he was the highest ranking Irishman on the CCPD. By 1890, Danny's dad would be chief of police.

"You gonna be alright if I leave?" Danny asked his partner.

Bobby shrugged and grinned. "Got a hot date?"

"Not exactly. I'm going to see my old man. He might be interested in this, all I got to do is hear his mouth. The only thing he likes more than playing politics is giving me lectures."

Bobby laughed. "You sure you wouldn't rather trade places with mama-san down on the ground?"

Danny looked down at the dead girl one last time. Number 4. If Danny couldn't get his father to help, they might be finding Number 5 in a back alley soon.

"I'll survive."

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

I'd say with Central City's size there would at least be two or three per neighborhood.