Byrd Man

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<Snipped quote by Retired>

I was the kid who appreciated getting a participation ribbon because it was probably the only ribbon I’d get.

I am still that kid.

@Superboy

This is an online RPG forum. We were all that kid.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Oh, and also, wanted to thank @AndyC for the nomination for Best Character Concept. My goal so far has been for everyone to have as much fun reading my posts as I have writing them, so it's good to hear someone's enjoying them.

@Simple Unicycle

If I'd done a runner up, for sure you would have been thrown a mention with Chow Yun-Castle. One of the best concepts in a sea full of good concepts. Damn me and my love of murky jingoistic politics!

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Best Character: The Flash @Sep

Wraith mentioned that Sep is the heart of the RP in a lot of ways. I agree, and would say that his Flash is close to being the heart of the IC thread. I was a bit afraid that Iris as Flash was going to be gimmicky, but Sep shut me the hell up the second he hit the ground running (pun) with Iris. I don't know if you guys know this, but he's doing something with the Reverse Flash that's gonna be great. But, seriously, you're doing an awesome job. If we get the chance to start playing villains, you best believe I'm going to take over the Rogues.

Best Character Concept: Captain America @Eddie Brock

It's got Captain America, American history, spies, and politics all mixed into some creamy-ass goodness. How could I not vote for Eddie's Cap? It's an idea he's flirted with before, Steve Rogers actually being alive during the years actually makes him more like Captain America than we realize. He's seen the sins of his country firsthand and had to reconcile with them in his own way. In a way, this version of Steve Rogers reminds me of one of my favorite spies, George Smiley. It's damn good stuff, sir. Now if only we could get some more posts...

Best Character Development: Thor @Lord Wraith

Andy sort of aped what I would have said (Damn you!) but it bears repeating. You're doing a great job with Blake/Thor and their development. You're not rushing yourself and letting us get to know his world before you blow it all up to hell and back. Snaps to you.

Best Story: The Fantastic Four@Morden Man

What am I sucker for? Let me check the list...

[X] Compelling characters.
[X] Comic book science fiction shit.
[X] Fantastic Four.
[X] Alternate universe shit.

Morden's ongoing story checks all those boxes. The FF has been redone a lot of ways, most of them in the meh range. But Morden came up with an interesting and new take on the group. Despite the Year One setting, the Four come into the universe fully-formed and with a rich history and stakes that are super fucking high. They're the characters we all know and love, but they've all been touched by the tragedies of their home dimension. Just for the reinvention of Johnny alone you deserve this. Knowing where you're headed with the story, I can't wait to keep reading it as it progresses.

Best Post:

Superman's Introduction by @AndyC

Nobody quite has a flair for the dramatic in the way Andy does. Especially when it comes to Superman related drama. Dude has it boiled down to a science and gives us an opening worthy of a #1 issue, or the first big set piece in a Superman film.

Best Sex Scene: @Lord Wraith, he teaches us how it's done.

The John Lees Memorial MVP Award*:

@Master Bruce

He's the reason this game exists. I was highly skeptical at first when he came to me with the idea and asked me to co-GM. But I'm honored he asked me, and happy that I got to go along with the ride so far. He's kicking ass as Batman and as GM. To my brother from another mother -- mothers named... MARTHA! -- keep doing what you're doing.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Those are covered by the Technical RPG Awards, hosted at an earlier date.

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Who was John Lees?

@BlackSam3091

He's a former RPer some of us know. He went on to actually become a successful indie comic book writer.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

So as we have reached IC post 200 (Holy crap the game is moving), it's probably about the halfway point, maybe in terms of time if not posts, for us to do awards. For those of you who don't know, I shall explain. Essentially, people fill out the categories below. They say who their favorites are, and briefly explain why they picked them. It's not a serious thing and we don't count votes or anything like that. With the way a lot of our characters are all over the place, it's just a way to spread around positive feedback, give folks a shout out, encourage a kind of esprit de corps, and just to let folks know that they are part of the game and appreciated. Kiss each other's ass a bit as it were.

Best Character:
Best Character Concept:
Best Character Development:
Best Story:
Best Post:
The John Lees Memorial MVP Award*:

*MVP winner gets a personalized sex scene written by @Lord Wraith

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

London.

If you got any records by The Clash nearby now would be the time to play it, yeah?

She’s over two thousand years old. Romans officially founded her, though there were villages around that particular patch of Thames thousands of years before any of those toga wearing pussies even set foot on the island. What started as a few shacks by the river is now one of the largest cities in the world and the capital of western civilization for a millennia.

They say that a city is only as good as its people. I think there’s some truth to that. L.A. is a vapid, polluted cesspool because of the vapid, polluted people that occupy it. London is… something else entirely. It's because of its people. The city has been through it all. Plagues, war, riots, serial killers, Beetlemania, take your pick and Londoners went through it with a stiff upper lip. A fire burns 80,000 homes? We'll rebuild. The bloody Luftwaffe bomb the city every night? One your bike, Adolf.

But that thick skin has its downside. They get too busy keeping calm and carrying on they miss things. Children go missing and are never seen again, a mad man kills five Whitechapel working girls and disappears without a trace, a whole neighborhood in the grips of mass hysteria lynch black sailors for fighting with white dockworkers. And it's all to due with what's below. There’s something down there, beneath the Underground and the shit pipes and power lines and rats, something below the ancient catacombs. Something that beats as the heart of hidden London. A place of ghosts, monsters, and urban legends. A place where myths become flesh and blood.

It’s a place that no mage has gone into and come out sane. Well… no mage except one.

---

The Underground
1968

Roy Parker kept one hand on the wound in his side, the other hand on the bag of cash. He was slowly limping down the underground corridors. The job had gone wrong. And of course it fucking had, thought Roy. That’s what he got for letting Calum plan the bloody thing. A simple armored car job, he had said. The wanker hadn’t planned on the guards actually having guns. Both sides opened up and started a fucking massacre in the middle of street. Wounded, Roy grabbed a bag of cash and ran during the fight. Calum was dead and their driver Carl was on the way to being dead. With no car, Roy ducked into the Underground and then a side door near the tube platform. He kept going without thinking of where he was going. As long as he got some distance between himself and Old Bill that would be fine.

But now he was... where the hell was he? With a sigh, Roy leaned against the wall of the corridor. The cold stone felt good on his back. He looked down at his side and sighed in relief. He was bleeding, but the wound looked like it was just a nick. It was still bleeding, but he was confident that it would slow and clot sooner than later. He cursed when he saw a trail of blood drops on the ground leading towards him. He had to hurry less the police managed to find the trail.

Taking a deep breath, Roy started back down the corridor. Wherever he was, it didn’t look like anything else he had ever seen. The walls were stone, like something out of the bloody middle ages.All Roy needed was a fiery torch to complete the look. The sound of something shuffling cut off Roy’s thoughts. He pulled his hand away from his wound with a grunt and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a revolver.

“Who’s there?”

Squinting in the dark, Roy could make out a small shape further down the corridor. It was crawling his way slowly but surely. He finally made out the form of a rat scuttling across the floor, smelling and licking the drops of blood on the floor. When it was close enough, Roy stepped on its spine. It squealed and thrashed as it died.

“Fucking vermin,” he spat.

Roy turned away and started back down the corridor. He was only a few feet down when he heard the shuffling noise. This time, it was accompanied by squeaking. A dozen rats were now making their way down the hall towards him, using his blood as a roadmap towards him. Cursing, Roy took a shot and blew one of the rats away. The gunfire in the small hallway hurt his ears, but it kept the rats at bay. They hurried back to where they came from while Roy hitched the bag up and turned back to run.

He started to hurry down the hall as fast as his injury and bag of cash would allow him. He heard more scuttling and more squeaks, more than he could imagine. He looked over his shoulder and saw dozens of rats heading towards him, this time moving far faster than they had before. Roy started firing over his shoulder at the rats as he was now running outright with the loot. His foot hit some uneven part of the floor and sent him sprawling to the ground. The gun slipped from his hand, the bag of cash ripped and sent pound notes flying in the air. On his back and covered in cash, Roy saw hundreds of the rodents rushing towards him. He screamed as the pack of rats overtook him.

---

Brixton
Now

“Of course it’s bloody raining.”

John Constantine stood outside the tube station, taking in the site of the Brixton Road. Ten years since the last time he stepped foot on the road and it was still the same. Still filled with the same shops and same depressing overcast sky with drizzling rain. Same slow moving traffic and jaywalking pedestrians daring the cars to hit them. For the first time in a long time, John thought of Chas. Chas was one of the many who thought he was dead. He wondered how he would react to knowing his old friend was still alive.

“Wouldn’t be London without the rain,” Jack Hawksmoor said with a smile. None of the passing commuters seemed to take stock of the barefoot man standing in the rain. “Of all my children, London is among my favorite. Not the biggest or the oldest, but I'll take her over New York, Los Angeles, and all the megacities in China any day.”

John grunted as he pulled a fresh cigarette from his jacket and lit it up.

“Sure as hell isn't because of the weather… or the food. C’mon, I know a pub close by.”

A few minutes later they were settled in to a booth at the pub. John had a pint in his hands while Hawksmoor took in the surroundings.

“This building didn’t exist three hundred years ago. This whole part of London was farmland back then. Brixton was known for its windmills. When I would jump around rooftops, I could see them off in the distance.”

“Time marches on,” John muttered into his pint. “Nothing gold can stay, etc. You come back in ten years, I bet this pub will be either a Sainsbury's or a Starbucks. So when do I get to leave, Jack?”

“When you help me.”

Jack laid his hands on the table for John to see. They were spotted and worn, the blue veins noticeable against the pale skin. There were red spiderwebs of infection arching from the veins and into the flesh of his hands and arms. They looked to John like a sign of blood poisoning.

“I think I’m dying.”

“That’s impossible." John shook his head and blew smoke from his mouth as he spoke. “If you were some Celtic water sprite I’d say yeah, but you’re god of the cities. Billions of people worship at your altar, knowingly or unknowingly, every day. You’re not exactly the Endless when it comes to power, but you sure as hell got more juice than any of the Judeo-Christian lot.“

“You’d think,” Jack said, his eyes looking down at his hands. “But you have the proof here for yourself. This is a new development. At least the past decade I've been feeling... something like death. I spent that time tracing the source of my decay through all my children until I finally found it to be in London in a very unique place...”

“Lemme guess where that is,” John said with a scowl.

“The Underland,” said Jack.

“No. Fuck no.”

“Please, John,” Jack pleaded. “You’re the only person who has gone down there and emerged unscathed.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” John said softly. “Unscathed. Why should I help you, Hawksmoor? You’re just a manifestation of belief. Like a bloody cloud that runs on hopes and dreams. You get wiped out, so the fuck what? That won’t end the world. Guess what happened when they stopped believing in Apollo? The sun rose the next day.”

“What if it’s more than that?” Hawksmoor asked, his hands balling up into fists. “What if the thing that’s in the Underland is killing me off to take my place? For over ten millennia, I’ve been a benevolent god. What if what comes after me isn’t so nice. What then?”

John’s reply died in his throat. Two men in suits stood in front of their table. John could sense them reaching out to him, trying to get his measure. It was a common enough trait among the magi community of London. They called it scanning the barcode. John did the same and knew exactly who they were and who sent them.

“Mr. Constantine,” one of them said. “Ms. Sackville requires your presence.”

“Of course,” said John. “Haven’t even been in town for an hour yet, but already the Tate Club comes calling.”

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Tokyo

Metropolitan Police HQ
3:25 AM

Ito Moriko knocked on the door of the room with one knee and waited until there was no answer before she entered. Her arms were filled with stacks of files and paperwork for the special investigation squadroom. It being the mid-afternoon, the room was empty and all the detectives were out in the field ostensibly doing investigative work.

Moriko went around the room, placing the papers and files in their appropriate inboxes. All the information the detectives had requested earlier this morning was now available for them to read and interpret as they tried to solve the case. With her hands free, Moriko walked towards the chalkboard in the center of the room. Photos of the four murdered boys were taped to it. Underneath each photo was a short biography on the young men. Someone had scribbled the words "Guppy Gang?" in chalk off to the side.

The sight of the investigative work sent a pang of longing through Morkio's heart. She'd gone to university for criminology. It was an uphill battle for her to even be admitted into the course. Women very rarely were ever granted permission to study anything other than arts and teaching. But she had proven herself during the admission exams and graduated the top of her class. From there she went abroad and studied in Germany achieved a doctorate in psychology. And then returned home to find that the Metropolitan Police would never hire a woman police officer. The best she could hope for was to be a secretary.

But no more, she thought. Stepping away from the board, Moriko found Inspector Matsumoto's desk in the corner. She opened it and found copies of information about the case and victims. She quickly rolled the papers up and stuffed them down her skirt. The sounds of footsteps drew Moriko away from the desk just as Inspectors Matsumoto and Fujita came through the door. Ever the polite Japanese gentlemen, Matsumoto diverted his eyes and bowed in Moriko's presence. Fijita, however, stared straight ahead at her with a smirk.

"Good afternoon, Ito-chan," said Fujita. "How is the most beautiful secretary in the TMPD doing today?"

"Well," said Moriko, bowing slightly as her face flushed in embarrassment, her heart racing in fear. "I hope your investigation has progressed, Inspector...."

Fujita started to speak, but before he could Matsumoto cleared his throat.

"If there is nothing further, Ito-shan," said Matsumoto with a gentile smile. "You may go. I mean, unless you prefer Inspector Fujita's inane attempts at flirtation."

Moriko chuckled and quickly left the room. She could hear the two men bickering with each other as she left. She hurried down the corridor, the papers under her skirt rubbing against her thighs. When she was at the stairs she pulled them out and looked them over. The things she grabbed were primarily on the victims of the murders, the four boys who had been gunned down. The information from the detectives was thin, but that didn't matter. She had background on the victims and that was a start.

---

Siberia

Nagumo nearly vomited when he felt his shoulder popping back into its socket. Waves of pain radiated from the shoulder through the rest of his body. He screamed in pain, the scream muffled by the stick he had clamped between his jaws. Once the worse of the pain had passed, Nagumo spat the stick out and cursed before sighing and leaning back against the tree he was sitting under. The shoulder was still hurting and tender, but it felt ten times better than it had just seconds earlier.

By his own account, it had been three days since the plane crash and the escape from the Chinese. He had no idea where he exactly was, but he knew it wasn't Japanese territory. Not yet, anyway. He knew if he continued on his current course he'd find friendlies, but he had no idea how long that would take. And the gnawing in his stomach warned him that he had to find either food or Japanese soldiers soon rather than later. Finding water hadn't been a problem. This close to the Amur, creeks and springs that fed into the river were at places along his path. Food was his main concern. It was regulation for all pilots to take a day-ration of polished rice with them on any flight further than twenty miles from Urajiosutoku, but it was never enforced and nobody ever took it seriously. Now Nagumo wished he had.

He stood on unsure legs and continued his trek through the forest. The thick undergrowth and his weariness made for slow going. Nagumo swung his short sword with his right arm to cut a path through the vegetation, but hours of the repeated action was beginning to tire him. He was afraid to switch to his left arm for fear his shoulder might pop out of socket again if he pushed it too hard.

After what felt like hours he came to a clearing with a creek. He gave thanks and dropped to his knees by the water. It felt good on his dry and cracked lips. Nagumo drank quickly before stopping himself. Human impulse would be to drink as quickly as he could, but he knew that would result in him vomiting most of the water up not long after he left the clearing.

Nagumo began to raise his head up from the water when something solid pressed against the back of his neck. Words in Chinese made him freeze. He understood the word "Stop" regardless of the language. After a command in Chinese he didn't understand, the speaker switched to Russian.

"There is a gun against your neck. Do as I say: Stand and put your hands over your head and slowly turn around."

Nagumo slowly complied. He stood and put his hands behind his head before turning around. He expected to see some green Chinese private shakily holding a rifle in his hands. He surprised to actually see a big, middle-aged Russian man with a revolver in one hand, a curved sword in the other.

By the look on the Russians face, he was also surprised by Nagumo. His eyes went wide with surprise at the sight of the rising sun patch on Nagumo's left breast.

"Japanese?" asked the Russian.

"Yes," Nagumo said in his own tongue.

The Russian smiled before he struck out with the revolver. The butt of the weapon crashed on Nagumo's forehead and sent him sprawling to the ground. He started to move, but the big Russian stomped on his back and sent air rushing from his lungs.

"They're going to love you," the Russian said as he brought the butt of the gun down on the back of Nagumo's head.

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<Snipped quote by Sep>

I don't have anything on the docket for Lobo, so as far as I'm concerned he's fair game. Just, y'know, don't make him his awful New 52 version (a statement that can be said about most DC characters).

@AndyC

How in the world did they manage to make Lobo worse?

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

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