Byrd Man

Can we please talk about Jesus Christ?

<Snipped quote by ZAVAZggg>
So lock a thread talking about faith, I swear the devil is a hater.

@Holy Wingss

I am a hater, this is true.

Locking the thread now.

Hail Satan.

Post removal request.

I can, I will, and I did.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

---

Earth #3311
The White House

President J.J. McGuillicutty checked his watch for the third time in the past ten minutes. The sound of the ticking clock seemed almost deafening to him. It was completely silent in the Oval Office. For the first time in over twelve he was completely alone in the room. McGuillicutty ordered the gaggle of science, political, and military experts out while he took a seat behind the Resolute Desk.

“There’s a button under the desk,” President Dolbert had told him two years ago. It was just before McGuillicutty’s inauguration. Dolbert stared at McGillicutty with his beady eyes and showed no hint that this was some kind of jke. “You only press that button once in a lifetime. Only in an extreme emergency.”

“Like a national collapse?”

“No,” said Dolbert.

“A global plague?”

“Kids stuff.”

“Bacon shortage?”

The soon to be ex-president shook his head. “Not even then.”

“Then when do I use it?” asked McGuillicutty.

Dolbert placed a beefy hand on the president-elect’s shoulder. “When the time comes, you’ll know.”

And the old bastard was right, thought McGuillicutty. It took him a while to remember Dolbert’s cryptic warning, but after he did he quickly shooed his advisors out of the room and found the little button beneath the Resolute Desk. The president heard a soft whirring as something shifted beneath the desk. It took McGullicutty a moment, but he realized the button itself was moving. It took its place on the wooden desk. It pulsed a soft yellow and a tinny, chipper voice began to emit from it.

“Thank you for contacting Peck Property & Casualty Insurance, this is Bobert and I need to inform you that this conversation is monitored for quality assurance. How may I help you?”

“Bobert?” McGuillicutty asked.

“Yes, how may I help you today?”

McGuillicutty struggled to find the right words. “There’s an… invasion, I guess? Men from outer space.”

“Oh, no,” Bobert said sympathetically. “That must be real inconvenient for you. Let’s get some information out of the way first before we continue. Am I speaking to the policy holder.”

“I’m the president of the United States,” McGuillicutty offered. “Does that… help any?”

“Yes it does,” said Bobert. “You are the de facto policy holder for your planet’s coverage and… I am pleased to tell you that, in fact, alien invasion is covered by your homeworld owner’s insurance. This claim is processing. Please standby, a Peck Property & Casualty Insurance agent will be touch with you shortly with an update on your claim. Did you need anything else from me today, sir?”

“Help?”

“Help is on the way,” Bobert said, in a voice so soothing that McGuillicutty actually felt a fuzziness in his chest.

What McGuillictty did not realize was that the warm feeling in his chest wasn’t due to Bobert’s exceptional customer service. It was due to a narcotic spore Bobert had released from the button. Bobert’s programming, because Bobert was in fact an AI and not at all a real person, was to lightly tranquilize claimants during times of extreme duress.

“Cool,” said McGuillicutty. The president looked around the Oval Office and his eyes widened in amazement. “Wow…. there’s no… corners. It’s so… round.”

McGuillicutty leaned back in his chair and laughed as both Howard and Bruce Banner appeared in front of him with a flash of light. The president took in the sight of an anthropomorphic duck in stride, Howard thought. In his experience most sapiens had extreme reactions to seeing him.

That’s when Howard heard the collective sound of many guns cocking. He and Banner slowly turned to see a small platoon of soldiers and generals, each of heavily armed, standing in front of them.

“They’ve infiltrated the White House,” one very decorated five-star general barked. He pulled back the hammer on a very large revolver. “Die, alien scum.”

Before the general could squeeze the trigger a massive emerald arm snatched the gun from his grasp. The soldiers collective took a step back at the sight of the Incredible Hulk looming above them. He growled and the military men prepared to fire.

“Hold your fire,” Howard shouted. “We’re here to help!”

“Help, I need somebody,” the president mumbled from his chair. “Not just anybody…”

Howard reached into his suit jacket, slowly, and produced his I.D. card. It showed that Howard T. Duck was in fact a licensed interdimensional insurance agent for Peck Property & Casualty Insurance, specifically for the Life, Fire, and World Destruction Division. The soldiers scrutinized it while the Hulk played hacky sack with the general’s gun.

“The commander-in-chief back there filed a claim,” said Howard, his thumb pointing back toward McGuillicutty.

The president was clearly doing an air guitar solo to Foghat’s “Slow Ride”, which was in this world the most popular song of all time. It had become so popular that a group of fans in 1980 incorporated the First Universal Church of the Slow Ride. Their motto, naturally, was “Take it Easy.” Contrary to their motto, however, the FUCSR were incapable of taking it easy. They currently sat at #1 on the FBI’s list of most dangerous criminal organizations. Even when set to the bitchin’ tunes of Foghat, a vast network of gun running, meth production, and tie-dye t-shirt smuggling was still illegal.

“I’m here to investigate the claim,” said Howard. “So can someone please explain what’s going on?”

One of the generals pointed at the Hulk. “He doesn't look like an insurance agent.”

The green giant took the revolver in both hands and bent it into the shape of a poodle.

“You're right. He’s my intern.”

---

“At 0300 hours a collection of twenty-six portals all opened up at various points across the globe. From those portals spaceships poured out. Massive motherships with a full fleet of fighters and bombers inside their holds.”

Howard sat at the conference table in the Situation Room with the rest of the president's cabinet and watched the scientist at the front give his briefing. Bruce had transformed back and was sitting next to Howard, wearing a pair of borrowed sweatpants, crocs, and a baggy shirt that read “It’s Always Five O’Clock In Margaritaville.”

“So far they have yet to make a strike on anything,” said the scientist. “But they have been playing their demands across every media platform. It took us some time to interpret it.”

The scientist pulled a remote from his labcoat and pressed a button. A high-pitched screeching noise filled the situation room. Bruce put his hands over his ears to muffle the sound, but Howard listened intently. He could pick out the rhythms of the sound and knew it was some language. It seemed very close to another alien tongue Howard had heard before. But he couldn't quite place it.

“Best as we can figure, they are saying they wish for a complete surrender before the end of the solar cycle or they will destroy the world.”

“And the nukes won’t work,” said one of the generals. “There’s some kind of goddamn forcefield on the things and the missiles just bounce off.”

“And ricochet back to earth,” the Secretary of the Interior said testily. "Where people live.

“I did us all a favor,” the general spat back. "Is anyone here actually going to miss Cleveland?"

“Can you just keep it down,” President McGuillicutty said from his seat. He had on sunglasses and held a half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “My head is pounding.”

While the president and his cabinet bickered among themselves, Howard had his head in his lap. The tablet in his lap displayed a list of clients and details on them. The readout displayed this current version of Earth and what exactly made them different from the other realities in the infinite multiverse. A smile appeared on his face as he looked up.

“I have a plan,” he announced. “I need a few things. I need the militaries of the world to prepare all fighter jets for aerial combat, a list of the highest grossing films of 1996, an Amazon Prime account, and most importantly… the actor Michael T. Weiss.”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

---

^{_{HOWARD LONGNAMEOVICH ♦ INTERDIMENSIONAL INSURANCE AGENT ♦ THE MULTIVERSE ♦ PECK PROPERTY & CASUALTY INSURANCE, INTERDIMENSIONAL FIRE & LIFE DIVISON}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"Jesus Fucking Christ, what is this idiot doing now?"
-- Lord Wraith}

Inspired by stuff like Doctor Who, H2G2, and the Howard the Duck comics, I want to tell some comedic sci-fi stories and that's pretty much it.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Howard wants to become the multiverse's A-#1 insurance agent. Call me now for a quote on everything from uninsured motorist to retcon insurance. Lost your house in an attack from space invaders? You're covered! Got maimed by a time-displaced caveman? You're covered! Subjected to a shitty reboot where the words "Fuck Batman" actually come out of your mouth? You're covered! I'm here to help you!

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

CAST

Vandal Savage (Earth #21099) -- Uninsured interdimensonal conqueror. Major asshole. Doesn't even leave a courtesy note when he wipes out a planet.

Bruce Banner/The Hulk (Earth #0002) -- An older, greyer (pun) Hulk who has reached the end of his superhero days and is now transitioning to a second career. Howard's intern. Hulk smash lunch order.

The Despair (Earth #2292) -- Hive mind that is bent on utter and complete assimilation of their dimension's inhabitants. One of Howard's best clients.

Zeus Bain/Flying Squirrel Man (Earth #798) -- Superhero and member of the Righteous Guild. Inhabits an earth that couldn't afford the rights to licensed characters.

The Phillie Phanatic (Earth #090995) -- Serial killer/baseball mascot. Got absolutely washed by Tommy Lasodra one time.

Meryl Streep (Earth #321210) -- Hardened criminal. Most prolific bank robber in the multiverse. Just a real delight, crushes everything she does.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

"Monday"
1.
2.

RPGN // Issue No.2 - July 2019

Can't wait.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

---

Reality 000001
“The Maw”

Philbert J. Parnell squared his glasses and looked over the edge of the mesa once more. The pitch black of the Maw gaped below the rocky surface of the planet Scylla. Down at the bottom of the forty mile deep chasm lay the Madn N. Zondar Memorial Learning & Rehabilitation Center. No learning or actual rehabilitation took place at the bottom of the Maw. In Scylla’s native language, words often have the opposite meaning of their true purpose. It’s why Remul Sewage Water was the name of the best selling soda on the planet, and Healthy Water was the finest toilet declogger this side of the galaxy. It was also why the Zondar was not a place for growth and change, but instead of beatings and confinements.

The worst of the worst were housed in the facility. It wasn’t a planetary or even an intergalactic prison. No, the Zondar was the first and only interdimensional supermax prison in the known multiverse. It was where people like Space Hitler, Time-Traveling Manson, and the woman who invented checked baggage fees for flights were all imprisoned. And Parnell was heading straight into that madhouse.

Parnell felt a rumble beneath his expensive wingtips. He peered over the side of the balcony once more and saw a distant light in the dark below that was rapidly becoming brighter and larger. A shuttle roared out of the Maw and circled the mesa. Parnell had to hold on to his hat to prevent it from blowing away as the shuttle landed in front of him. A large insectoid alien dressed in body armor and wearing a visored riot helmet scuttled out of the shuttle and eyeballed Parnell. He noticed a score of tally marks drawn in whtie paint on the alien’s body armor.

“Assume scanning position,” said the guard.

Parnell held his hands above his head as the guard pulled a metallic ball from his belt. The orb floated away from the guard and rapidly flew around Parnell. He could feel a warm fuzziness in the hollow of his throat. Years later, when he was diagnosed with throat cancer, Parnell would look back at this moment in anger. And then, sadly, he would remember signing an iron-clad waiver that absolved the Madn N. Zondar Memorial Learning & Rehabilitation Center, its parent company Freedom & Happiness LLC, and all of its employees from any and all legal and financial responsibility during Parnell’s visit.

“You’re clean,” the guard said after the orb had finished its scan. “You may enter the shuttle now.”

Parnell rode down into the Maw aboard the shuttle. After ten minutes of darkness the prison complex below came into view. Slabs of windowless concrete buildings, some sixty stories high, stretched across the bottom of the Maw. It was the most depressing sight Parnell had ever seen. Just the sight of it brought tears to his eyes. Parnell had no way of knowing this, but that had been by design. In keeping with the theme of the entire project the facility’s architect had been subjected to his own form of torture during the drafting process. He had been forced to sit in a slightly rickety chair just a bit too small, draw his plans up with a drafting pencil that had poor quality lead, all the while he wore headphones that blasted nothing but S-Pop, high tempo pop music recorded by bellowing slugs, and audiobooks where the narrator had a distinct stutter. This discomfort had put him in such a bad mood that he set out to pass the pain along. Anyone who even glanced at the building would be overcome with a brief but a deep sense of melancholy. It’s why Parnell’s shuttle driver wore the isor. Going into the Zondar without eye protection was first day stuff.

They docked on the top on one of the skyscrapers. Parnell straightened the lapels of his suit as the airlock of the shuttle opened and he was greeted by a small platoon of guards. At the head of the pack was a human guard that wore the white uniform of a commander instead of body armor.

“Mr. Parnell,” the commander said. “Follow me, please. Any sudden movements and we will be forced to terminate you where you stand.”

“Yes,” said Parnell, slowly wiping a tear from his eye. “Of course.”

The squadron flanked Parnell on either side as he followed the commander down the corridors of the facility. Parnell felt an odd sense of deja vu at the sight of the concrete walls painted in a neutral taupe. Hung on the walls at fifty foot intervals were motivational posters. They featured cute pictures of puppies and children playing and said things like VIGILANCE: If you see Sandra near the commissary, please inform a correction’s officer. DISCIPLINE: Any infraction will result in a month of meals made personally by Sandra, and TORTURE: We’re for it! Parnell suddenly realized he felt like he was back in high school once again. This place was truly hell.

“You must have some well-connected friends, pal,” said the commander.

“Not me,” said Parnell. “Just my employers.”

“Well whoever it is running things they’ve done something no one has ever seen before. I was born here, I was raised here, and I will die here… probably in some brutal fashion at the hands of an inmate. Just like my daddy, his daddy before him, and my non-gender assigned ancestor before him. In all that time, no inmate has ever left the Zondar once they go down into the hole.”

“Money talks,” said Parnell. “The one true language that transcends the multiversal membrane.”

“Here we are.”

The commander stopped at a thick metal door. He held his hand palm out to an electronic eye. Parnell heard a low buzz and hum. The door hissed and started to slowly swing open. The guards that surrounded Parnell readied their weapons. On the other side of the door was a 7x7 cell covered with padded walls. A solitary figure stood in the middle of the cell, wrapped in a straitjacket and with a metal facemask covering their mouth. Parnell saw a mess of blonde, greying hair that hung down over the person’s shoulders.

“You’re getting out,” the commander told the prisoner. “But until you leave the Maw, you are still an inmate at this facility. I am removing your restraints. Any attempts to disobey my orders will result in your sudden and painful termination. Do you understand?”

The prisoner nodded. Pernell stood back and watched as two guards walked forward with the commander. They kept their rifles trained on the prisoner’s head as the commander loosened the straitjacket. When it was off, the prisoner removed the facemask. Parnell saw the face smiling back at him and felt a little queasy. Of all the people he had to come in here to collect, why did it have to be her?

“Why, hello,” Meryl Streep, the most dangerous criminal in the multiverse, said in a chipper tone. “And who are you?”

“Philbert J. Parnell,” he squeaked. “And I represent people who have paid a lot of money to see you freed.”

Parnell saw the sparkle in her eye as she waved him off.

“Oh, stop it! Making such a big fuss over me.”

---

Reality #8675309
Peck Property & Casualty Insurance Offices

“Hey. I’m Mr. Dickhead. And I’m a real asshole. I go around dimensions and I do things like key your car, set your house on fire, and tea-bag your mom's vegetable soup. If you want to protect your shit against assholes like me, then get Greco Interdimensional Insurance today.”

“Waugh,” Howard the Duck snarled. He grabbed the remote on his desk and turned off the monitor mounted on the far wall of his office. He shook his head as he laid the remote back down beside a stack of three-ring binders.

Howard rubbed his temples with his feathered hands and sighed. “Greco, Greco, Greco.”

“A new ad?”

Bruce Banner walked through the door holding two cardboard coffee cups. He gave one to Howard while he kept the other. Howard took a deep pull off his coffee before talking.

“Yes. A new ad. I expect nothing less from the company that prioritizes marketing over superior coverage and products.”

Howard’s company did their own share of advertising. For awhile, Howard had been featured in commercials as Peck Property & Casualty Insurance’s Agent of the Year campaign. It was pretty straightforward. Howard gave a speech to the folks watching:

“Hi, folks. My name is Howard the Duck, and I am Peck Property & Casualty’s Agent of the Year for the year 2018 in realities 0003-0054, and 0057-0068, 1969 for all you groovy cats in realities 9813-44401, and the year of 42069 (nice) in the reality where everyone is perpetually sixteen years old. Along with my accolades, those same realities also named Peck Property & Casualty as the #1 insurance company for those years. How was it that over a thousand different dimensions recognized our work? It’s simple. At Peck Property & Casualty, all our agents go above and beyond the expectations of good service. It’s the Peck guarantee. And for an agent to be named agent of the year, it speaks to how far I will go to offer good service to my customers. Don’t take it from me, hear it from some of my insured:”

“As a power hungry dictator, I often have to face many threats from challengers both at home and abroad. When it looked like the cursed Richards would finally win the day, Howard assured that my plot armor insurance was up to date, and he also helped me figure out how to go get a good discount on Life Model Decoys. NO ONE BESTS DOOM! VENGEANCE WILL BE MINE, RICHARDS! Thanks, Howard.”

“*indecipherable howls.* *Yak bleating* *bones crunching* Howard. #1!”

“When some greedy executives tried to use me as a bargaining chip in their corporate negotiations, I was worried I would be kicked out of the cinematic universe I had just recently entered. So I called Howard and it turned out that he had me signed up fr reboot fatigue coverage for up to ten years. Take that, Andrew Garfield! What’s more, he told Kevin Fiege to &$@# off. Thanks, Howard!”

“So you see, I go the extra mile for my customers. It’s what all Peck Property & Casualty agents do. If you want to experience the different first hand, give us a call and get your quote in as little as ten minutes, or go to peckpac.com or .org or .biz or .boobs, depending on your reality. Peck Property & Casualty, no slogans, just good service.”

"Good coffee, Bruce," said Howard. "You always do a great job.

"There's a science to it," said Banner. "And of the few things I know, science is one of them."

Howard watched his trainee sip coffee from across his desk. To Howard, Banner looked like a college professor. Round, rimless glasses with long graying hair pulled back into a ponytail. Hard to believe that the Hulk was inside him, just waiting to come out. But Banner had insisted that those days were behind him. In Bruce's reality, the Avengers had a falling out after Hawkeye spiked the lemonade at the Avengers annual picnic with laxative. They'd called the event Civil War 3, which Howard fully couldn't quite grasp. What had happened in Civil War's 1 and 2? Regardless, the fight had been brutal and Banner gave up both the Hulk and the dimension for a second life here with him. Howard had his doubts on if Bruce really had banished the Hulk. On one hand, having the Hulk as backup would be great. But as an insurance man, a raging monster who destroyed property left and right was a nightmare. Think of how high his premiums must be!

“Enough about advertising, let’s look at the Book.”

Howard placed a small metal cube on the desk and pressed the single button on the cube’s smooth surface. A hologram projection showed a network of dots across a great expanse. There were plenty of green dots, several red dots, and a vast collection of black dots.

“Pop quiz,” announced Howard. “What do the color coding on the dots mean?”

“Green is a dimension where you have at least one insured client,” said Banner. “Red means that you don’t. And black means those are realities where there is no interdimensional traffic, so they are outside of PP&C’s coverage.”

“Correct. And what does…. It mean when a green dot is flashing yellow?”

Banner looked at Howard with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t know, Mr. The Duck.”

“Call me Howard. Mr. The Duck was my father.” Howard pointed towards hologram map of the Book. One of the green dots was in fact pulsing a deep amber color.

“That means that one of our insured is currently in the process of filing a claim.”

Howard pressed the button on the Book again and zoomed in to the dot. Information crawled across the display beside the flashing dot.

REALITY # 3311
LOCATION: EARTH
INSURED: US PRESIDENT MCGILLICUTTY (JOINT GLOBAL POLICY)
CLAIM: ALIEN INVASION
COVERAGE: YES

“Alright,” said Howard. He pushed stood up and rifled through the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a large rifle and tossed Banner a black rectangular device. “That’s an interdimensional beacon. It’s how we move between realities. Keep it clipped to your belt and never have it leave your sight.”

Howard flicked a button on the rifle. It sparked blue energy and began to hum. He looked at Banner and winked.

“Let’s go give some great service.”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

What a fowl concept.

@Lord Wraith

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

---

^{_{HOWARD LONGNAMEOVICH ♦ INTERDIMENSIONAL INSURANCE AGENT ♦ THE MULTIVERSE ♦ PECK PROPERTY & CASUALTY INSURANCE, INTERDIMENSIONAL FIRE & LIFE DIVISON}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"Jesus Fucking Christ, what is this idiot doing now?"
-- Lord Wraith}

Inspired by stuff like Doctor Who, H2G2, and the Howard the Duck comics, I want to tell some comedic sci-fi stories and that's pretty much it.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Howard wants to become the multiverse's A-#1 insurance agent. Call me now for a quote on everything from uninsured motorist to retcon insurance. Lost your house in an attack from space invaders? You're covered! Got maimed by a time-displaced caveman? You're covered! Subjected to a shitty reboot where the words "Fuck Batman" actually come out of your mouth? You're covered! I'm here to help you!

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

CAST

Vandal Savage (Earth #21099) -- Uninsured interdimensonal conqueror. Major asshole. Doesn't even leave a courtesy note when he wipes out a planet.

Bruce Banner/The Hulk (Earth #0002) -- An older, greyer (pun) Hulk who has reached the end of his superhero days and is now transitioning to a second career. Howard's intern. Hulk smash lunch order.

The Despair (Earth #2292) -- Hive mind that is bent on utter and complete assimilation of their dimension's inhabitants. One of Howard's best clients.

Zeus Bain/Flying Squirrel Man (Earth #798) -- Superhero and member of the Righteous Guild. Inhabits an earth that couldn't afford the rights to licensed characters.

The Phillie Phanatic (Earth #090995) -- Serial killer/baseball mascot. Got absolutely washed by Tommy Lasodra one time.

Meryl Streep (Earth #321210) -- Hardened criminal. Most prolific bank robber in the multiverse. Just a real delight, crushes everything she does.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

From a previous RPG:

Midtown Manhattan

Howard the Duck cleared his throat as he wheeled the office chair towards the microphone. The studio apartment he called home had been outfitted with acoustic panels, a high-quality mic on the desk right next to where his laptop sat. A pair of earbuds were plugged into those weird looking little ear holes ducks have. Google it, guys. "Duck ear holes." Seriously, they look weird. Just don't google "duck penis." I did and I regretted it.

"For forty years, there's been a terror looming across the country," Howard said into the mic. He wore a pair of black frame glasses. How they were staying on his face was anybody's guess.

"There's a killer is out there and he strikes without warning, without a victim preference. His hunting grounds are all the major cities in America. He's killed most often in places like Atlanta, Miami, and New York City. But he will occasionally kill in places like Chicago, LA, or even Kansas City. What do all of these cities have in common? They just so happen to have Major League Baseball teams in them. And at the time of every killing over the last forty years, the Philadelphia Phillies have been in town to play baseball."

Howard hit a button on his laptop and the ominous theme began to play underneath his introduction.

"Welcome to Phanatic, the one hundred and sixty-two part podcast series that examines the vast conspiracy inside Major League Baseball that has harbored a psychopathic killer mascot for four decades. On today's episode: A Dodgers double header mixed with triple murder, Chase Utley, and the 2008 World Series. We'll be right back after a word from our sponsor. This episode of Phanatic is brought to you by Turpentinebox, the subscription box that delivers to you monthly all the chemicals to produce your own homemade turpentine. I use Turpentinebox and I have to say--"

Howard was cut short as his apartment shook, sending his microphone off the table and on to the ground.

"Waugh!"

Standing, Howard waddled to the window. He saw bystanders racing away from something, a look of terror on their faces.

"So much for that Stamps.com ad..."

---

Time's Square
A very short time and three dash marks later

From the rooftop of his building, Howard looked down at scene below. He was very fortunate that his apartment overlooked Time Square. It was also explain why he paid five thousand a month in rent for a studio apartment. On Howard's left hand was the Abundant Glove. Was it as powerful as the Infinity Gauntlet? No way. Could it also allow him to hold his own against super villains? Also, no. But with the powers of the Compassion, Laughter, Dance, Respect, and Second Dance gems, he could at least do his part while other heroes took care of Sandman. That was if they showed up. But, c'mon, this is New York we're talking about. There were as many costumed superheroes here as there were pizza places.

Harnessing the power of the two Dance Gems, Howard began to control the panicked crowd. They all came to a stop. Slowly, they all swayed their hips in time with each other. The pedestrians all began to gather together. Within a few seconds, three large conga lines had formed around Time Square, the people heading away from the carnage in an orderly yet rhythmic fashion.

Byrd Man

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

TBA

The Promise - Second Star to the Right, and Straight on 'til Morning.

<Snipped quote by Ruler Inc>

@Byrd Man i'd like to report this man for being what we in the business call toxic

@JunkMail

Report rejected.