Byrd Man

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Yep. Wife's office Christmas party kind of interrupted things

@Hound55

Hound, seen here, in the middle of the party:

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Hub City, Michigan

Thank you for tuning in to WHUB. Tonight a small group gathered around the offices of the Hub City Chronicle for a candlelight vigil, staff members coming together in memory of one of their own. Today marks the fifth anniversary since his disappearance. WHUB’s own Miriam Weisner-Martinez has the story.

“Vic was a lot of things. He was a great colleague, a good friend, and -- because of his job -- a professional pain in the butt.”

That’s Nora Lace, editor in chief of the Hub City Chronicle. She’s one of over a dozen people here tonight to remember investigative reporter Victor Sage on the anniversary of his disappearance. A native of Hub City who joined the paper right out of college, Sage was known for his in-depth investigations on municipal affairs. In 2014, Sage and the Chronicle were nominated for a local reporting Pulitzer after the ten-part series on O’Neil County’s dysfunctional and underfunded jail system.

In 2016, Sage seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Lace says that while Sage was prone to long absences in the name of his work, a move like this was completely out of character.

“Vic was a newshound, you know? When he was working on a story we may not see him for a week at a time. So we were used to not hearing anything from him at first. We thought he'd check in eventually. But Al was the one who came to me with some concern that Vic wasn’t okay.”

Al being Al Kert, head of the Chronicle’s multimedia department who at the time was feature editor, the one person on the paper who worked closely with Sage.

“Vic and I kept in touch pretty regularly when he was working on a story, just bouncing ideas back and forth. It got to almost a month and I hadn’t heard from him. I started texting, getting bounce backs from my message. Then I started to call. His number was no longer in service.”

A welfare check by HPD found that Sage’s apartment was still filled with his belongings and no signs of either a struggle or a hasty attempt to pack and leave. All his earthly possessions, save a laptop, were still in the apartment. When asked about the matter, HPD issued no comment as it was still an active missing persons case.

But the question is, what was Sage working on in the weeks leading up to his disappearance? Lace doesn’t know and even Kert, Sage’s closest confidant, is in the dark.

“That was Vic. We collaborated, but only after he had the framework -- the bare bones -- of a story. That part could take months to form. So whatever the new topic was at the time, he never let me in on it.”

Could who or whatever Sage was investigating be behind his sudden disappearance? Five years on there’s really no way to tell, but that hasn’t stopped Lace and the rest of the Chronicle’s staff from gathering here tonight to remember their lost colleague, and to hope for his safe return.

“Wherever Vic is, I hope he’s safe. And I hope one day he’ll come back to us with one hell of a story.”

Reporting downtown for WHBU, I’m Miriam Weisner-Martinez.

---

Ditko Terrace Homes

“Oh, shit, it’s 12!”

Hasseem cursed and looked out the window. Sure as shit, a black SUV was parked on the lawn of the courtyard and six men in cop uniforms were rushing towards the door. Railand, the young boy BMF used as a lookout, was already hauling ass down the street now that he’d warned the men inside the stash house what was coming.

He did a quick mental inventory of what was inside the bungalow style project house. At least twenty kilos of heroin, another ten keys of uncut cocaine, about twenty grand in cash, and enough weapons to overthrow a small Caribbean nation. Hasseem knew he and the four other guys at the stash house were about to go away for a long time. He just wondered who had fucked up and not given the police their kickback?

“On the ground, motherfuckers!” One of the cops yelled as the door flew open.

Hasseem looked down the barrel of an honest to god AK47. The cop flipped him over with a hard kick to the ribs. He gasped for air as he felt zipties constrict around his wrist.

“Meech paid you motherfuckers off,” Hasseem gasped. "You want more?"

“Shut the fuck up, pendejo,” the cop growled.

Something about the choice of words gave Hasseem pause. It was like it unlocked something in his brain. He started to piece things together as he watched the other cops spread out through the stash house. AK-47 sure as shit wasn’t standard issue for no police Hasseem had ever seen. And then there was the makeup of the cops here. All latino. No blacks and no whites, and no way in hell Hub City had some unit that was all minority. Hasseem caught sight of some ink on one of the cops forearms. A stylized LD with three tally marks beneath it. Hasseem cursed when he saw the tat. LD stood for Los Discípulos, the three tally marks stood for the gang member’s body count thus far.

“Fuck,” Hasseem screamed. “These motherfuckers ain’t cops. They goddamn LD!”

That was when all hell broke loose. The BMF guys not already restrained started for their weapons, the “cops” did the same. Hasseem started to wiggle around in a fruitless attempt to break his restraints. There was a crash of glass and something flew through the house with a loud hiss. Gunfire broke out just as gas filled the room. Hasseem coughed and tried to see through it all. Somebody stepped over his prone body and rushed into the gas. He heard a rapid burst of gunfire, followed by screams. One of the LD members flew through the air and crashed through a glass coffee table beside Hasseem. More gunfire, more yells of pain and thuds.

Hasseem squinted as he saw someone step out of the gas cloud.



“Question: What kind of bird doesn’t fly?”

Hasseem screamed at the sight of the faceless man.

“A jailbird.”

The man drove Hasseem's head into the floor, knocking him out in one swift movement.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

CONGRATULATIONS: ___________________________________ I'm happy to announce that the following players have had their character applications accepted! A C C E P T E D S H E E T ( S ): Fantastic Four aka Reed and Susan Richards, Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm - @Cybermaxx The Question aka Victor Sage - @Byrd Man

@Lord Wraith

……

Thanks for that. Not sure what I would have done without the okay

His Son Will Ride a Camel

I'm here for it

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

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

THE QUESTION

^{_{♦ VICTOR SAGE ♦ PODCASTER/JOURNALIST ♦ HUB CITY ♦}}

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

---

^{"I was sayin' let me out of here before I was even born, it's such a gamble when you get a face"
-- Richard Hell}

Victor Sage is a former reporter for the Hub City Chronicle turned host of Crime & Punishment a wildly popular true crime podcast that examines cases of questionable conviction. But that's by day. By night? Well, that's the question isn't 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:

---

I want to take some of the topics I started on in a Batman run (privacy rights, AI, forced prison labor, etc.) and transplant them to Q. I think he would work better for political topics.

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

---

Vic Sage -- Question.
Aristotle "Tot" Rodor -- Q's friend and ally (Deceased)
Al Kert -- Vic's podcast producer.
Izzy O'Toole -- Hub PD detective.
Myra Fermin -- Hub City mayor
Alexander Polys -- Tech billionaire
Calvin Zabo/Mr. Hyde -- Superpowered Hub city kingpin

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

---

1.
2.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Next post like:

My Hider

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Hub City, Michigan

Hub City was once the axle that American industry turned upon. It pumped out more cars than there were people alive. In the 40’s, the jeeps, cars, and tanks that rolled off the Hub assembly lines fueled the American war effort and helped stomp the Nazis and Imperial Japan into submission. For decades the city stood as a triumph of the blue collar American dream. A steady job, two car garage, a chicken in every pot, etc. etc.

And then the retreat began to happen. It happened slowly, at first. Business found other countries with looser labor laws and lower standards of pay. The old double edge sword of capitalism, the one that made American manufacturing so much cheaper than European manufacturing, sliced Hub City open. As industry fled so too did the upper and middle class. What got left behind were the poor and disadvantaged. Crime and murder spiked just in time for the advent of crack cocaine. Places like Hub became political talking points for both sides of the aisle, an example to they trotted out to prove whatever point they needed to. Industrial rot was the norm for almost two decades until the great corporate rebuild.

Ten years ago Mayor Myra Fermin rode into office with the plan to revitalize the city by splaying her wide open for corporations to take over the failing city services through public bids. After the dust settled, three private companies emerged with broad mandates:

Hephaestus: Building, infrastructure, and road construction
Wolverine Power & Water: Utilities
Michigan Transportation Trust: Mass transit

It was a libertarian's wet dream, a city where private companies provided the lion's share of services with minimal oversight by the municipal government. In theory the government would get the best services for the cheapest cost. Ten years on and the corporate rebuild left something to be desired. The three initial companies who ran services in Hub stayed that way because they were the only ones who ever placed bids. Public records show that any other company that did place a bid would always end up pulling out suddenly, leaving one of the main three to get the job. The stranglehold of monopoly set in. Continued requests for Mayor Fermin’s updated financial campaign contributions continue to be ignored.

More so, the overlap between the three companies make it a tangled mess. MTT supplies Hephaestus with the heavy machinery it needs, Wolverine gets the power trucks. Hephaestus maintains the roads and rails MTT's buses and trains operate on. And now, there are rumors of a fourth company entering the mix. Thornguard, with its track record of questionable actions in the name of American Imperialism, is bidding to take over emergency services for both Hub City and O’Neil County. I’m sure its bid for emergency service will be low, as low as anything possible for a privatized police, fire, and paramedic force. How much do you want to bet the cars will come from MTT and their facilities maintained by Hephaestus? With Thornguard as the fourth corner, private interest and profit are being used to govern a city of almost a million people. Citizens seen as commodities -- ones and zeros -- riding MTT trains, working in Hephaestus buildings, arrested by Thornguard cops. But I can’t help but wonder… this combination of interest, as murky as it seems to be, if something darker and more sinister lies beneath the surface?

My name is Vic Sage, and I’m asking you to question authority, question your reality, Question Everything.

---

Myra Fermin looked across the limousine at Calvin Zabo and, like always, found herself skeptical that this man was the monster people said he actually was. There was no doubt he was the criminal kingpin of Hub City, of course. Myra had been in politics too long to know ruthless and dangerous people came in all shapes and sizes. But she had seen in crime scene photos the damage Zabo left in his wake. The man was a walking abattoir of physical violence and destruction… and his gaunt face and thin frame hinted at none of that raw power.

“So, how are things, Madam Mayor?” asked Zabo.

Myra shot Zabo a dirty look as she lit up a cigarette. As a city owned vehicle there was technically no smoking in the limo. But who in the hell would tell her no?

“Just look at the news,” she said, blowing smoke. “The city is broke, our fucking water is brown, our murder count is expected to pass 250 at year’s end, and on top of everything else I got a blister on my foot that might be infected.”

A crooked smile appeared on Zabo’s face.

“Save it for your therapist,” said Zabo. "I was just trying to be polite. Like when someone asks how you're doing, they don't want you to really tell them how you're doing."

He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a white index card. “I got a list of names on this card. These men were all detained based on flimsy evidence and the actions of a vigilante and they need a few friendly favors.”

Myra took the card. Six men in total with names that weren’t American. Zabo’s words helped her connect the dots.

“Those guys that the faceless weirdo roughed up,” she said. “Those were your guys.”

Zabo spread his hands. “No, not really. But I speak for them in this case. And the people they work for want them released quickly and quietly.”

Myra frowned and stuck the smoldering cigarette into the corner of her mouth. “Then why come to me with this? I’m the fucking mayor, Zabo. I know you have more than your fair share of cops already paid for. Give them this information.”

“But I’m giving it to you,” Zabo said coolly. “Because sometimes who delivers a message is just as effective as the message itself.”

She scowled and exhaled smoke. “So I’m your goddamn errand girl, is that it?”

He shrugged. “Just a friendly reminder to the judges and lawyers just how far my reach extends.”

Myra looked back down at the list of names before looking back up at Zabo.

“These men were all arrested smuggling some serious weapons into the city. Two years ago, Zabo, I campaigned on stopping gun violence. Last year Hub was the most violent city in America per capita. If we were the size of Gotham we would clock almost three thousand murders a year. And you want me to help you set free the men who are contributing to that violence?”

Zabo’s face held no hint of warmth or understanding as he spoke. “That’s what the money’s for, Madam Mayor. It’s not the fucking voters who get you into office and keep you there. It’s my money.”

The car slowed to a stop near a curb. Zabo opened the door and started to get out.

“Never forget, Myra,” he said softly. “Who exactly you work for. And who exactly I work for, and how much power they carry. You wouldn’t be the first elected official they’ve seen succumb to ‘tragic circumstances’ and you wouldn’t be the last either. Work on the paper I gave you, and I’ll be in touch.”

---

Rucka Park Homes

Hector looked out the window on the courtyard below. He was nervous, anxious. Waiting for the other shoe to fall. Tucked into his waistband was a fully loaded Glock. It was so new Hector could smell the gun oil even now with it underneath his t-shirt. The gun was just one of almost one hundred brand new pistols, submachine guns, rifles, and fucking rocket launchers they had stashed in Clever’s mom’s house. Wherever El Beato had gotten all that fucking hardware, Hector was afraid to ask. But he was damn sure excited to use it.

“Get away from the window, fool.”

Hector looked over his shoulder as El Beato came in through the door. He wore grey sweatpants, a Hub City Warriors hoodie, and a red baseball cap with a flat brim. Around his neck were thick white gold chains.

“What are you out there looking at, anyway?”

Hector shrugged. “Just waiting… for shit to jump off.”

El Beato sucked his teeth. “It’s not jumping off until I say so. BMF ain’t crazy enough to walk up into the Rucka unless they got the goddamn Army behind them. They know this whole block is Spanish.”

Hector didn’t know what the initials BMF meant, exactly, but he knew that was the name of the black street gang Los Discípulos fought constantly over drug corners here in Hub City’s west side. It was mostly the occasional ass whooping or stray drive-by that missed their targets, but there were still bodies that got dropped. The body count at the moment was 4-1 in favor of BMF in the few years since Hector joined LD. But this crazy ass deal El Beato had pulled was going to change that.

“We gonna move on them later tonight,” said El Beato. “You know Popeye’s cousin, Tanya, with the big tits? Popeye said she's shacked up with one of them BMF fools. She knows, and now we know, where their stash house is. We raid that shit, take their stash, and scalp a few of them on the way out.”

El Beato started to rummage through a closet. When he emerged, he held a brand new AK-47 in his hands.

“Gonna go Jihad on those motherfuckers!”

What neither El Beato or Hector realized was that their conversation was being listened to. A hidden app on El Beato’s phone had been activated, turning the device’s microphone on for whoever was on the other end to listen as the two gang members planned the details of their raid on the BMF stronghold.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Hub City, Michigan

The American Dream is a lie.

I don't mean that in the quasi-socialist, Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp plight-of-the-working-class way.

I mean it never existed.

This nation wasn't founded with egalitarian ideals in mind. It wasn't founded for religious freedom. It wasn’t founded because of high taxes and low representation and all that other bullshit you’ve been spoon-fed in school. It was founded to be a kingdom for those with the wealth of kings and no land to rule. The New World would be theirs for the taking, a compact sealed in the blood of the Natives who had the audacity to call this land home before them. It was decided before the first shots were fired in Lexington and Concord, before the first treaties to the king, before the first chest of tea got chucked into the Boston Harbor, and even before the first anchor dropped off the New England coast.

The royalty of America? They used to have names like Bush, Kennedy, and Rockefeller. But they’ve been displaced by new names: Luthor, Polys, Musk, Bezos. The oil barons and slum lords have been replaced by the tech gods and “revolutionaries” who build their empires on the backs of minimum wage workers. They look like the bleeding edge, but make no mistake on where their loyalties lie. They are the oldest of the old guard, the powers that be, and the keepers of the status quo.

Over the past few years we’ve seen these men, because they are mostly men, command entire governments to do their bidding through political slush funds. Cops act as private armies and promote their interest. When the time comes that the cops can’t do enough, then the real private armies are broken out in the name of that oh so sacred American commandment: thou shall not destroy private property. The events of the last eighteen months have made it very clear how little regard for human life they have. We’re all just collateral damage in the ongoing crusade to expand profits and drive stock prices.

---

Hub City PD Deputy Commissioner Izzy O’Toole shook a cigarette out of the newly opened pack of Marlboro Lights. The wind of Lake Erie ripped down the alley O’Toole was standing in, sputtering the flame on his lighter out. O’Toole cursed and struck it up again. When he did, he saw a familiar figure looking at him from across the alley.

“Question: What did the pastor name his cigarette company?”



“Answer: Holy Smokes.”

O’Toole ignored the joke and instead blew a thick column of smoke into the air. The faceless man -- The Question -- kept his hands in his trench coat pockets. O’Toole had made his way up the police force through the detective bureau, and had become an expert at reading people. But this man was, pun intended maybe, a real blank when it came to anything. Not just facial cues, but also body language. He knew how to make himself an unreadable tome when it came to thoughts and intentions.

“Heard you got mixed up with some sort of gun runners the other night,” said O’Toole. “No deaths, but twelve arrested and six sent to the ICU.”

“I'm sorry it wasn't more.”

The Question reached into his trench coat. He pulled out a thick manila folder packed with papers.

“And the men I took down were more than just gun runners. They’re front line soldiers for the ‘Ndrangheta. They’re like if the American Mafia were run by Fortune 500 CEOs. They diversify their market share and dabble in everything from trafficking humans, to labor fraud, to loan sharking stockbrokers. They’re worth more than most country’s GDPs.”

He held up the thick folder and shook it.

“And they've found a nice toehold in Hub City. The guys I took down the other night I’d been tracking over the last six months. This is evidence, plenty to take them down and make them stay down.”

O’Toole took the hefty folder from The Question and tucked it under his arm.

“Jesus, it's as thick as a fucking brick,” said O’Toole. “You ever heard of a USB drive?”

“I’m not a fan of electronic data storage. For all the talk of the cloud and encryption, nothing is more hacker-proof than a piece of paper stored in a locked file cabinet.”

“I’ll see what I can do with this.”

The Question grunted. “If my theory is right, it’ll do very little.”

It was O’Toole’s turn to grunt in reply. The Question may have been nuttier than squirrel shit, but he was right about how justice in Hub City worked. If these gun smugglers were as connected as The Question claimed, a slick lawyer would waltz into the courtroom and get them a sweetheart bail. They’d jump it, of course, and disappear back to Europe never to be seen again.

“But there’s more in that folder than just info on ‘Ndrangheta, Deputy. There’s also evidence showing ties to gun running operations and ‘Ndrangheta arms dealers through Eastern Europe and the Middle East and a private military company once called Blackstar… since rebranded as Thornguard.”

That gave O’Toole pause. He raised an eyebrow at The Question.

“A PMC with shady ties isn’t anything new.”

“But a PMC with shady ties, the same PMC who now run day to day operations of Lemire State Penitentiary, a PMC whose shady business partners just so happens to be quietly opening shop here in Hub City. There are no coincidences, O’Toole. It’s all connected.”

O'Toole raised an eyebrow. “It’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you, right?”

“Just read the files, Deputy,” The Question said as he started down the alley. “Follow the money and question everything.”

---

There will come a time in our world where our governments will fail us, either by design or catastrophe. And on that day, the corporations will swoop in to fill the gap they left behind. A plan nearly fifty years in the making will come to fruition on that day. The decline and inevitable failure of our government institutions is a much bigger game than repealing laws and gerrymandering districts. It’s been a systematic neglect that's lasted for decades, all orchestrated to erode the power the government has and the peoples trust in it. They talked about the new world order in the 90’s like it was some abstract boogeyman, but it’s here. And it's always been here. You want to know what the new world order is? It’s not the Bilderberg Group, or Bohemian Grove, or the FreeMasons. The new world order is Disney and Apple, it’s Lexcorp and Amazon. The companies and products that have an iron hold on your day to day life. They’re weaving a net even now, linking commerce and politics with crime and corruption. It’s happening in front of our very eyes, slowly and surely and completely under the radar. And when the time comes and the net is dropped, we all end up entangled in its uncaring capitalistic snare. Long live our corporate overlords.

My name is Vic Sage, and I’m asking you to question authority, question your reality, Question Everything.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

No plans. Only thing I ask is the character not be retconned

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

Montoya's the only issue, brohan. The rest's awesome.

@Hound55

kinda figured