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GreenGrenade
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T H E S A N C T U A R Y
Located near the township of Happy Harbour on Rhode Island inside Mount Justice, the Secret Sanctuary was, decades ago, the Justice League’s headquarters. Although a long time has passed since the League used it, it has been updated with state of the art security systems and technology to ensure that it is a fitful home for the world’s next generation of heroes.
There are two main entry and exit points to the base barring the bay door and the zeta-beam tubes. The first is located at the base of Mount Justice, leading into the forest that borders it and Happy Harbour. The second is hidden in a cove that’s accessible along the Rhode Island coast. Both of these require physical identification scans and passwords entry for access.
The hangar contains the Young Justice Initiative’s modes of transport, including their primary, the Y-Wing, an old Tamaranean spacecraft modified by Cyborg which had previously been the Teen Titans’ T-Wing, and has now been passed down to, and renamed by, the Team. There is also a bay door, through which the underwater access tunnel may be entered, opening onto the Atlantic Ocean.
The communications complex is where missions are occasionally overseen by the Team’s caretakers, Oliver Queen and Dinah Lance. An array of screens display live feeds of the Team’s body worn video cameras, as well as any information the overseers want to see. Microphones are linked directly into the Team’s communications system, as well as the Justice League’s international network.
The meeting chamber is designated for briefings and conferences. A large meeting table of wood and stone stretches for much of the room’s length, the Young Justice symbol engraved in its centre. Chairs surround it (as you’d hope), and there are displays situated at each seat, as well as a main screen at the head of the table.
The lab is separated into two rooms and contains nearly any and all imaginable equipment that might be necessary for the examination and/or investigation of an object, whether live or inanimate (located in the lab proper), as well as the healing or patching up of people and other living beings (located in the med bay).
The gymnasium is where the Team can train to their hearts’ content. With a plethora of exercise equipment, weapons, adjustable sparring mats and an Olympic-sized pool, it is a state-of-the-art facility within which members can lose hours of their day.
The lounge and kitchen are where the Team goes to wind down. The kitchen views a large, U-shaped couch, in front of which is a coffee table and a wall-mounted widescreen television, to which are attached a variety of gaming systems. The lounge’s perimeter is made up of bookshelves that reach from the floor to the ceiling, containing a collection of the widest possible variety of books, both fiction and non-fiction.
The power generator room is home to the Sanctuary’s main power source.
The dormitories are home to the personal living quarters of each team member, which can be personalised in any way their occupants see fit. A dorm typically contains a single bed, a study table and chair, a closet, a bedside table and a wall-mounted television.
The teleporter room is the base’s main access point for much of the team, containing zeta-beam tubes that are accessible to any registered user from hidden locations in their home cities/towns.
There are two main entry and exit points to the base barring the bay door and the zeta-beam tubes. The first is located at the base of Mount Justice, leading into the forest that borders it and Happy Harbour. The second is hidden in a cove that’s accessible along the Rhode Island coast. Both of these require physical identification scans and passwords entry for access.
The hangar contains the Young Justice Initiative’s modes of transport, including their primary, the Y-Wing, an old Tamaranean spacecraft modified by Cyborg which had previously been the Teen Titans’ T-Wing, and has now been passed down to, and renamed by, the Team. There is also a bay door, through which the underwater access tunnel may be entered, opening onto the Atlantic Ocean.
The communications complex is where missions are occasionally overseen by the Team’s caretakers, Oliver Queen and Dinah Lance. An array of screens display live feeds of the Team’s body worn video cameras, as well as any information the overseers want to see. Microphones are linked directly into the Team’s communications system, as well as the Justice League’s international network.
The meeting chamber is designated for briefings and conferences. A large meeting table of wood and stone stretches for much of the room’s length, the Young Justice symbol engraved in its centre. Chairs surround it (as you’d hope), and there are displays situated at each seat, as well as a main screen at the head of the table.
The lab is separated into two rooms and contains nearly any and all imaginable equipment that might be necessary for the examination and/or investigation of an object, whether live or inanimate (located in the lab proper), as well as the healing or patching up of people and other living beings (located in the med bay).
The gymnasium is where the Team can train to their hearts’ content. With a plethora of exercise equipment, weapons, adjustable sparring mats and an Olympic-sized pool, it is a state-of-the-art facility within which members can lose hours of their day.
The lounge and kitchen are where the Team goes to wind down. The kitchen views a large, U-shaped couch, in front of which is a coffee table and a wall-mounted widescreen television, to which are attached a variety of gaming systems. The lounge’s perimeter is made up of bookshelves that reach from the floor to the ceiling, containing a collection of the widest possible variety of books, both fiction and non-fiction.
The power generator room is home to the Sanctuary’s main power source.
The dormitories are home to the personal living quarters of each team member, which can be personalised in any way their occupants see fit. A dorm typically contains a single bed, a study table and chair, a closet, a bedside table and a wall-mounted television.
The teleporter room is the base’s main access point for much of the team, containing zeta-beam tubes that are accessible to any registered user from hidden locations in their home cities/towns.
C H A P T E R O N E : T H E D O G B I T E S B A C K
DINNER AND BROADWAY
N E W Y O R K C I T Y
November 11th, 2017 | 6:57p.m. | Broadway
The web went taut, and Spider-Man arced through the air.
Broadway stretched out before him, New Yorkers milling about underneath, thousands of people seeking a night of entertainment to break the pattern of their busy lives. Some saw him zip past and pointed excitedly; others shouted encouragement; some cursed at him.
A large line stretched out of Winter Garden Theatre, waiting for admission into the opening of Captain Rogers: An American Musical. Peter had hoped to get tickets for it, meaning to surprise Mary Jane with a night at the theatre, but the issue of money, which loomed over him ever so threateningly since she’d announced her pregnancy, had prevented him from doing so. Working as the Daily Bugle’s webmaster, while it paid decently, wasn’t enough to warrant any indulgent spending – and the extra bit of cash that came with his afternoon shifts at Joe’s Pizza made no difference.
Peter was hesitant to spend money on anything, really. He wanted to have as much as possible saved for the baby. He and MJ had already spent so much on its room – painting, buying toys, a crib, a monitor – and eight months in, the reality of it all was beginning to dawn on him in full.
The truth was, he was scared out of his mind.
Peter swung through Broadway in quiet contemplation. Lights blurred past him, signs for theatres and lit-up billboards mixing together in smudges of neon and fluorescence. The rush of soaring through the air made his stomach flip, and he couldn’t help but smile beneath his mask, the feeling familiar and exhilarating. He was heading home now, but figured that a quick cruise through Broadway would do no harm – he was lucky enough to get the day off today, and had spent the majority of it swinging around and helping out when he could. Another five minutes before he picked up dinner for himself and MJ wouldn’t hurt.
A buzz in his suit’s waistline pockets – his “utility belt” – put that thought on hold. His phone was ringing.
He waited for his swing to reach its apex before letting go, running across the wall of 1639 Broadway to expend any leftover momentum. Coming to a stop, he pulled out the phone, attached to the building with his hands and feet. It was Mary Jane.
“Hey, MJ,” he answered, lifting his mask off his mouth. “What’s up?”
“I’m hungry,” said MJ. “I’m hungry and I’m tired and my back hurts, and the stupid baby won’t stop kicking. My insides are bruising. Where are you?”
Peter paused, giving heavy thought to his answer.
No decent lie came.
“…Broadway.”
“Broadway?”
“Uh.” Uh oh. “Yeah.”
“There better be some sort of supervillain there, Peter. I’m talking big. Like Venom, or Deathstroke, or Ares. Are Venom or Deathstroke or Ares at Broadway?”
Peter’s brain sighed. No escape. “No, but the Red Skull is. I hear he has a killer baritone.” When all else fails, crack a joke.
MJ let a moment of silence pass by. A moment of silence that dawned upon Peter the gut-wrenching realisation: she was mad.
Hell hath no fury like an angry pregnant woman.
“You’d better not be watching that new Captain America musical,” she seethed. “You’d better be punching a villain in the face.”
“I did,” Peter said, “I did punch a villain – well, not really – in the face today. Herman. He tried robbing an armoured truck.”
Like most run-ins with the Shocker, it wasn’t much of a fight. Herman threatened Spidey, Spidey hit him a bunch and webbed him up. Quick and clean, no harm done.
(Except for Herman’s face.)
“I’m talking about now, Peter. You’d better be punching a villain now, or getting me some of that disgusting healthy food you keep forcing me to eat, otherwise I’m calling Felicia and getting her to buy me three cheeseburgers and a coke from Big Belly Burger.”
If Peter could free both of his hands, he would’ve used them to tug at his hair. He was in over his head. “No, no, don’t call Felicia, don’t – don’t call her.”
“But Felicia has cheeseburgers.”
“And I’ll have a chicken Caesar salad from Charlie’s in… in half an hour. You love Charlie’s.”
MJ paused again. This time, when she spoke, Peter could hear the smile on her face.
“Hey,” she said, “We’re getting married.”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. We are.”
“We’re having a baby.”
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. “We’re having a baby.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said. He felt it in his bones. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Bye.”
Peter put the phone back in his belt and slipped his mask over his mouth. With a press of his fingers into the middle of his palm, he was back in the air, swinging across the busy Manhattan street to the delight of the pedestrians below.
At 7:02 p.m., Spider-Man went to get his fiancée dinner.
Broadway stretched out before him, New Yorkers milling about underneath, thousands of people seeking a night of entertainment to break the pattern of their busy lives. Some saw him zip past and pointed excitedly; others shouted encouragement; some cursed at him.
A large line stretched out of Winter Garden Theatre, waiting for admission into the opening of Captain Rogers: An American Musical. Peter had hoped to get tickets for it, meaning to surprise Mary Jane with a night at the theatre, but the issue of money, which loomed over him ever so threateningly since she’d announced her pregnancy, had prevented him from doing so. Working as the Daily Bugle’s webmaster, while it paid decently, wasn’t enough to warrant any indulgent spending – and the extra bit of cash that came with his afternoon shifts at Joe’s Pizza made no difference.
Peter was hesitant to spend money on anything, really. He wanted to have as much as possible saved for the baby. He and MJ had already spent so much on its room – painting, buying toys, a crib, a monitor – and eight months in, the reality of it all was beginning to dawn on him in full.
The truth was, he was scared out of his mind.
Peter swung through Broadway in quiet contemplation. Lights blurred past him, signs for theatres and lit-up billboards mixing together in smudges of neon and fluorescence. The rush of soaring through the air made his stomach flip, and he couldn’t help but smile beneath his mask, the feeling familiar and exhilarating. He was heading home now, but figured that a quick cruise through Broadway would do no harm – he was lucky enough to get the day off today, and had spent the majority of it swinging around and helping out when he could. Another five minutes before he picked up dinner for himself and MJ wouldn’t hurt.
A buzz in his suit’s waistline pockets – his “utility belt” – put that thought on hold. His phone was ringing.
He waited for his swing to reach its apex before letting go, running across the wall of 1639 Broadway to expend any leftover momentum. Coming to a stop, he pulled out the phone, attached to the building with his hands and feet. It was Mary Jane.
“Hey, MJ,” he answered, lifting his mask off his mouth. “What’s up?”
“I’m hungry,” said MJ. “I’m hungry and I’m tired and my back hurts, and the stupid baby won’t stop kicking. My insides are bruising. Where are you?”
Peter paused, giving heavy thought to his answer.
No decent lie came.
“…Broadway.”
“Broadway?”
“Uh.” Uh oh. “Yeah.”
“There better be some sort of supervillain there, Peter. I’m talking big. Like Venom, or Deathstroke, or Ares. Are Venom or Deathstroke or Ares at Broadway?”
Peter’s brain sighed. No escape. “No, but the Red Skull is. I hear he has a killer baritone.” When all else fails, crack a joke.
MJ let a moment of silence pass by. A moment of silence that dawned upon Peter the gut-wrenching realisation: she was mad.
Hell hath no fury like an angry pregnant woman.
“You’d better not be watching that new Captain America musical,” she seethed. “You’d better be punching a villain in the face.”
“I did,” Peter said, “I did punch a villain – well, not really – in the face today. Herman. He tried robbing an armoured truck.”
Like most run-ins with the Shocker, it wasn’t much of a fight. Herman threatened Spidey, Spidey hit him a bunch and webbed him up. Quick and clean, no harm done.
(Except for Herman’s face.)
“I’m talking about now, Peter. You’d better be punching a villain now, or getting me some of that disgusting healthy food you keep forcing me to eat, otherwise I’m calling Felicia and getting her to buy me three cheeseburgers and a coke from Big Belly Burger.”
If Peter could free both of his hands, he would’ve used them to tug at his hair. He was in over his head. “No, no, don’t call Felicia, don’t – don’t call her.”
“But Felicia has cheeseburgers.”
“And I’ll have a chicken Caesar salad from Charlie’s in… in half an hour. You love Charlie’s.”
MJ paused again. This time, when she spoke, Peter could hear the smile on her face.
“Hey,” she said, “We’re getting married.”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. We are.”
“We’re having a baby.”
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. “We’re having a baby.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said. He felt it in his bones. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Bye.”
Peter put the phone back in his belt and slipped his mask over his mouth. With a press of his fingers into the middle of his palm, he was back in the air, swinging across the busy Manhattan street to the delight of the pedestrians below.
At 7:02 p.m., Spider-Man went to get his fiancée dinner.
C H A P T E R O N E : T H E D O G B I T E S B A C K
HERMAN’S MISFORTUNE
[Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Rin– ]
[Click.]
“Sytsevich speaking.”
“Alexei? Hey, it’s – it’s Herman.”
“Oh, hey, Herman. What’s up man, how’ve you been?”
“Uh, yeah, alright, I guess… Listen, Alexei, I… I’m in a bit of trouble. Financially speaking. And I know I’m not part of the Six anymore, I get that, but… I really need some help. I owe money to some people, and if I don’t get it back soon I’ll – well, you know how it works, I’m not gonna get a medal [nervous chuckle]. So I was wondering if you could maybe, I don’t know, point me towards a job or something, some crew that’s getting put together… I’d just, I’d really appreciate it, man.”
“Who d’you owe money to?”
“What?”
“Who d’you owe money to?”
“Oh, uh [gulp]… um, Fancy… Fancy Dan.”
“…”
“Alexei?”
“… One of the Kingpin’s crew?”
“What does it – ”
“You’re a goddamn idiot, Herman, y’know that?”
“Hey, come on, I – ”
“What was the money for? Booze?”
“Alexei, please – ”
“I can’t help you, Herman. Sorry, man. Not with the Kingpin.”
“Alexei? Hey, it’s – it’s Herman.”
“Oh, hey, Herman. What’s up man, how’ve you been?”
“Uh, yeah, alright, I guess… Listen, Alexei, I… I’m in a bit of trouble. Financially speaking. And I know I’m not part of the Six anymore, I get that, but… I really need some help. I owe money to some people, and if I don’t get it back soon I’ll – well, you know how it works, I’m not gonna get a medal [nervous chuckle]. So I was wondering if you could maybe, I don’t know, point me towards a job or something, some crew that’s getting put together… I’d just, I’d really appreciate it, man.”
“Who d’you owe money to?”
“What?”
“Who d’you owe money to?”
“Oh, uh [gulp]… um, Fancy… Fancy Dan.”
“…”
“Alexei?”
“… One of the Kingpin’s crew?”
“What does it – ”
“You’re a goddamn idiot, Herman, y’know that?”
“Hey, come on, I – ”
“What was the money for? Booze?”
“Alexei, please – ”
“I can’t help you, Herman. Sorry, man. Not with the Kingpin.”
[Click.]
Herman Schultz was having a bad day.
His jaw ached. That damn Spider-Man, he always hit him there, and now he was having difficulty chewing and his lips were split, he couldn’t see through the swelling in his right eye and his limp made it seem like he had a stump leg. He couldn’t believe that such a simple stickup had gone so wrong – it was just an armoured truck. One truck on a delivery run to M&T Bank, with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash… one second, Herman had a bag of money hanging triumphantly off his shoulder, the next he was getting kicked in the face by Spider-Man, webbed up and left for the police. They chased him for what felt like hours. He had to run away on foot.
No wonder the Sinister Six replaced him.
It was now five p.m., the Brooklyn sky nearing dusk with every passing minute. Herman had to sneak into his apartment through the fire escape – he was still wearing his Shocker suit, covered in the liquid remains of dissolved web fluid – every agonising step up the ladder sending shockwaves through his body. Pushing open the window to his third-floor home was a struggle, but he managed it after a few brief seconds of pain. A gust of stale air blew over his greying hair, matted as it was by sweat and dirt; he hadn’t been back here since last night, when he called Alexei to try and get some last-minute help. His once good friend’s rejection hurt him deeply. He and the Rhino had been through so much together, endured so many difficulties, that Herman had been certain their bond would be that of brothers. But then that asshole Otto kicked Herman off the Six, and Alexei seemed unwilling to say a single word in Shocker’s defence. Last night just served as proof as to where the brute’s loyalties lay.
Herman left the window open as he stepped in – it’d freshen the apartment up a little bit, give him cleaner air to breathe. The cheap wooden floor creaking beneath his boots, he limped to his sink, removing his vibro-shock gauntlets with a twist and placing them on the counter. Cold water trickled down the drain as he turned on the tap, leaning forward to let it wash over his head. It was soothing, welcoming; when the dirt washed off his face, it was as if the day’s humiliation went with it. His heartrate slowed; the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins this entire day seemed like it was finally going away. He felt calm. He felt–
Creak.
Herman whipped around at the sound, droplets of water flying from his face – and he froze, his mouth agape.
“Now, come on, guys… I have – I have until Thursday, you said – ”
“What we said doesn’t matter, Herman,” said Fancy Dan, “The Word of God said so. You understand?”
Daniel Brito stood in all of his five foot, three inch glory, his fine pressed suit showing off the kind of money Kingpin provided you. His hair combed back, his face neatly shaven, he leered at Herman with a smirk that made his blood boil and his guts shrink. Behind Brito stood Montana and Ox, the remaining two thirds of Wilson Fisk’s Enforcers; Montana with his whip and cowboy hat, Ox as gigantic and muscular as ever. Together they made quite the group of assholes.
Herman swallowed back the lump in his throat. His gauntlets. He needed his gaunt–
“Ah, ah, ah,” warned Dan, wagging his finger. His other hand had slipped beneath his suit jacket – the warning was clear. “You’re in no position to do that, Herman. Speaking of, my man, you look like shit.”
He did.
“Now, I’m assuming you don’t understand what I mean by Word of God. Is that right?”
Herman nodded. It was.
“It’s an analogy, see, comparing our employer – Wilson Fisk – to the almighty man in the sky Himself. Because while I said that you have ‘til Thursday to give us the money, God said that He wanted it tonight. Why? I don’t know. Don’t give a shit. He’s fuckin’ God. We don’t question him, right?”
Herman clenched his fists, his knuckles white. If he even made a move, Brito would spread his brains all over the apartment walls.
“Christ, shut up, Dan,” said Montana, “Just get to the goddamn point for once in your life.”
“Screw you, Montana, I’m doing a – ”
“Shut up.”
He eyed Herman.
“Fisk wants the money tonight. You got it?”
Herman stayed silent.
“Didn’t think so. We’re going to hit you now.”
Montana’s whip cracked, and the Shocker saw stars.
His jaw ached. That damn Spider-Man, he always hit him there, and now he was having difficulty chewing and his lips were split, he couldn’t see through the swelling in his right eye and his limp made it seem like he had a stump leg. He couldn’t believe that such a simple stickup had gone so wrong – it was just an armoured truck. One truck on a delivery run to M&T Bank, with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash… one second, Herman had a bag of money hanging triumphantly off his shoulder, the next he was getting kicked in the face by Spider-Man, webbed up and left for the police. They chased him for what felt like hours. He had to run away on foot.
No wonder the Sinister Six replaced him.
It was now five p.m., the Brooklyn sky nearing dusk with every passing minute. Herman had to sneak into his apartment through the fire escape – he was still wearing his Shocker suit, covered in the liquid remains of dissolved web fluid – every agonising step up the ladder sending shockwaves through his body. Pushing open the window to his third-floor home was a struggle, but he managed it after a few brief seconds of pain. A gust of stale air blew over his greying hair, matted as it was by sweat and dirt; he hadn’t been back here since last night, when he called Alexei to try and get some last-minute help. His once good friend’s rejection hurt him deeply. He and the Rhino had been through so much together, endured so many difficulties, that Herman had been certain their bond would be that of brothers. But then that asshole Otto kicked Herman off the Six, and Alexei seemed unwilling to say a single word in Shocker’s defence. Last night just served as proof as to where the brute’s loyalties lay.
Herman left the window open as he stepped in – it’d freshen the apartment up a little bit, give him cleaner air to breathe. The cheap wooden floor creaking beneath his boots, he limped to his sink, removing his vibro-shock gauntlets with a twist and placing them on the counter. Cold water trickled down the drain as he turned on the tap, leaning forward to let it wash over his head. It was soothing, welcoming; when the dirt washed off his face, it was as if the day’s humiliation went with it. His heartrate slowed; the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins this entire day seemed like it was finally going away. He felt calm. He felt–
Creak.
Herman whipped around at the sound, droplets of water flying from his face – and he froze, his mouth agape.
“Now, come on, guys… I have – I have until Thursday, you said – ”
“What we said doesn’t matter, Herman,” said Fancy Dan, “The Word of God said so. You understand?”
Daniel Brito stood in all of his five foot, three inch glory, his fine pressed suit showing off the kind of money Kingpin provided you. His hair combed back, his face neatly shaven, he leered at Herman with a smirk that made his blood boil and his guts shrink. Behind Brito stood Montana and Ox, the remaining two thirds of Wilson Fisk’s Enforcers; Montana with his whip and cowboy hat, Ox as gigantic and muscular as ever. Together they made quite the group of assholes.
Herman swallowed back the lump in his throat. His gauntlets. He needed his gaunt–
“Ah, ah, ah,” warned Dan, wagging his finger. His other hand had slipped beneath his suit jacket – the warning was clear. “You’re in no position to do that, Herman. Speaking of, my man, you look like shit.”
He did.
“Now, I’m assuming you don’t understand what I mean by Word of God. Is that right?”
Herman nodded. It was.
“It’s an analogy, see, comparing our employer – Wilson Fisk – to the almighty man in the sky Himself. Because while I said that you have ‘til Thursday to give us the money, God said that He wanted it tonight. Why? I don’t know. Don’t give a shit. He’s fuckin’ God. We don’t question him, right?”
Herman clenched his fists, his knuckles white. If he even made a move, Brito would spread his brains all over the apartment walls.
“Christ, shut up, Dan,” said Montana, “Just get to the goddamn point for once in your life.”
“Screw you, Montana, I’m doing a – ”
“Shut up.”
He eyed Herman.
“Fisk wants the money tonight. You got it?”
Herman stayed silent.
“Didn’t think so. We’re going to hit you now.”
Montana’s whip cracked, and the Shocker saw stars.
T H E F L A S H
W A L L A C E R U D O L P H “ W A L L Y ” W E S T ♦ 1 9 9 4 ( 2 3 ) ♦ M A L E ♦ H E R O
C O N C E P T A B S T R A C T
Take #2 – this time with direction, and plot! Wally’s a young guy who’s still trying to figure out his own identity as the Flash. He hung up his Kid Flash ‘stume around three years ago, becoming the third Flash with Barry’s (who’s alive and well, ready to be picked up) blessing. Graduating into Titans seniority, he juggles his time as a leader and mentor to the younger heroes with his own heroic duties, as well as his job as an assistant mechanic at S.T.A.R. Labs. Maybe it’s because of this that he feels like his relationship with Linda is on shaky ground – with his life so hectic and often unpredictable, he wonders if there’s any room left for her. He loves her, yes... but is that enough? Ultimately, I want to try my hand at fun character-driven stories that’ll see Wally come into his own as the Scarlet Speedster, with plenty of action, romance and superheroic craziness.
P L O T M O C K - U P
C H A P T E R O N E
SPITFIRE
An ex-Titan makes a surprise visit to Ship, seeking help with a problem that’s only getting bigger. Wally offers a hand... but their history makes things a little more complicated than anticipated.
N O T E S
See the WEST FAMILY TREE for clarification and migraine cures.
ALLIES AND FRIENDS
ENEMIES
THE WEST FAMILY TREE
ALLIES AND FRIENDS
ENEMIES
THE WEST FAMILY TREE
I've simply had a full-fronted misunderstanding.
I may just leave the Spider-Man angle be as the goal isn't to make anyone uncomfortable, and simply focus on Shang-Chi and Blue Marvel's line of things amidst everything once I get their applications and story arcs in place.
Understandable, but don't feel like you can't apply for Miles. I would've just liked a more open line of communication, is all. :)
The thing about this game is that it's completely separate from any existing continuity, as I've tried explaining in PMs (hence why I connected Miles to the Titans and not the Champions in my sheet). You don't have to follow existing continuity to a tee, and it's encouraged that you don't. Personally I'm a little uncomfortable with how you've set up Miles, and would've liked if you continued our discussion to make sure that, like I said in our PMs, we're both happy.
This is ultimately up to @Lord Wraith and @Retired (as the as of yet unannounced co-GM), but that's my personal stance on this.
This is ultimately up to @Lord Wraith and @Retired (as the as of yet unannounced co-GM), but that's my personal stance on this.
But EE... we miss you :(
I think I’ve narrowed down some of my ideas.
From twenty-five to twenty?
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