Hound55

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

He was without a car on this night. Didn’t seem necessary and he was yet to make arrangements for one. He walked through cold he couldn’t even comprehend back home. He still had to arrange a place to sleep this night, and that would require a change of clothes, but all that would be resolved in good time.

He walked up to the front of the house and checked the number again. This time, exactly what he expected. White picket fence. Bay windows. Flower garden. Just like a dozen other on this street and like one he’d been to in... another time? Another world? Still unclear of the details as to exactly what happened.

Isaac walked up to the front door and knocked, before stepping off to the side. He heard footsteps creaking on wooden floorboards on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” he heard a not unfamiliar female voice call out. Distant. She was from deep inside the house, not the one walking to the door. It went unanswered, which made sense considering the hour Isaac was calling and the person he believed to be coming. The footsteps came to a stop and then he heard a slight rattle, like a wobbly table shifting its weight before he heard the rattle of the chain.

Isaac knew exactly what the sounds meant, even without deduction, before the silence was broken by the voice of a man in his 60s.

“Who is it?”

Isaac didn't answer. Standing silently off to the side.

The door opened two inches, before being held by the chain.

“Lewis! Who is it?!” the female voice called again.

Lewis wouldn't answer, Isaac knew. He also wouldn't be distracted by the calling. Which meant it called for something more drastic.

The older man called into the darkness again.

“Who's there?!”

Isaac broke the silence and made his presence known. A small click could be heard and a palm holding a small ball appeared in Lewis’ line of sight.

“Slide the clip through the door and then the desert eagle.”

He could hear the nervousness and recognition in the voice of the older man in his response. A good sign, Isaac thought.

"Is that a—"

Isaac cut him off, just as he had once before. “A frag grenade? No. M67 only has a blast radius of 15 metres and a kill radius of 5. THIS is an M67 casing that has been hollowed out and filled with semtec and a simplified fuse. This will take out half a block.”

“Killing you in the process...” The older man said. The voice coming from around 2 and a half feet high on the other side of the door. He was complying.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Isaac said, knowing full well that it wouldn’t and waiting for the clip. “Since all I want to do is talk.”

“Who is it?!” The female voice called again.

“It’s alright, Maureen!” The man yelled. “You stay there!”

The clip slid through the open door. “How did you know it was a Desert Eagle?”

“We’ll keep her out of it. All I want is to talk...”

“So you said.” Came the untrusting reply.

“Slide the gun through the door, lock the door from the inside and pull it shut behind you.”

Lewis agreed to the terms, as Isaac knew he would. The same good gesture of faith to keep his wife out of the situation.

“What is this about?” The older man asked, slamming the locked door behind him to ensure it closed. “And where in gawd's name did you get that grenade?”

“You gave it to me, Colonel." Isaac said, re-fitting the pin and safety clip. "And that’s exactly what this is about...”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Anyway. I'm on the Chat now and working on posts. If anyone wants to talk through recent events.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Gowi said
But I viewed more as Little Ulster as a mini-Boston if anything with more immigrants from Wales, Ireland, and Scotland making up it's history.

Same. Only a bit more under the weather from crime, only not to Detroit levels.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Little Ulster was part of Mercy's Instant Urban Renewal Makeover reality tv show. Only problem is, they forgot the cameras and there's no "Take 2".

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Never really considered Little Ulster as mini-Detroit, myself. Sure there was crime there and it wasn't the best neighbourhood (in fact probably the worst of the 4 quadrants), but I viewed it as a once-fine sector which has seen better days because of that crime. Saw old Irish family crime gangs (kind of like in The Departed only a little grittier, in my head)

Not expecting to hold anyone to that view though.

Plus, in my mind as an outsider I virtually see Detroit as a war zone... heh.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Dedonus said
@Fair Lady: On which "Newark" are you wrecking havoc? Just wondering...

nitemare shape said
I believe New Jersey

How would anyone notice...

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Last Night – 03:15

“It’s Just A Little Prick” Tattoo Parlour on 3rd Street, two blocks from Sherman Square

“Look, you better stay awake. State and Federal law states that I can’t do this unless you’re conscious and consenting.”

“Tha’s alright. I—I’m consentational. I—I’ll stay awake.”

“Riiiight. Okay, have you got anything in mind that you want for a design?”

Dennis pulled a twisted scrap of paper out of his pocket.

“So that’s your design there?” The tattoo artist asked, taking the piece of paper.

“’If found, please mail to 101 Main Street, Lost Haven ME...’ you want your home address tattoed on your... wait 101 Main, where is that?”

“Heh... tha’s the city morgue.”

Yeah... not my brightest shining moment. As a general rule, people’s brightest shining moments seldom happen at 3:15 in the morning. Even less frequently at a tattoo parlour at that hour. But, when I decided to tell this story, I told myself I’d be brutally honest and well... that’s about as typical a moment that really says “THIS IS DENNIS CONNOLLY” love him or hate him, like him or tolerate him, that I could really think of. It may not be the best of me, but it’s honest. Why I was drunk off my ass in a tattoo parlour at 3:15? We’ll get to that later... but for now, let’s show the flip-side of this. Something to show the kids these kinds of actions have consequences, yeah? So, go on. Let’s cut to the next day...

* * * * *

---

* * * * *

Before noon, Present Day

45 Cork Avenue, Lost Haven (the Little Ulster Quadrant)

# In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey, butane in my veins so I’m out to cut the junkie, with the plastic eyeballs spray paint the vegetables, dog food stalls with the plastic pantyhose #

The bedside table vibrates as the melodious device continues, ignored.

# Kill the headlights and put it in neutral, stock car flamin’ with the loser and cruise control, baby’s in Reno with the vitamin D, got a couple of couches sleep on the love seat #

The bedside table resonates louder, as if the device resents being ignored.

# Someone keeps sayin’ I’m insane to complain, about a shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt, don’t believe everything that you breathe, you get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve, so shave your face with some mace in the dark, savin’ all your food stamps and burnin’ down the trailer park #

The vibrations on the headboard split through the sleeping man’s skull and reverberated in his brain like a thousand tiny hammers trying to break their way out.

Hangovers. The loud reminder of a night of trying to forget.

“Humph...”

# Yo... cut it #

“Hrmph... my thoughts exactly...” the first coherent thoughts of a man struggling to find the disturbance and destroy it before it cracks his head open and leaves his brains trickling out his ears.

# Soyyyy un perdedooooor, I’m a loser baby, so why don’t ya kill meeee #

An arm reaches out from the covers, feels around and picks up the phone.

“Mmmm-eah?” he grunts into the phone.

“Oh thank God you’re OK! It’s all over the news!”

“Geez, ma. Calm down, what’s all over the news?”

“Wait, where are you? Are you home? You can’t be home if you don’t know what I’m talking about... Where’s Grampa Alan?”

“Ma, calm down. It’s too early for this. Now slow down. I am home, what’s all over the news?”

“Go check on Grampa Alan...”

“Alright, I’ll check on Grampa Alan. I’m going now, I’ll call you right back.”

“No! Don’t hang u--! Clik”

Dennis threw on some pants and a tee, to make the small trek from the accessory apartment he lived in to the main house which was his grandfather’s. Strange that his mother would call on his cell. It’s an expensive call from Seattle, she’d normally call the house number. But for all he knew, maybe she had and he slept through it. He was a pretty heavy sleeper after a night on the town, so it’s not unheard of that he could have slept through... oh...

Dennis clung to the door handle. The entire back end of his granny flat (which ironically enough, the grandson lived in) was falling away down into a 70 to 80 foot drop, where it plateaued and the rest of Little Ulster had given way to parkland and greenery. The property seemed to be the border between the rest of the city and oblivion-cum-nature, with his own house seemingly held back from the abyss by the foundations of his grandfather’s house.

Dennis scrambled and climbed back up his door-jam into his own house. Overlooking the vast new countryside.

“I’m not looking forward to Grampa telling me to take care of the back garden...”

---

* ‘Loser’ lyrics written by Carl Stephenson and Beck Hansen
© Universal Music Publishing Group

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Sample is up for Aquilifer.

Last Vigilante post could have been better, but I wanted to keep the callbacks to the first post from the old site.

Ultimate One Universe: Marvel/DC RPG

The man wore a yellow head-to-toe NBC suit, giving him the distinct and somewhat comical appearance of a beekeeper. But whatever laughs his attire may have raised were quelled by the assault rifle or similar looking weapon he held in his hands.

Sallis clammed up fast. He’d heard rumour of this exact type of event. A group known only as A.I.M. but due to some of their activities many has speculated their name may stand for Abductors and Innovations Misappropriated, more than a few intelligent men had vanished from the eye of the world and rumour of what exactly happened abounded and spread through the scientific community.

The man ran an eye over Holland’s work area, scattered notes and samples.

“Alec, step away from the desk, it’s not worth it.” Ted spoke softly, but with a dark scowl on his face. Rage boiling beneath the surface but tempered, possibly by the firearm the man wielded.

“You should listen to your frien—“ the man from A.I.M paused and looked at just who that “friend” was. There was not a man in A.I.M. who wouldn’t recognise him by sight, they had merely been too preoccupied with checking exits and blind-spots for security, followed by the primary objective – data, to take a closer look at the scientists present.

“Now THIS is luck… there was only supposed to be some preliminary data from a young no-name environmental scientist. Of all the shantys in all of America, how did you wind up in this one, Dr Theodore Sallis?” he could feel the man’s leer from the inflection, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t see his face.

The tone supported the rumours he’d heard, and Dr Sallis began to realise the likelihood of a free life dwindling down towards zero. Another man in an NBC suit scanned the wooden box with some kind of device, others grabbed notes, while the first seemed to be attempting to communicate with his superiors over some kind of unseen Comm-link inside of his helmet.

“...come in Scientist Supreme. It appears that there was an extra prize hidden in the bottom of Luthor’s cereal box. Alright, alright... I’ll tell you what I mean...” apparently the voice on the other end of the line, wasn’t happy with what passed as his brand of ‘cleverness’. The A.I.M underling turned his back in hushed excitement to report to his superior “We’ve found Theodore Sallis...”

WHUMP!

All eyes turned to the sound. The head of the tactical A.I.M squad lay prostrate on the ground with the replica of Captain America’s shield resting on his back. Only Dr Sallis heels could be heard, pounding against the dirt track in desperation. An A.I.M. man raised his weapon before receiving a scolding.

“No, you fool! That’s Sallis. We need him alive.”

Alec breathed a sigh of relief.

“...but we told him we wanted this to be painless. He chose not to listen. Dumb move for a smart man. We’ve got the notes? Torch the rest...”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Lost Haven, MAINE

A sound like material tearing can be heard and a portal opens up at 45 degrees 30 feet above the Sherwin-Williams paint store on Birch. A man in black is hurled in a seated position down through the portal.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

The roof of the store had needed resurfacing for quite some time, it occasionally leaked in places when it had the rain, and the retail clerks would have to place buckets out. After this day that wouldn’t be required anymore, because buckets would no longer suffice. The man in black made a man in black sized sky light in the roof of the building before finally coming to a complete stop on the linoleum floor.

“What… The… Fuck?!?” The man yelled, more in astonishment and frustration than in agony.

“Huh?” he said, sitting up. Recognizing the familiarity of the situation.

“Deja fucking Vu...”

“Dude.” Came the familiar voice of a young man in his early 20s. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” The man in black said in a robotic voice, starting to get to his feet. “Did-- did you feel that at all?”

“Did I feel that? Man, how hard did you hit your head? We should call you an ambulance, brah. Holy shit, look at the size of that hole!” the clerk said, finally seeing the extent of the damage.

The Man in black started to walk to the front door.

“No insurance, huh? I still can’t let you go anywhere, dude. I mean, how am I gonna explain this to my boss?”

The man stood in silent contemplation. Then he padded himself down, before slowly and deliberately opening a pocket in his cargo pants and pulling out a wad of bills out, flipped through them as if counting them off, before he shrugged and tossed the entire wad onto the front counter.

“Til then... Put a bucket under it.” He offered, turning and walking out the front door. A bell on the front door chiming in his wake.

He had a wallet and cards, objects he didn't have last time he went through the same ordeal... and the device that brought him here the first time was gone. This was different. The clerk was the same. Where was he? What just happened? Was he back in his home world again, or was it some kind of temporal hiccup?

A newspaper page blew across the street and snagged itself on his leg. He picked it up and read it in astonishment. “Iconoclast: The Death of Cynicism” With a sub-heading “Amazing New ‘Icon’ Catches Satellite. Saves Thousands.”. A familiar blue figure was splashed all across the page. His hands shook with cold and excitement as he looked down the streets, contemplating what this could possibly mean as if somehow the answer would come waltzing down the street. He checks the corner and sees Page 1 and today’s date. The same date he came through the portal last time. So much was the same, but the sensation of nausea was gone. That was something at least. It meant he wouldn't have to go back home. A good thing too, because the missing device meant that it would have been impossible to fix this time around.

So what's the plan?

With the nausea gone, a return home was no longer a priority. At least it could fall behind how he was going to handle this newspaper business. A satellite. That was new. New isn't good. Isaac remembered how different the other world's version of himself was and began to be a bit more guarded.

Have to organize equipment again. But how much do I really know about THIS world's Icon? Still sounded like something he'd do. Something he could do. But it was something which shook him to the core.

Just how much COULD he take as known about this world?