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Current Year of the Pupper, wooo!


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I should also note, the Hounds attacks haven't happened in the pocket dimension, so there's no damage to this version of LH yet
Welcome to Hell High School

A Brief Overview

Once again, cosmic forces are mucking about with mortal lives for their own amusement. In this specific circumstance, a being known only as The Administrator has taken the metahumans, magic users, and other non-humans from the Create-a-Hero Earth and tossed them into a pocket dimension, to follow a set of rules and attempt to win an as-yet unannounced prize. Participants may be unwilling, but refusing to follow the established rules will result in "expulsion". It is unclear whether that means from the game or from existence.

The "game" takes place in a carbon copy of Lost Haven, Maine. All participants have been turned into high school aged versions of themselves, with all powers intact. Any with dead, estranged, or missing families have had them brought back, with no knowledge of anything being strange. In addition, those who had no parents for one reason or another have been assigned to a family in the city. None of these families will register that powers are odd or even out of place, nor will any citizens.

Normal high school rules are in effect, and violating them will result in standard disciplinary action. Expulsion from the school or being arrested means losing any chance of winning the prize, and an email has been sent out stating that those two circumstances could have more dire consequences as well. In addition to standard rules, use of powers except in uncontrollable ways (such as having an altered body) are against any and all regulations, and will be treated as harshly as using deadly weapons on campus. This, of course, means power uses without obvious effects are rampant throughout the school's population. After all, you aren't breaking any rules if you aren't caught, right?

The aforementioned email also laid out the terms of victory. The winner will be the one named Best Student at the end of one year, spanning from Christmas Break to Christmas Break. Anyone eliminated but still inside the pocket dimension will be allowed to disturb the proceedings as much as they wish to. In the event that everyone is eliminated, a "punishment" shall be awarded instead, to the five worst participants.

No foreign technology will be allowed into the pocket dimension except that necessary for survival, meaning power nullifiers, shock collars, laser weapons, mech suits, etc are all banned, but cybernetic organs and the like will be allowed. However, the shop room in the school has quite a few more capabilities than the average school, and, alongside workshops at home, replicas could be made fairly readily.


A few addendums to the site rules and NMS's CaH rules:

All PCs must be high school aged (15-18). That means that there will be no naughty scenes!

Any teachers can be handled through NPCs, and I don't really have any plans for anyone except the principal, so feel free on that front to develop as you wish.

Please stick to the spirit of the event? Your character is a teenager now, despite all their memories, so they should act like young uns. That being said, trauma is still there and skills are still present, though not as developed as they were. As an example, if someone is an expert fighter or marksman, they are now only pretty good. That doesn't mean their skills go away, only that they are downgraded.

Go ahead and use your old CaH character sheets as you normally would, then adjust as necessary. Do remember that this is a silly anime-style high school event, so no changes will carry over to the main game!

Woooo! Count me in, then!
Meanwhile Part Two

On the I-90 near Chicago

The horrible sucking noise finally died away as the creature finished removing the last of the meat from the finger bone it was holding. Casually it tossed the remains out of the driver side window of the rustbucket speeding east along the highway. With great delicacy, a long, sinuous tongue poked out from beneath too many sharpened teeth and removed the blood from it's clawed fingers on its free hand, as the other gripped the steering wheel, guding the machine at more than ninety miles an hour down the asphalt river.

Beside it, in the passenger seat, rested what was left of the hitchhiker. The heart had been removed first, as always, and the skin had been stuffed into a bag for proper assimilation later. The legs, torso, and head still remained attached, but the arms and organs had already been consumed, along with the brain, extricated from the hole it had punched in the man's skull. He had been older, the meat gamey, but satisfying enough to keep it sustained while it pursued its true prey.

The girl had escaped, and it had taken the skinwalker several days to discover where sh had disappeared to. With any other potential target, it would have abandoned the chase and settled in for something else, but it needed the girl's powers so badly. As it was, without them, it had had to bend far north avoided the Mississippi entirely, along with all the other rivers in its way. But once it caught up with her, and took her, it could circumvent the ages old curse placed on it by the shamans, and finally take its revenge. And after that? Who knew? Maybe it would go see what it could find in the Old World!

It turned its head, currently a terrifying mishmash of coyote and the hitchhiker himself, to look at the remains of its last victim. In a horrible, mangled, and distorted voice, it said, "What do you think, my friend? Which nation should I terrorise first?"

It paused a beat, one lupine ear cocking as if it was listening, and then burst out into laughter. "You're right, of course! I should make sure they all pay!" Twisted knuckles gripped the steering wheel, tight enough to dent the rubber and slightly damage the metal underneath.

"They will all pay for this curse," it growled, staring ahead at the road with mucous-encrusted yellow eyes.

An office building in Lost Haven

Ophelia's smile gave the same feeling to observers that a tiger's face might when they spotted it peering through the bushes at them. Her occidental eyes narrowed slightly and she listened to the voicemail on her answering system, then set the handset down and leaned back in her chair. Perfectly manicured black fingernails tapped out a staccato pattern on the glass surface of her desk as her mind raced furiously. Behind her, clouds had begun gathering, viewable through the floor-to-ceiling windows in her office. InGen had been good to her, and it got the loyalty they had bet on from her.

After less than a week, the detective had gotten back to her, letting her know that the girl had been snatched up by a local study group. He had also let her know quite a few personality details on the subject, probably more than he should have, but he had sounded very overworked. Understandable, considering the climate of the times. Nonetheless, she was pleased to find out how acerbic and restless the girl was. They might not be able tyo contact her at the facility she was in, but it wouldn't be long before she left it either out of personality clashes or boredom. Either way suited Ophelia fine.

Fingers swiftly typed out a few emails from her discreet account. As those order went out, agents would begin watching the place, and monitoring the comings and goings of every person that frequented the place. A further thought, and another amended report, and they'd watch everyone who visited even once. She might have asked higher ups for clearance, but she had been told already in no uncertain terms to use whatever resources necessary to bring the girl in without tipping her off as to what they wanted.

She could have gone for a smash and grab. It would use less resources and be faster, but her employers knew when they set her on this task that wasn't her style. Given the option (and she was sure to get the option, she would engineer it to be so), she would convince the girl that InGen was the only available group that could solve her problems. At this point it was simply a matter of time.

Ophelia pressed a button on her intercom with one long, slim finger. Amy's voice immediately chimed in. "What can I get for you, Ms. Yamato?"

"Go out and get us some lunch, Amy. And a bottle of something delicious. It looks like a celebration is in order tonight."

The coast of Maine, in a large tidal cave

Sebastian stood, leaning on a cane of magically worked driftwood, and reviewed his work. Behind him, Abraxus chittered in his native language through the silver mirror hanging on the wall, a recent acquisition.

Arrayed in front of the necromancer were two score servants, reanimated from human corpses and enhanced by magic and material. While they wouldn't pass as living humans, they were stronger and faster than those weak living creatures. In addition, unlike the Fetchbeast he had sent out earlier, he had rigged the same sort of system he had in the harpy, albeit in a much more roughshod fashion than the creation that had nearly destroyed him. These were more stable, at the sacrifice of a good portion of their intelligence. But unless they were utterly destroyed or magically interrupted, these would last as long as necessary, until he disposed of them himself.

Arranged in front of them were a dozen reanimated pigeons, another twoscore of rats, and five cats. These, while no stronger or faster than their living counterparts, were constantly beaming their sensory inputs to Abraxus, serving the double purpose of scouting for him and keeping the demon familiar too distracted to plan against its master.

"Go, my servants. Find the harpy. Bring me more materials. Bring me information as to the state of the world above. Destroy those who would oppose me."

The creatures shuffled out towards the mouth of the cave, revealing the workbench and the piled extra materials to make more. Abraxus had been busy, and after the first few zombies had been built, the flow of materials had become steady and satisfactory. Before, in the shack, Sebastian had been content to do his research and build his single servant. But now, with much of his humanity stripped away from the 'healing' of his injuries, he knew that he was superior to those in the city above, and his place was to rule them, not slink about in their shadows at the edge of civilisation.

Abraxus turned slightly, and the mirror reflected the demon's grin at the back of it's "master". Soon enough, his influence wouldn't be necessary. The man was nearly gone already.

Interpol offices, New York

Emily sighed, staring at the cork board suspended on the wall at one end of the office. The plan had been to track the criminal across Southern California, but situations had exploded out of control across the US with these "chiens", and they had been reassigned to help out the US in dealing with it. Later on, when everything had calmed down, they would reorient on their target.

This had led to the cork board, which was nearly eighteen square feet and covered in maps, notes, pins, and threads. All of the information they had gathered over the last forty-eight hours. And it isn't close to being enough, Emily though. How had they gotten so big so fast? She knew from her cirminology classes at the university that radicalisation could go unnoticed for decades before finally swelling into a terrorist plot, only manifesting in tiny patches that were easily explained as lone crazies until threads were put together. But metahumans hadn't been prevalent nearly as long as other issues that usually led to such organisations.

It was terrifying to her, and not just for personal reasons. Her own digging had found that Zoë had manifested her own powers as well before disappearing, and Emily was beginning to think that perhaps her sister wasn't dead. No bodies matching her description, no eyewitness accounts, nothing that provided evidence of a death. Her parents had said it was useless, that her sister was gone. Her brother got angry whenever she broached the subject, and her grandfather, the one closest to Zoë before she had run away, only wiped tears away and turned back to his crops. More and more, however, Emily had become convinced her sister still lived. And so she had spent her spare time and what little money she had digging into the circumstances of the fire that was her only lead.

Now, however, she was too busy to do anything on that front. The Hounds demanded all of her attention, and whatever other threat they posed to her as a secret metahuman, too many innocent people were being killed, and even more thinking this sort of behaviour was justified. It had to be stopped now.
File me as also interested, though I may be getting a little overstretched in how many RPs I am in. What sort of posting frequency are you looking for? I could manage once a week easily, but anything more than that and I might start running into difficulties between other RPs and schoolwork.

Banner credit to Nitemare Shape. Thanks Boss!

Lost Haven
12:20 pm

The dragon shape had broken down into a basic orb, still lashing out with tendrils, when the chatter on the radio finally broke through Darya's panic.

"-saying is that someone needs to knock her the fuck out already!" That sounded like Dragon.

"And all I am ordering is that you stand down, Dragon. Jones is on it!" Score one for Faulkner, she thought.

The swirling water calmed, and suddenly fell with a splash, leaving a huge wave to gush along the ground, though she was quick to direct it out onto the street instead of into her teammates. She looked up from where she had huddled into a foetal position on the ground, balancing on the balls of her feet with her arms thrown up over her head. Jones moved towards her cautiously, helmet still on but balaclava down. He hands were out placatingly, gun hanging across her back from the sling.

"Hey, kid, are you here? Can you stand u- Oh, there she goes. I need a medic!" And Darya was out like a light, just as the pain from her wounds caught up to her. She had caught nearly a dozen glancing shots through her shield, and a deep gouge across her forearm where one round from the chopper had just missed removing it halfway to her wrist.

Faulkner stood near one of the strike team's armoured vans, watching as Holliday tended to the wounded, and listened to the radio traffic. He was not a large man, only five six, but he had the imposing air of authority that command gave those who were born for leadership.

"Center team reports all hostiles neutralised. Seven arrested, twelve dead, unknown number injured, sir."

"And our side, Sergeant?"

"Tiamat and two officers sustained severe injury, Dragon, Broadway and four officers light injury. And Ford's dead, sir."

"Shit. Clean up, what's your status?"

"Getting help from those locals, looks like. We've flushed what looks like the remainder into the police lines. Not a lot of fight left in them, though they holler plenty about revenge. Thirteen arrests, five dad, seventeen injured. No losses."


"Naia here. Five arrests, seven dead, no injuries, two of ours injured. I have let the spell go to make collecting the enemy easier."

"Alright, team leads meet me by the vans. We'll coordinate with local PD on a sweep of the buildings in the area, make sure there's no stragglers hiding out. Broadway, see if those locals want to help out, we could use the manpower."

"Aye aye, Cap'n."

Faulkner sighed and went over the numbers. He wasn't satisfied, not with a death on the team, even if they knew the risks when they signed up, and especially the risks of the current op. And Tiamat was definitely a problem. Three of the injuries, though Veracruz hadn't said it, were from her panic attack. She was undoubtedly powerful, but she was too unpredictable and too green for this sort of thing. He knew, however, that several team members had taken a shine to her, especially Jones, and that Naia, Holliday, and Broadway would all possibly revolt if he simply fired her. He'd have to go over it with the Direcotr, however. She was clearly not cut out for combat situations against these sorts of enemies.

Broadway looked up at the strangers that had come in during the fight and flashed them a dazzling smile, made all the more so by her power, which currently made her skin as bright as a flashlight.

"Well," she said, glancing over the three of them as Naia walked up. "Thanks again for your help, boys and lady. We're going to be sweeping for stragglers, like the Captain said, and I'd certainly feel a lot better if you stuck on for a bit. Me and Tiamat are also supposed to be talking to local heroes, either about joing the force or at least helping us out with info. We're here to tear these guys out root and stem- Sorry Naia." The girl, whose hood was down at the moment, frowned at her.

"Anyway, any help you kids feel like giving would be greatly appreciated."
The last two days could have been a dream for her, but Mei was too busy preoccupying herself with preparations to relax. For one, this job was a corporate one, and that meant risks for her that could end her career as a star hacker, and the joyride her life had been, so she had been making sure that every single program was without bug or flaw. Her security must be air tight, or an errant data package would give away the game. Any slip up on her part could cost her both her paycheck and her future, and either of those outcomes were unconscionable. Not to mention, any given person in the hotel might be a corporate spy, or worse, a competitor looking to screw the job, which meant she hadn't been able to even leave her room in the past forty-eight hours she had been booked in. Not only could the enemy gather data on her, but if they had gotten to her precious hardware, untold damage could have been wrought. No, better to stay sealed away, and order food, than to risk it all for silly games. After all, there was a far grater game to be played.

Two, she had been digging into who else might have been tapped for this job. Obviously, she would not be a lone, but as Loingsech had been less than forthcoming with details about the job at all, even to bolster success, she had gone through her own channels to find anything out. Even then, information had been sparse. She had a list of names and images to fit them, but beyond that, nothing. No objective, no expected time of completion, not even her pay. Above all else, this had infuriated her.

So, third, she had an ulterior motive. She was going to datamine the ever-living hell out of Loingsech the second she was capable of doing so. Info insurance to protect her hide after a blackout job only seemed prudent after all, and if no one else on this team was concerned, she might be able to keep them alive at the end as well. Paranoia, sure, but she had survived on the 'Net this long through over-protection and she was not about to let that slip now. And there was no such thing as overprotective, really, when it came to corporate jobs. She knew from her past two experiences that her security would be tested both flagrantly and subtly as soon as the job was done, if not before. And reports from her friends in the Sun On Yee and online world that blackout jobs like this tended to end with a healthy round of 去除松散的一端, so she had reason to be concerned.

All in all, she was excited, bordering on ecstatic, by this job. The danger, challenge, and the tackling of the unknown were refreshing in a life that had, for the past several months, been nothing but a slog of boring programming jobs and no danger at all aside from what had built up over the course of her career. The anticipation of such an event had kept her up all night, and at seven, she found herself floating across the lobby and into the beckoning van with a high dose of endorphins and low inhibitions even for her. She had composed herself enough the dress and back, but judging by the others, she was the odd one out. She had adorned herself in her usual jewelry, taking special care to keep her silver dragon bracelet hidden by the multitude of brightly coloured scarves and light-cloth ribbons that shimmered with colours. Her hair was on, and her mood had triggered the colours to run and shine between amber and green in cascading waves. She busied herself trolling the 'Net for information on the car ride in the van, however, and avoided, through conscious effort, trying to talk to anyone until the briefing on the job finally happened. She was sure the others had noticed that she was on edge, but she doubted most of them realised that it was mostly avoiding stepping on toes or giving away the game and not just typical nervousness she was showing.

In the meantime, to keep herself occupied, she tried once more in vain to dig up any information. Loingsech had obviously bottled the van tight, as she wasn't having any luck tapping into their systems at all, and at this point, she admitted to herself, the likelihood of drawing attention to herself outweighed the chance of any sort of useful information, so she sat back with a resigned sigh and watched the rest of the crew with apprehension, and the slight hope that any of them knew what they might be in for.

Banner credit to Nitemare Shape. Thanks Boss!

Lost Haven
12:14 pm

Naia's attention snapped up to the stranger just as the water pipe burst, and she had the presence of mind to avoid the water as it sprayed out and then towards the shape forming in the square. Her gaze followed the water as it wormed its way through the air to join the rest, and then she glanced back at the newcomer from under her deep hood. The sparkles of green and gold were fading from under there, as her spells faded, but she couldn't have been eighteen yet. She flipped back the hood and shook her head, staring back into the square.

"That's Tiamat," she said quietly. "she must have shook off what they were talking about, or else she snapped. I will hold this way, you go help other places." And with that she busied herself handcuffing those Hounds still capable of struggling, not bothering with goodbyes.

Darya was conscious of the bullets as they slammed into the shape she had created, but only because they were disturbing the surface. The air she breathed felt cool and clean inside the small sphere she had left herself, just tall enough she didn't half to duck. The buzzing in her ears was not due to her radio, she realised, but more from the full concentration she had on what she was doing. More power was welling from within her, and she felt full to bursting, revelling in just being able to use this much water all at once. Before, she had held back, not sure whether or not she should let go, but here, where people's lives were at stake and the enemy as evil as they were, she had finally accepted the full extent of her powers. And they were wonderful

It felt like ice and fire in her veins, the cooling presence of her power and the excitement of cutting loose. She didn't even stumble as the plaza buckled under the pressure and weight underneath her, coming as it was from both sides of the paving. Stones cracked and mortar sloughed into the flow as pipes emptied their contents into her creation, building it even higher. At this point, as she looked up in self-indulgent wonder, it was probably over three stories high. The serpentine mass had formed, thanks to her subconscious instruction, a full crest and teeth and whiskers, and the ripples and swirls on the surface even began resembling scales. She could see this herself, but feel it with her powers.

Down below, the rumbling of the rushing torrents had reached a crescendo, and she gave her power full vent as it did. Out on the street, sewage and brackish water blew forth from manholes, the lids flying up as if launched with rockets and spinning off into the sky. As the effluence poured forth, it spread down either side of the holes it came from, forming chest high waves and washing down the streets and outer alleys, slamming cars and Hounds together with abandon. As her opponents fled into the plaza from the horrifying stench and unrelenting fluids, tendrils stretched forth from her own shielding creation, slapping out with enough force to knock them ten feet away into walls, or otherwise crashing them into the ground, where they lay, dazed or unconscious.

Darya viewed all of this either through her senses of power and what it was contacting or the surreal, bluish window the swirling water of the dragon shape afforded her. She was dully aware that voices were coming over comms, but she ignored them, preferring instead to enjoy herself. As a result, the gushing effluence on the street began to swirl and coalesce into shapes. None so impressive as the dragon head she was in, but vaguely human/wave hybrid began actively pursuing those she could feel still in contact with the water on the street.

It was the dulling of noise, or rather utter lack of it, that led to Darya not noticing the thump of approaching helicopter blades. In fact, it wasn't until a large calibre round tore through her dragon head that she even realised anything was approaching at all. A small window split in her "armour". Letting her see the entry of three attack helicopters into the fray. No insignia adorned them, no legally required call numbers. Just black matte finish, whirring rotors, and rocket pods, plus the spitting nose guns that tore apart the stone tiles of the plaza into unrecognisable chips in three distinct paths. The water then closed up around her, and Darya began screaming, dropping yet again into panic mode, water tendrils slashing about the square in a blind defense, threatening friend and foe alike.

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