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Muerte pulled up to the wreck cautiously as he had seen movement in the area a few seconds before-hand. He parked his bike several feet away and approached the rest of the way on foot, raising the alien rifle as he got closer. It was then that he noticed the group of soldiers nearby. He fired on reflex, melting the target instantly, before realizing that they were not moving. He froze, as the reality of what he was staring at sunk in. He was staring at incredibly life-like statues of the invaders, immobilized mid-combat. Muerte stood there, dumbfounded for several seconds, as his brain tried to make sense of what had caused their making. It wasn't until he heard a noise behind him that he snapped out of his stupor. He wheeled around, rifle at the ready but this time he didn't fire immediately. He waited a few seconds before edging around the corner of the ship that had been sheared off in the crash landing. He was taken aback by the sight of a very human-looking woman laying in a heap inside. He hesitated, considering the possibilities before his curiosity got the better of him. He hid his Latino accent as he called out to her, rifle still raised. "I've got two questions for you: Are you human? And are you ok? And don't worry, I'm not going to shoot you if you say no to the first question."


Jackie's hands shook slightly as she hung up the phone in her small Chinatown apartment. One of her girls had just called her to inform her that a man had stopped by The Parlor looking for her. They had tried to lead him off but he'd threatened to get rough. When they told him she wasn't there he'd simply nodded and left. He obviously wasn't selling girlscout cookies, but he hadn't asked where she was. Being so long in the biz, Jackie had some idea why: he already knew where to find her. Cussing under her breath she snapped into action; lighting a cigarette, sticking it between her lips, and then retrieving the gun from her purse and placing it in her pants instead. While she ran around puffing and swearing, her eyes kept glancing over the small metallic communicator Al had given her a few months back but refused to pick it up.

She knew that pressing the small red button on the side would have him running to her faster than flies to a cow pie on a hot desert day. Even after she broken up with him he was still at her beckon call and she f*cking hated it; however today she may not have a choice. If the guy was a sup it wasn't a guarantee that her gun would be enough. That and there were still these god damned aliens all over the place too. Getting to Jesus's would be tricky to say the least, and that was IF she was going to go there anyway. How DARE that motherf*cker tell her to get to safety while he gallivants around like Mexican Batman?! She finished and ashed her smoke in the tray on the table before scooping up her bag she'd just finished throwing together. She hesitated, then snatched up the communicator and went to the door. She peered through the peephole to check if the coast was clear and froze as she saw a man enter the hallway.
"Seems to be a lot of folks 'on business' as of late." said Maverick taking another pull from his beer.

"Especially Sen`ora Hawkins. She's popular as of late...but curiously absent." Alejandro sipped his beer casually before adding, "Would it have anything to do with a certain stranger's recent visit the area?"

"You wouldn't happen to know the nature of said stranger's visit would you? Or why its caused such a stir?"

Alejandro flashed a playful grin as he watched for Waylon's reaction while Maverick looked on more seriously. Apparently the two weren't here purely for pleasure either. Negan often sent his kids out to get updates on what was happening in town, though not everyone was aware of it. Alejandro was a mastermind when it came to getting information out of people even if it was by just reading how a person reacted to his words. Most folks weren't even aware he was doing it. Alejandro knew that Waylon was too sharp for such games, but it didn't stop him from playing them anyway. Maverick on the other hand was more level-headed and direct. His role was often to keep his siblings in check and make sure nothing got out of hand.

Before Waylon could answer however a sudden raised voice cut through the bar. "I said move it Kim-chi! We needs this table here!"

"It's Ja-Ki," came the icy reply, only audible because the entire bar had fallen silent, "and there are other tables."

"You really gonna sit there and take a whole table to yer lonesome and make us take sommit smaller? You ain't even drinking proper!"

"Alejandro, ve a ayudar a nuestra hermana," came Maverick's calm voice though he'd switched to Spanish.

"Ella puede cuidarse sola," whined Alejandro with an eye roll.

"Papá dijo que no hay problema." Maverick's voice had gained a bite to it, and by now Ja-Ki had removed her sunglasses to glare daggers at the man yelling at her. "Date prisa, antes de que mate a ese hijo de puta."

Alejandro clicked his tongue in disgust before standing up. "Perra se lo merecería," he muttered before striding over to the tense conversation. "Gentleman!" he said jovially, "What do you mean by causing such a scene in Sen`ora Hawkins' establishment? I know she is not here, but surely your respect for her extends even when you don't see her." "What do you-?" spluttered the man, taken aback by the suddenly appearance of a man a foot taller than him. "What would she say if she saw you talking such a way to a paying customer of hers? Tsk Tsk." "We didn't mean no disrespect to Hawkins," said one of the men hastily, "we were just-" "Buena! I would hate to have to tell her that there was a ruckus while she was gone. Here, let us show our respect with more beers eh? Vamanos! A round for our Lady of Liquor!"

He rapidly shuffled the men quickly to the bar. Ja-Ki wasted no time gathering her pen, book, and lemonade before stealthing her way out of the bar without even setting the bell off. As soon as regular chatter resumed Maverick resumed talking with Waylon. " there something going on that Papa should be aware of?"
Muerte's attention was wrenched from the sky as a distant explosion broke through the chaos around him. It seemed to have come from somewhere on the edge of the city and he could now see the pillar of smoke rising into the sky. A building? No...the smoke wasn't the right color. He cursed to himself and started running back to his bike.

"Jesus? What the hell was that?" he panted out as he ran.

"The Sicily Bridge just...exploded!" came the shaky reply, "but I couldn't see any alien activity.

"Who the hell blows up a bridge in the middle of an alien invasion that's not an alien?!" Muerte's voice was exasperated as he finally got to his bike and mounted it.

He looked back up to the sky, trying to find the other meta he had seen before but at that moment a few of the fighter jets swept through overhead, firing several bursts of energy blasts at the ground. He narrowly avoided getting hit by diving out of the way, bike and all, and crashed through a nearby store window. An alarm blared from inside the place as Muerte picked himself up and brushed broken glass from his jacket. Grumbling to himself he stepped over his bike back out to the street and pointed the rifle skyward. He waited and sure enough they made another pass. He fired a series of rapid shots and had the satisfaction of seeing two of the crafts teeter and start falling erratically to the ground. He quickly picked up his bike and ran across the street into an alleyway. Seconds later the aliens made another sweep and obliterated the store where he had just been. Close call... Muerte waited for round three but they didn't make another pass. He breathed out a sigh of relief and rested against the alley wall while he tried to think of what to do next.

"Jesus, try to get into contact with any metas in the area. If we're going to be any good against these guys, we need to coordinate."

"I'll try..." Jesus said in a small voice.

"Let me know what you find."

Muerte turned his attention to his bike to check for damage. It definitely needed some cosmetic work but seemed structurally sound. He checked the sky once more before starting his bike and riding off to find one of the downed crafts. He was not going to pass up the opportunity see see an actual extra-terrestrial organism up close. That and if he could figure out anything about the aliens that might give them an advantage, it was worth at least taking a look.
I hope not
The bell on the door tinkled once more as two young men and a young woman entered the bar. The first one to enter was Maverick Grange, a 5'11 mulatto beau with long lashes and hazel eyes. His grease-stained coveralls were pulled down off his arms and the sleeves tied around his waist with a t-shirt over his chest. Behind him was his monster of a brother Alejandro, standing at 6'2", with his dark hair, mischievous eyes, and charming smile. A black tank top stretched over his barrel chest and military fatigues hung low about his waist. Finally, almost entirely obscured by her brother's imposing size, a petite Asian woman with long black hair: Ja-Ki Grange. She was sporting Daisy Dukes, a lightly frilled top, and aviator sunglasses which hid most of her Korean features.

Several bar patrons turned to look and grew quiet for a few moments before hastily turning back to their conversations. It usually wasn't good news when the Granges came to town. Veteran of three wars, hitman, and smuggler, Old Man Negan Grange was as reclusive and dangerous as a 50-year-old gator; his children were only slightly less so and everyone knew it. Reputation aside the biggest conflict that inevitably arose around them was that only one of the Grange children, 17-year-old Kimber, was white. Her parents, a doctor and nurse, had died in Vietnam. Alejandro and Ja-Ki had been born in Mexico and South Korea respectively, but had grown up in the States. Maverick however, was the one who attracted the most ire. To strangers, he could easily pass as simply being tan, but anyone who knew his mother knew otherwise. Lucile Grange was a proud black Creole woman, Negan was a home grown Alabama boy, and Maverick was their mixed race son. Not everyone got into his face about it, but he did make most people uncomfortable.

The three of them went up to the bar, ignoring the eyes on their backs. Ja-Ki came away with a lemonade and made her way to a table in the back. She was the most self-conscious of all her siblings and spent little time actually interacting with most folks except to interview them for articles in the local paper. She took out a pad of paper and a pen before starting to scribble quietly upon it. Her two brothers, who were not shy at all about their skin tones, lingered to chat up the barkeep a bit before picking up their beers and scanning the room for their sister. Alejandro spotted Waylon Myers sitting alone and elbowed Maverick who turned and grinned. The pair immediately made their way over, dragging up chairs to sit near the table. The two were the only members of the Grange family who even attended church, but it didn't appear to be out of faith. Virtually every time they showed up they stayed behind to drill the poor pastor on discrepancies in the Scripture or have extended theological debates. They also seemed to be very fond of Waylon, or at least fond of annoying him, and took every opportunity to talk with him.

"Hola Sen`or Myers," said Alejandro in his Latino tenor. He placed his chair backwards to the table and straddled it, leaning on its back.

"How are you?" finished Maverick, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig out of his beer.

Their two faces spread into identical wolfish grins as they waited his response.
Awesome! I'm going to wait until Mrs. Hawkins is free to talk or someone asks for the Grange's services

Name: Negan Grange. Most just call him Grange or Old Man Grange; to some white folks in Louisiana he's called the Butcher, black folks there call him Nero (hero in Creole)


Speech color: Blue

Age: 46

Occupation/ Cover: Brewer (Rum)

Racket: protection, smuggling, assassinations, intimidation, etc. If there's something you need done, you don't really care how, and can pay the right price, Negan will get it done. Man, woman, elderly, single, married, black, white...he doesn't discriminate. He only has one rule: no kids. Asking him to hurt a kid is liable to get you killed yourself.

Public Goals: Wants to enjoy retirement with his wife and do right by his kids. His family is his life.

Private Goals: Negan will never actually retire. He thrives on being in the life. The harder the challenge the more he enjoys it. A year that goes by where he hasn't killed anyone or been in some sort of close call with the police he considers a boring one. He does still care about his family though, and he wont let anything happen to them. Everything he earns or steals goes to giving them a better life.

Alejandro Fernando Roberto Grange:

Speech Color:
Lime Green

Character Alignment:
Walking the more ways than one

Only his two friends, sister, and dad know about his powers, but only one friend knows everything that he does with those powers.

Hero Type:

Brick/Gray Matter

Power Level:

City Level

Muerte sped through the streets, swerving between abandoned cars and debris from the skyscrapers above. He noticed one of the cruisers departing formation and descending towards the city. Landing party. He angled himself to intercept and increased his speed, rearing up a little with the rev. He rounded a corner just in time to see the craft firing their landing thrusters. He skidded to a halt, took a breath, and took in the scene before him.

First, distance: approximately 200ft. Time: 30 seconds until landed and deployed. Casualties: no civilians in area. Personal threat level: high; at least 40 per ship, likely use energy based weapons, unknown technological/biological advantage. Reinforcements: no other ships in area. meta currently engaged with armored opponents. Analysis: element of surprise most effective tactic, take out as many as possible before they can react. Scene will likely draw assistance from other meta. 15 seconds remaining.

Muerte quickly hopped off his bike to find the largest and sturdiest of the abandoned vehicles. As he thought, it still had keys in the ignition. He started the engine, put it in gear, and reversed down the street until he was the right distance away. He waited until the door had thudded onto the asphalt before slamming on the gas pedal and began speeding toward the open hatch. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, bracing for the impact. He had the satisfaction of seeing the first line of them freeze in their tracks at the sight of the speeding vehicle which hit them a split second later.

There was a cacophony of crashing and crunching, sending all but a few of the armored units scattering like bowling ball pins. Muerte was thrown through the windshield and slammed into one of the aliens that had gotten pinned by the front of the car. Pain and energy exploded through him but it was a shock he recovered quickly from; this wasn't his first car wreck after all. He rolled off of the hood and channeled some of the wreck's energy into a right hook to the nearest alien's helmet. It dented in with a combined metal screech and squelch of flesh. So they can be hurt...perfect. An nearby trooper attempted to strike him with the butt of its rifle and another aimed a kick at him. They aren't firing inside the ship. Their weapons must work on their tech. Noted. The hits landed, renewing the energy store he had. He smirked under his mask and proceeded to spend the rest of the absorbed energy taking out any of them that attempted to stand up around him. Soon though the aliens realized that engaging close quarters with this earthlings was a bad idea. They regrouped and began opening fire, forcing him to duck for cover. On the way down, one of the shots clipped his shoulder, obliterating the cloth and singing his shoulder easily. He hissed in pain,and reached over to grab one of the downed soldiers weapons. He stuck it up over the car and fired wildly in their general direction. He heard a few hits land and a temporary lull in their blasts. He popped up and waited until they did too and fired a series of rapid shots to take the rest out.

In the sudden silence that followed Muerte dropped his arms, painting heavily. He could feel his shoulder tingling as the flesh attempted repair itself. That wouldn't be fun to sleep on; assuming he'd get to sleep any time soon. A little slower than normal, he picked up a few more of the energy weapons and trudged his way outside. He looked up into the sky to check on the other meta he'd seen in the air, hoping he'd gotten their attention.
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