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Scifi Combat writers... where are you?
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Merse's fur stood on end, briefly taking on a rubbery nature in response to the excessive jolts taxing his body. To some degree, he insulated the shocks, showing a level of resourcefulness that justified Tartalo's suspicion and overall precaution. Not only was Merse not dead but his most valuable weapon, his mouth, was strategically curbed for the time being.

For once, the information broker knew little of what he was dealing with, elevating the stakes to immeasurable heights. The fine line he walked, if all for the sake of reasonable doubt, was bold, even for his standards. Despite the lack of incriminating evidence, Merse had many reasons to question his fate. Morality often called into question whether it is better to risk saving a guilty person than to condemn an innocent one. Having been on this planet for less than a day, it was evident, outsiders were the recipients of no such empathy. Earthf67x's relationship with aliens was not a great one. The information broker's disastrous actions only added fuel to the fire, validating such apathy, perpetuating their xenophobia for generations to come.

Knowing all of this, Merse weighed his options, calculating scenarios at a computing pace. He did this until he could no longer play possum. After the third jolt, it was clear. The jig was up.

"We'll begin with your name."

Merse's fur returned to its normal texture. The lethargic expression on his face was the most life he had shown up until this point. His slitted eyes widened, reflecting the tiniest of light as any cat's pair would. Without moving his eyes, the broker's pupils managed a detailed scan of the area. This was done without mustering any source of power whatsoever. The slightest action very well could be seen as a threat and Merse was cautious in his own right.

In any government, the complexity of federal criminal law, codified in several thousand sections of written code establishes a virtually infinite variety of circumstances that might trigger an investigation. Even at the interrogation stage, it was difficult for Merse to know, in advance, just what particular set of statements could incriminate himself. He knew his words would be twisted but he decided to respond regardless, citing no real alternative.

"Merse Granstrum, Information Broker, at your service. What business do we have here today, operative?"

This game of verbal chess had finally begun.
In --- 1 mo ago Forum: Test Forum
Name: Jag
Full Name: Demarco "Jaguar" Lucas
Age: 39
Height: 6'9
Weight: 358 lbs
Race: Human

Jag is an enormous man whose size was only second to his pursuit of control. Built like a brick, he carried a reputation that painted him as superhuman. The rosette-like patterns on his skin from vitiligo were probably his most famous feature, and it only added to his intimidating mystique. When he was younger, he often put his Rühl like physique on display as an enforcer for Trey Eleven Vice, an infamous gang known for clashing with the Red Syndicate in the 2020s before their leader, Hans, mysteriously went missing.

Since then, Jag has made name for himself as one of the most brutal crime lords in the northeast. When it came to vice, he had his foot in it all: drugs, human trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering. He accumulated a fortune of wealth from it and was not afraid to flaunt it with his large collection of chains, watches, grills, and even gold plated weaponry. Arrogant, but calculated was his motto. He often roped his adversaries into his very hands by playing off their impatience and intense hatred of him.

Jag was battle tested and ready for confrontation at a moments notice. He has been beaten, stabbed, shot, jailed, tortured, you name it. He wore his large collection of scars like a general's medals, with his proudest being his severed left hand. His solution to losing this part of himself left him far from handicapped, however. Instead of leaning towards regular prosthetics he managed to fortify his arm with technology, going through experiment after experiment until it was a classified superweapon.

Jag gained the ability to mold his gold plated arm into several weapons with its base form being a dangerous set Tekko-Kagi Claws. Other forms allowed him to fire bullets from his finger like a pistol. From his palms, he could let off shots like a machine gun and a shotgun. His arm could even go as far as becoming a full-blown flamethrower.
Sarge listened for a whimper when his heavyset partner pounced on their target. He heard nothing.

Sweat applied a sleeper hold on the feline but the coldness of Merse's body caused him to question if he was even alive. He was limp and lifeless. Despite that, not for one second did the operative consider relinquishing his grip. Intelligence briefings informed him in great detail of the information broker's unpredictable and cunning nature. Sweat needed no reminder of how small the margin for error was when dealing with alien threats. It was practically embroidered into his mind. Merse was not given a single inch to maneuver, not even to breathe.

New Roswell teleported the group shortly after. The room they were in was shrouded in darkness aside from where they stood. Apollo Amon's request was fulfilled. The mission went without a hitch, with the only annoyance being the abundance of cat hair clinging to their uniforms. The annoying fibers were bound to show up in random places well after their mission was done. Sarge dry spat at the sensation of hair being at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps it was only in his mind but it irritated him, nevertheless. Shortly after, he began shouting orders.

"Strap him up!"

Eager to finish, Sweat ragdolled Merse's body and full nelson slammed him onto a reclining platform. Dex promptly secured the suspect on the modernized torture rack but concern over their mission status plagued his mind. Dex thought about the repercussions for not bringing their target back alive. Knowing his unit inside and out, Sarge was keen to Dex's thoughts. If anything, Sarge's unchanging demeanor should have been enough to reassure him but he spoke anyway.

"We have film of what he's capable of. He's playing games!" he barked.

Once the information broker was restrained, what little light the room had was cut. As quickly as the lights went, the unit that transported Merse followed. Only the distant clanging of approaching footsteps warned the black cat of what was coming. That was assuming he was even alive to hear those footsteps.

He was.
@Liaison The movies? probably not. But Disney owns marvel now, and their comics just don't sell like they use to.


Comics, in general, do not sell "like they use to." Any attempt at correlating sales and Disney's "agenda" since ownership is unreliable. Especially since every comic was failing in the 90s for marvel besides Spiderman and the X-Men.
I'm not quite sure why we're talking about star wars in a thread about expanding horizons, as there are plenty of better places to do that.

However...

The primary reason why Disney star wars/Disney Marvel/etc is doing poorly is because of the movement to make politically correct media. It's fine to have minority/female characters, but they work too hard at trying to make them perfect and flawless (AKA, the biggest writing sin ever). Rey is a hard core mary sue. Anikin had to actually learn how to use the force, and Rey just beats someone who was personally taught by luke with zero training. She also just "finds" Luke's lightsaber in a random pub. Not "A" lightsaber, LUKES lightsaber! Anyway, I could rant about this for hours, but other people have done this for me, in less time.


Disney Marvel is not doing poorly by any means.

I rp to create new concepts and contribute to building new worlds. Yeah, Star Wars is known setting but this entire pw is practically filler like rouge one.
It's pick your target at this point. The stage is set and there are a large amount of opportunities for anyone to spin into an angle for their character(s) joining.

Hop in wherever, Gun.
With the world in terror, Allure was the epicenter of it all. A mere branch of the galactic phenomenon punctured Spain's sky, spawning a limitless stalk of arcane energies emitting delphic rays. In some ways, the changes brought about were subtle; in others, more overt and less conspicuous. The one constant; the basic anatomy of every lifeform on this planet was altered.

Like most planets, EarthF67x's magnetosphere created a protective bubble that guarded the surface against different forms of space radiation. While this is mainly recognized as a veil of protection to solar storms, more underlying forms of cosmic radiation prevalent throughout all of the galaxy were affected.

Due to the impossibility of humans surviving in space without protection, The rays had no opportunity to realistically alter or influence human biology. Additionally, the energies were as such a low concentration, it would take generations for the effects to be noticeable. This all changed in a single instant once a single branch of the galactic engine punctured the sky, spawning a ludicrously powerful stalk right in the heart of what was once Madrid.

Many of its effects were unknown, but one ushered a new phenomenon upon human genetics. Polymorphisms, which are responsible for many of the normal differences between people such as eye color, hair color, and blood type, began to develop beyond their usual means. Within humans they began integrating the amplified energies of the engine, creating the potential for supernatural abilities within every lifeform on the planet and amplifying existing ones.

While many individuals were eliminated by the rays on the spot, it wouldn't take long for the more resilient to notice they were changing.

---

Deep Space

The relocation of the microorganism cluster was swift and precise. This did not mean it was eliminated but certainly out of sight out of mind was satisfactory in wake of current events.

The CNT prison was fortified in such a way it prolonged Panident's explosion of energy. Through a more subtle effect of its efforts, the carbon-carbon bonds of the nanotube weakened until it eventually had a tensile strength a mere fraction of a terapascal. Before it even got to half that point, it was free, but Panident found itself in a completely different star system dealing with a completely new crisis.

---

Slowly his eyes opened, feeling immeasurable fatigue. The reflection of light on the white walls made it hard for his eyes to adjust. Blurry vision plagued him as he detected movement in the room. Groggy and ineffective movement found his back caroming off the wall he previously perched his body against quickly after trying getting up. Detecting even more movement in the room, an individual could be made out opposite of him similarly attempting to gather himself.

"Who are you?"

When he spoke, the voice projected was not his own. The terrifying thoughts of his last moment of consciousness froze him in place.

"Quite a predicament we've found ourselves in, huh? Crazy that we actually survived that whole ordeal."

When the man opposite spoke to him, he was convinced this never-ending nightmare was just that, never-ending. When his eyes managed to adjust he realized he was looking in the mirror.

"No, No...NOOO. GET OUT MY HEAD!!!"

In a fit of rage, he stumbled forward, smashing his skull across his speculum opposer, shattering the wall, collapsing the entire dimensional space seemingly upon itself.

The next time he came to consciousness, his vision was red. He was restrained, a concoction of semi-dry blood and sweat clamping the corners of his eyes.

"Seismic activity is regular. Wake up, Fearis. We require your assistance."

"NO, I AM ODIS!"

---

Resurfacing from the body of liquid took longer than Eddie projected. The trek to the surface was strangely long. When his head managed to penetrate the surface, his eyes were subject to astonishment. He now treaded the waters of some massive laboratory tank. From its apex, he could see a lab of fantasy stretching for what seemed miles. Thousands of workers slaved in a trance-like state, operating like a colony of ants on various tasks. Not a single one paid attention to the vampire it seemed; all but one. On a platform adjacent to him stood a middle-aged man, arms folded and carrying an irritated expression.

The man reached out, dipping a wine glass into the liquid Eddie resurfaced from and took a sip. Smacking his tongue repeatedly, he gauged the taste. It was bitter.

"I was expecting Claine... Eddie Goldman, is it?"

Somewhere deep inside, Eddie would know who this man was, or at least who he appeared to be. Surely the Syndicate member recognized him as the great fraud of EarthF67x, but before he could say so, the man before him spoke bluntly. "Despite how famous this face might be on this xenophobic piece of shit planet, the answer is no, I am not oDiS LyNdOn GaLlAgHeR. I just no longer have a face of my own."

Fearis Caldwell was alive, but lacking a lot of his signature bravado. How could he? Being the only individual on board with the relocation "plan", he felt responsible. Frankly, he was more pissed off than anything, but in wake of Merse's disappearance he recognized flying off the rail, as it rarely did, would not help the situation. Allure's citizen's, though he revered many, did not deserve the havoc currently in motion.

Figuring he should explain before Eddie reacted like a corned fox, he cleared his throat to project over the blaring sirens.

"All things considered, you're pretty lucky you weren't ceaselessly absorbed in Panident's highly unstable mass. Rejoice, you're in De Haute Taille. If all were to fail, I assure you this would be the last remaining structure on this planet. This Skyscraper might as well be a fortress. You are safe."

As he continued to talk, he dipped his glass once again, taking another gulp shortly after.

Normally, someone in my position would plead for you to fight with us and not against us the sake of the planet, but as the capitalist I am, I think I see a potential partnership brewing. You're quite the smart man. My information tells me so. One half of the White Syndicate's leadership, correct? You'll be compensated astutely."

Fearis Caldwell offered Eddie a fake toast before he quaffed down the final bit of the murky solution, swishing it from side to side like mouthwash before swallowing. Vents drained the water until it was at Eddie's feet, and shortly after he opened the gates. The Allure native took several steps down. And he sized Eddie Goldman up with a questioning stare.

"You don't really care about the majority of inhabitants of this planet, do you? Doesn't matter to me either way."

After saying such, he demanded some gold be brought his way and sure enough in less than a minute a bundle almost as tall as he was brought to the red syndicate leader.

"I assume this is enough?"

It was almost as if Fearis was reading his mind. Without permission Goldman reconstituted himself. The limbs his brother carried magnetized to the element and began molding before their very eyes. Promptly, several workers approached the reshaping gold with a charcoal colored premium Italian wool suit and sunglasses. It was time for bussiness.

An enormous wall lowered behind Fearis, dwarfing him. Once the projection started their negotiations could begin.

---

Margaret Iedeeren was confused, dazed, hysterical, but that was just "Margaret". What about her other bodies present within the studio, Allure even? Several thousand of her forms were working amongst the chaos, doing her deeds, as some even scrambled into Europe like frenzied cockroaches. They were quite busy, stuck on a series of tasks in efforts of the preservation of Allure.

Through several studio viewpoints, she could see them grab Merse, even in the brief stint of darkness bestowed upon them. Just like that, he was gone, but that wasn't the worst of her problems. Various perspectives flooded her senses with the image of full-blown anarchy within the commonwealth; war-like carnage, a harmful beam's arrival from space, the outright obliteration of several of her out and about forms, incoming floods. This all caused her heart to palpitate at near heart attack frequency. It was too much. So much, she stung the tip of her tongue tasting the chamomile tea brought to her. Her lips thinned, but her flamboyant attitude was curbed, indicated by her blank stare of focus.

Little time passed before Margaret orchestrated her hive to temporarily switch Allure to a less conventional means of power; a battery, substituting crude chemical reactions for the infinite potential of transdimensional energy-entities, and the ambient power they ceaselessly discharged. This dimension they leeched from, unofficially titled The Sui Generis of Powers, gave Ms. Iedereen the horsepower to execute the endless chain of commands already in effect.

The remote operated tectonic plate system of Allure wedged all of its land and coastal borders at twenty-five hundredths of a degree from its center creating a "cone." By design, this introduced a controlled amount magma filling the gaps underneath before the magically propelled cooling systems immediately solidified the flow. This permanently fortified the elevation of lands with an edifice of molded basalt.

Distributed throughout Iberia were devastating tremors and shifts of land, but Allure would survive another day. Despite the havoc that ensued, it was the best card Margaret could play and the most cost-effective option. The devastation upon weaker installations of infrastructure was minor in comparison to what would have taken place. Had the massive swell been allowed to continue its rampage and swallow miles and miles of land from all sides, Allure would have been unrecognizable from itself not even a day before.

Only now could Margaret Iedereen plop her curvy posterior on an Oprah style couch to rest for a second, letting out a long sigh. From this day, Madrid would become an enormous basin. A landmark of this day of infamy.
That's diarrhea
What is fear?
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