RBYDark

Urban Shadows - Heebie Jeebies

Mitra

Mitra turned over the trinket made from animal bone as he sat at the dining room table. He'd come home, found the small package bearing his name, and now he was staring down the Totem of Prey. He re-checked the handwritten return address, which had been torn and rained upon, smudging the ink to unreadability. Was it enchanted to be destroyed? Or had it been coincidence?

Hell of a coincidence, he mused. Someone didn't want him knowing who they were. They had chosen to send him a warning - someone knew he was a demon (or, well, had become able to become a demon - blargh. Forget it, it was ultimately semantics that no one particularly cared about) and someone (else?) didn't like that. Yeah, it was probably two separate people. Very few hunters were interested in warning their prey. In fact, it was probably a warning that Winchester knew about him and would be on his ass.

(He'd heard about Abberline Winchester, in fact, before the radio tonight confirmed his presence in town. He thought he'd kept a low profile, but apparently not, not if someone felt the need to send the Totem of Prey. On the topic of the radio, he'd get his mother-in-law a good bottle of 'rak and personally inspect any other gifts she got. Just in case Farley got any smart ideas.)

So it raised the issue - who saw fit to warn him? They had to know what happened to him, since it was addressed to Mitra personally and not the Singh couple. Maybe it wasn't even warning about Winchester - maybe it was a general warning, like 'hey you've been really active, might want to reel that in before you get noticed by someone more violent'. Maybe it was someone who he'd dealt with before. That set his shoulders down. Yeah, that made sense - he'd cut a few good deals in the city, both as a human and a demon. Some of those folk probably owed him, since he got them what they wanted without selling their soul. And one, concerned for him, sent him a warning about Winchester. That was the explanation he was going to go with, until he got evidence saying otherwise.

And of course he wasn't going to tell Ravindra. That'd just set his nerves on edge and make him more desperate to gain some kind of power if he thought Mitra was in trouble. Mitra was not in trouble, not yet, and there was nothing worth worrying his husband over. He might tell Mrs. Singh, if only because she had a bad habit of finding out these things anyways, but that could wait until he had a better idea of who sent the Totem. For now, he pocketed the Totem and began ripping the written-on flaps from the cardboard box. He needed to break down the small package before Ravi got home and started asking pertinent and pointed questions about the mysterious package.

That was when the trumpets started.

"Oh, why now?" He was all too familiar with the sound, and frankly he was not feeling ready for this. He considered slipping into his more demonic form before deciding against it - he might lose the Totem in the process or destroy it. Instead, he checked his reflection in the china closet - hair was a bit messy, he could fix that. Jacket was askew, he could straighten that. Was that a bruise peeking out from under his shirt? Crap, had that been visible all day? His face flushed as he moved the shirt to try to cover it up. He tried to will the blush away, though he could still feel it warming the tips of his ears as the trumpets grew louder, accompanied by cymbals and other instruments.

He moved to the living room, where the instruments grew ever louder. Good - if his boss manifested halfway through the china closet, both Ravindra and Mrs. Singh would be quite upset. All he could do was wait, wait and see what King Paimon wanted of him today.

Pariah

Writing up some NPCs:

Nkiruka Lackle

Picture

Name | Nkiruka Lackle
Alias | 'Nick' for those who struggle to pronounce his name
Age | 23
Gender | Male
Appearance | Dark skin, bright eyes, scrawny, and maybe filled with too much energy for his own good, Nkiruka hardly cuts an intimidating figure. He keeps his dark hair braided and bundled to stay out of his way when he’s working, either in the store or on the streets tracking Variant activity. Were it not for the shared surname, no one would guess he’s related to his sister.

[Gear]
Attire | Nkiruka prefers bright, colorful clothing. He's rarely seen without his short-sleeved orange hoodie, even throwing it on over long sleeves in the winter months.
Armament/Equipment | He has a small handheld camera recorder and a camera phone - the latter, he usually uses for things spotted in the streets and generally unplanned interviews. The former, he prefers to use for formal interviews with Variants. His left eye is also made of glass, replacing the eye that should be there.

[Temperament & Lifestyle]
Affiliation | Independent
Personality/Habits | Nkiruka has his head in the stars and his feet firmly on the ground - he’s an optimist who’s willing to work to make his vision of the future a reality. He doesn’t quite have the funds or connections, so he’s willing to do the next best thing: hit the streets. In his case, making his vision of the future a reality involves talking to as many Variants as he can manage in New Haven - get their side of the story, how they’ve suffered and coped, how they’ve done well. Because in his opinion, it’s important that people don’t forget Variants are human just like them.
Occupation/Trade | Stocker at Southern Technology/owner of the blog Variants and Vigilantes, a record of as many known Variants in New Haven as is possible
Skills/Talents | Almost supernaturally fearless and unflappable, few people can truly unnerve Nkiruka. He also enjoys whittling soap bars.
Family | Olufemi Lackle (father, alive), Amara Lackle (mother, deceased), Abeni Lackle (sister, alive)

Abeni Lackle

Picture

Name | Abeni Lackle
Alias | None
Age | 25
Gender | Female
Appearance | Pale skin, one dark eye and one milky eye, a port-wine stain on her forehead and flowing clothing all contribute to the notion that perhaps Abeni is a specter from the great beyond. The only thing that rather ruins this idea is her hair - dyed purple, gathered into two pigtails, and curled. She doesn’t much look like her brother, the two only tied by blood and a surname.

[Gear]
Attire | Abeni tends to favor flowing dresses in hues of purple and white. She also wears a red-chained necklace with an amethyst orb on it.
Armament/Equipment | Abeni doesn’t usually carry much around - a small purse, some cards, a snub nose revolver, a smartphone, and keys to her car and house. Nothing much.

[Temperament & Lifestyle]
Affiliation | Independent
Personality/Habits | At a glance, Abeni could be your best friend - she’s warm, cheerful, empathetic, and willing to listen. Then she goes onstage to give her speech about the dangers of unchecked Variants, how self-policing never works, and the risk posed to her fellow humans. If she’s still your best friend after that, it depends on your own stance on Variants. To any Variant, even the Nobles, she’s no ally. She’s spearheaded a number of anti-Variant measures; her latest bill tackles the issue of Variants who supposedly can’t control their powers, with consequences such as fines, Variance suppression measures, and jail time.
Occupation/Trade | State house member
Skills/Talents | Abeni’s fond of mysteries and trying to solve them herself as an amateur detective. It of course helps that she can actually access police files. She also acts in stage productions during the annual Renaissance festival.
Family | Olufemi Lackle (father, alive), Amara Lackle (mother, deceased), Nkiruka Lackle (brother, alive)

And Nkiruka's interviews, not yet cleaned up/ready to post:

Grassbones

1. What's your name? Or preferred alias, if you like.
1: Grassbones.

2. So, you're a Variant, right? What can you do?
2: I’m a skeleton. I’m super-strong and I run real fast. Oh yeah and I’m the best boxer on earth, but that stays between us, cool?
2. -chuckles- That'll be between you, me, and all 5 of my blog readers if you don't mind.

3. They're working on tech these days that can suppress and supercharge variant powers. I dunno when or if it'll be publicly available, but let's pretend it is. Would you rather suppress or supercharge your powers?
3: Neither. I got all the juice I need, and I can switch them off whenever.
3. Consider it a philosophical exercise, if that's alright. If you'd still rather have neither, that's fine, but think of it more like: would I rather enhance my powers or hide them?
3: Got no reason to hit things even harder. If I did, I ought’a just kill somebody and that’s not cool. But… Hiding don’t sound so bad these days so I’d go with that one.

4. What does the word 'Variant' mean to you?
4: It means ya got somethin’ special most people don’t and that some people wanna do something about it, so you gotta watch yourself.
4. What do you mean by that? "Watch yourself", I mean.
4: We’re variants. Lot of us barely have a home to sleep at. I can go home, turn off the smoke and hang up my shoes any time I want. Some people can’t. We gotta look out for each other, that’s just the right thing to do.

5. What's your word for non-Variants? That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?
5: I just call ‘em “people.”

6. For a lot of people, their world changed when they discovered they were a Variant. You wanna talk about the day your world changed?
6: Nope.

7. How often do you use your powers?
7: About every day as far as I remember.
7. Just for vigilante work? Or are there more mundane moments you find yourself using your powers?
7: This boney mug of mine is just a mask. Nothin’ else. I put it on when I go to work and take it off when I’m done. That’s all.

8. A lot of people have lost good jobs, friendships, even families due to their Variance. Some however have become celebrities in their own right and been superheroes to people around the world. Would you say you gained more or lost more as a Variant?
8: Pretty sure I was born this way, just didn’t know it til one real *bad* day. Ain’t a whole lot that’s changed.
8. Oof. I'm sorry to hear that.

9. Any messages you want to share with New Haven?
9: Smoking kills. Ask me how I know.

Murder Express

1. What's your name? Or preferred alias, if you like.
1. It's Murder Express. Not because of... actual murder, but because I summon a group of black birds. They say that it's a murder of crows, but it's actually an unkindness of ravens. Murder Express sounds better than Unkindness Train or whatever, though.
1. Okay, not gonna lie - that's probably super-reassuring to my readers. Didn't know a flock of crows was called that, personally.

2. So, you're a Variant, right? What can you do?
2. I can transform into a big bird. I fly, I surround myself with black mist, and of course, I summon a swarm of ravens to annoy people.
2. Can you clarify 'annoy people'? Do you have to direct them, or do they act on their own?
2. Oh, just pecking and squawking incessantly. As for whether they act on their own or not, I control them as an extension of myself. They are formed from the mist that I exude, after all.

3. They're working on tech these days that can suppress and supercharge variant powers. I dunno when or if it'll be publicly available, but let's pretend it is. Would you rather suppress or supercharge your powers?
3. Oh, I'll definitely supercharge. You see, I've got a myriad of health problems that require expensive maintenance drugs. My transformation, however, negates all of those.
3. Huh. -more to self than ME- I wonder if that's common among Variants. -speaking up again- It certainly sounds convenient. Any downsides to becoming a giant bird?
3. As you might have noticed, I hit my head on the doorframe. I can't fit in most buildings and doors, so... yeah, that's a bit annoying, yeah?
3. I can imagine so, yeah. I hope painkillers work when you're a giant bird.

4. What does the word 'Variant' mean to you?
4. I'd say "Variant" simply refers to those blessed; or cursed, with powers. I wouldn't dare imagine to imply that we're a variation of humanity itself; a subspecies, if you will.

5. What's your word for non-Variants? That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?
5. Mundanes, I suppose?

6. For a lot of people, their world changed when they discovered they were a Variant. You wanna talk about the day your world changed?
6. All I can say is that my parents kicked me out. Where and when, I can't tell you. Though its been long enough that I look back at it and think, "Oh wow, they're bad parents! I shouldn't be like them when I have kids of my own."
6. Yeah, it's depressing how often that happens. Glad to hear you don't intend to repeat their mistakes. If I may, though - do you think they'll ever change their minds?
6. I can only hope.

7. How often do you use your powers?
7. As often as possible. As I said, I have health conditions that are nullified when I'm transformed. Do you have any idea how expensive my meds are?!
7. Variance as a money-saving measure. I think you might be the first.
7. Well, to be fair, my condition is... life threatening. So the more I stave it off, the better.
7. Ah, didn't know that. I really do wish you the best in dealing with it.

8. A lot of people have lost good jobs, friendships, even families due to their Variance. Some however have become celebrities in their own right and been superheroes to people around the world. Would you say you gained more or lost more as a Variant?
8. I'd say it's 50/50. On one hand, I'm no longer... you know, rich, but I had bad parents either way. The other outcast Variants that I've met so far are usually nice folk. Oh, I know now. You should meet some of them! Except for the Scourge, of course. Those idiots can go lick a cactus.
8. I'm trying to meet them all, believe me. Even the Scourge - they have their own stories to tell, I'm sure. Though they don't seem open to reaching out.
8. I see. Well, that's nice of you. Just remember to be careful. You do know how those four blew up a lab recently.
8. Yeah, I heard. Don't worry, I won't seek them out. When they're ready to talk, they'll have to contact me first. ... which, given that I have a bunch of contact info on my blog, should be simple enough. I hope.

9. Any messages you want to share with New Haven?
9. Hello New Haven, please subscribe to my YouTube channel and donate to my Patreon account, it's located in... ahaha. AHAHAHA what do you mean that's not a message? Ahhhh, okay, fine. Ehem. Hello, New Haven. I hope that we can all come to an understanding in the future; that just because something looks weird, doesn't mean that it's bad. I mean, look at me! I'm a giant raven, and I am very nice.

Dianus

1. What's your name? Or preferred alias, if you like.
1. A pleasure to meet you, I go by the alias of 'Dianus' and is that way that I am known on the Underground.

2. So, you're a Variant, right? What can you do?
2. I am a distortionist, that's to say that my Variancy affects space in some way, in my case it allows me to open portals to transport myself and anything I desire to other locations.
2. Cool! Does it work on living beings or no?
2. As far as I have tested anything can cross the portals, provided they can fit in it of course.

3. They're working on tech these days that can suppress and supercharge variant powers. I dunno when or if it'll be publicly available, but let's pretend it is. Would you rather suppress or supercharge your powers?
3. I would much prefer to supercharge my power if that was possible, portals are very useful in many ways as I am sure you can imagine, getting my power expanded in some way -or all ways- would be really beneficial.
3. That would be cool. How would you imagine your power getting expanded? Number of portals? Size?
3. Number of portals mostly, the thought of having portals ready to be opened at any location I desire is very tantalizing.

4. What does the word 'Variant' mean to you?
4. In the strictest sense of the word? A person that possesses a change in their person that makes them able to utilize abilities that they couldn't otherwise access.

5. What's your word for non-Variants? That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?
5. Personally I don't refer to them as anything other than people, we call ourselves Variants more as a way to distinguish those that possess similar traits than to separate ourselves from the rest of the population.

6. For a lot of people, their world changed when they discovered they were a Variant. You wanna talk about the day your world changed?
6. My apologies but I would prefer not to, many of us -myself included- discovered our Variancies in deeply personal and stressful situations.
6. Sorry for bringing it up.
6. It's okay

7. How often do you use your powers?
7. Very much often, as I said before portals are one of those things that are just convenient to utilize, either to look for objects, grab said objects, or move towards another place. I can't imagine my daily life without them.

8. A lot of people have lost good jobs, friendships, even families due to their Variance. Some however have become celebrities in their own right and been superheroes to people around the world. Would you say you gained more or lost more as a Variant?
8. I would say that I have gained more as a Variant seeing how it was what allowed me to open my own business.
8. A business! What do you do?
8. Glad you asked, I provide a courier service for those who want a timely and secure delivery of merchindise within the city, however I have to admit that most of my customers are other Variants who desire to live more isolated lifestyles or need something that requieres a little discretion in order to sustain their Variancies.

9. Any messages you want to share with New Haven?
9. To all of you who may one day become Variants or are a new one, don't be afraid, it may seem like your life has been turned upside down and you don't know what to do but there are many more like you than you may realize, if you desire you can call me on the number I asked Nkiruka to post alongside this interview, I will do all I can to get you introduced to people that are capable of offering help for your new situation.
9. As the man said - number's at the end of the transcript. Stay safe out there, everyone.

Breakneck

7/7/79

The video feed flicks to life, at first focusing on the young man adjusting the camera. When he steps out of the way, it now focuses on a person in a flight suit. Off-screen, the man speaks.

"Just have to confirm - you don't mind me filming this, right?"
The Noble shakes their head, fingers tapping against the helmet in their lap

"Of course, feel free. I've tried to be transparent my whole career and I don't see a reason to stop now. Where would you like to begin?"

There's a squeaking of a chair as the man sits down.

"Well, let's start with something easy - what's your name? Or preferred alias? Just for the folks who aren't familiar with you yet."

“Well, my legal name is Eli, Eli Ford. But ‘professionally’-“

She lifts her hands into air quotes, a sheepish smile on her face.

“I’m known as Breakneck.”

"Just wondering, how'd you come up with Breakneck? Or do you want to save that for the next question?" There's a shuffling of papers, and the edge of a sheet can be seen on-camera - the man's trying to show Eli the next question, most likely.

“I’ve been coached on softballs before but never during the interview itself.”

Bn stifles a chuckle, waving away the offer.

“In any case, I got it during my time as a mercenary. I move at breakneck speed so they called me Breakneck.”

She shrugs, reaching for a water bottle nearby.

“Hardly creative but it beats the hell out of my old one.”

The papers are shuffled back off-camera. "Dare I ask your old one?"

“The other cadets used to call me Kitten.”

"Breakneck is the better choice, yeah." The man sounds like he has a smile on his face. "So, let's move on. You're a Variant, yeah? You mentioned moving quickly - want to elaborate on that?"

Breakneck grins, nodding her head.

“Yep, only reason I’m not enlisted anymore. To put it simply, I can breach supersonic speeds and have all the prerequisites to do so safely. Strength, endurance, perception, and more importantly, I can render people and objects immune.”

"That must come in handy when people need rescuing. Can I ask what your top speed is?"

“Oh it’s not a game-winner by itself but yeah, it’s pretty useful. My top speed fluctuates somewhat but north of Mach 3.”

There's a low whistle, likely from the interviewer. "Impressive." He clears his throat. "So, quick hypothetical. There are a lot of laboratories working on tech these days that can suppress and supercharge variant powers. I dunno when or if it'll be publicly available, but let's pretend it is right now. Would you rather suppress or supercharge your powers?"

She pauses, taking a drink of her water as she considers the question.

"To be honest? I'm not sure. Being stronger, faster, harder to kill and all that, it'd be useful no doubt but..."

Her gaze averts, a breath being sucked in through her teeth.

"Ever since I got kicked out of the Space Force all I've had is Variance. I've worked hard to master it, and enhancing it feels like cheating somehow. It'd be like I spent ten years as a weightlifter and you offer me steroids, y'know? That's some peoples' deal, I dunno if it's mine."

When Breakneck looks up her face has taken on a serious expression.

"I certainly don't think they should give out that sorta stuff to anyone who asks. Most Variants can't do what I do, and they shouldn't try."

"That's... pretty deep. Hadn't considered that angle." There's a brief beat. "Mostly, I guess I'm curious about who would stay a Variant and who wouldn't, when given the chance." A shuffle of papers. "I don't think they'll make the boosters public, if that helps. They'll probably be reserved for, like, plane crashes or major terrorist events."

"I have my moments."

She takes advantage of the pause, finishing her water near-instantly

"Yeah, I imagine you're right. They wouldn't even let me keep flying after I discovered my powers, seems unlikely they'd let anyone boost themselves."

"Right. Let's move onto the next question. This one - well, how easy it is is up to you. How would you define the term 'Variant'?"

"A Variant is anyone with superpowers, abilities that simply could not be achieved through training or practice. Heat vision, flight, that sort of thing."

"Fair enough. And what would you call a non-Variant? It's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

"The term I've heard used is Mundane but I've never cared for it. Seems a bit...ugly."

"I see. I try not to comment on what people use - tends to alter the atmosphere of the interview. Let's keep going. For a lot of people, their world changed when they discovered they were a Variant. You wanna talk about the day your world changed?" There's a pause and then a stage whisper. "It's ok if you don't."

"I don't mind, or at least not as much as I used to. Only fair that people want to know."

She clears her throat, sighing as she thinks back.

"It was-oh wow, a couple decades ago now. I was a first lieutenant in the Space Force, an OOA pilot like both of my parents before me. I was returning to Earth after a routine excursion when debris cracked my windshield. Bad start to a landing."

"Must've been scary."

"It's not fun for anyone but I basically went catatonic. See, my dad crashed in similar circumstances when I was a kid so now I think I'm going the same way. All the warning lights are flashing, the instruments are fucked and the AI is screaming at me and all I can think is "Fuck, Mom's got another cremation on her hands"."

"And yet, here you sit, thank goodness. What happened next?"

"I hit the atmosphere, and it's still salvageable right? If I hit a retroburn I can slow down from twenty thousand miles an hour to something more survivable, come out of it with whiplash instead of in a thimble. I uh, I don't do that. I'm sitting there trying to get right with God, watching the ground hurtling towards me. Time seems to slow...and slow...and slow..."

"But it's not. The stress awakened my Variance, which meant that I'm processing information far faster than any normal person could. I'm already used to making snap calls at the speed of sound so now it's like going back to high school chem after getting a doctorate."

"Not gonna lie, that sounds absolutely trippy."

"It is! I can't really describe it, but imagine everything moving in slow motion except for you. I don't have more time to work with, I just make better use of it. So I pull myself together and pull out. The landing is scuffed but I'm alive, and thanks to my Variance I'm not even hurt. I pop the top, climb out and I'm at the base ten miles down the road in a few seconds."

"What an entrance to make!" The man sounds like he's gotten quite into the story.

She chuckles, shifting in her seat.

"I thought so! But the brass was less than impressed. Crashes happen but Variants? Those are a no-go. I'm taken off flight duty and within a week they give me some papers and say good luck."

Her smile becomes bitter, Breakneck looking dead ahead at her interviewer.

"Honorable discharge, like I got cancer or something."

"Ouch." The wince is audible in his voice, excitement drained. "Did anyone at least say goodbye?" It's blatantly a reach for even one good detail. "Maybe a goodbye party?"

"Yeah, ouch."

She shrugs again at the question, unable to muster up much in the way of positive feelings.

"Sure, I said goodbye to people and all that but honestly, I don't remember much of my last week. Just a blur of bad memories. Don't get me wrong, I know why it happened but still-"

Her voice breaks, Breakneck blinking away the beginnings of tears.

"It was my life. My dad died flying and my mom was still an AOO jock, how was I supposed to talk to her? What was I even supposed to do next?"

A box of tissues is pushed towards Breakneck, presumably by the interviewer. "I'm sorry that happened." His voice is hushed.

The box goes ignored, Breakneck preferring to wipe her eyes with her sleeve and move on.

"Thanks. In any case-"

She claps her hands once, taking a breath before continuing.

"-I'm now outta the military and am the fastest known animal. That's when my world changed."

The box is hesitantly withdrawn. Papers are shuffled. "It's a lot to take in. I'm sure it was even more, living it. But thank you for answering the question. You had me on the edge of my seat!" The interviewer is recovering some of his cheer. "And I'm sure it's helped some younger Variants, who get to know they aren't alone."

"Hey if that's the case I'm happy. Look, the moment you discover your powers is the moment you become a new person. Like it or not you're not going back to the old world. The transition can be rough, but it's bearable if you have the right mindset."

"Very true. We are who we choose to be - that's how the expression goes, I think? Even if it's difficult, it's up to us to decide who we are. But it helps to have role models like you along the way, I think."

"That's partly why I became a Noble. Ten years ago you didn't have Variants in the news for saving lives or helping out, just talk of them needing to be regulated."

"Yeah. But honestly, I've interviewed a lot of Variants who have lost their friends, their jobs, even their homes. They need support and understanding, not further regulation for something that's barely understood." There's a weak chuckle. "Uh, sorry, got carried away there."

"Don't apologize, you're right. It's tragic really, it's not like we asked for this. I didn't have any control over being a Variant and if I wasn't one I'd have been left smeared all over the Eastern Seaboard. I got fired for not dying, just like people are getting evicted for manifesting powers when their house is robbed."

"Yeah, exactly. I don't know what it'd take to fix the situation, but I hope things like this-" *It's easy to imagine the interviewer gesturing with his arms. "-are able to help somehow, even if it's just to remind people Variants are, in fact, humans."

“It’d be nice. Sometimes I worry that this-“

She gestures to her flight suit and helmet.

“-isn’t the right way to go about it. Is Breakneck more a mascot than a person? I don’t know.”

"Hopefully, this will remind people. Breakneck is a person with a past of her own and views of her own. I... stopped asking about dreams a while back. The answers got too depressing." The last sentence is somewhat mumbled but still audible in the feed.

“If people only see the helmet then so be it. As long as I’m helping I’ll be happy.”

Breakneck’s expression softens, the hero sitting back in her chair.

“My dream is that once I’ve recovered I’ll be able to go back to being a Noble, and doing better at it than I did before.”

"I like that answer." The smile's back in his voice. "If you're ready, we can move onto the next question - your injury aside, how often would you say you use your powers?"

“Daily. Even putting aside the sprinting after suspects and lifting cars off of trapped pedestrians they’re just useful in everyday life. I want to visit my mom? I’m there in moments. Something got stuck behind the fridge? I can move it effortlessly.”

"Sounds pretty handy. Now, uh, this next question, I guess we touched on it a little, but I think it's still important to address it directly. You lost a life dream and your job due to your Variance. However, you've also been a superhero to people around the world, especially here in New Haven. Would you say you gained more or lost more as a Variant?"

“Gained.”

Her answer comes immediately, without an ounce of doubt.

“Materially I’m a hundred times wealthier than I ever would have been as a pilot. My mom is living easy in the Hamptons, my son had college money, all of my people are taken care of. And emotionally, or even spiritually if you want to call it that, I’m far better off than I was as a mercenary. It’s empty work fighting over people’s wars, it drains you. Now I know that if I have to fight it’s for a good cause.”

"That's great to hear!" He sounds genuinely happy. "I'm glad you've made it to this point - in general, I mean, though also glad you were willing to be interviewed."

“I’m glad you asked! It’s like I said at the beginning, I try my best to be open and honest about everything, good or bad.”

"And it's appreciated. One last quick question - any messages you want to share with New Haven?"

“Yes, I do.”

She turns to face the camera, sitting at attention.

“There have been times I wasn’t fast enough to help, and from the bottom of my heart I am sorry for that. All I can do is try my best and not let let my recent failure stop me. I ask that you all do the same. No one will ever be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

"I think people better remember the times you were quick enough. But true enough about perfection - no reason not to try. Just don't beat yourself up for failures, you know?" He might be addressing Eli, he might be addressing his audience. Maybe both.

Ignoble

8/3/79

The camera is turned on and set down with a heavy thunk. It faces a heavily armored person.

"Right. Do you consent to the filming of this interview?"

Papers are shuffled right offscreen from the feed, the interviewer's tone sounding a bit tired, maybe. It's oddly flat.

The figure has no visible face, features entirely obscured by the black skull-mask they wear.

“Indeed. I, Ignoble, am aware and consent to being recorded.”

Their voice is distorted and garbled but undeniably masculine underneath the excess noise, the vigilante carrying themselves with pride.

“As loath as I am to start us off on the wrong foot, in the interest of fairness I have to warn you that if I get even the hint of law enforcement or a setup I’ll have to kill you.”

They motion to the shotgun propped up against their seat.

"If I did 'setups', I think the whole Underground would avoid me. But, noted." The chair squeaks as the interviewer sits down.

"So I guess that technically answers the name question. Unless there's another name you like to use?"

“I don’t mean to call your ethics into question, just a matter of formality. And no, Ignoble is preferred.”

"Alright. Brief follow-up - why 'Ignoble'?"

“It seemed like an obvious pseudonym to adopt, considering my activities. It’s an obvious parallel to the Nobles who have given themselves to N.O.V.A and a reflection of the decidedly ignoble reality we live in. Secondarily, it’s easy to remember.”

"I... can track that logic, yeah. We'll move onto the next question - so, what exactly is your Variance? If you had to describe it."

“My physiology is greatly enhanced compared to a non-Variant.”

"....I was in engineering in college, not medicine. I have almost no clue what that means, between you, me, and everyone who looks at my blog."

"Take a series of Olympic athletes, let's say...a sprinter, long-distance runner, powerlifter, and a boxer, and make all of them gold medalists. The kings and queens of their fields, each of them having set and broken record after record. I'm better than all of them by an insurmountable margin."

"Gotcha. Thank you very much." There's a shuffling of papers and then a huff of air. "So, standard question. Given the choice, would you rather suppress or supercharge your powers?" The tone suggests he knows the answer but still feels obligated to ask.

"A standard question that gets revealing answers."

There's the creak of old wood and strained leather as the battered seat groans, strained by the weight of armor and gear.

"If you were to offer me the choice right now I'd supercharge myself because I have a mission to complete. But in a perfect world, I would reject both. I'm not interested in meddling with the Variance, I want to preserve it."

"I see. Can you elaborate on what you mean by 'preserve'?" He does sound genuinely curious.

"Certainly. As it stands right now there's a small group, less than a percent of the population, who are naturally elevated above the others. Call it a gift from God, call it evolution or random chance, whatever the origin Variants are naturally superior. We should be allowed to use this as we see fit, to police ourselves without having to worry about the jealous and the fearful interfering."

"....wow that's a lot to take in." There's a sharp inhale. "From a naturally inferior person, I'm just wondering, I suppose - is it possible there are Variants out there who would want their powers suppressed or enhanced, completely independent of outside pressures? Like, their job isn't in danger, they aren't going to lose their home or family - they just want to live without the effects of their Variance. Call it a philosophical question."

"It's not just possible, it's a guarantee. Let's call the number of people on Earth ten billion, leaving Mars and other colonies out for ease. Half of a percent of ten billion is, hmm, fifty million?"

Ignoble pauses to calculate, going as still and silent as the corpse they modeled their appearance after.

"Spot-on. With fifty million different opinions and outlooks, there are going to be some who reject what they are. I pity them."

"To be fair to them, you got awesome sports skills. They might have a killing touch. But I suppose that does answer the question I asked. I guess you've already explained how you view Variance, huh."

He inhales and can be heard muttering, "Stop interjecting yourself, you're here to listen."

"If they have a killer's touch and find such a thing distasteful they're free to simply ignore it. One Variant losing their gift threatens all of us, because if a willing person can give it up how far away is the ability to simply take it from the unwilling?"

They nod impassively.

"To an extent. I'm simplifying of course, but I felt it was enough for your audience to get the gist. And please-"

A gloved hand extends towards the camera

"Interject as you will. Puff pieces are for celebrities, true interviews have some of the reporter's personality."

There's a deep breath off-camera. "It's important to have some personality, but I expect you often have your opinion spoken over. It's only fair you get this chance, same as everyone else, to have it heard. That can be done without sacrificing personality, I think." Papers can be heard being straightened. "We should move on - what exactly is it you call non-Variants?"

"I appreciate your journalistic integrity. It's refreshing."

The hand drops into Ignoble's lap, neoprene and nylon rubbing against heavy-duty canvas.

"I refer to you collectively as Mundanes. Uncharitable Variants might mean it in the sense of you being boring, or uninteresting. When I use it I mean that you are, for all your individualities and uniqueness, simply on a lower plane than we are."

"I've heard worse." A pause in which he might be nodding. "I'm not sharing worse. Moving on - would you be willing to answer a question about your past?"

"I'm not opposed, although you'll have to forgive me if I'm vague on specifics. I'd prefer not to be identified."

"Understandable. So, for a lot of Variants, their world changed when they discovered they were, well, Variant. Do you want to talk about what happened on the day your world changed? Or how it changed?"

"Like many, if not most Variants, discovering my gift was traumatic. Immediately I was marked out as being one of the Other, something to be excluded from the wider group. Although I tried to be content in my oddity the Mundanes would not even let me have that, doing their best to collar me while ensuring I would have nothing resembling a 'normal' life."

"Traumatic awakenings do seem to be a common theme in Variant awakenings." He seems to be listening for more, if there is any.

"How could they not be, when the Mundane world is so eager to demonize all of us? I learned very quickly that my two options were to live in fear or fight back, and I chose the latter. I wasn't picking the right targets at first, but I found my way soon enough."

"Some might say fighting back makes it worse. What do you say to those people?"

"The people who say that are scared Variants and smug Mundanes. To the Variants I extend my sympathy, for it's not their fault that they feel that way. Like every outnumbered and underfoot group in history we are told that try to lift the boot off our neck is exactly what makes us deserving of the pressure. That is a lie, a lie made easy to believe when backed by force of arms."

Now they look towards the camera, an expressionless skull peering into each and every viewer's eyes.

"To the Mundanes, I offer my understanding and a warning. I have only gone to war with those who would harm me and mine: N.O.V.A, the MADmen, lab-coated criminals who pick and prod at what's beyond them. Whatever you feel about me and others like me, those fighting back against the forces of forced mediocrity, don't join the battle. Sit it out on the sidelines, because I will kill those on the other side of the field."

There's a squeak as the interviewer shifts in his seat. "Right." His tone has gone flat again, something like resignation in his voice. "I suppose it's a little late to ask you not to threaten the viewers of the blog. I can't speak with certainty, but I'm sure most of them are in no position to be in your way. They just want to know your side of the story. That's on me, I should've considered that from the very beginning."

"Much like the beginning of this conversation, I take no pleasure in doing so. But as with you I must in the interest of fairness. For the vast majority of your audience, my warning is meaningless, like a lion's roar at the zoo. For the few who would sign up with M.A.D, well, they can't say they weren't warned."

"I suppose they can't, no." He clears his throat. "So, next question: how often would you say you use your powers?"

"Not as often as you might expect. They're not powerful enough to warrant constant use when outside of my uniform, and they don't provide any sort of physical difference that would mark me out as a Variant to the common man. When I'm not Ignoble I simply cease to exist."

"Interesting." And he sounds like he truly is interested. "I've found a lot of Variants often find uses for their powers outside of combat. For you, it might make cleaning under the fridge a lot easier?" He chuckles weakly.

"Not as easy as it is for Breakneck. Although, she might not be allowed to do any heavy lifting yet."

Ignoble's laugh is just as warped as their voice, the hollow, grating sound echoing around the damp safehouse.

"A full recovery is important." While the average viewer is unnerved by Ignoble's laughter, the interviewer seems unfazed, simply stating the fact once Ignoble is done. "She'll be back to being able to clean under the fridge and the streets of New Haven when she's ready." Something seems to be on his mind - his interview with Breakneck, likely.

"I watched her interview the other day when I was getting a feel for your content. And genuinely, I hope she's back up to speed soon. But she is the perfect example of my enemy. Her country abandoned her for being a Variant and she turns herself into N.O.V.A for the privilege of getting a certificate saying she's allowed to use her powers? She disgraces herself, and had she not done so she wouldn't have been caught in my trap."

"She's allowed to use her powers for fighting crime - something that's otherwise illegal, Variant or not." He shifts in his seat. "Just to be clear on that, using powers for non-criminal acts is not illegal at this point in time." Something in the phrasing of that is odd. "I don't agree that she disgraces herself, not if she's doing something she believes in, but I doubt any argument I give will persuade you otherwise."

"I fight crime as well. I hunt rogue Variants that have done too much harm to the Mundanes, I prey on the more unscrupulous criminal organizations in New Haven and beyond, and I don't need N.O.V.A to hold my hand while I do so. Breakneck is not law enforcement, as far as the government is concerned she's a useful thug."

Ignoble cocks a head at the peculiar phrasing but lets it pass for the moment, choosing to pry at that last statement.

"I'm doing what I believe in. Do you not find my actions...disgraceful?"

"I don't care much for bullying, frankly. Perhaps my way of trying to change things through my blog is wrong and we do need violence. But I can't bring myself to believe that threatening to kill people for your beliefs is the right thing to do." His tone is flat again, and it's starting to become clear that it's expectant - like he expects Ignoble to take up the shotgun. "I won't say you're disgraceful - it's just not a word I use - but I think your actions are wrong."

Ignoble nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

"I would like to think that your way will work, at the end of the day. But I expect that such a thing is impossible without someone like me to serve as a contrast. We live in a world of superheroes, and with them come villains. If that's what history damns me as so be it, as long as it doesn't forget who made me."
"In the meantime, you had a list of questions and I got us off track. Forgive me."

"Forgiven. We're nearly done anyways - just two more. Another standard that tends to say a lot: you mentioned how society tried to collar you once it realized you were a Variant. Would you say you gained more or lost more as a Variant?"

"I lost my chance at an average, happy life but found a struggle that will be remembered as righteous long after I'm gone. I live in darkness now so that my people will be in the light."

They pause, letting their words hang in the air for one moment, then two.

"I broke even."

"That's a... surprisingly optimistic way to view it." He sounds a bit surprised. "And last question -" There's a long silence. Then a deep inhale. "Any messages you want to share with New Haven? Anything at all." You can almost hear the regret in his words.

"You seem scared. No, apprehensive."

"Please don't threaten my viewers again. I technically can't make requests - it's supposed to be an open forum - but I beg you."

"No more threats, just a request for Variant and Mundane alike. There's a passage by Bishop Philip Brooks that I'm quite fond of, albeit not in the literal sense. I hope you'll allow me to share a not entirely secular quote?"

"That's fine, go ahead."

"Thank you. Then as the good Bishop said, 'O, do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men! Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for powers equal to your tasks! Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle. But you shall be a miracle.' "

"I think I see why you like it." The statement sounds rather genuine.

"I always did find it fitting. Thank you for your time, Nkiruka."

The gloved hand is extended once more, this time to shake.

The interviewer, Nkiruka, is quite quick to take Ignoble's hand for a friendly shake.

"And yours as well. Hopefully you're pleased with how this interview went?"

"Quite. I feel I was able to express myself...clearly."

New Frontiers: A High Fantasy RTD

I wouldn't say we're in far enough, but it's up to you. You'd be the one doing the rolling, after all. I don't mind the mechanic personally, considering I'm in another dice-rolling game.

Pariah

Nkiruka, Mikael's latest source, was quite pleased with himself as he got the notification about the money. He'd honestly lucked into the situation, having left the bar after some attempts to gather information, and then who should he see but 'the Rat' himself sticking out of a dumpster as another Variant - one Nkiruka had never seen before - was engaged in a fight. Of course he livestreamed it. The two chatted for a few minutes afterwards, Nkiruka briefly stepping back to let the truckers by. He couldn't catch their words fully, but he did catch their actions: Remy throwing something into the dumpster, the unknown man handing Remy - a card, maybe? It looked flimsy but it could have contact information on it. He ended the stream, figuring it'd be boring to just watch him follow the two. He was quick enough with the record button if they did anything interesting. To his dismay, though, the two were splitting up - he pressed himself flat against the bar wall and feigned interest in his phone as the unknown Variant left the alleyway. Which one to follow? He couldn't waste too much time deciding. He quickly texted his benefactor.

THEYVE SPLIT. FOLOING RAT. POS CONTACT INFO With that, he darted into the alley and stopped by the dumpster as a twinkle caught his eye. He examined it briefly: a rather expensive-looking smartwatch. Was that what Remy had thrown away? Interesting. He set it back down and walked after Remy, keeping a short distance and his footsteps soft. Some of these side streets got quite winding, he'd discovered over the years, and just when he thought he knew everything about the city, something new would surprise him. He let himself admire the architecture rather than stare too intently at Remy; there was always that old sensation, the 'eyes watching you'.

Remy soon exited the alleyway, heading towards a large burning building, and Nkiruka knew he was going to lose his chance. He jogged up to Remy's side.

"Hey there. Remy, right? Mind if we talk?"

"Sorry, you got the wrong guy," Remy shot back. Who was this guy? How did he know his name? And why was he looking for him? He began to quicken his step.

Nkiruka kept the smile on his face. Ok, maybe he should've seen that coming. Now to determine the best way to counter without escalating...

"No, I'm pretty sure you're Remy the Rat. I blog about Variants, and you've been suggested a few times. Biggest reason I don't post you is that no one can seem to agree what it is you do." He chuckled as he followed after. "Everything from invisibility to making things explode. You might get a kick out of seeing the list sometime. Honestly, until ten minutes ago, I really wasn't convinced."

"I'm not a variant," Remy denies, feeling a little mystified. Why would anyone be looking into him? "You got the wrong guy."

"You're not? I mean, if you don't want on the blog, that's fine. I respect privacy." Nkiruka shrugged. "Though, quick question - why throw out the smartwatch? Back at the dumpster."

"What smartwatch? I don't have a smartwatch!" Remy snarls. "Get away from me, mister!"
Why was this guy watching him?

Nkiruka raised his arms in surrender. Right, so he was going about this the wrong way. He could double-down with the recorded livestream, he could back off and see if he could catch up with the other guy, or try a different angle. No matter which one he picked, snarking back would obviously be the wrong option.

"Well, I'm getting paid to scout out Remy the Rat, who's a Variant, for a guy looking to hire him. I guess if you're not him, we can wrap up our business. I'll just have one final question and that'll be it."

A piece of bait. With any luck, curiosity and desire would overcome his defensiveness.

"Hire?" Remy choked, turning to face him. Oh god, not again....! "Mister, I'm just a kid! I don't care who you're working for or how much money they got, I don't want to sleep with them!"

Nkiruka looked up sharply at that. "I'm 95% certain he's looking for a bodyguard, not a prostitute." Did he even want to know why this guy had assumed the worst? "I'm not into human trafficking. Right now, I'm just collecting information."

Some people at the edge of the crowd were glancing their way - Remy was being a little loud, he supposed, but pointing that out would likely make him louder. He rubbed a little at the right side of his face - his glass eye was feeling itchy now.

Remy stares with his mouth open at Nkiruka, then sprints away, screaming "Pervert! PERVERT!"

Hm. Enough to pay most of his bills for the month. Not getting his ass beaten. Funny how money made what should've been an easy choice tricky.

"I'm just looking for information!" Nkiruka called after Remy, not quite willing to pursue him. There was still that issue of Remy admitting (somewhat garbledly, on stream) an inability to control his power, whatever it was, and it seemed to rely on contact. Making things explode was still on the table. "I was just looking for information," he repeated to the people who were staring at him, many none too friendly. "I interview local Variants and post information about them to my blog. That's all - Variance and Vigilantes, I don't suppose you've heard of it." He was hardly the only Variant source online, but he did focus on New Haven Variants and tried to get their side of things. For now, just drop the job angle, they didn't need to know. When no one sparked recognition or interest in his defense, he ducked back into the alley and bolted, to the sounds of a few footsteps behind him.

---

It was half an hour later that Nkiruka stopped running, certain he had not been followed any further. He sighed and pulled out his phone to text about his failure.

DINT BELIVE JOB OFER. THINKS UR LOOKIN 4 SEX. SORRY BOSS He sighed as he sent the message. And as for the other guy... something about him looked familiar, now that he thought on it. THINK I KNOW OTHER GUY. CHEKING FILES

He pulled up his blog and scrolled through the list of the Variants he knew about. Despite the guy’s protective nature, Nkiruka was almost certain he wasn’t a Noble. Not to enforce stereotypes, but he was just a little too ragged. Pariah Underground, probably, though not someone he’d interviewed yet. He wasn’t that familiar. The search didn’t take that long - there were only a hundred or so Variants on his blog. Energy manipulation was even rarer. When he did find him, well. Running quite a distance worked up quite a thirst. But if he’d been drinking something, he would’ve spat it out or worse, dropped it.

U DONT WANT THIS GUY. HES CRIMINAL With the message, Nkiruka sent a link to the profile on the still-unnamed Variant, his photograph one of him apparently holding an officer hostage, metal pipe sparking at the man’s neck.

That said, it did invite the very singular question of why the Variant had apparently saved Remy. But would the interview be worth it?

Pariah

&

Jimi was dumbfounded for a second before he sauntered into the alleyway, trailing his fingers along the wall and shaking his head. "Oh, you've got it all wrong. I'm a very bad person." He bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "And I don't think I like what I see here. You get one chance to walk away from this before I start swinging, got it?" The electrical charge almost seemed to hiss in agreement.

Harry, sweat beading on his bald forehead, stepped in front of Jimi with his arms outstretched. "Hey, guy, I'm sorry about Joe and him punching the kid, he got all upset and I was hoping to get him down to the gym so he could work out his anger."

"Joe, put the kid down!" he yells behind him.

"Yeah, Joe, listen to your friend." Jimi dropped the mirthless grin at least. He liked to think he was rational - that if they were willing to walk away without a fight, he was too. Of course, there was that part that hoped Joe wouldn't listen, that wanted this to break into a fight he knew he'd win. He stomped down on that part, but the pipe remained charged and crackling with electricity.

"Alright," Joe smiled, releasing his grip on Remy's coat. He fell back into the dumpster with a squawk.
"I know that look," Joe continued, turning to face Jimi. "You willin' ta drop that stick and make it a fair fight?"
"Joe! No!" Harry cried out. "Carl, drag him back!"
Carl glanced between Jimi then back at Joe, then started lumbering towards Joe.
"Keep outta this, Harry! You too, Carl. I want him."

Jimi scowled as Remy fell in. Oh, yeah, he wanted a piece of this guy. And when Joe offered himself on a platter, he dumbly blinked before barking out a laugh. He reabsorbed the electricity from the pipe and let it fall with a clatter.

"That's quite an idea, isn't it? A fair fight." He walked up to 'Joe', still chuckling. "Just a tiny problem is all. Just one." He put a hand on Joe's shoulder.

"With me, it's never fair." He dug his nails in, and the contact was enough to start pumping the heat energy into Joe. Fever, heatstroke, sun sickness - there were a few names for what he was doing. It all led to the same basic principle, though: if Joe didn't surrender, no fakeouts, he would have his brain poached in its own fluids.

Joe screams, falling to his knees while trying to use his hand to fend Jimi off.
"Joe!" Harry calls out, when Carl brushes past him, swinging at Jimi.
"Stop!" Harry yells.

Jimi did let go of Joe, only to grab at Carl. This time, instead of infusing heat energy, he was draining it. Hypothermia, they'd call it if they made it to the hospital. He probably would - it would just manifest as some very bad chills right now, only worsening if he kept his grip.

"Energy transfer. Never learned how to shut it off," he lied, but as long as he kept the same casual tone, how would any of them know? "Not to blame you, but you might've asked why I'm a very bad person."

Carl too had fallen to his knees, the big man wrapping his arms around him as he shook with cold.

"Mister, please, just let Carl go!" Harry begged. He pulls out his wallet and produces a couple of c-notes, handing them to Remy who was looking over the edge of the dumpster with a little awe. "Kid, just take the money, I'm sorry about Joe punching you, okay?"

Jimi looked suspiciously at Harry, then Carl, then released Carl and hopped back, lest the man decide it was a good opportunity to take a swing. He gave Carl as wide a breadth as he could as he collected his pipe from the ground. "Well. At least we've got one good person here." He pointed with the pipe to Harry - a gesture, not a threat. "They probably won't need the hospital. I didn't hold on long enough. Just treat 'em as if they got really sick. Fluids, bedrest, that good stuff."

"Thank you," Harry says humbly. He offers a hand to Remy, but the boy just jerks back, wide eyed. "Can't say I blame you," the trucker sighs. "Carl, can you walk or do I gotta call a cab?"
Carl just nods dumbly, stumbling to his feet and back towards the other two.
Harry knelt down and wrapped his arm around Joe, helping him up. "Joe, you gotta stop taking it out on the world! Sharon left you for that bit of flash. We know you're hurting, but you gotta let it go!"
"Seven years," Joe gasps, hand rubbing where Jimi stuck his fingernails in. "Partners for seven years, and she just drove off with him!"
The three truckers take a wide berth around Jimi and head towards the street.

"....world sucks," Jimi managed as the three passed. It was about as much sympathy as he could muster, given the scene he'd walked into.

He walked up to the dumpster Remy was still in as the trio left, putting his pipe back into his belt. "Seriously, you need a hand to get out of there?" It then occurred to him that the younger teen (he seemed younger at least, but not a full-on child) would've heard what he said. "My powers are actually at will, but things tend to work out better when people believe you can't stop it."

"Thanks," Remy says, shaking his head. "I uh, can't control mine. Please mister, step back."

Jimi nodded and stepped back. Ok, now he felt like a bit of a dick for pretending his powers couldn't be controlled if the guy here actually couldn't control them. "Mind if I ask what you got?"

Remy glances back at where the burger used to be, but a smear was all that was left. He sighs, then climbs out, the two c-notes tucked away in a top pocket.

"If someone bumps into me, I get something of theirs," Remy admitted, digging in his pockets to produce Joe's smartwatch. Remy scowls and tosses it into the dumpster. The other pocket had Joe's wallet. He glanced inside and whistled at the bills, then up at Jimi. "Want half?"

Jimi's eyebrows lifted as he saw the amount. "If you don't mind." Heck, if he was stringy with his groceries, he could get the electricity back on today - well, in a few days, considering mail and everything, but point was!

Good people don't profit off stealing from others. Bad.

Nope not addressing that right now. More like- "Not gonna lie, hoping you have a place to get cleaned up."

"Yeah, " Remy nods, handing over half the bills and tossing the wallet under the dumpster. "I'll just hit a vending machine on the way, can't go in someplace like this."
His stomach did a loud grumble.

Jimi wasn't sure what that meant but nodded anyways. "I'd offer, but the water got shut off a while ago. Been making do with air fresheners." That was third on his priority list, after rent and electricity. Laundromats existed after all. He paused at Remy's stomach making itself known.

"...sure you don't want me to run in and get you something?"

"Ah, no, thanks," Remy says, glancing at the kitchen door. "There's a Wenyi's and a Chef's pizza machine just past the bar."

I can get washing up tabs from the Boots drugs machine, too, Remy mused. It was a pain washing everything at home by hand, but he didn't want to wash everything but his coat while standing in the laundromat with people giving him the bent eye. All he needed was some karen on the warpath about a nearly naked homeless kid exposing himself. After what happened in the park, he wanted to stay off the police radar.

Jimi nodded - couldn't really argue with that logic. "Alright. Hope ya don't mind, but I still need to get to the store before it closes." He paused and then dug into his pockets, eventually coming up with a broken-off pen and an old receipt. He jotted down something on the receipt and handed it to Remy - an address, located in the Shanty, and a series of three numbers. "Just in case Joe doesn't learn his lesson or someone else decides to be a bag of dicks."

"Uh, thanks," Remy says, taking the slip of paper carefully. "I'm Remy, everyone calls me "the rat.""

"....I don't get it, but ok." Jimi nodded. "Just 'Jimi' is fine. You stay safe, alright?"

Urban Shadows - Heebie Jeebies

<Snipped quote by RBYDark>

Nice throw, mark Mortality and select one of the following bonuses: You’ve got a Debt on someone in Mortality. You receive a useful morsel of information. Or you gain a handy piece of equipment.

@rush99999

I'll take the piece of equipment please! Might have multiple uses.

Pariah

"Who wants to bet my brother can't reach that window ledge? Any takers?"

Diarmi posed confidently, glancing upwards at the second-story window ledge his little sister had pointed to. Maybe three inches wide, a foot and a half long, set into the brick exterior of some deli he knew nothing about (though its broad windows certainly invited inspection).

Yeah. He could make that.

He stretched, feeling the familiar popping of bones shifting around their joints, as his little sister collected bets. Some were genuine, he knew, though others were 'betting' just for the pleasure of seeing him either fall flat on his face, or out of spite towards those people. Most people were betting against him, and Zola absolutely did not carry enough cash to pay out if he failed.

He couldn't fail. He wouldn't fail.

And when she said 'Dimi?', off he went. Personally, he thought leaping at the deli window without actually smacking into it was far more impressive than getting up to a second-story window, but that's not what the people were betting on, was it? Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone, probably an employee, startle at his presence, but he refused to allow it to distract him. It took only a slight bend of the knee to launch himself up, grab the upper ledge, and twist his body to land above it. This next part would be tricky, but it was simple to him: just move quick enough and gravity would lag behind. His fingers, callused from hours of stunts like these, gripped onto the rough bricks and he skittered along the surface, grabbing the ledge from beneath, and pushing off the wall to flip up onto the ledge, where he turned and waved down to the crowd, in varying states of flabberghast (was that a word?), amusement, and awe. His parents, who'd been watching with only mild interest, gave a polite applause in contrast to the whoops and cheers from the crowd. Zola went among them to pay out the handful of winners. And in the back of the crowd, he could see his two oldest siblings moving about.

His stomach dropped, but his grin didn't. He stood, catching the top of the window, and bowed, encouraging their excitement and their attention on him. Better him than Zola, he'd decided all those months ago. Let her stay innocent in all this. He leaped off from the ledge, taking the second to pose in the air before landing in a tumble and springing back to his feet. The crowd went nuts - well, most. Some were beginning to leave, down the street or into the deli where he suspected they'd tell that poor employee about the stunt that weird kid had just pulled. While it wasn't like the family couldn't hold people captive, them leaving was never good. It meant less money, and, to his own disgust, fewer targets.

Not that such feelings showed on his face. Instead, he bowed and gestured to his parents - his father had already drawn out the old in-desperate-need-of-a-polish fiddle to play, and his mother was promising "magic like you've never seen before!"

Which, Diarmi supposed, was a fair claim to make. How often did money vanish from people's wallets anyways?

Near the middle, someone was checking their cellphone and audibly swore - so he assumed anyhow, it wasn't a word he was familiar with. He edged a bit closer as their companion asked what was wrong.

"Burglary in progress in Midtown. Variants reported. I have to go that way for work."

"Damn. Maybe your boss will understand if you're late?"

"Like that bastard's that nice."

Diarmi tuned out the rest of their conversation, nerves buzzing. Variants! Mainly, other Variants! He'd stretched his muscles and brain only a couple of times since the family had arrived in New Haven three weeks ago but only against non-Variants. He glanced to his parents, then to Zola who was watching him curiously. He quickly schooled his expression into something less excited.

"Hey, Zol, I need to go to the RV. Cover for me?" It was more an expression than an actual desire - after all, his parents wouldn't need his parkour again for some time. It was more likely they'd bring Zola up front and have her demonstrate some parlor tricks. (And, ok, he didn't have to like it, but his little sister was adorable.) She nodded, offering him a thumbs-up, and he dashed away to get changed and head on over. It was hard, maintaining a secret identity, but his family simply could not know.

(Alessa saw him running to the RV. Probably to play superhero again. One day, she'd have to sit him down and explain how inaccurate the comics were when it came to the real world.)

---

A change of attire and multiple rooftops later, the burglary had apparently evolved into a fire. Flip only took a moment to breathe through his nose as he surveyed the scene - he wasn't pyrophobic, no, but he was pretty sure it was rational to be nervous around blazes like this. Besides, this was going to be his last bit of fresh air for a while. He had to be sure no one was trapped inside - that’s what a real hero would do first, and if there was anyone, he had to save them. Simple enough. Cops were present, no firefighters yet, a blur that stopped and then headed in - oh wow, was that actually Breakneck? ... would she be in the mood for an autograph later?

Flip launched himself off the rooftop, executing a series of flashy flips that doubled to slow his fall and get some horizontal distance. Just before he would've hit the ground palm-first, he summoned a levitation bubble to bounce off of, just behind the police tape, and performed one last aerial somersault before landing on his feet. No cheers or applause greeted his performance this time, but he didn't expect it to. He was still new after all, and this was a crisis situation. He was about to ask the nearest cop if anyone was still inside when he realized he recognized the pink-haired young lady nearby. Two Nobles at one site - his knees felt like they'd give out any second, but he shoved the feeling down. Couldn't let the performance anxiety show. He hurried to her side instead.

"Anything I can do to help, uh-" Ms or Mrs? "-Madame Senbonzakura?" God that sounded awkward. He needed to distract from that and fast. "I've got telekinesis." There, landed it. Hopefully.

---

Jimi's a bad person. Always has been, always will be. But he knows that. He wouldn't dare delude himself into thinking he's good. Good people don't burglarize homes-

"It was robbery. No one was home," Jimi muttered back to the voice in his head. He knew it was in his head, no one else ever heard it, but it didn't stop him from snapping at it once in a blue moon.

Good people don't talk back or interrupt either. Very bad person.

Jimi kept quiet. He couldn't argue with that. Nor the fact that he had been a lookout for a robbery earlier in the day. It had been a bit of an impulsive thing - one of his contacts rang him up on the burner phone and asked if he wanted to make a quick buck. He glanced at his dead and empty fridge and said sure, why not. 'It'll set off the demon that lives in my head' was why not, but that just sounded crazy. His contacts didn't do 'crazy'. Now he had a roll of cash in his pocket and a tirade going off in his brain. It maybe wasn't the best deal Jimi had ever made. Still, now he could buy some groceries. And if it happened again tomorrow, he could get the electricity back on. He did miss having a cool place when the sun got too hot. Wolfy probably missed it too, he bet.

Lost as he was in his musings, deafened by the internal rant, he very nearly missed the rattle that came from the alley ahead. It was enough to make him pause. The voices he could hear, neither friendly nor concerned, made him reach for the electrical-taped metal pipe he kept tucked into his belt. Even the demon had fallen silent as Jimi tried to figure out if it was safe to pass by. He crept closer, grabbing onto the corner of the wall. It grew chilly at his touch while the pipe began to crackle with electric current.

Then came the sound of someone getting hit.

Jimi wasn't a good person. It was something beat into the inside of his skull daily, and it was never argued with. He knew better than to try. Trying had led him here. Because a good person didn't want to hurt others or let others get hurt.

Jimi couldn't stand by knowing someone was getting hurt.

He rounded the corner, wall cooling even further as he stared down the alleyway. Three against one? Hardly fair.

"Hey!" He smacked the pipe against the wall to ensure he had their attention. It wasn't enough to dispel the pipe's charge but enough to draw some attention to its crackling. "What's going on here?" And what a figure he must cut, with his stitched-up hoodie and worn-at-the-knees jeans. Hardly intimidating. Now that he thought of it, he realized he didn't even know if those three were Variants or not.

Well. He had yet to meet a Variant who dealt well with hypothermia, heatstroke, and tasing.

Urban Shadows - Heebie Jeebies

@rush99999 Rumor has it that a new hunter is moving to the city - well-known for taking care of ANYTHING supernatural. And they're not the kind willing to sit down to tea just because you happen to be supernatural AND rational, if you catch my drift.

Rolled a 12. Let's see if that luck carries on.

New Frontiers: A High Fantasy RTD

Jay couldn't help but freeze as the coachman peeled off, arm half-raised as if he could've stopped the coach by such an action alone. Had he been recognized? What an awful feeling, to be recognized when you didn't recognize the other person. And now he wouldn't know, not for a good long while if ever at all. He lowered his arm, took a deep breath, and turned to follow the group who apparently agreed with his plan to investigate the settlement. The prisoner, Rish, discussed getting a vantage point and Mira mentioned how the smoke could indicate something dangerous.

"I hadn't thought of that," he spoke softly, a blush rising to his ears. He and Burt could've walked right into danger. "Thank you." For being there, he supposed. For having enough sense that their curiosity hadn't blinded them. He followed behind the three, thinking about what each hoped to gain. Burt had already explained himself; Rish didn't seem to have a choice; Mira and Laudy Aur were both a bit of a mystery, but then again, they maybe just didn't feel ready to disclose their reasons. Jay would not push them. No, he'd push a bit of a more dangerous subject.

"If I may, why did the elves send you out here?" he addressed Rish. Just vague enough that if Rish did not wish to explain, he wouldn't have to. Jay hoped he might but wasn't counting on it. He considered and then tacked on an extra question. "Did they expect you to make a new life out here?" Or to die, the question went unasked but was present all the same.

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

@RBYDark

This looks promising, but let's touch base on a few things; firstly, backstory. The main thing that strikes me as odd is how, er....Emotional his spiders come off as? That was my best way of describing it, but my point being this. End of the day, they're still spiders, so beyond being piloted by his intents (which is what some of this could be viewed as, but it's put forth in a kinda odd way), they're still very simplistic creatures. As for his power, the ability-copying needs to last for a far shorter frame; I'd say at most is perhaps 10 minutes, to prevent him from simply having access to a massive collection of powers of his choosing that can last him for potentially a whole hour lol. Oh, and also, how exactly do these 'power transfusions' work when it comes to giving him multiple Parahuman abilities at once, or when (theoretically, given this is not dismissed in the Power section itself) granted to other Parahumans? Does it simply not work? Or does he gain those multiple powers, perhaps at some cost, like the duration, potency, or control of said abilities? Some things to think on that I'd like to see handled before I fully accept him, but overall, it's lookin' good. :)

@Mintz

Ah. Uh, so I most definitely appreciate the feedback, those are all legitimate concerns to have and I agree they're in need of fixing when brought to light like that. That said, some stuff has changed since I last updated the sheet. I honestly thought this rp was dead, so Webber's been submitted to a different rp. Due to a personal rule about one rp per character - last time I didn't follow it, I got some stuff mixed up - I'll need to withdraw his app and possibly start over on a new character. Given some other changes in my life circumstances, I'm not certain how plausible this will be. I'll try, but certainly don't wait on my behalf is all I'm saying.