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"I have two suits: a sixty dollar three-piece from the Thrift Closet, and, well..."
Iron Man | Anthony "Tony" Stark
American | Human | Unemployed
New York City | New York | USA

Tony Stark used to have it all. Born the son of billionaire Howard Stark and his wife Maria, he never wanted for anything physically. He was provided the best education money could buy and all the toys he could ever want. All he lacked for was his parents' attention. Driven to prove his worth to a neglectful father, Tony had a doctorate before he was old enough to drink. His parents died a week after the graduation ceremony they did not attend. Tony would go on to succeed Howard as CEO of Stark Industries.

His genius intellect brought the company to new heights. Stark developed weapons that made the Manhattan project look like a baking soda volcano by comparison. Young, arrogant and ignorant of the consequences, Tony sold his designs to governments the world over to fund his hedonistic lifestyle. His perspective fundamentally changed after his kidnapping during a visit to Sokovia. Rebels from the Sokovská Nacionalistická Fronta (SNF) attacked Stark's convoy, killed most of his escort and ferried him away to an isolated compound in the mountains. Stark nearly died from his wounds if not for the creative intervention of a local doctor: an electromagnet was placed in Tony's chest to prevent micro-shrapnel from entering his heart. Drawing on designs his father originally drew up, Tony developed a prototype arc reactor to keep himself alive in captivity. The SNF demanded he build weapons for them.

Instead, Tony spent his year in captivity discreetly building his first Iron Man suit. Donning the armor, he tore through the SNF and escaped. He would return to the States a changed man, having seen the results of his ‘genius’ firsthand. He shifted Stark Industries’ focus to humanitarian causes. In particular, he hoped to create a full-sized version of his arc reactor to revolutionize clean energy. Tony invested much of his personal wealth into the program's development and shifted his attention to another project: the Iron Man suit.

For the next seven years Tony Stark donned improved versions of the armor to fight the battles no one else could. Tony saw saving lives as a chance to redeem himself for the part he played in the global war machine. He threw himself into his alternate identity fully, leaving the running of his company up to his longtime mentor and business partner, Obadiah Stane.

Obadiah found Tony's change of heart vexing. The company's market share suffered horrendously with its shift away from weapons development. Mass layoff after mass layoff nearly broke Stark Industries. Despite Stane's best efforts he couldn't convince Stark to return to sanity. His frustration at its boiling point, Obadiah chose to act: he leaked Tony’s identity as Iron Man to the public, alongside an avalanche of suppressed scandals from Tony's past. Stane drowned Stark in lawsuits and bad press until he had nothing left.

Betrayed by his oldest friend and penniless, Tony shipped what equipment he could- and his latest version of the suit- to a storage locker under an alias. Now he find himself planning his revenge from James Rhodes' couch.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
This is sort of a pseudo year one for Tony. He has history as a superhero to ground him in the wider world and allow me to easily backfill relationships with other characters, but for the purposes of resources and reputation he’s at rock bottom.

I want to explore a couple different storylines with Stark this go around: his lingering guilt- both personal and generational- from the death and destruction the Stark name wrought in the pursuit of riches and power; Tony’s fight against Stane and the broader Military Industrial Complex to take his company back; and finally Tony coping with the loss of his former place of privilege.

I’m excited to explore Stark’s thematically rich story and rogues gallery. There’ll be a lot of opportunities to examine corporate cutthroat culture, how celebrity behavior warps under public scrutiny, and the heavy responsibility that comes with power.
ISSUE #1: Fragile Heart

New York City New York

"Run it again, JARVIS." Tony Stark splayed across the couch like a lion on its rock. He was the king of a concrete jungle: a billionaire, a genius engineer, and a world-class superhero. Untouchable. Unassailable. He tore a chunk from his latest successful hunt- a greasy cheeseburger from the joint down the street. He'd lost count of how many Kwikkee Meal Deals he'd eaten ever since moving into Rhodey's apartment.

Tony was unbelievably broke.

A series of simulations flashed across the television, the laptop plugged into whirring angrily as it tried to process the experiment's thousands of unique variables. A full-sized arc reactor popped open on the screen to reveal its internals: hundreds of individual plates placed so close together the human eye couldn't discern the gap between them. The plates rotated around the core at murderously high speeds, driven only by the Casimir effect. The vacuum in the chamber allowed the reactor to maintain its current energy production indefinitely...theoretically.

One of the plates in the simulator began to flash red. "Error in plate one hundred and four," JARVIS warned in a cheery English accent. "Sheering along the joint will cause it to break off after thirty-seven years, six months and twelve days of use." As JARVIS spoke all the surrounding plates began to flash as well. "Catastrophic failure follows shortly after."

Tony ran a hand through his hair in irritation. It was long, wild, and about as greasy as the burger. His beard wasn't much better. He stood from the couch to get a better view and began to pace. Increasing the size of the arc reactor had only made the design's flaws more apparent. No modern metal alloy could hold together under that much pressure for long. Even the gold-titanium his suit used proved insufficient. A carbon fiber mesh would be tougher, of course, but making a mesh that large was difficult and expensive. And making a hundred and twenty-eight meshes? Not viable.

"How much energy do we lose if we add thrust in the opposite direction to maintain a sustainable speed?" Tony asked, stopping to spin the television remote on the coffee table.

"Those calculations may take some time, sir."

"Do it." Tony nodded, despite talking to a computer program that couldn’t see it. "And give me my messages while you’re at it. Filter for job offers and anything from the lawyers."

This time Tony’s cellphone buzzed in response as JARVIS left the laptop to its diagnosis and scrolled through Stark’s email. "You have thirty seven job related messages."

Stark’s expression lit up. "Any takers?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. All thirty seven are rejection letters."

His expression fell like a pile of bricks. Well, at least they’d been polite enough to actually respond, Stark mused. In his previous batch of applications half the agencies saw his last name on the resume and blocked his number. Obadiah Stane- Tony's former friend, mentor, and current enemy for life- had done his damnedest to ensure Stark would never work in any relevant industry again. Maybe Kwikkee needed a new burger flipper.

Tony dropped back into his couch and pulled the phone out himself to check his bank account. There was a distinct lack of zeroes behind the prime numbers. Not unexpected, but still concerning. His reserves were running dangerously low. If he couldn’t find work soon…

He flipped to James Rhodes’ main account. Not something he was supposed to have access to, technically, but curiosity and a guilty conscience didn’t mix well. Rhodey was Tony’s oldest friend and one of the best men he’d ever known- he was also prone to taking on more than he could handle. It wouldn’t be long before Stark’s problems caught up with Rhodey.

Tony paused. He closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths. He couldn’t drag Rhodey down with him. Wasn’t happening.

“JARVIS, do I have anything from that Pentagon rep?”

There was a moment’s pause as the machine ran through Tony’s emails once again. “Yes sir. I moved all of Major Talbot’s messages to spam as you requested. You have sixteen unopened emails from his address.”

“Alright, let’s set up a meeting. I’m grabbing a scotch.”

Added a sample! Should be good to go.
Puttin' something together, perhaps.
In Titans 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

A firework exploded in the sky above Central Park, showering red sparkles across the New York City skyline, and Wally West frowned. He unwrapped a hyper-nutrient dense sandwich from the picnic basket and shoved it into his mouth, chasing it down with his sixteenth cream soda of the night. That sandwich contained enough calories to feed a baby elephant. Wally felt his stomach growl with dissatisfaction.

“Everything alright?” His aunt, Iris West, asked from the other side of the blanket. She gave him an easy smile that tapered over the concern in her voice.

Wally gave a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for inviting me.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the fireworks display. Coming to NYC for the first time has been a culture shock and a half, even for him. This place made Central City look like Smallville by comparison. Visiting Lady Liberty and the JSA’s old place in Battery Park with Barry and Iris had been a blast. And watching the Stars kick the Yankees’ asses in their own stadium? Wally’d never forget it.

“I know Barry’s timing was…inconvenient.” Iris sighed, shifting in place. “You know he wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t important.”

“Duh.” Wally groaned, falling on his back and splaying out like a dead man. “I know it’s important! That’s the problem! He’s- I don’t know, fighting the Rogues or an Atlantean sea monster or something- and I’m here. Watching fireworks.”

Wally wanted nothing more in the world than to go with his uncle. He wanted to help him take down bad guys and spin tornados back into sky. But he couldn’t- not without slowing Flash down. By the time Wally would make it back to Central City whatever emergency had drawn Barry Allen there would’ve been over an hour prior. Wally was just too slow.

“Do you know what I did at CCPN for two years before I caught my current beat?” Iris’s smile fell away, replaced by a thin, serious line. “I did fluff pieces for state fairs and interviewed dog show winners. They had me buying coffee for the ‘big shots.’” She gestured quotation marks with her fingers. “I didn’t get a real chance to prove myself until that Batman story fell into my lap. You just got your powers, Wally. Your time’ll come. Be patient, and be ready to chase it when its here.”

Wally gave a weak grin. “Thanks, Iris. I just wish my shot would come sooner rather than later, y’know?”

Somewhere a genie left it’s bottle as fire bloomed in the wrong part of the skyline. “You had to go and say something.” Iris mumbled, jumping to her feet. By the time she had her car keys out Wally was already gone, a streak of red and yellow blasting through Central Park.

Smoke billowed from Kid Flash’s bright, golden boots as he skid to a halt in the street. Chaos filled the neighborhood around him. Buildings were burning, people were hurt and trapped beneath rubble, and a gaggle of draconic lizard-men were shooting lasers at a young woman with a strikingly otherworldly appearance. Another figure in familiar red and blue floated nearby, though he wasn’t the man Kid Flash expected. An article Iris had read to Wally tickled the back of his brain like a half-remembered phone number. “Gonna guess you’re the super-tyke.” Rising to his full, unimpressive height, Wally spread his hands. “But who’re these clowns?”

Location: City Streets -- The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria

Graves stared down at his hands- at the ghosts of scars he'd given himself. His healing never quite reached the incisions he made to draw his power from. He flinched away from Seele's touch at first, gentle as it was. Though he knew she meant him no harm he reacted on instinct long in the making. He stood stock still, listening. Trying to hear instead of rejecting her words out of hand. He had known men like the ones Seele spoke of: men who used up those around them and threw them away like garbage. Part of him had always wondered if he destined for the same. 'I don't want to be that person anymore.'

He didn't believe he was good, as she said. Not really. But he had it in him to try to be better than he was. Graves kept his eyes on his hands even as Seele let go of his shoulder and moved in front of him. His heart rate spiked when he felt her fingers wrap around his wrists, hiding what lay beneath. It was odd. Her hands looked too small to be as strong as they felt.

'You're allowed to be happy. You're allowed to have friends.'

Graves started to move his arms up slowly, deliberately. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping Seele in them and dragging her up onto her toes. He squeezed and buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry." He croaked. "I'm so sorry."

Location: City Streets -- The City-State of Thorinn, Aetheria

It wasn't a surprise when Seele chased him down. Graves knew the woman well enough to know she wouldn't give up that easily. Usually, he found her stubborn determination admirable. Today? Today it was infuriating. She wouldn't let anything stop her: not pain, not him, not even the truth. What did surprise him, however, was the look on her face when she finally got in front of him. She was angry. Try as she might to hide it, it boiled up in her voice like a fire that wouldn't be doused. Liar.

Graves stopped in his tracks. He wouldn't be able to get by without touching her and he'd never lay his hands on any of them again. Instead he stood, jaw set, eyes wet with tears. He felt a tremble in his hands he couldn't make go away. A thump in his ears like someone was taking a jackhammer to the inside of his head. It was all too much. Andrew wanted nothing more than to find his usual little hole in the dark so he could curl up in it and forget he existed. But that hole wasn't here- it was a world away. And he was trapped on this street with no easy exit.

"I know!" He roared back, throat raw with emotion. Like trying to speak past a gag. "This has been...You all have been the best thing to happen to me in years." Graves turned away, walking a few steps to the side so he might hide his shame. "Runnin' around on my own ain't exactly paradise. Think I know better n' anyone else that I'm not good company. I thought I could make it work. Make some things right that've always been wrong."

He looked down at his hands.

"If I stay I'll just hurt somebody again. S'only a matter'a time."
he's a postie boy
ISSUE #3: Logan Goes to Washington

Greenwich Village New York City

Logan tossed his bullet-ridden, blood-soaked clothes into the dumpster. Every inch of his body burned as his wounds worked to close themselves. Each bullet slowly wormed its way out of his skin, plopping out onto the asphalt with an undignified splat. It hurt damned near as much coming out as it did going in, these days. His healing factor just wasn't as sharp as it used to be half a decade back. Could'a been age, maybe. Or one of those 'mental blocks' Chuck used to drone on about. Maybe he could try sitting cross-legged and contemplating about the universe to slow the bleeding.

He pulled on a grease-stained pair of jeans and a torn up flannel he'd bought off the vagrant sitting on the opposite side of the alley. The old man gave Logan a toothy grin as he lit up one of Logan's cigarettes. He was loathe to be parted with the pack, truth be told, but nicotine withdrawal was better than drawing attention to himself by stumbling around stark naked in the most expensive part of NYC. Logan didn't need SHIELD sniffing at his heels right now. Not with these new players on the scene.

It'd been a long time since he'd seen hardware as advanced as what that shooter was packing. That armor of his was mighty impressive to stand up to Logan's claws for as long as it did. The bitch still went down in the end, of course; but he had a sneaking suspicion he was only the start of a much larger mess. Nobody with that much firepower worked alone. "The hell were they after, though?" He mumbled to himself, buttoning up all but the top two buttons on his new shirt. "Gotta be the politician but-"

He paused, glancing back at the only other person in the alley. The homeless man was staring at him with a look Logan had seen often enough to know it meant 'go the fuck away already.' So with a final wave Logan bid his adieu and jogged back into the street proper. He was maybe three blocks away from the pub where this whole mess began. NYPD goons were crawling through the streets now, searching building by building for anyone who knew anything about what went down. Nobody saw him slip into the alley unless they were watching the rooftops. Not impossible, he reckoned, but unlikely.

If Logan wanted to learn more he needed to go to the woman at the center of it all: Valerie Cooper.


It was three AM. Several hours had gone by since the shooting at the Lion's Head Pub, leaving the heat at only a dull simmer. Logan slipped past the graveyard shift cops guarding the bar. He combed the site for several minutes until he found what he'd come back for: Cooper's trail. It was easy enough to track her movements following the attack. She spent quite awhile at the Pub talking to the authorities and being treated by paramedics. Afterward she hopped in a car and visited the police precinct, likely to give a more complete statement, and finally ended her journey back home.

Representative Valerie Cooper lived in a middle-income apartment building on the edge of her district. Her place was a small, one bedroom unit on the fifth floor. Two cop cars were parked on the street in front of her building. A round-bellied officer with greying whiskers and a retreating hairline leaned against the vehicle, sipping a cup of coffee and stared bleary-eyed into the darkness. His partner was flat-out asleep in the car, earbuds in his ears blaring a superhero interview by WHIH Newsfront. He doubted the cops inside were much better. So much for police protection.

Logan decided to take the indirect approach. He slipped into the alley alongside the apartment building and climbed up the fire escape to the fifth story, silent as a cat despite his weighty metal skeleton. Once he reached Cooper's window he slipped a single claw from between his third and fourth knuckle, jimmying it between the window and its seal. The adamantium cut through the lock with a smooth flick of the wrist. 'Still got it,' he grinned to himself, peeling the window open to get inside.

He was greeted by a baseball bat smashing his nose in.

"Christ-" He started to shout, barely stopping himself from waking the whole damned block with his yelping. Logan grabbed the bat with the hand that wasn't holding his broken nose and tore it from his attacker's hands. Cooper was standing with her back to the wall next to the window, her jaw set in a vicious snarl. She was ready to shout for help right before a look of recognition crossed her face.

"The guy from the bar?!" She gasped, astonished.

"Yeah." Logan coughed, spitting a wad of blood onto the carpet. She'd got him good. "Please don't hit me again." He shoved the bat back into her hands.

Valerie took it, more confused than angry now. Her shoulders were still tensed in preparation for violence. Understandable, given the intruder standing her bedroom in the dead of night. "What the hell are you doing in my house? How are you even alive? You- you were shot half a dozen times before you ran off."

He didn't answer her right away. Instead he paced around the room, waiting for the cartilage in his nose to shift around a little more before grabbing the thing and twisting it back into place with a sickening snap. The pain that shot through his face brought with it a series of curses. After a moment's pause he turned to Cooper. "Death n' me got an understandin'." Logan lifted the hem of his shirt to show the faded remains of a bullet hole in his stomach. "Part'a my mutation, see."

Things started to click into place in Valerie's mind. Her expression shifted as she lowered the bat, finding a seat on the edge of her bed. "You're a mutant. Right. Of course." She took a long, deep breath to calm her nerves.

Logan waited patiently for her to process the situation, finding his own seat on the opposite side of the room- a chair at a small desk shoved up into the corner. He turned the writing lamp on to give them some light. He hoped it made him look less like a wild animal that had barged into her home to piss in her closet and tear up her curtains.

"Considering you saved my life earlier I'm guessing you're not here to kill me." She finally said, looking him directly in the eyes. There was a steely determination there Logan hadn't expected. "And you came through the window instead of the front door because you're avoiding the authorities, right? Those federal agents that questioned me seemed a hell of a lot more interested in you than the gunman."

"SHIELD's been on my ass for a long time. Don't think they like me much." Logan half snarled, half laughed. "You got any idea who's gunning for you? Have many enemies?"

It was Cooper's turn to laugh. "Try the president, the majority party in Congress and half the country." She shook her head, running a hand through her mess of hair. "I knew taking such a strong stance against the MCA would paint a target on my back. You have no idea how many death threats I get. Every time I leave my house or the office I need private security with me so some asshole doesn't get into my face."

"Sounds tough." Logan murmured, scratching his knuckles. "I know what its like 'ta always be lookin' over your shoulder. 'S not an easy way to live."

"Probably wouldn't be so scary if I was immortal." She smirked, glancing down at Logan's hand.

"Yeah." He coughed, looking away. "So let's narrow down our suspects. The guy who shot at ya had kit like I've never seen before. Real tough of the line shit. Ain't the kind of thing a lone radical could put together unless he was a millionaire, n' this guy was a nobody s'far as I can tell."

"Anti-mutant extremism is on the rise again. Hasn't been this bad since the 80s." Cooper leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. "I had my comms director trace a few of the more credible threats I've received. At least a dozen of them track back to a Neo-Nazi biker gang based in Harlem, the Seven Kings. I put in a report to the NYPD but nothing came of it as far as I know."

"Nazi bikers?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, the Venn diagram between white supremacists and anti-mutant radicals is essentially a circle. They might not be responsible for this attack in particular but extremists tend to network. Could be they know something." Cooper shrugged. "Best lead I have for you."

Logan stood up and started for the window. "Guess I'm havin' a word with some bikers."
The following players have not yet replied in the OOC or PMed me directly; thus, they will be moved to inactive status tomorrow. After fourteen additional days of no contact/posts, they will be removed from the roster entirely and their characters will be available for others to apply for: @Supermaxx @Natty @Webboysurf @Redcord

On a cheerier note, @Megsychan is accepted as Flag-Smasher. You can add your sheet to the Character tab and begin posting in the IC at your convenience.

Guy who checks his Guild notifications at work, says he'll reply to them when he gets home and promptly forgets. Oops.

Apologies for the radio silence lately. Been a combination of very busy and distracted by other hobbies so I haven't made much time to post. Entirely my fault, honestly. I'll hopefully have something up this upcoming Sunday- soo three days from now.
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