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GM July 5th, Tuesday, 3.45PM, 2016 4027 Tower St., Emerald City, WA, USA Downtown on the Emerald City riverfront was like being in another world. Voices and faces from dozens of other countries filled the streets, the sharp sea breeze lent a salty tang to the smells of streetside vendors selling the cuisine from dozens more and the sleek, pristine skyscrapers rearing above bore the richest names on Earth in at least ten languages. In particular was the soaring crystal-green Emerald Tower, the corporate center of world-famous MarsTech, one of the several new corporations in the super-technology industry and already a household name. The Tower was the hub for its own micro-universe, the eye of a financial, legal and technological hurricane, a block in each cardinal direction devoted to its needs and those of its sky-dwelling inhabitants. Public involvement with superhumans was considered passé, a kind of cheating, so there was little surprise when Prof. Erasmus Bolt was contacted about one of his newest inventions and invited to a meeting with the head of MarsTech, the flamboyant and vibrant plutocract Maximilian Mars. Although he has made a name for himself as someone with the city's best interests at heart, nobody doubts that Mars is chiefly concerned with Number One. For whatever reason, Erasmus had not yet entered the Tower. "Bolt!" A harsh, cold voice hissed from behind him, which turned out to hail from a very dour-looking man cloistered in a pitch-black limosuine, a rarity in downtown Emerald which prides itself on its mass-transit system. The man glared out at Bolt, then up at the Emerald Tower "Come to see Mars, hn? When you're done, come see me. I'm Kessler, Arwin Kessler, KessKorp. Unlike Mars, I won't lie to you. My card." Thrusting his lean hand out with a well-produced rectangle of laminated plastic pinched between thumb and forefinger, Kessler waited with an air of impatience for Bolt to take it.

7:15 AM, August 4th. In Bedlam’s halls of power, nothing ever changed. On the streets, little ever stayed the same. It was about six in the morning that the first early commuters noticed that the front windows of Rothstein’s Jewelers were, for the first time in living memory, totally empty. Most of them just put their gaze right back down on the pavement; not their problem, not when they couldn’t afford breakfast and wouldn’t get dinner either if they missed their shifts. A few dared to wonder if the place had gone out of business, but that seemed odd. Not even the youth gangs spray painting swastikas on the façade had been able to drive Saul Rothstein out, and a man who at eighty-one could still pressure-wash them off personally seemed too lively to just up and die. It wasn’t until seven that someone thought it was odd enough to bother calling the police, and then only by dumb luck. Adam McConnell, who taught at Thaddeus Grissom High, had been saving up for almost seven months to buy that wedding ring in the center window display, and he came by every morning like clockwork to remind himself why he kept trying in a job that was killing him. He knew Saul personally; the old man had a grandkid at Grissom, and had cut almost half off the ring’s price just for Adam. He knew that Saul would die in that store if he had his way. Nothing else would make him close up. Police response time in Stark Hill, even at the edges, was about five minutes; the Bedlam PD actually cared about white folks, if no one else. But as far as they were concerned, Rothstein didn’t really qualify. They saw no reason to hurry if some Jew got himself robbed. So at 7:15 Adam was still the only person who had bothered to stop outside the store, increasingly worried not just about Saul but about losing his job if he didn’t show up by eight. The question kept running through his mind, though: why hadn’t any of Saul’s alarms been tripped?

GM 4:00 PM, August 3rd. Ross Haywood had seen better days, but he’d seen worse ones too. The mark of those darker times was still on him. He was underweight for his considerable height, and a spider angioma extended its tendrils along the right side of his neck and the base of his chin, harsh purple-red against the soft brown of his skin. But he was walking more steadily than he used to, and the shaking of his hands was so slight that it was hardly noticeable. Smiling at the thought, he patted the little iron crucifix he carried in his jacket pocket, close to his heart. Twelve steps had seemed an awful long way a year ago, but he’d walked them. That kind, honest smile faded as he remembered his purpose. He’d worn his best suit, secondhand and faded but still possessed of a reserved elegance, in the hopes of gaining an air of respectability. Maybe it was stupid to think of hiring a PI as an occasion, but Ross had been turned down in enough interviews to know that first impressions mattered in any deal. One hand in his pocket, he ran his fingertips across his daughter’s picture and said a little prayer in the back of his mind. He was running out of options, and out of time to make this right. They said that Xavier Steadman was honest. In a town like Bedlam, that was either said derisively or with a vague sense of awe. Ross clung onto the hope that it was true like a drowning man to the edge of a raft. He didn’t have much, but he had learned the hard way what really mattered in life, and he would spend every penny he’d ever scraped together for this if he had to. He’d walked several miles to Steadman’s building; it’d been a long time since he’d been able to afford a car, the buses were dismal, and it would crush his soul to be one taxi fare short of whatever price the PI named. As the building loomed up before him, he took a deep, steadying breath that came out shakier than he’d meant to let it. “Okay, Susie,” he whispered, his voice a deep, rich baritone. “Here we go.” Reaching the office door, he forced one trembling hand to knock.

Monday, August 11, 2016 Emerald City, Oregon The long, ragged line of passengers spilled out of the jet liner, six hours of flight time taking their toll on legs and patience and attention. Tona Baudin did her best to keep her face together until she was able to get away from the crowd. She stood alone by herself for long minutes, focusing on her breathing and her thudding heart. Flying through the air -- such an impossible thing that people here handled so blandly! -- always got to her, and crowds always got to her, and the two together for so long left her feeling twitchy and breathless. For now she was just happy to be on the ground. In time she followed the signs and the crowds out to the main terminal of Benjamin Jacobs International airport and towards the luggage carousel. That, at least, was easy for her. No one else had brought along a bright orange hiking pack with a solid bow case webbed onto the side. No one else could probably heft it one-handed like she did, either, which earned her plenty of empty room when she swung it onto her back. Out on the street, Tona briefly wondered how she was supposed to go about hiring a taxi cab before she saw the big man with her name on a sign. He was broad-shouldered, with greying hair and a powerful, wearing the sort of brightly patterned tourist shirt the archer previously thought only existed in movies. He waved at her, pointing at a black SUV. "Antoinette Bawd-in, is that right? Glad as hell to meet ya, girl!"

August 1, 2016 It was Puppet Day - and things were a mess. Despite the public service announcement by Johnny Rocket and Dr. Metropolis (the latter six inches tall and made of hovering brown and green felt) that the Freedom League was on the case, the mass transformation of close to a third of Freedom City's population (especially its superhumans) was causing chaos all over the city. There was plenty for heroes to do, large and small. - The Dakanan Consulate For all their substantial superpowers, Edge and Monsoon had been pressed into service for the moment as child-minders - an assembly of children between the ages of one and six, the dozen or so children having drawn an unlucky straw and had two parents turn into puppets. Though neither Mark or Nina had much experience with childcare, they had quickly moved into action. Mark kept bags of snacks and bottles of milk and juice full, while Nina's stories kept older children occupied. Those that weren't playing iPads, anyway. Freedom City kids were resilient. "And then, all the world was transformed into a strange medieval society! I myself became a marid, daughter of the king of the seas, wedded to a handsome prince from the jinn kingdoms! Only our friends-" "Are you and Mr. Mark married in real life?" asked one small girl with a head full of blonde curls and a curious expression on her face. "Ah, no, but-" "But he said you two live in the same house!" asked one little boy of about the same age. "Are you two brother and sister?" "No! But we will be married soon! Now, children, back to the tale..."

July 30th, 2016 ASTRO Labs, Freedom City Lunchtime Downtown Freedom City was busy every single day. No matter what else was going on, the streets were crowded with pedestrians and cars, the weekend just meant the people were of a different flavor. The soaring towers of ASTRO Labs looked down on. Happy families and trendy teenagers thronged the streets, moving from place to place and interspersed with groups of tourists eager to experience the City of Heroes. A large group of elderly Asians with cameras around their necks lined up in front of the skyscraper, a young woman in a red pantsuit in their lead. The woman held a folded map in the air and started talking. "This is the headquarters of ASTRO Labs," she said, her voice projecting above the noise of traffic. "A world leader in scientific R&D, ASTRO Labs is proud to help Freedom City's hero population whenever a mystery is in their path!" Near the back of the group, a man in a trenchcoat lurked underneath a young tree. He chuckled when he heard to guide's pithy summation. Pretty soon ASTRO Labs was going to feel the burn from helping so many heroes.

Unit 47-42 Coalition Victory Station, Kestevan 79 Almost every place where starfaring races gathered you’d find a bar like this tucked away where only those in the know would find it. Not the brawl ridden bars where crew who’s spent day or weeks in space could go to let off a little steam but somewhere where those who were a little different could find some company, if not there own species than someone who could understand. Bipedal Carbon based sapients may be the norm, and just as many theories why they did, but others sentients were out there and many liked to gather to share gossip and find company with a drink of something equivalent to alcohol, and for that many went to places like 47-42. Tucked away in the lower depths of the station the bar was a pretty non descript place,easy to miss if you didn’t know of it’s existence, and almost as plain on the inside consisting of just reconfigurable benches and chairs around rather basic holo tables. The bar with similarly rather basic the only bartender being a retired medical droid, 4T-RN, who could tell which drink each customers could safely drink without harming themselves. The only entertainment was a band who only seemed to know one song, but they played it with some gusto. The place was almost totally unknown to the dominant species of the station, not that the few that knew of the place was unwelcome.

Downtown Emerald City, Oregon 10 am PDT, 1st August 2016 Emerald City the little city that could a glittering beacon of new opportunities as it embraced the future head on. And whilst it was no Freedom City it even had a few of it’s own superheroes a sign to many that a city had finally made it to the big leagues. But it wasn’t just the law abiding that were drawn to Emerald City, many criminal sorts were also drawn to the city. After all there were so few heroes and so many chances to make you fortune, why not try to make your fortune the easy way. Such was obviously the case for the guy sat in the car idling outside of Emerald Cities First National, he and his fellows were out to make a unofficial withdrawn. Unfortunately for him he’d attracted the attention of Emerald Cities heroes.

Rhekgar gazed across the bone-scattered plain at his opponent, ash-gray eyes narrowed against the pale red glare of Urth's dying sun. A slight breeze, little more than a weak exhalation of wind, shook the dust from his tangled mane. Never, not once in all his years of wandering had the barbarian seen such a man as this. He stood tall, armored from head to foot in beetle-black carapace, his face obscured by a fearsome mask. A cape of blood-red crimson hung from the man's shoulders; a fortune in cloth, a king's ransom in dye. The fabric alone would buy the barbarian a lifetime of comforts and the armor, he thought, was a prize beyond price. He adjusted his grip on the haft of his club, calloused fingers finding purchase on the well-worn hardwood. He raised his truncheon so that the heavy, iron-shod head glinted cruelly in the sun and light danced like a flame along the knobs. “By the horns of Tauran,” he boasted. “Prepare yourself for battle, Dark One! Today you face Rhekgar, heir to the throne of Eagland-of-Old!” There was a sizzling flash of scintillating energy and his club, his father's club, was forced from his grasp to spin through the air and land ignominiously in the dirt. Rhekgar stared, aghast, at his armored foe. “Sorcery,” he breathed, his blood boiling. “Coward!” he shouted. “Fight me like a man!” His muscles tensed for battle and he crouched, preparing to dart for the mace. The other man, corpse-like in his silence, raised a hand; the barbarian's brow furrowed as he saw magic coalesce in his enemy's palm. The warrior leaped, hands outstretched to grab his weapon, but the bolt of energy struck him in the ribs. His body numbed, his vision blurred, and Rhekgar of Old Eagland wheezed like a leper on the ground. === The armored man strode forward, cape flapping behind him like a flag, until he stood triumphantly over the prostrate body of the defeated barbarian. He posed for a moment, hands on hips, and then looked into the camera. “I have beaten your hero,” he said, his voice a hissing growl. “If you want him back alive you will do exactly as I say. Bring ten million dollars in unmarked, non-sequential bills to the following address...” The screen dissolved into static and then went dead as Colonel Chalmers (an agent of AEGIS's increasingly-labyrinthine bureaucratic division) pressed a button on the remote. He turned to the assembled group of protagonists with a look of annoyance writ large across his craggy face, which resembled that of a particularly grumpy bulldog – if perhaps not so friendly-looking. “This is the third one this week,” he grumbled. “All three of the 'victims' are the main characters of major, blockbuster film franchises – each one poised for a summer release. At first we thought he was kidnapping actors, but local police looked into it and they're all okay. Confused, but okay. So then we assumed that it was just some weird hoax; a bit of artfully edited video sent to the producers to spook them. But the footage of the characters is new, and when they tried to shoot more scenes it didn't work. The directors directed, the actors acted, the best boys best boyed their friggin' hearts out but the characters didn't show up on film. They're missing, and this weirdo has them… somehow.” He sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “So, that's why you're here.” He turned to each member of the strange group and spoke to them one at a time to facilitate the obligatory, plot-essential introductions. “Adept,” he said. “You're an agent of AEGIS, a decorated veteran of countless engagements, all of which you've handled with unfailing professionalism in spite of the weirdness that you deal with.” He looked to Doctor Deoxy and nodded. “Doctor, you were recommended in the hopes that your technological expertise – and pure brainpower – will be useful in countering whatever weird science this madman is using to abduct people who aren't even real.” He turned, then, to Aquaria and shuffled his feet. Although a native of Earth, the girl was still so alien. “Sea Devil, you've been working a long time to clear the black mark from your record. You've done good, and we've asked you for your help in the hopes that you'll continue doing good.” Finally he looked to Miracle Girl, who was a breath of fresh air in a room so otherwise dominated by the strange. “And, last but not least, the organization feels that your balanced power-set will help shore up whatever deficiencies may or may not exist in the team dynamic.” The fact that the young woman's father was also an agent of AEGIS didn't hurt either, but that was largely incidental. He shook his head. “Right, so: despite the very unusual circumstances, this is a kidnapping we're dealing with and these… people need help getting back to, ah, wherever it is they come from.” He reached down to the table and opened a folder to display its contents to the group. “This is the drop-off point specified by the kidnapper. His terms were pretty simple: the studios deliver the money and he frees his hostages so they can go back to making movies. Thirty million dollars total for a bunch of fictional characters. What's weirder, though, is that this address belongs to an everyday run-of-the-mill electronics outlet in Millennium Mall, and he specifies that the exchange is to be made at the rear of the store, by the television display.” He glanced up at Adept. “It kind of makes you nostalgic for when the whack-jobs did their business in dark alleys, huh?” He sighed. “Okay, then. I'm sure that you all have questions – I know that I do – so let's hear them. We're running out of time, though, so make it quick.”

GM 12:45 PM. April 4th Judge Harold (call me Harry) Steinman, was walking amongst the throngs of people that were making their way across the street. It was lunch, and currently he was without a security detail, while a lower circuit federal court judge, he dealt mostly with white collar crime. Though a couple years ago he had been involved as an ADA out of Boston involved with investigations of several organized crime families. As of right now that wasn't what he was working over, he was debating whether he should be trying to vy for a position further up the judicial latter. However, those previous affairs were the things that were not forgotten, they cast a shadow over his way that he didn't know was there. He stopped still in his step midway through the street. And he started to say something, or tried to, words failed, they came out wrong, a hand reaching out and groping towards people. Before he fell forward, his head hitting the broad white walk lane, as his body twisted and spasmed. Before he lost coherence there was a small confirmation amidst the fading synapses as to why this was happening, and who was behind it. Onlookers rushed towards him, assuming correctly that something was wrong. When the ambulance arrived Judge Harold Steinman was dead. It would be labelled a stroke. 1:37 AM April 8th The scream would wake them, four people across town, and immediately recognize it for what it was. Either from an earlier scream, or weeks that bled to what felt like months of people inside other's heads. It was a personal sound of pain that was still raw to Paige. They all could identify it. It gave a location. A currently unused section of a high rise building in the city center. Not terribly far from the Federal building. The worst part was the sense of the presence of the mind trailing off into digitized incoherence like white noise and static when a signal goes out. A feeling some might recognize as the sublimation of identity. Possibly even the death of personality.

CN: Date: Late July, 2016 Location: The Beach, Port Regal The Atlantic might be colder than the sea that Leilani had grown up loving, but the waves held a familiar rhythm and even if the sand was darker, the beach more rocky, working it with Kimo held a certain strange familiarity. It wasn't home - not quite - but it wasn't utterly foreign either. Which, perhaps, made it an appropriate place for a not-quite impromptu celebration of sorts. At least, with having begun to shift her things out of the League headquarters and into the Dutemps building, Leilani had accepted and acknowledged that while her powers remained concerning, they weren't actually out of her control. Her good-natured nephew (Leilani couldn't call him her great-nephew still with a straight face) had been all for an evening of surfing and beach barbecue, not to mention meeting more of the super-hero community and the off-hand invitation had been extended towards the rest of those calling the castle home. Leilani had traded her life-guard swimsuit for an off duty alternate. With a sarong knotted around her waist, she set about setting up the wood with the intent of setting up a proper bon-fire, pausing to wave over the guests she recognized when they arrived. "Kimo, watch yourself, yeah? Gonna put up some bumpers," she paused in her building of the small wood tower to gesture, mounding up the sand and rock to form larger banks to provide at least a little bit of visual privacy from the rest of the stretch of the beach. "Remind me to put that back afterwards." Leilani added in a mutter as she returned her attention to stacking wood.

GM August 3rd, 2016, 2.44 PM Freedom City South River Waterfront The last of the Magmin dropped, hissing, back into the water, lumbering into the blazing hole into Sub-Terra from whence the bizarre semi-molten invaders came. A ragged cheer rang from the very terrified and now very relieved crew of the Chang Ping Xian, who had crowded onto the half of the freight ship that wasn't submerged and partially wedged into the cavern. "Thank you, thank you!" Captain Wong hollered up to the two superheroes, bobbing on his half-melted cargo container and looking much the worse for wear from the brief, fiery and watery battle. Plucking his charred hat from the water, the lean captain added hopefully "I do not mean to impose, but would you please help get my crew to shore? Those things, well, they burned all the lifeboats." Meanwhile, the large motorboat festooned with its quasi-religious banners had stopped holding off thanks to the giant waves and the rock and fire being flung around. This much closer, it quickly became obvious that several of the banners had a similar 'pinnacle' shape to that of the self-help quasi-cult of the Pinnacle Path. The bits about "Hail the New Gods!" and "Lead us to the Heavenly Spire" was new.

Content Notices: Violence, Birth Scene Location: Espadas School of Self Defense and Swordsmanship! Date: July 19, 2016 Talya was very good at suppressing the potential consequences for her actions. Leaping off buildings, after all, was much easier if one didn't think about what missing a handhold might mean. Unfortunately, ignoring the eventual ramifications of the biology of how a baby (or two. Two!) would enter the world did not actually prevent the event. The cramps and back ache had only gotten worse despite her refusal to acknowledge that it might not just be late term pregnancy aches and pains. Although, she'd not admitted (and likely never would), it was fairly clear to those closest to Talya that the ex-spy was at least unsettled by the impending birth. Perhaps even frightened. At the moment, though, she was mostly just holding up the relocation to Sanctuary as if not stepping through the portal might some how prevent the next several hours. "I've changed my mind," Talya announced mulishly, her arms crossed over her chest. "Perhaps I could just be unconscious for the entire thing, after all. They still do that, don't they? If we went to the hospital instead, could they just knock me out?" Unlikely to say the least with her magical ability to shake off most things mundane and Talya's mystical biology did not often play well with other magics. Intellectually, she knew that but at the moment, logic was not high on the spy's list. "I'd bounce right back from a c-section. Probably. Almost certainly."

Tuesday July 12th 2016 The Streets at Midtown Mostly sunny, 84F The sun shone down on the crowds taking advantage of the mild summer day to explore the pedestrian byways of the upscale 'Streets of Midtown' and it's fine bistros and boutiques. While 'The Streets' were certainly over budget for Leilani they did offer the benefit of being much more open and less crowded than the more populist Millennium Mall, and Kimber knew just the person to bring along to assuage any budgetary concerns. As the troupe made their way from one shop to the next they could enjoy the dappling of the sun along the tree lined walks, the fragrance of floral vines on the decorative arbors spaced along the brick paths. The noise of the city was dulled by the architecture and landscaping giving the shops a peaceful suburban feel in the middle of hte towering skyscrapers and busy streets outside the plazas and paths. The otherwise Idyllic environs made the faint but persistent buzz almost felt more than heard all the more unsettling as it slowly came to the attention of our heroines.

GM Wednesday, July 13th, 2016 The Theatre District, Freedom City Afternoon Mona and Mickey Simms had arrived in Freedom City a few days ago. That meant, it had been time for a little tour around the city, learn about various places the locals went to. While Mona had probably visited most spots in the city a few times before, it still felt like a good idea to walk around the place together with Mickey, show him some stuff she’d seen the last times she’d been here. Today plan had been the Theatre District. Unless one was looking for theatre, or night clubs, one didn’t really go there. There were a few exceptions, like a really good and somewhat well known Chinese restaurant, or a museum on the history of theatre, but all in all, it wasn’t the most populated area. Still, it was one of the few places the two siblings hadn’t been yet, and why leave out one? The two had been walking around for some time, enjoying various sights, when suddenly a group of roto-drones flew past them a few feet above at high velocity, turning a corner behind one of the many theatre buildings. And just as they turned, a cloud of smoke appeared from the direction the drones had been coming, flying at about the same height but slower. The cloud headed the same direction as the drones, when it suddenly started speaking. “ ----. Lost them.” The cloud continued moving the same direction, addressing the two teenagers. “Hey, you two. Any ideas where those drones headed? They’re pretty dangerous”

GM Friday, July 15th , 2016 One of many Starbase Coffees, North End, Freedom City Noon It had been an average Friday so far. The weather was nice, and so were most people. It had been rather quiet here in the North End recently, not a whole lot of news-worthy ongoings. The fact FCU’s semesters had ended probably played a major role in that. July was usually when the North End was most quiet, and quite a few locals were aware of that. Still, during lunch there was not a whole lot of action. A few people walking around the streets, most of them sitting in one of the many restaurants and coffee stores. Amongst them, Dimitri Peshkov and Leilani Keli'i , member and mentee of the Freedom League Auxiliary, enjoying some time off. While some people probably realized who was currently sitting over at that table, nobody brought it up. The few other people in the store seemed content just enjoying their own coffee, some typing things on their Laptops or Tablets. Among said other people, Cassidy Bauer, Freelance Photographer and secretly super-hero/villain/terrorist, depending on who you asked. The past few weeks had been rather quiet, which while nice for his health, meant that money wasn’t something he could easily spend. So, Starbase Internet it was. And then, what nobody except one person in the area looked forward too. The very distinct sound of something smashing into a stationary car with high force, and the alarm sounding off afterwards. And then, just a second later, a rock flying through the Starbase’s Front Window, fortunately missing everybody inside.

Monday, July 11th 2016 AEGIS Headquarters, City Center, Freedom City 8:21 AM A Monday morning. Nobody likes Monday mornings. Not even the men and women at AEGIS. No matter how much they liked their job, they also liked sleeping, and Monday mornings generally didn’t allow for the latter, even more so when employed by the American Elite Government Intervention Service. At least, that was usually the case. It did not always apply, especially for the people working in the less public Headquarters, down below Federal Building. Here, many people were working tirelessly, shifts upon shifts, 24 hours, 7 days a week. A few hours ago Field Agent Yves Zermeño had gotten a call by the agency. Early, on a Monday morning. That usually meant something urgent. While the caller had refused to talk about details on the phone, he had sounded rather calm. Which already set off some alarms. AEGIS would not call at 5 AM on a Monday if the matter was something that had time. Yves had just arrived on the floor she had been summoned too. She’d been here a few minutes too early, her handler for the mission would only arrive in a few minutes.

Lynn Epstein's Apartment. Saturday, June 18th, 2016. 2pm. It was a very mild and pleasant late spring day; there was no need to run the AC, so instead Lynn and Gretchen had just opened all the windows and turned on all the ceiling fans, so that cool breezes and succulent cooking smells wafted through every room. The weekend before, Gretch had offically moved in, and at her insistence the apartment now possessed real live, actual furniture; some of them were ancient hand-me-down pieces that once bellonged to her late grandmother back in Maine, all dark, massive and brooding. Others were recent additions from the Ikea out in Ashton, which they had bought together, because that's what couples do. It took a while to get used to, but Lynn was starting to enjoy the smell of history on the old stuff pleasantly mixing with the new stuff that smelled of dorm rooms and promise. What was a bit harder to get used to were Gretchen's ferrets, Otto and Bosco; they tore around the apatment like they were rats on crack, their long, loping bodies wriggling into every corner imaginable, terrifying Lynn's three cats DB, Mafia and Plaque Attack, who currently spent most of their time hiding out in the bedroom. The ferret cage stood in one corner of the living room, a symbol of the end of the Era of Feline Domination. Out on the rear deck was the Weber grill that Gretchen had also insisted on, which was having its trial run this weekend; it hadn't been fired up just yet, because Lynn wanted everyone to have a little time to have a drink and kibbitz. As for the couple themselves, each was representing their unique stylistic tastes. Lynn wore sandals, a short denim skirt and a creamy, sleeveless cotton blouse; her hair was up and out of the way, indicating that she was both hard at work and comfortable enough with the guests to reveal her pointed ears. Meanwhile, Gretchen wore boots, loose cut jeans and a black vintage Lou Reed t-shirt; surprisingly, her hair was also up, showing a rare glimpse of her graceful neck. The two women worked together smoothly like a well-oiled machine, a machine that frequently stopped to smile or affectionatly touch a shoulder. Their guests would be here soon.

June 29th, 2016 McNider Memorial Hospital, Freedom City, New Jersey Afternoon Miras flinched as bullets chewed away at the ceramic tiles at the corner she was facing, chips and shards of pottery slowed and deflected by her magic. The intermittent roar of gunfire echoed and rebounded through the underground parking garage, setting off several car alarms as the terrorist kept the superhero pinned down. After a solid minute of deadly shots the gunfire fell silent; Miras peaked out of cover and noted that the terrorist, a young woman in a bright red tee-shirt, Kevlar vest, and bandanna, was fumbling with her gun. The musical magus didn't know much about guns, but she knew that they eventually ran out of bullets and that this might be her only attempt to talk the other woman down. "This is your best chance to surrender," Miras called out. "You can't win anymore. We found the anesthesia you swapped out with nerve gas, every hospital in New England is checking their supplies. You're pinned down here, and Fast-Forward is upstairs taking care of the last of your super-suit back-up. You're not going to win here, give up and come quietly!" "Shut your bourgeois mouth!" the woman shouted back. "This hospital is a monument to capitalist greed, a place for sick people to be bilked of more money. If the doctors here really cared about people, they'd be out on the street! Saving lives! Not stuck in board meetings arguing for funding." The terrorist loaded another magazine in her weapon and aimed at the pillar that the superhero was hiding behind. "And you really believe that I shouldn't be here, then come out and stop me, pig!" Miras rolled her eyes at the notion and settled in as more gunfire streamed her way. Bullets were a finite resource; she just had to muster more patience.

GM Rabat, MorrocoMonday, June 20th, 2016 11:20 PM As part of a variety of social and political reforms under the current ruler, King Mohammed VI, Morocco offers a “conditional neutrality” to various superhumans seeking temporary asylum. Under this agreement, superhuman possessing a special visa issued by Morocco can operate within the borders of the nation sans government interference, even if they are wanted by the authorities of other nations with which Morocco usually has extradition treaties. These visas are of a very limited length and can be withdrawn at the discretion of the crown. For the most part the idea of a superhuman safe haven has a broad range of appeal to the public, but foreign leaders have begun to speculate as to whether Morroco was using the opportunity for a superhuman arms race. Gathering power as it were. It was this level of speculation that brought Dancia Devons to Morocco to pursue an interview and possibly a story worth printing for the Freedom Ledger. Yves Zermeño was in Morroco on a pursuit of her own AEGIS had been tracking OVERTHROW activity to Morroco and in a cooperative effort with UNISON the freed drone found herself in the heart of the capital staking out a garment factory. Planet Inspector Dol-Druth had his own reasons for being in the city. The Lor sent word through the Freedom League of a crashed ship in the area. But, with not so much as a news story to go on, the Lor Mentat had nothing to go on if this ship ever passed through the area to begin with. As sensitive as the matter was the Freedom League reached out to Cobalt Templar to keep an eyes on Dol-Truth, lest an international incident occur due to his search for a craft that may never have been there to begin with.

GM Cabin buried deep within Wharton Forest Wharton Forest, New JerseySunday, November 15th, 2015 3:20 AM Living in a national forest was to be a nomadic affair. It was prohibited by law to build permanent structures for the use of residence within. Of course, that didn't mean it was impossible to grease the wheels a little here and there. Especially for a cabin buried so deep within that no reasonable person should be able to find it. But, the Woodsman was far from reasonable. Following the general direction he had threatened out of a lackey, he easily combed every inch of the forest until he found Brasswell's cabin. The cabin itself had a very rustic appearance. The inside full of modern amenities and comforts, but lacking anything that could even be written off as threatening. Even looking inside it hardly looked like the sort of place a drug kingpin would hide out in. It was put simply nothing more than a home, at a glance The Woodsman skulked about the perimeter waiting for an opportunity to sneak inside unseen. After ensuring there were no traps waiting for him outside the youth did just that. Once inside a quick visual scan revealed that there was a man in his mid fifties sitting in a living room, his back turned to the Woodsman, having fallen asleep watching television. Just outside of the cabin. A few inches away from the door was Grim. His directions from the young man he helped passed on where more direct. But, that still left him as the second teen hero to arrive on the scene. Taking just long enough that he had missed Riley sneaking inside.

June 27th, 2016 Freedom City, New Jersey Late Afternoon The 129 sat at the station, a humming silver bullet of sophistication and technology, energy gathering in its mighty electric engines as the passengers and luggage was loaded. In a car new the end of the train, Tona Baudin walked down one corridor, a bulky bag over her shoulder. For one she was glad that the world was built to a larger scale than she was. Otherwise, she would been walking down the hallway sideways, like so many other passengers who insisted on bringing bags with them, and that just looked uncomfortable. She trailed her hand along the wall, checking each metal plate in turn and keeping an eye out for one in particular. Finally she found it, nearly at the end of the car; she used a key and let herself in, once again finding that her small size made maneuvering in the tiny room easy. The archer stowed her bag quickly and sat next to the bright, wide window. She smiled at the woman across from her, reaching over and taking Sam’s hand in her own. “Thank you,” she said. “For all of…” She trailed off, twirling her free hand in the air to indicate the entire locomotive. Tona had some issues traveling by plane, and neither of them wanted to drive all the way to Miami, and a ship would take even longer; which left only a few options. She was just grateful her girlfriend could afford it all, and that Sam had agreed to take the slow route. “I’m happy you’re not going out on your own, this time.”

June 25, 2016 Joe Macayle's Apartment Dinnertime It was night. If a writer was going to make something dramatic happen, it would have been dark and stormy and rain-washed, but in fact there had just been a light rain this afternoon and now high, ragged clouds were rapidly speeding out to the sea. The evening was proving to be quiet, and pleasant, and Asli was infinitely grateful. A quiet night meant she could enjoy more time with her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s cooking. She put her utensils on her plate and pushed away from the table, sighing in contentment. “That was the best meal I’ve eaten all week,” she said. “If you always cook meals like that, I’m going to start spending the night.” Asli smiled across the table at him, enjoying the moment of quiet domesticity. It was a very different experience than she usually had at the end of the day, and she liked it. She could see herself getting used to it.

Content note: transphobia, profanity June 2016 11PM The Doom Room In the Doom Room, Riley was on edge. The training room itself was empty, its holographic displays silent while he waited for the rest of the team. He had taken the opportunity to polish and clean his bow, its gears half-disassembled on the plastic floor, and was crouching there as he worked. He was going in without a plan. He hated going in without a plan. Late night training, no notice about the scenario (which was pretty common, especially in the last few months) and no notice about who he'd train with (which was pretty common too), described by Mr. Archer as "the final event for the year." Not one to complain about his education, especially about combat training, Riley silently went about his work, his ears open to his surroundings even as his eyes focused on the work before him. It wasn't the first time he'd had to refurbish his bow without being able to watch his back.

June 2016 Lincoln Riley was on his best behavior - which meant he was sitting out in plain sight in the middle of the park, dressed in a baggy plaid shirt and jean, the only concession to his costumed identity the duffel bag at his feet that held bow, hatchet, poncho, and other Woodsman gear. He'd expected to be the subject of the usual double-takes and angry glares that he associated with walking on the streets of Earth-Prime on the way here, but so far no one had done more than look his way twice on his way from Claremont to here. All the muscles he'd put in his wiry arms, and the tone his voice had dropped in the past year, had certainly paid off. He rather liked it. He had never actually been in Lincoln before - like most of south Freedom, it wasn't safe ground for Woodsmen except in daylight and large numbers. The trainee he'd been had been sent to safer ground in north Freedom, though even that was more a matter of degree...thoughts of his homeworld made him tense, enough to slide off the bench and began to pace it, back and forth and back and forth. This was a stupid idea.