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August 2, 2017 Freedom Medical Center Keeping things low-profile, as was the plan, meant that any image Mark had had of landing on the rooftop were quickly stifled by the reality of the need to look like any typical expectant family and friends arriving at the hospital late at night. Redbird dropped them off at the front doors and they headed inside, where the front desk attendant quickly directed them towards the secure elevator to the maternity ward. On the sixth floor. As the elevator ascended, an ominous rumble came from somewhere in the shaft - but Mark looked up and declared out loud, “No!” And with that, they continued to their destination, where as parents in labor but not particularly active labor, Mark and Nina were immediately handed a large pile of forms. Ready to walk around instead of wait, Nina handed them quickly to Mark. By the time they were about to head for their secure room, two visitors arrived. Iyar al-Iryani was the first of the extra guests to arrive, sweeping Nina up in a careful hug briefly stymied by another contraction. But Nina seemed to appreciate the company, and Iyar took her other hand. “Just think, Nina,” said Iyar with animation on her face. “Someday this day will be a holiday.” “You’re right,” said Nina, smiling at the thought. “This will be a good day - no, a great one.” “Thank you so much for all this,” Iyar said to Trevor and Erin, her accent notably thicker than her friend’s. “You will be remembered on this day.” She knew the Liberty League well enough to know who had planned all this. Exchanging a glance with Erin Trevor suggested, “Best left out of history books, maybe.” Having a commemorative plaque in their honor in some Socotran municipal park might be tough to explain down the line. Something reminiscent of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth all the same. “Will settle for favourite American uncle.” Erin had stationed herself at the entrance to the elevator lobby, keeping an eye on the stairs and the banks of elevators all at once. She was close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away from the action for comfort. Part of her job in the grand scheme of things had been screening content to show to Mark to keep him grounded in the reality of normal childbirth, and it had been… educational. Now that she was married and in her twenties, the idea of wanting children wasn’t nearly as foreign to Erin as it would’ve been even five years ago, but the getting of them was still a daunting proposition. “Yeah, aunt and uncle should work just fine.” “Oh, you guys…” Mark was close to tears, maybe because the moment was so emotional, maybe from fatigue, but Nina, still walking around, was articulate enough to say, “Thank you both so much. We owe you our lives, and so does our son, as soon as he makes his way out here…” Things got a little more complicated with the arrival of Martha Lucas, carrying a grandmother’s big bag of goodies over her shoulder and looking a little out of breath. Things weren’t exactly frosty between Mark’s mother and the rest of the Liberty League, but they weren’t quite friendly either - not with the lingering memories of what she’d done to Mark when he’d been in high school just before the barely-prevented end of the multiverse. But Mark had put those memories aside and obviously wanted his friends to do the same - especially today! Luckily they had this small suite of rooms and waiting room to themselves tonight - even in Freedom City, the metahuman wing of the hospital wasn’t so crowded in the dead of night when there wasn’t a major super-battle going on. Hot on Martha’s heels came Dr. Hussein, the Iraqi-born physician who was working as Nina’s primary ob-gyn. The hijab-wearing woman was no-nonsense and intimately familiar with all sorts of metahuman health issues, particularly maternal ones - she was exactly the kind of person Mark and Nina had been hoping to find. “All right, it’s time to go to work,” she said briskly. “Mother, let’s get you in your room - Father, we’re going to need you in just a few minutes…” Mark had been sitting his mother down and making sure she had her books and her sketchpad, now with Nina heading off to the delivery room, he found another moment for Erin and Trevor. “Okay, guys - I’ll keep you updated as much as I can. In another couple of hours, you’re going to meet my son!” He hugged Erin, and he hugged Trevor, and seemed to take a moment to gather himself, pushing aside his own nerves and jangling emotions for the support role he was going to play. “I’m gonna be a dad!” And with that, he headed off to join his wife in their hospital room! Nina and Mark had discussed their birth plan with Trevor and Erin ahead of time, just to make sure everyone knew what was what. Nina had intended to use an epidural and take her chances with a possible C-section, but strong painkillers and other sorts of sedatives usually made her powers unstable. That meant a natural birth, albeit one spent mostly in the tub full of warm water that Mark had practiced making until he could practically do it in his sleep. Since this was Nina’s first pregnancy, what that really meant for the people outside the delivery room was a lot of waiting as the hours of the late morning crept by into dawn, punctuated by occasional sounds from inside the room (mostly of Nina’s music, an Eritrean pop star she found soothing) and texted updates from Mark. Hours ticked by - not enough for it to actually be light outside but it was definitely thinking about it out there . Martha Lucas set aside the drawing of Mark and Nina she was working on and immediately dozed off in her chair. Iyar talked with Trevor and Erin about the refugee resettlement service where she volunteered - and then the lights flickered, just slightly, then again. Though they came back on, the effect was unsettling, especially when Erin and Trevor’s communicators both chimed with the fuzzy, static-heavy sound of Redbird’s voice. “<empora> <ncursio> <ospita>. <eav> <nterferenc>.”

Following on from prologue 1 and 2 GM Liberty Park 16th September, near Midnight... The night had a tepid feel, a coolness that hang in the air like a slimy fish. It was not pleasant. However, the park itself was as beautiful as ever, the soft ground lights casting wonderful shadows amongst the gloom. It was hard to see clearly, but this was no problem for the Bird of Arms and his magnificent ocular sensory organs. Spitfire, however, could not see far in the gloom, just a vague crowd of shadows he could not determine. At least, without getting dangerously close. For the Bird of Arms, there were about eight of them, scrabbling around on all fours for the most part, although some interspaced this with standing. Just as the Freerunners had been impressive in their skill, so to, in a different way, were the Beastly Boys. The sound of some sub-par rap music, loaded with heavy electric guitars, screamed through the air, to the howling and clapping and stomping of feat of the Beastly Boys. Just to one side, a man sat on a bench, nodding appreciatively, eating a sandwich and drinking from a thermos. He was thoroughly pleased with himself and quite without fear, despite being on the older side, maybe fifty, and not in particularly good shape. He looked, as far as Jann could see, like a burnt out hippy. Long scruffy blonde hair, a scruffy beard, head band, and grungy cheap clothes.

Sanna was to be enrolled in Claremont, of course, but it was too late to start. Ultimately, inserting her into December classes would disrupt too much for too little gain. It would have to wait until January. She could live in the dorms and wait. Not that the short reprieve was not appreciated, but all the same, there wasn't much to do. The first few days were well spent, as Sanna became acquainted with her room, shook hands with the knob, asked the window what it had seen, admired the wall's secrecy, but it wasn't long before her room had revealed all its secrets. Eventually, she decided that she wanted to meet some books. The Antiquarian had kept his books almost as securely locked up as his creatures and Sanna had never gotten a chance to touch his books, nevermind talk to them. Their library seemed nice enough, though Sanna didn't really have context to understand exactly HOW good it was. She couldn't ready any of the human letting on their spines, so Sanna simply picked one at random and sat down. She fell easily into a chair, letting two hands fall, relaxed on the arm of the chair while she held the book up with the other two. Hello, friend. I have heard that you are a book. Is that true? She closed the book and stared at the cover. What do you mean? You can tell me. Her expression turned stricken. She let her hand rest affectionately on the book and shook her head. That's terrible!

7:00 PM, December 2nd.. Amir al-Misri's beachfront mansion. Nestled into the Northbank was the nameless mansion-slash-semi vacation location of Amir al-Misri. For thanksgiving weekend he had loaned it to his daughter, Corinne Conrad, so she and her friends from school could have a beach bonfire party. Something he was told that the kids in the Northeast part of the states (and Jersey!) did. He had no first hand knowledge of such, but it was sort of the thing right? Corinne didn't know any better herself, but figured a party might smooth things over with some people who had bad first interactions. She also didn't assume, saying she had food and such, but people could bring what they want, if they wanted. Right now, though, she was tending to the bonfire she had started, and make sure that there was nothing near it that could start a fire, and she had built a fire pit around it (with judicious use of power, as well as shaped the sand into benches around it). She expected Hannah to show, maybe others. She had opened the invitation to anyone she had classes with. Even Jann, though it wasn't handed to him. She... well there still issues there. Wasn't there? There were some event tents set up nearby to sort of make it a cozy affair to shield against inclement weather. They had their own heaters in them, along with most amenities.

November 7th, Morleys Pub, West End. The snow fell across Freedom City like a smothering blanket in a surprise Nor'easter which hammered the proud city with over 24 inches of snow in less than six hours. Across the city, old timers were reminiscing about the Megalopolitan Blizzard of 83 and telling anyone who would listen that this paltry bit of snow hardly counted. Emergency services were out in force and with the help of many of the cities more civil minded heroes, had most of the essential services running to most of the city. The gusting winds and blistering cold at least had the tendency to keep most of the citizens indoors and those few who ventured out, seemed to find solace and company in the many cozy pubs and taverns which mostly managed to stay open. Morley's pub, home to many of the cities finest, was one such place. Offering warmth and spirits even as the storm raged just outside the wood paneled walls. The crowd was sparse, but lively, with most of them relishing the chance to have a day off their normal schedules. Sean Morley wiped clean a few glasses before walking over to the fireplace to drop another log into the glowing warmth. While it didn't really put out a ton of heat, it just made the place seem more comforting and on a day like today, that's what people were looking for.

It seemed like Lynn and Gretchen (alias Grimalkin and The Shrike) had only blinked, and the world was now somehow…off. It was subtle, with a slight dreamlike quality. Now they were in the modern equivalent of a (audience less) Roman Coliseum. How, why, and when did this happen? Kind of…fuzzy on that one. There was a slight memory of leaving Silberman’s Books, but that was all. The duo were close to the walls. Directly opposite from them were three other people. It was a bit far for either heroine to see them properly, though they wore obvious costumes. One was male, and the other two obviously female.

It was a dark and stormy afternoon. The name on the sign was DELTA Labs. It had been quite a big operation. Two story warehouse. Now it was surrounded by cops and barricaded by sawhorses. Replica (masked android in search of justice) and Salvo (teen genius and power armored magus) were here because…wait, why were they here? That was odd…they didn’t remember leaving home. Or meeting up. Or even traveling here. “Thank god you’re here.” It was a police detective, clad in a suit with badge prominently displayed. He could have come right out of Central Casting. “Those two are holed up inside, and my boys couldn’t dislodge them with a forklift. First team’s on their way to the hospital now.” He sighed in disgust. “Should’ve known they were here. Building’s been empty for months. Company went bankrupt.” He took his battered hat off, and squeezed it. “We were promised some help from the LT, and looks like you’re it. Olivia!” An African American woman with a badge at her waist (who could have stepped right out of Central Casting herself) walked up. “What’s going on, Mason? Oh, the heroes are here? Good.” Mason put his hat back on his head. “Detective Rocky Mason. My partner, Olivia Briscoe. Just say the word, and we’ll get you whatever you need. And don’t worry about building damage. You’ll save the new owners some money. Gonna knock it down in a couple weeks, put up some condos or somethin’.”

Lynn and Gretchen's Apartment. Tuesday, March 14th, 2017. 1:05 am It had been a long night for the Shrike; Grimalkin's website got an anonymous tip about a human trafficking operation in Greenbank, but it didn't sound like it would be too dangerous. Lynn and Gretchen had been working on inventory with a little informal help from their new roomie Moira when the tip came in; thinking the situation would be quickly resolved, Gretch offered to take the op solo, though Lynn insisted she call her the minute things got too dicey. Gretch found the operation all right; it just happened to be run by a den of Greek witches who loved throwing vipers at their enemies, and hired ex-Spetsnaz 'eyegougers' for security. The young barista repeatedly tried to call Lynn, but the witches somehow blocked magical communication, which left the ringwielder fighting for her life for the better part of an hour in a freightyard. But all those hours playing first person shooters and training with Lynn really payed off; by the time the cops finally showed up, Gretch had personally subdued seven witches and nine Russian bad guys. The FCPD was suitably impressed, and the officers thanked her once they got her statement. Not ready to head home just yet, Shrike grabbed a coffee and slowly savored it on a rooftop, her feet dangling over the edge. Part of her was glad she wasn't able to reach Lynn; it was nice to know that if the chips were down and her back against the wall, she, Gretchen McDaniels, could kick serious ass. Now flying back towards home and the comforting arms of her lover, Gretch gently probed to see if Lynn was still awake; if she didn't get an immediate response, it usually meant the changeling was passed out somewhere already. If she wasn't in bed, Gretch used the Ring of Power to carefully pick her up and float her into the bedroom and tuck her in. The invisble crimefighter landed in the small lightwell patio between the two apartments and opened the door, stepping into the dining room. There was a soft flickering glow coming from the living room, which probably meant Lynn had fallen asleep watching home movies on her beloved PictureBox from Otherworld. Not wanting to wake her girlfriend, Gretch floated silently into the room to an unexpected sight: Lynn and Moira, sleeping on the sofa together under a blanket. All she could do was float and stare at the two of them for several minutes. At length, she finally crossed her arms and spoke. "Well, then."

Content Notice: Character Death Date: November 6, 2017 Location: Phantom's Sanctum Sanctorm in North Bay For once, it was a quiet Monday for Taylor. Halloween was always a busy time for her line of work, but the week afterwards, she'd come to expect the lull. Today, that happened to coincide with a day off with her boys' schools. Sprawled on her stomach on the large rug of her library, Taylor's brow furrowed as she tried to stay ahead of JJ in their lego assembly project. The latest addition to the haunted castle line was halfway assembled, but where Taylor wanted to follow the directions to the letter, her youngest had a tendency to... improvise. "I don't think that goes there," she told the seven year old at his efforts to attach the constructed wall to the top of the tower. "It'th better defenceth!" JJ lisped only to scowl as he heard the distortion that his fangs made to the words. With his brows creasing, he enunciated carefully with a seven year old's scorn, "What kinda keep has open access like that. It's just asking to be caught by surprise." "Well-- hrk-" Whatever Taylor had meant to say was lost, her voice falling from human into the otherworldly echo it took on when she released her hold on Prime. JJ's eyes could only widen as his mother froze in place, her body flickering almost frantically, as if she couldn't quite sync in with Prime as all the barriers between Here and Other failed for one awful, terrifying moment. Even at seven, JJ's other senses were established enough to feel the danger even if he didn't know what it was, or what caused it. As he'd been trained to since he was old enough to understand, JJ did exactly two things; "DAAAAAAAAAD!" And then the seven year old dhampir vanished into the Void, exactly as he was supposed to in case of a potential invasion of Prime.

The building was on fire, and it wasn’t Facsimile’s fault. It wasn’t Woodsman’s fault, either. Just to set the record straight. The two weren’t sure of a lot of things. Like how they’d gotten inside a burning office building. What floor they were on (spoiler: the second of three). And, oh right, exactly who was the other one in the room (that was just a little on fire). What the two young heroes were sure of is that the building wasn’t empty besides them, there weren’t any sirens to be heard, and above all, there was something slightly…off, about everything. It was like the idea of a burning building from someone who’d never actually been in one.

GM August 11th, Late Evening In a plane... Or more precisely, Mr Jonathon Hale, Esq, asleep in a Plane... Across endless icy plains, mountains, and beautiful bleakness...an Icebreaker was trapped. Steam poured out of engines, and whilst Ice cracked, it did not splinter asunder. Outside, Inuit and Europeans were hacking at the ice, desperate to move the ferocious ship. It groaned, full of Iron and Guns and Coal. And a black coated man with the biggest and blackest handgun one could conceive stood on the ship, bristling with frustration. The ship must break free! Seek it! Arnasaq woke him up. She was as quirky and beautiful as ever, at least to Mr Hale's eyes. A little older, a little wiser. And right now, rather worried... "Ladies and Gentlemen...please fasten your seatbelts and assume the crash position!" Screams and sweats poured forth from the passengers, who nevertheless did what they were told, and with great frenzy. As the Plane started to descend, Arnasaq pointed Mr. Hales eyes to the starboard wing, where one engine was smoking most alarmingly indeed. Below, the icy plains of Greenland, where Arnasaq had insisted they return for a break. And it look like a break was what they were getting. A quite different type of break. A piece of wing looked like it was going to break. And it did, splintering from the main wing and tumbling in a rather splendid arc, trailing black smoke.

Content Notice: Character Death, Cursing Date: November 6, 2017 All across the prime dimension, it was a day much like any other. There were dangers, both large and small. The third planet from the sun continued to spin, with all its many denizens busy with their lives. Some might have been recovering from a long weekend, while others might be looking forward to a holiday season. Many of the planet's costumed defenders were busy with the usual threats to the populaces they defended. Time progressed... Until it didn't. Between the tick of a second hand, for just a moment, the prime dimension... hiccuped. It was as if all of creation was a ball spinning wildly in the air, uncertain if it would actually be caught. Those with the sort of mystical senses might feel it in a myriad of ways, pressure in their ears or perhaps a flicker in the corner or their eyes. For those with their eyes truly opened to the vast eternity of the cosmic coil, for one heart stopping microsecond, all the barriers that kept prime safe flickered, with all the myriad possibilities superimposed. It was a moment of utter madness before sanity and order were restored.

"Hey." "Heeeey." "Li! Liii! Wake up!" A tug. Warmth fell away and cool air rushed to fill the empty space. Reluctantly, Kat shuddered, slowly remembering she was a person. Groggily, she pushed herself to her knees on her bed, yawned and fixed the chipper young women standing over her with a blanket in her hands a heavy-lidded glare. Who was this person and why she holding her blanket? For a minute, she was a stranger. A tall young woman with a bright smile and bright green hair style in an undercut. It felt like Kat was staring at the sun from her sheer cheerfulness. Or maybe because the woman had thrown open the blinds and let the sun shine into the room from behind her. Kat decided she didn't care either way. "What you staring for?" "Maybe if I stare hard enough, you'll catch fire . . ." Ah, that's right! ". . . Tally." Her roommate in Emerald City. "Why am I not sleeping?" Tally shook her head sadly. Gosh, she was even dressed! "You slept in! It's noon!" "NOON?! I . . ." Kat's eyes startled opened wide, but then quickly irised back into their tired sag. "It's Saturday." "I figured we could hang out together a little today." She said, her face falling a little. "It's been a little bit. Wanted to check up on you." "Why would you think that?" Tally gave a small, knowing grin. "Pizza, downtown. My treat." Kat blinked, sat up a little straighter. Rubbed her eyes. "I hate you." "You love me." "I love pizza." She sighed. "Gimme an hour."

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.”

With the team gone an eerie silence settled over the suddenly too large, open, and vulnerable dojo. The children were fitful in their beds the tension in the household penetrating their slumber though not yet waking them. Gina wheeled herself silently around the kitchen completing the tasks left unfinished by the evening's interruptions with a quiet efficiency that belied the worry etching her face. Jill was left to monitor the security systems with VINCE looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary Talyas final advice ringing in her ears, "When they know we've come for them there's no telling what he might do, don't let him draw you out, and be ready for anything." Dimitri sat in the control room at freedom hall monitoring the police and military bands for anything unusual fortunate that he'd been left behind from the rest of the league's mission to free a small town in Vermont from Glaciers grasp when Talyas call for aid reached him. The usual dispatch and report of the police bands suddenly shifted as an evacuation was called for a West End neighborhood, a 'Gas Leak' but no chatter on the utilities and the order sent from some office of public safety the league had no ties to or information about. All too convenient. Across town Klara sat in a parkside cafe sipping her tea when Talyas request to be on alert reached her, perhaps it was for the best after all her wife had been called into the embassy tonight, it seemed date night was destined for interruption this week. She had just finished her cuppa when a caravan of firetrucks blazed past heading east sirens screaming into the night. Ace hunched forward over his desk phone pressed to his ear, "Those were supposed to have burned up over the pacific after the invasion." he sighed very nearly sounding his age as he hung up the phone and stood pulling on his coat and hat with a disgusted glance at the phone before he stormed out of the office shouting orders to the staff.

GM Content Note: Disturbing Content, maybe a little Gore "Then we have an accord." The voice was deep and smooth, but its words dropped like stones into a grave. He took his bargains seriously; even a verbal agreement strummed with power, especially in this place-between-places. His new partner, however temporary, swallowed hard. Baku the dream demon was ancient by human standards; he fed in infancy on the nightmares of early Japanese hunter-gatherers, more than ten thousand years ago. His travels across the world spawned numerous myths, and with those myths he himself changed. Few had seen more of this planet's history--open and secret, the history of shadows and unseen things, hidden behind walls that were themselves beyond most mortals' comprehension--than he, but one such person stood before him now. The deal he made tonight linked him to someone whose age dwarfed his own by orders of magnitude--who, too, walked freely through the borderlands and laughed at barriers meant to hold back flesh and blood. Baku knew he wasn't the first spirit to make a deal of this sort, although he couldn't understand this person's interest here. What does it matter? What does it matter, so long as he gives me what I need? Looming over the tiny demon, the sorcerer held out a swirling globe of pure magic--a thing of beautiful light that defied color schemes, its shining particles moving in directions that corresponded to no physical space. A living spell, ready to take effect even without its master present...for the right price. And that price, Baku paid. He told his partner of the things he had seen, spying invisible and intangible on his enemy and those associated with him. He dared not come close to Presto the Preposterous in the waking world, not after their last meeting. He certainly would not risk approaching the terrible creature that had taken Presto under her dark and bloodstained wing. Only from a distance had he watched, and through the bland, dull nightmares of average mortals. Their memories often came secondhand, mere rumors, but some rumors spoke loudly. Beware the Grimalkin! When they were done, when Baku had been wrung dry of everything he knew or suspected, his tall companion at last presented him with the spell. Baku took it in his little claws and chortled. Vengeance would be his! He stepped sideways through the walls of reality and went to find a dream.

The air was cold enough that James’ breath escaped his lungs in billowing white clouds of a much cleaner sort than was usual. He wasn’t smoking at the moment, having tossed his previous cigarette to hiss and sizzle on the cold asphalt at the side of the road. He’d put it out of its misery with the toe of his shoe, grinding it to an even greater degree of lifelessness before he’d taken the short walk up the path to the porch. Strands of multicolored lights dangled merrily from the gutters and spiraled down the columns in tight loops. A wreath hung from the door; cut from real pine, it still maintained some of its characteristic scent. Reduced by age, it was nevertheless a refreshing change from cigarette smoke and leather-scented aftershave. From behind the door, Warne could hear music playing – the drums pounded softly within the house, the crashing cymbals clanged. It took him a moment, but James realized he was listening to a butchered rendition of “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” The telekinetic shook his head; it was just so thoroughly Stone he had trouble justifying his surprise. What else would the AMP’s pilot be listening to on Christmas Eve but heavy metal? A wind blew by, chilling Warne enough that he considered activating his force-field. Instead, he simply pulled his jacket tighter around his body. Lonely Point was true to its name, being a largely desolate peninsula unburdened by things like enough trees to dull the knife’s edge of winter cold. Home to the Lonely Point Naval Station, it also housed the maintenance bay of the Armored Mobility Platform, the incalculably expensive and oft-malfunctioning vehicle piloted by his AEGIS-assigned partner, Ethan Stone. Stone was employed at the Naval Station as a ‘consultant,’ on the AMP project, a convenient cover that was lent credibility by his former Air Force service and time spent as a MAX-armor pilot for the clandestine organization. Unbeknownst to his wife, Ethan flew the AMP and served his country as Upgrade, a bipedal jet-tank designed to showcase the United State’s expanding arsenal of experimental weapons technology. It was a career that his wife wouldn’t have approved of, if she knew.

GM August 4th, 2017 Outside the Eastern Seaboard Bank, Lincoln Branch Summer was fading away. It was still too hot for non-summer wear, but every Freedonian felt the chill coming off the bay a little stronger each day. They were cramming as much summer into their lives as they could. Including the criminals. With a shattering *SKREE* the bank's windows exploded outward, letting a dozen women in yellow and black, ski masks with welding glass on their heads and chunky electro-punk guns in their hands, into the streets of Freedom! At that moment, ensconced in a limousine that he had, on some unaccountable urge, called from its cubby hole back at the Transnational Building, Amir al-Misri had spent the last half hour with a voluable redheaded man with a thick beard, a $350 haircut streaked with a light dusting of grey, and a 12,000,000 watt smile. Max Mars, of MarsTech, who had somehow talked him into listening to a spiel about wave power generators. The explosion had, mercifully forced him to pause and politely wait until the crisis was resolved. Meanwhile, just down the street was a certain Carol, who unlike the rest of the running, shouting Freedonian, could do something about this.

So, then. Moira Morley (alias the superheroic Scion) found herself on a wide beach. It stretched to her front and back seemingly endlessly. To her left was a tropical jungle. To her right was the ocean. How did she get here? Gods (perhaps literally) only knew. Where was she? Again, gods only knew. At least it was a cloudless day, and the sun was bright. The only thing preventing her from relaxing and maybe going for a swim was the guy about ten feet down the beach from her. He was approaching quickly, and (one more time, because why not) gods only knew who he was or what he wanted.

Kesteven 79 system Coalition Victory Station Imperial Year 0, Day 0 One way or another, Sharl Tulink had all of 36 hours in Coalition space before he had to be transmitted back home to the body waiting for him back in Emerald City. He had friends, family, a city to protect - and an employer who had high expectations about his report on post-Incursion Lor technology and its adaptability for Terrestrial purposes. He had just one last thing to do - to act as bodyguard for the woman who he hoped would be the next Imperator of the Lor Republic. He knew the Imperator's duties well enough from his early education in Tronik, for all that the Republic he'd learned about had been just a few centuries removed from its imperial days: the Imperator on the one hand had little power "reigning, but not ruling" - but on the other hand as the voice of the people against the state, as the symbol of all the Lor revered about themselves, and as the person who actually selected the ministers of government from the ranks of the Senate and the people - well, it all came down to how you used your power. In the first election since the Incursion, filling a spot left vacant after the old Imperator and its family had gone with the rest of Lor-Van, the question of how the Imperator's power would be used wasn't as easy to answer as it once had been. Sharl wanted Grand Nauarchus Bucklin Frankan to be the one who found the new answers to that question; and not just because he hoped that her election would be a stepping-stone to Terran unification and joining the Republic. The Lor needed to be strong again after the horrific things they'd lost, and from all he'd seen, she was the best candidate for the job. He took the lead as Frankan's party walked into their station quarters, scanning the suite with his internal sensors as a supplement to the scanning already done by the station's security staff. "It's clean," he said after a moment. "No listening devices or bombs - and I think the station commander left a box of sweets in the refresher." "She must be angling for a promotion," commented Frankan with a wry smile as she entered the room just behind Citizen. "Thank you, Citizen Tulink. As always, your work here has been invaluable." As the two spoke, Frankan's staff, almost all of them uniformed officers either in the Star Navy or in one of its planetary militias, were filling the rooms, setting up gear and calls, getting ready for the media presence they were about to encounter. It was tradition in the Republic that on Election Night, the candidates for Imperator shared the same space at the same time as a way of promoting amity (and as a way of preventing assassination attempts). This year, this election, this day - it was Coalition Victory Station that would see the two candidates together. A quick glance out the window (with the help of tapping into the station's external sensors) showed Sharl a three-dimensional sphere buzzing with spaceships, a volume he hadn't seen since the end of the Incursion - military vessels armed to the teeth to prevent another attack, civilian ships, Grue Individuality vessels with their usual hodgepodge of designs, and countless others. Between the press, the spectators, and the parties of the two candidates, the interior of the station was packed to the gills even beyond its usual large population. It was going to be a busy day and a half.

*CN: Violence, Police Brutality, Racism, Sexism* *Bang Bang BANG* "Bedlam PD!" preceded the shattering of door and frame as the boys in blue spilled into three apartments across Bedlam. *** In Wolverton the office door declaring Excelsior Investigations shattered under the blow the police spilling in with full tactical loadout weapons raised as if the middle aged resident kneeling in the center of the room next to a half empty cup of coffee was the greatest threat to public safety the city had known. Xavier Steadman was slammed to the ground bloodying his nose as he was cuffed and taken into custody. He knew better than to antagonize them with questions about his rights or the charges and patiently accepted the abuse as each badge number and face was committed to a memory more refined than most artificial data stores. *** Not far away in Hardwick park the sizzle of some kind of heavily spiced breakfast meats sizzled as Abuela Orellana called not for the first time to her school age grandchildren to dress and pack for school. The Garage downstairs was already open with her son hard at work for hte day when the police came. Only the elderly woman's rapid fire demands of "What did you do?!" threatened to drown out the SWAT teams demands the residents of hte crowded apartment get on the ground. When the family was all restrained and no few of the struggling families meager belongings shattered the apparent lead detective stomped up and down the line of hispanic faces glaring at each, "Somebody shut her UP!" he bellowed as Abuela Orellana continued her lamentations in non-stop spanish. "Sophia Orellana!" he demanded as he tried to place his quarry which seemed to finally silence the old woman just in time given the raised rifle butt one officer had aimed her direction. All eyes turned in shock to Sophia removing any chance of hiding who she was from the police and the young woman was quickly hauled to her feet and shoved toward the door and a waiting cruiser to snickers behind masked faces as to her upcoming popularity. *** The secluded Downtown apartment Alice currently called home should not have been a thing the police could find even if they did have reason to look for her. So it came as quite the shock when she found herself surrounded with eagle eyed tactical officers with guns leveled at her before she had the opportunity to even consider fleeing. The beefy detective that followed the officers in barely even looked at her before nodding to an officer behind her. There was a sharp pain on the back of her skull then everything went black. *** Lou sat in the lockup sleeping off last nights drunk, his continued presence in dry out a sign that someone wanted him here, maybe he made a pass at a wise guys arm candy, or maybe someone had a reason for him to be here. He woke to the door slamming open as an unlikely trio of perps were thrust into his cell the smallest in a barely stirring heap on the ground. The middle aged African American man made his way to the sink to begin to clear some of the blood from his face as the young hispanic woman was thrust into the cell behind him. Even by Bedlam PDs lax standards for inmate safety this was far from regulation. Xavier looked up at the others warily as he settled in to carefully dab at his nose and check it for a break, "I don't suppose they were more forthcoming with any of you as to why we are here?" he inquired with unusual calm for an honest man thrust amongst what one could only assume were hardened criminals.

GM "Excuse me, Mister... I apologize, I am not sure what pronoun or honorific to use with you...?" The woman let the words dangle in air. Strong. Tall. Confident. And suddenly just there, where no one had been in the waiting area. She was what someone who imagine as a member of AEGIS. "I am Ms. Nameth, I'll be serving as liaison, I apologize for the suddenness that this happening. There were some natural concerns, though I believe we found an... individual who fits your needs." There was not a hint being betrayed by the brown haired woman in the navy pantsuit. "Please follow me, we decided it was best that this be conducted in a secure room." Not that they had to go far, just a few feet to a nondescript door, which she opened, and gestured inward, to brightly lit room that looked like an interrogation room, with the flat broad table and two seats across each other. "Can we get you anything to eat or drink?"

A contact still on the force had passed on a hot tip about a missing little girl. And so here Mindjumper (former police officer, current professional superhero) found himself seated on a couch in a small apartment. A young woman (younger than he was, which was saying something considering she was the mother of the missing girl) serving him his preferred beverage. Her name was..wait, what was her name again? The world seemed completely unreal for a second, and even after that had passed something was still…off. At any rate, missing girl to find. Distraught young mother in front of him.

@Heritage It hadn't taken much convincing. All Samuel Steiner had to say to get their attention was "Val Verde," and all he had to say to get their agreement was "Vacation." Three words were all it took to get Lynn Epstein and Gretchen McDaniels to board a plane to the secretive little island a few hour's flight off their nation's southwestern coast. That, and a few days of planning. A employer can't just disappear along with two of her employees in tow and expect everything to keep running like Swiss clockwork in her absence. Schedules needed rewriting, tasks needed assigning, and subtle, only half-joking threats of terrible retaliation for failure needed making before they could leave. All things considered, it was a painless procedure. It could have been even more-so, with the power available to the three. A few spells and they could have stepped from their homes to the island in an instant, without the need for planes, trains, or automobiles. But part of the joy of vacation is the trip, and so they took a passenger jet to the American southwest, arranged a taxi to a small, private airfield, and boarded another plane -- small, but richly furnished -- to the island. The process had been described in great detail by Steiner's letter, now slightly crumpled but none the worse for wear. Written by their would-be host, a man named Gallo, the letter had given the two women only the smallest taste of his personality, the tiniest glimpse of what he'd be like. Sam had tried to fill them in on the rest but some men, like Gallo, defied simple explanation. "He just is," the magician explained. "He's larger than life. Big eater, big drinker, big talker. He and I go way back; I think you'll like him. He was a good friend to me... kind of like how you guys are, now. He took me in when I needed taking in and helped get me back on my feet when I was laying low." Eventually, the flight neared its end, and it wasn't long after that when the three could look out the windows and see it: Val Verde, set like a gleaming emerald on a sea of blue velvet. "My God," said Sam. "It's just as beautiful now as it ever was. I'd almost forgotten." @Blarghy James Warne dusted his hands and reached one of them into his jacket, intent on removing the battered carton of cigarettes nestled into a pocket therein. He was surrounded by the prone bodies of groaning men, their firearms thrown haphazardly around the room by a telekinetic storm of disarmament, with their persons having followed shortly thereafter. He flicked the lighter with a practiced thumb, lit the smoke, and inhaled. Other men might have allowed themselves a smile, if only a bitter one, at the idea of a job well done. Not Adept, not here. Duty called, he answered, and that was all. The cigarette, the smoke in his mouth, the fire in his lungs; that was his smile, his concession to the world. His phone buzzed, once, an indication of incoming text. He reached for it, touched the screen, and brought up the client. TSA pegged your old friend [STEINER, SAMUEL] leaving the country w/ 2 women, it said. [EPSTEIN, LYNN] & [McDANIELS, GRETCHEN]. They're headed for Val Verde. Pack for sunny weather and report for briefing. Sorry. It was signed, at the bottom, by 'B,' which meant it couldn't be ignored. Warne grunted, replaced his phone, and strode towards the exit. He passed police and paramedics on the way, who hustled towards the battered men behind him. When he was out of sight, he took to the skies like a bird of prey and flew back to the city. It was going to be a long day.

August 10th 9:12PM The Music Room at Claremont Academy. Corinne was following Winifred's advice. While it wasn't her primary passion, it was something else she could do to vent, and maybe make some connections that weren't on shared experience of powers, and teenage trauma. She was an okay drummer, given that she needed to keep so this was more for fun than anything else. Fortunately there was a drum kit here, where she could cut loose. Fortunately, she could play enthusiastically and not have to be something out of Whiplash, or something like that, as she was largely self taught, still 'I Want You to Want Me,' was fun and engaging enough for her to start on before she tried more complicated, or challenging options. She had big headphones on playing the song she wants , and a sleeveless t-shirt for the band Red Fang, a pair of denim capris, and navy blue dock shoes. Her head bobbing along with the beat. Unlike her other pursuits this was just fun. And she needed it.