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BType

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  1. BType

    Player Away Thread

    Sorry for my lack of posting, my life has been somewhat complicated and busy recently, but I shall be back and do my best to check on whatever threads I'm already in.
  2. July 7th, 2013, 10:55 AM Freedom City, NJ Midtown, 800ft above Liberty St. Jack glided like....well....an eagle through the steel and glass canyons of his city. He was far enough above the street that people on the ground might only notice him as a passing shadow, or see the sun glinting off the golden material of his pseudometal wings. People in the buildings looked out their windows to see his shape fly by at a much more lesuirely speed then he usually was while flying. He did it so they could see what he was carrying. Some waved when they saw his package, and Jack waved back with a smile. My city. My country, Jack thought, smiling to himself so broadly he thought his face might split open if he did it too long. My city sings to me, all those sounds I hear below me, all the sight and smells. It's an American city, and it's happy to be one. I don't know if Freedom City has everything that's best about America in it, but I'd like to think it tries...and people like me try to help it make it more diverse and inclusive then it is before we're born into it. Jack had spent plenty of time overseas during his time with AEGIS. He knew that the world often thought poorly of the United States, and frankly Jack couldn't always find it in his heart to blame them. The Flag was a symbol, and sometimes symbols could be misused by greedy men who thought nothing of what the symbol was supposed to mean. Jack did his best in AEGIS to make sure Americans didn't always have a reputation like that. He didn't always succeed, but he tried, and he hoped that at least made some kind of difference. He banked around a skyscraper and the banner he carried trailed behind him, and he thought about what his country stood for, and hopefully what one day it would perfectly live up to. Justice. Equality. Opportunity. Idealism. And what was that last one? Oh right.... "Freedom," he said out loud to himself as he landed slowly cradling his package, letting it drift as majestically as he did himself, a ray of sunlight reflecting off of his wings as he set foot down onto the sidewalk next to McNider Memorial Hospital. The director of the hospital smiled at the sight, shading his eyes from the warm afternoon sun. "Thanks a lot Wings," Director Cross said as he straightened his glasses, using the most common nickname Jack's alter-ego picked up in the newspaper and in popular culture around the city itself. "Not a problem. Did STAR Squad already cart RIOT off?" he said, halfway folding his cargo. Director Cross smoothed out his brown hair and nodded. "Public Works has already fixed the water pipe below the street SD Ivan froze. I love how quickly this city responds to a crisis," he noted laughing. "Thanks again: if you hadn't come along when you did...." he began but Jack held up a gauntleted hand. "If I hadn't, somebody else would have," he reassured, and he meant it when he said it, which made Cross smile even more. "And thanks again for bringing the replacement. I know it's not really a big deal, but it didn't seem right to just leave the one Flag-Burner torched flying," he said, looking up at the empty pole above the hospital enterance. "No worries Doctor Cross. I keep spares in my utility belt," he quipped, before flying up to the awning above the automatic doors to the flag-pole, and hanging the flag up himself without another word. The summer wind blew and it flew even prouder then Jack himself did. Jack stood up and let himself be seen by people one the streets and sidewalk watching, a golden-winged silhouetted against "Old Glory", before taking off into the sky, still smiling to himself. He was going to be late for work, but he didn't regret it one bit.
  3. "The Berlin one's important, so send me the relevant material over to my computer," Jack said to Yvonne, "Give me just the bullet points on the other projects though, I'll ask the project leads about them directly if I need extra info. What's the Steersman Charity donating it's funds to this year? Is that the one with Erin Howell on the board?" he inquired. He'd played with the Howell's since he was rather young, though he'd only kept apace of the doings of the patriarch and the mother as of late. Megan Howell was always much younger, though Jack had a vague inking that she was in Europe or something akin to that, marrying foreign nobility. That's what I should do: I should rescue a foreign princess and sweep her off her feet and marry her, Jack thought with amusement playing on his features, as always mildy disparaging of his relative lack of a love life. It's your own damn fault Jack. You want to be a world-famous CEO and a superhero: you don't get to have a personal life with that kind of full-time commitment.
  4. "Seriously Doud, it's Independence Day, I'm SURE you can find better things to do then to bug me about PR stuff tonight," Jack said into his cellphone exhasperatedly. "Look, I'm at the party, I'll call you later," he interjected before his PR expert could protest and hung up, with a sigh. Jack stepped out of the Gallardi and walked up to the front door, handing the keys to the valet, smoothing his solid white suit and matching tie out before checking in and heading inside, breathing deeply of the Summer air, and thanking that at least once his evening didn't include flying around in the dark and getting shot at by thugs. He had enough bruises from the shotgun blast he'd taken last night to make him rethink how much power he put into his suit's interial dampening field. Thank god for modern aramid fibers, the thought. Taking a glass of champagne from a waiter, he moved out onto the veranda and sighed again....this time in surprising dissapointment. It wasn't working. What is wrong with me that the only thing I can think of when I'm at a nice party filled with beautiful people is dressed up in a Kevlar/boro costume and flying out there and risking my life? I already work too much at the office, and then I put on my wings too. I deserve a night off now and then! It still didn't feel right though, and Jack sipped his champagne, watching Amir al-Misri land with a raised eyebrow. Guy knows how to make a billion dollars and make an enterence. I could learn a lot from him in that regard, he idly thought.
  5. Freedom Eagle II >Just Another Working Night
  6. The old brickwork of the ledge held Jack even as he leaned on it staring over the lot where the van he had been following had finally stopped. The warehouse lot was near the edge of the Fens, right on the coast line, with the sound of the South River gently lapping at the edge of the concrete coastline almost louder then the sounds of the cars in the populated slums beyond. Jack's pearch was on one of the taller taller structures overlooking the area, building who's bricks were so dirty they were practically black. A chimney spat acrid black smoke nearby as it jut out of the rooftop, and Jack leaned forward as the van pulled into one of the old warehouses on the pier, one that appeared completely disused from the outside: the fence was broken in many places, the windows were shot up, and the gates weren't even locked. Make the destination uninviting so that nobody bothers think it's got anything worth anything inside of it huh? That's a bit more clever then I let myself think the Trolls were, he thought to himself as the van vanished into the warehouse doors as someone inside pulled them open just enough for the van alone to fit. "Getting sloppy, Jack," he muttered to himself quietly. Since he'd attented Harvard for his MBA and got FreedomCo up and running his detective skills had waned. He needed to bring them back up to par, otherwise he wouldn't be doing anyone much good down here in the Fens. They were poor enough that it had taken him some time to actually find out about the Trolls, despite how unsubtle they were. The gang was fairly large, decently organized and armed, having established itself in The Fens and parts of Greenbank in the last two years. What made them so dangerous was the dealing and excessive personal usage of the street drug "Max": a super-steroid derived primarily from manaka root, a substance found only on American soil. The root when ingested increased strength, reflexes, agility, and stamina immediately, more efficiently the pain-inhibiting drugs and more effectively and swiftly then any anabolic steroids: it wasn't just a "muscle-builder", but a true temporary boost to all physical aspects of the body. The root had been used by the Minuteman, Freedom City's very first superhero back in the Revolutionary War, and a more potent, refined version was used by his grandfather's compatriot Jack Simmons, better known to the country as the superhero called "The Patriot". It make Jack sick at heart to see a legacy like that perverted into a street drug. "Max" was less effective then pure manaka root, but the effects lasted longer, and additives made it almost instantly addictive on top of the incredible sensation getting high on something that improved your physical body dramatically provided....even though the vast majority of users eventually died from heart failure as the drug overtaxed their caridovascular systems. The Trolls usage of it had...changed many of them somehow. The drug they were using was altered, becoming less likey to kill someone immediately after the high wore off (all the better to get repeat customers, Jack assumed) but having queer mutagentic properties that frankly disturbed Jack: many of the more consistent users among the gang were now hulking brutes with permanently increased strength, capable of smashing brick with nothing but a solid length of pipe, exhibiting decreased intelligence and rational thought processes, and mostly strangely, green-tinted skin. These mutated gangsters and the monsterous behavior the rest of the gang showed while on Max gained them their nickname.....though looking at their hideout now, it's possible that there was another meaning behind it: the warehouse lot was almost directly underneath the Mona-Glenn Bridge to South Freedom. "And we all know where Trolls live, don't we?" Jack said to himself as he stood up. His wings were wrapped around him, two edges clasped near his throat like a cape, and with a thought to his psychoactive controls in his helmet they unfurled and extended to their full length, their pseudometal material swiftly shifting from a metal mesh-cloth state to a semi-rigid surface state that he could flex around and into place for maximum maneuverability while flying. With a single heave he lept off the building and towards the warehouse, intent on fiding out as much as he could about the gang before he started to really do some damage to the organization.
  7. As soon as the shot hit his ears, Jack's mind immediately accelerated, and the construction facade of confident corporate playboy and beloved city Mayor's son was gone, replaced by four years of AEGIS training and experience from being a teenaged hero. Single-shot in the crowd. Not from a building, report to close. .40S&W round. Standard issue FCPD armament is a Glock 23 chambered in that caliber, Jack's mind calculated and analyzed, even as he cried for Melissa to "Get down, get down!" and he ran in the direction of the report. Dammit, time to change, no place, no cover, too many people around, I'll have to do this as Jack O'Connor! he thought in frustrastion, maneuvering people out of the way with the experience of someone trained in crowd control duties as he moved as fast as his legs could take him.
  8. Jack smiled at the receptionist, who always helped improve his early mornings with her cheerful personality. The cup of coffee in his hands he'd brought from his penthouse almost burned his lips, but Jack was somewhat inured to physical discomfort, and hot coffee was a minor one. "Tell Louis to update me one about how he was coming on the MCFC engine project once he comes in. And when you see Doud, tell hm to call me, I'm thinking of joining the annual Independence Day Marathon and using the company as a sponsor. Good publicity!" Jack said, knocking on wood as he walked past into the office floor, nodding at the employees all over the floor while heading to his corner office. FreedomCo had facilities everywhere globally, with more off-shore locations in other nations showing up every day (which reminded him he needed to check on the status of the Hong Kong facility sometime), but the offices here were the nerve center for the whole conglomerate, and how Jack had really got his buisness started in the first place. Besides, the commute was an elevator ride away: certainly made finding places to "get changed" in emergencies easier. After reaching the office he sat down in his chair and sighed. His uncle was correct: it didn't matter what else you had, how nice your house was, how fast your car went, or how many years younger your wife was then you if the chair at work wasn't comfortable, because you were going to spend a lot of time sitting in it in an administation job. He keyed the intercom. "Yvonne, what's on the agenda today?"
  9. Jack laughed a bit "Hey, I'll have you know I have plenty of shame, Miss Zhong, contrary to popular opinion. And no, I wouldn't say it's a normal day I suppose, but I do try to keep in shape, you know? I find I have less time for it these days then I would like. As for the other runners: I think everyone who's come out today is a champ, if they win or not. It's a charity, and just showing up means you're helping people, which I've always said is the most important thing about these kinda things, and it's a city tradition to boot. Freedom Consolidated is a new company, but it and myself are proud to participate in this tradition Miss Zhong. And to viewers: hi Uncle Mike wish me luck," Jack said, waving at the camera with a smalll salute.
  10. This is the OOC-thread for "Just Another Working Night", wherin Wings investigates and busts a gang known in the Fens as "The Trolls" trafficking the super-steroid "Max", and discovers kernels of a larger criminal conspiracy behind the scenes. Jack's foes are mostly goons using the Gang Member and Mutant Gangmember archetype from the Iron Age handbook, as many of the Trolls are mutated from repreated abuse of Max and other super-steriod, becoming hulking muscle-brutes, hence their gang's nickname.
  11. July 1st, 2013, 8:59 PM Freedom City, "The Fens" "How's the specifications on the prototype coming?" Jack said over the cellphone as he banked left around a neon sign. "We're not getting the same corrosion problems the Friedrichshafen model had thanks to that WE43B alloy we bought up, but we're having problems with the beta-alumina solid electrolyte matrix," Louis said, his slight Quebeci accent showing through when he spoke. "The electrolyte saline mixture isn't reacting as well with the BASE as we'd initially hoped," he explained. "It's probably the mixture. Use the secondary BASE solution we had for the solid state ceramix matrix. We had better results with that one anyway," Jack said as he banked right between an alley, saying out of sight, or at least attempting too. "....the sim is working now. My god Jack, I can't believe we got this thing to work as it is. It's half as heavy as the Friedrichshafen model but it's still getting eighty-three...no wait, eighty-FIVE percent fuel efficiency out of biogas!" the engineer said, obviously exalting at the mechanical triumph. "Jack, if we take this to the Pentagon, we'll," he began, but Jack instantly cut him off. "No. The Pentagon, Louis? They don't need MCFC tech for their vehicles. Look, I worked for AEGIS for four years, you have to trust me on this: the Pentagon has directed-energy weaponry, telepresense technology, and now things like bio-modified soldiers and cybernetics running through it's think tanks constantly, and some of this stuff it's had since 1984. Absolutely zero of these high-tech solutions are getting to the civilian market. I understand the need to properly equip troops, but some of these technologies, especially the biochemistry and cybernetics ones, could really help people, but hospitals don't have it, because the military wants it all for themselves for 'national security' reasons. The world doesn't need more super-science gadgets, they need super-science solutions." Jack said with an edge in his voice. He softened up as he continued speaking. "Louis, remember when we started FreedomCon, we looked at groups like Grant Conglomerates, corporations that develop cutting-edge bio treatments and cybernetics and said we wouldn't do that? Well selling off these MCFC schematics will be the first step down that road. What I'm proposing is civilian applications for it. Cars that burn their fuels with 85% efficiency, and zero carbon waste? Hell, if you combined it with a steam engine add-on you could increase efficiency by another twenty, twenty-five percent! I'm talking about being the next Nikolai Tesla here, revolutionizing the energy industry! Let's not be Edison and rip off Tesla's ideas for profit margins here." Louis was silent for a few moments before answering. "You're right, Jack. Sorry, I got carried away," he apologized. Jack shook his head, even as he landed on the brick ledge of the rooftop and crouched to mimize his visibility. "It's alright. Hey, if it makes you feel better even without the Pentagon contracts we're already growing so fast that we'll overtake MarsTech in a year or less. Freedom Consolidated isn't just going to make money. We're gonna save the world with this stuff." Jack said, and Louis laughed a little, as did almost everyone who heard Jack say things like that. "If you want to save the world Jack, go join the Freedom League, they do it more often then we ever will," Louis chastised. "I'm still waiting on their invitation Louis," he quipped back, smiling at the inside joke. "Look, I have to go, the people I've been meaning to see are here. We'll chat later," he said, hanging up the comlink earpiece under his helmet with a tap.
  12. "Afternoon Miss Zhong. You look nice today. New perfume?" Jack quickly responded without even missing a beat, giving her his most winning smile. "But to answer your question, I'm not with a group, I'm racing by myself! It's a great way to keep in shape, and it seems like ever since I started up on FreedomCo I never have a chance to do it! What's the point of owning a major company of you can't find time to take care of yourself, am I right?" he answered with a laugh. "Besides, I'll admit when I saw everyone else showed up I figured I might as well too, and make it a personal appearance at that!"
  13. My first stab at making a pair of villain NPC's. Smoke and Fire aren't very powerful for their PL in terms of damage output, relying more on stealth and infiltration as opposed to overt force. They get in, complete their objective, and get out. That being said, the idea is that once in Fire uses her powers to basically torch whatever they need to torch (people included), and then escape using Smoke's teleportation power as their quick way out, using the flame to destroy evidence and literally burn their tracks behind them. As their backstory suggests, both have been subjected to the Labryinth's DNAscent Process: they were part of the second Pentagon program mentioned in the Freedom City book used to put together the original program, and Cardinstatic is the shell company used to perform DNAscent enhancement procedures. While they don't directly work for the Labryinth, their mercenary nature means they've probably worked for it's individual members quite frequently without them actually being aware of it: the only link to the Labryinth itself a hero could follow is their participation in the Pentagon's human enhancement project.
  14. Mysterious fires, charred corpses, smoke inhalation victims, and arson with no proof that any crime was ever committed. These are the hallmarks of the dangerous hired superhuman killers known only by their codenames, Smoke and Fire. Wanted in connection for well over a dozen suspected murders, hundreds of thousands of dollars of destroyed property, the two killers possibly do not even exist: they are only suspected to by the singular lack of evidence surrounding their suspected activities: the pair leaves no witnesses to identify them, and all evidence related to them seems to vanish into smoke or burn to ashes shortly after being found, leaving only supposition and street rumors behind them. Smoke: Fire:
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