SpicyWaffle

Thursday, September 13th, 2018 The British Museum Mid-Afternoon GM It was a balmy, comfortable afternoon outside of the world-renowned British Museum, its halls lined with patrons and on-lookers as they perused and browsed the multitude of stunning exhibits. It was a busy day, to say the least, the halls bombarded equally by enthusiasts and children on field trips as they filled the corridors with noise and laughter. Inside the curator's office, the dinning drum of the noise outside was quieted somewhat, the shut doors providing a modest reprieve. But Cassie wasn't here for her role as a curator, despite the short-staffed situation going on at the museum currently. No, she'd been summoned, and though the curator was busy filling in throughout the British Museum and assisting its many fresh-faced and veteran visitors alike, they were polite enough to provide the office with which to await the visitor - one Doctor Thomas Ritterton - who'd come seeking her out specifically, though the details of this visit were vague at best. All that could be inferred for certain was that the gravitas of the visit was one, the curator assured her over the phone, worth investigating. The office itself was well-decorated and finely furnished while still bearing an air of professionalism. Fine wood and expert craftsmanship were everywhere within the modest office of the curator, placards and awards lined with strategic precision on the walls alongside famous faces. Even a few pieces of history had found a home behind thick, immovable glass display cases bolted to the floor, a testament to the current regime's success - with a little help - in acquiring strange and exotic bits of history. A knock came to the door at that moment, careful and melodic, before a well-dressed man entered. He was an older gentleman, perhaps in his mid-fifties and sporting a bald head sharply contrasted by a thick but well-maintained peppered beard and mustache. Though he was aged and the cane he carried clacked with each step, it also did so with purpose, with drive. Even weathered as such he was someone who oozed confidence, his well-tailored navy blue suit complimenting his frame perfectly. "Good afternoon to you," he greeted, his voice raspy and refined like aged brandy, replete with a thick and warm British accent. "My name is Doctor Thomas Ritterton. Might you be Miss Crow?" piped the older gentleman with surprising energy, eyeing the young archaeologist with the same sort of respectfulness one might a well-learned colleague.

Previously erect, the armored finger being waved towards the gigantic gentleman withered slightly as it spoke. Even behind the visor, the intensity of the Bee-Keeper's glare shifting into one of awed annoyance was practically palpable. "You're... you're a few peazz zzhort of a pod, aren't you?" mummed Baxter, his modulated voice both sympathetic and bamboozled. "Firzzt, I'm a bee 'cauzze beezz are awezzome. Zzecond, you know you zzound crazzzy, right? That'zz not even how keyzz work!" The Bee-Keeper let the statement sink in for a minute before re-addressing the giant, his voice surprisingly calm despite the weirdness of the whole situation. Whatever this storybook entity was, it wasn't exactly the sharpest tack. Maybe it could be reasoned with? Maybe? "Look, I'm going to azzk one more time: pleazze put the hammer down and play nizze. Nobody hazz to get hurt, man. You put the big zzwingy mallet down, and maybe we can talk about your, uh, naughty key," he pleaded, hoping the giant had some sense of morality.

The Bee-Keeper III There was something soothing about the business of bees. The way they carried on, resolute and unflinching in their duties. The buzzing of their tiny, industrious wings a strange symphony of productivity. Admittedly, maybe Baxter was a little biased, his interest in the workaholic insects a nice mirror to his own tireless career. His hobby might have taken a backseat to his newfound studies, but here, back in Freedom City, Baxter could take comfort in rekindling his side-passion. So there he sat, slurping away at a sweet frozen drink as he just soaked in the ambiance, a nice reprieve from the recent events that had brought him back home. Content. Relaxed. At peace. And then there was a giant shouting about a key. Outta nowhere! Respectfully, Baxter's reaction was the sort that any self-respecting young man might have while lazily watching bees: his spit his drink out all over the grass in surprise. He'd seen some crazy things in his time as a superhero, but even this caused the apiary avenger to blink dumbfounded for a moment; only a moment though, as he laid his gaze on the weapon it was brandishing. "Hey!" snapped the bee enthusiast, eyes narrowing first on the massive hammer in the giant's hands, then against the sun as he stared upwards to meet the brutish looking creature's eyes. Giving his honeycomb emblazoned belt a gentle tap, Baxter Bowles ceased to be, metal plates crept up and down his body, encasing him in a suit of thick, undeniably bee-esque armor. "I don't know how you got here, but I'm pretty zzure this izzn't Jack in the Beanzztalk. Why dont'cha calm down and put that hammer down, big fella, and maybe I won't have to make you!"

Granting Anna a solemn, knowing nod, Baxter understood now why she'd been so upset about his appearance. This was as important to her as it was for Brian Nisbet. He couldn't pretend to really know how she felt inside, but the least he could do was his best for Anna and her would-be father figure - and that, at least as far as he was concerned, was what being a Bowles was all about. He'd make this right, one way or another. Without a second thought, the young Bee-Keeper took the aging legacy by the hand, a faint but earnest smile painted across Baxter's face. It was heart-wrenching to see the original Bee-Keeper in such a state, helpless and deflated; a figure once larger than life now laid low by the passage of time. Swallowing hard, it took the armor-bearing hero a second to consolidate his thoughts as the former villain made his request. A heartbeat passed before Baxter squatted down to meet Brian at as close to equal eye level as he could muster, careful not to squeeze the frail old man's hand out of fear. "What can I do for you, Mister Nisbet?" he asked earnestly, his voice genteel and curious.

Whoopsidoodle! Sorry about that, Ari. Redshift's too fast, it seems, for a pinpoint goop attack. That being the case, the Bee-Keeper'll switch tactics to something less conservative, with his main priority being to get Redshift to drop those civilians and keep her away from them at all costs. For both actions, Baxter'll lay down a hail of Suppressing Fire with his Autofire Blast, hopefully forcing Redshift to either seek cover (and maybe drop those cars!), or risk experiencing the Sting of Justice. Initiative Check +7 = 26 Action #2: If Redshift Racer declines to seek cover from Suppressing Fire, All-Out (+5 Attack/-5 Defense) Blast 11 [DC26 Toughness] +16 vs. Redshift Racer = 34, Potential Critical - +5 to Save DC if Successful! Action #2 (Cont'd): Critical Confirm All-Out (+5 Attack/-5 Defense Blast 11 [DC26 Toughness] +16 vs. Redshift Racer = 22 Action #3: Second verse, same as the first. If Redshift Racer declines to seek cover from Suppressing Fire, All-Out (+5 Attack/-5 Defense) Blast 11 [DC26 Toughness] +16 vs. Redshift Racer = 25

This wasn't really how Baxter had envisioned coming home; a city turned upside-down, flooded with chaos and nightmarish things from beyond space-time - the Terminus Invasion all over again. Things weren't great, to say the least. Even encased in a metal exoskeleton, the Bee-Keeper felt horribly exposed, the eerie sky an ill-omen that crept under his skin. If he was being honest, from the moment he set foot back in Freedom City, forced to blast his way through Omegadrones and other horrors to protect the innocent who'd been caught in the crossfire, there was an overwhelming sense of dread that pervaded the young collegiate. Things were bad - worse, even, than his last little foray beyond the stars. What Baxter wouldn't have traded to have that happen again instead of the Terminus' return. But now wasn't the time for fear, but action. Sure, he'd been through the wringer for hours since getting home, blasted and bruised more than he'd cared to admit in pursuit of doing his part for Freedom City, but the Bee-Keeper still had more to give. That's why he'd followed the screams and the sounds of conflict through Southside, tracking it down to quite the sight as he stood outside the whirling vortex suspending the convoy of cars overhead, its buffeting gusts so dense he could just make out the shapes and silhouettes within through armor's visor. The cries of the trapped pedestrians inside their vehicles was all the motivation he needed to spur him on; now all he had to do was put a stop to the massive wall of air. More specifically, he needed to put a stop to the rapid-paced fiend generating it - because as if Omegadrones weren't enough, now there were Terminus speedsters running amok! "I'm really not in the mood for thizz, buddy," griped the striped apiary avenger, his modulated voice filled with vivid determination and his suit scored with pike marks. Leveling the honey-cannon gauntlet of the suit towards the whirring mass, the Bee-Keeper needed to slow down this breakneck brute. Zeroing in the Bee-Keeper took aim, letting loose a concussive glob of thick, synthetic honey right into the oncoming path of the would-be speed demon!

Baxter'll go for the ol' "Sticky Situation" in hopes that he can slow down our not-so-friendly speedster, and potentially setup Gauss and/or Prism for the coup de grace if successful. All-Out (+5 Attack/-5 Defense) Snare 11 [DC21 Reflex] +16 vs. Speedster = 26

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Baxter, hands shooting up to the sky in mock surrender. "Firzzt off, c'mon, language. Izz that really nezzezzary? Zzecond, yeah, you got me. I'm not the zzame Bee-Keeper. When I got your call, you zzounded crazzzy dezzperate. Zzo of courzze I was gonna fly down here!" the Bee-Keeper continued, trying his best to explain the extremely awkward position he'd found himself in without making a bigger scene that he probably already was. "Third, I guezz you hadn't heard what happened to Barry." Lowering his hands, Baxter prompted the battlesuit's helmet to retract. There was no Barry Bowles on the inside, probably much to Anna's chagrin, he wagered, suddenly stuck with some young buck looking back at her instead of a grizzled gadgeteer. "I wasn't trying to lie to you, ma'am. Honest. My name's Baxter. Baxter Bowles. I'm the third Bee-Keeper; extra justice, hold the villainy. Barry's my uncle and, uh, I guess who you were probably expecting. How can I put this..." Baxter rubbed the back of his head in thought, brain fumbling to find the most tactful way to elaborate. "He was behind bars for a while after getting into some trouble with the Freedom League. He got help, straightened himself out. He's doing way better now, by the way, but he's... I guess you could call it retired. Lives in a peaceful place super-far away with some giant bees. Tinkers with old projects here and there, y'know, to keep himself sharp. Hasn't put on a costume in years." Baxter paused for a moment, surveying the woman's face for any hint of empathy, letting the moment really sink in. "Look, really, I swear I didn't mean to lead you on. You just... I don't know. You sounded genuine. It just felt right to come down here. And short of some kind of trans-dimensional communicator and teleporting my uncle from across space or something, I'm the only Bee-Keeper you've got," continued the striped avenger as his own voice threatened to rise above a stage whisper, sincerity rife in his plea even as he laid down the harsh truth. "I want to help -- to at least meet the man behind the legend. Let him know his legacy is in good hands. My uncle thought it was the right call for me to pick up where he left off. Shouldn't Mister Nisbet get to decide if I'm up to it, too, Anna?"

"It'zz a real pleazzure, Anna," hummed the Bee-Keeper in response, still garbed in the hunk of metal that was his costume as they strolled through the retirement home. It was an odd thing meeting the original Bee-Keeper finally; on the one hand, he was geeking out super hard, but on the other this probably wasn't the best time to be geeking out about meeting the progenitor of a villain-slash-hero legacy given the circumstances. All this time and he'd never really even considered it an option; the man was a former supervillain, and one who was particularly good at his craft. His uncle had carried on the legacy, sure, but Baxter had taken it in a different direction - one, he'd just assumed, Mr. Nisbet wouldn't be so keen on. It was Anna's quip about Nisbet interest in him, though, that really sent a pang through his heart. "He talkzz about me?" the Bee-Keeper repeated, bewilderment and shock crystal clear even through the modulated helmet. "Wow. I, uh... I juzzt thought that going the hero route wouldn't really be zzomething Mizzter Nizzbet would be glad to hear." Now he felt like a real jerk.When he first started out, it was all about cultivating a positive image for the Bee-Keeper name. Turning things around. In a weird way, it was selfish - though it wasn't intentional, Baxter'd alienated an old man because he was too busy assuming he didn't want anything to do with this young upstart, let alone help his cause with the press. "Geezzz. What do I even zzay? I mean, we've never met, but he'zz bazzically the entire reazzon I'm even who I am," chirped the armored apian, turning his visor--clad gaze back to Anna. "You know Mizzter Nizzbet. Any tipzz on not looking like a total spazzz in front of him?"

Profound relief washed over Baxter when the mystery woman revealed Nisbet wasn't in immediate danger, shoulder slumping as the tension melted somewhat. The grim air of finality was still pungent though, the unknown caller's urge for expediency a solid note on the original Bee-Keeper's pending mortality, and with it a pit began to form in the younger bearer of the battlesuit. "Okay," replied the third Bee-Keeper, his voice devoid of its typical chipper charm and replaced with a modicum of seriousness. His heart went out for poor ol' Mr. Nisbet, his plight pulling at Baxter heartstrings like some sort of violent puppeteer. His head screamed that he should tell the older woman on the phone the truth; that he wasn't Barry Bowles. That he wasn't the Bee-Keeper she or Nisbet were probably looking for. But Baxter's heart had other ideas, instinct and emotion superseding logic as he scooped up the garage door opener, clicking it a little harder than was probably needed as the grating sound of rising metal suddenly filled the makeshift workshop. "Okay. Yeah. Send me the address. I'm on my way." And with that, the Bee-Keeper took to the air like a shot, darting through the garage doorway, into the sky, and streaking Southside bound as fast as his little robo-wings would allow.

More than a few questions crossed the newest incarnation of the Bee-Keeper's mind, each of them a fleeting flash in comparison to the biggest and most prominent amongst them as the woman's thickly pronounced accent, rushed and desperate, flooded the comm channel of the old Nokia phone secretly installed into the battlesuit. Call it a hunch, but Baxter was fairly sure this wasn't going to be a luncheon social. Whatever was going on, it wasn't good. "Where'zz Nizzbet?" asked Baxter without even a moment's thought, his modulated voice just as hurried and intense as the mystery woman's was worrisome.

Ever since the Terminus invasion brought Baxter back home, things had been odd. Not odd in that comically whimsical sort of way, like flying monkeys, but odd in that weirdly bizarre sense of deja vu ever since he slipped back into the suit. A revitalized spirit colliding with a rekindled spark of adventure. His sabbatical was never meant to be permanent, and Baxter knew it. That's why he moved half way across the country, where nobody would recognize him after he went public after the Collector incident. But he also knew it'd gone on far too long. Long enough to forget, at least for a time, what it really felt like to be behind the mask again. There was always an excuse: homework, dates, deadlines. Whatever. But those days were over. And so here he sat in his parents' garage, right back where he started half a decade ago, tinkering away at his new pet project. The mechanical exoskeleton laid out on the impromptu work table was as bare and sparse as it could get, devoid of the guts and gizmos his uncles' own model boasted not more than a few feet away. He couldn't explain why he'd suddenly become so possessed over the idea of building his own battlesuit, but that was hardly holding him back. He had the tools, courtesy of Uncle Barry's old workshop, and the desire to bring the idea to fruition. What else did he need, right? Deep into his little project, Baxter practically jumped out of his skin when an alien ringing jolted him to his feet, scattering tools to the concrete floor in a panicked clatter as it echoed all over the walls of the sealed garage. "Jeez!" exclaimed the bee-themed avenger to no-one in particular as he shot out of his seat. Looking around through the garage for the source of the disruption, the Bee-Keeper tore through his uncle's toolbox, rummaging and tossing about the various odds and ends manically to no avail. Then he turned his attention to his own possessions, hunting through the boxes that his father had left littered about for years as the sound bounced around the walls infuriatingly. Again, nothing. That's when Baxter noticed it - the only other thing in the room he hadn't inspected. Slowly, his eyes narrowed on the mechanical backpack quizzically, his face etched with disbelief. "No way." Stepping over to the mechano-bee-suit, Baxter slid the contraption on with familiar ease, encasing himself in the comforting embrace of metal and the warm buzz of still-stirring robo-bees, fewer though they might be given the armor's drained status. What came next would either be a massive mistake, the first step towards a new awesome adventure, or both. With an unusual sense of curiosity, Baxter activated the source of the buzzing, trepidation and excitement meeting in a perplexing swirl. "Uh... hi? You've reached the Bee-Keeper. How may I azzizzt you?" spoke the armored apian avenger in a mock retailer tone, one part wry, the other genuinely inquisitive and sincere as he waited with great interest to see who was on the other end of the old school cell line.

Hmm, hmm. Since Overrunning them would probably be counter-productive, Baxter'll fall back to the good ol' Sting of Justice! Move Action: The Bee-Keeper III will position himself at Seven's back. Should Seven come under attack, he'll use Interpose to switch places with her as a Reaction (assuming she doesn't move). Standard Action: All-Out (+5 Attack/-5 Defense) Autofire Blast 11 vs. each Mercenary Minion behind Seven. Taking 10 to Attack the Minions and not accounting for potential penalties from the Autofire range, that's a Total Attack of 26, Toughness Save vs. DC26, and Bee-Keeper's Defense drops to +6.

Nearly losing his balance as the ship's gravity buckled and waned momentarily, the Bee-Keeper staggered his way between Seven and the gaggle of mercenaries at her back. The Lor commando had made the first move, blasting one of the bigger goons flat on his tuchus, and with that it was on. Thrown into some kind of intergalactic shenanigans, Baxter was in much the same boat as Geckoman. He hadn't imagined himself going toe-to-toe with a bunch of aliens today -- but, perhaps, that was just another part of the superhero gig. "Why do the bad guyzz alwayzz gotta do it the hard way?" snipped the Bee-Keeper as he leveled his hand against the invading space pirates at their rear, steadying himself as he and the armor's on-board targeting system synced up his shots. Following Seven's lead, Baxter let loose with his own hand blaster, firing wave after wave of concussive yellow energy towards each of the alien antagonists surrounding their flank. There was no way a bunch of weirdo mercs from beyond the stars were gonna get the best of them. Not if the Bee-Keeper had anything to say about it, anyway!

Bee-Keeper III (9) >Adventures in Babysitting in Space (6 Posts) >Busy Little Bee (3 Posts) DM (4) >Hunting Season (4 Posts) Total Posts (13)

The teenager, in perhaps the oddest show of gratitude for the pair of would-be saviors outside of his impressive blast radius, waved frantically towards the pair of costumed heroes. "I-- you can't," he groaned, each syllable sounding as if the kid was being socked in the gut. Even Blue Jay's quip fell on deaf ears as the boy struggled to keep his eyes concealed by his arm and his stomach -- now a visible shade of darkening purple through the smattering of holes in his shirt -- from the quickly dwindling number of onlookers as they fled the scene. "Not safe. Can't keep it... controlled... chased..." As the boy prattled on in an attempt to explain the situation, the tense already tense situation reached a new peak as a deafening echo roared through the streets. *CRACK-POW!* In a heartbeat, a sickening thump resounds itself against the unguarded flesh of the mid-meltdown teenager as the gunshot rings out overhead, the perpetrator a single rubber-tipped round bouncing itself off of his back. Painfully, the dark-haired kid lurches forward, and in that small instant his arms falter. Another brilliant flash of light rocketed out as he thrust his head upwards, accompanied by raw, chaotic energy as they travel from his eyes into the sky, finding its mark against the upper-most corner of a nearby brick building before he could cover his face again. Like a knife through hot butter, the eerie red beams sheared through the stonework building, causing the masonry to tumble downward and land smack dab into another unmanned car, crushing its metal frame with relative ease. "Urrrrgh," moaned the superhuman youngster as he struggled to keep on his feet, doubling over slightly as a fresh bruise slowly painted itself on his skin. "He... he won't stop... please..." he continued, his tone rife with desperation. It was clear he was confused, afraid, and under duress; the pressure was getting to him, and with each new welt he gained, the rippling outline of energy only served to grow wider. He was steadily losing more and more control over his powers with each blow from his unseen agitator.

Bee-Keeper III's Initiative: 1d20+7 = 22 HP: 3

Notice Check Results: Something is very amiss with this guy. From the looks of it, he's definitely the cause of all this chaos -- who else could it be? But there's more to it than just an undiluted urge for wanton destruction. Indeed, upon further inspection, the teenaged fella seems to be struggling with himself; frazzled and out of sorts, but struggling nonetheless. It's hard to tell, but it almost looks like he's already been worked over once; with his shirt torn and tattered, one arm slung around his abdomen and the other obfuscating his eyes, it looks as if someone's beaten Blue Jay and Nevermore to the proverbial punch, replete with bruises and minor lacerations beginning to show through the ominous red glow the boy's ensorcelled in.

If you guys don't mind, I'd like a Notice check from Blue Jay and Nevermore!

With each hero whipping through the air with the greatest of ease, it wasn't long before the duo had respectively closed the gap; flying, climbing, or otherwise traversing the distressed urban locale with all due haste until the cause of the commotion was in plain sight. As the young costumed vigilantes reached the apex of their journey and came face-to-face with each other, the scene painted before them made itself plain as day. Where once a busy thoroughfare existed amongst the metropolitan cityscape, the road itself had been forcibly reformed, replaced by a man-sized crater now standing center stage amidst a gaggle of ruined, turned over vehicles and shattered windows. Thankfully, no one seemed to be hurt, the panicked populace -- though still awash with terror -- having made their own hurried escapes, fleeing to the safety of the edge of the blast zone as if the hounds themselves had been set upon them. All of them, save for one lone individual. Standing at the center of the newfound crater stooped a young man no older than our erstwhile heroes, clad in casual street garb and his form ensconced in an eerie crimson glow. The energy was vibrant, but also dark; erratically rippling and flowing outwards in small waves from his person, and with each pulse came a sharp realization: whatever it connected with was slowly being eaten away. Whomever this unmoving fellow was, one thing was certain: he was dangerous, and more than capable from a cursory glance of ripping everything around him apart. Concrete, asphalt, glass, steel; the energy was certainly non-discriminatory, as evidenced by the small area of destruction it had brought about.

Granting Captain Geckoman a mock salute an an affirmative "Aye, aye," Bee-Keeper quickly took off after Shepard and the spandex-clad handyman, leaving Temperance and the chief engineer to whatever schemes they were undoubtedly working towards. The situation was definitively feeling more and more heavy with each passing moment as they whisked their way down the hallway, with Shepard suiting up and giving the lowdown on these would-be attackers only serving to add to the cumulative weight of the fiasco; doubly so with the realization that there wasn't any concrete information about their opposition, save that they could be anything and were crazy-dangerous enough to attack a Lor vessel for their new alien pal. None of those things, in Baxter's meager space-faring opinion, sat well in his mind. "Azz long azz they don't actually zzhoot lazzerzz out of their eyezz, I think we've got thizz one in the bag," Baxter chimed, his tone unsurprisingly less than confident about the ordeal ahead, yet striving to retain a positive outlook on the whole situation. Geckoman at least seemed to know what was going on -- or, at the least, seemed like he was ready. With Shepard, that made two of them, and that was at least something. Taking a breath and letting it reverberate through the buzzing voice modulator, the Bee-Keeper steeled his nerves, fingers tightening into a pair of armored fists as he prepared for the intergalactic showdown ahead. "Alright, captainzz. Juzzt zzay when."

"Oh. Way to go. Thizz izz juzzt zzuper," Baxter moaned from behind the guise of his insectile mask as he flew above the streets of Freedom City, hot on the trail of his little experiment. On the other side of the mask, the Bee-Keeper's face was twisted into what could only be described as an amalgam of utter displeasure and bewilderment as he surveyed the trouble the bee drone had caused. "Not even online for an hour, and look what you've done!" Totaled cars? Check. One on fire? Double-check. Ransacked stores, and the Average Joe's all riled up by his mechanical monstrosity's machinations? Oh, boy. It was gonna be one of those days. Plopping down next to the growing gaggle of Freedom City's citizens with an audible thud of metal-against-asphalt, the Bee-Keeper did his best to retain his composure. The last thing he needed was everyone thinking he'd gone bananas and intentionally let this thing out onto the streets! "Yo!" he greeted, granting the group of would-be photographers as congenial an informal greeting as the armored apiary could muster, antennae twitching slightly as he conjured the courage to stand before the tiny mob. "Any of you guyzz happen to zzee a haywire robo-bee around here?" he continued, miming the size of his latest contraption with his hands. "'Bout thizz big? Made of junk? Accidentally... uh... inzzinerated thozze carzz back there with a lazzer on itzz butt?" That's when he saw it. Like some gaping maw of shame, his wayward contraption had made its own entryway via giant hole into the likely now ruined garage, barreling (or, perhaps, blasting) its way into the auto business. At least he knew where his bee'd gone. "Everyone zztand back," motioned the Bee-Keeper, waving his arms as if to shoo them away from the newly minted crime scene. "Thingzz are totally under control. No need to freak out! Juzzt zztep back and get zzomewhere zzafe. I'll fix thizz mezz." Taking a deep breath, Baxter stepped forward into the garage. This bee-bot business was becoming bothersome! It was time to bring his li'l drone home, and make some much needed changes to its li'l fried CPU.

From atop their immortal rooftop guardians, the city was exactly as it seemed to our young pair of guardians: the streets were alive with the humdrum of life, yet still serenely placid in its mundane nature. Young people laughed and cavorted whilst traffic moved on briskly as parents and loved ones wound their way home from a busy weekend workday, while others were making their way instead towards the inner sanctum of Freedom City, intent on an evening of fun and jubilation, intent on throwing away their cares, worries, and various responsibilities for one fleeting moment. But whatever hope of a plain and normal day these people had, however, was about to go up in smoke. Literally. In a sudden rush of screams accompanied soon after by the thunderous roar of an explosion, the pleasantness of the bustling hub came to a screeching halt. From their lofty vantage points, turning southwards towards the heart of Midtown, the cause of the commotion still remained a mystery. Yet, signs of trouble had already begun to rear its ugly head in the form of dark plumes rising through the mid-afternoon air. It was close, whatever the ruckus was; couldn't be more than a few blocks away. Whatever it was, it sounded serious. As if that weren't enough, the deafening cacophony of the citizenry in panic reached new heights as another wave of screams erupted through the streets, spurred on by a blinding beam of eerie crimson light as it streaked through the sky, taking a chunk out of a nearby apartment complex as it reached the pinnacle of its arc. Whatever was going on, two things were certain: superhuman powers were involved, and it was escalating fast -- real fast.

You betcha! If you have something in particular in-mind, feel free to hock an idea my way and we'll see what we can throw together I'm actually doing some serious debating on the ninja front, but I'm still crunching the numbers. Always appreciate more interest though! On another note, hey, if you're interested, maybe you'd like to have Amelyth team up with Aoiroo's character G-Force? With both of your characters of the Claremont variety, we could totes whip something up. 'Roo's looking for something to get Georgia's feet wet in that department, so if you're up for something like that, lemme know!

That's all well and good, sure! Gonna get to the actiony-plot-revolvy-bits soon enough anyway. Gonna give KD another day or two to post, then shuffle things along