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GM February 20th, 10:30 PM A little town with no name, about 25 miles Northeast of Clarksville, Arkansas. Hell Girl had heard the rumors. Something big was about to go down in the middle of nowhere, Arkansas. A small town that wasn't even on any map. It was maybe twenty houses, arranged in a nice cross with houses oppsite of each other, a single store in the middle of all that, and maybe three farms a bit further away. The town was surrounded by hills, with nothing but dust trails leading to it from other, more populated areas. There were a few trucks around, some with confederate flag decals. This time of the night, the town was silent. All dark. They had power from somewhere, sure, but everyone would normally be sleeping. But this night, all three barns were lit from the inside. Each of them had two people standing watch outside the doors. According to the rumors that Hell Girl had picked up, this little town in the middle of nowhere was not as innocent as it seemed. They were a cult of some sort. Or at least tried to be. Had grown out of some trailer park, then decided to go start their own place. And this night they were trying to bring forth their demonic master. So, Hell Girl had called in some help.

GM Saturday 22nd Dec, late evening We wish you a merry S**tmas, we wish you a merry s**tmas, we wish you a merry sh*tmas, and a $£%!ing new year! Yes, it was that glorious time of year in Bedlam, when the drunks prowled the streets spreading violence and badwill to all men. And women. And dogs. Of course, some people tried to celebrate it, but cynicism knew no bounds in Bedlam, and Ms. Caroline Cruz could hear a bunch of louts singing outside. Drunk. She knew drunk, of course. She knew it very well indeed. But that was not her concern right now, for she heard some banging on the door. "CRUZ! CRUZ! ARE YOU IN THERE? ARE YOU IN THERE?" It was not an unfriendly voice, but not friendly either. It was a low, panicked and desperate voice. And it belonged to a man in an overcoat, gloves, and hat. Dark skinned, darked hair, moustache, thick rimmed glasses. Slightly rotund around the girth but one would not call him fat. He was of average build and not blessed with good looks, but one would say he was well dressed. Rich, even. And of course Rich people had money. Money to spend on investigators. Even at this time of the evening.

February 2019 Freedom City All your lies exposed - two worlds in collision! Deceiver - what will you do then? The best I can! Inside Copycat's faux-porcelain mask, Ashley George opened her eyes to where she crouched alone on the roof of one of Freedom City's more anonymous skyscrapers - a Brutalist tower that had survived the 1970s, two Terminus invasions, and various other crises with no more than now-repaired cosmetic damage. The flat rooftop (minus the usual equipment one found on the roof of tall buildings) was the sort no one would look too closely at in a city full of weird gargoyles, public art, and superheroes. It was actually the perfect place for a quiet conversation, especially if you were dressed like - well, dressed in a costume that had seemed appropriate when she was sixteen, an unholy merger of the Raven's cape and cowl and the white mask of someone cosplaying as a Chesire cat. She hadn't dressed as Copycat in more than a decade. But then this wasn't exactly a meeting Watchdog could attend; nor could Secret Service Agent Ashley George. She sat - and waited for Geckoman and the third Raven. She'd called, telling them there was a problem with her mission - but would they answer?

Lakeside, Emerald City 9:10 pm, 4th July 2018 The air glowed red towards Mount Stanley but not the glorious sunset that was happening over the sparkling Pacific rather Lakeside was burning. At the edge of the area, a rather eccentric mansion was blazing merrily, with everyone out it would be no danger to anyone rather a loss of property if not for the chance of the Elysian forest also catching. Already at another fire in the area, a strange coincidence in itself, someone would be able to respond soon enough, but it could be too late for the more valuable forest that surrounded the area.

October 2, 2018. Freedom City. Hanover. The Nova Technologies, Inc Building. 2:30 AM. There was no such thing as a cake job. Shoot straight, conserve ammo, and never deal with Mr. Infamy. And most famously, kack the mage first. Street proverbs, all. Neisha Germuth knew them well. She worked in Human Resources for this branch of Nova Tech. Her skin was brown, her hair black. She showed clear Indian heritage. She dressed well, showing how far she’d come up in the world since the days where those street proverbs were the difference between life and death. And she was nervous. So much so that she put the word out for legit superheroes to meet her in the lobby tonight. Plenty of Nova’s dealings skirted (or, being more honest, outright broke) the law, and meddling superheroes could easily find out enough to cost her her job if she wasn’t careful. Still, if she was right, she’d need the help just to keep it. So she waited by the elevators, just out of sight, to see who would show up.

It was shortly after classes had finished the day several of the students had been presented with several ethical questions during philosophy class. Veronica Danger was walking at something of a brisk pace through the Quad from the main classroom building, trying to catch up with one of her fellow students, Abigail Storm. The weather was still warm enough that the teenage Danger was dressed in her typical cargo shorts, this time a brown pair, with a red T-shirt over which she wore a short sleeved tan button up shirt that she wore unbuttoned. "Hey Abby!" She called out as she started to draw near the other girl, which allowed her to more easily catch up with the other teen as she stopped to see who had called her name. "Hey, just wanted to see if you were okay." Veronica said as she drew up alongside Abby. "You seemed to get a bit frazzled toward the end of those questions in philosophy."

Maybelle McQueen was many things. Master chef, restaurateur, solo superhero, Praetorian. What she was not was internet savvy. A touch embarrassing in the current age, maybe, but true nonetheless. So Hero House had it's hands full getting a hold of her and convincing her to do this. She was a face to face convo while feeding you kind of woman, and the internet was rather impersonal. At least that's how she saw it. But it was true that the vast majority of people couldn't just pop on down to Freedom City and visit the Southern Queen, so she agreed to do it. She was a terrible typist, stuck hunting and pecking. Well. Maybe the ring could help her next time. Her screen name was SouthernKitchenQueen.

Somehow or other, Lynn had gotten through the holidays on her own. Yes, she had loving family and many friends, but the separation between herself and Gretchen was painfully acute. They exchanged gifts through the mirrors, hugged and even kissed (quick, bird-like pecks), but it was still stiff and awkward. Anyways! As part of her attempt to move forward, she'd started taking a more active interest in her social media presence, which used to be more Gretch's department. This led to her curling up tonight in her big oversized leather chair in her office, a cup of chamomile tea and a sticky bun on her desk as she began to type on her computer keyboard.

GM January 21st, 2019, 10.16AM Claremont Library, Claremont Academy, Freedom City, NJ, USA The perfect place, to take revenge... The plan was simple, the actors known, the steps clear as the surface of the Moon. "You'll all split into groups of three, and you'll all try to put yourselves in the shoes of someone without powers or special training or technology." Jesse Perry had said, English teacher and an inadequately-disguised giant owl of a man who paced and burbled with the excitement of a flowing inner life one moment before becoming as stiff and dour as a tomb when he hit a roadblock. Right now was in the burbling phase, the tubby and lightly-bent middle-aged writer trotting and weaving deftly through the library's expansive writing desks. "Try, really try to capture what someone without your experiences or life would see if they met you. Not necessarily while fighting, just some situation where your powers or other gifts are unleashed and unmistakable." "After writing, discuss with your classmates whether what you've written is plausible and true to life. Are you trying to be frightening, mysterious, reassuring? After that, write a short scene about someone seeing one of your table-mates and their reaction." Circling back around, he pushed his glasses back up his squashed nose, wagging a finger warningly "Remember, nobody is normal, everyone is unusual and has a story to tell. This is a way for you to step back and imagine yourselves not as the main characters in your own story, but as guest stars in someone else's!" "I'll be grading the essays from yesterday in the reference section, don't be a stranger if you're having any trouble at all." With remarkable speed on someone his age and weight, Perry spun and vanished around the corner. A little slowly at first, but with steadily increasing volume and pitch the air around the desks began to vibrate with whispered conversation, scritching of pens on paper and creaking wood.

Roberta Isley Gardens, Claremont Academy Bayview, Freedom City, New Jersey Thursday, January 31, 2019 12:01:49 PM "Reina Nightingale." The manila folder slid across the table to Reina's side. If she were to look inside she would see her school files printed on paper. Her application and acceptance into Claremont Academy, her previous school records, her entrance essay and various documents necessary for the proper documentation of a student. It was almost complete, save for any sensitive personal information that wouldn't be available to a student's cursory search. Across from Reina, Nicole stared blandly behind her spectacles as if she could assess the sophomore just like that. Nicole was sitting on her wheelchair and wrapped in winter clothing, a black and white scarf with floral patterns over a dark green sweater. Faded jeans and winter boots completed her outfit. Reina and Nicole were seated at one of the tables in the gardens. The sun shined merrily down on their heads, warming them even with the whole grounds frosted in snow, and with lunchbreak just started many students had moved outdoors with them. The benches and the tables and seats were swept clean of snow by the staff and so were summarily filled up in a short amount of time. Reina could see the students eating lunch or walking in twos or trios across the gardens or inside the nearby administration building. One or two adults who could only be teachers could also be seen. It was a fairly typical scene for a high school boarding school except the background was punctuated by the use of powers. Small uses of powers. She could see a student light a small fire on her hands to keep another girl close to her warm. Another, sitting on a bench by the Zen Gardens, stirred up snow into fractals and patterns as he read a textbook on mathematics. A student flew down from the roof of the library, too far to see who it was. "I've read your file," Nicole said, bringing Reina's attention back to her. "But I bet that doesn't tell me everything, so why don't you tell me more about yourself?" It was a student mentor program the two had entered into paired randomly or as Nicole had suspected, chosen by whoever was in charge of this thing. And this was their first meeting after a few days since the pairs were announced, the first time the two had talked to each other face-to-face instead of reading a name accompanied by a picture or seeing the other briefly in the hallways. "You just arrived this month, right? So let's start with that. Expectations from the school? From this? And why did you enter both?" She pushed up the frame of her glasses with a finger, allowing Reina to speak.

GM The Super Museum January 11th, 4:15 PM Starting in a new school was always difficult, especially right in the middle of a semester, but as Reina had come to find out, Claremont Academy was really not a regular school in any way, and as all the fellow students had returned from their Christmas Breaks, she had found out just how special the school was. Young men and women flying around, color-coded squads that competed against each other, the strange and the wonderful. And of course a lot of the regular school drama: Love, hate, rivalries, jocks and nerds and everything in between and beyond. One particular student, one Pan Barrie, had quickly welcomed her to the school, and as he did whenever given half an excuse, he had done his best to make Reina feel at home. And on this particular day, he had invited her to the Super Museum in Midtown. He had only just heard about it, and he had been really excited, and now they had just reached the end of the line, and he had paid for their entrance (claiming that it was just what friends did), and was getting ready to enter the museum proper. A few blocks away, a pair of men were making their way through the crowds. They were tall, clad in heavy trenchcoats and fedoras. Really not as inconspicuous as they might believe. One had a blonde handlebar moustache, the other a full brown beard. Both seemed to be bald, or at least had their hair hidden under their fedoras The one with the moustache was holding out a device, a dark green tablet device with handles on the side. The image on it showed a radar image, with streets and buildings, and a great big red dot, which covered a wide area, but seemed to be shrinking as they moved towards it. "Is this it, brother?" the brown haired one asked. "Are we getting closer?" The other shook his head. "Still hard to tell. We'll get there soon, I think."

GM Freedom League Special Circumstances Housing Sunday 2nd December Delta had a visitor. Unusual on a Sunday, especially this close to the Yuletide celebrations. But a visitor nonetheless. "Lulu LaWelle" said the woman, who must have been around fourty, with short cropped jet black hair and a clever twist to her lips. She had an olive skin giving her uncertain herritage, but had a clear but eloquent French accent. "I'm an agent of WEST. World Esoteric Science Taskforce. United Nations" she explained, holding up a hand held scanner that looked like it had been built ten years or more in the future given its shiny cutting edge appearance. "I'm sorry to bother you. But we have been getting some strange readings in Freedom City and...well...had to check them out....I hope you don't mind? Perhaps answer a few questions?" she asked politely. "And Merry Christmas!" she added, in a friendly tone.

GM Prologue Nov 6th, 2018 Bayview Mall Our story of madness on the Monorail begins a month before hand, with a chance encounter in the early evening. 'Tis but a little story of humankind both putrid and pleasant, but should be told first. 'Twas a shopping day, of course, but even days of shopping come to end. Stores were beginning to shut, and people began to drift home to home food, spouses, or an evening of entertainment (of various savoury and unsavoury flavours). Amogst the thinning crowd, Ms. Kwon spied an interesting fellow. He was a tall and broad man, whose left arm was thicker than most peoples thighs, with enormous muscles. He had a shaved head and a broken nose. He was half heartedly smoking a cigarrette, and looked half-hearted. His mood was sullen, and his eyes gazed almost vacantly to the ground. His right arm was missing. Gone. Sewn up with livid scars. And more, Ms. Kwon spied a group of four punks, full of leather jackets, tattooed, and died hair, eyeing him up. "Shall we give him a hand?" sniggered one.

23:00, 5th November 2018 Southside, Freedom City Humanity had a great capacity to recover from almost anything, and that included their capacity to hate. Only a few months after the city had almost been obliterated by an invasion force already the various gangs of the Southside had already started fighting amongst each other. Even worse a few of the devices from the invasion had leaked onto the black market, including once such device that according to good intelligence was going to be sold this very night in a warehouse in more run down part of the area.

Mona Simms was not busy. Pacer could get anything done in seconds. So she was living as she always had. World traveling speedster. Changing continents several times a day, if not an hour. But she had a Twitter account (two, actually. one for each identity) and Pacer sported an Instagram for all the crazy pics she got from being able to get places most couldn't. Hero House got in touch through those, and it was surprisingly easy to get the tiny young woman to agree. Pacer was an excellent typist. Okay, no she was awful, but she was certainly fast. Her screen name was PaceSetter

Seven years ago "Perhaps, one day, Dunwich would rise again. Not as an exercise for visions of madness, but as a true place of realization." Thanksgiving 2018 The Parkhurst Hotel Arcane energies crackling around its edges like so much barely-suppressed lightning, the mystic gateway opened and out stepped a visio n from beyond the very edges of our reality! Resplendent in his starry robes, his eyes glowing with the energies that lay between the planes, the Gatekeeper raised his gloved hands and said, "Hello, Nick!" Kyle and Eric were actually on a first-name basis but they both were working, the latter especially. With the holidays, Claremont students with no particular place to go had been attached to established heroes for a "ride-along" - which explained what Ms. Thursday was doing there. "And company, I see." The Gatekeeper brushed his hair, looking a little distracted; the faint smell of smoke rising from him. "Are the two of you free for a small favor?" he asked. "I hate to interrupt whatever you're doing for the holidays, but I have a situation."

GM Post 17:13:56 October 19, 2018 Somewhere in the Amazon The ceiling falls. Huge slabs of rock brake from the ceiling, clouds of dust and debris exploding as they rain down on those below. People run across the ground, trying to escape the deathtrap they had found themselves in. Screams and shouts of alarm ring across the temple, echoing across the stone walls to mix with the sound of crashing stones. Shallow cracks web across the floor, the intricate artwork extolling gods and storied legends tearing itself apart. "Get out of the way!" A father leading three young children by the hand shoves past Cassie, causing her to stumble. When she looks up, the family of four is already moving among the panicking crowd. They rush for the nearest exit where the day outside streams through like a solid pillar of light. You move to follow but hear someone calling your name. "Cassie! Cassie!" A tall man wades through the crowd behind you, concern filling his eyes. His head is shaved and a beard, curly and orange, marks him like a target at a firing range.

GM Oct 6th, Down South! On a dusty road, in a dusty desert, full of desert heat... Venomax was looking into poisons, toxins, and chemicals. And rumour had it, down here, in this strange remote landscape, there was some might fine poisons, of the toxic variety. And toxins of the poisonous variety. Scorpions! Venomax was entering the "town" of Littlebig Rock. It was hardly a town, more a collection of dusty buildings on a dusty road. But here, some old doctor lived, purpotedly proposing that the scorpions and toxins of this little old area of the world where the worst in the world? Was he right? He was drinking and smoking the day away just outside his home. Venomax could see him outside, drinking, and smoking. A thin leathery man, with dark wrinkled skin, dressed half like a cowboy, half like a shaman, and half like a gentleman. And probably half like something completely different. The sign above the door proclaimed this to be a dentists, for Doctor "Teeth" Whitefish as indeed a dentist. Or at least proclaimed to be.

September 8th, Saturday, 2018, early evening The Starlight Room, Midtown, Freedom City It was with all possible grace that a green dragon as tall as an elephant flared into being. Blue-red fire snapped and hissed across its body and its two mighty wings, which it flapped once to waft out the lingering flame. This act revealed two people sheltered under its wings, one of which was a tall young man with close-cut black hair, golden eyes and livid white scars from under his eyes to his jaw. He looked quite at ease, smiling reassuringly to the shocked and frozen staff and waiting guests just recovering from the appearance of the dragon. "Good evening. Party of two, name of Leroy Ransom-Conte and Nicole Whitfield-Hall," he told the burly, Biblically-bearded old man behind the desk, his seat framed by murals of the constellations, "my dragon will not be joining us." The creature looked at him very sharply for that. Blinking once, the old man said in a deep gloomy voice "Delighted to have you, sir." The man looked up at the boy, taking in the unfamiliar sight with no little wariness. The boy was dressed in rich blue tunic, trousers and robe with silver patterns suggesting roses or possibly eyes. He also, to the faint confusion of the man behind the desk, wasn't wearing shoes or socks, instead just a pair of ornate silver sandals. "Please wait to be seated, service will be here presently." Patting the dragon on the flank, Leroy murmured "Be close, keep watch." "Gild the lily, why don't you?" the dragon said, but he was already fading into another burst of heatless fire. The entry to the Starlight Room was hundreds of feet above Freedom City, with panoramic bay windows giving a breathtaking view of the sea, the hills and forests and rivers surrounding it. Light was fading behind the mountains far in the west, a dim orange-pink line receding before a tide of blue and black and farther stars. Light pollution was as bad in Freedom as anywhere else densly populated, but out the windows and across the sprawling domed ceiling of the Starlight Room blazed countless billions of stars. They were just images on a screen, one synced with real Earth-time to show an accurate picture of what the Lenape and early colonists had seen in the sky so many centuries ago. To add to the effect, the lights were kept low and in cool blue tones. Entry into the Starlight Room proper was up a flight of broad, gentle steps marked with the phases of the Moon from full to new and through a a set of doors decorated with the Pleiades, the lights cunningly set so looking directly at them hid them from view. The foyer itself was decorated so all color seemed to be fading into the floor, the walls in black snd silver, the floor and base of various objects like the lamps, chairs and the desk colored in orange, deep purple and faint pink. Only the bright red 'EXIT' sign by the emergency starway broke from the theme. Stepping over to his fellow passenger, Leroy beamed, his voice uncharacteristically-hushed as he said "How was the teleport? Sorry to say Dio is still young, but he learns swiftly." He smiled "Certainly bests waiting in an elevator."

GM Emerald City, 4 PM, November 28th Magh'kee had been busy. Her work as a welder, working beneath the waves on Emerald City's new wave-power generator seemed to be a never ending one. Always something to do, always something to put together. She was not alone under the water, despite her clear advantages. A security measure, it had been called. At least two under the water, at least one, preferably two, above. All for safety reasons. Working under the water was not exactly a safe job for a regular human, after all. Her coworker, one Matthew Stone, had been acting unusual all shift. He had always been twitchy, but cautious. Not the hardest worker, but he had done his part, even if he complained all the while. Today, he had been working like a man possessed. No extra breaks, no complaints. Working in silence, working hard. And then, suddenly, while they were alone under water, started thrashing about, before he stopped all together. Even under the water, Magh'kee could hear his scream. Pain, fear. Across the city, at University Hill, Robin Lynne Langley had left work, hurrying to catch the bus, when she heard a scream, not entirely unlike what Magh'kee had heard under the water, though without the water buffering the sound. It was clear, almost inhuman. Everyone turned to look at a ragged-looking homeless man, standing in the middle of the road. He fell, thrashing about violently, and then stopped moving, as cars swerved to avoid him.

Fall 2018 Archetech When the self-driving car from Archetech arrived, there was an Omegadrone inside it, sitting in the rear passenger compartment. Steve looked up at Delta, his scarred face hard to read through cybernetic enhancements designed to give tactical feedback rather than the finer points of humanoid facial expression. "Delta. Miss Americana felt you would want company." It was his first chance to meet the woman who had been described as the leading expert in Terminus technology on this plane - the greatest who was not mad, anyway. The Omegadrone's voice was grave and deep; an impossible thing given the cold, emotionless horrors that were Omegadrones but one Delta had heard already. After all, the Omegadrone had been among those who'd met him in this new realm and had asked him questions about a realm both of them knew only too well - questions about dread Nihilor. "I have secured a collection of Earth-Prime music and educational recordings for the drive. It is short but you may find them productive. How are your studies progressing?"

GM October 10th, London The WEST jet was a converted 747. It was jam packed with sensory equipment, libraries, laboratories, computers. THere was space to live and eat in there. It even had a fish tank. But no jacuzzi. Doctor Norris North, director of W.E.S.T (World Exotic Science Taskforce, an arm of the UN) had flown Replica there. They had only just saved a valuable and dangerous batch of Darwin-X from theft by the mysterious Red Dawn. The soldiers who had tried to take it, whilst clearly Russian, clearly highly trained, seemed to have no memory of anything to do with their mission or their masters. The only tangible clue was Mother Board, the name of the hacker who had orchestrated the Gridlock that had allowed the theft. After landing, North and Replica took a famous black London Taxi to the HQ of Vanguard. "I have somebody in mind. Synapse. Genius member of the Vanguard, the supergroup of this area. She is highly skilled with computers and has some experience with Darwin-X, I understand. If anybody can help us, she can. So lets put on our best diplomatic hats, and see if we can persuade her..." He rang the doorbell of the Vanguard HQ. "Hello? Hello? May I enter? This is Doctor North, from the United Nations..."

Around Sunset, Bedlam City Very few who live in a blighted urban landscape like Bedlam wouldn't suspect that it had much in the way of magic. The founders of the city had made sure that several convergences of ley lines meant the city was brimming with the stuff. Like the city, the magic was icky and blighted, though many still argued which caused the other. Away from the prying eyes of many a superteams and powerful mystics, Bedlam made a perfect place for those who practiced the less savory styles of magic to meet up and exchange, or more often sell, rituals and artifacts that were unpleasant if not outright evil...

Wading Station, North End, Freedom City 7:30 pm 4th September 2018 It had taken a year to arrange everyone schedules, mostly it's was true Lucy's schedule, but finally, they were free to take there road trip across the country. The place that she'd chosen to meet up with Nicole was Wadling station and old Art Deco station that she remembered from her breathing life, the contrast between that and the modern building just reminded her how her life was now. With her standard sunglasses, she lent on the body of the car that they'd be using for this road trip, a '63 soft top Corvette in black, obvious her assistances idea of a joke. It was probably lucky that she couldn't find a Model T-Ford car or this trip would have taken so much longer.

GM December 10th, 2018, 4.54 AM Star Island Space Control Center, Atlantic Ocean, USA All around the heroes, the Space Control Center buzzed with activity. People rushing by in uniforms of every shade, shouts, the rattle and roar of machinery, the feel of the floor and air vibrating with the sheer noise passing through them. Above was a clear, chill Atlantic sky, a few stars twinkling despite the blazing lights of the offshore aerospace facility. Over the base's cacophony, a voice cut through. "...And that's where we're at. Thanks to the cooperation of these two, we have a lock on Blackstar's most likely location by tracking the signature of his Shadow Bands. Faster-than-light approach in a Pegasus should let you get close to the base without raising the alarm, and if our readings and the information from his followers is accurate, his castle should be minimally-staffed." To his credit, USAF Col. Randall Austin didn't look enviously at the sleek navy blue spaceplane taxiing into the launch sling. The flickering decade and change had thickened the man a shade around the waistline, and the grey in his hair fair outnumbered the thickets of coarse black, but the last hour and a half of explaining a lot of information clearly and concisely proved his mind was as sharp as ever. "If you can apprehend Blackstar, that would be great. But if you learn how he and his followers are transporting to Earth without the Lighthouse detecting them, that's far more important. Now, are there any questions before takeoff?" Behind his glasses, Randall beamed hopefully.