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The Espadas School of Self-Defense and Swordsmanship! September 29, 2017 Whump. Whump. Whump. Erik Espadas' fists impacted the punching bag suspended from the dojo's ceiling over and over, hard enough to rattle the chain and give him time to switch up his footwork between strikes as the bag swung back toward him. It wasn't rhythmic exactly, as his attacks varied staccato triplets of quick jabs to single heavy swings with the entire weight of his body behind them. Even so their was a somewhat hypnotic quality to the overall pattern, his steady breathing framing the train of percussion while a light sheen of sweats showed on the skin exposed by his light tank top. He'd been at it when Raina had decided to set up in one of the stackable chairs lying against the back wall and he'd kept at it for at least ten straight minutes since, gradually picking up speed and punishing the bag more and more severely. He'd definitely seen her come in but hadn't said anything, expression focused and uncharacteristically severe. While the teenager knew the swordsman wasn't baseline human she was pretty sure he didn't have any measure of super strength and wouldn't be punching the bag clean off of its securely fastened chain. He certainly seemed to be making a go of it nonetheless. Whump. Whump. Whump.

January 2, 2018 Ashton and Grenville The advertisement at the music store had been well-presented enough - musicians wanted for a Holiday Concert at Club G4118. They were paying in both cash and exposure, with promises of out-of-town label agents in the audience. That sort of thing was a little outside of Fred and Matt's scope these days, but the money was nice, as was the opportunity to perform before a crowd that didn't involve anybody they knew. They were a little new to this public performance thing, after all. And so on the evening of January 2, 2018, they were making their way to Club G4118, a private club built into a converted home on the edge of Ashton. They were at the extreme edge of the neighborhood here, so far to one side that on the other side of the street was a vacant lot that itself segued into Wharton State Forest. It was a cold evening, with a light coating of snow on the ground, as they surveyed a neighborhood that looked like light suburban commercial development - a strip mall here, a chain restaurant there, and the looming shape of Club G4118 nearby. It looked to have been an older house before its conversion, perhaps one of the 19th century homes that had stood on this spot when Ashton was technically an independent town. Before consolidation had meant the murder of much of the town's history in the name of progress. From somewhere, distant Christmas music played, probably a tune from one of the stores in the stripmall. But Christmas was over now too - this was the last day of their last Christmas holiday.

January 2, 2018 On the last day of Raina Sanderson's last day of Christmas vacation at Claremont Academy, she got a text from her monkey. Merlin had been increasingly agitated over the last few days, for reasons that he swore had nothing to do with the monkey-sized Christmas sweater that he'd gotten from the floor Christmas present pool. It couldn't have anything to do with the temperature - Cathy was off on a date, or some sort of mystery, with Phaedra, which had left him master of the room while Raina was outside. The text said FOUND BIG THING. TROUBLE. With only three emojis, all of them from the "Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, See No Evil" series, this was an unusually restrained message. NEED TO SHOW YOU.

January 2, 2018 North Hanover January 2 - the last day of vacation for the students of Claremont Academy. It's a good day to wrap things up, and indeed between one thing and another, all of Phae and Cathy's friends are busy tonight. That's okay, it means more time for them. After duty is finished. Auld Reekie has been one of Scotland's most notorious supervillains since before Cathy was born, and no wonder! With his armored, ornately-carved body, he looks a bit like a steampunk robot - though he claims to be the spirit of a demon of pollution bound inside a golem crafted from cold iron. He's notorious in Scotland for attacking windfarms, recycling centers, and other places and peoples trying to pull Scotland into a green, clean 21st century. And as of last report (via friends in the Vanguard who'd rather talk to a Scottish superheroine than an American team), he's recently arrived in Freedom City from Edinburgh, and is holed up in a warehouse somewhere in North Hanover near the Jameson Airport. He's a notorious criminal (albeit not violent enough to be a major priority for the Freedom League) and bringing him in would be a fine feather in the cap of Frostbyte. The warehouses here are new and clean - though rather dull. As far as Frostbyte and Ardent can tell from their rooftop perch, it's all low steel and brick warehouses from here to the chainlink fence that marks the edges of the airport proper. Luckily it's cold enough and dark enough that nobody seems to be trying to spot them above the brightly glowing yellow streetlights here. And one of them has her own means of finding demons.

GM Post Freedom Ledger, Business pages GRANT CEO RETIRES by Dancia Devons The business world was surprised today by the announcement of the retirement of Grant Conglomerate CEO Jonathan Grant (57). Even more surprising was the announcement of the appointed of his daughter Sarah Grant (28) to the position. Ms. Grant has been a champion of metahuman and alien right and averment critic of her own father. FEUD WITH MARSTECH DEEPENS by Dancia Devons The Grant Conglomerate has pulled out of a co-project with MARSTECH to develop the new Spartoi Powered Armor for the US Army, citing severe mismanagement of the project.

An old lady enters into a dark room before she lights a candle as it brings meager light into the room the only sound heard is the sound of her footsteps dragging across the floor. "Once upon a time there were heroes in a city" she croaked in an old voice speaking to no one in particular. "And one day the heroes came upon a great mystery" she says before a big evil grin comes across the old ladies face. Meanwhile at the Wharton State Forest a ranger is doing his morning rounds, as he goes over forested hill and pass yonder creeks he comes upon a part of the park he's never seen before "odd" is the only word that escapes his lips as he notices a number of purple tree's "HQ can you check with the last person who checked this area and see if he noted anything about purple bark" says the park Ranger as he moves in for a closer look. As he brings a hand up and touches the bark when he pulls it away the purple color has grafted on to his fingers "weird" he says before he tears off the bark it gives away easily like rotted wood. "Oh no" is the last thing that escapes his lips before he notices something he's seen before. "HQ we got a ...ungh problem, seems the trees have a contagious disease... and" Says the Ranger before the sounds of grunting can be heard over the radio. "Why won't this come off" he utters as he wipes furiously at his hands that are covered in a purple shade. "We need to call some specialist to come up here, and have the first aid kit ready for me when I arrive" 3 hours later what seemed at first as a problem for forest goers and rangers gets worse as a news woman on the scene begins to describe in detail the slowly spreading disease that seems to be incurable any attempts to try have ended in, 5 cases of people being turned purple. I can confirm the 5 people are in totally good health but they seem to be quarantined and any contact with them seems to result in turning purple as well. This is Nancy Tucker and I plan to stay on this story until all the answers are your's freedom city. says Nancy as a small crowd of 20 people that are hikers and concerned citizen's begin to gather at one of the forest ranger outposts

A young man runs through a park, then into his dorm room. "GUYS you won't believe what I saw in Midtown, there's this huge like street that just showed up and then BAM!!!! like actors and stuff started playing music, fire-dancers, Belly dancers, and people flying through the air I think I think its a parade" he says as he and his friends rush back to Midtown. In Midtown almost as if by magic a large Parade has descended on the city what once was a busy street in midtown has now become a huge parade, with elephants, dancers and huge balloons making there way down the streets, and at the center of it all stands a huge pavilion being carried by at least a thousand people. Its stark gold and purple banners flutter in the wind. Standing atop the large pavilion in the middle of the float stands a tall handsome looking man in expensive regalia of a Sultan, Behind him a band plays a large and boisterous tune over the celebration as more and more people begin to gather to watch this impromptu Parade. Large assortments and retinues in the parade have different groups of large animals being displayed in cages and with leashes. Beautiful woman belly dance on the streets as they sing praises to this prince standing on the pavilion. Seeing as this is a busy street being taken over traffic throughout the city becomes much slower as word travels about this parade. Freedoms Cities Finest soon find it impossible for them to intervene as some sort of mysterious power keeps them from ever reaching the parade street, making it so they remain in traffic or become to fatigued to either run or walk the distance to the parade. "Prince Ali we love you" can be heard through out the crowd as the man in the regalia steps to the edge of the pavilion and waves at the masses.

JR's Family Farm and Corn Maze, Egg Harbor Township, NJ. Saturday, September 23rd, 2017. Shortly before 10:00 pm The Richardson family had given the heroes the use of their barn for this initial planning session; Emily Richardson had been nice enough to provide coffee, donuts and several lanterns, but Grimalkin, 'the Mistress of Mystery', had conjured up the long table and a dozen chairs that currently occupied the center of the barn. She'd also playfully decorated the place with colorful streamers, cobwebs and a few skeletons. The barn was redolent with the smells of farm animals and hay. Grouped at one end of the table were three figures; two of them were instantly recognizable by those who knew Freedom City's heroes, but the third, not so much. Grimalkin and her partner in all things the Shrike were joined by an older man in a wheelchair with a gray ponytail who wore a mask made from a black bandana with eyeholes cut in it, but otherwise wore well-worn denim and a pair of black Doc Martins. All of them were enjoying a cup of coffee, waiting for the others to arrive. After a few minutes of waiting, the older man checked his watch and sighed dramatically. "So how late do you think this meeting will go? You know your mom doesn't like me out late on Saturdays." "'Butch', can you please ixnay on the ecret identity-say? Some heroes are paranoid; they might be casing the joint invisibily to see if its a trap." Butch looked around nervously. "Oh, right...hadn't thought of that. 'Loose lips', am I right?" "Exactly." A few minutes later, the older civilian cleared. "Look, if I'm gonna join you on your adventures, can I at least get a utility belt or something? I don't have super-cool powers like you and your girlfriend here." "Dad, I'm not gonna get you a utility belt; you'd...try to use the laser blowtorch and burn the house down." Butch sniffed and folded his arms. "Fine, just let the bad guys take your old man hostage, then!" "Dad, just...ooh!" No said anything for several minutes until Gretchen reached out with her mental link. -You two are adorable.- -Quiet, you!-

September 2017 Riverside Marsha's In a perfect world, the experience of one sort of discrimination would prevent other forms of discrimination. But then a perfect world wouldn't need superheroes. Of the bars, bookstores, and cafes of Freedom City's gayborhood in Riverside, Marsha's was one of the few that catered particularly to LGBT people of color. From Sylvia Rivera on one wall to Bayard Rustin on the other, with shelves of LGBT books on one side and a coffee bar with nearby stage on the other, it had the homey atmosphere of a long-attended, long-populated neighborhood establishment. There was a smooth jazz quartet on stage this afternoon as a growing crowd filled in. It was Poetry Night and the coffee was hot, the biscuits were warm, and it was going to be one hell of a night. Riley Quinn-Smith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting the urge to adjust the black fedora he wore on his carefully-shaved head. His years on Earth-Prime had gotten him used to crowds of strangers, and he had to admit he liked seeing the faces of so many people who, like him, were a little less than whitebread when it came to who they dated. It was what was on the agenda for later that made him uneasy. "This is stupid," he finally whispered to the other boy across the table from him. To the other Riley. The other Riley was skinnier and softer at the same moment, in a black suit and tie that made him contrast slightly with Riley's own purple-plaid shirt and jacket. His goatee was a little thicker and he had a mustache, but the resemblance was striking enough to instantly peg them as brothers. Of course the reality was, they were more than brothers. Duplicates across dimensions, who'd worked out at least some of their differences in the last two years. "This is stupid," hissed the Riley who was uneasy in his seat. "Nobody's gonna give a damn." "It's not stupid," said the other Riley, a look of confidence on a dark face that was rounder than his counterpart's but whose eyes were no less intelligent. The noise of the crowd and the music was already such that nobody was giving them a second look. "We wait till it's darker and everybody's watching the show, you swing in and do your thing. Show 'em the T in LGBT." "Nobody's gonna give a damn," Riley muttered, staring into his coffee. "Shoulda gone out with Robin tonight..."

How did this happen? Who knows? The point was that Mannequin had found himself in an abandoned warehouse. Except even that didn’t seem right. There was something…off about it. It was like someone’s idea of an abandoned warehouse rather than a real one. There was a voice as a woman in neon blue striped black appeared almost out of nowhere. “This is a test. Let’s see what you can do.” The woman cracked her neck and assumed a combat stance.

Milennium Park, Chicago. August 26th. Around 1 PM The Cloud Gate. The g-d Cloud Gate. It had been the big reason that Corinne wanted to come, well that and Sue at the Fields museum. She looked upon it rapturously, her fingers gliding over the surface. "It's... beautiful." Turning her head, as she looked at Hannah, under from under her straw pork pie hat, before she went back to gazing at it. She was dressed lightly for the hot, somewhat stifling Chicago summer. A denim vest over her Joy Division Unknown Pleasures shirt, and a skirt that matched the vest, and a pair of canvas sneakers. It was easy to tell that works of art could pretty much derail Corinne, as much as food could. She had been slightly anxious, about asking Hannah if she could swing by for a weekend in Chicago. Her folks had swept through, she was contending with getting ready for of the start of the school year, and she needed away from Freedom City. From Claremont. From that. And, well Hannah was the closest thing she had to a friend. She had a hard time gauging it, so Hannah was her friend. That was that. It felt good to have one, after being devoured by dance for so long. "This is just... wow."

Flamborough Head Promontory, Yorkshire England October 31st, 7:06 AM From seemingly out of nowhere on the morning of Halloween, a dense fog rolls into the waters outside of Yorkshire. This would not be so unusual, especially for the time of year, but up until exactly 7:06 the weather had been unseasonably warm and no clouds dotted the horizon. No indication whatsoever gave warning, and what followed after was stranger still. From the depths of Flamborough Head, a rumbling came, the sea started churning, wails could be heard for miles around, ghostly disembodied wails that put ice in the bones of all that heard it. As if called, the captains of all vessels currently sailing the ocean felt pulled for an instant to this exact spot, whether they be pleasure boat captains, tug boat captains, or simply a man on his yacht looking to do a little fishing on a warm Tuesday morning. From the churning burst forth a ship, a ship that had not been seen for over 200 years. It's railings and deck and sails emitted an ethereal red glow and it was partially transluscent. Anabelle Flint felt that pull stronger than most, and was surprised when one of her Skeleton Crew, Handsome Jack, burst into her quarters, it's eyes aglow with an alien yellow light. The revenant wasn't acting the way her crew usually behaved. He stood with back straight, his bony hands crossed behind his back and standing in what could easily be seen as a military at ease. It's decaying chin held high it spoke in a voice that commanded respect, it spoke like a ship captain. "Captain Flintlock, I am Rear Admiral John Paul Jones. The Bonhomme Richard has risen, and you are needed."

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.

GM Rusty Spike's Tattoo Parlour The Theatre District 16th September Spike Head was a tall thin man with a bald head and a long beard. He had a rather messy and wonderful scar running across his forehead, which he gave various conflicting stories about. A gang of ninja's, a jealous ex-wife, a radioactive pineapple. He had a wicked laugh and plenty of wicked tattoo's that varied from saucy to x-rated. They showed off his skill, he said. He was an advertisement for his shop. Right now he was finishing off a tattoo on the shoulder of an attractive blond woman who was leaning on a bench, topless, but wearing the most almighty hefty boots and leather trousers. Her spine was a terrifically wild line of angels and demons locked in some epic war. "Finished in a moment, Carmen..." mumbled Spike, taking pride and care over his work. There were a couple of other tattoo artists doing their trade, but Spike was clearly the boss. Spike looked up as Mr. Compton walked in, quickly recognising him. "Come to see how its done, have you, Mr. Compton?" he laughed his cackling laugh.

GM The Eclipse Bar September 16th, 23:00 It was another packed night at the Eclipse bar. The previous weeks drama had only increased the demand for tickets. To cap it all, Aortic Valve were playing again, to show their defiance against intimidation and threat. Verity was singing again, louder and more violent than ever. There was still a line outside, trying to get in. Pleading, begging, bluffing, manipulating. But Rob the Troll, the huge bouncer of the Eclipse, with a punched up face and knuckles that did a lot of punching up, was having none of it. A police car was outside. Parked there for the evening. FC Police were not in the mood to have another incident like last week. Stolen rubies, collapsed buildings, shattered glass. It wasn't a pretty night, last week....

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>.”

Matt had been waiting for her. He'd been trying ever-so-hard to not look like he'd been waiting for her, and on a normal day he probably could have pulled it off with his well-honed apathy and a set of scout dogs, but there was something under his skin and it was making him somewhat less than subtle. And so he paced, or tapped his foot, or drummed fingers against his knee to some song in his head, all while periodically pulling at a bandage wrapped tightly around his left forearm. He'd tried rolling the sleeves of his black overshirt down to cover it, but they didn't cover quite enough of his wrist and at some point he'd just given up. He'd given up on a lot of things, really. "Raina!" So much for playing it cool, well done. He pulled at the bandage again, unconsciously, pulling back a bit so that she didn't feel like she was getting ambushed outside her last class for the day. "It's...not that big a deal, but I could use a favor. Maybe. I'd definitely owe you one - heck, I'd owe you two, if it goes well."

Hangar Bay C, Tethron Commerical Hub Tethron System, Sharahazad Sector The story of the “Sharahazad Crisis” had spread over the galaxy like a wildfire. A massive group of people, all arriving in the sector of otherwise little importance. Looking to buy and sell all sorts of goods. Many people saw that they could profit from the situation. Some saw the fact they could help people at the same time as a good thing, some didn’t care much for anything beyond money. Ak’kar had gotten the news too. And according to some rumours, many of the refugees were interested in buying all sorts of scrap. So he loaded up his ship, and travelled. It had been quite the journey, but upon arriving at Tethron, which served as the entire sector’s main cargo hub, these rumours were confirmed. Before he even arrived at the station itself, he’d already received multiple offers for what he’d been carrying. The Oog’ol, a species who had fled, seemed particularly interested, but some others, some of them merchants themselves, also offered great prices. The Leviathan landed, and as the crew got everything unloaded, Ak’kar was approached by a group of about 50 people. Some of them were Oog’ol, but the majority of them were what Ak’kar could now recognize as Asshui, another of the fleeing species. One spoke for them all, and his Galstandard was lacking. “Large ship. Will pay for bringing us out of system. Different place to stay. Us, and others after. Have money or goods to offer. “

The Gooble, Ordon-Class Freighter Somewhere in Space, travelling towards the Sharahazad Sector The news of “the Sharahazard Crisis” had spread far. So far, in fact, that even on Earth, attentive people could hear about it. Of course, travelling across a large part of known space was no easy task, especially for inhabitants of a planet without any real galactic presence of its own. Still, people with the right connections had ways of getting into space, and from there finding a pilot who was flying towards the Sharahazad sector was as easy as it ever would be. Seemingly every other person had a reason to make the journey. Amongst them was Hugol, a small-scale merchant who had stopped at the largest commercial hub close to Sol. He’d picked up quite a few people who were travelling towards the Sharahazad sector, their reasons as different as their looks. Some of them clearly more experienced than others, some not even able to speak Galstandard. He wondered what they were seeking, but it had already been enough trouble to negotiate the journey, he didn’t feel like asking. Some of them were terrans. Amongst them, Doctor Deoxy, who had heard that some of the refugees offered to trade scientific data, or even let people get data directly from their body, as an exchange for all sorts of goods. Travelling to the same place, but for an entirely different reason, was Professor Peculiar. The news of large-scale refugee movements happening at a different corner of the galaxy had reached him too, and he had a good reason to get a first-hand impression of what was happening.

Sstetsson Temporary Camp, Tethron V Tethron System, Sharahazad Sector Tethron V was the biggest colonized planet in its system, and while not their homeworld, the local Geq’s most important planet. A bustling hub of activity, many cities were spread out around the entire planet. And even if some of them were true metropolises, there still was a lot of nature. Thethron V was a nice planet by most standards. Lush, plants and animals wherever one looked. Waterfalls and lagoons, mountain ranges either covered in all sorts of trees, or piercing above the clouds. The further the distance from the centers of population, the more one saw. And yet, when approaching Sstetsson Camp, it was a dark contrast to the beauty of the planet itself. Spaceships of all sizes, from fighters to large cargo ships, all inside the valley. The smaller ones on the outside, to form a perimeter, the larger ones inside, where they served as shelter. Some had set up tents, each of them full of people. Sstetsson Camp had been created shortly after the first news of refugees arriving in Sharahazad Sector had arrived in Tethron. A large group of Asshui settled down on the planet, as a temporary measure. It had only been a few ships at the beginning. But more arrived, and it seemed like it wouldn’t stop. That had been only a few days ago. And already, the conditions inside the camp were dire. The surrounding cities were not equipped to handle the amount of people, and even if the Asshui did their best to help, it was clear that something had to be done. To that end, various diplomatic representatives from all across the galaxy had been invited by Sstetsson, the leader of the original group, and current head of the camp. Amongst the invited were Councillor Ditra Fifty-Five, sent as the first Nameless to ever make contact with the new species, and as one of the Council’s many representatives. Dol-Druth had also been sent. Sharahazad Sector had never been an object of interest before, and with it suddenly becoming the focal point of large parts of the galaxy, it was more important than ever to have somebody right at the scene. And somebody to gather as much information as possible. The Praetorians had also received the news, and had followed it with much attention. While some were currently busy at other ends of the galaxy, the impeding Sharahazad Crisis, as it had been dubbed, became a big priority. As the person with the most proficiency, Sitara had been sent to attend the diplomatic meeting, mainly to observe.

Morley's Pub September 16th, 2017, Saturday @ 2100 Maxie walked into Morley's and smiled at the already gathering crowd. He needed this, needed some time to relax, even if he was being forced into his superhero get up. He remembered thinking idly that He was rarely ever in it when doing actual heroing, as it always seemed to catch him by surprise, but he had to admit he cut a dashing figure in an all leather black biker outfit with flames stitched into them up the arms and legs. It was early still, around 9 PM and so the place hadn't quite filled out yet. The entertainment on the docket today was billed as Super Hero Appreciation Karaoke Night. Apparently the heroes of the city were supposed to show up in their digs and sing some for the crowd and their fellow do gooders. This sounded like an excellent idea to Maxie, aka: Spitfire. He had spent most of his life as a performer, a carnival fire breather to be exact but crowds were all the same. They just wanted a good show and Maxie knew just the song to give them that good show. Seeing that the crowd wasn't quite big enough yet, though, he decided to wait. He walked up to the bar, greeting the patrons as he went. Most did not recognize him personally, he was relatively new in town, again. But they recognized a hero get up when they saw one and offered praise and claps on the back as he made his way to the bar. "Laphroaig Triple Wood, if ya got it please. If not, any Scotch of 12 years or older should do. As long as it's single malt! That blended stuff is atrocious." Max smiled as the drink was handed to him and took a long deep sniff of the alcohol. Drinking scotch was a lot like drinking wine, you had to do it right. You had to acclimate your senses to the smell so the alcohol wouldn't overwhelm the flavors. Recognizing the peaty aroma of the triple wood, Max closed his eyes and let out a slow happy sigh. This was gonna be a good night.

GM The Eclipse Night Club September the 9th, 23:30 The Eclipse night club was booming to industrial Gothic Beats, an effective repetitive sound of limited musicality and excessive passion. Aortic Valve where playing and had been expressively forbidden from any self-harming blood throwing antics. On another night, this might not be the case, but the Eclipse did, from time to time, open its doors to the 16-18 age bracket with clear parameters for acceptable behaviour. Gotta Gotta Gotta, Gotta Gotta Gotta, Gotta Gotta Gotta Slash the Pash....ion! sang the leader Singer of Aortic Valve, Verity Vein, dressed in slashed up leathers and black make up. A bit too little of the former, a bit too much of the latter. She sang in a voice that alternated from drone to scream and was really rather effective. And 'twas on this night that Bird of Arms was out partying. And the place was packed. Not just with the 16 and 17 year olds, but older adults too. Alcohol was not served, but a frenzied spirit was, and in copious quantities. Rob the Troll was enjoying the show. He was six foot six and hideously ugly, not helped by a broken nose and scar that ran down his face bisected by an eye patch. His arms were as thick as most peoples legs, if not thicker, and he had tattoo's on (it seemed) every square foot of his skin. Rob the Troll kept the peace in the Eclipse, and such was his reputation that he could do it by reputation alone. However, with Bird of Arms here, his reputation and indeed his skill might not suffice. He sidled up to Bird of Arms as Slash the Passion finished (to much applause and screaming). "No trouble from you tonight, you hear?"

Saturday, September 9, 2017 3:06 AM The Witching Hour Lantern Hill at the best of times was rarely a lively place, yet in the darkness of the night even the dead slumber silent and still. The moon casts a cold light upon the landscape, dispelling the mists and shadows, though not all. There are places its light does not touch, and here the night creatures flit from their hidden crevices into the open world beyond, free from the beings who walk the streets by day. Dogs roam the alleyways in packs, snouts turned to the ground in search for food. Cats tiptoe high above on fences and roofs, glowing eyes watching in a predatory light. And rats scurry in the sewer and secret passageways, peeling back layers of wood and board with gnawing teeth. Once stately things, the old Victoria-era manors lay empty along one road in Lantern Hill, overlooking Freedom City in their lots overgrown with weeds and the dead husks of trees. The roofs are patchworks of missing shingles and dead leaves, brickwork turned to rubble and paint hanging in tatters from the foyer, brown from age, swaying sleepily in the breeze, and in the quiet of the night a lone feline perches on a chimney top. It pauses midway from licking its paw and twists in place to look up. Another figure streaks a silhouette against the purple sky. High above the stillness of the ground, the icy winds buffet her armor but she heeds that no mind, snugly ensconced in steel. Instead, her mind flows in equations and derivatives, codes and images and meanings and symbols, all blurring into one and another to form a mess of thoughts. But she lets the cold air in, and the chill drags her awake, forcing her focus better than a mug of espresso. Absentmindedly, she scans her surrounding area, aware of both physical and magic happenings yet all is silent and still. Even magic needs to sleep.

Pi Epsilon Delta Chapter House, Freedom City University. Saturday, August 26th, 2017. 10:05 AM At the eighth floor, Casey slid open the vintage elevator gate, which shrieked delightfully; everything here felt timeless and ageless, and somehow that thrilled her. She paused to peer over the railing of the stairwell, all the way down to the tile floor below, and then turned her head upwards to marvel at the stained glass dome overhead. "I love it," she murmured to no one in particular. Finally she began to make her way towards her designated room, and learn just who 'Maria Sangre' really was; she knew she was from New York, Puerto Rican and fiercely proud of it. Casey also knew that she had some kind of freaky superpowers that involved the human body somehow. Did she dare share her own secret identity? Probably not, at least until she knew this girl better. The blonde bruiser made her way down the hall, dragging two wheeled carry-on bags, one in each hand. On her back was a massive backpack; not a little daypack like you'd give to your middle-schooler, but a full-on mountaineering grade beast. It was full to bursting, but she carried the load easily. In terms of clothing, she wore a pair of Teva sandals, khaki cargo shorts (how many pairs did she own?), her photographer's vest over a Colorado Rockies T-shirt, a pair of glasses, and a brand-new FCU baseball cap. She smelled of musky organic soap, sugarless mint gum and a healthy sweat. She found the right door on her letter from PED and politely knocked before poking her head in. "Hello, new roomie warning! Hide all your, uh, drugs and alcohol and stuff!" Yeah, that sounded way funnier in her head. Her voice bore just a hit of a Southwestern twang, and her smile was positively radiant.

It was a sad truth that even superheroes had to do their nightly chores, particularly if said heroes were also small business owners, and parents of an ever expanding brood of small children. So whilst the kids may have been a bed the adults of the espadas household had their labors yet before them. Dishes to be done, toys to be stowed before the morrow brought a new and exciting minefield of small and startlingly share bits of plastic artfully concealed beneath princess dresses and costume capes, the life of quiet domesticity that kept the whole household running. Of course for the Interceptors, such moments were never long enough. In a cloud of hellfire and sulphurous smoke a small bundled folio appeared on the kitchen table, the magical signature of it's arrival familiar to Erics metamagi senses, Raina's young demonically inclined companion. Atop the parcel a hasty note, I'm safe and I'll tell you all about it soon. Tonight has been Bananas. You need to see this right away though. Raina the handwriting easily recognizable as was the passphrase the teen had insisted was far from cool but that's she'd use in an emergency if Talya promised not to let any of her friends ever see it. The folder itself was heavy for its size, the paper within clearly of sturdy stock. The exterior printing was much like the interoffice mailers used before everything went electronic, Talya would recognize it's pedigree as even older. Printed across the most recent delivery line read, To: Captain Browning C/O Raina Sanderson [eyes only] From: Major Redacted