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Late March 2015 Gina had been able to tell something was wrong with Steve for the last few days. Always quiet, he'd fallen nearly into monosyllables unless directly pressed, and he'd started spending his nights either reading or sitting up, staring out the window at the world outside. After living together for well over a year, this was a familiar pattern - the only mystery was whether he would eventually tell her what was the matter or if his feelings would sink back down below the mantle of his self-restraint. Finally, over a dinner of oven-cooked shrimp fajita, he put down his fork and broke the silence that had been pressing on him. "There is an Annihilist living in the DuTemps Building." He said the words with the calm frankness of a man broaching a difficult subject, as well it was.
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March 1, 2015 6PM Steve typically walked home from work. At a steady pace HAX was not so far from Gina's front door and he preferred walking to riding a bus or taxi (and thus taking space away from someone who needed it). But today, with the chaos of the Communion attack safely in the past, he had plans for the evening. So for once he took the bus, head down in his hooded sweatshirt so as to avoid attracting unnecessary attention, a solitary figure that bulked above and beyond the tech commuters coming home to Hanover. From the bus stop, he walked a circuitous route back to Gina's house before walking right up to the front door. He sometimes suspected that Gina, in her more protective moments, would have preferred to keep him inside with her, but they had long since discussed the smooth protocol that led him to walk up to the door, opening it, and stepping inside. Automated security had already scanned him and pronounced him fit before he even reached that point, security that would stop any intruder who tried to follow in his path but security that was subtle enough not to alert anyone that this house was unusual. For a woman who had grown up on Earth-Prime, Gina understood how to protect herself very well. "I am here!" he called loudly from the door, remembering those times he had "scared the living beeping daylights out of me" when he had walked into the house and gone looking for Gina without announcing his presence.
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Here is the OOC thread.
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Saturday, 22 November 2014, 1400 It was a cold winter's day in Freedom City. And across the city... two phones were ringing. Catherine sighed as she sat in the hotel room she was using, resting in her wheelchair. Hopefully, she'd be able to get out of the dammed thing soon enough- her recuperation from her injuries was coming along nicely, although she'd likely never be able to walk unaided again. Well... powers aside. And Dad was working on a powered frame, now, which should let her fight for extended periods of time... Now, though, her concerns were different, although related, as she called the other two heroes involved in that particular series of events, as a pair of medals glinted from where they were laid out on the bed. "Well, let's hope things go well..."
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July 1, 2014 Midnight Greenbank Steve closed his phone, put it in the glove compartment of his HAX-issued car, and stepped out onto the street. The sightings on the streets of Greenbank had been dismissed as hoaxes, or perhaps a publicity stunt for one of the many stories told on Earth-Prime that he did not understand. At least at first. A group of young people, coming out of a store that sold picture books like those that had taught Steve how to read many years earlier, had seen representatives of some of their favorite fictional characters scuttling into the sewers, katanas and other martial weapons gleaming in the light. And then another sighting, this time of Sub-Terrans, and then another of the long-dead Conqueror Worm. The sightings all had something in common - they were all of beings that lived underground, all of them glimpsed on the surface before immediately disappearing below. It wasn't the sort of situation that got the attention of the Freedom League - after all, the only real emergency had been the HAX car that had nearly been run off the road by a startled driver after a surprise appearance of the Conqueror Worm in the middle of the street. The only people who had been put off by it were the homeless population of Greenbank and the other areas where the sightings of the "Underground" had taken place. But Steve was not a man to turn away from a crisis, even an exceptionally humble one. Transforming into Caradoc, he reached down and used his sword to open the panel, no, the manhole, that would give him access to the sewers below. Holding the manhole cover in one hand, he activated his jets and slowly flew down until he reached the sewer pipe itself, where a large walkway allowed for significant access even for a man-sized figure like himself. He had thought about inviting Miss Americana along on this expedition, but as a cockroach scuttled by, he decided this sort of mission was not one Gina would have favored.
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Darwin, Australia March 1, 2014 They all had different reasons for being there. Steve Murdock, not a man who traveled much, had come across the picture of the sword during one of his long, sleepless nights on the Internet. Discussing it with Gina hadn't been easy, especially once she'd divined his true intent, but the Omegadrone could be a very persuasive man. The Sword of the Liberator was indeed an ancient Atlantean artifact; one so old that it predated whatever long ago branching point had come between his world and the world of Gina Evans. Wielded by a champion of justice, broken by Steelguard during his conquest, the sword had been targeted again and again in every world since. Surely he had to try and buy it! And so it was that with a very large check deposited in his name through his extremely wealthy girlfriend (who had been entirely in favor of this), Steve had boarded a private flight down to Darwin, Northern Territory for the estate auction of one Clement Johns, a wealthy collector of antiquities who had passed away weeks earlier. He was at the auction site hours early, sitting in the vast lobby of the Skycity Darwin, once again reading through the manual of auction procedures that Gina had written up and sent with him. With his scarred face and hands, deep brown skin, and new suit and tie, he looked more like the bodyguards of the wealthy Australians filing into the casino/hotel than a bidder at the forthcoming auction. --- Argonaut had been in debriefings before, some of them very personal indeed, but this one (given by one of her usual colleagues, the thoroughly Scandinavian-American Sven Johnson) was something different. "As you know, Yves, during the 1993 invasion five Omegadrone transports were deployed against Australia and New Zealand. Of those seven, _four_ were sent to Perth. Australian heroes on the ground during the invasion reported that the drones were targeting the mansion of Clement Johns, a wealthy collector of antiquities, even abandoning standard targets to seek Johns out in particular. Johns was investigated and cleared afterwards by the Federal Police, but we've recently unearthed accounts that the drones that hit his house were looking for one thing in particular - an Atlantean artifact called 'The Sword of the Liberator.' We need you to get down to Australia, using our offshore holdings, and try and find out what's so special about this sword..." --- "I am so proud of you!" said Michael Fields, smiling as he looked his daughter over. They had a family suite at the hotel-casino, giving them privacy to talk about her career. "First the Freedom League, now back home with your old man and a costume in your suitcase!" Vector had been called back to Australia for a crisis - rumors of Grue infiltration in Perth had called many of the motherland's defenders home, but she'd had time to surprise her father while passing through Darwin for an evening of bonding before her due date across the continent the next day. "You may not like the evening much," he confessed to her. "The firm had a contract with Johns so I'm representing our interests, but this is mostly about seeing and being seen. Feel free to skip out and wander the casino floor, Ms. Old Enough to Gamble," he added with a wink.
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The OOC thread here
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The OOC
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(GM Post) Remote Laboratory Facility, Mountains, Sweden, Europe Monday, November 11, 6pm Local Time Anyone who knew Baron Katastrof wasn't truly shocked at what had happened. The man was methodical, safety-conscious, detail-oriented when needed, and demanded rigorous testing standards. He was also young, hideously intelligent, occasionally obsessive, and had a near-fanatical need to prove himself "worthy", not just of his place as head of his father's company, but also his place as a "super-scientist" in a world already brimming with them. Miss Americana had heard he'd been on the polar expedition to the remains of the Curator's ship. Archetech had had representatives there, and the Doctor himself had teleconferenced in. It wasn't known to the world, but basically everyone who had high-end scientific know-how and the trust of most of the world had been there. The place was a near-literal goldmine of data, materials, and technology samples. There'd been so many "dead" Curator drones you could practically build an office building out of them, and they were physically intact. Everybody had taken quite a few home, and Katastrof and Sorenson Technologies was no exception. They'd been careful, of course; all the Curator tech was set up in a couple of isolated lab buildings in the mountains, purpose-built a few years ago for handling "dangerous samples". The two sites were connected by 1 single tunnel with multiple security doors, and each site had internal and external airlocks, negative-pressure air systems, and a whole host of other standard and esoteric features. In the last couple of months, the primary site (where all the actual tests occurred, rather than storage at the connected site) had even received an extra dose of security in the form of magical wards, with the secondary site slated to receive them in a few weeks, thanks to discrete efforts from some contact or another of the Baron's. Which was all well and good, until one day every drone in the secondary site woke up and started moving on their own power, and suddenly the evacuation was underway and complete within 20 minutes. The staff was all set to use the emergency measures (which was to say, special explosive charges that would reduce both complexes to ash-filled holes in the mountain without disturbing anything else) when they realized one critical thing. The Baron had visited that morning and was not outside. That was Friday. On Sunday, the company had had no success penetrating the even-more-upgraded security, and, not wanting the matter to make regular public news (and thus strike a terrible blow against the reputation of KST), they made a couple of discrete calls. Which was why a small group of intelligent, talented heroes who focused on metal and wire technology found themselves standing on a tarmac at the foot of a mountain, the sun sinking below the horizon, and armed guards standing nervously to one side.
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OOC thread for Miss A, Dragonfly, and Harrier going to help the Baron out after he gets in too deep thanks to SCIENCE!!! >Here is the IC thread. Feel free to ask questions. If you want to have made a check or two beforehand, let me know, and I'll tell you what might have worked out.
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November 28, 2013 Earth holidays were something Steve Murdock had gradually learned to celebrate during his years living in Freedom City, none having been part of his own upbringing. Some made sense, at least on an abstract level - the religious holidays to celebrate the birth, death, and rebirth of the primary god of the local population, the national holidays to celebrate the birth of the local nation-state, and those that commemorated the beginning and end of the year. His favorite of them all was the day of thanksgiving, perhaps because it was the closest thing to a holiday he himself had had as a child, even if the historical underpinnings of the day were at best an abstraction to the native of the Terminus. He'd spent most of his Thanksgivings on Earth-Prime working in homeless shelters and soup kitchens, gladly giving hot meals and warm beds to those who had fallen between the cracks even of this shining, near-perfect society. This year, however, was different - instead of helping strangers at a difficult time, he was helping someone very close to him indeed. Facing Gina across the breakfast table on Thanksgiving morning, he said, "It is strange to have a holiday together. I like the feel of it." Steve normally worked right through the holidays on behalf of his coworkers with children and families, but had made an exception this year given that Peter Evans was finally well enough to leave his treatment at the Albright Institute and walk safely on the street without fear of disaster. It was an occasion Steve understood only too well. Speaking of the day itself seemed like the safest place for the conversation to go, knowing how tense she was about the holiday reunion with her brother and his family - for all that she'd invited them there in the first place.
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September 30, 2013 Somewhere in Ashton The apartment complex looked like any other in this bedroom community, an anonymous collection of two-story boxes done in a vaguely mid-20th century Spanish style, occupying the edge of the bedroom community in the space that lay between Ashton proper and the industrial loading docks of Greenback. Thanks to Dr. Metropolis's powers, and Daedalus' wealth, nobody much had noticed just how fast the complex had gone up, or who exactly had moved into it. There had been some very special circumstances over a year earlier, when the heroes Wander, Jill O'Cure, Dragonfly, and Harrier brought back the >last survivors of a dying world from the grip of the Terminus. Most of the time, dimensional refugees in Freedom City went to the same place - Freedom League Special Circumstances Housing. But these refugees, such as they were, were very special indeed. Murdock stepped out of the car, the taxi rising off its struts, and looked up at the nearly-anonymous building complex, clouds in a darkening sky overhead showing what promised to be the mother of all rainstorms. He wasn't looking at Circle Ten Apartments, though, or even at the agents waiting inside who he knew worked directly for the Freedom League. Instead he was remembering the last time he'd met the people inside that building. He remembered that day, and how close he had come to losing control, with a fever-hot vividness, and took a moment outside to compose himself. Gabriel was arriving at the same time, by a discreet League teleporter into a nearby side-street rather than by his own very noticeable flight. The news wasn't good - the Terminus prisoners resettled in Freedom City had been found making a secret room inside their apartment complex, marked with strange signs and unknown names, and as the League's expert in religions, he'd been called in to see if this was another Terminus cult alive and well even among people who were supposed to be their guests.
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July 2013 There are thousands of big-rig accidents in the continental United States every year. And no wonder - America's roads are among the busiest in the world, and the vast majority of America's shipping takes place on the asphalt highways that bind the nation together. Sometimes these are terrible accidents near major cities, crashes that lead to multicar pileups or dangerous chemical spills that force evacuations of whole neighborhoods. These make all the papers. The small crashes, though, hardly anyone notices them, especially not the ones in cities most people, especially people in far-off Freedom City, couldn't find on a map. Not much goes on in Blackwater, Missouri these days. The town is small, with just over 150 inhabitants, and it's the kind of place barely hanging onto tourist dollars and people wanting a rural getaway. They do a lot of Wild West recreation these days, calling back to an imagined past that was rarely rural Missouri's to begin with. But it gets the tourists in and gets them to spend money at the antique stores and bed and breakfasts in town, or at the Volunteer Fireman's Whole Hog and Beef Barbecue. People born here tend to try and get away, pulled away by cities as small as 8000-strong Boonville at the heart of Cooper County, or even real cities like St. Louis or Kansas City. A small number, by some quirk of fate or other, find themselves in Freedom City, but not many, not many. Not a lot of super-people come here. It's right about between Maverick in Kansas City and Aquifer in St. Louis, and neither of them have ever needed to come within thirty miles of the area. Even super-criminals on the lam from big cities prefer to have some luxuries, and there's not a lot of local crime even of the mundane variety. The local cops are nice enough, but they don't have a lot to do most days - why would they? But sometimes things change. On July 3, 2013, in Blackwater, Missouri, there was a big rig accident. A tractor trailer driven by local man Peter Evans struck the rail on the small bridge over the nearby Blackwater River, sending truck, trailer, and driver plunging into the small river. The badly-damaged trailer spilled its 'machine parts' contents into the small river and the driver, new to the profession, was taken to Cooper County Memorial Hospital. As the 4th of July holiday began, the Cooper County sheriff's office promised a full investigation into the causes of the accident. But the sheriff is all the way over in Boonville, a solid twenty minute drive By the 5th, there was hardly any news. Unless you care about Missouri, and who cares about that?
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They deal with issues, yes, issues.
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April 4, 2013 Albany Subway Station Freedom City The deed was done and the heroes had returned triumphant, rescuing dozens of people from extra-dimensional enslavement in a world cast like a mockery of their own planet's grim past. The Freedom League was already working to strengthen the world's magical defenses with the help of magically inclined independent heroes; and the castaway from FLSCH that Caradoc had crossed dimensional boundaries to rescue was back home with his delighted lover. Steve had gone back to Gina, told the story of exactly what had happened to his Caradoc emitter, and promised to avoid deliberately standing under showers of molten steel "to prove some kind of ridiculous point". But the job wasn't done yet. It had been easy enough, once he borrowed Gina's computer, for Steve to look up something of Wail's history - the veteran hero who had fought alongside others in the Terminus invasion of 1993. That had been the greatest crisis in the history of this world, the public face of the horror of it all still burned into the minds of many of the Freedomians who had fought in it, lived through it, seen others die in it. Would such a man really be interested in talking with him? Steve had already been shamed enough by the open hands and welcomes of so many heroes. Sitting alone in the subway station, his brown skin and scarred face keeping away most of the passersby, Steve was comfortable in his solitude. Fortunately, it didn't have to last forever.
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Tuesday, April 2nd, 2013 11:23 PM Cannonade tread across the roofs of Southside, looking down on the streets below. He was looking for some sign that might lead him to the answer to the latest mystery in a city that never seemed to run out of them. Specifically, he was looking for an anachronism. He'd first learned about the issue at work, the week before. Harry, one of the long-time guys, had been talking about his brother. The guy had been working at a construction company that had gone bankrupt, and had spent months looking for a new job without finding much luck. Joe knew that well - his dad was busting his butt just trying to keep all the guys on the crew. But Harry's brother had called him about finding a new job, one that wasn't inside his usual skill set but which would pay well. He'd been gone two weeks, with his wife not hearing one word from him. But she had received something through her mail slot - a sack full of coins. Gold coins. He'd done some digging, checking over news articles on missing persons cases. Over the past three months, there'd been a few cases where the person who'd disappeared had been jobless, and had been so for a while. Not many articles mentioned if they'd taken employment before their disappearance, but the families had received items in the mail - a jade statue, for instance, or a box of rubies. Valuable things from people who had no idea how modern currency worked. Cannonade knew he wasn't the detecting type; he was more willing to throw himself into the fray and beat a problem until it went away. He'd checked the case files on the missing persons, finally finding a detective who was willing to bring in a hero. They'd let it slip that there was a detail in one of the disappearances that wasn't mentioned in the press - the man's daughter had heard the clopping of hooves on asphalt, and woken to see a carriage outside her house. She'd gone back to bed, thinking it was a dream. And now, Cannonade locked his eyes on the streets below, hoping for one hell of an unlikely sight, and hoping it might help him find where these people had vanished to.
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Cannonade, Wail, Harrier, and Gabriel investigate missing people, end up dealing with an industrial revolution in Avalon. Odds are your character is investigating some aspect of the disappearances. All the missing people were jobless, but in different aspects - some were homeless, others were students just out of college who couldn't find work, others were unemployed and had been for a while. Somewhere in the disappearances lies the story of a carriage.
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February 28, 2013 Claremont campus The damage inflicted during the Day of Wrath was almost repaired by now, particularly on the Claremont campus with its many superheroes. As Steve walked the campus paths, he studied the scene with approval. There was something about the former drone that made the high school students part both ways as he walked down the path, particularly those very few who actually recognized him for what he was. He didn't mind the separation, though. They were all so young, so happy, so much a part of a world that could never be his - to see them going about their lives with no more fear of robot imposters from the sky (or at least with that fear now in the back of their minds and not dominating their thoughts) was a wonderful feeling even if none of them could quite look him in the lined eyes. Heedless of the chill of a Freedom City February, albeit a warm one, he sat down on the bench outside the administration office and waited for his contact to arrive. It wasn't the first time he'd spoken to a Terminus mutant student at Claremont, but it had been a while since he'd had the opportunity. For some, the legacy of what had given them their powers was easy enough to ignore - for others, it wasn't. Kat saw Steve the moment she stepped outside, having been warned ahead of time exactly what was meeting her to discuss being a T-baby. With his brown skin and scarred body, lines stretching over his hands, face, and bald head, the squarely-built, tall former Omegadrone was impossible to miss even sitting down and staring straight ahead at the building as she came out, as if staring right at her. He raised a big hand and waved it, just once.
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With the heroes and two-thirds of the ship's complement beamed down into the heart of the Curator's central control room, it was just Jill and Vrix-117, and of course Quickstep as well. Vrix wasn't as talkative as Samran or Shepard, and admitted that as she showed Jill how to read the panels that showed everyone's life readings inside the Curator's construct. "Commander's tactical, Shepard's science, but I'm more engineering. I mostly keep the ship running while they're on missions." Vrix had removed her helmet too, revealing bronze skin and hair as red as a lollipop. "I...oh!" she pointed as one of the wall panels lit up to reveal a flash of light from the distant perimeter of the ringworld, a silvery saucer ship flying through the gap. "I don't know that design, but they're not local. Hang on." She tapped a button on the panel in front of her, then shook her head. "Damn. I can't reach the commander, but I got a tachyon squirt out to the fleet. They'll be sending reinforcements. Friends of yours?" she asked, cocking her head Jill's way. Dorothy peered at the screen and said, "Looks just like a flying saucer from the movies!" - The saucer erupted into the Curator's system as it dropped from FTL, spilling a wash of tachyons and neutrinos along with a spray of visible light. They were between the ringworld's star and its structure, and for a moment the sheer size of the magnificent construction, known to be one of the largest structures in the Milky Way, filled the scanners of the ship. Thanks to the Curator's famous paranoia, it had been a long, long time indeed since anyone had ever gotten this close. 'Beneath' them was an ocean big enough to swallow multiple Earths, a storm playing across it that could have covered the entire planet, with distant shores visible even to the naked eye beyond before the ring curved away into invisibility. Trillions of people were down there, living their lives, perhaps never knowing about the Curator. Above them, close to the star, hung a black sphere the size of the Earth's moon, part of the circle of rotating black squares the size of planets themselves that made day and night for the people below. It was the central control unit of the entire structure, the geniuses aboard could tell at a glance. And inside that sphere, somewhere, was Steve. And attached to the side, visible as they got closer and closer, was a white pod the computer recognized as a Lor military vessel.
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The group of young heroes and their Lor allies stepped onto the transmitter pads and vanished, their atoms quantum-tunneling five hundred miles through solid computronium and re-emerging in the central control room of the Curator - the mighty cybernetic intelligence whose vast power and arcane manipulations of their world had brought them to this place. They found themselves standing in a vast, cathedral-sized hall lined with dark and silent monitors cut in a triangular shape, the too-bright silver light overhead a source of stark illumination inside the central hub of the Curator's lair. The air was stale and smelled musty, a relic of however many eons it had been sealed inside since the Curator's original construction. At the 'altar' of the room sat a massive chair, almost like a throne, covered in the same silver-black pyramids that were the Curator's symbol, tentacles of computronium rising from it to infiltrate the wall behind. Sitting in that chair, its head bowed ever-so-slightly, was a still, silent Curator drone, its three eyes dim and dark. And standing next to it was Dr. Sebastian Stratos, lightning crackling around his fingers. "Hey, kids!" he called with a wave. "Got your hive going, eh, Barry?" He chuckled. "I wondered if I'd see you again. You didn't happen to bring any food with you, did you? Because I am _starving_!" He waved his lightning-covered hands around for emphasis. "I found this zoo a couple of levels down, but most of the animals tasted terrible, and one kept trying to shapeshift into my mother or something. It was awful!"
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Ready for anything, the heroes erupted from the pyramid ship, weapons raised as they prepared to do battle with unending robot hordes! But instead they found...stillness. The lights were bright, just as VINCE had suggested, the sharp white glow of the central spine overhead casting harsh shadows everywhere. There was a scent in the air vaguely like the stuff added to natural gas back on Earth, and everywhere there were robots! Eerie humanoid skeletons with three eyes and clawed limbs, ferocious-looking guardians of the Curator that were doing absolutely nothing. For a long time, Harrier eyed the robots, his armor having chunked open over his skin, before he spoke in a voice loud enough for them all to hear. "Look at them. They are not arranged. They are not armed. They are...immobile." And sure enough, the robots were silent and still, caught in the middle of walking, pressing buttons, circulating around the hangar bay, but not a single one moved a metal muscle. Harrier walked over to one, still wrapped in armor. "It does not react." "So what does that mean?" asked Quickstep, scrubbing her hands along her arms as she leaned out of the ship. "Is he waiting for something? Is this really his base? Are we were we're supposed to be?" She wrinkled her nose against the smell. "What do we do now?"
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Shazam
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Wharton Hill Harrier watched, as amazed as anyone else, as the Curator's ships gathered up the severed Freedom City and began to carry it away into the perpetually grey sky overhead. Over the distant rumble, he called, "We should not remain this area long! The subsidence from the city's removal may cause a collapse...and if the Curator's ships do come hunting for the missing ones who probed the sky, they will pass through this area early in whatever search they make. We should avoid being taken by the Curator...again," he added, chewing on that thought unpleasantly. "His attentions will not be in our favor." He was carefully not looking at Blue Jay or Bee-Keeper, eager not to resume the arguments that had nearly gotten the armored warrior and young (so young, was I ever that age?) archer captured by the collecting vessels.
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January 15, 2013 Blackstone Prison With rumors of clandestine Terminus activity circulating through the city, it was only natural that the Freedom League wanted to interrogate their most high-level Terminus prisoner...and only natural that the most experienced expert on the Terminus would be part of the interrogation. Steve was waiting for Gabriel when the latter arrived on Blackstone Island, standing near the outer perimeter fence in a suit and tie and looking as menacing as any of the prisoners inside. "Good morning, Gabriel," said the former drone, his expression hard to read as he faced an imminent reunion with the monster who had destroyed his life. "Thank you for calling me on this case." With a faint smile, he cocked his hand towards the outer gate where the 'blackguards' were watching attentively at the arrival of the famous Gabriel. "They thought I should wait for you to actually go below. It seems I set off the security system." - Down below, in the ultra-high-security wing where the clone of Shadivan Steelgrave was currently sleeping in his cell, the man in the cell opposite was whistling. Miss Americana had been called in to repair a very high security, albeit damaged computer system; the tough, albeit rigid, circuits inside the cell's door control, among the most high-security in the entire facility and a restricted design trusted to only a few super-geniuses, had fractured into pieces like broken glass the night before. Only a backup system had kept the big impervium door blocking his cell from sliding right up and out of the way. "Yeah, 37042 thinks he's funny that way," Officer McInnis was telling Miss Americana, the stocky blonde rolling her eyes with a guard's amused distaste for a persistent prisoner. "Courts say we can't actually stifle him if he's not attacking people with his sonic powers, and he's been in here long enough to know the score. Nothing says we can't put you in solitary, though, does it 37042? " she called, rapping on the impervium with her billy club and making the whistling stop. "No pretty girls like me and Miss A to look at in there!" The only response was a single, defiant wolf whistle and a wordless grumbling that finally lapsed into silence.
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OOC thread
