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GM Saturday, April 29th, 2017 10:04 AM Claremont Academy Parking Lot, Freedom City It was a day of some importance. A few weeks back the school’s staff had announced that there’d be school-funded driving lessons happening soon. And today was the first day of them. The instructor was no unknown, Jeremy Joseph, a stunt man and licensed driving instructor. Why exactly he had been chosen was the subject of many a rumour around the academy, but most had some suspicion. The lessons were scheduled to start at 10:30, but Joseph arrived at the parking lot a fair amount of time earlier. He was driving a fairly average looking car, most likely second hand. Two seats, not very spacious. But its brakes certainly seemed to work well, as he stopped on the empty lot, and got out of the car, to meet the few teens that had already arrived. “Good Morning. I hope you’ve all read the theory I provided. We’ve got a lot to cover, so let’s get started as soon as possible. “

April 30, 2017 Freedom City Riverside Park 7PM It was a quiet enough afternoon for the Cline family, or at least one part of it. Richard Cline had always been an involved father (sometimes to Holly and Will's frustration) but he'd made a special point to step in and get involved in their lives after they'd all brought home baby Bryant Cline. Paige hadn't actually objected to adopting his infant father rather than see him put into the foster system - but he also knew her well enough after decades together to know what it meant for her to open their home like that. So he'd made a special point to be the father to Bryant that Bryant had never been to him, and if it was all strange and dysfunctional, well their family had always been that at least a little bit and they'd gotten through all right. Tonight, the day before the big May 1 charity Race for the Cure that he and Will had entered along with some other Freedom City heroes, he and his kids were sitting around a picnic table in Riverside Park, waiting for their fellow racers to arrive. Holly had Bryant out from his carrier and had laid him on his stomach on a blanket on the ground - but he wasn't staying there! Now a chubby nine-month-old full of energy, the bald-headed tot kept 'dashing' his way off the blanket, clutching his lovey in one hand and pulling himself along with the other arm and both his knees. <Go Bryant!> thought Holly, snapping some pictures with the new phone that had been her recent twelfth birthday present. <No more babies in chains!>

GM When Tristan Delacroix first disappeared, the initial reaction at the party was simply bewilderment. No one panicked, thanks to the lack of apparent trauma. Even after the young doctor failed to pop up from beneath the outdoor table, his family and coworkers weren't sure what to make of it. But soon Alexander called the police, and then a few of his friends in local government to ensure that law enforcement was properly motivated. AEGIS quickly took an interest too; jurisdictional protocols kept them from claiming the case for themselves without more evidence of superhuman involvement, but they nonetheless dispatched Agent Thornton, who only just closed her last case involving a Delacroix abduction. And Thornton, smart enough to use all the assets at her disposal, put out a broadcast on the International Air Distress frequency for Miracle Girl. That hero's contribution, sadly, came down to looking around the estate and confirming that, yep, the little dude was gone. She didn't find any cackling villains lurking in the bushes, or ultraviolet ransom notes waiting for her eyes only; theories abounded among the regular investigators, but evidence did not. Casey might need some help with this one. * * * Calls were made, the media took note, and by the time that dawn lit Delvin's upper roof--a house so frivolously large that it looked like a posh, poorly-located shopping mall, because no private residence had any business being this big--his stone driveway was full of police cruisers and black SUVs with government plates. News vans lined the nearest public road. Tristan wasn't quite so well-known as the older two brothers, but he'd still draw in viewers, and if he didn't, then reporters could still find something worth their time here. They hovered just beyond the police barricades, hungry but patient. This was Freedom City, and sooner or later, heroes were bound to show up.

GM Thursday, April 20th, 2017 2:24 PM Morning, this came in today. Not as in, was sent, but as in “suddenly popped up in my drafted messages”. Is directed towards you too, so check it out: Hello You may remember me, I’m the one that helped you with Solemn’s network. I’ve got some information you and your scaly buddy are almost certainly interested in. New stuff about the guy and some stuff heating up again. The bench, where we first met. Today, 7:24 PM. Both of you. This is not a request. -Ph0enix Thoughts? Sounds pretty damn ominous, but going’s probably safer. All messages by Bonfire, written in quick succession, and received by Leviathan.

GM April 22, 2017 12:00 am Toys. There was always something fun about finding new toys. He remembered flipping through catalogs as a small child, trying to find the right thing to ask for. Enough money could buy almost any toy. But of course some toys were priceless. Sometimes people would share these toys. But he'd learned it was always easier to take and not ask. Who cared really? If they really wanted to keep the toys they would have taken better care of them. They wouldn't leave them lying around. He activated the process of "ordering" his new toys. There was a flash of blue light. That was the last thing each of the heroes had seen. That flash had dulled to a city street. A street that could have been any street in Freedom. Kind of. Dozens of cars were on the street unmoving. The towers looked right, but there was no one around. No one save the other heroes in a similar state of recovering from a stupor.

GM Za'ak orbital station The Lodge The planet of Za'ak was a harsh place. The air borne spores could kill you. The bug swarms could tear you apart. Even the grazing beasts could crush you underfoot. From what the locals of the surrounding systems said, it wasn't that everything was trying to kill you but that compared to everything there? You were just fragile. At least if you were Lor or human. The station above the death world was filled with quite a few of both. The inside of the whole station was made to look like a log cabin. Mounted on the wall were animals and beasts from across Lor space and the Delaztri empire. Some rare, some common, and at least one was unique. Or so the owner liked to claim. The owner of the entire tire station was a very old Grue who was going just by the name of Warden. Which made some sense. The whole point of this station, the Lodge he called it, was to provide access to the most savage hunting grounds in the galaxy. The Warden was apparently above board, but his hiring process might have needed some work. A few of the hunting party guides were wanted in other parts of the galaxy. Mostly small fry. Mostly small Fry, except for one. Wanted Clinton "Carnivore" Cain species: Human crimes: 116 counts of hunting violations, 50 counts of poaching protected creatures, 700 counts of smuggling Reward: 300,000 Lor credits Dead or Alive

GM April 17th, 2017, Emerald City University Something was swirling in the ether, a sensation that only the attuned could feel. And Kimo was one of those. A message from the Gods. It was a command, of sorts. Perhaps a request. Perhaps a challenge. Perhaps all. Into view swam Professor Gallagher, the elderly short man who always insisted on wearing too heavy clothes in too heavy heat. He was surely due retirement but he ran on hard will. His stick clicked on the floor of the university and then raised, a little unsteady, pointing at Kimo. Professor Gallagher was one of the Professors of ancient american history in the university, with some rather strange ideas he took to professing. He also taught Kimo. He was pointing him out to a woman in her thirties, a professional woman of enigmatic and magnetic look. Long and wild blonde hair fell around darker skin. Maybe she was Colombian, or Bolivian. Glasses gave a intelligent almost serious, and almost sad, look to her. The Gods had directed Kimo to help this woman. A moment later, the two were there. "This is Doctor Sanchez" explained the Professor. "Oncologist. You...ah...you know what that means, don't you?" said the Professor, testing the young man. "She has some notion of a cure for cancer. Mmmm. We should be so lucky. Except some of her ideas also are in keeping with mine. Anyway, she needs someone who knows a bit about history to help her and...." Somehow the will of the Gods had bent his mind to Kino. He didn't quite understand why, pausing, trying to work out the reason he had chosen Kino, but the Gods were strong and subtle. "...well I thought...you would be so good as to go on a field trip with her? I'm getting to old. Somewhere down the river, something....ancient, I think" he said, with mind once again foggy from divine interference.

April 20, 2017. The Caribbean. Cilan Island. Mid-Morning. Cilan Island was roughly the size of a postage stamp, metaphorically speaking. It was barely in the Caribbean at all, lying right between it and the Mid-Atlantic. Most people didn’t even know it was there. Until today, when a pair of hurricanes (Category 5, the both of them) sprung up almost as if by magic over the course of an hour and a half. It couldn’t possibly be right, but it seemed as if the two storms were fighting each other in deadly earnest. The poor little island was standing right in their path. Maybelle McQueen took one look at the breaking news report and ran out of the Southern Queen. The few hundred people on that island were in serious trouble, and neither of those storms were natural. She tossed command to her sous chef on the way out, and then shot into the air hard enough to rattle windows. Even at top speed, it would take her at least a half hour to get there. By then the storms would be overrunning the island, and people would be in desperate need of help. Fortunately, Queenie was on the job.

From an early age, Jaden Maxwell had showed a love for cooking and baking, and was surprisingly talented at it too. Even before entering high school, he was able to confidently fry simple meals like eggs and bacon, or even put together mouth-watering chocolate chip muffins for a bake sale. Needless to say, he was very much within his element when making tasty delicacies. The sight and smell of freshly-baked bread and rolls alone was enough to remind him of the good times he had growing up...and that he still had a lot to live for. Wanting to give something back to the locals, he had opened up a small bakery on Riverside. A humble and modest shop that was set up like a square and painted with warm colors such as white and soft browns. Tables and chairs were set up outside and surrounded by rows of bushes with blooming flowers and roses to give off a pleasant, inviting atmosphere. A large billboard was above the oak door displaying a large tree that had a variety of sandwiches and pastries growing on its branches. Plastered on it were the words: "Homegrown Breads. Have A Slice Of Quality." "Thank you, come again!!" Jaden called out to his latest customers as they left the store carrying their orders. He sighed and nodded to himself with a smile before turning back to fill out another order. Even though the bakery was just getting off its feet, it had already attracted a nice amount of business which likely had to do with the delicious food that came in considerable portions yet at very generous prices too. The young man took a moment to himself to look up at a portrait of a younger version of himself sitting with his Aunt and Uncle under the Christmas tree. Warm smiles everywhere. Hopefully, one day they'd be able to be together again...but for now, there were orders to be fulfilled.

Claremont Academy Dormitories April 15, 2017 Winifred still wasn't used to the literal weight taken off of her shoulders be her recent haircut but after putting it off for so long there was a certain visceral satisfaction in having had the nearly waist length hair cut back to a tidy pixie cut with razor sharp lines that kept it off of her ears and neck. It had already proven to be more practical in the lab and if she were to allow herself a moment of vanity the displaced Victorian might have gone so far as to say that it combined with the collar of her slate grey dress shirt to make her neck and jawline look fantastic. A scientist had to acknowledge empirical fact after all. Shifting the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder, she strode down the dormitory hallway with her shoulders squared and her chin tilted slightly upward. It had taken almost half a year of trials and tweaking but the grin threatening to break through her composure came from the feeling of a craftsperson preparing to showcase their efforts. She counted slowly backward from one hundred as she rounded the corner; she wasn't in a position to let excitement or nerves get the better of her. Reaching the door to the room shared by Clouston and Sanderson she gave it a distinctive trio of sharp raps.

GM Thursday, April 13th, 2017 The Freedom Ledger Office, Freedom City 2:24 PM It was a slow news day so far. There had been some reports about a corrupt politician going around the entire last week, so the quiet was certainly appreciated by most of the office. Everybody needed some time off occasionally. Still, slow news days meant that generally, the one thing most people did was smalltalk. Smalltalk, or stare at the screen of their respective preferred devices. Something which Dancia Devons now had ample reason to do, as she received a message by an unknown number. Which, in her line of work, usually either meant trolls, death threats, or information. In this case, it was, most likely, the latter. Hey Remember that thing you said back at the Christmas party Have something that might interest you, and could need some help with it Where and when can you meet me Preferably Riverside, but I can adapt -Bonfire

GM Thursday, April 13th, 2017 Claremont Academy, Bayview, Freedom City 12:31 PM Some of Claremont’s students fit in better than others. There were some who almost entirely disappeared, who didn’t get much attention from anybody beyond their direct circle. There were some that were (in)famous around the entire school grounds. And there were some who, simply through their appearance, stood out. Jann Fa-Re was one of the latter. And even if he hadn’t sported feathers for hair, and huge wings on his back, there’d be a fair share of school-wide attention on him. Rumours, gossip, stuff only said behind his back. He was out on the grass training at almost any time, during all kinds of weather (some rumours about him doing it a 4 AM during a snow storm had been spreading around the school earlier this year). Added onto that the fact he had scars all across his body (and added more seemingly by the week), and his general friend circle, and most people didn’t quite know what to think of him. And more rumours started brewing, when during the lunch period, he approached another one of the teens known all around the campus. Riley Smith. “Hey. Heard you are the most skilled hunter here, correct?”

GM Early evening Saturday Night, Bedlam City, April the 8th. Fat Joe was rotund as ever. He was a tall man, bald, always wearing sunglasses in the worst of weather, with a smile that nearly split his face and wobbled his jowls. He knew plenty of people in Bedlam, and got on with most of them. He sported a missing front tooth from the one time his friendly demeanour just got some crook up the wrong way. But, as he said, he was damned if he was ever gonna stop smiling. Fat Joe sold hot dogs on the street. They weren't particularly good, but they weren't bad either. More onions that meat, usually. He just liked selling them, and people like buying them. He liked telling jokes, and demanded his customers tell him good ones. If it was a good one, they got extra mustard and two sausages in the bread. He didn't make a whole lot of money, but he didn't starve either. Clearly, he didn't starve. He was 25 stone, easy. "Say, Smith, what's brown and sticky?" he asked the Tattered Man, giving him his toothy smile. "And how about I give you extra onions if you help me out?"

When it came to walking through an empty park during night fall, the majority of people's opinions fell into one of two categories: The first category said they loved it for how romantic and tranquil it could be, giving certain people a chance to express how they truly felt without fear of being embarrassed in some way. The other category is that it was basically the equivalent of a death trap as there could be any number of seedy, unruly scumbags lying in wait to pounce on unsuspecting victims, beat them to a pulp, and rob them of all their valuables....and believe it or not, that was only if you were lucky. Tonight was a fine example of both categories playing out. A romantic couple whom we will call Shane and Julia had just been enjoying a peaceful night out, going about their business...when a group of hoodlums had approached them, demanding money if they wanted to live. The two had beaten a hasty retreat and managed to lose them within the woods...unfortunately, by the time they had done so, they had ended up well off the beaten trail and in the middle of nowhere. The two had wandered for some time to get back to the trail but to no avail. As time went on, Shane got more and more fed up with their current situation, "Julia, please tell me you got some reception already! I feel like we been wandering for hours and my feet are killing me!" "Oh quit your bellyaching, Shane," Julia rolled her eyes as she checked her phone and cursed to herself, "Darn it! Still nothing! At this rate, we're gonna be stuck out here all night!" "All night?! Please tell me you're joking..." Shane groaned like a kid whom had just had their favorite toy confiscated, "You do realize this is all your fault, right?!" "Excuse me?!" Julia whirled on her boyfriend, eyes blazing with the red fires of fury and indignation, "Oh no, you don't get to blame this all on me, mister! You're the one who thought it was a brilliant idea to go walking through the park in the middle of the night!" "Whoa, whoa, easy there, Julia!" Shane put up his hands, feeling he had said the wrong thing, "We're both just...tired, ok? How about we sit down for five minutes and then we-" Suddenly, the rustling of bushes could be heard around them, "What the..." From them emerged half a dozen men dressed from head to toe in attire that made them blend into the dark scenery so well they were like shadows. "Ah geez...they found us!" "No duh! What was your first clue, Sherlock?!" She and her lover stood back to back as the hoodlums approached, "Shane, I just want you to know before we die...I was the one who ate the last slice of pizza in the fridge the other night." "That's alright, Julia.." Suddenly, it sunk in what she had said, "Wait, you what?!!" However, before the hoodlums could get any closer, that's when IT happened. The plants around them, and even the tree branches, suddenly came to life, lashing out at them, grabbing and hauling them down to the dirt, causing each of the hoodlums to scream and cry out in shock and horror as they hacked away at their attackers with knives and shot them up with guns. However, for everyone they killed, two more took its place. One thug found himself yanked off his feet by a tree branch and slammed against another of his friends before both found themselves being squeezed together in a bundle of roots and stems. Another whipped out his gun and started shooting at a rapidly approaching pile of moss and vines, but his shots did little to deter the creature from its path as it launched itself through the air, grabbed him and dragged him off into the woods as he screamed bloody murder. The fourth and fifth went after their buddy only to have the ground explode open as a set of giant roots erupted from within to grab and restrain them. The last hoodlum, deciding that any pay to be made wasn't worth losing his life over, turned tail and ran off into the darkness...only for a loud scream to echo through the woods a few seconds later. The incredible thing though is that through this whole nightmarish scene...the pair of lovers were completely unharmed. In fact, it was as if the sentient plants were actively avoiding or even protecting them from their attackers. Despite this, fear still gripped their hearts as they backed away together, until they found their backs against...something. They hesitantly turned their heads and looked up...only to get the shock of their lives. The figure stood silhouetted in darkness and seemed to be wearing some sort of flowing coat over its lean, muscular frame. Its ruby red eyes staring right through them. "P-Please don't hurt us, mister...please, please..." They begged the creature before them. It said nothing...only raised a hand to point behind them, like it were giving a silent signal. The two looked ahead...and saw a new trail that had not been there before. When they looked back...the figure was already gone. Deciding not to stick around, they followed the new trail and before long, were back in the safety of civilization... _________________________________________________ Needless to say, it wasn't long before the pair's story spread like wildfire, and only helped to fuel the growing mystery that had cropped up almost overnight. Videos, pictures, and so on all helped to only create more questions. Who was the mysterious figure hiding out in local parks and in forests all around Freedom City? Where did they come from? What did they want? Just what was the truth behind the shocking behavior of the local wildlife? There was no doubting that quite a few people were kept on edge....It hadn't killed anyone, sure...but was this entity a force for good, truly? Only time would tell...

April 1, 2017 It wasn't that Winifred Wei wasn't allowed into the city by herself, per se, rather everyone involved agreed that given her condition it would have been monumentally unwise. Still, prudence had never ranked high among her gifts and the restriction chafed. Browsing the breathtaking wealth of information available via the Academy's computer lab kept her reasonably occupied but while picking through the bibliography of references on a poorly maintained page the displaced Victorian was surprised to come across the title of a long out-of-print book written by one Heinrich Schreiber. What Winifred knew which the site's amateur scholar could not have was the Schreiber was the pen name of one Nika Azadeh Sharifi, one of London's famous 'rogue scientists' - famous, at least, in her own day. Old Madar Nika had been wizened by the time Winifred had met her, only half coherent, though that had still placed her among the more reliable in that community of peers. She'd never heard of the older woman having had any of her work published in earnest, only the occasional pamphlet but as she began researching in earnest she learned that 'Properties of Humours and Tinctures Thereof' had been complied well after its author had passed away, complied from recovered notebooks as an oddity more than serious research. She had known, of course, that in the century and a half she'd spent transmuted into a statue anyone she had ever known had surely passed away but it was still a sobering thought. Further digging and several phone calls later the young alchemist had learned that against all odds a shop in Freedom City's West End had a copy of the book on its shelves. The sensible thing to do would have been to explain the situation to one of her friends and plan a day out; the book was unlikely to disappear within the week, after all. Instead she called upon skills learned from watching the cagier of her circle to slip away in the early hours of the weekend, intent on holding Madar Nika's work in her own hands without delay.

GM March 31st, Friday, 2017, 9.40PM 2150 Hanamaru St, Riverfront district, Emerald City, Oregon, USA Stumbling into the gentle, even glow of Emerald City's streetlights, the prey stopped to catch their breath. The unseasonally warm air, a sign of the impending catastrophe, burned in their frail lungs. The cotton suit was splashed with mud and the leather office shoes were soaked through from running through puddles. The hair that had been curled that afternoon, silky black, reminding the hunter of a smiling, care-worn face above a cradle, hung in tangles. They weren't moving, just slumped, huddled against a staff of the elegant spire of light. The hunter did not dare enter the cursed, white pool. In the southern Emerald their night-time lights caught the Sun's fury and made the streets a Hell of silent fire. But the hunter had other means, greater than any other beast's claws, venom or sinew. With easy grace a human-llike shape swept from the low roof to the alley below. "Come out of the light. Come to me." All it had to do was not turn around- It did. Its eyes met those of the vampire. They were dead before the fangs sank into their neck. April 1st, Saturday, that afternoon Hakim Naifeh could count on a few small blessings in life. Foremost was the nigh-inevitability of having Saturdays off at Westrock. The office was at a convenient location(though really, given the needs of young people in tech, most offices were someplace convenient) with easy access to food and places to relax, but it wasn't the same as taking your own pace where you wanted to be. Today that place was the Library. Since last winter super-activity had exploded, the Emerald City Originals were rapidly becoming a point of tremendous city pride and Sha'ir had been coming into more and more situations needing creative mystic solutions. Which meant time spent poring over the electic collection in his private extradimensional space. But today, from the moment he had stepped into the close, musty air and glanced around the bookshelves twisting and reaching in every direction, something had been off. The first sign was the arch. It had never been there before, a pile of loose leaves arranged haphazardly into a square archway, leading into other, unfamiliar ranks of shelves and cramped desks. These books were arranged, organized with a meticulous hand. They were also mostly in languages that Hakim had never even seen, let alone knew. Harsh runes, cuneiform-like symbols, flowing script that looked like ocean waves. The second were the voices. Coming from down the narrow hallway, arguing over something. A crisp English alto was holding firm, but a bass from the Deep South was tenacious. The books and carpet muffled all sound, but it seemed like just moving a little further would reveal these intruders...

It was only turning from the chill of winter to the first blush of spring but Leilani was quick to shed any sort of nod to the inclement weather and return to sundresses and sandals. Extra layers really only meant more clothing to go through should some emergency crop up... and it seemed like there was an emergency more often than not. She was hopeful, however, that tonight might prove the exception to the rule. Leilani paused to gather her keys and sandals in hand and confirm with others that called the DuTemps building home that she was out for the evening before she left. One advantage of calling the odd castle on top of a high rise home meant that it was easy to launch herself out a window without anyone blanching at the activity. Igniting the air below her feet with a thought, Leilani couldn't help but smile as she rode the heatwave down towards the sidewalk in lazily criss crossing streams that never failed to remind her of lazy waves and sunny afternoons in Hilo.

GM March 21st, 2017 8:31 AM A girl slipped in about a half hour after opening, short, a little shorter than Gretchen, though certainly not as slender as she was. She wasn't just hispanic, she was certainly an indio. A punk, with a burnt sienna colored dreadlock hanging on the side of her face, under striped hood of her striped sweatshirt. She idly picked through things, grabbing three books, and a magazine, before she moved back towards the front of the shop. Her age hard to tell, she pursed her lips, and played with the piercing on the lower one. "'Scuse me... only one here?" Her voice was heavily accented, matching where her face was from and English might not even be her second language. She continued on as she set the books down on the counter and she looked at Gretchen. The girl's smell permeated the air, some sort of fruity essential oil, and freshly rained on dirt. A little odd, but then, book stores like this place attracted worse. "Do you do a Mexican mocha?" Pushing up her brows as she shifted her purse up and onto the table, before she was shuffling through the studded leather thing.

March 24, 2017. Freedom City. Various places. Mid-Afternoon. Six heroes. Varying ages. Varying skillsets. Varying modus operandi. All of who sudden vanished off the face of the earth. There was no flash of light, no psychedelic tube of travelling. It was simply six people who were one place and then suddenly not. But from their perspective, they had not moved. The world had suddenly become different around them. And yet much the same. What had happened wasn’t hard to figure out. This was not their world. ***************** It had taken Terrifica moments to figure out she wasn’t on her Earth anymore. The lack of tailpipes on the cars was one big clue. Another was the lack of trash on the street. A dozen subtle things that simply were wrong. Fear and curiosity mixed. Her motorcycle was a dimensional wall away, and it was highly unlikely even cash would be of any assistance. So, she was walking. It was indeed The Fens, but..not. The signs of poverty and desperation were…gone. There were people around, of course, but they were moving with a purpose in mind. No loitering on street corners, front stoops, or building lobbies. She fought back anxiety at being stranded. Away from home. From family. First things first. Find a library. Assuming they hadn’t been banned in this dimension, clues would be easy enough to find in one. Newpapers, history books, geography, even encyclopedias could be useful in getting her bearings. ***************** In her chambers, the Empress, her Imperial Majesty, Savior of Humanity & Mother of The Modern World, was kind of annoyed. “So. You’re telling me either the dimensional transporter I designed and built failed to function, or that you are the kind of idiot who can’t read simple information displays.” She waved her hand at an apologetic courtier. “No, don’t strain yourself trying to answer. Like always, I already know what happened. There was a flicker from the Terminus. Slight, but enough to throw off the location calculations. it wasn't unexpected.” She pulled back a sleeve and pressed at the flexible flatscreen on her wrist. “I’ve just uploaded the tracker program. It’s based on a combination of their dimensional and super power energy signatures, which were recorded during transport.” She saved her hand at the courtier, dismissing him. “Go. Find them and bring them to me. Gods know I can’t trust you to explain the problem to them.”

GM Coalition Victory Station The Shift Work Bar, Brickstown March 24, 2017 (Terran Calendar) The Shift Work was hardly the most upstanding establishment. Tucked right in the heart of Brickstown the bar was an easy stop off for the various workers in the manufacturing plants of this part of the station. The patrons were mostly honest working people, looking for a place to rest after a long day's work. Some of course were looking to do a little more, get into fights or get drunk on cheaper and stronger stuff than you could find in plenty of other places in Lor space. People from around the galaxy, people who were in danger of this new menace. The disappearances had been getting worse. More and more people were vanishing or else being found dead. All of them were either drained of blood or they were left flash frozen. Rumors were that some metropolis on Earth, millions of light years away was facing a similar problem. There was an air of unease at the Shift Work. Two patrons had been last seen leaving this bar. In one corner a patron watched the bar, waiting. A Green Xobron, an uncommon sight in this part of the galaxy. His two pairs of arms were folded as he slowly used one of his tails to raise a drink to his lips. Life goes on, no matter how hard someone tries to stop it. Gear thought to himself, it was inspiring. The killings had felt odd, and targeting those who would have little impact on the galaxy, the tell tale mark of a time criminal. He would know. So he waited, and watched, for something that felt off.

GM Peninsula Hotel, Chicago March 10th, 2017 9:00 pm The Peninsula hotel had become a hub of activity. Reporters swamped the hotel and drones zipped about. The banners for the competition had been strung all over as multiple floors were filled with staff and fighters. In addition the ground floor had been almost entirely repurposed to serve as a headquarters for the competition. The main event hall had been turned into a party. Besides the slightly more tasteful decorations than inside. Drones zipped about as Kid Kamehameha entered the party. The speed of Laka had meant that he could arrive in time. He stretched out and showed the invitation. The bouncers let him in easily as he ignored the reporters. There was something afoot and this would be the time for it.

Freedom City, New Jersey Thursday, 23 March 2017 Afternoon Arthur Campbell was many things to many different people. He was a world-renowned geologist, a contemporary of Edmund Hillary, one of the last great explorers, a guest lecturer at HIT and FCU, He was a philanthropist and a regular figure in Freedom City's gala scene, always a perfect gentleman and the life of the party. He also had excellent taste as he had requested the help of Samantha Carson when he ran into a sticky problem with some crystals. He was also a figure of interest to the police, given the number of police cars gathered around his North Point mansion and the police tape across the entrance. Samantha Carson was parked on the side of the road, watching the flurry of police activity. She was supposed to be meeting with Arthur in, well, about thirty seconds, but driving through a police cordon would make that much more complicated.

April 2017 Claremont Growing up in what he now knew to be a small, closed community made it difficult for Riley to talk to strangers - and he tended to solve difficult problems by careful consideration. So it was that he'd earned a reputation for hanging around the quad staring at people and places before approaching them, which in all honesty hadn't done much to make him any friends outside of the small circle that centered around the people who'd fought Mr. Archer, exposed a cybernetic infiltration of Claremont, and kicked the ass of some of the top students of the school. They didn't have a name for themselves. Everyone already knew who they were. Considering his options carefully from the tree branch that he'd taken his lunch on, Riley finally decided to bite the bullet. Jumping down from his perch, he executed a neat little roll before walking up to the young woman just finishing her lunch outside, chattering little monkey in tow. "Hey, Sanderson!" He pitched his voice loud, so she knew he was coming. Even when he didn't mean to be, he was quiet - and Raina didn't like being snuck up on. He could appreciate that. "Gotta thing. You gotta minute?" He looked presentable enough, with nothing deadlier than a hatchet on his jean-clad hip, and a tablet from several years ago in his hand.

Silberman's Books, at the corner of Pratt and Frederick. Friday, March 17th, 2017. 11:00 am. Lynn Epstein didn't really get St. Patrick's Day; her mom was Jewish, and her father, who despite his last name was primarily raised Catholic, was essentially Jewish-Italian. She'd gone to Jewish schools throughout her childhood, so it was never part of her family life. Atlantic City had a parade down the Boardwalk, but her family always avoided it due to the presence of 'drunken hooligans' as her mom put it. But sadly when you work in retail, there are certain expectations from the public around major or even minor holidays, so while Silberman's Books didn't go all out, a few changes were made to the store for the week. A table of books on Irish history and Celtic mythology was set up near the entrance; it wasn't too crass, and the books selection was actually pretty varied. The changeling had conjured some tasteful decorations around the store, typically modeled on early 20th century designs as Lynn felt they were less intrusive. And lastly she'd made some special green Silberman's aprons, dark green with the store's name in a white Celtic font; even Gretchen who was usually annoyed by such things admitted they looked pretty good. Otherwise the store looked much the same as usual: bookshelves full of used books, posters of famous stage magicians on the walls, the magazine rack and newspapers up front, tables and chairs for reading and the consumption of food and drink, and the combined front counter/coffee bar. The store was fairly empty, as much of Freedom was engaged in various St. Pat's activities, so it was only the die hard coffee drinkers out and about. Gretchen was working the bar and counter this morning, although right now she was sitting perched on her high stool near the register, reading Dostoevsky's The Idiot in the original Russian thanks to her magic glasses. She was also playing The Pogues over the store's sound system, her one contribution to the day's celebrations. However, the store's owner did have someone coming in for an interview this morning; hopefully they'd be a good fit. Currently she was in her office checking email.

GM March 10th, 2017 6:45 PM The High Steaks The restaurant and casino of the High Steaks was a buzz of activity. Out front and inside the Supreme Ultimate Competition had set up shop. They had corralled reporters and rolled out a red carpet for anyone who would be attending the winner's party. Security guards and drones buzzed about, but it was quite easy for anyone who had one of the golden invitations to be allowed in. A few clearly superhuman bouncers also stood at the front, ready to toss anyone who did not deserve their place among the winners. Too be fair though, it wasn't just fighters who were in the restaurant. Plenty of people had clearly paid enough to rub elbows with the winners, perhaps in hopes of securing product endorsements when the competition was over. The crew and managers of a few competitors seemed to be present as well. Everyone was mingling and watching the various displays that had been brought in for the occasion and were hanging from drones, whoever was running this competition certainly liked their drones.