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January 3, 2017 3:00 pm, -3 GMT Over the Gulf Stream, Grand Banks, North Atlantic Ocean Cloudy, Raining. And Cold... Torpedo Lass has been through worse. At least that's what she tells herself. The Athena, a research ship for OCEAN-Freedom was doing important research on the salinity of the Gulf Stream, passing over the Grand Banks, helping anchor and place sensor bouy lines to the continental shelf. While a submarine was in order for doing this, it wasn't availiable at the time, but Torpedo Lass interested in the organization volunteered to help the effort. She got some looks from the half sea-sick crew members the day before, dressed in red drysuits and life vests, barely keeping their legs under them as the ship pitched as they got the last of their deck equipment secured. Mary herself had rescued a couple who had fell overboard when they hit a slick section of the deck, they were resting and warming back up in sick bay. They were looking more at the skin-tight wetsuit-like costume she was wearing wondering how she kept warm. The thing with Torpedo Lass, the cold stopped bothering her when she got the powers in the first place. But now the waves were calm enough to resume work, but since the trip got a bit hairy, things were limited to tethered sensors tossed over the side and reeled down to a proper depth. Torpedo Lass kept an eye on the bundled lines, jumping into the water to help guide them, escorting the sensor to depth. Once she broke the surface she put some air in her vest to swim about on the surface to inspect the side of the ship the line was on. Everything was clear of being any tangling issue. Once she was satisfied with the work she climbs up a rope ladder to the deck where a deck hand handed over a drink. "Thought you'd appreciate some fresh water." She said with a smile. "Not much of an issue but thanks." Torpedo Lass said... drinking Salt Water wasn't harmful for her, but the thought was appreciated. "How's Mark and Anna?" Torpedo Lass said with some concern. "They're better. They've gotten over the chill they got from falling overboard yesterday. That was a good eye spotting them fall overboard." Torpedo Lass smiled, straightening the sailor collar of her costume. Whenever she had the dive vest inflated it never really sat right. "At least they remembered the safety briefing I game them and remembered the man overboard beacons to make spotting them easier. Still getting used to how those modern Mae Wests of yours work... didn't have auto-inflation until I re-appeared in modern times.." Torpedo Lass sat on the Port rail, looking over the side at the sensor line. The deckhand was looking at Torpedo Lass quizzically at her last comment as she remembered something... "I think Doctor Delacroix was gonna check on things on deck here in a minute or two... I wager he wanted to suit up first." "Yeah, I wager seeing how Mark and Anna were shivering it put the gospel in him." Mary smirked. "And... Mae West?" "Before your time, kid. And i wager before they invented reflective tape." She waited for the Good Doctor to step out on deck. "Hopefully it's good news and we can shift location later to someplace calmer... and sunnier. Might raise the crew's spirits." "Yeah, this cold and rain is getting to some of the volunteers. The heavily shortened shifts help, but the rocking of the boat last night... really didn't help with sleep patterns." Torpedo Lass nodded. "Probably'll add a few days to the trip I'd wager too. Get inside and see what's up with the Doc, Sally." Sally nodded. "Sure thing. I'll see what's up." She heads into the ship, looking around for Doctor Delacroix. "Hey Doc! You around? Torpedo Lass is askin' for ya!" There was something on Mary's mind... she could have swore she had seen a black shadow in the water, but with the way the waves were yesterday, she couldn't be sure if it was a whale or anything... she hadn't had the chance to report the fact yet, but while things were calm, it seemed it was time for a situation report. She made sure the pony tail she had started to grow was still held in place by the tied ribbon at it's root. She had been growing her dark purple hair out from it's short, military length. Her phosphorescent blue eyes watching the other deckhands. Their glow slightly visible with the overcast lighting conditions. Not that any lighting was an issue... she could see in the dark plain as day.

Wednesday August 24, 2016 The Waterfront, Freedom City GM Post Tourism had always been a valuable source of income for the city of Freedom. The main draw was obvious - FC had seemingly more superheroes per capita than any other city in the nation. And once you got here, the residents had devised many other ways of extracting your money from your wallet. The casinos were always popular, as were the restaurants. But one of the most consistently popular tourist activities was the citywide tours offered by a number of organizations. When the city was full of superheroes - and consequently, a history of superbattles - it made for an town rife with landmarks. The waterfront had proved to be a surprisingly popular location for many tourists. The many docks and cargo ships that were constantly coming and going, loading and unloading, was already an impressive enough sight. Add in the ability to recant the history of the various superbattles that had taken place there, and you had a major inconvenience for the workers who had to be constantly shooing clueless tourists away from loading zones. It was a hot day, with the sun beating down fiercely on the city from the sky. Cargo ships blared their deafening horns as they methodically rumbled through the water - which did nothing to deter the busload of overexcited tourists from taking pictures of everything that moved while chattering to each other excitedly. The guide seemed to be weakly attempting to get them back to the subject of whatever landmark they were supposed to be admiring - but the crowd was cheerfully ignoring her, their attention having instead been captured by the spectacle of a forty-foot shipping container with a "Mercury Shipping" logo in the side being hoisted into the air by a towering crane. For residents or citydwellers, it was a none-too-impressive sight, but for those new to both Freedom and cities in general, it was apparently miraculous. Sharp-eyed observers might have noticed dockworkers expressing some consternation at the situation. The unruly tourists were crowding entirely too close to the work zone for comfort, disregarding the yellow warning signs. If there was an accident or malfunction of some sort, bad things could happen - but what were the chances of that happening?

GM Over the past few week, there'd been visitors to the fens, driving in with a sleek, too-nice car, and Cassidy had noticed people he didn't know in the building. Standing alert, aware . . . Aware of him, in fact. Now, they were the only people Cassidy had seen in teh building. And as if that wasn't enough, today it was raining. The sort of cold, hard January rain that hit the ground and turned to ice. The fens had retreated into itself; no one wanted to step aside for fear of slipping. It made sense, then, that it was a little quiet that night, in Cassidy's apartment. The lack of footfalls above his head, the lack of arguments from next door . . . Maybe it should have comforted him. At the days' end, the steady pitter-patter of rainfall still audible through the shoddy Fens architecture, Cassidy's phone began to ring.

1:43 PM 18/11/2016 Silberman's Books, West End Freedom City An old 1974 Dodge Monaco sedan pulled up in the alley beside the bookstore - the door requiring a few kicks before it popped open. A young man in a pageboy cap and worn out old pea coat clambered out, stretching; Morgan eyeballing the door and sighing. Stupid prudence. If he'd blown half the jack from the Baron job on getting his car's body tuned up along with the engine... Meh. Svartalves never liked extras. He reached into the back and took out a duffel bag, along with a notepad; checking the listed work order. Package number three, basic alarm array. He referred to it as the Blinky Light Package - mostly since unless the buyer picked up additions, it was basically a bright blinky light if anyone used magic in their vicinity. On the positive side, it was nice and cheap, and usually helped get people past the whole 'magic in business' hump. That being said, honestly? He'd have done this one for free. Scuttlebutt said Silberman's was a good place, and run by a lady who was firmly on the side of the angels, if you could trust the local kids. Still, guy's gotta eat, right? ...though that didn't necessarily stop him from adding a few, er, 'weekly special discounts' onto the bill. Even if the weekly special had only been declared about, oh, say, five minutes into their phone call. Of course he'd planned those specials all along, it was just a coincidence they came up then. And nobody had any proof otherwise. The young man jogged up the front stoop and knocked on the door. Giving a bit of that old-school no-entry-unless-invited thing.

January 26, 2017 Kat noticed it that morning. She pushed herself awkwardly up, stretched, yawned, casually waved off her roommate as she tried to fuss and meandered in drowsy laziness to the washroom in a nightshirt, brushed her teeth, rinsed out her mouth, looked in the mirror and . . . Her brush fell out of her hand and into the sink. Her left eye was red. But that didn't quite capture the reality of it. Kat's eyes had been red for years, since her power had almost overwhelmed her in the street. Sometimes, people had joked to her about it glowing, and maybe, if she was totally honest, they had glowed a little. But her eye was red, one solid color, and . . . As her heart beat faster, the light got brighter. She slammed hte door and locked it firmly behind her, ignoring the muffled protest of her roommate. She can't see this. Calm down. She grabbed hold of the edge of the sink, breathed hard and closed her eyes. Calm down. You're excited. That's it. She counted her breaths, kept her thoughts in an easy circle. She opened her eyes again . . . and her eye was still red. And . . . What was that under her shirt? She pulled it up and saw red-dark lines slowly advancing slowly but determinedly down her body. "####."

January 2017 FLSCH Library "Okay, everybody, that looks great!" The two hour lesson was almost over, and now Mark Lucas was moving from person to person in the small group of students, checking out how well they'd matched his painting. The famous hero, looking like a model in his dark suit and gold tie, had painted a scene of the Freedom City skyline and invited his small group of students to either try and emulate him or "paint whatever's inside you!" Somehow he hadn't gotten so much as a smudge of paint on him, even his artist's smock was nearly immaculate, as he studied everyone else's work. Some of the students had emulated his painting (with varying degrees of success), others had painted cities more familiar to their homeworld or dimension, and one really had gone her own way with an image of starry nights being overrun by "Hah-hah, well, that's pretty frank," he said cheerfully. "Probably don't want to let the kids see that one." When the lesson time was over, he said "Okay, we have to give the chapel back to Karen soon, but I'll be here to answer any questions you have about your work. Nice job, everyone," he complimented as his students started packing up their work. "Next time, I think Gabriel is coming in for singing lessons. It should be fun!"

January 10, 2017 Bedlam City Hall Downtown It was one of those too-bright January days when the sun is shining down from a clear blue sky that makes it look downright inviting outside, - until you step out into the teeth of an Upper Midwest winter. Snow was piled everywhere, thick and dirty, as usual in Bedlam at this time of year. The meteor hit with a flash of light and roar of noise, striking the decaying pavement directly in front of Bedlam's equally-mouldering City Hall. The few squatters living in the building, and the odd passerby on their way to the County Courthouse down the block, recovered from the impact and blinding light with difficulty, rubbing their eyes and blinking as the glow at the center of the crater faded. Inside was a man - no, not a man at all! Standing inside the crater was a hulking figure in bizarrely-colored robes like something from a lurid Egyptian-set melodrama - but the thing inside was no actor. Towering some nine feet in height, its scaly reptilian skin, narrow head, and long, wicked-looking fangs suggested not a man at all but some sort of horrible;..Serpent-Man! Hefting high a glowing staff that crackled with unspeakable eldritch power, the snake-man hissed "At lassst! I have essscaped the bonds of Ra'ssss infernal prissson!" The snake-man gestured with his staff and serpents began to wriggle their way impossibly out of the cracked winter pavement at his feet. "Behold, brief mortalsss! The Scion of Set hasss returned to rule the landsss of men!" Then a laugh sounded, not far above his head - and seemingly from out of the sun itself, emerged a new figure - her face hidden by a hawk-faced mask, her head covered in a Pharonic crown, her body wrapped in gold and linen like an Egyptian queen out of legend, she clutched in her hand the glowing ankh of Horus! (To her recollection, the Sunhawk had never actually visited "the mistake by the lake") She laughed again, her thick golden ringlets shaking with mirth. Of the snake man and his serpent minions, some of whom were growing to humanoid size and shape, she showed no fear at all. "Fool! Set is as barren as the desert sands! Thou are but a craven ill-breeding lewdster - a castoff of Apep who apes the Serpent as a lapdog apes Anubis!" Ugh. Handle this one thyself, 'Horus', I will return when yon idol of idiot-worshippers begone. Okay, fine! i was trying to do you a favor! The Scion of Set's eyes boggled at first - but then narrowed with serpentine cunning, and no little godly rage. "You...how dare you! Your mockery will be your death warrant! False Sunhawk, come low and be tested!" The Scion fired a beam of green energy from his staff at Horus, only to find her far fleeter than he expected. "Thy tongue outvenoms the Nile - but thy aim is that of a child! Come and face the Sunhawk in battle, then!" And then Horus flew down and struck the Scion across the body with her glowing ankh - and the battle was on!

GM Wednesday, December 28th, 2016 “The Palace of Practice”, The Waterfront, Freedom City 8:47 AM The Palace of Practice, UWL’s fabled gym and training area, was quite a sight to behold. While the upper floors of the building belonged to the UWL’s business side, the basement was a large room, spanning the limits of the property the building stood on into all sides, with multiple floors in height. UWL was fairly big and popular, but that didn’t explain how they’d been able something like this. This place truly was the best way to exercise that various internet and industry rumours made it out to be. It accommodated various powers, from weights ranging up to multiple tons in the lowest floor, to a large open area going through all the floors for flying. Standing in a group on the topmost floor of the gym was Kwame Harris, Hammer. He was part of the UWL’s most recent batch of new hires, standing in a half circle together with about ten others, three women and seven men. He recognized three of them, people who had made it to some fame in the US, including Jesse “The Spur“ Cassidy, a Canadian with the ability to turn into iron (His real name actually was Lawrie Stott, but that didn’t matter). Kwame had worked a program with him for some months a few years ago, and the two still had some contact. On top of a small stage made of various wooden elements that were easy to move stood two people. Both of them were easily recognizable, and Kwame had dealt with one of them before. Hedley DeShaek, endearingly called the “Orangutan” by both fans and wrestlers. The former wrestler of some fame was UWL’s main booker, he was responsible for everything from storylines to the length of matches. The other, a tall masked man. His mask covered the upper part of his head, white and black, mimicking the look of feathers. His torso was undressed, while his pants fit the look of his mask. As the last few people found their way into the room, DeShaek began to speak, his mouth moving above his ginger full beard. “Good to see you all made it. Welcome, to Ultimate Wrestling League! And welcome to the Palace of Practice! You’ll be spending most of your time in here, but it’s cozy, no worries. Now, before we start, do any of you already have questions?”

GM January 1st, 2017, 12.05AM On a road deep inside Wharton State Forest... The truck, or whatever it was, jerked and skittered across the thousandth patch of ice. James White of Earth-W 1042005 had an advantage over almost any other life-form, but with a sack over his head, power-nullifying manacles clamped around his wrists and ankles, and a sedative drug coursing through his body those powers were a pretty abstract comfort. Like knowing what that bright, hot thing in the sky is seconds before the meteorite hits you. Around him he could hear the breath of his captors. They were, to a...potentially man, silent, but the catch of their lungs, the easing of armored suits and the rattle of cumbersome metal objects at least gave some idea of what kinds of people would drug a guy at a tavern celebrating New Year's Eve. Suddenly, one spoke "What about the League?" Another "Hm?" "They'll come for him." "The dupe will work long enough. John Adams knows his job. It'll be months before anybody notices and never until they find us." The other grunted skeptically, but lapsed into another long silence. Very thankfully, they hadn't bothered to cover James' ears or mouth with anything more than the sack.

Toraigh, Republic of Eire 20th December 2016 GM Post Tomas O Floinin hating this island a little spur of rock sitting of the coast of Ireland, but it contained a treasure worth more than it's weight in gold so he'd spent months searching. None of the obvious historical or mythic places held the object, so he'd spent month growing to hate the island more as he scowled every millimetre of the place. Finally after all that time he'd found the object so in the middle of the night he ended up digging for the item, in the dark it wasn't that impressive an object, just a circular lump of iron around the size of the dustbin lid. As the light of the torch shone over it he could admire the fine Celtic carvings on it's iron surface, impressive it this object was as old as the myths suggested, more so for the planks of wood that it sat on that look like they'd been felled only yesterday. It was the Eochair Balor ar, Balor's Key and if the stories were true it was could hold a place so no one could enter through any magical means. It was ironic then that the weather, as always on this accused island, meant he wouldn't be able to leave until after the holidays. But still what harm would it be to wait a few more weeks?

Dutemps Building December 2016 It was unusual for a groups of people who lived in the same location to gather together to throw a Holiday party, but Dutemps wasn’t the most normal of places. First it was a castle high above the skyline of Freedom City, looking like it was from a fairytale or a cartoon but then again so did a lot of Freedom City. And this fairytale castle in the sky was home to an amazing bunch of female misfit heroes. And today they were having a party. One of the smaller halls had been prepared for today’s event with a incredibly well stocked buffet table and a fairly impressive sound system for hopefully a fruitfuls night partying.

8:30 PM City Center Freedom City U.S.A If there was one holiday the denizens of Freedom City loved more than Halloween (hero/heroine costumes!), it was Christmas! The downtown area had for weeks been slowly massing it's festive atmosphere, bunting and holly hanging from every storefront and lamppost, giant Santas and reindeer and elves hanging hither and yon, mistletoe in convenient places, blinking red/blue/green lights here there and everywhere. The snowstorm had slowed the roll more than a little, but after it's disappearance... It was like...cake icing. Fresh powder, white as can be, draped over everything; the colors of some lights shining through, the icicles hanging from the power lines reflecting and gleaming and turning the whole of downtown into a sight to behold. Was it any surprise that some store owners decided to make a day of it? It had just happened organically, if you pressed a bystander. One moment a stall had been opened on the sidewalk. Then two more. Then three more. Then a dozen. Then they were up and down the streets. Cars slowed, then stopped, then parked (illegally). Someone had brought out music players, or blocked doors open and let the department store carols burst out. Office workers found themselves taking their dinner breaks early, then not going back. There were skee ball stands, bottle toss booths, a whole carnival midway had cropped up with 'borrowed' materials from other stores. An inspector from City Hall had even shown up, and gotten handed a mug of eggnog. Apparently there was provisions for 'acts of holiday cheer' in the FC lawbooks. The fact that a trio of police were seen scurrying along towards a makeshift sled hill in a parking garage, all carrying toboggans, clearly had nothing to do with that. So that was the scene, when a hero or three arrived. Four blocks of the City Center, turned into one of the biggest Christmas block parties the City of Heroes had ever seen! Frank Sinatra was crooning carols on the breeze, there was eggnog everywhere you looked, and holly wreaths with Christmas lights lining more than a few romantic holiday walks. It was as if the world was making merry, and all were welcome to join in.

Silberman's Books. Sunday, December 11th, 2016. Sundays were sleepy at Silberman's, since the store didn't open until noon on the weekends; this largely eliminated the early coffee rush, but meant the folks who came in now were looking to take their time and stay awhile. The sales floor looked very Christmas-y, and the fragrance of the decorated Scotch pine filled the store. Lynn was in her office checking emails while Gretchen sat perched on her stool behind the counter, reading a magazine; her half trendy/half 'screw you' ensemble pegged her as a former art student, but nonetheless a playful pair of reindeer antlers were perched on her head.

GM December 29th, 10.43 PM, 2016 Outside the Long Ladder tavern, Southside, Freedom City "I keep tellin' you, mask, I won't say nonthin'!" Theo Braithwaite, the so-called 'worst informant in Freedom' was certainly living up to his name. As he dangled from Psy Strike's telekinetic grip, his face a mask of terror as four pudgy limbs flailed from a core that resembled an over-the-hill barrel, he'd proclaimed total ignorance of the job going down tonight at the docks under the Atlantis casino. He definitely didn't want to get in any trouble with Garcia, "Big Al" Driogano or his witchy sidekick, and anyway the secret tunnels would stop intruders no matter how many friends she called in, on account of their being reliant on hidden mechanisms that nobody on the wrong side would ever find. And there were like thirty men there anyway, so she'd never deal with it herself. It was days after Christmas, and the few tired-eyed people wandering under the garish lights and tinsel that remained after the massive snowstorm didn't even bother glancing over, except to yell "Shut up, Theo!"

Archetech West Building, Emerald City, Wa December 2016 If you wanted to be seen in Emerald City this time of year the place to be seen was the yearly MarsTech Christmas party a massive extravaganza that attracted politicians and superstars from throughout the city and beyond. This year the buzz was about Emerald Cities new superheroes, which unlike Freedom City wasn’t over run with heroes and villains, and whether they would be invited to attend this year's party. So the PR department of Archetech had come up with a bold plan. Being famous for it’s association with supers run by one of their leading lights and with a hero of their own associated with Emerald City, and some unfortunately business that had luckily been mostly forgotten, had sent out an open invitation to cities heroes to attend a Christmas party. But the real bold part was that it was on the same night as the MarsTech bash.

GM Saturday, December 31st , 2016 Freedom’s Fry 12th Kissinger “Greasy Joe’s” , Southside, Freedom City 10:43 PM It was New Year’s Eve. Which meant that generally, most fast food places were open for quite a while, and usually got a fair amount of customers. Of course, it also was a Saturday, which further increased the amount of customers. Greasy Joe’s, as the locals endearingly referred to the local joint of Freedom’s Fry in memory of its first owner, was a rather small place. Six tables inside, a few more outside for the warm days (not the end of December), and the counter. Together with a small storage-slash-staff room at the back. And at the moment, all tables were filled. Mostly groups of teens and young adults, who went to grab something to eat before delving into the night and it’s various parties. Southside didn’t see much in terms of night-life, but there were a few college parties and other events every now and then. Rose Callux had been the (un)lucky one to get the evening-to-night shift on this day together with one of her colleagues, Jamie. Together, the two served the various people coming in and leaving, or coming in and staying, dealing with the joys of fast-food on a Saturday night. So far, the evening had been rather quiet when it came to uncomfortable situations, which came as somewhat of a surprise.

Freedom Hall December 2016 Downtown Freedom was awash with bright lights and color as it was every year festooned with seasonal decorations from every conceivable location. Every building seemed to being trying to outdo each other to be the most seasonal above all the others, though if it was it all seemed to be in good natured fun. Around the world famous Freedom Hall there was a flash of lights of a different kind as the press were gathered around to witness the seasonal event of the League's Christmas party. Only those who were lucky enough could preceed beyond the press corden, or through the side entrance for those less keen on publicity, and the only guests invited were those that helped defend the city as one of it’s many superheroes. Only they got to go into the building itself into the hall which had been transformed into a suitable festive space in which the heroes could let loose for just the one night.

Friday, August 26th, 2016 Roberta Isles Garden, Claremont Academy, Bayview 8:01 PM It was the last weekend before school started again. A great time for all those who still wanted to spend a lot of time on Freedom City’s streets to do just so, before the troubles and pains of school would return. Of course, there also was the Kick-Off dance happening at the gym, but not everybody felt like attending that, for one reason or another. Among those deciding to head out was Aleksander Nakani, or, as he was known in costume, Nevermore. In costume was what he was right now. He had been walking towards the garden, it offered a nice and not too obvious exit, preferable to the school’s main entrance in most cases. As he walked, he came by the Zen Garden, currently looking better than it had in a long time, one of the freshmen that had arrived earlier this month had spent a lot of time there. However, as he walked, he noticed something. Something out of the ordinary, something that shouldn’t be as it currently was. The carriage house, something about it was off. As Nevermore moved closer, he realized just what it was. The access to the subbasement. It had been used, broken into. It was not a big trace, only a slight misplacement. But Aleksander had seen these entrances many times, he knew when something was off, even if it only was by an incredibly small amount. While Aleksander was taking a closer look at the entrance, hidden but apparently not hidden enough, it just so happened that Jack Huang Faretti entered through the garden’s entrance up north, quickly spotting Nevermore, in full costume, doing something with the entrance to the subbasement, but from the current distance he could not tell just what the cowl was doing.

09/11/2016 12:35 PM Downtown Freedom City When a professional group of vault hunters shows up in your city, the local law enforcement take notice. Granted, it's usually fairly hard to actually track them down, once they go to ground - but you can generally assume a spectacular heist is in the offing. AEGIS was well familiar with this procedure; having long set up protocols in the event of notable criminals popping up on the radar at the Freedom City airport - and they'd released the names and faces to the FCPD and (surreptitiously) to more than a few of their known heroic contacts. That or 'conviniently' left the information on unsecured servers where any (hero-type) person might find them. It was an old game, and one the Midnights and Ravens of old had played very well. The group in particular this month was called the Self-Preservation Society; a band of British movie buffs who'd taken up the mask and black bag years ago. They'd started their careers with blag jobs working armored convoys in the UK, graduating to larger-scale heists across France and Germany once their rep had grown. Four men, each world-class drivers, who'd made their bones on some of the scariest (and fastest) roads on Earth. They'd never pulled a job in the good old U.S. of A., but records were made to be broken - and given piles of these world-class drivers had kept popping up arriving one way or another in Freedom over the last few weeks, then dropping off the radar - something was in the works. That something finally came up when every alarm system Midnight had started screaming red. Three heroes in question were on patrol in the City Centre when the alarms hit - and a quartet of Mini Coopers souped up to frightening levels tore out of the front lobby of the First National. They moved as one in eerie synchronicity through the streets, moving towards an unknown destination - leaving wreckage of hot dog stands, newspaper stalls, and leaping bystanders in their wake!

09/11/2016 12:35 PM The Boardwalk Freedom City It really does say something about Freedom City that the men and women on the Boardwalk weren't overly concerned by the sudden sound of speeding cars. The echo of revving engines up and down the long wooden walks. The squealing of rubber tires. Oh, I grant you, the majority of the citizens present still dove for safety when a trio of multicolored sports cars came screaming past, but they didn't let it end their perfectly nice shopping day on Freedom City's famous Boardwalk. The call had come in a few hours before - an 'anonymous tip' from a 'concerned citizen'. Five cars, complete with descriptions of license plates, would be stolen from the parking lot of one of the most expensive hotels in Freedom City. Cars worth millions - tens, if not hundreds of millions - in value. One, even belonging to a noted diplomat visiting from the Middle East. Thanks to the vigilant efforts of the FCPD, two had been stopped at the lot - one by catching the thief in the hotel bar's washroom (attempting to flush a shoe down the toilet?), and the other just before he'd jacked the door. It was the remaining three that were giving the FCPD headaches trying to catch. The first was a Lamborghini (because of course one was a Lamborghini) - it tore down one of the Boardwalk's straightaways, managing to take the lead for a few minutes - skidding around a corner on two wheels. Black, with red neon underlights; she belonged to a notable reality star who was currently screaming at one of the police officers in the hotel parking lot about how she'd sue the pants off anyone who so much as scratched it. The second, riding right on it's tail, was a lovely Ferrari. Cherry-red, of course, and belonging to a pleasantly tubby multi-millionaire internet tycoon; producer of the notable Irate Fowl knockoff of a popular video game series. He wasn't threatening to sue the pants off whoever scratched it, he was more threatening to ruin their credit scores. Yeah, he was one of those people. Bit late for it, either way - the thief behind the wheel wasn't that subtle about ploughing through a souvenir stand, and a Centurion shirt was currently flying like a flag off the back spoiler. And the last...oh, the last. Neon yellow Bugatti Veyron. This was the diplomat's vehicle. Import, with diplomatic plates, and who knew what in the glove compartment. This one was steadily remaining in the middle of the pack, the driver the most conservative of the three. Not to say he wasn't a point of concern - he'd escaped the parking lot by ramping off an asphalt pile and flying over the retaining wall. Credit where it was due, however, the gentleman in the turban who owned the car hadn't stated any threats or made any violent statements of intent if his car was damaged. He didn't really have to - savvy? Either way, under the circumstances - made sense when multiple networks monitored by heroes of the city started screaming blue murder begging for help before someone got killed, eh? Let's see who answered the call and why!

The first thing John Blake was aware of as he awoke was that he was most certainly not in his bed. The metal floor below him was cold and unyielding while the harsh blue light and background buzz of electricity surrounding him wasn't doing anything to relieve his pounding headache. The sight that greeted him as he forced open his eyes wasn't any more comforting. The teenager found himself sitting at the base of a cone of crackling blue energy the projected down from above him, trapping him in a circle of space no more than seven or eight feet across. The room outside his unorthodox cell was dark and details were difficult to make out but he could see that his cone was one of many in a long row stretching out into the distance. The wall behind him curved slightly, giving him the impression of a hull, which would have explained the faint vibration he felt through the drool-damp cheek resting against the deck plating. Getting to his feet John discovered that he was still in the sleep clothes he'd put on the night before and that he was not alone. Standing in the cone to his left was a pile of stones in the rough shape of a humanoid figure, rough edges fitted tougher to form thick limbs and hulking shoulders topped by a squat, lantern-jawed head. For a moment the human mistook it for a statue until it turned its gaze upon him, two wells of burning red where eyes might have been. After a moment the creature raised a hand in affable greeting and said, "Rock."

The Bar December 2016 Bedlam wasn’t always the most friendly place for superheroes so it was always nice to have a place where you could relax in relative safety. Such as place was the Bar, it didn’t have any official name, that despite attempts of the authorities to close down had managed to thrive for quite sometime. The place itself wasn’t that impressive just a series of mismatched tables and chairs, and bar stocked with relatively good liquor, a battered pool table and a jukebox all stuffed into whatever rather bland building the bar had currently been relocated. Even a place like this wasn’t immune to the holidays and an effort had been made to make it more festive with a few decoration across the bar and a rather sad looking tree. But more importantly to celebrate the drink reduced in price.

Silberman's Books. Wednesday, Novermber 30th, 2016. 11:00 am Even though it was probably her riskiest hire ever, Lynn was optimistic about hiring Merge; coverage would not be much of a problem anymore, and she felt that once she adjusted her groove a bit to match the tone of the store, the colorful duplicator would bring a lot to the team. But as tempting as a full staff of Merges was (Oh, the looks on the faces of the old Jews of the neighborhood; it would almost be worth it!), the changeling knew she still needed a few more warm bodies. The store was starting to slow down a bit from the morning coffee-and-danish rush, but a handful of regulars were still sipping their coffee. Maddy had the morning off, so it was Lance and Gretchen behind the bar/counter while Lynn walked the floor; today, she wore green curly toed shoes, a bright green sweater and comfy jeans under her brown Silberman's apron, all topped with a red Santa hat and a pair of cute 'elf ears' (nudge nudge, wink wink). The store was decorated in old-fashioned Christmas decorations, including a big Scotch pine covered in lights, and a train set chased itself around the table in the children's section.

GM Monday, December 12, 2016 The Doom Room, Claremont Academy, Freedom City 6:25 PM John’s first day at Claremont had been quite interesting. After a run-in with a few people earlier the day, he had already gotten to know quite a few of his fellow students. The rest of the day had gone without any further incidents. His lessons had started later that day, where it was the good old procedure of “how about you introduce yourself”. A few of his acquaintances also shared classes with him, and during the breaks, there was some small-talk. Being the newest student always meant there was some attention on you. People wanted to know what he could do, rumours of his powers had already spread. At some point, Lilly, a classmate and the person that had defused the earlier situation, had, with some effort, convinced John to check out the Doom Room, the school’s training facility. Getting a timeslot wasn’t easy, it required advance booking and lots of people contended for a spot. Fortunately, one of Lilly’s friends had managed to get a timeslot for the evening, and was willing to share and/or give up portions of it to others. The two teens made their way down to the Room, and were now standing in the observation deck, waiting for the current routine to end. Inside, the two could see Jann, fighting what appeared to be a least a dozen of 80s-action-movie-style Ninjas. Skillfully, he weaved from one to the next, dodging and parrying various attacks along the way. Occasionally, he went on the offensive, but he seemed more focused on dodging as many simultaneous attacks at once. The Avian appeared to be unarmed, using only his talons and whatever weapons he took from the Ninjas.

Monday, December 19, 2016 1:35 am "Ladies and gentlemen," began the slightly garbled voice over the speakers, "we'll be beginning our descent to Jordan International Airport in just a few minutes. Please stow your trays and bring your seat to the upright position." Kwame yawned and stretched before proceeding to follow the instructions. First, he put the tray before him away. Then he reached over and pulled the empty chair to his left up. The late night flight from O'Hare airport in Chicago to Jordan International in Freedom city was practically empty. Kwame took a moment to look around at the other passengers. Looks like there's only six others here in business class with me. A little more than I would have expected on such a late flight. I wonder why they're going to Freedom. Kwame gave a wide smile at the woman sitting in the same aisle when their eyes met. The gesture was quickly ignored as she turned away to fiddle with her belongings. That one must be a lawyer. With a briefcase like that, she must be a pretty good one. Still, there's no reason why she should be so rude. It was just a smile. "Damn it!" The exclamation drew Kwame's attention. He turned around to get a better look at the man four rows behind him. From the awkward position, Kwame figured the guy was some big honcho of a mid-sized company. The gray business suit and his pushy attitude towards the flight attendants were big indicators that his guess was correct. One of the flight attendants hurried passed Kwame to deal with the man. She was one of the older attendants on the flight. Kwame smiled inwardly as he remembered the private conversation they had earlier during the flight. I'm going to have to get her number. Maybe she'll be willing to show me around the city. Perhaps even stay a night or two. If we had more room, I'm sure I could convince Jenny to try some more interesting positions. "I said I bring me another bottle of wine! I don't care that we're about to land. I've paid good money for this flight!" Kwame frowned as the man began berating Jenny. She spoke in a softer voice in an attempt to calm the man but it didn't seem to be working. The man began swinging his arm about causing the attendant to flinch in fear. Kwame grabbed a magazine from the chair pocket, unbuckled his belt, and proceeded to move over towards them. Jenny caught his approach in the corner of her eye and shook her head slightly as if to get him to return to his seat. Kwame ignored the gesture and stopped next to her. He then dropped the magazine into the man's lap and smiled. "Excuse me, but I thought I'd bring over some reading material for you." The man looked up at Kwame's muscular frame and frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked as he lifted up the magazine to look at the front cover. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized Kwame's face on the cover. "Yeah, that's me. They call me Hammer when I'm in the ring. That was before I became a meta. If you keep up with this noise, you'll get a chance to learn first hand why I decided to keep the name." Kwame reached down for the magazine and flexed. The color quickly drained from the man's face as he watched the muscle seem to grow larger than any normal human's would. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to apologize to Jenny here, I'll let you prepare for our landing. We wouldn't want you getting hurt before we land now, would we?" The man shook his head quickly. "I'm sorry," he said in a subdued voice as he hastily stowed his tray and straighten his chair. Jenny simply nodded and gave Kwame a thankful look. Kwame returned the nod, took back his magazine, and returned to his chair. I think I'm going to like it here.