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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 11th. The message had come through the hero contact methods he had out there. It was easier this way, as trying to get a hold of him directly was as difficult are contacting the CEO of any large, international, financial institution. So next to impossible. Of course he was taking this on faith, but thus far he hadn't been called or setup in an ambush, and it wasn't like Fleur de Joie was someone like that. She was fairly well established, if a kid. Or not a kid? That was tricky sometimes when he started to examine these sorts of things. He was older than most of the other heroes, retiring seemed a little, but... That was less likely for him. Amir al-Misri stopped before the mirror, checking to make sure the red track suit and black t-shirt covered the containment suit. Seemed like every few months he got to do something he thought impossible, and his powers were... going wonky. WHich he assumed was the scientific term. So now he was saddled with this thing, just sort of gave him the reins on his abilities, which he was okay with. Satisfied he wasn't looking so idiotic, he left the expensive Parkside townhouse. And he crossed the street. Enjoying one part about beings a public hero, as he used his power of flight to get over the busy avenue. Landing in the grass, when he opted to clear the fence and get to the lawn, before he started towards the Botanical Gardens (after all how could he resist having the meeting there?) from Poet's Grove. As he walked along the path, intent on being there at least a half hour early, he casually thumbed through his alerts, and sending Ana a message reminding her of this meeting. It wouldn't be a problem, his schedule was actually clear, apart for tomorrow. So all was left as he crested a bend and walked into the garden proper, putting a little something into the donation box as he stepped inside, taking in the sights, before settling on a bench near the main entrance, as he worked off his smartphone, sending messages, and trauling through some of the massive amount of news and media he consumed on the day to day.
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April 1, 2015 Dutemps Castle "They are not your slaves, Tarva." Furion's rage tempered by the coolness of Earth-Prime, Bluebird fixed a level gaze on Tarva, arms crossed over her chest, a face watching Tarva from the latter's personal computer. "They have a world that is theirs, a city that is theirs, and mighty laws and unions to guard them. If you speak to the cleaning staff like that, they will simply quit, and _you_ will have to explain to Blue Fox why you have driven away her handfast vassals." Her big blue eyes narrowed. "Do you think she will like what you said? Do you think she will laugh?" "No. No, she will not." Tarva looked away guiltily, shadows flushing in her cheeks. "I thought it a jest, to play to my-" "Would it have been a joke before, daughter of Nihilor?" asked Bluebird, her usual cheerful voice serious. "...yes," said Tarva, surrounding herself with a protective blanket of shadow. "But a true jest all the same. Please, please message them and tell them my apologies. I try so hard to be of this place, and I fail sometimes, but...I want to. I want to be a daughter of Earth-Prime." Bluebird let out a breath - an affectation for a projected consciousness. "You are a child in the soul, Tarva." It was, despite everything else, a statement of affection. "I will extend apologies. But then it must be _you_ who apologizes, shadow-witch, and takes them back to Blue Fox's bosom." "You are right. I will go write one." Tarva rose to her feet, a look of determination on her face. "I have procured several books on the subject, and with my vast brain I will surely find some..." The swinging doors closed behind her, cutting off her monologue. Bluebird herself made an appearance a few minutes later, in an immaterial holographic form. She looked around the room for a few moments before her eyes settled on one corner. "Ghost Girl." She smiled cheerfully. "Oh, was I not supposed to spy you?"
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The Democratic Republic of the Congo Kinshasa University of Kinshasa campus April 1, 2015 There was no sound on the security feed, but Terrifica and Miss Americana could see what was happening well enough. The MIT scientists flicked a row of jury-rigged switches on the desk in front of them, bringing to life the machine before them. Row after row of panels lit up, vacuum tubes and relays flickering to life, and suddenly a long-dormant machine was alive again, casting a glowing light around the bunker that was its home. "It doesn't make any sense," muttered Dr. Carlos Perez, his long hair in the same ponytail he wore on the video. Crossing his arms, he looked away from the play. "VI has the computing power of a microchip! A _small_ microchip!" His labcoat, and his demeanor, had taken some beatings since the footage was taken two weeks earlier. "She may be the second oldest computer in the world, but the Vivre Informatique had no capacity for sentience! It just didn't!" Suddenly things were happening on screen - the scientists were talking to each other rapidly, their happy faces turning to alarm. Carlos's assistant Felicity was typing frantically at an Archetech laptop slaved to the system, a laptop that began flashing alarmingly, in time with the overhead arc lights in the basement they occupied. Suddenly the lights on VI began flickering in time with the laptop as well - and now, as the heroes watched, doors were sliding open on the far side of VI, doors disgorging primitive humanoid robots! At the sight of the robots, the scientists sensibly packed it in and fled, the camera feed cutting off as the red-eyed metal automatons began advancing toward their work station and the laptop that went with it. Pressing a few buttons on the digital playback, Felicity, who like the other half-dozen scientists looked tired and worn, pulled up a phrase on the laptop's screen. "MAINTENAT, JE SUIS LIBRE!" "We tried contacting the original project team," said Franklin Wright, one of the graduate students on the project, "but of course they're long dead! And most of the records about VI were destroyed during the wars hereabouts." "Those damn Belgians," muttered Perez. "Why would they build a computer _here_? Especially right after the war?" "To keep it from prying eyes," said Dr. Chambord, the goateed, bespectacled man who was one of two actual Congo natives on the MIT team. "The Congo was the jewel of their empire, a shining beacon of European progress in Africa." He sneered. "But no one cared to see the brutality at the heart of it then. Men died in building this. We found the records of it, in the old offices down below." "It's my fault," said Felicity Jones, looking very haggard. "I'm so sorry, I just...I should have pulled the plug! But when we saw those robots, we ran! We thought we were going to get our heads crushed!" "It's not your fault," said Perez, patting his assistant awkwardly on the shoulder before looking at Miss Americana and Terrifica. "But whatever is in there, it made it right through our firewalls and it locked down the whole Computer Science building. All our equipment, all the university's equipment, including the seized supertech from the wars, is now in the hands of a Belgian computer from 1946. That's when we decided to call you."
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GM Post Freedom City Bank, Wading Way, February 27th 2015 A man in his forties, his short hair starting to turn gray, stood grinning in front of the camera; he was dressed in an odd looking uniform that would suit a late 19th century military officer better than a modern day man, modified however with what looked like a steam boiler carried as a backpack, connected by tubes and pipes to the strange rifle the man was currently waving around. Behind him, the bank's surveillance cameras showed a number of robots in a similar Jules Verne fashion, some human-sized and carrying pikes or rifles, others larger, busy rounding up the terrified people that were until moments before going on with their day to day business. "For those who don't know me, my name is Steampunk, and I'm here to make a statement. Emily Stenford, better known as Mechanized, you fancy yourself a heroine and a savior of Freedom City, thanks to the high-tech suit you're wearing. A suit that by all means should have been developed by me! But I guess it was easy for Daddy's girl to get me fired and keep all your company's high tech gear for yourself. No matter! Look at what I have accomplished, with steam technology and magic alone! Come face me, if you dare, and I will show you once and for all, on live TV, who's the best engineer! Or perhaps, you're too coward to show up, and you'll leave all these innocent hostages in my hands?"
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Stesha's House, Sanctuary December 26, 2014 12:30pm Local Time Between the late hour of the Communion's attack on the Lighthouse, the time the fight had taken, the cleanup, the debriefings, and a quick power nap, it was well into the day after Christmas before Gabriel had a chance to head to his second home. He'd debated coming immediately after the debrief, but he needed a shower, and when he got to his apartment he ended up sleeping for a fair bit of time. The up side was that not only did he come out of it more rested...Stesha would hopefully have had time to calm down. He'd missed all the "drama"; he'd been in the medbay getting patched up and looked over for his collection of minor wounds. There had been a metahuman healer present, so he shouldn't get any scars. From this fight, anyways. No way to ditch the other scars at this point, not without actual surgery, and he didn't care enough about that. But as soon as he'd walked into the debriefing and seen Dark Star in his energy form, a complete absence of Fleur de Joie, and the incredibly awkward atmosphere in the room as the meeting started, the young Irish man knew something bad had gone down. It turns out, no one else knew many details, either. So that is how he found himself, dressed in civilian garb, with a thermos in one hand and a bottle of Bailey's in the other, knocking on Stesha's front door and deciding if it would be blasphemy to curse being the most gifted diplomat on the planet when your ability had been granted by an Archangel. Even if it would be it was starting to look mighty tempting.
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March 7, 2015 WYRM's move to the DeWitt Building had gone well. The new suburban location put the kids in a safe, secure location where they wouldn't be tempted by anything unwholesome in the neighborhood. The nearest restaurant was the Subway across the street, next to the big medical complex, and they were a good twenty-minute walk from the nearest bus station (faster if you had superpowers, of course). The worst trouble they could get into was the tobacco store in the strip mall down at the very end of the street, right where Ashton became unincorporated territory. But the kids were well-supervised - and the old hippie who ran the place knew to keep an eye out for them. WYRM had stayed busy over the last few months, pitching in to help out during the Communion invasion and other crises around Freedom City, doing the subtle work that made sure many of the civilians around the city noticed them and their good efforts, even if they still weren't on the radar of most super-teams yet. "That's okay," the kids were always reassured, "we're doing this work to set the world up for great things - not to make ourselves famous." It was a little frustrating the more glory-minded among them, but they all knew they had bright futures ahead of them. On the morning of March 7, Rampart was out patrolling in the area when the special WYRM communicator they'd given her during her last happy visit chimed. Something was going on that required her special services.
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GM UC San Diego; San Diego, California Wednesday, February 18th, 2015, 4:04 PM Giang Trang's was no less active outside of the comforts of Freedom City. The Environmental Systems Major was always on the move in one way or another. In the interim between her classes she had only had enough time to make it back to her apartment for a quick change before heading out. Being a lifeguard was a seasonal occupation, but a need for pay was not equally so. And if it wasn't for the man laying outside the entrance to her dorm Giang may have had a shot of finishing another workday. He was badly injured in jaguar print loincloth, which even in Southern California was less than conspicuous. The lacerations throughout his body were made all the more concerning by the fact that he seemed to not be actively bleeding despite how fresh they seemed. Instead the wounds seemed to be cauterized. With matching burn marks to show for it. - Bayview; Freedom City, New Jersey Wednesday, February 18th, 2015, 7:04 PM It was a normal quiet evening in Freedom City. Or as quiet as Freedom City got. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping. Everything was copacetic...with one small issue. There was a gigantic, even in scale of dinosaurs, Tyrannosaurus Rex charging through Bayview. Vehicles scrambling to get out of the creature's way. Some parked cars already had the unfortunate opportunity of meeting the creature's maw. The neighborhood famous for the sheer number of superpowered teen hero appearances within its confines was no stranger to having a bit of the unusual rampage here and there. The news copters were able to get into position to capture the footage so quickly it might have been a record with a number of local stations having running their traffic feeds. Not that one needed to be paying attention to the news to catch the commotion.
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In Chicago, Sam paces her bedroom, circling her bed with the nervous energy of a caged tiger. She'd had an ear to the ground for years, waiting for this day. And now... Three letters. Three independent sources. Three clues, all pointing the same way. Dammit, why now? Not that later would be any better. Gotta go, gotta get to... but there's so much going on right now. To drop everything... But... She stops, and sighs. She may not like it, but the decision is obvious. She looks out her window to the vast, snow-covered lawn and sighs. A thief must always be ready to pack up and move. She's gathered too many attachments. This is not a mistake, but it has a price. Time to pay up. She pulls out a phone and sends her girlfriend a text, actually using proper grammar. "Hey, Tona. Something came up. We need to talk. It's important. Mind making sure there's space in the broom closet? -Sam" This is going to suck.
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Amazri IV, formally Lor Space March 1, 2015 (Terran Calendar) Amazri IV had long sat well inside the boarders of Lor space, many light years from the contested area with Khanate space. The planet had long been a colony for the Lor, established in the early years of their expansion from Lor-Van. It had developed into one of the Republic's primary centers of industry and manufacturing, with vast automated facilities that covered the northern and southern landscapes of several of its vast continents. Most of the large cities on Amazri IV had been located around its equator, where lush green forests spread out around the cities before giving way to high mountainous zones. Now more than half its surface had become silver colored metal, and even from space it appeared as if veins of the silver metal were continuing to spread towards the rest of the planet. Amazri IV was one of the most recent Lor planets to fall to the Communion, the cyberforming of the planet still underway. A group of the Coalition's top scientists had determined that the cyberforming process provided the most direct access to the Communion's central data centers, with the least protections in place to prevent unauthorized access. In short, if the Coalition was going to learn the whereabouts of the Communion's mothership, it would be by gaining access to one of the central relays on a world being cyberformed. So a small group of Coalition forces were aboard a Grue stealth ship, making their final approach to Amazri IV. "We will be at our target location within ten microcycles." Stated Gur'ul, the Grue Metamorph in command of the stealth ship, turning back to look at the odd collection of beings that he had been ordered to transport to Amarzi IV.
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Lor Timemark 1329.8 - March 1, 2015 Garron-9, Garron System Trooper Ekna Veiu sat strapped into the back of the transport ship between a Lor mentat clone with a lantern jaw and a member of a scale covered species he couldn't name and tried to steady his breathing. He'd never planned to be a soldier but then the Communion had ripped through the Khanate, leaving the precious few survivors to flee or be turned into monsters. The Lor loved to talk about never forgetting Lor-Van but they hadn't been the only people to lose a homeworld and they weren't the only ones who'd wanted to fight back. Ekna was seventeen stellar cycles old; that had seemed like so long sitting around on his family farm waiting for his life to start, old enough to enlist with the Coalition forces, certainly. As the ship shook from atmospheric turbulence and he clenched his grey-green hands all he think about was whether or not he'd see his eighteenth cycle celebration. There weren't any enemy ships in the skies above Garron-9, at least. There didn't need to be. What had once been a densely populated border world with almost a billion inhabitants was now a solid sphere of computronium, a planet-sized server to add to the Communion's processing power. A billion people converted into raw materials and 'antibodies', the mindless, shrieking foot soldiers of the enemy. This was only Ekna's second deployment but he'd already gotten to see those up close and personal. They'd lost that moon but he'd acquitted himself well, getting his wounded sergeant to safety. They'd given him a commendation for that. They didn't mention the rest of his squad when they shook his hand. He didn't mention the night terrors he'd had ever since. That was how he'd ended up as part of one of four squads deploying to Garron-9 with a simple mission: fight their way through and take down a communication relay, in theory briefly blinding the Communion in the adjacent sector long enough for something apparently above his pay grade. Troopers didn't need to know the big picture, he guessed. He looked up from his knees and immediately regretted it as he saw the Grue strapped in across from him scowling right at him. At least Ekna thought the Grue was scowling. It was hard to tell with no mouth. He immediately looked back down regardless. Most of the other troopers were more experienced soldiers and most of them had experience fighting against those who were suddenly their allies. Tensions were always high but the calm before the storm was always the worst. Then again, at least he knew what a Grue was. Each squad had been assigned a commander for the mission, though Ekna got the impression the rank wasn't exactly official. One of them was a stern Lor officer with no patience for excuses; he'd met a lot of those in the past months. The Zultasian told a lot of jokes and laughed loudly, all swagger and confidence. Ekna had never seen anything like the grey skinned woman with the cybernetic tail, though, and even though the forth commander didn't look all that much older than him he'd heard some of the other soldiers say she wasn't really Lor but Terran and everybody had a friend of a friend with a horror story about a Terran. Ekna risked glancing up again to the back of the transport where all four of them were standing, holding onto handing straps and conversing.
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Outer edge of the Sol System The Communion's attack on Earth had been repulsed by many of the planet’s heroes, working alongside several military and extra-governmental forces. For the moment, the planet was safe. But the Communion's world killer weapon was still positioned at the outer edge of the solar system, barely held in check by the Freedom League and their allies. With reports reaching back to the Freedom League and Earth's heroes from the Star Knights about a fleet of Communion ships headed towards the Sol System, possibly to try to assist in getting the world killer free, it was decided that merely holding the world killer at bay was no longer a viable solution. So the remaining League members on Earth had begun gathering a number of volunteers to try to help destroy the world killer before the Communion relief fleet could arrive. The gathering of the various heroes coincided with the return of one of Earth's Star Knights, Kyle Steward, who had firsthand experience against the Communion's deadly weapon. Now, Geckoman was behind the controls of one of the League's Pegasus spaceplanes, flying a rather odd collection of heroes to help in the fight against the world killer….
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Kestevan 79 23,000 LY from Earth March 1, 2015 Temperance was seeing the ghost of a dead star pass by. There was a way to say it that was much less poetic and much more scientific. And, although there may have been some literalism to it, given her powers, there was little spiritual thrum out in the void of space. If there were entities that represented the great void, they were likely to cling to the travelers passing through it - and even then, they were keeping a wide berth from her ship. Ship. She said it like it was familiar. She was hurdling through the void on a gigantic hunk of metal, the vacuum of space surrounding her on all sides. She knew enough to know that her head wouldn't necessarily explode if she went tumbling out into the void. That was where her knowledge ended. Everything else, on the other hand, was so limited. This was not her territory. Thank God for the others, then. Three of them had reached out to Sharl. They were space travelers of a sort - that was how she understood it - who had encountered Communion forces on a planet orbiting a star near Kestevan 79. The planet had been destroyed to make way for a wormhole - just like had happened to Lor-Van. By their estimate, and given the Communion forces overseeing the wormhole, they believed that whatever was controlling local operations would be stationed nearby. And they had gathered, through said intelligence, that there had been someone who'd survived Lor-Van who had a knack for electronic frequencies. Who had been on the planet when the Communion forces had organized and attacked. And who might be able to parse their signal through the field of cosmic radiation that made all other efforts impractical. He had recommended that she might want to stay behind. This wasn't her field, and it wasn't her fight. But she'd seen what had happened to him when he had come back. She was not going to leave him to wander into Hell alone. She just had to hope that, when the time came, they could get through the fires together.
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Lor Timemark 1329.7 - February 28, 2015 Repiuk System Asteroid Belt When rich ore deposits had been discovered in the asteroid belt of a system with no habitable worlds nearly a hundred and fifty years prior it had drawn in a rush of prospectors, independent fortune seekers and small companies looking to stake a claim that would set them and their families up for generations. As the demands of the galactic economy shifted and the best veins had been tapped out, however, the cost of refinement had risen past the profitability of the belt and one by one facilities had been abandoned, subterranean ghost towns riddling the asteroids with tunnels and shafts. Decades later those abandoned mines would serve as a base of operations for a vicious pirate fleet, their leader cannily realizing that the remaining deposits of heavy metals would play havoc with snooping sensor sweeps. They'd been found out by the Star Knights nevertheless and soundly routed, leaving another layer of abandoned equipment in their wake. It was Sri A'Lan Koor who had remembered those raids and suggested the belt, a remote location of no military significance or appeal to the Communion, as a staging area for the Coalition forces. For the past three months the secret had remained kept, long enough for the leaders of the Coalition to feel secure gathering together in one room as they planned out their last, best chance to drive out the invading menace. Standing at the war table the veteran Star Knight had to wonder if they weren't going to do the Communion's job for it. "You need to pull your head out of whatever orifice you've shapeshifted for defecation purposes," Senator Diena Th'emme told the Grue Arcane across from her flatly, fingertips pressed firmly against the surface of the horizontal display between them. The tall, imperious woman managed to make even the utilitarian grey jumpsuit she was wearing come across as regalia, her honey blonde hair done up in a crisp bun. "We have a precise window of opportunity. What troops we can spare to assault the communication relay will have to be enough." The short, stocky being to her made a fluting growl, waving fur covered hands for emphasis as his translator box did its work in an incongruously light soprano. "You would send them to their deaths and for what?" Minister Ch'rrr had rallied a number of worlds to the Coalition's banner in his home sector but was by nature disinclined toward risk taking. "The slim hope of a possible advantage for a doomed plan? Your ancestors' pardon, Citizen Tulink, but I cannot place so much faith in a single simulacrum. Surely you agree, Praetorian Val-Ren?"
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March 1, 2015 51 Pegasi 50 light years from Earth 51 Pegasi is an LV-type star, the kind of small yellow dwarf utterly undistinguished except for the simple accident of longevity and luminescence that means they are, by a wide margin, the stars most likely to support Lor-type life across the galaxy. 51 Pegasi does have one novelty - 51 Pegasi B, the gas giant trapped a little more than 4 million miles from its home star. 51 Pegasi B is a burning hot world, wracked by storms and super-heated winds that make the planet one of the most hostile in Lor space. Even so, the scientific research station on 51 Pegasi Ba, the single asteroidal satellite of the planet, has always been something of a backwater. The fluid dynamics of superheated gas giants is a vigorously debated scientific discipline, but one with few practical applications. The team from Ohtalv University arrived for their year-long assignment five and a half months ago, a few weeks before Ohtalv University and the rest of Lor-Van was atomized by strong-nuclear suppression from the Communion. A routine scientific posting had suddenly become a refuge, but also a cage - the picket ship usually assigned as their rescue vessel was called away for convoy duty months ago and they have nothing on the base rated to so much as leave the shadow of the asteroid. Of the five person team from the University, their world gone and families dead, supplies dwindling more and more every day, four are still alive. It's a sad story, but a story repeated again and again the Lor Republic. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Until recently. As he sat in the station's control center, Narab Zober watched what would have been the career-making discovery of a scientist a year earlier play out before him with calm interest. Only the cool discipline of his Hephestian martial heritage kept him here, kept him working, and kept thoughts of home, family, and all he had lost out of his mind. Lives had ended - but life went on. "...from deep neutrino scans, the entity has reached the rocky core of Pegasi 51b and has begun what can only be described as _feeding_ on the heavy metals and other materials within." He watched the rippling clouds, gone chaotic in recent days, and raised a long feathered eyebrow, his padded fingers folded on the table in front of him. "To survive at the heart of a super-heated gas giant, the Gorgon's energy and matter absorption abilities must be even greater than previously estimated. Fascinating. At current rate of consumption, I estimate that within seven standard days, Pegasi 51b will have lost its gravitic cohesion and begin breaking up." And then plummet into the burning heart of the star - along with this station. "This is Dr. Narab Zober of Lor Science Station #0047, ending this rotation's report. Tomorrow Dr. M'Kelley will offer her report on the fluid dynamics of a gas giant in the process of core destruction. End transmission." When he was done, he stared at the communications terminal, as if willing a reply by sheer force.
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Seahawk was heading to Wharton to try out something in the forest, namely to test out a theory with her ability to infuse her body with energy... if she could use that energy to amplify her strength, what happened with those sailors wouldn't be as much of an issue. As she got to the forest there was a warning test on her helmet's HUD... Fuel Out, activate parachute... Warning, Parachute module not installed... "Activate Parachute? There's supposed to be a parachute on this thing?" She starts falling from the sky as the glowing wing-like nimbus from her flight pack disappears. She almost instantly starts tumbling. "OH CRAAAAAAAAAP!" She shouts as her pack tries to sputter to life to try to slow down, but to no avail. Warning, still at terminal velocity, apply emergency measures... Severe or Fatal injury is now a likelyhood... Recording data for black box... "I WOULD IF I HAD ANY, YOU INFERNAL... Oh dear, this is gonna hurt, isn't it? Miss A really needs to put that new power supply in t..." A loud crashing sound is heard through the forest over the sounds of nature, followed by a splash. Seahawk's crumpled body floats up to the surface of a small lake... or large pond... Seahawk wouldn't know, She's dead at least for now. Bouyed by her suit's life preserver. Warning, pilot has suffered terminal injury. Inflated life preserver for retrieval of corpse. Contact with Archetech HQ has failed. Logging crash data to black box. Activating beacon. A couple small lights start flashing on the strap of her flight pack with a regular beep... Outside of that, it is quiet at the impact site. But Seahawk's fall didn't go unnoticed...
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February 28th, 2015 Night The Fens, Freedom City, New Jersey Miras stood at the edge of the rooftop and watched the police wheel the body out of the tiny apartment. She knew she really shouldn’t be here, she knew that it was a violation of the anonymity of Narcotics Anonymous, but her brain wouldn’t just let it go. She had missed Allison’s tousled blonde head at three weekly meetings, and after a couple of drinks the woman’s sponsor allowed that Allison wasn’t answering her cellphone, either. It had been a little bit harder to track her after that, as NA didn’t keep membership records, but she found the food bank Allison volunteered at and someone that Allison had taken home one night. That lead Miras to a dinky apartment in the Fens; at least she hadn’t had to break down the door to get inside. Inside it had been, well, the sort of place someone lives when they’re working too many hours at four different minimum wage jobs. The only thing that didn’t fit, the one thing Miras had been dreading, was Allison’s corpse on her bed, a needle still in her arm. She had called the police from a payphone and waited. To give credit to Freedom City’s finest, they responded quickly to an anonymous phone call from the bad part of town telling them that someone had ODed. Now the witch’s eyes followed the police and the paramedics as they wheeled the body away. She rolled an empty glass bottle between her fingers; it was a simple sort that existed by the hundred in any pharmacy. The label had been peeled off, and someone had drawn dozens of tiny ‘Z’s had been drawn on it with markers and fit it with a new rubber cap. It was perfect to hold a sample of intravenous drugs. A drug that had killed Allison. Miras felt something sharp cutting into her palm and looked down at her hand. The bottle was suddenly broken into little glass shards. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Whoever was behind this would pay for Alison’s death, but Miras wouldn’t let the scumbag take her own life and freedom away.
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March 1, 2015 Dublin Circle This little cul-de-sac in the Fens has a little more character (or at least a little more prosperity) than the rest of the neighborhood - there's a mom-and-pop Vietnamese eatery in one corner and a few hair salons in another, and while the row housing is old it's very well-maintained. There's a reason for all that. Almost four years ago a gigantic alien limb smashed into a row of tract housing and old warehouses on this street, smashing them to rubble and leaving behind a rotting mass of hideous misshapen flesh. In the years since, Archetech has cleaned up the mess, rebuilt the area, and paid money to encourage new residents to move into the circle. Which meant that when a little boy named Andy Toth reported hearing voices, voices coming from his toys, that little Andy was Archetech's problem. Andy's caregiver, a single mom named Ruth Anne, had called Archetech first - after all, as she'd said on the phone, it was probably Archetech's fault her son was hearing voices! Who knew what had sunk into the water, or what had been picked up and built into the new house where they lived? Ruth Ann had also called her local free clinic for a second opinion - which meant that today (all unknowing), there were two superheroes headed for the small Toth house, Monkey Wrench there to investigate on behalf of her new employer, and Graft on his way to see a very unusual patient!
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GM Radiodeum The West End, Freedom City, NewJersey Friday, January 2nd, 2015 11:15 PM The Radiodeum is a theater infamous for its former tenants being the Toon Gang. Long evicted from its beautiful decor, the wooden framework is still looked on fondly by its many patrons. A far more impressive feat on any other night. Business had not resumed to its usual splendor after the Communion invaded. The annual monster movie night in preparation for the pending school season hadn't attracted much attention. In fact there were only two patrons in the theater. Daphne Celeste and princess Thaelia or as they are otherwise known Miss Grue and the Glamazon two teens associated with the Claremont superhero group known as Next-Gen. The Atlantean was as pop culture blind as one could be. And you couldn't fill anymore pop culture inside the Grue's mind. Making it easy to figure out who had picked their evening plans Both had decided they needed to kick back and relax after the busy month they had. Defending the city from an escalated amount of criminal activity in response to a majority of the local heroes leaving the city. Now a new year had come to pass, and the two outsiders at heart wanted to do something mundanely normal to relax. At the moment finding themselves halfway through a Wolfman movie. "Why does the small one not simply stab creature?" Thaelia asked Daphne. Leaning over in her seat with a tub full of popcorn bouncing around as they stared at the black and white flick.
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Mirror ambled his way around Wading Way, it was just after the sun had set, and it was quieter now then it had been all day. Twirling his cane, he hummed quietly to himself as he watched the invisible spirit, Mary, peer down various alleys, and into buildings, when she could, as she tried to get a good look at a part of the city she had been to very rarely. "Oh come on, slow down. I want to get a good look at this stuff, you never bring me down here, and your world has so much new stuff in it." She said as they passed by another Bank where some of the Employees were still cleaning up. "Why don't you ever listen to me? You never do anything for me, please, just, this once?" No longer caring about appearances, if someone wandered up on him, his outfit alone said something was off. "Because, Mary, when I come down here I usually don't have time to be slow. However, tonight there hasn't been anything, so I guess I'll slowdown so you can take a closer look around. I'd say behave, but no one else can interact with you." Humming to himself once more, Mirror slowed down, and sighed, looking up at the sky. Mary was a bit of a pain, constantly bugging him, but he couldn't complain much, he could do things most people couldn't even dream of thanks to her. Though, it would be nice to have a distraction around, talking to a voice in your head, even with the way he's dressed up, tends to worry most people.
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The Southern Queen was somewhat ideally situated (near 76th & Wading), or so thought one Maybelle McQueen. Though technically in the North End of Downtown Freedom, it was just as close to Parkside and Lantern Hill. Meaning even people from the West End or Midtown came in sometimes. But, mostly it was the college crowd mixed with the odd person who actually lived in the North End. The people who ate there more than once swore by it. The food wasn’t of any particularly style. In fact, the menu itself was more of a list of suggestions than a hard list. The Head Chef was known to produce virtually any dish on request, provided the Queen (or the customer) had the ingredients on hand. That said, the menu itself was full of generic fare. The kind of thing you could find in almost any home kitchen in America. There wasn’t a drop of fussiness or fancification about it. It was the dinner rush, but Maybelle was prepared. Honestly, the cooking was finished for everyone currently seated. So, she was doing her “pretend to be a waitress†thing. Most of her customers had no idea what the Head Chef looked like, or even what her name was. Not that either thing was a secret, but really, how many people going out to eat really care about that sort of thing? The Queen was the draw, not Maybelle herself, and she liked that just fine. She wandered around the dining room, quietly making sure everyone was currently satisfied with their meals. Like every night, there were some dissatisfied customers. Can’t please everyone, after all. But that was all right. Maybelle smiled and smoothed things over. The staff swooped in. The problem got solved. A normal, everyday night.
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February 25th, 2015 Outside Silberman’s Books, Freedom City Dawn The city was never really quiet at any point in the day. Tona Baudin had crawled through the city’s guts and swung over its rooftops, and it never became entirely quiet. In the morning, though, before the streets were clogged by cars and the sidewalks were clogged by pedestrians, there was a sort of peace and calmness and attention that the city possessed. The fact that it was a dozen degrees below freezing also helped keep the streets clear. The cold didn’t stop Tona from taking her morning jog. She was wrapped up in a fleece jacket, a torque, a scarf that wrapped around her face twice, thick socks with warming pads, and mittens with warming pads. She was also carrying her bow and quiver tightly lashed to her back, though to most people it probably just looked like a Camelback. The archer had finished her first circuit and was returning to her apartment above Silberman’s, to wake up Mali and set out on the second circuit. As she closed on the building she noticed someone standing outside the store, which should not happen. The store didn’t open until just before noon, so there was no reason anyone should be here this early. Tona’s fingers twitched in her mittens and she adopted a looser, more rolling gait as she approached the tall, pale figure.
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GM Abandoned Warehouse The Fens, Freedom City, New Jersey 8:00 PM Friday, January 16th, 2015 A recent string of assaults on Terminus empowered mutants had drawn the attention of the local media. Some calling it a paranoid hate crime after the recent alien invasion. After Gorge, a student at the illustrious Claremont Academy, was attacked Nevermore sought to personally uncover the mystery. Nevermore's investigation drew him through many twists an turns until finally he found himself in a small shipping warehouse near the waterfront. Stalking and taking out multiple gang members on his own Nevermore eventually found himself in the center of the warehouse. Surrounded by six armed thugs holding a variety of firearms the heir to the Raven was in a hairy situation. Apparently the gang had planned for his arrival judging by the ticking bomb that was currently sitting on the opposite end of the room. It was a good plan. If only Nevermore had chosen to fly alone this night. They might have stood a 1% chance of taking him out in their odd murder suicide bombing. As it stood, kneeling in front of that bomb was the boisterous Glamazon. The bullet holes in her clothing showing that somewhere along the line the men had simply given up on attempting to shoot the demigoddess as it was getting nowhere. The clock continued ticking as Thaelia declared her lack of understanding of the explosives.
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Braddock’s Restaurant, London, United Kingdom Braddock’s was one of the most exclusive restaurant in London there was a two year waiting list and still then you could be turned down for not being of the right caliber. So an invite to attend a diner on the fly was a surprise in the very least. As they arrived they were show to a table where there sat an old woman she only appeared in her 60 but she was actually much older. Dame Pennington, Britannia during the war, was not a woman to be trifled with despite her advancing years.
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Mirror Works, Riverside 23rd February 2015 This little boutique like many in the area specialized in a single things, in this case beautiful and fragile works of art in glass. Many of the pieces were one of a kind and hence very expensive, which was probably why some bright sparks were trying to rob the shop. Doing so in the middle of the day would be stupid normally, doing so in a city full of superheroes was almost suicidal.
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