Search the Community

Miller Park, The Fen’s Freedom City 23rd February 2015, 10:00 am The small rather grotty park on the edge of the fen’s had a rather dubious distinction for the kind of people that inhabited the park through the night. BUt the local inhabitants had had enough and were trying to improve the reputation of the area and it started by cleaning up the area. Several of the cities largest companies had donated money towards the project and several organizations had donated their time including several school, Claremont being one of them. As part of you Social Responsibility class you’ve all been bused in to spend the morning cleaning up trash, not the most exciting of events but at least it get’s you out of the classroom.

Dakana International Airport, Dakana 16th February 2015, 13:00 EAT (GMT +3) It wasn’t often that Claremont asked it’s students to travel halfway around the world, even if it was school holidays, but it wasn’t often that the request came on behalf of an actual King. The request was rather enigmatic but seemed to come from an official source of the Kings household. After rather lengthy discussion it was decided that one of the schools semi-official teams, Next-Gen, would have the honor to travel to Dakana. Flight BP66 one of the very modern Airbuses lands almost on schedule at the airport in a long but comfortable flight, whilst you were travelling economy the flight had very generous legroom. With the correct paperwork in hand you breezed through immigration to pick up your luggage that had travelled as diplomatic bags. Everything had been carefully prepared to make thing runs smoothly. Soon you were in the ultra modern clean airport lounge looking for whoever was here to greet you to this small African country.

Cline Home Port Regal, Freedom City, New Jersey 7:22 PM Saturday, February 21st, 2015 During Next-Gen's weekly training sessions, which had increased to bi-weekly since alien robots failed to destroy the planet, Will had expressed to his teammates that his parents needed a babysitter for his sister. Professor Psion's recent bout of being alive had left the family on high alert. Though before their teammate could spit out the request in full Thaelia had already gleefully volunteered. It went without saying that there was a moment of relief when Errant volunteered afterwards to help the overly ambitious demigoddess. The ever optimistic Glamazon was many things. An experienced hand at watching children was not at the top of the list. The fact that her mind was an open book was equally a mixed blessing in that she'd be someone not bothered in the slightest about watching over a telepath. As her telepathic partner in arms could attest. The princess of Atlantis had neither the patience nor the inclination to wait for a taxi, Thaelia had sped alongside traffic from the academy to the private Cline estate. A blur charging in an out of traffic without even the slightest notice of the below freezing temperature. Upon arriving she gave the premises an excited visual scan from the outside. Thaelia's familiarity with the living situation of her friends was mainly limited to the academy dorms. The Cline house was no dorm room for sure. The powerhouse babysitter would take a rare moment to wait for the other youth before starting a trek to the front door. Despite his lack of ability to encroach upon the sound barrier, Thaelia had never known Errant to be anything less than punctual.

Lor Space Aboard the Praetorian Aquila Class Starship Devotion Mid-December, 2014 (Terran calendar) Amara Val-Ren still felt somewhat ill at ease in the command seat of the Praetorian spacecraft. But in the short time since she and her fellow Praetorians had been revived by the Curator, she had actually spent only a small amount of time aboard either of the Praetorians' surviving starships. She and her brethren had been thrust into another conflict with the Communion, this time seeking to help the various space fairing powers that were being hard pressed by the Communion forces. Lacking the numbers to directly confront the Communion as they had over two thousand years ago, the surviving Praetorians instead did what they could to organize and inspire the forces of those fighting the threat. But for every cruiser they destroyed, or wave of antibodies they decimated, there were always more, the Communion continuing to add to its forces as it cyberformed planet after planet as it moved through sectors of space. But as desperate the situation was, the sheer scope of the threat had left little time for Amara or fellow Praetorians to dwell much on the fact that they were now two thousand years removed from the empire they had once served, and that all that they knew, everyone they once knew, were not long gone, even with how long Naram could live. But occasionally there were quite moments, where such thoughts could come to the front. In the face of those times, Amara could only try to focus on what she had to do to try to see herself and the others safely through this crisis. Of course, much of the time it seemed as if she was merely delaying the inevitable, but she could not let that stop her from what she had to do, for countless beings were counting on them, even if many of those beings did not even know it.

Galandis Refinery Korivan The Khanate This seemed to be what he lived for, nowadays. He'd long since turned in his resignation at work. The guys at the aeronautics firm might have been willing to excuse his "long lunches" every now and again, but this was a different matter entirely. He had explained he was going to take a "sabbatical"; they acted like they understood, but he had a feeling that the position might be filled by the time he got back to Earth for any long stretch of time. If he got back to Earth. Sometimes, he wondered if he'd cracked. Here he was, alone, in the last place in the galaxy anyone wanted to be. He hadn't starting thinking about snails crawling along the edge of straight razors yet, so that was a point in favor of sanity. But there was still that urge, that drive. The need to do everything to the enemy that had been done to him and his people. He knew what lay down that road. But damn if it wasn't a tempting one to walk. Cavalier sighed. The personal reflection could wait. He had work to do. And so, he adjusted his visor to meet the swirling storm of dark silt, and trudged off towards his objective.

The Hunter Museum of Natural History, Freedom City 10:00am, 23rd February 2015 With a silent roar the skeletal head of the dinosaur popped out of the door just behind those fleeing the museum. It snapped lazily at them as they leaved, not showing any particular desire to show them harm. A few students had to been gently hustled away from such an amazing sight. With a final push it freed itself from the museums wooden door and stood on the stair marble stairs looking around with empty eye sockets at Freedom City.

The Combat Simulator used bleeding edge technology to allow students to face almost any perceivable threat. They could face anything from a mugger to the Lord of Entropy himself all without putting themselves in any danger. Unfortunately it was run and organised by very much flawed humans, who very rarely made mistakes. It seems that somehow both you groups have been booked to use the CS at the same time. Well you’re all here at the same time, what are you to do?

For a building that had only been around a decade, the pyramidal frustum of ArcheTech Headquarters occupied its spacious campus in Hanover with a stately grace that suggested much longer years. It certainly hadn't taken long for the distinctive shape of the building to make it a landmark, or for its lobby full of scientific displays and free-of-charge rotating presentations to make it a popular field trip destination. The campus hosted a 5k fun run in the springtime, an all-ages Halloween extravaganza, summer science camps, and Christmas decorations that could easily be seen across the river. Whether or not people used ArcheTech products (and many of them certainly did), the company was a fixture in the life of the city. Even natives of Freedom City who'd spent most of the decade away from home knew something about the super-tech company. Going on a field trip or attending a fun run, however, was not exactly the same as actually coming into the company for a job interview. By the time Alex was invited for an in-person interview at ArcheTech, she'd already survived the resume submission and the phone interview stage, but now this was the real thing. An in-person interview with the company's superhero CEO, Miss Americana. Not only did Miss Americana run ArcheTech, she was a super-scientist and engineer in her own right, with dozens of articles published about her work in biomechanics, robotics, and a handful of other fields. She also apparently took it upon herself to hand-pick any metahuman scientists coming to work for the company. The lobby itself was not too intimidating, since it was mostly filled with schoolchildren and their harried chaperones, racing from display to display while cheerful tour guides led them around. Employees with badges and some with uniforms threaded their way through the chaos with the ease of long practice. Here and there, security guards in blue kept an eye on things and helped wrangle the wayward children. At the farthest point of the lobby from the displays was a bank of elevators and a large, sleek white desk. When Alex approached the front desk, she could see a trio of extremely efficient-looking employees wearing Bluetooth headsets and typing with holographic touchpads onto transparent projected screens. "May I help you?" asked the nearest receptionist, a young man with a polite smile and a small computer screen projected over one eye.

The planet Za’ak Over two thousand three hundred years ago, in Kharag's memories... Kharag remembered. There is no such thing as delicate grass on Za'ak. Even in the lush jungles, there was no such thing as delicate grass that moved in the wind. From these jungles to the scrublands, the ground was only covered in sharp, hard and durable plants which grew from the soil with little to no need for water. There were countless varieties of these plants, but most of them were tall and thin with jagged spikes. In these fields, life was teeming with all manners of small life, which scuttled around the ground, either avoiding the spikes or simply being immune to them. There is no such thing as delicate grass on Za'ak. A small six-legged reptilian creature, covered in quills, was digging the ground for roots and small insects. Unfortunately for it, it would be a bad day. It's last day, in fact, as it found itself swallowed up by a much larger reptillian beast, which didn't even bother to chew. It simply gobbled it up, hungry from these long days of travel. "Hold! Hennek, hold!" It's rider said, pulling the reins. The creature shrieked and barked loudly. His mount hungry, Kharag took out a chunk of his rations and handed it over to the long-necked beast, which voraciously ate it. "There there..." Kharag turned, looking at the horizon, waiting for his army to arrive. It was typical of him to ride ahead with the scouts, as he had means to keep in touch with his troops across great distances. The field of thorny plants was shaking at the aproach of his army. Kharag had left with an army eight hundred men strong and arrived at the location with only roughly more than six hundred. Mobilizing a large army across Za'ak was no easy feat, as the environment had a certain habit of eating them. Sometimes literally. At the front, footsoldiers, armed with newly-forged spears and shields of steel, in the back archers and fire-throwers. Cavalry moving around the formations to ward off predators. "They've set up fortifications." One of his scout said, observing their target from above a hill. "Then we will ready the fire-throwers." Kharag said. Some brews were so potent that could allow one to 'breathe' fire, but Kharag's army had learned to refine the mixture and make bombs out of them. To their opponents, it was as if the army could summon fire at will. Kharag didn't need to address his army in person. He didn't need to speak to organize his troops. He would mentally relay his messages to the relevant commander, who would issue his orders. With everyone given proper instruction, they would wait for the signal. "TO BATTLE WE RIDE! FORWARD! HIYAAAAA!" Kharag yelled, riding ahead of his cavalry, right into the enemy fortifications. The rest would follow, as planned.

Moscow, Russia Approximately 10000 miles above the center of the city Monday, February 2nd, 2015 1:14 AM Foreshadow's last trip to Russia ended with him uncovering a >secret soviet conspiracy to win the Olympics with yet to be resolved complications. Dressed to the in full costume, Foreshadow was currently leaning outside of the open side hatch of the plane. Thousands of miles above the city of Moscow. "I still think this is a bad idea." An all too familiar reservation from the pilot called out. His pilot was an alcoholic that couldn't even find stable employ with a PMC groups. Mohammed Azzam was a veteran of the Soviet War in Afghanistan. A man whose sacrifices for his country did not end in the war when he stepped on a landmine left behind by the Soviets. Both his leg and arm were metallic replacements crafted by the local ASTRO Labs equivalent. And he was the last person who felt comfortable "borrowing" a stealth plane to sneak into Moscow air space. "Your reservations are noted. Your payment has already been wired." Foreshadow's words were followed by the act of him leaping out of the moving plane. Diving down towards the Russian capital. Armed only with a parachute that hadn't been maintained since the late 1980s. It was the sort of night Foreshadow lived for. When Erick Sloane popped up on Interpol's most wanted, he was inconvenienced. When Erick Sloane was flagged at the London airport as a domestic terrorist, he was a little irked. But, when an assassin showed up at his adopted father's home Erick Sloane was beyond outraged. Of course, David could more than take care of himself which gave Erick a starting point. It took a lot of effort to track down the source of his troubles. A long winding road that made one thing especially clear. Someone in Russia had it out for him. Someone knew he was Foreshadow... His recently established ties with Vanguard meant Erick had someone he could call if he needed assistance. A thought that had crossed his mind many times. There are just some things you need to do alone. Things like sneaking into a country with some of the harshest prison conditions on the planet. * * * Even at 1 AM, the hero's descent into the city was a public affair. But, none of the witnesses who claimed to have seen the lone man parachuting into the center of the city ha managed to snap even a picture. Even fewer could place the direction he had run off towards. The acrobat had wasted no time in donning his disguise. Dirtying himself up he looked like a poor brown haired (hair dye was a wonderful thing especially water soluble die) tourist with a large lack of money. Just the sort of person a local hostel would gladly take in. Erick was counting on the fact that whomever was after him would be alerted to his public entrance to the country. While at the same time he needed to blend as quickly as possible. Though a single assassin had been sent to David's place. There had yet to be a large out and out declaration that Foreshadow and he were one in the same. His foe was either sitting on the information or the fallout was instead a revenge motion due to his costumeless taking down of the Doctor and the Sleeper's olympic plans with Dee. Either way Erick was set to get to the bottom of this whole thing. The rest of the day was spent socializing with the other patrons of the Hostel. Kristoff, as Erick had taken to calling himself, was a mouthy lad that mostly kept to himself when not preaching about the environment or new age mumbo jumbo. Essentially he was a walking stereotype of the typical 'skipped college to save the world' youth that one could always be sure to find at a hostel. Notable only in his ability to annoy the other patrons.

Silberman's Books. Sunday, February 8th, 2015. 10:00am A small printed sign was taped to the inside of the front door window: CLOSED FOR STORE MEETING Shop owner Lynn Epstein was nervously pacing up and down in front of the the bar, her staff mostly seated around the main table in the middle of the sales floor; due to the step up into the older part of the store, this meant they were all looking down on her somewhat. Great; I already feel like I'm on trial. Kiki came from around from behind the bar, occasionally casting a reassuring look towards her friend and employer as she carried a tray with coffee and doughnuts to the table; she was the only one who fully knew what was going on, though some of the others might have a few guesses. Clearing her throat, Lynn finally began. "Uh, hey guys; thanks for coming in a little early today. I don't know how long this will take or...anything, really, so I figured it would be best if we just...well..." Her employees shifted uneasily and exchanged concerned glances; normally Lynn was not this tongue-tied. Sensing their nervousness, the petite brunette suddenly held up her hands. "Nobody's getting fired, if that's what you're thinking, and the store's not closing, either; all of you still have a job." "Where's Mrs. N," asked Cred0; typically he'd work with her on Sunday afternoons. This led to new murmurs of concern; the beloved Jewish grandmother was elderly, so it was certainly possible- Lynn rubbed her face and sighed. "No, Mrs. Nussbaum is fine, that's not why we're here." She sagged back against the bar for a few seconds, suddenly feeling very, very old; but then she took a deep breath and seemed to reinflate. With great effort, she met everyone's gaze, one after the other. "Look, I have a confession to make; several, actually. We've been working together side by side for six months now; we might not all be best friends, but I think we've bonded a bit, right? And some of you might have seen things or heard things, and I think it's time to set the record straight. Because friends don't keep secrets from each other." She paused, closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm...not human." She grimaced and spread her arms wide. "There, I said it."

Almost a week after the unfortunate incident with the sabotaged plane, Naomi finally received a summons to ArcheTech headquarters. She'd filed exhaustive reports, of course, been debriefed by her supervisor, Vithya Naganathan, as had Mike and Rory, her ground team, and Keegan her backup pilot. She'd had an extensive physical that included checks of vision, hearing, reflexes and proprioception, which had been a little bit interesting given some of the things she hadn't known her body could do until recently. But all of that had been done at the test facility at Lonely Point, a place she was already familiar and comfortable with. Today's summons was to the tower in Hanover, where Naomi hadn't been since she was hired. The lobby of the imposing building was not so bad; sure it was very large, but its grandeur was softened by the fact that it was full of schoolchildren exploring displays on the wonder and excitement of renewable energy and recycling. The noise and bustle of kids on a field trip was distracting until she made her way to the relative quiet of the horseshoe-shaped front desk, where an extremely efficient-looking young woman with an earpiece scanned Naomi's ID badge with a palm-held scanner. "You're meeting with Miss Americana," she told Naomi tonelessly. "You're cleared for top-floor access. Please follow the arrows." She gestured, and a line of green arrows lit up along the midline of the wall, heading for a bank of elevators. "Have a nice day."

San El-H, Djanei VI GM Post In the height of the Delaztri Empire Djanei was the height of learning bringing scientists and academics from throughout the empire and beyond. Now it was a forgotten world on the edge of Lor space, it one great universities lost to the deciduous forest that covered much of the world. Sam El-H was a small frontier town sat on the edge of a mine reclaiming exotic metals from the soil. Most of the miners were still working their claims so the cantina was mostly deserted when a half dozen armoured figures entered the bar. A mass of almost clashing colours and with an elaborate helmets it would be easy to underestimate them as purely ceremonial, except for the deadly blaster stapped to there waist. They began to harass the barkeep, one of the original Delazti settlers, about expected supplies that they had no intention to pay a single credit. There order didn’t say they weren’t meant to interfere, though technically it wasn’t there territory, but Sitara had alway been fuzzy about order in cases like this. “I do believe that he doesn't want to help you with your problems, I suggest you leave now before trouble breaks out.†she was seemed relaxed, though she kept her hand near her power pike just in case. “This doesn’t involve you stranger don’t get involved.†his spoke the local tongue with a heavy accent. “Besides...†he looked around a little over dramatically “I count six of us, who have you got on your side?â€

GM February 28, 2015, 10pm Eastern Time It was quiet at Claremont Academy. The students were either a quiet Saturday night in Freedom City or resting snugly in their dormitories. Some were preparing for their routine "patrols" and others were working out in the simulator room. Headmaster Summers had discovered a strange uptick in bandwidth usage reported from his IT support at the school, and it was beginning to become worrisome. Worrisome as the FBI had sent an agent to investigate a large uptick in illegal downloading and uploading centered on the school. After a thorough investigation of the student activity over the network discovered nothing, not even a scrap of what was reported in the FBI investigation. This was going to not be a easy solution, but the Headmaster had an idea of how to start...

GM Friday, January 23rd. 2:30 PM. Some days, elbow-deep in elephant droppings, Tara had questioned her decision to intern at the Hanover Zoo. She she swore she would take back all her complaints if she came out of today in one piece. She'd been with Joan in the security station when it happened, thank God. The two of them watched through the cameras as the zoo erupted into utter chaos. Bobo the grizzly charged through the sliding doors of the visitors' center before they were fully open, shattering glass and scattering screaming crowds. Tic and Tac, two of the adult hippopotamuses, smashed headfirst into the zoo train, throwing the school kids riding it roughly onto the ground and scattering sparks that quickly caught in the dry grasses. And then the power went out, leaving them in total darkness. Joan laid a reassuring hand on Tara's shoulder. "Call 911 and stay put," the security guard told her, her voice calm but firm. "I'm going to go break out the tranqs." Fumbling for the door of the security hut, she wrenched it open. Sunlight streamed in, catching on the older woman's silver hair and fierce eyes... and on the horn of the rhinoceros thundering past. Towser didn't even slow as he impaled the door, ripping it from its hinges; Joan leapt back inside, the wind of his passage tugging at her uniform. "On second thought," she told Tara, "I think I'll stay here, too." They ducked under the computer console and stayed very, very quiet. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "It's a damn goat, Simmons! You put a 6'4" guy on his face a week ago, why is this so hard?" Officer Ted Simmons wrestled with the ram, arms straining as he held it back by the horns. It snapped its flat teeth at him whenever it got close, and had already come perilously close to the end of his nose. "I don't wanna hurt the friggin' thing, Sergeant," he shouted back. "I might break its neck if I try to throw it down by the head!" Sergeant 'Pepper' Pettars grunted; he had problems of his own, trying to dissuade a pair of ewes from kicking his shins in. They'd be the laughingstock of the precinct for this. And then Simmons heard the Sergeant's voice again. "Run! Drop everything and run!" He looked up, and the color drained from his face. He let go of the goat, a thunderous trumpeting sounding in his ears, and scrambled back, back toward the police perimeter. He stumbled as the ram butted him in the back of the knee, and it saved his life; a station wagon soared over his head, flipping end over end, and crashed down in front of him, spraying windshield glass in all directions. Some days, he reflected as the elephants bore down on the police perimeter, it really didn't pay to get out of bed.

GM Friday, January 23rd. 2:30 PM. Jamal first realized something was wrong when a colobus monkey stole his wallet. The zookeeper chased after the little fellow with an exasperated sigh. Escapes were unusual, but he'd been around long enough to've seen a few; he'd just corral the monkey and have one of the others grab a catch-all pole. But the screaming that started a moment later, coming from the direction of the lakeside cafe, made him pause. There was a school group in there, he knew, and they'd probably get pretty excited by escaped monkeys. But this sounded like real panic, and that worried him. The wallet could wait. He dashed back up the path in time to catch sight of Missy the hyena jumping on a thirty-something guy in a polo shirt, the fifth graders behind him screaming their lungs out. The zookeeper's blood ran cold - two simultaneous escapes was too much of a coincidence, especially in Freedom City. Charging forward, he kicked Missy in the side, then punched her in the snout when she turned to bite him. Whining, she backed off, and Jamal looped his arms under the teacher's and dragged him out into the dining area. "Get into the bathrooms and lock the doors!" he yelled, and the kids scrambled to obey. He looked behind him in time to see his coworker Shawn, his long black in utter disarray and tears of panic streaming down his face, being dragged up the steps and through the doors of the reptile house by a boa constrictor. "What the flying..." And then a spider monkey stole his watch, bounding away as Missy returned with friends. "Come on, man," he told the teacher, tapping the side of his face. "C'mon, you gotta wake up. Now would be good. Now would be real good!" Snarling, teeth bared, the hyenas began to close in... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The third graders were starting to cry, and the antelope wouldn't let them leave. Tammy had tried everything to get it to move. She'd run at it, yelling "shoo!", and it'd just stared at her. She'd thrown food behind it, bits of carrots and animal crackers they'd taken for a snack, and it hadn't budged. She'd even shoved it, but that had just caused a water buffalo to walk up beside it and ram her in the shoulder. The two animals completely filled the entrance to the sculpture garden, where the kids hadn't really wanted to go when there were real animals to see anyway, big and blank and way too close. She took a calming breath. "Okay," she told her class, putting on her best smile. "Sit in a circle. We're going to play duck, duck, goose!" The water buffalo snorted, the force of its breath sending her hair haloing around her face. Go to the zoo, the principal had said. Kids love the zoo. He was going to get an earful when she got out of this. But she was keeping it together; the kids were relatively calm, and seemed to be getting into the game. Tammy was determined to ensure that, when someone came to help, they'd find the class in good order. But she couldn't blame them for descending back into screaming, crying panic when gorillas started dropping off computers all around them...

GM January 21st, 2015. 9:55 AM. "Hawk to Spider. Target is on the bridge, about four cars behind you. Maneuver is go. Over." "Roger, Hawk. Commencing maneuver. Estimated police response: ten minutes. Good luck." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A frigid wind blew a steady stream of sea fog and sodden not-quite-snow over Route 6. It was the tail end of Freedom City's rush hour, just the stragglers hurrying along in an effort to avoid being too late to work, but to small-town folks like Tom and Jenny Conway the Mangold Bridge still seemed packed. SUVs, tanker trucks, and even an armored car swooped around their little rental at what seemed like breakneck speed, horns blaring. Tom's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking madly between his mirrors and the road ahead of him. Sweat was beading up on his forehead. He just couldn’t understand why people insisted on driving so fast when the roads were slick and visibility was low. "I'm telling you, Jen," he said, his voice tense, "next time we should just take public transit. Driving in this city is a dam... sorry, darn nightmare." Jen laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. "You're right, honey. I'm sorry. You're my hero." He glanced sideways, letting the tension melt from his face to match her smile. And then her eyes grew wide. "Tom, look out!" Scarcely thinking, he jammed on the brakes, turning back just in time to see a wall of metal coming right for him. There was a jarring, scraping crash; the seatbelt jerked too tight across his chest, driving the wind from his lungs, as his face met the airbag. An instant later the car buckled again, crushed in from behind. Bits of windshield drew stinging crimson streaks across his arms and cheeks. There was another impact, and another, but each grew a little weaker, and finally Tom raised his ringing head from the dashboard. "Jen? Jen, talk to me!" His wife laid her hand across his; she was crying. "Oh my God, Tom. Oh my God." He squeezed her fingers, kissed her on the cheek. "It's okay, Jen. We're okay. I'm going to go see if I can help. Stay here." It took three kicks to open the mangled door. He stepped out into a hellscape; broken glass, shredded bits of fender, and a long, long line of cars behind him, crumpled and broken as far as the eye could see. Thick, wet sleet fell over them, obscuring cracked windshields, but fires danced on cracked engine blocks in spite of the weather, dangerously close to puddles of leaking gasoline. In front of him was the eighteen-wheeler he'd hit, crashed perfectly across the width of the bridge. How had the driver managed that? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Bad time to mention I'm two days from retirement?" Bob offered Anita a hand, hauling her back to her feet. Whatever they'd hit, at least it hadn't flipped the truck, though it'd thrown the two of them around pretty good; Bob was bleeding from a cut on his scalp, and Anita was starting to wonder if she'd broken her left wrist or just sprained it. "Don't even joke about that," she told him, flicking her pistol's safety off. "The cargo's good?" Bob looked, then nodded. "It's fine. These kind of boxes are designed to be Philistine-proof; a little road rage won't crack 'em." Through the thick walls of the armored car they could hear approaching helicopter blades. "Police?" Bob asked. Anita shook her head. "Too soon. I don't like it." A bang on the roof silenced them both. Three more followed it; people dropping down onto the vehicle. "Molly," Anita said into her walkie, "can you get us out of here?" The next thing she heard was the telltale thwap of a silenced gunshot. Her hands went cold. "Bastards," she whispered. "Bastards." Bob's usually-jovial face went blank. Anita slammed her fist against the emergency contact button; the light blinked green, then went red. She checked her cell phone; no signal. Serious equipment. She heard them moving outside, then the whine of high-powered drills at the outer doors. Bob had to shout to be heard as he opened the weapons locker and tossed her a shotgun. "They're good," he said, his features grimly set. "We'll only get one shot, if that. Make it count." Anita crouched beside one of the painting boxes, the shotgun braced against her shoulder. She'd make them pay. God, they got Molly. Oh, she'd make them pay.

GM January 2nd 2015, Late Evening... Lantern Hill Police Station... Not a big Police Station, not a popular shift. A spooky shift, even, being so close to the graveyard. The police got by on strong coffee and grim humour. And gave the hobos, the lunatics, the goths practicing black magic, and the vandals pretty short shrift. If their police station was a little crumbly and a little drafty, then so were the cells. This latest arrest was a new one, even to them. They didn't know whether to call a psychiatrist, a doctor, a lawyer, or doctor metropolis. So they called the weirdo. Yeah, you know, the weirdo new Lawyer in Freedom City. And in Freedom City, calling a lawyer a weirdo was pretty stiff competition. Why, they already had "the Revenant" down in the Fens. But this guy was seven foot and blue and green and looked like a freak. Well, they said, lets try him out. And so they made the call... "We got some nut jo...I mean, we made some arrest, Some young woman, looks like some hippy environmentalist, you know what I mean...I mean, yeah, some decent protesting woman, sure...*ahem*...well, she is just gibbering, saying that they dumped something in the graveyard. Said the dead rising. Well we get that a lot on lantern hill, especially on April Fools day, if you know what I'm saying. Thing is, her eyes have gone totally green....we don't know what to do with her, so, we thought given you are...err...a bit...well...err....well....anyway, could you come and help?" asked the poor duty officer over the phone.

December 25th Continued from >Mind Over Matter Fast-Forward was back on the streets of Freedom City so fast he barely had time to grab a candy cane from a department store giveaway as he made his way to his first destination. It was evening New Jersey time when he appeared at Dancia Devons' front door in Lincoln, where his super-speed knock sounded like a machine gun's rat-a-tat before he slowed himself back down (and sped everything else up) until once again he was in sync with the normal world. Knocking firmly, he called, "Dancia Devons! Dancia Devons!" When she opened the door, the Discovery Channel personality on Dancia's doorstep said without preamble, "Scarab needs you to save the world from robot psychics from space." He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was in the hallway; luckily her neighbors were all still enjoying their Christmas. "How quickly can you get to Puerto Rico?"

December 25, 2014 Freedom City Midnight Manor Late in the evening on Christmas Day, a Deep One sang an eerie song in the Midnight Manor, her body silhouetted by the darkness outside. "BUT I GET UP AGAIN! YOU'RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN! WOO!" As her song finished and the strains of Tubthumping vanished into the quiet of what was sometimes one of many front parlors in the Hunter mansion, Aquaria leaped in the air and cheered, her smooth, wet skin glistening from the exertion of the vigorous karoake number. "I am awesome!" For their part, Mark and Nina both cheered and applauded - Mark hadn't been at all sure bringing the machine along was the right idea, but luckily Jessie's amphibian friend had practically snatched the karaoke machine up with her tongue and practically begged to go first. (Jessie had, blushingly, commented that Aquaria used to do this a lot before disappearing herself) Aquaria first approached Mark and Nina, since they had been the latest to the party - only arriving after Martha Lucas had turned in early and left her son and his girlfriend free for Christmas. "You guys want a turn? C'mon, don't be chicken!" Between Nina's competitive streak and Mark's natural showmanship, it wasn't long before the couple was standing in front of the computerized board, picking out their song - 500 Miles seeming to be an early favorite. Aquaria bounded over to join Erin and Trevor to watch the show, declaring, "Surface music is great, you can yell so loud when you're singing! And nobody complains!"

December 25, 2014 South Pole Basin Lunar Farside It is not true that Farsiders never leave their city, merely that such events are rare and usually for a purpose. The construction of the South Pole station by Farsiders had been one such purposeful occasion, one launched over a Terran century ago by a Farsider monarch concerned about a recent Terran visit to the Moon. (Some Terran visitors to Farside City have pointed out that the Apollo missions took place over six decades later, but the Farsiders have the records of earlier 'interlopers' to show skeptical visitors of today.) With its neutrino detectors and concealed telescopes, the South Pole station is well-placed to directly monitor doings on Earth. Or for that matter, as Lady Lunar proved in the early 1980s, to strike at it. A collection of intellects vast and furious on Earth had realized the station's potential not long after the Communion crisis began - concealed as the station was, it was the perfect place to strike at an enemy in Earth orbit by surprise. What had been a location for observation could become a location for misdirection; a notion that appealed to the ruling government of Farside City, which liked the idea of saving the world they orbit without their true role ever being known. (Farsiders do love their secrets!) And so, for much of the last two months, the greatest minds of Earth have come to its only natural satellite with a singular purpose. To build a machine to protect the planet from the Communion! Steve Murdock had offered what advice he could during its construction, but his experience with dimensional technology was all practical. It had come down to Dragonfly's specific genius and Miss Americana's vast storehouse of general knowledge to put the great work into practice. Caradoc, and the other non-scientists in the party of heroes guarding the weapon (as Steve was not allowed to call it around his employer) had rapidly found another role in the small lunar colony. Lunar soil ashy beneath his feet, Caradoc raised his gleaming blade to the sky, the shining tip above the heads even of the tallest Farsiders in their environmental suits. A new group of Farsider militiamen had been deployed that week - and their usual trainers were busy with an Earth-Prime holiday, an important one, but one that he could miss while Gina Evans was safely ensconced in the tiny pre-fab quarters that she had occupied for the last month. There would be time enough for celebration when the work was done. He spoke over the radio. "Your enemy will target your environmental suits first! They are not pirates, or conquerors, or enslavers. Your dead flesh will feed their ever-growing armies." He lowered his blade as the group shifted uneasily, and for a moment there was dead silence on the lunar plain besides the domed Farsider military base even on the radio frequencies they used to speak with each other outside the dome.

GM High Earth Orbit The Lighthouse December 25 th, 2014 9:40 PM Greenwich Mean Time (4:40 PM Freedom City) The last nearly two months had been busy ones aboard the orbital headquarters of the Freedom League. With so many of the senior league members off in space trying to help against the Communion, the work load for the remaining League members had increased, the team feeling rather stretched at times. The information sent back by the League members in space had done little to easy the stress of those remaining behind. As shocking as it had been to learn of the destruction of Lor-Van, what the Communion had done with the planets and peoples they did not just outright obliterate was perhaps even more horrific. But there had been little time to fully dwell on things, as there had been crises around the world and coordination with heroes across the world to try to be ready should the Communion turn towards the Earth. And then a few hours ago, the League members in space had sent a message back to the Lighthouse, stating that they had located the Communion's world killer spacecraft, and it was heading towards Earth. The remaining League members on Earth had moved into action, contacting the various heroes they had spent the last two months connecting with and getting people moving to various parts of the world to prepare should the Communion make it past the League members in space. Freedom Hall had served as a launch point for many, teleporting them up to the Lighthouse, and then back down to Earth to the various League teleport locations that had been set up over the years. For a time, everyone had been so busy organizing things, there was little time for anything else. But once they had coordinated setting things in motion, there was little to do but wait for news from the League members in space, of for the Communion to just arrive if there was no one left to hear from.

Rio Branco Avenue Rio de Janeiro, Brazil December 25th, 2014 5:25 PM local time Nick Cimitiere's jacket was tempered for heat and cold, meaning he didn't need to forgo protection - or mystique - based on the temperature. But the humidity of the Rio summer was still getting to him. The whole city was strung out for Christmas, but the tilt of the earth meant it felt more like the height of July back home. Speaking of back home... he'd told his family he'd be out of town for a few days, but would be back for Christmas. He always hated to lie to his family about these matters. Four years home from college, eight years as a superhero, and he still hadn't come clean about meddling in the affairs of life and death. But some matters of death were more important than matters of life. There had been a number of disappearances in Rio over the past few weeks. People from all walks of life had left messages for their family and friends, saying they were going to "a better place," and then had vanished entirely. Fortunatus, a local seer and fate manipulator who Nick had partnered with on a particularly tough job years ago, had given him a call about the matter. "The path is clouded to me," he had said. "I see that they are gone, but I cannot see where they have gone and who led them there. I fear this may be more your department than mine." "Anything else you can tell me?" "Just one thing. There are a number of 'great bumps' on the horizon." "Great bumps" was Fortunatus's term for a confluence of random factors that could spell either windfall or disaster. Nick had no idea where it came from. "I have one that I must handle myself, as it involves plucking the threads of chance like a harp. But I can see that these disappearances will not stop soon, and may breed a catastrophe of their own if unimpeded." And so, after spreading the word amongst the community and walking the back roads of reality, Nick had found himself walking a beat in paradise. Those who had gone seemed to be truly gone - after visiting their residences and the local cemeteries, he could find no trace of the vanished having left ghosts. Then again, he wasn't the only one on the beat. "How's it coming on your end?" he asked over the comms relics he'd handed out.

December 25, 2014 Walking about the Dubai International Convention Centre and mingling, Amir al-Misri would have been well within his rights to congratulate himself on a very successfully hosted conference. The science and technology summit - his PR people had come up with a more pompous title but it had sounded a little too obviously designed by committee to stick in the billionaire philanthropist's mind - had drawn experts in civic engineering, clean energy initiatives, information networking and a few dozen other equally impressive fields from around the globe. The chance to compare notes and show off the latest prototypes had been incentive enough but the sizable grant money being offered by his firm to the most impressive projects hadn't hurt, either. He wasn't left to bask in satisfaction for long, however, as one of his aides rushed over, his colouring pallid with stress, and shoved a tablet into Amir's hands. "Sir! Sir, you have to see this," the uncharacteristically disheveled man insisted, running a hand through his neat beard. "Some sort of weapon just made groundfall in the Rub' al Khali! It looks like- the data suggests it was launched from orbit. The payload... we don't have any idea what we're looking at, sir." The thermal satellite image on the tablet showed an aerial view of the Empty Quarter with a small, strangely cool blotch at the site of the impact. A blotch that was slowly but noticeably spreading outward.

December 25, 2014 A ripple of tension had traced through the world's hero community, even those with few direct connections or who actively avoided such interactions with their peers. Something big was coming, perhaps already there, and the Freedom League was calling in everyone, every able body, to meet it. Details were scares and answers were scarcer but the apprehension of a soldier the night before shipping out hung over them all the same. That silent tension was broken as Asli Sadik's phone vibrated with a message notification, marked urgent with an attached video file. The compression had sacrificed some of the image quality but the hood, cloak and mask of Seven, a relatively recent addition to the League reputed to be a witch of considerable power, was immediately recognizable. The background was an indistinct blur but the urgency in her voice came through clearly enough. "Greetings, hero. My apologies for the intrusion but the need is great..." * * * * * "...great-whatever owed my great-whatever a favour and I'm calling in the chip," the porcine young man who'd identified himself as a descendant of Zhu Bajie told Daniel Lee as the grainy video played on the engineer's laptop screen. He snorted absently in a manner that wrinkled the entirety of his flat nose and hitched up his belt with both hands. "I ain't really got time to explain everything but I figure if I tell you there's adventure and demons to punch involved, won't take much convincing anyway..." * * * * * "...obviously the west bank of the Nile is a little out of the way for you," admitted Elwyn Eldrich, hockey jersey wearing nephew of the Master Mage, waving about a rune covered staff for emphasis, "but we're stretched a little thin here, frankly. Believe me, if I could leave the dread dimensions myself right now-- well, you know how they get around the holidays, I'm sure." As the video played the shadows in the corner of Jeremiah Cornwell's dorm room deepened unnaturally. "Now, can't keep the shadow portal I'm making for you open long..." * * * * * "...realize this is-- It's not how I wanted to do this," the stern young woman with Asgardian armor and a bow strapped to her back frowned, crossing and uncrossing her arms uncomfortably as John Fraser watched on his aging laptop's monitor. "But my mother always said that in a real emergency, you were the one I should contract. I'm sure you have a lot of questions - I would, too - but right now the world needs Arrowhawk." The video file ended and the gently spinning whirlpool of pitch black and midnight purple that had appeared a few meters away beckoned.