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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.

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?"

Robert Moses State Park Massena, Upstate New York Friday, November 22, 2013 10:24 AM Cold winds whipped across the waters of the St. Lawrence river, the major waterway that formed part of the international boundary between Ontario, Canada and New York State in the United States, before traversing through Ontario and Quebec before opening into the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Massena was one of the many towns that lay along the New York side of the river, just before the point where the river continued northeast into Quebec. Located along the St. Lawrence Seaway, a pair of locks were located near the town, Massena was a logical location for a number of manufacturing and industrial sites in the Twentieth Century. But like many such towns in the past couple of decades, many of those business had closed up and moved away, though there were still a few such plants in the town. Located to the north of the town were a number of larger islands out in the river, much of which were covered by Robert Moses State Park, which contained thick wooded areas and wetlands, as well as beaches, boating areas, as well as a wide variety of other recreational areas. Given the current cold temperatures that were hovering only a little above freezing, the park was understandably less than crowded. Out on the eastern end of the inner island on which the park sat, a group of white vans pulled into the nearly empty Hawkins Point visitor's center parking lot. After the vans came to a halt, the driver’s side door of the lead van opened and out stepped a man in his early fifties with dark grey hair, who stretched slightly before looking over at the other occupants of the van who were also exiting. The man was Professor Walter Morris from Freedom City University, who was part of the environmental sciences department. Inside the two vans were just over twenty students from FCU, Freedom College, as well as a couple of community colleges and even a couple of high schools in Freedom City that were involved in environmental studies courses at their schools, all of whom had signed up for this little trip to study the ecosystems in the wetlands and forested areas of the park. "Okay everyone." He called out to the students exiting the two vans as he pulled on a pair of warm gloves. "I know it has been a long drive, but we have about an hour and a half until lunch time, so we don't want to waste it." Alexander Cross made his way along one of the trails through the woodland areas that dotted Hawkins Point in Robert Moses State Park. Having recently found himself in a time rather removed from the one in which he had retired from several decades service as a locomotive engineer. He had been able to resettle himself somewhat, finding work as a night guard at the Museum of Science and Industry in Freedom City. When a chance to take a bit of vacation time had come up, Alexander had decided to revisit the area along the St. Lawrence river, recalling how more than three decades ago he taken trains along the river, delivering and picking up loads from the various industries that had sprung up, before carrying them further into the American heartland. Things had certainly changed in the intervening years. Many of the industries were gone, the towns clearly suffering from the loss of jobs. Most of the railways in the area were all but completely abandoned, over grown with weeds and other plants and generally not being utilized any longer.

April 15, 2015 Liberty Park After over a year in captivity, Tarva had quietly gone into action. She'd taken advantage of a driving rainstorm, one of the heaviest to hit this city in the year she'd lived there, and a rare mystical confluence produced by Seven's battle with Malador in order to slip away from the Dutemps Building's both physical and spiritual security. With a heavy rain jacket on and her face down, she had gone unnoticed by the many proles who walked the wide, nearly empty streets of this city, long enough for her to carefully make her way to her intended destination. She'd seen Liberty Park on a map of Freedom City and decided to make it her own - and as she approached, thanks to the lateness of the hour and the recent driving rains, she was delighted to find the park almost entirely empty. She stripped off her shoes and left them heedlessly by a walking path near the entrance, staring in wide-eyed fascination at the green beauty of the place. There was no smell of poison in the air, no whisper of monsters in the trees - and when she stepped into the grass, the soft blades were damp and cool against her bare feet. It was exactly what she'd wanted. A cool breeze came up, blowing softly against her skin, and in her soul she wanted to weep for the sheer beauty of the park by night. Keeping her hood up against the rain, she walked towards a nearby pond, staring into the water and thinking with fascination about the creatures who must live there! Settling down by the water, she turned and stared east, knowing the sun would be rising in just another hour or so. Plenty of time for her to see the new dawn, the first she had seen in...in an age, and then flee back to the tower like the rat she had become, away from the awesome beauty of this world's star. It was all perfect - except for one thing. She shot a glare up at the artificial lights scattered through the park and muttered a quick spell as the rain continued to die down, smiling as black globes appeared to cover all the lights she could see. Now the park was in the darkness it deserved, despite the glow of the city all around it, and from the curses and exclamations her sensitive hearing could just pick up from around the park, she would not be molested while she waited. She was alone; as she deserved. Taking out her diary, she began to write, letting her sensitive soul spring to glorious umbral life in the words of darkness and regret that lay beneath her skin like her black-tainted blood. The words flowed from her pen like lightning from a bottle - until suddenly she heard the too-heavy footfalls behind her. She leaped to her feet and screamed in horror at the sight of the oncoming Omegadrone, her fear dimmed not at all by the fact that it was not yet wearing its armor. "F-freedrone!" she exclaimed as she shoved her diary behind her back, terror at the fire burning in those cold eyes. "W-what do you want?" Steve's cold voice curdled into a growl as he stared at the Annihilist witch. "I wanted to be free of you, Tarva the Black, but look at you now! Wandering the streets of this city outside of your cage? Casting your spells? Writing who knows what horrible plans?" He turned anger into purpose, turned the urge to grab her by the neck into a surge forward that caught her by the wrist. "Be grateful that it is an ally who holds you captive, woman, or I would surely call the Freedom League and make some suggestions to your confinement." He pulled, and she pulled back, but his strength was far greater than hers. "Mercy! Please, mercy!" Tarva called, "Please, I only wanted to-" Steve came within an inch, a bare inch, of driving his fist against her face - and the thought must have shown on his, because she fell instantly silent. "You beg me for mercy. You beg me. For mercy." Armor erupted across his skin as holo-emitters came to life, transforming him into the armored figure of Caradoc, Tarva briefly crying out in alarm as armor shifted against her skin where his hand gripped her wrist. He didn't speak; instead he began picking her up so that he could fly her directly to the Dutemps Building. The sooner this was done, the better.

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...

Jameson Airport North Freedom, New Jersey 2:24 PM Wednesday November 26th, 2014 Normally when Erick Sloane was speeding through traffic at break neck speed it was while narrowly avoiding gunfire in pursuit of some sort of mafioso. Today, he was actually combating traffic for an entirely different reason. He was running late and it would be a tight squeeze to arrive on time. Erick had somehow found himself oversleeping despite normally pulling late nights. His barely street legal Porsche 918 was put to the test as it raced to the airport to pick up his guest. Erick didn't want to leave her waiting at Jameson of all places, as it was less of a rest stop than Jordan International. If not for the likelihood of attracting attention to himself, he would have taken his new even fancier mode of transportation. But, there was plenty of time to show that off later. One rushed car ride later, with thankfully no police stops along the way, Erick found himself on the edge of the curb waiting for incoming arrivals. There was a brief moment in which he felt like an overly expensive taxi as he looked around the curbside pickup. Searching for the VIP guest he had invited to spend the holiday with him. Did your flight get in? If he was waiting on someone else he might've considered texting or calling first.

November 1, 2014 Sanctuary It was midnight and the bees were SCREAMING. Comrade Frost, as awake as ever, was sitting outside in a small clearing, looking up at the so-bright stars overhead and thinking of the past. It had been a strange week, particularly since it had begun with Fleur de Joie approaching him and asking for help. Thousands of domestic animals had been brought to her adopted homeworld by the recent refugees from Entropy; thousands of unvaccinated animals in primitive conditions without access to 21st century medicine. There were veterenarians in Freedom City, it was true, but none with his experience, none with his training, and none with the willingness to drop everything to travel to another world to conduct perhaps the fastest rinderpest vaccination campaign in history. In the last few days, he'd been calling on the skills of Dimitri Peshkov far more than Comrade Frost, among these people who had no idea there had ever been a Russia. So he sat beneath the half-Moon and sipped a hot drink, and thought about the past. When he turned around and saw the earth-walled barn behind him and heard the snoring of the cattle, when he looked further to see the ramshackle dwellings in which the farmers hereabouts lived, it was like he'd stepped back in time. To another place, another life. Then the bees started screaming. Frost jumped to his feet, his drink set aside, and watched for a moment in shock as gigantic cries erupted through the half-grown forest - and a moment later the sound of fiery eruptions and the glow of red and orange stood out on the smoky clouds that dotted the sky above. "Pizdets!" he swore as a gigantic insect body, lit from the fires below, swooped up again and then straight down as if dive-bombing something. Without hesitating, he left aside the past and erupted forward into the forest, a cloud of icy mist racing towards the apian creatures and their distress.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

The Terminus High above the Silver Tree, deep in the cold red space of the Terminus itself, darkness billowed from the nothingness. It formed first into a black crescent that glowed with an impossible black radiance, then from the crescent there swelled a long spear with a pentagram at the tip. From the crescent resolved the figure of a pale-skinned woman, the spear in one hand and the crescent of shadow billowing behind her like a cape - her eyes deep voids of blackness as she looked down at the world of the Furions beneath her. Clutching her weapon, which was Starkiller, the slayer of suns in her hand, she waited in the void until the Furions came for her - and when they surrounded her, weapons glowing, she threw aside Starkiller and declared in a booming voice that resounded even in the true vacuum of the Terminus. "I am Tarva the Terrible! I bring grave tidings from the streets of Nihilor. But I will speak only to the Fleet-Footed!" --- March 1, 2014 As happens more often than you'd think, a swirling dimensional portal opened above the Martel Castle suspended itself a full hundred stories above Freedom City. Out stepped a man, if that was a man, all in black - the darkness of his garb marred by silvery lines that criss-crossed his muscular body in an abstract pattern and by his facemask - a white goat's face like that of Baphomet himself! Wielding a staff that glowed with searing red flame at the tip, he folded his arms expectantly and awaited in cold silence the arrival of his host and her escorts - for this was Scavros the Scarred, darkest and most terrifying of the Furions!

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?"

Outer Edge of the Lor-Van System 17 Hours After Destruction of Lor-Van The previous solar cycle's worth of hours had been among the worst in the lives of either Seikahi’ino or Ana Plonsky. On shore leave from the Xeno, the human woman had chosen to spend it on the shining crown jewel of the Lor Republic with the more worldly Kahi'iru agreeing to tag along as a favour to their mutual acquaintance to make sure she didn't get herself into any trouble. There was no way either of them could have been prepared for the Communion's sudden, merciless attack on Lor-Van. There was no way anyone could have been prepared. They'd been among the lucky ones, making it to a spaceport and squeezing their way onto a mid-sized cruiser just as the bay doors closed and it made for orbit. They'd sat on makeshift benches formed from empty cargo containers while a panicked young man had asked over and over if anyone had seen his sister among the crowd and a frail grandmother had been unable to stop an infants plaintive wailing for even a moment. They'd been in the windowless hold when word had filtered down that the Star Knights had arrived in force, a moment of sudden hope and relief before learning that the armor clad champions had sacrificed themselves to give them and the other fleeing vessels time to break orbit. They'd been there when the air had begun to taste just slightly stale and those familiar with starships had begun muttering that the engines didn't sound quite right. There when a crewman had let slip that they'd fallen behind the rest of the extant fleet and wouldn't be able to jump to FTL until repairs had been effected. There when the panicked young man from before had to be restrained before he could hurt himself or anyone else. There when someone asked aloud what was stopping those terrible silver sliver ships from coming to finish them off. On the ship's bridge, Samran-86 ran a hand through her tightly shorn red hair and reminded herself to keep her breathing calm and steady. The Lor officer had assumed command of the vessel from it grateful owner, a cargo hauler with no experience with emergency situations. The clone mentat known to her fellows as Eject was beginning to think he'd had the right idea. "Any friendly vessels, this is the freighter Either Ore. We are venting plasma and require immediate assistance. Repeat: we require immediate assistance. Is anyone out there listening?"

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.

Aboard the Nomad The edge of the Lor Republic 19 Hours After Destruction of Lor-Van Aya K'zan, also known as Corona, had received a transmission about the attack on Lor-Van far too late for her to be able to try to get there aboard the Nomad. After learning of the destruction of the capital of the Republic at the hands of some new enemy called the Communion, she had contacted two of the few allies she had made since her arrival on Earth, a human Emily Stenford, also known as Mechanized; and another off-worlder, Memorial, formally of Belran. As it turned out, Memorial knew a good deal about the Communion, making it an even easier decision for Corona to bring her along. The three had been heading to try to rendezvous with the Lor fleet on the Nomad when they had received a transmission from Lor Fleet Command. With the chaos the Communion attacks had brought, and the Star Knights shifting their forces to help address the threat, large sections of space had been left unpatrolled or defended. Reports had come in from systems just along the spinward boarder of the Republic about increased pirate activity, capitalizing on the chaos and absence of Star Knights. Command had ordered Corona to alter course to investigate the activity and deal with it, noting that it was the sector assigned to one of the Star Knights that had died trying to defend Lor-Van. Corona had also been directed to make a stop to pick up an additional passenger from a system along the way, a Tempestian known as Galvanic, who had been known to provide help to those in need since leaving Tempest. Now with Galvanic aboard, the Nomad was well underway towards the sector of space that had seen the worst increase in pirate activity.

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 5, 2014 2:00 pm Village of Mayberry, Sanctuary There was a light dusting of snow on the ground of Sanctuary as the visitors popped out of the hickory tree-shaped dimensional portal their host had conjured up for them, but the weather this afternoon was clear and cold. The place where they'd arrived looked like the edge of a large garden, with rows of berry bushes still fruiting nearby, and nut trees clearly ready for harvest all around them. Stesha was waiting for them as they stepped out, her cheeks pink despite the puffy brown fleece jacket with matching knit hat and mittens she was wearing. It looked a little like a cold weather version of her costume, if one squinted just right. "Hi guys!" she greeted them cheerfully. "It's so good to see you, feels like it's been forever! Ammy, come say hello!" There was a rustling behind a nearby tree, whose branches parted to allow Amaryllis to come rushing through them without so much as slowing down. She was bundled up like her mother, except all in pinks and purples, and her hat was askew on her green curls. "Hi!" she chirped, finally slowing down just before she plowed into Erik. "Merry Christmas!"

Outer Reaches of Contested Space 38 Hours After Destruction of Lor-Van It was a truism that any seasoned spacer could have sworn upon: the heart of galactic civilization could be on fire, the proverbial wolf could be at the door and everything anyone knew could be turned upside down but there would still be someone willing to pay hard coin to make sure somebody else got what was coming to them. Since energy cells and starship parts hadn't suddenly become free, the crew of the Voidrunner had made their way out to the raggedy edge of known space, far enough out that nobody bothered to argue if it was technically Republic or Khanate territory, looking for a scumbag with a price on his head. Only this time the heart of galactic civilization really was on fire and the rush of reentry outside the airlock was starting to sound an awful lot like that proverbial wolf growling. Orbital traffic was ten times over denser than it should have been, packed with the ships of refugees who'd either thought they could avoid what was coming by running far enough away or who just didn't have anywhere more attractive to go than the dustball known as Ke'Pinree. Many of the vessels looked barely space-worthy; it was doubtful their passengers would be able to make it to the next closest habitable world if they were turned away. Once properly assured that they were there on business, a harried sounding woman with a thick provincial accent had cleared the bounty hunters for landing, directing them to was passed for a spaceport on her world.

Claremont Academy, Front Entrance to the Quad. November 16, 2014, 4pm Sakurako rolled out her orange colored plastic case out on to the sidewalk outside the claremont academy. Adjusting the blazer of her favorite yachting outfit, she looked over the front of the building. "Ah... nice archetecture... looks better in person. Far more... well sophisticated." She nodded to the driver of the minivan she was in, after grabbing a red colored vest from the back seat and what looked like a reddish orange waterproof bag. She sat on her case as the van drove off as she made a quick call on her cell phone she pulled from the vest. "Hey, Mom.... yep made it to the Academy okay." "Yeah I'm gonna miss things. But... I might enjoy this place. Looks like a legit castle." "No.... I've not harassed any of the boys yet." "Okay, I should go I gotta lug my case inside here... the light dusting of snow isn't making things easier." "Bye bye!" She smiled, turning off her smartphone and sliding it into the pocket of the vest, before laying it on the case. She pulled up a handle on one side and started to move the case. It was obvious the scrawny, yet determined pink haired girl wasn't into giving up very easily. Getting the case inside the main foyer, she sits on it again to catch her breath. "Okay... mental note... hit the gym." She looked around at the old wood hall, taking in the sights of her new home for now...

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.

November 1, 2014 Frances Psion swore up and down she had nothing to do with the mysterious fire in Blackstone's psychiatric wing a couple of weeks ago - but given her powers and her penchant for scrapping with prison security personnel, the Blackstone authorities haven't been inclined to take any chances. She's gotten into trouble with inmates too, trouble enough that there have been some very nasty threats against her life (and other things) made inside the prison compound. The Psions have been scrapping with villains for years and Ember had always been the Professor's fist; a sadistic brute whose fiery punishments were great at striking fear across the villain community. In jail, in power restraints, she's just a short woman with a strange accent, reddish-blonde hair and skin tanned a faint, perpetual orange. She's being transported to lockup in upstate New York, where she'll be held for the next few weeks until the repairs to Blackstone are finished and her safety can be guaranteed. After that, she'll start what may be the first of many trials sometime in the beginning of 2015. Surrounded by two heavily armored female prison guards, she's in power-nullification shackles and a Blackstone orange uniform that she wears like a badge of honor. She's not talkative today; instead staring out the open window she can make out past the guard on her left, her eyes hooded as she looks out at the clouds overhead. Among the passengers on this particular flight is someone very special - the second Foreshadow, a special consultant who has experience dealing with Ember Psion and her ways - as well as an ability to foresee the future. For this prisoner, with the escape attempts that have already happened, that's a very good thing. - Stronghold is in the air, soaring high above the clouds! It's cool and crisp this high, with only her ring's power saving her from an icy coating and hypoxia, but that's okay - it's a beautiful day and the clouds are the sort of light, fluffy things that in cartoons would be like big balls of cotton candy. Nearby she can see what looks like a Lear Jet zipping through the sky, but she's an experienced enough flyer by now to know how to handle herself around civilian traffic. It really is a beautiful day. - Back in Freedom City, it's Richard and Paige's day off - as well it might be, given that it's Saturday! Holly has begged her way into another viewing of Maleficent, and Will has blessedly volunteered to save his parents from yet another showing of a movie they've seen no less than four times now between the two of them. Christie had pulled some strings and gotten a prison-band radio for them to monitor Frances' flight, and occasionally in between house-cleaning they listened to the check-ins and all-clears from the pilots - who were now safely in the air.

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.