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GM Friday night, 8th August... The Beaudrie Opera House The famous Beaudrie Opera House did not often play Rock Concerts. But it did tonight. For one night only, Freedom City Beaudrie Opera House presents: Valerie Cain! Support Act: Aw3s0m3 Aw3s0m3 were not doing well. This was primarily because they were not very good, and their lead singer, Joe "Superstar" Billings had his charisma surgically removed at birth. The band was trying to wrap up its set whilst dodging things the audience were throwing at them. The crowd was wild for Valerie Cane, and getting impatient. Valerie Cane's Dressing Room.... "Oh my GOD!!!!" Amanda Adams burst into Valeries dressing room and shrieked, half collapsing from excitement. Somehow, Valerie Cane's number one fan had bought her way into the backstage, and into Valeries dressing room. She dropped a whole folders worth of photographs, articles, and scholarly works, all pertaining to Valerie, and they scattered like leaves over the floor. Amanda was a borderline obsessive fan. She had every single thing every produced or made by Valerie or featuring her. Valerie was her heroine. When Amanda was growing up, struggling with her homosexual identity, Valerie's positive role model was her everything. Every night she went to sleep dreaming of a romance with her star. And, to be fair, she was a good catch. Amanda had very close cut blonde hair, a few piercings, a few tattoos, enough to send out a strong hint about her orientation. She was also rather beautiful and, to be blunt, sexy. "I am your number one fan! I know everything about you!" she gushed, dropping to her knees and cryinging at Valeries feet...

Lynn's apartment over Silberman's Books. August 3rd, 2014. 7:54pm A letter had arrived at the Espadas School of Self-Defense and Swordsmanship from Lynn Epstein, with a familiar West End address. Inside, was a handwritten note; the penmanship was graceful, almost archaic, but the writer's voice was unmistakable. The changeling was pacing again; it was humanly impossible to prepare for an evening like this, but Lynn had given it the good old never-finished-college try. The furniture was warm, earthy and inviting, she'd been scooting back and forth between the shop and her kitchen all day working on dinner, and she'd cycled through looks for a good half hour finding just the right balance of relaxed and respectable: a nice understated green summer dress, open-toed wedges and small pearl stud earrings (her current thing). As always, the lanyard with its ring was around her neck, and she fidgeted with it more than usual. Her curly shoulder length hair was gathered up, showing off her graceful neck and the points of her ears. Lynn's eyes flicked over to the clock on the mantelpiece, where it dully ticked down the minutes. Soon. Very soon.

GM Saturday night, 2nd August... The High Steaks was a sleek, upper crust joint, even amongst the casinos that it loitered in. It was not, technically, a casino. Its lower level was one of the finest eateries in Freedom City, new, fresh, modern with a classical twist. Or classic with a modern twist. Its steaks were the finest in the City, perhaps the country, Perhaps even the world. Expensive as that was, it was dwarfed by the real money. Overlooking the dining area was the top table, where the finest food was eaten, the finest wine drunk, and the most exclusive poker table in the City stood. Millions were lost, millions were won. Tears were cried, and joy was sung. The balcony of the top table stood over the high steaks, and had a view over the city. THe High Steaks was a tall glass building. A few years back, it had been home to a Vampire Attack although nobody really knew if this was a legend, a myth, or the truth. It seemed the myth had done business no harm, anyway. The High Steaks fed on anxiety and excitement. And tonight was the grand prize. Nobody knew what the prize was, for sure, although gossip flew this way and that. Whatever it was, some big guns had arrived for the game. The rules were simple: Winner takes the prize, and the seller took all the money that was brought to the table. The more money you brought, the more chance you had of winning. And some major organisations and wealthy individuals had brought a lot of money...

March 3rd, 2014, late evening The air of Freedom City had the crisp snap taken out of by this time of year, but was still cool, especially at night. Around Greenback, with its crumbling disused warehouses and rusted disused traintracks, it had a certain dusty quality to it. And every so often, Noemi came across the odours of the homeless, a sharp pang of an impromptu latrine. Greenback was home to a number of Freedom Cities homeless. The old bricks, mortar, steel, and wood providing shelter at the risk of a collapsed roof. Every now and again she could a fire in the distance, as the vagrants huddled around to keep warm and tell stories. Safehouse detected. Proceed to building "Grin and Bear It". She didn't hear the words. She saw them. A print out only she could see, the white letters appearing before her. Inside her head there resided a computer. "Slave" it was called, but she wondered exactly to whom it was enslaved. Her eyes were not her own. Bright green and pretty they may have been, but completely artificial. Through them, the text of Slave was printed. She just thanked the fates that the Soviet scientists who designed Slave and put it in her chose text rather than a voice. "Grin and Bear it" must have been an old Russian trading shop, or warehouse. It was half derelict now, with a patchwork roof and big holes where bricks had caved in. She approached cautiously. It was dark, but her eyes could see well enough by starlight. Inside, Grin and Bear it was rotted and green. She saw a number of old Russian tourist tat, such as Polka Dolls and a number of tattered doll Bears with a fierce grin. The vodka bottles had been pillaged and consumed decades ago, no doubt but alcoholic scavengers. A bottle of vodka would keep the cold out for a day, maybe two. She saw embers, still warm, glowing in one corner. Who was it? As she walked closer, she heard the rustling of blankets and trash...

June 4th 2014, Freedom City Sewers Sewers are generally considered unpleasant, unnapealing places. It's just a fact. They smell, they are dirty and they are dark. However, to some these dark unnapealing places can constitute a refuge form the outside world. In this case, they are the refuge against the rays of the sun for time-travelling vampire, Bloodline. Having cut himself off the outside world. A world he simply didn't and couldn't understand. No matter how better this world seemed, no matter how much it seemed like everything he had fought for, he couldn't bring himself to become part of it. Now that his timeline was less and less a reality, he was the only part of it that still existed. Finding a place to sit down, Bloodline rummaged through a pouch on his belt, taking out a syringe. Briefly, he paused, examining it even if it was completely familliar to him. He needed the serum contained within that syringe, or else his vampiric nature would re-assert itself and he would hunger for blood. "Last shot." he said out loud, to himself and perhaps the rats scurrying around him. "Damn it..." then said the man, tossing his blaster in frustration. The large weapon made a racket, which scared the rats, as it impacted the wall. Reluctantly, he then injected the serum into his body. As always, it was an unpleasant experience and he had to hold back a few screams of pain. Alone in a dark sewer, his mind wandered back to a future that perhaps no longer existed...

July 27, 2014 HIT Baseball Field You might think that a bunch of nerds wouldn't be very good at playing softball - but Hanover Institute of Technology attracts all kinds of students! This is a special game between HIT's mighty hurlers, the Lady Myrmidons, and their arch-rivals West River Technical College, home of the Fighting Fisherwomen. All proceeds for the game will go to build a Korean War monument halfway between Toms River and Freedom City, a long-neglected memorial to New Jersey's soldiers who fought in the 'forgotten war' from 1950 to 1953. With the game being played on the 61st anniversary of the armistice that marked the end of the Korean War, the bleachers and grassy stretches by the field are packed with veterans, their families, and active-duty personnel from Lonely Point and other nearby facilities. It's a hot day but the soda is cold and the peanuts are salty, and as the game reaches the end of the ninth inning, it's clear it's going to be a nail-biter: the Myrmidons are at-bat and down by one with two outs, but there are players on the base and Yoder, the stalwart West River hurler who has pitched a nearly perfect game, is starting to flag. Can she hold off a hit as de la Cruz, the towering young woman from the West End with the mighty arm, begins to take the field? Her screaming fans from West River hope so but the hometown crowd, whipped up to a fever pitch by the Lady Myrmidons and their pep squad, have the hometown crowd on their feet and cheering on their champion. This is going to be a real fight.

August 1, 2014 8 AM A million stories in the naked city - and this one begins with lightning. The terrible storm had come up fast, nearly swamping the naval base at the Point and forcing the sailors there to take shelter against what seemed to be a terrible hurricane - but one localized to within a few square miles at the very tip of the peninsula. This was no natural storm - no surprise in Freedom City! A normal part of town might simply have called in the Freedom League, but as usual the military preferred to handle its own problems. As naval personnel and AEGIS agents combed the streets of the small community of base families that lived nearby the facility, the storm raged on overhead - spectacular bolts of lightning harmlessly crackling through the sky that might have been dismissed by the occasionally jaded Freedom City public - but that rang like a bell to those with a particular connection to the storm. Something was wrong in the skies over Freedom - something was very wrong indeed.

August 1, 2014 Midnight Manor 5 AM The ball of water smashed into the grounds of Midnight Manor like a tidal wave, water erupting outward and down as the artificial sphere produced by a hasty mass teleport collapsed under its own weight in a mini-tsunami. The water smashed across the lawn and flooded the flower beds, smashed against the first floor windows on the north side (which were luckily closed) and flooded the pool. In the center of the vast wet spot on the completely drenched lawn, a bedragged Mark Lucas and Nina al-Darsah were crouched protectively over an unconscious, bloody woman in a torn blue and white outfit like something from a Victorian's painting of a Middle Eastern harem. She looked bad, like someone who'd been grabbed in a giant's fist, and was covered in blood. "<-STEN TO ME!>" Nina was in the middle of screaming; the only water still standing the head-height inch-thick wall she was holding up between them and an invisible assailant. Her formal Socotran dress was ruined, even royal-made waterproof blue and white cloth torn to ribbons and hanging bedraggedly off her body, as if she'd been tossed into a waterfall and come out the other side. Mark wasn't panicking, really; he'd been in crises far worse than this, but as his soaking wet suit and tie erupted into his costume in a flash of light he was certainly far more focused than he usually was. "He's far away, and we have to get her to a hospital right now." He looked up, bloodstains on his hands from where it pooled on Fatima al-Darsah's skin like juice from a squeezed grape. "This is bad; I don't...I don't know how to fix this!" he said, a moment before he yelled "T-Midnight! Wander!" Pacing around the scene, her eyes still out for danger that was thousands of miles away, the princess of Socotra kept moving. "It doesn't make any sense," said Nina desperately, pulling her hair loose so the black strands poured down, soaking wet, past her shoulders. "Why would he do this, why would he just..." "Nina, please, I need you to help me with this!" Mark snapped. "I can't do this alone!" Torn out of her fugue by her boyfriend's urgency, not to mention the crisis of the moment, the princess went to help tend the bleeding woman who twenty minutes earlier had called her Daughter...

July 14, 2014 "I'm just saying it's hard to believe the initials were an accident," the figure perched atop the three-storey apartment complex insisted. Keeping to shadows deep enough to conceal his high collared, royal blue great coat and matching bandanna mask, the West End vigilante known as Jack of all Blades spoke in a low voice as he peered down at the community center across the street, noting the comings and goings through the back door. "Hey, don't look at me, fearless leader," the smoothly cheerful baritone in his ear protested. "When it comes to acronyms, well! Those who live on glass hard drives, et cetera, et cetera!" VINCE, the Interceptor's artificial intelligence and dispatcher usually preferred to appear with his avatar when communicating with the team but for covert surveillance and earpiece beat commandeering an ATM monitor. Grunting noncommittally, Jack noticed and ultimately ignored a trio of youths starting up a pickup game of basketball on the center's court. The Vibrant Community Reclamation project had been the driving influence behind a number of similar centers throughout the city, focusing on the West End and Lincoln while making inroads into the Fens, repurposing unused buildings in what were diplomatically referred to as 'at risk neighbourhoods'. If the organization spent just as much time holding banquets and press events to pat its well heeled contributors on the back, well, the plus column still came out ahead. At least in theory. Jack had learned the hard way that looking a gift horse in the mouth was actually a pretty good habit to get into and the increased drug trafficking he and his team had been encountering in the area since the center opened had started to make the hairs on the back of his neck itch. VINCE had explained something about correlation and causation that the swashbuckling swordsman hadn't entirely followed but had agreed that the rising crime bore looking into. Without much more than a hunch to go on, he'd decided to stake out the center itself to see if a lead presented itself.

GM June 6th, 10:00pm The Freedom City Subway... At this time, the subways were not exactly full. Well past rush hour, and that time after people had gone out for the evening, but before they came home. It was a twilight hour, busy enough, but not busy. A group of ten or so people were standing, waiting for the next train. They were of all types, colours, creeds, from a kid of seventeen to a man of seventy. Some were well dressed, some where barely dressed. About the only thing that was common was nervousness. A pacing, a sweat, a fidgeting. Furtive glances. They were lead by a man with grey hair and grizzled features, tall, but not freakishly slow. Slim but fit. With hard blue eyes, a trenchcoat, a hat, a thick sturdy folded umbrella (despite the lack of rain) and a very visible, slightly worn, crucifix around his neck, on a chain. Another time, such silverware may have made for an attractive target to any subway mugger. But on this day, the man who was wearing it gave of an aura of strength that would deter such foolhardiness. "All Death must Die" he swore, solemnly, as the train arrived. His followers repeated, with less conviction and gravity than the man. "And Death is here...I feel it" the man added, entering the subway car. All this was just about to come. And came to Bloodline is a vision of the future...

July 4, 2014 Freedom City "Damballah and Erzulie are with us." Cassandra Vale's doctorate was not in medicine, but between one thing and another there were few better doulas than La Sirene - especially for a water birth. Cassandra smiled and took her friend's hand. "Come on, Beth, let's get you in that tub." Despite the growing pains in her lower belly, Beth Walton-Wright was also smiling as Siren, her husband, and her midwife helped her into the tub - specially designed by Daedalus so that a woman strong enough to punch through steel wouldn't damage it while giving birth. After so many years of wanting, of prayers to Liberty and Justice and all the other gods and goddesses she'd known in her long career as a superheroine, she was about to have her baby! - July 4, 2014 Faneuil Hall Hulking and scarred, Steve Murdock stood as an island in the middle of a small sea of VIPs, waiting for the arrival of their very special tour guide. With a red shirt, blue slacks, and a white tie, he perfectly matched the color scheme for the day - right down to the Special Access pass pinned to his shirt. His special glasses gave the city and its crowd of tourists a faint greenish air, one that he knew would soon fade once the tour began. The special holographic technology built into the Archetech tour glasses would give the tourists a chance to see the Boston of 1776 (or at least its construction) overlaid on the Boston of 2014. Normally someone as high-profile as Miss Americana would not be involved in something as small as a tour, but the chance to show her work to tech executives, academics, and journalists alike had been too much for Gina to pass up. Intently he stared at the brochure in his hand, carefully memorizing everywhere they were going on their walking tour to the Common. People on Earth-Prime might take the idea of freedom and revolution for granted, but that was something Steve could never do - people had fought and died for the liberty of others in this city. It was very serious business. I will be here for Miss Americana to see what she has done. And after the tour, I will fly back to Freedom City, and Gina and I will watch the fireworks together. She will be happy today.

Ellie Espadas was tired, she was sore and she was pretty sure she was going to have to just burn the pants she was wearing rather than attempting to wash out the new stains. As the ambulance pulled into Trinity Hospital she reminded herself that she'd survived punishing superhuman brawls and weeks stranded on an alien world but in the moment it was difficult to believe anything had ever been as exhausting as her first week as an EMT-B. With her three years of pre-med behind her and medical school beginning in earnest in the fall, it had seemed like a good time to finally get her certification. After all her time volunteering and doing odd jobs at Trinity she'd gotten enough of a foot in the door to be hired quickly despite the competition and she had to admit that between her experiences with the Interceptors and her test scores she'd been feeling a little cocky. Patrolling the city's rooftops from behind a mask and with free reign to use her metamagi abilities was a far cry from grueling hours of hard, dirty work on the streets themselves. "Hey rook, you gonna make it? You look like @#$%," the EMT-I/85 driving the ambulance asked, glancing in the rearview mirror and letting out a shout, loud laugh. Hernandez looked more like a bouncer than a medical professional, with a shaved head and heavily muscled arms covered in sleeve tattoos straining the dark blue fabric of his uniform's sleeves but Ellie had seen his big hands administer an IV with the practiced dexterity of a concert pianist. His manners left a little more to be desired. "Still better'n you," the young woman snapped back with a little more bite than she'd really meant to, garnering another laugh from the driver as he parked. The third occupant of the ambulance, a serious woman with frizzy black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, opened the back doors and hopped out. Braugher was an EMT-P, a paramedic, and Ellie knew she was there at least in part to keep an eye on the newbie. "Go grab a coffee, Espadas, we'll clean up here." It was about a close to praise as the older woman had gotten so far and Ellie simply nodded gratefully before heading into the hospital.

GM Post Since you've been approached, in secret, only a few months ago you’ve all been training to become the newest version of Claremont’s own super team the Next-Gen. The seven of you have been training to operate as both a full team and as two smaller teams imaginatively called Team-A and Team-B. And now both teams have been assigned their own mission. Team-A Riverside Park 13:20 Wednesday 2nd July 2014 Whilst Team-B seem to have been sent of what you assume is a wild adventure you’ve been assigned a much more mundane task. You’ve have been asked to investigate sporadic signals of alien origin that have been detected emanating from the park over the last couple of day. It could be nothing but things are still a little jittery after the events of last years, that even managed to affect Claremont itself...

Since you've been approached, in secret, only a few months ago you’ve all been training to become the newest version of Claremont’s own super team the Next-Gen. The seven of you have been training to operate as both a full team and as two smaller teams imaginatively called Team-A and Team-B. And now both teams have been assigned their own mission. Team-B Moffat Morphology Headquarters, Hanover 10:00 Wednesday 2nd July 2014 Moffat Morphology is one of those companies that seems to exist mostly in Freedom City. Using a combination of advanced polymers and nanotechnology they have developed technology that allow creation almost any tool imaginary with only simple computer control. Recently however there have been several baffling breakins of other hi-tech companies where the only evidence left on the scene was a polymer similar to that developed by Moffat’s. Helpfully the company is proud to offer tours of it’s facilities for budding young students so you’ve been assigned to investigate to find out if the company is in anyway involved in these robberies. Next-Gen isn’t the only one investigating this company for possible criminal activity. In one of those strange coincidences Alexandria Watson, aka Somnium, is also investigating the company after a half remembered mention of possible dubious activities connected to her families collapsed criminal empire. Detail are hazy beyond the simple mention of there name, it could be nothing... A small group of students, including yourselves, are gathered in the lobby of the company where you are met by a rather keen young woman in a sharp business suit, her red hair done up in severe bun. “Hello there and welcome to Moffat Morphology. I’m Gillian and I’ll be your guide to today’s trip. If you’d just like to follow me...â€

GM The private and very spacious residence of Donald Ritchey Southside, Freedom City, New Jersey Monday, June 9th, 2014 7:08 PM Donald Ritchey prided himself as a self made man. Growing up with nothing, he started his own construction company at the tender age of 16. A lack of formal schooling did nothing to stunt his success, as Ritchey offered a level of dedication few competitors could match. As the times changed so too did Ritchey Construction, now named Ritchey and Sons. In the 80s Donald Ritchey sought to provide a better life for his family, getting into bed with questionable elements of Freedom City's organized crime families and one of the first side business that Big Al could count as his territory. The business remained independent enough that even the likes of Augustus Roman couldn't get a stranglehold on it. Which ultimately might have been one of the focal points in Big Al's rise to power after the power vacuum left behind by previously leadership. After forty years of building his construction empire Donald has recently been diagnosed with terminal leukemia. With little time left to live Donald Ritchey has decided to make amends for his prior sins. Agreeing to testify against his many current mob connections. Making the stipulation clear that he would have. The Federal Marshalls tasked with keeping his family safe were assassinated by what could only be described as a squad of ninjas before transport was even feasible, with Ritchey only surviving thanks to the timely assistance arrival of armed police escort. Now the city finds itself scrambling to provide discrete protection for the Ritchey family, before information could get out about the current risk to their key witness in a pending trial against key members of the Driogano family. No amount of discretion prevented information from seeping through. With a few heroes being drawn to Donald Ritchey's sprawling Southside mansion to volunteer their services.

GM J.P. Morgan & Chase Bank, Mcullough-Adams, Bayview, Freedom City July 2nd, Wednesday, 2.45 PM, 2014 The day had begun like most others on a summer day on the American east coast. For Freedom City it had been even more mundane than usual, everything that made the city such a dazzling gem of multi-faceted weirdness lying low as the sun beat down. As the day had veered into afternoon, hopes had slowly strengthened that maybe today, today nothing would happen. The bank tellers at Bayview's biggest Chase branch had begun to relax, smiling in relief as the hours ticked down to closing. They were cheerfully helping the last trickles of patrons before the big late-afternoon rush, chatting idly with each other when the burning men crashed through the roof, landing on the floor in a stream of flaming wreckage. One, covered in something like an astronaut's ">suit but red and emblazoned with a yellow lizard on the shoulders and chest, pointed a square black thing vaguely shaped like a gun at the tellers. "Out." his voice was soft as it crackled over a radio, but icily compelling "Now." "You heard him, gents!" sang out another of the gang, similarly-suited but weaponless save for a flickering heatwave around her "That insurance money won't steal itself! And we don't wanna hurt you, but-" a wave of heat slammed into one of the steel walls as she gestured carelessly with a hand, melting a hole clean through it "-we sure won't cry if we have to!" The other two were silent, the stocky one in a black suit opening their helmet to release a cloud of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling, starting the fire alarms' screaming wail. The last, a spindly figure in vivid yellow, snapped their fingers. To the terrified eyes of the tellers, guards, and patrons, flames seemed to leap from the floor, heading straight for them! From outside things weren't much better. A comet seemed to flash out of the sky and hit the bank, the fire alarms went off and the people inside came charging out, screaming and frantically beating at themselves. It was the kind of sight that made every nearby Freedonian look reflexively up at the sky, and wonder why, just why it always happened here...

GM Various points around Midtown, Freedom City 9.45 AM, Tuesday, July 1st, 2014 A new month dawned. Despite the chaos in their lives, Freedom's millions mostly stuck to their routine, working to get through the day, to deal with their small problems and enjoy their small pleasures. In a lot of ways life hadn't changed much since the last century, except for one crucial shift... On top of the Surland Insurance building on Liberty, ten stories up, Bae looked down at the street. Behind his fogged-up glasses he couldn't see it clearly, but he could make out the people below. A part of him regretted that anyone would have to see him hit the ground, but a darker, colder part of him was glad to have an audience. 'Maybe now,' he thought, arms spreading as he stepped into the abyss 'I'll be worth noticing. Not just some nobody' By sheer chance, Stronghold saw the jumper start his plummet. There wasn't much time, but she could save him! Abby hit the ground hard, howling in pain and clutching her elbow. Sitting up awkwardly, the young woman just dodged the follow-up kick, rolling ungainly away and slamming against the alley wall. Her crisp office-wear was useless in this kind of situation. Looking up at her tormentor, she mumbled out "Y'won't get me that ea-augh!" a second kick from the masked young man hit home, sending her sprawling and croaking back to the ground. In mid-flight, she caught a glimpse of her would-be rescuee, the younger girl with the short black hair, silent and terrified thanks to the powerful hand clamped over her mouth and the knife at her throat. Catching a glimpse of her as she passed on Allen St., she'd dropped everything and charged to the rescue. "Jesus, woman," drawled the masked tough, taking out a much-used nightstick from his belt "you oughta leave this stuff to the real heroes, yaknowwhatim sayin'?" 'Maybe I can be...' thought Abigail furiously, scrabbling into a crouch and blowing the red hair out of her eyes as she focused on her attacker as he drew near 'I don't have to be worthless...' No thought goes unheard, especially not when Miss Grue is around. The door of the Go-Mart on the corner 40th and Foster burst open, letting in the gun-wielding middle-aged woman. "Alright, everyone down!" she hollered, firing a shot into the air for effect, one that sent the shocked passel of Freedonians inside obediently to the floor. Marching up to the teller, she gestured with the Beretta "You, call the cops, tell them I..." she glanced around, eyes wild before an idea struck "tell them I have hostages! And I won't give them up until the government releases the Patriot formula!" The teller stared at her blankly, nodded very slowly, and picked up the phone to relay the message as the graying woman's gun trembled near his heart. Riff heard it all clear as day. The gunshot was a pretty clear giveaway, though. Really, no need to listen further after that. Ted slumped onto the concrete bench on Allen St., clasping his head of tousled red hair in his hands as it dropped to his knees. 'I'm worthless, useless, can't do anything, I always screw up' He looked up just in time to catch sight of Amelyth flying overhead...and his head slumped down again 'I'm nothing, I'm no good, I'm weak, I'm stupid, I'm nothing next to them...' You didn't need to be a telepath to know the guy had a problem, but being made it easier to guess what the problem was. Marsha stared at the painting on her easel. It was technically precise, a masterpiece. A glorious mimicry of the cityscape on Liberty, but forecast into some glorious future, metal and glass spires reaching for the heavens. Around them flew, walked or ricocheted a myriad of costumed characters, laughing at the silver paradise they were in. They burned with power, shone with health and youth. And were completely alone. Adjusting her round glasses, she sighed and relaxed into her fold-up chair, the lines on her face crinkling glumly. "This isn't our world anymore. It's theirs. I'm sure they'll be glad when we're all gone" she said aloud, the words catching the attention and raised eyebrows of a few passing Freedonians, but not getting any comment. Rene de Saens was passing by, though, and art always wants critique.

GM An abandoned hotel on lantern Hill, Freedom City, Earth 2014, June 12th, 12.02 PM It had started small, like most problems do. Something that caught the eye, but easily dismissed as a trick of the light, hazy memory, or the work of an over-active imagination. Then it got bigger, more clear, harder to ignore. Maybe window shivered like rubber, someone's faced changed in the flicker of a second, something you knew you'd seen, maybe you heard the asphalt speak to you. That was when the first suspicions arose. Then Eldrich appeared, in full view of the public, warning the world about an encroaching, overpowering evil that needed to be destroyed He swore to uphold his duty as Master Mage and die, if necessary, to save all. Gathering a band of other heroes, he and they departed to battle the new threat. That was a month ago. But the inklings didn't stop. They grew. They weren't frequent, and almost none could detect them, but those who beheld had no doubts any more that something was very wrong. Now, three of bustling Freedom City's heroes have gathered in a secluded place, a broken-down old hotel on the far side of stately and severe Lantern Hill, to discuss their discoveries and determine what, if anything, can be done about this mystery,

GM Neptune City, Kingdom of Atlantis Approximately 75 miles NorthWest of the island of Tenerife (At the Ocean's floor) Saturday, June 7, 2014 2:14 PM It had been a couple days after Giang and her graduating class had ended their tenure at Claremont. In honor of such an event Thaelia had seen fit to throw a graduation party of sorts for her, now former, roommate. It wasn't the first lavish celebration for a Claremont graduation that Atlantis had thrown. Thetis' own party a few years ago being a fresh memory amongst the royal guards. Whom found themselves in competition with her 'norse suitor' for the king's entertainment. The undersea kingdom's environment limited the number of the pair's academic peers which could easily attend significantly. At least without taking steps to try and make the sea more hospitable for most. However, the triton Wave-Eye and the half water elemental Temperance found themselves welcome additions to the walls of the Sea King's Northernmost palace. The seafaring heroes were led to a large circular room in the walls of the palace where they were instructed they could rest while preparations commenced on the celebration. Various pieces of furniture and Atlantean cuisine were prepared so as to make their stay more comfortable. The room, like other Atlantean structures, was kept well lit by glowing fungal infested rock. Atlanteans did not necessarily need the illumination of course. However, the lighting system had a secondary purpose of providing an artificial catalyst for photosynthesis. Brightly colored coral lined much of the architecture which otherwise was reminiscent of Ancient Rome. With most buildings favoring a circular design.

July 1, 2014 Midnight Greenbank Steve closed his phone, put it in the glove compartment of his HAX-issued car, and stepped out onto the street. The sightings on the streets of Greenbank had been dismissed as hoaxes, or perhaps a publicity stunt for one of the many stories told on Earth-Prime that he did not understand. At least at first. A group of young people, coming out of a store that sold picture books like those that had taught Steve how to read many years earlier, had seen representatives of some of their favorite fictional characters scuttling into the sewers, katanas and other martial weapons gleaming in the light. And then another sighting, this time of Sub-Terrans, and then another of the long-dead Conqueror Worm. The sightings all had something in common - they were all of beings that lived underground, all of them glimpsed on the surface before immediately disappearing below. It wasn't the sort of situation that got the attention of the Freedom League - after all, the only real emergency had been the HAX car that had nearly been run off the road by a startled driver after a surprise appearance of the Conqueror Worm in the middle of the street. The only people who had been put off by it were the homeless population of Greenbank and the other areas where the sightings of the "Underground" had taken place. But Steve was not a man to turn away from a crisis, even an exceptionally humble one. Transforming into Caradoc, he reached down and used his sword to open the panel, no, the manhole, that would give him access to the sewers below. Holding the manhole cover in one hand, he activated his jets and slowly flew down until he reached the sewer pipe itself, where a large walkway allowed for significant access even for a man-sized figure like himself. He had thought about inviting Miss Americana along on this expedition, but as a cockroach scuttled by, he decided this sort of mission was not one Gina would have favored.

GM Leaf Fields Inc. Hanover, Freedom City New Jersey Monday, June 23, 2014 8:48 PM Leaf Fields Inc was far from an industry leader in any field. With the only real significant technological advancements they have made being found on television ads. The sheer number of products that LFI was able to engineer had at least made their profit margins very profitable. Then came their first real breakthrough. The Gravimatrix armor. A power armor that was designed to allow the wearer to manipulate gravitons to control the force of gravity within a limited radius around the suit. The potential applications were numerous. LFI would have been put on the map. If only the suit hadn't been stolen two weeks ago. There wasn't a single shred of evidence of whom the thief was. And they had made sure to completely wreck the R&D lab in the process of stealing the suit. The Freedom City police were on the case of course. Ever vigilant in their search. But, no one had so much as found a breadcrumb leading back to the robber. Then the robberies started. Several members of Freedom City's morally questionable yet sufficiently affluent elite found their homes broken into. The signs of a tremendous force ripping even the most tremendous safe apart as if it were thin sheets of paper. Anything stolen could not be reported to the police, thanks to the legal ramifications that the owners would face. Those with the right ear to the ground noticed a sudden influx of anonymous donations to the Freedom City orphanages and various charities after every robbery. The LFI only focused on the fact that they could easily recognized the signs of their own technology at work. With the police at a dead end, they began to seek assistance elsewhere. Letting it be known through more unsavory elements that they were willing to pay for the return of their suit. Whereas, those whom had the insult of being stolen from had more ruthless intention. Going so far as to hire out criminal elements to eliminate the thief and any competition in the pursuit of recovering all their profits and sending a message. The situation soon became hard for AEGIS to ignore tasking a field agent on to the case. Samantha Vance, otherwise known as Kit, had found out. And Nevermore had come upon the knowledge while making a grown man realize the forgotten sensation of pure terror from several stories above the pavement.

GM Private Plane en route to New Freedom (Half an hour away) Saturday, June 07, 2014 6:18 PM Even before the school year ended, rumors had been flowing around the Claremont campus that Headmaster Summers had been growing increasingly sour. A few students had even mentioned seeing him speaking less than cordially with a woman inside of his office. But as all the rumors related to Headmaster Summers the truth was shrouded in mystery. Then the volunteer forms appeared inside of the dorm rooms, of a select number of the student body. Giving students the opportunity to represent their school in an interschool competition. With the reward for participation being quote as field experience, extra credit [pre-emptively guaranteed for any who would be graduating before the summer came], and a free vacation. The catch? The opposing school was New Freedom's Academy for Exemplary Individuals. Getting students excited to visit New Freedom was no easy endeavor. It was made clear to those whom had been sent the invites that ultimately no one was forced to volunteer. Five students were ultimately picked from those that expressed their interest. Devin Yeager, or Coach as he expressedly wished to be called, was the only member of the faculty whom had chosen to accompany the student competitors. Not counting Headmaster Summers of course. Once the agreed upon came to pass the Claremont students were taken to a private jet in the middle of the evening so as to arrive at their destination in style.

June 19, 2014 Waterfront, Freedom City The evening patrol for the three young heroes had gone well - very well indeed. They were all on the rooftop of a closed fish market, watching down below as a small group of gangsters smoked cigarettes, cursed, and waited for their rendezvous. Word on the street was that a big player, maybe even a Crime League member, was going to arrive on the docks tonight to meet with the triad leaders below to discuss an upcoming deal - that meant that a savvy trio of young crime fighters could potentially catch some big fish tonight. Of course, that assumed everyone was going to show up. It was a warm evening, at least by the standards of a New Jersey summer, with a warm breeze blowing in from the sea that made the air humid and slick against spandex uniforms. In their suits and ties below, the triad men didn't seem very happy either - one older man with a short white beard kept looking at his watch, while another with a shaved head was reassuring the others in a voice loud enough to carry up to the roof that "He'll be on time, don't worry, don't worry!", something that he seemed to find quite amusing. It wasn't a normal patrol, that was for sure; the air seemed pregnant with anticipation as dark clouds billowed in the eastern sky, as if a real storm was coming. Of course, if that happened their targets just might get back in their sports cars and head home.

Tuesday, June 3rd, 2013 Freedom City, New Jersey Lunchtime Rachel Coletta had chosen to take her lunch on the outside deck of Stan's Super Heroes, enjoying the warm weather now that it had come to Freedom City. She wasn’t particularly happy with her next assignment, covering a battle-of-the-bands style concert that was full of glorified cover bands. She knew that as the cub she would get all the stories no one else wanted, but it didn’t mean she was happy about it. To take her mind off things, she was indulging in a couple of her favorite vices; a big meal and people-watching with malicious intent. It was almost comical to see the small woman pick up the Atlas And All and try to fit a single bite into her mouth, but Rachel’s attention was more focused on the people walking around her. A woman in a trendy dress, swinging a bag from a Freedom City fashion house crossed the street; Rachel imagined that she was a secret shopper for a competing Los Angeles brand, scoping out the competition. She let her imagination run wild as she devoured the burger, and all too soon she realized her plate was empty. Rachel was pondering a cup of soup or salad to go when a piercing scream rose above the streets. She covered her ears, along with everyone else, but it didn’t seem to help; the scream deepened to a rumble in her gut, and centered itself high in the sky. She looked up, and saw a blazing something move rapidly towards the western horizon. It seemed to pass directly overhead, with a noise that set off car alarms and rattled windows, before disappearing over the horizon. The reporter left money pinned under her plate and dashed towards an alleyway, taking advantage of the confusion and found a dark corner. Her over-large purse opened and a form-fitting purple-and-orange costume floated out; Rachel’s hair shivered snake-like as it unwound from its long braid, and her clothes and her costume proceeded in opposite directions. In moments, Maelstrom rose from the alleyway, cape and hair floating behind her on the breeze and in the wake of her power. She made sure her purse was well-locked and stashed it on a rooftop, then headed north, towards the river. She meant to investigate whatever that was, but first she had to pick up someone. Nathaniel! Did you just hear that?

GM June 12th, 2014, 4.45 PM, Half-Moon Summit Park, west Springsvale, Arizona "Found it like this. Last week." said Jane Aqui as she climbed out of the truck, the middle-aged park ranger tilting her broad brown hat a little farther from her eyes, the better to squint at the ungainly, smelly heap in front of her. She'd kept a polite few feet from the new arrivals since first meeting them, the odd crew seeming to get a little more awe even than the usual outside the world's super-capital. Even the evidently taciturn Jane had dug a little deeper than the usual "Can you really do magic?" that seemed to come up every time they were recognized. Which admittedly had been twice. Springsvale wasn't much. At the best of times, and especially when perched a few hundred feet above the valley the town stood in, it was compact and industrious, a collection of pale houses, a brightly-painted school and dark warehouses, offices and factories hugging miles of the scrub-rich eastern bank by a small, fast-running, very blue river, the town's dusty road running south to the I-15 highway only a few miles distant. A few bits of suburbia spilled away from the river, looking very much like fingers on some skeletal hand. Somewhere behind them, far out of sight past the hills, lurked the rugged Grand Canyon's eastern end. Far below, another truck pulled into town, one of dozens they'd seen since getting to Springsvale forty-seven minutes ago. Small ponds and rivlets spilled away from the main Springwater, but beside those distractions it ran as direct as compass point. They weren't there for the sights, though. At least, not the natural, or man-made ones. They had been called here to deal with the giant snake lying in a dead, mouldering heap in front of them, surrounded by sickly-glowing runes. A small camp of white tents had sprung up in another clearing about 50 yards away, from Phoenix University judging by the emblem a few of the laughing, chatting twenty-somethings and dignified-looking elders sported, and the comically grand white-red flag. The heat and wind hadn't been kind to the corpse, it was bleached enough to disguise whatever color it had been before, and was now a feeble yellow-brown. It was lying on its back, belly cut open and resting a gaping, sunken head on its coils. It was already sagging from decay. They had been able to smell it long before they saw it. Ranger Aqui cleared her throat "Gathered you folks knew about this...kind of thing. Heard it from those kids who do that show about the town. It's not normally that strange. 'Least not giant-snake-strange." She turned her squint to the ghoulishly-painted necromancer, the robed witch, and the biker-looking woman with the stick "So..." her squint turned quizzically to the deceased serpentine object of their distress "...what's this mean?"