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The morning sunlight streaming through the window of the modest apartment above the Espadas School School of Self-Defense and Swordsmanship took on pale renditions of the vividly hued flowers growing across the window sill and up the sides of its frame. The plants were flourishing despite the lingering chill of early spring and the curtains were open to allow the cascade of light to gradually work its way across the floor, over rumpled bedsheets and finally across the eyelids of the slumbering couple. Ever the light sleeper, the leisurely way Erik Espadas opened his eyes belied the quickness with which he was alert, consciously choosing to luxuriate in the softness of the bed and the warm tangle of copper toned arms and legs wrapped around his own. Minerva's flowing white mane was practically a second blanket all on its own but with her lithe form pressed close against him Erik never would have noticed a draft anyway. He opened one eye wide enough to watch the familiar metronome twitch of her delicately pointed ear, in sync with the heartbeat in his chest and finally risked shifting from his immensely comfortable position to kiss the tip of the ear. Settling back down he rolled slightly to pull his wife further on top of his bare chest, lined and dimpled with faint scars, and murmured with feigned concern, "You know, Mrs. Espadas, I'm beginning to suspect this isn't a one night stand at all."

Posted Today, 12:09 AM March 15, 2014 Blackstone Prison 8 PM "Congratulations, Number 01337, you're going out 24 hours early!" The thump of the Blackguard's truncheon against his glassed cell door caught Breaker's attention. A trio of guards, flanking a convict Flynt hadn't seen before, were standing outside his cell with keys and transfer equipment in hand. "Number 03314 here managed to get herself out of the psych ward overnight, so we're putting here in here and moving you upstairs a day early. You'll like it up there, Number 1, just make sure you don't go outside till your parole clears. It's colder than Hell out there." The new prisoner, a woman with a close-cropped prison haircut, met Flynt's eyes with a truly murderous glare (the kind he'd gotten a lot in and out of prison); the swollen-up bruises on one side of her face a testament to whatever brawl had gotten her back in gen-pop overnight. She couldn't talk, not with the bite guard in place, but she did not look happy to be taking his spot - their power nullification gloves about all they had in common. --- "Fascinating, simply fascinating." Down in the reactor room, Richard Pasaphan, architect of Thailand's planned Royal Prison for Extraordinary Crime, was taking furious notes as Warden Drummer spoke. He'd been friendly enough upon his introduction to Crimson Tiger, the legacy heroine who was the most prominent Thai hero active in Freedom City, but for the most part had spent all his time soaking in the tour of the most famous super-prison in the world. "All right, I think we're ready to go upstairs," said Drummer as he led them out towards the elevator, he and Pasaphan talking a mile a minute about the logistics of super-prisoner containment. Crimson Tiger had gotten the full tour as well, but it was obvious she was just part of the local color here. --- Precognition was a funny thing, as were psychic powers in general - what else could have led both Foreshadow and Mindsteel to the same windswept island on the same cold, gloomy evening? Of course, for heroes like Arrowhawk, it wasn't psychic powers that steered you along but pure instinct...

GM 8.25 PM, March 4, Tuesday, 2014. Waterside Bayview, corner of McCulloh & Grant Freedom City's three-hundred and eighty-third year had slid into its third month without much incident. The few rumbles in January and February had been largely relegated to within the super-set, the first anniversary of 2013's tragic event had come and gone with somber remembrances, and the world's far-off turmoils seemed especially distant as snow blasted through New Jersey, few things seeming as important as the by now much-loathed storm. But there were always those looking to exploit the misfortune of the innocent, and the icy march of winter did little to deter them. Luckily, there were also those willing to step forward and defend the guiltless, and a little snow didn't stop them either. Polarity, Solvrytter and Nevermore had found a good waiting place on their roof, between two mighty fans whose housing blocked the howling north wind and stood tall enough to catch most of the snow that didn't blow over it, leaving a more or less bare and windless spot. The rooftop business wasn't particularly necessary, most Freedonians and foreigners huddling by without the customary glances up, but tonight was their first one out as a group. That and the area along the river had become a bit of a trouble-spot. Rumors had spread about a gang with unusually advanced technology on the edge of Bayview. There weren't many of them, but their mark, a sleek stylized silver dragon, was spreading quickly, and the scorches on walls and loss of power on streets during their most recent fights with the encroaching Los Diabolos Rojos were making them an increasingly dangerous nuisance. That would have been reason enough for the new generation of supers to be there, but it wasn't the only reason. Headmaster Summers had mentioned at his and Aleksander's last meeting that while self-sufficiency was important, every crime-fighter needed allies. He'd dropped a casual hint about two students Nevermore might want to get to know, and while he didn't openly condone them testing themselves in the real world he did say it would be a shame if evil went unchallenged... They had been waiting almost an hour, and there was still no sign of the Dragons.

Saturday, February 1st, 2014 Before midnight (but not by much) Winter had descended with a vengeance on Freedom City once again, but bitter cold and blowing snow couldn't keep young and restless music fans at home. After all, inside the Wall, the press of bodies on the dance floor provided plenty of heat, and the bustling bar provided a different kind for the club goers staying at their tables. Asli Sadik sat backstage, listening to the dance music and to the people outside moving to it. She took deep breathes, calming the butterflies in her stomach. She'd been going on stage for a little more than a year, but somehow every single time she did it she got scared. To distract herself, the woman leaned forward and examined her stage makeup once again. She had decided on a grey-and-black camouflage; she avoided makeup in her daily life, but on stage everything was fair game. A touch there, a careful smudge there, and she had to sit back. Anything more would ruin the effect. Now it was just time to wait.

GM 28th February, the Mid-Atlantic...dawn... The sun was rising through partial cloud, little more than a glow in the horizon, casting deep orange shades through the sky. Deep orange, and red. Red sky in the morning....shepherds warning... The Cruise Ship Magnificent was not the biggest or most luxurious cruise ship on the sea, but it was certainly within spitting distance of it. A crew of eighty, a passenger roster of three hundred. Fine food, fine wine, and mediocre entertainment, it was a ship that looked good, catered well, and charged high. And it was dead in the water. Captain Pike trotted out the mayday message again. He was a tall, man, forty five, with a good head of carefully groomed hair, clean shaven, and trim build. Only his eyes let him down as a poster boy - set close together, small, squirrel like. He was a veteran of the sea, but tired, cynical, pondering what to do with his remaining years after a failed marriage. His experiences today would class as new and exciting, he felt. But scary, yes, scary. That was the thing. Frightening him and the ships inhabitants to the bone. "Mayday Mayday! Ship adrift, no power. Approach with caution! Ghosts aboard!" went the message. He didn't honestly know what else to say. Maybe they wouldn't believe him, maybe they would. He wondered what would be worse. The message did indeed sail through the air. And was received by Freedom City, a coastgaurd who perhaps was less incredulous at the spooky claim. A Coast guard that felt, given the unusual nature of the mayday, an unusual response was needed... ...the aquatic heroes of Freedom City!

March 5, 2014 Freedom City "The entire garrison? You are absolutely certain?" Alone in the small, cramped office that was all he had in Freedom City, Comrade Frost closed his eyes as he held his cellphone to his ear. "All right. All right, I will be there within twenty-four hours. Yes, with superpowered associates." At his interrogator's question, Frost simply laughed bitterly, remembering what he'd seen in the reports sent his way from Bukhara, as well as what he'd seen on the news from Moscow. "No, not the Freedom League. No, we will need rather different help for _this_ threat..." For all that he'd had to wheedle his office space and his first-level access to the League, the effort paid for itself again and again every day, as now when Frost used the League's access to make a few clandestine phone calls. And so it was that with the help of a few borrowed phone numbers, he managed to have a message sent to Ghost Girl and Revenant, albeit the first through a third party. CRISIS OF THE DEAD. MEET ME IN FREEDOM HALL TONIGHT AT SUNSET. -COMRADE FROST At the appointed hour, Frost was sitting in the small meeting room he'd set aside for the occasion, drinking from a large cup of nearly-boiling hot coffee as he awaited his guests - allies in what promised to be a difficult situation to come.

Monday, March 10, 2014 4:00 PM It was always a good day when Gideon got to go grocery shopping. It sounded silly, but it was kinda the highlight of the week. He got to go smell real food and then actually eat some. After taking Professor Steele out for lunch he'd had to fall back on emergency kibble for a couple of meals, but after a couple of long nights of work he was back on budget and could afford ramen noodles and lentils again. Plus, the Bayview branch of Harvest Market always had free samples in the bakery, meaning he could taste something else for once. This Harvest Market was one of the bigger ones in Freedom City, a tall warehouse-like building that took up most of a city block. Gideon took a little time and made an event of his visit, salivating over the chocolate-covered raisins and fresh salmon, collecting all of the samples from the deli and the bakery, enjoying the warmth of the store. It'd warmed up a bit outside, mostly sunny with a high of 42, but the forecast said he might be taking calls in the freezing rain that night. Better soak up the comfort while he could. His stitches still hurt. God knew he needed a break; he'd only been Mindsteel for a week and was already twice as exhausted as usual. He'd cleverly concealed his costume inside his crummy apartment with a bit of loose carpet and an unsecured floorboard; he would put a couch over it, or something, but he didn't own any furniture except his dresser, sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor. No, it was good to get out and just be normal again, doing normal person things in a normal person place. Of course, fate has a way of interfering. There's a saying about the best-laid plans...

Saturday, March 1, 2014 9:00 PM How does one begin to be a superhero? Gideon Kinlan had spent three years trying, braving any danger in an effort to become more than ordinary, and succeeded only in throwing his life far off course. Now, another three years on, that old dream had suddenly come true, heedless of the consequences for the life he’d finally begun to rebuild. To let this new gift go to waste was out of the question, and yet he found that he had no idea where to start using it. He was a little old to be asking himself “what would Captain Thunder do?†But when he couldn’t think of anything else, he did anyway. And he decided that Captain Thunder would find a problem and work at it until he fixed it, simple as that. In spite of Freedom City’s preponderance of heroes, it hadn’t been hard to find a problem, a place to start making a difference. All that was left was to leap in with both feet. So Gideon held tight to his aging motorbike, affectionately named “the Donorcycle†after the hospital slang for the notoriously dangerous vehicles, as it raced down the freeway toward the Boardwalk. The winter wind whistled against his helmet and ruffled his jacket. He offered up a silent prayer that now, on his first night as someone more than ordinary, he was doing the right thing. He prayed that he wasn’t tossing aside his life again. It was time to see if he could make this hero thing work.

North Bay, Freedom City, New Jersey Tuesday, February 11, 2014; 6:18 AM The sound of an alarm clock ringing for the third time in the last eighteen minutes pulled Megan Howell out of the half sleep she had fallen back into. The young woman's hand shot out towards the nightstand at speeds beyond what the human eye could easily follow, slamming the snooze button once more to silence the annoying alarm once again. But this time, Megan did not close her eyes again. Instead, she glanced at the room around her as her eyes adjusted to the faint darkness. The cold that had crept into the bedding on other side of the large bed reminded her that Robert was still back in England dealing with a few family matters and attending a conference back at Cambridge. Letting out a slight sigh, the blonde haired young woman sat up, reaching over to turn off the alarm. Once that was done, Megan was then up from the bed and had moved through the master bedroom and into the spacious master bath in a blink of the eye. A few moments later, she was climbing into a hot shower to help shake off more of her drowsiness, which should do until she was able to get some coffee. As the hot water ran over her, Megan closed her eyes for a few moments, thinking back to the various changes over the last few months. It had been toward the end of October when she and Robert had returned from what had been for them, six years in the Null Zone. Of course, because the Null Zone existed outside of normal time, to the rest of the world, they had not been gone long at all. Having returned with a six year old son, the pair had needed to make several changes to the lifestyles they had been leading. One of the first things Megan had done was to revel to her parents (and the later her older siblings) that she was Velocity, a secret she had kept from her family since she had been a Sophomore in high school. Naturally her parents had been quite shocked to learn their youngest daughter was also a superhero, not to mention that they suddenly had a six year old grandson. Megan and Robert had then begun looking for a place in Freedom City to purchase together. It had taken nearly all of November, but Megan had finally located a wonderful mansion in the northern, slightly more rural part of North Bay. The house came with extensive grounds, something Lawrence had become accustomed to growing up in the Null Zone. So Robert had more or less permanently relocated to Freedom City, although he was making bi-weekly trips back to England, though usually for only a couple days at a time and they had all spent the latter half of December and New Year's back at Robert's family estate in England. And of course, for Megan, there had been getting back into being more active with the Freedom League. Shutting off the water, Megan then exited the shower to dry her hair, get dressed and otherwise ready for her day. For the most part, her morning routine took mere moments, one of the benefits of having superspeed. But once she was dressed, Megan made her way down the dim hallway of the large mansion at a normal speed as she made her way to her son’s bedroom. The door to Lawrence's room was halfway open, as it often was, allowing some light from the main hallway to shine into his room so it was not too dark. Megan stopped at the door briefly and looked down at the sleeping form of the six year old. But then she turned on the lights as she called out. "Lawrence, time to get up and start getting ready for school." The figure on the bed began stirring as Megan added, "get dressed and the come downstairs for breakfast."

GM February 23rd, a regular sunday afternoon... It was indeed a regular sunday afternoon. Going to church, settling down for a big Sunday lunch, hustle, bustle, rest and relaxation. The City ticked along at a pleasant pace. Except! Out of the manhole, out of the sewers, came two Sewer workers, in broad daylight. Not your regular sewer workers, no. That would be quite unremarkable. Instead, the two men were covered in a green shine, a goo that clung to their skin and dribbled from their mouth, oozed from ear and eye. A slime not of this earth. Not words came from their mouths, just a long drawn out wail of despair. One swung an arm at a cop who approached, cautiously. A slow armbar slamming into the cop and gripping him. He immediately seized up, choking, and collapsing to the street, his face puffed out and red, reacting to the slime that touched him. Again, the two sewer workers wailed...and lurched forward to the screaming pedestrians and cars that had slammed still.

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!

February 14, 2014 Trevor Hunter lifted his girlfriend's feet with one hand to make room for himself on the loveseat before replacing them over his lap and handing her the steaming mug of hot chocolate he'd brought over from the adjacent kitchenette. In a fit of theater that went above his usually limited talent for food preparation he'd drizzled a swirl of melted dark chocolate around the whipped cream topping, taking advantage of the prodigious amount of confection they'd gathered in preparation for the four day long weekend they'd carved out for themselves. The room they'd settled into for the late afternoon was one of the less used in his family's manor, the short couch and the rest of the furniture looking like it had last been replaced sometime in the 1970s but it was the only room on the second floor with a fireplace, crackling away pleasantly now, and it had an extra touch of privacy compared to the larger rooms of the ground level. A cart that looked suspiciously like it might have been repurposed from carrying trays of beakers had been laden with a bountiful selection of fresh fruits and picnic foods while the side table that supported his own mug of black coffee also featured what had certainly been chemistry equipment before beginning a new career as a chocolate fondue pot. With a silent, happy sigh, Trevor settled in and lifted his cup to take a slow sip. It was nice to just have some quiet time with Erin for once, without some impending crisis hanging over their heads.

West End, Freedom City Lucy woke up with a throbbing headache something that struck her as odd, though right now she couldn’t remember why that was strange thing. She opened her eye’s to see a masked female face filling her vision, now that was a lot more familiar. “Are you okay? You were attacked and I sent them packing.†there was pride in her voice, it wasn’t something she’d done before. Lucy sat up causing the woman to step back, she didn’t quite know what to do this was all still new to her. She might be a hero of some type, her face was covered by a blue handkerchief actual everything she wore was blue and harked back to the classic 20’s style. “I’m fine, just a bump from the fall.†She rubbed a rather large bump on the back of her head. No wait that couldn’t be right? On hunch she felt for a pulse and could hear the steady beat of her heart. She was alive again. “I know this sounds a little weird, but what the day and year today?†The woman looked a little suspicious but answered the question. “It’s May 27th 1926.â€

Chester’s Club Chester’s was finally called well Chester’s since the 1920’s the club had stood on the same spot more or less unchanged. It had survived wars and invasion and the worse that Freedom City could throw at it and through all that there had Bobby Johnson, but now he was finally retiring from running the club and leaving it in the capable hands of his Granddaughter Jada Johnson. The last couple of years Jada had subtly been updating the club whilst keeping the classic Blue Club feel. Whilst some of the old timer’s complained about not being able to smoke, most had been more surprised that Bobby had had time to have a daughter let alone a Granddaughter. The final act was to finally give the club the name that most people had always called it, and to celebrate the retirement of the second oldest of it’s patrons.

A Plateau in South America Friday, February 7, 2014 Giang Trang stood near the edge of a rocky plateau, looking out over a vast stretch of jungle down below. A few exotic birds could be seen flying up over the jungle canopy, and similar bird calls could be heard from the jungle trees up on the plateau as well. It was just over a year ago that the Asian teen had first stood here, waiting for Zandar, the jungle lord of the Lost World. The attractive Asian teen was dressed almost exactly as she had been during that last trip, in a dark blue cami top, over which she had a dark khaki long-sleeved shirt, which was currently unbuttoned and had the sleeves rolled up to just below her elbows in the humid jungle heat. She had on a pair of olive cargo shorts, and a pair of hiking boots, which had been brand new a year ago, but were now well worn, having gone through the Lost World once, as well as a trip to Africa. A backpack sat on the ground near one of her feet, filled with some changes of clothing and some other survival gear. Giang turned back to look at the others gathered on the plateau with her, her expression calm and serene. During the last trip, she had been the newcomer, having not even been at Claremont Academy a week. Now, the eighteen year old was the senior student for the trip, at least in terms of age and grade level. Samantha Vance was the next oldest of the group, and had actually been at Claremont longer than Giang. She was also the member of the group Giang knew best, but even then it was mainly through their mutual friendships with Mali, Cerys and Tona. The other three gathered students were some of the newest to Claremont, Cho Paige Lee, Juno Dempsey and Eugene King. While Giang had seen Juno and Gene around campus, Cho was the only one she really had had much in the way of interaction with before now. Of course, trips such as this made a good opportunity to learn more about her fellow students. "It should not be long before our guide arrives." She stated to break the silence.

Freedom City Waterfront, New Jersey February 5, 2014; 10:24 PM A layer of snow still coated Freedom City, left over from the recent storms to hit the East Coast. The snow just added to the nighttime glow of downtown Freedom City's lights, helping reflect the lights from its many high-rise buildings. Down on one of the many waterfront piers, one on of the piers was currently fenced off with construction fences. Parts of the pier and the once sleek, three story building built on top of the pier were rather badly damaged, sections of the pier torn away and several huge holes torn in one side of the building. From where he stood a block away on the roof of another building, Jeremiah Deadfall could still see the PanStar logo on one corner of the damaged building. The building housed part of PanStar's oceanography research division and was damaged a couple of months ago when a supervillain controlling a giant squid attacked during some demonstration for some US military brass and some congressmen, senators and other important individuals. A pair of superheroes had appeared on the scene to stop the supevillain and drive off the giant squid, but the building and pier had sustained heavy damage. For Jeremiah, the damaged research facility offered a promising opportunity to investigate further into PanStar and its activities. High-tech company offices being attacked by supervillains occurred with some regularity in Freedom City. But what Jeremiah was more interested in was a disturbing pattern of other PanStar subsidiaries around the world being caught involved in some illegal activity. Thus far, such instances had been blamed on the local executives overseeing a particular project or office. But there was something of a pattern. Just the sort of thing for the Crier to investigate…

Port Regal, Freedom City, New Jersey Cline Home Tuesday, February 4th, 2014 William walked into his family's home with less than his usual vigor and energy. He was oddly subdued and, unusually, glad his father wasn't home. His mother could feel the relief. She'd felt Will's subtle probe and inquiry earlier, when he'd been "told" that his father and younger sister were out and about in the city, likely getting into some sort of trouble. William wasn't carrying an overnight bag or anything (not that he needed one; he had enough supplies at home to split his time if he liked), and didn't even have a backpack full of homework. He just had a couple slightly wrinkled sheets of paper clenched in one hand. He moved into the kitchen, looking for Paige. "Hey, uh, Mom? Where are you at?"

Midtown, Freedom City, New Jersey The Goodman Building Friday, February 7, 2014 Despite the recent heavy snow, it was business as usual this Friday morning in Freedom City. The roads had been cleared, and though there were still piles of snow scattered about, it was otherwise just a rather typical, cold, winter day in the busy city. Mali Benjawan was driving a small white van through Midtown's busy streets. Normally, she would still be in classes at Claremont Academy over in Bayview Heights. But today she and a number of other students were departing for a rather unusual field trip that would last over the weekend. Inside the van were four of Mali's fellow students. Sitting in the front passenger seat was the one Mali knew best, Elias Silvestri, and the second oldest present. Seated in back seats were Georgia Montgomery, William Cline, and then the student Mali knew the least, one of the school's newest, Ralf Steiner. But Mali had little time to think about her fellow students riding in the van, as she maneuvered through the tight traffic along 40th Avenue. Then up ahead she saw their destination, the massive steel frame of the Goodman Building, its mirror-finished windows gleaming in the mid-morning sun. The top five floors of the Goodman Building was home to the famous Atom Family, one of whom would be acting as the chaperone and guide for the group of Claremont students on their outing.

GM January 19th, 2014 Freedom City Fingers fly over a keyboard faster than the eye can see. "Dear Set II? Set Jr? This is Clock Queen, and it's high TIME we got together and talked about your old man. I'm in Freedom City right now and it's gloomsville around here. If you remember where the old Set put his stuff, you should meet me tonight at eight in the warehouse where the old Set kept that helicopter with the giant snake face. He really dug those snakes, hah-hah. Don't keep me waiting! Your good friend, Clock Queen. PS: Is it true you're just seventeen? BUMMER." With the email message set, Anne Cline sat back in her son's house and sighed. She'd been in this house nearly a week now; Paige was grieving her father, Dickie was helping Paige, and the kids knew their parents were going ape without hardly knowing the reasons why. She'd come up immediately from Florida when she'd heard they needed help, and was glad to do it. But it was sooooooo booooorrrriiiinnngggg.

Even for someone raised in a tough environment the last couple of day’s had been too cold to bear for too long. But now the temperature was a little more tolerable and she had decided now was a good time to do something. Maybe after a few days shut indoors she was going a little stir crazy but she decided that today she was going to clear the snow from the Zen Garden. So after a quick and early breakfast with a few hours before classes began she borrowed a shovel and head out to complete her task.

GM Friday 7th February Sochi, the Winter Olympics 2014. The air was unseasonably warm in Sochi, casting doubts upon the logistics of the game, but spare snow had been stored, and was being hauled to the slopes. The mood was reasonably bouyant, with spectators both domestic and international looking forward to the herculean efforts of the olympians. Of course, the tourist industry was in full swing, with every type of food and drink being plied, and a rain of tourist tat to take home, place in the back of a cupboard, and stay there unseen for decades. There was a heavy and intimidating police presence, thanks to terrorists threats. And, some might say, to the possibility of demonstrations against the Russian governments policies over homosexuality. There was to be no marring of the festivities with contreversy, at least as far as the officialdom was concerned. One police officer was on edge. Sergeant K was smoking heavily. His revolver was hidden from view, under his armpit, but he always found it uncomfortable. Plain clothes policing in Russia could be a nerve wracking business. Shoulda brought a shotgun...he said to himself, between puffs, thinking of his favourite American film. He had good reason to be nervous too, given what he had found out. There was sweat on his forehead, despite the cool air. What he needed was someone to help him, and get him the hell out of Russia. An american tourist, well connected, plenty of money, and capable. He had considered approaching the American athletes, but they were too close to the problem, he judged. One wrong word, and boom... A palpatation in his chest. He visibly jumped at the thought...

GM January 15th, 6.15, Wednesday, 2014 Blue Moon Pub & Grill, Southside "...and so, introducing Joe, a man who needs no introduction!" declared Stanislaw in a mock-stentorian voice, his broad face red from both suppressed laughter and the heat of the room, thanks the kitchen door left open to let the aroma of cooking meat work its magic. Raising a glass mug from the bar, filled with the local ale and glittering like liquid gold(if one was feeling high-minded), he offered it to Joe Macayle with a solemn "Your award, sir, for spectacular achievement in the realm of Doing a Damned Day's Work Without Whining. Bear it with pride and honor. A toast, ladies and gentlemen, to Joe!" "To Joe!" repeated the rest of Joe's shift, who in better or worse unison downed a mouthful of ale, giving a round of exaggerated applause alongside quite sincere grins. Though the half-emptied mugs were part of that. The steel plant had just finished the Week of Champions, where the exemplary output and smooth running of the plant over the last three years had gotten its managers and staff a slew of corporate awards, delivered with about as much passion and dignity as the average office birthday party. The lower-rung staff hadn't been afforded the same honors, though that and the notable pay increase was considered by most of Macayle's shift to be a much better deal, and after the day was over many of them had decided to hold their own awards ceremony at the Blue Moon. Stanislaw, as the most generally senior employee, had been Master of Ceremonies. Since Joe had been last in line, he gratefully dropped his mighty bulk down onto the chair beneath him and nodded sagely to the long-suffering bartender "A little recognition for the workin' man, brother. Don't tell me you don't want some too!" He was answered with a snort and the clunk of another mug being placed in front of him which the burly man happily scooped closer. "Recognition for what?" A much less friendly voice asked from a table behind them "For being the longshoremen of the steel industry?" The speaker was dressed in a crisp dark grey suit, with dark curly hair and a short beard, looking sourly at the millers "For being (@##& machines, is that it?" It got a lot quieter. Most of the workmen at the steel mill weren't as big as Joe or Stanislaw, but they all suddenly looked that much more dangerous.

Friday, January 24th, 2014 6:22 AM The sun had yet to rise, but Eliza Oxum was already in the shower, preparing for the school day. She knew she was supposed to get out quickly - the hot water had been on the fritz lately, so much that she'd taken to a cold shower or two (then again, unlike her mom, she didn't really feel the cold). But on a day like this, with the weekend just around the corner, she felt like indulging a little. "...let it goooo, I am one with the wind and sky, let it goooo, let it goooo..." A knock at the door cut her off. "Eliza," came her mother's voice, "are you ever gonna get sick of that song?" "Sorry, Mom! Kinda speaks to me!" "That makes one of us. Dear, I wouldn't rush you, but I gotta get to work soon, and --" "Two minutes! Just let me do my hair!" Eliza's mom worked down by the Boardwalk in a rented store front as a palmister. It was a "breakout" space that allowed her to service clients when the winter weather meant a general downturn in Boardwalk audiences. But in the past few days, Freedom had been unseasonably warm, and the forecast promised clear skies today, so there was talk of going back to the Boardwalk. After putting her ablutions to rest, Eliza turned off the water and got ready to finish things up. She walked to the mirror when she saw the ghost of movement through the fogged-up window. She brushed aside the fog -- only to see curtains of snow falling from darkened skies. It was already piled up an inch, and didn't seem to be quitting. "Mom? Think you might be working from the office today..."

-Richard Cline, An Oral History of the Terminus Invasion Summer 1993 First National Bank of Lincoln Richard Cline stuck out in the crowd of customers waiting in line for the teller for three reasons - his tapping foot, rolling eyes, and general air of impatience marked him as someone eager to be anywhere else than waiting in line, his white skin and flashy clothes marked him as an outsider among the bank’s mostly working-class customers, and his baseball cap and sunglasses were just a little odd for this early in the morning. The other customers gave him a wide berth, when they weren’t glaring at him - just as planned. It was hot in the bank, but not quite hot enough for them to run the air - instead the music from the lot across the street gently thrummed in through the open windows. “Cause my heart is beatin’ triple time, yeah!” He did a little dance in place, snapping his fingers to the beat, and winked at a little kid watching him from the row behind. Poor little bastard, stuck in these lines with his boring mundane ‘rents. Maybe we’ll give him something to think about. He slid back and forth on his sneakers as he stood there, brand-new rubber squeaking again and again against the green marble floor. He and Paige hadn’t been back in Freedom City for a while, but they’d kept up their careers in New York and London, and even made the front page in the latter when they’d squared off against Britannia while making off with the Prime Minister’s watch. Maybe we should go to Canada next. Those jerks in True North could be taken down a notch or two. “What are _you_ looking at?” he sneered over his sunglasses at an older man in the business suit before he pulled the shades back up and made a rude face. Stupid old man, thinks he can start something. He yanked his fingers down his vest, snapping it tight, and thought Paige’s way. Baby, once we pawn the jewels, let’s run up to that theater in Queens and see Jurassic Park again. He knew his girl was already in position, getting the crowd in the bank ready for the show of their boring little lives, while he kept everyone’s attention through his confident demeanor and manly swagger. He tapped his pristine white Air Jordans and thought good thoughts about showing Paige a very good time in that darkened theater. Feeling like a T-Rex today! He was thirty years old, he had the best superpowers and the best girl in the world, and they were about to do what they did best - CRIME! Guard’s at the door...checking his watch...think he’s gonna go take a whiz. When he finally got to the front of the line, an eternally frustrating five or six minutes later, Richard pulled off his shades and smiled real big at the middle-aged clerk, flashing his pearly whites. “Honey, I got good news, and I got good news - first, you can take the day off. Even better is -” He jumped up and kicked off, speeding up the room and slowing himself as he did a totally, bodaciously badass flip that landed him on top of the counter. Enjoying the shocked faces of the crowd in that one long, frozen moment, he pulled off his magenta vest, bright red tie, black leather jacket, and white tee, and threw on the black and white jumpsuit that he’d been wearing since he was a teenager. “Fast-Forward and Hologram are here to put a little color in your lives! Everybody get down!”

Monday, January 6th, 2014 10:34 AM Wharton State Forest It almost hadn't happened. The weatherman had called for unseasonably warm temperatures through the end of the year, and the people behind the festival had talked about how to keep the ice from melting. Then everything changed when the weather blew up cold and windy; the Freedom League rallied metahumans and were managing to keep the worst of the 'polar vortex' at bay, but it did mean ice and snow for Freedom City and the Winter Festival was on. As the King family van pulled into the well-plowed parking lot of Wharton State Park, Gene King tried to remind himself that all that was good news. He should be happy that the heroes were keeping snow and cold to a manageable level -- but part of him couldn't help but think that this was precious extended Christmas vacation time being taken away from video games.