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Wharton Hill Harrier watched, as amazed as anyone else, as the Curator's ships gathered up the severed Freedom City and began to carry it away into the perpetually grey sky overhead. Over the distant rumble, he called, "We should not remain this area long! The subsidence from the city's removal may cause a collapse...and if the Curator's ships do come hunting for the missing ones who probed the sky, they will pass through this area early in whatever search they make. We should avoid being taken by the Curator...again," he added, chewing on that thought unpleasantly. "His attentions will not be in our favor." He was carefully not looking at Blue Jay or Bee-Keeper, eager not to resume the arguments that had nearly gotten the armored warrior and young (so young, was I ever that age?) archer captured by the collecting vessels.
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When the battle was done and the commandos defeated, Citizen floated out of the warehouse with his precious cargo tucked beneath one arm. "I've got it, guys!" He had both the truncated Erde-Tronik drive and the gold boxy storage medium from Earth-Prime in the same big black case. It would be up to he and Gina over the next few months, (probably as what would incidentally count as his graduation project) to integrate the Troniks together successfully but for now the backup was complete and the City of the Future (as he still sometimes thought of it, the very old motto that Tronik had kept even after the Exodus) was safe from the National Socialists. Assuming they got out there in time! "Wow!" He wasn't so focused as to not be impressed when he saw the battle with his own eyes; the smoking helicopters, the fleeing commando, the crack Nazi strike team that Young Freedom had taken apart with all of the skill and power of a master artist painting a portrait. "Nice, you guys," he said with a grin before disappearing into the Wonder Bus. "Now let me get the systems in here rebooted..." As the lights inside the Bus came back on, the other machines came out, Rogue in the lead in a humanoid body that looked like a human woman cast in the featureless nude, like something from a German Expressionist movie. With no explanation for the new shape, she cast her gaze from the scene of the battle to the heroes, back and forth, and for the first time seemed almost uncertain. "You did this. All of this, when you could have taken your Sharl and that city and..." She opened and closed mechanical hands before saying, decisively, "All right. All right, maybe you're right. Maybe there is another way to prosecute our war against the National Socialists." The group of robots behind her, which did not include her Sharl (who was in that system his counterpart was carrying) startled at that, but Rogue pressed on. "If you can fight the Nazis like this, teach them _fear_ without destroying them all, maybe we can try it ourselves. At least once, anyway. But you'd better take the Ragnorak with you. If we're not going to prune the humans back, it'll just look bad if we have it in our possession."
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January 13th, 2013 "This is the place" said Fred, in the cold rain of a miserable overcast January morning. It was just past nine and the city had failed to catch alight with its normal energy. People were tired, sluggish, and down after the festive period. "Looks like it" said the mangy but large dog by his feet. The dog had looked around quite carefully to check nobody was listening before it spoke in a gruff, dog-like voice. "Stay there, Ill just nip over and..." continued the dog, before scuttling off between some buildings and behind some trash cans. In the blink of an eye, the dog vanished, replaced by Harry "the Hound" Hound, wearing a crumpled mac, crumpled shirt, and crumpled tie. His hair was crumpled. He was crumpled. Fred didn't act surprised. He had seen Harry change several times now. Instead, he focussed on the building. He couldn't read the sign outside, but Harry had told him all about the place. "Looks a bit...y'know...old and crumbly..." he said about the building. "Just like our lawyer" said Harry, failing to light a damp cigarette in the rain. "Still, what a thing, hey Harry? a dead Lawyer, all back to life n' everyfing! She must be something, eh. Must know a lot about the law and all. Good thinkin' as always, Harry. Good thinkin'. She must be dead good..eh?" he chuckled. "Ha Ha" said Harry cynically. "I'll tell you what, she is dead cheap. I'll give her that..." he said, cheering himself up. At the back of both men's mind was that they were in a dangerous business. Harry was good at hiding and running if need be, and Freddy could more than take care of himself. But neither really wanted their lawyer at the end of a Mafia sniper's sights. Fred, particularly. "Anyway, stay here and keep lefty and righty to yourself. Don't get into any trouble. Just..err..enjoy the rain..." "Hmphhh..." said Fred, kicking a half eaten discarded hot dog in the gutter out of boredom. "Right then, lets see what this lady has to say for herself..." said Harry, to himself, as he entered the building and knocked on the door to Ms. Lucy Harker's office. A natural coward, he had a slight sense of unease about her not-alive status. He had done his research, he had his contacts... But she is cheap! he reminded himself.
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January 15, 2013 Blackstone Prison With rumors of clandestine Terminus activity circulating through the city, it was only natural that the Freedom League wanted to interrogate their most high-level Terminus prisoner...and only natural that the most experienced expert on the Terminus would be part of the interrogation. Steve was waiting for Gabriel when the latter arrived on Blackstone Island, standing near the outer perimeter fence in a suit and tie and looking as menacing as any of the prisoners inside. "Good morning, Gabriel," said the former drone, his expression hard to read as he faced an imminent reunion with the monster who had destroyed his life. "Thank you for calling me on this case." With a faint smile, he cocked his hand towards the outer gate where the 'blackguards' were watching attentively at the arrival of the famous Gabriel. "They thought I should wait for you to actually go below. It seems I set off the security system." - Down below, in the ultra-high-security wing where the clone of Shadivan Steelgrave was currently sleeping in his cell, the man in the cell opposite was whistling. Miss Americana had been called in to repair a very high security, albeit damaged computer system; the tough, albeit rigid, circuits inside the cell's door control, among the most high-security in the entire facility and a restricted design trusted to only a few super-geniuses, had fractured into pieces like broken glass the night before. Only a backup system had kept the big impervium door blocking his cell from sliding right up and out of the way. "Yeah, 37042 thinks he's funny that way," Officer McInnis was telling Miss Americana, the stocky blonde rolling her eyes with a guard's amused distaste for a persistent prisoner. "Courts say we can't actually stifle him if he's not attacking people with his sonic powers, and he's been in here long enough to know the score. Nothing says we can't put you in solitary, though, does it 37042? " she called, rapping on the impervium with her billy club and making the whistling stop. "No pretty girls like me and Miss A to look at in there!" The only response was a single, defiant wolf whistle and a wordless grumbling that finally lapsed into silence.
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GM September 12th, 2012, 1.45 P.M. City Hall The day had so far been profoundly boring for the civic government employees. So far there had been the usual pileup of bureaucratic duties and paperwork needing to be filled out and passed on to other departments, or else sent out to businesses, agencies and the various Freedonians contributing to the steady stream of licenses, fines, and sundry other aspects of modern life. Mayor O'Connor sat wearily in his office, squinting through his thin glasses at the carefully-worded email A.E.G.I.S. Director Powers' secretary had sent him and wishing the ear-achingly-loud helicopter flying by would hurry up. Running a hand through his hair limply, he sighed and read the last sentence again. "'So, with all due respect Mr. Mayor, I don't think their presence is necessary'. Really, Harry?" he said to himself sarcastically as he began to busily check through a report on the state of the city roads in Lincoln "You're certain you know these people that well?" he shook his head "Alright, if you think that's best, I won't try and talk you out of it." Turning his full attention back to the almost completely positive report, he failed to notice the the fatigue-wearing man sneaking in through his propped-open window before it was too late. The hand roughly grabbing his shoulder and slamming him against the wall hard enough to dent it was his first clue that something was up, the sound of his attacker entering masked by the throbbing chops of the helicopter blades. Grunting in surprise and pain, Michael tore himself free and tensed himself, about to try and fight back when with a click his assailant backed up, drawing a rifle and aiming it directly at his face. "Don't even think about it, gramps" he snarled, his eyes behind the balaclava cold and murderous "from now on, your life belongs to OVERTHROW!" From the low-flying helicopter and a trio of dark vans screeching to a halt in front of the local center of government, armed members of the terrorist group stormed into the white-washed building, quickly disarming the guards and herding the now-terrified government workers into the lunch rooms and higher levels. In mere minutes, the helicopter was landed on the eerily-deserted main plaza of the hall, the vans pulled up onto the municipal lawns with a group of terrorists to guard them, and already the wail of sirens could be heard, the flashing blue and red lights of the racing police vehicles clearly visible to the four snipers crouched among the decorations on the corners of the roof. ----------------------------- News of the attack spread almost instantly, with twitter feeds, the various news channels getting as close as they dared to the scene of the attack, and word-of-mouth racing throughout the metropolis that armed men had taken captive their seat of government captive! Within the hour, the agents of OVERTHROW gave their demands to the television news networks, sending out an unmasked man in heavier armor than most of the others: "We categorically refuse to release your tyrannical mayor unless we receive the following:" he said, donning wire-frame glasses as he read from a sheet of paper "The firing of every person currently employed by this city's monument to managerial mediocrity and licensed waste of talent, replaced by the peerless members of our group we will bring before you for installment" smiling thinly at the blank stares that earned him he went on "As well, the freeing of Austrian citizen Hamilcar Kramer, AKA Weissnacht from Blackstone Penitentiary, the closing of that unnatural and unlawful prison, the rescinding of all laws permitting dangerous costumed vigilantes to operate freely in this city, and disallowing any reprisals against any of us involved with this act of regrettable but necessary terrorism!" he concluded forcefully, calmly removing his spectacles and folding the paper neatly into his pocket "Are there any questions?" As might be expected, there were.
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Wednesday, May 2nd, 2012 8:52 PM The night brought a nice chill to Freedom City, a relief from the heat of the day. A mini-heatwave had fallen on Freedom, the heart of Summer right in the depths of Spring. While the weather forecasts said it would break tomorrow, no one was holding their breath. Cannonade was already sweating under his flight jacket; he thought about the possibility of making a costume that'd allow him to run about in just his shirtsleeves, but tonight was not the night for that. So instead, he hung close to the water, taking in the cool breeze that was whipping up off the water. He ran across the rooftops of dockside warehouses, looking down on the scenes below. There was always some game going on by the Waterfront, if you knew where to look. The smaller outfits competed over abandoned warehouses, using them to store or, in some cases, produce drugs. The larger outfits based their fronts out of the docks, using the apparent import of china dolls or stuffed animals to bring cocaine and heroin into the country. Cannonade slowed as he approached the lip of the warehouse roof, pausing to listen to the voices below. "This isn't what we asked for." "It's been a slow month." He crouched down, taking some cover as he gazed down at the confrontation. Five men in pinstripe suits were engaged in negotiations - the kind that involved wagging fingers and visible firearms - stood toe-to-toe with four men in denim jackets, all looking like some matter of metalhead. Cannonade recognized the patch of the Death Road Ministry on their jackets. "We're not letting you hold this place out of charity," said the lead goon in the suit. "If you think you can stiff us..." "Don't think we care," said the lead Minister. He reached into his jacket. "This is our place now. You can go tell your boss where he can stick that cigar of his." The men in the pinstripes went for their guns, just as the Ministers reached into their own jackets. Cannonade dropped down softly into the nearby alley, moving forward. Pretty good as gang negotiations go. Took thirty seconds for someone to do something stupid.
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December 15, North Bay The sun was just setting on another short Freedom City winter day when Erin pulled up in the driveway of the Hunter Mansion in her salt-streaked and dusty blue pickup truck. She swung out of the cab and tossed her knapsack over her shoulder, then shut the door and jogged the rest of the way up the drive. Most days she'd detour to the garage and code her own way into the house, but today she went straight up the front steps and tapped on the door. She hadn't seen much of Trevor and Travis lately, everyone had been busy with other things since Thanksgiving. Between work and patrol, Erin never had too much time for socializing anyway.
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Elsewhere Test Site I Freedom Hall Blue Jay woke up in a ditch, the smell of ashes in her mouth. She was in her costume and fully armed, the quiver at her back weighted with arrows. Raising her head, she found herself surrounded by a vision from Hell: a bombed out Freedom City laden with debris, ashes, and the broken remains of what once might have been bodies. She'd seen the effects of power pikes well enough to recognize their work. And there, screaming down from the sky like the armies of the damned, came the all-too-familiar sight of an Omegadrone troop carrier, big as a small jet liner but covered in the spikes and weapons she knew all too well. It roared overhead, antiproton engines screaming loud enough to nearly deafen her, and headed for what looked like Freedom Hall. Baxter awoke from a dream, and found himself in Hell. Bee-Keeper III felt the vibrations in his suit before he saw the ship come roaring down out of the sky; a monstrous vision of technological hell as it swooped overhead and plowed into a nearby street hard enough to rattle his teeth, careening along a street to plow into a nearby building. He noticed the apocalyptic surroundings next; the ruined Freedom Hall behind him, the smashed windows and fallen bodies of what looked like the aftermath of a grim and terrible battle here at the heart of Freedom City's heroing, and then finally what looked for all the world like a shattered city all around them. Jill O'Cure's eyes snapped open and she found herself in an empty hospital. She could tell that right away; the red, flickering emergency lights exposed a scene of wild chaos, torn and fallen beds and equipment in a mad jumble, but no sign of life, or death, for that matter. She knew this place, the waiting room of the clinic in City Center just down the street from Freedom Hall. She was in costume, not her scrubs, but before she could take further stock of the situation there was the brief scream of mighty engines and then a nearby BOOM, as if a plane had hit the ground just a few blocks away. Bones. Bones bones bones. Wander had seen plenty of those in her life, but the pile she was standing over was impressive. Smashed and broken, they were scattered over the front steps of the City Center Clinic like a child's much-abused toys. She could make out the familiar sight of skulls and other big bones, but these bones hadn't rested easy: something had disturbed the remains, if they'd come here first inside bodies. The ossurary at her feet was new; the burning city all around her wasn't. Suddenly, the familiar sight of an Omegadrone troop carrier roared overhead and disappeared over the nearest high-rise with a BOOM that shook the ground beneath her feet. When Harrier awoke, strapped into the recharging station of a heavy combat Omegadrone, Steve found himself frozen to the spot in the mortal terror of an awakened nightmare. He wasn't conscious of anything about his surroundings, only the sudden, horrible surety that his life was a dream and he was about to be taken away and dissected by the Physician. WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP-the crash interrupted his frenzied mental shouts and tore him loose from the station, sending him bowled end over end against a hard steel wall before he realized the ship had crashed and that he was all alone inside it. Taking a moment to steel himself, and think of Gina, the Omegadrone chose to meet his fate head-on: armored up, he blasted out the nearest hatch and burst forth onto a murdered Freedom City street. It wasn't so strange, really, he'd seen many of those in his time. He distantly saw an armored figure in yellow and black nearby, and moved towards him with pike raised defensively.
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May 14th, 2012 Freedom Medical Center 2:42 PM The Freedom Medical Center was easily the largest and most modern hospital in a large and modern city, and as such its emergency room was never empty. At the moment, though, the area was filled to overflowing with patients on gurneys, lying across the plastic chairs intended to families of those awaiting diagnosis, or even propped up on the floor with only a pillow. Nurses and doctors dashed to and fro, surgical masks in place and rubber gloves on tight. Most carried an extra carton of them in their pockets, and trash bins were stuffed full of them as doctors poked, prodded, and collected samples of blood and phlegm. The air was filled with the hacking coughs, fits of sneezing, and low groans of the sickly. Most were leaking some pus or other fluid; one man on a gurney was holding a metal pan and regularly coughing up and spitting blood into it. It was a madhouse, and it was only growing.
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Monday, June 4th 6:16 PM Eric LaCroix had just gotten off his shift at the Black Petal, and was enjoying the time before his night job began. Usually he'd go right back to his apartment, bolt down a sandwich or something pre-made from Trader Joe's, then get on the makeup as soon as twilight hit and head out to Lantern Hill. But one of the things about getting closer to the Summer Solstice was that twilight got later and later, which gave him a bit more downtime. So, with some cash from tips in his pocket and not much else to do, he decided to head over to Pyramid Plaza. For a resident of Freedom, Eric never really got much chance to check out the landmark plaza. Sure, there had been the luncheon for various practitioners that had been thrown soon after he'd settled down in the city, but his day job usually kept him around Riverside and his night work didn't often take him to places so peaceful and well-maintained. As he walked away from the food court, a pulled pork sandwich in his hand, he took the time to take advantage of the rare peaceful hubbub. It said a lot that the chorus of screams sounded more familiar. Setting the pulled pork sandwich aside, he found a place in the shadows to duck away to the back corner of Hades' demesne where he kept his work gear. Within a few seconds, Nick Cimitiere was back out in the world of the living, scanning the street for the source of panic. He found it across the street, as dozens of people were running out of an apartment building that looked like a fortress carved from marble. He thought about stopping to ask someone about what was going on, but figured a skull-faced man stopping them in a time of crisis would not help anyone. So he danced around the crowd, pushing his way into the building and towards the horror within.
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A warm summer breeze blew through the West End street of small businesses and restaurants weathering the times with varying degrees of success. The light wind stirred the gorgeous flowering plants hanging from the second storey windows of one such building, trailing leaves and vines brushing against the top of a bold gold-on-black sign that proclaimed the street-level floor to be home to "The Espadas School of Self-Defense and Swordsmanship!". The dojo had been open for a little over a month at that point, attendance gradually picking up as fliers throughout the city and good word-of-mouth did their job. The proprietor was a well like native of the neighbourhood if unknown in the city at large and while the more introductory self defense courses were all well and good it was the more specific sword fighting classes which were purportedly worth the trip. Erik Espadas himself was locked in particularly grueling battle with the second hand computer on the reception desk, attempting to bring up the spreadsheet with the list of new students signed up for that week's class. "No, that's the budget," he grumbled under his breath, the annoyed expression on his lightly stubbled face visible from the other side of the large windows that looked out onto the street. "Depressing but not helpful right now. C'mon..." The attendee would be showing up shortly; if he could get this sorted out he was going to have to track down a pad of paper and a pen to take attendance.
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January 2013 Outside Heesterstadt (formerly Branson), Missouri It was raining when the Wonderbus arrived, a thick, icy-cold storm of freezing rain that would have surely been a blizzard had the weather been any warmer. Warm and insulated through the dimensional craft was, it wasn't hard to feel the chill outside. The bus had folded its way through space and time to come rumbling out onto a deserted stretch of concrete road by a grim, grey lake that might possibly have been more attractive in the spring. As it was, the whole world was grey and brown: the city across the lake, what was Branson on another world, was almost lost beneath the heavy fog which swaddled the area. Shifting his clothing over to the bland, servile pattern his counterpart had worn, Sharl peered through the front windows, just able to make out tall concrete towers and a massive, hovering flag projected against the clouds from the city below like a massive old-style holographic billboard. It was grim. "Everybody get changed," he said, calling back to the passenger compartment as he reached down to turn on the conventional gasoline engine. "The Tronik base is about five miles up this road! We're turning around..." He muttered a bad word in Lor, trying to remember how to work these stupid controls. With all the worries about fighting Nazis and transdimensional technology, maybe he hadn't paid enough attention to how to drive a stupid four-wheeled, rubber-tired bus! Why can't they just use antigravs like civilized people?
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December 21, 2012 An ancient civilization on an isthmus much to the south of Freedom City had called this day the end of the world, but for one visitor to Freedom City, their culture had provided the theme for an interesting Christmas party. As Feliz Navidad played over the speakers, the roughly-scarred second in command of HAX security was dishing out cups of Mayan hot chocolate with festive peppermint canes in them. "The bitter goes well with the sweet," he said to one of the programmers, the obviously memorized speech not doing much to impress the weedy-looking fellow. With a sigh, the man working the hot chocolate machine moved onto his boss. "A festive crowd," he offered to the chief as she approached, handing her cup and cane to go with the festive holiday theme. In a puffy red sweater with a white reindeer on it, the drone looked downright Christmasy himself. "I did not think so many would show, but I suppose those with family parties will make them on the day in question." Gina had put him off plans to spend the holiday together, but he had his own ideas about how he and his girlfriend would share each other's company over the holidays. "Is your young man coming?" he asked curiously, not wanting to pry when he already could guess the answer. "I know Mara is bringing her young woman."
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The bombastic sign above the otherwise nondescript storefront proclaimed the institution to be "The Espadas School of Self-Defense and Swordsmanship!" in bold gold lettering on a black backround complete with exclamation mark. Large glass windows revealed a currently unattended front desk and a diving wall that separated the training space from the street entrance. The second floor of the brick building looked to be given over to modest apartments, though it was worth noting that the window boxes hanging from them were host to some truly gorgeous flowering plants, fully in bloom in the August heat. Their leaves brushed against the top of the sign invitingly. The school had been up and running for about a month by then, advertising through posters and word of mouth not to mention a surprisingly well designed and maintained website. It was in one of the nicer parts of the West End fortunately enough; those inclined to research such things might have noted that it had become a noticeably nicer area since the proprietors of the dojo had moved in. Thing has been a little slow to start off with but a new wave of self-defense classes were starting that day and a good number of new members had signed up. Erik Espadas, the titular owner and head instructor busied himself unhooking a punching bag from the ceiling and moving it to one side of the larger section of the building, clearing off space in preparation. In a sleeveless white shirt and and comfortable sweat pants, the athletic, dusty haired young man certainly looked capable enough, built of lean muscle and angular good looks. The real question was just what this new batch of trainees would bring him.
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May 18, 2012 The first thing that Kimber Storm noticed as terribly, urgently wrong as she staggered, coughing from the cloud of smoke was not in fact that she had to cough or even stagger. Neither should have been a concern for the long since deceased poltergeist, but her first thought was that she was wearing absolutely the wrong hood. Rather than the ethereal cowl of her usual reaper's cloak, this was a heavy fabric attached to a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off and something scrawled on the front in stylized spraypaint. The jumpsuit underneath she recognized as the Claremont Academy uniform, which she was also sure wasn't right. Raising her hands to pull the hood out of the way, she saw that they were a healthy pink, undeniably solid and beating with a pulse. "Oh, marmalade," the living girl gulped. Thirty Minutes Earlier It took a lot of concentration from Kimber to keep her excited feet on the floor as the group of students entered the famous 'Super Museum' in Midtown, and even more concentration to keep her excitable body language confined to the shelter of the black umbrella blocking the sun's rays from revealing her as a translucent specter. The school trip to see the recently unveiled Lucas Collection had prompted a few significant looks between the senior members of the current iteration of Young Freedom, but the entusiastic Canadian was just looking forward to seeing all of the memorabilia in person. If all of the pieces were half as interesting as the ones mentioned specifically in the brochure, it was bound to be a memorable day!
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October 31, 7:30pm Halloween night had not been an especially auspicious night for the last several years in Freedom City. If it wasn't zombies rising from the grave or demonic forces attempting to take over the living world, it was cold, rainy weather that kept the little ghouls and goblins in their homes. Tonight, though, Halloween was crisp but not too cold, cloudy enough to be menacing, but without any actual rain. It was about as ideal as the holiday could get, and the trick-or-treaters were out in force. Tony North Bay didn't have as many wandering children as some newer neighborhoods where the McMansions crowded close to each other and the street, but for those who were enterprising and fearless, the haul could be worth the effort. At the end of one long driveway stood an especially dour and dangerous-looking manor, stark black and looming like a giant animal over the landscape, thanks to a few adroitly-placed spotlights in the backyard. A van full of middle-school children pulled up to the curb outside, disgorging a gangly vampire, an AEGIS trooper, Lady Liberty with most of her outfit obscured by a puffy pink jacket, a very short Midnight, and a yellow Angry Bird. The group milled around for a few moments, checking flashlights and treat bags before turning their attention to the very intimidating road ahead. The trees were thick with spiderwebs, and the bushes lining the lane seemed to rustle even with no wind to stir them. A line of luminescent footprints down the driveway beckoned the brave to continue, past the hooting of night birds and the ominous creaking of invisible wood and ropes. Somewhat hesitantly, Midnight led the way, playing his flashlight over the footprints and making his way down the path with the others close at his heels. It wasn't long before the music started, faraway and eerie, just loud enough to be heard in the still night.
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July 28th, 2012 Hughes Residence, North Bay, Freedom City It was just after 11 in the morning, and Corbin was actually pacing a bit nervously at his home's front door. His parents were out for the day, having one of their many "date days", and had told him to not make a mess but otherwise he was welcome to have friends over. He'd decided to take a mild risk and opt for another double-date. The last one had been....unique, but this time he figured he had a few things in favor. He and Quo-Dis were more comfortable and established, the whole setting was less formal, and Erin and Trevor were two of the most unflappable people he'd met. He doubted Quo-Dis could phase them terribly after being around Mark for several years. Still, it felt slightly odd having people over like this; this house was definitely bigger than what they'd had in St. Louis, though it was a bit more modest than some of the oldest ones in the area. More than that, he just generally didn't have people over; not because he didn't want to, but because it never seemed the "right time". 'Well, we're all high school graduates now, and we know each other pretty well. Besides, I've had Blake stay here a few nights here and there, and Quo-Dis certainly stays often enough...' His pacing eased, but he was still just a bit nervous.
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Friday, June 22nd 9:13 PM She didn't want to say anything like, "This heroing stuff is easy." She knew that led to all sorts of horribly cliched disasters raining down upon people's heads. But Eliza had to admit, there hadn't really been much happening the past few nights. Oh, sure, she'd only technically begun her patrols on Monday, once school was out. Before then was a lot of practice, a lot of training, and a lot of designing. She'd taken a trip to the Goodman Building just to make sure she got the right Atomwear to complete her costume - and that was after a few dozen passes of the various thrift stores in South Freedom to get the right coat. She didn't want to go out looking like Lady Liberty, but she still wanted something that looked professional while being dangerous. She had an image to cut. And she'd been cutting it all over Lincoln, taking aim at some of the usual low lifes - muggers, drug dealers, and, on Tuesday, a few thieves trying to clean out the safe of an OTB joint. One of them had pulled a gun on her, but she'd managed to throw an icicle right into its barrel. That was a hell of a thing to recall. But so far, it was quiet. She was lurking in the mouth of a back alley - she hadn't learned to travel through water like her dad, so she had to rely a lot on alleyways and stealth, and while it was tricky to pull off, it often brought her in line with her kind of targets. The sounds of the city played out around her, especially the thudding base - there was a block party going down a ways over. Maybe she'd make her way there later, if things got quiet - ditch the mask and the coat and just chill, enjoy the festivities. That quickly fell by the wayside as the screams rose, only to cut off as soon as they began. Eliza ran fast, tearing out of the alley way. Let's see what it is this time. Sounds big, whatever it is...
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Onika Studio's, Monday 21nd May 2012 It was a small studio, but one with big dreams. At the moment they were creating content for the local market. And they were having some measure of success, especially with their new game show Box O Money. It main gimmick was a massive Perspex box filled with cash; they claimed a billion dollars, which would count out each winners money. So proud were they of this success they would proudly proclaim this to all there visitors and show the box to all the visiting audiences. Now they were try to pilot a chat and variety show using a local radio personality with a variety of local and acts from outside known for their local connection.
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January, 2013 When the Young Freedom students got back home from Christmas break, or rather found themselves on campus again steadily for the first time, there was a message for them from Citizen, calling them to meet with him at the 13th Floor right away. Citizen had been very busy in the weeks and months leading up to the break, working with the school and his mentor Miss Americana, on the project they'd all signed on for: the stealth mission to the Erde variant where an enslaved city of Tronik was a cybernetic captive of a collapsing Nazi regime. The shiny, glossy headquarters of the sometimes-troubled team looked busy and lived in as the team got there, and Sharl ushered everyone in with a tight look on his face. The various holo-emitters in the main conference room were all playing images as they arrived, familiar images to those who'd taken their other-dimension classes: massive Nazi super-tanks moving across the landscape of a battered United States, heavily-armed and armored German super-soldiers in combat with determined Resistance fighters, and a thousand other scenes of a world at war. Sharl waved his hand to silence all the machines, leaving only the grim images playing out behind him. Without preamble, he said, "We have to go. We have to go now." He coughed nervously, his image flickering, and added, "Over the holiday, Miss A and I made contact with Erde-Sharl and the leaders of the resistance movement in that universe's Tronik. Their Reich is running out of Ubersoldaten, so they're building an army of combat droids to take out the Resistance. Plague weapons, chemicals, anything designed to destroy organic life. And the worst part is, they're planning to use Tronikians as the software. A sentient program can do things even the best non-AI can't, especially when you destroy the sections that allow for emotion and personality." His jaw tightened. "They've already started. Miss A is in New York getting the last of the parts we'll need for a real gateway, but our departure time is tomorrow." Sharl strongly suspected she was watching, but his relationship with his mentor right now wasn't such that he could ask. "A...defector captured by the Liberty League last year gave us the plans for the base in what the locals used to call Missouri, and the other Tronik gave us the passcodes we'll need to get in without bringing all the Ubersoldaten down on us. The school's been cleared on it and we're all good to go...if you all are still in, that is," he added, a little belatedly. He was a little out of breath, but that was what happened when you still thought you needed to breathe: program or not. "Even though we're not going to get in trouble now that the school signed off on it, we are still putting ourselves in a lot of danger."
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The vaguely egg shaped skyscraper known as the Lab stood out even amongst the many research and testing facilities in Hanover as a beacon of progress. Named with typically efficient accuracy by its founders, the building represented the coming together of some of humanity's finest minds, working together to move the world toward a future free of the past's superstition and fear. The irony was largely lost on the chipper poltergeist known in an equally informative fashion as Ghost Girl as she floated through the large windows of the Lab's lobby as if they were empty air, pulling back the hood of her tattered reaper's cloak so that she could crane her neck and gape in wonder at the ultra-modern architecture. "Woooow..." the translucent blue teen murmured as she coasted about almost two meters off of the floor taking everything in. She'd missed a fair bit since her untimely death but it was moments like this that really made her feel like a time-traveler. Spotting the receptionist behind the desk, she sped forward with a sunny smile. "Oh, hi! I, um, have an appointment?"
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As the afternoon of October 31st gave way to evening, Ellie Espadas shoved one more secondhand textbook into a protesting messenger bag before slinging it over her shoulder and starting down the stairs of the classroom's tiered seating toward the exit. The premed student supposed she appreciated her professor's well meaning attempts to make the lecture festive but there was only so much one could do to make pathology significantly more ghoulish. "Well, that was especially disgusting," a less generous voice quipped from just behind her as a fellow student with long, chestnut hair bounded down the steps two at a time to catch up. Carly Westmas had come a long way from the nation's breadbasket to attend FCU, ending up in most of the same classes as Ellie in the first and second years of the medical program. Her frank and outspoken had recommended her to the Freedom City native, forming the basis of a friendship. "I want to know who looked at that toe and thought, 'Yes, I need to take a photo of that right now'." "I think it's more of a hazing thing," Ellie replied as the stepped out into the crowded hallway, full of students getting out of the last classes of the day. Various bat and pumpkin-shaped decorations had been plastered along the walls and a few orange and black streamers dangled from the railings of the second floor walkways. "Better to figure out your gross-out threshold now then when you're in the middle of treating someone?" Carly stuck out her tongue through a grimace. "I know you always say you've seen worse, but I don't think I'm jealous anymore." The tall, weedy brunette had understandably assumed her friend was referring to patients she'd seen volunteering at local hospitals but in this case it was hard to beat the zombies the young woman sometimes known as Jill O'Cure had fought on a previous Hallowe'en for sheer nausea inducing appearance. Spotting one of the many flyers taped haphazardly about the hallway, Carly snapped her fingers. "Ooh, you're coming to the party in McNider Hall, right? There's gonna be karaoke!" She turned the final word into a singsong crescendo to properly convey her excitement. "That's the plan," Ellie nodded with a small, bemused smile. She hadn't exactly been big on class parties, sanctioned or not, in high school but a lot of things had changed since then. If nothing else, she actually had a date this time. "Mara's meeting me here with our costumes." The way her eyebrows disappeared into her bangs communicated Carly's piqued interest. "Really? So... she actually exists? I had even odds that you'd just made her up to get losers to stop hitting on you." The skepticism was met with grumbling and reproachful mutters.
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May 21, 2012 Erik Espadas was a man who had faced everything from alien armadas to demons from the foulest pits, a living weapon honed to peerless sharpness by talent and training, a hero who risked his life routinely with no regard for risk or fear of failure. None of which helped in the least to prevent him pacing back and forth across the living room of his family home, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders set with stress as obvious as the fretting expression plastered across his face. More than half a year of mental and emotional preparation had evaporated the first time Willow had experienced a 'fake' contraction earlier in the week. Now, as the rest of the house filled with family and friends preparing, the knowledge that he was about to become a father had become somehow more real. Running a hand across his heavily stubbled jawline, the fencer redoubled the speed of his pacing. "Try not to wear a rut into the floor too deep for my chair to get over," a wry, matronly voice requested as Gina Espadas wheeled out of the adjacent bedroom and over to her son. Still inside, his thankfully medically trained sister saw to the heavily pregnant dryad in what, surprisingly enough, was not her first experience with midwifery. Although Ellie had made the case for handling the whole affair in a regular hospital, Willow's fairly obviously more-than-human nature presented a problematic risk to their collective secret identities. Compromising, she'd asked her girlfriend to clear a section of the Lab's extensively equipped medical floor, intending to use Mara's teleportation technology to whisk the soon-to-be mother there once they were sure she was about to go into labour. In the meantime, the West End home had accumulated the eclectic assortment of characters collectively known as the Interceptors, including the artificial intelligence colloquially known as Vince running on a borrowed laptop and the quietly precocious six-year-old girl Ellie and Mara had brought back along with more than three hundred refugees of a recently destroyed alternate reality. Orphaned by the creatures who had devastated her version of Earth, Yolanda had been staying with Gina and Ellie since a few strings had been pulled to have the former expediently declared her legal guardian. While Vince had elected to have his monitor left in the kitchen area with a joke about staying out of the way, Yolanda had taken up a cross-legged vigil in one corner of the bedroom, silently watching the proceedings with wide eyes. Erik gathered that this wasn't even the first time the little girl had been present for a birth and considerably better circumstances. He found himself envying her composure.
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April 26th, 2012 9:37 PM Down on the beaches, the crowds were pouring out. The people who wanted to celebrate the weekend one day early, the desperate, the young lovers. Given all things, Nick Cimitiere would rather be there - and he couldn't rule out that his business might take him there. But there were more pressing matters to attend to. The necromancer stalked through the back alleys of businesses and townhouses that served as connective tissue between the Boardwalk and Southside. Over the past few nights, there'd been a number of... "sightings" might be the best word. "Visions" if you believed, or "hallucinations" if you were a cynic. The witnesses, many of whom had had more than a few drinks, had described glowing, ephemeral beings moving through the neighborhood, either flying overhead or tearing through at great speed. One person, especially poetic under the influence, had described them as "more real than real." Nick might have written it off as fancy... if not for Angela Zilani. A local medium of some repute, Zilani had been found dead in her apartment, seemingly burnt to death. The funny part was, nothing else had caught fire. She'd been the only target of something using a very controlled burn. It was safe to say that if these beings were responsible, they really didn't have the best of intentions. It might have been folly to search all of the Boardwalk alone, looking for the first sign of phantom activity. Fortunately, Nick wasn't doing it alone. He pulled out a slate with three glyphs on it - representing his partners in the endeavor - and ran his fingers over the simple trinket, opening a line of communication. "Things are dead out here. And not in the exciting way. Anything on your end?"
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Large Hill, Wharton State Forest, A Few Miles Outside Freedom City March 2, 2012, Early Afternoon Corbin stood at the foot of the hill, currently wearing a rather rugged hiking outfit, hauling around a decent-sized backpack that had a few snacks and a lot of drawing materials. One might think he was out simply to try and capture the beauty of the wilderness; the fact that he had several topographical maps, geological surveys, and other such materials stuffed in the bag would bear witness to a more solemn purpose. Currently, the bag was sitting on the ground, and he was standing there, concentrating on sketching out the hill's outline, occasionally adding some numbers to various points on it. He took a break to sip some water, wolf down a granola bar, and glance at his watch, raising an eyebrow. 'I know it's out of the way, but I figure Trevor would have been here 35 minutes before me, or at least before the meeting time. Hard to say with Nick, don't know him as well.' He just hoped they didn't take too long. He had a date with Quo-Dis planned tonight, and while this planning would be important, he didn't want to spend the whole rest of the day on it.
