Search the Community

As day gave way to night a light rain began to fall, a gentle drizzle that filtered its way down through the canopy of a tall oak to its lower branches. There sat a copper skinned woman with a wild mane of long flowing white hair and a long shapely leg dangling below the bough. Her eyes were closed and her head was tilted back; a faint smile on her face that would gave the impression that she was enjoying herself in spite of the rain. Willow was humming quietly to herself, an old tune she had heard numerous times in her life. The words always changed with the passing of centuries, but the melody always remained the same. The gentle reminder that all things change, but nothing is truly lost giving her some measure of comfort

In the night sky above Freedom City’s West End, a swift figure in royal blue leapt gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, racing through shadows only to reappear suddenly in the space over alleyways, flipping and tumbling like an acrobat. The swashbuckling swordsman known as Jack of all Blades knew every brick and stone of his neighbourhood so completely that he barely had to look where he was going. And that’s why nobody in their right mind causes trouble on my turf. Which made it all the more surprising when, at the apex of a gratuitously showy aerial tumble, the air seemed to rend itself before him, opening into a wormhole rift through which the flailing vigilante fell! "Gah! I swear if I end up in some Medieval Times knock off one more time..." Jack grated as he fell through warped space uncontrollably, only to suddenly be ejected back out into the night. Now, however, the city around him was well lit my neon light as he reflexively shot off his grappling line and swung down to the street. Looking about, he found that the buildings around him had sprung up into monstrosities several times the size they’d been moments ago. There was no mistaking that it was still the West End; he still recognised a handful on landmarks that had been incorporated into the unchecked urban sprawl, which seemed old enough now to look dingy and in disrepair. "Kansas, Toto, so on and so forth," Jack muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. As the hero attempted to get his bearings, high pitched cackling drew his attention. Out of the alley, a quintet of youths in gaudy, shredded clothes emerged, displaying a menacing mix of oversized cybernetic enhancements and predatory animalistic qualities. "Looks like somebody got lost on the way to the costume party," the group’s jackal faced leader snickered, brandishing foot long metal claws as his gang surrounded their quarry. "Looks like you got lost on your way to the hospital, twip," a bold voice called from above a moment before a young black man in a leather jacket swung down to deliver a haymaker punch to the gang leader’s face, sending him reeling. "How ‘bout I draw you a map?" the new arrival grinned, gleaming white smile contrasting with the spade shaped tattoo over his left eye. "It’s a Fifty-Two!" a thug with mechanical wings cried, attempting to lift off into the air a moment before a willowy girl with shock white hair slipped from a darkened corner and laid him out with a flurry of blows from her metallic bo staff. What first appeared to be red tear drops inscribed under her right eye were, on closer inspection, a trio of diamonds arranged in a horizontal line. A motorcycle -like vehicle that floated well off of the ground roared onto the scene, it’s smirking driver bringing it to a sharp halt in front of the remaining cyborgs. "Ain’t you ever heard of a pocket pair?" he quipped with a distinct twang, patting a stylised set of hearts painted on the side of his ride while the amazonian blonde riding behind him trained an arrow notched in her composite bow on the suddenly outnumbered aggressors. Pulling the bowstring back with muscular ease revealed a club shaped cut-out in her top, made somewhat less alluring by the grim set of her tanned lips. Sensing that they were well and truly outmatched the remaining would-be muggers gathered up their downed friends and beat a hasty retreat back down the alley. A bemused Jack was left to regard his new-found saviours with an arched brow. "Pretty slick moves, there. Thanks." "Heh, no sweat," the jacketed youth assured the swordsman, crossing his arms with a confident smirk. "S’like the old man always says: nobody in their right mind causes trouble on the Fifty-Twos’ turf." "The police may be too afraid to venture here," the brooding archer intoned with more than a little heated anger, "but the West Quarter is not without defenders." "Or good taste," her red haired companion chimed in. "I mean, lordy, splicin’ and ‘borgin’? 2040 called, they want their feeb back!" The joke drew an amused giggle from the otherwise silent martial artist who had hopped up to balance impossibly in a crouch on the top of her staff. "...right." Before the conversation could continue, another rippling portal opened up in the middle of the empty street. "Whoa, think that’s my ride, folks," the swordsman observed, calling over his shoulder as he ran toward the rift and jumped in. "Keep up the good work!"

Ellie Espadas paced nervously back and forth in the foyer of her family's modest home, tugging absently at the bottom of her vintage vest as she made a conscious effort not to look at the clock hanging nearby. Failing miserably, she noted with some irritation that the hands hadn't moved perceptibly from the position they'd been at when she'd checked moments earlier. "You're going to dig a rut in the linoleum, hermaita," her brother noted dryly as he stepped downstairs. Erik Espadas had donned one of his nicer dress shirts at his sibling's insistence, though he'd left the collar unbuttoned. Perhaps more telling, however, was that he'd taken time to shave without being asked. Stopping in her tracks, Ellie turned to give him a baleful look before sighing. "I just want this to go well, okay?" she told him with an emphatic gesture that gave way to running her fingers through her hair. "It's important." "Worried we'll embarrass you, dear?" Gina Espadas asked her daughter, raising an eyebrow as she wheeled herself out of the first floor bedroom, tilting her head slightly to one side with a faint, amused smile. "Yes, exactly!" the youngest member of the family answered immediately, throwing her hands up in the air.

April 5th, 2011, 6:26pm Mara sat on the floor of her warehouse, back against the wall that held her monitors; usually this position would have gotten a lot of concerned curiosity out of Puppy, but she'd long since turned him off to silence his whirring and beeping. Normally innocuous noise had been pretty painful when she'd woken up this morning, and her head had only gotten worse since then - at the moment she had both hands on her skull like she was trying to keep it from exploding, grimacing at every car that drove by, every loud and unidentifiable noise from the warehouse district beyond the walls that, thankfully, blocked most of the light. The small bottle of extra-strength migraine medicine on a nearby bench got an accusing, hurt glare for failing to be even remotely effective. bad day - been a long time - months? - call her - don't want to bother her - call her - leads to questions - trust her - call her Very, very carefully avoiding the few shafts of light that shone through the windows near her roof, Dragonfly made her way to one of the benches, shifted aside some miscellaneous junk (hissing at the noise a piece of metal made when it fell off and hit concrete), and did something truly rare: physically dialed a number.

Late afternoon in Greenbank saw a crimson and black blur darting from warehouse rooftop to rooftop, acrobatically picking its way across the city. The days had just started to get perceptibly longer again, enough to light the way, but it wouldn't have done for Ellie Espadas to be spotted walking about the admittedly sketchy area, so it was the masked medic Jill O'Cure who finally arrived at the side of one warehouse in particular, messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Making certain there was no one else about, she rapped quickly on the door, humming absently through a small smile and brushing her unruly bangs out of her eyes.

After long years of negotiations, UtiliTek, a proud subsidiary of the Grant Conglomerates, had been granted permission to bring Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the legendary Grasscutter, from Japan to the United States for analysis in their Freedom City-based facilities. Part of the Imperial Regalia, the longsword had surfaced a handful of times in more recent history as the focus of various supervillainous plans and at least once as the instrument by which a particularly close near-apocalypse had been averted. It's impossibly shard edge had garnered it a reputation as perhaps the finest example of its kind ever forged, and piqued the interest of a variety of groups. UtiliTek hoped to discover the process through which simple steel could be made cut diamond, to be applied in any number of industrial capacities. The Japanese government had not surprisingly been reluctant to agree to the loan, and Grasscutter's arrival in Freedom was nothing short of the publicity coup for the company. As such, before the test were conducted, the blade was being put on display to the general public for one weekend along with an extensive collection of other cultural artifacts on the ground floor of the UtiliTek head office in Hanover. Amid the crowds of viewers was Erik Espadas, a young man from the city's West End with a particular interest in all things related to swords and their use. Wearing a wool lined brown jacket against the February cold and with a knapsack slung over one shoulder, the fencer studied Grasscutter from the other side of red velvet ropes and a glass case. Hm. Doesn't feel magic... at least, I don't think so, he mused to himself, extended his metamagi senses outward with a faint frown. I should really practice this stuff more.

The cold weather and grey skies in Greenbank that late afternoon lent themselves to trudging slowly, hands in pockets, staring at feet. If one had cared to look upward, however, one might have caught a glimpse of a figure in crimson, black and silver leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The old railroad neighbourhood wasn't far out of the way of the West End's protectors, but even so it was unusual to see Jill O'Cure on patrol without her older brother. The young woman certainly seemed to be moving with a purpose, pausing only briefly at intersections to peer down at street signs below. Eventually, she made her way to an unremarkable looking warehouse with a sturdy curved roof. Sliding down a drain pipe into an alleyway, she quickly crossed the street and looked about, vaguely disconcerted. Well, this is the place. Unless I got the address wrong... With a deep breath, she located the buzzer by the front door and pressed it, looking over her shoulder with feigned nonchalance as she waited.

February 1, 2011 Earth-Prime This is exactly where Young Freedom belongs. It's been raining for days now, what was once drizzles transforming into thick, heavy drops that come as part of a torrential downpour, turning what should have been a lovely flowering of spring into a cold, sopping wet bog. Exposed grass is wet and the earth beneath it muddy, and the city's levees have been shored up along the Wading River. All that wouldn't be so bad, except that's not just happening here. What was a joke for meteorologists last week has become all too serious today: it's raining everywhere. All through New Jersey, all through New York; across the East Coast and across America. The entire continental United States is under the biggest storm system anyone's ever seen, maybe ever heard of, and the rain is getting worse. The natural assumption, of course, is that culprit is the villainous Dr. Stratos, the wicked weather manipulator. The League is off dealing with that, leaving the city in the hands of its teen heroes. Edge stood by the levee, watching with worry as the river level slowly rose. He was doing all he could to keep the water level down, standing on the dam and draining away the water as it came in, a thousand improbable accidents sending the water cascading downriver and into the Atlantic, but he wasn't powerful enough to stop a storm this big: maybe no one was. Trusting that the rest of Young Freedom was busy, either helping with the sandbags or assisting the engineers reinforcing the seawall in other ways, Mark looked up to see the familiar shape of the Pegasus spaceplane dipping low through the storm, heading for nearby Freedom Hall. _Thank goodness!_ Edge thought. _The League is here!_ That was when a tremendous lightning bolt came ripping out of the storm, heralding a massive tornado that came roaring down after it, and before Edge could do anything, bolt and tornado both struck the plane, shattering it to a thousand pieces in a jagged-edged explosion that tore open a violent hole in the sky. As the engineers and volunteers around him started to panic, Edge threw up barriers in the sky, falling debris vanishing in circles of mist as the Pegasus came tumbling down, shouting to his teammates for help... --- February 1, 2011 Earth-No Designation (aka, 'Earth-Paragons') "Oh my freaking God!" As the League's plane broke into pieces and vanished, leaving behind a shimmering purple void that had to be provenance of paragon powers, Edge shouted in surprise as pieces of the falling plane began tumbling to earth all around him: he pushed his powers to the utmost to deflect them, sending showers of debris falling away from him, away from the hard-working engineers and volunteers below. It had been an awful few days as unprecedented weather disasters swept the nation, as rumors of terrible paragon powers unleashed began to terrify a frightened populace; he'd seen reports of lynchings in Texas and Arkansas, and televangelists speaking grimly of the End Times. It wasn't the end for Mark, but despite his best efforts, people around him were dying, even as the scream of the waterspout in the river filled his ears. It was all over in a few terrible seconds, and though he'd saved many people, he was surrounded by disaster! Whipping out his cellphone to call up the linked phones of his teammates, Mark yelled, "Listen, you guys! I need help in City Center right now!" Claremont's young paragons had been divided up through the city to help deal with the rising water, the better to promote their individual Q-ratings while each of them combatted the threatening disaster that was so baffling to both the Freedom League and the Vanguard alike, indeed, to all the scientists and supers working for the government. "The Pegasus just blew up!"

January 13th, 2011; 6:23pm The Lab arched up into the winter sky, its egg-like shape playing tricks on the eyes of anyone who stood at the base and looked up. Thirty stories of the best science and engineering this side of ArcheTech, even just after normal business hours it still had its share of people coming and going for one reason or another - workers, visitors, scientists, hopefuls. Up in her office, Dragonfly frowned in front of a whiteboard. Her rooms may have been equipped with the finest simulation and design technology money could buy - and she ought to know, she'd contributed her fair share of that money, not to mention personally installed most of the electronics in the room - but few things could beat a good, old-fashioned whiteboard and some dry-erase markers. Some thoughts needed to be physically written down, and while erasing paper was a pain, chalk boards got too messy.

Trevor Hunter paced back and forth is hurried stops and spurts, tugging forcefully at the collar of a dress shirt that didn’t fit very well. Despite having access to custom tailored clothes, the wealthy fifteen year old was all too aware that his tall, gangly frame made it difficult to craft garments he was truly comfortable in. His growth spurt over the last few year or so had put him the better part of a foot above most of his classmates, but with his width lagging behind, the dark haired teen gave the impression of being made largely of elbows. It wasn’t the clothes that had Trevor upset, even as he threw his tie to the floor of his grandfather’s estate on the outskirts of Freedom City. His grandfather, who had once been the hero known as Midnight, the shadowy mystery man armed with a pistol full of obscuring mist of his own chemical design. His grandfather, who, until minutes ago, had been the only person who knew the effect his prolonged exposure to the gas had ultimately had on his grandson. An effect made evident by the twin wisps of inky vapour rising from the corners of the boy’s eyes where tears should have been welling up. Rubbing futilely at his face with the back of one sleeve, Trevor made a low, inarticulate sound in the back of his throat. The normally reserved youth had no way of knowing if this particular change had been part of his mutation all along of if it was an example of yet further changes to his body. The mist didn’t sting his eyes, but it did block his vision, forcing him to jerk back and forth to avoid the cloud trailing from them, even as he felt a dull, childish shame for the show of weakness. â€Not even human...†he coughed out darkly, a voice recently descended into a rich baritone made thready and uneven by his fitful breathing. â€Freak,†he spat, a guttural syllable filled with bitter disgust. That was what she’d called him, and as taken aback as he’d been, Trevor was hard pressed to argue the point. â€Broken thing.†That assessment was all his own, as the same frustration he felt when a mechanism he was tinkering with just wouldn’t work crashed angrily back and forth against his naturally stoic demeanour. He felt so foolish for telling her, for trusting her, even as he despaired at losing his best friend and scorned his own naivety in turn. He knew he was smart, at least; he should have known better. Should have... With a grimace that pulled his thing, pale lips back from bared teeth, the teen punched the nearest wall, clattering the portraits hanging on it and bruising his knuckles. Ignoring the pain, he stood still for a beat, then another, as the cloud of mist wrapped around him and his breathing slowed to a steadier rhythm. Slowly, he backed up against the wall he’d struck and slid down to the floor, wrapping his lean arms around his knees. There was a soft, shuddering intake of breath from the little ball of light consuming darkness, then even more quietly a voice. â€...why, Maeg?†After that, the long, darkened hallway was silent for a very long time.

December 23, 2010 It's a cold and dreary day in late December, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere where most people live. It's no better in Freedom City, where a heavy snowfall last night has transformed into dirty ice and slush by the unaesthetic mechanics of life in a major urban area. It's a good day to be inside with a strong cup of hot cocoa or eggnog, letting ceremonial libations shake away the incipient holiday blues. Luckily this is generally a quiet time for superheroes: most supercriminals are people too, and even the ones without Christmas cheer have been socked away at home thanks to the lousy weather. You need a good reason to be out tonight, whether it's carrying out the duties of a government agent's patrol, hunting for last-minute Christmas presents, or else dealing with problems that have nothing to do with the season. - "Growing tired of these lies," said Avenger, leering malevolently down at the snitch he'd cornered in the Fens back alley. There were new heroes active in the Fens, he knew, but these were _his_ streets, and he was possessive enough, and secretive enough, that he preferred to keep his own council even when dealing with notorious criminals. "Christmas will be difficult in prison. Worse in prison hospital." He grabbed the frightened man by the collar and jacked him up against the wall with one hand, a murderous look in his eyes. "Where's the shipment?" "Oh God, don't hurt me, please!" Mondale Tommahan whimpered, still wearing the shattered sunglasses that Avenger had broken on his face and then neatly put back there after dragging him away for interrogation. He'd heard all about the notorious vigilante, about his brutality and uncompromising violence, and watching him tear through his friends in the Irish mob in their favorite bar that evening had certainly put the fear of Avenger into him. "Look, the X-Ray stuff was just a joke, man? What kind of scuzzball would take naked pictures of Lady Liberty-" "A SCUZZBALL LIKE YOU!" Damn, Jack loved the look in their eye when he _yelled_. "Already know you inside. Time to show you!" He went for the machete on the wall, the one that usually had them wetting themselves before his hands were on the blade, but his nighttime exertions were suddenly interrupted as a brilliant white light shone on the wall in a pattern of brilliant hexagons!

Autumn brought cooler weather and shorter nights, but the darkness and the late hour wasn't too much of a bother. The garage at the Claremont Academy was well-lit, and the two people who occupied it didn't need a lot of sleep. Erin sat on the floor of the garage and passed tools to Trevor, who was hip-deep underneath the chassis of her blue truck, tinkering with the fuel injector manifold. Erin's mechanical skill was still that of a knowledgeable amateur, but it was nice to sit in the peace and quiet of the garage with him, and interesting to watch him work. They didn't get a lot of peaceful and quiet time together. "So, how fast is this gonna go when you're done with it?" she asked.

Erik Espadas tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his dress shirt as his sister helped their mother wheel herself off of the bus and onto the sidewalk. "Is this really necessary?" he grumbled as the trio started off toward St. Stephens. "What, running around in tights makes you too good to go to church with your mother?" Gina Espadas countered from her wheelchair. A dark haired woman in her mid forties, she's made a point of maintaining her athletic build regardless of early retirement. Though her features weren't quite so angular as those of her two children, it was clear where they had inherited their mannerisms. Her son winced. "Jeez, Mamá, trying to keep somebody out of the loop on that, y'know?" The young swordsman was still adjusting to the new situation with his family and secret identity as Jack of all Blades. "Nobody's around to hear," Ellie countered, stifling a yawn and absently smoothing a crease in her black pants. "Everyone else is asleep at this hour." With her hair cut shorter and dyed dark, the resemblance to her mother was considerably more pronounced. "You'll live, dear," Gina opined wryly, easily rolling herself up the church's ramp. "Late nights," Erik stated, holding the broad door open for the ladies. "One more reason to rethink this 'sidekick' thing, hermanita." Ellie responded with a snort as the family entered the building. "That's 'partner', hotshot."

Earth-Prime The swashbuckling hero known as Jack of all Blades vaulted over the brick outcropping encircling the top of the decrepit building he was sprinting across, his royal blue greatcoat flaring open as he leaped through the gap to the next rooftop. The buildings in this part of town weren't tall enough for him to grapple between, but he found himself relishing the opportunity to return to his neglected parkour skills. Jack was following up on a series of increasingly frequent thefts from electronics stores in the West End and the surrounding city. Vince's digging had turned up a likely suspect, but the recently fired Professor Manning, despite allegations of instability from his previous employers, had an airtight alibi for each crime. A little too airtight, Jack mused as he paused briefly to perch like a gargoyle atop a streetlamp and observe the area. As good as Vince is, a little legwork was definitely the order of the day.

It was a solemn affair that was filling up Freedom Hall today, filled with the sort of mixed crowd that only a Freedom City gathering would engender. And this gathering was unusual even for Freedom City. There were a few Golden Agers left but those that were able to, were in attendance. Ace Danger, the newly redeemed Bombshell among others. Then there were also the heroes whose legacies stretched back to the era of the war who were here with relatives or on the behalf of relatives. Today, they celebrated the life time achievement on one of the Golden Age heroes on his hundredth birthday, the charming Spaniard El Fuego also known as Don Leon Montoya de Castille. Now, long since retired and with great grand children. Still the super-science that gave him his amazing abilities had helped preserve his body so he looked a remarkably fit seventy or so. Bombshell, aka Natalya Browning, like many of the veterans was in her dress uniform rather than black tie or costume. She wore the navy blues under a silver sash that stretched from her right shoulder down to her left hip, with several medals adorning the breast of the uniform. It wasn't about showing off. Actually, for the few who were able to read the blonde's body language under her careful facade, she was slightly uncomfortable in the outfit at this point in her life. However, showing up in anything less would have been disrespectful to a man she'd fought alongside so many years ago. The ceremony wasn't overly long and was much more informal than the appearance would suggest, with the old guard that remained going up to volunteer anecdotes and stories. In short order, the speeches were wrapped up and there was simply mingling and some dancing. The music, of course, was to the taste of the guest of honor, as after all - it was the celebration of his life.

Natalya Browning, better known as the incomparable Bombshell, was still wondering how her erstwhile lover managed to talk her into things as she swung out across the city to the late-night meeting. She was still bemused by being on the side of the angels again as the Scarab put it, let alone going and talking to some newer heroes about 'mutual problems'. However, she'd agreed and so, here she was, swinging through the West End and looking for some address. It wasn't, of course, the actual head quarters, just a neutral meeting ground spot. Fortunately, she had a rather large amount of practice for finding buildings while no where near the street, so after a short search, Bombshell released the swing-line to flip through the air and perch on the edge of the roof. She stood up out of her crouch and stretched, stepping down onto the roof top proper.

After the near disastrous encounter with Darkstar and Stesha Jack moved through the void for a short time to figure out where to look next. First thing he had to find out was exactly when it was. Luckily he had a good disguise that few to none would question shaking down informants for the 'word on the street'. Thus he stepped out of the void on the roof of a small apartment complex on the Westside of freedom looking for a likely target. His earlier encounter and relative inexperience with field work left him not putting his all into hiding but he cut an imposing figure where he lurked on the roof.

The Liberty Dome was packed full of 80,000 hooting, hollering hockey fans, all eager to see the Freedom City Blades take on the New Jersey Devils in the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The shivering cold required of the frozen-over floor did nothing to dampen the spirits; there was too much at stake. Like most match-ups between teams representing the same geographical area, this David-vs-Goliath promised to be a grudge match of epic proportions. The Blades were an up-and-coming team of scrappy underdogs who'd managed to claw their way to the top in their first year as part of the NHL, and now they were butting heads against the veterans from their own backyard. Elena Guerrero had reserved a private luxury box, and now she sat inside with her old (older than anyone realized) friend, Rhodes Foundation C.E.O. Sofia Cruz, her husband Bob, and their three children, Alejandro, Emilia, and Esteban. Elena lounged in her seat, almost making it look like a monarch's throne, sipping her lattè and smiling as the children munched on their caramel corn and cheered the Blades on. "What do we say to Aunt Lena for getting us these great seats, mijos?" Bob admonished the kids. They turned to Elena and replied in a chorus "THAAANK YOU," then turned once more to the action down below. Sofia punched Elena playfully on the shoulder, "thinking out loud." So, tell me about this new ladyfriend of yours! Elena cleared her throat nervously. She's...more of an old friend, actually. We've sort of picked up where we left off. It's complicated. Sofia raised an eyebrow. That kind of "complicated?" Elena nodded, a stern look in her eyes. Sofia shook her head and sighed. Well, I hope you know what you're doing. And she must be a special lady if Elena Guerrero was willing to step down off the soapbox and drop $4,000 on a designer outfit just to impress her. Elena and Sofia both laughed. Bob glanced at them quizzically. "You two having another one of your 'telepathic conversations' over there?" Elena and Sofia turned to each other. If he only knew...

Several of Freedom City's heroic types received a large invitation slid under their door around the middle of June; the cards appeared to be handmade either by someone in their late teens or perhaps merely addicted to clip art, glitter and caffeinated soft drinks. Some people did not get hard copies at all, due to Lynn's unfamiliarity with their current living arrangements, but she still made sure the word got around.

It took some doing, but if there was a student unaware of the end of the year party at the new AEON building, it wasn't for lack of trying. Now, while some students had... concerns over Alex being the entire decorating committee, when they arrived at the large ballroom near the top of the luxury building, those doubters were pleasantly surprised. The entire room was decked out in creams and dark blues, gold serving as the accent. It was both a nod to the school colors and an elegant color scheme for the high quality linens. There was a dance floor, of course, and a dj set up in the corner along with a small stage. In another corner, a photographer was set up to do professional photos. It was staffed with AEON personnell who had been gently coached to look the other way at any sudden displays of power. Alex had been over seeing the set up for much of the day, but she did vanish to her office to change and reappear shortly before the doors were scheduled to open. As tasteful as the ballroom was, it was no surprise that Alex was a bright spot of color in a dress that started in a butter yellow color at the neckline and slowly deepened to a deep red at the fluttering hem around her ankles. She was standing in the center of the dancefloor, looking up at the net of balloons attached to the vaulted ceiling, making certain that it wouldn't drop away early.

Date: June 2010 A few days before Avenger returned to the Interceptors' brownstone, the telephone rang at the Espadas apartment during one of those times Erik was there. Ellie picked it up and after a short, "Yes, he's here. May I say who's calling please?" exchange, handed the phone to her brother with an eyeroll. "For you." The voice on the other end was warm, friendly, and very familiar. "Hey, Erik. It's Jack. Taylor and I wanted to meet with you and make sure we had the ground rules in place for the game over the weekend. Are you busy now, or should we get together another time?"

There was a little bit of a ruckus going on in a small corner of the West End. AEON, the company that Alex had founded, made a living off of buying failing companies and turning them back around. When you looked at the big picture, it kept the economy in the city and re-infused small business with the sudden influx of cash they needed to stay afloat. Sometimes, however, people took exception to the idea of a big cooperation buying out the 'little guy'. They were even less predisposed to like it when the whispers of 'freak Terminus baby' started up. Alex had gone out to take a look at one of the small business that the company was considering making an offering for. A few angry words and suddenly Alex found herself surrounded with the start of a small mob. It would have been child's play for her to take over their thoughts and direct them safely elsewhere but it wouldn't have done a great deal to convince them that she wasn't a threat once they realized they'd been emotionally manipulated. So instead she was sitting patiently inside the slightly sparkly construct of a force bubble, watching it be pelted with produce. Calling for help was out of the question as her friends would just be angry. Alex wasn't angry. Just sad as she watched a head of lettuce spatter harmlessly against the outside of the force bubble and wondered how long it would take for them to wind down.

Date: June 2010 Deep under the streets of Freedom City's West End, the swashbuckling hero known as Jack of all Blades finished stretching in the Underground's training room and began bouncing lightly up and down on the balls of his feet, eager to get his first lesson started. Rather than his traditional greatcoat and bandanna mask, the tanned young man wore loose-fitting workout clothes: black shorts and a white tank top that revealed layer of lithe muscle marred by the occasional faint scar. He'd told the rest of the team to show up similarly attired, but hadn't revealed anything else about his lesson plan. Looking up, the fencer nodded to Colt where the cowboy sat in the room's control center, visible through a large translucent panel in the far wall, then turned to look at a digital readout of the time as he wrapped his hands with a roll of tape.

Stepping smoothly out of the Pitchoo and onto the Claremont campus, Trevor was struck both by the genius of the airship's design and the absurdity of its aesthetics. At some point he was going to have to get Chris to introduce him to the craft's engineer, but for the time being, the brightly clad teenager seemed to be in a singular hurry, taking off again as soon as his passengers had disembarked. As the speck of green disappeared into the distance, Trevor regarded Eve out of the corner of his eye. --I believe we had a deal,-- he mentally sent to the telepath, the texture of his thoughts mild but steady.

Chris had gone to the fledgling HQ he and Liz were constructing, just to make sure she was OK. But now it was evening, there were things he wanted to find out. Landing the Pitchoo in the Claremont grounds, he wandered out in his jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with the Raven logo. He headed towards Duncan Summers' office, hoping that he was in. This is... going to be an odd conversation. But I need to get some questions answered, or I'll be kicking myself. Cautiously, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Sir, are you in there?"