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Edges of Grue Unity Space Lor Timemark 1312.4 "Perimeter Vessel Theta-Theta-Gamma reporting all quiet," the Grue Metamorph named Dul'ce sighed, repeating the same message he'd been sending back to command twice a cycle for the entire duration of his posting. Cycle after cycle of staring at a field of stars, empty apart from a patch of asteroids or the occasional comet, lightyears away from anything to conquer or infiltrate or even just observe, just the arbitrary border of Unity controlled space past which there was simply nothing worth claiming. It was busy work of the highest order, that was the worst of it, Dul'ce reflected as he melted back in his chair, dejectedly allowing his form to become slightly liquid. The Meta-Mind could have easily focused on his thoughts, just like any of the Grue, if it truly wished to know what was happening on the frontier. The twice-cycle reports proved that it was simple bureaucracy, a tick in a ledger that no Grue would ever bother reviewing once it was logged. "Pull yourself together, Navigator!" a sharp voice barked, causing Dul'ce's outer layer to go spiky in surprise. The only other Metamorph on the vessel and his commanding officer strode onto the bridge, flanked by a pair of drones. Faa'et had taken to making his form a little taller and broader at the shoulder since his promotion and Dul'ce might have sworn his chin was even a little more square, though he couldn't imagine for whom Faa'et was making the effort. "I don't tolerate loose shifting on the Double-Theta Gee!" Dul'ce hid another sigh. The Unity didn't bother naming its vessels like lesser species and for good reason. Faa'et's attempts to give the scout ship a nickname were ridiculous, though the navigator never would have said so aloud. Just thinking that was about the captain would have been bad enough if Faa'et had ever bothered to read anyone's thoughts apart from his own. "Apologies, Captain. I was just finishi-- eh?" On the console in front of him a green dot blinked on, floating through nearby space before changing direction and heading toward them.
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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."
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GM November 11, Monday, 4.50PM the city of Algeciras, Cadiz province, Spain Algeciras is easily one of the world's busiest ports. Connecting the shipping of Africa, the Americas and Europe meant the city was a hive of activity, and the three newcomers from America had seen plenty of evidence of that just from the plane. Down on the streets that feeling was compounded. The air rang with voices from a dozen nations, the roads hummed with traffic racing across the metropolis, and along with the sharp smell of the sea were the deep scents of petrol, metal and lots and lots of cheerfully sweaty people strolling, jogging, running and generally moving on the long trek of their lives. The coffee house Corbin's contact, an archaeologist with an at least cursory knowledge of the arcane world, had asked to meet them in was hardly a respite. It buzzed with the chatter of its patrons, the strong, thick coffees made every breath aromatic and the intricate carvings that passed over every corner of the ceiling, the myriad of pictures and beautiful sea view from the windows ensuring that if you bored of the people, the place could still entertain. It had been only around ten minutes since Tia Rojas had been late, and the minutes flew by regardless of what she was here to tell them. Cobalt Templar was always on the search for the rest of the Seven Rings of antiquity, in part to make sure they found worthy bearers in the present, and that nobody would abuse their power. Tia had heard rumors that something uncannily like the Indigo Ring had just appeared in Spain, somewhere in southern Iberia. Its wielder was impossible to make out, a patch of inky darkness that vanished into the night it never dared leave, leaving behind people stricken with lost memories only able to recall a flash of purple light. Thus, the presence of his former team mates Indira Singh(Wraith, of the shapeshifting metal species Kinigosi), and Kimber Storm(Ghost Girl, world's happiest poltergeist). Whatever this new bearer was about, it was hard to look at favorably.
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It was a brand-new day in every conceivable use of the word. The sun had risen barely an hour earlier, but Tona Baudin had worked hard the other day, saving her entire homeplanet, and so she had celebrated by sleeping in for a time. Of course, there was even more work to do this morning, and a lot of special people to visit. One person in particular had been her priority. Tona walked through the front door of the infirmary carrying a large mixing bowl, covered with a dish towel, lovely smells drifting out from under it as the girl's movements caused it to flutter in the breezes. She hummed a light, tuneless song to herself as she checked the various beds, until she found the one containing a slim redhead still curled in sleep. Tona set the bowl down on the nightstand next to the bed and crouched down so that her head was level with Sam's. She watched her girlfriend slumber, marveling at the look of peace on her face. Just yesterday this (beautiful, brave, clever) girl had teleported a few thousand people many miles out of danger, and it had cost her mightily. But looking at her now, Tona couldn't imagine that there was anything wrong with her, anything wrong with the entire world. She reached out and brushed Sam's hair back, resting her hand on the other woman's cheek. "Bonjour," she said softly, not wanting to disturb the rest of the patients in the infirmary. "Time to wake up, mon amour."
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July 14, 2014 "I'm just saying it's hard to believe the initials were an accident," the figure perched atop the three-storey apartment complex insisted. Keeping to shadows deep enough to conceal his high collared, royal blue great coat and matching bandanna mask, the West End vigilante known as Jack of all Blades spoke in a low voice as he peered down at the community center across the street, noting the comings and goings through the back door. "Hey, don't look at me, fearless leader," the smoothly cheerful baritone in his ear protested. "When it comes to acronyms, well! Those who live on glass hard drives, et cetera, et cetera!" VINCE, the Interceptor's artificial intelligence and dispatcher usually preferred to appear with his avatar when communicating with the team but for covert surveillance and earpiece beat commandeering an ATM monitor. Grunting noncommittally, Jack noticed and ultimately ignored a trio of youths starting up a pickup game of basketball on the center's court. The Vibrant Community Reclamation project had been the driving influence behind a number of similar centers throughout the city, focusing on the West End and Lincoln while making inroads into the Fens, repurposing unused buildings in what were diplomatically referred to as 'at risk neighbourhoods'. If the organization spent just as much time holding banquets and press events to pat its well heeled contributors on the back, well, the plus column still came out ahead. At least in theory. Jack had learned the hard way that looking a gift horse in the mouth was actually a pretty good habit to get into and the increased drug trafficking he and his team had been encountering in the area since the center opened had started to make the hairs on the back of his neck itch. VINCE had explained something about correlation and causation that the swashbuckling swordsman hadn't entirely followed but had agreed that the rising crime bore looking into. Without much more than a hunch to go on, he'd decided to stake out the center itself to see if a lead presented itself.
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11:01 PM August 8th Riverside was a nicer part of downtown. That didn't mean much. Not to Wayward. Especially when she had dealt with a mugging with a guy who had been a wee bit too strong for his size, and seemed preternaturally agitated. He was high on something, and after a bit of a shakedown she was able to score back to a panel van in an alley. While not the most glamorous, or exotic of locations, it was a fairly smart ploy. As hiding almost in plain site, in a spot where a normal business' delivery van would be. It took a few hours, but she managed across it. Nestled back in an alley, and without really much of a line, it was subtle and obvious at the same time. Had she not known to look for it, she might not have noticed it. Yet, here she was.
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GM Newtorch station, Inner Oort Cloud, Sol System Second orbit, fifth day, April 15th, 7.30AM Earth time. A brilliant crystal lance sailed through the void, mighty donut-shaped rings spinning endlessly around the haft, housing the several hundred scientists, staff, and guards keeping safe the future of Lor technology. There they lived and worked in strict, regular shifts, coming and going, eating and sleeping to refresh their tireless dedication. A phalanx of ships patrolled far outside the sight of any being, searching unceasingly for any sign of an approaching threat. At the lance's tip was a white diamond, where the force field was strongest and the gunnery lines were thickest. The size of several battleships welded together, that was where the most dangerous part of the station's mission was kept. Newtorch station was one of several throughout the Republic, uncovering new ways to draw energy from the world and power the bustling interstellar civilization. They often ended up examining things strange and powerful enough that risking star systems was all too possible. Inevitably they ended up on the fringes of inhabited space, far from either help or victims. Thefts were possible too. But the sheer danger tended to keep everyone away. Except, of course, the daredevils. "Next shift incoming, sir!" called out the surveillance monitor "and none too soon!" "Just the facts, Bey." replied the station captain with a wry twist of his purple lips. Hands clasped behind his back, the stubby Lor watched the small, regularly spaced dots draw near and allowed himself a slight note of self-praise: nothing had happened that had endangered the crew, the only faulty source had been safely ejected and destroyed, and they had a marvelous new subject: the gem from Sirius. It could power an entire fleet if they could get the transferal right, and then... "Bey, how many ships are in that convoy?" The sudden edge in the officer's voice got a puzzled look, and a quick response "Eleven, sir. Usual number-" "That's one too few! Alert the ships, tell them there's an infiltrator!" 'Sri Steward of Earth, you have an incoming message.' Mentor's voice had all the warmth and wisdom that came from the unthinkable eons it had seen, but it was still as commanding as a drill sergeant, clear as ice and cut Kyle off from sleep like a knife. 'Blockade Fleet Admiral Kalf has urgent news, and a request. Your system is in great danger.'
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GM The Gateway, the Nucleus, Goodman Building, 1961 40th. Avenue, Midtown, Freedom City, United States of America, North America, Earth, the Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Prime. 10.47 AM, March 17th, Monday, 2014. The silence had grown almost unbearable as Maximus and Tesla Atom prepared the circular arch placed on raised steps in the center of the starkly-lit room. Hands tapped out short commands on the aged yet ruthlessly advanced control panels on either side as power thrummed through the portal, a kaleidoscopic miasma of shifting colors and shapes revolving in the center as dimensional energies were harnessed for a journey to the uttermost depth of the omniverse. While the the older siblings did their work, Victoria and Chase watched the bulky readout monitors beside them, once or twice calling out a word that touched faintly the edges of the visiting teen's scientific knowledge. Cosmo had a job as well, the blue primate flashing from shoulder to shoulder as he searched carefully for errant insects suck in unwieldy human hair. The destination for the four young superheroines was felt long before it was seen. A prickling across the skin, a sense of rawness in the air and a growing sense of something horrible drawing nearer had gone on for agonizing minutes before- "Got it," Tesla Atom's voice rang out suddenly, a hint of satisfaction behind the steely words as she swept her hand across a quartet of buttons, green energy flowing from her fingers to keep the triggers down, "incoming door locked." she looked up, ponytail bouncing against her neck as she quickly checked on her brother "Max?" "Everything's fine, Tess. Outgoing door just locked, no problems." The older Atom answered with a momentary glance to her. Maximus briefly flickered and passed wraith-like through the panel, solidified enough to check an errant power cable, give it a cautious nudge, and then drifted back to his station with a a relieved smile. It soon vanished though, replaced by a deep frown. "Stand by, Terminus Tunnel opening...now!" And with that, the mouth opened. Air rushed through the Gateway, a deep howling that had begun as the last word fell rose to a deep thunder, and the room trembled as a roiling whirlpool of red and white gaped before the four heroines and four Atoms. Cosmo screamed and vanished in a flash of light to reappear trembling on a rafter, and for a moment nobody said anything more, until Chase stepped over to the visitors. Regarding them with his earnest, penetrating eyes, he said in a quiet voice that cut through the howling wind "We'll shut the outgoing door the moment we know you're through, but like we said earlier, just trigger the Passport," a small metal box sheathed in a faint yellow aura slid out of his pocket and floated over to Blue Jay, "and Max and Tess will reposition the passage to Sanctuary. We will transport you and anyone you can save out of the Terminus. I guess you'll want a 'good luck'. I wish you success." he gave a stiff nod and retreated to Tesla's station. Victoria gave the foursome an encouraging grin "Don't worry, Chase, it's not like they're racing in to beat up Shady Ironpants or anything, just a quick and quiet trip there, Tona grabs her people, they get back, yadda yadda, everything's gonna be fine." Reaching up to the ceiling with an elastic arm, she gently scratched the family Moon Monkey behind his ears "Sucks we're not coming with, I want to meet this 'Steam General' jerk and show him my new Atom Punch! But this is your gig, we'll stay put unless you need us." Miming a boxing motion she turned her legs into a stool and sat with Cosmo on her lap, stroking him gently from long practice. Tesla smiled a little "What Vicky said. Keep in touch, and good luck. I'm sorry we can't go with you. Could be there's someone we know trapped in there too." The maw of the Terminus Tunnel never ceased its seething, its flickering blood-bone colors giving the sere room an ugly feel.
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Lynn's apartment over Silberman's Books. August 3rd, 2014. 7:54pm A letter had arrived at the Espadas School of Self-Defense and Swordsmanship from Lynn Epstein, with a familiar West End address. Inside, was a handwritten note; the penmanship was graceful, almost archaic, but the writer's voice was unmistakable. The changeling was pacing again; it was humanly impossible to prepare for an evening like this, but Lynn had given it the good old never-finished-college try. The furniture was warm, earthy and inviting, she'd been scooting back and forth between the shop and her kitchen all day working on dinner, and she'd cycled through looks for a good half hour finding just the right balance of relaxed and respectable: a nice understated green summer dress, open-toed wedges and small pearl stud earrings (her current thing). As always, the lanyard with its ring was around her neck, and she fidgeted with it more than usual. Her curly shoulder length hair was gathered up, showing off her graceful neck and the points of her ears. Lynn's eyes flicked over to the clock on the mantelpiece, where it dully ticked down the minutes. Soon. Very soon.
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July 4, 2014 Freedom City "Damballah and Erzulie are with us." Cassandra Vale's doctorate was not in medicine, but between one thing and another there were few better doulas than La Sirene - especially for a water birth. Cassandra smiled and took her friend's hand. "Come on, Beth, let's get you in that tub." Despite the growing pains in her lower belly, Beth Walton-Wright was also smiling as Siren, her husband, and her midwife helped her into the tub - specially designed by Daedalus so that a woman strong enough to punch through steel wouldn't damage it while giving birth. After so many years of wanting, of prayers to Liberty and Justice and all the other gods and goddesses she'd known in her long career as a superheroine, she was about to have her baby! - July 4, 2014 Faneuil Hall Hulking and scarred, Steve Murdock stood as an island in the middle of a small sea of VIPs, waiting for the arrival of their very special tour guide. With a red shirt, blue slacks, and a white tie, he perfectly matched the color scheme for the day - right down to the Special Access pass pinned to his shirt. His special glasses gave the city and its crowd of tourists a faint greenish air, one that he knew would soon fade once the tour began. The special holographic technology built into the Archetech tour glasses would give the tourists a chance to see the Boston of 1776 (or at least its construction) overlaid on the Boston of 2014. Normally someone as high-profile as Miss Americana would not be involved in something as small as a tour, but the chance to show her work to tech executives, academics, and journalists alike had been too much for Gina to pass up. Intently he stared at the brochure in his hand, carefully memorizing everywhere they were going on their walking tour to the Common. People on Earth-Prime might take the idea of freedom and revolution for granted, but that was something Steve could never do - people had fought and died for the liberty of others in this city. It was very serious business. I will be here for Miss Americana to see what she has done. And after the tour, I will fly back to Freedom City, and Gina and I will watch the fireworks together. She will be happy today.
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Freedom City April 2014 The Crime Lab (Remote Site) Richard Cline was not one for advanced planning most of the time, but then again most of the time he wasn't going back to dinosaur times. "All right, the advance team has been on the island for almost a week, and they haven't run into anything larger than a Great Dane, so I think we'll be all right." He let one of the techs pop a USB into the computer's port (something he had deliberately notmastered), playing what looked like an iMovie recording of a mostly-deserted tropical island, complete with birds in the air and animals on the beach - until the viewer saw the teeth and scales on the feathered fliers overhead, or realized that those weren't dogs fighting over the washed-up fish on the beach. The island looked to be in the center of a small bay, with low hills and a river visible on the opposite coast a few miles away. "They're almost exactly at the site of Chicxulub, good good. We're lucky that island was there, the ultralights they sent out said it's all swampy marsh on the mainland." Fred Tanzin, the second unit director for Supercrime!, focused on the special guests. "We'll do some footage of you for the promos, either here in the studio once you come back or while you're in the field. We're still on for filming all the way from the 22nd through the 25th, local time. I know you've had a chance to read our briefing packet and be introduced to the on-air talent - but do you have any questions I can answer for you about the show?"
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Set had honestly expected tracking down Thrude Thorsdottir to be more difficult. Perhaps the godling had simply become too reliant on the infinite permutations of communication and social media pervading the modern mortal world but the prospect of locating one woman - even if she did admittedly stand out in a crowd - amongst the bustling city without the benefit of so much as a Twitter handle had seemed daunting. Set was hardly one to back down from a challenge once he'd made up his mind, however, and after a significant amount of sleuthing he'd found enough hasty smartphone videos of massive battle hammers and Facebook posts from annoyed meteorologists to at least fell like he was looking in the right neighbourhood. Ultimately, though, the building shaking thunderclaps and explosions towering over rooftops were much more helpful. "Ho! Adventure!" the Scion of the Sirocco exclaimed, bounding over parked cars and newspaper dispensers as he sprinted toward the source of the commotion.
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GM J.P. Morgan & Chase Bank, Mcullough-Adams, Bayview, Freedom City July 2nd, Wednesday, 2.45 PM, 2014 The day had begun like most others on a summer day on the American east coast. For Freedom City it had been even more mundane than usual, everything that made the city such a dazzling gem of multi-faceted weirdness lying low as the sun beat down. As the day had veered into afternoon, hopes had slowly strengthened that maybe today, today nothing would happen. The bank tellers at Bayview's biggest Chase branch had begun to relax, smiling in relief as the hours ticked down to closing. They were cheerfully helping the last trickles of patrons before the big late-afternoon rush, chatting idly with each other when the burning men crashed through the roof, landing on the floor in a stream of flaming wreckage. One, covered in something like an astronaut's ">suit but red and emblazoned with a yellow lizard on the shoulders and chest, pointed a square black thing vaguely shaped like a gun at the tellers. "Out." his voice was soft as it crackled over a radio, but icily compelling "Now." "You heard him, gents!" sang out another of the gang, similarly-suited but weaponless save for a flickering heatwave around her "That insurance money won't steal itself! And we don't wanna hurt you, but-" a wave of heat slammed into one of the steel walls as she gestured carelessly with a hand, melting a hole clean through it "-we sure won't cry if we have to!" The other two were silent, the stocky one in a black suit opening their helmet to release a cloud of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling, starting the fire alarms' screaming wail. The last, a spindly figure in vivid yellow, snapped their fingers. To the terrified eyes of the tellers, guards, and patrons, flames seemed to leap from the floor, heading straight for them! From outside things weren't much better. A comet seemed to flash out of the sky and hit the bank, the fire alarms went off and the people inside came charging out, screaming and frantically beating at themselves. It was the kind of sight that made every nearby Freedonian look reflexively up at the sky, and wonder why, just why it always happened here...
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June 19, 2014 Waterfront, Freedom City The evening patrol for the three young heroes had gone well - very well indeed. They were all on the rooftop of a closed fish market, watching down below as a small group of gangsters smoked cigarettes, cursed, and waited for their rendezvous. Word on the street was that a big player, maybe even a Crime League member, was going to arrive on the docks tonight to meet with the triad leaders below to discuss an upcoming deal - that meant that a savvy trio of young crime fighters could potentially catch some big fish tonight. Of course, that assumed everyone was going to show up. It was a warm evening, at least by the standards of a New Jersey summer, with a warm breeze blowing in from the sea that made the air humid and slick against spandex uniforms. In their suits and ties below, the triad men didn't seem very happy either - one older man with a short white beard kept looking at his watch, while another with a shaved head was reassuring the others in a voice loud enough to carry up to the roof that "He'll be on time, don't worry, don't worry!", something that he seemed to find quite amusing. It wasn't a normal patrol, that was for sure; the air seemed pregnant with anticipation as dark clouds billowed in the eastern sky, as if a real storm was coming. Of course, if that happened their targets just might get back in their sports cars and head home.
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Two Miles From Lake Vostok Antarctica Friday, May 9, 2014 7:52 PM White. White as far as the eye could see. And cold that cut right through to the bone. Ever since he'd come into his powers, Cannonade hadn't exactly felt the weather in quite some time. But it said a lot that, even with his enhanced resilience, this was able to get right at his core. After only a few seconds on the ice, he firmly decided that Antarctica could go screw. He didn't know why he'd expected anything else. He should have known this would happen at some point - join a superteam, see everywhere from Hell to Honolulu. But while he'd usually gotten his more globetrotting assignments courtesy of AEGIS, it had been Edge who'd brought this one to the table. Apparently there was a UNISON research base near Vostok, dedicated to plumbing both the depths of the ancient lake and whatever things might be found in the snow. Cannonade hadn't gotten the full account, but a message had gotten out a few days back. There wasn't enough sensible content to lean one way or another, but the fact that something garbled and messy was coming out of the station could be considered a soft cause for alarm. Which would also explain their guest. Joe was used to the rest of the League, but apparently, the Indian woman had been seconded to Edge's assignment. She was a psychic, apparently, something that left him very conscious about what he was thinking. Her job was to check up on the mental health of the scientists. A place like this could do things to a man... and apparently, there had been rumors of whole expeditions who'd gone around the bend down here. There was a chance it wasn't all isolation... Joe just adjusted his jacket, and kept his eyes on the base. Soon enough, the security team would be out to wave them in. He just had to focus on that...
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-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!â€
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Deep Space Sitting in the dark of space was the massive swathes of star forming gases glowing the most beautiful blues and purples lit but the very stars they were helped forming. Being light years across the craft that stood on the edge of the nebula seemed tiny, even though it was itself the size of a small city. The stark white hull of the saucer like object looked that it was made of a single flawless piece of ceramic. Inside the craft was a small room the wall being opaque lighting the room with a blue glow from nebula beyond, the room was also filled with cryogenic gases from several pod opening up in the room revealing several Earth heroes groggily woken from an unexpected cryogenic sleep.
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GM October 17th, 7:32PM, Farrel's Bar. Her boss, Gerry (short for Geraldine) had told her that a rising star of the Alt-Country scene, a guy who went by John Perdition, was willing to do an interview while in Freedom City. A couple tries, and it hadn't worked out with the guys who normally covered those kinds of artists. Fortunately she was available. Coincidence. Or something like that. The location for the meeting was a simple bar known for it's open mics. Tonight was a little special, and John (a guy with a label deal) was just finishing up his couple songs, singing and plucking a banjo, covering material from more well known artists, ending with a song from a prisoner's perspective. He looked all long, hard, and dusty roads. His voice sounded like an authority when the topics veered to being half-passed out in crap motel rooms on painkiller binges, and having to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun on his hungover. There was some applause as he took his banjo and walked back to his seat (this place generally fit more the 'introspective college type,' less so a tattooed ex-con who seemed at home with making a whole bunch of middle class folk more than a little on edge), wearing a worn in and patched flannel shirt and jeans. He set about fixing the cantankerous tuning of the banjo.
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"Typical. Truly typical." Sekhmet's resigned sigh was largely lost behind a rattling boom as the concrete below her feet was struck by an arcing fireball the size of a small electric car and exploded violently. The goddess recovered with feline grace and continued her brisk pace alongside the more winded Set as they fled. "Aye, well, mayhap you could reserve your breath for running, oh Lady of Slaughter," the godling suggested as he hastily ducked under the chunk of metal propelled towards his head when a nearby fire hydrant was cleaved in half by a searing red laser beam. The taller Heliopolian did not look quite so concerned. "Too match pace with thee? Hardly necessary, liesmith," she assured him, though her stride quickened slightly after she glanced over her shoulder at their pursuers. "Methinks a training regimen may be in order." "I've considered hitting the gym," Set admitted, strain ruining the conversational tone he was attempting. "Don't want to bulk up, of course..." "Hardly seems a danger." "My, someone tis feeling catty today." "Tis another who should work on new jibes." "For once, I did not intend that as wordplaaayiie!" Another fireball sent a somewhat singed godling tumbling in an undignified tangle of limbs before he could scramble against the cement and back onto his feet. "I am now prepared to admit that assistance would not be remiss!" With a flat snort, Sekhmet reached down and picked Set up by the back of his neck, giving him a chance to find his stride again without losing too much of their head start. "Truly, I am shocked. The mortal Freedom League, then, or proven allies such as the water magister." "Eh? Nay!" Set objected crossly, pumping his arms with renewed vigour as he sprinted. "Think of the embarrassment, Sekhmet! I would have none who think reasonably well of me- ah, us to bear witness. ...ah! Inspiration!" Snapping his fingers, the godling abruptly turned on his heel heading toward an alleyway. "Keep our new friends occupied momentarily, oh Mistress of Dread!" With that, he dove into a shadow behind a dumpster and disappeared. "Of all the-- Set! Set! SEEEEET!" * * * * * On the well tended campus of Claremont Academy, a shadow passed over the relaxing Will Cline as someone approached from behind him, blocking the sun. "Hail, buuuddy!"
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GM The private and very spacious residence of Donald Ritchey Southside, Freedom City, New Jersey Monday, June 9th, 2014 7:08 PM Donald Ritchey prided himself as a self made man. Growing up with nothing, he started his own construction company at the tender age of 16. A lack of formal schooling did nothing to stunt his success, as Ritchey offered a level of dedication few competitors could match. As the times changed so too did Ritchey Construction, now named Ritchey and Sons. In the 80s Donald Ritchey sought to provide a better life for his family, getting into bed with questionable elements of Freedom City's organized crime families and one of the first side business that Big Al could count as his territory. The business remained independent enough that even the likes of Augustus Roman couldn't get a stranglehold on it. Which ultimately might have been one of the focal points in Big Al's rise to power after the power vacuum left behind by previously leadership. After forty years of building his construction empire Donald has recently been diagnosed with terminal leukemia. With little time left to live Donald Ritchey has decided to make amends for his prior sins. Agreeing to testify against his many current mob connections. Making the stipulation clear that he would have. The Federal Marshalls tasked with keeping his family safe were assassinated by what could only be described as a squad of ninjas before transport was even feasible, with Ritchey only surviving thanks to the timely assistance arrival of armed police escort. Now the city finds itself scrambling to provide discrete protection for the Ritchey family, before information could get out about the current risk to their key witness in a pending trial against key members of the Driogano family. No amount of discretion prevented information from seeping through. With a few heroes being drawn to Donald Ritchey's sprawling Southside mansion to volunteer their services.
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GM Monday 12th August, 2013 Freedom City Airport..late morning... Agent Cord checked his watch, standing by the small single prop plane in the airport. UNISON was not the best resources agency in the world, or the States, but it could stretch to chartering the flight to Canada. Not that it would, by his estimation, be a particularly easy or comfortable ride. He was a man of slim and slightly short build, probably in his early forties, but still fit. He was a totally average black suit, a totally average white short, and a totally average black tie. His brown hair was cut short, and his features rather unremarkable. His eyes were hidden behind some mirror shades. In his left hand, an unremarkable suitcase. The observant would, perhaps, notice a small bulge in his left armpit. Agent Cord didn't really approved of using minors in UNISON's operations, but there was no doubt from the resume. The Blue Jay character had some particular skill sets they could use right now. Her history had embedded her with unparalleled tracking skills. A few other specialists in the world would come close, he judged, but they were both expensive to hire, and would not necessarily have Blue Jay's other skills. He wasn't expecting trouble, but on the other hand, he was paid to expect the unexpected.
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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.
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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...
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GM 12.45 PM, 1st of May, 2014, Liberty Park, Liberty Perk The harsh winter hadn't yet given up its hold on the west Atlantic. There were still occasional snowfalls, and the air was chillier than any mid-spring noon had any right to be. The clouds reigned over Freedom City. Still, that made things like steaming-hot coffee all the better. One of the reasons Mega Howell had been invited to the busy coffee shop. The other was the man who had invited her there, Freedom City's Director of the American Elite Government Intervention Service, Stewart Bonham. His chair tipped back downright perilously, a mug filled with one of the shop's better blends in hand, and gazing at the bustling streets and busy park like a born sovereign, the handsome, cheerful Chief Administrator was nobody's idea of a secret agent. Dressed in a snug blue sweater and scuffed jeans with a Blades baseball cap over his curly brown hair, he looked more like a off-duty athlete than a government spy and soldier. "It's great to see the people you're fighting for, Velocity, catch a glimpse of the lives that need saving. Gives you some perspective, you know?" tossing back a mouthful of the rich liquid, he savored the taste with closed eyes. "That, and it's safer. People see us talkin...well, they won't think it's business." Regarding a passing schnauzer on a leash, and the old woman coaxing it along the cold sidewalk, Stewart added "You didn't have to come, so I'm encouraged you did. Tell me," he glanced up at the famed speedster and superheroine across the table from him, his normally bright blue eyes crinkling a little against the sun blazing between the clouds "If I told you 'AEGIS needs your help with a doomsday cult'...what would you say?"
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July 27, 2014 HIT Baseball Field You might think that a bunch of nerds wouldn't be very good at playing softball - but Hanover Institute of Technology attracts all kinds of students! This is a special game between HIT's mighty hurlers, the Lady Myrmidons, and their arch-rivals West River Technical College, home of the Fighting Fisherwomen. All proceeds for the game will go to build a Korean War monument halfway between Toms River and Freedom City, a long-neglected memorial to New Jersey's soldiers who fought in the 'forgotten war' from 1950 to 1953. With the game being played on the 61st anniversary of the armistice that marked the end of the Korean War, the bleachers and grassy stretches by the field are packed with veterans, their families, and active-duty personnel from Lonely Point and other nearby facilities. It's a hot day but the soda is cold and the peanuts are salty, and as the game reaches the end of the ninth inning, it's clear it's going to be a nail-biter: the Myrmidons are at-bat and down by one with two outs, but there are players on the base and Yoder, the stalwart West River hurler who has pitched a nearly perfect game, is starting to flag. Can she hold off a hit as de la Cruz, the towering young woman from the West End with the mighty arm, begins to take the field? Her screaming fans from West River hope so but the hometown crowd, whipped up to a fever pitch by the Lady Myrmidons and their pep squad, have the hometown crowd on their feet and cheering on their champion. This is going to be a real fight.
