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Saturday, May 10th, 2014 5:35 PM, EST Midtown, Freedom City Lively. Spirited. Boisterous. These words hardly did justice to the thriving scene that was Freedom City's Midtown, its streets packed with life on this balmy summer day. Some might say this place was the very center of the city, its heart pulsing to the rhythm of its multitude of clubs, eateries, and weekenders alike. But for all its charm and citizenry out enjoying their summertime Saturday, even Freedom City -- a veritable mecca of superhero activity -- isn't without its hazards. Pickpockets, thieves, mobsters, and yes, even super-criminals were an ever present risk. Such was the price of living amidst Freedom City; a place where anyone might be a costumed hero. But this afternoon seemed unusually quiet. Serene, almost. No police sirens blared their way through the streets. There was no raucous between super-powered giants brawling through the skies. Not even a single cry for help made its presence known. It was the quiet many of Freedom City's heroes yearned for; a sense of solace and peace. A chance for good, honest folk to relax and enjoy themselves amongst the bustling populace. Or perhaps it was just the calm before the storm.

GM Friday 23rd May, in the afternoon some time... The Subway, somewhere running North into the Centre of Freedom City... At this time, before rush hour, the subway train was only half full, if that. Who where the unfortunate souls to take that train, on that day, at that time? A stressed out businessman, with flecks of white hair, and a hoarse voice trying, fruitlessly to get his mobile to operate underground, and to wipe the sweat of his brow. A young mother and her baby boy, only a few years old, smiling as she plays peek-a-boo A smiling old man, white haired and dark skinned, tapping his foot to some half-hummed jazz tune. Two girls, giggling to themselves over some shared secret, who looked suspiciously like they were playing truant from the last part of school. An unkempt man, possibly a beggar, keeping his head down and mumbling to himself, restless, and disturbed. Maybe suffering with some disorder of the mind. And... "Hey speccy-spaccy! what ya doin' here? Cant get enough of ya head being flushed down the toilet, huh?" Ace was your jock, a tall, blonde, muscular guy with a cruel sneer and big jaw that somehow exuded an attraction, of sorts, to both guys and girls of his age. His wingman was only slightly shorter, and had that faint hint of insecurity, hanging onto the tails of the alpha male. And "Speccy-Spaccy"? James King, a guy whom the fates had not be kind to. Thick glasses, bad skin, and the mildest of cerebral palsy that made him clumsy. In another world, maybe James would be blessed with a phenomenal intelligence, but alas, James was an ok student, maybe even above average, but he was not a phenomena. "Luh---leave me alone---Ace----" said the damp haired James, fear gripping him in sweat and a tremor. "Leave him alone, he says...hahaha!" laughed Ace at his wingman. "Hey buddy, I can't do that, you are my friend!" he said, all evil grinning. And who else on that fateful day? None other than Cho Paige Lee and Georgia Montgomery!

May 6th, 2014 The sun was bright and the sky was wonderfully clear as Baxter Bowles entered his uncle's old storage unit with a printout of the blueprints and flash drives with the programming he had found in his email a few days previous. It had taken some doing to find a few hours to himself but now here he was. The lights flickered on as he flipped the switch, casting a soft humming glow over piles of assorted electronics and a small work table.

GM May 1st, 7.45 P.M., 2014, May Day Freedom-class cruise liner 'Supernal', just outside the mouth of the Great Bay, North Atlantic, auditorium... The magician clicked his black suitcase shut, looking gravely at the distant sea of faces beyond the inferno coming from the floodlights. "Really, ladies and gentlemen? Despite my best efforts, are you still not sated? Do you need more? Do you need...her?" An answering roar of "Yes!"s resounded from the packed seats, the audience thrumming with excitement. "Very well, my honored hosts! Then it is my inestimable pleasure to present the one you've all been waiting for! The one, the only..." Wiping his forehead in a motion disguised by a flourish of his resplendent top hat, mentally cursing the blazing stage lights once more, Jethro de Seine, master magician, gestured to the red curtains with his white-topped black cane. On cue, the floodlights zeroed in on the thin line between the massive sheets of cloth. "The magnificent, the elusive...Lara Drake!"

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

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

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

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

9 AM May 1, 2014 Greenbank The giant gorilla pointed a huge pistol at the storekeeper, the gigantic weapon fitting into one oversize paw like a derringer in the hands of a human. "Your cesium! Where do you keep your cesium!? And other radioactive materials!?" "What?" It wasn't every day, even in Freedom City, that one was robbed by a half-dozen gorilla goons in armored military uniforms, each carrying some dreadful weapon that bespoke both super-science AND sinister purpose. They had simply burst in through the front window as if they'd appeared out of nowhere. "I don't know anything about that, we just sell imported electronics from-" "Sergeant! The smoke detectors!" One gruffly-voiced ape with a dark leather patch over his eye gestured. "All of them!" With that news, the apes moved quickly to ransack the store - Bob's Electronics, of everything in the smoke detector and fire safety section (just to be safe), even taking the store's own smoke detecting equipment.

Tuesday, October 1st, 6:44 PM The Dutemps Building bustled with activity as the various office workers and residents of its lower and mid-levels shared space with the construction workers and ubiquitous scaffolding wrapping around the skyscraper like wireframe chrysalis. The hewn stone of the fantastical addition to the tower's upper levels was beginning to take shape, promising to be a memorable addition to the Freedom City skyline but most of the people forced to detour around cordoned-off area or squeeze into elevators alongside power tools seemed to be counting the days to its completion. One young woman had entirely different matters distracting her as she politely apologized for bumping into yet another person in the crowded lobby and made her way to an elevator. On the taller side, the unremarkable taupe trenchcoat she wore, fiddling absentmindedly with the buckles, concealed most of her athletic frame while the snow white streak in her otherwise dark, chocolate brown hair drew some small amount of attention. The other elevator riders were too consumed in their own schedules to pay her much mind, though one gossip-minded administrative assistant couldn't help but notice that the young woman selected the highest floor still open during construction after checking a room number jotted down on her phone. The last person to exit before the elevator headed back down, the young woman hesitated, having to shoot out a hand to stop the doors from closing when she took a moment too long. The sliding metal creaked in protest at the unexpected resistance but she slipped into the opulent hallway and let them shut behind her. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her reflection in the floor to ceiling windows and quickly rubbed a bit of errant dirt from one cheek off on the back of a sleeve. Walking the rest of the way to the end of the hall she knocked quickly on the door as though worried she would loose her nerve otherwise.

Friday, December 13th, 2013 Somewhere Around Saturn 12:32 PM The time had come for some action. Kyle had been getting ready for work when Mentor had called in. A distress call had been picked up on Lor frequencies a few hours before, and had finally made its way to Mentor's networks. A mining vessel had encountered critical engine failure somewhere around Charon, and taken environmental systems on line. There were two days of air left on the ship, with a narrow window for Lor rescue vessels to enter nearby space. Conditions were so bad that the miners were broadcasting salvage rights to rescuers over the frequencies. Kyle, of course, was thinking more altruistically. After arranging a sick day and getting some coffee, he took to the skies. The atmosphere was left behind in a few seconds, and the Moon a few minutes after that. Usually, it would be a quiet, contemplative flight to the other end of the system - but he'd arranged some company this time. "You ever get tired of this?"

Two weeks after the events of "Cry for Justice" All in all, the murder of Professor Parker Psion and the capture of his granddaughter had gone largely unnoticed by the Freedom City press. Even after the attempted break-out two weeks earlier, one that had seemingly targeted Frances Psion in particular, the media hadn't really gotten involved. A superhero had been mind-controlled by a suicidal elderly supervillain; an attempt to break out said supervillain's confederate had been foiled, and that, or so it seemed, was that. - "We moved her back into the psych ward after the incident with the Crime League two weeks ago," explained Captain Harold Schmitt as their monorail car rumbled along through the depths of Blackstone, the very mountain seeming to threaten to close in on her as they descended deeper and deeper beneath the sandstone. They weren't that far underground, not objectively, anyway. "Normally procedure is to put failed escapees down in maximum, but since she never actually left her cell, we got her back in the psych ward as soon as a bed opened up again. We haven't had any violent incidents since then - even though she's refused medication."

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

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

Thursday, February 7, 2013 Early evening A couple of days ago, Lucy Harker had received a visit from a mother that was concerned about her young adult son being in some sort of trouble. Ms. Diaz was originally from Mexico, having moved to the United States more than twenty years ago before becoming a naturalized citizen. Her son, Benito, was a first generation Mexican-American, and his mother had worked hard to make sure he had plenty of opportunity and did not fall into the wrong crowd. One of the activities Benito had taken to was boxing, and he had even won a few junior competitions in the city. Ms. Diaz had told Lucy that Benito had changed dramatically in the last couple of weeks, often staying out late at night and occasionally coming home with injuries which he gave shaky explanations for when she would question him about them. But Lucy had barely been able to start looking into things when she had received a call from Ms. Diaz this morning, informing her that Benito had been gone since Tuesday night. After assuring Ms. Diaz that this was now a top priority for her, Lucy had called one of her clients, the Bloodhound detective agency, and invoked part of their "agreement" to enlist their aid in tracking down the young man. Then, she had gone with Fred Furlong and Harry Hound to Ms. Diaz's home to start trying to figure out what might be going on with her son. After searching his room, they had found a fair amount of cash hidden in a drawer, but nothing else that would suggest gang activity or drug dealing. They had spent the rest of the day asking around in the neighborhood, but could not turn up anything that would suggest Benito had joined a gang. At this point, Harry and Fred brought up a rumor they had been hearing recently about some underground street fighting rings being run in parts of the Fens and Greenbank. Of course, the two private eyes knew little more than the possible existence of these operations, but they knew someone who likely knew more. Of course, given how their last visit to see Ricky Ferreti had gone, they decided to try to catch him before he reached his favorite watering hole. So now Lucy, Fred and Harry were sitting in the Bloodhound agency's Cadillac outside the bar, watching for Ricky to arrive.

(GM Post) Remote Laboratory Facility, Mountains, Sweden, Europe Monday, November 11, 6pm Local Time Anyone who knew Baron Katastrof wasn't truly shocked at what had happened. The man was methodical, safety-conscious, detail-oriented when needed, and demanded rigorous testing standards. He was also young, hideously intelligent, occasionally obsessive, and had a near-fanatical need to prove himself "worthy", not just of his place as head of his father's company, but also his place as a "super-scientist" in a world already brimming with them. Miss Americana had heard he'd been on the polar expedition to the remains of the Curator's ship. Archetech had had representatives there, and the Doctor himself had teleconferenced in. It wasn't known to the world, but basically everyone who had high-end scientific know-how and the trust of most of the world had been there. The place was a near-literal goldmine of data, materials, and technology samples. There'd been so many "dead" Curator drones you could practically build an office building out of them, and they were physically intact. Everybody had taken quite a few home, and Katastrof and Sorenson Technologies was no exception. They'd been careful, of course; all the Curator tech was set up in a couple of isolated lab buildings in the mountains, purpose-built a few years ago for handling "dangerous samples". The two sites were connected by 1 single tunnel with multiple security doors, and each site had internal and external airlocks, negative-pressure air systems, and a whole host of other standard and esoteric features. In the last couple of months, the primary site (where all the actual tests occurred, rather than storage at the connected site) had even received an extra dose of security in the form of magical wards, with the secondary site slated to receive them in a few weeks, thanks to discrete efforts from some contact or another of the Baron's. Which was all well and good, until one day every drone in the secondary site woke up and started moving on their own power, and suddenly the evacuation was underway and complete within 20 minutes. The staff was all set to use the emergency measures (which was to say, special explosive charges that would reduce both complexes to ash-filled holes in the mountain without disturbing anything else) when they realized one critical thing. The Baron had visited that morning and was not outside. That was Friday. On Sunday, the company had had no success penetrating the even-more-upgraded security, and, not wanting the matter to make regular public news (and thus strike a terrible blow against the reputation of KST), they made a couple of discrete calls. Which was why a small group of intelligent, talented heroes who focused on metal and wire technology found themselves standing on a tarmac at the foot of a mountain, the sun sinking below the horizon, and armed guards standing nervously to one side.

January 6, 2014 7:20 AM EST The first ray of sunshine came in the window and Richard Cline opened his eyes, ready for his last day off before they headed back to the West Coast for a full week of shooting. Richard sat up, pushing aside the linen sheets, and looked at the waxed-paper window on the wall of the little wooden house. Ticktickticktick Time slowed to a crawl for Richard Cline, as Fast-Forward took in his changed bedroom with all the time in the world. Linen sheets, featherbed, waxpaper windows, and I think that's a chamberpot under the bed...oh, geez, am I back in the Renaissance again? He looked down at the woman sharing his bed and reached down to gently nudge Paige awake, feeling the familiar brush against his mind that had been part of his soul for twenty-five years. Aw, geez, did I take her back with me again? She's gonna kick my ass after that thing with the Wild West... Ticktickticktick On the handwrought, overlapping planks, there was a woodcut of a man frozen in a blur of motion paired with a smiling woman in a low-cut dress, smoke and fire rising from her hands. Behind them were a young man in equal speed, and a young girl with the same energies as her mother. The legend read CIRCUS OF CRIME, MAGIC, MISCHIEF, AND MERRIMENT! STARRING THE LEGENDARY ROGUES - THE CLINE FAMILY! WITH PASSION PLAYS TO SHOW THE TRUE MORAL WAY! The smell of horses outside, the sounds of activity; a circus in the middle of waking up for the day. It's another goddamned crisis in time! Richard Cline snapped awake alongside an altered version of his wife, dressed in a long black nightdress, and asked the question he had to ask. "...Baby, is that you?"

GM September 1st The Ministry of Powers, London There were, of course, a number of government agents. Armed ones, too. And a number of bustling, virtually faceless civil servants. But the only two men with any gravity in the plush office, decorated in oak, with lined leather volumes gilding every wall were the Minister for Powers, the Rt Hon. Cecil Booth, and Sir Cruxberry, who actually ran the agency. Cecil Booth was middle aged, slightly rounding, and moderately intelligent. A career politician, he had never been particularly successful and had never really failed. He had slowly risen the ranks, never destined to be a star, but never destined to take a fall. "Good old dependable Booth" was the genial comment that accompanied his name, when it was mentioned. He was even respected by the opposition parties, which of course only served to further dampen his career prospects. He had never wanted the portfolio for the Ministry of Powers, but once he had it, he had applied himself to it. Sir Cruxberry was older, ex army, and a veteran of war and spying. He wore a patch over one eye and walked with a noticible limp, but his solitary blue eye shone bright. His form was lean and his hair was white and clipped like his moustache. Somehow, one was left with the feeling that ones boots were not quite polished enough when one talked to him. Or that he could kill you in some ingenious but terribly effective way without breaking a sweat. "Thank's for popping over" said Booth, offering Young Brittania a cup of tea, of which he had already drunk several cups and was quietly trying to hold on to his bursting bladder. He was quite excited to have the heroine in the room. "For Queen and country and all that" he continued, with encouragement. "Look, I expect you know what this is all about. The Vanguard, they vanished without a trace a few months ago. Quite the mystery. Left us defenceless, and beside that, we would rather like to know what the devil happened..." he said with a helpless shrug, backed up by the precise gaze of Cruxberry who spoke no words but communicated his iron agreement.

NSW Trainlink Melbourne, Australia December 1st, 2013 6:15 AM The construction of a high-speed rail link along Australia's Eastern coast from Melbourne to Brisbane had long been a dream denied fruition until the government finally came to a resolution in funding such an ambitious project. A bullet train capable of scaling the distance between Melbourne and Sidney in only four hours was like a dream. But Michael Fields was no ordinary dreamer, so he made sure that Fields Technology intervened during the design phase lobbying for high-end cost-effective improvements on the overall design. Until eventually Fields Technology was given the helm of the project, and they wasted little time improving the Bullet Train's speed to cross the distance between Melbourne and Sydney to only two hours. If the experimental railway proved successful enough, Fields Technology could possibly even get the green light to improve railways all over the country. The Government was also quick realize the potential increase in revenue due to tourism if such a venture was indeed a success. Michael Fields was quick to join in on the new bullet train's maiden voyage after all his company's reputation had a lot riding on the investment. And it was still a work day after all. The new train wouldn't set off for another half an hour. But commuters were already lining up trying to get a seat. Some on their way to work. Some on vacation. And others were simply wanting to hitch a ride on the bullet train early on. Luckily, there was room for any matter of passengers.

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

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

Thursday, April 18, 2013 5:30 AM Claremont Academy, Bayview, Freedom City, NJ "And that was the last thing Warp remembers before passing out in her dorm room after teleporting back." Duncan Summers finished explaining, a hint of fatigue in his voice. The retired superhero turned educator was sitting in his recently rebuilt office at Claremont Academy, his prior office having been all but destroyed during the events of the Day of Wrath a few months earlier. "And how is Warp doing?" Came a dark voice speaking from within the shadows of a corner of Duncan’s office. The speaker was none other than his daughter, Callie Summers, the current Raven, and she was there in costume. Duncan had little doubt that his daughter had been up much of the night already, working on some case or another, but if she was feeling any fatigue from the early hour, she was doing a much better job of hiding it. "She is in the infirmary still, but doing well. Whatever was used to knock her out has left her considerably groggy, but there will be no lingering effects." Duncan replied. "And there is no sign of Tsunami, El Heraldo or Net Fly?" Raven then asked, though she knew well enough the answer. "No, none of them have returned to campus. Based on what I have learned, the fire department was called to a fire at the address Warp provided, but when they arrived there was no longer any active blaze, though evidence that there had been a fire. They currently have cordoned off the building, planning to further inspect it in a few hours when there is better light." "Good, then they likely have not contaminated the scene yet. I have a bit of time to get in there and look around before they do." Raven replied. "Don't worry, I will find them." The heroine then began moving towards one of the office's windows. "I have little doubt." Duncan replied, eyeing his daughter hesitantly. "But…are you certain you should investigate this alone? You know very well that he could be involved." Raven stopped a moment before the glanced back over at her father. "Yes, I am fully aware of that possibility. But this is my responsibility, I was the one that brought Giang here, knowing full well her family's background." And with that, the dark clad heroine was gone out the window, vanishing into the still dark morning sky. Still seated in his chair, Duncan stared out of the window to where his daughter had disappeared from view. While normally he had full confidence in her abilities and decisions, where Dr. Sin was possibly involved, he was a bit more concerned. Letting out a deep sigh, Duncan reached for the telephone at his desk and dialed a familiar number. "Alan, I am sorry about the early hour, but I need to speak with Ms. Pefr, Ms. Baudin and Mr. Crowe immediately."

GM Hanover Zoo Jerry Jones was a short, ugly man. And he knew it. He hit five foot six and then proceeded to grow outwards, in belly. His hair was lank and thin, and his face was wrong, somehow. He wore a permanent frown. Somehow, he still got along with his fellow zookeepers well enough. But they saw him as a distant, solitary, and sad man. I..was born for more than this...he would tell himself every day as he dutifully did his rounds of the zoo. Somehow, children seemed to cheer him up when they squealed at the animals. He often took it upon himself to help them and explain to them about the exhibits. ... The tall, elderly man with piercing eyes entered the zoo quietly, and caught Jerrie's eye. Both seemed to recognise each other, but perhaps on an intuitive level rather than conscious one. The tall old man turned away and strutted into the reptile house...

Thursday, November 28th "How's the oven looking, Vince, dear?" Gina Espadas called as she pushed her wheel chair into the front room of her family's home, lap piled with brown and orange seasonal decorations which she began placing about the shelves and cabinets. In the adjoining kitchen one of the most advanced human-designed artificial intelligences on the planet native to that era interpreted data from a webcam jury-rigged to a computer monitor yellowing slightly with age to gauge the temperature inside the closed oven opposite it with precision worthy of laboratory testing. To an outside observer, however, an enthusiastic man wearing a cameo pattern apron over a bright green suit appeared on the monitor, raised a comically long telescope to his eye and snapped a salute as he shouted back, "Operation Bird is the Word proceeding full steam ahead, General Ma'am sir!" "Sure, you she trusts with the turkey," Erik Espadas sighed with exaggerated ire as he methodically worked his knife up and down on the cutting board, rapidly turned fresh vegetables into piles of thin slices. Sweet and hot peppers alike joined a bowl of other ingredients as the chef briefly looked over his shoulder to grin at the monitor. "To be fair, Jack-O," Vince countered, pulling a firefighter's helmet and an extinguisher out of virtual space, "you've set a lot more things on fire than I have." "Don't set things on fire, please," came an earnest requests for waist height as the precocious Yolanda set out plates and cutlery at the table with deliberate precision. The stout eight year old scampered back to the counter to retrieve another stack of dishware, moving with the care of someone entrusted with a precious cargo indeed. "Careful, Yoyo, don't carry too many at once," Ellie cautioned as she returned from retrieving the last of the folding chairs from the attic, one tucked under each arm. Pulling them open, she set them down in front of the place settings before inhaling through her nose. "Mm. Alright, that does smell pretty fantastic." Her mother finished arranging a trio of small gourds on the end table next to the couch in the front room and rolled over to the window to peer outside. "Well it had better! Everyone should be arriving soon."

January 12, 2014 Stone Stadium Freedom City College It's halftime, and the Harlem Globetrotters are in fine form. They've packed Wading Way Arena to nearly two-thirds of its 10,000 seat capacity and have held the crowd's attention with their trademark brand of basketball shenanigans and good fundamentals. Freedom City appreciates people in funny costumes with fantastic abilities, and between the cartwheels that scored that last three-point shot and the backflip slamdunk, the Globetrotters have the crowd eating out of the palm of their collective hand. Will they come from behind and make up their current two-point deficit against the hated Washington Generals? The crowd certainly hopes so! But it's half-time now, time for a bathroom or stretch break, or perhaps to make your way to the famously overflowing concession stand. Freedom City College has always been particularly international in its cuisine, and whether or not it's true that the concession stand's manager Maurice is really an alien, his hotdogs really are 'out of this world'! The crowd is happy, the game is going great - It's a good day to be alive.