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Parkhurst October 30th 11:00 PM Rene DeSaens opened his eyes. He stood inside his room in Parkhurst, even though he'd laid down to sleep in his own bed at home. he did not remember how he'd arrived. He was standing in front of a canvas. He heard the gentle rapping of a cold, autumn rain on the windows. Whatever he had painted, he did so in darkness. Apparently the trance that had overtaken him had left him able to paint even in darkness. He could not see in perfect darkness, and so turned on the light. His eyes went wide at what he saw on the canvas. Lurid, bright colors slashed this way and that. Green, yellow, white, blue, red. Lots of red. What should have been cheerful, bright colors were made painful to the eyes, and the figure that dominated the painting was horrifying to look at. It was a clown; a hideous, malformed monster with razor teeth and a cruel, mocking grin. There were bodies, bleeding on the ground beneath him and in one hand he held a cruel, jagged knife. Everything came on him suddenly as he remembered what the painting was showing him. A clown in bright colors, face twisted into a monstrous visage. He stood over bodies piled upon the floor. Bells on his clothing that did not ring like bells ought, but rather clanked like old, rusted chains. Jingles. The name came to him suddenly. Who was this Jingles? Was this a painting of the past? Had this thing happened? Was he supposed to stop it from happening, or stop another like it?

Monday, February 25th 9:32 PM He realized it hurt the mystique, but Nick really needed a cup of coffee. The urn had broken at work late in the afternoon, he'd found himself quite short of beans when he got home, and now that he was out on the street, he could feel himself starting to flag. So far, the night's patrol had been really peaceful - many of the ghosts were staying in at their haunts, there didn't seem to be new restless dead, and he hadn't run into any street crime. And he didn't exactly want to be dealing with anything while he was less than alert. There was a 7-Eleven on the corner of Lark Street. It was far from his preferred brew, but it would do. The cashier certainly started when Nick entered - having a man made up like the dead would do that. Nick had been amiable for the entirety of the visit, but the clerk never really let his guard down. Guy probably doesn't have many heroes stop by, he said. Or at least heroes that look like me. He'd just gotten back to the Pale Horse and taken a sip when he heard a loud bang in the distance. Any vague hope of it being a car backfiring was cut off by two follow-up bursts. He jumped into the car and took off towards the source of the gunfire. And now we're back in the swing of things... so to speak.

GM El Heraldo was flying. That in and of itself wasn't too odd, bur he was flying high enough in the air that all he could see were clouds. A moment later he flew out of the cloud bank, looked down, and realized he was miles above the ground, and moving fast! All he could see below him was a lonely line of highway paralleling a ribbon of coastline. A quick fly-by confirmed that he was heading south -- and in South Carolina! Why in the world would he be flying so high and so fast due south? because because because He had been sitting with Cerys in the common room in the dorms, theoretically studying but in fact cuddling like, well, like a couple of teenagers. The big TV had been on and tuned to CNN, but it wasn't he heard "attack on the Caribbean islands," that he paid it any attention. Frightening images of troops in strange armor marching out of the accompanied running commentary on "a surprise Atlantean invasion of the Caribbean, under the claim of eminent domain." A particularly chilling moment was a native reporter, his face streaked with smoke, huddling in a building and speaking about "the siege of San Juan." Which wad why El Heraldo, the Herald of Victory and defender of Puerto Rico, was heading home.

GM Monday, February 4, 2013 9:35 p.m. It was always an unnerving thing when police sirens pierced the night air, blue and red lights washing over everything with a sudden sense of danger and urgency. The West End was no stranger to violent interludes, but somehow tonight seemed different. The overcast and starless sky only made the scene unfolding on the streets worse. It began with a 911 call, two blocks away from an out of the way sports bar, someone heard something that sounded like gunshots. Less than fifteen minutes later, an ambulance and two squad cars arrived to a find a man lying on the ground, barely breathing and unconscious. Not long after that, detectives arrived on the scene. "Geez. Looks like a war broke out here..." The first detective pulled on a pair of gloves, putting his hand against the brick wall of the alley where the victim had been found. "...are these bullet holes?" "We didn't find any bullet casings... We found these." The officer held up a paper bag, and the detective raised an eyebrow. "Are those... construction rivets?"

GM Cerys Pfer stood before the sweating stone castle that had dominated her life before Claremont. The headquarters of Amddiffynnwr O Lleu Llaw Gyffes was still imposing, and now Cerys found herself called back here because because because she had received a letter from the head of the order. It had been full of code words and phrases, designed to defeat detection by whoever might read it besides Cerys, which really meant Headmaster Summers. The letter had talked about Cerys's 'sick cousin,' and how things were looking 'very grim' for the poor child, how the doctors were 'uniform in their opinion.' It was enough to get Cerys on a plane for Gatwick Airport without raising too much suspicion. Only the young ninja was aware that she was being recalled for a dangerous mission; that she would be briefed by a member of the ruling council; and that the mission would be against someone her own age, someone she knew. Now that she was here, the only thing to do was to find out who.

Liberty Park, Sunset Lake lakeside path, Freedom City, July 4th, Wednesday 11.45 AM "So, seein' as we're pro'lly goin' back to 'Rico on the 21st, this is their last big chance to meet ya!" Subito explained cheerily to Cerys, comfortably walking down the shady yet heated path with an arm around her waist and his hand on her hip. The teen paragon positively glowed with health and excitement, wearing his usual white t-shirt and shorts, both emblazoned with the American and Puerto Rican flags, a baseball cap overtop his curly hair with the same colors completing the patriotic ensemble. Pausing for a moment, he looked fully at her and smiled fondly, kissing her on the cheek "Thanks Blodeu. For sayin' yes, I mean. I was gonna ask you to come over to meet my family, but...well..." he shrugged helplessly and looked away, the memory of the brief but harrowing capture and imprisonment bubbling up. With a jolt he shook off the gloom, grinned at Cerys and resumed their brisk walk. By now the lake was visible through the mouth of the trees, like a rippling field of jewels dotted by rowboats and sailing boats, even a few professional rowers practicing on the dancing water. On the grass a large group of Hispanics was busy setting up a picnic spread. Subito took a breath to shout a greeting, only for one of them, an especially tall and very strongly-built young woman who bore a striking resemblance to Subito, caught sight of the pair leaving the trees and bellowed out happily "HEY THERE, 'BITO! GET OVER HERE AND HELP!" Closing his mouth with a *click*, the young man blushed crimson and muttered "They called me that when I was a kid. A lot. They didn't do it any more until last year, when Serge and Vic came over to visit. Now they do it all the time." He rolled his eyes, then caught hers and the irritation vanished. "We're gonna have a picnic, go to Hero's Knoll, we're gonna see everything! it'll be AWESOME!"

GM Doctor Charles Cross Medical Center, Lincoln Thursday, December 12th, 2013 7:16 PM Lincoln had never been known as the most affluent neighborhood South of the Boardwalk. The hardworking residents who made up the majority of its population were often overlooked in favor of the contrasting number of gangbangers whom called the place home. In reality Lincoln was no more predisposed to crime than the rest of the of the district South of the river. Many business were dedicated to bettering life for the residents in the area. The Doctor Charles Cross Medical Center was just one of those facilities. A free clinic that had been operating since the 70's dedicated to providing health care to those whom couldn't otherwise afford it. Currently it was run by the thirty six year old Beth Cross, whom before inheriting the family practice served as a surgeon for the Kingston Community Medical Center. The facility especially saw the most use during the holiday season when people had the time to actually find out what the ailments they were ignoring for months meant. The run down looking clinic was covered head to toe with christmas lights in honor of the festive season. Unfortunately, for the past thirty minutes the christmas lights had been paling in comparison to the amount of headlights from the police cars. It had only been an hour since a group of six masked men had seized control of the clinic. Holding it hostage after their demands for medical supplies were met with a silent alarm being tripped. Foreshadow and Graft had arrived while the police where setting up their barricade and proceeded to sneak inside unseen. An impressive feat considering how much of Graft there was to see.

GM Thursday 2nd May, around midday Liberty Park The man was old, probably in his sixties, yet in good health. He had a health mop of white hair and leathered, tanned skin. He was dressed in a Linen suit, and one could only guess he had been a handsome man in his youth - he still held on to some silvered good looks and an easy charming smile. "Hello young man" he said, approaching Marcus. "Mr..Irons, isn't it?" he asked, bowing slightly. "I am Doctor Lake. No, not a medical doctor.." he chuckled. "Just a humble student of history..." He mopped his brow with a handkerchief in the hot May sun. He wore a broad sun hat, but still, the sun was high in the sky. "Taken me a while to find you, Sir" he explained. "I thought I should bring something to your attention. I keep my eyes and ears open, you see, and I know more than a thing or two about the myths and occultism of the past. If I am not mistaken, you have a smack of that about you, am I right?"

Thursday, April 18, 2013 8:50 PM local time (5:50 AM, April 18, 2013 in Freedom City) Somewhere over the South Pacific GM The still night sky over the South Pacific was briefly disrupted by the sleek form of an advanced hypersonic transport as it streaked through the thin air at high altitude. Designed with stealth in mind, the transport was nearly impossible to detect by conventional mean, which allowed it to follow a rather direct route to its destination. Inside the aircraft’s main cabin, three rather unusual teenagers (two male, one female) had been bound to a set of jump seats set up in the middle of the cargo area. Each of the three had their arms bound together behind their backs by primary restraints affixed around their wrists and forearms. Additional restraints, crossing over their chests and arms, held them to their jump seats and helped to keep them upright, as all three were currently unconscious. Additional restraints bound their ankles together. All three of the teens were wearing costumes, which varied from rather subdued to quite colorful (at least in one case). Standing watch over the unconscious superteens were a group of men dressed in black and grey, gi like uniforms made of reinforced Kevlar material. Each wore a black tactical belt around their waists with a sidearm and a number of small pouches attached. All of the men were armed with what appeared to be some form of energy weapon, either immediately in hand, or very close by. All of the men were clearly of some Asian descent, thought to a more knowledgeable observe, it was apparent they hailed from a number of different countries. Six of the men were seated around the three teens, three to either side, their weapons cradled in their hands, ready to use should any of the teens awaken and show any sign of escaping their restraints. Another half dozen were seated towards the front of the aircraft, somewhat more relaxed, but with their weapons within easy reach. One of the men seated closest to the three teens was starting to feel himself wanting to drift to sleep, a feeling he fought, as he tried to focus on the teens, looking for any sign of movement beyond steadying breathing or a slight shift caused by turbulence or the like. But event that was beginning to feel monotonous, when he suddenly realized the three were appearing to stir. The realization brought him fully awake, as he focused on the movements, confirming his eyes had not been playing tricks on him. <"They are starting to wake!"> He stated in slightly accented Mandarin. The other five guards closest to the teens all sat up a bit straighter, many tightening their grips on their weapons as well. Over towards the front of the aircraft, the other six men also became more alert, focusing on the teens once more, a few picking up their weapons. One of the six glanced at a watch on his wrist, then looked back up towards the teens. <"It does not matter, we should be landing very soon.">

September 1, 2013 Typhoon City (formerly Qalansiyah), Free Kingdom of Socotra From the perspective of Freedom City, anyway, it started small. A freak storm in the northwestern Indian Ocean, lashing coasts as far as the Arabian Peninsula and the Horn of Africa. A sudden media blackout on the island-nation of Socotra; with even its ample (and often illegal) Internet going dark. Socotra was on the radar of only a few people in the city with its lord and master gone largely into retirement, and a brief blackout was an occasion for concern, but not alarm. Of course, some people had closer ties to the Socotran royal family than others. Standing on the roof of the royal palace of Typhoon, on its best days a magnificent palace of Arabian and Indian styles, surrounded by ever-flowing fountains of fresh water that were among the tallest such in the world, Mark Lucas stared at what lay in Qalansiyah harbor, and beyond it, and for one of the few times in his life honestly had no idea what to say. He took the hand of his girlfriend Nina al-Darsah, princess-turned-college-student, and when he made eye contact and saw the fear she would never, ever, ever admit to having, he said the only thing that made sense. "I'm going to call for help." "Well...I suppose," said Nina, putting her arm around him, the shadows in which they both stood casting her dark face into gloom. "Normally this is something the royal family would handle amongst ourselves, of course, but this, yes, this is something that your friends could help with." She hugged him, stepped aside so he could disappear without her, because what princess would leave her kingdom in a time line this? and said "Hurry." With a nod, Mark's costume flashed up around him before he vanised himself - reappearing in the main foyer of the famous Midnight Manor! "Trevor, Erin!" he called out loud as his shoes creaked on hardwood floors. He'd been gone just half a day, but what a day it had been! "I need your help with something! Something...big!" He had to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Thursday November 14th, 5:00 P.M. A few miles offshore from the dockside. The hustle and bustle of the dockyard was in full display. Despite the large number of scheduled deliveries in and out of the city not a single shipment had been late yet. It was clear example of how efficient the Waterfront could be when all the cogs were in working order. With the day winding down many a sailor was looking forward to finishing up and heading home. And if it wasn't for the freak storm that came out of nowhere they might have gotten a chance to do just that. The sky over the water began to darken to an unnatural degree. The wind violently raging pushing waves to crash against the shore. The sound of thunder echoed overheard with the stray bolt of lightning coming down to emphasize how dangerous the situation was. A maelstrom forming from beneath as if to match the typhoon. And caught in the middle of this catastrophe? Two freighters each incapable of doing anything to combat against the raging storm. The crewmembers unfortunate enough to be in attendance could only watch on in horror as the disaster began to unfold. All the while a shrill cackle could be heard in the wind itself. To the keen observer the storm seemed completely self contained with the not even a speck of the violent gust reaching the shore.

November 3, 2013 “…we’ve been at this for an hour. I don’t th-“ “No, you ARE thinking. That’s the problem.†An exasperated sigh escaped the judoka’s mouth. Marcus frowned, biting back a grumble of frustration. “I get it. You’re still worried that what happened to Richard will happen to you. But mastering the Beast Rune is going to take more than just the raw strength of your bear form. You've tapped into that potential once before... you can do it again.†It had been the Master Mage himself who had turned Arcturus towards training, certainly more than he’d done at his four years at Claremont. It was rigorous to the point of being a job in and of itself, and his teacher seemed to know far more about the Beast Rune than he did. In the end, it was just a lot of philosophy, as well as an unusual fighting style that was unique to Arc’s inherited magical ability. “Juuhoukenjitsuâ€â€”the Way of the Beast King’s Fist. At first, it was nothing but forms and katas. Admittedly, Marcus thought it was utterly useless at first… until the first time he’d used it in a fight. When the mind is reeling, the body remembers its training; this was universal, and suddenly Arcturus felt he could relate to the Beast Rune in a way that he’d never done before then. Nevertheless… he was holding back. He could sense the wall he had put up ever since that fateful night on his birthday five years ago… Marcus really wasn’t sure if he was ready to bring it down. The Cult of the Beast Rune, however, was giving him very little choice. “Okay. Let’s start again.†Marcus shut his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time had passed after that. The moment he stopped concerning himself with time is when everything felt timeless. He felt a sudden rush, as if his entire body was suddenly weightless, and when he opened his eyes, the dojo was gone. In its place was a wide expanse of grassy hills, and a circle of stones that reminded him vaguely of Stonehenge. ...not exactly what I expected. "No, I suppose it wouldn't be, would it?" Marcus spun around at the sound of a voice other than his own. He paused at the sight of something oddly familiar: a figure nearly a foot taller than him, wearing a dark green robe, his face entirely covered by a ceramic bear mask. "I was wondering how long it would take you to get here."

Freedom City Waterfront November 12, 2013; 6:15 PM The clouds that had hung over Freedom City all day were still very much in place as evening fell. The temperature was hovering just a bit above freezing, but the wind chill certainly made it feel as if it was colder. Fulmen Fairison had just spent the last half hour fighting his way through Freedom City's rush hour traffic to deliver a set of ice sculptures he had made in one of the part-time jobs he was involved with to help pay his bills. Some corporation was having some event at their Waterfront research lab and somehow Fulmen had ended up having to make the deliver as the normal driver was sick. Fulmen spotted his destination up ahead, a sleek three story building built on one of the piers along Freedom City's Waterfront. The company's logo was visible in one of the upper corners, a large star with its name written across, "PanStar." As he drew closer, Fulmen realized that the building was fenced off, and he had to pass through a gate, at which a pair of men in dark red uniforms stood waiting and checking vehicles. Getting into the small line behind a florist, Fulmen saw the armed guards check the driver's deliver order and then take a look in the back of the van. Once they were satisfied everything was in order, they waived the vehicle through and the gate opened, closing again behind the florist's delivery van as Fulmen pulled up. A stern looking man that looked like he might have once played football stepped up and shined a flashlight in Fulmen's face. "Can I see your delivery papers. Please." There was a distinct pause before the ""please," the word itself stated in a rather terse and businesslike manner.

August 15, 2013 The messages arrived in different ways for different heroes - Cannonade and Wander had theirs delivered to one of the anonymous tip drop boxes the Liberty League used to collect correspondance, Wail had his delivered by standard mail to Keith LaMarr's home address, while Willow's came via a scanned copy emailed directly to Vince. They were instantly recognizable as odd - the envelopes weren't paper but vellum, some sort of processed animal skin, and the stamps affixed to them were wildly overpaid, as if someone had bought a chunk of postage and slapped it on an envelope without knowing how the value of postage actually worked. Inside the envelopes lay a simple message written in thick, heavy block printing - again on vellum, albeit by something that looked more like a pencil. HELLO YOU ARE INVITED TO THE ADULTED HOOD CELEBRATION OF RUNS-WITH-FANGS-BARED. PLEASE COME TO BATSTO VISITOR CENTER AT SUNSET TOMORROW IF YOU WANT TO COME. WITNESS MIGHTS OF WITH-FANGS-BARED CLAN AND RAPTOR EMPIRE. A quick trip to Google found the Batsto Vistor Center easily enough; a historic "living history" village deep in the heart of the Wharton State Forest. Heroes who remember the encounter with emissaries of the Raptor Empire will recall Runs-With-Fangs-Bared, the teenage daughter of the raptor commander who learned a lesson about not calling humans apes all the time.

Saturday, April 6th 11:32 AM Cannonade usually wouldn't have been in costume and about town this early on a Saturday. But he, like the rest of the Liberty League, had been on high alert the last few days. There'd been a number of suspicious thefts in the Freedom area over the last few days, and if the pattern held up, odds were the thieves weren't going to take a day off. Midnight had been the first to notice the pattern. On Thursday night, at around 3 AM, several items went missing from the Harcourt family vault at Eastern Seaboard Bank. They could tell the time because the disappearance of the items had set off the motion detectors and pressure sensitive plates in the vault - even though the thieves had not. There was no sign of breach, no sign of forced entry, and no sign of electronic subversion of the vault's countermeasures. Then, around midnight on Friday, someone had done a smash-and-grab on the Valert mansion in the North End and had stolen several antiques from the family's private collection. Two thefts that might, by themselves, be either coincidences or the sign of a particularly brave gang of robbers. But the Valerts had a reputation for considering private acquisitions the family hobby. Their collection was rumored to consist of pieces that might better belong in a national museum - bits of Greek architecture, Renaissance painting... and paraphernalia from the homes of Hitler's inner circle. Likewise, the Harcourts had a black sheep in their family tree - Roland Harcourt, who it was rumored had made a bank securing Nazi funds in American institutions. Some of which he might have actually kept. So it appeared that somebody was going about stealing Nazi assets - or, worst case scenario, relics. Which was why Cannonade was on patrol in Midtown, keeping his eyes locked on the Super Museum. Midnight had been able to narrow down a few "avenues of interest" for the robbers to strike at, potential assets that the thieves might strike at - private collections, arcane libraries, and so forth. The Museum was hosting another retrospective on the heroes of WWII, this time focusing on some of the artifacts belonging to the Reich's own superpowered operatives. There was little chance anything was going to go down in the light of day, but he'd volunteered to keep an eye on Downtown. And hey, nothing wrong with spending more time at the Super Museum. "Nothing big so far," he said into his communicator. "Anything on your ends?"

GM Continued from OVERTHROW in City Hall! The Iceberg, headquarters of AEGIS, Freedom City September 12th, 2012, 2.15 PM The walk to Director Powers' office was a short one, made longer by that sense of unfamiliarity coming from new environments and the unceasing hustle and bustle of the American Elite Government Intervention Service going on all around them, reports of events happening around the globe the subject of constant surveillance and study, dour military officers considering tactical difficulties and pondering the best way to safeguard the world marching cheek-by-jowl with lean and excited scientists explaining new breakthroughs in cybernetics and the tantalizing results of new tests done on metals from another dimension, and they quickly opened ranks to accept the neat and professional shapes of the direct agents of AEGIS, who opined on new ways to undercut and overcome the forces of evil and villainy. They quickly stepped to the side to let Agent Anthea, Agent Silas, and the heroes of city hall past, giving them stern but warm words of welcome, and more than a few quiet waves and thumbs-up as they went by. For their part, the guiding agents looked neither right nor left, acknowledged only a few close friends and followed the dark purple line that led them straight to the office whose thick oak door was marked H. Powers, Dir. of AEGIS with a smaller sign below it saying "Do not disturb, bureau business" Knocking three times on the panels, Anthea called in "Mr. Powers! The fine people you wanted are here." From within there was a brief sound like shuffling papers, and then the door was abruptly opened to reveal the towering, eyepatched, confident and vigorous master of the agency, Harry himself. Dressed in a neat black AEGIS uniform, the man oozed command from every inch of his being. "It says do not disturb, agent" he snapped, shutting the door behind himself and briskly taking the lead down another corridor following a green line "Do you think I put it there as a test? Dismissed! You and Silas are due for another assignment in four hours in India, get ready" he said crisply, folding his hands behind his back and leading the team in silence to a room dominated by a narrow table and large screen. Silas and Anthea saluted and marched off, Silas giving a slight wave before they were out of sight. Tapping a small button on the table, the screen clicked to green life, showing the schematic of a ship, and the layout of a base. Turning to face the assembled heroes Harry Powers said gravely "Good day, I am Powers, the director of this agency, I am pleased to meet you and would like to request your assistance on a delicate mission." turning to Gabriel he added "Of course, I cannot force you to help, and if you would prefer not to act in tandem with us, you may use the information I am about to give you as you see fit." he leaned on the table, his one eye boring into the very hearts of the group who had saved city hall "Any questions before I begin?"

The Tyrrhenian Sea subdivision of the Mediterranean Sea, June 24, 2013 Giang Trang sliced through the clear blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Graceful and poised on land, the Asian teen was perhaps even more so underwater, seamlessly banking and turning as she swam amid a small school of giant devil rays. Reaching wing spans of up to seventeen feet across, the large rays were impressively graceful swimmers, and truly majestic to behold. The last couple of weeks had been an incredible experience for Giang. Her friend and roommate at Claremont Academy, Thaelia, had invited the Asian teen to spend part of the summer break visiting in Atlantis. So Giang had been a guest of the Atlantean royal family, of which Thaelia was a member, allowing her to see the wonders of the legendary city and continent located in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. After spending two weeks in the Atlantic, Thaelia had brought Giang to visit the Atlantean outpost of Crantorium, which was located in the depths of the Tyrrhenian Sea, a section of the Mediterranean Sea generally bound by Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily and most of the western coast of the Italian peninsula. Crantorium's shallower depth, and relative proximity to even shallower waters near the various islands and Italy, made the outpost something of a resort location for Atlanteans. In addition to the marvelous sights and experiences the trip had provided, it also provided Giang with the ability to relax more than usual, as it was highly unlikely that either her father or any of Dr. Sin's other lieutenants would be able to locate her among the Atlanteans. The somewhat more carefree attitude she was feeling was rather evident as she swam alongside the school of devil rays. Banking slightly as the school veered around a large rocky outcropping, Giang looked back over one shoulder to ensure that Thaelia was still alongside, though the Asian teen had little doubt, as the Atlantean was an equally powerful swimmer.

GM Monday, October 28 12:30 PM Six patients. Addicts, junkies, casual users. Whatever they tried to say, they'd all done whatever it had been. Drugs were bad enough, tainted drugs were even worst. He had four patients who had a bad reaction. The symptoms were consistent; Intense vertigo, hallucinations, vomiting and tremors. They shook uncontrollably, could not walk, seemed barely lucid, and could keep nothing down. When questioned, all four of them pointed out to something they'd gotten their hands on. Some new, cheap source. Probably tainted, but he did not know by what. He knew better than to assume he could keep the streets completely clean. Tainted drugs, though, drugs that could potentially kill on one dose? That he could probably take care of. But not as Tyrone Mendoza, not as a doctor. No, he would need to do something a little more drastic. With that in mind, he suited up. ------Meanwhile------ Jackie. He was about sixteen maybe seventeen, a friendly kid who was probably destined to end up dead in an alleyway. It wasn't fair, though. He was smart, good looking, and had a ready smile. When asked where he came from, he always redirected the conversation. He couldn't keep himself clean. Now he was sixteen or seventeen and laying in a bed in the back of some free clinic. Shaking and vomiting, barely able to tell who anyone was. The rumor was someone had put tainted drugs on the street.

August 30th, 2013 Just after dinner Claremont Academy, Games Room Tona Baudin sat on the couch, huddled into herself, stealing looks at the women across the table from her. The young archer was wielding unfamiliar tools, weapons which she had never considered until today. She felt the stares of the other three young females, and glared daggers at the only thing left for her to choose. "I don't see why we can't both be ninjas," she said, for the third time. She looked at Sam Vance, who was already shuffling her two decks of cards. "We both like sneaking. Why can't we both be... sneaky people?" She looked at the cards already in her hand, the Pirate deck. She had chosen it mainly because the pictures looked a bit more real than on the other cards; and now she was staring at the Alien deck. She knew she had to have two decks, but the combination reminded her uneasily of her trip to Sanctuary. Tona's eyes shifted to Kristen and Jennifer, looking for support. She didn't really know the two other Claremont students very well, but apparently they were also dating, and Jennifer had a yen for board games. The idea of the four girls bonding over pieces of cardboard was evidently normal for this dimension, because Sam hadn't reacted oddly to the suggestion. Which was why Tona was here, feeling -- oddly enough -- quite at sea.

September 30, 2013 Somewhere in Ashton The apartment complex looked like any other in this bedroom community, an anonymous collection of two-story boxes done in a vaguely mid-20th century Spanish style, occupying the edge of the bedroom community in the space that lay between Ashton proper and the industrial loading docks of Greenback. Thanks to Dr. Metropolis's powers, and Daedalus' wealth, nobody much had noticed just how fast the complex had gone up, or who exactly had moved into it. There had been some very special circumstances over a year earlier, when the heroes Wander, Jill O'Cure, Dragonfly, and Harrier brought back the >last survivors of a dying world from the grip of the Terminus. Most of the time, dimensional refugees in Freedom City went to the same place - Freedom League Special Circumstances Housing. But these refugees, such as they were, were very special indeed. Murdock stepped out of the car, the taxi rising off its struts, and looked up at the nearly-anonymous building complex, clouds in a darkening sky overhead showing what promised to be the mother of all rainstorms. He wasn't looking at Circle Ten Apartments, though, or even at the agents waiting inside who he knew worked directly for the Freedom League. Instead he was remembering the last time he'd met the people inside that building. He remembered that day, and how close he had come to losing control, with a fever-hot vividness, and took a moment outside to compose himself. Gabriel was arriving at the same time, by a discreet League teleporter into a nearby side-street rather than by his own very noticeable flight. The news wasn't good - the Terminus prisoners resettled in Freedom City had been found making a secret room inside their apartment complex, marked with strange signs and unknown names, and as the League's expert in religions, he'd been called in to see if this was another Terminus cult alive and well even among people who were supposed to be their guests.

"Okay, I'm a, hoo, big enough man to admit that, huff, we may need a new plan," Jack of all Blades panted out with some difficulty, disengaging his grappling line and coming to a stop on a rooftop in the West End. Supporting one hand atop his knee, he wiped sweat from the gab between his royal blue bandanna mask and the edge of his black wig. "Take five, team," he told the rest of the Interceptors as he straightened and considered their options. Over the past couple of weeks there had been increasing chatter on the street about a new supplier for some variation of the drug commonly know as 'zoom', a potent concoction that overclocked the user's entire body, providing effective superspeed for as long as the high lasted but coming with the heavy risk of everything from heart attacks to paralysis. At first the Interceptors had had little trouble quashing the new variant, with Vince directing them to the most likely spots for drug deals in the neighbourhood before they could even happen. Unfortunately they'd had little success tracking down the actual supplier and in the past days the new zoom had flooded the West End, leading to a rash of superspeed B&Es and other crimes. This time they'd gotten enough warning to make it to the scene while a corner convenience store was being burgled but the thieves, still in the throes of the drug, had rapidly eluded the team as they sped off. Jack knew it was only a matter of time before they started running across the burnt out bodies of stupid kids who's luck had run out, assuming one of their petty robberies didn't go horribly wrong before that. It was time to call in the cavalry. "Hey, long time. It's your favourite swashbuckling pretty boy," he greeted into his phone once he had his breath back. "You got your sneakers handy? 'Cause I need a favour."

GM 10.50 AM, November 4th, 2013, 4500 Swan Drive, Ashton The Parson's Elementary School construction site was positioned on a small hill, just on the edges of Freedom City. To the north and west and mere yards away, the Wharton State forest loomed in a mass of reddening or yellowed oaks and ashes disrupted by the odd sentinel green pine. This site had been chosen, and the architecture modified after exhaustively-precise surveys, to present as little disruption to the beloved and vast national wood as possible. The concrete foundation had set by now, and the two-story frame was already getting into spindly wooden shape. Sounds of hammering and the sight of workers carrying boards and lengths of metal into place gave the scene an oddly old-fashioned quality despite the nearby yellow construction equipment. Jasom Ballard, head foreman of the local DeCosta Construction team, nodded shortly to Arnold Felt, the main foreman who had been overseeing the work in his absence, as he walked briskly up the hill to get a view of how things were going. "Any trouble, Arnie?" he asked hopefully. "None Mr. Ballard! Everything's been quiet this last week." Arnold smiled in relief. Everyone on the crew had heard the rumors, and it had taken a little bit of talking to keep people on schedule instead of leaving when the shadows started to deepen. Jason clapped him on the shoulder a few times and nodded in silent thanks and trudged on, all but running up the ladder onto the second floor framework to check out an iffy-looking bit of scaffolding. Everything was going well in the crisp morning light, until one of the amber-covered trees at the forest's border got up, cascading loose rock and soil in an explosion of dust, and started walking towards the school with heavy, slow strides on each formidable taproot that sent a faint tremor through the ground. At first the rest of the dimming trees were still. Then another, and another rose in a shower of dust and rock and joined the growing vegetable procession marching impassively onwards and churning up the ground as they went like a dark wave. The first had gotten the attention of the workers, who watched in growing horror as it approached and was joined by rustling, creaking cohorts. The rest sent them into a very soft and orderly panicking retreat. "Mr. Ballard? I think we should...um...go. And possibly take the digging equipment. Don't want to get them smashed." offered a nearby worker, edging away towards the ladder and trying to tug Jason along with her. The foreman shook himself abruptly from the shock of seeing walking trees, and said with quiet earnestness "Yeah, good plan. And we need to call for help!"

GM 29th October, 21:00 on the dot... The man was dressed in unremarkable black casual clothes but even someone with casual military knowledge would know he was equipped well. Guns, explosives, night vision goggles and all sorts of equipment lay to either side of him. He was operating out of a van, unmarked, with a license plate that, if one was to hazard a guess, was probably ripped off or falsified. The guy was a professional. He was atop a rooftop, using binoculars to scan a building in the distance. "Hmmm" he murmured to himself, and stood up, satisfied. With military precision, he packed away his guns, explosives and gadgets into a plain duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. For all his planning, he could not have planned for the unexpected. Three youths approached him as he slung his bag into the van. Thee youths from the Fens. They were tough, they were tough, and they wore the colours and clothes of a local gang. A glint, and a knife came out.

September 13, 2013 10:03 PM The night air was beginning to get cooler in Freedom City, though still far warmer that it would be in the months to come. But neither the current cool temperatures nor the freezing ones that would soon arrive were of any concern to Henry Mason, as his powers allowed him to survive in the depths to space. Since his return to Earth, Henry had taken the identity of the Solar Sentinel, using his powers to aid the fight against crime within the city. For the ageless veteran, it was just another war to be fought. Currently, the ageless veteran of an intergalactic war was gliding over the streets of the Boardwalk. Over next to the south bank of the South River, the brightly lit casinos stood out from the dark waters and often dark streets that stretched to the south. Solar Sentinel was just about to move on to another part of the city when he heard the sounds of sirens below him. Glancing down, he spotted a pair of police cars, their lights flashing as their sirens continued to sound, speeding down one of the dark streets…

GM Deptford Docks, London August 31st, Near Midnight... The sky was not as dark as a costumed nocturnal crime fighter would have likes. The stars, and moon, where out in force. The summer heat was ablated somewhat but the Thames, swirling dark through London. The air was dry, and for many it would be a night of music and love. But not for Osprey. Smuggling in London was controlled by one man. The middleman. Who he was, nobody knew. Few even knew of his existence. But he had his finger in every pie. The gangs of London knew exactly who they had to go through to get 'product' in. Or, in some cases, out. And a major haul of drugs was coming in. The superdrug Max, by all accounts. On a small freighter docked in the pier, being unloaded by a gang of heavies. As Osprey looked on, he saw the five men being approached by two policemen, who started asking questions...