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Ellie Espadas rarely had difficulty finding things to occupy her days. Even with her natural aptitude and the considerable knowledge she'd already accrued, her pre-med course load at Freedom City University was proving more difficult than she'd honestly expected, merging into a blur of lectures, exams and papers. Thankfully her prodigious capability for memory retention saved her from spending too much time studying and reviewing, freeing her nights for racing about the rooftops of the West End as Jill O'Cure, the metamagi medic and one of the more consistent members of the ever-shifting roster of the Interceptors. Even on top of all that, she managed to squeeze in time volunteering at local hospitals and clinics, learning from experienced physicians while surreptitiously using her superhuman abilities to make a difference where she could. With all of those juggled responsibilities, it had taken considerable effort and cunning to clear her schedule for an entire day. She'd gotten a head start on essays, called in favours and swapped shifts. Not many events would have been worth the effort. Today, however, was. Today was Mara Hallomen's birthday and, arriving at the engineer's apartment in Parkside, Ellie was determined to dedicate the entire day to celebrating it properly.
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February 2012 Shoreline Battered and bruised, the members of the Liberty League watched as the Yamato Kaiju collapsed to the beach in a shower of burning debris, the robotic titan originally constructed by the finest engineers of the Imperial Japanese Army, circa 1943, finally defeated by the combined efforts of Freedom City's legacy super-team. Once forty feet high, capable of breathing radioactive fire and shrugging off heavy weapons fire, now it was nothing more than one more shattered legacy of World War II that had crashed against the rocks of the next generation of Freedom's heroes. It was cold on the February beach, but the brilliant red and white flames rising from the burning skin of the fallen robot dinosaur kept the more fragile heroes like Edge warm as he studied the fallen wreck. Mark wasn't one for a lot of abstract thought, but even he was moved by the sight of the fallen behemoth. (Well, mostly because while his allies had all taken their lumps against it, no one had been seriously hurt.) The Yamato Kaiju had walked across the seafloor from Truk to Freedom City, most likely going around the Straits of Magellan to avoid the Panama Canal, had survived nearly seventy years only to emerge onto the land and be beaten by the Liberty League over three long and difficult hours. "Okay, team," called Edge, stepping back from the burning dinosaur and feeling the slight ache from a near-miss that had turned into a sunburn thanks to his brush with radioactivity. "Let's-" Suddenly, up in the sky some thirty feet overhead, reality collided with reality as two shining chrome spheres the size of a Greyhound bus erupted from the same space and moment and collided with and fused with each other simultaneously. The twisted double-mass of metal came hurtling downward and smashed into the surf, just too far away for the heroes to reach before impact, kicking up a sheet of spray and sand as they landed.
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previously on Something Fishy GM Bessie crossed the Lindroos Bridge, passed through Kingston bringing an unusual sight to the uniform suburbs, and finally arrived in North Bay, where the houses and buildings left place for a red, yellow and brown wall, made of maple and oak trees, hiding the mansions and villas behind a barrier of autumn colors shining beautifully in the sunlight. Bessie lifted clouds of dry leaves as Steam drove her towards the ambassador’s address. The mansion called the Purple Porch appeared behind a high laurel hedge. It was a Victorian mansion, built in Queen Anne style; it was painted with a faint yellow in and growing up to two stories and an attic set below a very steep roof covered in dark tiles; Bessie seemed almost more fit to be in the yard than the Audi A8 currently parked there. The mansion was slightly below road level, built so that the back yard would end in a small beach facing Great Bay. "Purple Porch" was probably inaccurate as a nickname, though. "Giant Purple Portico" was more precise in describing how the villa greeted the guests: a large portico held by five columns, all covered in a climbing plant still brightly green, and sporting giant purple flowers as wide as Frisbee disks, in complete contrast to the surrounding flora, flowerless and covered in autumnal colors. The fine gravel cracked under the shoes as the trio got out of the car.
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For all its wonders, Freedom City could be a dangerous place and it was a sad fact that the metropolis was home to more than its fair share of orphaned children. Fitting for a city known for rebirth from the ashes and undying resolution, many of those orphans had grown to become wealthy industrialists, expose-writing journalists, well known photographers and so on. Their legacy meant that Freedom boasted one of the best developed and funded social services programs in the nation. Even so, there never seemed to be quite enough beds, food or cheer to go around, particularly during the holiday season. Keith LaMarr had first become aware of the Santa's Super Helpers charity through his friend Reverend Stone of Lincoln's Church of the Eternal Rock of Justice. The concept was elegant in its simplicity: local superheroes volunteered to dress up in the traditional red and white suit of the jolly elf and spend the day with underprivileged youths at Millennium Mall, bringing some cheer in their own right and drawing much needed attention to the cause at the same time. Jingling bells next to a hanging pot taken to the logical extreme - at least logical by Freedom's standards. Certain bylaws unfortunately made it prohibitively difficult to have heroes participate in their secret identities, so those who's true names were public knowledge were typically approached. It was thus that the earsplitting educator known as Wail stepped into the bustling shopping center from the temporary changing area with a fluffy brimmed hat atop his bald head and bright red across his broad chest, stroking his grey streaked beard through a black glove that matched his boots and wide, gold-buckled belt, looking at though he could shake considerably more than a bowlful of jelly with his super-dense footfalls. The other two heroes in attendance were no less eye catching. The presence of Amir Al-Misri, the high-profile billionaire playboy turned superhero, assured a substantial media presence. His reputation as an irresponsible fop and dilettante would have raised LaMarr's eyebrow more if not for the good things he'd heard about the man as Asad, the energy absorbing metahuman. Neither of them was much comeptition for sheer visual impact next to Louis Ross, the popular cartoonist who's transformation into one of his one, massive, four-armed creations was almost too fantastical to believe. Wail knew he'd seen stranger things than the genial artist's demonic appearance in his decades of experience, but he was hard pressed to name more than a few off hand.
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Tuesday, September 13, 2011 11:46 AM Riverside Park, Riverside The Sentry Statue was not what most people saw when they first entered Freedom City, but it was the city's most famous landmark. Almost any citizen, and certainly any hero, could have found it, which was why Liz Moya chose it for a meeting place with Young Britannia. There was a bench there, between the Statue's legs; Liz was sitting there in tan slacks and a bulky green sweater. She had told the other heroine to look for the sweater and the messenger bag she used to haul her schoolbooks around in, but with the lowering skies and colder temperatures (a side-effect, they said, of the Gorgon's approach) the outfit was eminently practical as well. The student-hero had intended to sit there and keep an eye out for the fellow light manipulator, but she wasn't always the most patient person. The young woman decided to spend her extra time studying, and at the moment was nose-deep in a history book, trying to memorize the procession of US presidents. It was a subject she personally found mind-numbing, but it was required for her coursework so she bent all of her concentration to the task.
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Thursday, Jan 5th, 2012 The crowd outside Fun Time Toy's main lobby had begun growing as the unveiling of their newest product line came closer. The company had managed to keep what exactly it was under wraps, using everything from harsh Non-Disclosure Agreements with their employees and contractors to false leaks declaring everything from a line of Freedom League action figures to working hoverboards. When the announcement had been opened to the public and not just to the press, demand and interest had spiked. The entry fee for the public had also included a gift basket with a random selection of the company's catalog. The speakers setup outside the entrance crackled to life. "Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Please step back from the doors and have your ticket ready. Our friendly staff will guide you to the exhibition hall where the new line as well as complementary donuts and drinks are being served," a male voice sounded over the chilled crowd.
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Rooftop of Floyds Bar and Grill 1st December 2011 GM He shouldn’t be doing this he thought for the hundredth time as he paced the flat roof top of the bar. From below the sound of the bar drifted up, it was shaping up to be a good night down there. He had good, well cheap, whiskey waiting for him downstairs and it would be so easy to leave and go back downstairs. But they shouldn’t have done that to Mike, yeah so he squealed, but it was just too much. A simple bullet to the head yeah, only to be expected, but not this strange mystical Mumbo-Jumbo. Hands shaking he lit himself a cigarette. So he’d just tell these heroes nothing, well maybe a hint or two about Mike…
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GM Friday, February 10th 10:52 PM Riverside was, as usual, bustling, especially along 4th Avenue. The place where City Center met Riverside, it was where the industrial forests of downtown began to give way to the townhouses and nightclubs of the bohemian district. If you had a tendency to buy what they said in Lonely Planet, it was where the business suit was traded for evening wear. The streets were thronged tonight - the weekend had begun hours ago, the work week was well and truly dead, and many were hitting the town to celebrate. Two individuals, however, were most definitely not there with pleasure in mind. Arrowhawk and Midnight were patrolling the neighborhood, moving through on their respective routes. As others moved through the main streets and sidewalks, they kept to the back alleys, side roads, and rooftops. They had passed through the neighborhood on the same night on many occasions, their patrol routes often keeping one from noticing the other. Who knew if they would meet tonight...
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Friday, October 28th 5:39 PM It was another quiet day at the Black Petal Cafe, and Eric LaCroix was pretty happy about that. It had actually been a rather quiet month - ever since the incident at the Parkhurst, it had been a good month of simple dealings with the restless dead and the occasional exorcism for flavor. Every so often there'd been an attempt at a robbery, or maybe the occasional cackling supervillain, but things had been pretty sedate on the heroing front. It was good to have some time to think on things and not have to deal with a major crisis. Of course, the Halloween weekend was starting up, and who knew what would come with that, but for now, it was time meant to savor. He was in the middle of preparing a double-shot caramel latte when something pinged the distance edge of his senses. Someone dead was in the coffee shop. He scanned the crowd - no one looked like parts of them were falling off, or even had the pallor of the recently deceased. There weren't any obvious ghosts, and a poltergeist likely would've made more noise by now. He filed it away in the back of his head, waiting for the time to go on dish-clearing duty to see if he could scope out the specter. He handed the latte off to the customer and took the register once more. "Welcome to the Black Petal," he said. "How may I help you today?"
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GM October 10th, 2011 The West End, Freedom City The holiday was in full swing, and the kids of Young Freedom were doing their homework. The Columbus Day Parade was an annual Freedom City tradition. While it was nowhere near the size or intensity of the celebrations in New York City, the city's Italian population regularly congregated upon the West End to celebrate their heritage and the long road to America. Like any other city's celebrations, it had its share of controversies - several aldermen had tried over the years to get the parade officially renamed in the face of protests from Native American groups - but Headmaster Summers had put the fledgling superteam on assignment for a different reason. "The police are often overworked at celebrations like this," he had told Young Freedom, "and sometimes, things escape their notice. Especially when the person moving about has talents that go beyond what the human eye sees. Then there are the opportunists. Most supervillains aren't above a simple hostage situation, and a parade is a good opportunity. While it's hard for a single villain to control a large number of individuals, if they have the right powers, they can net enough to issue demands. Stay on observation. Keep to the fringes of the parade, but move through the crowds when you can. Odds are everything will go smoothly - but if it doesn't, I want you to be the first to notice, and the first to respond." And so, the Claremont students moved through the crowd and outside it, trying to keep a low profile. They were ready for if danger emerged... but maybe Summers was right. Maybe today would go off without a hitch.
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Eve Kurosawa seemed to never stop working. When she wasn't doing her duty as Jade Dragon, she was attending socials for the family business. The latter was happening tonight. February was American Heart Month and Kurosawa Inudtries was holding a fundraiser for the American Heart Asociation with all the procedes going to the Association. Mostly it was for rich people to mingle and show who had the biggest pocketbook. There was fine food, entertainment was provided by a political comedian, and of course check presentations. Eve had a few invitations for guests of her own, the few friends she had were either already invited or, well, people that wouldn't get accepted on the guest list. High society was bitchy like that sometimes. One friend she wanted to keep in touch was is Keith LaMarr, better known as Wail.Even though he was old enough to work in her grandfather's time, she saw him as personable old guy. She would ask him for advice, like a mentor. Though they never really called each other mentor or student. She approached him a week earlier and asked him if he wanted to go. If so they would have to get him a suit.
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"Pip pip....peeeep!" Lord Lucien Lockwood, aka Lord Steam, put down his paper, and (somewhat vexed) stubbed out the cigar he had been enjoying. These colonials, he had decided, did a rather rum job with cigars. Damn nuciance he had to put his out. The copper tube in his office was full of odd dials and readouts, with wires sprouting like roots from its base and leading to his workshop and laboratory at Steam Manor. A puff of steam let loose from the top. "Yes yes, M, what is it?" he said, momentarily annoyed. Damn inter-dimensional telephone. "Oh yes?" he said, interested. "Not really my cup of tea, the Music Hall, but seems like quite a mystery...I'm tempted to take it on though, you know..." M interrupted Lord Steam, who stopped and listened. "...a singer? a lady singer? well, that's probably beyond even Madam Redpowder's expertise" he replied, thinking of the elderly ladies marvellous make up and disguise skills. "But certainly, I can take a look see if we could recruit anyone here..." He paused. "...maybe someone British even, now I think about it. Not proper our British, of course. Second rate dimension here in Earth Colonial, of course. But I have may have heard of somebody..." Within a few minutes, he was scouring the library and making some phone calls.
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She was meant to be a Revenant a spirit of revenge on those that had ended her life, or the survivor of the mob family. But things had happened she had thanks to others become a hero and began to help people. And revenge seemed less important, but a crime family, like any family, have long memories when it comes to revenge. She even made it easy for then helping out in the soup kitchen in Broadway, a strong hold of the Mafia’s legitimate business. The soups kitchen was off limits but the rest of the strip was fair game. All it took was a scream for help in the alley, a simple ambush. When she awoke Lucy could tell that something was wrong, it was too cold. It was cold, she hadn’t felt the cold since she woken up before. Woken up dead. She tried to lift herself to have a look around briefly seeing a group of men watching her. Before one of them struck her around the face, knocking her again to the floor. She tasted blood in her mouth, but all she could think of was how healthy her skin looked. One of the gangsters lifted up her face and looked into her big brown eyes. "Long time ago one of our family tried to kill you. Guess I'm going to have to finish the job."
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November 3, 2011 Somewhere in the Wharton State Forest Mark Lucas hated Nazis, which made it all the more awkward to be here in the middle of a growing crowd of them. His long-sleeved "Don't Tread On Me" T-shirt hid his lack of white supremacist tattoos, but his blonde hair cut very short let him look very much like an Aryan poster boy. This was not really reassuring to Mark, but this was the sort of thing you did when you took up the legacy of the greatest Nazi fighters in the world. He tried to remember his conversation with Cannonade that had brought them all there: Greta Ratner, aka the Aryan Angel, or as his UNISON file had described her "Britney Spears meets Eva Braun" was one of the most famous neo-Nazis in the country: there weren't many beautiful blonde eighteen-year-olds willing to shake their booty in the name of racial purity. But Greta had, through her own channels, approached Cannonade (the very face of skinhead superheroes) and asked for help: she was worried that her latest concert was going to be attacked by her many enemies, and that meant she needed a superhero to help. Of course it was a trap. You couldn't trust Nazis, even if they were hot blondes from the Midwest. Which meant instead of just one hero, the Liberty League was out in force! Even if Cannonade would be the only one the Nazis would be able to see in uniform. Hmming, sipping his Coke, Mark walked around the gathering crowd, looking for familiar faces.
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GM Street Life Images of Homelessness in 20th Century America Southside was not the wealthiest area of Freedom City. Far from it. Poverty and homelessness sprung up like boils in little pockets. It constantly struggled with social problems. Today, a tiny shot back was occurring. Francis Fernando, a local businessman and amateur photographer, had lent out his warehouse to do a small free exhibition and fundraiser, showing paintings and photographs of homeless people of Freedom City over the last hundred years. A lively little crowd had gathered, from minor businessmen, campaigners, locals, social services, artists, and sponsors. It wasn't going to change the world, but it would help raise awareness, raise a little money, and maybe make people stop and think for a bit - the homeless weren't just faceless masses.
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November 11, 2011 Erin White's Apartment One of the advantages of being able to jump from continent to continent was that if you wanted to go to your friend's birthday, you could just take advantage of the Armistice Day celebrations that gave most UN employees the day off and walk right over to Freedom City. So it was that when Erin White reached the age of nineteen, her high school friend and ally against the Terminus, Mark Lucas, just headed over to her place around ten AM eastern standard time, a big package under his arm fresh from a nice store in Switzerland. They'd all exchanged addresses before they'd moved out their various ways, so it was no trouble even for the usually scatter-brained Mark to find exactly where his old ally and Liberty League comrade was living these days, for all that he hadn't visited her there. He knocked firmly, whistling a jaunty tune.
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October 23rd, 2011. How do you get a bunch of superheroes to meet? Mostly it seemed like chance and circumstance were the best ways. And fortunately circumstance and his money had become a bit of a confluence. He had passed his contact info amongst various people during the Harvestfair, where a bunch of heroes had been. All he hoped was that someone would listen. And then the press conference three days earlier helped. So a meeting was arranged, he had sent out invites to the responses he got, and to some he didn't get. "I apologize for the impersonal nature of this, but you likely are aware of my recent efforts. As such I wish to discuss with you the possibility of affiliating yourself with what I am building. I prose a meeting atop the opera house. 7 P.M. on the 23rd of October. Myself and King of Suits will be there, barring some catastrophe that might arise." It was a little form letter-ish and he regretted that as he raced with Weaver towards Hanover on the Arug. But it looks like he wasn't going to be make his appointment, a call to the contact information he had for King, and he hoped everything would go smoothly in his absence. though it was more a little fear, than something legitimate. He understood he could not force things to go according to plan, as right now showed.
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Eclipse Nightclub 11st December 2011 The club look eerie in the cold night air, an effect the owners had spent a lot of effort to achieve. This effect wasn’t reduced by the music pumping out of the building; after all it was the music that everyone was her for. And there was a rumor, always rumors, that tonight someone special was here. Someone who would take the lucky girl, or boy, to special places where they would be the special as well. Though the crowd she moved catching a fair numbers of the cueing crowd’s eye. She wasn’t especially tall, even in those impossibly tall heels, but she carried herself with a detached superiority. Her impossibly porcelain pale skin caused whisper through some of the cue that she was one of them. It was true that it was almost impossible to wear a corset that tight and still be able to breath, but even in Freedom city one wouldn’t be that obvious? She ignored all that, and the fact that everyone was queuing, and went straight to the bouncer at the door. “I’m here to see him.†it was a statement not a request.
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Lucy sat on the roof outside her room allowing the sight and sounds of Little India, and the rest of the city wash over her. She had just returned from seeing the latest Bollywood blockbuster with her boss/friend Padma. For a woman use to the silent black and white movies of the 20’s the riot of sound and color was a revelation to her. And she had loved every minute. A chance to dress up she had abandoned the drab black suit she had worn since her awaking for a colourful summer dress and a pair of wedge sandals.
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November 20, 2011 Southside It was unusual for criminals to talk so openly in lit areas, in Whiplash's experience. But the four men standing under the streetlights weren't even trying to be subtle. They hadn't bothered to retreat to an unlit alley or corner, the only concession to privacy being to lower their voices as they hissed and bickered. Whiplash herself watched from an alley, where she'd been forced to descend to ground level to hear the conversation. "He'll kill us if we don't bring him the money!" "Well, maybe we can... dispose of the guy responsible, instead." "You expect to find Johnny now?! We only have a couple of hours before the meet!" "Doesn't have to be Johnny, does it? He doesn't know who took it. We find someone, blame them, give ourselves some time, right?" "Yeah, like that'll work!" "Got any better ideas?!" Whiplash remained hidden and silent. Four was too many to take on by herself. She had a kid to think about. Besides, if she waited, these guys might lead her to their boss. So long as they didn't hurt anyone.
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Mara had been rather dreading this moment. Setting up the business was a lot of annoying logistics and paperwork; interviewing her new employees was just this side of headache-inducing stress and anxiety. But at some point a couple of the local newsgroups had caught wind that a 20-year-old was starting a successful new technology company, and with Halloween just ended and Thanksgiving too far away they'd decided to make a thing out of it. She wasn't quite sure how word had gotten to them. She rather suspected a couple of her failed interviewees; the one with the neck tattoo especially had seemed a little vindictive when she (figuratively) tore his work apart. It wasn't her fault his technology was lethally radioactive.... right - public speech - focus She took a deep breath for about the fifteenth time, adjusting her suit jacket for the twentieth. probably something witty to say here - 'showtime'? - note to self - think up wittier lines
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Hours after word had reached Sanctuary from Earth-Prime of the Gorgon's defeat and the ended threat, the relocation of the evacuated populace was in full swing. It would take days to return everyone to their homes, but thanks to significant foresight and high spirits stemming from relief, thing were going as smoothly as could be hoped. Overlooking the procession from hill nearby Stesha's cottage, Erik Espadas sat on the grass divested of his alter-ego's costume and generally trying to stay out of the way. While the world's greatest scientific minds and space-borne heroes had faced the planet-killer head on, the street level swordsman was forced to admit that the threat had been well out of his own weight class. Instead, he'd done what he could in keeping Willow away from the influence of her 'elder sister' after the controlled dryad's nearly disastrous rampage through the West End. Looking over to the slender, white haired woman, he was silent for a moment before beginning, "So. We should probably talk, huh?"
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October 15th (Saturday), 2011, 6:45 AM Outside the Riverdance Cafè The very first lights of dawn emerged from the far horizon line, painting of a lighter blue sky and sea alike and pushing the darkness towards the Wharton State Forest. In the cold air of a Saturday morning, Riverside looked significantly less stylish and enjoyable than just a few hours before: of the plethora of students and artists who stood drinking and talking and playing in the paved streets all that was left were cigarette butts and a couple of abandoned beer bottles and cocktail glasses. Very few people were already awake, and even fewer were still awake. Among the latter was detective Beck. His tall and thin figure stood in the silence, the red and blue lights of his parked car flashing upon his cheap brown suit. A couple of uniformed cops were securing the area, a third one was talking with a dazzled garbage man. Beck caressed his mustache. He was trying to grow it to look older, but he still looked very much like a rookie. The corpse before his eyes had dark green hair, slightly webbed hands and was wearing a breastplate carved out of a Turtleshark shell. Here’s my first night shift he thought. Ugh. Atlantean. Days would go by before we get authorization to pursue this investigation...
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September 24, 2011 11:15 PM Nick Cimitiere tended to the main hall of the Parkhurst. He knew full well the ghosts would've been happy to help, but he'd decided to give them the night off. They were back in their quarters, passing the time, while he waited for some sort of miracle. He took a look over the Parkhurst - it was still hard to believe that, six months ago, it was effectively abandoned. The ghosts had kept it in order, but it was still a husk, soaked through with the essence of tragedy. Now it had become a formidable center for magical thought. The workshops were fully functional, the dimensional portal hadn't yielded up anything hideous yet, and the scrying crystals mostly stayed on target. It was a tribute to what could happen if a bunch of like-minded mystics put their mind to something. He hoped tonight would have similar results. It had been four days since the Gorgon had appeared in the skies above Freedom, issuing its dread ultimatum. In the time since then, Freedom City had fallen into panic, and it had taken most of his strength for Nick not to follow with them. In his line of work, he was familiar with multiple apocalypse scenarios - molten steel drowning the earth to burn the wicked, giant wolves eating the sun, and other such cheery scenarios. For all of them, though, he'd never heard of the possibility of the earth ending in stone. Bet Frost is kicking himself for not thinking of that one, he thought to himself as he finished up preparations in the main hall. He'd borrowed a few pastries from the Black Petal's freezer; the rioting hadn't spread to Riverside yet, and the store had stayed open, wanting to remain loyal to its customers during the "brief emergency." That was the Freedom City way - stand defiant in the face of angry gods. It had worked against Omega, against the Grue, against Hades... He just had to hope it would work this time. He took his seat, and waited for the others to arrive.
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As the young man in the long black coat, beaten fedora and concealing sunglasses strode purposefully through Lantern Hill, it looked at first as though he would walk right by the Parkhurst Hotel, ignoring just as everyone else did. Instead, however, it seemed he was only traveling further up the street to get a better lay of the land around the apparently decrepit building before returning to its entrance. Trevor Hunter was quite so susceptible to the subtle suggestion of apathy rolling off of the building as the average person and he had taken pains to make sure he was in the right place. Without further pause, he knocked three times on the door, solid and sure.
