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GM 1st August, late evening... Doctor Karl Wessex shuffled nervously along the soup line. The various hobo's and insolvents of Freedom City had been more nervous than normal since the incident six months ago. They gave Karl a suspicious look, not keen on anyone scientific or medical. Nobody believes it... he told himself, firming his resolve. But from what I heard...she would... It had taken him a day or two to find out about Revenant, and he guessed this was the best place to find her on this warm night, wandering the streets of Freedom and helping out at the soup kitchen....

"Little India", West End 16th October 2012 The term Little India was a bit of a misnomer as people from all over South Asia had made this part of the West End their home. This included a sizable Muslim population, mainly from Pakistan, and today was a special day for the whole community. After several months of collecting and planning they were finally ready to start construction on a local Mosque. The plan was for the community to build the place themselves, mostly for the few of them who worked in construction, but on the first day the idea was that the whole community would pitch in to start the building. They’d even invited a prominent Muslim to lay the first stone of the Mosque. One problem them had to decide upon was a local resident Lucy Harker, also known as Revenant. It seems that this area was once her home and she had now resumed residence in the area, acting as a protector of all the residents of this part of the West End. The moments she had heard about their idea she was enthusiastic about the idea, attending all the meeting and generously donating money. The problem wasn’t that she was an outsider or even a woman; it was that she was quite openly undead.

January 13th, 2013 "This is the place" said Fred, in the cold rain of a miserable overcast January morning. It was just past nine and the city had failed to catch alight with its normal energy. People were tired, sluggish, and down after the festive period. "Looks like it" said the mangy but large dog by his feet. The dog had looked around quite carefully to check nobody was listening before it spoke in a gruff, dog-like voice. "Stay there, Ill just nip over and..." continued the dog, before scuttling off between some buildings and behind some trash cans. In the blink of an eye, the dog vanished, replaced by Harry "the Hound" Hound, wearing a crumpled mac, crumpled shirt, and crumpled tie. His hair was crumpled. He was crumpled. Fred didn't act surprised. He had seen Harry change several times now. Instead, he focussed on the building. He couldn't read the sign outside, but Harry had told him all about the place. "Looks a bit...y'know...old and crumbly..." he said about the building. "Just like our lawyer" said Harry, failing to light a damp cigarette in the rain. "Still, what a thing, hey Harry? a dead Lawyer, all back to life n' everyfing! She must be something, eh. Must know a lot about the law and all. Good thinkin' as always, Harry. Good thinkin'. She must be dead good..eh?" he chuckled. "Ha Ha" said Harry cynically. "I'll tell you what, she is dead cheap. I'll give her that..." he said, cheering himself up. At the back of both men's mind was that they were in a dangerous business. Harry was good at hiding and running if need be, and Freddy could more than take care of himself. But neither really wanted their lawyer at the end of a Mafia sniper's sights. Fred, particularly. "Anyway, stay here and keep lefty and righty to yourself. Don't get into any trouble. Just..err..enjoy the rain..." "Hmphhh..." said Fred, kicking a half eaten discarded hot dog in the gutter out of boredom. "Right then, lets see what this lady has to say for herself..." said Harry, to himself, as he entered the building and knocked on the door to Ms. Lucy Harker's office. A natural coward, he had a slight sense of unease about her not-alive status. He had done his research, he had his contacts... But she is cheap! he reminded himself.

Friday, April 20th 9:52 PM Greenbank was, as always, a place of bones. The bones of old railways. The bones of abandoned factories. The bones of prosperity. Unlike The Fens, known for its vice and its depravity, Greenbank was run-down and barely breathing, with predators already there to feast on the flesh. There were a few sparks of hope in this part of town - community leaders trying to unite the people, businesses looking to set up new factories on cheap real estate, bosses and workers coming together to keep the existent businesses still in operation. Every so often, they'd succeed. But there were times it seemed they were doing all they could to make a dying man comfortable. Nick Cimitiere knew Greenbank well. This place had no lack of ghosts - bums who'd died on cold nights, would-be gangsters whose plans had fallen apart, even a few organizers from the old, wild, pre-labor days. Some of them stuck around out of devotion to Freedom, but many just couldn't find the exits. He was walking in the shadow of an old assembly plant, long since taken by the elements. He'd heard rumors of strange lights shining out through the windows on moonless nights, and thought it sounded right up his alley. If it was some lost soul, or urban explorers, simple enough. But given the nature of the area and the activities that gave it its reputation, he came prepared for the worst. Before he could cross the threshold, however... "Help me! Oh, Christ, somebody help me!" The cry came the other side of the plant, and sounded like it had been pushed out between heaving gasps. Nick ran around the side, trying to catch up with the fleeing man. There were some invitations he just couldn't turn down.

GM May 02, 2012. 12:41AM Chico Morricone had always been a powerful man, and he knew it. He revelled in that power, drank it in, and imposed it on anyone he could. It didn't matter how, whether violently, or sometimes just financially, but he loved to know that there were people under his heel, people he made to feel helpless. It was what had brought him to the top, what had made him a force to be reckoned with in this city. Oh, sure, he wasn't a super, but he had influence, and sometimes influence was better than superpowers. Which was why this particular problem was rather unnerving. The painfully cold air of 3 miles above the Earth's surface stung his hands and face, and the roaring winds screamed in his ears. This time, he had no power as this strange creature that looked like it stepped outside of Hell kept its grip wrapped tightly around his throat, making his head even woozier with the already lethally thin air. "Please... Please, let's go down a bit... it's... it's too high." "Exactly the point, Chico. I don't want a soft landing for you." "But... why..." His vision was blurring. "Because you hurt people, Chico. You hurt people and you like it. Society doesn't need anymore of that, so I'm going to just remove the problem." "I... I can change... Please... don't kill me." "You can change, Chico. But you won't. So goodbye." "Please, Oh... Oh... God...!" The thing let go. Thankfully for Chico, he passed out before he hit the water. ~~~~~~~ May 03, 2012. 7:00pm Bram had been wondering why he was getting strange looks all day, and this situation wasn't helping. He held his face in his hands, sitting in the couch of Marlow, a friend of his whom he often helped move or lift things. "Bram... You're telling me you know nothing about this? I mean, I... I'm not gonna turn you in or nothin'. I like this turn of events. It's about time someone started wastin' these jerks." Bram looked up, grunting. "Goddamnit, Marlow! I don't kill! It's... Disgusting... wrong! Everyone has a chance to redeem themselves. Can't do that if someone kills you!" Bram watched as Marlow's eyes widened, and he seemed uncomfortable. "What? What did I do?" "Sorry, Bram... I just never heard you swear before, even with somethin' like a "damnit". Usually just "goshdarnit" or "dang"..." "Jesus, I'm sorry Marlow. Just... This isn't me. This is someone who looks like me, but isn't me. I don't know who it is." Marlow patted Bram on the back. "S'alright, man. I believe you, but..." He looked at the TV. "We have to wonder what we're going to do about that." The TV had a rather stern looking man with dark hair that had begun to grow grey at the temples. "The suspect of the attempted homicide of known crime-boss "Chico Morricone" has been officially announced as the "Penitent", a so-called hero who has brought the worst of the dark 80s mentality that once plagued our city back into the fore. This is just the first in the long string of attempted and successful homicides against criminals in our city, and worse, against two police officers in the line of duty..." The Penitent stared at the television. "...Crud."

GM The address of "the Master" was in Lantern hill, near to the cemetery, and not far from St. Stephens Church. the buildings here were old, very old, and very beautiful, full of class and distinction, with a Victorian flavour. They were, almost certainly, extremely expensive. The Address lead Revenant to a particular delightful, tall house, not quite a mansion, but spacious, with a garden. It had a slightly tumbledown appearance, with an overgrown garden peppered with rubbish and bricks. Its chimney filled the air with a plume of smoke - someone had a fire going inside.

GM Thursday, March 15 10:15am Tracey Feldman glanced down and reached for the dial on her car radio as a particularly annoying song started to play. She turned the volume down, then looked up in time to see traffic screeching to a halt in front of her. Panicked, she jammed her foot down on the brake, but the wheels of her Toyota just locked up. Unable to stop, she crashed solidly into the back of a Peugeot sedan. The accident started a chain reaction in moments the mid-morning traffic in the North End district turned to gridlock behind a 6-car pileup. As drivers climbed out of their cars to argue, yell and fuss over the damage the cause of the accident became clear. A little further down the road a white Courier's van on its side, the front section of the vehicle a smouldering ruin with tendrils of black fire still writhing around the engine bay. Hovering above the wrecked van floated a robed figure, wreathed in similar black fire. With his arms folded across his chest he surveyed the carnage impassively. Atop the rolled van stood another robed and hooded figure. Holding the injured Courier driver by the scruff of his neck in an impressive display of strength the villain cut an imposing figure and stood with a menacing posture that seemed to dare any of the onlookers to intervene. The back door of the van was also open and a third robed figure was inside rummaging through the the packages and boxes, obviously searching for something in particular.

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.

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.

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…

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

Johnny stood outside the door leading into the small apartment in little India on Freedom's West Side. For a moment, he hesitated, debating on whether to knock or not. Stalling, he checked over his clothes, a nice lightweight beige slacks and a white cotton button down shirt which hung nicely off his broad athletic shoulders, and decided again for the thousandth time that they would have to do. Which left him staring at the door in front of him. Inside, he hoped, was the girl he had met at the Renascence fair. Who, beyond being very pleasant company for the afternoon, also seemed to do just fine while tangling with dragons. He still was stunned and surprised at how that had all turned out. Which led to him being here, on a Friday afternoon, at the door of a girl he had only met once and only had walked around the fair with. "Well she did offer to teach you the Charleston..." he said quietly to himself. If she was in, and if she hadn't been kidding, he had found a band that could play all sorts of swing pieces. That coincided with a dance hall which didn't mind renting the space for a few hours as long as they could have some of their own students practicing as well. Perhaps it was a little forward, but it had taken a fair amount of work to find Lucy and her small apartment, so he figured why not? Searching archives of the city's papers as well as some internet work had uncovered scant little information on her. Although it narrowed down the areas she seemed to work in. Her home had been harder to find and required both some deduction as well as asking a lot of people in the area if they had seen a "pale, elegant, woman perhaps in her 20's". It had taken a couple of days and some greased palms, but he had a place and here he was. The moment of indecision passed, and he knocked on the door hoping there would be an answer.

GM In most cities there are a few of these special places, tuck away only know to the locals and the lucky souls who know about such places. This was one such places a Jazz club tucked between two building looks totally innocuous, no signs showed where or what the club was called. The club had no official name but most called it after the one of freedom's cities finest jazz musician who use to play there during it heyday of the 20's and 30's Chester's. It had survived everything from the Great Depression to more recent events. The club was currently owned by Bobby Johnson who claimed to be over 90 but only looked around half his age. The only reason people believed him was that he could remember details of things that happened since the late 20's in meretricious detail. Thanks to his efforts the club was filled was jazz of all kinds all day's with the best acts even being payed for the pleasure. Of cause in the evening the best act would own the stage and Bobby would sit in the corner holding court and listening to the acts.

GM September 7th, 2011 The sun had not yet crested over the trees around the clearing, the smell of jerky and mead still tried to crest over the smell of unwashed bodies. Even though it was only 10am there are many people present. Tents, booths and lean-to's line the makeshift corridors at the Freedom City Renaissance Fair. Some of them selling items, others with small games of skill. In the center is a large competition ring where jousting, archery and other medieval events will take place over the course of the day. Performers dressed in medieval garb weaving their way through the 'streets' proclaiming their thee's and thou's. Overall it was shaping up to be a wonderful day at the fair!

June 23rd, 9:48 PM Shadows were long as the sun was finally setting on the hot, hot, hot summer night and Silhouette was seriously considering a new costume. Leather was nice in the winter, it was cool in New Jersey weather and good for keeping warm during the long winter. The summer however, well she was just glad she only did this at night because otherwise she might of passed out in the smoldering rays of the daytime sun. Practical considerations aside, Sil's wardrobe did it's job, as she walked against the walls of Southerside she just looked like a personless shadow wandering the streets without much notice.

The King of Suits' left boot was still atrociously grimy from the scrabble up the building, with long splashes of mud, raw sewage, and the occasional piece of random detritus that lined the sewer tunnels leaving their marks all around his costume. The smell of the place was even more abominable than the dimly-lit sights that the young man's eyes could make out, a putrid, wafting stench of death, decay and waste hammering his nostrils like a really bad hangover. Only its noxious odor made it more like a bad combover, something obvious and utterly unbearable, but which you had to suffer with, and hope no-one said anythin- The caped and cowled man stopped abruptly, wondering what was wrong with himself. Shaking his head, he kept on down the strangely spacious and broad sewer tunnel, dodging the odd rat, reservoir dog, rodent, and large insect along the way. He had come down into the disgusting underworld due to a tip given him by one of his slightly-crazier acquaintances, who had told him about a gathering of rather well-armed people near back-alley sewer entries, and references to a 'Worm' of some kind. Hoping and fearing simultaneously that it was indeed the dreaded Conqueror Worm, the King of Suits kept his mouth shut and trudged on, his eyes peeled for any signs of a trap in the dank depths.

GM Lately a strange rash of disappearances has been afflicting the Riverside. For the past three nights a number of children, all under the age of twelve, have vanished during the night. While the number of missing children has finally come to the attention of Freedom City's finest, the police have been unable to find a single lead. There has been no sign of forced entry, no other commonality between the victims beside age and general location. The fourth night since the start of the problem opens clear and bright; the full moon watches as several heroes gather to put a stop to the mysterious misdeeds occurring underneath its gaze.

GM Raymond Nuclear Facility always had a number of protesters outside its walls, ranging from a half dozen to twenty or more. They sang songs, held placards, and drank tea and coffee. They were in many ways a family. THe Reactor, at least so far, had proved safe and reliable, and supplied a lot of the Cities power needs. Nevertheless, unease about nuclear power was always on peoples minds, particularly with Freedom City harbouring so much super-villain activity. Unsurprisingly, security at the facility was tighter than your average nuclear power plant. The protesters outside were engaging in a little banter and discussion as a man, covered in a thick cloak and hood walked down the road and past them. The ground cracked with every footstep he took. The protesters did not see his face, but looked on astonished as he made his way directly to the reactor. Nearby, some rocks by the road glowed a faint green colour...

GM July 17, 2011 8:33 p.m. Nights on the West End were usually quiet, but there was a definite tension in the air. Men and women of various ages were turning up missing since much earlier in the week, and the police didn't seem to have much of a place to begin. The disappearances seemed random; a bartender walking home from the Secret Bar, two young women visiting a friend at Trinity Hospital... seven in all, over the past five days. The closest clue that could be found were other attacks in the same area, leaving a subway operator in a coma-like state, with two puncture wounds in his neck. Naturally, speculation went wild after that. No one was supposed to be going anywhere alone; it wasn't a direct order or martial law, just a friendly, sound suggestion. Just like with any friendly advice, however, even if it was coming from respected television and radio personalities, someone always thought they knew better than everyone else. The pair of graffiti artists near Ashton Mall had no idea they were being watched as the sun sank below the horizon...

July 11th, 2011 Liberty Park, Late evening Lucy always liked the park at this time of night, the day people had gone home and the night people had yet to surface. Which meant mostly she had the park to herself. She also remembered the park, it was founded long before she was born. But it still held a few surprises. Like the statues she had discovered on the hill of various Mystery Men, or whatever they were called now, though she only recognized the first Bluesman. So she was quietly sitting there trying to imagine who they were and what great deeds they may have achieved when she heard the scream. Without thinking she was barrelling down the hill, towards a copse of trees where the sound was coming from. In the gloom of the copse she could make two figures, and if it wasn’t for the fact that one was struggling and screaming she could swear they were in a passionate embrace. This would have had her mumble an apology and backing away blushing. But no someone was in trouble and this is what she was doing now. She was trying to think of something witty or clever to say when the attacker spotted her. Turning towards her he hissed bearing sharp pointed teeth. “No he’s mine, she promised me she did.†leaping towards her as he spoke. “A vampire, really?â€