For Francis Gray, this evening began like any other for him. He left his late afternoon modernist sculpting class, picking up a cup of iced coffee from the cafeteria as he headed towards his dorm. Ignoring his roommate's complaining about the evergrowing pile of filth in their dorm, he finished his coffee and contributed yet another piece to the collection of trash. He laid down his bag onto his bunk, as well as his jacket, and left the room just as quickly and abruptly as he entered it. The very few people who actually notice Francis may see him as somebody who is always in a rush, yet with nothing to do; a peculiar quirk of his that is one of the many reasons people choose to ignore him, as well as one of the things that he does on purpose for this particular reason. Today was nothing quite out of the ordinary for anyone in the university dormitory.
He decided to begin his nightly crusade just like any other night; by washing his face before moving up to the rooftop. He needed to be fresh for the night ahead. Luckily he had managed to catch some sleep during the morning lecture, otherwise he would be feeling completely groggy. For good measure though, he procured a caffeine pill from his pocket, and downed it with a handful of tap water.

After this routine, Francis moved to a less frequented corner of the dorm where the fire escape was. He knew that the alarm that would normally be set off by the door would not go off, since he was the one who deactivated it himself. Climbing up the stairs, Francis immediately began to walk with more purpose than he does anywhere else. His slouch was gone, and his gait became more and more determined. This was his routine every evening, a certain metamorphosis he undergoes at sundown, like some sort of heroic werewolf. And as part of his routine, he moved towards a crate that he kept in a part of the rooftop that he covered in tarp, just to avoid satellite imagery of himself changing into his true persona: The Friend!

He unlocked the crate, as he usually does in the evenings, and opened it. He immediately noticed something was different. As a reaction, Francis began to flinch, in preparation for jumping out of the way of a bomb blast or something of the sort. It didn't happen. The thing he noticed was instead a green piece of paper with an address on it and something that caught Francis's eye like a master angler catches prized cod. It was the symbol of his hero, The Green Skull himself!

Francis would've given away his position if he wasn't careful. He was so excited he wanted to scream, but he had more self restraint than that. He picked up the message, read over the address several times to keep it to memory, then stuffed it into the compartment of the crate where he kept notes on gang activity and other goings-on around the city. Normally on a night like this, The Friend would have to go out looking for something to do. This time, this something came to him. He became all giddy with the thought of finally meeting the one who inspired him to take on his persona, and a routine activity like putting on his yellow tracksuit became much more difficult than it should. Eventually, he managed to put it on, as well as equip his holster containing a handgun, and his other holsters containing half-empty canisters of yellow and black spray paint. He double-checked that the clip on his back for his spear was working properly, and the compartment in the end of his spear shaft contained some smoke pellets and a small can of mace. He made sure his gun was loaded (despite not knowing how to use it properly), and that his shoelaces were tied properly. As he put on his yellow happy-faced mask, Francis Gray became The Friend, and he closed and locked the crate. He waited for a while until the sun fully set before ziplining off the roof of his dorm into a dark corner of the campus park as he had done many nights before. He began to move towards the address that he had committed to memory, taking only alleyways and rooftops, avoiding the attention of any gangs that might want to follow him. This night, he was not looking for the attention of criminals. He was looking for the attention of heroes. He would eventually reach the abandoned window factory, never once questioning how the Green Skull knew to leave a message in The Friend's secret crate, as he accepted that true vigilantes work in mysterious ways.

Alex doodled various shapes and drawings on his open notebook as he drained out the noise from his classmates. His stomach growled due to him almost being late for the school bus and not being able to eat breakfast. I hope those snack are still in my desk. Alex then lifted up the top of his desk to find a green sheet of paper and a bag of spicy chips. He then grabbed a wad of chips into his hand and scarfed it down into his mouth. Noticing the paper he thought of it as a simple joke but then started to read it closely. It had an address on it and continuing he almost choked spotting the green skull logo at the bottom.

The Green Skull was talked about very wildly around his neighborhood and him receiving an invitation knew that he was in the big leagues. Alex brushed off his face raising his hand to go to the restroom. Alexander went up to his teacher to ask if we could go to library for a quiet environment. The teacher signaled him to the door as he lazily leaned back in his chair reading a magazine. Alexander than made a stop by his locker picking picking up a duffel bag filled with his gear as he ran into the janitors closet. He quickly changed into his costume and slid on his helmet. With no hesitation he jumped out the second story window of the school landing in a nearby dumpster.

While still in the dumpster he looked up the address the green skull gave him on his phone. It was a few miles away from Alex's location but he knew he could get there if he wen to the rooftops. He then scaled the school to the rooftop avoiding the window of the on going classes and started to jump from building to building.

The room was cold and dimly lit. The way the air vent in the ceiling was angled, the air conditioning hit the man sitting at the small table uncomfortably. He didn't like the cold; Isam could tell. He stood back a ways, his back facing the two-way mirror that looked into the little room. Off to his side, his partner, Brandon, stood with his arms cross. Isam took a step forward. He placed a photograph of a white, non-descript moving van in front of the man at the table. The picture was fuzzy, taken from behind. The license plate was just barely legible.

"Omar Bada. We could lock you up on the murder charge alone, but I believe you could answer a few questions first." Isam paused, pushing the picture forward. Omar glanced down at it, then lifted his eyes to continue his glare. "This picture was taken two days ago," Isam said, his voice clear, calm, and smooth. "The van was last scene in Winchester. We already know what was inside, what I want you to tell me is where you are hiding it." He rested both hands on the table, lowering his head to look the man in the eye. Omar only glared back at him.

"Tel has tisee," The man spat icily. Isam's hand struck his face almost as soon as the last word had left his mouth.
"Hey," Brandon voiced from the corner, giving Isam a warning look. Isam didn't even spare him a glance; his eyes were focused on Omar.
"Four hundred pounds of C4, now tell me, Omar, what to you intend on doing with all that?" Isam straightened his back and crossed his arms, looking down at the man.
"I am going to open a firework shop," Omar said with a smirk, wiping the spit the slap had left around his mouth on his sleeve. Isam didn't find the joke very amusing.
"Do you think this is a game? Do not misunderstand me, telling me where the explosives are will not keep you out of prison. However, I know an ex-soldier imprisoned on murder charges that would love to share a cell with you. If you cooperate, he may not get a new cellmate."

Omar chuckled. "Is that supposed to intimidate me? You are their dog; you bark at whoever they tell you because you think you are a better man for it. I can tell you what you are, Hajjar, you are a fucking disgrace to your country!" He jerked forward, delivering his words with a bit of spit sprayed at Isam. The knife seemed to have been produced from nowhere. Isam was at the man's side with the flat of the blade pressed against his cheek, the tip dangerous close to his eye, before Omar could even recoil.

"You do not deserve a jail cell! Ebn El Sharmoota! You deserve to burn in hell, and I will personally escort you there!" He snarled, the hand not holding the knife grabbing Omar's face and holding it so that he could not pull away. Brandon took a couple hurried steps forward.
"Isam, what the hell do you think you're doing!"
"Giving him what he deserves!" Isam replied to his partner coldly. Brandon cursed.
"Dammit, put that thing away!"
"Do not stop me; I will take out his eye." Isam pressed the knife a little harder, and finally Omar cracked.
"It is in a warehouse on 23rd street! The old bottling company! I tell you everything, just get him away from me!"

Isam relaxed, easing the knife down enough for Brandon to step closer and take it out of his hands. "Go sit down," He told Isam firmly, nodding to the folding chair on the other side of the room. Isam gave Omar one last venomous look before slinking over to it and sitting down in it backwards. He rested his arms on the back of it, his chin on his hands, so that he could continue to glare at Omar menacingly from across the room. Brandon took a deep breath in and let it out, then sat down in front of the table. He calmly began to ask more questions, and when Omar got smart with him, he would threaten to turn the interrogation over to Isam once more. After a couple hours, they had all they needed, and the two left to let Omar be taken away to his new prison home.

"How come I always play the bad cop?" Isam asked with a grin as they headed down the hallway. Brandon gave a chuckle.
"Because you're better at it than I am. Did you see his face when you pulled that thing out? He almost pissed himself. Hell, I got a little nervous."
"It is a reliable trick, you have seen me do it several times."
"And I swear to god, each time it crosses my mind that you might actually do it." Isam gave a slight shrug.
"They would deserve no better."

Brandon gave him a clap on the back. "True that, kid. Hey, what do you say we get some late dinner. I got this coupon for the Burger Shack in the mail and I'm dying for a southwest special."
"Well, if you are dying," Isam said with a chuckle. "I suppose I will go to another one of your burger stands. But only if you drive."
"Of course I'm driving, I'd like to actually get there alive."
"My driving has never killed you."
"Yet."

The two swapped friendly banter most of the way to the burger stand. It was a hot, dry day; the kind that reminded Isam of his home country. The drive wasn't long, as most of the lunch rush had cleared off the streets. Brandon stood beside him in line, reading every item on the menu aloud to himself.
"I thought you said you wanted a southwest special," Isam pointed out.
"I like to know my options, kid. So sue me."

After they ordered, they sat down at one of the outside tables and ate. It was a quiet evening, which surprised Isam. Usually, the city was thriving this time of day. When they were done, Brandon drove him back to the office to get his car, then the two parted ways for the night. Isam had some things to take care of. The day before, a mysterious letter had appeared in his mail. It offered a meeting place and a time, to which he was supposed to show up. He would have assumed that it was some kind of ambush, had it not been signed by a man known at the Green Skull. Isam had heard of him; he did good work. But what interested Isam more was how the man knew his identity, and where he lived. What else did this man know? The only way to find out was to meet him.

Isam drove home and put on his usual getup, then headed out to the address on foot. When he arrived, it appeared that he wasn't the only one who had been summoned. This Green Skull fellow had been busy.

Akara just finished up with an early shift that he picked up due to a co-worker needing the afternoon off. The sun barely had gone down as he headed out the back door to Benihana's. He walked over to his black Honda Phantom motorcycle, tossed his leg over it, grabbed his neon-green helmet and began to put it on his head. As he upturned it, a green piece of paper dropped out, hit his lap, then floated to the ground. Curious, Akara bent over and picked up the paper, and as he did, he noticed the green skull imprinted on it. "Hmm." How the hell?!?

His eyes flickered over the paper, absorbing every bit of information that he could read. Either I'm being set up, or this is one crazy opportunity. He's a man, and men can bleed. We'll see if I'm being set up. With that, Akara turned on and revved up his Phantom. He pondered over where this building was, how he would get there, what he would bring, what his entry plan would be. He examined the situation in his head as if he were taking out badguys at the warehouse.

Eventually, he made it to his apartment in the Japantown part of Champion City. He parked his bike in his private garage and went inside and booted up his laptop. He began to do research on the area, what the 'gangs' were in the area, seeing if any territories had changed hands, and brought up a city map of the area. After an hour, he went upstairs, took a shower, and went back into his garage. He tossed aside a tarp that appeared dirty and dusty and like it had been there for months, which lay upon several crates and boxes as if he hadn't fully moved in. He stepped inside the refrigerator box and looked upon his makeshift 'lair'. I wonder if I'm going to have to disappear. This Green Skull guy will disappear as well if I have to. Maybe just move my gear.

Akara then changed into his midnight blue shinobi shozoku (ninja suit, or ninja tabi), attached his various weapons to their respective places, sheathed his katanas on his back, and then turned to his 'other' bike. A midnight blue (matching his suit) Yamaha Samurai stood as it begged to be taken out for another spin. He hopped on his bike, started the near silent engine, ducked as he rode it out of the hollowed out crates, and left his apartment garage.

The Ninja skirted through the back alleys, taking the main roads only when necessary, as he headed to the warehouse where this meeting was to take place. When he neared the area, he began to cautiously approach, still riding the Samurai. Eventually, he parked the bike behind a dumpster about a block away from the warehouse, picked out several boxes from the dumpster, and proceeded to camouflage the bike. Then, on foot, he toe-heel padded his way to the side alley of the warehouse. After he put on his climbing claws, he climbed up the wall to an upper window.

Once the Ninja reached the window, he examined it for alarms. As he expected, none (apparent). A little jimmy here, a few well placed tools there, and soon enough, the window popped open without a sound. As he climbed inside the warehouse, he closed the window and locked it, then climbed higher to the rafters of the warehouse, so he could get a good vantage point. As nobody had arrived yet, the Ninja rested hidden in the rafters, waiting for this Green Skull fellow and whomever else he brought with him. This had better be worth my time.

It took Mikhail a while to get to his own apartment. He stopped by the little boxes and opened the one that was his with a key. He took what was in the small box before closing it and locking it. He moved up to the third floor and took out another key to his apartment. As soon as he opened the door he was met with a green slip of paper at his feet. He bent down and picked it up before closing and locking the door behind him. He walked towards a small table in his kitchen, where he sat down after tossing the mail he had on the table. He went through his mail before checking the green slip. All of them happened to be bills and one being a notice about how he was "late" on his payment on his apartment again. He tore the paper up and let the pieces flutter to the floor. As he went to open the green slip he heard a knock on the door. He dropped the green paper and walked over to the door to answer it.

"Hello Mikhail. I would just like to notify you face to face just incase you forgot your mail. You still owe me a decent amount of money to pay for your apartment."
"For the last time," A think Russian accent filled the air, "Its Mick-eye-eel. Why do you Americans always say Mick-hail?" He said it slowly as if the man didn't understand. "And I payed you already, how do I owe you more money?"
"Oh well I'm sorry Mick-eye-eel." The landlord said his name slowly. "You still owe two hundred dollars and seventy-three cents do to oil prices." It wasn't even the winter and the landlord was lying straight to his face. Mikhail nodded and slammed the door in his face. "Well I hope to see that money next week Mikhail!"

Mikhail walked back over to his table and sat down again, picking up the paper he had tried to read earlier. Almost immediately he recognized the green skull. A fellow masked vigilante, the first masked vigilante, was contacting him. He read over the note slowly. As soon as he read the address the meeting was being held he stood up and locked his door. He crawled out of the window and onto the fire escape. He made his way down and was instantly on his way to the storage lot. He was enraged by the way his landlord had been treating his tenants. It was clear he would get mopped up or straightened out later on. For now, Mikhail had to worry about meeting up with Green Skull and probably other interesting characters around this god forsaken city.

He scaled the fence into the lot, making sure a strong cloth was over the barb-wire so he didn't cut himself on it. He ripped the cloth down off the barb-wired fence and made his way to his own storage. It was very secure, needing a code and several keys to get into it. He put the door behind him down, the first thing he looked at was his suit. He admired it for a few moments before stripping and then getting back into his own suit. Before he put on his mask, he fixed his two knives, always putting them in their respective places. His right knife was always down by his boot, while his left knife was always on his hip. He looked into a mirror he had set up and slowly put on the mask he had made. He was no longer Mikhail Boris. He was what the city named The Ghost. He is currently the only masked vigilante that has been named by the city.

He was never spoken to or interviewed, no one has heard his voice behind that mask, except for the criminals that bled to death at his hand whenever he needed to kill them. This Green Skull guy was lucky that he was even showing up to this thing. The Ghost knew that he would have to talk, hopefully, these masked vigilantes that would be around wouldn't give him away. He was wondering how many would be surprised to hear of a Russian vigilante in America. The Ghost slipped on his black leather gloves before squeezing his fists and then letting his hands relax. The light was turned off, his door was opened, then closed and secured, and he was off to the location he had been given for the meeting.

It took The Ghost a while to reach the location. He wasn't sure if he was the first there or not. He examined the building on the outside. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary and for some reason The Ghost was actually cautious for once. He stepped into the building, he was hoping no one would sneak on him or they would have a knife next to there throat before they could blink. Or maybe they would be on the ground, looking up at the ceiling before a thought could go through their head. Whatever the case was, The Ghost knew this was going to be interesting. He was just hoping that he would be able to have respect for everyone that showed up. If you were looking at The Ghost at an angle, you would just see his white head floating with deep, dark eye sockets. It might send chills down your spine, but that was the point.

Greg sat lazily at his L33T computer quickly putting some programming into some replica watches he had made to give out when he went to meet up with his idol Green skull and the other vigilantes recruited to come and join the hero's group. As he vigorously typed away on his computer a pop up came up and pulled up a video feed from a traffic camera showing a man trying to break into a mini van in a parking lot. He saw this quite often on his feeds and took the same precautions as he always did, he set off an EMP blast near the criminal via a strategically placed watch that he had 'dropped' near by a few days earlier. Then using frequencies emitted via the watch set off the car alarm but due to the fact that the cars electronics weren't operational currently it would by a while until the car would begin blaring.

Now feeling good about what he had done he went back to finishing up the watches programming. After two minutes of programming he finished up the last watch then shoved them all in his back pack which also contained his costume and he left the apartment. On his way down the elevator he quickly put his costume on over his normal clothes and once down at the street he got on his signature red motorcycle and took off. Eventually he got to the meeting location and parked outside. He walked inside with his bag over his shoulder and a huge smile on his face.

Days after having received an invitation from the masked vigilante Green Skull, it was finally time for Ken to make his appearance. Rummaging through his closet for his costume, he gradually fits in and begins making his way out the large shed. Things had been relatively quiet throughout the city and he'd been itching for a good fight but he knew it wasn't the time. If he were to fit in among the other masks he'd have to play it cool and somewhat civil. Locking the gate of the junkyard, he then quickly makes his way out into the city. Scaling a back-alley wall and reaching for a pipe, he climbs upward onto a rooftop. He catches his breath for a second and then proceeds making his way towards the industrial district of Champion City. Not too far from location, he catches a glimpse of another mask on a rooftop parallel to him but remains to himself. Making his way down a fire-escape, he exits an alleyway and heads over to the street- soon approaching the building of the meeting. Somewhat cautiously, he makes his way over to the lot of the building as he hears a few people pull in behind him.

Tyler was at his shop as he watched his guys leave. "Hey man you're coming at the races tonight?" He was asked by Daryl, one of his crewmates. Tyler looked at him from underneath the hood of a Buick. "No! I have some business to attend to. And before you ask what business, you can forget about it. It's personal." Said Tyler as turned his view to the engine he was working at. "Well, see ya tomorow then!" Said Daryl as he together with the other 2 crewmates left the car shop, getting in their cars and leaving the place. Tyler looked at the entrance to the shop as he closed down the hood of the Buick and went over to the car shop's entrance, closing it.

Once he did that, Tyler went straight to the basement and turned on the lights. Then he took off his clothes and started equipping his outfit and equipment piece by piece. Once he was finished Tyler got out of the basement and closed down the shop for the night and got inside one of the cars parked just outside of the shop. An all black 1970 Plymouth Cuda 426 Hemi. Mean looking car, very fast, powerful and especially noisy. Tyler knew the adress. His grandfather used to work at that factory, before it was shut down. As he was heading there Tyler kept thinking at what reason Green Skull possibly had to summon him there, but no matter how much he as thinking no ideas came to his head.

Upon arrival at the abandoned factory, Tyler parked his Cuda next to a red motorcycle. Then he realised that he asn't alone. "Hmm! It looks like everybody's favorite vigilante kept himself busy these past couple of days. I wonder who else is here and what he wants from all of us." Said Tyler as he opened the door and got inside.

Skipping the route home, "Big Ed" Montag skirted through the derelict city blocks, furtively glancing over his shoulder, as if to ensure that he was truly alone. He had been to his hideout early, hoping for solace, but instead found that it had been discovered. He hadn't been able to tell at first: A few additional clumps of muck from the partially clogged walkway that led to his makeshift base, but these were easily overlooked. The third padlock had been looped through the third, instead of the fourth link on it's chain, which really should have tipped him off, but he was tired. The unmistakable evidence of an intrusion was in the form of a bright not, carefully laid on the bare, metal desk that contained his effects.

Edward had glared at it, feeling offended, almost violated by its presence. He held it up in his nubby fingers, straining to read it in the dim twilight of the little concrete room. His eyes narrowed as the message sunk home. He would have to leave quickly. In a flurry of activity, he emptied the drawers of his desk into a canvas bag, heaved it onto his shoulder, and trudged back out, replacing the locks on his door in their proper arrangement. When he emerged into fresh air, he huffed along down the streets, doing his best to disguise the weight of his burden to the fearful or frightful eyes of passersby, who were increasingly heading indoors.

And so here he was on an empty street, rapidly nearing his destination. He made one final scan of the streets, found them satisfactorily lacking in witnesses, and ducked off behind the barriers of a construction zone, locking himself in the Port-o-John. It took him a minute of fumbling in the darkness, but he managed to tie his bandana and slip into his coat with only marginal difficulty. Clapping the worn leather helmet onto his head, he stuffed his weapons into his pockets, along with the canvas bag, and slipped back out into the fresh air (Meaning it smelled of hot asphalt rather than sanitary chemicals.).

He passed a few parked vehicles, approached the surprisingly broad door, and let himself in. He found himself at the tail end of a procession that, had it not been overshadowed by an ominous solemnity, would have looked quite funny: A bunch of grown and semi-grown figures dressed up as if for Halloween in some parallel universe, looking like cheap parodies of non-existent superheroes. Not that anyone looked quite as cheap as he did: Beside these guys, he felt, for the first time, a bit embarrassed by his patchwork getup. He was surprised by the numbers: He hadn't figured there were this many doing his line of work in town, much less that they would have all been invited. Only now, already inside an unfamiliar building with oddly dressed strangers, did the idea of a trap occur to him. Cursing his lack of foresight, he slinked off to the back wall and leaned heavily against it, brushing past a man in a balaclava.

Alex breathed heavily as he finally arrived at the Factory. He saw a few other people entering the factory and vehicles parked outside. He gasped in excitement visualizing the badassery a team of masked vigilantes would do for the town. He then ran inside the factory spotting a few others; some he heard of through news castings or rumors around the neighborhood. Many of them seemed older than him and practically adults but it did not discourage him. He knew he had to do his best on this team if he wanted to standout. "Its a real honor to be here!" Alex said respectfully, "I've heard of some you guys, It is nice people are taking a stand" Not getting a response he tried breaking the awkward silence "Did you guys also receive the mail?" He asked holding up the green sheet of paper he found.

Francis looked on over at the awkward southern-accented kid trying to break these ice with the tough, chiseled vigilantes that seemed to take up the majority of the place. Deciding to live up to his name, The Friend approached Alex. He recognized Bo's costume but very vaguely, only seeing it appear in obscure newspaper articles in the middle of the newspaper. Glancing over the rest of the room as he approached, he couldn't really see any costumes that stood out as much as his own, obviously because nobody in their right mind would wear such a bright yellow outfit in a line of work where one may like to wait in the shadows before striking. As he approached Bo, he pat him on the shoulder.

"Hey, I've seen you around before... they call you 'Bu' or something, right?"

He extended his right hand towards Bo for a handshake, hoping that the smile on his mask would be reassuring to him, rather than frightening as it is to gangster filth.

Charlie sat leaned back in his computer chair. He watch as a news reporter discussed how a local car salesman was losing his entire business after a large scandal about him hiring local thugs to damage cars after he sold them, forcing them to come back to his shop to repairs had come to light. He couldn't help but smile at the name the police and news gave him after he started his work. "The con". It had a nice ring to it, couldn't complain that he had all this attention, even if no one knew it was aimed at him. Suddenly, a knock has heard at his upstairs door. Walking upstairs, he found however knocked had left an envelope in his doorMail? this address isn't even owned by a real person, and the bills are paid through a buddies checking, how am I getting mail? He thought as he took the letter and opened it. Someone knew this address belongs to the con, and not just anyone, the main man green skull himself. Looking at the letter more in depth, he found an address he was suppose to report to. Can't keep a man almost as important as myself waiting He thought to himself, putting on some nice clothes and grabing the mask he put on in the rare occasion that he wished to hide his identity, and tucked it away in a small bag he had with him.

He stepped outside his fake home and gave a friend a call.

"Hello?"
"Hey, Jack, it's Charlie, need a lift."
"Charlie, I am kinda busy at." Charlie cut him off.
"You owe me Jack, come on, help a friend." Jack went silent, before saying he would be there shortly. Charlie sat around until his ride, Jack, arrived and drove him to the destination. Apparently Charlie had pulled Jack away from his daughters birthdya party, but hey, a man needs to get places sometimes.

Charlie arrived at the specified place. An abandonded factory, not a bad meeting place, not as nice as his place, but far more spacious. He waved to Jack and he drove away. Slipping on his plain white mask, he walked to the building and opened the door, to find a colorful assortment of people. Some, with coustumes matching descriptions on the internet and nes about supposed masked heros similar to himself.

"Well well well, isn't this quite the party of folks. Looks like everyone who has made even a remote splash while wearing a mask is here." He said happily looking around. Now this is the kind of group i want oweing me some favors. He thought to himself. "I guess mean green summoned you all here too?" He asked the folks in the building with him.

"Its 'Bo'" Alex corrected, "Mostly becasue I use this staff." He then grabbed his staff and twirled it around jokingly. He shook the masked fellows hand trying to grip it as hard as he could. Letting go if the man's hand, he rolled up his sleeve looking at the time. His school was going to end within a few hours but he knew he would be able to write a fake excuse note that his parents picked him up early, besides this obviously was more important.

He then turned around as another masked man entered the factory. "Yeah" he said glancing again at the green sheet of paper, "This green skull guy must be pretty serious, I don't know about you others but I found this in a place outside of my hero work" Continuing to talk he walked over to a nearby wall leaning his staff onto it. "This green skull guy must be the real deal"

((Wait I thought this was taking place at night?))

"Dude, he's the Green Skull. He's kind of a major deal."

Underneath his smiley faced mask Francis was giving off a disappointed stare, which Bo and Con would not be able to see, but would still be permeated by his body language. Crossed arms, tone of voice, head leaning slightly towards Alex, etc. He obviously did not take kindly to a fellow vigilante who was uneducated about the amazing work of the Green Skull. As immediately as he said this though, unclipped his spear from his back and held it with one hand while the other was outstretched.

"Anyway, I'm 'The Friend'. You may have heard about me. Or seen these in alleyways around the city."

He pointed at his chest and face with one hand in a devil horn gesture. He was referring to the smiley face symbol that he had spray painted around town in the two years he had spent crime fighting as The Friend.

Greg watched everybody mingle a bit but didn't jump in himself. He was a little shy around new people and preferred to just be the guy people knew but didn't talk to that much, that way he avoid conflicts of just about all kinds. He looked at the array of masked vigilantes and smiled to himself, it was like a dream come true just to see all of the masked heroes sporting their own unique costume and persona. In his opinion so far out of the recruits he though the friend seemed pretty cool with his happy mask that scared the wicked and comforted the innocent. It was a pretty cool cons pet in his opinion.

(I'm just going with its the afternoon)

"I knew he was big deal" Alex replied, "Just didn't know he had tabs on us" He then paced around the room a bit more "I mean what else does he know about us?"

Alex then listened to the man make his introduction. I gotta say he has a pretty interesting mask. Very intimidating to say the least "Yeah, I like the idea and all with the smiley" He said fiddling with his staff. He then leaned on a wall and slid his back down until he hit the floor. "Where is this green skull guy anyway?"

As the gang of vigilantes chatted amongst themselves, Ninja slowly and purposefully made his silent way down to the ground level. In a surprisingly soft voice thick with a Japanese accent which is slightly muffled by the full face mask of his ninja outfit, "The Green Skull is running late. He will be here shortly." Ninja looked around at the nine other vigilantes that had arrived. "There were to be more of you. Guess not everyone wants to be part of the future that the Skull has planned. Hmmm."

As Hannibal's 6'7" frame walked into the warehouse, the 5'4" Ninja called out to him, "You're late. So is Green Skull, so it will be accepted this time." He turned back to the rest of the vigilantes, who's attention he had garnered by then, "There are folding chairs through that door right over there. Someone get twelve of them and let us get this started. The Skull will be along shortly."

Ninja took the offered chair from whomever offered it, opened it up and sat down in it. After waiting for the rest of the vigilantes to settle down, he began talking again, "You may call me Ninja. Green Skull asked me to arrange you getting his letter, so I did. What he asks, he gets, especially when he's asking you in your home. Begin by telling everyone about who your masks are. I don't think the Skull wants your personal identities shared, but we should get to know what you do, what you are called, and what type of criminals you target. I am Ninja, stealth and melee master, and I target rapists and murderers. I also have no problems killing. Now, share." He looked around at everyone expectantly, waiting to see who was brave enough to begin to share.

"Beats me."

Francis skirted over the room once more. More masks seemed to have appeared since he got here. He could notice guys in various masks, balaclavas and helmets, some looking quite fancy while some seemed improvised, like they just put on something covering their face without changing out of their everyday clothing. Men seemed to outweigh the women in this turnout though. He thought to himself, Doesn't seem like women would be too interested in this line of work anyway. Too dangerous. Still though, he was happy that he wasn't the only one trying to clean up the streets of Champion city. He held onto his spear. His excitement had waned down slightly enough to start questioning whether this was a set up or not. He began to reassure himself, first mentally, then verbally as he said to Bo, "Even if this is a trap of some sort, I'm sure we can all take whoever set it up."

As if he believed that Bo was having these thoughts as well, which may or may not have been the case.

Suddenly, as Ninja appeared silently, The Friend was taken by surprise and tightened the grip on his spear further. he loosened it as Ninja made his introduction though, realizing that he was yet another vigilante.
"Didn't see you there, buddy." He stepped forward, touching a chair with his other hand. He turned the chair around, and casually sat in it with the back of the seat facing his chest. He pointed at himself with his thumb.
"You can call me 'The Friend'. I've been fighting crime with this baby since the Green Skull has." He moved his spear outwards, showing it off to Akara and the other vigilantes. His voice matched his mask almost perfectly at this point, a cocky, smirky tone that seemed to emit a carefree attitude.
"You may have also seen my face in alleyway walls around the city. You can say that's where I've been busy." He picked up a spray can from his right side and shook it.

When the ninja came inside and said there were fold out chairs Greg went and got them out of the room and began handing them out to people including the ninja. After handing out the foldable chairs Greg sat down on his own and listened to the two other heroes introductions before mustering up the courage to say his own "I'm Gr- I mean Leet spelled L, three, three, T and I've been a hero for a few months now, not long, and I mostly dabble in programming, building and survailence. I'm not really much of an out and about hero and usually do most of my crime stopping from my apartm- base. From my base" Greg said only speaking loud when he corrected his mistakes. He couldn't believe in the span of what seemed like ten minutes or so he had almost given away his secret identity and base of operations.

Roger Bowden cracked his knuckles, one by one, as he leaned back in his leather chair occupying his office at CCPD Headquarters. The office - reserved for the Chief of Police - overlooked the heart of Champion City. Roger could see the myriad of skyscrapers cutting jagged edges in the sky. A bit further, and the start of the city's biggest residential area began. The majority of the houses there all looked more or less the same, save perhaps for the color, and the amenities were often.. Lacking. Roger grew up there, but had since moved into a luxury apartment two blocks away from the office. With his new income pouring in, he saw no real reason to live in subpar conditions. No, that wasn't fitting of the most influential man in the Champion City underground.

His duty as Police Chief was a side job - a front. It kept up appearances, nothing more. Roger may have started as a law enforcer, but he had become so much more. After putting in a few hours of paperwork at Headquarters, he was able to head home. It was a good thing, too - night was beginning to fall. His time was coming. Thirty minutes later, and the Spectre could be seen strolling through the side-streets of Champion City at sundown. Dressed in black formalwear, finished with a leather jacket, his tie the color of blood standing out, the transformation from Chief of Police to Crime Boss was complete. Roger's face was hidden by a mask; all good criminals were doing it, as were the vigilantes. Because his enemies would just love to find out that the Spectre was a cop. It could ruin him. No, the mask stayed on. Roger's was that of a black skull - it had come to symbolize The Fallen as a whole. At his hip. A large black revolver sat menacingly in its holster. People saw him, and made themselves scarce. The Spectre was known, and the Spectre was certainly feared; and that was just how Roger liked it.

***

"'Falcon', is it? Is that what you call yourself?" The Spectre raised an eyebrow, though hidden by his mask. In front of him, a frail-looking teenager hung by chains. A dark bruise covered half his face, and his arm was bleeding from multiple spots. It seemed as if The Fallen had had their fun with the captive before Spectre even arrived.
"Y-yes.." The kid muttered, not daring to look Roger in his masked face.
"Well, what the hell kind of name is that? What, were the good ones taken? You had to resort to picking bird names out of a hat?" Roger chuckled. "What was the runner-up, 'flamingo'? Ah, hell, that isn't why we're here. My men had you cornered. You were dead, Falcon, but you said that you had something to tell us, isn't that right? Something that might save your pathetic excuse for a life?" Falcon nodded as vigorously as he could, before wincing from the subsequent pain.
"Well," Spectre replied. "Are you going to share, or should I have your friend from earlier make an encore performance?" He gestured toward Falcon's arm and face. The teenager's eyes widened, and he began to shake.
"No! I.. I'll tell you," he said. "I'll tell you all I know. The.. The word on the street is.. I mean, I heard from my buddy, Rover, that he saw- no.. He heard that..th-that-"
"Spit it out, goddamn it!" Spectre exploded, beating him across the face with his entire arm. Falcon cried out in pain, and began to sob between words.
"Okay! Okay.. It's us vigilantes.. The word is, someone is trying to bring us all together - to.. To make a team of some kind.."
Spectre considered this for a moment. This was big news. Potentially dangerous, as well. Roger never had to worry about the cops interfering, but vigilantes? They were beginning to be a real nuisance. He continued the interrogation: "Do you know who is organizing this?"
"N-no sir.." Spectre made ready to hit him again. "I don't know! I'm sorry!"
"What about where they're meeting?"
"I don't know.. I don't.."
"What about which vigilantes are signing on?"
"Please.. I don't know anything.. Please just let me go.." Falcon was breathing heavily, and it looked as if all his spirit had been drained from him. Roger wondered how old he was. Seventeen? Maybe eighteen.. Perhaps older, but he doubted it.
"Okay, Falcon, I believe you," Spectre confessed, loosening up a bit. Falcon let loose a huge sigh.
"So you'll let me go?" He asked, eyes still full of fear.
"Yeah.. I'll let you go." Spectre went around behind Falcon, to where his chains were locked in place. Though he could no longer see the kid's face, he could tell that Falcon was counting his lucky stars. That was when Roger shot him twice in the head with his revolver. Two loud bangs echoed through the small, soundproof room. Bending down, he put the key into the lock for the chains, freeing his arms first, and then his legs. Falcon's body slumped to the ground in front of him.
"You're free to go, Falcon."