Chicago, Illinois

June 20, 2017, 8:10 PM

The Sorcery Circle

Thomas Syed, Magus of the Fellowship of Sorcery, and the League Member known as Destiny scrutinized the two bizarre new recruits the League had. One was like a amalgamation of humanoid and aquatic features while the other was what seemed like a robed mass of light and crystal. As a combat sorcerer of the Magus and a premier American hero, Destiny had observed many strange and fantastical creatures. But this pair was among the oddest he had ever seen. Luckily they were nowhere near the most malicious and in fact this whole time they had been rather... amicable. A little grating yes, but friendly enough.

The group stood in the middle of Thomas's lab in the sorcery circle, the hub of all the League's mystical activities. All manner of supernatural brick-a-brac and curios adorned the walls from gryphon feathers to the mounted head of a jabberwocky. A massive shelf was lined with a variety of texts, some of them arcane in subject while others were more modern in their sensibility such as the works from Rick Riordan and Jim Butcher.

Thomas's eyes glowed gold as he passed his hand over the two beings of the magic realms. It was very rare for creatures so far removed from the mortal coil to manifest on the Earth and even rarer for them to not be murderous or megalomaniacal. As such he took the time to indulge in study and had dragged Sonja along. Thomas nodded and turned to a floating book and pen, the pen began writing in flowing script as Thomas spoke, "You two are quite unlike any creatures I have ever seen. You are not Fae nor of any Earthly Pantheon I know of. You are not from the Wonderlands, the Emerald Kingdom, or any other plane I am familiar with. You are definitely not from the Outside, you bear traces of this reality however bended. The magical signatures you possess are strange, like nothing I have encountered in the field. I'll have to examine you two further in the future if you do not mind. Can you describe the realm you hail from?"

Thomas was an insatiably curious Sorcerer always doing new experiments and research when he wasn't on active duty. As well as a renowned combat sorcerer, researcher, and detective, Thomas was known to be a highly sympathetic ear and when a member had some kind of personal problem they were often pointed to him. If he couldn't help them he would almost certainly know who would. He was also the man to see if one wanted any kind of magical advice.

The Research Wing

Doctor Henry Nguyen, the Awakened Super-intelligent Noble Prize winning inventor and superhero Savant, was hard at work in his lab. Where Thomas's lab was a monument to the arcane, Henry's was a monument to the technological. The room was bright and colored in industrial grey. High-tech monitors and displays lined the walls, and machinery and equipment cluttered the space. Empty metallic shells, racks of unfinished weaponry, and partially assembled motorcycles, among other things were placed away in various parts of the room. Henry often took multiple projects at the same time, reveling in the multi-tasking and constant work. He hated idleness and even slept in the lab, his cot in a dark corner of the lab next to a mini-fridge.

Henry's latest project was being assembled before his eyes as the fabricator replicated the designs and material he had inputted. The advanced fabricator, the evolution of 3D Printing had been his first Noble Prize winner, others had followed. Henry checked the displays and tinkered with a small drone that would be the first of many designed for reconnaissance and limited fire support. The whole time he hummed Gwen Stefani's Hollaback Girl under his breath. Many would have expected classical pieces from one of the smartest men in America but Henry was not the conventional scientist.

He spoke to a figure in the middle of the room who was encased by a containment field, an energy shield of his own design and hopefully his next prize winner. The field was experimental and the figure in the room might prove dangerous to him though not by intention. Henry figured it would be a nice field-test however but he did take the precaution of wearing a fully-sealed environment suit.

Henry smiled, "It's almost finished. Then you can walk around as much as you please. You're lucky you made it to us. A lot of Metahumans and Supernaturals have been coming into the country these past few years because of trouble at home, but a lot of them don't make it. You hear all kinds of ghost stories about criminal groups and even governments snatching up Superhuman refugees. But now that you're here we can protect you. And who knows? Maybe you can do the same." League members often came to him for equipment enhancements however and his door always remained open for those who sought better gear.

The Training Center

The League had access to a very well-equipped and advanced training center, where League members could hone their bodies as well as their powers and skills. Rows upon rows of exercise equipment lined the main room, some rated for normal humans and others specially designed for superhumans such as the weight-machines measured by the tons and the sonic-speed treadmills. There were also rooms for sports and shooting ranges, where marksmanship and power usage were tested. There were multiple olympic sized pools as well as one extremely deep one for water-breathers.

Special training rooms and obstacle courses for multiple power types were available, such as the gravity controller room and the extremely durable self-detonator range. Outside was an olympic track and sports field, speedsters running along the dirt while flyers practiced maneuvers overhead. There were designated areas for snipers to target shoot as well as electrokinetics, aerokinetics, and other Elementals or Blasters to practice.

One of the busiest areas was the Sparring Center where the League's premier hand-to-hand combat instructor Mike Johns oversaw the fast-paced and often brutal melee training of everyone from Zenith-class metas to regular humans. Mike was a transformer known as Chrome who could turn his entire body into solid steel and before the Awakening he had been an active duty Navy Seal and had dedicated most of his life to combat training. He had been active since the earliest days of the Awakening and had taken down several of the country's first Supervillains. As such it was hard to impress him.

He scoffed as one of Pariah's apprentices flipped a super-strong bruiser. The young man was still sure he was unbeatable and invincible and it was the first lesson Mike had to rid the superstrong and durable ones of. The bruiser hit the mat and groaned as Mike shook his head, "You've got all the strength and power Kowalski, but Jones there has all the skill and technique. And when it comes down to it, skill beats will. He couldn't take you out with his bare hands but if he got you stopped, it's enough for someone else to do you in. In combat, if you fall, you're almost as good as dead. And you never underestimate anyone. Hit the showers and we'll try again tomorrow."

Kowalski muttered under his breath as Jones held out a hand and helped him back to his feet. Mike turned to the Leaguers on the seats near the sparring mats, yelling over the grunts and yells of pitched superhero melee combat, "Alright, after that pathetic show I want to see a good fight for once. Do I got two or more guys or girls willing to throw down and impress us?" Even without being living steel, the 6'9 African-American male was an imposing figure as he stared down the observers.

The Common Room

Emily Johnson, Zenith's younger cousin, and the heroine known as Apogee smiled at the cluster of new members before her. Emily was the poster child of a new emerging wave of young, eager, and idealistic heros that were taking up the cape across the country. She was a born leader and had done extremely well in her first few outings as a League member. And as Steven's cousin, she was a sort of mascot for the League as a whole. As such she was the person they chose to orient the new members that had passed certification and training.

The Common Room was the League's recreation center in the Hall. It was a large room filled with televisions, computers, and distractions such as videogames, pool, air hockey, ping pong, dance floor, and others. It featured an aquarium of exotic supernatural aquatic creatures and one room even lead to a jacuzzi and sauna area. They were arcade games, card tables, and one wall featured a small bar and cafe. The windows had a commanding view of both Chicago and the training fields, where they could watch their colleagues hone their skills. It didn't compare to the Superhuman Club called the Fortress downtown, but when one didn't have the time to go out on the town the Common Room was often more than adequate. There was even another room for members to quietly read an impressive selection of books.

Emily floated in the air and smiled, "And that completes the basic tour of the Hall. There's a hell of a lot of rooms here, a lot to do, and a lot to take in but there you go. Congratulations to everyone for making the cut. I'll probably see you out there in the field. If you're tired after all that you can head to the dormitories but the Hall is yours to wander as you please. Feel free to stay here though, get to know one another, these are the people you'll be fighting the good fight with. If you have any questions just ask." Emily floated off to say hello to some friends and the new members were left to their own devices. An impromptu celebration was starting as the members in the Common Room, old and new, started getting to know each other.

Elsewhere

The bar was not a good one. It was small, rundown, cramped, and in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in town. Hardly anyone ever came here during the day and the place looked like it hadn't been cleaned in awhile. That made it the perfect place for unsavory types to meet. A host of said unsavory types filled out the bar. They wore suits, leather jackets, hoodies, and all manner of attire. They were of every color and shape and a few were even women. All of them looked like people you didn't want to meet in an alley, and all of them were packing some kind of heat.

They were mostly from out-of-town, criminals and hard cases that the Outfit had sent for to bolster its ranks in the rising gang war with Legion. This was one of many such meeting places for the hired Outfit help and it was populated by both experienced mercenaries and street-level gangbangers. The League's activities had hit all of the smaller criminal groups hard and disrupted the work of the freelancers. There wasn't much they could do about that, but Legion had been even worse. Organized groups like the Outfit and no-name gangs across the Midwest were free game for Legion and its superpowered criminals. They all had a stake in the conflict and all had a chance to profit from beating Legion.

One of the groups was an Biker gang out of Indianapolis, all hard men. But one of them wasn't what he seemed. On the surface he just looked like another gun-for-hire. It couldn't be farther from the truth. Among these criminals, he was their mortal enemy and none of them knew it. The undercover hero known as Sixgun heard Pariah's whisper in his head. Pariah as his handler had Savant surgically implant a device into his brain. It would see and hear everything he did as well as monitor his health and track his location. It was stealth-coded and could be remotely dissolved with no ill effects on Sixgun. The man out of time probably wasn't that comforted however.

Pariah spoke, "Keep your story intact. We have a team near you at all times but if anyone finds you out, there's good chances they won't be there in time. If you're ever under duress and we can't see it remember to work the phrase Angel Eyes into a sentence. If you ever lose contact or find yourself in trouble and we can't be there immediately, remember to visit the dead-drop at the metro station, it'll have everything you need to survive an emergency and reestablish contact. You've got a few dozen of Savant's microcams on you."

"Place them wherever we can get the best intel and if you get the chance to collect data place the marker and it'll let Binary remotely access the data. We need all the intel you can get on current operations, notables associates, major centers of operation, and anything else that'll help pin them down. If you can do it without being caught try to undermine them as much as possible while still looking helpful. And above all be careful. If you need to contact me directly either use the burner phone or visit the nearby internet cafe and use the email we set up. Somebody will be watching and listening at all times. If we determine it's necessary we'll send you extra operatives that you'll be in charge of."

"The Outfit rep is coming. Get ready and good luck." Pariah went silent as Tony Fontana walked in. He was a mid-level manager and still young, sharply dressed and primped up. Tony looked around the bar and said, "My people will start escorting you to meet the boss, one group at a time. You'll get to see what we're doing about the uppity supers we have in town. And if he likes you, we'll put you to work right away." Tony pointed to Sixgun and his "friends", "You guys follow me in your crotch-cycles."

Tony left the room and his men escorted a few others into cars. Sixgun and his cover gang got on their bikes and drove. Eventually, they reached an expensive property on the Lakefront and disembarked. The place was enormous and made the other mansions seem like apartments. The land was large and well-tended and kept green. A massive wall and gate lined the perimeter and suited men walked around it, another in a guardhouse. Tony's car was first and the convoy was waved in.

Scores of Outfit soldiers stared hardly at the out-of-towners as Tony lead them to the door. The young man grinned, his bleached smile glistening, "Hey, wipe your feet before you enter huh? Don't want to get pig-shit on the mats or whatever else." Inside the mansion there were more guards and inside they openly carried guns. Tony kept leading the group until they reached a room and were stopped by another squad of mob soldiers. After a brief exchange, Tony lead a few of the assembled hirelings including Sixgun into the room.

Sal Marconi, the crime boss to inherit the remnants of Chicago's broken mob syndicates was seated behind a massive oak desk. The man was middle-aged and well-groomed, dark tan skin and brown eyes evoking a sports coach rather than a mob boss. Next to him was a tall and broad-shouldered man who did indeed look like a mob boss. That would be Dragan Music. The premier crime boss in St. Louis, head of a ruthless crime syndicate of mostly Bosnians, and one of Marconi's main allies in his fight against Legion. Dragan stared at the men while Marconi smiled.

He was introduced to the out-of-towners including La Sombra who was a infamous hitman that worked for multiple Cartels down south and known for his brutality. Another was Chunk, a former IRA operative who left after they started allowing superhumans into their cause. His name came from the start of his victims after his devices exploded. And the last was Matt Hopkins, the Witchfinder General, former family man and current witchunter. His guerilla tactics and brutality had killed more than a dozen Sorcerers of various strengths and moralities. He was on the Magus Kill-List as well as international terroism watch-lists along with Chunk and La Sombra. None of them had powers but all of them were among the best of hired killers.

Hopkins seemed displeased to be there but didn't air his complaints out loud as pleasantries were exchanged. Finally Marconi settled on Sixgun and he smiled, "And you would be who? What brings you to Chicago?"

Away Team

League members Arachnid, St. Michael and Furious were inside one of Savant's specially designed VTOLs. The craft was transporting them to their destination on the outskirts of the city in the old abandoned slaughterhouse district. Furious paced up and down the aisle as Arachnid fiddled with her data display and Michael hummed to himself, his angelic voice resonating in the compartment.

Furious sighed, "Remind me what we're here for again." Michael smiled patiently, "Thomas identified the slaughterhouse as a potent site of Black Magic activity as according to his spiritual informers." Michael may have been a representative of Heaven but he put that aside when working with the other supernatural heroes. Arachnid piped up, "We also got a tip that one of the missing meta kids was seen in the area."

Furious snorted, "Sounds a little too good to be true." Arachnid nodded, "That's why we're going in armed for bear. And why we got the Angel." Michael waved a hand, "I am no angel, merely the representative of one." Furious laughed, "Quit with the modesty man. You've got the armor, pretty boy looks, wings, and everything. You might be a scrawny Angel but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck it's probably a duck." Michael frowned slightly, "I am no duck." Arachnid chuckled and the pilot said over the intercom, "ETA in one. Better ready up. Sensors are acting up, might be it needs maintenance."

Arachnid piped up, "Or it could be Black Magic interfering."

"Exactly, so be ready."

The three heroes all readied themselves in their own way, Arachnid pulling her mask over her face and checking her stunner as Furious cracked his knuckles and Michael drew his sword. The VTOL descended and the door opened to show them a deserted building and equally deserted neighborhood. The three-man team disembarked as the VTOL remained on the ground. Furious looked around and said, "What a dump. Ok let's go see what there is to see." The three advanced on the abandoned building, preparing to face whatever may have been inside.

Killshade stood silent, his arms crossed as the young superheroine known as Apogee finished her welcome to the new recruits, which Killshade fell under, though he exactly didn't put himself in with these people. Several of them wore odd costumes, like something that you'd see in a comic book of the 1940's, but he expected some of them to dress like that, the veteran members seemed to be very well known among the general public, why not dress like a comic book hero, they were the personification of those.

He didn't stay around to chat, as he mostly did not like having to make conversation, what was there to say? His name? Where he grew up? His favorite color? It didn't seem like the most thrilling of conversations, and besides, if anyone really wanted to speak with him, then they'd make an effort to find him. Killshade quietly went down another hallway, looking for the dormitories the female superhero had told them about. He wanted to set up his living space and he did that as he quickly found a barren room among the dozens that she had promised there would be. He placed his two large briefcases on the bed, then popped one of them open. Going through the contents.

He didn't bring that much, one was full of clothing, the other supplies. His weapons and such. He wore his 'costume', but he quickly changed out of it, opting for something more suitable to exercising. A grey sleeveless shirt, black athletic shorts with swim trunks underneath and sneakers. He intended to spend some time in the Olympic sized pools he had been briefed about then move into the weight room, and besides, it had been quite some time since he had trained in a pool. He hoped he wasn't rusty as he tied his shoes, grabbed a towel, then closed his briefcase as he exited his new living quarters, closing the door behind him.

After a couple minutes of walking through the hallways Killshade found his destination, one of the pools. He was the only one there at the moment, though it would not have mattered to him if there were others, he only needed one lane for his workout. He quickly changed down to his navy swim shorts, leaving his clothing neatly folded by his shoes. He exhaled, then dove into the clear blue water, breaching through the surface.

He emerged from the water, took a breathe then front crawl swam towards the other ended, going quickly along. The former Army Ranger reached the other end of the pool, tapping it with his hand. He spun around, facing the end he came from, then started to swim again, doing the exact same stroke he did before. He continued this over and over, focused on going faster each time.

The area MC and Light found themselves in was what you'd expect from an arcanist study. Books upon books on shelves, a few floating skulls, crystals, or other occult objects floating about, circles drawn in some places or arcane formulas on parchment in others. Various potion or ritualistic ingerdiants lay adorn across the room, as well as the various tools or bottles needed to craft such objects. the mage Thomas, otherwise known as Destiny, was a very welcoming sort of fellow who had taken great interest in the pair upon finding them in the middle of some city junkyard. After dealing with his own shock ,Thomas asked the pair where they had come from and exactly what they were.

"Certainly, after all your not shooting at us unlike those cops." MC said to Thomas, conjuring a variety of cups before discarding them, trying to find the right one. "You do know, they wouldn't have shot at us if you didn't turn those cars into cheese." Light said, catching a cup out of the air that she liked, the design being a simple porcelain with a glass trim. "Hey, I was helping out those homeless people! Not like anyone was using those cars, one didn't even have an engine!" MC said, finally finding a cup shape he liked, a strange looking cup that seemed to point into itself a few times, He conjured a final one and handed it to Thomas before starting to conjure more objects of a tea set, trying to figure out which one he liked better. "Yeah yeah... Just figure out what kind of tea you want to serve." Light said dismissively with a wave of her hand.

"Anyway, you wanted to know a bit, while MC is picking out a brand of tea, I'll explain myself." Light said with a bow, MC conjuring various teabags and sticking them into his head, the teabag vanishing in a flash of dark light. "My name is Light, I'm... well, just call me a fish demon or fish lady or whatever if you want some sort of racial reference." She said, flicking her ears while twirling her dress a little. "We come from... I think its called Raumaufrufen or something like that. And unlike most other dimensional travelers, we're sorta used to the 'feel' of other worlds, this one tickled when we came here." she finished as MC decided on a bag, and began to conjure a liquified version of it into a nearby teapot, as well as filling all their glasses with it, a bit splashing on MC's robe.

"Hm... yes, I think so, but I'm not the most reliable when it comes to stuff like that. Plus, being in other worlds doesn't cause immense discomfort unlike most world hoppers. Ever wonder why they're so mad? that's usually the reason, without proper summoning of course." MC said, looking at his tea before 'sipping' it, the liquid fading into nothing as it entered his head. "Though I'm surprised you don't have void or pure chaos energies in your world, they're fairly basic energies. Light here is infused with the void bits, and I'm just pure void and chaos energy mixed together. Good for magic, bad for my sanity. Or do I have sanity? Or is that insanity? I don't know, want a cookie?" MC said, unburdened from talking while drinking his tea, finishing his speech by throwing his cup into the small bile of shattered materials behind him and conjuring a brass coin, offering it to Thomas as a cookie.

"So... What are the chances of the others here freaking out when they see what we look like? We're not human, thats obvious, but they aren't really either. I just don't want to have to take more gunshots than I need to. Bullets hurt, believe it or not." Light said, finishing her cup of tea before getting more from the pot that was hanging off of MC's floating hand.

Cordelia Holmes was sitting in the common room. It took her a minute to realize that statement had only been applicable to her once before in her life, and that was a good many years ago. She, however, wasn't feeling sorry for herself, or miring herself down in woe.

Instead, she had a wide array of food from the common room on the table before her, and was heartily enjoying all of it-It had been a good many years ago since she'd eaten to her heart's content, as well. Not even bothering to wipe the crumbs off her mouth-or anything else that would suggest a semblance of civility ( to be honest, I really don't give a damn what these egotistical pricks think of me. )-Delly watched some of the people in the training room. The training room far and away seemed worthless to hill. There was a pool big enough to keep Nessie in, but Delly couldn't swim, so that was useless. Even if she did want to learn, she wasn't about to go find Fishman (who probably tried to call himself something badass like "Barracuda" or "Sharkeater" or whatever) and ask for swimming lessons. Then there were a bunch of treadmills. Delly could already run, and was pretty damned fast at a dead sprint. In her experience, if you couldn't outrun someone at a dead sprint within a minute or two, it wasn't going to happen, so working on your endurance wasn't super helpful. Not many situations on the streets where maintaining a leisurely jog for an hour and a half comes in handy. Then there were the weight benches. Delly figured they were at least sorta useful, but probably attracted the annoying gym rat types. Besides, she probably wasn't deadlifting more than a few pounds. Then, Delly had to struggle to suppress a laugh. Oh Jesus Christ they had a martial arts center. Delly viewed martial arts with general skepticism and mockery, mostly because she'd once heard you didn't need a license or anything to teach it. You could just up and start your own dojo or whatever and start handing out black belts to five year olds. Which, to her, is what the training room vaguely resembled.

Beyond that? This whole place disgusted her. She was eating the food because, well, yeah, it was hypocrisy, but she was damned hungry-but how much had all this shit cost? I mean, all those treadmills alone were a small fortune. Keeping that pool running, everything else...the facilities this place had were ludicrously expensive. If Delly had that kinda money, she could've done a lot more good with it. A lot more. She hadn't been here very long, but she'd felt she'd been given a decent impression of the League: more interested in playing with their cool toys and playing superhero than doing any actual good. Delly'd seen some serious shit in her short, eighteen years of life.

There'd never been any superheroes swooping in to help her. Why? Because there weren't any. At the end of the day, they were people in costumes. And people are pretty easily corrupted. She was willing to bet money most of these pampered vigilantes were a few missed meals, a little too much fame and fortune, the slightest opportunity away from abusing the hell out of their power. Delly planned to be a good many miles away when it happened.

She reached for another pastry, the shadow of her arm moving a split second before her's did. Delly grabbed it, reclined back in her chair, and chewed on it.

...what? Sure, these people pissed her off, but they had good donuts.

The common room was most probably Petya's favorite in the entirety of the Hall. It was built for entertainment purposes only, and appeared to be the kind of place the shapeshifter could spend weeks in if there was a need for it. They had a jacuzzi, a bar and plenty of people to... well. She wouldn't complain, couldn't. Maybe this League thing wasn't a bad idea, after all. The thief still had her reservations, of course she did, but Orchid trusted these people, and Petya trusted her partner. The healer was idealistic, but not some naive newcomer. The League didn't seem to tie her down as much as it gave her another place to leech from. Pickpocketing brought her enough money to live comfortably, but this? This was so much better!

The shapeshifter still had trouble counting herself as a recruit, especially a new one. Petya certainly didn't think of this as a full-time thing, and the words ”new recruit” made it sound like she'd actually become something else over time. Still, however short or long she'd stay, Petya knew she'd enjoy her time here. Orchid would be happy about the arrangement too.

Oddly enough, Petya couldn't find the healer in the common room. One would think that her partner would have been the first to welcome the new recruits into the Legion. Perhaps the healer was simply busy, at the moment. Green eyes swept through the crowd. Orchid really wasn't here. Well now. A slight frown appeared on the shapeshifters face, before quickly disappearing with a shrug and a laugh. In the end it didn't really matter. Petya was fully capable of making new contact with others. Connections were important, no matter where you were or what face you were wearing. What mattered was that you didn't expect them to always be there.

But that could wait, just as Orchid made her wait. Taking a drink with her, Petya stepped out of the common room and walked the corridors until she found her way into the dormitories. And oh joy, they weren't even that well reinforced! However could she keep her hands in check? It was such a shame she was working with these people now. It made stealing a trickier thing to deal with.

It was then, from the corner of her eye, that she noticed someone opening one of the doors and walking off. Another recruit, Petya recognized. He'd left without her even noticing. Why was he here instead of building those oh so important connections to the other heroes? Perhaps he was much like her, here only (mostly) for the resources. Interesting.

Petya gave the man some room to walk where he was headed, which ended being one of the swimming pools. For a moment, she leaned on a wall and followed the mans movements from farther away before approaching the man with confident steps.

The next time Killshade reached the end of the pool, Petya was there, lips settled into an amiable smile. The moment the other man reached to tap the end of the pool, Petya was there, tapping at the moist tiles with near perfect timing.

Master Sergeant Maxwell Mason stood off away from the crowd as Apogee gave the welcome announcement and such. He sighed and thought to himself, What the hell am I doing here? He shook his head, he knew why. After the girl finished talking, he walked over to a table and set the case on top of it.

His dog followed and sat at his feet. "Good boy, Chance. Watch!" Chance sat at attention watching the rest of the room. He was trained to give Mason a warning if anyone was approaching.

Mason open the case and pulled out his M16. He started breaking the gun down a cleaning it. From what he heard he was probably the weakest person here. At least ability wise anyway. He had always been able to hold his own.

Six months. Six months since he'd left London for Chicago. Six months since he'd stood in the League hall with hundreds of other colourful hopefuls and been told that he was the future of world security. Six months since he'd fought Shank, Boomer and co alongside Sonja and Olympia. Six months since he'd fist stumbled onto Legion. Six months and still no more sign of Obsidian, other than the occasional second hand report. Six months, and he still couldn't work a webcam.

The apartment accommodation the League had supplied Tommy when he joined had been fully kitted out with a small TV, desktop and phone, really everything he could have asked for. The computer even had a built in webcam, an extremely useful tool for anyone like him from across the pond, eager to get in contact with folks back home but who wanted something a little more personal than the telephone. The only problem being was that you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make it drink, or in this case teach him to drink. Even with Silvertongue's coaching he still struggled for about ten minutes to get the screen to show anything other than fuzz. Tonight he was trying to contact Clara Lord, his ex-girlfriend and one of only two confidants he trusted with his secret identity. Clara was giggling, enjoying his losing battle with technology a little too much for his peace of mind.

"How can you, Hi-Voltage, Lightning-Slinging hero extraordinaire, a veritable God of the new age, admit defeat to a humble web cam? What would the tabloids say." Usually Tommy thought there was no hard feelings between them after the breakup, but moments like this made him wonder if maybe she wasn't quite as amicable as she made out about the whole thing. He didn't get much time to think about it though as suddenly, and for no reason he could discern, the webcam blinked into life, his face jumping onto the screen. Clara gave a sarcastic slow clap and he accepted the praise graciously with a flamboyant bow.

"So then Miss Lord, how's thing back home?" he asked after settling himself into his chair.

"Oh you know, same old. Szymon is still up to his old tricks. Did he tell you. . . " After that they spent half an hour just chewing the fat, discussing a variety of topics ranging from the antics of his old friends from home, a new reform that Parliament were discussing that would require all superhero's living in Britain to register with the government, and the latest adventures of The British-Bulldog. Since Hi-Voltage had left London the Bulldog had really stepped up, filling Tommy's spot as the United Kingdom's pre-eminent hero. He'd surprised everyone by showing a maturity a responsibility that he'd never displayed before, and Clara suggested that perhaps he'd even become League material. Tommy decided to mention his name to Zenith next time they spoke. As usual the conversation ended the same way it always did lately, with an argument. It was the same one they always had, and they both knew it was coming, but like a deer in the headlights neither could do anything to avoid it.

"So. . .Tommy. When do you think you can come home?" She said it hesitantly, like she knew she shouldn't ask. Tommy sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair to put off the answer as long as possible.

"You know I can't come home Clara, not yet. Obsidian is . . . "

"Jesus Tommy, his name is Donald Sharpe! How can someone like you, someone so against being a costumed hero, keep calling that serial killer by a fucking codename. It's ridiculous." The venom in her voice was enough to make him bow his head in sorrow. It hurt, to hear her speak like that, but it hurt even more to know she was right.

"Just come home," she said, sounding close to begging. "Leave the League to deal with him. You've done enough." She was just saying things he'd already said to himself. He'd been doing this for years now, living a lie for no other reason than he was guilty. But guilt was a powerful motivator, or so he'd found. Yeah, she might have been speaking the truth, but her truth was no match for his guilt. He raised his head and sat up straighter, and Clara knew she had lost him again.

"Listen Clara, I have to go. League business." They made some rushed goodbye's, Clara managing to elicit a promise from him that he would call the next week, before he flicked off the cam, this time with no fuss. He took a few minutes to adjust his half mask and goggles, being one of the few heroes to always wear his costume around the League base. He thought about the task ahead of him. Zenith had asked him to help Apogee with making the new kids feel more welcome. Tommy didn't know why he'd been singled out for this one, but when the big guy asked him to do something he usually just got down to doing it.

He took a second to lock his door behind him before heading towards the common room. After all, it always pays to be careful, even in a building full of superheroes. . . Especially in a building full of superheroes.

---

There she was, the lassie that Zenith had asked him to look out for. Whisper, or Cordelia Holmes if you wanted to be proper, which Volt generally didn't. Be a bit of a brass neck if he did, going about telling folks his name was 'Hi-Voltage' after all. She looked like a bit of a ned right enough, and the big man was worried that she was having difficulty fitting in. Didn't take a genius to figure out why. Whisper was cut from a different cloth of just about every other new kid here. Where the rest were all trim and shiny, looking like they were decked out in their Sunday best for the occasion, Cordelia looked like she wouldn't give a toss if the whole place caught fire and went up in smoke. Hell, she looked like she might enjoy that wee spectacle. Still, best I don't judge the book by it's cover, even if books are giving covers for a reason.

The lanky Scot ambled over to Whisper's table, pulling a chair out across from her and seating himself without asking permission. He remembered a time, not to long ago, when he'd done similar with another lassie who had struggled with the League at first. Midnight never made it in the end though, but Volt couldn't be sure what would happen with this one. Wouldn't hurt for him to offer her a hand, anyway.

He never spoke at first, merely sat and idly watched Chrome put some recruits through their paces in the training room. Volt felt for them, he really did. Five years I've been risking life and limb in this game, and I ain't ever had a doing like the one I got offa Chrome, and that was just in practice! Eventually he turned back to Whisper and offered her an open and friendly smile.

"Hey Whisper, I'm Volt. I hate super-hero's too. Weird that, huh?" It was a line Pariah had told him to use. Apparently Whisper wasn't sold on the whole costumed heroics deal, so the founders had decided to send her Hi-Voltage. Volt's distaste for the super-heroic lifestyle, while perhaps not as pronounced as Whisper's, was still more well developed than just about any other member of the Leagues. He felt like a charlatan every time he donned his costume, but did it out of sheer moral obligation and personal guilt. They thought he had a better chance of connecting with her than anyone else here, and if that failed then maybe his friendly demeanour might get through to her.

Well, now the ball was in her court.

Hot Rod was glad that he had chosen to join the League and work as a team member with them as they did incredible acts of heroics. It also had helped increase his popularity among the public. But there were still people who were paranoid about the league a potential menace to society and other people who called them freaks of nature. Hot Rod tried his best to ignore people like that and just focused on developing a good relationship with his teammates.

Ryker was running at supersonic speed through the city of Chicago on his way to the league headquarters and wondered how the new members would act around many others like them. Several of these superhuman types liked to work alone and didn't do well in crowds. He also wondered how some of these lone wolf heroes would react to the paparazzi giving them huge amounts of attention whenever they did a task. Hot Rod was use to it, he was after considered to be America's most favorite superhero and he loved the attention but there were others who wouldn't.

He soon arrived at the hall of heroes and came to a very fast stop just inside the building, leaving a trail of flames in his wake. The fire disappeared not too long after and he let his flaming aura vanish. He quickly moved through the building and went into the common room to see who was hanging around in the area. He gave a big smile when he saw Volt in the common room talking to Whisper, a new member of the League. He came up the hero at a super fast speeds just as heard Volt introduce himself and mention hating superheroes.

"Are you telling me you're a self hater now Volt? Didn't your parents ever tell you about how damaging self hate can do to people?" he asked as he quickly sped away at supersonic speed and in a split second was back with a can of root beer he had gotten from the kitchen. He popped the lid and sipped the soda.

Thomas nodded, "The police are very humorless about that sort of thing. That said you'll have plenty of opportunities to assist the general populace. The League is as committed to humanitarian efforts as it is to law enforcement. If you're going to reside on this plane you have to learn to abide by the rules. Otherwise the Fellowship will probably order me to banish you from the realm. An unpleasant prospect in any case." Thomas observed MC conjuring cups and his pen wrote down ever more information, "Interesting. You display casual and effective conjuring skill. Either you're pulling tea sets from different locations, unlikely, or you're converting spirit matter from your plane into material objects."

Thomas dropped the teacup he was holding and it shattered, soon dissipating into misty matter that disappeared entirely after a few moments, "The latter then." The pen began writing things down even faster, "I've never heard or such a world before, but then again they saw the amount of parallel realms is nearly endless. Fascinating how different your experience is to others. I assume Light is an assumed name? It hardly seems like the True name of a creature such as yourself, which both of you would do well to keep to yourselves I'm sure I needn't remind you." Names had power and if a spellcaster had a being's true name, spoken from their own lips, it opened up all kinds of avenues in spellwork. Many of them not at all pleasant.

Thomas drank the phantom tea and found it wasn't the best he'd ever tasted. Thomas nodded, "I've seen my fair share of manifested creatures. I find they often have poor tempers even when properly summoned." Thomas's pen kept writing, "In this plane magic comes in all forms and wavelengths. Chaos energy and void energy are extremely nebulous and more artistic than explanatory in my mind. Their effects however can be quantified case in point and I have observed mortal sorcerers that can alter quantum probabilities." Thomas took the coin and after a few moments the molecules reformed into a small chocolate chip cookie which Thomas ate. Transmutation was a difficult art but for small objects Thomas was competent enough.

"The Awakening has produced all kinds of strange visions of Humanity. Everyone here is Human in the sense that matters. Except for yourselves obviously though I mean no offense. They may find you strange but there are beings even more bizarre in appearance and personality. I doubt any would be so disturbed as to attack. For their good behavior and yours, the Founding Council has ordered that you two be chaperoned for the time being." Thomas closed his eyes, held his hands together, muttered a few words and opened his palms a golden ball of light floating from it, "This is a guardian spirit created with some of my own power. It'll make sure you two stay out of trouble. You may go now if you wish. I have more experiments to conduct."

Cordelia was mid-bite when one of the McManus brothers-no, wait, they were from Ireland, weren't they? She could never tell those two damned countries apart. Europeans, as a rule, were generally annoying, though. She casually wiped off her face with the back of her jacket's sleeve and sized up the newcomer. Tall, looked like he'd seen a few fights. Face like a butcher knife, hair like it went through a blender. Not entirely what she'd call attractive, but not horrible to look at either-not that she was looking to hook up with anyone here. Nope, she was collecting her paychecks and leaving before things went to hell. Do they have an award for dedication or something? I deserve that shit. Cordelia rolled her sleeves up, revealing a hint of black ink peeking out over her elbows: the tail end of tattoos that curled up her arms. There were faint scars on her arms, but these didn't seem to be the wrist-slitting of depression or self-harm, no, these looked more like ones acquired in street fights. No track marks on the crooks of her arms, at least.

"You, uh, open up to all girls with that line, or just the superpowered ones? Cause I can think of a few better choices. Maybe 'Hey baby, I'm Voltage-and tonight is gonna be electrifying'. That's just one. Really, you've got a whole world of lightning-based innuendo to work with..." she paused, her brow furrowing. "I'm assuming your power's related to that...Voltage. I'm not really read up on everybody here. Not really big on the whole "teamwork" thing. Oh, and just call me Cord. That's not me warming up to you, by the way, I'm just not a huge fan of Whisper. If you've got any better suggestions, I am happy to take them. I haven't gotten my crime-fighting bustier and stockings monogrammed yet." Cordelia reached over and grabbed another croissant, considering it the most appealing aspect of League life thus far. The least appealing aspect of the League was everyone's insistence on using codenames, which made her feel like she was in Top Gun. Or their no smoking policy.

"But," Cordelia said, swallowing a mouthful of bliss, "assuming you're not bullshitting me with the dislike for all the flashy crap they have around you, that's pretty admirable. I mean, you run around in a costume beating people up, I kinda wonder what the hell your dad did to you as a child, you know?" Cordelia leaned back, pulling her legs up into the chair beside her in a pose that was vaguely feline in appearance. The shadow she cast in the chair seemed to deepen and pool around her, flickering ever so slightly. Cordelia watched Volt carefully, her glacial blue eyes studying him closely. She knew that Voltage was a higher-up with the League, but he seemed more or less genuine. She couldn't get a feel for him quite yet, and hadn't heard enough about him to make up her mind. If Zenith or somebody had come over, she would've just told them to go fuck a landmine, but this guy seemed alright. If he let off any annoying tendencies, she'd probably tell him to do the same, but she figured it couldn't hurt to have an ally or two here while she was here. Cordelia didn't plan on spending the rest of her life here-mostly because she wanted the rest of her life to be longer than a few years-but there was no sense in intentionally pissing people off. Well, rephrase that: intentionally pissing off people who weren't actually annoying. Cordelia had no problems being a dick to those deserving of it.

But it never hurt to have somebody watching your back. Well, a second someone watching your back. Cordelia already had one guardian angel.

And hers went cold as ice as Hot Rod zipped out of nowhere, making Cordelia tense up and turn slowly in his direction. She didn't outright show fear-no, that was bad. Bad for survival, good for getting jumped. Somebody pulls out their piece or whips out a switchblade, you don't flinch or anything equally telling-you just give them the same steady, cold gaze you've been giving. Cordelia made sure this wasn't a supervillain that just breezed past security (because there had to be somebody with superpowers the League had pissed off by now, and Cordelia wasn't about to take a bullet for the cause) and then let her guard down-a smidge. Her shadow, a deeper black and fluctuating a little more noticeably, refused to do the same.

"Mighty fast," Cordelia noted. She couldn't keep all these superpowered people straight. She had settled mostly for distinguishing physical features, which was a lot easier with the people that had dragon scales for skin or bright silver hair or something. This guy...ginger...tall...dressed like Captain America on patriotic steroids...no, not ringing a bell. "I would be totally impressed-" this said with more sarcasm than most human beings were capable of-"except for the fact I'm too busy wondering if you've got super speed when it comes to getting it on with your boyfriend, too. Anyways, as you were saying, Volt..."

Cordelia had no intention of throwing down with any of these people-mostly given that throwing down with anyone was a good way to get killed or have the shit beaten out of you. Regardless, it never hurt to act unimpressed. She figured an eighteen year old girl would turn heads in the League-not in the "oh, look at her go..." way, but in the "why'd they let somebody so young in?" way. She wanted people to wonder just a little about her-and if they thought she had supernatural muscle to back all the trash she was talking, that was absolutely fine by her. The less people that bothered her, the better. Flamey McRunsfast, as opposed to Volt, had already irritated Cordelia somewhat.

I swear, if the food at this place wasn't so damned good...

Killshade reached the other end of the pool, as he came towards it he felt like he was being watched. He was correct in this thought as once he stopped swimming he looked up to notice somebody watching him with a friendly grin on their face. He began treading water casually, then rubbed his eyes to clear his vision.

"How long were you watching me and why?" He asked with a curious tone as he looked the person over, trying to figure them out. He was truthfully having a tough time figuring out if they were male or female, but he took a wild guess and thought female, thought the clothing, the skinny figure and face didn't help him that much to really figure it out. Killshade wondered what this person's powers were as he floated in the water, briefly eyeing his folded clothing by the side of the pool.

Training Room

Watching a large man get flipped right on his ass, Emmanuel grins. Looks like he wasn't quite fast enough huh? Well, I shouldn't have a problem with that. Maybe I can even tangle with the instructor and see how THAT would turn out. Emmanuel may be slightly over confident in his speed and hand to hand abilities. And why wouldn't he be? When a man can move at the speed of lightning, it could almost be considered self hate to NOT be confident in your abilities. He's certainly never met anyone who can match him yet. Maybe that will change soon though. Who knows.

Raising his hand and stepping forward, the scarred man speaks up. "I wouldn't mind giving it a go Mr. Jones! I'm decently confident in my hand to hand abilities. They haven't let me down so far." Emmanuel thinks for a second on whether to introduce himself immediately or not. On the one hand, he's fairly certain people have heard of him? He's only been a member for a couple weeks, but he's been a hero ever since the Awakening, taking care of his home turf in New York. He's happy to say that while he was on the job, crime rates dropped down to zero percent. His neighborhood was a completely crime free area, and that started to trickle out to other neighborhoods once the criminals heard how he fights. Lots of stabbing with fingers, plus pressure points, plus electrical jolts usually resulted in the poor bastard losing use of his arms and/or legs for a while, which most people actively try to avoid. So yeah, he made a little name for himself down there, though he doesn't know how far its spread. On the other hand, it might not have gotten to any of the really big superheroes, though Emmanuel certainly has heard of the big League members. Plus, he just enjoy's being polite, so it's probably better to introduce himself. "My name is Emmanuel, Emmanuel Liheart. Codename: The Flashbolt Acolyte. I just joined a couple of weeks ago actually, and I had to clean up back home, so I haven't gotten a chance to do much of anything around here, which Im hoping to change here right now!" Cocky, but polite. That's Emmanuel's style. That way, when he kicks your ass, you can't really get mad at him, or in the off chance he's beat, its all good cause he wasn't a butthead about it before.

"Uh, that being said, what exactly are the rules for sparring around here, and who am I sparring with? Honestly, I wouldn't mind tussling with you, if you'll pardon my hubris. If you're gonna learn, you might as well learn from the best, am I right? Though I feel we have distinctly....different fighting styles." Yeah, that's saying something. Emmanuel knows about Chrome. A man who can turn into literal steel will definitely fight differently than someone who moves as Emmanuel does. A what he's assuming to be bruiser verses a man based on quick but potent strikes is certainly an interesting match up, if nothing else. "But if you have someone you wanted to see spar, I'd be more than happy to go toe to toe with them too. I'll fight anyone, really. I've just got some energy I need to blow off." Its true too. As he says it, his arms tingle and release a small jolt of electricity around them. Being around such a high tech place, Emmanuel's picked up a ton of charge just from the air. He's running full capacity and he intends to discharge some of it one way or another, whether its with sparring or he has to see how much one of those sonic treadmills can keep up with him,

MC listened vaguely to what Thomas had to say after he took the cookie, while Light was paying more attention and would probably tell him what was going on later. MC had a few comments to a few of Thomas's questions, commenting how his true name "Changed in a blink, or every blink." and listed off what it was at that time, most of them unintelligible, but a few intelligible ones such as Carl and Larry popped up every now and then, Light explaining how MC's chaos energies constantly changed that part of him, making it impossible for even him to use it in a spell. She didn't mention anything about hers though, although her void energies made spells hard to keep on her for very long.

MC was visibly disappointed when Thomas cast their chaperone, commenting "I wanted to steal that transmute spell. Transmuting is fun!" And with a little tug from Light, MC followed her out to the main hall. "We'd better find something to explain these 'rules', can't have you trying to, and failing to, turn things into cheese for homeless again. Apparently thats frowned upon here." Light said as she waved to a couple of heroes passing by, them waving back without giving the pair much of a glance. "Oh yeah? Well I'm not... oooh, whats that?" MC said, drifting towards the Common room while stopping mid thought, completely forgetting what they were talking about and being more interested in the huge bunch of superheroes* in the room. Light followed him, a little annoyed, until she saw the room herself.

"I could cause all kinds of havoc here I'd think. Not in the mood though." MC said as he lazily floated up near the ceiling and flew around the room a bit, looking at the various auras of everyone before returning to hovering over Light, gripping onto her shoulder as he conjured a few small balls and began to play various games with them. Light more or less ignored his antics however and made her way to the TV area, sitting down when she saw an action movie she liked. MC, bored with his balls, dropped them over the heads of a few supers, the balls exploding into confetti before they hit anyone, and began to look for something he could enjoy as well. unable to fid much of anything though, he decided to just fly around and conjure various objects for people he passed by. Of course most of the objects were stuffed animals, so most people didn't know what to think of the free stuff, especially the flaming speedster who had arrived a little while ago, apparently he didn't like fluffy spiders, or so MC thought as he zoomed on by.

*(1) Fun fact, the word Super Heroes is copyrighted by Marvel and DC, so thats why people use Superheroes instead.

SONJA SIMPSON, THE SPIRIT OF SAINT LOUIS

"Thomas, c'mon, don't go scaring the new kids," the tall, thin woman said from the corner, using her long fingers to shuffle a deck of tarot cards. She wore a smartly pressed pantsuit and, of course, her ever-present sunglasses. Some Leaguers speculated there was something horribly wrong with Sonja's eyes, while others joked that she just had a really bad hangover. The latter would not be an inaccurate assessment most Sunday mornings, but the truth was far more mundane- she just liked the way they looked. That, in essence, was a good portion of what you needed to know about Sonja Simpson.

She walked over, smiling brightly, laughter lines at the corners of her mouth, hand extended. "Welcome to our home. I don't know if you've been told, but this is considered a polite greeting." She demonstrated a handshake with Destiny. Extradimensional beings, bizarre creatures from other worlds- these weren't exactly new things to her. Sonja was considered fairly blue-collar among most sorcerers- no ermine robes, no thees and thous. Just talking plainly and openly. Of course, she wasn't the least bit taken aback when Light and MC wandered off to look around the building. Everything was new to them, of course they wanted to explore.

"Little ADD, aren't they?" she laughed to Thomas. The man had grown on her over the last six months, especially his crazy lab, which looked like the end result of a fight between a glassblower and a crocodile. She had helped him research a number of magical problems here, and even just come to shoot the shit. "Still nicer than some of the others. Remember a couple months back? That kid in Evanston somehow summoned Leraje into his basement? It took a week to get all the brimstone out of my hair." She laughed, before looking around to see if the lab was empty and leaning in closer.

"Listen, Thomas, I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you. I've been really worried. My power, it's been slipping lately, the last few weeks especially. My magic has become incrementally weaker. Not huge, but I can tell, you know? And it seems to be speeding up. I know exactly what it is- my people are losing faith in me. I've been helping you fight demons here in Chicago, I've been working with Olympia dismantling gangs in Cleveland and Milwaukee, I've been helping to train the newcomers. My sponsors at Barclay-Hoffmeyer are happy for national press, but I haven't been doing enough for home and it's bad juju, man." She realized she was pacing anxiously, stopped and looked sheepish as Thomas listened patiently. "I mean, I know there's a much larger picture. The Outfit, Legion, all of that. But I feel guilty, like I'm not doing enough." She realized she was babbling and shrugged. "I'm sorry to dump all this on you, Thomas, but I just really don't know what to do here."

---

SIXGUN

There was a piece of metal inside his skull.

It probably wasn't metal, but Ben Brady, better known as Sixgun, was still a little anxious. Unlike anyone else in the room, he remembered a time when surgery involved a shot of bourbon and a hacksaw, which had been on his mind when Pariah had informed him of the implant. Somehow, in some way far beyond the man's limited understanding of modern technology, it enabled his handlers to see and hear what he did. Christ, I hope they don't watch me take a piss, he thought, then wondered if they could hear his thoughts as well. Maybe? He had no idea what any given piece of machinery could do. So much had changed since his death, back in 1888.

With a start, he realized that Marconi was speaking directly to him. No surprise he had caught the man's eye- the white seersucker suit, Hawaiian shirt and chocolate-brown snakeskin boots saw to that. Not to mention the Panama hat. It had made sense to dress loudly and ostentatiously. One would expect an undercover agent to be muted and quiet, to do nothing to draw attention to himself. So naturally, he had decided to be as eye-catching and boisterous as possible.

"Fletcher Ross, sir," he said with a broad grin and a Southern drawl. He had worked very hard on the cover identity with Pariah and Strix and a few others. The seed of the idea had actually come from Father Ochoa, who suggested that coming across as a backwoods type might explain some of his difficulties with technology. Even without knowing of Sixgun's displacement in time, Pariah had liked the idea, reasoning that the South was far enough away to make him reasonable as an outsider while still close enough to be considered a possible ally. The identity had been painstakingly built up and all the documentation needed for the fictional Fletcher Ross to pass muster. A rap sheet from the Mississippi Attorney General. Records of a sentence at Parchman Farm. Driver's license. All the good stuff, if anyone cared enough to go digging.

"I done most of my previous work in Biloxi. The Vegas of the South, casinos, strip joints, all the good stuff. There were some good ole boys down there that called themselves the Dixie Mafia. And if anybody needed to get got, hell, they all knew: Fletcher Ross is your man." Sixgun tipped the Panama, chuckled to himself. "Then them goddamn supers showed up, and the goddamn liberal government sets to taking the whole thing apart, and all the sudden nobody knows who Fletcher Ross is anymore. So I decides I'd best be taking my iron up north way, cause I know you fellas are hurting and could use a hand." He gave a wave to the bikers he had arrived with- the Road Kings Motorcycle Club, founded and headquartered in Indianapolis. "Now, I had a good workin' relationship with the members of the Biloxi chapter of this fine in-stew-too-shin, so I figured they might see their way clear towards letting me tag along. Course, had to show 'em what I can do first," he said with a wink. He twitched open his jacket just enough to reveal the butt of the revolver holstered in there, a nickel-plated M1917. The .45 wheelgun was obsolete now, having been built in 1917, but to Ben it was another piece of incredible futuristic technology, picked because his preferred weapons were too distinctive. "See, down South, we have a hard time getting our hands on those fancy machine guns and rocket launchers. Every bullet counts, sir, so you gotta know how to shoot straight. And believe me, sir, ain't nobody shoots straighter than Fletcher Ross, these boys'll tell you," he said with a thumb jerked back towards the Road Kings. The bikers nodded mutely- the day before, Ben had thrown an entire deck of cards in the air and put six bullets through the ace of spades before it even hit the ground.

Brady finished his story, smiling broadly even as he tried to figure out if his story had been accepted. If they saw through it, Ben knew what he had to do. Six bullets in the M1917. Six important targets in this room- Marconi, Music, Fontana, Chunk, La Sombra, and of course the Witchfinder. If they moved on him, he'd try to take at least a couple of the head honchos out before inevitably going down to the dozens of armed men in the room. He'd prefer to go down shooting and bring a few folks to Hell with him. After all, he was pretty sure he was headed there, and it'd be nice to have company.

Sixgun smiled broadly, even as he tried to will anxious sweat to stay under his skin.

And lo, for now there were two approaching the forward gates of the League of Heroes. Two vastly different humans, carrying themselves uniquely and albeit silently. One did not yearn to speak, the other had nothing to say. A traveling pair of nobodies, well, at least one nobody. Youngest of the pair was a girl. Slouched, wearing clothes that hung off of her shoulders and barely fit her properly. As though she didn't mind the judgements of others on her manner of dress. Perhaps something of dire significance was running through her mind, rather than social normalcy.

The other's face was distorded and ghastly, as though it weren't quite meant to exist with half of the features it bore. Most definitely, the man who was standing at around 5'4" fell just over the edge into the uncanny valley. Strangely enough, he carried himself with significant pride. Some men would call him cocky, just by looking at the way he walks.

The two beings that have been described to you are One and Doppler.

They have been traveling for around a month now, after hearing of the league Doppler set out first. One had other reasons, though, we're not sure what. No seriously, when you have as vast a comprehension as One, you really can't read what's going on behind those eerie staring eyes. Now, Doppler picked up One in the streets wearing little more than a hospital gown. Though, from what he's managed to pick out of her brain, she left the hospital months before she ran away from home. So the gown didn't make much sense. So he bought her a fine outfit and decided to let her tag along.

She vehemently opposed telling where she lived, something about the sense of confinement in such a closed minded place. Seemed to Doppler that she had been through a bad ordeal, and let it go.

Now, we're in the present. Doppler and One arrive at the doorstep of the League of Heroes to find, well, two very large men standing guard around an unsurprisingly larger door.

One mumbled some thoughts to Doppler, nothing of grave importance, just some facts about how doors are designed to accomodate those who live within. So doors this massive mean that there must be some very large men or women living there.

Doppler simply smiled and reached out his hand in a handshake, withdrawing his glove from his right hand. "Hello fellow, my compatriot and myself would appreciate entrance int- Into this place." He actually forgot to breathe, and paused to breathe in at about the point where he said 'into.'

If One had normal thought processes, she might have actually chuckled at how frightened he sounded.

This was actually a double edged test, and One knew exactly what Doppler was doing. These two were guards, and Doppler was a thief. If they happened to touch his hand, they'd be demonstrated quite quickly what his powerset is. What powerset, you might ask?

I already told you. Doppler's a thief.

Now, if they ask for some sort of proof of his abilities, he will again insist that they touch his hand. Really, Doppler just wants to see how strong they are, to gauge just what level superbeings existed in this League of Heroes.

Now, while Doppler was busy trying to impress the guards, One simply meandered towards the door and pushed at it gently. Though, it did not budge, she persisted this pushing. Wordlessly pressing against this impassable barrier, she looked up at the guard that was nearest to her, and not Doppler, and once more remained silent. One pushed on the door again, while she attempted to maintain eye contact with the bruiser.

One way or another, they were gonna get into this League of Heroes. Be it through convincing or coniving.

Entrance Hall

The Bruiser manning the left side of the door, codename Blockbuster as such on his nametag, traded glances with his partner Bunyan. The two had come to recognize fellow superhumans on an instinctual level. Some were reserved. Some strutted. Others seemed to try and hide. But they all had an intangible yet completely palpable sense of otherness about them. Of exceptionalism. These two had that feeling.

Blockbuster clasped hands with Doppler not using his full strength, thinking Doppler’s nervousness was due to his first time at the hall. The raw strength of the super-strong metahuman could not be mistaken however. Unfortunately for Doppler, he wore a security uniform with gloves and Doppler didn’t have the chance to steal his powers. However there was a bare patch of skin between the glove and the cuff of his uniform.

Blockbuster’s expression remained neutral but polite, “We don’t recognize you sir but I’m sure a representative can meet with you. We’re getting used to walk-ins.” Bunyan stared at One and was a little unnerved by the person he saw but kept it under wraps. He coughed and said, “Allow me miss.” He easily opened the door with one hand and said, “Our receptionist should be able to help you contact a League representative to discuss whatever business you have. Please allow me and my partner to search you.”

Bunyan stood back as Blockbuster produced a scanner and waved it over One and Doppler, checking for any anomalous energy signatures, traces of weapons, and any metal. He also had them stretch out their arms for a pat-down and were thoroughly searched for weapons or any other contraband.

Blockbuster nodded, “Go right on in.” Bunyan opened the door even further and the two were allowed to walk in, passing an automatic scanner that once again checked for any signs of danger. The door was also magically warded and any malicious spirit could not have entered. They passed a fountain adorned with a statue of the Earth and walked over elegant marble floor with the high ceiling overhead.

A young twenty-something blonde in a suit sat at the receptionist desk and smiled, “How may I help you?” as they approached. As One drew closer her expression clouded in growing discomfort that she shrugged off after a few moments. Her nametag read Anima.

Training Center

Mike grunted and hid a smile at the young man's eagerness under a grimace, "I like your eagerness kid but you gotta check that attitude of yours once in a while. Lesson number one, there's always somebody who beat you. You can't win 'em all." Mike gestured at Jones, a young and athletic Caucasian male in his twenties to step off of the mat. Mike walked around Emmanuel, "I only personally fight a trainee when the lesson calls for it, watching two of you younger folks fight gives me a lot of material to correct. There's a lot of people who might be a match for you, Jones included."

"There are two types of fights. Powered and Unpowered. Powered is when both parties utilize whatever equipment and abilities they may have. Unpowered is when superhumans can't use any overt powers though of course Bruisers and Zenith-classes can't turn off their strength and durability. It's pure melee combat, no armor, no equipment, no anything. Obviously no lethal attacks or weapons are allowed, and we set the number of fighters on each side. Matches can go to who stays down first or who get's taken down the most but other than that there's no rules. We try to prepare for real combat situations as much as we can. Superhuman fights rarely have intent to kill, supervillains don't want to get buried and we don't want the baggage. So these fights prepare you for 90% of the fights you'll be having."

Mike looked Emmanuel in the eye, "You've got an impressive style but there's always a counter. And a counter to those counters." Mike looked around the seated heros, "Anyone here got the guts to fight Flashbolt here? Or I am I going to have to pick one of you sorry excuses of a crimefighter?"

Sorcery Circle

Thomas smiled at Sonja. He chuckled as he took her hand in his and pantomimed a handshake. Sonja Simpson was one of the League's premier mystics and Thomas considered her an esteemed colleague as well as a growing friend. The two had embarked on several missions together and taken the time to talk shop, do experiments, and just hang out. Thomas was often starved for the company, most of the other Sorcerers kept a professional distance from him due to a combination of awe at his talent and the fact he was effectively their boss. Sonja was one the only ones who cut through all of that and her more blue-collar approach to magic was refreshing. She was also one of the few that tolerated the chaotic state of his lab.

Thomas nodded chuckling, "Quite. One of the pleasant group who don't want to steal your soul or feast on your flesh though I believe you have to be human to have a human psychological condition," he grimaced as he rubbed the hidden bald patch in his otherwise, long, and well-groomed dark hair, "You got off lucky, the patch that was burned off by that fireball still hasn't grown back. At this rate I'll have to ask Madame Rosario for one of those hair growth potions. You know how she is, once I do that, the entire Sorcery Circle is going to know about it and think I'm going bald at 33. I'll never live it down. Though I think the way I made him trip back through the dimensional hole was even slicker then the way you took down Sarin." Sonja's capture of Sarin the dangerous poisonous gaseous metahuman was still the talk of the superhuman scene and Sarin had effectively turned into a joke because of it.

The sorcerer noticed how Sonja looked around and leaned in. Thomas had a few apprentices but they were quite engrossed in their studies, nonetheless Thomas nodded at Sonja and spread his arms muttering another nonsense phrase. A strong current of power filled the air as an invisible but nonetheless real dome encircled them. Their conversation was now completely private. Thomas kept his gaze steady but sympathetic as he listened to her silently.

It seemed to him that Sonja was really anxious and when she stopped pacing Thomas stepped closer and put a placating hand on her shoulder, "It's alright Sonja. Not only is it my duty as the League's lead mystic, you're my friend. Friends help friends." He kept his voice soft but confident hoping to make her feel better about herself like a Leader and friend should, "You've done a lot of good for a lot of people in such a short time that's something you should be proud off."

"But you're right, I don't think the others noticed but now that you mention it I can see the disruption in your aura," Thomas smiled faintly and said, "What your doing here is very important work and I believe your people will come around. However there are a few things we could do." Thomas mulled it over in his head before nodding, "We could let you take a sabbatical and go back to St. Louis. Th Founders, Pariah especially, wouldn't go for it but I'm convinced I could talk it over with them so that you can replenish their faith in you."

"But you have to realize that magic is what you believe in. What each individual sorcerer believes his or her talent to be is what largely determines how and why their magic works. Some use gods because they believe they need them. Some don't because they don't believe so. All are right because magic is suited to each individual. Their personality, their convictions, their principles. You can't become a Nercomancer if you don't truly believe in it on some level, that's why they're so rare."

Thomas continued, "You are the Spirit of St. Louis. You did what almost nobody else has done. You've harnessed the faith of an entire populace in yourself. That was how the old gods gained most of their power on a larger scale. But your powers work that way because of your deep connection to the city. You're in love with that city, it's customs and people. You believe in the city and with your magical talent it created a symbiotic link between the city and yourself a Sanctum Invocation on a massive level."

"You believe in the city and as such your powers depend on the city believing in you. But the magic comes from in you as much as it does for any external source and I believe we can find ways to bolster your powers besides relying on the city. These solutions vary in their long-term practicality and appeal but they are there." Thomas held up a finger, "Firstly, we could have you use temporary power boosters such as items of power or mystical wellsprings such as the Druid's old tree or Glamour's power rings. We have a ton lying around but they won't power you forever and for the most part they'd require recharges." Thomas gestured at his work table where gems and accessories imbued with magical energies lay. One of them was an emerald ring that was part of Thomas's almost obsessive drive to recreate the Green Lantern ring of power. It hadn't worked so far but he believed he was getting close.

"We could have you make another Sanctum Invocation, for a different place or city. Though I believe your connection to St. Louis is too strong for that and even then it is prone to the same pitfalls as your current situation." Locations had significance in the human conscience and powerful, metaphysical places had similar mystic power. He continued, "We can have the League begin spreading more operations into St. Louis but this will take some time but by then it should cement your hold again. You may not want to wait however. And again I'd have to speak to the Founders."

"We can go to the Fellowship for help, they'd probably find another way but that help would come with strings. A lot. And I know you wouldn't enjoy being tied to them. I certainly don't." Though he was the regional Magus commander of North America, Thomas's liberal rivalry with the conservative Elder Council was well documented in the Supernatural scene, "The same kind of strings if you ask any of the old gods or even the Fae Queens or any other supernatural power out there."

"I could teach you how to draw power from your surroundings. From the weather, the sun, ley lines, and such metaphysical fountains of energy. These are basic techniques you never learned because you never needed them until now. Perhaps it is the time to start if you don't mind being a student again for a short while." Thomas smiled and put both hands on her shoulders meeting her gaze, "And you can start believing in yourself. Use your own emotions, your own hopes, dreams, demons, and feelings to help power your spells. Emotions make your spells more potent, harder to control yes but you are one of the most skilled Sorcerers in the country. If you start believing in yourself, it can augment the power you receive from your people believing in you."

Thomas stepped back and let his hands go but maintained his steady eye contact and sympathetic tone of voice, "I believe combining power items and energy drawing techniques should suffice for the near future until you can learn to unlock your own inner potential. And there's another option." Thomas sighed and looked down before looking back up, "You can revitalize the people's faith in you by taking down a thorn in their side. Dragan Music. He is in town. Nobody else besides the Founders, the original roster, and now you know. He's with Marconi building up an alliance against Legion. Taking him down would bring down an entire syndicate that's plaguing your area and boost your power even higher than before. But It is a temporary fix and I believe with patience we can unlock the power within. It is your choice however. Just don't let word get out if you decide to move on Music. Pariah would have my head." Thomas chuckled hoping to put her at ease even when he felt anxious himself for his friend. Whatever she chose he would stand by it. It's what a friend did.

The Marconi Estate

Fontana had grinned in a wide shit-eating expression while Sixgun, or rather Fletcher Ross had spoke. Fontana was a scumbag but one that tried to play nice when it suited him. Chunk chuckled and nodded approvingly while La Sombra looked at Ross like a tiger does at another one of its kind. The Witchfinder seemed mildly disgusted but then again he reserved that expression for everyone in the room. Marconi looked amused and Music was entirely neutral as he stared at Ross. None of them seemed to notice Ross's underlying nervousness, but the sense of approaching violence was steadily rising in the air. An unexplained current of impending bloodshed. Marconi broke the oppressive mood with a smile and laughed, "You've convinced me Mr. Ross but I believe Dragan here needs some extra assurances."

Dragan nodded and said, "I must see whether you are the genuine article with my own eyes." Marconi grinned, "It seems prudent indeed. I propose a contest. The Road Kings made your tale of marksmanship widespread. But what about your fighting skill? There will be the time when you have no weapon and you need to get the job done. Everyone else has proven themselves ten times over in this manner except yourself."

Marconi gestured to a soldier and a big 6"10 muscle-bound and bull-necked Bosnian stepped forward. Marconi laughed and patted the man's shoulder, "This is Bender. One of my esteemed colleague's best men. So named for how he handles people. Beat him in a fight, to be held outside, with no weapons and you get the job. If not..." Fontana cocked his pistol, "we'll have to decline your application. However you can leave now with no hard feelings, no consequences, and no job if you wish. What will it be Mr. Ross?"

”Long enough,” Petya purred, her smile gaining a playful, flirty edge. ”Can you really blame me? There is a lot to look at.” She let her eyes wander, seemingly suggestive but mostly just curious. This man had the air of an army man around him. The way he'd held himself, the way he walked. It was... distinctive.

”I believe you're one of the new recruits. I wonder, why are you here?” Petya asked, not wishing to bother the man with any questions from his past. The shapeshifter had first hand experience in how bothersome they could get. ”You could be getting acquainted with your future teammates, but instead decide to go swimming. You don't wish to know the people you'll be working with?” She wasn't accusing as much as she sounded amused, and raised her hand before the man could answer. Rhetorical question! No need for a reply.

”That is no way to start a working relationship with anyone! So, I thought I'd help you by taking the first step for you,” with a theatrical sweep, the shapeshifter gestured at herself. ”I am Petya Alkaev. Shifter, if you like using codenames better.”

Hot Rod laughed almost hysterically at her joke and was nearly doubled over.

"I happen to be married to a very beautiful woman, but of course I haven't introduced myself. I am Hot Rod, also known as America's favorite superhero" he said with his smile. If she didn't know who he was then he guessed that she must not watch too much TV or keep up on hero work because he was really famous. It still a surprise to him when he met someone who didn't know who he was.

---

Ocean Warrior was swimming through the waters of the Mississippi river at incredible speeds heading straight for the city of Chicago to go to his first meeting with the League of superheroes. He had swum up the great river from the gulf of Mexico and then went up the Illinois river towards the city. The journey was long but it was better than traveling by land and he wasn't willing to get a ride or fly in a plane to get to his destination. Eventually the Chicago came into view and Finn swam up to the coat of the large river and hoped out of the water.

He held his staff firmly in his hands and wondered what it would be like to socialize with people who were different like, people who didn't resemble normal humans. Finn couldn't see the headquarters from the shore of the river and decided that he would have to search through the city for his destination. He wasn't a fan of going through cities because of terrible smell and air pollution that would sometimes come with human urban areas. Finn crouched down a little bit and then leaped into the air, easily flying over buildings as he reached the peak height of his jump.

He jumped from one building to another that far off away from the last, his jumping abilities were astounding thanks his superhuman strength do him surviving at some of the most darkest and dangerous depths in the ocean where steel would bend. After about a minute of leaping from one building to another, he saw the Hall of Heroes come into view and with one last jump, Finn landed right in front of the entrance, causing the ground to shake slightly and made several close by gave frightened gasps at his sudden appearance.

"Whose that?" a woman asked.

"Oh it's Ocean Warrior" one man answered with a sigh of relief.

"What?! they let him into the league? What the hell can he do that's useful? He just talks to fish, what's he gonna do give them a free seafood dinner?" another man said rudely, and Finn glared at him angrily. He wanted nothing more than to blast the man with a small beam of heat from his trident, but he chose against such action and headed into the Hall of Heroes. He looked around the place and was surprised by the sight of so many heroes, he had seen and worked with his fair share but this was much more than he expected.

"Well that's nice of you." Killshade replied then placed both his hands on the edge of the pool as he lifted his large frame onto the walkway alongside the pool. He picked up his towel which sat alongside his clothing. Then started to dry himself with it, making sure not to miss a spot. He draped it over his shoulders and looked at Shifter, as he figured out what her power was.

"Killshade, though you can call me Quentin. A codename should be used with stranger and foes, not friends and teammates," He said with a friendly nod and expression. "You're a shapeshifter, I assume? I imagine that is quite useful in the right situation."

Cordelia sized him up like a prize fighter staring down a rowdy drunk, as if she was trying to decide if he was worth her time. Didn't bother him unduly, dressing up as gaudily as he did you had to be prepared for folks to stare. He just sat patiently, eyes rolling slowly across her now bare wrists, taking in the faint scars and hint of ink. Aye, definitely not the Leagues usual type of recruit. Isn't that refreshing? He couldn't help but notice how much pastries and sweets she had piled up on her plate, and how quickly she was putting it away, like she wasn't used to being so well provided for. Maybe she just saw the League as a free meal? Hell, she wouldn't be the first one through the doors with that kinda idea. It took a while, but he finally seemed to pass muster, Whisper, or Cord as she apparently preferred to go by, finally started to speak to him.

Tommy laughed, warm and genuine, at her suggestions for his next pick up line.

“Would ya believe me if ah told ya ah was one ah the first to put on brightly coloured tights and risk ma life on a daily basis after the awakening, and ah've honestly never thought to use that line in ma puff!” It was true. Just because you got superpowers didn't mean you also got a way with words. Silvertongue was always getting at him for the lacklustre quality of his puns. He chuckled again. He found himself warming to Cord, enjoying her no-bullshit attitude. Too many people he dealt with nowadays were either politician's or wannabe celebrity’s, always smiling outta the side of their heads.

“Ok, Cord it is, though ah'm 'fraid ah'll have to insist on ye calling me Volt. No offence, ah'm just no the trusting sort.” He shrugged, as if to say 'Nothing personal'. Which it wasn't. The Lightning-Slinger still hadn't told Sonja his real name, and by his reckon she'd pulled his bacon from the fire three times in the last six months.

This was good, he decided, discourse was good. Volt was just starting to think he could make some sorta leeway with Cord, maybe she was a bit guarded but that was hardly uncommon. She seemed ready to be receptive to whatever he had to say anyway. I gotta say, I ain't half bad at this induction lark. Shift over Apogee, the League has a new public face! Aye, everything was going swimmingly, until that bloody numpty Hot-Rod stuck his big nose in.

Volt had met Hot-Rod, otherwise known as Ryker Charleston, in the Fortress, a Chicago club well known for catering to super powered clients. Then, like now, Ryker had 'invited' himself to a conversation he wasn't strictly part of. Terrible manners not withstanding, after Volt had got to know Ryker he'd realised he was one of the 'good ones'. Sure, he had a fat head, bad timing and was in desperate need of a boot up the arse, but his heart was in the right place. But of course he was just the sorta show-boater that would be sure to piss off Cord.

The lady in question had gone stiff as a statue when the speedster arrived, her whole body going rigid. Volt had plenty of dealings with real hard types in the past to know this lassie was one of them, or at least knew what she was doing. She didn't so much flinch as she just stopped making any sudden movements, her slow gaze swivelling to fix Ryker in place. Yeah, she was dangerous alright, but it wasn't an obvious type of danger. Her shadow though, deep and black and swaying like a dancing cobra, that looked dangerous. Jesus, listen to me. A dangerous looking shadow. What a world we live in.

The Lightning-Slinger tried, and failed, to hold in an irratated sigh, rolling his eyes and mouthing along as Ryker described himself as 'America's favourite hero'. Only six months he'd known the man, but Volt felt he'd heard that line more often than he'd had hot dinners. Never heard anyone else say that Hot-Rod was their favourite hero though. Still, if nothing else you had to admire the man's confidence. Though I reckon that brass neck must slow him down some.

"Ryker, this here is Cord. Me and Cord were just having a lil private one-to-one, see if I couldn't help settle her into our little club." He put as much emphasis on 'private' as possible, mostly because the past had shown that Hot-Rod was just fucking terrible at picking up on social ques. He tried to give Ryker a look that said 'I'll explain later', but it wouldn't have surprised him overly much if the speedster stuck around to argue his case. If there was one thing Hot-Rod loved more than being a hero, it was talking. The Scotsman decided not to give his friend the chance though, turning his attention back to Cord.

"Nah, ah ain't bullshitting ya. For one ah doubt it woulda worked, 'Cannae bullshit a bullshitter' as my da always says. And no, coincidentally, he never did nothing but love me. Ah can't stand the life, or mosta the people, ah shit ma breeks at the starta every fight I get into, and ah hate the way ah look in tights. Ah do this cause ah have to. If ah could ah'd give it all up right now and get the next plane home."

"Truth be told ah'm here talking to ya cause the high hegions felt ye could do with someone to talk to. So, in their infinite wisdom, they sent me. Lucky bint that ye are." he smiled at that, his warm blue eyes sparkling with good humour.

"So, if in ya ever feel the need to talk, know that ah'm willing to lend an ear." He shrugged again, as if to say that she could do what she wanted, he wasn't her boss.