[IC] DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All (Page 4)

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[IC] DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All Page 4

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Hidden 4 yrs ago → 4 yrs ago Post by Hillan

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Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.

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Hillan

I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.

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Location: New Orleans - 17 Months AgoGrifter #0: Kid
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: None

In a hospital in New Orleans, things start for the former spook known to the world as Cole Cash. Where the air is sterile and the bedsheets sting. He’s hooked up to a machine that buzzes and beeps every time his heartbeats. He lays in his bed, curled into a fist, protesting death and how every breath is either hard labor or hard time. He can’t get over how he’s always either too hot or too cold. Yet, to him, it doesn’t matter why he was there. Why they had to pick shrapnel out of his chest or why he had to keep his hand in a cast.

Because his hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas and is 9-year-olds. Cole doesn’t have to ask him what he’s got. The bald head with the skin and bones frame tells it all. The kid’s name is Oscar. He’s got his Nintendo Switch in his bed and a stack of comic books by the side of his bed. A pillow from home and a few stuffed animals. Cole spotted an action figure in his hand, too. The staff at the hospital are doing what they can to make Oscar comfortable, he’s going to be here for a while after all.

Cole smiled the first time his eyes met with Oscars, and it felt like the biggest lie the conman had ever put into the world. He’s holding his breath towards Oscar, worried that the kid is gonna call him on his bullshit any minute. He’s scared of a 57-pound kid hooked up to a machine because maybe Cole’s got him pegged all wrong.

Maybe he’s bionic or some shit.

So Cole looked away. Like he was facing a Los Lobos Gang member with a rap sheet longer than the lines of shady politicians who had sent Cole on black-ops missions in the sandbox. Cole doesn’t know how to handle him to such a degree that he almost considers pulling out his pack and asking Oscar if he’d like a smoke.

His fears subside when he realizes that Oscar is all show and tell. Oscar tells Cole about the things he’s got. The comic books, the toys. Video games. How he’s really all about something called ‘Animal Crossing’ and Cole asked him if he was scratching out animal names from his hit-list, and Oscar just laughed. Oscar told him about the shotgun shell he had kept from that time his dad took him to the shooting range. About the crow's feet, he found on a field trip when he was six, and how it really freaked out the weird girl he knew. Speaking off, his stuffed teddy bear was from that weird girl.

It took Cole a day and a half to figure out that ‘the weird girl’ was Oscar’s sister, Maya. And it took Oscar about an hour after his family had left to realize he missed her.  His family stays well past visiting hours because for families like his, those rules don’t apply. Oscar tells him that the worst part about being sick is that you get all of the ice cream you could ever dream off.

Cole chuckles and says that doesn’t sound so bad.
Oscar tells him that the worst part about all of the ice cream you can eat, is realizing that there’s nothing else the staff can do for him. And those words coming from a nine-year-old boy hits Cole harder than a shotgun slug to the chest.

The kid never greets Cole with anything but a smile, there’s never real silence in the room and there’s no judgment from the kid towards the man who's got a laundry list of mistakes.

Cole does his best to distract Oscar with his own stories. While it’s hard to compress a 25-day siege of a Terrorist hideout, a firefight that led to the bust of 13 million dollars worth of heroin, or how he accidentally protected the president of Kaznia while being sent on a mission to kill said president.

He scrubbed the details, but his war stories kept the boy entertained. Cole explains battle plans and military strategy to him, he doesn’t have the fundamental skills to break it down for a child to understand, yet, Oscar seems to.

He explains that they called Cole ‘Grifter’ in the army and that when he was on overwatch, he’d have a spotter. That spotter was someone he’d call ‘Porkchop’. On the third day Cole was in the hospital, he and Oscar would steal extra pudding cups from the kitchen after dinner, where Oscar would watch out for Cole, planned like small military missions.

The games distracted him and it kept Cole from the question that’s been on his mind since the day he got there. Four nights into their stay, when Oscar can’t sleep. He asks Cole if he’s awake, and Cole wakes up. They talk. Mostly about the video games Oscar is playing, but in the end, they talk about how Oscar is doing, and Cole finally gathers the courage to ask him.

“Are you scared?” The man asks the nine-year-old boy, and without even hesitating, Oscar responds with a loud, solemn but forceful exclamation.
“Fuck yeah I am.”  Cole realizes that if a curse word would help this boy get through this, then Cole wants to teach him every curse word there is, in every language he knows. He wants to teach him to curse so much that the devil will be sitting beside them taking notes.

“Please don’t tell my dad.” Oscar says, gripping his blanket so tightly his knuckles turn white, his face almost breaking into tears and Cole nods. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, kid.” 

Oscar falls asleep with the game still on. 

Cole’s never seen someone like Oscar before. Someone who’s got so much patience, in spite of knowing they’re dying. And he tries his best to not remind him. 

Cole walks around, feeling better. He’s mostly healed now. And with it comes the sorrow. Cole will soon be out of here, going back to taking his life for granted and smoking too much. Lying to people who will kill him in an instant if they found out they had been duped.

And there’s nothing Cole can do to save Oscar, and he doesn’t quite know why, but this nine-year-old kid has implanted himself into his mind forever. His plight becomes a burden that grows on Cole in the time to come, and it grows into a shield that protects Cole from the challenges ahead.

Perhaps that’s why, 17 months later, Cole’s kneeling in front of a tombstone that reads “Oscar Matthew Jefferson”. Because Cole’s realized he needs some of that strength that a 57 pound 9-year-old boy possessed. 

He holds the red mask in his hand as a tear begins rolling down his cheek. He ties it behind his blond hair covering his face. He stands up, the green coat falling to his side as he looks at the gravestone.

“I will remember you, Kid.”

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Hidden 4 yrs ago → 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr

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Beetle Base. Westchester. New York State.
Ted leaned back in his chair as the facial recognition information for the STAR Labs scientists that had been involved in the break in the other night. The three of them had all been members of Doctor Jeremiah Duncan's vaccine team, one of the first to develop a vaccine for the recent pandemic. None of this boded well, and Ted had to make sure Duncan was safe. It wouldn't be difficult to do that. Duncan was an old friend of Ted's, and an old lab partner from college. He was a biological genius, and even smarter than Ted was in the field. That was saying something, if Kord allowed himself some vanity. He'd give Jeremiah a call later.

But first he had some new toys to play around with.

The new gauntlets were slightly heavier than the other ones, but considering all the hardware packed into their slim casings, that was hardly a surprise. Kord was flabbergasted that they didn't weigh more, if he was being honest. But the teachings of the Scarab ran deep, and the BB Guns, as he had named them in jest, were proof of that. 

"Okay, Kha," he called out to the AI as he stood in the large, open part of his underground base of operations. "Training simulation twenty-five."

In the blink of an eye, a holographic room appeared around him. It was populated by crates, barrels, and boxes, like a small storage facility. It was also filled with eight angry men who wanted to tear his head off, virtually speaking, of course. 

The first two came from behind him to the left. He spun and flicked his left wrist down, pointing it at their faces. From the top of the gauntlet came a blinding flash of light. While the men weren't real, the holographic projectors/receptors that created them recognized that this light would stun a normal man for at least a few minutes. The light constructs recoiled in pain, and with another flick of the wrist, a small wire shot from another compartment of the gauntlet. It attached itself to one of the holographic crates, and with a yank from Ted, flew through the air and crashed into the attackers.

Before he could savor the easy victory, three more men rushed from behind him, their heavy footsteps giving away their attempted attack. He spun to face them, rotating his right wrist clockwise and his left one counterclokcwise. From the gauntlets came a compressed blast of air that struck the three of them and sent them flying through the air with more force than Ted had anticipated. He winced as one of them smashed into the far wall head-first with an impact that almost surely would have killed a man. He just needed to knock a man down, not an elephant.

"Kha, tone down compressed air shot by, oh, fifty percent," he commanded as two of the final three training dummies came his way. Instead of using one of the weapons he had already tested out on them, he wanted to try something new. He fired another shot from the zipline shooter, but instead of aiming to turn something into a projectile, he attached it to the ceiling of the room and brought himself through the air. He landed on the other side of the men, and with a quick sweep of the leg, caused both to crumble into a heap.

The final holographic training dummy was the biggest of the men, as Ted had designed the program. The gauntlets were charged by solar radiation, and were still at nearly a full charge, but Ted wanted to make sure he used all the weapons in his arsenal. There were bound to be times where he ran out of charge, or ammunition for one of the various gadgets included in the BB Guns. For those instances, he needed to be ready and able for anything the world was going to send his way.

The brute of a hologram cracked its knuckles as it made its way towards Ted, a little flourish he had Kha add to the training modules. It was always nice to feel like they really wanted to pull his head off if they ever got the chance. 

With a large swipe, the hologram attempted to snare Kord in one of its frying-pan-sized hands. Reverting back to his old gymnastics training, he bent over backwards and performed a backwards somersault, putting some distance between him and the much larger combatant.  That just seemed to piss the training module off, and it rushed his way, swinging wildly. Blue Beetle easily stayed out of its reach, flipping, twisting, and vaulting away from every potential haymaker. 

Ted wasn't merely keeping his distance, though. Every time he escaped one of the blows, he was looking at the hologram's fighting style. Kha liked to switch up what got put into the training scenarios, but this time he just threw in a guy who was bigger and stronger with little to no training. That was going to make this all the more fun.

Blue Beetle waited for the opportune moment, as one of the hologram's mighty fists came crashing down towards him. Ted slid out of the way, and the hologram began to lose its balance. With a flourish, Ted fired one of his new restraining bands at the program's wrist. The U shaped projectile hit the wrist, the momentum causing the arm to come all the way down to the leg, and then wrapped itself around both extremities. The very large man looked like a cartoon bear who got stuck in a honey pot.

Without saying anything, the Beetle delivered a roundhouse kick to his jaw, knocking the hologram out. In another blink, the training program dissolved into nothingness around him.

"Well done, sir," Kha congratulated him. "A new record."

"Thanks," Kord smiled and looked down at his gauntlets. Now he really felt like he could take on anything a criminal threw at him.

"Sir," Kha continued, "while you were training, a new alert on my crime detector appeared. Would you like me to display it?"

Ted was surprised by that. He had thrown together a simple algorithm for Kha that would allow the AI to scan social media, news trackers, and police scanners for possible locations of interest. He figured it would have taken longer for the program to really gain its footing and spit back any results.

"Sure thing."

The surprise faded when he saw the news report now being broadcast on the television. Gotham Central Station was under attack.

"Kha, when did this come through?"

"Just now, sir."

Without another word, the Blue Beetle hopped in the Bug and was off.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr

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Gotham Central Station. Gotham City.
Noel Wright muffled tears as the men in green and gold tactical armor walked around their hostages. The men's heavy boots echoed through the cavernous atrium of Gotham Central Station, the only real sound outside of the small sobs of the other would-be passengers. She hadn't been able to count all of them in the madness that had just occurred, but she estimated there were at least two dozen, probably more. They couldn't all be inside. There would have to be some patrolling the roof and outside. This looked like a professional operation, and that's how it always was in the movies.

She had come to leave Gotham for a bit and visit with her sister down in Metropolis. When she was in line at the coffee shop to get what she assumed would have been the worst cup of coffee in existence, the men in green and gold had burst through the doors, firing their automatic rifles into the air and herded everyone they could into the center of the atrium. Some people had been shot. Some of those ones had been killed. Noel didn't see that first hand, but when screaming stopped after a loud bang, it didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out what had gone down. 

The uniforms the men wore bore no flag or insignia that Wright was familiar with. The gold on the outfit was odd, almost like they wanted to stand out. Each wore a masked helmet, and each one was painted to look like a snake. If they were terrorists, they certainly weren't shy.

Noel sat comforting a girl no older than fifteen. She had told Wright that her grandmother dropped her off for a quick trip back to her parents in New York. Noel's heart broke for her and her parents, who must be worried sick by now. 

Suddenly, a man, in his twenties from the looks of things, stood and rushed at the nearest stormtrooper. Before he could get there, a shot rang out and his head exploded like an overripe melon. Noel pulled the girl in tight, shielding her eyes from the horror. Screams and cries rang out in a wave, as people truly began to panic. 

"ENOUGH!" a voice rose above the din, and somehow managed to quiet the panicked people. Noel looked up to see a man in the same colors as the men with guns, except he wore a long, flowing robe instead of tactical gear. The hood of the robe covered his head and made him appear like a large cobra, matching the snake motif seen in the soldiers. 

He made his way up to the level above the atrium, and opened his arms wide above the terrified crowd, "Fear not, my children. For you have been chosen. With your deaths, our god shall rise and this world will begin again. For all time hereafter, your names will be spoken with the utmost reverence on this, the holiest of days. So, I promise you, your deaths will not have been in vain."

At that moment, Noel couldn't keep the tears in any longer.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Retired

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Retired "Hayao Miyazaki"

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Z A T A N N A

The thing's hands clutched at Zatanna as the latter toppled over, the shriek of adrenaline-infused terror caught in her throat as she fell back. Long fingers capped by rough, curving nails like daggers bit into Zatanna's arm leaving several thin trails of blood in their place. She hit the ground, hard, and could feel a welling at the base of her skull where it struck the pavement. Acting on pure, primal instinct she immediately rolled herself away. As she regained her footing, Zatanna took in the creature that just mere seconds before had appeared as a harmless, little old lady. 

It had fully shrugged off the shawl by now. Where before it had stood barely five feet tall and hunched over, the creature now appeared several inches taller than Zatanna with a straightened back. Standing erect also served to reveal the garish network of scars across its torso. Long since healed over, they marked it as a creature accustomed to brutal fighting. A predator who has had to defend its territory from others. And with those intense amber eyes peering down at her, through her and into her very core, Zatanna very much felt like its prey.

"Give it!" It hissed once more. All traces of sweetness were gone from its voice now as the harsh cracking took over. 

Zatanna shook her head, then winced as the movement caused her skull to throb. 

"I don't know what you want!" She shouted back, her voice just as shaky as she felt. 

The thing screeched at her, gnashing its teeth. "Lies," it called out, "I can feel it inside of you. You have it!"

Before she could protest a second time, the creature was moving. It awkwardly shuffled forward but it was quick. The janky motion combined with its speed briefly reminded Zatanna of an old-fashioned move scene where the frames had been cut out and pieced together making everything appear to jump forward in sudden bursts. 

It was mere inches away from Zatanna before she even knew what had happened. The pale lips spread causing the craggy row of teeth glinting in the moonlight. But the thing didn't attack. Just as it had before, in its guise as the old woman, it waited there, expectantly regarding her. 

Zatanna stood still, frozen, her mind a whirl of emotion and thoughts she couldn't get a handle on. She had read about such things in her father's notes. She had even believed the elder Zatara's written words to be true. The supernatural world and its inhabitants had, in a way, always been a part of her life ever since she had been introduced to her magic as a young child. But to be face-to-snarling-face with the honest reality of such a world had left the would-be-sorceress at a loss.

After a moment of silence, with Zatanna seemingly not responding adequately for the creature, it jabbed a finger forward and caught the young woman square in the chest. A single nicked and razor-edged nail sank a couple of millimeters into Zatanna's skin causing her to draw in a sharp breath. 

"Take it out." The order was annunciated with a low growl. 

"I... I don- I," Zatanna's words came hitched and stilted. "Please, I—"

Pushing the embedded fingernail slightly deeper, the growl grew heavier. "Take. It. Out."

'It.' The thing kept talking about 'it' and 'warmth.' But Zatanna didn't know what 'it' was and she certainly had no idea what warmth the creature was referring to. All she had on her person was the keycard to her hotel room and her phone. Not much else would have been able to fit in that outfit she had chosen for the night. And something told Zatanna that neither of those was what the thing wanted. 

"Are you- is this about Eldon P-peck?" Zatanna was shivering now, though she no longer noticed the cold air. Her eyes kept flicking down to the thin nail piercing her chest and the swelling red that surrounded it. "D-do you work for him?"

The creature stopped abruptly. It's head slowly tilting as it locked eyes with the young woman. Then, without warning, it yanked its finger away from Zatanna and stepped back. A stream of dark liquid ran down and stained Zatanna's top, but she barely noticed. The creature was shaking, its shoulders jerking back and forth wildly. A soft wheeze escaped its pale lips before slowly transforming into a series of high-pitched, undulating whines. 

Zatanna stood confused for several seconds, her eyes wide. It took a moment for her to comprehend what was happening. 

The thing was laughing. Laughing. At her. 

She tried to take a step back, urging her body to prepare to run. But her legs were unsteady beneath her. Zatanna didn't even trust her own feet to carry her away at that moment. 

It took a moment for the creature to finish its cackling. As soon as it did, however, the thing whipped its head back towards Zatanna and spread its cracked lips widely. 

"You think I work for the Soul Broker?" 

It was phrased as a question, but the way the thing spat out the words made Zatanna feel as if it was the punchline to a joke.

"You attacked me," Zatanna said, her voice returning, "outside of his club. You- you're, I don't know what you are but he's a part of all this."

She opened her arms in a gesture towards the creature before continuing. "Of this world in the shadows. Of whatever it is my father was here for."

Another short, sharp wheeze spit out of its mouth. "The Soul Broker has no friends. I would rip his tongue from his greedy mouth if this place wasn't warded. I wouldn't be here if not for you. If not for it," the thing punctuated this sentiment with another jab towards Zatanna, but this one came several inches short of making contact. 

"I could feel your warmth for miles. I've been following it to you for days." It stopped momentarily to inhale deeply as if savoring a delicious smell. "It calls to me and I hunger for it. And you will give it to me. Now! Before it is your tongue I remove."

Zatanna managed to finally force one shaky foot to take half-a-step backward. "But I don't know what it is you want, she insisted. "I don't understand."

The thing looked at her questioningly, disbelief etched on its grotesque face. "It. Inside you. The Books, filthy liar. Give me the Books!" 

Zatanna was at a loss. Books? She didn't have any books. Unless it meant Giovanni's notes, his journals. But the creature didn't seem to know or care about her reason for being here, of her father's investigation and disappearance. And why did it continue to insist whatever the Books were were inside of her? None of it made sense to Zatanna. 

"I don't have what you want," she breathed out as a twinge of pain shot through her chest and sent her skin dancing under a thousand needles. "This is all a big mistake. I—"

"Enough!" It snarled at her again and Zatanna could tell the creature was about to lunge forward once more. "If you won't give it to me, I'll take it!"

"No!" Zatanna shouted out, desperately scrambling back. Her legs felt waterlogged as she moved and it took no effort for the thing to catch her.

Those nails arced forward, digging into her chest once more. This time they went further than just the surface and Zatanna screamed as her body seared at the deep scratches. The creature's wicked grin stretched wider than ever before, shark-like teeth bared as it continually tore into Zatanna with pleasure. 

Blood now ran in rivers down her chest, pooling at her stomach where the tight shirt kept it. Her entire body ached and burned as her voice cut out, screams dying in the bitter cold of the night. 

Zatanna could feel her strength leaving her. Could just manage to curse herself for freezing up, for not even trying to fight back with magic. For being afraid. And as the burning sensation enveloped her entire torso and the creature cackled with glee, just as Zatanna could feel herself fading away, it happened. 

A magnificent light burst forth from Zatanna's chest. It felt hot, hotter even than the open wounds that had been torn into her. The light enveloped the creature who shrieked and rasped. Barely two seconds later, the thing was launched up into the air and thrown across the empty lot. It landed with a dull thud, unmoving. And for a second Zatanna thought it might be dead as thin tendrils of smoke rose off of its body. But then it was up, moving in its wild, janky way. Instead of coming closer to Zatanna, though, it hissed and growled at her. 

The light had gone now but that heat was still present. Zatanna no longer felt the Los Angeles chill. Her entire body felt alight. 

Several dozen feet away, where the creature had landed and was now angrily snarling at her, Zatanna could make out patches of burned skin. Portions of its arm had seemingly melted away and several of the fingers that had just moments ago been digging into her chest were missing entirely. 

It was hurt. And it was scared. 

"If you don't want to lose more fingers," Zatanna called out with false bravado, "then I suggest you run away. And never come back."

The creature halted its pacing and stared directly at her. Lowering its hideous head it let loose the nastiest growl yet. 

The bluff didn't work, Zatanna thought. 

But no sooner had those words entered her mind than the creature turned its back with one final hiss and ran off into the night. 

What felt like minutes passed while Zatanna stood there, all the confidence and energy she had mustered for that final bluff leaving her as the natural adrenaline rush, as well as that strange, powerful warmth, went away. And with that, the numbing cold returned. She didn't dare move, afraid any second the thing would come back to tear out and consume her heart. 

A sudden vibration followed by a soft chiming caused Zatanna to leap in place. Her phone, she realized, as she fumbled into her back pocket. A single line of text appeared on the screen that filled Zatanna with relief:

Your Uber has arrived at your selected location.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by webboysurf

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Somewhere in Texas - Present DayIssue 1.01.04: The Killer Inside Me
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: Issue 1.01.03: The Claim

"Finally... they really need to space these gas stations out better."

The two men let their heads fall back in the blazing heat of Texas as they were relieved to finally see a gas station just up the road, trudging along each carrying a gas can a piece. The two looked like an odd pair as always, with Roy wearing his simple trucking hat, half a mechanic's jumpsuit, and a tank top. Jason, on the other hand, wore the same black turtleneck and black pants. Of course, their odd match was the first thing the gas station clerk made a note of as they entered into the store. Jason immediately made his way towards the back, grabbing a few waters. Roy, in the meantime, went up to the counter. It was a rather fine gas station, a regular gas station chain. Hanging up near the clerk was a tv with the sound mostly off, the news playing.

"We're gonna be filling up a couple cans... We'll take 10 gallons on pump 1."

The clerk looked over to Roy for a second, then looked back up towards the tv while mindlessly typing away at the cash register. The total popped up on the screen, and Roy put a crisp fifty on the counter. The clerk was enraptured by the news story, something practically out of a comic book. The subtitles were struggling to catch up, but the gist was concerned with some criminals assaulting some local Texans outside a bar. One of them even used a bow and arrow. The clerk shook his head. "Can you believe that... some fucked up people."

Roy's head turned towards the tv, and his face literally turned white. He watched in horror as the clerk, who was moving remarkable slow, saw the police composite images on the screen and then turned his gaze back towards Roy. The recognition wasn't instant, and the clerk had to do a double take. The former army sniper shook his head. "Listen... those guys were racists, beating up some defenseless man. We couldn't just..."

Roy heard the roaring sound of two pick up trucks pulling up to the gas station in that moment, country music blaring on their respective radios along with a lot of whooping and hollering. The clerk's face went white as his gaze turned to Roy after seeing the trucks. "You and your friend need to leave out the back. Now."

The red-haired vigilante was confused, but chose to oblige. He quickly walked towards the back, motioning for Jason to follow. The vigilante, carrying a couple bottles of water, obliged. The two shuffled behind an "employees only" door, slipped through a small maintenance area, and arrived out the back of the gas station. The two could still hear the blaring country music, followed by a gunshot. The two men looked at each other for only a moment before they shared a nod. Jason dropped the water bottles and reached towards his back waistband, as Roy did the same. The two pulled out handguns in unison, pulling back the hammers on their guns, before slowly entering back into the gas station. The two crept towards the door, and were able to clearly hear the exchange inside.

"Need I remind you, Jim, that there are some radical liberal assassins prowling about the place. I know you sit there watching the news. So when I see some gas cans sitting over by that there pump, and a van a while back up the road that matches what they were driving... I'm beginning to think you're harboring terrorists. And that's something the militia doesn't support."

The sound of a thud could be heard, along with coughing. At that sound, Jason grit his teeth, and immediately shoved his way through the door into the gas station proper. In that second of shock, Jason saw a few things. He saw three armed men in bulletproof vests carrying AR-15s, all with shaved heads and exposed biceps that had various military tattoos designating their branches and units served. But Jason's eyes gravitated towards the clerk, Jim, hunched over on the ground with a small glob of blood on the tile underneath him. Jason's anger caused him to yell as he quickly fired the gun at the man closest to Jim, two bullets lodging into the side of the man's head and killing him instantly. The other two, shocked and disoriented by the spray of blood, quickly lifted their ARs in Jason's direction, only to fall limp themselves as a bullet lodged into each of their skulls. Roy, having followed Jason into the fray, only needed to fire two shots to take the men out. Jason quickly walked forward, moving towards the glass doors at the front of the gas station. As he looked outside, a burst of gunfire broke through the glass. One bullet grazed against Jason's left arm, forcing him to hide behind a shelf.

Roy quickly moved over towards Jim, ushering him behind the counter and out of the way of the oncoming fire. Jason clutched at his arm, removing his free hand to see it covered in blood. That was going to be a problem. He looked at the shelf behind him, and sighed in relief at seeing a display of bandanas. Grabbing an American flag one, the ex-spy quickly wrapped it around his upper torso tight, using his teeth to help tie off the wound as best he could. It was makeshift, but it would help him for now. Roy, comfortable in Jim's safety, peeked his head up over the counter. He couldn't quite see the trucks out the front door from where he was, but he did notice a large mirror hanging from the ceiling that was installed so the clerk could see people approaching the store before they got in. From this mirror, Roy saw two more armed men approaching the door slowly. Military formation... they were professionals. The former sniper made eye contact with Jason, holding up two fingers, before waving for Jason to fall back. The latter man did so, ducking back into an aisle deeper into the gas station's store.

Roy took a deep breath as he saw the two men approaching. His eyes turned towards the door, and they made eye contact at the same time. Roy, again, fired two shots. Each embedded themselves in the men's foreheads, and they fell immediately. Roy sighed, his hand beginning to shake slightly. The gun fell from his grip onto the counter, and Jason ducked his head out from the aisle. The next moments were a blur for Roy. He didn't remember hearing anything. He didn't remember the store clerk yelling about how he was going to call the police. He didn't remember Jason knocking the clerk unconscious or grabbing some supplies. And he didn't remember getting into one of the pickup trucks as Jason drove back off towards the van.

He just kept looking as his hands. It had been a long while since he had killed anyone. And this was definitely the first time he had killed an American. As his hands continued to shake slightly, reality kicked in as Roy found himself in the passenger seat of his own van. Jason slammed the driver's side door as he hopped in, turning on the van. Seeing Roy's eyes begin to wander over towards him, Jason looked at his close friend with concern. "You ok there, Roy?"

Roy shook his head slowly, his eyes wandering off to stare at nothing in particular. "I need a drink."

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Hidden 4 yrs ago → 4 yrs ago Post by WXer

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WXer オラ・オラ・オラ！

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WXer

オラ・オラ・オラ！

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Issue # 1.03: Skullduggery

Only one man in the room was bewildered at how easily the knife was disregarded by the seemingly supernatural intruder – our hero Buddy Baker. Though, he would soon learn that this wasn’t just because of how his body wouldn’t move but also due to technicality. As the monster encroached ever closer, Buddy soon got a clearer look – it was a full-on skeleton man like that from a 1920s Walt Disney Halloween cartoon. However, this one was covered in leather in the form of a jacket with logo embroideries of pit stops and a reproduction German Stahlhelm… 

It was a skeleton biker. There was no getting around the absurdity of it all, which might have contributed to Buddy’s curiosity-fueled paralysis at that moment in time.

Though while he acted like a deer in headlights, the butcher retaliated in the manner that a buck in heat would and charged in head first at their foe. Just moments before the point of impact, antlers had suddenly grown from butcher’s scalp which made contact with the cranium of the skeleton. The sound of a skull cracking and crumbling resonated through the shop, with a piece of the decaying osseous form falling to the ground. However, the being did not flinch nor react not unlike before. It grabbed on to the butcher’s horns in an attempt to wrest them away from. Others soon poured into the entrance and grabbed on to the butcher as well.

“Baker, I say this once more. We must leave now. The Butcher will protect us as we make our escape.” Socks would state, this time pawing at Buddy’s leg. 

Though he nodded in agreement with his feline companion, a look of concern for the butcher would stay on Buddy’s visage as he picks up Socks and makes for the back of the store. Just like the store front, various slaughtered stocks of meat were placed on hooks in the backroom storage area. These ones were still bloody. Or at least they were before a visibly accelerating decay had started to affect the ones closest to the emergency exit which meant they were just on the other side. Shambling, scary skeletons soon started shrieking, shattering slaughter store's short serene silence.  

“They are outside, awaiting us. Prepare yourself.” Socks would state after a hiss. 

What did he mean by prepare though! His guide Silenos didn’t even get to explain why he was chosen, let alone what he’s capable of doing now aside from apparently pass out on the command of random barn animals. Now wasn’t the time to panic, even though he started doing that the moment Socks said to prepare himself. Stupid cat can’t eve- Wait. There it was, the solution to his problem laying in a corner on a tool rack: a captive bolt gun. 

“I’ve seen enough anti-meat ads on Youtube to know this’ll crack some skulls!” Buddy triumphantly states, with a nervous grin. As he picked it up, a fly had landed on his nose, prompting him to wave his hand in front of his face in an effort to drive it away. The rotting meat was now attracting carrion-eaters. This wouldn’t stop Buddy though as he battered down the exit door. A small number of the nightmarish monsters had mobbed around the door but the sudden swing knocked back a couple of the shamblers, giving Buddy the opportunity to use his humane weapon to kill these inhumane creatures. As the metal met bone, the quick release of compressed air shattered the first skeleton’s skull!

But that would be it for his bolt gun as a bullet jacket fell to the ground, causing the tool to stop operating. The justified panic soon turned up to a degree that would wet one’s pants, though Buddy wouldn’t immediately notice this due to one of the remaining skeletons decking him in the face with reckless abandon. Even without flesh, the impact of a fist on your face still hurts. Reeling and falling to one knee, another skeleton proceeded to rush towards Buddy while wielding a sharp skull shard of his fallen comrade.

In that moment of desperation, a soothing force surged throughout Buddy. It felt like adrenaline but it made his mind clear. He then focused his sight on the fly that had earlier landed on his face, sensing a connection. It was as if time had slowed down but his thoughts did not. Only the buzzing of the insect’s wings could be heard by Buddy as he carefully used the metal deadweight he was wielding to block and bash his enemy brain case. This time dilation allowed our newbie hero to methodically disarm – literally – his opponents as continued the melee. However, the mob of monsters did not stop and soon he would be surrounded. It would be at this time that Socks jumped up to his shoulder to whisper to his ear.

“Fly, you fool.” his companion would state. With the buzzing still in his mind, Buddy suddenly got off the ground though he had no wings and began to take flight. Erratically and flying in a spiraling pattern like that of a fly, the pair would successfully evade the skeletons, emergency staircases, clotheslines and AC units as they crash landed on to the rooftop of the neighboring apartment building. Before Buddy could catch his breath, an explosion could be heard from the butcher shop which soon engulfed it in fire. 

“Oh Christ, we need to get out of here.” he would state in shock. Leaping in single bounds with the agility of a cat, he would traverse the city’s rooftops to get away from the site of his first foray.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by AndyC

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AndyC Guardian of the Universe

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AndyC

Guardian of the Universe

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Bio

 
"Whoooah, did you feel that?!"

"....feel what?"

"Oh, that's right, your abilities are from boring old 'science.'  You're not tuned in to the greater goings-on in the metaphysical dimensions.  It really must be so dreary, only seeing the world through one plane of reality."

"Yeah, keep talking down to me, and you'll get flattened.  See how you like your dimensions and planes when you're only two-dimensional."

"Whatever.  Point is, something big just made a splash in the higher realms.  Like, your mom doing a cannonball off of the high-dive, that's the kind of splash we're talking."

"Screw you, Jinx."

"In your dreams.  Anyway, normally anyone accessing magic doesn't leave much of a ripple-- even the more powerful casters can't be felt from too far off.  But that, that was something powerful.  And dangerous."

"Think it's got something to do with the girl that the fat kid is after?"

"I'd bet on it, and I'd win.  I knew the charm I'd put on Tubby would increase the likelihood of him bumping into them to an eventual certainty, but I didn't think we'd get our payoff so soon.  Who would've thought good old Fatso would get lucky before you?"

"Bite me."

"Loser."

"Brat."

"Oaf."

"Bitch."

"......."

"....you wanna make out a little before we go find them?"

".....thought you'd never ask."

"What the hell?" I say to myself, looking around my room in disbelief.  "What is this?"

Everything has gone black, the world around me enveloped in a darkness beyond the deepest shadow, the strongest ink.  Yet I can still see the shapes of things, outlines in stark white.  No shades, no gradients, only black and white in razor-sharp contrast.

My vision isn't all that's changed.  I can feel everything in the room-- every piece of dirty laundry crumpled in the corner, every page of my mother's old books of magic and occultism, every molecule of air.  Everything that the darkness touches, I feel as if I am touching them, holding them, maybe even able to move them....

I look at a sock near the corner of my bed, and imagine it moving a few inches to the left.  It moves a few inches to the left.

".....you can't be serious," I say, still not believing what I'm seeing.  "I did not just accidentally discover how to control my magic powers.  That would be stupid."

Right.  As stupid as a bubbly alien space-princess crash-landing right in front of me.

I imagine the sock lifting into the air.  It lifts into the air.  I imagine my clothes neatly folding themselves and being sorted into their drawers.  They neatly fold themselves and sort into their drawers.  I imagine--

I imagine seven billion mortal souls bending to my will--

--....I imagine my mom's old journal floating into my hand.  It floats into my hand.  I--

I imagine oceans of blood and fire, the air choked with ash and ringing with the screams of--

...I imagine my feet lifting off of the ground.  I lift off of the ground, hovering in the air with my sock and my book, and I imagine--

I imagine the innocent defiled, the weak trampled, and the proud laid low for all of eternity--

Rachel!

"........Mom?"

"....and that's why Fourth Edition was basically the worst thing since cancer," my new friend Alex of the Dorks regales me with his knowledge.

"Truly, it sounds to have been a dark time," I say with solemnity.  "But I have the confusion: if you had already purchased the rules from the Third Edition, did these Wizards of the Coast come and steal them from you when they released their evil Fourth Edition?"

"....well no, we still had all the rulebooks and stuff."

"Did the ruling class of your city impose an unjust decree and declare it illegal to play the Third Edition?"

"....I mean, no, there was nothing like that."

"Then why did you not continue consuming the entertainment you enjoyed, and merely avoid that which you did not?"

Alex sputters and stammers for a moment, before exclaiming "I-it's not that simple, okay?!"  I believe I have somehow offended him with this line of query.  Even if he is not the mighty warrior I believed him to be, I do not wish to hurt the feelings of those I would have as my friends.

"I see I still have much to learn," I nod, hoping to assuage him as I change the subject.  "Tell me more of this LARP and your conquests in--"

There is a sound like a roar of thunder, and in the apartment above, I hear Rachel wail in anguish.

Righteous fire burns in my hands, and I take leave of gravity as I rush to her aide.

I'm vaguely aware of my body collapsing back onto the floor, but at the sound of my mother's voice I barely notice it.  I've been seeing her, hearing her, more often in my dreams lately, but this isn't a dream this time.....I think.

Rachel, you have found the Sigil Words.  You have awakened your Soul Self.  I.....I'm so proud of you, my little Raven.

"Don't call me that," I say, almost by reflex.  "This isn't real.  You're not real.  You're......Mom, you're......"

I'm gone, Rachel.  I was able to leave an echo of myself here for you, but even that will fade.  My true soul is....where I belong now.  With your father.

"...my father?  You mean Sebastian?"

Sebastian Blood was only a vessel, a shell to be used by his master.  I did not know who he was, what he was, until it was too late.  Even so, I did his will, and for that, I can never be forgiven.  But you can fight him, my Raven.  You can deny him, and you can defeat him.  You must--

DAUGHTER.

"Mom?!?!  What's--"

Rachel, listen!  You must--

I SEE YOU.

"You.....what are you?!"

You can defeat him, Rachel, but not here, not yet!  First, you--

YOU HAVE GROWN POWERFUL.  THAT IS GOOD.

"Get out of my head, get--"

YOUR POWER WILL BECOME MINE.  AND TOGETHER, WE WILL BURN THIS WORLD.

"No!  I'm not going to burn anything, I'm not going to hurt anyone!"

Resist him, Rachel!  Deny him!

YOU CANNOT RESIST.  IT IS WHAT YOU ARE.  AFTER ALL....

...YOU HAVE TOO MUCH OF YOUR FATHER IN YOU.

"N-no, that's.....that's not--"

RACHEL!

RACHEL...

"RACHEL!

I fly as quickly as I can up the stairs and force the door open.  I find my friend engulfed in darkness, her face a mask of horror and dismay, as her furniture and trappings spin through the air like a whirlwind.

"I'm not.....I won't....." is she says between gasps and sobs.  "....no......n-no...."

I do not know what has overcome her.  But I cannot let her suffer so.

"I am here, Friend Rachel!" I call out, stepping into the darkness and swatting away a pair of jeans that whirl through the air towards me.  "I will assist you in whatever ways I can!"

More detritus from the room assails me.  A chair, a sharpened writing implement, a pair of undergarments, all try to bludgeon or pierce or smother me as the darkness and chaos of the room swirl and crash.  Still, I persist.

"....no...." Rachel whimpers, her eyes full of tears.

"Hear me, Friend Rachel!" I implore.  "Whatever this is, you must fight it!  I have seen your strength, I have seen the good in your soul!  You can resist this, you can defeat it!"

Since coming to this world, I have often felt like a failure and a fool.  But I persist, because I must.  I am Starfire, and the flames of Starfire must burn ever bright, even the darkest of shadows.

Here, in the deepest blackness I have ever seen, I let my light shine, and I take my friend's hand.

"You can defeat it," I assure her, with all of my heart, "But you will not have to defeat it alone."

I see her blink.  I feel her hand tighten around mine.

And what she had said as a whimper, she now says with conviction.

"No."

The darkness shudders, and the debris flying around in the room falls to the floor.

"NO," she repeats, staring at some point beyond me.  "You won't have me.  Or anyone else.  This isn't your power.  It's mine.  And I'm going to use it to stop you."

The swirling, chaotic mass of shadows suddenly goes still.  And it takes form.

Around Rachel, what was a whirl of grasping tendrils becomes a pair of wings.  The shape of one of this world's avian creatures.

A powerful black bird, which lets out a piercing cry.

.....then she collapses into my arms, and the darkness dissipates like fog in smoke.

"Rachel!" I exclaim as she flutters in and out of consciousness.  "Are you all of the right?  Do you require the assistance of a healer?"

"Nnnnngggghh," she groans.  "I'm.....not really sure.  I must have, I don't know....blacked out.  I had a crazy nightmare, I started moving things around with my mind, and then--"

"...I do not believe this was an event of the dreaming," I tell her.  "Your gifts of power, they were active.  I saw them throw this whole chamber into darkness."

She blinks in disbelief, and looks to me.  "So that was all real?  I'm not seeing things?"

"I believe you are still capable of sight," I answer, unsure how that is relevant, "but yes, I believe your experience was true."

"........shit."

"....you are in need of evacuating your bowels?"

"No, it's.....it's an exclamation.  Something you say when things are about as bad as they can get."

"I see," I say to her.  "If you would like some comforting, I would be happy to provide an application of the snuggles."

"Not right now," she shakes her head, and stands up, dusting herself off.  "We've got some work to do.  But first, I think we ought to come up with an explanation for that Alex guy.  We probably scared him pretty bad there."

"Oh, of course!" I exclaim, as I begin to float toward the staircase. Then, remembering Rachel's admonitions about 'freaking people out' by flying around them, I place my feet on the floor and walk down the stairs.  "My apologies, friend Alex, but friend Rachel has--"

I look down into the book store, and see that friend Alex is nowhere to be found.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Polyphemus

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Polyphemus They/ Them

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Polyphemus

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THE CRIMSON AVENGER

East End Legal Clinic
Gotham City, NJ
4:54 PM

"In hoc signo vinces!" Lee Travis exulted as he held a tablet in front of Jill Carlyle. It lacked the same dramatic effect of slapping a freshly printed newspaper down onto the surface of desk, true, but Lee privately figured that Jill's office had more than enough paper in it at this point, filling boxes and binders and most available surfaces. The environment needed the break. “Grand Jury Impaneled in Ace Chemicals Dumping Case. That's the kind of headline I like to see.”

“And naturally we hear it first in the Globe-Leader,” she said with a smirk. 

“What can I say, counselor, I run a quality publication.”

“I understand it's the first choice for people who want to line birdcages,” Jill replied. She gently pushed aside the tablet, focused on the brief she was reading. “Did you come down all this way just to brag about owning a newspaper or did you actually want something?”

“You have a real talent for reducing things ad absurdum, Jill,” he said  as he idly flipped through the rest of the issue on his tablet- Had to check the work, after all. “I know you've been working hard on this case. I know you've been putting in a lot of time with depositions from all those laborers who escaped. I just thought you might like to see you were getting some public acknowledgment.”

“It's a start but the real work is coming for the DA and the grand jury. The case is going to rest on a bunch of illegal aliens working through interpreters against a bunch of wealthy types, including a former Hollywood star. It's going to be tied up for months before there's even an arrest.”

“Plenty can happen in that time.”

“Including me getting a decent dinner, I hope.”

“Well, I'm in a celebratory mood. We can breathe easy at least for now, any immediate threat has passed. Things are getting incrementally better, gradibus ascendimus.” He smiled broadly. “How about you close up for the day and we get some dinner? My treat.”

Jill looked up sharply. “You serious?”

“Ipse dixit. Have you ever known me to joke where sushi is involved?”

“I'll need a couple hours-” she said, then suddenly paused when she saw Lee's face go pale. “Lee, are you okay?”

“Yeah- yeah,” he said. “Just think I might have to take a rain check. It seems terrorists have seized Gotham Central Station. Unknown number of hostages, no demands or statements issued just yet.”

“Oh my God,” she said in alarm.

“We'll have to do dinner another time. The Globe-Leader has to be there,” he said, making for the exit.

“Sure, but does its owner?” Jill asked incredulously. “Don't you have staff for that kind of thing?”

“This could be one of the biggest stories in Gotham's history,” he said hurriedly. “I definitely need to be there. Lead from the front, right? Pax tecum, Jill,” Lee said as he rushed out of the office, nearly at a dead run. Jill stared after him, lips pursed, rolling questions in her mind.  

Gotham Central Station
Gotham City, NJ
5:20 PM

He had taken to keeping his Crimson Avenger getup in the car, in a hidden compartment inside a door panel he and Wing had installed together. It was something of a miracle he hadn't been in an accident slipping on the shoulder holster, coat, hat, and mask while tearing through the Gotham streets at 70 mph, but he had reached the massive structure in almost no time, pulling into the long term lot and slipping out of the SUV to hide among the many rows of cars. More and more sirens were beginning to draw near, but he had managed to arrive before law enforcement had fully cordoned off the area. Good. He was inside their perimeter.

The Crimson Avenger put very little faith in the Gotham police. All available evidence indicated they were malicious, cruel, or both at once. This would inevitably escalate to a pitched gunfight that would endanger hostages. The Crimson Avenger hoped he would be able to guide some of them out or find them shelter inside the building.

Gotham Central was a sprawling sandstone building of early 1900s vintage, long the focal point of Gotham. The edifice still bore the pockmarked scars of 1930s tommy-gun battles between bootleggers, the scrapes from counter-culture clashes in the 1960s. But today would mark another bloody battle.

The massive structure had many doors and windows, and the Crimson Avenger gambled that the terrorists would not be able to watch every single one- better to herd the hostages in one area and concentrate their forces. With the butt of his pistol he smashed a frosted glass pane on what had once been one of multiple restaurants in the building, long since given to decay and ruin like so much of this city. Reaching inside, he undid the latch and let himself in, dropping gracefully to the floor.

He trained his .45 on the door, bracing himself in case anyone ran in to confront him. A full thirty seconds passed, seemingly at a snail's pace. He finally exhaled, concluded his entrance into the building had indeed gone unnoticed. Excellent. 

Pistol at the ready, he crept over to the door and risked opening it an inch or so to peer out into the main vestibule. He had to know exactly what the situation was before he could act.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by thatguy

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thatguy

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Vol 1: Rebirth

Issue 1: A Day In The Life Of Barry Allen

10:00:00
The time is ten o’clock on a weekday, and Barry Allen’s digital alarm clock keeps repeating twelve o’clock as he starts to wake up, wiping the grogginess from his face as the light from his bedroom window hits his eyes and he has to blink his dark brown eyes through to get rid of his tiredness. In his shabby and one bedroom apartment, he didn’t have much to his name as Barry was on an extraordinarily short budget, something that he had grown accustomed to when he was kicked out his last foster home just for turning eighteen. He grabbed his cell phone to look at the time, but used a swear word when his usual background screen was replaced by a light purple hue, some kind of virus that he had no idea found its way onto his phone. 

“Just my luck, I’m probably late for therapy.” Barry moaned and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his body was discharging yellow bolts of electrical energy, and time was at a standstill as he accelerated his kinetic energy to get dressed. Not forgetting to stuff a runner’s bodysuit into a small duffel bag along with a red and black balaclava mask and a pair of runner’s shoes that matched the color scheme. Then he grabbed his science kit for work by the front door was always jammed closed instead of locked, and almost forgetting to eat something so he forced himself to slow down and breath while he scoured his fridge and after only finding a few good eggs and a half a block of cheddar cheese he turned on his rusted up stove and made himself a quick little omelet.
10:02:35

“Okay, I got my work bag, I got my other work bag, what am I- toothbrush!” Barry realized that he needed to do at least a little bit of hygiene after skipping his shower, and he inwardly promised himself that he was going to get his phone checked out at the store when he had some free time. Then in a flurry of lightning that broke yet another lightbulb in his apartment, he grabbed his duffle bags and ran out of the door after putting his shoulder to it and raced down the hall before his next door neighborhood had the chance to open his door and go get his mail in the communal mail slot. Barry’s next-door neighbor had a pacemaker put in about a year ago, but it did not seem natural that his veins in his chest were glowing the same light purple hue as Barry’s cell phone.
10:03:31

Barry Allen was barely down the street of his apartment complex in Central City, Ohio when he noticed an elderly man trying to slowly cross the street as a red convertible sports car was speeding down the way being chased by two police cruisers. “Oh, come on, my day just started!” he moaned defiantly. In his time frame the lights of the police cruisers were stretching far behind them as Barry amped himself up with a flurry of yellow lightning, and he raced around the corner in an alley and quickly put on his ‘other’ work uniform. 
10:03:32:01

He put his civilian clothes into the duffel bag and tossed it into the dumpster, not noticing the trash collecting truck a couple blocks away at the intersecting street before he ran to the old man and groaned as he picked him up in a fireman’s carry. “I need to start going to the gym again,” Barry said as he set the old man down on the other side of the street, then he turned his attention to the criminal driving the sports car and in a flurry of movement he opened the driver’s side door. His electricity discharged, making the car’s electrical system go haywire as he grabbed the driver and instead of picking him up as well. Barry dragged him behind him unaware that he was giving him major road rash through his white t-shirt and brought him over to one of the police cruisers where he opened the backdoor by reaching inside of the driver’s open window and used a little bit of his electricity to jimmy the back door open and haphazardly shoved the criminal inside.
10:03:33

“That should do it. No more crimes happening until therapy, please.” Taking a second to admire his handiwork, he let time catch up with him and watched on as his electrical discharge to the sports car, which was now driverless speed up the car and it swerved because it’s steering column wasn’t lined up properly. The car rear ended a parked car at a high enough speed that back end was lifted up and the first of the two cop cruisers couldn’t stop fast enough as the sports car’s rear end now rested on the crumbled hood, luckily the Kord anti-gravitational safety measures kicked in. While Barry was watching all these series of unfortunate events, the garbage truck made it’s way to the dumpster that had his duffle bag and unloaded it’s contents before driving off.
“Oh come on!” Barry exclaimed loud enough for passerby to take notice, and some of them started to take pictures of the literal pile-up and the guy in the red bodysuit, this would be the first time that Barry is caught on camera for the world to see before he escaped in a flurry of movement as he chased after the garbage truck.
10:04:01:00

Through his accelerated speed, Barry easily caught up to the trash truck, and he jumped into the open back as it was picking up another dumpster’s contents, “I guess I’ll need to take that shower anyway,” he groaned as he dug through bags disgusting human waste before finding his duffle bag and struggled on his way out. Then Barry groaned and ran back home, careful not to bump into any passerby so they don’t get knocked down into the concrete at a high enough speed that would certainly break many bones. When he made it home, he began to get undressed, letting time resume it’s normal pacing and before he jumped into the shower he checked his phone one last time only to see that it still had its light purple hue.

“What a great start to my day! Can it get any worse?!” Barry exclaimed in the shower, and unbeknownst to him in his work duffle bag where the had his computer, it too began to glow the familiar light purple hue, and a grainy face made of one’s and zeros appeared on both the phone and the laptop.

“Oh Barry Allen,” the voice spoke with a flat auto-tune, “the fun’s just begun,”

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Mao Mao

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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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Mao Mao

Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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Bio

𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗙𝗜𝗧𝗦
ORANGE COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
1.04 // ADVANCEMENT

"It seems you still haven't learned, child."

Everyone turned to the older police officer, who seemed to be avoiding everyone else in the room except for Katharsis. She got ready for another fight. On the other hand, Holly tried to get the officer's attention, but he still focused on Katharsis. So, she went in front of him. "Hey! Leave her alone!"

The officer chuckled. "I don't care about you and your friends. I'm here for her."

"You shouldn't undermind us." Holly held her ground while Lonnie and Miguel stood beside her. The officer smiled as he pulled out his baton and started swinging it around. "I admire your bravery, but you lack the manners to mind your own business."

Both Holly and Miguel was hit hard enough to fall down while Loonie managed to dodge the swing. The officer kept on trying to land a blow, but he wasn't fast enough. Loonie managed to hit him on the face, which left an impression on him. "Not bad, kid. Where are you from?"

"Why do you care?

"You aren't a Gothamite, right?" the officer managed to catch him off guard long enough to repeatedly beat his chest until he fell to the ground. "Well, I dealt with brats like you before. It took a few hits before they learned."

Katharsis landed a sucker punch before the office was able to land another blow. It caused the officer to drop his baton while he stumbled around. She stood in front of Loonie and called out the officer, "Are you that afraid to attack everyone else but me, Whitt?"

Officer Whitt struggled to keep his emotions under control. He turned his focus on Katharsis and began attacking her. While the two of them started fighting, Loonie knew for a fact that his ribs were broken. Holly, with a nasty cut on her arm, called out to him for assistance with Miguel, slowly regaining consciousness. Despite the pain, he went over and attempted to help out. Holly glanced over at Katharsis, who was still standing against Whitt.

Katharsis managed to disarm him and briefly used the baton against him, knocking out a few teeth. Whitt grew angrier and charged at her with all of his strength, managing to tackle her to the ground. She tried to escape, but it proved difficult as the officer started choking her. Holly and Loonie made their way to stop him before it was too late. Despite their efforts, the officer was too strong to be pulled even with all of their strength. Whitt smacked at Loonie's chest, causing him to fall out for the pain, and kept on chocking Katharsis while avoiding Holly's desperate attempt. 

Suddenly, Holly's entire body began changing to a bright red to the surprise of Katharsis. Whitt didn't notice until he felt her pulling him off and turned to see... her. Without a word, Holly threw him to the other side of the room. He landed hard enough to leave behind an impression of his body on the floor. It was clear that he had lost, but she wasn't done with him. Holly approached him, grabbed his right arm, and broke it. Whitt screamed out loud and gawked at her with hatred. She then grabbed his neck and said, "That was a message. You'll not harm us or anyone else again. Do you understand?"

Whitt stared at her and only responded with a "fuck off." But being the better person, Holly let go of his neck and left him alone as she was gradually turning back to normal. Katharsis watched with glee and had thought of kicking Whitt in the balls for chocking her. But, she heard the sirens and made her way towards the others. Holly almost lost her balance, but she managed to regain her footing. There wasn't enough time to react to whatever that was. She turned to Katharsis and asked for help with Lonnie while she tried to wake Miguel up. 

Fortunately, he finally woke up and wondered what happened. Holly helped Miguel off of the ground and asked to help out Katharsis. She went down the stairs and outside to get the van. Meanwhile, the pair managed to lift Loonie carefully up and started walking. Whitt made one last attempt to stop them, but he was unable to get up. He watched as the trio disappeared for his sights, causing him to yell in anger. 

Outside, Roshanna got out of the van to help out the others after she parked it. Drew, who was treating Holly's cut, felt incredibly guilty for sending them in. She should've known that Officer Whitt would've shown up if Katharsis was caught. Holly remained silent, trying to figure out what happened with her powers until she couldn't keep it to herself any longer. "I think there's more to my powers."

Drew was caught off guard by the statement. "What do you mean?"

Abruptly, Katharsis opened the van door while she, Roshanna, and Miguel carefully placed Loonie inside. She made her way to the driver seat and started driving away. Drew waited for an answer, but she was called for assistance by Roshanna. Holly turned away for her and inspected the bandage on her hand. Katharsis glanced at her and thanked her, "Thanks for helping me back there. For a second, I thought my life was over."

"It wasn't a problem. You would've done the same."

"Probably." Katharsis was looking at the rear mirror for any signs of police cars. "Say, why were you glowing red?"

"I honestly don't know, but it could have something to do with my powers."

"Powers? So, she went thought with my plan after all..."

"Your plan? Wait, you were-" Holly stopped herself when she heard police sirens and saw two police cars chasing after them. Katharsis shifted her focus to her surroundings and entered an alley, hoping to escape them.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago → 4 yrs ago Post by Master Bruce

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Master Bruce Winged Freak

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Bio

5:04 PM

"Arkham Asylum is a cancer on Gotham."

My mother's maiden name was Arkham. 

Perhaps as a means of exorcising some degree of shame over the stigma surrounding her family, going all the way back to Amadeus Arkham's committal to his own lunatic's asylum in 1929, Martha "Marty" Arkham had her name legally changed to Martha Kane when she was twenty-one. In the past, I had liked to speculate on the reason for this. My prevailing theory was that she was trying to earn her way in a city that she was very much still devoted to - despite, I should say, all it had taken from her. And in order to do that on her own terms, she found it necessary to forge a new identity to become the spark of change that the Arkham legacy prevented her from achieving. This theory has guided me through many key decisions of my own life. An emulation, I suppose, by a son who found himself desperately clinging to a memory of who she was as the real ones began to fade with time. 

But I've been forced to confront some ugly truths ever since returning to Gotham. The Asylum, for all of the goodwill that it's intended purpose has managed to conjure up in the intervening years, has suffered a critical hit in it's ability to shield the city from the lunatics that it houses. I've tried to correct this at every point, of course. Donating hundreds of thousands towards it's restructural efforts. Personally overseeing preparations to overhaul it's security staff from afar. Diverting the time and effort of the research and development team at Wayne Enterprises towards paving over the cracks that appear with every new escape. But it's become increasingly clear that it isn't enough. I've avoided taking any real action for as long as possible, in a bid to leave the running of it's day-to-day operations in more capable hands. 

After former director Hugo Strange's descent into madness, I realized the unfortunate reality. There aren't any more capable hands willing to help. And waiting on that to change is only going to result in more deaths. More destruction and madness than the GCPD can ever hope to be capable of handling themselves. The hands-off approach was a necessity that I needed in order to cast the appearance of ambivalence. If Bruce Wayne left every part of his public empire to be handled by third parties, it would make it seem all the more plausible that he did nothing more with his time than receive speeding tickets, play golf with the other members of Gotham's elite, and bed actresses and supermodels. However, there comes a point when a false ambivalence crosses the threshold into apathy. For all that I've worked and trained for to avenge my parents' murder, apathetic was the last thing I ever needed to become. 

"Sorry to open with a touch of the dramatic, ladies and gentlemen, but I felt it necessary to highlight the most recent headline regarding the Asylum's standing with the city. That was from the Gotham Globe's most recent column. Needless to say, I could cite many other publications that have written a spotlight piece, but their headlines are worded with considerably less... kindness."

So beginning today, I'm course-correcting. Even though the worldwide epidemic opened the doors to the remote participation model of business becoming an accepted form of conduct, it had never occurred to me to simply address the Arkham Asylum board of directors via video conference. It was an oversight that I attribute to the work I've been doing to keep Gotham's streets safe in a more direct manner, but an oversight nonetheless.

"So I say we cut that cancer out. Now, I'm aware of my own standing within the company. Which is what I've made the mistake of seeing Arkham as in the past. A company. And to my detriment, the way I saw many of you was as employees tasked with a job. Many of you whom I'm meeting for the first time today. I wasn't aware of some of your names until recently, when my assistant gave me the notes for today's conference. For that egregiousness, I sincerely apologize."

Giving them a smile, despite their clear discomfort in my "honesty" - the reality being that I  not only know all of their names, but have routinely looked into their backgrounds every single year since they were hired in the event of preventing any unwanted surprises - I strike a few keys on my ultrasonic keyboard to open a chart to the left of the screen. It shows that despite Arkham's rate of committals and hirings, public favor has been dipping for the last couple of years. More crucially, even though I didn't think it wise to place the statistic on a graph, Arkham's number of inmates that have been certified to re-enter society has been dipping even lower.

"That being said, I'm here now, and I'm going to remain here for the foreseeable future."

One of the senior board members, Simon Ecks, clears his throat at that in order to speak up.

"With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, I think I speak for the entire board here when I ask this. Are you planning to physically be here, or is this the extent in which we can expect your participation in all future decisions pertaining to Arkham's daily business? Because while your renewed interest in the Asylum is certainly welcome, we have concerns of our own."

Forcing a light chuckle, I pretend to be intimidated by this by adjusting my tie and slicking back my hair. The former Dr. Ecks has been a longtime proponent of having me removed from the board, and he might have succeeded in his efforts to file an injunction had it not been for the unanimous loyalty to my mother's standing as one of the board's founding members. It bothers him that I'm allowed to meddle in these affairs out of sheer nepotism, and on one hand, I understand his frustrations. But I wouldn't be here if the board had taken more swift measures to establish the security protocols that Lucius Fox had offered to provide for them - offered under my direction, no less.

"By all means, mister..."

"Ecks. Simon Ecks."

Feigning a look of realization, I apologetically nod as if I've half been paying attention.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Ecks. By all means, you and the board have every right to express these concerns."

Another prominent member of the board, Regina Zellerbach, is quick to usurp the conversation.

"I think it'd be best to start with your own public reputation, Mr. Wayne."

"I have to agree with Mrs. Zellerbach. While I've no doubt that you intended no harm to the brand, any participation in these matters on your part could be misconstrued as a mere PR opportunity based on your level of celebrity."

"My level of celebrity?", I reiterate, with a laugh. "Mr. Ecks, please. I think you've both overestimated how much sway my personal life has on the public's opinion of Arkham's market value. My name has appeared in the tabloids a couple of times. And yes, I've been caught in a few... compromising positions. But it's a matter of public record that I'm merely a financial backer, not a businessman. I'm hardly a candidate to make the cover of Time Magazine anytime soon, so you can rest assured that this is not some sort of publicity stunt."

"Then forgive us for being blunt. What is this, then? Because as far as the rest of us are concerned, you've never had much of a reason to personally call into any board meetings for little more than to approve certain measures on a yes or no basis. As you yourself admitted, you saw Arkham as another company to micromanage in order to boost your portfolio. I think if we're going to trust you to look after the Asylum's best interest, we need to be more clear about your intentions."

I place my hands together and lean forward.

"Fair. Then I'll cut to the chase. Arkham needs to be taken into a new direction if we're to regain the public's trust. For too many years, the name - not my name, to be clear, but the one plastered above the gates infront of the building - has been synonymous with an increased disillusionment with the country's mental healthcare. We've been given access to some of the leading professionals in their field, state of the art medicines and equipment to house the individuals these doctors and nurses have been forced to try and control, and the result has been continually proven to be ineffectual. Arkham is as much a safe haven for the criminally insane as social media is a safe haven for basic human decency."

Some of the faces turn curious, hearing the passion in my voice begin to rise up from behind the usual easygoing tone I tend to put on in the public eye. I had hesitated to let my own thoughts bleed into the conversation, but lately, Alfred's been encouraging me to act more like a leader and less like a passive idiot who has more money than he knows what to do with. It's certainly not the rhetoric they expected from me, and it's clear that my sentiments strike a chord. But ultimately, these people need to open their eyes. If I have to bring a taste of the other side of my personality into the fold for that to be possible, so be it.

"I... see. And do you have any suggestions as to what this new direction should be?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. And it starts with a rebranding."

To the right of my screen, a redesign of the Arkham Asylum logo appears, as provided to me by Waynetech's design department. The font is notably friendlier and less stoic, and the 'A' is prominently more streamlined with a stylistic approach - all in all it's alot trendier, is what the market research has told me. 

"Asylums are said to bring about negative connotations. You think Asylum, and the next thing you're picturing is some old castle in the Victorian era, with men in rubber gloves hosing down a group of lobotomized degenerates. The Arkham Rehabilitation Institute, or ARI, is the first step in a long road for us to get with the times."

There are confused expressions given. Some exchange glances that are telling. They aren't entirely sold on the idea. That's fine with me, as I had come up with this strategy to be disarming in the first place. I'm more than aware that a simple rebranding isn't going to change anything regarding the Asylum's effectiveness at housing the insane. But it is going to get the conversation started amongst them, whether they want to hear out any further ideas or attempt to vote to throw me out of the board altogether. All I needed was a foot in the door to get things started, either ---

"We interrupt GNN Business's llive coverage of the Gotham Stock Exchange to bring you this emergency broadcast bulletin."

My eyes quickly dart towards the feed on a screen to my right, where a wildly unexpected scene begins to play out within Gotham proper - looks to be trouble. Something's happening at what appears to be Gotham Central Station, already cordoned off by a fleet of GCPD and ambulances stretching a few blocks wide. Summer Gleason, one of the nightly correspondents, has her left hand against an earpiece while her right hand is clutching a microphone.

"If you're just joining us, we're currently attempting to see if the attackers have sent for a list of demands, but GNN has thus far remained in the dark as to what the masked terrorists want. The incident started only ten minutes ago, when authorities say that security cameras alerted Central Station staff to a group of what can only be described as 'armored terrorists', who proceeded to open fire on a public crowd. While no casualties have been confirmed, police have thus far been unable to find an entrance that isn't blocked off, leading some to speculate..."

"Mr. Wayne? You were saying something about this... proposal of your's?"

Terrorists? In Gotham?

These words echo through my mind with a resoundingly thunderous call to action. Were I under the spell of police propaganda, I'd remain reserved to let Gordon's men handle it. The sun's still up - and this is all so public, anyway. There's no need to... 

I stop myself. Whatever you were about to begin telling yourself, Bruce, you know it's a lie. Public or not, time of day be damned, there's no reason not to intervene. If there are no demands yet, there could be something more insidious at play than a simple hostage exchange. This is the exact type of situation I trained for. Meaning that I need to act before this escalates. Should only take me minutes to reach the city if I utilize the plane...

"I, ah... I realize that this is quite a drastic departure, superficial as it is. But I urge the board to consider my proposal for an Arkham that doesn't rely on a reputation of patient notoriety."

Ecks stands up from his seat, clearly annoyed at the lack of any real follow-through on the issues that I began to address at the start of the conference. But that was also the intent. To get them talking about these issues so that when I call in the next time, they'll have somewhat of an organized rebuttal. I just need to give them someone who appears to want to do their job for them in order to inspire such action. And the less sound my ideas appear, the more they'll want to come up with better alternatives.

"Mr. Wayne, you can't possibly expect us to..."

"Sorry, Mr. Ecks, but that's as much time as I can devote to the issue today. I'll check back in a week to see what everyone's thoughts are on ARI. Personally, I'm looking forward to getting to know the Asylum on a personal level. Be sure to give me your feedback!"

"What?"
"Is he serious..."
"Mr. Wayne, you can't just---!"

"Have a good evening."

With that, the feed is cut off. Leaving me to dwell in the relative silence of the Batcave's central computer terminal, where I've been stationed this entire time. A holographic background, artificial lighting, and a digital interface that alters my appearance with the use of advanced imaging A.I. - giving me a clean-shaven, Armani-suited look that seems more suitable for an appearance at a country club than a business conference - make it appear as if I'm on a private plane just exiting the skies over Costa Rica. Given that no one appeared to pick up on the artificiality of my presentation, I can consider the Waynescan - as Lucius called it - a successful alternative to the usual makeup and shower routine when it comes to hiding my injuries from a previous night's work.

But no time to dwell on that now. As soon as I set the Batcomputer on standby, I rise up from the terminal and turn to find Alfred waiting. He's already gathered my equipment for me. Giving him a solemn nod, as we both listen to the GNN broadcast continue in an effort to discern anything of use, I grab the leathery looking garb from the aging butler's hands. Without another word, he rushes forth to assume his position in my place at the terminal. Ever the eyes and ears.

"Alfred."

"I witnessed the story unfolding on the upstairs television. I had thought to make the necessary preparations."

From within the armory, I quickly lay everything out in the private changing station. Pre-loading the grapple, the batarangs, and smoke pellets, I load them into the belt's pouches while simultaneously beginning to shed the dishevelled, barely awakened visage of Bruce Wayne in exchange for a more comfortable set of attire. First, the graphene infused undersuit, triple-weaved through a cold-cast titanium mesh that's strong enough to hold together the armor plating - made of thick, malleable and shock-absorbent kevlar. Lucius improved the weight of it recently to be more forgiving, and the speed in which I can get suited up speaks to that.

Then the outersuit. Then the boots. The belt. The gloves. The cape.

And finally, the cowl that slips over my face.

"I'll need the plane."

"Naturally, sir. One doesn't test a mere prototype with safety precautions alone. One should always need to risk imminent death in order to properly see if it'll withstand any of it's owner's future mishandling through unnecessary daredevil antics."

The voice modulator is activated with a tingle tap to the side of my throat.

"My thoughts exactly."

Alfred's brow furrows as I emerge, making a beeline for the plane's elevated platform that lies just beyond The Batmobile's stationary position ahead of the tunnels leading out to Miller Road. Technically speaking, if I took the car, I'd be more in my element and able to get there in as quickly an amount of time. But the need for discretion and the potential for a rooftop entry where there are none make the plane the more suitable choice for such a task.

"I do hope you realize that was sarcasm, Master Bruce..."

I grunt, ascending up the metal steps.

"I'll be careful, Alfred."

"...one can be forgiven for wondering..."

To his dismay, I nevertheless climb into the cockpit of the pla... the Batwing, as it were, and begin switching the necessary dials. A series of lights illuminate my path as I type in coordinates for a mapping A.I. to summarize. Gives me a precious few more seconds to prepare, but sometimes that's all that's needed to stand between several lives taken and no lives taken at all. And in Gotham City, anyone that attempts to commence bloodshed will have to answer to me. These "terrorists" are about to learn that lesson the hard way.

Gotham Central Station. Thirty-six miles, northeast.

Within seconds, everything begins rumbling and I grab a firm hold of the yoke. Throttle pushes me out of The Batcave and into the open skies just beyond the city. I pull back, hard, and send the boosters into overdrive. A flurry of clouds and a thick, golden smaug break through the front of the plane's nose and give me a direct view of the skyscrapers that make up Gotham's Financial District. Central Station bridges the gap between the West and East Ends, symbolically standing between those in power and those shamefully left without. In some ways, it's existence harmonizes the opposing classes to the outside world.

Which is likely the terrorists' intent. To break such a harmonization and show that no one is safe from their reach. My eyes narrow as the small, barely noticeable scene below becomes visible from beneath my position. I was sure to keep my trajectory out of sight, to prevent any curious onlookers. Usually I'd employ the EMP to turn off any recording devices, but I'm going to need the media's eyes and the police's ears if I'm going to navigate this situation properly.

"Autopilot. Hover."

Command engaged.

One way or another, I'm bringing this insanity to an end. Grabbing the pull-levers from atop the pilot's seat, I brace myself and take a moment's breath. When I pull them down, the bottom hatch opens and I let go, leading directly into freefall. Reaching into the back of the utility belt, I grab the end of a Bat-line and scan my descent for a proper anchor point.

Can't be too careful. Intervening in a public crisis isn't The Batman's usual modus operandi. Doing so as the sun is still setting, considerably less so.

But today, he'll be making an exception on both accounts.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by webboysurf

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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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Somewhere in Texas - Present DayIssue 1.01.05: The Technocrat
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: Issue 1.01.04: The Killer Inside Me

The two drove silently through the flat plains of the heartlands of Texas, silently continuing their journey. They’d been taking side roads, doing their best to avoid anywhere cops might expect them. It had been hours since the gas station, and they had barely spoke since Roy’s request. One that was never fulfilled. But as the evening sunset washed the sky in deep purples, Jason finally spoke up. ”I should have been more careful.”

Roy raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze towards Jason. The former spy’s eyes were fixed on the road, and his face was stoic like always. But his words held sincerity bred by hours of quiet contemplation. Roy shrugged, turning his gaze back out his passenger window. ”It was easy to walk away. And I don’t miss it. My last assignment was an assassination. Small time warlord in Somalia. One shot, one kill. Same as always. He was at this big old villa, with his family. False sense of security. I fired the shot… and I kept looking down the scope to make sure he was dead. And I watched his family run over and wail. He had a daughter that was maybe… six years old. And she looked in my direction… and I just stopped. I knew my dad was getting sick, so it was the perfect time to back out.”

Jason looked at his friend and saw his usual cocky grin replaced with the same stoicism that Jason wore as a shield. The two sat in silence for a moment before Jason turned off the road they were on, pulling up to the only building for acres. ”We’re here.”

The building looked like an old, run-down mechanic’s garage. On the left was a small store of sorts, with the windows boarded up. The other half had two large garage doors that were covered in rust, dirt, and overgrowth. If there was ever a place to hide, this looked like it. Nonetheless, Roy turned his gaze to Jason as they got out of the van. ”Jason… why here? And how the Hell did you know where it was?”

Jason gave a small little smirk to Roy, and the latter internally groaned. Jason led the way, clutching at his arm. Blood had soaked through the bandage, but Jason was nothing if not a stubborn son of a bitch. He knocked on the front door of the store side of things, and stood waiting. Roy folded his arms and stayed back a few feet, an eyebrow raised. Suddenly, a beam of light came from a small spot above the door and washed over the two men, scanning them from head to toe. Once it scanned them, it disappeared. A moment afterwards, the door clicked and swung open, revealing a rather decrepit interior as well. Standing among all the decay was a man in a suit with slicked back hair. He smiled at the two men. ”Ahh… Jason Todd and Roy Harper. The two most wanted men in Texas. Follow me.”

Roy shot a look of absolute befuddlement to Jason, who simply gave a nod in the suited man’s direction. The two followed the suited stranger as he led them through a door into the garage portion. The garage itself, remarkably, looked rather clean. It had two spots designed to work on cars, and the suited man walked onto the track of the first one, motioning for them to join him. They did so, and almost instantaneously the track began to lower itself into the ground at a moderate speed. The men were in some sort of makeshift elevator, the walls clearly constructed of some sort of concrete as they were lowered deeper and deeper into the Earth. Roy, finally shocked out of his silence, just shook his head. ”Somebody better tell me what’s going on.”

The suited man smiled and nodded. ”Your order was a hard one to fulfill, Mr. Harper. A compact, durable bow, with a titanium dipped tri-weave drawstring. Not to mention the various arrow designs that were requested. Adhesive arrows being by far the most difficult.”

Roy tilted his head in confusion for a moment, before it dawned on him. ”TC… You’re the damn Technocrat. Well I’ll be…”

”I trust you’re not walking us into a trap.”

The suited man chuckled softly, shaking his head. ”Of course not. The bounty on your heads is pocket change.”

With that, the walls of the secret elevator gave way to a large and spacious facility. The room was rather long, with a larger workspace to the right and a row of cars and tanks to the left. The walls were lined with various guns and gadgets. Jason nodded while Roy whistled at the sight. TC shook his head as he saw them ogling all of his toys. ”Welcome to the Armory, boys. Well… an armory, I suppose. As far as your concerned, the only one you two will ever know.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. ”You’re letting us stay here?”

TC smiled nodding and motioning to the facility at large. ”You’ve got run of the place. I’m leaving in an hour. I’ve got two rooms set up for you, one on either side. Plenty of other rooms to set up whatever you want. If you need anything else, shoot me an email and I'll see what I can do." The man in the suit smiled and nodded as he walked over towards a computer terminal, unplugging a hard drive from it and placing it in a briefcase as he made his way over towards the nearest black sedan. He stopped as he turned his gaze back towards the two. "One last thing... You're not quite staying here for free. All the stuff in here are prototypes, and I need you to test this stuff out to make sure it's all working. 

That's the deal."

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr

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The Bug. Gotham City. New Jersey.
Even flying over the city, Gotham gives Ted the willies. While the pandemic may have affected New York to a greater extent than other American cities, causing a spike in crime and a breakdown in order, Gotham was in a permanent state of collapse for as long as Kord could remember. Its streets were a maze of twisting alleys and winding paths, owning to its Gothic design inspirations. When you walked its sidewalks, it was as if the buildings themselves hovered over you, their gargoyles peering down like hungry predators. 

He had never liked to visit the place, mostly because of the Wayne murders back in the day. His father had told him all about them, and the similarities between his family and the Waynes led Ted to be paranoid about his father coming here for business. After all, if it happened to one rich family, why couldn't it happen to another? He had gotten over that childish fear, obviously. He came here himself on business often. But there was still something in the back of his mind whenever he was in the town, like an itch he could never quite scratch.

Crime was rampant here, and always had been. It got worse when New York started to clean itself up in the 90s, displacing a ton of, for lack of a better term, goons. What easier way for an out of work criminal to get gainfully employment than to move across the river? So as New York began to rise, Gotham just seemed to get worse. It was tragic, but the city seemed to bring it on itself, continually emrbacing its seedy and corrupt nature.

Whatever was going on at the train station, however, had nothing to do with Gotham's normal level of crime. A terrorist takeover was not the norm, and someone taking a bunch of hostages screamed bad news in Ted's mind. Terrorists didn't take hostages, at least not ones inside a huge, easily breachable building in the center of a city. These guys, whoever they were, wanted to put on a show. 

As the Bug made its way towards Gotham Central Station, the proximity alarm started to blare inside the ship. Ted panicked, thinking it may have been an attack from some sentry the paramilitary terrorists had left on the roof, but instead he found that another aircraft was hovering over the train station.

"Kha, any heat signitures inside the aircraft?"

"No, sir."

"So it's hovering there automatically?"

"Why are you so surprised, sir? That is what this aircraft will be doing shortly."

"Yea...I know...I just...thought I was the only one who could do something like that," Blue Beetle was obviously crestfallen at the realization he was not as brilliant as he had hoped. He studied the readout of the aircraft, and saw it had a striking profile. Swooping crescents on each side gave it the appearance of a...bat? Yea, something like that. 

"Man, he's even got a cooler gimmick than I do," Ted sighed. Why did he pick a bug?

"There is a heat signiture on the roof, sir," the AI program informed him. "Possibly the owner of said aircraft. Maybe you can ask him on some style points."

"Seriously, I don't know where this sense of humor came from, but I'm going to have to look into it," Ted sighed again and made his way to the center of the Bug, where in a few seconds he'd drop down towards the hostage situation. Before he did, however, he had another trick up his sleeve he wanted to try out. "Kha, dispatch two of the mini Beetles. Have one disrupt the power into the station, have another take out the generator back up the place turns to in emergencies. I want to make sure we're the only ones who can see well down there."

"Understood, sir."

With that, the bottom dropped out from below Ted, and he hung onto the drop rope tightly until it stopped a foot above the roof of Gotham Central Station. He stepped off lightly, and made his way to where Kha had indicated the heat signature was on top of the roof.

What Ted found surprised even him. Hunched over, peering down into the station through the large, glass-domed parts of the roof, was a man dressed, if Ted was being generous, as Dracula mixed with a SWAT officer. A long, flowing black cape hung off his shoulders, a pointed cowl obscured his face, and black and grey tactical armor covered his frame. 

Blue Beetle approached, but before he could say anything, the man in black moved like the wind. He swept Ted's legs from under him, and pinned him to the ground with a knee to the chest, fist ready to strike.

The Beetle waved his hands, "Chill, dude! Same team! Same team!"
**********

**********
IC: Kobra Soldier
So far, everything had gone as their leader has predicted. The pigs of Gotham were oblivious as Kobra slithered into their presence, the glorious soldiers of the true order coming in through multiple entrances, all dressed in their green and gold. Once they were inside, every soldier found their weapons exactly where their grand leader had told the security guards they had paid off to put them. Gotham was rotten to the core, and there was nothing easier than finding someone in the city to bribe. It was the perfect place for their sacrifice. They would wash the world of the filth of these people, showing the true God that it had servants ready to make the world ready for it.

He only wished he was on the kill floor when the sacrifice happened, not patrolling the outer corridors of the train station. Even though his master assured him he would reap the same benefits in paradise, he had his doubts.

But suddenly, the sound of broken glass behind him drew his attention. He turned to find a door opening slowly. Without thinking, he fired a round wildly into the door, hitting the top corner, and called out, "INTRUDER!"

@Master Bruce@Polyphemus

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Hidden 4 yrs ago → 4 yrs ago Post by AndyC

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"--indicates that none of the hostages have been killed, however the masked terrorists seem to be--"

"--eyewitnesses report seeing mysterious unidentified aircraft over the--"

"--possible sightings of unknown men in masks, possibly associated with the terrorists, or--"

"Friend Rachel, this is horrible!  We must take the action and head toward Gotham City!"

"Gotham City's on the other side of the country," I say.  "How fast can you fly?"

"At my greatest speed, I can travel nearly twice the speed of sound itself."

"Hmmm, that's....." I try to think of how long it would take in my head, but I was never great at math, so I instead look it up on the laptop Mr. Abel loaned me.  "Ah.  Even if you left right now, it would take over an hour.  Whatever's happening there would be long over by then."

After my....episode where I either had an extraordinarily vivid hallucination or discovered I'm effectively the Anti-Christ, I had tried to bury my nose in research, find more leads about Sebastian Blood and his cult, about the monstrous creature that said my name and claimed to be my father.  Mr. Abel had loaned me an old laptop-- which struck me as weird that he even had one, considering how old-fashioned his sensibilities are-- and I started going down various occultist rabbit-holes looking for anything that matched up.

Just as I felt we were making real progress, I got a news alert of some crazy situation happening in Gotham City.  Kory and I have been watching the live stream.  Rather, I've been watching; Kory has been flying around the room on the verge of a nervous fit.

"But there are innocents in danger!" Kory protests.  "Surely it cannot be allowed to--"

"Look, I don't like it either," I cut in, "But even with your space-powers and my magic, there's only so much we can do.  Besides, rushing out into the open at the first sign of trouble would be advertising our location to the people who are after us."

"You would sacrifice innocent lives to maintain your secret?" she asks, indignant.

"No, that's not what I---...I mean, it's complicated," I say with a sigh.  "You know how to use your powers, I don't.  I'm only just now getting my head around the idea that all of this stuff is real, let alone how to make any of it work.  Even if I don't get grabbed by HIVE or the Church of Blood and taken away to be made into a weapon, there's a chance that I'll end up doing more harm than good if I rush in not knowing what I'm doing.  I need.....practice."

The live stream of the hostage situation in Gotham plays out on the laptop screen, and I shake my head.

"And anyway, all of that's too far away for us to be able to do anything about it," I say.  "Maybe if there was some crazy event like that happening somewhere on the West Coast..."

"Then we would rush to help!" Kory says with righteous confidence.

"....yeah, probably," I nod before closing the laptop and getting up from the bed.  "If something like that ever happens, I mean.  Anyway, I'm gonna make some tea; it should help calm things down after all this excitement."

I take a step or two toward the kitchenette, then as I look toward the kettle and the drawer where I keep the teabags, I realize I'm already at the counter.  I floated across the remaining distance, like Kory does all the time.  The stove is already turned on, the water is already running, and the kettle is already in my hand.

Without even thinking about it, I'm starting to just 'magic' my way around the apartment.  Sure, it's harmless enough doing something small like making tea, but what if I start doing it in public?  What if I can't stop?

....what if I don't want to stop?

"You seem to be developing control of your abilities already," Kory remarks.  "This is good news, yes?"

The small blue flame on the stove suddenly roars, scorching a black mark on the ceiling, before I glare at it and it shrinks back to normal.

"Maybe," I answer, filling the kettle with water and putting it on the fire, "maybe not.  From what I've been able to read, it's an extension of something called the Soul Self, a manifestation of your life force, your memories, and your state of mind.  Everyone has one, but most people can't project theirs into the physical world.  Apparently, though, I'm not most people."

"This is good fortune, then!"

"Yeah, lucky me," I say bitterly, as the stove starts to flare up again and I will it back down.  "Between what I've read and what I've seen in my, erm, visions....I'm only half human.  The other half is, well....something else.  Something worse.  The thing I saw in my last vision, the Children of Azarath don't even speak its name, but Sebastian Blood and his cult, they called it 'Trigon.'  It's not of this plane, and not from Azarath.  It's a....."

I roll my eyes at how silly it sounds in my head, then I say it out loud.

"....it's one of the lords of Hell."  Saying it out loud doesn't make it sound any less ridiculous.  "It wants me to be its vessel on Earth, so it can destroy the world.  And apparently, it's my father."

Kory nods, I assume processing it and trying to relate to it.  "On Tamaran, the Priestesses of X'haal warned of the Troq, the Nothing, nihilistic entities that preyed upon negativity and would use the vulnerable as vessels in the physical world.  If they were not stopped, they would render all unto the void.  It was believed they could be driven away by an overwhelming abundance of love."

As she floats toward me, I raise a skeptical eyebrow.  "Is that what you're suggesting?  That I fight a lord of Hell with the 'Power of Love?'"

"Oh no," she shakes her head.  "The Troq were very real, and could only be defeated by incinerating them with concentrated volleys of Star-Bolts.  Having an abundance of love in one's heart, however, was vital for the Priestesses to fight together and keep each other alive.  It also provided resistance to the Troq's psychic attacks, and allowed for rather exuberant celebrations upon each victory.  Since the days of our victory over the Troq, Tamaranians are raised to be masterful warriors and lovers alike, for only through finding and fostering true love do we find the strength to fight."

Her eyes meet mine, and I see a fire in them like the light of a sun.  During my freak-out, it was Kory who had brought me out of it, holding me and giving me the inner strength to force Trigon out.  Before that, she had driven away my nightmares with, in her words, 'an application of the snuggles.'  Every time I have come close to losing it, to letting the darkness overcome me, she has been there to help me with support and...

I scoff and turn away, turning my attention back to the kettle, which at this point is near boiling.

"Well, either way, I doubt that's going to be something I can manage," I say, wiping away sweat from my brow, as it's gotten unexpectedly hot in here all of a sudden.  "The only person I've ever had any sort of 'abundance of love' for was my Mom, and that....didn't end well.  And anyway, that's not the same thing as what I'm dealing with.  This isn't Tamaran, and I'm not some warrior-priestess.  You might be a master-fighter and master-lover and all that, and that's all well and good.  But I'm not.  I can't fight off demons and mercenaries and whatever else with the 'power of love.'  I don't know how."

Kory grabs me by the shoulder and turns me back around to face her.  Her hand moves down my arm to take my own hand.

"I can show you," she says, as the tea kettle whistles.

".....wha--"

"How to fight, I mean!" she says with a bright smile.  "I was trained since childhood by the Warlords of Okaara in all manner of combat--it would be my honor to train you in the ways of glorious and honorable battle!"

I stand there and stare for a moment, then I blink as my thoughts return to me.

"....oh!  Um, yeah, that....that would be great," I say, finding it strangely hard to catch my breath.  "Yeah, let's....let's learn how to fight.  If we're going to be taking on HIVE and the cultists and the rest, I should know how to handle myself."

"Wondrous!" she exclaims, doing a loop-de-loop in the air to celebrate.  "Ah!  But we must remain covert about it so as not to reveal ourselves.  Perhaps we can use Friend Alex's simulated combat game, this LARP of his, to disguise our training as the mere play of Dorks?"

"....that....sounds ridiculous," I say, "but at the moment, I really don't have a better idea.  Anyway, the, erm, the tea's almost ready."

I pour the hot water into a pair of cups, steep the teabags in them, and hand one to Kory.

"It's chamomile and peppermint," I tell her, "It's good for calming frazzled nerves."

"But my nerves do not have the frazzling."

"Mine do," I say as I sip mine and let the cool, refreshing flavor and aroma work its magic.

Kory takes a deep breath to take in the smell of hers, then eagerly drinks it down.

"Mmmmm!" she exclaims.  "That was the worst thing I have ever tasted."

I stare at her for a moment, and then for the first time in as long as I can remember, I laugh out loud.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by webboysurf

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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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Somewhere in Texas - Present DayIssue 1.01.06: The Outlaws
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: Issue 1.01.05: The Technocrat

Roy felt strange as he woke up in a real bed for the first time in months. The room he was in was rather bland, with blank gray walls providing a rather dismal sight to awaken to. The lighting in the room was industrial, and the connecting bathroom was clearly utilitarian more than anything. But Roy did his best to make the most of a comfortable and non-mobile temporary home. He took his time showering, enjoying a working toilet, and shaving down the rat mustache that had been developing from a life on the road. He even had a small working kitchen, where he was able to quickly toast up a frozen waffle and munch on it as he left his room to enter the armory proper.

Jason was standing over near a large computer terminal at the center of the armory, surrounded by a few military-grade cases. Roy shook his head as he swallowed a bite of his bland waffle. "Do you ever sleep, or are you some kind of vampire or something?" Jason rolled his eyes in response, and continued typing away at the console as the screen began scrolling through a map of Texas, with various red dots located on the map. The computer seemed to be popping up small dialogue boxes over specific red dots as Jason went along scrolling through, listing through percentages and the names of crimes like Assault and Armed Robbery. Roy's brow furrowed as he got closer. "What the Hell is this?"

Jason turned his gaze towards Roy, a small smile creeping on his lips. "After you left the Team, we went about testing this system out. It's got some fancy ass acronym that none of us could remember... Slade and I just got to calling it the Oracle. It basically compiles a bunch of data together: psychological profiles, internet search history, recent purchases... It just takes all that and did the counter-intelligence work for us. We managed to thwart a few assassination attempts with this baby."

Roy took another bite of his waffle, his eyes watching the screen. As he took a closer look at the dialogue boxes, more information was becoming available. Names, addresses, criminal records... everything relevant. Roy shook his head, taking a step back.  "Wait, hold on... TC made some kind of Minority Report shit? He made a fucking precog?"

Jason shot Roy a confused glance "What the Hell is a Precog?"

Roy shot Jason a look of disbelief, his voice dripping with condescension. "Minority Report... Tom Cruise... Really?

"I don't exactly waste my time watching movies, Roy."

Roy shook his head, raising his hands into the air. "Look... whole point of it was that arresting people before they committed a crime just doesn't work."

Jason sighed in frustration, lifting his hands to wave at the computer. "This thing works, Roy. And we only used it to know who to look into... to make sure we were in the right place at the right time. And we could do the same exact thing now, just the two of us. We can be there just in case it's right!"

"I'm not going to play Western sherrif with you, Jason. I'm not going to go around shooting the bad guys. I can't have any more deaths in my conscious, Jason."

Those last words hung in the air like a cloud. Jason let loose a deep sigh as Roy stood still with his arms folded, staring at the ground. After a moment, Jason slowly walked over towards one of the cases. "What if you didn't have to kill anyone?"

Roy turned his head with his brow arched in confusion as Jason walked behind the crate and opened it up to show his friend the contents. Resting inside in foam was a familiar sight: a customized red compound bow. The same one Roy had in the service. Roy stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around the rubber grip, lifting it up and admiring the attached sight. Jason took this opportunity to lift the first layer of foam to reveal a lower layer, in which several arrows with strange arrowheads were resting. As Roy's eyes admired his old arsenal, Jason smiled. "We can play by our own rules this time, Roy. Help people the way we think is best."

Roy looked up at Jason, and the admiration in his eyes faded into guilt. "I... I don't know. He set the bow down on one of the empty crates and rubbed the back of his neck, turning away from Jason for a moment.

Jason, for his part, balled his hands into fists as he grit his teeth. He had hoped this would have been enough to convince him... but it was now or never. "Roy... I really didn't want to play this card... But I'm asking you to do this for Violet's sake."

The red-haired archer stopped dead in his tracks. In an instant, Roy's entire demeanor changed. Every muscle in his body tensed up, and he spun around on his heels. The look on his face was one Jason had never truly seen before: rage. "Fuck you. You don't get to wrap me up in your vigilante bullshit and try to use my fucking family against me." Roy continued his approach to Jason, forcing the latter to back himself up closer and closer to the wall. "I know you read my fucking file back in Team 7, but you're not the only one who can fucking read, orphan boy."

Jason opened his mouth, but found he couldn't quite grasp any words. "Roy... I... I meant-"

Roy lifted his hands up and grasped on to the collar of Jason's turtleneck, pushing him back into the wall with a hard slam. "What? What did you mean, Jason? Did you expect me to let you tell me some sob story about how your little computer program could prevent me from losing the only family I have left? Hmmm?"

Jason took a deep breath, as best as he could manage with the collar tight on his throat. "Violet... is working as a teller at the Main Branch of the San Antonio National Bank. Oracle predicted an armed robbery there later today."

Roy stood there in silence for a moment, his eyes locked on Jason's. After a few seconds the look of anger shifted to one of concern as his grip relaxed and he spun on his heels. He quickly packed up the bow back into its crate, before jogging back towards his room. 

"Suit up. We roll out in 10."

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𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗙𝗜𝗧𝗦
ORANGE COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
1.05 // RESOLUTION

Katharsis nearly crashed into a railing while driving through the fifth alleyway. She looked at the rear-view mirror and still saw police cars chasing after them. It wasn't going to be easy to escape their pursuit, but she wasn't going to give up without fighting. So, she put her driving to the test. Behind her, Drew was tending to Loonie's wounds with a first aid kit stashed in the van (for emergencies) with Holly and Miguel assisting whenever. Roshanna, on the other hand, was sitting beside them and pounding on how she ended up here. She lived a normal life before it was taken away from her.

It was foolish to go with them into a dangerous situation. She considered jumping out the van and surrendering to the authorities. Perhaps her punishment will be lighter compared to the others. Most likely not. And yet, there were no other options on the table. She placed her hands on the metal floor, and it began to vibrate. At first, she thought it was due to the bumpy road. When they didn't stop vibrating, Roshanna knew that it had something to do with her newfound powers. She just didn't know what they were. Then, for some reason, she began to feel the asphalt beneath.  

That was when she understood (the basics). And what she was about to attempt might be foolish, but it was their only chance to escape.

Roshanna stood up and began making her way to the van door. Everyone was busy with Loonie to notice until they heard the door opening. She avoided the voices and began to concentrate on both the earth and asphalt. It began to make sense for her as she stretched her right arm out towards the police cars. And like a conductor, she dropped her arm and felt the van shaking violently. Katharsis struggled to drive as everyone else held onto something. Roshanna fell backward to the van and opened her eyes to the street, collapsing behind them.

Everyone stared at Roshanna with no words, but there was no sight of the pursuing police cars. It was their chance of escaping to their hideout undetected. Holly made sure that the van doors were closed before turning her attention to Roshanna. She extended her hand out and said, "Thank you for that."

Roshanna grabbed her hand and got up from the ground. "Your welcome...?"

Katharsis briefly looked at Roshanna and added, "If it weren't for your powers, we would've run out gas trying to outperform them."

Abandonded Building // Industrial District
At least a half of dozen paramedics and other officers were attending to the wounded. A luxurious black car pulled up at the scene, which caught the attention of a rookie officer. He went to yell at the driver to turn around for an active crime scene. "Hey, buddy. You need to turn around. This is-"

The young rookie froze in fear at the realization that he just yelled at his boss, Commissioner Frederick Foley. Yet, Frederick didn't care enough to reprehend him and just gave the cold shoulder. He made his way inside and up the stairs. Many of the wounded officers were being treated, which made him more upset since he hated seeing his fellow officers hurting badly. And one person was partially responsible for the mess: Officer Whitt. Whitt, despite his injuries, was still helping out the paramedics when he heard a familiar voice. "WHITT. What the hell happened here?!"

Whitt stopped whatever he was doing and saluted the Commissioner. "There were... some complications."

"Yeah, no fucking shit." Frederick took a moment to calm down before saying something stupid out loud and then escorted Whitt to a secured room, where no one could listen to them. "You told me it was going to be a simple execution. Instead, I'm here to clean up your fucking mess."

"I thought she was alone... but she had friends after all."

"You fucking donkey." Frederick took out an e-cigarette and began to smoke it. "It doesn't explain your wounds, though."

Whitt remained silent for a moment before responding, "One of them... managed to catch me off-guard."

"Serves you right for fucking around instead of doing your job right away. Look, since I have to clean up your mess again, you need to keep low. Take some time off to write your report. Make sure it's good enough so City Hall can leave us alone." Frederick felt his phone vibing from his pocket and pulled it out. He looked at it for a moment and then sighed. "I have to go to another crime. Apparently, some girl bought down an entire street while being pursued. What a fucking mess."

181 // Unknown
Upon returning to the hideout, everyone worked together to carefully carried Loonie over to the makeshift infirmary. Drew wasn't the ideal nurse, but she knew enough to see if there were any long term damages. While she was doing that, Holly took the time to confront Katharsis about what she said before everything went south. Katharsis was going to patch up her wounds until she heard her name. "We need to talk."

"About... oh! I thought she told you guys about that."

Holly turned to Drew and answered, "No, she didn't mention you until you sent that message."

Katharsis felt a little hurt that she wasn't brought up, but it was understandable. "Well, I was sought out because she was desperate for help. And what she wanted was something to get Channel M back on its feet. So, I agreed to help out. That's when we learned of what STAR Labs designed: Q-Juice. She did the hacking and learned of its potential usage; however, she got cold feet at the last minute. So, I did what she couldn't and went to the lab myself to get the gas."

Drew, while checking on Loonie, spoke up about what was said. "I told you not to go."

"And I didn't listen. You should be grateful for that." Katharsis. "As you can tell, she wasn't pleased with what I did. But, she eventually came around and developed the plan to use the abandoned Angel's Hand as a trap."

"And we were the bait." Holly finished the sentence. 

"Yeah."

"You don't think that's a little fucked up?" Miguel joined in the discussion.

"No." Katharsis answered without hesitation. "I read your files. Each one of you has been fucked over by the system. This is your chance of getting payback for what this country has done to you. Don't you want that?"

"Wait, what do you mean that you 'read our files?'" Holly looked directly at Drew, which she looked away in shame. "You didn't..."

"We did." Katharsis crossed her arms and stepped in front of Holly to protect Drew in case. "We had to find people that... would be more understanding."

"I can't believe this..." Roshanna mumbled to herself before leaving the room in anger. Both Holly and Miguel were disgusted to learn that their privacy was breached. Miguel looked like he was about to cry before he excused himself out of the infirmary. Katharsis waited for Holly to freak out and attack her (like she did to Officer Whitt), but instead, she took a deep breath and sat down to process everything. Drew stopped what she was doing and approached her with caution.

"Listen, I know what we did was wrong. And it's totally reasonable if you wish to leave. Just... think about it. In the meantime, we'll give you some space. Call me once Loonie wakes up." Drew rolled over to Katharsis and escorted her out of the room. All alone to her thoughts, Holly wondered what she was going to do now, especially since she attacked a police officer. It was going to be difficult or even impossible to return to a sense of normalcy again. For now, she was going to wait until things calm down with the police. And when that time comes... she will have to decide what to do.

For now, Holly pulled up the chair to the bed that Loonie was resting on and waited for him to wake up. She was going to tell him everything that he missed. It was the right thing to do, after all.

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