[hider=Black Panther][CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/B][/COLOR][h1][color=lightgray][b]B L A C K  P A N T H E R [/b][/color][/h1]
[color=lightgray](Yohualli Ocelotl)[/color][hr]
[img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img][CENTER][sup][color=darkgray]"As long as I breathe, Dorado will not fall."[/color][/sup][/CENTER][h3][sup][sub][color=darkgray]N E C A L L I  D O R A D O  C U A U H P I L L I    [color=lightgray]♦[/color]   W A R R I O R - P R I N C E   [color=lightgray]♦[/color]   D O R A D O   [/color][/sub][/sup][/h3][img]https://i.imgur.com/I2v9nI5.png[/img]
[/CENTER][COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3] O R I G I N S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]
The hidden city of Dorado lies deep within the rainforests of Central America, long shrouded in myth and legend. Governed by ancient traditions and ruled by a sacred lineage, Dorado’s people worship the gods of the earth, sky, and sun, drawing their strength from the extremely valuable and precious resource, vibranium, which they call "tecuhtli," the blood of the gods. Necalli, the latest in this divine bloodline, was destined to lead from birth. Trained in the arts of war, diplomacy, and spiritual practices, he is destined to inherit the mantle of Yohualli Ocelotl, the protector of Dorado, upon his father’s death.

Recently, reports have surfaced of modern invaders, equipped with advanced weapons, encroaching on the edges of Dorado’s hidden borders. Necalli, foreseeing greater threats on the horizon, has urged his father and the council to strengthen the city’s defenses. He forsees a world where isolation is no longer enough to protect Dorado, but his warnings fall on deaf ears, viewed as fear mongering that risks disturbing the peace.

Determined to safeguard his people, Necalli grows increasingly conflicted. His vision for Dorado’s survival stands in stark contrast to the conservative stance of the council, and the growing divide within the royal court threatens not only his future as their leader but the very security of the city itself.

[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]The jungle was alive with the hum of insects and the distant cries of animals, but it was the unnatural buzz of drones slicing through the night air that caught Necalli's attention. His form, crouched in the dense shadows of the jungle like a big cat waiting to strike, was a silent specter, unseen by the intruders below. The red dots of laser sights crisscrossed through the underbrush, painting lines of death on the trees and ground. He could hear the faint murmur of voices over radio chatter, the sound distorted by their helmets and body armor.

"Fan out." one of the voices crackled through the radio, authoritative and stern. "We've got good intel it's in this area. Remember, if you see anything moving, shoot on sight."

Beneath his jaguar mask, Necalli's lips tightened into a grim line. These weren’t ordinary invaders, no clumsy conquistadors stumbling in search of gold or silly explorers with too much money and time on their hands looking for their chance at fame. These were professionals: armed to the teeth, outfitted with the latest military tech. Their gear was the kind of cutting-edge equipment only the most powerful nations or corporations could afford. But no matter how advanced their tech, they made the same mistake all outsiders made, they underestimated the jungle.

And they underestimated him.

Sliding silently down from his perch high in the trees, Necalli's fingers brushed over the hilt of his macuahuitl. The ancient weapon had been reforged with vibranium, its obsidian blades sharper than any modern steel, able to cut through metal, flesh, and bone with equal ease. The cold of the weapon against his skin grounded him, reminded him of his purpose. These men came for Dorado, for its secrets. They would leave with nothing but death.

One of the soldiers paused below him, his boots sinking slightly into the wet soil. He lifted his rifle, sweeping the muzzle across the darkness, unaware of the predator above. Necalli struck fast and without sound. He dropped from the canopy, landing silently with lethal precision. The vibranium edge of his macuahuitl sliced through the man’s armor as though it were nothing more than cloth. The soldier collapsed, dead before his body hit the ground.

Necalli darted back into the shadows as the others turned, confused by the sudden silence of their comrade. Their laser sights flashed across the trees, fingers tensing on triggers. They think their machines and guns will save them, Necalli thought, moving with the grace of a jaguar. But in this jungle, they are prey.

"We've got a man down!" Shouted one of the soldiers, panic setting in as the remaining men formed a tight circle formation and began sweeping the trees for movement.

A drone hovered above the treeline, its camera sweeping back and forth, now searching for what killed the invader. Necalli's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. He threw a small, round object, a piece of vibranium-infused tech of his own design. It clamped onto the drone’s underside, a brief flash of blue light before the drone sparked and crashed into the undergrowth, its systems fried. The forest swallowed the sound.

"They’re taking out the drones!" one of the men shouted, his voice rising in panic. "They know we’re here!"

I am not 'they', Necalli thought coldly, his body already a blur as he moved silently to flank them.

He circled around, watching as the team tried to regroup, their nervous chatter betraying their fear. They were good, disciplined, highly trained. But this was his domain. A pair of soldiers inched forward, their helmets reflecting the dim light from their tactical displays. Necalli moved in again, his macuahuitl swinging in a deadly arc. One soldier’s rifle was severed in two, his chest following moments later. The second soldier barely had time to scream before a Vibranium spear buried itself in his torso, thrown from the shadows.

Now the the two remaining were panicking. Necalli could hear it in their voices, see it in the erratic movement of their laser sights. They fired wildly into the trees, wasting bullets on shadows. He moved through the chaos with cold precision, using the dense treeline as cover as he crepy from branch to branch.

He watched as they panted heavily, fear etched across their faces as they struggled to unload and reload their guns for the shaking of their hands. Necalli gently slid the bow from around his chest and knocked a vibranium tipped arrow on its string. It flew threw the air with only the yell of pain as it struck one of the soldiers chest to announce its arrival.

The last soldier stood alone, his breathing ragged as he spun around, his back to a tree, clutching his rifle like it was a lifeline. The red dot of his laser swept across the underbrush, trembling with fear. Necalli watched him for a moment, hidden, unseen. The soldier’s radio crackled with static.

"Command, we’ve been, there's something here. We-I need evac! Now!"

Necalli stepped down into the clearing, his presence quiet, almost serene. The soldier froze, his eyes widening behind his visor as the jaguar mask emerged from the shadows. He lifted his gun, finger trembling on the trigger.

"Don't" Necalli warned, his voice low. "You’ve come far enough. Don't end up like your friends."

The soldier hesitated, the weight of fear holding him in place. He half considered pulling the trigger, but luckily for him he was too late. With a final, swift movement, Necalli disarmed him, his macuahuitl cutting through the rifle with surgical precision. The soldier stumbled backward, falling to the ground, his wide eyes reflecting the vibrant golds and reds of Necalli's cloak.

"The jungle protects what is sacred." Necalli murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And you are not welcome here."

The soldier scrambled backward, his breath coming in panicked gasps, and then he turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush like a wild animal fleeing a predator. Necalli didn’t follow. Let the man tell his story. Let them know what awaited any who sought to take from Dorado.

As the jungle returned to its natural silence, Necalli stood alone among the fallen, his gaze distant. His father would disapprove of this, he knew. This wasn't their way, this open confrontation with the outside world. But the outside world was closing in, and Dorado had to be defended. No matter the cost.

With one last glance toward the horizon, where the lights of distant invaders flickered in the distance, Necalli disappeared into the night.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]P O S T   C A T A L O G:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i][list]
[*] Volume 1 - The Heir of Dorado
    [list]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192957-ultimate-one-universe-emergence/ic?page=8#post-5561690]1. The Hunt Begins[/url]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5562619]2. Footsteps in the Jungle[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5563954]3. What Condition My Condition Was In[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5565810]4. New Suit, New Enemies[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5567700]5. Yaretzi[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5570162]6. Return to Tradition[/url]
    [/list]
[/list]
        [/i][/indent][/indent][/hider]

[hider=Chivalry's not dead][CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/B][/COLOR][h1][color=lightgray][b]B L A C K  K N I G H T[/b][/color][/h1][hr]
[img]https://i.redd.it/2umhmcjbdntc1.jpeg[/img]
[CENTER][sup]
[color=darkgray]"A thousand years and still chasing shadows."[/color][/sup][/CENTER][h3][sup][sub][color=darkgray]D U N C A N  W H I T M A N   [color=lightgray]♦[/color]   K N I G H T   [color=lightgray]♦[/color]   T R A N S I E N T   [/color][/sub][/sup][/h3][img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img]
[/CENTER][COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3] O R I G I N S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]Long ago, legends were written about what could be considered one of the first superteams: the legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. One character who is often omitted from these tales of heroism is the Black Knight. Duncan was a close friend and ally of Arthur and his knights, but he struggled endlessly with his past and the curse of the Ebony Blade. He was born in the late 5th century, the son of a bandit in the Scottish Highlands who, through much strife and combat, grew into a knight-errant serving under the grace and command of Arthur.

Merlin bestowed upon him the Ebony Blade—a sword forged from a meteorite and imbued with both immense power and a terrible curse. The blade granted him enhanced strength and unmatched combat prowess but at the cost of a growing bloodlust and insanity that threatened to consume him the more unnecessary blood was spilled using the weapon. The curse only grew after he bested death in a duel of wits and became immortal after falling during battle. After the fall of Camelot and the death of King Arthur at the hands of the villainous Mordred, Duncan became a wandering knight, fighting to uphold the ideals of chivalry even as the world around him descended into chaos. He hunted Mordred across the land, seeking vengeance for his fallen master. Fearing that the curse would eventually turn him into a force of destruction, Merlin placed him into an enchanted sleep after his battle with Mordred, hoping that time would dull the blade’s influence.

Duncan slept for over a millennium until the emergence of new heroes—and the return of his old nemesis, Mordred—awakened him. Now, in the modern era, he must navigate a world that has long forgotten the age of knights and sorcery, all while battling the darkness within him and the evils that have returned to plague humanity.
 [/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]The cold moon looked down upon the vast desert, a barren wasteland that seemed to stretch into eternity. Duncan Whitman, the Black Knight, trudged through the endless expanse, his armor dull with dust and battle scars, yet still a symbol of the honor he struggled to cling to. He wished endlessly he had Valinor with him. His steed would have provided much-needed company on the journey and made it far easier on his feet. But Valinor was gone, gone like everything he cared about. The Ebony Blade at his side thrummed with dark energy, its curse growing stronger as it vibrated with the souls it had taken. Duncan felt a million voices in his head telling him to kill. But for now, its hunger was directed toward one man—Mordred.

The traitor had fled across the land, ever since the day he plunged Britain into chaos with the death of King Arthur. Duncan had pursued him tirelessly, driven by a vow to avenge his fallen king and to rid the world of Mordred’s treachery. Now, at last, he had cornered the villain in this forsaken desert, far from the green hills of Camelot.

In the distance, a figure emerged from the swirling sands, clad in dark robes that fluttered in the hot wind. Mordred. His eyes glowed with malevolent power, and a twisted grin spread across his face as he saw Duncan approaching. The two men stared at each other, their shared history palpable in the charged air between them.

“Duncan Whitman,” Mordred called out, his voice echoing across the dunes, “Loyal to the end, I see. Even in this wasteland, you cling to the dead king’s ideals.”

Duncan stopped in his tracks, his hand resting on the hilt of the Ebony Blade, the dark metal cool against his palm. “You took everything from me, Mordred,” he replied, his voice a low, controlled growl. “From all of us. This ends now.”

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent a shiver down Duncan’s spine. “Foolish knight. Do you think a cursed blade will save you? Or have you already succumbed to its darkness?”

With a snarl, Duncan drew the Ebony Blade from its scabbard, the weapon gleaming ominously in the moonlight. It seemed to drip with red energy like blood. As the energy hit the sand below, it sizzled and steamed into the night. The air around them seemed to hum with anticipation, the very land sensing the clash that was about to unfold. “The blade will do what it was forged to do—end your wretched life.”

Without another word, Duncan charged forward, his boots kicking up sand as he closed the distance between them. Mordred responded with a wave of his hand, summoning a surge of dark magic that crackled through the air like lightning. Duncan raised the Ebony Blade, its cursed power absorbing the magic, deflecting the energy away as he pressed his attack. Mordred’s hands drew back and shot forward once more as more dark energy shot out at Duncan. The sword was doing its best, but sparks of lightning began arcing around the blade and burning his face. All he could smell was blood and burnt hair as the unkempt beard he hadn't bothered to shave in his pursuit began burning.

He closed in on Mordred, the evil son of a good king, drawing his own blade and blocking a downward swing from Duncan at the last moment. Duncan's eyes glanced down at the blade, and a mixture of shock and anger tore through his body as he shouted,
"You would desecrate your own father's corpse? Steal Excalibur? Thieving pilferer, have you no shame?"

Mordred's lips curled into a sneer "Shame is for the weak and the foolish, Whitman. I have claimed my birthright."

They pulled their blades away and swung again, locking them against each other. The darkness of the desert was only illuminated by the stars and the pure light of Excalibur clashing against the dark aura of the Ebony Blade, creating a spectacle of sparks. The air around them sizzled with energy, the very ground trembling beneath their feet.

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "And what of your own blade, Black Knight? A cursed weapon that feeds on blood. Are you so different from me?"

Duncan's jaw tightened. The whispers of the Ebony Blade grew louder, urging him to unleash its full potential, to end Mordred once and for all. But he knew the cost. He pulled his blade back again, sending a kick to Mordred's midsection that sent him stumbling back. Duncan regained a high guard, holding his blade along his left forearm with his right hand as he and Mordred stalked in circles around each other like two lions. Duncan felt the weight of exhaustion pressing upon him. The long journey through the desert, combined with the draining effects of the Ebony Blade, had sapped his strength. Yet, he couldn't falter. Not now.

Mordred charged him, and Duncan parried, thrusting his sword forward and plunging it into Mordred's shoulder. His success was marked with a painful yelp from Mordred, but also a vicious downward swing from Excalibur. Duncan reacted quickly; the sword was firmly lodged in his opponent’s shoulder and wouldn't budge. He held his hand up to block the path of the holy blade, and it embedded itself into his hand, causing Duncan to shout in equal parts anger and pain.

His eyes met Mordred's with a fury the dark wizard had never seen before. Duncan allowed the voices to overcome him. Arthur was dead. Lancelot was dead. Guinivere was dead. All that was left was himself and Merlin who had gone into a self imposed exile. Why did this treacherous knave deserve to live. Why did any of them deserve to live.

Duncan let go of the Ebony Blade and sent a brutal punch to Mordred’s jaw with his metal gauntlet, sending him tumbling to the ground, blood splattering across the sand. Excalibur was released from his grasp and landed point down into the sand. For once, Mordred looked frightened as the Black Knight approached him, his hand dripping with blood and his aura glowing with an overwhelming, black flame.

The Black Knight approached Mordred, tearing his Ebony Blade from the man’s shoulder. He could faintly hear him calling for mercy, but all was numb and deaf as he drove the cursed sword through his chest. He could barely think, his mind racing as he struggled to keep hold of his sanity. He watched as what remained of Mordred crumbled to dust and his robe whipped away into the desert air.

Pulling the Ebony Blade from the sand, he left a trail of blood as he stumbled forward into the desert. He fell to his knees and tore his helmet off, throwing it as far as he could away from him as he stared upwards into infinity. He began mumbling to himself.
"Merlin....Merlin....I'm so exhausted."

Duncan's voice wavered as he called out into the desolate expanse, his strength nearly spent, his spirit battered by the weight of the curse and the horrors he had just committed. The desert winds howled in response, carrying his desperate plea across the dunes.

A mirage appeared on the horizon, a figure emerging from nowhere, cloaked in robes that seemed to blend with the sands themselves. Merlin, the ancient wizard, approached with a grave expression, his eyes full of sorrow as he took in the sight of his once-noble knight, now reduced to a man on the brink of madness. His visage was shimmering, transparent. Merlin was a thousand miles away, somewhere Duncan would never know, appearing to him in one last favour to his plea.

"Duncan," Merlin’s voice was soft, yet it carried the authority of ages. He knelt beside the fallen knight, his hand gently resting on Duncan’s shoulder. "You have fought valiantly, but the curse of the Ebony Blade has taken its toll."

Duncan’s eyes were wild, his breathing ragged as he clutched the hilt of the sword, his knuckles white beneath the metal of his gauntlet. "I couldn’t stop it, Merlin. The blade… it’s consuming me. I killed him, but at what cost? I’m losing myself."

Merlin nodded solemnly, his gaze turning to the Ebony Blade, which pulsed with a dark, malevolent energy. "The blade was forged from the stars, imbued with power beyond mortal understanding. But with that power comes a terrible price. You are not the first to fall victim to its curse, but you are among the strongest to have resisted it for so long."

Duncan looked up at Merlin, desperation in his eyes. "I cannot control it anymore. Please, Merlin, end this… end me."

The wizard’s expression softened with compassion, though his heart weighed heavy with the decision before him. "No, Duncan. There is still hope for you, but not in this time. The world is not yet ready for what you have become, and you are not ready to face the darkness alone."

Merlin raised his hand, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as he whispered ancient incantations. The air around them began to shimmer, a soft light enveloping Duncan as the magic took hold. Duncan felt a strange calm wash over him, the voices of the blade fading into the distance, replaced by a soothing silence.

"I will place you into a deep slumber," Merlin continued, his voice gentle but firm. "You will sleep for centuries, perhaps millenia, until a time when the world has changed and you are needed once more. Perhaps then, you will find a way to break the curse, to wield the blade without losing yourself to it."

Duncan’s eyelids grew heavy, his exhaustion overwhelming him as the enchantment began to take effect. He struggled to keep his gaze on Merlin, to hold onto the last vestiges of consciousness. "And what of the world, Merlin? What will become of it?"

Merlin smiled sadly, his eyes filled with a wisdom that spanned the ages. "The world will endure, as it always has. New heroes will rise, and the old will fade into legend. But when the time is right, you will awaken, and your story will continue."

With those final words, Duncan’s eyes closed, his body sinking into the soft sand as the spell took full hold. The dark flames that had surrounded him flickered out, leaving only the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply in his enchanted sleep.

Merlin watched over him for a moment longer, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had done. But he knew it was necessary. The Black Knight’s time would come again, and perhaps then, he would find redemption.

With a final wave of his hand, Merlin summoned a gentle breeze that covered Duncan in a blanket of sand, concealing him from the world until the day he would awaken. The wizard turned and began to walk away, his figure gradually disappearing into the shimmering heat of the desert, leaving only the silent dunes behind.
[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]P O S T   C A T A L O G:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i][list]
[*] Volume 1 - Beggar Knight
    [list]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5546298]1. Awakenings[/url]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5546716]2. A Test of Strength and Honour[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5548878]3. Childhood Memories[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5551560]4. The Desert's Shadow[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5553694]5. Gazing Into the Abyss[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/pms/8231311]6. The Serpent's Coil[/url]
[*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5558595]7. The Awakening Beast[/url]
    [/list]
[/list]
        [/i][/indent][/indent][/hider]


[hr]
Retired

[hider=Terrific][CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/B][/COLOR][h1][color=crimson][b]M R . T E R R I F I C[/b][/color][/h1][hr]
[img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img][CENTER][img]https://preview.redd.it/dcu-mr-terrific-as-iconic-mr-terrific-image-by-alex-ross-v0-mp22o84dgq8d1.jpg?width=1080&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=bff7871edf545a377f7dbe09d0133b73b4020ff8[/img]
[sup][color=crimson]"The world isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be."[/color][/sup][/CENTER][h3][sup][sub][color=crimson]M I C H A E L  H O L T   [color=lightgray]♦[/color]  S T A R T U P  C O - F O U N D E R    [color=lightgray]♦[/color]   M E T R O P O L I S    [/color][/sub][/sup][/h3][img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img]
[/CENTER][COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3] O R I G I N S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]Michael Holt is a brilliant young entrepreneur, co-founder of the tech startup Holt Industries. With multiple degrees including Quantum Physics, Psychology, Electrical Engineering, among others all from Metropolis University, Michael has always been ahead of his peers, excelling in both academic and practical pursuits. However, beneath his achievements lies a series of personal tragedies that have shaped his worldview and driven him to use his talents to make the world a fairer place.

The first happened when he was only a boy. His older brother, Jeffrey, who had been his mentor and best friend was tragically killed by a drunk driver. The second happened early in highschool, when his parents died in a senseless act of violence during a home burglary gone wrong. The death of his family deeply affected Michael, solidifying his belief that the world is inherently unfair. Since this point, he's had a strong urge to change the world for the better, and make it a great deal fairer. Luckily he was taken in by his oldest and best friend, Alex Baker's family. Their families had been friends for years, and the boys were basically brothers from a young age.

Michael’s journey into heroism began with the development of his first prototype T-Spheres, multifunctional devices capable of advanced computational and defensive capabilities. His roommate and best friend, Alex, now a cybersecurity expert, became his only confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly in their cramped apartment, pooling their limited resources and immense intellect. Despite their financial struggles and lack of high-quality equipment, their combined skill and determination made up for it. Their apartment, small and cluttered with discarded prototypes and circuit boards, became the hub of their innovation. Each late night and early morning spent tinkering and testing was a step closer to their vision of fairness and justice. Driven by a shared belief in the importance of fairness and equality, Michael donned the mantle of Mr. Terrific. Inspired by their progress and potential, they founded Holt Industries, a startup aiming to revolutionize technology and create a more equitable world.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]Michael adjusted his makeshift costume in the mirror of their tiny apartment, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. One of his T-Spheres, still in its prototype form, was clutched tightly in his fist. His best friend and roommate, Alex Baker, busy at his desk surrounded by a variety of screens and wires, looked up at him.

"Ready for your big debut, buddy?" Alex asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Michael replied, his gaze steady. “Just remember, this is all uncharted territory. If anything goes wrong, I’ll need you to keep me updated.”

“Got it. I’ll be monitoring every move. Just stay sharp out there,” Alex said, turning back to his screens, each one displaying something completely different from the last. The center screen had an ever-updating view of the traffic congestion around Metropolis, while the one to its right had a visualizer of various police radio channels he was tuning into for updates on the city's crime. The left screen was currently playing one of Alex's favorite old movies, as it often did. Alex was a genius, but with ADD for sure. "Dude, don't forget – we never got the flight mode working on the T-Spheres yet. I put a motor in them so they should roll back to you, but don't go losing them on your first night out there. I don't want you coming back telling me our prototypes fell off some building downtown."

Michael nodded, taking a deep breath before climbing out of the window of their small flat and onto the fire escape. Once he was on the roof, he looked down upon the city in the cool night air. The city was alive with the usual buzz, but tonight, it felt different. He pulled a balaclava over his face and tucked it into his T-shirt. His costume, if you could even call it that, definitely needed some work. His leather jacket was the only thing that really stood out amidst the mishmash of casual clothing he thought he could move best in.

Hours passed as Michael moved from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any sign of action. He was about to give up hope when his communications link with Alex buzzed in his ear.

"Yo, dude, I'm picking up some chatter about smuggling going on at the docks. Cops are too busy tonight to handle it. If you're not too tied up playing Candy Crush, maybe you could check it out?"

"On my way," Michael replied, turning around and picking up the pace toward the docks.

He arrived at the docks to find a group of burly-looking men unloading crates from a boat under the cover of darkness. He sidled up to a wall and peeked around it, counting the hostiles. There were four, no, five of them, but only three seemed to be unloading the crates. He watched for a few moments more, wishing he hadn't after seeing the situation get a whole lot more complicated.

Two other men emerged from the boat, dragging a dejected-looking woman with them. Drug trafficking was one thing, but human trafficking was a whole other level. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out two of his spheres. They were rudimentary, and as he faced potential death, he definitely wished he'd done more testing on them, but they'd have to do. He thought about the best way to go about this. Confronting them head-on wasn't smart; he was outmanned and had nowhere to sneak up on them. If he didn't act fast, though, they'd be out of here with those girls faster than he could catch up. His eyes darted to a wall next to him, then to the smugglers' boat and the warehouse just behind them. For the first time tonight, a smile grew on his face.

He held two of his spheres between his forefinger, middle finger, and thumb. His eyes flickered back and forth between the three targets he'd identified, his brain doing a thousand calculations a second. Finally, he locked on. He could see the exact velocity and angle he needed. He drew his arms back and let them loose.

The spheres flew at speed, ricocheting off each target before bouncing off each of the smugglers' heads, knocking them unconscious. Then the unexpected happened. One of the last criminals, who had been escorting their victim to the car, pulled her in tight and moved her into the path of the sphere. Time almost went in slow motion as Michael called, "Weight!" and the sphere dropped to the floor. They hadn't installed many upgrades to the spheres yet, but in their efforts to develop self-propelled flight, they'd managed to invent a variable weight system for the gadgets. Michael thought they'd just be handy in preventing any criminals from stealing his hardware. Little did he know it would prevent him from hitting an innocent girl.

The kidnapper slid a switchblade out from his pocket and held it to the woman's throat. "Come out now, or she gets it!" he demanded. Michael had to oblige. He emerged from his cover, his hands up at his side. His heart was beating out of his chest as he timidly approached the man, his bravado and confidence suddenly gone as he was face-to-face with real danger.

"Come on now, man, put the knife down and no one has to get hurt," he pleaded. The man laughed.

"Seems like the only one who's going to get hurt here is you, bozo. What are you dressed up as anyway, dork? Halloween's not for another few months." He let out a sneering laugh. Michael didn't find the situation so funny, though. And for every laugh that escaped the horrible man's mouth, another twenty thoughts ran through his head as fast as a freight train.

Eureka.

Still holding his hands in the air, he made a slight gesture with his hands, not big enough to be noticed, but just enough to send a command to his spheres. Silently and gently, they began rolling from their respective positions towards him, circling round him before stopping quietly at his right boot. The kidnapper pointed his knife towards Michael.

"Say, how about you take that funny mask off now that I hold all the cards. And after that, why not tie yourself up so me and my boys can give you a bigger headache than the ones they're bound to wake up with?"

"I don't think so," Michael spoke, a look of shock passing through the criminal's eyes. "You might think you hold all the cards, pal, but I always like to keep a few up my sleeve." As he finished his sentence, he sent a walloping kick to the spheres at his foot. They flew at just the precise trajectory to hit their targets—the knife and the forehead. The man toppled backward, falling into a crate of the merchandise they had planned to shift.

Michael smiled beneath his mask, tapping into his communicator and telling Alex to get the cops to the area pronto. He collected the spheres and slid them back into his jacket pocket as he approached the woman. She looked terrified by the ordeal, but for the first time in history, a woman was actually glad to see a man in a balaclava approaching her at night. She jumped at Michael, wrapping him in an unexpected hug and thanking him profusely as he could only react with bewilderment. He did his best to put on a voice that sounded like he knew what he was doing.

"You're safe now," he said, gently extricating himself from her embrace. "The police are on their way."

The woman nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, thank you so much. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

Michael gave a reassuring smile, though his mind was already racing, thinking about what needed to be improved on his equipment for next time. "It's what I’m here for. Just try to stay calm until the authorities arrive."

As he turned to leave, the woman called out to him. "Wait! Who are you?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. They had prepared everything except an alias. Just as he was about to shrug it off, the woman pointed at the back of his jacket.

"It says 'Terrific' on your jacket," she said, a faint smile breaking through her fear. "You really are... Mr. Terrific."

Michael glanced over his shoulder at the faded word stitched onto his leather jacket. He smiled. The jacket was a thrift store find, not exactly something he thought would become part of his identity. But alas.

"Mr. Terrific, huh?" he mused, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, I guess that'll do."

With a final nod to the woman, Michael turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. His heart was still pounding, but now there was a thrill of triumph mixed with the adrenaline. He’d done it. His first night out, and he’d actually made a difference.

As he made his way back to the apartment, Alex's voice buzzed in his ear. "Hey, you okay? I heard the chatter on the police radio. They’re on their way."

"Yeah, I’m good," Michael replied, the excitement still coursing through him. "And guess what? We’ve got a name."

"Oh yeah?" Alex sounded intrigued. "Lay it on me."

"Mr. Terrific."

There was a brief pause before Alex laughed. "You serious? Mr. Terrific? Alright, man. If the shoe fits, right?"

Michael chuckled, climbing back through the window into their cramped apartment. "Exactly. Now let’s get to work on those spheres. I’ve got some ideas."

As he settled back into the familiar chaos of their workspace, Michael couldn’t help but feel a sense of purpose. The world wasn’t fair, but tonight, he’d taken a step towards making it a little better. And with Alex by his side, he knew this was just the beginning of something truly terrific.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=lightgray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]P O S T   C A T A L O G:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i][list]
[*] Volume 1 - First Prototype
    [list]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5543865]1. Broken Guns and Broken Arms[/url]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5545923]2. A Family Affair[/url]
    [*] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5548878]3. Childhood Memories[/url][/list]
[/list][/i][/indent][/indent][/hider]