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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Waldorf Astoria - Washington D.C., United States of America
Shoot to Thrill #1.03: Back to Bed
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Philanthropist

Alcohol flowed freely from the bar as the night became a blur. As ordered, Major Jordan bought the first round of shots, subjecting the group to Picklebacks before Rhodey promptly took that as his cue to leave, followed quickly by Danvers as Jordan swung an arm over the blonde woman and offered her a second round. Stane bought next, ordering a pitcher of beer for the group while Karoline planted herself firmly in a corner of the upstairs bar, raising a cocktail to salute Jordan who at some point had lost his shirt and was now line dancing on top of the bar rail, double-fisting a pair of his namesake highballs filled with who knew what by that point.

At Stark’s behest, the band went through every classic rock cover they knew as Tony kept prompting for more, eventually joining them on the small stage for a rendition of ‘Dream On’ that miraculously didn’t shatter every piece of glassware in the Waldorf. Throughout the entire night, Miss Anovna hung into Tony, pawing at the billionaire like a lioness with a gazelle. Before the clock had even struck midnight, Tony was sporting a large hickey on his neck. By the time last call was issued, Tony’s shirt was open by three buttons, his ear lobes purple and his chest covered in teeth-shaped bruises.

Unsurprisingly, Ali’s panties were hanging out of her clutch by that point after the pair had made at least three separate trips to the bathroom together.

Jordan was still dancing atop the bar to ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ by the time Ali managed to drag Tony away from the bar. The billionaire reached behind the rail to help himself to a bottle of top-shelf bourbon before the pair stumbled through the bright hallways toward the Presidential Suite. Karoline’s giggles could be heard echoing in the corridor as she pulled the shirtless Major Major from the bar and followed Stark’s lead, dropping the protesting Major off alone in his own room for a cold shower, pausing just long enough to blow him a kiss before darting into her room.

The cold air of the suite was a welcome reprieve from the sweat and heat of the bar as Tony flopped onto the bed, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. His chest heaved up and down as he tried to stop the room from spinning. He moved to sit up before a manicured hand against his chest stopped him.

“Shhh,” Ali whispered, removing Tony’s glasses. He suddenly felt blind without the smart lenses that helped him keep up with the world around him. His connection to J.A.R.V.I.S. was removed the second they came off.

“You get comfortable, love, I will slip into something less comfortable.” She added, picking up the bag that was left delivered to the room. She opened it, looking down inside as a playful smirk crossed her face. “Oooh, this Pepper lives up to her name, very spicy.”

Tony could only laugh, knowing Pepper there was a chance whatever was in that bag was nowhere near as spicy as Ali had let on. Not that it mattered, it didn’t stay on for long anyway.

He had to sit up though, the spins were not going away and if they continued this way the last place Tony wanted to be was near the bed when he threw up. That kind of thing put a damper on the mood.

Did Ali say she was going into the bathroom to change?

It didn’t matter, he’d just excuse himself, or not.

“Where are you going, love?” The familiar voice asked as Tony lifted his head from between his knees, his eyes following the leather catsuit that looked vacuum-sealed to Ali’s body. It was definitely out of Pepper’s comfort zone, not anything like Tony would have expected. Roleplay had never been something that Pepper picked for his girls. Lace mostly, usually matching sets with garter belts, playful teddies, and even the occasional corset but a leather catsuit was a first.

As was the gun.

“Back on the bed please, Mr. Stark.” Miss Anovna ordered, waving the gun as Tony raised his hands moving a finger to tap his glasses only to remember he was no longer wearing them.

“No, Mr. Hogan nor anyone else will be disturbing us.” She retorted, one hand still firmly gripping the gun while the other held up his glasses. “Don’t worry, I won’t be breaking them either as I imagine that also triggers an alarm.” The blonde woman smiled, placing the glasses down gently out of Tony’s reach.

“Hands above your head, Mr. Stark.” She ordered, waving the gun as Tony hesitated. “If you would prefer to keep your hand, I suggest you do as requested. I need your fingerprints, whether they come with the hand attached or not was not specified.”

“I know I said I was kinky, but we really should have discussed a safe word before you brought out the handcuffs.” Tony tried to smirk as she cuffed his hands above his head. “I’m really into the whole femme fatale look, but are you sure you weren’t looking for Jordan? Seemed to me he had more of a thing for blondes.”

“I am not blonde,” Ali winked both slowly and sarcastically, “And you invited me here. Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Stark.”

“If it’s money you’re after, that’s not a problem, name a price, I’ll write the cheque, get you a whole closet full of catsuits. You’ll be rich and look great.”

“Your money is of no interest to us, Mr. Stark.” She replied, raising the butt of her weapon, “But now you sleep.”

The screech of brakes echoed through Tony’s head as the boy craned his neck to look out the back window of the car. The snow created a perilous hazard, more so on these back country roads. His father, Howard, had sworn this was a way to bypass the congestion of the city, but the congestion of the city at least meant plowed roads.

Out here there was nothing.

Someone had just hit their car. Howard lost control, the screeching brakes careening the vehicle off the road, burying it into the deeper snow of the ditch.

“I don’t see any headlights, It wasn’t another car, Maria, it must have been a damned deer.” Tony winced at the tone of his father’s voice as the man raised the back of his hand to silence his wife. If it was the slap of a hand on flash, it was the crack of a leather belt that followed the man’s increased volume. A whimper came from the front seat but no further protests as the cold winter air filled the car while Howard stepped outside.

Howard’s body suddenly skidded across the hood of the car, his terrified face appearing briefly through the windshield before he disappeared into the darkness of the barely illuminated night.

Maria screamed and Tony unbuckled his seat belt, diving for the floor of the backseat. The shattering of glass echoed through the vehicle as shards showered the back seat. His mother’s scream was cut short and then suddenly there was silence.

Silence and cold.

A pounding headache awoke Tony as he tried to sit up only to find himself handcuffed to the headboard of the Waldorf’s Presidential suite. He looked up at his wrists suspended upon his head, blinking as he tried to find his glasses.

His mind was a discombobulated mess, the events of the previous night scrambled as he tried to piece together who had left him like this and why for once his pants were still on.

And where were his glasses?

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony called, there was no response. He opened his mouth to speak again before a knock at the door was followed by a key swipe. The door swung open as Pepper entered the room. She took a quick survey of Tony before shaking her head as disappointment was written all over her face.

“C’mon, this is hardly the worst situation you’ve found me in,” Tony smiled as Pepper shook her head.

“I’ll get the hacksaw.”
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Mintz
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Mintz

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UOU Presents: The UNBEATABLE Squirrel Girl!
ISSUE #1: The Squirrel, The Hippo, and The School Bell

Forest Hills New York

"So, wait, are you a man who got turned into a hippo, or the other way around?"

CRUNCH



Okay, well, the sound of pavement turning to fragments told Doreen that the big hippo man wasn't in a mood for answering questions. As she hastily rolled out of the way of his savage blows, she was seriously starting to wonder what was happening. Not even a month ago, she was just stopping purse-snatchers, and now there was an eight-foot-something hippo standing on hind legs in a wifebeater trying to turn her, and everything else in front of it, into a skidmark. Maybe the news was onto something when it talked about how the country was losing its mind...

She didn't get the luxury to think that over much longer when Squirrel Girl heard a chittering on her shoulder; Tippy-Toe, of course, had kept their head in the game. "Car! CAR!" "Car?!" Doreen snapped back to reality as she watched some poor family's SUV come hurtling at her, though mercifully devoid of passengers. On sheer instinct, she leapt a good 20 feet straight in the air, her entire body frozen stiff mid-air from her narrow dodge as she watched the vehicle skid brutally across the road. Of course, though, she couldn't exactly fly. Soon enough, gravity kicked in and sent her plummeting back down to Earth, though she kicked off it with her tail to set off some of the force, pushing her further down the street and away from the giant brute as she caught her footing. It would've looked impressive from an onlooker's perspective, but for her, it had all been natural reflexes, and rather frayed and panicked ones at that. She was really thankful she was as agile as she was about now.

"Man, is this thing just gonna keep throwing everything not nailed down at us?!"

As if in response, a mailbox was unceremoniously torn from its post and hurled at her like a throwing hammer, to which she ducked under just in time, letting out an 'eep!' in response. "...Okay, scratch that, he's just throwing everything at us!" Her partner in...Well, not crime, but partner nonetheless, spoke up. "I don't think running is solving anything, and if this keeps up, it might try its luck at throwing whole houses. Maybe we could go on the offensive?" Doreen nodded, determined. She was getting tired of being on the backfoot, anyhow. "Yeah! Let's show 'em what Squirrel Girl can do!" Taking up a sham of a martial stance, Squirrel Girl gave the universal signal for "come at me", prodding the raging monster into continuing its assault, and needless to say, it hardly needed encouragement.

The beast let out a roar, and Doreen could now say with confidence that she would pay good money to never see a hippo look this angry again, as it barreled down towards her and lunged at the young girl, as if looking to crush her in its embrace. Moving quick, she practically limbo'd her way past the obvious attack, with only her tail to keep her propped up at her odd angle. Using the chance, though, she leveraged her tail some more to push her body upwards, past the hippo's outstretched arms (the things were as thick as trees, jeez!) and landing a solid kick straight to the jaw! Squirrel Girl gave a confident grin at her direct blow...Only to see the creature had barely budged an inch, and if anything, only got angrier, as its nostrils flared and it wound its hands back, attempting to clap them with her poor leg between to make a nice Squirrel Girl Leg Jam.

Yet again, when her thinking failed her in this moment, her body didn't, at least. Her tail sprung into action, pushing away from the hippo menace as she awkwardly tumbled against the tarmac for a brief moment until she caught herself on all fours. Not her most graceful moment. "Okay, so...It's as tough as it looks. What now? "What now?! I dunno! One minute I'm walking to school, and the next I'm up against a...A four-ton hippo man! It's a little jarring!"

Clik!

Doreen whipped her head backwards to a strange snapping sound behind her. She was pretty sure she'd cleared out all the bystanders earlier, but somehow, more had found their way to the scene, and even worse, they were taking pictures. She was pretty sure one of them was even streaming all of this! It was made all the more upsetting when she took a closer look and realized they seemed about her age; it wouldn't be surprising if they were from Midtown High as well. But hey, that meant she might not be late to her first class! I mean, it was either that, or they were more interested in watching a girl fight for her life against a giant man-hippo than going to school.

...

Okay, she probably needed to pick up the pace. Just to be sure.

Squirrel Girl didn't have much time longer to think on that, though, as she heard the sound of metal being ripped from the earth. Quickly whipping her head back around to face the actual problem, she realized that the big lug had just tore a streetlamp straight out of the ground, and was charging towards her with it headfirst, treating it as some kind of lance. Her first instinct was to dodge, but she froze up when she heard the screams of the assorted teens behind her. If she just moved, then...

One of the students, a shorter girl with a bad case of braces, couldn't help but close her eyes and huddle close to herself, stuck to the spot in fear as the monstrous figure barreled towards her. This was it; they were going to die, run over by a hippo man. It wasn't exactly the most glamorous way to go out, but...

"HRRGH! M-Move! Get outta here!" The head of the lamppost was mere inches from the girl's face, and it wasn't exactly brought to a grinding halt, but...It was stopped. Squirrel Girl was gripped onto the makeshift lance with both arms, and even her tail, just barely keeping pace with the herculean strength of the charging hippo with everything at her disposal; but it had bought the precious time they'd needed, as the teens scattered when they realized the severity of the situation firsthand. Doreen wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but sadly, her adversary had different plans.

Realizing that its sheer brawn wasn't working, it decided to utilize the difference in weight class instead. Squirrel Girl found herself unceremoniously lifted airborne alongside the street light, to which she clung to like her life depended on it; which, for all she knew, it certainly did. Unfortunately, that absolutely wasn't the call. The hippo man, seemingly livid with her desperate grasp on their weapon, let out a bellowing roar...And an actually legible word of the English lexicon.

"OFF! OFF!"

It was like being on the worst tilt-a-whirl ride of your life, as the hippo man shook her violently to and fro while her muscles tensed, knowing her grasp on the lamppost was the the one thing keeping her from flying to a new borough. Eventually, though, her squirrel strength gave way, and as she shakily relinquished her grasp, she went flying straight into the front yard of a lovely looking house on Ingram Street - and subsequently went crashing straight through a tree in said front yard, and crunching into the side of their neighbor's clean white fence. Doreen was seeing stars, and birds, and a few other things you'd expect someone who would definitely be feeling the effects of a concussion in the next few minutes would be seeing. As she wearily blinked at the sun and skies overhead, she faintly heard a voice.

"Doreen....Doreen...! Wake up! Wake..."

"UP!"

Doreen felt something bump against her head again, and it shook her back to consciousness. "Whuh! I'mup! I'm...Ooh, acorn!" Doreen unquestioningly took the acorn from Tippy-Toe as they stood on her chest, unwitting to the fact it had been used as a blunt instrument to try and knock her back into her senses. Which had worked, miraculously. Or maybe she'd just realized there was a nut in front of her and her stomach took the lead. Regardless, she popped it in her mouth and crunched down as she regained her bearings.

"Woof, that was not fun...I think being hit by a car would've actually hurt less. Aw, nuts..." She managed to get herself back to her feet, but she felt off-balance and ached all over. That...Was probably the bare minimum she should've expected after all that. While she staggered to a standing position, though, her foe seemed raring to go, having tossed away their faux polearm and began approaching with a bloodcurdling look in their eyes, cracking their giant knuckles...But both Doreen and the hippo man were both stopped in their tracks by an awful piercing sound, the likes of which she'd never heard. Even Tippy-Toe wasn't spared the terrible noise, quickly darting into Squirrel Girl's jackets to try and cover herself from it.

Between the concussion and the ear-splitting frequency, Squirrel Girl was lucky to still be conscious, but was barely cognizant of anything going on around her. The most she could make out was the thunderous footsteps of the hippo-man, though they led away from her (mercifully). When the horrid noise subsided, Doreen blinked and stumbled around, somehow managing to keep on her feet after all of that. Tippy-Toe popped out of her bomber jacket with a look of concern. "Are you okay, Doreen? That was..." "A lot. Yep, it was. A lot...Uh, what were we doing before all of this, Tip?" Before her squirrel friend could respond, her heightened hearing picked up the distant ring of a...

"A bell? Wait...THE SCHOOL BELL?! Nonono, I can't miss another Chemistry class or mom'll lose it!" Without hesitation, Squirrel Girl leapt to the nearest rooftop, though her landing was...Less than stellar, as she practically planked across the top of the house with a grunt. Clearly her body was still dealing with everything that'd just happened, but she had bigger concerns. As did Tippy-Toe. "You're still dressed up. You do remember that, right?"

Doreen gathered herself on the rooftop and looked down to see she was still definitely Squirrel Girl. She had forgotten - or more accurately, her memory had been dislodged by the nastiest hit she'd taken in her entire (very brief) superhero career. Blinking a few times, she stammered out a response. "O-Of course I knew that! I can, um...I'll find somewhere at the school to change! We don't have time for normal old Doreen to walk three freaking blocks!" With her case having been made, the not-quite-so-Unbeatable Squirrel Girl vaulted her way from house to house in a mad dash to save the most important thing of all...

Her report card.
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by webboysurf
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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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Volume 1: Revelations
Chapter 1: Confessions


"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since I last confessed."

The confessional smelled of old sweat, rotting wood, and mothballs. It was dark, which was not unusual this late into the evening. Candlelight faintly gleamed in through some wooden slats on the doors leading out. The old priest who sat on the other side of the divider couldn't see the confessor through the shrouded mesh grate. "What troubles you, my son?"

The response was immediate. "I hurt people this week."

"Well, that is part of being in relation with other-"

"I beat them."

The silence was deafening. Matt could hear the priest shift uncomfortably in his seat. His heartrate began to sky-rocket. The smell of sweat was more potent. "You... assaulted people?"

"The cops aren't doing anything to stop it. When they do, charges aren't sticking. Abusers go back home to their wives, gangs are still flooding the alleys... I had to do something."

Realization. Fear. Adrenaline. "You're... you're telling me you're..."

"I tried everything, father. The last thing I wanted to feed that anger, that evil... but the system failed. So I'm doing things my way."

"You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen..."

"I am. And I am sorry, father, for what I must do."


♦♦♦


"Confess."

The bloodied man's sobs were overwhelming. He blubbered and wailed, occasionally gurgling on blood in the process before he spit it onto the ground in front of him. The faint smell of urine and iron permeated the air. The drum of that man's heartbeat rang in Matt Murdock's ears as blood dripped from his bruised knuckles. He reached forward, grabbing the man by his hair as he dragged him across the alleyway. The remnants of hair gel clung to his fingers. The man tried to claw at the ground, but he was too disoriented to find any purchase.

"You know what you did. Say it!"

The man drooled into the curb his face rested on, blood and saliva running together. He closed his eyes, trying to focus through the pain and delirium. "I... I don't know what you're-"

Matthew Murdock lifted his foot and smashed it down onto the man's head. The sound of teeth shattering rang in his ears like church bells. The howl of pain that erupted from the man in response echoed in the alley. Matt could hear the jingling of metal rushing his way... the fabric they brushed against sounded familiar.

A cop.

Matt looked back to the man, pushing him over with his foot. His face was covered with a white bandana, hiding his hair and eyes. He wore an old running outfit: black running pants, a black longsleeve, and gloves. His boots were now slick with his target's blood, smearing it into the pavement. "You're going to tell them what you did. You're going to plead guilty and not take a deal."

The man sputtered in confusion. "Wh... what?"

"You're going to tell the officer what you do to your wife. Do you want to know why?"

The man's cry was muffled as he buried his face in his hands. It sounded faintly like a question.

"You're safe in prison, because I'm out here."

The cop rounded the corner, finding it empty. Empty except for a battered young man who was wailing in pain. The officer took a deep breath, reaching up for the walkie mounted to her shoulder. "Dispatch... we've got another one."

Static came through the walkie for a moment, before a voice cut through the interference. "Another what? Over."

The cop sighed, pressing the button again. "Another damn vigilante."
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista Ponk-ifista

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Eyes red, irritated from crying, Jean’s consciousness returned. It was already early night, her clock reading out nearly 8PM, and she heard a low whining through the thin walls of the Baltimore apartment. Throwing herself out of bed, she moved her sore body out the door and right to the other room. Blocks and toys drifted out of the path of her feet as she reached the crib where her baby stood, hands on the bars of his baby jail. The face of her son shifted from a lonely pout to a gleeful smile the moment he saw her. As she picked up the ginger boy only clad in a diaper, the weight of everything came back to her. The papers she had to grade, the hunger in her stomach that needed to be sated, the messy process of feeding Nathan, the horrific school shooting she’d narrowly averted, the small amount of time she had before she would go to sleep and meet the next day. “Are you hungry?” she cooed as she went to their kitchenette, plopping Nathan in his high chair while trying to ignore the crushing feeling in her chest.

Turning the oven back on, the knob jabbed her with guilt of having wasted her husband’s kindness earlier. Normally he’d be there before he went to his graveyard shift, Jean’s exhaustion from school blowing away in his presence. Instead she now sat at the table multitasking, feeding Nathan some green goop from a Gerber jar with one hand while planning out her next week of lessons on a laptop with most of her attention. Nathan spit out his third bite in a row, spit and slop dribbling down, Jean wasting no time in dabbing at it with a damp paper towel. An intrusive thought came to mind, not for the first time and most definitely not for the last, as she imagined using her power to have him eat without fuss. She’d decided to herself while she was pregnant with him that she wanted to raise him as a human. To feels his weight and warmth with her own arms rather than shove him about telekenetically. To understand his needs and emotions as any mother would without probing into his undeveloped mind. To implant suggestions into another mind and interrupt their free will, their agency and autonomy, was not something she wished to ever do to anyone. The effects it might have on a mind, especially a developing one, was something she didn’t not want to consider. And once in her life, she had done it, just earlier today. Putting the baby spoon down, she stood, rushing to the sink, face growing hot and sweat beading down her neck. Her throat seared as she belched up a dollop of stomach acid, her hair floating away from her face as she hacked her lungs out. Face tightening as it grew red, she choked back tears while her sinuses burned. Once she finished, she turned back to the room, sinking to the ground. Looking back up to Nathan as she sniffled, he was arched to look over at her. “Ma, ma, ma, ma,” he mewled.

“I’m okay sweetie,” croaked out Jean’s reassuring lie.

-----

Flopping down on the couch with a plate of enchiladas, Jean reached for the remote, Nathan scampering about with the barrier blocking the way out of the living area. Sinking back in the seat, she put on the TV for background noise while she considered the teen she’d stopped early today. Fearing for his mental health (from both before and after her incursion…), she struggled to find an answer. Maybe she wouldn’t, but there needed to be some kind of outreach. She considered poking around online, or even just finding him and trying to talk it out. Not interested in news reruns, she took a bite before changing the channel, only to find the news still playing reruns. The same ones. Adjusting her sitting she continued, but the next two stations were all on the same note, just with different commentators. A terrorist attack had occurred in Metropolis, the footage not of the police and firefighters, but mostly focused on the red and blue, a single man who defyed all human logic and science in his caped crusade against a terrible toymaking terror. It wasn’t the new Hollywood blockbuster. It was very real.

Half chewed food still in her mouth, Jean slumped back in her seat. Nathan whizzed by, giggling happily in whatever made up game he was playing. Jean wished she could capture that carefree attitude as her already tired brain struggled against the implications unfolding right in front of her.

----

Jean didn’t sleep well that night. She only ever got a few hours, but that nap made her sleep schedule even worse. She’d been lying in bed for a couple hours when Scott came home a little earlier than normal, quiet as a mouse. She laid still in bed trying to get some rest as he went about his eve, tidying, watching TV at the lowest possible volume, checking on Nate every time he stirred. She must have found some comfort in that unchanged routine, for she awoke at 6 to the buzz of her alarm. The news didn’t come up as she went about starting her day and Scott went about stopping his. There was a tacit understanding: no one knew what the future held, and it wasn’t worth putting their life on hold just to speculate. Mornings were a time to get hectic and prep for the day to come, where the afternoon and evening were better for talking, if Nate wasn’t particularly rambunctious in between his regular naps. Jean gave Scott a peck on the cheek before heading off to school, Scott’s shoulders looking heavy as he headed off into his own balancing act of sleep and (baby)sitting.

Her day at school was certainly more interesting than average, not that yesterday would be surpassed any time soon. But discussion of current events could only be tolerated for so long in the face of Jean’s lesson plan.

“So, let’s say you hear that a friend got hurt. Maybe they broke their leg or were in an accident. What do you think is the worst way you could say ‘get well soon’?” There was a silence as everyone put in some thought. Or, well, Jean wanted to think that, but the glimpses she got into those small heads before she closed herself off weren’t exactly promising. Kicking the gears into motion, she started, a marker squeaking on the whiteboard, “Giving them a signed card would be a good way, but a bad way might be, say...” She stepped to the side, her red lettering reading out ‘gws ttyl lol’. “A text message no one can read maybe isn’t the best idea.” She smiled slightly at the confused faces trying to make out the shortened words.

“Goood wall son, tattley lol?” A few giggles sounded, Jean cracking a warm smile. “‘Get well soon, talk to you later, laughing out loud...but I like yours, Dominic!” Drawing a heart she said, “Oh, but we can add some emojis!” A few more giggles. “Does anyone want to tell me why they think it’s not the best idea to say it like that?”

After a few seconds, a hand went up. “Because you can’t understand?”

“True! But even if the message does get across, a card feels much more personal. Same if you called them, or went to go see them in person. Which of those would you like the best if you were in the hurt?”

Hands went up a bit quicker. Jean picked them out one by one. “A card because I can remember.” “Uhhh, if I can’t go out and see my friends then I would be happy if they came to see me!”

“Right! When someone is thoughtful, or doing something personal, it makes you happy. A text message can be a good way to let a friend know what you’re doing, but it’s easier. Especially if you use emoji or lazy language. And if you’re trying to tell someone you care about them then you don’t want to come across as lazy. Even with a card you still had to pick it out and spend money on it: there’s a gesture there. So-”

“Mrs. Grey?” came a whisper from the door. Spotting the thick rimmed glasses and short white hair of Mrs. Herb, she gave a curt nod to her class before shuffling to the door. “What is this about cards? We have testing coming up.”

Jean spoke in hushed tones, “It’s English, it’s just more...fundamental. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and yesterday-”

Mrs. Herb’s lips went thin. “Well...you’re doing good for your first year, but don’t push it.” She moved along, leaving Jean to her business. A tad flustered, she returned, trying to pick things back up from where she left off.

She’d been thinking about it a lot lately. Which is to say, since last night. Language didn’t concern merely words. Color was a language. Blue could be sadness but it could also be calming, relaxing. A sign that there was no danger. Red could be the inverse, that of aggression, but not as a secondary color to blue. It also meant passion, like that of love. Yellow, happiness and joy. A shield worked as a symbol of protection and defensiveness. The ‘S’…

Super, of course.

Someone was out there, putting their life on the line to protect people from threats that couldn’t be comprehended. In barely even 24 hours other stories were starting to filter in as well. The world was changing, and quickly, yet at the forefront of it all was a man who didn’t entirely need words to show what he was fighting for. Many were reacting with fear and anxiety, that someone so strong was right in their midst. Certainly a number of fear mongering headlines were espousing that very same sentiment. But Jean couldn’t see it that way, not in the least. Thinking on it too much had her beating back tears. She couldn’t escape the thought, the want for someone like her doing the very same thing. She thought of that mutant child, still out there, abandoned and alone.

Her mouth was dry, that evening, as she once again made the climb to her apartment. Then she had been sluggish and exhausted, now she might as well have flown. Reaching the door, she came in to see Scott on the couch, Nathan sitting in his lap sucking on his own fingers as the TV played. She wondered if he was sleeping or not until he turned his head to her and smiled. She loved him so god dang much.

And that was going to make the next few minutes very difficult.

Choking back her emotions, she carefully approached, Scott sitting up as he sensed something amiss. “Everything good honey? How was work? Nothing-”

“No, nothing like yesterday!” A smile flashed to her face and quickly melted back into a look of apprehension and excitement. “Scott...I need to talk to you about something very important.” She took a seat next to him, Nathan reaching his arms to her. She took hold of him and brought him close.

Scott seemed to be staring, before his mouth slipped open in apparent realization. He choked, before saying, “Jean, uh, I love you and Nathan, but I just don’t think we have the finances to be thinking about another kid!”

Jean giggled. “No, no that’s not it.” Scott visibly relaxed. Jean bit her lip as she struggled to find the courage. Scott turned one eye on her, so she imagined, unable to see it through is sunglasses. “Don’t keep a guy waiting too long. You’re gonna make me wish I was the one who could read minds.”

Jean gave a laugh, unable to help herself around him. “Scott, I think...I think I want to become a superhero.”

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. His jaw hung a bit as he took a deep breath. She didn’t need to read his mind at all, drawing a breath and sucking her own lips in. With a slow exhale, he stole a glance at the TV, before clumsily admitting. “I think I’d rather talk about having another kid...”
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Simple Unicycle
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Simple Unicycle ?

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T H E P U N I S H E R
T H E P U N I S H E R

I S S U E # 3
I S S U E # 3

T R I A G E
T R I A G E


"We come to you live from the crime scene at the Stardust Lounge in west Staten Island, where a brutal shooting has taken place that claimed the lives of nine men and left one in critical condition. Police are still on the hunt for the gunman who fled the scene shortly before first responders arri-" I turn off the TV. Too much background noise. Need to focus on the task at hand.

"You sure you don't want any help with this?" Dave asks. He sets a bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table next to the first aid kit. A few other implements lay scattered across the table, haphazardly thrown together for this impromptu operation. I grab for the bottle and take a deep swig before setting it back down.

"I got it, Dave. Thanks." I look down at my bare thigh and the bullet hole that had torn into it. Didn't hit the bone, thank God, but it didn't go clean through either. I'm gonna have to do this the hard way. I take a washcloth and stick in my mouth, biting down hard, then grab the tweezers off the coffee table. I take in a deep breath, before slowly inserting the tweezers into the wound.

My nerves light up like they're on fire, searing pain shooting up my entire body from the bullet wound. I bite down hard on the cloth and dig the tweezers deeper, deeper, until finally, I get a grip on the bullet. One quick tug and the tweezers pull out the wad of metal, covered in a shiny crimson coat of my own blood. I toss the tweezers back onto the coffee table and grab for the peroxide, splashing some onto the bullet hole.

It burns. And what I'm about to do is gonna make it even worse.

I grab the blowtorch and a metal butter knife off the coffee table, sparking the torch and sticking the blade into the flame. Slowly but surely, the blade begins to burn a bright red, and I kill the torch. I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath, then press the hot knife against my wound. My scream is muffled by the rag stuffed in my mouth. I feel tears pricking at my eyes, then rolling down my cheek. I fight through the pain, keep the blade pressed down onto the wound.

Inhale.

Count to ten.

Exhale.

I pull the knife away. The wound has sealed, the skin shriveled and almost seeming to glow a bright, burnt red. While a moment ago my thigh felt like it was on fire, the only pain left now is a dull and throbbing ache. The smell is almost nauseating, like burnt steak with a heavy helping of blood and iron. I keep breathing through my mouth to avoid the stench, trying to slow the beating of my racing heart.

"Fuck... That hurt just to watch," Dave says.

I wipe a cold sweat from my brow. "Imagine how it felt... Jesus..." I grab for the whiskey again and take another swig. It helps, if only a little.

"So... What's next?"

"Next? Next I go after their operations."

"... Their operations? Why?"

"I'm not gonna get to Saint without tearing his organization down."

"What? You can't be fucking serious, Frank. I thought this was about getting the guy who killed your family?"

"This isn't about revenge, Dave."

"Then what is it, Frank?"

"It's about making sure they get punished for their crimes."

"Fucking hell, what, you think you're John Wick now or some shit? This is the stupidest idea you've ever had and that's saying something."

"You know me, Dave. I've never been one to do the smart thing."

"No, I guess not. This is suicidal, Frank. You're trying to square up against one of the largest criminal organizations on the east coast. They'll kill you."

"Maybe they will. But I'll kill a whole lot more of them."

"You're... You're serious."

"Yeah. I am." I take another swig from the bottle of whiskey. "So. Are you going to help, or not?"

Dave looks at me like I've gone insane. After a moment, however, he just looks down at his lap. "... Shit." He looks back up at me. "Alright... Where do you wanna start?"

I smile.
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Roman
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Roman Grumpy Toad / King of Dirt

Member Seen 39 min ago



Jasper was leaning back in his chair, head resting and eyes closed, trying to sense the caffeine from his second coffee permeating through to his bloodstream. He felt like if he focused on it very hard, he could will his body to metabolize it faster. In actuality, he was slowly falling asleep, while the caffeine struggled in vain against a thirty-plus-year career that was sadly culminating in routine and tedium.

Three sharp raps on the glass front wall roused Jasper from the cliff-edge of slumber, and he jerked forward sharply, spinning his chair to face the door and opening the folder he held in his hand. The door was pushed open, and around the edge peered the face of a young agent, skin tanned, hair black and buzz-cut, and a neatly-trimmed goatee adorning his well-set jaw.

"Good morning, Marty." Jasper said, beckoning Martin Reyna into his office proper. Agent Reyna had been with SHIELD for only just over a year after a respectable career with the FBI, but Jasper had to admit he'd done well acclimating in his short time, and they'd formed an odd kind of friendship that was half peer-to-peer, half mentor-to-mentee. "Got something for me?"

Martin stepped in, leaning on the glass as he flicked open a manila folder of his own, glancing briefly at the contents before looking back to Jasper.
"Maybe. How familiar are you with your grandfather's research?"

Jasper leaned back, taking a deep breath as he cast his mind to the annals of history. His grandfather, Jason Sitwell, had been instrumental in the 60's when the mutant pandemic first rose to public notice, then public concern, then public panic; his early foray into the suppression of the so-called 'X-Gene' paved the way for the invention, and then refinement, of SHIELD's present-day X-Inhibitor Serum. The problem was, Jason Sitwell had invented it, and his son - Jasper's father - Colin Sitwell had perfected it. By the time Jasper got through probation and signed on as Agent proper, the formula was stable, with minimal side-effects, and had begun to enter mass-production; there simply wasn't anymore work to be done on it, and Jasper's skills were ultimately better suited elsewhere.

"Not greatly." Jasper admitted with not a small pang of shame for not being more diligent in his studies about his own family's legacy. "I have the basic gist of it, I suppose. I wouldn't say I'm any more of an expert on it than the lab boys, though."
"Well, I went to the lab boys already, and they're stumped, so here I am with you."
"They just fobbed you off like that?"
"Little bit. They said they'd look into it but had other priorities."
"They probably do. Plus, you're still green. What's this about?"

Marty pushed himself off the glass and walked up to Jasper's desk, passing him the folder he'd been leafing through. Jasper tossed his own for-show folder onto the mismatched pile of identical papers in front of him, and began to peruse Marty's as he explained.
"We had a girl come in for her regular inhib dose yesterday, and within minutes of inoculation she went into grand mal seizure."
Jasper stopped reading and looked up at Marty from beneath his brow.
"Well that's never happened before." He said.
"I know. I looked through the early research - what I was cleared to look at, anyway - and while early iterations had plenty of side effects, seizure was never one of them, even at the lowest incident rates. And since then, the serum's only gotten better. Side-effects these days barely amount to more than a slight headache and cottonmouth."
"So you've got the mother of all outliers." Jasper concluded, handing the file back. "Or, more likely, she lied in her pre-screen and reacted poorly to a serum-smack combo platter."

Marty rolled his eyes.
"You don't think that's the first thing we checked? Bloods were clear. Too clear, I'd say, like her blood was formulated in a lab for perfectly level everything."
Jasper just raised an eyebrow. Marty looked at his feet.
"It's just weird, is all."
"How's the girl now?" Jasper asked, careful not to let on that his curiosity had been piqued. Marty would sniff it out, and then he'd never hear the end of it.
"She's fine. In observation at the inoculation center, but fine. MRI didn't show anything abnormal or any lasting damage. Again, she was just...clear."
"So what you have is a healthy girl with one anomalous seizure, and you want my weight on that instead of on..." he gestured broadly at the messy stack of potential cases and assignments that covered, edge-to-edge, his workspace, “...any of this?”
Jasper could see the blood rushing to Marty’s cheeks as his face fell and he became sheepish, embarrassed. Still looking at the floor, he only managed to mumble out:
”Yes, sir.”
“Hmmm.”

Jasper rubbed his chin. It was certainly odd, but not necessarily odd enough to warrant follow-up. Still, it was his family recipe, so to speak. If it was suddenly dysfunctional, or worse, dangerous, things would spiral pretty quickly, and he'd be completely unable to avoid being smack-bang in the damn center of it.

Better to get ahead of the curve.

"Alright. Let's go take a look. At the very least, we can grab some to-go bags for the lab boys."
Marty looked up, smiling.
"I hoped you'd say that. I've already commissioned a humvee."
"Nice and inconspicuous." Jasper said, his dry tone immediately deflating the grinning junior agent as he stood and threw on his blazer. "Good thinking."
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Waldorf Astoria - Washington D.C., United States of America
Shoot to Thrill #1.04: Bing
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Back to Bed

“There is no record of an ‘Ali Anovna’ working for any news outlet, commercial, independent or otherwise.” Happy stated while sitting as Tony paced back and forth tinkering with a new pair of glasses. A slight glow pulsed from the lenses before he placed them on his face and began looking around the room.

“In fact, there doesn’t appear to be a single woman in the world with the name ‘Ali Anovna’ nor Alicia, Alisha, Alyssa,” The head of security was rambling at this point, “Well you get it, it probably was an alias. Closest thing I can find is the surname ‘Alianovna’ which is a Slavic name meaning bright or beautiful, which hey, she was that.”

A glass flew across the room smashing against the opposing wall prompting Happy to look up from his laptop at Tony.

“Are you using Google right now? Are you seriously using Google!” Tony yelled, “Happy if I wanted my company’s best interests protected by Google, I’d buy Google!”

“Actually, it was Bing…”

“Another word,” Tony pointed a finger towards Happy, “You say another word about Bing and I’m gonna lose it.”

“Tony, Tony, take a breath,” Stane interrupted coming between the two men, “Nothing was stolen that had War Machine on it. You’ve already severed the other glasses’ connection to the server. J.A.R.V.I.S. reports no outside access, it was a mistake and a little embarrassing, but ultimately harmless.”

“I don’t make mistakes.” Tony retorted, spinning around on Stane. “And I don’t much care for being pistol-whipped when I thought it was going to be my gun going off after a night of fun with a dommy mommy.” He snapped, prompting Pepper to bury her face in her empty hand before Tony turned back to Happy and snatched the laptop out the other man’s hands.

“She wanted my fingerprints, Obi. War Machine’s encryptions are entirely based on my fingerprints overlaid from which a numerical sequence is extracted using the Fibonacci sequence.” The billionaire studied the screen, swiping several times and then typing as he spoke.

“The last thing I want is Lady KGB hacking my suits before Jordan gets a chance to crash and burn against Rhodes.”

Tony’s fingers flew across the keyboard before he spun the computer back around and shoved it into Happy’s hands.

“There, I just put Rhodey’s credentials in, you have access to several Federal intelligence databases now. Find Alianovna.”

“Tony, you can’t just hack these sites, you’re not above the law and this isn’t exactly legal.”

“Of course I am, Happy, I’m rich,”

“Tony, I can’t use this!”

“Find Alinovna!” Tony shouted back strutting out of the room, “I’m having a shower and I’m using all of the Waldorf’s hot water.”

“He’s certainly in a mood.” Stane smiled attempting to break the tension.

“You should have seen him when he found out Miss March wasn’t actually a set of twins but the same woman superimposed in the photo twice.” Happy responded, “Absolutely livid.”

“Spoiled man-child is what he is,” Pepper interjected, looking between the two men as they both turned wide-eyed with surprise that the usually meek woman had spoken up, “Oh am I not allowed to have an opinion now. I didn’t see either of you using the hacksaw to free him.”

“It’s just-” Happy started, stopping as Pepper turned on him.

“What, Happy?”

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Happy finished, “I like it.”

“I am so thrilled for you, Happy,” Pepper rolled her eyes, “Let him know his suit is laid out for him when he gets out of the shower. I’m going to have a mimosa and enjoy the brunch buffet.”

“Oh,” Happy interjected, “Uh, actually you’ll need to special order yourself one, they have strawberries on them.”

Pepper paused, her cheeks flushing slightly before she nodded to Happy.

“Uh thanks for the heads up,” She said before exiting the suite as Stane raised a thick, gray eyebrow towards Happy.

“You knew she was allergic to strawberries?” He asked with a bemused smirk.

“Of course,” Happy replied, his cheeks reddening rapidly, “It’s a, uh, security issue.”

“Smooth, Happy, smooth.” Stane clapped the head of security on the shoulder before following Pepper’s leave. “If Tony is looking at me, I’ll be at a table enjoying a New York Strip with a side of eggs.”

Stepping into the hallway, Stane watched the door close behind him before reaching for his phone and walking the opposite direction as Pepper. Waiting until the redhead was out of earshot, he tipped the device on its side and opened the SIM card before slotting a new one in. Waiting for the phone to decrypt, he watched a singular number populate the contacts before he pressed ‘call’.

“кодовое слово”

“черная вдова” Stane replied. “I’m looking for Agent Romanova, tell her it’s concerning Dynamo.”

“Please hold, comrade.” A modulated voice replied before elevator music played in Stane’s ear much to his surprise. After what felt like several minutes a voice responded.

“Do you have encryption?”

“Overlay and apply a Fibonacci sequence, it’ll unlock.”

“Thank you, comrade.” She replied, “You have performed your services adequately.” The line went dead and Stane felt a cold sweat form on the back of his neck. Opening his suit jacket, he moved to put the phone back in his pocket before noticing a single red dot moving on his chest.

The large man didn’t have time to duck before glass exploded from the bullet and it found its way into his chest.
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Supermaxx
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Supermaxx dumbass

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UOU Presents: THOR, GOD OF THUNDER
ISSUE #3: Heart of Ice

Winchester Point Alaska

Silence descended on the Alaskan woodland as the monster died. Keith Kincaid lay with his back against the stream bank for several minutes taking deep, long breaths. He'd just watched one of his friends- maybe friend was a strong word- coworkers transform into some...thing. Some terrible, monstrous thing, and then it tried to kill him. Him and the freak in the sleeveless breastplate. Keith still wasn't sure he hadn't hallucinated the other guy. He was a giant dressed for LARP camp in the middle of one of the harshest snowstorms Keith had ever seen. That, and every punch he threw carried the force of an artillery shell.

"Jane's not gonna believe any of this shit," he muttered, dragging himself to his feet.

It was a short walk to where Thor hunched over the remains of the Man-Beast. The big man was covered in blood, only some of it his own. That dip in the frozen stream had drenched him from golden-haired head to wing-tipped boot. His hands were balled into fists. He was shaking. Whether it was fueled by rage or him succumbing to the cold, Keith couldn't say.

Keith cleared his throat. "You saved my life," he started hesitantly, "thanks. But we really oughtta get out of here. I'm surprised you haven't collapsed yet, to be honest with ya."

Thor turned. His face was marred by grief, yet only for a moment. On looking the mortal in the eye a steel came over him like a mask, hard and unflinching. He rose.

"Nay, I must thank you. That abomination would have surely ended me without your timely intervention. You must be one of Midgard's finest warriors to face down such a monster so readily." Thor raised a hand to Keith in acknowledgement of his valor.

Keith blinked. The offered hand went ignored as Keith threw his own to the sky. "What the fuck, dude?! I'm a radio engineer, not- Do you know what that was? Why are you- I mean, Jesus Christ, what is happening?"

"In truth, I know not the nature of the beast that assailed us," Thor confessed. "It seemed able to probe my inner thoughts. There are some manner of creatures I know of that can accomplish such things, though none of them are of your realm. I wonder how it came to be here..."

"How did you come to be here? We're in the middle of nowhere and you look like you just stepped outta the Renaissance fair."

"I come from Asgard by by of the Bifrost," Thor explained, pointing up at the Aurora Borealis.

"Alright, don't tell me." Keith held his hands up, palms forward in surrender. "But we can't stay here. If you want I can take you back to my truck and I'll drive you to Winchester Point. We've got a base there. Jane can check you for, uh, hypothermia. Maybe we can find you a ride home."

"I have my doubts I will ever return home. Let us go to your abode, then. I wish to learn more of what attacked us."

Together, the two unlikely companions made their way through the storm stricken wilderness. It was a long walk, and each of them was already bone tired. Thankfully Keith proved a worthy navigator. He'd gone on a number of hunting trips up this direction; animals getting into the transmission array had damaged some of their equipment in the past, so they had the all-clear to trap and shoot anything they found in two mile radius of the station. When Thor asked Keith to explain what he was doing up here, Keith tried and failed miserably to get across the concept of a radio.

"You are telling me that you can speak into a device and another, identical device on the other side of your planet can hear what you say in the same instant? And you claim this is not sorcery?" Thor asked as he shoved a tree down over a crevice several dozen feet deep. Once he was sure the tree was secure, he climbed atop it and crossed to the other side of the crevice. Keith followed reluctantly.

"Radio waves travel at the same speed as light, man. A signal can loop all the way around the planet seven times in a second."

"Mine brother Hermod can do much the same. As our messenger, he is tasked with delivering the word of Odin to every realm on the branches of Yggdrasil. Once, he rode for nine days and nine nights to the depths of Helheim on a dare! None have ever replicated his feat."

Keith sighed. If anyone else had said that it would've been a joke, but after walking with 'Thor' for over an hour it was clear he either believed every word or had the best damned poker face Keith had ever seen. It wasn't worth trying to argue with him, nor could Keith coax out the truth. In all likelihood, Thor was a delusional mutant that wasn't up to date on his X-inhibitor shots. He'd need to contact the authorities- both about the monster and his new friend.

Relief warmed his weary bones when they broke the treeline and found the array station. The truck was right where Keith had left it, and there was no sign of anything that went bump in the night. Kieth all but fell over himself climbing inside to start the heater. Warm air brushed the frost from his cheeks. It was enough to make a grown man cry.

Afterward, he rummaged around in the back of the cabin for a spare set of cold weather gear. They didn't have any clothes in his new friend's size, unfortunately, but he could squeeze into the coat with a little effort.

"You have my thanks, mortal." Thor gave an approving nod even as he struggled to get the zipper more than halfway up the coat.

'Might fit better if you ditch the fake armor,' Keith thought, adjusting the dials on the radio transmitter mounted in the dash. The storm hadn't subsided much but the northern lights seemed to be back to normal. If he bumped up the wattage on the transmitter he might be able to get a signal out- wouldn't help much with getting one back, though. Still, he needed to warn his team if he could.

Not that he knew how to explain a psychic, body-snatching monster without sounding fucking nuts.

"This is Keith to base, come in. Russ, some crazy shit has happened and I need you to pick up. Now."

All that came through was static. Static, and a strange, keening whine. Must've been more interference. Strange way for it to manifest, though. There was a clarity to it almost if as it 'COME AND SEE' talking.

"Bzztttt..eith is that...I will make you perfect can't hea-BRRRRTMold your flesh as if it zzzzt is clay in my hands rrrr...you. Say ag Sinsain?" of your humanity washed away in my image.

Stars spun in Keith's eyes. His jaw slackened. The words behind the broadcast coiled around his brain like a serpent. Beneath his skin, something crawled.

Thor drove his fist through the console with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

The sudden explosion of sparks and plastic woke Keith, who blinked a few times before his face twisted in baffled anger. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Your magic box is vulnerable to the same mental emanations that creature used. I could see your sanity slipping away."

"Oh, you're one to fuckin' talk." Keith slammed his forehead against the steering wheel. After a few more impacts, he was satisfied he'd bashed whatever remained of his rationality out. A giant, red mark covered half of his face, but he felt better.

Lines of worry crisscrossed Thor's face. "We ought to return to your base camp with all due haste. I do not believe our troubles are over."

"On that we can agree." Keith sighed, starting the car.




Winchester Point was burning when their truck pulled into the yard.

The main building was a long, single story structure shaped like the letter U. It was a boxy, ugly building, and its leftmost arm was on fire. Black smoke and ash choked the air. Flames danced along the wooden rooftop, stifled by the cold but not wholly choked out. This was the main building where the crew lived and did most of their work. A secondary structure on the right-hand side was also on fire. That was the garage, and the open vehicle bay showed their ATVS, trucks and snowmobiles were all ablaze.

"Shit, shit, shit." Keith cursed under his breath, throwing the truck into park and jumping out. "Do you see anybody?"

"Nay. The smoke clouds my vision as well."

"We need to get inside. People might be hurt. Come on!"

Smoke-choke air burned their lungs as the two ran into danger. Thor went first, tearing the door off its hinges and throwing it aside. Mounted on the wall just in the entrance were a fire extinguisher and a fire man's axe for just such an emergency. Keith retrieved the former and started cutting a path through the hallway to the sleeping quarters. Thor took up the axe. It lacked the comfortable heft of his signature weapon, but its edge was sharp. This would do.

'Have you come to witness my works, Son of Odin? Will you surrender your flesh to our choir? To join godhood and mortalkind...We will be the envy of the universe...'

Thor gritted his teeth. "I have had enough of you. I will take your mocking tongue."

'I have no tongue yet I have many voices. No arms, yet a thousand hands do my work. You inhale me with every breath you take, child of lightning. To resist is pointless. You are a shell already- stripped of all that made you...you.'

Shutting out the voice, Thor pressed on, shouldering past Keith to delve into the fire. Flames licked at his flesh. Pain seared his muscles as the fire caught on his clothing. Thor cared not.

He found the source of the flames only moments later. It lay in a pool of dismembered limbs and meat. Parts of it were identifiably human, like the face of a man twisted in fear. Others were covered in thick fur, like that of a dog or a wolf. All of it was sloshed together into one, horrific whole. The gore pile was drenched in a stinking liquid he couldn't identify- that seemed to be the source of the fire.

"Another monster," Thor called over his shoulder to Keith, "and someone else seems to have taken care of it first. Rejoice, friend. Your comrades struggle on."

Keith wasn't as enthusiastic about the find as Thor. He had to fight to keep the bile from rising in his throat. The stench of the thing was unbearable, like rotten meat cooking in a copper pan. "Jesus H. Christ."

Down the tunnel came the crash of steel, the snapping of wood and a scream. It sounded only partially human.

Without another word Thor was off at a dead sprint. He covered the full length of the hallway in a quarter of the time a normal man might have, and he was moving so quickly he couldn't stop at the turn without bashing into the wall. Past a pair of double doors lying on the floor was a large, open chamber filled with tables and benches. It reminded Thor of a mead hall, though it lacked the homely feel with its bare steel and white tiles instead of hardwood and furs. All the blood on the ground didn't help the atmosphere.

Two more monsters lumbered across the room. One had a pair of stately antlers growing from a stump in its neck where a head should've been. Its face was instead lodged in its chest cavity, and it rotated fully in place to stare at Thor with cold, empty eyes. The other thing had two heads: a dog that was barking and snapping at him, and a woman's head, hanging at an odd angle like it was broken. 'Her' jaw hung limply to the side, shattered.

"Look out! Get back!" A man on the opposite side of the monsters yelled at Thor. He had long, flowing hair and a beard to match, and on his back was a strange pair of cylindrical containers. The stranger lifted a tube toward the wolf-woman hybrid and doused it in a spray of fire.

Keith came rushing in a moment later. "Shit, Russ! You're aliv- ah, fuck me." He skidded to a stop at the sight of the monsters and promptly left the room.

"Keith?! Who in God's name is this guy?"

Thor took the fireman's axe in both hands, lifting it high as he charged.

"For Asgard!"
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Eviledd1984
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Eviledd1984 Narn Liberator

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WADE WILSON/DEADPOOL




Issue 1: Smooth Criminal


Location: An Apartment In Toronto, Ontario.


Wade woke up to the sound of his alarm going on. The classic 80’s hit Gloria filled the room, making Wade jump out of bed. Feeling a burst of energy, he started dancing in his filthy bedroom. He got prepared for the day and what errands he needed to run. He knew he needed to prepare to fly to New York for a job. He had been hired to meet people in dire need of his services. He knew what to pack and even listed things he needed.

1. Toiletries
2. Casual clothes
3. Shoes
4. A headshot of Tommy Wiseau
5. A plastic doll that looks like Antonio Banderas
6. Carry on luggage
7. Books (Including Martha Stewart’s Autobiography)
8. His phone
9. Headphones
10. And his shark plushie, whom he named Jeff.


Once he packed all his things, he called for a taxi to the airport. The flight was not very special and was quite dull for the mercenary. Mainly because he was in economics class, and the person sitting beside him wouldn’t shut up about their Chrysanthemum. For the most part, he was trying to flick peanuts at the people in the aisle seats.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Location: New York City.


Getting out of the plane and the airport, he approached the Airbnb he had gotten. The person renting her apartment lived quite close to the most central point of the city. He arrived at the condo; it was eerily similar to his own in Toronto. Wade had to walk over a passed-out junkie that was sleeping on the stoop of the apartment. Knocking on the door, he was surprised when an old woman opened the door.

“Yeah, who are you?” She sounded pretty annoyed that someone was disturbing her while watching Matlock.

My name is Wade Wilson; I’m the guy who rented a room on Airbnb. Here, let me show you the receipt.” He pulled out his phone, showing her the receipt.

“ARE YOU RETARTED? How the hell can I see the receipt? I’m BLIND!!!” She blurted out, which made Wade put the phone away. The old woman pointed to the enormous sunglasses that covered most of her eyes.

She’s feisty, I like her.” Said the good voice in his head.

We should smother her in her sleep and get to sleep here for free!” Added the bad voice.

Sorry, I didn’t know you were blind. Well, I’m sure someone notified you that someone was coming to rent out a room in your home.” Disregarding the bad voice and wanting not to kill a seemingly innocent person. With some convincing, he could finally come inside and settle in.

“My name is Al. And I got one rule, and that is not to mess with my stuff, Or I’ll pop a cap in your ass.” She then proceeded to pull out a pistol but was pointing to the left of him instead of at Wade's face.

I wouldn’t dream of it.” Wade responded with a smile. He found her to be very abrasive, but it was a quality he quite liked. During his stay, he was surprised that Al had a five hundred dollar coke habit. When he asked where she gets this kind of money, she responded to mind his business, or she’d sodomize him with a rolling pin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Later

In addition to getting to know his new roommate, he would complete the many “jobs” his employer wanted him to do. Firstly, he met a nervous arms dealer codenamed Weasel. Who wanted to meet him at a Taco Bell[tm] because he felt safe there.

"So, your Weasel? What kind of gear do you got?" Wade spoke first while munching down on chimichangas. "Man, these chimichangas are the bomb." He thought to himself while eating his food.

"I got lots of stuff; it depends on what you're looking for and if you have the money for it." Weasel responded while nervously sipping his drink. Occasionally, he would look behind his shoulder as if someone was going to surprise attack him.

Wade told him what jobs he would do and needed to be well-armed because most were highly dangerous. And with some more convincing, the two agreed to meet at Weasel's place. Being given the necessary equipment and weapons. He was equipped with pistols and a pair of katanas. His pistols he nicknamed Sonny and Cher. And nicknamed his katanas Hall and Oates.

"Now you're going to need something that will conceal your identity. And during our conversation, I created the perfect costume." He showed Wade a poorly made drawing of Wade wearing a red and black full-body costume. What do you think? I think you'll be really cool in it." He asked excitedly as if this drawing was the best thing in the world.

"It's very nice. Thank you." He said, hesitating, speaking his words. But he didn't want to hurt his feelings. Mostly because the drawing was terrible, and the costume would only make him very recognizable. But he thought he could try it and see if it worked for him.

With him being prepared for his job, he completed them through a series of montages. Wade or, rather, Deadpool. A nickname he was given while in the Weapon X program. He would complete contract killings of mafia members. Killing them in various methods, including explosives, gunshots, and being sliced in half by a pair of katanas. Completing other “jobs” that included stealing corporate secrets and being a bodyguard for a child actor for Nickelodeon. These actions would get the attention of any police and vigilantes in the area. Enjoying wearing the suit after a few of the hit jobs. Mainly because it was good at hiding wounds on his body.

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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by webboysurf
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webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love

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Volume 1: Revelations
Chapter 2: Intercession

"Leather gloves? Damn it, Matt, don't tell me you're moonlighting as a chauffer."

He couldn't see Foggy's face clearly, but he could always hear the smile in his voice. Matt smiled back, hands still running over the braille pages. He was slower than usual, the thick leather muting the tactile paper. But the last thing Foggy needed to see were the bruises on his knuckles, so the gloves stayed on. "Hard to get away with the glasses at night." A faint, almost inaudible chuckle escaped Foggy's lips. He readjusted the papers in his arm, causing Matt to tilt his head.

Foggy paused, looking for the right words. That was never a good sign. "Doreen... she fell last night. At least, that's what she told me when she called. I already called a temp agency, seeing if they can send someone over to fill in." There was a hesitation in Foggy's voice. They both knew that something was wrong... and worse yet, they didn't have the money for a temporary assistant. Matt gave a small nod, standing up from his desk. He plucked his cane off his desk, walking towards the door. "Hey, Matt, where do you think you're going?"

Matt gave a small smirk over his shoulder as he nimbly squeezed past his partner. "Discovery."

♦♦♦


12th and 45th was a less than pleasant part of the neighborhood. While the east side of Hell's Kitchen was more gentrified, the west side still bore the roots of old Manhattan. A smokestack or two, now crumbling and certainly a safety hazard. Old warehouses, a towing company, and an old boxing gym sitting over a couple boarded up storefronts. On first look, from the outside, it was easy to see why some of the buildings were getting torn down to their foundations.

Matt stopped into an alley way behind the gym, his hand reaching up to touch the walls. Where one there had been exposed brick, he felt his hand run over layer upon layer of crumbling old paper. The remnants of old fighting advertisements: boxing, music, farmer's markets. He didn't know what they looked like now. Maybe they yellowed... maybe they got replaced with newer fliers. Somewhere among the layers lived the memory of Battlin' Jack. Somewhere deeper, there was an older name.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

He smiled faintly at the memory. The costume was ridiculous, especially on a heavyweight drunk irishman. The horns on the mask were made of card-board, Matt's own suggestion. It was all for a showy entrance, something to get the crowd riled up. For someone who looked down on the over-produced wrestling Matt sometimes watched on their old tv, Jack would have made a great heel. People loved to watch him fall.

But the Devil... the Devil always got right back up.

Its why his name was changed. Battlin' Jack was just a man.

The Devil was a force of nature.

Matt turned his head away from the posters, his mind focusing and rifling through the sounds ringing in his ear. A familiar voice, high-pitched and frustrated. Another familiar voice, deeper in tone and equally combative. Rent hike... buyout.

Doreen.

Matt lifted his cane up, quickly slamming it on the bottom of a suspended ladder to the fire escape. It was jostled loose, squeaking and squealing as it slid down a few feet. He folded up the cane, tucked it into an inner coat pocket, and jumped up. He kicked the wall on the way, propelling himself another few inches so he could just barely grab hold of the ladder's lowest rung. He scrambled up the fire escape, and into an unlocked window on the second floor. The apartment was empty... most were in the building. Empty rooms echoed the sounds of scurrying critters that had made their home here. Doreen was a floor above. So was her landlord, Frank. Matt stomped his feet on each step as he climbed up the apartment stairs, removing and unfolding the cane from his pocket to keep up appearances. The argument paused as the attorney entered into view.

"I'm sorry I'm late... My name is Matt Murdock. I'm Miss Doreen's attorney."

"You should consider recommending your client take the payout I'm offering, sir." The landlord's tone was short, with a strong whiff of disrespect and annoyance. Frank Farnum was a special breed of scum. He never truly had to work to maintain his dismal lifestyle. He had been given a few properties around Hell's Kitchen, purchased ages ago by a great uncle who had been able to swindle his way into a good deal. While Matt couldn't see the type of metal it was made from, the ticking of finely tuned gears was an indication that Frank was sporting a new watch. An expensive watch.

That was the play, then.

"How much did they offer you for the building?" A quickened heartbeat. A shot of adrenaline. Fear. The faintest whiff of stale sweat. He had to press it. "Certainly a lot more than the paltry sum you've offered my client to move out."

"Maybe it is." Farnum was getting confident. His heartbeat was fast, but his breathing more steady. Farnum's muscles were tensing. Fight or flight, and something told Matt he was the flight type. "It's the best deal she's going to get. Offer is still valid until midnight. I'll be waiting on your call." Farnum brushed past Matt, who remained firm where he stood. He was just another bully, and Matt had seen far worse.

Doreen's heart was beating fast. She took a quick look at her boss, before shaking her head. "He's right, Mr. Murdock. It's enough to hire some movers to help with my things, and cover a security deposit and rent at somewhere uptown."

Matt raised an eyebrow. Frank could have started much lower. If this was his starting offer...

"Doesn't sound like she's going to take it... her lawyer showed up, started asking questions. I gave her till midnight... no, I didn't say anything."

Matt's grip tightened on his cane and he ground his molars. He didn't want to be right... conspiracy was left for nutjobs in the Midwest, after all. But here, in his neighborhood, it was clear someone was pulling strings.

It was going to be a long night.
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Simple Unicycle
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Simple Unicycle ?

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T H E Q U E S T I O N
T H E Q U E S T I O N

I S S U E # 5
I S S U E # 5

H O U S E O F B A L L O O N S
H O U S E O F B A L L O O N S


I put my car in park and cut off the engine before stepping out, taking in the sight of the Lemire Avenue Apartments: a four story brick tenement building situated between a drug store and an empty building with a torn and yellowed "FOR LEASE" sign plastered on the window. The facades of all three buildings are lovingly decorated with gang tags and other graffiti.

The place was built in the late 60s, originally meant to house single young professionals with its studio and one bedroom apartments. Then the Gospel of Sinners closed in on the property in the early 80s, purchasing the property and driving the residents out in order to house their members. Ever since, the place has been a safe haven for the Sinners.

And I'm about to march right in through the front door like an idiot.

No. The Man is simple, brutal. He charges headfirst into battle with no thought, no plan of attack. He's just here to crack skulls. The Butterfly is here to get answers. It thinks of how to approach the problem. And the problem is that if they were to walk right in, they'd get killed. So instead, it will find an alternate entrance.

Walking around the corner of the building, I find that entrance: a fire escape in the alleyway. I could kick off the wall and pull the ladder dow-wait. The grappling gun. I almost forgot about it. Taking it out, I take aim and fire at the railing, the cord shooting out and the hook latching onto the railing. I retract the cord and zip up into the air, landing on the platform. I tuck the grappling gun back into my coat and step over to the window, finding it unlocked. It barely budges when I try to push it open, but with a bit of elbow grease I force it open and slip inside.

The apartment I've entered is barren save for a dirty mattress on the floor and a pile of used needles next to it. I can hear music cranked so loud that the bass is shaking the walls, even though it sounds like it's coming from several rooms away. No one in this room, so I head to the door and open it slowly. The hallway is empty. Small blessings. I walk past a few doors, the music getting louder and louder as I approach the end of the hall. Apartment 210. There's got to be someone in there.

I'm gonna kick the door down, charge in and-

No.

I knock.

After a few moments the door opens and I throw my fist into a man's face. He stumbles back and trips onto a glass table, shattering it and sending a cloud of white powder into the air. I step into the room and take it in as quickly as I can: two men sitting on a couch, their heads snapping in my direction. A third standing by a large speaker, eyes wide. The fourth and last one is writhing in pain on top of the shattered table.

I slam the door shut behind me and lock it, still facing the men. "Where's Mulligan?" I ask.

The two guys spring up from the couch and charge straight at me. I duck into a crouch and deliver a sweeping kick, knocking them to the ground. I stand and kick one in the crotch while he's down, then pick up the other one by the collar. I slam a palm into his nose as I let go of my grip on his shirt and he slams his head on the ground. Blood streams out of his nose and he blinks rapidly in a daze.

The third man screams in a battle cry as he rushes to meet me. I duck under a wild haymaker and slam a palm into his gut before sending the palm up into his chin, his head snapping back. I throw a flurry of punches, onetwothreefourfive into his ribs before finishing off with a one inch punch straight to the sternum. He struggles to keep to his feet and I send him to the floor with a high kick straight to the face.

I take a moment to catch my brea

Arms wrap around my neck. Shit, I forgot about the guy on the floor! I try to elbow my attacker off but he stays firm and squeezes my neck as tight as he can. I find myself struggling to breathe, my elbow jabs to his gut growing weaker and weaker. I throw myself back and slam him into a wall, his grip loosening enough that I can slip out of it and twist around with a punch to the side of his head. He's sent reeling and I slam my fist into his head once, twice, three times. A tooth goes flying out of his mouth with the fourth punch and he collapses.

I walk over to the first guy, the one who's still laying on the shards of glass and groaning in pain. I take in his features: a face like a bulldog, a red mullet... Wait. He's one of the guys from the docks that beat me to near death. Is this Jake Mulligan?

I grab his shoulders and pull him up. "Jake. Long time no see."

"You're supposed to be fucking dead... We killed you!"

"Not well enough. Now let me ask you a question. Where can I find the Reverend?"

"You think I'd tell you, you faceless fuck?"

"No. I don't think you will..." An idea strikes me. "Question: how did I lose my face?"

"What?"

"Answer: a freak chemical accident. A cloud of acidic gas that caused my flesh to melt over my features." I lower a hand to my belt buckle and press one of the tiny buttons on it before bringing it back up to Mulligan's shoulder. Slowly, a thick yellow gas begins to emit from one of the cartridges hidden within. There were three types of the gas: the bonding gas, the removal gas, and one without either component that Tot developed for me specifically for a situation like this that required some fear.

"W-what the fuck!? NO!" Mulligan is squirming in my grasp, trying to escape as the gas slowly creeps up to his shoulders.

"Trust me, you'll look better without that ugly mug."

"OH GOD DON'T PLEASE!"

Tears stream down Mulligan's face. I can pick up the scent of urine too. "Where is the Reverend?"

"THE MAYOR'S PLACE! HE'S STAYING THERE!"

I perk up a bit at that. "Is that so? Are you lying to me, Jake?" The gas is up to his neck now.

"NO! LET ME GO, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LET ME GO!"

"Fine." I shove him away from the gas and he stumbles backwards, falling on his ass and slumping against the wall. I kick him in the face and it's lights out.

Looks like I'm going to make one more stop tonight. The mayor's mansion is on the outskirts of the city limits, kept under guard by the police. The Reverend would be there, if Jake wasn't lying to me. But I trust his word. Whatever loyalty he has to the Reverend wasn't enough for him to keep his mouth shut when faced with losing, well, his face.

I open the door of the apartment and see a crowd of about a dozen men, all lined up and waiting for me with bats and pipes and crowbars.

"Aw shit..."
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Sep
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Sep Lord of All Creation

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"Well I mustard-mit. Our meeting came sooner than I expected, but I relish the opportunity for you to

"-of the CONDIMENT KING!"
Previously on The Flash...


Iris' eyes widened as she looked between the yellow substance in her hand, and the maniac standing before her. "Do you mean to tell me, this is Mustard?"

The man merely laughed. "I am Soy glad you came. Defeating you will give me vinegar-cation, and help me prove I am the créme-de-la-créme."

Iris hopped up. "Oh you're going down-" He raised one of his guns, but it was too late Iris had already started moving, as he raised his weapon she dove down and ran to the left. Coming at him from below she grabbed his gun and pulled to try and take it from his hand. That's when she was hit in the gut by something solid.

She looked down and winced as she was cast backwards as the liquid pushed her away.

"Oh honey. You think that would really cut the mustard?"

Iris fought against the honey he had used to pin her to the far wall. She groaned and pulled. "Ah you bastard-"

The so-called Condiment King raised one of his eyebrows, he had holstered one of his guns, his other one was aimed at her still as he thumbed one of his controls. "Mayo I ask what you mean?"

Iris grabbed a sealed safety deposit off a nearby table, spinning on the spot she threw it at him at maximum speed. It collided with him at top speed, a grunt and a gasp escaped his lips as it came into contact with him, spinning him around. "-you already used that one!

She wiped her hands against her pants, shuddering through her entire body. "-uck- This is gross."

At that moment her earpiece buzzed. "What's going on?" Honestly, she had completely forgotten about the earpiece. She turned away to look at the mess the masked maniac had made throughout the vault.

"I was attacked by someone called the Condiment King" There was nothing but static on the other side of the line.

"The CONDIMENT KING!" Iris turned around as she heard him shout, she probably should have checked whether or not he was out for the count. He pulled a round object from his belt and tossed it towards her. "Tartar for now."

"Oh you've gotta-" Iris eyes narrowed as she turned to run away, however, the cylinder exploded sending a tsunami of sauce directly towards her covering her head to toe in mayonnaise, gherkins and capers. By the time she had cleared her eyes the Condiment King was gone. "-If this is what being a Superhero is like I am seriously going to reconsider this..."

Moving her legs to spread her centre of gravity, she pushed herself off in a pirouette spinning herself around as quickly as possible in a bid to try and clean herself of the various sauces that she had been covered in. It turns out that Looney Toons was not scientifically accurate and despite her best spin all she did was help spread the mess around the bank vault.

Sighing she ran out of the room, the goons from earlier were still incapacitated and she rushed out of the bank. A van threw up smoke as it sped away, Condiment King was hanging out the back doors. "You'll never ketchup to me!"

Iris ran around quickly between the various incapacitated CCPD officers, checking their pulse and breathing. Content that they were all alive, and merely covered in condiment, she pulled a utility knife from one of their packs as well as a pair of handcuffs. Racing after the van it took her less than a moment to catchup to the van, piercing the tyres, swinging herself around the back of the van she pulled the Condiment Kings two wrists together in the handcuffs, grabbing the bridge between them and pulling him out the van and down onto the sidewalk.

Iris heard people murmur, after she heard the photos being taken she looked down at her costume. Covered in mustard, honey, ketchup and tartar sauce. She pointed at Condiment King. "I hate you-" and with that, she was gone.
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Waldorf Astoria - Washington D.C., United States of America
Shoot to Thrill #1.05: Unbiased
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Bing

“Only a mutant could have made that shot.”

“That’s your expert and completely unbiased opinion?” Happy asked, looking around the crime scene as Tony continued to use his smart glasses to scan the scene. He looked from the bloodstains on the carpet, left by the man he considered a father to the window where a hole, only slightly larger than the bullet itself was left. Minimal shards sprinkled the otherwise immaculate tiled flooring.

Stane had been found moments after being shot—one of the few benefits of the Waldorf being as popular a hotel as it was. The shot had thankfully missed Stane’s heart. Almost intentionally so, the paramedic had noted that were it even an eighth of an inch in any direction it would have severed an artery, or worse.

It wasn't an attempted murder.

It was a warning.

“Do you think J.A.R.V.I.S. is biased?” Tony asked, spinning around, “Obi is the only family I have left, he’s now being airlifted back to New York for his own safety, but this was an attack on all of us and more importantly the safety of our future.” The young billionaire snapped before tapping the frame of his glasses.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., run the trajectory again, factor in any relevant external variables and then please tell Happy that no human could make that shot.”

“Based on my computations and available data, indeed, no human could have accurately wounded Obediah Stane from the distance required to aim through a window on the top floor of the Waldorf Astoria.” J.A.R.V.S.’s posh voice echoed in the corridor.

“All surrounding rooftops put any shooter at a strategic disadvantage due to the height difference between the Waldorf Astoria and its adjacent buildings. The angle of entry indicates the shooter was not at a height disadvantage and no aircraft were reported in the area.”

“See, Happy, we’ve got the muties scared. They know what we’re building now and they’re coming for us. We can’t let Obi down.” Tony muttered while continuing to scan the Washington Skyline. “I bet the minx from last night was a mutie.”

“You realize that means you had sex with a mutant,” Happy deadpanned, “Multiple times.”

“Yeah, but I thought she was a woman then, so that makes it okay.” The younger man replied dismissively, “It’s not like she can give me mutie herpes anyways.”

“Are you sure?”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. have Pepper book a check-up,” Tony ordered. “Happy can I leave you with this? I need to catch up with Rhodes and get some suits flying.”

“Why did Obediah come this way?” Happy interrupted, causing Tony to hesitate. “It’s not like Stane would willingly use the stairs, no he said he left to get breakfast but then walked in the opposite direction of the elevator. Why do you choose to come near a window? Was he looking at something?”

“He was making a call,” Tony interjected, “Obi likes the view from that window, he always leaves his room to make calls by that window. Without fail every year we’ve been here for the convention.”

“So, a shooter could have known that,” The Head of Security suggested giving Tony pause.

“I can’t rule it out.” The young man reluctantly agreed, “J.A.R.V.I.S. who did Obi call last?” Tony asked his virtual assistant.

“Obediah Stane has made no calls today.” Came the monotonous response. Tony’s brow furrowed.

“Check again, but access local towers, run triangulation for pings which could have originated from my geographic location.” He ordered, his foot beginning to tap impatiently before Stark started to pace outside the yellow tape. Tapping his fists together before snapping his fingers, Tony impatiently waited for J.A.R.V.I.S.’s response.

“There are numerous calls which could have pinged from within the Waldorf Astoria. Curiously, one was encrypted.”

“Curiously?” Tony asked, “That's a new word for your J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Apologies, Sir, I was merely trying to express myself more ‘humanly’.”

“Noted, schedule a self-diagnostic for later.” Tony ordered, “For now, elaborate on the encryption.”

“It’s rather unique, but not dissimilar to something your father used when communicating with Anton Vanko, his old collaborator.”

“Vanko?” An eyebrow raised on Happy’s face, “That name is familiar.”

“I've probably told you about him, he was a drinking buddy of my father's. Very into ciphers and encryptions. A relic of the Cold War, he was something of a mentor to the old man, but probably even more of a piece of work than dear ol'Dad was.”

“Leave it with me, Tony, I’ll get to the bottom of it.” Happy assured his employer, “I believe you need to get your boys in the air.”

“That I do, you’re a doll, Happy, I’d be lost without you,” Tony replied, blowing a kiss as he turned to leave again. Happy watched Tony enter the elevator before muttering quietly to himself.

“If you only knew.”
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Mao Mao
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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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BATMAN
THE BOWERY
FIRST FLIGHT - THE IRISH SURPRISE


There wasn't much to do stuck in a car being the assigned lookout besides being on one's phone. That was what Seán Dillon was doing during this rather dull night. With his newly acquired driver's license in hand a few weeks after his birthday, the sixteen-year-old was now behind the wheel of a shitty beat-up car from the early 2000s. He was admittedly anxiously hoping that everything would proceed smoothly and he'd receive his payment without any issues. Not that he was worried because the Sullivans were genuinely honorable and cared for the whole neighborhood, even though to their enemies, they were a ruthless crime family. Plus, the local police often turned a blind eye to their activities if given the right incentives.

Seán happened to look away from his phone when he saw something appearing from the corner of his eye. At first, he thought it might have been someone enjoying the night air from a nearby rooftop. That was until it leaped off the building and unfurled its fucking wings. He knew for a fact that it was too huge to be an ordinary pigeon or any other bird he could think of on the spot. He was so filled with dread as the creature drew nearer, uncertain whether it would crash into his car and unleash its fury upon him. To his surprise, however, it veered towards the warehouse ahead, crashing through the window with an earth-shattering bang. No doubt, the guys inside heard it, which meant the whatever-it-was didn't have long before facing a barrage of bullets. These guys were always armed to the teeth, ready for any trouble the other families might stir up in the neighborhood. It would have been a shock if they were unarmed this entire time.

Suddenly, two single sharp "pops" rang out, like an answer to the doubts; they were the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Seán froze for a second and hesitated on the spot, unsure whether to start the car and be ready to make a quick escape. But after a long minute of eerie silence, the neighborhood fell quiet, and he finally let out a long sigh of relief, letting himself sink back into the car seat. Eagerly, he turned to his phone, ready to lose himself in its glow and forget about that crea-

A series of gunshots rang out abruptly, jolting Seán into dropping his phone in panic. More shots followed, accompanied by shouts from the building, making it very clear that something terrible was happening inside. At that moment, his mind began to race to the creature from earlier, wondering if it was behind the chaos unfolding. Then, the sound of his ringtone interrupted the train of thought; he let out a yelp and clutched his chest in surprise. Seán frantically reached for his phone amidst the clutter on the car floor and hastily answered it. He steadied himself with a deep breath before speaking, his voice trembling, "Y-yes?"

"Get the car fucking ready to go, lad!" The voice with a thick Irish accent on the other end of the line belonged to Tomás Roche, his uncle who worked for the Sullivans and had promised the payout. "Pat and I will be heading out shortly."

"What the fuck's happening?!" Seán demanded, growing increasingly worried as he received no reply. He reached for the car keys in the ignition, trying to ignore the tremble in his hands caused by nerves. But as he was about to twist the keys around, the doors burst open violently, and Tomás ran towards him in a panic, still clutching his pistol tightly. He desperately yanked the car door open and threw himself inside, refusing to glance away from the warehouse. Only then did he realize the car hadn't even started, causing him to snap his head towards Seán, fear widening his eyes. His uncle's face was entirely pale and drenched in sweat, a sight he had never seen before, made worse by the panic in his voice.

"START IT, AMADÁN! BEFORE THAT BEAST COMES OUT OF THERE!"

Seán's knuckles whitened on the keys, and with a twist, the car roared to life, its headlights blazing into the night. In that instant, the lights illuminated the creature menacingly standing in the middle of the street, its piercing white eyes locked onto them. He was paralyzed with fear, not knowing what the hell to do, and unaware that Tomás was yelling at him to run the creature over. But instead, he yanked the gearstick into reverse, slamming the clutch with all his might. The thing remained still, its gaze filled with such sheer hatred and vitriol. Seán's breathing intensified at the thought of it getting closer; he couldn't tear his eyes away, afraid that it might disappear at any giv-

He slammed into a light pole hard, his head snapping back against the headrest before everything went black.

His ears were still ringing, and his vision was blurry when he finally came to. Seán had no clue how long he had been out but quickly reasoned it hadn't been but only a few minutes since it was still dark. As he tried to pull himself together, he suddenly remembered that his uncle was in the car with him. He glanced over to check on him, but to his horror, the passenger seat was empty. The door was ajar precariously as if it was barely holding on. Seán yelled out his uncle's name and looked around without moving his head too much, realizing that the creature was already long gone; the darkness seemingly had consumed him whole. His heart was pounding, still calling out for his uncle even as his throat was getting sore. Then, as if to silence him, something came crashing down on the hood of the wrecked car. But it wasn't clear who or what it was until a whimper filled the air, speaking in his mother tongue:

"Fair Lord, I pray to you concerning my excesses and deficiencies: grant me forgiveness here for my misdeeds, my ignorance."

Uncle Tomás continued to repeatedly murmur the prayer of repentance as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Seán watched helplessly, tears streaming down his face, rendered speechless by the whole ordeal. Both of them were the creature's first prey, and its rampage through the underworld of Gotham City had only just begun on that fateful night. And all the while, those who hid their wickedness within the light remained oblivious to the monster lurking in the shadows.


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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Simple Unicycle
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Simple Unicycle ?

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T H E P U N I S H E R
T H E P U N I S H E R

I S S U E # 4
I S S U E # 4

R O O M S E R V I C E
R O O M S E R V I C E


Dave and I had spent the rest of last night poring over all the files the NYPD had on the Saint family: known members, safehouses that had been raided, any businesses owned by the organization. We were hoping to find out who had pulled the hit on my family but our efforts seemed fruitless. Then, after two hours of scrolling, we found a place: the Royal Palace, a hotel in lower Manhattan owned by Howard Saint. Reading the name of the place made me remember something I heard as I laid bleeding out on my kitchen floor...

"Get me a room at the Palace."

I had Dave hack his way into the Royal Palace's guest list and cross reference that list with the list of known and suspected members of the Saint family. Finally, we got a hit: Timothy De Luca, a hitman who was linked to the murders of several cops and journalists, staying in room 417. It only took one look at his mugshot for me to confirm it was him.

That was how I found myself strolling through the front door of the Royal Palace Hotel just after midnight, walking past the receptionist, who didn't even look up from her phone, and into the elevator. I hit the button for the fourth floor and pull out my pistol as the elevator closes, checking to make sure it's fully loaded. The door opens with a ding and I step out into the hall. Not a soul in sight. I walk down the hall, checking the room numbers as I go.

Room 417.

I knock on the door.

Silence.

I bang on the door.

"Who the hell is it?"

Same voice. It's him.

"Room service."

"What? I didn't order any room service."

"Compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Castle."

"... Castle?" I kick the door open and aim my pistol at De Luca's head. "Oh fu-" The gunshot echoes throughout the entire building. His brains splatter against the window and his body slumps to the floor. I take in a shuddering breath, then turn away and walk back to the elevator. I hit the button for the ground floor and the door slides shut.

This should be where I stop. The man who killed my family is dead. I've avenged them, haven't I? There's no reason to go gunning for the Saints anymore. In fact, there's no reason for me to keep going at all. I look down at the pistol in my hand, thinking about how easily I could stick it under my chin and end it all. Finish what Howard Saint started. Reunite with my family.

But I can hear a voice howling my name. Screaming that it isn't over yet, that it will never be over. I can't back out of this. The police will review the camera footage, see me gun down De Luca, and launch a manhunt for me. I had already left behind my family's apartment in anticipation of this. No. There is no going back. Frank Castle is dead and something terrible has taken his place.

The elevator opens with a ding and I look out into the lobby to see the receptionist cowering behind her desk. I stop in front of it on my out and she looks up at me with terror in her eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"Cops on their way?"

She doesn't respond.

"Tell me. Now."

She nods rapidly, shivering in fear.

"Good. Tell them that The Punisher did what they couldn't."

I stalk out of the lobby and onto the streets, getting in my car and driving off into the night.
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Sep
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Sep Lord of All Creation

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The Apartment of Iris West // Central City


Iris let the warm water roll over her, head hung low as it was focused on the nape of her neck. Steam filled the small enclosed shower, only the sound of the water hitting her and the thrum of the extractor fan kept her in the moment. She concentrated on her worries, the fight with Condiment King and his goons that hadn't gone very well despite her distinct advantage.

Her fathers promotion to lead detective and all the extra stress it was causing him. Her application to work for Central City News, coupled with her written warning for missing work at Jitters. Then there was Barry.

She was brought out of the moment when the sound of the doorbell interrupted the mental cleansing that the water was performing. Groaning she stopped the water, opened the door and stepped out. Grabbing a towel she wrapped it around herself, while she tied her hair up in another one.

Ding-dong-ding-dong

"I'm coming!" Deciding that it was clearly Barry checking up on her after the events of the day she merely draped a dressing gown over her shoulders. Walking passed the washing machine that was currently set to Stain Remover and hosted a red and yellow super-suit, that she had been told was machine washable.

"Barry I told you the suits fine it's just-" she pulled the door open, and as she turned to look out it she stopped as a man stood there, a man who wasn't Barry.

He was tall, smartly dressed with hair that could only be described as smart but unruly. A pair of square glasses sat proudly on the end of his nose. He stepped forward, and paused as she took half a step back. Realizing his blunder he offered a kind smile, that did little to put her at ease, and extended his hand.

"Iris West?" She nodded. "My name is Harrison Wells, may I come in?"

"No...?" She gestured to her current state of dress, as she pulled the dressing gown in tighter around herself. "I don't know if you can tell, but its not exactly the best time-"

He half stepped forward again. "I understand, after the bank you probably don't feel very-"

Now it was Iris' turn to interrupt. "-The bank? I'm not too sure what you're-"

"I know about your-" he bounced his head back and forth as he tried to come up with the words. "-abilities."

She started to close the door. "I think you've got the wrong person, I'm not a mutant."

He spoke quickly as the door started to close in on him. "No I know you're something different entirely, your speed-" She rolled her eyes as she rushed forward, grabbed him and used her momentum to pull him into the room. Then before he could even get in a gasp she dried herself off and threw on some loose baggy clothes.

As she finished standing before him, her hair still falling into place Harrison Wells cleared his throat and straightened his glasses.

"-khm- Well, I knew but I didn't expect-"

"Who are you, what do you want and how do you know about my speed?"

"Well I've already told you I'm-" The glare Iris threw his way made it clear she wasn't messing around anymore. "-Ah yes. I'm a researcher at STAR Labs, I have been in contact with your friend Barry Allen regarding your abilities. I'm here to help."

"Barry, but he told me that it was all anonymous?"

"Well-" He squinted his face slightly. "-it was. Frankly the data he was sending me about you was fascinating and I just had to meet you to collect data and see your abilities firsthand." There was a glitter in his eye that made it clear he was speaking the truth, he was fascinated. However, Iris wasn't sure if that put her at ease or on edge.

"That still doesn't explain how you found out my identity."

"Well, promise not to tell-"

"No."

"-from what he told me about the accident that gave you your abilities I cross referenced patient records from all the hospitals in the city as well as any news and police reports-"

"Which are all privellaged."

"Yes well, sue me."

"I'm more likely to report you."

"But I can be off so much more help to you Iris. After all, I am the leading expert on Metahumans." When she didn't stop him he stepped forward and handed her a piece of paper, which had far too complicated scientific data on it. Really Barry should have been the one to be hit by the lightning, at least he would have had a better chance of understanding all this. "You see when the lightning hit you it also exploded some jars and vials in the room, the resulting combination mutated-"

"Ah-" Iris interjected raising her hand. "-Barry said I wasn't a mutant."

Harrison nodded. "Not in the conventional sense, no. Those we call 'mutants' are born with what is known as the X-gene which is what gives them their unique abilities. All your genes have been altered by the accident which is what has unlocked your abilities. For people like you I have coined the term 'Meta-Human'-" Iris had to refrain from rolling her eyes. A label, because they always made things better.

"-the line between the two, I suppose you could call them subspecies, isn't entirely clear as of yet but I'm hoping with willing test subjects-" She could see where this was going. "-I'm hoping to get a better understanding." He offered her that kind reassuringly unassuring smile again. "In the mean time I'm hoping as I study your abilities, I can help you understand and hone them, especially if you are planning to continue your activities as-?" He trailed off as he arched an eyebrow.

All these heroes coming out of the woodwork had fancy names and alias'. Which was something she hadn't really thought off yet.

"A superhero, yes."

"So, what do you say?"

Iris raised an eyebrow. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Harrison smiled again. "Why, I just need you to come run on a treadmill."
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista Ponk-ifista

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It wasn’t the relative heat that was bothersome even so late into the night. It was the stench. Out in the fringes of Los Angeles, a figure floated through the dark without pause. The far off lights of the cityscape kept the night’s eyes closed. The earth too was blocked off, blanketed in a sea of waste: torn bags of garbage, old appliances, roaches and rats tittering about the refuse. It gave off the kind of scent that seemed to stick to the skin and the innards of the nostrils. Low heat emanated from piles as though remnants lingered from the day’s sun.

Reaching a concrete building, a hand waved from the blue cloak, black energy phasing out with a whisper, taking away all color and appearance of worldliness. A metal shutter shrieked and rumbled as it scraped, the ruins of a lock clattering to the ground. The cloak barely tickled the ground as the intruder entered the darkness. One more wave of the hand had a light switch flipped up, bathing the large room and its contents in light. Pallets of crushed soda cans, cardboard bales, empty metal baskets... A few pests skittered out of sight.

The figure lowered her hood, black hair spilling out, a red diamond shaped gem set and gleaming on the forehead. She brushed a hand on a red brooch emblazoned on the front of her cloak before crossing her legs, clad in black stockings with slashes deliberately made throughout. Above the floor, Rachel Roth hovered in meditation, lips painted dark red murmuring other tongues. The air itself seemed to his and twist like lines of heat burned in. A faint red glow spilled from the slight cracks in her eyelids, and she raised a hand, tracing it it the air, the light left behind forming a sigil in the air made of several layered on top of each other as she wrote. Sparks started to fly, but it was not her doing. There was a hiss as something began to carve into the room as a burglar tool through glass through the air itself. Rachel’s mouth slowed to a stop and her eyes shot open, fading from full red to her usual purple tinted blue irises. The sigil dissipated and she unfurled her legs, raising her hands defensively as the portal reached its completion, opening to a space beyond. A pair of feet hopped to the ground, a man of asian heritage in deep red robes looking at Rachel with eyes wide. Two more in gray followed, the portal closing behind them. Their hands glowing as they raised them, matching Rachel’s wariness. She didn’t need to see their expressions and body language to read their hearts: unease, anxiety, confusion, and not nearly enough fear.

The spoke to each other in hushed tones. “Mó fǎ shī zài zhè lǐ gān shén me?” The apparent leader shook his head, not breaking is vision away from Rachel. He began to open his mouth, but the opposer struck first. Three of the man sized metal baskets went dark before being flung through the air. The two apprentices dove to the ground as the iron clattered and bounced across the concrete. Their leader made a circle with his fingers, another portal appearing both above him and by Rachel. She didn’t even have time to process before her own projectile knocked her to the ground.

“What do you think you are trying to do here?!” the mage demanded in English.

Teeth gnashing, Rachel propped herself up. Her eyes shone, and she spat out her chant, “A̵̧̦̍̑z̵̩̩͂̎ā̸̢̺r̸͕͂ȧ̵̬̼͆ẗ̴̢͔ĥ̷̖̲ ̴͕͊͝M̴͕̩̋̑ẻ̵̖̻̎t̶͕̓͗ř̷̦̀i̸̳̩͂ò̸̻͎n̸̦̅ ̷͎̪̉Z̴̩̮̍i̵̫͆n̶̝̚t̴͙͓̏̿h̴̺̐ǫ̶́s̸͇͠ͅ!” She floated upwards, swinging her arms as the room began to shiver. Full pallets bound with steel wire floated upwards before hurtling themselves at the trio. The two apprentices could only run, the pallets bursting when they hit the ground, a deluge of cardboard drowning them, snapped metal wires scratching into the floor. The disciple acted decisively, hopping onto the cardboard bale and leaping from it before it hit the ground underneath him. With a wave of his hands, the moisture in the air hardened into an array of ice blades before launching Rachel’s way. The area around her engulfed in blackness and she sank into the floor, knives shattering about the ground where she’d been. The disciple landed, tucking into a roll before swivelling his head, keeping wits about him. In the moment of quiet, he waved his hands, the unconscious bodies of his allies floating upwards towards a portal he wove into being. Behind him, a shadow loomed, rising up from the ground like a bird taking flight. He turned about, dropping his hand, but it was a moment too slow. A talon formed of dark magic came down on him, tearing through his robe, blood spattering to the ground. He fell, and Rachel rose, hovering over the destruction, head raised in pride.

It didn’t last long. She collapsed to the floor. Shoving her cloak aside, she placed her hand on an ice knife that had dug into her side. The biting cold was agony in her wound, and she couldn’t get a good grip on the offending blade, weak fingers slipping off. She gasped out for air, hand glowing in white as she pressed the limb to the wound. The cut stitched together, but it only caused her worse agony as it tightened on the blade in her flesh. The healing had allowed the blood flow to stem somewhat, but Rachel broke out into a sweat as she tried to run through her options, energy draining with every drop of melted ice. “No, no, no! Not like this! I haven’t even managed one!” she hissed in frustration to no one but herself. Gasping out, she took to the air once again, her levitation unstable as she headed back towards the shutter door. Once again in sight of the L.A. vista, she hesitated, the distance she had to cover seeming vast. Falling back to the ground, she cried out in pain, having stumbled on this first step.

----

“...Six hundred and sixty six?”

“You find this amusing?”

The deep rumble of her father’s voice shook this realm. It was not a large one: the empty void was a space between space, inhabited by bubbles of dreams in between worlds. It was where Rachel had first met her father roughly 5 years ago. She existed in this void, and far off, impossibly massive, was a many sets of glowing orange eyes, stacked and towering to give the image of a presence beyond eternity. Her heart quivered with admiration, awe, and fear. So much fear.

“It’s...a significant number in Christian mythos. The coincidence was...amusing, yes, for reasons hard to explain.”

He smiled. She didn’t see it, for it was beyond her. She simply knew, and that knowledge offered her no warmth. Rather she felt stripped and transparent to the all seeing gaze of Trigon. A pit came to her stomach as she feared his reaction to her condescending him, as though the idea of overplayed edge and cultural concepts being reduced to memes would somehow be beyond him. But he did not admonish her, he merely explained, “Humans take great pride in their sentimentality, their emotion. Spires erected for superstition. Numbers held about as truth even as they are merely a shoddy attempt to reconcile with and understand a reality so far beyond them. It gives me joy to render such vapid assertions asunder. I shall not repeat myself: engrave my sigil on 666 places of magical power on Earth, and I can manifest myself through your form.” Rachel recalled his description of the eventual, inevitable event, as Earth would be reduced to a wasteland of flame and bone. Her material body would be shed and she would become Trigon’s avatar, her sense of self being erased. It brought her no fear. Failing her father made her fear. Being unable to live up to his expectations made her fear. To imagine the world of fire made her ecstatic. To imagine herself erased to give passage to her father left her with a feeling of peace.

-----

Rachel lay on the ground in the garbage dump, blurry vision blending the night lights into one mass of white, yellow, and red, shimmering in the shuddering of her eyelids. She seethed. Let it all burn.

In the last dregs of her consciousness, kept afloat from the cold pain in her side, she heard a light scampering of feet, no doubt one of the pests out and about. She shuddered, letting out a groan, hair standing up on the back of her neck in disgust, but she was helpless. She flitted her eyelids open and thought she saw a rat, sickly green in the low light. Then she flitted her eyelids again, and she saw a pair of legs kneeling by her side. “Hey, stay with me! Oh man oh man that looks bad ahhhh I don’t have a phone!”

Rachel let out a low growl at the annoying prattling. At least be quiet and let me die in peace...
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Supermaxx
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Supermaxx dumbass

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UOU Presents: THOR, GOD OF THUNDER
ISSUE #4: Heart of Ice

Winchester Point Alaska

Starving steel met meat and flesh with ravenous hunger. Every stroke of the axe carved bloodied chunks off the monstrosity. Even with its chest split open, bursting with blood, the stag-thing advanced. In counterstroke, a tendril of warped bone burst from its torso and impaled Thor's thigh. It wriggled and writhed, trying to worm its way deeper into the wound- but godflesh was not so easily broken. Thor was all too pleased with this. Finally, he was faced with a problem he already knew the solution to: rigorously applying force to the enemy's facial region.

'We will sunder your soul from your body.'

"And I the flesh from your bones!" Thor roared, swinging. The rotating head in the monster's chest cavity split in twain at the axe's kiss. Grabbing the back of the axe head with his off-hand, Thor slammed it down even further. He opened its steaming guts all over the cafeteria floor, strings of intestines filled with fetid bile slinking over the tiles.

Cowering somewhere out of sight, Keith heaved.

"Hackin' them to bits won't stop them," the man called Russell said. He pulled the trigger on his flamethrower and sent a burst of fire in the direction of the wolf-woman hybrid. It shuddered away, stumbling over a table to escape the heat. "Got no idea how many of these things we killed 'fore you got here."

"Your courage-"

Thor dug his fingers into the gap he'd cut into the monster. Even its sinews seemed to grasp and cut at him in defiance. He did not flinch. Instead, he pulled. his muscles tensed and bulged with the effort. A horrifying cry pierced the air as the thing was rent asunder. Bones snapped, skin tore, and organs sloughed to the floor in the seconds before Thor tore the stag in half.

"-Is to be lauded!" He shouted, tossing each half across the room. The remains exploded against the walls, smashing the paneling to bits and smearing them with disintegrated gore.

Russell stopped to gawk. Raw power of this magnitude was not oft applied so casually. He'd seen similar feats in old news reels, perhaps, but this day and age? It was enough to give pause. Enough to drag Russ's attention away from mortal peril for a moment too long.

His head vanished inside the wolf's jaw. It devoured Russell's skull whole in a single bite, blood and brain matter spraying between its crooked fangs. The rest of the man's body convulsed before it went limp, caught in the monster's claws.

"No!" Thor cried out.

'The almighty Thor, anguishing over one mortal life? Please.'

Worm-like tendrils grew from the beast's claws. They snaked along the human's corpse, wrapping around it thrice over until they found what they looked for. Then they began digging. Burrowing into his corpse like it was freshly tilled soil. They remade Russel right before Thor's very eyes. Took his hands, his eyes, his bones and dragged them from the discarded remains of his humanity- his clothes, his weapons, the watch his fiance gave him before he left. The worms joined him to the other creature's grotesque form. The process took only seconds, and when it was finished the malformed giant towered several feet taller than before.

'What does it matter if they die now rather than in a decade or three? Beings such as ourselves exist on a timescale incomprehensible to them. Their entire civilization will be dust before a single gray hair mar's your golden head.'

"It matters," Thor snarled. Blood pumped in his ears to the beat of his rage. His heart thundered in his breast. Now when he shook, he knew it was not for the cold. "It matters more than you could ever know."

'Even the smallest creatures of the field and the wood have hearts,' Freya told him. Thor bounced upon her knee, his eyes shining with child-like wonder. 'They have hopes, desires, love. Same as us.'

'Even Ratatoskr?' Thor asked, his face scrunching up. 'Papa says he is a heartless rat that he should skin and-'

'Especially Ratatoskr!' His mother laughed. 'He tends the World Tree. Without him, Yggdrasil would grow too wildly, and travel through the Bifrost would be much too dangerous. Sometimes, in his anger, your good father...forgets these things.'

Thor puffed up his chest. 'When I am Allfather, I will never forget anything!'


"T...together...We must be- t-together againnnn." The head of Russell rasped from its new place in the nape of the monster's neck. It lumbered forward, arms thick as tree trunks dragging along the ground behind it. Its legs limped along, barely able to carry the immense weight of its bulging upper half. Half-formed hands grasped at the air in front of it. Too many eyes sprouted from wolf's head- human eyes, filled with a tremendous fear. Part of Thor wondered if those people subsumed in that blasphemous body were truly gone. Perhaps they lived in shards of agony, painfully aware of their misbegotten form.

The axe left Thor's hand before he knew what he was going to do. So mighty was his throw that the axe handle exploded to splinters when the head buried itself in the wolf's face. It let out a choked whimper as it died, the head falling limp against its chest. The head of the woman seemed to crawl across the chest and began feasting on the dead wolf. Her head ballooned as new flesh joined it, and the abominable whole morphed as it consumed the wolf fully into it.

"Odin's beard- how wretched!" Thor flinched away, unwilling to watch it cannibalize itself.

"We gotta get outta here!" Keith screamed, scrambling from his hiding place beneath one of the tables and making for the door.

Thor's eyes widened. "Not so close-"

His warning came too late as the beast flung out one of its gargantuan arms, slamming it into Keith's back and knocking him to the floor. He let out a gasping breath before slipping into unconsciousness, blood dripping from a cut in his forehead.

"Release him! Release him at once or face my wrath!" Thor bellowed, springing forward. He rocketed into the monster's chest, shoulder first, knocking it back. Unarmed, all he could do was swing his fists into its great bulk and hope it was enough. Every blow was absorbed by the squirming mass. It was like trying to wrestle a river: it just flowed over him, subsuming him into itself.

The tide pushed him the floor, holding him fast against the tile even as he struggled. It mattered little how hard he fought. Strength could not help against the rapidly liquidizing mass. He had to give the monster credit: its impossible biology had adapted to his methods. He could not triumph, not like this.

"Mjö...lnir-" He choked, trying to keep his head out of the muck. Hand to the sky, Thor willed his hammer return to him. Practically begged to feel its leather-wrapped hilt hit his open palm. If only he could wield her for a moment, Thor knew with all his heart he would vanquish this foul creature. One blow, one burst of lightning and it would never haunt Midgard again.

"To me...t-to me..."

A deafening roar filled his ears, followed a second later by a bright light. Mjölnir had come. He had called, and she had answered, soaring into his-

His still empty hand.

The weight on his chest lessened as the monster stumbled back. Its waves of flesh crashed back together, reforming into its more solid build. Twins heads roared in pain as fire licked at its every pore. Flames danced all across the room. Thor looked to the canisters Russell once carried, discarded when he was slain- they were sundered to pierces. Someone had destroyed them and released the flames borne within.

"Are you still alive? Oh God, I didn't kill you, did I?" A woman asked, leaning over Thor.

With her short hair, sharp angles and hard set jaw, he mistook her in that moment for a valkyrie, come to carry his soul away to Valhalla. It was only when he noticed the winter clothing she wore and the gun in her hand that he realized she was another mortal. Thor nodded, unable to speak with the rawness of his throat. Mjölnir denied him still.

"You're a little big for me to carry. Can you walk?" she asked, grabbing his hand to help him to his feet.

Thor rose on unsteady legs. Together, the two of them rushed to Keith's side and lifted him up between them. They made for the door as quick as they could. By luck or fate, the monster did not stir to follow, and they were able to retreat into the winding halls of the research station.

"Who are you?" He finally asked, voice hoarse.

"Me? I'm Jane. Jane Foster, I'm the doctor on base. Who the hell are you?"
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Undisclosed - Classified Information
Shoot to Thrill #1.06: Peaches
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Unbiased

“With this new suit, I’m thinking of a new callsign.”

“Oh?” Karoline replied, raising an eyebrow as she changed out of her civvies, reaching for her flight suit before she caught Jordan staring. With a sharp tilt of her head, she motioned for him to avert his eyes.

“Hey, you’re the one who wore floss in here, Peaches. I’m just enjoying the view.”

“Nothing you haven't seen before Major,” Karoline replied, “And I seem to recall it not being enough for you since you ended up in bed with my dorm mate. About the same time you lost the privilege of calling me ‘Peaches’.” She replied with a sardonic smile giving Jordan a long wink before slowly pulling the flight suit over her underwear. Her middle finger was notably erected and standing tall above the hand that zipped the garment closed.

“You were saying something about a call sign.”

“Yeah, maybe Green… Hornet?” Jordan workshopped, “Or the ‘Iron Lantern’ since the suit is kind of a beacon of hope for people. A light in the darkness.”

“I think you’ve been listening to Stark too much. The suits are cutting edge, not sure I love the political mission attached to it.” Karoline replied.

“You could be ‘Star Sapphire’ instead of Spitfire.” Jordan suggested with an eyebrow wiggle, “Make a new identity for yourself.”

“Really? Star Sapphire?” Karoline deadpanned, “You want me to name myself after the nudie bar you and your frat boys frequented? How charming, Jordan.” Standing, she padded him on the back before walking by, pausing as she saw Jordan raise a hand out of the corner of her eye.

“Keep it classy unless you want to lose that hand.”

Jordan flashed a smile before resuming his usual gum-smacking, blowing a small bubble before it popped between his teeth. His eyes watched as Karoline’s firm behind as it bounced in the flight suit while she walked away.

Standing, Jordan followed her out onto the tarmac, passing to adjust his sunglasses as he surveyed the scene before him.

"Highball!" A nasally voice shot from across the tarmac. "Want to explain why the hell one of our personal aviation suit is green?"

"It's called style, Mr. Hammer, something you'd know nothing about judging by the Hugo Boss spineless and yet somehow still in charge fit you're currently rocking." The pilot in the brown bomber jacket called back whilst obnoxiously smacking a was of white gum against his recently whitened teeth. A pair of black aviators sat firmly on the bridge of his nose beneath slicked-back hair.

"It's Armani actually, and my personal stylist picked it out. Doesn't explain why the armour is green." Justin Hammer replied. "You can't just paint the suit on a whim, we'll need to get our engineers to look it back over, and make sure the paint didn't compromise any of the calculations. I can't lose to Stark and disappoint Mr. Stane just because my suit jockey had to customize his ride like a teenager with his first Honda Civic."

"You worry too much, it's just a little flair. I can fly circles around Captain Rhodes." Highball replied, "Though, I'd kill for another test flight before tomorrow. The suit responds like a dream."

"Tony is a hell of an inventor." Justin reluctantly agreed, "He’s definitely something of an inspiration, but you never heard me say that."

"Why?" Highball asked, "Afraid it'll grow to his already inflated head,"

"It's easy to take potshots when you're not in the trenches isn't it, Jordan?" A third voice interjected as Hammer and Highball turned to find Captain James Rhodes standing behind them

"You can't be seriously defending that blowhard?" Highball retorted, taking his glasses off to look at Rhodes. "Tony Stark builds a great machine, but you can't tell me he actually cares about the 'Metahuman' scare. It's just a way to make a profit. I'm happy to collect a paycheque kicking your tail in the Blue Yonder, but you can't deny this is all a vanity project for the 'Iron Man'."

"You're entitled to your opinion, Major Jordan, but I believe in Tony Stark and I believe in Project War Machine. The American people deserve to feel safe and I intend to instill that sense of safety in them by proving the capabilities of this personal aviation suit. The American people won't have to look to the sky and hope for a 'Superman' to save them, they'll know who is coming and they'll have the confidence it being a homegrown, American-built solution." Rhodes responded, taking a couple of steps forward before clapping Highball on the shoulder.

"Plus, I'll be taking it all in this competition."

“Whoo-hoo,” Jordan celebrated, clapping Rhodes across the back before he pumped his fists excitedly.

“Let’s freakin’ go!”

“Ah what the hell,” Hammer interjected, “Suit up, gentlemen, Project War Machine begins today.”
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Supermaxx
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Supermaxx dumbass

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UOU Presents: THOR, GOD OF THUNDER
ISSUE #5: Heart of Ice

Winchester Point Alaska

The last survivors of Winchester Point barricaded themselves in the infirmary. Thor stacked stainless steel furniture against the door, unsure if it would even slow their foe but unwilling to leave their safety to a single lock. While he busied himself fortifying their position, Jane looked after Keith.

His injuries weren't significant. Some bruising around his ribs and on his left forearm. A minor concussion seemed likely, given he lost consciousness. But he had no broken bones or major lacerations that she could find. Jane gave him a small dosage of pain killers and anti-nausea medication; provided they weren't eaten by a flesh amalgamation tonight, he'd be right as rain soon.

"I'm glad you're okay." She took Keith's hand in her own. Bags hung heavy under her eyes. Since this nightmare began she'd earned a few cuts and bruises of her own. It was a miracle she'd made it this long.

Keith sat up. He cupped her face in his hand and the two shared a tender kiss. "Me too," he muttered as they parted. "I almost wasn't a couple'a times. If I hadn't run into, uh, this guy in the woods-" Keith shot a look over toward Thor, who was doing his best to look busy but was clearly ease-dropping.

Turning, she faced Thor, giving the stranger a once over. His armored boots decorated with little wings, the crimson cloak hanging from his shoulders, the breastplate peeking out of his coat- he was no woodsman.

"Thank you. You saved my husband's life."

Thor grinned. "T'was no great feat of mine. In truth, stripped of my power, these monsters nearly overcame me twice. Without your aid I fear I would have perished as well."

"Sounds like we make a good team." Jane nodded. "...Thor, was it? God of Thunder?" She raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Aye," he returned the nod. "I am bound to Midgard for the foreseeable future. Full glad am I to find such worthy companions so soon after my arrival."

"Sorry, did you say you were stripped of your power?" Keith asked, flinging his legs off the side of the examination table. "You sure don't look like some helpless kitten to me."

A shadow passed over Thor's face before he looked away. "Indeed. Though my strength might seem impressive to mortals, 'tis merely a fraction of the might I once commanded. It would seem I am no stronger than the average Asgardian now.

Keith threw his hands into the air. "Woe is me, I only have the power of a freakin' god!"

Thor looked perplexed. "Have I offended? I mean no-"

"No." Jane interrupted, putting up a palm. "You're fine, Keith is just...being Keith. What he means is that you're still much stronger than we are. We don't stand a chance against these things without you." She said, giving Keith a knowing look. His expression turned sheepish.

"How many more of those monsters remain?" Thor asked.

"Russ and I killed Joel. Lit him up when he started growing spider legs from his ribs." Jane said, wrapping her arms around herself. "Moffat and Waites are dead, too. They were in the garage when it blew up."

"We got Wilford earlier. And Thor turned Maloney into pulled pork." Keith added.

"I think that just leaves the meatball in the cafeteria." Jane said.

"That 'meat ball' may prove our end, I fear," Thor said. "It has changed its form in such a way that I can no longer harm it with my bare hands. Your flames slowed it but did not destroy it, as they did previous foes. Do you have any greater armaments we might wield?"

The two humans looked at one another. They exchanged a few questions about the state of their equipment: what was and wasn't destroyed during the attack, how much ammunition they had used up, if there was anything they could be missing. Neither came up with an answer they found adequate. Jane's suggestion they call the state troopers was shot down when Keith mentioned the monster's psychic influence over the radio. The flamethrower was their best weapon against the Man-Beast, and it was gone. They had no backup.

"Maybe we should just run." Keith muttered, turning his clammy hands over. "My truck has enough fuel to get to Kenai."

"And what happens when we leave?" Jane asked, crossing her arms. "It'll take hours for us to get there, send word to the authorities and for them to finally get back here. That thing would have free reign to infect whatever it wants. Maybe every living thing in this forest. Or, hell, it could run, and then it'd have half a million square miles of wilderness to hide in."

Thor was still as stone. "It would not." He whispered. "It plans to follow us. It wants me to join it. To render up my godly body to become one with its so-called 'perfection.' Nay, I will not permit it to leave."

"What are you talking about?" Jane asked, worry besmirching her features.

"It speaks to me in a higher language than the mortal mind can perceive: the tongue of the divine. This is how I am able to converse with you, despite never learning your mother tongue." Thor explained. "Most of us speak it for the sake of convenience, but there are some who master its strange arts in pursuit of greater power. It is said the elder gods used this power to speak reality into existence. If this creature consumes enough matter..." Thor closed his eyes. "I fear for Midgard's future. For all the realms, perhaps."

Jane went silent. Keith shook his head in disbelief, though he couldn't speak either.

"So you claim you're some kinda god, right? N' there's a lot like you?" Keith asked, finding his courage along with his voice. "How in the hell can they permit somethin' like this happenin'? Why ain't they doin' anything?"

There was righteousness to his anger, Thor knew. Long ago had Odin stepped away from meddling in the affairs of mortals. 'They do not worship as they once did,' he bemoaned. 'Why should I waste my power on a people that do not believe?'

The memory made his choler rise. He remembered, too, his mother's anger at having heard it the firs time. All of Asgard had shaken when they quarreled that day. If Freya were still head of her own pantheon, as she had once been before the Aesir and Vanir were joined, she would never have allowed it. Unfortunately for her and Midgard both, Odin reigned. The Allfather took his hand from the earth. He left them to their own devices for more than a thousand years. Few Asgardians dared to defy his order. Thor and his brothers had, on occasion, though he was shamed to remember each visitation was only for their own entertainment. Not once had he answered a prayer.

"Forgive me. I require a moment alone." Thor said.

He retreated from the main room of the infirmary to the backroom, which was used primarily for storage. Shuffling through piles of boxes, he eventually found a chair to fall upon. Weariness dragged him down. It propagated through his every pore like a virus. Even his Asgardian stamina faltered. Was this how mortals lived? Every battle ended with exhaustion, barely able to stand? It was a hard thing to imagine, and harder still to endure for the first time in his immortal life. They were made of sturdier stuff than the gods gave them credit for.

"Heimdall, I know you can hear me. And I know Odin has forbade your intervention in mine affairs. This is my punishment, and I intend to carry out my sentence with the dignity befitting my royal lineage." Thor began, clenching and unclenching his fists. "But I do not call upon ye for mine own sake. Rather, you have seen that beast I face: it spits in the face of the divine. In its blasphemy it threatens all of Midgard. The fates have put me in its path, I think. I must destroy it, but I cannot- not alone. Mjölnir heeds not my call. I know you cannot help me, Heimdall, but...Send me someone who can. I beg ye.

Please."

A rift tore open reality before him. A brilliant portal of every color of the rainbow danced on the wall, rippling with potential. A voice boomed through it: "I hear all and see all, Odinson. You will not stand alone."

Thor knocked over the chair with the speed he rose. "Heimdall!" He smiled from ear to ear, his fear melting away at the voice of his friend.

A form emerged from the portal, shimmering. It was tiny, barely rising to Thor's knee. As the light died away it became corporeal: a red, fuzzy creature in a rather dashing green tabard, a leather pouch strung along its back and a pan held in its hand. A squirrel, and one of great import, at that.

"Oh dear. This isn't the pantry." It chittered confusedly. Then it looked up. "Oh my, Thor! My good fellow! It has been so long!"

Thor's face lit up like the sun. "Ratatoskr, how I missed thee!"

Without a second thought he scooped up his tiny friend, who climbed atop his shoulder excitedly. "I seem to have taken a wrong turn on Yggdrasil." He thought, looking around the sterile room filled with boxes of paper and medical supplies.

"Nay, friend, it t'was Heimdall that called you here at my request. I am in dire need of your aid."

"What ever could I do for the God of Thunder?"

"It has been a long story, friend. Let us rejoin my mortal allies and I will tell the tale."
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