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Hidden 3 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Mao Mao
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Mao Mao Sheriff of Pure Hearts (They/Them)

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BATMAN
OLD GOTHAM
HOMECOMING - FIRST DAY


Bruce had only managed to catch five hours of sleep before his alarm jolted him awake. This afternoon was reserved for the company board meeting at Wayne Tower, where he would be officially appointed as the new CEO of Wayne Enterprises, taking over from Philip Kane. He had expected his uncle to put up a fight, but to his amazement, Philip gracefully conceded, showing no signs of resentment so far. Even now, he couldn't shake off the dread that had long haunted him for years: the fear of failing his father. A constant reminder of this fear loomed above his seat: a portrait of his father, a formidable figure set against the Gotham skyline. Bruce took a long slip from his cup of water, secretly wishing it was something stronger.

"Bruce!" A Scotch neat sounded very lovely right about now. "Good to finally see you."

"You too, Emilia." Emilia Lawford, the company chairwoman, was his mother's dearest friend who established a nonprofit for mental health services that saw success. Bruce offered a warm smile and gently shook her hand. "How's Warren?"

Emilia tried her best to conceal her disappointment and nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, you know, he's still working on his undergraduate degree. But enough of that, the meeting's about to begin. I just wanna say that your mother would be so proud of you if she were still here with us. As would your father, of course. I have something for you, I found this a while ago that belonged to your mother, and you should have it."

Bruce was handed a small, neatly wrapped box. And opening, his eyes sparkled upon finding not just one but two different class rings nestled inside. One was a solid yellow-gold Amethyst gem ring engraved with "Gotham Academy - 87," while the other was a sleek silver Onyx gem ring with "Gotham U - 1991" etched into it. Both rings were beautifully crafted, and the gems still held their vibrant colors. Even though Bruce knew the rings were too small for him, he cherished them as mementos of his mother's remarkable academic achievements. Martha had graduated as a salutatorian in high school and earned her bachelor's degree in mathematics long before she met Thomas Wayne. Bruce was truly grateful for the gifts.

"Thank you so much for finding them," Bruce said sincerely as he closed the box and tucked it in his jacket pocket before pulling Emilia in for a warm hug.

"Of course," Emilia replied, her eyes welling up with tears as she gazed at her own class ring, almost identical to her friend's. Their embrace was cut short by the arrival of Philip, indicating that the meeting was starting very soon. Emilia composed herself, wiped her tears, and took a deep breath before telling Bruce, "You'd better take your seat. We can catch up more personally over drinks later, alright?"

Bruce nodded and made his way over to the chair at the end of the conference table. The portrait was daunting and unavoidable in its presence, even as he took his seat. He cast a quick glance at the folder resting on the table. Undoubtedly, it held a wealth of documents and reports detailing the projects and initiatives the company had been pursuing in recent years. He made a mental note to delve into it during the lengthy meeting. Then, his attention was soon drawn to a filing tab labeled "Weapon Manufacturing" in bold marker. Bruce's whole demeanor shifted as he realized that this subdivision was responsible for researching and producing 3D-printed weaponry for potential military use.

To say that he was displeased would be an understatement.

"Bruce?" Emilia's voice echoed in the room, laced with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Bruce straightened his tie, preparing to announce the dismantling of the subdivision despite the potential impact on profits and relations with the Department of Defense. He was ready to take a stand, even if it meant facing opposition from other board members and investors. But that meant working some angles to get back on their good side. Luckily, his family name still carried weight in this city. "I have some concerns I'd like to address right now. If everyone could please turn to page..."


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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Sep
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Sep Lord of All Creation

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SPRINGFIELD // USA


Iris could not stop two trains from colliding with one another. It was a scientific impossibility, there was no way that raw speed could help that situation. She considered for a moment, though it was actually much less than that, trying to dismantle them in the same way as she had taken the wheels of the vans of the Condiment King. That would still leave the problem of their velocity, and she very much doubted that she'd be able to figure out how to dismantle them in time.

Realistically that left her with one possible way to save lives. Cursing the gods of fate for not striking her with radioactive protein powder or however the 'Superman' got his abilities she sped first towards the freight train, climbing up and in she grabbed the driver and twisted. Tossing him out the open door, followed shortly by his... co-driver? Whatever the other persons title was. Climbing back out she took the driver to the end of the block, returning for the co-engineer.

Now was the bigger job, the passenger train.

Praying to all things holy that it wasn't Springfields version of rush hour she went at it again.

Into a carriage, tossing everyone out the open door (that she had to force open, she didn't have the seconds to waste waiting for them to open) and then once the carriage was empty she grabbed them out the air and piled them at the end of the block. Probably not very delicately, but bruises were better than death.

Starting at the front of the train she worked her way back, the adrenaline pushing her on. Everytime she went out to move people Iris noticed how much closer the freight train was. By the time she got to the back of the train the two had made contact. Jumping out the back door with the last passenger she deposited him with the others and then collapsed, watching as the onlookers screamed. The two trains smashing into eachother.

The Passenger train buckled first, kicked off the track its lower speed kept it from going too far whereas the freight train continued on for several hundred meters, she watched it carefully and with baited breath. Her limbs aching, and tired, but primed and ready to move if it got too close to anyone. Thankfully, it didn't.

Crisis averted.

Then her phone rang.
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Half Pint
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Half Pint

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Volume 1 - The Heir of Dorado
The Hunt Begins




The dense canopy of the jungle swayed with the symphony of nature. Leaves rustling, creatures stirring in the underbrush, birds fluttering and flying around the trees, but Necalli was silent. He was crouched, obscured by foliage and gripping his short spear tightly in his hand. Slowly, purposefully, he drew his weapon back, raising his other arm forward to guide his throw. His eyes traced the outline of his prey, a tapir, oblivious to his presence as it foraged among the low hanging branches.

Just as Necalli steadied his breath and prepared to strike, there was a sudden crack, a twig snapping somewhere behind him. The tapir's ears perked up, its head jerking toward the sound. Necalli’s eyes widened.

"No..."

Before he could react, his friend, Tepe, burst through the bushes, waving wildly.
"Necalli! Wait, I-"

The tapir bolted, crashing through the jungle with surprising speed for its size. Necalli groaned under his breath and shot a glare at Tepe, who stood frozen, hands raised in a sheepish attempt to apologize.

"You're supposed to warn me before you charge in! I almost had it there!" Necalli hissed, already sprinting after the fleeing animal.

Tepe, laughing nervously, took off behind him.
"I thought I did!"

The two of them tore through the jungle, branches whipping at their faces and mud splashing beneath their feet. The tapir, now spooked, darted between trees and thick foliage, forcing Necalli and Tepe to abandon any attempt at stealth.

"How is it this fast?" Tepe shouted between breaths, stumbling over a root as he tried to keep up. "It's like it knows we’re terrible at this!"

"It definitely knows how bad you are at this, it and the whole of Dorado!" Shouted back Necalli, letting out a small laugh in between panting as he sprinted. "Maybe if someone didn't trip on every branch in the jungle, we'd have caught it by now!"

The chase carried on, with Necalli and Tepe crashing through the greenery, each misstep becoming more ridiculous than the last. Necalli's spear arm had long since been lowered, this wasn’t a hunt anymore, it was a race, and a losing one at that.

Finally, they skidded to a halt at the edge of a ravine. The tapir had managed to slip away into the underbrush on the other side, its snorts of triumph faintly audible through the trees.

Panting, Tepe doubled over, hands on his knees.

"Well...that was...graceful."

Necalli, shaking his head, leaned against a tree, catching his breath.

"Next time, Tepe, just watch where you put your feet." They both laughed, with Necalli giving Tepe a playful slap on the back.

"Think we have time for another hunt?"

"Nah, I'm already on thin ice with my dad, I wasn't strictly supposed to leave the city today after last week."

Necalli leaned back against the tree, still catching his breath as the two let out another giggle, when a voice called out from the shadows of the jungle.

"Thin ice, huh? That's an understatement. I think the tapir will be the least of your problems when we get back."

Necalli jumped slightly, startled by the sudden appearance of his older brother, Itzcóatl, standing with his arms crossed, a wry smile tugging at his normally stoic face. His tall, imposing figure was partially hidden by the dense foliage, but his presence was unmistakable. He stepped out into the clearing, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. He was dressed in the sleek, modernized attire of Dorado's warrior elite; a sleeveless tunic made from a dark, shimmering material that hugged his muscular frame, its intricate geometric patterns woven with thread that glinted like silver in the light. Around his waist was a belt holding ceremonial decorations, subtle but undeniably regal. His pants, embroidered with vibrant red and gold symbols of Huitzilopochtli, tapered into sturdy sandals. Around his neck hung a necklace with a pendant displaying his namesake made from obsidian displaying an intricate pattern of intertwined serpents.

"How long have you been watching us?" Necalli asked, straightening up and narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Long enough to see you both lose a perfectly good meal," Itzcóatl replied, gesturing towards the direction where the tapir had disappeared. "I’ll be sure to let Father know how graceful the prince is at hunting these days."

Necalli winced, knowing full well that his father was already displeased with him for reasons far more personal than a missed hunt. "Come on, Itzcóatl, don’t make it worse than it is. You know how he gets."

Itzcóatl raised an eyebrow. "Oh, believe me, I know. He’s already upset about...well, certain rumors." He smirked, and Necalli blushed slightly.

Tepe, ever the awkward friend, tried to help. "We were just having some fun! It’s not like anyone’s keeping score, right? What's one failed hunt among friends!"

Itzcóatl chuckled softly, his serious demeanor momentarily softening. "Oh, I'm definitely keeping score. Or at least trying to, I think I lost count at maybe the 73rd animal you lost?" He grinned, Necalli rolled his eyes. "You being caught with that girl didn’t exactly earn you any favor either. He sent me to find you because you’ve already been gone longer than you were supposed to."

Necalli groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Of course he did."

Tepe, forgetting the trouble Necalli was in, reacted with a shocked expression, almost turning his entire body to face his friend as he spoke. "Wait a minute, Necalli. You were caught with a girl? You didn’t tell me! Who is she?"

Necalli shot Tepe a warning look. "It's not like that, Tepe."

Tepe's eyes widened, his tone teasing. "What? Not like that? Come on, man! You’ve gotta tell me everything! How did I not hear about this?!" Necalli responded with a look that could kill.

Itzcóatl patted him on the shoulder, his brotherly side showing through despite his teasing. "Don't worry, little brother. If anyone can charm their way back into Father's good graces, it's you. But maybe you should cool it on the whole 'getting caught in bed' thing, yeah? It doesn't exactly reflect well on father to have his heir fathering a child before he even wears the crown."

Necalli felt a knot tighten in his stomach at his brother's words. It was a truth they both understood but rarely discussed: Itzcóatl, despite his strength and skill, would never wear the crown. He loved Itzcóatl fiercely, not just as his brother but as the one who had always stood by him. The thought of him being unable to fulfill his rightful place as king, not due to a lack of ability but because of circumstances beyond his control, stung. Necalli never felt like he should have been the heir, if he could have been the bastard and let Itzcóatl be the next in line he'd have done it in a heartbeat. Still, he admired his brother for having the grace to joke about it, and for always being there for him.

Necalli grinned sheepishly. "I'll try my best."

"Let’s just hope your 'best' is enough this time." Itzcóatl replied. "And maybe next time, try to keep your activities to a more...discreet location."

Tepe nodded vigorously, eager to add his two cents. "Yeah, man! What's the fun in getting caught? That's like, the opposite of being smooth!"

Necalli let out a groan, shaking his head. "Trust me, I’m aware." His frown turned to a smile as he playfully punched Tepe's arm. "Plus, if anyone knows what the 'opposite of being smooth' is, it's definitely you, Tepe."

Tepe looked back at him, mouth agape as he rubbed his arm.
"I'm smooth! I'm totally smooth! I'm as smooth as pulque brother!"

With that, Itzcóatl turned and motioned for them to follow. "Come on, you two. We should head back before Father sends a search party into the jungle."




As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the dense jungle, Itzcóatl led his younger brother and his friend through the thick underbrush. The atmosphere was alive with the sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves, but their movements were careful and deliberate. One wrong turn and you'd be face to face with a panther in this maze. Necalli's heart raced in anxiety, knowing they were nearing the secret entrance to their home, inching ever closer to the wrath of his father.

They arrived at a moss covered rock face that seemed indistinguishable from the rest of the jungle. Itzcóatl stepped forward, pushing aside the thick vines and foliage that concealed the entrance. A narrow opening yawned before them, leading into the darkness of a hidden cave.

"Almost home." Itzcóatl said as he ducked inside. The cool air greeted them, filled with the earthy scent of damp stone.

Inside, the cave twisted and turned, the walls glistening with moisture. As they ventured deeper, the cave was dimly lit by patches of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the rock, illuminating their path with a soft, ethereal glow. The faint sound of dripping water echoed in the background as they exited the passage into a grand cavern adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering crystals embedded in the walls. The vibrant patterns depicted tales of bravery, love, and sacrifice, stories that defined the history that Necalli was due to continue.

At the far end of the chamber, a heavy stone door blended seamlessly with the cave's walls. Itzcóatl approached, pressing a sequence of symbols hidden within the intricate carvings on the walls. With a rumble, the door slid open, revealing a blinding light beyond. They stepped through the threshold, momentarily shielding their eyes from the brightness.

As their vision adjusted, they found themselves standing at the edge of their home, Dorado. Towering, brightly colored buildings rose around them, adorned with intricate patterns and reliefs that celebrated their culture. Huge trees intertwined with sky bridges and buildings, seemlessly blending the nature within the jungle and the advanced technology of the hidden city. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the hum of technology, a stark contrast to the silence of the cave.

They stepped further through the entrance and Necalli turned his head upwards and traced the huge dome shield that enveloped and concealed his home. The shimmering barrier pulsed with energy in vibrant purple hues. It had been built centuries ago, and improved on continously since then. Never had it been penetrated and very rarely had they even came close to being discovered. Vibranium was a hell of a thing. It was entirely invisible from the outside, looking only like an impenetrable wall of trees.

"Welcome back, princes!" a guard called out, standing tall in his ornate armor, the insignia of Huitzilopochtli proudly displayed. His tone was respectful, with an undercurrent of familiarity.

"Thanks, Xipil" Itzcóatl replied, giving a nod as he moved ahead. The two had known Xipil since they were little boys. He'd suffered a nasty leg injury early in his career that prevented him from being a more active member of the Dorado guard, but still stood proudly at the gate, ready to catch any invaders as they entered, or any mischevious princes as they exited.

"A little heads up lads, your father's not in the best mood" Xipil added with a chuckle. "I'd steer clear of him for a while if I were you."

Necalli grimaced. "I wish I could" he muttered, knowing all too well that avoiding his father was nearly impossible.

They walked through the bustling streets glancing at the various people; merchants peddling vibrant fabrics, artisans crafting intricate jewelry, and children laughing as they played in the plaza. The scent of spices wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of music drifting from a nearby celebration.

"Man, I really hope we don’t get into trouble." Tepe said, glancing around nervously. "I'd rather not face your dad right now."

Necalli chuckled nervously. "You think I want to? The most you'll get from him is told off for leaving the city without permission. He’s probably already written up his next big lecture about my 'responsibilities.'" He stopped for a moment, weighing up what he was about to say next before he did. "You know, sometimes I wish I could just blend in like everyone else." He sighed. "No responsibilites, no royal drama, no eyes on me every time I take a step-"

"No class, no brain, no idea what you're doing." Interjected his older brother with a grin. "None of that and none of the good food at the royal feasts. I'll take the royal drama for that at least."

As they approached the grand entrance to the palace, the imposing structure loomed above them, a testament to the rich history and power of their lineage. The palace's façade was adorned with intricate carvings of their gods and ancestors, shimmering in the fading light. Large, ornate doors of polished obsidian stood at the front, flanked by guards in ceremonial attire, their spears resting against the ground as they stood at attention. One of the guards nodded at Necalli and Itzcóatl.

"Your father is expecting you, my lords." he said his voice tinged with sympathy. As they entered the guard placed a firm hand on Tepe's shoulder. "Not you I'm afraid, Huey Tlatoani Moquihuix has already spoken to your parents, Tepe. I'd hurry home now if I were you."

Necalli caught Tepe's expression as he stepped further into the palace. He looked like he'd seen several thousand ghosts all at once.

They passed through the grand hall on the way to see their father. It was lit by torches and golden light fixtures embedded in the walls. The marble floor was inlaid with gold, and at the far end sat the throne, carved from a single massive piece of jade. It was empty, far too late in the day for their father to be present here. He'd be in the council room no doubt. Necalli's eyes locked onto the throne, almost like they were drawn to it. He'd sit there one day, and he hoped it wasn't anytime soon.

They rose up a large winding staircase and opened the door to the council room. Inside, the room was illuminated by natural light pouring in from high windows. His father, the king, sat at the head of the long table, flanked by advisors. He looked up, his expression shifting from a mixture of weariness and stern authority to surprise at the sight of them.

Necalli approached, head slightly bowed, with Itzcóatl flanking him. "Father, I—"

His father raised a hand, silencing him. "You disobeyed me again, Necalli." His voice was calm, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable. "You left the city without permission, despite the warnings I’ve given you." He rose from his seat and waved off his advisors. Most of whom took a quick look at Necalli before quietly gathering their paperwork and scurrying off out of the door.

Necalli felt the weight of his father’s gaze, a mixture of disappointment and worry that made his stomach churn. "I know, Father. But it was such a nice day and I just got this new bow I thought I-"

He was cut off again. His father's voice becoming harsher, and more direct.

"No, Necalli, you didn't think. It seems you think less and less these days." He rounded the table, approaching his sons. He was a man of impressive stature, his long, silver streaked hair tied back, and his face etched with lines that spoke of both wisdom and the heavy burden of leadership. He wore a regal robe adorned with vibrant colors and patterns that represented the gods of war and wisdom. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on Necalli. "This isn't about a simple hunt. It’s about your recklessness. You are my heir. You cannot continue acting as though the weight of this city does not rest on your shoulders."

Necalli's heart sank further. He knew the lecture was coming, and there was little he could say to stop it. He made the mistake of showing this in his expression.

"You think this is a game?" His father's voice grew even stricter, his gaze flicking between his sons. "While you play in the jungle, there are threats out there, threats you've never faced, dangers you can't even comprehend. One day, you will sit on this throne, Necalli, and if you're not prepared, everything our ancestors built will crumble."

Necalli clenched his fists. "I'm trying, Father. I'm just—"

"Itzcóatl was always ready" Moquihuix interrupted, his gaze softening briefly as it shifted to Necalli’s brother. "He understands what it means to lead. You need to learn from him, or Dorado will fall under your rule."

The words stung, more than Necalli would ever admit. He glanced at his brother, who stood silently, not meeting his gaze.

"I'll do better" Necalli said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

His father regarded him for a long moment before finally nodding. "See that you do." He rose from his throne, the weight of his presence filling the room. "Go. Reflect on what I’ve said. We will speak more of this soon."

Without another word, Moquihuix turned and walked toward a side door, his robe trailing behind him, leaving Necalli and Itzcóatl standing in the vast, silent hall with his thoughts swirling. His older brother placed a friendly hand on his shoulder once his father was out of earshot.

"You know he doesn't mean all that, Necalli. He loves you, he just wants to make sure you'll be ready for when it's time to take his place."

Necalli stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the floor. He sighed heavily, his voice still quiet. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Itzcóatl. Being king...it's just so much. The responsibility, the pressure... I feel like everyone's watching me, waiting for me to be perfect. I just want to be normal sometimes, live without all these expectations. But I can't."

Itzcóatl listened quietly, his hand still resting on Necalli’s shoulder. Necalli continued, his voice shaky. "What if I can't handle it? What if I’m not strong enough to lead Dorado the way father does? Everyone expects me to be this great leader, but all I can think about is how easy it would be to mess it all up. I never asked for this."

Itzcóatl took his hand off Necalli's shoulder and slid it into his pocket. Taking a moment to choose the right words.

"Necalli, the truth is no one ever feels ready for this. Not even Father. The crown isn't something you just grow into overnight. It's a process, one that'll take time, and mistakes. You're not supposed to have it all figured out already."

Necalli frowned. "But it feels like I should, like everyone's expecting me to be this perfect version of what a king should be. And the more I think about it, the more I just want to be normal. To live without the constant pressure. Sometimes I think you're the one who should be heir. You seem...better at this."

Itzcóatl chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've had my share of screw-ups too, trust me. Father might push you harder, but that’s because he sees what you’re capable of, even if you don’t see it yet. It's not about being perfect, it's about learning from every failure, every challenge. And when it's time, you'll lead in your own way. You won't be Father, and that's okay. You're Necalli, and that's who Dorado will need."

Necalli felt some small weight lift off his shoulders. That insecurity still held within his heart, but knowing he had his brother there to support him made everything feel a lot less scary. A smile crept up on his face.

"I guess you're right, I just wish the old man would stop hounding me about it. These lectures feel like they get longer every time!"

Itzcóatl let out a laugh. "Just be thankful you've not got Tepe's parents, remember the last time you two got into trouble? They had him shovelling manure for a week!"

Necalli laughed along with him. "When you put it that way maybe the lectures aren't so bad!"

Itzcóatl smiled, stepping back toward the door. "Come on, let’s get out of here before father changes his mind and decides to give you a similar punishment. We can at least enjoy the night before tomorrow brings another crisis."
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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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"Quem com ferro fere, com ferro será ferido."

Location: New York City - New York, U.S.A.
Concrete Jungle #1.01: City of Gods

Interaction(s): None
Previously: None

Amber eyes fluttered awake as the train began to slow. Gone was the abundant unspoiled natural horizon that lived in the shadow of the towering Rockies. Fresh air was replaced by stifling smog as man-made monuments of architecture reached toward the sky, leaving all below cast in darkness while they threatened to choke the sun. New York City was a far cry from Boise, and to be honest, Yara Flor was already feeling homesick before the train had even stopped.

But the butterflies currently hurdling themselves around her innards weren’t about to stop the grad student from making the most of her trip East. As part of a joint program with Empire State University, Boise State University sent some of its grad students to New York City to spend time at its sister school and visit the exhibits and institutions that Idaho was sorely lacking.

Yara pressed her pillow down from her window seat on the train and looked out toward the New York Harbour. Never had she seen so much water in one place, the seemingly endless horizon out into the Atlantic almost unnerving the young Brazillian woman. Her eyes darted towards the Statue of Liberty, keenly studying the green lady who stood over the Harbour, guiding the Hudson out to sea.

She caught one last glimpse before the sight was gone and the cabin was plunged into darkness as the train entered a tunnel toward the heart of the city. Bringing her feet onto the seat, Yara rested her chin firmly between her knees, hanging it over as she absent-mindedly scrolled through her phone. Pictures of her aunt’s farm brought forth a resurgence of her homesickness, and Yara felt a bittersweet smile cross her lips.

The squeal of the brakes alerted every passenger of the arrival at Grand Central Station. Gathering her things, Yara turned to exit her side only to find the aisle congested, seemingly at a standstill as confused and angry murmuring began to buzz over the growing line of people. Turning to look out her window again, Yara quickly noted the train had in fact not arrived at its destination, at least, not truly.

Sitting half in the station, the doors weren’t aligned with the platform meaning stepping out of the train at this time could result in injury or worse, for most people at least. The girl from Idaho allowed herself a small humoured smile. Her Aunt’s worst fear was that Yara would step foot in New York and people would instantly discover her secret.

And so here she already was in a situation where her gifts could make a difference.

“Does anyone have signal?” A voice cut through the din holding up a cellphone. Panicked voices quickly scrambled to check their own devices while Yara calmly flipped her hand over and looked at her own screen.

She too was without any reception on her cellphone. In fact, the entire device had gone from functioning normally mere moments ago to a black screen that simply stated ‘Not Available’.

Aunt Renata is going to kill me.
Yara’s internal monologue lamented the situation. It was her first time away from home, Brian and Renata had barely let her have a sleepover at a friend’s house. Renalta had always been protective, ever since she and Yara had left Brazil after the death of Yara’s mother. Yara hadn’t been permitted to go on her senior trip in high school, she’d never attended a sleepaway camp and the only reason she was in New York now was because she was twenty-one and Renata could no longer tell the young woman how to live her life.

To some degree, Yara had always felt Renata was scared of her.

Scared of her gifts.

Named after the goddess Iara, it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to either of them when at the age of nine, Yara managed to tip a tractor trying to find a toy she had lost. From there she had only gotten stronger and faster. Renata had forbidden Yara from participating in athletics through school and so the girl had become something of an outcast in their sports-centric school. It hadn’t been enough that Yara already looked different, but she had to act differently as well and instead threw herself into her studies and arts.

It’s what led her to her studies and Boise State University which brought her back to the moment.

In New York, the concrete jungle where dreams are made of.

Except right now it felt like more of a nightmare. Yara needed to get off of this train and she needed to do so now.

Pushing through the crowd, Yara heard a couple of people curse the woman she forced her way to the closed door. Locking eyes with the attendant, he opened his mouth to stop her before Yara jammed her fingers into the seal, prying the doors apart with the same ease one opens a book.

“Miss you can-”

The words barely registered for Yara as she hopped down from the train, landing on the tracks, unbothered by the electrified third rail before she looked around. People atop the platform were staring at her, horrified and intrigued. Still, with no working cellphones, that meant there were no cameras either.

Moving around to the rear of the train, Yara gave it a shove, watching it move forward a few feet before she pushed it again. Placing her hands on the rear car, she dug her feet into the ground and walked it forward until the train was finally aligned with the platform.

Cheering erupted from amidst the station as people rushed to get a look at their heroine, only to find no one behind the train.

Yara was already gone.

Aunt Renata is going to kill me.

- -First Issue: None---
Next Issue: Power Princess-
-
Latest Issue: Power Princess

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Hidden 3 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Bounce
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Bounce

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”A Song of Garth & Fire, part III” [ post theme ] [ prev | next ]

NORTH AMERICA
Beachrock, Massachusetts

Dave Wilson sat out in the parking lot.

All those sleepless hours sitting at home, he’d been eager to come back to work. Now the time was here and he found himself struggling to find the strength to even get out of the car. The longing for a return to some semblance of normalcy replaced by anxiety over what he’d find when he looked at the faces of the people he interacted with. Trapped in a tiny, little town in the armpit of Cape Cod.

His hand rested on the door handle. He took a breath, telling himself that he’d go in a minute. Then that minute came and he stayed.

Scared? Frightened? He wasn’t sure what he felt, or even how he was supposed to feel. Guilt. Lots of guilt. That much he did know.

A deep breath in. As he exhaled, the man finally steeled himself and dug deep to find the strength to finally open the door.

The sun wasn’t up yet. The parking lot a myriad of darkness and shadows broken up by the harsh street lamps that hung overhead, lighting the path toward the building that seemed to loom ominously before him.

The sign read: Beachrock County Sheriff

The desk sergeant started to stand as Dave passed through the door. “Welcome back, Dave,” the sergeant, Bill O'Shaughnessy, offered as he passed.

Instead of welcoming, it felt damning. Dave found he couldn’t meet Bill’s eyes, instead offering a weak wave as he held his breath and shuffled past.

“Welcome back, Dave.” Joe Rushing that time. Then Mark LaFontaine. As Dave Wilson tried to get to the locker room as inconspicuously and quietly as possible, he was assailed time and time again by people reaching out to him.

And each time they did, he just wanted to withdraw further.

A hand caught him by the arm, pulling him back. “Dave,” Shondra Ramirez, giving his arm a squeeze as she got his attention and said, “I am so, so sorry. Let me know if there’s anything that Rick or I can do for you.”

Dave’s mouth fell open to reply, but words just dried up on his tongue. Instead, he just gave a wordless nod before he turned away.

“Wilson!”

He was almost to the door of the locker room, but the voice that had called out was one he couldn’t ignore. Couldn’t run from.

Taking a breath, Dave turned toward the open office and found his way blocked as the unmistakable pillar that was Shannon McTaggert stood like a mountain, waiting.

Waiting for what? Dave looked up at Shannon’s face for just a moment as he offered, “Hey, Shan...”

A pair of tree trunk-like arms pulled him in. Before his mind had even registered just what had happened, Dave Wilson found himself in a crushing man-hug. “Yeah,” he offered, as soon as he could breathe again. When the hug lingered, Dave reached up to pat Shannon on the back and pulled away. “Yeah. Thanks, Shannon,” he offered, awkwardly fumbling for something to say as he moved around the mountain of a man and finally stepped inside of the open door.

“You wanted to see me, Sheriff?”

“I checked with the county HR,” the sheriff began, looking up as Dave entered, as he turned his full attention to the man now standing in his office. “We can give you more time if you need it.”

“No, Sheriff,” Dave stated softly. Then, swallowing, found his voice a little firmer as he offered, “I’m ready to go back to work.”

“Very well,” the sheriff answered, as he started to turn back to what he’d been doing.

As Dave turned to leave, he heard his name called again.

“Wilson.”

“Sheriff?”

Removing his reading glasses, the sheriff looked up at Dave and offered, “Grief’s not an easy thing to process. It’s okay to have a bad day. You do, don’t be afraid to say something.”

Dave just gave a silent nod of his head, before passing back out of the sheriff’s office.

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SHAYERIS
3,600 feet below sea level

The steward paced in the palace hall that bridged the royal apartments to the landing where their arrivals and departures were coordinated.

At last seeing one of the royal guards, Vulko snapped in an uncharacteristic burst of anger. “Why hasn’t the prince left yet?”

“There was a delay in the carriage house.”

“There’s no time for delay,” the steward rebuked bluntly. “Get him on a transport, now!

“Vulko.”

The aging sorcerer turned, seeing King Thar making his way from out of chambers. As he bowed, he heard the king’s voice touch his mind again. “You seem tense.”

“I can’t shake this feeling,” Vulko remarked, straightening back up as he looked at the king. “Like we’re too late.”

Thar seemed to regard his longtime teacher with an almost skepticism. Finally, the king answered, “There’s no danger here.”

With a heavy heart, the steward sighed and answered, “None that we see, my king.”

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NORTH ATLANTIC
200 miles off the coast of North Carolina

“All ships, all stations, be advised that active sinking of a U.S. Navy warship is taking place in the vicinity of...”

Strom sat in a chair on the bridge wing of the USS Ford. The smell of the salt spray and the sight of the open sea calling him back to his many times throughout his career when he served aboard a warship. Had command of a warship. Could shut out the noise and just focus on the mission or task at hand.

”Captain on the bridge!”

Strom looked back on a reflex trained from familiarity, then felt a slight pang of regret for the fact that they weren’t announcing him. He wasn’t the captain.

He hadn’t been for a long time now.

The one simple truth of growing old in the military. You either got told to retire or else you got yourself promoted out of a job. Opportunities to sail to sea like this were the exception. Strom commanded a desk at the Pentagon, where he sailed the political currents of Washington and traded the fickle whims of the ocean’s breeze for those of the White House.

“Sir.”

That was the captain. Pivoting around in the chair, the admiral gave a nod of acknowledgement as the enviable officer stepped out onto the bridge wing with him. Motioning to the aging carrier that sat in view of the horizon, the captain continued, “Trafalgar’s in position. We can detonate on your order, Admiral.”

“Very well,” Strom replied. A formality. Then, his eyes locked on the once stately vessel of the United States, said, “Sink her.”

“Aye, sir.”

Strom swiveled back around as the captain stepped back onto the bridge to carry out his order. The man’s gray eyes lingering on the silhouette of the Trafalgar. He could hear the commotion from inside the bridge of the Ford as ordered were passed and personnel snapped into action.

The pyrotechnics were invisible to the naked eye, contained within the ship and buried under the water line. From this distance, the old sailor could see the ship begin to list. Trafalgar was going down.

“Sir.”

Strom swiveled around, somewhat surprised at the interruption. As he turned, the man looked up to see the captain there. “Status report?”

“Several of the charges in the aft failed to detonate,” the captain reported simply. Clearly, not surprised at the news he was delivering. “The ship is going down with a different dive profile than we’d planned for. I think we’re going to miss the ridge.”

The admiral just gave a grunt, as he turned back toward where Trafalgar was starting to disappear. Her bow section was submerged, the flight deck slipping beneath the water as the supersection vanished from view.

And thus passed the mighty warship Trafalgar.

With her, so ended his time away from the Potomac.

“The order was to sink it, Captain. You sank it,” Strom answered gruffly, bristling at the thought of trading his underway khakis for Pentagon dress blues. “Take us back to Norfolk.”

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Over a thousand years before, Atlantis has been part of the surface world. Their ways, their culture, had been no different from any number of societies in neighboring regions of the globe.

Then it fell into the sea.

Their ways, their culture, adapted. Yet, the more things changed, the more they tended to stay the same. In many respects, they were as alike as they were different from their surface dwelling counterparts.

Not the least of which was a fixation on the royal family.

Vulko’s efforts to see the prince off in expeditious fashion were stalled by a media frenzy that had sprung up outside the royal landing. It made the steward wonder if the so-called delay at the carriage house hadn’t been a convenient ruse to give the undersea paparazzi time to circle the proverbial sharks.

“Thanks, Osin. I’m Pora with Atlantean News First, reporting to you live from Shayeris. In a surprise announcement this morning, Coral Tower revealed that Prince Garth would replace Queen Berra as the royal sponsor for the opening of a hospital in Crastinus later this day,” A blue-haired Atlantean woman stated, under the floating bioluminescent lights that helped illuminate her for the imaging magic that then projected the report across Poiseidonis. “No reason for the change has been provided, but this marks the first time that the young prince has been assigned official duties and makes him the youngest working royal on record.”

Tucked just out of sight of the sea-going vultures, Queen Berra clung to her son. Letting him go only to pull him back in.

“Mom,” the boy lamented.

“Last hug,” she promised, her own voice sending chills down her spine as she was suddenly overcome by a foreboding. Like she’d just spoken truth. A truth she very much didn’t want to be true.

“Mom!” Garth uttered, rolling his head and his eyes as he started to swim away.

Her hand caught his, pulling him back as she offered a final word. “Be safe.”

The boy’s purple eyes just blinked, his head cocked to one side as he quipped, “Mom, I’m just going to Crastinus.”

Her stomach in knots, Berra let her son go. As the child swam out to greet the waiting feeding frenzy of reporters and fans, the queen took a breath to try and steel herself.

A familiar presence moved behind her. “Are you all right, my love?” Thar asked, as the king watched their son depart.

“I feel it now, too,” Berra warned. Turning her eyes up to meet her husband’s, the woman asked, “What if Lemuria isn’t Attuma’s target?”

Thar gripped his queen by the shoulders, holding her tightly as the pair watched. And waited.

The peace that they’d fought so hard for, been so proud of, now seemed quite fragile.

Smiling, Garth sailed along the landing, circling over toward where a group of reporters were calling out to him as he waved to the crowd.

To his surprise, Vulko snatched him aside. “Your highness, you must go,” the steward snapped, shoving the boy into the waiting shuttle. Then, looking at the guards at the controls, snapped, “Now.”

Unsettled, Garth just shrank back into the seat at the rear. “Sure, Vulko,” he offered, as the canopy was sealed and the shuttle floated up and away from the landing.

Garth flipped around, standing on his knees in the seat as he peered out the back to watch as the Coral Palace fell away and the city of Shayeris came into view as the shuttle departed.

Standing there, Vulko didn’t feel any better for the departure. A shadow had fallen over Shayeris. At first, he’d thought it nothing more than a passing whale, but now, as the steward watched the shuttle depart, the old sorcerer’s eyes were drawn upward.

Toward the surface.

There, he saw the coming of the end.

The USS Trafalgar had been falling for more than five minutes. Centrifugal forces caused by the displacement of 60,000 tonnes of water had caused the ship to spin as it continued to descend. The Trafalgar had built up a head of speed, plummeting through the ocean depths at near fifty miles per hour. The ship had started to break apart. The superstructure shearing away from the flight deck as it began to shatter into a cloud of debris that trailed behind the main hull that was plummeting like a torpedo into the valley on the far side of the undersea mountain that had for so long been Shayeris’ protection from the surface world. From the submersible machines that avoided the mountain.

The Trafalgar slammed into Shayeris with the force of a nuclear bomb.

The undetonated charges in its aft section exploded with the collision and rapid implosion of its hull, sending secondary shockwaves across the city that spewed coral, debris, and sediment billowing outward in a dark cloud that cast the seafloor into murky darkness.

Garth collided with the back of the pilot’s seat, as the unleashed forces sent the shuttle spiraling out of control.

Then the trailing parts of the ships that had broken off began to rain down as the superstructure broke apart and rained down in a metallic hail.

As the shuttle was spinning out of control, Garth felt an object slam into them.

The smell of blood sent a panic through the boy, as the water inside the shuttle started to turn red. Bracing himself against the side of the transport, Garth looked up and realized that something had impaled the front of the shuttle.

The guards were dead.

Struggling to reach the back of their seats, the boy was tossed about as the shuttle continued to careen out of control. Desperately, he grabbed hold, pulling himself forward. An outreached hand tried to grasp for the pilot’s throttle, but the guard’s body and the metal pole barred his reach.

The shuttle was buffeted, colliding with a thermocline, throwing the boy to the back of the shuttle before it spun and he found himself rolling up along what should have been the floorboard.

An arcane circle formed at the boy’s hand. His eyes glowing as he reacted on pure instinct.

He had no idea what spell he was casting. It was wild magic. It was desperate.

The shuttle seemed to break apart as the child unleashed the arcane, a momentarily tranquility enveloping him before the weight of the ocean rushed back in to greet him in a swirling vortex of darkness that seemed to pull him under.
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Sep
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GM Event:

BOBBING IN THE BIG APPLE


The androids head sat on the table while the scientist sat at a nearby computers. Its hollow eyes scanning the room with great trepidation. It focused its eyes on the scientist as he spoke.

"Let me tell you a story my son. There was a great scientist. Who competed with the top minds off his generation. Tony Stark, Lex Luthor, Raymond Palmer. Unlike those scientists he had no interest in monetary gain. As he had none to begin with, he was a nobody. So he was worthless. The scientist turned around in his swivel chair to face the android, staring directly into its eyes.

If the android could understand emotion, it would have seen the bitterness and contempt.

"So, he did the best he could. Became the head researcher at a STAR labs facility, and off to work he went trying to change the world. Then while trying to develop a new deep space telescope, he had an idea and so he got to work and he invented this-" Turning in his chair he slapped a button on the keyboard, illuminating a far corner of the lab where a strange looking monitor sat amidst a computer bank.

The scientist stood up and walked over to it, resting a hand on it. "-I call it the looking glass. Through this the scientist saw the future, and through this he thought he could save the world." He chuckled to himself as he turned back to face the android. "Think of it, all the innovations of the future. Cures for disease, for famine. Global warming, why wait. We could look into the future and bring them here, now."

The scientist shook his head before hanging it low, a much more somber tone coming forth.

"The scientist was naive-" There was a buzzing of an alarm elsewhere in the room. "-but the rest of the tale will have to wait. Your older brother is ready to get to work."




The waves crashed gently at the base of the small and isolated island. The general noise of tourists, the screaming kids, shuffling footsteps, camera shots, all drowned out by the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. Mal Duncan was nervous, and Mal Duncan never got nervous. Champion football player, childrens counsellor. Nothing phased Mal.

"Mal, this way!" Her voice cut through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, he became acutely aware of his tongue in his mouth. How was it supposed to rest in his mouth? No matter what he did he couldn't possibly make it comfortable. His palms were sweaty, breath came hard and fast.

Each inch he took towards her felt like a mile, his feet heavy. What if it didn't go well? Maybe the photographer hadn't shown up - no he could see her over in the distance attempting to look like she wasn't paying attention to Mal or his destination.

He needn't worry about the weather, it was a perfect New York autumnal day, with not a cloud in the sky. Mal smiled as he reached Karen, a big grin plastered over her face. "Hey Beautiful. She pulled him into her warm embrace, before grabbing his hand and pulling him through the crowd of people towards the base of the Statue of Liberty.

"I thought I lost you after getting off the boat! C'mon! I want to take a closer look."

Mal chuckled. "You never have to worry about losing me-" Sensing his struggling nerve he turned his head quickly to look behind him towards the city. An unobstructed line of city to the Manhattan skyline. In one quick motion he pulled his hand out of hers, a small leather box from his pocket and slipped down onto one knee. Opening the box to reveal the glittering green emerald ring.

Karen turned, and turned white as a sheet.

"Karen, you make me the happiest man in the world-" The world around him went silent, he couldn't hear anything else. Only his own voice. No other voices or footsteps, he couldn't even hear the water crashing below. "-will you make me the happiest man in the world? Will you Marry Me?" He lowered his head and sighed, all the stress and tension leaving his body.

He had no idea why he had been so stressed about it, they were a perfect couple. He loved her, and she him. Honestly this was just a formality-

"Oh no-" His heart sunk to his stomach. "Mal get up-" He couldn't even look at her, he closed his eyes and hung his head down low.

"No seriously Mal-" Opening his eyes, tears welling in the corner he looked up at her and saw the raw panic on her face. He turned around, and coming from Manhattan was a giant wave, atleast twenty foot high. Jumping to his feet, ring forgotten he pulled Karen along with him.

"Round the back of the statue!" He could hear the screaming now, the crying and the panic. The roar of the water as it came careering towards them, a deafening crash.

The next thing he knew, he was in the water.

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Hidden 3 mos ago 1 mo ago Post by Pacifista
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Pacifista Ponk-ifista

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Horns blared in the rising morning heat. The gridlocked Baltimore downtown wasn’t the natural result of bad urban planning, but the unfortunate side effect of a big rig having been overturned, the exhausted driver having failed to hit the exit properly and crumbling a divider, spilling out the contents in the form of dry retail groceries. Police had stopped the freeway as they attempted to get a tow truck to maneuver the trailer out of the way, but it was going to be hours before the situation was resolved, and tensions were running high.

Traffic officer Edward Treant was starting to get a headache from all the cars wailing, the smog buildup an irritant thrown onto the pile. He was as sick and tired of all of this as anyone. He wanted it to be over, he wanted to go home, get some ice cream, and catch up to House of the Dragon. He thought about the big man up in Metropolis, the Central City blur, and envisioned himself waving away this problem some how. Pulling out a pen, he pressed it between his fingers as hard as he could.

Nope, still a normal human. But it didn’t hurt to check, right? Every so often. Just in case.

Pulling out his phone to try and check a couple things, turned away from the road so as to not aggravate anyone more than he already had, his meandering was interrupted by the screech of metal against asphalt. His phone clattered to the ground as he turned about, stepping back as he feared a fed up driver had tried to push past only to hit something else, eyes shooting wide as he realized that the big rig had started to lift from the ground. Ed’s mouth hung open as he watched it float, moving off of the roadway and onto the shoulder, more goods spilling from the trailer. The driver, mercifully unhurt and loitering nearby, waved his hands without rhyme or reason, about as lost as anyone. Then, Edward saw a figure in green and gold with flowing red hair, flying above, her eyes locked down on the truck as it moved. In less than a minute it had been moved completely, safely out of the way. Then the foodstuffs and goods shivered and rose, similarly floating out of the way. Everyone in sight watched with jaws on the ground.

Once the way was clear, Ed managed to find his composure again, heart leaping as he felt freed from this whole mess. “Alright, let’s get things moving again!” he called to his peers, who joined him in resuming the flow of traffic.

“Can you put it on it’s wheels?” The driver called out to the flying woman.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!” she responded, waving her hands in motion to keep away. The truck hovered up again with another scraping sound, slowly revolving before parking itself the right way up. With its side mirror missing and unknown damage done, it wasn’t going to be moving for a little while, but at least he had a place to sit in more shade while he waited for transport. After a little more cleaning, she floated down to where Ed was. “What was that, telekinesis?”

She gave a smile tinged with apprehension and embarrassment. “Yeah, uh, the name’s Firebird.”

“I’ll throw it into the report. You were a big help today, and it’s good to know that heroes are doing more than just fighting terrorists and nutjobs. I mean that’s good and all but, you know, the little guy needs help too, not just banks being robbed.”

“I was in the area, so...” She had an awkwardness as she turned to the road, a number of rubbernecks slowly coasting by with eyes and phone cameras on her. She gave a little wave, Ed noting her nervousness and reddening cheeks.

“You local?”

“Oh, yeah, I was trying to get home but the bus was stopped, so I thought, well, I have my costume! As good a time as any.”

“I mean, keep up the good work.”

“It’s just, I gotta show the world, you know? That maybe a mutant with a conscious isn’t that rare!”

Ed’s chest tightened at the mention of Firebird being a mutant. He kept it from showing on his face, but he noticed her demeanor shift anyway. He knew it was wrong to feel that way, it’s not like anyone could control whether or not they were a mutant, it mattered that they took their inhibitors and kept themselves under control, and this lady was not. This kid, honestly. She couldn’t have been out of her 20s. But that she had been using her powers made Ed’s day going forward look a whole lot brighter, even if he was left with a sunken feeling he couldn’t shake.

She added. “Sorry. You saw the Stark thing?”

“Yeah, uh, you heard about what happened to them right?” Her expression went quizzical. “Stark died in an accident I think, or they think, and Trask has been missing for a while. A lot of his systems have been fucky.” He grabbed his phone off the ground and held it up to illustrate his point.

Firebird clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh...oh my god! I...oh, I haven’t been following the news lately. I didn’t know!” Hands moving to the sides of her temples, she let out a long breath. “Oh that’s embarrassing,” Eyes starting to find focus, she added, “I thought my Google docs were being weird yesterday.”

Ed shrugged, pretty sure Trask didn’t work for Google. “It happens.” Giving a nod, he suggested, “Anyway, you should probably get going.”

“Oh, right. Uh, k-keep up the good work, officer!” With a sloppy salute, she took to the air once more, slipping off into the horizon and eventually passing out of sight. Ed let out a long sigh of his own. He himself was a member of ‘Baltimore’s finest’, but now his home city had a hero of its own: a child with too much power and no idea what she was doing. But dammit her heart was in the right place. Ed cold only hope it stayed that way.
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Deathstroke


"There you are," Slade said quietly to himself as he watched from a rooftop with binoculars a group of trucks going into the load/unloading area of a building. The tracker was still working as intended as he watched its signal move with the trucks. While it was interesting that the trucks were unloading their goods at an Alto Electronics building and it is curious why they were smuggling weapons. Slade did not care at the moment as the weapons were his only led to Walsh. Now he knows where to go, but some recon is needed before he heads in. They will discover the opened crate and maybe the tracker eventually. So, getting in and out may be a problem if they get extra security. But Slade is not bothered by that.

As Slade was scanning the building from his vantage point in full gear. Did he hear the buzzing sound of his phone going off. He went to pick it up, and it was a familiar British voice. "Hello Slade, how is New York City treating you? You have any progress on Walsh?"

Slade replied, "Hey, Wintergreen, things have been fine so far, and I have. The weapons are being sent to an Alto Electronics building, and I was just about to do some recon on the place."

"Alto Electronics?" Wintergreen sounded confused, "The tech company? Why are they in the business of weapon smuggling?"

"No idea, but they are, and Walsh seems to be connected to it."

"Hmmm, well...." The sudden noise of static coming from his phone.

"What was that Wintergreen? I cannot hear you."

"Slade...."

Then the phone went silent, and a confused Slade put down his binoculars to figure out what happened to his phone. All it showed was a black screen, and then it said that service was out. "What the hell," Slade was both confused and concerned. Was this a phone problem or something else? Thinking back, there should be no way for Walsh to know that he was tracking him or even in New York City. So why is his phone not working?

As Slade fiddled with his phone, he made no progress with it. Out of the corner of his eye did he spot something strange, and he stared at it for a moment before putting his phone away and looking with his binoculars. Using the maximum zooming distance, the things had and spotted something very strange. "Why is there a giant wave and...." He watched as it went out of view, leaving him with more questions than answers.

"What in the world is going on?" Slade asked himself as he put down the binoculars. First, the phone and this, something is happening in New York City, and while he was keen on scoping out Alto Electronics and finding a lead on Walsh. His gut told him that he needed to investigate this, even if the phone and the wave are unrelated. So, Slade put his binoculars away and left the rooftop. The last time he was here, it was a pleasant and fun time, and now it looks like things might be getting more interesting than Slade would have thought.
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FORMER SOVIET PRISON // UNKNOWN LOCATION


0820HRS Steve dove behind a nearby pillar. Feeling the shock as the intended blow hit it, instead of him. The heat permeated the beam, and he scowled. He could hear the chaos spreading throughout the prison, no doubt some of it was fellow prisoners hearing the chaos and taking their chance to make their own bid for freedom. A knot tied in his stomach, but he couldn't allow to give it purchase.

Yes there were no doubt prisoners whose only crime, like Piotr, was not capitulating to those in power. There were however, truly hardened and despicable prisoners who deserved to be contained until which time they were rehabilitated to re-enter society. Not that much of that happened here.

Wincing internally as he rolled to avoid a red fist to the face he chastised himself for allowing himself to become distracted and thoughts to wander. Maybe it had been too long since he had been in a real fight. Ducking under the incoming jab, he followed through with a couple of quick punches to Sokovs gut. With as much weight behind it as possible she wobbled slightly on her feet, and he ducked down and swept his right leg taking her feet out from under here.

Steve didn't even wait to watch her hit the floor before he turned and ran.

He and Alexei had talked through this scenario, like many other escape attempts, many times over the years. The library was the meeting place, central to both of their cells and yet close to Piotrs. No man left behind afterall. Prisoners shouted and swore at him in their cells as he ran. Occasionally ducking into cover when he heard the sound of military boots. He didn't have the time, or the means to get into a prolonged fight.

His heart racing by the time he reached the library. "Halt!" Steve froze as he felt the tip of a gun in the centre of his back, he went to twist for it when he heard another one cock behind him.

Two to one, point blank range. Even he wasn't a fan of those odds.

A yelp, a shot, he twisted away from the gun aiming to bring his palm up under it but was too late as it was already being knocked away. Alexei finished knocking them to the ground, his usual unruly long hair tied into a military style ponytail. Beard trimmed and respectable, no longer the homeless old man. This was a man of action.

"So I got knocked out, and you got a makeover?"

"The ruse is over comrade, today we escape or we die. Either way, I look good."

"That's it Alexei, think optimistically."

Alexei knelt down and picked up a pistol, pulling out the cartridge. Satisfied, he offered it to Steve who waved it off. Alexei merely shrugged and pulled the older guards sidearm from its holster. They turned as they heard the hammering of boots. Heavier than before. Sure enough around the corner came guards dressed in riot gear, the first one dropped before they even registered the two super soldiers. The second was winged before the rest took cover back behind the corner.

"We must get to Piotr-" There was a large crashing noise from below as a crimson hand broke through the concrete and pulled Steve.

He felt like his entire leg going to go through the hole by itself, though thankfully by some miracle the rest of his body followed it. Steve could practically feels all the bruises on his body as he was thrown to the other side of the room. Trying to tuck himself into as small a shape as possible. An involuntary groan escaped his lips as he collided with the wall.

There was no time to feel sorry for himself though as he rolled towards Sokov, making her miss her attack by going straight over his head. The crimson dagger that had formed in her hand slicing effortlessly into the concrete. "Thor-" He tried to shout, but before he could finish she was on him again.

They twisted and turned back and forth. While she couldn't find her way to beat him in skill, her raw power coupled with his being caught off guard and injured. This wasn't a fight he was going to win. Not easily, if at all.

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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Half Pint
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Volume 1 - The Heir of Dorado
Footsteps in the Jungle



Moquihuix sat at the head of the room, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow across the stone table. The chamber, lit by the warm glow of torches, felt heavy with tension as his advisors discussed the unsettling news. The soft hum of water from a nearby fountain was the only sound cutting through the low murmur of voices.

"They are drawing closer." one advisor said. "Our scouts have reported sightings of foreign invaders, armed, trying to sweep the jungle, no doubt looking for something."

"Still." another advisor added, her arms crossed over her chest "They have not come close to breaching the cloaking systems. Our technology remains far superior. Let them wander in circles for now."

Moquihuix exhaled slowly, his dark eyes glinting with thought. "And the drones?" he asked, his voice calm yet commanding. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist as he surveyed the room.

"Harmless." one of the senior generals answered. "They fly blind. Even with their surveillance, they see nothing but the dense jungle. None have come near our shields."

There was a pause as Moquihuix considered the situation. His fingers traced absent patterns on a map that lay on the table, as if trying to calculate the hundreds of ways the invaders could find his city. He nodded slowly, his fingers tapping lightly against the stone table as he considered their words. His voice, low and commanding, carried across the room.

"If we confront them, we risk drawing attention to ourselves. Dorado has been hidden for millenia for a reason. The world is not yet ready to know we exist, and we cannot reveal ourselves prematurely."

Another advisor, older and draped in richly embroidered robes, leaned forward, his voice carrying tones of concern. "But, my lord, how long can we rely on the jungle's protection? These outsiders, these invaders, are persistent. If we wait too long, we may find ourselves cornered."

Moquihuix’s jaw clenched slightly. He knew the stakes. "For as long as it takes. Our priority is secrecy. Monitor them. Engage only if absolutely necessary, and even then, leave no trace. The time will come when we will reveal ourselves to the rest of the world, but that time is not now."

The advisors nodded, though unease flickered in their expressions. They had kept the invaders at bay for years, but the presence of the foreign drones and soldiers on their borders was becoming too frequent to ignore. Time felt like it was running out, and maybe it was.

Moquihuix rose from his seat as his advisors left the room and made his way over to a balcony that overlooked a large city square in front of his palace. The city was bathed in the golden light of the lowering sun. A million thoughts were racing through his mind. They'd had sparse contact with outsiders over the years. Centuries ago one plucky adventurer might stumble across Dorado every 100, or even 200 years, but as technology advanced so did the methods those in the know used to try and find the golden city. Now it was every 50, or even sometimes 25 years that a foreigner had managed to wander their way too close to Dorado's gates.

They kept secluded from the outside world, but the outside world was no secret to them. They surveilled every major country, and it was of the utmost importance for the royal family to learn the languages of other cultures on the off chance they were forced to make contact. They'd lived in almost absolute peace for centuries, getting involved in the wars and skirmishes of the wider world was just too risky, especially with the interest they'd draw from global superpowers once Vibranium was discovered.

He heard the door open and a set of footsteps gently approaching him.

"The meeting is adjourned. You can bring me anymore problems tomorrow."

"Do I often bring you problems, Moquihuix?" replied his wife, Citlali, her voice soft yet teasing as she stepped out onto the balcony beside him. Her long, flowing dress, a deep shade of red embroidered with golden patterns, caught the fading sunlight, and her dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Though her presence brought a certain calm, the weight of their shared concerns was still reflected in her dark eyes.

Moquihuix turned to her, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth, though the seriousness of the meeting lingered in his expression. "Only when the problems are worth hearing." he said, his tone lightening slightly as he took her hand and pressed it gently to his lips.

Citlali gave him a knowing look, then turned her gaze over the city. The streets below were bustling with activity, families returning home as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Despite the peaceful view, the tension from the earlier discussions clung to the air like an unwelcome shadow.

"They're getting closer, aren't they?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might bring the invaders nearer.

Moquihuix nodded, his eyes still focused on the city below. "Closer than ever. They’re persistent, but our shields hold. For now."

"For now." Citlali echoed, her grip tightening slightly on his arm. "But how long can we hide, Moquihuix? The world beyond the jungle…it has changed so much. Maybe it’s time we consider making contact. On our own terms, before they find us on theirs."

Moquihuix's face darkened at the suggestion. He turned to face her fully, his voice firm. "No. The outside world is not ready for Dorado. They would tear us apart. Strip this city of its secrets, its power. You know this."

"I do." Citlali replied gently, searching his eyes. "But times are different. They’re not just wanderers or explorers anymore. They're armed with satellites, drones, technology we’ve never faced before. Eventually, they will find us. And when they do, we may not have the upper hand."

Her words hung in the air. Moquihuix clenched his jaw, turning back toward the horizon, his mind racing. "They are not ready." he repeated, his voice more resolute. "And neither are we. If we reveal ourselves now, it will invite destruction. The moment they learn of our Vibranium, every superpower on the planet will be at our gates, and then it will be war. We have the technological advantage, but they have the numbers."

Citlali was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed. She had heard these arguments many times before, understood the logic. But her heart whispered otherwise. "And yet, if we wait too long, Moquihuix...we may lose control of the situation entirely. The world has a way of finding what it wants, whether we're ready or not. Who knows, perhaps there are those out there who would wish to help Dorado, to live in harmony with us?"

Moquihuix didn't respond right away. He stood there, the silence stretching between them, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on his shoulders. Finally, he sighed. "I will not risk our people. Not yet. Not until I am certain we can control the outcome."

Citlali placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding him. "I understand. But we've kept this secret from Necalli for long enough. Sooner or later, he'll need to know what's happening beyond our borders."

Moquihuix’s expression softened slightly, though the concern didn’t leave his eyes. "He's not ready for that burden yet. He needs time."

Citlali nodded. "Perhaps. But he's not a child anymore, Moquihuix. He deserves to know what he will one day be responsible for."

Moquihuix followed her gaze as it drifted toward the square below, where Necalli had emerged from his lessons and was playing Pok-ta-pok with his friends. His movements were quick and precise, his body language focused and strong, laughing and shouting as the ball moved across the court.

Moquihuix watched in silence, the sight of his son both comforting and unsettling. After a long pause, he spoke softly, almost to himself. "I shouldn't have compared him to Itzcóatl yesterday. It was unfair."

Citlali glanced at him, her expression gentle. "You've always been hard on him, Moquihuix. He's not his brother, and he never will be. But that doesn't mean he's not capable in his own way."

Moquihuix sighed. "I know. I just...sometimes, I worry. About whether he's ready. About whether he'll ever be ready to be king."

Citlali placed a hand on his arm, her voice soft and reassuring. "Necalli has great potential. He may not be like Itzcóatl, but he's strong in his own right. When the time comes, he'll rise to the challenge."

Moquihuix nodded slowly, though the tension in his posture remained. "I hope you're right" he said quietly. "For his sake...and for Dorado's."

They stood together for a moment longer, watching as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the city and the courtyard below where their son played, unaware of the burdens waiting for him.




Necalli chewed on the end of his already destroyed pencil as he struggled to stay awake. His instructor had been droning on about the compelexities of foreign diplomacy for what felt like weeks now. This was his tradeoff. Either get a job working with his fathers advisors or attend these boring classes. He was supposed to be paying attention to the lesson, supposed to be learning about the dynamics of places like America, Britain, or China, countries far removed from the quiet and cloaked world of Dorado.

But his mind was elsewhere.

As the teacher lectured, Necalli's thoughts drifted to the outside world, what it was like beyond the borders of Dorado. He'd learned about their cultures and traditions, but never met someone from anywhere else. Part of him longed to run away to these places, to visit the Empire State Building, Big Ben, or the Great Wall. But instead he was stuck learning about the correct way to speak to foreign nationals without insulting them. It all seemed kind of pointless when his father refused to make contact with anyone.

The sound of his friends outside only further spurred his daydreams. He'd been cooped up far too long and his muscles were stiff from sitting still. He could hear the heavy ball thumping against a nearby wall as the game of Pok-ta-pok continued on without him.

Finally, the lesson ended, and Necalli wasted no time heading toward the courtyard. He stepped out into the cool, fresh air, the sun already beginning to set in the distance, and stretched his back letting out an exagerrated yawn. The streets were alive with people going about their business, but Necalli had only one destination in mind.

The second match had already started when he arrived. His friends were in the middle of a fast paced game, the heavy rubber ball bouncing off the stone walls with sharp, resonating thuds. Necalli grinned as he joined them, his earlier impatience fading as he focused on the game.

"Nice of you to join us, princess!" Shouted Tepe, volleying the ball into the air towards Necalli with his elbow. Necalli bounced it off his chest before booting it towards the stone goal mounted up on the wall.

"Well I couldn't let you lose all day!"

Pok-ta-pok was more than a pastime, it was a way of life for the people of Dorado. Teams had formed over the centuries of the game being played and the superstars of the sport were on the same level in Dorado as people like Ronaldo or Michael Jordan were in the outside world. The ballgame was played with intensity, and it didn't take long for Necalli to lose himself in the rhythm of it all, sweat dripping down his brow as he ran across the court.

But even as he played, something gnawed at the back of his mind. A faint whisper of something out of place. He couldn’t shake the sense that something was happening, something he wasn’t aware of.

His suspicions were confirmed when he overheard a conversation from the sidelines.

"My cousins a scout, he says they’ve been spotted again, on the outskirts." one voice said, just loud enough for Necalli to catch. "More foreigners this time, with machines. They're searching for something. Maybe…for us."

Necalli’s heart skipped a beat. He missed the ball as it flew past him, slamming against the wall. His friends laughed, giving him a light shove, but he barely heard them. His mind was elsewhere, fixated on the words that now echoed in his ears.

Foreigners. Searching for Dorado.

"They’ll never find us." another voice replied. "Moquihuix has decided we will remain hidden. They'll never get passed our borders."

Necalli forced a laugh with his friends, but the unease within him grew. Why hadn’t he been told about this? Why was his father keeping this from him? He'd heard rumours like this all his life, but they only got more common as time went on.

The game continued, but Necalli’s concentration faltered. His movements grew slower, his thoughts elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he needed to know more. The invaders were too close, their presence too persistent. How could they just stand by and watch?

He glanced toward the jungle in the distance, the thick canopy visible beyond the city’s shield. Somewhere out there, foreigners, strangers from a world Necalli had never seen, were pushing against the edges of their hidden world.

As the game came to an end, Necalli wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind already made up. He had to find out more. He couldn’t just stand by while his father and the council debated behind closed doors. Dorado was in danger, and he wasn’t going to wait for someone else to act.

Necalli left the courtyard with a purpose. It was time to confront his father.
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by AndyC
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AndyC Guardian of the Universe

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“Is this really where you meet up to do covert black-ops stuff?” Kitty asks as we reach our contact’s location. “I was hoping for, like, a high-end casino or the balcony of some skyscraper or something.”

“Well, those aren’t exactly covert, are they?” I say as we slow the truck to a stop outside a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. “Besides, there’s more to this place than you’d expect.”

“I guess,” Kitty says, careful to avoid a rusty piece of jagged sheet metal as we step out of the truck. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be so…junky.”

CC & JR's Scrap Yard is a several-acre landfill on the outskirts of Winnipeg. It's a cemetery of old machinery, as piled-up husks of dead cars and trucks, old kitchen appliances, retired school buses, and outdated construction equipment make a winding maze among the junk heaps. The piles of machinery stack up nearly twenty feet high in places, and the peaks of the makeshift hills are crisscrossed with wires and netting. In some places in that maze, it’s hard to see the sun through all the junk overhead, and the path is filled with switchbacks and dead ends.

For your average scrapper, the layout is inconvenient, sloppy. For someone wanting to stage a raid on an old Mutant Rights fugitive, it’s a death trap.

“So, like, what is this guy, the Jigsaw killer or something?” she asks, stepping over the faded white door of an ice cream truck.

“Forge used to provide my old team with gear for our missions,” I tell Kitty. “Guy wasn’t just a genius; he had the ability to see mechanical energy in action. He could instinctively understand what kind of work might need to be done, and put together exactly the right tool for it. He was the first of our team to remember he had a conscience and walk away, and he wanted to make sure no one from the bad old days ever tried to drag him back in. So he made himself a place where he could be left alone, filled with some pretty nasty surprises for anyone who comes calling without his permission. Stay with me, don’t wander off, and don’t touch anything.

“That part so won’t be a problem,” she says with a giggle, then casually waves her hand right through the husk of an old sedan.

Slowly, we make our way down the path, and I guide Kitty through the maze little by little. Where the path forks, I take a moment to recall the right route, and take whichever the less obvious way is. When there’s an apparent straightaway, I veer off onto a passage that’s all but invisible unless you’re looking at the right angle. I don’t go out of my way to make noise, but I don’t hide the fact that we’re here. I want Forge to know we’re coming, and that we don’t mean any trouble.

“Oh hey, before we meet him,” Kitty asks, “What should my code-name be?”

“This again?” I sigh.

“Well, come on! You’re ‘Wolverine,’ he’s ‘Forge,’ and I’m not about to dox myself for some stranger.”

“Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug, as I carefully step over a tripline and point it out to her. “Let’s see, what’s a good call sign for a rookie…”

“Ooh, I’ve got one!” she says. “How about ’Shadow Cat?’

I raise an eyebrow.

“It’s totally cool, right?” she says, clearly proud of herself.

I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s not half bad, actually. Just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re a rookie,” I say, grunting as I sidle through a tight squeeze between a rusted-out Cadillac and a pile of old Maytags. “Rookies don’t get cool code names. Once we complete the mission, get you safely to Xavier, then you can be Shadow Cat. Until then…”

I sniff the air, and amid the dust and dirt and old motor oil residue, I still smell that fake-coconut lotion that I told her to stop wearing.

”Until then, you’re Coconut,” I decide, and grin as I see that the name annoys her.

Eventually, we reach what appears to be a dead end. There’s a small clearing with a pile of TVs,surrounded by garbage heaps reaching up a good ten to fifteen feet in all directions. For a second, I think I’ve taken a wrong turn, when I see one of the screens flicker to life.

It’s just snow and static, but after a few seconds of hiss, I hear a voice.

”You really shouldn’t have come here, Wolverine,” says the thin, raspy voice of an old man.

”Wouldn’t have, if I had a choice,” I say back. “Got pulled into a job, need passage into the States, and you’re the best bet on getting us there.”

There’s a pause, then Forge speaks again.

”Who’s the girl?”

Kitty crosses her arms. “Just call me Coconut,” she says, giving me a hard glare.

Another long pause.

“Were you followed?” Forge asks.

I shake my head. “There’s heat on us, but we don’t have an immediate tail. The quicker we get this done, the less time we spend here, the easier it’ll be to say you never saw us.”

There’s another long pause, then the pile of TVs begins to rumble and slide to one side. Underneath, there’s a hatch about the size of a manhole, which slides open and reveals a ladder.

“Come on in,” he says, “Let’s not waste time.”




”Okay, really, why a bow and arrow?” Floyd Lawton asked Clint Barton over the roar of the C-130’s propellers. “You do realize that guns exist, right?”

“Versatility,” Barton answered with a shrug, “I can do stuff with a bow that you can’t do with a gun.”

“Yeah?” Lawton sneered, “Like what?”

“Arc a shot over obstacles, bounce it off walls, load it up with speciality ammunition,” Barton answered, “Oh, and I can shoot my bow without needing ear protection and alerting everyone within a half-mile radius that I’m there.”

“Pfft,” Lawton scoffed, “Give me a high-powered rifle, and I’ll shoot through your walls and obstacles, and drop anyone who hears the first shot so they can’t get off a warning.”

“And if we want to take someone alive?” Barton asked, “You know, the whole point of this mission?”

It was Lawton’s turn to shrug. “Bean bag rounds.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s going to help you take down the Wolverine and grab the intangible girl?”

“Got better odds than using a weapon from the damn Stone Age.”

“Oh, I’ve got some surprises,” Barton grinned.

“Last I checked, arrows and bullets don’t travel at the speed of light,” said Buchinski.

“Technically, electricity only travels around 80% of the speed of light,” said Jenkins, “and that’s through a good conductor. Lasers, on the other hand…”

”KING SHARK IS A SHARK.”

“Enough measuring dicks,” Colonel Flag cut in. “Intel has just given us a location. Beetle, you’ll do a flyby and provide recon when we’ve reached the site, backed up by Fixer’s drones. Once we have the target sited, Team A will engage with Wolverine. Incapacitate if possible, otherwise just stay alive long enough for Team B to advance on the primary objective. Team C will stay in reserve and go where the mission deems necessary.”

Everyone’s stomachs shifted as the plane banked towards its new destination.

“ETA thirty minutes,” Flag said as he walked towards the large crates in the plane’s cargo bay. “Time to gear up.”
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Retired
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Retired "Hayao Miyazaki"

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“I believe I’ve figured it out.”

Johnny sat at a long table in one of the Baxter Building’s conference rooms. He and the five others who joined him faced the lanky young man standing before them. Reed Richards had called the group together suddenly and without explanation, then left them waiting for more than thirty minutes before he finally showed up with various data printouts and tablets tucked under his arm.

Franklin Storm was the first to speak up. The director of the Future Foundation and father of the Storm siblings sat at the head of the table in a dress shirt, tie, and trademark white lab coat. Franklin pushed his wireframe glasses up as he addressed his protege.

“You’ll have to start at the beginning, Reed. No one else here knows what you’re referring to,” he said with a slight trace of humor in his voice. It wasn’t unusual for Reed to begin a conversation mid-thought, which often left him having to circle back around to catch everyone else up.

Reed glanced around the table before continuing in a tone that suggested what he was about to say should be obvious. “My project, sir. The failure with the transdimensional slide. I believe I’ve figured out the error that caused the incident. You see, it was…”

Johnny scanned the rest of the table. Sue and Ben sat across from him. Alyssa Moy and Ivan Kragoff flanked Franklin. Johnny didn’t know much about Alyssa other than she was almost as quiet as she was brilliant. The young woman, not much older than Johnny, sat with her mess of dark hair, obscuring most of her facial features, as she chewed on a pen while staring intensely at Reed. He wasn’t sure what her area of expertise was, but he knew his father had put a lot of time and effort into recruiting her to the Foundation, almost as much as he had put into getting Reed years earlier.

Then there was Ivan. At 28, he was the oldest member of the Future Foundation. Ivan came from Russia and was one of Franklin’s earliest initiates. Unlike Alyssa, Ivan wasn’t an introvert. He was the most outgoing of all the young scientists in the building, and he seemed to share many of the same non-academic interests as Johnny. When they first met years ago, Ivan had even gone out of his way to help Johnny design the schematics for a new, suped-up sports car.

Still, something about the older man had always rubbed Johnny wrong. By all rights, Ivan was a solid guy, but to Johnny, he gave off the impression of trying too hard. It was almost as if he needed to be well-liked by everyone. It was an impression no one else seemed to share, but Johnny had decided to avoid him long ago.

It made sense why Reed had assembled them all. Each of them had been involved with the project in some way. Under Franklin’s supervision, Reed had led the project. Sue was in charge of monitoring the biometrics, Ben intended to pilot their experimental craft, and Johnny acted as an assistant to Reed regarding assembly. Alyssa aided Reed in running calculations, while Ivan later joined the project as a consultant once Reed realized there would be high concentrations of radiation involved.

Johnny met Ben’s eyes across the table. Even seated, he had to tilt his head slightly to meet the goliath’s gaze. They were the only two non-scientists in the room, and while everyone else was nodding along to Reed’s explanation, they sat in silence, waiting for the final punchline.

“But have you determined what caused the mishap in the first place?” Ivan asked in his faint accent. “Such a mistake could not have occurred in isolation, no?”

Reed frowned, considering his response before answering.

“No,” he finally said after a long minute. “It is unclear how such a simple error went unnoticed.”

Johnny thought he could hear something in Reed’s voice, but before he could give it much thought, Franklin cut in.

“Chalk it up to human error, my boy. No one is perfect, not even you.”

“Yes, that may be true, sir, but I have taken steps to ensure human error will be taken out of the equation for the next time. My new Highly Engineered Ro—”

“The next time?” Sue and Alyssa interrupted simultaneously.

Franklin was the one to ask the question on everyone's mind. “Reed, you’re not considering starting the project over again, are you?”

“Oh, certainly not, Doctor Storm,” Reed clarified.

There was an audible sigh of relief.

“There’s no need to start all over. I’ve already completed revisions on the initial test run, and the measures I’ve put in place, along with the B-type integration unit I’ve installed, will ensure no further errors. This time, the transdimensional slide will work as intended. I guarantee it..”

“Stretch, are y’sayin’ what I think y’re sayin’?” Ben grumbled out incredulously.

“Yes, I am. I believe it is the best avenue for understanding and potentially reversing the metamorphosis each of us has undergone. Sue, Ben, Johnny,” he said, turning to each of them in kind. “By this time next week, the four of us will be the first of humankind to traverse to another dimension. Isn’t that fantastic?”
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by mattmanganon
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mattmanganon Your friendly neighbourhood tyranical dicator

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The Lanterns


The Bus, Above the Atlantic

Hal sat at he table in the meeting room, Sinestro, May and Dex sat at the table. They had been called to meet with the Director. The silhouette of the Director appeared on the screen. "Greetings Lanterns and Agent May." The voice distorted voice came through the speakers. "I assume you've seen the news?" May looked at Hal and Sinestro, both shrugging back at her. Dex continued to sit as a loaf, not particularly caring about news. The video of Gordon Godfrey showed up talking about Boliver Trask and Tony Stark having both gone missing. Although for some reason he kept calling him Tony Trask.

"Oh no..." Hal didn't particularly know how to feel about this. On the one hand, Trask was a genius, as was Stark. This was a tragedy... On the otherhand, Jordon had also disappeared, that wasn't such a bad thing... No that was too mean. He was a Military man just like him. He wanted him dishonorably discharged after being caught with the Admirals ugly daughter and forced to marry her. Not dead. "So, we being sent after them?"

"Not at this time, no... But a number of S.H.I.E.L.D.s computers are Trask and with them getting hacked, we are shutting down all of the computers with any chance of being infiltrated. This does mean that analyzing the data you gathered is going to take longer. And until your data is fully analyzed, all we can do is wait for the next Ring attack. Sinestro, is there any chance this has something to do with Ronan?" Sinestro sat back in his chair.

"Doubtful. Trask is a genius by human standards, but that's rather pathetic as far as the galactic community is concerned. No offense intended. That being said, it's not ENTIRELY out of the realm of possibility. Perhaps he has been taken to serve as an expert on your planet." He shook his head. "No, it doesn't make any sense. Ronan is not the studying type. If he plans to attack the planet, he will come in force and make sure the entire galaxy is watching his conquest. He is not a man who does things in half measures or slinking about in the shadows."

"How do you explain Deaths Head?" Fury asked.

"Most likely a scouting force, probing attack. If Deaths Head can get a message back to Ronan, he'll confirm we are here and that we number just 3. If that happens, he will no doubt come for us immediately. That being said. Deaths Head will have probably radio'd his coordinates before arrival. Meaning that once he is overdue on an update. Ronan will probably send a second bounty hunter or scout to confirm why he lost contact. And if that scout confirms our pressence and then immediately reports back to Ronan..."

"Invasion... What time frame are we looking at?" Fury asked.

"Impossible to say. A day, a week, a month, maybe even a year. Depends on if Deaths Head is here for the general bounty alert or if he was specifically sent here by Ronan. Deaths Head won't talk. We may have defeated him, but he's not going to give up an employer. It's why he's so respected in his field. All we can do is keep him imprisoned until he inevitably finds a way to escape."

"I don't think you give S.H.I.E.L.D. enough credit. With the recent... Circumstances... We have been forced to create some rather interesting jail cells. Including one for a creature with 100x the strength of an alien cyborg." May replied. "What makes you think he is going anywhere?"

"Agent May, Deaths Head is not just a blunt instrument, he is a genius escape artist. Some of the most infalible prisons in the universe failed to keep him indefinitely. It may take him time, but he will find a way out."

"In any case, i'm going to have him moved to one of the Green Cells." Fury stated. "It's the strongest one we have. Order your pilots to divert course to New York. My men will be there to meet you. In the meantime, get from Deaths Head any information you can and do not let him get loose."
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Hound55
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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Peter snatched up his backpack and swung for the quiet of a rooftop, far above the sounds of the city.

Sitting down cross-legged, he pulled his laptop out of his bag and woke it up with a tap of the spacebar.

The screen slowly warmed to colour and its previous screen. Until his attention was drawn to an icon in the bottom corner.



"No, no, no... C'mon... I had a frontrow seat to this, and you cut out now?! Trask, what good are you?"

Peter digs into his bag for an older solution and starts rapidly scrawling out everything he could remember from the Bestman and Toomes tech show on notepad with pen, and how it unravelled to the chaos and carnage which led to his own-- Spiderman's fight, rather-- with Toomes. The violence and harm which befelled the Press row.

Thirty minutes later he lookes at the smudgy, unimpressively scrawled pages, whilst he rotated his now cramping wrist.

"Uhh... Maybe it'll look better typed up... First with the news counts for something, right?"

He stuffed the paper and the laptop he'd used to lean on back in his backpack, and spied the Flatiron building - a building he knew had public rooftop access to the elevators downstairs.

"News courtesy of the World Wide Web-slinger, no thanks to Trask..."

One quick change back into his specially packed first-day office attire later, and he rushed and hustled for his inaugural trip to the offices of the Daily Bugle.

Peter stepped out of the elevator, more nervous than he had been brawling and falling all over the city less than a few hours earlier.

Of course his Spidey suit breathed a bit better than what he was wearing now...

The signage said this floor was for 'The Offices of the Daily Bugle - Administration, Journalist Staff and Editorial' but he wasn't entirely sure where to go. He carefully trod by each and every cube and desk looking for one of the familiar faces of Mister Jameson or Mister Robertson, but neither seemed to be anywhere he could see them. He was starting to fear the worst and that he'd have to bother one of his busy co-workers and ask their whereabouts until he saw the signage on the door of the office once he got to the back row.

He exhaled in relief at sparing himself the less than positive first impression with his new co-workers.

There was a girl busily working at two screens at the desk in front of Mister Jameson's office.

"Oh, great! Umm... I need to go in there. I-- uh, just started working here... at the Daily Bugle." He gave the girl workng at the desk a broad smile, brimming with pride as he said the full name of his new place of work.

"I'm Peter Parker."

The girl at the desk was only a few years older than he was, himself. He began to wonder if that was a standard hiring practice, but quickly cut the line of thinking. For some reason he picked up on a hint of recognition as he gave his name.

Oh... he was supposed to come in earlier, to clear up finalising all of the new employment paperwork. Maybe that's why she knew the name. Had they been waiting on him?

He decided to break the ice and discomfort by throwing more anxious words on the fire. That'd fix it. Nervous talking. The answer to everything, whether it's fighting a winged lunatic engineering genius, starting a new job, or making a first impression with a--

"I'm getting the sense that what Aunt May suggested I wear to make a good first impression has me wildly overdressed..." An awkward smile, as he broke eye contact to look around the room at the other workers, before realising the implication of what he'd just said. His eyes widening, quickly.

"Not that you don't really look nice in what you're wearing!"

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or more embarrassed as his scrambling was met with an amused smirk.

"Riiiight..."

He decided to move along for the scene of the wreckage, digging into his bag for the papers.

"I--uhh-- I have some paperwork with me. Uhmm. Mister Jameson said I was supposed to bring this in. Oh... and-- umm... I have this too!"

He slapped his handwritten mess down on her desk, and immediately felt this was not an improvement in how this first impression was going. Selfconscious over the scrawl, and as if she could somehow read it and judge him on the contents despite it being clearly impossible for her to have any takeaway from his first effort at an article beyond his own blogsite. His stomach felt like it was twisting, churning, tightening.

"Err-- first... story..? Or article? Or news bit or whatever?" He mumbled, as if the smudged crinkled mess needed further explanation because of the means of delivery. He was about to mention the network being down, when she replied.

"Copy."

"Roger-dodger, over and out?" He quick-wittedly snapped back before his mind could edit for readership. Oh no... But then...

Her smile widened.

The tightening sensation that had been building in his chest relaxed a little.

"No it's-- it's called 'copy'." She clarified kindly.

"Okay... I've got to be honest. I've never worked--"

"In a newsroom?"

"Yeah, that either..." Peter replied, eyeing the rows of desks and cubes and hoping for a silent death with minimal witnesses.

"It's okay. I'm Betty. I handle most of the administrative work for the paper, and a fair amount of the human resources and general daily operations work as well." So he'd come to the right place for dropping in his paperwork, if not in how he presented the 'copy' for admission.

"That seems-- like a lot." Peter noted. Betty smiled, thinking he was being kind with his appraisal of her job description.

More accurately he was wondering just how much Jameson was going to have him do. He'd hoped he'd be writing and presenting science and tech based articles, but they had seemed far more impressed with the layout and work he'd put in administering his own blogsite. With news of just how much he was leaning on Betty to cover multiple jobs, it made him wonder if this job wouldn't take too much away from school and the internship he'd just agreed to take on.

But she smiled at his comment, and those concerns seemed to disappear immediately. Frittering away in the air between them.

"Well, it keeps me busy. And between you and me, Peter, I happen to be very good at it." Her smile widened, and her eyes flashed.

Are we--? Is this flirting?

He'd never had much experience with the notion, or for that matter the attention of the fairer sex in general. But the workplace was a different world. One to grow into. Is this what that world was like?

He found his own smile widening without any effort on his part, as he attempted to give some type of coherent response when...

"I-- uh--"

"PARKER! Is that you out there?! Quit chatting up the admin girl and get your butt in here!"

The pair immediately started blushing, turning away from one another.

Then Peter noticed from the corner of his eye, that she'd responded in similar kind to how he had.

Wait-- did she just-- As well? Does she feel-- or think-- or whatever... The same way?

She'd seemed so much more grown up than him though. Sophisticated. Even if she was only a few years older.

Peter stammered out a response to try and cover both of their shyness from the explosion of the Editor-in-Chief.

"I wasn't-- I mean-- I--"

"This is why you don't hire kids, Robbie! It's all puberty and hormones in here! PARKER! Don't make me say it twice! Get in here!"

"Brant! I want these office plants rotated! Get me something that absorbs pheromones!"


"I... don't think that's a thing, Mister Jameson."

His reply followed an unintelligible growl.

"I don't pay you for 'I don't think', Brant! Research! If it exists, I want them here by Friday! Unless-- they're that giant flower that smells like rotting meat. Anything else, get it in here!"

Peter went inside with his scrawled pages, leaving the admin sheet on her desk and closed the door behind him, he tried to sneak a peek at Betty one more time, but she'd quickly returned to her work. Any sign of previously being flustered now long gone.

"Parker! Sit down!"

Peter sat down in a chair on the same side of the desk as Robbie.

"What've you got there?!"

"Oh, I, umm... decided to take the initiative and went out to a tech show. This was my write up... uhh... copy." He stumbled to add the new learned terminology.

"You haven't even got your press credentials yet. And you weren't put on assignment for it... Where do you get off--"

Looking for a floatation device, Peter turned to Robbie.

"It was the-- uhh-- Bestman and Toomes tech show..."

Recognition of the name quickly flashed across Jameson's face.

"Parker! Here! Give it here. What's the hold up?!"

Peter put his scrawled pages on the desk.

"Sorry for how it's presented... There was a network outage."

"Trask's network. All phones and devices which use it have been affected. We know."

"Crap... crap... unusable... Unverified. Crap... We can't print any of this. What is this? What are you giving me? What am I supposed to do with any of this?" Jameson flung the pages back across the table at the younger man, where they floated in the air drifting slowly to the floor along with any dreams of an easy transition into the workplace.

"But that's-- What happened. I was there."

"And who the Hell are you? Nobody. That's who. Where are your sources? Who have you spoken with to confirm any of this?"

"Well-- who should I have confirmed with? He tore through the Press Row. They all probably got taken away by emergency services. Nobody else would have this yet, to confirm any of it."

"I'm supposed to believe that?! Then how'd you get this?"

"I didn't have my press credentials yet, they weren't gonna let me in. I had to sneak the guy at the door cash to get him to let me in and stand at the back."

Jonah shot Robbie a look.

"Nobody else has it, Jonah..."

Jonah shook his finger, an idea forming. With one finger on a push button phone he dialled a number.

"Wolf. This is 'J'. I need--"

"Ohh, I don't have time for this... call Media Relations." A woman's voice forced back the sigh which came from frequent exposure to J. Jonah Jameson.

"Time sensitive, and you owe me. I got a kid here who's claiming that this Bestman and Toomes show turned ugly. Press Row battered. Guy turned costumed villain. And a powered battle over the city."

There was a noteable punctuated silence hanging over the phone.

"...As you are aware, regular uniformed officers can't confirm news stories, regardless how accurate they appear to be and consistent with information provided over the internal despatch network."

"Thanks Wolf, you're a doll."

The female voice at the other end didn't even try to fight back her cringing sigh in response this time, as she disconnected the call.

Jameson hit another button on his phone for the intercom.

"Urich! Get in here, we've got exclusive on the Toomes breakdown!"

"I don't have time for this. I'm on crime beat. I'm expecting a call back regarding mob activity operating out of Hell's Kitch--"

Jonah tapped the intercom button repeatedly until it blasted a chirp in the journalist's face.

"You're crime beat. This is crime... ....adjacant. Get in here. You're interviewing the kid, you're gonna show him the broad strokes of how an article like this gets made, and then you get right back to it."

"Jonah, I don't have time to be holding some kid's hand whil--" Another loud chirp interrupted him.

Jonah turned to the younger man across the table.

"I'm pairing you with Ben Urich. He's a true reporter. You tell him your story when he interviews you. Watch how he re-shapes the information. Tells the story. I don't want to see 'This'..." A fist held the scrunched pages which had floated back onto his desk. "...again."

Peter knew he had his first day at the New U internship later this afternoon, leading into the early evening. He wanted to say something, but he already seemed to be on shaky ground with the Editor-in-Chief as it was. And the job was the only thing that made the internship possible in the first place.

It's just one time... How late could I really be from this anyway?

"One last thing... We're going to attach some of these videos you've been collecting for the story. From your site. How've you been getting them?"

"Videos?"

"Yes, these small videos. 3 to five seconds long. Some are almost ten seconds. The Bugle's site should be able to handle the size. Draws the viewer's eye."

"Oh, you mean the GIFs? I've just been... snapping them on my phone."

"Yes! Get me Gifs of Spider-Man!

Robbie cringed. "That's not... that's not how you pronounce the word."

"What? I said what he said."

The pair seated opposite gave both gave wincing shrugs.

"That's not how you pronounce the 'G'."

"Well, to be fair, there's some debate about how it's said..."

"Some... but either way, not like that." Robbie held a distasteful expression on his face.

"Gifs... Gggifs. Giiifs..."

"Oh, absolutely not..." Robbie said. Peter cringed, a look of sympathy on his face as if Jonah had trodden in something unpleasant.

"Get me... short videos of convenient size for mass distribution on our publication site without loss of visual quality through data compression... of Spider-Man!"

"I think... technically, I still own those through my own rights held over my blogsite. You said you might have me make new blogs, and handle administration of the site. But existing videos from my site, and new videos I haven't taken yet. We never discussed that in negotiations."

Robbie smirked at the audacity of the younger man who sat next to him. A vein above Jonah's brow became visible, as his teeth gritted ever tighter in an expression his dentist would doubtless warn him about.

"You're staff."

"I am. But it falls outside of the purview of my job description as we agreed. I should know, I just dropped it in a few minutes ago."

A low growl was emitted from the elder newsman across the desk.

"Freelancers scale. Until we can rectify the error in your job description."

"So there'll be a pay increase included, presumably. Since this is additional work we never discussed."

This bargain from hiring a kid was becoming less of a bargain with every passing day.

Robbie's smirk was in danger of turning into outright laughter.

The door seemed to open and both Robbie and Peter seemed to sail out of the room on a breeze of J. Jonah Jameson's ranting screams about the work ethic and mercenary behaviour of the youth of the day.

Peter found himself disappointed to see that Betty wasn't at her desk when he drifted out of his office towards Ben Urich's desk.




S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N





"OhgodOhgodOhgod--I'mlateI'msolateI'msolate--"

Peter swung across the city. He'd had to change back into his Spidey suit to get across town, the session with Urich had taken far longer than he'd anticipated, and now he was at risk of spreading the less than ideal first impressions across multiple locations, from his new job to his new internship.

He dropped into a back alley and performed a quickchange and threw his backpack over his shoulder, stepping back onto the sidewalk out the front of the New U Technologies building near Central Park.

He rushed inside, hoping that something had caused everybody else to be late.

No such luck.

He quickly scurried across the floor and put his backpack in an open box locker. He replaced his sportsjacket with a labcoat. There was a blonde girl about his age with a headband holding everything perfectly in place. He assumed she was another of the interns.

Running late he'd have to cut corners, make some asssumptions, to get caught up without holding everybody back and--

He overheard a sarcastic jibe from Connors at his expense.

Limit shots like that..

"Hi-- yes-- hey. Sorry about this, Mister Connors--"

"DOCTOR Connors."

"Doctor Connors. Sorry." Peter corrected, getting flustered from things turning even more against him.

Maybe don't cut that corner...

"I just started a new job so that I could afford to begin this internship. It's remote and I don't normally have to go into the office, but today there was an orientation, they put my details on HR file-- you don't... care about the details... but it was a one off, sir. It won't be happening again. I'm really sorry about this."

Littered with at best half-truths and omissions, but its not like Connors would want a full detailed breakdown.

"Well, you're going to have to make up everything that you missed. Understand as well, that I am not very happy. This position is an incredible privilege that most in your position would revel in the opportunity. You haven't made a very good first impression."

"Yes sir, I'm sorry."

"Yes, so I heard. Just do better."

Looking to cut corners and avoid further negative attention, he got to work copying the assembly of apparatus that his fellow blonde intern had collected in an assortment in front of her. And then he noticed her looking directly at him, he smiled back. Being friendly? Her eyes seemed wide. Wait, too wide, what's she--?

"Mister Parker, if you had BOTHERED to ask, you would have realised that the collection of test tubes and flasks in front of Ms Stacy, that you have attempted to copy from, are in need of a clean. You may as well clean them now as well, since you've soiled them."

Shaking her head. Maybe shouldn't have cut that corner, either...

As Doctor Connors had his back turned Peter quickly asked the blonde girl in a hushed whisper.

"Quick! What did I miss?"

"The lockers, the emergency contact numbers, where the toilets are and the in-house method for cleaning test tubes and flasks - acid pre-wash, soap and water, three times distilled water rinse."

The youth dared to turn and look at her whilst Connors back remained turned.

"Thanks. Peter. Midtown High."

"Gwen. Standard High."

So... not being friendly. But not unfriendly.




Peter was walking Gwen to 'the Library' where she'd do her homework until her father came off his shift.

It had started to get dark, and whilst she'd made the trek through Manhattan to the library pretty much every nightfor a few years now, this was the first time from the direction of their internship at New U Technologies and not her school.

Her father was a police officer in the NYPD, she had said.

"So that was something new... A whole day full of new."

"Oh yes, you said you had a new job. What's that like?"

His thoughts strayed back to Betty, a smile flickered across his face.

"Kinda a lot. But... I guess fun. I don't know if its supposed to be fun, but it has been."

"So what is it?"

"Oh, I'm uh-- what did they call it? Science and Technology Contributor and Online Administrator for the Daily Bugle."

"Wooooow. Well that's pretty impressive. So what exactly do you do?"

"Well, its hard to say yet. I interviewed for an article today, but I think generally they're I'm in charge of taking care of the paper's online website."

"Oh..." She held her tongue. She'd seen their online presence. It was far from impressive.

"Oh... no no no. I haven't really started yet. It was my first day in the office today. I get what you mean though, it's a bit-- ehhhhhh. Still, if it wasn't I guess I wouldn't have a job."

"Well, it should look good on a college application," she smiled to him warmly, "let me guess, you're trying to get into Empire State U on scholarship as well?"

Peter shrugged back with his own smile. "Guilty."

"Don't let my Dad hear you say that..." Gwen joked back, daring to probe beyond her quiet first impression.

"My Dad won't let me work anywhere just yet. Said he wants me just focusing on school. Which... is nice that I don't have to, but I'd kind of like to not have to ask to borrow money any time I want to do anything."

"Well, I used to tutor a fair bit before I got the job. It's not a lot of money, but its something. If you're looking for some kind of-- what do you call it-- money independence?"

"Financial independence."

"Yeah. And with tutoring, you know, you can get some kind of control over how many you take on, how many people you're working with and who. So there's money, but its not like a real job, where you can't say no."

Suddenly Peter's pocket vibrated. He had it on silent, not wanting things to turn any worse at the internship. He pulled it from his pocket, and pressed the screen to answer, not recognising the number.

"Hel-lo..?" Peter asked.

A loud tearful outburst, before any words were spoken had Peter pull the phone from his ear briefly.

Gwen looked on, with her brow raised, not without her own curiosity over what was happening.

""Hello? Is this... Peter Parker? Hi, my name is Felicia Hardy-- and-- and I really need help. I'm taking freshman electronics at Empire State University, and I got told by my teacher that he's gonna flunk me if I-- I-- don't get a good score on my next-- my next-- oh God..." Breathy sobs and tears permeated through the call.

"Well, the thing is... I kind of recently got a new job, and I've started this internship, and between that and my... extracurriculars, I'm kind of time-short at the moment. I actually thought I took my number down from all of the noticeboards I had it listed on..." Peter replied. Gwen deduced it was about one of the tutoring jobs he'd just mentioned, and turning her head away to try not to pry anymore than she already had.

"Please-- please I really need your help--!" The girl's voice returned with breathy desperation. "I'm local! And I can't fail this class. Oh please! I'll send you my address now!"

The call dropped out before Peter could reply. "He--ll-- Hi--?"

He looked at his phone somewhat ambivalent about the call which just took place. Before realising something.

His phone vibrated again as a pin was dropped. He sighed and started replying in a text, which he quickly fired off

"Oh--! Umm... network's back up." He said to Gwen, holding out his phone for her to see.

Suddenly his phone vibrated again, and a picture image flashed across the screen. Gwen's brows raised and a smirk crossed her face.

"So I see, you CAN choose your jobs. I guess I'm seeing the benefits in that."

"Huh..? What do you mea--?"

He saw the image on his phone and his face flushed red, as he immediately felt guilt. Betty's face turned to disappointment in his mind's eye.

"Whoa-- I'd... I'd already said I would? What was? Why-- You saw! I didn't-- I'd already agreed before I saw what she looked like!"

"Uh huh..." Gwen smiled, revelling in watching Peter squirm.

"I'd never heard from her or seen what she looked like before..."

He kept digging. She kept smiling. His face turned ever more crimson.

"Uh huh..."

He hadn't just done it because the girl seemed hot, had he? I mean, how could he know?

Gwen let him off the hook, having had enough of watching him squirm, she changed the subject.

"You said the network was down?"

"Yeah, whole Trask network. Affected all devices under the provider." He grabbed the lifeline with both hands.

"Ugh... Trask." He felt warmed by her response. It wasn't a unique one. Trask had his own... problematic leanings. Peter didn't particularly like to think he was adding to his company's coffers.

"I know... I'm only with them because I'm still under the plan from when my Aunt May first put me on."

They came to a stop opposite Central Park, before Peter suddenly realised where they were. He'd just been putting one foot in front of the other next to the blonde girl, without ever asking for a destination beyond 'the library'.

"Wait-- this is-- The Museum of Natural History..?!?" He exclaimed.

"Yeah, my Dad got us a family pass. We keep it up every year. The Gottesman Research Library is up on the Fourth floor around the back. I just go up there for my homeork til my Dad finishes. 20th Precinct is just a couple of blocks over."

She turned away, to start walking towars the entrance.

"That is. SO. FREAKING. COOL!"

Gwen lowered her head and didn't turn back to face him for a few seconds, before brushing her hair slightly away as she added a "Thanks for walking me here, Peter. Umm-- a family pass is for two adults and two students and it's just me and my Dad, so maybe if ever you and even your Aunt..."

"Wow! Yeah, absolutely! This is so cool! I mean... I can't now. I've gotta go do this tutoring thing, but yeah, that'd be amazing! I love this place! The Rose Center! The Animal Halls!"

"Oh. Yeah..." She kept a small smile which didn't match his enthusiasm. "I'll catch you at New U next time, I guess. Have fun with your tutor job."

"Well, that's not my job. I mean, its just a one-off gig. My job's over at the Bu-- oh man! I'm gonna be late again though, aren't I? Yeah, catch you next time, Gwen!" He called back in a frantic panic running back in the direction they'd just walked from, not noticing the girl's expression drop at the thought.




His phone vibrated in his pocket as he ran down the sidewalk, slipping by crowds with fancy footwork, on his way back to Midtown following the pin location.

It was his Aunt May.

"Anna Watson has her lovely niece Mary Jane down from--"

"Nope. No time for that. But that reminds me."

He fired back a quick text reply apologising that he'd be late home, he'd had a last minute request from a tutor job and he'd have to find the time to get down to the ESU campus and pull his number from any further jobs again, since he was going to be busy. And then used the excuse as a reason to pivot away from being able to meet 'the lovely Mary Jane'.

He shuddered at the thought.

Then his thoughts drifted to Betty. Would it be too forward for him to ask her out somewhere sometime? How long could he work there before it would seem weird? Was it weird anyway? Would it always be?

She was only a little older than him, semed very kind, very--


"Hey, watch where you're goin', Buddy!

"Sorry..."

He weaved a little more carefully.

She did seem interested didn't she? She reacted the same way he did when Jonah-- Does that mean anything though? Of course it does. It means she got shy. Maybe she's thinking the same about you right now... Well, probably not right now. She's probably got a handle of herself better than you have. She's so much more sophisticated. But she's cool. And--

He looked up. This was the place. Pin's here. Message says the penthouse. Is that--

He went in the building and hit the button for the top floor of the elevator.




Fancy place. Well duh... A Penthouse Apartment in Midtown. He guessed he wasn't the only person who found it difficult to say no to the type of people who lived here.

"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, before you start?" A mustachioed middle aged man asked Peter. Presumably her father.

"Oh, uhh... no sir, I kind of want to get this done as quick as possible. See, I'm expected back home. I called and told them I'd be late, extenuating circumstances and all. But yeah, I kind of just have to help her get back on track and get home in a hurry."

Walter laughed out loud again at the earnesty. "Geeeeeeez..." He uttered without further explanation.

Peter held a confused expression for the response.

He was led through the house and to Felicia's room.

"Tutor's here, Flick." Was his introduction, before "Make sure you keep the door open, Flick." a laugh echoed down the hallway which only confused Peter further.

Peter's first impression was that he didn't seem to inspire confidence in her.

"Oh my God..." She cried out. "My tutor's a high school senior..."

He winced at the comment, not sure how to broach the issue.

"Uhh... Junior. Senior, next semester. I mean, if it makes you feel better, I turn seventeen in, like, two weeks..."

Evidently, it did not make her feel better.

"Look, it's not that bad. Not to toot my own horn, but I mean, I'm VERY good at this stuff. And you're not that far behind. You can't be. It's freshman Electronics. We just have to get you to 'see' it, and you'll find it easy."

She seemed to be crying in her own shame, which just made things more awkward for Peter. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

"I jus-- I jus-- I just need to pass this next unit. And now I find out that even a High School Junior would have a better grasp on this stuff--"

"Well, I'm not really... 'just' a High School junior. I mean, I won Science prizes and... a job... IN the industry..." He defended himself.

"Could you-- could you just... DO this stuff for me?" She sniffed. She removed her hands from her face and hit him right between the eyes with the eyes as her mouth curled into a smile that suggested they'd have a secret, held just between them. "Just this once..."

She reached across and rested her hand on his forearm.

His brain short-circuited. It would have made an excellent example for a new electronics student, if she's the patience to study it. Also, if it were a literal thing and not purely a metaphor.

He sucked on his teeth and ran his hand through his hair.

"This isn't how tutors work, Felicity."

She kept hold of the eye contact. He broke eye contact first.

"I mean... when's this due by?"

It took everything she had to not turn her widening smile into a laugh.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow???"

"I know, Petey... But it's just so... hard. It takes so long for me to just get it all so wrong..."

Whoa...

She arched her back unnaturally as she got up, and with that, finally, he began to suspect something was up. It was hot, yes, but unatural. He realised he was receiving a performance for one.

And started to feel dumb for not having realised it earlier. Thoughts of Betty started to drift back. This time she wasn't even disappointed in him, so much as he was in himself.

He didn't want to waste any more time here.

It made him feel guilty again, but he could barely muster enough to care.

"I'll just get us something to drink, Petey. While you think about it."

He grunted as she left. He didn't think she noticed.

Probably wasn't used to hearing any kind of refusal to notice it when delivered as anything but blatant.

He pulled her recent results to find out what he was working with.

She wasn't wrong. The situation was dire. Needed an unlikely grade to skate by the unit with a pass. He sighed.

He'd be here all night trying to get a girl who generally didn't care enough to do the basic study to understand basic principle to get this done to the 90 percentile.

Or...

He grabbed the sheet and just started going through the work. He made the odd slip at trickier spots, checked the score twice, and added an extra mistake or two.

Ninety three percent. Should get her by.

Teacher might buy it if he thought she was copying straight from the book... Maybe... Ish...

He left her bedroom. She was leaning into a refrigerator, looking in a way Peter otherwise would be too-tongue tied to describe if he weren't so completely done with this session.

"Here. I looked over your last stuff. This should be about a 93%. Should scrape back into passing. Any more than that and there's no way I could pass it off as your work. If they hit you with a pop quiz just tell them you're still very much working from the book." He said flatly.

He didn't seem happy at all. And if he'd been drooling over her at any point there was certainly no sign of that now, Felicia could see.

"I don't need a drink. Just the cash."

She hopped over to the kitchen counter where the money for the tutor was kept. Bouncing. Still trying to lean into 'cute'. She returned to him and put it in his hands and was about to thank him when she realised he wasn't finished. 'Cute' didn't cut it.

"Felicity... Get it together. If you want to use me for this next time... Lose my number."

He took the cash and immediately felt guilty again, before he walked out the door without turning back.

He wasted enough of his ever-dwindling time and had his own work to get done back home.







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Pacifista Ponk-ifista

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The bell sounded out with the usual clatter of chairs and rustling of bags. “Bye Mrs. Grey!” “Byeeee!” “Goodbye Mrs. Grey.” It warmed her heart to have even a handful of her students offer farewells. She liked it even better when they weren’t so rambunctious or forgetful, but what could you do? “Who forgot their shoe?!” she called down the hall, a pair of feet running back to grab it, roughly putting it on before taking off without a word of thanks or apology.

Sitting down, there was one student left, having taken advantage of Jean’s means of lending an ear. Antonio sat in his tank top, head bowed. Jean took her seat and turned her chair, leaning slightly forward with her forearms on her legs and hands loosely clasped. In the silence she glanced at the drawer she kept her phone in, heart pulsing as fears and anxieties reared up, but she kept her cool and resisted the urge to check it.

“You said that if we tell you something bad we wanted to do we wouldn’t get in trouble?” Antonio finally spoke, his words weak.

A light sense of dread crept in. “I said that, and no one’s gotten in trouble for talking to me.”

Antonio was still uneasy, but after he was quiet for a minute or so he went to his backpack. He returned with a kitchen knife about eight inches long. Jean kept neutral. Easier done than said when she’d been lightly aware of it all day. “Is that from your kitchen?”

Fear spread on Antonio’s face. “Are you gonna tell my mom and dad?”

“If they don’t know you have it then you just need to put it back and there won’t be a problem. But that’s only if they don’t know.” Antonio normally tried to be tough in class, dismissing assignments and not putting any effort in. The scared boy in front of her was almost unrecognizable in a way. Reaching into her desk, she pulled out half a pack of Nutter Butters, her intended sugar break for the rest of her post-school work. He let out a low whine, taking them with shaking hands before devouring them as fast as he could. Halfway through the last one, he stopped to break down. It took all of Jean’s effort to hold back her own tears.

He spoke through his sobs. “M-May c-c-called me sk-skinny d-during PE yesterday a-and I was mad s-so I b-brought the knife t-t-to stab her.”

Taking a breath to steady herself, Jean reached out and put her hand on his knee. She wasn’t sure if it was for his sake or hers. “A-and I’m o-only sk-skinny because my p-parents don’t feed me!”

That was the cry of help Jean had been looking for. She’d known. How could she not? She didn’t give him a snack on a whim. But to randomly give him food usually would have been an odd look, and Jean didn’t want to be on the receiving end of suspicions she couldn’t easily dispel or invite unwanted claims of favoritism or 'getting to close'. Mind reading was something even she felt was off putting, more so than her mutanthood. But now, in this case, it was no longer a concern.

Jean’s stomach was mixed with relief at the weight starting to lift and anxiety at what was coming next, a scenario she’d spent more than a few bus rides grappling with. When Antonio started to calm just a little bit, Jean said, her voice wet, “We’re going to get you help, okay? I’m going to get Mr. Grant and Mr. Satou, okay?” The former the most veteran teacher of the school, the latter the Vice-Principal. Even if Jean knew what to do, deferring to her seniors as a the most junior was the smart play. You can’t do everything yourself, Scott had told her some time ago when they were still figuring out their domestic situation. She’d been trying to take it to heart. You’re not in trouble.”

A quick call on the school lines had the two older men at her door in minutes. Jean stood back as they took over the situation. Sadly it wasn’t the first time either of them had dealt with abuse cases. Wouldn’t be the last for any of them either. Thanks offered to Jean, they took control of the situation and moved Antonio to a different office, and hopefully had something a little more substantial to offer food wise. Jean was left at her desk, leaning back and taking a moment in the empty class to just...unpack everything a little. Some time later, there was a knock on the door with a soft voice following. “You okay in there?” Mrs. Herb was always the strictest and firmest with Jean, which was why this soft tone rendered her nearly unrecognizable.

Wiping at her eye and finding a bit of errant moisture, Jean insisted, “Yeah, I’m okay. Gimme five more minutes.” There were some footsteps as she took her up on that. Not sure if she’d return, Jean blew her nose before daring to check her phone, her source of anxiety for the past school day. She’d been seen this morning when she lifted the truck, and she’d spent the whole day waiting for her life to crash down around her. It was a risk she’d been prepared for, but at this point she thought it might be better for the other shoe to just drop, no matter what else came down with it. The lack of service was a funny coincidence that would stem the movement of that knowledge, but it was only a matter of time. It wasn’t as though everything was down. She still had wifi. And a fresh kind of anxiety as she saw a message from the last person she expected. The contents struck a special kind of fear in her.


Can you be more vague?! She leaned back in her chair and let out a shrill groan through her teeth. Her mind first jumped to Firebird, her heart leaping the same distance out of her body, but that wording didn’t feel right it that’s what she was asking about.


If Jean wasn’t so mentally tired then she’d have rolled her eyes, a state away from whatever was going on. Her mom was closer to the whatever it was then her, probably, but in that small town the big cities felt closer, Jean guessed. But as she checked the link she watched a wave smash into Liberty island, bodies hitting the water. The unnatural occurrence led to discussion and postulation that it wasn’t going to be the first time either. Jean put her phone down and tried to push it from her mind but the images kept coming in flashes to her brain. A quick search and she found it was only 170 miles straight to New York, so if she…

You can’t do everything yourself. She heard in her head again. Leaning back in her chair she massaged her temple. It was stupid: even if she went there’d be nothing she’d be able to do, right? But if the situation got worse and she wasn’t there...was she really going to make an interstate flight on a whim?

“Jean?” Mrs. Herb was back, concern evident on her face as she poked her head in. “What’s the matter with you?”

“O-oh, it’s just, uh, there’s something going on in New York and i-it’s a little...much, right now, after, you know, everything.” Her breath was shaky as she exhaled, rubbing her fingers back and forth on her forehead.

Herb’s firmness seemed to regrow itself as she straightened her back, the small woman with curly white hair standing over Jean in her chair. “Yeah, I saw. I saw more than you’d want me to see.” Those words knocked Jean out of her daze, her mind going in other directions. “I didn’t come here for that, I came here to check on you. You did the right thing, and Antonio’s going to get the help he needs. But if there’s something else you should be doing, or somewhere else you should be, then that’s up to you to figure out. No one else.”

Jean stared, picking up exactly what she’d feared from surface thoughts. She hadn’t recognized Mrs. Herb in traffic earlier, but she’d recognized her. Jean gaped, stammering out nothings until she finally committed. No half arsing it. “Y-yeah, yeah. Thank you!” Reaching under the desk she pulled out an extra satchel before sliding open the window and hopping out. Mrs. Herb looked around carefully, nearly swearing before shaking her head and starting for the door. Just as she moved to leave, there was a rush from the window. Jean plucked her phone and a half empty plastic water bottle from her desk, poking around in a drawer for a missing snack before locking eyes with Mrs. Herb. “Sorry, forgot...” Trailing off, she went back to the window. “Sorry!” Jean went off into the sky once again.

Herb shook her head. “What are we gonna do with you?”
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Hidden 3 mos ago Post by Half Pint
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Volume 1 - Beggar Knight
Stand with Honour



Duncan stood still for a moment, his pulse slowing but the power from the armour still thrumming, pulling at him. The Elder Ghul lay dead at his feet, their immense bodies sprawled across the chamber floor, and yet the hunger inside the living armour was not sated. It demanded more, more blood, more death, more chaos.

Omar and Mehdi exchanged nervous glances, uncertain how to react to their companion, who no longer seemed entirely human. They had seen Duncan fight before, but this was different. He moved like a predator, like something ancient and terrifying that had been awoken deep within him. The three stood in silence, Duncan's friends not quite sure what to say or do in his terrifying presence.

"We need to go." Duncan said, his voice a strange mixture of his own and something far more primal. His eyes behind his helmet were wild, burning with a savage intensity. "The camp needs us."

Without waiting for a response, Duncan turned and led them back through the corridor. His strides were swift and purposeful, the cursed armour carrying him with unnatural ease. Omar and Mehdi followed, keeping their distance, still unsure of the creature that now wore their friend's face.

As they climbed back up the spiral staircase, the eerie hum from the chamber below faded. But the tension didn't. Duncan's chest still ached, the shard of the Ebony Blade embedded in his heart pulsing with each step, reminding him of the cost of this power.

They emerged from the subterranean ruins to find the camp in chaos. The Ghul had mounted a massive assault in their absence, the campfires flickering wildly as soldiers fought to repel the vicious creatures. Screams filled the air, mingled with the clash of steel and the guttural growls of the Ghul.

Duncan barely paused. He charged forward, his mace in hand, the living armour propelling him into battle with terrifying speed. He crashed into the nearest Ghul, swinging his mace with bone shattering force. The beast was sent flying, its skull crushed, but Duncan didn't stop. The armour's hunger was insatiable. It guided him through the battlefield like a storm, tearing through the Ghul with ruthless efficiency.

Mehdi and Omar fought valiantly, but they couldn't keep up with Duncan. He was a force of nature, moving faster and hitting harder than any man should be capable of. The Ghul fell before him like wheat before a scythe, their monstrous forms crumbling under his assault. Blood sprayed the sands, and Duncan felt a dark satisfaction rising within him. The armour wanted more. Demanded more.

But with each kill, the armour grew tighter, more suffocating. The line between Duncan and the beast within the metal blurred. His chest burned, the shard of the Ebony Blade flaring with dark energy, feeding the curse.

He felt it then, the armour trying to take control. The line between the movements he chose to do, and the ones it was making him do began to blur.

The battlefield faded from his vision, replaced by a swirling void of darkness and blood. The primal roar of the beast within the armour echoed in his mind, calling him to surrender, to give in to the power, to let it consume him completely.

No! Duncan fought back, gritting his teeth. He couldn't lose himself. Not now. Not after everything. His friends, his mission, they still needed him.

But the armour tightened around his body, its influence pressing harder. His limbs felt heavier, his movements more violent. He was losing the battle for control. His shrouded vision spun as he whipped his head around and watched as the last of the Ghul fell. But rather than cheers of victory the people of the camp were almost silent, many of them casting worried glances or flat out staring at Duncan.

He looked down at his bloodied metal hands, like a beasts claws curling up towards him and then back to the people of the camp. He shook his head violently, regaining just enough control to turn and pounce like a wildcat, scrambling on all fours at a speed far greater than he could run back towards the cliff that overlooked the camp Mehdi had shown him before.

He could feel the armour's will. It didn't just want to kill the Ghul, it wanted to kill anyone in its path. He could feel it trying to draw him to the camp, to satiate its thirst for blood. He had to resist. He began clawing at the armour, trying to peel it off and toss it away, but it was like trying to peel off your own skin. Every time he tried to tear at it his skin felt like it was burning. He could feel the armour resisting, solidifying itself as part of him moer and more as he struggled.

He gripped the helmet in his hands, shutting his eyes tight as he shook his head, trying to fight against the thoughts telling him to let go of control. And then a glimmer of hope, a vision of times long gone.



As the memory faded, Duncan found himself back on the cliff overlooking the camp, the cursed armour loosening its hold. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers gripping the helm as he tore it free from his head. The air was cool against his sweat-slicked skin, and the weight of the armour seemed to lessen.

Arthur's words echoed in his mind, grounding him. Stand with honour.

With one final, violent effort, Duncan ripped the cursed armour from his body, it retreating back into its liquid form and disappearing down the shoulders of his robes. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, but he was free, at least for now. He could still feel it there, part of him. But at least he had control over it for the moment.

The memory of Arthur's light had saved him once again. Now, it was time to find Merlin.
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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: 418 SW RavensView Drive - Portland, Oregan - United States of America
Who You Gonna Call? #1.05: Vampyre
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Angel

“Breathe in-” The calming voice echoed across the front room of the small bungalow as a woman’s voice emitted from a nearby speaker. The ‘Best Guided Meditations’ playlist continued as the man in the center of the room took another breath, attempting to follow the instructions presented by the woman’s recorded voice.

It had been six thousand, five hundred and seventy-four days since the last incident.

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the living room, passing under Monroe’s nose as he continued his meditation. Taking another breath, he inhaled the tempting aroma, his enhanced olfactory senses picking apart each underlying scent and isolating the ingredients in the cookies.

The substitute eggs and butter had a particularly overwhelming scent he was accustomed to. While not always the most appetizing, they also flame the bloodlust within the reformed man. It was important to maintain his routine, the clockmaker had long taken a vow of ‘Erlangen Wieder Weidmann’ to ensure there were no further incidents and the healthy habits helped keep that vow intact.

As did remaining undisturbed.

A series of three loud knocks on the door caused Monroe to open an eye. Taking a fresh whiff of the air, the familiar woodsy cologne caused a reluctant smile to cross his face.

“Monroe?” Rosalee’s voice yelled from upstairs, “Who’s at the door?”

“Just Nick, honey,” Monroe replied to his wife before swinging the large arched door open and greeting the dark-haired detective. The vintage yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked out front of the small bungalow was dwarfed by the large unmarked Dodge Character.

“Monroe, I’ve got a problem,” Nick stated stepping inside as Monroe was left holding the door.

“Yeah, sure, come in.” Monroe replied dryly, “Great to see you Monroe, have you lost weight?” He continued before following the detective into his own living room.

“Sorry, Monroe, I’ve just got three bodies already and if the pattern persists, it’s only going to get worse.” Nick apologized, “What do you know about vampires?”

“You’ve got vampyre problems? Here?” Monroe replied with surprise, “Portland falls under the protection of the Pack, vampyres are strictly prohibited from hunting within Pack territory, the Monarchy knows this.”

“Whoa, Monroe,” Nick interrupted, “I’m going to need some context, what are you talking about?”

“Well, as a Grimm, you’re already aware of the Wesen Pack, the council that oversees all therianthropes in coalition with the Royals or ‘Alphas’ as they also prefer.” Monroe began, “Vampyre, and other various kinds of ‘undead’ are under the rule of the Monarchy, a set of self-imposed rulers who also have claimed territories. Wesen and vampyre, or rather the Upyri, spent centuries at war with one another until they were eventually united against common enemies.”

“The Grimms?”

Monroe nodded, “And of course the Slayer, but she wasn’t near as populous as you Grimms.” He took a deep breath, massaging his temples before leaning back in an armchair that must have been from the Victorian era by Nick’s estimate.

“Either way, you’ve got a delicate situation to navigate. If your vampyre isn’t caught soon, this could escalate into a situation that might even cause a war between the Pack and the Monarchy. And when that happens, it’s only ever humans that lose.” Monroe lamented, “Though, humans are getting more and more terrifying every day, did you see the news about-”

“Monroe,” Nick chided slightly, “Do we need to consider that this could be politically motivated? Could it be some kind of retaliation? Would Black Claw attack vampires?”

“Were your victims Wesen?” Monroe asked.

“Not that I could tell,” Nick replied.

“Then doubtful, the Pack and the Monarchy have historically not gotten along, but thanks to the Watcher Council, a pact was brokered between them. Like I said, Portland falls under the Pack, but we’re surrounded by the Monarchy both in the North and South. It’s still going to be a sticky situation to get involved in. I suggest you stake your vampire and call it a day.” He said moving his arm through the air while holding an imaginary peg.

“Just like that?”

Monroe mimed the gesture a second time.

“Just like that.”
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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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"Quem com ferro fere, com ferro será ferido."

Location: New York City - New York, U.S.A.
Concrete Jungle #1.02: Power Princess

Interaction(s): None
Previously: City of Gods

Panic had begun to set in over the city as Yara emerged onto the street. News choppers raced overhead heading South West from Manhattan’s center back in the direction her train had come from. The skies overhead had become dark, as winds whipped between the towering buildings tossing the hood of her sweater about and whipping her long black hair across her face.

Tying it back quickly, the yoga pants-clad young woman shielded her eyes from dust and wind while watching the helicopters overhead, a news broadcast blaring from a nearby radio.

“...Several tourists have been swept into the waters of the New York Harbour surrounding the Statue of Liberty as reports of unforeseen swells are threatening to break the flood wall surrounding the island.”

Pulling her hood over her head, Yara didn’t hesitate a moment longer. She knew she could help those people and could likely get on the scene faster than either the Coast Guard or Search and Rescue in the current conditions.

Her hood lasted all of five seconds before it fell, but it didn’t matter as Yara took her first leap, leaving the street behind as she leapt a tall building in a single bound. The crowd below let out a sound of ‘awe’ and while Yara knew she wasn’t the Superman of Metropolis, it still felt good to elicit some wonder from people.

Renata would be less than pleased, but she’d never been able to stop Yara from helping in the past. After all, of those who had much, much was demanded. And it’s not like the superpowered young woman wanted to watch as people drowned. In New York, she was a nobody, just a face in the crowd. She could be a hero here because people wouldn’t remember the person, they’d remember the act.

In Boise, she was defined by who she was, but in New York, she could be defined by what she did.

Bounding across rooftops, it didn’t take Yara long to reach the Bay. Skidding to a stop, she paused, looking down at the waves and taking a deep breath.

She could swim.

She could. Her internal monologue repeated as the Brazilian woman reassured herself. Swallowing, she dove from the rooftop, over the barrier and the pier, launching herself into the Bay. Whistling air was suddenly replaced by the water’s cold embrace as Yara felt the shock nearly force the air from her lungs.

But the water felt almost homely, even soaking through her clothes, Yara felt connected to the water and suddenly it propelled her forward like a helping friend. She crossed the gap toward the island in what felt like no time at all before her arms were wrapping around the first victim.

“Hold on, sir,” Yara yelled over the waves and wind, “I’ve got you.”

- -First Issue: City of Gods---
Next Issue: Hell Or High Water-
-
Latest Issue: Power Princess
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Hidden 3 mos ago 3 mos ago Post by Half Pint
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Half Pint

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Volume 1 - The Heir of Dorado
What Condition My Condition Was In



Necalli stormed through the palace like a bull, his frustration burning like a fire in his chest. He had heard enough to know that foreigners were closing in on Dorado's borders, and yet, the council and his own father were doing nothing. He couldn't just stand by while decisions were made behind closed doors. If he was to become king against his will he wouldn't drink from a poisoned chalice when he took the throne. He deserved to know everything, to have all his cards when it came time to play. His footsteps echoed as he pushed through the corridors, heading directly for the council room.

But the council chamber was empty when he arrived. The vast room, usually filled with advisors and strategy discussions, now sat silent. He moved around to his father's seat and began shuffling through the papers on his desk. Numerous reports and maps detailing the times they had come close to being discovered. This only confirmed what he had thought, there was no chance his father could lie to him now. Necalli clenched his fists, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Where could his father be? He turned on his heel and headed toward his father's private chambers, the guards stationed outside immediately stepping aside as they saw him approach.

Necalli pushed the doors open and found Moquihuix sitting at his desk near the far wall, his back to him, deep in thought as he thumbed through the pages of a large book. The room was dimly lit, but the faint glow from the setting sun cast shadows across the stone floor.

"Father." Necalli called out, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence. "We need to talk."

Moquihuix didn’t turn around immediately. He stayed where he was, as if waiting for the weight of the moment to settle between them. "Talk about what exactly, my son?" he said.

Necalli stepped further into the room, biting his lip slightly as he mustered up the courage to speak. Confronting his father was no easy thing, but this was important. "I know about the invaders trying to get into Dorado. I thought it was nothing but rumours, but I saw your maps. You've kept me in the dark about these foreigners, about these threats to our city!"

His father sighed, closing his book and taking a moment to think before pressing his hands on the desk and rising to his full height. He turned slowly to face Necalli, his expression unreadable, though a hint of weariness flickered in his eyes. "I have kept you in the dark for a reason." he said, his voice calm but firm. "These matters are not as simple as you might think."

Necalli clenched his fists. "Not simple? Father, we're under threat! Foreigners are getting closer every day, and you, the council, everyone, you're just sitting by and doing nothing! How am I supposed to become king if I don’t even know what’s happening in my own city?"

Moquihuix's jaw tightened, and he stepped toward Necalli, his tone growing more serious. "You forget you are not king yet, Necalli I am." He said "You think this is about doing nothing? Every decision I make is to protect Dorado, to protect you! There is far more at stake here than you realise."

Necalli didn’t back down, frustration boiling over. "I know enough to see that hiding won’t work forever! What happens when they find us? When they break through our shields? You always talk about protecting our people, but how can you do that if you refuse to face the problem head on?"

Moquihuix's eyes narrowed. "Do not think for a moment that I refuse to face the problem, Necalli. I know the dangers better than you do. But if we reveal ourselves too soon, the consequences will be catastrophic. You want to act without knowing the full picture. That is reckless."

Necalli's voice rose. "Reckless? What's reckless is ignoring the fact that the world is changing! We can't keep hiding forever. If we don't act now, we'll be backed into a corner. What then, Father? You've kept me from the council, kept me from learning what I need to know, and now you expect me to just stand aside and trust you?"

Moquihuix's expression softened, just for a moment. He looked at Necalli, seeing not just a rebellious son, but a young man weighed down by expectations he didn't ask for. His tone lowered, though the gravity remained. "I never wanted this burden for you, Necalli. I wanted you to have time to grow into the role, to learn without being thrown into the fire too soon. But it seems our hand is being forced."

Necalli crossed his arms, his frustration still simmering but his voice quieting. "But you can't protect me from this forever. If I'm going to be king one day, I need to be involved. I can't lead a city I don’t understand."

There was a pause. Finally, Moquihuix let out a long breath. "You're right." His voice softened as he turned away and walked toward the window, looking out over the city bathed in the fading light of dusk. "I have kept you out of matters that should concern you. Not because I don't trust you, but because I fear what this world will demand of you when the time comes. The world is so different now, even more different than when I was your age."

He turned back to Necalli, his gaze steady but filled with the weight of a father’s worry. "Dorado has been hidden for millennia. The outside world has changed more than you know. They seek what we have, our technology, our Vibranium and if they find us, we may not survive the storm that follows. But you are my son, and soon, you may have to carry this burden. So, if you wish to know what I know, I will tell you."

Necalli blinked, the anger in his chest cooling slightly as his father’s words sank in. "Then tell me, Father. Tell me what I need to know."

Moquihuix nodded, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His wife was right about Necalli. He might not have had the stoicism of his older brother, or the intelligence of his younger sister, but he had tenacity, and a will to do what's right even in trying circumstances. He turned and stepped towards a far wall in his chamber. "Come, there's something you must see." Necalli watched as his father pressed a hidden panel, revealing a secret doorway that Necalli had never seen before.

Curiosity battled with Necalli's frustration as he followed his father down the hidden passageway. He was still upset, but he could hear in his father's voice that this was something big. The air grew cooler as they descended deeper into the palace, the walls lined with carvings that told stories of Dorado’s ancient past, stories Necalli had heard growing up but had never fully understood.

When they finally emerged into a large, dimly lit chamber, Necalli's eyes widened. Suits of armor, each unique, stood on pedestals around the room. They gleamed in the soft light, adorned with jaguar motifs and intricate designs that only advanced in their design as they walked further through the room. The power emanating from the room was almost tangible.

Necalli caught eyes with the mask on one of the pedestals. The armour was old, much older than any of the others in the room. It had the face of a panther, with its eyes hollow but seeming to pierce straight through him. The teeth of the mask were bared in a snarl, as if ready to lunge at any moment. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each contour of the feline snout and sharp lines of the jawline imbued with an intensity that made Necalli feel as though he were standing before a living, breathing beast. This was no mere battle helmet, this was a predator's visage, designed to strike fear into the hearts of enemies long before any blade was raised. Gold accents shimmered around the eyes and snout, enhancing the already intimidating form, while the golden feathers of a radiant headdress crowned the panther, giving it the appearance of something both royal and divine.

Across the shoulders, a rich cape of red and gold was draped, its ends fastened with large golden brooches shaped like the sun. The cape hung loosely down passed the waist, but purposefully, making the figure look regal, even in its readiness for war. The lack of a traditional chestplate made the armor feel even more dangerous, as though the wearer relied not just on metal to protect them, but on their own strength, their agility, and their courage.

Necalli's gaze traced the lower half of the armor, taking in the segmented ceremonial wrap made from thick, darkened black leather, reinforced with vibranium but flexible, allowing for ease of movement. The leather was trimmed with jagged golden plates that mimicked the fur patterns of a panther, adding both protection and a predatory elegance. Hanging from one of the leather straps was a small skull, unmistakable as an Aztec death whistle, its hollow eyes and open mouth ready to release a chilling wail meant to terrify enemies. The skull, carved from bone, swayed slightly with the armor, and had been inlaid with very faintly pulsing vibranium.

Necalli's eyes moved to the weapons clutched in the figure's hands. The macuahuitl gleamed with lethal intent, its vibranium blades darker than night, contrasting sharply against the golden hilt that was detailed with the same panther imagery as the mask. Each blade seemed to vibrate if you stared at them long enough. In the other hand, the warrior held a tepoztopilli, a spear with a similar vibranium blade that seemed designed for precise, fatal strikes. The shaft was wrapped in dark leather for grip, and golden accents spiraled up toward the blade, which caught the light and glinted softly as the torches burned.

Moquihuix stopped, sensing Necalli wasn't following him. He joined him in front of the armour with a smile, clasping a hand around his son's shoulder. "This armor," Moquihuix began, his voice echoing softly in the vast chamber, "belonged to the very first warrior-king of Dorado. He defended our city from the outside world long before we had our shields or our technology."

Moquihuix led him further towards the center of the chamber, stopping in front of the third last suit in the row. It was still majestic, with dark armor and golden accents, but there was a worn quality to it, like it had seen battle.

"This," Moquihuix said quietly, "was your great-grandfather's suit. Each of these were the suits of the Yohualli Ocelotl that came before them."

Necalli's brow furrowed. He had heard tales of his ancestors, but nothing like this. "I thought the Yohualli Ocelotl was just a legend." he said, his voice uncertain.

Moquihuix shook his head. “The Yohualli Ocelotl is more than a legend. It is a mantle, passed down from king to king. Your great-grandfather wore this suit when he fought in the Second World War.”

Necalli’s eyes snapped to his father's. "What?"

Moquihuix's expression grew grave. "It was one of the only times Dorado interfered with the outside world. The Axis powers threatened the entire globe. Had they won, it would have changed everything. We could not ignore the threat."

"But we’ve always stayed hidden?" Necalli replied, his mind racing. "Why did he—?"

"We couldn't reveal ourselves." Moquihuix interrupted, "Not even then. But we couldn't stand by and do nothing. So, your great-grandfather took on the mantle of the Black Panther and fought on the side of the Allies, in secret. He fought alongside American soldiers, but they never knew who he truly was or where he came from." He continued, casting his mind back to the man he called 'Granddad'. "We came dangerously close to being discovered back then. Your great-grandfather wasn't one for keeping to the shadows, he was even friendly with a few of the soldiers he felt he could trust. Even the papers printed a story about him, calling him the 'Black Panther'. I can still remember him showing me that paper at any opportunity he got."

Necalli stared at the suit, the weight of history sinking in. His great-grandfather had risked everything to protect the world, but without ever revealing the truth about Dorado. The responsibility was overwhelming. He looked back at his father. He had always been the stoic, commanding figure that had guided and discplined him. It was hard for Necalli to picture him that young, being told stories by his grandfather.

Moquihuix continued, his voice steady. "He fought to keep the world from falling into darkness, but even then, he understood that Dorado must remain hidden. It is why we have always stayed apart from the outside world. The moment they know we exist, they will come for us, just as the Axis would have."

Necalli's anger began to simmer down, replaced by a growing sense of confusion. "Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this? About him? About the Yohualli Ocelotl?"

Moquihuix turned and walked toward another suit, this one newer, sleeker, and more powerful. It was his own. "Because I wanted to protect you, Necalli. The mantle of the Yohualli Ocelotl is not something you can take on lightly. It is not just armor. It is a burden, a sacred duty. I had to make sure you were ready before I burdened you with this knowledge."

He turned to face his son, his eyes filled with both pride and sorrow. "I wear this suit to protect Dorado. Just as my father did. Just as his father did. But it's not just the suit that makes us who we are."

Necalli’s eyes flicked between the suits, the magnitude of what his father was saying beginning to sink in. "Then why tell me now?"

Moquihuix placed a hand on Necalli's shoulder. "Because soon, it may be your turn. The Yohualli Ocelotl is not just a warrior, it is a protector of our people. It is not just about striking down our enemies, but of protecting our people even if that means deciding when and when not to strike. And when the time comes, you will take on that mantle, just as I did."

Necalli took a step back, the weight of the revelation crashing over him. "But… my suit…?" He asked, glancing over at the empty armour stand next to his father's suit.

Moquihuix shook his head gently. "Your suit has not yet been made. But it will be, when you are ready."

Necalli looked at his father’s suit, then back to the one that belonged to his great-grandfather. "And what makes me ready? How do I…?"

Moquihuix's gaze softened. "It is not just about the suit. The Yohualli Ocelotl draws his strength from the gods—through the heart-shaped herb. It is a sacred plant, grown in the sacred gardens of Dorado, blessed by the divine."

Necalli frowned. "The heart-shaped herb?"

Moquihuix nodded. "When consumed, it grants the strength of our ancestors. Heightened senses, enhanced strength, and the wisdom of the spirits. You will journey to the Ancestral Plane and meet those who came before us. They will guide you."

Necalli felt his heart pound. "So…I'm supposed to go through this ritual? To consume this herb?"

Moquihuix met his gaze, his voice gentle but firm. "Yes. And soon. You are nearly of age, and when the time comes, you will be ready. This is your birthright, Necalli. But it is also a responsibility. One that you must carry."

Necalli stared at his father, the overwhelming truth settling in his chest. He had been angry moments ago, but now…now he wasn't sure what to feel. It wasn’t just the secrecy that stung, it was the weight of what was expected of him. The Yohualli Ocelotl. Protector of Dorado.

"How can I be ready for something like this?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Moquihuix smiled faintly. "None of us are ever truly ready, Necalli. But when the time comes, you will rise to the challenge. You have the strength of our ancestors in you. And soon, you will walk in their footsteps."

Necalli stood there, staring at the suit, his heart pounding in his chest. Being king was bad enough, now this? He wished he had been given warning, training to prepare him for what was to come. "I'm scared, dad. This is all so much."

His father stood for a moment. Affection didn't come easy to Moquihuix, he preferred showing it in other, less direct ways. But even he understood what his son needed now. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I was scared too, terrified."

"Really?"

"Yes, more scared than I had ever been in my life. Your grandfather wasn't much help, he just told me to get on with it. I've only been that scared one more time since."

"When?"

His father let a smile grow on his face. "When you were born, Necalli." He said casting his mind back more than twenty years. "You were premature, none of us were sure you were going to make it. When you were born I could hold you in my palm. I remember those first weeks like they were yesterday, we were so scared something would happen to you, but no matter what life threw at you, you just kept on fighting, kept on struggling through no matter what obstacle was in your way." He looked his son directly in the eye. "And that's exactly why I know you'll pass this test. Because no matter what you don't give up, Necalli."

He pulled his son in for a hug.



(From here on The 'Yohualli Ocelotl' will be directly translated to 'Black Panther' for ease of writing and reading)



The weeks following Necalli's conversation with his father had been intense, filled with training, meditation, and what felt like endless preparation. The weight of his future as the next Black Panther was heavier than he had ever imagined, and yet, there was a quiet acceptance building within him. Like he had finally inched closer to his place in the world. His family had noticed a change in him too. He wasn't sneaking away from the training like he had been his classes. In fact, he had barely seen his friends since that night with his father. He'd sworn himself to secrecy about the Black Panther and found the best way to keep his mouth shut was to not have any opportunity to open it at all.

Torches flickered in the dark, their orange glow casting long shadows across the smooth stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of sacred herbs and incense, their pungent aroma filling Necalli's lungs with each breath. His father, Moquihuix, stood beside him, stoic and regal in his ceremonial armor, while his mother, Citlali, gazed at him with a mixture of pride and concern. Itzcóatl, his older brother, was there too, his face expressionless, though Necalli was sure he caught him winking at him when they caught eyes on the way down.

The elder shaman, dressed in elaborate robes adorned with feathers and gold, chanted softly as she prepared the sacred heart-shaped herb. The herb itself was unlike anything Necalli had seen, its glowing, vibrant veins pulsed with energy as though it were alive.

His father placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This is it, Necalli. Once you drink the heart shaped herb, you will be taken to the Ancestral Plane. Trials await you my son, but trust in our ancestors and yourself. You have the strength to do this."

Necalli nodded, although his stomach churned with nerves. He had been preparing for this moment for months, but now that it was here, the enormity of it felt almost suffocating. No amount of preperation would have made him feel ready for this moment.

The shaman handed him a small bowl filled with the crushed heart-shaped herb, now a thick, black liquid. The smell was bitter, earthy, like damp soil after a storm. Necalli hesitated for only a moment before he lifted the bowl to his lips, closing his eyes as he swallowed the bitter mixture.

It hit him almost immediately. His vision blurred, and a warmth spread through his body, growing hotter and hotter until it felt like his veins were on fire. His heart raced, and the room seemed to tilt and spin around him. He stumbled, barely feeling his father’s hands as they lowered him gently to the stone floor. The torches dimmed, their light fading into swirling darkness.

And then, everything vanished.

Necalli opened his eyes to find himself standing in a completely different world. The jungle around him was impossibly lush, the trees towering overhead, their branches twisting into strange, ethereal shapes. The colors were too vibrant, too intense, leaves shimmered with hues of green that seemed to pulse, the sky above shifting from blue to purple and back again. The air was thick, alive with the sounds of birds, insects, and the distant roar of animals. It all sounded a millon miles away and right next to him at the same time.

But something felt…off.

The ground beneath him swayed like water, the trees bending and stretching, shifting in ways that made his head spin. Necalli staggered forward, his steps unsteady. The jungle seemed to be playing tricks on him, each tree he approached moved away, each sound he followed seemed to come from another direction.

He looked down at his hands and was surprised to find he could look straight through them. His form was an ethereal shimmering blue. solid and yet not. His whole body felt weightless, like he would float away at the lightest touch.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something dart between the trees, a quick flash of movement. Necalli turned, heart pounding, but saw nothing. Just more jungle. He tried to steady himself, tried to focus, but then there was a soft laugh, barely audible, but unmistakable.

"Lost already, little panther?" The voice was teased.

Necalli spun around, searching for the source. And then, from the shadows, stepped a figure, tall and lean, his face covered by a mask of a jackal, or was it a mask? Necalli knew in his heart who this had to be. The trickster god.

The god's body seemed to shimmer, like he was only half real, flickering in and out of focus. He took slow, deliberate steps toward Necalli, his movements fluid and unnerving. It was like every step shook his form in unnatural and unnerving ways. "You think you’re ready for this, hmm?" he said, circling Necalli like the jackal he was. "Ready to wear the mantle, ready to lead? To fight?"

Necalli frowned, trying to stay calm, but the world around him continued to twist. The trees bent unnaturally over him, the sky flickered like a broken light, and the ground seemed to shift like snakes beneath his feet. "I am ready." he said, though his voice didn’t sound as sure as he hoped.

The jackal god laughed, a low, mocking sound. "Oh, I don’t think so. You don’t even know who you are yet, do you? How can you protect them when you don’t even understand the weight of the crown you're about to wear?"

Suddenly, the god's face was inches from Necalli's, his eyes glowing with a strange, otherworldly light. The jungle seemed to close in around them, the colors deepening into a sickly green. "It's all a game, little panther," the god whispered. "A game you are very much unprepared for."

Necalli tried to pull away, but his feet were rooted to the ground, his body unresponsive. He glanced down and found his legs entangled in vines and roots, cementing him to the jungle floor. His mind raced, the world around him warping into grotesque shapes. The jackal god grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming.

"You'll fail," the god hissed, his voice echoing through the jungle. "Like so many before you."

And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the trickster vanished. The jungle shifted again, the trees snapping back into their natural forms. The sky brightened into a glorious purple and gold, and the strange, eerie feeling lifted from the air. Necalli blinked, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind reeling from the encounter. He felt the vines entrapping him slither away back into the soil.

But before he could collect his thoughts, the jungle parted, and from its depths, figures began to emerge, his ancestors. Each one adorned in the ceremonial armor of the Black Panther, their eyes glowing with a soft, ethereal light. They moved silently, their faces calm, yet stern, as they encircled him.

Necalli stood taller, his breath steadying as he met their gazes. These were the protectors of Dorado, the Black Panthers who had come before him.

One of the figures, a tall man with a jaguar pelt draped over his shoulders, stepped forward. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp and knowing. "You are Necalli, the next in line," the ancestor said, his voice resonating like a drumbeat in the quiet jungle. "We have watched you. We have waited."

Necalli swallowed, attempting to puff his chest and show his worth. "I am Necalli Dorado Cuauhpilli, heir to Dorado and the next Black Panther." He felt the gaze of his ancestors as his words hung in the air. They stared down at him, expectantly, not a judging stare, but one that made Necalli feel strangely comfortable. Like he was seeing different aspects of himself. "I don’t know if I’m ready." he finally admitted, his voice quiet.

Another ancestor, a woman with fierce eyes and armor that shimmered like obsidian, approached. "None of us were ever ready." she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "But the gods choose you. The mantle chooses you. The question is not whether you are ready, but whether you will rise to meet the burden."

Necalli clenched his fists, looking from one ancestor to the next. Their faces were stern, but there was a sense of understanding in their eyes. The same doubts, the same fears had plagued them once, and yet they had risen to the challenge. His eyes glanced upwards to a silhouette standing high on a tree branch, leaning back with his arms crossed against the tree. He felt familiar, much more familiar than many of the other Panther's before him. His eyes bore into Necalli like a drill, and yet the figure remained silent.

And then, the ground trembled beneath him.

The trees bent low, as though bowing to an unseen force. The sky above darkened, and a mighty wind tore through the jungle. From the heart of the storm, a colossal figure appeared, radiant in blue and gold, feathers like fire, his presence overwhelming. Huitzilopochtli, the war god, the sun god, towering above them all.

Necalli's breath caught in his throat as the god's immense form loomed closer, each step shaking the earth. Huitzilopochtli’s eyes, burning like twin suns, locked onto him, and everything else seemed to fade away.

"You stand before me, Necalli, son of Dorado." the god boomed, his voice like thunder rolling across the sky. "Chosen by the gods, chosen by your ancestors. Do you doubt this path?"

Necalli looked up at the god, his heart racing. The power radiating from Huitzilopochtli was overwhelming, yet there was something familiar in the way the god's gaze bore into him. "I... I don’t know if I’m strong enough" he admitted.

Huitzilopochtli's laughter echoed through the jungle, shaking the very trees. "Strength is earned, not given. Through battle, through sacrifice, through fire. The path of the Black Panther is not an easy one, but it is your destiny."

Necalli stood his ground, meeting the god's gaze. The world around him had been a whirlwind of chaos, confusion, and doubt. But here, in the presence of his ancestors, in the presence of the sun god himself, he felt something stir deep within him, a strength he hadn't known was there.

The god knelt, his immense form looming closer, his eyes burning like molten gold. "You will face trials beyond your imagination" Huitzilopochtli said, his voice filled with power. "But you carry the blood of warriors, the strength of of the panther. You are the son of the gods. Do not fear the burden."

Necalli took a deep breath, the weight of the words settling in his chest. His ancestors watched in silence, their eyes reflecting both pride and expectation. He could feel the power of the Black Panther within him now, awakened, stirring.

He was ready.

But the spirit world wasn't done with him yet.

As Huitzilopochtli began to fade, the ground beneath Necalli's feet shifted once more, the jungle around him warping into a swirling, chaotic blur of colors and shapes. Suddenly, he was no longer standing in the peaceful, ancestral clearing but in a dense, suffocating mist. The air felt thick, almost liquid, as if it were pressing against his skin, making each breath laborious. He looked around, but the mist swallowed everything beyond a few feet.

A voice echoed from within the mist, low and rumbling. It wasn’t Huitzilopochtli, nor the ancestors, it was something else entirely. The sound of it sent a chill up his spine.

"Strength must be tested. A warrior's worth is proven, not given."

Necalli tensed, bracing himself as the voice faded into the mist. He took a step forward, and the ground gave way beneath him. He tumbled, spinning through the air as the world collapsed into darkness, only to land hard in an unfamiliar place. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, and his surroundings slowly came into focus.

He was no longer in the jungle. Instead, he stood in the middle of a vast battlefield, under a blood-red sky. The stench of smoke and burning flesh filled the air. All around him, warriors clashed, their faces twisted with rage and pain. The clang of metal on metal, the shouts of battle, the cries of the dying, it was overwhelming.

Necalli's heart raced. Was this a vision of the past? A trial from the gods? He didn’t have time to dwell on the question as a warrior, clad in blood-soaked armor, charged at him, a jagged spear in hand.

Instinct took over.

Necalli dodged the attack, rolling to the side and grabbing a fallen sword from the ground. The weapon felt heavy in his hand, but he gripped it tightly, just in time to parry another strike. The force of the blow reverberated through his body, but he held his ground. The warrior attacked again, a flurry of strikes that left Necalli scrambling to defend himself.

He felt the strain in his muscles, the burn in his lungs, but he fought back, his movements becoming sharper, more precise with each exchange. This wasn't just a test of his physical strength, it was a trial of his will, his determination to survive. And he refused to fall.

With a roar, he disarmed the warrior, sending the spear flying from their hands. In one fluid motion, Necalli struck, his blade slicing through the air and the warrior dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, vanishing into the wind.

Necalli gasped, his chest heaving, but there was no time to rest. The battlefield shifted, the ground rippling beneath his feet. The warriors, the carnage, they all faded into the mist once more.

He stood alone again, the eerie silence pressing in on him.

"Strength is one thing." the voice echoed again. "But a true Black Panther must be more than a warrior."

The mist parted before him, revealing a new path, one that led into a towering, jagged mountain. Necalli hesitated for only a moment before moving forward. His body ached from the battle, but he pressed on, each step heavier than the last as the mountain loomed above him.

As he climbed, the air grew colder, the path steeper. His hands bled from gripping the sharp rocks, but he didn’t stop. The higher he climbed, the more the wind howled, threatening to knock him down, but he held firm, his eyes fixed on the peak above.

Finally, after what felt like hours, days even, he reached the summit. There, atop the mountain, stood a single figure, an old woman, her face weathered by time, her eyes sharp and piercing. She said nothing as Necalli approached, only gesturing to the edge of the cliff.

Necalli frowned but walked to where she pointed. Below him was a sheer drop, a chasm so deep he couldn't see the bottom. The wind whipped around him, howling in his ears. His hands dripped warm blood into the cold snow he stood on.

"Jump." the woman said, her voice calm.

Necalli's heart skipped a beat. He stared into the abyss, his stomach twisting. "I'll die if I jump."

The woman tilted her head, her expression unchanging. "A king must trust in more than what he sees. He must trust his instincts, his heart, and the gods that guide him. If you doubt, you fail."

Necalli's hands trembled at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to turn back. But deep down, beneath the fear, was something else. Something that pushed him forward. He glanced upwards once more, to the peak of the mountain and he could see the same figure from the jungle, perched, watching him like a predator. Then, Necalli realised where that familiar feeling was coming from. His armour was the set his eyes had been drawn to, the first Black Panther's armour. He looked back down to the chasm, a weight of expectation on him as he felt the first protector of Dorado watch.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaped.

The air rushed around him as he plummeted toward the darkness below. His heart raced, but he didn’t scream. He didn't fight it. He trusted.

And then, everything stopped.

Necalli opened his eyes to find himself floating in an endless void. There was no ground, no sky. Just an infinite expanse of nothingness. But he wasn't alone. Before him stood his ancestors, their forms flickering like shadows in the dark. The Black Panthers who had come before him, all watching, all waiting.

"Courage." one of them said, their voice echoing through the void. "Not just in battle, but in life. In choices. In leadership. This is what makes you worthy of the Black Panther."

Necalli nodded, understanding now. This trial wasn't just about physical strength. It was about trust, about courage, about accepting the responsibility that came with the mantle of Black Panther.

Suddenly, the void began to shimmer, the darkness peeling away like the skin of a snake, revealing a vast, starry sky above him. The stars swirled, forming constellations that danced across the heavens. And there, towering above them all, was the radiant figure of Huitzilopochtli once more, his presence filling the sky with light.

But something else moved in the shadows. Necalli felt a familiar chill crawl down his spine as the trickster jackal god appeared once again, grinning from the darkness.

"Oh, you’ve come so far!" the jackal god sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "But let’s see if you’re truly ready, little panther."

With a wave of his hand, the jackal god summoned illusions, distorted images of Necalli's worst fears. He saw his family falling to enemies, Dorado burning, his people enslaved. The visions twisted and spun around him, overwhelming, horrifying.

Necalli's breath caught in his throat. Fear clawed at his chest, and for a moment, doubt threatened to consume him. But then he remembered the mountain, the leap into the abyss. He remembered the words of his ancestors, trust. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath.

"You don't control me." Necalli said, his voice firm, cutting through the illusions like a blade. "I am Necalli Dorado Cuauhpilli, heir to Dorado and the Black Panther."

The illusions shattered, dissolving into nothingness. The jackal god hissed in frustration, his form flickering. He vanished once more, retreating into the shadows.

Necalli stood tall, his heart steady, the fear gone. The trials were over.

Above him, Huitzilopochtli's eyes glowed with approval. "You have passed, Necalli. You have faced fear, pain, and doubt, and you have overcome them. You are worthy." Necalli could feel the god's warmth as the giant smiled down upon him. "Your path will be fraught with difficulties, Panther, maybe more than Dorado has faced since its first days, but you are truly one of my most capable warriors."

The sky blazed with golden light as the war god stretched his hand toward him. "Return now, Black Panther, son of Dorado. Your people await you."

And with that, the spirit world faded away, the stars and gods dissolving into the golden light, leaving Necalli standing in darkness once more.

He blinked and suddenly he was back in the sacred cave. The flickering torchlight bathed the stone walls in warm hues, and his family stood around him, watching with a mix of anticipation and concern.

Moquihuix stepped forward, his voice low and steady. "You have returned, son."

Necalli slowly rose to his feet, feeling a new strength coursing through his veins. His vision of the trials, the gods, the ancestors it was all still fresh in his mind. But something inside him had changed. He was no longer the uncertain prince who had entered the cave.

"I am ready" Necalli said, his voice resolute. "I am ready to be the Black Panther."
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Roman Grumpy Toad / King of Dirt

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Jubilee's breath was fast and shallow. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, a fluid rushing sound pump pump behind her eyeballs. She was used to anxiety and panic, used to the fear of walking dark streets in the city, doubly-vulnerable as a woman and a mutant, not even able to rely on the gifts afforded to her by the latter to defend herself. But this was different; it didn't come with dread or angst, felt entirely removed from any identifiable emotion whatsoever. Instead, the pounding and dizziness and general full-body shakiness was accompanied by a far more primal feeling: hunger. Was this the serum withdrawal that her recent self-appointed caretakers had alluded to? The thought almost excited her - the potential that this was a triumphant resurgence of her genetic birth-right, long-neglected.

Hunger, though, by gods. She hadn't been joking when she'd asked Agent Sitwell for dinner, but that had been maybe half-an-hour ago and she'd not seen anyone yet. She was getting antsy. Her fingers curled and uncurled, her stomach growling. Eventually she got up from bed entirely, pacing the room back and forth. Had she seen a vending machine on the way in? Was the canteen far from here? Was it signposted, or one of those 'you just have to know how to get around' deals? Was there a tram system or was this particular SHIELD base built with the thirty-minute city philosophy in mind?

Anyway. Food, please, and quickly, and something meaty. Not unusual - she wasn't a vegetarian or anything, though her friends were increasingly moving towards veganism - but to this extent? It had her almost concerned. A subconscious craving brought on by low iron, maybe? All the blood taken for testing over the last couple days catching up to her? She didn't feel woozy or lethargic or fatigued, just a bit lightheaded in the face of the yawning pit deep within her stomach. But there was something darker about this particular yearning, something primal and wicked. It pulsed in her head with each heartbeat, a red haze moving softly but inexorably across her mind. It frightened her, but also felt...good. A comfortable loss of control, like something had switched on 'cruise control' in her brain and she could just sit back and coast.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor toward her room; she could smell the food from here, even through the wall that separated them. She didn't take the time to ponder on why or how that might be, instead all-but-overtaken by the hunger that now hoped to finally be sated. The few short seconds for the orderly to enter her room, laden with a silver tray, felt like an eternity, but finally, finally, her meal was here. The tray was laid carefully down onto the bed-side table and the orderly smiled politely as Jubilee descended with barely-restrained ferality upon the food.

Those first few moments could only be described as a 'frenzy', and the orderly busied himself with tidying and busywork, at the same time watching the savage performance with a sense of morbid curiosity in his peripheral vision. The opening pace, that initial burst, was frightening and inhuman in its barbarity, but as she made her way through the meal the tempo of her tearing and chewing and swallowing slowed, becoming something close to contemplative, before ceasing completely.

Jubilee sat straight. She poked around inside her mouth with her tongue, worming ragged scraps of meat from the crevices of her teeth. It tasted...bland. She sniffed the slab of flesh on the plate before her, and then her own hands where she'd forgone cutlery entirely in favour of ripping and shredding with digits and denticle alike. It didn't...there wasn't any scent to it. But she could feel the heat coming off the surface, see the butter and herbs and salt that had been used to dress and season. She nibbled carefully, swirling it around her mouth, spreading the morsel over the surface of her tongue. It was just plain. Boring. Tasteless. More than that, unsatisfying. With half a steak swallowed she felt no more sated than she had before beginning to eat.

She turned her head, looking at the orderly, who couldn't find the words to describe Jubilee's vivid crimson eyes or vicious, needled fangs. She'd caught that aroma again, potent and intoxicating and irresistible.

- - -

Down the hall, Jasper was leaning back in his chair, his left half illuminated by the computer’s screensaver while he stared at a portable whiteboard he’d rolled in while he tapped his lips with a marker. On it was written the scant few symptoms they'd been able to observe in Jubilee since picking her up yesterday.

S E I Z U R E

P A L L O R

U V S E N S I T I V I T Y


Marty walked in holding two steaming mugs of coffee, handing Jasper one while he brought the other to his lips and took a couple cautious sips.
"You know there's no lid on that." Marty said, gesturing with his mug to the marker Jasper held to his face between two fingers. Jasper paused his tapping and looked down at the marker, which was indeed lidless; he ran his tongue across his lower lip and tasted the distinct flavour of ink, swearing as Marty handed him a napkin to wipe off as much as he could.

"What's this?" Marty asked, looking at the whiteboard as the pair supped their coffees.
"You got a differential diagnosis on sunburn?" Jasper asked by way of a reply, not looking away from the board.
"Going full 'House' in here, huh?"
Jasper shot a look upwards at his upright colleague.
"We got nothin', Marty. She's not had another seizure since the first, the paleness is endemic to regular treatment, and the only other thing we have is 'burns easily'. What am I supposed to say? 'Patient may be a ginger with dyed hair'?"
Jasper stood up, tossing the marker onto the desk and rubbing his eyes. The coffee, while appreciated, was doing little to stem the tiredness that had taken root in his bones.
"I'm sorry, but there's just not enough here to keep her in. We can support her riding out the serum withdrawal, maybe prescribe her a bottle of SPF500. After that, we'll have to release her."

Marty nodded, but Jasper could see the disappointment in his face, and honestly Sitwell felt it himself. Nothing more frustrating than an unsolved mystery, and if she had another seizure she'd be at the mercy of the public health system. The girl didn't strike Jasper as one in possession of premium health insurance. He hooked his blazer off the back of the chair and threw it over his shoulder.
"I'm going home. I'll check in with her tomorrow when I arrive but other than that, she's all yo-"

He was interrupted by a scream echoing down the hallway that turned his blood to ice. He and Marty looked to each other before sprinting out the room and down the corridor; they skidded against the floor around the corner, barreling down toward Jubilee's room. When they burst through the door, the pair froze at the carnage before them.

Jubilee was crouched over the body of the orderly, her mouth bloodied as she tore and supped and licked in a frenzy at what was left of the poor man's throat. The man himself was pallid and his eyes shifted wildly around the room and over the agents as the last light left them, the blood pumping from his savaged neck in weaker and weaker pulses before finally stilling, his limbs going slack. Jubilee just continued to sup, burying her mouth in the wound.

She finally noticed them, looking up from her prize carcass. Her eyes were a deep and intense scarlet, and as she hissed at them like an animal she bared terrible, jagged fangs that sprouted from her jaw.

"Jesus Christ! She's a fucking vampire!"
Jasper stepped backwards slowly, trying not to pay attention to Marty's yell.
"Marty...c-call security...we need to contain this mess." He whispered, careful not to interrupt Jubilee's...feed.
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