[IC] Marvels of Mountain City

[Omega Man]

Welcome to Mountain City, a city of adventure and intrigue. In Mountain City, a hero is made every day and a villain every night. A thriving metropolis, Mountain City is a modern city, built in the Appalachian Mountains of the eastern United States. Over the years the city thrived with coal mining being its main source of revenue however it quickly became a leading industrial city on the eastern 'States with several noteworthy corporations, factories, and production plants. Westman Chemical Plant, Napier Valley Ammunition Plant, Pepsi Cola Bottling Company, and Wells Helicopter are just a few of the reasons people choose to live and work in the grand city of tomorrow. The Mountaineer is widely known for its stories of new superhumans and celebrities, as well as the general local news. Midtown is where most of the action is, as well as the Mercury Mall. Subdivisions, landmarks, and schools include Lee Heights, the Kirby River, Bendis Elementary School, Mountain Avenue [one of the longest streets in America], Simon Middle School, Kubert High School, Riverview [ghetto subdivision], Highland Park, Warpath State Park [in the mountains], the Museum of Tomorrow [tech museum], etc. The city sees a number of tourists as well, all trying to get a glimpse of superhumans in action. Mountain City has more superhumans than any other major metropolitan city in America with a general population of over three hundred and sixty thousand residents with an estimated fifteen thousand superhumans possibly within city limits. And who are these superhumans?

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Rules:

1.) No back-to-back posting.

2.) PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND SET-UPS!!

3.) Make sense. If we can't make heads or tails of your posts they're likely to get skipped over.

4.) COLLABORATE! Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions.

5.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC.

6.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story.

7.) “I was waiting for [insert player/character] to make a move” is not how this game is played.

8.) There is no rule #8.

9.) My word is law.

10.) Obey the law.

11.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the Co-GM [none ATM] will take control and HIS/HER word will then be law.

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“Back in the day, I could’ve gone pro. Baseball was always like second nature to me. Over the last eight years or so I’ve got out of shape as often as I’ve been in shape. When the minor leagues dropped me my career was pretty much non-existent.” a man in his 30s thought as he cleaned up the kitchen of a mom and pop’s style diner.

The clock on the wall read 4:30 pm. The restaurant was almost empty and one of the owners walked up to the brown haired man sweeping up near the refrigerators in the back.

“You can go ahead and call it a day, John. We’ll probably close soon. Mondays were always slow even before we moved the diner across town.” The old man said leaning up against a counter as the man swept.

“Sure you don’t need me for anything else, Paul?” he asked putting the broom up.

“Carrie and I should be able to close it up. Did you still need that Tylenol you asked for earlier?” Paul asked in response.

“Yeah… these headaches have been killing me the last few days….” John commented as the man handed him a couple of pills from a bottle. “I’ll see ya in the morning boss…” he said exiting the building. The sign in the front window read “Big Paul’s Diner” and the eatery was located on the edge of Midtown. John passed a few newspaper dispensers. One of them was for the Mountaineer and had the headline “Jenny Valentine Escaped Again!”

Day turned into night, and a man in a blue coat and mask ran and leaped from building to building as if in pursuit of something. Or someone. He came to a stop on the ledge of a building, and looked down at a parking garage. A brunette female exited a car and was greeted with a hug from a young man.

“Jenny!” the young man exclaimed.

“Don’t act so surprised little brother.” The girl responded entering a different car with her sibling. As the two took off in the newer looking sports car, a few goons from the Valentine Gang were left with the other car. One of the men lit a cigarette. The other went to find a corner to take a leak in. Just as the man began to urinate on the side of a wall the man in the blue mask showed up out of nowhere and rammed the man’s head into the wall knocking him out with piss now all over himself.

“Hey you takin’ a piss or dropping a deuce? We need to head back to… what the hell..?” said the other man as Blueface approached him.

“You picked the wrong parking garage to play dress up in!” the man shouted pulling out a knife.

“Your boy won’t be coming to your rescue. He’s K.O.’ed back there in his own piss…” Blueface taunted avoiding the attacks of the gang member.

“**** YOU!” the man screamed before Blueface reacted and grabbed the man’s arm.

“I want you to tell Jenny and her brothers I’m coming for them.” Blueface said still holding the man to the ground by his arm.

“Go to hell you son of a…” the man started to say as the hero proceeded to break his arm, “AAAAAAARGH!”

“Tell them I’m coming for them. Then do yourself a favor and get out of Mountain City.” Blueface said coldly walking away as the man still laid on the ground of the garage screaming in pain.

[Bork Lazer]

Pineapple Pizza

In a secluded seedy motel room in one of Mountain City's five star residences, Pineapple Pizza was bored. Well, as bored as one could be when discussing among distinguished CEOs of every pizza chain in America.

" Enough." All heads turned towards him. " I brought all of you here to discuss the future of pizza and here all of you are talking about stocks, investors, yearly profits. Your simple minds can't comprehend the power of pizza."

He walked towards a window, the sunset casting indigo streaks along the open vistas of the alpine city.

“ Gentlemen, pizza has changed. It’s no longer about cooking, taste or cuisine. It’s an endless series of proxy battles fought by delivery trucks and restaurant chains. Pizza - and it’s consumption of life- has become a well oiled machine. Pizza has changed. ID-tagged cooks use ID-tagged ingredients, ID-tagged ovens. Frozen pizzas enhance and regulate their recipes. Genetically modified pizzas. Pizza advertisements. Pizza commercials. Pizza restaurants. Everything is monitored and controlled by pizza. Pizza has changed. The age of consumption has become the age of obesity. All in the name of averting catastrophe from pizzas of mass destruction. And he who controls the pizza, controls history."

"This city is the future, gentlemen." The Papa of Papa John's spread his arms out wide, looking over the city. " This city is my Pizza Hut." He then pointed both hands towards the entire ensemble of men and women, making finger-guns. " In the next five minutes, all of you will give me control over all the assets of your companies. Domino's. Little Caesar's. California Pizza Kitchen."

"Or what?" Someone said.

"Or this." Pineapple Pizza made his human skin-suit snap his fingers. A second later, red dots appeared on all the foreheads of every CEO currently in the room.

"Today's a new beginning, gentlemen. A new age of Pizza warfare. So, how many of you are ready to go into the oven?"

[Nightknight]

The Crimson Shade

Time: 8:44 P.M.
Location: Housing District, Housing Sub-division, Mountain City

Night has fallen over the rocky city, and a cold, bitter wind blows across the streets of a small neighborhood, one of many, tucked into the folds of the great metal colossus. A creeping shadow walks the streets, unnoticed by the people. He is known as the Crimson Shade, and he is on the hunt for blood.

Crimson Shade is an assassin garbed in black, and his target, a middle aged man, living quietly alone in a house to hide from the cops for his embezzlement and various money laundering schemes. Crimson’s client is a scorned ex-lover, vindictive towards a man so consumed by greed, that he married her simply for her money. She was heartbroken from the ordeal, and now, Crimson was going to return the favor.

Crimson Shade leered around to make certain no one was watching, and hopped gently over the backyard fence, barely ruffling the grass beneath him as he landed, despite carrying a variety of steel blades. He crouched, scanning his surroundings, and had acquired sight of the target past a closed window, whistling whilst washing some dishes. Perfect. Upon seeing that the coast was clear, Crimson sprinted quickly, yet softly, across the yard. He changed his tempo on the back porch, taking his time to walk slowly and deliberately across the wooden floor as he approached the back door. He nudged the handle ever so slightly, to determine that it was locked, a good defense against rookie burglars, but Crimson Shade had plenty of experience breaking into places. From his coat he produced a Swiss Army knife, one of the tools being a lockpick he used to unlock the door. Now came the tricky part, opening the door without alerting the target. He slowly opened the door just enough for him to squeeze through, closing the door behind him. The target did not notice, and Crimson walked around to the back of the kitchen with impunity.

The stage was set, the Crimson Shade inching himself little by little towards the unsuspecting target, his muscles taunt with giddy anticipation, like a panther ready to pounce. He draws two daggers hidden in his sleeves as he gets ready to bury his steel into the flesh of the man. Then, with the speed of a ravenous cobra, Crimson Shade leapt forward, and with needlework precision, plunged his right dagger into the back of the man’s heart. All the surprised man could do was give a suffocated gasp as his blood waterfalled down his back from his vital wound. Before the man could utter another sound, Crimson Shade wrapped his left gloved hand around the man’s mouth, while his other hand thrust the blade further into the man’s heart. As he held the man, he whispered softly into his ears. “Shhhhhh.” As the man’s the life drained, he began slumping backwards, his descent slowed by the hands of the Shade. He stared into the gaze of the dying man’s eye. Though the Crimson Shade wore a black hat and a black cloth to cover his nose and mouth, he wanted the last thing the man to see to be his eyes, he wanted to stare straight into the depths of his soul, and see what kind of a man he truly was in his last moments. He said his parting words for the middle aged man as he laid him gently of the floor: “It’s all over now. Let the emptiness take all your pains away. Embrace sweet, blissful, oblivion.” Within a matter of seconds, the Crimsons Shade sees the life drain from his target’s eyes and feels the last beat of his ruptured heart.

Once the Crimson Shade completed his kill, his body jolted with aliveness, and he laughed with maniacal enthusiasm at the murder he just committed. The man was completely powerless before him, and he reveled in how flawlessly executed his plans and actions were. To him, it was a marriage of mathematical precision, and animalistic brutality. The Crimson Shade withdrew the bloodied knife from the man’s chest and gingerly licked the blade. He took his sweet time admiring the tingly tinge of iron and the viscosity of the red ichor. He then helped himself to the cash from the now deceased man’s wallet his front right pocket. It then occurred to the Crimson Shade, there was no use leaving a body just to lay there when it can make a statement. He leaned the body of the man against the sink, carved out what was left of the shriveled heart, and placed the tattered organ into the man’s pocket where the wallet used to be and place the wallet into the body’s chest cavity. Poetic Irony at its finest.

The assassin began washing the blood off his knife using the available dish soups, humming a jaunty tune, unphased by the gravity of the acts he has just committed. “You know, if you had been more faithful to your wife, you would have died in a much ….. warmer embrace.” He jived coyly to the corpse. After he washed all traces of blood from his weapons and himself, he decided it was time to leave his signature calling card behind; a red rose. The rose would let the client, and indeed the whole world, know that it was the Crimson Shade, or the "Rose Killer" as they say, who killed him and immortalized his crude matter into a work of art. He stabbed the rose into the dead man’s chest cavity, the work was finally complete. The Crimson Shade grabbed whatever bleach was lying around the house and doused it all over the ground floor so as to cover up any genetic material, even dogs have trouble sniffing past it.

With his tracks thoroughly covered, the Crimson Shade went back the way he came in, locked the door, and faded into the night like a phantom. He is going to return to his estate within Mountain City, and from there await the “news” of his handywork.

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

Moreland
Approximately 2045 Hours
Warpath National Park
Whitetail Run

Along the hills of Appalachia, small dots of campfire light glowed among the thick woodland and lit up a largely dark, cold night with their warm orange radiance. There were few out at this season and with good reason as it was not all too pleasant with the stir of the wind, the same that carried between the trees and down the mountains. While it was not whipping, it was far removed from the best seasons of the year here, and it dissuaded enough to make it more quiet than it could be. The song among the branches, however, did not go ignored as some invisible element whispering on the wind spoke back from one of the rocky outcroppings.

At first there were no lips, no mouth, no face to even say anything at all but there clearly was a voice. It said quite plainly, should any have been there to hear it, "You called?"

The wind spoke back, the soft sway of some of the boughs above stilled without warning after and a calm fell upon the mountain. A certain peculiar stillness that would have made the hairs upon the back of the neck stand on end. That is, of course, if the voice from nothing was not enough.

Upon the outcropping the voice came again, alongside teeth as long as a man's forearm from the darkness, "I had been waiting, you know. Waiting for a very, very, very long time."

Each ghostly limb tensed its digits upon the stonework as it took form until in a single exhale made it flesh again. Living, breathing, and clearly from some other time and place. It stood in the darkness, seeing it almost as if it were day, and more importantly, the place for which it was called to act; the glow of a city. Both piercing eyes blinked softly as the tremendous figure turned to leave, yet it was stopped in its tracks, an ear swiveled back.

"Is that so?" The dark jowls questioned as they carried out each word before ending with, "I had high hopes it was time enough but if that is the way it will be done..."

A kneeling man slowly stood with a visible wince where the beast was, looking no worse for wear on this cold night alone. He looked over his palms, articulating his fingers before he shivered and breathed out a cloud of steam. It was clear he was not dressed for this environment at all, no jacket to turn the worst of the wind aside, and in slightly worn clothes, down to the damage of his jeans even.

"... then that is the way it will be done."

The wind around the rocky perch stirred as it raced to life once more and he disappeared from sight. It was not long before he stood again in the heart of the city. The sort of thing that would be missed in the blink of an eye, just another nameless person among the streets. For him, however, that was another story altogether, and the moment he arrived he was on his way, following behind the last person to step in front of him. No one would notice or come to think of anyone in the masses and that was one of the first key steps to getting to where he needed to go. His eyes darted back and forth, seeming to look around for the first sign and indication he could get what it was he needed to better get by in the living illusion.

When he finally spied it, he moved on it, slipping his hands from his pockets and narrowing his eyes; it was not that being in the city had already soured his mood but it had not helped at all. So by the time he turned down the walkway toward the people gathered near the underpass, what would come next would be brief, very brief at that, and more so than ever as both parties looked at one another.

"You want something?" One of the four asked...

[Double]

ռօɨʀ

Mountain City was home to a few magical safehouses, though that was in all honesty the wrong word to use for them. Safehouses were often remote, barren, devoid of contact with the outside world. These were nothing like that at all. They were Nightclubs, bars, or other similar establishments that happened to be nestled away in spots only accessible with the right spells or trinkets. Most of them were also considered glamour free zones. That meant that any being or creature that relied on glamours or other such means to disguise their appearance could freely ignore using them within the confines of the establishment, no need for maintaining the Masquerade, as it was often called by certain groups and circles.

Wonderland was just such an establishment. A nightclub within another nightclub named The Looking Glass. Entry could be found in one of two bathroom mirrors, one for the Men's room and one for the Lady's room respectively. One also had to have in their possession a specific playing card, what that card was changed from night to night to ensure that only the trustworthy could gain entry into Wonderland. Some nights the designated card was an Ace of Spades, other nights it could be Jack of Diamonds, or 4 of Clubs, or any one of the 52 cards found in the deck. Both clubs were owned by the same family, a pair of sisters named Alice and Alyssa. Alyssa managed the Looking Glass and was always on the lookout for anyone undesirable trying to get into Wonderland, while the older sister Alice was in charge of Wonderland, employing a pair of ogres as her personal bouncers and bodyguards. Meanwhile, Alyssa employed a security detail of her own, bouncers armed with concealed handguns but were also stone golems glamoured to look human.

Both clubs were roaring that night, although Wonderland was the more active of the two. There were all sorts gathered around gambling, drinking, and eating. Vampires, Werewolves, Warlocks, there were creatures from seemingly every folktale and urban legend you could imagine crowding the club. Even the sisters themselves were 4th generation practitioners of witchcraft, meaning they could likely hold their own in the event their security failed them. At one of the card tables, a group including 2 vampires, a warlock, and a demon sat around eyeing each other, as if they were waiting for any of the others to pull a fast one in their game. The betting pot was quite high stakes, and it included a few cursed gems, a bottle of demon's blood, and even a human soul.

"Well, sorry to say, Gentlemen but... 2 pairs." said one of the vampires, revealing two 8s and two 10s in his hand before briefly flashing his fangs with a smile, "And I dare any of you to try and beat that."

"You sure about that?" asked the Warlock, now showing his own hand, "3 of a kind, all Queens. Pretty sure that tops your pairs." he gave a smirk, but he wasn't smirking for long.

"Please..." the second vampire, a woman, then revealed her own hand. She had four Jacks, "...I do believe this beats both your hands, yes?" she reached forth to claim the pot but the demon quickly forced her hand down on the table to stop her, "No way, impossible!" said the vampire as the demon then revealed his own hand. A full house consisting of 2 Kings and 3 Aces.

All three of the other players stared in surprise and in anger. All of them had been so sure of their hands only for this demon to show them all up. The demon released the vampire's hand and claimed the pot, notably going for the phial that contained the soul first. But as he did a waitress bumped him from behind, and suddenly a pin clattered onto the table. Almost immediately the demon's form hazed and blurred until it was gone, revealing a man in a black trench coat and hat, a silver scarf covering most of his face.

"You!" shouted the Warlock, who was on his feet instantly and made a break for it. Before he could get too far there was a loud, explosive ring and the Warlock shuddered before falling to the floor, with Noir also standing and his now smoking gun pointed in the direction the Warlock had been running. The music halted, as did all the games and conversations going on and every eye in the club stared at Noir as he calmly walked toward the body of the Warlock and knelt beside him. The Warlock was still breathing, Noir hadn't hit him with a strong enough shot to kill him, but he was out like a light. Noir received a small card from his pocket and held it over the Warlock's form, a mist emerged and seemed to suck the Warlock in, his picture then appearing on the face of the card to indicate his capture.

Noir silently stood up, but before he could move any further he felt a heavy hand of an ogre on his shoulders and saw a very peeved looking woman storming toward him, "Damn you, Noir!" she barked, pointing an accusing finger at the masked detective, "How many times have I told you that Wonderland is a NEUTRAL ZONE?" it was clear they had had this conversation before, possibly even multiple times. As for the detective, he remained still but responded with a calm and even tone.

"And how many lowlifes do I keep finding in here using your so-called "neutral zone" as a shield to hide from the law?" While many mystical or magical beings didn't follow the human laws, there were certain laws and creeds created for them to follow instead. The most important ones being about maintaining secrecy and never exposing magic to the humans. Noir had come to be the guy known for enforcing those laws, the first Noir having done so in the old days and this newer Noir following suit in the present day.

"Hmph, that ain't none of my business." Alice said, scoffing. She didn't give a damn about the laws, she only cared about her business. Patrons were patrons, it didn't matter if they were fugitives or not.

"Maybe not, but is my business." Noir shot back, never once losing his cool, "Now are you gonna call off your ogre or am I gonna have to add you and your sister to my to-do list?"

Alice rolled her eyes, irritated, but she snapped her fingers and the ogre holding Noir in place released him and returned to his post, "Just get the hell out of my club, and I better not see you here again for a week at least, got it?"

Noir had started walking toward the exit mirror by now, but he briefly turned around and tipped his hat in acknowledgement, "Hope you stay out of trouble." he said and then disappeared into the mirror and back out into the real world.

[DocRock]

Galactic Patrol Transmission

Attention all Patrol Agents! The Butcher of Velbar, the Draconian Mercenary, Serena Drakos, has escaped from Detention Facility A450-98, last seen escaping aboard her starcraft, the Silver Dragoon. Be on the lookout for any vessel invisible on sensors, but visible through other means, as it is believed the vessel has been upgraded with a highly advanced cloak drive, capable of rendering most means of tracking impossible. Her last known sighting was near the-

Click

Sol System, Sol-A1, A1-64
Asteroid Belt; Ceres

Ventilation systems hissed as air circulated throughout hallways, rotating around and around through shafts and ducts, being freshened and oxygen being reclaimed. Waste systems broke down sewage, turning into usuable material, and other quality of life things happened as they did. Sections of floors, walls, and ceilings had corroded, or been cut up, with their coverings turned into part of the outer hull, or wherever patches were needed. Moored as close to the asteroid Ceres as one could get, mining drones had been dispatched to attempt to obtain usuable elements to help repair the alien space craft sitting there. It had seen better days, once a proud command vessel of some long forgotten space navy, now the dreadnought was patched and worn, scorched sections of its hull a reminder of the numerous battles it had been through.

Alone in what had once been the ship's bar, the owner sat alone, eating a meal that like the ship, had seen better days, as the machine that made the food was starting to give out, and in this section of space, repair parts weren't easy to find. Gazing out the observation window, towards a red dot and smaller blue one, the captain sighed softly, shifting the contents of her meal, before groaning, turning towards a speaker in the ceiling.

"Þú kallar þetta vitleysa mat? Hvað átti þetta að vera, steik?" A few curses in her tongue followed, before a response came back.

You have only yourself to blame for the food quality. The system requires a restock, which you skipped at our last port of call, in favor of what you called, and I quote "an easy job, then we'll dine on the finest food in the galaxy! A robotic monotone response, which produced only more curses. A few moments more passed, and the captain looked back out, towards the blue orb.

"...Fine. As much as I hate using Common, I'll play ball." Staring longer, she sighed. "Maybe that backwater planet will have repair parts. Maybe a hundred years made a big difference, given where they were at last time I was here. Get my shuttle prepped, set its navi computer for the best place to look."

Already done, I have located a city on the eastern shore of the landmass you visited before, anaylsis of radio signals and local chatter indicate this to be the most likely to contain the necessary food and parts. This planet is losing its backwater status, but you may find a "tech museum" to be of interest. Seconds passed, as the captain sat there, thinking, before a roar of almost demonic laughter left her throat.

"Sounds like the perfect place for a heist! They're just begging to feed me! I'll eat one of their cattle, see if it tastes better than this slop!" Jumping to her feet, the pirate all but ran out of the bar, dancing around an exposed hole right outside the door, before rushing down towards the hanger. Adventure called her name.

Sol 3
Mountain City; Mountain Avenue, Night

"Wowie, what a damn sight, this trashheap might actually be worth sticking around for." Gazing out from an alleyway, a soft whistle left the dragon as she surveyed the crowds, dressed in a trenchcoat and a sort of fedora pulled low, clothes obtained from her last time kicking around the dirt ball. Dodge City didn't compare to this place. One could argue the whole "noir film" style of dress made the on the run mercenary stand out, but in a city that apparently had its own share of freaks, no one would pay her any mind. Besides, walking about openly would probably piss some of those annoying monothiests she'd run into in the Bible Belt a century before. If any hung around this place and were that level of xenophobic. Couple in the fact that the Galactic Patrol had supposedly begun to keep an eye on the planet out of fear for what sorts of antics humans could cause on a galactic scale, and not flaunting her status as the resident wanted mass-murderer would serve her well.

Inwardly, she'd begun to consider the possibility this planet could work as a home for her own kind, given how easy it would be to hide their identities as dragons from outer space. But, until she was sure it was safe, she wasn't about to risk trying to send a signal to any of the various clans that Earth was open to stellar refugees. Assuming her own clan wasn't still after her for that whole...Orion incident. She grumbled, before stepping out onto the street. She needed a drink, food, and a place to sleep that wasn't her shuttle's cramped cot. She'd scope the museum out later, see if it was really worth sneaking in and taking stuff. Moving through the crowds, she scanned them, looking for possible marks, people who could provide her with the means needed to...get a claw hold. But to the common person, she was just another soul in the night, wandering the main street.

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

Moreland
Approximately 2100 Hours
Mountain City

"No, not from you." Moreland's lips curled into a telling smile as the vagrant onlookers, all in some various state of stupor or confusion, looked around.

"Well then who the-" The previously speaking man was pushed aside with enough force that has he hurled backward into a concrete pillar of the overpass, he whipped against it with enough force to stun him. He fell, back sliding against the surface and landed sitting, clutching the back of his head and exhaling sharply, the breath taken out of his lungs from the blow. The seemingly casual push of the stranger's hand, palm turning him aside, had tossed him with tremendous force.

The other three stood to, one sitting scrambling to his feet as this all unraveled before him and the other two. They were shaken, rightfully so, and one of them had his eyes widen to the point it seemed his pupils might consume the whole of his eyes at this rate. Whether it was their own mania or something else, they only knew deep down that the uncomfortable chill they felt down their spine was very real. The figure walked closer as one of them reached for a knife from his pocket and threatened with it, giving a string of curses as he fumbled about, and by the time he had the blade's point flick out and waved it around, the attacker struck him to the chest.

The man howled, howled with confused pain and only coherent enough to have staggered backward, clutching the deep gashes in the flesh before dropping to a knee; the knife clattering next to him on the ground as he used that previously busy hand to now balance himself. He bled from the uneven rending he received and was even more in a state of shock than he had been, speaking in rambling form between wounded breaths.

"No, not you," Moreland kept walking right on by, another of the now victims cringing and wincing, he stopped at the man who had been sitting and who now slowly sat back down after having tried and failed to slink away, "You."

Unlike the others, who could not see what they were dealing with in actuality, the sheer terror in his expression indicated this one man could. The only other left kept quiet and against the wall, watching the two and the soon to be unfolding conversation. Moreland left him alone, at least for now, as it seemed he was not about to intervene and wisely so.

"James Palmer."

A few moments paseds as the two shared a long stare between one another, the fallen man quivering a bit and finally blinking.

"James Palmer."

The voice repeated to him, the same steady, unwavering voice addressing him as if speaking to his soul. The man finally nodded slightly, replying softly enough that over the rest of the ambiance of the city night hidden away as they were it would be hard to hear him, "That's... that's me."

"I know," The stranger nodded back, "And I know that you can see me, too. So you know why I am here."

There was a moment of resistance that James gave before he was stared down into submission, having only managed a few meek words about delusions and hallucinations. However, he trailed off until he could not speak anymore as Moreland towered over him. The man kneeling, still clutching his injury toppled over behind the figure before James, having gone unconscious while the other against the pillar was trying to stand up slowly, concussed from the sudden stop the blow earlier left him with against the pillar; it seemed his focus and his grip on reality was more cemented now.

"What is it - what do you - what -"

"You know what I want, James. I want to know what you have seen." Moreland interrupted the incoherent loop that was building back up again in the terrified man's behavior. Before the man could protest again, there was a slow shake of the head from side to side, and an audible, commanding "no".

"You will do this, James."

"Or what?!"

The outburst overcame the rest of the city's background as the effectively cornered man resisted, his voice echoing off the walls before it fell away into near silence. All the unsettling presence that came up until this point had been pervasive but now? Now it was as thick as a fog around the remaining three. It grew more terrible and tangible as a dim, translucent, smoky white corona burned from the slowly unfurling fingers that had been balled into a fist. More and more of the extremities disappeared until the metaphorical mists grew into a literal one, both figures having vanished into it before it dispersed, leaving only the voice in a far deeper, growled tone.

"I tear it out of you and we go on a walk."

[Nightknight]

The Crimson Shade

Location: Manor of Leon Leopold Rosenveldt, High-Income Housing Sub-division, Mountain City

Time: 10:04 P.M.

The Crimson Shade skulked backed to his abode, the estate of Leon Leopold Rosenveldt, in a trip that took hours, and had been quite interesting. Twice he got lost wondering an endless maze of twisting streets and dark corridors, tempted on his way by ghostly wisps of light. The Shade ignored them, feeling that they forebode an ill omen. To juxtapose the eerie silence of those surreal patterns, there was the distant whirling of sirens, and the not too far off rumbling of gunfire. Another bizarre occurrence was an alley way filled with cats that shot lazers out of their eyes. Crimson had not lived long in the city of the mountain, and though he had heard rumors of the dangers and absurdities that happened in the city on a daily basis, he could scarcely believe just how much of an understatement it was compared to the magnitude of that reality. Witnessing it first hand, he could appreciate the unpredictable wonders and horrors the city had to offer, or at the very least respect them.

The Crimson Shade sneaked into his back lawn, a garden brimming with flowers of various varieties; lilacs, lavenders, lilies, sunflowers, dandelions, violets, and of course, roses. He strolled triumphantly into his manor, like a king entering his castle after a successful hunt. The mansion itself was massive, standing three stories tall and sporting dozens of rooms, each specifically designed for a different purpose. The mansion was paid for by a combination of years of acrobatic performances in various venues across the country, and his career as a professional hit-man, the latter of which being far more lucrative.

Feeling comfortable within his domain, Leon decided it was time to celebrate his thrilling success at murdering his target in so flawless a manner. He put away his costume and lounged in a spacious hot tub. Atop the pool of water drifted fragrant rose petals, and the warm water mixed with the lavender bubble bath and Epsom salts. The combination of all these things helped Leon to relax and unwind after a long day’s work. After he finished bathing, he walked in front of a large mirror, stopping to gaze upon his perfect form. Leon is a vain man, having installed mirrors across his house just so he could absorb himself in his own majesty.

Leon draped himself in a robe of purple satin as he walked into his home theater, holding a bottle of old red wine in his right hand, and an elaborately bejeweled golden goblet to pour it in his left. He seated himself onto a large red soft throne chair close to the cozy warmth of a fire place as he grabbed his remote and turned on his amphitheater sized screen. He had quite enjoyed the carnage he had wrought, savoring the memory of his kill as fresh as the target’s blood. Now it was time for him to watch the chaos caused by others across the city has he turned on the local news. Leon enjoyed watching and hearing about reports of all the strange oddities and thrilling battles in Mountain City, and the free publicity it has given his work. He knew that would be a while though before people evidently found the man and report his death. Theoretically Leon could just collect the money that was owed him as per the rules of the contract, but he thought he might as well wait for the news to report on it, that way the employers would know for certain that their target was dead, and so he could show the world his beautiful visions of murder and violence. Until then, Leon was content to lounge in luxury as he enjoyed watching the crazy nights of Mountain City unfold.

[Bork Lazer]

THE CHRONICLES OF PINEAPPLE PIZZA - YEAST RISING

Present Day - Mountain City

Pineapple Pizza found that human biology was so.....simple compared to the symmetrical and geometrical perfection of pizza physiology. There were only three things that a pizza had to be worried about: the dough, sauce and toppings. Humans, on the other hand, had a whole host of toppings. Nervous systems, hormone glands, sweat glands and skeletons. A casserole of illogical design.

" Sir." His assistant, Kiwi Pizza, arrived in his dressing room, carrying a pizza box with several scribbled notepads on it. " They're ready."

Adjusting his suit and tie, Pineapple Pizza urged his human skin suit to move forth, using his superior pizza mental control to stimulate the remnants of a rudimentary nervous system within John Schnatter’s body. He ignored the strange babblings of the humans around him, moving through a series of tunnels before finding himself standing in full view on top of a proscenium stage.

Before him laid an army. Rows upon rows of humans dressed in aprons and caps emblazoned with the symbol of PAPA JOHNS(™), with pizza cutters hanging from their belts and rifles in their hands. A military force that could disassemble entire nations and leave the world trembling at the power of pizza. A rogue mercenary operation that controlled the flow and production of the pizza economy.

" Gentlemen, Operation Pizza Delivery has been a success. All of the major commercial pizza corporations are now under our control. We have a global monopoly on pizza. Before we begin our operations in Mountain City, I wish to dash some rumours that I like pizza."

He paused for a full five minutes before continuing.

" I do not like pizza.” His voice lowered an octave lower, whispering into the microphone. “ I love pizza."

" Throughout my life, I have found and witnessed many types of pizzas. I have found that pizzas are the solution to our enigmas. For example, you go to Papa John's, order an 18 inch and discover that you can't eat your pizza backwards. An enigma. The solution?"

He looked towards the crowd expectedly before sighing in mock dissapointment.

" Stuffed crust pizza. You are a pescatarian and you go out to a nearby pizza parlor, only to realize that every dish on the menu will ruin your carefully planned diet regime. The solution?"

Someone piped out from the back of the crowd.

" Sushi pizza."

" You are a soldier doing your tour in a war-torn African region. You've run out of bullets and all you desire is the taste of a margherita pizza, just like your grandmother baked for you. Unfortunately, no delivery van can reach you."

Another voice, this time from the right side of the atrium.

" Pizza by drone."

" Gluten allergies. Gluten free pizza. Peace treaties. Peace by pizza party. Michelin restaurants. Michelin pizzas. Halloween. Chocolate pizzas."

"What I am trying to say is that I am a simple explorer of pizza. And with your help, we are now at the precipice of our true goal."

" You see, I want a simple pizza. No gluten free pizzas. No pizza parties. No Michelin pizzas. No sushi pizzas and certainly, no FROZEN PIZZAS!"

" I want only a pizza we can bake. A true pizza. A pizza to end all wars. The sequel to every pizza that has been ever made in history."

He grabbed the microphone and shouted the last sentence in a mad fit, eyes twitching, saliva glands excreting pools of saliva that hung from his jowls, howling upwards to the sky, turning his throat raw.

" A PIZZA FRANCHISE OF MY OWN!"

He then pointed one stubby finger towards the crowd.

" SHALL YOU HAVE PIZZA!?"

As he raised his own pizza cutter in the air, a thousand pizza cutters, shaped by his will and his vision, joined him in unison, shouting the holy word that would flip the world upside down.

" PIZZA!"

" PIZZA!"

" PIZZA!"

" THEN, YOU WILL HAVE PIZZA!”

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

Moreland
Approximately 2115 Hours
Mountain City

The sound of hurtling cars down the freeway was not quite the same as that of the overpass earlier. Instead these engines thrummed with the sound of acceleration as their wheels sung on the pavement. That was all the man heard at first in this void, an absolute nothingness. His eyes soon recovered however, as did his other senses, except that it all felt distant and almost dream-like. A bad nightmare or trance he could not stir from and as he came to, he realized why. Someone, rather something, held him by the chest with his back pinned to the grated surface of chain link fence. James was suspended, but his worn-in, filthy sneakers held him still on the railing where he could look down to certain doom of the cars traveling through the night. If the force keeping him back so much as gave at all, he would fall.

"You always wanted to go on a spirit journey, James."

The voice returned, as soon did the ghostly silhouette that reached out before him; a limb that was almost as wide as a tree's trunk, ending in huge, clawed digits that ignored the flesh and dug into the surface of the soul. He blinked and tried to swallow, finding himself still paralyzed. The invisible lips parted again as the speaker continued, its immaterial form standing with concerning ease upon nothing at all before him.

"Now, either I take what you have to know bit by bit and you take that journey early, or you tell me what you have seen." The grip tightened as a searing inner pain tore at him, one beyond sight from his seemingly impending demise.

"I... have seen a few people... they aren't just people, but there's a lot now... gathering here." James struggled although he could not even voice himself and not a word came from him, not that it could be heard from the noise of the traffic below. All he could do was flick his eyes between his captor and the world beneath him, watching his shoe strings dangle off the rounded bar, just as helpless as he was.

"And which one did your sight seem the most problematic?"

"W-what?"

The hold upon him simultaneously loosened in the physical world and grew worse in the body outside body. He cried out inside himself and struggled to open his eyes again, each one damp as he struggled for control; his shoes now centered on the bar and precariously holding him up. Any further errors or delays would likely be met with worse, perhaps the vagrant man's life. James could not be for certain and in many ways, he really did not want to be. He wanted this to all be a bad trip, something that would sober him up, put him back on the right track after falling off the wagon so many times. Yet all he could do was cringe and whimper to himself, accosted by something no sane person would believe.

"Which ones, James?" The snarl that accompanied the words emphasized just how insistent this otherworldly thing was, how its faintly luminescent eyes grew more intense in James' vision. And like two dim white embers stoked by returned air, they burned into him with terrible intensity and a certain casualness.

[DocRock]

Dragonic Mercenary

Mountain City, Near the Museum

"Even on a backwater, they display treasure out in the open, rather than deep in a vault, at least some of them. Not a challenge, doesn't look like the security can take me." Atop a rooftop, staring out from her perch, one eye was closed, the other focused on her target, Serena's lips twisted up into a smirk, as each window was studied, patterns observed. Beside her, a stack of neatly folded paper boxes betrayed the theft of some poor fellow's dinner from a Chinese place. The other eye opened, and the pupil sharpened, the night changing to show heat rising from places. Tracking bodies moving inside the building. A brochure was held in one hand, which had been taken from inside the building, during an initial scope, before leaving again. A risk, but she'd worry about it later. The other hand lifted a piece of chicken, and the item was consumed. This world had interesting...cuisine, but that "burger king" place she'd seen looked more interesting compared to what was currently eating. Looking down to the brochure, it was opened again, to examine the map within, noting exits and entrances, before tapping one part.

"If they have anything hidden, it'll be in the basement, or another area away from here. That...video games exhibit...looks interesting?" The word exhibit was foreign, but pronounced simply. The concept of showing off treasure was bizarre to the dragon, but at the same time, perhaps these...humans had other ideas regarding their shared history. But the concept of video games she was aware of, and she was now even more intrigued by how much had changed in the past century or so. To the point they had video games and other tech toys? It was like a bonazano of treasure, especially given Earth didn't seem to have any sort of serious space travel yet. It would be almost...too easy. "...It's too easy. They have some security, enough to handle themselves I assume...but surely there's beings with power running around to come to aid? ...Nah, I'm overthinking it. Tomorrow, I'll strike, I hate waiting."

Twisting her gaze away again, the map was closed up and stashed, the dragon lowering one taloned hand to grip the side of the building top, scanning for anything out of place. She was atop an apartment building, an old style one, complete with some sort of "shed" atop it, that perhaps was once for flying creatures? It was her current lair, as she preferred the open air to trying to find a place to stay. Pulling away from the lip of the building, she returned to the shed, and moved inside, closing the door, adjusting her sleeping position, confirming that a sensor net, set up to alert her if anyone came to the rooftop, was working, before curling up. She needed a proper lair if she was going to be here for longer than a week or two. She'd seen a warehouse on the way that smelled of food, she'd steal more food if needed. Maybe sneak into a building with no security, and take their food that wouldn't cause issues. She needed to eat, but she knew what it was like to live without any sign of when you'd get the resources to ply into food next. Probably some upscale places. For now, the chinese had done its work.

As for the poor man who had his food stolen while he'd been in the bathroom, he'd probably end up not reporting it, for fear of being labeled crazy. After all, who would believe a guy that his food had just gone missing randomly without anyone else having access? People be crazy. The dragon had nested, and her next target was set. And unless someone had some sort of special awareness...no one knew she was coming.