[CHAR] DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

ANIMAL MAN / BUDDY BAKER
@WXer

THE BATMAN / BRUCE WAYNE
@Master Bruce

BIRDS OF PREY
HELENA BERTINELLI / PAMELA ISLEY
@Tackytaff

BLUE BEETLE / THEODORE KORD
@HenryJonesJr

THE CRIMSON AVENGER / LEE TRAVIS
@Polyphemus

THE FLASH / BARRY ALLEN
@thatguy

GREEN ARROW / OLIVER QUEEN
@IceHeart

GREEN LANTERN / KAI-RO
@Bounce

THE MISFITS
HOLLY ANN FIELDS / LONNIE MACHIN / ROSHANNA CHATTERJI / MIGUEL BARRAGAN
@Mao Mao

THE OUTLAWS
JASON TODD / ROY HARPER
@webboysurf

PLASTIC MAN / EEL O'BRIEN
@rocketrobie2

RAVEN / STARFIRE
RACHEL ROTH / KORIAND'R
@AndyC

THE SANDMAN / WESLEY DODDS
@Hound55

SUPERMAN / CLARK KENT / KAL-EL
@Hillan

TEEN TITANS
GARFIELD LOGAN / VICTOR STONE / STEPHANIE BROWN / TARA MARKOV / AMAYA
@Cybermaxx

ZATANNA ZATARA
@Retired

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Characters in Red have expired and therefore available to be applied for.

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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

A L I A S

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^{_{B I R T H N A M E ♦ O C C U P A T I O N ♦ L O C A T I O N ♦ A F F I L I A T I O N}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"Witty Quote"}

This is where you outline your vision for the character including any notable changes or differences from the regularly accepted canon. This should be a short summary that provides insight into where the character is in terms of their overall progress and development.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Why do you want to play this character, what is the driving motivation behind both this desire and the character themselves. What do you hope to accomplish and where do you want the character's story/stories to go?

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Any additional notes you want to put either for yourself, the GM's or other players to help clarify your vision or continuity.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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A sample post that can be used in the IC if you so desire upon acceptance. This post should provide an example of your vision for the desired character. This sample post should meet all standards outline in the rules and additionally include dialogue, mannerisms and other actions representative of your intended portrayal.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

[Hillan]

G R E E N L A N T E R N

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^{_{ALAN WELLINGTON SCOTT ♦ ENGINEER ♦ NOMADIC ♦ THE STARHEART}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"I am the Shield Of Solidarity. The Sentinel of the Starheart."}

Alan Scott is an average 30-something Engineer when his world collapses in front of him. Not so much in the non-literal sense of "My world came crashing down" as it was 'the train me and my fiance are in is exploding'. Alan's Fiance is pronounced dead, as is every other passenger on the scene. He survives, and he isn't completely sure why. He remembers the fire. But he doesn't remember it scorching him. He remembers it soothing him. Saving him. Giving him purpose.

He remembers the green energy-battery he found on that train, how he reached for it as he jumped out of the train cart he was in, onto the next. How holding onto the lantern had saved his life.

He didn't understand any of it. Hell, even in time, he couldn't believe it. He's now left in a world that doesn't make sense to him, given new purpose. A purpose he perhaps doesn't see yet.

And the strange old man in the blue and gold he keeps having visions of sure isn't making things any easier for him.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I want to write Alan because frankly, I know nothing about Mr. Scott. I've never gotten the chance to tackle the Lantern Mythos, and I think I have a upheave of content to provide on the subject. It's such a deep lore that often goes unexplored, in my opinion. And most of the unused concepts focus on Alan, not on Hal or Kyle. Everyone's written stories about the Green Lanterns being intergalactic police. Very few have written stories about a Green Lantern being a novice mage tapping into the fact that the Green Lanterns are steeped in magic.

Alan is a skeptic. He doesn't believe in magic. He's a realistic and believes in things like math, not sorcery. At least in the beginning. He's given the power of the Starheart and with it, he possesses one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the universe. It's his job to figure out how to use it, and use it for good. And in doing so, he'll come across the old man who will serve as his mentor and guide him through his foray into the unnatural.

My goals with Alan is to tell pulpy Supernatural stories. Equal parts Doc Fate from Earth-20, MCU's Doctor Strange and straight up detective stories, all mixed into with the Green-Ringed hero we all known.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Additional Cast:
Rose Forrest: Fiance and love of Alan's life. Taken from him, and with it, any chance he had at a normal life.

Starheart: The sentience given to the magic captured by the Guardians millions of years ago. It was locked away on earth, only now revealing itself. Confined to the Green Lantern Battery, it's will is felt through it's chosen champion via the ring worn on his hand. The Starheart is doing what it can to influence Alan, albeit subtly at first. Like someone who's just woken up, the Starheart's actions are vague and without direction, but will in time pick up speed. Becoming Alan's greatest ally. Or his most impossible foe.

Kent Nelson: The Former Doctor Fate. Now hunting down the shards of Nabu in an effort to reforge the agent or order and the protector of Earth from magical threats. A role that he will teach Alan to fill-in for him while he's looking to restore Fate.

Molly Mayne: Ex-Girlfriend from College. 'The one who got away'. Find Alan after his apparent demise, she works as an independent journalist and is out for the story on the Green Lantern, and to rekindle the flame between her and Alan, unaware that the two would be the same.

Richard Swift: Lab Partner and friend since High School. Swift and Scott have drifted apart in the years since they both left college, Swift is now working as a tech-based thief, going by the dark web alias 'Shade'.

Elaine Belloc: Granddaugter of the Pressence. Daughter of Michael. Nephilim and destined to rule all of the cosmos. If there ever was a personification of 'out of your league' it would be Elaine. She teaches Alan about the occult and makes him a far better warrior, and man.

The Seven Demons: The evil that's primarily the focus of Alan's first foray into magic. They are spreading mischief, discord and chaos across the world, forcing Alan and his posse to hunt them down and try to put a stop to them.

The Guardians Of the Universe:
The 'wisest people in the cosmos' they call themselves. Alan doesn't know them, but the Starheart does. It will projects those feelings onto Alan when prompted.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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"Rose Irene Forrest, will you marry me?"

Standing on his knee on the floor of the train. They were in first-class, the train heading towards Gotham City. They were currently somewhere outside of New York. The trip was supposed to be for business. Alan was going to Gotham to work for the broadcasting company, working on the 6G-masts that would bring on a revolution of communication. Rose tagged along to go see her parents in Gotham, at least that was what Alan convinced her to do.

The blonde man was sweating, his pulse was beating in his ears and his hands were a little shaky. Rachel had known him as the most confident and headstrong man in the world, and seeing him this scared to ask her to marry him was perhaps the most surprising thing of all.

The coming six seconds of anguish and uncertainty, of hope and love were perhaps the longest in Alan’s life. She looked at him in shock first, and then her face cracked into a smile, and he felt his heart burst with joy. His stomach fluttering like butterflies and a big-dumb-grin on his face as he said the best three-letter word in the English language.

“Yes.” Tears falling down her face as she hugged him. Putting the golden ring onto her hand, the ring Alan had gotten from his mom after his father had died. They kissed and all seemed well. The passengers that overheard them cheered them on and Alan ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of them. This was the best day of Alan Scott’s life. The train was reaching the bridge, that lead into the Gotham Tunnel, making them about 40 minutes from their destination.

That’s when he heard it. The brakes of the train failing, followed by the ear-shattering explosion in the Train’s front, echoing all of the way to the very back of the train, where they were seated.

The coming nineteen seconds of carnage were among the longest in Alan Scott’s life.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

[Bounce]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

K A I - R O

^{_{G R E E N L A N T E R N C A N D I D A T E 2 8 1 4 ♦ M O G O ♦ G R E E N L A N T E R N C O R P S}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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The rings of Oa are the most powerful weapons known to man. Across 3,600 mapped sectors of this galaxy, the rings of Oa enable the heroic agents of the Guardians of the Universe -- the Green Lantern Corps! As peacekeepers, these Green Lanterns come under attack by all manner of force, natural and man-made. Through hard won victory or bitter defeat, the Corps is continually planning to induct new members into its ranks to fill the void left by those who have gone before them. To that end, the rings are sent out to the cosmos to find those rare individuals possessing extraordinary will.

Unfortunately, now and again, a ring comes back on the hand of a kid who is maybe ten or twelve years old.

This is the story of how a boy from Earth came to wield the powers of Green Lantern. Drawing inspiration from Ender’s Game, the New Mutants, and Jonny Quest, this concept combines 50s pulp sci-fi adventures with slice of life elements in order to tell the story of the kids who might be the next generation of Green Lanterns.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I’ve written Kai-ro a few times before, but always cast him in the role of Hal Jordan. This eschews that approach for a different take that better uses my talent for world-building by using a concept capable of both sandboxing and collaboration across storylines/locations in our shared universe. The goal is to start with the story of how Kai-Ro became a Green Lantern candidate, transition into Alien-of-the-Episode type adventures, before unveiling a larger storyline at the conclusion of the initial story run.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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The following are characters, concepts, or organizations in use with this story:

• Al-x: An alien from Sector 0424, who has a Greys-like appearance. He is 104 years old, but young for his species. Strategic and analytical, but hesitant to act without all the information.

• Arisia Rrab: A young Graxosian, with golden hued skin and hair, as well as pointed ears. Hot-blooded and precocious, she often acts without thinking.

• B’dg: A diminutive H’lven, with a squirrel-like appearance. What he lacks in size or strength, he makes up for with a large personality.

• Alisand’r: A Green Lantern from the planet Tamaran, the chosen instructor for the current class of Green Lantern cadets.

• Ganthet of Oa: One of the Guardians of the Galaxy, who has adopted the role of overseer to the Green Lanterns training program and mentor to the young cadets.

• The Planet Mogo: The headquarters of the Green Lanterns cadet training program, and also secretly one of the Green Lanterns most secret weapons -- a sentient planet who is, itself, a Green Lantern.

• The Spider Guild: An insectoid race of spiders that have spread across the galaxy, preying on the worlds that they conquer.

• The Reach (background mention only): An interstellar empire that assimilates other planets into its collective through careful political manuevering and subterfuge, subjugating the populace only after its collaborators and sleeper agents have established control over the populace. Rebellions are usually bloody and short.

• The Manhunters: The precursor to the modern day Green Lantern Corps, robotic peacekeepers created by the Guardians of the Galaxy and empowered to preserve order in the galaxy. Unfortunately, the Manhunters determined that organic life was a threat to order and massacred the planet Ryut before the Guardians could put a stop to them.

• Tybalt Bak’sar: An intergalactic bounty hunter who wields anti-Green Lantern weaponry.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Click Me

T I B E T
_{EARTH | SECTOR 2814}

The call to prayer came before the dawn.

It would be several hours before the sun rose, in fact. Dawn in the Tibetan mountains would come around 7 a.m. in this time of year. Which would be about four hours from now.

The boy woke atop a thin mat, laid out on the floor. The room was no more than a closet, with three children of similar age crowded into the shuttered space. As they stirred to wake, each picked up the red-orange cloth that had served as their sole bedding. Shifting and tucking it around their bodies revealed the reality that the sheet was, in fact, their clothing.

Bare feet padded from out of the cloistered confines, spilling out into a temple hall in which monks of varying ages had begun to mill about. The three boys made their way to the showers, to begin the day by first preparing their bodies. In times past, there would have been more of them. Child-monks, given to the monasteries by a cultural tradition in which one son of each Tibetan family was trained as a monk, but today they were less than a handful.

Banned. Prohibited, by the laws that had superimposed themselves on Tibet. As the boys made their way along the halls, the banners of China hung alongside images of Communist Party Leaders.

“Tayata om...”

The young monk paused. He was laboring at a churn, a traditional method of making the yak butter tea known in Tibet as po cha. As children, monk initiates were required to have a sponsor, who guided their education and their place in the monastic order. In his case, that sponsor was Monk Lhakpa, who was also in charge of the monastery’s kitchens.

“Tayata om bekanze...” the boy began, re-starting the attempt at recitation. Monk Lhakpa had been teaching him a new mantra, to help guide the meditative exercise for this morning. After they had finished preparing breakfast for the monks, in any case. Looking up from his butter churn, the boy seemed to pose a question as he uttered, “...bekanze razha?”

A solitary finger was raised, over at where the aging monk was preparing a large pot of porridge. “Bekanze maha, bekanze razha,” the elder monk stated, before adding the conclusion, “Samudgate soha.”

“Tayata om bekanze maha bekanze razha samudgate soha,” the boy recited, completing the mantra. When he had finished, he looked up at his teacher, as though for affirmation.

“Good,” Monk Lhakpa stated, eliciting an immediate smile from the child. Then, the solitary finger again returned to the air as the monk asked, “Now, what does it mean?”

The smile fell. A look of confusion played out across the youth’s face, as it was plain to see that the child was wrestling with any manner of thoughts or emotions, before finally looking up and stating, “But... you didn’t tell me what it means.”

“It’s not a recital, Kai-Ro,” the man quipped back, invoking the religious name that had been given to the boy when he had taken his first vows. As the man started to prepare the food to be served, he shifted his attention to the boy. Crossing over to the butter churn, the man began to decant the butter tea into a large kettle for service. As he did, he continued, “I didn’t ask what it means to me, I want to know what it means to you.”

The child’s head went back, his face betraying both irritation and surprise with such honesty that the monk couldn’t stop the laugh from reaching his lips.

“I don’t want you to answer now, but think on it,” Monk Lhakpa said, not bothering to suppress his own amusement at the boy’s theological quandary. Instead, pressing the heavy kettle into the boy’s spindly arms, the monk then touched the child’s head and commanded, “Go. Serve the tea. When you have finished, pray. Meditate on this mantra, then come back to me and give me your answer.”

For his part, Kai-Ro was conflicted. On the one hand, he had the distinct impression that he was being laughed at. On the other, he rather appreciated the head pat from the fatherly monk. That duality of conflict was plain as day on his face, as he lifted the kettle and said, “Yes, sir.”

With the large kettle in his arms, the boy shuffled barefoot from out of the kitchen. In the main hall of the temple, the monks had begun their prayers. Some meditating, a few reciting mantras aloud, while others prostrated themselves before the various iconography in the temple. Meditations upon mandalas, prayer wheels, or the different forms of the Buddha.

As he passed by, those who had their cups out were filled. Mostly, those were in groups that had begun their day with debate and discourse over the sacred and the profane. Mostly, the latter were talks of the Dalai Lama in exile and of the Chinese government’s reach into the monastic lives of Tibet’s cultural religion.

The reason why there were so few child-monks now was the fact that the practice was forbidden, as was education in Tibetan language. Kai-Ro had been smuggled into the temple and made criminal alongside the language that he spoke, and the teachings of his people that only existed in these walls and in the halls of those who had escaped from Tibet to live as exiles.

It was a topic that the boy would not claim to have any knowledge of. China had come to Tibet long before he had been born. And his earliest memories were of the monastery, making this criminal existence the only one that he had ever known.

“I’ve heard that the local party has finally appointed a loyalty director for the monastery.”

They were five monks around the table. All just of age to have taken their second set of vows. Twenty, or so, from what Kai-Ro knew. They spoke in conspiratorial whispers, even as the boy poured the tea for them.

“A permanent presence? Here?” another monk asked. In truth, China had begun planting permanent Communist Party overseers in the monasteries over the last several years. Theirs was one of the increasingly few that had remained under relatively lax monitoring. “How would we keep the...”

A third raised a hand, stopping the man short before he could finish his statement. Looking up, Kai-Ro was suddenly uncomfortable at the realization that everyone at the table was looking at him.

“...the Dalai Lama’s picture a secret?” the monk uttered finally.

It was a lie. They weren’t talking about his Holiness at all.

The first monk who had spoken reached over, lifting the tea kettle from out of the child’s hands and inspecting it. Handing it back, the monk said “Fetch more tea for us, Kai-Ro.”

Cradling the kettle in his arms, the boy stepped back even as he gave a respectful bow toward the table. Uncertainty gripped him as he started to wind his way back toward the kitchens. If the Chinese had a permanent Party representative in the temple, then where would he and the other child-monks go? How could they continue to live here.

As he crossed from out of the main temple structure and into the courtyard, he heard a sharp cry. The first rays of dawn had just started to appear in the sky, the fading twilight still dark enough that it was dim. Still, there was light enough to see the indistinct shapes of two men. And a third, smaller, that seemed to be struggling against them.

Bhuti cleaned the courtyard each morning, before dawn, so that he wasn’t seen.

A gasp froze in Kai-Ro’s throat. Grabbing the hem of his robe, the monk took off in a run toward the kitchens. Shadows in the window told him something was wrong before he made it there. A glimpse in the light of a blue-gray cloth.

The color of the police uniforms.

Dropping the kettle to the ground, the boy turned and sprinted back to the temple. Bursting through the door, the breathless child was met with confusion and aghast looks at the sudden interruption during the prayers. “P-police!” the child managed, between gulps of air.

In a moment, everyone snapped into motion. The picture of the Panchen Lama was put away, swapped instead for the image of the Chinese proxy installed as the Panchem Lama after the abduction of the child-monk that the Dalai Lama had ordained. A small image of the Dalai Lama was pressed into Kai-Ro’s hands, along with one of the Tibetan language texts that they used for study, as the child-monk was ushered along as the monks began preparing for the raid.

“You should be safe in your room,” one of the monks said, grabbing Kai-Ro by the shoulders and pressing him toward that wing of the monastery. “Go there now!”

Struggling to hold the hem of his robe, the texts, and the image of his Holiness, the boy stumbled as he tried to run through the temple. As he neared the steps that would take him up to the closet-like room, menacing shadows told him that the police had already entered on that side. Instead, the boy took a sharp turn, and found himself bolting out of the temple in an effort to avoid them.

Instead, he found himself on the temple steps.

And, below, on the landing was a row of police officers armored in riot gear.

His chest was tight, pain lancing through his lungs as he seemed to forget to breathe. Instead, he stood there. A boy in a saffron robe, holding an image of the Dalai Lama. A rebel and a seditious traitor in both being and appearance. As the police started up the steps, the boy found himself rooted in place.

He was done running away.

And he was done being afraid.

He was Tibetan. He was Buddhist. And the Dalai Lama was his guru. The language of Tibet was his language. If he was to be punished for this, then so be it.

It would not change who he was.

Holding onto the picture of the Dalai Lama, the texts written in the forbidden script of his culture shifting around in his arms, the young child-monk raised his head up high to regard the riot-armored police who advanced upon the child.

He could not change his fate, any more than he could change the Chinese control of Tibet. But he could choose to face it with eyes wide open.

That was when the light grabbed him.

It was an experience like none that the boy could have described. A sudden burst of green light. Penetrating him. Surrounding him. Before he was even aware of what was happening, the boy saw the advancing pair of police officers become small.

That was when he realized that he had, in fact, been catapulted into the air. He tried to keep his grip on the sacred texts and the image of his Holiness, but some slipped from his arms as he tried to maintain any sense of bearing.

It was then that the small jade object floated into view. A jade ring, emblazoned on the crest with the likeness of a lantern.

“KAI-RO OF EARTH, YOU HAVE THE ABILITY TO OVERCOME GREAT FEAR.”

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Click Me

_{ACT 1: AD ASTRA PER ASPERA}

_{• 1.01 Kai-Ro
• 1.02 Oa
• 1.03 Al-x
• 1.04 Arisia
• 1.05 B'dg
• 1.06 The Haunting of Deck 12
• 1.07 Mogo
• 1.08 At Play In The Fields Of The Lanterns
• 1.09 Dekann
• 1.10 When The Bough Breaks}

_{ACT 2: UNACCOMPANIED MINORS}

_{• 1.11 Far Beyond The Stars
• 1.12 In Darkness Blooms The Spider Lily, pt 1
• 1.13 In Darkness Blooms The Spider Lily, pt 2
• 1.14 In Darkness Blooms The Spider Lily, pt 3
• 1.15 Time's Orphan
• 1.16 Rocks And Shoals
• 1.17 Tears of the Prophets, pt 1
• 1.18 Tears of the Prophets, pt 2
• 1.19 Tears of the Prophets, pt 3
• 1.20 TBD}

_{ACT 3: AND ALL MY DREAMS, TORN ASUNDER (PART I)}

_{• 1.21 TBD}

[Simple Unicycle]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E Q U E S T I O N

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^{_{V I C T O R S A G E ♦ J O U R N A L I S T ♦ H U B C I T Y , I L L I N O I S ♦ H U B C I T Y G A Z E T T E}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"In the face of evil, what can one man do?"}

Orphan. Street urchin. Thug. Reporter. Raging asshole. These are all words that have applied to Vic Sage at one point or another. His early life was rough, in and out of foster homes or on the streets, doing what he had to do to survive and developing a strong hatred for the crimes he took part in. Even with his rough childhood, he managed to pull through and make his way into college where he cleaned up his act somewhat; mostly due to the influence of one of his professors, Aristotle Rodor, who became something like the father he never had. Out of college, he got a job as a journalist for the Hub City Gazette, his hometown's oldest newspaper, first writing fluff pieces before rising in the ranks until he was solely responsible for the paper's coverage on crimes in the city.

The recent pandemic forced Victor to work from home. Hub City, already a simmering cesspool of crime just waiting to erupt, finally let itself loose during the quarantine. Through a window in his apartment, Victor watched rioting and looting in the streets, a hot rage burning through his blood. Someone needed to do something about it. One restless night, he took a drive down to Hupert Memorial Park and was jumped by a group of thugs. After a long, drawn-out fight, he found himself standing over the unconscious and battered bodies of the men. He knew what he had to do now.

From that day forward, Victor was a vigilante. He went to Rodor for help in this crusade, the two designing a mask for Victor using one of Rodor's failed inventions: a skin-like substance that hid covered Victor's face and made it seem like it was completely blank. For an alias, he picked the Question, inspired by his constant campaign as a reporter for the truth. With everything in order, Vic began his new life as a vigilante, reporting injustice by day and wiping scum off the streets by night.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I'm not gonna pussyfoot around it: every time that I've tried to play the Question in these games, it's flopped horrifically. Usually, the problem is that I have no direction to go or a story to tell beyond some basic premise and I just hope that my characterization can carry it. People have enjoyed my posts in the past but I've always felt unsure of where I wanted my runs on the character to go, usually resulting in me abandoning the character and game after a few posts because I wrote myself into a corner extremely quickly.

But this time, I know what I want to do. I have two major arcs in mind, one relatively planned out and a followup to it in a conceptual stage. Vic will be going up against a serial killer in Hub City in his first big case as the Question. Without spoiling anything, a generic thriller plot will ensue; after all, can't get too risky for the first arc. The followup will be a bit more unconventional so that I can test my mettle and prove that I have a solid take of the character on my hands. Hopefully, when all is said and done, I'll be proud of what I've done.

When going into a character in these sorts of games I usually have some sort of inspiration outside of the comics and this time is no different. My biggest inspirations are the 2005 video game Condemned: Criminal Origins and the 1995 film Seven. If you're familiar with either of those works, then you know this run will be pretty dark. I don't intend to go overly edgy and grimdark but the nature of the stories I want to tell might take me in that direction. However, just because I'm telling a dark story doesn't mean there won't be levity and light-hearted moments, and I hope to balance the dark psychological thriller storytelling with likeable characters and some humor.

Oh, and I'm keeping the synthwave soundtracks from my last run on the character because I felt it gave my posts a distinctive touch.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Supporting Cast

Allies
Aristotle Rodor - Vic's father figure, friend, and invaluable ally in his crusade. A former college professor and scientist, now retired. The designer of the Question's mask.
Samuel Starr - Editor in chief of the Hub City Gazette and Vic's boss.
Albert Kert - A co-worker of Vic's and writer of an advice column, "Al's Advice".
Nora Lace - A new co-worker of Vic's, fresh out of college.

Enemies
None to speak of yet.

Will be updated as Vic gains (and loses) allies and enemies.

Accumilated Aliases

None to speak of yet.

Vic's Mixtape

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Issue #0

_{Location and Time: Hub City, Illinois; Hupert Memorial Park - 1:47 AM, Two Months Ago}

Issue #0: Run

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

Dim lampposts lit up the streets. The music emanating from my stereo and the sound of my tires rolling along the asphalt were the only noises on the street. It was the dead of night, a time when the only people out and about were crooks or crazies, sometimes both. Guess I was a crazy. I wasn't sure what exactly made me go for a late-night drive through Hub City. Part of me thought that it was insomnia. I hadn't slept in about two days. The apartment was too claustrophobic, too familiar. I needed a change of pace. But that wasn't it, not entirely. There was something in the back of my mind, screaming at me to do something. I didn't know what. I guess I would find out.

I glanced up at the sky through my windshield. Clouds were settling in. A storm was coming. I continued driving. Before long, I found myself parking along the sidewalk and stepping out of my car. I recognized where I was. Hupert Memorial Park. Sidewalks separated by grassy fields dotted with trees, all leading to a bronze statue in the center. The statue was defaced and vandalized, covered in graffiti, and missing vital parts of itself. Where once a monument to the man who founded Hub City stood was now a testament to how far his dream had fallen. What happened to this city?

Lucky for me, I didn't have time for a mental monologue on the state of the city and its inhabitants. A noise to my right. Footsteps, three sets of them. I turned and came face to face with three degenerates covered in sweat and grime. They each held different weapons: a wooden baseball bat, a lead pipe, and a crowbar. Bat, Pipe, Crowbar. They had a look in their eyes like this was their last resort, but they were fully willing to do this. Giving in to their darkest temptations, hurting others to get what they want. I sneered slightly at the thought.

The sound of thunder could be heard in the distance as it began to rain. "I'm gonna be straight with you, man," Pipe said, stepping ahead of the others. "We don't wanna hurt you. But we will. We want your wallet and the keys to that car."

Fighting three armed opponents without a weapon was suicide. My eyes darted around for a weapon of any kind. I spotted a tree about fifteen feet ahead of them with a sturdy looking branch hanging onto it by a thread. That'll do. "Sure. You can pry them from my cold, dead hands." I stood my ground, raising my fists slightly.

Pipe sighed in defeat and shook his head. "Fine. Have it your way. I asked nicely." Before I knew it, they were closing in on me, each with weapons raised and ready to swing. I ducked out of the way of Pipe's swing and shoved him into Bat, the two of them stumbling back and Bat falling onto his ass. Crowbar jabbed his weapon forward and I grabbed hold of it, yanking him to the side. His grip wasn't letting up, so I swung him away then ran towards the tree. Getting that branch was my best bet.

... Getting a weapon was my best bet? Why the hell didn't I just run for the car? I needed to prioritize my safety first. But some part of me wanted to see these men punished for what they've done. They had to have done this before. Beaten people to a pulp for their valuables. Might have killed. I need to teach them a lesson.

I was at the tree. I grabbed the branch and pulled it off, before turning it over in my right hand like a club. Sturdy, heavy. With both hands gripping tight, I turned to face my attackers. They were sprinting towards me. Labored breathing, they're gonna be winded by the time they reach me. Big mistake. Bat was the first to reach me, raising his weapon before bringing it down. I raised the branch and blocked the blow, before pushing back and sending Bat off-balance. I swung the branch into his jaw, hearing a sharp crack as it connected. Bits of bark splintered off and stuck themselves into his face and he collapsed on his hands and knees, cursing and sobbing in pain. I swung again and it was lights out for him.

I didn't have time to celebrate my victory as I felt a sharp blow in the side of the head. My vision went blurry and my ears began to ring as I was knocked onto the floor, my weapon falling out of my grip and rolling away. My eyes focused just in time to see Pipe's foot raised and ready to stomp on my head. I raised my hands to cover my face, slowing down his foot and allowing me to get a grip on it. I pushed back and he fell away from me onto the floor. As I got up I barely managed to sidestep out of the way of a swing from Crowbar.

"JUST FUCKIN' DIE ALREADY!" Crowbar snarled, swinging wildly in every which way. I fell to my hands and knees and scrambled out of the way, grabbing hold of the baseball bat. I brought it up just in time to block one of his swings, putting a deep crack in the bat. He reeled back from the sudden loss of momentum and I swung the bat upwards into his chin, snapping his head back and sending him to the floor. I walked over to him and raised the bat, bringing it down on his head, knocking him unconscious and breaking my weapon in half at the same time.

Pipe had recovered and grabbed his weapon just as I took hold of the crowbar. He had no fear in his eyes, even after I had taken out his friends. He had nothing to lose and we both knew it. With a yell, I charged forward to deliver the first blow, swinging the crowbar at his side. He backed away before jumping forward with a downward swing that I barely managed to parry with a swing of my own. Off-balance, he tried to swing wildly at me. I crouched down to avoid it, then swung the crowbar at his feet, making him slip and fall onto his hands and knees.

Dropping the crowbar, I grabbed him by the shoulder and picked him up. I stared into his eyes for a moment. They still held no fear, even as I reeled my fist back. "Take this you son of a bitch!" I sucker-punched him right in the nose, audibly breaking it and sending him back to the floor. He was out of commission. My quick, sharp breaths and the cracks of thunder were the only noises in the park now. I looked up to the clouds as the rain poured down on me. It felt rejuvenating.

I raised a hand to the side of my head to touch my wound, wincing and cursing as I felt a sharp pain. The adrenaline hadn't worn off but it still hurt like hell with just a slight touch. That meant bad things. I brought my hand in front of my face and saw slick blood on my fingertips. Shit. I needed a doctor. Good thing I knew a guy with some medical training not far from here.

I stumbled over to my car, opening it and collapsing into the driver's seat. I started it up and began the drive to Tot's house, hoping I wouldn't pass out from blood loss along the way. As I drove away from the scene of the robbery-turned-triple-assault, I thought back on why I came here. Maybe this was why. Some part of me knew those guys would be there, knew that I needed to feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Beating the shit out of them didn't just ensure they wouldn't hurt anybody for a while, it felt cathartic.

I snorted to myself. Shit, I'm sounding like some sort of psychotic killer now. Still, there was no denying that doing that made me feel good. It wasn't just the beatdown, of course, it was also the knowledge that I had probably saved more than a few lives by stopping them. Thinking about that gave me a high like no other, and in a world like this, I could use that high more often.

Maybe I made a mistake becoming a journalist: vigilantism was more my cup of tea.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

_{ACT 1: MERCY}

• Issue #0: Run (See Above)
• Issue #1: Triage At Dawn
• Issue #2: Motorcycle Cop (Coming Soon)
• Issue #3: On The Run (Coming Soon)
• Issue #4: Tick Of The Clock (Coming Soon)
• Issue #5: The Shape Hunts (Coming Soon)

[Hound55]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S A N D M A N

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^{_{WESLEY DODDS ♦ RETIRED INVESTOR / VENTURE CAPITALIST ♦ NEW YORK ♦ FORMER J.S.A. OPERATIVE}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{“Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes
a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked,
and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a
butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.” - Chuang-Tzu}

The 1940s in New York City.

A young man named Jackie Robinson is breaching the color barrier in baseball for the Dodgers.

The BROOKLYN Dodgers.

Joe Louis' career is in its twilight, afterwards the Brown Bomber would retire as one of the greatest heavyweights ever to grace the ring. In the pound-for-pound stakes Sugar Ray Robinson is partway through what would become one of the most remarkable unbeaten streaks ever.

But it was the mythology of fighters outside of the squared circle that would captivate many.

In 1948, rumours spread like wildfire about a 'Mystery Man' clad in a long coat, old World War I gas mask and brandishing a 'gas gun' which he could use to either put bad men to sleep or give them nightmares. Claims of drawing out confessions and truth from the lips of criminals in a sleep state also spread amongst the good people of Manhattan.

A silent protector, watching over Manhattan whilst she would sleep.

A Sandman of the folklore borne to a city in need. From time to time there were sightings. Claims of a masked face turning, a figure disappearing in a plume of mist. An urban legend. A civilized city's Chupacabra.

Then the random appearances became few and far between. It was the fifties, and J. Edgar Hoover had diverted resources to generate a concerted effort for an elite investigation taskforce. Clean-cut men who specialized in methods of criminology at the forefront of innovation! J. Edgar spurned the terms "Science heroes" and "mystery men", he wanted a team of good men without flashy standouts seeking fame. He would have them... by any means available, and would be willing to use the full weight of the United States Federal Government.

These men were each brilliant in their own fashion, but would remain faceless. It would be the unit as a whole that would be the aspiration for a new young generation of clean-cut American kids. There would be no Flash. All substance. No names. Just the squad. All glory to the "J-Men", Hoover's Justices for the Society of America!

Now it is well over half a century later. Legend of the Sandman's past has largely been relegated to the darker conspiracy-based corners of the internet.

Wesley Dodds still has his money. He still has his house. His big empty house, and the voices, ghosts and dark dreams of a life more lived than most.

His memories are rapidly fading with age and now his waking moments are becoming more and more consumed by the chaos of dreams...

...and when Wesley Dodds is confronted by the violent murder of one of his former squad, there's only one way he knows how to respond.

But what hope does an enfeebled hero, furthermore one grabbing so desperately to the fast-fading threads that connect him to reality, have for one last chance at glory and to get justice for a fallen comrade?

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

The character's motivations will become clear as the first arc drops. As they do, I intend to add to the CS on the go, so I'm not spoiling my stuff.

As for my own motivations, I'm looking to delve into a man who is himself collapsing INTO the state of dream itself.

And as for how/where the character's story is going to go? It'll be set in the backdrop of a classic ol' pulpy murder mystery.

Cliches exist for a reason.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Origins of the JSA
I'm thinking '50s-'70s. With the Justices for the Society of America, also known as "Hoover's J-Men" being an elite group of "Mystery Men", conscripted often against their will by Hoover to be the indomitable elite force he first envisioned the FBI to be.

The team dissolved after a less than completely successful incident involving a mysterious figure the JSA archives name as Per Degaton (after which, if reports are to be believed, a number of team members experienced considerable resistance to the usual aging process).

Numerous JSA agents were scattered across short term time, making it impossible for theif handlers to track them down. Those conscripted against their will seized the opportunity to slip away, and by this time Hoover had left, his replacements' influence had waned after a revolving door of Acting Directors and Watergate. The FBI's shadowy reputation left so much to be desired that new FBI Director Clarence Kelley made no attempts to track them down, as he instead focused on repairing the damage done to their image by his predecessors.

Former J.S.A. Agents
Jay Garrick
Ted Grant
Rex Tyler
Alan Pratt
Ted Knight
Johnny Thunder - *DECEASED*
Terry Sloane
Charles McNider

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

January 17th, 1949 - Manhattan, NEW YORK - Light snowfall

1948. It had been a hectic year. Truman had signed the Marshall Plan, which would provide $5 billion in aid to 16 wartorn European countries in dire need in the wake of World War II. It would give a boost to infrastructure and business, remove trade barriers and form the base capital to modernize industry…

...particularly when combined with foreign investment.

The next four years would see the most rapid growth in European history. And would form a large part of my own personal holdings over the next decade. I had invested in the region because I saw it as the opportunity to do the most good with my father’s legacy, the potential for growth merely sweetening the pie.

Truman had also signed Executive Order 9981, ending racial segregation in the US Armed Forces. Five years before the desegregation of schools would make any major headway and allow equal opportunities to live and learn, it would be made the law of the land that all men who can bleed red for this land can fight side-by-side.

Between brutality and life; this country, this city still has questionable priorities.

That brutality is why I find myself there, on that fire escape, whilst the rest of the city slept. One man, facing this city’s darkest nightmares, so that the innocent could dream peacefully.

Senator Margaret Chase Smith had the gall to speak out against the witch hunts that were being perpetrated in the name of Senator Joseph McCarthy and his HUAC. Senator Smith was the first woman to be elected to both houses of Congress, and is a lively driven woman, reminding me very much of Dian.

At least she had been a very lively woman prior to her abduction…

She’d passed comment to the wrong person at a fundraiser, prior to making her public denouncement of the HUAC’s activities, and the wheels had been put in motion to remove the dissenter before she would have the opportunity to make a problem.

Again, that’s why I found myself there, on that freezing fire escape, counting the kidnappers and waiting for the right spread across the upscale apartment building to make my move with the minimum chance of the Senator being caught in the crossfire.

I watched as one particular criminal crossed the floor to go to the kitchen, giving an opportunity to put myself between the bound Senator and the rest. I watched as my moment fell into place.

I crashed through the window and took the space in front of her. Thick gas dispersed into the crowded apartment.

Shouting and calls of “Get him!” and “Shoot him!” gave further proof to the brutality of these men and the world they would inhabit given the choice.

I heard a voice emanate from my mask that I barely recognized as my own, the ethereal tones the final thing these brutes would hear before drifting into unconsciousness.

“< There is no escaping the Sandman’s Dark Dream… >”

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Obviously, to be expanded as we go.

[HenryJonesJr]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B L U E B E E T L E

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^{_{T E D K O R D ♦ I N V E N T O R ♦ N E W Y O R K ♦ K O R D S C I E N C E S}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"Back off, man. I'm a scientist."}

Theodore "Ted" Kord was the son of famed industrialist Thomas Kord. At a young age, Ted showed the aptitude for invention he would become famous for later in life, creating a GPS system for the family lawnmower and vacuums in order to cut down on his chore time and give himself more time to practice his gymnastics and listen to stories from his father's best friend, Dan Garrett. Garrett was a globe trotting archaeologist, and always returned from trips with a new story or trinket for young Ted, and Ted dreamed of a life of adventure like Dan's for himself someday.

Still, his father pushed him towards a life of science and industry instead, seeing untapped economic potential in Ted's innate genius. Thomas's pressure eventually led to a heavy falling out with Ted, who left for college studying engineering, anthropology, and archaeology in a rare and seemingly-impossible triple major. After graduation, he convinced a reluctant Garrett to take him on as a partner. While Dan was reluctant to side against his friend Thomas, he also realized Ted was going to emulate him no matter what and it was safer to mentor him.

The two traveled the world, and Ted experienced the adventure he had always dreamed of. They studied and discovered new ancient sites said to be touched by the gods, encountered lost civilizations deep in the jungles of the Southern Hemisphere, studied martial arts the world over, and even believed they had found the first clues to the fabled city of Atlantis.

This all came to an end when during an excursion into the Middle East, Dan was killed in a clash between militants and the US armed forces. Heartbroken, Ted returned home, and found to his dismay his father had also died shortly after Dan, leaving Kord Industries to Ted. Losing both his father and his surrogate father left the younger Kord in a state of shellshock, and the company suffered for it. The only profitable sector left was the military arms sector, which Ted wanted nothing to do with after witnessing the horrors of war first hand.

His demeanor changed at the reading of Dan's will, however. His mentor had left Ted only one thing, a mysterious artifact Dan kept locked away in the vault of his house. There, alone, sat what appeared to be a carved Egyptian scarab beetle made of a strange blue metal. Taking the scarab to his personal lab, Ted quickly realized it was an advanced piece of technology, which he speculated was alien in origin.

Reverse engineering the scarab's technology, Ted was able to set off a wave of brilliant inventions. Seeing a new avenue for his talents, he dissolved the military branches of Kord Industries, which were sold to tycoon Maxwell Lord. Ted consolidated the remaining parts of the company, now far smaller but more inline with Ted's vision. He renamed the company "Kord Sciences" and set out in hopes of a better future.

Now, after a pandemic crippled the world, Ted sees that his inventions can do more than help people live easier lives. He can help make a difference in the new fight for justice. Using his private lab built in his father's old garage, he begins adapting his patents in ways to help protect the innocent people of New York.

Meanwhile, the dark underbelly of the city is beginning to emerge, and a criminal genius known only as "The Brain" is whispered to be behind it all...

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

My goal was to go with a fun, colorful character. While I initially was leaning towards Aquaman, I realized Ted was more what I was looking for. That way I can be more street level where I feel more comfortable writing, and don't have to have the entire lore of the oceans on my back. Ted will be a mix of classic Ted, a little MCU Tony Stark, and a little bit of Peter Parker thrown in as well. (Shut up, I'm more of a Marvel fan, deal with it). I want to build out a strong Rogues Gallery for BB, something I feel like is largely absent from his canon.

I'd also love for him to be involved with supplying tech to other heroes that may need it. Being a bit more of a benefactor to the hero movement at large.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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The Beetle Base
-Once the massive underground garage in Thomas Kord's Westchester mansion where the he kept his car collection, Ted has transformed the cavernous space into his own private lab. It's here that he experiments with the technology he has reverse engineered from the alien tech. Dubbed by him the "Beetle Base", it is where he stores most of the larger items he has created, including the small airship he nicknamed "The Bug".

Allies

• David Garrett - Dan's son, and Ted's best friend. Head of Kord Sciences' security.
• Joan Garrett - Dan's widow
• Jarvis Kord - Ted's uncle, who is CFO of Kord Sciences
• Tora Olafsdotter - A researcher at Kord working on environmental sciences.
• Beatriz da Costa - Kord Sciences' public relations and marketing liaison.
• Kha - Rudimentary AI system Ted named after the Pharaoh whose tomb was the finding place of the scarab.

Enemies

• Maxwell Lord - CEO of Lord Aerospace. Max bought out Kord's military wing, and now is one of the largest military contractors in the world.
• The Madmen - An colorful, anarchistic group of criminals terrorizing New York in the wake of the pandemic.
• Farley Fleeter - Leader of the Madmen
• Black Spider - A master thief with spider-like abilities.
• "The Brain" - Allegedly the criminal mastermind behind the recent New York crime wave.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"Okay, you can do this," Ted Kord murmured to himself as he powered up the airship. He felt the low rumble of the high density battery packs sprung to life through the floor. His eyes swept over the instrumentation panels around his field of view, and everything read as it should. No power spikes like the last time, which almost resulted in the damn ship exploding here in the lab...which of course would have lead to his death. Which wouldn't have been ideal.

He took another deep breath in and flipped a switch on the console next to him, and through the long, almost 180 degree view port, he saw the hanger doors he had installed begin to open. Thanks to the Bug's, as he called the airship thanks to its beetle-like shape, slim profile, he had managed to make the hangar doors fairly inconspicuous in the small cliff-side of his father's old house.

"Welp, here goes nothing," he winced as he pushed the throttle forward. The ship zipped in that direction almost whisper quiet, and Ted let out a triumphant yell that he was immediately ashamed of afterwards. The anti-gravity tech he had managed to gleam from the Scarab worked beautifully in small scale applications, that much he knew. Kord Sciences was already rolling out new anti-collision technology for cars that featured it, allowing passengers to be encased with a bubble of protective antigrav energy. But the idea that it could allow something as big as the airship to move almost silently through the air was nothing more than theory.

At least it was nothing more than theory before tonight.

Bringing the Bug to a higher altitude, he put the craft on autopilot towards the city and flipped on the police scanner. He had little hope that it would turn up anything useful. The police seemed more intent on keeping the outward appearance that the city was under control more than dealing with the actual problems of the city lately. But it was somewhere to start.

Ted rested his chin on his hand, leaning on the armrest of the Bug's pilot chair, and peered out the window as he went. Not long ago, the traffic he saw bellow would have been a rare sight after the pandemic brought the world to a grinding halt. His company had done all it could to help with the mitigation efforts, but even they had trouble with the pathogen. Ted had to admit he was happy to see people getting about their lives again, even if the world they came back to seemed awfully different.

The radio crackled, drawing his attention, "All units, we have a report of a break in at STAR Labs up in Harlem. Requesting someone go check it out."

"Harlem?" a voice on the other end scoffed. "You think we're going up there any time soon? After last week's protest. They can bite me."

"Well, girl," Ted shrugged and spoke to the airship, "they're calling our number."

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Coming soon

[Master Bruce]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B A T M A N

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^{_{Bruce William Wayne .♦ .Vigilante .♦ .Gotham City, New Jersey, USA .♦ .Unaffiliated}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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...

"The time has come. You know it in your soul."

Fifteen years ago, a double homicide in The Narrows was discovered by the GCPD. When the corresponding address was checked for the tenant's name, few could have imagined a connection to billionaire Phillip Wayne. But the so-called Prince of Gotham did indeed have a brother who had never recieved a cent of their father's blood money, who chose to work towards the betterment of his city by his own accord. And while he and his wife had been taken by a petty thief, the two had a son that survived. A traumatized little boy who would emerge from that apartment forever changed, put on the path towards a quest that would transform him from an ordinary young man into an extraordinary crimefighter. He would learn how to fight against the criminal element that had made Gotham City an uninhabitable hellscape. He would become a master detective, a cunning warrior, and eventually, even a self-styled creature of the night. But like his father before him, he would do it by his own hand, inspired by a legend that has haunted Gotham City for decades - the grim fairy tale known only as The Gotham Bat.

Forget the familiar story. There is no billion dollar fortune, no lavish mansion, no elitist playboy act to galavant around in during the daytime. There's just a man with no extraordinary means, who worked hard to turn himself into something more - something that will tear away Gotham City's evils by the skin of his teeth, giving every ounce of his blood and sweat to do it. How this iteration of Bruce Wayne becomes The Batman is a story that will be told not only through the donning of the cape and cowl, but by the struggle to rise above the level of masked street vigilante to enact real change in a city that preys upon the innocent. It's a journey that will teach him not only the methods he needs to truly be The Dark Knight, but the allies he'll need to cultivate and the enemies that he'll have to endure.

For right now, however, he's still got some kinks to work out. Some equipment to test, some approaches to refine... and a persona to unleash onto the citizens that still think Gotham belongs to the criminals and the corrupt.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Batman is too significant of a part of me to ignore. He's the focal point of all of my cutural osmosis, to the point of an unhealthy obsession that always brings me back to wanting to write the character and entertaining an endless amount of what-ifs and alternate takes. But the one thing I've never really tackled is how well the character can endure once you strip away all of the elements that make his life entirely unattainable to the common man. After all, the big thing touted about him is that he doesn't have any superpowers. ...as long as you ignore the billions of dollars, celebrity lifestyle, luxury and privilege that allows him to break out the fanciful gadgets and vehicles on a whim.

That's the paradox of his character that drives this version. What is Bruce Wayne if he's not rich beyond belief, shoulder to shoulder with supermodels and escorted by a literal butler that raised him to inherit a dynasty that was never in danger of being taken from him? I don't really know the answer yet, but that's why this take on the origin is an interesting challenge. He's still everything that psychologically and emotionally makes him Batman. He's still a little disturbed and driven by an absolute obsession that puts him back on those streets every night. He still puts on a mask and cape and trys to emulate a giant bat, and eventually he'll start to obtain a few of the familiar elements, like a Batcave, a Batmobile, and even a Rogue's Gallery. He just has to do it without all of the shortcuts that made his journey the great fantasy that it's always been, in a Gotham City that functions even more like the real world than it usually does.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Alfred Pennyworth

Bruce's legal guardian, mentor, and primary confidant. Once employed to serve Phillip Wayne in a variety of roles, the Gulf War veteran had a falling out with the billonaire's abandoning of his nephew and left Wayne Manor to raise Bruce in Gotham proper. In a bid to make up for what he lacked as a father, Alfred potentially indulged Bruce's desire to fight criminals too much and is now an older man filled with regret that has dedicated himself to make penance for his mistakes by ensuring that Bruce remains on a righteous path.

Captain James Gordon

One of the few remaining incorruptible members of the GCPD. A divorcee with a teenaged daughter to raise, Gordon employs a no-nonsense and by the book approach to police work that Gotham has seemed to have long since forgotten. Working in tandem with a small team of officers, including Lieutenants Harvey Bullock and Renee Montoya of Homicide, Sergeants Michael Weurtz, Anna Ramirez, and Gerard Stephens of OCCB (Organized Crime Control Bureau), Detectives Crispus Allen and Kate Kane of Vice, and Officer John Valley, Gordon regularly sees his efforts to clean up the city thrwarted by the heavily corrupt Chief Miles O'Hara, one of the GCPD's many jackbooted thugs that answer directly to Commissioner Gillian Loeb.

Harvey Dent

Current District Attorney of Gotham City. A staunch defender of justice, there are some who doubt the validity of Dent's public persona. While his position against organized crime has remained passionately critical, specifically against Salvatore 'The Capo' Maroni, there are unverified reports that that Dent is on the take along with his contemporaries in City Hall. He's long been a suspect of the OCCB for being Maroni's inside man at the DA's office, but no evidence has ever stuck and Dent has vehemently denied any wrongdoing in the press. Still, that hasn't stopped Gordon's unit from coining a particularly harsh moniker for Gotham's so-called Knight In Shining Armor: Harvey Two-Face.

Vicki Vale

Current reporter for the online edition of The Gotham Globe, Vicki's relentless pursuit to uncover the corrupt members of Gotham's elite and members of office has prevented her career from taking off in the any of the ways she'd hoped. Working under editor Alexander Knox, Vicki is determined to make the Globe a household name to compete with the likes of The Gazette, The Central City Citizen, and even The Daily Planet by putting together the associates of the Falcone Crime Family, their rivals in The Maroni Syndicate, the GCPD and the City Council. To call her ambitious would be an understatement, but Vicki's only goal is to give the people of Gotham a clear indicator of who the bad guys really are.

Lucius Fox

Former head of engineering at Wayne International, Fox now uses his vast skills in mechanical invention to aid Bruce Wayne in his crusade against the criminal element by retrofitting stolen military gadgetry into something that can be of continued use. A victim of crime himself, Fox is confined to a wheelchair after suffering a stroke caused when the court system ruled in favor of his son Luke's murderer, Detective Flass. But whenever Bruce Wayne anonymously gathered and gave the presiding judge all of the evidence needed to send Flass away for the crime, Fox agreed to honor Luke's memory by helping Wayne to make Gotham a better place.

Barbara Gordon

The daughter of Captain Gordon and a current freshman at Brentwood University, Barbara is a newly hired computer analyst and archiver that Lucius Fox brought on to help lighten the load of running his electronics' repair shop, The Fox's Den. An amazingly gifted young woman, Barbara's aptitude for gymnastics, computer sciences, and studies in law enforcement make her a prime candidate to enlist in the GCPD - something that her father forbids, as he believes she doesn't understand the scope of the Department's corruption.

Duke Thomas

A gifted ex-hacker who did time in juvie for aiding a former street tough named Gavin King, Duke's skills once caught the eye of an in-training Bruce Wayne, who now wants to put them to the test for his own means. While Duke is oblivious to Wayne's true identity, he does seem to want to get others like King off of the streets in a way that the cops can't. Duke is currently sitting high on a list of potential allies that Wayne can go to in order to help enhance his war against crime.

Harper Row

Formerly a small-time criminal who freelanced at various chop-shops across Gotham, Harper's put her days of illegal misconduct behind her in a bid to persue her dream of running a mechanic's shop out of The Narrows, affectionately called Bluebird's. Wayne previously relented in providing her information to the police when infiltrating the chop-shop racket to take some of it's members down, as he realized she was only trying to make money to keep her and her brother Cullen afloat, earning Harper's gratitude and a potential favor down the line.

Edward Nygma

CEO of Wayne International, formerly Wayne Enterprises. An overly confident and charasmatic figure that is regularly seen among Gotham's elite, Edward's brilliance is only outweighted by his extremely petty insecurities. Insecurities that led to him systematically orchestrating the murder of Phillip Wayne while the billionaire served out a prison sentence, gaining him enough clout with Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone to take on the leadership position he now exploits to create 'smarter' weapons for the military that focus on psychological warfare rather than brute force. Through Nygma, Wayne International has become a symbol of Gotham's corruption, and it's one that Bruce hopes to take down as much as any cop or member of the mob that terrorizes the city.

Dr. Jonathan Crane

Current director of Arkham Manor, the city's leading criminal psychiatric hospital based out of what was formerly Stately Wayne Manor, Crane's reputation is largely spotless and is considered a leading figure in his field. What no one knows is that Crane is running a highly illegal drug operation with chemist Karl Hellfern, known by his contemporaries as 'Dr. Death' for a seemingly disturbed obsession with decay. Crane himself holds a secret obsession, aswell: exploiting the fears that drive his patients through chemically-induced hallucinatory therapy, a method that has become increasingly sadistic over the years.

Victor Fries

Current ice-themed hitman employed by Salvatore Maroni. Once a brilliant doctor, Fries' life was irrevocably changed whenever he received a diagnosis of an inoperable late-stage brain tumor. Given only a few months to live, he was encouraged by his wife, Nora, to undergo an experimental procedure involving cryogenic chemicals that would be directly injected into his nervous system, with the hope that the cold treatments would slow the growth of the tumor enough to reverse his condition. While it succeeded on that front, Victor's physiology suffered a devastating set of permutations that made it impossible for him to live a normal life. Accidentally killing Nora with a newfound ability to generate cold temperatures by his touch, Fries' emotions have become buried since the loss, making him a particularly dangerous individual to contend with.

Eduardo Dorrance

Formerly serving a life-sentence at Blackgate Penitentiary, the previously unnamed inmate spent years calculating his escape plan by both building his body past any physical limitations and systematically gaining control of the prison's lower levels. Staging a riot, he successfully swam to shore and sought work under The Roman's Empire as hired muscle. Little does anyone know that beneath his towering exterior lies an equally potent sociopath's mind, counting the days down until he can plan yet another takeover.

Killer Croc Jones

Current leader of The Mutant Gang, Waylon Jones has no metahuman abilities of any sort - but he is nevertheless incredibly intimidating, standing at seven-feet tall and having built himself into giant mass of muscle over several prison stints. The most terrifying aspect of Croc's appearance, however, are the all-over body tattoos that have visually erased any appearance of a man and made Jones look more like his scale-adorned namesake. Filing his nails and his teeth to complete the look, Jones is a feral beast ready to claw his way from the bottom of Gotham's underworld to the very top.

Roman 'Black Mask' Sionis

A failed cosmetics mogul turned nightclub owner who moonlights as a deadly cult leader. Sionis is insane, believing that the key to the soul of he and his False-Facers' victims is through torture and disfigurement, shedding their 'masked' selves to become purified in a Biblical sense. Wearing a ritualistic Black Mask during all of his 'sermons', Sionis encourages his followers to collect as many innocent people in Gotham as they can to either be converted to the cause or be sent on their way to the great beyond, as painfully as possible.

The Head Of The Demon

A death cult believing themselves to be acolytes of a long-dead war monger in the Middle East, Ra's Al Ghul. Enacting guerrilla warfare tactics on the level of the Taliban and ISIS, some members have made their way to Gotham City in a plan to make their plight known all across the world. What no one realizes is that their true intent is to resurrect their ancient master through ancient ritualistic mysticism, though it's remained skeptical to most if this is even possible.

The Joker Card Killer

A completely anonymous serial killer that leaves behind victims of all manner, whether they be men, women or children, with a rictus grin and a deck of cards with missing jokers. The extent of this individual's motives are unknown, and no identification has been made in the five years that they've been operating. All that's known about them is that they kill indiscriminately, with no connective tissue linking any of the entire families' worth of bodies that the killer has left in their wake.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Salvatore "The Boss" Maroni screamed at the top of his lungs as he was thrust into the open air admist shattered glass. The masked lunatic that had thrown the gangster aswell as himself out of the top floor of the penthouse grabbed onto Maroni hard and produced that same grappling device that had sent them hurtling into an over 50 foot drop towards the pavement. Firing it again, this time managing to snag a stone gargoyle overlooking the adjacent building, The Batman pressed hard into Maroni's back so that they swung into an arch, heading directly for the building just across the street.

All that Salvatore could see was oncoming glass before a very large and leathery piece of fabric shielded him from the impact. He couldn't see them hit the window, but he could feel it, aswell as the hard landing that both men made. By the time the fabric unfurled itself off of his face, Maroni realized that he was on his back, staring directly at his shadowy assailant, who stood above him. Salvatore growled.

"ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR FUCKING MIND?! WE COULD'A BEEN KILLED JUST THEN, YOU---"

The Batman's boot slammed down onto Maroni's chest, causing him to involuntarily keel and roll over in immense pain.

"Quiet."

With his prey momentarily incapacitated, Batman searched the room ahead of them. A set of office cubicles greeted him in the darkness, evident of a local business. The employees had long since gone home, leaving no one but a janitor who had already ran for the emergency exit. But The Dark Knight sneered as the heat signature-detection feature of the lenses in his cowl picked up the image of an additional few men heading up the staircase, guns drawn. Evidently, Captain Bolton had managed to round up some of his remaining men to pursue them.

Looking down at Maroni, Batman forcibly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up.

"We're not done."

Maroni wheezed in pain. "What the hell are you talkin' about?!"

Punching the mobster hard across the face with an executed right hook, Batman caught Maroni's body as it fell limp, immediately rendered unconscious. Letting him fall gently, Batman produced a pair of military-grade handcuffs from the back of his belt and dragged Maroni over to a support beam. Propping him up and placing his hands behind his back, the vigilante secured his captive in place, put something into the front of his jacket pocket, and looked towards the door to the spacious room they were in as the heat signatures immediately approached.

Retreating to the darkness on the opposite end of the room, Batman watched in cold silence as the door was slammed open from the outside with a kick. Several of Flass' dirty cops burst into the room, each holding weapons that were far above standard issue for the GCPD. Laser sights, automatic ammunition. The vigilante narrowed his eyes as they searched for any sign of him in vain. Someone had been outfitting Flass' men with the latest in high-tech ordinance. The other precincts didn't have the luxury of such treatment, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Salvatore Maroni had a good majority of the GCPD under his payroll, directly. It was how the mobster had kept himself one step ahead of his rival, The Roman.

"Look! Over there! There's Maroni!", one of them yelled, signaling two of the men to his opposite. "Get him out of here before that freak comes back! We'll stay here and keep watch!"

As the two men approached, The Batman produced a detonator hidden within his gauntlet. Waiting precious seconds as the cops inched closer to Maroni's unconscious form, the vigilante waited for them to discover the handcuffs.

"Uh, Lieutenant? He's bound to this thing. We're gonna need to..."

Hitting the detonator hard, Batman leaped forward with a roll as an explosion of smoke immediately hit the two cops from within Maroni's jacket. Seizing control of the situation as the smoke coated the entire room, The Dark Knight hit the side of his cowl and switched his cowl's surveillance mode so that the lenses could isolate the smoke and make the room clear to him alone. Immediately slamming his knee into the chest of one of the cops with a rising strike, The Batman spun mid-air and sent four projectiles directly into the hands of two of the other armed officers. He'd taken to calling them "bat-blades", though one of his associates had given them perhaps a more fitting moniker: batarangs. Landing behind the officer he'd struck, Batman downed that one with a hard elbow and immediately followed that up with a brutal headbutt, knocking him into one of the cubicles. Shooting his right leg out, Batman spun for a hard sweep, sending a second one to the ground fast enough for the officer to hit the back of his head. Opting for a palm strike against an oncoming enemy's jaw, the vigilante simultaneously reigned a flying high kick down onto a fourth officer's face, knocking both to the ground. As he regained his footing, he looked down to his chest and noticed the red targeting lasers start to cross his path.

"THERE... *COUGH* THERE HE IS! SOUTHEAST CORNER OF THE ROOM! OPEN FIRE!"

Dammit.

Bullets sprayed the walls behind him as The Batman somersaulted forward, counting himself lucky as a bullet barely grazed the armor plating covering his right shoulder. Leaping into the air, he kicked off of the wall to the south of the room and produced his grapple gun yet again, firing a line directly into the northern wall. Directing a spin kick into an officer as he attempted to reload his weapon, Batman pulled at the line hard, catching the two leading figures of the group by the chest and waist as the steel cable slammed them into the adjacent wall. As another officer rose from the ground, still partially unconscious, the vigilante grabbed a stapler from one of the nearby cubicles and launched it directly into the man's head, sending him back to the ground. One remained. And he was firing off into the distance, having already lost the trajectory of his target. A batarang flew from the smoke and forced the weapon from his hands, embedding it into the window with a spiderweb crack. The officer's eyes widened as he looked at his unreachable weapon, failing to notice the figure that approached him.

"Tell Commissioner Loeb. Tell your fellow men. Tell everyone..."



"I'm coming for them, too."

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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1.01 - Prologue
1.02 - Superstitious, Cowardly Lots
1.03 - Men Of Principle

[Polyphemus]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T

THE CRIMSON AVENGER

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^{_{LEE TRAVIS ♦ PUBLISHER, PLAYBOY, MAN OF MYSTERY ♦ GOTHAM CITY, NJ ♦ UNAFFILIATED}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"Qui vindecet ibit!"}

Lee Walter Travis was born to privilege. His father built a fortune as the chair of the Travis Media Group, a company that owned multiple newspapers, magazines, websites, and radio stations. Travis wanted for nothing and would never have to work a day in his life unless he wanted to.

After completing an Ivy League education (from which he got the habit of peppering his speech with Latin) Travis settled into the life of a playboy. While he was genuinely interested in human rights and assisting the needy, due to his sheltered life his idea of involvement was to attend glitzy fundraising dinners and pen the occasional editorial for the Travis Group's flagship newspaper, the Globe-Leader. His detached methods of doing good were occasionally criticized by others, including a journalist named Claudia Barker who worked for the Globe-Leader. She felt that Lee's status and wealth could be put to better, more direct use.

It was Lee's relationship with Barker that eventually put him on the path to becoming a costumed adventurer. One night, as Lee drove himself to yet another fundraiser (this time a costume party benefiting pandemic victims), he received a frantic call from Claudia. The exposé she was writing had blown up in her face, the corrupt police sergeant she was investigating had gotten wind of her activity. Grumbling, Lee agreed to stop by, intending only to calm her down and carry on to the party. Feeling silly running such an errand in his highwayman costume, he drove to her apartment.

However, as Lee knocked on her door, he suddenly heard screams and shots from inside. Lee immediately broke down the door and burst in to find Claudia dead on the floor and the dirty cop fleeing out the back. Rage overtook Travis. Still wearing the mask and cloak intended for the party, Lee pursued the murderer on foot through the back alleyways of Gotham, dodging gunfire until he finally got close enough to tackle the killer cop to the ground and subdue him after a brief fistfight. Realizing he couldn't reveal his identity with a police report lest he be attacked by other dirty cops, Lee carried the unconscious man back to the scene of the crime and called the state police.

Now shocked out of his ivory tower and forced to confront the injustices of the world head-on, Lee Travis realized that while his money could help many people, perhaps there were some situations that required a more direct and anonymous touch. Maybe a man with a mask, a gun, and two flashing fists could accomplish more than a check. Just maybe, he can make a difference to those who cry out in fear, pain, or hunger.

An avenger will come.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Debuting in October of 1938, The Crimson Avenger was one of the earliest DC superheroes, predating Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, and pretty much everyone else but Superman. For this reason, I feel he's a great fit for a RP with this particular “Year One” premise. I understand that despite his historical significance he's not very well-known outside of a few appearances on JLU and serious fan circles, which is why I'd like to rehabilitate him into being a larger force in the DC universe.

Additionally, I'm a big fan of nonpowered superheroes, who I feel have more storytelling opportunities. I've based the Crimson Avenger in Gotham rather than his traditional setting of New York for two reasons: I'd like him to have opportunities to meet up with other established characters, and I don't want to feel constrained by real-world geography, history, culture, etc. Personally I've always been a little annoyed by DC's practice of using both real-world and fictional cities.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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SUPPORTING CAST

Wing Hao

Wing Hao is Lee's personal trainer, confidant, adviser, and martial arts instructor. When he first conceived of the Crimson Avenger, Lee realized that while he was already in decent shape and had a good grasp of basic fighting skills, a war against injustice would require him to push his body even further. Lee is slowly making progress. The two had similar personalties and interests, and immediately hit it off on a personal level. To date, Wing is the only person to whom Lee has admitted being the Crimson Avenger.

Jill Carlyle

Jill Carlyle is one of Lee's college friends, a brilliant lawyer. While she could find work at any white-shoe Gotham law firm, she has devoted herself to pro bono work at a non-profit legal clinic. She is doing her best to help the less fortunate and will frequently tip Lee off to specific cruelties being committed in Gotham.

Speed Saunders

Cyril “Speed” Saunders is a retired FBI agent who now works part-time as a “security consultant”, a fancy term for a private eye and informant. Lee can afford his fees and occasionally uses him as an operative, researcher, investigator, and sounding board.

Amos Vangilder

Amos Vangilder is the CEO of the Travis Group and handles most of the day-to-day operations of the business.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Sample Post

“Dulce bellum inexpertis. You can take another swing at me if you want, but I think you get the idea, slumlord.”

Jubal Slade whimpered as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his split lips. It rained down onto his chest nonetheless, staining his snow-white terrycloth bathrobe. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, I don't have a lot of cash here but I can write you a check or maybe if we go to an ATM-”

The Crimson Avenger sighed, lifted the Colt .45 slightly higher for emphasis. “This isn't a robbery, I thought I made that perfectly clear. Just be still and listen.” Still training the pistol on Slade, he stole a brief glance out the window, admiring the view from the massive condo on the 36th floor. “Look at that. A view overlooking Robinson Park and the river. 24 hour maintenance service. Fitness center, pool, paid phone and internet, doorman, full-time security. Now, Jubal, how many of your tenants in Burnley and the East End enjoy such amenities?”

“If they want better they should move to a better neighborhood,” Slade retorted, before falling silent at the masked man's glare.

“I would think with what they're paying you could at least afford a decent maintenance team. Do something about the rats and leaking roofs and crumbling pipes. After all, if you have a place like this you can't be hurting for money. Especially knowing that you've got four luxury cars down in the garage and a winter cottage in the Caribbean.”

“Okay, so I was smart and made a good living for myself, is that a crime?” Jubal Slade tried, before the Crimson Avenger sighed and glared at him again.

“Not according to the laws of the city, state, or nation, no. But taking advantage of people is wrong in the Crimson Avenger's law. There is no quid pro quo here, you're just taking their money and hardly giving them a roof in return. That leads to my demands. Listen carefully, Jubal: Stop tripling rents. Stop evicting Black, trans, and elderly tenants with nowhere to go. Oh, and I'm well aware that you burn down the odd property for insurance money. I'll give you credit, you've always timed that for when no one was present. But arson endangers your neighbors and it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Jubal Slade agreed- far too quickly, the Crimson Avenger would reflect later. “Hey, I'm gonna call my secretary right now so we can have a company wide meeting about that first thing in the morning, okay? Just gotta grab my phone from the bedroom.” The Crimson Avenger relaxed his guard as Slade opened a door.

“Sic!” The single syllable barely registered as the Doberman blasted from the bedroom, slavering mouth baying as it launched itself towards the Crimson Avenger. He barely had time to acknowledge Jubal Slade rushing into the bedroom and frantically rooting through a bedside table drawer as the heavy dog closed its teeth on his coat sleeve and slammed into him with his body. The weight and momentum bowled him over. The Crimson Avenger fell to the floor, wrestling with the huge snarling dog.

While he retained his grip on one gun and had a second .45 under his cloak, the Crimson Avenger didn't want to just shoot the dog. It was just doing its job as trained, it didn't know any better. And so he managed to grab the Dobermans collar, pushing it way just enough to loop an arm around its slender neck and squeeze, feeling it go limp as the flow of oxygen was cut off to its brain.

He heard a sudden click, and looked up to see Jubal Slade had finally found what he was after. A tiny nickel-plated .32 automatic, now raised at him. Without thinking, the Crimson Avenger hurled the unconscious 90 pound dog in his arms as hard as he could at the slumlord. Jubal Slade was caught in the chest, knocked to the floor by the Doberman's weight. The pistol went flying.

The Crimson Avenger quickly caught his breath and stalked over, gun leveled. “Remember what I said, Jubal. Or I'll have to return. Hannibal ad portas, Jubal.”

His point made, the Crimson Avenger holstered his pistol and let himself out of the condo. He would check back later to make sure the slumlord took his warning to heart. Otherwise, there would be trouble.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Post 1
Post 2
Post 3
Post 4
Post 5

[IceHeart]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

G R E E N A R R O W

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Oliver Jonas Queen ♦ Billionaire/Vigilante/Martial Artist ♦ Starling City, California, USA ♦ Queen Industries Heir

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T

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^{"After surviving on an Island for five years, I've learned a few things. The most important lesson I learned is that anybody can make a Hell on earth. That's why I do what I do, to make sure that never happens here. This city is getting pretty close though...I have a LOT of work to do to save as many lives as possible."}

Oliver Queen, the young heir of Queen Industries, was on a small yacht when it was sabotaged. Oliver Queen nearly drowned but somehow made it to the shore of a small island, Lian Yu in the North China Sea. He probably would have died if it were not for the help of a fellow inhabitant named Shado.

With Shado's help, Oliver Queen survived and even thrived as he learned survival skills, Kyudo [Archery], and used his intelligence and inventiveness to create weapons and tools from what was available nearby. It soon became apparent that the island was home to an illegal operation, to which Oliver responded with Guerilla tactics, and managed to secretly supply the forced laborers with weapons long enough to plan a revolt which resulted in the expulsion of the organization from the Island.

With the island free from control, eventually, Oliver managed to get the attention of a ship which lead to his rescue from the island along with the other island survivors. Shado departed ways with Oliver once she learned he planned to go back to Starling City to inherit his position as heir to Queen Industries so he would have the tools and backing necessary to do as much good as he could in the world and especially his hometown of Starling City.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S

---

I've liked Green Arrow since I saw him in the cartoons but I have to admit I never really cared for his looks that much. Then Arrow came along with a look more to my liking, especially without that atrocious goatee, so I've been considering a run with him for a while. I do think the arrowverse version is way too much batman-lite however, so I want to create something a little closer to the cartoons in character, but with some of the elements of Arrow as well.

Green Arrow is first and foremost, a man of the people, one who wants to help the poor and downtrodden as much as possible. While he loves to fight and root for the underdog he is also part of high society and knows that not everything is so black and white. His primary targets are those who exploit people, drug lords, sex-trafficking, and corporate corruption. Of course he also targets those who are a danger to the public, especially so called super-villains and the like, but his primary purpose is to make life better for others rather than bringing people to justice.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S

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Tommy Merlin – Old friend of Oliver Queen who was with him during his party years. Still tries to remain friends with Oliver but finds him quite different from his younger days. He is a good reminder to Oliver that he is still a part of the 'upper' world as Oliver Queen.

Mia Dearden – A young girl stuck in the vile web that is the sex-trafficking ring. She is looking for a way out and the Green Arrow's activities could just be her chance to escape.

Shado – A mysterious, young, Japanese woman he met on Lian Yu who saved his life and helped teach him ways to survive and fight there. Shado was very secretive and the best Oliver could figure out was that she had an affiliation to the Yakuza and quite a bit of martial arts training. Oliver was a bit disappointed she decided to not to come with him and still wonders where she went and what she is doing.

James Cameron – Police lieutenant in the SCPD. Prides himself on being hard on criminals and has a distrust of masked vigilantes. Wouldn't mind nabbing Green Arrow along with the criminals but is more than willing to capitalize on his activities in order to take down crime.

Naomi Singh – A skilled computer analyst and software developer, her technical skills come in quite handy when having to deal with high tech crime.

Henry Fyff – A man with a passion for R&D and weaponry, Oliver has found him to be the perfect fit to help keep his arsenal updated and full of new and useful toys. Has a deep crush on Naomi Singh.

China White – A high ranking member of the Chinese Triad, China White is a ruthless gangster who is not below using any method at her disposal to ensure the Triads foothold in Starling City. A skilled martial artist, assassin, and small arms expert, her skills are not limited to employing her organization to do her dirty work.

Daniel Brickwell 'Brick' – Daniel Brickwell is a powerful mobster who has a heavy presence in The Glades part of Starling City. While his gang is dangerous, the man himself is a metahuman with skin as strong as brick making him a very hard opponent to fight against even with weapons. He prefers a more brute force approach to things but is by no means a pure muscle head.

Onomatopoeia – A strange villain who only speaks in 'sounds'. A mysterious individual with unknown motivations, but he certainly has no qualms with taking innocent lives in the process of a job.

S A M P L E P O S T

---

The lights, the glamour, the women, it was a strange feeling coming back into Starling City's circle of high society. One half of him was glad to be back into his spot as one of Starling City's most adored members of society, but the other half remembered the horrors of Lian Yu and balked from the extravagance of it all. How many people could live such a decadent life in Starling City? A lot more than he wished to admit, especially when comparing them to the majority of the city.

If Oliver Queen was honest with himself he did miss the women though. I guess there had been Shado, but when survival and taking down an illegal operation were the primary concerns, there was little room for relationships. Shado had been more of a firm hand than a comforting companion anyway.

"Nice homecoming bash you got going here Ollie. I see you haven't lost your touch after 5 years." Tommy Merlin smirked as he approached Oliver Queen who had a beautiful brunette on one arm and a glass of champagne in his free hand.

"I'm rather surprised myself after 5 years in the North China Sea, kind of figured maybe I'd have lost my charm. It would appear that the mystery I acquired from my time on that island has made up for that. Women can't ignore a man of mystery after all." The brunette giggled on his arm and gave him a little squeeze. Oliver smiled back at her, she was a beautiful woman, Ellie if he remembered correctly, but apart from her looks he had realized that he felt no deeper attraction. She seemed smart and intelligent but she wouldn't understand what he would be trying to do, she was too entrenched in her ways and her station to become anything but a passing acquaintance to him.

"Well I admit, it is quite the mystery how you managed to survive so long without your prized wi-fi and night clubs!" Tommy jested as he lifted his own glass of champagne toward Oliver, who returned the gesture before they both took a sip.

At the moment they were all up in the pent-house suite of one of Starling City's finest hotels at Oliver Queen's expense. It was only natural that the prodigal son, though not of his own choice, have such a magnificent bash to signify his return to the elite circles of Star City. All the biggest names had been invited and the service was superb. It really was a colossal waste of time and money, or at least it would if it had been the Oliver of five years ago.

If there was one thing the rich loved, it was their vices, and fancy parties were some of their favorite places to spread the word of their newest amusement. Oliver made sure to keep his ears ready to snatch the latest bit of gossip and while there was a good chance some of the elites would try to share their findings with the new billionaire in town, he was also now an unknown, but he knew some of the places where people liked to talk, where a few bugs would be waiting to snatch up anything of interest.

"You certainly have a lot to catch up on Oliver. Just give me a call when you want the scoop on the hottest new digs in town!" Tommy took up a spot beside Oliver and took another sip from his drink.

"It is surprising what can change in five years, but also comforting to see what hasn't changed." Oliver took a look around at the top crust of Star City. It was the same worthless drivel as ever, it was sad it had taken five years and a lot of hell to open up his eyes to the truth. He couldn't change the past, but he was sure as hell going to make sure to change Starling City's future, before all that was left in Starling was the rich and the poor, the overlords and the slaves.

Oliver Queen had been given a second chance, and he was damn well going to make sure he did it right.

P O S T C A T A L O G U E

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[Tackytaff]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B I R D S O F P R E Y

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^{_{♦ H E L E N A R O S A B E R T I N E L L I | P A M E L A I S L E Y ♦ H E I R E S S | B O T A N I S T ♦ G O T H A M ♦}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"That's omertà. When blood cries for blood, you answer the call."
"You seem to have me confused with some warm-blooded damsel in distress."}

Gotham City has always been at war with itself. Between the crime, the asylum, and the social divide between classes, not many make it out unscathed. Helena Bertinelli and Pamela Isley are two of the city's survivors.

The Bertinelli name was once as much feared as respected in Gotham. Helena's father ruled over his families, both business and blood, with an iron fist. There was no room for error or insurrection in his domain. Her mother while still kinder to her child, was no less ruthless: For her no slight went unmatched tenfold, even if it came from her own husband. Thus, when it was discovered she was seeking comfort from one of the other five families in retaliation for her husband's unfaithfulness the problems began. Fearing Don Bertinelli's reaction, Santo Cassamento approached the leader of the Mob, Stefano Mandragora who sent a kill order on the Bertinelli family. Expecting Don Mandragora to come for a visit himself, the entire family was waiting outside when the assassins arrived, leaving an eight year old Helena as the only survior.

She was sent to Italy, the home of the Bertinelli name, where she learned from her uncles and cousins the history and the way of the Cosa Nostra. As time went on, her interests grew with her, and eventually she began to train in combat, stealth, and espionage with her male cousins. Now, nearly two decades after the night that defined her life, Helena has returned to the city to avenge her family and return the Bertinelli name to its former glory.

Aside from their differences in wealth, Pamela Isley's family story isn't all that different from Helena's. Her home had been small, but her mother made up for it. The most kind and nurturing woman Pamela ever knew, she taught her daughter how to garden and care for plants until their tiny front yard bloomed a different colour with every season, and window boxes spilled over with different vegetation. The darker side to their life lay with her husband and Pamela's father. For all her kindness, Pamela's mother was not a strong woman. She her marriage had been hurried and ill-considered, as her husband's abuse began shortly after Pamela's birth. Anytime he lost his temper, there would be a gift of seeds and flowers the next morning as though to wipe the memory away. It was a terrifying existence, that only reached its true low on Pamela's seventeenth birthday; when her father killed her mother. He was arrested and charged guilty with murder but was far from enough to quell Pamela's yearning for justice.

In hopes to put her past behind her, she left Gotham to go to NYU to study biology and botany. She lived in the city for six years, received her masters and began a relationship with her colleague and former professor Marc Legrand. After years of developing spores that could effect the central nervous system, Pamela made a breakthrough which she was rewarded for by being poisoned and left for dead.

When she awoke, Pamela was changed. While she is constantly learning about what she has become, the betrayal of her former lover was enough to re-ignite her anger and her first course of action was the poisoning of her father in prison. From there she returned to Gotham, taking a job at Gotham university, where Helena found her and promised to help her find and kill Legrand in exchange for Pamela's help returning order to Gotham's mob families.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

With the goal of the roleplay forcing characters to start fresh, I decided to take two well established characters with dated and inconsistent backgrounds and give them a fresh slate in the modern age. How will Poison Ivy's environmental messages be reacted to in the global-warming age? What if instead of being inspired by Batman, Huntress set out only to return the Bertinelli name to glory? While they may seem an odd pair at first, I believe there is an interesting dynamic between two strong female characters both of which were originally created to be tacked love interests.

Helena will be returning to Gotham for the first time since the murder of her family, to find the five families close to all out war while the Penguin infringes on their money-making schemes. Under the leadership of her uncle the Bertinelli's claimed area is poorly enforced and constantly overtaken by the other families. She seeks revenge for her family, and to rule over those that killed or stood by and watched. All while unaware of her own true heritage.

Ivy is recently returned from the dead after her partner and mentor attempted to kill her. Still in the early stages of her transformation, her powers are constantly developing as well as her connection to the green. Confused as to what is happening to her and filled with anger she returns to her former home in Gotham. There she has and joined the research group at Gotham University where Huntress heard about her talents and offered to aid Pamela's environmental activism and quest for revenge from a place of power; provided she help her get there.

Both these character are morally gray and will begin as such, at least for the start of their story. As they learn more and evolve I see Helena growing into a more traditional hero, while Ivy's connection to the green grows and empathy for human withers.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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• Stefano Mandragora: The mafia head of all mafias. He keeps the mob in line not just in Gotham, but for all of the North-Eastern United states. He is also the man responsible for killing Helena Bertinelli's family at the behest of the Cassamento family.
• The Five Families: The five ruling families of Gotham's mob. While they still claim their territories, new upstart-gangs are constantly infringing on their space, and the respect for them has gone down greatly in recent years.
  
  
  
  • Bertinelli: Helena's family is ruled by her uncle Luca in America, and he has no intentions of giving up his place regardless of his niece's reappearance.
  • Beretti: A family left in shambles after the recent arrest of it's head, Angelo Beretti. He has been supplemented by his young son Antony Beretti the family is scrambling to retain its foothold maintaining the peace between the Cosa Nostra and law enforcement with both bribes and blackmail.
  • Cassamento: Headed by Santo Cassamento, Helena's true father, and the one who invoked her family's murder. Once the closest family to Bertinelli, they used to run arm deals together, though they too have lost a great deal of respect and work in the past decade.
  • Galante: The family most linked to drug movement in Gotham city. Headed by Claudio Galante.
  • Inzerillo: The least liked of the Cosa Nostra, and the only group to have actually grown in the past few years, sharing their space and deals with Cobblepot has proven beneficial to their pockets, but less so for their already poor reputation among the other families.
• Oswald Cobblepot: The man taking over the organized crime in the city, and has been eating away at the historic five family's power for years. Helena plans to organize the families against him, while Poison Ivy seeks to cease his development projects in the green belt around Gotham.
• Marc Legrand: Pamela's ex-professor and boyfriend, he once worked researching Botany at NYU before he tried to kill Pamela with a spore she developed, resulting in her turning into Poison Ivy, and him receiving a generous offer of payment if he were to recreate the effects on a larger scale- courtesy of Oswald Cobblepot.
• Charlotte Rivers: The teenage daughter of Gotham's mayor Sebastian Hady.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Helena still remembered the purple dress she had worn as an eight-year-old outside her family's estate as they waited for Don Mandragora to arrive. She hadn't known who he was at the time, just an important important dinner guest from her father's work. Whatever that was. The dress had puffed sleeves that her mother had to keep reminding her not to play with as a shiny back car pulled up the drive. "But they won't stay down, and my stockings itch." She had complained while her mother clasped her hand to keep her from fidgeting as the door to the car opened, and two men stepped out.

When Helena first arrived in Sicily and come to understand the Cosa Nostra and her family's place in it, she had imagined breaking into the home of every mob family and destroying them each as her own family had been. The reality was much less dramatic, but good things come to those who wait. Or at least that is what she told herself as she ducked out of sight from a patrol; directly into a dumpster positioned outside the 12 foot fence surrounding the Beretti concrete plant. The lights lining the inside of the perimeter meant that cutting through wasn't an option without being seen. It wouldn't have been the best choice in any-case: The less attention there was to a Bertinelli ever being in another family's territory the better. Once the guard's steps had faded to a reasonable distance, Helena aimed her loaded crossbow toward the top of the barbed fence. With a quiet buzz a cable wrapped around it's target and pulled Helena up. She crouched down on her precarious position and scoped out the area.

They hadn't wasted any time shooting, but the only image Helena had of that brief moment was her father falling to the ground at the same moment her mother pushed her into a similar position. Amid the screams someone called for her to run. So she had.

Whether the lack of security was a result of Angelo Beretti's arrest or part of the cause, it was a glaring issue throughout. Non-front factories were harder to break into. Helena shot herself to the top of the flat, square building; directly over the heads of a patrol and was completely undetected. For the moment it was a relief, for the long term something would have to be done. Within moments she had the grate to the building's ventilation system off and was sliding herself in. It was a tight fit, but once she reached a non-vertical passage, she was able to move around enough to crawl, and even reach her utility belt.

The Bernitelli family didn't go down easy. The assassins spent an hour combing through the house, killing everyone in their sight; family member or servant. Helena's mother had forced her into a closet from which she watched as the hit-men intercepted her mother's exit and left her bleeding on the floor. A child, and unaware of her family's profession, Helena screamed. For a brief moment, the killed met her eyes, but turned away. Leaving her to sob as her mother's blood soaked into the carpet until her cousin would discover her the following morning.

There was one final guard standing between Helena and her prize. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a lethal position to take. But in keeping with her cover of stealth and discretion she instead pulled one of Pamela's vials from her belt. With a quick prayer and final inhale she dropped the vial from her position on the vents, held her breath, and waited until she heard the man's body hit the ground. For another few minutes she waited for the pheromones to dissipate before lowering herself to the ground. The guard was still alive, his breathing shallow but even. The key to the door his was tasked with watching was easily retrieved from his hip.

The room they were keeping mayor's daughter hostage in really wasn't bad, all things considered. There were no windows, and the floor and walls were plain cement. But there was a rug, couch, bed, table, even a TV which she was so absorbed in she didn't even notice her visitor until Helena turned it off.

"Who are- Well its about time someone came looking for me. Don't you people know who I am?"

Helena ignored the teenage girl and instead began searching for paper. There was a newspaper beside the couch from two days before, likely used in the original ransom. She picked it up and began writing on it's front page.

"My father will have this place burnt to the ground. The idiots in here will be rotting away in Arkham for years when he..." Her voice finally trailed off as she realized her "rescuer's" free hand was leveling a loaded crossbow at her face.
"Oh darling," She lamented, as though explaining a concept to a small child. Her writing finished, she staged the newspaper in the girl's lap, stood back and snapped a picture."I'm not here to save you."

Charlotte might have yelled after her, but by the time anyone came to check in, Helena was long gone.

P O S T C A T L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

[Kaggs]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S P A C E C A B B I E

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^{_{D R I V E R ♦ L I N G U I S T ♦ L O V E R ♦ W H E R E V E R Y O U N E E D ♦ 9 - P L A N E T T A X I}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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"'5th floor'? Lady. I can't drive up."

9-Planet Taxi, the people's number one taxi service in rank of employee satisfaction, with workers across the globe no destination is too far. Sit back and relax while our drivers take the fastest routes available. Drive easy, don't drive at all.

As loyal employees of the 9-Planet Taxi Company, Cabbies are held responsible for the comfort and safety of each paying customer, regardless of when an incident occurs 9-Planet Taxi ensures warranted protection and a speedy delivery to your destination. _{additional costs may apply}

9-Planet Taxi is not responsible should a driver become embroiled in any schemes, plots, kidnappings, robberies or other general issues you may currently be having.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

I've always had a weakness for tales of travellers who end up in the craziest situations at the weirdest time - which is the entire appeal of Space Cabbie, rather than tales of an eccentric character it is the world around him that has always been strange. His personal life and name are never mentioned in the comics because they aren't important, it's his misadventures through time and space that keep you invested. But recently the character has been changed so much that I can't recognise him and while the appeal of having him appear in other's comics can be fun, the novelty wore off for me when a recent Green Lantern series warped him into a conniving smuggler, forgetting the roots and the charm of what made the character special.

Cabbie's tales have always been of the extraordinary though always keeping to some kind of realism that makes you believe if something similar could happen with a real cab driver. That's what I want to try with my take on this character, adopting the essence of his tales, a person on his way from A to B and thrown into problems all worse than the last. Because Cabby picks up the late night drunks, the snobby woman who refuses to walk, Cabbie can run into the worst of people or the very best and each with a story of their own to tell, not all of them private.

For the first few posts I plan to get used to Cabby and the method in which his stories are told, short, contained and bizarre as they can get - while adapting them to this new earth. I don't plan on introducing many recurring characters too soon, I'll first see who I enjoy writing and if I can imagine more stories for them. Though running into a hero or villain some time wouldn't go amiss, that became a large trope of his and I'd hate to see it forgotten.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Supporting

Cab #7433 - Ford Crown Victoria - Cabbie's trusty four wheeler. He wouldn't be anywhere without this lump of metal, literally. He'd be out the job.
-Who knows who else will enter the cab...-

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Issue #0

Chicago. The city of beaches, a place where masters of the arts showcase their talent, a city that never sleeps and people flock to for dreams unknown.. A cold, wet city struggling to get by on waitresses dreaming of making it big and taxes that bleed your soul. It's here that Colin Trent finds himself, and where he plans on running from. Not a year in this forsaken city and still, somehow everything had gone wrong. His boyfriend branded him a lost cause, his workplace, sunk from tax issues and overspending from their head of operations. No it was this night as the rain fell outside, that Colin realised he should leave, put everything behind him and make amends with some friends who he'd estranged years earlier. It wouldn't be difficult, the last he knew they lived so near..

He found himself moving, out of the cheap, plywood room he'd been calling home for weeks on end. Packing a bag with all the necessities, Colin stepped out on his gambit, a risk to reconnect with his past, an impulse the likes of which were rare for him.
The streets hummed with their neon signs and LCD screens, wares and declarations of business offers propped up by empty shop windows and brick walls. People crowded the sidewalks, huddled closely underneath canopies and umbrellas away from the rain and wind, though it would do little to stop the anger in the wind that night, nor the tears of the clouds as they wailed. Onwards the little man trekked, while the downpour pounded on his coat and hood he continued forwards, moving slowly ever onwards to a destination in mind.

The dim glow of a taxi greeted him, the familiar yellow hue mixed with paint of green and white illuminating the word "TAXI". From below, the window cracked open and a man reached his head out, unconcerned with the rain crashing onto his cap.
"Taxi, Mister? Hop in and where to? You name it-- Anywhere on the Earth!"
He slumped in, the suspension buckled under the new weight, shook unnaturally as the door shut, yet remained in one piece. "Paris, please!" he cried, buckling in his seatbelt.
"Which Paris, pal? Paris, Herrera? Paris, Texas? Paris, France?"
"No, Paris-- Illinois!" he laughed.

The Crown Victoria pulls away from the curve, the dull hum of the engine does little to mask the heavy downpour of rain that echoes on its hollow, metal shell. The cabbie flicks a switch and his sign flickers, then cuts out. The shadows of night reclaims its dominion once again.
"Illinois, huh? What's your story?"
"Visiting old friends." the Passenger boasted loudly
The walls of the cab did little to mask dull the sounds of the outside, engine hums and car honks seemed to cascade through the car, heightening them so not one sound could be dismissed. Turning the wheel, the car pulled out of the street and onto another, the thumping of the city quietened as they continued to move.
"Ahh old friends," The Driver stares off wistfully. "Always a pleasure to see them again. How long has it been, pal?"
"Too long" Colin laughs "Been nearly a year since I've seen anyone."

"Ah, you tried your luck with the city and she spat you back out?" the Cabbie asked, knowingly.
Jovial and in high spirits Colin nodded, a hint of embarrassment on his lips.
"Well not to bother, pal, not everyone makes it where they are now. I should know, with who I've driven! In my business, you deal with customers of all types-- rich, poor, sane, insane..." The Cabbie chuckles for a short moment,
"This one woman, poor lady, she forgot her purse by her door and we'd reached her destination by the time we realised. The lady was in tears, talking about her failed pottery business, she even tried paying me with some glass vases she was carrying!"

The rain continued to pour as they edged towards the city limits, the numbers of cars thickened as the amount of buildings fell, till there were no more around. The Cabbie turned on his headlamps as the streetlights ended, the light and hums of vehicles, and the lights of the city being the only signs of life beyond the silent scope of night. No moon was out, and the stars hid from the city as though they did not wish to see what had become of it in recent years. The soft playing radio breaks through the silence, and brings the two back to reality.

"Well what did you do?" Colin asked.
"Of course I turned us around so she could pick it up, I wouldn't leave a valued customer empty handed. Especially not one in need. But the real pay-off comes one day while I'm waiting at an Orleans Hackstand..."
"Louisiana?" surprised at the distance this cabbie travelled
"9-Planet Taxis, you name the place and we'll get you there.."

"It's not a busy day and I was about to head in for the night when the back of my cab opens. I hear an old, harsh voice tell me
'Baton Rouge, Cabbie! And don't take the long way around the lake!'
I could tell this passenger didn't want any small talk, not that I really wanted to give any after that introduction, so we passed the time in silence. Now when we got to the city, I turn around to pick up my fare, but the old man jumped out the back and scarpered!"

The Cabbie's hand flies around as he retells the story, posing and swaying with the developments, scrunching into a fist he shakes when voicing the man, shaking it at the door when explaining when the man ran. Finally he knocks on the window. "Now since then I started using the locks." "Now all they run into is a hard door!"
"You can lock someone in here? Is that legal?"

"Of course! If someone tries anything we lock them in here and drive them to a station. But that's not how the story ends, you see the man ended up catching my cab again. I cruised the city hoping to catch sight of him, but just when I don't want fares a family pile in, now I still have a job to do and money to earn, it's not like I can put it to the side for someone I might not meet again."
"So I'm hop-skipping across the city for the next few days, I'm moping around listening to the news when suddenly I hear the door swing open and I see a man leap in, and I mean leap, it was a full on dive! I look around to see my fare-- and it's the man again!I'm so excited I forget to act surprised and he recognises me. He even pulls a gun on me! Tells me to step on it!"
"A gun?! Why?

"Well it turns out he had ticked off more than just myself, I didn't know it at the time but the man had been making enemies with people in the city, stealing from a few thugs, kicking the wrong person, you understand... Course I wasn't about to let him get away again, I smacked him in the jaw and knocked away the gun. You might not believe it but that knocked him right out! I took the gun and drove him to the station. Of course I locked the back in case he tried anything funny, I'd learnt my lesson from last time. I didn't get my pay but at least he got behind bars! HA!"

"But back onto you, pal. What's your plan now?

...

The first break of dawn cut between the buildings of Paris, Illinois by the time they arrived, exhausted and contempt with the long conversation he had just had, Colin smiled at the Cabbie, handing him what he owed and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Sunlight rippled and danced across the water where the once-Passenger's foot trod. He knew not what was in store for him next, but he strolled away happily all the same. The taxi pulled away, its windows tinting gray as it reflected in the sun, and once again the Cabbie searches for his next appointment.

Some men like to work indoors. But he's strictly an outside man--So he pushes a taxi around all day... But these days, a hackie gets fares anywhere under the sun...

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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No jobs begun yet

[Lord Wraith]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

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^{K A L - E L ( K R Y P T O N ) / C L A R K K E N T ( E A R T H ) ♦ R E P O R T E R ♦ M E T R O P O L I S}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"What we have here is a rare opportunity to cut loose, and show you just how powerful I really am."
S U P E R M A N}

Twenty-one years ago, an alien vessel entered the Earth's atmosphere bringing with it a meteor shower that pummeled much of a midwest town called Smallville. Turning the Kansas based town from the Creamed Corn Capital of the World into the Meteor Capital of the World. Within the alien vessel however as a young boy, the last hope of his people and the planet Krypton's first natural birth in near a millennium. Imbued by his father Jor-El with the DNA of ancient Kryptonians through a birthing matrix, the young Kal-El would grow to develop near god-like powers under the Earth's yellow sun. Jor-El sent Kal-El to Earth in an effort to save the Kryptonian race, sending along a mate for his son for when the time came. Unfortunately, Krypton exploded, the ship suffered severe damage and the female's pod was swallowed by the Phantom Zone.

Fate had other plans for young Kal-El though, as the boy was discovered by a young couple who went on to raise the child as their own. Jonathan and Martha Kent's patience knew no bounds as they loved the child unconditionally and took the time to learn and understand his abilities and the struggles that came with each. In time, Kal-El, now called Clark Kent would grow into a young man and like most young man he began to long for a life outside of his parents' house. Enrolling in the Metropolis University's journalism program, Clark left Smallville behind and began to forge his own destiny.

Currently, Clark is learning under the wing of a renowned investigative reporter, John Corben and the pair have travelled to South America to join Dr. Emmet Vale who has discovered what appears to be an alien vessel hidden deep within the jungle. While Corben is simply looking for another headline article to frame on his wall, Clark's natural curiosity has gotten the better of him and he can't help but wonder if this ship is somehow connected to him...

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

This version of Superman will be heavily based on the theme that he is the last son of Krypton. As such, my Superman will be a unique birth among the people of Krypton and made with the genes of ancient Kryptonians who had powers before Rao turned red. This means that Kal-El is the only Kryptonian born on the planet in the last ten billion years capable of acquiring powers under a yellow sun. Additionally, Kal's weakness to Kryptonite is not a trait shared by all Kryptonians but rather a unique affliction due to radiation poisoning from the planet exploding and catching Kal's vessel in the shockwave.

At the beginning of the IC, I plan on having Clark still figuring out his role in the world. He's reluctantly to use his abilities and needs a push towards donning the traditional tights. Clark is a farm-boy possessing enough power to level the planet and he wants to figure out the best way to use his abilities responsibly to benefit mankind. As such he's taken to travelling the world, albeit as part of completing his studies, interacting with its various cultures and learning to appreciate the world for what is. This is so Clark can truly invest in his humanity before the time comes to embrace what he really is.

Instead of facing Luthor or Intergang, I'm going to be focusing on small foes and making more personal conflicts for Clark. I have no plans to introduce Lois or Jimmy this 'season' and instead will be pulling other allies for Superman's various comics, both mainstream and one-shots.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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JOHN CORBEN - A world-renowned investigative reporter, John Corben cut his teeth on exposing corrupt politicians and now gets his kicks from international exposées. His latest venture is a supposed alien structure found along the coast of South America. Tagging along for the ride is Corben's newest student, Clark Kent.

LORI LEMARIS - A young marine biologist, Dr. Lemaris is a fresh face who has joined Dr. Vale's expedition to make a name for herself. Interested in the effects of the foreign metal on the water, its flora and fauna, Dr. Lemaris is often aloof and running numbers and data through her head. She's unfortunately not well-liked by Dr. Vale as her paraplegic state leaves much to be desired in the jungles of South America.

EMMETT VALE - A respected if to eccentric scientist well-versed in numerous fields. It was Dr. Vale's satellite that first located the wreckage along the coast of South America before eventually determining it was in fact alien. Dr. Vale believes the wreckage is linked to the 1999 Meteor Shower that devastated much of Smallville and is determined to prove it as the beginning of an invasion force.

To Be Expanded As The Season Progresses...

S A M P L E P O S T:

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The dust cleared revealing the silhouette of the towering humanoid. His unkempt mane billowed in the wind, keen red eyes clearly unphased as he continued to march forward. A chain-like weapon stretched from one hand to the other, the right hand steadily spinning around the hooked end. The horseshoe mustache outlined a cocky smile on the alien's smug face, a triumphant expression beginning to spread while he surveyed the chaos around him. Vehicles laid in ruin, people ran in each and every direction, terror had taken over downtown Metropolis with almost no sign of hope anywhere.

Almost.

A bright beam of red suddenly shot from amidst the disarray of traffic. The alien let out a yell of surprise, his feet digging into the ground as the force of the blast moved him backwards. A sonic boom suddenly rocked the downtown strip, shattered glasses raining from the rooftops before a blue blur took a hold of the alien, raising him into the air. Blow after blow sent the alien attacker higher into the stratosphere while the blue blur chased after him. Existing the atmosphere, the pair collided onto the surface of the moon. It was the briefest moment the alien required to break the blue and red clad hero's assault and regain his footing.

"Bastiche." The alien growled, batting his foe away before steadying himself. "If you're seriously thinkin' you can take the Main Man out, you'd best be thinkin' again Kryptonian."

Rising from the crater the self-proclaimed 'Main Man' had thrown him into, Superman stood defiantly as the lunar winds lifted his cape, gently blowing it behind him.

"If you intend to harm the people of Earth, this is where your journey ends, friend." Clark responded, his eyes glowing red as he readied his heat vision for another strike. "Earth is under my protection."

"I ain't your friend, pal." The Main Man growled back. "And the only thing I'm hear for is your slaggin' head on a spike."

"Then come and get it."

With a roar, the Czarnian charged forward. Firing a short concussive blast of his heat vision, Superman managed to strike the alien directly in the eyes before exhaling with all his might to freeze the Main Man's legs in place. Leaping into the air, Superman angled himself towards the ground, striking the immobile foe with all his might. The alien laughed as his cigar was disloged between his lips from the next blow. The blow after that drew blood but still the Czarnian wouldn't go down.

"C'mon Kryptonian, is that all you got?" He taunted while Clark drew his arm back again.

"No."

Changing his tactics, Superman suddenly took ahold of the Czarnia and hoisted him into the air.

"Hey, hey!" The Main Man suddenly began to protest as Superman kept him restrained while rising above the moon's surface. "What you doing?"

"Objects in motion," Superman smiled while beginning to spin around. "Stay in motion!" He called, released his hold on the alien while the Czarnia was launched into the void of space, travelling in a direction far from Earth under the momentum of Superman's full strength. Dusting off his hands, Superman smiled triumphantly only for his eye to suddenly twitch.

There was a fire out of control in Midvale.

"Now that sounds like a job for Superman."

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Coming Soon.

[DocTachyon]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

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^{_{F A T H E R T I M E ♦ F R A N K E N S T E I N ♦
R A Y P A L M E R ♦}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"It's a strange world out there. Let's keep it that way."}

Created under the administration of President Lyndon B. Johnson, S.H.A.D.E. has been operating in some form or another for decades. Initially only a metahuman covert ops team, the scope of S.H.A.D.E. has expanded to encompass a multitude of operations for the US Government, with a particular focus on the catalog and containment of metahumans, aliens, assorted magiks, and other paranormal phenomena.

Originally under the control of the spirit of Uncle Sam himself, S.H.A.D.E. would deploy codename "Freedom Fighter" team assets to observe and contain metahuman threats worldwide, as well as to counter enemy metahuman combatants at the various theaters of the United States' military agenda. Uncle Sam would eventually retire from his Director's Chair, passing the role onto Father Time sometime in the mid-80s. Time would retrofit the organization's technology, outlook, and approach in order to properly contend with what Time predicted would be the next great age of the metahuman.

Through liason with Checkmate, A.R.G.U.S., and even a close working relationship with Elijah Snow's Planetary, S.H.A.D.E. has established itself as a modern powerhouse of paranormal research, with less focus on active field agents that destabilize local governments, and more focus put on surviellance and containment. Thanks to the efforts of S.H.A.D.E. scientist Ray Palmer, the organization's current base of operations is The Ant Farm, a three-inch micro-city currently hovering a thousand miles over Manhattan, caught in an errant breeze.

Father Time, in his infinite wisdom (as he would call it), has long predicted the eventual rise of metahumans to the forefront of global culture. For now, his eyes watch the bays of CCTV monitors that make up the nerve center of the Ant Farm with great interest. Waiting for the next big thing, America's first official "Super-Man", and whatever threats he may bring along with him.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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To be completely frank: I'm more or less entirely new to these characters. I blitzed through Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E. this week and have done all the reading I can on the gang across every wiki I could get my mitts on, but they're less than well documented. For me, this smacks of opportunity -- the ability to carve out my own little paranormal niche using a mostly clean slate.

This isn't to suggest that I'm going to serverely change how these characters are presented in the comics, but ideally I'll be expanding and deepening what these characters have been shown to do. As stated above, they've been in precious few books so far, but this is a team that really has legs, and I'd like to see them run.

Ideally, this will read like a rip-roaring Science-Fantasy adventure, steeped at once in the schlocky tropes of old monster movies and in the gothic horror of the darkest corners of the DC Universe. This run is cribbing a lot of notes from Planetary if I'm honest, but I think that S.H.A.D.E. has the breadth of organization that I'd need to accomplish my goals. We're gonna go a lot of places on this ride and meet everyone interesting I could find in DC's bargain bin -- think of S.H.A.D.E. as a toast to the D-List.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Cast

Father Time: A mysterious old man who finds himself reborn into a new form on each and every New Year's Day. Currently in the form of a domino-masked Japanese schoolgirl, Father Time maintains his position as Chairman and Director of S.H.A.D.E., a position he will defend zealously, oversight board be damned. Time likes to play things close to the vest, keeping secrets from even his closest allies. What does he have to hide?

Ray Palmer: A brilliant physicist and developer of cutting edge matter compression technology through application of White Dwarf Star material. Palmer is S.H.A.D.E.'s official UN Liason, though as time has gone on, Palmer has more and more found himself personally involved with the science team.

Frankenstein: A man out of time, searching for his purpose. Since his creation at Castle Frankenstein and the defeat of his creator, Victor, Frank has traveled the world, slaying all manner of monster and demon, and learning more than his fair share of Keats while he was at it.

Dr. Nina Mazursky: An expert biologist with an interest in gene-splicing. Mazursky has been a part of S.H.A.D.E. for some time, since the death of her unborn child and her husband's suicide. Within S.H.A.D.E. she is responsible for decoding the metahuman genome alongside Kirk Langstrom. For the past decade, the work, and nothing but, has been Mazursky's life.

Dr. Kirk Langstrom: A biologist and zoologist by trade, S.H.A.D.E. recruited Langstrom due to his ground breaking research on the combination of stem Cells and Chiroptera DNA. Though still looking to use his research to aid the blind and deaf, S.H.A.D.E. offers Langstorm as much wider array of resources to accomplish his goals, so long as he cooperates with their other efforts.

Science Agent Belroy: By all rights a complete madman, "Science Agent" Belroy is the only S.H.A.D.E. agent to hold the title. He actually has the longest tenure with S.H.A.D.E. of any active operative, having been in the organization since the days of Uncle Sam. Due to inefficent bookkeeping, Belroy is often the only one who recalls why certain pieces of S.H.A.D.E. tech function at all, or who can offer explanations for certain strange parts of The Ant Farm. it is this utility that lets him keep his tenure as S.H.A.D.E.'s only "Science Agent"... Whatever the hell that means.

J.A.K.E.: One of the holdouts from the Uncle Sam Era, J.A.K.E. is the commander and sole surviving member of S.H.A.D.E.'s Robo-GI program. What GIs were not destroyed in battle were disassembled for parts and melted for scrap metal -- with the exception of J.A.K.E., who has begun to exhibit something that looks almost like sentience...

Elijah Snow: A man whose name can be heard echoed through all the corners of recent history, Elijah Snow heads up the Planetary organization. Planetary's mission objectives tend to align with S.H.A.D.E.'s current operational parameters more often that not, so Father Time and Elijah have developed something of a friendship.

Notes

-To all Batman players: I don't NEED Kirk Langstrom/Man-Bat, but I would quite like him. Hopefully, we can work together with it, but otherwise, I defer control of him to you, of course.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Sample

S.H.A.D.E.

Issue 0

---

New York City, NY --- 1000 miles above Rudy’s Bar and Grill

---

High, high above the denizens of New York City, beyond the reach of the all but the most desperate skyscrapers, a three inch sphere meandered with the errant will of the breeze. By all appearances, a blip. An eye-floater to be blinked away. It simply could not be what it was: The Ant Farm, a diminutive city all on its own, floating out in its bubble to the farthest corners of the sky.

In all his years as acting chair of S.H.A.D.E., Father Time was certain he had never seen all of The Ant Farm. For every hallway he had hurriedly rushed down, for every bay jammed with personnel and impossible weaponry, and for each grease-stained, metal-choked vista within The Ant Farm’s swallowing walls the frequent misfires of the teleporter array sent him, he still had the inkling that parts of it eluded him. Like there were scores of closed-off passageways just out of reach.

Science Agent Belroy claimed he really had seen all of it, but Belroy claimed a lot of things: these days it was mostly mumbled certainties about green men from Mars or screeching, incoherent rants about aglets. To Father Time he sounded like that raging nutjob from down in Hub City, but at least Belroy got a government paycheck for it.

Father Time supposed Belroy would ultimately know about such things better than him, he’d headed up the committee for building The Ant Farm, after all. Then again, if Belroy really knew better than Father, then he would’ve been the one to weasel his way into the Director’s chair. Father had half a mind to fire the man, but Belroy had a better memory for past S.H.A.D.E. casework than every serverbank or wayward poindexter in the whole complex… Father needed better desk jockeys.

At any rate, of all the anomalous haunts that populated The Ant Farm, from the Project M Labs deep in the belly of the beast to each and every pop-up Bar chiseled into the machine work to support weary S.H.A.D.E. agents after hours, the Command Center was the place to be. Sutured at the very top of the structure as a gleaming dome, a white logo emblazoned on its surface that caught each shaft of sun filtering through the military-grade ballistic glass sphere that housed the city.

Inside was a nest of wires and monitors, casting the place in blue light at war with the yellow glow of overhanging fluorescents. There were budget swivel chairs appropriated after The Pentagon’s last upgrade, poised at silver-slick desks that seemed to have been called forth from the grand machine of The Ant Farm itself. The Command Center was a dance of labcoats and glowing personal palmtop computers all around its centerpiece -- a machine throne, awaiting its watchful king. But today his rightful seat would have to wait. Father Time expected a guest.

For anyone else Father Time would’ve gotten out the child size seats, the kind of chunky plastic chairs in garish colors that suited his current form, and watch his guest be forced to draw their knees to their chest as they squeezed into the seat and they worried about what to do with the rest of their gangly, oversized bodies. But Elijah Snow deserved at least a modicum of his respect, and he was one of the few that would wisely choose not to comment on Father’s booster seat.

Elijah entered The Ant Farm like no one else, without the thrumming noise of the teleporter array to announce his presence, no blips or beeps or secretaries fighting for Father’s attention. Just Elijah, stepping through the automatic door, all white suit and white hair framing the pale, weathered skin of a man just barely beyond time’s touch.

“World’s changing,” he said. A common refrain for whenever he found himself in Father Time’s office.

“As it always does.” Father Time gestured to the seat across from him, “how have you been keeping, Snow?”

“Busy.” Elijah grumbled. The man moved like an old machine, creaking bones aligning themselves as he steadied himself into his seat, bit by bit.

“Plenty to keep you that way, these days. More and more metahumans popping up. More and more headaches.” Father reached to adjust the pigtails on either side of his head, and reaffirm the seal of the domino mask to his eyes.

“More of a non-stop migraine.” Elijah leaned, resting against the whining seat back. His eyes closed and his thumbs went to his temples, trying to massage the lines of tension all over his face.

“That I can empathize with. The Pentagon’s been banging on my door, trying to find out if the The Superman is an alien or a meta or a walking Russian test tube. Or if he's real at all. Half my staff is tied up placating them.” Father said. Elijah nodded slow.

“And this is just the start of it. Things are going to get a whole lot stranger from here."

"What brings you my way, Elijah? I’m sure you have more important things to do than check up on old friends.”

Elijah's organization, Planetary, was a little like S.H.A.D.E., but it was older, narrower in purpose. It had always been Elijah at the helm, leading his organization forward by his own whims, chasing those leads he found the most interesting. No Government to appease. No messes to clean up from a previous Director.

“According to my people, things are… Changing. In a subtler way than we’re giving it credit for. I don’t have the resources to investigate as thoroughly as I’d like.” Elijah leaned forward as he spoke, elbows on the table, casting a shadow over Father Time’s small form. Father pursed his lips.

“Expand. Changing?” He said. His voice almost cracked, small vocal chords struggling with the timbre of his voice.

“Little things. Changes in migration patterns, plant life, tiny shifts in the currents of the oceans. According to my people we’re even seeing changes in the machine world. Ripples across the internet.” Elijah explained.

“And this points to?” Father time cocked an eyebrow.

Elijah shrugged. “If I knew I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Do we know it’s dangerous?” Father Time said. “I’ve got a lot on my plate here.”

“I was under the impression that it’s not your job to care whether it is.” Elijah cut back. “Think about it, at least.”

Father Time opened his mouth to speak, looking for a retort, something to tell Elijah that he’d look into it when it developed into a problem, that it wasn’t S.H.A.D.E.’s job to chase after Planetary’s fancy, but the door slid open on the far side of the room.

Something huge and green and mottled stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the outside. It was wrapped in blown-out Victorian clothes that might’ve been a size too small before the monster was forced into them.

“Father,” Frankenstein croaked, “where is my wife?”

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Post Catalog

Issue 0 (NON-CANON)-- See above

Issue 1

[Byrd Man]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

THE FLASH

^{“If everything seems under control, you're not going fast enough.”}

---

^{_{Bartholomew Henry Allen II ♦ Student ♦ Central City, Missouri ♦ Flash Family}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

Born in 2002, Bart Allen is the oldest son to Barry and Iris Allen. His younger brother Wally was born in 2003. Barry Allen was a famous detective with the Central City Police, solving the famous Murmur Murders alongside his partner, Jay Garrick. Finding himself always a bit of a social outcast, Bart always had a love comic book superheroes and science. During his senior year in high school, Bart was working late at the high school science lab when an accident happened. The accident granted Bart mysterious super-powers.

Remembering the comic heroes of his youth, Bart took up a costume and became one of them. The Flash. Bart attends Keystone University as a freshman and plans on majoring in criminal justice while being the fastest man alive.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Straight up, this is me taking an old character I ran with (phrasing) ten years ago and trying a new approach. UDC Flash was easily one of my favorite characters I've ever RPed, so I'm going to see if I can make it better now that I'm older and far less wiser

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Supporting Characters:

Barry Allen - Bart's dad, police detective.
Iris West Allen - Bart's mom, newspaper editor.
Wally Allen - Bart's younger brother.
Jesse Quick - Wally's girlfriend. Daughter of a famous athlete.
Ralph Dibny - Bart's best friend, away at Ivy Town U.
Valerie Perez - Freshman in Bart's bio class, he has a crush on her.
Jay Garrick - Family friend and Barry's boss.
Lenny Snart - Small time criminal.
Michelle Rory - Snart's girlfriend, total firebug.
The Top - Mysterious Central City crimelord.
Grodd - Equally mysterious crimelord. The Top's competition.
Edward Thawne - Bart's physics professor.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The Finale Last Time

Barry's unmarked car skidded to a stop just outside the police blockade. Civilians were crowded around the cars and barriers, some of them muttering nervously to each other, but most staying silent. Barry pushed his way through the crowd and towards the front. Grouped with the rest of the cops was Barry's partner and best friend.

"Jay," he said as he approached.

"Barry," Jay said in a low voice. Jay led Barry away out of earshot from the rest of the cops.

"Why aren't we out there?" He asked, pointing over Jay's shoulder to downtown. "Bar-- The Flash needs our help."

"That nutjob out there said if the cops or anyone else even gets close, he'll blow the city up with some funky ass IED. Commissioner Dolan said we were to make a perimeter around downtown and let Flash take care of it."

"Have you seen what they're doing?" Barry asked with raised eyebrows. On cue, a loud sonic boom echoed from two blocks over. The boom shook the buildings and sent screams and murmurs through the crowd.

"I can see it," said Jay, looking his friend in the eye. "I can see what he's doing to Bart."

"Do something!" Said Barry through his teeth. "I thought you were some hotshot hero back in the day?"

"I... I can't," said Jay, swallowing hard. He looked down at his feet and back up at Barry. "My speed... It's gone. It got burned out last year when I helped Bart out. I can't help him."

Barry shook his head. He looked back at the crowd, and then back at Jay.

"I'm going in."

"You can't!" shouted Jay. "You don't think I want to be out here?! Watching as he gets his head kicked in?! Powerless to stop it?! NO! But I have to do it, it's my duty as an officer of the law to protect these people over the one person."

"Well, here," Barry said, pulling his badge off. He put it in Jay's open hand and began to walk towards downtown. "As a father, it's my duty to protect that one person."

---

​

I crawled across the pavement, Thawne skipped along beside me. He was having his fun, like a cat playing with a dying mouse. I started to get up, only to have my legs swept out from under me. I smack against the pavement and was crushed by a flurry of super-fast fists smacking my chest.

"Come on!" Thawne yelled out. "You want to show these people you deserve their love and their respect, then you have to earn it. Save them, hero."

A kick in the ribs, this one knocking a few ribs free. I screamed in pain as I could feel a rib poking my lungs.

"Get up and fight me. Fight me, save the day, and then reap the rewards. Either you fight me, or I kill you."

Powerful hands grabbed my neck and I was up in the air, Thawne in my face.

"I kill you, this ends up worse for everyone. You die and then I go to town on those you care about. Your mother, your cop dad, little brother, that old washed up police captain, sweet Valerie Perez, stupid Ralph Dibny, All of them dead by my hand. And if you think this is the worst I can do, then you are wrong."

"No," I mumbled, my hands reeling back. "NO!"

I brought my hands up at the speed of sound, clapping right in Thawne's face. A sonic boom split the air, sending both of us back reeling. The blow disoriented Thawne and sent him twirling backwards while I shook the cobwebs from my head. By the time he rights himself he finds my fist in his face.

I slammed him towards the ground with the punch, kicking him sideways before he can hit the pavement. His body spins to the right and smashes into a parked car. He tires to get up but I knock him back down. I hit him again, and again, and again. I ignored the blood making my hand slick as I punch. I'm in my own world, imaging what he would do to my family and those I love. I'm wrapped up in my hate. All my rage and frustration, anger at Thawne's evil, my dad's disowning of me, the Justice League and their moral compromises. My own feelings of being powerless. I put it all into my fists as I pound Thawne through the car and into the ground.

What brings me around isn't the sound of the smacks against Thawne's head, or my own sobbing... It's the laughter.

"Hehehe," Thawne wheezed between blows.

That noise, the sound of him... enjoying it. That makes me stop. I look down at the bloody and bruised man, my fist still suspended in the air. He looks up at my fist with swollen eyes expectantly, and then back at me.

"Do it. Kill me."

"No," I said, stepping away. I talk between ragged breaths. "No matter what you do, or what you say, I will not do what you want. Killing you is what you want, isn't it? Pushing me over the edge. You want to ruin me... you won't."

"DO IT!" He screamed. "Do it or I'll destroy that atom smasher, the backlash will--"

There was a shimmer in my movement. Now in my hands were a clump of wires and cables.

"--create a chain reaction that--"

"--Will destroy Central and Keystone. Got it. But, not much of a chain reaction can happen with this," I said, holding up the plug of the deactivated atom smasher. "Come on, Thawne, you hid it in that storage locker you rent in your own name. I found the key when I was rooting through your house a few microseconds ago. That reminds me, you need to water your plants."

"You couldn't have moved that fast. I... I saw you."

"Yeah, world's fastest man over here. Sorry, buddy, I'm calm and collected now, I got my second wind, and I just saved the day. You lose!"

"NO!" He screamed. He lunged out at me. I went to step away, but I misjudged Thawne's trajectory. He grabbed my knee and twisted. I heard a pop and crumpled to the ground.

I saw it all in slow motion. Thawne scrambled to get on top of me. I batted him away, but he recovered quickly. His long, bony fingers wrapped around my neck. Spittle flew from Thawne's mouth, his face frozen in a snarl. His hands began to ring my neck and I struggled against his hard grip. I thrashed and struggled for oxygen, doing my best to throw him off me. Black spots formed around my eyes, my eyesight dimming. The last thing I saw before it went to black: Ed Thawne, the Professor, with a twisted grin on his face.

Mom, dad, Wally, Val, Jay, and Ralph. I'm sorry I failed you.

He won.

BLAM!

I gasped, air rushing back to my lungs. I coughed violently, my body shaking as my lungs gulped down the oxygen it had been denied. Through watering eyes I looked up. To the side was Thawne wth his eyes staring forward in an unfocused stare. He had a bloody hole in his forehead. CSI 101: An exit wound. Standing in front of me, clutching a smoking gun, my father.

"Dad?"

"Get up, Bart," he said. Over his shoulder I could see a fleet of police cars rushing down the street towards our location. "Get up now!"

I sprung to my feet as he yelled. Suddenly, I'm eight years old again and I'm in trouble for trying to take Nancy Jones' Tamagotchi.

"What did you do?"

"Go," he said, the cop cars getting closer. "Run, Bart. Run!"

And I did the only thing I seemed to be good at lately:

I ran.

I ran from the scene, I ran from Central, I ran from Missouri and America, I kept running across the world. Running, and running, and running. Running from something I knew deep down I couldn't outrun:

Myself.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

TBD

[AndyC]

S T A R F I R E / R A V E N

---

^{_{Princess Koriand’r/Rachel Roth ♦ Exiled Princess of Tamaran/Ex-Cultist and current Runaway ♦ Jump City, California, USA ♦ Independent}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"Evil beware, for we are here to lick your anuses!"}

^{"....it’s ‘kick,’ not ‘lick,’ we’re here to kick their--.....you know what, never mind, AZARATH METREON ZINTHOS!!!!"}

Rachel Roth has been surrounded by the occult since the day she was born. Her mother Arella, a second-generation hippie quick to buy into whatever new-wave feel-good movement could hold her attention, was barely eighteen when she was inducted into the Children of Azaroth, a spiritual-science order who claimed to be connected to astral beings on a higher plane of existence. There, she fell in love with a handsome young man by the name of Sebastian Blood, an eccentric multi-millionaire who seduced her and lured Arella into his mansion in the Hollywood hills. While Arella didn’t remember much of that night, she would have nightmares for years about the man she made love to actually being a hulking giant with eyes of fire.

Arella’s daughter Rachel was disillusioned with the Children of Azaroth almost immediately, especially while watching her mother’s mental health deteriorate. Despite this, she found herself enamored with occult literature and history, perhaps determined to find the ‘real’ magic that the amateurish cult had so clearly failed to produce. Mature before her age, she developed an ever-present cynicism and biting sarcasm, as well as nearly impenetrable emotional walls to resist the Children’s conditioning.

On her sixteenth birthday, Rachel received the greatest surprise of her life-- and nearly her last as well. Her supposed father Sebastian Blood had returned to the compound, showering her with gifts and throwing a magnificent party, before attempting to drug and murder the young girl in a ritualistic sacrifice. Much to the surprise of everyone in the room, a pitch-black shadow erupted from Rachel’s body and hurled the cultists aside like ragdolls. Confused and terrified, yet seeing the opportunity to escape, Rachel fled the cult for good. After hitchhiking north, she found her way to Jump City, where she currently works as an assistant at an old book store, half her meager wages paying for the dingy loft apartment above the shop.

Several million light years away, the lush and vibrant world of Tamaran had enjoyed sixteen cycles of prosperity and happiness under the rule of the just and mighty King Myand’r. His twin daughters were beloved by the common people, though the cheerful and bright Koriand’r was favored ever so slightly more than her sister Komand’r. This slight favoritism, barely perceptible to those not paying close attention, would eat at Komand’r all her life, a jealousy that would become a deadly resentment over the years. This was only made worse due to the fact that only one of them could inherit the role of the planet’s protector and champion, the Starfire.

This would come to a head when, during a training exercise with the legendary Warlords of Okaara, Komand’r staged an “accident” with the intent of killing Kory, but instead killed her betrothed, the beloved General Phy’zzon. Thinking quickly, Komand’r was able to cover her own crime as a failed assassination attempt by Tamaran’s eternal enemies, the dreaded Citadel. King Myand’r responded to this by declaring open war upon the Citadel, and the years of prosperity and joy gave way to terror and bloodshed.

Koriand’r inherited the role of Starfire after their father was slain fighting the Citadel’s shock troopers, and with the help of the Warlords of Okaara, led her people on multiple successful campaigns, much to Komand’r’s disdain. Just as Tamaran was on the cusp of victory, Komand’r stunned her people by betraying them, siding with the Citadel during a key battle for the sake of facing her hated sister in combat. Koriand’r held the upper hand in their battle, but could not bring herself to kill her own sister, a mercy that Komand’r exploited ruthlessly to defeat her. With Tamaran conquered and her sister in chains, Komand’r declared herself Queen Blackfire, a mockery of the title she had coveted for so long.

Koriand’r’s captivity would not last, however, as she soon fought her way free and stole away in a single-use jump pod as Citadel troops bore down on her. Desperate for somewhere safe, the ship’s navicomputer located a primitive backwater planet, whose inhabitants happen to look similar to Tamaranians by an absolutely staggering coincidence, and jumped away.

The power in Jump City has gone out. Rachel Roth has climbed up to the roof of her ratty apartment to see if she can read by moonlight. And what was a pinpoint of light in the night sky seems to be getting larger, and brighter, and closer…...

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Raven and Starfire is a pairing that I firmly believe is one of DC’s biggest untapped gold mines. While they love playing up the whole “one’s bright and happy, the other is dark and dour” routine with Batman and Superman, and even went so far as to rewrite Poison Ivy’s entire personality just to do it again in the Harley Quinn cartoon, they have yet to do it with what IMO is one of the most obvious duos, from a cartoon that basically everyone loves.

While their origin stories do border on being Very Serious (™), I want Kory and Rachel to effectively be a superhero equivalent of a buddy-cop-movie or an Odd Couple sitcom. Just, instead of a by-the-book veteran and a loose-cannon rookie, or an uptight businessman and his slovenly roommate, it’s a bubbly alien space-princess and the literal actual Anti-christ. Lethal Weapon with space battles and spandex, Rush Hour with demons and teen-drama, or maybe Perfect Strangers with explosions and doomsday cults. It’s something I have wanted to write for ages, but always put off for the sake of chasing a bigger fish.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Jump City

A smaller portion of the sprawling megalopolis that stretches from Los Angeles to Star City, Jump City is often overlooked as the most 'normal' city on the West Coast-- a haven for those not sleazy enough for LA, not crazy enough for San Francisco, and not pretentious enough to pack up and move north to Portland. It is somewhat significant as a technological hub, with a 'Little Tokyo' district home to the US branch of several electronics and video game developers, as well as for having a unique neon-decked aesthetic and a booming night life.

H.I.V.E.

The Homeland Intervention and Vulnerability Explication Corporation was founded in the early 2000s as a private think-tank for unorthodox solutions to problems of global security. While on paper the company only serves nations that are part of NATO, many trails of funding lead back to the controversial government of Bialya, whose monarch has been accused of multiple human-rights violations. In recent years, HIVE has been accused of several disappearances, particularly of young people with unusual talents or exceptional abilities. These accusations, of course, have been flatly denied.

The Brotherhood of Blood

A radical cult whose members include high-profile people in the private and government sectors, the Brotherhood of Blood revels in unrestrained power, free from the constraints of 'common' morality. Their meetings are often little more than excuses to indulge in excessive bacchanalia, akin to the old 'Hellfire Clubs' of old England.
However, beyond this veil of high-society degeneracy lies a secretive inner circle, led by the multi-millionaire Sebastian Blood, one which is very serious in the worship of a hostile deity known as Trigon, believing that bringing about Trigon's arrival on Earth will grant them everlasting power in his infernal regime.

The Citadel

A conglomeration of smaller interstellar empires, the Citadel is an expansive military power which sustains itself by constant conquest. Boasting advanced technologies from dozens of worlds and hordes of soldiers from innumerable species, the ruling AI known roughly as 'Complex Complex' and its cadre of generals coordinate an everlasting war against any habitable world they find. While the bulk of the Citadel's forces is too far from Earth to launch an open invasion, it is not unlikely that agents will be sent on their behalf to recover Princess Koriand'r.

Queen Blackfire

Koriandr's treacherous sister, Queen Komand'r is now the ruling despot of Tamaran, a role she barely has any interest in playing. While her people starve and suffer under the lash of the Citadel, Queen Blackfire sends countless deep-space probes into the stars, obsessed with finding her escaped sister, partly because her personal vendetta against Koriand'r remains unfulfilled, and partly because the knowledge that the Starfire of Tamaran is still out there inspires the people of her world to rebel against her rule. Until Kory is found and destroyed, Blackfire is Queen in name only, and her rule is as insecure as her ego.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"So, that's two hardbacks, three paperbacks, and a first edition," Rachel recounted in a disinterested monotone as the customer waited impatiently for her to punch everything into the cash register. "After tax, that comes out to fifty-two dollars and seventy-three cents."

The customer made a face, and attempted to haggle. "You sure that thing didn't make a mistake? Like, a glitch in the programming?"

Rachel gave him a deadpan glare, glanced down at the old analog register for a moment, then said, "You're right, sir, this completely non-digital machine must have had a hiccup in the software. If you'll give me a moment, I can call tech support and--"

"No, no, it's.....here you go," he said, producing three crumpled twenties from his wallet. "Y'know, learning a little customer service couldn't hurt."

"I provide the exact quality of service appropriate to the customer," she said, handing him his change. "Have a day."

Working at the House of Mystery, a gaudy title for what was in fact a dusty hole-in-the-wall bookstore, was far from the worst experience Rachel Roth could ask for. The walls were packed with old tomes and albums full of all sorts of interesting subjects: histories of long-lost civilizations, macabre biographies of infamous figures of folklore, encyclopedic catalogs of spirits and daemons, texts of everything from ancient Sumerian divination to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, to folk religions like voodoo and santeria, to new-age paganism and chaos magic, even parlor tricks like sleight-of-hand and cold reading. Mr. Abel was a nice enough manager, though he was rarely around and left Rachel to tend the store by herself more often than not. Fine by her; more opportunities to get some reading in. The only problem was with the customers.

And of course, her new roommate.

"Friend Rachel," Kory said, drifting down the staircase, oblivious to the fact that she was floating nearly a foot off the ground and would have caused a panic if anyone else had seen it, "I am having the difficulty interfacing with this data-storage device."

Rachel glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "You mean that book?"

"Yes, this 'boook,'" she replied, mispronouncing the 'oo' sound. "While I see the data runes inscribed, I cannot activate them to call upon its internal AI construct and begin the holo-feed."

Rachel blinked in confusion, then shook her head.

"Internal AI--? No, Kory, you just," Rachel took the book out of Kory's hands and opened it. "You just read the 'data runes,' and that's how you get the information. There's no holograms or AI or anything."

"....but this is an account of romantic interest," Kory said, confused. "Without a holo-feed, how will I see the techniques employed?"

"Just....use your imagination. Your mind will picture everything for you."

Kory gave uncertain glances back and forth between Rachel and the book.

"...so I am to stare at symbols on a slice of dead vegetable matter," she tried to put the pieces together, "until I begin to hallucinate images and sounds? And that is how information is shared on this world?"

"....well, when you put it like that--"

"That is wonderous!" Kory exclaimed. "Voluntary hallucinogens without chemical stimulation? Never have I heard of such a thing! But what, then, are the side effects of exposure to the booooks?"

"....you get smarter?"

Kory's eyes went wide, like the first time she had ever seen a star going nova.

Before this could continue, outside the store, a siren blared, an engine roaring as a large red shape blurred past the shop window.

"What was the purpose of the noise-making vehicle?"

"Huh? Oh, that's a fire engine," Rachel shrugged. "They're just on their way to put out a fire somewhere down the block."

"A fire?!" Kory gasped. "Then the innocents are imperiled! We must be quick to act!"

Dropping the book, Kory stripped off her shirt and began undoing her pants.

"Kory! What are you doing?!

"I am exchanging my civilian garb for my proper battle regalia," she answered, a purple tube-top and skirt appearing over her body like magic. "How else will the innocents know that a champion protector is here to assist them?" With a gasp of realization, Kory grabbed at the tail of Rachel's shirt. "Quickly, you must change into your battle regalia as well!"

Rachel sputtered, and swatted Kory's hands away. "Hey, that's--knock it off, I don't have 'battle regalia!'"

Kory stopped, staring at Rachel as though she had said she eats rocks.

"That is not acceptable," Kory shook her head, then grabbed Rachel by the wrist. "Come, we will assist with the fighting of fires, and then we shall locate a member of your merchant caste who can procure proper regalia for you! There is little of the time to be wasting!"

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Coming Soon

[An Outsider]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

WONDER WOMAN

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^{_{Diana of Themiscrya ♦ Unemployed ♦ London ♦ Unaffiliated}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"The Blade itself incites to deeds of violence."}

Millennia ago the Amazons stood as one of the God’s chosen people on earth, a high standard for all others to aim for. Their warriors were mighty, their philosophers wise, and their artists could inspire such emotion that they almost challenged the Muse's themselves. So when the Olympians realised that their time of primacy over the mortals was coming to an end they tasked the Amazonians with choosing one amongst their number to step forth and become humanities champion, a hero that would protect Prometheus favorite children when the God's where gone. Realising the enormity of the task, and the importance of the role, the greatest of the Amazons stepped forward to be chosen. It was decreed that a great contest would be held, and the winner would become the Wonderous Woman that the God’s where seeking for. Among the many prospective contestants was Diana, daughter of the Amazon’s queen, Hippolyta.

At first Hippolyta forbade the young Princess from competing, stating that due to her youth Diana did not have the requisite experience for the role. However, Diana beseeched the Gods to intervene on her behalf, and together Grey-Eyed Athena, Foam-Kissed Aphrodite, Dew-Fingered Demeter and Stern-Willed Hera manage to convince the Amazonian queen to allow her daughter to compete. The games lasted two weeks, but eventually Diana stood triumphant.

The Olympians assembled to witness her great victory, and soon after combined their might to transform the young Princess into a statue of magical clay, such that she will remain until humanity has greatest need of her. The statue of Diana was transported onto the mainland of Greece, and there she stood, sleeping through the centuries while the fate of the God’s and her Amazonian sisters faded from the ken of man.

Eventually Diana’s statue was discovered and transported to London, where she was installed into the British Museum. Several generations passed while she remained petrified, little more than an interesting diversion for half-bored tourists. And then, something changed. All of a sudden, and with know idea as to why, Diana awakes, ready to meet whatever evil it is that threatens mankind, but unsure as to which evil it is she should be facing.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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While I write this CS my new daughter sleeps in her crib not five feet from my me. I think of her, and all the things that I can’t wait to share with her as she gets older. All of my passions that I hope one day become hers. Classic rock, Lord of the Rings, writing, the MCU, mountain climbing, revivalist blues, boxing, cooking, video games, annoying her mother, and of course comic books. That’s where this Wonder Woman concept and the story I have planned for her has come from. I thought about what kind of story I hope my daughter will one day enjoy, the kind of tale that would hopefully light the passion in her that we all share, maybe have her saying "I want to be like Wonder Woman", or maybe even inspire her to write her own stories. That's what I thought about, and that's what I’m setting out to write. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll even tell it to her.

I’m not going to change much about Wondie’s backstory, at least not the obvious stuff. She’s still going to be a Princess of the Amazons, she’ll still journey into Man’s World and discover herself there. Probably the only real noticeable change will be that she was actually born during the Classical Greek Period and has been transported through time to our present day. I want to use this to explore the evolution of heroism, namely what the ancient Greeks found just and moral, and what we do. Through that exploration I’d like to see Diana develop from a warrior princess into the world’s premier heroine. I want to have her interact with Steve Trevor, Etta Candy, Ares, and Cheetah, Superman, Batman, and all the rest of your characters, and see how those experiences change her.

As far as inspiration goes, I’m dipping into a few sources. Greg Rucka and Brian Azzarello for sure, the recent movie version, the Iliad, Odyssey, and a few other ancient poems. My biggest inspiration might actually be Steven Fry’s books about Greek Mythology though. I think his efforts in humanising the larger than life figures from Greek Mythology would be quite interesting applied to the larger than life figures of the DC Pantheon, so hopefully I’m equal to the task.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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None at present.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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_Then

The swords came together with a metal song, sparks dancing as the blades scraped against one another. The two warriors grunted as their bodies slammed together, each jostling for position, twisting like furious polecats. Diana growled through gritted teeth, grabbing for the other’s wrist, attempting to force her opponents’ blade away and leave her defenceless. Her rival was too cunning a warrior to fall for such simple tricks though. A lifetime of experience provides tricks that youthful confidence struggles to contend with. The grip was reversed, Diana feeling the ground fly from under her feet as she was thrown bodily over the other warrior’s shoulder. She slammed onto the warm sand floor, treacherous breath fleeing her body like cowards from a battle when the tide turns against them. Before Diana could make another move her opponent’s sword tapped against her throat.

“Yield.” She was commanded. A fool’s command. Amazonians do not yield. Her sword was just out of reach, but as good as miles away. The sand though, that was close enough. Just as the plan formed itself in her mind the sword at her throat shifted, almost imperceptibly, pressing down harder, a silent warning. A glance at her opponents’ cold eyes could neither confirm nor deny that she had divined Diana’s plan. She almost stopped then, the fear that she had been out-gambited enough to turn her muscles to marble. Could she risk it, and lose all? No, her spirit wilted. She was beaten, and the only thing left was to admit it.

Winning isn’t just about what you stand to gain, but also about what you are willing to sacrifice. The wisdom of Grey-Eyed Athena flooded her senses, providing mettle to stiffen a wilting resolve. She had to stand now, or risk eternity on her knees. The price would be worth it, come what may.

Snake-swift she lashed out, one hand grabbing the tip of her foes weapon, sharp steel cutting into calloused skin, sudden punishment for her desperate gambit. Victory had to paid for, and with the God’s grace that would be all the payment required. A flash of surprise in her enemy’s eyes was early reward, though the expression soured further when a fistful of grit struck her heavily. A moment it bought her, and nothing more, but Diana promised that she would not waste it. With a jerk she heaved her foe’s sword aside, feeling the steel bite deeper.

Use it roared battle-proud Ares, let it fuel you! Let nothing stop you! To this command, she would listen.

A sudden surge and Diana kicked out, stealing her opponents balance out from under her. An eager cry, and she was rising to her feet, letting go of the sword that ruined skin, and struck a titanic blow to the enemy. Was that a joyous clap of thunder she heard, soft in the distance? No time to think, press forward, forward, forward. She felt rather than observed her foes counterblow. Diana's bracelets, victory captured in God worked metal, moved like a silver blur. Another crash of thunder, this time accompanied by a rain of broken steel. Amazonian swords did not break easy, but they did break, it seemed. Her rival looked on in sickened horror, but Diana was moving too fast to notice, spinning around the arm that once held a sword that just moments ago had threatened to ruin her far-soaring dreams. Like a dancer, she pirouetted around her foe, left petrified in Diana’s wake. With ease that bordered on divine, the Amazonian princess hooked her hands under her opponent’s armpits, and a quick heave rolled the dumbfounded enemy across her hips and forced her onto the ground, face pressed into the sand. Diana quickly positioned her knee across her foes back, stretching one captured arm out at an obscene angle.

“Yield” She commanded. She expected the fight to continue. Amazonians do not yield. She readied herself to have to visit some terrible ruin upon the warrior beneath her that would end the fight conclusively. She was wrong. The woman beneath her went limp, the surrender sudden. One moment they fought as enemies, the next they were conquered and conqueror. It was probably the swiftness of the transformation that left Diana with the most questions.

“I yield. Let me up daughter.” A moment longer and they were no longer conquered and conquereor, but mother and daughter, facing each other in the open Amphitheater of Hera. They were alone, Hippolyta allowing no spectators to this, the final round in the competition to discover which Amazon would stand champion over mankind. At first Diana had been livid that there would be no audience for her grand victory. Now she understood her mothers reasons, and felt nothing but regret for fighting her so hard in even that minor decree. This moment had been just for they alone.

Alone except for the God's. To watch was their right.

There is beauty in all things. Even in this. Especially in this. The creamy-smooth voice of foam-washed Aphrodite was like being woken with a kiss. Gentle, soft, and undeniably there. And she was right, there was a beauty here, but it was a cold, final kind of beauty. Someone had to lose for Diana to win. This, she realised, was the true price to be paid for victory. The hurt in her hand had already begun to heal, tortured flesh knitting swiftly together. The hurt this moment caused her mother never would. With a suddenness that matched the ending of their contest Diana understood she was about to sacrifice something perfect. Something irreplaceable.

"I am sorry, Mother"

"So am I, Daughter. So am I."

_Now

Doctor Barbara Anne Minerva listened to the tale the beautiful young woman in front of her wove with rapt attention and an open mouth. It all sounded so fantastic, in all the worst kind of ways. Amazons? Swordfights? Gods? What was this, a bad Game of Thrones rip-off? She would have dismissed it as nothing more than the delusions of a mad woman, if said woman hadn’t been a clay statue standing in the British Museum less than two hours ago. Maybe she was the mad woman. It was a few moments before Barbara had the wherewithal to respond.

“And that was the last time you seen your mother, your home?” A nod was all the response she got, Diana hugging herself tightly, seemingly distracted by her old ghosts. Or maybe she was just cold. She was dressed in little better than a towel, and Barbara’s office wasn’t the warmest. After they were finished here she’d see if she could find the young woman something cosier in the lost and found. First she had to figure out what to do with the supposed-Amazonian.

“So you’re here to … what … fight some great evil that threatens humanity?”

“Yes, Barbara Anne Minerva. That is my task.” That left just one more question to ask.

“So … What evil?” Diana looked towards her, her eyes big and bright and vulnerable, and in that moment Barbara really could believe she was an ancient princess who had lost everything she had once known and loved to the slow, forward march of the centuries.

“I don’t know.”

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

[Morden Man]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

M I S T E R T E R R I F I C

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^{_{M I C H A E L H O L T ♦ C O N S U L T A N T ♦ A T - L A R G E ♦ N O N - A F F I L I A T E D}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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"The arc of the moral universe is long and bends towards justice – but sometimes it needs a little help along the way."

The Michael Holt we meet at the start of this game is still reeling from the death of his wife and child. In an effort to distract himself from the sense of loss he feels he throws himself headlong into his work but now finds it deeply unsatisfying. “Normal” life cannot resume without his family – so in its place of his old life, he crafts a new one. Holt decides to use his considerable talents for good by exposing rich and powerful people that believe their means protect them from being brought to justice. Before long, his aptitude for corporate espionage registers on Checkmate’s radar and Holt strikes up something of a partnership with King Faraday – who is more than happy to indulge Holt’s seemingly endless desire to place himself in harm’s way for a good cause.

At first it appears that Holt is able to turn down any job he pleases, but soon it becomes clear that his relationship with Checkmate is not quite as free from obligations as it seems.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Mister Terrific is a fantastic character and one that I don’t think gets anywhere near as much love as he deserves. During the second season of Ultimate One Universe, I used a teenaged (and slightly rougher around the edges) Holt as the de facto leader of the Future Foundation and had hoped, had that game gone on long enough, to have him eventually "replace" Reed and lead an in-universe version of the Titans.

Obviously this time around the take is slightly more grounded. Some of my favourite concepts have been espionage-related: a long time ago I played King Faraday and really enjoyed it and later played a version of Bucky as Captain America that was more spy than superhero. It’s an interesting dynamic and gives you access to lots of different parts of the world. I very much see this Holt being quite an aggressively proactive participant in in-game affairs, and hope to have him strike up surprising partnerships with other characters and pop up in unexpected places.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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King Faraday

Checkmate’s White Bishop serves as Terrific’s unofficial “handler” – it’s through Holt’s relationship with Faraday that the intelligence agency is able to procure Terrific’s services. At first the relationship between Holt and Checkmate is informal but after taking on several jobs for them, the informality of their arrangement begins to create issues, placing no shortage of tension on Faraday and Holt’s friendship. Despite their warmth for one another, it’s unclear the extent to which Faraday is “working” Holt and vice versa.

Amanda Waller

Terrific has little to no direct contact with Checkmate’s White Queen but it’s evident that Waller holds Holt’s skills in high regard. That Holt believes he is able to pick and choose which operations he takes from Checkmate however is the cause of some enmity between him and the White Queen – with Faraday often caught in the middle of the two. Holt appears to distrust Waller for reasons that are not yet clear.

Maxwell Lord

Over the past few years, the chief executive of Lord Aerospace has become the posterboy of the military-industrial complex – his desire to dominate the arms market has led to him aggressively buying out his competitors to the tune of hundreds of billions of dollars. To the public, Lord is an example of American exceptionalism: intelligent, charming, and good-looking to boot. But behind Lord’s carefully-cultivated image lies something sinister that has earned him a place on Michael Holt’s list.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Sample Post

Westchester, New York

From the corner of Michael Holt’s eye he spied the psychiatrist watching over him scribble something down on her notepad. Mariah Mitchell's mouth was moving too, he was certain of that, but he didn’t deign to listen into the words that were escaping it. He had been to countless sessions since the accident and none of them had brought him any closer to feeling whole. It didn’t help that Holt was better qualified in the field of psychology than every psychiatrist he had visited to date, including Mitchell. Instead, Michael simply shut his eyes and let the undetectable T-spheres that hovered beside him continue about their work.

A grainy recording of Terry Sloane began to play in Holt’s mind. Sloane's voice was gravelly, worn down by a lifetime of stress and exertion, but the gravitas was still there. It was his integrity that had first captured Holt’s imagination – and the hours of recordings he’d stumbled upon had been revelatory in the months since. To the rest of the world, the J-Men were a hoky urban legend: but hearing Sloane speak of his experiences in his own words was like being transported through time.

“<Dodds? Yeah, Dodds was something of a character to put it politely. Used to give a few of the boys the creeps with that mask of his. Truth be told though, he had a good heart. Wesley was like me, you know? A man of means. He didn’t have to be out there fighting the good fight. When he saw injustice he couldn’t help but run towards it. We were the same in that way.>”

Simultaneously, one of Holt’s T-spheres projected the image of Cyberwear’s CFO into the air in front of Michael’s face. As with the spheres, the message was invisible to the unsuspecting psychiatrist and it appeared as if Holt was simply staring off into space. In truth, he was listening to Sloane speak and processing near-to three hundred pages worth of information sent over by his CFO in a matter of seconds. A lesser man's brain might have wilted underneath it all but Holt looked like he was barely breaking a sweat as the portly, moustachioed man spoke.

“<Lord’s breathing down our necks. Heck, he’s been breathing down everyone’s necks since buying out Kord Industries, but with a little bit of grit, we should be able to see him off for another quarter or two. I know the past year has been tough on you, but if we’re going to survive this without the board turning on us, you’re going to have to be a little more present, Michael.>”

Finally, a lithe figure in a beige suit and open-collared blue shirt appeared behind the psychiatrist’s desk. It shimmered slightly as if both there and not there at the same time. Somehow it interacted with its surroundings despite being a pre-recorded message. King Faraday, his shock of silver hair bouncing gently as he walked around the psychiatrist’s office, spoke directly to the operative he knew as Mister Terrific.

“<Holt, it’s me. The White Queen has been in touch. She has a new assignment for you. I think you’re going to like this one. You know where to find me if you’re interested. Faraday out.>”

The message ended and from the chair next to him Holt heard Mitchell clear her throat curtly. His hands relaxed from behind his head and he pushed himself up from the seat to look in the psychiatrist's direction. It was clear that despite Holt’s best efforts, she suspected he had not quite been paying attention.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, Michael, but I feel like your mind is elsewhere this afternoon.”

For a second, Holt considered lying but decided doing so would only compound his original sin. “I'm sorry, it’s been a bit of a stressful week.”

“You’re an incredibly intelligent man,” Mitchell said with an empathic smile. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re never going to get the most out of these sessions unless you commit to them. So let me ask you this: what do you want to achieve by coming here, Michael?”

Suddenly the smiling face of Paula Holt appeared in Michael's mind. He heard her laugh ring through his ears and allowed his longing to feel the touch of her skin against his in for a moment, but quickly exorcised those feelings when they become too much. There was nothing that could be done for him. He could never bring Paula back and no amount of talking could change that. What it would do though was help Holt assuage his shareholder’s doubts about his wellbeing and keep Maxwell Lord from its door for a while.

“I want the same thing everyone wants,” Holt shrugged. “I want to be happy. I want to wake up in the morning and feel like I have a reason to get out of bed but life took that from me. Now I suppose what motivates me is the thought of leaving the world a better place than I found it.”

Mitchell gave a polite nod. “And is leaving the world a better place mutually exclusive with happiness? Surely the two can coexist?”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

Holt flashed a quixotic smile and Mariah looked taken aback by the comment. The watch on Holt’s wrist began to vibrate and Mitchell turned her head to peer at the clock at the end of the room. Their session had ended and, as ever, Holt had places to be. He was on his feet before Mariah had a chance to respond and it was clear that Holt was lost to her again. A rare moment of insight had been lost.

Faraday’s ghostly figure reappeared and on auto-pilot Holt extended a hand in Mitchell's direction. “Same time next week?”

[Mao Mao]

M I S F I T S

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^{_{T R E M O R ♦ V I R T U E ♦ A N A R K Y ♦ B U N K E R}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T

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^{"We are the forgotten."}

The American Dream. The idea that anyone can achieve success through hard work and determination in the United States of America. No barriers. No restraints. However, somewhere along the way, it died and became a trap to lure the desperate. While they may still obtain their freedom, they are forever stuck in the bottom while those in the top remain untouched. In recent years, there had been movements and groups that tried to challenge the system and demand meaningful change. But like everything that tends to happen, they were either crushed or forgotten by the majority of the population.

That was until now.

Non-stop protests across racism, police brutality, and other problems plaguing America. While people are protesting for change, four individuals know what's going to happen next. There would be no meaningful change from the government unless they did something about it. They decide to stand their ground and force change as the American Dream is slowly decaying. They have been affected by both the dream and the system. Those working in government have forgotten them. Those in their ivory towers have forgotten them. They are Misfits.

Tremor: Being a second-generation Indian American, Roshanna Chatterji spent her life trying to achieve the dream. That was until a drunk driver forever changed her life. Her mother died on the scene while her father lost feeling on his legs. The driver turned out to be the offspring of a well-known businesswoman, who was able to sweep the incident under the table while the Chatterjis had to deal with the medical bills. Her father became addicted and overdosed on painkillers. Roshanna left shortly after the funeral.

Virtue: Holly Ann Fields witnessed her father getting beaten to death by police officers after being mistaken for a robbery suspect. The officers involved in the murder got away, but the police department was forced to pay the Ann-Fields in a settlement. That caused some in the department to start harassing them for years. Getting tired of it, Holly exposed them in a post that went viral and painted a massive target on her back. Being a small-town police department, they were able to send her a clear message. Fearing for her and her family's life, Holly fled to protect them.

Anarky: A Gothamite that grew up on the East Side of Gotham City, Lonnie Machin lived in an abusive household where his parents treated him like garbage. They were struggling to pay rent, so his father began working for the Beretti crime family. And his mother started stealing for the people that she was cleaning for. Eventually, both of them were caught and sent to prison for the crime of surviving in a fucked up place like Gotham. Lonnie was put in a statehouse and faced more abuse until he was kicked when he became eighteen.

Bunker: Miguel Barragan was unaware of being an undocumented citizen until he tried to apply for a driver's license. He tried to remain under the radar for most of his senior year until he came home to an empty house one day. His parents and baby sister were picked up by immigration agents. Fortunately, he was able to stay in a friend's house while he earned his high school diploma. Yet, the constant fear that someone was going to take him away caused him to leave. He had been on the move for a year now.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S

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This is my backup, backup character. Anyway, like with Batman and Son of Zod, I still want to focus on and explore the real America. Not the one made up by propagandists and fantasized by older generations. And each of the four main characters has been affected by the flaws of the United States (Tremor: Healthcare and Big Pharma; Virtue: Police Brutality and Corruption; Anarky: Poverty and the System; and, Bunker: Undocumented and Immigration). If you're one of those people that hates politics in media (especially in video games and comics), you aren't going to enjoy this.

Yet, not every post is going to be political. I want to explain how these met up with each other and formed The Misfits. Explore how they go on with their lives in a post-Cold War/9-11 world. And I want to develop The Misfits into a respectable group that bow to neither the authorities nor the government. Hopefully, our characters can interact with each other and explore the fundamental differences between them.

And I should mention that this group is based on The Movement. I just changed the name (because it was too on the nose) and removed/added some characters. I hope that's fine.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S

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Coral City, California: A city with a corrupt police department and a corrupt city hall.

Channel M: A hacker collective that plans on exposing corruption across the United States of America, starting with California.

S A M P L E P O S T

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CORAL CITY: THE CITY WITH HEART

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𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗙𝗜𝗧𝗦

_{ORANGE COUNTY, CALIFORNIA}

0.00 // CORAL CITY: THE CITY WITH HEART

---

For the first time in months, Lonnie Machin was able to rest properly without something awakening him in the dead of night. And it was dawn, which gave him time to prepare for the sun. Something that he wasn't used to. Living in Gotham City made him appropriate the cooler temperatures and the unnecessary amount of skyscrapers. But anywhere was better than Gotham. Hell, the Greyhound bus that Lonnie had been on for two days was the safest he had been in a long time. There were only a few other people on board and the driver was paying attention to the freeway. Still, being a Gothamite made him rightfully paranoid of strangers.

Otherwise, he would have been gunned down in an alley.

By the time that the sun was up, the bus had reached its destination: Coral City, California. Lonnie had no clue where he was going when bought that ticket. But again, anywhere was better than Gotham. When the bus stopped for the final time, he knew that it was time to depart. The passengers started doing the same thing and several noticed his attire. He didn't have to turn around to feel some of them making faces at him. One of them was brave enough to comment on the ACAB patch stitched on the vest. "Disgusting."

Lonnie was unfazed by it, grabbed his duffle bag, and left the bus. Inside the bus station, he took a free map of Coral City and started searching for a motel. There was still enough money to stay at a decent motel for a week. It should be enough time to find work and start earning some cash. On his way out, Lonnie felt someone bumping into him and reaching into his back pocket. He immediately turned around and saw that no one was behind him, but he checked his pockets to be safe. That was when he found a small piece of paper and something messy written on it:

Trying to run away from the system that threw you aside?
Go to Angel's Hand, if you want to take a stand.

Lonnie was more curious than afraid. So, he got the map and searched for the name. He eventually found out it was a bar located near the coast. He wanted answers and the only way to get them was head to the bar. And that's what he did, not knowing what the future was in store.

---

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Post Catalog

P O S T C A T A L O G

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

---

Playlist

The Forgotten.

Royal Deluxe - I'm Gonna Do My Thing American Idiot - Green Day
Des Rocs - Used to the Darkness Far From Home (The Raven) - Sam Tinnesz
Kate Havnevik - Grace Arsonist's Lullabye - Hozier
Coldplay - Atlas Burn the Witch - Shawn James
Adam Jones - You Can Run Red - Mt. Wolf

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[Roman]

T H E B O U N T Y H U N T E R

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^{_{J O N A T H A N W O O D S O N H E X ♦ B O U N T Y H U N T E R ♦ T U S C O N , A R I Z O N A ♦ T H E W I L D W E S T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"Ya last gunfight ain’t always the one that kills ya. Sometimes it’s the one that don’t."}

What makes a man an outlaw?

What drives a man away from civilisation, and turns him to seek the harsh solitude of the desert? To seek such a barren place, so scornful of humanity that he spurns it entirely, and walks out into a wasteland devoid of life?

What makes a man turn against his nature? What takes a good heart and noble soul, and twists both until they are unrecognisable, even to a mother, even to the very individual himself?

For Jonah Hex, the answer was Love.

Born November 1820. Died August 1863. And now, some 200 years after his first arrival, Jonah Hex rises again from beneath the sands of the Sonoran Desert and walks back into the world of man. His head swims with figments and memories, his brain frantically seizing any thread of reality it can find, past or present. Family. Slavery. Freedom. Betrayal. Names and faces fade in and out, but nothing feels as real as the sand in his boots or cold steel in his hands. But for Jonah, newly alive and lost in the modern world, merely one question remains.

What makes a man come back?

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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"Now Roman", you say, confusion in your voice, "are you sure you have not made a mistake? I appreciate Daredevil is defunct, this being a DC game and all, but this 'Jonah Hex' fellow hardly looks ANYTHING like Constantine. Are you feeling well, my good man? Perhaps you are an impostor. Yes, that's it, a charleton, masquerading as our dear Roman. WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR ASSOCIATE??!"

"Now Now," I reply, the faintest hint of amusement tinging my response, "I heard of this wonderful new technique from some respected colleagues of mine known as 'trying something new'. Now I know this is shocking - originality has not always been looked well upon in our line of work - but I must admit some fancy took to my mind that night and I resolved to experiment. So behold, gentlemen! The fruits of my labour!"

I also love cowboys and westerns and love mixing the genre with spooky supernatural goings-on. I don't know much about Jonah but I know a little about surly, miserable men with guns. This will be a Jonah out-of-time, reconciling having to rediscover his own history through fragmented memories with having to learn this strange new modern world and how to live in it, as well as trying to figure out why he's even alive 100-and-something years after his death deep in the desert. There will be heartache, mystery, bad guys and gunslinging, and hopefully three or four iterations of this game from now I'll be the 'Jonah Hex' guy and a Constantine sheet will seem just as bold and mold-breaking.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Revenant

"Revenent, [ˈrɛv(ə)nənt], Noun. A person who has returned, especially supposedly from the dead." Jonah has returned from the grave, and he's picked up some peculiarities with it: resistance to pain; extraordinary stamina; no need to eat, drink, or rest. He has also lost his memory and has no idea why he's suddenly alive again, but has a burning purpose to uncover his mystery.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

[+]

Bevis Neadle picks up his phone and checks the local public alerts. The main one today is an excessive heat warning, cautioning temperatures in excess of 108 Fahrenheit, worse deeper into the desert with no cloud coverage and minimal winds to carry the heat away. The alert has been active for two days, and warns of a further four to come before some kind of relief; those who can are advised to remain sheltered from the sun, and hydrate with a steady of supply of water, avoiding salty foods. Bevis’ AC is running full kilter, and still when he sits he can feel drops of sweat beading down his face. The water from his taps comes out lukewarm at best, and is unpleasant and un-refreshing to drink, but he drinks anyway, sometimes filling up a few glasses and setting them in his fridge for an hour or two just to have some cool water in the house. His dog has not moved from in front of the unit, and Bevis had had to move the food and water bowl closer to his spot so that he would eat and drink. The curtains are all drawn to block sunlight from entering the house, and he moved his pillow downstairs two nights previous to sleep on the cooler wooden floor of the living room, no blanket required.

With all this in mind, Bevis picks up his binoculars and looks out of the back window to watch the lone figure currently walking at a steady pace out of the desert towards his house. He has no idea who the man is, dressed in slacks, boots, shirt, vest, and a ragged but impressive hat, and Bevis can see from here the distinct shape of a pistol hanging on the figure’s hip, but he is sure the man should be dead. Bevis noticed him this morning, waking up as the heat began to rise and made sleep too uncomfortable to be possible, but he had been a distant blur dismissed as mirage then. Over the course of the day Bevis had kept checking though, and when the blur gained a solid outline, he knew it was no mirage. Someone was walking out of the desert in near-120 degree heat.

Bevis went out to greet him at 8PM, some 100-odd metres from his property line. This close he didn’t need the binoculars, and he could see the man was covered in dirt and sand, sweat staining his clothes and his boots covered in dust kicked up by the desert winds and his own feet. He looked old - not age wise, just not of the modern era - his garments battered and worn and not like any contemporary fashion Bevis knew about, simple but sturdy in their construction. He looked like a cowboy from the old stories. His face was...his face was a mess. Bevis averted his eyes as he called out to the man. He was nervous, knowing something unnatural was at play but not wanting to acknowledge or address it. The cowboy had long since spotted him, and came to a halt at Bevis’ fence, resting a single hand on the gate. Bevis allowed himself to be reassured by his rifle, leaning against the wall of his house just behind him.

“H-hello there, stranger!” Bevis began. The cowboy regarded him through his one good eye. “Been watchin’ you most the day. You come a long way there.”
The cowboy snorted and spat at the ground, Bevis glancing at how the horrific disfigurement stretched up and beyond his mangled ear as he turned his head.
“Might I ask where you’ve come from?”
The question hung in the air.
“The grave.” The cowboy’s voice was deep, gravelly. He spoke with a survivor’s grit. Bevis processed the answer and decided to discard it.
“Then you’re lookin’ pretty fine all considered. You need water?”
“I ain’t thirsty.”
Bevis swallowed, his throat dry. The whole situation was wrong, but his mind rebelled against the knowledge.
“Bread? Beef?”
“Ain’t hungry neither.”
“Where you headed?”
“To find some answers.”
Bevis was close to officially checking out of the entire circumstance. He eyed the pistol on the cowboy’s hip. The cowboy noticed.
“Ain’t got no reason to draw ‘less you give me one.”
“I ain’t lookin’ to give you one.”
“Then I reckon we gon’ be just swell.”

The cowboy lingered at the gate, surveying the landscape ahead of him beyond Bevis’ small house.
“We in Arizona?” He asked. Bevis stuttered, befuddled by the question.
“Y-yeah.”
“Then if you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of Armadilla, I would tip my hat in gratitude and be on my way.”
“A-Armadilla?”
“We are in Arizona?”
“Y-yes, but there ain’t no Armadilla ‘round here.”
“Arizona America?”
Bevis just nodded. The cowboy sighed.
“Then if you just point me toward the closest drinkin’ town, I’ll make do.”
“D-drinkin’ town?”
“Just tell me where in the goddamn hell I can get some liquor, boy!”
Bevis jumped at the cowboy’s sudden shouting, and took a step back towards his rifle. The cowboy slowly laid a hand on his holster.
“A-Ajo town’s 30 miles. T-Tucson’s another hundred after that.” He finally spat out, his voice shaking.
The cowboy nodded, removing his hand from his gun to tip his hat. “Then I hope Ajo’s got a reputable whiskey-slinging establishment.” He said, letting go of the fence and beginning to walk again.

Bevis watched him go, not moving from his porch as the cowboy slowly and steadily disappeared from view over the horizon, never wavering in his gait. When the sun had finally gone down, and the cowboy was completely lost from view, Bevis went back inside, drunk directly from the tap, wiped himself down, then fainted.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

TBC, partner.

[webboysurf]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

R E D H O O D / A R S E N A L

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^{_{Jason Todd/Roy Harper ♦ Former CIA and Team 7 Secret Agent/Former Army Ranger and Team 7 Marksman ♦ Texas, USA ♦ Outlaws}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"You know... they really left us hanging there."}

^{"If we weren't hanging upside down right now, I would punch you."}

What if you removed the mentors from two incredibly flawed former sidekick characters and had them team up and go around the country fighting crime? Well, you would get this take on the Outlaws that I've whipped up. A huge part of Jason Todd's arc as the Red Hood has always been rooted in revenge and pain. Beaten within an inch of his life and managing to survive, Jason takes on a new mantle and enacts bloody revenge on criminals. Roy Harper, on the other hand, is a grounding and inherently funny character. He's always trying to prove that he's a hero despite his past actions and his very, very serious character flaws. These two characters have had their own comics run as a duo, and they work well in the setting of a world much like our own. One in which a country is torn, divided, and in need of unconventional heroes.

Jason Todd, in this iteration, was a CIA operative. He was a poor orphan from the streets of Gotham who wanted to make something of himself... so he took every opportunity he could to become someone. He started out doing simple intelligence gathering when he was recruited by the CIA, learning the arts of infiltration and close quarters combat. His skillset saw him recruited by the elusive group known as Team 7, a U.S. Black Ops team tasked with keeping the world "safe" from all threats. He's been with Team 7 until a fateful event six months ago while infiltrating the League of Assassins (where he had further honed his skills). He was sold out by a member of the League, and taken to a warehouse in Vlatava. There, he was beaten with a crowbar within an inch of his life by an unknown assailant wearing a red hoodie and a simple black mask. He was left for dead, with a simple message: Vertigo sends their regards. Since then, he was discharged from service in Team 7 after psych evaluations have found him to be too vengeful and unstable for active service.

Roy Harper's past is a lot simpler. He was a kid who, from a very young age, had impeccable aim. He learned of his skills in handling a rifle and a bow and arrow at a young age at a Boy Scout camp in rural Oklahoma. He was so good, in fact, that he started to compete in local competitions. Hell, he even became a small legend in the circle of competitive archery, even being slated to compete in the 2012 Olympic Games on behalf of the USA. Unfortunately, his life took him in a different direction when drug tests outed that he was a heroin addict. He lost all respect within the archery community and barely managed to graduate high school as he was sent out to rehab. His life changed when he got clean and met an Army recruiter by happenstance at a bar. It would give Roy exactly what he had always wanted: purpose. He proved himself to be, once again, and amazing marksman. So amazing that he rose through the ranks quickly, before being picked up by Team 7. He served as a designated Marksman for the Team on dangerous assignments, and met Jason Todd through Team 7. About a year ago, though, Roy resigned from his position to take care of his ailing father, who ended up passing only months ago. Since then, Roy has decided to make it his mission to see the country that he fought and bled for. His mission was interrupted when he saw a very familiar face walk into some rundown bar in some barely known one road town in rural Texas.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Jason and Roy have one thing in common: they believe deeply in protecting other people. Jason Todd wants answers as to who exactly beat him within an inch of his life, but more importantly wants to find a new purpose. When he reconnects with Roy in a bar and ends up fighting off some men associated with the Aryan Nation, Jason finds a new purpose: removing those racist scum from the face of the Earth. His deeper motivation, though, is an outlet for the anger and rage that is pent up inside as a result of both his injury and his commanding officers' lack of investigation into the matter.

Roy's motivation shifts very quickly within this story. He starts just wanting to see the nation he fought for, since he never really got to actually travel and just see the country for what it was. The problem is that the nation Roy stumbles upon isn't the ideal that he fought for. So, Roy has to pick up his bow once again to fight for a future and the ideal that he had fought for once again: a land of the free, where every man is born equal.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Team 7

John Lynch: The former leader of Team 7, John Lynch is secretly a telekinetic metahuman. He is a cold and calculating man, and there's more to him than meets the eye.

Slade Wilson: One of the most experienced and toughest soldiers in Team 7, Slade has always been in it for one thing: the glory of combat. However, following his son Jericho falling terminally sick, Slade has been trying to find new ways to make money to save his dying son. Who knows where this has led him...

James Bronson: A hero through and through, James Bronson was an intelligence operator for Team 7 who, following Jason and Roy's escapades, will be tasked with bringing in the two men to answer for their crimes.

The Aryan Nation / Brigade

White Dragon: The leader of the Aryan Brigade as a whole, and secretly a vigilante in Dallas, Texas that targets minorities in particular, William Heller is a highly trained soldier with money lining his pockets. He has taken on the title of "White Dragon" as the head of the Aryan Nation, and uses his money and influence to influence police departments and get his hands on experimental technology to aid in his plan for the extermination of "inferior races." He has even gathered white supremacist metahumans together and spun the press into calling them the "Knights Templar."

Bloodsport:Alex Trent is a highly trained former soldier and known racist, Alex has taken on the codename Bloodsport and led the militarization of the Aryan Brigade branch of the Aryan Nation into an army willing to fight for White Supremacy.

Heatmonger: One of the Aryan Brigade's militant operatives, Heatmonger is a blonde haired woman with experimental flamethrower gauntlets courtesy of one William Heller. She is a member of the "Knights Templar."

Backlash: A metahuman with the ability to elongate his arms and manipulate them to form squid-like tendrils. He is a member of the Knights Templar.

Iron Cross: A metahuman with super strength who serves in the Knights Templar.

Golden Eagle: The only non-metahuman among the Knights Templar, Golden Eagle is a former U.S. Marine turned "vigilante."

Blind Faith: She is not a direct member of the Knights Templar, but is always around when they operate publicly. She has telepathy, and uses her abilities to force people of color to admit to crimes openly that they have never committed.

Their Pasts

Chesire: Jade Nguyen is a member of the League of Assassins, and has been tasked with tracking down Jason Todd and making him answer to the League for his infiltration and "stealing" of trade secrets. By her own right, Jade Nguyen is an incredibly skilled assassin and a brilliant toxicologist. She has killed many of her victims by use of poisons and toxins.

Count Vertigo: Werner Zytle was a brilliant chemist and a member of the Vlatavan royal family... before all of his family was executed publicly in a bloody militaristic coup four years ago. The former Count was nearly killed himself by a sniper bullet after his new steward (Jason Todd in disguise) tricked him into getting in position. Since then, Werner Zytle has taken on an alias (Cecil Adams) and has started up a new crime syndicate called Vertigo. Werner has been cooking up powerful new drugs that have been hitting the streets and using the money he's been gathering to build up his organization until it's strong enough to take back his country... but not before he gets revenge on the people who killed him.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Taste of Violence

_{Some Shithole, Texas, USA - Present Day}

Issue 1.01.01: Taste of Violence

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

"How do you do it? How do you just live like this?"

Sitting across the table from the speaker was a red-headed, lean man in a sleeveless red mechanic's vest. He had on a simple baseball cap with an American flag emblazoned across the front of it, and blue jeans that were ripped and worn around the knees. He was currently in the midst of devouring a triple bacon cheeseburger, juices and sauces dripping down his chin and onto the plate below. Roy Harper set the burger down for a moment, chewing the giant bite of food that he took as he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the side of the table to wipe the liquids off his mouth before responding. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jason Todd sighed. He felt out of place in a run-down bar in some basically no-name town in Texas. He was wearing a designer black turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks. His hair was carefully constructed and gelled to look somewhat messy. As Roy answered, Jason leaned back in his seat. "How do you not want to get back into the action? You were the best sharpshooter in the business. If you made a call, you could be back in Team 7 in a heartbeat."

Roy plucked another napkin to begin wiping away the sauces on his fingers as he gave a sly smile. "I did my time. Followed orders, had some fun. But you know... I never really saw this country. Traveled around it for competitions, but was never allowed to actually see anything. I've never been to the Alamo, or the Empire State Building. And neither was my dad."

That last word hung in the air for a moment. Despite the distance from his death, that fact still stung Roy. As for Jason, it made him stop in his tracks and rethink what exactly he was asking his former coworker to do for him. And as the two men sat in silence, another sound from outside the bar cut through the awkward silence.

The two men watched the scene unfolding outside. There, a few men with pick-up trucks that were proudly flying the confederate flag pulled up into the parking lot just as a black man in a t-shirt and jeans was walking towards the bar. The confederate-supporters got out of their pick-up and started surrounding the guy, blocking his path to getting into the bar. Jason's eyes narrowed as he watched one of the large men start shoving the victim of their hate.

Jason turned his gaze back to Roy, who was watching his dinner companion with concern.

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Don't."

"Don't what? I need to take a piss."

Roy simply shook his head as Jason stood up from the small two-person table and made his way towards the back of the restaurant. He went into the back of the bar, finding the small closet that was marked as the men's restroom. As soon as he entered and locked the door, Jason looked up towards the ceiling for window near the top of the bathroom. He went to try and lift open the very wide and simple window, only to find it to be a bit stuck. The former spy sighed as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small utility knife. He flicked it open and ran it along the bottom of the window, removing a layer of grime and filth that was keeping the window a bit stuck down. With another attempt, the window was able to swing out. Jason then sighed and quickly jumped up into the air, using his momentum and strength to kick from one wall to the other and then up towards the window sill. He slid himself out from the window and landed behind the bar.

As Jason circled around the side of the bar, he could hear the situation had escalated. He could hear a cry for help as there was grunting and the sound of kicking and groaning. So Jason rushed around the side of the building, his fists clenched and at the ready. As he rounded the corner, about five men were gathered around their victim. They were kicking him in the head, chest, back, and legs. One of them, the one stomping down on the guy's legs trying to break them, shouted out, "Get back on to your ghetto now, boy! This place ain't for your kind."

Jason could feel the rage boiling inside him as he began rushing forward around the corner of the bar. With each kick and hit, he remembered the sensations coursing through his chest, his arms, and his skull. He almost thought the painful sensation in his hand was just a sensory memory until Jason was brought back to reality at the sound of a different voice yelping in pain. One of the racists was clutching the side of his ear as he fell down to the ground over the bloody mess of his victim, and was trying to scramble back onto his feet as his compatriots stared in shock.

The next moments were a blur of adrenaline and pure instinct. When one came in on his right with a right hook, Jason stepped back and provided a small redirecting shove to have the man clock one of his friends in the face. Another came forward trying to tackle the former spy to the ground, but Jason simply stepped to the side and provided a quick kick to the man's knee. The sound of the crunch was satisfying as the Team 7 operator decided to go on the attack in delivering a quick strike to the man he had first attacked in the neck by the time he got to his feet, leaving him choking for air.

While caught up in the chaos of the hand to hand combat, Jason was surprised and petrified with fear as he saw the two other assailants has run back to their trucks and were loading up their shotguns with appropriate shells. He had only a moment to duck back behind another car in the parking lot before the shotguns began firing off in his directions, followed by whooping and hollering. That is, until Jason heard something he wasn't expecting. He heard screams of pain coming from where the two men were firing. As Jason peered around the hood, he saw that the men had been struck by arrows in their shoulders. It didn't take long for Jason to put two and two together, especially when his marksman friend stepped out from around the other corner of the bar holding his bow with an arrow nocked and drawn. Roy turned his gaze towards Jason for a moment and nodded for him to make his way over. The vigilante did so, and began running towards the archer. Without so much as a word, Jason and Roy fled to a beaten up red van and got in. The latter threw van into drive and spun out onto the empty evening road, taking off from the scene of their crime.

Without sharing a single word, the two men knew what they had just done. And they knew that it wouldn't take long before the police were called and the authorities were looking for them.

As far as they were concerned, Jason Todd and Roy Harper were now Outlaws.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

WIP

[Supermaxx]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T E E N T I T A N S

---

^{_{Garfield Logan ♦ Victor Stone ♦ Stephanie Brown ♦ Tara Markov ♦ Amaya}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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GARFIELD LOGAN is the son of no one, as far as he knows. As the story was told to him, Gar was born green, and his 'condition' led his mother to abandon him on the doorstep of an orphanage for strange and unwanted children. It was owned and operated by the wealthy, eccentric philanthropist Dr. Niles Caulder, it was less of a home and more a house of horrors. Caulder was an abusive, controlling man that thought he could 'heal' people like Gar of their abilities. Garfield spent several years in his clutches before he was pushed to his breaking point and escaped to the streets, where he lives among alley cats and sewer rats...

VICTOR STONE is the son of Silas and Elinore Stone, two STAR Labs scientists dedicated to transcending humanity's biological limitations through cybernetic enhancement. Though their intentions may have been good in the beginning, desperation to see their dream fulfilled brought them to do terrible things to their son in the name of progress. Despite his parents' wishes, Vic ignored academic pursuits in favor of athletic ones. He reached great heights as his team's star quarterback, but it wasn't enough for them. Nothing he did was good enough for them. He'd had enough when his family skipped out on his graduation for one of their 'projects', and decided to confront them. Something went horribly wrong when he got there, and the lab was consumed by an explosion. Many staff members were injured or killed, Elinore among them, and Victor was severely injured. In order to save his son's life, Silas was forced to repair him with the same highly experimental technology that had caused it...

STEPHANIE BROWN is the only daughter of Arthur Brown, better known to the world at large by his pseudonym: Cluemaster. Cluemaster was a brutal serial murderer that was active in Blüdhaven between the late nineties and mid twenty-tens, carving out a path of blood and vengeance through its criminal underworld. Many hailed him as a hero finally bringing justice to a corrupt and broken city, while others saw him for what he really was: a violent and deranged man looking for any excuse to kill. Steph was meant to be Arthur's prodigy. He trained her with the hope that one day she'd take up his righteous cause as well. Yet when the day came for her to kill, Steph found herself unable, and chose to report him and flee. Since then she's moved in with her estranged mother on the other side of the country, promising herself she'd live a normal life...

TARA MARKOV is the bastard child of Viktor Markov, King of Markovia, and one of his many consorts. Though she grew up in the lap of luxury, she was never accepted by her family: the king had no time for her and the queen and her children despised Tara for the circumstances of her birth. They would pick at and torment her at every opportunity, and she responded by lashing out, sometimes violently. Life in the palace was tense for many years, but Viktor refused to police his family's behavior, and was unwilling to throw Tara out. It may have been sustainable if Tara hadn't developed superpowers. She tore half the building apart before the royal guard could restrain her. In an effort to cover up her abilities and keep from causing a panic, the royal family had Tara banished to the Americas and offered her a swell of wealth to keep from causing trouble. Of course, if anyone could be trusted to keep out of trouble, it'd be Tara Markov...

AMAYA is the last member of the House of Amethyst. Her family was slaughtered by a great and terrible sorcerer, Dark Opal, who sought usurp the Council of Twelve and claim sole rulership over their home of Gemworld- a place of magic and wonder separated from Earth by a single, thin plane. Amaya only survived thanks to the intervene of a strange witch known as Citrina, who whisked her away to safety. She would train the princess in the ways of magic and war in the hopes that she might return to topple Opal and bring peace back to Gemworld one day. It wasn't long before Amaya's patience grew thin and she chose to set out on her winged steed to confront the dark sorcerer that took her family from her...

Though they don't know it yet, these five would-be heroes find their paths fated to cross. A sinister, quasi-religious movement is rising in the streets of San Fransisco, threatening the lives of its ignored and unwanted youths. The police don't care if a couple of homeless teenagers go missing. What's being called the 'Church of Many Faces' is written off as little more than superstitious tales from overactive minds. Disaster waits if someone doesn't act, so...

^{"Somebody's gotta give a shit. Why not, y'know, us?"}

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

The Teen Titans TV show was my first introduction to superheroes as a child, outside of seeing Spider-Man on a backpack once or twice, and its still one of my absolute favorite pieces of media, period. And something I've always loved writing is the 'dysfunctional family of flawed weirdos just looking to make a difference in the world' trope. That idea has permeated basically everything I've ever written, for reasons I'm sure are entirely unrelated, so I'm pretty stoked to give a version of the team a go, especially in a 'Year One' scenario where I have near total creative freedom.

I'm drawing a lot of inspiration from the Doom Patrol web series, Umbrella Academy, and obviously the Teen Titans, Young Justice and X-Men comic books. I want to tell a story that- hopefully- resonates with those same core ideas of family and finding your place in the world.

Each of the characters have their own motivations for joining the team and wanting to put Brother Blood down, but all of them reflect those same two desires in some way as well: Gar is hurt and traumatized both by his time at Caulder's fun house and by his initial abandonment, and he's desperate for human connection. Vic barely feels like a person anymore after his transformation. He spent his whole life having someone else's dream forced on him, and in the first moment he felt in control destiny chose to rip it away from him. Steph similarly feels like her life has been wholly defined by her fucked up relationship with her father, but even as she gets the normal life that she wants, something's pulling her back to vigilantism. Meanwhile, Tara is more than happy to drink and party herself to death just to bury the mountains of trauma that came with being the superpowered bastard child of an absolute monarch. And Amaya, whose terrible loss and supposed destiny has driven her to throw herself at an enemy infinitely more powerful than her, convinced fate will protect her- and because she doesn't know what she'll do if, by some chance, she's wrong.

'Kids with daddy issues' also works, i guess

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Dramatis Personae

Allies

Contacts list contains an emergency number for Steph's mom and the nearest pizza place.

Villains

Enchantress: Founder of the newly formed Church of Many Faces. Not much is known about her as the Church's members are incredibly secretive, and those few that manage to slip away from its grasp never survive long enough to tell the tale. Wildly conflicting descriptions of appearance, possibly multiple 'Enchantress's'.' Assumed to either be a huckster, or a being of incredible magical potential.

Slade: An international man of mystery and an assassin for hire by the highest bidder, Slade has no loyalty to anyone but himself. Should be assumed to have at least three ulterior motives at all times. He's developed a reputation for dealing with particularly difficult contracts that any sane mercenary would shy away from. Highly skilled, highly dangerous, highly secretive. Not one whose path you should willingly cross.

Damien Darhk: Newest headmaster at H.I.V.E and of a particularly nasty character. Cunning, manipulative, and well-connected, nothing goes on in the American underworld without his knowing about it. Obsessively chases after new ways to increase his power and status. Rumored to have disappeared the last headmaster personally. Powers include hypnosis and physical enhancement. Moderately attractive.

Dark Opal: A centuries old sorcerer and the next in a long line of evil, conniving sons of bitches to lead the House of Opal. He's long been a thorn in the side of the Council of Twelve, his ambitions to rule Gemworld alone well known to them- yet tradition and naivety kept them from moving against him until it was already too late. Likely the most powerful being in the plane since Lady Mordiel's death at his hands.

Cluemaster: Serial murderer, abusive father, psychopathic butcher, and all around not-great dude. The best thing Arthur Brown ever did was have Stephanie. He's deluded himself into thinking he's some great hero carrying out the justice others are too weak and corrupt to commit. After Steph reported his activities to the police he was forced to go underground and likely hasn't killed in the years since. Could be retired for good...probably not, though.

Supporting Cast

Viktor Markov: Current king of Markovia and absent father.

Ilona DeLamb-Markov: Abusive bitch.

Brion Markov: Next in line if Gregor bites it, most likely to kill him to get the throne. Somehow less bad than Gregor. Twin.

Gregor Markov: Crown prince, massive asshole. Twin.

Crystal Brown: Stephanie's mom and the ex-wife of the Cluemaster. Doctor working at Saint Agnes Memorial Hospital. Patient and kind enough that she should probably be canonized too.

Niles Caulder: Dogged believer that superpowers were God's mistake. Multi-millionaire that opened an orphanage and dedicated his life to torturing every poor, haggard soul who happened to be dumped on his doorstep for being different from the other kids. Possibly good intentions, but difficult to tell between the tears.

Silas Stone: Victor's father and a world renowned scientist on the bleeding edge of cybernetic research, working with technology science fiction authors once dreamed of. Ultimately wants to be responsible for the next, great leap in human progress. Also experimented on his only son and possibly responsible for the accident that took his wife's life.

Citrina: Old witch that trained Lady Mordiel when she was just a girl. Managed to rescue Princess Amaya before Dark Opal could put a permanent end to the Amethyst family line. Worried sick ever since said princess ran off to fight said dark lord all on her own.

Titan's Codex

Where I put all the shit that we'll need to remember. Locations, worldbuilding, favorite food, ect.

Locations

Santa Marta: Santa Marta, California is a coastal city loosely based on Santa Barbara, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Its population of 1.5 million people is split between five major districts: Downtown, Sunrise Heights, Hackett Point, East Warrens, and, its largest district, Queen's Valley AKA The Groin.

Bludhaven: Former home of Steph Brown and the hunting ground of serial killer, Cluemaster. Somehow only the second highest murder rate in New Jersey.

Gemworld: Alternate dimension adjacent to our own reality. Magic is commonplace. Ruled by a council of the twelve oldest noble houses in the realm, who united a thousand years ago in an effort to end their constant warring and vying for power. Only managed to succeed with the former.

Markovia: Tiny Eastern European nation led by an absolute monarch, Viktor Markov. A footnote in most geography classes.

Organizations

HIVE: TBD

STAR Labs: TBD

Brotherhood of Evil: TBD

The Fearsome Five: TBD

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

sample post

T H E G R O I N

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^{12:00 AM | Santa Marta, California}
'My name is Stephanie Brown, and I have work tomorrow morning.'

It was late into the night but 'The Groin' was just waking up. That was what the locals called Santa Marta's entertainment district on the south side of the Reprieve River. Every time Steph asked where the name came from she'd get different answers. One guy explained that if you look at Santa Marta on a map, it looks like a person. And if you thought of the Reprieve as a belt, this area was...well, y'know. Another woman said it had something to do with that terrible, musky odor that emanated from every street corner, apartment block and parking lot. Someone else said it was because of all the prostitutes.

She figured the name was old enough that no one actually remembered where it came from. Santa Marta was an old city filled with secrets long buried.

'Someone else should handle this. It shouldn't have to be me.'

This place had a habit of forgetting its most uncomfortable parts. It turned away from stories that might hurt its reputation to tourists, and hoped its troubles dealt with themselves. But loath as she was to admit it, Steph knew that wasn't how this worked. Bludhaven- her old home- proved that. Problems needed problem solvers.

Steph shifted from crouching on one knee to the other to keep it from falling asleep. She turned her wrist over and glanced at her watch. Hour two of her stakeout had just ticked by, with little to show for the effort. There was no unusual activity in the vicinity of Casanova's Coffin, The Groin's premier Goth-themed nightclub. It was consistent with what she observed over the weekend. A couple of fights, money and illicit substances exchanging hands and no small amount of sex work, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing like the stories she'd been hearing out of this place.

The binoculars fell away from her face so she could rub the bleariness from her eyes. She was staring out of them long enough that she swore she was starting to see double. This felt like such a waste of time. She had work in seven hours- no, six and a half hours, now. And she hadn't seen even a scrap of evidence that this 'Church of Many Faces' was working out of Casanova's to lure kids in and whisk them into the night. The stories were crazy. Maybe she was crazy for believing them.

'I told mom- I told myself- that I'd stay outta trouble from now on. That I wouldn't do this stuff anymore. Annnddd yet, here I am...God, I'm so-'

A sharp crash drew her attention back to the real world. Something had knocked a garbage can over in the alleyway behind the nightclub, scattering trash over the sidewalk. Stephanie raised a curious brow and lifted the binoculars up again, but whatever had done it had already disappeared down the alley. It was probably nothing. Probably a dog, or some drunken bum taking a wrong turn. Still...

"Alright," she muttered to herself under her breath. "We check this one thing out and if its nothing, we go home. I'm not spending my morning shift at Big Belly Burger half dead on my feet."

Tossing her things back into her backpack and flinging it over her shoulder, Stephanie took off at a run for the fire escape on the neighboring roof. She leapt the gap, her hands outstretched in front of her, palms colliding hard against the bars a second later. Grip tightening, can't fall now. Half slipping, half climbing, she scrambled down the fire escape to side street beneath her perch. It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done.

None of the people meandering around the Casanova noticed Stephanie dart across the street. She found the tiniest shadows and darkest corners and slid between them, quiet as a mouse. By the time she made it into the back alley, she'd vanished completely.

It was dark and stunk of death. Dumpsters and mismatching garbage cans lined the right hand side of the alley, pressed up against the wall of an apartment complex. On the other side was the nightclub, its broken, neon sign washing everything in a dull, pink sheen. Broken bottles, needles and old cigarette butts were scattered across the poorly paved concrete. Steph saw it all from the shadows she hid in, but there was no sign of what had come through here before her.

A flash of color, just in the corner of her vision. Something green dove behind a pile of trash bags. A piece of fabric, maybe, or a...tail? But-

The backdoor to Casanova's creaked open, worn down hinges screeching like a banshee. Two young men shuffled out, hand in hand, paranoid eyes scanning the alley for witnesses. Steph retreated further into her nook, a pang of guilt causing her cheeks to flush. This was nothing. Of course it was nothing. She shouldn't be here.

"I hate this. I hate that we have to do this." One of them spoke, their voice broken, seething.

The other turned, facing his partner. "I know, I know! Me too. But...But not for much longer. This-" he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a folded up piece of paper. He held with enormous care, like it was the most valuable thing in the world. "-This is our ticket outta here, okay? They help people like us."

The first shook his head, slowly. "He said that, but, like, you've heard what people say about them-"

"They say a lot of shit about people like us, too." He let out a sigh. It was heavy. And pained. "I'ont like it much either, but its all we've got right now. We don't have any other choice. If we wanna get outta here someday..."

The two went on talking in hushed voices as they started out of the alleyway. Steph waited, crouched, as they walked past her, seemingly unaware of her presence. She watched, but not them. Her eyes tracked the paper in his hand. She did her best to slow her rapidly beating heart and waited with baited breath. Just a little closer, now.

'There!'

A symbol printed on the top of the page. Two crescent moons placed opposite one another, and shaded in such a way that, if one looked close enough, two distinct faces appeared between them. That marking was on every invitation to join the Church of Many Faces. It was one of the few, consistent details in every story she'd heard about them, and it was real!

'Ha, I knew it! I knew it and I never doubted myself, not even for a second!'

She must've let some, tiny noise slip between her lips while she was celebrating, because one of the boys turned around and looked right in her direction. She cursed to herself over and over as she followed his eyes as they tracked along the dumpsters she had managed to slip between. The other guy came to her rescue, pulling him along before he could decide whether or not he'd imagined it.

A sleeve moved up to wipe the sweat from her brow. 'Too close, Steph. Keep it together.'

Once the two had rounded the corner and were out of earshot, she climbed up from her hide-y hole and raced up the steps to the backdoor. The doorknob clicked when she went to knock. Locked, naturally. Without a keyhole to stick a lockpick in she was forced to find another way in. Something scurried by her leg. There was a window on the Third floor that someone left cracked, and smoke was wafting out of it. Tricky. If she climbed all the way up there and didn't find an opportunity to slip inside, she'd have no way down that didn't involve snapping her ankles-

The door clicked, and she panicked, stumbling down the stairs until she came crashing down on her ass with a subdued yelp. Steph sat there for what felt like hours, waiting for someone to step out and catch her in the act, but no one came. It just...hung open.

"Bad lock, maybe?" She asked aloud, not sure if she was buying her own bullshit but unwilling to retreat now. Too far in to run, she told herself. Now she knew for sure something was happening, and Stephanie Brown could never live with herself if she ran away now.

Back on her feet, she slipped through the door and into a poorly lit hallway. An odd combination of Gothic organs and techno music was playing faintly from the main room. Steph skulked forward, keeping low, one hand in the back pocket she kept all her emergency goodies in.

Several doors lined each side of the hall, but only one of them was open, if only cracked. She couldn't see much inside save for some tiling on the wall. A bathroom, in all likelihood. She could hear muffled voices on the other side. They were too quiet or too far away- maybe both- to make out. Slowly, silently, she crept up to the door and placed her ear against it.

A hand shot through the opening and took her by the shirt, simultaneously throwing the door open and dragging her inside as she let out a surprised yelp.

The hand belonged to a big man, nearly as wide as he was tall. The black shirt he wore marked him as security in bold, white letters. His arms were covered in bulging veins, thick as steel cables, and a myriad of tattoos with little artistic cohesion or direction; the only one her eyes went to, however, was the pair of crescent moons on his wrist.

"Let go of me, roidrage!" She snarled, smashing a clenched fist straight into his nose with enough force to topple a rhino. It broke, splaying blood all over his mustache and chin. He didn't so much as blink.

Another apparent security guard stepped up beside him, just as large though more rotund than muscular. His head was so perfectly smooth that the overhead lights reflected off of it. And just like his 'roided out friend, his expression was utterly blank.

She gulped, shifting uncomfortably where she hung. They were both staring at her. Neither said a word, or made any move to throw her out or kick her ass. Steph glanced between them, finally seeing what unnerved her so about them: each of them had a subtle, greenish glow about their eyes. If she wasn't so damn close to them Steph was sure she would've missed it, but given how intently they stared back at her, it was impossible to miss.

"Well, fellas, it looks like we've officially crossed over into the Twilight Zone." She laughed, thoroughly terrified for what might come next. "Is this is the part where I ask you to take me to your leader, or the part where I get probed? Because, lemme tell ya, I do not do well with-"

"Quiet now, little bird. There will be time enough for that later." A voice came from behind the guards, sickly in its pleasantness, and a figure appeared from out of a stall shortly after. He was shorter than both of his peers but still two or three inches taller than Stephanie, but his form was obscured by the coat he wore. It was thick, like it was made for winter weather, and long, reaching past his knees. A big, puffy hood was pulled up, casting his face in shadow- all that stuck out of it was a long, crooked nose, like he was the Wicked Witch of The West.

"Pet names, really? You could buy me dinner first, at least." Steph talked to him, but kept her eyes on the immediate threats in front of her. "How'd you know I was here?"

"We did not," he admitted with what may've been a shrug. "We expected to find the green one, but destiny has chosen to reveal another player in our little game."

This time she looked at him, brow raised. "Green one?"

Something made the ceiling creak. Everyone in the room turned toward the back, where a tile was suddenly bending under the weight of something very big, until it finally snapped in two. The lights blinked in and out, bits of material were scattered everywhere. Someone screamed, and something else roared in response. It was too chaotic for Steph to make out what was happening, but she knew she had a brief window of opportunity to exploit it.

A hand shot down into her pocket, producing a pellet roughly the size of a quarter, and she proceeded to toss it directly into the face of her captor. It exploded, sparks lighting up the air and smoke billowing in all directions. It put him off-kilter enough for her to interweave her fingers and slam them into his wrist, bashing it over and over until he was forced to let go.

Now the lights were flashing, people were screaming, and there was smoke everywhere, but at least she was free.

"Know what time it is?" She slipped back into the smoke in a crouch, waiting until Roidrage's back came into view. "Its ass-kick o'clock!" She leapt up at him, arms wrapping around his bulging neck like a vice. Too big and too out of it to have a knock down, drag out fight with. Had to cut off the blood flow to his brain, take him down quick and easy before whatever else was in here finished with Baldy.

Easier said than done, though, as the big man's big hands reached over and took her by the hair. He pulled on it, and rather than lose a chunk of her locks, Steph chose to scramble up his back. Another of his hands came around to grab her and Roidrage started to flip her around, apparently intent on crushing her between his arms.

Her feet hit the wall before he could finish turning her around, putting him in the rather awkward position of holding her over his head. "Not today, pal!" She kicked off, sending him stumbling backward to keep from falling over. For the second time she was able to slip his grip, falling to the ground just in time to sweep his legs and ensure his noggin made contact with the sink. Porcelain cracked and water sprayed everywhere as he lay in a heap, unconscious and down for the count.

'One down, two more to go-oohh no.'

The lights had decided to come back on just as Steph was turning around to face her next opponent, and she found herself face to face with a tiger. An actual, in-the-flesh tiger. The seven-foot-long-and-six-hundred-pounds-of-muscle kind of tiger. And it had either killed or knocked out Baldy, and was now standing on top of the other creep and staring directly at her. Somehow the tiger being here wasn't the weirdest part of this situation, either.

"So, uhm, I'm guessing you're the green one he mentioned earlier?" She stuttered out. Like the massive idiot she was, she had her hands out in front of her, ready to throw down in The Octagon with it, or something.

Santa Marta was an old city full of secrets; it had a nasty habit of burying the uncomfortable ones. Steph wasn't so sure this one was going to let itself be buried.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Issue #1: Have a Little Faith
-1.00

IF I HAD ANY