Afro Samurai

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

"We gone see if they really 'bout it."

It was always something. Well, all of Oshea's meticulous planning was nil. He thought it a shame, too, this was a chance for him to show the rest of the team he wasn't just a snarking nuisance--even if this allocation of his character had some hidden truth. Once more, it was time to submerge, the lives of thousands in his comrades' and his hands. They would prevail, Oshea knew they would. They had no choice this time. If Oshea was being real with himself, they probably would fail again; whatever divine forces were out there, if any at all, seemed not to favor this bunch of would-be heroes. Clasping the side of his ruby red goggles, he slid themoff the crown of his head and rested them on his eyes; to him, the world dawned a deep red wherever he now looked. With a roll of his neck to loosen the building tension in his muscles, he turned to Charlie and Cassandra.

"Like Queen Bee said, don't serve us none waitin' 'round. Y'all ready to roll?" Oshea stood up, arms jolting out to either side of him in a stretch. For a sliver in time, he had intentions of waiting on their respective replies but then his mind jumped to the next though milliseconds later; he turned to Quicksilver,

"Don't trip ova yaself trynna keep up wit' me this time, aight?" a wink and a grin. Oshea sped off, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

Wounded

Marvin sat in the soft computer chair when he heard the thud of something against the walls of his warehouse; part of him wanted to activate the warehouse’s defenses--but something else told him that would be excessive. Maybe it was just those kids again; some of those knuckleheads never learn! Marvin wanted to go check, but he couldn’t expose himself to the denizens of Marcy, even if everyone knew who the Man in the Warehouse was now. He could use his present predicament to his advantage somehow, but Marvin was unsure how as of yet. He wasn’t in fighting shape, and though his body was repairing itself at an astronomical rate, the aches and the frequent jolts of unanimous pain throughout his entire being made each step agony.

All Marvin knew now is that yet another person or being had found where he lay his head, but at this point it didn’t matter. It was time to plot. If his enemies wanted to flank him, he would let them think they had the advantage… except, he couldn’t plan for something he couldn’t see. The phone continued ringing and Marvin picked up,

“Marvin Hayes? Forensics officer Felix Martinez. NYPD. We have something you need to see. Translator at the lab said it was German.” some seconds later, a blue loading screen fizzled onto the massive monitor in front of him. When the loading was complete, it read, Kinderfressen! With one click of his mouse, the video feed was freeze framed, cropped, and saved to the cloud storage of his personal network system. Marvin’s eyelids tipped closed and lifted open in rapid succession, he tried to muster a reply to the forensics officer but it was less than true English and more gibberish.

A gunshot. Marvin’s eyes flushed open. It never ended! He had given his all, but the shootings, the muggings, the greed, the murder, the selfishness, it never ended. Beleaguered, Marvin dragged his hapless unmasked head toward the lower third floor window and stared out at the sound as its hollow rang dissipated into the mouth of the night’s howling winds. Even if he was healthy, he was too tired. Tonight, he would sleep--someone else could handle it tonight. Little did Marvin know, someone else was handling it.

October 30th, 11:00 p.m.

Marvin had just awaken. The 70’’ television displayed the news,

”Jennifer Greene with Channel 52 News. Yet another child has gone missing from Brooklyn’s Marcy Housing Projects. Last night, 15 year old Teon Hollins disappeared from his home. Residents say they heard nothing suspicious in the lowrises last night. We spoke with the victim’s mother this morning. Here is what she had to say,”

Pan. A hefty black woman wearing a long flower print gown, pink rollers, and black house slippers to match stood in front of a rounded microphone and she was surrounded by family members and other dishevelled looking residents of the neighborhood. On her cocoa skin there is worry slit into the lines of a weary face. Dried tears decorate the sides of her smooth cheeks. An older man’s hand rests on her shoulder, consoling her as she fights through another wave of tears--he grips tighter the more frustrated she becomes as if to relax her.

“I-I just don’t know! I don’t know, I do--who done took my baby from me? Why they took him from me?! MONSTER!” she had nearly begun to cry again, her consoler--another black man who appeared no more than 40, sporting a bushy mustache, bald head, a white tanktop and some pajamas--tightened his grip and she composed herself

“All our babies is missin’ and nobody care! Who next? Huh? Who next! Ain’t nobody gonna nothin’? Why we gotta suffer? Y’know--it jus’--” her thoughts appeared to escape her, someone in the background filled the lull,

“I know tha’s right!” an Afro puff laced black woman erected from the back,
“Don’t make no damn sense I tell’ya’at.” a grandfatherly gentlemen added. The camera was still focused on the woman of the hour, Teon’s mother and she spoke again after she had once more gathered herself,

“And, you know--where that ‘Tiger’ at, huh? He supposed to be some type’a ‘hero’ or somethin’, but far as I seen he ain’ done nothin’!”

“Yeah!” someone else added from the back,
“Ain’t none of em no good.” went another,

The camera swayed up to the reporter on scene, Jenny Wong, who re-directed the segment back to Jennifer at the station.

BREAKING NEWS

Marvin cut the TV off. He had done something, something rather idiotic in truth. He had sent every kid he could round up within a mile of the projects to Gotham City. Outlandish? Yes. Foolhardy? Yes. And evidently his plan was not as foolproof as he thought, kids were still disappearing. Marvin played his hand too early, and from the looks of the deal, he had lost. At least now he had a lead; “Kinderfressen.” German. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had--and like with everything else, Marvin would unveil its shroud.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

six posts in CAH ooc in a day, the bonanza posting prologue begins

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

"Much to learn, you still have! That was Yoda or somethin', right? That's a bad little green dude."

A grin. Oshea rarely smiled, though he was always welcoming and did his best to be approachable. He was joyed that Charlie wasn't turned away by his plaintive speech. Though this was only Oshea's second mission as an X man, he knew well the steeled nerve one needed to function in the field. It was a skill he had learned long before he'd ever thought of coming to the X Mansion: resilience. Poverty was the finest craftsmen, its hands heavy, its tools unfair and keen. A hungry stomach, the constant wonder of when that stomach would be filled again--these hardened the mind and body to expect nothing and to learn to receive what he could get for himself.

Here, that would include forcibly ensuring the safety of his teammates, regardless of how well his body was holding up at present.

Oshea's grin faded, he turned to Charlie with a glare more sly, "You'd have to catch me first, young blood."

Marvel AU - The New Avengers

Still accepting?

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

Contingencies

8:30 a.m.
All Across the City of Brooklyn
October 30th, 2020

---

A citrus sun rose above the city’s skyline. On this day in particular, there were an odd number of public transit vehicles parading the already dense streets of New York. Buses, trains, taxicabs, all of which had apparently divulged from their normal routes on this special occasion. Today, the kids of Brooklyn would be taking a city wide field trip, sponsored by an anonymous backer.

Brooklyn Arts and Sciences Elementary School

“And that is how you do PEMDAS!” Miss Huckle chimed to her brimming class of third graders as some valiantly scribed the chalked math equation which sprawled the spacious green board at the front of the classroom while others threw paperballs at one another and passed notes demeaning their fellow classmates in secret. A man clad in long trench and matching slack swung open the door, creme fedora brim pushed back slightly to reveal his thinning hairline. It was detective David Ramsey, FBI. He’d come with a special message for Miss Huckle and her band of third graders,

“Miss Tabitha Huckle! David Ramsey,” he whipped the badge, federal bureau insignia etched on its face , “FBI, please escort yourself and your students to the playground.”

“B--” expectant of defiance, Ramsey sliced her speech before she could knit it,
“This is for the safety of you and your students, Miss Huckle, please do as I ask.” ever stern was 6’1 Ramsey.
“But, but you can’t take them now! I’m trying to teach! What is going on?!” Tabitha shot back, not one to be silenced swift,

David only glared. A cold quiet cleansed the room, stained only by the rising giddy of twenty four 3rd grade children deciphering the situation before them. Too lofty for their capacity of sense, half the class looked on with excitement--if it meant they got to leave class early instead of partake in another dreadful math problem, they would. The other half spurred disappointment; a correct answer on a math problem in Miss Huckle’s class meant candy for everyone! Stupid crises, they always ruined a good thing.

Scenes such as these played similar across the city as the afternoon waned. Principals sat dilapidated in their offices as disgruntled single mothers, fathers, and purveyors of classic nuclear families flooded the meager protection the principal’s office doors provided from such an encroaching threat. No matter how many times public and private school principals and deans hoped to assuage the ire of the parent body, there was no rest. Schools graced with less funding than the more prestigious Brooklyn Arts and Sciences Elementary who still used LAN line phones could not escape the seemingly endless ringing of the phone’s hook as it sat on their desks.

Around the city, kids of all age brackets were summarily stripped from classrooms and hauled onto the public transit system. And visiting every classroom, knocking on every door, pulling out every strand of greying hair he had left, was Mr. Ramsey, FBI detective extraordinaire. He was not extraordinary today, though; no, today he was just annoyed. Annoyed at that goddamned Tiger.

---

October 30th, 2:02 PM
Kasimir Castle, Gotham City

It had been a surprisingly good few days for Zoey Kasimir, especially considering her hate for early November months. Aside from unpleasant memories at this time of year, the entire city turned into a shit show of teenagers trying to be edgy and too tough for their britches simultaneously. That wasn’t including the occasional lunatic off their meds who thought actual zombies were rising up - which, to be fair, you know this time he was actually right.

Plus, that certain chill that filled the air was creeping in. Zoey hated the cold.

However, none of that was on the billionaire’s mind currently. At the moment she was on the phone with Nicole, her personal assistant, checking and double checking that her little plan had gone off without a hitch. Well, as much as covering every grave in Gotham in concrete could. Charity work sure had changed since she was a kid.

“Alright, so only the Rosier Cemetery is left… and it should be done by five, correct? Excellent. Has there been any reports of any undead rising?” She wasn’t expecting any, considering Jaina had sent her a quick text informing her of how quiet the last two nights had been. The first day, the 28th, had been laying down a mess of concrete over every grave - function over form. The past two days were cleaning everything up to be respectful to the dead, pouring more concrete and shaping it to create tasteful slabs.

”Great, so make sure that I’m informed if - what was that?” A sudden honk, faint but still surprisingly close considering she was in the Castle, was Zoey’s first alert that something was wrong. The second was one of the servants hurrying to her, whispering to her that a bus was outside.

What?

And the third, and final part, was her intercom coming to life. Zoey flicked her phone to the custom app to accept the intercom call after informing Nicole she’d call her back, staring at the video feed of a well dressed man.

“FBI.”

David better not have done something stupid at school today.

---

Gotham’s cold was no better than Brooklyn’s at this time of year; Ramsey’s stylish trenchcoat no match for nearing winter winds. He buried wrinkling hands into his coat pockets before speaking into the intercom,

“This is the ___ residence, yes?” Marvin had given Ramsey strict orders not to use Zoey’s real name, for her own protection and for his.

Ramsey continued, “I have--” the rustling of paper, what sounded like a small and single notecard fold blossoming into one large sheet, “I have a ‘gift’ for you from a ‘distant friend’ in five. . .” the sound of more wheels stopping, “or more parts. Yes, one-two-th… yes, yes. I was told this is where I should drop off this ‘donation’.” David began to wonder whether or not this was a drug deal merely disguised as hero work. Marvin was not the finest coder of language, written or verbal. Given recent events, Marvin wanted to keep everything secret, even the way he spoke to others--in this case, one Zoey Kasimir, the only person Marvin believed he could trust.

A screech, the doors to the several buses opened; some children dressed in coats, some not--all of whom stood in Gotham’s blistering cold, huddled together. At the head of the amassing pack of presschoolers and middle schoolers was their patron saint, Ramsey. He hoped there was some ounce of grace in this ‘dog’ person Marvin told him about; why exactly Marvin referred to her as a dog Ramsey was unaware, nor did he care. All he wanted was for these kids to find safety and warmth; he hoped he could find some for himself as well.

Behind him, Ramsey heard the chattering of teeth, the cries of kindergarteners and ushered some of the chaperones to escort the smallest children and those without jackets onto the bus.

For a long moment Zoey could only stare at the video feed being streamed onto her smartphone, at the well-dressed man, the bus behind him with a multitude of children, at the utter catastrophe unfolding in front of her gate. Finally, with a lifetime of grace and well-bred manners, the billionaire responded in the most appropriate way.

”What the fuck?” There was so, so much wrong with this scenario. For a moment Zoey was even tempted to turn them away, but … trap or not, she couldn’t just leave the children in this person’s care without knowing his intention. For all she knew the whole bus was loaded with bombs and this was Anarkee’s next big ploy. Something about the ‘FBI Agent’, or more specifically the message he was delivering, bothered her. The thought of it just pecked at the back of her brain, urging her to read into the situation more closely.

Finally the billionaire huffed, irritation coursing through her veins. A quick flick of a button in the bottom right corner of her phone had the gates unlocking, before swinging open with a flourish to provide access to her Castle’s magnificent lawn. It was a stupid idea just letting him in, but to be honest Zoey would never allow him to be turned away with a bus load of children either.

”Approach, we’ll talk at the front.” With that Zoey cut off the intercom and rose, pacing quickly to the front. A quick text to Nicole to take care of the graves was sent off, followed by one to her chef letting him know to prepare… a very large amount of snacks.

This better not be more magic bullshit.

Ramsey waited for the gates leading to the mansion’s front doors to open. Once they did, he lead the procession of confused, tired, restless children to the entrance of their resting place. He waited for Zoey to approach before he spoke,

“Mrs. Dog, one of our… mutual” he spat the word with disgust, “friends is having a bit of a problem. Under no other circumstances would something like this occur, I assure you. Inside, if you will? The little ones are beginning to annoy me.” Ramsey was not a man with tremendous patience for one with his line of work, but for the sake of the children, today he would ring the last bit of patience from himself to assure the safety of those in his charge. The children stood a long shadow cast from Ramsey’s back, eyes wide gazing up and across the wide architecture of the castle’s front.

“In, in, shall we? The little ones are cold.” As was Ramsey himself, but now he could only wait.

Dog.

Zoey’s eyebrow twitched, her teeth gritting together as all at once she was filled with a wave of irritation. She knew exactly who sent this gaggle of children now. While the part of her that was coiled and waiting for a trap relaxed, her shoulders had tensed now knowing the sender of her ‘gift’, as the FBI Agent had put it. One of the most brilliant men she knew, and the one who had the ability to step all over her nerves so easily.

He still hadn’t apologized for the window!

“Inside, then,” With a short nod of her head Zoey turned on her heel to retreat back up the short set of steps and passed the double doors. As soon as she was inside Dan was looking to her curiously, and her nod to him was much stiffer. ”Guests. Henry is making snacks for them - get them set up … somewhere. Wherever you need to make them comfortable. Call in the other staff if you need more hands.” The billionaire took a few paces before stopping, glancing over her shoulder.

”When David comes home from school let him know I don’t know yet, either.” The last part was stated in a very flat tone before Zoey moved ahead, gesturing the Agent to follow her. She honestly couldn’t remember his name, despite having gotten it less than ten minutes ago. She never had a head for names.

Having the feeling this wasn’t for prying ears of small children Zoey led the Agent to a small office on the bottom floor, obviously one not regularly used considering how spartan it was, but clean and secure. Shutting the door behind him Zoey none the less took a moment to sweep over the room, paranoid as she was, before turning back to him expectantly.

Ramsey’s steps were hurried, though there was yet no apparent danger. Once inside the small office, Ramsey did away with his long trenchcoat, hanging it atop the headrest of a nearby chair. Now donning a tan dress shirt and brown suspenders, Ramsey resembled a classic 40s noir detective. Never one to disrespect etiquette, Ramsey removed his hat and let it rest upon the table positioned in front of the chair where his coat hung. An admirant of scenery, Ramsey surveyed the room; his eyes reflecting interest and fatigue. He had been in so many board rooms, offices, and meetings in the last four days and they were all beginning to look the same.

If Ramsey stood idle in one spot for too long, he may have toppled over. Sleep escaped him, nights joined together as a chain; the worry for the safety of the children outside these gothic doors of this castle intensified the gradual incline of dismay he was beginning to feel for his own son. To keep busy before he spoke, Ramsey latched his shirt’s wrist cuffs undone and peeled them to his elbow and then began,

“Kids are disappearing. Three abductions this week. Ten this month. We still don’t know who or what the hell is behind any of this. Our friend has asked me to reach out to you and inform you to keep these kids safe while he--we, while we investigate the matter.” Ramsey, for the sake of remaining awake, began to pace about.

“Coffee? You got any?” he finished.

For a moment, Zoey could only stare at the Agent opposite her. Brows furrowed, the corners of her lips downturned, eyes narrowed. He was being serious. He was being serious.

“So the solution to kids disappearing was to pack up a couple dozen - no, there had to have been at least a few hundred kids there, and send them to me?!” The billionaire raised her hands, rubbing at her face. Now was not a good time for these… these shenanigans! The Agent’s words had the redhead glancing up, examining the man before her with a cold gaze. He seemed exhausted, a man running on his last legs. Ten children disappearing in a month - it was no wonder, even if she thought this was ridiculous.

“... Yeah, sure.” Retrieving her phone once more Zoey’s slender fingers tapped out a quick text message to her chef, followed by swapping to disable the more dangerous defenses set up deep in her home. Children had the tendency to get into things they weren’t supposed to. With that done she deposited the phone in her pocket once more, her painted nails soon playing at the cuff of her white button up.

“I can house the children, if you both consider this the safest method.” Zoey finally admitted. Her jaw rolled as she considered her words. “My home is fortified and monitored. I can have the staff assist. What of their parents?” A knock at the door, typical of her swift order, had Zoey turning. Her muscles coiled as she put her back to the Agent, but she none the less unlocked the door and took the offered tray with a short nod.

The door closed once more the billionaire set the tray of coffee, two cups, cream and sugar on the desk and gestured him to it, before once more resuming her position of standing back to a corner of the room.

“Blue mountain, strong. You look like you need it. I don’t suppose this can count as a tax write off, huh?” The last part was stated dryly, as Zoey relented to the absolutely insane idea. At least it wasn’t as bad as breaking her windows.

It didn’t take him any time to engulf the entirety of the Blue mountain coffee. Dead eyes strum awake; the change in chemical balance was so rapid that his hairs would have stood up on his body from excitement if they could. But he was a hairless man. Awakened, the dull drag of his tone changed to one more involved--a glimpse of what he was when well rested,

“I might be able to work something out!” a smile,
“Back on topic, Davey, back on topic, back on topic! Uh,” he rustled a hand through his brown hair,
“Yeah, right! Our mutual friend doesn’t know how long these kids are going to have to remain here. Their parents will be here shortly. Whatever this threat is, it has no interest in the parents. We aren’t sure how aggressive this kidnapper is, so they may come here once they figure out the ruse. I advise you to be ready, but something tells me I don’t need to advise you of that at all.” David finished.

David finally took a seat.

“If there is anything you need, our mutual friend advises you to let him know. He says he is willing to repay you in equal parts for this favor.”

”I’ll be ready,” Was the immediate, dangerous response. Zoey lifted her head, crimson bangs falling into her face as she gazed back at the Agent. ”Of that you and our … friend, can be assured. I will protect them as though they were my own two sons. Nothing will be a threat to these children while they’re within these walls.”

A crash came from beyond the walls, followed by a child’s yelling protests.

”... Except each other.”

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

"You ain't got nothin' to worry about--until you do."

---

Oshea's daydream snapped, he was drawn to reality by the question of one of the rookies. He had to make a point to ask the rookie's name, he had already forgotten it--soon as the thought crossed his mind, the faster it slipped by. Still, he responded to Charlie's inquiry, "Nah, never was able to hurt nobody. Not yet, anyway, right? I'ono though, I ain't really one to bring action to nobody 'less they bring it to me, yew kno'? I wouldn' even worry about it, dog; you gon' be in this savin' the world business, you gon' have to run it a couple times." Oshea savored his own words for a moment--the last time he tried to hurt somebody, he was the one who got hurt. He didn't want Charlie to learn the same way he did, if he were being honest with himself.

But lately everything ran contrary to his personal whims.

Longwinded as he was quick, Oshea continued on, "You know what though, all that fear you feel gon' pass right ova you once they in ya face. All you gon' wanna do is fight. I'on' think you undastand right now, but you'll see. You gon' see, for real. When it go down, it go down! Trust ya mental; trust them gifts you got, you'll be good, rook'. S'all like chess, righ'?" So he hoped. Oshea was never a great purveyor of comforting words, his language was plain, plentiful, and stained by a dim sprout of pesimism all the same. But it worked; rather, he wanted it to work, the last thing he wanted to do was plant doubt in a rookie's head.

Justice League Unlimited

Shazam

2.1: A Traitor Among Among Us

All was peaceful. The time between the trip to Atlantis up until now provided Najee with ample time to rest and discover the extent of his powers. Whether his endeavors succeeded remained to be seen; or so he thought. He and Toon Girl were assisting with cleanup like the rest of the team. Life around the headquarters since the Society's attack was mundane; Najee enjoyed the lull, Shazam desired battle. When the two were suddenly ambushed, indeed Shazam's wih was fulfilled, yet he was thoroughly unprepared. While doing mundane tasks, Najee preferred his 'human' form, an abuse of his powers it would be to belittle his Shazam form for a little house cleaning. He was lucky, however. Supergirl showed up in the nick of time; a nigh-cowering Najee could hardly utter the magic word.

He took off in a sprint; Najee' heart raced, and as he ran he tripped and landed flat on his face. Stacked ceiling remnant from Supergirl's lasers provided ample protection from the White Martian's advance enough for him to rise to hi feet again regardless of his present disorientation. Unnerved, he clamored to both feet and broke into a sprint toward the front entrance where Supergirl had gestured; through parched lips, Najee tried to utter the word--there was nothing. And again he tried, but lacking all conviction, there was nothing. His fear had overtaken him, and until courage breathed itself into him again he would remain impotent, unable to transform. He would have to figure this one out on his own.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

"It's almost about that time."

It was almost time. Too much anticipation. Too much unease, no peace. Was every ride to the beginning of a mission going to be this long? Oshea couldn't bottle his childish wonder; gone--at least for now--was the worry, he could concentrate on the X's and O's, a sudden change in group personnel stifled some of his extraneous plans, but he supposed those could be saved for later. At present, he had to figure out how to best utilize his new team. The sensible part of his mind told him he had to refrain from action; the part of himself truer to his base desires urged him to delve; which would prevail remained to be seen.

Running recon wouldn't be smart; it may just be a repeat of last mission--and for the sake of hi team he could not afford another broken leg. With Casandra and Charlie a his partners, Oshea had formulated a fine initial plan, he would let them both know soon as the mission had begun. What last moments of insidious calm he could manage, Oshea would.

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

October, 1956
Boston, New England

It was late. So very, very late.

Her mother would be upset, Susan knew. She would take a switch to her for not coming home by her curfew. But she didn’t care. It was better than being back home. She hated it there.

The clouds overhead obscured the evening sunlight, a faint blue lingering in the sky just before the twilight.

She could just barely see the blacktop in front of her, but the chalk outlines of the hopscotch drawing were still clear enough for her to play. Throwing her hacky sack onto the third square, she began to hop her way to the end of the small series of squares. She was the best hopscotch player in her class. She hoped she could one day become the champion of the National Hopscotch League.

That existed, right? She didn’t just make that up?

Regardless! This eight year old would much rather play by herself here any day than return to her mean ol’ mom and her stupid rules.

Reaching the eighth square, Susan quickly turned and set her eyes on the hacky sack. With barely a pause she began skipping her way back to it with only one foot. She hadn’t needed two in ages. Only a hopscotch amateur needed two.

When she at last reached the 4th square, she easily leaned over to pick the hacky sack up. As she began to rise, she heard…something.

A scratching sound, like nails against the pavement but louder. So much louder. Another flash of chalk-like white caught her eye, and her jaw slowly dropped as she stared down at the message writing itself into the blacktop.

She began to tremble. She wanted to run, but…but her mom would be so very angry at her! She didn’t want to get switched.

“There once was a young girl,” she slowly read the message aloud. “S-she enjoyed playing hopscotch. She enjoyed playing it a lot…”

The chalk continued to etch itself into the blacktop, and even as she could barely stand straight due to her quivering, Susan continued to read. It felt like she couldn’t move now. “B-but the girl’s grades in East Boston High School weren’t very good, and she liked to disobey her mother. She likes to stay out far, far too late…”

Susan froze when it named her high school. She could hardly even breathe now, much less think of running.

“Her p-parents,” She choked out, “Rachel and Henry, were often so upset at l-l-little Susan’s disobedience that they would strike her with a switch, over and over again, sometimes until she bled.”

The warmth of tears running down her face did little to soothe the biting chill working its way up her back. The words continued, scratched into the blacktop by…by something. “B-but then someone started watching little Susan...watching her at school. Watching her sleep.”

The warmth of liquid now worked its way down her leg as she struggled not to collapse under her own weight. “W-w-watching her...disobey her mother and p-play h-h-hopscotch…”

As the message continued to be ripped into the black asphalt, Susan found herself no longer able to speak to read the final part. Her lip trembling, all she could do was slowly look behind her as those bright blue eyes grew wide.

…

“SUSAN!” Rachel screamed, searching for her daughter, a flashlight tightly clutched in her hand. Night had fallen, and she hadn’t come home. It wasn’t the first time the girl had stayed out past her curfew, but never before had she remained out after it became completely dark.

She’d already looked all over their neighborhood, and so the school blacktop was the only place where she could imagine that she might be.

Sweeping the flashlight across the black surface, Rachel’s eyes finally settle on the hopscotch drawing where her and the other children often played. Unfortunately, her daughter wasn’t here, either, just…

A hacky sack. ...And a single shoe. Susan’s shoe.

“S-Susan…?” Rachel muttered, her eyes growing moist, the light continuing to drift over the blacktop until it at last fell over...a message.

There once was a young girl.
She enjoyed playing hopscotch.
She enjoyed playing it a lot.
But the girl’s grades in East Boston High School weren’t very good, and she liked to disobey her mother.
She likes to stay out far, far too late.
Her parents, Rachel and Henry, were often so upset at little Susan’s disobedience that they would strike her with a switch over and over again, sometimes until she bled.
But then someone started watching little Susan...watching her at school. Watching her sleep.
Watching her disobey her mother and play hopscotch.
And then, at last, he caught her all alone one night.
Don’t turn around, Susan McKenzie.
KINDERFRESSER

Dropping her flashlight to blacktop beneath her, Rachel fell onto her knees in horror as a tearful scream ripped its way past her throat.

She would call the police immediately...but they never found any trace of her daughter.

---

8:48 PM, October 26th, 2020
Brooklyn, New York

“And that’s all he was doing, Mr. Williams? Playing ‘Grand Theft Auto 6’ online?” Agent Curtis Cruller questioned the father of Travis Williams, age fourteen.

The middle-aged man slowly nodded. “Yes sir. I came in to tell him supper was ready, and...and all I find was his headset laying there on the floor.”

Nodding to the parents of the missing teen, Curtis pressed the red square on his smartphone to end the recording of their interview. “Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. If you’ll excuse me.”

Stepping away from the clearly frightened parents, Curtis wasted no time in stepping through the open door of Travis’ room. Swarming with police officers as they combed over every inch of it in search of some kind of forensic evidence to clue them into what had happened, they paid him little mind.

Shifting his eyes over the headset as the police continued their forensic work, Cruller slowly approached it. “You’ve taken your pictures already, right?”

“Of course,” Lieutenant Armstrong replied rather tersely. “We know how to do our jobs, believe it or not.”

Ignoring the woman’s tone of voice, he reached down to pick the abandoned gaming accessory up with his hands, the plastic gloves that he had stretched over them upon entering the room protecting them from contamination.

They were cheaply made, and slightly bent. If he had to guess, it was the sudden impact with the floor that did this to them. It was just like the other disappearances. No trace of the victim, beyond perhaps an overturned chair or microphone.

“I suspect we won’t find any DNA evidence this time, either,” Curtis muttered under his breath.

It was beyond frustrating. In all his years in the FBI, he had never encountered a case like this before. This was seventh incident that had occurred in the past week, and the third he had been called in for. But he hadn’t had any more luck than the NYPD.

Honestly, he was at the end of his tether. Kids were disappearing at their computers without a trace, and he didn’t know how to stop it. The only connection he could identify was that they had been playing online games at the time.

His partner, David Ramsey, hadn’t had any more luck than him.

There was only one individual that could possibly be skilled enough to pull these abductions off in Brooklyn, and he was in the hospital right now, as his partner was in the process of confirming…

---

9:22 PM
Brooklyn Hospital Center

“I’m not certain if you’ve been keeping up with the news, Mr. Hayes, but there has been a series of child abductions plaguing the Brooklyn area this past week,” Agent David Ramsey explained, leaning forward in the hospital chair beside the bedridden boxer.

Easing back, the well-dressed agent folded his arms. “Adolescents and teenagers alike, disappearing without a trace at their computers as they play online video games. Forensic investigations have yielded no trace of a kidnapper. It is unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

“There are few who could have accomplished such a feat in Brooklyn,” David’s eyes narrowed on the injured man, his lips set into a modest frown. “In all of New York, in fact. Many suspect a certain masked vigilante of being behind these abductions, though I wonder…”

His eyes swept over the bandages that were clearly visible beneath Marvin’s hospital gown.

Moving was anguish. His right arm was in a sling, and his left served as the catalyst for transmission of IV fluids into the rest of his maimed body. He was grateful the shooters missed his spine and that he could afford to position his head enough to face Ramsey’s direction. Marvin’s eyes once more fell on the news report and with the aid of the visual before him, Marvin fought the cloud wearing over his mind and reserved the remainder of his mental faculties to parse what Ramsey said. Abductions? In his city? Cowards. None of these dopes would try anything like that if he were on the streets. Unbeknownst to Marvin, what the FBI--and now he, himself--were dealing with was not human at all.

Marvin tried to inhale, the bloat of pain too fat for him to complete his attempt. Halfway through the intake, his chest decompressed and he let out what oxygen he was able to take in before he spoke,

”Guess the jig up, huh? Errbody know n--” it slipped his mind that he wasn’t in action right now, Marvin did away with the common speech he used when conversing with the people of his neighborhood while he was unmasked. He opted instead for the level of speech used when the mask was on,

”I guess everyone knows now, huh? You think you have everything figured out… then you don’t.” Marvin shifted as much as he could in order to get comfortable, an inescapable contortion brought about by the prohibited change in level along the bed forced the next few words from Marvin’s mouth through gritted teeth,

”You know who I am, Mr. Ramsey, so you know well I would not spend my time, money, and resources kidnapping the children I aim to protect. I think your friends at the bureau and those beat cops you all have been sending to my neighborhood know that as well. So yes, Mr. Ramsey, you are right to wonder; just don’t be irrational when you do it, huh?” A strong return, perhaps too strong a reply for one who was only trying to help him. Marvin, nor Tiger, were never enemies of the badge unlike some of his fellow commonmen and vigilantes.

The light in the room was particularly bright, the sound of the television an increasing irritant. Another slight shift, and he clutched the hanging remote from the side of the bedrail and used it to cease the sounds. His senses were going haywire.

David’s brow furrowed in irritation at the condescending tone he received from the hospitalized vigilante. He seemed to think himself to be in a far better position than he was, but at the moment such a thing did not matter. He wasn’t here to have a dick-measuring contest with the other man, he just wanted to find out what happened to those kids.

“Mr. Hayes, we know your persona - ‘The Tiger’, yes? - has been active for almost a year at this point,” he revealed, feeling it was necessary to lay at least some of their cards on the table in order to accomplish the task at hand. “In that time, have you encountered anyone capable of snatching these kids from their homes without leaving a trace? Perhaps another vigilante?”

The FBI was aware that they had gathered in New York back in March during the riots. Whether or not that had continued to associate with one another since then, however, was a mystery. If they had, perhaps they could at last identify a likely suspect. One other did come to mind, in fact.

“And on that note, have you had any interactions with the individual calling himself ‘Superman’?” David leaned forward slightly, awaiting his answer.

Ramsey was direct, he had some swagger. Marvin respected that. If he didn’t dread the tinge of pain awaiting him if he smiled, he would have--instead, he softened his countenance and voiced the internalized appreciation,

”Between you and I, Mr. Ramsey, I spent most of my time dealing with footsoldiers; I haven’t had a real fight since the last time I was in the ring. One day the bums stopped showing up after I had cracked their heads a couple times and left a few of them on your doorstep. None of those idiots are smart enough to make kids disappear without a trace. I’m sure you know that I know that you know I have tabs on everything that happens in Brooklyn, so I would have known if some half decent wannabe started snatchin’ my kids up off the street. Which leads me to believe that whatever you’ve been looking for isn’t something you--or me, for that matter--are going to find if we think we’re looking for some normal dreg. Hell, all the shit I’ve been through in the past couple months, whatever we are supposed to be looking for might not even be of this world.”

Marvin had grown weary of magic, truly. He hoped whatever this new threat was had a beating heart, breathed oxygen and walked on two legs. Even with his penchant for preparation against human threats, not even the reputed Tiger was prepared for the otherworldly.

”You have no leads at all? the question about Superman he circumvented. Marvin had seen clips of what Superman did to those two thugs, and Marvin nor Tiger would enjoy a visit from him, healthy or otherwise.

David was quick to note that Hayes had skillfully dodged his question, but chose to ignore it. He likely wouldn’t gain a satisfactory answer even if he tried to press the issue. Instead, the agent simply shook his head in frustration. “No DNA evidence, no strands of clothing, no trace of the victim. All we have is the pattern.”

In truth, he had already considered the possibility that they might not be dealing with something even remotely human, but...well, he didn’t truly wish to think about it. The FBI simply were not equipped to deal with something like that, not yet. He hoped somebody higher up than he was had some plan on how to deal with this insane world they were now living in, because he sure as hell didn’t.

“If it was an ‘otherworldly’ threat,” David looked the other man directly in the eye, “how would you approach it? What method would you employ to track, capture or if necessary, destroy it?”

Silence.

For once in his life, Marvin had no answers. Suits and gadgets were only effective against the corporeal, and Marvin’s attempts at harnessing magic were thus far ineffectual. No, no, there was always some tether. Magic itself may be above nature’s routine, but it still needed a way into the world through some substance; this rule was a constant, an internal logical consistency. It was such for Arcana, it was such for Elysium, it was such for this.

“You said something about video games? Now, this may only be coincidental, but I would investigate whatever patterns the disappearances share. Whatever this thing is, it has the same tendencies of a serial killer; they target one type of victim, usually. I’d investigate your records for any cold cases, any old disappearances to see if there are any anomalies. See if any adults have been captured. If no adults have ever been targeted that you know of, find the similarities in the kinds of kids who disappeared: are they troubled? Orphans? Rich? Poor? Of a certain ethnicity?” Being so long winded with broken ribs was never a pleasure, so when he ran out of breath it took him a moment and an audible expulsion of injury for him to begin again,

“And if that fails, then I have. . . other ideas.” these measures he would never divulge to Ramsey, one always needed leverage.

David listened quietly to the advice of Marvin Hayes, noting the wisdom in it. Yes, of course, if they were dealing with something not entirely - or even remotely - human, then there was no reason to limit their investigation to the current year or even the current decade. As for his other recommendations, they were already running extensive background checks on the kids who had been targeted.

“All of the victims had been troubled in one way or another,” David confessed, against his orders. He had been told to reveal only what was necessary to the vigilante - a criminal himself - about their investigation, so he had withheld this detail up until now, even when Marvin had asked if they any leads. “A lot of them had criminal charges. Alcohol, drug use, gang violence in some cases. Others were known to be troublemakers, even if they’d yet to be arrested.”

He noticed he was speaking of the kids in posthumous terms, and that alone sent a chill up his spine. Had he given up on them being alive? Admittedly, it did seem unlikely that whatever was doing this would have left them unharmed, but...who could really say? Logic had seemingly flown out the window a year ago.

”Troubled kids. Makes sense that whatever it is snoops around my neighborhood then. The place is filled with them. Do you have kids, detective?”

David nodded once. “One, a boy. Nine years old. He likes gaming like these kids.”

Though he had never been in trouble before. He was a good kid, never even had a complaint from the teacher.

”I only ask because once this thing knows we are after it--if it doesn’t already--it may come after your son. Who knows how far it can reach or how vindictive it is?”

Again his mind whirred, this time painted with a spurt of frustration. If he was going to face this threat, he had to get out of this hospital, and he had to do it before every child in Brooklyn disappeared. For now, he could only ask a favor--something he hated doing, as favors always require recompense. Owing a man is something Hayes’ father, minimal though he was, taught him never to do; it meant that so long as you were indebted to someone else you were, in a sense, beneath them. At least that was how his father explained it to him, but Marvin’s father was never the wisest man in the world, either.

”Until I can get out of this hospital bed, detective, Brooklyn isn’t safe for anyone’s children. I don’t know how much manpower you have, but this thing knows it isn’t in danger so long as there is no one protecting the streets and it might become more aggressive as a result. Use whatever resources you can to protect those kids, detective. If all else fails, I have one last contingency; a friend of mine, if you will. Ironic, if you think about it.”

David exhaled, his hand clasped together at this point with enough force to cause his tanned knuckles to turn white. “Well, Mr. Hayes, I do hope this contingency plan of yours is a damn good one, for the sake of those children. And mine.”

He would be lying if he claimed that he hadn’t considered the possibility of whoever - or whatever - was behind this coming after his son. He didn’t live in Brooklyn, but as Marvin had pointed out, that wasn’t necessarily any guarantee of safety. No, the only thing that would ensure that anyone’s children were safe would be if they stopped the perpetrator of these abductions.

Reaching into his suit coat, David produced a simple card and laid it on top of Marvin Hayes as he stood from his seat. “This is my number. If you have any new information, give me a call.”

”How many buses do you have at your disposal?”