AndyC

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

Three more days, Andy. Three more days.

@Retired

I have been told that MB will actually kill me if I switch off of Raven and Starfire. But I may pester him about allowing second characters. Of course, that's assuming Wraith doesn't beat the deadline again.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

"...haa....it wasn't easy, you know...." she tells me, her head lolling from one side to another in a state of drug-addled delirium. "Ingredients hard to come by....heee, ohhh....especially here. But I did it, Rachel. My little black bird, my, aahh, my Raven. I did it. I, ah.......I've got it all in place. Almost....almost done."

Arella Roth, age 34. Admitted to the East Los Angeles Mental Health Center two years ago for displaying acute symptoms of schizophrenia. She had been a member since age fifteen of the Children of Azarath, a new-age religion (the board is too polite to call them a cult) that believes in bizarre mixtures of occult practices, with the intent of contacting and eventually ascending to a higher plane of reality. A true believer in the Azar and their otherworldly teachings, Arella began taking psychedelic drugs and participating in elaborate rituals-- many of which were explicitly sexual in nature-- at age sixteen. At age seventeen, she began a brief but passionate romance with another member of the Children of Azarath, a wealthy and powerful man named Sebastian Blood.

At age eighteen, she had me.

"What did you do this time, Mom?" I ask through the phone on the other side of the plexiglass. "Align the vibrational frequencies of the equatorial ley-lines to make sure I had a happy birthday? Because I didn't. Or did you project with your third-eye into the dimensional weave to send me positive thoughts again? Because I haven't had any of those in--"

Mom begins to laugh, barely more of a laugh than a cry, and I hate myself for saying those things as soon as I say them. Her mental health had been on a slow decline for as long as I can remember-- sudden bouts of depression or anxiety attacks, night terrors so bad her screaming would keep me awake in the other room. Then she started seeing things, "shadow men with six eyes," following us around. It was frightening, then it was dangerous. And now, it's just sad.

"I, aaaah, I asked the Azar," she starts to say, a vacant smile on her face, "I....I asked them to.....to send you an angel. Someone to protect my sweet little black-bird from......well......."

The Children of Azarath weren't any help with my Mom's condition. They first tried their own remedies, lots of crystals and incense and so much mystical bullshit when all she really needed was a doctor and some rest. By the time they sought actual psychiatrists, the damage was done, and all Mom could ever think of was more magical solutions to the problems. More magic, more crazy. More crazy, more magic. Over and over, further down the slippery slope until it became a cliff, and she wound up all the way down here at the bottom.

"Mom, I've read the same books you have," I tell her. "The Journals of Coman, the Great Door, all of it. And the Azar don't have 'angels.'"

"Oh, I know," she nods, "but they can find someone who does and get one from them. But she'll come soon, and you'll never have to face it alone, my little Raven."

"Don't call me that," I all but spit. "and face what?"

Mom turns her head away. "The darkness, Rachel. You'll never have to face it alone, like.......like....."

She begins to sob, and I feel that burning ember of resentment again. The Children of Azarath, their stupid empty mysticism, their drugs and emotional manipulation, they did this to her. It isn't fair. Not to her. And not to me.

"Oh! I nearly forgot!" she suddenly says, the surprise shaking her body. "The, aah, the thing I've been working on for you. It's, ah, it's nearly done, black-bird. I, ah, I'm nearly ready. For the ritual, you see."

"What? No, please, Mom," I hear myself begging, "No more rituals, no more spells, no more sigils or scrolls or crystal matrices or Tarot decks or any of it! It's ruined your life, it's made you....sick. Just rest for a while, and take your meds, and--"

"Rachel," she stops me, "I know I'm not....well. I know I haven't been....been what I should have been for you. But this is the only way I know. I can give you something to protect you. Something to give you the strength you'll need. Something you can use to fight him! Please, just....let me give you that. It's......it's all I can do. And....and I promise, no more spells or magic or foolishness after. This is the last one."

".....the last one?" I ask. "Mom.....you're not going to....to hurt yourself, are you?"

She starts to shake her head.

"I....I never wanted to hurt anyone," she says, before she begins sobbing again. "I n-never.....never wanted t-t-to....."

"Mom? MOM?" I start to say, as a pair of orderlies approach to take her back to her room.

She stands, and the orderlies suddenly release her.

"Rachel?"

She looks at me like someone who has woken up from a long and frightful dream. Like someone who's been lost in a fog who can finally see clearly.

This doesn't happen. I know what happens.

The orderlies take her back to her room, where she has somehow snuck in a shard of broken glass. She completes her ritual that night. I never see her again.

Instead, she's looking me in the eye, the thoughtful, caring, powerful, and completely sane mother I never had.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," she says. "I never meant for any of this. But you need protection. You need strength. You need power and weapons for what is coming. And in my state, I only knew of one way I could provide them to you."

The grimy tile floor, the plain white plaster walls, the awful fluorescent lighting, all fades away. Everything except for the plexiglass sheet separating me from her, now stretching out as far as I can see.

"....what? Mom, no, this is--....you're not---.....what's happening?"

"I could not resist him," Arella Roth says, her voice heavy with shame, "And now you must face him. But I promise you, you will not face him alone."

A black wind whips around us, wisps of smoke and shadow becoming arms and tendrils of darkness that whirl and grab and claw at me.

"Mom?! Wait, no, what's--"

"You will not face him alone, my Raven," she repeats, her voice drowning out in the deafening black wind. "Remember the keys to open the Great Door. The three sigil words to unleash the Soul....."

The grasping, groping, choking tendrils of darkness are suddenly chains.

I am no longer floating in the void, but chained to a table in a basement somewhere in Hollywood.

My mother is gone. In her place is the man I had been told was my father.

"Your brood-mare of a mother is just as wrong now as she was then," he laughs, throwing back his head, which in turn opens up the blood red cloak to reveal his body covered in runes, sigils carved into his naked flesh. "I was merely a vessel. Your father.....your true father.....wields power far beyond your comprehension. Power which he has promised me, in return for opening the door to this paltry world."

"HAIL THE DESTROYER!" a chant erupts from the rows of hooded figures behind him. "HAIL THE DEFILER! HAIL THE DESPOILER! HAIL THE DOMINATOR! HAIL TRIGON!"

"You, my dear," Sebastian says, letting his robe fall to the ground as I struggle against my chains, "Are born of two worlds, and in so being your flesh and spirit form the bridge between both. Tonight, I claim both of them as my own, and will use you to bring my master's reign on Earth!"

"HAIL THE DESTROYER! HAIL THE DEFILER! HAIL THE DESPOILER! HAIL THE DOMINATOR! HAIL TRIGON!"

"Don't squirm, girl," he says as he approaches, a dagger in one hand, his weapon of a completely different kind in the other. "Before this is over, I promise you'll learn to enjoy it."

An explosion. Green fire blasts Sebastian apart, reduces the hooded figures to mist.

This doesn't happen. I know what happens-- or I think I do. Black shadows erupt from my body, tossing Sebastian and his followers aside and allowing me to escape. That's what really happens.

Instead, they are obliterated by bolts of brilliant green light, and the darkness that envelopes me isn't a cruel, cold void.

It's....everything. It's a sea of possibilities, unknowable depths holding secrets and wonders.

In that infinite black, points of light emerge. Stars, nebulae, whole galaxies begin to glitter and play.

The darkness that surrounds me, that is me, it's.... it's the space between limitless wonders, that holds them and keeps them afloat. Just as the brightness of these lights puts the darkness into sharp relief, so does the darkness make the light seem that much brighter.

It's.....it's the most beautiful thing I've ever dreamed.

Distantly, I hear a voice in the glittering dark, an echo from somewhere I can't sense.

_{"You need not fear, Friend Rachel. The flames of Starfire burn bright. And no shadow shall ever smother them out."}

I feel warmth, and comfort, not just surrounding me, but embracing me, and I allow myself to drift, at play in infinity.

I have the best sleep of my entire life.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

"I am confused," I say, pausing in my action. "How am I supposed to place my garments of battle regalia in the machine of washing, if you do not want me to remove them first?"

My new friend the native girl Rachel, her hands still shielding her eyes, shakes her head. When the other natives-- the "ass-holes," Rachel calls them-- attacked us upon my arrival, they used a powerful explosive weapon in their attempt to incapacitate me. This weapon, which Rachel has identified for me as a "fucking bazooka" (although I do not see how the act of physical love applies to such a device), left my regalia-- as well as much of my body-- covered in soot and char.

Upon sneaking me back to her domicile, Rachel offered me the use of her facilities to cleanse myself and my garments, but as soon as I began to remove them, she demanded that I stop.

"Is this some form of riddle known to your people?" I ask.

"I just--...I meant give me some time to, I dunno, look away or leave the room before getting undressed," she says, sputtering her words with what sounds to be frustration or embarrassment. "Just stripping down in front of someone, especially someone you just met, it's.....it's weird, okay?"

".....if you say so," I say, though this explanation raises more questions than answers. "I will wait until you have averted your eyes to begin the clothing removal."

"I'll get you a change of clothes while you clean yourself off," Rachel nods and points to a small chamber on the far end of her small living quarters. "The shower's in there. The right knob is for cold water, the left knob's hot water. The faucet's a little tricky; you've got to kind of jiggle the handle a few times to--"

"I am unused to such a device," I say as I look into the room, seeing a stall with a hanging curtain closing it off, and a few metallic protuberances sticking out from the wall. "Perhaps if you could demonstrate, I will watch and--"

"Absolutely not," the native girl interjects.

"I see," I say with disappointment, before another thought comes to mind. "Friend Rachel......am I.....ugly?"

She stops and turns, giving me a quizzical look. "What?"

"You act with revulsion when I offer you gestures of affection," I explain, "And the sight of my body or the thought of me seeing yours seems to cause you a great deal of distress. By your people's standards, would I be considered ugly, then?"

Rachel pauses, chewing at the inside of one cheek as she considers the wording of her response, before answering.

"There are people on this planet," she begins, "whose entire life revolves around looking pretty. It's literally their entire career, just standing there in pretty clothes for people to take pictures of them and make everyone else feel bad about how much prettier than them they are. There are giant industries that pump billions of dollars into making outfits for them, getting their hair and makeup just right, finding the perfect diets and workouts for them, surgically enhancing their bodies and digitally enhancing their pictures, a monstrous international corporate machine which operates for the sole singular purpose of making these people look as pretty as possible. And you -- and I'm saying this purely from an aesthetic point of view-- by comparison, make those people look like diseased sewer mutants."

While her method of speech is strange to me, I get the general intent of her statement.

"So then," I say, my eyes welling up, "I am so ugly, that my very presence contaminates the beauties of your world and makes them ugly as well?"

"That's not what I said," she says, "I'm saying you're---....*sigh*.....forget it, just forget I said anything, okay?"

I nod, but I do not know if it is within my capabilities to intentionally forget something. Perhaps this is one of those riddles her people seem to engage in, like wanting me to place my garments in the machine of washing without removing them first. I do wish that I had a stronger grasp of her communication, but I was only able to share a psychic meld for a moment. While a connection of lips provides sufficient contact between concentrated nerve endings, it is not the most effective possible connection. However, while there are areas of the Tamaranian body that contain far more nerve endings, and the native people's anatomy seems near identical, I doubt she would be receptive to the suggestion.

"I....apologize for my inexperience with this planet and its customs" I say, before bowing my head. "If I have brought you shame, name my punishment and I will atone for it."

Rachel shakes her head again. "I don't want to 'punish' you for--.....look, just try to figure out the shower the best you can, and I'll get you some spare clothes and start making some tea or something. It'll help relax."

"But I am not in need of a relaxant."

"That's for me," she says, stalking off to the cooking area of her living quarters while muttering under her breath, _{"...have enough to worry about, going to develop a complex on top of all this...."}

It seems I cannot do anything right.

I step into the room of washing, and after closing the door so that Rachel is not offended by the sight of me, I disrobe, and begin to analyze the workings of this 'shower' device. Perhaps I can at least clean myself correctly.

---

"Look out there, D'orion," Queen Komand'r, the Blackfire, Scourge of Tamaran and Crusher of the Weak, said to her manservant as she gestured from atop the gaudy throne she had made from the old statue of the goddess X'haal. "Look out there, and tell me what you see."

Her grand throne room opened up to a balcony which overlooked the once beautiful city of Tamarus, now a smoldering ruin. The Citadel had been particularly enthusiastic in their sacking of Tamaran's capital, gutting the gleaming towers of their treasures, slaughtering anyone who tried to fight back, and having their way with anyone who did not. Few had been left alive, so much of the slave labor now being used to rebuild the city-- and in particular the royal palace-- to Komand'r's liking, had to be imported from other conquered cities. Of course, the Citadel could merely deploy drones to complete the reconstruction more quickly and efficiently, but the use of Tamaranian slaves was to send a message.

"...I...I see...." D'orion, a jagged scar across his magnificent bare chest, considered his words carefully. "I see a city transforming. Transitioning from a weak old regime to a strong new one. I see the tired old ways being swept away for a glorious new era."

Queen Blackfire grinned at her manservant. Pure, placating drivel. She knew he did not believe a word of what he said. She could see it in his eyes; he hated her with every atom of himself. He wanted, more than anything, to lunge at her and bite out her throat, gouge out her eyes, find the nearest heavy object and bash in her skull. But she also knew that if he ever attempted such a thing, his children would be flayed in front of him, and so he remained her faithful, obedient pet.

Idly, she activated the electrodes on his collar, and D'orion toppled down the side of her throne, convulsing in agony on the floor. It was delicious.

"Pull yourself up, D'orion," she ordered, "And let me tell you what I see. I see a million Tamaranians, like you, who believe the fighting is not yet over. Who believe in ridiculous lies about a savior, a champion or a hero who will spark rebellion and overthrow me."

As D'orion struggled to his feet, crawling at the foot of her throne, Komand'r gave him a mocking smile.

"Do you believe in heroes, D'orion?" she asked, the sweetness in her voice a thin film over the venom in her thoughts. "Do you believe the Omega Men are still out there, waiting to strike against me? Or perhaps you believe the silly old legends about X'haal returning in Tamaran's darkest hour?"

With a surprising speed, she went from idly lounging to pouncing down on her servant like a jungle predator, pinning his body flat on his back.

"Or do you believe," she snarled, "That my miserable, honorless sister will come back and save you?"

D'orion avoided her eyes, but she knew the answer. He was one of her father's honor guard, and had been first to swear loyalty to Koriand'r when she assumed the role of Starfire. He would die before he ever gave up hope that the 'rightful' ruler of Tamaran would return to set things right.

"As long as my sister lives," she said, straddling the servant, "people like you will resist me, will hold out hope, will hate and curse and fight me. But only people like you, D'orion. Not you yourself. No, you will hate me still, but you will love me all the more because of it."

With a hungry growl, Komand'r's hands explored her servant, and she smiled at how much it humiliated him. He glared at her, eyes full of defiance and indignity as she degraded and debased him, and she reveled in it.

All of her life, the people of Tamaran had hated her, heaping all of their love and affection upon her sister instead. Now, Koriand'r was long gone, and she had them all to herself. Free to inflict the humiliation and shame upon them that she had felt since the day she was cursed enough to be born.

She loved how much she hated them.

And in time, they would hate how much they loved her.

Still, as she indulged herself, she knew her victory was a hollow one. Only once her sister was well and truly disposed of would her reign be absolute. As long as Koriand'r drew breath, or at least as long as the people of Tamaran thought she did, they would never fully be hers to torment.

The flames of the Starfire burn ever bright, their father would say. Blackfire, then, would be the shadow to finally smother it out.

---

Some time has passed since I determined the workings of the shower device and the machine of washing. The cup of boiled leaves that Rachel had prepared for me has grown cold, and the starchy edible shapes she calls 'cookies' sit half-eaten beside it. Rachel has gone to sleep, and I sit atop the roof of her building, staring out at a strange city, on a strange world, under strange stars.

This is not at all how I expected my first contact with the people of another planet. I had assumed I would be leading a diplomatic mission, forging some powerful new alliance for the glory of Tamaran. I would be at the head of an emissary fleet, the occasion marked with feasts and festivals and explorations of exotic delights. Perhaps I would find wondrous works of art and beauty to enhance our own culture, or work with their scientists to achieve some revolutionary breakthrough, or meet a gallant and honorable male to join my host of prince-consorts.

Instead, I come as a refugee, fleeing my own world in disgrace and defeat. Instead of a palace, the place in which I stay is little more than a hovel. Instead of melding the cultures of two mighty and beautiful worlds in glorious harmony, I seem to create only dissonance and stress. Instead of a muscular and heroic prince or knight-general to woo me, I am intruding into the personal life of an impoverished witch-girl who finds me revolting yet offers me protection like a stray animal.

Countless light years away, my people suffer. My sister, under the rule of the Citadel, is tormenting the living and defiling the remains of the dead. And there is nothing I can do to stop her.

I am close to giving in to despair.

"Oh X'haal," I call to the great Fire Goddess, "what am I to do? If you are truly there, I ask only for a sign so that I--"

CAWWW! C-A-W-W-W!!!!

A black, feathered animal appears from out of the night sky, its claws tangling in my hair as it beats its wings against the sides of my head.

"Away! Release me!" I shout, swatting at it with one hand as I charge a star-bolt in the other. However, after the confusion of a few seconds, it untangles itself from my hair and flutters down to the rooftop, where it snatches up one of the uneaten cookies. After realizing it was not an enemy, merely a creature looking for a sweet, I giggle, and let the black winged creature have the rest of them. I did not wish to say it to Rachel, but in truth I found them revolting myself.

My musing interrupted, I float back down through the window to the small loft, and prepare to sleep upon the futon which Rachel had prepared for me, when I hear a sobbing from her bed.

"Friend Rachel?" I whisper as I approach, "Are you all of the right?"

I look at my sleeping hostess, and see that she is tightly curled into a fetal position, trembling, her breath coming in gasps and sobs.

_{"....n-no....don't.....I'm n-not.....s-s-stop....."} she says in her sleep, her eyes wet with tears.

When I had established the psychic meld upon meeting her, I briefly saw her mind as we kissed. She had constructed thick, hard walls around herself, barriers to keep others out of her mind. Even so, I could feel the suffering behind those walls. Her dreams are painful ones, full of fear and sorrow.

She is an innocent, who is in need of help.

I may be defeated, disgraced, and hiding away in exile, but I am still Starfire, Light of Hope and Champion of the Innocent. If I cannot help my people at this moment, I can at the very least help her.

I lie down beside my new friend, and placing a hand on her shoulder, I send her thoughts of peace, of calm, and of loving warmth.

"You need not fear, Friend Rachel, I whisper my assurance. "The flames of Starfire burn bright. And no shadow shall ever smother them out."

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

"This is stupid," I say to myself over and over as I'm dragged by the hand through the night sky, "this is stupid, this is stupid...."

"I am perplexed as to how a set of circumstances can be lacking in mental acuity," says the orange-skinned beauty queen dressed in what looks like a futuristic cheerleader's uniform, one hand holding onto mine, the other flinging bolts of green fire down at the black SUVs down below that are chasing after us.

"Because it's not real," I say, the initial terror and confusion of the situation having given way to a flat denial of it. "I got hit on the head, or drugged, or something. I did not get rescued at the last second by a magical flying space-girl. Chances are I'm actually being hauled away by those HIVE guys right now, and this is all just an elaborate fantasy in my head to escape from the trauma."

"I fail to see how that is preferable to rescue."

".....I guess it's not," I admit.

"Then if being rescued is the more desirable outcome, may I continue rescuing you?"

I sigh with resignation, and give in to the ridiculous hallucination. "Sure. Ohh, thank you so very much for saving me, magical space-girl."

"My gift of flight is due to a complex set of nerve endings and glands that generate graviton particles around my body on command," she explains, quickly juking to one side to avoid a burst of gunfire, and retaliating with another flung bolt of fire. "And my ability to superheat the air in compressed gravitational fields and project them as Star-bolts is due to the work of the Tamaranian Gene-Weavers when I inherited the title of Starfire, Protector and Champion of the Innocent. None of my abilities are 'magical,' if that helps."

"Oh yeah," I say between gasps, trying to hold onto my lunch. "I feel better already."

"Wonderful!" the girl exclaims, performing a celebratory barrel-roll that drags me along and makes my guts heave. "Once we have eluded our foes, I will--"

BOOOOM!

Everything goes black for a moment, and when my senses return, I wish they hadn't.

The world is tumbling head-over-heels, everything a blur of motion. My ears are filled with the roar of wind, my nose filled with the smell of smoke, and for the second time tonight, my body hurts all over. I'm falling.

I'm vaguely aware of magic-space-girl tumbling through the air beside me, her body covered in ash and trails of smoke. Whatever they hit us with, she's out cold, and we're both plummeting through the empty air. We must have been at least a hundred feet up, now much less than that. Part of me wants to scream, but it feels pointless. Screaming is something you do to call for help, and there's nothing that can possibly help either of us now.

Instead I force my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and in one last futile gesture, brace my body like it will keep me from being splattered on the asphalt.

"Oh God, oh Jesus, oh Azar," I hear myself spouting out to whoever or whatever might be listening, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't--"

......the falling stops, and I feel nothing. Which I guess is what you should expect at the end of a fall that turns your body into a mess of red paste. So why can I feel my teeth chattering?

I open my eyes....and I see darkness. Not darkness as in nothing, like I'd kept my eyes closed. Darkness like the living, ink-like shadow that had burst from my body the night Sebastian was going to kill me. And not just see it, but I can feel it. There's a strain to it, like stretching or flexing a muscle for too long.

That shadow, it's....connected to me. No. Not connected to me. It is me, somehow.

Looking around, I see the rest of the world, and start to regain my bearings. I'm upside-down, an arm of my living-shadow-self propping me up off of the ground. I'm holding out one hand, and from it, another tendril of shadow has shot forth, and is holding space-girl, who seems barely conscious. With effort, I turn the both of us rightside-up, in time for three of HIVE SUVs to pull up.

The guy with the shades pops out of the top of the lead SUV, holding what looks like a large machine gun and setting it up like a turret.

"Targets have been grounded," Shades says into his earpiece. "Preparing to neutralize."

"Get the hell away from us," I snarl, feeling the shadows swirl around me.

The rest of the HIVE goons surround us, guns at the ready, eager to shoot us full of holes if we don't play along.

"Okay, little girl, you've had your fun," he calls out, venom in his voice, "but it's over. I tried to be nice last time, I gave you to the count of three. Now you've got to the count of one to stand down, or be put down. Whu--"

"I said GO AWAY!!!!"

The shadow erupts from me again, like a tidal wave. The SUVs go flying like toys, Shades and his HIVE henchmen pinwheeling after them. I try not to kill them, but admittedly, I don't try all that hard.

When the smoke and dust settles, I see a few of them struggling to their feet, and begin to flee. I'm sure they'll be back, but it looks like they're at least going to leave us alone for the time being. Turning back to space-girl, I see she's fully conscious now, and staring at me moon-eyed.

"You have gifts of power as well?" she asks. "Why did you not inform me you were a Champion of your world?"

I let her go, and the shadows flitting around me dissipate like wisps of smoke.

"Because, ah, I didn't really know if I had them," I admit. "And I'm not any 'Champion,' I'm just....different. And I think those guys wanted to capture me or cut my brain open or whatever, to see just how different I am. This whole thing is....a lot to take in."

"I see," she nods, before extending her hand. "You have my gratitude for rescuing me from a fatal fall. In exchange, I will keep you under my protection to prevent any cutting of your brain."

"Thanks, but I don't need to be under anyone's protection," I say, leaving her hand hanging. "Especially from someone whose name I don't even know, and whom I'm not really convinced is actually real."

Space-girl's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh! My apologies! I have not yet made a formal introduction!" She gives a flourishing curtsy. "I am Princess Koriand'r, scion of the Royal House of Tamaran, Watcher of the Seals of Xhaal, Commander of the Grand Armada of Tamarus, and bearer of the title Starfire."

_{"Of course you're a princess, why wouldn't you be,"} I mutter to myself, before returning the curtsy. "Okay, um, Princess Starfire, I'm Rachel, runaway ex-cultist who works part-time in a bookstore with no customers."

Starfire gives me a big smile. "Well met, Friend Rachel! We must celebrate the dawn of a new and glorious friendship, as well as our first victory together!"

She comes towards me, arms wide and lips pursed for another kiss, but I push her away. "Hey, no, that's not okay--"

There's a quick burst of darkness as the shadows put up a wall of tendrils between her and me, and Starfire backs away.

"....I have offended you with my affection?" she asks, confused and sad.

"No, it's just...." I let out a sigh of exasperation. "You need to learn about personal boundaries if you're going to stick around here."

Starfire nods. "I see. There are many things about this world I must learn. First, however, I must seek asylum. Can you bring me into contact with your ruling class so that we may begin the diplomatic negotiations?"

I raise an eyebrow. "'Take me to your leader?' Really? I don't know if that's the best idea. But that's something you can deal with later."

"For the later then, yes. What, then, shall we do in the now?"

"Right now, it's late, and I'm tired, and I'm still pretty positive this is all some stupid hallucination," I say, beginning to walk down the street towards the bookstore and my loft. "So I'm going to go home, take a shower, go to sleep, and when I wake up back in the real world, I'll forget all about this and go on with my day."

"May I join you? I currently have no place to do the washing and sleeping."

I shrug. "Sure, why not, this isn't real anyway. I've got a futon you can crash on while I'm still imagining all of this."

"Then I look forward to seeing this 'foo-ton.' If you will help me acclimate to this world, then I will help you with your hallucinations. This will be wondrous!"

"I'm sure," I say as I make my way down the sidewalk, my imaginary friend floating beside me.

---

"....underestimated the target's capabilities, sir. Two of my men are in critical condition, the rest with light to moderate injuries. Both targets managed to escape. Sir, if we're going to go after them, I request that we--"

"Request denied. For the moment, you are strictly going to observe and report their activities. We must have a greater understanding of their abilities before we strike again. The Roth girl is clearly more than a standard Empath. And the other is a complete unknown for the time being. Find them, Sergeant, but do not engage. When we have sufficient data on the two..."

"....my students and I will deal with them ourselves."

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

Me, waiting on OOC.

@DeadDrop

It'll probably be up Monday-ish.

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

Movement is done through "zones"-- for the sake of simplicity, generally speaking one room (or in the case of something large like a hangar bay, one corner of the room) equals one zone. Characters can either move once from one zone to another and take an action, or sprint to move twice. Melee range is within the same zone as an enemy, Close range is the next zone over, Medium range is two zones, and so on. You still need line-of-sight to be able to shoot things at range, obviously, but stuff like Motion Trackers can work at Long or Extreme range without needing eyes on the target.

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

It'll all be done over the Guild; thankfully, the dice mechanics in Alien are ridiculously easy. Your character will have four Base Stats (Strength, Agility, Wits, and Empathy), equal to a number between 2 and 5, then a few skills that add onto that (so let's say I have Wits 4, ComTech 2, for a total of 6). That number is simply the amount of d6 dice you roll. A skill check succeeds if any of those dice come up as a 6; otherwise, it fails.

If you do fail a dice roll, you can choose to Push your Roll, letting you re-roll those dice, but raising your amount of Stress Dice by 1. When you roll a skill check, you will then also roll separately for your Stress Dice (again, 1d6 per level of Stress) A 6 still succeeds, so having some Stress actually increases your chances of success, as you'll typically be more alert. However, if any of your Stress Dice come up as a 1, you will then have to roll for Panic, equal to 1d6 plus your current Stress Level. The GM (me) has access to a Panic Table that has all of the various effects of Panic listed, but generally speaking, the higher that total is, the worse it is for you.

There are other modifiers, as well as various charts and tables that the players don't have to worry about because it's all behind the GM screen, but generally speaking, if you want to do an action, you'll just go into the forum dice-roller, roll some d6, try to hit 6s and avoid 1s.

Character stats are pretty simple as well. I'll go over the full rules for character creation in OOC, but an example character would be something like this:

RIPLEY

---

IDENTITY: Warrant Officer Ellen Ripley, USCSS Nostromo
CLASS: Officer
STRENGTH: 3, AGILITY: 2, WITS: 4, EMPATHY: 5
HEALTH: 3
SKILLS:
Mobility (AG): 1
Ranged Combat (AG): 1
Observation (WIT): 2
Comtech (WIT): 1
Command (EMP): 3
Manipulation (EMP): 2

TALENT: Influence (You may Push any Skill roll based on Empathy twice rather than once)

GEAR: SpaceSub ASS0-400 Harpoon Grappling Gun, M240 Handheld Incinerator Unit

SIGNATURE ITEM: Jones, the ship's cat

PERSONAL AGENDA: Your family life back home is in shambles, so you've become more protective of the family you've chosen aboard this ship. Protect your friends at all costs.

BUDDY: Dallas

RIVAL: Ash

---

There are a few other things to go over, but as you can see, it's pretty streamlined.

Gameplay will effectively be me taking turns as the GM describing the scenario, then each player will have one 'round' to post a response to the current situation. Decide which action you want to take, then roll the dice accordingly in the forum's dice-roller (copying the link so we can see it's legit), then describe how that action succeeds or fails based on the outcome.

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

That's three players, plus myself as the GM. I'd love for a total of five players, but if we get one more, I'll start up the OOC/Sign-up and go over the rules.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

<Snipped quote by Retired>

"trying" is the keyword here as I still don't completely understand how all of the reincarnation stuff works

@Natty

That's okay; DC doesn't understand it either.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

Oh, shit. Someone's actually trying to do a Hawk.

@Retired

OH SNAP