AndyC

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Took a while, but the first post for Jonah/Ghost Rider is up. It, uhh, ended up being a good bit darker than I initially thought. Lemme know if it's too much, and I'll revise.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Warning: Contains Unsettling Content

Calvert, Oklahoma
February 3rd, 1864

The wind that howled across the open plains was a bitter cold, the kind that blew right through their dusters and chilled to the bone. The dark of midnight bore down on Jonah heavily as he stood closer than he'd like to the fire, the only source of heat and light for miles. The smoke stung his eyes and choked his lungs, but he couldn't step back from the blaze. Part of him, small at first but larger and stronger the longer he stared, wanted to step into the flames himself.

An hour ago, these burning timbers were a church-house. An hour ago, the flecks of ash that rose from the center of the blaze were people. An hour ago, the air that now only carried the crackling of flaming wood was filled with gunfire and screams.

A few steps closer, and Jonah wouldn't see those faces anymore, wouldn't hear all those voices crying for mercy. It’d be justice.

No. Not justice.

Vengeance…

"Fuckin' hell, Jonah," Jeb Turnbull slurred, whiskey on his breath as he stumbled into his friend, "I reckon we went too far on this one."

Jonah blinked a few times with his good eye, his reverie broken by Turnbull barging in on it. He glared at Jeb for a moment, then turned away. "It's what yer paw wanted, ain't it?"

"Ah guess," Jeb said, his head lowered, "Still, I can't hardly figure what good it's doin."

"An' what makes you think we're here ta do good, baby-boy?" Eddie Cantwell jeered at Jeb. "Our outfit ain't called Satan's Servants for nothin!'"

Jonah snorted at that. He had hated the name “Satan’s Servants” ever since Jeb’s father had dubbed them when he hired them for this enterprise. It wasn’t that it offended Jonah’s sensibilities; he hadn’t been raised Christian, and very few things in their Good Book lined up with his experience of the world. He just hated the name because it was so damned corny.

Eddie Cantwell. John “Blackjack” Burgis. Tobias Manning. Lucas “Mad Dog” McGill. Their ringleader, Victor “Starman” Sono. And Jonah himself. The six of them had all been facing the gallows just a few months earlier, before they were granted a special “pardon,” dragged from the various holes they’d been stuffed into while waiting to die, and shipped to a massive plantation in Virginia. That’s where they’d met their employer, Quentin Turnbull.

Turnbull was the richest landowner in the Confederacy, and had considerable political influence; in the few times he’d been in the company of Southern high society, Jonah had heard rumors he was planning to give President Davis the boot as soon as the war was over, and was only propping him up to take the fall if they lost. And he’d gathered a half-dozen of the most vicious killers in the South–which, given the state of the war, was quite the statement.

”I love my home,” Quentin Turnbull had told them that night, having offered them warm meals, good whisky, a comfortable place to kick up their feet, and the first taste of ‘the good life’ that many of them had ever experienced. ”but my beloved Virginia, and indeed all of your homes, face an existential threat the likes of which we have not seen since the tyranny of King George. While I am confident that our boys will succeed in the noble cause of driving back the Northern aggressor, I do believe that in order to secure our victory, we may find ourselves forced to take what some might call….unsavory measures…”

Quentin’s plan was simple. Gather up a gang of the most evil bastards he could find, and set them loose along the western front. The idea, Turnbull stated, was that they would ”raise unholy hell itself, committing every sin the mind could imagine,” along Union-friendly towns and forts, so that the Blue-coats would have to devote more of their troops and weapons towards chasing them down, a diversion so the Gray-coats could strike more valuable targets. In return, he’d offer them a full pardon.

Jonah had known the promise was bullshit. Oh, sure, Quentin might have pulled strings to get them cut loose if any of them came back alive. But that was never going to happen; this ride was just as much a death sentence as if he’d stayed in his cell and let them hang him. But he took the offer anyway, preferring to die in his saddle than on the terms of some crooked lawman, stringing him up for killing someone even more crooked.

”Think of it as me giving you a last chance to do what comes natural to you,” Quentin Turnbull had told them. ”I believe each of you has been touched by the Devil in one way or another. And now you have my blessing to go and do the Devil’s work…”

So here they were, in the smoldering soot and blood-soaked dirt that used to be the town of Calvert. This was the twelfth town they’d hit, and each time Satan’s Servants had ridden into down, they had lived up to their name more and more.

Jonah had gone on raids with the Apache when he was young, and he knew the kind of things they’d do to unwary settlers. He’d seen the remains of towns that had been hit by Comanche, by banditos from south of the Rio, by Yankees and Rebs trying to demoralize the other side. He knew the kind of savagery men could visit on the weak and the innocent. Hell, he’d participated in it himself on more than one occasion. But even as stone-hearted as he’d become, what they were doing on this ride, it didn’t sit right with him.

And what they’d just done in Calvert had topped them all.

”Hooo, God damn, that one had some spirit in him!” Victor Sono called out as he strode from the ruined jailhouse, fixing yet another star-shaped badge to his vest. ”Fella kept his poker-face longer’n any lawman I’ve ever had the pleasure of cuttin’ on yet, thinkin’ he weren’t gonna give me a scream, not gonna give me the satisfaction.”

The front of his vest was almost blinding with the gleam of the fire-light from all the polished badges he’d collected. ”Oh, but I got my scream by the end of it, believe you me.”

”What is it with you an’ lawmen, anyhow?” Tobias asked between scrapes of his knife against the skull of the schoolteacher, her eyes still open in shock. He’d taken to collecting scalps, and developed a preference for blondes.

”Never did like folks who thought they could tell me what I could and couldn’t do,” Sono shrugged. ”I like to show ‘em that their tin stars don’t make ‘em special.”

”God damn right!” Cantwell said. ”Ain’t no man livin’ that can stop us!”

”That ain’t what he means,” sneered Mad Dog McGill as he cut another long strip from a bloody shank of meat. Jonah chose not to wonder where the meat had come from. ”We ain’t any more special than these sorry sonsabitches. There ain’t nobody who’s special. We’re just dead meat in the end.”

Jeb scowled at the three outlaws as they celebrated. ”Ffffuck, but you’re a real piece a work,” he slurred. Jeb had been sent along with the other six on his father’s orders, and he’d been the only one to voice any kind of objections to their actions. And while his protests had grown quieter and quieter, he was the only one in the company who hadn’t so much as drawn his gun on this ride. McGill and Manning had planned to skin him and leave him in a ditch before they’d even crossed the Mississippi, but Hex had stopped them. Jeb was the only one of the gang that Jonah could stand; he was the only one who still had any shred of a soul left in him.

”It’s done,” said Blackjack Borgin, an enormous black man with a pickaxe slung over his shoulder, and dark red stains splashed up and down his front. Borgin hadn’t spoken a word since the raid began. Hell, he’d barely said more than ten words to any of them since they’d set out from Virginia. Usually, he had just let his pickaxe do the talking.

Borgin pulled something from the pocket of his overalls– an old, yellowed scrap of what looked like parchment paper– and handed it to Jeb. The Turnbull boy looked around nervously, the sight of that scrap sobering him up quick, then stuffed the scrap in his coat.

”N-no witnesses, yeah?” he asked. ”Like my Pa ordered?”

Borgin just nodded. The mayor of Calvert had a large family, a frail old mother, a pretty young wife, and five children who couldn’t have been older than ten.

”Jeezus, yer one cold-hearted fuck,” Cantwell said. ”I ain’t never had a problem cuttin’ up men, even women-folk if they get too lippy. But little old ladies and youngins?”

Borgin shrugged. ”Fuck ‘em,” is the only answer he gave.

Jonah had pulled the trigger on a hell of a lot of people on this ride, none of whom had it coming. His work was always quick, one through the heart or the brain-pan, painless as he could manage. He knew he was a monster, but the other riders of Satan’s Servants, they loved being monsters.

While the other outlaws laughed, and Jeb stumbled off to their wagon, Jonah Hex looked at the flames again. He heard the people of Calvert screaming again. He heard their voices form around a single word.

Vengeance

”All right, boys, we’re done here!” Victor called out to the gang. ”And as much as it might pain me to say it, our revels are very nearly at an end. We’ve hit twelve of the thirteen targets that our dear benefactor, the esteemed Mister Turnbull, has set for us. Which means we’ll soon be moving on to our final target….”

---

Fort Charlotte, Texas
February 19th, 1864

”J…*ghkk!*...Jonah…” Jeb gurgled, blood bubbling up in his throat and leaking out of another half-dozen holes up and down his body. ”Ah think….think’m….dyin’.”

The air was thick with the smell of smoke, spent gunpowder, burning grass, and fresh blood. Three paces to his left, Blackjack’s legs twitched violently. Four more paces from them, the rest of Blackjack was still. Behind them, steam rose from the mass of pulverized meat that used to be Mad Dog McGill. To their right, Victor Sono’s hands were frozen in place, forever clutching at the red mess where his face used to be.

A hundred paces in front of them, the guns of Fort Charlotte still smoked, jeers of triumph rising from inside the high timber walls. He’d never know how the Yankees had known they were coming, but their midnight raid was over before it even began, Satan’s Servants cut to pieces by grape-shot and Gatling guns before they could even get off a shot.

Jonah Hex crawled on his belly through the mud, white-hot agony searing him as filth seeped into his own bleeding wounds, but nonetheless he pulled himself over to his friend. Dying was too good for Jonah and the other riders, but Jeb didn’t deserve to be here with them in the mud.

”Ah’m here, Jeb,” Jonah grunted through gritted teeth. ”You shouldn’t a been here.”

Jeb tried to laugh, began to choke. ”Naw, I’m…I’m no saint. Never tried…to stop this…”

”Ain’t the same as doin’ it yerself,” Hex tried in vain to comfort the dying man.

”We…had this comin’,” Jeb wheezed. ”All of us. Me…most of all.”

Jonah caught a flicker of light from the corner of his bad eye, a flame from a burst cannon shell. Again, as the fire flickered, he heard the voices of the dead.

Vengeance

”Th-..*hkk!*...the pages…Jonah…” Jeb fumbled frantically inside his jacket, his hands shaking as he produced a handful of yellowed parchment scraps. ”G…git these…t-*kghk!*-to…_{my pa…}”

Jeb shuddered violently for a moment, then lay still, his eyes wide open, staring forever into the night sky.

Jonah tried to crawl closer to him, tried to reach the papers in his lifeless hands, but his strength gave out. With the last bit of energy he had left, Jonah rolled onto his back, staring into the same blackness as his departed friend.

Vengeance

”It’s…it’s all wrong…” he muttered to no one. Jonah had never been the type for praying; if there was any kind of almighty power who planned out his life, then he had nothing to say to that sonofabitch. But now that there was no one to hear what he had to say, he might as well say it. ”since…the day ah was born, it’s always been wrong. Mah life…the lives ‘round me…the whole God damned world…it’s all wrong. Ah’d…ah’d give…”

He took one more deep breath. The last he would ever take.

”Ah’d give up anything to set it right.”

As Jonah Hex let out his last, his voice carried up into the dark night sky.

His body went cold. Time stretched out. Every second became an hour…a day….a year….an eternity.

Jonah closed his good eye, expecting it all to go dark.

Instead, out of his bad eye, he saw a figure step over him. A thin, well-groomed man in a fine red suit.

”Mercy me,” the man said, ”Jonah Hex himself. I must admit, I have been eagerly anticipating the chance to properly make your acquaintance for some time indeed. I do have to admit, however, it is a trifle disappointing to finally meet you face-to-face, only to find you in such a lamentable and profoundly fuckin’ sorry state.”

Jonah stared up at the stranger, and suddenly, he was no longer cold. His skin now stung from burning heat, as if he were back in Calvert, standing just a few feet from that burning church house again.

”Who…the hell…are you?”

The stranger grinned. ”Who the hell, indeed. I’m someone who’s interested in enacting a great deal of change in this wicked world, but regrettably somewhat lacking in the ability to do so without a willing agent.”

Jonah stared up at the man in confusion. The stranger sighed.

”Did I just not hear you say that you would give up anything to set this world right?” the man asked.

”Ah…ah guess,” Jonah shrugged.

”Then I have a proposition for you,” the man said with a smile.

Around them both, the world fell away. And in its place was fire, a fire that roared from all sides.

VENGEANCE

”Ah’ll ask again,” Jonah said, propping himself up on a ground that no longer existed. ”Who the hell are you?”

The man smiled wide, a broad toothy grin that never touched his eyes. He offered a hand to Jonah. ”You, my friend, can call me–”

---

”--Mister Church,” said Kate Marston, a doughy middle-aged woman in a sweater with kittens on it. ”That was the man who told us how to meet you.”

”He said you might be able to help,” said her husband Tim Marston, a thin balding man wearing a t-shirt with “Jesus Loves You” printed on the front.

6 miles south of El Paso, Texas
Present Day

The couple stood nervously at the hideous man on horseback who stared them down. The husband held a sheet of paper, a printed out email, that simply stated the coordinates and time to meet ‘your contact.’

The last slivers of sunlight were fading over the horizon, their bright green hatchback the only car in sight on either of the two long country back-roads that intersected where they stood.

Jonah Hex chuckled without a trace of mirth. He supposed they might have balked if ‘Mister Church’ had told them to stand at a crossroads at sundown, but give them the specific time and place and it didn’t sound so unusual.

”Depends on whatcha mean by ‘help,’” he told them.

”Our little girl, Izzy,” Kate started, ”She’d just turned nine. We’d read an article about this….this summer camp….Camp Mackie. She could…she could make new friends, have fun in the woods….we…we thought…”

As she choked back sobs, Tim stepped in. ”Izzy never came back,” he said. ”We drove up there to pick her up, but when we got there, the camp was abandoned. We called the police, of course, but they weren’t any help.”

”We’d been putting money aside,” Kate said, ”You know, for Izzy’s college? We had to spend it all, hiring a private investigator. He looked all over, but he never…the only thing he was able to find was a scrap of her pajamas.”

”We thought that was it,” Tim added. ”We thought it’d just be a mystery we’d never have an answer to. Then a few nights ago, we get contacted by this ‘Mister Church’ person.”

Jonah’s stomach churned. He knew where this was going.

”He…he sent us a link on the internet…a place on the…the dark web…” said Kate. Those words didn’t mean much to Jonah– that world wasn’t one he wanted anything to do with. But he’d seen and heard enough to get the gist of it.

”It was…it was a video,” Tim stammered, his skin turning green with sickness. ”It was just called ‘Izzy Does It.’ And…and it was her…and there were these men…and they…they…oh God…”

The father turned away and retched into the dirt. The mother looked up at Jonah with pleading eyes.

”He said you could help us!” she begged. ”Please, just…”

”Ah’m sorry,” Jonath said, ”but if yer hopin’ to get yer little girl back….Ah cain’t do that. If ah’m here at all…that means she’s already dead.”

Jonah watched their desperation turn to despair, watched this mother and father, their little world they had built for themselves, all crumble. The Marston family was broken, forever He hated himself for telling it to them, but it was better that they didn’t have any illusions about what comes next.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

”But there’s somethin’ ah can help you with,” he continued. ”Ah can find those men. An’ ah can make ‘em pay for what they did.”

The Marston parents looked gravely at each other, then back to Jonah. ”Yes.”

Jonah held up a hand. ”’fore we do this, ah want to make it clear. You agree to this…there ain’t no takin’ it back. You can walk away from this, right now. Those men go free, but you get to see yer little girl again, in the Hereafter. Ah go after those men, though, an’ Ah drag their sorry souls to Hell….an’ when the time comes, you follow on after. What Ah’m offerin’...it ain’t justice.”

As Jonah spoke, the air smelled of brimstone, and his face began to bubble and peel away. As the Marstons watched, Jonah’s face became a bare, bleached skull. Flames erupted from within him.

”Those men need to suffer,” Kate spat, ”I don’t care what happens to me.”

”You find them,” Tim nodded, ”You make them pay for what they did to our Izzy. To hell with everything else.”

Jonah Hex extended his hand to seal the pact. The Marstons took his hand, and the flames roared.

Vengeance

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

It'll take a bit longer for Superman to be up for interaction due to not being Superman yet. Once this initial arc is over, he'll be down for some collabs.

Hulk, I don't know yet. I'm still trying to figure out where to go with him in the beginning.

Granted, even a recently born Hulk is a lot to throw at anyone in this setting right now. I'm playing the only other character who might match him on a pure durability level. So maybe I should just isolate him for the moment.

@Master Bruce

I mean, there's another indestructible guy wandering around in the woods right now, who's got some pretty famous cover art of him fighting the Hulk. Just sayin'.

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Bobby T

Name: Bob Townsend, Jr.
Nickname: Bobby T.
Age: 43
Gender: Male
Occupation: Real Estate Broker at Townsend-Chigusa Holdings International

Appearance:
Bobby is in excellent shape for a middle-aged man, thanks in no small part to his obsessive diet and workout routine. He has sandy blonde hair that's combed back just enough to look a bit unkempt, and a beard that's carefully groomed to give him a certain air of rugged independence. He frequently wears garish or tacky ties with his impeccable suits, and is almost never seen without his favorite pair of mirrored shades. Bobby puts a tremendous amount of time, effort, and care into looking casual and messy.

Character Concept:

"Bobby T" is a charming, laid-back, personable kind of guy, the kind who will buy everyone a round at the bar, and has a bottomless well of off-color jokes that are dirty enough to raise an eyebrow but not enough to offend. He likes to hear people's stories, find out their wants and their needs and their goals, get to know everyone he meets, and do whatever he can to help them...and have plenty of fun along the way.

Of course, 'Bobby T' is the front. Behind the mirrored shades and the ridiculous tie, Bob Townsend Jr. is a deeply insecure narcissist who uses any means necessary to further his own career. The black-sheep heir to one of America's largest real estate firms, Bob Jr. has spent his life living in the shadow of his overbearing father...which is why he likes to spend his days somewhere sunny. What was once a rebellious streak in his younger years has grown into ruthless ambition: if he can't escape following his father's footsteps, he'll instead outdo him so far that everyone will forget the old man and love him instead.

Bobby has come to Azul looking for his next big opportunity, with the long-term goal of turning this little archipelago into the next big tourist hot-spot.

Character History:

Bob Townsend Jr, "Bobby T" to his friends (which might include you, if you're lucky) was the middle child of Bob Townsend, Sr., one of the most successful real estate moguls in America. With his older brother Richard starting his own law firm and his sister Meredith becoming a doctor, Bobby Jr. always felt like he was struggling to meet his father's expectations. He spent his younger years as a rich kid playing rebel, burning through his trust-fund money on wild parties and lavish trips as he bounced from one career to another. Eventually, though, all of his failed attempts to forge his own identity led him back underneath his old man's shadow, and he took at job in the family business.

To nobody's surprise but his own, Bobby T was a natural at closing deals, and by 35 he had rebuilt the fortune he had pissed away in his twenties. His disarming, laid-back attitude, combined with his keen eye for seeing an opportunity and ruthlessness in seizing it, has landed him several lucrative contracts, especially in the hotel and tourism industries. While still a far cry from the top of the heap, most people at Townsend Holdings (having recently merged with a competitor to become Townsend-Chigusa Holdings International) believe it is only a matter of time before he makes a play for his father's throne. He just needs a big project, one crowning achievement, to get him onto the board.

Which, incidentally, is what has brought him to Azul. For the past six months, Bobby T. has been talking with members of the Cardenas family about plans to expand their winery. This, however, is just a front for his long-term plans. Townsend-Chigusa has been looking for a "development-ready market," a little spit of land somewhere in the Caribbean that they can turn into the next big tourist destination. Bobby has come to Azul to scout out the local flavor, participate in some of the local customs, buy a hotel or two, and look for a big enough tract of land to bulldoze so his father's company can set up a billion-dollar resort.

Likes:
-Making people laugh
-Long conversations where people really open up to him
-Adrenaline/any kind of 'thrilling' activity (racing, cliff diving, sex with a stranger, etc)
-Spicy food
-Cigars
-Rum
-90s alt-rock music

Dislikes:
-Anything with coconut
-Being told no
-Women over 40
-People who won't shut up about their politics or idealism
-Other corporate 'suits' like himself
-Himself

Special Talent:

Bobby is a skilled helicopter pilot, preferring to fly himself wherever he needs to be rather than have someone do it for him. This is partly to feed his hunger for thrills, and partly so he can feel like he's more 'self-sufficient' than other corporate big-shots.

Supporting Information:

Machiko Chigusa: Bobby's "babysitter" from the Chigusa side of the merger, Machiko is the no-nonsense counterpart to Bobby's all-nonsense persona. She is businesslike when he's playful, blunt when he's being smooth, and seems to only be aware of the concept of 'fun' as something that happens to other people.

Ronaldo Cortez: A local who grew up on Isla Zafrio, Ronaldo is Bobby's personal security while he's on Azul. More often that not, he spends most of his days showing Bobby the local restaurants and clubs, all the places the locals go because the tourists wouldn't know about them. He is, however, well-trained and armed if anyone happens to see an American flashing money around and starts getting ideas.

La Casa Del Sol Nasciento: The hotel whose penthouse Bobby has been staying in since arriving on the islands. It's the oldest hotel on Isla Zafrio, and by most accounts, the second best, with a killer view of the beach, a rooftop pool, and most of the amenities a reasonably well-to-do jet-setter could expect. Bobby is considering buying the property, if only so he can pull off an 'underdog' story by turning it around to beat the much larger and more successful Casa de la Contessa down the street.

Jealousy: Bobby's private chopper, Jealousy is what he calls his Airbus H155 helicopter. Only one of 70 in the world, it's one of the fastest copters on the planet, can comfortably seat up to 12, and acts as the big 'showstopper' of any performance Bobby puts on when he really wants to impress someone. The name isn't a reference to its luxurious features or its outrageous price tag, but actually a reference to his favorite song from the 90s, The Gin Blossoms' "Hey Jealousy."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Half of this RP is in NYC. I love it.

@webboysurf

Meanwhile I'm over here trying to figure out how the hell I'm gonna get anyone to come out to the desert so Jonah can shoot at them team up with them.

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Name: Bob Townsend, Jr.
Nickname: Bobby T.
Age: 43
Gender: Male
Occupation: Real Estate Broker at Townsend-Chigusa Holdings International

Appearance:
Bobby is in excellent shape for a middle-aged man, thanks in no small part to his obsessive diet and workout routine. He has sandy blonde hair that's combed back just enough to look a bit unkempt, and a beard that's carefully groomed to give him a certain air of rugged independence. He frequently wears garish or tacky ties with his impeccable suits, and is almost never seen without his favorite pair of mirrored shades. Bobby puts a tremendous amount of time, effort, and care into looking casual and messy.

Character Concept:

"Bobby T" is a charming, laid-back, personable kind of guy, the kind who will buy everyone a round at the bar, and has a bottomless well of off-color jokes that are dirty enough to raise an eyebrow but not enough to offend. He likes to hear people's stories, find out their wants and their needs and their goals, get to know everyone he meets, and do whatever he can to help them...and have plenty of fun along the way.

Of course, 'Bobby T' is the front. Behind the mirrored shades and the ridiculous tie, Bob Townsend Jr. is a deeply insecure narcissist who uses any means necessary to further his own career. The black-sheep heir to one of America's largest real estate firms, Bob Jr. has spent his life living in the shadow of his overbearing father...which is why he likes to spend his days somewhere sunny. What was once a rebellious streak in his younger years has grown into ruthless ambition: if he can't escape following his father's footsteps, he'll instead outdo him so far that everyone will forget the old man and love him instead.

Bobby has come to Azul looking for his next big opportunity, with the long-term goal of turning this little archipelago into the next big tourist hot-spot.

Character History:

Bob Townsend Jr, "Bobby T" to his friends (which might include you, if you're lucky) was the middle child of Bob Townsend, Sr., one of the most successful real estate moguls in America. With his older brother Richard starting his own law firm and his sister Meredith becoming a doctor, Bobby Jr. always felt like he was struggling to meet his father's expectations. He spent his younger years as a rich kid playing rebel, burning through his trust-fund money on wild parties and lavish trips as he bounced from one career to another. Eventually, though, all of his failed attempts to forge his own identity led him back underneath his old man's shadow, and he took at job in the family business.

To nobody's surprise but his own, Bobby T was a natural at closing deals, and by 35 he had rebuilt the fortune he had pissed away in his twenties. His disarming, laid-back attitude, combined with his keen eye for seeing an opportunity and ruthlessness in seizing it, has landed him several lucrative contracts, especially in the hotel and tourism industries. While still a far cry from the top of the heap, most people at Townsend Holdings (having recently merged with a competitor to become Townsend-Chigusa Holdings International) believe it is only a matter of time before he makes a play for his father's throne. He just needs a big project, one crowning achievement, to get him onto the board.

Which, incidentally, is what has brought him to Azul. For the past six months, Bobby T. has been talking with members of the Cardenas family about plans to expand their winery. This, however, is just a front for his long-term plans. Townsend-Chigusa has been looking for a "development-ready market," a little spit of land somewhere in the Caribbean that they can turn into the next big tourist destination. Bobby has come to Azul to scout out the local flavor, participate in some of the local customs, buy a hotel or two, and look for a big enough tract of land to bulldoze so his father's company can set up a billion-dollar resort.

Likes:
-Making people laugh
-Long conversations where people really open up to him
-Adrenaline/any kind of 'thrilling' activity (racing, cliff diving, sex with a stranger, etc)
-Spicy food
-Cigars
-Rum
-90s alt-rock music

Dislikes:
-Anything with coconut
-Being told no
-Women over 40
-People who won't shut up about their politics or idealism
-Other corporate 'suits' like himself
-Himself

Special Talent:

Bobby is a skilled helicopter pilot, preferring to fly himself wherever he needs to be rather than have someone do it for him. This is partly to feed his hunger for thrills, and partly so he can feel like he's more 'self-sufficient' than other corporate big-shots.

Supporting Information:

Machiko Chigusa: Bobby's "babysitter" from the Chigusa side of the merger, Machiko is the no-nonsense counterpart to Bobby's all-nonsense persona. She is businesslike when he's playful, blunt when he's being smooth, and seems to only be aware of the concept of 'fun' as something that happens to other people.

Ronaldo Cortez: A local who grew up on Isla Zafrio, Ronaldo is Bobby's personal security while he's on Azul. More often that not, he spends most of his days showing Bobby the local restaurants and clubs, all the places the locals go because the tourists wouldn't know about them. He is, however, well-trained and armed if anyone happens to see an American flashing money around and starts getting ideas.

La Casa Del Sol Nasciento: The hotel whose penthouse Bobby has been staying in since arriving on the islands. It's the oldest hotel on Isla Zafrio, and by most accounts, the second best, with a killer view of the beach, a rooftop pool, and most of the amenities a reasonably well-to-do jet-setter could expect. Bobby is considering buying the property, if only so he can pull off an 'underdog' story by turning it around to beat the much larger and more successful Casa de la Contessa down the street.

Jealousy: Bobby's private chopper, Jealousy is what he calls his Airbus H155 helicopter. Only one of 70 in the world, it's one of the fastest copters on the planet, can comfortably seat up to 12, and acts as the big 'showstopper' of any performance Bobby puts on when he really wants to impress someone. The name isn't a reference to its luxurious features or its outrageous price tag, but actually a reference to his favorite song from the 90s, The Gin Blossoms' "Hey Jealousy."

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Still kicking around character concepts, but I'll have something up soon

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

At the top of a hill in the middle of a clearing, the small back-country shelter has a light on. Fourteen men just died because of it.

I stare at that lit window, a soft electric glow in the pitch black of the forest, and I feel my hands shaking. I'm partly shaking because my blood is still up, adrenaline shooting through my veins from the fight, and I'm partly shaking because I'm finally starting to feel how goddamn cold it is out here. Going to that cabin will get me somewhere warm...but it also means I'll have to face off with whoever's in there, whoever those soldiers risked coming into my territory to capture.

I take a look at the light at the hill, then back into the freezing chill of the woods.

"Hell with it," I mutter to myself before I start trudging towards the light, "Someone wants to use up all my heat, they're gonna have to fight me for it."

Back-country shelters like this one are made so lost hikers and wayward tourists can have a place to stay if the weather gets too bad. Most of 'em are just a little shed or hut, maybe a cot and a pantry full of canned food. I roam back and forth between a few of them in my territory, and go into town Every once in a while to keep them stocked up- my good deed I do for the privilege of being left alone.

I'd be tempted to say whoever's in the cabin was just some camper who got caught out in the snow...at least, if it weren't for the two squads of American soldiers who were staging an assault on it.

Slowly approaching the cabin, Claws out, I steel myself. Maybe this doesn't need to get ugly- a quick knock-knock, state your name, they tell me what the hell they're doing in my cabin and why the American military is after them, I send them on their way.

Shame it never goes that easy.

Carefully, I make my way to the door, and once I'm able to reach the know, I quickly open it and step inside, closing it shut behind me.

"I know someone's here," I say as I move through the front room, the single light coming from a battery-powered lantern hanging from the ceiling. There's a loud, low buzzing as a propane gas heater in the corner blows hot air (or as hot as it can manage) into the room, its coils glowing an angry red. Scattered across the floor there's a pile of blankets. And the air is heavy with the salty smell of sweat, mixed with something else. Chemicals that give off what's supposed to be the smell of...

*Sniff*

...coconuts?

"Just come on out," I say as I approach the smaller back room, little more than a closet with enough room for a person to lay down. "No need for things to get ugly."

Whoever's in the cabin with me, there really is nowhere for them to hide...

...except when I step through the door into the back room, it's empty.

"What the hell...?" I say, then I hear a creak as one of the floorboards shifts in the front room behind me.

Turning, I step back into the main room...and again, it's empty.

Before I can start searching, I hear something knock against the wall of the back room again. How the hell can someone be so damn bad at sneaking, and still get past me?

Slowly, I take a step back towards the doorway. "I'm not gonna hurt ya," I say, watching the thin wall between the two rooms. "I just wanna know what's...going..."

I step into the doorway, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a small, skinny figure moving through the damn wall.

"...on!"

On instinct, I lunge towards the figure, grabbing it by the throat with one hand, my other hand raised back to plunge my claws into it.

"Lemme go!" she yelps, kicking at me as she tries to break free. It's only once I've got her that I realize the person I'm throttling isn't some spec-ops spook...it's a teenage girl, scared out of her mind.

The kid is a freckle-faced brunette, wearing about five or six layers of fashionable 'winter' clothing that might keep out a chilly breeze. Her cheeks and nose are bright red, eyes bloodshot, a half-frozen drip of snot trailing between one nostril and her upper lip.

"I said lemme GO!" she shouts, and she slips out of my hand like she's not even there. The girl falls to the floor and scurries away from me.

"Easy, kid, easy!" I say, stepping back. "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

"D-don't get any closer," she says, putting on a brave face. Frantically patting down the pockets of her heavy coat, she eventually reaches in and pulls out a pocket knife. "I d-don't wanna hurt you, but if you come closer I'll...I'll cut you, I s-swear to God!"

"Okay, okay, I surrender," I say, putting my hands up to show I'm not a threat. Then I realize my claws are still out, and my arms are caked in gore up to the elbow. I retract my claws back into my hands, and I sit down at the opposite wall. "So. I don't wanna hurt you, and you don't wanna hurt me. How about we just talk it out, then?"

The girl doesn't answer. She just keeps the knife pointed at me, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

"We'll start off easy," I say. "What's your name?"

No answer. Don't give the enemy any information, right?

"Those guys out there," I say, gesturing out the window. "They were coming here after you?"

She hesitates, then nods. "...yeah."

"Any idea why?"

The knife in her hand trembles, and she shakes her head. "No," is all she says, then a few seconds later, she starts again and can't stop. "A few friends and I, we were j-just coming up h-here to go skiing. We'd rented a c-cabin a few miles from here, over near L-Lake Louise. We were j-just having a party, and th-then we see these..these helicopters f-flying towards us. These s-soldier guys, they started yelling at us, and then th-they started shoving us...and then th-they...they started shooting...and I just...I just ran, and I kept running and I-"

"Your friends," I stop her before she has a breakdown. "are they like you? Can they, y'know, do things?"

She sniffles, finally wipes away the snot drip, and shakes her head. "No. I don't know anyone else who's a..."

"A mutant?" I finish her sentence, then slowly draw and retract the claws in my right hand. "Well, you know one now."

Her eyes grow wide, and I can't tell if she's relieved she's found someone else like her, or afraid that she found out she's like me.

"The s-soldiers," she says, looking past me out the window. "Are...are they-"

"Yeah," I answer, looking away. "I got 'em all. Good chance they've got friends, though, and they'll be on their way before too long."

"...oh," she lowers her eyes. "What happens when they come back?"

God damn it. There it is. God damn it.

This isn't your problem, Logan. Those guys weren't after you.

You've been down this road before. You know what always happens when you try to play hero.

You can just walk on out of here. Disappear into the woods. Let this dumb snot-nosed kid figure her own shit out.

You don't have to get involved.

There doesn't have to be any more blood.

This isn't your fight.

....

....God damn it.

"I know a place," I say, hating every word coming out of my mouth. "It's a long way from here- way back East in New York- but it's a place for people like you...like us. Those assholes from the choppers won't go anywhere near it. I can get you there in a few days."

"New York?!" she starts. "But my friends are-"

"-probably either dead or being questioned in some black site," I cut her off. "Either way, there's nothing we can do for them."

She nods, and doesn't speak for a few minutes. She just puts on that brave face again, and chokes down the tears.

For a long while, the only sounds in the cabin are the buzzing of the heater, and the howling of the killer wind outside.

"Kitty," she says at long last. "That's my name. Kitty Pryde."

"Logan," I answer with a nod. "Just Logan."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by mattmanganon>

A full on justice league team up is probably endgame material

@Sep

We were close: I had considered applying for Wonder Woman, but I couldn't find a concept that caught my imagination. But then Hex Rider came to me, so I'm happy.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

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 H O S T R I D E R

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^{"Time fer you to bite the ground."}

^{_{Jonah Hex ♦ Bounty Hunter from Hell ♦ Chihuahuan Desert, USA / Mexico}}

O R I G I N S:

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There's a popular ghost story that makes the rounds in the stretches of desert between Fort Worth and Phoenix, as far north as Santa Fe and as far south as Durango. The story's about an old gunfighter by the name of Jonah, a man so ugly that the half of his face that was burned off by the Apaches was considered his 'pretty' side. A man so ornery that even cultists and child-killers called him a monster. A man that some folks say sold his soul to the Devil himself so his guns would never miss. The truth is, Jonah Hex's soul belonged to the Devil from the day he came into this world.

Born to a mother who died giving birth, raised by a drunken bastard with a black heart, sold to the Apaches for whiskey and used as a slave, then riding as a butchering marauder for the Confederates, Jonah's life was one that only knew suffering and sin, taking his share of hurt and learning how to deal some in return. It wasn't until his officers ordered him to burn a church filled with unarmed townsfolk that he'd felt any kind of shame or remorse for what he'd done, and Hex deserted in the wake of the massacre. He prayed for any kind of redemption, anything to clean the stains from his soul, and while Jonah never got his answer from on high, he got one from down below....

The stories say Jonah Hex made a deal with the Devil (or someone on the Devil's dime), to find souls in the world more wretched than his own and drag them down to Hell in order to pay off his debts and earn his salvation. They say he became the Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance, a bounty hunter of the damned, doomed forever to ride the length and breadth of the desert to burn away the wicked. And some folks say that for near on 160 years, a string of killings along the Rio Grande have all had a few interesting features in common: a smell of sulfur in the air, bullet holes without bullets, and tracks that look like horseshoes burned into the ground. Some say the wayward soul of Jonah Hex still rides across the West, carrying out his fool's errand, trying to kill his way to Heaven....

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Stiletta's Bar
Outskirts of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

"Get the fuck outta here, ugly," the bartender scowled at the stranger in a long black coat and wide hat who stepped through the front door, drawing the eyes of some twenty or so men. "This here establishment's private property."

The air stank of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, and buzzy, blown-out speakers blared noise that some people called rock music. On a stage toward the back wall, a young lady wearing next to nothing listlessly gyrated, going through the opening acts of a degrading routine she had done a hundred times before.

Stiletta's was a dive bar of the worst kind, once a so-called gentleman's club where lonely and frustrated men could spend a few dollars to have some pretty young thing show some skin and make them forget about their problems for a while. When business began drying up, a crowd of even more unsavory souls had moved into town and claimed Stiletta's as their own.

They called themselves the Road Reapers, a gang of bikers who controlled the stretch of interstate between Albuquerque and El Paso. They were a small outfit compared to most clubs, but the Reapers were known for being especially vicious, using their connections with the southern cartels to run drugs, guns, and people across the border. They had a number of hangouts along their route, and Stiletta's had become a favorite.

"Just here fer a drink," the man said, looking up from under the brim of his wide-brimmed hat, giving the bartender a view of how truly hideous his face was, "An' fer a fella by the name a' Falcon Fleischer."

The two dozen bikers inside stared cold death at the stranger. A few even drew their guns on him. He looked back and forth, one good eye in a half-squint, the other lidless one staring wildly.

"Best not do anythin' stupid, boys," he warned them as he approached the bar, several of the bikers moving in behind him like predators circling their prey. "Ah ain't here fer any a' you...not yet, leastaways. Ah'm only here to see this Falcon fella."

"Right here, ugly," called out a man from the pool table in the far corner. The old man was powerfully built, his skin nut-brown and weathered from exposure to the sun and the open road, and covered in tattoos depicting salacious acts and blasphemous symbols. His long white beard was the only hair on his otherwise clean-shaven head, his eyes covered by a paid of mirrored sunglasses. Over his bare chest and back he wore a leather vest, on the shoulders of which he'd sewn in patches that looked like the talons of a bird of prey-- a falcon, the stranger reckoned. "Whatever it is you've got to say, you've got about ten seconds to say it 'fore my boys blow your fuckin' head off."

"Jess had one question fer ya 'fore you do that," he said, glancing to the dancer on the stage. As he turned, his long black duster shifted, showing the pistol on his hip. "That little thing up there...she even old enough to be dancin' like that?"

*BLAM!*

One of the Reapers had approached the stranger from behind, gun drawn, and fired point-blank. The bikers expected a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter, then they'd cut the man up and feed his remains to the dogs. Wouldn't have been the first person to walk into Stiletta's and not come out.

Instead, when the man's head cracked open, flames spewed out. The bar began to smell heavy with the stench of brimstone, as from the center of the blaze, the stranger's skull spoke.

"That's what I thought," the stranger said as his pistols came up.

The music swelled, and Stiletta's bar filled with screams.

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

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Coming soon.