Ezekiel

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

-Placeholder-

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

Collab with @Ruby

The Afterlife

She hadn’t supposed it was too common to pregame for the Afterlife. Even though the music pounded as it would any other rock club and drunken bodies swung about to the crashing rhythm, it was a place of business. Its inhabitants had slaughtered their way to a right to be present, or at the least, fucked one of those who had.

Shimada had owed Kelly a night out, however. Too many weeks of blowing her off for the less than honest pursuits of her work hadn’t been fair on one of the few normal and stable aspects of her life since the deaths of her family. Kelly didn’t know anything about what her life had been, but she was bright enough to know what her current life was even if she’d taken much effort to hide it from her. When she’d offhand mentioned she had business at the famous Merc club that evening, the young American blonde had made it something of a mission to attend as well. Not that she had any reason beyond the cool factor of a night at the bar, but it was also a general excuse for them to spend some time together and catch up.

The cultural classes she had attended for years in Japan had attempted to invest in her a condescending dislike for the Western practice of relying on locations where the music was too loud to hear yourself think, as a place of social gathering. Her upbringing in Night City had done its best to prevent that particular lesson sinking in. She’d danced and drunk with Kelly through a series of bars and clubs, not one they’d waited to paid to get into. Shimada didn’t like wearing black, it reminder her too much of the Arasaka uniform she’d donned many times before. Her bodyglove for work was an unfortunate exception, it wasn’t much like she could find a replacement in a new shade right off the street. So, despite all warnings about spilt drinks and general city grime, she’d worn white. Black was, of course, slimming, and white did the opposite, the halter top bodycon dress highlighting the flaring of her hips in a way that was certainly appreciated by the door staff of the city. Not that her friend was a hindrance in the charm department.

Time passed, as it had want to do, and the appointed hour had drawn near. Despite Kelly’s assertions she would ‘be good’ and just wanted a look around the famous bar, Shimada packed her off into a taxi. She’d slowed down her own drinking some time before, and the stimms flooding her system were already most of the way to sobering her up, and she didn’t much feel like keeping one eye on the bar while also meeting with a new contact. She didn’t change outfit, just threw on her leather Tyger Claw branded jacket over the top of her dress as she walked the remaining distance to the bar. One underappreciated advantage of her augmented palms and soles was a complete lack of pain from extended time in high heels. Another little hack of life.

She hadn’t spent much time in the Afterlife, but she was a striking enough figure from her few brief visits that Bronson greeted her with only the tepid hostility offered to those expected to get in, as opposed to the outright dismissive contempt for those on their first try. She gave him a flick of a demure smile, not showing her teeth as she had been taught, in thanks. He hardly reacted, but it never hurt to keep on the good side of a walking slab of muscle. As she moved towards the bar, the sway of her gait entirely deliberate as opposed to the influence of the now fully countered night of drinking, she pondered the question of whether she could ‘take’ the infamous Animal gang member. She was still undecided as she perched on the first free barstool.

“A Jackie Welles, please.” A pretty generic choice she was sure in recent months, but it wasn’t her fault that the recently deceased had made a good choice of a drink. The first sip hit her with just enough kick of both vodka and ginger to send a shiver through her. If she ever shut off the rather fancy set of biological augments her old life had bought her she was something of a lightweight. She didn’t mind that, made each drink worth it. Just the one, to steady the nerves she pretended not to feel. The drink didn't last long, before her eyes flickered back up to the bartender.

"One more, thanks." She took the drink in hand before standing. Shimada had already located the Fixer she was after, caught in her periphery, Wakako had informed her enough. A Fixer looking for a crew for a job that aligned with what she wanted, and would need the information she had. Wakako had also added some descriptives about being mad enough to try, but then the kind of change Shimada was after wasn't the kind the entirely sane ever achieved.

She encountered the hired muscle before the Fixer herself, that was to be expected, even those who tended to operate from the main floor still needed something to keep their boothes private. Shimada took a long sip of her new drink as she simply looked up into the meat's eyes for the duration of the gulp, sparkling hazel eyes meeting the grim, impatient visage without pause. Another brief smile, before she spoke 'around' the man.

"Hi there Eddie, Wakako sent me." It wasn't exactly the most badass of greetings, but as she took another sip from her drink, her other hand in the bubblegum turquoise of her tyger claw jacket, it was about as much as she could think to offer without screaming "Hello there, let's burn down a megacorp together."

"It's okay, Squama, this is the one who wants to burn down a megacorporation with us."

Eddie wasn't even looking up from the datapad that had her attention when she rose her voice to tell Crispin to let the woman through, and the humor in her words was left to the imagination as her tone remained dry, the humor deadpan. Only when the woman sat and settled did Eddie hand off the datapad across the table to Crispin, "Yeah, this will work. Get the equipment delivered and I'll see about essentials; bedding, provisions, the like. I'll bug Nix about local network security and the special server I'll have to move and setup myself. Thank you, sir."

There was a little 'twang' at the end of her words, a little verbal twist on the word 'sir' that Crispin didn't seem to notice, or care about. The large man just nodded and left the booth, understanding what Eddie meant when she thanked him so formally: You can go, I got this.

"Let's be inclusive, Ms. Masako, call that friend of yours over. I promise to be gentle with her."

Eddie's grin was reflective of the same deadpan humor as her indication of who Shimada was to the solo and bodyguard, Crispin, even if it was an impossibility to tell if Eddie was actually even slightly kidding about any of it, all of it, or absolutely none of it.

Shimada smiled politely once again to the muscle as she was allowed through, never quite showing her teeth. She paused before sitting, however, at the request to bring Kelly over, who was currently pestering the bar staff for any fun stories. As was her nature, that was for their own fun stories, she didn’t much care for the big ego mercs everyone else drooled over.

“I’m sure she can manage either way,” She didn’t need to add that her roommate was a Night City native, the kind to watch five people eat chrome on the way to work and call it a quiet day. She flicked her phone to her ear as she moved to sit, sparing the effort to yell across the bar. “Hey Kells, come grab a drink, lady’s buying.” It hadn’t taken long for her to unlearn the formulaic speech, even in English, her education in Japan had provided her. It was a matter of survival really, even the most diehard faker from Japantown would struggle to maintain the formality that had been second nature to her. Of course, she could turn it back on at a pinch, but there was rarely a need for that.

The American blonde arrived in but a moment, a little more sway to her walk than Shimada’s had been thanks to lacking her biomods, but she was still put together enough, offering a hand out to Eddie with a bright smile, “Hey, nice to meet you.”

Eddie took the hand gently between her forefingers and thumb of her right hand, holding it as the woman leaned across the table, Eddie scooting forward in the booth's seating and leaning towards her, the monowire sharp smile on her unpainted and unglossed lips, the black of her jacket and top and pants and boots making the smile stand out all the more, and not always in the best of ways, her tone kind but the sound of her voice coming close to sharp. Eddie got close to make sure the woman heard her, and her blues eyes stared deep into the very soul of the girl's eyes so that there was no mistaking Eddie's intent, "You need to be very careful in this bar, Ms. Kelly. There are people in this bar who could end every life on a city block before anyone could do anything to stop them, and I mean like that," 'that', the word heavy with emphasis as her left hand appeared out of the nowhere of shadow and snapped loudly alongside the word just an inch from Kelly's face.

Eddie let go, and motioned to the girl to sit. Claire stared from the opening of the booth, the gravity of the moment not lost on Claire; this was the inner circle of Hell, and Claire had gained and lost more than she would like to admit to the demons that inhabited it. If anything, it was hard for Claire to hide the shadow of a smirk that inhabited her lips as she waited for Eddie's attention.

"Tequila, Reyes liquor, firewater, agave nectar, a squeeze of lemon juice, shaken over ice and double strained. Tajín Clásic garnish, topped with cerveza and mixed."

The Mexican-Spanish flair came easily to Eddie's decidedly not Mexican-Spanish voice, like an old friend she just hadn't spoken to in a while. Claire nodded, with a small chuckle, "Am I naming this one after you one day?"

Eddie let the smile be her real answer, even as she allowed another, "No, I'm a simple beer kind of girl." Kelly was unlikely to have had an old Cartel classic cocktail common in the tejano haunts of Texas, to say nothing of Shimada, from a country where such a cocktail was, as Eddie well knew, all but unheard of even if they went chasing something truly tejano or Texas, let alone Mexican. Claire disappeared, and Eddie was left to sink back into her seat, and give Shimada a look that was either apologetic, or completely lacking in apology, depending on point of view.

"Since we'll be working together for a time, might as well start off one step below Blue Glass, as I've already had my fill of that for the week." It was a miracle Conrad wasn't still sunk into a booth somewhere, lost in memory and lights and illusionary spectacle. "I'm told the code was secured, I've got a BD artiste modifying the BD, we'll check to make sure it would pass corpo eyes but...I've got faith. You'll be helping more in the background, closer to working more directly with me than the team. In fact, to be honest, I'd prefer the team never know you're involved at all. More security for you, and less potential for something to go wrong, if something were to go wrong."

“Something will go wrong.” When the words slipped from her lips they were without needless dread or a sense of correction. She had no illusions as to the nature of the task set before them, and those to whom they would shortly be directly set against. One could plan for every eventuality, and still never account for the whims of fate. “I don’t need, or want, to be present at every stage, but I will be involved when the blade drops, those are my terms, if we are to work together.” She was well aware that Eddie had already received most of what she already needed, but that wasn’t to say matters would be more complicated without her. Fixers tended to hate complication, especially when it didn’t even result in a bigger payout. “If they find out who I am, then it will function as enough of a smokescreen anyway.” As far as she was aware, no one beyond the old woman knew who she had been, but she hadn’t altered her face, recognition was always possible. Shimada allowed herself a sip of the drink, savouring the unusual taste, definitely speaking more to the strands of her taste buds that favoured her upbringing in Night City over her adolescence and genealogy in Japan. Kelly wasn’t as reserved, taking a more direct, more American, gulp of the cocktail, offering a celebratory clink of glasses to both other women present.

“Who have you brought together?” Shimada carried on speaking once the second sip was down her, one leg crossed over the other, not leaning back, as she spoke. Some lessons of proprietary didn’t quite slip without concerted effort, and she didn’t mind the contrast between herself and the two true-American women, not for the moment anyway.

Eddie smiled at the ‘cheers’, despite herself, and hoped the girl wouldn’t be dead by the turn of the new year. It was too early to celebrate, and for no one was that truer than herself. It was an unusual balance to the grim seriousness that was her companion of the hour. “No battle plan withstands getting punched in the mouth,” Eddie echoed an old friend from College Station, from a past life, in agreement with the general sentiment. She had quite a lot of experience at contingencies, it gave her a soothed over, quiet, confidence at such a fact.

“Nix has the bios. Tell him I sent you, he’ll let you see them.” The unmistakable sound of the base of an empty glass hitting a table sounded as Eddie finished her cocktail with a thirst, “I’ll be in touch, there’s more than enough work to do. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The sheer fire of the cocktail sending heat through her body and her brain let the smirk slip at the comment, given her history, it wasn’t a terribly limiting farewell.

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

S H I M A D A
S H I M A D A

Obligation
Obligation

There are such things as duty and obligation

Her duty had been to the Clan, to the Corporation.

Her obligation was to the murdered ghosts of her family.

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“You’ve outdone yourself, Marshall.” The grin of approval dripped with grim promise, not for the initial target of the expression, but for the bounty provided on the evening, yet another in the long run of endless evenings in Night City.

“What can I say? Militech looks after allies and employees alike.” The grin was met with a rather more respectful nod. Around the pair bright lights shone and music blared, a sensory overload designed to entice and overwhelm. The Bodukkan Centre was the most prestigious performing arts centre on the West Coast, but those currently present weren’t so interested in the world famous Kabuki performances as they were simply revelling in one of the most exclusive settings in Night City.

The Kabuki performers were so committed to their art that each had undergone cosmetic and cybernetic work to allow them to appear as their time honoured roles at all times, the great princes, princesses and demons of Japanese mythology. People paid a fortune to watch them before. They paid more for their private attention. Until recently such a boon was something only the Kansaki family could bestow, usually for the sort of price which dealt in favours rather than eddies. The unspoken bond between the Kansaki Clan and Arasaka had been so widely known that it would be inaccurate to refer to it as secret, a bond that had been shattered both by the extermination of the Clan’s members and dealings in Night City and the collapse of much of Arasaka’s waning influence. Now the Bodukkan had changed from exclusive to simply ludicrously expensive.

The multi-tiered lobby and its various bars had been converted into a riotous display of colour and sound, for the limited time of the evening becoming the most desired night club in a city renowned for its many nightly escapes. Banners of silk descended from the ceiling through the central stairwell, performers turning and spinning across them in displays of grace and athleticism. While impressive, they were not performers from the centre itself, they were here to revel alongside the few outsiders permitted to join the end of show party. Each of the Kabuki were a work of art, graceful slender bodies in a crescendo of augmented colour, each securing yet further funding for their performance with the press of their forms against those willing to spend the eddies to be here.

“Never in doubt, but it’s always nice to see what you have to offer when you’re trying to impress.” Henry Renham had been a dedicated member of Yorinobu’s faction within Arasaka. He’d not cared much for the principles of the man, he’d simply been in it to make the most money in the least time. He’d certainly achieved that, helping to orchestrate the violence which had consumed the company, before jumping ship and avoiding the economic downturn most of ‘Saka were feeling right now. Militech needed someone to help orchestrate their takeover of the excess weight Arasaka was being forced to shed, to know what was dead weight and what was worth seizing. Renham was one of those men, vultures picking at the bones of a slaughtered whale. For the moment, he sat with a rather more long term employee of the company, Curt Tyfield, nominally Militech’s Night City Head of Onboarding. In reality, he was their bribe guy, and he was doing a good job of it. The pair sat in a booth beside one of the circle bars, watching the party like sharks over a shoal. The sparkling wine they shared carried a value above the city’s median salary and they barely took a sip.

Through the cascade of noise, colour and motion, Renham’s eyes finally honed in on something of interest. Slowly climbing the circular stairway blazed a note of red and gold among the sea of cooler colours. The woman was dressed as Amaterasu, the goddess of the Sun and most sacred role among the Kabuki. As with many of the performers the outfit was a blend of their traditional costumes and clubwear. This woman’s lent towards the former, a fan of gold extending from her collar portrayed the rising sun, the long sweeping gown she wore alike to the ceremonial version of the outfit save for a few details, the most noteworthy of which for the man watching her being the plunging face of the dress, a display of decolletage that spoke far more of Night City then it did traditional Japan.

“Plump for a dancer.” The voice of the other man in the booth pulled Renham from his leering, shrugging only slightly in recognition. It was true enough, the rigorous Kabbuki performances forged slim athletic builds, what Renham could see of the woman’s form could certainly be considered athletic, but not alike with the petite forms around her.

“Probably self conscious then, perfect.” His grin returned, pushing to a sneer as he stood, adjusting his cufflinks as he did so. “See you on the other side.”

“Happy fucking.”

—-------------------------------

They had danced for longer than he had liked, the teasing obscuring silk of her gown rustling against him as they moved together. That had thrilled him though, the hunt was almost more important than the prize to him, and she seemed to have sussed that out soon enough. He’d have commended her intelligence had he no intention of becoming a long term supporter of the Kabukki. Clearly she was looking to secure her position in the troupe, a wealthy backer might be enough to fend off any criticism she might receive for having the ‘wrong physique.’ He’d happily take advantage and forget about her the next morning.

All that teasing ended how he knew it would, however, with a slamming door as she pulled him into the rest room, delicate hands dancing across his form as she spurred him onwards. She thudded back against the sink, hopping herself up to sit on the shelf of marble as her legs wrapped around him. The feel of her thighs was taught and firm, giving further clues as to the physique she concealed within the flowing gowns of silk, already his head lowering to where her gown resolutely failed to conceal the curves of her form.

She murmured something to him as his ear passed the plump press of her lips. He anticipated some sweet nothing in her mother tongue, he knew some Japanese after all, but the word was unfamiliar and her frowned, mumbling for her to repeat herself, like he cared what she had to say, as he continued his descent.

“Shin Kanzaki.”

“What?”

“My father’s name.”

Realisation didn’t dawn through the lust obscured mind of the man even as her legs tightened further, he remained dumbfounded as he felt something sharp dig around the shard port beside his ear. Confusion had barely turned to concern before his vision blurred and his world became pain.

Shimada twisted with her legs, sending them crashing to the ground. With the pull of a strap at her back the gown fell away from her, revealing the bodyglove beneath. Black with red accents, pulled down at the front to be invisible despite the gown she had worn. It was Arasaka made, the synthweave suit providing great connectivity between her, her implants, and weapons. In this case, with the shard-spike in her hands currently plunged into the writhing male’s skull, pulling every Militech code from him with little care for preserving the mind it was ripped from.

Between the convulses of his form he swore at her, calling her a thousand names she had no doubt heard before, mixed in were of course a deluge of threats, about the mistake she was making, how he was going to end her, how Militech were about to burn this place to the ground.

She didn’t need to explain to him, but she did anyway. His dear friend Curt was likely already dead. Militech was not welcome in Japantown, it had been their error to ever think otherwise. It would be months before Militech even knew they were dead. The centre hadn’t been funded by Arasaka for years without them having access to some of the best dataclones in the business. Everything they were was being copied and faked, just like what was happening to him now.

With a delicate touch, she eased the contact of the spike with his skull, allowing him just enough consciousness to behold her features smiling down above him from behind the mask of makeup, the vengeful smile of a Sun goddess.

“When the howling ghosts pull apart your soul, know that Shin’s daughter did her duty.” He didn’t manage another word, the chime in her ear denoting that the access codes had been successfully copied, with a push of augmented force, her palm drove the dataspike through the port and into his skull. It broke the instrument, but it also drove a short circuiting metal implement into the man’s brain. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock or the blow killing him, but when she left him, writing in dying spasms tangled in the silk of what had been her gown, she didn’t much care.

Duty and Obligation.

The Kabbuki had an obligation to her from the long years of her family’s support. She had a duty to protect them in turn, as the last of her family upon the continent. By the time Militech knew two of their own had perished, a fake data trail would lead back to a mugging not far from here. It was pretty impressive what you could do these days, with modified braindances.

She zipped up the front of her suit as she moved, sending an electrified shiver through her as the neural interface registered the greater connection, no longer interrupted by the span of bare cleavage. With a blink-command, a hood extended from the back of the body glove, concealing her features, as she pushed through a fire escape, out onto the exposed runways which allowed emergency descent from the higher levels of the performance centre. It had been raining, the metal gril of the walkway slick with the industrially tainted precipitation falling on the city. Her dexterity could account for it, but it didn’t have to, the texture of her bodyglove modifying on contact with the slick surface as she took hold of the rail, before swinging down to the next level, and the next. It was unnecessarily showy, but the kill had been easy and she needed some activity to burn away the feeling of an hour spent with the man’s hands on her. Her father’s killer.

Her victim.

With only a slight splash she landed in an alleyway, avoiding anything too foul smelling as a landing site, before carrying on, pressing a finger to her ear piece to begin a call.

“Wakako, this is Shimada, you can pass on to this ‘Eddie’ that I have the codes. The trail is cold for now, but the longer we wait it’s going to get hot pretty fast.” A voicemail, but she had no doubt the elderly woman would act on it. Normally a fixer wouldn’t pass on work to another fixer, but the Tyger Claws were another group with a duty to Kanzaki, and an obligation to her.

The second call she made picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Shim, how was the show?” The cheery voice of her housemate, Kelly, picked up.

“Oh, not bad, not quite as good as I expected though.”

“Shame, I knew you were looking forward to that for a while.”

“Oh well, I’m going to pick up dinner on the way home, want something? I’m feeling something greasy and terribly American.”

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

Kansaki Shimada Masako

S H I M A D A
S H I M A D A

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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^{_{"There are no clean hands. But it is important how they become dirty."}}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y Kansaki Shimada Masako _________________________________________________________ 42 | ♀ | Bisexual _________________________________________________________ Single | Yakuza Solo | Kanzaki/Arasaka (Former), Night Corp (Current) P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E [+] ▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Shapely ► Ethnicity - East Asian (Japanese) ► Hair Colour - Dark Brown ► Eye Colour - Hazel ► Other - Tattoo as described. Extensive jewellery, usually gold but sometimes with jade or ruby elements. - C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S [+] ▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Augments Mantis blades: Metal appears gold plated, blade colour is jade with gold script. Gecko Pads: On her hands and feet, enables enhanced grip, bone and muscle density activive modification and skin hardening. Advanced occular and cortex modifications. -

C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y The youngest child of the Kansaki oyabun, Shimada lived a life of relative freedom among the higher echelons of Night City society, a life supported by the sweeping business interests of the Yakuza in Night City. While she was born in Night City, when she was 16 she was sent to study in Japan, an opportunity only open to her due to the connections of her family and clan. While a deeper understanding of her native culture was surely an important aspect of this to her family, it was not its principle aim. While back in the home nation of the clans, Shimada was fully integrated into the workings of the Arasaka Corporation, the principle partner of the Kansaki clan in Night City. The majority of her time was truly spent studying (with the usual distractions of any student body) however it was during these years that she was first ingratiated with the Taka faction of Arasaka, and eventually it's leading voice in Yorinobu Arasaka. While several decades older than her in the purest sense of time, the more dynamic, tradition shirking, man was far more appealing in sensibilities than the same voices who had done such damage to the world a short time before. When Shimada returned to Night City following a string of qualifications ending in her Masters degree in Business and Public Policy, she did so with the intention of aligning the Kansaki as best she could with the Taka faction. Small time crime in Japantown might have been the work of a dime a dozen gangs, most recently the Tyger Claws, but anything worth any real amount of eddies worked through the Yakuza and their fixers and the Kansaki were the first among equals, working directly with representatives of Arasaka to turn Japantown into one of the most economically successful and safe districts of Night City outside of Corpo Plaza. Shimada was present for this, taking on an official role with the local Night City civil service to better facilitate the work of her family, and by extension, Arasaka. In truth, her work did more than simply facilitate business, actually benefitting the denizens of Japantown in many ways, albeit simply to further establish the clan under the false pretence of philanthropy. Aside from this, Shimada lived a comfortable life, attending parties, conferences (sometimes the difference between these are merely academic) and enjoying the best that Night City has to offer a young and successful person. This was not to say she was entirely removed from the violence of her family's work, she was still suitably augmented for her own defence, and trained by the finest instructors Arasaka could provide her family, but it was rare this had to put into practice beyond making a point of someone who had underestimate her. Not everything was simply business as usual for Shimada, as Yorinobu began to put in place his final plan to bring about the end of his father's version of Arasaka, he began to reach out to his allies in Night City. This included Shimada, who's role in the plot was rather simple, use the Kansaki network to move those loyal to Taka into the city without drawing the notice of the rest of Arasaka. It was this action that would bring about the fall of the Kansaki. When the murder of Saburo took place, the initial reaction from Arasaka was swift and retributive. Despite promises made to the contrary, the involvement of the Kansaki was revealed to the wider corporation, one of many scapegoats Yorinobu was willing to provide to secure his own position as he worked to bring an end to the corporation. Falsely accused of being bribed by outside actors (even rumoured to be Militech), the Kansaki were set upon by loyalist Arasaka Yakuza, or more truthfully, those who looked to gain the Corp's favour to replace the Kansaki as their primary point of contact with the Yakuza. Shimada's family were slaughtered, along with their closest friends and confidents, in a series of brutal retaliatory attacks. Shimada only survived by apparent coincidence, a change to her schedule placing her away from her intended duties that day and thus avoiding a bomb attack which destroyed her office. She has suspected this was more due to some last favour from her previous ally in Yorinobu, and act that does not come close to brushing away the cost of betrayal. It mattered not that she had physically survived, Shimada Kansaki would have to remain dead. Thankfully as with any family rooted in crime, the Kansaki were not so integrated into the Arasaka mould that they had not planned for such and so Shimada still had access to at least some of the resources her family had stockpiled over the years, bounced through so many transfers and accounts as to be utterly removed from her identity. Thankfully for Shimada she was, in many ways, already prepared for a life of solo survival. With combat training from Arasaka’s tutors, the same individuals who had developed the Troy Exterminator program and possessed substantial self defence augmentations. While the Kansaki had previously looked down on the ‘small time’ criminals of the Tyger Claws, Shimada was quick to reach out to Wakako Okada as the most capable fixer she was aware of, and to who they now shared an emnity towards Arasaka. There were no favours done for free, but Wakako had little compunction putting Shimada’s skill set to good use, and to the embittered woman, Shimada’s history with Arasaka was a benefit rather than a risk. Shimada had little involvement in the diasterous (for Arasaka) events of the recent past, but still very much took personal satisfaction in the crippling of Arasaka’s presence in the city. Shortly afterwards, however, Shimada was approached by representatives from Night Corp, using her well hidden family name with ease. The offer was simple, to make Arasaka’s downfall in the city permanent. With the eddies on offer and a chance at a personal revenge, there really was no reason to turn it down. The risk of having her identity exposed and the bounties that would come with it remained an unspoken, unnecessary threat. D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E Despite being born in Night City, Shimada’s appearance aligns more with the neo-future Japan of her family’s homeland. This would hardly be considered subdued by modern standards, but it lacks some of the riot of colour that the Tyger Claws have made famous across Night City. The most ostentatious aspect of Shimada’s appearance comes in the form of of a sweeping dragon and lotus tattoo which rises from the foot of her right leg up to her right shoulder. While often dulled, the interactive ink can shine or alter colouration at her will. Shimada’s cybernetics are subtle in appearnce, most being subdermal. Exceptions come in the form of her hands and feet, the digits, palms and soles of which are marked out in jade. While certainly capable of brutal force when neccesary, Shimada’s outward appearance tends not to give this away, soft and elegant, she moves with the poise taught to her by her tutors in Japan. Despite avoiding the garish clashing of colour many in Japantown favour, Shimada is hardly conservative, her corpo-esque attire often doing much to show off and enhance the fairness of her features and curves of her form. Once this had simply been a preference of style, now it is a trap to ensnare the kill. While she changes her look with as much whim as any individual of fashion, Shimada’s hair is usually kept it’s natural brown, and her eyes hazel, she can certainly be spotted with alterations to both on occassion, however. As with anyone trained in the art of Japanese courtly behaviour, Shimada is quite used to expressing herself through gestures and facial expressions as much as she is words, a trend that can make her seem higly emotive at times, or incredibly stoic at others. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) Shimada’s goals are for the short term rather simple. While originally her aims had little to do with Night Corp itself and everything to do with retribution she has since become emotively tied to the success of the plan to ensure Night City’s indendence from either Arasaka or Militech. Whether she truely believes Night Corp is the means to achieve this remains to be seen, but for the meantime, it is her best chance at both.

Marvel World War M

Collab with @Ruby and @The Man Emperor

New York City, Long Island, Airport Industrial Zone.
Damage Control's Long Island Secure Storage Facility.

Grey sweats and the deep blue of a Giants fan hoodie was hardly the most heroic of outfits, but combined with a similarly blue fabric facemask and black cartier shades was enough to mask her identity, and not to mention she had them all on hand. Once she’d collected her breakfast and coffee, Valeria quite flippantly forged a break through reality, the searing light of the magic she had learned from Doom burning into reality within the most secure chamber of the warehouse. As the portal sealed behind her, winking out of existence, Valeria kept the mask down for the moment. She had a few moments before any potential intruders could burst through into the chamber, and her breakfast was still hot.

Sitting cross legged atop one of the secure crates of sealed away technology, Valeria got to work on the avocado, bacon and egg mayo sandwich, the seeded granary bread it was encased in a selection of taste rather than any effort to salvage the health impact of the overpacked sandwich. Between bites and sips of coffee, she watched the scene progress on the screen of a data tablet. Whoever the initial assailant was, and she had a few rather accurate guestimates, they were making short work of the security, a combination of power armour and advanced drones seemed to be the cause of the imbalance. The second anomaly, the female voice she hadn’t recognised, had yet to show up on any of the surveillance footage she currently had access to. That only furthered her feeling that her direct intervention was necessary. Mundane theft could be accounted for, but beings beyond her ability to monitor were always worth encountering.

The first clangs of the doorway into the chamber heralded the imminent arrival of the known aggressor, and she hurried through the last bites of her breakfast, the mask pulled up over her mouth as she hopped off the crate, moving to the middle of the room even as the chamber opened, the hurried pace of her mind settling on her final, best estimate.

"Mr Angstrom, you're early." She didn't quite offer to shake his hand, the distance was for the moment too great anyway, but the mask across her mouth couldn't mask the generally chipper tone of her words.

“...What did you just call me?” Angstrom stammered, the drone swarm that trailed behind him pausing in absolute concert. He thought that in the forty years since he first entered the cryo chamber and was then presumed dead in the Dark Phoenix Crisis, he would have been forgotten, lost to time as everyone’s focus went towards the rebuilding of the world. U apparently someone remembers. Certainly not someone he once knew in the past, since the voice of the woman was too young, her movement crisp with youth.

“So do I know you from somewhere?” Baldur asked, his helmet still scanning for threats. “And are you here to stop me from getting my own technologies?”

"Despite what my Richards and Stark might claim, there are some fields of technology others have better claim to." Valeria began as way of an introductory explanation, one hand flicking to motion to the drones. She wasn't referencing the devices themselves, but the manipulation of their size that had allowed their entry. "And despite their best efforts, I know where all the Pymms are...so...Mr Angstrom. I suppose that's where Stark's missing suit went." While it was hidden by the material of her mask, her voice certainly sounded like it had just upturned into a smile.

"I want to understand what it is you want it for." She continued as way of an explanation, as non-committal as she wished to be at this stage.

"Angstrom Defense tech, the things that my family and I invented," Baldur replied, this time with a much calmer voice. "You probably know that we didn't just copy others' ideas, though that was the common theme."

Baldur gestured towards one of the stasis orbs that lay on his palm, giving it a little shake. "We revolutionized stasis and cryogenics. It is how I and many others survived the Dark Phoenix crisis and the successive waves of alien attacks. We slept through all of it, thinking the world will soon be scoured clean of all life. Apparently it just scoured itself of all common decency."

“We survived, but we’ve fallen far.” Valeria responded, her stance slackening somewhat as she regarded the armoured man, her right hip popped to the side as she favoured the other leg in her casual stance. Were it not for circumstances of the meeting the sight would have been more familiar to her attempting to decide between purchases than a clandestine meeting among a ravaged government warehouse.

“I ask, because there are those of us fighting for a new day, and what can be found here can be put to that use. I have no desire to keep you from what is yours, or your family, but if all you’re going to do is take it and scurry back underground, we need it more, here and now.” Her stance or tone didn’t change, nothing but honesty in her words, even as she hovered close to a threat. It seemed ludicrous, the girl in sweatpants toe-to-toe with the power armoured figure before her, but if the issue of mutants had taught the world anything, it’s that a casual dress sense didn’t mean you couldn’t flatten a city block, or trigger a global genocide.

"Those who fight for a new day…" Baldur trailed off, repeating Valerie's words as if he was trying to memorize them. Truth be told, he still couldn't figure out many of the odd pieces of the puzzle that is the world today; the apparent fall of superheroes into glorified celebrities, the concentration camps for everyone with an X Gene, and the not-so-subtle Xterminate Bill. Everything has gone down into a horrid path.

"Maybe I can help you," Baldur replied, lifting up the visor of the helmet to reveal his face. "And perhaps each other? I am still piecing together the puzzle of the world's bloodied status, and if you're fighting to bring it back to what it once was… I'd like to see that happen."

The Angstrom scion glanced towards the crates, shrugging. "But I'm still taking a few. For the purpose of… replication."

“Would you both hurry up?”

The eldritch armour of Magik’s left arm had covered the arm entirely, and spiked charcoal black spikes of varying degrees from her wrist to her shoulder blade. There were no other spikes on her, though the rest of her outfit matched the material and colour. Save for one item; the gold Eye of Agamotto that now rested on the top of her breasts, cold metal on warm skin. Illyana Rasputin was best at fighting, an elite warrior in any time, place, or dimension. It was a bloodlust that needed satiation beyond a few humans pretending to be mutant hunters. She had much of what she had come for, it was time to start making her presence known.

“You,” her right arm pointed straight at the male, her face a stone hard slate with a tone just as void as she then moved her arm to point to the space in the opposite end of the room right next to her, where the bright orange disc of light suddenly appeared, “If you want a quick escape, I’m going to offer it once. Get your shit, let’s go.”

The mutant tilted her head, just-so, as she regarded the other person in the room. “Richards. Sorry to hear about Franklin. I’ll try to have him and your mother out soon enough.”

Baldur glanced towards the young newcomer, taking note of her appearance and powers. She was familiar. Very familiar, in fact, since he actually saw Magik in action along with the other New Mutants back in the old days before the Dark Phoenix Crisis. Those were the better years; even if the planet constantly faced destructive events, the mutants were at least dedicated to its defense.

"Hm," Baldur turned around and began shrinking several stasis pods in quick succession, bending down and picking them up for storage in the spare orbs that he carried. The drones were still standing guard, but they'll also follow suit soon enough.

"You haven't aged a day, I see." Baldur said to Ilyanna as he gathered what pieces of Angstrom tech he deemed sufficient. He was leaving quite a lot of it, mostly because Richards had nicely asked him to, and she and Magik seemed to be on good terms. Shame that Reed went into the Ultimates.

Heavy brows perked above her blue eyes, in amusement, as her tone of voice hinted more at bemusement, “Not on the outside, anyway. Tell me where you want to be, step through, and you’ll appear there. Don’t ask why I’m helping,” despite the momentary bemusement, her lips twisted at their edges in something of a smirk at the insistence that the man not ask.

He wouldn’t like the answer. Either way, he didn't ask what it was. He simply shrugged, putting another of the stasis orbs into the backpack of his armor. "Vadvetjåkka National Park, in Sweden."

It wasn't often that Valeria was put onto the back foot, at least not truly. While she often presented the idea as a means to create a false sense of security in those she was manipulating or to simply provide further data for her to examine, in this case she was simply off guard. She told herself it was absolutely nothing to do with the neckline of the recent arrival. She was the brightest mind in a generation, if not ever. It would surely take more than a nice set of tits to put her off her game, or her own morning ritual in the mirror would be rather extended. No, it was the gleaming eye set upon the prominent rise of the mutant’s chest that she had not fully considered. Even if on this occasion it was unlikely to cost her, it wasn’t a mistake she would make again.

That said, matters were proceeding as she had planned, she was quite willing to let Angstrom leave with the full compliment of tech so long as her was aligned to her side of things. If she had stolen the technology herself it would reveal to her father that someone high up in his confidence had betrayed him, Angstrom was both a great ally and a fall guy.

With an exaggerated sigh, Valeria pulled down he hood and face mask, only her sunglasses remaining as she allowed her pristine mane of blonde hair to spill forth. "I can't say that was a particularly high effort disguise." Her eyes fixed on Magik as she aided Angstrom in his escape, pausing only to inform the man she would be in touch if he wished to aid them in setting the world to right, only continuing after he had stepped through to where he asked Magik to send him.

"So, Magic with a K, what brought you here?" She could make some guesses, but even her estimates were less sure than a straight confirmation. She pointedly ignored the offer to save her family, at least for the moment.

“The Vishanti showed Stephen what was to come, and he showed me. Only I return in time to find this underground playing at resistance, so I think maybe it’s time for this entire universe to burn. Even WITH the Eye I can’t tell if you’re guiding it, or if it’s guiding you…you know how to reach me, yes, that I can see clearly, sorceress.”

Without so much as another word Magik turned on her booted heel, and disappeared through one of her discs, leaving Valeria Richards with the mess of a violated Damage Control facility and the fallout that comes with it.

Val gazed into the space where Magik had been for some time, a scattering of moments that felt far more elongated than it was to her enhanced perception of reality. She snapped out of it quickly, she had to, despite her flippant outward nature, time was short. She regarded the intricate technology left behind for a few moments, before she began tracing patterns in the air, gleaming sigils of green lingering after her traced touch before the objects started phasing out of reality. They would be scattered across the Underground network throughout the Continental United States, but primarily to those safehouses closest to New York where they could currently do the most good.

Even as she weaved the magic, she spoke-thought commands to F.R.I.D.A.Y [I]”Corrupt this room’s audio and visual, leave sign of tampering.” As far as anyone who investigated would know there would be evidence of Angstrom, and possibly Magik, to be found, as long as the trace of magic itself, but none of her. Combined the two perfectly accounted for what had occured here, no need to look for a third party.

As she opened a portal of her own, hoping down from the final crate she had been standing upon, she let out a brief whine at the uncomfortable landing, the rush in which she had got changed in order to reach the warehouse in time letting itself known in a more direct sense. “Smarter than Reed Richards and you still forget to put on a bra.” she chided herself, before stepping through her own portal, rather hoping that Antony wouldn’t mind too much if she asked for another breakfast sandwich on her return.

Marvel World War M

☢ V A L E R I A R I C H A R D S ☢

Four Yancy Street

"Miss Richards, you have now received 52 unanswered requests for comment."

It was not the first of such warnings that had chimed through to her this morning, what little remained of the morning, the pleasant tones of F.R.I.D.A.Y beginning to sound a little more earnest. She'd been aware of a few more mundane prompts to wake as well, the typical polite-but-judgemental mutterings of her father's staff not enough to rouse her, at least in so far as they believed. While she outwardly dozed well into the later evening, no doubt nursing a hangover on top of her predisposition to not waking early, the young woman was far from static. Even before she had convinced Victor to begin his secretive magical tutoring of her, she would use this time to be lost in her own thoughts, the challenges of reality laid bare to her as lying still allowed her to focus entirely on the power of thought. Now? Now she could move reality from the confines of her bed, interacting with the magi-science systems which enabled her to weave into the web of communications that crossed the globe. Reed and Victor would never find the electronic trace of the Underground, for it existed only when she thought it to be. The implementation of her neuro-network have been the only real reason to reveal her true identity to her allies in Wakanda. It had taken considerable effort to convince T'chala and Ororo that their hidden ally among the United Empire was the daughter of Reed Richards, least of all by inference that meant she had barely been seven years old when the Railroad was first implemented. In the end, she didn't convince them, she convinced Shuri and that had been the end of the discussion.

With a languid yawn, and equally feline stretch, Valeria began to rise from her bed, cascading blonde hair catching the cool New York Sun streaming through the windows between hastily shut blinds like spun gold. Four Yancy Street offered plenty of opportunity to escape into its impossibly large interior, the reality bending capacity of the townhouse giving it more functional space than even the current Baxter Building. The room she had claimed as her own whenever she remained in the city proper was part of the original structure, however, the exposed red brick of the walls interrupted only by the various decorations she had selected for it and the trappings of furniture. With a second yawn and groan that wasn’t entirely play-acting, Valeria pulled herself from the bed, covers falling away from her as her bare feet met the softness of carpet.

“Any of them….important?” The blonde called out, seemingly to the room itself, her words interrupted only by another stretch, pushing herself up onto her tip toes and arching her back a little, rewarded by a satisfying click before she padded her way over to her dressing table, just as one of the staff finally picked up the courage to renter and see if Miss Richards had finally roused herself. They were almost pleasantly surprised to find the young woman up and about, if still in the pristinely white baggy top and pink pajama shorts she had slept in.

“Morning Elise.” Valeria smiled with full lips, her cheeks slightly dimpling in the manner which had gone from adorably cute to stunningly disarming over the course of her life. It still half worked on the staff, despite their general belief she was more than a little on the pampered side of a New England Princess. She didn’t have to be a savant to know that.

“Morning Miss, would you care for breakfast?” Elise was a kind soul, a little older than Valeria and had been a part of the Richards staff ever since she was old enough to have a job, a heritage, if Valeria recalled correctly, and she always did. Her father didn’t do a particularly good job of trying to hide that they were the new royalty of a burgeoning empire with a staff of servants that now included second, and sometimes even third, generations of workers. Still, at least they were paid well and had access to good wifi, she didn’t suppose there were many historical examples outside of Wakanda which could boast that.

“Please, I’m sure Antony has something nice is mind.” That was Antony the house chef, not Tony Stark, billionaire genius. Only one of those had anything useful to contribute to her morning. “I’ll take it in the pantry, give me thirty minutes, I’ll have a chai latte please.” She didn’t check her stride or smile as she flumped down into the chair. The nod of the head Elise gave her stopped just short of what could possibly be considered a bow or curtsey, but it was enough that a flicker of unease passed through the seated woman.

What are we becoming?

Such concerns were the thoughts of her greater mind however, and not the outward presentation she showed even those who had known her for as long as some of the staff had, and all Elise earned from her was another winning smile, that for all its warmth still dismissed her. With a huff that blew a golden curl from out of her eyes, Valeria looked to her mirror. “Carry on F.R.I.D.A.Y.” She hadn’t been quite truthful in her scathing narrative earlier, Stark had given her something useful, but as was the trend of the leadership of the United Empire, they had not done so willingly. When she had asked to have Yancy Street fitted for her purposes, Stark’s VI assistant had been installed alongside the already substantial technological wonders found within the dimension-folding home. She couldn’t fault the conveniences this borught, even if she was entirely sure the intention was for the VI to monitor her. To Stark’s credit, it had taken her a few weeks to unbind and reshackle the VI, and now she was the one with the spy in the code, To keep up appearances F.R.I.D.A.Y. still performed her assigned roles, all the more reason her permanent act was all the more important to keep up.

“Most unanswered updates pertain to ususal calls to comment on trival matters, I have instructed and redistributed these to the relevant press teams. You have three requests to meet today from your father and two from unrecorded numbers. I can, of course, provide identification for these if required.”

“That’s fine, Friday.” Valeria began to brush through her hair as she spoke, beginning to get the blonde mane under control. “How’s the footage from last night doing?” As She spoke, portions of the mirror not occupied by her reflection shifted, forming a multitude of windows from which various forms of media played, each running simultaeneously, the individual watcher able to take them in at once. Most consisted of broadcast footage but there were the typical personal media recordings thrown in. The world might have experienced a devestating cosmic genocide and a third world war, but some things were eternal, sports rivalries were among them. An NFC Championship between the Giants and the Cowboys had been predictably wild and well watched. It had been decided it would benefit matters if Valeria could be the one present to present the trophy to the winning captains, after a brief speech both praising the winners and upholding the tenents of the United Empire. Not that she would expect otherwise, but every broadcast seemed to be praising both her stunning appearance, business like as it had been, and both the emotional and, at times, jovially entertaining speech she had given. It had helped that the Giants had won, that had certainly helped her play to the New York crowd and her official residence in the city.

“I have currently blocked the following imagery from circulating.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice spoke, a hint of taunting reproval in the VI’s voice as several grainier images and recordings appeared on screen. Following her official engagement, Valeria had attended the winning team’s after party, a night that would no doubt live in popculture infamy once more details had reached the wider public. Valeria had been there, in the transition managing to acquire herself a New York Giants cheerleader outfit which was clearly rather too small for her curvaceous form in what most would consider the right places. The picture F.R.I.D.A.Y had decided to place almost centre screen, no doubt a continuation of her playful teasing, was of Valeria, bottle of Dom Perignon in one hand, and her body titled towards and lips locked with an exceedinly tall, and exceedingly famous, man. “Might I remind you, Miss Richards, that Robert Brady II is currently engaged.”

Valeria didn’t engage with the teasing as she often did, flare ups of her neuro-server informing her of the building crisis of the day even as the United Empire’s systems became aware themselves of the violence within New York. It didn’t halt her response for a moment, but it simply brought out the sharp mind of purpose. “Keep it out of the press, but let father, and anyone else digging, find it.” She didn’t think Reed had enough familiaral instinct left to feel anything but an inkling of possessive anger at the sight, but he’d no doub be disappointed in how flippantly she treated her privledge and that was exactly the state of affairs she intended to keep for as long as possible. Even as she instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y. her hand waved over the interactive display of the mirror, arranging a second illicit meeting with the strapping example of American sporting royalty. That would only add to the headache. “I presume Dad just wanted to scold me for missing morning appointments, any requests to head to Baxter or the Ultimates?” She called out to the VI as she rose from the chair, making her way into the marble ensuite bathroom attached to her bedroom. That ‘hadn’t’ been a feature the Thing had originally installed, no doubt the touch of her mother or uncle when they’d been able to play with the spacial anomalies Reed had unlocked.

“None, the situation is in flux, they will wish to be sure of the conclusion before putting out a statement.” She could already script the speech they would give her, something along the lines of unity and security for the betterment of all. As the golden darling of the Empire they never gave her the statements of retribution and force. That was more ‘Doom.’

“Good, I’ve got other matters to attend to. The words were the last thing to leave her lips before the heat of water embraced her, her clothes tossed aside and hair held protected by the most flippant of spellwork, the blast from the showerhead washing the funk of the night before from her tanned skin. Even as she was aware of enjoying the relaxing moment elements of her mind were elsewhere. Through her neural link with F.R.I.D.A.Y. she could fully appreciate the string of alerts currently passing through United Empire channels. The deals in New York were going about as planned, even if the smuggled arms were reclaimed, the amoung of collateral Venom and her father’s thugs were willing to tolerate to succeed contributrd in its own way to the turning of New York against the Empire. It was a war they could win by losing the battle, or take both all the same. This was not what concerned her, the streets of New York were progressing in a manner which needed no direct intervention,

“Intruder in power armour, size-morphing, heading towards Section 2-B in Warehouse 4-” The voice chimed as if direclty in her ear, both the message and the nature of the voice concerning. The specific warehouse was one she had earmarked for some time for later use in the Underground’s struggle, and unknowns were not something she could accept. She’d also been directly involved, throrugh her various means, in the selection of staff at the facility after their recent change up, and that was not a voice she recognised. With a sigh, she stepped from the shower, looking forlornly to the comfortable robe she had planned to slip into to await her summons to aid her father, and instead paced from the room, drying herself with a drawn pattern in the air, hastily pulling on a pair of grey sweats from her wardrobe and a deep blue hoodie, her sneakers summoned to her with another wave of her hand. Once she had drawn close to being considered changed, her form flicked, phasing momentarily out of reality to arrive as if she had just been rushing at the pantry, her lovingly prepared breakfast prepared for her.

“Uh….Can I take this to go?” She asked with a slightly sheepish version of her winning smile, large eyes set on the form of Antony, daring him to refuse her with the full force of her charm.

If she was going to steal hyper advanced technology before it could be stolen in turn, she was hardly going to do it on an empty stomach.

Marvel World War M

Valeria Cynthia Mary Richards

Valeria Cynthia Mary Richards

☢ 27 Years Old ☢ Female ☢ 5'9 ☢ 165lbs

☢ P E R S O N A L I T Y ☢

There are more sides to Valeria Richards than most, and who can tell which is her true self? The woman herself is perhaps no honest narrator on this fact, although she is no doubt the closest to understanding. To those who looked after her in youth she was something of a well meaning but pampered young girl, hardly the worst you could expect from the daughter of the most prestigious man on the planet. To her family she was a bright, but not exceptional, child who offered the perfect statement for a regime built on the foundation of saving the future. To the people of the United Empire, she was the shining beacon of a future won by the sacrifice of their liberty. All of these are lies, to greater and lesser extents. Valeria Richards possess an intelligence that surpasses even her father and the other great minds of his generation, fuelled by cosmic power and the light of the multiverse, it outstrips what can naturally be possible within the human mind. Of such great intellect that she can easily compartmentalise whole personalities and sets of knowledge, the different guises she slips into are as convincing as if they were a whole separate individual. While logic may be her greatest weapon, she does not let it consume her, instead allowing herself to feel and in doing so only greater enhance the conclusions her mind can draw, fusing the greatest mind alive with the warmth of compassion so lacking in the generation before her. Valeria cannot condone the actions of her father or godfather, feeling the plight of both mutantkind and the lost freedom of humanity in the name of security, deliberately maintaining the façade of normalcy in order to undermine the United Empire and work to build a better future for the world as a whole.

In truth, the princess act isn't entirely an act. She might be insurmountably more intelligent than those around her believe, may care deeply for the people her father rules over, but she is still a young woman who knows suffering only academically, who appreciates more than a few of the finer things in life and makes sure her long blonde curls are always in pristine order. Her fight remains undimmed, but it probably is easier to fight from the luxury of a mansion than it is from the stone of a gutter.

If there is any truth to the string of gossip about her, Valeria's sexuality seems fluid, having been linked in various tabloids to both men and women of high society.

☢ H I S T O R Y ☢

Before Valeria was even born she was a marvel, both a lethal curse and miraculous blessing to her family, a traveler of the multiverse and the bonding link between hated foes. Conceived among the cosmic horror of the negative zone, the unborn child who would become Valeria Richards began to emit lethal radiation well before her full term, only her mother's own superhuman biology enabling her to survive the first surges of this danger, and any further surges would only continue to risk overcoming even this fleeting advantage. The Richards were never ones to give into defeat without a struggle, but they could not solve this personal crisis with all the scientific genius of her father or abilities of their allies. The moment all hope seemed to pass occured when a medical scan of mother and unborn daughter seemed to reveal that despite the power leaching from the unborn girl, she possessed no true brain activity, a stillborn battery of horrific power. Only her future brother, Franklin Richards, refused to give in to the terrible situation, gathering the full might of his psionic power to remove the unborn child. Unknown to his parents, Franklin didn't simply will the fetus out of existence to save his mother, but instead transported her to reality in which she might survive.

In this turn of the cosmos, this was not one lonely reality, not one easy fix, but an endless chain of realities, of alternate surrogacies that sustained the unborn child. Each reality could only hold her for so long, the tainted power leaching from the child destructive in the extreme to each version of her mother no matter the gifts she might hold, or the boons of her time and place. Every stop along the multiverse enabled the girl to develop slightly more, the cosmic radiation pulsing from her gradually coming under control, with a subconscious mind which was soon far more developed than the steadily maturing physical form it inhabited. While her physical presence remained unborn, her cosmically enhanced consciousness roamed the astral planes of the multiverse, encountering, long before her later tutelage in the arts, her first touch of magic. Drawn to the guiding light of the Vishanti, her stellar presence aligned with their noble purpose in shielding humanity across the span of reality. It would only be in later life that her waking presence would remember any trace of the eternity spent among the cosmos.

While the length of development for the child was no longer than any other, the timelines of each reality flow differently, and so by the time the psionic wish bestowed upon the child could be fulfilled, of a reality that she could be safely born into, was ready, decades had passed back home in the reality of her nonbirth. When her brother's power was depleted in the line of duty, she was pulled back into her own reality. While she was no longer so intensely lethal to Susan Storm as she had been, the sudden and forced return of the child posed rather more 'normal' biological complications, and a disastrous labor began shortly. Many doubt that the genius of Reeds Richards could have saved his wife and child had he been present, but it fell not to the master of science to save his family, but perhaps his greatest foe. Abroad to treat with Latveria at the moment of cosmic inception, only the blended power of science and magic that Doom possessed enabled both child and mother to survive the labor, not least from her mother's relatively advanced age for the process of childbirth.

Despite a long history of conflict, Victor's role in saving the life of Susan and her returned daughter prompted Susan to name him the godfather of the child, and in turn he bestowed upon her two names, Valeria after his childhood love and Cynthia after his murdered mother, slain after a great and desperate journey, it seemed ideal for one who had fled across realities before she had even opened her eyes.

Valeria seemed for all examinations a normal child, not possessing the x-gene or any of the stranger abilities of her parents and uncle. While she seemed unusually astute and aware for a newborn, this was as much attributed to the magic of Doom than it was any lingering attributes. In reality, she was far more changed than could be measured at this stage, he consciousness advanced enough to both be aware of her vastly greater intelligence but also the advantages of concealing it. The world was changing, born in the aftermath of the Dark Phoenix's genocide, unexplained gifts held little comfort for the newly born.

Her 'normalcy' was something which Valeria Richards committed to presenting for her upbringing, hiding the great boon of her intelligence and maturity from even her parents. Growing up as the unexpected blessing of the Richards family as they transitioned into the equivalent of global royalty offered plenty of opportunity for this. Even as a young child she became the spoiled darling of a global empire. The beautiful blonde girl, a perfect propaganda icon for the world, her father and godfather were forging together, in contrast to the wars of their past. Her birth was often marked as the forging of this new bond of alliance, but that was simple fiction. It had been expedience and danger which had made allies of Doom and Richards. This was not to mean that Valeria did not grow up without some influence from her godfather, who's understanding of the greater mysteries perhaps gave him some inkling of the child's true nature. An inkling he did not share with Richards, enough of their old rivalry remaining that he felt this could someday be an advantage he could use.

Had Doom known how the girl used her unusual gifts, he might well have put aside this old grudge, as well before Valeria could even be marked as an adolescent she began her work to undermine the cruel reality she had ended up within. Flashes of the realms and realities she had passed through as an unborn entity assured her that there were better ways to handle the crisis of her world, and warned her of what would happen should the current path be followed. From within the complexes of her father and godfather's realm she helped to organise a new 'Railroad' for those the United Empire wished to persecute and imprison, named after the movements of the past who had helped save the enslaved from the crutches of the Confederacy.

Her efforts to hide her gifts proved all the more worthwhile as the persecution of the people of Earth proved to stretch even within the Richards family, with her own mother being imprisoned and the cruel punishment of those who tried to rescue her. While her mother had no doubt in part enabled the crimes of her father and godfather, it was still a great pain to the young girl and for once the sullen moods she presented were a true reflection of herself, although it was not long before the darling of the Empire was once more smiling for both dignitaries and crowds. As she had matured, the young woman was able to allow herself to shine a little more, in line with a high, but still reasonable, level of intelligence and ability for someone who had grown up alongside the greatest minds of humanity. This stretched beyond academic studies, delving into the sorcery of her godfather, using just enough flattery and flippent descriptions of her father to convince Doom to tutor her privately. Of course, she was in no time far more advanced in her studies of science and magic than she allowed her paired father figures to realise. No doubt on the occasions she was allowed to tour the facilities used to create and house KIVA neither of them, nor the condescending scientists who attempted to explain to the young woman in terms she would understand, felt her entirely out of her element. Instead, each tour only gave Valeria greater and greater concerns as she noted the flaws in her Father's work and the repercussions they could have.

Equipped with her supreme intelligence and the works of both Reed and Doom, unknowingly gleaned from them to a far greater extent than they realised, Valeria turned to greater acts of rebellion. Making contact with her father’s enemies in Wakanda and beyond, Valeria helped to form the Underground, incorporating the resources and experience of the surviving mutants of the age gone by and their one supporting state into the Railroad she had constructed within the United Empire. Initially her aim was always to aid mutants in escaping to Wakanda where they might be expected, with safe havens along the route intended only as temporary waystations, but as the Underground has grown in influence and power, this temporary measure has since been replaced with a more radical cause.

Liberty for All

☢ P O W E R S / A B I L I T I E S ☢

Intellect - Valeria's mind is unnatural, she can take in and ingest information at the capacity of only the greatest supercomputers with biological ingenuity to spare. To refer to her memory as eidetic is to play it down, within the scope of her mind are inferences and conclusions she could not possibly have witnessed but are instead conclusions drawn from logic paths and understanding vectors, filling her understanding of the world before she would even need to witness it. This has no doubt been useful for her understanding of science and magic, but is far more critical to the Underground Council as the primary node of the entire network, operations running through her as easily as a much greater computer network which would be far more vulnerable to hostile takeover.

Magic - Doom has willingly taught her what to him amounts to cantrips, seeking to strengthen his bond with her over that of her father. In doing so, he has unknowingly unlocked the full realm of magical research to the savant mind of Valeria Richards. After but a few introductory sessions with her godfather, she was able to begin her own experiments outside of his guidance. While she is no doubt some way from being able to match Doom, she is drawing closer at an exponential rate. Most critically, she has uncovered the existence of The Haazareth Three, the source of Doom's initial bond of magic. Already she has approached the demons, seeking to eventually subvert her godfather's place as their favoured scion on Earth. Alongside the darker elements of magic, her research has begun to reawaken her limited memories of the Vishanti, and as she reaches for one school of magic, another also grows steadily open to her.

X-Men: Ascendancy

"Fuck, Jeanie."

The next words that broke the silence rumbled forth from rural Canadian tones of the Wolverine, Logan watching Bailey with palpable regret. He wasn't like some of the mutants, who would no doubt consider what Jean had done in the throes of godhood as some practically divine blessing on the man. He saw the hurt first of all, the very real emotional hurt of his changed life, for him and his family. Would they even be his family anymore after this? With the death of Xavier's first dream the situation had changed, mutants and humans pulling apart from the idea of co-habitation. His brief moment of friendship with Summers interrupted by the magnitude of the unknowing injustice done to this man who had just been doing his job.

This really was a fucking mess.

It didn't take long for the loudest voice present to vocalise that.

"That is some real absolute horseshit." It was actually unusual for Stark to be so directly crass, the mechanical voice of the Iron Man adding a particularly surreal element to the blunt terminology. Servos wined within the suit, doing anyone knows what, but surely to prepare for whatever might be immediately thrown the way of the accusing Avenger, watching those assembled. "You do understand how that looks? We're all obviously here to make sure Miss New England isn't about to become the new fiery Queen of the World and melt us all in our beds, and the first thing that happens when she walks out of the Light is you point at a man who fetched your buddy and say he's yours now?" There was a certain incredulity to Tony's tone which suggested he really was shocked, and not simply announcing what he considered to be the latest overstep from the Mutants. It was a concern that certainly bled from the other humans assembled as well, they just perhaps weren't so keen on voicing it at that exact moment.

"She'd turn him back if she could." Logan rumbled, his voice still aching with hurt for the man he had barely known. For a suit he hadn't been so bad, and he thought the man likely believed in the best aspects of his role. It wasn't a particularly useful contribution, but the absolute lack of politics in it gave even Stark pause, his attention turning to Wolverine for the moment. He might have been a mutant and fought alongside the others, but he had also been an Avenger, and many of those assembled knew that Logan had some of the same misgivings they had about the mission Summers and Frost stuck so closely to.

"Be that as it may, it's his decision no? Or is Krakoa the new North Korea?" The beat was barely missed before Tony spoke again, albeit with somewhat less volume, as if he was directing the his words to Logan alone. He had personally been involved in breaking up many of North Korean repatriation rings, which amounted to barely more, and often far worse, than the wider scourge of human trafficking which had plagued the modern world.

"Should be." Logan simply rumbled in response, with a nod, approaching Bailey, but not quite closing the distance, instead turning on spot, putting himself between the man and both the other mutants and the human representatives. It was a misconception that Logan didn't care for people, his isolation had always been because he valued the unit more than the whole. Already the others viewd the man as a chit, a commodity to fight over, grand principles to address, but all he saw was a man who's world was crumbling, and who needed allies, not an overlord.

The moment of tension hung in the air, and only seemed to worsen.

When Bailey behind him frowned in concern, trying to fight through some interference, that was when Logan realised it wasn't just his heightened perceptions for the moods of others, the air really was building with tension. To Logan it was already some physical, a whine building in the air, the others reacting moments behind. Then reality tore itself apart.

A searing mote of light erupted in the air some distance from the group, a blazing infinitely small point that hurt to gaze upon, existing only for a moment before it spread outwards, consuming the view of the school grounds behind it. What once had been light, darkened, a skein of darkness which bled into the world, sweeping outwards until it was twice the height of a man in both directions, the pool of darkness spotted with flashes of dark green. In an instant the source was recognisable, even before the figure strode forth from within to confirm.

"Speak now." Where the voice from Tony's suit was entirely artificial, modified to sound like his own, the metallic grind of this voice was inflicted by the echo alone, the voice within the metal shell of true human origin, strained nightmarishly by the death mask of its wearer. "Explain now, to Doom, why the mutant witch still breathes." The cosmic darkness behind the armoured form of Doctor Doom flashed once more, before disappearing, as his withering gaze spurned all but the slender form of Jean Grey, a gaze that bore only contempt and hatred.

Marvel World War M

Valeria Cynthia Mary Richards

Valeria Cynthia Mary Richards

☢ 27 Years Old ☢ Female ☢ 5'9 ☢ 165lbs

☢ P E R S O N A L I T Y ☢

There are more sides to Valeria Richards than most, and who can tell which is her true self? The woman herself is perhaps no honest narrator on this fact, although she is no doubt the closest to understanding. To those who looked after her in youth she was something of a well meaning but pampered young girl, hardly the worst you could expect from the daughter of the most prestigious man on the planet. To her family she was a bright, but not exceptional, child who offered the perfect statement for a regime built on the foundation of saving the future. To the people of the United Empire, she was the shining beacon of a future won by the sacrifice of their liberty. All of these are lies, to greater and lesser extents. Valeria Richards possess an intelligence that surpasses even her father and the other great minds of his generation, fuelled by cosmic power and the light of the multiverse, it outstrips what can naturally be possible within the human mind. Of such great intellect that she can easily compartmentalise whole personalities and sets of knowledge, the different guises she slips into are as convincing as if they were a whole separate individual. While logic may be her greatest weapon, she does not let it consume her, instead allowing herself to feel and in doing so only greater enhance the conclusions her mind can draw, fusing the greatest mind alive with the warmth of compassion so lacking in the generation before her. Valeria cannot condone the actions of her father or godfather, feeling the plight of both mutantkind and the lost freedom of humanity in the name of security, deliberately maintaining the façade of normalcy in order to undermine the United Empire and work to build a better future for the world as a whole.

In truth, the princess act isn't entirely an act. She might be insurmountably more intelligent than those around her believe, may care deeply for the people her father rules over, but she is still a young woman who knows suffering only academically, who appreciates more than a few of the finer things in life and makes sure her long blonde curls are always in pristine order. Her fight remains undimmed, but it probably is easier to fight from the luxury of a mansion than it is from the stone of a gutter.

If there is any truth to the string of gossip about her, Valeria's sexuality seems fluid, having been linked in various tabloids to both men and women of high society.

☢ H I S T O R Y ☢

Before Valeria was even born she was a marvel, both a lethal curse and miraculous blessing to her family, a traveler of the multiverse and the bonding link between hated foes. Conceived among the cosmic horror of the negative zone, the unborn child who would become Valeria Richards began to emit lethal radiation well before her full term, only her mother's own superhuman biology enabling her to survive the first surges of this danger, and any further surges would only continue to risk overcoming even this fleeting advantage. The Richards were never ones to give into defeat without a struggle, but they could not solve this personal crisis with all the scientific genius of her father or abilities of their allies. The moment all hope seemed to pass occured when a medical scan of mother and unborn daughter seemed to reveal that despite the power leaching from the unborn girl, she possessed no true brain activity, a stillborn battery of horrific power. Only her future brother, Franklin Richards, refused to give in to the terrible situation, gathering the full might of his psionic power to remove the unborn child. Unknown to his parents, Franklin didn't simply will the fetus out of existence to save his mother, but instead transported her to reality in which she might survive.

In this turn of the cosmos, this was not one lonely reality, not one easy fix, but an endless chain of realities, of alternate surrogacies that sustained the unborn child. Each reality could only hold her for so long, the tainted power leaching from the child destructive in the extreme to each version of her mother no matter the gifts she might hold, or the boons of her time and place. Every stop along the multiverse enabled the girl to develop slightly more, the cosmic radiation pulsing from her gradually coming under control, with a subconscious mind which was soon far more developed than the steadily maturing physical form it inhabited. While her physical presence remained unborn, her cosmically enhanced consciousness roamed the astral planes of the multiverse, encountering, long before her later tutelage in the arts, her first touch of magic. Drawn to the guiding light of the Vishanti, her stellar presence aligned with their noble purpose in shielding humanity across the span of reality. It would only be in later life that her waking presence would remember any trace of the eternity spent among the cosmos.

While the length of development for the child was no longer than any other, the timelines of each reality flow differently, and so by the time the psionic wish bestowed upon the child could be fulfilled, of a reality that she could be safely born into, was ready, decades had passed back home in the reality of her nonbirth. When her brother's power was depleted in the line of duty, she was pulled back into her own reality. While she was no longer so intensely lethal to Susan Storm as she had been, the sudden and forced return of the child posed rather more 'normal' biological complications, and a disastrous labor began shortly. Many doubt that the genius of Reeds Richards could have saved his wife and child had he been present, but it fell not to the master of science to save his family, but perhaps his greatest foe. Abroad to treat with Latveria at the moment of cosmic inception, only the blended power of science and magic that Doom possessed enabled both child and mother to survive the labor, not least from her mother's relatively advanced age for the process of childbirth.

Despite a long history of conflict, Victor's role in saving the life of Susan and her returned daughter prompted Susan to name him the godfather of the child, and in turn he bestowed upon her two names, Valeria after his childhood love and Cynthia after his murdered mother, slain after a great and desperate journey, it seemed ideal for one who had fled across realities before she had even opened her eyes.

Valeria seemed for all examinations a normal child, not possessing the x-gene or any of the stranger abilities of her parents and uncle. While she seemed unusually astute and aware for a newborn, this was as much attributed to the magic of Doom than it was any lingering attributes. In reality, she was far more changed than could be measured at this stage, he consciousness advanced enough to both be aware of her vastly greater intelligence but also the advantages of concealing it. The world was changing, born in the aftermath of the Dark Phoenix's genocide, unexplained gifts held little comfort for the newly born.

Her 'normalcy' was something which Valeria Richards committed to presenting for her upbringing, hiding the great boon of her intelligence and maturity from even her parents. Growing up as the unexpected blessing of the Richards family as they transitioned into the equivalent of global royalty offered plenty of opportunity for this. Even as a young child she became the spoiled darling of a global empire. The beautiful blonde girl, a perfect propaganda icon for the world, her father and godfather were forging together, in contrast to the wars of their past. Her birth was often marked as the forging of this new bond of alliance, but that was simple fiction. It had been expedience and danger which had made allies of Doom and Richards. This was not to mean that Valeria did not grow up without some influence from her godfather, who's understanding of the greater mysteries perhaps gave him some inkling of the child's true nature. An inkling he did not share with Richards, enough of their old rivalry remaining that he felt this could someday be an advantage he could use.

Had Doom known how the girl used her unusual gifts, he might well have put aside this old grudge, as well before Valeria could even be marked as an adolescent she began her work to undermine the cruel reality she had ended up within. Flashes of the realms and realities she had passed through as an unborn entity assured her that there were better ways to handle the crisis of her world, and warned her of what would happen should the current path be followed. From within the complexes of her father and godfather's realm she helped to organise a new 'Railroad' for those the United Empire wished to persecute and imprison, named after the movements of the past who had helped save the enslaved from the crutches of the Confederacy.

Her efforts to hide her gifts proved all the more worthwhile as the persecution of the people of Earth proved to stretch even within the Richards family, with her own mother being imprisoned and the cruel punishment of those who tried to rescue her. While her mother had no doubt in part enabled the crimes of her father and godfather, it was still a great pain to the young girl and for once the sullen moods she presented were a true reflection of herself, although it was not long before the darling of the Empire was once more smiling for both dignitaries and crowds. As she had matured, the young woman was able to allow herself to shine a little more, in line with a high, but still reasonable, level of intelligence and ability for someone who had grown up alongside the greatest minds of humanity. This stretched beyond academic studies, delving into the sorcery of her godfather, using just enough flattery and flippent descriptions of her father to convince Doom to tutor her privately. Of course, she was in no time far more advanced in her studies of science and magic than she allowed her paired father figures to realise. No doubt on the occasions she was allowed to tour the facilities used to create and house KIVA neither of them, nor the condescending scientists who attempted to explain to the young woman in terms she would understand, felt her entirely out of her element. Instead, each tour only gave Valeria greater and greater concerns as she noted the flaws in her Father's work and the repercussions they could have.

Equipped with her supreme intelligence and the works of both Reed and Doom, unknowingly gleaned from them to a far greater extent than they realised, Valeria turned to greater acts of rebellion. Making contact with her father’s enemies in Wakanda and beyond, Valeria helped to form the Underground, incorporating the resources and experience of the surviving mutants of the age gone by and their one supporting state into the Railroad she had constructed within the United Empire. Initially her aim was always to aid mutants in escaping to Wakanda where they might be expected, with safe havens along the route intended only as temporary waystations, but as the Underground has grown in influence and power, this temporary measure has since been replaced with a more radical cause.

Liberty for All

☢ P O W E R S / A B I L I T I E S ☢

Intellect - Valeria's mind is unnatural, she can take in and ingest information at the capacity of only the greatest supercomputers with biological ingenuity to spare. To refer to her memory as eidetic is to play it down, within the scope of her mind are inferences and conclusions she could not possibly have witnessed but are instead conclusions drawn from logic paths and understanding vectors, filling her understanding of the world before she would even need to witness it. This has no doubt been useful for her understanding of science and magic, but is far more critical to the Underground Council as the primary node of the entire network, operations running through her as easily as a much greater computer network which would be far more vulnerable to hostile takeover.

Magic - Doom has willingly taught her what to him amounts to cantrips, seeking to strengthen his bond with her over that of her father. In doing so, he has unknowingly unlocked the full realm of magical research to the savant mind of Valeria Richards. After but a few introductory sessions with her godfather, she was able to begin her own experiments outside of his guidance. While she is no doubt some way from being able to match Doom, she is drawing closer at an exponential rate. Most critically, she has uncovered the existence of The Haazareth Three, the source of Doom's initial bond of magic. Already she has approached the demons, seeking to eventually subvert her godfather's place as their favoured scion on Earth. Alongside the darker elements of magic, her research has begun to reawaken her limited memories of the Vishanti, and as she reaches for one school of magic, another also grows steadily open to her.

Scum & Villainy [40k Underhive Gang/Outlaw Adventure RP] (No 40k knowledge necessary!)

Oooooh interesting