Hexaflexagon

Fallout: Cascadia

Fallout: Cascadia

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♫...Time goes by so slowly. And time can do so much...♫

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Prologue: Departures & Arrivals

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You are a new hire for the Happy Trails Caravan Company, the Company growing successful due to its strong monopoly over the routes in and out of New Canaanite territory along Highway 50. Happy Trails having managed to outbid the old NCR standard, the Crimson Caravan Company for the initial rights to established trade routes in Cascadia, the Crimson Caravan Company having fallen on hard times never having fully recovered after some disastrous mismanagement of their Mojave routes. You are a merchant, guard, or just some folk looking for a change in scenery. Yet your particular baggage train is different from the rest. While you are carrying with you cargo of various sorts, your most valuable "package" was, in fact, another human being. An archeologist of all things paying for an escort as they chase after rumors of a lost vault. A vault that if the rumors are true makes the squabbles of the NCR and the CF petty in comparison.

Welcome to Fallout: Cascadia, a roleplay run by your friendly neighborhood Hexaflexagon. Cascadia is a kind of soft reboot RP I ran on another site some number of years ago between the release of New Vegas and Fallout 4. That previous roleplay was fairly successful lasting just shy of three years upon its eventual completion. I hope Cascadia to be the refinement of that previous story focusing on the things that I believe worked the most. So rather than a massive wide-open sandbox experience as was its predecessor, I instead want to create a more character and story-driven game, the kind of game I find myself drifting more and more towards throughout my roleplay career.

The premise of this roleplay is simple; you are a contract hire for the Happy Trails Caravan Company heading north towards the region known as Cascadia. Taking up the majority of the Seattle metropolitan area, Cascadia is a region under the control of the aptly named Cascadian Federation. The Federation in many ways is a strange mirror to the NCR and fittingly the two have grown weary of one another as they compete for control of the surrounding Washinton Wasteland. Your story will run tangential and collide sometimes directly with these tensions as both the NCR and the CF and the many subfactions within them will try and use you for their gain, though ultimately the narrative of the war is not the primary focus of this tale. Instead, the focus is the hunt for a lost Vault-Tec Vault, which if the rumors are true is said to be the primary reason that Cascadia is all green and brown in contrast to the rest of post-apocalyptic America.

Experience with the story Fallout New Vegas and the rest of the games is recommended, but not completely necessary as it takes place some one hundred and four years after the events of New Vegas in the far off year of 2385. In this way, thematically instead of post-apocalyptic, Cascadia is closer to post-post-apocalyptic in tone. What that means is that while the world did go to shit, it is starting the slow process of rebuilding itself with the emergence of new governments and unified societies for better or for worse. So while the cynicism of a post-nuclear war wasteland is still present, there is a new undercurrent of hope or something resembling it as society continues to try and pull itself upward out of the ashes.

As a GM, I tend to align myself towards a playstyle that allows for a blend of GM direction as well as a degree of player freedom. What this means for you guys is that the RP is split between two categories of RP. The first are mission segments which are largely guided set pieces and gauntlets where you have set objectives, tasks, and whatnot. In these sections, you will either be put in one big team or separate smaller teams trying to complete some kind of goal or task. What that goal is will depend from mission to mission. Mission segments are primarily used to drive the plot forward and for other big dramatic moments. Inbetween mission segments you will have R&R segments. These segments give you more freedom to basically do what your want in camp or whatever town the group may be stopping in. These sections exist to give you as players a chance to explore other aspects of your character that the missions would otherwise not let you see, and more importantly, for me it gives you the chance for more collaborative and slower-paced writing between players as their characters interact with one another. While also providing a well-needed change of pace from the more high-intensity missions, peaks and valleys and all that.

In a perfect world, I would like at least one post per player every week. That being said, I also understand that once a week schedules can sometimes be too taxing on people. So instead we will be following a once every two-week posting policy. I will be enforcing this schedule with a two strikes policy, what that policy means is that the first time two weeks pass without you posting and you haven't given me prior notice you will receive one strike, if it happens again well you get voted off the island. So what that means is all you have to do is communicate with me, I'm typically a very understanding person who knows how hectic life can be, so as long as you tell me that "Hey Hex, something came up" then everything will be fine and dandy.

For the first round of applications, I'm looking for up to eight other players though that number may change as I get a feel for things. Applications will be primarily based on the quality of the CS submitted but also upon some player reviews which is mostly just me snooping around to see if you are a total arse or not. So here are my recommendations for you! Don't write a character just to "fill a gap" on the team, write the character whose story you want to tell, that will always be the better sheet. Take your time writing it, I'm partial to highly detailed sheets and sheets that are extremely evocative of the character they are for, make me want to know more about them, make them flawed, make them feel real, make them hurt. These applications are not first-come-first-serve, the name of the game here is quality.

The Cascadian Federation

The Cascadian Federation was once a worker’s paradise. Its original system of government resembled something similar to what in our modern world we would call Syndicalism. The basic unit of organization for society in the federation centered around guilds. Citizens would be grouped into a certain guild based upon their occupation and given a chance to vote on the leaders and policies of said guild. For issues beyond the scope of a singular guild, various representatives of the guilds would come together for a meeting at the Guildhall in Sea Town. The idea on paper allowed for the power to remain in the hands of the people, as at the end of the day, the votes still had to pass through the individual bodies of each guild. And as an additive bonus, since the guilds had predominantly specialized workforces, it encouraged cooperation instead of infighting amongst the guilds as they required one another to create a truly functional society.

Alas, the foundational dream of the CF was not meant to last. The very system created to promote widespread equality was instead used to create an Oligarchy. The dominant guild in a settlement through coercion or other means finding ways to amass all the resources and powers for themselves even as they still use the old language of radicalism and freedom to defend their positions. In the early days, their would-be fluctuation as these guilds competed for power, but over time the political environment began to stabilize as a handful of guilds managed to consolidate their gains.

Eighty years ago, these guilds would come together to form the first Cascadian Council, the ruling body of government in the Federation replacing its old Council of Workers. At its inception, the Council only contained representatives from the four key settlements of the Cascadia: Sea Town, Coma, Everett, and The Yard. In the intervening years since its foundation, two more settlements Seetak and Fall City were given seats on the council.

Despite the overarching structural changes to the overarching semantic core of the Federation, its citizens remain content. The people of Cascadia valuing the stability and the security that the Federation provided them more than its old revolutionary ethos. That and the Council has strategically and tactfully kept and promoted old Council of Workers policies that remained popular such as guaranteed housing and healthcare at end of a contract for all those that choose to enlist in the Federation Security Force for a tour of at least four years. These ancestral holdover policies allowing the Federation to keep its population complacent and willing to ignore the rampant corruption happening at its highest levels.

Major Settlements:

The largest of the Federation’s settlements, Sea Town is based out of the piers and warehouses that make up Seattle’s waterfront along the Puget Sound. With heavy fortifications built from large, disused shipping crates and other scrap metal, Sea Town is also one of the Federation’s most heavily defended settlements. Such fortifications being a necessity given the less than hospitable humans and creatures that tend to roam Seattle’s post-War ruins.

Sea Town lives off of trade and shipping, being the central exchange point for goods traveling in and out of Lake Washington area at the heart of the Federation’s territory. The Guild that controls all this wealth coming in and out of Sea Town are the Longshoremen. By controlling who gets to offload cargo when the Longshoremen have an effective stranglehold over the very lifeblood that keeps Sea Town prosperous and so their eventual control over the city came to no surprise to nobody.

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]Coma built amongst the ruins of old Tacoma is the Federation’s largest southern settlement and port and such is usually labeled as the “gateway” to Cascadia. As they are situated close to the Federation’s southern border there is a heavy military presence in Coma, especially as tensions with the NCR have grown increasingly worse over the years. The Federation Security Force using nearby Fort Lewis as one of the Federation’s major military bases.

The economy of Coma relies heavily upon its symbiotic nature with Fort Lewis, particularly by providing supplies, entertainment, and leisure to the soldiers stationed at the Fort. Overseeing this gambit of taverns, casinos, and brothels is the purview of the leading guild in Coma, the Courtesans, who control and police the sex trade across the Federation by providing guards and enforcers to their many licensed brothels and stamping down on those independents who try to operate outside of their authority. In this way, allowing the Courtesans to exert soft power across the rest of the Federation as well.

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Much like its predecessor, the Federation’s incarnation of Everett is a city of industry and production for the Cascadian Federation. The city itself centered around the old headquarters and petrol plant of the Northwestern branch of Poseidon Energy. Yet where the Everett of old’s industry was based primarily on petrol, the Everett of the CF thrives on its lumber industry. The roar of salvaged together sawmills echoing deep into the night. The harvest and sale of lumber in Everett are controlled by the aptly named Lumberers who have come to dominate the city.

Everett also serves as the hub of the Federation’s northern expansion. One of the expressed desires of the Federation since its earliest days being the reunification of “true Cascadia”. A dream based on recovered pre-war secessionist literature that served as the foundational base for the Cascadian Federation’s conception. And these revolutionary pamphlets speak of an independent republic stretching as far north as old Vancouver. And while to this day, the Federation has continued to slowly push up Highway 5, the progress is painfully slow as the area is brimming with hostile tribals and wildlife.

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Based out of the surviving remnants Puget Sound Naval Shipyard in Bremerton across the sound from Sea Town, the Yard is the largest shipyard in the Federation. The large presence of navigable bodies of water in the Washington Wasteland combined with its dense sprawling forest that makes overland travel exceedingly difficult for most, has lead to much of the major travel in and around the Federation being done on rafts, boats, and other aquatic modes of transportation. The Yard is where many of those ships end up being built, repaired, or scrapped to be built again into something else. As much of the remaining space in the Yard is used on repairs and construction, much of the homes and stores and other facilities are actually found in the water surrounding the yard. A floating city of sorts being a mixture of wooden platforms and tied together boats large and small connected to another via walkways and gangplanks. This maritime city is centered around Old Betsy’, a large pre-war oil tanker that sits half-sunken in the water and whose deck is used as an open-air marketplace of sorts. Predictably, the Shipwrights control the Yard and the surrounding area.

The Yard is also famous/infamous throughout Cascadia for being a kind of “freak city” having a sizable population of both super mutants and ghouls. The Bainbridge Society being a full-fledged ghoul-only community on nearby Bainbridge Island having a strong working relationship with the Yard. The super mutants had long-lived in the forests surrounding the nearby ruins of Olympia and generally minded their own business. Free from the control of the Master and the Enclave, they sought only to live their lives the best that they could. And the occasional hulking mass leading a herd of brahmin towards the Seetak market for sale was not unheard of, though rare given the mutants tendency to remain in isolation. This would change with the arrival of the NCR who would establish their Cascadia Operational Headquarters in and around the grounds of the Old Capitol Building in Olympia. The NCR didn’t take too kindly to their new neighbors, seeing them as a security risk and so the super mutants living in the area were pushed north eventually setting in the Yard where their large physiques were welcomed for hauling the lumber and metal required in shipbuilding.

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The ruins of the old Seattle–Tacoma International Airport began its new life as a safe hideout for scavengers pillaging nearby Renton and Kent. Over time, a community began to sprout up to support these scavenging endeavors such as doctors, merchants, gunsmiths, and other traders. This bustling ecosystem soon became one of the largest trading hubs in the area and a major pitstop and refueling point for traders and travelers heading out of the Lake Washington area and into the southern reaches of the Federation and beyond. The high walls of Seetak providing the protection needed for the community contained within the Airport to grow.

The ruins of the main terminal have been taken over by Seetak’s leading faction, the Merchant’s Association. Unlike the other major Guilds in the Federation, the Association does not represent a singular type of merchant, but rather the entire collective body regulating trade, prices, and competition between the tenants coming in and out of Seetak. The Association, of course, willing to strong-arm, threaten, and evict any of their tenants if they don’t play by their rules. Out of all the major factions in the Federation, the Association has the best relationship with the NCR as they most of all profit off the NCR Caravaneers entering into the region.

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The newest settlement to gain a permeant seat on the Cascadian Council and the furthest easterly settlement to do so. Fall City used to be raider territory, with bands of hostile tribals controlling much of the Interior of the Washington Wasteland. Over time as the Federation has expanded outward, homesteaders and settlers have come into conflict with these groups necessitating the military to get involved and push them back. Fall City was regained during the first Eastward Expansion as the military pushed up Highway 90 up into the Issaquah and Snoqualmie corridor, stopping at the western banks of the Snoqualmie River. The territorial gains were transformed into farms and herding lands to provide more foodstuffs. Fall City as the furthest point east, was named the new center of this newly acquired territory serving as both the seat of government as well as a waystation for expeditions heading further East.

Unlike the rest of the Council settlements, Fall City is not overseen by a particular Guild. Instead given its vulnerable position along the Federation’s eastern frontier, Fall City is under martial law being under the direct control of the Cascadian Security Force. Patrols guard the border of the settlement and the surrounding farmland on a continuous watch.

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The New California Republic

The great bear of the New California Republic has grown complacent in its elder years. The routing of Caesar's legion in the Mojave and the near-extinction of both the Enclave and the Brotherhood of Steel on the homefront left the NCR as the unchallenged regional power in the Southwestern united states. The loosening economic regulation and imperialistic ethos that began under then-President Aaron Kimball continued under his successors. The success of the former general turned politician prompted the slow regression of the NCR’s democratic functionality into something more closely resembling a military junta as the top military brass in the Republic became increasingly intertwined with the executive branch. Initially, this shift in policy was fought by a moderate faction of politicians and officials including the likes of Dennis Crocker, but the hawks having the support of the military and the financial backing of both the Brahmin barons that Kimball supported and the growing class of nouveau riche war profiteers based out of the newly-acquired Strip.

These policies combined with an ever-growing population that required more and more food to sustain itself encouraged the NCR to continue its imperialistic policies, policies which lead to the NCR’s expansion into Cascadia chasing after rumors of vast quantities of arable land. The Republic’s entrance into the Washington Wasteland began with its seizure of Olympia as its forward operating base in the region right along the border with the Cascadian Federation. The Federation initially welcomed the arrival of the NCR as a prospective trading partner as its arrival brought with it new caravans and traders to the region. The friendship only expanding as NCR Rangers were able to clear out the Lakelurk infested Mercer Island, the beast long having terrorized the fisherman and traders running routes across Lake Washington. As a gesture of goodwill, the Federation allowed the NCR to establish Camp Mercer on the island to allow them easier diplomatic access with the Federation than their headquarters at Olympia provided.

Ultimately as time has passed since their initial introductions relations between the two powers have only soured. The Federation flatly denying the NCR’s offers for a peaceful annexation into the Republic. At the current moment, the CF and the NCR have entered a climate of cold war. While the NCR is militarily superior to the Federation, the NCR military, unlike the Federation, is unequipped to deal with fighting in the vast foliage that made up the Washington Wasteland being used to fighting primarily in the deserts and badlands of the American Southwest. The Federation trained to travel in these wooded environments quickly and silently could easily outmaneuver the NCR and potentially cause devasting causalities despite their numerically inferior numbers. The NCR having learned the hard way not to underestimate the potential havoc caused by coordinated guerrilla warfare from their conflicts with the Brotherhood and Caesar’s Legion. So at the moment despite their hawkish tendencies, cooler heads have prevailed in the NCR’s leadership as they continue to exert their influence through soft power rather than military might as they continue to engage with talks with the Merchant’s Association as well as the Courtesans in nearby Coma.

Called the “Double O” by the troops stationed there, Olympia Outpost is the largest NCR controlled settlement in the Cascadia region. Before the NCR had arrived, the old state capital had been a bastion for raiders, slavers, and other undesirables using the ruins as a staging area for attacks across the various settlements. By the time the NCR had arrived, the dominated faction was a group of raiders called the Axemen. Jumped up on jet and pyscho, had somehow become convinced that the old folktale about Paul Bunyan was about an actual giant ax-wielding god that they began to worship.

No giant lumberjacks came to save the Axemen when the NCR arrive and soon enough they were either killed in the resulting battle or the summary firing squads that happened after the fact. Having cleared out the Axemen, the NCR began to set up shop turning the Old Capitol Building into their new headquarters. And as the old saying went, where the army goes, the Republic follows. Soon, a whole civilian ecosystem had been built around Olympia Outpost: Gun Runners and other traders, doctors, preachers, businessmen, and prospectors all venturing north to capitalize on the new frontier.

This thriving community is overseen by the head of the Cascadian expedition, Brigadier General Elias Brons.

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Under the treaty that granted Mercer Island to the NCR, the Republic is unable to station military personal on the island due to its position on Lake Washington. The security duties going to a dedicated branch of the Cascadian Security Force permanently stationed on the island. Instead, Mercer Island houses the residence of the NCR’s diplomatic core in Cascadia. The old country club being used as its central facility and meeting place between the NCR and the various dignitaries of the Federation. The simple fact of the matter being that Olympia Outpost is too inconveniently placed for them to travel to.

Camp Mercer is overseen by Lead Diplomat Amita Ducat. Born as an heiress into the lucrative Ducat ranching family, Amita access to the best luxuries the NCR had to offer including some of the best education in the Republic. Taking her skills, Amita joined up with the diplomatic core becoming a vital asset to the Republic. The Cascadia mission is her first time leading a mission of this scale and she is eager to prove herself capable.

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Rainier was one of the small communities that had switched sides to the NCR when they came into the region. The people of Rainier having long been harassed by the raiders in Olympia. The Federation had no real reason to clear the raiders out because they never ventured close enough to Coma or any of their trade routes, apparently too scared by the military presence at Fort Lewis. The Republic’s taking of Olympia changed all of that and the people of Rainier decided to throw their support with a government that seemed to actually represent their interests.

All was well in the Rainier after that point until the massacre. A band of raiders sneaked into the town in the dead of night and killed all of its inhabitants and setting its buildings to the torch leveling no survivors. The Rainier massacre has become a hot button issue between the NCR and CF ever since. The NCR believing that the Federation was somehow responsible for the attack on Rainier, while the CF claim innocence. And even now “Remeber Rainier” has become a new catchphrase of sorts for the NCR working in the Cascadia region as the divide between the two great powers grows further still.

Minor Factions

Minor Factions

More to be added as you run into them

With the helpful assistance of the Courier, the Happy Trails Caravan Company had slowly grown to become one of the largest Caravan operations working out of the Republic. Their major rival, the Crimson Caravan Company having never fully recovered from the near annihilation of their operation in the Mojave following their betrayal of Cassidy Caravans. Over the next century, Happy Trails would become the new transportation kingpins in the region, soon gaining the patronage of the coveted official NCR contracts that the Crimson Caravan once had a monopoly over, the contract to Cascadia being one of them.

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Facing near-total annihilation at the hands of the NCR, many members of the Brotherhood of Steel choose to flee instead of remaining in California. Many amongst their ranks chose to flee north into Oregon and beyond with the possible goal of potentially heading towards Alaska where the could hopefully find a large quantity of pre-war military tech that they could gather and potentially use in a second war against the NCR. This notion of a forever war with the Republic was not as enchanting for some of the Brotherhood as it was for others. A small but steady contingent of more moderate voices only wished to lie low and be able to start a new more peaceful existence.

These dissenters would break off from the rest of the Brotherhood once they arrived in Cascadia seeing its large forests as the perfect place to hideaway. The Remnant wishes to live conspicuously and unseen without drawing attention to themselves and so outside of their own base hidden somewhere in the Cascadian wilderness, the Remnant is more of a rumor than anything else. Tall tales from drunken loggers seeing large metal men stomping through the forest at night. And when the Remnant does approach local towns and settlements to trade, they do so always in small numbers and dressed in regular clothing that does not denote them as Scribe or Palladian instead they look like regular folks just looking to trade. But even so, the Remnant watches the political situation in Cascadia with interest and fear as the Bear of the NCR approaches ever closer, there are talks amongst their ranks about if it is time to move along once again.

1.Make believable characters. There is a time and a place for the beloved power fantasy, but that time and place is not here. This is a collaborative story-telling effort and not a dick measuring contest to see whose action star carriers around the biggest gun if you know what I mean. Know the limits of your characters because if you push past them, they will get hurt and it will be bad. No auto-killing npcs without effort, no metagaming and the like. Adversity is the best thing to happen to your characters because its how you get to see what they really are, don't run away from it. Your overpowered character will be mauled to death by a Deathclaw at your earliest convenience.
2.The writing standard for the RP is advanced. I'm not here to grade your English paper (trust me I do too much grading already) but try and at least put in an honest effort and we will be fine. Posting expectations are at least four solid paragraphs but will probably be more. I typically write much more than four but like you do you. Just like try your best. Failure to post within the 14 day period without notifying me as discussed above will result in an infraction, your second posting infraction will result in your removal from the game.
3. There is no set posting order, but please refrain from speed posting. Do not post two posts back to back without letting somebody else post. If you are interacting with another player and that's not happening in a collab and you are having a back and forth that is okay, But please make sure that those posts are up to standard. I don't want just one line conversations going back and forth, back and forth.
4.Communication is key. If you are having a problem with another player, the content of the RP, or for any other reason such as not being able to post please reach out to me. I can't help you unless you ask me. I understand for some people that's a hard task but I promise you that I'm here to help.
5.If two players are having a disagreement please take it outside to your PMs. Once you bring it into the RP space, it becomes my business and you will not like it once it becomes my business. That being said, I hope that everyone here can be nice and respectable to one another.
6.The world of Fallout is dark and depressing but that doesn't mean we have to be. I have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment based on gender, sexual orientation. religion or creed, race, etc in our OOC content. And I take these issues very seriously. You don't like that, you can go somewhere else because frankly, I do not want you here.
7.If you have a question on if you can do something and you are not sure for whatever reason please ask.
8.If you have any ideas about the plot going forward, potential side-plots, etc also please bring them up. Though if you want to keep them a secret from the other players, a PM will probably work best.
9. Be Fonz cool.

⧎ Salvaged

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These are the most common weapons you are going to find in the wasteland. Think a plank of wood with some nails in it or the pipe guns from Fallout 4. Civilian clothing will be found in this cateogry
⧎ Civilian / Recreational

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These are your hunting rifles, simple pistols, hunting knives. These weapons are also common enough that you don't really need an explanation for carrying them.
⧎ Energy Weapon 1

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These are your barely functioning plasma and laser pistols. They work...sometimes, mostly. Most energy weapons carried in the Wasteland will be in this condition.
⧎ Raider Gear

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Typically better quality civil and recreational weapons will fall under these quantities usually modified with more blood and spike motifs. Simple explosives such as grenades, Molotov cocktails, and regular frag mines will fall under this category. Most advanced melee weaponry beyond power fists will fall into this category as well. Raider gear while common also means you have either ran into raiders or was one at some point! You should explain how you got these
⧎ Energy Weapon 2

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Laser Rifles, Plasma Rifles, and their repeater variants. High-quality plasma & laser pistols. Energy equipment of this caliber is often rare, expensive or both. Not likely that everyone will be carrying gear like this around. Please explain how you acquired this piece of gear.
⧎ Military

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Assualt Rifles, Higher Powered Sniper Rifles, Machine Guns, Flame Throwers, Power Fists, C-4, etc. These are weapons that are usually only found in the hands of NCR and CF soldiers. You better have a very good reason for carrying one of these around.
⧎ Energy Weapon 3

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Gatling Laser, Tesla Cannon, Gauss Rifles, Plasma caster, etc. Exceedingly rare and very powerful. You will probably not have any of these on your person.
⧎ Advanced Military

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Power Armor, Fat Men, Archimedes cannon, etc. These are the types of things you earn, not things you start with sorry.

1.Don't be carrying around 300 pounds of gear on you. If you are carrying around a flamethrower there is a high likely hood that you aren't carrying much else either. Your character is a person and not a human pack mule. Try and keep their load realistic and try and make sure you have a good idea where they keep everything.
2.You aren't Arnold. If you charge at twenty guys with cover and sightlines on you, there is a very high likely hood that you are going to get injured or worse. Every fight should be and is going to be a life or death situation. Just one lucky bullet is all it takes to ruin someone's day and that someone could be you. You can still cool things and you can still fight back, just be smart about it.
3.Stimpacks won't heal you instantly. They will stop you from dying from an infected bullet wound or hemorrhaging on the spot but they take time to truly be effective. Sticking yourself with needles all day won't make you the immortal god of the wasteland.
4.Similiary to Stimpacks, lets talk about drugs. Drugs are nearly omnipresent in the Fallout universe and they do a lot of wonderful things but they also do a lot of shitty things. If your character religiously uses pyscho, for example, you may want to talk about their anger problems.
5.Having better equipment doesn't necessarily mean that you automatically win. Skill, strategy, and various other factors go into winning any battle. So if your plan is to just to give your character all the best gear so that they are walking death machines, I advise you to rethink your plan.
6.Equipment doesn't have to be specifically from the games themselves, but try and at least keep it lore appropriate.
7.b]Ghoul and Super Mutant characters are allowed but given the nature of things, their sheets will be reviewed with more scrutiny. Given the setting and timeframe of the story, any player history with the Brotherhood of Steel should be limited at best since the West Coast Brotherhood has mostly gone to ground at this point, and to keep things simple robot characters are not allowed.

_{[color=black]◄[color=lightgray]A telling Quote[/color] ► [/color]}

NAME

^{Age | Place of Birth | Height/Weight | Species}

_{A P P E A R A N C E.}

What do you look like? A detailed description of your charachter's physical characteristics

_{E Q U I P M E N T.}

Guns, Knives, Armor, Meds, Drugs, the important gear that is kept on your person.

_{M I S C E L L A N E O U S G E A R}

Rope, Lighters, Bedrolls, food, books etc. Remeber to consider how much stuff you are gonna be carrying.

_{S K I L L S.}

Alright, so skills are the crunchiest part of these sheet. For the sake of keeping everybody on the same page we will be using the New Vegas Skill list. From this last of skills including stuff like barter, guns, energy weapons, sneak, science, etc you will pick one skil. That is your Core Skill which represents the best thing your character can do. Then you get to pick 2 Good Skills. These are two skills you are still skilled at but not the best at. Then you get 3 skills that you are Average at which means exactly what it sounds like! Next to each of these from Core to average please briefly explain why they are good at these skills and not others. The rest of the skills not and that you don't have to list are the skills that you are poor at! Which you can still attempt but will very hard for you to succeed at without help from a friend!

So an example skill list might look like
Science (Core Skill) : Explanation goes here
Repair (Good Skill): as;;rjfafjsafjsa
Barter (Good Skill): askaksdjaslkdjal
Medicine (Average Skill): askdakdjald
Survival (Average Skill): aksdjaljdakjsd
Energy Weapons (Average skill): asjdajdajsdasd

_{H I S T O R Y}

How you got to where you are today. This should be your largest and most detailed section of the entire sheet and its strength or weakness will heavily affect how I regard the rest of your sheets. It should be several paragraphs in length and cover the entire arc of their lives. Things like how they were raised, life-changing events & people, how they got all the cool stuff they got and learned what they learned, and of course things like how they ended up working on the Caravan heading towards Cascadia in the first place. Really give this section your all because it will also help you get a much better understanding of who your character is and their place in the world. Make we want to find out what happens next to them.

_{P S Y C H E.}

Who are you? Their quirks, their likes, their dislikes, and their faults. Flawed charachters are always better than perfect charachters.

_{D R I V E.}

What keeps you up at night? What are your charachters long term goals? What do they want from the world? What do they desire above all else?

CS Code

[center][img]Image goes here[/img]
[SUB][color=black]◄[color=lightgray]A telling Quote[/color] ► [/color][/SUB]
[sub][/sub]
[sup][h1]NAME[/h1][/sup]
[color=#D98719][sup]Age | Place of Birth | Height/Weight | Species[/sup][/color][/center]

[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]A P P E A R A N C E.[/b][/color][/sub]
[img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray]What do you look like? A detailed description of your charachter's physical characteristics [/color][/indent][/indent]

[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]E Q U I P M E N T.[/b][/color][/sub]
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[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]M I S C E L L A N E O U S G E A R [/b][/color][/sub]
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[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]S K I L L S.[/b][/color][/sub]
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[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]H I S T O R Y[/b][/color][/sub]
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[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]P S Y C H E.[/b][/color][/sub]
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[indent][sub][color=cyan][b]D R I V E.[/b][/color][/sub]
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Fallout: Cascadia

Look at all these fine looking folks! To those of you that I'm already acquainted with thanks for stopping by and saying hello! To those who I haven't had the chance to be acquainted with yet, thank you as well!

The finished OOC should be up tomorrow evening (1/17) EST after I get back from work. The OOC will have some further setting information to further flesh out the Cascadian Federation along with the current state of the NCR in Cascadia, along with character creation guidelines, posting expectations, etc. That being said if it leaves anything unanswered please don't hesitate to reach out to me. (PMs usually work best in that regard)

Until then keep on being kool katz and thank you for your patience!

Fallout: Cascadia

---

♫...Time goes by so slowly. And time can do so much...♫

---

War. War never changes.

When the atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great, underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, forming tribes.

As decades passed, what had been the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic, dedicated to old-world values of democracy and the rule of law. The Republic's growth progressed hand and hand with its need for expansion. This new manifest destiny led the NCR east across the desolate Mojave Wasteland in search of wealth and newfound resources. Resources that the Republic would find in plenty among the sun-bleached casinos of New Vegas and the greatest prize of them all, the Hoover Dam. Yet, the legend of the Courier who would shape the Mojave and the Second Battle of Hoover Dam is a story for another time.

By the time our tale begins, the story of the Courier has become one of legend and far-off memory. The energy provided by the Hoover Dam and the great Colorado River has allowed the New California Republic's growth to continue uninhibited. This growth has pushed the NCR's expansionist and imperialistic efforts ever onward. The Republic continued to expand sharpening itself on its rivals. What it could not devour it obliterated. What it could not obliterate, it simply outlived. For a time, the NCR was simply unchallengeable.

Until now.

It started with some sensational rumors coming from caravaneers heading south to the Hub via San Francisco. These wide-eyed traders spoke of a land of green and brown to the North of the Republic's boundaries. A place where no person would ever go hungry. Intrigued, the NCR sent an expeditionary force north past Klamath and Arroyo. Much to their surprise, the trader's tall tales turned out to be not so tall after all. Unleashed viruses and irradiation have done strange things to the flora and fauna in the wastelands of Washington and northern Oregon. Under the shadow of the branches of this prehistoric forest, a new society pulled itself up from the ashes of the fallen world, and that society had a flag of its own - the proud Fir of the Cascadian Federation.

The Federation was a collection of six powerful "city-states" of a sort centered around the de facto capital of the CF, the bustling settlement of Sea Town built along the waterfront of the post-war ruins of what was once the city of Seattle. Loosely aligned by way of economic and military solidarity, the Federation has long been the standing authority in the Washington Wasteland. The arrival of the NCR though has challenged that preestablished authority. While the initial meeting of these two powers seemed promising at first, relations quickly soured as it became clear to the NCR that the Federation was not exactly willing to relinquish its control of what has been called the "New Breadbasket of the West." These tensions have only further escalated in recent months as the Republic has begun to "liberate" smaller towns across the south of the region, capitalizing on the alienation from the Federation whose primary focus has always been on its major townships and not some has-been settlements along the border. In response, bands of unmarked raiders have attacked these settlements and while the NCR has no proof that the CF's hand was present, they have their suspicions.

And so, the inevitable and familiar shadow of war encroaches upon olf Cascadia

[~]

You are a new hire for the Happy Trails Caravan Company, the Company growing successful due to its strong monopoly over the routes in and out of New Canaanite territory along Highway 50. Happy Trails having managed to outbid the old NCR standard, the Crimson Caravan Company for the initial rights to established trade routes in Cascadia, the Crimson Caravan Company having fallen on hard times never having fully recovered after some disastrous mismanagement of their Mojave routes. You are a merchant, guard, or just some folk looking for a change in scenery. Yet your particular baggage train is different from the rest. While you are carrying with you cargo of various sorts, your most valuable "package" was, in fact, another human being. An archeologist of all things paying for an escort as they chase after rumors of a lost vault. A vault that if the rumors are true makes the squabbles of the NCR and the CF petty in comparison.

---

Welcome to Fallout: Cascadia, a roleplay run by your friendly neighborhood Hexaflexagon. Cascadia is a kind of soft reboot RP I ran on another site some number of years ago between the release of New Vegas and Fallout 4. That previous roleplay was fairly successful lasting just shy of three years upon its eventual completion. I hope Cascadia to be the refinement of that previous story focusing on the things that I believe worked the most. So rather than a massive wide-open sandbox experience as was its predecessor, I instead want to create a more character and story-driven game, the kind of game I find myself drifting more and more towards throughout my roleplay career.

The premise of this roleplay is simple; you are a contract hire for the Happy Trails Caravan Company heading north towards the region known as Cascadia. Taking up the majority of the Seattle metropolitan area, Cascadia is a region under the control of the aptly named Cascadian Federation. The Federation in many ways is a strange mirror to the NCR and fittingly the two have grown weary of one another as they compete for control of the surrounding Washinton Wasteland. Your story will run tangential and collide sometimes directly with these tensions as both the NCR and the CF and the many subfactions within them will try and use you for their gain, though ultimately the narrative of the war is not the primary focus of this tale. Instead, the focus is the hunt for a lost Vault-Tec Vault, which if the rumors are true is said to be the primary reason that Cascadia is all green and brown in contrast to the rest of post-apocalyptic America.

Experience with the story Fallout New Vegas and the rest of the games is recommended, but not completely necessary as it takes place some one hundred and four years after the events of New Vegas in the far off year of 2385. In this way, thematically instead of post-apocalyptic, Cascadia is closer to post-post-apocalyptic in tone. What that means is that while the world did go to shit, it is starting the slow process of rebuilding itself with the emergence of new governments and unified societies for better or for worse. So while the cynicism of a post-nuclear war wasteland is still present, there is a new undercurrent of hope or something resembling it as society continues to try and pull itself upward out of the ashes.

If any of that sounds interesting to you, I welcome you to Cascadia and I hope you enjoy your stay.

Hex's Repository For Things Lost and Now Found.

---

_{a roleplay by hex}

---

What Are You Listening To?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

It is with great regret that I must inform you all that I will be hanging up my magician’s top hat come the beginning of Season 2. A mixture of burnout, the loss of drive to finish Z’s story, and inability to write myself out a hole of my own creation that I must respectfully admit defeat. To all of you that have read Z’s story up to this point and enjoyed it, I truly thank you for that and I hope that maybe somebody in the future I can come back and finish it in the future.

But this is not a goodbye instead it is a hello again. For some time, I have been teasing a “secret project” that I have been working on. Some of you have helped greatly in this project’s conception and some of you have no idea what it even is. All I can promise you that it is going to be one hell of a ride.

---

Warbird

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

W A R B I R D

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

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

---

^{My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right. - Carl Schurz}

---

The world of today is different from what it once was, new threats and dangers challenge the old order of things. The dawning of the new millennium has shown that the United States of America once defined by its stalwart impregnability can bleed. A bleeding that has only been worsened by the continued arrival of metahumans and other 'powered individuals'. This new existential threat to the country having been clearly shown in the recent tragedies in Star City and New York. The damage to both innocent lives and property endured in this devastating attack on the American people has confirmed earlier suspicions by the Department of Defense that America must have a readied response to these new types of potentially catastrophic threats. These fears would lead to the formation of the Department of Extranormal Affairs headed by King Faraday. It was then quickly decided that the Department would need a face for the common people to rally behind. With Wonder Woman's loyalty being questioned more and more each day, and Captain America swallowed into Nick Fury's shadow games, it was felt that America needed someone new to hold up the virtues of Truth, Justice, and the American Way.

Luckily for the USA they already had an ace up their sleeve.

Carol Susan Jane Danvers was born in Boston, Massachusetts to working-class parents, Joe and Marie, and had two brothers, Joe Jr. and Steve. Succeeding both academically and athletically in her younger years, Carol gained admittance to the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado, Springs, Colorado. As her time in the Academy ended, she was tapped to undergo further training to prepare her for operations underneath the banner of the Air Force Special Operations Command (AFSOC). Predictably Carol would excel in her time in the special forces, she would earn high praise from her commanding officers, as well as numerous commendations including the Air Force Cross. It would be her continued gallant actions and her time and time again commitment to the cause that would lead her to being tapped for EXCELSIOR.

Project EXCELSIOR began soon after the end of the Second World War as an attempt to create an improved Super Soldier Serum. Due to budget restraints and bureaucratic red tape, EXCELSIOR would be canned, and the project would all but be forgotten until a decade ago. Everything changed when a Kree scout ship would crash in the New Mexico Desert; ironically enough it was the Corpse recovered in the crash that would breathe new life into EXCELSIOR. Gone now was the old plan of simply making a stronger Super Soldier Serum, instead using cutting edge genetic engineering technology they would splice together Kree and Human DNA to create the perfect mixture of both species’ strengths.

Carol was the 23rd EXCELSIOR test subject and thus given the designation of Subject - W. But where the others had failed, Carol's DNA took to the gene splicing exceptionally well. The two divergent helixes would merge together to create something entirely new. The DoD immediately saw the potentiality of Carol's powers and soon Carol would be shifted back under the oversee of United States Special Operations Command under a new codename - Warbird. Not wanting too much information to be leaked about their new weapon, SOCOM would use Carol sparingly and only in the direst of situations usually rescuing other operators that otherwise couldn't be saved.

But now Carol's time in the shadows was over. Transferred out from underneath SOCOM and under the jurisdiction of her new boss King Faraday. It was something that Carol welcomed with eager arms ready to take a more proactive role with the powers that she had been granted. And with the Department of Extranormal Affairs first press conference scheduled, it would only be a matter of time until the whole world knew Carol's name.

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

---

^{“By stressing that the identity of a democratic political community hinges on the possibility of drawing a frontier between 'us' and 'them', Schmitt highlights the fact that democracy always entails relations of Inclusion & Exclusion.” - Chantal Mouffe - The Democratic Paradox}

---

Without mincing words too much the story I currently have outlined is very politically charged, as at its heart it is fundamentally the story of the failure of the Western democratic model. A model built on the promise of ensuring the rights of all its citizens but having never really been able to do so. A model that has propped up and supported increasingly authoritarian systems of governance supported by its most fundamental framework of inclusion and exclusion. The plot, I currently have outlined attempts at least in part to explore not only these broader ideas but the underlying themes of fear, hate, displacement, and the "other". For a point of reference thematically it is much closer to a House of Cards style show than a West Wing style show.

Carol then, serves as the perfect character to use to explore these narratives. In many ways, she represents the strange juxtaposition of ideals and values that can form in distinctly non-homogeneous place such as the USA. On one hand, she matches even the Cap himself in her belief in the American experiment. On the other hand, she is everything that same exact experiment seems to despise: a woman, LGBTI+, and in the Absolute Verse she falls under the category of Extranormal. And so, there is an unmistakable tension there in her character, which will serve primarily as the central tension of the story going forward. A tension that will only increase as Carol rather than rejecting the establishment outright as some might do, instead chooses to take up the herculean task of trying to make real change from the inside.

Beyond flexing my creative muscles with a tale about the moral gray on gray of the modern nation state, Carol also provides with me an opportunity that Zatanna's story did not - collaboration. Carol's position as the "face " of the Department of Extranormal Affairs will hopefully allow me to be much more open and active with collaboration and just helping expand the wider world further.

All in all, this is a story I’ve been thinking about for some time now, and I’m excited to have the potential opportunity to share it with you all.

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

---

^{"Order, is a kind of compulsion to repeat which, when a regulation has been laid down once and for all, decides when, where, and how a thing shall be done, so that in every similar circumstance one is spared hesitation and indecision." - Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents}

---

• Carol will be wearing her more modern Captain Marvel style suit, because aesthetically I feel it fits better with where she is coming from and what she is doing in this story.
• Putting my money where my mouth is, I will be listing a supporting cast below, but there inclusion here no way, shape or form means that I'm claiming complete ownership over them the only thing I ask is please consult me before you do anything life changing with characters marked with a Δ.

---

▼ Department of Extranormal Affairs ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Δ King Faraday - - - ◼ General Samuel Lane - - - - ◼ Δ Jessica Drew - - - - - ◼ Jimmy Woo - - - - - ◼ Avril Kincaid	- - - - - - -

▼ Enemies of the State ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Δ Karla Sofen / Moonstone - - - ◼ Δ Robert Hunter / Nitro - - - ◼ Albrecht Krieger	--

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

^{"By this I mean a number of phenomena that seem to me to be quite significant, namely, the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the human species became the object of a political strategy, of a general strategy of power, or, in other words, how, starting from the 18th century, modern Western societies took on board the fundamental biological fact that human beings are a species. This is what I have called biopower." - Michel Foucault, Security, Territory, Population}

---

Prologue

1401-1409 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Willard Hotel, Washington D.C | Four Hours Ago

---

^{Blast Radius|Prologue}

0

A buzz of activity hung in the air around 1401–1409 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, as a pack of journalists made their way into the Willard Hotel. All the big names were there: Times, Post, WHiH, Planet anyone that was anyone was sending somebody to the press conference held by the Department of Extranormal Affairs. The government's newest department was creating a significant amount of noise on the political circuit. The cynics amongst them were eagerly anticipating new blood to grease the gears, expecting similar controversies to that of Homeland Security, the last department created in response to an attack on American soil. Others were just curious to see what Extranormal Affairs purpose was going to be. The Extranormal Affairs Bill which give the department life followed very typical political mannerisms in that it said a lot while saying very little at all.

This air of anticipation was only intensified by the lack of information following the bill's passing. Little was made public about the hiring and staffing of this new department with only a few key roles being disclosed. The names that were released predominantly included former members of the military and intelligence communities. Among those drawing several raised brows being the inclusion of one General Samuel Lane, an old warhawk that made his name during the War in Iraq and being one of the main playmakers in the United States more proactive counterterrorism policy. With members such as Lane, it didn't take long for the conspiracies to begin to form about a militant wing of the government seizing power. This chatter only increased in volume when it was announced King Faraday, a relative nobody when it came to public politics, but someone with many ties with Langley and the broader Intelligence community, was tapped to serve as the department's inaugural secretary.

The shakers and movers in the Department of Extranormal Affairs seemed to be playing into this aura of mystique. Where the traditional way of communicating to the journalistic community may have been a courtesy phone call or email, the details surrounding the press conference came much more traditionally. The selected editors in chief finding a spotless white envelope on their desks closed with a wax seal carrying the department's crest. Only two dozen of these letters were sent out in total, the rest having to watch the live television broadcast like everyone else.

The lucky two dozen were ushered from the Willard's lobby to a second-floor conference room. The room was spartan in its layout, at the back a table with miniature bottled water, cups filled with precision cut spears of carrots and celery, and a small selection of patriotic themed baked goods. Beyond the table was the camera equipment being used for the press conference. A small film crew worked to get rigs set up, microphones ready, and gaff tape on the ground. They were following the directions of an arthouse documentary filmmaker who had made a minor wave at Cannes the year before for her documentary on Seoul's grassroots punk rock scene. Her presence another oddity replacing a veteran C-SPAN crew that would traditionally be taking on a conference like this. The journalists filtered pass the film crew and towards the front of the room where a few rows of chairs and a lectern was set up.

As the press moved to take their seats, Agent Woo counted heads with an analogue clicker as his partner checked passes. Dressed in a finely tailored black suit with matching tie and sunglasses, Woo played the role of government spook like he was born into it. Having served with the South LA County Violent Crimes Task Force for the better part of a decade, before spending time teaching at the Macau Security Forces Training College to get back in touch with his roots. He dropped the grade book and picked up the badge again when Faraday had finally cashed in an old favor. Woo would never tell his wife, but it felt good to be back in the field.

As the number on his clicker moved closer to the magic number he leaned into his arm to cough. As he leaned in closer, he whispered into a receiver that was clipped to the lapel of his suit jacket.

"This is Fisher to Kasparov, only a few stragglers left."

"Understood, be with you shortly Fisher." King Faraday replied.

He sat in an adjoining room as he tapped the ashes of his cigarette into the soil of a windowsill planter. Faraday wore the same navy-blue suit that he had been wearing for the past thirty years. The old intelligence operator was shameless to admit he did not own a suit in any other color. It came from some old kernel of wisdom he had picked up from his grandfather years ago - "King, my boy" he would say, "suits are like women. When you find one that fits stick with it." The hand spun Italian linen wasn't necessarily the kindest to his wallet, but it breathed easily and didn't restrict his movement.

King lounging there in his chair as he took another drag from his cigarette was the complete antithesis of Carol.

Carol Danvers stood in front of a mirror straightening out her medals for the fifteenth time as she practiced smiling. It was ridiculous really, she could storm an entrenched enemy position no problem, fly a million-dollar tin can with rockets strapped to it breaking the sound barrier, but she couldn't smile. Each attempt only managing to push her further and further into demented serial killer territory. And it wasn't like this was a new struggle that she was dealing with, her parents had an entire school yearbook that said otherwise. When she was little, her mother always told her to just think of something funny in her head, but how could you laugh at your own jokes?

As the blonde-haired woman gave out a defeated sigh, Faraday piped up from his chair.

"Loosen up Danvers, you look like somebody just shot your dog."

"Easy for you to say, you aren't the main event."

King stood up grinding the butt of his cigarette into the planter. He had the rigid locked-in perfect posture of a career military man; his 6'1" stature giving him roughly three solid inches over Carol. Despite being on the far side of fifty, King managed to fill out his suit quite nicely, he adhered to a strict physical fitness regimen to combat any ill effects that his advanced age and lifetime pack-a-day habit may have brought. As he walked over to the mirror were Carol stood, he licked two fingers and flattened out an unruly strand of white hair.

"Danvers, I spent years using media to influence foreign elections to suit our great country's many interests. And in that time, if I learned anything it's that the media loves a good story."

"So what? I love cake but I still know when I'm eating a shitty one."

"Well good thing we aren't feeding them cake then. And even if we were, any cake will taste good after being starved for weeks. We've been denying them any information for weeks and now they are just begging for any little morsel we may dish out. Trust me Danvers everyone in this country is going to know who you are by the end of the day."

Yeah as that girl who can't even smile right Carol thought to herself as she followed Faraday out of the room and into the hallway.

King straightened his tie before entering the conference room. He gave a small wave as the clicking of cameras filled the air like rain rolling off a roof. He walked towards the lectern at a controlled pace, giving the cameras all the time, they needed to track his movements. Despite being a spook for most of his life, Faraday navigated the crowd like he was a movie star. From his first step he made it clear that he was in command here and everyone else was just along for the ride.

As he got to the lectern, he made a show of pulling a piece of paper from his suit pocket. It was a piece of loose leaf, the edges off kilter in a way that suggested he had just torn it out of a notebook moment prior. It echoed another man called King, who finished his "I Have A Dream" speech in the Willard's lobby several decades prior. Of course, in King's case, the paper was blank, an artist hired to rip, wrinkle, and fold it in such a way that created the most aesthetically pleasing mimicry of frantic energy that money could buy. Another prop in the carefully planned show that was unfolding in front of a nation's eyes.

Clearing his throat Faraday began to address a waiting populace.

"Thank you, members of the press, for joining me here today, as well as all of you at home watching this live. Today is a monumental day in the history of our great nation, because today I get to introduce to you the future of American security & safety. Before we begin, I believe introductions are in order, my name is King Faraday and I will be serving as your newly appointed Secretary of Extranormal Affairs.

What is Extranormal Affairs you may be asking? All of you, I assume are painfully familiar with the attacks the befell New York and Star City. I will be frank with all of you, we were unprepared, and we paid the price. The Department of Extranormal Affairs was created to ensure that we are never unprepared again. By committing to developing our state of readiness and enabling proactive measures against potential threats we, will ensure that no Extranormal threat is able to devastate our people in such a way again.

But our mission isn’t just preventative, it is also about building bridges. The only way our new department's mission will ever come to pass is through the aid of those among us that possess abilities and understanding far beyond our own. As many of you undoubtedly know it was many of these exact kinds of individuals that at the end of the day were essential in stopping the attack on two of our greatest cities. And so, it is our intent to foster dialogue and communication between the everyday citizen and these remarkable individuals. For it is the belief of myself and the entire department that we will work better together.

To that end, I would like to introduce you to a very special individual. Many of the bravest members of our armed forces community know her personally and those that don’t, know someone that was saved by her. She is one of our own having graduated near the top of her class at Colorado Springs and afterwards serving with Air Force Special Operations Command with distinction for several years. And yet she is also unlike us with abilities that most of us could only ever dream of. In this way she has a foot firmly planted on each side of the divide, and if our mission goes according to plan, will help erase that divide from our vernacular completely. When she is on mission, we call her Warbird, but today I will introduce her to you under a different name. Without further delay, it is my pleasure to introduce you all to Ms. Carol Danvers.”

The woman of the hour closed her eyes and exhaled as she tried to expel the tingling sensation which was causing her lungs to seize up. Standing in the hallway by the same door that King had entered moments earlier, she half-listened to Faraday. She had heard the newly christened secretary give the speech at least seven times during their car trip to the hotel. The words were already solidified, but each variation he would change his dictation and inflection in subtle ways. The meticulous way in which he hung on each word reminding Carol of an old fling who worked at the Smithsonian telling her why the old renaissance masters marble sculptors were so impressive, it was because they were about subtraction. Painting she told her was about addition and so wayward mistakes were easier to fix, but sculptor was about subtracting and that was permanent. That’s how the white-haired man went over his speech, the subtle cutting away at particular pauses and moments of emphasis to give a new angle that would reshape the work.

The words all too familiar at this point, she waited absentmindedly for her cue. Most of her attention was drawn towards wrestling with the other thoughts that were racing through her head. The primary one was that she didn’t give her parents a courtesy call before the conference went down. None of her family knew about the whole “super powered government” agent deal, they just knew that she did work for the Government that she wasn’t able to talk about. The first that they would be hearing about any of it was going to be with the rest of the country. Carol could only imagine the angry string of text messages and voicemails that her mother was going to send her way. Her father would try to do damage control of course, but being an undercover superhero was a lot bigger than hiding a rescued stray cat in your bedroom for a month, and when Marie found out about Apollo, Frank had only managed to reduce her sentence to one long month of nothing but chores, homework and sleep. And now the Danvers’ matriarch babied old Apollo like he was her long-lost child or something.

Was it okay to feel nervous about your entire way of life changing? Since her last day at the Academy life had become at least partially defined by the bureaucratic masquerade. A system of security clearances, long established cover stories, and the type of lies that after a while just ended up becoming fact. A structure of organized hoops and dotted lines to at least create the facade that somewhere in the chain of command that someone knew what they were doing. After all, if the public even understood half of the uncertainty that went with protecting and securing the interests of the world’s biggest superpower, Danvers was sure they would wonder where all that money for drones and the NSA was going. But now in a way, Carol was being liberated from that structure, though if she was being honest, it felt less like being freed of something and more like being pushed out of the nest.

Though if that was the case, she only had herself to blame. She was given ample opportunity to turn the offer down and the DoD would have been more than happy to keep her for themselves. She couldn’t though, Danvers wouldn’t have necessarily described herself as religious despite growing up in a family of self-identifying Ulster Protestants, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that doing this was what she was put on the Earth to do. She believed tremendously in the Department of Extranormal Affairs intended message of collaboration and acceptance. A fundamental idea that at the end of the day you were always better trying to build a bridge than burn one. It was a simple choose to her really, it didn’t take more than a casual observation of any playground brawl at the local school, violence always ended up breeding more violence. Healing only was able to happen once you put the swords down. It was time for Carol to put those beliefs to test, to make them more than just moral philosophizing done in the dead of night to bring her own demons to rest. And that all started now.

“…it is my pleasure to introduce you all to Ms. Carol Danvers.”

There was a moment before Danvers had entered the room, while Faraday pivoted his torso and extended his arm to greet her that their gazes met. In that brief fraction of a moment as the perfect blue of the sky collided with the deep earthen gray all that needed to be said was. A playwright from England once said that all the world was a stage and now for just a few minutes that stage was going to belong to Carol. She nodded her head in affirmation, smacking a palm across her right shoulder to get the blood pumping again and then she stepped in from the hallway.

The blonde-haired woman had to fight the urge to block the flashes from the cameras. The rapid fire clicking that preceded each shot sending an involuntary shiver down Carol’s back as they sounded eerily like the punctuated staccato firing of a machine gun emplacement. There was no moment of reprieve as each barrage of flashes followed closely on the heels of the last volley. Somehow though, despite the efforts to seemingly blind her, Danvers was able to make it to the podium.

Standing there she felt like a specimen on display. Bright lights from either corner of the room brought in by the film crew were centered on the podium radiating heat like two miniaturized suns. As sweat began to build on her brow, Carol looked out onto the crowd but only found shadows looking back at her as the lights swallowed any significant detail from their facial features. The conditions were at least vaguely familiar to her, having been cast as the corn stalk in her preschool thanksgiving play, but they were still unwelcome. The world watched on in a stretched out and agonized silence, as Carol took a few seconds too long to get adjusted. The ease and command that her boss exerted moments earlier replaced with an awkward anticipation. Gripping the edges of the podium, she forced out a slow and shaky breath as she looked down at the podium, King’s artisanally disheveled paper still sitting where he placed it. As she exhaled, she looked back up at the journalists and too nervous to think about it, Carol produced the easiest smile in her entire life.

“Sorry,” She started out “it’s a little bright up here.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment as the blonde fought the urge to sprint out of the room. Thankfully, one of the journalist’s chuckled and a few others followed. Carol wasn’t sure if the journalist was laughing at her or with her, but in the moment, she didn’t care either way. The laugh dissipated the tension in the room, as Carol could feel the heavy knot in her chest start to loosen. Flickering her eyes quickly to her left, she caught Faraday stone-faced and standing to one side, but ever so slightly he nodded his head in approval and confirmation to continue. Having caught her own momentum and unwilling to let it go again, Carol practically jumped to the next comment.

“My name is Carol Danvers, but I guess you all know that already don’t you? I am a superhero and I will be working with the Department of Extranormal Affairs to bring back a sense of normality, to allow our great country to heal the wounds that have been unjustly placed upon it. And it is my hope, that along the way, I can inspire some of you to do the same…”

The script that a gaggle of speechwriters had worked hours on painstakingly crafting for her had gone straight out the windows. The words became muddle and key points lost in the haze of the moment unable to find purchase upon her tongue as she spoke. Despite going off the range the journalists seemed to respond well to her comments as she reinforced many of the same talking points that Faraday had hit on previously. Her primary focus being on a message of unity and community building rather than the disciplinary side of Extranormal Affair. Hopeful in tone and assertive in her convictions, through the course of her speech citizens of not only the nation, but the world watched as Carol slowly came into her own. And at the end she gave an even bigger smile than before as she looked out into the crowd.

“Any questions?”

A forest of hands sprouted from the seats as the eager journalists all began to try and get Carol’s attention. Peering into the crowd, she picked a hand jutting outward from somewhere in the middle. The lights still made it hard for Carol to get a look, the journalist’s face still covered in shadow. Though as she peered forward Danvers was able to pick up on two details: The first was the man’s long white hair pulled up into a tight ponytail; the other was the slightest glimpse of the man’s eyes. It was the eyes that made Carol freeze, she’d seen those eyes on only two kinds of people before: those that were about to kill themselves and those that were about to kill somebody else. The blonde could hear the smile on his voice as he spoke, his voice distinctly light and velvet smooth, like a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day.

“Have you ever seen a man explode Ms. Danvers?”

Time slowed down to a crawl around Carol as her human/kree adrenaline gland kicked into overdrive as her “sixth sense” kicked in. She watched as the white-haired man’s skin began to crack and flake away as pulsating red energy poured through rapidly forming cracks and fissures. Her options were limited, if she broke the sound barrier she was at risk of permeant deafening the people with less than superhuman eardrums, the bomber had intentionally positioned himself in a location where she also couldn’t safely let off an energy blast without hurting the other journalist. The only real option she had was trying to absorb whatever energy that the man was about to release. And so, she moved.

In the blink of an eye, Danvers vaulted over the lectern and bolted forward like a bullet through the air. She outstretched her right hand and gritted her teeth as she flew directly at the “journalist”. The last she saw of his face was a haunting wild grin before it vanished consumed by the red energy. As the man combusted and the energy rocketed outwards Carol attempted to absorb it. Like smoke being pulled into a funnel the energy pulled towards her. She could feel it begin to course through her veins, but the energy was too much for her to handle, it felt like liquid metal coursing through her body and she couldn’t hold on. The explosion spilled back outwards filling the space as it went, and the last thing Carol saw before the darkness took her was an angry wall of red as she felt the heat and heard the screams.

The world, through the lenses of one of the still functioning television cameras, watched in horror as there was a bright flash followed by heavy smoke. And in the middle of that smoke there was a newly reformed figure who emerged from his cloud of death. The white-haired man’s hair was no longer in a ponytail and he was now wearing something closer to a skintight jumpsuit, but the manic grin still clung to his face as his eyes were bright with bloodlust. He stalked up to the camera slowly and with inhuman strength yanked it up and into his hands so that the whole world could see his face.

“The meek shall inherit the Earth no longer.”

And with that he threw the camera to the ground; as the picture faded into static, he to faded into the smoke.

_{Prologue End}

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

---

^{"The fact that man is capable of action means that the unexpected can be expected from him, that he is able to perform what is infinitely improbable. And this again is possible only because each man is unique, so that with each birth something uniquely new comes into the world" - Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition}

---

N/A

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Hey y'all doing some planning stuff for season two and I was wondering if anyone had any plans for Nitro. Figured I'd ask while I'm still sketching things out.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland VIII

_{The Royal Palace, Bathhouse, Faerie}

---

"Frankenstein," asked Tefé "like from Alvin and the Chipmunks?"

"That's what you're going with?" Zatanna responded. "Of all the cultural touchstones you go with the one with animated chipmunks? Not Terence Fisher or even Mel Brooks?"

"I have never fraternized with any chipmunks real or animated." Frankenstein asserted.

"That's beside the point!" Zatanna responded trying to drag the conversation back on track."You're Frankenstein? Like Mary Shelly Frankenstein?"

The man in the cage gave a tired sigh.

"I became friendly with Mary and her husband after coming to their aid against a lycanthrope. I would only learn sometime later that Mary wrote a biographical account of my earlier years."

"And then you murdered a king?"

" I did not perform such a brutish act. Murder is something a plebian does when they find their lover is sleeping with another. It is senseless emotion getting the better of the senses." Frankenstein stressed "What I did was peak refinement, grace, and purpose, it was art. I did not murder a king, I assassinated one."

"Murder. Assassination? Does it really matter? Oberon is dead and that makes you the Kingkiller right?" Tefé asserted.

"Ah yes," Frankenstein replied "that title that was so graciously given to me. Is it just to define a man by his darker deeds? Do vilify Einstein for his work on the atomic bomb? Or do we remember him for all his broader contributions to science?"

"Listen," Zatanna said "I'm not interested in judging your past actions. I need a monster hunter and they say you are the best there is. So we are going to break you out and you're going to help me. I think that's a better deal than staying locked up in here and getting experimented on by Anton Arcane, and you?"

Frankenstein stroked his jaw as he pondered the magician's proposition. It was, to say the least for Zatanna to view him in person. Of all the various depictions that a lover of horror such as herself had seen, all failed to capture how human he was. Not even Shelly herself who made broke him down to the desires of revenge and belonging. There was the patchwork skin, the stitching, the bolts, and the destroyed eye yes. But despite his deformities, Zatanna did not see a monster sitting there, she saw a man.

"The opportunity to challenge me against a worthy foe once more is tempting." Frankenstein commented, "Though I do not swear my loyalty to any soul haunted by the dark, who are you girl?"

"First of all, I'm not a girl." Zatanna corrected "And second of all my name is Zatanna Zatara and Tefé is my chipmunk loving friend."

"Aww, you consider me a friend already?"

"Quiet you." Zatanna sniped back before continuing. "I'm a magic user from Earth and I've been having dreams, no, visions of great evil. These visions have come after someone sent a flesh elemental to attack me in my childhood home."

"Zatara you say? That would explain the taste of magic in the air." Frankenstein replied as he leaned in closer against the bars of his cage to get a better look at Zatanna. "I never had the pleasure of working with your father, but I'm aware of his work."

Zatanna let out a frustrated sigh.

"Are all you people getting your lines fed to you by an earpiece or something? I don't care if you knew my dad or jerked off to his picture or whatever! It's not him asking for your help it's me."

The magician pushed air out of her nose trying to regain her composure. Berating the person that you were trying to get to help you wasn't exactly the best of stratagems. She knew it wasn't exactly the man in the cage's fault either that he prodded an emotional nerve. Yet Zatanna wasn't about to lie and say that finally letting somebody have it didn't feel good.

To her surprise though if anything Frankenstein seemed pleased by the outburst. A grin stretched across his stitched together mouth as he buckled over in deep bursts of laughter. Fitting for someone of his gargantuan stature, the laughs felt cavernous. Each laugh more akin to a long deep rumble like stones falling in a rockslide.

"How I've missed humanity's rambunctious nature. These fairies are too concerned with their hierarchies and unspoken unruled rules. They have no spontaneity only calculations, but feeling will drive you to conflict." Frankenstein stated wiping at his eyes with his arm even though Zatanna wasn't sure if he even had tear ducts.

"So you'll help us?" Zatanna asked cocking a brow as she took a step back from the cage.

"If you free me from my current bondage, I will aid you in your endeavor."

"Well, you might want to start working on that quick Z'!" Tefé interjected gesturing towards the cell door.

Ensnared in her conversation, Zatanna did not notice the banging on the door had stopped. It appeared that the guards had gone and gotten something else to aid them. As now Zatanna watched as something was slowly beginning to cut its way through the door. A bright light shining through as the heavy metal bulkhead was pulled away. The progress on the door was slow but consistency in its pace. Already having almost made a man-sized line on one side of the door they didn't have much time.

Quickly Zatanna sprang into action. At first, she tried to use her magic to undo the locks off on the cage, but in a similar fashion to the door, they resisted its effects. Having Tefé use her strength was also a no go, otherwise, Frankenstein would have done so already. Searching the room from bottom to top for any kind of release lever lead Zatanna towards the back wall. A console of strange levers and switches greeted her written in a language that she could not read. Reaching for a lever at random she pulled it down to see what it down.

"This is peculiar..." Frankenstein commented as his cage was now suspended in the air.

"Sorry!" Zatanna replied as she pulled the lever back into its original position.

This is pointless Zatanna thought to herself as she looked over a panel. There was well over a hundred switches and levers and there was no knowing how many needed to be pressed to open the cage. The soft hissing of the guard's cutting instrument continued pressuring her onward. In desperation, she turned over her shoulder and called over to Tefé.

"Do you know how to read this shit?"

"Coming!" Tefé responded jogging over.

Taking Zatanna's position at the head of the console Tefé looked it over. She appeared to be trying to read one of the labels, running a finger along the etched in script as she silently mouthed a word. Nodding to herself, she turned back to Zatanna with a smile on her face.

"You are going to want to stand back."

Stepping away from the console, Zatanna watched as Tefé moved a hand towards one of the levers. A second later she would yell in horror as Tefé plunged her arm directly through the console. The air light up like a rave as bursts of magical energy filled the room. The light from the denotation too bright for the magician causing her to turn away and shield her eyes until it faded. When she was safely able to look back in the other woman's direction rage boiled on her face.

"What the hell was that for!"

"That!" Tefé pointed

The plant elemental was pointing towards the now open cage door. Frankenstein tested the door grabbing at it with a huge hand pulling it open and closed again. Satisfied with his experimentation, the large man stepped out of his cage and onto the floor.

"Freedom at last."

"Yeah, well only if we can get through the guards about to chop through the door," Tefé explained

"Yeah anyone have any other bright ideas in that regard? Preferably not involving punching potentially vital equipment?" She said.

"Hey! How could you've known it was vital if you couldn't -" Tefé was cut off as the room violently shook accompanied by a thunderous boom in the distance. As the shaking subsided, the magical lights in the room sputtered out. Outside the room, the cutting stop and Zatanna could hear the guards began to yell as she heard the sound of metal scraping against stone. Rapidly Zatanna muttered a spell and threw up a small globule of light into the air.

"An explosion to direct our pursuers to another part of the palace? Most cunning indeed." Frankenstein remarked sounding impressed.

"Hate to break it to you big guy, but that wasn't us." Tefé pointed out.

"Yeah who the hell was it?"

Suddenly the sounds of screaming and fighting broke out from beyond the door as the guards clashed with an unknown enemy. It was only then that Zatanna realized what that metal scraping was. Without the magical catalyst, there was nothing keeping the other cell doors shut. The other prisoners had escaped and now they were venting their frustrations at their captors. But it was strange, there was not the chaos and yelling that she expected from rioting prisoners. Instead of revelry and yells, there was a disturbing discipline and order of a singular chant. They all yelled a singular phrase that continued to grow louder and louder, loud enough to spell into the other room.

_{"The Dawn Will Rise"}

"Ahh shit." Muttered Tefé.

"This day continues to get more and more interesting." Said Frankenstein nodding his head in agreement.

"Can the two of you stop being cryptic and tell me what is going on."

"It's the Court of Dawn Z'," Tefé explained never pulling her attention away from the door in front of them. The sounds of violence continuing to spill over. "They are attacking the Royal Palace."

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland VII

_{Faerie, The Royal Palace, Forbidden Wing}

---

With Zatanna's assistance, Tefé was able to gather up the rest of the guard uniform. As the newly dressed guard finished putting her boots on Zatanna paced around the scene of the crime. Zatanna wasn't a professional criminal but even she knew that you got rid of the evidence. The last thing they needed, after all, was the whole thing going up in flames because they got found out early. The first order of business was the horrific display of Tefé's blood. Luckily for the magician a simple cleaning spell work just as well on viscera as it did grease stains.

The blood dealt with they now needed to deal with the bodies. The hallways barren nature provided little hiding space. Instead, they found the nearest door and got to work. With her strength, Tefé gathered up the guards while her black haired associate used her magic on the lock. With a click, the door gave way opening into an unused bedroom. Dust covered the dressers and nothing but a mattress sat on a sagging bed frame. They dumped the bodies on top of the bed in a small pile. As they left, Tefé snaked a root-like tendril into the locking mechanism breaking the door. They would still be able to force the door open, but it would still delay them if they woke up quicker than expected.

The last signs of their struggle dealt they finally advanced. Crossing the threshold into the forbidden wing, Zatanna couldn't help but feel nervous. Growing up in a place like Gotham crime and theft was always the reality. And yet even a city plagued by crime its population had a habit of romanticizing it. Crime would always be sexy you only had to look at Bonnie and Clyde or Dillinger to see that was true. Yet the platonic ideal of the Errol Flynn was that - an ideal. The reality Zatanna was finding was much more frantic, much more brutal.

Trying to distract herself, the magician attempted to talk to Tefé, the problem was she didn't know what to say. What did people talk about on heists? Or did they talk at all? It seemed rather counterproductive to the goal of not getting caught. But then again Tefé also didn't seem like the type to follow societal conventions. Deciding to go for it, Zatanna asked the only thought that she still couldn't shake from her head.

"So...."have you always been like this?"

When Zatanna was younger she had a pet corn snake that she found in the garden. She named the snake Lucifer, because of course she did, and was fascinated the first time he shed his skin. Now Zatanna found herself clinging to those memories of her old pet to reconcile with Tefé's ability. The comparison only worked so far though as Lucifer didn't leave a pile of melted flesh and blood when he shed. And even as she looked at Tefé's new red-headed, armor-clad form, a mote of queasiness still coiled in her stomach.

"Yep ever since I was a small babe," Tefé confirmed nodding her head in agreement. "A shame really might have been a more interesting story if I fell into a vat of nuclear waste or something."

"Are you a metahuman?" Zatanna asked before adding "Not that if you were it would be a bad thing. We kinda go hand in hand, after all, both having our starts in sideshows."

"No, but the way that people act when they see what I do, I might as well be." Tefé commented with a shrug "My dad controlled plant stuff and my mom controlled flesh stuff. So when I was born it turned out I got the best of both worlds."

"Must have been some family huh?"

"It was interesting at times yeah." The woman in armor responded before directing the conversation away from her. "How about you? Even a girl from the bayou like myself has heard of Giovanni Zatara before."

"It was a life."

"That bad huh?"

"Don't get me wrong, I had a very privileged childhood. Most kids, hell most adults, would have dreamed for what I had."

"And yet you always felt like you were missing something? Mardi Gras without the jambalaya?"

"Really working to battle stereotypes aren't you?" Zatanna asked with a raised brow and despite herself the start of a grin.

"Hey Z', Jambalaya is fucking great." Tefé insisted

Zatanna snorted and shook her head.

"Whatever you say, swamp girl," Zatanna teased "and maybe ask me later. I'm not really in the business of dropping years of emotional baggage on strangers."

Tefé shrugged

"Suit yourself. We are getting close anyway."

Zatanna didn't need Tefé's comment to notice the change in the environment. The ornate decorations of the palace had faded away to dark gray stone. It reminded Zatanna of walking down a street in the week after Christmas, watching the houses that were once filled with bright twinkling lights go dark for Winter's coming chill. There was no need, after all, they were trespassing beyond the veil established for the public. It was a waste of resources to focus on aesthetics when only guards or prisoners would see it.

An occasional door was the only thing to interrupt the barren stonework. Unlike the ornate wooden doors in the palace, these doors were solid pieces of metal. Zatanna deduced that their controls must be elsewhere given the lack of any handle or crank. As she neared closer to one of the doors to examine it she got startled as a fist slammed against the other side. Heavy and hard the repeated banging grew in intensity as the prisoner on the other side began to scream.

"Let me out! Please let me out! I don't wanna be here anymore!"

Tefé reached her hand out and tapped Zatanna on the shoulder.

"Come on," She stated gently "we gotta go."

Nodding Zatanna turned and followed her.

Yet the prisoner's ranting continued and it wasn't long before other prisoners joined. The arrhythmic pulsating thundering of fists sounded like a growing stampede. And on top of the slamming was the voices. Some of them were pleading like the first prisoners, others were yelling vile threats, while others still screamed. It created a cacophony of sound that only amplified with time as it traveled like a wave down the cellblock. Ahead of the magician, Tefé picked up speed as she tried to outrun the sound.

Soon the sounds of heavy footsteps joined into the chaos. Ahead of the infiltrators was a group of six guards no doubt coming to check on the commotion. Much to Zatanna's dismay, they had different uniforms than the one that Tefé was wearing. Black interwoven scales shined to a polish made up the uniform's primary material and rather than helmets, they wore masks. Horned demonic visages adorned the masks each snarling in a grimace.

"You look nothing like them!" Zatanna whispered as the guards approached.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know that?" Tefé protested

"You said the guard you were sleeping with told you!"

"Yeah, where they were keeping the Kingkiller, not the friggin' dress code!"

"What are we going to do?"

"Go with the flow."

They both slowed to a stop as the guards traversed the last of the distance. Zatanna tried her best to act casual as the masked individuals began to fan out across the width of the hallway. One of them stepped forward to address them. A large crystalline blade hung from his back and an orange mask adorned his face.

"What are you doing here soldier? And with a civilian at that?" He questioned. His voice was deep and textured like oil running over jagged glass. Zatanna didn't know if Faerie had cigarettes but if they did this guy must have smoked at least two packs a day.

"I'm to escort her to the Kingkiller, sir."

"The Kingkiller?" The man asked surprised "I'll need to see papers from both of you."

"What papers?" Zatanna asked

"Papers given to you by the Queen."

"Ah well, you see... funny story about that." Tefé started before sending an arm of bark flying forward in a sucker punch. The guard anticipating the move dodged to the right and drew his blade.

"Apprehend them!"

Three of the guards moved in on Tefé drawing crystal blades similar to the one with the blue mask. Zatanna moved to help her but before she could three sharp twangs sounded. Three crossbow bolts with crystal tips came soaring towards Zatanna. In a state of panic, she tried to leap to right out of their path. Her acrobatic efforts managed to avoid two of the bolts but a third clipped her in her left leg drawing blood. As the crystal made contact a pulse of cold energy ran through her leg. The magician having to drop to one knee as the chill made the entire leg seize.

The masked guards aimed and readied themselves for another volley to finish the job. Gritting through the pain, Zatanna looked up at her attackers and remained calm. She waited as they leveled their crossbows and fired another volley. As three more shots came to end her life, she yelled a command.

"Sigea!"

And for a brief moment, the air in front of her hardened into something thicker. The particles pushed together and pulled into a hardened barrier. The bolts one after another made contact with the shimmering magical defense. Two of the bolt's splintered from the force of the impact and a third rebounded off of it completely. The three arbalists looked to one another frantically before they prepared another volley.

But Zatanna was already on them.

"Ekans!"

One of the guards screamed as his crossbow transformed into a large serpent. Before he could drop the reptile it already began going for his neck. Screaming the man collapsed to the ground wrestling with the reptile as it began to wrap around him. One of his allies in a valiant attempt to defend him aimed his crossbow at the snake and fired. The bolt killed the creature, but the heavy impact pushed it through the snake and into the guard. He screamed in pain before the crystal's effect took place making him go numb. With the panicked guard f reloading, Zatanna turned towards the other about to fire.

"Pu!"

As if attached to a cable, the arbalist was yanked upward. He shouted as he dropped his weapon as he soared upward. The guard slammed hard into the ceiling several feet above them. As he made contact the effect of the spell fizzled and gravity took hold of him once more. Screaming even more as he came down like a hammer upon the ground. He lay there groaning on the ground, only able to curl himself up into a ball.

Another bolt came flying towards her but soared far off the mark. Zatanna turned to face her last adversary having finally finished reloading. The magician could only feel pity when she saw the tremble in his hands as he held his crossbow. In a panic, he tried to grab another bolt but fumbled and sent it clattering to the ground. Showing mercy the dark haired girl put him out of his misery.

"Thgiew!

A soft pinkish glow surrounded the arbalist's weapon as the magic took hold. He began to struggle as the weapon grew heavier in his hands struggling to keep it up. The numbness in her leg fading, Zatanna stepped over the bodies of his comrades. Closing the distance, Zatanna took a single index finger and poked it into the center of his mask. The force was enough to send him teetering backward collapsing like a felled tree. He lay struggling unable to move pinned to the floor beneath the weight of his own weapon.

"Z' heads up!"

As Zatanna ducked the blue-masked swordsman was sent flying over her head. As the body landed on the floor ahead of her in a crumpled heap, the magician rose to her feet and looked back. Tefé stood her armor dented and blood dripping from a cut on her forehead but still smiling.

"We should probably go..." Suggested Zatanna

Tefé nodding in agreement they broke into a sprint running down the rest of the hallway. Zatanna's heart pounded and the muscles in her legs protested as they ran for what felt like an eternity. She pushed on though inspired by the image ahead of her. A large vault-like circular door at the end of the hallway. If Zatanna was a prison design it was behind a door like that she would store her most valuable prisoner. Slowing down as they reached it Zatanna shouted out a spell.

"Nepo!"

Nothing happened.

"Nepo!"

Still nothing.

"What's wrong Z' outta juice?"

"I don't get out of juice!" Zatanna replied as she got up close to the door. "They must of spell-proofed it somehow!"

Gently pushing her aside, Tefé stood in front of the door and closed her eyes. As she breathed out hundreds of tiny little tendrils burst through her flesh and began wedging themselves around the door. Zatanna could only watch in amazement as she could hear dull clicks from beyond the door as the tendrils worked at an unseen lock. Tefé's eyes were shut tight with concentration as she listened to the soft sounds to guide her in the right direction.

"Stop them!"

Spinning around Zatanna's heart sank as even more masked guards were running down the hallway towards them.

"No pressure or anything but are you almost done?" Zatanna asked

"Just.... keep them busy!"

Turning her attention back to the guards, Zatanna knew that she had to hold them off somehow. Recalling the frost stonework leading to the bathhouse, she was struck with an idea.

"EzeerF!"

Patches of ice began to spread across the floor of the hallway ahead of the guards. The patches connected and multiplied and soon a thick sheet of ice covered the floor. The charging guards focused on the two of them did not notice the ice until it was too late. The first few that stepped onto the icy patch collapsed. The falling guards set off a domino effect as they knocked down the guards behind them and so on. Zatanna smiled as the sound of panicked shouts and metal clanging against the floor. The guards were already pulling themselves up but the diversion had bought them some time.

"Got it!" Tefé proclaimed

There was a loud affirmative click as the door slide open. Zatanna scrambled inside with Tefé following suit, the guards still hot on their tail. The plant elemental was just barely able to pull the door back into place before their would-be captors reached the door. The Guard banged against the door and tried to force it open but it would not budge. But it was not the banging on the door that drew Zatanna's attention.

The magician was staring at a large birdcage in the center of the room. And there sitting cross legged in the middle of the cage was a man unlike any Zatanna had seen before.

The prisoner was a large man wearing a pair of sackcloth brown pants and nothing else. He was gargantuan in size, a solid mass of muscle that seemed to fight with one another to take over his frame. But the thing that caught Zatanna's eye the most was the prisoner's skin. An amalgamation of different tones and textures patched together with staples, stitches, and screws. As they came in, he tilted his head upward from his meditative stance. Two eyes stared back at Zatanna one a deep green and the other a milky white. As they came in, he tilted his head upward from his meditative stance. Two eyes stared back at Zatanna one a deep green and the other a milky white.

"And who might you be? Does another observer come to see the freakshow? No that is not right at all, your demeanor is all wrong to be one of them. Interesting." The patchwork man commented as he rose to his feet easily towering over both Zatanna and Tefé. "Then tell me, why have you come to visit old discarded Frankenstein left to rot in his cage?"