Hillan

Hillan's Parade Of Characters

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

S U P E R M A N

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^{_{Clark Joseph Kent ♦ Intern ♦ Metropolis ♦ Truth and justice.}}

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

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^{"True strength comes from lifting up those that have fallen."}

Clark Kent, Kal-El Of Krypton, The Man Of Steel, Last Kryptonian.
Intern at the Daily Planet and last in his fantasy Football league. Just joking, Clark wasn't invited to play Fantasy Football.

Clark is a nerdy kid from Smallville, Kansas. By all accounts, a perfectly normal, albeit, maybe a little weird, young man. He went to High School, then studied at an online college, majoring in journalism and photography. Spent his teenage years chasing the 'Wall Of Weird' with his High School buddies. All the while yearning for, searching and eventually dreading a destiny. This is the tale of how mild mannered Clark Kent becomes The Man Of Tomorrow, and how he protects his city, and all of the world.

His first journey into heroism isn't stopping a meteor from crushing the planet, nor is it lifting an airplane out of the sky. But it'll be about him tackling the concept that there's a world outside of Smallville, and all of the dangers and excitement that brings.
Clark is 22 years old and has just moved to Metropolis to fulfill his destiny, and it starts with a red T-shirt, a blue jean jacket and a internship serving coffee to the reporters at the Daily Planet.

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:

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Why Truth be told, Superman is my favorite Superhero, and honestly, maybe one of my favorites in all of fiction. But he wasn't always. There was a time where I thought the boyscout routine, the do-gooder and godlike powers got stale after you realized every other hero can also fly and lift heavy stuff, but face far more challenge than Clark. But then I realized what Superman is about, at least the parts that resonate with me te. And there in lies my motivation to play him and show what made him my favorite after all.

It comes down to the heart of the character, the constant burden of carrying the world on his shoulders, sometimes quite literally. The knowledge that being the most powerful being on the planet, yet still just a regular guy. The powers to be a god, but lacking the hybris to do so. Superman, at his core, is someone who always considers others in every action he does. I want to chronicle the alien who proves we humans can be better, Superman is the best of us because he brings out the best in us. I want to tell his story, and how he got there.

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

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TBD As the IC Progresses.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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"Y'know, my dad always told me that I could achieve anything, as long as I put my heart into it and worked hard. The sky's the limit, he would say. I'm starting to think that maybe... He was wrong. I don't think the sky's where it stops. Not for any of us." The black haired man said, chewing lightly on a pencil, trying to think of a way to solve the riddle presented to him on the paper in his hand. He scratched the back of his head, pushing his glasses back up when he grabbed the pen from his mouth again.

"Crossword giving you problem, Smallville?" his brown-haired coworker mocked from the other side of the lunch room. Well, coworker, she was Lois Lane and she was technically his boss. Or at least higher up in the food chain than him. The way she had explained it to him on his first day here, two weeks ago was Lois was a dolphin, Perry White was a great blue whale, and Clark... Well, Clark was a guppy.

"Yeah, it's a real tough one today." Clark murmured, having just filled in 'Sky'.

"Try 'Ahab' That usually does it." Lois added, grabbing her lunch from the fridge, the salad box that said 'Olsen' on it. Clark shook his head. "I don't think Ahab was the 22nd President of the United States". Lois raised her eyebrow. "It's Grover, man."
"Cleaveland. Like the state. C-L-E-A-V-E-L-A-N-D" Lois spelled it for him and he couldn't help but to snicker a little about it. "That's not how you spe-" He was interrupted by Lois walking past him, back to her desk to eat her lunch. She was always working after all. "Good talk, miss Lane." Clark concluded, returning to his crossword.

A few minutes later, Jimmy Olsen, the up and coming hotshoot photographer for the paper walked into the room, looking for his lunch. It was gone. He let out a loud groan. Clark picked up sirens thanks to his extraordinary hearing, and if there was one thing to know about Mr.Kent, was that he tried to be where the sirens were.

He put down the crossword and turned to Jimmy. "Hey, Jimmy! I'm just about to do a coffee run for Mr.White, I'll grab you a sandwich from McLarens while I'm out. Meatball sub, right?" Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, extra marinara, thanks Clark!" Clark smiled, walking towards the exit, taking the stairs in favor of the elevator, the sirens moving past him now. Once he knew nobody could see him in the staircase, he ran towards the roof, instead of towards the lobby. Once he emerged onto the roof, the grabbed the backpack he had left there. He took off his glasses and dress shirt, revealing his red under-shirt, grabbing the blue denim jacket from the bag as well as the pair of aviator goggles he had there and the black ball cap.

Once geared up, he ran towards the edge of the building and stepped off, in one leap, he had cleared a block and a half, flying through the air.

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

---

Issue 01: You're not in Kansas Anymore Parts. 1 - 3

Justice League: World in Crisis

I'll get working on a sheet, I'm really interested in seeing how the format helps the game.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

_{Location: New Orleans - 17 Months Ago}

Grifter #0: Kid

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_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

In a hospital in New Orleans, things start for the former spook known to the world as Cole Cash. Where the air is sterile and the bedsheets sting. He’s hooked up to a machine that buzzes and beeps every time his heartbeats. He lays in his bed, curled into a fist, protesting death and how every breath is either hard labor or hard time. He can’t get over how he’s always either too hot or too cold. Yet, to him, it doesn’t matter why he was there. Why they had to pick shrapnel out of his chest or why he had to keep his hand in a cast.

Because his hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas and is 9-year-olds. Cole doesn’t have to ask him what he’s got. The bald head with the skin and bones frame tells it all. The kid’s name is Oscar. He’s got his Nintendo Switch in his bed and a stack of comic books by the side of his bed. A pillow from home and a few stuffed animals. Cole spotted an action figure in his hand, too. The staff at the hospital are doing what they can to make Oscar comfortable, he’s going to be here for a while after all.

Cole smiled the first time his eyes met with Oscars, and it felt like the biggest lie the conman had ever put into the world. He’s holding his breath towards Oscar, worried that the kid is gonna call him on his bullshit any minute. He’s scared of a 57-pound kid hooked up to a machine because maybe Cole’s got him pegged all wrong.

Maybe he’s bionic or some shit.

So Cole looked away. Like he was facing a Los Lobos Gang member with a rap sheet longer than the lines of shady politicians who had sent Cole on black-ops missions in the sandbox. Cole doesn’t know how to handle him to such a degree that he almost considers pulling out his pack and asking Oscar if he’d like a smoke.

His fears subside when he realizes that Oscar is all show and tell. Oscar tells Cole about the things he’s got. The comic books, the toys. Video games. How he’s really all about something called ‘Animal Crossing’ and Cole asked him if he was scratching out animal names from his hit-list, and Oscar just laughed. Oscar told him about the shotgun shell he had kept from that time his dad took him to the shooting range. About the crow's feet, he found on a field trip when he was six, and how it really freaked out the weird girl he knew. Speaking off, his stuffed teddy bear was from that weird girl.

It took Cole a day and a half to figure out that ‘the weird girl’ was Oscar’s sister, Maya. And it took Oscar about an hour after his family had left to realize he missed her. His family stays well past visiting hours because for families like his, those rules don’t apply. Oscar tells him that the worst part about being sick is that you get all of the ice cream you could ever dream off.

Cole chuckles and says that doesn’t sound so bad.
Oscar tells him that the worst part about all of the ice cream you can eat, is realizing that there’s nothing else the staff can do for him. And those words coming from a nine-year-old boy hits Cole harder than a shotgun slug to the chest.

The kid never greets Cole with anything but a smile, there’s never real silence in the room and there’s no judgment from the kid towards the man who's got a laundry list of mistakes.

Cole does his best to distract Oscar with his own stories. While it’s hard to compress a 25-day siege of a Terrorist hideout, a firefight that led to the bust of 13 million dollars worth of heroin, or how he accidentally protected the president of Kaznia while being sent on a mission to kill said president.

He scrubbed the details, but his war stories kept the boy entertained. Cole explains battle plans and military strategy to him, he doesn’t have the fundamental skills to break it down for a child to understand, yet, Oscar seems to.

He explains that they called Cole ‘Grifter’ in the army and that when he was on overwatch, he’d have a spotter. That spotter was someone he’d call ‘Porkchop’. On the third day Cole was in the hospital, he and Oscar would steal extra pudding cups from the kitchen after dinner, where Oscar would watch out for Cole, planned like small military missions.

The games distracted him and it kept Cole from the question that’s been on his mind since the day he got there. Four nights into their stay, when Oscar can’t sleep. He asks Cole if he’s awake, and Cole wakes up. They talk. Mostly about the video games Oscar is playing, but in the end, they talk about how Oscar is doing, and Cole finally gathers the courage to ask him.

“Are you scared?” The man asks the nine-year-old boy, and without even hesitating, Oscar responds with a loud, solemn but forceful exclamation.
“Fuck yeah I am.” Cole realizes that if a curse word would help this boy get through this, then Cole wants to teach him every curse word there is, in every language he knows. He wants to teach him to curse so much that the devil will be sitting beside them taking notes.

“Please don’t tell my dad.” Oscar says, gripping his blanket so tightly his knuckles turn white, his face almost breaking into tears and Cole nods.

“Your secret’s safe with me, kid.”

Oscar falls asleep with the game still on.

Cole’s never seen someone like Oscar before. Someone who’s got so much patience, in spite of knowing they’re dying. And he tries his best to not remind him.

Cole walks around, feeling better. He’s mostly healed now. And with it comes the sorrow. Cole will soon be out of here, going back to taking his life for granted and smoking too much. Lying to people who will kill him in an instant if they found out they had been duped.

And there’s nothing Cole can do to save Oscar, and he doesn’t quite know why, but this nine-year-old kid has implanted himself into his mind forever. His plight becomes a burden that grows on Cole in the time to come, and it grows into a shield that protects Cole from the challenges ahead.

Perhaps that’s why, 17 months later, Cole’s kneeling in front of a tombstone that reads “Oscar Matthew Jefferson”. Because Cole’s realized he needs some of that strength that a 57 pound 9-year-old boy possessed.

He holds the red mask in his hand as a tear begins rolling down his cheek. He ties it behind his blond hair covering his face. He stands up, the green coat falling to his side as he looks at the gravestone.

“I will remember you, Kid.”

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN THE WORLD

T H E
G R I F T E R

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^{_{COLE ADAM CASH ♦ CON-MAN ♦ ON THE RUN ♦ TEAM SEVEN}}

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

---

^{"A bullet is forever."}

You remember that New 52 run called 'The Grifter - Most Wanted"? No? Me neither.

This takes the bare bones of that concept and runs with it. Adapts it to my writing and I'll strive to tell some sort of military-on-the-run story with sci-fi elements and the ability to bring the entire world into chaos via alien invasion. Writing an action thriller that's about uncertainty and a guy who thinks he's playing everyone else for a fool. A cat and mouse game where nobody's sure who's the cat and who's the mouse.

Basically, a lot of shooting, spycraft and what it really means to be a psionic.

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:

---

To be frank, I've been wanting to play Grifter for as long as I've known about the character, and never had a story or even the faintest idea of what to do with him. After rewatching Mission Impossible, Shooter (both the movie and the TV-show) and reading his New 52 run, I realize he's the perfect vehicle for me to tell my military based stories I'd normally try to push onto an OC or some Frankenstein version of some other street hero like Red Hood or Punisher.

Due to his psionic connection, he allows for the weird and whacky to undercut the grimdark, bullets and explosions.

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

---

Max Cash:
Younger Brother, Government Agent and massive pain in Cole's ass. Max played hard with the rules while Cole played loose. A decorated war hero and veteran, Max is one of the most esteemed soldiers America's produced in the past half century.

Rick Flag:
Cole's commanding officer before he joined Team Seven. Flag taught Cole everything he knows about being a soldier.

TEAM SEVEN:
His brothers in arms once upon a time. They've fallen out of touch with each other, but if there was one thing the military teaches you, it's how to rely on your new family.

Jeanette Tarkov:
(ex) Girlfriend and Partner in crime.

Franklin Clay:
A Burnt spy he met along the way.

Daemonites:
Freaky psychic aliens who are infiltrating mankind.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"When you realize that kind of person you are, you know your path in life, right?" He began, taking out the cigarette from his mouth, putting the glass of whiskey against his lips instead, drinking deeply. "For some, it's when they catch that 50 yard throw and wins the homecoming game with a touchdown. For others, it's when they have to save someone who's drowning. When they first pick up a guitar, or when they drive their dads 69 Mustang for the first time." His words were dry, hanging in the air of the empty bar, only him and the barkeep who wasn't really paying any attention to him as he was closing up. Wiping the counter and hanging chairs upside down on it afterwards.

"For me. I thought it happened when I held a gun for the first time. Colt 1911, 40 caliber. We were hunting, and I had tracked down the deer. It got out of the way of the bullet from my rifle, but I chased him down when I heard it scream. By dumb luck, it had stepped on a beer trap that was laid out there in the forest. I was 13 when me and my dad found it, and he handed me his pistol and told me to put it out of it's misery." He took another whiff of his cigarette, filling his lungs with the black smoke, exhaling, playing with the liquid at the bottom of his glass.

"If I'm being honest. I was scared as hell. Firing the rifle was exciting. But a handgun? Looking into the scared deer's eyes as a pressed the metal barrel against it's skull, and how my hand shook till my dad put his hand on my shoulder and told me the advice I'd live my life by."

"I knew that that was my calling. The way of the gun. A hunter. A warrior." He scoffed. "Yet, these days, it seems like I'm the prey." His eyes peered into the TV in the corner of the room, reflecting the light from the news, showing how a man with long blonde hair, just like his, wearing the exact same black T-shirt he had on, fought and killed two Police Officers four blocks away, an hour ago.

The bartender caught a glimpse of the Newsshow, finally paying attention to what the patron was saying. His eyes grew wide with concern.
"Get out of here before I call the cops." He promised, his hand reaching behind the bar, grabbing the handle of the wooden bat. Cole could see his eyes were full of deceit, as his hand rested on his hip.

He Knows! I need assistance! the bartenders true voice hissed in the other man's head. The smoker pulled his gun out, the same kind of gun he had talked about from when he was a kid. The .40 cal 1911. Leaping from his seat, Cole dodged under the swing of the bat, the bat colliding with the counter behind him, shattering the wooden counter, showing off the bartenders incredible strength. Cole hit him with the butt of his gun, stunning the bartender, Cole could now see the blue energy oozing off of the man. He aimed his pistol at the disoriented man and quoted the words his father had told him back in the forest that day.

"A bullet is forever."

BANG

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

---

Issue 1:
1.00 - Seventeeen

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN THE WORLD

T H E
G R I F T E R

---

^{_{COLE ADAM CASH ♦ CON-MAN ♦ ON THE RUN ♦ TEAM SEVEN}}

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

---

^{"A bullet is forever."}

You remember that New 52 run called 'The Grifter - Most Wanted"? No? Me neither.

This takes the bare bones of that concept and runs with it. Adapts it to my writing and I'll strive to tell some sort of military-on-the-run story with sci-fi elements and the ability to bring the entire world into chaos via alien invasion. Writing an action thriller that's about uncertainty and a guy who thinks he's playing everyone else for a fool. A cat and mouse game where nobody's sure who's the cat and who's the mouse.

Basically, a lot of shooting, spycraft and what it really means to be a psionic.

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:

---

To be frank, I've been wanting to play Grifter for as long as I've known about the character, and never had a story or even the faintest idea of what to do with him. After rewatching Mission Impossible, Shooter (both the movie and the TV-show) and reading his New 52 run, I realize he's the perfect vehicle for me to tell my military based stories I'd normally try to push onto an OC or some Frankenstein version of some other street hero like Red Hood or Punisher.

Due to his psionic connection, he allows for the weird and whacky to undercut the grimdark, bullets and explosions.

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

---

Max Cash:
Younger Brother, Government Agent and massive pain in Cole's ass. Max played hard with the rules while Cole played loose. A decorated war hero and veteran, Max is one of the most esteemed soldiers America's produced in the past half century.

Rick Flag:
Cole's commanding officer before he joined Team Seven. Flag taught Cole everything he knows about being a soldier.

TEAM SEVEN:
His brothers in arms once upon a time. They've fallen out of touch with each other, but if there was one thing the military teaches you, it's how to rely on your new family.

Jeanette Tarkov:
(ex) Girlfriend and Partner in crime.

Franklin Clay:
A Burnt spy he met along the way.

Daemonites:
Freaky psychic aliens who are infiltrating mankind.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"When you realize that kind of person you are, you know your path in life, right?" He began, taking out the cigarette from his mouth, putting the glass of whiskey against his lips instead, drinking deeply. "For some, it's when they catch that 50 yard throw and wins the homecoming game with a touchdown. For others, it's when they have to save someone who's drowning. When they first pick up a guitar, or when they drive their dads 69 Mustang for the first time." His words were dry, hanging in the air of the empty bar, only him and the barkeep who wasn't really paying any attention to him as he was closing up. Wiping the counter and hanging chairs upside down on it afterwards.

"For me. I thought it happened when I held a gun for the first time. Colt 1911, 40 caliber. We were hunting, and I had tracked down the deer. It got out of the way of the bullet from my rifle, but I chased him down when I heard it scream. By dumb luck, it had stepped on a beer trap that was laid out there in the forest. I was 13 when me and my dad found it, and he handed me his pistol and told me to put it out of it's misery." He took another whiff of his cigarette, filling his lungs with the black smoke, exhaling, playing with the liquid at the bottom of his glass.

"If I'm being honest. I was scared as hell. Firing the rifle was exciting. But a handgun? Looking into the scared deer's eyes as a pressed the metal barrel against it's skull, and how my hand shook till my dad put his hand on my shoulder and told me the advice I'd live my life by."

"I knew that that was my calling. The way of the gun. A hunter. A warrior." He scoffed. "Yet, these days, it seems like I'm the prey." His eyes peered into the TV in the corner of the room, reflecting the light from the news, showing how a man with long blonde hair, just like his, wearing the exact same black T-shirt he had on, fought and killed two Police Officers four blocks away, an hour ago.

The bartender caught a glimpse of the Newsshow, finally paying attention to what the patron was saying. His eyes grew wide with concern.
"Get out of here before I call the cops." He promised, his hand reaching behind the bar, grabbing the handle of the wooden bat. Cole could see his eyes were full of deceit, as his hand rested on his hip.

He Knows! I need assistance! the bartenders true voice hissed in the other man's head. The smoker pulled his gun out, the same kind of gun he had talked about from when he was a kid. The .40 cal 1911. Leaping from his seat, Cole dodged under the swing of the bat, the bat colliding with the counter behind him, shattering the wooden counter, showing off the bartenders incredible strength. Cole hit him with the butt of his gun, stunning the bartender, Cole could now see the blue energy oozing off of the man. He aimed his pistol at the disoriented man and quoted the words his father had told him back in the forest that day.

"A bullet is forever."

BANG

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

---

Issue 1:
1.00 - Seventeeen

Hillan's Parade Of Characters

T H E B A T M A N

---

_{^{Bruce Wayne
The Symbol
Dick Grayson
The Leader
Jason Todd
The Soldier
Tim Drake
The Detective}}

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

---

Bruce Wayne realizes his one-man crusade is unfeasible and instead recruits his three adoptive sons into the fray and trains them from a very young age into becoming capable crime fighters in their own way. A tale about family, trust and kicking a lot of ass - a family business, as it were.

^""

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:

---

To be frank, I've been wanting to play Grifter for as long as I've known about the character, and never had a story or even the faintest idea of what to do with him. After rewatching Mission Impossible, Shooter (both the movie and the TV-show) and reading his New 52 run, I realize he's the perfect vehicle for me to tell my military based stories I'd normally try to push onto an OC or some Frankenstein version of some other street hero like Red Hood or Punisher.

Due to his psionic connection, he allows for the weird and whacky to undercut the grimdark, bullets and explosions.

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

---

Max Cash:
Younger Brother, Government Agent and massive pain in Cole's ass. Max played hard with the rules while Cole played loose. A decorated war hero and veteran, Max is one of the most esteemed soldiers America's produced in the past half century.

Rick Flag:
Cole's commanding officer before he joined Team Seven. Flag taught Cole everything he knows about being a soldier.

TEAM SEVEN:
His brothers in arms once upon a time. They've fallen out of touch with each other, but if there was one thing the military teaches you, it's how to rely on your new family.

Jeanette Tarkov:
(ex) Girlfriend and Partner in crime.

Franklin Clay:
A Burnt spy he met along the way.

Daemonites:
Freaky psychic aliens who are infiltrating mankind.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"When you realize that kind of person you are, you know your path in life, right?" He began, taking out the cigarette from his mouth, putting the glass of whiskey against his lips instead, drinking deeply. "For some, it's when they catch that 50 yard throw and wins the homecoming game with a touchdown. For others, it's when they have to save someone who's drowning. When they first pick up a guitar, or when they drive their dads 69 Mustang for the first time." His words were dry, hanging in the air of the empty bar, only him and the barkeep who wasn't really paying any attention to him as he was closing up. Wiping the counter and hanging chairs upside down on it afterwards.

"For me. I thought it happened when I held a gun for the first time. Colt 1911, 40 caliber. We were hunting, and I had tracked down the deer. It got out of the way of the bullet from my rifle, but I chased him down when I heard it scream. By dumb luck, it had stepped on a beer trap that was laid out there in the forest. I was 13 when me and my dad found it, and he handed me his pistol and told me to put it out of it's misery." He took another whiff of his cigarette, filling his lungs with the black smoke, exhaling, playing with the liquid at the bottom of his glass.

"If I'm being honest. I was scared as hell. Firing the rifle was exciting. But a handgun? Looking into the scared deer's eyes as a pressed the metal barrel against it's skull, and how my hand shook till my dad put his hand on my shoulder and told me the advice I'd live my life by."

"I knew that that was my calling. The way of the gun. A hunter. A warrior." He scoffed. "Yet, these days, it seems like I'm the prey." His eyes peered into the TV in the corner of the room, reflecting the light from the news, showing how a man with long blonde hair, just like his, wearing the exact same black T-shirt he had on, fought and killed two Police Officers four blocks away, an hour ago.

The bartender caught a glimpse of the Newsshow, finally paying attention to what the patron was saying. His eyes grew wide with concern.
"Get out of here before I call the cops." He promised, his hand reaching behind the bar, grabbing the handle of the wooden bat. Cole could see his eyes were full of deceit, as his hand rested on his hip.

He Knows! I need assistance! the bartenders true voice hissed in the other man's head, and he pulled his gun out, the same kind of gun he had talked about from when he was a kid. The .40 cal 1911. Cole dodged under the swing of the bat, the bat colliding with the counter behind him, shattering the wooden counter, showing off the bartenders incredible strength. Cole hit him with the butt of his gun, stunning the bartender, Cole could now see the blue energy oozing off of the man. He aimed his pistol at the disoriented man and quoted the words his father had told him back in the forest that day.

"A bullet is forever."

BANG

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

---

Issue 1:
1.00 - Seventeeen

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

@Master Bruce

Batman has been booted from the game due to clear lack of interest from his creator.

The Batman (Original character, do not steal. TM) is hereby accepted and welcomed to the roster.

The bat is dead, long live the bat.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

A L A N S C O T T

_{Location: Central American Monorails}

Post #1.02: Proposals II

---

_{Interaction(s):}

Previously: Proposals I

He was back on the train, as if the last five minutes hadn't happened. As if Rose wasn't gone, and as if he wasn't about to be turned into a charred piece of meat from the spreading fire. Yet, the train was different. It was moving, sure. But it was... Different. Diffused. Strange, almost as if it was lacking it's color and... Well, to be frank, it's life. The train felt grey. He peered out of the window, and he could tell that they were passing things, but he couldn't make out what they were passing. Like a hazy dream. He looked to the passengers, to Rose's seat, thinking he had been dreaming.

Empty.

He thought he could hear people talking, but once he shifted his focus towards it, all he found as silence and emptiness.

"Hello?" Alan's voice rang out, standing up. "Where is everyone?" His words fell on deaf ears. Changing his question, he found a more suitable one. "Where am I?" He walked the train, from the train he was in, towards the front. Crossing over to the next cart, he was met with the same view. And empty, quiet cart. No melody playing, no chugging of the rails. It was all quiet, numb, even. He turned his head to look into the baggage area in this cart, it was where he and Rose had put their stuff. The bags were gone, but in the peripheral view of his eye, he could see a man. One dressed in blue and gold. But as his eyes chased him, trying to see him, he was gone. As if he had never been there to begin with.
"What the hell?!" He spat, moving faster towards the next cart. Chasing the man he thought he saw. He opened the next door, and in it, he found yet another empty cart... Or so he thought.

Inside was a woman. Sitting comfortably in a luxurious chair, far too fancy to belong on a train. Hers was the only seat in that isle, separated by a small table from the rest of the seats. Her legs were crossed, she was dressed in all black and her face was covered by her black hair. A cigarette decorated her lips as she huffed deep breaths of smoke.

"So, you're here." She spoke, calm yet demanding. The voice echoed in Alan's head. He held his temple for a second, feeling the vertigo from the impact of her voice. Things stopped spinning, and the woman got up from her seat, and stared at him.
"Do you know where you are?" She asked, exhaling more smoke. Alan nodded.

"Train 4013, headed to Gotham. I'm here with my fian-" He was cut off by the memory of seeing Rose fall into the firey cavern created by the train wreckage. "Wrong," The woman responded. "that's where you were."

"You know how unlikely it is to survive a train crash, even more so an explosion on a train?" The woman asked and Alan blinked, recalling a math equation he had solved back in school 11 years ago. "A derailing's got good survival rates. But something like this is more like a plane crash. One in a hundred, maybe." He calculated quickly in his head, surprised he had that information available to him already. The woman smirked under her hood. "This was more like a nuclear bomb." Alan felt his face get cold at the notion. "What do you mean?" He prodded, she took another big huff of the cigarette that seemed to be never-ending.

"You're dead. Or, at least very close to. This is what's called Limbo. The realm between life and death." Her voice was somber, serious. Cold. She offered no comfort in those words, and no glimmer of hope was betrayed.

"I don't believe in an afterlife." Alan would protest, the woman chuckled.
"Yet it would seem the afterlife believes in you, Alan Scott."

"That's a horrifying thought." Alan folded, shifting nervously at the way the woman's voice had echoed in his entire being.
As their conversation carried forward, Alan heard another whisper, something more akin to a caress in his head, it wasn't words. It was intention. "So who's the man?"

"The man in the blue and gold?" he continued. The woman bit onto the butt of the cigarette, clearly not amused by the question. "You saw a man in blue and gold?" she seemed almost bothered by the prospect, and Alan nodded. "Yeah. He was right here, I thought. I followed him to this cart." Alan felt a sudden urge growing inside of him, almost pulling him forward. The woman stood wide in front of him, blocking his way.

"The man in blue and gold is just a reflection of your dying mind. Ignore it. I'm here to guide you to the other side, Alan." She promised, her voice suddenly softer, and Alan shrugged. "What, so this train is a manifestation of my imagination?" And the woman nodded. "People don't usually take to abstract metaphysical concept quite so easily. Yes. This is how you perceive the afterlife. In the ancient days, I was a skeleton rowing a boat down a river. Now, I'm a young woman in a train."

"You're death?" Alan asked, and the woman shook her head. "No. You're not quite that important. I'm middle management, for now. I'm a reaper."

"You forgot the scythe at home." Alan joked, his urge getting stronger and he felt something calling for him. The woman let out a scoff at his humor. "Deflecting with jokes doesn't work anymore, Alan. There's nowhere left to run. This train will stop."

"But there's something else for me here." The would-be dead man claimed. And the reaper protested, getting pushed aside by Alan who walked to the next cart, seeing a faint glow behind it. As he opened the door, he saw the man in blue and gold again, he couldn't make out the face, but he had his hand reached out for him.

The gold-clad hand reached out for him and Alan heard a man's voice echo the words "Help me" to him. Alan pushed forward, ending up at the back of the train again, which was the complete opposite direction of where he was going. The reaper appeared behind him.
"The train's getting shorter, Alan. Your brain is dying, and soon, there won't be anything left of you."
"What happens then?" He asked, the reaper pouted her lips and told it to him straight. "You become a spirit. Demented, scared and without direction. With time, you will turn to anger and become a vengeful ghost. Cursed to forever walk the world with no chance at redemption."

Alan nodded. "If you had told me ghosts and afterlife were real yesterday, I'd ask you what you were drinking. But for some reason... I believe you." He turned around, his words hanging in the air, almost in anticipation for what he was gonna say next. "I can't go. There's something here." He said, walking towards the storage shelves. Finding the only object in the train that didn't look like it was fading. It was a chest, a lockbox, rather. Ornate. As he touched it, it opened without him finding a locking mechanism. The reaper got agitated, sprouting two massive black wings from her back, her hood flying off, revealing her dirty blonde hair and pale face.

"Don't touch that!" She shouted, loud enough to shake the entire train, her voice echoing like a banshees. Alan opened the chest, a green glow washing over him, the reaper appearing behind him, and as she touched him to stop him, he touched the green glowing mass. A green light erupted from him, burning away the reaper. The train filling with color again, focusing around him. He felt alive again.

Suddenly, he was holding a massive green lantern in his right hand and his engagement ring in his left. The lantern melted into the ring as Limbo faded away, fought off by the light as Alan was brought back to life.
A voice echoing in his head, in a language he couldn't comprehend, yet, he understood what it was saying to him. It was a contract. A proposal.
The green ring appeared on his middle finger when he spoke the most terrifying three letter word in the English language.

"Yes."

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

A L A N S C O T T

_{Location: Central American Monorails}

Post #1.01: Proposals I

---

_{Interaction(s):}

Previously:

"Rose Irene Forrest, will you marry me?"

Standing on his knee on the floor of the train. They were in first-class, the train heading towards Gotham City. They were currently somewhere outside of New York. The trip was supposed to be for business. Alan was going to Gotham to work for the broadcasting company, working on the 6G-masts that would bring on a revolution of communication. Rose tagged along to go see her parents in Gotham, at least that was what Alan convinced her to do.

The blonde man was sweating, his pulse was beating in his ears and his hands were a little shaky. Rachel had known him as the most confident and headstrong man in the world, and seeing him this scared to ask her to marry him was perhaps the most surprising thing of all.

The coming six seconds of anguish and uncertainty, of hope and love were perhaps the longest in Alan’s life. She looked at him in shock first, and then her face cracked into a smile, and he felt his heart burst with joy. His stomach fluttering like butterflies and a big-dumb-grin on his face as he said the best three-letter word in the English language.

“Yes.” Tears falling down her face as she hugged him. Putting the golden ring onto her hand, the ring Alan had gotten from his mom after his father had died. They kissed and all seemed well. The passengers that overheard them cheered them on and Alan ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of them. This was the best day of Alan Scott’s life. The train was reaching the bridge, that lead into the Gotham Tunnel, making them about 40 minutes from their destination.

That’s when he heard it. The brakes of the train failing, followed by the ear-shattering explosion in the Train’s front, echoing all of the way to the very back of the train, where they were seated.

The coming nineteen seconds of carnage were among the longest in Alan Scott’s life. The train car in front had derailed, and the rest of the train followed suit, getting off the rails, down the gap between the two cliffs, where the bridge they were travelling on had been a minute ago. Falling into the great empty. Alan saw the cart ahead of them fall, and with it, things started getting blurry. Time slowed down. Yet, his memory would fail him here. Their train cart would hang over the edge, as he and Rose were recovering from the hit. Screams, cries and the foul smell of fire - people burning - tinted the air. His pulse was fast, his heartbeat heavy. His head had hit the window, and Rose had broken her right hand. Alan got up, and walked towards Rose, lifting her up, to try and get out of the train cart, to the one behind them.

Another explosion, this time right behind them, split the cart in two, leaving Alan on his stomach, hanging off the ledge. Holding Rose by her hand, her body danging down into the ravine, nothing but a maw of flames below her. He held on to her, but their grips were slipping. First by the wrist, her nails digging into his, then he slipped,holding her by the hand. Rose mouthed the greatest three worded sentence in any language, as Alan's hand slipped, holding her by the ring on the finger, only thing giving him enough texture to grip on.

"Hold on!" He shouted, his other hand trying to grip after her, but as he shifted, she slipped out of the ring. His other hand chasing after her, but it wasn't enough. He watched her fall into the flames, leaving only the golden ring in his hands, tears streaming down his face and a yell so loud he couldn't even hear it escaped his lungs.

But then it all faded to black...

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

Maybe as a compromise, open Friday but count for inactivity as if we started Saturday? That way people who want to go in early can, and people who'd prefer to prepare still have their usual allotted amount of time.

@DocTachyon

And that's why we pay Doc the big bucks.