Hour Error

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

Gotta have that badass first issue.

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

---

Aquila
Journey Into Night, Track 1

---

Two Months Ago in Boston:

The empty barroom was lit up by the flickering lights of flat screen televisions that had been mounted on the walls in between peeling strips of lead paint. Jones pulled slowly at the fading cigarette held between his cracked lips. He wasn't paying attention to the news as he rested his ancient bones against the countertop. Not really, not completely. He already knew the score. A smile grew beneath his greying beard. Three points for the good guys.

He wished Sarah had been there. He would've told her how proud he was. He would've offered her a beer, even if it was only ten o'clock. She'd earned it.

"This is Melissa Williams, NBC Boston, bringing you the news that matter. The vigilante known only as the Night Bird has struck again. The bodies of Herman O'Sullivan, close friend to notorious gangster Whitey Bulger, and several of his associates were discovered earlier this morning in Roxbury."

"We're live with Mark Thompson, who's on the scene at the Redmont Towers. Mark, What can you tell us?"

"Well, Melissa, construction workers arriving to work this morning discovered a grisly scene. Several bodies were found scattered across the construction site. One individual was later identified by the police as Herman O'Sullivan using dental records. According to Deputy Chief John Wilson, BFD, it appears that all five victims fell from approximately the 45th floor of the still incomplete building."

"And how does all of this relate to the Night Bird?"

"Well, Melissa, BPD, reports that a handwritten note was found tied to O'Sullivan's body."

"What did it say?"

"You can't fly from justice."

"Disturbing. Thanks, Mark."

"No problem, Melisa."

"O'Sullivan was a decisive figure in the community. Noted for his recent engagement in a number of charitable organizations, his string of successful businesses, and persistent accusations that he maintains ties to organized crime. The 2005 investigation into his finances ultimately resulted in no charges being filed, and the district attorney himself reported that he was satisfied that O'Sullivan was a legitimate businessman."

"Boston Police Commissioner William G. Gross has reiterated that vigilantism will not be tolerated in Boston and is asking for anyone with information on the Night Bird to come forward. A reward of $1,000,000 has been offered for any information leading to the arrest of the Night Bird."

---

Presently, The Hills, Santa Celia:

Bird of Prey

Albert, Al to his friends, sat atop an overturned metal barrel on the rooftop of decrepit three story building that had once been a small tailor's shop. The Hills, crumbling as they were, surrounded him. It was a diverse neighborhood as the civilians, the white ones that is, liked to say. It was the slums, the ghetto, the rarely forgotten but mostly ignored part of town that hadn't been gentrified by a horde of invading hipsters yet. It was a capitalist’s dream, and it was the one place where one could still purchase weed at a reasonable price, where crack was king, and cocaine was reserved for passing through stock brokers and crooked politicians. The streets were covered with trash, and broken glass. Blocks, entire blocks of buildings stood empty, and a sense of resigned decline had settled like a choking fog over the district. Al didn't mind, it was home. And business, business was good.

Downtown Santa Celia might be salvageable. With some work, it could even be saved. But, the Hills? The Hills, well, they were fucked. Al knew it. The civilians knew it. All the gangs knew it. And for once, even the cops seemed to know it. They still rolled through the block, sure, but they didn't get out of their cars. Not even the ambulances or fire trucks would go into the Hills without an escort of armed guards. It was the Wild West as far as the Mayor of Santa Celia was concerned. Al liked it that way. He'd never liked it when civilians or cops got hurt, it was bad for business. The game was the game, but there had to be rules.

Looking up from his smart phone, Al had just enough time to see Big Mike go flying past him in a flurry of motion. Jim Boy stood up next to him, reaching for his peace. He was slow, too slow Al knew, and Al watched with his mouth agape as a figure dove from the skies, slamming into Jim Boy with a loud smack. As Jim Boy fell, a wet sound rang out. Looking down, Al saw that his head was lolled to one side at an impossible angle. Al screamed. He screamed until he felt the air leaving him as a heavy fist smashed into his stomach, sending an unappetizing mix of half-digested onions rings and cheeseburger onto the rooftop.

Al felt his feet leave the ground, and then he realized he was airborne. The pyramid of broken TVs that the gang had accumulated as part of some ritualistic hubris broke his fall. Buried beneath the shattered glass, it seemed to Al that the whole world had stopped in its tracks. Lying in a bed of cheap Chinese plastic, Japanese glass, and torn wiring, Al couldn't hear anything but his own heavy breathing. Slowly, sound returned, and he groaned. He brought a hand to his head and came away with blood. Fumbling for his gun, Al tried to stand, only to collapse under his own weight. He craned his head around, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant.

For the first time in years, Al prayed, he muttered the only prayer he could remember, clutching desperately at the rosary he wore around his neck more out of habit, than outright belief. The same rosary that his Tia had given him almost a decade ago. Great, magnificent wings unfurled in front of him as the figure gracefully landed without so much as a sound. "An angel-" He hoarsely began, gasping painfully with each panicked syllable.

"You wish, scumbag," came the furious reply. A woman, the voice was feminine. Measured, and full of anger.

Al tried to focus his eyes through the blood. He saw a mask. A tattered mess of clothing. A terrible visage of fury. Recognition dawned on him. His fear grew. He was dealing with a villain, like the monsters he had heard about. The Pale Man, the Skeleton, the cloaked figure who butchered all that crossed his path, and the bright colored girl that followed him...or it.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't know the Skeleton was here. I thought it was fine. I didn't know any better. Just let me go, you can have all my product, just let me go," Al begged, coughing up blood.

"Who?"

"The Pale Man. The Skeleton. Your boss."

"Sorry chump, I'm not with any outfit. I'm strictly an independent contractor."

"Wait...you're not with the Skeleton, then why are you here? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm justice."

"Lady, you're crazy," Al muttered, his eyes wide with fear.

"They always say that," the woman said with a low laugh, pulling Al to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "I'll give you a chance, one chance."

"Wh-what?"

"If you survive the fall, then you are free to go."

"No- Wait!" He shouted, trying to grab her arms, trying to grab onto anything. But it was too late. Al sailed through the air, like a jet powered bag of potatoes. Tumbling over the edge of the rooftop, he could only scream. He screamed the entire way down to the ground. Flashes of his life passing in front of his eyes. Regrets, so many regrets.

Al hit the pavement hard and light, blinding light enveloped him. He felt his legs shatter as his feet impacted the pavement, bones moving in directions they were not supposed to, buckling upwards in a sickening wave towards his knees. He screamed, he screamed like he had never screamed before. Rolling fitfully on the red pavement, he pushed himself away from Big Mike’s broken form. The large man was breathing, barely, his right side reduced to a mess of bone and blood. Three stories, three fucking stories, she'd thrown them off of a fucking three-story building.

Jim Boy lay nearby, his neck still impossibly twisted, his dead eyes staring accusingly at Al. Al didn't care. He was alive. He wept, dragging himself out of the alley, leaving Big Mike behind. He was going to live.

He was done.

Al was going to retire.

He'd had enough.

---

Sir Skeleton and Laser Girl
Pearl's Girl, Track 1

---

Elsewhere in Santa Celia:

Play Me

Sir Skeleton looked on with his grim features. A skull ground down to perfectly polished white bone shone malevolently beneath his prodigious top hat. His empty eye sockets, haunting nothingness, all that remained of his eyes, gazed unmoved at the sight in front of him. The fingers and teeth that lay scattered across the floor did not seem to bother him. Laser Girl was not sure how she knew, but she knew he was deeply unhappy with the present situation. She could almost feel the anger; the cold, inhuman anger that emanated from the shrouded figure.

With a roll of his visible vertebrae, he turned towards Laser Girl, and she carefully returned his gaze. She had quickly learned to respect and mostly fear her new companion. She'd seen what he could do. The unbidden, unwelcome memories that followed sent a shiver down her spine, and she nervously adjusted the futuristic visor she wore to contain the laser beams she commanded with her eyes.

You summoned me. What is it?

She heard his deep voice in her mind, it felt strange, foreign, as if someone was whispering in her mind and all around her all at once...but she was getting used to it. Beyond simple gestures, it was how the skeletal figure chose to communicate. He said that he didn't have the necessary organic parts to speak any more. And she believed him. He was nothing more than a walking pile of bones dressed in a three piece suit, and an ancient tattered coat the color of midnight. No skin, no muscles, no organs, just perfectly preserved bones cast in a shade of brilliant white.

"Nothing, nothing. Everything's fine," Laser girl replied halfheartedly, feeling suddenly ill. She turned towards the handcuffed figure, who was presently leaking blood onto the carpeted floor. "Well, there's a small problem, boss. A minor hangup, really. He says he doesn't know the password, he says he doesn't know the way in. Boris asked him. Repeatedly. Even used some motivational techniques. But well, he still says he doesn't know."

Laser Girl could have sworn she heard a laugh, a deep unsettling laugh echoing through her skull.

Leave us. I will parley with our friend.

Shrugging her shoulders, Laser Girl practically skipped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. The screaming began soon after. She frowned. She wasn't huge on torture. Still, bad guys were bad guys. Doing some good, did not absolve them. No gods, no masters, as Sir Skeleton always said. Pulling her headphones over her ears, she turned up the volume, drowning out the screams, and desperate, mewls for mercy that traveled through the thin walls.

She wondered if Sir Skeleton would let her take the night off. She had so many parties to go to. So many old friends to see.

The night was young, and she had ecstasy to spare.

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

Will probably lead off with a post about HAT, designer drugs, and some small-time gang with big ambitions.

And an angry eagle of course.

Mostly due to lack of time until next week.

Raiders and Ruins

Sorry for the slow updates, Turkey Day consumes all.

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

"No one knew exactly why the GM was murdered, but rumors persisted that it had something to do with his terrible jokes..."

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>

I wouldn't mind if you set the tone/expectations for the usual sort of opposition.

@Dead Cruiser

Samesies.

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

Same, I'm pretty happy to just see where what happens.

I have some plans for Aquila, but they're easy to weave in/out of bigger stuff.

Eagle Plans

1. Establish an eyrie (e.g., take over a tall building/structure)
2. Fight bad guys
3. ???
4. Establish a small bit of territory and attack all uninvited villains/heroes

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

Aquila

A Q U I L A

_______________________________________________ Sarah Avery Wong _______________________________________________ 1993/12/25 | 25 | Ambiguous Ethnicity _______________________________________________ Single | ♀ | Secretive Sexuality _______________________________________________ B.S. in Sociology | Former Police Officer _______________________________________________ Physical Profile ___________________________________ [+] //Basics: • Height | 5'7" • Weight | 135 lbs • Build | Athletic • Hair Colour | Dark Brown • Eye Colour | Pale Yellow Miscellaneous Items ___________________________________ [+] //Notes: • Other | Description //Paraphernalia: • Vintage Great Coat | When in public, Sarah wears a vintage great coat of Russian make to hide her wings. • Eagle Mask | To hide her face, Sarah has created an elaborate mask colored in shades of brown, gray, and gold that match her wings. • Titanium Talons | In costume, Sarah wears a set of titanium talons on each hand. In conjunction with her superhuman strength, they are capable of punching through even heavy materials.

Appearance Details ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Sarah stands a head taller than most women, with a nimble build, supported by hard-won cords of muscle that are only apparent upon a close examination of her frame. She has curly, dark brown hair that doesn't quite reach to her shoulders, and honey colored skin spotted with faint freckles. The irises of her eyes are cast a shade of pale yellow, and she has the sharp, unwavering gaze of a bird of prey. Most notably Sarah sports a pair of majestic, feathery wings. Dark brown in plumage, her wings are streaked with shades of gray and gold. She moves with the gracefulness of a predatory creature. Her movements are powerful, efficient, and inhumanely quiet. The young woman is modest dresser, favoring black jeans, simple-hued t-shirts, canvas sneakers. and plain sweaters. To hide her wings as much as possible, Sarah dons large coats. Her favorite is a vintage great coat of clearly Russian make. Personality ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Sarah is a dedicated, bordering on obsessive vigilante. She is good-hearted and brave, but never brash. Her natural inclination is to aid those who need help, especially those that she perceives as weak or helpless. Fiercely independent, she can be stubborn, and is slow to change her ways or her opinions about others. While Sarah believes that trying to apprehend a criminal alive is all well and good, she has no trouble admitting that sometimes a more permanent solution is warranted. Always focused and thoughtful, following the manifestation of her powers, Sarah has come to possess a predatory patience. She has become a a master of stalk-and-ambush tactics, striking when her foes least expect it. Sarah sees herself as a hunter of villainy, and she tends to show little remorse for the opponents she ruthlessly dispatches in the course of her new career as a vigilante. While still nominally human, Sarah has begun to feel increasingly inhuman. There is a wilderness growing in her heart, a wild fury, that she struggles to contain. She has begun to relish in the hunt, occasionally forgetting that it is humans, though criminals, and not animals that she is hunting. Her wings, inhuman as they are, have made it hard for her to pass for a normal human and have further isolated her. Likes: Flying, Birds, Nature, Open Places, Meat (the bloodier the better), Tea, Books, Jazz Music Dislikes: Cruelty, Rudeness, Plants (for food), Country Music

_{Character Synopsis
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

Early Life:

Sarah Avery Wong was born in Hartford, Connecticut on December 1st, 1993. Her father, James Wong, was a former amateur boxer turned electrician. Her mother, Alisa Wong, was a high school teacher, with a penchant for knitting. Growing up in a working class family, Sarah had a distinctly unremarkable childhood.

In her adolescence, Wong excelled athletically and academically, eventually earning a scholarship to Boston University, where she pursued a degree in sociology. A promising career with the Boston Police Department followed soon after her graduation.

Graduating with flying colors from the police academy, Sarah quickly established herself as a competent police officer, racking up an impressive arrest count. She seemed poised to make detective at a record age when tragedy struck a year and a half later. Following a bout of fainting episodes and increasing loss of voluntary motor control, Sarah was put on sick leave. Eventually, she was diagnosed with a mysterious, and rapidly progressing genetic disorder.

Meeting HAT:
Told by her doctors that the disorder was likely terminal, Sarah resigned from the BPD, and relocated to sunny Santa Celia, California, where she expected to end her days.

Languishing in the her hospital bed, struggling just to breathe, Sarah was approached by representative from Hall Applied Technologies, who were looking for candidates for an experimental and likely risky series of medical treatments. They offered her a chance, a cure, and the potential to become so much more. With no other options, Sarah signed over her life to HAT, and volunteered for the ominously named Project Chimera.

A Fledgling Eagle:
For Sarah, Project Chimera began with a bang or rather her own screaming. The scientists at HAT had never promised that the process of curing her would be painless. A warning would have been nice. Or painkillers. All of them.

Months, painful months, of genetic manipulation and biological augmentation followed. At the hands of the HAT scientists, Sarah's very genetic code was altered. She received muscle grafts, bone laces, and even had vital organs replaced. She could feel herself changing. She could feel the strange things that were growing on her back, but she couldn't see them. They had taken away her mirror. The scientists were delighted by her progress, and soon declared her fully cured.

Amidst the handshakes and congratulatory shoulder slaps between the team of scientists, she asked the scientists when she could go home. Soon they cold replied, soon, but first there were some more tests they had to perform.

A Bird of Prey:
Sarah remains unsure of how exactly she escaped. Muddled memories are all that she remembers. The blaring sound of alarm klaxons, screaming, not her own for once, and fire, so much fire. She waited, but no one, not even the HAT scientists came after her. Wandering the streets darkened streets of Saint Celia in her hospital gown, Sarah felt lost.

She felt lost until she stumbled upon a robbery, a simple snatch and grab. She knew then what her purpose was. She remembered. She was a predator.

She was a hunter of criminals.

A bird of prey.

_{Abilities & Skills
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

_//Abilities:

Flight | Sarah possess a powerful pair of wings that allow her to fly at great speeds. Although she has yet to try, it is likely that she could carry a person or object roughly her own size and still manage to fly.

Limitation(s) | A typical, unhurried soaring speed for Sarah is around 28-32 mph. When hunting, Sarah often glides very fast, reaching speeds up to 120 mph. When diving after her prey, Sara can reach speeds up to 200 mph.

Super-Acute Vision | Courtesy of HAT, Sarah has received a new set of replacement eyes, vat-grown and specially designed to incorporate structural modifications that enhance vision range and detail. Resembling the eyes of eagle, they allow to spot her pray from miles away. The HAT scientists also stimulated the growth of a clear protective membrane covering her eyes, similar to the nictitating membrane possessed by many animals. This inner eyelid protects her eyes, keeping out sand, girt, smoke, and other irritants. The membranes are light sensitive and become tinted under bright light. Further, they are polarized to reduce glare.

Limitation(s) | Sarah's eyes, though far more powerful than that of a human are still biological eyes, with all the limitations inherent to such organs.

Superhuman Strength and Durability | Sarah possess a superhuman level of strength and durability. Using a biological weaving treatment, special vat-grown muscle cables are braided into existing muscle fibers, enhancing the muscle mass and performance of Sarah's muscles. Further, her muscles have been toned, vat-grown elastic muscle fibers have been incorporated into existing muscle tissue, increasing muscle tension and flexibility. Making Sarah quicker and far more limber than she was before. Superhuman strength without superhuman durability is a quick way to break bones and tear muscles, and Sarah's muscoskeletal structure has been greatly enhanced to prevent injury.

Limitation(s) | Sarah is able to lift objects around one ton in weight. She can take a punch, a very strong punch, but bullets or sharp objects are likely to hurt her.

Weakness(es) | Coming soon.

_//Skills:

Trained Police Officer | A trained police officer, Sarah has received training in the use of firearms, hand-to-hand combat, and police procedure.
Amateur Ornithologist | Since early childhood, Sarah has been obsessed with birds, and birdwatching remains one of her favorite hobbies.
Pugilist | Sarah's father was a lifelong student of the sweet science and an accomplished amateur boxer before an untimely injury ended his career. As a result, he went to great pains to ensure that his daughter could throw a punch, and Sarah still fondly remembers watching old tapes of the greats fighting with her father.
Licensed Sail Plane Pilot | Before her powers manifested, Sarah was a dedicated sail plane pilot, and spent many of her weekends at the Albany Aeroplane Club.
Languages | In addition to English, Sarah is fluent in Spanish and Mandarin.

_{Supporting Cast
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

N/A

---

Hall Applied Technologies

Hall Applied Technologies is an American multinational biotechnology company based in Seattle, Washington. HAT was founded by noble prize winning geneticists Dr. George R. Hall and Dr. Samantha A. Thompson on April 4, 1995, to commercialize state-of-the-art developments in biotechnology research. Acquiring researchers and patents at an alarming rate, HAT quickly rose to international prominence, and today it remains a leader in the world of biotechnology and genetic engineering.

For the last ten years Hall Applied Technologies has been lead by Yekaterina Vasylievna Toporova, an enigmatic woman, known chiefly for her terse interactions with the media and iron-willed public persona.

Over the years, competitors and a number of former employees have accused HAT of violating ethical and legal guidelines regarding experimentation on human subjects. However as none of these claims have been substantiated, in the public eye, HAT is maintains a positive reputation. Behind closed doors, it is all but an accepted fact that HAT is willing cooperate with criminals, rogue government agencies, and mad scientists alike in order to further their research.

Raiders and Ruins

WIP (will be tinkering on it on/off today):

Lorn the Tiefling Rogue

Name: Lorn
Race: Tiefling
Age: 23
Appearance:
Skills and abilities:

• Sneaking/Hiding/Moving Silently
• Lock-picking
• Acrobatics (Dodging/Tumbling/Climbing)
• Traps (Detecting/Setting/Disarming)
• One-handed Bladed Weapons (knives, daggers, short swords)

Weapons:

• Dagger
• Caltrops

Attire/Armor:

• Well-Worn Leather Boots
• Wool Skirt (Red)
• Sturdy Belt
• Wool Shirt (Red)
• Wool Vest (Black)
• Ample Cloak with a Hood (Black)

Other Equipment:

• Leather Traveling Pack (Backpack): containing a bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, rations for a week, a waterskin, and a length of hempen rope
• Lock Picks

Background:
Other stuff: