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Character you have created: Alice Rackham

Alias: Captain Ally “Black Bonnet” Rackham

Speech Color: Not determined yet.

Character Alignment: WTL (She's not overtly evil, anyway)
Identity: Glorying in infamy!

Character Personality: Alice is, in almost every way, larger than life, and loves living to the fullest and in the moment. When she's not off raiding, she enjoys tinkering with anything and everything near by, especially at her workshop. She enjoys both modern and classical music, tending to swing between ballroom waltzes and heavy metal when the mood strikes her. She is utterly fearless, and enjoys hardship and difficult adversaries, sensing adventure in the opportunity.

Alice treats her crew like a bunch of favoured nephews and nieces, and insists that, while not infringing on their freedoms outside of shipboard duty, that they stay healthy. "Just because we're pirates doesn't mean we have to act like we're in the Seventeenth Century, you jackanapes," as she has been recorded saying. She believes fiercely in freedom, well and beyond what modern democracies espouse and hewing much closer to general anarchy, though onboard the Revenge, she maintains absolute authority, even if she doesn't exercise it unless she has to. That said, traitors and mutineers are dealt with harshly. And while she is okay with kidnapping, the slave trade is a thorn in her side, and any other modern pirates who try to take slaves in her territory risk being summarily executed. It is this "freelance privateering", added to the fact that much of her raiding is done to military and/or foreign targets, that has led to a sudden lack of resources to fight her in local governments in the Caribbean.

She, unfortunately, also suffering from bipolar disorder, and from what psychologists will say, some form of severe psychosis and delusional behaviour. While not true entirely, she is very much ungrounded from reality much of the time, as evidenced by her career alone. Thankfully, despite her isolation as a captain, necessarily separated emotionally from her crew, her 'delusions' keep her company and give her guidance. She considers herself a sort of priestess, as well as a protector, of the ocean, and will viciously punish those who abuse the sea.

Uniform/costume: Alice wears full pirate captain regalia, with a wide brimmed hat clipped up on the right side and several long black-dyed peacock feathers running off the black fabric. Her coat is bloody red, hangs down to her thighs, and she wears black pants under it, tucked into the classic knee-high fold-over boots. Her torso is crossed over by two bandoleers carrying custom-made flintlock pistols, and a wide leather belt carries two more pairs of those and her pair of cutlasses. She wears her hair in a loose cloud under her hat, though on occasion she will, in a nod to Blackbeard, braid it down and tie slow-burn fuses into it.

Origin Info/Details: Alice was born into a well-to-do middle class family in Galveston, Texas. The eldest of three children, she grew up knowing very little of her family history, until in high school she was required to read Treasure Island for a book report. She was utterly enraptured by the pirating lifestyle, and swiftly became obsessed. She researched tirelessly, and when she came across the stories of “Calico Jack” Rackham, and noticed the similar surname, she began digging into her own family history, where she made a surprising discovery.

Not only was she directly descended from Rackham and Anne Bonny's child, but several other bloodlines had tied into hers over the last several centuries. Through exhaustive digging through records that had long been buried, she found that she was also the descendant of some of the most illustrious pirates who ever lived. Evidence became solid for her family ties to Edward “Blackbeard” Teach, Bartholomew Roberts, Jean Lafitte, Captain William Kidd, James Avery, Sir Henry Morgan, “Black” Sam Bellamy, and John Taylor. The sheer unlikelihood of this union of trees seemed impossible, but she managed to confirm it multiple times through responsible sources. Her high school project for her senior history class was this entire documentation.

Just before she graduated, her parents managed to win a lottery prize at a whopping three hundred and eighty-five million dollars. Immediately after her graduation, the entire family, inspired by her findings, decided to move to a private residence just outside Nassau, in the Caribbean. This was, however, unfortunate. During a family outing that Alice herself was unable to attend due to illness, the family was kidnapped and killed. Legends about her state this, along with her fever, is was caused her to snap, and become Black Bonnet.

Alice was always a bright child, but following her inheritance, she made massive leaps forward as she feverishly studied mechanical engineering and materials science, ostensibly for college, but she soon figured out that she didn't even need to attend. She managed to actually test out of her entire Bachelor's of Applied Science, and then disappeared for quite some time. The only evidence she was still alive was a steady draining of the interests on her fortune, carefully managed by a hired advisor.

Almost three years to the day of her family's murder, her ship set sail out of Tortuga, raiding and pillaging. She only took volunteer crew, but as it turned out there were many in the Caribbean who were romanced by the idea and grandeur of her ship and by the thought of escaping poverty and the rule of law. Now, Black Bonnet Rackham sails throughout the Caribbean, sowing terror and taking plunder wherever she wishes, seemingly completely unfazed by the multiple attempts of multinational navies to try and bring her in or sink her, and basking in the adoration of those who see her career as a sort of 'reality escape', living a dream most thought long dead: the free pirate.

Hero Type: Grey Matter and (maybe) Supernatural/Mystic

Power Level: Street(on land), world(at sea)

Powers:
The Tortuga's Revenge, her pride and love: The Revenge is designed like the old ships of the line, a two hundred foot long, three masted battleship with two gun decks of twenty-five-a-side and more armaments on the main deck. The whole of it is made of teak, in classic style, though the masts, main deck, hull, and keel are all also impregnated with a special hardening compound of Alice's design that makes them impervious to all but the very largest of naval guns, and even then she takes minimal damage. The material is also lined with a magnesium-foam compounds that reduces her necessary weight by tons The sails and rigging, as well, are made of Dyneema- and asbestos-woven fabric, so as to be tough and fireproof. Other modifications are as follows:
  • Swivel guns: These are small, rail mounted cannons on the rear and fore decks, capable of rotating to cover about a one hundred degree arc. Paired on the sides of each deck, for eight in total, these little bastards carry a surprising wallop, modified as they are to fire a variety of modern and older ammunition, from HEAT rounds to grapeshot, and require no powder. They can also be switched out for miniguns, as the need arises.
  • Deck mortars: A set of twin mortar cannons sit on the rear deck, and are comparable to modern gun howitzers, though they can angle to almost seventy degrees when necessary. These fire 120mm shells of varying loads.
  • Main Cannons: The terror of the modern high seas. Aesthetically made to look like Golden Age of Sail ship guns, these heavy guns are actually several different types of modified artillery pieces. The lowest deck has a set of rail cannons, GA Blitzers, which are capable of firing a sabot round at Mach 5. The second deck has larger versions of the deck mortars, essentially howitzers, which fire anything from HE shells up to tactical nuclear shells, though Alice would never authorise such an ammunition(it ruins the booty). The main deck guns, which are only rolled out on special occasions, are the most unique of the Revenge's arsenal. These are actually smaller than the swivels, though not by much, but they do not fire conventional ammunition. Experimental shells filled with cryo-explosives, Dragon's breath shot, ionizing rods that will generate lightning bolts, and gas rounds that can knock out a whole cruise ship in a few minutes; these are reserved for the main deck guns.
  • Torpedo Tubes: Four on the bow of the ship.

Aside from the armaments, the Revenge also has other wonders, such as a hydrofoil generator/engine combo below the waterline, capable of powering the whole of the ship and pushing her max speed up to 40 knots(46mph/74kph). The engine consumes no fuel itself, an important feature to Alice. The quarters for all the crew resemble modern barracks rooms, though far more comfortable and home-y as they have decorated. The galley resembles that of a modern cruise ship, though it maintains the aesthetic for the furniture, all dark teak and cast iron. She also, of course, has modern medical facilities, and a brig capable of holding even minor metahumans. As a special touch, Alice has managed to procure a device that renders the Revenge invisible to thermal imaging, sonar, and satellite tracking, essentially a ghost ship in the modern age.

Super Inventor – Aside from the ship itself, Alice has numerous other creations to her credit.
Nanoweave Fibre: Alice's clothes, and all the ropes and sails of the Tortuga's Revenge, are made from her own custom blend of Dyneema and nano-weave carbon/asbestos fibre, rendering them almost completely immune to cuts, tears, punctures, and fire. Her entire crew is outfitted in the same. This special weave, while extremely durable, bends and folds as easily as cotton.
Mono-line Blades: Alice's cutlasses are sharp on their own, and made out of a special alloy that is nigh-unbreakable, but their true strength lies in the microedge they have, narrowing down to almost a single molecule wide, rendering them capable of cutting through almost every conceivable material. The crew carry knives of the same edging, allowing them to maintain the ship despite it's toughness.
The Pistols: While the eight pistols on her seem to be flintlocks, and even look that way when firing, this is purely aesthetic, much like the rest of her possessions. The actually contain tiny electro-magnetic catapults, and fire her pistol shot at super sonic velocities. The shot itself is similar to her basic cannon shot for the ship, rounded cones of tungsten-carbide, capable of penetrating most standard body armour with little difficulty.
Gripping Boots: The soles of her boots are enhanced to grip onto any surface through a combination of magnetism and molecular bonding hairs and pads, inspired by geckos and other climbing animals.


The Workshop: This is a sprawling, 12,000 square foot complex in a hidden cove on the island of Tortuga, the entrance to which is disguised as a blank rock through the use of a hologram projection. This dock hold all the materials for repair the Revenge, manufacturing the specialty ammunition, housing the crew, and dumping booty from raids.

Madness, or...: The legends that have already cropped up around Black Bonnet Rackham commonly say that her parents death cracked her brain so badly that she's completely mad. To be certain, her crew regularly hears and sees her talking with things that they cannot perceive. But that may not be all there is to this tale, either.
According to Alice herself, her ship and home regularly host eight spirits, whom she can name and describe fairly well. Those who have heard these names and descriptions assume she did research some time in her past, and her broken mind has conjured them to help her stay somewhat balanced. But sailors are a superstitious lot, and many have begun to believe that maybe, just maybe, she really can see gods. After all, all sorts of other strange things have happened in the world, why not this?
The 'deities' who Alice hosts are:
  • Calypso, the piratical goddess of the sea (who hates her representation in un-named movies as some sort of lovesick mortal). She claims the title of 'chief' deity, and tend to treat Alice like a daughter.
  • Namaka, a fierce and domineering Hawaiian lady, with water pooling at her feet.
  • Takehaya Susanoo-no-Mikoto, a Japanese man who occasionally shows up with his wife, and always during storms.
  • Sedna, a large Inuit woman missing her fingers.
  • Ægir and Rán, a huge giant and his mermaid goddess wife, who always appear together and love showing up to parties.
  • Samudra, an Indian woman who is temperamental, but typically calm when boarding with Alice.
  • Agwé, a black man who is always grinning at her, and refers to himself as her King, unless the Calypso is around.
  • Chalciuhtlicue, a gorgeous Aztec woman who is always holding a babe on each hip, one boy and one girl.


Alice refers to these spirits as her friends, often in familiar terms, and sometimes even rudely. She especially likes cursing at them during storms, though she reports that this really only makes them laugh. Even those people who claim to be able to see or otherwise interact with spirits and other supernatural beings deny seeing them near her, though she replies to these denunciations by proclaiming them “not worth the Sea's time”. It remains to be seen whether she is mad or some sort of priestess.


Skills: (Because these really don't count as powers
Navigation, Captaincy, and Seamanship: Alice seems to have an inborn knack for all things relating to piloting a ship. She can read the waves and avoid even the worst swells, can smell a storm before it's even visible on the horizon, can plot courses that shave hours off her travel time, knows every single inch of her ship from bow to stern, and can even read her crew's mood before they know it themselves. She is a commanding presence wherever she goes

Linguistics: Alice can fluently speak Haitian French, Creole, Spanish, and English

Combat: Alice has taught herself, through instructional videos, practise, and sparring, all forms of pirate combat; Cutlass and pistol, knife, boarding pike, artillery combat, naval tactics, acrobatics, nad most modern naval small arms combat.

Engineering: Alice has a dual BAS in Mechanical Engineering and Physics, with all the skills that entails, though her genius adds considerably to this.


Attributes:
Height: 6'1”
Weight: 180 lbs
Strength Level: Above average, but not by much
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: John Woo film hero level(about twice normal human)
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: 3 hours, because she's used to the hardships of the sea.
Agility: Above Average, but still human
Intelligence: Very genius
Fighting Skill: Experienced/Trained


Resources: Extreme; aside from her inherited fortune (most of which was dumped into the ship), she has her financial advisor managing stocks, bonds, and several Cayman and Swiss bank accounts. These are cunningly manipulated so that international authorities can't freeze them. And there's plunder, as well.

Weaknesses: Aside from her armoured clothing, she is a normal human being, and can be killed or wounded as easily as any other.

She is, even if not quite as mad as some fear, extremely delusional, and any attempt to bring her back to modern sensibilities is doomed to failure.

Following with her delusions, Alice has a flashpan temper when it comes to her ship, or her crew, and is fiercely protective of both.

She has a severe peanut allergy.

Pirate Information:
Insignia: Alice's flag is black, with white crossed cutlasses. A white skull looks to the side in profile, at a speared heart dripping blood into a cup.

Code: Alice's Code is as follows:
  • I: The Captain shall receive three shares of any retrieved value. The Quartermaster and Doctor shall each receive two shares. The Cook shall receive one and one half share. All regular crew shall receive one share. Provisional Crew shall receive one half share.
  • II: No crew member shall engage in any form of slavery. If a crew member of any rank should so engage, The Captain shall deem a fitting punishment.
  • III: Any crew member, having been assured the availability of willing mates, who is found to have engaged in rape, shall be keelhauled.
  • IV: Any crew member who is found to have aided in the capture or death of any of their Brethren, shall be tied to the mast and left to the depredations of those Brethren who remain.
  • V: All complaints, no matter how small, will be listened to. Those crew members who cannot find a satisfactory solution to their complaint shall be put ashore at the nearest safe port and sworn to secrecy on pain of death.
  • VI: No crew member shall engage in any activity which may divide the crew. Friendly boxing and gambling is allowed, but all complaints against the results must be settled fairly by an Officer.
  • VII: Those who deem fit to poison the ocean with things other than what belong in it shall be given to the next storm.

Supporting Characters (Does your character have a significant other? A mother? Friend? Who are they, what do they have to do with your character?):
While her family may be dead, there are multitudes of people who interact with Alice on a daily basis, even aside from her Gods.

Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:

Other: I will make NPC sheets for the spirits when and if the story makes it seem necessary.
Robits is alright. Yen is going to be confused af.


Just outside Lost Haven

Midafternoon, the same day as the Walmart adventure
-----

The old man stood on a hill overlooking the city of Lost Haven, Maine. He had teleported himself here from Augusta, and it had taken a bit out of him, even with the help of the gnarled staff in which he stored most of his gathered energy. Thankfully, this area seemed to run rife with the stuff, and the staff, a heavy, two metre length of ash wood, fairly dripped with responding magic. The sword at his side, currently covered by a simple illusion as a fanny pack, vibrated. Something is either terribly wrong or terribly right here, the old man thought to himself as he stroked a long, salt and pepper beard.

Piercing, steel-coloured eyes swept over the city, picking out points where concentrations of magic seemed to clot like scabs over wounds, still throbbing with natural energy as the place recovered from a significant incursion of some sort. The same thing, though more concentrated and far more raw and fresh, had been in New York when he passed through there. New York had been impossible to examine in detail, though, due to the obvious presences of werewolf territory and vampiric influence. Nothing here was nearly as established, though the city also stank with the presence of metahumans and corruption.

The man painted an odd picture as he stood. Wind whipped around the area as a sea breeze hit the hill, but it barely rippled the heavy leather coat he wore. This was due to both the many enchantments layered into the leather, and the steel plates sewn in to armour the thing, also enchanted to make them lighter. His clothes all looked hand-stitched, because they were, and he was not the best tailor. He obviously thought of practicality before any sort of style. Even though he looked homeless, his presence carried echoes of well-established authority and a taste of agelessness. Unfortunately, his straight-backed and rigid posture was more from determination and willpower more than through strength of body. Anyone looking closely at him could see that age was taking its toll rather heavily on him.

Sighing heavily, he turned his gaze out to the west side, near the coast, where a much fresher scar seemed to be radiating. The same flavour of energy that he was looking for, though very violent in nature. Finally found you, boy, he thought to himself as his face settled into an expression somewhere between a frown and a grimace. And you are in much more trouble than you think, if that is what it looks like. Nodding to himself as if in affirmation to a question no one asked, he strode off along the edges of the suburbs, angling around the city towards the scar.




A sea cave, somewhere on the coast of Maine

that night
------

Green eyes snapped open as the earthquake shot through the stone around him. His coming to consciousness was with alarm. A familiar presence was somewhere close, one which boded ill for him. And now his mind fogged with the arrival of something else, large and powerful and not magical in nature. But he had no time to ponder before his entire being was wracked with pain. His left side felt as if it was dipped in molten metal. He looked down slowly, gritting his teeth, and saw that magic, metal, and flesh had been fused together to create a whole thing where he had destroyed himself.

The memories came back slowly. He had created something, knew he had been successful, but he couldn't recall what it had been. Looking at the damage it had wrought upon him, it must not have been happy, but this was unacceptable. He would have to show his creation who its master was, and possibly destroy it for its gall at attacking him. A voice from the darkness woke him from his anger.

“Master is awake!” The voice was weedy, like something sneaking through the grass.

“Ah,” he said, and paused. His voice echoed oddly, and his face felt stiff. How much damage had the thing done? “Abaristus, you yet live.”

“Yes, Master! I have been very busy, very busy indeed, rebuilding you.” His familiar slunk out of the shadows and into the firelight he was bathed in. Abaristus was his first creation, more a golem that the familiar inhabited. It resembled a hairless, oversized weasel, nearly three feet long, with a monkey's tail, bat wings, and larger than normal forelimbs complete with opposable thumbs. It bowed and scraped towards him, though the treacherous thing still had an evil glint in its eyes. He couldn't fathom why it had saved him, really. His death would have ended the contract binding it to him and released it back to its native plane.

“Have you, now.” He attempted to sit up, but the pain was far too unbearable and he fell back with a hiss. “What all has been done? And how long has it been?”

“Master, much had to be done. Over the past moon, I have painstakingly, hmm, rebuilt your left arm and leg, to the trunk. Several organs have been replaced, and much of the ribs.” It paused, hemming and hawing in hesitation. “And my face,” the man prompted.

“Yes, master. The skull, the eye, the jaw, the throat. All had to be reworked. I, hmm. Hmmm. I did what I could.”

“No matter. How long until I am fit to move myself again?”

The familiar glanced over its shoulder, almost as if they were in hiding. “Ahhh, at least, hmm, another moon. The nerves, you see. Hmmm. They require some work yet.”

He glared at the thing with a sidelong glance. It was wringing its hand, fearful. And he knew why. “What,” the mage growled, “has happened to the lab? Why am I in this stinking hole?”

There was much hemming again. Abaristus was trying to avoid agitating him. “Tell me. There is not much I can do now.”

“Ahhhh. The, ah, accident, hmmm. It destroyed your lab. And much of the cliff. Hmmmm. I managed to drag you from the waves, yes. No books, no potions. I have had to feed off of the lines, hmmm, to aoid any suspicion. The work is, hmmm. Slow, yes. Very slow.”

“And you aven't taken many pains to avoid mine. To be expected. You are a nasty and base thing. Stay this useful, however, and mayhaps we will see about an upgrade once I recover.” Abaristus bowed and scraped and thanked him. He closed his eyes, exhausted from even this simple conversation. Thankfully, the creature was, while clever, incredibly greedy, and thus easy to manipulate into less treacherous mindsets.

This situation was delicate. Aside from the not-zero chance that his familiar simply 'failed' to save his life, he knew there was probably little time before the old Salamander came to find him, and both his familiar and whatever it was he had created were so much a violation of his terms of apprenticeship that he had no doubt the old man would kill him, given a chance. Well, we'll just have to make sure he doesn't get one. With that smug thought, he drifted back into unconsciousness, despite the pain of Abaristus's tugging at something on his scalp.
Yen


Rio de Janeiro


She could feel the sunlight playing on her face as she made her way through the crowds outside the venue, but by the noise from inside and the high charges of fighting spirit already going, Yen knew she had missed registering for this tournament. A pity, but she still had enough cash saved even after buying the plane ticket here to survive until the next opportunity. Still, the missed chance stung her pride, and for the second time today she cursed whichever god had struck her with blindness. Most of the time, she didn't really think of herself as disabled, but times like this, when she was forced to move slowly and carefully through litter-coated streets, it was evident that she would have been better off with sight. At least she didn't have to see what she smelled, though. This whole area was ripe with refuse and the basic stench of humanity.

Yen took note of several high-ki individuals dispersing, some at high speed, from some sort of huddle. Fading energy nearby meant someone was dying, or at least wounded. And even more rambunctious individuals had just stopped a fight and sped away into the arena areas, it seemed, where the flares of combat intrigued her. At this distance, though, she couldn't really get a sense of what was happening, so she picked her painstaking way through the mass of people and along the hallways. She found herself abruptly halted by a beefy hand on her shoulder, though. She tensed, but this wasn't a fighter by the feel of him.

He said something in the native tongue of the area as she turned, but switched to English upon seeing her Oriental features. “Miss, you didn't pay for a ticket. I'm going to have to eject you from the building.”

She smiled at him. “I am sorry!” she said, adding just a bit of panic to her voice. “I didn't see the ticket area! How much is it?”

“You didn't- Ma'am, you walked right through it.” She felt him stare at her for a few seconds. It always took a bit for people to realise her eyes didn't move to follow them. “Oh, dios mio. I apologise, ma'am, I didn't notice! Of course, of course, you don't need to pay. Do you need....” He paused, thinking almost hard enough she could hear it.

Her smile split into a grin. “You are wondering why I am going to watch a fighting tournament if I cannot see?” She leaned in near him, even though he seemed beefy and almost six inches taller than her. Putting a hand to the side of her face, she whispered conspiratorially, “I am actually a Nomad, and have a good sense of what is going on.”

She was not prepared for his manner to suddenly go chilly. “You can't register. It is closed.”

“No, I knew that. I just want to observe.”

“Ah.” She felt him cross his arms and warm up again. “Oh, I see! A clever joke, miss. I will find you a seat, yes?” If she could, she would have rolled her eyes.

Five minutes later, she was sitting near a doorway leading into a booth. They had set her into some sort of VIP area, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Some people tended to treat her like she was made or porcelain, though, so she chalked it up to that and settled in to 'watch' the fight. Some crude-mouthed pair, it seemed, of men, though they both had good spirit. She recognised them both as having been the ones fighting just moments ago. Apparently the anxiety that came with being in the tournament was causing tempers to flare. She could get that.

Two other people were in this booth, having just paused their conversation as she was led in. After a few moments, she heard on of them turn in his seat and whisper something to the other in Portuguese. I really should have taken the time to get a phrasebook or something, She thought as they asked her something. She politely shook her head and shrugged, to indicate that she couldn't understand.

“English?” one asked quizzically. His accent was very slight.

“Yes, actually.” Her internal sense of alarm woke up to the smell of gun oil somewhere in the vicinity.

“Ah, good. So, me and my friend here were wondering how much?” Her eyebrows creased.

“How much? How much of what?”

The man laughed. “Nonono. How much for you?”

Oh god, he thinks I am here to advertise as a hooker. He must be white. “I am afraid I do not do that, sir. I am simply here for the tournament.” Where did that security guy go? Oh shit, was he even a real guard? Really wish I could see uniforms, now. She adjusted in her seat fractionally.

“Haha! Very good! In that case we don't have to pay, eh Jorge?” The other man laughed too, and his voice sounded much less pleasant.

“I must warn you that if you should try anything of the sort, I would be more than happy to punish you appropriately.”

“Oh shit,” the second man said. “She's blind! This is hilarious.” Damn it “Bitch, you're threatening us and you can't even see!?

Yen smirked. “That's what it looks like.” Damn, I need to use that less. But it's so easy to do.

She moved as the first one stood up, whipping her fan off of her back and swinging it out to level the pointy end at his neck. “Last attempt. Please be reasonable and allow me to-” The second man had pulled something out, probably the gun she had been smelling.

Without another word, she dropped the end of the fan to stick into the seat in front of her, an awkward angle at best. Heaving herself forward, she used it like a pole vault as she sensed his arm come out straight and take aim. Her foot lashed out, and her toes knocked the end away as he fired. The first man crumpled as he was hit. Carrying through with the kick, she spun herself and brought the end of the fan crashing down on his gun arm, but barked her shin on he back of a seat. The gun fell away somewhere.

Her opponent cursed in Portuguese and swung a wide punch out at her face. Using her imbalanced position to her advantage, she braced one foot on the seat back and twisted her torso down, easily dodging the swinging fist. Coming back around, she kicked her fan out from the bottom end as it dropped, sending it flying to strike him in the upper arm, the points burying into his tricep. He howled in pain as she pulled the four inch blades back out from the ruined meat, flipped it end over end, and smashed the grip into his face several times. He went down hard and didn't get up again.

She felt her way over to the first one, grimacing as her bare toes touched something warm and sticky. He wasn't fading, but it seemed like he had been shot in the stomach. She clubbed him into unconsciousness as well, then tracked down the gun and placed it in her pocket. Just in time, she thought, as the announcer called the fight to begin. She settled down in a new seat, straight backed and proper, wiping the blood off of her foot and the points of her fan as the fight started. She idly wondered if the gunshot going off was going to bring more unwanted attention.
Are you going to be terribly offended if I go to fill out an old anime trope?
Is there...is there still room for peeps in this? Because this sounds like fun.
Los Angeles, Lower Westside
22:15 Local Time
Night of the Hounds of Humanity announcement


Zoë slammed down the rolling garage door behind her as she entered her home, consumed with thoughts of preemptive strikes against these “Chiens d'humanité”. Their sheer arrogance in deciding that they were responsible for 'cleansing' metahumans from the world got under her skin in a way she could not describe, until she remembered a story her grandfather had told her once. Only once, and she had stopped him shortly after he began, as the memories obviously pained him. But she could see the parallels between these dogs and the monsters in the grey uniforms. And while they didn't seem to be state-sanctioned, she certainly was not of a mind to give them a chance to become so. No, they had to die before it got that far.

Walking across the open space of her living quarters, she pulled out her 'work' phone and fired off a quick email to the select group of brokers and service providers, explaining that she was only accepting jobs having to do with taking out the HoH, all other potential employers would have to either wait or find another person. Having seen the confirmation that it had gone through, she tossed it onto her bed as she approached it, sat down and pulled a notebook out from the small box that served as her desk. She flipped it open and began scribbling furiously, jotting down a list of everything she might need for a long campaign of guerrilla campaign. She didn't typically need guns, so that was out, but several other pieces of gear came to mind, including ballistic armour and explosives. Food, clothing, and other necessities might also come in handy.

Her phone buzzed twice, and she glanced at it to read several confirmation emails. That reminded her to send out a text from the Wraith phone ordering everyone to lay low and handle business but not make any new moves until they heard otherwise. She didn't expect responses from those three numbers, really, they knew she wouldn't respond to questions. A stray glance brought her special phone to her attention. She'd have to keep it on, even during this, but it's possible leak of her location, even with all of the additional security, gave her slight pause. If someone were to look up her running away from home, and trace her to her gang, and find one of the survivors who had seen her first activate her powers, and then traced this phone and somehow cracked her security, it could end badly for everyone.

Zoë ran a slim-fingered hand through her tousle of brown curls and leaned back into the wall, staring out across the empty area between her and the back of her television. Thoughts of her estranged family ran across her mind in a rare display. Her father had long been a figure of antagonism to her now, and her mother's disapproving attitude to every choice she had made was not a pleasant memory at all. But Grandfather and Émile were innocent in all of that, and they would not deserve the hell that might come down if her association with them became known to the wrong people.

She suddenly stood. Non, they would not be in any danger, she thought, if I act fast enough. She knew what her first stop would be after groceries and a real breakfast. She grimaced, not caring that her clenched fist was wreathed in flame. It was going to be a long night.

-----------

Edwards AFB, outside of Los Angeles
01:13 local time


Well fed now, with a bottle of good wine to help her nerves, Zoë drove the "borrowed" Jeep towards the gate, trusting the vehicle looked close enough to a soldier's vehicle that it wouldn't arouse any additional problems. Her false ID would be depending on her powers of suggestion, since it was only a driver's license. The headlights washed over the on duty guard as he stepped out in front of her car, forcing her to come to a stop. Utterly professional, he stepped up to the window as she rolled it down.

"What are you doing out so late, ma'am?" His voice was a little thick. He must've been here for a while already. Her power let her know that he thought she had officer's insignia, though not necessarily what rank.

"Coming back late from my sister's house. Bit of an emergency with the nephew, and it's a long drive back." She smiled charmingly at him, handing over the license to his waiting hand. He glanced at it swiftly, flashlight illuminating the laminated card. One glance to her face, and back to the ID, and then he handed it back.

"Hope it's not too bad?"

"Oh, no, just her first child, and he's a bit hard to get to sleep. Colic, I think. But he's fine now."

"Good to hear, ma'am." The young man waved at his compatriot in the booth, and the gate opened to allow her to pass. She waved as she was pulling forward and made her way into the base, letting out a small exhalation in relief. She hadn't been sure how well her powers would work when the card was out of her hand, but apparently it had gone smoothly enough. Getting out would be much trickier, considering what she planned on removing.

Driving through the residential area of the base, Zoë kept an eye out for the sort of busybody that always showed up during these sorts of jobs. Snooping around, keeping an eye out for trouble, and generally being an emmerde. None seemed up at this hour, for which she was thankful. She didn't know when shift change might be, but it should be soon, and she wanted to be leaving about the time that happened.

A second gate and subsequent questioning got her through to the munitions depot. It was occasions like this that lead her to wonder at her more subtle powers. She didn't need to do anything except want to get into a place, and it seemed to take care of the rest. She only had vague ideas about what the other person might see, which made it a sort of guessing game and a chess match between her and her own power. Twice now, it had gotten her into far more trouble than she would have liked, when she had guessed incorrectly and broken whatever effect it was. But it was an exhilarating challenge to her, and she wouldn't give it up for the world.

The 'papers' she presented allowed her to snag a couple of on duty grunts for loading pretty much whatever she demanded from the warehouse, apparently, which was useful, as she didn't know exactly what the protocols might otherwise be. Having remembered that she might have to make some hires, she decided to load up some conventional weapons, so going into the truck she appropriated were two M2 .50 calibre machine guns, four GAU-17 miniguns, several dozen M4 carbines, crates of ammunition for all of them, and several light bombs for aircraft. Just as they were strapping everything down and she was climbing into the cab, she caught a glimpse in the side view mirror of one of the men talking agitatedly into his radio. One glance at the truck from him let her know the jig was up, and she cranked the ignition on and slammed the truck into gear, squealing out of the hangar building and out onto the tarmac, headed south for the gates.

Within seconds several cars had emerged at various points across the base, with only one of them close enough for her to see anything but the lights. She narrowed her focus on that one's driver as they pulled alongside her. They had clearly been warned that there were explosives in the vehicle, as they were not firing at her yet. A sudden jolt let her know he had rammed her truck, so she upped the temperature of the steering wheel well past bearable temperatures, and while she couldn't hear the yelp, she was rewarded by his car suddenly swerving off of the pursuit and into the sand surrounding the road. She grinned. So far this was easy.

------------

California Desert
01:40 Local time


Merde. Ce désert est ennuyeux, she thought as she took the pass up across the mountains and back towards the city. She knew that from the drive up, but the anticipation of the job at hand had kept it from being too dull. But now, with adrenaline long gone from her system and the lateness keeping her mind a bit fuzzy, she was finding it hard to stay focused. She had managed to drive of the rest of the pursuit cars through heat, and the two attack helicopters had fared no better. She was fairly certain she had wrecked one.

Zoë was brought suddenly alert by the sound of something landing on the roof of the cab, and a moment later the truck was incapable of moving forward. It took her a moment to realise the wheels were no longer on the ground. “Fuck! Fucking heroes!?” She opened the truck door and dove for the ground, an additional two feet below where it should have been. Rolling with the impact, she ducked to one side and took a quick second to measure her opponents.

There were three of them, two men and a woman. One guy was obviously a civilian, wearing some ridiculous one-piece in bright colours, and of all things a cape. The other two were wearing digital camouflage BDUs, which she was not expecting. If the military had metahumans, she might be in more trouble than she thought. The woman seemed to be using some sort of telekinesis to keep the truck from the ground, although she was lowering it and turning her attention to Zoë now. The caped guy was hovering just off the ground in the most irritating of poses, fists on his hips and trying to stare authoritatively. His muscles under the spandex were rather large, and she suspected he might have enhanced strength along with flight. The uniformed man, she noted, looked like he had frost over his fists. She grinned again. This would be fun.

“Criminal,” the cape said, trying to make his voice boom but failing in the acoustically challenged desert. “We know you have fire powers. Give up now and come with us. We do not wish to injure you.”

She heard the woman mutter, “Speak for yourself, dork.” Zoë sniggered appreciatively.

Assuming her Russian accent, she looked up at him and laughed. “Da, sure. I will go with you, and leave all of my nice new toys with your friends, eh?” Mentally getting ready, she continued. “Better idea: I kill all three of you, get away free, and you lay here dead in road.” And then she phased out, becoming invisible.

Moving towards the woman, who was going into some sort of combat pose and talking rapidly with her partner while the cape rose into the air, Zoë considered how best to do this. It would be easy enough to rematerialise with her hand in the woman's chest, but she wasn't sure what that would do. She settled for coming up behind the girl, waiting until the other two weren't looking, and then appearing again and immediately flash-heating the poor girl's clothes. She went up like a torch and began screaming wildly. Zoë was caught unawares by a blast of telekinetic energy as the woman desperately tried to put herself out, and had to phase again to avoid being put into the truck, which rocked heavily as she passed through it, caught in the same blast. She hoped nothing got dislodged. The boys at the warehouse had done such a good job loading it.

The caped guy seemed to know what she had done, at least, and came around the truck flying at her full force. She had just come out of phase to catch her balance, and had no time to do anything except re-phase. She caught a glimpse of his face going very angry as he passed by, fist held out uselessly. She strolled back through the truck to see how the girl was doing. Apparently she was down and out, covered in a thin layer of frost from her partner putting out the fire, but she definitely had not gotten away without severe burns. One down.

She re-phased again, this time in full view of the Air Force hero, and smiled at him as she was blasted by frost. His face fell as he realised it had had no effect. “<Weakling>,” she said, and then raised her hands and cut loose with her own jet of flames. He dived out of the way, but apparently was not expecting her to move only one hand, nor as quickly as she did, and he was caught between to gushes of burning air. She was tempted to hold it for a moment as he screamed, but decided it was best not to with the other closing in. As he came at her, she twisted, ducking to the side and slamming her foot up with her own enhanced body. She was slower than she anticipated, catching him in the lower abdomen, but still he went sprawling into the burning man.

She knew this type of fighter, having had to deal with several of them already. An idealist of justice, he firmly believed he could beat her without killing her, and bring her in to custody. They needed breaking more than killing. So as he was getting up, she sent bolts of incredibly hot flames from her hands at the head of either of his friends. He moved swiftly to cover the man he was next to, bravely taking the flames for the injured man. They splashed across his chest and he fell backwards, rolling to try and smother them as the other man writhed and continued to bellow in pain. The girl had woken up and was beginning to make the odd sounds she could as her head was engulfed. From past experience Zoë knew she'd never survive. A pity, but she couldn't afford the military kids getting back to their superiours with any descriptions of her. The civilian wasn't trained enough, and she wanted at least one of them to survive and carry the word that a Russian had attacked them.

The man was raising himself up and staring in abject horror at the two burning bodies. He ripped his cape off and began trying to put out the worst of the flames on the man, whose struggles were beginning to weaken, strength sapped by the terrible damage she had wrought on his flesh. The caped man was certainly a genuinely good person. He was ignoring the angry red burn on his chest, and she knew the melted spandex clinging to his skin couldn't be any less painful.

“You win,” he said, defeat in his voice as he struggled to put out some of the fire. “Just go. But know I will get you for this.”

Zoë smiled at him. “You can try all you like, <boy>.” She snapped her fingers, and the sand around both the people on the ground glassed, the cape leaping back and screaming as his hands instantly blistered. The man and woman's screams didn't last long, and the flesh itself began to burn. She watched the tears drip down the man's face as he yelled at her.

“Why!? You had us beaten!”

“Kinder, this way. Is quicker. Cleaner.” She shrugged, glancing up and along the road where she could see more pursuit vehicles starting out from the little town the base was attached to. “Must be going. Do not come after me. You won't survive.” Climbing into the truck, she started it up and drove off into the night, leaving an angry, broken man with charred fingers screaming into the sky by the light of the bonfires who used to be his friends.
Little Tokyo, 19:42

Nicole watched as the fist raised up again, for what felt like the eightieth time. This time, though, the big guy held it weird, and she noticed that one of the knuckles was sunk back into his hand. He was screaming something in Chinese. Again. Honestly, she was kind of bored.

The little one she had hit a couple of times was holding her in some sort of crazy lock against the ground, bending one of her arms behind her and pressing his knees into her lower back. He was gripping her other arm at the elbow, and it felt like he was trying to bend it backwards by pressing it awkwardly into the asphalt, though it wasn't doing what he wanted it to. She supposed he was trying to break it. The larger guy had bent down, grabbed her hair in one hand, and was doing his damnedest to beat her face into a pulp, though it looked like his hand had given up before her nose had. Considering she suspected the guy was a meta, she was kind of impressed with herself. Every time he had hit her, she had slid across the ground a couple of feet, and the little guy had had to grip her fairly tight to maintain his balance.

She knew she hadn't had to eat, or sleep, and when she had fallen down a hill the first time into a rocky ravine she had been sure it was all over. But like when her apartment had collapsed, she was completely unhurt. No pain, no broken bones, no cuts, scrapes, or even bruising. Afterwards, she had poked at her skin. It gave the same as always, but when she had tried to bend her finger back and break it, it had done nothing. And now she was beginning to realise that nothing seemed capable of breaking her. She felt the point of the knife pressing into her face as the larger of her attackers tried a different tactic, but he quickly gave up.

“What the fuck are you, little girl?” he hissed, holding one hand and staring into her eyes. Her only response was to spit at him, though from this angle she couldn't even land it on his shoe. The little guy on her back laughed. “She's got some fire in her belly, eh? Maybe we should take her back, break her in a different way.”

The big guy shook his head. “I ain't going to do anything to her. She's too fuckin' creepy. I can't even cut her.”

Nicole took this opportunity to try and wrench her arm free, bucking and twisting as she did. The bastard on her back simply shifted his grip and pressed her face into the asphalt and half-heartedly punched her in the kidney, emitting a short gasp of pain when he made contact. “It's like punching a sand bag! Fuck it, we need to leave before the police show up.”

<Why'd the bomb go off early, anyway? I thought you were good at this stuff.>

<I don't know. Johnny and Chen are dead, too. I set everything the way I usually do.>
The little one leaned into her, so he could talk directly into her ear. The closeness and the heat of his breath made her shudder. “Listen, bitch. We're gonna get going. You try and follow us and I promise you our boss will find a way to hurt you.”

<Hey,> the big guy muttered. <Got an idea. Get off of her.>

The one on her back let go and fairly launched himself off of her, but she had no time to scramble to her feet. The bigger one had gripped her by her hair and lifted her up. I guess that's an added benefit, she thought as she tried to spot anyway out of this. I wonder if I can still get hair cuts? He was holding her up high enough to keep her feet off the ground, and the little one had grabbed her ankles so she couldn't kick. She could hear sirens, but she doubted they'd get here in time to save her from whatever was about to happen.

They marched her over to a bike rack across the street, where the laid her down in front of it. Swiftly, the larger gangster twisted the metal of the rack so that it held her to the ground, taking extra care to make sure that she couldn't slide out by wriggling forwards or backwards. Within the span of a minute she had bars holding her neck, ribs, arms, stomach, knees, and ankles to the pavement. Glowering at them from under her prison, she hissed, “I'm going to find you assholes and I'm going to kill you for this.”

“Oh yeah,” sniggered the thin one, adjusting his beaten suit carefully. “Because we're so very scared of a little girl.” He leaned down near her face and sneered. She took careful note of his pock-marked face, every detail she could remember. “It don't matter how invincible you may be, bitch. We'll still kick your ass every time.” Turning back to his partner,he laughed and said something in their language again, and they both took off into the darkness.

From her new vantage point, she could see the damage to the building. The front wall of the place had blown into the street, along with the front area of the roof where she had been hiding. The rest of what was probably a dining area had collapsed after the supporting walls were blown away, but the back half of the building seemed moderately untouched from where she was. The street was also okay, aside from the rubble and glass, although there was one spot where her head had been slammed into the asphalt hard enough to crack it. A streetlight was also torn off near the ground where she'd been thrown through it. She hadn't been paying attention to how hard she was being hit, really. 's'not like it mattered. All powerful invincibility and I get taken out by a couple of thugs. Waaay to go, Nicole.

She wasn't even certain why she had attacked the guy. Not like it was her building or anything. He had just seemed like he needed to get punished for being...what? Chinese Triad, wasn't that what they were called? Criminals, anyway. But unlike at her apartment building back home, no one innocent seemed to have been hurt in the blast. She just wanted to hurt them for being assholes.

She briefly struggled against her restraints as the sirens approached, but it was fairly obvious she wasn't about to et out of this one on her own. Spend three months avoiding the cops, dump my Ids, get the hell across the damn country without once being taken in as a runaway. And now here I am, trussed up like some sort of fuckin' hunting trophy. She groaned as the first fire engine came around the corner, lights playing across the buildings in front of her. Should be fine as long as I can avoid telling them anything. Just like back home, really.
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