John Table

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Also happy 100th IC post

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Brandywine, Maryland

Amanda Waller pulled her car into the parking lot of Capitol Lanes. A little past nine at night and the parking lot of the bowling alley was surprisingly full. Well it was Wednesday. Wednesday was dollar beer night, after all. Waller made her way inside the alley. There were maybe a dozen people here tonight, all of them broke down into smaller groups of threes and fours at different lanes. A group of teens played video games in the alley’s arcade section. The attendant behind the desk gave her a nod as she approached the counter.

“Playing a game or two, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’ll need a pair of shoes. Size 16 ½… in women’s.”

The attendant glanced around the bowling alley. The people there were too transfixed in their own worlds to notice him as he pressed a button behind the counter. A hole opened up underneath Waller’s feet and she vanished through the floor. She slid through the tube and came out fifty feet below the building inside her office.

The best kept secret in all of D.C., and by extension the world, were these little suites of offices underneath Capitol Lanes. The unincorporated community of Brandywine in Prince George’s County, Maryland was where ARGUS called home. The bowling alley was some twenty-two miles from Downtown Washington D.C. and was only accessible to those on Waller's approved list. Not even President Ellis could ask for a pair of 16 ½ shoes and get down here. Let SHIELD have their gaudy helicarriers that flew high and wide for all eyes to see. Waller worked best in the shadows.

It was why nobody knew exactly how many agents ARGUS had. Nobody but Waller. The inner workings of the organization were so compartmentalized and balkanized nobody truly knew what they were doing, who they were working for, and what their end goal was to be. Nobody, of course, but Director Waller. Decades of experience as a bureaucrat taught her how to finesse the red tape and black budgets to get what she wanted, and she used every trick at her disposal to make sure ARGUS got everything it needed or wanted.

She sat down in her office with a nightcap of scotch in one hand, a tablet in the other. Her last act after a fifteen hour day was to enjoy a stiff drink, read over any critical reports that may have filtered in through the day, and form an idea on what kind of day tomorrow would be. Her eyes glanced up from the tablet and to the plaque on her desk. In wood and engraved in simple script, it said “Exitus ācta probat” or “The outcome justifies the deed.” She looked past it at the blinking intercom beside the plaque.

“What?” Waller asked as she pressed the button.

“We have something happening out in Montana,” said that night’s analyst on duty. “Something big.”

“The hell,” she said as she finished off her drink. “BIG SKY only went active eight hours ago. What’s going on out there?”

“Reports confirm CENTURION is involved.”

“Oh, shit,” replied Waller. “Okay… patch through BIG SKY’s feed to the commcenter. I’m on my way.”

CENTURION was a codename shared by all agencies in the US intelligence community for one particular individual. Then CIA deputy director Amanda Waller first assigned it 15 years ago to the incredible superhuman who rescued a plane full of hijacked passengers in mid-flight. The world knew him as Superman, but for Waller he would always be CENTURION. And wherever he went, destruction and trouble followed in his wake.

---

Helena, Montana

Arthur Blackwood took a long drag off his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs, and expelled it in a long stream out of his mouth and nose. Someone in the bar below put Skynyrd on the jukebox. Blackwood put the cigarette in the side of his mouth and walked across the small apartment to the corkboard mounted on the wall.

The little studio apartment above the bar looked like a militaman’s wet dream. An opened wooden crate was filled with brand new M4s still with the new gun oil sheen on them. Raw semtex in plastic wrap sat on a coffee table beside a couch. There was of course the requisite DON’T TREAD ON ME flag with a US, Confederate and -- strangely for a government separatist hideaway -- a BACK THE BLUE flag hung up on the walls.

Blackwood let the cigarette dangle from his mouth as he looked at the information on the corkboard. These 100 jerkoffs did not play when it came to intelligence gathering. Pinned to the board were maps that showed projected movement of a military convoy passing through the Absaroka Mountains on its way to Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls. The convoy was due to pass through the outskirts of Helena on its way north tomorrow night. Surveillance photos showed a group of eight trucks escorted by humvees and armored personnel carriers. The sixth truck in the convoy had been circled in red marker.

A sudden burst of air pulled Blackwood’s attention away from the board.



“Evening, Mr. Blackwood. Lovely night to plan some domestic terrorism, wouldn’t you say?”

Blackwood swung his fist at Superman’s face. The Man of Steel caught it easily. Superman flashed Blackwood a cocky smile.

“C’mon, this the best you got? Show me how superior you are, Blackw--”

With his left hand, Blackwood formed an energy shield that he bashed Superman in the face with. The force of the blow sent Superman flying through the apartment’s wall. He crashed into the street below. The force of his impact created a small crater in the asphalt. He had narrowly avoided landing on a passing car.

“Okay,” he said softly to himself. “ARGUS didn’t mention what kind of superpowers you had, probably above my security clearance…”

Blackwood leapt from the hole in the apartment wall and landed on the street. Superman got to his feet and looked at Blackwood. He’d now formed an energy sword in his right hand to go with the shield in his left hand.

“You know,” said Blackwood. “I know so many people who would love to be where I’m standing right now.”

“I’m sure they’re just as charming as you,” Superman said, his eyes focusing on the “Make America White Again” tattoo on Blackwood’s neck. “I’m sure there’s plenty of Superman practice targets hanging up back in the old compound.”

“I’m gonna mount your fucking head up alongside those targets when I’m done,” spat Blackwood.

“You know… plenty of people have stood where you’re standing, Blackwood.”

Superman floated off the ground. His eyes glowed bright red as he flew towards Blackwood.

“And they’ve all failed.”

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

IN DREAMS
CHAPTER 6

New York City
1939

Wesley Dodds walked through the swanky penthouse party with detached bemusement. Tonight was supposed to be a who’s who in New York high society. The rich and elite were all gathered for one charitable reason or another. Wesley had trouble keeping track of what this season's pet cause was. He couldn’t help but find it funny that tonight's gala would almost certainly cost more than any money that would be raised. Tonight was less about actual charity and more about ego-stroking. Everyone had to be seen out and about, seen that they cared... or at least that they wanted to people to think they cared. He checked his watch and gave himself another half hour before he could politely make his exit.

These events always reminded Wesley that he may have come from the wealthy class, but he was not of it. Not truly. They talked stock options, summer homes, and yachts to each other while on the streets below so many people did without. So much evil went by unnoticed or uncared by these people who had so many resources to fight it. Wesley did as much as he could with his own inherited wealth to donate to charity and give to the needy. What he kept, however, went to fund his other crusade against evil in the world.

“Oh, Wesley Dodds, there you are!”

Margaret Thurston grabbed at Wesley’s arm with a pudgy hand. She started to pull him through the room towards a small gaggle of socialites crowded together.

“You are probably the smartest man I know, so surely you have an opinion on this.”

Wesley noticed one of the men in the group had the latest issue of Time in his hands. On the cover was a masked man with a green cape, a red shirt, green pants, and red boots. The sigil of a lantern was splayed on his chest. He faced the camera with a sort of playful smirk, his left hand raised and showing off a ring on the middle finger. The caption beneath his picture read:

THE GREEN LANTERN
&
THE MASKED MEN OF AMERICA

“Oh, yes, I saw that,” said Wesley. “It is actually an interesting read.”

“It’s just so bizarre,” said Margaret. “What makes a person want to wear a Halloween mask and go out to beat up bad guys?”

“They’re lunatics,” said one of the men, a tall and thin gentleman with a waxed mustache. He expelled a column of smoke from his mouth and shook his head. “Some sort of mental defect or attention seekers.”

“This Green Lantern chap doesn’t look too bad,” said another man, grabbing the magazine from the blonde man who had been holding it. “At least it seems he can actually do amazing stuff. Flying and some sort of beam with that ring of his… look at this one...”

He spread the magazine out to show a portrait of another caped man with a giant star on his chest, flying above a city with a glowing rod in his hand.

“This Starman out of Opal City, another one capable of amazing things. I only worry about what they could do if they decided to join the criminals instead of fighting them."

Wesley watched the man flip through the magazine. He came to another drawing, this one cruder than the ones of Starman and the Green Lantern. It showed a man in a suit, hat, and trench coat, the gasmask’s eyes glowing red to make him look more inhuman.

“This is the one that scares me,” said Margaret. “This Sandman fellow? So strange, just the sight of him gives me the willies.”

“He helped police stop a sex murderer last fall,” said the blonde man who originally had the copy of Time. “Among other things. They may be crazy, and they may be… unstable, but they seem to be inspiring a lot of people to do the right thing.”

“I think you’re right,” Wesley finally spoke. “I do not advocate what they’re doing, or how they’re doing it. But we saw several years back that when times are hard, our institutions cannot help us the way we imagined they could. Sometimes you have to help yourself, and it’s easy to fall into apathy. I think these masked men can show people that if they want to really make change in this world, they have to do it themselves.”

“Well said,” said the blonde man. “Mr….”

“Dodds,” Wesley said, extending his hand. “Wesley Dodds.”

“Alan Scott,” he said, taking Wesley’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

---

Brooklyn
Now

Wesley stood in the darkness of the storage unit and waited. By his own recollection he’d been up a little over twenty-four hours since the call that triggered this whole mess. The surge of adrenaline kept him awake. He’d crash when it was all over, but for now he could get through to see his task to the end.

The sound of the elevator’s motor reverberated off the concrete and sheet metal of the storage facility so loudly, Wesley could hear it approaching from four floors below. This facility operated 24/7 with some kind of attendant always present at the desk. He figured whoever was coming up hadn’t noticed the clerk missing as they made their way to the elevator. The night attendant was behind the desk, deep in a sleep that would last until the sun came up.

Wesley approached the closed roll-up door and slipped his gasmask down over his face. Someone on the other side unlocked the roll-up door across the corridor and started to pull it up. Wesley put one hand on the gas gun on his hip. With the other he rolled the door up and stepped out into the corridor. He pulled the gun out and aimed it at the back of the person who was turning around to face him.

“Hello, Frankie,” he said softly.

“...Uncle Wes?” Frankie stuttered. “What…”

“You were always a bit sloppy,” said Wesley. “So was Sandy, but I like to think my old protégé would have at least enough sense to destroy any incriminating evidence before I could get to it.”

“What are you talking about?” Frankie asked. “Why are you here, dressed up in that old outfit?”

Wesley smirked from behind the mask. Frankie had always been a bad actress when she was younger. Sandy tried to turn her into a star as best as he could, but there was nothing there. And it seemed she was as bad a liar as she was an actress.

“I found Sandy’s computer,” said Wesley. “It led to this place and his list of clients. A lot of weird people out there will pay top dollar to have sex with the Green Lantern or Black Canary… or what the fantasy of them. Whose idea was it, Frankie? Sandy was always money hungry, but I don’t see him doing this unless he was really had to. He was beginning to sell off his Sandman collection to help make ends meet before this little venture, so he had to be truly desperate. ”

“I don’t…” Tears started to form in her eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She started to cry. Wesley pulled the trigger on the gas gun just as Frankie started to go for something in her coat pocket. She coughed and stumbled backwards into the open storage unit. A single-shot derringer fell to the ground as she covered her mouth.

“I don’t know if Sandy ever told you about the gas,” he said. “It’s a special blend I concocted almost… a century ago. It blends chloroform and sodium pentothal into a neat cocktail. A lot of it puts you out, but a little of it? Well that just makes you talkative.”

Wesley kept walking towards Frankie as she stumbled backwards. She finally collapsed on the rickety bed in the storage unit. He kept the gun trained on her as she coughed.

“Sandy gets financially desperate so he reaches out to you,” said Wesley. "You used to be a showgirl, I remember. You had all kinds of seedy entertainment connections. Put him in touch with both talent and potential clients. And you get a cut, right? I read Sandy’s emails with his clients. It was all coded, but again very sloppy. This little sex enterprise was getting Sandy -- and you -- a nice little payday. Only problem? Sandy wanted to end it. He was starting to turn clients down, telling him he was out of business… but Frankie -- Dinah Lance, actually according to the code names-- couldn’t have her cash cow drying up.”

“I…,” she coughed again. “I...The things he did to me, Uncle Wes--”

“Just Wesley, please.”

She blinked rapidly a tears poured down her face. “The things… he did to me during our marriage. The running around, the drinking, the abuse. All of that and he left me broken and broke. After twenty years he used me until there was nothing left.”

Her face twisted in some kind of look that was rage and despair fueled.

“And when we finally had a good thing going, he wanted to end it. And you know why?”

She looked at Wes with an expression that was pure hate.

“‘Uncle Wes wouldn’t approve.’ That’s what he said. He sacrificed so much for you, he loved you with all his heart, and you… you broke it. All those years ago, you told him he was less than dogshit and it fucked him up. And even still, after all that shit, he loved you so much he couldn’t bear doing something you wouldn’t approve of. He loved you more than he ever had me. When he said that you wouldn't approve… I just… I snapped. We’d met at this little motel to talk about things and I… I just. I got him drunk, drunker than he had been in years. And when he was passed out… I took his belt and…”

Frankie smiled at Wesley, showing her teeth and no warmth in the expression.

“Sandy’s favorite Sandman case was the Tarantula Killer, did you know that? So… I let him have one more Sandman fantasy. I slipped the belt around his neck like the Tarantula had done to all those girls back then... and I..."

Wesley's dreams. Rough hands on rough leather, pulling desperately and strangling the life out of Sandy.

"Do you think he liked it, Uncle Wes? Do you think he loved it?! DID HE DO YOU PROUD, UNCLE WES?!”

Wesley aimed the gun at Frankie’s face.

“I alerted the NYPD, Frankie. I gave them all the clues they needed. By the time you wake up you should be in their custody. Sleep… and be consumed by your own dark dreams.”

Frankie spat at Wesley as he pressed the trigger and gassed her.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Lubeman app incoming.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

What are your unpopular superhero/superhero media opinions?

@DocTachyon

Mystery Men is a top-ten superhero movie. We wouldn't have a Suicide Squad or Guardians of the Galaxy without it.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

The White House

“This is not a good idea,” said Pete Ross.

He and Calvin were in the Rose Garden far away from eavesdropping Secret Service agents and any White House staffers they may come across. Lois was back in Metropolis for the next few days. In addition to her duties as First Lady she served on a few civic boards in various positions. Calvin had held similar positions, but he’d resigned them positions for the presidency. She still had an eye on Metropolis even as Calvin focused on the country and the world. He and Lois talked very little about post-presidency life at this point, but he hoped that one day he could go back to the relatively low stakes of the municipal revitalization committee.

With Lois out of town Calvin and Pete had dinner together with Pete’s latest girlfriend, a junior staffer for a Georgia congressman. She was starstruck by having dinner with the president at the White House, it didn’t really matter that her boss had once called him the devil to a whooping crowd at the Madison County Fair. But Calvin hadn't forgotten. Pete had really scored some points with her for the dinner. And it irked Calvin a little to be used like that. What was next? He’d bring a date to Ft. Superman?

“Your comment is duly noted,” said Calvin.

“I thought we talked about this even before election day. You would let Calvin Ellis be president while Superman continued to be a citizen of the world. Superman has never been a tool of US policy.”

“I like this thing you’re doing, talking about me like I’m not here,” said Calvin. “How can you talk to me about what Superman does and doesn’t do? Furthermore, it’s not like I’m going to the Senate floor in my cape and boots, Pete. There’s a potential terrorist attack forthcoming. Doesn’t matter if it’s Helena, Montana, or Lagos. People are going to get hurt. And I have the power to prevent that. Why shouldn't I act?”

“Let ARGUS do its job, Cal,” Pete said with a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “I’m just thinking of the optics of Superman fighting some political group.”

Calvin raised an eyebrow. Pete had always been one of the most savvy political minds Calvin knew. He could always see the angles and consider every point of view and the implications for every decision. It was why he was chief of staff and Calvin’s top political advisor. But this?

“This isn’t just some political group, Pete. ARGUS isn't looking into the local chapter of Greenpeace, you know. These are bad guys, bad bad people who are looking to harm other people. These people already hate Calvin Ellis and all that he stands for, and I can bet you they’re not too keen on Superman either. Who exactly do we tick off with this decision? What kind of allies and support would Superman lose by taking down some Neo-Nazi? And if I did… is that the kind of support I want?”

“It’s just… where does it end?” Pete asked. “Doing what's right for America and what's right for you can clash, and sometimes dovetail into bad decisions. How long before Superman is leading the 2nd Cavalry into Iran.”

“The slippery slope doesn’t work on me,” Calvin said, his arms crossed. “They’ve been saying for years ‘how long until Superman gets bored of saving lives and just living among humans, and he does something crazy like--’”

“Run for president?” snapped Pete. He nodded and spread his hands, “yeah...crazy right?”

An awkward silence lingered between the two men. Pete wouldn’t meet Calvin’s eyes. Calvin slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Good night, Pete. The Secret Service will see you out.”

“Alright, Cal,” Pete said finally. “You do what you want to do. I did my part. I advised. It’s up to you to make the choice.”

“And that’s why I’m president, and you’re not.” Calvin crossed his arms. “Good night. See you tomorrow. And the next time you come to dinner in my house, you come alone.”

“So come alone to this house?” asked Pete. “The one the American people are letting you live in for the next four years? The one I'm trying to keep you in for another four years? That house? This house? Got it, Mr. President. Understood.”

---

Gary, Indiana

Calvin walked through the small kitchen in full Superman costume. Joshua Ellis sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of sugary cereal and milk in front of him. He gave his son a passing glance before going back to his bowl.

“Aren’t you a little too early for Halloween?” Joshua asked.

“Aren’t you a little too old for Fruity Pebbles?” Calvin replied back.

Calvin took a seat at the table across from his father. He hadn’t been home in nearly six months, probably his longest time away from the place, and it struck him how little seemed to change. The house was the same as it had always been in the last 40 years. It seemed like his dad had managed to put a new coat on the kitchen cabinets, but that was it. Josh and Mary Ellis called the little two story house on Vermont Street home long before Calvin had literally landed in their lives, and they would continue to call the place home until they died.

“Saw you on the news,” said Joshua. “Saw you at some event in Denver, and then saw you fighting that Atomic Skull guy in Baltimore. It’s like I got two sons… only one of them wears glasses.”

“What’s up with the cereal?” Calvin asked.

“Just a before bedtime snack,” Joshua shrugged. “I’m keeping an eye on my blood pressure and sugar, son.”

“Your vitals are good,” said Calvin. “Next time you go to the doctor see if they can do an ultrasound on your left kidney though.”

“Superman, president, and a doctor. It’s a shame I can only brag to my friends about one of those things.”

Calvin shook his head and laughed. “I’m sure your buddies at the VFW like to bend your ear about the job I’m doing.”

Joshua was a Vietnam veteran and spent plenty of time at the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post with the elderly men who served in Southeast Asia, and the now large group of younger vets of American conflicts in the Middle East. The old breed of WW2 vets were alsmost all gone. Calvin figured Steve was the only one he knew still alive and even he had... a little help with his longevity.

“Yep. I’ve convinced them I’m a member of your braintrust.”

“Is that right?”

“Told them the boy can’t turn out a light without getting my approval.”

“Real power behind the throne, huh, dad?”

Joshua grunted and took another spoonful of Fruity Pebbles. He contemplated something as he chewed. When he finished he swallowed and looked at his son.

“You know, night’s like this I get to missing your mother.”

“I’m here,” Mary Ellis said as she came from the living room. “Your father is just mad because I said he overcooked the spaghetti noodles tonight. Said he wasn't talking to me.”

“Sometimes it’s like I can still hear her….”

Marry kissed Calvin on the cheek and put a hand on his shoulder.

“New suit, Cal?”

“A little bit more lead padding around the edges. I had a run-in with Metallo a few months back and he did a little more damage than he usually does.”

Mary took a seat at the kitchen table next to Calvin and smiled at him.

“How’s Lois?”

“Good,” Cal shrugged. “She’s still adjusting, like I am, to everything. The biggest thing is the schedules and monitoring. Lois has always done her own thing and now she can’t do that. You know the word she hates the most is 'no' and now she's hearing that a lot these days, although a bit more diplomatically phrased. Every move has to be watched and weighed and approved.”

“Yeah,” said Joshua. “We wouldn’t know anything about that…”

Calvin shot his father a look. He knew posted outside the Ellis house was a car containing two Secret Service agents. The Ellis’ had been hesitant to take up the offer of protection, but Calvin managed to convince them. The heated rhetoric around the election and the… passionate discourse over Calvin made him worried for their potential safety.

“I can’t be everywhere at once, dad,” said Calvin. “Even before the White House.”

“You don’t think we can take care of ourselves?” Mary asked her son. “We’ve witnessed a lot of change happening around us, Cal. This city has gone downhill, but we’ve survived.”

“I’m not worried about neighborhood people,” Calvin said with a shake of his head. “I’m worried about someone with an agenda coming in from out of town. Look, will my own parents just do me the favor of listening to me for once?”

Calvin clenched his jaw in and furrowed his brow. Joshua raised an eyebrow at his son and put his spoon down in the almost empty bowl of cereal.

“What’s got you bothered, Cal?”

“That obvious?” he asked.

“Might as well have a neon sign on your forehead,” said Mary.

Calvin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I became Superman because I wanted to help people with my powers. I became president because I wanted to help people as Calvin Ellis. And it feels like Calvin Ellis can’t help as many people as he wants to, and now I’m being told that Superman has to make decisions with the political future of Calvin Ellis in mind.”

“Why did you become president?” Joshua asked.

“Did… you not hear me? To help as many people as possible.”

“And how do you do that?”

Calvin suddenly felt like he was a child again. “What are you getting at? I guess by doing… good things?”

Joshua nodded his head as Mary picked up the thread.

“Your dad and I always taught you to do the right thing, regardless of the consequences.”

“Do what’s right,” said Joshua. “And the rest will work out.”

Mary squeezed Calvin’s shoulder. “For Superman and Calvin Ellis. You hungry, Cal? I got some leftover spaghetti... the noodles aren't the best, but you dump enough sauce on it I'm sure we can salvage something edible.”

“Woman, you are the devil, you know that?”

---

Helena, Montana

ARGUS SAFEHOUSE
CODENAME: “BIG SKY”

Jasper Sitwell put in his earbuds and started the “lofi beats to chill and spy to” playlist on his phone. The music washed over him as he began to monitor the torrents of data coming in throughout the city of Helena. Someone from pretty high up the ladder was involved. They dispatched Sitwell from ARGUS’ Denver office with the orders to set up shop in the BIG SKY safehouse.

He had no idea what his bosses were looking for, only that it was serious. He was given full-blown taupe clearance, which was a big deal. No mission Sitwell had been part of ever went full taupe. Every piece of personal communication that went out across a thirty mile radius -- text, phone call, email, drunken snapchat dick pic -- got caught in the ARGUS net for Sitwell and the algorithm to sift through. Privacy rights and laws be damned for the next forty-eight hours.

Sitwell checked his watch after what seemed like hours. Almost twelve hours had passed since first starting the search and so far it was nothing but personal information, nothing that would shake the threat of national security. Well... apparently the local K-Mart in town was finally giving up the ghost and plenty of people on Facebook were sad about it. That was the closest he saw until... now? Stillwell sat up when he saw an influx of communications flashing across the screen. Snippets of texts and real-time transcriptions of phone calls were displayed on the monitor in front of him. The algorithm had pegged them as upper echelon important.

KEYWORDS AND PHRASES: EXPLOSION, BOOM, BOMB.

“A sonic boom?” Sitwell said aloud. “In… Helena.”

More flashing notifications tagged high priority and critical. Texts, a blurry cellphone video, radar information from a nearby USAF base. Something small was flying through the area at a very, very, fast speed. The radar info and other data ended up collected under one tab:

METAHUMAN THREAT

METAHUMAN: UNKNOWN: SPOTTED… FACIAL RECOGNITION… PENDING…. PENDING…

“Superman?”

Sitwell went for his phone. The lofi beats would have to wait. For some reason Superman had shown up in Montana. This had to be what he was here for. He started to call his superiors in Denver.

“Sitwell… what’s going on?”

He let ASAC Gannon continue to talk while Sitwell watched the screen, the phone slumped on his shoulder. The monitor flashed alert after alert of incoming warnings.

SECOND METAHUMAN SPOTTED… FACIAL RECOGNITION… PENDING… PENDING

WARNING!
WARNING!

PERSON OF MASS DESTRUCTION EVENT IMMINENT

“Gannon,” Sitwell finally said. “I think I found what we're looking for…”

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

LONG FORM!

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

"Victor is 32 years old, having been born on March 15th, 1989."



Also I'm sure Q will have a field day investigating President Superman

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

IN DREAMS
CHAPTER 5

New York City
1938

Meg Turner knew she was going to die. The evil man with the dead eyes told her repeatedly that it was only a matter of time before he killed her. Meg sat in a hardback chair, stripped down to her skivvies, her wrists and ankles tied, and with a thick leather belt around her neck. The man that had abducted her paced around the rundowne flop naked. Meg saw the giant spider tattoo on the man's back, a crude thing that looked like it had be done in some prison. He turned and she saw his little prick was hard. It was always the ones hung like cashews that did the most violence.

Like her uncle Joey. He was the reason she’d left Nebraska for New York. She couldn’t take his little “midnight games” anymore. Her parents never believed her, and the cops? They just laughed her out of the police department. No way was a pillar of the community like Joey Franklin a pervert. The last time Joey tried to come for Meg, she was ready with a broken beer bottle. Joey lost an eye and Meg got the hell out of Hastings that night.

A young girl fresh to New York she ended up falling into the same trap like all the others. A handsome man at the bus stop whispered words in her ear. And the next thing she knew, she was on the streets turning tricks.

“Just a matter of time,” her captor muttered. "Step into my parlor, ssaid the sssspider to the f-f-fly."

He came up behind her and yanked on the belt hard with both hands. Meg gasped for air as the belt tightened around her neck. She tried to struggle and break free. But it was no use. She could feel her attacker’s hard cock pressing into the small of her back as she struggled for air. She wanted to cry so badly. This was how it would end. She was only nineteen. There was so much she hadn’t done. So much she wanted to do and see and try. Would this be how her story ended? Just a victim of one man after another? Black spots began to form in her vision. Pretty soon it would all be black. She didn’t believe in heaven or hell. This world they lived in, this was equal parts heaven and hell. What waited for her on the other side of the veil was oblivion. At least that would be peaceful. No molesting uncles, no johns and pimps trying to beat you up, and no sex killers.

Meg heard coughing and could smell something pungent all of a sudden. It was smoke... Of some kind. Oh, god. Maybe Hell was real? She felt the pressure around her neck loosen and she gasped suddenly for breath. The chair she was in collapsed on its side as Meg’s body racked with pain. She could hear she wasn't the only. A thick layer of some greenish smoke filled the room. She wasn’t sure if it was from a lack of oxygen or what… but she suddenly felt very tired.

“You’ll be okay, Miss,” a muffled voice said from above.

She glanced up and blinked slowly. She was unsure of what she was seeing. Was this… thing a demon? Or was it some angel? The old testament angels who were always hideous harbingers of God’s wrath, the ones who cautioned people not to look directly at them.



“Help is on the way. For the first time in a long time, sleep and have pleasant dreams.”

---

New York City
Now

Detective Paul Gold stepped out into the warm summer night and sighed. He hated working the nightshift and he hated working homicide during the summers. It seemed fate was fucking him over by putting on the nightshift during summer. He just hoped tonight would be as quiet as last night had been. He'd rolled on a death that got ruled natural causes and one suicide. Some old bastard hanged himself in a roach motel not too far from Gold's 19th Precinct.

Santos and Richards found him after a noise complaint from a tenant. Based on everything at the scene Gold couldn't tell if it was intentional suicide, or if the fucker had been trying to do some kinky stuff and got carried away. He wouldn't be the first homicide cop to discover a case of autoerotic asphyxiations gone bad, and he sure as shit wouldn't be the last. Other than some odd remarks from Santos and Richards about the old man having a bunch of masked man memorabilia in his apartment. Gold did find it curious why this Hawkins guy hadn't just done the deed at home. Maybe he was too afraid to making a mess around his comic books. Regardless, Gold was happy to have a pretty straightforward case of suicide, accidental misadventure at the very worst.

Gold got into his car that was parked on the street and frowned when the engine wouldn't turn over. Just the tell tale clicks of a dead battery. He swore and began to climb back out the car. He stopped when he smelled something sharp in the air. Some kind of chemical. He saw the greenish gas waft in front of his face and he began to cough. The sudden urge to fall asleep overcome him. Something gripped his shoulders and he tried to shake it off. He was too weak to fight it.

"Detective Gold," a muffled voice said over his shoulder. "Sanderson Hawkins' death was not a suicide. He was murdered. You're going to take a little nap, but when you wake up you'll find Hawkins' laptop on the front seat of your car. It points to Sanderson's involvement in an erotic underground that fetishizes the old costumed heroes of the 30's. His killer is somewhere inside that list of contacts. The pieces are there, Gold. You just need to put them together. Sleep the sleep of the just, detective, and wake up refreshed and ready to bring justice to Sandy Hawkins."

Gold slumped against the wheel and began to snore loudly. From the backseat of the car, Wesley Dodds climbed out. The suit still fit as good as it had... almost eighty years ago. The gasmask was difficult to breath through, but that had been the case when he was younger. As Gold continued to snore, The Sandman ventured out into the night for the first time in seventy years.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Lexcorp
Metropolis

The 105th floor of the Lexcorp building served as both the office and residence of the company’s owner and CEO. But above that floor was a small penthouse Lex Luthor would retreat to sometimes. He called it the godspot. It contained a full panoramic view of Metropolis, and served as a reminder of where he had come from and where he was now. Somewhere out across the vast expanse of this city was a little rundown tenement building in Suicide Slum. Lex knew it was still there. It was one of the first things he’d bought with his wealth. He let some local drunk manage it for him. He kept rent down for the residence and refused to either renovate the place or tear it down.

For Lex the building was another one of his grand experiments. Lexcorp scientists and security monitored the residents, especially the younger ones, and recorded the data that was there. Could that little ramshackle building produce another Lex Luthor? Only time would tell. Part of him hoped that it would end in failure. That would defeat his narrative if he could just be copied and pasted like a file. That would lessen the great man If the same conditions could birth yet another great man. No he firmly believed that what he had achieved had been both a product of his upbringing andh is natural abilities. Growing up in Suicide Slum had motivated him to use those abilities to great effect. And here he was, lord above all Metropolis. The Lexcorp building straddled the city like a colossus, with Lex atop that colossus and in control. And still…

It wasn’t good enough.

“Mr. Luthor.”

Lex was seated crossed-legged on the floor of the penthouse. His hands were clasped together and eyes were open, taking in all of the city. The voice was coming from his wrist watch.

“Yes, Miss Teschmacher?”

“Otis is on the line… he wants to know if he can publish the statement on yesterday’s shuttle landing.”

Lex let the question hang in the air. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since that disaster. The press had hounded Lexcorp since the reports of Superman’s intervention. Lucky for Lex the landing site in the Indian Ocean was heavily guarded. No press or anyone else to bother him after Mercy’s smooth landing. But Lex had continued to let his silence linger longer than it should have. Even the president had commented on it quicker than Lex had.

“Tell Otis… he can publish the fourth revision,” Lex said into his watch. “The one that mentions failure, and ones ability to overcome it, is what makes us human. It’s what makes us better. Emphasis on the human and better parts.”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

Lex sighed and stood up. He crossed the penthouse with one hand on his chin and already lost in thought. With the statement on the shuttle failure out there he could move on. Yesterday would not be his last time in space. They already had future projects lined up. As government seemed to balk at the idea of space exploration, it would be up to him to fill the void and push the envelope. He hoped to launch a moon mission sometime within the next four years. After that there was Mars, then the outer planets. If his physics department could manage a breakthrough there would be what was outside the solar system. True extrasolar exploration would be where humanity would find its place among the stars. This planet was dying. It was only a matter of time. This was to save humanity, even if they seemed to resist his attempts.

“Aos,” Lex said aloud. “Call Dr. Fine.”

“Calling, Dr. Fine,” a robotic voice said from somewhere in the penthouse.

Still in the beta stage, the Aos program was a lot like Lexcorp’s space initiative in that it had all the makings of a game changer. Healthcare, security, and quality of life could all be improved by the AI’s cognitive and predictive abilities. While other smart assistants played music and told you the weather Aos had the power to tell you what was going to happen. It just needed more data, more refinement. That’s where Milton came in.

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Milton Fine's voice came through the AOS speaker.

“What’s on your agenda today, Milton?”

“I’m at the free clinic in Suicide-- I mean, Southside. So far we’ve had over two dozen sign up for the AOS program.”

“Of course,” said Luthor. “I figure we’ll have over one hundred in the program by the end of the week.”

In exchange for wearing an Aos monitor bracelet at all times, poor income residents across Metropolis would receive the finest medical care on Lexcorp’s dime. The bracelets broadcasted vitals of the program members to Lexcorp. Pulse, blood sugar, blood pressure, and oxygen intake were just some of the many vitals the Aos device kept track of. The plan was to take all that information, along with dietary and physical activity history, and create a profile. They could identify which people were predisposed to having heart diseases years before it struck. Cancer could be caught in its earliest stages and treated before any true symptoms began to manifest.

“I need to make more tweaks to the AI, but I imagine we can start a fully realized health profile of project members within six months. That should be more than enough data to predict short to mid term health issues.

“Data, data, data,” Luthor said softly to himself. “It’s the building blocks of a better future.”

Lex ended the call with a request that Fine touch base at the end of the day. He felt better after talking to the doctor. Superman could fly and throw cars around, but he couldn’t offer people health advice. As many people he saved from catastrophe, he couldn’t cure cancer.

Yes… let him have the little dog and pony shows. Let him get front page news for saving a handful of people. In one hundred years, cancer would be a thing of the past. Not because some alien had blasted it away with his laser vision. It was because of Aos and Lex Luthor.

Superman was the man of tomorrow? Okay, he could have that. Lex Luthor would be the man of the next century. As death was abolished and humanity took to the stars, the name Luthor would be the first name among those that ventured into the void. Lexcorp, Lillian, and Aos was the first step on the road to empire. And no man, no matter how strong, could not stand in the way of empire.

---

White House Situation Room

“They call themselves the 100.”

ARGUS deputy director Maria Hill stood at the end of the conference table while a presentation projected over her shoulder. Calvin sat at the end of the table along with Perry White and Sarge Steel. Displayed on the screen behind Hill was a logo of the number 100 in black, little white stars dotting the numbers. Calvin figured if he counted each star it would put it at one hundred.

“We think the name comes from the fact they started initially with one hundred members. We’re not sure how many members they have now, but our best guess is somewhere in the upper hundreds to lower one thousand. They started in the 90’s militia boom after Ruby Ridge, Waco, and the OKC bombing. While other groups have faded, they’ve stayed strong.”

Hill clicked the remote in her hand and the picture on the screen changed to a map of the US. Parts of the western US and midwest were highlighted in red.

“ARGUS and FBI believe the group operates through the western states, particularly in Montana and North Dakota. Sparsely populated states give them a lot of land and mountain cover to hide out in.”

“Where do they get their funding from?” asked Steel.

“Internet donations,” said Hill. “Their website advertises both public and anonymous, for anyone a little shy about letting people know what they’re donating to. Oh, and silly me… they also rob banks.”

Hill clicked the remote again. The picture on the screen changed to a mugshot. It showed a surly, long haired man with an iron cross tattoo on his cheek and a tattoo around his throat that read “Make America White Again.”

“Arthur Blackwood. Confirmed metahuman and multiple times convicted felon. He’s believed to have robbed over fifteen banks for the 100. At last count Blackwood is wanted for murder, arson, assault with a deadly weapon, armed robbery, and a handful of other lesser crimes. All of those are across multiple states. ARGUS surveillance caught this photo two days ago…”

The picture changed to a black and white photo of what appeared to be Blackwood on a motorcycle going down a street.

“This is Helena, Montana. ARGUS sources say Blackwood is in Helena to do something on behalf of the 100.”

“FBI sources and chatter can confirm that,” said Steel. “The suspicion. It seems that leaders in the 100 asked for him by name to go to Helena.”

“To what end?” asked Perry White. “You don’t send a piece of garbage like that to just run some guns or to just rob a farmer’s savings & loan.”

“ARGUS thinks…” Hill paused. “ARGUS thinks Blackwood is there to do something very bad. Domestic terrorism levels of bad.”

“What do you need from me?” Calvin asked.

“Presidential approval to collect raw surveillance data from as many people in Helena as possible. Cellphone conversations, messages, internet history, whatever. We need to find out where Blackwood is now so we can monitor him and potentially stop whatever is going down. In short, we need to spy on our own people to find him.”

This was the back and forth debate that plagued America ever since 9/11. Spying on the American people to save them from some potential threat. Was the price of freedom security, and vice versa? Calvin leaned back in his hand and rubbed his chin.

“You get a forty-eight hour window,” said Calvin. “If we can’t find Blackwood by then, we’ll re-evaluate and see about extending the window.”

“Very good,” Hill said, nodding.

“Anything DNI can do let us know,” said Steel.

“Will do,” said Hill. “Director Waller and I will coordinate with the FBI to get things rolling, Sarge. We’ll reach out after that. Thank you, Mr. President.”

“All I can say is good luck,” said Calvin.

He checked his watch. It was almost time for his work day to be over. After that it was dinner. And after that? Maybe he could help take a little flight out west… maybe Montana? Who knew where the night would take him.