ML

SPIRITUM

beeg spoiler

dumbledonk kills obiwan

Lostman Graffiti [Urban Fantasy]

I think there might be a few too many characters here for me to throw my hat in the ring, but I'll keep an eye on it

hope it goes well

Lostman Graffiti [Urban Fantasy]

did someone say a romantic drama cult sharehouse?

The Zephyr Extinct

Weelllll we COULD sneak in one more CS, if you're inclined!

@Mokley

Tell ya what boss, I'll sleep on it and see if my manic interest sticks around

The Zephyr Extinct

i keep finding all these good ideas and they're just all FULL

i crave good stories

Lostman Graffiti [Urban Fantasy]

hello i'm watching this

The Zephyr Extinct

dammit, this is the guy who always makes interesting settings isn't it

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

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CURRENT DATE -- 24/05/2047, ~12 AM

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No bottles, Turner. No bottles, no tremors. Arbiter repeated the mantra to himself again.

Dave the supercar drove them up along I-25, leaving ET to his dangerous, dangerous thoughts. It was about a five hour drive, so they would be getting in at around 3 AM, if they were lucky. So far, they had been--no more missiles had tried to tear them a set of new assholes. Just to be safe, he'd had Dave drive in camo-mode. In his youth, it would have been dangerous and stupid to drive an invisible car, but smart cars could handle it in the magical year of 2047.

No bottles, no tremors. Fuck. His throat was so dry. Hip flask in the glovebox. Maybe...maybe... His eyes drifted to the Tower, who sat shotgun on account of being fucking massive. The man's presence shook him out of the haze a bit, and he settled more firmly into his seat. No bottles, no tremors. Stardust was in the back, and the stranger--Shade, right, Shade--had her own ride. They'd been on the road for a little over three hours, so in two more, they'd be there. He glanced at the speedometer. Maybe one and a half.

Fucking Denver. ET inhaled sharply, then let it out in a slow hiss that changed the shape of his mouth halfway through. His throat was so dry. Well, he mused, tough luck for him. He mentally flipped a switch that would let him communicate to...Shade, and inhaled again. "So," he started. "Denver. Anyone been there since 2029?" Since Envoy showed up, he meant.

He'd been there on vacation, not too long ago. Mountains were beautiful even if a genocidal dictator was ruling the city.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

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.// D E N V E R , C O L O R A D O //.

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In 2029, on the tail-end of the Fullbright incident, a woman calling herself Envoy walked into Mile High Stadium in the middle of a Broncos game. Her true abilities are still unknown, but in sixty seconds, Envoy melted the foundation of the structure and killed fifty thousand people. By the time local law enforcement had arrived, she had twisted the wreckage into a fortress of steel, rock, and human bodies.

All attempts to breach the Steel Citadel have failed. Three professional heroes lost their lives to rippling masses of metal and bone. A hostage from within the citadel appeared in Boulder the next Saturday, a corpse with a message from Envoy. An introduction, and a set of instructions. Evacuate a 1.5-mile radius around the Steel Citadel, or have everyone inside that line be turned into fodder for the fortress walls.

Denver is Envoy's city now, but--for the most part--little has changed. Taxpayers pay taxes, Law enforcement enforces laws. After the initial panic of evacuation and people leaving the city, the natural draws of the city (and the destruction of other areas of the country) resulted in many people simply weathering the change the best they could. Envoy turned out to be a relatively benevolent dictator: as long as no one entered her dead zone, she more or less left them to their own devices.

There is a caveat to her generosity: she controls all aspects of the city's government. Anyone who has authority in the city either answers to her, or doesn't live out the day. Rules are fairly lax, and corporations love it. Denver is a hotspot for corporate research and development, as well as an underbelly the likes of which rivals Midwest City or Cedar Fort. A high-tech city under a watchful, terrifying eye.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

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A F T E R S H O C K S

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CURRENT DATE -- 23/05/2047

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Arbiter sucked in a breath of recycled air, chewing on the side of his mouth. There was some sound logic behind Stardust's words, despite his rabid desire to mistrust a newcomer after a catastrophe. He lifted the gun and set it back on the shoulder holster. After another second, he looked at the newly emerged Tower and Beacon. And Addison. He pinged Gabbie, who folded the helmet back and out of the way.

He breathed again, this time inhaling dusty, bomb-charred atmosphere. He was so thirsty. "Dammit, Reynolds," he hissed, taking a step toward the body in Tower's hands. What did they do now? Why the fuck was Reynold's death affecting him like this?

The sky spun above him, and only Gabbie's gentle stabilization kept him upright. He forced words past the dead tongue-worm in his mouth. "Stardust, stop. Spellbound's gone. Reynolds is dead. If Avant-Garde is still alive, we can't afford to w-wait for him." Was he in shock? Why was he stuttering?

Facts. Follow the facts and sew them together. That was what he did. Fact one: Addison was dead. Fact two: Hex was dead. Fact three: he was still undercover, and couldn't afford to lead anyone back to Midwest City yet. Fact four: a mili-corpo grade missile had just annihilated a base in the middle of a desert that nobody had known to exist. How convenient that it had dropped as they got there. Too convenient.

Another shuddering breath. His heart was slowing down again.

"One of us was tracked here. If I had to guess, I'd say it was Reynolds." The pieces were coming together. Slowly. "We can't stay here." He tromped toward the Tower and, moving as gently as cyber-stablized muscles could allow, frisked the corpse. He hated doing it. It was like burning a cat's whiskers or pouring concrete down someone's throat. He persevered, slipping a notebook from one of Reynolds's pockets. It was full of neatly-recorded notes...on them. Hex's, maybe?

"We should bury her, but," ET broke off, looking up at the Tower. "Fuck. If anyone was watching the strike, we're probably already on borrowed time. Let's...let's take her with us." He pinged Dave with his mind, and a moment later the super-car squealed down a hill nearby. It pulled up in front of him, and the camouflage that rendered it nearly invisible switched off. The trunk popped open, and he pulled a body bag out of the trunk. Captain Ong really had prepared for anything.

ET tossed the bag to Beacon, then looked at the rag-tag team. Survivors of the raggier-taggier team that had started the op. The rag-taggiest. "Look, here's what we know. We started today looking into a secret, magical base. Someone with an unhealthy amount of firepower just tried to disappear us. That means two things: something in that base was incredibly dangerous, or whatever Reynolds was on to was dangerous. Or both.

"Whatever was inside that base is either dead, or on the loose. I'm erring on the side of caution. Gonna go to Denver and put my ear to the ground. If I didn't drastically need the backup, I wouldn't ask anyone to come along. As it is...I'll ask once." He looked at the newcomer. "And I still don't know your name."