Morden Man

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

@Gowi You? Distracted? How unlike you! I'm just glad you're not face down in a bowl of cereal somewhere.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Breakfast than working on Diana. Maybe if I'm really on point I can get Kaznia dealt with before Superman finishes Henshaw.

@Gowi

That must have been one long breakfast.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

@Roman You're a bum, Rome!

Superman post up slightly later than I had planned. It's slightly longer than I had planned too, a little under two thousand words, but I think the occasion probably called for it.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

The Fortress of Solitude, The Arctic

The Earth shuddered as one of Clark Kent’s fists came crashing against Hank Henshaw’s metallic skull. The blow sent Henshaw flying through the air and into a nearby snow dune. The bitter cold wind snapped through Superman’s cape as he walked towards the downed Henshaw with a scowl. One of Clark’s eyes had been blackened some, a particularly powerful blow to the brow had left it swollen and miscoloured, and his lip was bleeding from the side. It was the first time he’d bled in years. He’d almost forgotten that he could. As he approached Henshaw the part-cyborg, part-Kryptonian climbed to his feet. He too was bearing the signs of the damage. The metallic side of Henshaw’s skull had been dented badly and one of his wrists had almost been twisted clean round. Still neither man seemed close to being downed.

Henshaw fired a beam of heat vision towards the ground beneath Clark’s feet and the floor cracked. Kent staggered backwards, giving Henshaw time to bear down upon him, and the pair grappled once more. Their heads mere inches from one another the pair blasted heat vision at one another in vain. The beams met in front of their faces and collected there for a moment. Clark sent an elbow down against Henshaw’s arm and it knocked him of balance and sent his heat vision firing into the clouds. Clark’s sliced along Henshaw’s neck and a cybernetic part broke loose. The Kryptonian reached for the opening and forced his hand into it.

As Clark’s fingers dug around inside, Henshaw turned to him defiantly and clasped his good hand around his neck. He lifted Clark clean from the ground by the neck and Kent struggled around in his grasp.

"You can’t beat me, Kryptonian. Don’t you understand? I was designed to destroy you and your kind. I’m stronger than you are, stronger than you could ever be. This fight was over before it even began."

Clark tried to pry Henshaw’s fingers open unsuccessfully before wrapping both of his legs around the arm. He grabbed at the arm and held it in place as he twisted his legs in the other direction. Henshaw growled and his grip loosened. The pair of them fell to the floor with a thud and Clark kept Hank’s arm between his legs and hyperextended it. Hank clawed at him, desperate to free his arm, as he howled in pain. Henshaw clubbed at the floor beneath them and again it cratered and sent Clark tumbling away from him.

Henshaw reached for his arm, trying to twist it back into place, as Clark loomed large over him. He struck a more composed, more resolute figure than the cyborg. Henshaw was sucking for air as if he were still human, as if despite having survived in the darkest, deepest recesses of space, he still needed oxygen. A knowing smile appeared on Clark’s face.

"You’re right, Hank. You are stronger than I am. You might even be faster too. But it’s not my strength or my speed that makes me the man that I am. I learned early on that strength in and of itself is not a virtue. I’ve spent the best part of three decades holding back, watching the world move around me at a snail’s pace and using a fraction of my strength, and that restraint made me a better, stronger man. I’ve learned things how to use my powers in ways I would never have imagined otherwise. It has made me all the more devastating when I do stop holding back."

Clark shoved his hand towards Henshaw and instead of knocking him backwards it simply passed through his chest. Henshaw’s eyes opened and he stared down at Clark’s arm that floated threateningly through his chest. Though it caused him excruciating pain he was determined not to show it.

"What are you doing?"

Clark grinned.

"An old trick my friend the Flash taught me."

He was vibrating his molecules. If he did it at the right frequency he was certain he could liquefy Hank Henshaw right there and then. At the very least it would destroy the cybernetic implants that had been placed into him. It was a last resort, a nuclear deterrent, that he hoped would compel Henshaw into submission. The cyborg grimaced beneath the pain. Through it all Clark could hear a sound approaching.

It was J’onn Jonzz. This time he wasn’t on his own. In his arms was a mousy-blonde woman that was slight of frame. Her hair had greyed some and she had lost some weight but Hank Henshaw recognised her in an instance. It was Terri Henshaw. The pair of them touched down in the snow in front of them and J’onn gestured to Terri to stand behind him.

~Greetings, Hank Henshaw.~

Terri’s eyes widened as she caught her first sight of her husband in nearly a decade.

"Hank? Is it really you underneath there?"

A look of shame crossed Henshaw’s face. Suddenly he was aware of how he had disfigured himself for the first time.

"Terri…"

"What have they done to you? Your face… Who did this to you?"

"I had to get back to you. I… It was the only way to get back to you… He told me he could rebuild me, make me strong enough that he could get me home. All I wanted to do was see you again, Terri…"

Terri wandered forwards with J’onn’s consent. There were tears forming in her eyes as she approached Hank and Clark. She knelt before them and extended a small, frail hand towards Hank and rested it on his face.

"I told them you would come back. They didn’t believe me, they said there was no way you could have survived out there, but I knew you’d find your way back to me… I just didn’t think it would take so long, Hank. It’s been… It’s been nearly eight years."

Along Terri Henshaw’s finger was a wedding ring. It was not the one that Hank had slipped onto her finger twelve years ago. He spotted it and felt his heart break into a thousand pieces. He had crossed a galaxy to return to her to find that she had moved on from him. Somewhere deep beneath him, the rage that he had suppressed upon laying eyes on the love on his life began to make its way to the surface again.

J’onn wandered forward and placed a hand on Terri’s shoulder.

"Our offer still stands, Hank. Work with us and we will help you become the man you once were again. There are minds on this planet that rival the greatest scientists in the cosmos. They can undo what has been done to you. They can make you human again."

The rage burst free from the cyborg and he snarled in J’onn’s direction.

"Take your hand off my wife, you freak."

A ray of heat vision left his eyes in J’onn’s direction, the only weapon Henshaw had available in his arsenal with Clark’s arm still hovering through his chest, and at the last second Terri bumped J’onn out of its path. It seared into her shoulder and sent her flying several metres. The distraction caused Clark’s concentration to slip and allowed Henshaw to slip free from his grasp.

Her breathing weak and laboured, Clark glanced from Terri Henshaw to Hank with a shocked look.

"What have you done?"

Henshaw shook his head.

"You made me hurt her… You forced me to… I’ll kill you for this, I’ll make you feel my pain a hundred times over."

The look of shock on Superman’s face disappeared and was replaced with rage.

"Enough."

Superman tackled Henshaw and slipped his arms through the back of his neck, forcing him into a full nelson, as the Martian Manhunter followed after them. J’onn’s usual loving, kind eyes had too twisted into something colder, harder even, as he passed one of his hands through into Henshaw’s stomach and placed another atop the cyborg’s head.

~You have suffered greatly, Hank Henshaw. I feel your pain, I feel the rage that oozes from your mind like an open wound, but that does not give you license to endanger the lives of the innocent. Your righteous fury is misplaced. You lash out at those that seek to help you, not harm you, and I intend to put an end to that.~

Henshaw writhed and struggled in pain.

"You can't… I… I was designed to destroy you, I can beat you, I can… I’m strong. There’s nowhere you can put me, no place I won’t break free from… I’ll destroy you both. I’ll destroy this whole pl-"

J’onn’s mental assault came to an end and Henshaw slouched in Clark’s arms. He released him and let the cyborg fall to the ground with disdain.

"He will not be unconscious for long. I could feel his powers growing stronger by the second, Superman. They grow every second he spends underneath this yellow sun. We must find a place to house him until we can find him the help he needs."

"I know a place."

Clark made his way to Terri Henshaw and bent to lift her from the ground. He could feel her faint heartbeat in her chest. She needed medical attention and she needed it soon. They would be able to kill two birds with one stone at the Fortress. There Terri could receive her care and Hank could be held safely. The Fortress contained the only cell capable of holding a being of Hank Henshaw’s abilities. Clark had designed it with the help of Reed Richards in case he'd ever gone rogue or fallen under someone's control. He never thought he’d have to use it.

The wounded Terri looked up at Clark with tearful, tired eyes.

"Superman? Is… is Hank okay?"

Clark nodded.

"He’s going to be fine, Terri."

She smiled softly.

"He’s not a bad man."

Clark smiled back at her as he floated through the air towards the Fortress. J’onn remained, stood over the unconscious Hank Henshaw, and stared down at him. Even unconscious, J’onn could feel Henshaw’s rage, the sense of unfairness he felt at having been stranded in space and forgotten about. There was hatred there, real hatred, and sadness too. The feelings came so quickly that they were difficult for the Martian to decipher them. He bent down to pick Henshaw up and stared into his face coolly for a moment. Someone had sent him, J’onn thought to himself, and they had sent him to cause death and destruction. He pressed a finger against Henshaw’s skull and sifted his way through the cyborg’s memory in search of some clue as to who it might be.

There was a flash of pain but J’onn pushed through it. Another flash, this time tinged pink, but the Martian held his nerve and pushed further through the cyborg’s broken mind. Suddenly the pain passed and a figure became clear amidst Henshaw’s foggy thoughts. A green-skinned man sat at a throne with several tubes connected to his skin. There were pink orbs of energy along the man’s regal chest plate and one at the center of his forehead. As J’onn drew nearer to the man he realised the figure was staring directly at him across time and space. The corners of the man’s smile twisted into a bone-chilling smile.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

@Sep I'm going to try to get a post up once I'm done watching Manchester United lose to West Ham.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

Joseph Harjo sat alone in the dark at the desk. In his hand was a blade that looked decades old. He was carving a symbol into the desk when the door opened and Barnes stepped through it. He was tall, standing at six feet one, and his shock of brown-red hair stood out against his pale white skin. The light from Central City illuminated the dark office and he spotted the Native man sat at the desk. There was a flicker of shock in his eye but he attempted to steel his nerves and shut the door to his office behind him. He flicked a lamp on and the warmth of the lamp chased the shadows away into the corners of the room.

“Who are you?”

Harjo lifted his knife from the desk, wiped it clean of some wood scrapings, and then slid the knife into the inside of his suit jacket.

“My name is Joseph Harjo.”

“I was told I would be meeting with Mr. Peterson personally.”

Harjo shook his head.

“Mr. Peterson is otherwise indisposed. I have been given leave to speak on his behalf in this instance, Councilman.”

Barnes let out a disappointed sigh as he took to the seat opposite the Native. Harjo’s eyes lit up like a predator eyeing his prey and the light of the lamp bounced along them threateningly.

“Is something the matter? You seem disappointed.”

A titter left the Councilman-Elect’s lips.

“I only agreed to this meeting so that I could tell Peterson he could shove his money up his behind.”

“Then your disappointment is understandable.”

Barnes leant forwards, prodding his finger into his desk as he spoke, as if to hammer home the seriousness of the point that was to come.

“You tell Peterson that I am not for sale, Mr. Harjo. You tell him that I will not besmirch my father’s good name, all that he achieved for this city, by allowing Peterson the whip hand over me. I intend to vote in the interest of the people of Central City – not to further another man’s political ambitions. Have I made myself clear enough?”

Harjo smiled insouciantly at the young man’s fervor.

“You have, Councilman, but it would appear you have been misinformed some. Perhaps you were too young to understand. Mr. Peterson considered your father a close friend and an ally in transforming this city of ours from a small, squalid saloon town into something more, something better than it is. They worked together often, in fact.”

The Councilman-Elect’s cheeks grew red with ire.

“You would have me believe that my father was Mr. Peterson’s thrall? You go too far this time, mongrel.”

The last word hung in the air for several seconds after it left Richard’s mouth. It was a word Harjo had heard many times over the years, from simpleton and educated man alike, though more often than not the man known as “Injun Joe” to the denizens of Central City punished the slight with extreme prejudice. In the Councilman-Elect’s case, it wasn’t an option. Instead he glowered in his direction.

“What?” Barnes said with a smile. “Do you intend to do me harm? Go ahead, be true to your savage nature, and resort to violence when faced with a truth too pure for your simple mind.”

The glower passed and Harjo gestured towards the entrance.

“You may take your leave, Councilman.”

*****

Barnes muttered profanities under his breath as he replayed his conversation with the Native in his head. The implication that his father had been in cahoots with Peterson still made his blood boil. “Duckie” Barnes had hated Peterson’s guts. He’d spent every waking moment trying to undo the damage that charlatan had done to Central City and here was some savage rubbishing his father’s legacy – it would not do. Had he not feared for his safety in that room he might have been minded to lay hands on the man.

The Councilman-Elect took a turn down a pathway and heard footsteps hastening behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a young boy, no older than thirteen, stood behind him with a blade in hand. Another climbed over a small fence and stood in front of him.

“Hand over the watch, mister.”

An incredulous look appeared on Barnes’ face.

“What?”

The boy brandished the blade in Richard’s direction with a smile. His teeth were yellow in parts, black in others, and there was dirt along his cheek.

“You heard me.”

Barnes backed away from the boys, his hands extended in front of him to keep them at a safe distance, as he looked from one to the other with a scowl.

“Did Harjo send you?”

The boy shook his head.

“I won’t ask again. Hand over the watch before you get hurt.”

A flash of courage ran through the Councilman-Elect’s heart. His impotence at the prospect of violence with the Native had gnawed at him ever since he’d left the office. Now faced with the prospect of correcting that wrong and proving his worth as a man, Barnes chose to stand his ground. They were only children after all and he was Councilman-Elect Richard Barnes, son of Duckie Barnes, and his family’s hard work had helped to build this city up from the ground. They could not harm him. There was nowhere they could lay their head if they were to lay a finger on him. They had to know that.

“I will do no such thing, I am a C-”

One of the boys lunged forward and plunged their blade into Richard’s stomach and he staggered backwards against a wall. His hand pressed against the wound that bled freely down his front. He gurgled in disbelief as he began to slide down the wall and the second boy plunged his knife between Richard’s collarbone and neck.

Richard’s pale white skin turned paler still as the boys rifled through his pockets and reached for the watch on his wrist. He felt his limbs go heavy and his blood run cold as the giggling adolescents cantered away from him.

His thoughts drifted to his young wife at home, the infant son that desperately awaited his return, and slowly the life drifted out of the Councilman-Elect’s eyes. His lifeless body slumped over and his face fell into the bloodstained dirt beneath him.

Duckie Barnes had given Central City his blood, sweat, and tears. All his son had managed to give it was his blood.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

@Vandy Are you alive? If I don't hear from you soon, I'm going to have MCPD find Lex's dead body stuffed in a locker somewhere with a Superman costume and a black wig on.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Alright, I've been pretending to have a social life today but I should have a post(s) up tomorrow at some point.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

@TimeMasterX The least convincing part of that is how much Nick Fury is smiling. I prefer my Fury with a permanent scowl.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

As good a time as any to remind people that, although conversation is encouraged, there are plenty of people that can't get on here every day because of real life responsibilities. I don't want them to have to sift through page after page of nothing. So let's try to keep the spamming to a minimum.

I think we're all mature enough to make the distinction between conversation and spam.