NeutralNexus

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

“Oooh man, that looks like it hurt.”

The sound of crinkling glass slightly drowned out the still active pop music droning over the convenience store’s sound system, followed by the slow groan of the robber that was just put through the glass doors of the milk section, the white cartons dropping from their rails and crashing into the floor around the figure slumped against the tile.

“Sometimes I forget I have to be careful with guys with no powers.” Trent continued, lowering the hand that had slammed into the ringleader’s chest and launched him across the store. “Brittle bones, delicate skin, it's really boring fighting people who don't stand a chance, you don't get a chance to really cut loose. I kind of enjoy these things more if there’s some actual threat, y’know?”

His expression changed to a cruel sneer, letting his kinetic aura flare up around him as he began the advance on the remaining two criminals. "Still...there's a certain satisfaction in smackin' around a couple of morons who've clearly made terrible life choices."

One of the burglars shrieked in a panic, leveling his pistol at the meta and unleashing a full barrage of bullets, emptying the entire clip at the unemployed mercenary. Again, the bullets all clearly found their mark as they sliced through Trent’s clothing like butter, but all that remained was the flattened bullets dropping to the floor, completely halted against the skin of the energy wielder.

“Oh right, because the shotgun was so effective you figured your pea-shooter would do better?” Trent quipped, causing the assailant to gasp and recoil in utter fear, dropping his firearm. With one step the merc dropped low, gracefully coiling his body as he stepped into the robber’s personal space with a practiced ease. Before the man even had a chance to react, War-Pulse’s body uncoiled in a swift uppercut, the horrendous crack of his kinetically-charged fist connecting with the man’s jaw echoing through the building before launching him straight into the ceiling. The body shuddered as it collided with the ceiling tiles before limply crashing onto one of the isles below him and tumbling to the floor, spilling countless bag and chips of candy across the floor.

“Uh oh, clean up on isle two!” Trent taunted, pointing at the defeated foe and motioning to the bewildered janitor, frozen in place as soon as the action started. “I mean, that’s isle two, right? You only got three isles in this place and I don’t know if you’re--”

But Trent was babbling on, the third crook was making a break for it, attempting to run by the meta and flee out the automatic doors. While making eye contact with the janitor, Trent's hand snapped out in a flash, locking around the collar of the fleeing crook and lifting him off his feet with the same ease of lifting a bag of potato chips.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?” War-Pulse said, slowly turning his attention to the writhing crook helplessly struggling to free himself from his vice-like grip. “You guys interrupted my snack-time, the least you could do is entertain me for a few minutes.”

The whimpering degenerate responded with the butt of his shotgun, slamming it hard into the merc’s face. To his horror, Trent didn’t even acknowledge that he had been hit, his efforts amounting to nothing more than a slight tickle against the kinetic sheath and genetically enhanced skin of the mercenary.

“Not bad, 'A' for effort.” Trent quipped, seeing the wide-eyed terror of his temporary captive through the mask. “For that, your prize is a trip to the great outdoors!”

And with that, Trent’s body twisted on his heel, gaining momentum as he spun a complete circle, dragging the poor burglar with him. With a flick of the arm, the robber was sent spinning through the air like a football, smashing through the aluminum and glass of the automatic doors as he tumbled end over end across the pavement outside before coming to a stop.

“I think may have overdid it.” Trent said, mockingly placing his hand over his eyes like a visor to survey the man outside from his vantage point. “...Buuuuut I’m pretty sure he’s still breathing though, so I think we can safely say that this attempted robbery has been...” He pointed at the knocked out thug in the milk section, a grin plastered from ear to ear. "MILKED for all it's worth!"

His quip was only met with silence as both the shocked and slightly horrified janitor and cashier gawked at their trashed store with slack jaws, occasionally exchanging glances between each other and the meta.

“Jeez, tough crowd. I'm saving your skins here, the least you could do is give me a chuckle.” Trent said, waltzing out of what remained of the shattered automatic door. “Still...sorry about the mess, I’m sure your store cams will show that it isn’t your fault, at least.”

Yet Pulse’s causal demeanor immediately dropped once he stepped outside and caught sight of the two police cruisers flashing their lights on the scene. He looked back to peer at the cashier, putting the pieces together than she most likely tripped a silent alarm as soon as the chaos started. Turning his attention back to the cars, he could see that the police were already behind their open car doors and utilizing them as cover.

“Stay where you are!” The police started, their voice ringing out in earnest as Trent could see the glint of their firearms already drawn. “Put your hands where I can see them!”

Trent let out a sigh, complying slowly with a shake of his head. “Hey, spare me the ‘thank you’s for doing your job! If I weren’t here they’d be long gone, already”

There was silence at first, clearly Trent’s calm response was unnerving to the cops, especially in such a hectic place as Lost Haven.

“Are...are you a meta?” One of the cops asked, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke.

“No, I just beat three armed criminals with good luck and charm--OF COURSE I’M A META.”

More silence, the cops sharing a quick glance of discomfort at the relaxed shoulders and casual smile of the man before them. “Identify yourself, metahuman!”

“Really? Y’all never heard of ‘War-Pulse’ before?”

“War-Pulse…” The cop piped up again, “Y...yeah, I actually remember that name, you were part of D-Day a few months ago, right?”

“Yes! Now you got it!”

“Don’t you wear one of those fancy super outfits?”

“Yeah, I don’t wear that full time.”

“Didn’t the Hounds of Humanity kill you?”

“Jesus, do I look dead to you?”

Again, silence permeated the air as the policeman scratched his head, apologetically shrugging as he lowered his weapon. “Be that as it may, Mr. War-Pulse, sir. We need to take a statement. Could you come with us to the station?”

“Honestly, I’d rather not.” The mercenary responded. “My snack was ruined and I’ve got other places I want to be rather than the polic--”

“Hey, wait a minute!” The other policeman, who had been quietly checking his dash computer, perked up with a scowl on his face. “This ‘War-Pulse’ guy may have helped in D-Day, but he’s also got a rap sheet! Assault, property damage...he took out a piece of Lost Haven’s Harbor! I think he’s got an international record , too!”

“Uh, look, I can explain--”

“Turn around and get on the ground!”

Trent gave a disparaged sigh, lowering his hands as the police continued to shout orders at him from the flimsy protection of their cars.

“Yeah, I don’t have time for you guys today.” He droned, his body slowly levitating off the ground surrounded by a humming blue aura, a consistent stream of kinetic energy lifting him into the air. “Y’all have fun with the guys I took out for you, and hey, feel free to call this in and spread that I'm not dead. Any publicity is good publicity, right?”

And before the police had a chance to respond, they were interrupted by an eruption of energy smashing into the pavement, launching the mercenary straight up in the blink of an eye.

“Well Trent-y, if you wanted attention, you sure as hell got it…” Pulse murmured to himself, propelling himself along the skyline. “Only a matter of time before someone picks up on that. Hopefully it’ll be a job offer and not a request to leave the city...”

An energy blast from his hand snapped him in a ninety degree turn, towards the outskirts. “Maybe I should lay low for a while, try and avoid unwanted attention.”

Of course, the hints of a smile crossing his face knew that was an impossibility, someone in this town would notice meta activity, but who? He could only imagine.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

“What the hell kind of name is ‘The Hounds of Humanity’?”

The murmurs of the recently bankrupt mercenary garnered an immediate plea for silence by an older woman sitting at the front desk of the Lost Haven Public Library, the even tone of her hush displaying the experience she had quieting people for decades.

“Oh, shit. Sorry!” Trent replied in a shouting whisper, offering a wave of apology before hunkering back down behind the public access computer currently loaded with numerous tabs of news articles over the past two years. When Trent went on his semi-retirement, he made a very concerted effort to sever all ties with the current events of the world. He wanted to spend all his earnings in peace, free from any world-spanning threats or crisis or assassination requests that he could. However, now finding himself broke and hilariously uninformed, Trent found himself busily trying to get himself up-to-date on what has happened while he was away. Of course catching up on current events is a much more difficult task when the mercenary found himself with barely enough cash for an uber and no access to a smartphone. After spending what was most of a week flying to Lost Haven, the energy-wielder found himself at quite the disadvantage in terms of info gathering. He has lost touch with his old handler, Warden, around the same time he began his “retirement”. With no contacts, no network and no budget, the man found himself hunched over a public computer jotting notes down on a notepad among what true bookworms still remain in the 21st century.

And what he found in his research? The Hounds of Humanity. Apparently right after his retirement, an anti-metahuman group made a massive statement across the nation, enacting countless crimes against those of the amplified persuasion and even firing a doomsday weapon down on major cities. Of course with these attacks came their defenders and trolls among the internet, branding their misguided physiology on every forum they could access. Social Media sites were plastered with countless hashtags, posts, and photos of people who associated or agreed with these anti-metahuman degenerates.

And among those statements became some wild declarations. Lists of countless superhumans that the Hounds declared they were responsible for cutting out of the gene pool.

Among those names? A curious figure by the name of War-Pulse.

“Of course!” All at once Trent’s hands slammed against the table, his body jolting from his seat with such momentum that the chair went tumbling away. “That’s why nobody came looking for me, everyone thought these Hound guys killed me! I mean, it’s a little insulting that people thought I got killed by some hate group, but stil--”

“Excuse me, sir!” The librarian interjected, her unblinking glare now fixated on the man she spent half a day shushing like an impetuous child. “This is your FIFTH outburst today within the course of THREE hours! If you cannot be quiet in the library I will have to ask you to leave at once!”

"Alright, fine, whatever.” Trent responded, waiving the librarian’s threat off as he begrudgingly rose to his feet, strolling his way towards the great library’s doors in his familiar cavalier swagger. “This place smells like mothballs and dust anyway.”

He ran a hand through his hair as he met the cool but somewhat stagnant air of the city, calmly lumbering down the concrete stairs before sinking back into the masses on the street. His hands found their way into his pockets as he lazily ambled through the crowd, his gaze drifting to where where the skyscrapers meet the skies above. The world thinks the infamous War-Pulse is dead? The man who helped stop D-Day? The merc who blew a chunk out of Lost Haven’s harbor? The renegade Iron Knight came down to recruit to help fight Pax Metahumana? It is a wonder the news never reached him out on his vacation.

But Trent found himself relatively comfortable with the idea that the world forgot about him. Apparently his career of fighting, violence, and mayhem had become little more than a footnote after a few years of laying low in islands most people never heard of. It gave him a bit of freedom to roam around the city now without anyone attempting to shoot him, praise him, or call the police.

However, that brought up a far larger wrench in his current predicament. What was he to do now? Finding work would be extremely hard if everyone thinks he kicked the bucket. Without Warden keeping jobs flowing through him, promoting that he was working again was going to be a bigger burden than he was originally hoping for. It was not like he could just make a post on craigslist that he was a metahuman-for-hire and hope he could get some decent money. He may have found himself in a bit of a rough spot, but he still had some standards.

His train of thought was interrupted however by the sound of his stomach making a horrible rumbling noise. He stopped in place, rubbing a hand over his abdomen with a concerned grimace over his face. Normally consuming food was not necessary for him, being able to harness the pure potential energy in his body meant there really was no need to consume food regularly. He consisted basically off of whatever energy he could sap from other sources, even this very morning he had jammed his hand into a backup generator of a Wal-Mart and sapped the thing dry, hoping someone would notice before they needed the generator.

And yet, the body still had its cravings, and right now the smell of the mid-day food carts and cafe’s had clearly piqued the more human aspects of the mercenary’s physiology. He fumbled around in his pocket for his wallet, knowing full well he only had enough on him for something small, but perhaps grabbing something quick would allow the unemployed meta to come up with a plan to advertise his business again.

And luckily, Trent knew just the place. He had wandered back towards the seedier parts between Little Sicily and Little Ulster, as his previous knowledge of the city reminded him that there was a greasy little convenience store by the name of Grab N’ Go on a little known street corner. One would think a place like this would be a commercial chain store connected to Gas Stations around the country, but as far as Trent was aware, this was the only one in existence.

That did not mean it was unique in any way, but with “War-Pulse”’s current budget, a gas station-quality hot dog would hit the spot.

He slipped through the building’s to the sound of the latest pop song barely brodcasted across the flimsy isles through muffled speakers in the roof while the supposed “Janitor” cleaned the isles with the familiar yellow bucket. The woman at the counter, a slightly greying figure in her 40s, offered a short nod in acknowledgement as Trent leaned on the counter, offering her a smarmy sneer through his newly groomed beard.

“Hey there pretty lady, mind getting me the greasiest wiener you got rolling on that barely clean roller of yours and one of them super-sugary slushies? Berry blue please.”

The woman offered a small grunt, procedung to place a large plastic cup under the swirling clear clyniders, the disgustingly colored blue sludge plopping into the container while she pulled the hot dog bun and condiments from under the counter, slathering the meat in a mixture of red and yellow. Her motions were quick and efficient, the actions of someone who has prepared many hot dogs over the course of many years, though with no love or passion, the actions of a drone. She settled the hot dog and slushie in front of Trent with a indifferent frown, stating in a monotone murmur. “That will be $4.72.”

“Thanks hun, you’re an angel and don’t let anyone tell you any different.” The merc said, placing the money on the table with one hand and giving her a finger gun motion with the other, with a small huff as the only response. He swept up both pieces of food and slipped out the automatic doors, plopping himself on the bench outside to enjoy what barely constituted as a meal.

But before he could really sink his teeth into the sausage, the lone car squealing to a stop in the convenience store parking lot caught the eye of the mercenary. A little odd for it to come at such a quick pace, and even odder to see three men donning hoods and facemasks storming into the building. They did not even give him a glance as steel flashed from their pockets, the sounds of clacking metal ringing in their hands as they barged into the building.

And then the single warning shot rang out from the doors, vibrating the windows as the man screamed in fear.

“CASH REGISTER, NOW!” The supposed ringleader said, cocking his gun and pointing it over the counter at the terrified cashier. The other gunmen were pointed at the storekeeper, dropping his broom in fear at the sudden onset of firearms pointed in his direction. The panicked cashier fumbled at the register, her panicked eyes flitting between the masked gunman and inputting keys. Eventually, after a tense few seconds the sound of a register popping audibly rang throughout the violent silence.

The ringleader removed a duffle bag from his shoulder, tossing it to the cashier with his gun still trained on her. “Now put all the money in the--”

But his demand was cut short by a hot dog smacking him in the side of the head, an audible smack echoing through the store as the meat wobbled through the air and flopped to the floor. The man turned on his heel, rage flashing through his eyes.

“ALRIGHT, WHO THE FU--”

Again, his shouting was cut off, this time with a slushie colliding with the bridge of his nose and exploding onto him, sending the gunman stumbling backward. He coughed and sputtered as he attempted to wipe the blue sludge from his face, catching his footing after bracing himself on one of the store shelves while he wiped surgery ice from his eyes.

And when he finally was able to clear his face, he found himself facing the shit-eating grin of Trent standing in the automatic doorway, much to the disbelief of him and his compatriots.

“Sorry, I thought shouting wouldn’t have got your attention.” Trent began with a shrug, placing a hand on his hip as he spoke. He gestured to the bewildered cashier. “Of course, that cost me my meal, so can I get a replacement once this whole shindig is finished?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you piece of shit!?” The man said, regaining his composure and focusing his gun on the cocky man before him.

"Well before I answer that, let me just ask...” Trent responded, casually advancing on the man to his confusion, “A Convenience Store robbery? Really? You guys live in a city where the most FAMOUS superheroes live and this is where you decide to hold your grand ‘heist’? God, you guys have to be the stupidest buncha crooks this side of Maine!”

“Oh, yeah?” one of the other robbers blurted out, twisting his shotgun to point at the oncoming figure “Ain’t no superhero’s here now to save your sorry ass!”

And to punctuate his response, a blast from his firearm rang out through the store, the cashier screaming and holding her mouth, for a moment believing Trent had met his end as the automatic doors behind him shattered from the shells. And yet, he still stood, his shirt and coat sporting rips and tears from the firearm discharge, the ominous sound of flattened bits of metal clanging against the floor.

“Oh...oh fuck..oh no..” the man stammered, cocking his shotgun and flimsily moving back.

“Oh, don’t worry.” War-Pulse growled, the air around him crackling and humming as he took another step forward, a cruel smile creeping along face as he brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles. “I think I’ll be more than enough to deal with this.”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

“What?!? What do you mean I can’t afford another round of drinks for everyone on the beach?!”

A familiar, boisterous yell echoed across the typically serene beaches of Fiji as a man sprang from his hammock to a sitting position at what the waiter just stated, the sunglasses slipping from his face from the momentum as the fiery glare peered out over the eyeware.

“Well you see, Mr. Hurst,” The attendant began, his hand running down a piece of paper he brought with him. “Up until now you have been able to provide the funds for your stay, as well as covering the damages on the on-site bar you destroyed having a ‘barfight for fun’ and the two Yachts you rented that we found washed ashore in pieces after a game you called ‘boat chicken’. But the other payments aren’t being wired in from your offshore account. We contacted your holdings this morning and got a response that...you are out of funds.”

“What? That’s impossible!” Mr. Hurst roared in response. “I spent years gettin’ more money than I ever knew what to do with, and now I’m straight up broke?”

“That...seems to be the case, sir.” The attendant responded flatly, his eye moving from his paper to the freshly-broke customer before him. “You have no more money coming in unless you have another method of payment for our services here at the resort.”

“Well, that really blows.” The hammock laid man shifted his weight carefully as he slipped off the roped netting, his bare feet burying into the white, pristine sand before slipping into a pair of cheap foam sandals, an odd choice for someone who clearly threw their money around. “In hindsight, I probably should have invested some of that money in economic management, or at least an accountant. I figured the $50 million I had stashed would last me way longer than this, at least.”

The man returned his sunglasses to their original position as he rose to his full height, towering above the diminutive waiter. Running a hand through his well-groomed beard, the man exhaled a long, sheepish sigh as his gaze swept across the crystal blue waters of the ocean, the quiet roar of the waves constantly providing a calming white noise for those rich enough to enjoy the private beach of the resort.

“Wait,” The man spoke aloud to no one in particular, his body jolting slightly as whirled on his heel to the resort attendant, his hands lashing out to grip the man by his shoulders. “Does that mean I don’t have the money to actually get off this rock?!”

The attendant's body froze up as the man grabbed hold of him, briefly twisting and jerking in an attempt to free himself as he responded. “That is-nngh-not my concern, Mr. Hurst! What matters is-mmf-you still owe the resort for the round of drinks you have already bought all guests on the beach as well as the golf cart you rented and we have not seen since!”

“Oh, shit, good point.” Mr. Hurst responded, releasing his surprisingly iron tight grip on the beach attendant and lightly smoothing out the accidental wrinkles he had created on the attendant’s shirt. “So uhhh...what do we do in this situation? We putting this on a credit card or am I going to set up a payment plan? I mean I think I have a mansion or a plot of land I may have accidentally purchased when I was drunk, but that may take a while to get someone to buy it, I’d have to get a real estate agent, but that’s going to take MORE money so I may have to take a loan--”

“You can't be serious.” The attendant interrupted, again jerking his body away from the now woefully bankrupt guest and adjusting his own outfit. “We are one of the finest resorts not only on the island, but in the world. We will not be accepting ‘credit’ or waiting for a loan. You will have to make up for your financial situation before you get back to the Americas!”

Mr. Hurst let out a loud groan, his attention drifting off the frustrated beach attendant and out to the beach. He pulled the sunglasses from his face, folding them and stuffing them into the breast pocket of his lounging shirt.

“Then I guess the moment has finally come...I guess time for me get back into the rat race and go back to work.” the man said, his face contorting into an unsatisfied grimace. “Shame too...I was really starting to enjoy this ‘retired’ life.”

He took a few steps from the hammock, slowly striding out past the tropical trees out into the open sands, his eyes fixed on the sky with a cavalier grin on his face. “And yet...I can’t deny I’ve been itching to get back into the the field…”

“Sir, wait!” The attendant shouted, angrily raising a hand as he began to chase after Mr. Hurst. “Where do you think you’re going?! You can’t jus--”

“Ah ah ah, I’m going to stop you right there, chief.” Mr. Hurst responded with a hand gesture, never taking his eyes off the sky. “You should stay back where you are or I can’t be held responsible.”

“Responsible? Responsible for what?”

But even as the attendant spoke, the air around the hotel guest had begun to change. A wind had begun to crawl along the sands, swirling and flowing away from the man who called himself ‘Mr. Hurst’. A bluish aura began to waft off of the man, energy distorting off of the muscled figure as he slowly crouched, as if he was preparing to jump straight into the sky.

“Oh, y’know. This.”

All at once a burst of energy shot from the man’s feet like a cannon launched straight into the ground, the sand blasting out in all directions. The attendant shrieked, covering his face as he and some other unfortunate beachgoers were enveloped by a sudden sandstorm, as if a cloud of flies swarmed across the beach before drifting back down to the ground. In a streak of blue, Mr. Hurst careened out of the sand cloud and into the air, rocketing high above the beach towards the hotel, the faintest sound of a ‘wohoo’ echoing over the sudden burst. Before the hotel attendant even could regain his sight over the cloud, the man had shot back to the hotel, swooping through one of the windows and coming out with a full suitcase of what could assume to be what belongings he could hastily stuff inside, soaring back over the beach and out towards the ocean.

“Y...you..your a....Wait, come back here!!” The attendant attempted to shriek as the man flew by overhead. “Thief! You owe the resort!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over how awesome this exit is!” The man hollered back. He glanced back, giving the disgruntled attendant a familiar cavalier sneer and a wave of his free hand in a cheeky salute.

“And you better tell the world that it should check its wrists, because I think it just regained a Pulse!”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Hey guys, I know I say this about once every two weeks but I'm still here, I'm trying to get my posts done but my life has been all over the place as of late. I'm just trying to catch up with everything that has happened and am contributing to the post made with Evergreen and Mercerius. I'm desperately trying to rope some things together for this week and hopefully I will have one thing up by the end of this week, even if it is just a character sheet.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Well, it happens, this isn't the first time and I don't imagine it will be the last.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

<Snipped quote by NeutralNexus>

o_o When people want you to stay, I didn't think they would encourage a snow storm to barricade you in!

@Fallenreaper

When it snows in Maine, you let nature take its sweet time.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

So this past week got a little crazy, I was snowed in a friend's house until today, so I've been a bit delayed on the posts. Hopefully they will be done soon.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Hey guys, I know I've been rather radio silent as of late but make no mistake that I'm still around. I've got two posts coming in and a new character ready by this weekend.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

@Mercinus3@NeutralNexus

Hey guys. Heard from Fallen that Fletch is getting involved with that whole mess between Pulse, Rach, and Midas. If it's ok with you guys, maybe we can work together on it since I'd like to get Evergreen involved too?

@GamerXZ

I'd say yes, considering that evergreen was left in a bit of a grey area since he was supposed to be fighting equilibrium all this time

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

@NeutralNexus: I suggested to @Mercinus3 about what if Fletch could discover War Pulse laying in the middle of the street, and interact with him about what happened. Even thought that Fletch might've seen what happened at the tail end and could help WP locate the owner of the van. Giving WP a new friend and some one to rein him in to a degree. :P

@Fallenreaper

I'm fully agree, this sounds like a great plan.

I'll be spending a few days catching up with what else has happened, hopefully I'll have some posts and a new character up soon.