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Supermaxx male Member

dumbass

STATUS: is sexualizing Pokemon a variation of bestiality? 3 yrs ago
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3 yrs ago
Current is sexualizing Pokemon a variation of bestiality?
3 likes
3 yrs ago
lol. lmao
7 likes
3 yrs ago
JOHN TABLE!
1 like
4 yrs ago
hearing rumors that rebornfan is storming the US capitol, looking for whoever's responsible for everyone ghosting his RPs
14 likes
4 yrs ago
you got a fat ass and a bright future ahead of you. keep it up champ
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In Superboy's Shitty Characters → 5 yrs ago Forum: Character Sheets

In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
SEASON ONE: GODS AMONG MEN
INFAMY #3: ISOLATED INCIDENT
Manhattan ♦ New York City, New York
Theme: Human

"Can any vone of you give me directions to Herald Square, Bitte?" Kurt asked, narrowly ducking a tire iron to the nose. This was perhaps the only time he was lucky to be surrounded as the rogue object planted itself direction into the cheek of another bloodlusted maniac that was coming at the metahuman from behind. The second man stumbled backwards in a daze- right into Nightcrawler's extended leg. He tumbled to the ground, his flailing arms happening to take out another infected woman on his way down.

A puff of dark smoke carried the X-Man away from the mob, plopping him down atop a street light not far from where he'd been dog piled moments before. He took those fleeting seconds to catch his breath, grateful for any reprieve from the constant violence that was throttling the island of Manhattan. He wasn't sure what street he was on, nor which direction led to his ultimate destination.

"Consequence of being a homebody, I suppose..."

Still, if what Cyclops had told him was true, Kurt didn't have a lot of time to waste being lost; their new friend, the Spider-Man, appeared to be in grave dangerous, and it was up to none other than Nightcrawler to rescue him. A task only a true superhero could accomplish!

"Here ve go- Nightcrawler, to ze rescue!" He declared triumphantly, carrying himself off of the pole in a puff of smoke and appearing atop a public bus down the way. There were swarms of mind-controlled civilians in this area, he noted, far outnumbering the mobs that the rest of his team was neutralizing. He reasoned that must mean he was getting closer to the source of their troubles.

He'd need to be extra careful, here, to avoid getting caught up in this tangle of limbs and teeth. There were too many to get bogged down trying to fight. Just keep moving and everything would be al-

A scream. Kurt swung around where he was crouched, elfish ears flickering as he tried to pinpoint where exactly it had come from. Another one followed shortly after. High-pitched, loud, and terrified. A child, maybe?

"I'm on my vay!" He shouted.

Rapid teleportation always made him woozy. One jump after another in quick succession allowed him to cross great distances with little trouble, however, so he was forced to ignore his motion sickness in such urgent scenarios. All Wagner cared about was getting there- not getting puke on his spiffy new uniform was just a secondary objective in this case.

He found the kid's attackers first. There were maybe seven or eight infected all crowded around a single van, crawling over it and reaching as far as they could underneath the vehicle. It was too low to the ground for a full-sized adult to properly fit underneath, but that wasn't stopping them from trying.

"HEY!" Wagner yelled, waving his arms to get their attention. "Hey, over here, I'm juicy and delicious! Come and take a bite, ja?!"

Half of them stumbled to their feet and started to rush in his direction, clambering over cars and each other to get at the blue-furred metahuman. He waited until the first of the sprinters were upon his position to vanish. It'd take them several seconds to realize where he'd gone, and probably just as long to get back there. Kurt could only hope he could clear out the now thinned-out herd and save the kid in time.

The first of them spotted Kurt as he appeared behind the van almost instantly, leaping off of the top of it as he tried to tackle Wagner into the dirt.

Instead of being greeted by the soft and cuddly body of the metahuman being crushed underneath his weight, the crazed psycho instead found his arms wrapping around air and a fuzzy hand pressing his teeth down into the ground.

"Schade," Kurt breathed, landing atop the now very unconscious infected, the final wisps of his tell-tale smoke fading behind him.

Others turned his way at the sound of his voice, climbing off the ground to storm at him with terrifying speed. Anyone slower than Wagner would've been caught in their tackles and dragged down and beaten into a pulp. But he was quick, and teleportation allowed him to go from in their path to right behind them. "Missed me!" He teased, dancing backward until he felt his elbow run across the van door's handle.

'Eureka!'

He threw open the sliding door, doing the same for the shotgun seat just beside it. He stood in front of the open portal, arms held out to expose himself to the crowd that was starting to wheel back around to face him once again.

'Wait for it...'

Just as the first of their fingers brushed up against his armor Nightcraler teleported again, blinding them in a burst of black vapor as they tumbled into the back of the van. Kurt joined them inside just long enough to slam the door shut, jam the child locks in place, and snap the interior handles off, effectively trapping them inside, at least for a short time.

It'd be long enough for him to grab the kid, at least.

"Hallo?" He bent down, slowly, dipping his head down to see a shivering little girl clutching a colorful doll to her chest. She was pressed tighter against the bottom of the vehicle than a sardine in a can.

Terrified as she already was, the sight of what could only be described as a fuzzy blue demon made her eyes shoot even wider. The child started to whimper wordlessly, attempting to wiggle backwards to get away from the frightening looking metahuman.

Kurt felt his chest tighten, but he was quick to throw both of his hands up and back away from the van to show the girl he meant her no harm. "Nein, nein, I von't hurt you, I promise." He whispered, his voice naturally soft and airy.

She didn't seem to buy it, deciding to stay where she was- safely away from Kurt's reach.

He sighed, letting his hands fall to his knees as he racked his brain for some way to get the child to trust him. It was only once he looked closer at her, and the doll she held so tightly to, that an idea came to him.

"You like Vonder Voman too?" Kurt grinned, pointing at her toy. "She's vunderbar! She vas one of the reasons my friends and I became superheroes, too-" He fervently tapped the X on his chest. "Ve are ze X-Men, and I am ze Nightcrawler. And I'm..."

He slowly reached a three-fingered hand out toward her. "...here to help. If you vill let me."

She nodded and tucked her doll underneath her arm, taking Kurt's hand as she crawled out into the light.

"Thank you for trusting me." Kurt grinned, helping her get to her feet. "Vhat's your name?"

"...Laurie. M-my name's Laurie."

"It's vunderbar to meet you, Laurie. Let's get you somevhere sa-"

Kurt was cut off by the horrendously loud sound of a car horn going off right beside him. Laurie let out a terrified yelp at the sudden sound and jumped into Nightcrawler's arms. "Vhat is-" He turned toward the van to see one of the infected had squeezed their way into the driver's seat. A woman, covered in blood that wasn't hers, pressed a hand down on the the steering wheel and met Kurt's gaze with her own.

She was grinning ear from ear.

It didn't take long for another, terrible sound to join the blaring horn. It started as a distant echo, at first. But with every passing second it grew louder and louder as more and more voices joined in. A chorus of violent screaming came from every direction, bouncing off the walls of the building around them and carrying the sound to other hordes that soon joined in. It wasn't just getting louder because more of them were screaming, Nightcrawler soon realized.

They were getting closer, too.

'Too heavy. Can't teleport,' he thought worriedly to himself.

Nightcrawler tried to remain calm for the girl's sake, pulling her up against his chest. "It vill be okay." He promised as he began to jog down the street, head on a swivel as he looked for his best path of escape. There weren't too many options. The roads were choked up with crashed and overturned vehicles, and there was no telling how many infected were still trapped in these nearby buildings. Any time he might've needed to think his way out of the situation was cut short by the sight of a gaggle of mind-controlled people running at him from around a food truck.

'Suppose it's time to test my cardio!'
In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
THE BOOK OF FATE
Issue #4: DINNER BELL
Viceroy City Police Department ♦ Viceroy City, South Carolina
Music: Devour

They say the streets of Heaven are paved with gold and the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Kent had spent enough time in both to know that only one of those was true, but at least Heaven and Hell kept their roads in working order- he couldn't say the same about Viceroy City.

Traversing the cracked and uneven ground was difficult work for the aging sorcerer. Tired bones cried out in anguish with every laborious stride, demanding that their owner stop every few minutes to rest lest they turn to dust within that very moment. Nelson had developed the nasty habit of ignoring his body's protests back when he was practically immortal. Magic could keep the man going for months on end without so much as a bite of bread or a sip of winter back then. It was when he felt his legs nearly give out from underneath him that Kent was reminded that those days were over.

"I need a moment." He rasped, tugging on the sleeve of Corrigan's jacket to get his attention.

The part-time hard boiled detective, part-time existential agent of divine judgement stopped in his tracks and gave an exaggerated groan. "Course ya do, old man, course ya do. Not like we're on a schedule here anyway; what's the rush? The destruction'o balance in the known universe? The death of all things good n' holy?" Jimmy snorted. It was difficult to tell whether his annoyance was genuine or simply being played up for a joke.

Kent wasn't sure it mattered either way- he was right. "Just- give me a second, alright?"

Corrigan simply shrugged. It was one of the rare times he didn't have anything left to say.

Their newest companion wasn't having any of it, however. Mitchell Shelly stepped around the two suit-wearing titans of the magical world, spinning around on his sandal-covered heel to face both of them. The so-called 'Resurrection Man' looked absolutely ridiculous standing beside them in a pilfered police academy polo and a pair of cargo shorts a size too big for his thin frame. "Let's just go ahead without him, we're wastin' time!"

Jim shot a glare in Mitch's direction. "How 'bout you go fight that thing again without us n' see how long ya last, ya damn hippy. I'm sure you'll get 'im, 'cause as they say, the hundredth time's the charm, right?" He finished, spitting a glob of mucus onto the asphalt.

"What do we even need him for?" Shelly scoffed. "I mean, no offense mister, but if you're really the Spectre I don't see how he'll be any help to a guy like you. You're, like, the angel of death!"

"Not quite, that's another fella," Corrigan corrected, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it on the embers of his previous one. "N' this here old coot is Kent motherfuckin' Nelson, so have a little respect."

Mitch just blinked. "Who?"

Corrigan scrunched up his face in disbelief. A second before he could go off on one of his patented tangents Kent pulled himself up and stepped between the two, eyeing neither of his companions as he started forward. "Enough lolly-gagging, we've got a job to do." They didn't have time for any of this petty mundanity. He could feel the darkness growing stronger with each step forward he took; it made it easy to tell that they were getting close.

That and the giant sign that spelled out 'Welcome to Walmart' in obnoxiously bright letters.

The parking lot stretched out in front of the gaggle of magicians like an endless sea of metal and stone. More than a dozen abandoned cars occupied the space despite the fact that the store beyond it had been closed down for quite some time. Some of the vehicles looked to have been there for only a few hours- others were rusted out hunks on the verge of collapsing under their own, ancient weight.

"How long do ya figure this place has been out of commission?" Jim wondered aloud, eyeing the lot with equal amounts of curiosity and suspicion.

"I remember the closing day sale from fifteen years back. Didn't think there were so many people left in this town till I saw 'em tearing into that place like a stampede of wildebeests." Mitch said with a shake of his head. "Damn shame, too. Their beer was killer."

"Walmart's beer was killer." Jim repeated. "Now I know yer madder than a hatter."

"Do you two smell that?" Kent interrupted, taking in a deep, uncomfortable whiff of the lot's air.

The other two did the same, though Corrigan's nostrils were too trapped up with smoke for him to smell much of anything.

"Smells like shit. Literally." Shelly answered, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Probably some of it in that bush over there. What's it matter?"

Nelson stooped to the ground. It was a slow and arduous affair, and his knees threatened to pop the moment they touched the asphalt, but he was able to get it done. He ran two fingers across the broken, black surface, and found both of his digits to be smeared in ash and sulfur. "Steady on, gentlemen. We aren't the only ones to tread this ground."

"No kiddin', Sherlock," Jim moved passed both Mitchell and Kent at a brisk pace, one hand shoved deep in the pocket of his emerald coat and the other waving through the air in rhythm with his speech. "We're here 'ta kill a demon. Turns out there's a demon here. Real groundbreakin' work, ol' boy, well done."

The old man rose back up to his feet with a little help from Shelly and the two started forward, far more cautious than their lippy companion. "Your friend's kinda off his rocker, pardon my sayin'." Mitch muttered to Kent.

Nelson gave a reluctant nod. "I wouldn't disagree, but I've seen him punch a hole through an eldritch horror the size of Mount Olympus so I'm inclined tolerate him. Bad habits and all."

"Y'know I can hear you two, right?"

"I'm aware."

Their journey continued on for a few, quiet minutes, accompanied only by the sound of ash beneath their shoes and Kent's labored breathing. The odor of burning wood only grew more and more noticeable as they drew closer to the looming, decaying building before them. It was as if the scent had been baked into the very bricks and foundation of the thing, yet as far as Kent could see there was no sign of actual fire damage anywhere. Just the signs of dilapidation that came with a lack of upkeep over more than a decade and a half's time.

Corrigan traveled several meters ahead of his two other partners, his pace brisk and seemingly unconcerned with threats of demonic and otherworldly pyre. It was far from the first monstrosity from beyond the vale that he'd be confronting, and God willing it wasn't close to the last, either. Fear wasn't something Jim really acknowledged anymore- not unless he was installing it into someone else.

Mitchell, meanwhile, was just about ready to leap out of his sandals and into the frail arms of this 'Kent Nelson' character that he was walking with. His memories from the last time he stood in that same lot were fractured and incomplete, probably left behind in whatever brain matter had been scattered on the ground somewhere not far from there. But he remembered how it made him feel. Whatever he fought had made his skin crawl and his teeth chatter, and he wasn't precisely looking forward to feeling that way again.

If Nelson had any qualms about entering the feeding ground of a demonic predator, he didn't show it. His resolve was as right as iron and his expression unflinching, even as his senses were overwhelmed by the stench of unseen fire and smoke. He'd walked among countless graveyard worlds. Seen the beating, black heart of Hell itself. Dueled every manner of dark sorcerer and twisted, fetid thing that the universe could throw at him. This was nothing but routine for Doctor Fate.

But he wasn't really Doctor Fate without Nabu and the helmet, was he?

He was just an old man that knew a couple of parlor tricks, and desperately needed to find somewhere to sit down.

No, seriously.

He really needed to sit.

It was getting-

Corrigan had crossed the threshold. It wasn't a visible thing, and even the most trained of eyes could barely make out this sort of magic. That was the subtle terror of it- this carefully laid trap was no one could see coming.

Kent's legs gave out. He hit the ground like a bag of rocks.

Around him he could see things had changed. There was a haze in the air, heavy and crimson, like a California wildfire was raging just out of sight. And that terrible stench had reached it's crescendo, and now Nelson could scarcely draw a breath without ending it in a sputtering cough.

There was an ever-so brief moment where he thought it was just his body giving out on him- perhaps his mind, too, to assault him with such sudden images- but not a second later he felt an enormous pressure pressing down on his shoulders; it was like Satan was reaching down from on-high to shove him into the dirt, doing his best impression of a two-bit schoolyard bully. Kent gritted his teeth together and tried to force the issue, pushing back against the unseen hand, but it only seemed to grow stronger as he tried to resist it.

"Mister, you okay?" Mitch asked, concern laced in his words as he reached down to grab at Kent's arm. He couldn't see the haze like Kent could, too disconnected from the matters of magic to be able to tell that anything had changed about that place. It was still just some abandoned parking lot, save for the unshakable feeling of dread in the air.

Corrigan whipped around in a sudden frenzy, throwing a hand out in Mitchell's direction. "Wait, don't touch-"

It was too late. Jim hadn't so much as finished before Shelly wrapped his fingers underneath Nelson's arm and he found himself dragged down to the ground alongside Kent. He could finally taste the sulfur in the air and see the pyre in the sky. And to make matters worse he couldn't even let go of the old man's arm- the two may have been conjoined together at birth with how tightly this otherworldly magic had bound them together.

"God...damn it." Mitch grumbled, doing the best he could to ignore the fact that Wall-Mart had just turned into a desolate hellscape- more than it usually was, at any rate. "What in the hell's going on here?!"

"This was a trap." Kent muttered. "And we walked right into it."

"Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly,
And that awful pain you shan't long abide by."


A voice as soft as silk but sharp and gruff as jagged teeth called out from every direction. It echoed with a familiar strangeness within every crack and crevice yet seemed to have no clear origin point.

Kent snapped his eyes shut and began to mutter in a long-dead tongue, his words pouring out what little power lived within his breast. He could feel the gnawing presence of chaos within every facet of his being. It was invading through his every pore and digging into the fabric of his very soul, choking out the light of Order that had been ingrained within him for centuries. He'd faced down demonic powers before-

But it had been quite a long time since he'd met one with this kind of power.

And it just had to happen on the same day his connection with Nabu had been shredded like yesterday's Newspaper, leaving ol' Kent weaker than he'd ever been before.

"Living such a state of mire,
Why not be taken, instead, by my hellfire?"


"Ah, hell." Corrigan breathed, staring at his doubled-over comrades in arms. He realized all too late that it would've been prudent to make sure he wasn't going to trip any alarm bells on his way in. Barging through like a bull in a china shop worked when he was alone, sure- after all, there wasn't anyone in this world or the next he was afraid of- but he'd forgotten just how fragile mortal flesh tended to be. Even the mortal flesh of titans of magic like a certain, elderly man that was having trouble standing up.

"This is gonna be a long night."

There was a sputter of embers on the ground between where Kent had fallen and where Jim was standing, blocking the two from one another. It quickly sprouted like a tree into a small fire that danced and twisted until it had grown into a raging inferno and rapidly started stretching out across the parking lot like an incandescent wall. A shape, a shadow black as midnight, stalked within the bounds of the fire. It seemed to follow the growing wave until it found itself lurching above a single form:

Mitchell Shelly.

The hometown hero froze where he kneeled, keenly aware that there was a presence looming over him. He tugged on the sleeve of Kent's jacket, silently urging the supposedly famed magician to do something about the monster that was about to eat his eternal soul like it was momma's home-cooked dinner.

Unfortunately Nelson seemed all too invested in whatever mumbo-jumbo he was spouting to do anything about it, leaving Mitch both frozen where he sat and frighteningly alone.

The voice continued, Loud as thunder and soft as a mouse's whisper in equal measure, snarling and giggling out it's mocking rhymes. It was projecting almost entirely from the shadow now, it's malignant tone for all the world to hear.


"Free the prince forever damned.

Free the might from fleshy mire-"

A grotesque fist shot forth from the shadow trapped in the flames, wrapping a clawed hand around Mitch's skull. It was gargantuan, covered in thick, overlapping scales of a dull, fleshy sort of color. The man went quiet, his mouth agape in abject terror as he stared ahead between the spires of flame at the watching form of the Spectre.

Corrigan didn't move, his hands still stuck firmly in his pockets and that cigarette of his still resting between his teeth.

"Boil the blood in heart of fire.

Gone, gone ye form of man-"

The fist closed around Shelly's head, collapsing it as easily as a man might break an egg. It was a rather messy affair.

"Rise the demon..."



"ETRIGAN!"
In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
SEASON ONE: GODS AMONG MEN
INFAMY #2: MIDDAY MAYHEM
Lower Manhattan ♦ New York City, New York
Theme: Human

The X-Men might not have a private jet or a veritable tank to cart them around the city, but they did have a van. Hank had tricked out the cargo portion of the vehicle into a pseudo mobile command center, featuring everything from full communications suite to an HD monitor, computer and it's own dedicated WiFi hotspot. They'd even modified it by sliding armored plating into the van's frame, switching out the tires for something nearly indestructible and replacing the glass with a bulletproof variant. It was practically a fortress on wheels.

If it wasn't, they couldn't have plowed through their second police barricade on their way toward Central Park.

"Would you be careful?!" Bobby shouted, gripping the seat in front of him as the entire van lurched and sputtered after the sudden and violent impact. More than a few cops had to stumble and leap out of the way of the oncoming vehicle to avoid being crushed underneath it's monstrous tires.

Jean let out an exhilarated whoop, her foot only pressing down harder on the pedal. Scott had been forbade by the Professor from driving after he'd wrecked the convertible not so long ago, leaving the only other person on the team with a license behind the wheel. Under normal circumstances it might've been fine, but this-

None of this was normal.

"Vere all going to die." Kurt lamented, shrinking into as tight a ball as possible.

They'd planned on crossing the Lincoln tunnels to get over to Manhattan, but all of them were clogged up with people trying to get out. From what they heard from police chatter the bridges up north were having equal trouble, and the Holland tunnels were only sporadically guarded. It'd been easy enough to punch through; dodging through traffic and past terrified bystanders had been a little more nerve wracking.

Scott shot a glare over at Jean, though he kept his tongue, too busy trying to dial Spider-Man as they raced closer and closer to the center of the storm. "Come on, Pete, pick up." He muttered.

Not a tone later, it clicked, and the vigilante's voice sounded with a spurt of static. Something was disrupting the radio frequencies, but thankfully calls were still getting through.

"This is TGI Spidey's, may I take your order?"

"We're almost at Central Park. How're you holding up?"

"I'm -- Hey! We're not holding a kegger down here! -- Sorry, sorry. I'm near Murray Hill, seeing what's to see from the Empire State. There's a lot of party guests out here, I don't think I brought enough hng goodie bags for everyone."

Cyclops grimaced at the sound of Spidey's struggles. He'd only seen the chaos very briefly on the broadcast- he couldn't imagine the reality of it that Peter was currently faced with. It wouldn't be long before he got to see it for himself. "Alright, we'll swing down that way to help you out! Just hold on, we'll be there in fifteen, alright?"

"Meet you by Herald Square. Til' then I got a date with the tourist patrol."

Spider-Man ended the call and Summers slipped the phone into one of the storage pouches on his costume, glancing around at the rest of the team. Nobody was holding up too well, not that he could blame them.

Kurt and Bobby both looked like they were on the verge of having a panic attack.

Hank had dived as deep as he could into his work, those large, cumbersome headphones slipped over his head as he tried to pinpoint where exactly the swarm was at any given moment. He had multiple police scanners running and a digital map in front of him.

Jean was always good at hiding how she really felt- much to Scott's chagrin. She had a grin on her face that didn't extend to her eyes as she guided them through the streets.

It looked like Manhattan had been turned into a war zone. They passed by dozens and dozens of fleeing people, both on foot and packed inside of cars of their own. Many of them were bloodied and limping, some carrying improvised weapons they'd been forced to use against their neighbors and fellow man. Summers felt sick just looking at it.

And angry.

Very angry.

"Eyes up, gang, we've got company!" Jean called out, her hands wrapping tighter around the steering wheel as they rounded the corner and came face to face with a violent brawl that stretched across the street.

There were around thirty of them from what Scott could see. Some of them were actively tearing into each other with anything they had available- glass, teeth, hands- anything they could use to hurt one another. Others were attempting to escape the mob, apparently having escaped the swarm when it came through here earlier, and still others lay unmoving not far from the brawl, either too wounded to move or...worse.

Nobody had to say anything. Jean brought the van to an abrupt halt, every seat belt clicking in near unison as the squad piled out of the van. Almost as soon as their boots touched the concrete all attention shifted toward them, their programming adjusting it's parameters to match the changing conditions and the arrival of priority Metahuman targets. The X-Men stacked up in front of their vehicle, shoulder to shoulder, their armored uniforms shining in the mid-morning sun. Bright yellow armor set over an eye-catching blue, their team's identity proudly displayed by the black X that dominated the breastplate. They cut an imposing figure, especially when compared to the glorified rags they used to run around in.

If only there was anyone sane enough to appreciate it around.

The horde charged them, bloodcurdling screams echoing between the devastated streets of Manhattan. Their former victims- those that could still move, anyway- used the opportunity of the infected turning their attention on the X-Men to flee the scene, leaving one less thing for the heroes to worry about.

"Try not to hurt them!" Scott shouted over the cacophony. "Restrain the ones you can and knock out the rest."

Jean opened up first, stepping forward with her gloved palms clutched together, only to throw them out to either side and send a wave of telekinetic energy crashing against the flood of flesh and blood. The first line of the mob was thrown backward into the second, causing a chaotic cascading effect that brought the charge to a grinding halt. The black and green varsity jacket she wore over her costume fluttered as it caught the backblast.

It was Bobby's turn to step up, the sleeveless variant of his uniform allowing him to easily form the ice over his arms and hands that he needed to follow-up on Marvel Girl's opener. He gave none of his usual attempts at banter as he splayed his fingers out and let a cone of frost pour out from him. It rapidly froze over the downed infected, encasing much of their bodies in ice and restraining all movement, leaving only their heads free so they could still breathe.

"Nice work, guys-" Summers started, only for his mouth to be filled with the taste of another man's knuckles. The combined attacks had only stifled the rushing mob, not stopped it, and Scott carelessly let himself get caught off guard from the side. He was quick to grab the infected's other arm and throw it around his back, giving him a solid enough wallop aside the skull to knock him out cold. His old visor had made it so Scott could never use his powers on any people without risking their deaths, all but requiring that he learn how to fight if he wanted to be useful to the team. Hank insisted the visor's new settings would allow for more restrained, precise fire, but...

"Zhere are more coming from up ahead!" Kurt warned, causing Scott to snap back into reality. "At least a dozen or so!"

"Great." Summers grumbled. "Nightcrawler, I need you to go on ahead to Herald Square without us!"

"Vhat, alone?! Vhy?!" Kurt froze, terrified at the prospect of splitting up.

"It sounded like Spider-Man needed help, and you're the fastest one here!" Cyclops shouted, midway between punching the lights out of a pair of tourists-turned-zombies. "No time to argue, Night, you gotta go!"

Nightcrawler leaped over the heads of a group of sprinting maniacs trying to tear him to shreds, landing with the grace of a dancer on the other side. Black smoke enveloped his fur-covered body, and he found himself all the way at the end of the street and looking out over the growing brawl from a distance.

"Auweh, you vill be the death of me, Scott Summers." He muttered. "Zis is vhat I get for leaving ze house, I suppose."
In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
SEASON ONE: GODS AMONG MEN
INFAMY #1: TRUST
Xavier's Mansion ♦ New York City, New York
Theme: Human

Everyone had gathered in Hank's laboratory for the 'surprise' he'd been working on for the past few weeks. Even Bobby, cursed with eternal stupidity, knew why McCoy had so eagerly rushed them all into into his private workshop. Visitors were a rare thing there- not for lack of trying, of course, because Hank could talk anyone's ear off about his latest work. No, it had more to do with the fact that moving through the crowded, dirty room was near impossible. One couldn't take scarcely more than three steps without accidentally bumping into some fragile piece of equipment, knocking over piles of literature or stepping on a technical sketch for one revolutionary gadget or another.

"Uh, sorry- I should've cleaned up before I grabbed you all." Hank apologized profusely as he shoved a desk to the side and collected scattered files and papers with his simian-like toes in the same, fluid movement. There was something oddly natural about the way he would grab onto a robotic arm hanging from the ceiling and swing over to a clearing in the mess, gathering up a bunch of seemingly unrelated materials and placing them in a pile out of the way, effectively just moving the mess rather than actually fixing anything.

"How do you get anything done in this wreck?" Jean asked, turning her nose upward at the trainwreck of a laboratory. "I thought scientists were supposed to be, like, organized and shit."

Kurt appeared in a puff of smoke, his three-toed feet wrapping around a ceiling light before he had a chance to plummet into the garbage pile below. "Nonono," the blue haired demon shook his head, "He has a system, see, like in ze movies!"

"No system." Hank corrected with an embarrassed chuckle. "Just...Just a big mess."

"I'll ask again, then-" Jean sighed, "How do you find anything?!"

McCoy motioned to his nose. "I can, uh, smell...things. I know how long it's been since I touched that-" he pointed toward a paper near Jean's foot. "-And I hear things, too. Like something's loose in that centrifuge over there. Rotor, maybe? Hm."

"We understand perfectly, Hank." Charles Xavier called from the door, still waiting for his ever-faithful student finish clearing a path so he could actually enter. He was as patient as ever, his hands resting in his lap as he watched the team interact with a bemused smile. "There is...beauty, in the chaos of brilliance."

Grey shrugged and crossed her arms. "Something something 'eye of the beholder,' I guess. He needs a maid. Or those bags from the 'too much stuff, not enough space' commercial."

It didn't take too much longer for them to get the laboratory into half-decent condition, especially once Scott convinced everyone else to pitch in and help Hank move everything out of the way. He led the six of them over toward a large machine in the back of the room. It's exterior didn't match the rest of the equipment: the sterile white and blacks of other apparatuses clashed with the strange machine's shining chrome body. It's center was dominated by a reinforced glass viewing port, though whatever was inside was hidden behind a piece of canvas had thrown over it. He stepped past it and over to a screen and keypad projected on the front of the machine.

"So what's this gizmo, doc?" Bobby asked, his hand clutching at his chin like he was the second coming of The Thinker.

"It's a type of CAD Fabricator," McCoy explained, struggling to tap in a code with his sausage-sized fingers. "Essentially you insert a design into a computer, provide the necessary materials and the machine will make it for you."

"Like zose 3D printers they have in zose Youtube videos!" Kurt interjected. "Awesome."

"Where'd you even get this thing?" Jean rapped her knuckles against the side. "Must'a cost a fortune."

McCoy continued the finishing touches on his project, adjusting several metrics on the control panel as he spoke to the X-Men behind him. "It was donated to us, actually. By a, uh, friend of the Professor's."

Charles leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced over toward the prodigiously genius Metahuman. "Indeed," he confirmed, looking back to the others. "He's asked that I keep his name to myself, but some years ago he came to me in a time of need. I knew from the moment I met him that he was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant- but his status as a Metahuman had forced him from his home. A mind like his was being wasted because he had a single gene that made him different."

A brief look passed over Xavier, something between disgust and a tired sort of pity. "I gave him a place to stay and introduced him to my peers at Columbia, and it wasn't long until he was attending, free of charge- even the most bigoted among my colleagues could not deny his genius."

"Now he runs a company all his own!" McCoy spun around, arms resting on his hips with triumphant confidence. "Place called Forge that makes armor and weapons for the military and SHIELD. All of it's cutting edge, top-of-the-line stuff. The Professor offered to pay for this but the guy insisted- he said it was the least that he could do to repay Charles."

"And that he believes in what you're all doing." Xavier finished with a nod, a seriousness in his eyes as he met the gazes of each of his young students. "I assured him that his trust was not misplaced."

A momentary silence followed, heavy as a ton of bricks and thick as fog. Gazes were averted and awkward shuffling filled the gap. They'd gotten plenty of talks from the Professor about responsibility and the consequences of their actions, especially after the mess that was Bayville. It was easy to brush off Scott's blustering, but...

"...So what'd you make with this, Hank?" Summers was the first to break the silence, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he turned his attention back to their resident mad scientist.

McCoy blinked a few times, as if he'd gone somewhere else in the brief time between when he last spoke and when Scott asked him about the surprise he'd been toiling over since Forge delivered the fabricator. "right! Right." He nodded emphatically, turning around to grab a piece of paper from a nearby workbench. "I, uh, I sent in a preliminary draft with some specifications-"

It didn't take more than a second of him waving it around at a distance for Kurt to appear in front of him in a burst of black smoke, snatching it from McCoy so he could present the picture to everyone else.

"-Kurt, you little-"

McCoy's attempts to protest were all for naught, as everyone else had already gathered around their hairy blue friend to observe the very rough draft that Hank had sent in to their contact at Forge.

Their chorus of immature giggling by stopped only when Charles cleared his throat, pointedly nodding his head toward Hank. "Continue, please."

"Right." Hank rubbed his hands together, taking a few, slow steps toward the piece of canvas he'd laid over the observation port. "It took approximately a day for each of them to finish, so five in total, obviously, but they came out much better than I could have expected. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the newest iteration of the X-Men unifor-"

Just before he could pull it aside and make the big reveal, a loud, distinctive chirp filled the room. All eyes shifted over to Scott.

"I'm sure it can wait a minute-" He tried to assure them, only for his phone to go off again.

And again.

And again.

The notifications came in like a flood, hitting his phone so fast that not even half of them got their audio cue off before the next one appeared. Summers felt his jaw lock and his arms go stiff.

"That's Sentinel, right?" Jean asked, her face awash with concern as she looked to Scott.

"Vhat is happening?"

"Somethin' goin' down?"

"It's probably just a bug." Hank assured them all. "Anyway, here's-"

The wave of notification sounds was suddenly cut off when Summers got a phone call, replaced by the smooth sounds of an acoustic guitar. That was enough to prompt Scott to reach into his pocket and produce the device, setting it to his ear. "Who's this?"

“Hey, Eye-guy? I don’t wanna be that friend that only calls when he needs help or whatever, but, uh, well, you might wanna turn on a TV.”

"...I'll call you back." Summers replied, his throat as dry as a desert as he ended the call and started directing everyone toward the TV.

It was a strange thing to find the mood shifting so quickly. To go from celebrating their friend's latest achievement to gathering around a television set to see history repeating itself.

Hank couldn't stop asking questions. He wanted to talk to whoever had called Scott, insisting it might've been a prank or something. Must've been, even.

Bobby was as quiet as a mouse, and his hands were shaking slightly, even before they'd managed to turn the thing on. Charles had moved over to place a hand on his pupil's shoulder. He didn't say anything to Drake- not that there were words that could comfort in a situation like this one.

Jean still hovered in the back of the lab near the fabricator, too occupied calling up everyone she knew that lived in the city proper to make sure that they were okay.

Nightcrawler was the one that had rushed to find the remote among the mess that was McCoy's lab. Everyone else had ushered over toward the old television set that Hank kept in the corner of his lab. It was meant, primarily, to give him background noise as he worked. But now it bore the visage of a mutant terrorist that threatened the safety of everyone in their city and beyond.



It was a face Scott was making himself deeply familiar with, even as the broadcast switched away from Stryfe to show the chaos his monsters were sewing in the streets of NYC and Star.

When the carnage began, and people on the screen began to die, Scott yanked the remote from Kurt's iron-like grip and turned it off. He stood from where he'd previously sat and made his way in front of the group, looking out over the sea of faces that called themselves the X-Men.

They'd only been together for a little over a year at this point. Some of them had known each other for longer than that, but not as teammates. In that time they had faced many a threat: Purifiers, mutant criminals and even the occasional gangster. But this was new. This was an enemy with real power- an enemy that flirted with a perverse kind of evil that the world rarely ever saw.

Summers sighed and began in a slow, pained voice. "I know we've been together for awhile. All of us knew what this job was going to entail, and we knew it was going to be dangerous. But this...I can't ask any of you to-"

Jean interrupted before he got the chance to even finish his statement. "Scott? Shut up."

"Zis is vhy we're here."

"They need us." Hank agreed.

All eyes shifted over to Bobby, who looked like he was about ready to throw up. He only nodded and stood from his chair.

Despite the dire circumstances at hand, Charles couldn't help the pride he felt welling up in his heart, the corners of his lips shooting upward just as the rest of the team went to stand alongside Bobby.

"Guess it's settled, then." Summers nodded. "X-Men, suit up."
In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Inkarnate>

I see how it is. You want Roman's review publicly and mine privately.
Clearly, my words will be so special he wants to keep them all for himself.


Is this true love?
In What Are You Listening To? → 5 yrs ago Forum: Off-Topic Discussion
In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@ComradeMaxx

But where’s Kurt? What are Hank and Bobby doing while Scott and Jean are out? There are large gaps - for Kurt, since the first post - where you just don’t touch on the other characters. This might be intentional, and at times it does feel like you’re playing Scott first and the others are his supporting cast, but after that introduction to everyone it’s such a shame that I’m missing out on them! But perhaps it’s commendable that I feel like I’m missing out on them in the first place!


First off, I really appreciate the review! I'll be taking some'a what you said into account moving forward from now on, particularly on the matter of collateral damage and how the rest of the team responds to it. I've been meaning to touch on that but I've kind of neglected it in recent posts to focus on other things.

But this particular point, the one quoted above, is actually something I've been mulling over since I drafted up my sheet. I've been struggling with how to designate POVs and which ones I should include in my posts. As it is I've mainly been focusing on Scott, only ever breaking away to give brief villain POVs so we know what they're up to. I did sign on to write the entirety of the X-Men, not just Cyclops, but I was worried I wouldn't be able to tell as focused a story if I broke away more often to check in on the rest of the team whenever they get split up.

I think, moving forward, I may experiment with adding in additional point of view posts from the other X-Men where I feel it'd be relevant to the narrative I want to tell.
In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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I'm a sinner

In Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
SEASON ONE: GODS AMONG MEN
CRISIS #1: MASS PANIC
Four Freedoms Plaza ♦ New York City, New York
Music: Mr. Blue Sky

- SCRRREEEEEERRE -


A sound few men would recognize blared through the hotel, loud as thunder. A light brighter than the sun was swiftly followed by dozens of men and women stepping into the building through tears in reality. Griff was among their number, a pair of earbuds stuck firmly in his ears.

Ryan "Griff" Griffin swayed from side to side to the tune of Mr. Blue Sky as he entered the luxury restaurant on the 98th floor of the Four Freedoms Plaza. The catchy little song played like klaxons through his earbuds, drowning out the sound of panicked guests screaming in confusion and fear at the sight of dozens of bizarrely dressed gunmen pouring into the room. Griff ignored their terrified faces and focused on tapping along to the beat on the grip of his rifle.

They'd gone over the plan a hundred times. There were two floors to the restaurant, six exits- two up top, three on the lower floor, and a final one through the kitchen. They had at least five boys coming through each door to ensure nobody managed to slip away unnoticed. A couple nutjobs rushed at Griff and the militiamen next to him. Probably had so much adrenaline running to their brains that they thought they come barrel through 'em and make a run for it. Griff didn't take part in the beating his compatriots gave them. Just focus on the music.

Once the room was secure and any potential threats had been neutralized, they started rolling in the heavier equipment required for the operation. Most of what the unarmed technicians pulled from the crates looked like props found on a Sci-Fi movie set: Unintuitive, alien, and strange. It was even stranger when they started hooking it all up to a single, dinky laptop. Griff didn't understand most of it; all he understood was that it was necessary.

They were going to save the United States from its imminent destruction. It had to be done.

Griff bobbed his head along, pulling a pack of zip ties from his belt as he approached a table of frightened guests. Two kids with them, their sobbing mother holding one another each arm tighter than Griff had ever seen anyone hold on to anything. She didn't make eye contact with him, focusing instead on whispering promises that they'd make it out okay to her children.

Her husband, however, was different.

He sat up straighter as Griffin approached, his expression twisted with anger at having his dinner interrupted by a bunch of costumed hooligans waving guns around. "What's the meaning of this? Who are you?!"

Griff blinked a couple of times, reaching up to pause his music before answering the man-turned-prisoner. "Just follow our instructions and don't get in our way. This'll all be over soon." He assured, dragging the man's hands together so he could slid a zip tie over his wrists- the same was being done to every other hostage in the restaurant in preparation for the next stage of the operation. Griff was struggling to keep his hands still enough to actually put the tie together.

Another pair of hands came around from behind him, taking hold of tie and locking it in place. Ryan felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment as he turned around and went to thank whoever it was, only for his voice to catch in his throat.



"You're doing great, son." The helmeted figure placed a hand on Griff's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Though the strange and intimidating armor obscured his identity, Ryan knew the figure to be none other than Reverend Stryker. Flashing a charismatic smile, he moved away from Griffin, and started up the carpeted stairs leading to the second floor of the restaurant.

There were, perhaps, thirty Purifiers in all working in tandem to secure the location. Some were zip-tying hostages and dragging them into cordoned off areas so they could be more easily managed. Others had left the room itself and were busy blocking up stairways and disabling elevators, while still others were prepping defensive measures to fend off the inevitable response from law enforcement and would-be heroes. They were an odd sight, to be sure: men in silverish spandex and kevlar body armor, many of whom looked hesitant, nervous and uncoordinated, yet nonetheless carried out their part of the plan semi-efficiently.

Stryker gave soft words of encouragement to some as he passed by them, making his way to the center of the second floor where his technical experts were wrapping up their own work. They had just finished assembling what looked to be a six foot tall obelisk of some kind, it's obsidian-colored exterior as smooth as polished marble. Several, thick cables protruded from the base of the object, attaching to a number of portable batteries as well as to a single, ordinary-looking laptop they'd set on a cleared table.

"How're we looking, Selby?" William asked the ebony-skinned technician tapping away at the computer's keyboard.

Selby wasn't immediately able to answer, his mouth full of some poor soul's pilfered dinner as he finalized the connection process. It'd taken months for him to get acquainted with their supplier's...unorthodox coding language, but once he'd gotten the hang of it, there was practically no limit to what he could do with it.

"Everything's just 'bout ready to go, bossman." Selby sang, wiping his face off on his sleeve. "Some cape got in the Metropolis team's way but they managed to grab the execution files and get away scot-free. Just waitin' on the upload to finish and the network'll be online; that's when the real fun begins."

Stryker gave Selby a pat on the arm and shot him a smile. "Excellent news. And how are our allies in Star City doing? Are they in position?"

"Why don't you try the helmet out?" Selby suggested, tapping his head and pointing up at the gaudy looking device the Reverend was wearing.

That signature smile of William's fell into an uncomfortable frown. "Right, of course." He nodded, slowly. He'd done several tests with their anonymous suppliers to ensure that the strange technology actually functioned as they claimed, but the sensation that came with reaching his mind out into the world was...disturbing. It was like he was growing a new limb straight from his frontal lobe, and with it he reached across the country, grasping for an ever-so familiar mind.

Star City Public Library ♦ Star City, California

"-and Star City...is under my protection now! To anyone who doesn't like it, you can come take your best shot! But just know that after you do, I'll take mine and I never miss!"

The young, beleaguered Green Arrow's public warning to all of Star City's worst had been making the rounds on social media recently. Some people thought it was fake, but Kristine Calverly had seen enough fights to know the edited video featured some very real punches, and that was definitely actual blood running down the kid's face.

She ran the video back several seconds to the moment the Arrow kid landed a flying armbar on Brick to break his arm. "God," She started giggling, reversing it to watch that same move again. "Nothing makes my day like watching some kid kick the shit out of some dumbass mutie."

"Will you get off that fucking computer and help us?" One of her partners, Michael McCain, called from behind her as he struggled to carry multiple wooden crates toward the stairway . He was a giant of a man at over six feet and five inches and built like a human tank. None of the muscle was natural, of course- why bother going through all that work when a cocktail of chemicals could do the trick. That was a little different from the pair of extra arms sticking out of his torso, though.

The redheaded woman jammed a middle finger back in McCain's direction without bothering to look away from the library's public computer. "Fuck off, Mike. You're a big guy, you can handle it."

"We're supposed to use the alt IDs-"

"I'm not calling you Forearm, dipshit. I'm getting paid to kill muties and cops, not play pretend."

"'Playing pretend' was part of our contract, Burnout. If you're not satisfied with your duties then you should not have signed on." An accented voice called down from above, drawing both sets of eyes upward toward a flying man she knew as Kamikaze.

Another of her partners floated down from the second floor balcony, all dressed up in one of those ridiculous outfits that mutants seemed to like so much. Haruo Tsuburaya landed with no small amount of grace between Michael "Forearm" McCain and Kristine "Burnout" Calverly, his frown taut in his disapproval.

"Thumbelina and the Purifiers have nearly finished setting up the control center." Haruo informed them. "Contact Stryfe's team and-"

A sound like rending steel exploded across all three of their minds in the same instant, pain shooting through their skulls as some outside entity forced it's way inside. It spoke to them in a thunderous voice that could make mountains tremble.

'Can you hear me?'

"Speak of the devil." Burnout muttered, massaging both of her temples as she stood up from her chair.

'We can, sir.' Kamikaze quickly replied, his only reaction to the stunning psychic pain being a slight wince everytime Stryfe 'spoke' to them. 'We're nearly finished on our end, how-'

'I'm already done, actually!' The young and chipper voice of Kristina Anderson, AKA Thumbelina, chimed in over the telepathic connection. 'We're just waiting for the upload to complete and then we'll be all set for the deployment phase!'

'Excellent work, my child. Humanity owes you all a great debt for what you're going to do today. Selby tells me the time is nearly upon us: brace yourselves. I have no doubt that the mutants and their ill-informed human allies will attempt to put a stop to our work before it is done. You must ensure that doesn't happen.' Reverend Stryker's psychic voice was as charismatic and intoxicating as it was in person. It wasn't surprising that he'd managed to build such a powerful, almost cultish following with his rhetoric.

'Just make sure my paycheck's ready when this is all over, Preacher Man, and I'll kill as many superdopes as you need me to.' Burnout replied, her words drenched in venom and ego. It wasn't everyday a customer came to her, offered to give her "superpowers" and paid her to use them to fuck up a bunch of self-important muties in tights. It was almost a dream come true for the contractor.

"Looks like it's showtime, boys. Let's go find a TV."



Every screen across the nation flashed with the The SMPTE color bars of the standard TV test pattern, accompanied by a single, screeching beep.

The card fell away, replaced briefly by a smattering of static just before the image actually started to come into focus.

A picturesque view of Central Park appeared before every American. Far in the background a dozen children were laughing as they kicked a soccer ball around. To the left a family could be seen lounging on the a checkered picnic blanket, the father busy talking to an older gentleman seated on a bench not far from him. In the center of the screen was an art piece of some kind, a six foot tower of pure, polished obsidian, evidently unmarred by even a single scratch.

Several men in green work jumpsuits began to approach it from out of frame, all of them carrying duffel bags stuffed with blocky objects over their shoulders.

Another burst of static, briefly, and the view flipped to another camera overlooking Silver Lake Park on Staten Island. Both the lake and it's accompanying golf course appeared in the background, yet once again the central object was another tower, identical to the first. It had it's own team of groundskeepers standing around it, a few bending down to open up their bags as one went to tap on the exterior of the tower.

Another switch, now to the front lawn of the Long Island University in Brooklyn. College-aged students were rushing out of the building to grab lunch, many of them passing by another copy of that strange piece of modern art that seemed to so dominate the hijacked television broadcast. One of the groundskeepers had a remote of some kind in his hands and a phone to his ear.

Six other locations across New York were quickly flashed across the screen, but it wasn't the only city featured in the broadcast. There were similar objects scattered all across Star City, each of them surrounded by their own team of groundskeepers or other, seemingly unrelated workmen. There were at least six men at some of the more out of the way art pieces, and upwards of two dozen wandering around near the ones placed in highly trafficked and public locations.

A young woman in the final shot, apparently warned via a phonecall, started screaming about the broadcast to everyone around her.

Then it cut again, and America found itself face to face with a monster.



"The time of Men has come to an end." The armored man began, his voice distorted to be absurdly baritone in order to obscure his identity. "You sit atop your ivory towers and in your arrogance believe yourselves to be the superior people. You think your government, your armies, your heroes can keep you safe- that they will protect you from people like me. You're all fools. I am called Stryfe, and we are the Metahuman Supremacy Front. We will show America- and humanity- humility. We will tear down your palaces, put to the pyre your precious law and order. We will show you how truly vulnerable your nation really is. Safety is an illusion."

Stryfe uncrossed his arms and approached the camera until his masked face dominated the entire screen.

"This is your reckoning."

Just as soon as he appeared, Stryfe was gone, replaced once more by the first view of Central Park. One of the workmen began to tap several buttons on the remote he held, and the 'art-piece' reacted. The polished sides of the obelisk sprang open and fell away into the grass, revealing what lay inside.

Not even a second later a great, black mass exploded out of the tower like a swarm of innumerable locust. They swept across Central Park with terrifying speed. Everyone in view was in a panic, sprinting away in an attempt to escape, only to disappear into the swarm as it passed by them. For several, chaotic moments nothing could be made out through the screeching swarm, the entire screen obscured by their presence. It wasn't until they'd moved on that the bodies came back into view.

There wasn't a scratch on any of them. Ever single person was on the ground, in some way, but there appeared to be no blood or gore, and it didn't take long for them to start moving again. That was when the first one broke the silence with a blood curdling, furious scream. A man, perhaps in his late twenties, sprinted across the grass in an awkward, stumbling gait, running straight for the nearest person to him. He threw his hands at her like they were clubs, bashing away at her skull and face with an animalistic fervor. She roared right back at him, sinking her teeth into the other man's ear and tearing away a chunk.

Everyone began to get to their feet, filled with an unnatural bloodlust, and began a senseless rampage to brutalize the nearest thing to them. Young, old, man, woman, it didn't matter. It didn't discriminate. The violence encompassed them all, urged on to harm anything in sight by powers unknown.

The camera switched again. That strange black cloud was being dispersed across New York City and Star City alike, flying forth from their obelisks like a plague from Exodus. They descended on everyone, bursting through windows and splitting off into thousands upon thousands of smaller groups to terrorize everything in sight.

It was when their numbers thinned that the nature of the swarm became more clear.

Each 'bug' was, in fact, an extremely small and complex robot. They hunted down individual persons and buried themselves into the base of each one's neck. The goal of this was unclear; however, the reaction the victims had was always they same. They would wake up several seconds after falling to the floor, convulse for a short time, and when they rise back up they immediately rush to assault the nearest person to them. They would do whatever necessary to get there- even if it meant, in some cases, throwing themselves through a window and plummeting to the concrete below.

The picture cut, suddenly, every television set in the United States going black. Federal authorities hadn't managed to wrestle control back from the hijackers, leaving cutting the broadcast wholesale as their only viable option; the damage had already been done, however.

William Stryker stepped away from the camera, partly annoyed that they'd lost their connection sooner than had been expected, but partially glad that he no longer had to witness the carnage personally. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the admittedly ridiculous attire he'd been recommended to wear.

He could tell from the body language and whispering of his men that he was not alone in his feelings. The certainty of this deed's necessity had never been in question for him, but he knew from the start that not all men had been gifted with such resolve. He knew he needed to reassure them, yet when he went to speak, he found the words would not come.

Instead he just sighed.

"May God forgive us."
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