Supermaxx

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

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



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

@John Table

Question crawls into Calvin's window in search of his birth certificate

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

Also, just to put out some feelers: anybody got plans in the works for the Eternals? I know they’re not exactly a hot commodity in these games but I want to be absolutely sure before I dip my toe into anything.

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

Actual video footage of me getting a PM from Wraith about this RP

Bit late to the party but it's nice to see some familiar faces. I've got something cooking in my brain, three guesses for who and the first two don't count. Just gotta get the hard part out of the way and make a character sheet.

@Simple Unicycle

welcome back champ

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

And there's the thrilling conclusion of my first arc as Superboy. Been a fun ride, and I can't wait to get him out there and interacting with all the other characters. I've really enjoyed writing this, if my near-daily speed blitz didn't say that already. Everything I've read so far as been absolutely bangin', too. Appreciate you fuckos

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

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

SUPERBOY #8 Pull My Strings

---

_{Acquisitions Department - The Complex ♦ Metropolis}

The Acquisitions Department was one, giant chamber, designed to accommodate even the strangest assets. In its center was a sizeable portion of a Dominator spacecraft, surrounded by a transparent plastic bubble. Workers in hazmat suits entered the bubble through a multistage decontamination port to perform analysis and collect samples. They'd been toiling over it since 2010 yet were still finding breakthroughs in their research to this day. It may have been crown jewel of the department's collection, but it was not the only notable prize. Others included a Soviet nuclear submarine from a different dimension, a defunct time machine, and the eye of a former Lord of Hell.

A large, rectangular passage in the ceiling allowed the coming and going of helicopters and other, more sophisticated transportation. If one were to draw a straight line from that tunnel up to the surface, it would've led to a supermarket's parking lot. Yet Cadmus's assets arrived from all over the world by means few were privy to.

This was where Paul Westfield, Director of Cadmus and CEO of its public-facing company, found himself. He was an older man, handsome, with jet black hair silvered only around the temples. Though it looked perfectly natural, everything about his appearance had been the work of the world's foremost designers- and they all worked for him. Paul found the deception distasteful. If he had his way he'd be the sagging, white-haired sack of skin he should've been for his age; the modern public, however, expected a certain standard of powerful men. They were attractive, though not too much so. They wore suits with a particular number of buttons. Drove outrageously expensive cars. Spoke within a certain range of diction. Speech was always the most obnoxious part of adapting to the time he lived in.

He stood atop an observation deck, a gun in his hand, waiting.

Superboy followed a security officer into the chamber, hands balled into fists at his side. Everything that'd happened played back in his mind: Leech coming after him over Anne, the confrontation with Knockout, and all the dots Tana Moon helped him connect back at the Daily Planet. Try as he might to deny it, something was happening to Cadmus. Something wrong. The company he knew was strict, had high expectations, but at the end of the day they were supposed to be helping people. That's why they were building superheroes. That's why they made him: to replace Superman if anything ever happened to him.

'All I gotta do is tell Westfield the truth. Be firm. Once he understands that Knockout wasn't doin' anything wrong he'll understand. I know he will. He's gotta.' Then the doctor would explain that this was somehow all a big mistake. Rex got the wrong woman, or somebody'd misfiled something. That was always happening in these big companies, right?

Cadmus wasn't exactly like most big companies. Most of them didn't have an alien spaceship in their basement.

"How long's this been down here?" Superboy asked after letting out a long, low whistle. His neck was craned to take in the massive ship. It wasn't the mothership that'd nearly flattened New York City, but it was bigger than near every terrestrial aircraft bar SHIELD's helicarrier. Perhaps he'd be more impressed by the sight if he hadn't been drenched in someone's remains earlier- that sort of thing was usually a downer. Thankfully the guard had been thoughtful enough to bring a towel when he came to fetch Superboy. No time for a shower, though; when Westfield requested someone's presence that meant immediately.

His question went unanswered as he was led along the chamber floor to the other side, where a long observation deck stretched the length of the far wall. From that high up Westfield was barely visible to the human eye. Superboy's feet left the ground and he took to the air, closing the distance between them slowly. He could've been eye level with the good doctor in a millisecond if he so chose.

That would've been far less dramatic.

When the two were face to face the rest of the world melted away. It wasn't often that they saw one another. Westfield was a man dedicated to the work. He delegated, let men like Rex Leech handle Superboy. Rex kept the boy on a long leash but he knew when to reward and when to punish. Knew how to advance Cadmus's public interests. That had seemed sufficient before this. "You've made quite a mess." He was terse. Hard to read. His heartbeat never wavered, he never let micro-expressions break his permanent scowl.

"Wouldn't have had to if you just let me in."

Paul clicked his tongue. "You don't have access to this facility. Of course security tried to detain you."

"Shouldn't I have a key to the house I was born in, doc?" Superboy shrugged, and looked away.

"This is not a place for you to play in, boy." he began, raising his voice. "And be assured that is all you do: play. You play at being a hero," he practically spat the word, full of disdain and vinegar, "play at being a celebrity. The girls, the games, they are a distraction. Bread and circuses to appease the masses because they could not possibly understand our true purpose."

Superboy tried to swallow, yet found his mouth dry. "Wh-what are you talkin' about? I don't understand what you're gettin' at."

Westfield paced along the observation deck, a hand on the railing. "Of course you don't. How was it your new friend put it? The 'tip of the iceberg.'"

He felt his heart drop into his stomach. "You already know."

"What sort of fool would I be not to be tracking my assets at all time?" Westfield shook his head. "I knew you to be a disappointment, 13-B04, but the depths of your ignorance continue to confound me. Allow me to make things clear for you: I know you're here because you think yourself good for trusting a wicked creature, born to murder. I know you believe our organization so inept that the left hand does not know what the right hand is doing. And last of all I know these revelations will destroy your image of what we do here, because your conception of reality is bound by the simple-minded morality of a child. Good guys punching bad guys in the face, is that right?"

"I...I don't..."

"I see now that you require an education in the ways of the world." Paul Westfield stopped his pacing, turned to face Superboy, and lifted the gun in his hand.

He scrunched his face up, bewildered by the weapon pointed at him. "What, are you gonna shoot me?" Anxiety made him laugh. None of this made a lick of sense to him, and everything Westfield said to 'explain' the situation only added to Superboy's confusion and that building sense of dread in his insides. "You oughta know that won't do anything to me. H-here's what's going to happen," be firm. Don't let him push you around. "You're gonna tell me why you're doin' all this, or I'm gonna flatten ya, got it?"

"Consider this your first lesson." Westfield pulled the trigger. There was no bullet. Just a flash of energy, red and black and dripping with malevolence. It squirmed into Superboy's every pore, into his mouth and into his eyes. Dug deep into his insides and turned his dread into an agonizing, burning pain. It burned, and pushed, like somebody inside his body was trying to tear a hole out of him. Everything knotted, twisted. Muscles contorted. Blood was boiling, literally. Before he knew it Superboy was falling. People scattered to get away from him. The slow ones were struck by similarly colored bolts just for being near him, and they writhed in pain as they were cooked from the inside out.

Westfield leapt off the side of the observation deck. A fall like that would've killed any ordinary man, yet he landed on his feet beside where Superboy had fallen. The gun the director held in his hand pulsated. One moment it was an ordinary pistol. The next it was a strange, golden weapon covered in living thorns. The two objects occupied the same space, juxtaposed against one another- the same yet not, like a deadly paradox. "You wish to know why I'm 'doin' all this'?" Westfield held the weapon up. "This is why. This was a gift from one of our...foreign benefactors. He wished very much to see 'Knockout' returned home, and offered us more of their incredible technology for her. Don't you see? All this power and the cost is one evil little wretch's' life."

Paul got down on one knee, running his hand through Superboy's hair. "Its simple Game Theory. There is only so much power to go around in the universe and it is my obligation- my duty- to ensure humanity has enough of it to survive what's coming. You will play a part in that calculation when the time comes, as will all your...like-minded associates."

"I'll- I'll stop you." Superboy struggled to speak, struggled to roll off his back and onto his hands. Push up, drag his knees against the concrete. Every tiny movement exasperated the pain he was in. Even his emotions played into it.

"How can you not see?!" Westfield roared, spittle flying. "I am securing the future of the human species, and you want to stand in my way to protect a criminal- a monster? Her very essence abhors life. The desire to cause pain is coded into her DNA. That is how far her world is willing to go, how do you think earth will fare when they come to our door and we aren't even willing to do this one, small thing?"

Superboy slowly crawled to his feet, and Westfield rose up with him until the two were standing inches apart. The energy still crackling in Superboy's skin never touched the director, never even moved in his direction.

"He- he wouldn't do that. He'd find another way," the boy spoke in half-delirious mumbles.

Westfield took a moment to gather himself, swallowing his anger. He readjusted his suit and dusted off his pants, pocketing the weapon. "Your weakness disgusts me, but its not unsurprising. I wanted you to mimic humanity so you could be our face but I knew there would be consequences to that. Modern society has forgotten the meaning of strength. It no longer follows a single, powerful vision as it once did. I do mean to remedy that, in time, but control only comes with dedication and no small amount of ingenuity."

"You think you're in control?" Superboy gave a wet, sticky cough. "I could fly you up into the stratosphere and- and drop you before you finished blinkin'. You'd splat. Like a bug."

"Do it." Westfield shrugged simply. "Try."

Superboy blinked, bewildered.

"I gave you an order: try to grab me."

"I..." Superboy's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't moved an inch. "I am. I am, I just can't-"

"Move? No, I thought not. You can never allow me to come to harm. Nothing in Cadmus can. This place may be older than me but I am the head of the serpent, now, and the body answers to me and me alone. You are petulant because I allow it. You act because I demand it. That girl at the Planet will disappear before she can write that story of hers, your redheaded friend will be caught and sent back to her homeworld, and you...I will leave you with our final lesson of today: I own you. I want you to...fly yourself up into the stratosphere and let yourself fall. Terminal velocity won't kill you, but it will hurt. And I hope that pain will allow today's lessons to stick in your mind."

A boy floats on the edge of nothing. There's one hundred sixty-three thousand and six hundred and eighty feet of open air between him and the world below. Voices hang in his ear through the radio receiver implanted in cochlea, shouting up at him from so far beneath him, but he pays them no mind. All there is in the world is him. Him and the fall. He takes in one last breath-- deep, full, terrified.

And he steps off.

PULL MY STRINGS: THE END

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

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

SUPERBOY #7 Pull My Strings

---

_{Cadmus Tower's Lower Levels - The Complex ♦ Metropolis}

Nearly every man with power chose to flaunt it. They put their names across skyscrapers, wore watches worth more than most people's homes. Some ran for political office just to hear crowds cheer. Others dressed up in spandex and helped kittens out of trees. Hell, one of them just shot himself into space for the sake of his own ego. It was pointless. All of it. Everything they did was to serve their own desperate egos. They gained no satisfaction from their successes unless they were recognized for them; adored for them. Power was not meant to be flaunted.

Far beneath the looming glass of Cadmus Tower lay the true heart of its power: the laboratories. This place was older than the tower above it. Older than the company that owned it, even. Its halls were lead-lined concrete, its furnishing spartan. Only one man knew how many levels there were to the complex- only one living man, anyway. It was a sprawling labyrinth, every section's employees only aware of functions relevant to their duties. Some said the layout changed at random. Doors would move. Hallways would vanish. Entire sections full of employees could vanish for weeks only to reappear, unaware anything was amiss. Here, power was wielded toward the only end that mattered. Here, the future of mankind was forged.

Dr. Paul Westfield toured the Genetics department. It was the largest section of the facility by far, housing dozens of projects: Amazon, Arachnid, Gamma, Hex, Krypton, Soldier, Speedster, the X-line. Some were further along than others.

Soldier was the closest to going to market. They'd made four successful variants of the original genetic template, and further enhanced one with Cadmus's version of the super soldier serum. They originally hoped to enhance the full line, but Guardian's stability proved an outlier. All other subjects injected with the serum suffered from debilitating migraines and intense psychosis. Thankfully the unaltered variants were excellent products on their own; several buyers had expressed interest already.

It was a shame the others were barely treading water. Amazon and Hex relied on forces beyond the current scope of human comprehension. Attempts to replicate the source of their power ended in disaster: abominations, suffering in their own malignant flesh, their very existence anathema to life. They were useful only as fodder for other experiments.

Arachnid, Gamma and the X-Line were difficult knots to untangle. Individual mutations were impossible to reproduce with any regularity. Every attempt was so radically different from the original that they couldn't create a proper control group. It took a great deal of tampering to advance the project at all. The beings they'd fabricated in the end were powerful yet mindless. At least the investment would not go to waste, as Dr. Donovan had developed a full-body harness to facilitate remote piloting. Those mutants would be drones of bone and blood.

Only designation 'Blockbuster' proved an exception to the rule, retaining a degree of its former intelligence, but Dr. Desmond's transformation had been an...unforeseen consequence of the program.

Speedster was troubled by the same problem as so many other projects: too little material from the original template to work with. Too little data to properly reconstruct the source of their abilities. Everything was theoretical, and the board never cared for theories. They funded Westfield because they expected results.

Of all of them, Krypton was meant to be his crowning achievement. Some called their breakthrough a miracle, but that was foolish. It was ingenuity, and so many years of dedication, that led to Subject 13's birth. That clone was a fountain of endless potential. In time, it could've even grown to surpass its template. But like so many others it turned out to be just another disappointment. 'Boys' knew even less about power than men.

"Sir, did you hear me?" A security officer repeated, nervous sweat dripping down his forehead. Only now did the director turn to acknowledge him. "I said Superboy's breached the main elevator shaft. Security drones are slowing him down, but this place wasn't built to stop Superman-"

"It is to our fortune that we are not dealing with him, then, hmm?" Westfield interrupted. "Stand down, allow him passage. Tell him to meet me in Acquisitions. It would appear I have need of something stored there."

---

_{Main Lobby - The Complex ♦ Metropolis}

"Always wanted to meet you guys, but this ain't exactly how I imagined it." Superboy dragged himself to his feet, head still throbbing after meeting the business end of an optic blast. Cyclops approached on all fours, the visor fused to his skull glowing with ruby energy. He was flanked by Wolverine, Angel and a floating head in a jar that looked like Professor X. The X-Men with close to human biology were covered in metal and wires, all bolted into their bones to keep it in place. Their movements were abrupt, wrong, like their arms and legs were dragging the rest of their torso along. Their heads were stuck in metal braces and would only turn when pushed or pulled by hydraulics.

It was hard for Superboy to look at them for too long without his stomach churning. "I pictured a team-up sorta deal, beatin' up on aliens or supremacists or somethin'." Wolverine came leaping at him, a whirling dervish of blades. This version had six claws instead of three, and half of those were where his feet should've been. He less walked on them and more...scurried.

Very little could pierce Superboy's skin. Whatever tipped those claws, though? It cut deep. Had to keep moving. He tried to fly up and out of Wolverine's range only for the X-Man to jump at the wall, dig his claws in and start climbing like the world's most fucked up spider. Wolvie was quick. Way too quick. Back on the ground, Cyclops's eyes were getting brighter- about to loose another beam. An idea.

Superboy spun in the air and shot toward Cyclops. Wolverine jumped again, trying to follow. Cyclops fired, and Superboy suddenly dropped to the ground. Wolverine collided with the optic blast, a chunk of his stomach blown out, yet he kept falling. That cyclone of claws turned Cyclops into a pile of shredded gore.

"Two down, two to go."

Angel took his shot. His wings sprouted from where the real Angel's arms would've been, and a pair of razor sharp talons had replaced his legs from the knees down. They clamped around each of Superboy's arms, yanking him across the main lobby to slam him against the far wall. Concrete crumbled under the impact. Angel kept dragging Superboy up along the wall, smearing his face with rebar and chunks of rock. "Owowowshitowshitshit-"

He'd had just about enough of that. He wrapped his fingers around Angel's weird bird feet, digging into them to ensure a strong grip. And then he started pulling. Angel's wings beat hard on the other end as he tried to keep flying up along the wall. Superboy dug his feet into a tangle of rebar. They both kept pulling and pulling from either side even as sinew snapped and bone fractured. There was a sound like paper being torn from the spine of a notebook as Angel split into two halves. The bottom half fell into Superboy's hands, spilling blood over him. The top half shot like a rocket into the ceiling, cracking the mutant's head like an egg.

Superboy dropped to the floor on his knees and vomited. It was easy to tell himself they weren't people. It was harder to believe it. Even if all their insides were grown in vats and their brains were hollowed out radio receivers, they still...they still looked like the X-Men. Sort of.

The head in a jar floated over to where Superboy sat. It stared down at him with empty eyes from within the greenish jelly.

"So you're the Professor, right?" He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn't seem very funny anymore. "Where's all the psychic stuff? You readin' my mind right now?"

It kept staring.

"I just can't tell if-"

The head exploded, scattering brain matter over the inside of its jar.

"Oh JESUS CHRIST!" Superboy screamed. "Really? Really?!"

And there he sat, covered in the remains of the X-Clones, when the intercom blared to life. "Hey, uh, sorry about all that." The scratchy-voiced guard on the other end gave an awkward laugh. "We've called off the other drones. Dr. Westfield wants you to meet him in Acquisitions. We'll, uh...we'll send a guy to lead you over there. Just try not to kill him too, okay? Sorry, that was- that was a bad joke. Timing's not...anyway. Yeah." The intercom clicked off with a buzz.

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

<Snipped quote by Sep>
Venom. Don't at me.

@Mao Mao

@

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

What's everyones favourite Superhero film?

@Sep

Guardians of the Galaxy babbeee

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

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

BATWOMAN: Masks

---

_{Park Row ♦ Gotham}

'Two shots ring out into the Gotham night, and a boy watches his parents die. That moment will haunt him for the rest of his life. Haunt him, but also drive him. He would shape his body and soul into a relentless weapon of vengeance, taking up a mask to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. That mask consumed him. In his mind he became the mask, as if the terrified little boy he used to be had died with his family. It made hunting down his parent's killer all the easier: two shots rang out into the Gotham night, and that mobster gunman died. The Tally Man was born.'

Six months ago, Batwoman found herself standing across from him. They were in the cramped apartment of his most recent target, a former loan shark on Falcone's payroll. The old man had flipped for the FBI when Two-Face murdered Carmine Falcone. Maybe Tally Man hadn't gotten the message. More likely, he just didn't care. He blamed everyone even remotely connected to the Falcone crime family for his tragedy. No amount of blood would sate him. Every mobster in Gotham could be six feet under and he'd still conduct his war.

"This isn't about you, Batgirl." He loomed, shadows and flowing clothing making him look more like a phantom than a man. If nothing else, he had taste for the theatrical. "Do not give your life for this scum. Walk away."

She stood vigilant over the barely conscious form of the ex-mobster. The bullet wound in his side wouldn't be fatal if she could get him to a hospital. "Come on, its been Batwoman for months now. Didn't you get my emails?" She paused, glancing around the room. Plenty of furniture to break his line of sight: a couch in the middle of the room, a coffee table to the right and a shelf-full of Coppola and Scorsese DVDs to the left. No real hard cover, though. Gotta keep on the move to avoid getting tagged. The armor in her suit was thick, but it could only take so much punishment.

"You're sick, Robinson. Killing this man isn't going to help you."

"That's not my name!" Tally Man roared, and his guns soon joined the cacophony.

Batwoman grabbed the heavy leather couch in the center of the room and dragged it up into the line of fire. The tech in her suit whirred as it worked to make up for her less-than-peak upper body strength. Her cover lasted less than a second before bullets tore a line of holes through it, narrowly missing their target.

She shoved the couch toward Tally Man and dove to the left, scrambling to close the distance. He went right, placing a coffee table between himself and her as he took aim.

"I really don't want to hurt you, Eddie." She rounded to the other side of the couch, the Godfather box-set in hand. The original and Part II banged into both of Tally Man's wrists, ruining his aim, while Part III shattered against the man's nose, knocking him off balance.

The Barbara of three years ago could've gotten to him before he steadied himself. The Barbara of now, though? She took three shots to the center of her chest, pain burning through her body. Those would leave a mark but she had to keep going. Had to lunge across that coffee table and stop Eddie Robinson before he could hurt someone else.

She misjudged the distance. Instead of planting her foot in Tally Man's chest, she fell straight through the table, wood and glass flying in every direction. He didn't waste any time planting the barrel of a gun between her eyes.

'The dreaded Batwoman, brought down by the Tally Man of all people. Bruce would be so disappointed.'

"Leave the broad alone ya fookin' clown!" A chair slammed against Tally Man's back. He still pulled the trigger. Instead of putting a hole through Barbara's head it took off one of her cowl's ears. That tough old bastard that'd been lying on the floor a few moments ago had dragged himself to his feet and bashed their attacker with a dining room chair, saving her life. He was thanked for his efforts with a pistol whip to the face.

Batwoman kicked Tally's legs out from under him, bringing him to the floor. Babs had to fight the years of instinct screaming at her to bash his face in until he was a bloody, unconscious mess. All the anger in her blood- all the rage- still burned hot as ever, even after trying to ween herself off it. "...Damn it all." She kicked away his weapons and pulled a pair of handcuffs from her belt. "You're going to Arkham, Robinson. And you're not leaving prematurely this time."

---

_{Arkham Asylum ♦ Gotham}

I'm writing my doctoral thesis on childhood trauma and its connection to violent behavior. There's decades of research to pour through. Its a messy, complicated and sometimes contradictory topic. Lots of opinions, and everybody's biased one way or another. Hard to parse the truth in all the noise, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Five months ago, Barbara Gordon found herself sitting across from him. Edward 'Eddie' Robinson was a troubled man. His parents both had extensive criminal records and connections to organized crime prior to their son's birth. Then they wanted out. Wanted their son to grow up with parents he could be proud of, and as far away from the world of drugs and violence that they'd endured as children themselves. It was not a life easily escaped, however. Their grave markers proved as much.

Eddie didn't like making eye contact. He kept his chin against his chest, eyes flickering rapidly between his shoes, the floor and the locked door behind him. Arkham was not a place built for patient comfort. It was a dark, hard place, meant to keep its prisoners locked away and trapped in their own, injured minds. Many of Gotham's residents thought it to be a place of evil. They said its walls had seen so many horrors that the very stones of its foundation were infected with it. The Asylum's corrupting influence was supposed to reach everyone in its halls- the patients, the guards, the staff.

Barbara Gordon knew more than one wizard on a first-name basis, but she wasn't overly superstitious. Evil was not an otherworldly power, slipping into the human psyche; it was born of man, and it could be cured by men. It was the systemic deinstitutionalization of Gotham's mentally ill, evidenced by tens of thousands of patients in its facilities decades ago to less than seven thousand in the modern day.

'That part's going in the paper, too.'

She pressed the record button on a handheld analog audio device, placing it down on the table in front of her. "So, Mister Edward Robinson," she began, opening his file to remind herself of his history, both personal and medical, "you agreed to partake in a study I am conducting on childhood trauma as part of your treatment program. I just wanted to reaffirm your consent for the record."

"Uhh- yeah, yeah. The guys in here say you're the only doc who ain't a freak or a psycho." He paused for a beat. "But please stop callin' me that name."

"Alright. What would you like me to call you?"

"Told you already, I'm the Tally Man."

Barbara sat forward, crossing her arms. "Let's start there. Why do you identify with your criminal alias over your birth name? Are there negative connotations there?"

"It just ain't who I am anymore. Simple as that."

"You've reacted violently in the past over being referred to that way."

Eddie squirmed. "I'm sorry 'bout that, I just..." He looked around, anxious, nervous. Like somebody he couldn't see was watching him.

Barbara reached an open hand out toward him, offering it. "You can share safely here. Anything you wish to keep between us stays in this room, you have my word."

He didn't take her hand, but he did visibly calm at the gesture. "I don't have any problem with Eddie. He was a good kid, stubborn, should'a listened to mom more. But I ain't him. Ed was too good for what had to come next."

"But the Tally Man wasn't."

He nodded. "Tally Man wasn't."

---

'We were making good progress. Tally Man was willing to talk about his life as Eddie, but only if we treated him as a different person. It turned out he didn't just not hate Edd, he loved what he used to be. Loved his parents and all they tried to give him. The hate that filled his heart belonged to more than the Falcones- it belonged to every two-bit criminal who preyed on the good people of this city. He'd cut a bloody trail across Gotham's underworld and keep going until the whole world paid for what was done to him. I've gotta convince him this isn't the way.'

Two months ago, Barbara decided to take a risk: she would show Tally Man his true face. She carried two objects into the interview room, concealing each under a simple piece of cloth. They were the key instruments in making the patient confront the truth of who he was, what was done to him and how he could move beyond it.

He didn't seem too happy about the arrangement, at first. She brought out the mirror and asked him who he saw, and he wasn't as willing a participant as she had hoped. Got dodgy with his answers after 'me' wouldn't suffice, refused to look at it head on, like seeing his own face would curse him or something. After no shortage of prodding, Barbara got him to admit that he hadn't used a mirror in quite a long time. The lop-sided shave of his facial hair made a lot more sense in that context.

Then she pulled the cloth off his mask and learned what unhappy really looked like.

"Why do you have that?!" He roared, loud as the first time the two of them had met. Before Babs knew what was happening he was leaping out of his chair and wrapping his hands around her collar, dragging her face inches from his. His breath stunk of the garbage allegedly called food that the Asylum served for lunch. "Why do you have my face?"

Barbara didn't move an inch. She didn't allow herself to flinch, or for her breathing to accelerate in the slightest. Remain calm. Any sudden movements and he might cross a line he couldn't come back from. "Slow it down. I need you to explain why you're upset, carefully and honestly. We've talked about this: you don't need to communicate your feelings through violence here."

He didn't budge. He was holding her so close their noses were brushing against one another, yet still this close up he refused to look Babs in the eye. "You...you need to give that back."

"Why do you want to hurt me?"

"You stole my face."

"You have your face. This is a piece of cloth."

"Its not- its not that simple, okay?! They're both me."

"Why do you wear it?" She moved her own hands, ever so slowly, up to his. She made sure he could see that she was only laying them on top of his own, and not trying to force him off of her.

"It- it scares them-"

"Tell me the truth-"

"It keeps me safe, okay?!" He screams again. His grip on her collar loosens, but he doesn't let go. "It- it makes it easier-"

"To kill?"

For the first time since Barbara Gordon met him, Robinson looked her in the eye. There was an unimaginable amount of pain burning behind them. "Makes it so I- so...Eddie...don't feel so guilty after."

---

'Eddie Robinson was still a scared little boy, hiding from what happened to his parents. He'd just traded in a teddy bear and a safety blanket for a mask and a murderous crusade. The violence was the only way he knew how to convey to the world the injustice done to him. Tally Man didn't make Eddie happy. I just had to show him another way to feel safe.

Yesterday, Barbara Gordon handed Eddie a certificate verifying his mental well-being. So long as he continued his weekly therapy sessions, kept up on his medication, and showed no signs of regression, Eddie Robinson was a free man. She'd fought like hell to keep him from being sent over to Blackgate. That place was nearly just as bad as Arkham, only she couldn't be around to watch his back in there. It was a risk. She knew that. But she also knew the kind of man Eddie could be. His capacity for empathy, despite his personal pain, almost matched another man she knew.

"Thank you, doc. I- I can't ever repay the good you've done for me." Eddie shook her hand too tight and too fast, his eyes wet with the beginning of tears.

She pulled him in for a hug. "You can thank me by getting out there and making the most of your life, Ed. You've got a lot of it ahead of you. And don't forget to check in with me, alright? Your new therapist's a great man, don't get me wrong, but I want to make sure you're doing well myself. Remember to check out those places I gave you, too. They're great places to work, and they don't care what's on your record."

"Yes, yeah, of course I will. Thank you so much. I don't ever wanna end up back here. The people in there..." He shook his head. "Stay safe, doc."

Barbara had left that incident two months ago out of her official reports. Something like that would've kept Ed in Arkham for another year, at least- and more importantly it would've gotten him transferred to another psychiatrist. That would've been the end of his recovery. It was rash, sure. And if anybody found out she could've had her license revoked. But no one deserved to be stuck in that place for long. It'd chewed up and spat out every decent person who ever walked in the front door.

None of those people had learned how to defend themselves under Batman.

"You don't have to worry, trust me."

None of them had tangled with every monster in Gotham from Bane to the Joker to the walking corpse of Jason Todd.

'None of them were Batwoman.'

Today, Barbara Gordon successfully defended her doctoral thesis from the examination committee at Gotham University. She pulled out her second cellphone and shot a text to what must have been the most encrypted group chat on earth, full of everyone she'd ever called family. Minus dad. She'd tell him over dinner if he wasn't busy saving the city.

I passed!! From now on that's DOCTOR Gordon to all of you

B. Gordon

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

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

SUPERBOY #6 Pull My Strings

---

_{The Daily Planet ♦ Metropolis}

Tana Moon brought Superboy to what she described as her 'office.' It was a supply closet. Cramped to all hell with boxes, shelving and a printer that would've been old a decade ago. The lights in the ceiling hung too low and burned too bright. Toward the back of the room was Moon's whole setup: her laptop set on a stack of copy paper cases, an office chair that couldn't spin anymore, and an empty cork board. He wasn't going to ask about the board, or the accompanying shoe box full of thumbtacks, red yarn and newspaper clippings.

"Can the judgement, cape. Not everybody's a millionaire." Tana called over her shoulder, dropping into the chair and booting up the computer. The back of it was covered in all sorts of stickers: ELLIS 2020, Metropolis U, a vaguely homoerotic sticker of Spider-Man and Nightwing.

"I didn't say anything." He did a 360 around the room in search of a seat of his own. There weren't an abundance of options.

"This is my nerve center. My retreat. The place where it happens." He raised a skeptical brow and she caved immediately. "Alright, so its the only place with a little privacy around here. I'll start combing through the archive, see what I can find on your baddie."

"What am I s'posed to do?"

"See those reports on top of the printer? Those go to the desks with the matching name plates. What? Don't look at me like that. I'm supposed to be working, not helping you. This'll take me fifteen minutes, tops."

He spent the next five minutes zipping across the office, delivering reports, changing ink cartridges and writing emails. Even spell-checked her criminology paper on that serial killer from New York, the Punisher. That was him going slow, too. The next fifteen minutes was him agonizing over how to pass the time. He stopped a bike thief in Centennial Park. Went to grab a pizza from that place on Bleecker street, but they weren’t open yet. Get a frozen one from the supermarket instead. Ate the pizza. Did a lap around the bay to work off the calories. Went too fast, pizza came back up. Took a shower and headed back to the Planet.

"How ‘bout now? You got anything?"

"You think anything changed since the last eighty four times you asked me?! Well, it has. Sit down, I finally got something."

The first public appearance of Knockout actually predated Superman. She tangled with one of those old school, JSA-era capes way back in the day; nobody knew her name yet so the connection was hard to make, but there weren't too many seven foot tall redheads that could bench press a train car running around. She'd appear sporadically over the coming decades, and not always in the States. The name Knockout wouldn't be tied to her until her first clash with the Man of Steel.

"How'd you even find all this? This is incredible."

"I have a friend, Mickey Cannon; he's a real technophile. Had him run a bot through the archive, lookin' for any mention of Knockout or a few keywords that'd identify her. We're actually part of this online group called the Newsboys-"

"-yeah no that’s great, can you keep readin'?"

She disappeared from the public eye after her capture and subsequent sentencing. Most people assumed she was still in Belle Reve, and the prison’s records would’ve backed that up- the only discrepancy was a raid in South America, where a group of costumed villains attempted to assassinate a head of state. One of those villains matched Knockout’s description to a T. That wasn’t the craziest part of this story, though- the craziest part was who stopped them.

"I know that guy!" Superboy all but leapt out of his tights to point to the screen. It was a low-quality picture snapped with a flip phone, but he’d recognize that golden armor and the blue suit anywhere. "That's Guardian! He's- he's retired now, but James Harper- he's head of security at our main facility- he used to be a superhero. I...have no idea why he'd be in South America, though. He was a local guy. A real 'show up to a minor league baseball game' type."

"So Cadmus has gone after Knockout before?"

"No way," he scoffed, "Jim only started working at the lab a couple of months after I was born-"

“-That...timeline works perfectly-“

"After Superboy was born." He laughed a little too hard. "Y’know, my- my rebirth as a hero kind of thing. That was, uh, just twelve or thirteen months ago. No, Harper must've been there for his own reasons." Try as he might, he didn't sound too convinced by his own theory. None of this made any sense.

Moon stared up at him, practically boring a hole into his skull. "Do you know where Guardian got his powers? That fancy suit of armor? I mean, I'm no expert, but something like that would’ve cost a fortune. Way more money than a...what'd you call him- a 'minor league baseball' type of hero- ought to have."

"So, what? You're suggestin' Jim and everybody at Cadmus has been lyin' to me? That they made him Guardian just like they made me, but weren't ever public about it?" Superboy faked a scoff.

"If you trust your company so much then why are you in my supply closet instead of asking your boss yourself?" Tana stood from her seat, taking a step up to him. There was barely enough room for one of them to stand in here, let alone two. Superboy didn’t respond to her. He couldn't meet her gaze. Tana took that as assurance she'd hit the nail on the head and pressed on, "Look, you obviously care about this woman or you wouldn't be here. And I'm going to be honest with you, s-boy, things don't look too good for her. Cadmus wanted her badly enough to send you after her in public. They tried the same thing two years ago when they sent Guardian after a U.S-backed death squad in Southern America."

"It sounds crazy. Batshit, if I’m bein' honest."

"And yet..." she shrugged.

"...what should I do about it?"

"The superhero's asking me that?"

He turned away, running his hands through his hair. His chest hurt. Ribs, too. Mind was racing quicker than he could keep up with it- a million difference possibilities, none of them good. Too big a question, too many potential answers, and no way to contextualize which ones were worth his time. "Maybe it ain't obvious yet but this is the first time I've done this on my own," he sighed, frustrated. "Always had a support structure, marching orders. All I ever had to do was hit what they pointed at. This, though? This is way over my paygrade."

Moon grabbed a notebook off a nearby shelf. Had to try three pens before one would write, but then she started to write. Furious, quick as hell, and barely legible to anyone that wasn't her. It might've impressed Superboy if that look in her eye didn't make him squirm with discomfort. She had a plan, alright. And he could tell he wasn't going to like it in the least.

"Unless you're willing to come out as a source we can't go traditional with this. If somebody leaks the story online, though, you bet every major paper in the country will be tripping over each other to cover those allegations. I can make a few calls to friends of mine and get this trending everywhere. Cadmus can't hide then."

His jaw all but hit the floor. "Are you out of your gourd, Tana? Do you have even the slightest idea what'd happen to you if you got in the middle of this? You could get hurt. Bad."

"I'll cover my tracks. We can't just let these guys get away with this, and I'd bet everything its only the tip of the iceberg." Her own jaw was set, never wavering.

"You don't understand." He shook his head furiously. "Listen, Paul Westfield is- is a good man, okay? Complicated, intense, but the- the superhero stuff is the real deal. I wouldn't be here without him. I owe him everything."

"That corporate ghoul wouldn't know good if it slapped him in the face. There's an angle. There always is with those rich guys."

"I didn't take you for the cynical type." He narrows his eyes.

She narrowed hers back. "And I didn't take you for a coward."

Superboy started for the door. "Maybe you were right earlier. Maybe I shouldn't have come here and maybe- maybe I should just ask the man myself."

"You're making a mistake!" She yelled after him, but he was already gone.