Realistic or Modern ✭ Welcome To Columbia | New America, New Heroes

[ChazGhost]

Plasma Rex
Jefferson

Rex was happily filling his bag full of cash when some from outside the truck yelled at him to stop and that the money wasn't his. Under his helmet, Rex grinned. "So it looks like I get beat down a..." Rex said turning around to the man who yelled at him, which was a scarf around his face. "You got to be f***ing kidding. A guy covering his face with cheap a** scarf is the hero who shows up to fight me? I'm a grade A supervillain and your a want to be..." Rex said as pallet came at him from behind. The pallet smashed across his back breaking into to piece and knocking Rex forward. Rex caught himself before falling onto the floor of the truck.

"Okay Scarf face you have my attention, let's see if you like. Because unlike you I do more than launch wood at people" Rex said aiming his palm at the scarfed hero and fired a laser blast at the scarf figure. "The names Plasma Rex and even if your small fry hero, it looks nice in the news what beat the hell out of you," Rex said loudly so the crowd could hear. He wanted the news to get ahold of this and know exactly who was the bad guy around.

Spoiler: Mentions and those in the area

BELIAL. Allcure

 

[Remembrance]

Elias Menteur
Giuseppe’s Coffee ->
Downtown

Elias broke his concentration from his science papers, his eyes growing tired from reading constant dribble. But as the barista arrived to his table, dropping off a wonderfully made cappuccino. Elias’ smile grew 10x wider with bliss, at least poorly spent money on wonderful coffee would save the day. Elias raised the cup of coffee, careful not to mess or spill it, the delicate nature of holding the cup stressed his arm but after some stabilization from his friendly amorphous black sludge he felt a lot more safer holding the cup up. As he raised it up to his lips, his brain fired an eccentric amount of dopamine throughout his body, and once the coffee cup hit his lips, his body was shivering with happiness. However not all is what it seems, drinking the coffee poured a sour taste in Elias’ mouth, he almost wanted to throw it all up. Dammit, the coffee is even worse than I imagined. Elias set the cup down and put his head into his palms. Christ, can anything make this day better?

One of Elias’ favorite pastimes was listening to the police radio, it was always fun to just listen on what was happening. It‘s so fun that it’s available on all platforms of media. Elias pulled out his phone from his pocket, setting it down onto the table. He then pulled out his earbuds but they were all tangled up.

Five minutes later and his earbuds are untangled, inserting the aux cord into the phone’s jack was easy, now to listening in on police radios. Elias pressed the app and selected the location, as he did, all sorts of radio chatter was available for Elias’ listening pleasure. Finishing the up Piece De Resistance of this grand pastime was pulling up a police code sheet on his phone, just for reference.

Almost immediately there was chatter on the radio, it was hard to hear due to slight interference but Elias could make out a few things. Villain with superpowers, armored truck, and money. Almost the most used trio of villain attacks, this was common but Elias was almost deeply interested in the last word. See, Elias has been working tirelessly on a project, nothing bad but he’d definitely need some funding to continue it on. What better way to get funding than through somebody already preparing it? Abruptly standing up from his chair, Elias leaves a $10 bill on the table also leaving his barely finished cappuccino. As he walked out the door, his eyes adjusted to the bright light of the morning sun, he placed his hand on his face and waited for only a few seconds. Elias had (for the past 2 months) been training his black amorphous gel to form a mask, something coherent, luckily, it had a creative mind.

With a simple black mask without any easy identifying features on his face, he started running. As he ran, he listened carefully for the location of the robbery currently taking place. Wait, that street? Elias ran in disbelief as the crime was ridicously close to where he was. Just around this corner. As Elias approached the corner of the block, his mind began to wander.

Was Elias ready to introduce himself to the world. Actually, was the world ready to meet him? It didn’t matter, Elias turned the corner and viewed upon the armored truck currently being robbed. Elias paid little attention to his surroundings, but he did see that there was one other person in the corner of his eye, the man, who seemed to be some kind of vigilante didn’t seem like he was currently helping the situation. As Elias stopped, he stood in such a position that looking from an aerial view, one would be mistaken for them just trying to make a sharp triangle.

Elias slowed his breathing doubling it up with deep breathes being taken in, then out. Almost as if out of nowhere, large masses of mist began to radiate off of him. As the mist drifted forth and reached its destination, it began forming three tall, lanky, and sharp fingered black ghosts. Your back. The same one at the college. Elias then looked to one of the black ghosts, firmly telling it to; “Root!” Rooting was a simple tactic, the Black Ghost would usually stand over a sewer lid or some other entrance into the sewers and began absorbing all forms of heat in order to aggressively spread underground. The morning sun typically helped but it could be done in any environment.

Now it’s time to attack! The two other Black Ghosts began to run forward, claws unleashed and with intent to kill. Hopefully this ends quickly, wouldn’t want the vigilante to get wounded.
ChazGhost Allcure ​

 

[Allcure]

Henry Pope // Faraday
Jefferson - Truck Crash
Mentions: ChazGhost Remembrance
​

Faraday never quite understood the villainous tendency to monologue, his best guess it was simply an ego thing. It was quite satisfying watching the armoured figure being interrupted by his attack. The smirk that had curled his lips swiftly disappeared however as suddenly the man launched a beam of orange energy at him. Faraday's body reacted before he even gave any instruction. His legs coiled beneath him before launching him sideways. Faraday landed with an uncomfortable roll behind a nearby taxi cab. The shot had been fast, so fast that a quick inspection revealed the thin shirt material covering his mechanical arm was singed from the heat, it must have missed him by inches. Reaching up with his other hand, he tore the material away, the metal beneath was hot to the touch in places. A second quick check confirmed his mask was thankfully still intact.

Slowly raising his head over the back of the cab, Faraday tried to make out the villain.
"Master Faraday, I have found some data on this 'Plasma Rex'." Caine spoke in his ear.
"Great, you can fill me in later, kind of busy." Faraday hissed back, trying to formulate a plan. He had no idea this guy had these sorts of energy projection powers. Even fully equipped Henry wasn't sure what he would do, now, with limited options he was at a loss. Faraday glanced around, fragments of ideas bouncing around, painfully aware that time was of the essence. A manhole cover, a newspaper, several other scattered items left by fleeing pedestrians. None of it alone was enough, he thought to himself. That was until his eyes locked onto the sound system inside the cab. Suddenly all those fragments came together. "Caine, here's what I want you to do."

Faraday had been hiding behind the car for perhaps a dozen seconds before he leapt out again with a burst of super human speed. he held the manhole cover in his mechanical arm and with the form of an Olympic discus thrower, launched the metal disc at terrifying speed at Plasma Rex. Faraday didn't even wait to see if it had hit, instead dashing behind a large mailbox on the other side of the street.
"It's over Rex, the police are already on their way, and where they go you know other heroes follow! Surrender now!" Faraday shouted out, trying his best to be heard whilst staying in relative cover. As the words left Faraday's lips, a faint sound of sirens seemed to appear, slowly but surely growing louder. Faraday looked back at the cab with a smirk. Within he had connected his earpiece to the sound system and Caine was doing the rest. If everything went to plan the sounds of approaching police would force the villain to abandon his haul, or at least most of it. Of course he could simply call his bluff, or not be frightened by the police in the first place. Faraday chose to strategically ignore these possibilities.

Just as he had thought everything might be okay, two more black figures arrived on the scene. They were humanoid but by no means human, long claws stretching from each hand as they approached. "Give me a break!" Faraday moaned as one barrelled towards him. Faraday was struck with indecision, his initial thought was to grapple to a nearby rooftop, somewhere out of the range of those claws. Though if these things were working with Plasma Rex he would simply be giving him a chance to escape. Unable to decide, Faraday simply readied himself, raising his mechanical arm in front of him to try and block any attack.

 

[Optimus Princeps]

Spoiler

Saint Reagan's Children's Hospital - Columbia City

Doctor Samuel Cook​

Weathered and experienced.

Samuel Cook considered that an apt description of his hospital.

Likewise, it would not be improper to refer to the children's hospital as failing and on the verge of collapse. Not a physical collapse, but a financial one. Founded shortly after the city of Columbia took shape, Saint Reagan's celebrated life and fought to preserve it. For a time, it was known as the best clinic for children and young adults who suffered from symptoms of their own existence. From seasonal flu to media amplified outbreak, Saint Reagan's endured, caring for those in her service. For a time, Saint Reagan's was the pride of Columbia, at the very least, when matters boiled down to medical pursuits.

Alas. Such a time was long spent.

The downfall started in 2008, new regulations, harsher and less forgiving laws surrounding medical staff, and more sick and injured. Cook could hardly pinpoint the exact cause for the flood of needy. Was it a cultural shift, people needing confirmation that something was right with them? Maybe it was the opposite, Samuel often considered, that each patient required some new illness they could carry about, a perverse pride in striding through life with the hardship. Evo-activity, particularly gang affiliated violence and terrorism were up, but Samuel snorted then and now at the insinuation that Evo's were the sole cause of the rise in hospital activity.

No, it was a mystery that, to this day, Cook did not have the answer to. And in truth, it didn't matter. The hospital was barely able to handle its own, discounting the newer faces that soon became regulars. After 2017, Saint Reagan's began shutting down wings of the hospital, unable to keep patients housed in sanitary environments or even pay staff for each and every floor. It was a steady decline, a cancer that expanded and grew, devouring not only the warmth and hope that the hospital provided, but the finances required to keep it running. Each year passed and Samuel Cook found himself struggling to keep the few doctors, surgeons and nurses around. There were other opportunities, albeit none gleaming, as they once were with Al Gore's splendid promises. But Saint Reagan's had fallen hard, from the pride of a community to another shambling corpse in the city. A building that, if not for its imposing size and well graffitied wall, one would not look twice at.

A high profile medical professional and old timer in the capital, Samuel hoped that he'd have an easy audience with President Nottingham. This was just another folly on his part, false hope, as he never so much as sniffed the man. The portly figure always eluded him, just shy of ear sight or preoccupied with another, richer man. On certain nights, Cook wondered if the universe was conspiring against him, to force the children's hospital shut. For his long years of dedication and service to be flushed down the toilet.

Years of frustration built and built, stressing the dam that was his patience. Cook felt ready to burst, looking at the state of his hospital and the likelyhood of its closure soon. . .

Only that didn't happen.

Out from the ether, a new light came for Saint Reagan's Hospital. John Davidson Rockefeller IIIIII had made his interest known to both Cook and the Surgeon General that his interest in Saint Reagan's was far from mild. It took six months of grueling settlements before the Industrialist managed to grab a deal he was happy with. Six months of uneasiness, never knowing if the patients had a place to stay, or if the hospital would be torn down for yet another casino. In the end, they won.

When it came time to show Rockefeller his new property, Doctor Samuel was all too happy to provide a tour for the enigmatic philanthropist and the 'suits' that accompanied him. Normally predisposed to disliking their ilk, the Doctor had no hard feelings to his present company, as he took them through the active wings of the hospital. It brought particular joy to see the flamboyantly dressed Rockefeller pose for pictures with the younger children, allowing a sick girl to even wear his violet top hat and a boy of eight to swing the (decorative) wooden cane of his around like a baton.

"This entire wing is known as the security containment precinct. It's where we used to leave unruly patients whose inner powers made them a threat to everyone else in the hospital." the good Doctor explained as they stepped from an elevator into musky, stale air. The walls in this region of the hospital were reinforced steel, sound proofed and when it was still used regularly, filled with security guards. "We never did like using it though. And I hope we don't have to in the future. But some patients get themselves so worked up, they need a little time out." The Doctor let a withered laugh escape his dry lips, his advanced age no great secret.

Of the four following behind Doctor Cook like confused children, it was the Industrialist who drew Samuel's constant attention. Fixed in that peacock of a suit he wore, fresh flowers on his lapel and the violet, shimmering suit of constantly shifting shades, Samuel wondered not for the first time if Rockefeller was neglected as a boy, making up for the lack of attention in his later years. An amusing thought, but he'd not dare utter it. Insulting the man who saved his hospital was unthinkable. Clicking his tongue in tandem with the cane, the golden haired man's mouth drifted open, an expression of amazement as he took in the dour conditions of the SCP wing.

"This dungeon actually held people, in the twenty-first century?" Rockefeller's blue eyes squinted, trying to make out finer details through the haze of dust. "Unbelievable. . Did such a method keep in our gifted cousins?" John's voice rose as a feather in the wind, a soft lilt accompanying every word.

"Burns. Acids. Gorilla strength." The doctor chuckled, drawing an amused mockery of laughter from Rockefeller. "For the adolescences, this was particularly troubling. Puberty has always been suspected to be tied to the development of one's inherent power. Imagine a wolf-man reacting to the full moon at the age of 13?" Another empty laugh, that his guest - or was it host now?- was all too happy to dryly mimic.

A soft grunt, Rockefeller maneuvered around the remains of some animals waste and followed the doctor deeper into the SCP wing. "You could right a book, Doctor. I'm sure it'd be a best seller."

"I have." The doctor muttered.

"Ah. My apologies." Rockefeller said in an equally low voice.

Brushing past the momentary silence, the doctor sighed as he flashed a hand in either direction - the entire floor was laid out closer to a prison than a medical institution, with steel grey walls and little natural light. When it was decided that Samuel needed to leave parts of the hospital abandoned, this was the first to go. "There's not much else for you to see, Mister Rockefeller." The Doctor's gaze fell from the purple peacock to his companions - an Asian woman in a pencil skirt and white blouse and two large suited men. The bigger of the two was of African origins, bald headed and with specters blocking his vision, even in these dim halls. The other, a white male, sported a crown of thorns that did more than hint of his extra-conditions. "I believe it's best we return to the children."

The Asian woman, likely the secretary, spoke up for the first time in half an hour. "The tour is concluded then, Mister Doctor?"

Samuel nodded slowly. "Rather best to end it here, misses. Unless Mister Rockefeller wants to see the boiler room and the sub-levels..." His trailing voice betrayed a lack of confidence in himself to give an adequate showcase of those floors. As a doctor, one who rose to the highest position in the hospital, lurking in those cellars wasn't his business.

The secretary didn't respond, looking to the peacock for instructions.

"This is perfect." Clapped the Industrialist, his smile never wavering as he twirled in the dank space. "Such a place of history! Signalling the beginning of Columbia's greatness, only to fall into disuse and come close to shutting its doors for good. Yet, the proud and brave Rockefeller rescued Saint Reagan's from the crypt of Nottingham's decay!" Emphasizing his point, Rockefeller slammed the end of his cane into the tiled floor below. "Did you get that Amanda? It was a spur of the moment rant, but that's perfect for a headline, isn't it? The allegory writes itself!"

The secretary nodded with a clear lack of enthusiasm. "'Robber Baron saves Children's Hospital' would provoke as much of a response in the public, Mister Rockefeller."

"It has to be grandiose! It doesn't matter how flimsy the article is, no one bothers to read much more than a headline these days. Pack the front end with as much proverbial meat as we can, Amanda." Wagging the cane in her face, the assistant's eyes narrowed before Rockefeller pulled back his walking stick.

Samuel kept his features stiff. Charity came in many forms, and Rockefeller's altruism may have been tainted by some self gain, but he allowed himself a congratulatory pat on the back. He saved the hospital. "We'll give the press a tour once Saint Reagan's is back in working order." Cook felt the need to support his new employer, pressing onwards. "Maybe let them take pictures before we begin the repairs, that'll leave a lasting impression of your, uh, legendary touch in all tasks you take, Mister Rockefeller."

"Huh?" Rockefeller's face dropped from excited to perplexed, eyes fixated on the aging medical professional. "We're not going to be fixing the building. Do you have any clue how much that'd cost me?" John scoffed. "And then maintenance. . Salaries. . . Lawsuits. No, no, no, no, no. A hospital is almost as large a money pit as a boat."

Doctor Cook was at a loss for words. "I don't understand." He managed to get out. "You bought the hospital. . Just to keep it as is?" A storm of rage swirled in his mind, withheld at the moment, but Samuel was growing anxious and angry with each passing second of silence.

"I bought the hospital as a tax write off first and foremost." Rockefeller's giddy attitude fell to the wayside. "Secondly, as a publicity stunt." Cook choked on his tongue, resisting the urge to holler, giving the Industrialist a moment more to explain himself. "And thirdly? Who's to say I am keeping with your status quo?"

"What?" Old hands, stricken with arthritis, cracked into fists with knuckles whiter than snow.

"I don't need all the current patients." John Davidson Rockefeller spoke plainly, detached from the plight of the children and their families - of the legacy of Saint Reagan's. "About fifty should do. The rest will find other hospitals to linger at."

"They need us." Roared the old doctor. "Fifty out of three hundred? What, just enough to parade the media around?" The doctor growled dangerously. Already, he felt his head splitting.

"Precisely. I'll let you decide who stays and who goes."

"I refuse." The bitter bark was followed with rapid steps as Cook cleared the distance between the two men. Rockefeller instinctively pulled backwards and raised his cane, but not before the old Doctor's hands grabbed hold of his lapel, wrinkling flowers in the process. "Is this some sick joke to you? Do their lives mean nothing to you, John?"

Sneering down at the doctor, Rockefeller didn't bother to lift a finger. Before Samuel could strike him, a pair of hands pried the frail man away from the Industrialist. The black man held Samuel tightly to his chest, despite his thrashings and curses, Cook even dared to bite the man's hand. Yet he didn't react, beyond a deepening scowl.

"My, my, apologies, good doctor." Rockefeller addressed, his attention split between his mired outfit and the furious doctor. "Well, you can quit, and I'll pick those who need treatment the least to stay here. Cheaper for me." The Industrialist prodded Samuel's head with the end of his cane, igniting a new wave of anger in the small man. "Or, you can stay on. Keep your mouth shut, and I'll graciously give the fifty sickest kids my full care. It'd be mighty inconvenient to have someone like you babbling about me, so close to the election season."

Snarling, Cook coughed up at Rockefeller. "I trusted you once, and look where it got me."

"And you could trust me again and do some good. Better than being in the news cycle for a total of one week and barely impacting my image." John continued to fuss with his shirt and suit jacket, the lack of attention even more insulting to the furious man. "Don't be dimwitted." The doctor felt the grip on the security guard loosen and he nearly fell forward for it. Silence prevailed, only the soft coughing from inhaling too much dust or other microbes in the air broke forth. "I don't have all day. Final chance, I'll fire you or you can fulfill that inner compunction of yours to help others."

"You'll rot in Hell for this, John." Cook croaked out, weaker in voice than before. "I'm saving as many as I can." He submitted.

"Splendid! Amanda will draw up an official contract for your new position here, Head Chief Consultant!" Rockefeller clapped, momentarily shelving the cane in the crook of his elbow. "Swing by our offices in Jefferson sometime and I'll let you hash out some more details with my administrative team." The security guard dropped the old man to the floor, following his employer as the Robber Baron swayed across the grime covered floor for the elevator. "Pleasure doing business with you, doctor."

Sam heard him say before the rumblings of the lift, carrying the Standard Oil staff back to the ground floor. There, alone in the dirt of the SCP wing, the doctor cursed loudly and profusely. Till his throat dried up and he could speak no more.

His cure was but a worse infection.

 

[Damafaud]

Lilian White

Jefferson/Downtown; Giuseppe's Coffee
Curious; Conversation
Interaction: Middle-aged Man with a Newspaper
Mention: TheFool , ailurophile ​

The man spoke at the same time as the university student was leaving. The student left quite abruptly, with earphone still dangling from his pocket. Later on at the day, Lilian would notice that the closest university was definitely not 10 minutes away from Jefferson, making his presence at the time quite peculiar.

Lilian hadn't expected the man to initiate a conversation; he looked quite taciturn. It was only after she noticed where she was looking at realisation dawned on her. Her action would be improper from the man's point of view. Staring at a stranger, after all, would be quite rude. Even so, the notion of apologising or showing a hint of embarrassment did not pass through her mind.

"I was wondering if you are a hero or someone's famous as well," answered Lilian honestly. The possibility was there, the chance not zero. Ergo, why shouldn't she ask? She focused her gaze on the middle-aged man, her eyes entertaining the possibility without a hint of ridicule. She revealed a smile that showed the rows of white of her teeth, conveying that she meant no offense.

"The Musketeers come in group of three, after all."

 

[Dawnstar]

Jefferson Central, Middle and High School
Math Class​

A class-like any other with the cycloptic grump of a teacher, Mr Melworth: An aging teacher with one eye in a perpetual squint giving precedence for Declan's internal nickname for him. Mr Melworth was recapping and going back over all the normal math topics pre-algebra, time-distance diagrams, ect ,ect, that the class had already gone through this year in preparations for some upcoming tests. Sending question after question and notes to be displayed on the students individuals desks. Though most of the class clearly wasn't that interested just nodding and flicking through the electronic-notebook, this applied to Declan most of it all who had already started higher-grade mathematics much earlier in the year . Instead the young teen's eyes had just wandered towards and out the window, watching the thrilling excitement that was the small-trash clearing robot in the yard. (Great time's right?)

Inexplicably flames overwhelm Declan's vision, an entire room ablaze with dusty-gray flames, the sounds of shouting and of a firebell weakly ringing as it melted away in the distance like a last gasp. Scratch Mark like-clawed fingernails covering antique wooden desks without anything akin to the built-in touch screens. A deathly black smoke filling the room and the body of an older gentleman laid limp in the corner, their head dipped with its remaining strength already lost. The smell of-

"Yes Declan I know how boring you must find this but some of your classmates are actually trying to learn, pick up your chair and sit back down. And while you're at it, if you think you're good enough you don't need this practice why don't you answer us this question." The familiar corse sound of Mr Melworth's voice breaking the phantasmal landscape that Declan's powers had engulfed him into, as he tapped a problem on the screen. The entire class was looking back at Declan with expressions of confusion, and amusement targeted at him.
For during the panicked delusions Declan had bolted to his feet, knocking down his chair over behind himself and his face had turned white as a ghost.

A few moments of confusion cross his face watching the color of the world return back from the faded aflamed landscape, as he tries to figure out what just happened and quickly getting pressed by the social-weight of everyone's eyes being fixed on him. "Huh.. Right -yeah sorry sir!" Declan immediately picked up his chair while darting his head back first to the teacher's large screen, then the small one built into his desk just trying to atleast figure out what topic they'd gotton onto at this point.
"......Uhhh..."

"..the split would be one-sixth, one-quarter and seven-twelfths for twelve-dollars, eighteen-dollars and forty-two-dollars." After a befuddled delay of trying to play catch-up he gives his answer. Mr Melworth simply nods and tells Declan to sit down, proceeding to go into a overly-long ramble to explain why the problem has the answers that it did.

Declan obliges and sits down, his heart still racing though it's honestly more from his classmates accusing and judging gazes more than it was from the vision.
His face was flushed red from the embarssment of causing a scene.

What was that.. The past maybe? The desks looked really old..
..Urg.. Do I try and tell some- no.
Can't let everyone know about it, they'd freak and ask too much.
Or they'd just think i'm crazy.
Am I crazy? ..Randomly seeing messed-up stuff like this.
Urg what's up with all of this.. It's like every over day.

 

[Hypnos]

The Last Supper, Little Venice
Columbia City
​

A palace befitting the highest of princes or kings. A floating fortress, impenetrable to those who would see it harmed. The home of one of the most dangerous men in Columbia: The Last Supper bore an ominous name that suited its ominous nature, floating gently above the peaceful waves of the Little Venetian Dockyard, in a sinisterly inviting manner. It had been a mighty vessel once, a transport ship in which hundreds of Italian immigrants had fled the constant threat of the Iron Curtain in Europe in order to seek out a better life in the New World, yet now it had been transformed into a different creature entirely. An All-Italian Restaurant and Eatery, open twenty-four hours a day to serve the public with the greatest in Mediterranean Cuisine, harboured just at the edge of city limits for your convenience. At least, that was the mask it wore to common man. In truth, the whole thing was a facade, an illusion to placate the city’s watchmen and tax collectors, and avert the gaze of suspecting folk.

It was a cesspool. A hive of scum and villainy.

Of course, one would not see that from a simple glance, and as Domenico di Lontano approached grandiose vessel, the only thing that caught his eye was the massive slew of patrons who waited eagerly in front of him in the line, clamouring for a place at the table. It seemed this place was very exclusive, and from the talk of those around him, Dom understood that some of these people had booked many months in advance to secure their seats. Perhaps on another occasion, Dom might have contented himself to wait. To patiently relegate himself to the back of the queue and shuffle forwards every few minutes as people were either acknowledged in their reservations, or turned away at the door. Unfortunately, patience was not a virtue with which Dom was blessed, and the jet lag from his recent travel had left him drowsy and agitated. He would not stand in line like the common plebeians, He had business to attend, and he would prefer to do it quick.

It was this mentality of self-importance that boosted Dom to a position by the door, pushing and shoving those in front of him as if he were back in the prison yard, and they were fighting for a pack of cigarettes. By the time he reached the front, his suit was somewhat ruffled, and various angry jeers could be heard from behind him, however he was otherwise unscathed.

‘I come to speak with the Doge. I had hoped to get a table.’

‘And have you got a reservation sir?’ The usher at the door turned up his nose as Dom approached, having clearly seen his disregard for social etiquette.

‘I am new here, friend. I had hoped that…’

‘Then you have hoped wrong, friend.’ The last word was filled with mocking spite. ‘Look around you. The Supper cannot give tables to anyone who asks for it. We would run out of business. Please sir, you are blocking our real patrons. I would ask you kindly to leave.’

Dom’s face went a violent shade of red at the man’s words, his fingers wringing as if miming strangling the man in front of him. ‘I think you have misunderstood me, friend.’ From a holster concealed beneath his suit jacket, Dom revealed the small pistol which he always kept upon his person, his eyes following down just long enough so that the man before him understood the meaning of his words.

‘I told you to leave.’ The usher didn’t even flinch at the less than transparent threat, his own jacket unfastened to reveal another concealed weapon, only this one was much larger. ‘I won't ask you again.’

Dom fumed shifting his gaze around the crowd of people behind him, this was not a good place for a fight, far too open, and he had little desire to return to confinement so soon. ‘Listen here you little cun…’

His words were cut off by the arrival of a third individual, round and doughy, with a head molded in such a way that it was impossible to tell whether he had no chin, or no neck. ‘Di Lontano?’ He questioned aloud, ignoring the tension clearly present.

‘That’s me.’ Dom replied, his hand still placed firmly upon his gun. ‘What do you want, little man?’

‘You can come with me. The Doge has been expecting you.’

As he followed the man through the doors and onto the boat, Dom shot the usher a deadly look, though his hands returned to his side, attempting to regain some of his previous composure. It would not do well to meet the Doge in his current state.

Dom trailed behind the pudgy man slowly, his eyes shifting around what seemed to be a fairly standard, high class restaurant. He rubbed his temple once more, allowing his breathing to slow to a normal rate. The place was brightly lit, and well decorated, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and paintings of significant events in Columbian history strung periodically upon the walls. At the head of the restaurant was a large dining table, with maybe thirteen chairs laid across only one side, so that all of its inhabitants might be able to look out across the restaurant, and see all of the patrons. It was here that Dom expected he would be meeting with the Doge, and as such, he made a beeline, however the pudgy man’s hand across his chest told him that this wouldn’t be the case, and instead, he was led away from the crowds and friendly faces, and towards a curtain that led into a back room, revealing a whole new section of the restaurant.

This room was so juxtaposed to the remainder of the place, that it was a surprise that they occupied the same humble ship. Whilst the previous room had been well lit, and adorned with great fineries and extravagances, this one was dim, and bare, with walls painted black, and a single light bulb hanging from a cord upon the ceiling that provided the room’s only light. Whilst the rest of the restaurant was busy, this room was sparse, with only half-a-dozen inhabitants occupying the whole vast room, each sitting upon a comfortable looking velvet chair arranged around a dirty circular table, clutching in their hands a set of grubby looking cards, and occasionally reaching for an open bottle of beer that rested upon the table.

The largest of these inhabitants, a behemoth of a man with arms thicker than tree trunks, held a cigar in between two fingers, using as his ashtray a sign clearly labeled ‘no smoking on these premises.’ It was to this man, that Dom’s gaze fell first, his eyes scanning the elderly gentleman whose short and greyed hair betraying his age in a way his wrinkleless face did not. This was the man whom he had come to see. The Doge of Little Venice; Napoleone Genovese.

‘Take a seat, lad. I am glad to hear of your return after all these years.’ Genovese gestured to seat right beside him, it’s previous occupant jumping up quickly to accomodate the request. ‘Though I must confess that I am confused by your presence at this time. I would have thought you eager to see your papa.’ The man dropped his cigar just long enough to clasp Dom’s face in his massive hands, moving his face closer so that he might plant a kiss upon either of the younger man’s cheeks, leaving a cloud of dark smoke hanging in the air.

‘That’s why I’m here… My papa is…’ Dom tried to rush out his words, but he was cut off when the Genoan raised a single large finger to his face.

‘You smoke, boy?’ He asked, raising a single eyebrow.

‘Of course I smoke, but…’

From below the table, the Genoan revealed covered pack of brown cigars, selecting the largest one, and shoving it into Dom’s fingers. ‘They’re Cuban, you know? Smuggled out through the embargo. I would not speak positively of any of those reds, but they do know how to smoke.’ He waved his hands to one of the goons behind him. ‘Guido, get our friend a light.’

In front of Dom’s eyes, the cigar was lit, and he raised it gently to his lips, taking a few drags to maintain the allure of politeness.

‘They’re good, no? I had gifted a similar pack to your sister upon her wedding day, though I regret that I was not invited to the ceremony itself.’ The Genoan’s left eye was lazy, and appeared to droop downwards towards the table, so that it was impossible to tell where he gaze rested. ‘If you want something stronger, then we’ve got stuff in from Colombia that might pique your interest?’

‘Not today.’ Dom replied, already getting impatient. ‘I had come to talk about…’

‘Your papa?’ The Genoan preempted him, ‘Come now, son, why don’t we play a few hands first, and then we can talk about business.’

Dom refused the offered cards, his face once again achieving a reddened tint. ‘I would prefer to talk about it, now.’

‘Very well.’ The older man replied, coughing as he snubbed out the cigar a final time. ‘You want me to see him released?’

‘I do.’ Dom replied through gritted teeth. ‘Your considerable influence…’

‘Is better used elsewhere at the moment, I’m afraid.’ The older man placed a large hand upon Dom’s back, exerting enough force to show that the man could easily break a bone, or send him to the hospital even without the aid of the sawn-off shotgun barely concealed in his coat pocket. ‘I’m afraid we live in turbulent times, son, and many of my oldest friends have stopped returning my calls.’ His sighed wistfully. ‘Your papa being one of them. Were that I could simply wave my hands and see your papa brought before me right now, I would thank the Lord for my good blessings.’ He made the sign of the cross upon his chest. ‘Perhaps if this were five years ago, such would be the case. Alas, I find myself powerless to do you this favour.’

Dom doubted the man’s words very much, but he was acutely aware that he was surrounded by many unfamiliar faces, though that did not prevent him from raising his voice. ‘So you will not help me?!’

‘Ask me for something else and I shall happily grant it. You desire cash? You desire protection? You desire a woman to warm your bed at night? You shall find a friend in Napoleone Genovese. But this is one request that I will not, nay, I cannot, grant you.’

Dom’s hands were beginning to shake as he stood up, clenched tightly into fists. ‘You have been of great help, Doge!’ He replied, sarcastically.

‘Please, we are all friends here. You do not have to address me by such titles.’

Dom ignored him, already turning to leave this godforsaken place. He had thought that getting his father out of prison would be the simple task of kissing the big man’s ass, however it seemed that he was widely mistaken. The Families had lost more power than he thought, if the old man was incapable of granting wish. If he was telling the truth that is. He turned one last time to the man at the table, offering a false smile as a way of saying his goodbyes, before storming off.

‘You are always welcome here, young man. It is a shame to see you gone so soon.’

As he made his way out of the ship in disgrace, he made the conscious effort to spit upon the footts of the usher upon his way out, eliciting the scandalous gasps of the higher class of patrons waiting to get inside.

It seemed that he would have to find another way to achieve his goal.

 

[ChazGhost]

Plasma Rex
Jefferson

"Quick aren't you scarfy" Rex said mockingly as the scarfed hero mostly dodged the laser blast and went to hide behind a car. "Do you think a car is going to stop me? Have fun in fairy tale land." Rex said blasting at the car and making holes through thinner sheets metal of the car and broke the glass. Rex was only able to make a few holes in the car before manhole cover was launched at him. "Woah!" Rex yelled as blasted it out of the air and launched off to the side. Lucky for him he was aiming in the same area as the manhole cover anyways so it didn't to much to adjust his aim to hit it. "So you throw man whole covers and slam pallets into to people. Can you seriously do more than throw sh** at me?"

Then his foe said the police were coming and that it was over. Rex was ready to call his bluff when siren started going off. Rex paused for seconding thinking. If their just the regular cops, I'll be good... Their handguns aren't piercing this armor...If it's a swat team with heavier guns then I'll have issues... As Rex thought about that new players joined the fun, hellspawn. Or what Rex thought were hellspawn or some other kind of demon. "What the hell?! When did hell open up?" Rex said caught off guard by the new creatures. But a few seconds later he called himself down and began blasting the monsters.

"So Scarfy... While I much prefer to beat the hell out of you, I think we can agree that hellspawn isn't something to let run wild right? I mean I like robbing people and blow sh** up but these things probably want to do much worse and prefer my headlines be stolen by an article talking about the death these things caused." Rex asking Scarfy for a minor team up so to not let the demon wild on the streets... and to not steal Rex's glory.

Spoiler: Mentions

Allcure Remembrance

 

[ailurophile]

VALERIE SMITH
SOCIALITE MRS LIBERTY III ​

"No Gio, I don't give up."

It was true: aside from that award-winning figure, and of course her relation to Virginia Smith, Valerie was known for her determination. That award-winning figure alone was a product of perseverance, though not in the diet-exercise sense. No, after being dismissed in the early rounds of her first beauty pageant for being 'flat as my three-day-old cola', she'd worked on focusing her new-found abilities to give herself a free-of-charge, free-of-risk breast augmentation. As shallow as it may seem, Valerie had decided from then that she could get anything she wanted, provided she wanted it enough. Perhaps she could re-release her failed nail polish line. But tits and pretty colours were far from being her focus for once.

"I do want to do good. I do. And I can. But for maximum potential, I can't do it alone-- I'm not an idiot." Another rant seemed almost imminent, but surprisingly, she managed to keep herself reasonable this time. Well, as reasonable as an overly passionate woman with a vision could be. "Don't you want to do good too? I know drugs and parties are a lot of fun. But you don't go down in history for being fun. Not down in meaningful history anyway."

She paused. Apparently the rant was imminent, but was being carefully divided into sections with little huffs, pointed looks, and sips from her hip flask.

"Grandma left a legacy, that's true. But this is more than that. People don't succeed by deciding not to try just because somebody who's come before them's been unsuccessful." Valerie quirked her head to the side and smiled, leaning in a little. "Besides. If everyone else has failed. Wouldn't it be great to be the first to win?"

She leant back against her chair and spread her hands in a gesture of defeat, although they both knew she was nowhere near giving up.

"But if you really hate the idea of being my right hand, I guess I'll have to find another handsome, charismatic best friend who I've known for years."

TheFool

 

[TheFool]

Giuseppe’s Coffee
Jefferson


​

He listened to her. Swallowing each and every word that left her lips like a pink little pill. And like said pills - Valerie’s words left him… excited. Determined. She had talked about this whole thing with him before but never so eloquently.
‘Maybe because this time we’re both stone cold sober’, he thought to himself.
‘Or at least I am’.
He smirked.

“God, you’re a good saleswoman.” He told her when she finished.

Giuseppe coughed.
Giovanni and Valerie both looked at him as he stood by their table. His hands on his hips and an e-cigarette in his mouth. “You’re a pest.” He said as his eyes daggered Giovanni.
“And you spent so long trying to get rid of those roaches.” Giovanni replied, smiling widely.
“The usual?”
“An Americano. Venti.” Giovanni adding the latter word knowing well it’d piss the old man off.
“Starbucks is down the street.”
Giovanni shrugged, “Yeah. You complain about them every time I’m here.”
Giuseppe looked cross -
Before he coughed out a chuckle. “How’s your old man?”
“He’s fine. Still betting his money away in Vegas every weekend.”
“He better be treating my sister right.” Giuseppe said.
“Mom’s fine, don’t worry.”
“Coffee’s coming straight up, Ganni.” The old man said with a thin smile before turning around. Ganni. A name his family would oft call him. Giovanni looked back at Valerie -
“I couldn’t say my name when I was younger. So I called myself Ganni.” It was embarrassing but Giovanni didn’t care for such things when he was with her. There was no shame between the two friends.

Giovanni glanced over to the corner. Watching a well dressed man talk to a subjectively better dressed woman. Something about the woman irked him but he couldn’t tell why. He shrugged. Returning his attention to Valerie.

“Look, it’s -”
He stopped.
He bit his lip. Staring at her. He felt something. The aforementioned excitement. Determination. Ambition. He felt a drive that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He thought of his life. He thought of his name. Not Gio. Not Giovanni. Not even Ganni.
He thought of Paragon.
He thought of what the word meant. How his mother would call him her “poco paragone” when he’d come home drunk on a school night. It was an ironic jab at him - for the word’s meaning had such exceptional expectations. Paragon.
He took it as his superhero alias because it was what first came to his mind.
Paragon.
Maybe it was about time that when people spoke his name -
They meant it.
He continued to look at Valerie with intensity. Giuseppe shuffled back over and placed his coffee in-front of him before taking his leave. Giovanni picked up the cup and held it close. He took a small sip and then nodded.

“Fuck it, Val. I’m in.”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile

 

[Remembrance]

Elias Menteur
Downtown

Elias watched as the vigilante worked his best to hinder the villain, although it may have done something, Elias saw it as not doing quite a lot of damage. If anything, Elias was much bettter suited for this fight, it was a challenge good for him. On the other side of the battle, the villain began screaming our idiotic and useless words while taking shots at Elias’ Black Ghosts. The villain’s monologue and constant talking made Elias hate him more than he did before. Of course however, with shots being taken, the Black Ghosts weren’t having any of it, weaving and dodging but sacrificing some body mass in cases where they couldn’t dodge. One of the Black Ghosts even made sure to distance themselves from the vigilante, ensuring a possible safety.

But Elias’ confident attitude turned sour as he heard the villain scream out to the vigilante for help all because Elias’ ‘hellspawn’ would steal his headline. Now I wanna kill you even more. The idea of being mad because of missing out on fame was upsetting for Elias to even hear. It was arrogant and obnoxious and he hated it. “You really piss me off.” Elias muttered under his breathe, this kind of villain didn’t deserve to stay on the streets or even live. Black Ghosts, make sure to hurt him badly but remember that our first objective is to take the money. As Elias thought his thought, one of the Black Ghosts, the closest to the vigilante began absorbing heat. And after a few seconds, the Black Ghost split in twain, the mass of the ghost just splitting in half. The duplicate Black Ghost then waited for the bag of money to have an opening so that it could steal it. The original two stomping their way to the villain. One of the Black Ghosts closest to the villain jump at him, radiating black mist with claws unleashed in it’s fullest capacity. The other diving low for the villain, claws also unleashed.

Your arrogance will be your fault villain, don’t underestimate my ‘hellspawn’. If all went well, Elias would be leaving the scene with a bag of money without doing much work himself which isn’t his preferred way of making money but he’d much rather know at what point he’d have to start getting his hands dirty before he rushes in.
Allcure ChazGhost ​

 

[TheFool]

Jefferson
Columbia City


​

She admired the view from the back of her black car with trembling admiration. Through her dark tinted window - she could see. A city on fire. Audrey Fang was sent to extinguish the flames. ‘And stop those who stoked them’, she thought.
She sighed. Fingering out a cigarette from her coat pocket. She was coming from a conference in Bush Gardens. It had went well - but Audrey was exhausted because of it. The thought of tonight’s gala brought on more weariness. A political party focusing all on… her.
‘Me’.
She put the cigarette between her lips and focused.
And it sparked.
The tobacco now a light. She elegantly inhaled. The smoke entering her lungs. A feeling she both, at the same time, hated and adored. Her phone buzzed - forgetting that she had kept it on silent for the conference - she picked up. “How goes it?” She asked.

“It goes good.”​

The voice on the other line spoke with seriousness.
“Good. Good.”

“Steven and I are just pickin’ out a last minute entertainment act. Since we couldn’t get Songbird.”​

“Jesus. We couldn’t get her?”

“Nope. Her agent says she doesn’t do… ‘political gigs’ - whatever the fuck that means.”​

Audrey exhaled,
“It means she doesn’t back New Frontier.”

“True. Why would she? She represents the one percent.”​

“Do you mean the one percent that are rich or the one percent that are Evos?”
Audrey retorted.

“Both, obviously.”​

She took another puff. Letting her lips drag this time.
“Jesus.” She repeated.

“Hey, how do you feel about magicians?”​

Audrey chuckled,
“Only if they’re the ‘pulling rabbits outta hats’ type.”

“Good. Because Steven really wants to give some woman in Vegas a call. He says she’s amazing.”​

“Sure. Whatever. Just get it sorted, Mallory.”

“Will do, chief. See you tonight.”​

“See you.”
Audrey hung up. And finished her smoke. Before her fire went out.

The car drove deeper and deeper into the city’s downtown. Her view becoming slightly more decrepit as it did. Skyscrapers were replaced with one-story coffee shops and rundown buildings littered in crass graffiti. Soon - she entered Washington.
‘Slum City’, she thought to herself.
“Are you sure this address is correct, madam?” Her chauffeur asked. His voice wet with curiosity.
“I’m sure.”
She said, hers serious.
As the drive continued -
She whipped her phone out and studied her contacts list. One in particular studying her back.

DAD.
​

Audrey spent a minute in contemplation.
‘Do I call him again?’
She did.
The dial tone began and she shifted in her seat. The seat belt around her seemingly tightening against her chest. The anticipation almost murdering her. But, as always, there was no eventual answer. Just an answering machine. One that didn’t even share her father’s voice - but that of a bot.
She blinked.
Her lower lip quivered.

Audrey let out a long sigh and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Knowing that she’d try again later that night and knowing that the result would be the very same.

They arrived at the corner of an avenue and she stepped out of the car. Her black heels clicking against cracked pavement. Even though it was daytime -
There was danger in the air. The sort of danger that one would only expect at night. That danger always haunted Washington. Lingering around, waiting. The car had stopped outside an old laundromat. Its sign faded. Its windows barred.
She strut over to the front window. Her chauffeur, who still sat inside, lowering it.
“Drive around for a bit and pick me up in about an hour.” Audrey instructed.
He looked at her oddly.
“Do you understand?” She asked.
He nodded.
“When you do come back…” She stopped. Looking into his eyes. “Forget that you ever brought me here.”
He nodded again. His eyes wide. Unblinking.
She took out her purse and gave him a fifty dollar tip before walking away. ‘As if it’d help’. She sighed another sigh. Her heels tapping. Her hand reaching for the door of the old laundromat -
And the bell above it ringing as she entered.

 

[Natural Flavour]

.:Chris Thompson:.
Location: Washington/Jefferson border
Mentions:
Interacts:
​

Just keep walking...

Chris's legs seemed to have figured out how to walk themselves after the long night of walking. The boy wore a black hoodie with a burgundy inside, and his jeans with the holes in the knees. It had been a long night, and the lack of sleep made his tics more frequent than usual. His head twitched, rhythmically, and small shocks of lightning sprung from his hands.

Eventually Chris looked up and saw a nice looking town. This must be where Washington ends and Jefferson begins, he thought, It looked too nice to be in Washington, he knew that much. And now, as the sun made it's daily climb, he knew he'd have to take shelter somewhere. People would question a kid out during school hours, especially one tic-ing like crazy and emitting lightning. He needed sleep, and they'd definitely be looking for him. He'd find a hero to help him tonight. He climbed under a bridge and fell asleep, quickly.

 

[LumaThePhoenix]

Kiva Fitzgerald
McCarran International Airport
​

It's funny how quickly things could change. Less than two hours ago, Kiva was watching the sunrise. Now, she's getting ready to say goodbye to the morning and hello to the afternoon. All because of a call she received from her manager, Emma Crimson.

"Someone's up early." Kiva said mere minutes after finishing breakfast.

"I'm your manager, darling. I don't sleep." Emma responded. The two shared a laugh before continuing their conversation.

"So what's up?"

"I got an offer for you. You're not gonna like it at first, but it'll be worth it."

"Riiiiiiiiiight. Last time you said that-"

"Don't say it."

"Laaaaast time you said that, I was in Venice and that gang drugged my drink and tried to make me their sex slave. I still have nightmares about it and it was four months ago."

"And I keep telling you that's why you need bodyguards with you."

"But I don't want them to get hurt."

"They don't want you to get hurt either. In fact, they get paid to willingly be meat shields."

"But what if they get bribed? A lot of people would take that extra check over risking their lives to protect someone else. Plus, they could be secretly filming me or something and then blackmail me with it."

"You worry too much, Kiva. Your trust issues are getting the better of you."

"How can I trust people that I don't even know?"

"How can you learn to trust people if you don't give them a chance to prove they're trustworthy?"

"....." Kiva sighs after giving Emma's question a moment of thought. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just scared, you know? Not everybody is as reliable as you are."

"True, but there are good people like you and me out there. It's only a matter of time before you meet more people that will prove to you that you can trust and believe in them."

"If you say so. What's the offer?"

"You've been invited to attend a presidential gala in Columbia City tonight."

"WHAT!? I don't even like politics!"

"Relax. You don't have to run for President or anything. You just have to show up and be the adorable lady that you are and work your magic!"

"Yeah while not being shot up in Crime City, I mean Columbia City."

"I meeeaaaannnn if it's that scary to you, I can get you some bodyguards."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Convince me not to."

"Fine, let's make a deal."

"I'm listening."

"If you don't hire any bodyguards, I promise I'll try to communicate with people more and at least give them a chance to prove that I can trust them."

"Are you still going to distance yourself when you're not your persona?"

"Probably, but I'll try to do it less."

"Alright. You've got yourself a deal."

"Thank you. Will you be there as well?"

"Unfortunately not this time. I have my own meetings to fly out and attend this weekend, but if you need anything, I'm always a call a way."

"That you are. Use my card when you're paying for your plane tickets. I at least owe that to you considering all that you do for me."

"You don't have to do that. I'm just doing my job."

"I know, but I want to do it because you deserve it."

"Wow. Thanks. That really means a lot to me."

"Glad it does."

"Oh, by the way, your flight's in an hour."

"Huh!?"

"Yep. McCarran International Airport. Haha I'd start packing if I were you."

"I'm on my way to my room right now."

"Great. Well, I've got to go. Have a safe flight!"

"Thanks, you too!"

From there, Kiva would pack her suitcases and make her way to the airport. She knew she would lose at least three hours out of the day considering the timezones that the plane would fly through en route to its destination. A few minutes before boarding, Kiva checks her phone and looks up Columbia City to observe its current weather conditions and news stories. One immediately caught her attention. A breaking news story published three minutes ago about the robbery of an armed truck. There wasn't much info about it, likely meaning that whatever is happening there is still going on. Kiva sighs and shakes her head before putting the mobile device away.

"What am I getting myself into?" She quietly asks herself while boarding the plane. It's very likely that she will arrive after the dust has settled on the breaking news story. This was great for her as it sounded like something she wouldn't want to be around, much less be involved in.

 

[AtlannianSpy]

Lilly "RentADemon" Walker

location: Washington, Columbia City

​

In the corner of Pete's Diner a scruffy looking figure sat, occupying a booth to themselves and going to town on a double bacon cheeseburger like it was the last burger on Earth. The figure was decidely scruffy, with a coating of dust obscuring beat up combat boots and the lower half of a pair of ragged jeans. Tying together the "look" was a long sleeved band t shirt for an obscure punk band whose breakup had probably preceded the figure by at least fifteen years.

"MMMM! That, wash delishus!" The figure mumbled around the last mouthful of beefy patty, before licking her fingers clean. "Great work Pete, seriously, it was almost worth skipping breakfast for... And dinner the night before,"

"I just work here," said the surly employee who had taken the girls order amd assembled her burger. There did not appear to be anyone else working in the slightly run down establishment. "Pete's the owner,"

"Well hey any friend of Pete's is a friend of mine," said the girl charitably, standing up and stretching her arms up above her head. "Course I gotta keep moving, rolling stone - moss, you know how it goes. Hey you wouldn't happen to know where I could find some work would ya?"

"We ain't hiring if that's what your asking," said the employee, wiping his shiny forehead with one meaty forearm. There was an awkaward silence and then the leg of a nearby table suddenly snapped, leaving it at an angle steep enough for the salt and pepper shakers to slide slowly towards the edge until the girl delicately picked them up and transferred them to a flat table.

"Yeah it does seem like you got this place pretty locked down," the girl said blithely, hoisting an enormous, canvas backpack onto her shoulders. "Well it's been real Not Pete, I'll see ya round,"




Ten minutes later Lily Walker had left behind the diner and was humming quietly to herself as she fished a crinkled old poster out of of her backpack and taped it to the wall of an old, brick building.

Overworked? Understaffed? Why not

RENT A DEMON!

Harness the legions of Hell for maintenance, landscaping, security and other odd jobs!

Prices negotiable, payment in cash only

​

Lilly stepped and back appraised her own work with a critical eye, nodding to herself. This area got a good amount of foot traffic, but it also wasn't well maintained enough that someone was going to come along and take it down. Of course with a city this size Lilly would probably need to put up a few more posters to get the kind of coverage she needed, but in the end something would turn up. In a city this size there was always someone who needed a demon.

 

[Dawnstar]

Spoiler: Mentions

TheFool

Jefferson Central, Middle and High School
Hallway near Caterferia (Lunch)​

A long friday it was, classes seemed to drag on and on, a eternal boredom - though thankfully vision free since his previous hallucination.

With the lunch hour having finally come Declan makes his way down the halls towards the cafeteria to get something to eat, he didn't have chance to make himself anything before he raced out. His head bobbing along in the crowd though something was a lot more obvious with him walking around normally, without the extra height from the skates which now were just hanging from his backpack attached by a clip. Delcan was one of the shortest kids in the school. Now it's a given that he's only in 7th grade, only his second year at this merged middle and high school but almost every 6th grader beats him out by at least a few inches, he's always been the smallest ones in his classes though so it's nothing new. Yet despite being small enough to go-unnoticed into the crowds, some people are always able to find him...​

"Hey pipsqueak, how's it going?" A voice that made Declan's emotions flare up called to him, but before he could react he suddenly felt the arm of his adversary wrap around his neck and pull him in towards him.

"Chad, get off me!" Declan frustratedly snapped back, not wanting to deal with this.

Chad's accomplice, Baxster joined in at this point. "Aww come on skater boy, what's the matter? We just want to talk. We're not gonna touch your ever so prescious lame-o-skates this time." A subtle reminder of their previous antics that they'd gotten away with.

"Yeeeah, come on, we just want to talk. You had the guts to try and just walk out of The Cyclops's class."

"I said get off!" Declan with a quick motion and clear frustration twists out of the hold the bully had him in and pushes Chad back, though that hardly helps things.
Both Chad and Baxster almost immediately pushing back, Declan being knocked back into a nearby locker though the padding of his bubbled-bodywarmer takes off any real force. The pair standing like a cage in front of him to prevent Declan just taking off down the hallway.

"Now that's no way to treat two friends."

"Yeah, no way at all. We just need some answers."

"What answers..?" Declan soo wanted to punch them right now but he wasn't about to get himself in trouble, not worth the literal hell his life would become if his father got called to the school again over something like this, meanwhile the young teens heart occasionally trembled its beats reminding him of his newly found talent.
No! No.. Last thing I need is these two jerks knowing I can do this, let alone like every kid in the school. It was too public, he couldn't risk it.

"Well there's our tests coming up right, you know and well you already know all the answers so we thought you could lend your buddies a hand."

"Back off! I'm not gonna help you idiots cheat."

Chad slams Declan back into the locker again, his arm pushed against his chest to lay on some pressure. "Look pipsqueak, help us or we'll make your life hell or, do you think a runt like yous got the nuts to do something about it, huh do ya pipsqueak?"

"Yeah pipsqueak, what're you gonna do? Come on, it's just one favor. Help us out." Both of the pair learning in to try and make Declan feel smaller, a tactics made far more effective by the fact these two would be still taller than Declan if he was of average height.
All of this quickly infuriating Delcan, igniting his proverbial fuse as his face shifts redder and redder in hue. How Declan would respond he didn't even have an idea, his emotions getting ready to take over... But based on past experience it would leave him in detention for 'violent behavior' and his bullies laughing at the door - It wouldn't be the first time.

 

[Hypnos]

Hancock Hill, Bush Gardens
Columbia City
​

Light scratching could be heard, as paint met canvas, washing away the pure blank slate of white, and replacing it with a monotonous mixture of drab browns and greys, the artist hurriedly working away so that he might impress the wealthy patron that stood in position only a few inches before his easel, well aware that any form of delay could mean the ire of a man much more powerful than himself. Vice President Calvin Ford was not an impressive figure to look upon. He was shorter than the average, with thin and wiry hair that receded well before his forehead, revealing the marks and lines that came with his advanced age. His figure was slim, his face gaunt, and the willowy hints of a mustache hiding upon his upper lip did little to conceal the perpetual scowl that covered his face.

In a world of freaks and oddities that shot fire from their hands, or turned invisible to the naked eye, or even a world where such men as John Rockefeller galavanted around buying up properties as if playing some perverse game of real-life monopoly, it seemed queer that Ford could evoke fear in the way that he did. He was a quiet man, not one to start a conversation, and when he did his voice was little more than a whisper. Perhaps one might be forgiven for thinking him a timid character, if it were not for the look of unbridled contempt barely contained behind the icy slates of grey that were his eyes. A less trained eye might have missed that about the man, but the painter was well versed in capturing a man’s inner demons, and he was not one to skimp on detail.

The artist worked in silence, Ford barely making a sound as his likeness was transferred onto canvas. It was usual for a client to speak as they were being painted, to allow the artist to capture a little of their personality in his work, though if Ford had any personality he was not eager to show it. They were not alone either. Whilst at first the artists work had been started in solitude, with just himself and the Vice President, standing at the head of the long table that decorated the cabinet room of Hancock Hill, the Presidential Offices of Columbia, gradually other figures had started to trail in. Men, women, all old and well groomed, wearing pristine suits in various shades of black and grey, each giving the Vice President a nod, or a nervous smile as they entered the room, though the man himself paid them no mind.

By the time the artist had finished the colouration of one of the Vice President’s arms, and moved onward to the lines of his face, the room was almost filled with people, whispering carefully to each other as they looked towards the two empty seats at the head of the table, one of which was the usual occupancy of the man that stood behind it, still as a statue as the artist wrinkled his face with its customary frown. The other looked as if it hadn’t been occupied for the better part of a decade; gathering dust, upon the goosefeather pillow that adorned it, vacant and untouched.

Time seemed to progress at a snail’s pace, as the artist scratched away, the other occupants of the room shooting daggers at him, as if he were the cause of obstruction, rather than the charge that stood before him.

An awkward cough cut through the silence like a knife through warm butter, it’s utterer, a bald African-American man with little grey spectacles and a wispy goatee, clamouring for the attention of the room. ‘Perhaps we might begin? If we are waiting for the President, then we shall be waiting for a time. Mr. Nottingham took a walk through Monroe last night, and it is unlikely that he shall be up before noon.’

The artist knew enough about politics to recognise the speaker as the Secretary of Education; Mr. Chester Greenwich, and his comments were met with a raucous laughter from many of his colleagues, though Ford himself merely offered a brief nod of assent, allowing the artist to continue his work.

‘Perhaps it might be best to review Tony’s polling number for the upcoming election? The bitch is hot on his tail, if the Columbia Post is to be believed.’ Pierre Douglas, the Secretary of Defence was not present with his colleagues in the room, but rather his voice was blasted into the room from a hotel safe within Argentina, by a Ford;Pad. The artist had heard that the man had made an enemy of the top executive at the McDonald’s Corporation, though that could simply be the hearsay of the capital.

‘I’ll be dead before we see another woman in Hancock Hill, remember what a disaster Clinton was?’ Attorney General Julia Albridge.

‘But Fang is not Hillary.’ Douglas insisted, ‘she’s very popular with the middles classes, practically destroyed the support for the New Federalist in the West.’

‘Is that much of a surprise?’ Secretary of Commerce, Jan Landow-Forton. ‘I’d be surprised if the President could tell you where Oregon is. If he even knows it’s still in the Union.’

A subtle glare from Ford told the assembled crowd that they were not allowed to laugh at such a joke.

‘Governor Povolo in Pennsylvania has endorsed her campaign, and he’s part of our own party. We can’t let something like this slip through our fingers. It’d be the end of all of our careers.’ Douglas was persistent, but the general ambivalence of the room told the artist that no one was likely to do anything about it, and he continued his work on perfecting the greying-brown colour of the little hair Ford had left.

‘We just need to pour a bit more money into the campaign and we’ll see our numbers surge again.’ The Commercial Secretary replied.

‘What fucking money? The treasury is empty thanks to this godforsaken Monorail.’ The artist tried to feign ignorance as Douglas raised his voice, looking as if he would strangle the woman before him if they were in the same room, instead he focused on capturing Ford’s bored expression.

‘That godforsaken monorail was our only campaign promise in 26’, and we still beat Hillary. I don’t know what you’re so worried about. We can just borrow some more cash from Ford Motor Company.’ The Treasury Secretary was a diminutive little man of Irish origin, called Liam O’Malley, a childhood friend of President Nottingham, and a primary lickspittle.

‘The debt we owe to Harry Ford will already take us two decades to pay off, and that’s assume all our other expenses mysteriously disappear, I think what we need is to…’ A look from Ford cut the man’s thought in half, preventing Douglas from saying something that he might regret. For a moment it looked to the artist as if Ford was about to speak, to below some great opinion, or even join the debate, but instead he remained silent.

‘Then we’ll borrow the money?’ There was a general murmur of ascension.

‘Run ads on the TV, and pay for a few headlines: ‘Tough Tony stands up against Fang’s Incompetence’, ‘Nottingham Pledges Lower Taxes on Reelection’, y’know, stuff the public will eat up.’

For a moment, there was silence as it looked as if the cabinet had come to a concensess, merely looking for Ford to give the all clear for them to proceed. He gave a slight nod, allowing a collective sigh of relief from the cabinet as they began to stand, shaking each other hands and patting each other on the back as they shuffled out of the room. Douglas muttered some obscenity at the Commerce Secretary as he signed off his device, and soon the room was left vacant save for Ford and the artist.

‘I think I’ve got enough Mr. Vice President. I should be able to have it finished and returned to your office by the end of the week. I know you want it finished before election day.’ Ford nodded once more, finally moving from his position in order to examine what had been done so far, scrutinising the painting with his cold eyes. The artist had done a fine job at capturing the man’s likeness. A cruel painting for a cruel little man. For a moment, the artist thought that Ford might object to such a depiction, but the man simply gave it a clinical once over, and gestured that the artists work was finished.

‘It’s been an honour, sir.’ The artist picked up his easel, and gathered his supplies, collecting everything he had brought with him before making his way to the door.

The sound was barely more than a whisper, a thought almost lost in the wind. The artist turned his head to see Ford standing behind him. ‘Thank you.’

 

[TheFool]

Jefferson Central
Columbia City


​

“And how’re your grades?”
“Fine.” She spoke.
“Mrs Haypenny says you’re doing exceedingly well in English.”
“Am I?” Brushing her hair back.
“You tell me. You did get an A+ in your last essay, no?”
“I did.”
She melodically tapped the carpet with her maroon sneaker.

She didn’t like her sessions with Mr Hale. His office was gloomy, old and ornate. His tone even more so. She could never tell how he felt - or how he wanted her to feel. Even though she tried on several occasions to read his mind. ‘I don’t think I can do that’, she thought to herself. Or maybe she could but, like the rest of her abilities, it was suppressed by all the medication.
‘Oppressed, more like’.
Madeline sighed. Her eyes wandering around the room. Her attention soon caught by a small blue bird perched outside the office’s only window. “I just want to talk, Madeline.” Hale stated. A statement he had to make at least every second session. When she didn’t feel like talking.
“Well I don’t. I just want to be in history class right now.” She told him. Her chest tightening. She grabbed her backpack off of the ground and stood up.
“Madeline. Wait.”
“Sorry Mr Hale - we can do this some other time.”
She jogged out of his office. Slamming the door behind her. Something that she instantly regret - fearing that the noise would interrupt the fervent studying of her peers. She had to remind herself that her ‘peers’ likely wouldn’t care.
Her jog turned into a run. A run that seemed to go on forever. She didn’t want to stop. Even when she passed the door to her history class. She couldn’t stop. Until, at least, she was short of breath. Madeline leaned against a wall - that of which held a water fountain and a noticeboard filled with trivial things that didn’t matter.

She slid down.

Her jeaned bottom hitting the cold floor.
“Fuck this shit.” She muttered - bashing her hand against the base of the water fountain. Her smartwatch blinkered. A reminder that she had to take her medication within the next five minutes. A reminder she had ignored at the thirty and ten minute intervals.

“Fuck it.”
She opened her backpack and took them out. Three orange bottles capped with white. Each containing countless amounts of drug. It was all legal. Prescribed by her doctors. Her - only - friend Meghan said that the doctors had given her an old drug called Suppress-X. Something that was outlawed years ago. When Madeline asked her doctor however -
She told her that it wasn’t. But some of the medication she was on did stem from research done by those who created the illegal remedy.
The other drugs she was on was for her fits.
Her mood swings.
Some doctors said she was borderline, others said she was just a brat. But she was neither. She was just Madeline. And all of this medication had been hiding her. Locking her away and throwing away the keys.
‘Not anymore’.
She stood up and opened the capsules. She turned on the water fountain and then watched as she poured all of the medication down it. The tiny white pills falling through a thin drain.

As she did this - she heard it.
Argumentative chatter. Followed by what sounded like someone banging against a locker. She placed the empty orange bottles back into her bag and took a breath.

Around the corner was an unfriendly trio. Two guys picking on one who looked younger than them. As a prefect, it was Madeline’s sworn duty to stop any sort of bullying she saw. It wasn’t tolerated. She didn’t care however. The other prefects were in her words, ‘dickheads’.
None of them followed this rule.
Why should she?
She thought of straightening the straps of her backpack and turning around - finally heading to an almost over history class. But something stopped her.
Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She exhaled softly and nodded.
Approaching the group.

“What’s going on guys?” She asked, casually. Her dark hair felt in-front of her face but she pushed it away. The tallest of the three looked at her with a puzzling expression. Baxster Greene - a friend of her brother’s. Or at least they were friends at one point.
“Oh, Madeline.” He said looking like a deer in headlights.
The guy beside him - who was smaller but buffer - also turned around. His expression soured. Chad Something Something. She knew his face but barely anything else.
“You know this prefect?” Chad asked his friend.
“She’s Jackson’s sister.”
“Does looking like a depressed weirdo run in his family then?”
Baxster laughed nervously at Chad’s remark.
Madeline clenched her fist. Something igniting inside her. Her stomach knotted and her mind focused. “Leave the kid alone guys. I really don’t want to go to the principal.” She warned them. Her glance now looking over their victim. A small guy with overly styled hair.

She tried smiling at him as so to say ‘it will be okay’, but she was rarely the type to smile to strangers.

“She’s gonna nark on us. What a loser.” Chad snickered.
Baxster followed suit - still apprehensive.
Madeline rolled her eyes. She wanted to be unbothered but… she couldn’t. Usually she’d ignore a comment like that and just continue on but this time was different.
“Leave him alone.”
She repeated.
“Make us, bitch.” Chad spat. Grabbing the kid by neck and pulling him down. Madeline felt her stomach ache. Her heart began pumping faster. Her focus intensifying. An anger inside her. An anger against the bullies and against Mr Hale and against her doctors.
A warmth fell over her and she blinked.
It was then that Baxster grabbed Chad. Chad’s eyes grew wide with shock. Baxster lifted his friend up and then punched him square in the jaw. His stare filled with the same anger that occupied Madeline. Baxster let go - dropping his now bloodied friend.

“Quick.” Madeline said to the kid they’d been bullying, calming down.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Dawnstar

 

[Dawnstar]

Spoiler: Mentions

TheFool

Jefferson Central, Middle and High School​

Declan's anger subsided as suddenly the bullies infront of him pulled away to deal with this highschooler, Madeline did they say her name was..? The name sat on the edge of Declan's tongue having vaguely heard of a student of that name, but not why - Not that he didn't appreciate the help. Chad and Baxster were apsolute pains in his side.

Yet then like reality became fiction, the balance of scene changed as Baxster seemed almost possessed, picking up and beating his friend up on the spot.
Declan's heart sank for a moment, its fury comming to halt but his mind began to rose.
What the frick just happened?
That-.. That girl looks pissed.
Could she be..?
Wait yeah didn't Ashur say something abou-
...
...

Declan's mind started to piece things togeather but he was confused and paralysed by the scene for a moment until the highschoolers words to run snap him out of it. "Huh.. Yeah right!"
The young teen just proceeding to book it, taking off down the hall in the direction of the Caferteria and unintentionally tugging on the highschoolers arm to pull her along as he went. Small but quick like a small adolecent bullet as he fled the scene, a fearful force pushing him forward. Declan had no idea what really just happened but he had no intention of having it pinned on him, not that he wasn't more than a little glad to see one of them take a punch to the face.

If Madeline did follow suit, the pair will eventually come to a stop from the sudden sprint right outside the caferteria, Declan leaning up against the wall besides the door and taking a moment to catch his breath and to look up at his savior. He guessed that was the right word? He didn't know what to think other than he was glad to be out of that mess.
"...Your name's Madeline right? That's what they said your name was -huff- Thanks for the save back there, but.."
"What in the world did you do? There's no way Baxster did that himself! And your eyes, and his eyes..!" His body language just as expressive during his confused exclaimation.

He tried to calm himself, taking a deep breath as he looked up at her properly.
"..Was that..?" He stopped his words there- though by his expression it was plain to see he had heard the rumors about her - but hesitated to ask properly, afterall he hadn't told anybody.

 

[TheFool]

Jefferson Central
Columbia City


​

Madeline’s heart was racing relentlessly. Her mind almost competing with it. Her thoughts scattered. As was her breath. She bent over clutching her stomach. The knots that once ravaged it began to soothe. It was a blur.
She couldn’t believe it -
It had been so long since the last time she did that. The therapy and the medication made her think that she couldn’t do that anymore. It wasn’t allowed. But she did it. She did it good. She sat against an empty table. Her chest feeling like it was about to fall out. When she found some sort of bearing, she looked at the boy. His face in almost absolute awe.

“Yeah, I’m Maddie.” She spoke. Her voice hoarse. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around that much.” She added, her stare scrutinising him. She looked past him to see a teacher running down the hall in the direction of Baxster and his bloodied friend.
‘Shit’.
She stood up properly. Still holding her stomach. The boy tried questioning her. His words getting caught in his throat. ‘Is he scared or…’ she thought.
She did not know.

“Was that what?” She asked. Her eyes darting around the cafeteria. “Baxster is a friend of my brother’s. He’s been fed up with Chad for a while now.” Madeline lied.

“He had that coming.”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Dawnstar

 

[Dawnstar]

Jefferson Central
Columbia City ​

Declan took of moment to slow down, she was lying she had to be lying - then again, wouldn't he lie as well.
"No, those two get along just fine in class. They've had plenty of time if they wanted to tear out eachothers throats."

His eyes rested on her for a few moments clearly hesitent, his expression becoming more serious but he still his eyebrow was raised curiously. "That was your power right..?" He asked with a quiet voice, not to draw the attention of the others but it was blunt regardless.
"A friend of mine told me that you were- well he had all these rumors about you." His voice softened, a sympathetic tone about the rumors.
The young teen fell quiet for a moments..
He didn't know how to feel, he'd honestly never really talked to someone about their powers before but he was sure he was right.

His eyes darted around, fixating on the the teacher running down the hallway.
A flash of realisation crossed the boy's face, like a overexcited kit he'd gotten ahead of himself nearly interrogating her.
"...Oh and my name's Declan by the way, seventh-grade with the same classes as Baxster and Chad -They were threatening me to help them cheat."

Spoiler: Mentions

TheFool

 

[Damafaud]

Firas || Sever

• The Arrival of Mr. X in Little Venice
• The Day He Looks for Weapon

• 
  
  
  
  

  Little Venice; on a fishing boat
  Scared; Sleeping fitfully
  Interaction: -
  Mention: -​
  His head hurt. The sharp pain jolted him awake like a brass alarm bell. As he opened his eyes, the unfamiliar layout of urban territory greeted him.
  
  Firas had spent the night on a stowaway boat; he had threatened a fisherman to carry him over from the small island and they arrived last night. He had promised to spar the old fogy from further pain and the old man promised to keep his mouth shut. Naturally, to help the old man keeping his word, Firas broke the fragile neck of the fisherman and shoved him down the fish tank.
  
  Of course, the fact that he had no safe place to spend the night gave Firas extra motivation to put the man in peace. His hospital gown only served to make him more eye-catching in the establishment.
  
  The small boat was enough for him to sleep in, and the small provision aboard allowed him to hide inside until his mind cleared. Though he could see a restaurant, houses, and people walking about with glistening life just off the boat, the step there felt like a thousand staircases. Everything was foreign. Unknown. He didn't even know the name of the country he was on. Attempt to dig into his memory was futile; only blanks met him past the event on the refugee ship from... where?
  
  The first night in Little Venice. Firas spent the night sleeping in the cabin in a fitful sleep full of nightmare. As he woke up drenched in cold sweat, a fragment of past memory crashed into his soul. He held up his hand, closer toward the door. Under the pale moonlight, Firas stared at his hand as a soft metallic clink filled the cabin. Laying upon his hand was a small link of chain.
  
  The first night in Little Venice. Firas remembered his power, his strength, and the murderer in him named Sever.
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  Little Venice; on a quiet street
  Purposeful; Asking some questions
  Interaction: Hypnos
  Mention: -​
  Crunch
  
  The salty scent of cheese wafted into his nose as Firas bit into the cheese-filled bread. The bread was the first warm food he had eaten in a week. He had received it from a young boy as he laid down desolately in the protection of a shade near a bakery. From the boy's perspective, he must be a beggar. And Firas wasn't far from one.
  
  The fishing boat had no more value after one night. Firas left the boat before the sun rose and headed toward the shadow of Little Venice, the name told by the fisherman. Little Venice was clearly one of the better district in Columbia (the fisherman told him that as well), but the poor and unlucky would be found in even the richest metropolis.
  
  He stayed to the shadow during the day, keeping his ears and eyes wide open to familiarise his sense with his surrounding. When night came, he made his move. His target was a drunk man walking back home from the bar. The man was chockful of trouble, as heard through his complains. Firas gave him a permanent solution to his life when he choked the man down the alley. His arms, though lean, was vigorous and firm like steel.
  
  As a payment for clearing the man's trouble, Firas took the man's clothes, money, and any resemblance of a dignified death was cutting his throat with his own knife. Just so no one connect the man with the dead fisherman.
  
  Firas continued his nightly assault, until he attacked the wrong woman in his 5th night. The woman was an evo. When he moved to strangle her neck, the woman's arms elongated and coiled around his neck. A rubber woman. Firas escaped the woman with only a strangulation mark on his neck, but he lost his knife, his outer coat, and all the money inside the coat.
  
  The night brought him to the alley beside the bakery.
  
  It was undebatable that he was strong for a human. But what if he met an evo? A man with a gun? He needed more than raw force. What he needed was chains. A good one, and a long one at that. And those kind, he couldn't ask a random blacksmith to make. Only arm dealers could make them.
  
  The bread was finished. Firas swept crumbs around his lips and licked the remains on his fingers. He made his way further from the bakery and closer toward a certain establishment. The normal people avoided certain buildings and certain people in suit. Mafia. The local powerhouse in Little Venice.
  
  Firas waited on a quiet street for one of the mafia to pass. Experience told him violence was not always the best method in Little Venice. He should start amiably, and he needed to pick his target carefully. Preferably someone alone, with no sign of power, and low position. The first person to pass, coincidentally, matched his conditions.
  
  The man walked out from a huge vassal, visibly unhappy of something. As the man entered the quiet street to avoid the stare of the crowd, Firas showed himself from the twist of a turn and approached the man with a question.
  
  "Excuse me," he called politely. "do you know where I can find some chains, or a good weapon dealer?"
  
  At the moment, Firas was dressed in a dirty white suit and black trousers. A crooked black tie hanged from his neck, with shoes dirtied with dirt and mud. Even so, Firas faced the man calmly and surely, as if it was normal for him to be dressed so.
  

 

[Allcure]

Henry Pope // Faraday
Jefferson - Truck wreck
Mentions: ChazGhost Remembrance
​

Braced for a fight, Henry watched as the black figure approaching him stopped in it's tracks, it's shape rapidly shifting and and contorting before it split into two. One remained motionless, whilst the other quickly changed course and dived at Rex. Faraday looked over and saw a second approaching the villain, converging on him in a pincer movement. This was bad, he had been struggling to stop one villain and now, after witnessing the being split into two, he was facing potentially countless. As a slight hint of alarm began to snowball into all out panic, Henry's ears piqued up, hearing Plasma Rex's proposal. He couldn't help the villain though, doing so could make him an accomplice. Though at the same time, he had a point, these creatures seemed far less reasonable and potentially more dangerous, in fact those sharp claws looked deadly. Even if Rex was a villain, Faraday wasn't going to stand by and watch him get butchered.

Faraday couldn't wait much longer, he needed to make a decision now. "Hopefully I live to regret this." he mumbled softly to himself, bursting out from behind cover. The original fiend that had approached him appeared to have his attention on the truck itself, presenting an opening. Somewhat off to the side, a car door stood open, the previous occupant leaving in a hurry. Faraday side stepped, shouldering into the door, the sound of motors whirring and metal tearing ripped through the air as his momentum and strength allowed him to yank it from its hinges. Continuing forward, and gaining more speed as he did, he barrelled into the black creature in front of him, slamming into it with the force of a car collision itself. Faraday did his best to divert the force downwards, using his momentum to continue up and over the creature, flipping through the air and landing on a nearby car. Without missing a beat, Faraday turned and fired his grappling hook again, harpooning one of the black figures approaching Rex. Faraday swiftly braced himself, doing his best to hold the creature away from the villain, grunting from the effort. "This doesn't make us friends!" He shouted to Rex, hoping he could deal with the remaining figure.

Faraday remained on edge, knowing that the blow he dealt to the first fiend was most likely non-fatal. Frankly, he found himself stuck in a rather difficult situation.

 

[ChazGhost]

Rex Plasma
Jefferson

The monster seemed to mostly dodge Rex laser blast and instead of taking only a few hits. The hits graced the monsters but they also seemed to be able to keep fighting. "What with these dodgy bastards, they are different monsters or Evo that aren't all their. Like zombies but weirder" Rex said as he fired at the creatures. Then thing kicked off the one of the monster split in two. Rex was a bit caught off guard by that fact they could... well split into two monsters. Then the creatures charged forward at Rex, claws ready rip open his armor, but luckily the hero scarfy wasn't going to let the monster kill him. The Hero used his grappling hook to stop one of the monsters.

"I know. After we take care of these things we can continue our fight," Rex responded to the hero as he blasted the monster who was still coming at him. With the blast, he was able to stop the monsters full charge at him and get out of way before it getting his armor ripped open. "Just hold off your demon until finish off this one and then I'll blast it back to hell as well," Rex said backing up as he continued to blast the monster and preparing himself for it to jump at him again.

Spoiler: Mentions

Allcure Remembrance

 

[Remembrance]

Elias Menteur
Jefferson

Elias was stricken with fear, he had just watched the duplicated Black Ghost get rammed into by the vigilante. Why... why would you hurt him? Elias was now both stricken with fear and anger. As the duplicated Black Ghost threw the car door from it’s body, it screamed in anger, a ‘mouth’ opening up as it did. As it rose, it’s body was grey and a piece of it’s arm was severed. However the sun fixed plenty of these problems as it picked up the arm and reattached it and the grey blotches becoming it’s regular dark tone. Now walking towards it’s assailant, a low growl could be heard, hell even Elias heard it. “Now I want to kill you even more.” The Black Ghost began sprinting towards the vigilante before abruptly stopping. Don’t! Remember what you’re supposed to do; secure the money that’s being stolen! The Black Ghost stared at the vigilante for a moment or two before turning the other way, and beginning to head towards the villain.

The fight over at the truck wreck was becoming troublesome, the Black Ghost diving low was interrupted by the vigilante’s grappling hook and the Black Ghost pouncing on the villain missed it’s mark. The currently hooked Black Ghost began increasing it’s body mass, becoming about twice the size, now looking like a professional body builder. It’s steps forward were so heavy, they cracked the asphalt underneath them. When it’s body mass was more than thrice it’s original size, an original sized Black Ghost came ripping out the body mass. It looked almost like a baby bird breaking out of it’s egg. The shell of the now returned Black Ghost being the only thing attached to the vigilante’s grappling hook, weighing it down tremendously. The Black Ghost then went in for another attack, this time, straight on.

The Black Ghost that had missed it’s attack repositioned itself to the side of the villain, going for a second aerial attack. Meanwhile, Elias stood glad that his children were capable of handling a battle by themselves. However there was one thing that needed to be done, one thing concerning a vigilante who got in the way. Elias’ anger hadn’t fully disappeared, and neither did the attacked Black Ghost’s. So, it was time to make use of ‘Root’.

Root, trap the vigilante please. While all the fighting was happening, Root had been, well, rooting itself in the sewers below the city streets. Absorbing heat from the surface and dispersing it down into the sewers. And at Elias’ command, large spires tore out of the ground near the vigilante, these spires were large and bent themselves to make an almost prison cell-like trap. It kinda looked like a tipi with the end of each spire intersecting at the top. It’s a preventive measure my friend, I don’t want you getting in the way anymore. Elias while he had the time, let his mind wander. He had realized he could’ve just flooded the streets with Black Ghosts to overwhelm the villain, it was definitely a strategy but a risky one. The assaulted Black Ghost was close to gaining a will of it’s own and commanding itself after being attacked, that kind of anger mixed with it’s own will would cause more trouble than what was needed. And Elias is always about being cautious.
Allcure ChazGhost ​