Mission: Santa Claus is dead, long live Santa Claus

[welian]

Dear agents:


In December of 2018, the ancient super known as "Santa Claus" was killed when a Rapture sniper mistook his sleigh for a government covert operations aircraft. Santa's superpower, the ability to effectively ignore limitations of the spacetime continuum, is an exceptionally rare power and currently, no one alive in the world today is known to Commonwealth to posses a similar ability.


As part of our duty to the international Global Santa Initiative, we hereby request that all willing and able supers work together to deliver presents to all children who are expecting Santa Claus.


We cannot let the public know the truth, and we cannot fail this mission.


Thank you,


Director Chernov

This mission is open to all players in the roleplay with an approved character. The thread will remain open until Little Christmas/Epiphany on January 6. Do not fail the children.
​

 

[welian]

WASHINGTON, D.C


“Alright, listen up!” Director Chernov paced before the group of miscellaneous agents, vigilantes, and even normal volunteers gathered in Commonwealth’s lobby. An agent with a camcorder stood near her, livestreaming her instructions to the branch offices.


Like her volunteers, she was prepared for tonight’s mission and wore sensible dark boots, with a heavy woolen overcoat over her suit. She also wore her sunglasses, to protect anyone from catching her eyes and getting locked up in fear.


“The Global Santa Initiative has been delivering presents for twenty years, and it is the world’s best kept secret. We missed our benchmark last year, but we will not fail this time. James will never let me hear the end of it.” She looked directly into the camera, knowing that somewhere in Minnesota was a branch director named James, who annihilated the DC Commonwealth office’s record for delivery time last year, and forced Scarlet to wear a hideous holiday sweater to the next board meeting. She would never forgive him for the tabloid headlines.


“Every office should have their lists. Every super should know their teammates, and which neighborhoods they’re in charge of.”


She paused in front of her audience, and nodded, pretending to be confident in everyone’s abilities.


“Let’s be Santa.”


BALTIMORE, MD


“Wait, wait! I have more instructions! This is really important, I promise!” Agent Harry Holden desperately tried to finish handing out his brochures to the local volunteers before they walked out into the night. He was not completely successful, as he underestimated the number of people who would be interested in reading a six page brochure that outlined operations for the GSI in miniscule font and obfuscating jargon.


Behind him, the television screen flickered as the livestream from DC ended, and began to loop back around to repeat Director Chernov’s instructions. Harry sighed. Nobody ever listened to the new guy, but he had so much to say!


“O-okay…. Good luck everyone….”

 

[The J]

Most people who had signed up for the GSI would be sent out to people's homes, delivering presents to people who were warm and dry, with plenty of food, with their loved ones close by. Not Hadrian. He'd asked specially to be the one giving presents to the homeless. Orphans, sick people, anyone down on their luck enough to be sleeping on the streets tonight, or in a crowded shelter.


Back when he and his little brother had roamed the streets, they'd still been delivered a Christmas gift each, lovingly wrapped, from someone at the GSI. Not one year had they failed to wake up to a box covered with brightly-coloured wrapping paper, tied up with a long red ribbon and a small tag. It had read, every year:


To Hadrian,


May this gift bring you joy in troubled times


From Santa


The box had always contained a parcel of food, a bottle of coke, and a small toy. It had helped the both of them along just a little, and it let him know that someone else cared, and was trying to do just a little something to make a difference, however small. To him and his brother, it had meant the world. Hadrian felt honoured to be able to give that same joy to so many others now. The gargantuan load on his back felt just a little lighter for thinking about it.


As he didn't have to make his way inside any houses, and his targets would be much more spread out, Hadrian had a much larger area than most. He was well-suited to the task - his power wouldn't lend him any subtlety or ability to get to people's Christmas trees undetected, but he wasn't aiming for people with homes to go to. His power did lend him enough strength to carry all of the presents he needed, the stamina to keep going through the night, and the ability not to care about catching any illnesses or injuring himself along the way.


First on the list was a young boy, Alex was his name. Hadrian had found him sleeping in a doorway, huddled in a sleeping bag, with a blanket roughly thrown on top. Placing the enormous bag down, he retrieved the boy's gift, placing it in the doorway to avoid it getting damp. Carefully straightening the blanket and tucking it around the boy, he picked his bag back up, jogging on towards the next location displayed on his phone.


Only a few hours in, Hadrian had already run into trouble. He was in one of the poorer areas of town, and had run into a gang of five youths, who were blocking the streets. The program on his phone told him that if he went around, it'd take far too long. If he was lucky, they'd ignore him - it was Christmas after all.


"Hey, you look like that bag's awful heavy," one of them drawled, "Maybe you should let us lighten your load? We've been good boys this year after all. I think we deserve a few presents."


"They're not for you." Hadrian replied, his tone curt. These were the exact sort of people he'd once had to deal with just to get by. Shake-downs and fist-fights were a matter of course, because of people like them. He was lucky never to have been stabbed or shot by one of their ilk.


"That so? I disagree. In fact, I think they're all for us. So hand 'em over and we can be done here. Some dumb homeless kids can cry about it in the morning, and you can go tell Santa you failed, little elf."


Hadrian unbuckled the bag from around his chest and waist, slipping it off and letting it rest on the ground.


"There, was that so hard?" He said, gesturing to the other boys around him. "Take it all. I'll wring your damn necks if I don't get my full cut."


The others moved ahead of the leader as he watched, a smirk on his face. It fell, along with one of his lackeys. With blistering speed, Hadrian had smashed his fist into their chest, throwing them straight to tarmac and winding them. They were left laying on the ground, coughing and wheezing in an attempt to fill their lungs with air.


"The- the fuck? Get 'em!" he shouted, drawing a knife, as the other youths did so too. They circled around him, none of them wanting to make the first move, after seeing his strength.


These arseholes wanted the presents? They'd have to take it over his beaten, bloody corpse - and even then, he might still be putting up a fight. He wasn't just fighting for his honour, or because he'd get a bollocking if he lost the presents. It was because of how much it had meant to him, all those years ago. If it had brought such joy to him then, it meant that now he could make so many kids happy again, if only for a short while. He owed that to them.


"Which one of you's first?" He asked, just before one lunged in from the right. He grabbed the knife itself, by the blade, the edge cutting just barely into his thickly calloused fingers, drawing only a trickle of blood as he wrenched it from the youth's fingers. A swift uppercut to the chin made her jump up in the air a little, before she came crashing back down to the cold, hard ground. She was out cold.


Hadrian looked around at the other two gang members next to him. He could see the hesitation in their movements, the fear on their faces. They didn't like their chances against him, even when he was unarmed and they had their knives, and it was two to one. Maybe they hadn't quite clocked that he was a super yet, but their bravado still held, and they stood their ground.


"Attack both at once you dipshits!" Their leader screamed, desperately masking his own fear by insulting the two of them, spurring them into action. It seemed to work, as they both lunged forwards. This time, Hadrian didn't even go for the knife - they'd both aimed at his chest, but his fist connected with the solar plexus of one of them before either knife could even penetrate his skin. The second one, however, was successful - or at least, they would assume they were. Blood flowed as the blade pierced deep into his side, but he didn't even falter, or grunt in pain. Blood was barely flowing from what should have been a devastating wound. She twisted the knife as he pulled it out, stepping quickly back away from him as she did so. The blood flow was staunched almost immediately as if someone was pressing against the wound itself, and Hadrian looked towards her as if he hadn't just had his lung pierced. He did wheeze oddly, but other than that he appeared just as he had moments ago - fit and healthy, not to mention pissed off.


"Get the hell out of here." He said, and the girl backed away, terrified, before she bolted. The leader ran with her, and they both disappeared down an alley, out of sight.


Hadrian nudged the unconscious girl with her foot, and saw that she was still breathing, and she grunted as he gave her a small kick. The first boy he'd winded was helping the other one up, and they both ran the same way the others had gone. The gang dealt with, Hadrian retrieved the bag, hefting it onto his back and he buckled it back on and continued jogging through the night.

 

[DamagedGlasses]

Oliver McGenty


Location: Charles Village (Neighborhood in North-Central Baltimore)


Company:  Christmas Spirit. And anyone who wants to join.


Mood:  Sombar. Content. Wishful. Patient.


OOC:  Alright, Oliver is in Charles Village. It's one of the neighborhoods in Baltimore and it is BIG. Plenty of houses to go around if you're not sure where to start. A lot of colorful houses to descibe as well. There's a wikipedia page on the neighborhood, so it has all the info you need. Also, the little singing at the end is "Bells Over Belfast" by the Irish Rovers. It's nice.


Oliver looked at the long residential street ahead of him, shouldering the dark red backpack he had been equipped with that went very well with the red sweater he wore, striped with green at the cuffs, and a large green christmas on the very front. His mom had out done herself with this one. Yet, his mother’s skill with the needle wasn’t why he was standing looking over Charles Village, Baltimore. The Global Santa Initiative, formed when the legendary super “Santa” died and left a holiday with no magic, provided presents to families under the secret of night. Santa’s death had been kept secret from the general public, even Oliver until he had been privy to said information with his recent join up with Facility 108.


That being said, he found it admirable. AEGIS seemed to have an understanding on what people cared about, or at least, a desire to keep the appearance of normalness. After having called in to make sure that his hometown in Virginia was going to be covered by the program, Oliver had pledged to do his part in Baltimore, receiving a number of gifts to deliver, a backpack to carry them, a list of addresses and first and foremost important, his randomly selected neighborhood to operate in for the night. It was one that he had been through many times, and was honestly, very familiar with. Yes, Oliver would be spending his jolly ole’ night in Charles Village, the neighborhood known for it’s proximity to his current place of study alongside Facility 108, Johns Hopkins University. More specifically, it’s Homewood department.


A lot of students studying in that department had found homes in Charles Village, but from the research Oliver had put into this night before going out, the neighborhood had a very interesting history that went beyond Johns Hopkins. None of that mattered right now, though. There were families in need of presents, and while Oliver couldn’t get to all of them, he had been assigned to a loose team of individuals to make sure that everyone would get a present in Charles Village. They weren’t exactly close knit, known as a team only through their shared neighborhood, but still, they were out there and picking up the slack.


Wandering up the stairs of a prime example of Charles Village’s common apartment style homes, Oliver appreciated the artistic touch each house had. Back in the 90s, this neighborhood had been issued a contest for the best decorations, winners getting rewards up to $3000. The practice had been discontinued for a very long time, ending back in 2003, from what Oliver had read, but knowing about why this apartment’s door frame was littered with painted on comedy and tragedy masks. Looking at his list, this apartment belonged to one Franklin Jives and his adopted daughter Rebecca Jives. No more further information was needed, but the suggested gift for Rebecca was a stack of comic books. Oliver found the wrapped items in his pack, and laid it down gently, before he walked away.


Oliver didn’t really possess “dark, stealthy clothing” in the traditional sense. He had bright sweaters and dim sweaters, but his mother’s favorite color was red, and it wasn’t like he could wear anything else in cold weather like this. Walking back out to the street, Oliver let his Peril Telepathy go to work, dropping the bar, and listening to any thoughts around. This was his stealthy. If anyone got suspicious, they might get a panicked, especially small children, so Oliver would hear them before they got close enough to get a better look or understand what was going on. Continuing his walk down the street he was on, Oliver wondered how the rest of his fellow supers were doing on this time of plenty. He sent a silent prayer out to them, wishing for their safety.


Heading towards the next house, colored a nice teal with a navy blue and orange striped door frame, Oliver felt a song bubble out of his throat. One his grandmother use to sing around this time of year. He let the irish folk song pour out as a soft lullaby against the cool night wind.


“The Antrim hills are dark and still, and the snow is tum’blin down. This Christmas time, there’s hope again, for all in Belfast town.”


Oh god, how he missed her. He missed all of his family. He would see them soon, having plans to ride out there and spend the holiday season with them, but not being there now, right this second, hurt. Yet, that was why they were called sacrifices. They weren’t supposed to be entirely pleasant.



“With love and understanding, we’ll find a better way. The gift of peace is ours now, upon this Christmas day.”

 

[Gus]

Christmas Eve Team Up


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]Aaron ruefully tugged at the false beard.  [/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“You know director, I am not entirely sure that the gravitational stresses won’t just shear this beard right off, along with most of the costume. My clothes are form fitting and designed by Dana Dabbs expressly to avoid such problems. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this…”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]He looked down at Jamie Bishop. [/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“What do you think? Is this going to work, or are we going to split the world in half for christmas?”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]The girl tapped one of the bells that hung from the cap on her head, sending it jangling, and glanced down at the green-red-white striped leggings that wrapped around her legs. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her green festive tunic and scowled, muttering dark curses under her breath at the designer, before finally replying to her teacher. “I’m going with whatever you say, boss.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Well. In principle it should work… I bounce a wormhole off the moon to the target city, bringing your latch with me. That will only take two seconds.  Then you grab the cargo container with these two speedster volunteers inside and pull yourself to me. That will take perhaps 2 seconds more. Then we open the container and they distribute the presents across the city. Maybe, what, 15 seconds?”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Five.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Definitely five. ...maybe six. Could be six.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Dude, there’s [/SIZE][SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]two[/SIZE][SIZE= 14.666666666666666px] of us! Six would be embarassing.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Five. Probably five.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“...er, right. So then I bounce back here to baltimore, again bringing your latch, and then you gentleman get back in the shipping container and hitch a ride back with Ms. Bishop. Then we pick a new city. 13 seconds total, plus say two seconds turnaround time, and we can do roughly four cities a minute. At 100 countries or so, times maybe fifty major cities each...Ugh. That’s about 20 hours solid without a break. Wouldn’t it be easier to just… go back in time and stop the assassin from killing the guy in the first place?”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Nah. ...nah. That’s a super bad idea. Super bad.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“He’s probably right. Much as I hate to admit it. He’s usually right.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Always.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“Shut up.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“K.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]“OK, then! Let’s get started! Maybe we can take a power nap after 10 hours or so?”[/SIZE]



[SIZE= 14.666666666666666px]Aaron began to reach for the moon, drawing another thread up from Boulder, their first target city. Space began to fold around the threads, falling into an inverted curvature. He tossed a salute to his crew and gripped Jamie’s latch in his left hand. In a moment of levity, he boomed out: “HO, HO, HO!”  He felt like an idiot for saying that, but then he was gone and didn’t have to face them anymore.[/SIZE]