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NightGoblyn

Most Loathsome
Validated User
The buzz of conversation washed over him, around him, like he was a stone in a stream. Everyone talked at him, or about him, but very rarely to him. It had made him angry at first, but he got used to it after a while and now he found it down right peaceful.

Nurses, doctors, surgeons, all busy congratulating each other on their join success. He wasn't a person to them, not that most doctors really thought of their patients as people anyway. No, he was a proof of concept, a rehabilitated and repaired former super-villain, ready to retake his place in polite society as a productive member.

Oh, he wasn't one of the ones who'd had powers, of course. Those folks were dangerous, far to dangerous to use as a guinea pig. No, William Russo, Billy to his friends, had been a mob enforcer and hitman until a psycho ex-Marine had put him through a plate glass window face first. After that, everybody had called him Jigsaw.

Now he might be able to go back to being Billy again. He'd been in therapy for a few years and it'd actually done him some good - anger was under control, and he wasn't scared of glass any more. The plastic surgery was the real miracle, they'd managed to take his smashed and scrambled face and make it look human again. He'd never be called "the Beaut" again, but at least his Jigsaw days were behind him.

The television caught his attention, a news story about Seagate prison exploding. He frowned to himself and leaned forward, trying to hear the reporter over the buzz of the people around him. Something about people still missing, and the rubble being searched for remains, and then they put up a montage of faces. He started scanning them, looking to see if he recognized any of the mugs from the bad old days.

Third row down, far right, a man's face leapt out at him.

It couldn't be.

He was dead, everybody said he was dead. Nobody had heard from him in years, and everybody knew that a psycho didn't just stop killing.

"Doctor?" Billy said, getting his psychiatrist's attention. "You wanted me to do some talk shows, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Russo," the man said, smiling broadly. "If you feel up to it, of course."

"I want to start in New York City," Billy said. "I want to go home."

"Are you ready to go back to a place that holds so many painful memories?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah," Jigsaw said, glancing back at the television. "I think I might wanna look up some old friends."
 

beachnik

Man of Action!
Validated User
Carver Smith awoke to the dim, pre-dawn light filtering to his room and with a sudden frantic motion grabbed his cellphone and prevented the alarm that was about to sound from doing so. Forcing his quick breathing to slow he strained his ears to see if he could hear anyone else up at this early hour. Joe had been drinking the night before so he shouldn't be up this early, but sometimes he kept drinking 'til dawn.

Nothing, everyone's still asleep. In a silence broken only by sharp intakes of breath through gritted teeth Carver dressed, gathered what he needed for the day, and deciding that everyone was almost certainly asleep enough to chance it left by the front door rather than the fire escape.

In a public bathroom a short distance away, Carver noted a sharp pain as he brushed his teeth, and noted that one of his back teeth felt loose. Spitting blood-stained toothpaste into the sink he inspected himself as best he could in the dirty, cracked mirror. He looked like he hadn't slept well in a very long time, but at least there weren't any obvious bruises or scrapes this time.

"Just one more day. Turn 16 tomorrow, then I'm gone." The words helped, soon this would all be over. Glancing at his watch he cursed, grabbed his bag, and dashed out of the bathroom into the bustling streets. Putting on earbuds, and tuning out the rest of world under the sound of his music, everything started to feel like it might just be ok, sometime soon.

Perhaps if Carver's music had been a little quieter he might have paid more attention to the commotion happening further down the street. Perhaps if thoughts of what his impending birthday meant hadn't been ping-ponging around the inside of his mind he might have noticed when the crowds stopped moving with him, and hurried away. And perhaps if he'd slept a little better last night, when he saw the car hurtling through the air towards him he might have been able to get out of the way.

*******

With impressive speed Ben dodged the car that Dragon Man hurled at him, and as his eyes followed it immediately wished he hadn't.

"No! Noooooooo!"

"FOOLISH THING. SO SOFT FOR SOMEONE MADE OF STONE. HAHAHAHAHHAAA!!!"

Lily rushed to the wrecked car, and was able to catch a climpse of Carver through the wreckage. He was breathing, but it was laboured, and there was blood, too much blood. Lily turned back to Ben and was about to speak until she saw Ben slowly walk towards Dragon Man that still spoke with the voice of her father, the anger radiating off Ben making her words catch in her throat.

"Soft, am I? Why don'tcha tell me how soft I feel."

With thunderous punches echoing through the now silent streets of Manhattan Ben Grimm unleashed over a decade of pent-up frustration and anger over the people he wished he'd saved, the people he should have saved, and the boy he'd now failed. While Dragon Man was stronger, more durable, quicker, faster, he found himself pushed back under the remorseless tide of the Thing's blows. Nothing he could do could even make him falter. Blows that had staggered him earlier barely made him blink, and as it became apparent this was a fight he couldn't win Dragon Man fled to the skies as a defiant Thing, tears in his eyes screamed worldlessly after him.

"Ben! He's still alive!"

Suddenly crashing back to the present Ben turned and rushed to the wreckage of the car, and began as gently as he could to tear enough of it apart to reach the young man trapped inside.

"Somebody call a bloomin' ambulance!" He screamed at the silent crowd surrounding them.

"They won't get here in time." Lily said fumbling in her bag, and producing some strangely shaped bottles containing brightly coloured, and in some cases glowing liquid.

"What in the heck do you think you're doing?"

"Helping. Lift his head up." With practiced hands Lily mixed the contents of several of the bottles together in a small silver bowl and whispered over the contents.

As gingerly as he could Ben lifted Carver's head up, and as he did so the young man muttered something under his breath.

"What is it?" Ben found himself whispering back.

"...hurts.... don't touch me..."

"We gotta touch you ta help you, kiddo." Ben said glancing back at Lily who was gently swirling the irridescent liquid in circles in the bowl.

"...don't touch..."

"Is that gonna help him?"

Lily opened her eyes, and for a moment Ben saw doubt.

"I think so..."

Glancing around Ben replied: "Well it's better than any help we're getting out here."

With shaking hands Lily poured the liquid into Carver's open mouth until he swallowed it, and then more, until the bowl was empty.

"...don't touch me..."

"What happens now?" asked Ben

"...I don't really know..."

"...I said don't TOUCH ME!!"

Ben and Lily were thrown back as a wave of force erupted from Carver, tearing what was left of the car around him to pieces.

"What in the heck was that?"

"...I don't know. But he's not bleeding anymore, right?"

Ben looked closely at the young man. Lily was right, while there was still plenty of his blood around there wasn't any more appearing from anywhere. But there was something off about the way his clothes fit, nothing Ben could quite figure out just at the moment, but there was something strange going on with this boy. Well... stranger than throwing him a good 20 feet.

Lily got to her feet, and surveyed the wreckage of what was, until recently, Ben's ground floor apartment on Yancy St. "I think your place is probably a no-go until... uh... who knows. You got somewhere else we can take him?"

Ben glanced up at the skyline, the Baxter Building standing tall and proud.

"I think I know a place."

OOC: So Carver Smith [OC] who at some point will go by Gauntlet has had a rather rude introduction into the perils of the superhero gig.
 

Shawn_Hagen

Shawnya the Evil?
RPGnet Member
Validated User
Old Man Rocket Filler #6

Spoiler: Show

Ergonomically friendly. That was the best way to describe the cockpits of the fighter. Holographic controls and all fully adjustable down to the molecular level. From the six and a half foot tall Adisa to the 4 foot Rocket, all the pilots found the cockpits comfortable.

Though Rocket once more discovered no one had given thought to his tail.

“Speciest hominids,” he muttered.

As Rocket slaved the unmanned fighters and his Kludge to his own controls there was com chatter going on.

“Ever fly before?” Ramona asked.

“I have one hundred hours simulator flight time and thirty hours in aircraft as part of the Wakanda ROTC,” Adisa said.

“The fighter is already telling me how it will fly,” Miki answered.

“Don’t let it worry you Quill. This group is anything but standard.”

There was a chiming sound as a new participant came on the com.

“Rocket, what do you think you are doing?”

It was Shuri, or the Shuri AI.

“Uh, leaving. I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“You are kidnapping a Wakanda citizen.”

“He’s not kidnapping me.”

“See, I’m not kidnapping him.”

“Let me rephrase that. You have recruited an important member of the Wakandan Financial Community and there are some people who are,” a pause, “perturbed.”

“Perturbed,” Rocket said, mimicking Shuri’s tone. “Oh dear, bankers are perturbed. Oh, I say, we are grand, aren't we?” he said in faux posh tones. “Oh, oh, no more buttered scones for me, mater. I'm feeling rather perturbed. Pardon me while I engage in the exciting world of banking.”

There as laughter on the coms, and Adisa said something about Rocket sounding just like his supervisor.

“Rocket, you were supposed to have four pilots from earth. That was the agreement.”

“Oh, that was the agreement was it? Thank you, your bleeding Highness. Now. Look, you have probably thought of me as,” Rocket paused, grimaced, choked out, “a raccoon, correct?”

A pause from Shuri, then, “I suppose.”

“And raccoons are from earth.”

“Wait a moment…”

“So arguably I can claim to be from earth, from a certain point of view.”

“Did he just quote Alec Guinness?” Ramona asked.

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I wish it was, everywhere I go people are calling me a raccoon on this planet.”

“The tanuki is right,” Miki chimed in.

“He does look like a raccoon,” Adisa added.

“Trash panda!” Ramona shouted.

“I just want it to be known, for the record,” Rocket said, “that I hate you all.”

“You cannot leave,” Shuri stated.

Rocket finished slaving the other ships to his board. “Funny thing about that, tell her the funny thing Digi Maou.”

“Miki. And the funny thing is I told all the kill switches you put in these fighters to die.”

“And they did as she told them.” Rocket tapped the final power sequence and the fighter came online around him. “You gonna roll open that door or do we have to open it ourselves?” He bought his weapons online.

“You are a bastard,” Shuri told him as the hangar door rolled back.

“You better believe it,” Rocket told her.

The fighters shot out of the facility, climbing rapidly into space.

As they left the atmosphere and picked up speed Rocket said, “Get your vomit bags ready, first space warp is always the worst, and you don’t want to be cleaning half digested hamburgers off your controls.

“I knew I should not have eaten all those hamburgers,” Ramona said a moment before the ships jumped halfway across the Galaxy.

Some time Later in this Story, not so far away now

There were rules ot the game.

Rules dictated by the laws of physics, and the technology that allowed some races to break them. Rules based on resources and their use.

Perhaps most people thought battle was chaotic and unpredictable, but to Adisa things were much clearer.

A weaker force attacking a stronger one. It could indicate a desperate move, or a lacking of understanding of relative power. Or if might be a feint. Which meant looking for the stronger blow that was about to fall.

“Captain Quill, disengage, you have a squadron of fighter bombers approaching out of the belt, they are going to try to envelop you.”

“Got it Go,” she said, using a ridiculous call sign.

He was on the edge of the battle, his weapons configured for long range attacks. He sniped at the enemy between providing tactical direction.

“Rocket, Miki will need covering fire if she is to stay close to the carrier. It looks like they are launching nuisance drones.”

“No one is more a nuisance than me. I’ll give them something to think about.”

Adisa smiled and pulled the trigger.

This was more exciting than banking.
 

Troy Swain

Registered User
Validated User
A Very Bad Morning
Part Six | Las Vegas, 2009
Omake


OOC: Previously: The Hulk Virus rages throughout the US. Quarantines are enforced, but the virus spreads. The military and super-organizations struggle to keep up, but Dr. Reed Richards is able to stay one step ahead of the outbreaks.
Every year, on March 7th, Ty Johnson, formerly Cloak, goes to the same corner in Koreatown. He dances in a sad ritual from sunup to sundown.
The young woman formerly known as Shi Min, The Personator, stalks Las Vegas, unseen. She searches out an artificial sun hovering in the desert.

Five young women in Vegas. A crazy farewell party. All but two are leaving LA. One is getting her dream job in NYC. One is getting married and got a full ride at CalTech. One is going to an elite pilot training camp.

They are all in their room in The Mirage. They've been partying all night and are watching the sun come up.
____________________

“Oh my god! Remember the Brazilian?”
“The foot guy?”
“No, no, the activist guy.”
“I don’t remember him.”
“Whatever.”
“There’s too many!”
“Whatever.”
The girls laugh.

“Anywaaay, so we totally made a perfect DM couple.”
“Girl, that’s always a bad idea.”
“Mm, girl, you need to meet. Don’t fuck with DM.”
“He was so funny—“
“In text!”
“Anyway, we go to meet, and he opens his door, and he was wearing a faux turtleneck—“
“Whoa.”
“—with a necklace.”
“Like a little 90s necklace?”
“No, no, like a dangling necklace with a pendant. Straight 70s.”
“Whoa.”
“So I was all, ‘Mmhmm, boy, you look like a cult leader.’”
The girls laugh.

“He did not think that was funny.”
The girls laugh harder.

“And I knew it was the wrong thing to say, so I was all, ‘Well, boy, I would murder for you.’”
And the girls crack up.

“He did not think that was funny.”
“Yo, that’s hilarious!”

“I hope he was wearing Adidas tracksuit bottoms.”
“You have the worst taste.”
“Hell no, bitch, tracksuit bottoms; a faux turtleneck; that 70s necklace; and, like, a 70s mustache—“
“Gross.”
“Girl, you have the worst taste.”
“You know, he stood in front of that mirror all day, trying on outfits, and he settled on a faux turtleneck.”
“That a good look.”
“Seriously, seriously: you have the worst taste.”
“I just described a hot Madrid boy. Or Billy Dee Williams as a Bronx rapper.”
“Anywaaay, and yeah, he kinda look like that, all in black, but with tight jeans—“
“So what happened?”

“So we like, you know, do dinner. And we’re like watching Netflix and making out a little—“
“Good kisser?”
“Eh. Ok. A little too wet fish, but he’s alright.”
“So, are you still gonna kill for your new cult leader?”
“Nah, I’m not sure at this point. So I go to his bathroom to freshen up. And he’s got a bidet—“
“I’ve never used a bidet—“
“How have you never used a bidet?”
“—It’s nice, girl.”
“Didn’t you live in Paris?”
“Yeah, but I never used a damn bidet!”

“Anywaaay, so I pee, but I was also, like, really high. And we had drank so much and ate, like, asparagus, and I’m like texting—”
“Why do you all text on the toilet?”
“I do that.”
“—Me too.”
“Anywaaay, I’m texting on the toilet, and I'm lit.”
“Oh no.”
“And I flush, but I wasn’t paying attention—”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah, so I hit the plunger for the bidet, not the toilet—”
“—Oh God.”
“—Girl.”
“And a spray of my own pee water just— splashes— all over me.”
“—Oh God.”
“—Girl.”
“My own pee. All over me. While cult leader is in the other room waiting.”

So I like clean off, but I’m all wet, and he doesn’t have like a hair dryer. So I come out and do a little sexy dance. And he’s all, ‘You fall down in there?’”
“And I laughed and told him what happened—“
The girls laugh.

“And he says, ‘I didn’t need to know that.’”
“OOOH!”
“No way!”
“Oh, girl!”
“Oh yeah. And it gets better.”

“Jesus.”
“So it’s awkward, but fuck it, soon enough we get back to making out. Happier times, you know—”
“This is why you meet immediately.”
“Anywaaay… And he leans back and takes his shirt off, and he’s like… real hairy.”
“Like Chewbacca?”
“Like, you know, 70’s actor hairy chest. Maybe more. And I say, Nice chest taco.”
“—What the fuck that mean?”
“—Chest taco?”

“That’s what Pedro calls muscular boy’s hairy chests.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Was that boy muscular?”
“No.”
“—Chest taco?”
“Well, Pedro don’t make much damn sense. It’s still funny.”
“So, what happened, girl?”
“He got real upset!”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, he said, ‘That makes me feel weird.’”
“Did he put his shirt back on?”
“He did.”
“Oh damn!” and the girls laugh.

“So then what?”
“I tried to make him feel better, but he was all self-conscious.”
“Did you leave?”
“Hell no. Fuck his weak ass momma boy shit. We got busy.”
“Whoa. You stayed? After all that?”
“Momma gonna get hers.”
“Jesus, girl.”
“And?”
“And I went home immediately after I got mine. He was not amused.”

The girls laugh.

OOC: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 ]
 
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Troy Swain

Registered User
Validated User
And Shawn, that clearly wasn't Adisa. He's showing up soon. I finally have everything locked down, Ravensdance style! I even have the next two bits written out, mostly.
 

Airk

Your resident Norwegian
Validated User
I am confused and lost, but I don't think I'm jumping a gun :)

OOC: Caliban once again has a family in his old age - a collection of low-level (at best) mutants living on the streets has banded together around him, led by an empath/low-level telepath named Evelyn. Members include a girl who glows like a lamp, a boy whose power is to make others dislike him, and a multi-jointed, agile ex-ganger named Shiv. They have moved down into the old Morlock Tunnels, and are beginning to make a home there...



This place was big!

J - whose name was once Jackson Helms - ran his flashlight over the walls, looking for the markings he had made going out. No panic. Yet. He'd find it. He just had to...

There. He'd been looking too high up on the wall and moved the light too fast. Probably should have stuck with Tessi or something, but he had to get away a bit. That would be the best thing about this place, beating out even having his own, actual room again and maybe even feeling safe sleeping (no, probably not, but...) - being able to safely, easily and even unobtrusively take a walk when Galáns hatedom-power kicked in too high. Right now, it was necessary to learn the ins and outs of the place. There were supposed to be backrooms, some of them hidden fairly well, with stuff they could use down here, Evelyn said. She'd seen it in Caliban's mind. Couldn't say where, though - and given that it had been a bunch of mutants who hid them in the first place, finding them might be tricky.

Still, worth a shot. There used to be generators here. Lights. Fuel. He thought it had been one of those bomb shelters he'd read about, back before he was a mutant, when he was just a well-to-do kid.

A kid who got in an accident. A kid whose parents loved him very much. Far more than his little brother. He didn't think they meant to, but it can't have helped that Tyré was a mutant. Not much of one - just looked like a damn Vulcan out of Star Trek - but it was impossible to tell just what he might be able to do. That scared his parents. J hadn't understood how much.

And now he did.

There was the door... and down there was the main Tunnel. Okay, he knew where he was now. Maybe he'd find a bit of oil, and get the door moving again. It was made to stand up to an atomic bomb or a real nasty superbattle, after all.

He stood for a while at the door and doused the light, looking at the big Tunnel... his new home. Galán had retired ho his own room, it seemed. Still, J might as well do what he set out to. Man, had Galán drawn the pits when he Spiked?

Well, not like J had done much better. In fact, he had pulled... nothing.

A Flatscan.

J turned the flashlight on again, scanning the walls. Wait... wasn't that the same old symbol he'd seen by one of the older, once-hidden doors back in the Tunnel? WOrth exploring...

Tyré had Spiked, though, and his parents had taken it poorly - and he'd been to far gone from the accident to notice or help. So his little brother was neglected, shunned... and J was wasting away in a broken body he didn't think he had the willpower to rebuild.

And then... Tyré used his power. The power of mind transference.

Permanent mind transference.

In a way, J supposed they had both gotten what they wanted. Tyré had parents who cared, who spent all their time on him.

J had a body that worked. And looked like a Vulcan.

And, he supposed... the power of mind tranference. Once.

Yes, this pretty much had to be a door...

OOC: : Jackson Helms, now going by the name J, is not a mutant. But his brother is... or was. After his brotehr traded minds with him, J ran off in his brother's body, making his way on the streets of NY until he met up with Evelyn...




I honestly have no idea whose turn it is :) If I was on time, it's NightGoblyn NightGoblyn
 
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Troy Swain

Registered User
Validated User
A Airk , if my math is right, it was the end of your slot. Shawn and I posted omake, which always screws up the timeline. And again, that was sweet. I love the not-really-powered Morlocks.
 
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