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🎨 Creative "O.G./Next Generation" Draft!

Airk

Your resident Norwegian
Validated User
Oh, I caught the Omake parts, but I had totally lost track (though I guessed I was right at the tail end of my turn :) )

My next draftee must allow me to make comments of some kind. I'm loving this entire draft :) And thank you kindly :)
 

CarpeGuitarrem

Blogger and gamer
Validated User
I got a little lost on the slot times as well, but here goes...

~~~

OOC: Mallory LeBeau, infected by the Hulk Virus, crossed paths with an aged Steve Rogers whose powers were disrupted by an old war wound. Her best friend Tasha Morris is a mutant who can give herself as much time as she needs to think, and Mallory herself is adjusting to the idea of having her own powers...


2019
"So...what does this mean?" Mallory asked, pulling on an I <3 NY shirt from a box in the closet. "And what kind of Avenger has a shirt like this that also comes...well...sorta in my size?"

"Well," Steve said from the next room, "what else would you expect from your friendly neighborhood goof-off?" He winked.

She froze, and then hugged herself, clutching the sleeves of the T-shirt tightly. "No way."

"You get used to it, trust me. Anyway, big question you have there. I didn't exactly plan this far ahead, and I really don't want to start pushing you into things."

Mallory walked back into the other room. "So, you mean like how now that I have powers, I can be a superhero."

"I mean--" Steve put a hand up. "Yes, but no. Mallory. I shouldn't have to explain just how bad of an idea--"

"Cap." She paused, trying the name out. "Cap. Cap." She turned on her heel. "Cap! Do you have any idea how many years I've waited, how long I've wanted to be able to do something, to make a difference? And now I have this power and I just--"

Steve cleared his throat. "You uh, I kinda know exactly what it's like. It's been a while, but I remember."

"...oh. Right." Mallory looked downcast. "I just want to help."

"I'm right there with you. And honestly, I should probably at least try to teach you something so you don't try anything stupid."

2016
Mallory looked down when she heard the chime of her messenger app. She opened the notification, and studied the cryptic message.

Simon Grange: Hey mal. You there? Gotta talk.

Next to the words, his profile photograph brooded in an overdramatic fashion that usually made Mallory laugh. Hey, everything ok?

No

She watched the typing indicator pulse back and forth for a full minute. Simon?

You remember what I told you about dad, my birth dad

The jerk whose name you don't even know? Screw that guy. Mallory already felt her blood boil a little.

He's a mutant

How did you find out?

There was another long pause before his reply. Mal...I'm getting powers. Hearing people. Thoughts. I can't stop it.

A mind-reader?

Mal. I'm scared.

I'll be right over

Please, don't. I don't want to be in your head too. This isn't right.

Okay. Dude. It's going to be okay. I'm here.

OOC: When Simon Grange (OC) first started developing telepathy, he realized that his father (unidentified, though there's certainly suspects who would make sense) had passed mutant powers on to him. It's been a few years since then, and he's been learning to control them and to keep them as hidden as he can. Little did he know he would one day take on the mantle of Psion.
 

Troy Swain

Registered User
Validated User
A Very Bad Morning
Part Seven | The Bronx, New York City, 2019


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, who most people believe is dead, and the WCA are 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.

Praxis floats down to the projects, the heart of his territory. She suddenly wishes she could get another coffee. As she nears the ground, she suddenly feels her powers drain. Damn it! He has a fucking zed working for him? She gently lands at the edge of the complex, surrounded by tall buildings and carefully arranged burnt out cars. She can feel eyes all over her. In her comms, Joca's voice scrambles with static, and then fades, as he anxiously warns her about severe interference and the presence of another AI. Thanks, Joca. The coms go quiet.

Four of his Ghosts swagger out. Their heads are on fire. And thick rope is wrapped around their heads. Four big men. They move with hive-mind precision, coordinated, like birds. She knows they are supers. But she doesn’t know who they are, or what powers they have. They remind her of the Japanese komusō’s tengai. [The zen priests who wear straw buckets on their heads.] The four Ghosts wear his standard uniform: thick rope wrapped around their burning heads; tight black sweatshirts, a gold chain ending in a medallion (his symbol), black track pants with red stripes, and red trainers with black stripes. They move around her, together, similar to a flock of birds in flight, but quiet.

They check her with equipment they shouldnt have. One motions for her to hold our her hands. She closes her eyes and he clasps power dampeners over her wrists. She can get free, and power dampeners mean little to her, but it makes her uncomfortable. One of the Ghosts nods, and a heavy steel door swings open. She hears a force field power down. Damn, this place is secure.

She follows the four Ghosts. They walk in silence through a labyrinth built inside of the projects. The interior defenses are blasting pheromones, confusion spores, disorientating noise, and, is that a hex she feels? Damn. Impressive. The men take her into a waiting room, unlock the shackles, and leave. A woman walks in. She is wearing a blazing white suit. She has no face. She has no face! Praxis feels her powers leave her. Well, here is his zed. They go through more doors, rooms, hallways. Finally she is taken through a nondescript bunker door. The unnerving no-face woman pauses. Then she slowly reaches out, gently, to touch her cheek. Praxis struggles to control her breathing. Than no-face regains her composure, nods, and gestures for her to go inside. So she does.

And there he is: The Rider.
With his flaming hair.

The Rider smiles and stands. His short cornrows burn. She occasionally catches glimpses of his burning skull under his handsome brown face. A bit of a babyish face, even after all these years. A round face with alert and clever eyes.

“Anok,” he says.
“João,” she responds while shaking his hand. “Let’s use our professional names, shall we? Ok? Rider?”
“Fine,” he says. “Praxis. … Why are you here?”

She sighs and takes a seat. He sets down after her.

“Dr. Richards traced aspects of the Hulk Virus to your territory.”
“Doubtful.”
“Dr. Richards—”
“I’m trying to make the world a better place. We are actively researching the virus, but we harbor nothing odd here.”
“Are you sure no one here is infected?”
“Unlike you, I care about my people.”
“That’s… that’s uncalled for. You still think so little of me?”
“Yes.”
“Look, João— Rider— Can we just run some tests? Check for—“
“Absolutely not.”
“But what if—“
He waves his hand. “We are researching The Hulk Virus as a public institution, Praxis. We acquired our sample legally, through CalTech, and with the CDC’s approval. We have a top notch team. Some of the best virologists and epidemiologists. A radiobiologist specializing in gamma radiation. A psychic who is researching the wave patterns of viruses, a thaumaturge who studies the transmission of the idea of disease, and the top exousiologist who is a world expert on The Hulk and transmutation. We have a good crew. Our work is public. You can access our work like anyone else.” He is clearly humble bragging. Or just bragging. Whatever, João.
“Dr. Richards thinks—”
“I don’t give a shit what Dr. Richards thinks. And I don’t give a shit what the Fat Man says. ‘Cause Richards didn’t send you, Anok— Praxis.”
“I’m not a paperboy, Rider. I came as a favor.”
“You here because of fucking Fisk, Anok.”
“It’s not that simple—“
“It is. And this is pointless.”

Praxis frowns and jabs out her finger. “You think you’re a kingmaker, but who’s in office? Not you, João.”
“Who owns the streets? Who owns the lines? Who owns the eyes? We do.”
“You think you speak for the disaffected?”
“We do.”
“There is no we, only you!”
“We are we.”
“No, you. A cult leader of a fucking hive mind.”
He smiles. Smug fuck. “You supergroups are outdated. Dress up in your silly little outfits. But Osbourne, Fisk, Goodwrench, and us. We know where true power is. You run around and trade punches with other little birds. Maybe fight that psycho Ül.” He spreads his arms to take in the room. “Meanwhile, I’m building a new base; building power; building a better world.”
“You’re hiding in a bunker, João.”

“Our meeting is done.”
“Listen, you need—“
“I don’t need shit from you, Anok. Go ahead and try something. See how that works.”

She stands up and sighs. “President Fisk is coming for you. You’re not polling as well as you think you are.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Let the fat man come. Let him kill a few of mine, and you’ll see my numbers swell. Knock me down and I’ll come back stronger. Next, not just NYC and Detroit, but all of the Eastern Seaboard will be ours. The fucking country will be ours. Does the fat man really want to pull another Osbourne?”
“Fisk isn’t Osbourne.”
“No, Osbourne was smarter. He still lost. Almost brought about a revolution.”
“How many died, João, in that stupid revolution?”
“Not enough. Fisk is president. So not nearly enough.”
“Jesus, man. Why do this?”
“Change! Fucking change, Anuk. I mean, ‘Praxis.’ You know, you have the name, but I am your name. You are just a songbird in Fisk’s pocket. Another Agent Gyrich dancing to hidden masters.”
“You should be afraid, Rider.”
“I’ve died before, Praxis. I don’t mind dying again.”
“What about your followers?”
“Dying for a cause is the best way to die. Vengeance and justice will be served for all.”

Praxis stands up, ready to leave. She pauses and says, “If you’re harboring the fucking Hulk Virus—“
“I’m not. You knew me well enough to know that.”
“I clearly never knew you.”
“No, Anuk, you never did. Go back and play hero.”
“I don’t play hero. I save people.”
“One at a time, right? Meanwhile, I save thousands.”
“Hubris. You think you’re a god.”
“What’s a god to a non-believer?”
“I can’t help you.”
“I’m not asking for your help, Praxis. Our past is nothing. It is past. I have, and always will be, about the future. Oh, and Praxis? When you come back, you will be treated as a hostile enemy.”

OOC: João Desforra is The Rider. He spreads his hive mind to his followers, who are called The Ghosts. He is a Spirit of Vengeance and the dominant Ghost Rider of this world. He is also a telepath who can hook people up to roughly form one vague consciousness. The government has come after him several times, but he, and his organization, is breaking no laws.

Also, world building. The Inferno happened. Osbourne was (is?) a powerful politician. There have been many calamities in NYC and it has never fully recovered, despite Damage Inc and the super community. There was some sort of massive revolution which failed and resulted in lots of deaths. The Civil War?

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

Most Loathsome
Validated User
OOC: A bit of omake. I'll play catch-up tomorrow with fics and pics, go ahead and skip me when my turn comes up again here in a bit. Work picked a really inconvenient time to go crazy.


March 13, 2019


Camacho is a good student. She already has some basic escape artist and infiltration skill, and has taken to shooting with a great deal of natural talent.


Her hand-to-hand skills are poor at best. We tried one training bout with knives that ended with her fatally stabbing herself. When she returned the next day we started again, this time unarmed, and it’ll be some time before she picks up a blade again. Also, we have a password now in order to prevent an assassin disguised as a teenage girl from impersonating her. I should have thought of that myself.


I am reasonably certain that my part in the destruction of Seagate has escaped notice. I am equally certain that whoever put Camacho there knows that she is now free. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking.
 

Troy Swain

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


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 (presumed dead) and the WCA are 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 have been partying, hard. They have watched the sun come up. One, a young woman, named Shi Min, leaves the sleepy young women to go gamble on her own.
_________
Later

They met at the blackjack table. She smiled, shyly. He was a big guy; a little heavy; but fine. He smiled back, shy but confident, the way she liked. They played a few hands; he won almost all of them. He glanced at her, surreptitiously, and she realized she would have to start the conversation. So she did.

She adopted her best Ghostface Killah voice and rapped, “We gotta know how to play your cards, have a mean poker face.”

He laughs and says, “I know that song.”

He has an accent. African? “Of course you do,” she says. “Ghostface Killah. Even you know that, Africa. Where are you from?”

“Wakanda.”

She smiles and raises an eyebrow. She practically sings the word, “Wa-kan-da.” She nods and taps her cards for a ‘hit.’ “Nice,” she says, “I’ve always wanted to go. But ‘mo money mo problems.’”

“Money is rarely a problem if you know how to handle it.”

“Can you handle money as well as your cards?” she purrs, looking at him over a raised drink.

He blushes.

They leave the table. They have another drink. Talk. Everything is effortless. Smooth. It is amazing how well they get along. They go out into the desert heat and talk, laugh, and talk some more. He’s shy, so she ‘accidentally’ brushes his hand, which he clasps. His hand is sweaty! So cute. They walk down The Strip and talk about life in Wakanda vs. life in LA. He’s a banker. He’s no scrub. They talk and talk until the night creeps up and the land suddenly cools down.

His name is Adisa. Adisa Abeikemi. She rolls his name around in her mouth. Her name is Min. Min Shi. She imagines, ‘Min Abeikemi.’

Eventually: “I need to go back to my girlfriends,” she says. “As I said, it’s a special weekend. But I want to spend more time with you.”

“And I would like to spend more time with you. This is special. As… As are you.”

They both blush. And then go in for a kiss. As their lips nearly touch— they are interrupted by an explosion. For a brief second she thinks that their kiss caused the explosion. So does he. Then there are shouts. People are running. From the direction of her hotel! More distant booming explosions and a light show.

“Earthquake? Supers?”

“From the sound, that is superpowered punching. It is coming from The Mirage.”

“That’s where my girls are!”

“We can not go there! Those booms could level buildings!”

“That’s where my girls are! I’m going!”

And they run, full speed, against the crowds running away. In the distance is a bright explosion and a guttural yell louder than a jet engine. Supers fly overhead. The Wakanda man looks around and sees jets and helicopters closing in. He hears first responders and is plotting exit points. His fear gives him focus. They run into the building, past the guards who try to keep them out. He takes her to the stairs and they run up and up, flight after flight, listening to the booming explosions all around them.

Oh god, she thinks. My girls. Please, god, please let them be ok. And he grabs her hand and they go through a door and she didn’t even realize they were at her floor. They enter a hallway that is cluttered by rubble and shockingly gapes into the open sky. Part of the hotel is simply gone and she can see plumbing and bits of floor, and outside— all of Vegas— through this now ruined building. The sound of a fight booms around them. He grabs her hand and they continue running down the corridor. They both hear an insanely loud voice bellow, “Hulk Smash!” It echoes in their ears.

The ceiling is crumbling but Wakanda (Adisa) seems to know where the fault lines are, and it crashes behind them, the two of them stay ahead and against one wall. The hallway is full of dust and she can’t see and is coughing and suddenly he places a wet cloth against her mouth, and she can breathe. Adisa! You are full of surprises. They move forward and she wonders how he can see in the dark and then realizes he’s probably counting doors. She doesn’t even remember her room number.

They run up into a pile of sparking rubble blocking the hall. He tugs at her hand and he kicks down a door and they run into a ruined room, which is missing its ceiling, and is staring into the sky. She can still barely see anything because of the debris and dust. He throws a tv to the ground and picks up a small table, which is small in his hands. And he starts using it as a sledgehammer, to smash into the wall. Behind the wall, she can her screaming. Is that Aisha? “AISHA!?” she screams and then starts coughing.

Soon there is a hole. Wakanda (Adisa) busts through the remains of dry wall, and as he steps into the next room, he is smacked over his head with a lamp. Aisha sees her and screams, “Ohgod, you’re alive!” Every word is blurted out in triple time. She turns to Wakanda (no, his name is Adisa) and says, “Who’s this? I’m sorry I hit you!”

The room’s outer wall is gone, and is open to the outside. There is no ceiling, and she can see straight up, four floors, at least. The girls are all huddled near the door. Aisha brandishes what is left of the lamp. Grace has a gun. A gun? Holy shit! When did Grace get a gun?

And then they see Ül, the fucking psycho, floating in the air, close enough that they can smell the creep. A flyer zips around him, blasting energy at him. Everyone’s tiny hairs stands on edge.

Wakanda (Adisa) speaks up, “Ok. Time to leave.”

“Yes,” says Aisha. And they cover their mouths with ripped up pieces of sheets, and start filing through the hole in the wall. When suddenly Ül turns and sees them. He raises a clawed hand, smiles his twisted rictus grin, and makes a glowing fist. The room explodes.

Wakanda (Adisa) pulls Aisha through, but Shi Min is trapped inside the collapsing room. She feels hard things rip into her flesh. Pain. And then… something changes. Time seems to slow down.

OOC: On that day, in that incident, at least two of those young women manifested mutant powers, partially brought into effect because of that psycho Ül.

Shi Min, Personator, became forgotten by all, even her best friends; even her parents; even forgotten to herself. She became a non-entity, and forgot her glorious day with Wakanda (Adisa). She vaguely remembers her own name. Sometimes. And rarely… Rarely, she remembers snippets of her past, but they only last for a moment.

Wakanda (Adisa) vaguely remembers a perfect day, but nothing about Min other than a deep longing for Las Vegas and a gnawing sense that something, someone, is missing; something was lost. He remembers the fight, obviously, but can’t quite remember why he ran back to the hotel, or why he was on that floor at that moment.

Aisha Ghatak expressed her zed powers when they were attacked. She’s now a power vacuum. When she expressed her powers, that psycho Ül suddenly lost all of his. But the Hulk didn’t. Or maybe he was less strong? It’s hard to say. But the Hulk almost killed Ül when it happened. It was all captured by news cameras. Aisha was not detected. She didn’t even know, for sure, about her powers for another year. It eventually meant a new life for her.

After the fight, Aisha was lost and depressed, and she didn’t know why. She dropped out of the pilot program, and eventually left the military. She lost her best friends, her fiancé, and her apt.

When she recovered, and after she finally realized how her powers worked, she tried joining the supergroups, but her powers made all of their powers fail. She stayed on the reserves, called in for the worst case scenarios. She became a mercenary super, but after The Civil War, no longer wanted to work for any government. She eventually signed up with the casinos in Las Vegas, and then, when the corruption was too much, singed up with The Rider in The Bronx. At least he was trying to do good.

Oh, and when she uses her powers (whenever she is in the presence of individuals who bend reality), no one can see her face, and suddenly everyone sees her clothes as blindingly white. She called herself Noppera-bō, but when the name didn’t stick she went with Preta (a hungry ghost).

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