The Create-A-Hero RPG Season III IC Thread!

[Mr. Majestic]

I slap the braclet on my wrist and then look over at Youngster.

"So, how's it going? I haven't seen you since that whole mess with the aliens. I seem to recall that you're not too fast...well, in comparison with present company."

I throw Youngster a smile. A little pysch-out before a race never hurt anyone.

“If our racers are ready, we'll begin. Runners, take your marks."

I then close my eyes and take a deep breath. As I open my eyes they were no longer blue but a glowing yellow as I activate the cool part of my super speed power and that’s my accelerated probability.

Everything around me begins move in slow motion as my mind quickly analyzes the track and also the racers beside me. The color of the area around me began to fade to black. Only thing that was bright enough to see was the track and also the racers.

I look over at Blur and see a big bright blue aura around him which doesn’t surprise me. Kid quick has a green aura but it doesn’t seem to be blowing even close to the size of Blur’s. As I look at Pulse and I see no aura at all, doesn’t matter I can’t dwell on that. My focus has to be this track.

I squat down and get into a runner's stance.



"Whatever happens, guys, I want the best runner to win....especially if that runner's name rhymes with Flue Flur. "

"On your marks.....get set.......GO!"

As the words go came out of the announcer’s mouth it felt like an eternity. As everyone took off I gave it a millisecond than took off. Just that little bit of a delay left me behind the pack just how I want it.

As the racers, all but Pulse are running I can see there aura leaving a trail and I must say I wish everyone else could see this race how I am viewing it because this is beyond astonishing.

I notice Kid quick just ahead of me blazing, for a kid she is pretty quick. Shame she’s not fast enough.

BOOM!

I then cause a sonic boom as I increased my speed to catch up with and run along side K Quick.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

No More
​

Scott watches as Isaac decends off of his balcony and into the night. After Isaac is gone from view, Scott closes and locks the door, stepiing into his livingroom and finally settling on the couch.

He runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath, not knowing what to think of the intrusion or of the ease whith which Isaac had found him, and the ramifications of the realization that if Isaac could find him, it wouldn't be hard for others to find him as well.

Then there is the fact that he may or may not have a job anymore. In light of Kelly's bombshell at lunch that she knows who he is, going back to the job site just didn't seem all that important...and even though he has become friends with his boss Marty and his wife, he doesn't know if even that friendship will be enough to save his job.

Then there was Isaac's offer to help him disappear completely...he is tempted by the offer but also considers everything else that his former teammate had said.

So he sits alone on his couch in silent contemplation, before exhaling in exasperation.

"Well Isaac, you certainly gave me alot to think about."

 

[Hound55]

In Transit - Somewhere between Salem and Lost Haven

The hard leather of the steering wheel slick between his gloved hands, Isaac drove down the highway. Salem was a long way out of his way, but he needed to deliver his message, even if it were only for his own benefit.

He was forbidden from doing what he had done for so long, and while that wouldn't stop him back home his position was a far more precarious one in the Haven. He'd destroyed his own public image in his time off though, he knew his arm wasn't that bad though... sure he didn't have full mobility, but someone high up had something planned, he was sure of it.

It would give him a chance to rest though, he didn't normally get these chances unless his body was pretty badly hurt.

Or you know he could always just go ba...

*VRRRRR*

He felt a vibration shudder through his hip.

Isaac found a suitable place to stop and pulled the car over, he had a blue-tooth head-set for his phone but that wasn't his reason for stopping. He had very little trust for anything and everything, even things he bought himself, since finding the bug in the car he was given for transport as part of the Guardians.

He got out of the car and went for a stroll. Not picking up his clean home phone until he was far from the car.

Today - Tony Morris
URG: Come home as soon as poss.

The alien tech-fuel?!? Had something gone wrong? He quickly hit the green call button twice to call the sender of that last message.

[BLACKOUT]"Hello?!"[/BLACKOUT]

"Oh Hi! ...So you got my message."

[BLACKOUT]"Yeah, what's wrong? What's happened?!?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Huh? Nothing. What do you mean what's wrong?"

[BLACKOUT]"Well, I just got a message saying "Urgent: Come home as soon as possible" from the guy who's watching my scientists tinker with a batch of alien sludge... so when I get messages which say "Urgent" or "Come home as soon as possible" or variants of these things like "Oh s***" or "Get your arse over here!" I tend to think the worst. Especially when those terms are said together."[/BLACKOUT]

"Ohhhhh... no. Sorry. No alarm. They've just finished preliminary testing. I thought you would have wanted to come and see the results, have them walk through their little presentation in person."

[BLACKOUT]"Jesus, man... you scared the hell out of me."[/BLACKOUT]

"Yeah. Well... I said I'm sorry."

[BLACKOUT]"So, what are the results?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Oh, you must have forgotten... I'm an accountant. I don't follow things like science journals and the like."

[BLACKOUT]"So, what, these eggheads have written their findings in a way that you or I couldn't understand anyway... I doubt I'm paying them for that, so you can stop being a *****e and just tell me what they've found."[/BLACKOUT]

An audible sigh is heard through the phone as he can be heard to swivel around in his chair and look for the testing documentation.

[BLACKOUT]"Its the same crap I already knew isn't it..? I've been paying these nerdlingers top-dollar to tell me what I already know, haven't I?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Hang on, hang on... I'm just skimming through. I'm not going to tell you til I have SOME idea of what I'm talking about... Hmm... ok... alright..."

[BLACKOUT]"*Sighs* What?! What do they say?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Well... apparently... it has the capability to be used as some new kind of high-burning, clean efficient fuel..."

[BLACKOUT]"Oh for f***'s sake!"[/BLACKOUT]

"... relax, there's more here too. I'm not entirely sure what I'm reading through here... but if it means what I think then you should probably come down here and watch their little song and dance..."

[BLACKOUT]"Yeah?"[/BLACKOUT]

"I think we may turn the oil market on its head..."

 

[Hound55]

Isaac stood in the bathroom staring blankly at the squalid image looking back at him from the bathroom mirror. He winces and sticks his tongue out, inspecting the fur that hangs from it like mould on an inedible piece of fruit.

No. No. This bird won't fly.

Opening the cabinet, he takes out a razor and shaving cream. Using his spare hand to close the cabinet and scrape his fingers across the stubble that his negligence had allowed.

He couldn't afford this.

He was supposed to be working towards creating his own empire, growing on the work of his parents and their parents before him and a had a multi-billion dollar concept fell arse-backwards into his lap. He had to improve. As much as he generally didn't care for some of society's nuances, it was impossible to deny. He had a long way to go in terms of being able to make a positive public impression.

He'd shattered what little reputation he had in his other life as the black garbed Vigilante with a public gaffe of the worst kind, ruining some of the goodwill for the Guardians in the eyes of a lot of parents. He couldn't afford to let this happen in his other life. He needed to tighten up his profile, learn to behave in public... if only as Isaac Fontaine.

As he completed the final stroke, removing the last of the foam from his face and the hair it rested upon, he looked back at the face in the mirror. He was stunned at how little effort could make so big a difference and felt slightly nauseated by the fact that he could neglect such a small effort for so long to let himself appear as such a mess and he thought.

He thought, "If it can really take so little effort to make a face look socially acceptable, what could be so wrong with me that making a good social impression is so damn hard?"

It can't be genetic; he saw pictures of his mother at social galas and other events, she was a regular in the society sections of the local newspaper... and his father was a powerful figure who was held by most in the upmost esteem. Could it be something that could only be taught?

He thought back to occasions at the dinner table, his father barking at him to sit up straight, to keep his arms off the table, that peas stayed either on the plate, fork or mouth and not the surrounding environment.

"Horrid little beast. You keep on like this... there'll be no hope for you."

Could his father be right... Perhaps this is something that couldn't be taught, but only be learned, did the man who denied him his father also deny him this. He'd learned in school, a wise man said "Man is a social animal." had his father's killer cost him his humanity? Was he doomed to remain a "horrid little beast" as a result?

No.

Anything taught could be learned. All it takes it recognising the patterns and responding appropriately. The appropriate response could be found by the regular avenues... mimicry or trial and error. All it would take is time and effort, just like everything else.

And he had time before he must learn it. Only the preliminary testing had been completed on his new company's potential flagship product, and he'd bought himself the time before he'd even have to return for the demonstration.

One night. He'd earned it. They'd earned it.

As he drove his car into the city he kept churning these questions and self doubts through his mind, "Am I what I deserve?", "Can I be what society deserves?". He parked the car and walked into the lobby of a high-rise building, approached the receptionist and informed her that he was expected. She beamed a smile and informed him that his destination was on the 45th floor and that the other car had arrived just before him.

Isaac adjusted his cuffs and collar, inspecting himself in a shiny gold panel on the interior of the lift as it carried him upwards. He still wasn't really used to some of the really tall buildings that were around, he'd been in the built up areas of Terraria several times... but his home to him was always the smaller Cooktown. His ears popped and his adam's apple bulged as he swallowed to fix his ears, something he'd learned from younger days getting flown around the country between family school and holidays.

He left the lift and swept across the floor to the 45th floor's reception desk as a "Ding!" warned of his impending arrival. A woman who only knew him by voice greeted him with relief of his eventual arrival before he could even open his mouth to announce himself.

"Thank God you're here finally... she's due back any minute. They just finished organising it and left, her office is this way..."

As she quickly unlocked a door to a large corner office and furtively ushered him inside.

As the door was quickly closed behind him and the sound of the young woman's footsteps grew softer while she rushed back to her counter, he took the time to look around the office. He was impressed with the assortment they went with and the way these people managed to fill out such a big office. For the second time in days he found himself in an empty seat in an empty room and waiting for the room's regular inhabitant.

Feminine footsteps with a definitive sound of heel were approaching outside of the door. Do I stay seated and play it cool, or is that rude? Do I stand to attention and risk looking like a cardboard idiot? Do I yell surprise? No... don't be stupid...

"Oh... my... God!"

[BLACKOUT]"I had a spare 60 hours..."[/BLACKOUT]

He got up from his seat and she rushed to embrace him. He felt slightly guilty for not being completely honest... but only slightly. How could he be honest? "Hey, I managed to pry myself away from kicking some major arse as a costumed "hero" with this country's big men on campus... oh, and now you know people may well want to kill you or worse...". Besides, he'd brought her so much joy. For once he'd let the positive wash over him as he held her in an office awash with the colour of exotic flowers.

Renee could hardly believe that he would fly out just to surprise him, but "hardly" was enough since she wanted to believe it.

"Isaac... I can't believe you would do this! You're amazing!"

Isaac smiled and kissed her, still not a gentleman but maybe he had evolved beyond being the horrid little beast... its a start.

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Samantha," the gray-skinned man sighs. He stares longingly at the Polaroid picture in his hand. It's from three summers ago, a time that couldn't feel farther away. "I'm coming home soon, sis. I promise." His voice trembles. He knows the promise is empty. The people who are keeping him here have promised to release him soon, but he knows better than to trust them. The gray-skinned man lets the picture fall to the floor.

He looks around his cell. They call it a living space, but he knows better. This is a cell, a personal prison. The confined space, the bland walls, even the personal toilet. The bed is uncomfortable, the sink is dirty, and the door doesn't open from the inside. The gray-skinned man is trapped. The worst part is that he doesn't even know why.

He remembers finishing his time with the Marines. He looked forward to leaving Middle Eastern deserts behind and returning home to Samantha and his nephew, Kevin. But he was stopped at the airport. Men in suits explained that he had signed a contract long ago, when he first enlisted. He was going to be a human guinea pig for their experiments. They called him a "volunteer." It sounded better than "prisoner."

The gray-skinned man doesn't even know how long he's been here. He would've lost all track of time had it not been for the daily genetic treatments. It began as shots of strange liquids. Then, it switched to pills. Then, they started exposing him to waves of radiation. They wouldn't explain what they were doing. The gray-skinned man had to eavesdrop to learn anything about his situation.

The company responsible for this called itself Gene.Co. However, they weren't calling the shots. Not with this experiment. The people in charge were called Spectre - whenever anyone had the courage to say their name, anyway. The gray-skinned man learned that he wasn't the only "volunteer," but he never met any of the others.

In time, it became obvious what the experiment was doing. First, he noticed that his veins were a slate gray. Then, his skin started to turn, too. They assured him that this was simply part of the experiment. He begged them to stop, but they waved the contract in front of his face. It didn't matter, anyway. There was no escaping this facility - wherever it was. The changes became more drastic. His skin felt dry and then hardened. He no longer needed to eat or drink. He broke the frame of his bed, and they replaced it with a metal one.

"Malone, it's time for your treatment," the guard announces. Yes, Malone. That's what they used to call him. Anthony Malone. However, as time dragged on in this facility, he lost all sense of self. All he wanted was to be released, to see his sister and nephew again. The guard opens the door. They never said he was a guard, but it's pretty obvious.

Anthony doesn't fight it anymore. He trudges down the hallway without resistance, off to the white room. That's where the treatments are always administered. The scientists stand on the other side of the glass and watch to see any changes in Anthony. They all look so cold and calculating. Anthony used to be self-conscious about them, but now it's become routine.

"We're nearing the completion of your treatments, Anthony," the head scientist announces in what seems to be a joyful tone. Anthony doesn't share his enthusiasm. He's learned not to trust a word of what anyone says here. "If you'll stand still, we can begin the treatment."

Anthony looks at the scientists with his sunken eyes.

The head scientist pushes a button, and the glowing lights start again. As with all the other types of treatments, they never explained to Anthony what, exactly, they were bombarding him with. Of course, he wasn't sure it really matter, anyway. The radiation waves hit him like the dry heat of summer, but Anthony doesn't flinch.

"We've triggered a reaction!"

Anthony does start to feel a difference. He feels himself growing larger. He tears through the tight-fitting clothes they provided for him. Anthony's skin feels like it's hardening even more. He balls his hands into fists, and it sounds like two boulders rubbing against each other. They're turning me into stone! Anthony realizes. I'm a freak!

"Subject is experiencing trauma!"

With a groan, Anthony's transformation completes. "What have you done to me?" he cries out, the sound of his voice now deep and gravelly. "I'm a freak!" With his now giant fists, Anthony slams into the glass separating him and the scientists. The scientists flee in terror as the stone man goes on a rampage. "NO! NO! NO!"

***

"No way."

"You really don't think I can do it?"

"I know you can't."

"Seriously?"

"Sean, if you hit that soda can from all the way over here, I will buy you a giant Rice Krispie treat," Jim promises. The can in question is stragetically positioned on the fencepost all the way across the yard. Jim has boasted that even with my newfound stinger-blast ability, I still would not be able to hit the can off the fence cleanly.

"Jim, you know I don't joke about giant Rice Krispie treats," I reply. "And I should warn you, I've been practicing with these stingers. I think you'll be surprised."

Jim doesn't say anything. He merely motions to the can challengingly.

Shaking my head, I laugh. "Okay, but the next time we bet over something, let's make it at least a little difficult for me. I feel like this just isn't fair for you." Getting into a battle-ready stance, I stick my right hand out and aim my palm at the can. With one last glance at Jim, I focus all my energy and unleash a tiny, yellow beam of energy. It shoots through the air, piercing the can and toppling it. I smirk. "Admit it. You're impressed."

Jim throws his hands up in defeat. "You got me, man."

"I did, didn't I?"

"I can be a big man and admit that I was wrong."

"You should have never doubted me...but apology accepted. Now, let's discuss the terms of our arrangement. When can I expect my giant Rice Krispie treat?"
​

 

[Hound55]

Cooktown, Terraria

3 Days later...

Fontaine walked into his building talking with his old friend Tony Morris, he hadn't seen him in quite some time and had a bit to catch up on. Tony was stunned that Isaac actually owned a tie outside of his old school one, let alone that he would wear one of his own accord.

"You know you don't have to try and make an impression with these guys right? You pay these guys. Most of them are probably trying to prove to you that they're worth the vast amount that you're over-paying them so they don't get canned..."

[BLACKOUT]"I pay them well enough, hopefully they'll be too scared of losing their meal ticket to go taking stupid risks doing something they shouldn't... like breaching security."[/BLACKOUT]

"You're overpaying for security too... you're doing everything short of hiring a private escort for each scientist. Your budget's blown way out by wages and security..."

[BLACKOUT]"They're priorities."[/BLACKOUT]

"Oh... I wasn't aware that you had any kind of familiarity with how much these people should be paid, or just accounting or the costs of running a business in general... oh wait, you don't. Maybe that's why your father trusted your finances to me while you kicked back and sulked about his death for the past... how many years has it been now... Maybe I know what I'm talking about."

[BLACKOUT]"Generally, I trust you. Normally, your word is gospel. But these two things I'm getting "hands on" for a reason. Its not your business. What do you care?"[/BLACKOUT]

"I may not see the money but its every bit "my business", you go bust and I've just lot a major client. That affects me. A major client, my most publicised client, who VERY publically in my line of business, left me in charge of his estate. You go bust because you're overpaying these eggheads and trying to run a fortress and this very much effects me. Do you have any idea how many businesses go down in their first year?"

[BLACKOUT]"Do I know how many businesses went down in their first year when owned by a guy as wealthy as me..."[/BLACKOUT]

"Not the point. Most of those people have some business sense and know what the hell they're doing."

[BLACKOUT]"And that's why I'm hiring you..."[/BLACKOUT]

"But you're not frigging listening to me!"

[BLACKOUT]"Because I don't agree with you and ultimately its my money."[/BLACKOUT]

A lengthy silence filled pause resonated between the pair before Isaac broke it once more.

[BLACKOUT]"I also find it funny that you're censoring yourself to me... maybe the tie does work..."[/BLACKOUT]

"Yeah, the tie's fine... its just not tight enough. You seem to still be able to breathe..."

[BLACKOUT]"Ha! You don't really mean that..."[/BLACKOUT]

The pair walked into the research centre of the newly furnished facility.

"Umm, sorry sir. Standard issue lab coats... and you should probably lose the tie as well."

"Well, there you go. Your additional security and safety efforts have just cost you your "power tie"... there goes your big impression."

[BLACKOUT]"Tone... shut up."[/BLACKOUT]

After putting on the labcoats the pair were ushered through a door towards the floor itself.

"Right this way, gentlemen."

[BLACKOUT]"Gentlemen? Don't call him 'gentleman' it'll go straight to his head."[/BLACKOUT] Isaac said with a gesture of his thumb.

"Pfft... at least I know how to act in public. You're just a bad influence."

As the pair walked down the corridor Tony gave one more jab before they'd get to the main floor.

"Didn't anybody tell you its rude to point?"

 

[Hound55]

Isaac takes a seat next to Tony at the head of the table and gestures to the scientist heading the presentation.

[BLACKOUT]"Go on, Tan..."[/BLACKOUT]

To which Tan the scientist begins his talk about what exactly the product is and its potential uses.

"You remembered their names..? Who the hell are you?"

[BLACKOUT]"Shut up, I'm trying to hear this."[/BLACKOUT]

"... massive potential benefits as a fuel source. I would use the phrase 'alternative fuel source', but its in my... well, a couple of our opinions that it would relegate oil to being an "alternate fuel source". To the best of our knowledge, it takes a higher temperature to combust, making it safer, it burns cleaner and it burns far slower and more efficiently than coal or other fuels."

[BLACKOUT]"So... have you been able to synthesise it..?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Well no... due to the fact that its an organic compound we haven't really been able to synthesise it. Technically the legal barriers regarding cloning mean we aren't really capable of trying to..."

[BLACKOUT]"Wait a minute, are you telling me this stuff is alive?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Oh, yes sir. To the best of our knowledge its not a sentient being, but yes, its absolutely living... That's not really a moral issue there though, when you consider the fact that people still stoke their fire places with tree roots and other wood which is still technically alive. Although I'd compare the product more to a mould than a plant or animal... we can't really put it in an existing category since we..."

A part of Isaac was screaming "Destroy it! You're messing with risky unknowns! These beings nearly annihilated the planet in a global invasion. Stop toying with this crap and destroy it!" but another part of him knew that there was a potential risk for everything... he could get struck by lightning, it was unlikely, but possible. He owed it to everyone to make a carefully considered decision weighing both the risks and rewards.

"...but anyway, I digress. No, we can't synthesise it... but we can go you one better. Jamie!"

With that, another scientist wheeled in a small cart with four objects on it: 2 labelled Petri dishes, a small, pen like cylinder and an odd device that looked like a microscope connected to an over-head projector.

"Now this is really cool..."

The scientist excitedly set up the two dishes...

"Now both of these dishes contain the product..."

"Petri Dish B is here merely as the control dish... now keep your eyes on Petri Dish A."

Tan grasped the pen like cylinder from the cart and called to the other scientist again.

"Jamie, turn the lights down so the projector stands out more."

Isaac leaned forward to get a closer look, elbow leaning on the table with one hand cupping his jaw and a single finger stroking his chin, with furrowed brow not knowing exactly what to expect as the lights started to dim.

"Alright, Petri Dish A is now being exposed... now pay close attention."

Tan waved the pen looking thing over Petri Dish A whilst holding down a button on the back of the device. What this did was not immediately apparent.

"I can't see anything." hissed Tony to Isaac.

[BLACKOUT]"Shut up and watch..."[/BLACKOUT]

"Can you see anything?"

Slowly but steadily, mould began to grow on Petri Dish A, it's circumference spreading almost imperceptibly but steadily like a balloon being inflated.

"Is that it?" Tony said.

"Well yes... but you have to understand that this kind of growth is pretty much foreign to us... even in terms of microscopic life forms... we seldom can see a catalyst cause such rapid growth."

[BLACKOUT]"What caused it?"[/BLACKOUT] Isaac asked.

"Ah, that's the beauty of it... this pen here emits a small infra-red light which is beyond the scope of our own vision... its a pretty extreme case of light, which is good because nature tends to abhor vacuums and extremes... It means that we could use this to..."

[BLACKOUT]"To grow our own fuel farms... We could essentially incubate our own fuel."[/BLACKOUT]

"You've got it! Safely and efficiently too. And with how efficient the fuel itself is, we expect that you could run fuel farms using only 10% of the fuel itself."

[BLACKOUT]"So essentially, we're talking about a fully sustainable fuel source..."[/BLACKOUT]

"Yes, and with it burning cleaner than oil... and there being technically no reason for any shortages it could also have massive benefits for the environment."

"And this isn't an elemental compound..." Tony started, his mind where it always was. "...so technically it can be patented."

"Umm... I suppose" said Tan. "But we're talking about quite possibly the greatest boon for humanity here..."

Isaac rocked back in his chair and started to nod his head, taking it all in.

[BLACKOUT]"Quick question... What tests have you run on the product with other organic life-forms? How safe is this stuff?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Well, we've handled it a fair bit in the lab, I mean we're supposed to be using masks but we don't always... so there's the potential for this stuff to have gotten airborne. I mean we haven't been bathing in the stuff... let's face it it's pretty nasty."

[BLACKOUT]"But you've been neglecting the safety and security standards that I, personally, set?"[/BLACKOUT]

"You set them, sir?"

Isaac was NOT accustomed to being called sir.

[BLACKOUT]"Yes. I set them. Personally. You do know what you have here right? This isn't just your average run of the mill mould... this is a foreign object. I had specific reasons for doing what I did. I'd have you quarantined but God knows how many people you've come into contact with over the past month alone so there's not much point now is there..."[/BLACKOUT]

"Well, we have been using the showers."

[BLACKOUT]"Ahh... so you just pick and choose which rules you're going to obey and disobey?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Well... we don't want to take this stuff home with us..."

[BLACKOUT]"But we have bugger all idea what this stuff is... let alone whether its even possible to wash off particles of it with regular means.."[/BLACKOUT]

The scientist looked dogged and worried.

[BLACKOUT]"OK... so we've had a mixed day today then. Changes: I'm going to employ a head of security and another O, H and S officer whose job will be specially to make sure you guys stay in line with these, and I would suggest you let everyone else know just how serious I'm taking this."[/BLACKOUT]

Isaac rose from the table and Tony followed his lead.

[BLACKOUT]"All in all, that's some good findings, but there won't be a second warning on the safety issue... I don't care how good you are in your field."[/BLACKOUT]

[BLACKOUT]"I want further testing on the effects of this substance with other subjects... I'm not making any major moves on this until I know its safe."[/BLACKOUT]

[BLACKOUT]"I'm upping your budget another 15% for this month too... How long do you think it will be before you can give me the results on this further testing?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Umm... pfffft... I dunno."

[BLACKOUT]"You 'dunno'?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Well we'll have to obtain the subjects, which takes time to check backgrounds and the like for genetic weaknesses which may skew the testing, then test again immediately... then wait for a sufficient time in case of long term effects... I don't know. Let's say 6 months."

[BLACKOUT]"Six months?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Well, this was only preliminary testing..."

[BLACKOUT]"OK, fine. Six months. In fact, make it nine. I'll expect your findings in three quarters."[/BLACKOUT]

[BLACKOUT]"So I guess that's all, gentlemen."[/BLACKOUT]

"Thank you very much for giving us your time, Mr Fontaine."

Isaac and Tony walked back down the corridor, to leave.

"What the hell was that?" asked Tony.

[BLACKOUT]"What was what?"[/BLACKOUT]

"You. You hit like an atomic bomb. I mean... you just shot their budget up AGAIN but you were all commanding in there. I think I'm scared."

Isaac and Tony passed through the doors once more and began removing their labcoats.

[BLACKOUT]"How long's it going to take to get the paperwork on the patent done?"[/BLACKOUT]

"But you said you weren't going to release it until the tests..."

Isaac began arranging his tie into a double Windsor and slipped his suit back on.

[BLACKOUT]"I'm not. I'm not insane. But I'm not leaving a trillion dollar thing like this out in the open. I want it all tied up. And I want it hushed. No press. None."[/BLACKOUT]

"OK... I'll get on the patent right away. You really think a "trillion" dollars?"

[BLACKOUT]"Tone, I never kid when I'm in my power tie..."[/BLACKOUT]

 

[Hound55]

Cooktown, Terraria

22:00 hours...

Backyard Maintenance (OOC: Written in First person perspective for a change)

I walk down the inner streets of Cooktown. My home. My first love. Surrounded by buildings that I remember more fondly as familiar, rather than old and dilapidated and in need of renovation. The familiar smells of the inner city swirl in my head in silent longing.

I have missed this. I have missed this for so long and with all that I'm made of.

People walk past whilst keeping a difference, not trusting one another down this particular street of ill-repute. Barrie St. It has earned a reputation as being one of the most dangerous locations in the country, let alone the city. The mayor had tried hard to turn this around, the police presence was increased and a police station was built on the street itself in addition from the singular police hub which was enough for the rest of the CBD area alone.

But I walk this street without fear, rare for someone walking this street alone. This alone is causing other commuters to treat me with some level of distrust; the preconception that if you're not a sheep, you're a shark. Confidence is not something that belongs on this street by a lone man and is treated by the people as strange. Strange here is threatening.

Barrie St is a welcome sight to me, for many of the same reasons its so worrying to others. Its littered with back streets and shadow filled alleys. As well as being filled with... job opportunities for someone in my line of work.

Its mid winter but I'm as warm as can be, layered clothing in contrast to many of the women both escorted and escorts on this street. I smirk whilst walking past a club and a gaggle of such women all ridiculously underdressed for the season, risking health for current fashion trends. They get straight into the club by-passing a long line of waiting potential patrons. The obvious thought that the bouncer allowed these girls entry for more nefarious reasons than just compassion for expecting these girls to stand out in the cold hangs in my mind and I grant it a chuckle.

Up ahead I hear a loud exclamation followed by the thud of flesh hitting metal. Head on a swivel for the nearest alley I sprint there and un-suit, emerging less than a minute later I'm wearing my work gear. As black as the hearts of the worst men I've faced, the ensemble is completed with my mask, a face who's darkness reflects the worst of this city. Those I combat.

One man is shoved into the street. Another springs from the curb armed with a knife. Who knows how this thing started. Almost anything can inflame things down this street, even a good-humoured comment to a person who just happens to be on some bad 'gear'.

I'm down-wind of the police station, they'll soon have numbers here, but it could be too late by then.

Something a lot of people don't realise... A knife can be more dangerous than a gun when in the hands of someone who knows how to properly wield one. This is why the police treat them as such. Be it knife or gun, they'll only give you so many warnings and if you become a serious threat they will drop you.

No-one is getting stabbed here today. Not if I can help it... And they sure as hell aren't getting shot.

I sprint down the street until I get some twenty metres from the pair.

The man with the knife. First threat.

My hand looks for my tool of choice in its most regular resting place, bringing my hand back from behind my shoulder blade I leap over the man on the ground and bring the jimmy-stick through the chest of the man with the knife.

He stops in his tracks, drunk out of his mind the clean shot to the solar plexus far to much for him and he drops to the pavement gasping for air. My attention turns to the man he was in conflict with.

[BLACKOUT]"What happened here!?"[/BLACKOUT]

The man gets up and tries to run.

Dammit. First priority, get the man who's now kneeling in the middle of a main road vomiting from booze and my shot to the sternum to the safety of the footpath. I pick him up, getting only a little vomit on my top and carry him to the side of the road.

[BLACKOUT]"Do me a favour... don't let him go anywhere."[/BLACKOUT] I say to the small congregation of people still shocked at what they've seen. Unnecessary, I know, as this man doesn't look well enough to go anywhere unaided.

I step back to the road and aim my smaller grapple gun down the road to the legs of the man running away some 50 metres away, I breathe deeply and pull the trigger. Cord whistles from my gun towards its target, missing by 2 metres to the right as the man still runs blindly in the vague direction of the police station.

[BLACKOUT]"Of course you don't. Of course you don't take his legs out. You're you... Goddammit!"[/BLACKOUT] And I start in pursuit of the runner.

But I have an advantage...

Lactic acid burns within the mans legs, he's feeling tired and the nights' drink he's accumulated in his belly is not making things any easier for him. The lactic acid burns in my muscles too... the difference is, I can't feel it.

I'm faster than this man, sober and considerably better suited to this kind of race. The result is inevitable.

I tackle the man from behind as he yells out a "No, don't let them get me!"

[BLACKOUT]"Who?!?"[/BLACKOUT]

"The knaves... That was their bar... I... I owe them some money."

[BLACKOUT]"You owe them money and you walk PAST their bar?!?"[/BLACKOUT]

"Hey, I'm drunk... I wasn't thinking."

[BLACKOUT]"No f***ing s***!"[/BLACKOUT]

I sigh deeply before letting my generous nature show. [BLACKOUT]"Get the hell out of here... they see you, you're toast. I'm going to handle this... and you damn well stay the hell away from these ar**holes! You want to live, get the hell out of here."[/BLACKOUT]

I jog back to where I left the first man via the footpath opposite the police station, hoping the crowd would do what it could to conceal me. They still hadn't taken action... must be spread thin.

"Ah... so it WAS you, come in here. We need to talk." I here emanate from an overly confident voice in a club I pass, as for the second time in minutes a fly stumbled blindly through the spider's web...​

 

[NiteMare Shape]

No More​

Scott watches as Isaac decends off of his balcony and into the night. After Isaac is gone from view, Scott closes and locks the door, stepiing into his livingroom and finally settling on the couch.

He runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath, not knowing what to think of the intrusion or of the ease whith which Isaac had found him, and the ramifications of the realization that if Isaac could find him, it wouldn't be hard for others to find him as well.

Then there is the fact that he may or may not have a job anymore. In light of Kelly's bombshell at lunch that she knows who he is, going back to the job site just didn't seem all that important...and even though he has become friends with his boss Marty and his wife, he doesn't know if even that friendship will be enough to save his job.

Then there was Isaac's offer to help him disappear completely...he is tempted by the offer but also considers everything else that his former teammate had said.

So he sits alone on his couch in silent contemplation, before exhaling in exasperation.

"Well Isaac, you certainly gave me alot to think about."

Surrounded by the dark silence of the late hour, Scott lay in his bed unable to sleep....the words of his former teamate still echoing in his head.

Scott grows tired of the tossing and turning that comes with the inability to sleep and finally sits up. After a moment of sitting in place he reaches over and turns on the light sitting on the small table next to his bed. He hesitates for a moment and goes to pick up the phone.

Then he looks at the clook on his bedside table.

3:36AM

He puts the phone back down...then sighs and picks it up again, dialing a number.

After several rings, a groggy voice answers on the other end.

"Hello?" Kelly's sleep filled voice comes through on the other end of the line.

"Hey Kelly. Sorry to call so late. I need to talk to you about something. Is it alright if I swing by?" He says, fully expecting her to curse him out for calling so late, and then imposing on her further by asking to stop by her place to talk about something...at 3:39AM.

But for the second time tonight, the angry tirade he was expecting to be bombarded with never comes.

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll leave the back door open. You can come right in....I'll make some coffee." She says, humor filling her voice.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

"Maybe he was right." Kelly says after Scott finishes telling her about his visitor earlier in the evening.

"Don't get me wrong, I get it. I know why you're here. I do understand why you left in the first place. But I also know that no matter what is going on with you, the world still needs Icon."

"But I'm not that person anymore."

Scott, I know what it's like to lose people. I lost my entire family during the invasion. But I'm still here. And so are you."

Scott is about to say something, but pauses and takes a sip of his coffee.

"I know that it's hard, and I do know what you're going through. That pain that you feel, it never goes away. It does get better, but it's always there. You might hear a song that they liked, you might see a car like the one they drove, or you might even smell something that reminds you of them, and there you are...almost as if the wound was reopened. Feeling the way you did the day you lost them. That never goes away, but for the most part it becomes bearable."

"I just don't know if I can..."

"You can. You have to. I know that it may not be something that you want to do, but it's something that you need to do. Just because you decided that you're finished doesn't mean that the world has stopped needing you."

Scott is about to say something when Kelly cuts him off.

"I'm living proof of that. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. If you never put on that suit and did what you had been doing, I'd be dead."

"How many others won't be able to say that if you don't go back?"

"I never really looked at it like that. I have to think..."

"Do that. Think about it. Think about what your friend told you. Think about what I said, get your head clear and make a decision. Just whatever you decide, you make sure it's the right choice."

***
​

Kelly sleepily opens the door to meet Marty, who had called minutes before, concerned about Scott. Apparently, not only did he never return to the job site the day before, but he never showed up again this morning, and Marty was concerned.

The drive over to Scott's apartment only took a few minutes, but it seemed to drag on, and of course Salem's early morning traffic did not help matters much.

They pull up to Scott's building and both get out of Marty's work truck, and head into the building, gaining access because one of the residents hadn't properly secured the door to the laundry room. They make their way up several flights of stairs and finally find themselves standing in front of Scott's apartment door. Marty knocks on the door, but it wasn't latched, which allowed the door to just open into the apartment, which was empty.

"I don't get it. Where'd he go?" Marty asks, confused as he stares at the vacant apartment.

"Home." Kelly answered, unable to suppress a small smile.​

​

 

[Rain Dog]

Couple of hours later Mark along with his father and his friend James were in the physical fitness area observing Mark as he was getting use to walking and other normal human functions again. As they are monitoring Mark, James looks over to Mr. Moore.

“Sir if you don’t mind may I ask you a question?”

A little grin appears on Jonathan face.

“It’s about how he’s acting isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I mean you have to admit sir he’s not really acting like his take charge kind of self. He really seems…normal.”

“You have it wrong James this is Mark as himself. What a lot of people don’t know is not only can Mark’s powers affect his body by giving him abilities but it can also affect his mind. When he was young Mark was torn apart trying to live a normal life and also trying to be the solider STRIKE always wanted. The situation was he needed to be two people. One that could be a normal boy and the other that can be the solider STRIKE wanted.”

It all then began to hit James.

“So in order to please everyone his powers kicked in and made a split personality, which explains a lot.”

“So now you know the secret that he has been keeping for so long.”

Before replying James began to think.

“There’s also another secret that he’s keeping.”

Jonathon looks James in the eye not fallowing what he was getting at.

“I don’t understand.” Jonathan replies.

“If what you say is true then something is wrong with Mark, his powers haven’t fully recovered. I’m assuming when he is around you he’s Mark but when he is around anyone from STRIKE he is Spartan. When he woke he told me to call him Mark. So it’s obvious his powers are on the frits.”

“Now that you mention it your right, I was so happy about the fact he finally woke I didn’t even think about that. He would have never told you to call him Mark if he was his normal self. You really are smarter than you look.”

“You have no idea.” Truth is James is one of earth’s top 5 for smartest person in the world.

About an hour later James and Mark and also his father was making there way out of the facility to head home. As they exited the doors Major Lee along with the rest of the Executioners stood outside in front of two issued STRIKE retainer vehicles.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jonathan asks.

“It simple…” Major Lee begins as he puts a cigar in his mouth and lights it. “…I’m here to get the governments property. You didn’t really think we were going to let you just take a break did you? You belong to us that life of you going to school and having friends is only because we allowed it. You can’t even wipe your own ass after taking a **** unless I give the command to do so.”

Marks father thought it might have come to this but he figured that maybe with all the good his son has done they would let him get this break after seeing how much this job has taken it’s toll on his son’s body.

“Officer Stewart apprehend Spartan.”

James stood there not knowing what to do. Spartan was more than his leader he was his friend and now that he knows the truth about his friend he doesn’t want to betray him.

“I’m sorry sir I can’t.”

“Officer Stewart I’m going to tell you one more time. Apprehend Spartan now or you will be going in the second vehicle.” Major Lee orders.

It is obvious by the look on James face that he is conflicted on what choice to make. He then places his hands on the shoulder straps on his book bag and press a button on each one. Then his armor came from out of his book bag and covers his body completely.

​

On his left arm James active his guns and thinks about aiming them at Major Lee and the Executioners but before he could do so Mark stops him.

“It’s okay James I know he put you in a tight spot but I’ll make the decision for you. *He then looks towards Major Lee* I have done everything to please you and STRIKE but not anymore, I’m finished.”

After those words were said Mark quickly grabs James from the back and throws him towards Major Lee and the others and takes off running.

As James is about to hit Major Lee everything in him wanted himself to let it happen but at the last second he fired up his jet boots and maneuver out of the way.

“Executioners after him now, bring him back by any means necessary.” Major Lee barks as Mark is running away.

OLYMPUS MONS​

I whip through the airs of Lost Havens and it appears to be a quiet day. There’s none of the broad daylight muggings or bank robberies you see in comic books and movies or mutant freaks bursting out of the sewers, swallowing up innocent bystanders. Not even a ****ing kitten stuck in a tree. I’m beginning to think the other metas have sucked this town dry. No petty crimes for new guys to take on.

Just as I’m ready to give up, something peculiar catches my eyes. Or ears, rather. A rapid, rhythmic thumping. It stands out in a city full of wailing car horns, squeaky bus tires, and the gentle taps of the citizens’ feet as they walk along its streets. This sounded much more frantic, much heavier. I follow the direction of the sounds and after a short flight I catch sight of this beefy kid in black hauling ass, weaving through traffic and pedestrians. Seems like he’s the source of the sound. I’m surprised I was able to pick it out. What about this guy made his footsteps so distinctive? Eh, whatever. He looks like he’s in trouble—meaning he just ****ed up big time and is on the run from the cops. And who’s gonna be there to apprehend the fugitive and save the day? Olympus ****ing Mons, that’s who.

 

[trustyside-kick]

OOC: Previously...

Lost Haven
Now

Arms feel...weak. Can't...muster up the strength to throw him off of me. Too...strong. Stronger? Yea. He's getting stronger. The longer he seems to hold on to you it feels like the stronger he gets and the weaker I feel. But this is the second time he's gotten such a hold on me, as soon as I broke free the first time, my strength had almost returned to me. Not like the others. His victims.

Those three girls? He drained them dry. Maybe that's what will happen to me, if he never lets me go, or maybe I'm flat out lucky or immune out of some sort of divinity of the fact that the he seems to feed off of my angelic power. He's like a parasite. A dang parasite. No. Better yet.

A dang leech.

"Never before has someone survived after this long. You truly are remarkable, Michael. I am starting to believe...that such energy can sustain me, for YEARS! I MUST HAVE MORE!!"

I struggle to break free, but he is just too strong. Think Michael, think. How do you plan on getting yourself out of this one?


Lost Haven
5 Minutes from Now

I helped fight off an alien invasion but I have trouble believing what just happened. So I feel like a dang rookie when Sebastian tackles me, proceeding to then throw me right through the wall into another room. I get up, and thank God as I am able to and without a broken back. Gotta love the recent...'upgrades' given from up-high after the Goddess incident. I'm more formidable. Stronger. And Mr. Blake here seems to be more powerful than he looks.

But I'm plenty more powerful than I look as well, especially today. It's Sunday. All of the elements, are mine to tamper with. He enters through the hole he just made, levitating with arms clasped behind his back; as though he was some noble gentleman.

I hate that.

"Alright, you got lucky. Wasn't expecting that. Guess you could say--"

"Oh but Michael there is much more you will not expe--OOF!"

I use my power over the winds, to lift up the bed, and toss it at Sebastian. Yea, he doesn't evade that attack in time. The projectile furniture, courtesy of me, sends him crashing back through the previous room, and I hear Grace's muffled scream from the shock of it. Dangit. I almost forgot she was there. I can't fight him here. I go over to Grace, starting to untie her and removing her bonds, and I look back at the bed I just launched at Sebastian Blake. Immobile. Did that do the trick?

You will soon see why I regret what I now do. I walk over to the flipped over bed, and mock him as I yell.

"BET YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING THA---ARGH!"

He PUNCHES through the mattress and bedframe, and grabs my throat! A mere second later, with his free hand he tares at the bed, all the while climbing out of it and keeping a grip on me. There is a sudden glow coming around him, that resembles that same reddish purple glow when he carved that symbol into his chest.

I can't even muffle a scream, he has his grip around my throat so tight. And then, I feel it. Like the very life of me, is being siphoned. I feel so brittle, and this depressing feeling comes over me. Like there is no tomorrow, and this is how I die. By the hands of a psycopath with the delusions of nobility.

A look of ecstasy comes across his face, as it looks like this is something he had never experienced before. Well, enjoy it while you can bud. I don't intend on you sucking me dry. The heat from the nearby candle starts to suddenly grow more and more intense, and the flame grows. Would I have something to do with that? You bet.

"AAAAH!!"

The sound of his scream is a result that I just used the fire from that candle like a whip and wrapped it around his arm. He lets me go and my concentration on the fire whip goes so it goes since I'm so shocked at the sensation that I can breathe again. But can't waste too much time.

"Hey Sebastian!"

As he looks over at me, it's too late, and I'm coming at him with a ball of wind surrounding my body; this way he can't get his mits on me to try to drain me again. I tackle him, making yet another hole in the room, but one that leads us to the nightsky.

"Care for another dance? This time I lead."

 

[sabetoonth]

​

The door clicked and clacked on the other side of the portal before Mitchell swung it open.

“Hey Eli, come on in, I got an interview for ya lined up” Mitch motioned into his apartment, just outside his window you could make out the ruins of an apartment building and then the skyline. Mitch bee-lined into the kitchen of his apartment, sure wasn’t small, but wasn’t big either, just right for a single guy like Mitch. Though it lacked the chaos of Elijah’s apartment; it was clear few women stayed more then a night, if that long. “The job’s right up your ally pal, service industry” Mitchell continued, Elijah gave him a funny look. “What?” Mitchell’s friend simply shook his with a small smirk on his face.

“What kind of service?” Elijah stood in the front room waiting for his friend to ready himself for public presentation. he had been trying to get Elijah a job since he lost it at the paper as a journalist,; hed been interveiwed for jsut about everything, he had tried store clerk, dog catcher, and security guard, nothing stuck.

“Oh nothing, just some warehouse work” Mitch wrapped his tie around his neck and looped it.

“You’re ****ing me?” Elijah blurted out.

“Of course not, we both play for the same team.” The Elijah’s well dressed friend jested.

“Smart ass.” Elijah said plainly. “We need to get going, or we’ll both be late.” Stokes threw Mitch’s coat in his direction and he caught it.
“Nice throw man.”

Eli and Mitch walked down the streets, some of the rubble laid in the streets, most people cars had been buried in it or crushed by it, so on foot traffic was thicker then usual, as their cars were being dug out, repaired or they waited to get a replacement it had been this bad all month. OK, maybe it wasn't as bad as it was to start off with, but it still wasn't normal, even for New York.

“Seriously? Warehouse?” Elijah looked over at his friend, how long had they known each other, 5 years? Since he had met him at the paper when they both started? Either way, it was long enough to know each other well enough to foresee the whole conversation.

“No, not really, ha-ha” Laurence chuckled at the revelation. “No my friend” Mitch put his arm around his friends shoulder; he knew it made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. “You” he said with an informative tone. “Are going to be working as a janitor part time at the Museum of Natural History, to be honest I don’t understand why the invaders knocked over the Chryslter building, but not the Natural History Museum or Empire State Building.” Elijah didn’t wonder these things; he doubted that the invaders had planned what buildings to destroy. Or had they? Either way it didn’t matter, they had been beaten back by the world’s assorted heroes, and some had paid the price for their heroism.

“A janitor, you are pulling worse jobs out of your ass then usual.” Elijah and Mitch were always like this, almost a brotherly kind of relationship, at least the way they talked to each other.

“Well, beats unemployment don’t it?” Elijah gave him a look of ‘I won’t say it, but you’re right’.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

Moving through the shadows in the rafters, I make my way toward the center of the warehouse. Haven taken out one gaurd, I now only have to worry about the second gaurd and the Franchise.

Franchise is a dangerous man, despite his flashy demeanor he is not someone to be taken lightly. I keep this in mind as I drop down to take care of the second gaurd.

I am about to drop the gaurd when suddenly the sound of thunder errupts inside the warehouse. Instinctively, I duck, looking around for the source of the sudden distraction. When I bring my eyes back around to the gaurd I had been ready to pounce upon, I find him laying on the floor with a smoking hole in his chest.

"That was a warning shot, friend. You won't get another one."

I look toward the source of the voice, and I find Franchise, standing on top of some of the storage crates which hold the weapons Midas has been hiding in this warehouse...pointing a gun that has the firepower of a small cannon, directly at me.

Franchise pulls the trigger, but I have already teleported several feet away. I look to where I had just been and see a smoking crater in the floor.

Franchise curses and brings the large weapon around and points it at me again. I duck behind one of the large storage crates just as fires again. The crate explodes as I turn a corner and race through the maze of massive storage crates. Several more shots ring out behind me, follwed by more of the crates exploding.

I duck between a crate and the wall on the other side of the warehouse. I can hear him shouting challenges at me from his perch. I fire a grapple line into the rafters and begin my ascent to the ceiling, but I teleport again in order to avoid being seen by my opponent.

From my hiding spot in the rafters, I make my way back toward Franchise, taking extra care not to make any noises that would alert him to my presence. Then, when I find myself standing directly over him, I jump down, hitting him with a well placed dropkick to the back of his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

 

[Eddie Brock]

THE ADVENTURES OF MANTIS

Another metahuman threat, another gym class missed. The excuse this time? Stomach flu. I made the mistake of ordering seafood at my sister's welcome home dinner. I'm too busy puking my brains out to play volleyball - even though I totally would have killed at serving. Jim can corroborate my story (as usual). You do this shtick long enough, and you start to get good at it.

I just can't wait 'til college, when I don't have to sneak out of school during the day all the time.

Carver Lake National Park. Usually when I come down this way, I'm wearing a bathing suit - not spandex - but I'm not the one who decides where and how these metahumans go on their rampages. The police have blocked off entry to the park, but that's not a problem for me. Bounding along the treetops, I head in the direction of the snapping twigs.

"Let's make this quick," I announce to my unseen opponent. "I've got twenty-three minutes until sixth period, and I am not going to miss Biology again." I dive through the branches of the trees and land on a hiking trail. A few feet ahead of me, a large boulder blocks the trail.

Wait. That's not a boulder. It's a...person?

"Where is she?" the metahuman says, seemingly oblivious to me. His entire body, head to toe, is made entirely of gray rock. He grabs a tree by its trunk and uproots it. "Samantha comes here all the time. Did they take her?" He discards the uprooted tree like it's nothing.

I take one step forward. "Okay, buddy, clearly the crazy train left the station, but I misplaced my ticket, so why don't you bring me up to speed?" I hold out my hand in an attempt at a calming gesture. "Who is Samantha? Who are you talking about?"

Now he stares directly at me. And his nervous eyes change to anger without provocation. "They sent you, didn't they?" he announces accusingly. "You're one of their freaks! Well, you won't take me down so easily!"

"'Freak' is a hurtful word. I prefer--"

All air is knocked out of my lungs as my lumbering opponent connects with a backhand. It feels like getting hit by a sledgehammer. I barely feel it as I slam into a tree, nearly cracking it in half.

"...owie..."

The metahuman is on top of me in an instant. "Do you know where she is?" He picks me up, and his massive hand nearly crushes me. "You're going to tell me everything you know! NOW!"

"Well, I know that you're clearly upset..." I grimace as he tightens his grip with a snarl. "And I know that you're looking for this Samantha person, and I want to help you. I really do. But you need to turn off the crazy and talk to me like a human being for a minute..." I can barely breathe now. This non-confrontational approach isn't working. Mustering all my remaining strength, I manage to gain some wiggling room, and I quickly escape from this guy's grasp.

"Phew. Okay. Now, as I was saying..."

I'm forced to leap out of the way of another slap attempt.

"...you seem like a reasonable enough guy - underneath the rocky exterior and aggressive nature. I think we're just misunderstanding each other here."

He punches straight through the tree I'm perched in. As the tree wobbles, I leapfrog over his head and land in the bushes behind him. He spins around and slams his fist into the ground, making a small crater only inches from where I'm lying.

"Right."

I momentarily go on the offensive. Maybe I should emphasize 'momentarily' a bit more. As my opponent's fist is still in the ground, I bound off his outstretched arm and connect with a punch to his jaw. It sounds - and feels - like I broke every bone in my hand. As I avoid one of his wild swings, I decide to give him a nice stinger to the neck. It doesn't faze him.

"Aw, ****..."

He kicks at me unexpectedly, hitting me right in the stomach. No, no, this is good. Now I actually will puke - thus lending credibility to my story. But seriously, I can't keep this up much longer. Going toe-to-toe with this guy is going to kill me - maybe even literally.

"Look, Concrete - can I call you Concrete? - I'm still under the impression that we got off on the wrong foot," I say in-between moments of feeling like I'm going to spit out a tooth. "I really do want to help you. So if you could stop trying to squash me for a minute..."

He brings both hands together, and I avoid being splattered only by my quick reflexes.

"...or not."

"Maybe you aren't one of theirs," Concrete remarks cryptically. "Regardless: if you want to help, stay out of my way."

I rub the back of my neck. "See, that's the part where we need to compromise," I reply. "You're running around, causing untold property damage, ruining people's perfectly good picnics, and - most importantly - putting public safety at stake."

"I'll disappear. She's not here, anyway, and they'll come looking for me soon." Still have no clue what he's talking about. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I just...I need to find her. My sister. Oh God, if they've taken her too..."

It's hard to believe what I'm witnessing, but Concrete - the stone man - is crying.

"If you have a sister - or even if you don't - wouldn't you do anything to protect her?" he asks me in the most sincere tone I've ever heard.

I swallow the lump in my throat. This isn't normal. This isn't how I do business. I'm supposed to run in, beat up the bad guy, and turn him in to the authorities. Only...I'm not so sure Concrete is a bad guy. And listening to him talk about his sister, it makes me think of Vicky and what I would do to protect her.

"Go. But I should warn you: if we cross paths again, there's no touchy-feely ending. This is your one chance."

Concrete stares at me for a moment, the final tear rolling down his rocky cheek. Then, in a determined voice, "You couldn't stop me, anyway." And with that, he takes off into the forest. I hope I'm right about him.
​

 

[NiteMare Shape]

​

Scott turns the key, and slowly opens the door. As he steps into the apartment that he had once shared with his kid sister, he feels a rush of varied emotions rush through him.

For the first time in months, he feels that he has come home. However, he also feels the emptiness that is there now.

As he closes the door behind him, he almost expects to hear Jenny call out to him from the couch, or from her bedroom. He never knew what to expect from her when he got home, sometimes he'd get warm welcome, other times she'd tease him and generally give him a hard time. That's what kid sisters do, afterall.

As he walks into the living room, and looks to the couch, and can't help but to think of how many times he'd walk in to this room, and he'd playfully shove her with his him...and how many times he almost accidentally knocked her to the floor because he didn't hold back quite enough.

But those days are over now. Jenny is gone, and no matter what anyone else says, he is responsible for her death. And that is something that he will hve to live with for the rest of his life.

He heads toward his bedroom so that he can put his bags away and get settled into his place again, when he nearly walks into somebody moving hurridly toward him.

"Scott?" He says, shocked to see him.

"Eric? What are you doing in here?"​

 

[Hound55]

Cooktown, Terraria

22:20 hours...

Backyard Maintenance - 2 of 2 (OOC: Written in First person perspective for a change)

I attempt to peer through the thick plume of cigarette smoke, not to identify the owner of the voice, I recognized that immediately, but rather to locate the source.

Russ Williams. Alleged leader of the Knaves Motorcycle Club. …or would be alleged if the media had the testicular fortitude to make the allegations.

The Knaves Motorcycle Club. Motorcycles no longer obligatory.

To fully understand and appreciate his power you first must understand the nature of the Cooktown organised criminal element. The vast bulk of it is pushed upon society by a hidden triumvirate of three separate “Clubs”. The Knaves, the Jesters and the Loonatics. Of the three, the Knaves are the most thoroughly organised. This is both a blessing and a curse; the Knaves look to police themselves mostly, meaning less sporadic bouts of violent crime, but they’re also the most deeply rooted. The Loonatics meanwhile, like their name, are chaotic… they’re the closest to their bikie gang roots and almost anything goes. Theirs is an anarchic existence where if they feel like pummelling anyone anytime, its their decision and will regularly be aided by their compatriots and this behaviour fully endorsed by the “top brass”, the top brass generally being the whoever the biggest, baddest psychopath at the time…

Outside of this trio of rival “clubs”. Exist many smaller splinter gangs, often formed by geographic convenience or ethnicity. Desperate people seeking kindred spirits for survival. The big three’s opinions on these splinter groups tended to differ strongly, the Loonatics viewing virtually any situation as competition, an excuse to unleash the ultraviolence. The Knaves and Jesters however, whilst they don’t particularly approve of competition deal with the situation very differently and wind up recruiting many of these younger gang members in the process. All three tend to hold the ethnic gangs in a firm position of general disregard, as many racist undertones have trickled down from generation to generation through each clubs old heads. Veteran members have earned respect purely by virtue of surviving in all three gangs.

And that’s where I am now.

Outside of a club owned through proxy of this man, amongst the most powerful men in the country. On his turf, in full costume and with God knows how many men in that club who would be willing to rip my head off purely to get into his good graces. Fortunately we both know that that is NOT what he would want right now, and even more fortunately we both know his Knaves are far too disciplined to take a shot without Russ giving the word.

But I’m still at a disadvantage, as I’m caught out under the lights on the terrace, whilst they’re inside in the dimly lit pub. They can see me, even in jet black gear, far better than I can see them.

I turn my head to look down the street for the man without the knife.

Gone. Hmm. The way I left him he wasn’t going anywhere by himself, someone’s helped him move. Well, I can’t keep standing here on the spot, I’m more vulnerable with every second and the curiosity is just too much for me. I turn back, facing roughly in the direction I thought the voice came from and step inside the wolves’ den.

Walking through I recognise him immediately, he’s propped up at the bar itself, one foot on the rail halfway through a pint, a heavy-set bloke in his forties in a tavern full of heavies. The room itself is full of people of both genders yet oddly not too dissimilar appearance. I now see in a corner, the man with the knife, on a chair mainly using the wall for support while a heavy-set woman attends to the problems I gave him.

Who will attend to the problems she gives him? God only knows. Not my problem.

Its uneasily quiet, there are people playing pool at a large billiards table, and whilst they’re trying to make conversation like nothing is happening, its clearly strained and I know that they’re trying to maintain a state of readiness. They have no idea what’s going to happen… and honestly, I don’t have that much more of a clue myself…

I walk up to the bar and put my foot on the rail myself. Russ laughs. I’m not surprised; I could only imagine how ridiculous I must look attempting to appear as nonchalant at a bar, whilst standing head to toe in jet black.

“Haven’t heard much of you ‘round here lately. I’ve had to go out of my way, get one of the kids at home to teach me how to use the computer a bit, these days these newfangled electronic networking sites are the only way to keep in touch with old mates…”

Where the hell is he going with this, I think to myself.

“Myspace, Facebook… youtube… These days you want to keep in touch with old mates, you have to log yourself in… and watch ‘em curse out a hall full of kids.”

“So that’s what you’ve been keeping yourself busy with, eh mate..?”

Ah s***… This is exactly the moment I’ve been hoping to put off. They know. I was hoping to at least get a good year splitting my time, as naïve as that thought may be.

[BLACKOUT]“I know better than to ask what you’ve been doing to keep yourself busy… Besides, you might tell me.”[/BLACKOUT]

“Hey, I should be thanking you, kid… Hero-boy means there’s still a city to take…”

My time in the Haven has softened me a little… I am not accustomed to being called “boy” or “kid” anymore. I give that these days, I don’t take it.

[BLACKOUT]“So what, you just invited me in to buy me a beer..?”[/BLACKOUT]

“Would you drink it?”

[BLACKOUT]“Hell no. I’d throw it in your face and then take yours. God knows what you'd put in mine.”[/BLACKOUT]

Russ laughs again. This man is beginning to piss me off. But he’s sitting on something, something I’ve been waiting for, and the knowledge that it will surely come is one of the few things that is stopping me from removing his nose from his face.

The large crowd in the bar is of course the other thing.

“So, I’ve been thinking…”

This is it, this has to be it… I try to keep the grin from my face.

“… I wonder what exactly, some of those big-bad guys, many of them far more resourceful than I am… What exactly would happen if someone were able to narrow down your background, to a field of only a million possibilities. 500,000 if you eliminate the women straight off the back… and then there’s the people who were clearly out of your age bracket. Why… I’d reckon some of these guys might be able to at least narrow it down, with their means, to a small enough group that they might be able to make you dance a bit.”

[BLACKOUT]“Hmm… yeah. I guess that’d mess things right up wouldn’t it…”[/BLACKOUT]

I pause for effect and wait for him to bring his pint-glass to his lips.

[BLACKOUT]“I guess I’d have to bail on the whole ‘Police-the-world’ business and get out of their hair, wouldn’t I… move back home, to be the same big fish in a little pond that we’ve both enjoyed so much. Move back here full time and take care of business…”[/BLACKOUT]

I shoot back a s***-eating grin and watch his reaction with sadistic glee.

The air in the room is just let out completely. Power swings. I run this place.

Russ was not ready for this. He’d thought he’d had me and now he’s lost face. Reading his face I recognise that I’ve broken the line. S***. Too far. Now I’ve got seconds.

Second one: Russ’ eyes roll across the high ceiling of the bar in an attempt to be nonchalant himself. He’s more convincing than I was earlier… but not by enough. His eyes fall just beyond me, looking just over my right shoulder and an almost imperceptible nod takes place.

Second two: I react. I must, trying to hide how I’ve read him I laugh. I laugh loud and hard. This gives Russ a false sense of security, surely this laughing fool has no idea what comes next. My arm falls behind me, slightly awkwardly, but by now Williams is too eager for my comeuppance to notice.

Second three: The bikie will surely be upon me soon, my arm is there, I can feel one of the cues in the rack behind me on my fingertips. I grasp it in my closed hands, the bikie has surely noticed, he’ll move fast. My eyes are trained on Williams’ face though. I don’t want to turn and face and have attacks coming from multiple directions.

Second four: The corner’s of Russ’ mouth curls upwards. This guy’s upon me, I plant the cue where he’s coming from. I snap my head from Russ. God knows what he’s doing now but I know he’s no longer the main threat. The big guy is on me and I bring the stick up.

I’d like to say I stop at the thigh… but we all know I don’t fight that clean.

Second five: I realise I’m not holding a cue but a bridging stick, you know.. that oddly shaped “spider” bridge. The big lout in front of me has dropped to his knees, I use the bridge part to hook in behind his head and swing him face first into the bar. I turn and Russ has reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of scotch.

Such clichéd behaviour surely warrants an arse-kicking. I give it. I make him second-guess his clichéd decision to try and brain me with a whiskey bottle by bringing the butt of the spider bridge into his nose. This buys me the time I need, to use the length of the bridge to disarm him, I hook the bottle and some kind of cord with it and flick it across the room. The bottle hits the wall in front of a set of stairs and shatters, sending a small hailstorm of glass over the uncouth characters sitting beneath it and the cord hangs wrecked across the bar.

Hell has broken loose. Bedlam unleashed. People want blood and to get me for Williams for a myriad of reasons.

[BLACKOUT]“I always wondered what this stick was for…”[/BLACKOUT] I quip. Why I quip, who knows, and I sure don’t have the time to self-analyse.

I turn to face the most immediate threat and halve my newly understood weapon of choice across his face. It splinters on impact and I can hear Russ Williams fleeing over my shoulder… but not out the back door. He takes to the stairs.

“Why are you going upstairs, Russ!” I shout in my own internal monologue. As I convince two more people that pursuing me is not really what they want with a handful of billiard balls.

I check on the bartender, to keep him honest and get a second’s longer look at the hanging cord… A phone! He wants time to call for more. He’s got me here where I could be too busy with the numbers to fight my way out. I fight my way for the stairs, the broken handle of the bridge being close enough to one of my jimmy sticks to feel familiar and show my proficiency.

I block a shot with the end of the broken bridge and grab a fresh cue on the wall, finishing him with the broken bridge before dropping the well worn, and significantly shortened, weapon as I bolt up the stairs.

With a thrust I double up an average looking sort up the top of the stairs before ploughing him into the back wall, with an uppercut from my free hand he’s done.

I survey the room, sure enough Russ is on the far side of the room on the phone with little between us but several roughnecks and… more pool tables. I angle my run to make for Russ without having to go through them but they “counter me” by cutting straight across. This is exactly what I wanted. They’ve strength in number and I’m glad they separated a little rather than let me go to Russ and have to take on these three as well as Williams, but now I have a little space between them. I jump and slide onto a table, taking an early cheap swat at the furthest with the fresh cue, the tip whips across him drawing blood in a straight line with a comedic blue spot marking the first point of impact. The second come, he gets the full brunt, of the cue, horizontal slashing swing which has taken both him, and a large chunk of the previously fresh new cue, out of commission. The first one has stopped to check his own face, he’s noticed the blood and now he’s pissed… but that first swing has bought me precious seconds more. The third comes, a scrawnier man with a cue of his own and he swings at my legs whilst I’m standing on the edge of the table. Not a bad stratagem, but I jump the cue and grab the “triangle” from off of the light, I let myself fall besides the table as I slip the triangle over his head, using my full weight to spike his head into the side of the table.

That one is NOT getting up in a hurry.

The first one is back and pissed from what I’ve done to his friends and his face. If I looked like him I’d probably be more concerned about his friends… One on one, with time on my side, and this idiot too pissed off to have any semblance of control? Please. I duck the opening swing, a wild hook thrown from Grenville with all of the subtlety of a baseball bat in parliament, and counter with a double hook to the body. The air is out of him. A single shot to the corner of the jaw and he is no longer part of the equation.

I turn and advance on Russ at the far end of the room. Not giving the bartender the satisfaction of a glance I hold my arm out in his direction, a single finger raised and gave the barman a single command whilst my eyes were fixed on Williams.

[BLACKOUT]“Don’t… Move... An Inch.”[/BLACKOUT]

Hardly necessary, the bartender is frozen to the spot.

I pick up a pool cue from the table the Three Stooges were playing at before Russ and I rudely interrupted them, and let the sadistic grin flash back across my face.

“C’mon. Don’t give me that crap. You’re a hero. You really think I’m going to believe that you’re going to beat the s*** out of an unarmed man with a pool cue?”

His voice is wavering though… I’ve got his attention, but I can’t stop now. If I don’t do something he’ll take back control of the situation. He’ll come back harder. I need a statement.

Never losing a step or taking my gaze off of him I continued to march but my mind raced and my peripherals kicked in… bar, pool tables, billiard balls, high ceilings, imported Australian hardwood floors, more cues… high ceilings… That’s it. Can’t wail on an unarmed man… must make statement…

Now just three metres from Russ, I stop, never taking my eyes off him I snap the cue in half across my knee and lob him the bigger half.

Emphasis on lob. From three metres the stick gets hang time. Russ needs a chance and can’t believe he could have one, he raises his arms to the sky to reach his potential saviour. To the contrary, I’ve thrown my half aside.

Lob pass from three metres in close proximity. Back in schoolboy rugby they call that a hospital pass. I’m about to let Russ Williams find out why…

I charge, his arms are aloft, his torso unprotected. He’s just glanced down but it’s now too late. I sink my shoulder into his bread-basket, completely unprotected he’s beyond vulnerable. I hook the leg with my free arm and push forwards. For a split-second the window holds us.
But that is only a moment suspended in time. Our combined weight then pierces the glass. The integrity broken, the rest of the glass is vulnerable and the complete window shatters as a whole around us. Together we fall. I’d like to think I consciously pulled my bad arm in to brace from the one story fall, but I can’t honestly say whether it went through my mind. Perhaps it was another of the body’s self-defence mechanisms besides pain that led to it. It doesn’t matter really. We tumble as one, but I control the fall.

All faces along Barrie Street turn, they see a lot of violent behaviour here but its not every day they see anything this dramatic.

On the street below a hardtop becomes a soft-top instantly, I roll off of him, laid out on the car’s roof and leave him with one parting message.

[BLACKOUT]“You think you control me? Try this s*** again and we’ll see if I can throw you outta taller building.”[/BLACKOUT]

I give a parting scowl at the patrons of the bar as they look on at the carnage in disbelief, and with a grapple shot at a vague building’s roof I’m gone.

 

[Mr. Majestic]

OLYMPUS MONS​

I whip through the airs of Lost Havens and it appears to be a quiet day. There’s none of the broad daylight muggings or bank robberies you see in comic books and movies or mutant freaks bursting out of the sewers, swallowing up innocent bystanders. Not even a ****ing kitten stuck in a tree. I’m beginning to think the other metas have sucked this town dry. No petty crimes for new guys to take on.

Just as I’m ready to give up, something peculiar catches my eyes. Or ears, rather. A rapid, rhythmic thumping. It stands out in a city full of wailing car horns, squeaky bus tires, and the gentle taps of the citizens’ feet as they walk along its streets. This sounded much more frantic, much heavier. I follow the direction of the sounds and after a short flight I catch sight of this beefy kid in black hauling ass, weaving through traffic and pedestrians. Seems like he’s the source of the sound. I’m surprised I was able to pick it out. What about this guy made his footsteps so distinctive? Eh, whatever. He looks like he’s in trouble—meaning he just ****ed up big time and is on the run from the cops. And who’s gonna be there to apprehend the fugitive and save the day? Olympus ****ing Mons, that’s who.

Normally in a situation like this my abilities would have gave me super speed but its clear to see I’m not back to 100% so the speed on a Olympic level will have to do. I’m doing well for now but making my way pass on coming vehicles won’t help me for long. They will get to the point when they won’t care any longer and then I’ll be getting these innocent people in danger. I need to hurry up and disappear.

While maneuvering through traffic I come to a stop when a fellow who appears to be a hero of some sorts flies down in front of me. I’ve never seen him before and from what I can tell he doesn’t seem be part of STRIKE. He must be trying to be a hero.

“Look I don’t know who you are and I don’t have time for a wannabe superhero. I’m need for you to move out of my way.”

I then look over my shoulder and see that they are closing in. Once they catch up I know a fight will break out and I won’t be able to keep these people safe.​

 

[Hound55]

Cooktown, Terraria

The following day. 09:30 hours...

Backyard Maintenance - Epilogue (OOC: Written in First person perspective for a change)

I’m sitting now, in my home. I call many places home nowadays… but only one in Cooktown. My true home. My first home.

I sit at a desk, with my brow furrowed in contemplation. My computer rests on the desk in front of me, the screen displaying a menu which looks startlingly similar to the primitive DOS-based systems of old. This has been my biggest bargain. I bought it three years ago. Somehow an old police station computer slipped through the police auctions without having its hard-drive destroyed.

This is why I research.

Every once in a while it leads to a nugget which is well worth the constant effort.

Its three years old now and comically the system is STILL yet to be updated. Although of course what I can view is still limited to what was on the hard-drive at the time since I’m incapable of accessing the CKPD network for the programs to update themselves with current information.

The screen in front of me reads:




WILLIAMS, Russ DOB: 12/04/1965
Address: 35 Welsh St, Botanic Valley
AKA: WILLIAMSON, Russ / WILLIAMS, Ross / SMITH, Garry / SOSAY, Kaiser (cont.)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RED FLAG! – Do not approach for minors (CONTACT OPERATION 52-PICKUP)




The address is no longer accurate. I already knew that. I also know where he now lives. I have it recorded elsewhere. I record my own surveillance notes on a separate home made database using, pathetic as it sounds, Microsoft Access. I’m only one man so it’s sufficient for my own work-load. The only goal on my end was to record my own findings on a separate database, in case I’m ever lucky enough to score another rare find at police auction and can update the information I currently have. I could just update my own findings straight onto the database, but if I were ever lucky enough to find another I’d either lose all of my own findings or the whole system would glitch as contradicting report numbers would be used. Neither are desirable outcomes.

For the fourth time in hours I type “SUPP” to go into his supplementary information page. I already know what I’ll see, but something keeps me going back.

A page full of supplementary numbers awaits me once the interminable 10 seconds it takes to load pass. There are TWELVE more pages full of these supplementary article numbers for me to scroll through if I so choose. At the top the most recent one mocks me. 06/X000084961. The “06” jeering at me, as if my computer were impotent.

I’m not a happy man. I got to let off steam, which I always appreciate, but I know I’ve made things worse. Short term I know that won’t show; the Jesters and the Loonatics will lay low a few weeks. They’ll think I’m gunning for them. But I can’t, for two reasons; first, I can’t risk it. I can’t risk the possibility that I shake these three groups so much that they consider forgetting their differences and making a run to take me out of the equation. Second of all, with icon out of the picture over in the Haven I just can’t afford to not be back there at the moment. Not until we can either get some more members trained up and on board, or until some of the recent trends in crime subside.

I’ve already planned my return, the plane leaves in 5 hours. I’ll have to start to pack again. It’s the only reason I’m still awake. I planned to be awake through the day and then sleep on the flight over, I’ve already crunched the numbers on the hours and the time difference in an attempt to best cope with the jet-lag.

I quit out of the programs on screen and shut-down the computer. I clean the desk the lazy way, sweeping the crap straight into the desk’s draw, and get up to make for my room.

Some time later I return from my room with two loaded luggage bags, a backpack and a carry-case. The house is pretty clean as I roll the bag across the floor, more demonstrative of my lack of time spent home than of my own tidiness. As I put my hand on the door-handle I take one more look around my apartment, it is pretty tidy for the most part… which makes the one thing I see out of place stand out even more. Leaving my bags by the door I cross the floor to the exception.

It’s a small weight. I’d been using it for rehab. I pick it up easily and take it to my room, just as I get there I stop.

I extend my arm with the weight at arm’s length, and then I slowly rotate.

Silence.

The weight’s where I left it… firmly in the grasp of my hand.

All I can do is smile.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

Scott turns the key, and slowly opens the door. As he steps into the apartment that he had once shared with his kid sister, he feels a rush of varied emotions rush through him.​

For the first time in months, he feels that he has come home. However, he also feels the emptiness that is there now.​

As he closes the door behind him, he almost expects to hear Jenny call out to him from the couch, or from her bedroom. He never knew what to expect from her when he got home, sometimes he'd get warm welcome, other times she'd tease him and generally give him a hard time. That's what kid sisters do, afterall.​

As he walks into the living room, and looks to the couch, and can't help but to think of how many times he'd walk in to this room, and he'd playfully shove her with his him...and how many times he almost accidentally knocked her to the floor because he didn't hold back quite enough.​

But those days are over now. Jenny is gone, and no matter what anyone else says, he is responsible for her death. And that is something that he will hve to live with for the rest of his life.​

He heads toward his bedroom so that he can put his bags away and get settled into his place again, when he nearly walks into somebody moving hurridly toward him.​

"Scott?" He says, shocked to see him.​

"Eric? What are you doing in here?"​

"I could ask you the same thing." Eric says, giving no real indication of his feelings regarding his friend's return home.

"I've been keeping an eye on the place since you've been gone. Making sure the place doesn't burn down or anything."

"Thanks Eric, I appreciate it."

"Scott, where the hell have you been? Everyone's been worried sick about you. You just vanished after..." Eric stops himself just before saying "she died."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I had to get away from everything. I had to get my mind right."

"And did you?"

"I don't know."

"That doesn't matter right now. I'm just glad you're back.We should celebrate. I'll call Keira an everyone else, we'll have a big welcome home bash and...."

"No."

Eric's face sinks for a spit second.

"Huh?"

"Don't...don't tell anyone just yet. Especially Keira. I owe it to her to talk her face to face...but I'm just not ready yet."


"Alright buddy, I understand." Eric lies, before continuing, "But you need to hurry up...she's been worried sick, and you're right...you do owe it to her."

Eric says as he turns and walks out the door, closing it behind him.

"I know."

 

[TrueMastermind]

A year. They say I've been knocked out for a whole year. I've wasted a whole year of my life in a damn hospital bed. Do you know how that feels? No birthday. No Christmas. No New Year's. Just a whole year of my life gone. And it's all because of Warren Schimdt.

Warren Schimdt. He killed my parents. He kidnapped my sister. He put me in a coma. One day, whether it be soon or the far future, I will get my revenge on that evil filth. I swear to it.

Enough of the negative. At least I'm alive. A blast like that should of killed me instanly. Too bad the other guys weren't so lucky.

And then there's Laurie. Standing over me with her radiant smile and glowing, tanned skin, I can only wonder why we never got together. I guess she never held any feelings for me. But still, just for her to be here, after her absence from my life for so many years, is simply amazing. I haven't even managed to let a word out of my mouth; I can only admire her beauty. But I've got to say something.

"So...how've you been?"

 

[NiteMare Shape]

Franchise pulls the trigger, but I have already teleported several feet away. I look to where I had just been and see a smoking crater in the floor.

Franchise curses and brings the large weapon around and points it at me again. I duck behind one of the large storage crates just as fires again. The crate explodes as I turn a corner and race through the maze of massive storage crates. Several more shots ring out behind me, follwed by more of the crates exploding.

I duck between a crate and the wall on the other side of the warehouse. I can hear him shouting challenges at me from his perch. I fire a grapple line into the rafters and begin my ascent to the ceiling, but I teleport again in order to avoid being seen by my opponent.

From my hiding spot in the rafters, I make my way back toward Franchise, taking extra care not to make any noises that would alert him to my presence. Then, when I find myself standing directly over him, I jump down, hitting him with a well placed dropkick to the back of his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

As he hits the ground, Franchise rolls himself over and manages to get back to his feet, but not before I pounce, hitting him with a flurry of hard punches that staggers him, until I finally take him off his feet.

I move in to finih him off, but I make a mistake. I'm overconfident and he makes me pay. As I stroll over to where he lay prone, he suddenly srings up, sweeping my legs out from under me. I force my surprise aside and quickly get back to my feet, however, Franchise is on me, hiting me with hard rights and lefts that knock me back, and finally a hard uppercut that sends me crashing into one of the crates filled with high powered weapons.

I look up, just in time to see Franchise standing there, with that large gun pointed at me one more time.

"Now it's time to end this." He says as he opens fire once again.

 

[NiteMare Shape]

doublepost

 

[NiteMare Shape]

As Scott sits in his booth inside the Firehouse Pizza eatery in historic Lost Haven, he has a thousand things flying through his head even as he chews on his large chicken parm sub.

As the flatscreen tv on the back wall shows the day's baseball game between the Porter City Cougars and the Lost Haven Knights, Scott finds himself finally acclimating himself to being home. For the first time since returning to Lost Haven, he is starting to feel comfortable being back in the city.

It wasn't easy coming back, afterall, he had good reasons for leaving in the first place. He believed that only by disappearing could he protect those he loved from his enemies. However, it took a late night visit from one of his former teamates in the Guardians, and a conversation with a new friend to convince him that he had been wrong all along. Although he may have reduced the risk to his loved ones, how many others did he put at risk just by walking away?

It was a hard question to ask, and a harder question to answer. But in the end, he came to the conclusion that the world truely did need Icon, even if he did not want to admit it.

As he takes a sip from his ice water, he is suddenly drawn to the flatscreen at the back of the eatery. However, it was not the baseball game that grabbed his attention, it was the scene that had replaced it.

"And as you can see, the operator had lost control of the crane, damaging the suspension cables which support the Williams Bridge. We---"

He never heard the rest of the report, he leaves the eatery behind, as he makes his way out of the eatery and ducking into a secluded alley where he can change into something more appropriate for the occasion.

 

[TrueMastermind]

A year. They say I've been knocked out for a whole year. I've wasted a whole year of my life in a damn hospital bed. Do you know how that feels? No birthday. No Christmas. No New Year's. Just a whole year of my life gone. And it's all because of Warren Schimdt.

Warren Schimdt. He killed my parents. He kidnapped my sister. He put me in a coma. One day, whether it be soon or the far future, I will get my revenge on that evil filth. I swear to it.

Enough of the negative. At least I'm alive. A blast like that should of killed me instanly. Too bad the other guys weren't so lucky.

And then there's Laurie. Standing over me with her radiant smile and glowing, tanned skin, I can only wonder why we never got together. I guess she never held any feelings for me. But still, just for her to be here, after her absence from my life for so many years, is simply amazing. I haven't even managed to let a word out of my mouth; I can only admire her beauty. But I've got to say something.

"So...how've you been?"

"I've been good, but it looks like you've been in a bit of trouble."

"You can say that." I feel a little dizzy, but whether it's because I'm lost for words as I admire her divine, smooth skin or if it's just a natural reaction to a coma is unknown.

"What about you?" Uh oh, that was the question I was fearing. Telling her about STRIKE wasn't wise and I'm pretty sure they had some rule against discussing their operations to non-agents.

"I'll tell you later."

***​

1 Month Later...

Today was the day. The day I was finally to be released from my dreadful prison. And the day I would return to the bustling metropolis that is New York City. But only Laurie was there. No uncles, no aunts, no cousins-three-times-removed, just Laurie. It hurt to have no family but Laurie was all I needed, she cared enough to equal a thousand people.

When I woke up, I found my room littered in "Welcome Back" decorations and a loving lady with a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. Soon enough, she was pushing me in a wheelchair throughout the hallways of New York Methodist. Halting right before the door to take one last look at me before we head out into the concrete jungle, Laurie attempted to relax me.

"You're going to love it Carson, it's just so bright and beautiful outside!"

And believe me, it was.

​